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crimsoncandy04 · 2 months ago

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Behold, a scenario where you become the unwilling sex slave of The Balladeer.

POV: You were with The Traveler in Inazuma trying to aid the resistance. You didn't have much to say for yourself except for a bow and an electro vision that had been damaged in a fight with local samurai and was now malfunctioning during use. But one thing you had was a fighting spirit. And hope that the vision hunt decree would be abolished soon.

However such a world would never belong to you. Fate would have a more sinister plan for you as it seemed.

And that fate began to unravel the day you went with The Traveler to find the delusion factory and ended up face to face with the most egotistical harbinger out of the 12 you heard of.

The Balladeer.

You always hated him the most. And he seemed to be almost pleased with this as whenever you were in close proximity to him, he would stare you down with a strange sadistic gleam in his indigo eyes and refuse to look away until you did first due to being extremely uncomfortable.

You hated him so much.

And you hated it even more when a strange violet gas began to fill the factory and caused Aether to pass out right next to you. Thus giving you no excuse but to face the man who frankly terrified and disgusted you.

You were Fontaine born and raised thankfully. So being able to hold your breath for long periods of time was nothing. And when you saw Miko appear on the scene and prepare to rescue you, you felt so relieved that this nightmare would be over soon.

Oh how wrong you were.

"a life for a life" was the promise that was made as the gnosis exchanged hands and Miko prepared to pick up Aether and disappear with him. But just as you stepped over to join her and finally be free from the piercing gaze of Scaramouche, his voice suddenly sounded more sly and sinister than before as he reminded the priestess that she had made an exchange for ONE life. Not multiple. And that he was being "cheated" by her trying to include you in the deal without prior say.

You couldn't believe your ears. No one could. Paimon screeched that he was being unfair and begged Miko to just leave already, Miko paused in her haste to go and ultimately seemed to be thinking about something before she turned to you and gave you that same particular tone and smile.

"Oh don't make that face little one. He's right you know? Vile as the claim may be. I do feel bad for what I'm about to do, but sometimes sacrifices have to be made and your friend here is very important to our plans right now. I'll send someone to retrieve you when I can. In the meantime do try not to lose your mind. It'd be a great shame if by the time help arrived, you were nothing but a mindless and broken hostage unfit to re-enter society."

What the HELL was she saying.

"Miko...Miko wait...MIKO!" You ended up screaming as she vanished in a burst of violet particles.

You had messed up then.

In your haste to try and reach the fox lady and yell for her to please reconsider, you had opened your mouth.

All at once your fear and devastation had become rage at being left behind like YOUR life was less than and unworthy of fighting for.

You tried to calm your emotions but it was no use. You collapsed to the ground in a heap of defeat and helplessness. The last thing you saw was the silhouette of that monster slowly walking over to your unconscious body on the ground.

You felt strong yet delicate hands reach under your arms and pull you up before everything went white.

When you came to once again you were sore all over. You didn't know what happened. All you could feel in your head was an endless stinging pain that never seemed to get any better. And that was BESIDES the throbbing pain in your more sensitive areas. Particularly your nipples and clit.

You had barely opened your eyes when you realized you were completely undressed and bound to what appeared to be an operating table somewhere unfamiliar to you. Your heart raced as you tried to sit up but your wrists and ankles were chained to small metal hooks protruding from the surface of the place where you lay.

You finally screamed and began to cry for someone to help you. Anyone.

But no one came.

It felt like hours before you finally heard the voice of the LAST person you wanted to see right now in your state.

"you're finally awake. And here I thought you died before we even got fully acquainted." Scaramouche leered from somewhere behind me.

What was going on? Why was he here? WHY WAS HE SO CALM ABOUT ME BEING NAKED?

You said nothing. Just shivering as you fought the urge to vomit suddenly.

Oh archons please don't let happen what you think is about to happen...

You feel a gloved hand reach out and gently caress your cheek as the other softly ran its way through your long dark hair.

The room was dim and you couldn't see much but you could definitely feel and you honestly wished that you couldn't as you hear a small amused hum from your tormentor, his hand slowly moving down to grab hold of one of your breasts. He squeezed and seemed to be almost analyzing something you couldn't see. Yet for some reason as he cradled your head almost lovingly and fondled your medium sized assets, you feel your disgust practically drain away in an instant.

You feel yourself relax a little. The reaction was most certainly your own but it still felt very...wrong. like your brain was acting without conscience effort.

It felt like your head was tingling.

The sensation quickly moved from your head to your torso. Feeling almost like a stabbing pain until your body began to grow aroused from it. Your pussy getting wetter as you felt your nipples harden in his hands.

You hear a chuckle as you gasp and try to instinctively fight, only to feel your entire body go limp every time.

Scaramouche then chose to roughly pinch and tug on your sore nipples until you pitifully pleaded with him to stop. He didn't. Instead he pulled harder until you felt something odd embedded in your flesh.

Metal. Something like a small rod buried in your tender skin.

It felt like your heart stopped as you realized that someone had actually pierced both of your nipples while you had been out cold and likely had done the same to your poor clit. But why?

Well you soon found out.

Suddenly you feel a painful current of electro leave Scaramouche's fingertips and shock you hard. The sensation reminded you of a bite. Quick yet painful.

You knew you should have been scared. You wanted to in that moment, but it felt like the emotion was almost instantly cut short as the same pleasant tingling infiltrated your skull and quickly traveled down your back. Forcing your entire body to relax again.

"How shameful. Letting your captor turn you on like this." The harbinger jeered as you felt him release you and instead make his way over to your bound feet where he quickly went to poke and tease your now swollen and excited nub that still stung from being nonconsensually modified earlier.

"Disgusting bug. But I suppose you can't help it. Humans are after all, stupid and fragile creatures, driven by their useless little feelings and desires."

You try to keep silent as he verbally degrades you yet when you feel his cool tongue against your sore clitty, you can't help yourself and finally moan out loud.

Tears began to well up in your big brown eyes as this small sound of delight from your lips seemed to encourage him to continue.

He held your knees apart as he focused solely on overstimulating your pleasure spot and as much as you didn't want to, you could feel yourself getting closer to climaxing.

"Please! Please don't! I can't!" You whine as you feel him moan against your sex and send even more unwanted vibrations throughout your core.

He doesn't stop until you end up creaming on his face. Even then he continues to suck and lick your clit until you're practically begging him for mercy and on the verge of cumming for a third time in a row.

Every time the same tingling would take away all of your negative emotions and make you actively CRAVE Scaramouche's touch.

You hated that you loved this so much.

And if anything, the more Scaramouche made you cum, the more you could almost feel your brain associating him with just that. Warping your old perception of him slowly but surely.

Until in your mind, he became the source of the only pleasant feelings that kept you sane amidst the darkness.

He did eventually fuck you, but it wasn't for a long time. And it was because YOU begged him to.

You didn't know what had come over you. All you knew was that you needed him one night like never before.

You found yourself kneeling at his feet and kissing his feet begging to be used even though a small dying voice in the back of your mind found it odd.

After what must've been days in the dim room you originally woke up in, you were blindfolded and taken elsewhere.

And this one singular lavish bedroom that stayed locked from the outside at all times would be your new home.

At least that's what your master had told you.

You weren't sure when you started calling him that. In fact a lot of your memories seemed to be gone or hazy.

But you didn't care.

You just wanted n-no you NEEDED your master now. You needed his cruelty and his kindness. You wanted nothing else.

Every day he would visit you in your playroom, you sat waiting by the door every time you heard the knob, crouched and ready to crawl to him and greet him eagerly after a long day like the bitch you now were. Complete with a cute collar and tail too! Not to mention the ears...

You'd happily wait for Scaramouche to free his cock from the confines of his shorts and smirk as he ordered you to service him like a good girl and swallow his seed. You never once disobeyed him. Not that you wanted to.

You knew that insubordination would result in you being tied up and having electricity ran through your piercings repeatedly until you peed yourself in humiliation and cried. Only then would your master release you. Once you began to plead for forgiveness and were reduced to nothing but a wailing and pitiful little creature.

No.

You always did what you were told because the rewards were so much better than you ever imagined.

If you succeeded in your efforts and made him finish quickly, you were fucked raw and hard by him until your belly began to swell from the constant flow of hot cum that was fucked into your womb as a prize for your obedience.

And on certain days, you were even given kisses and massages. Especially if he was in a good mood and hadn't rewarded you in a long time.

Your new life was simple. You were the harbinger's plaything. You remained locked away and cherished sensually as time seemed to go on and on without change.

In fact, the day someone broke into your bedroom and immediately scooped you up in a blanket and declared in a hushed tone that they were freeing you, nothing happy came from hearing these words for you.

No no no.

You WANTED your master!

You didn't want to be out there!

But it was no use. The person had a glider and had flown away with you during the night before anyone could take notice.

And ever since then your entire life had been miserable.

He called himself Aether.

He said he was your friend. But you couldn't remember anything he was talking about no matter how hard you tried. Hasn't master always been your only company?

He and others spoke about scary things like microchips in someone's brain and memories being distorted as a form of control.

You wanted to go home so badly. It was scary out here.

Your only solace was the fact that your master hadn't completely left you yet. You dreamt of him kissing you again. You could practically see him around you like a phantom sometimes, telling you that you were still his good girl.

And one day as you felt a small kick in your belly, you swore you could hear him laughing from somewhere far away.

You needed to be with him again.

#genshin impact #wanderer #wanderer x female reader #scaramouche x female reader #scaramouche #scaramouche smut #wanderer smut #genshin impact smut #female reader #dark smut #body modification

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lokisgoodgirl · 2 years ago

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Heirs [Asgard!Loki x Fem.Reader]

A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Loki starts your marriage by breaking tradition. Naturally. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Fluff & Smut. Oral. Asgardian HC Lore. Language. Loki POV. (w/c 1.9k)

Loki’s eyes followed the ripples your palms made over the water. Over the curve of your back. The delicate line of your spine. Steam rose in a mist, braiding upwards in the amber glow of sunset through the arched windows.

Sodden rose petals clung delicately to your waist, peppered sporadically on your skin like clean wounds. Beautiful, he thought, letting his robe fall with a rustle around his ankles to the ancient stone of the palace baths.

He smirked as you turned with a splash, instinctually covering your breasts before breaking into a smile. “Husband,” you giggled in greeting. It was the first time you had said it.

The word made him shiver, despite the heat thumping between his legs.

Loki enjoyed the slow crawl of your eyes up his body. You took in every inch of his long legs with the unrestrained hunger of a horny stable-hand, thumbs beginning to subconsciously massage your nipples. There was a flicker of pink as your tongue flashed over your lips, gaze lingering on his cock heavy set between tensed thighs. All yours, my love.

The water was perfectly warm. Hot – but not overly so. Carefully controlled thermal springs which ran into the palace saw to that. With each step into the stilling pool he took, you took a step back.

Even now wed, still ever the tease. Loki’s lips stretched in a mischievous smile, matching your own.

Heat kissed his knees, then his thighs, then his hips– dipping backwards to wet his hair in the perfumed baths. He could feel the weight sink into the tight weaves of his ceremonial braids, wound from his temples, the ends sinking down between floating strands of black. He rose up, rivulets running from his temples down to the nook of his collarbone. The Prince let out a small groan as you reclined on the steps by the side of the pool, only the curve of your mounds visible above gently lapping water. Beautiful.

You bit your lip, resting your elbows on the side. Waiting.

“I might even apologise for interrupting but I believe that would not be the most auspicious start to our marriage,” he coyed, before stopping directly in front of you.

He could feel the cool of your breath against his skin, wafting in teasing waves over the fat tip of his cock protruding from the water. “There will be plenty of time for lies, I'm sure,” you replied with a knowing smile, neck craning up.

Loki shivered again as your lips melded against his stomach, thumbs pressing into his obliques while your fingers curled around his trunk. He could feel droplets roll between his shoulder-blades as his neck tilted back. The feeling of your fingers wrapping around his base of his cock, the gentle suck of your mouth on the thick, swollen head threatening to make his knees buckle. How long he had waited for this. How long you had both waited for this.

“Stop,” he gasped, just as you primed to swallow him whole. Loki would never forget the way your eyes shone with innocent confusion. He looked forward to seeing that moment reflected in your beautiful gaze many times in the coming years. The god bent down, capturing your lips with a messy kiss while he slid beside you on the stone seat concealed beneath the surface.

“Do you know," he began, pausing to brush a thumb over your lips, "that the royal men of Asgard are forbidden from pleasuring their wives with their mouths?” His eyes searching yours, nerves fluttering in his belly. “I have heard it said,” you hummed, curling a thick ebony strand of Loki’s wet hair around your finger. “But it never made sense to me.”

Loki chuckled, leaning forwards to suck gently against your neck.

His tongue would never sate from the taste of your skin. Never. He let out a rasping moan in your ear, one of his hands sliding between your open thighs beneath the water.

The tips of his fingers grazed the plump folds he found, the arch of your back against the terracotta making his shaft twitch against his stomach. “You see, if my tongue is buried between your thighs, wife, it is not my cock.”

“Heirs?” you asked, feigning innocence.

“Heirs.” Loki smirked. You rolled your eyes playfully as his finger trailed lazily down your inner thigh, dragging softly over your knee.

“The most beautiful sounds a woman can make are thus,” he postured casually, leaning one elbow on the side with a fist beneath his temple. Your palms slid teasingly over his stomach, inching further with each time-wasting word. “Firstly, the primal grunt as her blade pierces the flesh of her enemy. And second...”

Loki paused to follow the descent of a particularly fliratatious droplet down the curve of your neck with one long finger, “the shameless groan in her throat as she cums into the mouth of her lover.”

“Is that so?” you said, sliding your hands up over his shoulders. Oil swirling within the heat of the baths made them soft and slick, the lady’s delicate grip against ropes of ferocious muscle making him weaken. Loki felt his brows slant. “You do not believe me?” he murmured incredulously.

The laugh that chimed from your throat made his heart swell.

“My Lord, I am innocent of such things as you well know,” you said, a sarcastic smirk tugging your lips. Loki tutted, playing the game. “I have fought beside you many times, wife. I know that you keep the highest count of men slain by a woman’s hand.”

You nodded thoughtfully, before your head tilted to the side. “I meant the other thing,” you whispered, pressing your lips together. Loki cupped your cheeks as your stare focused on the narrow valley of lapping water between your bodies. He frowned. "Truly?" You nodded. He could feel your cheeks warm beneath his touch. How can it be that a man has never pleasured her so, he thought.

“Then let me show you how black of a steed I truly am in this family of mine,” he heard himself mutter, seeing your chest begin to heave with quickening breaths. “Of all our inane traditions, that is by far the most loathsome.”

The nervous laugh that escaped you bounced to every vault in the high ceilings, sinking through the cross-breeze from the open arches.

“More so than the Ceremony of the Sacred Seed?” you giggled, biting your lip again. Loki nodded, a smile curling one side of his mouth. “The Ceremony is a farce, but this…?” his hands found the curve of your waist beneath the water, lifting you effortlessly to the final step before the bath’s edge. “The waste of my wife’s pleasure from my talents would be unforgivable.”

Water lapped gently at your hipbones while Loki carefully placed your calves over his shoulders. He turned his cheek, placing three kisses gently on wet skin. “Besides, was it not the Ceremony which set our path in motion?” he murmured, before grazing his teeth over your ankle. Your hips bucked upwards, a splash. “At least we may be thankful for that.”

Loki watched in awe as your body leant back against the smooth terracotta ledge, the clear bathwater making rivers and brooks through the creases of your hips. The way your curves stretched and moulded to the stone, fat streaks of water languishing down your supple, oiled skin.

He spread his knees against the bottom step, sinking down. His stomach flipped as your breath hitched, desire roaring behind a demure moan. Your glistening pussy was being lapped by the sway of water, swollen lips revealed and hidden with the graceful tide. Loki hoisted your thighs, positioning you perfectly.

“You know, technically, this is treason against the crown,” he purred teasingly, working sucking kisses up the soft flesh of your inner thigh. He felt them tremble around his neck.

“Husband, please,” you gasped, letting your head drop back. The wet of your hair slopped against the warm stone floor. Loki smirked against your skin, feeling a long breath leave your lungs as his palms lightly gripped your waist. “Very well, Princess-” he smiled.

Loki let his eyes drink in the sight for as long as physics would allow before his lips formed a soft latch to your centre. He stilled, letting you buck into his mouth with a shudder. The warmth of the bathwater lapped at his jaw, liquid silk mingling his tongue with your sex. And like a tame beast, he began a flat ascent up your slit.

The subsequent rattling, gasping cry from your body would never leave him. Surprise, relief, pleasure, freedom – it was all contained in that wordless pitch wavering amongst the bathhouse steam.

He let his tongue curve the softness of your womanhood, hands roaming further up your waist. The curvaceous weight of your breasts cupped in his hands made his cock ache. A vision of sinking himself inside you flashed through his mind, rolling and wrapping in once-pristine matrimonial bedsheets. With every rock of your hips, that delicate pussy crept further from the surface before retreating; never fully submerged but always caressed by the touch of water.

Loki felt your hands slide over his temples, fingers that did not know what to do with themselves playing at his intricate ceremonial braids.

It was tradition for the bride to undo the braiding on the wedding night while her husband rested, utterly spent of course. Of course, Loki thought; as the flat of his tongue pressed against your clit. Your back arched from his palms, an ambrosial moan of his name ringing around the cloisters. But there is time enough for that.

He was vaguely aware of the rumbles of wet enthusiasm bubbling from deep in his throat, the taste of jasmine mingling with the sweet nectar leaking from your entrance. All of it. He wanted all of it. All of her.

Your fingers had knitted into the thick of his braids, pulling his face gently between your thighs. Deeper. Loki smiled against your cunt. He rocked you back, sitting up further on his knees. The god took a breath, pausing to observe the once-forbidden glory of your pussy displayed beneath his loving command.

“How are you mine?” he hummed over your pleasure-drunk form, water dripping from his chin. You melted into his open mouth as he delved down again. His worship was rhythmic, each wax and wane of his talented tongue ringing new wells of praise from your lips. Your hands slid down his glistening biceps, feeling every solid curve and vein on their descent.

He could feel the growing frequency of twitching in your calves, the tense of your thighs as you clung on to the wave of pleasure building in your gut. Gasping, you patted his forearm; but Loki shook his head against your sticky heat.

His eyes rose, seeing your brow furrowed in panicked anticipation. The Prince ran his palms up your thighs from where he knelt, never ceasing his gentle laps against your slit. Relax, my love, it said. I have you.

And with a choked cry of his name, Loki felt a warm well of sweetness against his tongue.

Water splashed against his cheeks as your hips shuddered, your tightened thighs pressing him closer. He slurped, kissing your sex as he would your mouth; massaging the sparks of ecstasy sizzling on every nerve for as long as they could last.

You had dug your fingertips deep into his triceps, riding out your pleasure. As she should, he thought; moaning against your cum-soaked sex. He hoped your enthusiasm would leave bruises. However fleeting.

“My Lord…” he heard you gasp through broken breaths. Loki took a moment to hover before lowering your legs, sinking your hips below the comforting glaze of water. Tendrils of his onyx hair spread on the ripples as you slid down the step to meet his lips with yours.

“My Lady,” he heard himself slur; drunk on the taste of your cum and the tone of your voice, “shall we to bed?”

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, drawing him close. Fingertips played over the wet knotting of his braids, a loving smile tugging at your mouth. “Heirs?” you said, biting your lip.

“Heirs,” he smouldered.

Keep the wedding night journey going with Husband (follow up)

Tags (cont in comments)

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#loki x reader #loki smut #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki fluff and smut #loki x reader smut #loki x yn #loki x you #loki x yn smut #loki x you smut #loki imagine #loki gif #loki marvel #loki x female reader #loki x female reader smut #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki laufeyson x reader smut #lokismut

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honestsycrets · 1 year ago

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enfócate | tutor!miguel o'hara x reader

❛ pairing | tutor!miguel x student!reader, fake boyfriend!peter x reader

❛ type | explicit

❛ summary | jess is clear: miguel o'hara is a terrible boyfriend. he'll inevitably hurt you-- but peter has other ideas. or, you blow miguel in a library.

❛ tags | spanish tutor!miguel, bratty reader, a kiss with Peter, Miguel's jealousy, bjs, fake boyfriend!peter, slight obsessive qualities, fuck buddies, undefined relationships, fuck boy Miguel.

❛ reqs fulfilled | see here.

❛ sy's notes | the pov on this piece bothers me, it jumps between reader and Miguel. however, i did write two separate pieces for this request (a combined 25 pages vs my usual 11/12). so, i decided to meld them together to create this piece. anywho, if it bothers you, i understand! ❤️ I yoinked a lot of the Spanish from my Spanish learners textbook, hopefully, it's acceptable.

He knew he wanted you from the first day he saw you in the tea cafe.

Jess and he rarely visited the tea shop. It was settled on the edge of campus. Close to the social sciences and arts, but far from the work he did in the Genetics department. As a Ph.D. student, however, not all the work was done in the lab. Jess liked to see the different types of people that came to this tea cafe, where the chair cushions were fluffy emerald pillows and plants hovered overhead.

“Miguel? What's---”

You stood apart from the other students with their sloppy, half-cropped, or frumpy appearances, there was a particular care you took to dressing. It was the embroidered bow in your hair that drew his attention. When you left to fetch a refill of chai, he noticed the soft, frilled socks in tiny ankle boots. He just knew you would taste sweet, leering as he watched you at the drink bar. Jess glanced in your direction, the way you adorably bowed your head after the tea artist gave you your drink, and just knew. Jess looked over her shoulder.

“Not her.”

Jess’s voice was a drawn-out sigh of your name, punctuated by her fist beating the table. Miguel perked at the mention of your name. Oh, so she knew you. She was probably sick of his shit. Good, he was also sick of being used as a vibe check for the lesbians she wanted to pick up.

“Don’t you have enough side pieces?”

Miguel didn’t respond.

“She probably has a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. Look who she's with.”

That finally got a response.

“You don’t know that,” he kept his eyes straight ahead. You caught him staring, wiggling your little fingers in a hello as you sat at a table. "I want her."

You sat with an incredibly frumpy, annoying photography student who once took his picture for the lab website. Could he be… his attention wavered when you pulled out a book: Español para el siglo. His lips quivered into a wildly sardonic grin. Oh no, no no. It was too easy.

“You’ll ruin her. She’s too innocent.”

He leaned in.

“Are you going to help me or not?”

“Buenas tardes,”

Two chairs and a thin desk. The small study room was more of a glorified broom closet for its students. You were lucky that there was a large window that looked out over the student union, flowers blooming up its brick siding. Bits of lush dark green ivy poked into the window’s view from the library’s tall wall. As the sun set on campus, rich orange and pink settled over the sunset on that warm Friday afternoon. At least the sight was pretty for how overwhelmingly small the space was.

It wasn’t the space that bothered you. It was your tutor.

He was big-- big big. Not just a little big, but really big. The kind of big that was on bodybuilding competitions. It made his long, blue-grey muscle shirt and grey sweats look tiny, sucked to his well-pumped muscle. The room felt a lot smaller as you looked at him, his long brown hair whipped back over his neck. His eyebrows raised on his dark forehead, arms turning one over another, a bundle of muscle.

“Ah... you're him? The man from the tea shop.”

He pulled free his sunglasses and set them down. His warm chocolate eyes glanced from the edge of your now too-short skirt to the glint of a dagger necklace that beat between your breasts. He’s staring. Why is he staring-- you finger the dagger between your thumb and index fingers, soothing yourself with the manipulation.

“Miguel.” He warmed, pulling the seat out beside him. His voice was buttery and smooth, almost like rich caramel. The lilt in his voice lightened, inviting you to take a seat by him. You should. You thought. Sit down. “Siéntate."

You stared.

"I said sit down.”

That was a bad idea. You paused, slipping the bag down from under your shoulder and onto the beige tile by the door. Miguel watched every slight movement. That’s fine. It’s natural to do that. You tugged the bottom of your skirt and took a seat beside him. Miguel pushed the chair back in, pushing your chest to the edge of the desk space. Oh-- oh boy, he was strong. Of course, he was, he was built like a--

“Bueno. Now you're settled. How can I help you?”

Do that again.

“Me? Oh! I... Jess said you could help me need to pass a test,” you murmured. The four semesters of Spanish seemed relatively easy compared to being stuffed next to this Adonis in this tiny study room. Your legs settled over your skirt, hands working over one another to will down the pulse of your wily excitement. What was wrong with you? “To pass my language requirement.”

You should have been able to do that alone but-- let’s say you weren’t the most applied to the language in your childhood. A tutor was a great alternative to embarrassment and thousands of dollars in classes. If only he didn’t look like… this. His large hand left the pasty back of your chair.

“Hm,” he paused. “¿Puedes hablar español?”

“Sí,” you murmured. “My mami was-- well, I should have listened to her.”

Hm.

You want to know what Hm means. Your leg tremored on its own accord. He swept a leather bag by his side up and pulled out a thick folder, running across several tabs. Lab notes, diet plans, pruebas.

“It happens,” he notes, sliding a page free. “Let’s see how much you know, princesa.”

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to know more, to hear the hum of Spanish bouncing off his lips. It was a world apart from your mother’s shrill screams on Saturday mornings to clean an already clean house. It held its own beauty and mystery when he spoke it. You took the page from him, setting it down on the bland tablespace by your phone, lighting up with a notification.

Jess When you meet Miguel, don’t do it.

"¿Princesa?" you asked.

"You dress like one. Don’t worry if you fail,” you plucked out a pink mechanical pencil, complete with little animated characters tightened around the wrapping. You perked at his words, choking a small smile. “I expect you to.”

Why was he like this? You took another unfortunate look at him, his large forearm plastered over the desk, making the book he had to look like peanuts in comparison. God, he was hot-- you felt comparatively hideous, drooling over a man that was out of your league. Maybe he could be your piece of eye candy this year. Your phone buzzed along the table again. Miguel’s eyes shot to it, a frown pulling at his lips.

Jess Don’t fuck him. He can’t keep his dick to himself.

He reaches over, flipping your phone down with an overworked smile sundering his expression. It’s almost fake.

“Are you…” you turned your eyes to the questions on the page. “A student?”

“Grad student,” Miguel answered. So, older than you then. “I graduated with a BA in Spanish and a BS in Genetics.”

“Oh! A dual degree?” The man couldn’t be normal. He had to do both. “Did it… take a while?”

“No, it was accelerated.”

He was unreal. There was no way this man was ordinary. It was physically impossible for the man to be that hot and successful. You scribbled across the page, nipping the back of your pencil at particularly hard questions.

“So you just do this for… a living?” you asked him.

“I teach and train clients, yes.”

“Train?”

“Gym,” Miguel set his cheek on his fist.

“I do cardio with Jess. No strength training for me.” Jess-- who suggested Miguel to you. You had some shit to bitch at her about the next time you saw her. Namely, why she didn’t warn you about Miguel. He was a boon for chaos in your life.

“I’d waste your time. I’m all marshmallow,” you pat your soft belly. “All pan dulce and burros.”

He chuckled.

“You have a beautiful body.”

And that was that. You set the pencil down on a page half full of answers, glancing toward his full lips. They were quirked into an arrogant smirk. He knew the effect he had on women. He glanced to the page, then to you, his lips growing into a smile laden with arrogance.

“Your hips--” he glanced down, “My girls couldn’t pay to get them.”

He noticed. You supposed that the miniskirt wasn’t the best choice for meeting a new man.

“Do you talk to everyone like this?”

“No. Only the ones that look at me like you did."

Oh.

If it were a game of whom ate whom up first, you had to be honest-- it may have been you. You couldn’t shoot anything back at that, angling your head down at the page guiltily. A sigh fell from his chest. His large hand came to the back of your head, cupping the thick bow on the back of your head. His fingers ran across the silk, teasing it between his fingers.

“Calm down, you’re not the first one to do it. You won't be the last,” he turned your head to look at him, large fingers combing through the strands of your hair. He chased the panic in your wide eyes, doe eyes blown wide. Your heartbeat soared into your chest, choking you there, looking for an outlet from your shame.

“Breathe for me,” he leaned in, his warm breath tingling your ear. His cologne was clean, like the lapse of the waves on the shore back home where the tropical heat was a second skin. You listened, taking a weary, deep breath in, then out again. Again.

“Go on.” His knuckles rapped on the sheet. Miguel’s hand fell away. You found yourself longing for it again.

“He’s gorgeous.”

“I told you not to fuck him," your superior, Jess said, her feet bouncing off the stairstepper effortlessly.

“I didn't-- I just, he called me beautiful.”

“He would call anyone beautiful if it meant fucking them. Don’t fall for it.”

You knew Jess wouldn’t say it unless she were serious. She always knew what you needed help with, where to locate a good solution, and had the right words to calm you down.

“How?” you said, louder than you intended. You were suddenly thankful for the pounding music that beat down on your ears in your school’s gym and the rush of people that came and went. “Jess, you’re a lesbian. You don’t understand-- he’s thick. Like, he’s luchador status big. Big, big.”

“I’ve dated some thick women.”

“And he likes me,” you said pointedly, rushing to the topmost step, remembering his words. The way he calmed you down from your embarrassment, seeming without concern for his own body. It was… sweet. “Men usually don’t like me, Jess. I’m too… soft.”

“Okay, girl, whatever,” you were pretty sure she rolled her eyes. “Unless you’re going to be another one of his fuck toys, just ignore him.”

“How?”

Her stare trained on the floors lapsed. Thirty and she was still going. “If you don’t want him, just fire him. What’s going to do? Come find you?”

You stopped for the entirety of five… or ten seconds. Enough to consider her words. Enough to quite literally get plop off the stair stepper and onto the cold floor. Jess exhaled a stale breath, reaching over to jam the STOP button on your machine. Ow.

“Good job.”

Miguel likes to tutor you. Not because you’re good at Spanish, no, for a girl that grew up with a Spanish mother, your skills are quite poor. But he likes the opportunity to have you in a room all by yourself, late at night. Wednesdays are great days for that.

Your soft buttercup yellow dress is short today, exposing your thick thighs that take up so much of the chair. He pretends that he’s listening as you go over a list of irregular verbs, your lip pouting in response to the irregular verbs. Some were simple in their familiarity like poder with endings such as pudiste; but the plurals and other irregular verbs, you pouted at. It was cute.

“Miggy, it’s not funny, ” Oh, nicknames now. Miguel throws a glance at your glossy lips, undoubtedly sticky but oh so soft looking.

“I never said it was.”

“You’re smirking.”

“Then don’t whine,” he said. “It’s cute.”

“Oh--” As to be expected, you shifted your hands between your legs, drawing your skirt in between your legs. He faltered and took a glance, coasting his eye over its edges and memorizing the way it fell over your skin. You’ll ruin her, he remembers Jess saying. She wasn’t wrong, he sensed the bit of it now, how close you sat--

“Take a break, princesa. Vocabulary-- ascendencia.”

Rather than take a break, you turned and caught the corner of his lips in what was a terrible, cherry-red kiss that would stain his skin. But the connection of your lips, puckered in a pouting kiss on his skin, caught him off guard.

“Descent,” you took his red pen out of his loose grip, scribbling descent by the word. Fuck. Miguel took a sip of now cold coffee. A smile kept pulling at his cheeks, looking out of the window and catching the slight reflection of your lipstick smeared across his lip and cheek, he bobs his head into a nod.

“Correcto.”

You’re with Peter the first time you see Miguel with another woman.

It’s at lunch. Tuesdays and Thursdays are regularly spent running to the College of Arts, waiting for Peter to get out, and a picnic. Today, you forgot to bring lunch, running off to the union hand wrapped around his elbow as he talked to you about a bright new camera lens filter.

“These new pictures are going to come out perfect! Thanks for lending me the money,” he beamed. You loved the way he talked about his art-- stopping to show you his newest pictures of the camera that hung around his neck. Peter was always good with a camera, catching you in all the prettiest angles in your trade of photos for… sponsoring a lens or whatever. Or, at least, bringing down the cost. “Look at this one. Look how pretty you look in that dress, kinda like a pin-up! We should do some’a those next.”

Feet thumping over the pavement, you failed to sense Miguel's presence until you smelled his peppery cologne carried on the air. There, on a bench, he sat next to a girl. She was pretty, with long dark hair and soft skin. Her hand was on his thigh and his arm around her shoulder, eating the last bit of a flaky empanada-- your eyes burned, the closeness of her head on his shoulder, clearly done and finished, waiting for whatever next plan he had. You don’t want to know what that could be.

“Huh? Oh. hi Miguel!” Peter waved to your dismay. You held onto him a little tighter, wringing circles around his sleeve. Miguel spares you two a glance, his eyebrows pushing together. But he waves, lazy and short. You stifle the hot prick of tears at the corner of your eyes and yank Peter away. “Wha-- I’m coming, I’m coming!"

Days later, Peter has a plan.

“I’ve got it-- the solution to your tea guy problem! You should have told me sooner that it was Miguel.”

Peter was very excited. Why, you weren’t sure. He liked to feel helpful. That’s why he was a photographer. Photography lets others feel beautiful and seen. He picked at your lunch, his head flopped on your thigh as he worked through his camera.

“I’ll be your boyfriend!”

“You want to be my boyfriend?” you offered him a grape. He opened his mouth with an adorable ‘ah’ of his his lips. You slipped the grape between his lips. He chewed appreciatively. “I don’t know, Peter. Isn’t it lying?”

“C’mon, I know Miguel. He’s macho. The kind of guy you have to make jealous. And I can do it! I’m boyfriend material. Aren’t I?”

“Sí. But I don’t think I can make him jealous.”

It was a sunshiney day, sprawled out at lunch on a cool picnic blanket, tracing the clouds when you heard his voice. Soft, smooth, inviting. Your head spun around, this time with a lean blonde-haired girl-- her legs were long, tummy nice and flat, blue eyes shining like little sapphires set in her pale face. She swooned on his arm. The perfect sorority princess. What if he called her princesa, too?

“--close lab with me--”

“I can do it myself.”

Miguel’s eyes caught yours, raising his hand lazily to greet you as he walked down the sidewalk, undoubtedly back to his genetics lab on the other side of campus. Over where brilliant boys and girls and theys were, rushing through accelerated scientific programs while you figured out how to fix broken artifacts. He lived in another impossible world. A realm far away from Peter and you: photography and the maintenance of culture and art.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Peter's eyes were glossy with concern. “It’s okay. We don’t have to-- did I say something wrong?”

You shook your head. Peter sat up, his eyes bounced up-- from Miguel over his shoulder to your sudden sad eyes. Peter set his hand on your cheek, the fibers of his soft pink cardigan tickling your jaw. Your eyes tore from Miguel, whose pace became sluggish as if steps along took immense effort. Peter’s nose bumped against yours, clumsy and oh so Peterish-- his hand on the middle of your back, his warm but cracked lips swallowing the gasp that tumbled from your lips. He tasted of sweet fruit, the sloppy lunch you shared, and a silly comfort.

He watching? Peter murmured against your lips.

You nearly forgot to return the kiss, captured in the way Miguel stared-- something in his warm brown eyes was almost wounded. Peter shoved you onto the picnic blanket, a soft sorry murmured under his breath as his thin frame fell between your legs. Miguel stomped away, his bumbling blonde rushing to keep up.

“Oh yeah,” Peter rolled over onto his back, crossing his legs one over another. You watched Miguel stomp past the tall hedges, out of your line of sight. “He’s gonna be mad at you.”

“Peter!”

Miguel was still in a bad mood hours later.

“¡Qué surpresa!” he murmured, offering you your paper blotted with red circles. “You did remarkably shit on this test. Do you focus on anything? Or just Peter?”

“Perdona me.” Your focus was shot with his consistent presence in your life. Not that he could appreciate that.

“How long are you going to keep wasting my time?”

“Are you talking about the Spanish or--”

Miguel set the red pen down, a sharp slam snapping the pen under his force. The fragile plastic snapped into shards of plastic. He flicked it away, paper and pen both, his large hand flexing in and out of a closed fist. You traced the tracks of his veins along his forearm.

“Are you mad that I kissed you?”

“Stop.”

“Or are you angry that Peter did?”

“Don’t touch me.”

Though he said that, you didn’t listen. You slid out of the chair and in between his spread legs, your hands trailing his handsome jawline. He jerked back when your lips caught his, the legs of his chair hitting the wall. Though he said no, his mouth opened to your kiss, and his palms flushed against your soft cheeks. You pinned him between your body and the wall-- and though you were sure he’d quickly whirl you off if he really wanted to, he didn’t. His tongue pushed into your mouth, owning yours. His hands skimmed your back, trailing lower and lower down your deep red dress until he connected with your ass.

“You need to stop.” Miguel broke from his kiss. Though he said that, he brought you onto his lap. You felt little in his large arms, his hands guiding your hips over his crotch. “Before I do something you’ll regret.”

You listened to the sounds of the library’s floor. The scrunch of take out into the trash, the sing of a door opening and closing. It was dinner time. Most everyone had gone to get their snacks— and here you were, looking down at Miguel with rapt eyes.

“Peter is just a friend.”

“A friend who happens to jam his tongue down your throat,” he turned the word over on his tongue and found offense in it. “Now why do I doubt that?”

“He only wanted to help.”

“By kissing you?”

Your fingers trailed his jaw, dipping back down for another kiss if only to say you could. That Miguel couldn’t tell you what to do. A sound of frustration ripped up his throat. You felt him, his dick twitching to life behind those sweatpants. He felt big. You bit your lower lip— a movement that didn’t escape his attentive eyes.

“By making you as jealous,” You slid off his lap and onto the dirty floor. But as you lifted a hand, cupping his dick through the heavy fabric, he couldn’t bear to stop you.

His lips pulled in a wicked grin, your soft palm stroking along his length. He hooked his thumbs into his sweats, yanking them down over his knees and onto the floor. His cock kissed his belly, straining with droplets of moisture at the tip. Miguel set his hand on your shoulder and forced you to heel on the floor. His temperament evened out. “You were jealous.”

“Yes--” you murmured. “Are.. those girls, are they special?”

“Special? No, none of them are.”

“I want to be.”

“That so?” Your soft hands trailed along the dark hair on his calves, up his thighs, settling your nose where his muscular hand tightened around the root. He wrenched his swarthy hand along his length, drawing along his veiny cock shamelessly. "Let's see how much you do, princesa."

“Please.”

“Aquí se habla español.” Miguel teased. Your fingers dipped down, small tickles of your fingertips as his heavy balls. He watched you massage them with half-lidded eyes, his lips pursing in a pleased hum.

“Por favor.”

“Abre,” you did, sliding your soft mouth open, a well of saliva on your tongue. Miguel slid himself into your warm mouth, a ruptured groan fizzing in his chest. You didn’t want to be too loud— someone might look into the small window on the door, and see you on your knees between Miguel’s thick legs, sucking his cock down when you should be going over that test you just failed.

You caught the salty beads at Miguel’s top on your tongue, sliding sloppily around his thick head, and lapping at his slit for more. Your soft hands stroked along his length, clumsy and shy. He hummed in approval, a sound you were more than thankful to elicit. Miguel took a fist full of your hair and drove himself into your mouth, your tongue stroking the underside of his length.

“Pero mira esto,” Miguel wrenched his head in your hair, grabbing handfuls of it in his palm. “You can focus on something. Sucking my dick.”

Even if you wanted to look up, Miguel drove your head down onto his dick, the dark, trimmed tuft of his pubic hair tickling your nose. He drew his hips back. You nearly pulled off him, if not for his hand assuring that you wouldn’t move off of it. Drool coursed down from your lips, soaking your chin and neck, connecting to his cock as if it were a spiderweb. Your cheeks flushed with blood— you must have looked a mess.

“Coño," Miguel tutted with his tongue, grasping his phone. Your lips pursed around his tip, eyes flickering up to catch the lens of his phone camera on your ruined face. A picture or a video, you weren’t entirely sure. Only that it sent thumps of pleasure down your core to know he wanted to record it, keep it close. You suckled along his sensitive head, working his moans free. He set his phone aside.

Miguel stood and dragged your head along with him to pin you between the ledge of the desk space and his wonderful hips. His hands slipped behind your head, keeping you still and steady, driving himself deep into your mouth. Past your tongue, down your throat, it felt like he hit parts of you that you could only dream of. You struggled with his size, choking the urge to swallow him when he forced you to hold him there. As if your throat was just a hole for his pleasure. Your sad attempt to suckle him down was tempered by the rocking of his hips, his needy face fucking. Your eyes screwed shut, bits of color dancing behind your eyes, the easiest way to deal with this was to focus— on the way he tasted, the scent of his fresh body wash, the light judder of his hips as he came close.

"Hah-- ay, qué rico," his nails scraped the back of your neck, sloppy and undefined thrusts filling your throat. He spurts thick ropes of his cum down your throat and mouth, withdrawing to jerk the last bursts of his cum over your lips. Miguel’s breath fell from his lips in heavy gulps, meeting yours down on your aching knees. Strings of coughed-up cum connected your sodden lips to his cock, globs of his seed slipping between your breasts. You ached.

“Tate quieta.”

You don’t know where you’d go, your palms catching yourself on the floor. He snapped another photo, humming appreciatively. Miguel reached into his gym bag, pulling a sweaty shirt free. Your fingers dipped into his warm cum that spattered across your warm chest, drawing it to your lips. He tasted salty, tangy, and just right.

"You look so-- so beautiful, princesa, just perfect," Miguel bent down, wiping the rest of his mess from your chest and face, gently stroking away all evidence of your face fucking before cleaning his cock and tucking himself away into his sweatpants. He chucked the t-shirt back into his bag, glazing his eyes over your hazy, exhausted eyes. He crouched down.

“Rule one, I never share my women,” he settled his knuckle under your chin, urging you to look him in the eyes. Something told him you wouldn't be as easy as the others, but for some reason, he shrugged the thought aside. “As long as I'm fucking you, you date no one but me. If I find out you are, we're done. Am I clear?”

He was a walking red flag. But for once, in your good girl life, you wanted that. You wanted to fuck in the library-- against the genetics building late at night-- to kiss him during a sunny picnic. More than you wanted a lot of things. His eyes went soft with your answer.

“Claro que sí, Miggy.”

He loves it when he gets what he wants.

#miguel o'hara x you #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara oneshot #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara/reader #atsv imagines #atsv imagine #atsv miguel imagine #atsv x reader #atsv x you #miguel o'hara smut #spiderman smut #spider 2099 x reader #spiderman imagine #spiderman imagines

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deanbrainrotwritings · 5 months ago

Text

— mon cœur s’ouvre à ta voix

SUMMARY : aka. part II of mattel. finally, in the privacy of your home, you find the willpower to make the afternoon all about dean (as you’d originally hoped) when he tries to distract you from your plans.

PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), 0.5 mL of angst, pure filth mostly, fluffy as well tho, edging, switches all around, body appreciation as subtext lmao, fingering, overstimulation, unprotected piv (I’m scared of germs, you should be too), rough sex, biting, scratching?, oral (m. receiving), begging, squirting, idk hot and sweaty and wet sex honestly cause why the heck not?!

WORD COUNT : 5.0k

A/N : the title is from a muse song. this fills the biting square for my @jacklesversebingo card. Inspired by Bullet for My Valentine’s Scream Aim Fire album. Also by the reel on instagram for “riding” tips 🤣

DEAN’S POV

When you playfully made your way into the house, he allowed his previous insecurity to grip his heart so it clenched while his stomach sank unpleasantly.

You seemed far too happy, excited even, for him to be ruining your mood.

But all he could think of was this morning when he was rushing you to get dressed. When he got to the wardrobe, he froze as his mind instantly scanned through the shirts he knew you both had inside, either folded nearly in stacks or hanging on the sturdy metal bar inside.

Truth was, part of him felt guilty and his stomach sank every time he saw some old shirts of his you’d stolen years back. He typically found it hot when you wore them, but sometimes the way they fit on you made him feel self conscious about his weight. Especially when he could tell when you wore his newer clothes because of how much bigger it fit on your body.

You’ve never made any comments about his body or his weight or the amount of food he eats or the lack of activity he engages in now. But he knows. Sam teases him about it, he laughs wryly, but Sam doesn’t seem to notice that those comments make him uncomfortable. Sure, back then it didn’t matter what Sam said about the food he ate because he didn’t notice the change in his body. He was constantly hunting or going hungry for large periods of time when they were stuck far away from society and only relied on snacks to stave off their hunger…

He decided to slip on last night’s clothes, hoping to hide his body from himself, from you, from his brother. From anyone who knew him when he was fit and toned and hard… God… he should’ve listened when those chicks told him he had a “dad-bod”.

He had no idea why he couldn’t stop spiralling now.

When he got to the entrance of the house, he shut the door behind him and locked it, taking a deep breath as his dick began to soften due to his sour mood. He found your ankle boots next to the entrance and quickly discarded his own shoes and placed them next to yours.

His mind went back to anything that would indicate that you had noticed or even hated his body. Even though he had nothing negative to think back to, he felt awful. Suddenly, he could feel every inch of extra skin and he squirmed uncomfortably.

He saw your discarded dress in the hallway and he found that he couldn’t help smiling.

He could spend all his life wondering why or how you still found him attractive, but that would be a shameful amount of time wasted. You were so beautiful and you were right here ready for him, loving him in more ways and more intensely than he thought he deserved.

So he decided to just appreciate that you liked, no, loved him at all and quickly washed his hands with soap in the bathroom before entering your shared bedroom where you were laying like a model on the bed.

Your face was turned to the window, to the drawn curtains and the sunlight that glided over your smooth skin. Your arm was raised above your head, in the pillows, and your body was covered in the red lingerie set that had caught his attention at the sex shop. To see it on your body was driving him insane.

He noticed the shaky expansion and deflation of your ribcage with each breath you took. Your knees were bent, feet flat on the bed, thighs pressed together tightly, and then you turned to face him. Your lashes fluttered and you smiled when you saw him standing there, dumbstruck and in awe.

You spoke his name like a siren and he moved to get closer to you, the tension your sensuality began filling the room aroused him. His heart was pounding excitedly in his chest, and while some of the blood flooded up to his face the way it always did, most of it ran down south. And your voice did nothing but intensify how horny and desperate he was starting to feel all over again.

He stood at the foot of the bed and smirked down at you and you parted your thighs just to watch him curiously from between your legs with your brow raised expectantly.

He lifted only one knee onto the bed and reached for your hip to drag you all the way down. Your laughter filled him with delight, but when he slid his hand down your side to get a good look at you with your hair haloed around your head on the sheets, your seductive gaze seized him and his heart nearly stopped from how fast it was beating. You bit your lip in anticipation and reached for his shirt, quietly urging him to remove it.

“Please,” you murmured. He pulled the t-shirt over his head and threw it to the side. Hoping to be ignored, he leaned over you, his warm breath fanned over your neck and he relished the quiet gasp you released before he even pressed his lips softly to your pulse.

Your hands instantly threaded through his hair and he let you guide him off your skin, where he could feel the heavy thud of your heartbeat. You whispered his name against his lips like a prayer and he closed the distance between the two of you like a merciful god responding to your silent plea with tenderness.

You were quick to bite his lips when he refused to give you anything more than an innocent kiss. He smirked against your mouth, inhaling sharply at your enthusiasm. Your tongue pushed past the playfully-stubborn lock of his lips and the sound you made once you tasted him made his cock twitch inside his sweat pants.

You became more impatient, he could barely catch up with you. His mind was dazed from your kiss alone, but your hands made a mess in his hair, tugging with desperation, eliciting deep moans from him. Your hips rolled upwards, your hands released their tight grip on his hair so you could dig your fingernails into his bare shoulders, needing—more than anything—to find friction. He groaned into your mouth and moved away panting, his lips swollen and tingling from your greedy mouth.

He took your hands far gentler than you’d handled him and pinned them above your head, his hand easily locked around your wrists and you bit your lip. You leered up at him when he placed himself closer between your legs.

“Is there something you need, sweetheart?” He teased, placing his hand flat on your stomach, nearly covering the entirety of the surface.

“Dean,” you whined, laughing breathily, “don’t do this.” He frowned dramatically at your refusal—playfulness guiding his actions—and tested your resolve by pressing his thumb against your clit over the wet lace of your new underwear. Your instant gasp at the softest touch thrilled him.

“Already so wet for me,” he murmured, a furious heat rushing up his face.

“Yeah, you didn’t feel that in the car?”

He leaned over you again, nipped at your breast above the cup of your lace bra in retaliation, and slowly began to pull your underwear down your legs. He felt your hands twist in his grasp when he brought his lips around your nipple over the scratchy lace, you squirmed beneath him, impatiently attempting to kick your underwear off with his help.

“Need you so bad,” you whispered without being prompted to say anything. He smiled against your chest and threw your underwear away from your body with a snap of his wrist.

“Oh, baby, I know,” he whispered empathetically, his eyes deeply gazing into yours as he slid his hand up the front of your body to pull down the cups of your bra so your breasts spilled out.

He knew you saw that he wasn’t going to give you what you wanted instantly. Your knees pressed into his sides, your back arched when he breathed against your hardened nipple, and you struggled against his grip on your hands. You never asked him to stop, you only begged for more, so he wrapped his lips around your nipple and played with the other until you were moaning wantonly and begging shamelessly for him to fuck you.

“Please, tell me… you’ll let me cum,” you gasped, watching him intently as he detached his puffy lips from your now-slick and sensitive nipples.

“Of course,” he murmured and pushed a finger inside you. You gasped, his lips touched yours, and he began curling his finger inside you, relishing in the feeling of it slipping into you without resistance.

He could feel the spread of your legs, the impatient wiggle of your hips, the pulse of your core around his fingers whenever he brushed over your g-spot. His cock ached as you panted and murmured his name in a quiet plea, your breathlessness made his stomach clench and he was enthralled by the sight of you, flushed and needy—all for him.

He released your wrists to palm himself over his sweatpants, groaning and grateful that there was nothing underneath stopping him from feeling some pleasure as he admired you. He just couldn’t help himself with your shameless responsiveness. Your hands flew to his wrist and he looked down to watch your frantic grip near where his glistening finger was emerging from your warmth. You were something else entirely today. He closed his eyes momentarily, revelling in the image of you that remained behind his lids as he rubbed at his cock, and added a second finger inside you to scissor you open carefully when his eyes fluttered open once more.

He regarded you as you panted, your lips parted and your eyes closed. He bit his lip, parted your folds and flicked your slippery clit with his thumb watching your body arch and your hips buck.

"That's it, you’re such a good girl," he praised, his voice husky.

His eyes flickered up to your face, but you were already watching him with your brows drawn together in concentration and your lips parted to release every tender moan that he pulled out of you. His heart lurched at your flushed state and you bit your lip hard, struggling to catch your breath. Your wide eyes swallowed him whole and then they fluttered shut for a moment; he knew what was coming.

Your walls spasmed around his fingers and your body shook when your orgasm finally vibrated through you. “Dean… fuck-fuck-fuck… fuck,” you implored, somehow becoming more wet around his fingers. Your hands moved up to his forearm, your fingertips traced the way his muscles flexed as he brushed against your g-spot repetitively, and you shuddered as you kept his unmoving fingers inside you after the most intense part of your orgasm passed.

“Fuck… so needy today,” he said with hushed astonishment. He looked between your legs with a lewd curiosity to watch your pussy flutter around his fingers. He chewed on his lip and experimentally continued to slowly rub at your clit until it became too much for you. Your pussy clamped down tightly around him and you started to guide his wrist away from you so his fingers slipped out, too.

While you caught your breath, he played with your sticky release and sucked his two fingers clean of the drying slick. Your tired eyes landed on him and you still smiled, maybe he could call your huff a laugh with the way your shoulders shook.

“Do you want me to fuck you, too, now?” He uttered quietly, mostly to tease you. Still, as he waited for you to answer, he pulled down his grey sweats and stepped out of them swiftly. He moved back between your legs before he could miss a single second of your blissful glow and waited with a patient smile as you ogled him as shamelessly as he was doing to you.

"Please, Dean," you moaned, arms thrown up with your hair to grab the sheets hard. He smirked at you and you lifted your hips invitingly, causing his cock to twitch against your thigh. He cussed impatiently as he grabbed your hip over the red garter belt and teased your swollen clit with his cock, mostly enjoying the way your slick felt along the length of him. “Please… fuck me already. I need it, Dean,” you whimpered impatiently, pressing your ankles against the back of his thighs so he could give you what you wanted.

He considered continuing the torture, but decided against it, pleased by the desperation contorting your beautiful features the longer he played with you.

"Okay,” he hummed and slammed his cock into you, his fingers digging into your hips on both sides now. Your gasp made his head light, his cock throbbed inside you, and he pulled out slowly to feel every inch of you before shoving himself back in with a satisfied groan. Your pussy pulsed to adjust to him, but you were still slick inside from your orgasm, and every thrust felt deliciously smooth.

He watched you grip the sheets in tighter fists to brace yourself against the ruthless snap of his hips. His eyes trailed down, noticing the faster rise and fall of your chest as your lascivious eyes drifted lower, slowly moving down his chest and his stomach, and finally down to where his cock was ramming inside of you. His fingers pressed deeper into your hips, moulding your flesh like clay, struggling to keep his orgasm at bay.

He brought one of his hands away from your hip, reaching over to your sensitive clit, and stroked around it lazily—hoping to bring you to the edge of your second orgasm. When your body spasmed and you whimpered a plea, he knew he could get you there again.

“Please,” you gasped, pulling hard at the sheets.

“Anything for you," he promised breathily, continuing to fuck into you as he circled your clit faster. Each snap of his hips made you moan, and you squirmed restlessly—sensitive and overstimulated from his touch, but somehow needing more.

He leaned over you to kiss you deeply and you gripped his arms instinctively after releasing the sheets as he caged you in with his arms and swallowed your sounds with his fierce kiss. Your nails dug into the taut flesh of his arms and his stomach flipped at your desperate attempts to restrain yourself. He smirked against your mouth, his thrusts became slow and shallow. You kissed him back firmly, breathing unevenly against his lips when he parted to breathe, meeting his thrusts as best as you could, uselessly trying to gain control.

He buried his face near the crook of your neck, breathing heavily and moaning softly in your ear. He groaned your name at the instantaneous clench of your walls at his closeness. You sighed his name, hands flexing on his arm before your nails bit back down on his flesh again, sending electric pleasure through his body. Dean bit down hard on your shoulder, muffling his heated groans against your soft flesh. You moaned in surprise and your pussy squeezed around his cock again.

"Gonna come again, sweetheart?" He teased, licking at the bite mark and began rubbing relentlessly at your clit. He heard the hitch in your breath and moved his mouth further over your shoulder to bite down on you again.

He loved your reaction to it.

“Wait!” You begged suddenly, comically—as if you’d just remembered you left the stove on. Your hand locked around his wrist to stop him from stimulating your clit. Your legs came loose from his waist. Sudden concern possessed him to pull out of your wet heat with a whimper that made him turn scarlet red, but a warning tingle flared up his spine at the loss of your body’s heat.

He felt deceived by the grin on your face, but you began to climb up the bed with a devious glint in your eyes that made him grin as playfully as you were.

"Sweetheart, please, let me fuck you," he laughed breathily, crawling up the bed after you. You chuckled and threw the pillows out of the way.

"Who’s needy now?" you taunted, grabbing his shoulders to make him take your spot on the bed before he could settle between your legs again.

He lifted a brow, unaware of your intentions, and huffed indifferently—defiant, but he still obeyed and sat against the headboard. You circled your arms around his neck after climbing into his lap to give him a kiss while his hands played thoughtlessly with the lace of the garter belt on your hips.

You weaved your fingers through his hair, sending shivers along his body, and tugged gently at the strands in your grasp to part from his mouth. He bit his lip, watching you through heavy eyes clouded with lust. Your playful smile made him smile reflexively, and then you disappeared to mouth kisses along his jawline and neck. His eyes fluttered shut and his head leaned back—gently hitting the wall—giving you more flushed skin to kiss. He moaned quietly as you licked and kissed at the vein carrying his pulse and your hips rolled forward instinctively at the sound.

Your mouth moved lower down his chest with hot and wet kisses that made his skin tingle with fervour to feel you closer. Your weight shifting off his lap made his eyes open slowly, and was greeted with the pretence of your innocent gaze before you wrapped your hand around the base of his dick. His heart skipped a beat, his cock jerked in your grasp, waiting in anticipation before you squeezed and slowly slid your hand up from the base to the tip. Your eyes flickered down just as a drop of precum leaked out of the tip.

Your satisfied hum flustered him, but he was used to it. Used to the way you licked your kiss-swollen lips at the mere sight of his leaking dick when you got your hands on him, readying him for your mouth or your pussy. To him it felt more like you wanted him at your mercy, throbbing red and hot before you finally gave him the mercy of pleasure and release.

“Shit,” he hissed, watching you pump his cock once, twice, and a third time, using every drop of his precum to languidly slide your hand along his length. “Please.” His hips rose from the bed and your response was a gentle laugh that made heat flare up his face. The pace of your hand remained infuriatingly slow and your tight grip drew thick droplets of precum so he almost felt as wet as you were.

You had him just like you wanted, throbbing and red from your teasing hands, brushing the pads of your fingers to massage every sensitive area you could find on his dick. After uselessly begging for you to go faster, after pleading for release, you kissed your way down his soft stomach. He held his breath, watching intently as your mouth drew nearer to his cock.

He squirmed when you breathed against him, your lips curved to a smirk, but his mouth was open, panting heavily and waiting hopelessly for the touch of your lips against his length.

“Hot,” you whispered against his dick, and slowly, delicately licked the leaking tip with your hand wrapped loosely at the base. He sighed breathily and grunted shortly after you swirled your tongue around the tip to swipe away precum. Before he could form the words in his mind, your whole mouth engulfed his cock.

You moved your head down and his hands found the soft strands of your hair, gripping tightly in surprise, then to guide the speed himself. Groans tumbled from his lips and he shoved away all his embarrassment when your humming vibrated through his cock and made him whimper. You swallowed, your throat tightened around him and he hissed a curse, pushing your head down and pulling your hair up faster.

He dared to look down at you, through the haze of lust, the sight of you in tears with your reddened cheeks, and redder lips made his cock throb in your mouth.

“Holy fuck,” he moaned, pulling you up by your hair to let his cock fall from your mouth. A string of saliva and precum connected your mouth to the tip as you sniffled and blinked away tears. “I need you. Get up here, sweetheart,” he begged hoarsely, unravelling his fingers from your hair to guide you up with his hand on your jaw.

You licked your lips, released your firm grip on his dick, and allowed him to wipe your tears away as you moved back up his body with your knees on either side of his waist.

He eagerly pulled you in for a kiss, his enthusiasm seeping through the passion of his kiss. He momentarily allowed himself to get lost, to gratefully lick the taste of himself from your mouth, and let his hands wander to pull the cups of your bra back down. Your tits spilled out of the lace and he thoroughly pinched and plucked at your nipples until he felt you take hold of his cock again and stroked him a few times.

He drew back from the kiss breathlessly, watched you line his dick up with your pussy before carefully sinking down on him completely. His eyes fluttered shut, his hands fell to your waist, and a growly sound rumbled through his chest.

“Mmm, fuck,” you moaned against his lips, trailing your hands from his wrists to forearms. Your forehead dropped to his gingerly as you raised yourself up so just the tip remained inside you, then slid back down gradually. His grip on your waist became stronger when you broke away from him to enjoy the sensation of having him inside you. “Ah, fuck…” you murmured, grinding down on him to push his cock as far as it could go into you.

He choked on a moan, on the breath that was cut off by the feeling of you rolling your hips down on him leisurely. He squirmed beneath you, watching you get lost in the torturous pace you found pleasure in. Your head lolled back and your hair gracefully followed the movement shortly after. Susurrations of his name bled from between your lips. Your hands were secured tightly on his arms, pulling him closer to you.

Pleasure rippled through him.

He leaned forward to suck marks and press open-mouthed kisses over your breasts. Your hands abandoned his arms to bury your fingers in his hair instead, arching your back to push your chest closer to his mouth. You shuddered as his breath cooled your fiery skin and tugged at his hair, undulating your hips against his.

He moved his mouth up your chest to bite at your neck. His teeth sank gently into your tender flesh, grazing along the thudding vein, and his tongue tasted the salty tang of your sweat. Your pussy squeezed around him in delight and he moaned against your throat, exasperatedly digging his fingers into your waist.

"Please… move," he whispered gravelly, trying to take control of the way you moved by sliding his palms down to your hips and holding on tight.

“I am,” came your breathy response. The amusement in your voice made him whine.

“N… not like that.” His voice was rough and you bit your lip at his frustration.

Straight away, you finally lifted yourself up his cock, unhurriedly making him feel every bit of the heat and wetness that coated him. You dropped back down at the same frustratingly slow speed. His eyes fluttered shut, his brows pinched together, and he licked his lips before biting down on it. Again, you rose from his lap and steadily sat back down. Your breath tickled his jaw, “like that?”

Your voice made his stomach flutter.

“Faster,” he begged, his throaty voice revealing his impatience with your drawn-out riding. You nipped at his jaw and only barely picked up the pace. His eyes fluttered open when you cupped his red cheeks, staring at his contorted face. “Please,” he mumbled, pressing his fingers into your hips.

You laughed breathlessly and dipped down to kiss him, but he knew that was you denying him. Your teeth sank into his lip and he growled at you, throbbing and achingly close to finishing. If only you’d speed up, he could finally get there.

You sucked at his lip before pushing your tongue into his hot mouth, inhaling each other’s breaths. His head felt light again and his stomach tightened, brimming with bliss, but you ignored his sobbing pleas by silencing them with your tongue, and continued to languidly ride his cock.

But he’d had enough.

He flattened his feet on the bed and snapped his hips upwards before you could even process or halt what he was doing. You cried out in surprise and uselessly attempted to hold onto his shoulders as he ruthlessly shoved his dick upwards into your pussy. He slammed you down with his bruising grip on your hips, moving you down on him faster, and obscene sounds began to burst from his lips.

You inhaled sharply, clasping onto his broad shoulders to no avail until you defeatedly collapsed on him so he could have complete control of the rhythm. He still had enough awareness outside his pleasure to grin to himself as you moaned and gasped his name into his ear. You clamped down around his dick and began to meet his thrusts as he’d been doing for you.

"You fuckin’ tease," he panted each word between heavy breaths, whenever your hips met his. Even nestled into you as deep as he could be, he yearned to be closer to you, so he tangled his fingers in your hair and crashed your lips down with his, sure—now—that you wouldn’t change the pace he’d set. Your teeth clashed with his, but he couldn’t care less as his cock pulsed inside you, overflowing with pleasure. "I'm so fuckin’ close, baby," he gasped gruffly into your mouth.

“Please… come, Dean,” you breathed out your plea and he released a low moan, your words making something warm bloom in his chest. Heat trickled down his body and he couldn’t stop the bubbling of his orgasm, especially not with you kissing him so intensely.

"Shit- oh, fuck-" he gasped against your lips. You moaned pridefully when he stilled, his entire body tense beneath you, and he held his breath for a short second before he came inside you whispering expletives and your name. You trembled above him shortly after he’d spilled himself into you and he hooked his blunt nails into your hips so harshly he imagined he might break your skin and draw blood.

He pressed his forehead against your shoulder and loosed his grip on your hips when you finally stopped riding him after you came for a second time, but still sat on his softening dick after pulling every last drop from his throbbing cock.

READER’S POV

“I love you,” Dean breathed against your mouth, gently brushing his thumbs over the raw flesh of your hips.

“Mmm, I love you, too,” you promised quietly, carefully lifting your tender pussy from his dick. Dean hissed softly as your pussy fluttered over him and then he melted into the bed, slowly allowing himself to relax after you’d edged him for… well, who actually knows how long?

"What’s with you today, sweetheart?” He asked, his voice still pleasantly husky.

You tried not to think about it as you sat by his knees, but your cunt still longed for him. “What do you mean?”

He opened his eyes and gave you a look. He looked so fucked out and it made you unreasonably arrogant. Your eyes flickered from his dishevelled hair, his red cheeks, swollen lips, and scratched torso. You blushed and shrugged after stealing a glance at his soft cock coated in your cum and his own.

You could act nonchalant all you wanted, but your pussy clenched around nothing just at the sight of him. You could feel his release dripping out of you and you rubbed your thighs together. He was still watching you, but you didn’t care what he was able to see.

“Please, come back here,” he mumbled lazily.

You moved to his side and rested your cheek on his shoulder. You had a few moments of peace before his hand ghosted above your thigh and sneaked between your legs. You sat up straight and lifted a brow at him.

Dean smirked and rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, you’re telling me you don’t want more?”

You grabbed his face after staring at him with narrowed eyes and kissed him roughly to shut him up, but he turned to face you and kissed you back just as fiercely. He pushed against your body so you laid on the bed once more and his hand found your slick cunt again.

This time, three fingers pushed into you and he used his other hand to rub furiously at your clit. You whimpered against his mouth, overstimulated, and he pulled away panting. “Come on, baby, give me another one. I know you want it.”

“Fuck,” you sobbed, your body trembling in protest.

He was right, you could still feel the faint embers of your arousal and he was reigniting them faster than you were able to make your body process. Somehow your orgasm was building up for a third time, feeling less intense but completely fulfilling.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured and before you knew what was happening, you squirted around his fingers and onto the sheets. Dean chuckled and drew out your orgasm as long as you could bear by still stroking on your clit after pulling his fingers out of you.

You could finally say you felt so much more relief, but you were half embarrassed by the gush of your orgasm. Dean was more than pleased by it. He licked his fingers clean of your release and then lowered his mouth down to your pussy with a moan to lick you thoroughly before kissing his way back up your body.

That mouth of his glistened and captivated your attention as he licked them. He pecked your lips and mumbled against your mouth, “I’m so glad I married you.”

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lincolndjarin · 11 months ago

Text

Every Now and Then - ch. one

[ I Dream of Something Wild ]

pairing : joel miller x f!reader, platonicsoulmate!tommy & f!reader

word count : 6.4k

summary : Joel Miller destroyed you. He loved you, then he left, leaving you in the New York City, QZ. But he's a good southern gentleman, so of course he didn't leave you without a reminder of the time you spent together. Four years later you're living in Jackson, in a lovely little ranch house. (With your reminder.) The last person you want to see is Joel Miller, unfortunately you've never been particularly lucky.

tags/warnings : 18+ mdni, angst, canon typical violence, injury, language, manipulation, joel takes advantage of readers situation, eventual smut, no use of y/n, no physical description of reader, she is picked up by joel at one point but i'm a firm believer that he's strong enough to lift any one who may find themselves in the pov of our reader, joel is possessive and controlling, dark!joel miller in a sense?? like he's not really dark now but he's going to be, multiple time lines, not canon compliant, mentions of prostitution, i sorta made up my own timeline, i probs missed tags sorry!!

a/n : i really need to fix my writing schedule so i'm hoping that having a new fic to put my energy into is going to help!! also sorry if this chapter doesn't have much going on i need to set up a lot of stuff but i promise more action in future chapters

ao3 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ series masterlist .𖥔 ݁ ˖ main masterlist .𖥔 ݁ ˖ kofi

He crept up on you like the shadows as the sun sets in the west. An all encompassing darkness that blotted out the sun until all that was left was night. He sunk his claws into you so deep that your eyes adjusted to the dark, and you didn’t even realize how much time had passed until you shrunk away from the inevitable sunrise that made him cower away from the dawn as if he never really was big and scary.

And in the light of day you saw him for what he really was.

He was just a man, who was once a boy, who was scared of the dark.

So he made himself big, and terrifying, and he grew so accustomed to the thing he once feared that the very idea of anything else made him recoil.

You feel something akin to pity when you think of him now. That doesn’t mean you forgive him, but when you can stomach it you try to, for the sake of your peace. You’d probably be happier if you could just forgive him.

But you can’t.

So you don’t.

It’s hard when his own blood doesn’t think he’s a good man. Tommy was afraid of him. Terrified at the very thought of his big brother. You can recall several nights where you had woken up to him screaming in the sleeping bag beside you, absolutely petrified of a memory that had inevitably snuck in through the darkness. You never feared him quite like that, but seeing the effect he has on Tommy makes your stomach churn, a painful reminder of your own suffering.

Most of the time it’s easier to just not think of him at all, despite the reminders he’s branded into you forever. You ignore him when he tries to soak back into your very being, but at the end of the day he’s unavoidable. You see him in the dark brown eyes of others, hear him in Tommy’s southern drawl, taste him when you have the occasional sip of whiskey. He tries and tries relentlessly to worm his way back into you, but you never let him. You put up walls and you focus on other things, anything, that isn’t Joel Miller. And even though you can’t forget him entirely you manage to ignore the memory of the man you once loved for several years.

Until one day it’s impossible to keep the thought of him away.

Until he himself makes it impossible.

Then - NEW YORK CITY, QUARANTINE ZONE : 2019

“Stay off of it or you’re going to lose it.”

That’s what the QZ doctor had told you. A couple weeks of bed rest was the most he could offer when you came to him with your broken ankle.

A couple weeks without working is a death sentence.

If you don’t work you won’t be able to afford food. And you don’t have anybody to fall back on, no family, no friends, not even an acquaintance to borrow funds from.

Lose your leg or starve.

As appealing as it sounds, starvation isn’t an option, too painful.

So you have to work. The only issue with that is you’ve been blacklisted, the stupid doctor had you put on a no-shift list. You beg them to let you work, you’ll do anything, but they never budge.

You only have enough ration cards stocked up to make it to the end of the week so you have to consider your other options. You could sell yourself. It certainly isn’t uncommon and the money’s good but it’s too dangerous, especially if you can’t run on your leg. You’ve seen too many people get hurt in that profession to risk it. You don’t have a trade. You’re terrible at sewing, you can’t cook, there isn’t a need for much of anything else and you own nothing valuable.

So there’s only one other option for you.

You steal.

You dress inconspicuously, in your only pair of jeans and a plain shirt, both of which are getting rather tattered at this point but you have nothing else. With your jacket on you pull up your hood and you do the exact thing you aren’t supposed to do, and you walk.

The conditions in the QZ are poor enough that your limp doesn’t stand out. You walk up and down the streets all day, slow and steady, with your head down and you don’t take risks. You don’t take anything big or obvious, just little things. A single ration card peeking out of a pocket, a pocket knife off a vendor's table, stale bread, set away from the good stuff where no one is looking. And you return home each night with your pockets full and your leg aching.

By the end of your second week you’re still barely scraping by but you’re managing. What little ration cards you manage to snatch you use to buy food, but it’s still nothing compared to what you’re used to making. Your ankle feels worse by the day.

You need more.

You need to find a source of income that will let you rest or you’re going to lose your leg, which will leave you in an even worse position. It isn’t until you hear your neighbor slam his door that you come up with an idea.

Your neighbor probably has more cards than he knows what to do with, and he’s always coming and going so he probably wouldn’t even notice if you skimmed a little off the top. Nothing substantial, just enough to keep you going and give your leg time to heal.

The only problem is your neighbors reputation.

You doubt you’d have much of a chance of surviving him if you got caught. Joel Miller was a bit of an urban legend around the QZ. Of course you only knew him as your stoic neighbor, just a guy who didn’t make a lot of noise and came home at strange hours, and sometimes disappeared for days at a time.

But everyone else acted as if he was some kind of Boogey Man. You didn’t see him much in the streets but when you did children ran and people whispered, and while you had no knowledge of how he earned that reputation you knew it probably wasn’t pretty.

So you’d have to be careful.

He’s gone now, you’d heard him stopping down the hall so you decide it couldn’t hurt to take a peek, just scout out the area.

You climb out onto the fire escape, your leg aching as you do, and you use the dull little knife you’d stolen a few days ago to shimmy open his window lock. It slides open pretty easily, he’s probably rather confident that nobody would ever mess with him so he doesn’t seem to have the usual precautions taken to protect his belongings.

Lucky you.

Stepping into the room you wince as you land on your bad leg, stumbling onto the floor, knocking a board loose in the process.

“Shit.” You groan, sitting up quickly, trying to put everything back in its proper place when you catch a glimmer of something under the floor.

A revolver.

You shouldn’t be here. Joel Miller is a dangerous man, you knew that but you did this anyway, you can’t help but feel incredibly stupid as you stare at the weapon. You feel so stupid that you don’t even hear the click of a lock. You don’t even bother with the ration cards you can see peeking out from under the gun, you just want to leave and forget that you ever thought this was a good idea. It’s a struggle, getting back to your feet, your leg is throbbing, begging for a rest you can’t afford to take right now. With a groan you push the window open, eager for this silly idea to be over you try to figure out the best way to go about this. You’re starting to lose feeling in your leg, should you go bad leg first or try to balance on it while shimmying the rest of your body out the window?

You never get to decide what the best course of action is because your head is slammed against the wall, your knees crumple underneath you as you hit the floor, the room spinning as your leg bends at an angle that makes you shriek. You slap your hand over your mouth but it’s far too late for that. He’s been here the whole time. It’s dark but you can still make out the foreboding shape of his figure. The broad shouldered beast that’s glaring down at you, his boot nudging your chin roughly as you bite back a shriek of fear.

“I could report you to FEDRA for this.” The gruff voice whispers into the darkness.

You’re desperate to avoid lockup, you know you’ll die in there, or worse. Although you’re not entirely sure what’s going to happen to you either way.

“I- I’ll tell them about your contraband.” You point frantically at the loose floor board. “They’ll lock you up too.” His glare is unwavering as he stares down at you. You’re a little worried that he might just kill you himself, there would be no consequences, no one would be looking for you.

No one would look for you.

The thought makes you shudder and even though you try to stop yourself you feel your eyes beginning to water. You hear footsteps, watching his outline move across the room before you’re shrinking away from the light of a dim lamp in the corner.

“You gotta be real dumb to find yourself in this situation.” He mutters, turning back around to stare at you. His gaze makes you want to cover yourself up, it’s like he can see every single part of you within that icy glare. You’ve never taken the time to really, truly look at him before but you do now, after all this might be your last chance to look at anything at all.

He isn’t a terrible last sight.

Sure, he’s ominous enough to make you want to try and run despite the ache in your calf right now, but that doesn’t make him any less handsome. In a rugged, weathered sort of way. He’s older than you thought, gray sprinkled throughout the mess of curls framing his face. What a nice face it is. Soft where it needs to be soft, sharp where it needs to be sharp. He marches back over to you, easily taking the pocket knife from your hand and crouching down in front of you.

“Give me one good reason not to finish you off right now.” He points the blade in the direction of your leg. “Seems like it’d be a mercy at this point.”

Maybe he’s right.

Maybe it would be a mercy to just let him put you out of your misery. Why have you been fighting so hard? You can’t seem to recall a reason other than the fact that that’s what you’re supposed to do. Your mind tells you that you’re supposed to keep fighting but you can’t think of a single driving force. You’re in pain, constantly, you live in a world that wants you dead, and you have no one relying on you.

You don’t have a good reason, other than the fact that surviving is all you know how to do. So you look up at him and you nod. Taking in the sight of the pretty, frightening man one last time before closing your eyes.

It feels good. You feel good, for the first time in a long time, knowing that you won’t hurt anymore. You won’t have to be afraid of someone kicking your door in, you won’t have to worry about where your next meal is going to come from, and you won’t have to worry about turning into a monster. It’s a mercy.

So you close your eyes.

Suddenly grateful for the killer before you, your guardian angel, here to deliver you the peace you didn’t know you needed.

You wait patiently for the sting of a blade or the embrace of his hands around your throat but all you're met with is a sigh. When you finally find the courage to open your eyes he’s sitting on the edge of the bed across from you, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Just go.” He grumbles, muttering a few other words you don’t catch.

You’re almost disappointed, having accepted this was the end, and now you’re being shoved back into the cold and unforgiving world. You start to get to your feet but your knees buckle under you. You try again, willing your leg to just work but much to your dismay you can’t even straighten out your leg anymore. When you try to move it all you find yourself only able to bend your knee a few inches.

Shit.

You think of the fall you took on the way in and wonder if you finally pushed yourself to the limit. If you go back to the doctor will he remove the entire thing? Maybe you should just ask Joel to finish the job before it comes to that. It would be a kindness, between a quick death here or a slow death starving in your apartment you’ll take the quick way every time. Before you even have a chance to ask he’s on his feet. Maybe his patience has run out and you won’t have to ask at all.

“Let me.” His voice rattles around in your head, so low and commanding that you put up no resistance as he lifts you up under your arms and sets you down on the edge of the bed where he just was. He flips the knife out, going to cut your jeans off of you but you stop him.

“Wait!” He freezes in place, giving you an impatient look. “These are my only jeans, just- just pull them down.” Before you can realize how embarrassing it might be to show your neighbor your faded pink panties, you're already unbuttoning your pants, lifting your hips up so he can pull them down your legs with a roll of his eyes. It’s painful, the feeling of the denim running against your skin but it’s better than not having any pants at all.

Fuck.

It’s been a while since you’ve actually looked at your leg. You’re surprised he was able to get your jeans off with how swollen it is, the flesh bulging around your ankle and now up your calf. The skin is shiny and blotchy with shades of purple and red. The sight of it makes you want to hurl but you manage to swallow the urge, looking away as he pokes at the tender flesh.

“Christ girl, what the hell did you do?” When he grabs your ankle to lift your leg you yelp in pain, making him set your leg back down instinctively.

“I just- it’s just a broken ankle.” You mumble as he gives you an incredulous look.

“Like hell it is.” Something about the sternness of his voice demands your obedience as you nod. “Wanna tell me what really happened?”

“Well I- I fell and-” You struggle to find an excuse to justify how bad you let this get but you come up empty. So you tell the truth. “I fell off a ladder while painting over graffiti during my shift and broke my ankle. The doctor told me to stay off of it and- well, I couldn’t afford not to work so I just… didn’t” You rush through your words, staring anywhere else but into his demanding gaze as you explain yourself.

“So you turned to stealin’.” He says it like the fact it is and you can only bring yourself to nod. “You need antibiotics.” He says just as matter of factly. “You know how much that sort of thing costs?”

A lot.

More than you’d have even if you were working overtime.

He clears his throat and you finally meet his eyes.

His eyes were so dark that day they threatened to swallow you whole. Were they always that dark? Or was it just that day, the first day, when he realized that he had you.

“Look, I don’t do this kinda thing for just anybody. But I can help you.” He had sounded so kind, his hint of a smile had seemed so promising.

“I can’t afford it-”

“You can use alternative methods to pay me back.”

You told him you’d think about it.

And he hadn’t pushed you, he had simply helped you back into your jeans and carried you back to your apartment. He told you he’d check on you tomorrow and see if you had an answer for him.

So when the next day came and you had a fever and your leg was throbbing, demanding your attention you’d been all too eager to accept his help.

And just like that, it was your idea.

It wasn’t his, he was blameless, you asked him to help you. And it didn’t matter who had suggested it first, it mattered who brought it up after.

You had been certain that when he had told you you’d be using alternative methods to pay him back that his intentions were unsavory. And at that point you didn’t really care, you’d made your peace with that. The medicine you needed wasn’t cheap and you could find worse looking men who didn’t take care of themselves the way Joel did.

But he wanted nothing of the sort.

Southern Manners.

All he wanted was for you to take care of his apartment when he was out with his business partner, a woman who didn’t seem to dislike you but certainly didn’t care for you. He told you to take a week to just rest, take the medicine he brought you, eat the food that he fed you, and be good. So you did as he asked. And after a week you could move a bit more, you started spending your days at Joel’s tidying up and organizing while he was gone, it was much easier to stay off your leg for most of the day and he always made sure there was food and books for you while he was gone. And when he returned he would help you hobble back to your place and help you into bed without complaint and with a promise that he’d be back in the morning.

But you still don’t relax around him.

It doesn’t make sense. Even someone who wasn’t known for their cruelty wouldn’t just take a stranger in. You’d like to believe that there’s good in people but you know better than to have that kind of faith. There isn’t enough left of the world to share the remains. Yet Joel does. He doesn’t ask to know you better and he certainly doesn’t tell you about himself yet he shows you more kindness than anyone else in your life has before.

He must like having someone to take care of.

That’s how you explain it to yourself.

You watch him with Tess and it’s clear who’s in charge there, she barely even lets him stitch her up when she returns to the apartment. Joel gets frustrated every time, huffing and pacing around the room before finding some way to tend to you in her place. Icing your leg, or bringing you a new book to read, or feeding you.

It took a few months for your leg to heal, it had been in such bad shape a part of you worried that it might never be the same as it once was.

After the first month of your arrangement Joel told you his knees hurt and he wouldn’t be able to carry you home, you offered to just walk yourself over, your leg didn’t hurt that bad anymore and you were more than capable of walking short distances. But he insisted you stay, told you you could sleep in the bed and he’d take the couch.

But his knees hurt, you couldn’t let him do that.

And you told him you’d take the couch and he told you he wouldn’t feel right making you sleep on the couch with your leg the way it was.

So you told him you’d both just sleep in the bed. It wasn’t a big deal. You trusted him, of course you did, he had an opportunity to exploit you and he didn’t, if he was going to hurt you he would have done it already.

He had acted unsure.

You know now that it was acting.

So you had insisted. You told him it was okay, you told him you felt safe with him.

It was your idea.

Even though it hadn’t been your idea to stay that night.

You had insisted he get in the bed with you.

A fact that he would bring up often in the months to come.

He would still help you to your apartment some nights, but just as often he’d complain about his knees and you’d stay. You got used to his warmth, you got used to waking up in his arms and not talking about it in the morning.

So it made sense when he told you that you should keep your pajamas at his apartment.

It made sense when he got a toothbrush for you to keep in his bathroom cabinet.

It made sense when he told you that he couldn’t find new clothes in your size and you could just wear his.

It made sense when he told you that he and Tess had never been a thing, so you had no reason to feel weird about sleeping in his bed.

And it made sense when he told you that he’d hold onto the keys to your apartment, afterall you wouldn’t want to lose them.

Joel Miller was a glue trap. And you had waded across his sticky surface without a care in the world, never realizing that it was getting harder and harder to move until you were standing still. Until the only way you were going to escape was by biting off your own leg.

You don’t remember when you stopped returning to your own apartment completely, but you know that it happened early on, before you’d even started chewing.

Now - JACKSON, WYOMING : 2023

“Ruth?” You’re gonna be late if you don’t find her soon. The turntable in the corner of the kitchen plays a 3 Doors Down song as you lift the table cloth, searching for the little girl. “We don’t have time to play, we need to get you to school.” You groan, turning to face the boy currently sitting in a highchair he’s just about grown out of. “Do you know where she is?” You cross your arms in front of your chest, glaring at him as he shrugs.

Of course he isn’t going to tell. They look out for each other before anyone else, a fact that normally fills you with joy but not when they’re ganging up against you. Thankfully you catch his eye as he shoots a glance at the pantry. Pulling the door open you’re quickly met with the sight of Ruth, giggling on the floor. You pick her up, putting her in her own highchair before setting a plate of fruits down in front of her.

“Eat. We don’t have time to play this morning, young lady.” You poke your fork in her direction as you sit down across from them.

“Eat.” She repeats in a mocking tone, her brother erupting into a fit of giggles at the impression as you sigh. They need to be at the community center in half an hour. You make the job schedules on Friday and you need as much time as possible if you want to finish them in one day. You’re having a hard time focusing on the mess your son is making as he smashes each blueberry down onto the table before popping them into his mouth as you try to schedule your own weekend.

You need to finish all of your work today while the kids are gone so you don’t have to juggle watching them and working later, it shouldn’t be too much of an issue, scheduling should only take a few hours if you really zero in on it. You have dinner with Tommy and Maria tomorrow and you promised to bring dessert so you’ll have to take the kids to the market tonight, which also means you’re going to have to find supplies to barter with before you go.

You have nothing planned on Sunday.

You’ll have to change that.

You hate having nothing to do.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts as a blueberry hits you in the forehead. Both twins laugh now as you frown at them.

“Behave or I’ll tell your aunt that you’ve been bad.” Both children look at each other nervously before returning to their breakfast. You were never stern enough with them. You loved them too much, you couldn’t ever bring yourself to yell at them, and it wasn’t like they were troublemakers by any means, they were just kids with a lot of energy in the mornings. And when they did misbehave a small threat of telling Maria was enough to make them stop whatever it was they were doing.

You finish up your own plate and start getting ready to leave as the kids start giggling again to themselves. When their plates are empty you use a wet washcloth to clean their hands and faces before lifting each of them out of their respective seats, letting them run off a bit more energy before you head out. You set all three bags down in front of the door. Yours being the beige over the shoulder bag accompanied by two little backpacks. Ruth’s green canvas bag is covered in mud and other remnants of the yard that she’s brought in with her but Arthur’s purple backpack is kept neat and tidy. You slip into your coat before turning just in time to watch your son dive into the couch, quickly followed by his sister.

“Come on little ducks. Time for school.” You take their jackets off the hook, holding them out to them as they rush over to you, tugging their own coats on before grabbing their bags, once you pull the door open they both rush out into the cool autumn morning, talking to each other in hushed tones. Always secrets with those two. It would probably make you a little worried if these were normal circumstances, the way they don’t let anyone in except each other, with you being the only exception. But the world is a terrifying place, it brings you peace to know that they have each other.

A part of you is certain you wouldn’t have been able to handle just one.

One little person relying on you, all while you’re doing your best to hold it all together? It sounds like a nightmare. It’s better that they have each other. Once you’re standing outside the community center, busy with parents dropping off their children, you kneel down.

“Be good, if you behave today you can go to the market tonight.” The promise of the market has both of them grinning, showing off the teeth they’ve both recently had grow in. “I love you, I’ll see you in a bit.” You hold open your arms, each of them taking their respective sides as they wrap themselves around you. You take your daughter's face in your hands before pressing a kiss to her forehead, repeating the motion with your son. After a few “love you mama’s” they both run into the building, once you’re sure they’re safe inside you head off in the direction of town hall.

You have what you would call the best job in town, despite the fact that no one else seems to want to do it.

Maria understood when you arrived that you needed something that let you work from home if needed, you needed something that kept your mind busy but also gave you time with the kids. So you took care of the parts of Jackson most didn’t think about.

You document all of the citizens, you make the shift schedules, and you make sure everyone has the necessities. You take care of housing, when big hauls from scavenging come in you divide them up among the people who need them. You make the meal schedules for the dining hall, and you make the crop schedules.

You keep Jackson moving.

When you arrived all of this was Maria’s job along with her other duties, when you told her you wanted something engaging and demanding she was more than willing to pass off those duties to you. So now you’ve got to make the schedule. Town hall is nothing more than a house with several desks for people doing work similar to yours but thankfully you’ve been lucky enough to reserve your own office in one of the bedrooms.

Most Friday's Maria visits you for lunch but you know she’s on patrol currently, another perk of this job is knowing where everyone is, all the time.

No surprises.

You hate surprises. (With a few exceptions.)

One of the exceptions is waiting for you in your office, Tommy sits with his legs up on your desk, reading over this past week's schedule.

“You put me on crop harvest way more than anyone else.” He grumbles, tossing your notebook down.

“It’s the end of the season, everyones on crop harvest.” You lean down, kissing his cheek before taking your place across from him, immediately getting to work as he groans.

“Maria gets to go on patrol.”

“Council gets first dibs on patrols during harvest season.” The tip of your favorite pen is dry so you quickly bring it to your mouth, wetting it with your tongue before you start writing out jobs for this upcoming week. The second he sees how many farming related jobs you’re listing he leans back in his chair, groaning and running his fingers through his dark curls.

Today’s his day off. You always gave anyone doing more manual labor three days off instead of two.

“I can get you on one patrol shift but they’re going to need your help with the corn.” You write his name in with the Monday and Tuesday patrol squad, filling in the rest of his week with harvest as he grins.

“Thank you, darlin’.” He drawls. You hate that nickname, you hate that he isn’t the first to give it to you but you never complain, you’d let Tommy get away with murder at this point. It’s the least you can do considering everything he’s given you.

“Yeah yeah, whatever. You’re only getting a two-day weekend next week.” You mumble, searching through the list of citizens, trying to pick out the people you know won’t mind the hard work.

“Fine by me.” You have a complicated relationship with that smile of his. You can love it all you want but that doesn’t change the fact that it makes you uneasy, it doesn’t help that you’re starting to see that same smile in your son.

“I was thinking about berry cobbler for tomorrow night.” Molly twisted her ankle last week, make sure she isn’t standing. You put her down for shucking corn, she can sit in the dining hall and work.

“We have a bunch of extra sweet potatoes if you want to make sweet potato pie.” He takes your crop ledger, flipping through it, clearly not reading a thing.

“Ruth hates sweet potatoes.” Marcus insists he’s capable of doing manual labor, his pride won’t let him act his age. You put him down for pushing the wheelbarrows, he won’t have to bend down to pick anything up but hopefully he’ll still feel like he’s doing enough. You’ve told him countless times that at his age he shouldn’t be working so hard but he always insists.

“Shit, forgot about that. Maria might have some apples.”

“I’ll stop by tonight before I take the kids to the market.”

You’re thankful for Tommy.

He keeps your mind busy with conversation while you work, and he’s one of the only people you actually trust. By the time you’re almost done you know you need to go get the kids, with a conflicted glance at the clock you start to gather your things but Tommy beats you to it.

“I’ll go get them, Maria should be home from patrol soon, she’ll want to see them.” He’s already putting his coat on so you stay seated.

“Are you sure?” You already know there’s no reason to argue, he’s stubborn, just like his brother.

“It’s the least I can do to make up for bothering you all day.” He steps around the desk to give you a peck on the cheek before going to leave. “Just come by the house when you’re done, no rush.” And just like that he’s gone.

You make quick work of your remaining duties. Finishing everything within a half an hour before heading out in the direction of the Miller’s farm house on the edge of town. It’s only a few houses away from your ranch house, a fact that you couldn’t be more grateful for, if it weren’t for Tommy and Maria you aren’t sure you’d have been able to handle those first few months of parenthood. Most people in town assumed Tommy must be the father purely based on how much effort he put into taking care of not only them, but you as well. As you make your way up their porch steps and into the living room you’re also reminded of the similarities. You can’t blame people for making assumptions, even Maria thought he was the father. The twins have his eyes, (which by association means that they also have his eyes, but you try not to dwell on that.) Ruth has your nose but Arthur has that Miller curve already starting to show on his little nose. Both little ones are sitting in the big recliner with their uncle as he tries to get them to settle down while he reads to them but the second they see you, both are scrambling out of the chair to hug your legs.

And everything goes exactly how it’s supposed to.

(Of course it does, you plan every day down to the minute.)

You give Tommy the list of things you need along with a few things he can trade them for and he takes the kids down the street to the market as you sit at the kitchen counter, talking to Maria about her patrol. You had all planned to go to the market together but she’d insisted she was tired and you didn’t want her to be here alone so you stayed, helping her cook dinner. And you talked about all the things you knew you would, something cute the kids did, how her patrol went, what things you could put on the dining hall menu in the coming weeks.

It’s all exactly how it should be.

Until she frowns.

“Are you busy Sunday?” You had sensed something was wrong with her but you assumed maybe she was just a little rattled coming off of a three day patrol.

“No, did you need something?” You continue to chop up the sweet potatoes she now planned to use tonight instead of tomorrow.

“We found a couple of strays, I thought maybe we could get them settled in.”

Odd.

Normally finding survivors would be the first thing she mentioned after returning, even stranger is the fact that she’d often waste no time getting them supplies and a home to make their own. But you're not one to question Maria’s judgment.

“Sure, we can do that Sunday morning.” You want to ask questions about it but she’s already changed the subject to doing a clothing drive at the community center so you don’t press. Despite the way the look on her face is bothering you.

It wasn’t fear, or discomfort, or something you could explain away with the excuse of the strays being off putting or violent.

It’s a look of pity.

As if she feels bad for even asking.

It unsettles you enough to leave it be. Making idle chit chat with her until Tommy returns with the twins and you take them home. It unsettles you as you make your own dinner, as you give the twins a bath, and as you help them into their pajamas and read them a story. It never leaves your mind.

“Goodnight Ruthie.” You lean down to kiss her forehead, watching her eyes flutter shut as she continues to fight sleep. Always the stubborn one.

“Night Mama.” You take the stuffed bear from the foot of her bed, tucking it in beside her before quietly standing, walking across the room to your son's bed.

“Goodnight Arthur.” You lean down, kissing both of his rosy cheeks, he doesn’t fight sleep the way his sister does. So similar but so different.

“Goodnight Mama.” His little voice has the same southern drawl you know he’s been picking up from Tommy.

“I love you, little ducks.” You smile at him, turning to see that Ruth is already asleep, you tuck in the blankets around Arthur before leaving, keeping the door cracked open a bit so the light from the kitchen can act as a night light.

God, you're tired.

You’re quick to shower and slip into your own pajamas, crawling into bed with a yawn. You take the book from your nightstand, flipping through until you find where you left off yesterday.

You never really know what’s going on in the books you read, they serve a singular purpose and it isn’t entertainment.

You read until you fall asleep, they’re just a distraction to keep your mind busy with thoughts so he can’t sneak in right before you fall asleep and embed himself in your dreams.

It works.

Your dreams never feature him.

They aren’t good dreams by any means, they’re wild. Often of your journey to Jackson, the fear you felt then. But you’ll take that over Joel any day. Tonight isn’t any different, your sleep is restless as you fight the memories of fighting for survival in those woods, but instead of your usual nightmares of infected hunting you through the trees you’re faced with a sight that somehow makes you even more uneasy than the living dead.

The look on Maria’s face when she told you about the two strays.

support me on kofi!!

a/n : this fic has been bouncing around in my brain for months now and it feels so fucking good to finally start it omfg. sorry if this felt a little slow, i really needed to set a tone and a base for the story, sorry!!

#lincolndjarin #fic : every now and then #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #tlou joel #joel tlou #joel the last of us #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #tlou fic #joel x reader #the last of us fic #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 2 months ago

Text

The Dark Lord (Part 2)

Summary: The reader's been tasked with devising a way of getting Sam out from under the grasp of Demon King Crowley by The Dark Lord. But Dean isn't exactly what the world thinks he is and his hiring of the reader might not be so simple...

Part 1

Pairing: Dark Lord!Dean x employee!reader

Word Count: 4,200ish

Warnings: language, curses

A/N: Welcome back to this one! There's so much going on in this part that will fill in some gaps. I'm keeping this a two parter mini-series for now but maybe someday there could be more. Please enjoy!

_______

Dean POV

“Why hello, Lord Winchester,” said Donna with a bow and shit eating grinning. I narrowed my eyes as she shut the door to my office. “However may I serve you today oh fearsome one?”

“Fuck off,” I said with a smile, flipping her the bird. She still wore a giddy smile, sliding into the chair opposite my desk. “I believe it was security that came up with the Protocol for when we have a new employee, hm?”

“If I have to call you Lord one more time, I’m jumping off the terrace,” she said, crossing her legs and pulling her laptop from her bag. “Besides, that protocol isn’t a hard and fast rule. She’s not a spy.”

“She could be.” Donna rolled her eyes, clacking away at the keys. “She was stealing from me so she’s not so innocent.”

She scoffed. “She stole some fucking asthma medication for her kid brother cause she got canned from her old job so she lost her health insurance, all because she wouldn’t sleep with her scumbag ex-boss. Yeah. She’s a real hard ass.”

“Did you do what I asked?” I tilted my head, Donna sighing. “I’m not going to kill him. Just ruin his life.”

“An anonymous tip will go out to authorities next week,” she said. “Wasn’t exactly hard to find the tax fraud and payoffs.”

“As I expected. So, how’s she doing?” Donna shrugged, typing again. “Come on. She barely talks to me.”

“Yeah, cause you scared the shit out of her. She’s freaking out trying to come up with a plan to get into Crowley’s place.” I breathed deeply. “Isn’t she moving in today? Why don’t you go drop the charade and help her.”

I pursed my lips, eyes darting to the window. “She only got caught at the warehouse because one of the guards twisted his ankle in the parking lot and she went to help him. We wouldn’t have seen her at all which means that girl is hiding something.”

“Magic,” said Donna. I hummed, a bird flapping by. “There isn’t any in her bloodline from what we saw.”

“Do you remember why everyone calls me the Dark Lord?” I asked. Donna’s lips parted, her gaze averting. “There’s ways of having magic without being born with it and we both know it.”

“Can…can you do what she did? Sneak in and out of places without being seen?” I shook my head, Donna closing her computer, narrowing her eyes. “Oh, Dean.”

I turned my attention back to her, Donna frowning. “What?”

“You want her to sneak in and get Sam, don’t you? You’re going to risk some poor woman that worked in accounts payable her whole life just so-” I held up a hand, Donna still pouting.

“I want her to teach me how to do that. However she got in, I need to understand it and once I do, I alone will get Sam back.”

“How do you know you can do what she did?” Donna asked. I frowned, standing up. “Dean.”

“I just do, okay? I need to go. Can you handle the latest shipments?” She nodded, her eyes far too concerned. I tried to smile but it came out flat. “Just…trust that I know what I’m doing?”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” she said.

I gave her a curt nod before I was gone, swallowing thickly as I walked the halls towards the far end of the grounds where personal quarters were.

Nothing stupid. Right.

Y/N POV

“Careful!” you said as Kyle rushed around your new townhouse that afternoon. It was modern, yet cozy, warm and inviting. It was by far the nicest place either of you had ever lived. Coming fully furnished didn’t hurt either.

A knock at the door made you jump, Kyle rushing past you to open it. “Kyle-”

He ripped it open, Dean standing there dressed in a red flannel and dark wash jeans.

“Hello, I’m Dean,” he said, Kyle holding out a hand.

“Kyle Y/L/N,” he said back, Dean smiling as he shook it, his gaze oh so briefly finding yours in the background and god, your heart leapt at the sight. That man was hot when he was brooding but he looked downright sinful when he was grinning ear to ear.

“Allow me to properly introduce myself then. Dean Winchester although you probably know me in town as The Dark Lord.” Kyle dropped it immediately, Dean clasping his hands behind his back. “Really? Do I seem that scary?”

“Y/N says not to talk to strangers.”

And he proceeded to shut the door in Dean’s face.

“Kyle! That’s my boss!” You rushed over and ripped the door open, Dean chuckling when you did so. “I am so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” said Dean, Kyle tucked away behind your back now. He peered around you, giving Kyle a small wave. “That is good advice your sister gave you about strangers. You know, I wish I had a big sister when I was growing up. My life would have turned out very differently if I had someone watching my back.”

“Don’t you like being The Dark Lord?” he asked, coming around your side. You nodded and let Dean inside. He took a few steps before squatting down, letting Kyle tower over him. Dean tilted his head, looking boyish for a moment.

“Not really,” said Dean, Kyle’s eyes going wide. You kept your face expressionless but were surprised by that admission. “Outside this place, people think I’m the bad guy. I’m sure you’ve heard all the stories about how I’m a monster in a skull mask and cloak, running around killing anything that moves.”

Kyle nodded, Dean resting his elbows against his knees, sinking back into his heels.

“I used to live in town with my parents and brother. We were normal. We didn’t even have any magic in our family. When I was four though, a bad man came to my house.” Dean’s gaze fell down to the hardwoods, his jaw twitching. “He hurt my mom and tried to hurt my brother who was only a baby. It was King Crowley.”

“What happened?” he asked. Dean looked up at you though, your eyes following the thin trail of black that rose up from between his shoulder blades, curling all around the room, your eyes darting after it. Kyle looked at you strangely. “What are you looking at?”

“You don’t see…” Dean rose to his feet, the black trail curling all around your body, swirling and pulling away, stopping with a pointed look at your chest. “What are you doing?”

“King Crowley turns out was there looking for me. He knew of a curse, a powerful one. He placed it on myself and intended to place it in my brother. But my dad stopped him before he could touch Sam. Then, well then we left town.”

The smoky mist curled around Kyle, ruffling his hair without him noticing.

“See Kyle, this curse? It only works if put on soulmates. Sam is one of mine but people have lots of soulmates. So Crowley cursed another one of mine eventually and that day, I got my powers. Incredible power, power that when working with my soulmate would be unstoppable. King Crowley isn’t happy though. I was too strong when he tried to capture me, control me. So he went after my brother to try and place the curse on him too to control us. To have power.”

Dean’s trail moved from Kyle to tuck under your chin, yours lifting on instinct. His eyes followed the movement, lip quirking.

“I never wanted to be scary but it’s the only thing that keeps Crowley from coming here and trying to hurt the people I care about again. Reputation is powerful,” said Dean, clasping Kyle on the shoulder. “There’s a few kids playing a game of soccer down past the housing quarters on the greens. Maybe you want to go check it out while I help your sister finish unpacking?”

Kyle looked at you, optimism in his eyes.

“Alright,” you said, grabbing your phone off the front table and handing it to him. “I want you home by six at the latest, understand? And no leaving the grounds. And Kyle?”

“What?” he groaned, already rushing to put on his sneakers.

“Have fun,” you said, Kyle scooting outside not five seconds later. Dean watched him take off, humming before he stepped back inside the townhouse.

“Cute kid,” said Dean, his smoke trail spinning all around you. “Reminds me of Sam.”

“What the hell is that?” you said, nodding to where the trail stopped, pointing at you. Dean shrugged. “Is that because I’m magic?”

“You’re not magic, Y/N. I just told you. Crowley put a curse on me.”

“You said that already.” Dean’s black misty trail pushed forward, pressing forward, stopping at your chest. You stared down, breath hitching. “What are you doing?”

“You don’t use your powers often. You’d be more in tune with sensing others if you did,” he said, gently resting the tip against your skin. You glanced up, Dean cocking his head. “Do you remember the part where I said he cursed another, Y/N? A soulmate of mine. It’s not hard for a man dealing with demon magic like him to find out those sorts of things. So. If you don’t have magic in your blood yet you have powers…powers that allow you to see my also non-magical powers…that makes us…”

You blinked, holding up your hands. “Wait. No. No there’s not way you and me are…”

“So you didn’t eye fuck me the first time we met?” Your cheeks flushed, eyes darting away. “Y/N. Come on. Let’s stop pretending and be realistic.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “What exactly does that mean?”

Dean ran a hand through his hair, letting his hand drop slowly. “It means…it means teach me how you broke into my warehouse so I can get Sam back. After that…we’ll figure that out if Crowley doesn’t catch me.”

You took a few steps away, putting your back to him.

“Why does Crowley want our power? He’s never come near me. Something doesn’t add up.” There was a presence behind you, causing you to turn and face Dean who had come closer. “Unless he found out after the fact our powers aren’t that same and decided he only needs yours.”

Dean held up a finger pointing it in your face. “You…have good points. He really never came after you ever?”

“Not that I know of.” You hesitated, Dean tilting his head. “Your powers…what do they do?”

Dean took his turn to move away now, slipping past you into your kitchen. He splayed his palms on your kitchen island, shoulders sagging.

“Think of them as…being like the offense on a sports team. They can attack, control, move things.”

“I can’t do that,” you said quietly. You went to the kitchen sink, turning the water to hot, too hot. Meanwhile, Dean eyed you, steam billowing against the cold metal basin. “Just…watch.”

After a beat, you placed your hand under the water, Dean rushing around the island. You held up a hand, his gaze drifting down to where the water rippled over your skin. “It doesn’t hurt me, Dean. Your powers are like offsene? Well, mine are defense I’m pretty sure. It’s like I get a bubble around me.”

Dean reached around you, turning off the water before handing you a hand towel from the counter. He tilted his head, biting his bottom lip.

“You don’t think you can show me how you do that?” he asked. You sighed. He took the towel back when you finished wiping your hand off, one of his black smoky tendrils wrapping around it, holding it up. “Maybe you can try one of my powers first. Can you take the towel?”

With a frown, you concentrated on trying to pluck it away from him but all you managed was to make the bubble around your hand larger, wrapping it around the two of you. Dean looked up and over his shoulder, pouting when he glanced at the misty dome encompassing you.

“You may have a point about us having different powers,” said Dean, touching a finger to the barrier. “Why would Crowley take Sam then?”

“Same reason as always. To get to you. If he kept Sam, he could make you use your powers for whatever he wants. Mine aren’t all that useful to a guy like that. It’s probably why he’s never bothered me.”

“Why curse you then?” he asked. You shrugged, pulling the bubble away and swallowing.

“Maybe the powers don’t work unless both people are cursed? But I guess that doesn’t make sense. I’m younger than you quite a bit,” you said. He scoffed.

“Quite a bit? I’m barely forty, little shit,” he said, breathing deeply. “...Although I don’t remember doing anything with my powers until I was older. Maybe eight, seven?”

“So you couldn’t actually do anything until I was cursed as a baby too.” You leaned back against the counter, Dean settling back against the island with crossed arms. “I’m sorry, Dean. I don’t think I can teach you how to do what I do. I don’t even think about it. It just happens.”

“I understand that feeling,” he said, closing his eyes. “I’ll figure out another way to get Sammy out.”

“Setting aside the fact we are…soulmates for now,” you said slowly, Dean cautiously meeting your gaze, “I don’t think this plan stops at getting Sam back. Crowley will just come after him again.”

“You sound like you have an idea.” You pressed your lips into a thin line. “Let’s hear it. I hired you to brainstorm this stuff so I’ll take anything at this point.”

“Well, I think we need to figure out what Crowley wants. He’s all powerful so why does he need your power specifically? Crowly rules The Dark Lands. He’s eons old and doesn’t bother humans. So what on earth could he need you for and why now? He had plenty of opportunities to grab Sam over the years. He must be on some kind of deadline. What’s that tell us?” Dean straightened, eyes wide.

“Holy shit. I can’t believe I’ve never thought of that,” he said, reaching out and cupping your cheeks in his hands, planting a fast kiss on your lips. You barely felt it before he pulled back, licking his lips. “You’re a genius, little thief.”

“Uh, thank you?” He started to jog away for the front door, your throat clearing. “We’re not going to talk about the whole kissing thing just then?”

He froze, spinning around with a smile. “Couldn’t help myself. I uh, I know what Crowley wants I’m pretty sure. I’ll stop over tonight.”

“Dean-” But he was already out the door, jogging towards the main building. “Be careful, ya big idiot.”

Two AM

You jumped awake from your chair on the porch when you heard a car door shut. Dean’s muscle car was in front of the townhouse, his long legs carrying him up the front steps into the light. His eyes were dark, tired, but you saw no injuries on him.

“You worried about me or something?” he teased, sitting down slowly in the seat next to you. A long breath left his lips, his eyes closing. “You back to being terrified of me? Or is it just the nerves of being next to your soulmate?”

“I don’t like cocky guys,” you huffed, Dean chuckling, peeling his eyes open to smirk at you. “I don’t.”

“Yeah, you do.” He tilted his head. “It’s flattering really. You’re fated to be with The Dark Lord. You like a bad boy, don’t you.”

“You’re insufferable,” you said. You got up, taking the blanket wrapped around your shoulders with you. “Did you come here to flirt or what?”

“Always so serious,” he said, looking you up and down. “You have anything to eat? I’m starving.”

“Don’t you have your own home?” He hummed. “Why are you here?”

He stood, cupping the back of your neck, pulling you into a deep kiss. You rose up on your tiptoes, black smoke curling around your body and holding you in a tight embrace. God he was so…gentle? His large hands were holding you, grasping, tugging, yet his lips were slow, soft, teasingly playful.

He grinned when you broke off, nose touching as your hot breath mixed together. “I recall you wanting to revisit that kiss, hm?”

“How do you know we’re romantic soulmates, hm?” you said, Dean chuckling. “God, you’re annoying. I liked you better when I thought you were scary.”

“Oh, I’m terrifying, sweetheart. Just not to the people on my side. Especially not the woman that thinks I’m hot. Or would you like me to show you the security tape from when they brought you in and you couldn’t keep your eyes off me?”

“I was afraid for my life,” you deadpanned. Dean shrugged. “I was!”

“Yet here you are, kissing me twice in one day.”

“You kissed me-” He pressed a finger to your lips, shushing you.

“Details, sweetheart. Now, I really am starving and I would love to answer all of your questions but I don’t want to disturb Kyle. We can chat in the morning.” He pecked a kiss to your temple before striding off back towards his car.

“What? Why’d you come here then?” He spun around, a tinge of pink on his upper cheeks.

“I realize I left…abruptly. I didn’t want you to worry. I could say it’s because you’re head over heels for me because of the soulmate thing but really, you’re just kind. Kind people tend to worry about other people, even when they don’t quite deserve it yet.”

You crossed your arms, glancing down at your slippers. “Why do you pretend to be this scary bad guy when you’re clearly not him?”

“Because I can do a lot more good behind a mask. Good guy Dean wouldn’t have the connections I do to let me know your former boss wasn’t paying his taxes and has a history of sexual harassment. Good guy Dean certainly wouldn’t know how to get proof of that and how to relay it to authorities.” Your head snapped up, Dean pursing his lips. “You never thought it was curious why police never went after The Dark Lord with all his evil crimes?”

“Your whole thing is…a facade?” He shrugged. “So you don’t torture and kill people who wrong you?”

“I never said that. Stories get embellished is all.” You bit the inside of your cheek, Dean taking a step back. “I’ll see you in the-”

“Kyle’s not home. He made a few friends today. He’s at a sleepover.” Dean took a step forward, looking you up and down. “If you want to...talk now. Only talk.”

“Only talk. I’m good with that.”

You were hot when you stirred the next morning. Your pillow felt hard as your eyes fluttered open to find a very bare chested Dean under your head.

“Well good morning,” he whispered, kissing your temple. You narrowed your eyes, Dean breaking out into a laugh. “And they call me the scary one. They ought to see you first thing. Look ready to stab some eyes out.”

“Why are you in my bed shirtless? I do not hookup,” you growled. He shushed you, his large arm curling around your back.

“Because you invited me to stay? I got ketchup on my shirt after our snack so it’s in the wash…you only have a two bedroom and we had a few beers…so you told me we could share…do you really not remember this?” Okay, maybe once your sleep deprived brain had a moment to think, you did recall inviting him into your bed, even if that had been a somewhat drunken ask. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you said, laying back in bed, closing your eyes. “Just thought for a second we…”

“No. We didn’t do anything. But maybe I can cook you dinner sometime.”

“Maybe,” you said, Dean shifting in bed, feeling his chin rest on your shoulder. “You’re like a puppy aren’t you? Now that I let you in the house you think you can stay.”

“I let you in my house first,” he said, nuzzling his cheek against your arm. “Sam would like to meet you if that’s cool, say thanks in person. He should be up for visitors later.”

“I’ll make sure to stop by. I’m glad he’s safe again.” Dean let out a heavy breath. “You were fuzzy on the details. What exactly did you give to Crowley to get Sam back?”

“It’s funny how much you can get done when you just talk to each other,” said Dean, letting him use your arm as a pillow, your fingers toying with his strands. “It’s well known Crowley’s queen was imprisoned eons ago. Well, turns out the wizard who did it died about fifty years ago after some freak accident.”

“So his magic would start to fade.”

“Exactly. Which meant the queen would die when it did fade on the spell he cast without some intervention. The wizard cursed it so only a soulmate with the curse could open the box. Crowley was running out of time and grabbed Sam as a last resort so to speak. He’s not my favorite person in the world but we came to an agreement to put all this behind us.”

“Sam for the queen,” you said.

“And Crowley sticks to the Darks Lands for the next thousand years. Figured that should keep things quiet for awhile.” You turned your head, Dean looking up through his lashes. “I never would have thought to just talk to the guy without you.”

“Nobody’s perfect.” You reached your free hand around to rest on his bicep. “You’re offense, I’m defense, remember?”

“You know, I don’t actually know if we’re romantic soulmates. Crowley wouldn’t spill on that. We might just be meant to be best friends.” You raised your eyebrows, offering a sleepy smile. “Hey, you asked earlier. I just don’t know if-”

You pressed a finger to his lips, Dean’s eyes darkening. “Why don’t we start with you making me dinner tonight and we’ll go from there?”

“What about Kyle?” he asked.

“While your concern for my little brother is extremely appealing, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t mind a night at one of his new friends again. Anymore excuses?” Dean pursed his lips, thinking hard.

“You don’t feel obligated to do this because I’m your boss, right?” You rolled your eyes, Dean batting your hand away to roll on top of you. “Had to check. So. Dinner at seven?”

“Sounds great,” you said, staring up at him, Dean licking his lips. “Better run along, Mr. Dark Lord. Lots of terrorizing on the agenda for today I’m sure.”

“Between the torture and the maiming I mean I’m packed solid,” he teased, bending down, brushing his lips over yours. “Come by the mess hall at noon with Kyle. We have family lunch there on the weekends.”

“Sure thing Mr. Fluffy Lord.” Dean pecked a hard kiss to your lips, pointing a finger at you when he pulled back. “You’re so soft and you know it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Keep it up, little thief.”

“One time!” you said, Dean smirking, your eyes widening. “How…how’d you know it was more than once?”

“My stock’s been short for the past year. No harm, no foul. Oh,” he said, climbing out of bed, ruffling his hair. “Remind me to talk to Michael about Kyle. He’s been researching it for the past few months and might have a magical fix for his asthma.”

“Months? But you didn’t know-”

“I knew someone was stealing the medicine and while we can’t cure everything, between magic and science, I figured he could solve it and we could put it out there.” You smirked, Dean pointing a finger again. “Do not call me Fluffy Lord.”

“Yes. You’re truly so evil.”

“Damn right I am,” said Dean. “I got a skull mask and cloak even. Evil incarnate over here.”

“Whatever you say, Fluffy Lord.” You propped yourself up on your elbow, Dean narrowing his eyes playfully. “I hope you enjoyed this because you’re not getting back in my bed until you’ve earned it.”

“Already dreaming about the next time we share a bed, are we?” he teased. You flipped him off, pointing at the door. “Alright. I better get out of here before we have to explain this situation to a twelve year old.”

“Yes, please,” you said, Dean bending down, cupping your chin in his hand. Your heart caught in your throat, Dean smiling softly.

“Thank you for giving me back Sam, beautiful.” He pressed a linger kiss against you, lifting his head and kissing your forehead. “I’ll see you soon, little thief.”

“Yes you will, Dark Lord.”

_____________

#supernatural #spn #dean x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x you #dean x you #dean x female!reader #dean x y/n #dean winchester x female!reader #au!dean

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love-belle · 2 years ago

Text

you are in love !!!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ in which he finally realises that she's the one he has loved all along.

for when you realise that it's always been them. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

real life // charles leclerc x fem!reader

warnings - language, car crash (not detailed), mention of someone being high (not relevant to the story)

author's note - hello!!! i really hope you like this, i enjoyed writing this so much, charles' pov was definitely interesting. i hope you like this <3 i love you, thank you for reading.

≡;- ꒰ °real life ꒱

the first time charles leclerc thought he was in love, he didn't even know what love was. which, of course, made sense, considering he was seven years old.

he just knew that it was when two people really liked each other.

coincidentally, he also knew he liked the girl that sat next to him in class, the one who was always colouring in pretty flowers or leaves or clouds. he liked having her around.

she was sweet, she didn't talk much which was okay seeing he also didn't, she brought pretty colours to school everyday and she shared them with charles.

so yeah, it was natural that he liked her.

and because he liked her, he noticed that she liked flowers.

everyday, without fail, she would walk into the class with a pretty flower tucked in her hair, sometimes in her pocket or sometimes in her hand.

and on days where charles just wasn't in the best mood, the flower became his. it just sat on his desk, the bright colour a striking contrast against the plain desks that brightened up his mood, had him telling everyone that she ("my best friend, y/n,") got him ("she got me, me, a flower,") a flower ("it's my favourite flowers now, the most favourite!"). it was what made it all worth it, for a seven year old kid, at least.

sure, just the sight of it was enough to make charles smile for the rest of the day.

but the thought that y/n got it for him was enough to make him happy for this lifetime.

≡;- ꒰ °real life ꒱

the second time he thought he was in love with his best friend, he almost lost an eye.

that was a bit dramatic but to be fair, her high heel did come quite close to his eye and in her defense, he shouldn't have ruined her date.

"i cannot believe you, charles marc hervé perceval leclerc!" y/n exclaimed as she picked up her one black high heel from the floor and moved towards the living room, charles following after her like a scolded puppy, the rest of his family following him. "like — what was the reason?"

"y/n — " charles opened his mouth to explain but shut it, seeing her and noting that she was ready to throw her other shoe at him. he looked at his mom for help, his eyes pleading for her to intervene but pascale just shook her head, looking at him with a disapproving look.

"tu es incroyable," y/n muttered, glaring at him as she flopped down on the couch, inhaling sharply, "can you believe him, maman?" ( you are unbelievable // mom )

"charles," pascale started in a resigned tone, sitting down next to y/n and putting a reassuring arm around the girl she considered her daughter, "pourquoi ferais-tu ça?" ( why would you do that? )

"je ne savais même pas qu'elle serait là!" charles exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. "and please, the date was not ruined. not until you saw me in the back and threw a fit over it." ( i didn't even know she would be there )

arthur stifled a laugh, getting a warning look from charles, pascale and y/n. he cleared his throat, and pointed back at his brother.

"you're mad at him, not me," he said, shuffling away from the group only to be stopped by lorenzo who gave him a look and pushed him to sit on the armchair., making him groan. "i hate every second of this."

"you were wearing a fake moustache and a wig!" y/n yelled at him, moving to stand up but pascale held her back, rubbing her back soothingly. "et je me suis tordu la cheville à cause de toi!" ( and i twisted my ankle because of you )

"that was your own doing," charles pointed at her, though he could feel like heart twisting with guilt. he honestly did not mean for that to happen. collateral damage, he guessed. at least she wouldn't go on another date with what's-his-name again anytime soon.

"how did that even happen?" arthur asked, looking between his brother and y/n, equally amused and confused.

"she chased him out of the restaurant and ended up falling on the sidewalk," lorenzo explained, his expression mirroring arthur's. "it was certainly a sight to see."

"je vous déteste tous les trois," y/n mumbled, looking at pascale with a defeated look on her face. "puis-je avoir une de vos robes d'été? celui ci est déchiré?" (can i have one of your sundresses? this one's torn )

"of course, ange," pascale smiled, standing up and pulling her out of the room with her, not before throwing a stern look in charles' direction. ( angel )

the room was very silent after they both left, leaving the leclerc brothers alone. it was all silent, perfectly quiet for a minute before arthur burst out laughing and lorenzo followed after him, their laughter echoing.

"i hate you," charles rolled his eyes, falling down on the couch and leaning his head back. "none of this is funny."

"it's a little bit funny," lorenzo replied, still chuckling as he sat on one of the empty armchairs around the coffee table.

"not for you, of course," arthur added, wiping his eyes as his body shook for laughter, "for us, it's hilarious."

"va te faire foutre," charles muttered, narrowing his eyes at his siblings. "how am i ever supposed to come back from this?" ( fuck you )

"well, for one, you can start with telling her that you're sorry," lorenzo started, looking up at the ceiling, "for crashing her date and for letting your jealousy ruin her night. that'd work."

"yeah — what?" charles asked, his face scrunched up in confusion as he looked at lorenzo. "why would i have been jealous? and please, the night was already ruined way before i got there. i did her a favour, getting her out of there."

"and breaking her ankle in the process."

"shut up."

"so, you weren't jealous about the fact that she was on a date? not with you? with someone who was not you? with someone else? with someone whose name was not — "

"i know what going on a date with not-me includes, thank you," charles snapped, glaring at nothing in particular as his mind raced with the possibilities.

why had he crashed her date? it wasn't as if she hadn't gone on dates before, she had. of course, she had.

but that's all they were, just dates to her. dinner, small talk, a few jokes and then back at home, she'd be laying next to charles, telling him all the things she hated about her date. his one guy couldn't stop talking about his yacht, this one thought having a mercedes automatically got you a girlfriend, this girl was high the entire time, this dude was the captain of the football team and that's was his entire personality.

and that's how charles knew, knew that those dates meant nothing to her. they were just dates. those people weren't laying next to her, hearing her talk about stars and how much she wanted to travel, how do flowers grow from pollen. they didn't know that she liked to fiddle with her rings when she was nervous or the fact that she had a small scar right above her lips. they didn't know that she loved it when people complimented her but she never knew how to respond, always opting for a 'thanks! you too! haha!' they didn't know any of that.

but he did.

he had assumed that this date was just another of those dates and by eleven, they'd be talking shit about that dude while eating chocolate and watching a trashy romcom. that was their routine, that was their thing. it was theirs. just theirs.

but then he noticed the way she talked about that guy, the way he had helped her with their psychology project, the way he had asked if she wanted to grab coffee around the weekend. he noticed the way she was actually looking forward to this.

it wasn't as if she wasn't excited for her past dates, she was but this time, it was different.

this time it looked like she really wanted to go on that date and for the first time, charles was afraid that she wouldn't be by his side at eleven, talking shit about that dude while eating chocolate and watching a trashy romcom.

and suddenly, time had stopped for him and it was almost comical, just like the movies, the way his mind became a mess, clusters of all the things they did, shared laughs, holding hands while walking on the pier, holding the other person close, leaning against each other, making flower crowns, saying 'i love you' out of the blue and on top of this mess, his mind just went 'y/n! y/n! y/n!' and that was it.

the next thing charles knew, he was dodging his best friend's high heel.

"there are other ways to tell her that you like her," arthur's voice brought charles back to their living room, his heart racing as his closed his eyes, a soft 'fuck' leaving his mouth. "start with not wearing an obnoxious wig and a fake moustache."

"i — i don't like her," charles protested weakly, as if he was trying to convince himself. "she's my — she's my best friend."

"we know she is," lorenzo leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "but with the way you look at her, it's nothing short of love."

love.

that word made him feel like a bucket of ice cold water had been thrown at him and it hit him like a block of ice, with the bucket.

do i love her? is it love? is it just like — likeness, whatever? it wasn't love? can it be love? will it ever be love? why isn't it love? i wish it could be love — oh.

oh.

≡;- ꒰ °real life ꒱

the third time, the thought of being in love crossed his mind — not that it ever left him, it had just been mere hours since the high-heel-almost-lost-an-eye incident.

he was in since room, a random show playing on his laptop that laid open in front of him but he couldn't bring himself to pay any attention to it. he couldn't even bring himself to close it, his eyes glued to the time.

10:37

he hadn't seen her since their argument and he couldn't blame her for not wanting to see him, he had ruined her night after all. it just felt weird having her over at his house — which was her second home, but not with him.

charles sighed, pausing the show as his eyes locked in on the time at the bottom of the screen, making his frown deepen.

10:41

he thought about what his brothers had said, he thought really hard.

he liked y/n. of course, he did. she was his best friend, after all. but when it came to liking her romantically, charles wasn't sure where he stood.

it was no secret that y/n was beautiful, she was. but more than that, it was her nature, her personality, the way she made people feel at ease around her, comfortable. that's what drew people to her.

that's what drew him.

10:49

he could be himself around her, he could be charles.

he didn't have to pretend to be the boy that everyone saw on screen, the confident look that was etched on his face, the way he never seemed to back down.

he didn't have to keep the pretendence up while with her.

he could be loud, he could be vulnerable, he could let down his guard, he could ask for help, he could just let out all of his worries.

he could be at ease and he knew that this whole thing was a two way street.

that was them, y/n and charles.

best friends, even if it weirdly pained him to say it now.

10:55

he looked away from the screen, a sharp exhale leaving him as minutes trickled by and there was still no sign of y/n.

a small polaroid stuck to the wall opposite him caught his eye and as it registered in his mind what it was, a small smile stretched across his lips subconsciously.

to everyone, it was just a normal photo. just two people — could potentially be mistaken as a couple, side by side with beaming smiles on their faces. the girl was leaning her head on the boy's shoulder while the boy had his arm around her shoulders, pulling her even closer to him. that's all it was, just a normal photograph.

but to them, to y/n and charles, it was everything. they had known the exact situation, the exact circumstances in that photograph, what they had felt when it was taken and how it had felt.

charles had felt his heart skip multiple beats when y/n leaned her head on his shoulder, looking up at him for just a moment, as if to ask if it was okay — it was. he had felt the way her breath hitched as soon as he placed an arm around her shoulders, squeezing softly before pulling her even closer.

he had felt it.

he had felt the way none of them did anything to move away, even after the photo was taken and lorenzo exclaimed that it was beautiful ("i took it, of-fucking-course it's pretty.") they just stayed there, just for a moment too long before they moved away reluctantly.

11:02

charles snapped out of this trance, staring at the photograph as a knock resonated throughout the room and he had to stop himself to grinning.

he said nothing, choosing to stay silent as he quickly closed the laptop and laid down, his heat beating against his rib cage so fast that he could hear his heart beat in his ears.

it was silent for a moment and he wondered if he should tell her to come in, tell her that it was okay but before he could even get the first syllable out, the knob twisted and the sharp light of the hallway made its way into the dimly lit room.

the door closed quickly, a soft whisper of 'sorry' making its way towards him that had him smiling against his pillow. footsteps could be heard as walked towards the other side of the bed and quietly got in, choosing to maintain a small distance between charles and her.

no one said a thing, their soft breathing was the only sound in the room and for a moment, charles thought that she fell asleep or that she was still mad at him and wasn't going to talk.

he was about to turn around, sighing softly before he heard her move, the sound of the sheets rustling before she began to speak.

"this one was a complete asshole, like — i was about to..."

yeah, he could fall in love with her.

≡;- ꒰ °real life ꒱

the fourth time it happened, it had been during a race. well — whatever was left of it.

it was not the perfect weather and since five a.m., y/n had her phone open in front of her, looking through the hourly weather forecast.

"you know it's not gonna change, right?" charles had laughed at her from across the table. "why are you worrying? je vais bien, je reviendrai. ( i'll be okay, i'll be back )

"promets-moi?" y/n had asked, looking at him all serious, no hint of laughter or amusement in her eyes and charles sighed, knowing that she was worrying herself to death every single time he was out on the track, arthur was out on the track. ( promise me? )

he couldn't imagine what it was like on the other side of the radio, clinging to any sliver of hope, desperately waiting for anything, any response from the other side.

he couldn't imagine doing it regularly, having your whole world stop while silence continued to answer your pleas.

"je promets, ange." ( i promise, angel )

y/n had said nothing, moving towards his side of the table and hugging him, her head in the crook of his neck as she held onto him, not wanting to let go even for a second.

and when she eventually did, he reminded her, that he was going to come back to her, come back home and they were going to watch that damn movie they had been putting off for weeks now.

he would come back and they would go on with their lives until the next race weekend came and the cycle would repeat itself. but in that moment, they just had to get through that one race.

and then, it happened.

y/n wasn't even sure she was breathing. one moment she had been hearing charles' voice through the headphones and the next, a sickening crash of metal on metal and the screech and the noises and everything and then it was nothing.

just blank, just a void, just one whole minute of silence that seemed to last for an eternity.

in that one minute, y/n's world stopped.

the entire garage held its breath, voices asking charles to confirm that he was okay, that he was fine, that he was okay.

he had to be.

he was okay, he was okay, he was okay, he was okay, he was okay, he was okay, he was okay, he was okay, he was —

"i'm okay."

y/n could finally breath again. her lungs seemed to cave in on her as she took a deep breath and looked down, the floor become a mosaic as tears filled her eyes. she didn't hear people heaving a sigh of relief, she didn't hear one of the interns telling her to wait for him by the medical centre — seeing charles had always requested for her whenever he got hurt and at this point, everyone knew that as soon as something, god forbid, if something happened, y/n had to be at the medical centre.

she didn't remember the trip there, only registering carlos hugging her before she was off to where charles was and before she even knew it, he was in front of her and he was okay.

he was okay.

"hey, cheríe," charles smiled at her, a slight wince leaving him as he struggled to sit up in the bed and y/n was moving towards him immediately, helping him sit up straight. "have you been crying?"

y/n shook her head, sitting on the chair next to his bed and looking down, trying her harded to keep the tears at bag.

"hey, hey, hey," charles cupped her face, forcing her to look at him and y/n closed her eyes, tears finally slipping out and falling down her cheeks. "i promised, didn't i? i told you i would come back, to you. i always would."

"i was so scared," y/n admitted, her voice choked up as she let out a sob, the sound muffled against the back of her hand. "when you didn't reply, i was so — i didn't know what to — i — "

"mon amour, breath," charles pulled her closer, leaning forward until their foreheads connected. he could feel the way her hands were shaking, the way she looked so scared, like she lost him.

she almost did.

"when i was in the car," charles began, their foreheads still touching and he could feel her inhale as he spoke, "with the radio disconnected, the thing i could thing of the promise i made to you. that i would come back to you, i would come home and we would watch that damn movie. i wasn't thinking that i was literally in the middle of a track which had several cars going around at dangerous speeds or the fact that i could be hurt, i was just thinking about you."

"i don't know if that's cute or stupid," y/n mumbled, making charles chuckle before he continued, leaning back slightly just so he could look at her.

"every time i get in that car, i make a promise to myself that if i finish this race, i would tell you how i feel. i would tell you everything and every single time, i break it. and this time, when there was a possibility that i wouldn't be able to ever, ever tell you that — "

"don't say that," y/n looked at him, her eyes bloodshot as she shook her head. "no, no, no, no, no. you will always come home, you will always come back to me. you promise me that."

"listen to me," charles pleaded, taking her hand in his as he intertwined his fingers with hers. he brought her hand to his mouth, placing a soft kiss on the back of it. "please."

y/n said nothing but nodded, her hold on his hand tightening.

"i knew that as soon as i got out of there, i had to tell you that — that — " he hesitated for a minute, wondering if he really was about to risk their friendship. take a chance on the person he wished to have forever in his life. risk lose his person, the one who always got him, the one who was his everything. " — that you're more than just my best friend."

charles heard nothing after that and he refused to look at her fear of her looking at him like he was completely mad. it was silent for a couple minutes, the only noise being the annoying beep of the machines and the chatter from outside as well as the crowd and the cars and a lot other things but the only thing that charles could focus on was the fact that y/n had yet to say something.

he sighed, gently pulling his hand out of her grasp and began to do the damage control, his mind racing on factors he could blame it whole confession at.

"that was just the painkillers talking and i think i'm going crazy, can you please call the doc — "

he was interrupted by her kissing him, her hands on his cheeks as she pulled him towards her and a surprise noise left charles' mouth and as soon as his brain caught up, he was kissing her back. he kissed her like it would the last time, tilting his head so that he could deepen the kiss. he could hear her say 'i love you' in between kisses, the words repeated like a prayer, a promise between. this was everything, the way she kissed like there was no tomorrow, the way she was in charge of the kiss, the way she sighed into his mouth and he swallowed the sound.

it was everything.

he almost thought that they'd never pull away and he was sure that they would've have, if not for the annoying beeping that filled the room, making them break away from each other and look at the cardiograph on the side of the bed.

the graph went up and down rapidly, which was no surprise to charles because he could feel the way his heart thudded in his chest.

the neon green line spluttered as it went up and came down, and charles reckoned it was exactly the way his heart did whenever she existed.

exactly the same way their heartbeats spelt 'i love you.'

#f1 x female reader #f1 x reader #f1 imagines #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc imagines

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rafeyswrd · 6 months ago

Text

a quiet place . day one.

sweetheart pogue!reader x best friends!brother rafe cameron.

SUMMARY: all you wanted was to spend a day work free. a tragic expectation really, when the screeching and dreadful screams sounded through the island. and after painful trudges and sour wounds, it didn’t take long to figure out that all you needed to do was stay quiet — and simultaneously take care of a terrified and overly scared cameron.

WARNINGS. teeny mention of reader being shorter than rafe. wounds. blood. violence. gore. mean!reader ( she’s scared okay 😞 ) . mention of mental & physical health issues. mentions of puking. insinuations of death. panicked rafe (?). probably unrealistic cat behavior. think that’s it!

WC. 1.8k

A/N. i don’t know if this writing style pleases anyone because a) first time writing in a while so maybe some mistakes, b) english is my second language, c) since i’m not used to writing from the second pov. please lmk if there’s anything to work on! since i catch myself writing unnecessary details many times lols

leave feedback please!! any interactions / reblogs are highly appreciated, i’d love to see where to continue with this ^_^

It was everywhere.

Blood. It was seeping through the drains embedded into the ground, a crimson layer running and carpeting the dirty tar roads. Your breath was irregular, hands clutching onto the sides of your shorts as you came face to face with the under mechanics of a car.

Screaming filled your ears, screams so agonising and dread filled it caused a rise of bile to race up and down your throat. And in a weak attempt to lessen the striking fear residing within, you scooted further beneath the car, watching from afar with hooded eyes as large claws dug into the floor with each heavy step it took.

“Help ME,” a man’s groans escaped him as he crawled near your feet, tugging at them harshly, “Please, help me!”

You let out a choked sob, his nails digging painfully into your ankles. No matter how lowly you plead, how creakingly you whisper for the man’s pleas to come to a halt, your begging fell to deaf ears, utterly ignored. And it was not until the man’s hands loosened on your foot, his body dragged by a creature so baring it knocked your breath out, did you finally throw your head back in relief.

The dirt and broken glass beneath you pierced the back of your shoulders, your chest rises and falls erratically as you scoot further away, only to realise the numbing planted in your ankles. Biting your lips, you pushed your body further up, feeling a tear slice through your muscles. As tears rolled down your swollen cheeks, your body glimpsed itself into sunlight once more.

Yet even then you could not let the louder sobs break free, not when the area was still crowded with ache laced yelling, not when you saw your flesh torn apart near your feet.

Your brows furrowed, watching in bittersweet anguish as she appeared.

Nona.

Your sweet cat Nona, who tiptoed around the glass to curl up near your hands, sniffing it before running the opposite direction. You look around, pushing your body up slowly as you limp near a wall, watching as she sneaks herself into a dark corner etched between two run-down buildings.

You trudged through, leaving a trail of blood behind you and you slid down behind a trash can, a lone tear cascading across your reddened face. Leaning up, you nibble firmly at your lips to prevent a fearful scream from leaving you at the sight of your damaged, flesh torn ankles and look around in distress when you take notice of your cat missing once more.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Nona was smart.

Being deaf did not prevent her from being the sweet support cat you were given at 14. She was a smart cat. Knowing what you needed, when you needed it – because sometimes your brain struggled to pick up signals of distress, sometimes it let you suffer until your hands seized and legs gave out.

And sweet Nona always knew how to take care of you.

So, as she trudged through the small town, she took a stop near a choking man lying on the edge of a lake. Water spurted from his swollen lips as he violently shook. Nona softly jumped on his chest, one, two, three times before his choking came to a sudden halt.

Rafe’s body shot up, breathing heavily as he pushed the rest of his body off the running water.

His face was wet -- tears or the water he was unsure of, but as he clenched his bloodied shirt, torn from the sides, he frantically glanced at the heavy weight planted on his chest. Rafe, for the first time that day, felt a sense of comfort wash over his battered body. The cat he loathed to see every time you would bring it over, sprawled in front.

It was an ugly thing in his opinion.

Furless, purely wrinkling pink skin and an unfortunate short tail. One of her eyes was crossed, and an ear was cut in half from God knows what.

He hated it, it made his skin crawl whenever he would sneakily watch you cuddled up with it on Sarah’s bed after a sleepover. But now, as he recognized the bright pink tag across her neck and the curled snarl that was directed towards him, Rafe allowed himself to gently pet Nona.

He glared when she pushed his hand away, standing before him, blinking once, and twice, before walking away.

Normally, reluctance would follow his senses but as he stared longer at the cat’s figure; your face painted his memory, hope flourishing within his chest, and he gulped at the thought of you all alone – or dead. He shook his head, gripping his head as his lips wobbled, you had to be okay. You just had to be. Even if it was just for his own sake.

1 minute turned to 5 and 5 soon turned to 12, until Rafe found himself standing 2 feet away from your agitated body. You were shaking, one leg bent as the other seemed to bleed through wrapped, white fabric that was ripped from the ruffles of your shirt. It had been the first time he’d seen you look so tired, so worn out and miserable and so out of your usual sunshine element; your smile lines disappearing with the deep downwards tug of your lips. It stung him, only slightly.

From the corner of your eyes, you sensed a figure watching over you, and you stilled. With gradual movements, you turned around, and a small smile drew itself upon your lips. Nona ran towards you, rubbing her head on your wounded foot, allowing you to grin.

Rafe watched intensely, eagerly moving near you and wincing when he saw you flinch; finally catching sight of his appearance. You clenched your jaw, gripping the garbage bin with force and limping yourself up. Clutching Nona in one hand and leaning on the trash with another, you straightened yourself enough to look at him with narrowed eyes, only to push past his shoulder and limp away. Mouthing a meek “go away.”

Though no matter how far you walked (attempted to), how far you tried to distance yourself from the Cameron boy, you eventually felt the heat of his body hit your back, causing you to trip forward and his lanky figure following you shortly.

Nona dropped to sit by your foot as your nails gripped onto a stone wall, a tear slipping as a crack emitted from your injured foot. Rafe’s rough hands found your waist, gripping you upwards with panicked eyes.

“I’m sor-” His pupils widened when your sweaty palms gripped at his chin, roughly pulling him forward before placing it on his lips.

Your stare was wide and filled with worry, swiftly glancing around with a frightened gulp. Rafe furrowed his brows, following your line of vision despite the bleak grip you have on his face. It was raining.

You tilted your head, the thought finally processed. Rafe’s distressed tone didn’t cause commotion, not a batted eye; and you tested the waters – “you need to leave.”

Rafe shook his head, “explain what’s going on,” his voice cracked, and despite the clench of his jaw or pursing lips you could tell he was beyond terrified. “Y/N/N you need to tell me-”

“Shh!” Your breath was rugged, and you shut your eyes momentarily before whispering, “Rafe, the survival ship that will take you away is on the other side of the island. I am not going to help you; I am looking for my family.”

Despite your erratic movements vigorously pointing to the street behind him, he stood firm before you. “N-no! You don’t get it, Y/N I-”

“Shut up,” your lips were swollen from how hard you bit them, glaring at Rafe, “Rafe. Please leave. They depart in less than 3 hours; I-I am not your stopping point for any sort of survival!” You were sure your face was red, though your anger came to a cut when his eyes welled up, and you can tell it took everything within him to prevent a tear from slipping by.

His upper body shook, “’m scared, okay.” He managed to grit out. “Just-just explain to me,” he sniffed, watching your hesitant gaze before adding, “please.”

You pouted, sighing next. Giving in despite every atom built up inside of you telling you not to.

Shaking your head, you licked your lips and stepped closer – a tactic you were sure lacked any intimidation points from how tall he stood. “Fine.” Shaking your head, you looked at him with a frown – unsure whether his emotions were a play of manipulation on your fragile state. “You cannot make any noise, you understand?”

He nodded, eye twitching and fists clenched. Rafe trembled with every inhale and exhale, observing you with hooded eyes, and he took in the sight of you — really took in how you looked, and the deep furrow of his brows relaxed ever so slightly. “I understand.” He spat out.

Actions that you wilfully decided to ignore, you didn’t care how hard it was for him to listen to you, or how manic he appeared; the last thing you needed was to take care of a man who ignored any help his way.

“I am going to my home Rafe; this is your last chance to leave.” Your whispers were getting dull, and breathing heavier, mixing with the rain taps surrounding you. Both of you were beyond wet, shivering and shaking intensely beneath the water drops.

He gulped and stared at you for an eerie minute before nodding once more, “okay.”

“Okay.” You breathe out, turning your aching body around, refusing to acknowledge his gaze – to which you do not want to decipher.

The train of thoughts had not paused once, reeling against the walls of your mind roughly. Rafe was beyond saving. He was an arrogant boy who had never taken your presence into accountability until he was forced to. A boy who made your friends lives hell, a boy whose father was the murderer of a man you cared for dearly.

You were unsure if Rafe would have ever helped you if your emotions were as brittle as his own, if you were coke crazed and panicked as he was, and you did not want to think much of it, knowing if you did, you’d quickly come to regret your decision.

TAGLIST. @hewwokitti @ihe4rttwd @haruvalentine4321 @ficslutt @kiiyomei @venomwh0re

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toxicanonymity · 1 year ago

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First of all: I love your fics - every one of them - but especially Raider!Joel.

I have a question or idea: how would Joel react if he saw Sweet Pea doing yoga... She could have found an old book with yoga exercises somewhere and tried it out - be it out of curiosity or boredom... I think he would be quite surprised - and would find such poses "stimulating"... Just a little fantasy on the side... ;-)

yoga drabble

1.3k, raider Joel x f!reader

raider master list, latest: ✨hunger 👅

ty ily 🖤 i can see this happening SUMMARY: just a little PWP - a reprieve from action/violence but kind of emotional. WARNINGS: I8+ Joel POV, Unsafe P in V, he poses you, ass slapping, creampie, brief light anal play/scare (reader flinches), joel's guilt, dark fluff, praise. reader can do some version of downward facing dog and child's pose. no y/n.

You're in the living room--that room Joel never goes in with the bookshelf and busted tv. Joel can only see your bare feet and ankles from the kitchen. You’re on the balls of your feet. He’s intrigued. He approaches and stops in the doorframe, quietly leaning against it and crossing his arms. Your hands and toes are planted on the blue, threadbare carpet, and your ass is in the air, exposing your panties under your dress. He lets out a little “Mm,” so quiet you must not hear it.

Damn, it really does something to him, seeing you at a new angle--one he didn't even put you in. He watches the pose for as long as you hold it, getting more and more turned on. He imagines himself on the floor, lying face up underneath you, reaching up and taking an asscheek in each hand, pulling you down on his face, licking and gnawing at you through your panties like he could eat them right off you.

You walk your hands back on the floor, creating an even steeper angle, and your dress falls down to your arms. You grumble a rare curse, and he inhales sharply. You look toward the door. Even upside down he sees your eyes go wide when you look at him. You smile shyly as you let yourself down onto your knees, fix the dress, and turn toward him.

“Don’t stop,” Joel murmurs with his eyes fixed on you like an animal. He palms himself over his pants, fully hard. He’s gonna watch you for as long as he can stand it.

"not really doing anything," you claim and he cocks an eyebrow at you, looking at the yoga book on the floor next to you. "just stretching,” you add.

“Mm,” his head tilts back. “look good doin’ it,” he murmurs. You glance around, wet your lips and look down at the carpet then back up at him. He gives a simple nod that says for the love of God, keep going. You stretch out your arms in front of you on the floor as you fold the rest of yourself into a ball. He admires your arms and the cute way you spread your fingers out when you try to reach further.

He steps into the room, and you lift your head. “I can help you do it,” you offer.

“Maybe later." He runs his palm over the bulge in his pants. He gets down on his knees beside you, facing your hips. He slides his hand up the back of your thigh, under your dress, and palms an ass cheek. “Mmmm,” he sighs. His hand nudges you up off your heels a little bit and you let your weight onto your arms as you move your upper body forward. Close to doggy style but down on your forearms. He throws the dress up over your hips, out of his way, and gets behind you, straddling your ankles so he can see it all. He holds your hips and nudges your position so he can look straight at your crotch, and the pretty little hairs that poke out of the panties, and the white and floral fabric where where a tiny damp spot is forming.

“God damn,” he whispers. He scoots forward and presses the hardness in his pants against you, takes a deep breath, then backs up enough to urgently take his cock out. He spits on his hand and pumps it just a little, returning his free hand to your ass. He nudges between your legs and you spread your knees a little for him. You're such a good girl, letting him pose you how he wants.

He strokes you through the fabric and you moan softly and tilt your hips.

He slips a finger into the crotch of your panties and growls at how wet you are. His cock bobs heavily as he uses both hands to take down your panties. He runs his middle finger through your folds then slips the thick digit inside, and you whimper. He watches your glistening hole as he swirls his thick finger inside it, gathering moisture. He wants his cock inside you more than anything right now, but he can't resist your smell. He craves it. He closes his eyes and allows himself a little lick that makes his cock twitch. He'll get more later, he tells himself. He can go down on you anywhere, but he rarely gets to see you like this. It's so sexy that you put yourself on the floor with no intention to seduce him, and here he is, bending you st his will. And there you are, on your arms and knees with this hard cock behind you.

He gathers more with his finger, wipes it on his cock, mixing it with his precum before notching it at your entrance.

He pushes into you, just slow enough to watch your pretty little cunt swallow his length. You gasp and his cock twitches as he bottoms out. All the way inside you, he has one hand on your hip. With the other, he experimentally smacks your ass and you moan. He does it again a little harder and your walls squeeze him. “Yeahhh,” he sighs as he begins to withdraw his length. He holds onto your hips with both hands and pulls you back hard as he pushes into you, then abruptly starts railing you, jackhammer speed.

“Ohhh,” your moan is broken by his quick rhythm.

He fucks you like that for a minute, grunting and sighing. “look so goddamn good like this,” he pants, glancing at the yoga book beside you. “Feel so damn good.” He smacks your ass again as he pistons in and out of you. He watches the ripple of the jiggle when he smacks it again.

“Ohhh, baby,” he groans. You whimper and twitch around him like you’re close. He slows down and watches the way your body grips his cock, trying to pull him back in.

“Joel,” you whine. “don’t stop.”

“oh sweet pea,” he sighs and watches you suck him in again. “how bad ya want it?”

"Bad," you whimper. "Please." He slaps your ass again, then speeds up. You whimper and moan, "yeah, like that--ohhh." You clench around him. He pulls you back on him so your ass is flush against his hips while you cum.

“Good girl," he sighs. He retreats half way then groans as he fully sheaths himself in your pulsing cunt again. His balls tighten and he feels a twinge. He leans forward to reach under you and feel your breast, his other hand braced on your ass.

As soon as you clench on him again, he erupts with a shudder, returning both hands to your hips, holding you tightly against him as he finishes his release, and you finish yours. He curves his body over yours and his beard scratches your bare shoulder. "Good girl," he mumbles again into your shoulder and you meet his eyes with a little smile. He withdraws his cock and some cum dribbles down. He pushes it back in with his fingers.

His finger trails up to your asshole and you flinch. Shame rises to his face remembering the day you escaped. "I know, sweet pea," he coos, gently prodding but not entering your hole. "Ain't gonna. . ." Ain't gonna stuff all your holes like it's a goddamn emergency, like it's gonna fix everything. "pretty hole, though" he mumbles as he abandons it. He pulls up your panties for you, trying not to think about that day, reassuring himself it's not gonna happen again--any of it.

"You're a real good girl," he says quietly, mostly to himself.

He lets your dress back down. He tucks his cock away, and lies on his side facing you, elbow on the floor, head resting on his hand, silently admiring you.

He wonders how you feel. He wonders if you need anything, but he doesn't ask. "K," he whispers. He pushes himself up so he's sitting. You push yourself up into another pose on all fours and he gives a low whistle, then stands up with a groan to leave you alone.

----

Thank you so much for reading 🖤🖤🖤

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller drabble #joel miller imagine #joel miller smut #toxicanonymity ☠️#raider!ask #raider!joel #raider!joel miller

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kakashixhatakesxwhore · 7 months ago

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When i saw you dropped the shino fic, i damn near broke my ankle running to read that shit. It’s gold. I love how jealous Shino is, his internal monologues, how much of a goof he is, how he’s already imagining marrying the girl? 😩💦 I hc him as being totally fine with dying alone tbh lol romance isn’t his *thing* per sé but holy shit when little plant girly came tumbling into his life? He regrets ever looking forward to growing old and alone. Him jumping 70 steps ahead in his mind fits the bill perfectly. We love a lovesick dork.

If you’d drop the raunchy part two, I would absolutely die happy. Is it Shino’s first time? Is it gonna be clumsy and sweet and then he gets the hang of it so quickly their neighbors are filing complaints in the morning? (They’re still at it by then lmaooooo) I’m shriveling into a raisin until you post it.

Ever grateful!!!!!! I love your work!!!!!!!!!!

- 🌱anon

i took it upon myself to rewrite this mf because it wasn't up to code - i hope this meets your expectations, thank you for the wonderful request, i had so much fun with it

The Art of Mutual Pleasure

The Art of Mutual Growth (pt. 1)

Pairing: Shino x f!Reader

Summary: Picking up right where we left off, they go back and have a quick little conversation before getting down to business. Shino's quite the quick learner.

W/c: 4.3k (i'm sorry y'all i promise it's mostly smut)

Warnings: Virgin!Shino, Experienced!Reader, them talking about it, jealousy, swearing, oral (m receiving), p in v (i hate that term idk), lil bit of edging, creampie, lmk if I missed anything

Notes: we switched the pov to yours instead of shino's - y'all gotta tell me how i did because smut is not my forté, i'm literally begging (like Shino's about to do)

Masterlist💿

You were so lucky. As Shino's right hand gripped your left thigh, his sturdy forearm supporting you, you thanked every star in the sky for making this moment possible. Never, in your wildest dreams, did you think your silly crush on your neighbour would turn into such a public display.

Fuck, were you ever lucky.

Getting to feel Shino's soft, full lips clumsily move against yours assured you that there was something truly good guiding the universe. You guided the kiss as he walked down the street, too preoccupied with trying to keep you up, while going the short distance to the building, to give you the kiss you anticipated to come in your apartment. It was finally happening. You had wished he would have been the one to kiss you first, but you felt such courage when you pulled him forward. Now, your enthusiasm lead you, too excited to get into your head.

He was so strong. And his hands were so large. Not the once did Shino falter in his hold on you, but his stride began to stutter as he started to ascend the stairs to your shared floor. Winding up the six flights of stairs to the floor, Shino's foot took an invisible step at the top most stair and would have dropped had you not been holding him just as strongly.

In the stumble, Shino bit your lip, scraping against the skin harshly enough to draw a spot of blood. As he pulled back, he seemed to take stock of the injury and frowned deeply.

"Fuck, I'm sorry." Gently, Shino leaned down and you got the message, reluctantly putting your feet on the ground. Bringing his hand to your jaw, Shino pulled your lip down with his thumb, saying even more remorse, "I'm so sorry, Y/n. I didn't mean t-"

"Stars above, Shino, you didn't cut off my finger," you laughed, shaking your head out of his grasp before taking his hand and swinging open the door to the hallway. You looked at him, grinning, "C'mon."

Pulling him away as he stuttered an agreement, you marched him down the hallway, pulling your keys out of your pocket with your free hand. There was no struggle for your key this time, as you pulled it out easily, slipped it into the door, and popped the lock with a click, all within a moment. You opened the door widely, pulling Shino in behind, then shut the door behind him.

Immediately, you took the box from him, putting it on the couch before pushing him against the door. Shino let a small whimper escape his lips as you bounced to your toes, pressing your lips to his again. You brushed your tongue against his bottom lip, politely asking for more. The blood from your lip seeped into both of your mouths as Shino hesitantly opened his mouth. In the action, you moved forward to deepen the kiss, but your teeth clashed against Shino's - it was strange. It had to just be a jitter, you thought.

Continuing on, you slipped your tongue into Shino's mouth, eager for him to finally kiss you with the gusto that he had been withholding for so long.

But, his tongue met yours oddly; almost too forcefully, yet so very meekly.

You pulled away and pressed a more chaste kiss to his lips as you dropped to your feet. Shino's face had a slight sheen, looking at you with his brows knit and his mouth still open. He looked nervous.

It was your fault for coming on too strong. Maybe Shino preferred to take things slow, maybe he was more about passion than vigour. Yeah, that had to be it.

"Do you want anything, my sweet bug boy? A tea, a biscuit...?" You asked slowly, maintaining a sultry tone.

With another quiet whimper, Shino breathlessly replied, "I want you, I need you... I just... I-I'm..."

Placing your arms over Shino's shoulders, your arms together behind his head. Playing with a tuft of his beautiful brown hair between two of your fingers, you looked at him patiently, waiting for him to tell you what he felt he needed to. Shino wasn't very good with words, that much was true, but he would always reach the finish line. You tried not to worry, so you kept the idea of what was to come in the forefront of your mind.

"Do you love me romantically, or platonically?" He asked suddenly, giving up on what he was going to say.

You grinned, "I love you, both ways, so much." Popping up on your toes, you pressed a kiss to Shino's cheek.

"If you love me so much, why did you go out to dinner with Kiba?"

It was a fair question, you supposed. But there was something deeper that was bothering Shino, and you started to worry in earnest.

"Kiba and I are friends, you know that."

To your distress, Shino shook his head. "Friends don't go out to dinner with each other, alone."

"We did!" You said, exasperated. Walking further into the apartment, still looking at Shino you went on, "You and I wine and dine all the time, and we were just friends, until a second ago."

"Mhm," he hummed sharply, following you to the kitchen. "I don't know if it's been made obvious yet, or not, but I wanted you as more than a friend the whole time; Kiba does too, I can tell."

Man, fuck.

You were about to have the best night of your fucking life, but of course, your whorish habits got in the way. Rubbing your face as you got the kettle from the stove, you lamented every man's path you had crossed before Shino's. Men had just become easier to speak to - in training, in jest, in escapades. You wished that was never the case - that you had been a recluse, saving yourself for this moment.

"I won't go out with him again, okay?" You said, voice wavering as you filled up the kettle under the tap.

Shino just frowned, bringing his hand to his lip to fidget with the plush skin. It made your own frown deepen, feeling a pinch in your heart. Slowly, as if not wanting the answer, Shino asked, "Has he ever asked you out-out before?"

"Yes," you answered honestly. Shino covered his mouth and you couldn't make out his reaction as you put the kettle to the stove, turning it on. "He asked me out to a more romantic dinner, only once, and hasn't asked me again, since."

You had declined Kiba's offer two months ago, hoping that Shino would be the one soon enough. That hope had dwindled some, but you never lost it.

You always wanted Shino, but you were constantly doubting the potential of him seriously wanting you. Maybe you were just close-by, and therefore, the convenient option. The easy option.

Slut.

"I'm sorry," you sighed, leaning over the stove, not facing the man you yearned for.

Not saying a thing, Shino got the silver tea tray out of your cabinet. You looked at him out of the corner of your eye, feeling that pinch on your heart morph into a twist and pull. Putting the tray down a counter over, Shino stood behind you, his hot breath fanning down the back of your neck. You were ready to cry, but Shino's rich cadence saved you from the squeeze in your chest.

"I'm not mad... just... jealous."

Turning on your heel, you realized Shino was much closer than you had thought. Lowly, you heard the thrum of his bugs, and your lip twitched to smile before your thoughts bore back down on you.

Slut-slut-slut-slut-slut. Slut. Whore. Can't make girl friends? Why? 'Cause you're a whore. You can't even do right by Shino, the man who helped you discover the realness of the spark. You just love a free meal, don't you? Just love a bit of company, hm? Can't stand to be alone for even an hour? Why? 'Cause you're a slut.

The village bike, that's what people used to call you, back home. It wasn't true, you only ever had five boyfriends, but they all had loose lips. You just wondered how Shino would feel about your nickname, and your head pounded at the idea.

"Petal, please," Shino begged, snapping you out of your thoughts. His expression was so, so sad, which only made you feel worse. You crossed your arms over yourself as Shino put his hands on either side of your face, making you look at him. "I'm sorry, it's okay. I'm not mad."

"You should be," you whispered.

"Was it just a meal?"

"Yeah, but... just... fuck sake, if you're... ugh," you groaned, taking in the fact that you had been going out on platonic dates, in front of Shino, the whole time. You put your forehead on his chest, sinking into him. "I've been torturing you for months, Shino. And, even though I haven't ac-actually been with any of the men from the Hidden Leaf... I... Shino, I'm- I'm not a, ah, a virgin."

Your confession must have come as a shock, because Shino's breath stuttered heavily and a wave of heat rolled off of his body. Just waiting for him to make his decision, to regret ever having touched you, you pressed your head to his chest, trying to get whatever contact you could before he would leave forever.

"Is... it okay that I am?"

You scoffed, "I don't believe you, but, of course that would be okay. If it were true."

"It is," Shino replied, almost sounding a bit defensive. You looked up at him, to see him looking down at you softly. "Why would I lie about... that?"

A beat of silence passed over the two of you, his hands still on your face. The pad of Shino's right thumb feathered across the apple of your cheek, as if he were afraid that a more impassioned movement would scare you away like a doe. You couldn't help but smile up at Shino, shrugging slightly.

"I think a better question would be; do you really want me to be your first?" You asked, tone light but still gravely serious.

To your surprise, Shino immediately nodded fervidly. "I want you to be my first everything," he hummed, taking his left hand from your face to hold your waist closer, leaning down. "We'll find something you haven't done, one day."

Capturing your lips with his, Shino kissed you again, and his inexperience became very clear. His zeal supported him majorly, but there was still no clear rhythm to fall into.

So, you made the rhythm. Moving together like puzzle pieces, you guided your lips against Shino's, dominating the kiss in the gentlest way you could. Trying again, your tongue dashed against his bottom lip, and Shino carefully parted his lips and slipped his tongue in your mouth. It caught you off-guard, but you kissed Shino harder, establishing a properly dominant role as your tongues swirled together in a delicious Tango.

"I'm going to take good care of you, beautiful bug boy," you promised him between kisses.

Into your mouth, Shino let a shaky groan fall. You caught it up graciously, moving the kettle off the burner with one hand while the other trailed up his surprisingly muscular arm. Stuttering, you squeezed his bicep and he instinctively flexed against you, making you hum against him.

"Let's get these layers off of you."

As Shino nodded, you unzipped his flak jacket and ran your fingers up his sides, then over his arms to peel off the vest. You cast it to the ground, moving your hands up the black sleeves of his shirt, bumping along the various insignia on the sleeves. Maintaining soft, alluring kisses, you turned your bodies and started backing out of the kitchen.

The goal was your bed, just a few paces through the living room. You would have been fine ripping through the shoji that thinly divided the alcove where your bed lay, but Shino's feet tangled with yours halfway through the open floor of the living room.

You toppled back. Shino tried to catch you, but he was just pulled down with you. Without much thought, you called the vines forward and they caught both you and Shino, dumping you both onto the ground with a softer thud.

Immediately, Shino gasped, "Are you okay?"

"Just fine. Eager," you assured him, drawing as much breath as you could in a few intakes before leaning up and capturing Shino's worried lips.

Grasping his strong shoulders, you brought him down on you harder, feeling a distinct pain in your back that melted into a thrumming heat. You pulled Shino down, to the ground beside you, and moved to straddle his waist, feeling a very large bulge where you sat.

"Stars, you're pretty," Shino sighed, sweeping his hands over your clothed thighs. One stayed while the other curled around your waist, tugging you forward.

Grinding down on him, feeling his bulge growing even larger, you put your hands on either side of his head. Admiring how his hair splayed behind him, you giggled, "You're prettier, Shino."

"Jester. Kiss me."

"Okay, pretty boy." You leaned down and kissed the tip of his nose. "So gorgeous." You kissed his left cheek. "Handsome as anything." You kissed his chin, smiling mischievously as he opened his mouth to finally kiss you again.

"You're cruel," Shino groaned, pulling you down and moving your hip in a slight circle.

Deepening the movement, you rolled your hips forward, and his cock twitched against you, massive and crying for your attention. Shino whimpered beneath you, making an intense warmth spread through your body. Seeing a small portion of Shino's midriff exposed, you touched his chilled skin and dragged your fingers along his bare side, which made Shino shiver. You loved to tease him, he responded so vehemently.

"What's the rush, love bug?" You asked, making Shino's face flame red. You kissed his other cheek, letting your nose touch his as you hovered above him. "You're all mine now, and we have all the time in the world."

"You don't know how long I've wanted to hear those words come from your pretty lips," he whispered, leaning forward but not stealing the kiss. "Please, Y/n, I need you. Please."

"Ooh, I like it when you beg," you remarked, elation in your tone. You rolled your hips against him again, making a breathy groan come from Shino. You hummed, creating a steady roll against him, "Tell me what you're thinking, Shino, and I'll give you what you want."

Pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, you move down slightly to press a myriad kisses along Shino's jaw and neck. Finding his pulse point, you nipped it and Shino gasped, "Fuck, uhm, I'm thinking about... fuck. You. Fucking you. How you'll, hah- say my name. How beautiful you'll sound."

Moving your hands along his ribs, feeling the buzz of Shino's bugs just under his skin. You smiled, touching the bunches as they swarmed near your fingers.

"Ugh, ew, I'm sorry," he said suddenly. You felt the bugs reluctantly start to leave Shino, moving toward your apartment's greenery.

"Hm, I didn't mind," you purred, pulling Shino's shirt up to reveal his creamy torso. Shifting down, you straddled his left as you began pressing gentle kisses to Shino's solid abdomen. You chuckled, "You can relax, sweetheart, you don't need to flex."

"I'm not flexing?" he said as if it were a question.

Cripes, you were tingling.

Tracing your tongue over the dips of his muscles, you groaned lowly, letting your hand travel to the massive tent in Shino's pants.

Woah. There was no way his dick was as big as you thought it was. That just wasn't humanly possible.

With every obscene emotion guiding your way, you slowly undid the lacing of Shino's trousers. A steady pulse, and accompanying heat, came from Shino's entire body. His cheeks were still red as he watched you kiss his entire midsection before trailing your lips lower and lower...

"Pop your hips up for a second," you instructed lowly, taking both the waistband of his pants and underwear in your hands. He did and you grinned, tugging down his trousers to reveal his cock. You choked a bit, gasping, "Fucking stars... Hosannah..."

He was so much bigger than you had thought.

Shino's dick was huge. His sheer length was wildly impressive, and his girth was even more delicious. Blue and green hued veins traveled up his shaft, supplying blood to his agitated tip. It was bright red against his milky skin, screaming for your attention. Shino twitched, making his cock bounce against the blotch of dark brown, curly hair that rested above his dick like a halo. You took a sharp breath, mouth watering, positively creaming.

"Is it...?"

"Mouthwateringly massive? Yes," you cut him off quickly, getting back in the moment. Wrapping your hand around the base of his cock, you came forward and licked the precum that dribbled from his tip. Shino took a shaky breath as you mewled, "And you taste fucking amazing too."

In circles, your tongue danced around Shino's tip, and you began stroking him slowly with your hand. He groaned as you closed your lips around him and started to suck. You giggled a little and the vibration made Shino put his head back, on the ground, moving side to side. Smiling, you began to bob your head along his cock, taking a bit more every time until he was hitting the back of your throat completely. Shino's hand came to your head, raking his fingers through your hair and collecting it behind your head.

With a deep, gravely voice, Shino groaned, "You're perfect. Perfect."

Looking up at him with lusty eyes, Shino took in the way his hand fisted your hair, bobbing along with you as you fucked him with your mouth. Strings of small curses and little whines left Shino's lips as you went on, his orgasm impending.

As his hips began to make the slightest thrusts upward, you popped your mouth off of him. Shino's face went from full-relaxation to betrayal, morphing to a frown. He whined, "I was close, why'd you stop?"

"Shhh, I told you I would take care of you," you murmured lowly. As you spoke, you straightened up and pulled your shirt over your head, casting it by the radiator.

Looking back at Shino, his eyes were wider than his glasses, and his mouth agape. You laughed as he smiled at you sheepishly, trying to control his reaction some.

You grinned, "I thought you were mad at me."

Before he could reply, you reached around to your back and unfastened the clasp of your bra, letting it fall down your arms as you watched Shino's reaction carefully.

Immediately, he sat up, cupping your left tit while bringing his face to yours again. You smiled into the kiss, grinding down on Shino's thigh as his thumb and forefinger pinched your nipple. His kiss had improved dually, and you could relinquish some control to him. Some.

Tugging at the hem of his shirt, you broke the kiss for a second so that you could pull it over his head. Shino instantly started kissing you again, holding you with both hands on your sides as he leaned back down, pulling your clothed heat back over his cock. Your plush chest pressed against his, and Shino pulled you down further. His fingers trailed down your hips and across the backs of your thighs as Shino bunched your skirt up your your waist, leaving you with just your thin, cotton panties on.

Taking his dick in his hand, Shino pressed his tip over your sopping slit, groaning deeply as the feeling of your wetness against his cock. Still engaged in a lip-lock, Shino pressed you down on his cock, making the cotton sink into you a little.

With a giggle, you broke the kiss and straightened your back out. Moving your panties to the side, you took his cock and moved it through your folds, making both of you sigh with pleasure.

Then, you positioned the tip of his cock at your entrance and slowly began to slide down. Shino gasped loudly, moaning even more loudly as you sank a little more than halfway. You hummed lowly, trying to take him all, but he was just so fucking big. As you started to bounce gently, Shino groaned and pulled your face down to his, gripping your hip with his other hand. Getting accustomed to your bounce, Shino started to thrust up, into you, making you take even more of his cock.

"You're so fucking big, Shino," you squeaked as his pace quickened.

Shino smiled up at you, his glasses fogged slightly and glinting with the sunset hues from your window. He began to thrust into you with more vigour at your comment, letting the moment guide him.

Your pussy throbbed as Shino took you, and you truly wondered if this was his first time. His cock massaged your walls so perfectly, hitting the perfect spot within you at every-other thrust. Hooking his hips up, he snapped into you at an impressive pace and you took it, biting back legitimate screams.

"Fuck, you're tight."

Pain quickly turned to pleasure as you got somewhat used to his blistering pace and size, allowing you to bounce with him again. Shino moaned lowly, letting his head fall back. He propped his head up up with his right hand as his other squeezed your hip with all his might. Like a prayer, his name fell from your lips as a bundle of nerves accumulated in the pit of your stomach.

Shino's hips began stuttering and slowing, and you took it as your chance to maintain your own quickened pace.

"I'm gonna cum, Petal," he hissed.

"Cum inside of me."

Almost immediately, you felt a squelch within you and could feel just a nice warmth spreading through you. Calling out your name repeatedly, Shino moaned and groaned, whipping his head left to right so handsomely. Lowering yourself down to the hilt, you pursed your lips into a smile and ground down in circles, clenching as tightly as you could. Shino whimpered below you, trying to pull you down for a kiss.

You let him and began bouncing slowly on his cock again, the sound of wetness now very loud. Shino moaned against your lips, making you go faster. He gripped your hips, hard enough to bruise, gasping, "Y/n... I'm so... sensitive. Please."

"Okay," you said lightly. Bringing yourself to his tip, you pulled away from his kiss, then pushed back down, taking him all in a quick movement.

Shino groaned, "Fuck. I love your pussy, fuck."

Holding you aloft again, Shino's hips met yours gently, stuttering every time. Gradually, he forgot about the sensitivity and started pummeling your pussy again.

As his tip kissed your cervix, you purred, scratching his chest, "My pussy is all yours, Shino."

"Mine, forever," he grunted, kissing the angle of your jaw as he pressed your chest against his. "I'm gonna- ah- make those noises come out of you, forever."

"You better, bug boy," you laughed. "Forever."

Shino snapped his hips into you with a renewed vigour as your promise of forever. He fucked into you heavily, moving his hands along the bare flesh of your ass and thighs.

Suddenly, with an arm wrapped around your waist and the other on the ground, Shino stood up. His cock buried itself even deeper in you as he stood, making you cry out his name with a shake to your voice. Shino kissed along your neck as he positioned his arms to bounce you slowly while he walked over to your bed, stepping out of his pants in the process.

Not letting a drop of cum fall from you, he laid you down on your back. Shino looked down at you with a wide smile before taking off his sunglasses for the first time. He cast them aside and neither of you cared to see where they landed as Shino began fucking you again, hitting a whole new angle.

He grasped you by the hips, guiding you to meet his as he repeatedly plunged into you with a force you had never heard of. It was heaven.

Snaking your hand between the two of you, you pulled at your clit, rubbing small circles. Backing your head into the pillow Shino rested you on, you murmured in a salacious lilt, "Shino."

"Again," he demanded, snapping into you with even more strength.

You quickened your pace on your clit, looking into his eyes as you repeated, "Shino. Shino, I love your- mm- cock. Stars, Shino, ugh-"

With his intensity and your toying with your clit, a grand knot formed in your stomach, weaving intricately, sweeping you away. You just kept repeating Shino's darling name, feeling the knot burst.

Waves of pleasure rolled through your body, tensing every muscle periodically. Looking into his kind, sharp brown eyes, you let a gentle moan fall from your lips, still repeating his name, and Shino's hips stuttered in his time, slamming down into you deeply.

He slowed for a moment, feeling your walls fluttering around him, before he resumed his unrhythmic tempo. As you felt another burst of heat within you, Shino stopped, his eyelashes batting closed and groaned, "You're all mine, Y/n - taking all my cum like that, you must really love me."

"I love you so much," you said as Shino thrusted into you a few more times as you both hissed at the overstimulation. "I wanna take your cum forever, love bug. Only yours, all of yours."

"Oh, we're never leaving this bed, if you keep talking like that."

Looking at the man between your legs, you had never felt so seen, admired, and invigorated. You just hoped he felt the same as you kissed him sweetly, imagining how nice it would be if Shino were to be your husband.

#shino aburame #shino aburame x reader #shino aburame smut #aburame shino #aburame shino x reader #shino naruto #naruto shino

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 7 months ago

Text

never not mine | jjk | "... the whispers..."

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

We broke all the pieces but still want to play the game. This confrontation is long overdue and is either going to end in handcuffs or tangled limbs.

part i | this is part ii | part iii

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; alcohol consumption; things are thrown during a public altercation; second chance romance?; angst and fluff and feels; Jungkook's POV

non-idol!AU; fashion model!Jungkook — ft fellow model/actor!Kim Taehyung and model/businessman!Kim Seokjin; a few cameos you can speculate on and one named cameo hehe; reader is not part of the entertainment industry

whether I'm gonna be your wife or gonna smash up your bike, I haven't decided yet but I'm gonna get you back – imgonnagetyouback by taylor swift

It was a night just like any other night, which meant Jeon Jungkook was somewhere doing something because he was someone. On this night he was visiting a new upscale nightclub owned by one of his close friends, which was why he was at a table surrounded by his bros, expensive bottles of alcohol, and beautiful women. Not his scene, really. He was an introvert at heart. Despite that, he had obligations to be here. Obligations to laugh, to jest, to be merry, to be somebody.

But he knew he was just a somebody surrounded by much better bodies.

So, really, he was only a ghost.

“Hey, isn’t that…?”

It was luck and good friends that got him in the position he was in now. Jungkook knew that. He couldn’t complain too much when they invited him out. After all, they were only doing it because they cared about him. Yeah.

“She's really staring at you, man.”

Someone nudged his arm. For a moment, he didn’t comprehend that it was him that was being spoken to. Maybe it was the heavy black leather jacket. Underneath, he wore a tight white tank, and completed his outfit with studded charcoal-wash jeans and black leather boots. Nice, sure, but there were other men that much more sharply dressed with bigger designer labels. Of course, he cleaned up well with his slicked-back black hair and clean-shaven jawline. So did any other male model out there. He was not so egotistical to think he was the most interesting man there.

“Hmph, who?” he snickered, swinging around in his chair with the ice in his glass clinking. He would figure out who everyone was talking about from the reactions of the public. He snapped his head around, stray tendrils of black falling free onto his forehead, obscuring his vision for a split second, and then he faced the crowd beneath the VIP tables.

Time slowed.

The club was loud. Very loud, due to the deafening combination of music, chatter and laughter. It was lit with the imperfect balance of light and dark, oscillating spotlights exposing corners and weaving through moving bodies clad in fitted dresses, high heels, tailored blazers, suit pants. The alcohol was high-grade. The crowd was cherry-picked and pre-screened at the door. It was what it was. Individuals who had money blowing money, ignoring the sins around them to commit their own. It was hard to pick out someone.

But Jungkook saw her right away.

The club became quiet from his point of view. Sound became a mishmash of muffled, incoherent noises fading to the background as the faces blurred. The music dulled. All lights dimmed except in one area. Everything was still moving, still thriving, still breathing yet he was only aware of one single person.

His ex-girlfriend stared right at him from below.

Even from this distance he could feel the blades in her gaze.

Black patent leather jacket. Very short, cut just under the breasts. Black lace corset, see-through except for the cups. Skintight lilac miniskirt. Legs for days. Pointed-toe black pumps with a thin ankle strap, the kind he had trouble with due to the small delicate buckle.

He tried to breathe but the air was like concrete in his lungs.

She tilted her head, narrowing her smoked-out eyes. Her lips were glossy crimson, cool-toned to match the palette of her outfit. Her hair had been pinned up, exposing her graceful neck and glimmering collarbones.

She began to walk through the crowd.

Jungkook spun around and suddenly all the sound roared back, intense and thunderingly hostile. He winced, clutching his drink and holding the side of his head, trying to make sense of it all.

“Tch, why is she here?”

“Right? She doesn’t belong here.”

“She can be wherever she wants to be,” replied a calm, deep voice.

He could hear voices around him talking but it wasn’t making any sense. How? Why? Was he seeing things? And why did it matter? It didn’t. It didn’t. He took another sip of his glass and found it bitter and tasteless. Maybe that was in his head too. It didn’t matter if she was here. Someone was tugging on his arm. He pulled himself free, snapping his hand down onto the table.

The world crashed back into place as his drink sloshed and spat out from his force.

A startled feminine gasp.

The calm, deep voice returned. “You okay, man?”

Jungkook jerked his head up and saw Kim Taehyung carefully surveying him. He was a man with strong, masculine features and a comforting baritone voice that reminded one of cozy winters and romantic nights. Out of all his friends, they were the closest in age. However, Taehyung was more than a year older and a much more seasoned veteran of the modeling industry. He had been scouted at a very young age, quickly learning the ins-and-outs without losing who he was. He was grounded, easygoing, and never had a crack in his composure. At least, that was how Jungkook thought of him.

Taehyung raised a dark eyebrow, repeating his question without saying a word.

“I’m fine,” Jungkook scowled, then controlled his face a bit better. “What?”

Those dark, moody eyes served him a dose of silent judgement as one of the girls at the table spoke up again.

“Oooh, she’s sitting down at a table.”

He told himself not to look. It didn’t matter if she was here. And yet his head moved on its own, pivoting to the left so fast he almost had whiplash. At high-end clubs like this, there were tables available depending on to how much a patron spent. The larger tables had to be paid for in advance to be secured a space. Such reservations were violently expensive, signaling VIP status. A lot of the smaller tables on the lower level were occupied. The more exclusive tables were higher up, needing stairs to access the higher tiers. A waiter was holding her hand, carefully guiding his ex-girlfriend up the stairs to an empty round table that typically seated ten.

There was no one else at the table.

She sat down at the seat closest to overlooking the club.

“She can afford that?”

A crackling laugh. “Doubt it.”

“Who are you to say what she can’t afford?” Taehyung cut in sharply in a disapproving tone.

“O-Oh, well… It’s just not that common, you know.”

The chittering was from the women they had invited to the table earlier. Shit, their presence seemed so frivolous and annoying now. Jungkook had half a mind to turn around and glare at them. Instead, he was transfixed by the woman in patent leather and tight lilac. She crossed her legs, smoothed her skirt, and leaned back in her chair, scanning the crowd. A waiter came back and brought a bucket of ice with a champagne bottle and accompanying flutes. A waitress came by with another bottle. Porcelain, with painted flue floral design, and placed two crystal glasses onto the table. His former lover smiled at them, nodding. They bowed and took their leave after serving her.

Instead of touching the drinks, the woman turned her body and locked her icy stare right on him.

Jungkook stiffened and turned away quickly, feeling his body running hot. The table was still talking, but it was behind hands and feigned disinterest. Taehyung sighed, shaking his head. Of course, there had been other friends at the table too. Only now did Jungkook notice that they were missing. Must have wandered off. At the very least, their host Kim Seokjin would definitely be gone for a while. He was an affluent actor, model, and owner of several establishments, including this luxury nightclub. Eventually the tall, broad-shouldered man would return to see them off, but there was no telling when.

“Did you know she was gonna be here?” Jungkook hissed through gritted teeth, ignoring the odd looks he was getting from the women. They still lingered for the free drinks which Taehyung kept supplied. No sense in wasting Seokjin’s endless tab after all.

Taehyung frowned. “I don’t police people’s actions. Does it matter what she does?”

Jungkook scoffed. “Oh, so this wasn’t your idea?”

Those normally warm brown eyes turned cold. “It wasn’t. Besides, she’s no longer your girlfriend.”

“Yeah, she’s definitely not.”

A growl collected in Jungkook’s throat and he was about to let it loose. He swiveled his head again only for the sound to die before it began. A man was standing by her table. He was sharply dressed in a suit and tie, with tied-back bleached-blond hair that laid over his shoulders. He had a pleasant decorum and a smile like a predatory feline. She gestured him to sit down and poured him a drink as invitation. He watched in horror as his ex-girlfriend chatted up a beautiful stranger.

He didn’t know whether he wanted to cry or run over there to flip the table.

A low voice cut through his thoughts.

“Wasn’t the breakup amicable?”

He froze.

Slowly, Jungkook faced Taehyung, his long-time friend. He never really could bring himself to fully lie to those piercing dark orbs, now reflecting the same reserved gaze that Taehyung had given him when Jungkook provided the same flimsy excuse he was once again repeating.

“I… It wasn’t meant to be,” Jungkook mumbled once more. “The traveling… it was too much for us.”

The older male was too good at reading between the lines, especially when it came to romance, his forte. “Hm.” He knew when he wasn’t getting the full story. “It’s probably too late to ask now, but was it what you wanted?”

Jungkook couldn’t help it.

“It was…”

He looked over his shoulder again.

“… What I deserved.”

She was thanking the blond-haired man. He bowed ninety degrees and leaned in, whispering something in her ear before leaving the table. His glass was empty. Someone else was approaching the table. A pretty woman with long black hair in a white minidress and short, pearl-white nails sat down, bowing lightly and introducing herself. His ex-girlfriend offered between the two drinks and the pretty woman chose the champagne. A waiter came over to uncork it for them, pouring a healthy amount into the two flutes.

They two chatted, immediately absorbed with each other.

“For a guy naturally talented at a lot of things, you’re such a stupid idiot.”

He was.

Wait.

Jungkook scowled, turning back to a disapproving Taehyung cradling a small ceramic cup. It was hand-painted with the smallest of brushstrokes, depicting a flock of black birds disappearing into the white sky. He took a sip with a gruff sigh, making a tense face. He was a wine guy, but he couldn’t turn down traditional Korean alcohol. That would be uncouth.

“How long are you going to continue moping?” Taehyung scoffed.

“I’m not moping,” Jungkook countered, hunched over the table and gripping his whiskey glass a little too hard.

“You are convincing no one. Least of all me.”

His eyes flickered upward, glaring. Taehyung remained refined, unperturbed, nearly prince-like in his half-open floral-and-forest-green silk shirt and ruffled hair. A black-brown curl perfectly grazed one of his eyebrows, accenting his condescending look with a dash of softness.

“Did you ever realize how much she did for you?”

Jungkook pushed away his glass. He couldn’t reply. He stuck his tongue in his cheek, trying not to feel. It was only then that he noticed that the table was strangely silent despite the fervor of the environment – the women had made themselves scarce, understanding that this conversation was much too serious for their girlypop night.

Finally, he forced himself to speak. “For me? I take care of myself.”

Taehyung winced. Hard. “You cannot be serious right now.”

Another peek behind him. A different man at her table now. Silvery-blonde hair, tan skin, muscular like a godly titan. She caught him looking and stared directly back. Jungkook cursed under his breath. “What did she do then? Hm? Enlighten me.” His voice was becoming rougher, slipping out of his practiced Seoul dialect and into his Busan dialect. The broad-shouldered man at the table had no suit jacket. The sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled up. He must have noticed her lack of attention, because he began to turn around as well.

Jungkook jerked away before they could lock eyes too.

“Look, I don’t know what happened between you two,” Taehyung exhaled, not quite annoyed but getting there. “But I know you were the one that was wrong.”

Yeah, right.

“Never once did she complain about you. Never once did she butt into your business and cause you trouble when she could have. Never once did she talk behind your back when we both know damn well that you’re no saint, Jeon Jungkook.”

His tattooed hand against the table balled up into a fist, the familiar ache in his chest splitting, threatening.

Unintimidated, Taehyung continued. “The travelling was rough? Of course, it is. And there are probably a thousand ways to make it up to someone you love, but instead now I’m looking at you sitting here and her sitting there, pretending to be strangers. Tells me a whole lot about how that worked out.” His natural Daegu satoori was becoming more evident during his tirade. Taehyung wasn’t trying to be polite, though.

“You don’t know anything,” Jungkook retorted.

“I don’t.” Those dark brown eyes burned hot, scrutinizing him and tearing him apart. “And I don’t need to. Your hostility is telling me everything.”

“It was you,” Jungkook snapped, slamming his fist onto the table. “You invited her here.”

Taehyung’s low voice became lower, more accusatory. “Go ahead. Keep deflecting. Run back home and hide. That’s what you want to do, right?” His gaze narrowed and Taehyung’s normally friendly warmth morphed into scalding heat. “You heard what they said. She doesn’t belong here. And yet, here she is. They all talked and gossiped and badmouthed her, right to your face even, and yet you said nothing. You still don’t have the fucking balls, man. You didn’t respect her for all she was. In spite of that, she stood beside you, head held high, until you tossed her away. You brought her into this world, you ripped her out of it, and guess what? She is here. She holds her own. You deluded yourself into thinking she needed you. But she doesn’t, and it’s the other way around.”

Jungkook shot up out of his seat, nearly knocking the chair over. He was breathing hard, his furious anger so violent that it clawed at his insides, and Taehyung tilted his head, mirroring the expression of an adult tiger observing a foolish cub.

“You’re wrong,” Jungkook gritted out between clenched teeth. “You’re fucking wrong.”

He… No. She did this. This was her fault. She was the one that always pushed him to go for what he wanted. She was the one who always helped him make it work. Last minute changes happened often early in his career and she always smiled at him and told him to go, to run, to chase those adventures. And she always waited for him to come home.

“I wasn’t like that.”

In the middle of dinners for two. In vacations cut short. In forgotten special dates. Go. She always waited for him to come home. He couldn’t be blamed for that. Those were all her own decisions. He just had to do what he had to do, didn’t he? He couldn’t be blamed for doing what he thought was best. He couldn’t be blamed for trying his best. This dull ache created from a thousand cuts was not made from his own hand.

Right?

“You’re hopeless.” Taehyung slumped back in his chair and sighed. “Do as you wish.”

He wasn’t the person Taehyung was saying he was.

If he was, then…

No.

Jungkook whipped around and locked his eyes to the table, walking determinedly up to it.

There was a different man sitting there now. A very tall one with very short hair, violate energy, and a striking profile, deeply engaged in conversation with his ex-girlfriend. Currently laughing bashfully at something she must have said. The stranger was wearing a crisp black dress shirt with the first few buttons undone and well-tailored black slacks. Jungkook wanted to punch him in his very handsome face. He didn’t care that the man’s shoulders and arms were so built that they were nearly bursting the seams of his dress shirt, nor did he care that starting a fight right now would do absolutely nothing except get him thrown out in handcuffs.

Jungkook wanted to kill him.

Her eyes took a moment to shift from the very handsome stranger to him.

It hurt.

It really fucking hurt.

He glared back. Her gaze was not as heated, nor did it hold the same ice she had during their last conversation way back then. There was a completely different mix of emotions conveyed now. Almost disconnected, lonely, and loathing all at once, the last not directed at him but at herself.

As if she didn’t want to care but did and hated herself for it.

It wasn’t who she was at all, and Jungkook hated himself for doing this to her.

“Dude, I’m going to need you to get lost.”

Startled, the seated man turned his head to see Jungkook giving him a death stare. He hated seeing the puppy-like expression on such a masculine-looking man, not because he looked down on that but because it was a genuine, adorable reaction that couldn’t be faked.

She probably liked that.

She probably deserved that.

Jungkook was determined to ruin this too. Why the fuck not?

The man looked confused, and then irritated. “Uh… Look, I don’t know what your problem is, but I don’t think you belong here.” He had a commanding, stern tone. He shifted in his seat, halfway to rising. “This conversation doesn’t include you.”

“No, this conversation doesn’t include you,” Jungkook snapped, glancing at her. His ex-girlfriend did nothing but raise an eyebrow at him, her arms crossed under her breasts. “Fuck off.”

The man in the black dress shirt began to stand, brows furrowing. “Hey, I’m going to have to ask you to leave–”

“Excuse me.”

She stood up.

From this distance, Jungkook could fully take in how the smoke-grey eyeshadow accentuated the shape of her eyes, making them more prominent and intense. The lights caught the glow of her skin and the vividness of the scarlet of her lips, giving her an ethereal, untouchable demeanor. Loose layers of her hair framed her face despite the majority of it being pinned up, casting cold, dark shadows around the hot radiance of her gaze.

“I’m sorry to cut our conversation short, but I think it’s best if you give us a moment,” she said politely to the tall stranger while bowing. “I was enchanted to meet you tonight, Kim Mingyu.”

A pink flush dusted over the man’s cheeks. This motherfucker had the audacity to be flustered. Jungkook still wanted to punch him in the face. Maybe more now than before.

“O… Oh… Um. Alright.” He glanced between Jungkook and her. “Will you be okay?”

She smiled, maintaining confident eye contact with the stranger. “Let’s not assume the worst of people. And… Your words have given me courage. I thank you.”

It took everything in Jungkook not to trip the guy on his very expensive designer shoes as he hastily bowed and took his leave, offering an awkward half-wave before backing away. She raised a hand back, not looking away even when he turned around.

And then.

Quiet.

At least as quiet as a loud nightclub could be. But it all became background noise in the face of loaded silence. The safety off now. The bass faded into heartbeats as she raised her eyes and, once again, they faced each other across the table. Jungkook stood with his hands balled up into fists in the pockets of his leather jacket. His former lover stood with her hands in front of her. She was still the most beautiful, graceful, and collected woman that he had ever had the pleasure to know.

“I’m…”

And he missed her so, so much.

“I’m sorry.”

So fucking much.

Her eyes flickered down in a pause, and then back up. “It really doesn’t matter anymore. The past is in the past.”

Her name on his lips felt foreign and familiar all at once. She didn’t react. It was as if he had said nothing at all. He said it again, almost with an edge of panic, and she closed her eyes, breathing in slowly. He wanted to run to the other side. He wanted to climb on top of the table and grab her hands and tell her it was going to be okay, that he was going to be better, that she was the love of his life and that he could be hers too, please, if only he had a chance. Instead, he stayed where he was, frozen in place, trying not to do the wrong thing even though everything about this scene and script was all wrong.

Her eyes opened in a resigned, resolute flutter.

“Do you think saying sorry takes back everything you’ve done?” she asked in a measured tone.

He pulled his hands out of his jacket, shaking his head. “No. No, of course not. I… You didn’t give me a chance to apologize, and I–”

“Apologize for what?” she coldly interrupted.

“W-Well… For… everything, really.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t know.”

Jungkook blinked hard, trying to banish his tears. “Know?” he echoed.

“You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for.” Her words were sharpened steel, cutting right through him.

“I do,” he insisted. “For all the times I left during dinner, for all the times I’ve left during our scheduled time together, for forgetting your birthday, anniversary–”

“For the blatant disrespect,” she interrupted, her hands separating, those intense eyes narrowing. “For always believing I could fend for myself when you got swept up during work events. For contacting me not to talk about my day, but to interrogate me on what I was doing. For not believing me and asking me to send photos every time I was out somewhere.”

He sputtered, taken aback. “That wasn’t… Those things–”

“For always knowing I understood your position and taking it for granted.” Her glare was like daggers, cutting through all the lies he told himself. “And yet never understanding mine. Never believing in the love I had for you.”

“I did believe!”

“And so you accused me of lying?” she shot back, scathing him. “I have never done anything to make you believe I was disloyal to you, but I was five minutes late to a date and suddenly I need to be lying? Suddenly that was a sign of my nefarious plans? Suddenly I’m the bad guy that needs to be backed into a corner? Suddenly I must beg on my knees to soothe your feelings?”

“I didn’t ask for that,” he retorted. “I just asked why you didn’t text that you were late.”

“I don’t need to repeat what I said then,” she growled, bristling. She had been five minutes late because of an elderly taxi driver taking his time. ��Because it didn’t matter what the reason was for you. I know that now. You were scared. You were insecure. You were nervous that I was beginning to fall out of love with you. You latched onto the first thing I did wrong and blew it out of proportion to force me to grovel to you. You could have asked me directly how I felt. Instead, you decided to play fucking games.”

Jungkook couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.

Her hands balled up into fists by her sides. “I was patient. I was understanding. I loved you.” She dug her nails into her palms, clenching her jaw. “But I was not going to let myself be manipulated by your insecurities. I was not about to lose myself to become an extension of you, Jeon Jungkook.”

Past tense.

“You… loved me?”

She might as well have stabbed him right through the heart.

A thundering pause.

Finally, she sighed. Her hands relaxed.

“When I came in here, I didn’t know if I wanted to run to you or slap you.”

She looked around, down at the crowd, up to the lights, to the bar, the tables, the people.

“Before you, all I had was a decent job. Not exciting, but good enough to enjoy the life I wanted. I had loose acquaintances and once-in-a-blue-moon friends. I had mediocre hobbies that I was okay at. Before you, that had been enough. This,” she breathed, indicating the people and the money being flaunted around like water during a rainstorm. “I didn’t know this. I didn’t know how lonely it was to be standing this high. I didn’t know… My acquaintances and few friends saw the life you gave me and faded away, no longer relating to the extravagance I was exposed to. My job became a forbidden topic for the mere crime that it was boring. My hobbies became childish to these refined eyes. Yet… I could live with all that. The life I wanted was the one I had with you. And… it turned out to be miserable.”

For the first time, Jungkook realized how much she lost loving him.

“I was miserable.”

She half-laughed, empty.

“But I loved you.”

Lowered her head.

“And I was so, so damn angry with you.”

She smacked the table with her palm, hard enough to make the people around them flash them a startled look. Her fingers tensed, cherry-red manicure flaring over the wood.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” This was the part Jungkook didn’t understand. His voice rose in both frustration and desperation. “Why didn’t you just blow up on me? Why didn’t you say something?”

“Say what?” she snarled, snapping her head up, each word a bullet tearing through him. “Huh? No, don’t go? How dare you leave me, again? Create the war wounds right before we part? What good does all that do? Make us both upset right before you run off? Because you would anyway. You know you would, because you are stubborn and selfish and always doing what you need to do, putting me at the bottom of the list since I am capable… right? I can handle myself, right?”

He was rounding the table, knocking chairs aside. “You could have been angry at me. You just didn’t want to be!”

“Who wants to be angry? Don’t be ridiculous!”

“What, you were worried that you would no longer be the perfect girlfriend if you weren’t understanding?” he accused.

She looked livid. “Don’t you dare flip my consideration onto me.”

He stopped right in front of her, tension all over his neck and jaw. “It’s your fault too. I can’t change if you act like everything is fine!”

Her eyes widened. “Are you serious? I have to be the one to teach you not to be a fucking selfish prick and think about someone else for a change?” she hissed.

“How am I supposed to know?”

“Of course, you know!”

They were beginning to draw whispers and stunned faces but neither of them was backing down or ashamed enough. Or, perhaps, they were simply completely unaware of the disruption they were causing.

“You knew – no, you still know,” she snarled, jabbing him in the chest with a impeccably manicured finger. “You have never felt like you fit in with these people. That was why you tried so hard. That was why you took every opportunity to be a lapdog. That was why you dated me, because I am not privileged and enabled, that’s why you dragged me into your world and got paranoid when I wasn’t showing the same apprehensions as you, putting me in impossible positions and playing games, when we could have been teamed up against the world, when we could have been yin and yang, but all we were was a pair of damn cowards!”

His eyes went wide.

Fury laced in her helpless expression.

“You could have protected me. All you did was make me throw myself to the wolves to protect you!”

Her hands slammed into his chest and she shoved him, hard. He stumbled back, throwing his right arm out, knocking over a champagne flute and shattering it. Glass exploded onto the floor, delicate shards shooting out and catching the light, scattering into dust beneath designer feet.

People gasped and someone screamed at the unexpected noise.

His left hand reached out and gripped the patent leather sleeve of her jacket. Their gazes locked in shock and comprehension. His lips parted. One of his knees was still bent to steady himself from falling. But before Jungkook could say anything, she squeezed her eyes shut, breaking their connection, and ripped her arm from his grasp.

Then she seized the porcelain bottle with painted blue flowers and threw it onto the floor, shattering that too.

One moment of awful, dazed silence.

The next moment, men in security uniforms swiftly and silently crossed the distance and surrounded them. He was being grabbed and pinned down to the table, metal handcuffs clicked onto his wrists behind his back despite his protests. His jaw dropped when one of the men touched her shoulder and she immediately turned around and slapped him. Instantly, she too was firmly pushed down and also restrained, both of them staring at each other over the surface of the wood, their previously well-styled hair in disarray all over their faces, their eyes wide with the realization of the severity of their public argument.

He couldn’t help but think she looked fucking hot.

Something flickered in her eyes. She recognized his exact thought from their shared look. And his ex-girlfriend burst out laughing at this absurd situation, even as security hoisted them up and dragged them down the stairs. So, fuck it. He couldn’t help it either.

Jungkook started laughing too.

“This is your fault, by the way.”

“Feel free to add it to the list of shit I’ve done wrong.”

They were still handcuffed. Both standing a respectful distance away from each other in the middle of a storeroom crammed with boxes stacked like a cardboard maze. There were no windows. The door was closed and presumably locked. Neither of them had moved towards it. There would be no criminal undercover going on here. They were already in deep enough shit. Adding attempted escape would probably change their current storeroom location into separate jail cells for the night.

They did not look at each other.

Jungkook leaned against the boxes, his hands stuck behind his back. One of the sides of his leather jacket had slipped down, exposing his right shoulder. It was nice, actually, since the previous scuffle had left him rather hot-blooded. He snuck a glance beside him.

His ex-girlfriend’s body was facing the door. The backs of her hands rested on the prominent curve of her ass in that tight lilac skirt, her straight posture making her waist look even smaller. Must be nice to have a built-in shelf. His eye line travelled up to her hair, seeing it half-undone and falling down her neck. Half of the pins were still holding up by sheer luck. The patent leather of her jacket crackled as she adjusted, stretching out her ankle. She was still in her high heels.

“Uncomfortable?” he found himself quietly asking.

“Could be worse,” she answered back, still not turning around.

He waited for her to elaborate.

She didn’t.

The silence was palpable. Somehow not unbearable. He looked back down at his feet, wondering why they had been left here. He half-expected security to escort them off the premises and into a police car, but they had marched them behind the kitchen and told them to stay put and not cause trouble, similarly to how misbehaving kids were put in time-out. Then again, the owner of the club was his affluent friend Kim Seokjin. Perhaps this was a rich people thing. Or an under-the-table thing.

Her voice echoed in his head.

You have never felt like you fit in with these people.

“Hey, uh…” he started, trailing off.

A light sigh.

Then, she shook her head, somewhat vigorously. Some of the hairpins loosened up. “Ugh, my hair is more annoying than anything,” she muttered under her breath. “It’s all messed up.”

Hell yeah, it was, and it was a turn-on, reminding him of after-sex tousling. Jungkook kept his mouth shut. Not the right time for that. He chewed on his lower lip, wondering if he could do anything. Wondering if he should do anything. She still hadn’t turned around.

So, he did.

He turned around, bent down slightly, and tried to reach up. The angle was difficult. Not high enough either. His leather sleeves were also constricting his movement and making loud creaking sounds. He looked back, trying to reach up with a grunt, and she stiffened, swinging her head around. He froze in an awkward position. She stared at him.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

He blinked back. “Um… I… I was trying to help…?”

Her eyebrow raised. “By… doing yoga?”

He let out an impatient huff. “No, I’m trying to help you take the pins out of your hair,” Jungkook clarified, straightening with a frustrated shake of his body. “It’s bothering you, isn’t it? But I’m not flexible enough and you’re too tall in your heels.”

She paused. He looked away, feeling somewhat embarrassed for even trying. Who was he to think that he could do something like that? Hah. His hands tightened behind him. They weren’t close like that anymore. They weren’t even friends.

He felt a sting in his heart remembering that.

“Sorry… I should have asked if you wanted the help at all.”

He exhaled heavily.

Stillness.

Then he heard the crack of patent leather and raised his head to see her squat down, lowering one knee to the concrete floor, her back perfectly straight and her head at his waist height. She was facing the door again so he couldn’t see her expression.

“If… Well, it would be helpful if you could… If you could remove the hairpins,” she mumbled, keeping her head up. “Please.”

He gawked at her kneeled form, unmoving.

His heartbeat accelerated.

“Um… if you’re going to do it, faster would be better,” she added hesitantly with placed-in chuckle. “I don’t know how long I can keep my balance in these shoes.”

His cheeks burned. “Uh, yeah, s-sorry. I’m on it.”

The metal handcuffs clinked as he moved. He turned around and backed up a bit, reaching out to feel for her hair. Sucked in a quiet breath as his fingers grazed the soft strands, memories of stolen nights drifting back to him. He swallowed hard and bit his lip, using touch to search for the hairpins, and then loosening them as gently as he could. One by one. He tried to tuck them in his palm as he continued. Sometimes he would need to rest one hand on her head and use the other to pull them out slowly and carefully. She said nothing, tilting her head slightly as he made his way around. He felt his way along her scalp, running his fingers through her hair, remembering the familiar scent he could detect when he used to breathe it in, remembering his hands holding her head as he used to lean in and kiss her, remembering that he had lost all of that now.

Jungkook lowered his chin, letting out a soundless cry.

“You liked my hair down, I recall,” she commented behind him, her soothing voice mirroring the rolling tide late at night.

“Y… Yeah.”

He smiled despite himself. He pulled back his handcuffed hands.

“You have lovely hair. I don’t like seeing it all tucked away.”

For a moment, there was a quietness as those words sank in. She shifted, and he heard her stand up, the sharp click of her heels indicating as much, but he kept his back to her, unsure if this was the last time he would touch her hair. The last time he hadn’t known it would be the last, so he didn’t mourn the moment until way later, but this time…

“Thank you.”

He breathed in through his nose. Oddly stuffy in here.

“Y… You’re welcome.”

He wished he could take it all back, but he couldn’t. He wished he could prove he was a better man, but he didn’t know how or even if he could. She was right. He had gotten swept up in his ambitions and the superficial relationships. He had been afraid. He had let that fear control him because he had felt out of sorts with who he was, who he was becoming, and who he wanted to be.

“I really… I really am sorry.”

They were back-to-back. Not touching. Just close enough to feel each other’s presence without seeing them. Hands behind their backs, staring in opposite directions but finally seeing the path before them.

“I know.”

She let out a soft breath.

“I wished for the way I felt to change once I could accept your apologies, but,” she whispered. “Life isn’t that simple or clear cut.”

His chest ached. “Yeah.” It didn’t matter if his actions had unintentional consequences. The consequences still existed. “You’re right. About it all. About the person I became and how I treated you because of it. About how this was because of me feeling like I don’t fit in.”

She didn’t say anything, yet Jungkook could sense her acknowledgment. He couldn’t really explain why he knew. Maybe it had something to do with their current circumstances.

“I keep trying and I… I don’t know. Maybe I’m too simple-minded. Maybe I can’t understand the world these people live in. I mean, my friends seem like normal people but there are still moments where I catch myself thinking, I wouldn’t have thought to do or say that. I feel so… disconnected, sometimes. Meaningless. Maybe I’m not worth a damn to them.”

He was rambling, slipping between his refined dialect and his Busan satoori. He caught himself, about to correct his wording.

“You don’t have to be like the people around you to fit in,” she chided.

He stopped trying to form a sentence and listened.

“You don’t listen. That has always been your strength. Your charm is your natural character with the added spice of rebellion.” Her chuckle lightened, making his heart tighten and feel like exploding at the same time. “Your talent has always been bravely walking your own path, confusing as it may be. There is a pureness in that. You have friends because they want to protect that part of you. Haven’t you noticed? Your friends have never asked you to change or be like them. They just accept you for how you are and push away people who try to mold you into their vision.”

His friends? Well, true, they were the main reasons for him getting the jobs he got. He had always felt somewhat inadequate, realizing his success was from seniors in the industry helping him out. They all told him that this was how it worked. They all told him to do well so he could get more opportunities. It was part of the reason that he felt that he couldn’t let those connections down. He had always felt that he couldn’t refuse.

“Your friends have always been on your side. They don’t want you to be like them. They want you to stay as you are. You mean that much to those around you.”

But perhaps he had been wrong all along.

“Only you thought you needed to change.”

There was probably a lot of sound outside, but the distracting racket was inaudible from the distant storeroom. Her quiet voice amplified her words in this slice of stillness. There something stricken and bitter haunting the air between them as the revelation settled.

He clutched her hairpins in his fist.

“I didn’t… I didn’t date you just because you weren’t part of this vapid world I’m in.”

He wanted her to know.

“I wish…”

The tears stung the corners of his eyes. He refused to let them go. Jungkook looked up to the ceiling, taking in each breath as steadily as he could. He felt like he was drowning, except instead of water, it was all the things he never said.

“I wish I could have been strong enough for you to be angry at me sooner. Tonight, I realized… It was my own shortcomings that made you stay quiet.” He chuckled dryly in admiration. “You endured more than I ever could. More than anyone should.” He didn’t know if he was making any sense but he kept on going. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so mad. That was the most emotion I’ve ever seen from you. You must have spent a lot of nights… feeling so alone because of my selfishness.”

This was not a romantic setting at all. They were stuck in a storeroom with no windows, surrounded by boxes, handcuffed for being a public disruption, for being too dramatic and too emotional. Neither of them could look at the other. A disaster in every sense of the world.

But.

Maybe this was the most honest moment they had ever shared.

Her laugh simmered behind him.

“I’m sorry for losing my shit.”

He half-smiled in rueful relief.

“It wasn’t so bad. Low-key kinda hot. I almost lost the plot at times.”

She laughed under her breath. “You don’t mean that.”

A single heartbeat of silence.

“I kinda do,” he admitted, feeling the upturned corners of his lips falter.

It became quiet once more. An embarrassed quiet, but maybe only on his side. Jungkook still couldn’t bring himself to turn around and find out. He shifted awkwardly, realizing he was still holding her hairpins in his hand. Uh. Well, he couldn’t exactly ask her to put them in her pocket. Did she even have any pockets with that outfit? He furrowed his brows, thinking about that tight skirt and lace corset. Doubtful there would be any pockets in such fitted clothing. Maybe in her jacket, but it was so short that he would basically have to reach for her tits to…

His face heated slightly realizing that he was heavily focusing on her body right now.

Click.

He didn’t really register the sound behind him at first. It sounded like something falling onto the concrete. There was another sharp tapping sound, but before he could shift and twist his body to see, he felt her fingertips brush against the knuckles of his fist.

“I’m sorry too.”

He was too shocked to even move or react. Just stood there wide-eyed, struck by the lightning of her touch, realizing they were that close and that it was her who initiated that.

“I should have brought up the little things that bothered me. I shouldn’t have let it snowball simply because I thought it would make your life easier. I should have tried to remind you not to be intimidated by those around you,” she sighed heavily. “And I should have believed in your apology more than I did.”

The pads of her fingertips stilled.

One by one, they lost contact.

Jungkook dropped all the hairpins on the floor in a cascade of metal raindrops.

He reached back and grabbed her hand, gripping her fingers tightly, gasping as he felt her cool skin against his warmth. He felt her initial rise of reluctance, however, she did not pull away. Their handcuffs clinked against each other, the chains colliding. He scrambled to reach a little higher. Grasping her hand in his. Her right in his right. He tried to say something. Something romantic, something reassuring, something self-derogatory even.

But nothing come out.

He tried to breathe and was choked by inner tears. Tried again, shaking, trying to be silent. Her fingers curled around the back of his hand and laid there. She gave him a light squeeze.

“Don’t worry.”

Her calming voice a dream on this night.

“I’m here.”

They held hands.

It must have been only for a short while. It felt like forever packed in minutes. He inhaled deeply, catching fleeting traces of her sweet and sultry perfume. Closed his eyes with an exhale. Another inhale, slower this time. Maybe this was futile. Maybe this was objectively wildly inappropriate. Maybe he was the fucking worst, wishing, hoping they could reset to something new. All of this could crash and burn.

Or.

Or, maybe.

He swallowed tightly. Leaned back just a little. Their shoulder blades touched. A moment of suspended anticipation. She leaned back against him. The backs of their heads didn’t yet touch. He felt her hair on his neck. It was only the tops of their backs that touched, but now there was only centimeters of trembling air between them.

“Are you cold?” he asked, his voice rough and nervous.

“Only a little.” Her thumb brushed against the side of his palm. “I’ll be alright.”

Yeah, he knew that. “You’re the most capable person I know.”

She sighed. “It’s not all sunshine and roses.”

He scrunched up his face in search for the words. “Well… You suit moonlight and thorns more.”

She nearly snorted. He felt her shoulders shake in silent laughter. He winced, thinking he said something wrong.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“I like those better, anyway!” He blurted it out quickly. Maybe too quickly, curling a bit in on himself once he realized what he said, cringing, but she tugged on his hand ever so slightly. It was obvious she was shaking her head from her hair swishing over his neck.

“You always had a thirst for danger, Jungkook.”

Her tone was slight and playful. He felt his cheeks burn and his heart race so hard that he almost couldn’t breathe from the pressure. Nearly stuttered when he heard his name in her voice, clenching his jaw shut so he didn’t make a fool of himself. Again. His entire body tensed, on edge and vibrating from the rush of emotions.

“Are you trying to break my hand?”

He was gripping her hand way too tight. “S-Sorry!” He loosened his stiff fingers, twisting his wrist to keep his hand cupped around hers. “Sorry…”

“Heh, it’s not like you to apologize,” she teased.

Jungkook furrowed his brows. “Hey...”

Her head laid against his shoulder.

He stilled, heartbeat pounding. She looked up at the ceiling. At least, he presumed that from the angle. The back of her head touched his left shoulder, just barely. Her hair spilled against his collarbone and back, messy and free.

“I bet you have somebody. You’re too good-looking to have nobody lined up.”

Her murmur was soft and resigned. Guilty.

Her words hung in the air.

He tipped his head back, the nape of his neck against her shoulder. The patent leather of her jacket squeaked loudly under his presence. He wished. He hoped. He…

“I have someone,” he confessed.

He squeezed her hand. Their faces tilted upwards to the ceiling, and still Jungkook could recall every detail of her eyes – the way they glimmered when she smiled, the way they sparked when she was serious, the way they twinkled during all their special moments, the way they hollowed out when she turned away from him.

His fingers gently separated hers, interlocking.

The words were at the tip of his tongue.

His lips parted.

Suddenly there were loud footsteps on the other side of the heavy wood door. His ex-girlfriend jerked up in alarm. Jungkook stumbled. Both of them quickly sprang away from each other as the noisy jangle of keys was heard and then the heavy door swung open, revealing the two of them standing there, tense, now staring wide-eyed at a tall, broad-shouldered man flanked by two security guards. His black hair was perfectly parted, half brushing against his forehead and half combed back, giving a corporate feel in his tailored black suit. He was strikingly handsome by all accounts. Intense dark brown eyes, sculpted brows, full lips, stunning jawline.

Kim Seokjin wore an exasperated, annoyed expression.

He ticked his head to Jeon Jungkook’s ex-girlfriend.

“You. Come with me.”

She hesitated for a second and stepped forward, hanging her head a bit. “I sincerely apologize for the trouble I’ve caused.”

It would be expected for such a stern, posh-looking man to be harsh. Instead, Seokjin stuck his fists by his waist and sighed loudly, similarly to a disappointed grandmother scolding her favorite child.

“Haaah… come on. You’re not going to jail. I want to talk to you alone. Hey, uncuff her,” the owner of the nightclub tutted. One of the security guards went around her to unlock the handcuffs. “It took me a while to handle everything out there. At least the incident won’t be on the news or anything.” He reached out and held her elbow as she was released, steadying her balance and leading her out of the room. The guards followed, not taking a second glance back.

Jungkook frowned. “Hey, hyung–”

Seokjin whipped up and pointed a finger at him. “No. You stay here.”

Jungkook balked, offended. “What?! What about me?”

The older man glared at him like he was the naughty child. “I’ll have a conversation with you after. Stay.”

Anger boiled high. “I’m not a dog!”

Offensively, Seokjin barked back with, “You’re right. Dogs are loyal. And want to listen to people. You have the listening skills of a straw. In one end and out the other.”

The door slammed shut with finality.

Jungkook stood there, speechless, gawking at the sheer audacity.

Then he kicked the floor with a roar of impatience once Kim Seokjin’s insult finally registered. What the hell! Kim Seokjin was the one to invite him here in the first place! Seokjin was the oldest of Jungkook’s friends that took him under his wing, teaching him about various business aspects behind the scenes and making sure Jungkook knew the importance of having a good lawyer to look over his contracts. Now Seokjin had him locked up as if he was a five-year-old receiving a time out! Who did he think he was, his disciplinarian?

“What the fuck?!”

Then Jungkook ceased all movement, no longer stomping around in circles.

It was him.

Kim Seokjin had invited him here tonight.

It was him. Kim Seokjin had told him he better get his ass over here on this night in particular if he knew what was good for him. Not unusual, as his friends usually had to threaten him to go outside these days. It was you. You invited her here. It wasn’t Taehyung who invited her. He had been telling the truth all along.

“That bastard.”

Snarling, Jungkook whipped his head to the door and glared at it, fully intending to charge like a goddamn bull right into Kim Seokjin once it opened again.

I, I hear the whispers in your eyes I'll make you wanna think twice you'll find that you were never not mine you're mine

i hear... | ... the whispers... | ... in your eyes.

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #jungkook smut

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