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1kook · 4 years ago

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skirt chasers — drabble iv

THIS IS A SKIRT CHASERS DRABBLE - FIND THE OTHERS HERE ! SUMMARY Jungkook was a man. A skirt chaser. He could only withstand so much torture before he broke, and seeing your gorgeous, smooth legs on display after so many weeks of starvation awoke an ancient being inside of him. WARNINGS JK POV!!!, attempted solo masturbation, k*ssing, jk’s extensive knowledge of pornos, grinding, cunnilingus, face sitting, spit kink, light choking, praise kink, self nipple play, a love for boobies, unprotected sex, use of the pull out method, i love u kink, its kinda hinted tht oc has a somnophilia kink? not rlly but tagging just in case -_- RATING m (18+) WC 6.3k this can't even classified as a drabble anymore wtf

NOTES i have had this in my drafts since may 3. it is december 21. everyone point n laugh. anyway i very much love stimbo sc jk and i think he’s very cool so here’s a whopping 6k of the inner mechanisms of his big nerdy, college hottie brain <3

He doesn’t notice you’ve drifted off until he’s three solid paragraphs into his semester-long research paper. “Babe, can you toss me my charger it’s over…”

Jungkook swears he’s gonna take every single one of those stupid skirts and burn them to ashes. They had done their duty well, had given him the girlfriend of his dreams, but now they were just pushing their luck. What was once the epitome of a cute and sweet girlfriend, has now become the bane of Jungkook’s existence. He loathed them, he hated them, he could go twenty million decades without ever seeing them again because the torture they inflicted upon him was borderline inhumane.

Holy fuck, he knew you were gorgeous— hello, he was your boyfriend, thinking you were gorgeous was very high on the list of requirements you searched for in someone of his position —but he’s absolutely positive that you’re probably the sexiest woman he’s ever seen in all his twenty-two years. And Jungkook’s seen a lot of porn. Like, a lot.

He can’t help himself. Before Jungkook knows it, he’s rolling his desk chair over to where you’re sprawled across his bed, skin so soft where it presses against his pillow, lips so plush, and he’s pretty sure there’s a tiny, tiny droplet of drool begging to escape from between your puckered lips. Normally, he’d tease you to hell and back for this, knows how flustered you become when he catches you off guard, but today he lets it slide in favor of focusing on something else about your dozing form.

It’s the soft curve of your hips from where you lay on your side, smooth legs tucked close to you, and that goddamn pleated skirt giving you absolutely no protection from the eyes of the world around you. Luckily, he made sure to lock the door to his room when you came over today. And he’s almost positive Taehyung isn’t home anyway. So there’s no potential roommate to see you here, cuddled against Jungkook’s teddy bear, blue lace panties tucked between your folds.

They were his favorite.

Adorable and soft, and he knows that particular style— the cheeky kind —is your preferred style, because it’s the one he sees almost every time the two of you fuck. Seamless, because you hate when they tug against your skin, and baby blue simply because it was your favorite color. He can’t recall the last time they had been so exposed like this.

God, how many times had this same situation occurred? You dropping by to encourage him to do his homework, before eventually falling asleep and leaving him to his own devices. A lot of times, Jungkook guesses, because each and every time you wake up and nab one of his protein bars from the stash by his bed. Jungkook’s gone through four boxes in the last month.

But how many times had this happened with you in a skirt? Never. This was a rarity.

As the year progressed and yours and Jungkook’s relationship reached new levels of intimacy and adoration, Jungkook is sad to say the skirts had begun appearing less and less. It was winter and, unlike the furnace that was Jungkook’s body, he’s pretty sure you were a cold-blooded reptilian at this point, always leeching off of him for warmth. So since you couldn’t stand the cold, the skirts slowly faded into the background, replaced by Jungkook’s second favorite: the leggings.

He was no complainer, Jungkook respected your decisions! He wasn’t going to pressure you into wearing those cute tiny skirts he loved so much just because it fueled some PornHub-esque fantasy in his brain, especially not as a harsh winter descended upon you and the days became colder. He would not risk a sick girlfriend in the name of a horndog daydream.

But holy mother of pearl, Jungkook was a man. A skirt chaser. He could only withstand so much torture before he broke, and seeing your gorgeous, smooth legs on display after so many weeks of starvation awoke an ancient being inside of him.

Sure he’d seen them every time you guys fucked— duh. But this was not the same. It was different, seeing the tender skin of your inner thigh when he knew you weren’t trying to, your skirt stuck between you and the bed as you shifted about. It was different, knowing he could so easily have you, just flip up the skirt and tug your underwear to the side, not having to worry about fighting your leggings or skinny jeans down your legs. It was different and it was good, so painstakingly good, to have you in the skirt, but the worst part was Jungkook couldn’t even do anything because you were fucking sleeping.

He’d subconsciously pictured you like this for weeks, sprawled out on his sheets in the flimsiest clothing and ready for him to just slide right in, but Jungkook was a good boy—you’d told him as much just last week when he’d paid the bus fare for that ragtag group of teenagers, smiling up at him like he was your entire world. Was he sometimes a little too mean, a little too wild? Yes. But at his core, Jungkook lived for your praise. He couldn’t just stomp on that title you’d so lovingly bestowed upon him, a title he’d worked hard for since!

Furthermore, even if Jungkook wasn’t a good boy, to touch you in your sleep just seemed wrong. You’d mentioned in passing once that you wouldn’t mind as long as it was him (“I’m yours,” you had purred at some party, hand crawling down his abdomen, “your doll, remember?”), but Jungkook couldn’t bring himself to when you were so vulnerable and just… not there. It wouldn’t feel right to use your body when you weren’t awake, and no amount of encouragement from you would change his mind.

So he does what all good boys do and prepares himself for a quick, self-administered handfuck.

Sue him, his girlfriend was hot!

It’d been a little over two weeks since the last time the two of you had fucked, and it was mostly his fault; clinicals and research papers had practically consumed what little free time he had in his schedule. And if Jungkook remembers correctly, he wouldn’t be that lucky this upcoming week either. Something tells him your period was approaching.

Jungkook doesn’t know what type of sorcery you’ve done to him, but in the time you’ve been dating, it’s become increasingly more and more difficult to nut without you. Whether that be fucking you, listening to your voice, or just imagining your pretty face in his head, you held a monopoly over Jungkook’s libido, one that he feared you’d never let go.

He had years stacked on years of browsing PornHub and Brazzers, can recall experiencing some of the craziest orgasms of his life while watching some girl get fucked. All things come to an end. Ever since he started dating you, not even his favorite video could make him hard anymore. Oh, how the great have fallen.

But with your blue panties before him, his cock hardens by the minute, nearly doubles in size when you move about and sigh a heavenly sound. Frankly, he doesn’t feel bad jerking one off to the thought of you. You were his girlfriend! He knows that you know that you’re the main character of all his right-handed adventures, and you’re not going to be mad at him for jerking off to you now. In fact, Jungkook imagines you’d be mad if he’d woken you up just for some frenzied quickie. This way, he’s blowing off some steam and you’re getting an extra ten minutes of napping. Everyone wins.

He’s barely tugged himself out of the confines of his sweats when a soft mumble of his name has his soul leaving his body. “Kook?”

“Baby,” he exhales, immediately tucking himself back into his underwear before moving closer towards you. You roll onto your back, skirt useless as fuck, he thinks, as it sprawls around your waist. “What’s up?” he murmurs, voice gentle, a hand carding through the nape of your neck because that’s how you always wake him up. Jungkook would be a liar to say it wasn’t one of the best feelings in the world.

You say something, but it’s a mess of gibberish and too quiet for him to understand, before turning on your side again and shuffling closer to him. Jungkook smiles, runs the tips of his fingers over your cheek, before moving to caress your back, massaging some feeling back into your muscles. Some more mumbled words, but this time he deciphers them as something along the lines of “c’mere.”

He chuckles, ducking down to kiss your cheek. “Don’t wanna interrupt your nap, baby,” he hums. “Go back to sleep.”

You whine in protest, suddenly catching his hand in yours. “Please,” you sigh, eyes fluttering open, but they’re unfocused as you gaze at him. Jungkook clenches his teeth. Technically he should be working on that twelve page research paper, and even just trying to jerk off right now would have been a huge setback. Crawling into bed with you, where you’re so sinfully laid out for him to take, would completely offset his plans until tomorrow. He had to be a responsible student here.

“I really gotta finish my paper…” he says, trying to let you down as gently as possible, flashing you an apologetic gaze. He thinks he has it in the bag, and your extended silence almost has him rolling back to his desk, when you suddenly snap into action.

“But what about your dick,” you murmur, and Jungkook chokes.

“My what—?” he splutters, voice a little too high.

You say nothing, craning your neck to release a series of cracks, soft huffs leaving your lips. Jungkook’s on edge the whole time, eyes following the movement of your neck, the hypnotizing expanse of skin that bares itself to him. “Saw your hand down your pants,” you say, eyes blinking open, and though they’re droopy with sleep, at least you can hold them open this time.

Jungkook laughs nervously, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck in embarrassment. “You saw that?” A soft hum. He wants to die. “Ah, baby, don’t worry about it. Know you’re tired, so just nap,” he sighs, caressing the back of your head once again, and he thinks he’s finally convinced you so he lets his guard down.

You moan softly, and he’s almost entirely sure it’s one of those waking up types of sounds, the ones you make when you’re stretching around the bed in the morning. “Want your cock.”

Jungkook swears he’ll die, right here, right now.

He groans, lowers his head to rest on the mattress. “Jesus, fuck, baby,” he huffs, has to count to ten to will the stirring of his slowly hardening cock away for the second time that day. “Don’t say stuff like that when you’re half asleep, please.”

You ignore him, the hand that had been wrapped around his wrist tugging him closer. You barely succeed, muscles still so weak, but Jungkook humors you and rolls his chair right beside your head, where he ducks down to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Noooo,” you whine when he draws away too quickly.

A laugh blossoms in his chest, and Jungkook proceeds to rain down a series of kisses on your pretty face before he can stop himself. You melt under his touch, his affection, and Jungkook adores the way your body is so soft and pliant like this, back arching towards him after he places a hand on your waist.

“Come here,” you urge, voice a quiet plea. So soft, so needy.

Jungkook malfunctions for just a second before he’s clambering over you on the bed, manhandling your body until you're both on your sides, facing each other, with you pressed tightly to his chest. Even with your hands brushing up and down his back in the way that sends every nerve in Jungkook’s body tingling, and your leg thrown over his hip, some stupid part of him convinces himself you’re just cold, trying to warm up after walking around campus in that tiny little skirt all day. He cuddles you as best as he can.

And even with his dick twitching in his pants and his caveman instincts yelling at him to thrust up into your inviting core, Jungkook remains as professional as someone in a relationship can be when in bed with their lover. He’s so stuck on his self-control that he almost doesn’t hear the snort you muffle against his neck.

“What are you doing?” you laugh, reaching up to pinch his cheek. Jungkook blinks, eyes wide like a doe caught in headlights. “Are we gonna fuck or what?”

He chokes. He doesn’t even try to muffle his reaction like other times, because the way you’re looking at him and the heel you press against the back of his thigh preoccupies his thoughts instead. Your hands are still tracing along his back, melting him with your dainty touches. “Baby?” you question after he’s been silent too long, distracted by the way you use that hooked leg to tug your bodies closer.

“You… you’re still asleep,” Jungkook says, though it’s definitely a question.

You scoff, a smile curling around your features. “Mm, definitely not asleep,” you tease, and shift to push him onto his back, wiggling on top of him until those baby blue panties are pressed against his quickly hardening member. “Why? Wanted to touch me when I was asleep?” you continue, and Jungkook’s eyes nearly burst out of their sockets.

“No!” he exclaims, hands clutching your hips in alarm. He can tell he surprises you, because your eyes go wide for a brief second. “Never…” he mumbles afterwards, looking away from your imploring gaze. “Only like you when you’re awake.”

You sigh, pressing a sweet kiss to his cheek that makes his heart flood with adoration for you. “You’re a good boy, Jungkook,” you say back, just as quietly. “A blueprint for the perfect man.” Another kiss, this time against the corner of his mouth that makes Jungkook’s hands twitch against your sides.

A soft moan tears itself from his throat, fingers digging into your hips as you slowly roll them against him. The heat emanating from your core seeps past the thin barrier of his sweatpants, makes his cock twitch in his boxers. He knows how it feels inside of you, has your body memorized like the back of his hand. But it’s in moments like these that he finds himself aching for you, desperate to feel the fluttering walls of your pussy, the pitiful whimpers that fall from your kiss swollen lips. And, well. The skirt makes it all too easy.

He places two hands on the backs of your thighs, runs them up until he’s pushing your skirt up over your waist. You pull away from his lips with a sneaky little smile, pointer finger stroking down the side of his face lazily. “Mm?” you tease, leaving a coy little peck against his mouth. “Now you wanna touch?” Jungkook rolls his eyes, snaps his teeth at your wandering finger when you draw it too close to his mouth. The giggle you let out is so damn precious, makes him want to put you in a glass case and never let anyone else touch you. Coincidentally, it also makes him want to rail you into the mattress until you cry.

“I’ll fucking ruin you, doll,” he settles on murmuring, subtly pushing you down against him. A soft giggle. Jungkook knows it’s your favorite nickname, even if you won’t admit it. He's the only one allowed to call you it, something about his intentions being pure or whatever, he’s not really sure. Anyway, you’re still so cute and soft on top of him, blinking slowly and prettily, so he’s dragging it out a bit, hoping you’ll become more alert in a few more minutes.

As sleepy as you may be, you never miss out on a chance to rile him up. “As if, doll,” you retort, his nickname for you rolling off your tongue seamlessly. It sounds heavenly, sparks this weird emotion in him that he never considered before. Him, a doll? No way. But there’s something about the sweet lilt of your voice, the starry-eyed gaze you level him with, that has him throwing all reservations aside. Put him on a shelf and call him Barbie, because he would be anything you wanted him to be.

Anyway, Jungkook’s sappy thoughts last all of two seconds before he’s rolling you over, successfully trapping you beneath his body. “Oh, so scary,” you feign, hands fluttering to clutch at your chest.

He glides his hands down your body, let’s them trail over your hip and down the side of your thigh. “Don’t get sassy with me,” he warns, thumb peeking beneath the hem of your skirt. Jungkook really wants to burn the piece of fabric this time, because after all that time it spent torturing him with its halfhearted attempts at covering you, it chooses now to do it properly.

Hands are thrown around his shoulders, the overwhelming scent of your perfume and body wash tickling his nose when you pull him in for another kiss. “Or what?” you purr, irises swirling with lust. “Gonna use your manly man strength to hold me down?”

He shushes you with a kiss, slow and languid just how you like. Your taste is familiar, feels like coming home, so Jungkook can’t be blamed for getting too carried away. It starts gentle— it always does. But then a tiny mewl gets stuck in your throat, the following moan swallowed by his tongue, and Jungkook nearly loses it. He nips at your bottom lip, waits patiently for you to open up for him, and when you do he wastes no time diving in. Your tongue against his is slick and wet, makes the most lewd sound. Your little sharp intakes of air fill the gaps, shuddery breaths that Jungkook takes as a good sign.

He strikes while the iron is still hot.

It’s amidst your lazy kissing that he secures his hands around your waist, two reassuring squeezes thrown your way before he’s abruptly rolling onto his back again. “Kook!” you squeal, clutching at the front of his shirt. A pouty frown paints your face, sleepy eyes narrowing him with a rather unimpressed look, tainted with the barest hints of confusion.

Jungkook grins, reaching back to yank his pillow out from beneath his head. “On my face,” he commands suddenly, and you snort.

“What?” you ask a little incredulously, leaning back to level him with an even more lost expression. “Since when do we do that?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Since I decided twenty seconds ago,” he answers rather bluntly. You still don’t look too convinced. It’s not a position the two of you have ever tried. You’re a little on the sappy side, always like to look at his face while you fuck, hold his cheeks in your palms, kiss him sweetly. On the one hand, Jungkook totally gets it; he’ll proudly admit that the sight of your orgasming face paired with your fantastic tits have done him many favors these past few months.

However, Jungkook is a lover of head. Giving or receiving, it’s very high on his list of sexual acts and whoever invented oral deserved all the praise in the world. Not only did you look drop dead gorgeous with his cock in your mouth— tears trailing down your cheeks, drool clinging to the corners of your lips —but you also looked absolutely sexy receiving it.

Kinda.

Probably.

Okay, so maybe Jungkook can’t really say, considering he always has a hard time catching a glimpse of your face when he’s down there licking and slurping your clit like a madman. Which is what leads him to this exact moment, an experiment weeks in the making. Jungkook has a theory that needs to be tested. “Please ride the fuck out of my face,” he tries, hoping the polite tone will win you over.

He’s met with an eye roll. Still, you’re kinder than you let on. “Okay,” you give in, and Jungkook will remember your heroism for the rest of his life. “But only because being on top is empowering.” He just barely contains an over-enthusiastic fist pump into the air, settling on a rather modest smile that has you leaning down to kiss him again. You reach for the zipper on the side of your skirt. “Just let me—“

“The skirt stays on,” he says quickly, hand on your wrist to stop you from removing his most favorite article of clothing.

“Baby,” you say, giving him a rather serious look. “It’ll cover your face.”

“It won’t,” he urges, reaching for the buttons on your blouse instead. Jungkook has had one too many encounters with tops like these, and has long since learned not to tear them apart like a crazed psycho. As much as he loves the sound of your buttons scattering across his bedroom floor, he can’t say he’s too fond of the scolding he inevitably gets afterwards. Anyway, the shirt comes off and so does your bra, leaving your tits in his face, tiny skirt on your hips. “Get up here,” he murmurs, ushering you up his body until your knees are pressing into the mattress right above his shoulders.

If it was up to Jungkook, he would have just grabbed your hips and shoved his face against your pussy. Luckily, it’s not, and your common sense shines through just in time. “One sec,” you say, and then finally, finally, the blue panties come off.

And then it’s just Jungkook and your glistening pussy.

“Holy fuck,” he groans, taking the opportunity to wrap his arms around your thighs. You squeak when he pulls you closer, hand instinctively reaching for the front of your skirt to hold away from his face. The view from here is heavenly, just your swollen clit, gorgeous tits, and shy face.

The muscles in your thighs are a little stiff. Or maybe you’re just nervous. Jungkook isn’t sure, all he knows is that it takes one encouraging tug for you to finally sit on his face. He doesn’t even register the surprised gasp that leaves your throat because he’s too busy tasting your pussy from an all new position. And it’s absolutely amazing.

Something about the position, having you carefully poised above him, does something to Jungkook. He likes to think he knows your body inside and out, knows what makes you melt and what makes you scream. He knows just how to lap at your cunt until you’re cumming, and how many fingers it takes for you to really feel it. But it’s like having you in this position changes all of that, rearranges all the tidbits of information Jungkook has spent months collecting.

(Jungkook is a meticulous man; he’s got a near perfect GPA right now that was the direct result of his carefully crafted note-taking techniques. Whether or not he abused the power of his perfectionist learning abilities to master the mechanisms of his girlfriend’s libido was no one's business but his own.)

One kitten lick against your swollen pearl makes you buck forward, clit brushing against his nose. Jungkook can’t remember you ever doing that on the first lick. “O- oh my—,” you cry, all airy and whiny. Your hand is pressed to the wall behind his bed, the other bunching the front of your skirt just above your mound. He’s rather happy to learn that, just as he’d hypothesized, this position does give him a better view of you.

He’s graced with the sight of your face, twisted up in pleasure. It’s the stereotypical eyes squeezed shut, lip caught between your teeth look. But there’s something different about it knowing that he’s gotten this reaction out of you with his mouth alone.

Jungkook quickly repositions you over him, tugging you back until his tongue is lined up with the front of your slit. You’re so warm down here, make him feel like he’s drowning with your heady scent alone. Tentatively, he lets his tongue dip between your folds, the very tip nudging your swollen clit. A moan tears itself from your throat, the hand that had been flush against the wall suddenly jumping forward to bury itself in his hair. “Oh- oh, fuck,” you shiver, hips jolting forward once more.

You taste good on his tongue, the arousal that coats your lips is sticky and sweet. When he laps his tongue along your folds, quivering hole to stiffened bud, you let out a sob that resonates deeply within Jungkook. And also Jungkook’s cock, which stirs beneath his trousers in excitement. What was once the focus of his mission, a quick handfuck to sedate himself before finishing his research paper, has long since been forgotten. It’s for the greater good, he tells himself, blinking up at you from between your thighs.

Eye contact lasts for exactly three seconds before you’re looking away bashfully, the fist clutching at your skirt trembling against your tummy. You’re so fucking pretty, Jungkook’s heart can’t take it.

And so he sets out on a mission to make you cum as soon as possible, abandoning his slow kitten licks in favor of suctioning his lips around your clit. “Kook,” you wail, tugging at his hair. Whether you do it purposely or not, Jungkook is a little shocked by how good the pain feels. It’s not an emotion he can ponder long, because then you’re using that same grip in his hair to tilt his head backwards, jerkily moving over him.

It’s rough and sudden, the buck against his face, but Jungkook loves it. The drag of your pussy against his lips, the wet glide of your juices smearing across his chin and Cupid’s bow. It all feels so good, and the fact Jungkook is getting a front row seat to the absolutely torn look on your face is just the cherry on top.

Jungkook has seen you make a lot of faces. He’s seen you shiver and drool as he nails you into your bed. He’s seen you sniffle and sob as he slowly fucks you in a rose petal filled bubble bath (a six month anniversary special planned by yours truly). He’s even seen your mirrored reflection fall apart as you bounced away on his lap in front of a mirror.

He’s never seen you like this before.

Needy and desperate, moaning his name softly, practically humping his face in your greed. Tiny skirt clutched against your waist, tits bouncing as you hurriedly grind against him. He has half the mind to burn this scene into his eyelids for the rest of his life.

He’s given up on doing anything with his tongue, simply sticking it out for you to do as you wish. Normally, he’s not a huge fan of letting you do things yourself. After all, Jungkook was your boyfriend. Making you cum was his job. But you’re moving so fast, so frantic, in your mission to cum. So Jungkook sits back and lets you go to town on his mouth as a series of moans spill from your lips.

And then something unforgivable happens.

Jungkook will admit it: he’s staring at you almost a little too dreamily, heart eyes and all. He thinks you’re fucking hot, taste like heaven and have these absolutely delicious boobs bouncing up and down. He’s a little distracted by your glorious figure that he doesn’t notice one crucial bit of information.

Your hand.

The desperate need to cum has your muscles weakening, thighs moving at a latent pace, and, much to Jungkook’s horror, hands trembling. It’s your own pleasure that lets the unimaginable happen: your skirt flutters down. Your grip on it loosens and before Jungkook knows it, the sight of your pretty face and nice tits are gone, snatched away before his very eyes. Even your wet cunt is impossible to see, his world suddenly shrouded in darkness.

Leave it to Jungkook to foil his own horny plan with, well, his horniness. If only he wasn’t so hopelessly in love with the image of you in skirts. Maybe then he could bask in the beauty that was you riding his face.

He acts fast, reaching for the material before he can miss out on anything. But the angle is weird, and without Jungkook’s hands holding your hips, you’re left weakly rolling forward instead. And he’s not the only one frustrated with this turn of events, your face quickly returning to its normal composed form as you level him with a frown. “Everything okay?” you pant.

Everything was not okay, but Jungkook isn’t sure how to tell you that without ruining this delicate moment. So he tries to show you with actions instead, releasing the skirt he’s got in his fist and letting it flutter over his face again. You giggle. “I told you so.”

It takes more willpower than he’d like to admit to pull away from your wet folds, pulling off with a lewd sound that has you biting your lip as you gaze down at him. “I told you so,” he mimics, a little mean but you don’t take it to heart. “Hold your skirt up.”

You hum, the grip on his hair loosening as you push away his dark locks instead. “Mmmm,” you hum. “No.”

“No?” he repeats, actually really scandalized. Okay, so he’s a little spoiled when it comes to you— it’s not his fault! You made him like this, conditioned him to think that you would always give into his every whim because you were just so sweet and considerate and wanted him to be happy. And Jungkook also wants you to be happy, and in his opinion, being happy right now means having him fuck your pretty brains out for ever getting sassy with him.

“I don’t listen to men,” you tease, followed by a cute little nod, skin still a little warm from your looming orgasm. Jungkook takes advantage of your tiny moment of weakness, and strikes like a viper.

A girlish squeal leaves your lips, hands stretching outwards as he knocks you backwards onto the mattress. “Jungkook,” you gasp, sprawled out artfully, beautifully, over his sheets now. He doesn’t waste a second longer, crawling over your body until you’re a shivering mess beneath him.

Hand against your throat, the other blindly reaching for the front of his sweatpants. “What is it, doll?” he drawls meanly, reveling in the way your eyes roll back when his newly-freed cock lands against your slit. A choked gasp leaves your throat, lashes fluttering wildly until Jungkook loosens his grip.

You’ve done a nice job riling yourself up, lips squelching wet and loose when he runs the tip of his cock along them. Your knees are pulled up for him, spread perfectly for him to fit between. You’re so good for him, Jungkook feels a little bad for how hard he’s going to fuck you now.

The sympathy doesn’t last long.

Once upon a time, you had been the epitome of a cute and sweet girlfriend. Had picked him up from class, encouraged him to do his homework, wore these cute little skirts around campus. Deep down inside, Jungkook knew everyone else was jealous of him— you were just so pretty and cute, a girl straight out of everyone’s dreams.

Until he sunk his horny claws into you. Jungkook will be the first to admit he spends a little too much time browsing porn sites— he’s a man, cut him some slack —which had never caused him any problems before. Even when the two of you were just friends (pining ones at that), you had never seemed even remotely affected by his extensive pornographical knowledge. It was a known fact among your friend group that Jungkook’s best friend was his right hand.

But then, of course, you started dating Jungkook and it was like a save file of all his horniest fantasies was downloaded directly into your brain. Which leads him to this.

“Spit in my mouth,” you shiver, got these huge, watery eyes pointed his way. His cock twitches.

There’s a little groan that tears itself from his throat when he leans forward, cock sliding along your folds, to grasp your chin between his fingers. “Open,” he commands, and you do. Your lower lip quivers, tongue pressed against it as you wait for Jungkook to spit down your mouth. He can’t say he regrets letting you peek through his porn stash, not when it leads to this, you whimpering at the hot glob of saliva he shoots down your throat. “Filthy,” he pants, memorizing the movement of your throat when you swallow like the good girl you are.

Before he can write another twelve sonnets about that dazed look on your face, he’s roughly grabbing at your thigh. You whine, limbs so pliant beneath his touch, letting him hike your knee over his forearm as he tugs you closer. “Fuck,” he groans, reaching down to align himself with your quivering hole. You’re still so wet, make the most lewd sound when he sinks into you. Not that Jungkook really hears it, the sound of your strained moans practically drowning everything else out.

“Fuck,” you cry, one hand clutching at his forearm, the other toying with your breast. It’s a magnificent sight, and Jungkook is suddenly feeling a little cocky when he realizes he’s the only one who gets to see this. It’s this presumptuous nature that fuels the first round of thrusts into your cunt, fast and full. He makes sure you feel every inch of him, tip to base, as he pistons his hips forward. “J— Jungkook,” you pant, back arching beneath him.

You take it so well, walls sucking him in every time he draws back out. “I’ve got you, doll,” he moans, hiking your leg further over his shoulder. Every roll of his hips has your tits bouncing back and forth, lower lip as well with the dopey, open-mouthed look you got on for him. And the damned skirt that got him here, fucking you with a punishing pace, sits perfectly around your waist. He has half the mind to take it off for you, briefly wonders if it hurts, but just looking at it reminds him of about thirty-seven pornos he’s seen. So it stays on, works alongside your lovestruck face to actively rewrite all those pornos anew with you starring in them instead.

It sure helps when you start your usual mindless babbling. “I love you,” you gasp, face screwed up in pleasure. “I- I love you so much.”

He’s contemplating doing a study on you and your weird mid-fuck confessions. You do this a lot, and while Jungkook doesn’t mind, it sure does leave him curious. “Love you too, baby,” he says anyway, repositioning his arms so he can hold your waist with both hands.

“Really?” you ask, voice so whiny, eyes brimming with tears. From emotion or your need to cum, Jungkooks not sure. (Hence the need for a study!)

Another brutal thrust that has you moaning loudly. “Really,” he reassures you, glancing down to watch his cock sink into your hole as he picks up the pace. Your arms are practically limbless, and his stomach is beginning to feel tight. The end was soon. “Love your pretty little face.”

Another whine, your fingers pulling at your pebbled nipples. “M- My pretty face?” you whimper, blink these long lashes up at him. They make Jungkook go a little mad, bring on a wave of jackhammer thrusts that cut your moans into choppy little cries instead.

“Prettiest girl I know,” he groans, not once stopping the movement of his hips. You’re quivering like a leaf beneath him, your entire body locking up as Jungkook guides you toward orgasm. “A fucking doll, baby— so beautiful for me,” he praises.

It’s exactly what you want to hear— secretly, Jungkook hypothesizes that you’re a little bit of an attention whore —crying out when he slows to a grind against you. Each roll of his hips has him rubbing over your swollen bud, leaves you trembling until you’re eventually unraveling beneath him. “Oh- Oh, fuck— Jungkook—“ you sob, writhing beneath him as you cream his cock.

Your tits look amazing, nipples stiff from your arousal and all the attention you’d been giving them. Your features soften, gasps framed by your pillowy lips. As Jungkook has said before, your pretty face was the most dangerous weapon.

He manages a few more pistons of his hips, mostly for reputation sake, before he’s eventually pulling out. His right hand, once the sole hero of his solo sessions, makes a valiant return now as he jacks himself off over you. It takes a few harsh pulls of his cock until he’s spurting his jizz over you, painting your tummy and your tits in white ribbons of cum. You flinch, a tiny whimper leaving your throat at the mess he makes. “Fuck,” he groans one last time.

When it’s over, you have the audacity to shyly pull down the front of your skirt. As if your tits aren’t out and about, but Jungkook pretends he doesn’t see it. Instead, he channels his energy into peppering your face in kisses. “Best girl,” he praises, even though he knows you hate the nickname. “My beautiful feminist queen.”

A pinch against his cheek. It hurts like hell, but he endures it for now, still very much in love with your performance today. “Get me a towel,” you huffily ask, uncomfortable with the jizz sticking to your tummy, as if he didn’t spit in your mouth a few minutes ago.

His research paper is waiting for him at his desk, the materials he’d spent weeks collecting waiting to be typed up. But his girlfriend is so soft and sleepy, asking him to stay for another nap.

There was never a choice.

#networkbangtan #bangtanhq #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk♡#jjk smut #jungkook fic #jeon jungkook fic #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #bts smut #bts fic #bts jungkook #mine #skirtfic

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wandaromanova · 3 years ago

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Can you do a fluffy wanda one (with a little angst because of course) where reader and wanda are best friends, reader wants more, but thinks wanda is interested in vision so she doesnt say anything. And then one day a mission goes wrong, and reader gets into an accident that results in her getting powers, and it makes wanda wake up and confess her feelings?

Requited Love

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Warnings: cussing, injury, that’s all!

A/N: hello! i hope you enjoy what i’ve created out of your request, anon! sorry i couldn’t think about how i could incorporate the powers part of the request! not proofread, so i apologize for any grammatical errors! join my taglist here <3

Summary: Wanda Maximoff and Y/N L/N are your typical best friends who refuse to admit their feelings for each other.

Word Count: 3.3K (had a lil too much fun with this)

(gif is not mine)

You and your best friend, Wanda, had been friends practically since the moment she had joined the team. Being the youngest Avenger, you were so excited that there would finally be another member that was close to your age. Despite the events of Sokovia, you didn’t fear the woman. If anything, it only made the urge to get closer to her stronger.

Her powers absolutely mesmerized you. From the color of her powers to the different ways she could use them to her advantage; it was mind blowing how much power she had literally at her fingertips. As time went on, you and Wanda became very close. You’d always have movie nights together in your room, which eventually led to the Sokovian woman peacefully sleeping next to you in your bed.

Not only was Wanda drop dead gorgeous, but she was genuine and humble. She had confided in you about the many different traumas she had been through and expressed how the surreal amount of grief constantly consumed her. It broke your heart to know that such an amazing person was put through so much.

Her past could’ve easily turned her into a villain, but she decided to go the opposite direction. She came to the conclusion that her powers could help others and that’s what she had chosen to do in Sokovia and up to now. It was why she had agreed to join the Avengers in the first place. Wanda knew how awful the world could be and she wanted to be there for people the way that her family had been before they passed. The amount of respect you had for Wanda was immeasurable.

Over the span of two years, you and Wanda became joined to the hip. Wanda didn’t even sleep in her own bed anymore. Before, she would just accidentally fall asleep in your room or sneak into your room in the late hours of the night to sleep with you. But now, she just barged into your room every night and slept there. She said that you kept the nightmares she had at bay and you were more than happy to be there for her if it meant she got a full night’s rest.

You both jumped at any opportunity you guys could to be on the same mission as the other. You not only wanted to spend time with her, but you wanted to protect her. Lord knows that Wanda of all people could handle herself, but it kept you at peace when you were with her; knowing that she had you to back her up. Naturally, you fell in love with your best friend.

At first, you thought you were just confusing your special platonic friendship with Wanda for romantic feelings. But sometimes you caught yourself wanting to kiss Wanda. You knew damn well that friends don’t daydream about making out with each other. So, yeah, you definitely had feelings for Wanda, but there was one thing standing in your way; Vision.

Vision basically joined the team at the same time Wanda did. He was created during the Ultron situation and has been an Avenger since then. Wanda and Vision were very close. They weren’t as close as you and Wanda were, but he was a close second. They had a bond over the mind stone that you couldn’t ever compete with. This fact discouraged you and forced you to keep your mouth shut. You’d rather keep your feelings to yourself and suffer in private than risk your friendship with Wanda.

I mean, you didn’t even know if Wanda was into girls! She could be as straight as a wooden ruler and you would most definitely embarrass yourself if you told her. Vision wasn’t exactly a man by any means, he was a robot. If Wanda were to like Vision that must mean you had a chance right? Not to be an ass, but he’s literally a hunk of metal. Regardless of all these thoughts, you knew at the end of the day that you would have to hide your feelings for the sake of maintaining the relationship you currently have with the Sokovian.

You did pretty good at hiding your feelings for awhile. You acted as if everything was normal and not like you were emotionally crying out inside every time you saw Wanda with Vision. It began to get too much when you had caught sight of the pair cooking Paprikash in the communal kitchen. Cooking was something you and Wanda used to do together. It was kind of your thing. It may seem silly, but watching her do something with Vision that used to be sacred to you both hurt.

You began to distance yourself the closer Wanda and Vision got together. What sucked even more was that Wanda didn’t even acknowledge your sudden distance. She no longer slept in your room, opting to spend her nights with Vision. You were dying inside and Wanda didn’t even care to notice.

You had a mission to get to today. Usually, Wanda would be down in the hangar whenever you were going on a mission without her, but she wasn’t there today. She was probably off somewhere with Vision, again. It stung that Wanda didn’t even want to see you off. She was so preoccupied with Vision that she didn’t even give you a second thought. A toaster was stealing your best friend who you just so happened to be madly in love with away from you. And you couldn’t do anything to stop it.

So, you reluctantly got onto the Quinjet with Steve who was accompanying you on the mission. Fury only sent you two in for this mission because it was a simple one. It didn’t require the entire team to complete. You both were to capture and detain the scientist responsible for the latest human experimentations at the hands of Hydra. From the intel gathered by S.H.I.E.L.D, their security wasn’t that bad so it would be a walk in the park for you and Steve. You had just left and you already desperately wanted to go home and wallow in your own self pity in the comfort of your bed.

But first, you had to get this mission over with. The Quinjet landed a little far away from the small Hydra base. You and Steve made your way out of the jet and began to trudge your way toward the building. As you guys got closer, Steve stopped abruptly.

“No matter what, we stick together okay? Just because this should be an easy mission, doesn’t mean we should let our guard down. Understand?” He lectured you sternly as he stared at you intensely.

“Yeah. I got it, Cap.” You replied to him dismissively as you continued to make your way toward the building. You took note of the five guards that were guarding the entrance and gave Steve a nod before you both sprung into action.

After you guys had taken down the entrance guards, you both sneakily made your way into the building. It was pretty easy to find your target, seeing that the building was the size of a house. You and Steve barged into the room, the scientist whipping around quickly and freezing in shock at the sight of you both.

Steve quickly charged at the man and placed him into handcuffs. As Steve pulled the man up by the collar, forcing him to his feet, a thought crossed your mind. This is too easy. Only five guards and the professor was just conveniently in here? This had to be a setup.

Before you could voice your concerns to Steve, you felt a sharp pain rip through your shoulder as Hydra agents flooded into the room. You fell to your knees in pain as Steve threw the target to the ground. He quickly began to fight as many agents as he could. You stood up as you tried to temporarily forget the pain. You began to take on agents yourself. Despite being injured, you kicked their asses with ease.

You were down to the last agent while Steve was pulling the scientist back up to his feet, much more aggressively this time. For some reason, your thoughts went to Wanda. How would she react to your injury? Would she even bother to visit you to make sure you were okay?

Unfortunately, you had chosen the wrong time to become distracted by your thoughts of Wanda. While your thoughts were racing, you failed to notice the glint of a knife in the agent’s left hand. As you blocked one of his punches, he quickly stabbed you right in the stomach. At this, Steve jumped in to help you and made quick work of knocking out the man who stabbed you.

You fully fell to the floor this time, gasping for air. Not only were you shot, but now you got stabbed. Seriously? Did god decide you weren’t already having a shitty enough time? Steve quickly picked you up in his arms in a panic. He carried you to the Quinjet while making sure the scientist was following behind you both. Steve placed your body onto the medical table that was in the Quinjet, handcuffed the man to a railing, and sped off to the compound. He took note of how much blood you lost; it was a lot to say the least. If he didn’t get to the compound soon, he feared you wouldn’t make it; and that wasn’t an option.

The 30 minute trip to the compound turned into a 15 minute ride. Steve quickly rushed you into the medical wing of the compound and placed you into the care of Doctor Helen Cho. He knew he had to tell the team about what happened. The Avengers were a family, and you being the youngest meant you were like a child to them, well besides Wanda obviously.

Steve hurriedly made his way into the living room of the Avenger’s living quarters and made sure Jarvis informed everyone that it was an emergency. As Steve entered, everyone turned to face him with worry present on each of their faces.

“What’s wrong, Rogers? Is everything okay?” Natasha asked as she looked over his body. There was an insane amount of blood all over his star-spangled suit. “It’s Y/N.”

At Steve’s words, everyone in the room stood in shock as their jaws dropped. But no one’s feelings could compare to Wanda’s. She abruptly stood up from the couch and made her way towards Steve.

“What about her? What happened to her?” Wanda began to get angry as hints of her powers made their way to her eyes. Steve took a step back and looked at Wanda before returning his gaze back to the other people in the room. You could hear a pin drop in the silence of the room.

“We went on a mission together. It was supposed to be an easy in and out thing. But we were setup. She got shot in the shoulder and stabbed in the abdomen. She’s in the medical wing right now.” Steve spoke strongly, attempting to remain calm for the sake of the team, but he was terrified inside. Your state refused to leave his mind. Your limp body in his arms as your warm blood covered his hands.

Wanda didn’t say another word as she ran towards the elevator and impatiently hit the button to the medical wing. She didn’t bother to wait for anyone else. Nothing mattered right now except you.

Wanda had feelings for you. Ever since she met you, you were this light in the darkness that was her life. You could cheer her up when no one else could. You knew her better than she knew herself. You were not only her best friend, but you were the woman she was irrevocably in love with. She was terrified to tell you how she felt. She thought she would lose you if she had confessed how she truly felt for you. So, she remained quiet and tried to forget about her feelings for you by hanging out with Vision more. She wasn’t using Vision by any means, she genuinely did enjoy his company. But he wasn’t you.

Wanda didn’t even wait for the elevator doors to fully open as she squeezed herself through the small gap and made her way towards the medical bay doors. Before Wanda could open the door, Steve abruptly grabbed her hand, stopping her from going any further. He must’ve taken the stairs. Damn his super soldier abilities.

“Wanda. Stop. I know you’re worried about Y/N, we all are. But barging in there won’t be any help. You need to let Cho and her nurses focus on helping her.” Steve desperately tried to talk some sense into Wanda; it worked. Wanda’s shoulders slumped as she made her way towards the seating area that was right outside the doors. All she could do was sit, wait, and pray to whatever god there was that you would be okay.

Wanda didn’t even know you were going on a mission today. If she did, she would’ve went to the hangar and hugged you before she left, like she always did. Oh fuck, she didn’t even get to see you off and now look at your state. Now that she thought about it, she had been neglecting you for some time now. She let her fear of her feelings consume her. She spent more time with Vision than with you, and now she wasn’t sure if she would get the opportunity to be with you again. The thought of not being able to tell you how in love with you she was mortified her. This was the wake up call she needed.

——————————————————————————

2 hours later

After two agonizingly slow hours, Doctor Cho made her way towards the anxious group of heroes. Wanda shot up from her seat and approached Helen.

“How is she? Please, tell me she’s okay.” Wanda asks as she nervously chews on her bottom lip. “Y/N is fine. Luckily, the knife didn’t hit any major arteries. She won’t be able to make any sudden movements for the next few weeks which means no missions until I give her clearance.” At Cho’s words, the entire team was struck with relief. Wanda’s eyes lit up at the good news. You were okay. You were still here.

“Can we see her?” Steve asked from behind Wanda as he made his way to stand beside her. “Yes, shes awkward, but only one person can go in at a time. She’s very sensitive right now from the anesthesia.” Helen gave the team a smile before walking off.

Everyone looked at Wanda as she gave them a nod. Of course she had to go in first. You and Wanda may have been oblivious to each other’s feelings, but the team wasn’t. It was almost annoying how unaware you two were of how the other person felt.

Wanda quietly made her way into your room and almost let out a sigh of relief as she saw you laying on the table awake. You were trying to reach for a glass of water beside your bed, but the pain in your side made the small task a burden. Wanda quickly made her way to the table and handed you the glass of water. You were startled since you didn’t even hear her enter the room. You took the water from her hands and took a long sip before handing it back to her.

“What’re you doing here?” You asked coldly as you glared at the Sokovian woman. She was shocked at your animosity. You were never like this with her before. “I needed to make sure you were okay. I was worried sick.” Wanda frowned as she pulled a chair up to your bedside and sat in it.

“Oh. Now you suddenly remember I exist? It only took me nearly dying for you to notice me again.” You knew you weren’t being fair. You guys were just best friends and she was entitled to hang out and be with whoever she wanted. But the part of you that loved her and longed for more took over.

“Y/N. I’m sorry I haven’t been around as often. I got caught up hanging out with Vision when I should’ve been there for you.” Wanda’s eyes softened as she stared at your face. She missed you so much. She may have seen you around the compound, but she hasn’t been this close to you in what felt like decades.

“Yeah. You got caught up with Vision. Why don’t you just go back to him now. I’m fine.” You stubbornly spoke as you tore your eyes away from Wanda and stared out the window in front of your bed.

Wanda made a ballsy move and grabbed your hand in here. Thankfully, you didn’t move it away. “Y/N. I don’t care about Vision, I care about you. I love you and I mean that in more than a friendly way.” At Wanda’s words, your head snapped back to her as you looked over her features for any indication of a lie; you didn’t find any.

“I was spending time with Vision to try and forget my feelings for you. That obviously backfired and only solidified what I already knew I felt. I’m sorry it took such a terrible situation for me to finally grow the balls to tell you this. I love you Y/N.” Wanda squeezed your hand tightly as she stared at you full of love and adoration.

You were speechless. As cliche as it sounds, this was what you’ve wanted since the moment you laid eyes on her. She said the three words you’ve been longing to hear spill from her mouth. She loved you too.

“I love you too, Wanda. I’m sorry. I thought you had a thing for Vision and I let jealousy and insecurity get the better of me.” You looked down in shame as you tried to pull your hand out of Wanda’s hold, but she only gripped it tighter.

“Don’t be sorry. I completely understand. I’m so glad your okay and I’m so unbelievably happy that you feel the same way.” Wanda smiled brightly at you as you smiled right back. You guys must’ve looked like maniacs with your big, cheesy smiles, but you didn’t care.

Wanda began to slowly lean towards you. You attempted to meet her in the middle, but only ended up wincing in pain as you were reminded of your impressive stab wound. Wanda let out a laugh.

“Let me handle it, moya lyubov (my love).” Wanda said before closing the gap between you both and giving you a heated, desperate kiss. All the pent up emotions that you both had been withholding from each other were coming to light through this kiss. You guys were interrupted by the door swinging open abruptly and the sound of someone clearing their throat.

You both jumped apart as you cringed at the sting of your injuries. You turned to the door and caught sight of the team standing at the door with shit eating grins on their face.

“Sorry to interrupt you, lovebirds. But we wanted to check on Y/N too. Cho gave us the clear to come in now.” Natasha smirked at yours and Wanda’s flustered states.

“Pay up, Barnes.” Sam said as he held his hand out to Bucky, who groaned before placing 50 dollars in his hand. You and Wanda stared at the two confused, Bucky took notice of this and decided to fill you both in.

“We made a bet on when you two would get together. I said in the next two months, he said in the next two weeks. He won.” Bucky gave you both a shy, almost embarrassed smile.

Everyone in the room laughed, making you and Wanda turn even more red than before. You didn’t care about the inevitable, endless teasing you would have to endure after today. You would deal with the comments forever as long as it meant Wanda was by your side. You once thought that she didn’t feel the same, and you were so glad you were proven wrong. Sometimes, love can be requited after all.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #avengers #scarlet witch #request

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idkthisisjustforfanfic · 3 years ago

Text

that makes four.

story page | talk to me + join the tag list

PART 6

If sharing a glass of wine with Harry the other night didn’t make you wish things could go back to normal--whatever that was--seeing him with CeCe before bed did.

She stomped her feet in the bathroom when you brushed through her hair. “I’m not tired! I want to stay up later with Maeve!”

Maybe that was another parenting fail in the last year--giving Maeve a later bedtime. She had bargained with you long and hard. She wanted more time on her phone but you wouldn’t budge. When you had heard enough of the I’m practically a teenager, mom! you figured there probably wasn’t an easy way to tell her that in two years she’d look back at herself and laugh.

So you caved, which you were doing more of lately but only with the silly stuff: bedtime, playing outside, dessert before dinner on occasion and even a PG-13 movie at a friend’s house when Maeve really got snippy with you.

But your energy was draining. After all the shit you’d put up with, you figured that hearing a few swears or seeing a high school party wouldn’t kill your 11-year-old.

CeCe, on the other hand, might be the death of you.

She was more outspoken than her sister, if that was possible. She had lungs on her that carried her voice through the house, especially when she whined.

“I want to stay up late!”

“You can’t,” you told her firmly. “I’m sorry. You’ll thank me tomorrow when you wake up refreshed.”

She made a face at you in the bathroom mirror, she probably didn’t understand what you meant but you smiled back at her anyway.

“I don’t want to sleep.”

You didn’t reply, instead let out a sigh and ignored the way she pouted until she stomped her feet again. “I want to watch TV!”

She smacked a fist on the counter when you didn’t reply, your eyes went wide with shock. “Cecelia Rose,” you scolded. “You do not yell at mommy like that or bang your fist on the counter.”

Maeve was nowhere to be found, likely scrolling in a group chat with other pre-teens who sent too many emojis. You almost wished she’d pop her head in to intervene--sometimes she was good at talking CeCe off the ledge, even if just to distract her.

The next best thing, though, when Harry knocked on the door and peered through the crack. “Everything alright?”

“Just dandy,” you forced a smile.

“Mommy is making me sleep,” CeCe frowned up at him.

“She is?”

“She is,” she nodded. “And I’m not tired.”

“Well, mommy has good reasoning, you’ll be sleepy tomorrow if you don’t sleep now.”

She didn’t seem to care, she crossed her arms over her chest once you finished the braid at the base of her neck and clapped her on the shoulder. “I won’t be tired.”

“Do you want to read together?”

She looked up at him with narrowed eyes, almost like she was waiting for the catch. When he smiled again, she let out a hefty sigh but headed for the door. “Fine.”

Harry smiled over his shoulder at you and followed behind her, trailing her down the hall until she took the left turn into her bedroom with a butterfly carpet. She walked over the bookshelf, picked out The Big Book of Bedtime Stories, and pulled the sheets back.

You were in the doorway, watching as she fluffed her own pillow and then looked up at Harry. “Are you coming?”

She patted the spot next to her, gesturing for him to get close enough for her to fall asleep on his shoulder. He hesitated, stole a glance in your direction and then did as she said. He adjusted the pillow behind his head and CeCe wriggled beside him until she was comfortable. When she was, she nestled right into him, looked up at you and then said: “are you coming?”

You paused, parted your lips to let her down gently, but then something in you tugged your torso towards his. He was surprised by this, too, shifted in the tiny bed to make room for you to crawl over and squish yourself between CeCe and the wall.

Harry, with a smirk on his lips, looked over at you when he opened the book to CeCe’s favorite story. “Comfortable?”

“Go ahead,” you rolled your eyes, ignoring the silliness of the moment but somehow wishing it was routine.

You put a hand on her pajama pants, petting her mindlessly as you listened to Harry’s voice when he thumbed through the pages. You’d had moments like these with Luke, when Maeve was tiny and CeCe was barely a thought. It’d been a while since you laid in bed with another adult, your child between you as she let out sleepy sighs and fluttered her eyelashes against her cheek.

The lights were dim now, you watched as his fingers pulled each page and tried to forget the way they pulled moans from your mouth.

He stopped halfway through, looked over at you and smirked when her breathing got heavier, but he kept going. He’d learned: if you stop too soon, she’d bolt awake and tell you she’d never fallen asleep to begin with.

He carried on like that for a while, glancing over to see if her eyes were open, sometimes catching your gaze but looking away quickly. Timid, like he was just as unsure as you were.

He finished a story and started a new one, and for a moment you wondered if he kept reading just to not disturb the scene: the two of you with your daughter sandwiched between. If someone looked in on it from the outside, they’d think you were a family.

Eventually he cut himself off mid sentence, derailed the story of the princess and the pea to ask you: “should I keep going?”

“No,” you laughed a little. “She’s out. We’re fine.”

He shut the book and pulled away from her gently. You lifted her head a little and tugged your arm out from the sheets and he placed the book on the desk to the right of her bed. He stuck his hand out to help you climb over her quietly. She stirred, opened her eyes and looked up at the two of you.

“Love you mommy,” she said, you bent down to press a kiss to her forehead.

“Love you too, sweetie.”

“Love you, Harry,” she said through a sigh, eyes already closing when you turned around to leave. His eyes locked on yours, caught off guard and unsure of how to reply, but he looked down at her, lips in a small smile.

“Love you too, CeCe.”

And just like that, your life turned to a personally targeted and especially cruel single-mom hell. It was already there, practically. He played outside with your kids? He drove Maeve to play dates and picked CeCe up from ballet? He cooked dinner and poured you wine and tucked deep inside your memory were images of his head between your legs and his fingers laced with yours.

And now he said he loved one of them? You made a beeline for your bedroom, shut the door and didn’t say goodnight because you knew it would only get worse from here.

You were right. It was torture. Daydream, fairytale level torture when he helped Maeve with her homework the next night and even more painful when CeCe fell asleep with her head in his lap after a movie.

Maybe the worst part, though, was when you sat beside him on the patio a few nights later. The sun had set and you had a glass of crisp rosé in your hand when he turned to you.

“Look what CeCe brought home the other day,” he moved his phone to show you the screen. A drawing of stick figures, red and green and blue under a yellow house. He pinched the screen to zoom in, the actual artwork was nowhere to be found.

“What is it?” You tilted your head to the side and let out a quiet laugh. Her drawing needed work, but the color choices were bright and vibrant, just like her.

“Well, it’s us I think.”

“Us?” You looked up at him for a moment, CeCe hit the tennis ball into the pool and Maeve let out a frustrated groan.

“That’s her, with the tutu obviously. That’s Maeve and you right there--I’m assuming, by the way. This is all interpretation.”

You let out a laugh but watched when he zoomed in on the other stick figure.

“And that’s me, I think,” he tilted his head sideways now, looked at it closer. "With the guitar." You reached out your hand, brought his phone closer when he let you have it.

“When did she give this to you?”

“Monday--no, Tuesday, I think.”

“What did she say?”

He shrugged when you looked up. Maeve had gotten the leaf skimmer and CeCe clapped when the tennis ball was back on dry land.

“She said she drew ‘home.’”

“Home?”

He nodded, looked back over at you with raised eyebrows, a sense of nonchalance when he held his palm out to retrieve his phone. “Cute, right?”

It was cute, obviously. It was sweet and endearing and then you asked: “where’s the actual drawing?”

“On my nightstand.” He watched as CeCe tugged a hoola hoop from a bucket of toys. “Might frame it and show her, she’d be so excited.”

“She would be,” you nodded. “She’d love that.”

He left it alone, showed Maeve how to swing the bat better before you eventually decided it was too dark to sit outside. They sat at the island and ate ice cream, cherries and sprinkles and Harry even doused his in chocolate sauce.

Your heart ached for the family that CeCe drew: one with less complexity and one where age differences didn’t mean a thing. One where there was no such thing as death or divorce. Just four stick figures beneath a triangular roof with grass scribbled around the edges of paper.

You wished, desperately, that the four of you could be the stick figure family with no worries and no problems. You wished time could freeze and Harry’s house wouldn’t be ready in another 10 days. In a way you wished that Luke didn’t exist, you wished that your life was as simple as it looked on 8 x 11 inch paper with scribbled marker.

Zoey stood in your bedroom, lips pushed out in thought when you held up a different necklace. “This one is chunkier which I can’t tell if I like.”

She thought on it for a second, already dressed and ready to go like the timely human she was.

“I like the first one,” she nodded. “It’s more I’m the boss than that one.”

You laughed at her reasoning, held it up to your neck when CeCe burst through the doors with a scowl on her face. “Mommy, Maeve said I’m being stupid and annoying.”

You frowned at her but clasped the necklace around your neck, “that’s not very nice of her. Why’d she say that?”

“Because I was asking her to push me on the swing but she was too busy texting someone.”

You let out a sigh and made a face at Zoey in the mirror. Buying Maeve a cell phone was something you’d thought long and hard about. She begged and begged for one at her birthday, but something felt wrong about handing over a thousand dollar piece of technology to someone who was barely old enough to watch TV unsupervised.

Harry and Luke’s punching incident is what did you in, though. What if Maeve was at a friend’s house and something like that happened? You needed her to be able to contact you in case she felt unsafe or uncomfortable.

You also figured it would be a good way to distract her from what was really going on under your roof: mom fell for the guy who stayed in our guest suite and now it’s a hot mess.

“You’re not stupid or annoying,” Zoey reassured her. “Maeve just thinks she’s too cool for everyone now that she has a phone.”

CeCe let out a dramatic sigh. “You can say that again.”

A knock on the door, she turned around to see Harry. “Maeve said I’m stupid and annoying.”

Harry frowned and knelt in front of her. “That’s not true.”

“Oh I know,” she shrugged. “I just think that’s stupid and annoying of her to say that.”

You bit back a laugh when he looked up at you, shocked by her attitude and her wit before she ran off to her bedroom down the hall.

Harry stood back up and greeted Zoey. “Hi--how’re Shawn and Benny?”

“They’re great, and they’re on their own tonight which I am so grateful for.” She’d been dying for another night out of the house, she talked for weeks about what she wanted to wear and what she was going to drink. “You two should meet, you and Shawn. He’s not a musician by any means but he’s a killer steering wheel drummer when we have the classic rock hits on.”

Harry laughed, looked over to you quickly before nodding in Zoey’s direction. “I’d love that, maybe we could all have dinner.”

You nodded at the suggestion, hooked an earring into place before Harry remembered why he came in.

“Speaking of dinner, I have a meeting with my stylist but I’ll be there tonight, obviously. Probably around 7:15 though, is that alright?”

“Totally fine,” you nodded. He told you a few days earlier that you’d have to drive separately, quelling your anxiety about showing up together and going home together. Your living situation was no one’s business, but having Harry at the launch party to begin with was sure to stir up enough chatter, even if it was mostly from Tristan or Jeff.

You’d been trying to hide your anxiety. This was your biggest launch to date, arguably a step outside your comfort zone and feeling so uncertain about things at home left you feeling more nervous to have your employees and your friends in the same spot. The girls were headed to Shelli’s, a movie night and arts and crafts, she promised.

But it was setting in now, questions and thoughts and worries were bouncing around in your head like a pinball machine.

Would Maeve and CeCe behave for Shelli? Would they get along with each other? Would the launch party go well? Would Tristan bring a date? Would people like the body wash? Would Harry sit next to you at dinner? Would things ever feel normal between the two of you again or would he move out and fade out of your life like he’d never even entered it at all?

Zoey had stepped out into the hallway, phone pressed to her ear as Shawn asked a question about formula.

“You alright?”

Harry was still in the doorway, suit pants on and a white button down as he waited for your answer.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Just nervous.”

“Hey,” he took a step towards you. “It’s going to be great. You’re going to be great.” He placed a hand on your shoulder and then withdrew it. “You are great.”

You smiled, appreciative of his kindness but already overthinking the way he pulled his hand away, like your skin was too hot to touch or like your bodies coming into contact was suddenly forbidden.

“I just want the body wash to do well and I want the dinner to go smoothly. Tristan always goes overboard with these events and I just hope that the food is good, I mean, I’ve never eaten here before--”

He laughed, “hey, it’s going to be fine. I might be a bit late but I’ll get there and Jeff and I can do something stupid to make you laugh and forget about the stress of it all. Everyone wins.”

You nodded, reassured by his words but also caught off guard by how easy it was to admit: “I’m really glad you’re coming.”

“Me too,” he nodded. “Kind of feels like we haven’t seen each other much lately.”

You lifted your eyebrows at that, a week since Luke’s surprise visit and a week since Harry had so much as looked your way for more than ten seconds. You hadn’t told him to stop, you never said you didn’t want to keep sleeping with him or anything of the sort, but he took your words on the patio to mean that, apparently.

How were you supposed to backtrack? How were you supposed to have a conversation with him about it when there’d never been one in the first place?

If you hadn’t defined it originally, how were you supposed to quantify the change that had occurred as the bruise on his skin faded to a pale yellow?

“Okay,” Zoey laughed, a shake of her head when she ended the call and came back into the master suite. “How hard is it to find the bottle brush in the drawer where it’s literally been for the entirety of Benny’s short life?” She cut herself off when she looked up from her phone to see how close Harry stood to you.

He backed up. “Good luck, you’re going to kill it. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

You nodded. “Yes, right. Thanks.”

He turned on his heel and offered a smile to Zoey, whose eyes immediately flew to yours once he was descending the stairs. You briefed her over lunch shortly after Luke had shown up on your doorstep, but Zoey was decidedly team Harry and had a hard time even admitting that he shouldn't have gotten involved.

Her eyes were wide, lips set in a frown as if she’d just witnessed the most adorable thing. “He likes you so much.”

“No, Zoey, stop.”

“I leave the room for one second and you're having a heart to heart?”

“We weren't having a heart to heart,” you rolled your eyes. “He was just offering some encouragement.”

Partially true. His words were encouraging and that seemed to be the point of him coming up here. But you couldn’t admit to Zoey that part of your anxiety about the night was related to him. It felt stupid to admit that pulling back made you miss him, made you feel like something was missing.

Those feelings left your heart and your head a mess, unsure about what you needed and wanted and even more confused about what was right for everyone.

You turned back to the mirror to put your other earring in place. Zoey didn’t say more, she didn’t need to. She smiled at your reflection and you both knew that your words didn’t even begin to capture the complexity of it all. But you had a launch party to get to.

Your champagne flute was filled when you walked in, which was a great step towards quelling the nerves. Tristan was already working the crowd with grace and poise, smile plastered on his face when he bragged about all of the hard work your team had put in on this.

Zoey was excited to pump and dump in the bathroom, your employees were already plucking hors d'oeuvres from silver platters, and you just tried to ignore the gnawing feeling in your chest of wishing your dad was here. He’d be proud, no doubt, he’d be excited for you and he’d be cracking jokes with Irv in the corner as Jeff tried to keep them under control.

The emptiness that he left in your life was something you’d live with forever, you were sure of this until suddenly there was a man in your house with a dimpled smile and patience for your children that you never saw coming.

Another look around the room, balloons in the corner, high heels and lipstick on the women that made your team what it was. A moment of excitement, of celebration, and yet your heartbeat picked up when you realized that you were here, alone.

You plucked your phone out to check the time, 7:24pm. He’d said 7:15--he clasped his hands on your shoulders like he meant it and you wondered where he was. Tristan pulled you over to another friendly face before you could sink too far down that rabbit hole.

Zoey had Shawn, Shelli had Irv, Jeff always had someone. Even Tristan had Tinder dates for the nights that he got lonely. You had the girls, of course, you had a life that you loved and a job you were proud of. But what did that matter if you didn’t have someone to share it with, to whisper to in the mornings when sun streamed through the windows and you were woken up too early by daughters that begged for adventures?

You’d grown used to feeling that way. Your marriage was over long before the papers were signed, but your father’s sudden decline left you reeling and unsure which way was up.

You’d never admit it aloud, but Harry showing up brought you back down to earth and kept you tethered to a life that felt manageable and doable and somehow possible.

Another glance at the time, 7:32pm. Tristan asked when you wanted to make a toast and thank everyone for coming to celebrate, you made an excuse and tried to buy yourself time like his absence was currency.

You wanted him here, you wanted his arm around your shoulders and you wanted to introduce him to your team--take a bite of his dinner and then bring him home like that was where he belonged.

How embarrassing, though, you talked yourself up enough to let him come and introduce him to the rest of the girls at work, only to be stood up or forgotten or altogether abandoned. Your fantasy of being with him felt even more stupid and naive when you realized that it’d probably never be like that.

Your glass was refilled at 7:49pm, Zoey laughed when your head of marketing recounted the embarrassing moment when a picture of Maeve ended up on the company instagram story.

Frustration, anger, maybe both when the clock struck 8pm. Forty-five minutes late without a text message? But those emotions were drowned out by the judgment: why do you care, he’s not your boyfriend, this doesn’t mean anything.

You answered too quickly when he called, phone pressed to your face: where are you?

Pulling up, down the street, I’m so sorry.

You handed your drink to Tristan, pushed out to the parking lot to find him jogging towards the door in the dark sky.

“Hi, hey, why are you out here?” his smile faded when he could see you were upset.

“I had no clue where you were and you didn’t even bother to text me--” you were stopped dead on the sidewalk, the sky was a light purple and he grabbed your hand to tug you back towards the entrance.

“I’m sorry, I know, my meeting went late and the traffic was terrible, I didn’t want to bother you--”

“You said you’d be here at 7:15 and I’ve been in there by myself--”

He didn’t understand, his eyebrows dipped on his forehead in confusion and he pulled at your arm again. “I know, I’m sorry, but let’s get back in there so you can--”

“No, Harry,” you yanked your hand out of his grasp. A deep breath, a twinkling light above the horizon, a plane on final approach to LAX. “Just give me a minute.”

He sighed, looked over his shoulder to the big windows that allowed a peek into the party. He didn’t say anything, waited for you to speak when the light at the intersection across the street turned green.

“I was stupid for thinking this would be a good idea,” you said aloud, arms crossed in the parking lot. “But it’s fine, it’s not a big deal.”

“It’s obviously a big deal,” he held a hand out, gesturing to the emotion in your voice. “I fucked up, I get that. I’m sorry--but I tried to call you and tell you I was going to be late, something’s wrong with my phone.”

Happy couples strolled out of the restaurant, arms linked with to-go boxes in hand. The air was still warm, streetlights illuminated the wrinkle in his forehead when he took a step forward. “Is this about more than the party?”

You rolled your eyes, annoyed by his ability to read you and sense the real tension beneath the surface. So you lied: “No.”

“Y/N,” he said your name like he knew your words weren’t true. “What’s going on?”

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you should break the silence that you’d both been living in for weeks. Unspoken, so far--the feelings and the sex and the uncertainty of what it meant had been woven into your life and now you were about to tug the thread and see if it unraveled.

“We’ve been kidding ourselves, Harry, don’t you think?” When he tilted his head to the side, you took it as a cue to continue. “We’ve been acting like a couple and you’ve been acting like the father of my children and we can’t do that.”

His lips parted and your heart seemed to stop when he didn’t say anything. He licked his lips, hands in his pockets when he said: “okay.”

“Okay?”

An incredulous tone in your voice put him on the defense.

“What do you want me to say?” His shoulders lifted to his ears, a shake of his head when he dropped your gaze. “Living with you and spending time with the girls has been the greatest thing I’ve had all year, I mean that. But it’s your house, they’re your children. It’s your family.”

He was right, but it didn’t mean the words didn’t sting like salt in a wound when he asked: “Do you want me to move out?”

“I think that’s a good idea.”

He scoffed, upset or bothered or maybe both. “I was never trying to overstep any boundaries.”

“I know you weren’t,” you said quickly. “That’s the problem, all of this happened so naturally and you fit into our lives so well and the girls fell in love with you and I--”

You cut yourself off, clamped your mouth together as if the words would pry their way out.

“You what?”

“I don’t want them to get hurt again.”

He pointed a finger to his chest, anger on his face. “By me? You think I would do something to hurt them?”

“Not intentionally, Harry,” you let your arms flail against your sides. “But that doesn’t mean that you won’t. Their dad left, their grandfather died, and then you moved in and suddenly it’s like you’re the missing piece they never had but that’s not realistic!”

“Why not?!” He was bothered now, more emotion in his eyes when his hands went up to run through his hair.

“Because you’re you. You’re a musician. You’re recording an album and going on tour and you’re not really able to be present. You couldn’t even show up tonight!”

“I’m not Luke,” he shook his head.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then why does it bother you that I was late? Why does that matter if I’m here now?”

“Because if you’d do it to me you’d do it to them. We don’t need to be left by another man this year.”

You didn’t mean for the words to come off so biting and harsh. He nodded slowly, chest deflated before he brought his eyes back up to you. “Fine. I can get my stuff and stay at Jeff’s.”

The shift in his demeanor felt heavy, his shoulders angled away and suddenly the magnetic pull between your chests was no longer there, like the thread had been snipped altogether and your words had been the scissors.

“I--I’m not trying to be a dick.”

“It’s fine, Y/N. I understand.”

“I just don’t want them to get hurt.”

“Or do you not want to get hurt?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Forget it,” he said, a few steps towards you when his face softened. “Tell everyone I say hi. I’ll go get my things before the girls are home and I’ll be out of your hair.”

He let his arm snake around your waist, a kiss to the side of your head before you could stop him--not that you would have.

He left you there in the parking lot, alone again for the third time this year, walked out on and deserted when your eyes welled with tears. You turned on your heels to head inside, hoping that Tristan had kept things together and hoping that the champagne was still flowing.

Jeff found you first, hand on your elbow when he spotted you in the hallway near the bathroom, mascara on your cheeks when you tried to soak up tears with a folded napkin. “Hey--where have you been?”

“Harry’s moving out,” you said it quickly. “He’s going to--uh--he’ll stay at your place, I think, for now.”

He looked over his shoulder and back at the gathering behind you. “Is he here?”

“I found him in the parking lot--he left, though.”

“What happened?”

Where did you start? When was the line crossed? Was it when he started playing with the girls in the backyard? Was it when he carried CeCe up to her bed after Maeve’s sleepover? Or was it all the way back when he came to your birthday party and kissed you at the top of the stairs in an empty house?

“Nothing, it’s just time for him to move out,” you shook your head, embarrassed by the emotion streaming down your cheeks. You tried to laugh it off, shook your head and blotted your face again. Now wasn’t the time for this conversation and it certainly wasn’t the time for the tears.

“Y/N, stop. You’re letting him walk out of your life just like that?”

You looked up at him, thrown off by his question. “You don’t even know what happened. I’m fine, it’s all fine.”

“No--I don’t know, but I also know that I’ve never seen you as happy as you are with him and the girls.”

“He’s twenty-four, Jeff.”

“So what? That’s going to stop you from doing what’s right for you?”

“How is it right for me? He can’t be the type of person that Maeve and CeCe need.”

“Can he actually not be, or is the age thing getting in the way?”

“I can’t talk to you about this right now,” you pulled away from him, bothered by his strong opinions and his know-it-all attitude. Some things never changed.

“Don’t ruin something good just because you don’t know how it will end.”

You gave him the finger as you walked away, forced out a laugh and tried to flip the switch: happy, grateful, excited and ready for another glass of champagne.

He dropped it then, you left him with no choice but to follow you back out to the party. He ate mini cheesecakes before the crowd started to disperse and drove you home, a kiss on the cheek before you climbed out. Call me in the morning, he said. Translation: I hope you change your mind overnight.

Harry’s car was gone, and if you had to guess, the bed upstairs was made and the drawers were empty. His keys weren’t on the hook by the back door and when Shelli dropped off the girls and they raced inside, Maeve’s face fell.

“Where’s Harry?”

“Oh,” you hadn’t thought this far ahead, still numb from the whiplash of emotions. “He’s at Uncle Jeff’s--he’s gonna stay there from now on, I think.”

“Wait, so he moved out?”

“Harry’s gone?” CeCe asked.

“Not forever, no, no--he’s just not going to live here.”

“Why not?”

“He has to work,” you spit out quickly. “He’s busy.” What were you supposed to tell them? Mommy’s an idiot.

“Why does that mean he can’t live here?”

“Because he just can’t,” you said, a sigh when you knew the answer wasn’t good enough for Maeve. She must have sensed the emotion in your voice, though, because she didn’t push it.

“Can you bring your sister upstairs and start getting ready for bed, please?”

Shelli was at the island, quiet and observant when Maeve let out a reluctant sigh but ushered CeCe forward. They climbed in silence, and when the faucet was turned on, all bets were off.

“What on earth happened?”

“He can’t stay here, Shelli. We can’t do whatever it was we were doing.”

“Which was...”

“Pretending that he was their dad or something and me pretending that sleeping with him was normal.”

“And where does being happy factor into this nonsense equation?”

“It doesn’t.” You busied yourself at the sink, grabbed for the sponge and wiped invisible crumbs from the granite to keep your hands busy. “After Luke and my dad, I was just stupid, okay? It was poor judgment.”

She set her purse down on a stool and watched you closely. “Why does your happiness always come last, Y/N?”

“Because! My happiness doesn’t matter if the decision is stupid. Me plus Harry just doesn’t make sense!” You whispered at her, voice wrought with emotion. “He’s so young and busy and he’s in the industry and--”

“Is that what this is about?”

“Which part?”

“The industry, him being a musician.”

You waved her off like she wasn’t sniffing the truth out of you with ease. “It’s just a piece of it.”

“Y/N, just because your parents’ marriage didn’t work doesn’t mean you’re destined for the same future.”

You stopped wiping at that. “Really? Cause I’m thirty-two and already divorced.”

“But that’s because Luke is an asshole,” she reasoned, “not because of you or the girls.”

A sigh from between your lips, fervent wiping again with the tough side of the sponge, you were sure you felt something sticky. “Well, I doubt Harry would ever be the kind to settle down. That’s unrealistic. He’s famous and busy and he probably is sick of being on carpool duty anyway--probably wants to get back to snorting cocaine off of someone’s tits.”

She let out a quick laugh, shook her head. “You are really in love with him, aren’t you?”

“No,” you looked up at her again and then back at the counter. “I’m just being honest.”

“I don’t think he was ever snorting cocaine off of anyone’s anything. I might not know him as well as Jeffrey does, but, he seems pretty happy here with you three.”

“The girls loved having him here,” you said the thought aloud, it escaped into the air before you could realize Shelli didn’t need anymore ammunition.

“And did you?”

“I mean, I don’t know,” you moved back to the sink, wrung out the sponge and then turned to face her. “It was nice, I guess.”

“Well, then I guess that makes four.”

“Four what?”

“Four people who were all happy with the way things were going. Before you went and turned it upside down out of fear.”

“Okay,” you held up your hands, hoping to end the conversation. It was too late and you were tired--the final glass of champagne had your eyes heavy in the passenger seat of Jeff’s car. “I need to sleep.”

She let out a sigh and picked up her purse, moved around the counter to come and wrap her arms around you. “Don’t let your past ruin your future.”

“Goodnight,” you said sweetly, hoping that your tone would usher her out of the house and into her car, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

She laughed, called over her shoulder when she made her way for the door. “Don’t let the bed bugs bite!”

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realcube · 4 years ago

Text

random kisses with BNHA characters 💋

characters: bakugo, dabi, todoroki & kirishima

tw// swearing

katsuki bakugo

FJDBETIUSCA ok so i firmly believe that the first time you snuck up behind bakugo to surprise him with a lil’ kiss on the cheek, he was blushing so profusely and to hide it, he began wiping his face while muttering profanities

JUST SO THE PETTY BITCH COULD PRETEND LIKE HE DIDN’T ABSOLUTELY ADORE IT

‘ew! what was that for?!’ he snarled, aggressively rubbing his cheek to appear as though he was wiping off the kiss but in reality he was trying to hide his furiously red blush

‘awh, did you not like it?’ you pouted, cocking your head to the side at his negative reaction, ‘mina said it’d be cute.’

now he was stuck between a rock and a hard place

neither of which were kirishima

he could say he didn’t enjoy it but not only would he be lying, it might upset you and that’s the last thing he wanted to do tbh

especially bc you were both a bit apprehensive about physical touch up until now so it definitely took you some balls to make the first move

however, he’d have to swallow a lot of pride to admit that he liked it

so he eventually settled with muttering, ‘it’s whatever.’

perfectly executed, bakugo thought

you rolled your eyes at his answer, knowing full well that if bakugo didn’t like something, he’d make it a point to tell you - as he has done in the past

but the last thing you wanted to do was make him uncomfortable so you didn’t pull anything like that again for a while

you didn’t really mind tbh but bakugo definitely did

i mean, you gave him a teaser of your touch and now he was addicted, so it was cruel of you to just withdraw so quickly

he thought that you were taking a break bc you didn’t want to come off too strong but one night, you were just sitting beside each other on his bed and you didn’t even care to give him just a little kiss not even a peck

livid. he was livid.

did he have to make the second move? is that how this works? he didn’t really know

‘uh, are you gonna kiss me or what?’ he hissed, shooting you a forced glare

your eyes widened, ‘uh, sorry, what?--’

‘i’m not saying it again.’

you smiled, shuffling over to bakugo before placing a gentle kiss on his forehead, ‘okay, fine. anything my lil’ princess wants.’

‘OH FUCK OFF!’ he barked, playfully pushing you away slightly

‘okay, okay- i’m sorry!’ you giggled, leaning back in to briefly silence him with your lips, ‘that was a bit mean of me- if anything, i think asking for what you want is very manly.’

you stared at his displeased and gruff expression before realising that you should probably elaborate to fill the awkward silence

‘and what’s wrong with being a princess?- if you were one, i think you’d be cinderella-’

‘and you’d be the rat who makes me clothes.’ he let out a low chuckle at that comparison

‘i’m never going near you ever again.’ you grumbled, trying to scoot away from him but being prevented from doing so by his tight grip on your shoulder after he hastily slung his arm behind you

‘good!’ he scoffed while simultaneously pulling you closer

dabi

literally didn’t even faze him at first

you’d just sneak up behind him to pepper kisses on the nape of his neck and he’d simply turn around then offer you a bite of the burrito he was having

or you’d rush up to him while he was on his phone to press a quick kiss on his cheek and he’d just show you the meme he was looking at on his phone

no blush, no chuckle, no smile in sight

HOWEVER something that does get him every time is when you kiss along his lil’ face staples or when you’d make the ‘mwah’ sound effect as you kissed him

he thinks it’s so cute 🥰

and after a while of you doing that, he’ll probably start doing it too lol

but only on the top of your head or on the back of your knuckle

he doesn’t hold your hand too often bc of his quirk and also he generally doesn’t find it practical but sometimes when you are just sitting next to each other — watching a movie or sumn — he reaches out for your hand and just showers it with kisses

on the tips of your finger, knuckles, nails, wrist, palm- literally everywhere

oh and bites on you when he’s hungry and you’re making food-

that’s like his version of surprise kisses lmao

you’ll be daydreaming while stirring the pot of macaroni then he’ll sneak up behind you — silent asf — and bite on your shoulder or take your hand to bite your knuckle

although they aren’t full on bites, like a nom not a chomp, if that makes sense, it feels really weird bc his teeth are sharp as hell

it scares the shit out of you every time btw

one time, you tried nibbling on his hand in a similar way that he does to you but you were almost sick 🤢

like his hands literally reek of ash and smoke

you tried to play it off like it wasn’t an issue bc you didn’t want to hurt his feeling or whatever but like..he knew- and he felt bad that you felt obliged to kiss his crusty hands

but it also amused him to watch you try choke back a gag as your lips pulled away from his hand so yeah 🤠

shoto todoroki

every kiss he gives you is a surprise kiss bc you never see the bitch coming-

anyway, it’s impossible to surprise him with a kiss or hug or anything like that bc he just knows when you are nearby

he’s on hyperalert 24/7

the only time you’d possibly be able to surprise him is when he’s extremely tired or..asleep

but you can try though and he’ll commend your efforts :))

if he’s sitting in the common area and you try to shock him from behind with a sudden kiss on his shoulder, he’ll just look at you like 🙂 ‘good morning, (l/n).’

the first time you ever actually make him jump with on of your kisses is probably like..3 years into your marriage WIUGFLREUIBL

anyway, he highkey loves it though

it ALWAYS makes him smile bc you try so hard at something so trivial

flashback to that one time you hid in the pantry for a good 10 minutes just so you could jump out and scare him with your affection

but he opened the door and after you jumped out at him, he was still like, 🙂 ‘oh, hi, (l/n). what were you doing in the pantry?’

he might try do something similar to you but with minimal effort

for instance, if you’re waiting for him to arrive at the park, mall etc for a date and he notices that you haven’t seen him yet, he’ll just creep up behind you before hesitantly tapping your shoulder, accompanied by the most monotone ‘boo.’ you’ve ever heard

honestly, he kinda wanted to snatch your hand up in his but he tapped your shoulder instead bc he didn’t want to scare you into thinking that some random guy just took your hand

anyway mans doesn’t discriminate w/ his kisses just show him affection and he literally doesn’t care if it’s ‘random’ or not, all kisses are equal in his eyes

eijiro kirishima

plz he is the ceo of random kisses

definitely the sort of guy to creep up behind you and cover your eyes, ‘guess who!’

you sighed, instinctively covering his rough hand with your own, ‘i have no idea, eijiro. who is it?’

then he peppers your face in kisses,no matter who is around

the bakusquad will literally call him a sap till the day he dies and every single time kirishima will reply with ‘heh, okay.’

anyway, back to the scheduled programme

if you just rush up to him at lunch, give him a kiss on the forehead then bolt off, he’ll be a bit flustered but overall very hyped

not even confused tbh like he won’t even ask about it lol

ALSO if you’re in a support course and he comes back from a trip and you greet him by tackling him to the ground with affection, he will melt

like he could’ve literally came back from fighting villains, horribly injuring himself or almost dying but powering through, then you show him some love and he’s like ‘my time has come’ then he passes away 😇

but other than your initial burst of love energy when you first see him, you’re generally as gentle as possible with him when he comes back from a mission

which is the perfect opportunity to give random kisses bc he’s spent the last few weeks being on high-alert so now he’s just ..relaxed :)

oh and plz visit the dorm after school to surprise him, he will literally fall so hard- 😍

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amor-immortalem · 3 years ago

Text

Everything Undesired

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Warnings: dead dove: do not eat, heavily implied rape, gross misuse of a pact, dissociation victim blaming

Summary: not all pact masters use their pacts judiciously or in a positive way. What happens when a pact is misused in one of the worst ways possible?

A/N: so a while back I did a comic by the name of ‘Meet Me Under the Azaleas’ I’m no longer happy with the writing I put into it originally so I wanted to rewrite it using the same plot line and adding some extra scenes that weren’t in the original comic which I’ll be taking down tonight. It should work better as a fic anyway.

Chapter 1

“You are ours. We own you.”

Those words rang in his head over and over as he stumbled his way into his room, overstimulated, exhausted- a mess. He knew it was a mistake to answer the call of those witches tonight. The thoughts of what they did, how their hands ran over his body, what they had taken away. It made his stomach churn and tie itself in knots with guilt and shame. It burned just the same as the rope marks on his wrists and ankles- wounds that would heal within the hour.

“You won’t breathe a word of this to anyone- this we command of you, Avatar of Greed.”

Those women -no, they were monsters- abused the innate trust that comes with a demon who enters a pact with a human, multiple in this case. They had violated the boundaries he’d put in place the day he started dating his human. Oh God, what would she think if word ever got out? He had no way of speaking out- to scream the truth until his voice was raw.

He needed to shower, to get the stench of sex and sweat off of him. He had to get their scent off of him. As he entered the bathroom, Mammon tore off his clothes as he started the water. The lights remained off as he couldn’t bare to look at himself after what happened. Not after how he just let them use him like that.

He stepped under the boiling water and just let it run against him. The falling water did nothing to drown out the deafening voices running rampant in his mind.

“Disgusting!” They roared, “Useless! Pathetic! Weak! Whore! ….. Scum!”

He falls to the floor of his shower, hands gripping at his hair as he let out a whimper that eventually turned into quiet sobs. The steamy air making it harder to breathe. Why didn’t he fight against them harder- against their orders. No, he just laid there and took it.

He grabbed the soap and a wash rag and scrubbed his body until every bit of him was raw and even then he wouldn’t stop. It was only when he saw the blood swirling around the drain that Mammon realized what he was doing to himself- how bad the water burned the exposed skin. It felt like hellfire raining down upon him.

He felt horrible as he reached up and switched the water off. He could still hear it in his head as he reached for a towel- all the crying, screaming, begging for them to stop.

He was a pathetic, sorry excuse of a demon, he thinks as he wraps the towel around his waist and travels down the his stairs quietly. It’s early morning now. There was only a few hours left before he would have wake up for school. He contemplated just skipping the entire day. There would be know way he’d be able to function. He could always say he feels sick- its not that far from the truth. He would decide in a few hours, he thought as he crawled into bed. It didn’t take long for her to move closer to him. His naturally warmer body temperature was what drew her to him. His body involuntarily tensing as she nuzzled into his chest, arms slipping around his body. He would only tuck her head under his chin and drape and arm over her side as he let the scent of her shampoo relax him enough to fall into a light sleep.

After a short while, someone's alarm blared among the sheets- whether it his or Arella's, he couldn't be sure. Mammon patted around for the offending phone, just wanting to get five more minutes of shut eye. He eventually succeeded but not without waking his partner.

"Morning, Love," Arella sighed, her voice still laced with the grogginess of sleep.

"Mornin', Treasure," The demon yawns as he curls back up, pulling her closer to his chest. "Sleep well?"

"I did. What time you get back last night?" Arella's voice is soft as her hand slides under his shirt, rubbing gently along his side.

"5 this mornin'." He says as he tries to hide the way his body recoils from her touch, a pang of guilt strikes his heart as she notices. "Sorry... 'm not really feelin' all that great right now..."

"No, that's alright." She removes her hand from his side, choosing instead to rest it against his cheek as she readjusts herself so she's eye-level with him on the pillow. "How selfish of those witches to keep you out so late on a school night..." Its at this point she notices the puffiness and how red his eyes are. "You look like you've been crying... Is everything alright?"

He just shakes his head. Mammon wants so badly to tell her what happened to him the night before- the real reason he got home so late, but unsurprisingly, no words come out. He just closes his eyes, letting himself relax under her gentle touch. "I'm jus' really tired s'all."

"I believe it. You only got a hour and a half's worth of sleep. Would you like to just stay home all day, just the two of us?" Arella moves him so he's resting with his head on her chest.

"That's sounds.... nice," he hums quietly, so close to falling back into the clutches of sleep.

"Alright then. Go on and go back to sleep," She kisses the top of his head, carding her fingers through the soft, fluffy locks the other hand rubbing small circles in the center of his back. "I've got you."

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

This carried on for months. The witches would summon him and as long as he complied with their wishes, they would hold his secret. By the third time, he would check out- let his mind escape to anywhere but the present until it was over. It became a vicious cycle. They would call, he would go to them, and then he would crawl into his bed for maybe an hour or two before forcing himself to get up for classes that he often fell asleep in. After the tenth, once they had finished with him, he asked why they were doing this and they told him.

“We desire something to bind you to us for the rest of our lives.”

“A child.”

The demon’s eyes widened at that. Never in his life had he been so opposed to the idea of having children. In fact, just before all of this happened he had been daydreaming about what his children with Arella would look like if they were ever so fortunate to have any but a child with one of the witches? It made him sick. A half-demon born from a demon of his status had a high probability of killing its mother- one who he would then have to raise. How could he explain that to his brothers- to Arella? The very thought filled him with dread. How could he ever bring himself to care for a child conceived from a crime? A child that would always be nothing but a constant reminder of the worst nights of his life. They didn’t deserve a life like that.

And so Mammon did the only thing he could think to do: he fled. He ran back to the Devildom, back to House of Lamentation as fast a his legs would carry him. He crashed through the doors of the house. Never had he been so greatful to be the first one home. As he climbed the steps up to his room he vowed to himself never again. He wouldn’t give them what they wanted, consequences be damned.

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

It had been six months since his last encounter with the witches. There was nothing on their end- absolute radio silence. Part of Mammon wondered if they'd gotten what they wanted from him after all. Everyday was filled with the anxiety of not knowing. His nightmares had gotten worse. Most of them were based around those nights he'd spent with them, others involved everyone finding out a one-sided version of what had happened, all spun in the favor of the witches. He dreamed of Arella leaving him, heart-broken from the implication that he would stray from her and running into the arms of one of his brothers. The worst ones- the ones he would wake up from covered in a cold sweat in the dead of night- consisted of him standing in the witches' home, the sounds of screaming, the smell of blood, the piercing first cries somewhere between the call of a demon and the screams of a human baby infecting his senses. It all felt too real. It felt like a crushing weight on his chest.

Over this time, Mammon had grown distant from both his brothers and Arella, hardly spending anytime with them. He fell apart. The grades he worked so hard to pull up had taken a nose dive, he was hardly eating- choosing only to consume just barely enough to sustain himself. He no longer slept for fear of the nightmares and he instead threw himself into side jobs that would keep him out of the house well passed curfew as well as earn him plentiful amounts of grimm. He couldn't go on like this much longer.

Everyone was worried for him. None of them had ever seen the Avatar of Greed in this manner and the gradual change in his demeanor alarmed them. Despite everyone’s best attempts, Mammon hardly smiled anymore. He just simply didn't seem to enjoy all of the things he once did. They all knew something was wrong but when asked the white haired demon would shrug it off, say he was fine when he very obviously was not. Everything came to a head the night Mammon collapsed, finally falling victim to exhaustion and hunger.

It was after this that Lucifer called the family to a meeting while Arella sat with Mammon in his room as he slept fitfully.

"What do we do, Lucifer?" Asmo seemed distraught with fear. "Our brother is suffering from something and we don't even know where to start in trying to help him."

"We have to get him to talk somehow," Satan quipped, "Perhaps Arella can-"

"If this were any other situation, I would suggest it but right now, I don't think that's a very wise move. If she forces him to talk it could very well damage the bond they share." For the first time in thousands of years, Lucifer didn't know what to do. Whatever was causing this shift in personality was eating away at Mammon. "We'll try to think of a way to fix this- to find out what happened to our dear brother. So let's start at the beginning of all of this. What do we know about what he was doing before this happened?"

"Well, Levi started, "He was getting called up by those witch sisters with more and more frequently. I heard him come home super late- like early morning hours late..."

"And after that is when he practically stopped eating." Beel chimed in.

"And he was having nightmares almost nightly, afterwards." Belphie nodded. "I did my best with my powers to look into them but there were so many mental blocks that he subconsciously put up, I couldn't see or hear anything very well and what I could see didn't make a whole lot of sense. They weren't very clear, but they had something to do with the witches... and I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt associated with them."

"Then obviously something happened while he was with them," Satan said, brow furrowed. "But what that may be, we won't know until he talks."

"Asmo, I see the look on your face." Lucifer called out to the Avatar of Lust. "Is there something, you'd like share with the group?"

Everyone's eyes were locked onto Asmodeus as the demon sat with a contemplative look on his face. He was very slowly starting to piece together what had been going on.

"Not yet, but I may have a hunch." He finally said. "Mammon has a pact with these women, correct?"

Masterlist 2

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wonderful-writes · 3 years ago

Text

Change in Arrangements

Pairing: Charlie Weasley x Reader (Modern AU?)

Summary: You and Charlie had an arrangement: meaningless sex to release stress, no strings attached. But when sleeping with a co-worker starts to feel like more, what do you do?

Warnings: mentions of sex

Author’s Note: This is my entry for @rcwenaclaw’s 1.5k Writing Challenge. I chose the trope “friends-with-benefits to lovers” from her list. I really enjoyed participating in this challenge, so thanks sm!!

———

It started off as something casual. After a long day at work, one of you would want to blow off some steam in a healthy way. You would seek the other out for some nighttime activities to relieve the stress of the workload that came along with being a dragonologist. Sometimes it was you who initiated a rendezvous, sometimes it was him. Either way, you were often found in each other’s arms.

Casual, that’s all it was. You were friends, co-workers. Your arrangement was merely physical. Just two people having sex for the fun of it, no feelings involved. That’s what you both had agreed on. That’s what you both said you wanted. And that’s what worked for months. But, suddenly, it wasn’t working anymore.

You didn’t know when you had developed feelings for Charlie Weasley. During the first few months that you slept together, you didn’t see him as anything other than a friend. Friends-with-benefits, you called it. But, gradually, he became something more than just an object to use, a body to warm the bed. He was no longer someone you wanted to hook up with. You wanted to stay the night without having to leave in the morning. You wanted to hold his hand, to take him out, to give him your heart.

How could you not fall for the tall redhead? He was handsome, charming, and, above all, kind. He was great with animals, a hard worker, and knew how to treat others with respect. There wasn’t a single person in the world who didn’t like him. The only problem was that you perhaps liked him too much.

But you kept your feelings hidden. It was only a casual relationship, after all. He was free to date other people, and so were you. But he was the only person you wanted. You couldn’t risk losing your friendship by telling him how you felt. What if he didn’t feel the same? What if he wanted to stop seeing you altogether? Having a physical relationship with him was better than nothing. If you couldn’t have all of him, at least you could have a part of him.

After one particularly strenuous day, Charlie was in the mood for something easier on the muscles. He decided to knock on your door once he had showered and cleansed off the dirt of the day. You answered promptly, letting him in and shutting the door.

“What brings you here?” you teased, busying yourself with straightening the pillows on the couch.

“You know why I’m here,” he responded with a grin.

“Oh, do I?” you asked back, as he approached you.

“Yeah, yeah you do,” he breathed once he was close enough to touch you.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer.

“You know exactly why I’m here, sweetheart,” he whispered.

“Then let’s get to it.”

You rolled over the second both of you finished, distancing yourself from the man you were previously entangled with. Normally, you would have let yourself remain in his arms for a bit. Sometimes you’d even fall asleep together for a few hours. But that just made leaving that much harder. You knew that if you stayed close to him for long, you’d want him. And not just for sex. You’d want to love him. And you knew you couldn’t do that.

Charlie looked over at you.

“Something up?” he asked, wondering why you were turned away from him and not speaking.

“Uh, no,” you replied. You were staring at the wall, not daring to meet him in the eyes. “I’m just tired. Maybe you should go so that I can get some sleep.”

“Yeah, uh, you’re right,” he answered. “It’s getting kind of late. I should probably head back.”

He stood up and got dressed, glancing over at you periodically. Finally, when he was done, he slipped out the door, leaving you with your thoughts.

After that time, you told yourself you wouldn’t sleep with him anymore. It was too painful when he left. When he got up and abandoned you like you were nothing. It was your fault for telling him to leave, but would he really have stayed if you asked? Probably. But that’s just who he is. He’s always there for his friends, and you were one of them. If you asked him to spend the night, he would most likely have done it. But it wouldn’t have meant anything to him. Would it?

Oh, how you desperately wished you could get him out of your head. He was everywhere, not just at work but in your thoughts and daydreams. He was all you could think about during every waking moment. You had made a mistake by getting attached to someone who didn’t want a romantic relationship, and now you were paying the price.

You decided that you would end things once and for all. You could no longer see him if you weren’t with him. Sure, you’d be civil with him at work. And you’d possibly still be friends. But you couldn’t sleep with him any longer. It hurt too much to be caught up in the throes of passion with Charlie only to have him leave before daylight. You had to stop this relationship before it could break your heart any further.

Ding!

You rubbed your eyes and sat up at the sound of your phone. Glancing at the screen that read 11:30 p.m., you checked to see who could be texting you at this hour.

Charlie: Hey, you up?

Charlie. Of course. Who else would need you this late at night? Well, need is a strong word. He didn’t need you. He just kept you around for a good time.

Your heart craved to text him back, to tell him yes, I’m up now, and I’ll always be available for you. But your mind told you not to. You couldn’t do this again, couldn’t let yourself fall back into a cycle of bliss followed by heartbreak and back to bliss again. It had been two weeks since you made your decision to stop hooking up with him, and you were determined to stay strong. You couldn’t let your heart be shattered anymore.

You: Hey, I’m not sure we should do this anymore.

You anxiously waited for his reply. This was the first time you were telling him that you wanted to discontinue your relationship, and you only hoped he would take it well. You didn’t want to lose his friendship. He meant too much in your life.

Charlie: You mean hook up?

You: Yeah

Charlie: Why?

You: It’s just not what I’m looking for anymore.

Charlie: Okay? This is kind of out of the blue.

You: We’re still friends, right?

Charlie: Of course

You: Well, have a good night.

Charlie: You too

It was going to take a while to get over him. But you knew you had to do it.

After that night, when you finally broke things off with Charlie, things were decidedly normal on the reserve. Nothing had changed, not that you expected anything to be different. You still went to work, saw Charlie there, and interacted with him like usual. The only difference was that you no longer invited him over, and he no longer invited you. That didn’t mean you didn’t think about him.

He still occupied every available space in your mind. You found yourself picturing the two of you together more and more often. When you made yourself breakfast, you wondered what it would look like if he cooked for you. When you went out to shop, you thought about what his favorite store might be. When you saw a couple walking their dog, you pondered over whether he liked small animals as much as dragons. And when you were in bed all alone, you wished he was there next to you, holding you close.

A few weeks after you ended your arrangement with Charlie, you got another text. This time, it came at 6:30 in the evening.

Charlie: Hey, do you want to come over to watch a movie? No sex of course

You spent a good five minutes mulling over his message. Did you want to come over? Of course you did. But spending time with him outside of work, even if it was just to watch a movie, was not going to help you get over him. Eventually, the longing in your heart won against the logical part of you.

You: Sure. I’ll be there in 5.

You arrived at his house no more than five minutes later. He immediately let you in and handed you a mug of tea from the kitchen.

“I was thinking we could watch Gone with the Wind,” he said once you were both situated on the couch.

“Ooh, a classic,” you approved. “But why an old movie? And why a romance?”

He nervously looked at you and scratched the back of his neck.

“It was the first Muggle movie my dad showed us,” Charlie admitted. “I was just thinking about my family and wanted to watch it again.”

You nodded. “Okay, then, let’s play it.”

Throughout the movie, you couldn’t help glance at Charlie every so often. He was enraptured in the film, as if he was watching it for the very first time. Periodically, he would make a comment or two about the movie, usually referencing something his parents or one of his siblings said when they watched it during his childhood. You enjoyed seeing him smile, glad that you could at least see this part of him. But you couldn’t stop picturing what the evening would be like if you weren’t watching a movie as friends, but as romantic partners instead.

When the film was finally over, you got up to put your mug in the sink, taking Charlie’s as well.

“Thanks for coming,” Charlie said, standing up to cross over to the kitchen.

“It was no problem,” you replied. “Besides, I like that movie.”

“It’s one of my favorites, too,” he said. “Not because of the plot or anything, but because it brings back good memories.”

“Is that what this is about?” you questioned.

He gave you a quizzical look.

“Did you want to want to watch it because you’re homesick?” you clarified. “It’s okay if you are. I miss my family sometimes, too.

Charlie nodded. He cleared his throat.

“Yeah, I, uh, I was missing my parents and my siblings, even the twins, who pranked me all the time.” He smiled sadly at the memory.

“That’s sweet,” you said with a smile. “You can tell me about them, if you want. It might make you miss them less.”

The two of you walked back to the couch, getting comfortable once again.

“Well, you already know the basic stuff, like how many of us there are. Seven kids, by the way, in case you’ve forgotten.”

You chuckled. “It still amazes me how your parents were able to look after all of you. A bunch of crazy redheads running around.”

“Hey!” he exclaimed in mock offense. “Not all of us were crazy. I, for one, was only crazy about dragons, which is totally different.”

“Not sure if it’s different at all, but I’ll take your word for it,” you joked.

“You’re one to talk,” he scoffed. “You became a dragonologist, too.”

Two hours later, you and Charlie were both exhausted. After watching the ridiculously long movie and chatting about his family and yours, you were both wiped out. You had succeeded in making him feel better about being away from home, and that was enough of an accomplishment for you. It made you happy to see him smile, and it sent a flurry of butterflies in your stomach to know that you were the one to cause it. As you grabbed your coat to leave, you wished the night would last forever.

“You could stay the night, if you want,” Charlie offered. “It’s late, and you probably don’t want to walk back in the dark.”

“No, uh, it’s fine,” you assured. “I’ve done it before, so this time should be no different.”

“Well, bye then,” he said as he opened the door for you.

“Bye, Charlie.” You sent him a little wave as you made your way down his front steps and onto the sidewalk.

“Hey, wait,” he called out from his doorway. “Do you want to get coffee tomorrow? Before work?”

You sent him a confused look. “We don’t have work tomorrow. That’s why we were able to stay up so late tonight, remember?”

“Oh, right,” he said sheepishly, his cheeks turning pink. “Well, we could still go for coffee. Unless you sleep in on weekends. We could do lunch?”

An immediate yes almost flew out of your mouth. But, somehow, even after the fun night you had with him, there was still a part of you that kept your distance.

“Umm, I don’t know yet,” you answered. “I’ll get back to you tomorrow.”

As if he could sense the hesitancy in your voice, he asked, “Is there something else?”

“What?”

He walked down the steps and approached you. He stopped about a foot away from you.

“Is there something else?” he repeated. “Is there someone else?”

You were dumbfounded. Why was he asking you this? You two weren’t dating. You weren’t even sleeping together anymore. There were no strings attached when you were hooking up, and definitely no strings attached now that you weren’t.

“Is that why you wanted to end things?” he pressed. “Do you have feelings for someone?”

He stepped closer to you, and you could feel the heat radiating off of his skin. You didn’t know what to say. Could he possibly feel the same way you do? Was it worth it to admit how you felt? Or was he only asking out of curiosity? Should you continue to guard your heart? You decided to settle on the truth.

“No,” you responded quietly. “There’s no one else.”

“Then why don’t you want to hook up anymore?” Charlie asked. He reached for your hands, and it took everything in you not to pull away in embarrassment.

“It’s because I like you,” you admitted. “As more than a friend. As more than a sex partner.”

Charlie looked stunned. You searched his eyes for anger or amusement or any emotion at all, but all you could see was a blank stare. You wish you could know what he was thinking.

You took his silence as permission to go on. “I honestly think I’m falling in love with you. So I had to end things because it was too painful to sleep with you and then have to watch you leave. I hope you can understand why I can’t do that anymore.”

You gulped and looked down at your hands clasped in his. Before you could fully take in the sight, he dropped your hands in favor of cupping your face.

“I have feelings for you, too,” he told you, peering into your eyes. “I don’t watch sacred family movies with just anyone.”

You let out a little laugh, your head still spinning from the news. “Then why haven’t you ever told me?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I was afraid of losing you,” you explained. “Keeping you around as a friend is better than not having you in my life at all.”

“That’s the same reason I never said anything either,” he admitted.

“Well, now that it’s all out in the open, do you still want to go for that coffee date?” you asked hopefully. “Or lunch, if that works better.”

He chuckled. “Yes, I would love to.”

By now, his hands had made their way back to your face. Your eyes flickered from his lips to the freckles dotting his face. You smiled softly at him, gazing into his bright eyes. He took this moment between you as an opportunity to lean in. As if still testing the waters of your new dynamic, he stopped inches from your lips.

“Does this mean we’re in a relationship now?” he whispered.

“Yeah, I guess it does,” you whispered back.

“Well, it’s about time for a change in arrangements,” he said with a smile. “I don’t know how much longer I could’ve gone with just being your friend or your hook-up buddy.”

“Me neither,” you agreed. “And I don’t know how much longer I can go without kissing you.”

Not long after the words left your lips, Charlie pressed his against yours. You kissed back softly, letting go of all the thoughts troubling you. All that mattered was you and him, finally together.

When you broke away, you couldn’t help but notice the silly grin on his face.

“What?” you asked, even though you knew your face likely looked the same.

“Nothing,” he answered nonchalantly. “It’s just that dragons aren’t the only thing I’m crazy about anymore.”

#charlie weasley #charlie weasley x reader #charlie weasley x y/n #charlie weasley x you #charlie weasley one shot #charlie weasley fanfiction

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xjoonchildx · 4 years ago

Text

guilty | knj x reader | chapter two: incheon mall tube tops

summary: as the man at the top, kim namjoon has almost everything he wants. almost. could a familiar face from the past change his future?

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: mafia AU, pining, eventual smut

rating: 18+

word count: 4.5K

notes: i really hope you guys are enjoying namjoon’s story! i think there will only be one more chapter after this. and like a true unfocused writer i started daydreaming about a yoongi one-shot to go with it? gah, nevermind. i really hope you guys like this and i’d love to hear how you feel one way or another. a huge thanks to my amazing beta @hobi-gif who does a hell of a lot more than just find typos. and all of my love has to go out to @ladyartemesia @ppersonna @taetaewonderland because all three of you are so much more than tumblr friends.

this fic is a continuation of the Guarded Series but can be read as a standalone piece.

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | Epilogue

**********************

It didn’t matter how hard you tried to hide your sadness, Namjoon saw it.

It didn’t matter how many hushed calls you tried to sneak, or how many smiles you tried to force -- Namjoon saw right through your act from the very beginning. He’d seen enough to know that you were facing some kind of personal battle. He understood enough about you to know that you were far too private to bring it up or ask for help.

He should have asked.

The question sat heavy on the tip of his tongue for weeks. He should have asked on the days he would spot you at your desk, fingers pressed to your temples in frustration. Or on the days when he would catch you staring out the window, mind a million miles away.

He didn’t.

Instead, he let himself be driven to distraction by the way your blouses fit perfectly against the lines of your body. The way your pencil skirts hugged the curve of your hips. How soft your hair looked pulled into the low, loose knot you favored.

He found himself stumbling over his words when you’d quietly slip into meetings to deliver an urgent message or he’d drift off in the middle of conversations just because he’d caught sight of you outside his office door.

So it wasn’t long before what started as a preoccupation turned into a full-blown fixation.

You’d turn up at his request, poised and professional as always -- and he’d be lost in thought, defiling you a thousand different ways in his head. Fantasizing about getting his hands on you, his mouth on you, his teeth on you.

You didn’t deserve that.

That’s why Namjoon kept his mouth shut -- stuck in a maddening cycle of wanting to help you, wanting to know you, just wanting you.

All of it made him feel guilty as hell.

*********************

The new girl is a fucking disaster.

Namjoon has yet to figure out how she manages to be underfoot at the most inconvenient times and simultaneously nowhere to be found when she’s needed. She misplaces files and misses calls and forgets assigned tasks altogether. He’s lost track of the number of times he’s passed her desk to find her taking pictures of herself; lips pouted, angle skewed.

Two weeks ago, she was probably selling tube tops at Incheon Mall and now she’s playing gatekeeper to one of the most powerful men in Seoul. So it’s not her fault that she’s woefully unprepared for this job.

And it’s not her fault that she’s not you.

Namjoon has spent the better part of the morning debating the call he’s about to make, picking up the phone and setting it back down at least half a dozen times. But he’s at the end of his rope, running out of patience and options.

So he swallows his pride and picks up the phone just one more time.

You answer on the first ring.

“Mister Kim.”

God, he’s missed the sound of your voice.

“Good morning,” he starts carefully, clearing his throat. “I’m certain you have a lot on your plate but I was wondering if you could come sit with the new girl for a few minutes. She’s struggling a bit.”

The line is quiet for a moment and Namjoon can practically hear your thoughts on the other end of the line. The ones that say well that’s what you get for replacing your perfectly competent assistant with a child.

“I left notes,” is the quiet reply that comes instead.

“You did.”

“Detailed notes. Written, detailed notes.”

“Yes,” Namjoon agrees, rubbing his fingers across his mouth. “I’m certain they were quite detailed. It’s just that she’s having trouble following those notes because --”

“Because she can’t read?”

Namjoon cringes. Any small hope he had that you weren’t taking your reassignment personally dies with the abrupt delivery of that statement.

“Apparently not,” he admits lamely.

He hears the quiet sigh you take in before answering.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

*************************

There’s a moment -- just after Seokjin has walked through his office door -- when Namjoon catches a glimpse of you.

You are leaned over the new girl’s desk, lips pursed, pointing something out on the computer screen. Namjoon freezes when you look up and lock eyes with him just as the door swings shut.

Christ, is he ever going to be able to look at you without feeling like he’s had the wind knocked out of him?

He turns to find Seokjin staring at him, one brow raised.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon exhales, shoving a hand through his hair as he walks back to his desk. “I’m fine. You said you wanted to talk about something?”

“I do,” Seokjin starts, helping himself to a seat. “Two things, actually. Both pertaining to the amazing new assistant you so generously gifted me.”

Namjoon’s nails dig into the palm of his hand.

“Go on.”

“Apparently she’s some kind of whiz with numbers,” Seokjin continues, unbothered by his strained response. “I gave her a few of the books to look over and she already found a couple of our guys in the Songpa district skimming off the top. I’ll bet there’s even more where that came from and she’ll find it. She’s got a good eye.”

Namjoon feels pride stir in his chest. Yet again, you exceed expectations.

“Send Yoongi and Hoseok to Songpa tonight,” he murmurs. “I’ll be curious to hear what kind of explanation our friends come up with for their lapses in accounting.”

Seokjin nods.

“Will do. So the other thing --” he pauses for a beat, like he’s trying to figure out how to carefully deliver what he has to say next. “I know you asked me to try and figure out what’s going on with her and I think I have. You’re right, she’s struggling with some personal issues.”

Namjoon leans forward in his chair, body rigid.

“Let me hear it.”

*************************

YOU

The new girl is a fucking disaster.

You have yet to figure out why she can’t work the printers or can’t read a simple spreadsheet when you know for fact she knows how to beam her selfies all the way to the goddamned moon.

It’s infuriating.

Just like it’s infuriating to see her seated at what should be your desk, doing what should be your job, working for the man who should be your boss.

Figure shit out, you’d love to tell her. Sink or swim, that’s how the real world works.

The idea of letting her fail so dismally that Namjoon has no choice but to beg for you back is tempting. But then he’d picked up the phone to personally ask you to help.

And apparently you are incapable of denying that man anything.

You’ve stayed late every day this week to review the spreadsheets Seokjin has given you to audit because of the extra time you’ve had to put aside to help the new girl navigate foreign concepts like filing and scheduling.

The numbers tell an interesting story.

The rumors about Kim Namjoon’s skill as a businessman don’t give him enough credit. Money is pouring into the Gajog, hand over fist, from every major district in the city. Billions of won flow into the organization from legitimate and not as legitimate revenue streams alike. Combine the numbers and Kim Namjoon controls an empire worth trillions.

You stare at the sums and your mind flips back to your unexpected pay raise. It’s no wonder Namjoon can afford to be so generous.

It’s no wonder so many of the street-level men who work for him seem to be helping themselves to more than their fair share.

It took you a few days to identify the patterns, comparing the new intake sheets to the old ones, but once you did the missing money practically jumped off the page. Just a few audits in and you’d already been able to find at least 119 million won unaccounted for.

The Kim Namjoon you know is reserved and unflappable -- but this is information that’s bound to piss even him off.

What is a man like him like when he’s angry?

You shudder at the thought.

Before long, the night sky stares back at you from the window across from your desk and you decide it’s well past time you went home. You sort everything into neat piles and leave yourself organized notes before packing up to leave.

***************************

There’s no answer from your mother when you call to her from the hallway.

You frown as you make your way to her bedroom, worry melting away when you find her asleep in her chair. Her head is bent at a sharp angle, and you immediately move to help her prop her up.

Her eyes open to slits, unfocused from sleep and medication.

“Ttal,” she whispers, grimacing as she straightens out the crick in her neck.

“Eomma,” you whisper in a hushed rebuke. “We’ve talked about this. You can’t fall asleep in this chair, it’s terrible for you.”

She nods slowly, pointing to a glass of water on her nightstand. You hand it to her, but it wobbles in her weak grip and you take hold of it to help her drink before setting it aside.

“I’m hurting tonight,” she admits.

“I know,” you sigh, heart breaking. “Come, let me help you into bed.”

The process is painstaking. You help hoist her frail frame out of the chair and over to the side of the bed then work carefully to help her lie back. There’s no meat on her anymore, just skin and bones, so you tuck her blankets carefully around her legs and arms until you’re certain she’s not shivering anymore.

You know this isn’t working.

It doesn’t matter how many calls you make over the course of a day to check in, or how many well-meaning neighbors drop in to help, leaving your mother alone for hours in this state is a dangerous gamble.

You fight back tears of frustration. You grew up without siblings and your father has been gone for years. Being alone is something you’ve had a long time to get used to.

But you’ve still never felt as alone as you do right now.

You think in the quiet for a while, stroking your fingers across your mother’s upturned palm, unsure of what to say, unsure of what to do.

Unsure of what comes next.

“Kim Namjoon grew up to be such a handsome man,” your mother rasps.

The steady stroke of your fingers comes to an abrupt halt as the fine hairs on the nape of your neck stand on end.

“Excuse me?”

Your mother doesn’t repeat herself.

“Eomma,” you urge, nudging her hand with yours. “What is this talk of Kim Namjoon?”

Her lips quirk when she closes her eyes like she’s recalling a pleasant memory.

“His mother was beautiful,” she breathes quietly. “God smiled on that boy. He looks nothing like his father.”

The dull panic that’s already started to pulse in your chest sharpens to a point.

She has to be hallucinating.

She has to be taking too much medicine because nothing she’s saying makes any sense. You fumble for the bottles on her nightstand, pulling off the caps and pouring the pills out onto the tabletop. You count them over and over until you’re satisfied your mother hasn’t taken a dangerous amount of drugs.

“Eomma, why are you talking about Kim Namjoon?” you plead. “Help me understand.”

But when you look back to your mother, you realize your words are already falling on deaf ears. She’s slipped back into a sleep state once again.

If only it were that easy for you.

When you finally get to crawl into bed a short while later, you toss and turn all night.

Somewhere in the haze between asleep and awake you dream of Kim Namjoon.

*************************

Your mother’s mental clarity is always better in the morning.

After she’s had a night of rest -- and whatever medicine she’s taken has had some time to wear off -- she’s much more alert, much more like her old self. But you still weren’t able to get anything by way of answers out of her as you made breakfast this morning.

You’d made her favorite cold cucumber soup before carefully broaching the subject of last night’s strange conversation. You’d waited patiently for some kind of explanation about why she mentioned a man she hasn’t spoken of in years.

It didn’t come.

There was something odd about the way your mother went completely quiet at your mention of Namjoon. Something odd about how adamant she was about not having any memory of the conversation at all.

That odd look on her face is the one thought on your mind as you make your way to work in a complete fog. You slip into an open elevator and hit the button for your floor on autopilot.

You don’t even realize that you’re not alone until a soft voice interrupts your thoughts.

“I remember you.”

Your eyes flick up from their unseeing stare at your shoes to a young woman standing against the elevator’s back wall.

“Miss Kim,” you breathe, brushing an errant hair out of your face. Your cheeks are still stinging from the cold. “Good morning.”

Namjoon’s sister is a beautiful woman, without a doubt — but until this moment, you hadn’t realized how much she resembles her brother. They have the same striking features, the same smooth skin and high cheekbones and full lips.

They share the same dark, kind eyes.

“I remember you now,” she repeats, mouth curving into a smile. “I knew I recognized you, but it wasn’t until a few weeks ago that I finally connected the dots.”

“Well, I wasn’t around a lot when we were kids,” you admit shyly. “So that’s certainly understandable.”

“That’s true,” she agrees. “And I try not to think back to those times a lot but you made an impression on me. You were always so sweet.”

Your cold cheeks seem to warm at her compliment.

“Thank you.”

The elevator stops at her floor but she seems reluctant to end the conversation. She leans against the door to prop it open.

“My brother,” she asks carefully, “Is he treating you well? Is he a fair boss?”

You clear your throat, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

“Well, he’s not my boss anymore,” you admit. “He replaced me not long ago. But yes, he was very fair when I worked for him.”

Her lips part in a soft gesture of surprise when you deliver that news.

She’s quiet until the elevator blares a loud reminder that it’s time to close the doors. She smiles at you on her way out the door, opting not to comment on the quality of her brother’s staffing decisions.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she murmurs. “But I’m still really glad you’re here.”

****************************

An inviting scent is the first thing you notice when you get home that night.

The second thing you notice are the voices.

You make your way down the long hallway with careful steps, trying to place the sound of the voice coming from your mother’s bedroom. It doesn’t sound like Mrs. Sim -- in fact, it doesn’t sound like anyone you know.

You stop short at the sight that greets you when you round the corner.

A woman -- a complete stranger is in your mother’s room.

You stand frozen in shock as you watch the stranger read to your mother from her seated position in the chair next to the bed. She looks up from the page when she realizes you’re there, giving you a better look at her pleasant, aged face.

“Aish,” she startles, clapping a hand over her chest. “Here I was, worried about scaring you and instead you’re the one giving me a fright.”

It takes you a moment to find your voice.

“Forgive me,” you start weakly, “But who are you? And how did you get into this house?”

The woman stands to adjust the pillow under your mother’s head before meeting you in the doorway. “She’s resting now,” she says, nodding at your mother’s still form on the bed. “Why don’t we talk in the kitchen?”

Should you be screaming right now? Calling the police?

There’s no good explanation for why you do neither and decide instead to follow this complete stranger into your kitchen instead. She walks to the stove to stir whatever she has cooking in the pot.

“Get off those feet,” she admonishes kindly. “I’m sure you’ve had a long day.”

Again you comply, inexplicably following orders.

“I made Budae Jjigae,” she explains, ladling some of the stew into a bowl. She sets it down in front of you, and you stare back at her like an idiot. The stew smells amazing, and you’re immediately hit with a well-timed hunger pang.

“Who are you?” you ask again.

“My name is Jinjoo,” she replies sweetly, handing you a spoon. “And I work for you now.”

“You work for me,” you repeat slowly.

“I do,” Jinjoo nods. “Mister Kim hired me.”

The spoon clatters loudly against the lip of the bowl when you drop it. For a moment, it’s hard to breathe. You have to wait for the strange sensation that snakes up your spine to subside before you speak again.

“Mister Kim.” You echo her again, dumbly.

Jinjoo takes a seat next to you at the table, radiating a patient kindness that makes you want to give into the urge to trust her. She smiles reassuringly at you, voice soothing when she speaks again.

“Yes. He said you needed help with your mother, and I can understand why. I nursed in hospitals for decades, dear. I can see your mother is in a bad way.”

You blink back at Jinjoo in stunned silence.

“I assure you, I’ll give your mother the best quality care,” she vows, patting one of your hands with her own. “And Mister Kim has already paid me well in advance, so don’t even think about trying to get rid of me.”

That statement almost makes you laugh.

You don’t want to get rid of Jinjoo at all. Ten minutes ago you had no idea she existed and in the span of one conversation she’s become one of the most important people you know. Tears well in your eyes as you stare into your bowl of stew, at a total loss for words.

Jinjoo seems to sense how overwhelmed you are. She gives you some space to process what’s going on, stroking one soft hand over your shoulder when she stands to leave.

“Eat something, dear. I’m gonna go sit with your mother for a while.”

You look up at her with watery eyes and nod, reaching for the spoon.

“This smells really good,” you say softly.

“Well, I’m a great cook. You’ll see,” she promises.

“Jinjoo -- “ you call out after her as she walks away. “Thank you,” you manage, voice thick with emotion. “I can’t thank you enough.”

The corners of her eyes crinkle when her mouth curves into a smile.

“You’re welcome.”

**********************

Jinjoo’s stew was delicious -- not that you had the chance to fully appreciate it.

You’d sat in that kitchen alone for some time, eating slowly while you tried to process yet another bombshell in what seemed to be a series of them. Everything that’s happened to you since Namjoon reassigned you has been a whirlwind; from the sudden pay raise to the sudden arrival of Jinjoo.

You eat the last of the stew with your stomach in knots.

Namjoon knows your mother is sick. And you don’t know how to feel about it.

A part of you feels exposed when you think about him uncovering the sad details of your mother’s health battle. But knowing that he stepped in to help you fight it makes you feel something you haven’t felt in years.

Cared for.

The sound of laughter from your mother’s bedroom echoes down the hall and you stand to follow it.

Her favorite variety show is playing on the small TV in front of her bed, and it appears Jinjoo is a fan, too. You lean in the doorway and watch the women giggle at the silly skit. It’s been a long time since you’ve heard the sound of your mother’s laugh.

It makes you smile.

“Jinjoo, could you give us a moment, please?”

You almost hate to interrupt the instant camaraderie between the two women but you recognize that your mother is in the midst of a rare moment of clarity. You have to strike while the iron is hot.

“Of course,” she agrees, standing.

You wait until the sound of her footsteps fades away before taking her place in the worn chair next to your mother’s bed. Your mother smiles at you, taking one of your hands into her own.

You squeeze her fingers gently.

“Eomma, no more secrets,” you murmur. “Tell me the truth. Did Kim Namjoon come here?”

Your mother swallows thickly before nodding.

“He asked me not to tell you,” she admits. “He said he didn’t want you to refuse his help.”

You shut your eyes and imagine Namjoon in your home, in this room. Speaking to your mother. Making plans to send Jinjoo. Your chest squeezes so tight that for a moment it’s hard to breathe.

“Okay,” you concede quietly. You maintain the appearance of careful calm because you don’t want to make your mother feel worse than she already does., “It’s alright Eomma, I’m not angry, I promise.”

A peculiar look passes over her face. Her eyes dart away from yours and that’s all it takes for you to know you don’t have the full story. You decide to toughen your stance.

“Look at me, Eomma,” you say firmly. “If there’s anything I don’t know, you need to tell me right now. I need to know all of it. Everything.”

“I -- “

“Just tell me what it is,” you repeat, patience hanging by a thread.

Your mother sighs, lifting one weak hand in the direction of her dresser. You turn to stare at the pile of papers stacked there, realization dawning in an instant. You move on unsteady legs to walk over and take hold of them.

Radiology, pulmonology, chemotherapy.

You know exactly how much is owed on each of those bills because the numbers are burned into your mind. Those numbers are the reason you leave your mother for hours on end every day to go to work. Those numbers are the reason why it’s so hard to sleep at night.

You don’t realize that your hands are shaking until you hear the papers rustling.

Every bill bears the same neat, handwritten marking.

paid -- knj

***************************

NAMJOON

Namjoon watched his sister leave early tonight with Hoseok. Seokjin is out to dinner with his wife. And Yoongi is off doing -- well, whatever the hell Yoongi does when he’s not around.

There’s no one here tonight to tell Namjoon to go home. No one to point out that he’s had too much to drink or that it’s happening far too often.

So he pours another scotch.

The glass sweats in his hand as he stands in front of his window, deep in thought.

Thinking about you.

Thinking about the way you struggled in silence, caring for your mother alone -- too proud to ask for help. The way you catered to Namjoon’s every need and whim without ever making mention of yours. The way he’d let it go on for far too long, selfishly wrapped up in the way you made him feel.

“That girl is going to get you killed.”

Namjoon tells himself the sound of your voice is a figment of his imagination, an entirely predictable side-effect of too much scotch. But it’s followed quickly by your soft footsteps against the plush carpet in his office and both sounds are too real to ignore.

He turns to assess you, quietly sipping his drink.

Fuck, you are beautiful.

You have no right turning up here tonight -- looking like that -- testing him when he is at his weakest. Your dark eyes flash with something like a challenge and Namjoon feels his blood warm.

“That girl is never at her desk and she has no idea who’s coming or going,” you accuse quietly. “She’s putting you at risk.”

Namjoon concedes your point with a slow half-smirk that teases the edge of his mouth.

“Perhaps,” he admits. “But there are different kinds of risk. Maybe you put me at risk, too.”

He shouldn’t take pleasure from the way your eyes go wide at that statement. Or from the way you overcompensate by standing taller, chin lifted high.

But he does.

“Mister Kim -- “ you start.

“ -- Namjoon,” he interrupts. “Don’t you think it’s time you called me Namjoon? Haven’t we known one another since we were kids?”

“Namjoon,” you correct yourself, taking a deep breath. “I know about everything. Jinjoo, the bills, all of it.”

Namjoon says nothing for a moment, draining his glass before setting it down on his desk with a heavy thud.

“Why?” you ask quietly. “Why did you do this for me?”

Because I would do anything for you.

He doesn’t voice that thought out loud. He knows he shouldn’t.

But he also knows he shouldn’t be closing the distance between you right now, and he’s doing that anyway. He steps closer, quietly, and you swallow hard, thrown by his silence and his advance.

“That’s not -- that’s not something you do for an employee,” you protest, slowly backing away. You stop only when the ledge of his desk hits you on the backside.

“The late nights and the extra hours. Everything else you did,” Namjoon murmurs, stepping close, chest rising and falling with his deep breaths. “Did you do that for your boss? Or did you do that for me?”

He leans closer, caging your body against his desk. Your lips part in surprise and Namjoon forces himself not to react when your tongue slips out to wet them.

“Namjoon, I -- ” your voice is barely above a whisper when you find it. “-- I don’t understand you right now.”

“How could I have every resource at my fingertips and not help you?” he asks, reaching one hand out to cup your face. The pad of his thumb ghosts over your lips and you shudder under his touch. “Why didn’t you come to me when you knew I could help?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, pupils blown and cheeks flushed.

“You should have come to me,” he admonishes quietly. You lean into the touch of his hand. “I would have given you anything you asked for. Anything.”

“I understand that,” you say quietly, the tremor in your voice betraying your attempt at calm. “Because I would give you anything you asked for, too.”

Something about the way you say that snaps Namjoon back to reality.

He looks down at you like he’s only just now realized that he’s loaded on scotch, leaning you over his desk -- and well on his way to taking advantage of this situation. He tenses, pulling away.

“This is -- this is not --” he sputters pathetically for a moment. “Go home,” he pleads. “Please.”

He’s never hated himself as much as he does right now -- when you’re looking up at him with hurt and confusion in those wide, dark eyes.

“Go home before I do something I can’t take back.”

************************

tag list!

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#namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon mafia #bts mafia #ficswithluv #networkbangtan #btswriterscollective #ksmutclub #btscreatorscorner #btswritersclub

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scarletjedi · 4 years ago

Text

untitled Untamed time travel au, but make it Mingcheng

@piyo-13

Part 1: The set up

EDIT: Part 2A is up! Link at the bottom!

Okay, so, like I said. Mingcheng. Time travel. Fix-it.

(this is mostly a daydream and less a fic idea in and of itself, so I keep picturing it as a sequel to either Bilateral or shamelesscooper’s stuff - which I think this’ll be. a Spiritual successor)

So. Established Mingcheng as an ongoing, romantic relationship where they both understand that they’re building a relationship, not just a fling. We get A JC who, “canonically” can give NMJ a run for his money while sparring, and will *wear him out* in the bedroom. Like, I write smut, I think this is a *key element* in a top-tier Mingcheng fic (if they aren’t being written as asexual, naturally) and I think this dynamic just ADDS to JC’s budding reputation as a *stone cold badass.*

So, either way, you’ve read it. You know where they are.

To add a bit of angst for spice... Events play out as in canon, up through NMJ’s death. (I don’t think this is where established Mingcheng should go, btw - I think them being together changes events for the better and a lot of that shit is avoided). Broken hearted AGAIN (because lbr, NMJ was there for JC when his world fell apart. Probably even fought a bit - I needed your support! etc...) JC is visited by NHS.

He’s... different than JC remembered. Colder. Distant, but what was ditzy before is now aloof. Like he’s looking into you rather than through you. Nie Huaisang says.

“Jiang-xiong...did you love my brother?”

JC is incensed. How could NHS doubt his love? *JC* is not the one who leaves.

“Jin Guangyao killed him.” It’s the only time NHS says it out loud. “He sent Jin Zixuan to his death at Qiongqi path. He had his accomplice tamper with Wei Wuxian’s music, leading to—”

“Enough,” JC cuts him off. “So you want me to kill him for you?”

“No,” NHS said. “I want him unmade.”

Which - TIME TRAVEL MAGIC BA BOW

NHS sends JC back, but....I think I need something to go wrong. For reasons they use Baxia in the ritual, and NHS is adopting a ritual to send the self back to send JC back, but....

He gets it wrong and sends JC back IN ADDITION to himself

Baxia sends back NMJ

JC’s core sends back WWX

....handwavy some reason I want LWJ to be sent back as well

...and Wen Ning because he’s also tied to WWX and he’s alive but he keeps his ghost powers, I’ll explain later but it’s cool

...to the night before they start at Cloud Recesses

JC is like “alright! It worked! I have NHS’s plan. I rebuilt a sect before so I can totally do this!” ....but then WWX falls out of bed, freaking out and clutching his lower dantain, sobbing and freaking out- (because he’s a: suddenly very alive when he was dead and b: in possession of his golden core. It’s a bit disorienting) and JC is staring at him like: ...wtf? It wouldn’t be the first time WWX had nightmares, but they were about dogs- not whatever this is.

Anyway, then WWX sees JC, and JC can *see* the moment of fear (and that hurts because this WWX should not be afraid of him) and the mask fall and—

Look, JC isn’t stupid. He just time traveled. That look is what he had seen *after sunshot* so—

“What’s the last thing you remember?” JC asks, and the blank look on WWX’s face is *terrible*

“Ahaha...Jiang Cheng, what—“

“It’s nightless city, isn’t it?” (Going with untamed canon).

WWX‘a eyes get big, “Shijie!” And he twists like he’s going to up ans run to her—

“She’s asleep!” JC snapps. “You’ll see her in the morning.”

WWX blinks at him “will I still be here in the morning?”

“Unless NHS really fucked up, we both will be.”

“... What does Huaisang have to do with this?”

“He’s the one that sent me back,” JC said, and cocked his head. “I have no idea why you’re here too.”

And look - WWX isn’t going crazy from resentful energy, but he’s also a traumatized man. He’s thinking clearly but everything is closer to the surface- he flinches. JC knows that flinch- that guilty flinch that says WWX knows but doesn’t want to say.

“Wei Wuxian!”

And now he flinches, but when JC doesn’t lunge for him, WWX looks at him assessingly. “Why aren’t you trying to kill me again?”

“I wasn’t trying to kill you then! I never thought you’d—“ not survive that fall. “Do you know the last thing I remember? What made me agree to come back? Everyone was dead, JGS was insisting on JL spending more time at Koi Tower, and my lover was murdered- murdered by the same man who sent JZX to his death and set you up for his murder, and made you lose control at Nightless city, and a-jie--”

“You had a lover?!”

“Not the point!”

“Who was it? Do I know her?”

“I’m not telling you!”

“Tell me and I’ll tell you why I think I came back too”

“Fine. On three.”

“Fine.”

“One. Two. Three: Nie Mingjue”

“I gave you my core. What do you mean Nie Mingjue?!”

“GAVE ME YOUR WHAT?!”

"Well it's not like you still have it!"

there’s more shouting (with both of them thinking their grievance is more important), and WWX explains and JC rages and lets slip that “what’s the point of distracting the guards if you just throw it away?!” “...what guards? Jiang Cheng you better not mean what I think you mean!” “Or fucking what?!” Eventually, both of them crying, they hug it out. WWX offers to let JC disown him and JC is like “that’s what got us into this mess to begin with. You’re my brother. You’re stuck with me.” And is honestly surprised when WWX is ecstatic.

The next morning Yanli is like “are you okay? There was shouting?”

But they’re like “we’re cool”

Next time: Cloud Recesses and the one braincell trio plan a war

#mingcheng #the untamed #note!fic

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dizzydancingdreamer · 4 years ago

Text

The Servant and The Prince | Two

Description: This is very much a Cinderella trope because I cannot help myself and I am in love with Loki, chapter two

Pairing: Loki x Female!Reader, third person as I may adapt eventually with an OC

Warnings: LMAO kinda smut? No- I don’t know how I managed to do this in the second chapter but I did and I don’t care, they’re soulmates, sue me- it is not graphic and it is important for the plot I swear

Tags: Fluff, again kinda smut but in the least graphic way, a touch of angst near the end

Word count: 5.2k (why can’t I write essays this fast?)

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Master List

The ride to the capitol takes three gruelling days. Each night is spent at a different tavern. It is the same story each time; Estrid and Anna spend the night in a lavish bed and Y/n is left with the horses, curled under her thankfully baggy cloak. It is neither warm nor comfortable, sleeping on the bench seat of the carriage. She never really falls asleep, she only dozes in and out of consciousness. It is almost always interrupted by footsteps or the murmurs of animals or her own mostly empty stomach growling into the night. That one is twofold- usually her stomach is in so much nauseating pain that she cannot sleep but, on the off occasion she can, she is then awoken by the loud roars it makes.

When she does sleep her dreams are plagued by nightmares of drowning in water that tastes of salt. It is always the same, her body sinking slowly to the bottom of what she can only assume is the sea, her lung filling with more and more of the saline water. She has never been to the sea but she has heard stories. She always wanted to go but now she is not so sure.

Each morning she wakes at the crack of dawn, sneaking out of the carriage like a mouse scampering away from the booming footsteps of a prowling cat. Of course she is not allowed to be sleeping in the carriage but it is a liability she must take. She would much rather be punished by Estrid than found by a drunken stable boy. Who would have thought she would miss her simple bed so much. It is just a worn mattress and the last of her mother’s quilts but she longs for it more than anything. She longs for a lot of things in the passing days.

With everyday that passes the anger grows stronger too. She has never been a restless girl but in less than three days it feels like everything she thought she was is wrong. Even while sitting still she feels as though she is pacing in a room that she is completely unfamiliar with. Granted it could be the rocking of the carriage- three days is a long time to be shaken up so- but still it feels different. When she squeezes her eyes closed hard enough she can see those differences. A bed with emerald sheets and a desk pushed against a window. And a man. A tall man who is shrouded in darkness. No matter how hard she squeezes her eyes she cannot make out his features.

She can see what he does sometimes though. He likes to sit at the desk and let the sunlight pour over him. That is the only time she does not feel the overwhelming anger, like daggers, slicing down the insides of her throat. She feels peace in those moments- almost like she is with him, her skin absorbing the sunshine as well. If only it was sunny during the night then maybe she could get a proper night's sleep.

The sunshine is not the only time she feels him, though. It is the best but not all. She can also feel when he digs his fingers through his hair, pulling so hard on the invisible strands that her scalp begins aching as well. She can feel it when he throws his head back, the soundless roar bubbling in her throat. His voice is a mystery to her. Somewhere deep inside her she knows what he sounds like, she just cannot describe it. It is there though, ingrained into parts of her that she also cannot describe. In those moments, if she could scream and know that her voice would sound exactly like his she would do it, if only to truly remember. That is what it feels like- forgetting. She is forgetting something gravely important.

Or she is just losing her everloving mind.

She cannot explain it, whatever it is; all she knows is that she does not understand. The anger is hers but not. The pacing and hair tugging are hers but not. The twinge of familiarity in everything that she sees in her mind. It is all both her own and not hers at all and it is infuriating. What is even more infuriating is to be so angry without reason. If she is to be angry all the time then at least she should know why. She would chalk it up to her situation- there is more than enough in her life to be angry about- but she had never really been angry before. Achingly desperate and mournful, yes. But angry? Before these past few days she never really understood the word.

The anger, then, must be his. But, if it is his, why then is it also hers? This time it is her who slams her hands against her head, digging in desperately. Why does none of it make any sense at all? She squeezes her eyes shut, so hard she sees that little spark of white that must mean her eyes are not supposed to be used so carelessly. She pushes past it- right now it does not matter. She is on a mission to find something out- to find anything out.

Only seconds later does the blackness behind her eyelids shift and she is no longer on the back of the carriage but rather back in his bedroom. The sunlight is pouring in through the window again and she sighs. Thank Odin. The last of her remaining senses that anchor her to the real world fizzle away as she scampers towards the desk where a figure cloaked in all black sits in a wooden chair. One of his shadowy hands is propped up on the desk, his fingers twisting through the rays. For a moment it feels like he is beckoning her to him, curling his fingers like an invitation meant only for her.

Of course she goes to him.

She barely registers the feeling of her feet hitting the stone below her- probably because she is not actually in the room walking towards him. That does not stop her from pretending like she is, gliding to meet him in the sunshine. She stands next to him for a moment, her heart galloping steadily. For once it is not from fear; there is nothing about him that she is afraid of. She wants nothing more than to climb onto his lap and let her body soak in the sunshine as well. It is not fear that makes her heart pound; it is anticipation. It is the looming sadness. She will try to climb into the sunshine- just as she has tried for each of the two days prior- and she will feel nothing. She never feels the warmth of the sun or the warmth of his darkened body. Still, she will try- it is all she can do to try.

She takes a deep breath, the faintest- almost nonexistent- aroma of pine trees and salt tickling her nose. The carriage must be close to the sea. She tosses the thought aside, bracing her hands on the side of the desk. Her fingers land how they are supposed to, splayed against the top, but she cannot feel the smooth plains of the mahogany. Her fingers stop with resistance but it is not tangible. Like every day before, she lifts herself up, placing her knees on either side of his dark lap. She braces for the same easy resistance of air to keep her hovering steadily above him. It will feel almost like nothingness- like only the memory of him is there instead of a real man. It is blissful, like coming home, and devastating, like being barred from entering said home, all at the same time.

She holds herself for a moment longer, not quite ready to feel nothing at all, and that is when it happens- his shadowy face snaps up and she can make out the faintest hint of icy blue in his otherwise misty eyes. She gasps, her heart beating even faster. Can he see her? Can he feel her? It is as though his eyes are boring into hers through her little daydream. It feels so real- like he is actually there and not just a figment of her imagination.

Her hands slip from the edge of the table, her knees jolting against the wooden chair almost painfully. There is a dull thud as she sinks down. That has not happened before. She snaps her gaze down to her legs, her mouth falling open at the sensation of her thighs spreading and pressing against leather. Yes, not the air that she has grown so used to but buttery leather and two warm legs that are covered by the folds of her dress. She could moan from how delicious it feels against her skin- both the supple leather and the feeling of finally being allowed back into her home- but of course she does not. Both because she does not want to risk the man hearing her wanton breaths and because he beats her to it.

Shadowy hands curl over her simple dress, fingers squeezing against her hips. She pulls her gaze back to the man's face, stifling another moan when he does again, almost as if testing the newness of being able to feel her. She supposes that is the answer she is looking for- he can definitely feel her. She watches as his lips- still shrouded in darkness like the rest of him- move frantically. No words form, not even hisses of air. She cannot hear anything he is saying. She can only feel him and his hands as he pulls her higher onto his lap, spreading her thighs even further until she is pressed harder into him. Her body molds into his with each shift, matching each dip and curve with her own, like two puzzle pieces clicking into place.

His mouth keeps moving, his faint icy eyes flicking across her face. Can he see her or does she appear like he does to her- a black mass of nothingness? She tests it the extent of her presence, placing her hands on his chest. Her heart is in her throat as her fingers smooth against the same supple leather, feeling the warm plains of armour and the way his chest heaves when she presses harder. His face tilts down, towards where she touches him, before snapping up to gaze at her. Again he tries to speak, his hands crawling up her back. His touch is heavenly- blissfully gentle against her injured spine- and she sinks back into him. She may as well soak in her daydream to its full extent.

She slides her fingers up to cup his cheeks. She cannot cannot make out the color of his skin but she can feel the heat rolling off him. His stubble bites at her palms, scratching her softly. She giggles, running her forefingers over it, exploring the contours of his face. Her thumbs drag over his cheekbones and he says something again, turning his face into her palm. His lips move against her skin and she wishes more than anything she could hear him. She wants to hear everything he is saying.

She draws his eyes back to hers, shaking her head slightly. He stops talking, his head cocking to the side. She cannot see it but she is almost certain his brows knit together. She is also certain that this man is beautiful, despite having only seen his eyes. If only her imagination were strong enough to fill in the blanks. Perhaps she is damaged- why else would she not be able to fill in a man of her making? His mouth opens again.

Y/n taps two fingers to her mouth and then to her ears, shaking her head. “I cannot hear you.”

She doubts that he will be able to hear her as well but she tries anyway. Her voice comes out soft, jarring against the silence. It is quieter here that she realizes. As expected, his eyes fill with confusion, narrowing slightly. One of his hands moves from her back and she swallows a whines at the rush of cool air that meets the place he had been holding her, immediately longing for the lost contact. Her bottom lip puckers out without her consent. Perhaps he notices, his gaze dropping low. Perhaps his eyes fall past her lips as well, though.

His other arm, the one still around her waist, tightens, sliding until his fingers curl around her opposing hip. Her knees slide even further forward with his actions, knocking into the back of the chair as her chest bumps into his. She shoots her hands out again, grasping onto his sturdy shoulders to keep from toppling off his lap, her thighs squeezing harder around him. Her skin drinks in the buttery material once more and this time she cannot stop the moan from rolling off her tongue, pleasure spiking up her spine. It is like nothing she has never felt before; a bolt of lightning striking right between her legs where her body nestles into his. It zaps her from the inside out, the most blissful heat pooling in the pit of her belly. Gods, the things she would do to hang on to that feeling forever.

He freezes under her, his shadowy arm around her hips stilling. Their faces are inches apart and it is as though she can almost feel his breaths against her lips. That is impossible but still the strange memory of his breath tickles, her mind filling in the blanks with what she assumes it would feel like. She can just barely taste the peppermint, somehow sharp through her dream.

Her hands squeeze harder against his shoulders as she sinks further onto him, her soft body molding again to fit against his hard one. The feeling repeats itself as she does- that wonderful bolt of pleasure- and her eyes flutter closed for a moment, her head falling back. Her mouth draws open as she clings to the growing heat between her legs. She has no idea why it is building or what will happen when it finally overflows but she is more than willing to find out.

His hand finally skims across her cheek, his fingers dipping behind her neck and curling, locking her in place against him. His hand is just as warm as the rest of him, adding a certain heaviness to her eyelids, one that she had been missing for days. He nudges her face gently and she pushes past the sleep and pleasure to meet his stare. He does not speak this time; he must have learned that it would not work. Instead he squeezes her hip, his icy eyes glancing down to where her legs are wrapped around him, before boring back into hers. He shifts again, pressing up and against her, sparking another round of that marvellous lightning in her belly, this time even stronger.

Her veins fill with fire and for a moment she can feel the sunshine on her back and hear the creaking of the chair underneath them as if she were actually in the room with him and not just locked in her own imagination. It does not last long, her newly unlocked senses, and as he relaxes back into his seat the fire in her blood mingles with desperation. She slides her fingers up his neck, tangling them in his soft hair. There is no hint of color, only the same shadows. She needs to see more- feel more.

“Please,” she draws his face up towards her, furiously pulling his darkened body towards hers. The contrast of her skin against his shadowed cheeks increases her drive- she has to see him. “Please do it again. I need more.”

It is futile, her little cries. She knows they will fall soundless on his ears. She can only hope that her actions, choked and frantic as she clings to him, can convey everything her lips cannot. He stares down, his crystal eyes locked on hers, his lips pressed together. His stillness makes her heart hammer rapidly against her ribcage. Please, by Odin, understand; I need you.

She pulls him even closer to her, falling until her back hits the edge of the desk and she is caged between it and him, still perched on his lap. Her dress bunches around her hips, her bare legs secured around his waist and squeezing him to her. Still he does not move, his eyes dragging down until his head is bowed between them, gaze locked on where their hips meet. His hand around her neck tightens, his eyes snapping back to hers, the blue visibly more brilliant. Glowing. He raises a shadowy brow, nodding slowly. Yes you oaf, yes! She would have screamed at him if she knew it would not be pointless. Instead she nods back at him, tugging gently on his hair. When he still does not move she finally snaps.

She springs forward, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, her face pressed against the crook of his neck. She really has no clue what she is doing- at this point she only knows one thing; she wants to be here with him and will do whatever she has to in order to make it happen. She gently runs her nose along the side of his neck, soaking in his warmth, her fingers twisting once more in his silky hair. His chest heaves against hers again and she smiles. That must mean something good, right?

She starts slow, her lips barely glimpsing his skin, testing his reactions to her.

She presses a soft kiss below his jaw.

He wraps his other hand back around her hip.

She brushes her lips lower, harder, kissing his throat.

He squeezes her softly, rolling his head back and revealing more of his neck to her.

She sucks some of his skin into her mouth, letting it go with a pop that sounds as though it echoes through an actual room and not just through her mind.

He pulls her flush against his chest with a groan that just barely grazes her ears, sparking the jagged pieces of her memory to fill in his luscious voice.

She tugs his earlobe into her mouth, biting down a little less gently.

He stands with her still wrapped around him and presses her back against a now fully formed tabletop.

She gasps again, not expecting the vast switch but not angry about it either. In fact this is the first time she is not unreasonably angry and she wishes she could hold onto this feeling. This happiness. She giggles up at him as her skirt pools higher around her hips, her body no longer upright and squished between the desk and him. One of his dark arms lands next to her, sliding under her head. The other hand slips under her skirt, his rough fingers a delicious contrast against her smooth skin. He presses down, his thumb circling her hip bone softly, holding her against him. She sinks her head back into his hand, unable to tear the smile from her lips. This must be what home feels like.

She squeezes her thighs, connecting their bodies. He rolls his hip against her, finally giving her the pressure she has been craving, and the building inferno inside her roars back to life. She arches her back off the desk, trying to get even closer to him, and he leans down to meet her, pressing his stomach against hers. He bucks against her again and she can taste the peppermint for real this time- the salt and the pine so sharp that there is no way she can be imagining it.

The lightning spikes through her each time he juts against her. It crackles through her nervous system, flashing in her eyes. With every spark the colors around her become more vibrant, her senses overflowing. She catches glimpses of the emerald bed behind him and some jade strips of leather in his armour. She can hear the steady rocking of the desk, the scraping of the leather against her thighs. Her little sighs are clear, she no longer has to wonder if they are only in her head. She still cannot hear him but she can see the pink in his lips as they form around his words. They look soft and capable and it is all she can do to roll her head back into his hand and pray that he understands the invitation.

He does.

Unlike her he does not start slow. He leans down immediately, pulling her skin into his mouth feverishly and biting down. Her eyes slam shut as he does so, one of her hands falling to the arm anchored beside her. She curls his fingers around his bicep, forcing herself to remain still in the face of one of the most intense experiences she has ever had. She did not know that a mans lips on her skin could feel this way. The sensation is completely foreign- otherworldly. So is the moan that carves its way out of her throat, filling the space between them. It is loud and aching- much like the rest of her- and it rewards her with something that she is not expecting in the slightest. A laugh.

His laugh.

She pushes herself up as soon as the small sound falls against her ears, musical and elegant, her eyes peeling open to the sight of sharp green leather and raven black hair. His skin is still cloaked in the darkness, his hands two shadowy masses as they snake to her thighs, but she relishes in the details that her mind grants her. Her mother’s words ring through her ears. You are so powerful, little dove. That is exactly how she feels right now; powerful. She will pull him through the darkness, little by little, until she can hear the air in his lungs and see the blush in his face. She will do it if it is the last thing she ever does.

He goes to pull away from her, his face dropping and hands releasing. His icy eyes a tinged with worry. As he takes a step back the color in his lips begins to fade, the pink dulling to a soft grey. No! She uses her legs to drag him back against her, hard enough to make him slam his hands onto the desk next to her hips. The sound thunders through the room and she smiles, the whoosh of air that accompanies his movements like a warm summer breeze chasing away the cold spring. The fire in her belly drinks it in, layering it on top of the lightning like a blanket. She wraps her arms around his shoulders again, clinging to him completely.

“Stay please.” She holds his gaze as she pleads with him, every word making the blue in his eyes brighten even more. “Please-” She does not know what to call him, he has no name that she can recall. Only one word sparks in her mind- an old word she used to hear her mother use occasionally- “Surtr.”

Dark one.

His back straightens as the word slips from her tongue, pulling her up with him until he is standing. It is like something inside him snaps- much like it had earlier in her- and he presses her against the stone wall, using his hips to hold her in place as he all but rips the straps off her arms. His mouth finds her skin again, feathering kisses down her shoulders and over the tops of her breasts where they spill out of her loosened dress.

She digs her heels into his back, encouraging him to press harder against her. He obliges, sparking the fire once more. This time, when the lightning strikes she can taste the smoke in her throat. She is so close to overflowing; right there on the edge. The smell of pine trees is overwhelming now- like she is in a forest surrounded by them. The salt is almost as strong. She licks her lips, drinking in as much of it as she can as she meets his thrusts. The only thing she can think is that the feel of the leather between her thighs is her new favourite thing.

“You are the one who must stay.”

His voice is like honey, dripping slowly down her skin. It is utter perfection; sweet and low. Everything she had been imagining and so much more. He lifts his face, now only thinly veiled by the shadows. She can see bits of his skin, flushed but rosy, peaking through. His raven hair falls forward, tickling her cheeks and nose. She drags her fingers through it again, pushing it away from his face. Something inside her roars to life at the sight- at the sounds. His groans and the hitch in his chest and the little slap he gives her thigh that makes her giggle again. All of it combines with the final jut of his hips against hers and then next thing she knows she is falling, like a star from the sky, spiraling straight into the sweetest oblivion anyone has ever known.

The pleasure that fills her body is like nothing she could have ever imagined. That is how she knows it is real. She is not creative enough to manufacture the desperate sounds he makes against her skin nor the feeling of them both sinking slowly down the wall into a pile of woozy limbs and panting breaths. She does not influence the way he curls around her, shielding her as she muffles her screams into his chest- no dream could feel as strong and soft as his arms as he glues their shaking bodies together. No; this is real.

He is real.

But for how long?

“How do I stay?” She intwines her body with his, wrapping around him once more as the pleasure begins to wane. “Please tell me.”

Even as she speaks she can hear her voice fading, losing the sharp edge it had moments ago. The warmth of his body begins to lessen as well, even as she fights to bring herself as close to him as she can. She pulls her face out of his neck, meeting only the faintest of blue in his eyes this time. They dart over her face, his hands fisting in her dress, tugging her closer too. He is fighting as well. She opens her mouth again but no sound comes out, only a hiss of air as she tries to scream. Do not leave me! Tears pour down her cheeks and for once she does not try to stop them. For once there are more important things.

The room around her begins to blur, hazing in and out of focus. Her fingers slip against his hair, no longer able to hold onto him as he, too, fades. That does not stop her from trying to dig her way through the darkness to get him back. Even as the room begins spinning she keeps clawing at his body, searching for anything that she can latch onto. Any little bit of him that she has left. Her fingers catch on something cold and she wraps her fingers around it, saving it from the disintegrating world. She squeezes her eyes shut when everything blurs so fast that bile rises in her throat, the nausea being too much.

“I will find you.” It is the last she hears of his honey voice and, like everything else, she holds onto it, hoping it will be enough to permanently sear him into her memory.

When Y/n cracks her eyes open she is no longer in the room- she is on the back of Estrid’s carriage. She is shaking still, the last dregs of pleasure- the last reminder that it was real- fizzling out and mingling with the motion sickness. The rocking of the carriage does nothing to stave it, she has to rest her head against the metal to keep from wobbling off.

She blinks a few times, clearing the haze from her bones and the blinding light from her return to reality. When she does, she is almost as breathless as she was moments ago. Instead of the usual meadows that she has gotten used to seeing in the last few days, she is greeted with glittering golden towers. They rise all around her, reaching towards the sky like flowers reach for the sun. She has to hold her breath as she her eyes trace up their iridescent stems, dizzy at the mere thought of being at the very top. She has never been that high before. Well, besides this today. That can only mean one thing- she is in the capitol!

She cranes her neck, trying to absorb as much as it as she can. All around her are other carriages. For miles it had been only Estrid’s but now there are dozens, each one just as ornately decorated. Even more so. They are drawn by white stallions that huff at her when they pass, their muzzles ruffling like they have never smelt a servant before. She does not blame their caution- by the looks of things they are probably used to the finer things. She is quite the opposite. If she was a horse perhaps she would huff at herself as well.

The streets are immaculately decorated for the upcoming festivities. The pillars that line the streets are strung with scarlet and jade banners, the railings roped with gold silks. There are little stands selling candied fruits and chocolate. Along the festive streets people mingle in and out of the towers, dressed in fabric more colorful than she has ever seen before. It is the same golds and scarlets and jades that make up the decorations. It looks velvety and luxurious to the touch- perhaps almost as soft as his hair had felt in her hands.

She squeezes her fist at the thought, something hard biting into her palm. Her heart stops. The slight pain draws her focus away from the crowds- most of which she has noticed are comprised mainly of young women. It is incredible how many girls are trying their luck the same way Anna is. That is a thought for another time though, one when she is not preoccupied by magical phenomenon. She glances down at her palm. There is no way. She peels her fingers open slowly- anticipating the let down. She must be dreaming this- she must have dreamt it all.

But no, there it is, a little gold band with a deep set green emerald sitting atop her palm like a little reminder. Like a plea. It sparkles in the brilliant sun, warming on her skin. It calls to her in a voice so honeyed she flinches.

Come find me.

She peers back up at the towering city, her heart clenching. She wants to more than anything and she will do it- she knows she will. There is only one problem.

Where does she even begin to search?

#loki #loki laufeyson #loki x y/n #loki x reader #Loki fic #loki layfeyson x reader #loki layfeyson imagine #loki imagine #mcu #mcu fic #mcu imagine #prince of asgard

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obae-me · 4 years ago

Text

Beneath Still Waters- CH2

CH 1

Home Sweet Home

Word Count: 3418

Summary: With the help of two residents, Beel and Belphie take you to Simeon’s home, the place you’ll be staying for a while. You manage to get a quick glance around Old Midev before finally make it to the house. Eventually you end up falling asleep and have a strange dream.

Tags: (Mostly) Human AU, second person view, gender neutral reader

Warning: Mentions of drowning and asphyxiation

With every bump over the unpaved road, your heart pounded a little harder. You hugged your own torso as you sat in the backseat of the truck, watching trees whirl past. After a little while through the grove, the flora cleared up a touch, giving you a clear view of a large lake, sparkling a gorgeous blue in the sunlight. Mountains and tall trees surrounded the lake, the green a striking contrast against the surface of the water. It was such an alluring sight...you couldn’t help but stare. It called to you in that mystical way nature had the tendency to do. There was something about it...If you did anything while you were out here, you’d have to take a trip down there.

“Devil’s Lake,” Belphie spoke up from the front seat, his head resting against the window. He’d pulled out a neck pillow from the glove box, one with a cow print pattern, and was resting against that to keep his head from smacking against the glass. You had sworn he had fallen asleep, seeing as his eyes had been closed the entire ride so far, and yet he hadn’t even needed to look at you to know what you were staring at.

The name caused you to tilt your head. “Devil’s lake? Seems an awful foreboding name for something so peaceful,” you stated. The two brothers went silent, and not just a thoughtful pause, the kind of quiet that settled heavy over the air like a suffocating blanket, like you’d crossed a line you didn’t know was placed just before you. But then Belphie just shrugged, his words caught in his throat, barely managing to speak.

“I’m not the one who named it.” You caught onto the hint, the lungs in your chest shallow. The subject of the lake was dropped, but now a persistent curiosity settled into your mind.

The road slowly shifted from rocky to smooth payment as buildings cropped into view. The path was positioned up on a hill, so you could easily look down and over the town you were about to settle into. Slow traffic, old buildings, brick sidewalks, the sort of thing you’d typically expect from places like these. It had it’s charm for sure, it’s aura of history. No wonder Simeon seemed to miss it so, it...was quaint, the type of hometown that stored countless memories in every wall, ancient stories in every foundation.

“Welcome to Old Midev, MC,” Beel grinned. He pointed out landmarks of his favorite places. The Lily House served the best food--according to him--whether you wanted breakfast, lunch, or dinner. “My favorite’s the pancakes,” he told you, very enthusiastic about his preferences. “If you go there, get the blueberry ones, put a little bit of honey between each layer, and then use their special maple syrup. Trust me.” A look flashed over his face like now that he had mentioned it, he wanted nothing more than to eat those pancakes now. Then he shook his head, snapping out of his daydream, continuing to pick out places of interest. “The building over there to your right.”

You glanced around, squinting a little. “The one with the green roof?”

“Yeah, that’s the library.”

Belphie scoffed a little, muttering. “The librarian’s a weirdo…”

Beel looked around warily, like he was worried someone would hear him. “I watched him yell at a kid in the grocery store the other day, just because he was making too much noise.” You quickly made a mental note to not tick off the librarian, whoever he was. “Ah, speaking of which, there’s Grace’s.” He gestured to a large store that did give off a more modern vibe than the buildings around it. “It’s newer than a lot of other places around here, but it’s got pretty much anything you need!” This seemed to be the heart of the town, where all the hustle and bustle should be, although it was a bit...lacking in both the hustling and subsequent bustling. You’d passed probably ten cars so far, and you had yet to spot anyone walking around. Beel drove past, the buildings getting further and further in between till he turned onto another dirt road, barely big enough for one car to fit between the overgrown bushes. He drove up a little hill till again the trees cleared up and the pathway widened, leading up to a white house with a wraparound porch and a brick chimney. The car slowed till it stopped. “This is it!”

Beel quickly exited the truck right after he parked, stepping out and opening the door for you. You hopped out of the vehicle, taking a few steps towards the house, and then turned to look at the view. On the hill, looking past the tops of trees a bit below you, you had a perfect shot of the lake. The smell of moisture hit you from here, and the breeze was chill against your skin. It was...delightful. Every morning, Simeon had a view like this...and he gave it to you. Temporarily, you reminded yourself. This is short-term.

“Do you think it looks the same?” Belphie asked his twin as Beel pulled your luggage from the bed of the truck, settling it against the floor and already taking a few steps towards the house.

“Guess we’ll have to see,” was all he replied with. He turned his head over his shoulder, catching on that you hadn’t moved yet. “Coming?”

You quickly turned to catch up with them, going ahead of them to take a few steps up to the porch. Dusty, obviously abandoned and left to the elements, the porch was worn, leaves and stray twigs coated most of the floor. You noticed something hanging by the screen door. A little wooden plaque with the engraving ‘He who returns from a journey is not the same as he who left.’ Without thinking too much of it, you figured that this was the object that housed his key. You took it off the nail it was hanging from, and sure enough the key was dangling from a little hook screwed into the back. How no one had broken into Simeon’s house yet, you didn’t know, it was almost as obvious as leaving a key hidden under the welcome mat. Grasping the handle, you pulled back the screen door first, listening to the hinges squeak harshly against your ears. Then you pushed the key into the doorknob, twisting it till it clicked, and you could open the heavy wooden door.

Stepping into the house, you took in the immediate layout. There was a set of stairs immediately in front of you against the right wall, heading up to the second floor, the railing matching the same dark polished wood the floorboards were. The left wall had an open concept, allowing you access to the living room. The walls themselves were painted a muted teal color with grey undertones, just enough to give the rooms some vibrancy. Settled in the corner, right by the doorway was a little dresser. The top was decorated with pictures and a little glass bowl that held loose change. Plucking up one of the small picture frames, you cleaned off a thin layer of dust with your thumb, getting a better look at the image. Two men were in the picture, shoulder to shoulder. You recognized Simeon immediately, a beaming smile on his face as he wrapped one of his arms around the other person’s back. The other figure, despite his apparent best attempts to, found it a bit hard to smile naturally. The curl was there, but his brows were a bit furled, like this was a newer experience for him. He had shadowy black hair and piercing dark eyes. While Simeon had on a bright white sweater, this man had a long raven-hued trench coat. They were nearly polar opposites, and yet they looked happy to be in each other’s presence. You placed the photo down, a small bit of guilt coursing through your veins, feeling like you’d just seen something you shouldn’t have.

The two brothers came in behind you, the screen door slamming shut with a startling noise. You jumped, and Belphie almost chuckled. “Oh yeah, it does do that, I’d almost forgotten.” You let the prickling of your skin die down before you sighed.

Shifting in place a little, you allowed some of the nervousness you’d harbored on your journey to be released now that you were finally at your destination. Strangers...were iffy, but you felt as if these people could be trusted. They’d shown you so much kindness already. “Thank you for bringing me here, it was very kind of you,” you told them.

“No problem!” Beel assured you, grasping the handle to your luggage. “I’ll go ahead and bring this up to the bedroom for you.” He didn’t hesitate to lift the suitcase upstairs, sprinting up the steps with high knees, not faltering once despite you packing that thing to the brim.

The more...indifferent twin groaned a little bit, like helping you was such an effort...but one he was willing to make. “I have a feeling the kitchen is mostly empty.” He brushed past you, heading down the hall past the living room. You followed him, swiveling your head to try to take in the details of this place. He opened a door at the end of the path, leaving it open for you to come in after. The kitchen was cute, a small island in the middle, the sink under the window to your front. The fridge was tucked between the counter and the wall, and the oven was to your right. There was another door close to the sink. Belphie threw the fridge doors wide to find it empty. He then padded over with a monotone hum to the other door, swinging it open to reveal a little pantry. It had a few boxes in there as well as some rice, flour, oil, and some pasta. Belphie blinked for a second. “I was right...you’ll have to go shopping. I think Simeon had an old bike in the garage, but...if you’d like we can take you to the store later.”

It felt almost strange having him offer something nice to you, especially with how half-hearted he seemed to treat everything, but you internally scolded yourself. You didn’t even really know him. Shaking your head, you rubbed your forefinger against the thumb covered with dust, brushing the remnants off of your skin. “You two have already done enough, thank you though.”

Beel thudded back down the steps, taking a second to figure out where you guys had moved to. “Everything still looks the same,” he announced, some awe in his voice. You wondered how often they had been in here before, what their connection to Simeon was. He turned his head towards you. “Is there anything else we can do?”

“I’m g-”

“We need to take them shopping later,” Belphie answered for you, gesturing towards the completely empty fridge. Beel looked more distressed than he should’ve been.

“I actually said I’m fine,” you told Beel.

Belphie rolled his eyes once more as you bit the inside of your cheek to keep your thoughts to yourself. “I can already tell you’re one of those types that won’t accept help until it’s already too late.” He shrugged, shutting the fridge abruptly as something within you tightened. “I can’t stand people who are too prideful for their own good.”

“Belphie…” Beel warned.

“Simeon told us to keep an eye on you, so the least we can do is make sure you don’t starve.” It was rather abrasive...but it was laced with kind intentions. At least, that’s what you hoped. He briskly left the kitchen, hands shoved in his jean pockets. “Later.” Then he stepped out of the house, the screen door slamming against the doorframe harshly again. Once more you jumped, and then you pressed a hand to your forehead. Was it the noise or Belphie that was giving you a headache?

“That’s the most thoughtful he’s been towards someone in a long time,” Beel pronounced proudly, but with a tinge of some buried sorrow. That’s him being thoughtful? You questioned in your mind. He quickly changed the subject. “Hold on, follow me for a second.” He held the front door open, waving you out onto the front porch. You did as he asked, pointing in the opposite direction from where you drove up, just a little ways further down the road past some stray trees where a smaller home was settled, broken cut logs settled in piles against the outer walls. “That’s where we live. If you need anything, we’re right over there.”

“Ah, that’s good to know.” In a friendly gesture, you outstretched your hand. “Thank you again.”

He took it happily, and in the handshake you were able to feel just how strong his grip was, the tips of his fingers and the skin of his palms covered in rough calluses. “No problem! Oh! If you’re hungry tonight, I know this delicious Chinese place that delivers or we have a--” He cut himself off for a moment. “Oh...do you have...er uh…”

“Money?” Beel’s face turned a bit red, knowing it was pretty rude to ask something like that to someone he just met. “Simeon was kind enough to give me a little money up front.” When that fact left your lips, you realized how it sounded. Not only were you staying in this house that wasn’t yours, you’d even been paid for it. You could scrub this place from top to bottom, repaint every surface and you still felt like it wouldn’t be enough. “Oh! Let me pay you for the ride, I--”

“No, no, please,” Beel denied. “It wasn’t a problem. When Simeon asks for a favor, we see it through. Don’t pay us.”

You nearly felt like crying. Typically you’d only seen this type of generosity in articles or stories. Who knew it would happen to you? Pressing a hand against your forehead, you took a deep calming breath. “I owe...I owe Simeon a lot. I promise I won’t be here too long.”

“We all owe Simeon…” Beel reminisced on something before lifting his spirits again. “Don’t worry about it too much,” he assured you. “And I--” The horn sounded from the trunk, Belphie hitting the wheel two times. Forgetting or simply deciding to move on from what he was about to say, Beel gave a little farewell wave. “Don’t hesitate to ask for help if you need it, okay? Any friend of Simeon is a friend of ours.” He jumped off the porch and onto the ground, completely bypassing the three steps. “We’ll come over later to do some shopping!”

Words escaped you as he waved once more and climbed back into his vehicle. Instead of heading towards their home, Beel turned around and headed back down the hill. Then they were gone. Exhaustion overcame you quickly. Anxiety, traveling, relying on strangers, it had left you all drained. You closed the front door and locked it, turning the deadbolt. Beel had said the bedroom was upstairs, so you took slow steps, gliding your hand across the railing, more dust sticking to your palms. You pulled a sour face. Guess if I get bored, there’s always cleaning to do. There was a small hallway that ran horizontal to the house. One doorway stood at each end, and a third one settled closer to the middle, just slightly off center from the stairway. Approaching the room closest to you opened you up to the bathroom. You ‘oo’ed a little, making you feel a bit silly, but you couldn’t help it. It was a little vintage bathroom. The walls were pretty sky blue, faded paintings of white lilies spotted here and there. The mirror above the sink was held in a white frame, a large golden filigree design attached to the top. The sink itself was a small little ivory counter with light blue painted cupboards. In the far left corner was a shower surrounded by a glass door and walls. Then, to your right, there was a large vintage bathtub, the basin deep enough to nearly engulf you whole. It was the kind that stood alone on golden legs. A little rectangular window was positioned high on the wall to let in some natural light. A fancy bathroom if you ever saw one. Although, to be fair Simeon never did seem like the simple minimalist type.

You left the bathroom, trying another door. This was the bedroom apparently. It was a nice size. The bed was queen sized, pushed against the wall in front of you, settled in between two nightstands with matching lamps on either ends. The headboard was simple, just more lustrous wood, arching up a little in the middle to give it a bit more design. The same went for the footboard. The top blanket was a quilt--homemade if you had to guess--fabrics of gold, blue, white, and grey patched together to form a star in the middle. The sheets and pillowcases were a soft light grey cotton. A wide dresser drawer lined the wall beside you, the top of it littered with stacked books, old pieces of mail, random knick-knacks and the like. Two heavy indigo drawback curtains kept the light from the window to your left from streaming in. You pulled some of the fabric back to look out. It would take you a while to adjust to seeing so much...wilderness. Would you be here long enough to get used to it? The tiredness seeped back into your bones. You headed over to the suitcase Beel had had the courtesy to place atop the mattress. With a little grunt you tugged at it and had it settled back on the floor. Before you noticed the action, you’d taken your shoes off already, shrugging off your jacket you’d had on before ruffling your hair.

Flopping onto the bed, you let out a long exhale. You grabbed one of the pillows, fluffing it a bit before settling your head on it. Unfamiliar scents flooded your nostrils, once again reminding you that you were very far from home...not that you truly had one at this point anyway...Stopping the waterworks was impossible at this point. You turned your head into the foreign pillow and sobbed, a mix of woe and gratitude spurring your tears to flow further.

It was the last bit of energy you had left. Without meaning to, your eyes grew heavy and your body and mind shut down to recharge as you fell into a deep rest.

That was when you had the dream.

Swirling, flailing, you were suspended in dark liquid, no way of knowing which way was up or down. Currents pushed you along, like you were simply a leaf in the raging winds. Nothing but bubbles from your own escaping oxygen was present in your vision. Everything about you was burning, your lungs, your panic, your body. The swirling suddenly stopped, the waters calm. You were still drowning however, your hands grasping at your throat. The shadows beneath you shifted. A long, wriggling shape underneath you moved, unwinding, taking the shape of something alive and monstrous. It was huge. Swimming up, the thing curled around your body, its scales shimmering back and forth between black and blue. Soon, the head of the sea serpent looked at you, skull as large as a semi, eyes glowing a brilliant tangerine. You couldn’t help but try to scream. Water flushed into your lungs as the last bit of oxygen escaped out of you. The creature bared its teeth, a demonic growl reverberating through the water. All you felt was fear, but even that started to fade away as your body started sinking, your vision slowly going black. The jaws to the serpent shut, turning it’s massive head to get a better look at you. The end of its face moved forward, touching your body, nudging you just before you lost consciousness. The universe seemed to spin, tugging you in all directions till suddenly you were standing on a shore, waves from the moving lake brushing up against your ankles. You watched, mesmerized as the body of something receded down into the depths. A hushed, pleading voice echoed in your head.

“Come to the water. Help me.”

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #human au #mostly #obey me beel #obey me belphie #tw asphyxiation #tw drowning

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invisibleinorange · 4 years ago

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Bridgerton’s Adrift | 19/?

Chapters: 19/? Fandom: Bridgerton Rating: M Warnings: Presumed Character Death Relationships: Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington, Eloise Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington(besties), Bridgerton Family Dynamics, Simon Hastings/Daphne Bridgerton Characters: Colin Bridgerton, Penelope Featherington, Eloise Bridgerton, Anthony Featherington, Benedict Bridgerton, Portia Featherington, Violet Bridgerton, Pretty Much Everyone (at points) Additional Tags: Bridgerton, Polin Summary: Unexpected bad news arrives for the Bridgerton Family (and friends) regarding Colin's travels. This will be a series that is set after "The Duke and I" or season one of the show. It is a companion piece to "Goodbyes".

Colin was only a man and as such he couldn’t help but want Penelope. His desire for her burned through every fiber of his being anytime she so much as looked at him. He didn’t honestly know how he had been so blind in the previous season.

The irony was that no one really had. He’d certainly thought Marina was beautiful and he’d fancied himself in love with her but he hadn’t desired her. When he’d learned the truth about her and everything had ended, he hadn’t felt as if the world was ending. He’d felt relief.

Whatever she’d woke in him was thunderously loud in his head though. He was pretty sure that he would actually die of a broken heart if Penelope hadn’t returned his affections though. If he’d returned back and been forced to watch her live as wife to his brother, he probably would have thrown himself into the Thames as dramatic as that might be.

He couldn’t live without her.

As much as he was enjoying sneaking away, stealing some kisses it was becoming difficult to not take it further. He could impatient and impulsive at times. Anthony had once told him that it was a matter of him being young.

He was tired of being apart from her or doing what was socially appropriate. He wanted to start his life with her and he didn’t want to wait or get permission from Anthony or his mother to do it.

As he laid with her, unable to sleep for fear of missing out of a single moment of solitude with her he knew what he wanted. He’d never been certain of anything in his life and he needed to verbalize it.

Penelope Featherington had to be his wife.

“Elope with me, Pen,” he murmured, body tilted toward hers. A hand was grazing her face despite the fact she was half-asleep he knew that she could hear him.

The question had pulled her back into consciousness enough to hear the question and think it over. It was absolute madness. They were already going to be enough trouble for stealing away to some inn. The accusations of ruin were going to be plentiful.

She’d imagined Colin Bridgerton asking her to marry him a million times throughout her short life and none of those had been like this.

The reality didn’t seem any less than any of those daydreams though and despite the fact that she she’d tasked him with courting her it was no longer reasonable. They were playing a dangerous game sneaking around and eventually they were going to cave to lust or get caught. With his name attached to hers they would be immune from scandal.

There was one thing that she hadn’t told him though, one thing that only Benedict knew about. She’d thought it imperative for anyone who was going to be permanently attached to her to know. Benedict had taken the information well. He’d been impressed with her. She wasn’t completely sure that Colin would feel the same way.

She sat up.

“I – I - need to tell you something first and - it might change everything. I should have told you weeks ago but I didn’t want to ruin having you back with this,” she told him. The weight of it definitely did bear down on her.

Colin sat up as well, brows furrowing in concern.

“If something happened between you and Benedict when you thought I was dead, I – I can’t be mad about that,” he said stating the first thing that had come to mind. The one thing that he’d certainly thought about more times than he might have appreciated.

She frowned at the implication.

“I’ve only ever kissed you,” she said defensively. Perhaps, she’d grown to care for his brother but nothing inappropriate had happened. There was nothing that she needed to admit there. It was almost insulting that he thought that something might have occurred there.

Her arms crossed and it was clear she wasn’t pleased.

Colin didn’t know what she could possibly have to say that would change how he felt about her. There was literally nothing.

“I love you, Pen. I’m not going to change my mind,” he told her firmly, hoping that would be enough to get her to tell him whatever it was.

“I wrote the article about Marina,” she told him after a long moment. “I tried my best to tell you the truth but her situation and you weren’t listening and I knew you were serious about eloping with her. I couldn’t let you –“

“Whistledown did that,” he said after a long moment shaking his head.

“And I’m her,” Penelope said after a long moment.

Colin’s jaw tightened with anger and Penelope was certain he was going to get out of the bed and leave her there. His silence was terrifying. To her credit, he did get up and he paced the small space of the room a few times, inhaling sharply as if trying to gather his wits about him. He didn’t leave though.

“I know that you won’t be able to look at me the same way,” she said after a long moment, arms relaxing but voice pleading, feet dangling off the bed and she debated pursuing him, “I never intended to hurt anyone. I was just desperate and you weren’t listening to reason. She told me that you could never love me – but it never changed the fact that I loved you.”

Colin moved across the space of the room, he gripped at her shoulders more forcefully than he probably should before finding himself when he realized she looked frightened. “You could have been ruined,” he said trying to keep his voice low but he was shaking with fury though who it was directed at was unknown. “If someone knew… If someone figured it out… The Queen could have had you locked away and you could have lost your head. What was I thinking?-”

He wasn’t mad about Marina at all. It was the peril she’d placed herself in that bothered him. He dropped his hands after a moment, pacing starting back again. Penelope wasn’t sure what to say or how to make this right.

“I could have gotten you in trouble with my own selfishness. I was such an idiot and you were in front of me the whole time and I wasn’t even in love with her. I was in love with the idea of being in love until I realized I loved you.”

Penelope wasn’t sure if it was smart to approach or not. Colin seemed to be in the middle of a bit of a breakdown of sorts. She’d never seen him so out of sorts and she didn’t quite know what this meant for his proposal or the future.

“Col-” she said after a minute, finally climbing back to her feet, moving tentatively over to him, a hand on his shoulder.

He spun back, eyes dark as he glowered down at her. He reached a hand out and he pulled her to him successfully earning a squeak of surprise.

“I need you to understand something,” he told her firmly. There was a pause and his eyes moved to her lips. She nodded at him, quiet as she waited for him to yell, scream or put her in her place. His grip was firm but his did soften slightly as he backed her to the bed, letting her body fall into it. This was hardly the reaction she’d anticipated and her heart sped up.

“I’m always going to love you and if anyone ever makes you think otherwise ever again, I’m going to murder them,” he continued, climbing over her using his arms to keep himself from squishing her.

“You still want me?” she asked, gazing up to him in surprise.

He answered by pressing a needful kiss to her mouth. He was done waiting on some arbitrary thing to confirm what was in his heart. He could get past her being Whistledown. What he couldn’t get past was her trying to help him and him ignoring it or the fact that Marina Thompson would dare try and speak for how he felt. He might not have been smart enough to have had it figured out but that didn’t mean he hadn’t cared for her then. He would have been as furious then as he was now. He would moved Heaven and Earth to prove the words false.

Even if it had been another lifetime ago, he still felt an urgency to show Penelope just how he felt about her.

She returned his kiss, making it loud and clear that she was not going to deny him whatever he needed to get through this moment. Her legs opened almost reflexively, arms pulling him closer until there was no space between their bodies.

“Let me have you,” he demanded against her lips. His voice was raspy, a mixture of all the emotions he was feeling flooding into this near plead because he wouldn’t dare ever do anything that Penelope didn’t consent to. He couldn’t stomach the prospect of doing her more harm.

He didn’t exactly stop himself from further exploration while he waited the answer. His mouth darted to her throat and down letting his tongue taste her skin, a hand already set to working on the buttons of the dress she’d had on since they left London.

“Yes,” she told him firmly.

The dress was honestly done for. Colin didn’t mean to be overzealous, especially when he hadn’t exactly gone above and beyond for packing. He’d have to bribe someone to go purchase something new in the morning but he didn’t give a damn about the logistics of it all at the moment, especially when the buttons popped so easily and he could push at the fabric.

Somewhere in his mind, he’d thought to promise that he’d be gentle and make sure that she enjoyed this. He was speechless at the sight of her bare breasts. He’d seen her in nightgowns and shifts a time or two in recent weeks but he’d never dared push his luck.

He let out an audible groan before letting his mouth move down, one hand teasing one of her breasts while the his tongue and teeth explored the other. He kept going until he had earned a moan out. Then and only then did he switch to the other side. He had to be equal opportunity here.

He couldn’t help but laugh softly when he felt her small hand, tugging him back to her lips by the hairs on his head. He willingly came though, never one to turn way her demand for kisses.

He had to put a hand under her hip in an attempt to shift her though, in an effort to tug at the fabric so that he might address the issue of unmentionables.

Colin forced himself off her long enough to let his hands do the work it needed to do to rid her of the rest of the fabric. His eyes met hers as he went to undo his trousers. He’d removed his shirt at some point during their earlier somehow less innocent kisses and it wouldn’t require much to free his erection.

Penelope’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of him though she didn’t provide commentary, didn’t dare ask the million questions that she had. She’d gotten enough information from Daphne before her almost-wedding night that she had nothing to fear.

Colin was back on her in a minute, pressing a tempered kiss to her mouth then her nose before he let a hand move down her middle through the thatch of hair until her found the tantalizing heat of her center. He practically throbbed with need for her but he had to restrain himself a little longer.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured and she felt one finger dip inside of her. The sensation caused her body to shift against him and an indelicate sound escaping her that only spurred him to keep going.

Penelope had been horrifically embarrassed at the graphic explanation of intimacy from Daphne. She had to give her some credit though. She’d not lied when she said there was much to be enjoyed.

His fingers were working just fine and every time he touched her differently or added more it only served to make her want him more.

“Col-“ she murmured after a moment.

His eyes met hers and there was no mistaking what she was saying even if he already knew. He scaled back up her body, positioning his body before he began to slip inside, nearly exploding at just how perfect she truly felt around him.

It took ever fiber of his being not to bury himself completely but he knew that he needed to take his time, knew that there would be some temporary pain involved here. He was calculated slow, biding his time and just savoring the little sounds that were coming out of her.

He paused when he finally found resistance and he forged ahead. He ceased all motion when he saw the slightest hint of pain cross her features, balancing himself enough so that he might run a hand through her curls to distract her from pain that he’d never have to put her through again.

When he felt her shift against him slightly, he knew that it was okay to move and it all felt so perfectly natural. He lost himself to it though he certainly didn’t let himself get overly carried away. He wasn’t going to last long. Not this time. It had been pent up inside of him for far too long.

He let a hand move between them, working nerve endings that he knew would push her there as well while his mouth worked the one spot that he knew would make her squirm.

Penelope definitely did squirm, though she couldn’t quite explain everything that was happening in her body she knew that it was right and she was close to something. When it hit, her body shook and she gasped. Had she forgotten to breathe for minutes? Hours? She couldn’t even remember.

It was just enough to push him to climax, collapsing next to her. Her tugged her in, hugging her against him as they both struggled to breath.

“… So… that was a yes to the eloping, right?” he said after a long moment, voice breathless.

She buried her face in his shoulder to fight off a fit of laughter.

The answer was definitely yes.

#⚜ writings — polin #polin #penelope featherington #colin bridgerton

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kdelarenta · 4 years ago

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3:00 am

pairing: sebastian wynric x f!speaker

rating: umm kind of angst kind of ?? idk

notes: had to delete the previous version because tumblr is acting up, sebastian belongs to @speakergame

tagged: @pearlsandsteel , @aplethoraoffictionalboys

She should be sleeping,she knows this.This isn't the first shitty motel she's had to stay in and not the first time a lovely neighbour decided to have some 'fun' (very loud fun) at three in the morning.

Good for them - at least they're getting some.

She just wishes it wasn't at three in the fucking morning,she hasn't been sleeping well as it is and she has to drive tomorrow. Sebastian did offer to take over though - of course he did. She can't explain it really,she still wants to drive. Josephine wasn't a person who could give someone else the wheel or a person who could just sit in the back seat (and relax). If she wasn't on a mission, she was training. If she wasn't driving,she was navigating. If she had free time,she was watching Emily - making sure she's okay. She doesn't think she can stop. Still it doesn't matter,she doesn't think.(about any of it really,she jumps and kicks and runs and saves and punches and then punches some more when she can't. can't save - can't save everyone).

Yeah...she's not going to sleep any time soon. Kicking the sheets off does nothing to keep off the heat that's been suffocating her since she layed down.

Getting a drink from that wending machine she saw in the hallway doesn't seem like a bad idea at all.

Catching sight of herself in the mirror she can see that she looks like hell,it's like the constant unease she's been feeling had managed to bleed out all over her face. She was wearing her pajamas- black shorts and an oversized grey t-shirt with a questionable quote ( god she would never ever buy it on her own but Em saw it and thought it looked cute and gave her that goofy smile and of course she had to buy it). Smiling despite herself she decides to go out anyway. It's three in the morning,no one's going to see her .

The hallway is quiet besides the constant moans and groans and shouts of someone's name - Paul. Well damn Paul. She's fully grinning now,she can't even bring herself to be mad. Taking a few turns she makes her way to the wending machine. Choosing from all the drinks is easy once she spots her favorite,she puts in the money,selects the drink and waits. The drink starts to move and then stops midway. Sighing,she presses the number again but the can is still stuck. She presses again - nothing.

,,Oh come on" she groans to no one in particular and smacks the machine. Nothing - the can just stays the same,mocking her.

Yeah,fuck this.

She's already halfway through the debate of whether she should continue kicking the machine or just going back to bed when she notices she's not alone. Sebastian is standing by the wall behind her. She doesn't know how long he'd been standing there but the small amused smile on his face gives away that he definitely saw everything. Great.

,,What?"

The accusatory tone and the wild hand gestures sure aren't helping her look any less embarrassed.

,,I want a Cola"

The tone of her voice brings out a low chuckle that warms her from the inside out. Just her luck that he's the one who's awake right now. It's not the first time that fate,karma or whoever has tried to shove promises of love and happiness in her face. Putting them just at the right place at the right time,taunting her with the things she wants but can't afford to have. This time feels different though,like they're more tightly intertwined instead of loosely vowen together. It'd be cruel really, if she wasn't enjoying it so much.

He makes his way over to her,stopping in front of the machine to examine it closely. That smile is still there as he pulls out a few bills and puts them in the machine. She watches him put in the same numbers and low and behold,both cans of soda fall down without a hitch. She's way more impressed than she should be but she does a good job of hiding it behind a carefully neutraled face and a small 'thank you'. He looks pleased with himself as she slowly sips the soda - the cool drink does nothing for her because now she's warm for a completely different reason. Neither of them talk as the moment continues interrupted only by the noise that starts up again and can somehow still be heard from over there.

,,Something keeping you up?"

His mocking tone is rewarded by a sharp glare that only seems to amuse him more.

,,Ha ha,very funny" her words are dry but she's still smiling. Their amused glance soon turns into one of their staring contests. Neither of them wants to back down and she wants to think that's it's just because they're both incredibly stubborn and not because they want to keep looking at each other's eyes. The thought brings a different sort of unease - every glance,every comeback,every accidental touch feels wrong,like she should know better (and she should). That's why she looks away first,like she always does.

,,So did you just want to play comedian or is there a reason why you're awake?"

Changing the subject - always a safe bet. The words are a little harsher than she intends them to be but he doesn't seem bothered. She's convinced he simply doesn't care because the possibility that he might actually be onto what she's doing makes the unease spread all the way from her stomach to her throat.

,,I was reading the case files again" There's a pause, she sees him tense for a moment. ,,This one feels..."

,, - tricky."

,, - different."

They turn to look at each other, settling in the feeling of quiet understanding. He gives a small nod.

So it's not just her.

She knows it's risky business . She remembers the early years - the first cases. The high of returning someone safely home , the hope of helping people live another day,the pride of being useful,of making a change. From that high - there's only one way down.

She remembers Em crying,lifeless bodies and the smell of blood under the shower. Waiting for Emily to fall asleep so she can cry too - figure out how she's going to look herself in the mirror tomorrow. It takes years.It takes practice. The words are clear and strict and second nature.

,, We can't save everyone."

,, I know."

She has to stop herself from asking how he knows - it's not her place. It's better like that anyway,she lets Em be positive and fly for a bit but she's right there to ground her again before she falls. Lost in thought she almost misses the way he's been analyzing her. His eyes skim over her face,briefly stopping at her eyes until they stop to her shirt. She expects him to smile or make a comment. Nothing.

,,Let me drive tomorrow."

She almost doesn't let him finish,the words leaving her mind before she registers them.

,,No need,I'll drive."

,,You're exhausted Josephine."

The strict look he gives her makes her want to roll her eyes. She wants to shout in frustration. It's fine. Why are you like this?

,,I'll manage."

This seems to set him off judging by the scowl quickly forming on this face. They're going to start shouting soon aren't they?

,,Why are you always like this? Just let me do this for you."

The words make her inhale sharply. The need to backtrack is almost suffocating, to just run to her room and leave him here or to just shout whatever to make him let it go.But she can already feel the agitation melting from her face. She can't yell, she can't argue, it's three in the morning and she's tired.

She takes a deep breath,wondering how people do this. How it comes so easy,spilling your soul all over the floor and watching it stain shoes. His shoes are clean - they should remain so. She can't see her face but whatever expression she has makes his soften almost too quickly in return. Maybe he's tired too ( tired of her).

,,Um.." is all that escapes her, an unintelligent sound amongst the thousand words that want to claw their way out.

,, I'm not ungrateful."

She hopes she sounds convincing but all she can focus on is the desperation that seeps out. Out of guilt or out of the inability to explain.

,, I know." he breathes out. And she knows he means it,his eyes are too honest and too soft when they find hers. It really is unfair, all of it.

,, I don't have the luxury of trusting people." The words stick like honey as she drags them out. She should probably say more,she should say more - because it's Sebastian and he's here and he understands.

,, Then trust me"

He sounds so resolute,so honest that she can't look him in the eye,she wouldn't dare. Her ears are pulsing,she's going to explode so instead she focuses on his hands. They're warm - she knows this. She wants to make a home there. She wants to put down roots,stay locked in them forever and surrender to the blazing warmth of a thousand suns. She can see it so clearly - the late night conversations,coffee dates,game nights with Emily, warm embraces and soft kisses.

This isn't the first daydream showed down her throat and it won't be the last. After the case he's going to leave. He'll get payed, he'll leave and she'll never see him again and that will be the end of it.

He won't be there when she eventually fails, she won't get the chance to fail him and she's glad.

She shakes her head and heads back to her room.

She's glad.

#speaker #speakergame #speaker game #sebastian wynric #oc: josephine #seer #*myfics

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thetomorrowshow · 4 years ago

Text

Slower Than Words Ch. 4

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Another week, another chapter! This one’s a bit more intense than the last two have been, so be careful. Just let me know if I missed anything in the content warnings!

cw: food, suicidal thoughts and measures (in the form of a lack of self-care), starving oneself (as an act of defiance)

Time passed. Days, weeks, perhaps even months. Slower than either of them would have liked, but it did pass. Virgil sometimes laughed at the thought of someone watching them communicate—the precise spelling had begun to evolve into complex combinations of squiggles and pats, a sort of shorthand, their fingers blurs as they spoke the language they were inventing. It was slower than speaking loud, and probably slower than sign language, but much faster than the spelling of every individual letter that they'd begun with. The two men were connected in some strange way, almost knowing the other's meaning before it was spoken.

Every night before falling asleep, both would flick the each others' wrists (their sign for 'pay attention'), then press their knuckles into each others' arm. Virgil wasn't quite sure what it meant, but for him it meant a mix of 'good night' and 'I'll be there when you wake up'.

Then one day, Patton was not there when he woke up.

Virgil tried to refrain from freaking out. Patton was probably just in the sectioned-off area, everything would be fine. Virgil took in a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself enough that he could hear over the pounding of his own heart. “Patton?” he called out, knowing the other man couldn't hear him. A clang! shot through the air; Virgil leaped out of bed and drew his fists up to his face, rocking back on his heels. Fight-or-flight had kicked in, and fight won out. As he waited, though, nothing happened. No familiar arms pulled his hands down, silently whispering words of comfort. No rough hands grabbed him and dragged him away. Nothing.

Moments later, his heart slowed slightly and Virgil realized that the noise that had scared him so badly was the chute opening to drop food in. And Patton still wasn't there, Patton who normally woke him up wasn't there to hold him and let him know that everything would be all right and with a shock, instead of blind panic, Virgil noticed his face heating.

Did he . . . did he have a crush on Patton?

Now we don't have time to unpack all of that, his mind helpfully supplied. Virgil snorted before striding toward the curtain in the corner, waving around it before eventually pulling it back and stepping in.

Patton wasn't there.

“Patton?” Virgil called again, his walking no much less steady than a few moments before. He checked the spare bed, then walked the room in a sweep. Nothing, there was nothing, Virgil was all alone again after months of having someone to hold him and he couldn't handle it. There was a tray of food on the floor, but he couldn't bring himself to eat anything, a pit of anxiety boiling in his stomach. After sweeping the room three more times, Virgil curled up on the still-warm bed, choking out a few despairing sobs. He was alone, he was all alone and soon the rough people with mean voices would grab him and drag him away to that room, that room where—

Virgil wrenched his mind away from that train of thought, knowing that the blurry memories of the room would only scare him more. He had to keep a clear head, figure out how to get out of here and save Patton.

So, naturally, Virgil pulled the blanket over his head and sobbed.

Hours passed, and still Virgil didn't come out. He didn't know why; some instinctive part of him insisting that he stay hidden, perhaps, but it wasn't like the blanket was stopping him from seeing any threats. If anything, it was muffling his hearing. It didn't seem to matter, though, as he was left alone all day and night. At intervals he knew he should be expecting, the metal flap at the base of the door would unlock and make a loud noise as a food tray was pushed in or pulled out, but no one ever entered the room.

Virgil never got up to eat, though he knew he should. It gave him some sense of satisfaction to know that they wanted him to eat, and it was in his power to refuse it. Hopefully he was making more of a statement than throwing a fit.

“I'll eat if you bring Patton back,” he croaked out, pulling the blanket down enough for his head to pop out. There had to be a camera somewhere in this room, even if Patton had never mentioned one. He cleared his throat. “Seriously, that's the only way you're gonna get me to eat. Bring him back.”

Nothing. The thought struck Virgil that maybe they didn't care about whether or not he ate, but he shoved it away. If they didn't care, they'd stop giving him food. Another thought—what if Patton escaped? Virgil threatening his own health would just make them look for Patton harder, and he didn't want Patton back here.

Right?

Well, no. He wanted Patton free, yes. But . . . if he wasn't free, then couldn't he be here? Just thinking that made Virgil feel guilt tear at his insides. Of course he would give up Patton if he had the chance to be free! Of course he would!

Virgil physically shook his head, then pulled the blanket back over himself. He was going to sleep, because then he could escape his own head. Patton usually was there to help if he was anxious, but before. . . .

Before was so long ago. What had he done before? He'd normally just . . . dealt with it, hadn't he? He'd had Patton there to work through it with him for so long, he could barely imagine doing it by himself again.

In time, Virgil fell into a restless sleep, tossing and turning with nobody to ground himself to.

Virgil was hungry.

Nine meals had passed since Patton had disappeared. That was a full three days, and Virgil was beginning to wonder if he would be able to hold out until Patton came back. He'd been drinking cupped handfuls of water from the tiny sink behind the curtain, but his legs were growing too weak to walk across the room to it. The most recent time—several hours previous—he'd fallen halfway there and crawled the rest of the way, pulling himself up onto the toilet to even reach the faucet. Then he'd dragged himself back to the bed, forgoing the easier task of resting on the closer, unused bed for the one he and Patton had shared.

Come to think of it, why had they shared a bed? The mattresses were twin-sized, there was no way that had been comfortable.

Again, Virgil weighed his options. They hadn't pulled away the meal tray yet, so he could roll out of bed one more time and get something to eat, keep his strength up. More importantly, though, what was the point?

Without Patton, Virgil had nothing. No hope. No eyesight. No one to talk to. No one to hold him when his nightmares got particularly bad. Absolutely no one, and Virgil was a nobody, so it all worked out. Whether or not Patton came back, Virgil was certain they were watching him. Studying him. Whatever they did to his eyes, they did it on purpose and now they were watching to see what he'd do. Well, it was too bad for them, because Virgil would rather die than let them win. In all honesty, he'd rather die than do a lot of things, but this one was the most important at the moment. So they thought they could take Patton away from him? He was going to take himself away from them.

His mind made up, Virgil rolled over to face the wall, despite the fact that being turned away from the door caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up. It didn't matter anyway, he couldn't see any signs of an attacker. Besides, he didn't care who came in unless it was Patton.

Die out of spite? Virgil was pretty sure he could do that.

Virgil's plan to die out of spite was cut short the next morning, about an hour after the tenth meal was pushed in.

He'd been seriously reconsidering his death, but Virgil was nothing if not stubborn. Not to mention he wasn't sure he even had the strength to get out of bed by now. He was contemplating what he'd say to Roman if he were here, when a loud noise roused him from his daydream.

A thud and a cry met his ears, then the same slamming noise as before—surely the door closing. The voice was recognizable too, but Virgil couldn't let his hopes get up; many times before, Patton had laughed wheezily, as if he wasn't sure that a laugh was supposed to have sound (which was probably on the nose), and even more often, he'd made unconscious noises of exclamation. That was his voice, the sound Patton would make if he were thrown to the ground.

Thrown to the ground—?!

Virgil rolled out of bed, almost forgetting his weakness, and crawled in the direction of the hitching breaths until his reaching fingers met fabric. Quicker than he knew he could move, Virgil found the person's arm and flicked his wrist, then pressed his knuckles up against it. It had to be Patton, he'd know that arm anywhere, and sure enough, the person's fingers traced a light P into Virgil's arm.

Virgil realized, suddenly, that he was crying, babbling Patton's name over and over again as he pulled Patton into his lap, freezing when the other man hissed in pain.

You okay? Virgil spelled onto Patton's arm, hoping it was nothing too bad. There was a long moment in which Patton didn't move, and Virgil held his breath.

Put stuff in my ears. Hurts.

Virgil let out a choked cry, then hugged Patton as gently as he could. At that moment, he was reminded of exactly how jelly-like his bones felt. He reached out, and as he assumed, the tray with breakfast was just beside them.

Virgil ate slowly, supporting Patton so that he could eat as well, though he claimed to not feel like it. Virgil made sure to leave half even so.

“I've got you,” Virgil muttered as he helped Patton to the bed. “Don't worry, we'll make it through this. We've got each other. We can survive.”

Virgil didn't know if he was talking to Patton (who couldn't hear him), or himself, but it didn't really matter. They were together. Everything was so much better than it had been alone, and everything was going to be okay.

Taglist (I’d love to add you, just let me know!): @enragedbees @gotta-love-alejandra @bunny222 @basiic-emo @patt0n-sanders @rosiepupper @fangirlgeekandfreak @dn-fan21 @that2000skid @remy-the-lemon-berry @itsadastraperaspera @xionbean @sanderssides-angst @hell-yea-we-gay-tonight

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