#man i wish i watched spooks more often; i always love it when i do a spooktober

[invinciblerodent]

i feel like it may be a bit telling that so far, i've been watching at least one horror (or thriller, or horror comedy, or just somehow spooky) movie a day for the past two weeks, a good chunk of them legitimate genre classics, and so far I've only found one that was genuinely unsettling.

like I've enjoyed a good half of them as movies, one way or another, but Gonjiam: Haunted Asylum (2018) tonight was the first one this year that actually had me creeped out.

[thru-the-grapevine]

Deep End

Pairing: Choi Soobin x fem!reader

Summary: Soobin thinks you could be the most dangerous thing to ever happen to him, if he let you (or: not even the ambience of a city rooftop can distract Soobin from you).

Word Count: 5.7k

Tags/Warnings: mature content (minors dni), pwfwp (porn with feelings without plot), public sex, established relationship, man is a simp

Author’s Note: the lovely @chanis-banani has allowed me to post the birthday gift I made for her 🥰 I played myself by writing it for her because now I’m kinda nuts about him too. Whoops.

Soobin has never been a particularly possessive or territorial person before, so he’s unprepared for how it feels to see you in his shirt.

He watches you in the reflection of the hotel elevator, mesmerized. The shirt is a button-down, oversized even on Soobin. He’d helped you roll up each sleeve four times just to give your wrists some breathing room, and from how it fits on you, it gives the appearance that it’s the only thing you’re wearing at all. He’s trying very hard not to stare at your bare legs, focusing in on your little painted toenails to try and stay respectful. He’s not sure if it’s working. Nothing feels respectful about the way he looks at you these days.

The two of you are on a weekend trip to the city together, seizing the opportunity for quality time alone during a rare time when neither of you have anything in your schedules. You’d suggested pretending it was a fancy weekend, and Soobin had taken you at your word and sprung for a nicer hotel than usual, particularly because of how your face had lit up at the idea of a rooftop pool.

The two of you are on the way to this pool now, and instead of wearing normal clothes over your swimsuit, you’d insisted on borrowing one of his shirts. He’d agreed without really thinking about it, and once the sleeves were rolled up you’d declared it was perfect.

Soobin can’t disagree, either, because he can’t stop looking at you in it. Something about it being your idea makes it even better. He likes the way you look in it, but in a way he didn’t expect. Some sort of base instinct in his gut is glowing, seeing you in something of his.

Then again, you’ve always fascinated him, even before the two of you began seeing each other. You’ve always lit up every room he sees you in, something about how you carry yourself drawing the klutzy moth of him to you like flame. He’s never wanted to know so much about another person before. He loves learning every little thing that makes you laugh, that makes you chatty, that incites reactions in you.

He can’t believe he convinced you to say yes when he asked you out, amazed you allowed him to keep coming back for more. He feels like a naturalist who got outrageously lucky enough to get close to their favorite beloved wildlife, like he has to drink in and take note of everything he can get of you in case you spook and flee. Like he can puzzle out the mystery of you if he studies you closely enough.

You catch him staring in the reflection and make a silly face. He grins and makes one back, shifting closer to you and watching his reflection drape an arm over your shoulders. He’s realizing recently how often you draw him in, how he’s always looking for reasons to be as close to you as he can. If he really was a moth, he’d be scorched to a crisp by now.

He can feel you practically vibrating with excitement as the two of you step out onto the roof. There’s a huge grin on your face as you gaze around with eyes so big that Soobin knows you wish you had more of them to take it all in.

“Not too shabby, then?” He asks, charmed at the way you flit from place to place, exploring.

“What do you mean, not too shabby? It’s perfect,” you gush, gesturing from thing to thing and bouncing on the balls of your feet. “Look at the view, ugh, it’s so—and the pool? It’s perfect, the water is so pretty, it’s all so pretty here at night, look at all the other buildings lit up, I’m just—!”

You take a deep breath and blow it out slowly, face still aglow. “Okay. Calming down.”

He grins, making his way to a chaise lounge near the pool and sitting. “That’s the spirit.”

“Why is it so empty up here on a night like this?” You wonder, staring up and around at the nearby buildings and night sky.

A private smile twitches at the corner of Soobin’s mouth. “Yeah, seems way too nice out not to be up here.”

“Definitely nice enough to swim,” you muse, turning to him and batting your eyes once. “You’ll swim with me, right?”

It was never a question that he would, but Soobin feigns uncertainty. “Hmm...”

“Just for a little bit,” you insist, shoulders slumping, and he can’t help laughing.

“’Course, that’s why we came up here.”

You pout at him, making your way over to his chair. “Rude.”

He watches you approach, endeared at the little frown line between your brows when you pout, how it makes your lips even more distracting. “You’re just easy to bother.”

You make a face at him. “Just for that, you can have your shirt back.”

His mouth goes a little dry when your hands go to the top button, fiddling.

“Oh no, please, anything but that,” he tries to deadpan, but his voice rasps.

You roll your eyes, amused, as you pop the first button. “Perv.”

He can’t even refute you. It’s like erotic torture, watching you unbutton the shirt—his shirt; god, that really is doing things to him. The buttons are on the opposite placket than you’re used to, which means you move slower, and Soobin watches in an agony of lust as inch after inch of your skin is revealed.

You shrug the shirt off when it’s finally unbuttoned, tossing it into his lap and wandering to the edge of the pool. He tries to get himself back under control, but your swimsuit leaves so much less to the imagination than anything else he usually sees you wear that it’s impossible.

You look back over your shoulder at him, pausing on the steps descending into the water. “You coming?”

He nods, dazed.

You raise an eyebrow, smirk teasing the corners of your mouth. “You good?”

That depends heavily on what “good” means. He considers saying this, knows you’ll enjoy the philosophical banter, but when he opens his mouth his throat is too dry to speak. He shuts his mouth and clears his throat, giving up. “I...yeah. Great.”

His face feels hot when you wink at him, tip of your tongue between your teeth. Jesus.

He watches you wade down into the pool and tries to think of boring things, like taxes and bylaws and coding instructions, anything but how breathtaking every inch of you is. It doesn’t work, especially when you dip beneath the surface briefly, then come back up, swiping your hair back from your face more flawlessly than any model.

“Water’s fine,” you murmur, and something in your expression makes him think you’re fully aware that he’s wrapped around your little finger.

Maybe the water will clear his head. He grabs the scruff of his shirt and yanks it over his head. “Coming.”

He doesn’t bother with the steps, heads straight for the deep end and hops in. The cool water is a welcome shock to his system, as well as the muted quiet of underwater. He lingers near the bottom, waiting until his lungs ache for air to push back towards the shallow end.

When he resurfaces, you’re floating on your back, gazing up at the night sky. He swipes his hair out of his face and rises to his full height, angling to see you better. You have your mouth pursed in a specific way to keep from inhaling water, and your hair splays out around your head in the water in gentle, undulating waves, Medusa-style. There are little twinkling reflections in your eyes of the world you’re drinking in above you. Bliss in your face.

Oh no, a voice in the back of Soobin’s mind says, and looking at you feels like he’s made of glass and is being shoved off a high ledge. But Soobin can’t bring himself to be frightened, can only concentrate on the pleasant swoop in his stomach as he plummets. He thinks he might enjoy being shattered by you.

You jerk in surprise when you catch him watching you, a thrash of water. “Jesus.”

He feels a grin tugging at his lips. “Sorry,” he says, not sorry at all.

“Why are you just standing there staring, you weirdo?” You move upright again, and your mad scientist hair flattens into a streaming curtain down your back. Pale blue pool light reflects in little waves over your skin, and Soobin would believe someone in this moment if they told him you were a water goddess.

He can’t tear his gaze away from you, still grinning like a fool. “You’re interesting.”

You raise an eyebrow, teasing smile back on your face.

“Interesting, huh.”

“Mhm.” He starts wading your way at that dreamlike pace water always demands. Moth, meet flame.

“Me, or my tits?”

“I—that wasn’t what—” Soobin stammers. “What—I hadn’t even looked at—”

And he hadn’t, truly. Except of course they’re now at the forefront of his mind, now that you’ve mentioned them, and invisible magnetism keeps tempting his gaze down, a losing fight with the thought of them right at the top of his brain, and now he’s noticing your chest, half-submerged, the gleam of soaked skin and droplets in tantalizing places, noticing the wet cling of swimsuit fabric to curving soft skin. He wonders how it might feel to glide his hands over and under and around, whether you would feel cool or warm under his mouth, and his mind hadn’t been on this track two seconds ago, it really hadn’t...

He hears you snort, tears his gaze back to your face, schoolboy guilt bunched in his stomach.

“Mmhmm,” you say, unbelieving. Your pleased little grin eases the shame, a balm on his heart.

“Yah, I really wasn’t,” he protests. “...but now that you mention it...”

Your snicker is cute, everything about you is so cute, and when did this happen, how did this happen, how did you become the most irresistible thing in Soobin’s world without him catching whiff of it before?

You surprise him when you lunge for him when he’s close enough, your arms flinging around his neck, soft mouth covering his. Like kissing him is a relief, like to you he’s something special, something to look forward to. He’s not going to question why, even if his own appeal to you puzzles him, just pulls you closer with his hands on your hips and kisses you back.

You pull back far too quickly, and he frowns, missing you already. He’s immediately distracted, though, at the delicate feeling of your fingertips ruffling in the soggy strands of his hair.

“Thanks for springing for this place,” you murmur, grateful little smile on your face. “I love it.”

“’Course, baby,” he hums, trying not to feel too smug for nailing it. All of it was worth it just for this.

Your gaze follows a droplet of water traveling down his neck and over his chest. One of your hands leaves his hair, tracing the wing of his collarbone gently.

“You’re really hot when you’re all wet,” you admit, floating off your feet and hooking your legs around his waist.

Your positioning immediately stokes his carnal interest. He blinks, dazed grin spreading slowly over his face.

“Only when I’m all wet?” He teases, hands on a slow glide from your hips to cup beneath your thighs, holding you in place.

You tsk at him, fingers still playing in slow, hypnotic patterns through his hair and over his chest. “Fishing for compliments? Don’t tell me you don’t hear them all the time. We know what you look like.”

He loves watching your mouth when you talk. The shape of your lips is something he’s constantly cataloguing for long-term memory, both from looking at and feeling them with his own.

“I only ever want your compliments,” he says absently, thumbs drawing little circles on your thighs, completely mesmerized. “They’re the only ones that count.”

He can see the reflection of the flickering surface of the pool in your eyes. Something thrills in his chest when the edges of your smile turn a little shy.

“Flirt,” you murmur, leaning in closer.

He blinks, drawing the tip of his nose along yours slowly. He can’t remember what he said. He should try to remember, should take it down to use later, but you’re quite literally hanging all over him and you’re all wet in a swimsuit and your mouth is only inches away and he is not God’s strongest soldier, after all.

He leans down and fastens his mouth over yours, kissing you like he has all the time in the world. It’s quickly becoming one of his favorite things to do, finding all the ways your mouths can fit together. He teases the tip of his tongue along your lower lip, heart racing when you sigh into his mouth and open for him. God. The taste of you, mingled with pool water and the lip balm you’d borrowed from him earlier, is enough to turn off all the thoughts in his brain.

Mouth still playing over yours, he wades slowly backward, inching towards the pool steps, crouching as the water gets shallow to keep you both weightless in the water. His heel knocks against the bottom step and he stumbles back, kiss breaking as he sits down hard.

Your little giggle goes straight to his crotch for reasons he can’t decipher. He grins, sheepish, lifts himself up to sit on the next-highest step, reaching for your hips and reeling you back in. You straddle his lap without him even having to ask, more proof to his mind that you’re perfect, and when he tilts his chin up you meet him halfway.

Everything about you in his arms feels right, and Soobin feels something unidentifiable deep within him settling into place. All his senses are honed in on you, on your mouth moving with his, on the gentle chaos of your breath, on the soft suppleness of you relaxing into him as he kisses you with slow, consuming ardor. His hands slide in restless patterns over you, and eventually his mouth parts from yours and drags along the line of your jaw.

“For the record,” he murmurs, pausing to nip softly at your earlobe, “you’re really hot when you’re all wet, too.”

Your laugh is breathless, a bolt of heat to his gut. “Only when I’m all wet?”

“Especially when you’re all wet,” he whispers, nuzzling against the hollow beneath your ear, savoring how you shiver.

Your skin is cool beneath his mouth, and he makes it a personal mission to warm it again, openmouthed kisses gliding smooth and wet and hot along the expanse of your neck, the curve of your shoulder, the wing of your collarbone. He feels you hum and relax further into his lap, tension in your muscles melting you closer against him, candle wax near open flame. He marvels innocently at how incredibly silky you are, even over firmer places, how there’s a hint of you behind the chlorine on your skin, and he needs more of it, feels an itch in his brain for more you in his senses.

“Hey,” you protest halfheartedly as he fumbles with the ties of your swimsuit top. “This is a public pool, someone could come up.”

“Mhm,” he mumbles, hearing the words purely at a sound level, feeling the ties come loose in his hands with a slithery tickle. He nuzzles into the inside curve of your breast, nudging fabric away from wet skin, mouth slipping along the plush undercurve. Pure fascination wins out as he opens his mouth wider, bites, sucks.

He feels you twitch in surprise at the feeling, soothes his hands along your back in half-apology, laser-focused on the feel, the taste of you in his mouth. You’re sensitive here, not as excruciatingly sensitive as your nipples, but that just means he doesn’t have to be as careful, can let his curiosity at the feeling of you win unrestricted.

He continues nibbling and sucking in that spot, slides a hand around to your front and tugs the now-loose top away, tossing it behind him blindly. He feels your hands tighten on his shoulders when he settles his hand back on you, cupping your other breast. He eases the pad of his thumb in gentle circles over your areola, mesmerized at the way the skin puckers and tightens to a point under the lazy caress. He hears you swallow back a moan, feels one of your hands slide up and weave fingers through his hair, and that base instinct deep in his gut puffs its chest knowing that he affects you like this.

He lifts his mouth from your skin with a crude pop, other hand sliding from your back to brush a thumb over the hickey. He knows you love when he leaves them on your neck, but it still makes him shy to know other people will see them and make assumptions about what your love lives are like. This one, however, on this pillowy curve of skin that only the two of you get to see, is right up his alley. Satisfied with how dark it is already, he nuzzles your breast and settles his mouth over your nipple.

The little noise you make is adorable, and Soobin finds himself smiling against your skin. He traces his tongue over the budding peak, unhurried, takes your other nipple between his fingers and pinches until you gasp. He can’t resist rolling it slowly between his fingers, twisting one way and then the other as he circles the other in lazy circles with his tongue.

He hears a frayed whimper in your throat, the helpless wriggle of your hips against his inflaming him further. He’s never been addicted to a person before, but he’s hooked on you for sure, wants to take inventory of every inch of you, every reaction he can incite, every texture and scent and movement. He drags his mouth to your other breast and kisses your poor abused nipple gently, massages it better with his tongue as his hand takes over the one he left behind.

All of you drowns his senses—the cool slipperiness of your skin, the little whines you sigh out, the way you keep cinching yourself closer to him, burying your face against his hair, agonizing friction in your laps. He can’t stop himself from groping your ass and tucking your hips in tighter against his, fascinated by the feeling of your muscles twitching and contracting with desire.

He makes a noise of surprise when your hand in his hair tightens and yanks, angling his face up to yours. You crush your mouth over his, and his hands are immediately all over you, roaming restless paths over every inch of you he can reach, urging you closer. He wants to drown in you, be consumed by you, devour you with all five senses at once and then more.

It’s not enough. He wrenches his mouth from yours, panting, tapping your hip.

“Up,” he pants.

You hesitate only a second before moving off of his lap. He stands quickly and takes your hand, sloshing his way up the remaining steps and out of the pool with you in tow.

You seem to be on the same wavelength, to an extent, matching his pace as he makes his way over to the chairs with your things on them. He guides you in front of him, a twinge of fondness in his chest at the sight of your arm attempting to cover your chest, as if that doesn’t just make them look especially sumptuous, and he wants his hands back on you, wants to test how squishable—

“Down,” he pants, hand nudging your shoulder until you sit on the chaise, then nudging again until you lie back. His other hand is already untying your swim bottoms, one side and then the other, gaze laser-focused as he leans in and presses a kiss low on your abdomen, parting your legs.

“I—wait, ‘Binnie,” you protest, hand coming to his head. “Stop—we are outside, someone could look out a window and see—”

“Don’t care,” he mumbles against your skin, mouth already gliding along the inside of your thigh. The looming buildings nearby, the vague hum of city life stories below, the night sky, the pool, everything is in a foggy haze in Soobin’s mind. His only focus is you, on how downy soft you are, how you shiver as his tongue darts out to catch at water droplets on your skin.

“Easy for you to say, you’re still wearing someth—ah,” you squeak as Soobin yanks your now-completely untied bottoms away, balling them up absently in one hand and hurling them to oblivion. “Wait, I’m serious, Soobinnnnnnngh.”

He groans into the apex of your thighs, mouth open wide and tongue flattened along as much of you as possible. God, yes, this is exactly what he’s after, concentration and essence of you overwhelming his senses. Slowly, he curls the tip of his tongue, dragging his mouth up, the motion gently parting wet layers of inner softness. You slap a hand over your mouth, moaning as the tip of his tongue laves over the sensitive crest at the very peak, and he lingers there for a moment, leaving an openmouthed kiss.

Blindly, he fumbles above him, finding your arm and pulling your hand away from your mouth, anchoring your wrist to the chaise. He feels your other hand tighten hard in his hair as he continues leaving wet, sucking kisses all over the sensitive tucks and pleats of flesh, working you up with ruthless patience.

He daydreams about this more often than he cares to admit, even more so when the two of you are apart, and he’s determined to learn and implement the way you like it best, the way that makes you lose all sense of shame. Admittedly, he gets a little carried away in part because you’ve told him your former partners were merely passable at eating you out. His competitive streak, combined with this growing obsession with you, make him determined to be extra attentive whenever you grant him this opportunity.

It’s difficult to stay focused, though, the hot and wet feel of you on his mouth, the taste of you on his tongue, enough to make him delirious. He easily gets lost in the savoring, mapping every inch of you under his tongue, lingering in places just because it makes you tremble and whine like you’re desperate for him, and he wants you just as desperate for him as he feels about you.

He hums into you, delighted, when your legs close in around his head as he closes his mouth over your clit and sucks. Everything goes muffled, even the little moans of his name you’re trying to bite back, but it hardly matters when he can feel your limbs shaking, feel you hot and throbbing against his mouth. You start trying to buck your hips into his face, and he slides his free arm over your abdomen and pins you down, steadying you both. He tongues over you in wet, languid strokes, feels the clenching flutter of the entrance into your body. Pure fascination drives him again, and he strokes you there again, stiffening his tongue and driving it into you.

Oh, god. The tight, blistering heat of you, the taste, nearly unmans him. He moans into you, guttural, and nearly loses his mind at the way he can feel your inner muscles fluttering and clenching rhythmically on his tongue like a heartbeat.

The overwhelming need to make you come slams into him like a tidal wave. He’s determined now, anchoring you in place and delving his tongue into you in delicately aggressive thrusts, nuzzling into you deeper and deeper. He can hear you whining even with your thighs muffling his ears, the sound increasingly desperate, and he wants to give you anything in the whole world that you want, would roll over and bark if you asked, so he doubles his efforts and slides his mouth back up to suck and tongue at that most sensitive bud, wringing sensation like raw honey from the comb.

He wonders for a brief moment if he could come just like this, completely untouched with his face buried between your legs, moaning into you like your pleasure is his own, and if that makes him a munch then so be it. And then you tense and tighten against him for a full moment and the pleasure uncoils, your whole body arching and shuddering in euphoria. He shoves his tongue back into you and moans, lightheaded at each of the siphoning ripples of fulfillment pulling him in deeper, drunk on the little sobs of pleasure you make.

God. He’s never wanted anything as much as he wants to be wrapped up in you right the fuck now. He eases you through the quaking pulses of ecstasy and starts fumbling with the drawstring of his swimsuit, taking care not to touch himself for fear of blowing his load in his pants like a teenager. Raw need claws at his insides like a rabid animal, desire to make sure everything is perfect for you warring against his impatience, his craving to skip over things like a condom and gentleness and—

Condom. Oh. He remembers reminding himself to grab one, remembers seeing the box of them tucked into his bag and knowing one would be needed, and yet here he is, empty-handed. Fuck.

“We have to go back to the room,” he groans, leaning back and mopping his chin with the back of his hand. “Now. I need to be in you more than I need to live another day.”

Through your pleasured exhaustion, a lazy smile forms on your lips. You shake your head, glancing over and gesturing at his dress shirt you’d borrowed.

“Don’t need to go back downstairs,” you breathe, and fuck, your post-orgasm voice is devastatingly sexy. “Get the shirt, I brought a condom.”

He blinks at you, once, twice, not comprehending. “You...”

Color flushes over your skin prettily. “I...I thought it never hurts to be prepared. For anything.”

Soobin is trying to process that you’ve had a plan for being up here that involves a condom. Dazed, he glances over at the neighboring chaise, reaches for the shirt.

“Is there a condom...in the shirt...?”

Your breathless giggle ties his insides into little knots.

“You didn’t notice the weird shape in the breast pocket earlier?” You ask, eyes crinkled in mirth.

Through the haze of oh my god she wants us to fuck, Soobin finds it in him to be indignant again. “I wasn’t looking at—I was trying not to look, you know, at...”

He huffs a sigh as he extracts the condom from the shirt pocket, unable to stay annoyed even as you keep giggling at him.

“Here I was trying to be respectful,” he tsks, smiling even as his ears grow hot.

You snort. “Ah yes, the respectful boyfriend that strips his girlfriend at a public pool and commits sex acts on her where anyone could stumble in on them.”

“No one’s going to stumble in,” Soobin breathes, trying to make his hands dry enough to tear the condom packet open.

“What do you mean?”

“Pool’s closed,” he says, giving up and tearing at the packet with his teeth.

“The pool is closed? Are we going to get in trouble for—”

“It’s not really closed,” he says. “I just paid the front desk to tell the rest of the hotel guests that it’s closed.”

You stare at him for so long in stunned silence that he starts feeling a little antsy. “You bribed the hotel...so you could have sex with me?”

“I would bribe anyone with anything to spend even five platonic minutes alone with you,” he protests, fumbling the condom out of the wrapper.

He stills when you grab his wrist, arresting him with your stare. There’s something at work behind your eyes, something he doesn’t know the name for.

“What?” He whispers.

After a long moment, you swallow. “Nothing. I just...no, nothing. Here, let me.”

You keep eye contact as you slip the condom out of his hand, and he shivers when your other hand brushes down his abdomen. His breath stutters when you take hold of him, and he feels himself twitch in your hand after going so long neglecting himself.

If he doesn’t redirect his attention he may still finish before he can even get inside you. “People might—might still be able to see from windows,” he stammers as you roll the condom on, spreading your legs.

You shrug a shoulder, abashed smile still on your face. “If they see, they see,” you breathe.

Sometimes you make him breathless.

“Remind me not to believe you,” he murmurs, settling himself between your legs, “when you say you’re too shy to do this out in the open.”

You laugh as he drags his tip over you, catching on your entrance. “Don’t push it, this is a special ca—ohh.”

Ohh, indeed. Soobin moans and drops his forehead against your temple, feeling what little remains of his sanity obliterating the further inside he eases into you. You’ve been intimate like this before, but no matter how prepared Soobin thinks he is, every time feels like the first time all over again. Nothing ever truly prepares him for the scalding hot, wet glide into unimaginable tightness, for how even when you’re relaxed, he has to bully himself into you inch by inch. He’s shaking with the effort to be gentle, nudges his hips slowly until bit by bit, all of him is enveloped snugly inside.

“How can you feel this perfect,” he groans, most of the willpower left at his disposal exerted on lasting, good god he needs to last even just to feel you around him like this for longer—

You laugh again, breathless, and the way that feels when you’re connected like this is sinfully good. “I try.”

“No you don’t,” he gasps, rocking his hips gingerly into yours. “You just are.”

You whimper as the angle of his hips drives him into a sensitive place inside of you. He grinds into the spot again, careful, his restraint threadbare but hanging on.

“Please,” you pant, hitching your knees further up, and the adjustment of angle forcing him even deeper.

Soobin nearly chokes on his own tongue. Fuck. He thrusts like he’s afraid of himself, mantra of don’t come don’t come don’t come flooding the forefront of his mind, sheer force of will.

“I won’t break,” you plead, voice so breathy and fucked-out it belongs in high-end porn. Sweet merciful god, he can’t do this.

He feels your mouth drag along his shoulder, and then a flash of sharpness. His body reacts to the bite before his mind can catch up, hips surging hard against yours, strangled noise punching out of his throat. Your legs tighten around him, intimate muscles clenching in that way that means hell yes, and the groan from deep in his chest is inevitable as he snaps his hips again. Fuck.

Yeah, okay, he can do this for you. That base instinct in his gut purrs like a feral dragon at the way you can no longer hide your moans, being fucked like this. His new goal now is to build stamina, he’s determined, needs to be able to do you exactly how you want it for hours without stopping. He thinks he might be moaning too but he can’t hear, so preoccupied with drinking in every clench of your muscles around him, every little pleasured expression on your face, addiction to every part of you wrapped around him like this so intense he feels lightheaded.

He can’t tell if you’re shaking or he is, only knows you’re pulling him in like you aren’t already as close as it is humanly possible to be, like that somehow isn’t enough, like you can meld yourselves into a singular being if you try hard enough. Your fingernails dig hard into his shoulders, your breath stuttering in that way that tells him just what’s coming next, and then you shatter around him.

You become impossibly tighter around him, bearing down with rhythmic spasms luring him deeper inside, as if that’s even possible, like he hasn’t been working himself as deep into you as he can go, purely for selfish reasons. He never wants to leave, would live inside you if he could, and he loves that you get like this with him, loves the way you go soft and pliant when the release begins ebbing, god, he loves—

His release hits him with no warning, no buildup, hard as a bullet train. Fuck. It feels like nothing that’s ever happened to him before, and a stab of panic electrocutes him through the feeling. His ears are ringing, alarm bells tolling danger in his bones, and he feels out of control, completely gone, glass making impact at last and shattering into far-flung pieces, impossible to gather again. It’s all he can do to gasp for breath, clutching at you like handfuls of sand that keep slipping away, hips rocking into you, slow, rhythmic, with a mind of their own.

Your arms slide around his back, warm pressure like an anchor point, and just with that, with your tight embrace and each deep breath you take, you’ve found each piece of him, binding him back together. Only now the essence of you fills in the cracks, the healing balm, each sinew of him now limned with your glow. A moth made of flame.

Soobin tries to take as even breaths as possible, tries to sound calm, rests his face against the chaise next to your face and feels a hot stinging drip from his eyelashes.

He knows what that look in your eyes was earlier, he realizes. The unidentifiable emotion. He knows because it’s clicking for him right now, the knowledge that he feels that way, too.

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[blackjackkent]

OK, time for a very small nice thing for Rakha to counteract all the Horrors.

"*sniff*"

Narrator: The dog seems wary, sniffing you intently.

Offer your hand to the dog to sniff, being careful not to spook it.

Narrator: The dog sniffs your hand and seems more at ease.

"*Bark!*"

-----

Wyll watches Rakha with the dog, a slight smile touching his lips. And Jaheira watches Wyll, and frowns sympathetically.

"I can only imagine it is a trying time to love her," she says gently, in a voice low enough to reach only his ears.

Wyll stiffens. His eyes don't move from Rakha, but Jaheira can see the way he turns his body. It's an unconscious motion, protective, ready to step between Jaheira and Rakha if the need should arise. "Are you suggesting I ought not to?" he says carefully.

Jaheira smiles a little to herself. She could have expected this response. He's a good man, the Ravengard boy - the sort of stout support Rakha will need in the times to come. Caden had Aerie, and it made all the difference in some of his lowest moments.

And Wyll is not so far out of the way from Aerie, really. Both of them torn from their homes by terrible circumstance, mutilated by the cruelty of uncaring masters, and yet full of warmth in spite of it all. Both of them tossed into the way of a Bhaalspawn in whom they found light and love and hope in spite of the darkness. It's a comforting parallel.

And yet... Jaheira has to admit Wyll's path is strewn with far more rocks than Aerie's was. Caden carried Bhaal's taint, but he never slipped so far into the dark as Rakha has. There is an animal ferocity in Rakha that Caden never had, a beast that strains far more strongly at its leash.

"Hardly," she says. "Indeed, I am very glad you do. I only mean that it is not easy to love one so marked by fate."

Wyll hesitates. She can see his loyalty warring with his honesty.

She smiles faintly. "You need not confide in me unless you wish," she says. "Certainly this is only an old woman's meddling."

"No, it's--" He frowns, looks away for a moment - checks to see that Lae'zel and Minthara are not listening, that Rakha is still distracted by the pup. "I hate it," he admits, so low that even Jaheira can barely hear him. "I hate what it does to her. I look at her now... that little smile she gets on her face, that moment of gentleness. All the questions, the moments when she wants to learn, to do the right thing, to understand everything. The music. The magic - the beauty she sees in it, the things she tells me about..." He swallows. "That's the woman I love, and I'd do anything for her. But there's something else there that's not her at all, and it frightens me so terribly."

He trails off, looking down at his boots. "It isn't fair."

"No," she agrees quietly. "No, it most certainly is not. And it is a cruel truth, in my experience, that such unfair business lands all too often on the shoulders of those who deserve it least."

He fidgets uneasily with the hilt of the rapier on his hip. "If what she says is true... she did terrible things, back before she lost her memory. Am I simply a fool, to think that isn't her? That I can love her in spite of that, that she's someone different now?"

"Only you can answer that for yourself." Jaheira studies his expression thoughtfully for a moment. "But if you want my opinion - no. It does not make you foolish, but brave." A pause. "I have cared for many, in the past, who knew their share of darkness. And I am no fool. The foolishness would be in believing she has no choice to change."

He relaxes visibly and his eyes brighten at the reassurance. "Yes," he says. A slight pause. "Your friend... Gorion's Ward..."

"Caden," she says. Her lips twitch. "The legends speak of him always with such grandiose titles..."

He laughs softly. "Caden, then. Did he... frighten you, ever?"

She is quiet a long moment before answering. "At times. There were moments when I knew he struggled with things I could not see. And it frightened me to know that in the end it was his journey, and I could do nothing but stand at his side and see him through."

Wyll nods. "I would take the burden from her, if I could," he says.

"I know you would." She claps him gently on the shoulder. "And it is for that reason that I am glad you cannot. Do not tear yourself apart trying to lay an easy path that does not exist. She will need you, whole-minded and strong, for what is to come."

He draws a slow breath, and she can hear a slight tremble in the exhale. Ye gods, boy, you are so terribly young to face such trials, she thinks bitterly. I never knew love that did not have its touch of pain, but you have earned something bearing a less sharp edge.

But I am familiar with the sense, by now, of standing on history's cusp. Had she not had your guidance, I think Rakha would have a great deal more blood on her hands. And I think, perhaps, one day the strength of your heart will be seen to have saved the world.

"Thank you," he says softly.

She nods. "I am here when you need me," she answers. "And you will - of that I am certain. We have, all of us, a very long road ahead."

[sukunasun]

TANGLED WEB | SPIDERMAN 2099 GETO SUGURU X READER

"i'm worried about you," you said to him then. it's not that there's anything wrong with him. flaky, yes. forgetful, sometimes. but it's starting to become increasingly clear that he's not all he seems to be.

suguru moves around his lab with soft, padded steps as the room is slowly lit by a hundred holographic screens. he's programmed it that way so it doesn't spook him. he hasn't had a good night's sleep in the last ten years. well, maybe forever actually, but he's stopped counting the all-nighters.

jumping from universe to universe does that to you, where time becomes a jumbled mess of past, present, and future. doesn't help that more of them explode into being each day. he's seen himself as a child in one and an old man in another, happily easing himself into his lazy chair while his beautiful wife grumbles on about how he needs to exercise more or his limbs will start creaking.

that one hurts a little too much he'll admit. would rather not think about a life where he'd been happy and perfectly content. instead, he taps on a few buttons by a console, sifting through screens, and moving windows out of the way with a swipe of his hand. news footage, maps, weapon inventory, plans and projects he's left on hold, some of them dating back years before he ever resorted to this life—bringing about order to chaos. there was no swinging from death-defying heights, no bank robbery chases and saving cats from trees, no...putting the multiverse back together, piece by fragmented piece.

his fingers grasp at the spandex of his mask, tugging it loose til his skin feels that familiar brush of fresh air. letting his hair fall down his shoulders and back, breathing a sigh of relief when he feels the tension leaving his scalp.

a video plays before him, lighting up his face from the dim. he remembers recording it at your wedding dress fitting. it wasn't necessary he told you, the dress, the rings, the reception, thinking he'd been above all these ritualistic traditions. now it's all he holds onto really, standing by the same spot, with the same video playing on a loop.

"sorry, it's been a while," he speaks, his roughened voice echoing around the walls. he makes a motion with his fingers and the video blows up in size. pixels painting a picture of your smiling face, a soft, love-filled gaze focused on him. or it seems that way. back when you still loved him anyway.

"hey," you say, a little self-conscious, "do we have to do this?" palming the material of your dress nervously, your engagement ring twinkling. he feels the phantom weight of the one he used to wear on his finger all the time. so much so that he rubs a thumb over the empty space, feeling only his suit there. 

he's removed his voice from the clip, only because it allows him to talk to you—at least some semblance of it—like he does now, "not if you don't want to...i just miss you is all," he replies.

"what kind of an answer is that?" his heart clenches at your laugh ringing through. a younger him would have said something funny when he should have been better with his words. should have told you how beautiful you were, how much you meant to him. but they always get caught in his throat. 

he's ignoring the fact that there are hundreds of other spidermans surrounding him behind these walls and any of them could waltz right in. watching the tough leader of spider society talk to an old tape of his ex-wife. they'd see just how...lonely he is.

two of them sit in a corner somewhere doing whatever task he's given them for the day. and they know there's nothing they could do about it. because he's got an oh-so-impossible plan of rewriting the canon. changing the outcome. for this is not up to technology or anything that isn't you and your wish to love him again.

and if he knows anything about multiverse travel, is that it's heartbreaking. how often he's lived in different shoes, loving a different you every time. multiple lifetimes, occurrences, origins, and resolutions. reliving the first time he held your hand, the first kiss, the first time he took you in his college dorm, how it was awkward and messy, but he'd cradled you in his arms when your body was a sweaty, blissed-out mess after, the expression on your face so rewarding he couldn't feel the sting of the scratch marks you've left all over his back.

you were hot to the touch one moment, a rousing sight, perfect in every way. and then you were cold, losing all colour, and grasping at him with your final breath seconds later. suguru realizes he was no longer in the comfort of an old junky room but on a street corner. buildings crumbling and him barely withstanding the weight of rubble on his back. his naked skin now in his suit drenched with blood. he swore it was just a glitch, but he saw with his very eyes, each of his timelines colliding and ripping apart, each tangent leading back to his inevitable loss. losing everything. losing you.

so they keep working on it. and he keeps watching you on a screen. shrugging and slumping his body and averting his eyes away because he can't bear to face you. always guilty and for what, he doesn't exactly know. can't pinpoint the moment he felt you slip through his fingers. only that he couldn't be the person you needed him to be.

"pathetic right?" he says, timing it right for the moment you reply with a—

"i forgive you," you say, hand reaching out to his. and he pauses the video there, placing his own hand against the screen and watching it glitch when his fingers make a hole through the display, plunging through and feeling only emptiness in return. at the very least, it buzzes around his form and it feels warm, but it's nothing compared to the way you'd hold him.

"promise?" he whispers, knowing you won't reply, and that the answer is already there. but he pulls his hand away, rewinds it, and starts all over again.

——————————————————

he still dreams about you. on the rare occasions he does manage to fall asleep.

but they're not scenes and sounds he's conjuring up, a random bunch of no-names his consciousness collected throughout the day, hazy blobs of red and blue. it's only ever one thing. a moment from his past he can't let go off.

vividly he sees you standing in the rain. in nothing but a pair of jeans and a tshirt. huff . huff.  his breaths are labored. here in the cold of night, they puff out in short gasps of white.

it all feels so real. in the flesh. in his suit. hanging upside down on what appears to be tangled strands of webbing in his grasp. body covered in black spandex, red covering the pads of his hands and feet, thick lines spanning across broad shoulders and chest, an angular pattern of a spider sitting right in the middle.

"so tell me spiderman...you've got a million eyes and ghastly fangs?" cupping his head gently, you're fingers move on their own accord. thumbs caressing over the material, feeling the flat planes and deep grooves of his features. a strong nose, soft cheeks...shaping and sculpting him in your mind's eye.

"go ahead," he whispers, his voice hoarse and ...desperate, "take it off and find out..." screw it, he thinks, he can have this, just this once. he's allowed to. it's just a dream anyway. spiderman is everything he's not. he's done more with the suit on than when it was left crumpled and untouched in his closet.

tugging at his mask, the hem starts to peel away from his neck. sliding and stretching over his throat. tucking folds moving upwards with every pull. pale skin revealed, now blooming red the moment you ease it over his adam's apple, over the cut of his jaw, and finally the edge grazes past his lips.

he gasps. mouth parting with every exhale, his fangs retracting and peeking from beneath, his chest rising and falling in time with his rapid breaths, his thumping heart. "thank you, for saving me," you whisper, before pressing your lips to his, feeling them part as his tongue slips inside the warmth of your mouth. fuck, this is exhilarating. even though it could just be from the last time he kissed you, the taste of you is unlike any other, forever etched in his memory.

——————————————————

"i'm worried about you," you said to him then. it's not that there's anything wrong with him. flaky, yes. forgetful, sometimes. but it's starting to become increasingly clear that he's not all he seems to be.

in that restaurant you like—the one serving the huge rice bowls and unlimited tea refills—you eyed the new injury he's gotten that week. he should have tried to hide it at least. but scarily enough, it was probably the best his efforts could afford. it'd been a bruise on his cheek, no bigger than a few centimeters, and knuckles so raw, so red, the skin splits down the middle of those nubby slopes.

"it's really fine," he brushes you off and you noticed the slight wince in his expression, giving it away. if he were better at acting you wouldn't catch how his arms rested on the table, placing most of his weight on it and shielding his torso from you. just underneath his shirt, two broken ribs sealed themselves back beneath skin and muscle at a snail's pace, a bullet wound in his shoulder closed up inch by inch. felt the dermis stitching itself back segment by segment in circular motions.

you sighed heavily. he didn't miss the disappointment laced in your features. "i think we should break up, you're...hiding things from me." a part of him knew it was coming, but where does he even begin. he's left these things out for a reason. spiderman doesn't have a place in all this. that...version of himself is his own burden to bear.

geto suguru was your boyfriend, unmasked and uncovered. the one who has a strict hair care routine and likes spending his time cooped up in a lab. less mad scientist and more aloof inventor who's dedicated his life to a cause. he's charming, intelligent, and sexier than he should be—"are you sure you're not lying to me about your job? i don't think researchers do pull-ups at work," you squeeze at the swell of his arms in wonder, palms pressed into his pecs, admiring the bulk, the brawn, down the curve of his slim little waist.

geto however, can only blush. chuckling to himself nervously whilst grateful the cut of muscles is enough to distract you.

you've mentioned it once or twice. that it's just a bonus he's so hot, the real appeal is where on most days he's dorky....disheveled. and so captivating. drooping eyebags kissing the steam wafting from his mug, coffee today, because he needs the extra boost. how he's scratching at his toothpaste-stained shirt while a blanket hangs over his head in the mornings. when warm light hits just right, you notice the alluring streak of silver hairs, shining against dark locks. swooping and silky. oh how does stress look this lustrous...this indulgent. trotting about his messy kitchen with a lazy, drowsy gait.

"where the fuck is it," he mumbles, noisily wading through last night's clutter for..."my thingy!" he exclaims. because everything's a 'thingy' at this hour. when his brain is still fuzzy and he's got no energy. he's brandishing what happens to be a teaspoon like he's found the holy grail. and yes, it is that important because "this teaspoon isn't like any other teaspoon, it's actually perfectly accurate in measuring the amount of sugar i like," he's so particular.

sometimes he goes back there, he'd swing past heavy traffic and crowded streets from below. a route he knows by heart. by instinct. awed and frightened faces alike, feasting their eyes upon a masked man and his reflected grief in skyscraping windows. regrets when he'd been fighting crime and it slipped his mind. he promises he'll be early from now on, hoping to see you waiting for him by that same table and maybe this time, you wouldn't want to end things.

[fallingdownhell]

I spy open requests 👀

could you do a little drabble about reader catching Kaveh sketching Alhaitham while the latter is reading a book close by? And then reader teasing Kaveh about it annnd.... Alhaitham's suddenly standing behind them

I am in love with this trope already!<3

Content: gender neutral reader; bit of teasing; otherwise safe and fluffly

Word count: 900 words

Enjoy!

Being friends with Kaveh meant that you would often hang out with him. You were one of the few people who knew about his current living situation, often teasing him for it in private.

But since you were hanging around him when he was at "home", you were bound to get closer to Alhaitham as well, seeing as he was the actual owner of the house.

Though he was indeed sometimes cold and analytical, you found that you could talk to him quite well, which made it all the more easier for you to quickly view him as one of your friends.

Alhaitham, who at first found your constant presence to be annoying, kind of got used to it at this point. And it wasn't like you were constantly bothering him, you respected his wish for privacy and peace.

One day, you were over at his house again, mainly to catch up with Kaveh since he had been gone for a few days and you got quite a lot to tell him, as well as catch him up to the latest gossip he so enjoyed to partake in.

As you were talking, Kaveh had pulled out his sketchbook. He often did sketch things here and there while he was having a conversation with you. He claimed that it helped keep his mind grounded and somewhat focused, so you didn't mind it. After all, he was paying attention to you, so you just chatted away, while he hummed in response from time to time or gave you actual answers when he had something to say.

"I'm just gonna go the the bathroom quickly.", you said, standing up from your spot on the couch you had been sitting on for the past hour or so.

Kaveh simply hummed, indicating that he heard you, but he didn't look up from his sketch. You threw a quick glance over at Alhaitham, who was sitting on the opposite couch, quietly reading his book. Nothing was heard from him the enitre time except the occaisonal turn of a page.

Once you returned after your bathroom break, you planned on sitting back at your usual spot, but when you came up behind Kaveh, you caught a glance of what he was painting at the moment and you almost didn't believe your eyes.

Walking up closer to him, you indeed confirmed that Kaveh was actually sketching Alhaitham this very moment, capturing his form while he was reading his book, completely unaware.

"Wow..", you whispered at Kaveh's skills with the pencil but the man got spooked by the sudden sound, trying to hide his painting, but he knew that it was too late and you had already seen it.

"W-what are you doing there, standing behind me like that?", he yelled, pointing an accusing finger to you, but it didn't held much weight seeing how red his cheeks turned.

"What? Are you embarrassed?", you laughed, not able to resist teasing him. It was just too easy to do and he always reacted in such an adorable way.

Like this time, his cheeks turned an even darker red at your words. Unable to form another word, he just simply turned around and started sketching again. There was no use in hiding it from you anymore, so he could as well just continue on with it.

"I-It's not like that.. I just got scared from you suddenly speaking from behind me, that's all!", he tried talking his way out of this.

You just smiled and crouched down behind the couch, watching him as he continued his sketch. You noticed his hand shaking slightly, but he still continued on, trying not to let the sudden attention get to him.

"You're really good at this, Kaveh.", you complimented, making the blonde look at you with a surprised face. Then, he quickly averted his eyes again, but said nothing else.

"Really, I mean it! What do you say, Alhaitham?", you asked and looked up to said man, only to discover that he wasn't on his previous spot on the couch anymore.

"You're right, it looks good.", his voice suddenly spoke from behind the both of you. Both you and Kaveh quickly turned around, while Kaveh was trying desperately to hide his sketchbook now. It was one thing if you saw it, but a completely different case if his roommate saw his sketch. Yet, obviously, it was already too late again..

"You really did good work, I look rather good, I must say.", Alhaitham continues, then turns and walks over to the kitchen like nothing had happened just now.

You both looked after him until he was out of sight, then you turned to look at each other. While Kaveh's face exploded in a shade of red you had never seen before, you burst out into laughter.

He was throwing the sketchbook onto the ground, grabbing one of the pillows and threw it over his face, crying about how he just made an absolute fool out of himself. You kinda felt bad for laughing at him, but the situation was just too hilarious to you, it couldn't be helped.

Now, every time you get the chance to, you remind Kaveh of this encounter and it never fails to get him absolutely whailing out of self-pity and embarrassement. It was the perfect thing to tease him with relentlessly..

[recurring-polynya]

Bleach Returns Day 7: Always by your side / Betrayal / History

Got the trifecta on this one, baby, but it wasn't that hard, because Kubo loves packaging these three things together (if you allow interpreting 'history' as 'long personal history together', which I do).

Anyway, I'm never not thinking about Ichigo and Renji's first fight, and for a long time, I've been thinking about what happened immediately after Byakuya, Rukia and Renji returned to Soul Society, specifically that Rukia had to be extracted from her gigai by Squad 2 and then thrown in a holding cell and I am sure B didn't stick around for all that, which makes this the first private conversation Rukia and Renji got to have in 40 years.

| ao3 | ff.net | 2225 words, rated Teen for cussin' (tbf they both had a lot to cuss about)

How many Onmitsukidou operatives does it take to get one soul out of a gigai? Renji wonders idly to himself. There is no punchline. All of this is one big joke, but certainly not the funny kind.

“This would probably go a lot faster if we could take her down to one of our medical units,” the Squad 2 spook who appears to be in charge of this shitshow says, sidling up to Renji. “Sir.”

“Sure,” says Renji. “Let’s go.”

“You don’t have clearance to accompany us, sir, but--”

“Then, no.”

“I could go fetch our Vice-Captain, if that would reassure you.”

“Go ahead,” Renji replies, calling the man’s bluff. Dealing with that blowhard Omaeda would really put the icing on the clusterfuck this entire night has been. On the other hand, it’s 2am, and even though the only part of this poor ninja’s face he can see is the eyes, he can tell how badly this guy does not want to have to go wake up his awful boss.

Renji makes a mental note to make sure all his subordinates know that he’d much rather be woken up at 2am than to catch wind later that they tried to start shit with some other squad’s vice-captain.

Fortunately, Rukia, whose timing is impeccable as always, manages to finally part ways with her horrible bootleg gigai, drawing in a huge breath of air with a loud, raspy gasp.

“How much soul fixer did you take?” one of the other spooks asks her pointedly. “That stuff is terrible for you.”

Rukia tells the guy to blow it out his ass, and Renji’s heart skips three beats. For the last few hours, he’s been studying her, watching, listening, trying to figure out if there’s anything of his Rukia left in her at all. The only thing that’s seemed familiar was that charade she put on at the end, acting all high and mighty and offended on the behalf of her noble brother. It’s been 40 years, but there was something in her posture, the resonance of her voice…classic tells of Rukia doing a bit. Maybe she wasn’t doing a bit, though. Maybe that’s just Rukia-as-Kuchiki. Renji’s spent more than a few sleepless nights wondering how in five realms Rukia would manage to turn herself into a noble. Faking it ‘til she made it was usually at the top of the list, but maybe her Kuchiki self would always have a ring of falsehood to it.

Captain Kuchiki often seems like he is doing a bit, too.

“I want a receipt for that gigai,” Renji announces.

The spook does a full-body cringe, and slouches off, muttering unflattering things about the Sixth Division. Renji doesn’t care. Hard-ass, rule-abiding vice-captain of Kuchiki squad is not a bit. It’s who he is now.

When the receipt comes, it’s actually a petty cash voucher with “GIGAI” written in the “Received” column, but it’s got a mostly legible signature and Squad 2 letterhead, and also it’s two in the fucking a.m., so Renji takes it.

“You need to borrow a pair of shackles?” the spook asks dryly. “Can put that on the receipt, too.”

Renji’s blood stops flowing, just for a second. Rukia is watching him. He hadn’t thought about this. She’s come along willingly up until now. He wishes he could trust her to continue in the same vein, but he can’t, both because she’s not trustworthy, and because the Vice-Captain of the Sixth isn’t a guy who lets his guard down on account of old friendships.

“No,” he says, and Rukia’s eyes narrow, ever so slightly. He jerks his chin at her. “Hands behind your back, if you don’t mind. Don’t need any dislocated shoulders.”

Her face becomes passive again as he casts bakudou number one on her. It’s easy enough that he doesn’t embarrass himself, although with the way this night has been going, it would certainly be no surprise.

A few minutes later, they step out into the night air, free of Squad 2 at last. There’s a breeze, which downgrades the humidity from “insufferable” to “unpleasant”, even just briefly. A thunderstorm was just finding its legs when they left the World of the Living. Renji wishes they would get one here, too, but it doesn’t seem to be in the cards.

The streets are empty at this time of night. Rukia looks straight ahead as they walk. There’s a hollowness to her eyes.

Renji’s not an idiot. Well. He is, but he’s not a fucking idiot. Rukia is not a person who shares her heart easily, but it’s because when she does, she carves off an entire piece and dumps it in your hands, bloody and tender. Why the Hell she would do so for some human kid is absolutely beyond Renji. They only live for about five days anyway and everything they do is absolutely nonsensical. Maybe some of it was that weird gigai. Probably messed with her head. She’ll likely be fine in a few hours. Well. Maybe not fine, but at least worried about the things she ought to be worrying about.

Renji thinks about all the things he had planned out to say to her. He had spent hours rolling them around in his head all through his last weeks at Squad Eleven. Even wrote some down on paper in little bulleted lists, like the study guides Momo used to make when they were at the Academy. He can’t say any of them now. He can’t say them because Rukia boned a routine mission so thoroughly that at least three other squads had gotten pulled into it. He can’t say them because, in his idiotic confidence that there had to be some logical explanation for all of it, that he and Captain Kuchiki would be able to swoop in and make things right for her, that he made both an asshole of himself and lost a fight pathetically, to a child. Finally, he can’t say them to her, because he is the Vice-Captain of the Sixth. And she is his prisoner.

Renji has never been much of an apologizer, and Rukia isn’t a person who requires apologies, but the absence of one hangs heavy between them. He can’t apologize for following orders though. Vice-Captain of the Sixth strikes again.

“You really didn’t need to stand there and glower at them for every second of that,” Rukia says, in a way that sounds like she’s talking to herself, but he knows is directed at him. “You’ve gotta feel kinda disgusting.”

Renji bristles. “What I feel is none of your business. Someone’s in my custody, and you think I’m gonna leave them alone with a bunch of slimy Squad 2 spooks for a single second?”

Rukia stares at him for a long moment. “I just meant that you could have gone to the washroom. You do know your face is covered in blood, right?”

Renji’s hand goes reflexively to his forehead. It feels mostly dried, at least. “Oh,” he says stupidly.

“Your chin, too.”

Renji grinds his teeth.

“It’s fine,” Rukia says lightly. “Impressive, I suppose, to someone who didn’t see how it happened. You certainly intimidated the shit out of those Squad Two morons.” She cocks an eyebrow at him slyly. “You gotta handkerchief on you? Let me out of this bind, I’ll wipe off your face for you.”

He tips his head to the side and regards her out of the corner of his eye. “Not a chance.”

“I had to give it a try,” she sniffs. “It’s not as if you wouldn’t catch me in two seconds if I tried to give you the slip.”

“Give it up,” he warns. “It won’t work on me. I know you too well.”

Rukia falls quiet and he regrets saying it. Forty years of working to raise himself to her level, and it feels like all he can do is remind her where they both came from.

“Renji,” she says, after a long pause, “about that.”

“Forget it,” he says.

She ignores him, just as she always has. “It wasn’t fair of me,” she says, “to grab your arm like that.”

He wishes he had to wrack his brain to figure out what she’s talking about, but the memory of tiny fingers wrapping over his knuckles, her knee jabbing the soft space between his shoulder blades, the sudden familiar weight of her hanging off his back.

Even without her powers, Rukia is still a soldier. She knows pressure points. She had access to his throat, his windpipe, his carotid. But instead, she grabbed his sword hand. A request. A plea, maybe. Don’t do it. Let him live.

She weighs nothing. Her gigai had the strength of a human girl. The only thing staying his arm was the unspeakable weight of their history together.

Time freezes. In Renji’s mind, the human kid’s fingers close on the hilt of his stupid, oversized sword.

Renji sparred against Rukia at the Academy, and they used to scrap as kids, sometimes more seriously than others, but Rukia has always had his back when it really mattered.

If Kurosaki had the least idea of what he was actually doing, he probably could have run Renji straight through, and Renji would have just stood there, his mouth hanging open like an idiot. He keeps telling himself that this was not Rukia’s intent. Maybe she thought better of his battle reflexes. He sure wishes he did. She only expected the kid to run. She probably has no idea how much hold she still has on his heart. Or, y’know. Maybe not. To all of it.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Rukia grumbles. “I don’t regret it. I would do it again. I’m just saying that it wasn’t fair of me to ask that much of you.”

“If you think I got my ass kicked as some sort of favor to you, you’re giving yourself a little too much credit,” Renji grunts. “That incompetence was 100% genuine and unfaked, but thanks for the show of confidence.”

“Oh, no, that was obvious.” She sighs and falls quiet.

He wonders what she thinks he would have done, if it had turned out he had any say in the matter. Does she think he would have spared Ichigo? Is this her inscrutable, Rukia version of a thank you? Or does she think he would have killed the kid, that leniency was too big an ask, and she doesn’t particularly hold it against him? Maybe she’s asking him to explain himself. What difference would it make? From her point of view, he has no particular incentive to tell her the truth, only whatever he wants her to hear.

“You…you can’t have worked for my brother for very long,” she finally says in a way that implies she’s not entirely sure of this fact. “You definitely didn’t work for him before I left, did you?”

“I just started,” Renji assures her.

“Well, then, maybe you don’t know him very well, but--”

“I know him well enough.”

Rukia’s mouth hangs open for a second. She licks her lips. “I see.” And then she smiles. Just a small one. Maybe a little bit rueful.

“What?” Renji demands peevishly. “What, exactly, do you see?”

“Just that you know, then. That he hates leaving things half done. That for as cool as he sounded, it probably caused him physical pain to leave Ichigo there without finishing him off.”

“You asked him to,” Renji shrugs. “It was a favor.” Her hand on his sword arm. A dramatic performance of a dutiful, penitent sister. Rukia always knows just the right way to ask for what she wants.

“You probably know that he’s not too generous with favors, either,” Rukia points out. “You could have reminded him that leaving humans with illicitly gained shinigami powers to expire of their wounds isn’t proper procedure.”

Renji doesn’t reply.

“You didn’t though.”

That’s right. He didn’t. It didn’t even occur to him. It should have. But Vice-Captain of the Sixth is still something he has to think about doing, and slipping into the support role on one of Rukia’s grifts has always been as natural as breathing.

Renji can see Squad Six’s gate up ahead. He is so tired. He just wants this night to be over.

“I woulda gone along with just about anything if it would get you to stop digging yourself a grave so deep you were about to break through to Hell, okay?”

She hums in agreement and makes a small nod.

“You’re such a pain in my ass, you know that, Rukia?”

She gives a soft snort. “Yeah,” she says, “I know.”

[fizzyxcustard]

Betrayal

Masterlist of all fanfiction

Masterlist of Betrayal

AO3 link to all my fan fictions

Fandom: Crossover of Spooks and Pilgrimage (Modern AU)

Pairings: Lucas North x OC/Raymond de Merville x OC

Warnings: Love triangle. Angst. Language. Smut. Cheating.

Summary: Amy Holland is Lucas North’s girlfriend of six months. Amy is aware of his job as an MI-5 agent and supports him. However, Lucas’ cousin, Raymond de Merville, has always loved Amy and uses their one night stand together as leverage for something more.

Comments/Notes: If you wish to be tagged in any of my tag lists for fics or characters, please let me know, and stipulate what you want to be tagged in. I’m gradually removing people from my tag lists who do not interact.

I'm reposting this because for some reason the chapter 1 link has stopped working - I think I may have accidentally deleted chapter 1 at some point. So I'm re-posting and updating onto my masterlist. I won't tag anyone.

Raymond watched Lucas and Amy from across the room. They were happy, content. But all he could see was something he wanted. He wanted to be Lucas; holding Amy tight, having her look at him with such devotion in her eyes.

Amy’s gaze drifted from Lucas as he pulled himself away from her and got up to get more drinks from the kitchen. She nervously looked across at Raymond, noticing that his eyes were on her. Those eyes were so much like Lucas’, only angrier.

“If you don’t tell him then I will,” Raymond snarled.

“About what?” Amy asked, being taken off guard by Raymond’s fierce tone.

“Us.”

“What do you mean ‘us’? There is no 'us’, Raymond. There never was. It was a stupid mistake,” Amy hissed, her eyes darting towards the door to make sure that Lucas was definitely out of earshot.

“You tease me when you’re together,” Raymond replied. He slipped closer to her, pushing himself to the edge of the armchair. “I see you look at me, wanting to have an audience.”

“Fuck off!” Amy growled. “This is in your head. If it bothers you that much then you don’t have to come round as often as you do.”

“I see you blush when I walk past you,” Raymond purred. He got up and leaned down towards Amy’s ear. “I can almost hear you groan like you did when I fucked you. You break it off with him, or I’ll tell him every minute detail of what we did. That was definitely my name you moaned in my ear, not his. You want me.”

Amy shivered, and shifted away.

Lucas came back into the room and put the open bottles of lager and cider on the coffee table. He sat back down beside Amy, curling his arm around her shoulder.

Raymond’s eyes grew dark and Amy watched his jaw clench. The frustration was building, and Amy was sure that he would blow any second. It never took much to cause a volatile Raymond de Merville to explode.

Half hour later, Amy told Lucas that she had a headache and wanted to leave. “Give me a second and I’ll grab my coat and walk you home,” Lucas said, getting to his feet.

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll walk her back,” Raymond offered.

“No, it’s alright. Lucas can take me,” Amy demanded.

“You live closer to me. It’s not fair making him go out when you’re on the way back to mine,” Raymond grinned.

“Thanks, mate,” Lucas replied. “I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

Raymond’s eyes sparkled in wicked delight as he escorted Amy out of Lucas’ flat. Just as the door closed behind them and Amy had given her boyfriend their usual goodnight kiss, Raymond placed his hand on the small of her back.

Immediately Amy recoiled. “Don’t touch me, Raymond,” she grimaced. “You’re fucking enjoying this too much. Why would you want to do this to your cousin? Lucas is a good man.”

Raymond chuckled as they walked. “Come on, you haven’t exactly been an angel, have you? Only a month into your relationship with him, and you were shagging me.”

“It was once!”

“I didn’t tie your hands behind your back and force you to do it. Although I can imagine that would have been quite fun.”

“You’re absolutely disgusting.”

Amy and Raymond walked the dark London street, passing shops that were just beginning to close. There was still plenty of traffic around, mainly taxis escorting inebriated customers back home after a night of alcohol consumption.

“Please, Raymond. Don’t tell Lucas. I love him,” Amy begged. She looked at Raymond, seeing so much of Lucas in his face, considering they were only cousins. Was that why she had slept with him? She wanted to taste that man who seemed to be a physical representation of a darker Lucas North.

Raymond stopped suddenly and looked at her. “I have to see that bastard live the life I want whenever he’s with you.” His words were cold, full of venom.

“Raymond…” Amy began. “Don’t. You’re pinning everything on me…”

“I fucking love you, Amy.”

Amy felt those shivers race up her spine again and she closed her eyes, allowing one tear to drip down her cheek. “I don’t want to hurt you…”

“You can’t stop that,” Raymond said. “That pain is my own doing.”

The two of them stopped under a streetlamp, illuminated. There was no one else around as they looked at each other, their bodies shifting closer like magnets. Raymond leaned down and brushed his lips across hers, his stubble tickling her.

“Please, don’t…” she whispered.

“Break up with him, or I tell him everything that happened between us.”

Amy knew he was serious. His eyes were hard with resolve, icy. “And what have you got to offer that’s better than what Lucas has? I’m assuming that you want to take over from where he left off if I break up with him.”

“I wouldn’t keep putting my job before you. His dedication to duty is admirable, but you should come first. I imagine you get lonely at night. I’d make sure you were looked after…and, of course, completely satisfied. I know you enjoyed that night. I felt you shake. How often does he make you come like that?”

Amy looked away, feeling those waves of arousal wash over her again. It was all building, exactly like it had done when she gave in to her primal need and let him have her. Truth be told, Amy had never orgasmed as hard as she did when with Raymond. It literally took her breath away, rendering her speechless for a few seconds afterwards. Her whole body had become weak in the quake, her nerve endings in shreds. Her body was left warm, filled with those wonderful endorphins.

Raymond also recollected that night. Something had snapped in Amy, an inhibition that had always been in place when with Lucas. Not that he was at their window when they made love. But Raymond could sense it. Amy had reacted so naturally to Raymond’s roughness, welcoming it. Ever since she had left his flat that night, he had yearned for more of her. Taking her, with him behind, her bent over the sofa, hard and fierce, had not been enough. Taking her, positioned against the wall, him pounding in with sharp, angled thrusts, was not enough. Then taking her again, this time with her on top, her hips bobbing back and forth so rhythmically and him fondling her breasts, was not enough. The blow job she had later given him, with him holding her head in place, had not been enough.

Once at Amy’s flat and she let the floodgates open. She asked him in, knowing full well what his answer would be. Now that the floodgates were open, would she be able to close them again?

[vs-redemption]

Soft Sunday

More Iwaizumi 😁

He is a sucker when you bat your eyes at him… it’s difficult for him to say no… some of the time.

Often will find a reason to give you kisses. Not he ever needed a reason.

He is excited to learn you lived in California but you told him that you didn’t live in the area he went to school. (This me I lived in the Bay Area aka San Francisco)

Tries to play it cool whenever you get real comfortable cuddling into his arms, but he is just melting on the inside. Enjoying your touch

He doesn’t make too much of a big deal about cooking… often he and you plan the meals together. He got keep his macros cause it’s part of his job, but he doesn’t restrict your enjoyment eating your favorite meals.

Again the man will flex shirtless reminding you they are not just for show. Picked up that habit from his friend Mattsun🤣.

Soft Sunday Mattsun

Interesting he says very little in the mornings at least not until he gets his morning kisses and( insert beverage of choice) from you.

He likes giving you scalp massages all while telling you about his day. He very happy to find someone that isn’t freaked out by his job. You even ask about the tools he uses.

You still don’t like horror movies but lucky you he plays twitch streams horror games. Some times you join him as he makes it less scary. His humor makes you forget that you’re playing a horror game. Even if you get scared he doesn’t mind cuddles and something fun to play after.

You both binge watch old episodes of “Courage the Cowardly Dog”. Both got a little inside joke whenever you ask about his day and he is happy to report that no portals of hell have been open on his watch.

He does the laundry shirtless🤷🏽‍♀️🤣

Iwa AND Mattsun? You're spoiling me this Sunday ;)

Soft Sunday Headcanons: Iwaizumi and Mattsun Edition

Iwaizumi

I love the idea of soft Iwaizumi! He's so tough around everyone else, but a complete pushover when it comes to you. Just bat your eyelashes, pout, or give him the pleading puppy eyes and he gives in to whatever you want. He just always wants to see you smile, so how could ne not?

He definitely doesn't need an excuse for kisses. Iwa kisses are the best kisses. It is known.

I wish I could impress him by saying I lived in California. But maybe living in Japan for 5 years counts too? I think he'd be stoked just to have 'living abroad' in common, even if it's not in the same place.

Do not get me started on this man's arms.

Not pushy, but supportive of any lifestyle changes you want to make. This is the perfect kind of man. lol Meal planning with him is actually really fun. He'll give you ideas for healthy meals but doesn't say a word when you tweak it just a bit to suit your taste.

Mattsun

He definitely doesn't seem like a morning person to me. But I can see him treating your kisses like his coffee. He groans and claims he's not quite himself until give him some sweet smooches.

Hey, you knew his job when you started dating him. It's only fair that you listen to him talk about his day, especially when he's willing to give you a scalp massage while he does it. If you do show particular interest in the details of his job, that's an added bonus to him!

If you're extra spooked by scary games, I can see him giving you warnings every time a jump scare is about to happen. "Close your eyes babe." "It's going to be loud in a second." "There's a creepy monster in the room I'm about to go in." The best course of action would probably be for you NOT to watch him play at all, but he thinks it's cute you want to be involved in his hobbies.

Courage the cowardly dog is so creepy!! That show used to give me nightmares. I'd still watch it though (as kids do). Going back and re-watching ANY old cartoon would be fun with Mattsun though. I'd probably pick Ed, Edd, and Eddy.

Doing laundry shirtless should be a requirement for Iwa too. Just saying.

[fiction-boys-rule]

Your Love-Fueled Soldier

Pairing: Eliot Spencer x non-gender specific reader (established relationship)

Warnings: extreme violence, mentions of death, torture, slight gore

Word Count: 2,865

Summary: When a job backfires on the team, Eliot and you find yourselves in a dangerous situation. But who will pay the ultimate price?

I felt like tormenting y'all, so here you go. Beware of the warnings for this one please. This is non-gender specific for the reader and I made it as general and inclusive as I could. Thank you for reading. Hope you enjoy :)

Eliot's laugh is something you would give almost anything just to hear more often. Especially when it is a reaction to something you had said. You don't remember what you had said to make him laugh, as you sit on the floor against a wall. All you know is that sound in itself brought such warmth and joy to you. More than you could ever imagine. You reach over and grip Eliot's hand, wishing for him to squeeze it back. All you know is you would give anything to hear it now. They weren't supposed to be able to find you. Hardison said he had the building under surveillance. Nate said you were safe. They lied.

Eliot's laugh had erupted from him like lava from a volcano, his arm had gripped you tighter as his body folded. You had laughed along with him, enjoying that you were able to put him at ease with the current situation. As you rounded the corner of the hallway, your body had let out a rough gasp as Eliot's arm forcibly crushed you to his body even more.

You had let out a short protest before your eyes met the sight in front of you.

More than two dozen men, armed and clothed for combat. The man in front looked both of you over, his gaze like steel. His hand held his gun steadily. The tattoos on his neck and his demeanor made you shiver. The way Eliot was holding you confirmed your suspicions.

They were not here to rough you up a little bit. They were here to kill you.

Somehow, the team had not found out about the criminal ties of your mark. Somehow, this one had slipped. Your mark had disappeared, the combined skills of the team ending in no newfound information on his whereabouts whatsoever. This mark was good, and it scared you. Nate's constant assurances hadn't calmed any of you, so Hardison agreed to find makeshift safehouses for the time being. Nate and Sophie had one, Parker and Hardison had one, and Eliot and you had agreed to pair up as well. Nate said splitting up would be for the best. Until things were figured out.

One week, Nate had said. One week for the mark to show any trace, and if not, Nate would be pulling all of you from the job.

You had all thought he was just a coward who got spooked and scurried off to who knows where, but now you know you were all terribly wrong. He had gone for reinforcements.

You have no idea how the hell they had bypassed Hardison's security. But you knew that if they were good enough to kill, they were going to make sure to finish the job without any interruptions or possible suspicion on them or their investments.

The man talked in a foreign language you didn't understand, commanding other men forward. The way Eliot didn't move forward did not do anything to give you more hope.

Before you knew it, shots rang out. You screamed, holding Eliot's body as he stumbled. He hit the floor, and your hands and eyes moved over his body. He was bleeding quickly. One in his shoulder, another in his leg, and the other grazed his head.

They weren't missing by accident. They were elongating this enough to give you a merciless and painful death.

You cried, your hands cradled Eliot's head. His eyes looked up at you, a painful expression in them. He almost looked scared, doubtful almost. As if he couldn't believe that this was happening. They had caught you off guard, and you were both going to pay for it.

Eliot never goes down.

A pair of arms wrapped around you and violently heaved you from Eliot's body. His jaw and hands clenched as you were pulled from him, kicking and screaming. He had tried to sit up and grab you, but instead earned another bullet into his body. Your hands reached behind you to grab at your assailant's face. Your attack was cut short by another man punching your stomach, hard. The wind was knocked out of you, making you lower your hands.

You heard Eliot's screams, your heart broke at the sound of them. Even through his pain, he was pleading for you. For your life.

Eliot had always prioritized teaching the team basic self defense skills, you knew that much. But after you had begun your relationship, he continuously encouraged you to participate in his self defense lessons and always made you practice sparring with him. You knew he was afraid of something happening to one of you if he wasn't there. But for you, this fear seemed to grow tenfold. You had been annoyed at his protectiveness and determination at first, but had slowly grown to be grateful for it, knowing it was his way of keeping you safe and showing his love for you. If you hadn't been so in shock and sure that you were both going to die, you might have actually tried to put those skills he taught you to use.

Shock is a funny thing. It paralyzes you, muting your mind's screams to your body to just do something, anything.

Love is a funny thing. It can completely shock you to life, or shatter you to your core. Seeing Eliot there on the floor had both shocked and shattered you, leaving your mind and body in a numb and stagnant state. Hope had abandoned you as soon as you were ripped from Eliot's body. This was surely your end, though you wished it wasn't.

You were hurled to the floor, landing with a hard thud. Your head throbbed at the impact. You looked up to meet eyes with their leader, his body bending over you. His eyes stared at you as though you were an interesting object he was observing. Curious, but nonchalant. Almost as if he was entertained.

He spoke softly, and ran a finger up from your stomach to your chest. He poked your collarbone, making you flinch. Out of the corner of your eyes, you had seen men crowding over Eliot, kicking him. The man's hand closed over your throat, making your body lurch from the force. He immediately put immense pressure on it, ripping your oxygen flow from you immediately. You had croaked out, your hands feebly wrapped around his wrists in a despondent effort to release yourself from his grip. Your legs had flailed about, your body jerking with your movements. His grip never loosened once, nor did his stare waver. He was watching you, and he was enjoying it.

Your vision had started to go black at the edges and you could hear your rapid heartbeat in your ears. You hadn't wanted to die like this. But you had known the risk of joining the team. You just hoped the team would be able to go on without Eliot and you.

He was going to kill you. And there was nothing you could do.

Suddenly, through your blurry vision and hindered hearing, you had heard gunshots and had seen Eliot rising from the floor.

You knew Eliot wouldn't have gone down without a fight. But still, your heart went out to him. There were too many of them. It was impossible. The man's hold nor stare never faltered. You were seconds away from losing consciousness, and your life.

He was not trained to survive. He was trained to kill. He was trained to finish the job. He was trained to kill you, at all costs.

The gunshots had stopped, the only sound you had heard was your whimpers and deep gasps in despair.

Eliot was surely dead. Now you were next.

A gunshot rang out right above you, and the hands around your neck suddenly slackened. You could faintly feel liquid dripping onto your face. Everything had felt so vivid but so distant at the same time, the sudden return of your oxygen flow making you dizzy and disoriented. The man's body slumped on top of you, making you groan from the weight. Your throat stung, and your eyes felt like they were going to pop out of their sockets. Your had tried to blink away the tears, and your eyes welcomed Eliot into your line of sight.

He looked half dead.

His clothes were bloody, so were his hands. His face had a hard expression on it, matching what he had just done. But his eyes had been the worst. They had a distant look in them, a steely gaze. He had looked at you as though you were a stranger, or an object. As though you meant nothing to him. You had never seen him like that before. His gaze moved down to the gun in his hands. He had disarmed it and thrown it across the floor. It looked as though the action was more robotic than a conscious effort. You knew he hated guns, you had never seen him use one before. He had then unceremoniously keeled over, falling to the floor again. Though he managed to catch himself with his hands.

You started to cry, looking over at him and willing the relief of him being alive to calm you.

He then leaned over, pushing weakly at the man still on top of you. Your hands responded at last, helping him to push. His body landed beside you, his blood on your shirt. Eliot's arms give out, his head falling back to land on the floor. You pushed yourself up from the floor despite your body's every protest and weakly moved over to Eliot. Your hands shakily caressed his cheek, your fingers running over his blood slicked skin and hair. His eyes stared at the ceiling, looking as though he was in another dimension.

That was when it hit you.

Eliot loved you. You had never fully understood what that entailed, despite what the team had repeatedly tried to hint at with their short suggestions.

Eliot loved you, just like the others. But his love for you was different. You had almost died, and Eliot too. But his body, mind, and soul went through a complete reset once he saw you on the brink of death. You realized then, as your hands caressed your detached lover, that every fiber of his being had made it his mission to save you.

To protect you. To keep you alive. Even if it cost his life.

Eliot was trained to survive, you knew that. But he was also trained to keep people safe. That was his job. And Eliot always did his job. No matter what. You were reminded of his secret past with Moreau, and how much he kept it from everyone because of what he did. What he had become.

Eliot had become what he hated most to save you.

He had turned off all of his emotions except for his anger, all of his morality, just to do what needed to be done. What he knew he could not do if he was not disconnected from reality.

You wondered if this was worse than what he did for Moreau.

You hated that your love, which you had thought to be such a beautiful and wonderful blessing, turned out to be the cause of such violence and torment by the hands of one man. One man that you loved so much, despite his constant thoughts about being not enough for you. Not good enough.

But some selfish part of you deep inside was secretly grateful that he was alive, even if it meant that this could produce unpredictable results. You hated that selfish part of you. The one that was too selfish to let him go, let him be at peace instead of having to live a life of mental affliction.

You couldn't imagine your life without him. And you didn't want to.

He had groaned, the first sound out of his mouth.

It wasn't a laugh, but it was enough.

You had moved his hair back from his face and ignored the blood. His eyes had closed, making a surge of newfound anxiety go through you. Your hands were still shaking, your breaths still uneven. But Eliot was alive. And that was enough for you.

Your eyes had caught sight of the blood seeping through the bullet wound in his leg. Your hands left his face, and instead they gripped your shirt and pulled it from your body. You tied it around his leg tightly to stop the blood flow, making him groan again. You had then apologized to him softly, your voice sounding out of place. Hoarse and weak.

You willed all of your remaining strength into surrounding his upper body with your arms to pull him into your lap. His hands laid limp at his sides. You felt his chest taking heavy breaths, the sweat drenching his shirt. The dark bruises present on his visible skin had made you afraid to see what other injuries were covered under his clothes. Some possible scars to remind him of this horrible day. Battle scars. But what had scared you the most was the thought of the mental trauma and non visible scars he will surely carry with him for the rest of his life. Knowing him, most of it will present itself in debilitating nightmares that come during the few hours he does manage to sleep. Ones where he allows himself to be a prisoner inside his mind and body. Hours spent without distracting himself with training or other activities and missions that allow the dark thoughts and memories to be kept at bay for the time being. Only you had known just how fearful he is of them. How crippling they were.

Your eyes looked up, as if your mind was suddenly made aware of where you were. Your eyes raked over all of the bodies, splayed out at irregular angles and bloody. There were so many. You had no idea how Eliot had done it. It honestly scared you. His determination when it came to you. What he was capable of.

Your love-fueled soldier.

As you had sat there, with your slowly diminishing adrenaline and your detached lover in your arms, you vowed to thank him for the rest of your life. Eliot always risked his life every day, without hesitation, for the team. But with you, it was different. Even at the end of the road, where hope was lost and death was certain, he didn't give up. Instead, it had seemed as though his body was shocked to life, energized from the injuries instead of shutting down. He had not risked his life for you today, he had shown that he was ready to give it, as long as it meant that you would live. Your hands tightened around him, vowing again and again in your mind that you would thank him every day. You knew the guilt would come eventually for you, especially on nights when the nightmares would come for him, crippling your soldier. But you also knew that if you were to ever let the guilt consume you, it would mean that Eliot's efforts would have failed. Because if there's one thing that you knew, it was that Eliot would need you more than ever after today. And you were more than happy to be with him for the rest of your life, no questions asked. On the good days, and the bad days too. You would show him just how thankful you were for him saving you, and in turn you would save him from himself. You would not let his own mental warfare take him from you, not as long as you would be there to love and support him.

A blinking red light on a camera caught your attention. You frowned up at it. It started to move up and down, as if saying yes. Comprehension washed over you, and had made more tears spring to your eyes.

Hardison.

Hardison was going to get help.

Everything was going to be okay.

Eliot was going to be okay.

You had looked back down to Eliot, a few of your tears fell on his face.

You leaned your forehead against his with a whimper, as if to say I'm sorry.

Your lips kissed his forehead, as if to say it's going to be okay.

Your hands moved to softly grasp his face, as if to say I'm right here.

Your lips kissed his softly, as if to say I love you.

You leaned your head on his chest and tightened your hold around his, as if to say I'm not leaving you.

You heard sirens wailing nearby, and you could not stifle the sudden sob that pushed its way out of you.

You sat up and leant your head back against the wall as your hands gripped the fabric of Eliot's shirt.

You looked over to the camera again and smiled through the tears. You did not have much more strength to do anything else but nod your head.

You reach over and grip Eliot's hand, wishing for him to squeeze it back.

He does.

[blackwidow-bby]

Never Be The Same- Mafia!Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Prompt: Mafia Boss au but y/n kidnaps the mafia boss

Warnings: Cursing, violence, gun mention and gun use, kidnapping

AN: I saw this prompt from a tiktok where someone asked "your favorite trope but reverse" so I did it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn't often that you got anonymous letters sent to you by someone looking for your "services". You had left the spy life years ago with a little help from the Witness Protection Program in order to pursue a much quieter life doing...well currently you were just working as a florist. Before that you cleaned headstones at the towns local graveyard, which was scarily a lot bigger than the town you were in. You had quit that job when you got the first anonymous letter on the steps of the shed where you kept your tools. The thought of someone knowing where you worked, hell, who you were, especially when they shouldn't spooked you more than working in the graveyard around sunset.

The request wasn't for anything serious. A simple adult-napping job of some woman. The stranger who left the note definitely specified that they wanted the target alive. It would have been an easy job with some extra cash to put in your pocket, but instead you jumped ship and quit that day and moved to another apartment complex. You even went so far as to get a P.O. Box instead of using the complex's mail. The threat wasn't that big to get the government involved in relocating you again.

You almost you wish you could go back in time to the early morning before you received the letter by some covered stranger. Your skin turned white when you saw the simple little envelope with your old agent code name; Viper.

Sneaky and deadly, you always knew the perfect moment to strike. Whoever this person was had to have also been an old agent from the same organization you worked for. That was the only way you could explain away the anxiety that boiled in the pit of your stomach. Once was an instance, but twice is a hobby, you decide you'll at least think about taking the job. Opening the envelope, your heart started to pound quickly inside its cage. You can't believe you were about to put yourself in this position after leaving it for so long.

The letter read:

Dear Viper;

It has been many years since the last time I've seen your face, the first time I thought you were a ghost. Certainly after seeing your face again, I knew for sure my mind wasn't fooling me. It is with a heavy heart that I ask for your help. Unfortunately a family member of mine had found themselves in trouble with a mafia member. Unable to keep their end of whatever bargain, the mob killed him. I need you to find the person who did this to my brother and bring them to me completely unharmed. I want them conscious, I want my face to be the last ting they see before I get revenge for a member of my family ceasing to live among those that loved them.

The target's name is Natasha Romanoff. At the bottom I've left a burner number and an address if you do decide to take my offer this time, the payment will be handsomely.

Much Thanks;

Otter

Natasha Romanoff? Sounds mafia enough to you. Gods, what a messed up situation to get into. Would it really be enough to possibly have to change your identity again? What if this person was important to this group and they decided to come after you? You sat in silence thinking for a long time if any of this was really worth it. There was a tiny voice that peeped up in the back of your mind. You had been kinda bored lately, this could be the spice you need to add back an old pep in your step.

It was decided. You'll get to work searching for this person in the morning. Wow, that took so much persuasion.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You got started early the next day. Definitely not due to not being able to sleep in the first place. Oh no. Thanks to the nerves building up over putting yourself in a shitty position. Luckily for you though, this Natasha woman wasn't hard to find at all. The mafia she was affiliated with, operated in the city near the town you lived in. They also apparently seemed to operate most of their business out of a simple pet shop. This has to be the inner workings of a screen writer, you thought to yourself.

Your nerves began to get the best of you on your walk back home. It seemed like everyone's eyes were suddenly on you, like they knew exactly what you were up to. You picked up your speed and released a breath you didn't realize you were holding when you saw the steps to your apartment complex. You quickly ran inside up to your floor and slammed the door behind you. Gosh your nerves were starting to annoy you. How did you ever make it as a top agent is beyond you thinking of the position you were currently in. All feelings aside, you pressured n to pack for the trip you'll soon be taking to the city. It was going to be another long night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your trip to the city was surprisingly smooth. Light traffic. Sun was out. If not for this little mission, if you could call it that, the day would have been perfect to do some sight seeing. You found the "pet shop" just as easy as well. You set up camp on the side of the street in front of the building to see if your target would possibly show up today. You were really hoping this didn't turn into a multi-day stake out. just wanting to get all of this over as quickly as possible so you can go back into hiding again.

It took about 7 hours, well into the late afternoon, before you spotted her walk in. Surprisingly, she was alone. Perfect, time to move in. You got out of your car and casually walked around the side of the business to see if there happened to be a door. The alleyway of the building was dark enough that anyone on the street wouldn't be able to see in. The sound of a creaky metal door could be heard just around the corner. You guess the back will have to do. As you got closer to the sound, you saw the woman in the back of the building talking with a man. You couldn't make out a single word they were saying. Their conversation wasn't important though, only getting her to Otter was.

Your heart began to race as the moment to make your move came closer. This is what you had trained for your whole life. The stealth and ability to make a move without anyone around you knowing until it was too late. Your eyes trained on the red-head in the back of the building. You gave a silent prayer to whoever was listening that the person she was with, would leave her alone for just one second. That's all you needed; one second.

Suddenly, it was as if all of the puzzle pieces fell into place. He left to go back inside. Time slowed down in an instant. You immediately released a breath through your mouth and moved in. You could see every single moment, all of the steps you took right up to behind her. Watching her turn around carefully but never hearing you step up behind her. At the very last second when she had finally caught sight, one hand reached but to grab her arm and pin it behind her back while the other reached around her head with a chloroform rag to incapacitate her.

The hard part was done. The red-haired woman fell limp in your arms, so you maneuvered her into a bridal position to easily carry her to your car. Time was of the essence. Someone would be coming to look for her soon. Swiftly and quietly, you walked back through the alley and reached your car. Knowing you had some time before she woke up, you could stop later to tie her hands and legs once you were farther away from the city. You placed her down in the back seat before getting in the front and driving away. You let out the most dramatic exhale and looked for the letter Otter had given you of his number and location.

One ring

Two rings

So you did take my offer?

Yes, I'm headed to the location now.

Excellent, thank you for your work.

Yeah, whatever.

Click

You drove on for another half an hour before you reached the location. It was an old abandoned warehouse settled 20 minutes in the opposite direction from the city. The sun was completely settled at this point making the surroundings very dark. The sky had an almost purple glow from the towns nearby lights. Getting out, you circled the car to the back passenger door to remove the woman and bring her inside. She was still passed out from the chloroform only stirring slightly as you picked her up.

Maybe it was the exhaustion catching up to you, but you don't remember her being this heavy. Trudging the knocked out woman inside, you found a small chair and placed her down. Your timing was sort of off and thought better to tie down her hands and legs now before checking her pockets for any weapons or forms of identification. The woman's head lulled from left to right while you searched. You found a knife on her belt holster, a small revolver tucked in the back of her pants, a wallet, and a set of keys but not car keys. Her eyes started to flutter while you fingered through the wallet. Nothing important, a drivers license, a couple of business cards from the "pet store", and a what looked like a family photo. The people in the photo looked familiar to you, very familiar.

"What are you doing with that?" The woman mumbled in your direction. You looked her in the eye not saying anything. The woman was gorgeous with the single light shining down on her causing an angelic glow upon the crown of her head. Her red tresses seemed to almost burn in your presence. You looked away from her and continued to inspect the photo she kept in her wallet.

"Who are these people with you?"

Her head lulled once more, "Why do you want to know?"

"Answering a question with a question won't help you. What is your affiliation with the mafia?"

"I'm their fucking boss."

In that instance your eyes widened. Of course, that's why the men in the photo looked familiar to you. She was the fucking heir to one of the top mafia rings in the country. This idiot, Otter, wanted you to bring in the living heir and current head hancho for what she did to a simple family member that got caught up in the wrong group. The sweat was beginning to pour now that you realized you were absolutely fucked.

Before you could say anything else, Otter, the man of the hour, busted trough the doors.

"Viper! I knew I could count on you!"

"What the fuck man?! You really had me capture the fucking mafia BOSS?! We're both going to be fucked if you don't explain everything right now, Otter." You were sweating rivers at this point. Utterly frustrated and hot in the warehouse. The red-head was slowly coming to 100% but her eyes still couldn't fully focus.

"Calm down Viper. Your work is done with me. I'll cover everything up and you can go back to your quiet life."

"Over?! If you don't give me a very good reason to leave her here in your possession, I'm taking her with me." you were shouting at this point. The red-head was now staring at the both of you dumbfounded at the whole situation everyone was in.

"She killed my brother!" You swore you could see steam coming off of his head. "She killed him and left him to rot!"

"Your brother was nothing but scum who tried to steal weapons from me to sell for himself." She had responded this time. Otter quickly pulled out a gun from his pocket and aimed it at the woman.

"He would never have done anything to harm his family or himself!"

She didn't falter her glare one single bit, even with a weapon pointed at her head. "He'd be living a healthy fulfilling life had he not crossed me."

He cocked the gun this time. "Shut up you stupid bitch!"

A smirk played on her lips, she was enjoying getting a rise out of him. Like she knew something the both of you didn't know. Like she knew no matter her outcome someone would always be out there searching for both of you for the rest of your lives until you got caught, or god forbid, kill yourselves to keep from being caught. Your nerves were spiking again, you couldn't let Otter kill Natasha Romanoff.

You sucked a quick gasp. Otter didn't notice but Natasha did. You had her gun.

Natasha's eyes darted back and forth between you and Otter. He was getting upset at the fact that her attention wasn't solely on him. The arm that was holding the gun stopped its falter and held up straight to Natasha's face. "Look at me! I want my face to be the last thing you see when I kill you, you stu-"

BANG

Natasha jumped. She had seen the whole thing take place but didn't really expect you to do it. She could see the tremble in in your hands as they stayed in the same spot. Your eyes were wide, lip quivering, you couldn't believe what you had done and now you had a new problem to cover up. Natasha had a look of empathy in her eyes. You didn't want to be in this position from the get go and it had only gotten worse for you.

"Hey, look at me..." Natasha spoke up softly to break your trance. She had leaned her body towards you in a manner to reach out. "You can put the gun down, its going to be okay now." Your eyes darted down to the gun and back up to Natasha's green eyes. Still shaking you slowly lowered the gun to the ground before you walked over to her cautiously. Tears were falling down your face, the weight of the situation was hitting you. If you had never agreed to Otter's request, you would be cozied up in your bed, awaiting another new day.

Your fingers found Natasha's bound wrists. her skin was surprisingly cool to the touch. She stared at your face the whole time you unwrapped her from the chair. The fresh tears leaving clear trails down your slightly dirtied cheeks. The slight glow of your e/c eyes under the florescent lights of the warehouse. You knelt down in front of her to then remove the binding on her ankles. Something within her compelled her to reach out to you. Without even realizing it, the red-heads palm was already resting on your head. She reveled in the silky smooth feel of your h/c locks. The slight dampness from the sweat that had overcome your skin. She could feel the softness of your fingers slowly circling around her last ankle when your sad eyes looked up to hers.

"How did you manage to capture me without anyone seeing you?" Her hand slipped down to your cheek. "In all of my years, I have not once not heard someone creep up behind me the way you did."

The steady stream of tears grew heavier, your quiet life was about to be destroyed by your own need for a change. She would certainly have your feet for getting a one up on her.

"It was my job. I was known for being so light on my toes, no one could hear me coming." your voice wavered, but the words got out.

"Well I could use someone like you by my side." Natasha held out her hand to you as she got up on her feet. Not really having her ground, she nearly fell when you caught her by the waist. The two of you held your breath as you both stared deeply into each others eyes. You could swear if you inhaled, her scent would be enough to drive you mad. "My guys will cover all of this up for you."

You sat and thought about everything she said. The would would probably prove more exciting than working at a flower shop and probably be more fruitful. You smiled at her. You could feel her warm breath near your lips.

"When do I start?"

[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Meeting and Courting Jareth

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

(Apologies for the long meeting, I just love him and the story of Labyrinth with all my heart)

- The thing about Jareth is that he becomes what you wish for him to be. If you want an adventure then he’ll give you one. Want romance? You’ll get it. Want an escape? He’ll whisk you away in an instant. Everything that you encounter is there because of you. 

- But perhaps we’re getting ahead of ourselves. You and Jareth meet after you encounter the story of the Labyrinth at an old bookshop.

- You couldn’t quite explain why you’d entered the shop. Curiosity perhaps, you’d never been inside, in fact, you hadn’t even known it existed. But a part of you knew that it was more than that; you felt a pull towards it. It was as though something beyond your understanding had wanted you to go inside. And so you did.

- Wandering between the dusty, wooden shelves filled with old, fading books, you jumpd as an abrupt dull thud came from behind you. Once you’d turned, you found that a book had fallen off the shelves. ‘The Labyrinth’ the cover read and upon opening it, you saw the portrait of an unsightly yet endearing goblin printed on the opening page.

- You went to put it back on the shelf before an odd gnawing feeling filled you, as though you were missing out on something if you returned it to its; what you thought was it’s, rightful place. You turned the book around and gazed at the cover for another moment before deciding that you’d purchase it.

“Oh that one? That one you can have for free. See how old it is? Free, free, free. No ones bought it for many years, you’re doing me a favor by taking it.” The withered shop keeper had said as you went to hand them the book.

- Odd. You thought since nearly all of the books in the shop were just as old if not older. But who were you to turn down a persons generosity? Thanking the shop keeper, you left the store, clutching your newly owned book in your hand as you made your way home.

- Once you arrived home, you set the book down and went about the rest of your routine. It wasn’t until later that night that you actually cracked the book open, completely unaware of how invested you would become in the story.

- You spent hours devouring the pages, seldom stopping for anything and oblivious to the starry eyes which watched you from the dark of the night outside your window.

- It was a few days later that you would first encounter the goblin king in person. You’d had a bad day and felt as though you’d rather disappear forever than be a functional human being for another day. It was then that you remembered a specific quote from the story you’d read mere days before. With a solemn chuckle, you sank to the floor, closing your eyes and saying the words.

“I wish the goblins would come and take me away right now.”

- You sat silent for a long moment, taking a few deep breaths and trying to forget about the day you had. Creak! Your eyes snapped open and your head whipped to the side before you began to laugh nervously, there was nothing there.

- But in an instant, it felt as though the entire room was alive and that; even though you were completely alone, there was someone or something there with you. The distinct feeling of being watched filled you and you felt a twinge of panic invade your senses. You quickly made your way towards your back door and stepped outside …only to find that you weren’t in your backyard.

- Before you was the beautiful view of a, well, a labyrinth. It was just like the one in the book. Were you dreaming? You must have been, how else would you be …here.

- You began to walk towards the labyrinth, soon encountering the fairies, Hoggle, the worm. You marveled at the place around you and yet, you were worried. How would you get home?

- The answer wasn’t going to be anywhere outside of the labyrinth, and so you kept on going. Maneuvering your way through obstacle after obstacle, joining up with Hoggle once more who agreed to show you the way out after some bribery and blackmail. It was with Hoggle that you saw him for the first time.

- Well, it wasn’t really him at first, he was sitting on the ground in the shape of a creature-esque beggar. Even if it was him, you wouldn’t have recognized him. You moved closer to Hoggle as the two of you went to pass the blind beggar, creeping past before the creature spoke.

“Your majesty.” Hoggle said and your eyes widened. Stooping slightly, you bowed your head in a show of respect, up until the king made Hoggle confess his “true intentions behind helping you”.

- Unbeknownst to you, the goblin king was jealous of your newfound friendship with the ghastly little man and sought to squash it. Playing the role of kind king, he watched your reaction to the news, hiding his glee and making a face of teasing disappointment at the Hoggle.

“And you Y/n,” he turned his attention towards you, a smirk settling on his face as he leaned against the wall in front of you. “How are you enjoying my labyrinth?”

“Well, it’s very beautiful,” you fumbled for the right words to say, your throat dry and your stomach filled with butterflies. “I’ve enjoyed my time here, the good and the bad. But …I would like to know the way home....”

- He tsked at you before offering you a deal. If you managed to arrive at his castle in the next thirteen hours, then you could leave. But if you couldn’t, you would have to stay with him forever. With no other option, you accepted the challenge.

- Of course, he tries to foil all of your plans and attempts. Every now and again, he’ll drop in and make your mission harder. He’s always very smug whenever he messes you up and makes you take a longer route, though; at the same time, he wants you to arrive at his castle as soon as possible.

- Throughout his visits, he’ll try and win you over. Trying to impress you with his powers and woo you with his charms.

- Not many people have gotten as far as you have so believe me; he’s impressed. Though he also feels jealous as he watches you express any affection to the creatures of the labyrinth and your new friends. He threatens them every time they leave your sight.

- Regardless of his attempts to throw you off track, you do in fact make it to the castle in time. Thoroughly distraught, he offers you a final desperate deal though it sounds more like a plea. Let him rule you. Stay with him, fear him, love him. Do as he says, and he will be your slave.

- The offer makes you freeze, your heart and mind racing. For a long moment, you remain silent before you slowly open your mouth and give him your answer. Yes, you’ll stay.

- The smile he gives you is genuine and the world around you begins to put itself back together. Soon enough, you’re standing in the room full of staircases, a hopeful feeling rising within you.

“Come, let us pick your new room.” He offers you his hand and you take it, allowing him to lead you into the corridor of the castle.

- The two of you have dinner that night and both of you would consider it to be your first date. Candle light, flowers, the occasional rambunctious goblin; it was beautifully strange and you wouldn’t have changed a thing.

- The two of you share your first kiss in one of the many gardens of the Labyrinth. You were admiring the flowers and he was standing beneath a shady tree, admiring you; something he does very often.

- Out of nowhere, he stalked out from his shaded corner, hands behind his back as he leans down and kisses you. No words spoken, no questions asked and certainly no complaints made. He pulled away and you smiled up at him, though he was looking at the flowers in front of you. He only returned your smile as you turned back to the flowers happily, his heart full of adoration and gratitude.

- The two of you would only remain together forever ...not long at all.

- You’re only ever in the company of goblins and/or other creatures; and he couldn’t care less about their comfort or opinions, so pda isn’t really a problem for him. The only problem with Pda is the fact that he doesn’t want to appear too soft in front of his subjects.

- Passionate, breathtaking kisses that make you weak in the knees and send a wave of heat coursing through you.

- He loves when you come to spend time with him; or just to see him, on your own accord, even if you’re technically disrupting something. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” He’ll say, his face brightening as you come into view or the instant he hears your voice.

- He craves your affection and attention, even though he’s good at hiding it. He knows that he’s been “alone” for a very long time but it still genuinely surprises him when he’s reminded as to how much he’s actually missed having a companion.

- He always gives you a closed lip smile whenever you kiss him on the cheek. How big it is depends on the situation.

- He loves when you play with his hair, he’ll lay between your legs and toy with his crystals while you braid or twirl his teased locks.

- Getting to hear him sing. He usually pulls you into a dance while he does so.

- He’s quite fond of terms of endearment, he likes that only he is truly allowed to call you them and you him. Usually, he’ll call you love, darling, pet, and my queen.

- He’s a cuddler but you aren’t allowed to let anyone know that. Most of the time, the two of you will sleep with your head on his chest, one of your hands in his and his other arm wrapped around you, keeping you close.

- He likes tracing his fingers across your skin, usually your bare back while you’re laying on your stomach next to him in bed.

- Hand kisses.

- Constant compliments and praise.

“Well don’t you look ravishing~”

- He plays little tricks on you from time to time. I’m fairly certain that he’s; at least, part fae and we all know that they’re mischievous little bastards.

- Occasionally getting spooked by him because he’ll just appear somewhere close to you out of nowhere, usually with an expression that tells you that he knew exactly what he was doing.

- He enjoys the banter that the two of you get into. He likes the little smiles he can force you into making with his teasing comments.

- Sometimes, he’ll just drape himself across you; or lay his head on some part of you, and start a conversation as though nothing is out of the ordinary; which is true because he does it enough that you’ve gotten used to it.

“Do you think it’s too much?”

- Telling him about your dreams and the little odd things that happen to you throughout the day, even though he most likely already knows about them. He finds it amusing to listen to you describe them either way. 

- He likes having your full attention. He likes the feeling of being yearned for and adored, though he adores you the same amount if not more.

- He’s sorta clingy though he tries his best to hide just how clingy he is. You get little glimpses of it every now and again, like him dropping in to see what you’re doing throughout the day or having you stay close to his side whenever you can.

- He’s a; for the most part, chivalrous gentleman, even when you’re testing his patience. It doesn’t matter if you’ve just had an argument, he’s still offering you his hand to steady yourself with while climbing up the castle steps.  

- Getting his capes draped over your shoulders.

- Getting to hear all of his stories about the land, the labyrinth, and all of the creatures that inhabit it.

- You definitely sit on his lap while he’s in his throne, having little conversations while the goblins jeer at each other and cause trouble around you.

- You try to get him to be nicer to the goblins and all the other creatures of the labyrinth but old habits die hard; especially since he sees them as below him. He tries though, mainly to please you.

- You’re somewhat feared by association; at least until they get to know you, which means everyone is pretty much always incredibly nice to you, even if they’re usually rude to people. After they do get to know you, then they just begin to genuinely like you enough to be kind to you.

- Although, they revert back to their; understandably, timid selves when Jareth shows up. You can; quite literally, tell when the king shows up because their smiles will drop and their eyes will widen, some cowering slightly as you glance behind your shoulder, finding the blonde watching you.

- Masquerade balls thrown in your honor.

- Strange but delicious meals.

- Nights spent in front of a fire, cuddled into his side and watching different places and dreams in his crystals.

- Watching the sun rise and set together. 

- You get anything your heart desires, all you have to do is ask or mention something in passion. He’ll either leave it for you to find in your room or manifest it right then and there, raising an eyebrow at you and smirking, a sparkling little glint in his eyes.

- Magic tricks. He enjoys seeing the wonder and awe on your face. 

- Hugs from behind. 

- Catching him talking to the goblins about you. It’s always something that you can’t help but find cute. 

- Getting dressed up in extravagant clothing. He enjoys seeing you in proper goblin ruler fashion.

- You assume your queenly duties and take it upon yourself to make the labyrinth a better place wherever you can. He doesn’t understand your need to be kind but he does find it quite adorable when you return home with dirtied clothing and mussed up hair; usually out of breath with a big smile on your face, having spent the day helping the citizens of the labyrinth.

 “Well look at your dress. You’ve ruined it.” He’ll say, usually in such a fond teasing manner that you can’t help but let out a little laugh.

- All the goblins adore you, even if you don’t necessarily fit in with them and the king. They like your little quirks and contrasting personality traits as much as they like the ones that match theirs.

- Occasionally stepping in to stop him from making brash; and oftentimes cruel, decisions.

- He’s incredibly jealous. Anytime he sees someone talking to you in a relatively “too friendly” way, he’ll threaten them with the bog of eternal stench or some other horrible part of his land.

- He’s very protective of you, the labyrinth can be a very dangerous place for someone who doesn’t truly know where they’re going. He always insists that you have someone accompany you; which you usually have no problem with. He also watches you from his crystals whenever he feels that something is wrong.

- You cant be sure but you guess that Jareth has something to do with the barn owl that follows you on your little journeys through the land.

- Arguments here and there. He usually ends up either shutting you down or snapping at you, though he doesn’t ever yell. Just to be petty, you’ll ignore him and occasionally go to stay somewhere else, usually being wholeheartedly yet wearily accepted into the home of one of your strange friends.

- He’s extremely irritable during these cold shoulder sessions, snapping at the goblins more than usual and ranting to them about how you “could dare just walk out on” him. He usually makes the creatures/goblins try to convince you to talk to him. Eventually, he’ll visit, telling you that you’re acting childish before breaking; as you refuse to say a word to him, and desperately trying to get you to forgive him.

- He doesn’t say “I love you” constantly but he does say it very often. Even so, it doesn't change how special it feels every time he says it.

- He wants to marry you as soon as he can but he thinks he’ll wait for children for a little while, wanting to savor your lives together before making a new one. As surprising as it may be, he genuinely does like children and is eager to have his own, especially with you.

[ppersonna]

the sheriff - knj | m

↳ summary- you’ve always had a soft spot for Kim Namjoon, the local sheriff.  seems like he’s had one for you, too.

↳ rating- explicit/18+/nsfw

↳ pairing- kim namjoon x reader

↳ word count- 6.8k (THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A DRABBLE I...)

↳ genre- smut, fluff

↳ warnings- penetrative sex, oral sex (m/f receiving), cowboy dirty talk, unprotected sex, aftercare, namjoon is a whole gentleman, we love to see it, period-typical gender roles, sex in a saloon, severe overuse of the word Darlin, artistic liberties on language used in the old west lol

↳ a/n- hello! welcome to my first (not so) drabble for Bangtan Rodeo!  this was requested by my angel dani @minloop​ who requested “ Howdy partner, Namjoon + saloon + sheriff 🤠” i hope you enjoy it love!  thank you to my soulmate @mindays​ for the amazing banner omg i c ry every time i look at it.  and thank you to @hobiance​ for making up this fun game, and for @mindays​ for beta-reading it!!  i also wanna shoutout my crew @ladyartemesia​ @xjoonchildx​ @taetaewonderland​ @kookiesjoonies​ who i would never write again if it werent for their constant hype.  I LOVE YOU ALLLLLL. 

What had started out as a pleasant ride through town on your father’s horse, Bang, turned into an absolute nightmare.

The horse had gotten spooked by some unknown creature, and reared up high, before taking off at a break-neck pace. Your screams were drowned out by the thunderous beat of the stallion’s hooves and the wind rushing by as the horse ran erratically out of the town and into the wilderness.

“Help!” You screamed, hoping someone would hear you. Fat tears rolled down your cheeks as you clung to the reins, skirt billowing behind you.

Bang the horse reared up again in a clearing, and this time it was no match for your delicate strength. You slid off the horse and landed hard on your back with an ‘oof’ before your vision went black.

“Hey, you hear me? Little lady?”

The voice wakes you, and you blink a few times. Sitting up, you wince at the stabbing pain that radiates through your body and hiss.

“Hey now, be careful,” the gentle voice speaks again. “Don’t get up too fast. Here, lay back down.”

Something soft touches the back of your head and you realize the kind stranger must have balled up some clothing for you to rest on.

The sun is still high in the sky and your vision is slowly coming back to normal, when you focus on the face of your savior—before nearly passing out again.

It’s the town Sheriff, Kim Namjoon. The very man you’ve harbored a secret crush on for years.  

You’ve watched him become a deputy and work his way up the ranks. He was a gentleman, and the bravest man in town. He battled some of the fiercest bank robbers and thieves in the county and always came back victorious. He was prime husband material.

That is, if you had ever spoken a more than a single word to him.

He’d work for your father on your ranch often, helping with mending fences or shoeing horses. He’d sit at your dinner table and graciously eat the soup, dumplings and pie you’d make special for him and thank you with a tip of his hat—then be off, back to saving the town, before you could even build up the courage to tell him ‘good evening’.

“How you feelin’?” He asks tenderly, cupping your cheek and pushing your mused hair behind your ear as best as he could.

It’s hard to speak—equal parts in pain from the fall and stunned from the beautiful man staring you down.

“H-hurts,” you whisper, licking your lips.

Namjoon’s eyes follow where your tongue trails over your chapped lips and swallows hard.

“I bet. You took quite the fall there.”

You close your eyes, remembering the terrifying moment you fell off. The horse had been so frightened, so ablaze...

Suddenly, you remember your father’s prize stallion. He had likely run off while you laid unconscious in the dirt.

“Oh, no!” Your eyes fly open. “Bang!”  You try to sit up, but Namjoon shushes you and gently guides you back down.

“He’s all right, miss.  He’s eating an apple, as happy as can be.”

“Oh, praise the lord,” you sigh. “Papa would tan my hide.”

Namjoon chuckles and nods.  

“Brave of you to take that beast out for a ride. You think you can sit up?”

You nod, and with his strong, gorgeous hands assisting you, you sit up straight.

He offers you the waterskin in his hands. “Here, have some water. You’ll need it for that headache.”  

“What headache—owww,” you groan as the sudden pounding in your head echoes the pounding of the horses’ hooves galloping out of town. Namjoon chuckles and pats down your hair—picking out dirt and leaves.

“Once you feel back to sorts, I’ll wrangle Bang up to my horse so you can ride with me, and I’ll take you home.”

The water from the skin is cool and you sigh as it coats your dry throat, eyes closing in bliss.  Namjoon keeps his eyes on you for a moment, watching the way you drink.  He nearly groans as a bit falls from your lips, trails your neck and down onto your pretty chest. It slips past your clothes, where his eyes can no longer follow it, and he shakes himself back to propriety.  

“Thank you,” you speak as you swallow the water and hand back the skin. “I needed that.”

Namjoon nods solemnly, tucking the skin back to his holster belt before standing up.

“You stay there and rest while I get Bang tied up, alright?”

You’re hopeless to deny any request from the handsome sheriff, and you’re nodding your assent before you try to fight back on feeling better.

Instead, you watch as the tall man stands and strides over to Bang, cooing gently at the enormous beast and patting his nose for a moment to calm any lingering nerves the horse may have.

Your mind wanders and you suddenly envision a future with the sheriff—watching him tend to your horses while you cook dinner and mind the children. You imagine him herding you into your bedroom and pushing you deep into your featherbed, dripping cock aching to slide into your warmth as he whispers how much he loves you into your ear.

You’re only snapped out of your fantasy when the man of your dreams approaches once more, a bridled horse at his side as he slips the reins through his own horse’s saddle to guide him back to town.

“You all right there, little lady? You looked a little dazed.”

Your cheeks heat and you nod, quickly trying to dispel the embarrassment.

He sticks his hand out and you watch as your small hand fits in perfectly to his grip, and he tugs you up with ease; the momentum of the pull has you being pulled directly into his chest.

“T-thank you,” you murmur breathlessly. The sheriff stares down at you, eyes fixed on your own before they glance at your lips as if it’s his last wish to press his own there.

He’s silent for a moment as he holds you against his chest, then rights himself and backs away.

“You’re welcome, ma’am. Glad to help.”

Namjoon lifts you onto his own horse and your heart stutters at the feel of his hands gripping your waist. It’s warm where he touches and you wonder what his hands would feel like touching you everywhere. You imagine his hands would feel like a dying campfire on your bare skin, deceivingly scorching hot.

He saddles up behind you and wraps his arms around you, gripping the reins as he clicks his tongue at his horse to start a slow trot back towards town.

The gentle trot of the horse makes your chest heave and fall, bouncing with each step the horse takes. Namjoon glances down and can see the way your breasts jiggle and bites his tongue.  You look enchanting—dirty skirt and ripped blouse from the fall. Namjoon only wishes he had been the one to dirty you and rip your clothes. His cock hardens against his will and he prays to god you don’t feel his arousal poking you in the back and prays he can get you to town before you realize and slap him into the next county.

And you definitely notice.

Your cheeks heat to hotter than the summer sun and you swallow hard to dispel some ache in your chest. Your core suddenly feels desperate for attention and you can almost imagine the way his hands would feel rubbing at your needy clit, whispering filth into your ear as he coaxed orgasm after sobbing orgasm from within you.

“Are you goin’ to the square dance tomorrow night?” Namjoon suddenly asks you, attempting to distract himself away from his rising cock.

In the chaos of your frightful ride out of town, and the bliss of being pressed up against the handsome sheriff, you had forgotten all about the annual square dance held at the town saloon.  Drinks, dancing, and fiddlin’ festivities were always bound to happen.

“Oh, it must have slipped my mind,” you say. “But, I suppose I could get Papa out of the house.  He has an eye on that new schoolteacher.”

Namjoon laughs, and it warms your heart. He’s taken special care of your father as much as you have ever since your mother died years ago.

“I think she has her eye on him, too.”

You hum, deep in thought of your lonely father, and Namjoon squeezes your hip with his free hand.

“Well, I hope to see you there.”

The blush returns right as Namjoon’s horse strides up to your homestead. Your father must have seen you coming and runs out of the house and down the steps to collect you.

“Oh, thank the good lord!” He breathes as he pulls you into his chest. You smile and return your father's warm embrace, suddenly feeling comforted.

“Sheriff Kim, I owe you a lifetime for rescuing my little girl.”

Namjoon smiles at you and winks, before looking back at your father and pulling his hat off tenderly.

“Just doing my duty, sir.”

Something twinges in your heart, as you’re reminded Namjoon saved you out of dedication to the badge than any memorable feelings towards you.

“Plus,” he continues. “It’s already a reward when the little lady is as pretty as this one.”

There’s that stupid blush again. Your father claps Namjoon on the shoulder and then brings the sheriff in for a hug, with a cheerful laugh.

“Now, you best be careful how you speak, son. I can’t threaten the sheriff with my .22 when he’s courtin’ my daughter.”  His demeanor radiates his joking manner with Namjoon, but the sheriff’s eyes still widen like he’s a teenager again.

Your cheeks, already pink, flame red with embarrassment.  

“Papa!” You admonish. “Leave Namjoon alone! He didn’t mean nothin’ by it!”

Namjoon’s smile fades back to a solemn and stoic look as he unhooks the stallion still attached to his own.

“Here you go,” he murmurs as he hands the reins to your father. “He’s just fine, too.”

Papa nods, and Namjoon replaces his hat and bows his head in acknowledgment.

“Good evening, sir,” he motions to your father. “And to you, miss. I reckon I’ll see you at the dance tomorrow.”

You nod, licking your lips again without knowing it. Namjoon begs his cock to behave, especially in front of your father.

“Thank you, Sheriff. And I reckon you will.”

He saddles up, and rides off into the sunset. Your eyes remain on his disappearing silhouette and your father fondly flicks your ear.

“That fellow likes you,” he nods at the retreating man. “And you just had to hold a candle for the goddamn sheriff.”

He ‘tsks’ jokingly, before slinging his arm around your shoulder and guiding you up towards the house.

“How the hell am I supposed to scare a boy off my daughter when he’s got more guns than me!”

You snort under your breath and lean into your father's hold.  

“Oh, Papa.”

You can hear the music pouring from the saloon the moment you walk up. Papa stands next to you outside and anxiously fixes his hair.

“You think Ms. Lainey will be here tonight?” He asks.  He tries not to look worried, but you can read him like a book.

Your hands smooth out his crisp, dress shirt and adjust his handsome bowtie.

“Yes, Papa. I reckon she will, lookin’ prettier than a sunflower.”

His eyes lock on yours, full of gentle emotion that you haven’t seen since your mother passed.

“You think this is fine?”

He looks concerned—worries he’s perhaps moving on too soon from your mother when she’s been gone and buried for years now. You can’t help but feel a bullet through your heart for the older man. He raised you to an adult, tended to an entire ranch, and maintained his sanity in the depths of his depression.

“Yes, Papa,” you soothe. “Mama would want you to be happy. I think Ms. Lainey is the perfect person to help you with that. Plus, I hear she makes a killer cornbread.”

Papa smiles and pinches your cheek gently.

“You’re just like your Mama,” he muses with a fond smile. “A smart ass. But a beautiful one.”

“Papa!”

“Hey,” he grins as he holds up his hands in surrender. “I’m not a liar. Now, let’s go in there and find that handsome sheriff, shall we?”

“Papa, please. Don’t embarrass me!”

“Well, too damn bad. That’s my job as your father.”

He pushes past you and through the swinging doors of the saloon.

Damn that old man.

Namjoon spies you the second you walk into the wooden saloon. You look like a princess, if he’s ever seen one.

Your blue dress hugs your curves just right and sweeps to the floor. It looks soft and Namjoon wonders what it would feel like under his fingertips. Tender, gentle, just like you.

He sets his bottle of beer down—he’s been nursing it for half an hour now, unwilling to get drunk or even tipsy tonight. Not out of some sense of duty—he had plenty of deputies around to keep the peace, but out of hope that you would come. He didn’t want to be drunk around you.  

He watches as you whisper into your father’s ear and gesture towards one corner of the room.  Namjoon tracks your gaze and sees you’re both looking at the new schoolteacher, Ms. Lainey who wears a pink blush that matches her pretty, pink dress. Your father kisses your cheek softly, before leaving your side and making his way towards the teacher.

Namjoon shoves the barely touched bottle of beer towards the barkeep, Jungkook.

“The hell you want me to do with it?” He asks incredulously to the sheriff.

Namjoon sends a look to his longtime friend.

“Fuck if I care, Kook. I’m busy!”

Jungkook grumbles under his breath as Namjoon turns away.

He weaves through the crowd towards you, keeping you locked in his vision. He hopes to keep you all to himself tonight, especially with you looking as ravaging as you do in that gown.

He nearly makes it to you when Jackson Wang slides in and wraps an arm around your waist.  He can see your face fall when you realize who it is. Jackson is your ex-boyfriend, and a shitty one at that.

“Come on, pretty baby,” he attempts to woo. “Let me have just one dance.”

“I said I’m not interested, Jackson.”

“Oh, I know you said that, but I don’t think you meant it.”

Namjoon clears his throat from where he stands behind you. You both turn in surprise towards the officer.

“I think the lady said what she meant.”

Jackson narrows his eyes at Namjoon and grips you tighter.

“And who the hell do you think you are!”

Namjoon opens the coat of his suit, giving Jackson an eye-full of the loaded revolver clipped to his side.

Jackson seems to get the picture and shoves you off him—Namjoon is quick to steady your uneven gait from the assault.

Namjoon whistles for Jimin, his deputy, and instructs the eager young officer to escort Jackson off the premises.

“You’re lucky I’m not having him take you to the Big House tonight.”

Jackson rolls his eyes and spits on the floor at your feet.

“Fuck you, Sheriff.”

Jimin shoves Jackson out the door and follows him out to ensure the man stays well-away from the dance tonight.

Your eyes are downcast when Namjoon returns his glance at you.

“I’m so sorry,” you murmur. “I didn’t mean to cause a scene.”

The sheriff hushes you and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, just as he did before when he found you lying on the ground.

“Now, now,” he whispers as he steps closer. “I don’t want to hear none of that talk. You didn’t do nothin’.”

He slips a finger under your chin and brings your face to peer at his own. The violins change their tune from carefree to a soft ballad.

“Care to dance?” He offers.

You smile and nod after a beat of silence, taking his proffered hand and slipping your other to hold on to his firm shoulder. He looks handsome in his suit, much different from the Wranglers he wears to work. This suit is cream, and feels like fine silk under your fingertips. You wonder if he ordered it from the general store or if he rode his horse to the big city for it. It fits him like a glove and you silently thank the town tailor for his work, allowing you a tease of the man’s brilliant muscles and toned body under his clothing.

Namjoon’s hand slides around your waist—attempting to remain as proper as he can. He doesn’t want to give the town anything to gossip about, but the way your dress and waist feel underneath his palm make him nearly forget all his manners. His mother would kill him if she saw the way he continued to press in close to the woman, hoping to feel her bountiful chest press against his own.

“I’m glad you came,” Namjoon breathes as your feet move in time with his. “I was worried you weren’t gonna show.”

Your cheeks tickle a rosy hue, and Namjoon nearly melts.

“I’m sure you would have found another lucky lady to dance with.”

Namjoon hums as he spins you around, grip tightening on your waist.

“Maybe so,” he agrees. “But they wouldn’t be the girl I was hopin’ to dance with.”

Your throat feels tight.

“And who might that be?”

“The girl I’m dancing with right now.”

Something within you burns like a roaring flame, and you push forward to press your lips to his own. It stuns Namjoon; he doesn’t move until his brain finally catches up and he’s kissing you in return, deep and passionate. He pulls his hand out of yours to wrap around your waist completely, bringing you up to his chest as his tongue prods for entrance at your mouth.

You eagerly accept him, allowing his tongue purchase in the hot cavern of your lips, and you whine needily against him as you feel a bulge grow between his legs.

“Sheriff,” you whisper, pulling away from his lips.

“Namjoon,” he breathes desperately. “Please, call me Namjoon.”

“Okay, Namjoon.” He smiles and dives in to kiss you again when you pull away.

“Please, Namjoon, can we go somewhere else? Papa’s here…”

Your cheeks are red-hot and Namjoon chuckles, glancing around. Your father is busy enough as it is, dancing with the schoolteacher but he nods.

He grabs your hand and tugs you towards the bar, getting Jungkook’s attention.

“You back for that beer?” He asks with a grunt.

“Nah, gimme the key to a room upstairs.”

Jungkook eyes you standing behind the sheriff, bashful.

“Can’t even wait to get her home, now? Ain’t that the rancher’s daughter? He’s right over there! You’re really going to--”

“Jungkook!  The key, please!”

The barkeep rolls his eyes as he digs under the countertop for a large skeleton key and slides it to Namjoon.

“Down the hallway, first door on the left. The presidential suite.”

He winks at the sheriff who rolls his eyes and drags you up the stairs. You pray to any god listening that your father remains distracted with the schoolteacher.

Namjoon unlocks the door and allows you to enter first, giving you a chance to glance around the spacious room. There’s a copper bathtub, a fireplace, and a large feather-bed that looks divine.

“Wow,” you whisper. “Never been in a saloon bedroom before.”

Namjoon chuckles as he sets the heavy key on the dresser, loosening his tie.

Suddenly, you’re nervous. The implications of being here have your hands trembling and body feeling flustered. You’re not the kind of girl who fools around, nor are you the kind to simply open her legs for the first handsome officer who looks her way. You hadn’t even gone all the way with Jackson when you were with him. Now that it’s happening, you wonder if you’ve gotten far too ahead of yourself.

Namjoon notices the look on your face and crosses the floor easily to cup your face between his palms.

“Hey now, why the long face?”

Your eyes peer into his, shame washing over you. You want so badly to lie with the man in bed, in every sense, but you’re terrified.

“I’ve…” you swallow hard. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

The sheriff smiles and rubs under your eyes with the pad of his thumb. It’s comforting and having him this close to you makes your body feel like you’re close to the hearth of a fireplace.  Warm, soothed.

“And you don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to do, little lady. Thought we should just get out of the crowd.”

Your heart feels like it may just beat out of your chest completely. Namjoon is holding you, staring at you like you’re a treasure.  

“I want you, Namjoon. I’ve wanted you my whole damn life.”

Namjoon brings his face right up to yours, lips a mere breath away.

“And I want you.”

You close the space between your lips, finally re-acquainting yourself with his taste and the feel of his plushy mouth against yours. He tastes like hops and sweet mint. Your hands slide down to claw at his sides, gripping the fabric of his coat jacket in your balled-up hands.  

The kiss doesn’t remain chaste for long. You’re soon pushing off his coat, tugging down his suspenders and unbuckling his pants.

“Easy there,” he whispers as your hand tugs at his boxers. “We have all night.”

Inhaling through your nose, you nod. He’s right. There’s no reason to rush into this.  

“Plus,” he adds. “It’s not very fair that I’m nearly stark naked and you’re still in this pretty little number.”

Namjoon kneels down, thick fingers untying the laces of your heeled boot, and holding your ankles stable as he slips them off your feet.

He kisses your soft ankles, presses his lips to your shins and calves as if he’s worshiping you.  He thinks this is better than Sunday service, anyway.

The sheriff stands back up and his fingers move around to the back of your dress, easily finding the zipper and tugging down ever-so-softly. The fabric comes off your shoulders without issue, and soon pools at your bare feet. His eyes are soft as they travel over your body, left in only your silk panties and brassiere.

“There.” He whispers it like a prayer. “You’re so beautiful.”

The tone of his voice makes your body feel like it’s blazing—like the fire of whiskey as it pours down your throat. It burns, but it warms every single inch of you from the inside out.

“Namjoon, I don’t just want you for one night.”

Your anxieties pour out of your mouth with little thought. You wish you could hold back, just enjoy the moment. Your stomach twists and turns as he unbuttons the dress shirt and keeps his eyes locked on yours.

“That’s good,” he nods. “Because I don’t want you for one night, neither.”

Your hands slip onto his bare stomach, pushing the sleeves of his shirt off. His skin is hot, and firm. He feels like a dream. The shirt comes off easily and you gape at the artwork that is his chiseled chest.

“Oh my,” you gasp. Namjoon preens, enjoying your shameless gaze.

“All of this is for you,” he murmurs gently, watching the heated stare pull from his pecs to his eyes.

“M-me?”

He nods again and fingers the strap of your bra.

“I want you to be my girl,” he says. “I want to come home from a hard day and see my lovely little wife in our home. I’ll even get you a horse.”

You can’t help the smile that crosses your face.

“One that won’t buck me off in the middle of nowhere?”

He nods, slipping the strap down your shoulder.

“And if he does, your strong and handsome husband will be there to rescue you, every time.”

Your tongue soothes over your kiss-swollen lips as you listen to him and allow him to slowly remove your remaining articles of clothing. The bra straps fall off your arms easily and you let him work his hands around your back to undo the clasp.

“I want to make love to you every night,” he breathes. “Maybe get you nice and pregnant with my child.”

Your bra falls to the floor and his warm hands rub at your stomach, where a swell could be.

“Would you still help Papa?” You ask, hazy and dreamily.

“Every day, darlin’. I’d be the best son-in-law. Give him grandbabies to spoil rotten.”

He doesn’t say anymore—he couldn’t if he tried. Your lips are smashing against his and you’re pressing your soft, bare breasts to his firm chest and his mind is actively shutting down. All he can think of is you, your body, your hands, your mouth, and most of all, that sweet cunt. It’s still hidden behind a layer of silk, but he knows it will be the dreamiest place he’ll ever be, and one he doesn’t intend to leave often.

“Will you take me home tonight? To your home?” Your eyes are hopeful as you pull away to question him. Something about it all makes you want to make love to him all night long, in his bed. You want to wake up with him in the morning and cook together, only to get distracted and make love again on the kitchen table.

“I would love to.”

Your hands push down his pants and you’re gasping as his hard cock springs free from the slacks. It’s thick, and it slaps at his stomach once, leaving a smear of slick wetness where it hit.

“Lay down, princess,” he murmurs into your ear, tucking a piece of hair behind. It seems to be his trademark, and it sends shivers down your spine.

You obey wordlessly, laying back onto the bed and resting your head on the fluffy pillows.

Namjoon stands above you and gazes at your form, allows himself to breathe in the vision of you, nearly naked and waiting for him.

He crawls onto the bed and hovers over you, fingers trailing up your soft legs before rubbing at your clothed core. There's a patch of wetness there, and your trembling whimper tells Namjoon you’re just as eager as he is.

He settles himself in between your legs and inhales the scent of your pussy. It smells of fine silk, and of your arousal. You’re embarrassed, he can tell as your legs threaten to close, but he moves his hands to your thighs and holds them down as he licks a fat stripe up your soaked panties.

“Mmm,” he breathes. “Delicious.”

Your legs are trembling now and he flickers his eyes up to yours, gauging your reaction. Your head tips back in bliss, hands cupping your breasts.

“Do you like that, darlin’?” He asks.

Your head tips back down to stare at him, heat shining in your shimmery orbs.

“Is this okay?”  He wants to know you’re just as eager as he is and has no interest in taking advantage.

You nod pathetically, legs spreading open further for him.

“I want you.”

Namjoon lets his fingers run up to the top of your panties and keeps his gaze on yours as he peels them down and off your legs.  They’re drenched, and he whines when he uses two fingers to open your lips further and expose your soaked hole.

“Shit,” he grunts, tentatively kitten licking your sensitive clit.  

It sends radiating static and shock through you. No one’s ever touched you there—no one but yourself on lonely nights with dreams of the handsome sheriff.

Namjoon catches your hitched breath, your shuddering sighs, and continues gently.  His tongue licks tiny stripes up and down your quaking clit and enjoys the way your arousal seeps out of you.  He knows you’re a virgin, knows he needs to take his time to open you up for him.  And he plans on making it an experience you never forget.

“That’s right,” he breathes as he pulls away and licks his lips.  “My girl doing so well.  You like it when I lick your pretty clit?  Does it feel good?”

You nod your agreement and open your mouth to respond, but Namjoon quickly places his lips over the sensitive nub and suckles gently.  Your words turn into a throaty scream, back arching impossibly at the sensation.  

He brings a hand up and teases your slit with a finger as he introduces you to a new world of sexual awakening.  His tongue roves over your clit as he keeps a constant vacuum seal around it with his lips.   Ever so gently, his finger prods past your folds and slips inside the wet heat of your channel.

His cock leaps at the sensation on his finger.  You’re impossibly tight and drooling with juices and Namjoon’s tongue moves from your clit to lap at the slick.   You taste so sweet.   He can’t wait to acquaint himself with every inch of your body, especially the sweet spot here between your thighs.

“Oh! Oh, God!” You scream as your tug at your nipples.  Namjoon can tell by the tightening of your channel you’re near the edge.   He slides another finger in and fucks you gently with them, spreading open your heat ever so slightly so the stretch of his cock isn’t so hard to take.  

“Cum for me, baby,” he coaxes.  “Fall apart for your sheriff.”

Your eyes squeeze shut tight, stomach flexing hard as the band within you coils tighter and tighter until it blissfully snaps and your core is pulsating around his fingers like a grip.

Namjoon groans with your pretty cries of pleasure, watching the way your cunt milks his fingers and drools juice.

“Such a good girl,” he whispers as he gently pulls his fingers from within you.  “You did so well.”

Your blush on your cheeks matches the rosy hue on your chest as you pant—attempting to bring yourself back to earth and right your breathing.

“That—, that was amazing.”

Namjoon presses one solid kiss to your thigh.

“You, my love, are amazing.”

You’re lifting yourself up on your elbows to peer down at him, whining gently for his attention.

“Will you kiss me, Namjoon?”

“I’ve got you all over my lips,” he says but you shake your head.

“Kiss me.”

Namjoon nods and crawls up your body, eagerly pressing his mouth to yours in a heated kiss.  It’s intimate, and fiery as much as it is gentle and exploratory.  Namjoon kisses you like he found the girl of his dreams—because he has.

After long, blissful minutes of rolling around in the bed with his lips attached to yours, you pull away and glance at his hardened cock.

“I’ve never,” you swallow as you allow your fingertips to graze the tip.  “I’ve never put one in my mouth before.”

Namjoon’s sensitive glaze over his eyes returns.

“You don’t have to, darlin’.”

“But I want to.  Will you let me know if I do something wrong?”

He nods once, and you adjust him to sit at the head of the bed, back against the headboard while you crawl down between his legs.

You allow yourself a few, long moments to simply stare at his length.  It’s hard, flushed with excitement, and drooling a substance from his head that makes your mouth salivate.  It has a soft, gentle curve to it you can only imagine will feel like heaven inside of you.

“You like it?”  Namjoon asks gently, without pride.  He looks sincere, like your opinion on his cock matters to him.

“I love it.”

You mouth at it gently, before opening wide to accept him in.

“C-careful, darlin’,” Namjoon warns. “It’s big—might not fit in your throat.”

Your eyes simper up at him for a moment, before you continue your plight and accept his length into your mouth.

You take it slow, torturously slow to him.  You take your time to get acquainted with the feeling of his cock filling your mouth before you continue to take more and more until all at once he’s at the back of your throat and your nose is pressed to his toned abdomen.

Namjoon whines out loud, feels his brain turn to mush and his eyes roll to the back of his skull.

“Good lord,” he whispers.  Your eyes are watering with tears and your gag reflex protests against the intrusion, so you quickly pull back out.

“Did I do okay?” You ask.

Namjoon’s cock throbs where it sits, right at the tip of your lips.

“You did fucking perfect, baby.”

It’s easy to see the pride flash across your face and you move to accept him all at once but he stops you.

“Don’t hurt yourself, doll.   You can just move your mouth on it.”  He grips the back of your head ever so gently and helps you descend, taking just enough to fill your mouth before he assists you in pulling back out.  “Mmm, yeah, like that. Hollow those cheeks—shit, you’re a natural.”

You preen and bob on his length without the guidance of his hand.   He drops his hands to push the hair from your face and as you work his cock in your mouth with surprising finesse.   A groan builds deep in his chest and he can feel his balls tighten and threaten to empty onto your pretty lips.  But, he can’t have that.

He taps your cheeks gently, forcing you to look back at him.  He nearly cums from the sight alone.  Your big, beautiful eyes staring into his soul as if he’s lasso’d the stars just for you.   Your mouth is full of his cock like it’s your home and Namjoon knows that it’s everywhere he wants you to be.

“I wanna cum inside that sweet pussy of yours, darlin’.”

You pull off with a pop, eyes widening at the sound and Namjoon thinks you look prettiest with a dusty blush across your cheeks—a color that matches the pink of your perky nipples.

“Lay down for me, baby,” he encourages, moving from the spot on the bed and allowing you to rest your pretty head on the down pillow.

He kisses over your neck and breasts sweetly, imprinting his adoration for you with each press of his lips.  He laves over your nipples gently as he situates himself between your thighs.  His hand grasps his cock and lines it up at your entrance, but doesn’t push in yet.  He allows your dripping slick to coat the head of his cock as he warms your body up with his lips.

“You’re the prettiest girl in town.  Hell, even the whole county.”

You whimper gently as he takes a nipple into his mouth and grazes it with his teeth.  

“You wanna be my girl?  You wanna be the Sheriff’s little wife?”

You nod and Namjoon peers up at you, eyes expectant for a verbal answer.

"Please” you whisper.  “I’ve been sweet on you since I first met you, years ago.”

The sheriff licks your nipples gently.

“My pretty wife,” he coos.  “You ready?”

Your legs tremble—a mixture of nerves and excitement as the man lifts himself up and kneels between your parted folds.   His cock feels thick and hot at the entrance of your heated core and you’re gasping for more.

Namjoon presses forward and takes his time as he enters you, knowing the stretch will be new for you.  He leans down to kiss your lips gently as he moves in, hoping the sweetness of the embrace will soften the sting of his cock.

It feels like heaven and hell.  The sting burns you, but it easily simmers down to a low flame of desire, of pleasure.  Namjoon licks into your mouth and you eagerly accept him, arms wrapping around his neck to bring him closer.   His tongue explores and seeks purchase—you’re loath to deny the handsome officer as you return the actions easily.

He pulls his lips away as he bottoms out inside you, panting.  He needs the stillness, himself.  Your cunt is so tight, so hot and accepting of his hard cock that he feels near the edge of his sanity already.  

“You all right, love?” He asks, eyes checking yours for any signs of trouble.  

The burn quickly ebbs away to nothing more than a slight smolder.  He fills you completely, and it feels like he’s making a home for himself within you—one you’re welcome to him constructing again and again.

“Yes,” your voice is deep and husky.  Your eyes are ablaze with a sudden passionate need for more.  “Please, show me how it’s done, cowboy.”

Namjoon needs no more—he pulls his hips back gently and thrusts back into you with ease.  You’re soaked, and the slide is tight, but slick.  He moans gently as he drops his head to your ear to kiss and lick at the sensitive skin there and to whisper his sweet nothings as he sets a pace.

“You feel like heaven,” he whispers.  “God, I’ve dreamed of the way you would feel underneath me.”

Your legs open even further to allow more of him and his pace eagerly picks up speed. The sound of skin slapping on skin soon fills the room and Namjoon continues his litany of love.

“Doin’ so good for me, baby, so fuckin’ good. You’re the perfect little wife for me. This cunt was meant for me, wasn’t it, my sweet?”

Speaking coherently is not a task you can handle now.  Namjoon’s cock is fucking into you with a depth and speed that feels like fucking paradise and all your brain can comprehend are his sweet epithets he whispers to you and the way your core burns and sizzles with need.  You can feel the tightness return in your belly, the tight coil that pulls tight, tight, tighter.  You’re nearly at the end.

“I wanna fill you up, my love.” His pace is becoming erratic, with less finesse as he charges towards his own finish line.  “Going to fuck a baby into you, darlin’.  Get you nice and full—fuuuuck, cum for me, please.  Let me feel that hot cunt cum around my cock.”

His words burn your ears with depravity, but it only forces that tight coil even further.  It pulls until it nearly steals all the breath in your lungs as it throws you over the edge.   Your walls pulse and constrict around him, making him whine out loud to match the crying whimpers of your climax.

“That’s my girl, oh god, I’m gonna cum.”

It’s all the warning you get before the hot stripes of his seed plaster your walls, coating each inch of you with a warmth that pools deep inside you.  Your whines silence as he presses his lips to yours while his cock continues to shudder within you.   He kisses you hard, deeper than you’ve ever been kissed before and you hold him so close to you, you fear you may never separate again.  Not that it would be a bad thing.

“Shit,” Namjoon sighs as he finally feels his climax subside.   His cock finishes its weak pulses, and he gently pulls out of your spent hole, watching his seed drool out of you.  

“Mm, I think your little pussy needs to look like this every single night, don’t you?”

You peer down, leaning up on your elbows to watch as his white cum dribbles out of you and onto the feather bed.

“Yes, Sheriff.”  Your smile is coy and sweet, a hint of humor in your worn out voice.

He scurries to the bathroom to get a warm, wet flannel and returns to your legs to clean you carefully.  Your heart feels like it may burst. He cares for you so sweetly, wants you comfortable—wants you to feel loved.

“Take me home, cowboy,” you whisper as he presses his lips to your legs after he finishes cleaning you.  

Namjoon assists you in dressing, kisses all over your bare skin as he laces you back into your dress. You both can’t stop staring at each other, eyes filled with promise and a future full of each other and no one else.

He guides you down the stairs, back towards the dance and you try to fight the blush that blooms on your cheeks.  You’re sure your mused hair tells everyone in the room what you got up to upstairs, and you pray your father has left early.

Namjoon slides the key back to Jungkook once they reach the bar, his other hand tightly laced with your own.  Jungkook gives you both a look, then smirks.

“Your Papa asked your whereabouts,” he muses as he dries a glass with a rag.

His smirk grows wider.

“Told him you were shining the Sheriff's gun. Looks like I was right.”

© ppersonna - 2020 - do not repost on any site, or translate without express permission from author.

[eartht137]

DEAREST HEART-LETTER TWO

Whooo, goodness!! I spooked myself after writing the first letter. There is a dog next door to my house and she likes to stare out towards the back "alley way" and one night while I was showering by candlelight (blinds still aren't fixed) she wouldn't stop staring out at the alley way. My azz was spooked lol. That being said, here is another "letter" from Mr. Kal El himself. Enjoy curvies MMMMMMwwwaahhhhhhh!!!!

Dark Clark Kent x Plus Size Reader

Warnings: Stalking (This chapter is pretty tame)

A few days later, the whole situation had hidden itself in your brain. You had so much going on in your waking life, you really didn't have time to dwell on a possible prank. Your birthday had arrived and you really weren't feeling too thrilled about it. Your depression just had to spike up and ruin the one day you thought you would enjoy, but you didn't even get to stress about it for long. You'd stepped into your office to boot up your computer for the day, and you saw it. On your desk was a letter, same vintage parchment, but his time it had an Aster instead of a Rose. You stared at it for so long, wondering if you should read it or not. You finally sat down and pulled the letter out of the envelope to see what he had to say.

Happy Birthday Little One,

I wish so badly that I could show you the best birthday you've ever had, but that will have to wait. I know you're not looking forward to today. I've noticed you haven't mentioned it much, and you almost forgot. How do you forget your birthday silly girl? I have purchased a gift every year since we met, I can't wait until I'm able to give them to you and you can unwrap each and everyone as if it were Christmas. Why haven't you planned anything? Not even a free day for yourself, what's going on? I wish you would talk to me. I want so badly to help you get better, but its a one day at a time deal. I was there you know, when you almost died? I was there the night you called your husband and told him the truth about how bad you felt. I swear it was the scariest night of my life when the surgeon walked in and told you they were putting you in an induced state for a week. All I could think was, what if you didn't wake up, or what if they did something wrong? What if they hurt you more or caused a bad reaction. I have seen a lot of things, but I have never been so sad and afraid to lose someone like you. I watched over you every night, making sure you'd come back to me and the baby. Well, you know what I mean. I know that's been rough on you, but you are making great progress. I remember you saying you'd like to change your hair, would you like for me to set up your appointment? I think you'd look delicious with cherry red hair, just don't cut it please. I love your hair. I love everything about you. I know you don't remember, but the moment our eyes met, I couldn't get you out of my head. I tried, I swear I tried so hard to stay away. I'd go for walks at night to clear my head and try not to think of you, and I'd find myself further and further away from home. It has to be fate that wants us together, because there you were, pulling in from work one night. I watched you sit there blaring your music, trying to finish the song before you went inside. I knew you right away, I had never been so....I can't describe how it felt, it was overwhelming. It had to be love that outweighed the hurt, even your "husband" walked out to greet you, it just couldn't overshadow what my heart felt. I told myself that I loved you enough to let you be happy, and I did for awhile. Not one day or night went by where you didn't cross my mind, so I decided to whisk by and take a picture of you, just for memory of the woman I couldn't have. One picture turned to two, two turned to ten. I had to get the perfect angle, but the only perfect angle is up close, in person; like I said I did try. I wish I could take you out for your birthday. I'd cook for us and we'd go down by the river, or I could take you somewhere 5 star. I know its really not your thing, but you deserve to be served like a queen. You are a queen to me. I dreamed about you, I dream about you all the time, but this one was different. It scared me so much, I woke in cold sweat. I can't bear to think about it now, but I know it was just a stupid dream. I will have to go out of the country for awhile, but I promise to still write as often as I can. I love you, so much.

With All My Heart and Soul,

Kal-El

"Babe!!! Babe, I need to tell you something." You said scared senseless. You rushed to your husband, showing him the letters and explained that you thought it was a sick prank. Your husband immediately called the police. He packed you all up and as much as he hated it, you all went to stay with your mom.

That night while you were up talking to your mom, she leaned back and asked you something insane.

"Is that really another man's baby?" she asked seriously.

"NO! I don't even know who this is, I swear I don't know a Kal-El. I've never met anyone like that in all my life." You whisper screamed at her as you struggled to hold back tears. She stared into your eyes for a moment before sighing heavily. Before you knew it she was crying and hugging your neck so tight you couldn't breathe.

"After all you've been through, this was the last thing you needed. I've always told you to be careful and watch your surroundings." She fussed.

"Ma I did, but I don't ever go anywhere. I stay in the house most of the time and I'm always with my family." You couldn't help but feel as if you were being attacked.

"You never know who is watching you." She argued back.

"Ma, look at me." You said standing back opening your arms to show your full body. "All these years I've worked hard to feel comfortable in my own skin. It took me a long time to feel fully comfortable around my own husband. All of these years you guys have trashed me for my weight, the times you all have told me that I get different treatment for my size, there was no way in this world I could've ever imagined that I would get stalked by-by this Kal-El fucker!" You yelled as tears flowed down your face, you could even feel your face strain in anger. "Now this is happening, and I should've been watching my surroundings. You drilled in my head for years that people looked past me for you and everyone else. You drilled in my head that people would only want me to use me, YOU DRILLED IN MY HEAD THAT I NEVER HAD THE LOOK TO MAKE IT OUT HERE, SO NOW HERE WE ARE WITH A MANIAC THAT SOMEHOW MANAGED TO FIND ME THAT I DON'T EVEN KNOW OR HAVE ANY CLUE AS TO WHAT THIS GUY LOOKS LIKE AND I SHOULD'VE BEEN WATCHING MY SURROUNDINGS!?" Your head felt like it was on fire, then all at once stars appeared and you lost vision.

When you woke up you were laying on the floor with a jacket under your neck as your mom and family (that she had called) stood around trying to get you to come back to. You tried sitting up, but only felt dizzier. Your hands and feet felt numb and you were shaking as sweat poured off of your body. Your husband sat by you, fanning you and giving you water. When you began to feel better, he helped you up and over to the couch. He asked everyone to leave you alone and not upset you anymore.

"Baby what do you want to do? How can I make you feel safe?" Your husband asked.

You stared deep in his eyes and remembered why you loved him so much. He always went out of his way to make sure you were happy. You thought back to not so pleasant days when you both argued and said mean things and your realized then and there how much you took him for granted sometimes. Before you knew it the flood gates released and you sobbed.

"Can you just hold me please?" You asked in a small pitiful voice.

"I will always hold you and be there for you baby. I love you. We will get through this together, like we always do."

[fictionissocialinquiry]

FISI’s Favourite Zutara Fics

A lil late for ZFAW’s Saturday prompt, sorry about that! Haven’t had any internet over the weekend. But better late than never!

I’m not gonna lie… a lot of these are angsty af. But I promise you they’re not gratuitous angst! They’re well written, beautiful stories that will make you feel like a better person for having read them. These are my favourite all time fics, ones I’ve read more than once and will continue to read (even though I’m taking a week break from fandom and fic).

 Multi-Chaptered Fics

The Sparrowkeet Series by audreyii_fic

To be honest, this story’s summary doesn’t do it justice so I ain’t including it. Originally a one shot, Sparrowkeet is headcanon for me now. Move over canon, this is where it’s at. Audreyii_fic’s characterisation, world building, and writing is exquisite. It’s incredible. She manages to channel the same fun and whimsical energy from the show while allowing the characters to grow and develop to places I wish they had actually been taken.

This one is a fandom Must Read and one I return to regularly.

 Clothe Me in Seasons, Dress Me in Snow by sadladybug

It is not the memorial she deserves, nor the one she would want. But it can't be helped. He owns no property in the other nations, and he needed to keep her close. Closer than she was in life, anyway.

Zuko's reflections on a life lived and a life that could have been.

This is one of the best written fics I’ve ever read. It’s tragic and deep and will hurt you in all the tender places but you would be doing yourself a favour if you read this. There’s a real bittersweet feeling to it and the love between them is just… urg, visceral.

 Lovable by LadyCharity

Zuko knew that he could not save Azula. He could only try to forgive her. Fittingly enough, those two were one in the same.

I love stories that make Zutara their centerpiece but every now but then a story like this comes along. A story where their relationship builds almost incidentally because the plot and character development straight up hijack your emotions. I got so invested in this story. Zuko is amazingly well characterised and his complicated thoughts and feelings around his father and Azula are incredibly well written!

 One Shots

Lunar Ephemerality by @formerlygoldilocks (goldilocks23)

After multiple failed attempts on his life and years of self-set expectations, Fire Lord Zuko is a shell of the man he used to be. But Katara won't turn her back on those who need her.

I really didn’t expect this to hit as hard as it did. This straight up snuck up on me, fly-kicked my feelings, and by the end I had written an 800 word comment that was too big for AO3 and I had to contact the author directly to send it to her. Awkward. I couldn’t help myself. The side to Katara we see here is so good, her empathy and love for her friends are one of the things I love seeing most in AtLA fanfic. I’m a sucker for Zuko having complete breakdowns and having to piece himself back together too. So sue me. I like it when they suffer a lil bit. The writing is absurdly good and I will be keeping an eye out for any new stories by goldilocks23!

 31 Minutes by @ifyouwereamelodymeg

It's quite astounding, really, how quickly she's learned to translate him. They've spent a grand total of zero time together outside of training, and he's hardly big on chat so she knows next to nothing about his life.

But she knows him, probably better than she knows anyone at the moment – with every tap of his fingers, every crook of his lips, every turn in his voice, he just...

He makes sense to her. It's weird.

I’m a sucker for fic writers playing with style to make the story pop and boyo does this fic deliver. This is one of the rare times that I’ve been dumbstruck at the end of a story— I just couldn’t accept the ending. Because I’m a sucker for pain, (and this story will bring The Pain) I loved it. The ease of Zuko and Katara’s growing relationship in this bowls you over, it’s absolutely beautiful and you find yourself nodding along emphatically when Zuko calls himself an idiot for waiting… “Life’s short, kids, live each moment as though it could be your last,” says this fic as it pulls my heart out and dropkicks it off a cliff.

 i count to five (and life passes by) by @markedmage

Five heartbeats.

I still haven’t forgiven Mage for this one. I think it’s the best thing she’s written to date! I mean, tragic and painful and heart-rending but holy shit is it powerful <3

 The Lake of the Dismal Swamp by @thewhiitelotus

Spook af. Spook (horror) is real hard to do well but thewhiitelotus is coming for your goosebumps and those shivers down your spine. She has a way of balancing beautiful, evocative imagery with action (in this and other stories of her) that just keeps you reading!

 Calloused by @rideboldlyride

Iroh hadn’t been able to watch. The pure horror of a man - a father- burning their child for a slight infraction... He couldn’t do anything to stop it, but he will stop his brother from destroying entirely the kind boy he knew Zuko could be.

This is a painfully underappreciated fic for how great the characterisation is. I know we in the zutara fandom tend to not read stories that aren’t Zuko/Katara centric as often but do yourself the favour of reading this (or listening to it: RideBoldlyRide has done us the gift of recording a podfic for this and it’s stupidly *good*). This story is Iroh confronting Ozai just after he burns Zuko’s face and it kicks.

 four days and three nights by @hinaoyamas (lettersfromnowhere)

Zuko discovers firsthand that nothing is more fleeting than happiness, or more enduring than memory.

Do you like reading stories with a distant, omniscient narrator? The kind that read like a myth from the ancient world? Welp, hit the hyperlink, friend, cause this one’s for you. Not only is the writing exquisite but the characterisation and painful inevitability of the plot is grade A.

 For the Fire Nation by tullyblue12

He falls in love with her for his country before he falls in love with her for himself. A Zuko/Katara AU that explores how love and duty aren’t always mutually exclusive.

There are about 40,000 exquisite lines in this story but here is just one of my favourites: “He falls in love with her for his country first. That’s what his people never understand.” This fic says a lot with so few words, which is something I really look up to! In 2,800 words, tullyblue12 does what some 100,000k fics cant: They make you feel.

 Guide Me Home by Rashaka

To sleep, perchance to dream. Katara and Zuko find a friendship they never expected in a place that seemed impossible.

This is a one shot I will forever wish for a continuation of. The setup is just… so juicy. There’s a real sorrowful innocence to this story that the unique short, dialogue only scenes really punch home. I know some people don’t like dialogue only fics but when done well like in this one, it leaves you with the impression of something deeper than a 1,185 word fic has any right to! 

 Other Favourites!

Hopeless by tullyblue12 — Kids grow up fast when a cruel world awaits them. In times of hopelessness, Katara and Zuko grow together. In times of separation, they hope to see each other again.

Speechless by goldilocks23 — Zuko has a medical condition. Or: Zuko speaks in haiku at inappropriate times.

Don’t Follow Me Down by eleventy7 — Katara is the dread queen of the underworld, ruler of the dead, destined to reign her cold kingdom alone. Until a sun god catches her eye. A Hades/Persephone retelling with incredible writing.

I Don't Speak Meow Language by @botherkupo (Boogum) — In which Zuko adopts a cat and Katara just wonders what spirits she pissed off to deserve this fate.

I have the privilege of being friends with some of these authors (they know who they are) and am in near daily awe and gratitude for the works of free fiction they provide us, the fandom. And not just any old stories: Guys... Really good ones!! Can I ask that if you go check out these fics, can you just drop a kudos or a comment their way? If you’re feeling shy just copy and paste this into the comments box anonymously: “WOW! Loved this! Thank you so much for writing it!”

I know it would mean the world to this talented bunch <3

[mysoftboybensolo]

The Alienist and the Soprano

Chapter 1: The Rescue

A/N:  This was inspired by Laszlo’s love of opera and my thought on what if he fell for an opera singer. Canon divergence, there is no Mary Palmer here (I loved Mary and Laszlo, so I don’t feel like I could have her here and have him be with another woman). A mix of show and book canons. Multi chapter. No Y/N, OC named Evelina Lind.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32029150

Pairing: Laszlo Kreizler x Fem OC!

Summary: The last thing Laszlo Kreizler ever expected while investigating the death of children was to fall in love, and with an opera singer no less!

Warnings: Age gap, rescue romance, attempted assault, Victorian style slut shamming and Laszlo being too hard on himself. 

There were very few things that Laszlo could find enjoyment in, and even fewer things he found perfection. Opera was one of those things. Ever since he was young, it offered an escape for him, a way to forget what was happening around him, to him, and escape to a world better than this. His love of opera transcended through the years, so much so he had gotten himself his own box, so he may have a seat whenever he wished. Tomorrow night, they were premiering Gounod’s Faust, a tragic and frightful tale of love and hell. Opera did provide an escape, but sometimes, it allowed him to live vicariously through the characters, and never more so than the love stories.

He wasn’t delusional; he knew people didn’t like him, he doesn’t have the personality, the charm, or the looks to be of any interest to any woman. Perhaps if he wasn’t always haunted by his past, perhaps if his right arm was normal, perhaps if he wasn’t an alienist. Too many perhaps to count, but there was no changing such things, he was who he was. That was all.

And as of late, there wasn’t much time to focus on matters of the heart, for there was a case that he had to give all his attention to. With the help of John Moore, an old Harvard college, they worked to try to find the killer. John is a handsome man who often Laszlo looked at and felt a pang of envy, for he was all that Laszlo was not. John had the personality, the charm, the looks, the ability to button his own boots. But despite whatever differences they had, despite the habits that John had that Laszlo disapproved of, John was a good man and a friend. They were walking back from a crime scene, when Laszlo noticed how John looked a bit pale but managed to walk on. “What on God’s green earth could ever possess anyone to do such heinous crimes? Those children…”

“Heinous as it is,” Laszlo said, his tone even, “We must pursue this killer, endure the horror, if not to prevent another from meeting the same fate.”

“I wonder how you can stomach it,” John says.

“Because I have to, John. And now you must too.”

John would have argued, saying he didn’t have to or want to be part of this infernal investigation, but then a sudden cry from the dark and empty street made them turn to the sound. Without a second thought, both men came running to the source, hearing a desperate cry for help.

“Help! Please, somebody! Let me go!”

They turned the corner and saw a man struggling with a woman, who was trying to fight back. John called out, hoping that the perpetrator would be spooked and release the woman, but Laszlo didn’t think twice and using his cane went in and attacked the man. In the attack, the perp released the woman and went to try to attack the doctor, but despite how he looked, Laszlo knew how to knock a man down and out in three steps. John watched in wonder and it took until Laszlo to speak to break him from his spell.

“John, flag a policeman, quickly!” He watched to make sure John did as he was told, then turned to the figure who was curled on the ground, her body shaking. Carefully, he approached, his voice soft, he called for her. “Miss? Miss?” She turned to the sound, her face was pale, a glazed over look in her eyes, and Laszlo knew she was in shock. “Miss. My name is Dr. Laszlo Kreisler, are you harmed in anyway?”

The young woman’s eyes fell to the uncurious man and she gasped, as if coming back to reality. At this point, John had returned with a policeman, and the two dragged the unconscious man away as John explained what had happened. As this went on, Laszlo slipped his overcoat off and wrapped it around her, noticing how much she was shivering. ���Do you live near here? Allow us to take you home.”

He saw that her lips moved quickly, and he leaned in to catch her address. “409 Bradshaw Avenue.”

Now having an address, he stood, offering his good hand to her, helping her up. But due to her still in shock, her legs were not as strong and all he could do was hold her upright until John could come. It was times like these he felt less like a man, for he couldn’t even carry the young lady to make sure she didn’t collapse. John returned and noticed the sight. “Is she alright?”

“In shock, but once we get her home, I’ll take a proper look at her. Take her,” he gently passed her to John, who scooped her into his arms with ease, “I’ll catch a cab.” John followed close behind and once one was taken, the trio immediately went inside an off they were to Bradshaw Avenue.

As they rode on, Laszlo looked at the young woman, who looked to be in a deep shock, her face peering towards the window. The only sign that he had that she wasn’t too far gone was her small hands peering from his coat to hold it close to her. The ride was silent, but quick, and Laszlo hopped out, allowing John to take the woman again as he knocked on the door. At last, an older woman answered the door and looked shocked at the sight. “Good Lord!”

“Pardon us,” Laszlo muttered, before pushing through and clearing a way for John to bring her in. That familiar pang of envy struck him as he watched John place the woman down on the sofa with ease. Now was not a time for his insecurities to get the better of him, his focus should be only on the care of the young woman.

“May I ask who you two think you are, barging in like this?”

Laszlo sighed, feeling a slight agitation arise. “Madam, I am Dr. Laszlo Kreisler, this is Mr. John Moore. We happened upon this young woman who was attacked and needs to be looked after. So, if you don’t mind, bring us a brandy or sherry, something strong for her to drink. Now!” He didn’t look back at the woman to see if she would, but knelt down and went to work on the young woman.

John shot an apologetic look to the lady then moved closer to the patient. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Stoke the fire. She must be kept warm.” Laszlo slipped his overcoat off enough to assess her. There was no visible tears in her dress to suggest any cuts or bleeding. The woman returned with a glass of brandy, handing it off to the doctor. “John,” he called, making the man come to him, “Hold her head up enough so she can drink this.”

John cradled her head and watched as the doctor gently let the liquid pass her lips and then in a sudden moment, she began to cough, breaking the spell. John stepped back, moving to get a better look at her, making sure he wasn’t in the way. When she had her bearings, she noticed the doctor first and asked in a soft voice, “Who are you?”

“I am Dr. Kreisler, this is Mr. Moore.” Her eyes glanced over to the other man, but then back to the doctor. “We are in the safety of your home. Do you remember what happened?”

She paused, then nodded. “Is he-”

“He has been apprehended,” John spoke, his voice kind and smooth.

“Please tell us what happened, as I check your person, if I may.”

The woman gave her consent and as Laszlo checked her, she told her story. “I was walking to return home and I had a feeling I was being followed. So I began to walk faster, hoping to get away, but he picked his pace up as well. I didn’t realize how close he was until I felt his hand on my arm and then I screamed.”

“He hadn’t molested you, did he?”

“Laszlo!” John exclaimed, appalled the choice of words.

“That is what it’s called, John. I will not ‘put it delicately’, as you might say.”

“No,” she answered, “He hadn’t, but…” She trailed off, a shiver went up her spine, thinking of how he may have, or worse.

“Perhaps it would have been a lesson,” the older woman said, “Walking alone at night. Like some common prostitute.”

“Or perhaps the better lesson would be to the man who not attack women in the first place,” Laszlo retorted harshly, “Many of the world’s problems would be solved if men were taught how to behave rather than telling women what to do to accommodate their poor behaviors.”

The woman’s mouth was pressed so tightly, they disappeared in shame. Even John wouldn’t provide some comfort, for he knew that Laszlo was right and did not dare say anything to correct or apologize for his rightfully harsh words. The young woman looked pleased, even perhaps a bit impressed. Laszlo stood and said to the woman, “I believe you’re condition is not serious. Get a good night’s rest, stay warm and eat even if you do not feel like it. I shall come again tomorrow to check on you.”

“Thank you,” she said with a small smile, her eyes shifted briefly to John then back to Laszlo, “I would like that.” She shifted to sit up and realized she was on his overcoat. “Oh, here,” she managed to slip his coat off and handed it to him, “Thank you for keeping me warm.”

“Of course.”

“Well,” John stepped in, taking the young lady’s hand, “We should bid you goodnight, Miss…”

“Lind.”

“Miss Lind. A pleasure.” John press a polite kiss to her hand, to which she offered a polite but warm smile.

John turned to Laszlo and gave him a look, telling him to do the same. He stepped up awkwardly and did the same, but he shook her hand rather than kissed it. There was an awkward exchange, as he offered his left hand, and she, not being used to that, wasn’t sure if she should make the switch or not, but ultimately did with a little laugh. “I’ll be here around 10 o’ clock.” And with that, they left, unaware that the young woman was staring after them, with a look of admiration and wonder in her eyes.

“How could anyone ever think to harm a helpless woman like that?” John mused as they approached his home, “Is there no decency in the world anymore?”

“Decency is what we make of it. But,” he said, “You are right. It’s a mad world to live in when such things could happen to good people.”

“What a shame, that a young and lovely woman such as herself can’t even walk home without danger. Well, good night.”

“Yes,” Laszlo agreed softly as John disappeared into his house, “She was lovely indeed.” When back in the comfort of his home, he thought back on the series of events, thinking of her. He had been lucky that he and John were there when they were, or else something terrible could have happened. He dreamt of the horrifying possibilities and it kept him up for part of the night.

He couldn’t wait to see her again, just to make quell his nagging thoughts. That was all.

He was on time to the young woman’s residence, and he was pleased to see that there was color in her cheeks and her disposition was cheerful. “Dr. Kreisler, so good to see you again.” She noticed he was alone and asked, “Oh, the other man isn’t with you?”

“No, Mr. Moore is otherwise detained, but he did want me to wish you well.”

She nodded and a look came across her face that Laszlo noticed and her cheeks turned slightly pink. She moved aside to let him in and then brought him to the drawing room. When he stepped in, he noticed the drawing room was not as furbished as most other drawing rooms, which made him realize that this wasn’t the most suitable place for a young woman to be. He only removed his hat, not intending to stay for very long, just enough to make sure she was well. She stood and waited for his instruction, and he had her do the simplest of tasks, such as walk in a straight line, finger to nose coordination, follow his finger, etc. All the while, he noted that her attitude was very different from the night before, cheerful even.

“Well, your physical person seems unharmed. You haven’t had any complications, have you?”

“None. Oh, just a small bruise on my hip, but I slept like a baby.”

“Good. And you seem to not suffer any mental trauma, which is very good.” He went to retrieve his hat and would have bid her farewell, but the young woman spoke first.

“Would you like to join me for some tea?”

He would have said no, made an excuse that he had to return to his institution, but her smile was sweet and her eyes tender, that somewhere in him, he couldn’t dare refuse. Instead, he set his hat down, removed his coat to lay it beside the hat and sat in the chair across from her. He had to admire her ability to try and make the most of the situation, and he refrained from making mention of the tea set that clearly was from different companies.

“I never got to properly thank you for your help last night,” she broke the silence while pouring the tea.

“Well, last night was a whirlwind of events, one couldn’t blame you if it slipped your mind.”

Handing his cup, she settled in her seat and took care of her own cup. “Well, I am eternally grateful for your assistance the other night. The thought of what could have happened…” She paused, but then shook her head, as if to rid her dark thoughts. “No need to think of such dark things. Dr. Kreizler, that sounds foreign. As I recalled, that other man called you Laszlo. This may be a wild guess, but, was your mother Hungarian and your father German?”

He looked at her surprised. “Uh, yes. Forgive me, most people hardly can tell what my background is, no one has ever correctly guessed as you have.”

“My father’s family comes from Germany, and I had come to know the differences, since many people have confused my name with others. I’ve gotten Swedish, Scottish, Dutch, but no one seems to guess German. My mother was English, I was born and raised English, but I feel somewhere in my heart that I am more German.”

“You seem to take pride in your heritage.”

“Indeed, my father was a good man, the kindest I’ve ever known. Sensible, respectful, but most of all, family was the most important thing to him. He was a music teacher, one of the finest, and I learned much from him. I wish he was here now.” She looked down at her cup, then took a sip, as if to shut herself up. “I’m sorry,” she half whispered, “I shouldn’t burdened you with my past.”

Thinking of his own father, Laszlo had a sullen look on his face. “So rarely do we get the fathers we want, and how precious it is when we get them, but not realize it until it’s too late.”

“Too true. May I ask,” changing the subject, as she could tell it made the doctor unhappy, “What it is you are a doctor of?”

“I am an alienist, which means I focus more on the human mind rather than the body. Though, I have had to care a person’s physical needs when the mental side harms it in any way.”

“Sounds very equal parts fascinating and daunting.”

“It can be. Especially when you think of the lives you are responsible for. I did have a case once, a boy who wanted to dress in his sister’s clothes and take on her mannerisms, I had told his parents that there was nothing wrong with his curiosity and to be accepting of it. Sometime later, he and his sister were killed, his mother blamed me for his death, for the killer had targeted him for his behavior, of which I told her to encourage. I think about those children all the time.” Laszlo looked at the young woman and gave a small shook of his head. “Forgive me, I just realized, I’ve not spoken this much to a stranger about myself. You are quite easy to talk to.”

“And I can say the same for you. But, perhaps your job is what makes people feel they could talk to you.”

“Rather, it’s the opposite. Many are turned off by the idea of being acquainted with an alienist.”

“I’m not.” Her smile was most sincere, that Laszlo actually believed it.

Somewhere, the clock chimed, prompting him to pull out his own pocket watch to check the time. He stood, grabbing his hat and coat then said, “I thank you for the tea, but I am afraid I must return to my work.”

“Of course,” she said, standing and followed him to the door. “It was a pleasure, and please, pass my gratitude to your friend, Mr. Moore, I believe was his name?”

“Yes, and I shall. Good day Miss Lind.” He once again took her hand and shook it, and this time, she knew better to offer her left one.

It was puzzling to him, but for the rest of the day, he thought of the young woman and of their conversation. He even analyzed himself to figure out how he could have behaved in such a manner, but all he could come up with was that she was approachable, more so than anyone he had ever known. Then he began to think of the things she said, of how she knew his nationality, a small glimpse of her family life. She didn’t seem to be like most of the women he had come in contact with; not vapid or rude like the society women, nor was she bold as brass as Miss Sara Howard. He hoped to meet her again, just to try and truly understand her. That was all.

Tagging: @monsieurbruhl​ @flutterskies​ @sokoviandelights​ and @fictionlandslanddreams If anyone else would like to be tagged, please let me know!

[atinyarmyzen]

𝒸𝒶𝓃’𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝑒𝑒 𝓂𝑒?

𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭!𝐲𝐮𝐭𝐚 𝐱 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: brief mention of injury, some swearing

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: period setting, angst, fluff, you are the only child of a noble family who is an aspiring writer (much to your mother’s distaste), and one day to run into an old friend. 

𝐚/𝐧: this took way too long to write so sorry if you’ve been waiting a while, this idea popped into my head and I started writing it like a month ago on and off. I hope you enjoy this v fluffy dramatic ghost au!

You don’t know him, but he knows you. Yuta had been a lingering spirit in this house for over a century, and he has grown quite fond of you over the years. He used to be your “friend” when you were little, but you had long since forgotten him. It broke his heart, but he still loved watching you while you wandered around the huge manor, he loved your singing and watching you read by the window. He had grown content with the arrangement, him admiring you and you never noticing, until one day- you do.

Your family had lived in the house for a couple generations, though the huge manor has been there for hundreds of years before you. Your mother and father were nobles who owned a sizable chateau in the countryside. You were expected to be a debutant and were to be married off to some other noble. It felt more like being sold in your eyes, and you wanted no part of it. Rather than going to parties and balls you preferred to read your books and run around barefoot in the huge meadows. It was lonely considering you were the only child, but you didn’t mind. You preferred the people in your books, and would often visit places all around the world through the stories you read.

Yuta had been the spirit of the house for as long as he could remember. He could barely recall his mortal life, and his life as a spirit felt like eternity even though he had only been dead 100 years. He knew you since you were quite small, and you knew him. You were the only person that had ever actually seen him, and your sweet friendly soul made him feel like wasn’t alone - trapped on the other side of existence. You would often run down the long hallways together, laughing and giggling the whole way. To your parents, it just looked like you running around alone, and they often just passed it off as you being having a wild imagination.

Those were the best days of Yuta’s existence, but it was not to last. As you grew older, your “imagination” began to fade away. One day, Yuta found you where you normally were, in the library by your favorite window. He smiled as he snuck up on you, prepared to playfully spook you like he always would. Except when he jumped out in front of you, you didn’t move a muscle. You kept your eyes trained on the book as if you heard nothing.

“Y/N?” he questioned. Nothing.

He kneeled down in front of you, his big doe eyes looking up into your face as your eyes continued darting across the page. “Y/N?, what’s wrong?” he asked again, thinking you were just giving him the cold shoulder. “Have I done something wrong?” he pleaded, his brows knitted in concern. Yuta reached out his hand and cupped your face, he noticed the sun rays seeping through his ghostly form as he touched your soft cheek. Instead of meeting his eyes, you simply shivered and pulled the window shut as if there was a draft. Yuta drew his hand back, can’t you see him?

He heard your mother call you from the other room, your head immediately perked up in response. “Coming mother!” you announced as you closed your book and got up to leave. Yuta watched in horror as you walked right through him out of the room, his eyes pricked with tears as he watched his best friend leave. His heart shattered, he had never loved anyone so much and it seemed like you had all but forgotten him.

Years past and you grew into a young adult. You attended school, went to parties - or rather forced to go by your parents, and talked to what seemed like hundreds of bumbling idiots who just wanted to marry you for you family fortune. The only solace you found was in your library where you could escape to far off places in books, or running around with your small dog in the fields. Yuta had no choice but to watch you grow, and soon his fondness for the small child he knew grew into love for the beautiful angel that graced the halls of the estate. He had become content with his situation- as long as he got to admire you from afar, it did not matter if you could not see him.

Until one day.

You had become absolutely fed up with your parents incessant need to marry you off. Dinner, like always, turned into a debate over your free will.

“I’d rather chew glass than marry that fool.” you spat as you pushed the food around your plate.

“Y/n, stop being so ridiculous. Don’t pretend you never expected this time to come.” Your mother retorts.

“I’m sorry darling, but we have already discussed the arrangement with his family,  you can’t pull out now.” Your father added.

“I wish his dad pulled out but here we are.” You quipped under your breath.

Your father choked on his food and tried his best to stifle his laugh at your little joke. Your mother was less than pleased and scowled at you from across the table.

She shot daggers at your father. “I blame you for her mouth.”

“Would it really be that horrible if I didn’t marry? My literature instructor says I have a talent in writing and that I should consider publishing my stories. I could be so much more than somebody’s prize.” You said with an almost pleading tone.

“I won’t have my daughter becoming some kind of spinster lady. Can’t you see what’s best for your family?” Your mother said, sounding deflated. Your father kept his gaze down.

“I think “what’s best for me” are the words you’re looking for.” you seethed before you loudly pushed your chair back and sped out of the room.

You were too upset to even think about where you were going so your instincts took you right to the library where you sat on your seat by the tall glass window in a huff. All of it, the anger, frustration, sadness began to come to a boiling point. It felt like an elephant was sitting on your chest. Tears pricked your eyes and despite your best efforts they began to fall.

Yuta had heard the whole exchange at dinner, and watched from the corner of the room as your body heaved in sobs. It felt like someone was shoving a spike through his heart- he knew you. He knew you better than anyone, they way you prefer animals to people, your favorite books that you read through so many times the pages have worn, the way your eyes light up when you find inspiration for your stories. He knew what your dreams were- and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

He felt helpless, he decided he would do his best to comfort you even if you couldn’t see him, maybe you could feel him. Just as he started towards you he knocked over a stack of books. He cringes at the sudden noise which instantly made you jump and whirl around.

“Hello?” you said, startled.

Yuta dashed behind a bookshelf, although he mentally kicked himself for it because you couldn’t see him anyway. You got up and cautiously stepped forward.

“Mother?” you called. There was no way the wind knocked that huge pile over.

You felt the hair on your arms and neck stand up. You realized that you were supposedly alone, but the sickly chilling feeling in your gut said otherwise. Despite your every nerve screaming at you to get the hell out of the room you moved closer to the corner where the noise came from. You were stopped dead in your tracks when you heard a faint shuffling behind the tall book shelf. You gulped and peeked into the shadows.

You didn’t know what you were expecting, but you thought it was going to be something that would haunt you forever. Instead, you found nothing but what looked like a young man sitting on the floor with his hands covering his eyes. He looked just as scared as you were. He hadn’t noticed you yet, and you studied his appearance a little closer. His form was shifty, as if he was not solid, he looked though he was dressed from a hundred years ago. He had long, sliver tresses that reached down the nape of his neck and brushed his forehead. He had delicate features and full, pink lips. You smiled at the boy, there was something so sincere and endearing about him.

You decided to clear your throat to announce yourself, “Ahem”.

The boy gasped and ripped his hands away from his face. He looked up at you with huge, sparkly dark eyes and you were sure you could see your reflection in. Something about his eyes struck you- they were oddly familiar. You stared at each other for a while before he snapped out of his trance and quickly stood up. You were taken aback at how you were suddenly looking up at him, he looked to be about your age.

“You can see me?” He finally spoke.

“Of course I can.” You replied as if you see him everyday.

“Do you remember me?” Yuta said quietly.

“Remember you? I’ve only just met you.” You stared at him quizzically

Yuta’s heart sank, he thought maybe after seeing him for the first time in years you would recognize him. Still, he was thrilled you could see him at all.

“Are you afraid?” the boy asked.

“Should I be?” you retorted.

He chuckled. “No, not of me at least.” He grinned.

This was the second time he made your heart do flips in the span of 30 seconds. His smile was enchanting. It made you feel safe, warm, and again- he seemed oh so familiar. You felt like you could trust him with your life, and you had no idea why.

You couldn’t help but smile back at him. “Good. I’m y/n.” You said, reaching out your hand.

Yuta stared at your hand for a minute before he took it in his and lifted it to his lips. You were taken aback, expecting a handshake. He pressed a kiss to the back on your hand while keeping eye contact with you. You gasped slightly, his hands felt cool, but his lips were warm. His gaze was so intense compared to moments ago, and it sent shivers up your spine.

“I know. I’ve known you since you were quite small.” He smiled as he straightened up again. “I’m Yuta, I’m the spirit that lives in this house.”

“Well Yuta, it’s nice to finally know you. How can I see you?” You asked

“Very few humans can at your age, usually it’s just children.” Yuta explained.

“I see.” You reached out to touch his face. “May I?”

Yuta nodded. You gently touched his cheek, it felt like a thick, cool air. He lifted his hand to cover yours. You noticed you could see your hand through his shifty one. “Can you feel anything?” You asked curiously.

“Barely, I can only feel warmth, but no sensation like I did when I was alive.” He said flatly.

“Wow.” You said, astonished that you were actually speaking to a fully materialized spirit.

Yuta chuckled at your child-like wonder. “You know you don’t have to go through with it.” He said after a short silence.

“What?” You say, puzzled. “You heard that?”

Yuta smiled shyly. “Yeah, most of it.” He said fidgeting with his hands. He then looked up at you with wide eyes. “Not that I eavesdrop or watch you all the time- I just- well- “ He began to panic. You laughed and reached up to “touch” his shoulder comfortingly.

“Don’t worry- I don’t think you’re a pervert.” You said, giggling.

Yuta sighed. “Oh, good. I didn’t realize that sounded rather creepy.” He laughed nervously.

You laugh again. “I’m glad there’s someone I can get along with around here. I would tell you to make yourself at home but you were here long before me.” You turned to pick up some of the fallen books and start putting them back in their respective places.

Yuta leaned his shoulder against the shelf with his arms crossed, smiling fondly at you as you move around the room, going on about the different books you’ve been reading. I felt like no time had passed, like everything was right in the world again.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵ • ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵ 

From that day forward, Yuta became your confidant. Being as you were the only one that could see him, you figured there was no harm in telling him all of your secrets, fears, and dreams. On top of that, there was something about Yuta that felt incredibly safe. Even if he were alive, he would still be your closest friend.

If you spent a lot of time alone before, it was like you were a hermit now. You really left the library, and sometimes it even sounded like you were talking to yourself. Your mother pressed her ear to the large wooden door, curious as to who you were talking to.

“That girl, she worries me.” She said, knowing for a fact you were alone in there.

Despite the growing concern of your parents, you were the happiest you had been in a long time. Yuta was always with you, he made you belly laugh until your ribs hurt, always wanted you to read him your stories, and he told you stories from when he was alive.

“I am 125 years old you know.” he said after he finished telling you about his childhood.

“You don’t look a day over 25.” You said sarcastically.

“Oh stop, you make my blush.” He said exaggerating his gestures.

“If you could even blush.” You quipped

He feigned a shocked gasp. “How rude Miss Y/n. I thought you were a lady.” Yuta fired back with a smirk.

You snickered. “If being a lady means I have no sense of humor, then I’m no lady.”

Yuta chuckled at you, your unapologetic attitude was one of the things he adored about you. His gaze lingered for a bit as you concentrated on the book in your hands.

“You know you don’t have to go through with it.” He said suddenly changing the subject.

You looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. “Sorry?”

“You don’t have to marry that pompous ass if you don’t want to.” He clarified.

You scoffed. “Yuta, you of all people should know the world doesn’t work like that.” Your eyes went back to your book.

“I wish we would have lived at the same time.” Yuta’s voice suddenly became softer.

You looked up to meet Yuta’s eyes- they could be so intense sometimes. Words were suddenly lost on you, your lips parted but nothing escaped. You were suddenly aware of the proximity of his face to yours. He reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, then tracing your jaw with his finger until he reached your chin. You felt goosebumps erupt on your arms, the cool air suddenly making you shiver.

Yuta noticed and pulled his hand away. “Sorry.” he breathed. “I forget how cold I am.” He said sadly, his eyes downcast.

You gently brought you hands up to his face, causing him to meet your eyes. He looked surprised.

“Me too.” you said quietly. “Maybe in another life, I wouldn’t mind being stuck with you for a husband.” You smiled.

Yuta’s face lit up with a huge grin that reached his eyes. He laughed breathily.

“I suppose this would be a good time to tell you I have loved you since you were small.” He brought a hand up to hold yours against his face. “But I’ve been in love with you since you’ve grown up into the beautiful person you are now.”

There was a moment of pause as you stared in the galaxies that seemed to be swirling in his eyes. All you could hear was your breathing growing shallower and your blood rushing in your ears. He was perfect.

Now or never.

You leaned in slowly, as if being magnetically pulled. Your lips hovered over his; he stayed still. Both of your eyes were half-mast as you stared at each other’s lips.

He pulled away.

You deflated. Yuta kept his gaze down. “I can’t.” He said in a thin voice. “And why not?” you retorted. He met your eyes with his glassy ones. “If I am going to kiss you- of which I want nothing more- I want to be able to feel you, and you me. You deserve that.”

“I don’t care Yuta. You have already given me what I know I will never have in this life.” You breathed, feeling tears begin to prick your eyes. “I love you.”

Yuta blanched at your words. He had gone too far, let his own selfish desires to be with you again get in the way. If you really wanted to be with him, what was the cost? He could never give you what you wanted from him. “You deserve someone who can give you a real life, a human one.”

You stood up abruptly with your back to him. The tears that had been gathering in your eyes spilled over, suddenly it was hard to breathe. Why was he doing this? You spun around to face him. “Then why?” you said with a shaky voice. “Why did do all of this? If you knew all along that you loved me why would you wait until the moment I realized that I loved you too to break my heart?!” Your voice began to rise as you spoke.

Yuta looked at you with a helpless look on his face. “I’m sorry.” was all he could choke out before his head fell into his hands and he began to sob. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at his any longer before rushing out of the room.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵ • ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵ 

You hadn’t seen Yuta in weeks. You barely spoke, your appetite was all but gone, and you cried nearly every night. You had forgotten how lonely it all was before him. You had become completely apathetic to your situation, allowing the your betrothal to become official. The wedding was in a week, and you were dragged to countless meetings with your dress designer, dance lessons, and wedding plans that your mother was far more excited about than you were. You spent any other time you had locked away in your room writing. At least in the world of your own creation, the heroine was able to have the life you wanted. She could have a career, travel the world, walk along the streets of big cities, and still have the love of a lifetime without having to sacrifice a single thing.

One day, you sat at your writing desk by the tall window, watching your tears fall to the paper below in soft patters. You looked up into the mirror, you didn’t even recognize yourself anymore. You were frail and your skin had taken on a dull sallowness. You could feel yourself slipping, the constant despair causing your to fray at the seams. You closed you eyes for a moment before opening them to see a head of silvery hair standing behind you. His eyes were just as doe-like as ever- they looked at you with such sadness. With a sharp gasp you turned only to find nobody behind you. You looked back to the mirror to see only yourself reflected back at you. There was no way of knowing if you imagined it or if he was really there. It all became too much, and with a pained scream you shattered the mirror in front of you with your fists.

Where is he?

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵ • ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵ 

Despite the fussing of everyone around you and your mother’s scolding, your lacerated hands hardly concerned you. You sat in your nightgown still, in your usually chair by the window in the library. You fiddled with your bandages on your hands before one of the house attendants had come in.

“Miss Y/n?” he spoke softly.

You quickly snapped out of your trance, “Yes?”.

“A letter for you, miss.” He said as he handed you a small envelope with a seal.

You offered him a small smile, “Thank you.”

Your literature professor had told you to send off one of your stories to a publishing company in New York City. You eyed the wax seal on the envelope, and broke it.

𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝑀𝒾𝓈𝓈 𝒴/𝓃,

𝒲𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃𝓀 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓈𝑒𝓃𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓊𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓂𝒶𝓃𝓊𝓈𝒸𝓇𝒾𝓅𝓉, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓃 𝑔𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓀. 𝐼𝓉 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒷𝑒 𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝑜𝓃𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝑜 𝒾𝓃𝓋𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝑜 𝒩𝑒𝓌 𝒴𝑜𝓇𝓀 𝓉𝑜 𝒹𝒾𝓈𝒸𝓊𝓈𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝒶𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝓅𝓊𝒷𝓁𝒾𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓃𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁. 𝐼𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔, 𝓅𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓊𝓈 𝒶 𝓇𝑒𝓅𝓁𝓎 𝑒𝓍𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉. 𝐻𝑜𝓅𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝑜𝑜𝓃.

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓂 𝓇𝑒𝑔𝒶𝓇𝒹𝓈,

𝐸𝓁𝒾𝓏𝒶𝒷𝑒𝓉𝒽 𝒮𝓉𝑒𝒾𝓃, 𝐸𝒹𝒾𝓉𝑜𝓇 𝒾𝓃 𝒞𝒽𝒾𝑒𝒻

Holy shit. You thought, quickly folding up the letter and going to your room to hide it in your desk drawer. This was surreal, never did you think you could actually get published- by one of the largest publishers in the country no less. Your wedding was in a week, what could you possibly do about it now? You slightly cursed yourself for being so resigned about your engagement. Until you remembered Yuta’s words:

“You don’t have to do it you know, I think you know that too. You could leave it all behind and be perfectly fine on your own.”

You turned to your bed to pull out a large suitcase, throwing it open before shoving every possession you could fit inside. Your life wasn’t here, especially now that Yuta had gone. You thought of your family- their disappointment. Your mother’s you could deal with, but when your mind crossed your father there was a slight tinge of guilt. You paused your movements for a moment. He understood you, and he always stood up for you when your mother would get particularly overbearing. Still, you knew he wouldn’t stop the engagement. You snapped out of your trance and continued to pack until were interrupted by a knock at your door.

You jumped at the sudden noise, suddenly aware you could be discovered. “Yes?” you called.

“Supper is ready Miss” someone said from the other side of the door. “Be right there!” you shouted.

Shit. You thought. You quickly shut your suitcase- which took a fair amount if effort due to how utterly stuffed it was. Shoving it under the bed, you fixed your slightly disheveled hair and left your room to meet your parents who were already sitting at the dining table.

“You look flushed, dear.” Your mother commented upon looking at your face. “Is everything alright?” She asked while sipping her wine.

“Yes, mother. It’s just rather chilly today.” You lied. You father just looked at you with a raised eyebrow before going back to pouring his own wine.

You were on edge the whole time, your leg constantly bouncing while mindlessly pushing food around your plate. You could barely stomach the idea of food due to house nervous you were. You were making your escape tonight, you thought. All you have to do is wait till dark. As soon as supper was over you quickly excused yourself and shoved your chair back before leaving the room without another word.

“She has barely said a word for weeks.” Your mother said lowly. “What on earth has gotten into her.”

“She wasn’t meant for this life.” You father mumbled. “She’s far too smart and stubborn.” You mother continued to watch the door where you had walked out. Her eyes narrowed before she finished her wine. “I blame you.” She said bitterly.

You rushed to the library to gather the few books you new you couldn’t live without. You dashed around the room, stacking them in your arms before you came to your usual spot by the window. You looked at the scattered books and your scrapped pieces of your writing. Your eyes stopped on a small drawing you had sketched while you and Yuta were spending one your usual days lazing around the library. He was facing you, his gaze turned out the window in front of him. Though you’re no artist and you could never do his angelic features justice, you could still very clearly remember the scene. You stuffed it in your pocket before heading back to your room to get the rest of your things together. For the first time in your life you had never felt so sure of something. Although you might never see Yuta again, he could never leave your memory- no amount of distance nor the passage of time could change that.

You bittersweetly smiled to yourself as you made your way down the hall to your room. You struggled to open the door with all the books in your arms and barely noticed someone sitting on the chair at your desk.

Your mother.

She was holding the letter.

All of the breath left your lungs, there was an icy feeling in the pit of your stomach. All of the hope you had deflated in a matter of seconds.

“After all I’ve done.” Your mother started, still staring at the letter. “You still are adamant on destroying our family.”

There was silence for a several moments. You had tolerated her snide remarks and constant distaste for everything that made you happy. You played along with her ideas for your entire life, and for what?

“No, mother.” you said in a low voice. “You are adamant on destroying me.”

Your mother quickly stood up and rushed over to you. “How could you be so selfish?!” She seethed, her face just inches from yours. “Do you honestly expect that you could survive in this world all on your own? Don’t you know that isn’t possible for us?!” She said in a mix of anger and tears.

“Just because you gave up on your dreams doesn’t mean you can get in the way of mine.” You said in a flat, low voice.

Your mother shook with rage and tears before she pushed past you and stopped with her hand on your door handle. “I will not have my family be a laughing stock just because you have silly delusions. You will stay in this room until the wedding if that’s what it takes.” She spat before slamming the door.

“NO!”  You heard the faint sound of a lock from the outside. You slammed on the wooden door with your fists in rage until it eventually turned into tears of frustration. You eventually slumped against the door, exhausted.

Hours passed and shadows stretched across your room as the sun sank into the earth. The only light coming from the small lamp in your room. Everything was numb, all your fight had left you. You leaned back against the cool wood of your door, still sat the same spot you slumped in. You let out a sigh before felt yourself falling backward. You yelped as the door opened behind you and you fell  out into the hallway.

“What the hell-“ you began before you looked up.

Yuta.

You stared for a few seconds in disbelief thinking it was just another one of your hallucinations. Yuta’s brows were knitted as he stared down at you.

“Well? Don’t just lie there, you don’t have much time.” He said. You looked at him quizzically before it dawned on you: he was helping you escape. Yuta seemed to notice your moment of clarity and offered his signature smile. You got yourself off the floor and looked him in the eyes. Tears pricked your eyes as you smiled at him. Without really thinking you threw your arms around him, and you were surprised to feel warmth rather than the coolness of his shifty figure. It didn’t quite feel like a typical hug, but more like being enveloped in warmth.

“I missed you.” Was all you could say. You both stayed there for a few moments before you felt his warmth pull away from you.

“I never left.” He said with a warm grin. “Now hurry up, lady. I don’t pick locks for just anybody.” He winked.

You grinned widely before running off to grab all of your things. It was probably just before dawn by the looks of it, Yuta lead you to a small doorway that you had never seen before. “This was how I sneaked out.” He told you. You huffed in amusement before grabbing a hold of the handle, it was old and probably hadn’t been opened in years. You had to use all of your strength to slide it open, it was slowly beginning to inch open before you heard a voice.

“Y/n.”

You jumped and fell backward before looking up to see your father with an unreadable expression on his face. Your heart was leaping out of your chest, you looked around and saw Yuta standing next to you with a panicked expression on his face. If you weren’t screwed before, you definitely were now. \

“Where do you think you’re going?” He said in a grave voice before walking over to you. He helped you off the floor, and you kept your eyes glued to them.

“Without this?” He continued. Your eyes snapped up to see him holding an envelope. You met this eyes with your brows knit together, utterly confused.

You took it from him and opened it. Inside it was a train ticket and some cash. Your mouth fell open before you looked back up at your father who was smiling fondly. He took your face in his hands and gingerly kissed your forehead before meeting your eyes with his glassy ones.

“Go.” He said with a wide, proud smile.

You kissed his cheek before telling him you loved him and that you would write when you got to New York before you scurried out the door. You came out the other side to see the garden just outside your favorite window by the library. You took a deep inhale of the crisp morning air and saw the sky begin to tinge with orange as the sun began to rise. You opened your eyes to see the window open and Yuta staring at you with a fond look on his face. Despite your joy, your heart deflated when you made the realization.

Yuta would probably never see him again. You ran over to him placing both your hands on the window sill as he leaned down on his elbows. “Come with me.” You said through the tears painting your cheeks. Yuta gave you a sad chuckle before he reached his hand out to your face. You leaned into the warmth and closed your eyes. “I can’t.” You voice broke. “Not without you.” You opened your eyes to meet his and scanned his features for a moment, desperately trying to engrain his beautiful face in your memory. The sunlight shone faintly through his slightly transparent figure, giving him an ethereal glow.

He was the first to break the silence. “Don’t worry, love. I’ll see you again soon.” You were confused. “How?” you asked.

He chuckled again. “I’ve waited a hundred years to meet you, what’s another few decades?” You smiled at his jest. Yuta brought his hands to your face, they felt almost real this time. “Go, I want you to live. Be the heroine in your stories. Go on adventures. Break hearts. Feel heartbreak. Laugh till you can’t breathe. Feel it all, the greatest joy and the deepest pain. Write your stories. Then, after you’re old and grey and it’s time for you to leave this world, you can tell me all about it.” You let out a shaky laugh between your sobs, never had you felt more pain and love at the same time. Yuta leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. This time, you swore you could feel the plushness of his lips and his fingertips grazing your jaw and neck. You felt his pull away and opened your eyes to meet his. They never failed to put you in a trance.

“I love you.” You said in a voice just above a whisper. You saw his pupils dilate as he heard your words.

“If you only knew how much I loved you.” He said with the most beautiful smile that lit up his eyes like stars.

“Now beat it, you have a train to catch.” He joked. You chuckled. You abruptly turned to leave to save yourself from further torture. You ran across the meadow to your horse. You strapped down your things and hoisted yourself up before taking one last look at the window. Yuta was still there, he gave you a small wave. “See you soon.” You whispered before spurring your horse forward into a brisk run.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵ • ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵ 

Snow fell softy outside your window, the city took on a unique charm during the winter. The lights glittered and the people bustled down below, never stopping for a heartbeat. You looked around your home that you had called your own for decades. There was a piece of you here that would never leave, given you had written some of the most bestselling novels in history within these walls. All of the fame had made for an extraordinary life, but even in the moments of utter chaos time would slow to a crawl when he would cross your mind.

Over the years you wondered if it was all your imagination and if you ever actually would see him again. You reached to the side of your bed and picked up a small compact you kept with you all the time. You opened it to find the drawing of Yuta you had made all those years ago, it was your only way to remember his face as the years went by. Then you looked over to the mirror in the other side and saw your face. You were no longer the youth you once were, you looked over the way time had wore over your face. You smiled, it was proof you had kept your promise to Yuta, or leaving it all behind would have been for nothing.

You closed the locket and held it to your chest as you felt yourself drifting off to sleep. It felt strange like, you were being enveloped in warmth, the noises around you starting to blur and echo, as if you were under water. You heard a voice whisper right before everything turned black.

You woke with a gasp. It felt as though you had slipped into a deep ocean and couldn’t stop yourself until all of the sudden you were brought back to the surface. The room your were in was flooded with sunlight and you squinted as your eyes adjusted. What soon came into focus was the library from your family home. Everything was the same, except it felt different. Lighter, dreamier, as if time didn’t really move here. Looking down at your hands, they were no longer veiny and wrinkled from time, but youthful again. You turned your head to the window, a boy sat there. A boy with silver hair. As if he knew you had spotted him, he turned his head to meet your eyes. He smiled as if he was expecting you.

Yuta.

He stood up as you ran to him and nearly knocked him over as you embraced. He  was real, you could feel his solid form as you buried your face in the hair that dusted his neck. He smelled exactly how you imagined and he was so, so warm. You felt the vibrations of his low laugh as you clung to him desperately. He pulled back to look at your face before he kissed you, gently brushing his thumb along your neck where his hold was. You were finally home.

You pulled away from each other before letting out a giggle. “I have so much to tell you.” You said. He smiled. Not a thing about him had changed.

“And I can’t wait to hear all of it.”