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shesawriter39049 · 4 years ago

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|FEVER| M|

Pairing: Namjoon X Reader

About- Namjoon just has a kink for letting you do whatever the hell you want with him...Whether that be putting him in a hot pink suit shirtless! Or, telling him he’s a good boy as he fucks you into oblivion!

OR- Namjoon and yourself hooked up 5 months ago when the boys were in London on Tour, and you were the creative director for there British GQ & Harper’s Bazzar Cover! Now, months later he’s prepping to release his second mixtape “RM vs Rap Monster”. Opting to go a complete 360 from his first release Mono in all realms. So, with that being said BigHit thinks he needs someone with a little more... “umph” Take a wild guess as to who they call...

WC:1.2k (Sneak peek)

WARNINGS: Switch OC (Top & Bottom...but there's no real dom/sub tones here) Service top/power bottom Namjoon, praise kink, Fingering, Unprotected sex(Back shot), come play, dirty talk, light choking, light overstimulation, (This is lowkey a little softer than it sounds) The OC kinda leads this, but Joon isin’t the cliché “sub” he just likes letting her take control.

NOTE- Just my take on the OG cliché Artist X Stylist AU (Though she’s more of a full package, Art Director/Stylist/Photographer ETC) I have tried to add some minor elements to make it a little more realistic. I will say I typically stray from “Idol-verse” just because if we’re being real, the cultural difference alone sometimes stunts my creativity...BUT I just had a little fun with this one...so I hope you all enjoy it. Also, I don’t go into much physical details but in my mind regardless of race, aesthetic wise the OC is a huge contrast to what he’s use to which is part of her appeal. I picture a tatted Barbie of some sorts...

SIDE NOTE: No shade, but shade, I was lowkey inspired to write this bc I have very strong opinions about the creative team at BH....

*** Let me know if you guys want the full thing or not...I kidna flaked on posting because it is such a cliché lol

SONG- FEVER DUA LIPA FT ANGELE

~~~~~~~

“Well, it’s a yes for me” Eyeing him in this Hot pink-fitted Burliti suit, which you paired with a very sheer black Arnar Mar turtle neck. The minute you saw the piece on the runway you’d been dying to get it on someone with melanated skin, and it just so happens, the boys are fresh off the US leg of their stadium tour! So, lucky for you, baby boy’s been in the sun a lot, and Namjoon’s currently a sinful shade of brown and you're totally here for it…

Then to top it off, the mesh material of the turtle neck creates the perfect silhouette around his offensively toned chest, outlining the muscles sinfully. Eternally snorting at the way the fans are gonna thank and curse you out all at the same damn time once they see the looks you’ve pulled for this man!

And yes, you had your crew bring extended shades of foundation and concealer, because his face and neck will match if your name is going to be attached to these damn photos!

Head tilted to the side as you silently observe the way he rakes over his reflection in the mirror, it’s a sixth sense you’ve acquired as a stylist at this point. Half of your job is essentially being a hype man/self love coach, real shit, a lot of these artist aren't always as...confident as one may think!

And just like clockwork Namjoon runs his palm down his thighs, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles on his pants for the umpteenth time in the span of oh I don’t know 30 seconds? Which in turn prompts you to say….

“You look good Joonie...” Musing over your second glass of Don, the compliment was genuine, tone warm, soothing even, not a hint flirtation insight because that wasn’t your motive. You weren’t trying to get him flustered you’re just trying to gas him up a little, you wanted to see Namjoon get alittle cocky and feel himself!

Ears perking up like an overgrown puppy, head whipping in your direction “Yeah?” The way this man’s eyes just lit up like the soul skyline. I just-goddamn, an almost bashful smile toys on those plush lips of his, and you can’t help the way your chest flutters with nothing but fondness.

“So fuckin cute” Flutters off your lips, as you hide a smile of your own behind a half empty whine glass. The delivery was so faint it almost go lost in the background music floating through the air. However the slight flush hitting his cheeks let you know Namjoon heard you whether he wanted to admit it or not!

”Mmmhmm, the color looks fuckin insane against your skin, not to mention, the way everything's going to pop once we tone your hair a little! “ Eyes drinking him in from head to toe, though there was nothing suggestive playing within your iris. Very much aware of time and place and right now your genuinely looking respectfully! Seeing if any alterations are needed, making sure you like where everything sits along his frame. Making notes in your phone of places you want to pin and adjust later...snapping a couple shots here and there.

Licking his lips anxiously as he plays with the lapels on the blazer “But like-I mean-I- dont’-It doesn’t look like I’m... trying too hard or anything?” Brows furrowed in the center of his face, jaw tight, wincing slightly at his own words, almost as if he was afraid of your response. The vulnerability within his delivery was more than evident, and no matter how common this is with artist, it’s still just as devastating! Regardless of how much he tried to play it off as if he was just making casual conversation, you can see how blatantly uncomfortable he is . Gazing back at you wide eyed, and uncannily exposed, pointing at the outfit in question. Licking his lips anxiously as he plays with the the blazer, switching posses subtlety trying to get a better feel for the suit.

You stayed silent for a minute, taking the time to actually process before speaking which is rare, not gonna lie. Gaze piercing as you hop off the bed, wine, and accessories in hand, swaying closer. “It’s fashion”. The baited pause almost implied that’s all you had to say, as if one-word was self-sufficient, and in your mind it was...but you knew better than to just leave it at that.

“Art at its finest Mr. Kim” You smile something a little devious, and he flushes even deeper as you slowly start to invade his space eyes locked with him meaningfully. You can physically see the shift, the closer you get, Namjoon starts fidgeting slightly under your gaze but he doesn't back down.

“It gives you room to play, create...it’s something that let’s us connect to people without saying a damn thing.” Suddenly the hand that wasn’t holding your alcohol has become a prop, flailing around haphazardly as you spoke, pointing at the various pieces hanging on clothes racks in your suite! The penthouse has essentially been transformed into your own personal walk in closet for the next 5 or so days! “It’s a statement. A opportunity to tap into a side of yourself that maybe you can’t always verbally articulate to the world around you! More importantly, it’s supposed to be fun, it’s literally something that can be removed within seconds! I mean we all have to wear clothes so why not just enjoy it?” Head cocked to the side as you appraise him, brow quirked, eyes warm, yet there's a clear challenge playing within your gaze.

Namjoon’s watching you intently, almost as if he’s taking mental notes as you speak...the heaviness within those dangerously honed eyes of his could almost be unsettling to some, but you quite like it. Made you feel as though he actually gives a flying fuck about what you’re saying.

“In my opinion the only time it looks like someone’s “Trying too hard” Making little air bunnies with your spare hand “Is if they look uncomfortable in what they’re wearing, confidence is key, and I know you know that better than anyone RM!” You muse batting your lashes in Namjoon’s direction, and he dimples back at you, eyes sinking into tiny crescents, face rivaling the color of his suit, trying to hide said smile behind his own glass of champagne.

“I could put you in a damn clown suit...” Words trailing off your tongue lackadaisically as you grow distracted searching the bar for a specific chain from John Hardy. “Which” Focus snapping back in his direction making the later splutter a little “Would be fire as fuck if I did by the way, but-” Namjoon ended up cackling midsentence, almost choking on his drink in the process, fist pounding against his sternum.

Yeah..killing the leader of Bangtan wasn’t really high on your list tonight....

“Ayee, none of that shit...” Smacking him in the back a little more so just to be an ass because he wasn’t even choking anymore “Don’t die on me until we at least get this damn photoshoot done, I had to cancel my trip to Jamaica for this shit!”

Now he’s damn near choking and his laugh was contagious, it’s just.. loud, carefree so yes, your cackling, and there's nothing cute about it. But you honestly don’t care, you let yourself get lost in it! Finally able to feel the atmosphere in the room start to shift to something a little less scripted and a little more organic...

Throwing his hands in the air as If he’s waving a nonexistent white flag “I’m sorry, noona” There’s a pout playing in his lips, not exactly aegyo per say, but it’s fuckin adorable “Blame PD-nim, it’s his fault we had to do this so last minute” Wheezes from his throat, in the form of a slight whine, almost rivaling Jimin if I’m honest.

You already know he was laughing more so due to your delivery, specifically, your casual use of profanity over anything else. This is actually something you use to be self-conscious about, especially at your first shoot with the boys, at the shoot for GQ . Well aware it wasn’t as common in Asia for people especially women to use “fuck” like a comma. So you were hoping they wouldn’t be offended, or uncomfortable by your dialect, and, thankfully they didn’t seem to mind. Much like Joonie over here, they found it entertaining over anything.

“Yeah, a huh, sureee...” Eyes rolling to the back of your head playfully as you start lightly altering the suit in question with clips and pens. “Stay still babe” The pet name slipped off your tongue effortlessly, honestly, that's what you call most people in your life. However you were far too focused to notice how wide eyed and flustered the man before you became upon hearing it directed at him so casually.

A faint little “Sorry” muses off his lips as he gnaws on his inner cheek, trying to stay still as you ghetto-rig hems into place until you can get this under your sewing needle.

“ No, but real shit…” You sigh, taking on a slightly more serious tone “If you step in front of that camera like you own the bitch, regardless of what your wearing..., then they can’t tell you shit! If your comfortable there’s no such thing as trying too hard” You shrug nonchalantly like that was the simplest concept known to man, downing the rest of your drink “Alright, that’s all, thanks for coming to my Ted talk” Waving him off as if you’re about to leave the room and he pouted playfully, jokingly begging you not to leave him yet...it felt good to be able to banter like this. The shift continuous shift within the atmosphere was more than welcomed…

Hesitantly you watch his eyes find their way back to the full length mirror, which promptly smacks you back to reality!

Unfortunately you didn't fly all the way to Seoul just to drink, and shoot shit with Namjoon for hours on end, your actually here to work…

Sooo...

“Alright” Placing your arms on his shoulders, giving him a reassuring squeeze as you peer over his shoulder. Meeting his gaze through the glass, chin resting gently against the blade. “Back to the reason you came Mr. “I’m sooo anxiously” Shooting him a teasing little smirk in the process “The suit, yay or nay”

So, here’s the thing technically the official fitting is tomorrow, and as far as his team knows he’s in the studio with Yoongi and Hoseok finishing up a song!

Which of course raises the question as to why he’s here..alone..mind you..no staff or security in site.

Just Kim Namjoon and yourself.....

~~~~

Heyyyy, Lemme know if you guys want this or not, it will leave kinda open ended because it was supposed to kinda be a 3 part mini series initially. Part 1 ends the morning of the shoot, the full thing is set to be around 6/7k! Spoiler, the company is going to want to keep her around for more than just Namjoon’s solo project....

Also, YES...I did see that they actually put Tae in that Burliti suit (I wrote this long before that shoot was released)...I actually hated the way it was styled it though...I never thought I’d say this but MGK’s team did a better job than BH....

#Namjoon x reader #namjoon smut #namjoon x you #kim namjoon #kim namjoon x reader #kim namjoon smut #bts #bts smut #bts au #kpop #kpop smut #kim namjoon x you

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highfaelucien · 3 years ago

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Babysitting the Heir - An Inner Circle Fic

Repost from 2016 (god I’m old) that I redrafted bc it’s cute and wholesome af. And after all the salt and angst I have provided, I felt it was only fair to bring some fluff to the table.

Title: Babysitting the Heir

Summary: Azriel and Mor babysit Feyre and Rhys’ young son, Nyx, so the two of them can have a little time to themselves. He ends up taking quite a strong liking to Az... Fluff, pure fluff.

Teaser: ‘The moment he slips into Azriel’s arms again he pillows his head calmly against his chest and settles completely, gazing up at him with big, innocent eyes.

Mor grins.’

Notes: No content warnings to speak of. Originally posted in 2016. Rewritten to update with (some) current canon, but also with some of my own additions, like happily queerplatonic Moriel. Because I can. And because this shit is adorable.

AO3: Link

“Be good for Aunt Mor, okay?” Feyre says, dipping forwards to kiss her son's forehead. “Does he understand the concept of ‘good’ yet?” Mor chirps conversationally.

Tilting her body she shifts in place and adjusts Nyx in her arms to allow Rhys to kiss him goodbye as well. “Why don’t you debate that with him this evening over some fine wine, Mor?” Rhys drawls.

The soft smile on his lips is very patently for his son; the words dripping with sarcasm very obviously for his cousin. Irritated by the baby balanced in her arms and her resulting lack of free hands with which to offer her cousin some obscene gesture, she makes do with snapping at him. “Why don’t you take a long walk off a very short balcony. Without wings. You sardonic pri-“ “We,” Feyre interrupts pointedly as Rhys starts smirking in a way that would have forced Mor to hand Nyx back to his mother so she could do something about it, “Are leaving,” she announces.

Grabbing her still obnoxiously smiling mate by his upper arm she begins to firmly drag him away from Mor before serious damage is done to his pretty face.

“Now,” Feyre adds in a slightly threatening growl as Rhys looks more than ready to continue bickering. “Thank you for this, Mor!” Feyre calls over her shoulder as she frog-marches Rhys to the door at the other end of the corridor.

“And you Az,” she adds with a smile and a wave, both hello and goodbye, tossed in the shadowsinger’s direction as he drifts serenely down the stairs to see what all the fuss is about in the hall. Mor lifts Nyx’s little hand with her first two fingers and has him wave goodbye to her parents while Az presses quiet kiss to her temple. His eyes fix on the baby in her arms with an air that suggests he’s seriously considering the possibility he might suddenly explode at any moment. “I’m going to the roof to train for a little while,” he murmurs quietly into her hair, his voice smooth and cool as ever. She nods, softly kissing the top of Nyx’s head, “We’ll be fine,” she says, shooing her partner upstairs, suppressing her eye roll with difficulty as she does so. “I’ll give you a shout if we need anything.”

Az nods his agreement then retreats silently back the way he had come leaving Mor to take Nyx into the living room alone. It’s not surprising. He does this every time they babysit for anyone. She knows that he’s more uncomfortable than the rest of them around any of the children, even if he secretly dotes on them, and she’s never pushed him into keeping her company unless she’s overwhelmed on her own. Which doesn’t happen often; usually only when Elain and Lucien’s twins are staying with them. Two years older than Nyx and already holy terrors in their own right. She chuckles to herself at the thought. She and Nyx have a nice afternoon that involves nothing more strenuous for Mor than setting him on her knee, holding his hands and bouncing him up and down until he giggles.

“Your parents are going to have so much fun when you start flying,” she teases as his small wings furl and unfurl excitedly. After an hour or so a servant interrupts politely to ask Mor if she could deal with something that’s arisen from some Court of Nightmares emissaries staying with them.

Nodding, Mor apologises to Nyx before gently popping him into the cot in front of the large floor to ceiling windows. Then she turns and hollers up the stairs for Azriel. He appears in moments and she stands on her toes to press a soft kiss to his cheek and give him her most winning smile, which immediately makes him look nervous. As it should.

“Would you keep an eye on Nyx for me?” she asks him, nuzzling affectionately against his taut chest. “I have to deal with the idiots from the Court of Nightmares. It shouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes or so.” Azriel frowns at this.

Mor sighs. “He’s a baby not a bogge, Az,” she reminds him, thinking that he’d probably rather tackle the latter on his own. She keeps that to herself however, looking beseechingly up at him. “Are you sure?” he deadpans, looking down at her, hazel eyes glittering. Mor beams and presses a hasty kiss to his lips that catches more cheek than mouth in her hurry as she darts for the door. “I won’t be long, thanks!” she’s calling over her shoulder at him, without him ever having quite agreed to this plan of hers. Then she winnows from the house and Az sighs; though he’s unable to entirely banish the small, affectionate smile that tugs at the corner of his lips in response to her. Padding into the room he gathers up the toys strewn around the room from earlier, wondering both how they ended up with so many and also how Mor had managed to scatter them so widely around the room in such a short space of time. He shakes his head slightly as he fishes one out from underneath the breakfast table, eyes twinkling at the whirlwind that is his Morrigan as he does so. He’s just setting everything back into the box in the corner when Nyx starts crying. Wincing at the sound he pads tentatively towards his cot, his wails increasing in volume with every moment.

Crouching down he gently rubs his tummy with his hand to soothe him. Trying not to cringe at the sight of the twisted, burned flesh touching the young child. Gentle hushing has no effect on him whatsoever and when his cries could more accurately be described as howling Azriel finally decides there’s nothing else for it.

Standing he tentatively reaches down into the crib and scoops him up into his arms. He’s held him before, naturally – neither Mor nor Feyre gave him any choice in the matter when he was born and continued to coax him into it afterwards – but it still feels...wrong somehow. His rough, scarred hands, hard with the calluses from his training are stained with more blood than he cares to remember. They were shaped to hold blades and handle the violent killing power that burns in his blue siphons, not children. He’s never been entirely comfortable with something so small and precious and fragile entrusted to his battered arms. Morrigan was one thing, but the little one... Slowly, he starts bouncing Nyx in his arms, the way Mor does to get him to quiet down. This plus the fact that he’s holding the child close to him seems to help.

He still sniffles faintly but he’s stopped screaming as though he’s trying to bring the place down at least. After a few minutes of gentle rocking and soothing murmuring he settles against his broad chest. “You were just being dramatic because you wanted some attention, weren’t you, little one?” Azriel muses quietly to him.

Mor, he’s noted, seems to talk away to him. all the time. Regardless of whether he understands, it's something he appears to like, so Azriel continues.

“That’s your father’s fault,” he informs him placidly. A broad smile spreads across his face as though he’s understood what he’s said and Az can’t help his own smile at the sight of it.

Nyx bats happily at his cheek, searching and grabbing at every bit of him he can reach from his arms.

Then the little fingers start to grab at his wings and he tenses, blinking down at him. “No, no,” he says in alarm as one small hand grips tightly onto the hooked, pointed talon at the crest of his wing and the other just grabs at whatever other part of it he can reach. “That’s not- No! Nyx, please-“ he tries hopelessly.

Prising his surprisingly strong grip off of him gently while still keeping one arm locked tightly around him proves to be near impossible.

He wonders vaguely if all children his age have such stubborn, iron grips or if this is a trait he can thank his mother for.

“Nyx-“ he pleads hopelessly as his small, nails dig into a sensitive spot of the membrane of his wing. A low, throaty chuckle interrupts his helpless floundering and he looks up to see Mor leaning artfully against one of the broad wooden pillars in the room. He’s rarely seen her looking so amused. “He’s one, Az,” she smirks at him, seeming to find his current predicament immensely amusing. “You can’t reason with him.” “Would you please-“ He gestures mutely for her to take Nyx back and somehow have him release his hold on him. Still laughing, her warm eyes dancing with merriment, Mor steps forwards at last and obliges him.

She scoops Nyx smoothly into her arms, detaching him from Azriel’s wing with ease.

Azriel shakes out his wings with relief and tucks them very firmly against his back. More so than he usually would. Something that's not missed by Mor, who gives him a wicked grin that has him groaning.

"Poor baby," she croons, voice playful and teasing.

Az gives her a half-hearted scowl in answer, starting to tidy the room again.

Mor's voice returns to normal as she kisses Nyx’s head and chuckles, “Wait ‘til we tell Uncle Cassian that all he has to do to bring the fearsome shadowsinger to his knees is not let go of his wing.”

Az shoots her a playful growl at the remark and Mor laughs again. Nyx, who had taken fairly well to being handed from one to the other of them like a solstice gift, had merely reached behind Mor to find something else to occupy himself.

While being obviously displeased by her lack of wings, he soon seems to decide that grabbing fistfuls of Mor’s beautiful golden hair will do just as well.

As Mor begins to carry him away from Azriel, however, he starts fussing again, his large, striking violet eyes fixed firmly on the retreating form of Az. Arching an eyebrow Mor wanders experimentally back to him and Nyx immediately reaches out for Az again, little fists grabbing the air insistently.

He blinks in surprise as he continues to squirm and fuss in Mor’s arms until she hands him over and coaxes him to take him again.

The moment she slips into Azriel’s arms again he pillows his head calmly against his chest and settles completely, gazing up at him with big, innocent eyes. Mor grins. “No,” he protests feebly, looking from one to the other of them and knowing he’s beaten long before he gets out, “No, Mor, I don’t want-“ She pats his shoulder consolingly, ruining the effect by laughing through it. “You can’t say no to your future High Lord, Az,” she trills, grinning broadly at him as Az blinks down at the baby nestled peacefully in his arms. “Mor, I,” he stumbles, looking down at her again, fear gripping him as he says, “What if I drop him? What if I hurt him?” He’s being as gentle and as careful with him as he can but... “You won’t,” Mor says, the laughter instantly easing from her voice as it drops, becoming even and soothing. “Come on,” she says, tenderly hooking her fingers between his forearm and Nyx’s soft, warm body and leading him over towards the comfortable couches by the fire. Patiently, Mor shows him different ways of holding Nyx to help him become more comfortable with the babe and stop him worrying about dropping or hurting him somehow.

To his credit, the little one is incredibly patient with being pushed and pulled into various different positions and doesn’t seem to mind as long as Azriel is doing most of the holding.

He snorts when Mor mentions he’s lucky he decided to discover this new side to himself with the very placid Nyx rather than the twins. Neither would have been nearly as accommodating of all this poking and prodding. When Nyx finally does seem to tire of training Azriel in how to deal with him and starts to become fussy again, Mor heads to the kitchen and brings back a bottle for him to feed him.

She watches the two of them fondly as Nyx sucks contentedly at the warm milk, his big violet eyes blinking serenely up at them both.

Az smiles down at her the whole while, his scarred hands cradling him gently. When he looks up and catches the faint gleam in Mor’s eye he carefully slides an arm around her shoulders and gathers her in against him. With a faint, contented hum he presses a soft kiss to the top of her head. Nyx successfully keeps Az in thrall all night. Each time he tries to leave him for more than a few minutes he makes his displeasure about his departure known to most of Velaris. “

You’re a devious little one,” he murmurs softly to him, after the third or fourth instance of this, tickling his tummy as Mor did, and watching him giggle happily in his lap. “That’s Rhys’s fault too.” Mor smirks. “What else was Rhys’s fault?” she enquires playfully, arching a golden eyebrow and plastering a wicked grin across her lips. Azriel smiles faintly.

“His flare for drama and need for constant attention,” he responds simply. Mor tips back her head and howls with laughter at that, so loudly that Nyx blinks at her and nuzzles in against his chest, alarmed by this outburst. Azriel gives her a gentle nudge to coax her to stop for the babe’s sake and she desists. “Well he’s clearly fond of you.” Mor observes, looking down at the small, placid bundle in his arms. “That level of sense can only come from his mother.” Az chuckles at that and the shadows that flit around him gather around his chest at the sound. “Do that again,” Mor says suddenly, her head tilted slightly to the side as she peers down at Nyx. “What?” Az asks, confused, not aware that he’d been doing anything more than absently rocking Nyx back and forth in his arms, something that seemed to soothe him “With the shadows,” Mor says and he tightens at the mention but she shakes her head, “Make them gather around your chest again,” she instructs and he obliges her uncertainly. At once, one of Nyx’s little hands shoots out, trying to grab them. Blinking in pleasant surprise, Az coaxes the shadows a little closer. He had deliberately kept them light, something that was never hard with Mor around, and away from Nyx in case he scared him. But he seems oddly transfixed by them. Again he reaches out, trying to grab at them, his little fists closing over air. Azriel starts to make them dart around him in little bursts and he keeps swiping for them, like a cat chasing a mouse, until he’s giggling wildly and Mor is laughing beside him at the sight.

Cautiously, Azriel reaches down and brushes Nyx’s soft pale skin with his shadows. His eyes go wide and his whole body stills. He repeats the gesture and he begins to laugh again as he tickles her with them.

Mor beams with delight, the unreserved joy on her face more intoxicating to him than a bottle of faerie wine at the Solstice. As the evening begins to draw to a close, both Mor and Nyx fall asleep on top of Azriel. Nyx sprawls flat against his chest. Meanwhile Mor presses in against his side, her head tucked into the crook of his neck, her legs curled up under her as she presses in against him.

Azriel smiles quietly at the sight of both of them, one hand underneath Nyx to keep him supported, the other trailing absently through Morrigan’s golden curls, absently stroking them and soothing her in her sleep. That’s the position that Feyre and Rhys find them in when they knock on the door and Azriel calls for them to come in several hours later.

Feyre smiles at the sight of them and hurries over to Azriel. She leans down and trails her fingers through Nyx’s soft, downy black hair. Mor stirs at the arrival of Feyre and Rhys and stretches away from Azriel like a cat, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and smiling dozily around at the scene. Azriel gets carefully to his feet and very gently hands Nyx to Rhys who soothes him almost instantly with a few quiet words when he wakes in response to all of the movement around him.

“That’s typical of Aunt Morrigan, isn’t it?” Rhys murmurs to Nyx, grinning at Mor over his son’s head. “Falling asleep and leaving poor Uncle Az to do all the work and cover for her.” Mor looses a rough growl at him and Az hastily snakes a hand around her waist, tugging her gently to his side and pressing a calming kiss to the top of her head while she glowers good naturedly at her smirking cousin.

“Well if that’s how you feel, cousin,” she says loftily, all anger suddenly smoothed away by a thought, which should only ever be read as concerning, “You won’t need to ask me to babysit when you want a date night again. You can just ask Az to do it all by himself, since he’s done ‘all the work’.”

Az felt himself pale at that, in spite of himself. Something his brother must note, because he quickly cuffs Mor on the back and says, “I don’t know what I’d ever do without you, cousin.”

“That’s what I thought,” Mor mutters under her breath, and Az gives her another small squeeze and a smile. “Was everything all right?” Feyre asks, looking between them, fondly stroking Nyx’s cheek as she moves to stand beside Rhys. “Everything was fine,” Azriel says smoothy, giving her a soft smile that instantly seems to reassure her. “Thank you again for having him,” she says, leaning forwards and embracing Mor then kissing Az’s cheek. They both assure them it was no problem and they’d be happy to do it again. Once Feyre and Rhys have left the two of them tidy up then flop down onto the couch. Mor immediately settles herself in Azriel’s lap, sprawling across him as though he’s a cushion. Az waits patiently for her to make herself comfortable and then settle down against him. Her smaller, more delicate form melts easily against his as she drapes her arms lazily around his chest. “So,” she says, a clear smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth, “You’ll be happy to help me the next time we babysit for Feyre and Rhys?” He smiles faintly “Feyre and Rhys?” He says, arching an eyebrow and lightly tapping her nose, “Yes,” he agrees, “Not Elain and Lucien.” He clarifies with a shudder at the thought of facing the twins alone. Mor laughs again and burrows affectionately in against him. “It’s okay,” she promises him, arching up to press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose, “We’ll tackle the two of them together.”

Azriel just wraps his arms around her, lightly kissing the top of her head and humming contentedly, closing his eyes. He’s asleep with his arms around her in minutes.

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beecherdrysdale · 4 years ago

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Project Partners - Brendan Brisson

Hey guys, so here’s a fic I started like a month ago and then kind of forgot about. Please send feedback bc I’m trying to improve my writing skills! Also, covid doesn’t exist in this.

warnings: language, underage drinking, that’s all i think?

///

“Y/L/N and Brisson.” You groan as you hear your professor name your partner for the term-long project. Of course you know who Brendan Brisson is. You had grown up as a huge hockey fan, so of course you had been watching the draft when he got drafted by the Golden Knights, and of course you had seen him playing for Team USA at World Juniors. From what you could tell of him, he seemed like the kind of guy who would make you do all the work and use hockey as an excuse as to why he couldn’t help. That’s too bad for him though, because he’s not the only varsity athlete, and swimming takes up just as much time, if not more, than hockey. Your professor continues to drone on about the project requirements as you contemplate why you even decided to take this course in the first place.

Finally, class ends, and you see Brendan walking toward you. “Hey, you’re Y/N, right? I’m Brendan,” he introduces himself.

“Yeah, I’m Y/N. Guess I’m stuck with you for the rest of the semester, huh.”

“Yeah, so I just wanted to let you know I have hock-” he started.

“Save it, Brisson,” you cut him off, “you’re not the only athlete here, OK?”

“Wow, someone really woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

“Sorry,” you sigh, “I’m just really tired of having to do all the work in group projects. I did it enough in high school, and I’m just so done with everyone’s excuses y’know?”

“Well, what I was trying to say is that I have hockey a lot so we should coordinate our schedules to work around it.” He pauses a second, then adds, “And whatever sport you play.”

“Swimming,” you supply.

“What?” He looks confused.

“Swimming is the sport I do,” you clarify. “Anyways, does the library at 8 on Tuesdays and Thursdays work for you? Besides when you have games or I have meets obviously.”

“Yeah that works.”

“Ok, see you tomorrow then,” you reply, turning to leave.

“Wait!” he stops you. “Can I get your number or snap or something in case I need to talk to you?”

“Yeah, sure,” you reply, quickly typing them into his phone.

“Thanks! See you tomorrow at 8,” he says before jogging to catch up to his friends.

///

The next day when you get to the library, the first thing you hear is, “You’re late. Where were you?”

“Sorry we got out of practice late and then I had to shower cuz chlorine and then I couldn’t find my hat and I didn’t want to go outside without it cuz my hair would freeze...” you begin to ramble.

“Hey, calm down, I was joking. You’re literally only like 2 minutes late.”

“Ok but I lowkey still feel bad.”

“Seriously, it’s fine,” he says, “Come on, let’s choose our topic.”

“Ok,” you respond, “so I don’t know if you have any ideas but I was thinking maybe we could do the effect of hockey on the Cold War? Cuz like you play hockey and I watch it all the time. Plus, I did a research paper on it in high school, so we could pull info from that and it shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” he says, seeming distracted. “Hey, why didn’t you tell me you’re a big hockey fan?”

“Ummm, cuz you never asked? You’ve literally only spoken like 3 words to me before yesterday so I don’t know why I would tell you.”

“Ok, I guess that’s true,” he responds. He then proceeds to quiz you about hockey, seemingly trying to make sure you’re an actual fan and not just trying to use hockey to get to him like some other girls he knows. You seem to pass his test, because it’s not long before the two of you are messing around, making fun of each other’s taste in hockey teams. Two hours later, the two of you have gotten to know each other a lot better, but you haven’t even started your project.

“Shit,” you say, checking the time on your phone, “I gotta go. I still have to help my friend with her math and I have morning practice tomorrow.

“Ok, I’ll see you tomorrow in class,” he says. “And Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t be late.”

“Omg shut up. You’re not funny,” you say playfully, as he laughs his ass off.

“You know I am,” he shoots back.

“Sure, Brisson, whatever you say. I’ll see you tomorrow,” you say as you leave.

///

After a few more library sessions, the animosity between you and Brendan which, you admit, was your fault had completely dissipated. The two of you quickly learn you actually have a lot in common, like your love of sports and your music taste, and despite his fratboy vibes you quickly grow to trust him. That’s why you don’t hesitate to say yes when he asks if you can meet at the hockey house to work on your project instead of in the library.

When you arrive at the house, you are greeted by the sound of the entire hockey team arguing over whose turn it is to make dinner. “I have to work on my project though,” you can faintly hear Brendan.

“It’s OK Brisson, sounds like you have more important things to do. We’re somehow ahead of schedule anyway,” you say, entering the kitchen.

“Seriously Y/L/N?” he groans. “You were supposed to be on my side.”

“Sorry,” you say, shrugging.

Your apology is interrupted by Cam, “Hey Brisson, who’s this? Wanna introduce us to your new girlfriend?”

“Funny,” you say. “We’re just friends. We got assigned to work on this project together. Isn’t he wheeling like 3-4 girls a weekend anyways?”

“Hey,” Brendan protests. “You make it sound like a bad thing. I only do what they want.”

“Beside the point Brisson,” Johnny jumps in. “Just introduce us to your new friend.

“Fine,” he groans. “Guys, this is Y/N. Y/N, these are the guys. Now,” he says, grabbing your arm and dragging you toward the stairs, trying to make his escape, “let’s go work on our project.”

“Not so fast, Brisson,” Nolan cuts in. “You’re making dinner. Y/N said it’s fine.”

Brendan sighs in response.

“C’mon,” you say. “I’ll help you. I promise it’s not that hard.”

Brendan begrudgingly follows you back to the kitchen as the rest of the guys scatter. You begin to pull the ingredients to make tacos, which thankfully they have, out of the fridge. “Here,” you say, tossing Brendan a tomato. “Can you dice this?”

The two of you work in silence for a few minutes before you decide to turn some music on. As you turn to reach for your phone, you glance over to see Brendan’s pile of tomatoes. “Seriously, Brisson?” you ask, staring at the haphazard pile in dismay. “Have you ever cut a tomato before? I had better cutting skills than that in preschool.” You hear a few guys snicker from the other room at that. After showing him how to cut it properly and turning on your Spotify, you continue to work, chirping Brendan occasionally. Once you and Brendan finish making dinner, you call the rest of the guys back into the kitchen to come eat.

As the guys eat, they drill you with questions, trying to find out as much as they can about Brendan’s “project partner.” You answer all their questions, and by the end of dinner you fit in seamlessly with the boys, even joining in their good-natured chirping of one another. Eventually, you have to leave, but the boys are quick to let you know you’re always welcome back whether it’s for your food or your company, you don’t know before you go.

///

As soon as you leave, all eyes are on Brendan. “So Briss, you wanna tell us about your new girlfriend?” Nolan asks.

“She said it herself, we’re just friends. We’re working on a project together,” Brendan is quick to reply.

“Sure...” Cam counters. “Friends don’t look at friends like that Brisson.”

“Like what?” Brendan asks.

“Like she hung the stars in the sky or some shit like that,” Johnny responds. “Look Briss, just go for it. It’s not like she’s gonna say no, she literally looks at you the same way.”

“But she would say no,” Brendan protests. “She’s the one who said we’re just friends first so obviously she doesn’t like me like that. Why should I go for someone who’s gonna reject me when I an go to a party and pick up whatever girl I want, like she said?”

“Because you can’t get whatever girl you want, Brisson. She’s the one you want. We can all see it,” Johnny replies.

“Ok you know what, fuck off. Leave me alone. The two of us are just friends,” Brendan reaches his breaking point. At that, the guys let it drop, Brendan’s outburst giving them all the proof they need.

///

Meanwhile, you are back in your dorm chastising yourself. Why did you have to say you and Brendan are just friends? You know any chance you had of him liking you back is now gone, because he thinks you only think of him as a friend. You debate what to do, even going so far as to pick up your phone and tap on his contact, before changing your mind and getting ready for bed. Guys like him don’t go for girls like you anyway or so you think. You’re sure he wants one of those perfect girlfriends who are always put together and dress cute, not some athlete who always walks around in sweats, and the last thing you want to do is fuck up your friendship by confessing. You ignore the feeling of jealousy that rises in your chest when you think of Brendan with another girl and force yourself to go to sleep.

///

It’s not even two days before you get a snap from Nolan asking if you want to go to a party with all of the guys. You agree immediately because you don’t have morning practice tomorrow and your plans with friends got cancelled and you’ve secretly been looking for an excuse to see Brendan outside of working on your project.

That night, you try to dress extra cute, even going so far as to ask your roommate to help you choose your outfit as she seems to have no problems picking up guys. You finally settle on an outfit and hurry out the door, wanting to make sure you get to the party on time so you can meet the guys outside and not have to walk in alone. As you walk out the door, you hear your roommate call, “Have fun! Be safe! Use a condom!” You flip her off as the door closes.

When you get to the party, you see the guys outside waiting for you. “Hey Y/N,” you hear a couple guys say.

“Heyyy,” you reply, as you guys start heading toward the house. Brendan lags behind the group, eyes trailing down your body. As much as he loved the fact that you wore what you wanted read: sweats and didn’t try to be a Barbie doll, he had to admit seeing you like this was hot. He hurries to reach the rest of the group, deciding you were standing just a little too close to Cam for his liking. He may not be able to be with you, but he sure as hell wasn’t gonna watch you date one of his teammates. He catches up and wraps an arm around your shoulders.

“Hey Brisson,” you greet. “What’s up? You learned how to cut a tomato yet?”

“Haha, very funny Y/L/N,” he responds.

“Oh come on, you know it was,” you protest.

As soon as you guys enter the house Johnny says, “I’m going to get a drink. Anyone want one?”

“Yeah, can you get me a Natty?” you’re quick to respond. “But please make sure it’s closed.”

A couple other guys request drinks, and Johnny goes to get them while the rest of you head further inside. You stay with the guys pretty much the whole night, not wanting to get separated because you know what happens to girls who are at parties alone.

At some point in the night you guys end up near the beer pong table, and when it’s Brendan’s turn he makes you be his partner not that you’re complaining and drags you over to the table. The two of you quickly get on a winning streak and you end up winning the tournament you got pulled into. At this point you’re pretty drunk, so you don’t hesitate to go along with it when Brendan hugs you, the two of you stumbling a little bit. Both of you are reluctant to let go, reveling in the feeling of each other, as each of you thinks the other doesn’t like you back so you’ll never get to experience the feeling again.

You and the guys stay at the party a little longer before they realize how drunk you are because you had had more beers than any of them and decide its time to leave. All the guys come with you back to your dorm in order to make sure you get back safe, a gesture both you and your roommate thank them for before they leave.

///

It’s a couple weeks later and you’re hanging out with the guys, as has become usual for you, when Johnny ask, “Hey Y/L/N, how come you never come to any of our games? I thought Brisson said you’re a big hockey fan.”

“Yeah, I am,” you reply, “I just usually have swim when you guys have games. Plus you guys never invite me so...”

“Well we kinda assumed you already knew you were invited,” Nolan says. “You’re always welcome at our games, and if you tell us you’re coming we can probably get you good seats.”

“OK, well we actually don’t have swim practice on Friday for some reason, so I can probably come,” you say. “I’ll try to drag my roommate to come with too.”

The boys groan, “Really, Y/N? You want us to get two tickets? Do you know how much work that is?” before quickly revealing that they’re joking and telling you that of course they’ll get you two tickets.

///

True to the boys’ word, when Johnny sits next to you in your class together on Friday, he hands you an envelope with two tickets. “What are you wearing to the game tonight?” he asks with a plan up his sleeve.

“I don’t know,” you respond. “Probably my Michigan swimming hoodie.”

“You wear that everywhere though,” he protests.

“Yeah, so?” you fire back. “It’s a Michigan hoodie. School spirit.”

“Or you could wear this,” he says pulling something out of his backpack. He unfolds it to reveal that it’s one of Brendan’s hockey hoodies.

“Doesn’t he need that for the game tonight?” you ask.

“No, he has two,” Johnny replies. “Now stop trying to get out of wearing it. You have to wear something hockey related to support us.”

“Ugh fine,” you give in, knowing Johnny will be persistent.

///

That evening, you arrive at the arena with your roommate, begrudgingly wearing the hoodie with “Brisson” boldly stamped across your back. You are not enjoying yourself, because knowing what it feels like to wear Brendan’s sweatshirt and smell his cologne makes you all the more aware that this will never be your reality. Nevertheless, you force a smile on your face as you and your roommate sit down to watch warmups. You can feel the energy in the arena even now, before the game begins, as UMich is playing rival school Ohio State.

Once warmups are over you and your roommate go to use the bathroom and get snacks. The line for the bathroom is so long you don’t think you’ll make it back to your seats before the game starts, but thankfully you get to them just a second before puck drop. The game gets off to a rough start, with Ohio State scoring twice early, but by the end of the first the guys have picked up their pace, and you hope that they’ll be able to tie it up in the second.

After intermission, the boys come out guns blazing. Brendan scores just 30 seconds in to the period off an offensive zone face-off win. As he cellies, he makes eye contact with you up in the stands. “He is so into you!” your roommate squeals when she notices.

“No he’s not, shut up,” you reply, turning your focus back to the game. The guys stay on the forecheck pretty much the whole period, and it finally pays off when Johnny scores with 5 minutes left to play in the second. When the period ends and the guys head back to the locker room, the game is tied 2-2.

The third period begins with an Ohio State faceoff win, and they quickly get off a shot attempt. Thankfully, the shot goes wide and play continues. The teams go back and forth all period getting good scoring chances, but neither team is able to capitalize. It looks like the game is going to go to overtime, but then Brendan scores again with just 43 seconds remaining. Once again, he makes eye contact with you and smiles as he cellies, and once again your roommate freaks out and says that he definitely likes you. You make her shut up and start to grab your stuff as the final seconds wind down.

“Woah, slow down. Where are we going?” she asks.

“The guys told me to meet them outside the locker rooms,” you say, beginning to lead the way.

///

When you get to the hallway outside the locker room, you lean up against the wall and start scrolling through Insta as you wait for the guys to come out. Eventually the guys slowly begin trickling out of the locker room and heading over to their various girlfriends gathered in the hallway as all the single guys congregate around you, but you ignore them so you don’t get dragged into one of their arguments.

Finally, you see Brendan come out of the locker room so you put your phone away and push your body away from the wall. He starts to make a beeline toward you and does a double take when he realizes you’re wearing one of his sweatshirts. The guys had been bugging him for weeks to ask you out and he had been thinking of maybe doing it tonight, but seeing you in his sweatshirt has finally given him the confidence to make a move. As he reaches you, you say, “Hey Briss.”

“Hey,” he replies, and then his lips are on yours, and you don’t know where this is coming from but you’ve been wanting it for a while now so of course you kiss back, and it just feels so right you don’t ever want to stop. When you finally break apart, all the guys are cheering and whistling and you hear a couple guys mutter “finally”.

As the guys quiet down, you ask Brendan, “What was that for?”

“Shit, sorry, I shouldn’t have done it,” he panics, thinking you were mad, even though you kissed back so you obviously weren’t.

“No, I liked it,” comes your reply. “It just kinda came out of nowhere.”

“Oh,” he calms down. “Well I’ve been wanting to ask you out for a while now, but I was kinda nervous so I kept putting it off. But then you looked really hot in my hoodie, so I just went for it.”

“Yes,” you say.

“Yes, what?” he asks, looking confused.

“You said you wanted to ask me out. I said yes,” you explain.

“Ok, so do you want to go get Chipotle or something tomorrow then?” he asks.

“Yeah, of course,” you reply. “But for now let’s go out and celebrate with the other guys.” He wraps his arm around your shoulders as the two of you walk with the team, and you are finally content.

#brendan brisson #umich #brendan brisson fic #brendan brisson imagine #brendan brisson x reader

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too-gay-for-marvel · 5 years ago

Text

a night to forget

a/n: this is a request that i was a piece of shit about because i couldnt stop coming up with new ideas for it and i am so sorry. it was gonna be a blurb and i was gonna crank it out but then it just kept getting longer and longer and like,,,,,,,,, now you get this tho right?

Request: Hey! Carol and Reader are best friends and both have feelings for each other but don’t know the other likes them back. and reader gets drunk and goes ‘you know, when I first saw u, I thought u reminded me of sunshine, bc ur hair’s golden and ur eyes are this gorgeous honey brown that shines in the sunlight and ur smile was the brightest thing I’d ever seen’ and carol gets really flustered and the next morning reader wakes up with a hangover and they confess their feelings? Thank you!

Word Count: 2615

Warnings: drinking

Pairing: Carol x Reader

Drunk you needed a filter. You needed a filter very badly.

Was this new information to you? Absolutely not. You had been drinking for far too many years and you knew how you got. Some times weren’t as bad as others, but you still knew. Did that mean you had learned to change your ways?

Oh hell no.

If you were smart - which you weren’t - you would have declined the invitation to celebrate. It wasn’t some huge event; no one was in the mood to deal with that many people. Only a small group would be there and none of you wanted to even talk to each other quite that much. There were too many things that none of you wanted to talk about.

But you had to do something to celebrate bringing everyone back, right?

So you all had agreed to relax in Stark Tower, and it was probably the most mundane thing you had all done in… well, a long time. You had all downed a shot for Tony, who was still recovering in medical. Another shot for Nat, who had refused to come and instead went with Wanda to Barton’s farm. A few more shots for some other people that probably didn’t deserve it, but who were you to question it.

And then that was it.

Everyone separated and went into their own little groups to forget about everything on their own terms. The super soldiers had gone to sit on the couch in silence. Rhodey and Sam were playing Thor and Valkyrie at pool and were wiping the floor with the Asgardians. Everyone else was just scattered around, no one really celebrating but just trying to pretend nothing had happened.

Which was exactly what you were trying to do as you sat at the bar.

You were no super soldier or Russian spy, but you knew how to throw it back. Should you? Of course not, but this was a party. What was the point of a party if you couldn’t get blackout drunk? The whole point of this was to forget the past five years, and that was exactly what you were going to do.

Your methods of getting drunk weren’t exactly… healthy. Every time you would see Carol flirting with Valkyrie, you would take a drink of your beer. If you heard Carol’s smooth-talk over the light music, you would down a shot. Was it smart? Definitely not. Was it efficient?

Abso-fucking-lutely.

You were about to take another drink when you heard Carol’s laugh, and you could only let out a sigh and drop your head to the bar. You wanted to be mad at her for flirting and laughing and having fun with someone that wasn’t you. Whether it was Valkyrie or Thor or Nat, it didn’t matter, you wanted to be mad.

But you couldn’t be mad because she didn’t know how it made you feel. She didn’t know that you could feel your stomach doing somersaults every time she smiled at you. She didn’t know your blood rushed deafeningly loud in your ears whenever she walked into the room. She never noticed the blush on your neck when she would hug you or grab your hand to drag you around.

If she didn’t know, then you couldn’t be mad, and your faux anger was replaced with yearning.

So the next time Carol called Valkyrie “baby,” you downed three shots. After all, the whole point of this party was to forget.

-----

Carol had noticed you at the bar. She had noticed the way had taken far too many shots. She had noticed the furrow of your brows. She had noticed the slump of your shoulders and the way you had defensively wrapped your arms around yourself.

It was clear that you weren’t okay; you two had been best friends for years, Carol knew when something was up. She told the group good night before making her way to you. As soon as she was close enough, she put her hand on your shoulder and almost instantly felt you relax underneath her.

“Hey,” you said softly, so softly that Carol felt her heart swell.

“Having a good time?” Carol asked with a gentle chuckle.

“I am now,” you answered as you turned your head to give her that dopey smile that she loved so much.

But she noticed the way your cheeks flushed and your pupils were dilated. You had had way too much to drink at this point, and she knew it. Why? She didn’t know, but she wasn’t going to question it because everyone else had been trying to blackout too.

“I think it’s time for bed,” Carol gently urged and in a surprise twist, you nodded in agreement.

She picked you up effortlessly, not even bothering to try to help you walk; she knew you couldn’t. No one really seemed to notice you two leave. Or maybe they just didn’t really care, too wrapped up in their own emotions to concern themselves with anyone else. Even though Carol wouldn’t say it out loud, she understood.

It didn’t take long to get you back to your room, but when she had laid you down on the bed she was faced with yet another task; getting you changed for bed. If she had realised that would be part of this problem, she would have had someone else take you home. But now you were giggling on your bed and she couldn’t back out now.

“Don’t get up,” Carol mock-demanded, pointing a finger in your direction to add to her point.

“Yes, captain,” you said seriously with a mock salute that soon dissolved into giggles.

Carol rolled her eyes and tried to hide her smile by turning around and getting you something comfy to wear. Getting something for you was second nature; you two weren’t best friends for nothing. But when she got back to you, your favourite pair of pyjamas in hand, she realised she would have to physically help you get changed.

Oh boy.

“Arms up,” Carol ordered, but she didn’t wait for you to help before she tried — and, quite frankly, failed — at getting your shirt off.

“Buy me dinner first,” you shot back. Well, you tried to. You ended up giggling again halfway through.

“Can you behave?” She teased.

“I can if you can.”

“Y/N-”

“-Wanna hear a secret?” You interrupted as you fell back onto the bed. Thankfully your new position made it easier for Carol to help you into your pyjama pants.

“What — hold still — what secret?”

“It’s about — that tickles! — about how I feel.”

“About what?”

“You.”

“Me?” Carol asked, her attention no longer on your legs and instead on what you were going to say. You weren’t looking at her, but at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes and a smile.

“When we met, you reminded me of sunshine,” you said softly, still looking at the ceiling.

“Why?” Carol asked just as softly. Her heart was beating so loudly that she was worried she wouldn’t hear what else you would have to say.

“Because,” you sighed, “your hair is golden.”

Carol crawled onto the bed and sat down beside you so she could see your face. Your eyes were still slightly unfocused but she could see them shine.

“And your eyes are a- a gorgeous honey brown that shines in the sunlight.”

The smile on your face grew a little bigger.

“And your smile was the- the- the brightest thing I’d ever seen.”

She waited for you to continue with bated breath, but you stayed silent. No, you just laid there with your eyes fully closed and a smile on your lips. It was only a few moments longer that Carol realised you had fallen asleep.

With your admiration for her on your lips.

Carol’s heart continued to beat so hard that she thought it would fly out of her chest. But she did her best to ignore it and finished putting you to bed. Only when you were settled did she rush out of your room and head to the gym. It was far too late, but she didn’t know what to do.

Her best friend had just said the sweetest words Carol thought she had ever heard.

And you wouldn’t even remember it in the morning.

-----

You were never going to drink again.

It was something you had told yourself over and over after every night of partying, but this time you meant it. As soon as you had come back to the land of the conscious, you felt like dying. A blinding headache, enough nausea to make you think you were sea sick, and you knew it would be a bad day.

You had no idea who had left the bottle of water on your nightstand, but you didn’t care. As soon as you grabbed the bottle you downed it, not even bothering to stop and breathe. It wasn’t going to get rid of the awful feeling, but it would help. Or so everyone said.

As much as you wanted to immediately go back to bed, you knew you still had to go to training. No one would have blamed you for not going because what threat could be worse than Thanos? But you had promised Carol you would train with her, and you were never one to break promises.

Well. Not to Carol.

With your whole body and mind protesting, you threw on your dirty gym clothes (which you really needed to wash) and trudged to the gym. Making your way through Stark Tower was like a blast to the past, but you weren’t sure if it was a good thing or not. Either way, the trek was instinctual and you made it down to the gym in time to see Carol already training.

“Early start?” You called out, making Carol react by shooting a photon blast. A squeak flew out of your mouth as you dropped to the floor only a moment before the blast had hit you.

“Shit,” Carol cried before she ran over to help you up. “Are you okay?”

“Peachy,” you groaned as you straightened back up. “You’re awful jumpy this morning.”

“Long night,” she sighed, and you noticed she let go of you almost as quickly as she had helped you. And just like that, you knew something was wrong.

“You alright?” You called out as you followed Carol to the weights.

“Peachy,” she replied a little too quickly, mimicking your earlier response.

“You sure?” You asked again, but Carol ignored you and instead started benching. Which you were completely entranced by until you noticed that she was working just a little too hard for her. Almost angrily? Could someone angrily bench?

It would be hard to explain to someone that hadn’t been there. There was just… an added tension that made itself present under her skin. That was a weird way to say it, but you had seen people angry and knew the signs. Carol was pushing the weights up just a bit too intensely. Your thoughts were confirmed when she pushed up and the bar and weights went flying across the room. The noise was loud enough to irritate your hangover headache yet again.

She sighed and brought her hands up to cover her face. It was an act you hadn’t seen from her in a long time. One that only reared its ugly head when she was stressed or worried. So it wasn’t anger, then, it was something else. Something she didn’t know how to handle.

But you did.

While her face was still covered, you moved back over to stand beside the bench and look down at her. She pulled one hand down just enough to peek at you. Apparently you weren’t what she wanted to see, and she covered her face again right as she let out a sigh that you had a feeling she had intended to keep quiet.

“What’s wrong.” It wasn’t a question, not anymore.

“Nothing,” Carol grumbled before moving to sit up.

But you knew that if she sat up and walked away, you would never figure out what was bothering her. Before she could swing her leg over and stand up, you practically pounced on her lap, straddling her and putting your hands on her chest to push her back down.

“Y/N-”

“-What’s wrong,” you demanded this time. She opened her mouth to argue, but all it took was one raise of your brow for her to lose any fight she had left.

“You said some… things last night,” she mumbled.

“Things?” You asked as you sat up taller, keeping your eyes on her. “What things?”

“Just… things.”

“How am I even supposed to know what that means?”

“You admitted things.”

“Carol-”

“-You said I reminded you of the sun,” she finally blurted out, throwing her hands out to the side for emphasis.

“I-.” You didn’t know what to say.

For lack of a better term, your brain short circuited. Had you really told her that? Why would you tell her that? It was supposed to be a secret, not even your friends knew! Well obviously your friends didn’t know, Carol was one of those friends. Why would you tell her that, why would you be so incredibly stupid-

“-Did you mean it?”

You looked back down, brought out of your thoughts by Carol’s surprisingly small voice. There was a vulnerability on her face that you knew was reflected on your own. But what could you say? If you told her no, would she be upset? Would she be hurt that you had drunkenly said something that you hadn’t meant?

Or on the other hand, what if you said yes? What if she found out the truth, found out how you really felt and she didn’t feel the same way? Of course you wouldn’t hold any resentment or anything like that, but would she still want to be your friend? Or would she think it was weird and want to distance herself?

What if either answer meant you would lose her?

“I dont-,” what could you say? What could you say?

“Did you?” She asked again. You didn’t like vulnerable Carol, you decided. Not like this.

But you would be damned if it didn’t send a message, loud and clear.

“Yeah,” you said so quietly that you could see Carol struggling to understand your admission. “Yeah, I meant it.”

There was a moment that seemed to stretch on forever. One that left you with an aching chest and a familiar stinging sensation behind your eyes. In that moment you saw everything fall apart. You saw Carol’s rejection, saw the pity in her eyes, saw her leaving and not coming back. It had all been a mistake, and you should have kept your heart to yourself.

But in the next moment, Carol sat up so quickly that you almost fell off her lap. One of her arms wrapped around your waist with the speed only Carol possessed while her other hand went to the back of your neck, and she pulled you into a messy kiss. One that was clashing teeth and rushed movements, as if everything would fall apart if you both slowed down.

And it was perfect.

“Does this mean you like me back?” You asked when Carol pulled away and rested her forehead against yours.

“You’re an idiot,” she chuckled, and you could feel her breath hit your face in the best way.

“I’m not the one who didn’t know her best friend had the hots for her,” you shot back.

“Just kiss me,” she sighed.

You didn’t need to be told twice.

#requests #carol danvers #carol x reader #carol danvers x reader #captain marvel x reader #carol danvers imagine #captain marvel imagine #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #my writing

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interstellix · 4 years ago

Text

full hearts ↳ lee minho (lee know)

genre: angst, fluff

summary: no matter how it’s played, it’s always the same ending - unless a new one is unlocked

word count: 2235

requested: “i would like to request an au with minho please and ummmm well :O IT’S CUTE”

warnings: mentions of blood

a/n: LMFAOO ALLY LOML I’M SO SORRY IDK WHAT THE HELL WENT WRONG HERE I- listen consider this a free coupon for a free request with no expiration date bc this shit went straight to hell LOL but ye ily mwah @walkingonwave also why tf did it get so long fjdfdhjdk

you hate it when someone plays your video game. not one that you own, but one that you’re in.

you hate it because, no matter how often it's played and how often you have to experience the same story over and over again, you never get used to the terror and pain lacing it.

there’s more to it than the eye meets, what the screen shows and what the player is served; to you, it’s simply too much.

“I swear, this game ruined my life,” minho sighs before showing you a smug smirk, “good thing I have one more.”

you shoot him a glare but still glance at the digital wristband he wears which, much to your relief, shows a glowing red heart next to two black ones. indeed, one more life.

“how can you even be joking in this kind of situation?” you ask between heavy breaths and look him up and down. “you’re bleeding from your arm, you just got shot in your leg and there are probably two, three broken ribs as well.”

minho snorts, “can you blame me? the player sucks.”

you can’t argue against that. the player does suck for sure, constantly getting you and the rest of your team in trouble, making you die left and right, using potions and other items like they’re lollipops handed out to children; honestly, you’re surprised they have even made it this far into the game - the final stage and battle. that said,

“yeah but you can still control what’s going on behind the scenes. maybe, maybe you wouldn’t be in the miserable state y-”

you’re cut short by the high-pitched, piping noise you’ve by now come to dread, not fancying the explosion it’s shortly after to be accompanied by; just as it comes, minho wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you up from the shattered pavement you had fallen limp on.

“as if you’re in place to call me miserable,” he sighs and runs away from the spot all while still carrying both his equipment and you. “look at yourself, I’m impressed you even have enough energy to complain so much.”

you remain silent, aware that you can’t deny it. the adrenaline rushing through your body is really the only thing keeping you awake despite you being in a fairly worse state than you had claimed minho to be in.

said one doesn’t slow down but occasionally steals glances at you and upon noting the exhaust slowly but surely taking over your features, he calls out, worry clear in his voice, “god damn it, y/n! keep your eyes open, you still have a full life left, right?”

though not all too pleased by it, minho takes the low hum escaping you as a valid answer and keeps running to the first possible shelter found. you eventually find yourself in a two story building, not in a particularly perfect state with the catastrophe of a final battle going on in the city but enough for shelter.

“minho?” hearing the energy gradually leaving your voice, minho bites his lip to stay relaxed and instead hums, waiting for you to go on. “how can you stay so calm?”

as he enters a bedroom and carefully places you down in the rightful bed inside, he answers simply, “if I show you I’m scared, you’ll start panicking even more, right?” slowly, he removes the heavy equipment from your body, showing you a small smile while wiping a wound on your cheekbone clean from blood. “I don’t really fancy that idea.”

the playful look in his face loosens into a soft one, lips curled up in a small smile and eyes warm, “make sure you get some rest, yeah?”

as soon as you hear this, your eyes widen and fear quickly fills you. tightly grabbing onto the hand now cupping your cheek, you question in a shake breath, “where are you going?”

“I have to find the rest of the team, it’s been a while since we were separated and I still can’t get in touch with them-”

a sharp pain settles itself in your abdomen when you hastily sit up in the bed but at that moment, you can’t seem to care any less about it and hold onto his shoulder instead. “w-wait, you’re just gonna leave me here?!”

minho lightly pushes your hand away and answers with clear confusion, “no, but we can’t just ditch the re-”

the conversation is cut short when the nth explosion erupts in the outside world, followed by a whole chain of more and you look out through the window, the city might as well be considered the hell on earth by now; the sight of dark smoke, fire and more and more buildings getting destroyed only adds to the lump of fear and anxiety in you. you look back at minho and with pleading, glossy eyes, you just barely manage say through your irregular breathing increasing at a ridiculously high pace,

“min, p-please, don’t leave me alone.”

he furrows his eyebrows, not understanding just how desperate you are for him to not find the rest of your friends, to the point where it almost sounds selfish. “what’s wrong with you? we have to find the guys to finish the ga-”

right then, just as he catches a sole tear escaping your eye, realization seems to sink down on him, features once again softening. it’s nothing about selfishness at all, nothing about wanting to ‘ditch’ the rest of your friends. it’s simply the fear and pain of losing the person most dear to you - him.

“y/n...” minho’s hand returns to your cheek, this time to tenderly wipe the corner of your eye dry and as he speaks, his voice is almost comforting even during the definition of war currently going on, “we’ve played this game so, so many times, baby. you already know I’m always right with you.”

eyes shutting close, you lean into the touch of his hand and whisper, “you know that’s a lie, minho; I hate this game so much, we play everything together with the other guys, beat the final stage every, damn, time but we never get a happy ending. that shit just doesn’t exist in this game and I can’t handle it anymore.”

just as your vent of panic comes to an end, your wristband suddenly starts beeping, two quick, disturbing tunes. even more confused, minho looks down at its screen only for his jaw to drop; out of your three hearts, only a half of the last one is still shining and instead of the bright red, it’s a purple.

with a mix of anger and his own panic, minho groans while scanning your body for any possible causes of it, “when the fuck did you get poisoned?!” before going on, he finally finds a dark patch on your upper arm, staining it with the same shade of purple as shown on the screen. “why did you never tell me?”

despite the sobbing you’ve broken out in in the middle of the chaos, you choke out, “wouldn’t matter, player drained it all.”

minho’s jaw clenches and while he himself stays quiet, his mind is screaming, trying to figure out how to solve the situation. reaching out to the sheets under you, he pulls off a strip and hurries to wrap it around your arm in hopes of the poison to not spread as fast anymore. “listen well, alright?” he begins as he ties a tight knot. “don’t move or you’ll only lose even more health points; I don’t care if there’s never a happy ending, I won’t have you dying on me before we’re even done here.”

“but-”

“I can’t have you getting scared either. I won’t be able to focus on the game if I know you’re scared,” minho interrupts. he cups your face, solid eyes locking with your own, words gentle as they’re uttered,

“look at me, y/n. don’t think of anything else, just look at me.”

though staying quiet, you do as told. you do as told, relishing in the warmth radiating from his hands, letting yourself relax at the sight of your boyfriend so close up even though he looks like mess on two legs. you do as told, only for one tear after another to build up in your eyes.

minho leans his forehead against yours. when he whispers, you notice that you’re not the only scared one here, the shakiness in it revealing more than enough. all that said, he still manages to say every word you both need to hear and trust.

“just a little more... I don’t care about a happy story, if the game’s going to end, I want it to end with you next to me so hang on just a little more.”

whether it’s the pain, exhaust from the poison or you simply finding a sense of calm for the first time in a good while, you don’t know but it nevertheless leads you to slowly give into unconsciousness.

the last thing you just barely manage catching is a feather-light kiss to your forehead and a tenderly spoken assurance,

“I’ll be back before you know it. I promise.”

who knows how long it’s been? probably no one, but long enough for the screen of your wristband to meet you with three now full, red hearts as soon as you wake up.

you stare at your hands curled up right in front of your face and even though your vision isn’t clear enough after sleeping, you can still make out how they’re free from bruises, wounds and dusts. furthermore, it’s quiet. uncomfortably quiet, purely because you’re not used to a sound clean from explosions and other rumbling noises. it confuses you for a second and you start wondering if there’s been a restart. however, realizing that you’re still in the same, unknown bedroom as before and remembering that you have yet to go through the ending of the game, you know it’s still not over.

barely daring to look away from your hands even the slightest bit, you think for yourself, “if it’s not over, what’s going o-”

“finally up, sleeping beauty?”

a sharp gasp emits from you as you hear this and within moments, you’re sitting back up in the bed. by the edge of it, he sits; the window invites the morning sun you haven’t seen in what feels like a lifetime, its light illuminating his face in gentle shade of orange; a smile graces his lips and even under strands of hair, the gleam in his eyes is clear, bright upon finally seeing your own open.

four seconds. that’s what it takes for you to process that, as unfamiliar as this scene is after playing the game so many times, it actually is minho sitting right next to you, in person, pure flesh and blood. four seconds is what it takes until you launch yourself at him, arms tightly wrapping around his neck, face digging into the crook of it.

you take a deep breath, inhaling the scent you’ve grown fond of after spending so much time with minho. when you don’t say anything, he asks, “don’t wanna know what happened?”

you shake your head. “I don’t care.”

an airy chuckle escapes minho. his arms wrap around your waist and hold you closer to him and while starting to explain anyway, he unconsciously starts swinging your bodies from side to side. “believe it or not, that stupid player unlocked the secret ending.”

though confused, you don’t bother moving the slightest bit while humming in confusion. he doesn’t either and instead continues, “turns out if you beat the game in critical mode and gather all trophies, you unlock the secret ending.”

“and... what exactly happens in the secret ending?”

“in the secret ending...” minho murmurs, “the whole team survives.” as if on cue, loud yelling and laughters can suddenly be heard outside the bedroom. you’re barely aware of it though as he pulls away, just enough to get a look of your face. “the city can rebuild again...” he momentarily glances to the side where the window shows an unusually peaceful view. you follow his gaze, though only until his index finger and thumb takes a hold of your chin, turning you back to face him. “and you and me...”

with the current being through and through unknown to you, you find yourself growing more nervous than ever. when his thumb just barely grazes your bottom lip, your breath hitches and hands drop down to his shoulders, tightly grabbing onto them.

the time minho spends on leaning closer feels painfully long and yet, you’re barely aware of exactly when the barely existent gap eventually is shut. his lips are soft against your own, slowly moving against them. the feeling of it alters between the one of featherlight, pure pecks and long, passionate kisses and you can swear it’ll drive you insane right there and then.

you don’t though. instead, you can only melt under the touch, the loving hold around you leaving you in a serenity in the finest sense of the word.

when you eventually part, minho’s hand travels upwards to tuck stray hair behind your ear as he looks at you with a smile bigger than you’ve ever seen on him,

“stay together.”

maybe, just maybe, this game isn’t so bad after all.

#stray kids #stray kids imagine #stray kids imagines #lee know #lee minho #bang chan #seo changbin #hwang hyunjin #han #han jisung #lee felix #kim seungmin #i.n #yang jeongin #angst #fluff

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gayregis · 4 years ago

Note

what are your favorite hcs for the hansa?

canon universe headcanons... sorry if these turn out slightly angouleme-centric or regis-centric...

angouleme being trained by milva in archery, because milva learned that she had starved for a good amount of her past and wanted to give her the tools so that she would never have to starve again. the fact that she struck her with the belt weighed on her still, and she wants to have a better relationship with her because she’s just young and she also reminds milva of herself when she was young, but angouleme makes it so damn difficult because her favorite thing to do is get on milva’s nerves and milva can’t ever respond by being unfazed... so milva thinks she’ll do what she knows best and what how she and her father had a good relationship... teach her to shoot. it goes well... they talk... once angouleme has the basics, they go out once a week to the caoberta woods to shoot. angouleme isn’t great, but she’s not too bad, and ends up shooting some pheasants, which she’s quite proud of.

cahir and angouleme being trained by geralt in swordfighting. geralt one day tells cahir he wants to train him, at first cahir is slightly offended and starts listing off times when they have fought side-by-side and he’s held his own perfectly, that he was an officer, that he has already been trained well... geralt agrees, and then gets to the point - he wants to train him specifically to be able to counter a witcher’s attacks, because ciri doesn’t know that cahir has joined geralt’s company, and when she sees him again, his other hand might also lose the use of two fingers, if he’s not careful. cahir pales a little, nods with resoluteness, and agrees, thanking geralt. angouleme joins in on occasion just because she doesn’t want to be left out and also all of the hansa members who are swordfighters need constant training to ensure their skills don’t get rusty. geralt at first is apprehensive for angouleme to join because he’s afraid that she’ll remind him too much of ciri and it will destroy him, but it turns out that this is one of the activities that actually allows him to notice more differences between the two and separate them more in his mind, since their fighting styles are extremely different and he as a professional can assess that. cahir’s training is helpful for him because all of his previous training was grounded in nilfgaardian techniques and thus propaganda, the only thing on his mind was seeking honor for his family and recognition for his valor. now, he trains not for the honor of his family, but just for his family, for the people he cares about... and also, for himself, not the concept of a country...

the only people more nocturnal than teenagers are vampires... angouleme arrives back at the palace in the middle of the night, around 2 to 4 AM, sneaks in stealthily... goes in through the kitchen, thinks she’s got it made, since no one’s up... she’s halfway through when regis coughs softly, to let her know he’s there... he was just sitting in the pitch dark, reading and drinking tea, when she happened to sneak in. cue a sapkowskian witty exchange of words, in the style that yennefer and fringilla exchange words at the lodge meeting in baptism of fire, where they dance around a concept and a hypothetical. “it’s good for you that i’m human, and because i’m human, i can’t see at all in the dark. but were i able to see, i might see a girl sneaking in from committing petty crimes, with shock on her face as she’s just been caught.” angouleme is snarky at first but then through conversation realizes that regis sincerely isn’t mad at her for sneaking out and isn’t going to admonish her or tell geralt who would likely ground her. they have a small conversation, angouleme sneaks back up to her room... sleeps in the next day. this continues occuring, except these times angouleme actually looks forward to regis being there when she gets back so they can talk. and she can tell him about the various exploits she got up to, brag about what she did, because unlike the rest of the company, regis doesn’t have that human-society instinct to scold a child when they’ve been sneaking around and stealing stuff and getting into danger. it’s good for her to be able to tell someone, not only so she can get validation, but also because if something goes wrong... if something got too dangerous... she’d have someone to tell about it. which does happen eventually...

milva tends to roam around toussaint because she dislikes the atmosphere at the palace... it’s snooty, it’s stuck-up, and they always talk nonsense. add this to the fact that they’re all posing as noble lords and ladies undercover, and you’ve got a cocktail for disaster... milva fears opening her mouth and saying something deemed stupid by those in the court, and blowing their whole cover. so she chooses to walk through toussaint, and since they have a good source of money, she goes to the shops and bargains and talks to the shopkeepers. she also hunts in the caoberta woods and sells what she kills, not out of survival, but out of habit and not wanting to let her skills rest. what she didn’t expect was that the entire female population of toussaint have never seen an archer lady before, a woman with such nice biceps... cue lesbianisms. milva doesn’t recognize that half of the entire city is flirting with her, until angouleme tags along with her one day to visit the fletchery, and almost bursts out laughing at how thirsty this fletcher woman is and how oblivious her aunt is to it all.

geralt is highly intimidated by the duchess and misses dandelion. everyone in the hansa likes to roast dandelion for bedding the duchess. it’s good fun, but they never do it when geralt is within earshot (earshot is quite a long distance for a witcher), because he’s jealous and begins to pout if they mention dandelion and the duchess in his company. geralt on occassion bemoaned how dandelion wasn’t at the breakfast table, but then stopped because he was repeating himself... this worried the company, so they all pleaded with dandelion to wake up earlier so he could have breakfast with them. one day geralt walks downstairs for breakfast and dandelion is sitting there, he can’t decide whether to enter the room or just skip breakfast for the day, when the hansa spots him and invites him in. he grumbles a little “i thought you were in bed with her enlightened ladyship...” but doesn’t say much else... how do you talk to your best friend when you haven’t seen them in a month? breakfast is awkward and geralt leaves early. the hansa is quiet, dandelion knows he’s offended geralt because he’s always so damn sensitive, and lightly chases after him to the stables. there they have a genuine conversation about the marriage, one with less haste and one with less shock and anger... geralt explains that it’s not about him being happy for dandelion but rather about dandelion leaving him and the company... dandelion admits he didn’t realize it was about that, he thought geralt was fine now, he didn’t need his company anymore because he had gathered a company and was sitting in pure safety in beauclair, with fringilla vigo, no less... that he didn’t need to be there anymore, he has others... but it’s not about how many he has, it’s about who he has, and he wants dandelion’s company, too... he still needs his company, even though he has others’ now, even though he’s not alone and even though his arm and leg aren’t broken and he’s not sleeping in a soverign forest nation of dryads.

geralt and regis’ garden meetings are comically interrrupted every time they’re about to discuss something important or intimate. geralt is just about to speak about his feelings about yennefer, and a man runs past them chased by a furious duck. regis is about to discuss exactly why he feels so committed to humanity, and angouleme interrupts them with a shout. after they stop being bothered by whatever it was, neither of them feel confident enough to re-pursue the topic at hand.

angouleme bothering everyone when they first meet in tower of the swallow and realizing she hasn’t bothered cahir yet... halfway through she realizes this guy’s a fuckin lawful goodie-goodie , starts pestering him about that... she mockingly asks if he’s ever been to prison, he just softly responds "i spent two years isolated in the imperial citadel under maximum security for treason,” and leaves it at that. the entire company is silent and it’s awkward as hell... but angouleme is impressed and concedes, says they’re not as different as she thought, is glad to be travelling with him... he smiles and nods. the rest of the company exhales.

regis cooks a lot and he’s genuinely a good home cook. it helps that he has expertise in spices and herbs, and can also touch searingly hot metal with no ill effects. milva will drag in prey that she hunted early that morning and he’ll cook it. the palace chef is glad to have the day off on these days. regis also teaches angouleme to cook because she kept watching intently when he chopped green onions. angouleme also gets pretty good at cooking, one day she wants to make cookies with cahir. cahir is like “are you sure you know how to do this” and angouleme’s like duh obviously i’ve been learning so yeah. she does everything extremely well until it’s time to take the cookies out of the oven and she forgets to put mitts on and burns both her hands because guess who is such a great visual teacher.

angouleme also exploded an alchemy lab when regis was teaching her principles of alchemy but it was ok bc he tossed her out before the explosion and subsequent lighting of the lab on fire happened. he just stands there in the fire like “don’t worry you did great!"

the palace in beauclair has a hall of mirrors like the palace of versailles has IRL. regis cries a little every time he walks past (not EVER through) it.

the company once was walking through the streets of beauclair together. a dog came up and started viciously barking at regis, no one knew what to do. angouleme started barking back at the dog. it actually worked, it scared it away and then she yelled at its owner

this is more canon than headcanon but the company sits around the kitchen table to talk almost every night. and they use the kitchen as their space to hang out and meet with one another, if they’re feeling like they need company, they’ll just head downstairs and sit in the kitchen, and wait for someone else to show up... it’s a foolproof plan, or at least, it was, until fringilla also began to bide her time in there, and cahir was unfortunately the first one to find this out when he went downstairs. it was even more awkward for him specifically because after he faked his way out of that situation by saying he just wanted to get a snack, fringilla said “assire says her greetings” just to fuck with him just as he was walking out of the door

fringilla realized regis was a vampire really late in the game. about a week into dating geralt (and having regis piss her off) she’s just like excuse me geralt but i have to tell you. regis is a vampire. and geralt’s like... thank you...? for that?

fringilla also gets on milva’s nerves more than anyone else, more than angouleme because angouleme only gets on her nerves out of pure joy. fringilla does it without being being intentional, or in fact being intentional about it but not betraying that it was intentional. she asks around milva’s insecurities and whatnot, tells her that there’s this great book she read and wants to recommend milva... while knowing that milva is illiterate because she read her mind and found that out. but to her surprise, milva actually thanks her and takes the book. milva is freaking out later because she dosn’t know why she fucking did that, and goes to the company for help. they offer to read it for her but she declines, and instead demands they teach her how to read it herself. she has a week to do it, because she said she’d give fringilla back the book in a week. cue everyone losing their shit because they want to help milva but are terrible teachers. regis wants to start milva off on the continent’s equivalent of plato, while cahir is busy referring to his nilfgaardian-common dictionary. somehow she succeeds and when fringilla smugly asks her what she thought of the book, she gives her honest opinion. it wasn’t a very good book, she says this in her own way, you know, it’s not some academic book review, “the guy who wrote this makes shitall sense” and such. she’s extremely proud of herself but doesn’t show it as much as she feels it.

geralt completes many contracts and at breakfast, just as he’s about to put his feet up and sit around the palace for the day, he is visited by multiple representors of various noble houses, who are being crowded by palace guards, trying to get them out of the palace’s kitchen. geralt shoos the guards away and asks what this is all about and why it’s so urgent. they all give varied witness accounts of a giant bat flying around last night during the full moon. everyone at the table glances at regis and then immediately breaks their glance as to not raise suspicion. geralt makes an appointment with them all to meet them after breakfast... regis just butters his bread and says deadpan “i hope you get to the bottom of this, geralt”

modern au headcanons

pizza orders: milva - chicken and ranch, regis - mushrooms and whatever with basil, cahir - prosciutto and feta, angouleme - hawaiian pizza

starbucks orders - milva - cold brew no cream, regis - passion fruit tea, cahir - macchiato, angouleme - caramel frappuchino

regis drops angouleme off to soccer practice or whatever while blasting bauhaus

“milva said it’s my turn on the xbox” between angouleme and cahir

"uh mom made green beans” tiktok except it’s angouleme coming into cahir’s room to tell him regis made green beans

#hansa #the witcher #geralt #dandelion #regis #milva #cahir #angouleme #long post /#its good to compile these ideas in one post #anon #ask

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heywritersblock · 6 years ago

Text

generation why: g.d

a high school/best friend grayson au (bc who doesn’t want best friend!gray)

~2500 words

get in your car and laugh til we both turn blue

the day has been long and exhausting; between lesson after lesson with no free period and spending your break times in the library studying, your brain feels just about ready to combust.

you squint your eyes and bring your hand that’s not carrying your folders up to shield them against the bright sun as you finally step out of the school doors. you’d stopped a little later to get the last bit of homework done so the parking lot was much emptier than earlier.

you begin to make your way to the bus stop as your phone starts to ring in your bag. hurriedly slamming your folders onto the hip height wall next to the path and rummaging through your school backpack, you grab your phone and shove it in between your ear and shoulder, not bothering to check who’s calling.

“excuse me, ma’am. i’m gonna need you to stop right there and drop those folders. i’m afraid it’s a crime for a young hooligan like yourself to be carrying something that could easily be used as a weapon,” the voice in your ear says.

“grayson? what the hell? i’m kind of in a rush so whatever it is that you-” you start and then are soon interrupted.

“no ma’am, i don’t know who this grayson is that you speak of but he sounds like a handsome young man. in fact, this is a senior police detective trying to protect our community. that denim dress you’re wearing with the white sneakers is giving me the vibes of a delinquent who’s on her way to cause some havoc. as a law abiding citizen, i order you to stop and face the black truck in the parking lot.”

realization dawns on you as you turn to you right and see your best friend leaning against his black truck, one hand holding his phone to his ear and the other waving at you. rolling your eyes fondly, you quickly hang up your phone and keep it in your hand as you make your way over to where he’s waving you over. he’s grinning at you as you approach.

“hey shortstuff, haven’t seen you all day. you left me all alone. i was like a little orphaned lion cub just not knowing what to do with myse-“

“gray, you were literally with ethan all day. i wouldn’t call yourself an abandoned baby lion just yet,” you interrupt, a small smile on your lips.

“ok, point taken. where’ve you been though? i texted you a couple of times but you didn’t reply. are you good?” he asks genuinely.

you nod, smile growing at his concern. “yeah, just had a busy day. y’know, just homework and stuff kicking my ass. spent most of my day in the library if i wasn’t in class,” you explain, still clutching your heavy folders and moving them to your other arm being careful not to drop your phone. “ahh i see. that explains why your shoulders are so tense they’re almost up to your ears,” he says as he grabs the folders off you, ignoring your protests that you could carry them yourself.

he continues, not letting you get a word in edgeways, “god i can smell the boring on you. that’s what happens when you spend all day in the library. yeah, i can smell boring and books and…” he dramatically sniffs around you, “ahh yes. ms. garfield’s cheese and onion sandwich. gross! ok, get in. we’ll go get coffee and you can forget about what sounds like my idea of the shittiest day to ever exist.”

he slides your backpack off your shoulders and shoos your hands away as you try to grab it back. “in!” he sing songs at you as he makes his way around to the driver’s side, throwing your backpack and folders into the backseat with a little less care than you would like.

the mere presence of your best friend means that your crappy mood starts to lift and by the time you’re hitting the highway en route to grayson’s favourite coffee shop, you’re relaxing back into your seat listening to his ranting about his science teacher’s shitty attitude towards him and ethan.

“yeah, ok gray. now tell me about what you and E did to cause the shitty attitude,” you laugh.

“what? i’m offended! we’re well behaved, role model stu-- ok. well, so, it all started when…”

by the time gray’s exited the highway and you’re pulling into the coffee shop parking lot, your stomach is aching and your cheeks are screaming with laughter at the tale your best friend is telling about his and ethan’s escapades in their science experiment. gray physically can’t look at you until he puts the car into park because when he sees you crying with laughter, he laughs so hard he starts to wheeze.

as your laughter finally begins to die down, you’re leaning forward and wiping at your eyes with your edge of your denim dress when you hear him ask, “how’re you feeling?”

he flashes his kilowatt grin at you after you reply, “much better already.”

“s’my secret talent. I know just how to cheer you up,” he says smugly.

“y’know gray. i think you might be right,” you smile before hopping out of the truck.

this town don't got much to do you and i haven't got much to lose do you wanna rock in your room like we always do?

“y/n! grayson’s here! again! it’s almost like he doesn’t have a home of his own to go to,” your dad yells up the stairs to you, adding on the last part for comedic effect. “nah, sir - of course i do. unfortunately though, mine has a demon who looks just like me that’s out for revenge. your house is more of a safe haven. thanks for protecting such a young and helpless child!” you hear grayson reply as he’s climbing the stairs. your dad laughs and adds on a quick, “yeah, yeah. door stays open!” out of habit. “yes sir!” gray replies as he steps into your room and shuts your door until just before it clicks. you huff out a laugh from your desk chair as you watch him and he turns to shrug at you, “he never says how open it should stay, right?” you guffaw out a laugh as gray throws himself onto your bed and rests on his back. “hey, so. question for you,” he asks as he rolls his head to face you. “shoot,” you reply, rolling closer on your desk chair so you can rest your feet on the bed like a foot stool. “why is our town so fuckin’ boring?” “ahhh, the age old question. well, young grasshopper, it’s simply because we are far too much fun for this town. every town would probably pale in comparison to us. we would make even the funnest of towns appear boring. it’s just one of the prices to pay for being a bundle of fun, which, together, we are,” you explain sarcastically. gray’s bark of a laugh escapes his mouth and he slaps a hand over it, seemingly shocked at just how loud it was. you prod him with your toe as you giggle and watch him try to regain his composure. he grabs a hold of your foot gently and shakes it from side to side for a moment as he contemplates what you’ve said, before replying, “well fuck. we’re screwed then. our lives will be filled with boredom. gee, i’m so glad i came to see you,” he jokes. “we’ll only be bored if we’re together remember. together, we’re a bundle of fun. separately? we ain’t shit, gray,” you giggle, wiggling your toes that are still in his grip. “well, we’d better find something to keep us entertained then ‘cause i’m not planning on leaving you any time soon,” he says as he grabs further up your leg to pull you closer on your wheely chair and then pull you onto the bed at the side of him. your heart swells at how much love your best friend gives you and then you giggle when his koala arms and legs restrict you movement completely. “see what’s new on netflix?” you ask quietly and then elbow him fondly in the ribs to get him off you when he nods. he sits up and starts plumping your pillows behind him to get comfortable, explaining just why ethan’s out for revenge and then trying to convince you to go downstairs and grab some popcorn. ten minutes later, he’s heading back up the stairs having made the microwave popcorn and sliding under the blanket you’ve stretched over the bed with a mouthful of the snack. “screw our shitty town. i love it here,” he mumbles just as he rests his head on your shoulder and you press play.

parents think, we're fast asleep but as soon as we're home, we're sneaking out the window

your phone lights up as you scroll aimlessly through social media on your laptop. the night is dark and there’s a slight breeze that’s interrupted the spell of uncomfortably hot weather in your town. gray 23:48 here x you glance quickly out of your bedroom window and grab your backpack, hesitating about whether you should grab the hoodie lying at the end of your bed or not. deciding against it, you carefully but not at all gracefully climb out of your window onto the roof of the garage under the window. you slide the window silently shut, careful to make sure you’ll be able to get back in when you get home later. you walk to the edge of the garage roof and throw your backpack down first before lowering yourself onto the trash cans that are positioned perfectly for this. jumping down, dusting off your denim shorts and grabbing your backpack, you run as fast as you can across the lawn and dive into the black truck idling in front of your house. “’sup james bond. that was some serious spy shit i just witnessed,” gray greets you, taking your backpack off you and throwing it into the back seat, just as tradition dictates. “please. he’s got nothing on me. you ok?” you ask, noticing your best friend’s red eyes and dark rings under them. “yeah, yeah, i’m good,” he says, purposely not looking at you. he goes to move the car into drive but you place your hand on his forearm, tugging until he looks at you. “ok, now i’m actually concerned. when have you ever lied to me? what’s going on?” you ask. “just family shit, you know. family battles. can we go somewhere to talk? i feel like your dad is going to come out here at any point and lynch me and i really don’t wanna be crying when he does that,” he tries to joke. you smile softly to humour him and reply, “of course. let’s go to that diner on the edge of town. it’ll be nice and quiet,” you suggest. he nods, not meeting your eyes again. just before he finally puts the car into drive, he glances at you and mumbles a quiet, “thanks, y/n.” as the car begins to move, you whisper over to him, “hey. whatever it is, it’ll pass. families are the worst sometimes. love you, gray.” “love you, too.”

talk about how fast we grew and all the big dreams that we won't pursue

the summer is in full force now and school’s been out for weeks. you’ve just got back from your family vacation and after a quick nap at home to try and fend off the jet lag, you were straight on over to the dolan house.

you knocked rapidly on the front door and rolled your eyes as Grayson opened the door within seconds, sarcastically asking, “yes? can i help you? i’m just waiting for my best friend to return from the war. i’m not sure i’ll remember what she looks like. oh – wait! y/n? is that you?”

“well you can fuck off if you’re think you’re getting your gift from vacation now!” you laugh.

“y/n! it is you! the sass brought your memory straight back to me! get in here,” he yells, drowning you in his tight hug.

hours later after catching up with the rest of the dolan family and hanging out with the twins for a while, you’re lying on your back in grayson’s backyard, staring up at the star filled sky and listening to the crickets chirping from the forest nearby. grayson’s head is touching yours from where he lays behind you and you can feel the wave of calm you get from being around your best friend. he interrupts your thoughts when he asks you quietly, “hey, do you think in five years time we’ll still be here? like after college and stuff, do you think we’ll still find our way back here?” you hum to let him know you’ve heard him and then you contemplate what he’s just asked. after a couple of minutes, you feel him tilt his head back and try to knock it gently against yours to prompt you for your answer. “honestly, i don’t know,” you say, laughing quietly to yourself at grayson’s dramatic intake of breath. “wow, that hurts y/n. here i am planning our future together and you just crush my dreams in four words. ouch,” he jokes. “for real though, why aren’t you sure?” you sigh in thought and try to explain your thoughts eloquently enough for him to understand. “gray, you’re destined for great things. no, don’t laugh, you are. you’re going to be in LA with E, causing chaos and doing what you love. you’re going to do great things. i mean, so am i but not the same great things as you, y’know. i just feel like we’ll end up in different places. so no, i don’t think we’ll still be here in five years time. but we’ll be somewhere on a summer’s night where we’re laying out and looking at the same sky. hopefully we’ll be in the yard of my million dollar mansion but it’s ok if that’s not in five years. maybe six?” he guffaws in laughter behind you and you feel him start to shuffle around when he’s quietened. you’re still staring up at the sky, feeling content and warm when his body moves beside yours. he knocks gently at your head with his elbow to signal you to lift your head up. he slides his arm underneath your head and pulls you close into his side. time passes silently with the two of you laying on the dewy grass, holding each other close when he pipes up suddenly, “so what exactly do you think i’ll be doing in LA? ‘cause here’s what i’m thinkin’. so, imagine this…”

inspired by generation why by conan gray :)

#grayson dolan #grayson dolan imagine #grayson dolan fic #grayson dolan blurb #ethan dolan #dolan twins #dolan twins imagine #dolan twins blurb #fic #imagine #blurb #best friend #high school #au #grayson dolan au #dolan twins au #heywritersblock

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harrieatthemet · 6 years ago

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Okay I’ve been thinking about this A LOT! One where Harry tells BFF Y/N about him dating Camille but you’re in love with him and he doesn’t know. And what if like Y/N is famous too and Harry decided to surprise her at one of his shows BUT BRINGS CAMILLE and she covers ‘Girl Crush’ and right when she introduces it she sees Harry and she’s just kinda like “fuck it” and sings it anyways and he understands as she’s like staring him down that she loves him ugh. I need to know what would happen next

ooo famous Y/N this is new territory for me. I like it. This is actually so damn long I’m sorry but not too sorry bc it’s so fucking good. hope you LOVE it! Xx

He doesn’t normally do the whole surprise thing. He doesn’t show up announced, he likes to grace you with the courtesy of calling, or send a text, to make sure you’re not caught up in something and can maneuver him into your schedule.

But he’s looming around the corner of the corridor, bringing his finger to his lips each time one of your team members spots him. He had to pull one of them aside, and ask which one was your dressing room, because he didn’t want to knock on all the doors like a fucking idiot. So now he’s sneakily making his way to the very end of the hall, politely waving at the few people who shoot him a bewildered look, as they try to figure out why Harry Styles is awkwardly jogging down the hallway.

And when he busts into the room, giving a little shout to really make you jump, he feels a little bad for not knocking. Because you really do jump, and your hand flies to your chest as you let out one of those ear shattering shrieks. The look on your face is priceless, and he can’t ward off the belly laugh thats coming from him. So you’re narrowing your eyes at him now, shaping them into little slits, cursing under your breath before cracking a smile. Because you really weren’t expecting him, not here, not in New York. You’d mentioned to him that it was a big night for you, it was a big show with an even bigger crowd, and the idea of him coming to show a little support was heartwarming.

“Madison Square Garden,” he admired, going to grab a piece of fruit from the platter on the table, “look at you.”

“Mmmm,” you chuckle, plopping onto a spot on the sectional couch, “impressed?”

He smiles at you, that dimply smile that’s almost infectious, and your heart is swelling just a tad. You figure he’s about to say something nice, go all soft and be all sentimental. He’s not always like that, especially with you. He likes to be sassy, likes getting a rise out of you and teasing you. And you’ll take it, because any kind of attention coming from him is good attention.

“No,” he shrugs, taunting smirk making an appearance, “been there, done that.”

“Did you fly all the way here to rub that in my face? Could’ve done that over text.” You tut, and he’s snickering at you before swallowing a grape.

“Camille is in town, came t’spend the weekend with her before I go t’Italy.” he answers, arm now reaching for one of the bottled waters.

It takes everything in you to suppress the eye roll you almost give him, because the mere sound of her name coming from her mouth sends an unsettling wave of irritation over you. You hadn’t met her yet, and you weren’t interested in doing so any time soon. When he’d bring her up you’d be quick to dismiss him, and move even quicker to change the direction of the conversation. The very moment you’d found out about her, when he had confessed to you that the few tabloid rumors were in fact true, you couldn’t be bothered with the topic any further. And to be entirely honest, you were annoyed that he brought it up now, here, during a time you were supposed to be reveling in. And in addition to that, you were even more put off with the fact that he flew all those miles to come eat dinner in New York with a 6 foot woman who looked identical to a breadstick, instead of coming to see one of his closest friends perform one of the most important shows of her career.

“Should meet her,” he adds, “yeh both here, can all go out tomorrow and-”

“Don’t have time,” you shrug innocently, “next time, though!”

He nods meekly at your response, because he’s not entirely sure where the hostility is stemming from. He makes a note of how the energy in the room has shifted, how your body language is a little more stiff and that you’re not as amused by his company as you were just a few moments earlier. And eventually the liveliness is sucked out of the conversation, because while he’s trying to keep it going, you’re meeting him with bleak and one worded answers, all while keeping your attention fixed on your phone. When he decides that it’s time to remove himself, when he sums up your attitude to pre show jitters, he heads off with a goodbye. And he does go for a kiss on the cheek, to which you barely reciprocate.

He’s not going to tell you that he’s coming later. He’s still pretty keen on the surprises, and he’s leaving his appearance at your first ever sold out show to be a surprise. So while he skips off, smile on his face as he anticipates your reaction, you let out a sigh of relief when the door falls closed behind him. You think, he has to be the biggest fucking idiot of them all, how he’s overlooked all the subtle hints this whole time. How he’s managed to go on this long without figuring out your feelings for him is a mystery to you.

The thought of it is no longer a pressing one, and has moved from the front of your mind to the back. There wasn’t any time to let it dominate your thoughts, as you stood up on a stage in front of thousands of eager faces.

Your eyes are scanning the crowd, all jammed into the arena, attention zoned in on you and you only. It’s a riveting feeling, one you just can’t ever seem to get tired of. You feel at peace, energized even, the chorus of yelling and the sound of your name being chanted is a sound so sweet and vibrant.

It’s a little break between songs, and you’ve shimmied into the assigned outfit for your second set, a slinky little dress with some thigh highs to match. It’s a little bothersome, and you felt like the sequins were a bit much, because they kept itching you and you’d have to wiggle around to ween off the scratchy effect. And as you do so, chatting mindlessly with a few fans in proximity, you’re spotting a few familiar faces. There’s a few fans you deem as familiar, some of them already having been to a couple of your shows. Your friends are in gaggles across the first few rows, phones up to snap photos before they wave to get your attention. And you can see your mom, just in front of the stage, chatting someone’s ear off.

And it’s Harry. It’s Harry whom she’s chatting with, giggling at him before roping him into a hug, squeezing his cheeks like she always does because ‘she just can’t help it’.

You feel a little bad now, for being so short and dismissive with him earlier, because you’d assumed it was a ploy to throw you off track. He’d come to surprise you at the show, keep you off his trail so you’d be surprised when he’d popped up in the crowd. He looks happy, excited even, a red solo cup dangling in his hand as he talks your mom’s ear off.

There’s a woman next to him, skinny thing with a mop of blonde hair, and as you try to engage with a fan you’re attention is spilt between the conversation and figuring out why she was standing so close to Harry.

And when he brings his free hand up, placing it on her waist, tugging her into his side a little bit to invite her into the conversation with your mother, you put the pieces together.

He’d brought Camille.

And now she was introducing herself to your mom, cuddling into your friend, at your show. She wasn’t invited, and you’re not sure why he’d think to bring her along, because you weren’t exactly subtle in the fact that you weren’t necessarily a big fan of hers. And normally you don’t mind surprises, but right now, you could really do without this one. You wish he had just taken her to dinner and flew back to wherever he flew in from, maybe even taken her with him. You didn’t wanna see him, didn’t want him here with her at what’s supposed to be one of the biggest nights in your career. You didn’t wanna talk to him, or her, and you sure as hell didn’t want your mom talking to her either.

Of course, your mother points out to the two of them that your gaze is in their direction, and the two of them spin around. Harry’s still got on arm around Camille, but it doesn’t stop him from flashing you a winning smile, hurling his arm up in the arm while doing his best to wave. And Camille is grinning, and it’s making your stomach hurt. In all honesty, you kind of wanted to cry a little. Not only because it stung, in the worst possible way, to see him so affectionate with someone else, but it was starting to get under your skin, get you a little ticked off. Because him bringing her put a bit of a damper on your mood, taking away a little bit of the magic of the night.

“Okay guys” you breath, earning a frown from him when you blatantly disregard his presence, striding to the opposite end of the stage, “I have a feeling a couple of you know this next one.”

The crowd is roaring, and you can’t help but let out a breathy laugh, before putting a hand on your hip. And though you should be focusing on the thousands of people here, the people singing your songs and yelling your name, you let your eyes flicker over to the pit. Just one more time, as you try one last ditch effort in convincing yourself that maybe this next song wasn’t a good idea. Your palms are a little sweaty now, as they stick to the material of the mic. And your heart rate is picking up just a little, because of the nerves, and you’re really trying to ponder on whether or not this is really what you should be doing. But you see him there, as she whispers something in his ear and he smiles.

fuck it.

It doesn’t take him long to become familiar with the song. In fact, he was the one who had initially shown it to you. He was a little surprised that you’d incorporated into your set, and he leans over and asks your mom if you’d performed it yet. And he’s puzzled when she shrugs, informing him that it was just as new to her as it was to him. But he goes along with it, at first, nodding his head to the intro while his eyes train on you.

Your back at the spot you were earlier, the corner of the stage, the spot that’s closest to the pit. The audience already knows all about the song, and the shrieks and screams when they hear it start is remarkable. Your teetering the very edge of the stage, your shoes nearly dancing over the edge. And your gripping the mic, like your fucking life depended on it, because you were sure that this was definitely a bad idea. But it was too late to do anything about it now.

The first few verses, he’s singing along, just like the rest of the people packed into the stadium. And he doesn’t think anything of it, it’s just a song the two of you like. He thinks, that’s why you’re looking at him, staring him down almost.

I wanna taste her lips

Yeah, cause they taste like you

I wanna drown myself in a bottle of her perfume

I want her long blonde hair

I want her magic touch

Yeah, cause maybe then

You’d want me just as much

The words are leaving your mouth with a meaning behind them, with a purpose and intention, and its now that he’s realizing that the song was picked on purpose. You’d done it on purpose. Things are sort of falling into place now, clicking in his head the longer you go on with the song. And Camille’s singing along, and you wanna laugh a little because she really doesn’t have a goddamn clue. But he does, and he doesn’t know what to do about it. His body is stiff, and his hand has fallen from her waist and to his side, as every so often the two of you lock eyes.

It comes to an end, and your gaze rips from him to blow a few kisses to the arena of fans, yelling and screaming. He’s shell shocked, because how are you going to just switch that off so easily, so quickly and abrupt? It all happened in a whirlwind, because the lights had just gone out, and when they came back on, you were gone. Now everyone was shuffling out of the stadium, and your mom was bidding her farewells to him and Camille before going off elsewhere.

But he wasn’t ready to leave, not yet, because the air needed to be cleared. A conversation needed to be had. He was in search of some answers, because he’s in a headspace right now that’s unfamiliar, and fuzzy, and just weird.

“(Y/N),” your assistant hums, poking her head through the door, “got friends out here begging to come in.”

“Stop it,” you chuckle at her teasing, “they can come in, just getting my stuff together.”

You’re sat on the floor, stuffing a few of your clothes into a duffle bag before readying yourself to go and catch a plane. Your back’s to the door, keeping you faced away from the visitors. You’re assuming it’s your friends, the ones from home who’d been in the audience earlier, coming to congratulate you before heading out. So you’ve got a wide smile painted on when you hear someone clear their throat, from the doorway.

Though it’s quick to fade when you turn around, seeing Harry in the doorway, Camille right beside him.

“Oh,” you exhale, “wasn’t expecting you.”

It’s kind of like you have pins and needles in your feet, as you think about the fucking scene you’d just caused out on stage only a short while ago. He doesn’t look too pleased, and Camille is awkwardly standing alongside him. There’re a few butterflies swirling around in your stomach, and you can feel your chest start to tighten. But none of that is showing on the exterior, because your face is stoic and completely unamused.

He takes a sharp inhale, “Wanted to come and wish yeh a job well done.”

“Alright,” you smile, it’s a fake one and he picks up on it almost instantly, “thanks.”

He subtly rolls his eyes, and it’s not only because you’re being so snippy with him, meeting his compliment with a quip. You’re not even looking at him, really, and you’re just strolling around the room, picking things up and diverting your attention to anything but him. And you don’t even acknowledge Camille, or even so much as shoot a glance or a smile her way. He knows it’s not really like you, where as your normally very bubbly after a show, or just in general. Your overly kind, and friendly and chatty with new people. None of that is peeking through right now, and he’s picking up on it.

Camille doesn’t really acknowledge you either, though it’s mainly because she’s picking up on the weird and hostile energy that’s dominating the room. So she leaned over, whispering incoherently in Harry’s ear. You, very blatantly, roll your eyes, and he’s staring right at you while you do it. And then she disappears, waving you a goodbye before heading down the hallway.

And now it’s just the two of you. You’re back to putting clothes in your duffle bag, unbothered by his presence. But he’s waiting for you to say something.

“What happened?” you cock a brow, tone infiltrated with sarcasm “Barbie didn’t like the show?”

“Wha’s wrong with yeh?” he’s restricting his voice, you can tell, he doesn’t wanna scream at you and he’s trying hard not to.

“Nothing,” you shrug, “m’just fine. Peachy.”

“Right,” he laughs coldly, “so then wha’ was the’? Not even sayin’ hello to Camille? ‘Nd the girl crush bit, m’not just gonna ignore it!”

“I didn’t ask you to bring her”

“(Y/N),” he breathes, eyes shutting briefly so he can collect his thoughts, “if there’s something yeh need t’tell me, just bloody say it.”

You think about it, for a minute. You think about telling him how you feel, what you’ve been feeling. You think about telling him how when he hugs you, you almost don’t wanna let go. You think about telling him his smell, his cologne, it’s one of your favorite smells in the world. You consider telling him about how his laugh is infectious, how his smile is like pure gold, how you don’t ever seem to get sick of him, and that you’d spend a lot of your time thinking about him. But you don’t, you don’t tell him any of that. Your assistant pokes her head in again, this time with your mom, who both share an embarrassed look on their face as they know they’re walking into a tense conversation.

“Sorry,” your mom’s a little concerned, frowning as she sees Harry’s face contorted in a bitter look, “just-the car’s here so, we, it’s time to go.”

And you’re up, a few things in hand as you sling the bag over your shoulder. But he’s not exactly through with you yet, there’s still a conversation that needs to be had, and he’s not amused at the fact that you’re so keen to get away from him.

“Harry,” you sigh, “you shouldn’t need me to tell you anything.”

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werelywrites · 7 years ago

Note

Is it ok if I ask for headcanons of the turtles (separate & poly bc I love all of them too much) realize they are in love with their shy, pure and sweet human friend who is open-minded and non-judgemental since they're slow at everything and has no talent that is known so they know how is like to be judged unfairly?

SO i was putting the finishing touches on this, when i realized that i was answering it as if none of the guys were in a relationship with you yet when they realized they loved you.

But that sometimes doesn’t happen. People can start a relationship without being in love and then realize that they do love each other after.

So RIP Werely. I’m sorry!! I hope ya like it!

Enjoy!

Leo:

*he’d be at your place relaxing. Sitting on your couch, leaning back, completely at ease when it hit him so hard he’d actually curl into himself a bit as if someone physically punched his gut.

*it would make so much sense! You made him feel like he can be himself around you. You hold him up when he needs it the most, when he didn’t realize he needed it.

*because he’s leader he’s got a lot on his shoulders and you just lift them off when he’s with you. You’re so calm, patient, understanding, and wise and, honestly, he could go on and on.

*you always made him feel comfortable in his own skin

*he had accepted long ago that being a mutant turtle kinda sucked when it came to the whole world being against who you were (he lost count of the amount of people they’d rescue only to have the scream in their faces)

*he didn’t want to change who he was, he liked being a turtle but he’d be a liar if he didn’t wonder what it’d be like to be human

*but with you around, he liked himself a whole lot more

*butterflies will dance in his stomach once he realizes you had been calling his name to see if he was alright.

*instant blush

*he’d shoot out of his seat. Uh yeah! Fine. I’m fine. Thank you [y/n]. Just, uh, remembered something…needed to be done…in the dojo. He’d have a foot out your window but the pout you’d give him once you asked if he was going to leave he’d put on a brave face. No matter how much he wanted to retreat and meditate to sort these feelings at.

*for the rest of the evening he was a mess. He couldn’t stop staring at you. His mind in a giddy haze. Thinking over and over again how he was in love with you.

*he had never been nervously happy-scared. (what a combination of emotions, Leo)

Raph:

*he’d realize it after he’d be venting to you how frustrated he was how because the world saw him as a freak he couldn’t do what he wanted. He wanted freedom.

*you’d listen and add kind words in reassurance and agree that it was unfair. You didn’t chastise him for wanting more. You didn’t tease him. Didn’t patronize him either. You were just there supporting him and he just…..oh wow! He’d gulp loudly

*he’d go instantly flustered. All words he had got swallowed.

*he knew he liked you, you were a very dear friend, but love? Oh he had no idea when it started but there was no doubt as to why.

*you were perfect

*he’d feel so small under your gaze. Shit he’d give anything to hold you at this moment

*but he was terrified

*he knows you accepted him for him but with this new realization his brain just didn’t want to remember that bit.

*you deserve someone so much better

*being your friend was fine, but being your lover? It was too much to ask.

*after you leave, he’d try to sort out his feelings but mostly trying to keep himself from going after you and scooping you up in his arms begging you to love him in return.

*knowing that he loved you will make him angsty and will avoid you for a while

*once you’ve had enough of him avoiding you and you’ve confronted him (whether or not you cry or fight or both it’ll result in the same) he’d apologize. I’m sorry [y/n]. I’m…uh.. just sortin things out. I don’t wanna talk about it. But do ya…wanna still hang out?

*being with you is such a sweet torture that he knows he should push his feelings for you under a rug but he truly can’t help himself

*you will notice that before the realization that he treated you gently, but now after the realization he’ll treat ya extra gently

Donnie:

*you’d be helping him in his lab when it would hit him. Just being there handing him stuff he needed, listening to his ideas, asking questions, enjoying each others company, humming on occasion.

*he’d drop his tools so fast you’d think they burned him (luckily, he wasn’t working on anything too dangerous)

*his mouth would be open and he’d have a sparkle in his eye, like the way he gets when he has the perfect idea.

*he’ll feel silly and giddy, his heart with do flip flops and he’d want to do the same honestly. He’ll get a burst of energy and he’d want to go do something. Make something. Spar with Raph. Anything

*he’s on cloud nine!!

*once you say his name in question he’d freAKIN SCREECH!!!! (he forgot you were there)

*ok so he came back down to earth but he still bounced on his toes. Seeing you he was reminded that it was nerve wracking to admit one’s feelings

*but you might not return these feelings. He calculated the possibilities and his chances were…slim

*but that didn’t stop his heart from racing whenever you were around him again

*you’d touch his arm to try to see whats wrong and donnie.exe will stop working

*rebooting

*nervous bean shook and wanted to melt in your touch.

*he’ll do more stuff around you/with you just to be around you more. Hot water not working? He’d come fix it right away. Slight virus on your laptop, give him a second. He needs you to help him fix something. I’m sorry [y/n]. This is taking longer than expected to fix this. I might be used to long nights but you..d-d-do you want to take a break? *realizes what he said could be taken as an innuendo* *huh, who knew turtles could get so red?* !!!!!!!!!!!

*just as he thought his heart was full, you do something sweet for him like bring him coffee and he’d feel like he’d combust on the spot.

Mikey:

*it’ll come out of nowhere for him. It happened when everyone was around and you’d let out a laugh that he’d just hear over everyone else and wham! It hit him..

*Sure he flirts with you and seemed confident but once he realizes that he’s in love with you he’ll be bashful. Confidence out the door

*he would not be able to make an coherent sentence for a while

*he’d grab the nearest pillow and whop! Right on his face and scream

*but then he’d hide his feelings behind his flirting (he meant it before, but now it had extra meaning)

*constant squealing on how cute you were

*clingy boy becomes extra clingy

*he’ll have a fire going. Fueling the things he does for you and what he says and things he does with you.

*despite his hopefulness, he’s not an idiot. I knows that love comes with heartbreak sometimes.

*god he hoped his did not ended in heartbreak.

*you’d have no idea of the terror going on in his heart because he’s all smiles and jokes

*but then he’d catch you looking at him with a sparkle in your eye and his fear will melt away.

*honestly after more time passes from his realization the better he’ll feel. Fear and longing turning to giddiness and hope.

*he’ll end up having the most confidence out of all his brothers because he just knew… you know.

*holding onto his feelings was just poisoning his mood. So why do so?

*he’ll still not tell you outright but he’ll show it and literally say everything and anything else that meant it. You’re so cute [y/n]! We’d be the cutest couple around! Eh? Why are you getting red, babycakes? You’re not falling for me are you? ;)

Poly!Turtles:

*after they all individually come to realize that they all love you, it will take a decent amount of time for them to confront each other about it.

*they knew each other well enough to tell the signs when one falls for you.

*there will be sibling rivalry for your attention

*eventually though it’ll start to get kinda hostile.

*despite most of them if not all don’t want to fight, none of them will want to back down either

*it’ll honestly take either Master Splinter telling them to get their shit together and/or you to complain how stupid they’ve become with their fighting for them to finally sit down and discuss what do about this. None of them wanted to back down so…depending on if you’re ok with this,,,could they share?

(A/N: i actually started a fic about this ages ago of how they all just sit down and go through the discussion of being in a poly relationship, i just never finished it so i’m glad that i can sorta do it here)

*they will all agree that it was THE most embarrassing discussion between brothers ever. But it got the job done.

*you’ll notice that they’ll still squabble for your attention but they’d be more respectful of each other.

*if you’re not at the lair, one if not at least two of the guys was are you place.

*when you’d expect to only be hanging out with just one (as it was before) now you’d find yourself in a turtle pile. How many movie nights ended up with everyone squished on the couch?

*quiet moments? What are those again?

#tmnt #tmnt x reader #tmnt leonardo #leonardo x reader #tmnt raphael #raphael x reader #tmnt donatello #donatello x reader #tmnt michelangelo #michelangelo x reader #poly!turtles #poly!turtles x reader #poly turtles #werelywrites #werely asks #i'm so sorry if this is exactly what ya wanted #mikey gave me the most trouble jeez

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winetae · 7 years ago

Text

⇁ as the cauldron bubbles (m)

witch!au + aphrodisiac (m)

⚬ pairing⇁Namjoon x Reader

⚬ genre⇁smut, fluff? || witch!au, enemies to lovers

⚬ warnings⇁ dubious consent at the end bc potion, sexy times in a classroom, cumplay, dirty talk ^^

⚬ word count⇁10.2k

what makes for a potent potion? step one. in one room, gather two people who seemingly dislike each other step two. stir in a pinch of snark and four ladles of sexual tension step three. wait until everything simmers to a boil

✘ spoopy masterlist

a/n; behold !! the most basic of plots ! ty amy for reading this over & telling me to post it;; ilux100

“Kim Namjoon, you can pair up with," there's a pause while the professor sweeps the room with his beady gaze. "_____."

The sound of your name rouses you from your slumber, "Huh?"

Eyes glassy, you slowly blink away the spots of white light that speckle your vision. Still slightly disoriented, it takes a few drawn out seconds for the world around you to come into focus.

The first thing that catches your attention is how cold you are.

The chilling temperature makes it easy to mistake the early weeks of autumn for the dead of winter—with every inhale, cold air rushes into your lungs and drives off any remnants of your drowsiness. Your hands are painted an angry looking red, like you've just dunked them repeatedly into ice cold water, and each joint is stiff, refusing to cooperate when you will them to move. Any attempts to magically dispel the numbness in your limbs are useless; you're not capable of wrapping your frozen digits around your fountain pen, let alone your wand. Left with no other choice but to cross your arms and shove your hands under your armpits, you try to warm yourself up in the most primitive way you know.

It's only then that you notice the room you find yourself in is dank and dark, illuminated by dozens of candles that are bewitched to remain suspended in mid-air. Even the inanimate objects aren't immune to the coldness that seeps through the thick stone walls, you remark internally, watching as the tiny flames flicker wildly, seemingly perturbed by an invisible gust of wind.

The classroom could really benefit from some redecorating, you think not for the first time, eyeing the glass containers that line the walls with distaste. The pickled animals floating about in glass jars and cobweb-covered cupboards look like they’ve been untouched for centuries. The style has long been outdated but your professor is either too lazy or too sentimentally attached to his pickled salamanders to change the decor. You shake your head in disapproval.

All talks of unsettling decorations aside, how are you supposed to concentrate in class when your ears are about to fall off from the biting cold? Something should really be done about the lighting and insulation, at the very least. No one in their right minds would want to work in such drastic working conditions. It’s no wonder you have such a difficult time focusing...

Next to you, Nahyun subtly motions to the side of her mouth, the movement pulling you from your grumbled thoughts. You mirror her actions only to find you've been drooling in your sleep. Mortified, you hurry to wipe the trail of saliva on the back of your sleeve. The material is left with a damp imprint that you hastily hide away by burying your hands in the large pockets of your robe. She shoots you a disapproving look and you can tell by the way her nose upturns that she’s going to reprimand you for dozing off once class is dismissed.

You’re mentally preparing your excuse, trying to piece together a speech that will worm your way out of her scolding, when a shout of outrage drowns out the rest of the class’ whispered conversations—the sudden outcry making you jump on your stool. You twist around in your seat, eyes straining to find the source of the noise. From where you're sitting, you can only make out the side of his face, but it's enough to see the displeasure pulling at the corner of his lips.

“What? Why?” Namjoon makes a distressed sound in the back of his throat.

The professor heaves a long-suffering sigh, suddenly looking like his wrinkles have deepened in the span of ten seconds. He levels Namjoon with a stern expression, arms crossed over his chest. If not for the spectacles that slowly slide down the bridge of his nose, he probably would have successfully intimidated his student with his show of authority.

“I’d rather work with Jung than her.” The muscles on his face are strained, his expression stiff.

Ignoring the way your insides tangle at his tone, you hiss out his name, offended. Admittedly, your grades aren’t impressive, but unlike Jung Hoseok, your concoctions have never sent anyone to the hospital.

While it's true your potions have made testers sick on occasion, your mishaps haven't been nearly as bad as Hoseok's. And, okay, while the incident with Minhee had been unfortunate (no one would voluntarily want a set of spiral horns to grow on their head), the damage certainly hadn't been irreversible or life threatening. Wouldn’t one take the temporary horns over whatever poisonous mixture Hoseok is capable of brewing?

As if to spite you, Hoseok chooses that moment to turn around in his seat and shoot you a smirk. He apparently doesn't care if Namjoon insults him in passing, so long as he's not branded as the worst student. Fighting down the overwhelming urge to throw dragon dung fertilizer in his face, you curl your fists at your sides, already thinking of three different hexes to try out on him.

How could Namjoon prefer to work with the certified class clown? When had your reputation taken such a hit? You can’t help but feel like you’ve been defamed and your blood boils at the injustice of it.

"Kim Namjoon." This time there is no mistaking the edge in the professor's voice—his warning razor sharp. "You will work on this month's assignment with _____."

The finality in his tone leaves no room for discussion, and even the dim lighting can't hide the way Namjoon visibly wilts in his seat, reluctantly accepting his fate.

Nodding in satisfaction, the professor resumes his task, pairing up the last few students that have yet to be called. As the rest of the names are droned out, you stew silently in your seat, fixing Namjoon’s figure with incredulity. Through it all, he hasn’t even looked at you once. Something about that irritates you, like a bug bite that demands to be itched.

You wish someone had asked for your opinion, because as far as you’re concerned, you’re equally displeased with this arrangement. For as long as you've known him, Kim Namjoon has always kept to himself. He says he prefers it this way, but you think it's because no one has the patience to deal with his obnoxious personality. Namjoon is smart, yes, but he's so far up his own ass that it makes it hard to be around him for long periods of time. After all, no one wants to befriend people who constantly reiterate how much better they are than you.

Although...maybe this is just from your perspective. Despite all the flaws you find in him, you’re not deaf to the gossip that surrounds him. According to the whispers you’ve overheard, his aloofness only adds to his ‘mysterious charm’.

Your nostrils flare as a snort escapes you. What a load of toad’s spit. There’s no doubt in your mind when you say Namjoon is as charming as one of the pickled bats in the shelved glass jars. How could anyone find him attractive? He never has anything positive to say—unless it’s about himself. His confidence borders on arrogance and you’re not sure why anyone would find that appealing.

The space between your brows creases as you ponder the question, your gaze set on his side profile.

Well, you suppose that from an objective and impartial point of view, his proportions are nice. He has broad shoulders and long legs, plush lips and a set of dimples you would find adorable if they belonged to anyone else but him. There’s also no denying that he’s scary smart. When he answers questions in class, you can’t help but grudgingly respect him.

It’s such a shame that his brusque personality overshadows all of his good traits because he has a lot of things going for him.

It also wouldn’t be a lie to say that your dislike for him stems from the fact that he seems to hate you for no justifiable reason. It’s not like you’re being delusional and making this up—his earlier adamant refusal to work with you proves that he isn’t your biggest fan. In your opinion, Namjoon’s hostility is unwarranted as you’ve never exchanged more than a few words with him. What have you ever done to make him dislike you? Whenever you accidentally make eye contact with him, he never fails to scowl in your direction, like your mere presence offends him.

So it’s no surprise that his behavior rubs you the wrong way. Who is he to pass judgement on you? You know your grades are far from piercing the top tenth percentile, but it's not for lack of trying... It’s upsetting that he would determine your worth based off some grade. You don't know what preconceived notions he has of you, but you're determined to prove to him that you're not a slacker and you're more than willing to pull your own weight.

With this thought in mind, you waste no time shoving your belongings into your bag once the lesson is over, eager to get a word with him before the next period begins. Your notes crinkle as you stuff them away, a bottle of ink almost spilling all over your textbook, but your attention is only focused on Namjoon who has already one foot out the door.

“Where are you going?” Nahyun asks from beside you.

“I’ll see you later after dinner.” It’s not really an answer, but she accepts it with a wave of her hand.

You swing your bag over your shoulder, uncaring whether or not the contents get knocked over in the process. Mumbling excuses while pushing aside the students in front of you, you’re careful not to bump into any fragile classroom equipment on your way out.

Outside, the corridor is already busy with students rushing to their next lesson. There’s a short moment of panic when you can’t spot him among the throng of students. Worried that you’ve missed your chance, your shoulders slump forward in defeat, but the worry soon deflates within you once you spot his figure rounding the corner.

Breaking into a sudden jog, your bag flaps by your side as you run, bumping against the bodies in your way.

“So, when are we starting?” You pant out as you reach him, drawing his attention to your slightly disheveled appearance.

There's an easy smile on your face—one that's intended to look inviting and friendly. The purpose is to show that you’re not holding any grudges against him and that you’re ready to leave everything he’s said in the past. A proverbial olive branch, so to speak.

Regrettably, he doesn't seem to take note of your efforts. He stops and gives you a once over, eyes lingering on your bulging bag—still open, messy contents on display.

“There is no we,” Namjoon hurries to correct, adjusting the bridge of his glasses as he does. Your curious gaze tracks the movement, following the slope of his nose, until finally your eyes meet his coffee brown ones.

From up close, you can almost discern the different shades of brown in his irises. It’s an interesting mix of colors that reminds you of ground coffee beans and the fallen leaves that dust the ground outside. For a short moment, there is silence—Namjoon stills as you examine him, his expression impenetrable—but the moment is broken when the light overhead is reflected on the frame of his glasses, easily distracting you.

“Why do you wear those?” The filter between your mouth and thoughts doesn’t seem to be functioning correctly, and the question leaves your lips before you have time to stop yourself.

He makes a noncommittal noise in response, either not understanding your question or not bothering to deign it with an answer. You reckon it's probably the latter, but that still doesn't stop you from rephrasing your question for clarification's sake.

“Why do you wear those glasses if they don’t have lenses?”

There's genuine curiosity laced in your tone, your gaze fixed on the odd accessory like it's the most interesting sight you've laid your eyes on all week. And in a way, it is. You’re not sure if that’s a testament to how uneventful your life has been lately, but you choose not to dwell on the facts.

“It’s called fashion.” He spares you a condescending look, “Although, I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

You hum, your shoulders raising into a shrug. He’s probably right about that one... A glance down at your outfit reminds you that you’re wearing mismatched socks again—the gaudy, orange colored sock clashing with your pink, polka-dotted clad foot. At least your feet are warm, you pout, wiggling your toes in your shoes. You think it looks kind of cute! But then again, you have the color vision of a mole, so your opinion probably doesn’t count for much.

Your head snaps back up when you realize he’s walked away, leaving you standing in the middle of the corridor, mismatched socks and all.

Rude. Of course he would be the type to walk away mid-conversation.

“You never answered my question!” Huffing, you do your best to catch up, your legs struggling to match his pace.

Damn it, why does he have to have such long legs? You curse silently. One stride of his is probably equivalent to two steps from you, and you’re starting to think he wants you to break into a sweat when he suddenly quickens his gait.

“I don’t know how to be any more explicit,” he says, slowly coming to a halt before rounding on you. You instinctively take a step back, slightly overwhelmed by the way his frame towers over yours. From this distance, he looks more intimidating than before.

“I’ll do the project myself. Don’t even worry about it. Go do..." There's a slight pause as he chews the inside of his cheek, unable to come up with an answer. "Whatever it is you do, and just let me handle things on my own, understood?”

Your forehead wrinkles, confusion written plainly on your face. You're not sure if you understand what he's trying to say so you repeat back the words, your mind whizzing as it tries to process everything.

“Um—what? On your own? But we’re supp—”

“Look.” Impatience mixed with frustration reads on his face, his handsome features twisting into a scowl. “The assignment is worth a third of our entire grade. I can’t let you ruin that. So stay out of it.”

“But—”

“You want to pass this class, don’t you? I’m offering to do all of the work. Free of payment. Without any stipulations.” His sentences are clipped, his curt speech leaving you no openings to respond.

Taking your shocked silence for an answer, he gives you a short nod before bustling away to his next class.

Frozen, your mouth opens to call after him but no sound comes out. You’re sure you look like the fool he thinks you are, though you can’t bring yourself to care. It’s infuriating how little he thinks of you and how easy it is for him to disregard you. Does he believe you to be that incompetent? Or does he just think too highly of himself? Either way, you hate how he never lets you prove yourself when you deserve at least that much.

The frustration that boils inside of you is what ultimately steels your resolve.

As much as you want to work on the potion on your own and show him how capable you are, you’re painfully aware of your own limits. You have half a mind to leave him be and deal with the consequences of his arrogance but as he so kindly reminded you, the project is worth a crucial third of your grade. Realistically speaking, your grades can’t afford to suffer from any schemes of revenge. That’s why despite wanting Namjoon to regret his every decision, you convince yourself that it would be better to try to work with him instead of against him. Besides, the potion isn’t designed to be completed alone. You know that no matter how smart Namjoon has proven to be in the past, he won’t be able to finish everything on his own.

However, this proves to be easier said than done.

Getting Namjoon to see things from your perspective would be a thousand times easier if he would just stop ignoring you. He’s not even subtle about it; whenever he sees you approaching him, he turns on his heels and quickens his pace.

How are you supposed to work with him if he runs away at the mere sight of you? You blow a lock of hair away from your face as he once again manages to escape before you reach him. Namjoon’s lean legs are too much to go up against... At this rate, you wonder if you’ll even be able to talk to him before the end of the month is over.

It’s more tedious than expected, but you manage to intercept him in front of the library after lunch. You don’t miss the look that flashes across his features, but you choose not to comment on the displeasure your arrival brings him. It’s not like you've been looking forward to talking to him again, either. Truthfully, you would rather entertain a conversation with a brick wall than have to tolerate his presence.

Talking to him is but a small sacrifice in the grand scheme of things. Think of your grade, you remind yourself as you swallow down the lump of nerves in your throat. For some reason you can’t make sense of, your heart stutters nervously in your chest. Dismissing the flip-flopping in the pit of your stomach, you attribute the jitters to your dislike for him.

“It’s important,” you stress, grabbing the sleeve of his robe as he tries to retreat. He freezes, his gaze fixed on the firm grip that encloses his arm. The intensity of his stare is unsettling and you’re consequently forced to relent.

Slowly, you unclench your fingers, the slide of the fabric smooth against your skin as you let your hand fall to your side. “Stop avoiding me.”

“I’m not,” he denies too quickly for you to believe him. “What is it? I’m busy.”

You bite down your retort before a snarky remark spills from your lips. No matter how much you want to give him a piece of your mind, the objective of this conversation isn’t to antagonize each other. Trying not to lose sight of your initial goal, you do your best to remain civil despite him making it abundantly clear that you’re just a nuisance to him.

“We need to divide the work we have to do so that we can complete the assignment on time. The more you put this off, the less time we’ll have.”

“I’m doing it on my own so stop worrying about it.” There’s no denying the patronizing tone in his voice but you choose to sidestep it like everything else.

"Don't be ridiculous. It's a group project," you insist, unyeielding. "We're supposed to work together. I know you're smart Namjoon, but there's no possible way you can gather all the ingredients and make the potion on time by yourself."

Last you’ve checked, there are well over forty ingredients that are needed for this and a good dozen of them have to be prepared at least two weeks before the day of brewing. If he chooses to go down the solo route, he’ll be shooting himself in the foot. He’s smart enough to know this, too.

There's a reason you've been paired off in groups of two, after all. Namjoon’s intellectually gifted brain does not come with an extra set of arms. He needs you, even if his pride can’t handle verbally admitting so.

Namjoon's bottom lip juts out as if he means to voice his dissent but he ends up pursing his lips with a resigned expression. You have to bite down your triumphant grin (although you know you haven't done a gone job hiding your expression of satisfaction if the leveled look he aims your way is any indication).

“Don’t make me regret this,” he finally sounds out, acting like he’s the one doing you the world’s biggest favor. You’re tempted to call his bluff but hold yourself back from doing so. “Meet me in the library at eight after dinner.” Namjoon shifts his weight from foot to foot, looking like he would rather be anywhere but here. He adds as an afterthought, “Don’t be late.”

“I won’t!” You chirp out after him, a toothy smile on your face as your heart swells with elation.

As soon as you realize how much his grudging acceptance means to you, you stop in your tracks. Since when do his words hold that much importance? You don’t care about what he thinks in the least. You’re just glad because his agreement to work with you means that you’ve won the battle.

In truth, you’re surprised he hadn’t put up more of a fight. Considering that his stubbornness is second only to his arrogance, he let himself be persuaded with more ease than expected...

“It’s because of my feminine wiles,” you’re quick to inform Nahyun during dinner. “He couldn’t resist me.”

“Mmh, sure. Whatever you say.”

“Are you even listening to me?” A piece of broccoli lands on the table as you spit out your words.

She spares you a disdainful look, dabbing the sides of her mouth with her napkin, “I really wish you wouldn’t talk with your mouth full.”

As an apology, you make a show of gulping down the food stuffed in your mouth. You immediately regret doing so when some vegetable gets stuck in your throat in the process. Next to you, Risa pats your back as you try to cough the burn away.

“Do you even chew your food? How do you even fit all of that in your mouth...” She sneers, unimpressed. “Your cheeks are like fucking pockets or something. Like a chipmunk.”

“Maybe that’s why Namjoon wanted to work with you,” Risa giggles mischievously, dodging when you try to hit her arm. You accept the glass of water she hands you with a glower. “He wants to see those skills for himself.”

“Stop that.” You elbow her side for emphasis, drawing a hiccuping sound from her lips. “I wouldn’t let Namjoon near me. Not even if we were the last two living beings on Earth.”

Your friend snorts loudly, not convinced by your words at all.

“When she’s not sleeping, she’ll make goo-goo eyes at him during class.” Nahyun’s voice chimes in.

“I do not!” You protest hotly, betrayed, and proceed to stab a carrot with your fork to vent your frustration. “There’s a difference between plotting his downfall and wanting to give him the suck.”

“Maybe you’re planning on sucking the life out of his balls.” The image her words conjure up makes your face turn beet-red. “Death by ejaculation.”

You’re suddenly flooded with a very graphic image of you on your knees between his legs, your hands resting on his thighs as you look up into his dark brown eyes. It’s wrong, it’s so wrong, yet that hardly puts a stop to your overactive imagination. If anything, your mind goes into a frenzy; each improper scenario begets an even more obscene one—an endless loop of obscenity.

“Your ears are red.”

Risa raises a knowing eyebrow in your direction, your group of friends erupting into snickers when you hurry to cover them up behind your hair.

“Leave me alone,” your moan is muffled by the hands that cover your face.

There’s no use arguing your innocence because you know they’ll just keep on teasing you. You huff in irritation, a pout on your face. The most annoying part of it all is the fact that you’re taking their banter too seriously.

By now, you’re sure your face is flushed scarlet. You pat your cheeks, feeling the heat radiate off of them as you do. Why are you letting yourself get so worked up over this? Usually, you laugh off these jokes easily but for some reason you can’t pinpoint, the mention of Namjoon’s name has you losing your cool.

You just hope that you’ll be more composed in Namjoon’s presence because the last thing you want is for him to get the wrong idea... His ego would only inflate to immeasurable proportions if he thought that you got easily flustered around him. And that’s just something you won’t allow because contrary to whatever your friends might insinuate, you’re definitely not attracted Namjoon. He just happens to be smart and good looking, which is always a welcome combination but certainly not enough for you to be swayed over to the dark side.

Thankfully by the time eight o’clock rolls around, you’ve shaken off all indecent thoughts. You march into the library, head held high, determined to show your friends how wrong they are. Weaving through the different rows of bookshelves, you’re careful to duck whenever a heavy volume whizzes past you through thin air whenever they’re summoned. You finally find Namjoon hidden away in the reference section of the library. His body is hunched over a thick tome, his fingers mindlessly flicking through the yellowing pages of text.

Namjoon nods in acknowledgement, pushing a dusty looking manual in your direction, “This one has a list of common ingredients used in ritualistic magic. I bookmarked page 546. You’ll find information on magical herbs used in any healing draught by skimming the chapter.”

He puts you to work at once, and justifiably so; there’s a lot of groundwork to cover before you can start making the potion. This particular assignment requires you to figure out the exact measurements that are needed as well as the time of preparation and fermentation of each ingredient. It’s a combination of theory, math, and in-depth knowledge of astronomy and the effects of the moon on the tides. There are a lot of calculations involved that make use of the lunar calendar and the position of the Jupiter, requiring complex formulas you rarely use.

It’s hard. And more than once you want to groan out loud and pull at your hair in despair, but the knowledge that Namjoon is here has you swallowing any complaints. You would hate to hear him spit out, ‘I knew working with you was a waste of time,’ so with that in mind, you redouble your efforts.

The pair of you work in silence—the only sounds that can be heard are the scribbling of pen on paper and the sound of pages being flipped when you search for the necessary information. Immersed in your work, you don’t pay any attention to the world outside your self-made bubble.

From time to time, Namjoon pauses to crack his knuckles, his gaze drifting towards your working form. He takes note of how you chew the cap of your pen when you stop to think, your brows furrowed as you concentrate. Seeing you so committed for once throws him off-guard; he can’t recall you being this focused in class—all you ever do is get into trouble by your professors for sleeping or daydreaming when you shouldn’t be.

It’s nearing midnight when his chair creaks as he gathers to his feet. Rubbing your eyes in fatigue, you watch him put away his textbooks and papers with longing, wishing that you too could pack up your stuff and call it a night.

“You aren’t leaving?” He glances down at you when he notices you haven’t budged from your seat. “It’s late.”

“Not yet. I have to finish this for tomorrow.” You direct a glare at your worksheet you still need to read over and complete. “I’ll be here for a while.”

To your surprise, he leans down to examine the papers himself, propping one arm on the table and the other one on the back of your chair.

Namjoon hums while leafing through the stack of papers, “Ah. The magical properties of the Mandragora root and its uses in potions... We went over this in class last month, do you remember? Following Levi’s teachings, the root needs to be dug up on the day of the moon for it to be the most potent. Preferably after the vernal equin—”

But you can barely hear him over the thrumming of your heart. All you can focus on is the way he crowds your personal space, leaving you no room to breathe. His face is way too close. Try as you might, but it’s damn near impossible to listen to his explanation when his sudden near proximity has your mind reeling.

He smells of sea salt, ginger lilies, and...something else you can’t quite identify. The bizarre blend of fragrances should have you pulling away, but instead you find yourself drawn to it like a moth to a flame. Before you do something ridiculous—like lean in closer to have a proper whiff of him—you turn your head away to stare at the words he’s pointing at on the worksheet. The sentences in front of you all blur together to form an inky block of text and you don’t realize you’re spacing out until the sound of a sigh snaps you out of your reverie.

“You’re not listening.”

Your gaze flits up to meet his and you have the decency to shrug sheepishly. He taps the worksheet with his finger, redirecting your attention to the material you need to learn before the night is over.

“Can you even recall who Levi is?” Namjoon levels you with an expectant stare and you flounder, your mind momentarily at a blank.

“Um,” your eyes shift to your textbook, hoping that the book could provide the answer. “He was a French occultist.” The response isn’t as detailed or lengthy as you would have hoped to give him, but he nods right away, his lips quirked into a small smile.

“That’s right. His methods are now obsolete, most of them proven false, but his works on transcendental magic perfectly exemplify the ceremonial magic that was popular in Europe during the nineteenth century.”

Namjoon’s voice drones on, the words failing to sink in. It’s not that you don’t make an effort to be more attentive, but your mind is just too preoccupied with other thoughts for you to concentrate on his impromptu lesson.

Why hasn’t he pulled back yet? He’s so close that you can practically feel his chest vibrate whenever he speaks and it makes you wonder if he’ll stay perched next to you for much longer. How does he expect you to listen to him when he’s so darn close?

When you risk a glance at his face, your gaze can’t help itself from perusing his features. Your eyes flit from one beauty mark to another, lingering briefly on a faint scar near his eyebrow before trailing down to observe the way the muscles in his jaw work when he talks.

It takes a second too long for you to realize he’s saying your name, but when you do, you meet his piercing stare with flushed cheeks. Embarrassment colors your face red because you’ve been caught staring. You can’t even play it off, your ogling too blatant to be ignored.

He says your name again, his voice low and so pleasing it makes you want to melt in your seat, and you gulp nervously, ignoring how quickly your heart jumps at the sound. Even as you try to appear collected, you already know it’s a lost battle. Knowing how observant he is, there’s honestly no use hoping he hasn’t noticed how distracted you are.

The air around you suddenly seems heavy, charged with tension. There’s a dryness in your throat that makes you yearn for a glass of water. You wait for him to say something more, but all Namjoon does is stare at you, his face not giving any of his thoughts away. The scrutiny makes you feel bare and exposed, like he’s dissecting your every reaction, and it takes everything in you not to shy away from him.

“Are you...” He trails off, letting his unfinished sentence hang in the air. You find it difficult to look away from him, especially when he’s peering at you so intently.

While you wait for him to continue, his face inches closer to yours. His movements are so slow that you even find yourself wondering if it’s just a product of your imagination. But as more time passes, all traces of doubt are erased. He’s impossibly close now. You just aren’t sure if it’s intentional or not... Either way, the nearness makes your head spin.

It’s only then that you realize how he’s practically caging you between his arms. You’re so flustered you don’t know what to do with yourself. Pinned to your seat, you have nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. There’s definitely no mistaking how much closer he is to you now than before; maybe it’s in all in your head, but you swear you can feel his breath ghost over your skin.

What is he...?

Blood rushes to your eardrums and you swallow thickly, expectant. In hindsight, you'll ask yourself why you let your eyes close, but in the moment all you do is hope the pounding in your chest isn’t loud enough for him to hear.

But nothing happens.

Namjoon makes an awkward coughing sound that has your eyes blinking open in confusion.

“Er, I’m going to head on to sleep.” You notice at once that he refuses to meet your gaze. “I’ll see you tomorrow, same time.”

You watch him take his leave with a twinge of disappointment in your chest. Shaking your head, you do your best to rationalize your conflicting emotions but the answer you come up with is so preposterous that you dismiss it at once. Honestly, what’s gotten into you? How could you let yourself get this this way? It’s late and you’re just sleep deprived, you convince yourself.

Still, there’s no shaking off the embarrassment you feel whenever you relive the moment before he said his goodbye. Even days later, you’ll catch yourself thinking about it only to bury your head in your arms with a groan. You don’t even want to imagine what Namjoon thinks of you now.

To distract yourself, you launch yourself in your work with determined focus. After checking over the calculated measurements with Namjoon, you both set out to collect the necessary ingredients for the elixir. In your zeal, you end up gathering a greater quantity than strictly needed. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but when you show the fruits of your labor to Namjoon, all he does is scold you for wasting ingredients instead of acknowledging your efforts.

It doesn’t sadden you. It doesn’t.

"I guess substituting salamander blood for dragon blood was a bad idea."

"You. Idiot."

"Shut up, okay. I know I fucked up, y'don't have to rub it in." You mull over your limited choices, trying not to get swayed by the panic that rises inside of you.

In your attempt to salvage the situation, you add a pinch of powdered moonstone into the simmering potion and hope for the best. Namjoon’s hand is too slow to stop you from doing so—your name spilling from his lips in warning a second too late.

Time seemingly slows down.

You watch the dust sprinkle down into the cauldron in a whirl of white, the sight but a crude imitation of winter snow. They fall through the air softly before speckling the mulberry colored substance and dissolving into the mixture.

The reaction is instantaneous; the fire under the cauldron crackles ominously as the contents slosh around, bubbling to a boil and threatening to spill over. You peer down at the mixture, trying to assess how badly you’ve messed up—yet again—when a cloud of smoke puffs into your face without forewarning. You sputter into the potion, feeling the vapor seep into your lungs smoothly like liquid silk.

Namjoon yanks you away from the cauldron by the collar as the lavender colored fumes suddenly veil your vision, making your eyes water from the unexpected sting. You can feel the weight of his glare on the side of your face, but you wisely chose to ignore it, still hacking in an unattractive manner.

The tang of honey and wildberries is heavy on your tongue, the flavor stuck in the back of your throat like a strong aftertaste that refuses to be washed down. Your heartbeat is loud in your ears, the palms of your hand sticky with a thin layer of sweat. A warm tingling spreads from your mouth to your lungs—the feeling so intense you feel like you’ve just swallowed the strongest shot of single malt whisky. It’s so distracting that you barely register the grumbling beside you.

"Three hours, ____. Three hours of our work now down the drain because someone here made an elementary mistake."

"It's—" The sentence is cut off, silenced by a growl.

"I don't want to hear your excuses!"

"We still have time left," you say feebly, feeling yourself shrink in his presence. You can physically sense the intensity of his glare; your skin prickles under the weight of it.

"Not nearly." Namjoon snaps, his jaw clenched. “Can’t you do anything right?”

He then proceeds to shake his head, laughing to himself like he can’t believe what’s just happened. Your stomach sinks at the sound of his disappointment, your chest constricting all the more because of the look of exasperation he aims your way.

Tears well up in your eyes as you realize the scope of the damage. So much effort you had put in gone to waste... How are you ever going to be able to rectify your mistake? You need to pass this class if you want to finish your studies and start your apprenticeship. All of your future plans will be pushed back because of your carelessness.

“I’m sorry,” is all you can say.

“Are you seriously going to cry?”

You try to deny his accusation but your pathetic sniffle gives you away. Normally you wouldn’t be this emotional, but tonight you’re feeling particularly sensitive. Maybe it’s your time of the month. Hormones or not, there’s no dismissing the heaviness that sits in your chest, restricting your every breath.

To your horror and embarrassment, two big, fat tears trail down your cheeks and you have to clench your eyes shut to prevent anymore from spilling out. Namjoon is visibly taken aback from the intensity of your reaction and he pauses, unsure of what to do. All his anger seems to melt away, instead replaced with concern.

“Hey,” he says, crossing the space between you with a single stride. “Let’s not cry, okay?”

“I just,” your bottom lip trembles as you hiccup, “I, I ruined everything.”

He hushes your wail, his hand coming up to prevent you from talking any further. You look up at him through watery eyes, confusion twisting your expression.

“No more of that. I’m so—” He avoids your inquisitive gaze, his palm still pressed your mouth. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. And it’s, it’s not your fault. It’s unfair to place the blame on you when I was in charge of checking over our inventory before starting the brew. I, um, and besides, there’s no point in dwelling on this. It’s now a thing of the past. I’m not mad at you but I will be if you keep shedding tears over something like this.”

Namjoon tries to sound stern but you’ve been spending so much time with him that you can see right through his act. He only lets his hand fall from the bottom half of your face once you nod your assent. The limb hangs awkwardly between the two of you until he shoves it away in his pocket.

“I am sorry,” you manage to croak out softly when you’ve finally pulled yourself together. “I shouldn’t have been that hasty.”

“I told you it’s in the past now.” He shrugs in an attempt to act cool about it. “We just need to work hard on the rest. I guess all the ingredients you over-stocked on will prove to be useful, after all.”

You slowly let yourself be convinced by his words and redirect your focus on the potion. There’s no use moping about when you could be using that time to finish the assignment. You only have three days left until the full moon appears which is when you have to distill the brew.

And while, yes, you could have gone without having a repeat of steps 13 through 28, there’s noticeably less tension between you and Namjoon this time around. Namjoon seems more relaxed around you, coming over to monitor your progress from time to time. You’re not sure if it’s because he doesn’t want you to break into tears once more, but he’s careful not to be curt with you.

The extra amount of care, no matter how small, has you feeling warm and fuzzy inside. You welcome the attention he gives you with open arms. A small voice in the back of your head whispers something about how you shouldn’t be giving in so easily, but you pay her no heed.

You’re cutting up bat wings when you feel it—a sudden shiver runs down your spine and has you standing straight up like you’ve just been shocked. Namjoon gives you a curious glance once he notices how you’ve frozen in place, knife still suspended in mid-air.

“You alright there?”

“Mm,” you nod, your confusion evident by the way you furrow your brows. “Just—ah, nothing. There must be a cold draft somewhere.”

Both of you go back to work but there’s a niggling sensation in your lower belly that makes your vision blur at the edges. You don’t realize you’ve minced up your bat wing into unusable smithereens until it’s too late. For some reason, you can’t bring yourself to care. This should have been your first warning but somehow you fail to notice that something isn’t right.

The determination you felt at first slowly dwindles. Your eyes turn glassy and unfocused, your heart rate speeding up without any prompting. There’s a tingling warmth that envelops your body from head to toe, similar to the feeling you get after you drink several glasses of mead. You feel lightheaded all of a sudden, your body too warm for your three layers of clothes.

A clattering noise pierces through the fog in your mind. You turn your attention to Namjoon who is rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand. From this distance, you think you can spot sweat beading at his hairline.

“It’s hot in here, isn’t it?” You don’t expect your voice to come out breathy, almost seductive.

Namjoon’s head shoots up at the sound, his eyes zoning in on your figure. It’s then that you notice how big his pupils have become; even in the poor lighting, you can see his eyes darkening as the seconds tick by.

The pools of black betray his growing arousal, and to your dismay, you find that you are equally affected. You’re short of breath, hands clammy with sweat, heart pounding so hard that you’re scared your ribcage won’t be able to contain it.

Namjoon says your name cautiously, his eyes widening as he does, “You added moonstone into the potion, didn’t you?”

“Y-yeah. Why?” As comprehension dawns on him, you fidget anxiously, trying to decipher what the realization implies.

You’re afraid that you’ve messed up some way, somehow, again. When he fails to answer right away, you make an impatient sound in the back of your throat, too tired for games.

“What are the uses of moonstone in potions?”

“Why can’t you just tell me?” You whine, frustration making its way into your voice. Now really isn’t the time for a tutoring session.

“They’re used in love potions, primarily. But also in aphrodisiacs. I think the moonstone powder must have reacted to the crushed rose thorns we added earlier.” Sweat drips down his brow as he speaks and you can’t help yourself from wiping it off with the sleeve of your robe. Namjoon gulps, his adam’s apple bobbing up, before continuing, “You only added a pinch so I think whatever fumes we inhaled will be flushed out of our systems pretty quickly.”

“I accidentally made a sex potion?” your mouth drops open as his words settle in.

“An aphrodisiac,” he corrects automatically. “That’s why, um, you’re turned on right now.”

“I’m not turned on!”

Namjoon glances down at your chest quickly, like he can’t help himself, and you follow his gaze. A wave of shame crashes over you when you notice your nipples are erect and poking through your clothes. Just how fucking hard are they to be showing through your bra and jumper? You cross your arms self-consciously but the action only draws more attention to them. Your ears burn with embarrassment.

“It’s okay,” reassures Namjoon. “It’s normal, I know this is just a bodily reaction to a stimulus and that it doesn’t hold any meaning. You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

“Uh.” You know he’s just trying to make you feel at comfortable, but you can’t help but feel bad about it all. Because he’s wrong. You know...that even without having inhaled the fumes, you’ve been entertaining thoughts you really shouldn’t be having about him. For two long weeks, you’ve tried to ignore the filthy images that are planted in your mind, but this damned concoction is bringing them all back to the forefront of your mind until all you can think of is Namjoon’s long fingers and large palms, his long legs, his soft looking lips... Your imagination runs wild with an infinite number of scenarios, each more salacious than the last.

Maybe aphrodisiacs make you lose your rationality because you can’t stop yourself from saying, “What if it does hold meaning?”

Namjoon is smart enough to catch the implication of your words but he still freezes, tilting his head like he doesn’t quite understand what you’re hinting at.

“I’ve thought about you before,” you confess in a small voice. Something in your chest leaps as you try to gauge his reaction.

He licks his lips then, and you can’t tell if he’s deep in thought or if this revelation excites him.

“H...ow?” he finally asks, voice low and hoarse. The sound instantly shoots straight to your core. You want to hear it croon in your ear. You reckon you could listen to him talk all day about nineteenth century ceremonial magic but only if he keeps talking in that specific tone. “Ah, I thought so... Back in the library, that night... But you’re always so cold with me, I thought I had perhaps read the signs wrong...”

His dimples poke out as he laughs in disbelief. “All this time, I thought I had made things awkward between us because I projected my fee—”

You put an end to his rambling with a kiss.

It’s not as smooth as you imagine it to be in your end; there’s some fumbling around as you try to match your heights. You wobble on the tips of your toes in order to reach him, but he easily leans down to accommodate you. Namjoon’s large hands settle on your waist, pulling you closer to his body. His lips feel softer than you imagined them to be and you feel your body melting into his. When he kisses you back, it’s like a current of electricity zaps through you. The fiery sensation from earlier comes back in full force, your insides knotting with pleasure.

Every heated kiss has you wanting more. You’re insatiable, your thirst a long way from being quenched. Namjoon seems to understand your needs right away and he nips your bottom lip, his tongue licking into your mouth.

Your body vibrates, hot all over. A pleased purr makes its way to your lips and Namjoon eagerly swallows up the sound.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for this,” he whispers hotly against your mouth. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? We can stop now.”

“Don’t you dare,” you hiss, your fingers clutching onto his clothes, refusing to let him go. It would be the ultimate cruelty to leave you hanging now. “I want you now.”

“Here?” Namjoon chances a glance around the room, wondering if it was worth the risk.

“On the desk,” you pant, breath cut short. Desire pumps through your veins and you feel high off the feeling. He hurries to comply to your wishes, hoisting you up onto the cleared desk with no visible difficulty.

The fog thickens, your vision focusing solely on Namjoon and the trail of fire each touch brings. You expect Namjoon to be patient and take his time with you, but he ruins that particular fantasy when he tugs your tights and underwear off in one go.

He spreads your legs open so he can have a better look. Your gaze never leaves his face, more interested in his reactions. He doesn’t disappoint; you watch him groan to himself, his hand reaching down to briefly palm the front of his slacks. You track the movement, only to bite your lip when the sight arouses you further. The bulge in his pants looks so inviting you instinctively outstretch your hands for a feel, but Namjoon swats your hands away in disapproval.

Whatever complaint you have dies in your throat as soon as his fingers touch your core. It doesn’t take much on his part for wetness to gather on his digits.

“This okay?” You nod in response because fuck, yeah.

There’s no drawn out foreplay; he hones in on your sensitive spot right away, intent on drawing out your moans and whimpers. He circles your clitoris with single-minded focus. His hungry stare eyes the way you glisten for him with such intensity, you’re convinced he’s seconds away from devouring you with his gaze alone. The heat of his stare makes you squirm harder against the stroking of his fingers.

Tiny whimpers escape you before you have time to subdue them. But honestly, who could blame you? Under his skilled ministrations, just how are you supposed to stay silent?

You’re losing your mind, is your last coherent thought before lust eats away at your insides. All that runs through your mind is a constant loop of Namjoon, Namjoon, Namjoon. You chant his name repeatedly as if your vocabulary consists of only that one word.

“So pretty like this,” he awes, panting. “You smell so fucking good, I’ll definitely have a taste of that pussy later.”

Your mind barely registers that there’s going to be a round two, when he sits down in the professor’s chair, and pulls you into his lap.

“Pull my cock out,” he coaxes, his hands reaching to discard your sweater. You shiver when you feel his fingers ghost over your bare skin. “I want you to stuff yourself with my hard cock until you’re full.”

There’s no real thinking on your part; it’s as if he’s saying the words you want to hear. Even through the material of his slacks, his hardness is deliciously thick, and you can’t help but imagine how good the stretch will feel inside of you. Your mouth waters from anticipation. Belly taut with excitement, you pull down his zipper and reach for his erection.

He’s smooth and hard in your hands. Stroking the head of his cock with a curled fist, you relish in the sounds of his throaty moans—the throbbing in your clit erasing all coherent thoughts from your head, leaving it blissfully blank. Your body immediately reacts to his arousal, the sound, sight and smell too much for you to handle. You rut in his lap, already desperate for friction—the pace is frantic, the movements clumsy. It’s not enough. A hiccuping sound leaves your parted lips as you try to relieve yourself.

“Go ahead,” Namjoon chuckles, a hand on the small of your back. “Take what’s yours.”

The words have you keening, and you impatiently lift yourself up to your knees so you can line his thickness at your entrance. You’re so wet, fluids trickling down your inner thighs, that the head of his shaft slips, bumping into your clit as it rubs against your flesh. After failing repeatedly to relieve yourself, you whine low in your throat, frustrated.

Taking pity on you, Namjoon stills your hips with one hand and guides his thick member with the other. You do the rest of the work, the growing need between your thighs almost unbearable at this point. When his erection finally slides in home, you can’t help but clench around his hardness, trying to pull him deeper inside of you.

“Fuck!”

The stretch makes your head tilt back, your eyes closing. You’ve never felt so satisfied in your life; there’s no describing how good his warm member feels as your walls close in around it, the friction everything you could have hoped for. Fingers gripping the scratchy material of his sweater, you hurry to set a rhythm that suits your needs.

“Tight,” he rasps, mouthing at your neck, hands busy squeezing your ass. The trail of wet kisses he leaves on your neck set your skin on fire. The feeling so overwhelming, you’re not sure if you want more or not.“So fucking tight, I’m, fuck, nnghh. Oh fuck!”

You clench around him, loving the way he squeezes your ass cheeks harder, his hips thrusting up into yours with abandon. You move your hips with purpose, head tipped back, moan after moan falling from your lips. The incessant noises of pleasure seem to spur him on, Namjoon’s hips raising up to meet the fluid rolls of your hips.

“Namjoon, you’re so good inside me, feel so good,” you bounce up and down on his lap, unable to stop yourself from moving. Every new thrust makes your sanity weaken a little more. You’re so far gone that your wanton display doesn’t even affect you.

“Yeah? You love me fucking you, just look at you,” there’s that familiar arrogance back in his tone, but for once, it doesn’t make you want to silence him with a spell. This might be the only time you don’t mind him getting cocky... Namjoon looks so good under you, his hair matted with sweat, that you honestly don’t care. His hard shaft fills you up so nice that any other thoughts are inconsequential.

The pleasure that simmered beneath the surface of your skin is now all consuming. You feel it bubble to a boil with every thrust inside your soaking center, and you know it’s only a matter of time before the dam breaks. Throat parched, it takes a few tries before you can properly formulate a coherent sentence.

“I’m c-close,” you warn him, still undulating your hips.

“Good,” he growls, his eyes darkening even more. They’re like magnets, and you find you can’t look away from his gaze.

You don’t expect him to rise to his feet and place you on the desk again, one of his large hands cradling your head so it doesn’t bump into the hard surface of the polished wood. You blink up at the ceiling, disoriented. “I’m gonna fill you up and then you can come. Want to rub you to an orgasm with my cum, okay?”

“Mmhm,” you nod quickly, too impatient to really care who comes first or where.

“Gonna fill you up so good,” he groans, broken. His hands roam the expanse of your bare skin with such care, as if he’s committing each curve and crevice of your body to memory. “Fuck you good like you deserve.”

He smiles down at you with such sincerity that you don’t doubt his promise for a second. The expression is so unfamiliar on his face, so radically different from his usual cold facade, that your heart misses a beat. Your tense muscles relax as you give your trust to him.

The sudden forceful thrust makes your eyes blow open in surprise. From this angle, he reaches deeper than before; you feel like each snap of his hips against yours robs you of breath. Each slam of his hips makes your body jostle, the desk shake; and you have to hold on to the edge of the desk to stop your body from sliding off.

Namjoon leans over you, your body now sandwiched between the hard desk and his body. One of his hands pull down the cups of your bra before he attaches his plump lips to one of your breasts. Wet heat teases the sensitive nipple, electrifying every nerve ending. All throughout, he doesn’t break eye contact, a gleam in his gaze that has your stomach turning. The nips and licks on your sensitive skin make you cry out his name; you’re unsure if you’re asking for mercy or for more.

The pleasure builds at an alarming rate, and you’re convinced you’re about to cum all over his cock when he suddenly buries himself deep inside you, spurting his sticky fluid all over your walls with a cry of your name. He ruts against you, hands holding your hips in place, while he milks the last of his orgasm for all it’s worth. You feel the warm sensation ooze from within, and you gasp, back arching, wishing for that extra push so you could join him.

“Got it all inside of you,” he pulls out slowly, careful not to let his cum spill. “Are you still close?”

“Mmm,” you nod, head lolling back, lashes wet from unshed tears. But you can already feel it slipping away from you, and you want to cry from the unfairness of it all.

His fingers are quick to rectify your problem. He plays with the stickiness at your entrance, coating his long digits with his pearly sheen, and uses the fluid as lubricant. It’s messy and slippery, but he drives three fingers inside of you, his eyes observing each shift of your expression caused by every curl and thrust of his fingers.

Your mind is hazy, hips meeting his movements of their own volition. The lewd, obscene noises remind you that his cum is inside of you, mixed in with your own arousal. The knowledge makes your head spin, and your stomach knots as you imagine how fucked out you probably look right now---hair mussed, eyes glassy, skin shiny with sweat and slick.

A plea disguised as a moan rips itself from your throat. Your hands reach out for him, your fingernails digging into his flesh as you call out his name. The flare of pain he feels when you rake your nails across his skin doesn’t deter him from his goal.

“You’re doing so well, so beautiful like this.” He praises with a sigh, body still draped over yours like a warm blanket. The words make you ache. “You’re so swollen right now, so pink and swollen, all fucked up because of me, isn’t that right?” He rubs soft circles around your bundle of nerves with the hand that’s not lodged inside you. “Hm? Are you going to come for me? I want to feel you come around my fingers with my cum in your dirty pussy.”

Maybe it’s the fact that Namjoon is the one spewing such filth, but at his words, something hooks the insides your stomach and yanks hard.

You tumble to the edge without needing further prompting, your chest thrusting forward as tremors wrack your entire frame. Heart beating to the point of bursting, your mouth falls open in a silent scream of ecstasy. The aftershocks never seem to end, the vibrations making your entire body shake with pleasure to the point of oversensitivity. An overwhelming amount of pleasure, probably enhanced by the damned potion, has your vision turning white. All other noises fade into nothing. Darkness greets you then, pulling you into its embrace until you have no other choice but to fall.

A week later, when the professor calls your name, you hand him the bottled elixir without meeting his eyes. The clear mixture glimmers through the glass when the professor holds it up to the light.

He examines the glass bottle carefully from all angles, “You didn’t have too many problems, did you?”

There’s an short, awkward silence as the both of you look at each other not knowing what to say. You look away first, not trusting yourself to answer the question without erupting into giggles. If only he knew the truth...

“No,” Namjoon finally answers, sheepish. He shoves his hands into his pockets as if that would disguise his fidgeting. “We work well together, actually.”

“I'm so glad you managed to put aside your differences for the good of the project,” the old man beams at the pair of you, a proud smile on his face. “I knew you would be able to do it! I should pair you two up more often.”

“Ah... yes, please do.”

It takes a monumental effort not to smack the smug smirk off his face.

#L O L this is so late but if red velvet can release spooky teasers in november i can post this !!!#:')#bangtanwriters-net #namjoon scenario #bts scenarios #namjoon smut #bts smut #namjoon #spoopy2k17 #ahhh i'm just going to post this bc otherwise #i' never will and it will stay a draft forever

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