#slow burn for my impatient self anyway | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

flowerandblood · 1 year

Text

The Vanity and Variability (3)

[ Jane Austen • Aemond x Baratheon • female ]

[ warnings: sexual tension, angst, mention of trauma ]

[ description: Despite coming from a family with royal blood, Aemond is forced because of his brother’s debts to choose one of the daughters of the famously wealthy general, Borros Baratheon, as his wife to save his family from bankruptcy. When he arrives to make his choice he is distraught and discouraged, made all the more so by watching from the sidelines his youngest daughter, who seems more intrigued by his dog than her possible future husband. Slow burn, sexual tension, regency and Jane Austen prose vibe, vain, self-righteous Aemond. ]

A story which is an alternative universe of The Impossbile Choice taking place in regency times (1805-1815). The characters are all the same as in the main series, however, for obvious reasons they will behave differently and experience things differently from medieval times. You can read this without having to delve into the main series.

Aemond & Miss Baratheon & Vhagar Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Never before in his life had he been so afraid of Sunday. He knew what awaited him then, he knew that the whole town, all the people of Chelsfied would want to meet him and have a few words with him.

He knew how gossip worked, even more so in such small towns, he knew that everyone was already talking about the fact that he was bankrupt, that he had no eye, that he had come to Borros Baratheon's house like a stray dog, begging for his daughters' pennies.

He felt sick at the thought.

Worst of all, he realised, the very people who surely deep down despised and mocked him would pay him compliments, ask about his health and express their joy that someone like him had come to their town.

He knew they would do this, and then they would talk behind his back, whispering about how great his scar on his face was, how he reigned like a lord, how they felt sorry for any of Mr Baratheon's daughters who would receive the unpleasant honour of becoming his wife.

He knew this and had mentally prepared himself for it, but even so, when confronted by such a huge crowd of strangers he panicked, forcing himself out with barely a few words, leaving the whole conversation to Mr Baratheon. He felt embarrassed for himself and thought it couldn't have gone any worse.

When they were finally to be seated he waited impatiently for the youngest Miss Baratheon to take her place and sighed heavily not understanding why it was taking her so long.

"This seat is for Mr Targaryen. After all, we won't let him sit at the back." He heard Floris' words with difficulty and furrowed his brow, glancing at them out of the corner of his eye.

"There's enough room for everyone." Whispered her younger sister, impatient and tired of the humiliations that had been endless since he had appeared in their house.

"There isn't." She replied lightly, something akin to mischievous amusement in her voice.

He watched in silence as the youngest Miss Baratheon withdrew and walked to the bench behind them, sitting down resignedly, looking down at her hands, her father turned to her and asked her quietly what she was doing.

He decided that he had no intention of sitting next to this insolent girl and putting up with her solicitation or the, obviously casual, touch of her body, which she would surely cling to him as soon as he sat down next to her.

Therefore, he joined her younger sister at the back, recognising that his reputation in this place was ruined anyway, so it didn't matter if he sat in the first or last pew.

He just wanted holy peace and quiet.

He saw Floris turn to him, frowning her eyebrows, surprised and displeased by his decision, wanting to say something already, but he didn't even let her open her mouth.

"Please attend to your prayers, Miss Baratheon." He growled coolly, and she flushed with a blush of shame and turned away, correcting her hat as if nothing had happened. He felt her little sister's gaze on him and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, frustrated.

"Can't you concentrate on prayer in the house of God either, Miss Baratheon?" He rebuked her in a dry, frustrated voice, and she shook her head quickly, pulling a prayer book from her small bag.

He was relieved that he had chosen his prayer companion well, for Mr Baratheon's youngest daughter was focused the whole time and did not look at him, absorbed in her own thoughts.

He knew she was only pretending.

He knew she was thinking only of him, like her other silly sisters wanting to be princesses in a magical palace.

Even though he had told her not to look at him, now it was he who glanced at her all the time, wanting to catch her in the act, to prove to himself that he was not at all mistaken, that she was not at all different from them.

Neither Cassandra, nor Floris, nor Ellyn, nor Maris could stand it; each of them turned at least once in his direction, and he felt like laughing at the pathetic sight.

He was frustrated and tired.

He felt like a sold-out object in the eyes of his family, a way to royalty in the eyes of the general's daughters and a nobody in the eyes of the people around him who knew absolutely nothing about him.

He was alone.

As they stood up to receive the eucharist, he let her pass in front of him and drew in the air feeling her body rub up against him, her pleasant scent reaching his nose.

Had she done this on purpose?

He stood behind her in the line, looking at her intensely, hoping that when she took communion and turned back towards the pews, she would throw him a look that would reveal everything about her.

She, however, did not even turn her face towards him.

He sat down beside her, a little closer than before, watching for her reaction, but she was still staring absently ahead, her fingers wandering involuntarily over the soft material of the cover of her prayer book.

What was she thinking about so strenuously?

He opened his knees a little, just a little, so that their legs came into contact almost imperceptibly. He felt her flinch, her fingers moved in an anxious gesture as she swallowed loudly, but she did not turn her face towards him.

He pressed his lips together, glancing at her once in a while. He grunted and corrected himself in his seat, pressing his knee harder against her leg, looking at her expectantly.

Look at me.

Stop pretending.

He could see that her breathing had become anxious, that her figure trembled with uncertainty and fear, her hands clenched tightly on her book.

And suddenly he had an idea.

Why not play with her?

Alys loved it.

Subconscious, innocent coquettishness.

His hand from his knee went over her fingers, which clenched panic-stricken at the object on her thighs, and he grinned with satisfaction, knowing that she thought he wanted to touch her so directly, so indecently. At the last moment, before his hand touched her skin he grabbed her prayer book and with a slow movement pulled it from her grasp.

He took her book as if nothing had happened and began to look through it, recognising that it was really old and beautifully published, it must have been at least 20 years old by now. He felt her face turned towards him, but she still wasn't looking at him, her hands lying on her lap was trembling.

"Please, sir, give it back to me." He heard her faint whisper, and he murmured under his breath, delighted that she was finally speaking to him, taking some strange pleasure in her helplessness.

They both knew full well that this was what she wanted.

A little bit of his attention so that she had something to think about at night.

"What harm am I doing? I am merely looking at it, Miss Baratheon." He hummed softly, licking his finger, turning another page. He knew she saw the gesture, felt her whole body tense up when he did.

Come on, answer something ambiguous, play with me.

"Please. This is my only memento of my mother." She mumbled with difficulty, and he froze.

He felt his heart start pounding like crazy, his knee immediately pulled away from her body. He grunted loudly, feeling a sudden dryness in his throat, and handed the prayer book back to her.

When he felt the touch of her skin he involuntarily mussed it with his thumb barely, as if in a gesture of apology for having completely misunderstood her reaction to what he was doing.

He glanced at her with his lips pressed together and felt a tightening in his pit, a sudden chill went through his body when he saw that she was crying.

She didn't make a sound, her body and lips trembled slightly, tear after tear ran down her cheek and she wiped them away with her hands, looking straight ahead, her eyebrows twisted in pain.

He clenched his hand into a fist feeling only the shame overpowering him.

Of course she didn't want to flirt with him now.

What was he thinking?

He wanted to apologise to her as soon as the liturgy was over, but she got up at once, literally running out of the church. He looked at her with his lips slightly open, not knowing whether to stay or run after her, what he should do.

He finally left quickly, deciding that he couldn't leave it like that, that he couldn't let her tell her father about it. Heedless of Floris' and Cassandra's calls, he ran a little way, come to think of it no one of his status was likely to do so, and saw her round the bend in the village road.

She turned towards him hopefully, evidently thinking that he was her brother, but when she caught sight of him a moan of disappointment and pain broke from her lips, which for some reason made him feel even worse. Her face was flooded with tears.

"Miss Baratheon. Forgive me. I have no idea what has gotten into me." He mumbled with difficulty, not knowing how to properly apologise for what he had done, how to explain the momentary eclipse that had apparently descended upon his mind that he had allowed himself to behave in such a way.

She looked at him, breathing hard, and after a moment she shook her head, pain and some kind of immense weariness in her eyes.

"I don't understand you, sir. I try, but I don't. You are cruel. You humiliate me and my sisters knowing that we do not stand in a position to oppose you. I would like to be your friend, but I am not sure you could be a friend to anyone, let alone a person of such low position as myself." She burst out on the verge of crying and despair, then turned and moved with a quick step towards her house.

A moment later, Cassandra and Floris ran up to him asking what had happened, what their sister had done again, and he did not answer them.

You are cruel.

I would like to be your friend, but I am not sure you could be a friend to anyone, let alone a person of such low position as myself.

These words rang in his ears for the next few days and he felt like he was going completely mad. She avoided him, did not look at him or speak to him.

He kept repeating to himself that this was one less tiresome sister, that at least she was no longer taking Vhagar away from him despite the fact that his dog missed her and howled at her door when they returned from walks. Still, even though he pretended that this change suited him, he couldn't stop thinking about what she had said.

I would like to be your friend.

What did she mean by that?

He had never had a friend. He didn't have access to other, strange children because his grandfather considered them unworthy and feral, that he and his siblings would pick up bad habits from them.

He could not say he was friends with Aegon or Helaena, for they were never close. He loved Daeron, but he was his younger brother, not a confidant.

He realised then with amusement and embarrassment that he had no friends.

He had never needed them and did not feel that this should change now.

Nonetheless, he felt a kind of discomfort as he walked with Vhagar to the shore of the lake where she had fallen asleep with him at the time, and as soon as she spotted him from afar she got up and set off back home, greeting only his dog on the way.

He wanted to stop her, to talk to finally alleviate this tense atmosphere, but he couldn't get anything out himself.

To his despair, Cassandra, Floris and Maris had insisted for so long on organising a ball with dances at their estate that Mr Baratheon finally gave in.

He hated dancing, hated the fact that everyone was then looking at him and talking about him, his scar, his eye patch, the fact that he was poorly mannered for a man from London since he allowed ladies without a partner to have to sit.

He didn't have the strength to explain how tired he was of such entertainment, how he only dreamed during it that he could already go back to his room and lock himself in there with his dog and his books.

Therefore, he was not surprised by the surreptitious, disgruntled glances of the guests, who did not understand why instead of asking one of his future chosen ones to dance, he was sitting with his legs crossed, tapping his fingers on the table top, looking around, bored.

He knew what they thought of him and he didn't have the strength to try to change it.

He watched from the corner of his eye as Mr Baratheon's youngest daughter danced with her brother, her gown, like that of her sisters, was all white with a high waist, long gloves halfway down her arm on her hands.

In her front curls, which were arranged at the back of her head in a small bun, were pinned the white field flowers he had seen walking with Vhagar once before, the rest of her hair was loose, waving slightly with her every movement.

He had to admit that they were both excellent dancers and he could see by the joy on their faces that they were taking great pleasure in this, their figures turning with lightness and to the rhythm. He thought, watching them these few days, that they were very close to each other and he partly envied them the bond that he himself had never managed to establish with his siblings.

However, he felt a strange kind of unease, as if a tingling in his chest, when he saw her being asked for her next dance by a colonel whom he remembered from balls held in London.

Colonel Larys Strong was a strange and disturbing man to say the least in his eyes. He knew him because the affair between his brother, Colonel Harwin Strong, and his half-sister, Rheanyra, had been the talk of London.

Everyone suspected that her children did not come from her first marriage, but just from their union, which would make her children bastards, which indeed he believed them to be.

Nevertheless, it was Larys who seemed more dangerous to him, for his conversations with women, which he sometimes listened to from the sidelines, bored, were inappropriate, impertinent and ambiguous to say the least, often embarrassing them. He would pick out young, naive girls in love with uniforms and male prowess.

He thought, looking at the youngest Miss Baratheon, that he couldn't have chosen a better target, and tapped the tip of his tongue against the wall of his cheek, looking at them in thought.

He wondered if he should warn her, inform her to be wary of this man knowing what intentions he might have had for her. He hesitated, recognising that this was why she had her older brother and father to watch over her. On the other hand, he reminded himself that they did not know his nature and he felt anxious again, playing with his fingers extended on his armrest in a nervous gesture.

I am not sure you could be a friend to anyone, let alone a person of such low position as myself.

He rose slowly from the chair he was sitting on, to the surprise of Floris and Maris, who had accompanied him the whole time, playing cards with each other.

They led him away with curious eyes as they watched him disappear between the crowd of guests, circling around the dancing Miss Baratheon and Colonel Strong, making sure that his hand did not slip too low or that he did not slide too close to her.

He pressed his lips together seeing that as soon as the dance was over, Colonel Strong immediately leaned over to ask her for another dance, a shadow of uncertainty flashed across her face.

He recognised that she was too young and inexperienced for him to watch idly as this man pestered her.

For this reason, he did the first thing that came to his mind. On a sudden impulse, he moved towards them, meeting the surprised stares of the conversing couple, and bowed before asking Miss Baratheon if she would honour him with her next dance.

She looked at him in disbelief and for a moment probably wanted to refuse him, but then she glanced at Colonel Strong. She lowered her gaze and nodded, embarrassed.

Colonel Strong made room for him, glancing at him surreptitiously, and he, whether he wanted to or not, now had to trudge through the few minutes of this torture and then face the critical stares and remarks that he had danced with General Baratheon's youngest daughter first, rather than the eldest.

They bowed to each other and then moved, passing between other couples, her hand on his. He decided that since it was appropriate to talk while dancing anyway, and everyone was looking at them, he preferred to divert his attention and convey to her what he had wanted to say all along.

"I would not trust Colonel Strong if I were you, Miss Baratheon." He said dryly, turning with her, glancing impatiently to the side. They made another move and her hand covered by the material of her glove was again on his, he met her gaze, uncertain and sad.

"You are quick to pass judgement, sir." She declared with a kind of resentment from which he furrowed his brow, but again they had to separate, avoiding the other couples, in those few seconds he thought through what he wanted to reply to this accusation. When her hand was in his again, he looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

"In his case, I have very solid reasons for that." He stated coolly and she blinked, swallowing hard, clearly wondering whether to believe him. He couldn't look away from the white flowers pinned into her hair, he thought they suited her and reflected her person well.

"It seems to me that it is easy to lose your good opinion, let alone gain it." She replied surprisingly seriously for how she usually spoke, he could feel the tension between them every time they came close again, their hands on each other's arms.

"I thought I was the one who was quick to pass judgement." He mused, not taking his eyes off her, and she flushed and lowered her gaze, embarrassed that he had turned her own words against her. Involuntarily the corner of his mouth twitched in a smirk of satisfaction.

Teasing her gave him an disturbing amount of pleasure.

She glared at him, a little giving in and a little fighting, recognising that she would make one more attempt to point out to him what she thought of him. They turned their backs to each other and moved sideways, avoiding the couples who passed between them and stood at the very end, facing each other again, her fingers back in his hands.

"Why is my conversation with Colonel Strong so preoccupying you?" She asked curiously, wrinkling her brow, her cheeks red from embarrassment and exertion after another dance in a row, some of the tiny strands of her hair stuck to her face.

Her face seemed pleasantly soft in its shape to him.

"Friendly concern." He replied dryly, her eyebrows arched in pain and disbelief, her eyes large, widened in surprise, for she had completely not expected such words. She swallowed loudly, lowering her gaze, her lips pressed together.

She gave up.

"Then it remains for me to thank you, sir." She said a little more softly, lifting her gaze to him not so displeased and hurt anymore, some kind of warmth and relief was painted on her face.

"Hmm." He hummed and they stopped in front of themselves at last, the music around them ended and people began to clap.

As was the good custom he escorted her to the side, glancing at the table where Floris and Maris sat, Cassandra standing behind them had tears in her eyes. He let out a quiet breath, knowing what awaited him when it was all over.

"Don't worry, sir, I'll tell them that you danced with me just to rescue me from this intrusive man." She said softly seeing where he was looking, sensing subconsciously what he was thinking about.

He hummed under his breath again, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, measuring her with his look from top to bottom.

"Why?" He asked dryly, and she smiled at him in a way that made him warm.

"Friendly concern."

_____

Taglist 1

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess

205 notes · View notes

smokeahontas7 · 2 years

Text

Botany

pairing: (pre-ellie)!Joel Miller x OFC!Juliette Dacre

summary: Joel meets Juliette and finds small moments of restitution and peace for himself through helping her tend to a secret community garden that helps people from starving in the QZ.

a/n: i'm gonna place this as pre ellie, a few weeks before Tommy leaves the Boston QZ. i don't know much about the video game but i did my research don't come for me. tess is involved but not painted in bad light, mostly added for razzle dazzle. i use ofc because writing 'you' pov is hard for me. juliette in my head is native american/mexican, bc i'm native american/mexican lol but there isn't any super body descriptions of her. this will be a pre/post outbreak short series it's kinda romantic kinda smutty definitely self indulgent

warnings: MINORS DO NOT ENAGE: slow burn, there will be smut i promise, age gap (ofc is in her late 20's), implied mentions of sex work, poisoning, brief details of death/murder/drowning, not quite smut at the end but still a warning for heavy make outs anyway, not like a warning but an fyi for those who don't know, gruñon is spanish for grumpy which is like her nickname for Joel, that is all lol

botany ch. 2 here!

"You gonna keep draggin' ass or can we get home sometime soon ? Gonna get dark."

"Just wait a minute."

Tommy stood at the front of the abandoned hardware store, impatiently awaiting his brother who seemed to be dragging them out of their way lately. Joel disregarded him entirely and continued his search, reaching the back of the dusty store and finally finding a single box of latex gloves. He shoved the crumbled box in his pack and hurriedly joined his brother outside the store where the sun was just about setting, both Tess and Tommy giving him looks of irritation, but he didn't seem to mind as they headed back to the Boston QZ.

"You're kinda' sweet on that girl, don'tcha' think?" Tommy said after a awhile of walking, loving to twist the knife when it came to teasing his brother.

"Shut up." Joel insisted through his teeth, delivering a swift punch to his arm.

"You do go out of your way for that princess a lot." Tess added, he silently cursed Tommy with his eyes.

"I don't go out of my way... She keeps that secret garden. She feeds people,"

"She makes medicine, she helps the community," Tess mockingly completed a sentence he had used in his defense before, catching eyes with him before his darted down to his boots.

"But you are sweet on her. That's why you go out of your way." Tommy teased again.

"I told Ben I'd look out for her.. and you guys did too. That's what I'm doin'."

The mention of their former friend Ben seemed to quiet everyone up, not much said afterwards as they sat with the truth. Ben Dacre and his daughter Juliette helped sustain hundreds of people in the QZ with their homemade fish traps in the river just outside the walls, and their secret garden that grew all different varieties of natural herbs, fruits, and vegetables. Ben had started trading with the group, food and natural medicine in exchange for their protection. If it was ever to be tipped off to FEDRA about what they were doing, Ben requested they get Juliette somewhere safe and let him take the hanging, for his daughter would have all the means and intelligence to start a new garden over again on her own if she continued to have a trading connection in them. The man passed away just as he predicted, and it was Joel who got Juliette to a small apartment with access to a wooded area nearby. Over time he had helped her restore and tend to over half the garden to its originally glory, it was something they had grown close over, as Tommy and Tess were more about finding seeds and seeking gardening supplies for them.

Juliette was fairly good at sustaining herself and mostly stayed out of trouble. She was as charismatic as she was lovely, easily 20 years younger than him, and often catching the eye of young FEDRA agents and other men who lingered too long, came on too strong, in Joel's opinion. She was helpful to him in ways too, checking his traps for him and habitually delivering the catches perfectly cleaned, cut, and gutted. She gave him all the clothes and boots and other manly essentials her father didn't need after he passed. Sometimes she'd invite the brothers over and make them dinner. Everyone knew her as a very sweet girl who kept to herself, it wasn't hard for him to develop a small crush.

"You guys go. I'm gonna drop these seeds off and grab some food, I'll be back in an hour." He caught an awkward glance from Tess but nothing more, it made him inwardly frustrated that she just didn't understand. They all would sometimes see Juliette in town being friendly with a guard, or being escorted somewhere with a smile. Joel especially took notice. He knew his crush would never be anything more. Maybe she was flirty with him at times, but maybe she was that way with everyone. Joel knocked on the door with special code, so she'd know it was safe for her to answer. He listened to the many locks being undone, counting them in his head to make sure she wasn't half assing it and only doing 1 or 2 when there were 6 for a reason.

"You did all the locks this time, good girl." He praised when she opened the door, catching a blush on her cheeks and a sincerely happy to see him grin.

"You spent half an hour pulling weeds with me AND lecturing me on lock safety. I learned my lesson." She said in joking defeat, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing tight as he stood still, as usual. He tried his best to be appropriate with his affections, reserved where she was free, but she didn't mind. She knew that was just Joel.

"Speakin' of weeds," Joel sat on the couch and dug into his pack, fishing out the box of latex gloves. "These aren't gonna save your hands, they'll shred." He handed them to her and found blissful disbelief on her face. She didn't say anything for a moment, looking between him and the box. He could tell she had something on her mind, the way her brow creased in thought and she seemed to go somewhere else.

"Hey, everything ok ?" He asked, she hesitated.

"... I need to ask you something serious." Brown meet brown when they catch each other's eye, Juliette trying her best to read him, but he remains in his stone demeanor.

"Joel, I need a really big favor... but I need to ask first, can I trust you ?" It's subtle, but something in his gaze changes then, a dilating of his pupils just a bit when he nods.

"With your life." Juliette takes a long pause, pacing the small studio apartment with nervous steps. She knows he means it.

"There's a plant that grows along the abandoned highways near where you do your trade runs. I need you to take these jars, and collect any berries, blooms, and leaves you can find from this plant." Juliette takes a book from off her table and sits beside him, laying it in his lap and pointing at a diagram of a green plant with purple flowers and deep blue berries.

atropa belladonna: deadly nightshade - WARNING! HIGHLY TOXIC

"The entire belladonna plant from roots to leaves is poisonous, and you'd need to wear the gloves to protect your skin." She bends over to briefly dig under the couch, finding a shoe box and removing the lid to reveal it to be filled to the brim with ration cards, and an almost full bottle of real pre-outbreak whiskey.

"I know it'll be dangerous, I've been doing some saving and trading.. I would go myself, but my dad never let me go past the river, I don't know the area... and you won't take me yourself."

"No, I wont. Something happens to you out there, who's gonna help the people in here ?" She remained quiet, he made a fair point. She hadn't yet picked someone to pass her knowledge down to, and Joel was the only other person who knew some, but not all, that it took into raising a healthy garden. Joel took the bottle of whiskey from the shoe box and pushed the ration cards back to her.

"Joel, no-- you,"

"No, you, listen up. I'll do this for you on one condition. You gotta tell me what need you have for poison plants.. and you gotta promise to put those cards towards yourself. Gonna start gettin' cold again, get some winter clothes... can't romp around in sun dresses all seasons." His dry humor was poking fun at her, but he noticed a swift change in her mood, leg beginning to bounce in a nervous shake right beside his. Joel gently placed his hand over her knee, trying to read her face and finding a mix of sadness, and possibly shame.

"I'm just jokin' with you, honey, I didn't mean anything by it,"

"No-- it's not that... I just.. don't think I can tell you. I don't want you to think different of me.." Juliette said softly, different than her usually confident and chipper way of being.

"You're actin' like you're planning on poisoning someone, what's goin' on with you ?" The silence that fell over the room was heavy, all she could do was stare.

"Shit, Jules.. are you poisoning people??" He asks a little louder than intended, she shushes him, placing her hands over his mouth and climbing in his lap a bit with pleading eyes.

"Shut the hell up!! These walls are stupid thin, you know that. You need to let me explain.. will you let me explain?" Joel nods his head, unbothered by the unsolicited contact from her. She smells fragrantly sweet up close, and her knee digging into his thigh felt painfully good. She climbs off of him and takes a deep breath, fidgeting with her hands on the couch in silence for a moment. He's never seen her so wound up before, he can tell she's scared.

"Whatever it is-- and I mean whatever-- We'll deal with it together. Ok?" She meets his eyes one more time, and she knows he is a man of his word. Joel Miller is not one to just say things.

"Have you ever heard of Jane Doe's ?" Her question catches him off guard, it takes him a moment to process what it means. She can see it in his eyes when it clicks.

"Heard its a myth.. FEDRA wouldn't run shit like that. They'd abolish it." Joel seemed confident in his words, but the sad looking smile on her face at his naivety made something in his stomach drop.

"When girls are of age to get assignments, some of us get the choice to be Jane Doe's... FEDRA officers request us, we go to their homes, draw them bathes, make them tea... We wait til they're done. We do whats requested.. They pay us our ration cards, we leave." Clearly distraught, things started connecting in Joel's mind as he ran a hand through his greying hair. The many "boyfriends" he thought she had. Wondering how she always had so many ration cards to offer him. The bruising he'd sometimes see on her arms and legs she'd claim were from gardening.

"A few months ago, I went to jane doe for a guard that was known to be aggressive with the girls.. He kept me for 3 days and did.... the craziest shit, Joel." He noticed how her body trembled, her eyes pleaded with him to see her point of view, to believe her, rather than crying about the abuse she suffered.

"FEDRA doesn't give a fuck what happens to us. jane doe's are disposable, replaceable... It's all underground. So nothing happened to the guard... My dad and I used to harvest the belladonna that grew near the river, and I remembered there was a patch next to where we have the fish traps.. so I got the berries together, and I made a tea. When that guard requested me again, I went to his house and did what I normally do. I might've used more than I needed.. his body responded almost immediately, then it was pretty much easy from there. I waited til I could hear him choking, then I went into the bathroom and held him underwater til he passed.." Joel rarely showed reaction at all, but he could hardly believe that sweet, quiet, Juliette was telling him the story of how she poisoned and drowned a man in his own bath tub. He felt pride in her for having the ability and intelligence to keep herself alive, but mutual rage at the men who've been hurting her, and disappointment in himself for not seeing the situation sooner.

"Fuck, Jules.. I'm sorry, I should've known, I," She cut him off, shaking her head and taking his hands in hers. She recognized the coldness pouring over his eyes as he beat himself up. She wouldn't let him take responsibility for it.

"Hey, I'm fine, right? I'm right here, aren't I ?" She flatted his hands on the hem of her dress, bringing a bit of warmth back to his brown irises as he met her sight.

"You couldn't have known.. I wouldn't let you. This isn't something I'm proud of.. I would've died with this secret if I wasn't in this position." He's reminded of the matter at hand, the collecting of the plant, and her reasoning.

"Tell me who you're going to use the poison on, I'll take care of it right now. Give me a name." She observes how the thought of her being in danger puts fire in his heart, and shares a genuine smile for the first time of the night since she opened the door.

"I'm not in any danger, Gruñon, calm down.. Seriously, I promise." Juliette extends her pinky and offers it in promise, he begrudgingly links his with hers and interlocks it tight, but takes it as trust she is telling the truth.

"I make the tea for other jane doe's.. We take turns taking out guards. When one jane has a body, we all go to where she's at and help wrap the guy up like the infected, and toss them in the burn piles at night.. I've used all the nightshade within my reach, but I know more grows along where you do your trade runs." She allows him a moment to process and sit with everything she's said, fearing in the back of her mind that he thinks she's barbaric, inhumane. She has no idea of the things he's done to survive as well, he could never judge her. He maybe even admires her more.

"I'll get what you need, I understand it's important. Don't worry about it." Joel assures her, telling her he'll be going back on another run in a few days. She thanks him endlessly, throwing her arms around him again, but this time, he opens his for her and wraps her in a tight hug. He cannot imagine the horrors she's witnessed and suffered from being a jane to abusers, it's important to him that she know he's safe, he's here for her. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath of her scent in the lingering hug they both needed, comforted by hints of jasmine flowers in her hair and coconut oil on her skin. She holds his neck a little tighter and he does the same with his arm around her waist, playing a game of follow the leader her body finds its way on top of his lap and he leans back on the couch to give her more room, now closer than they've ever been. She gently kissed him, her lips soft and moisturized with some sort of homemade balm that tasted like honey where his were chapped and hardly used to the affections of kissing. His body reacted before the thread of his moral compass could, chasing the sweetness of her lips and slowly initiating the next steps of tasting her mouth with his tongue. She ran her fingers through his untamed mess of greying waves, nails gently raking across the back of his neck and making his heart pound in his chest.

"Jules.." He sighed when she started to grind on his lap, moving his kisses roughly under her chin and down her throat, facial hair scratching against the delicate skin of her chest as she began pulling her dress down for him.

"Please, Joel ? Please, please, please," She begs, snaking her hand between them to begin pulling at his belt. Joel groans, pulling her hand away and holding it at her side, both panting for air as the heated make out abruptly stops.

"I.. I can't tonight.." Something in his gut drops again as he internally kicks himself. He wants this just as badly as she does, but he has to go.

"I told Tommy I'd be an hour.. I won't have enough time. Any longer, he'll come lookin' for me." Juliette nods. She's understanding, but he can tell she seems discouraged.

"Hey," Joel holds her chin in his hand gently. "I'll be back in a few days... Just.. be good for me. Stay out of trouble." He doesn't know what else to say, but it's better than pulling her hair back and going for her mouth again. He kisses her a final time before he goes, savoring the taste of sugar and honey.

"Come back to me safely."

Like a spell spoken over a willing fool, Joel found himself wanting to do exactly that from the moment he left her apartment.

#TLOU #The last of us show #hbo the last of us #joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller x ofc #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller one shot #joel miller series #tlou fandom #tlou fanfiction

114 notes · View notes

twoidiotwriters1 · 11 months

Text

Daughter of Olympus (Leo Valdez xFem!Oc)

A/N: They're so cute I wanna cry -Danny Words: 2,304 Series' Masterlist Previous Chapter / Next Chapter Listen to: 'Alone Together' -by Fall Out Boy

XXXIII: The Slowest Slow-burn Becomes a Wild-fire

It's been a while since Janus visited my dreams, so I can't help but groan in annoyance when I see him in the Empire State lobby.

"Can't a girl mourn in peace?" I complain.

"We're happy to see you too," the right head replies.

"What do you want?"

"Your crossroad is approaching, demigod," he says. "We have a present for you."

"I didn't know you gave presents to go along with the existential crisis!" I cross my arms.

"Funny," the left head sneers.

"We're here to talk to you one last time..."

"For now," Leftie adds.

"Let me finish!" says Right. "Arae Jackson. You have to choose."

"I choose to wake up!"

"War is coming," Right ignores me. "The end of a story."

"The start of another," Leftie continues.

"A chance for a good life. A short one."

"But happy," counts Left. "As happy as it can be."

"Or..." Right grins wickedly.

"Or!" Leftie exclaims with delight.

"Or?" I ask impatiently.

"An opportunity to fix your mistakes!"

"Though no good deed goes unpunished. Meddling is pricey, Jackson."

"Small cost for greatness," Right sighs. "And a child of Olympus doesn't dwell on sacrifice."

"All gods are flawed anyway," Leftie chuckles. "You'll fit right in!"

I feel something cold run down my spine. "I-I don't understand..."

"We know," they reply.

"That's the fun of it!" Left cackles.

"One thing's for sure," Right smirks. "If you choose wrong, everyone dies!"

The dream goes away, and the floor with it. Everything around me is pitch-black but I can hear the roaring of a creature—A sulfuric smell burns my nose, and I start choking.

Ara gives most of her food as an offering to the gods—her stomach feels the size of a walnut—then takes little sips from her goblet before abandoning the table. She leaves without even glancing at Cabin Nine's table.

She doesn't want to see Leo; if he looks normal, or if he looks even worse than she does, neither of those is going to make her feel better. Ara wishes she had someone to talk to who could give her all the answers. But alas, the more she grows, the more she realizes just how tragically lonely life is.

"Hi, beautiful. I saw you and thought—'Wow, I should follow her to a secluded area, that'll make her like me'," Leo speaks behind her as soon as she reaches the beach.

He's more nervous than he'd like to admit, but his hands betray him, fidgeting nonstop. He's wearing a clean pair of cargo pants and a camp shirt, he also tried to brush his hair but the wind is making it messy again.

"I, er..." Ara can't help feeling dizzy knowing Leo took his time to get clean and look nice just for her.

"Hang on," he's got a blanket over his shoulder, the boy holds it and walks past her. "You're always giving orders, let me give it a try..." he places the fabric over the sand. "Sit."

Ara doesn't know what to expect from Leo, he picks up a little basket that she hadn't noticed a moment ago, and her body lights up when she realizes he's prepared a picnic.

"You didn't eat," he sits next to her. "Me neither. Jason said you get hungry during the date anyway, so I thought it'd be a good idea to eat while we talk and..." he clears his throat, trying not to feel self-conscious. "It's cheesy but—"

"It's perfect," Ara hugs her knees. "I've never done anything like this, but cheesy's a good way to start, I think."

"I'm counting on it, 'cause that's all I've got," Leo mimics her pose in a more relaxed way. "But if you end up not liking it, we can try something else."

Ara can't make eye contact yet, so she keeps her gaze on the food. "So uhm... what's in the basket?"

"Double-stuffed Oreos and a six-pack of cokes," the boy rubs his neck. "That's all Travis Stoll could get me on short notice."

Ara's faced armies of monsters without flinching, but a first date stresses her beyond belief. "I like Oreos."

Leo moves the basket closer to her. "Help yourself."

She opens a package. "When I first got here, I asked for a stuffed cookie the size of my palm. Silena wanted me to eat healthier, she said I wouldn't grow otherwise, but I didn't grow either way. I blame the orphanage, didn't give me enough formula when I was little."

Leo chuckles. "Well, girls stop growing until they're like, twenty-one. You've still got time."

Ara laughs too, she glances at him afterwards. "You lived in an orphanage too, right?"

"Sorta," he makes a face. "Foster homes."

"Plural?"

"I was always running away. They would move me around, hoping I'd stop."

"Maybe if I'd stayed in the orphanage, we would've met. If it weren't for Hedge, I would've stayed in that place... for too long."

Leo knows that isn't true. Most people would adopt someone like Ara right away: Intelligent, polite, and with the face of an angel. That is exactly what happened when the Jacksons met her, they fell in love.

She's the kind of girl Leo would've avoided because they made him uncomfortable. It was pure luck that they met when Ara was in a horrible mood, Leo had been able to act somewhat normal (his normal) around her, which then caused Ara to give him a chance.

"I'm glad Hedge found you," he admits.

"Me too," the girl shrugs. "Even if people still think I'm a problem, at least I've got some friends here."

"Yeah, know what you mean," Leo grabs an Oreo. "I have an aunt—still out there probably—she loved saying that I was wicked..." he laughs dryly. "She's the reason I ended up in foster homes—The rest of my relatives turned their backs on me thanks to her."

Ara doesn't want the conversation to be so heavy, they're supposed to be sorting out their... whatever they have going on, so she tries to lighten up the mood.

"Hey, I just realized... I don't think we know each other well. We should do something about that if we're going to... date."

Leo smiles a little. "You're right. How do we fix it? D'you want to play twenty questions?"

Ara nods. "You're Mexican-American, right? Do you speak Spanish fluently?"

She's aware that is a stupid question, but it's all she can come up with. Fortunately, Leo finds it amusing. "'Course I do! Want me to teach you some curse words?"

"Sure," she grins. "I can teach you how to swear in French and Italian, though sometimes I still get the Italian wrong, but maybe you'll find that one easy, I've heard is similar to Spanish."

"Wow," Leo leans back and smiles. "You're so smart."

It's weird to be on the receiving end of flirty behavior. Most people assume Ara can't be flirted with, fearing Percy or Lily will step in to murder them, so they never try. It's a bummer, she's still Aphrodite at the core and wants all the compliments, and she loves that Leo is so willing to deliver.

"So what's your favorite food? And you can't say tacos, I already know that one."

Leo grins, it's nice to know Ara pays attention to him. "Enchiladas with arrachera—and I know what you're thinking, but enchiladas are not tacos. My mom used to make a salsa with habaneros, she was always shocked to see I could eat a whole plate without sweating."

Ara smiles. "You were close to your mom?"

"Yup. She was the best."

"You were a mama's boy?" The girl teases him.

Leo snorts. "Maybe. My kid self would've kicked your kid self's butt all the same."

"Is that how you decide to approach this?" She giggles. "I'm your crush!"

"You started it!" He replies, also grinning. "And I was a tougher kid than you ever were."

"I was good at exploding things, I could've blasted your butt into space."

Leo smirks. "Would've been worth it." He lies on the blanket, both hands behind his head. "So... you ever met your mortal parent? The one who fell for Aphrodite?"

Ara makes a face. "That jerk abandoned me as soon as I was born," she says, playing with the sand around her feet. "He didn't want to be a dad."

That's not so hard to believe, what's hard to believe is that it happened to Ara. The beautiful, intelligent girl sitting next to him. "Why would he do that?" It surprises her just how stunned he sounds. "Did you look for him?"

"What for?" She wrinkles her nose. "He named me with the sole purpose of insulting my mother, can't be clearer than that."

Leo stares at her. "But it's a compliment, you know that, right?"

Despite the topic, Ara feels like laughing. "How is that a compliment? He called me a curse!"

"Well, it's a curse to the world that you're so pretty."

Ara blushes and laughs. "You're an idiot."

Leo grabs another Oreo, looking proud of himself. "Yeah, I can be your idiot anytime, just say the word."

"I'll keep that in mind."

The girl watches the sun sink under the sealine. Slowly, the moonlight illuminates their features, and there is an orange tint to it coming from the distant campfire. Ara feels at ease for the first time in months.

"I like this a lot," she says. "A solid first date."

"M'glad," Leo sits up to face her, but she's not ready to look at him. "I wanted you to feel comfortable. Like when I'm with you... I don't have to keep my hands busy."

"I'd like to keep your hands busy, though..." Ara replies quietly.

The boy inhales so sharply he chokes. "W-What?"

"See that constellation?" She changes the subject, too flustered to keep the other going. "I met her."

"What?" Leo repeats, even more confused.

Her heart is pounding and she's sure he can hear it. She's terrified, but she has to be brave. Ara reaches for his hand and holds it firmly. "She was a hunter of Artemis, died while saving Annabeth... Her name was Zoë."

Leo's skin glows golden, but it's flickering like he's fighting it back. "Ara, I'll burn through the blanket if you don't let go of me."

She tries to take her hand back. "Sorry—"

Leo tightens his grip. "The way you... all I've ever..." he takes a deep breath and stares at Zoë's constellation. "I'm not good with words."

"I know."

He shakes his head. "And you like me anyway? I don't understand, you should be with someone like Jason."

The girl frowns. "Says who?"

"You can have anyone you want... are you sure you want me?"

Ara's chest tightens at his words. "I don't think I'm worth many things, Leo, but I got them. Because I asked for them."

"Yeah, but—"

"You're the first person that's ever asked me out," she laughs. "You're the only one who cares about me this way. You said I didn't have to be alone, and that you could be whatever I needed. You didn't mean that?"

"I did," Leo replies quickly, but his grip is loosening. "But—"

"Shouldn't I be with the boy who wants to look after me?"

"It's just..." he scowls at the sand, kicking it lightly. "You're one of the highlights of my entire life. I don't wanna mess it up."

"I want you to hug me sometimes," she scoots closer to him, nudging his shoulder. "I'm not asking you to bring me the moon!"

"I know, Ara," Leo hugs his knees again and supports his head on them, pouting like a little kid. "But being myself isn't good enough."

Ara tries not to smile, but she fails. "I know how that feels..."

"No, doll. I mean, I don't know if you've noticed, but people don't fawn over me. Not even you."

She snorts. "I can change the way I show my affection if you need me to."

"I'm talking about a real problem here: the genetics I was born with."

"You do remember you're half god, right?"

"You do remember how Hephaestus looks, right?" He asks in the same tone.

Ara wants to laugh. She also wants to never talk to boys again for the rest of her life. "I'm not enjoying the anticipation as much as I thought I would."

"That makes two of us..." he sighs. "I warn you, this might happen way too often. I overthink and spiral, I regret saying things as soon as they leave my mouth, and sometimes I don't even realize I've said something wrong until hours or days later."

"Very ADHD of you," she muses.

The way the moonlight falls on her face makes it look like she's also a constellation. Ara is as attractive as she is unsettling, and it's only making Leo like her more.

"So what do we do?" The girl asks. "Should we take it slow?"

Leo purses his lips. This is a once-in-a-lifetime event, and no matter how much it frightens him, he's desperate to hold her close once more. "I don't do slow."

Leo kisses her. His lips fit hers like they were meant for this, and her heart has never beaten as fast as it does now. Leo glows to his total capacity, and Ara closes her eyes so the light doesn't hurt her. Every bad thing that's ever happened to them suddenly is not such a big deal after all.

Leo's hand settles on her waist as he moves forward, he's never kissed anyone like this, but he can't get enough of her. Everywhere he touches feels like fire on her skin—and it could be—but she's too delighted to care.

When the kiss ends, Leo stares at her like he can't believe she's welcoming his touch, that she wants it. Ara runs a hand through his hair, and that causes his breath to hitch. He pushes himself away, cheeks flushed and nose very much on fire. Ara bursts out laughing at the sight.

"Calm down!"

He scowls and it's like she can hear him say: "Do you think I can do that right now?" Leo shakes his head in disbelief, leaning in to kiss her a second time. Ara tries to keep the flames under control and the boy chuckles at her actions, but he doesn't stop kissing her.

"You'll burn me!" She giggles.

In response, Leo just wraps his arms tighter around her.

Next Chapter ->

Taglist.

@siriuslysirius1107 @ask-giggles1303 @ash-the-hoarder @im-planning-something-look @bandshirts-andbooks @coolninjapaper @thewaterlily @whenisthefall @1randomcomic @you-bloody-shank @sunflowergraves @owlalex44 @taylordaughter @typicalsolangelolover @writingmia @espressopatronum454 @slytherinnqueen @orbitingpolaris @obxstiles

#twoidiots writing #leo valdez x oc #leo valdez fanfic #pjo fanfic #pjo hoo toa #pjo fandom #percy jackson and the olympians #doo

16 notes · View notes

atwooozi · 6 months

Text

Almost Perfect (Sebastian x Fem!Farmer) Chapter 14: Courage

Warnings: Slow burn, personal struggles, anxiety, depression, eventual smut

Summary: Sebastian finds himself unexpectedly drawn to Angeline, the cute farmer in Pelican Town. One day, as he visits her farm to return the favor with a miniature figure, their connection grows stronger.

A/N: I hate that I have to keep pushing back event days because of my poor planning. Hopefully no one cares too much since the Luau kinda sucks anyway.

READ ON AO3

Chapter 14: Courage

Summer 12

It had only been a couple of days, but Sebastian still felt a warmth spread through his chest as he held the frozen tear in his hand. The moment they shared lingered in his mind, it stirred feelings in him that left him feeling nervous. He couldn’t shake the thought of her smile, the way she looked at him with genuine interest, it rattled him.

Throughout his day Sebastian found his mind wandering to Angeline more often than usual. He caught himself smiling at the memory of her dimples or the sweet sound of her voice when she spoke, and the way she showed genuine interest in him of all people.

“You seem like you’re in a good mood.” Abigail smirked as she looked up from her magazine. He needed to get better at locking his door.

Sebastian’s smile immediately fell and he rolled his eyes at the comment. “And what if I am?”

Abigail shrugged. “What’s that about, hm?” She asked as she stood up from Sebastian’s old couch and walked over towards him. “What are you smiling for, Allers?” She said as she poked annoyingly at his side.

Sebastian flinched and tried to shrink back in his chair as Abigail poked at his side. “Can’t I just be happy?”

Abigail pulled back and thought about it, tilting her head to the side as she mulled it over. “No.”

Sebastian groaned and pushed himself away from his desk. He slouched further into his chair. “I don’t know I just am.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

Abigail snorted. “Sure.” She grabbed her magazine and headed towards the stairs. “Tell me when you know, nerd.”

The door shut behind her and Sebastian sighed. He ran a hand through his hair and glanced at his screen. He needed a break. The coding could wait a little while longer. Sebastian grabbed his hoodie and his smokes and made his way outside. The sun was setting, casting a warm golden glow over Pelican Town. As much as he hated the summer the warmth in the breeze felt good.

Although he typically would settle by the lake he found himself gravitating towards the once abandoned farm. He figured that Angeline would probably be finishing up her chores for the day. He had been wanting to thank her for the frozen tear that she had given him.

As he approached the farm, he spotted the cute farmer tending to her crops. Her face was lit up by the fading sunlight. He was tempted to stop and just take in her features for a moment, but he decided against it. He felt a rush of nervousness and excitement as he called out to her. It was unlike the nervousness that he typically felt. This feeling wasn’t oppressive. If anything he welcomed the feeling, he felt lighter.

“Angeline.” He called, hoping she’d hear him over clucking of chickens and the sound of the wind blowing through the leaves.

Angeline turned, a surprised smile lighting up her face when she saw Sebastian approaching. She carefully placed her gardening tools down and tucked her short dark hair behind her ears. “Hey!” She said as she wiped the sweat from her brow with her forearm. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

What was he doing here? Sebastian wasn’t sure actually. He had no business being on Angeline’s farm. He just couldn’t help but wander his way here. He supposed that maybe he just felt impatient. While he wouldn’t admit it to himself he wanted to see her.

Sebastian cleared his throat, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious. “You have a cat?” He looked down at the large orange cat that was rubbing itself against his legs. He reached down and gave the cat a gentle scratch behind the ear, earning a meow.

“Oh!” Angeline smiled as she looked down and collected the large cat in her arms. “Marnie brought him over yesterday.” She smiled as she cradled the cat in her arms. “He’s my new roommate.”

Sebastian smiled as he took in the scene before him. “He seems to really like you.”

Angeline shrugged and set the cat down. The orange cat gave a loud meow and trotted away. “I’d hope so, we live together.”

Sebastian put his hands in his pockets and looked around the farm. “I, uh, wanted to return the favor.” He said as he held out a small intricately painted Solarian Chronicles figure. It was a female paladin character. Sebastian wasn’t sure if Angeline was more of a fighter or healer, so he picked something that he felt was a safe in between.

Angeline’s eyes widened in surprise as she took the figure and inspected it closely. “This is amazing!” She smiled, causing her dimples to show. “She looks like me!” She hesitated as she looked up at Sebastian and shifted on her feet, full of excitement. “Thank you!”

Sebastian shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. He wasn’t positive if he was blushing or not, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he was. He honestly wasn’t expecting such a big reaction from her. “It’s no big deal.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I had a few extra figures and I thought maybe you’d like one…” He fibbed.

If Sebastian was being honest then he would have said he had rushed ordered some miniature Solarian Chronicles figures. He had painstakingly spent the past few days hunched over his desk, painting the figure between gigs. Thankfully the money and all the effort was worth it. As Angeline beamed at the figure in her hand, Sebastian couldn’t help but be transported back to the night before.

~*~

“I thought we were going to watch Wumpus.” Sam complained as he slumped down in a chair across from Sebastian.

“You can put it on if you want….” Sebastian muttered as he squinted while looking at the small figure in his large hand. He dipped his brush carefully into the paint before running the brush gently over the figure.

Sam pouted and rested his chin on his palm. “Is that for Abigail?” He asked as he looked over at Sebastian.

“No…” Sebastian bit his lower lip in concentration as he he moved his brush over the plastic.

“...Oh” Sam said as big grin took over his face. Sebastian flicked his eyes over to the lanky blonde. He wasn’t fond of his tone.

Sebastian put his brush down and stared at Sam with a frown. “What?”

Sam shook his head and chuckled. “Nothing, man.” He waved his hand and relaxed in his chair. “...So who is it for?”

Sebastian hesitated and sighed. Should he tell Sam? He had told him so much already. Sebastian wasn’t even sure why he would want to hide it from Sam anyway. “It’s for Angeline.”

Sam’s smile somehow grew even wider. “That’s cool.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes and set the brush on the table. “Do you have something you want to say?”

Sam leaned forward, his eyes alight with mischief. “Well, it’s just… you’ve never made painted figures for a campaign before. I mean, it’s cool and all, but…” He trailed off and shrugged.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, waiting for Sam to continue.

“...Are you, like, into her?” Sam finally blurted out, unable to contain his grin.

Sebastian’s cheeks flushed slightly, caught off guard by Sam’s directness. He cleared his throat, trying to keep cool. He wasn’t trying to impress anyone. He was just trying to be a good friend. “No…I’m just returning the favor.” He explained. “She gave me a gift the other day.”

“Sure, Seb.” Sam said as he looked at the packaging for the miniatures. “But you do realize that giving her a hand-painted figure is like next-level, right?”

Sebastian frowned at Sam’s comment. He felt conflicted now. He wanted to give Angeline a gift, especially since she gave him one. He didn’t want to give her the wrong idea, though.

“Next-level?” Sebastian repeated, his mind racing as he tried to process Sam’s words. He hadn’t thought of it that way. Was he inadvertently sending the wrong message by putting so much effort into the figure? Angeline had went into the mines for Yoba’s sake and fought monsters to give him the stone that sat in his pocket. It felt like an equal exchange to him.

Sam seemed to sense Sebastian’s inner turmoil and leaned back in his chair, a more serious expression washing over his face. “Seb, I’m just messing with you. Seriously, I think it’s cool that you’re doing this.” He smiled. “It shows you care, y’know?”

Sebastian nodded as he listened to Sam, a weight lifting off his shoulders. He was just being nice. This is what friends did! Granted, he never put this much effort into a gift for Abigail or Sam. “Thanks. I just… I don’t want her to get the wrong idea, that’s all.”

Sam grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief once again. “Well, what’s wrong with that?”

Sebastian’s cheeks burned brightly as Sam’s mischievous grin widened. He shifted awkwardly in his chair, not quite sure how to respond. What’s wrong with that? He didn’t want to lead anyone on. They were friends. At least, he thought of Angeline as his friend. Were they friends? People don’t just give gifts to strangers.

“What’s wrong with that?” Sam repeated, with a playful glint in his eyes. “I mean, it’s not like it’s a bad thing, right? She’s cool, you’re cool. You guys are friends…why not take it up a notch?”

Sebastian blinked at Sam’s words. He felt his stomach twist. He couldn’t do that. There was no way that Angeline would want that. Sure, they had nice talks, but still, he had nice talks with Sam, too. Did that mean he and Sam should take things up a notch?

“I don’t know, Sam.” Sebastian mumbled, running a hand through his hair absentmindedly. He most definitely had gotten paint in it. “I don’t want to make things weird. I-I don’t even think she would think of me that way.”

Sam shrugged, his expression softening. “Hey, you won’t know unless you try. And even if things don’t work out I don’t think she’s the type to like ignore you after.”

Sebastian sighed as he considered Sam’s words. “Yeah, maybe.” As much as the idea of doing anything romantic with Angeline seemed so far out of reality, it wasn’t bad. She was a beautiful girl. A nice girl.

Sam grinned triumphantly, clapping Sebastian on the back, earning a grunt. “That’s the spirit! And hey, even if it doesn’t lead to anything at least we have cool figures for when we do a campaign!”

Sebastian chuckled, as grumpy as he was he appreciated Sam’s optimism.

“Alright.” Sebastian said as he adjusted his headband, that was keeping his hair out of his face as he worked. “I guess it’s time to put the finishing touches on this.” He said as he admired his work.

Sam nodded. “So, like, when you’re done we can watch Wumpus, right?”

Sebastian felt a smile tugging at his lips. “Yes, we can watch Wumpus.”

~*~

As the memory of the evening played in Sebastian’s head, he blinked, feeling something paw at his leg. He looked down to see the large orange cat using him as a makeshift scratching post. He gently patted the cat's head. He turned his attention back to Angeline with a gentle smile playing on his lips.

Angeline’s smile softened, and she looked up at Sebastian with a warmth in her eyes that made his heart skip a beat. “You didn’t have to, Sebastian.” She smiled as she looked back down at the figure. “But I really love it. Thank you.”

They stood together for a moment, the evening breeze gently rustling the leaves in the trees. Sebastian felt a surge of courage wash over him, emboldening him to speak. Maybe it was Angeline’s reaction or just his unusually good mood, but it didn’t matter.

“Listen, Angeline.” Sebastian started, catching her attention. “I was wondering if… maybe you’d want to play Solarian Chronicles with me and Sam sometime? Or, um, we don’t have to…” He was starting to fumble over his words. She probably thought it was lame. Even getting Abigail to play with them was a battle at times.

Angeline’s eyes widened in surprise, and while he couldn’t be sure if her cheeks were tinged pink from the sun or from their conversation. “I’d love to.” She said, her voice soft.

Sebastian felt a rush of relief and happiness flood through him. He couldn’t believe that she actually said yes. Yes, he just invited her to play a game with him and Sam, but this was big for him.

“Great.” Sebastian said unable to contain his grin. “We, uh, were planning on playing tomorrow if you want to stop by.”

Angeline nodded eagerly. “Sounds perfect.”

“Well I’m gonna go then.” Sebastian said awkwardly as he pointed to the mountain path.

Angeline nodded and waved. “Later, Sebastian.”

After saying their goodbyes Sebastian made his way back home, and he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. Not that he wanted to. He had never felt so weightless before. And as he looked down at the frozen tear that he had tucked in his pocket, he couldn’t help but think that it was a symbol of the newfound happiness in his life. Closing his hand around the rock, Sebastian whispered a quiet thank you to whatever twist of fate had brought upon this change. For the first time in a long while, he felt hopeful.

#sdv sebastian #stardew valley sebastian x oc #fanfic #stardew sebastian #ao3 fanfic #sebastian stardew valley #Stardew valley sabestian x oc #fanfiction #sdv

7 notes · View notes

stardragongalaxy · 2 years

Text

Title: Infernal Deception

Pairings: Jongho X gn!reader X Yunho

Word count: 2,356

Genres: Horror, Smut, Dark Fantasy, Supernatural, Paranormal, Angst, Fluff

Warnings: Enter at your own risk, Blood tw, knife tw, fire tw, magick, Voyeurism, Hate sex, Munipulation, Rituals, Jealous and possessive Yunho, rough sex, praise, endearing and degrading name calling, mentions of other ateez members and a stray kids member, I'm not sure what else I've missed so let me know.

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Author's note: I took time with this one and the first for the February Filth Fest! I'm still learning the ways so constructive criticism is most welcome.

I recommend these songs for this fic: Hell and Back by Self Deception, Precious by Ateez, Voices by Stray kids, Bad Things by I Prevail, Nightmare by Ashes to New, and Welcome to the Chaos by Fame on Fire.

Take in mind that I only post on tumblr. I do not want my works translated or reposted. Let me know if they are. Thank you!!

Disclaimer: No idols are true to any representation of the fic. They are merely face claims.

Taglist: @toxicccred @abiaswreck @choisanshine

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

You always loved your inner circle of friends. Enough that you gave your heart to another, even over a year after such heartbreak of losing Yunho in tragic events. They all helped you anyway possible, but it was Jongho who you seemingly get the closest with Inviting you over after countless times at his home. He wanted to make this time a surprise. Blindfolding you, he led the way.

"My sweet darling, how pathetic you struggle to escape me" His voice condescending while gripped onto your hips. Smirking, though lost in pleasure hearing your whines and cries while he fucked up into you in the chair that centered the circle on the floor of the basement. Slowing down, he half halfheartedly teased you with the pace carefully reaching down gripping the handle of the dagger stuck in the floor.

Still blindfolded, you held his legs trying to make him stop with your safe word. Usually, he’d stop without question. Tonight, he didn’t listen and without knowing the reaction he’d have, scared you the most.

“Don't you trust me? No, maybe it's You that took one of MY brothers away!!” Raising his voice with each word shouting on the last word, dripping venom driven hatred your way. Given no time to process his heart staking words, he stabbed the dagger into your arm then your leg pulling down on the handle with a maniacal laugh. Tearing a wailing scream from your throat, instinct taking over of getting away from him. "Scream all you want, no one going to hear you!!"

“Not yet baby.. We have a little ways to go…” Jongho snarled in your ear leaving you cradling your injured arm against your chest silently crying with your forehead on his shoulder. Hearing dripping hit the floor; you could only listen with fear in your soul as your heart galloped in your chest

Jongho looked around making sure everything was in place in the corners of the ritual insignias within the circle to the candles burning in front of an ancient mirror hung onto the wall. Tossing the dagger gently to one edge of the insignias within the circle watching as your blood dripped onto it. He watched curiously watching a few more drops of your blood starting to spread with nothing happening. Jongho began to get impatient until the next drop of blood from your body hit another insignia beside the chair causing a phenomenon to begin.

A gentle wind picked up to cause the candle flames to sway. Voices in your head caused you to shiver, quickly covering your ears with a whimper. Jongho glanced at you for a split second; looking up after seeing the ritual circle glow of reds and purples. The winds picking up rapidly, Knocking over the candles spilling the contents on the floor causing a fire to quickly spread licking the walls and floor in front of the duo outside the circle causing Jongho to go on high alert. He started to move until his eyes widened at the increasing volume of echoed voices from screaming, demonic growls, whispers, and crashes of nearby objects. Holding his hands over his ears after taking so much causing the entity in the room to laugh darkly. The light bulbs began to explode until one remained causing darkness to surround the duo.

Jongho tried to steady his ragged breathing, lowering his hands looking around trying to see into the darkness. Squinting hard, his eyes widened realizing the mirror that once was whole, now was shattered. Swallowing hard he looks down at you shivering holding your free hand on your injured leg with a small groan. Glass crunches in the darkness causing chills down both your spines as footsteps approach. Jongho looked up watching a silhouette of something tall in the darkness circling them slowly much like a predator ready to strike at any given moment.

"What is your reason of summoning me here...?" A deep, yet powerful voice spoke from the dark figure's direction. One that seemingly sounded slightly familiar to you, if it wasn't laced with venomous hatred and snarling undertones.

"I want to see who I'm speaking with so we may discuss the ex-" Jongho stopped seeing the entity step forward from the darkness to the edge of the circle "change.." finishing the word quietly now seeing the figure better. Holding you close with one arm with your head on his shoulder he kept eye contact, though widened looking at the spitting image of his dead brother, Yunho. Sending chills through his spine under the intensity of the deadly gaze. At the same time hearing you whine softly, mumbling something under your breathe bringing your hands up to cover your ears again with what strength you had. Yunho stepped forward in strides through the circle stopping, eyes flashing after glancing at the wounds you bare from the weapon used.

"This exchange you claim was never yours to begin with" Yunho spat coldly looking at Jongho moving his hand slightly upwards. Chains moved from nearby wrapping around Jongho’s lower legs to the chair.

"What do you mean?! I did everything I was supposed to!" Jongho yelled out in anger to the elder. Yunho tilted his head with a stotic face taking a step forward. Leaning down, he gripped Jongho hair roughly, making the younger male grimace being inches away from each other, his eyes blazing pure golden red. His other hand slithering silently over your wounds letting his black fire lick them over. Searing and healing them in the process. Laying his free hand on your hip gently making you jump caressing your skin in soothing motions feeling you shake.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Master. One I won’t let you win” Yunho warned gripping the younger hair tighter in his fingers making Jongho screw his eyes tightly. Using the hand on your hip he cohort you slowly to start standing up making Jongho pull out of your heat. Throwing Jongho head forward with a snarl; he guided you backwards slowly out of reach of the other. Raising his hand and closing it in pure confidence caused more chains to hold Jongho in place. Jongho opened his mouth to protests to come to silence. Being satisfied at the work, he turned his attention to you putting his hands over yours gently lowering them. He squeezed them softly.

“I’m going to take the blindfold off, but close your eyes for me” Speaking in a much gentler tone. You swallowed and nodded. Taking a deep breathe you closed your eyes as instructed. Reaching around, Yunho carefully untied the Blindfold making sure it didn’t tangle in your hair letting it drop to the floor below.

“Do you trust me?” he asked you. You answered yes after slight hesitation making him bite his tongue and closing his eyes only to open them a moment later. Stepping closer to you after a moment of thought making sure not to scare you he made his decision. “Open your eyes for me”

Doing as you were told you opened your eyes slowly. Gasping, with wide eyes made your heart race. “Y..Yunho..?” you whispered not sure if this was a twisted trick of the mind or a dangerous reality. He gave you his sweet smile that you dearly missed. Walking and reaching out touching his hand afraid he’d fade away. When you felt his touch being indeed real, you rushed and hugged him. He reached up with his free hand creating caressing strokes from your hair to your upper back. “I’m here sweet Phoenix” He whispered to you keeping the sweet moment kissing your forehead making your heart flutter. Looking at him to make sure this was real you kissed Yunho catching him off guard. He gave the love in return making you want more.

“Yunho, I need you..” Whispering to him keeping eye contact. He hums pecking your lips looking over at Jongho. He moves his hand slightly causing Jongho to cough, but catch his breathe causing Yunho to smirk looking back at you. “Let’s put on a show for our guest, my love~”

Looking over at Jongho shooting a glare of your own at the person you thought you could trust to not break your heart to be deceitful. Jongho snarled struggling in the binds Yunho put him in. He only stopped hearing soft whispers that sounded close to his ears. Looking around in confusion from where the sounds came from with no source he shook his head shaking them off for him to jump afterwards looking down. His eyes widened seeing one of his fears of a feather crested black serpent covering his lap with its body looking up at him, the flicking its tongue with a warning hiss making him freeze. Yunho chuckled lowly watching the interaction.

“Befitting considering the circumstances of what you’ve done and have become. Now behave and watch the show”

“Whatever happens, let it come naturally. Don’t be afraid” Speaking clearly in your direction giving an affirming nod in return. He smiled kissing your head before he claimed you as his once again. Making sure you felt safe. He went to work prepping you, closely watching all your reactions and praised you lovingly. Hoisting you up to have you wrap your legs around him. He hummed in contentment lining up with you. Sinking into you slowly with a moan in sync with yours. “Fuck, you feel so good” Tilting his head back in pleasure until he bottomed out. You took deep breathes letting the pain recede. Tapping his arm was a signal that he followed pulling out then back in picking up a steady pace after a few thrusts. “That’s it, take all of me!” Growling deeply by your ear moving to the wall. Holding you closely with one arm using the wall as leverage; he picked up his pace thrusting into you. Hearing your moans sounded like a Siren’s song to his ears, alluring and addictive something he'd never get enough of.

“Daddy” Moaning out causing him to go faster, losing control. He growled emitting purple energy and black flames to erupt on his being engulfing his very being, changing him to what he truly is. “Say it again” Speaking deeply trailing a growl. Slamming his armored claws into the wall near your head forming cracks jolted you to open your eyes. You gasped now seeing what changes took over. He slowed his thrusts looking at you with a devilish smirk letting you see. Genuine curiosity took over long enough to catch the black armor on his legs and arms, his draconic features from his tail, eyes, horns, fangs, to his tattoos and his insignia. “Mmmm~ Like what you see, my guiding light?” Thrusting hard into you making you moan “Use your words” He growled by your ear.

“Yes daddy! Please go- AH- faster!” Yunho chuckled kissing your forehead and lacing one armored hand to your soft one. “As my baby wishes~ Shall be done!” He picked up pace loosing all self control with you. His black flames licking his skin burning over to you. Upon contact started to consume your being with no damages. It however created something special. The flames changing colour to Inferno orange shaping behind your back creating large wings, eye colour changing to a crystal purple, with any tattoos to glow simultaneously with his own. Yunho opened his eyes in amazement feeling pride spread in his being. “My baby looks so damn ethereal!” he moans out feeling your walls clenched around him. “That’s it. Cum for me. I want your essence” Biting your neck causing you to be driven over the edge. He became sloppy with a few more thrusts releasing within your walls with a strangled moan riding out both your highs. He nuzzled into you taking care of the bite marks he left. “Mine” he softly growled staying in you for a little longer causing you to giggle and kissing his cheek. The fire that surrounded grew bigger before receding over your being healing any wounds and leaving a warm feeling.

“We belong to each other” He smiled hearing your words pecking your lips.

“How are we going to do this? I don’t want to leave this world and people might suspect things if they see you again”

“I mean there is always the options of being a pet or being attached to a piece of jewelry. I wouldn’t be far either way”

You nod thinking it over before going to having him as a pet. He pulled out of you kissing your head helping you get dressed agreeing with your decision. Yunho looked over at Jongho shaking in anger and fear. Walking over, Yunho locks eyes with the younger with a victorious smirk.

“What are you going to do to me?” Jongho questioned glaring. Yunho tilted his head bending down resting his arm on his leg locking eyes.

“That fate was already decided long ago. Ironic, how a serial killer doesn’t do deep research on rituals before doing them”

Jongho snarled and started thrashing, screaming in pure anger. He heard the hiss stopping taking rapid breathes, but keeps a glare on Yunho.

“I’m just playing the villian just as you wanted, but I’m taking what’s mine. I won’t leave you without company” Standing up he stands proud and tall. Turning he comes your way making sure your ready.

“I’m going to send you back to hell where you belong!!” Jongho yelled louder causing Yunho to laugh darkly, turning fully holding you against him.

“By the time they find your body, there wont be anything left to identify. Scream all you want, no one living will hear you…” Yunho coldly spat. He lead you to the stairs letting you go up first halfway turning to catch Jongho shake seeing the other people in the darkness though four stood out under the light. Heading upstairs he left them to join you closing the door to the basement to a crack.

Hearing the final light burst, you closed and locked the door muffling Jongho’s final screams as you both leave.

“Hongjoong, Seonghwa, San, Minho, Mingi… please no!!!”

#ateez #ateez smut #ateez scenarios #jeong yunho #jongho x reader #yunho x reader #choi jongho #blood tw #knife tw #ateez horror #angst #fluff #ateez supernatural #paranormal #kpop demon au #february filth fest #dark fic #fire tw

74 notes · View notes

guavagyu · 2 years

Text

lipstick - y.jh (part 2 of eyeshadow!)

QOWIHOWUOUWOEUWOYOUW PART TWO????

if ur seeing this before reading part 1 go read it!

request: "request: jeonghan fanfic where new stylist/makeup artist and jeonghan fall in love? slow burn, sexual tension, secret relationship typa thang ;) <3!"

ITALIC WORDS REPRESENT THOUGHTS! (exceptions included in dialogue and other spots)

wc: 815

gawd damn i let this go unpublished for SO long. enjoy lmao.

content/warnings: slow burn (duh), sexual tension (obviously), secret relationship (AASHGAJHGAJHS DUH), afab!reader, tall!reader (like same height as jeonghan aka like 178 cm or 5'10"), humor idk i think im funny, model!jeonghan cuz yum, stylist!reader, mentions of food + eating in this chapter, makeup-artist!reader, non-idol!au, swearing yihghgfdrtfyg, eventual smut lmao (not in this chapter tho!), lemme know if more r present or im gonna eat u /j

[prev!] [next!]

in the previous part:

since you were quite free for the rest of the day, you plopped down onto your heavenly bed and decided to research the company you were gonna work for. you already knew a ton about Ethereal Inc, you just wanted to look random stuff up, plus you were bored as hell. you were doing some digging around the web, and you- HOLY MOTHERFUCKING SHIT! HE'S A MODEL!? AT REMINISCENCE!? OH MY FUCKING GOD I MIGHT HAVE TO WORK WITH HIM! yeah, and you really didn't know how to feel about it. there were pros and cons, aka you having to work with a gorgeous noble hot as fuck man who's name was apparently yoon jeonghan, however, he might be too embarrassed from this morning's events, and may refuse to work with you. were you just overthinking things? it's all a possibility, but you never know.

-------

after doing a shit ton more research, you felt like you knew enough about the company for a newly-hired employee. since it was around 6 pm and you were feeling hungry, you decided to go out and have dinner, but since you didn't know where, you just decided to wing it. you (reluctantly) left the luxury of your bed, and left as quickly as you could since your stomach was getting impatient. you marveled in the fresh air the moment you got outside, (a/n: yes, be like the reader and go touch grass) looking around for possible restaurants to quell your unbearable hunger.

soon, you find a suitable place to eat, checking its reviews online because even though the place may look fine, and the food may look fine, food poisoning is not fine, and you'd rather not risk bombing your toilet and be stuck with food poisoning so soon before your first day. walking in looking like a disheveled-zombie-who-also-looked-like-they-just-endured-the-wrath-of-a-mad-artist-who-was-also-a-nature-enthusiast is highly unpreferred. but, aside from that, after a quick reassurance that the restaurant was trustworthy and ordered your food, you made a note-to-self saying damn, this restaurant isn't actually that bad. soon, you got tapped on the shoulder by some not-so-random person named yoon jeonghan,

"hi, you're y/n right? you probably know who i am already," he asked sheepishly, and you nodded, remembering your fun encounter from before,

"that's me! and i must say, wow you're everywhere," you nodded and smiled when you turned around, which made jeonghan let out a light laugh,

"i am, indeed," he smiled too, "anyways, you know what happened this morning-"

"how many times do i have to tell you? it's fine, don't worry about it," you cut him off,

"hey, listen to me, you didn't let me finish,"

"ok, continue," you raised an eyebrow,

"yeah, so my manager told me to come find you because he told me that 'you bumped into your stylist and makeup artist whos gonna start on monday' and told me where you were, so...yeah, here i am,"

"so, we're gonna be working together?" you asked for clarification, which in the end, affirmed your worst fears. however, it also made you suddenly think, maybe this won't be so bad, leaving you a little confused,

"basically," jeonghan nodded,

"awesome," you smiled,

"ok, that's all, i'll leave you alone now. enjoy your food!" he waved bye as he walked away, so you decided to continue eating your food, not noticing the happy little grin on his face as he walked away.

————

“ah, sweet sweet bed,” you sighed after changing into your heavenly pajamas and flopping onto your bed, later getting back up to get your phone and scroll through instagram for a while, when a sudden notification pops up,

the fuck? nobody talks to me on instagram. (a/n: we're going to ignore the fact that i didn't include how he found your tag, just assume he got it from your manager or just searched up your name.)

surpise, surprise, it’s yoon jeonghan. he just followed you. super fun. and since you're bored out of your mind, you scroll through his profile cuz why not? oh wow, those are some interestingggg angles. mhm, yup thats a GREAT pic of a...what even is that??? after scrolling for a measly 7 minutes, you were just about to put your phone down and go prepare yourself for heavenly sleep, a loud DING made you drop your phone on your face. (a/n: cringe amiright? el em eff ay oh) bitch, my nose is broken now. you gave your nose a few moments of silence before opening up the startling notification,

@ hannie_hae:

hi y/n! sorry to keep bothering you, but i was just wondering if you'd like to meet up sometime and discuss some work things? i'd like to know what we're going to have to do before work starts so we're more prepared. let me know whenever you're free! :)

huh. slid into the dms like a champ. wait, when were you free? saturday maybe? oh yeah, saturday baby. 3:00? yes ma'am. oof, gotta play it cool, c'mon play it cool.

@ y/nconquerstheworld:

hey! that's a great idea, how about this saturday, 3:00 pm?

not too long after, another DING and a notification,

@ hannie_hae:

sure, is your place ok? i can also bring some clothes and makeup of my own, if that'd help.

wow. so. smooth. ha. ha. so cool, he's coming to your apartment. holy shit he's coming to my apartment. damn i gotta clean.

@ y/nconquerstheworld:

awesome! i got my own stuff already, but the more the merrier i guess. see you then!

@ y/nconquerstheworld:

oh, heres my address: *insert address*

@ hannie_hae:

see you then!

---

jeonghans pov!!!!

---

oh shit, i just did that. im so smooth. hashtag too cool for school. ok gotta pack, saturday is in 2 days. only 2 days!! i gotta make sure everything is perfect or else uh, yeah, more embarrassment than our first impression. dont wanna relive that.

---

your pov!!!

---

yup. this is great. gotta clean. ugh why did i agree to my place?? you just decided to let later-you to worry about it and prepared for bed.

----

#jeonghan #yoon jeonghan #kpop fanfic #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop fanfiction #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan fluff #jeonghan icons #seventeen jeonghan #svt jeonghan #yoon jeonghan x reader #yoon jeonghan x you #jeonghan x you #jeonghan x y/n #yoon jeonghan x y/n #kpop fluff

51 notes · View notes

reverie-starlight · 1 year

Note

i could've sworn you had a self ship for kuroo! tell me about how you started liking him teehee,, also care to share some relationship thoughts between the two of you? 🤭

~ nessa ♡

NESSA TY FOR THE ASK I'M SO EXCITED TO TALK ABT THIS!!!

okay so full backstory: watched hq in 2020, got to the first nekoma episodes and immediately decided he was gonna be one of my favourites. then i got more into the fandom and saw the edits, read more fanfics and stuff and he was like, my ultimate favourite, my actual husband for so long (then he shared top spot with akaashi for a long time, then atsumu came along and now kuroo is back sharing the top spot with him) ((in terms of like, simping, cause my all time fav hq character is oikawa, I think he's so well written, but he's only top 10 for hq simp list yk? but that's a story for another day)) (((do people still use the term simping?? I genuinely don't know what else to use to explain this)))

ANYWAY RELATIONSHIP THOUGHTS!!

I feel like these will read more as like, general replationship HCs cause when I usually think abt the self ship, nothing is actually like??? super me specific??? but we'll give it a try!

spider killer: him. i refuse to go near them. will definitely be calling him on his lunch break to tell him about the spider over the bed I saw before I left for work that he needs to get when he gets home.

better cook: i feel like we're equally bad but we have our strengths too. like he can't bake, but i'm slightly better at the measurements for it. i slightly burn our food in the pan but he's better at not forgetting there's actually something on the stove or in the oven.

wake up time: we're both night-owls, but I feel like he's also super good at waking up early after a long night. me on the other hand? I could get a full 8 hours but if you try to wake me up early I will cry.

flirting: I am embarrassingly easy to fluster. i have zero rizz. no game. my "flirting" is either genuine compliments and endless praise that somehow end up being enough to fluster him or what comes naturally after a very very long conversation where I've gotten in the groove. and, now, I don't think he's like, amazing at flirting or all that smooth either, but he's definitely better at it that I am. and like I said, I get extremely flustered so easily, so he doesn't even need to be good at it to get a reaction out of me tbh.

I am definitely the more physically affectionate out of the two of us, not to say that he isn't, bc he always happily reciprocates, but I probably just initiate it more.

neither of us enjoy heavy PDA. ick, gross, ew.

equally chaotic, equally playful

i'm the impatient one, he's the one who purposefully goes really slow when we're walking or when he's helping me with something to test my patience because he knows it annoys me

sososo much comfort between the two of us <3

we prefer staying in to going out but when we do we're likely the best dressed people there hehe

ty again for the ask this was sm fun!!!

#reverie mutuals #nessa bby!!#everyday I question my sanity but it's ok cause i'm having fun #i live in delusion and that's alright <3 #kuroo self ship

3 notes · View notes

fightingmonsterswithwords · 4 months

Note

I too am a very impatient bitch to get to the exciting parts when I am writing fics. I seriously don't think I could do a proper slow burn even if I tried 😅😂

I feel very much like Darth Sideous just going "do it!" when I was reading your most recent ask response, in regards to you just jumping to writing the parts you want to right away.

I totally agree with that ask though, I hate that your doubting where you want to take it because I am just as excited for things to ramp up in this story! I'm dying to read the next update whatever the content may contain, I just know I'm going to end up obsessing over it just as much if not even more than Ch. 7. It's embarrassing how much time I've spent thinking about this story even with as few chapters as you've done so far.

I don't think a fan fic has captured and consumed my attention like this in such a long time. One of the things I still find crazy about how great it is, is knowing that you're not a native English speaker. This story to me has very much been the stereotype meme of 'sorry guys, English isn't my first language' kind of fics that just turn out to be masterpieces on a whole different level than others.

Anyway, sorry for the fucking wall of words, I honestly could not stop myself.

In summation, you are absolutely amazing and I'm low-key growing obsessed with this story you've been sharing with us. Haha I don't want to sound crazy but I just think you should know that you've been creating such an amazing story that can invoke such a response in a reader.

Don't apologize for the long message, my answers are even longer, hahah.

Yess. I truly admire people capable of writing a good slow-paced romance, since I know it would take me ages to get there with my writing rhythm I just don't even think of doing it. I would give up halfway 😅 For original stuff I try to have everything outlined, but with fics I mostly improvise, so I can't plan that far ahead. But I try to keep the pacing realistic even if it's a bit hurried. And yeah, I sorta played the card that Alastor and Little Bird had an stablished weird relationship before for that reason.

I'm screaming that you would throw me into the 'non-native English writing masterpieces' meme thing 😭❤ I'm so not worthy. I always include that bit of information in case there are lots of weird sentences, false friends, etcetera. And there always are. But like, I'm reading a first person POV novel right now set in North Carolina and the protagonist says/thinks a lot of things I don't completely understand because I lack that level of cultural depth. I realized the same thing reading a Hazbin Hotel fic full of cultural references that I sorta understand but aren't that familiar to me. If I wanted to write something about Alastor while he was alive in New Orleans I would have to do so much research. But also, being completely honest, I have a Bachelor's Degree in English Studies and work in the Translation field. I read more in English than in my own language (and I do fear the stuff I write sometimes uses overly flowery English because I have studied so much classic stuff). I have a decent grasp of the language. Just not flawless, not by far. I'm not trying to be humble, just self-aware. 🙃 For example: my dialogues are zero percent realistic because I don't usually have conversations in English.

I'm truly honored that you love the fic this much and have told me so repeatedly 🥰 I might not be doing so bad, after all, hah.

Thanks again for all the love and support, Kew!! 💖💖💖

#cursed and divine

1 note · View note

luimagines · 3 years

Text

Legend is Frankly Tired of Everyone’s crap

For the Uninitiated, this is a fic I’m writing for @twilightpoison a.k.a. @cafecourage and their favorite boy is Sky.

Enjoy Chapter three of this mess!

Masterlist

First chapter, previous chapter, next chapter

Content under the cut!

Legend watched his two teammates with side eyes and quiet remarks. He knew what they were going through before they even had a clue themselves. He knew those looks and the subtle (or not so subtle sometimes) glances they steal between each other.

Twilight and Pinky were the worst ones.

Twilight was bad before he learned that she liked him. Pinky at least was trying to be subtle with it and he had to be honest she was doing a good job. He had to admit that a permanent blush makes it seem like you’re never blushing at all.

Until they ended up at Wind’s Oasis and the Rancher felt the need to show off.

It was obnoxious.

But it was also highly amusing considering that girl was shamelessly staring at him, liking what she saw.

Legend hoped things went well for the two of them.

It was the other two that were going to give Legend a headache.

Sky was helplessly pining on one side and the other was so heavily in denial and in love that they couldn’t even stand next to the guy. Legend would rather suffer through the would-be love fest from the first pair then suffer through witnessing the song and dance of the other where there was a simple solution to both their problems.

Although if he had to be honest with himself and only with himself, he found this pair to be far more amusing. Mostly because Enno always seemed to completely shut down at the very thought of Sky.

Sky just got dreamy and starry eyed and whatever else happens when a man falls in love- but Enno? Total denial and total avoidance.

Their pride could be the end of them and while part of Legend wanted things to go well for the two of them, he knew that this could end badly if they didn’t get some communication going sooner or later. He fears it may never happen at all- but who was he to judge or to intervene? All he could do is watch… with snacks.. And maybe a drink.

Like... a few days ago when Sky punched a local out for asking about Enno in those clothes.

Legend could have choked on his own spit.

Time and Warrior weren’t as enthused with dealing with the fallout but Wild laughed when he learned about it, so it must have been ok since they were in his Hyrule. But Legend didn’t even know Sky had it in him.

One punch.

And the other guy was out cold.

It was impressive.

And it reminded Legend to never piss him off- which is honestly a solid plan to begin with. Unfortunately it seems that they were only dropped off into the desert for a shopping trip because they were dropped in Time’s Era soon after.

Luckily for them Lon Lon ranch was just a day’s trip away.

Unluckily for them there was an ambush.

Enno and Pinky quickly ran for cover since they weren’t experienced in fighting and would only get in the way while they dealt with the upcoming issue. They learned quickly how to deal with their quota- which would have also been impressive in its own right if it wasn't also concerning how quickly they accepted and dealt with it. Legend wondered if they were used to fighting from where they were from, and then quickly banished the thought. He didn’t like that idea.

The monsters were simple enough but they had numbers on their side and that was always a pain in the neck. Not to mention that there were some wizzrobes that Legend wasn’t used to dealing with, which meant they had magic Legend didn’t know how to fight.

“They’re from my Hyrule!” Wilk called out, firing a shot at them- missing it- and then having to take down the monsters down in his immediate vicinity.

There were too many to reach the magic users, but if he could get a clear shot-

He flips over one of the beasts, slashing the monster over the head and ending it then and there, he takes out his own magic rod and takes aim. He doesn’t notice that both wizzrobes fire up an attack as he strikes, but he’s a second too slow.

The shots are fired and the wizzrobes go down but there’s no time to see the damage when they have to take care of the monsters that still surround them.

Legend dashes forward and sees both Sky and Warrior knocked out cold.

“Great.” He curses and stands guard over them instead, taking out his ranged weapons and begins his personal game of keep away.

“Hyrule!” Legend hears Twilight scream into the open as the monster begins to thin out, some even run away to be dealt with later. Wind chases after some of them to finish them off but other than that the battle is more or less finished. “We have an issue here!”

Legend looks over to where he saw that magic blast went and picks out Pinky’s hair easily from the distance. She’s holding something small with her arms and what looks to be the Champion’s cloak over her shoulder. She’s looking between the bundle and Twilight as if either thing would know what to do next and Legend takes a compulsory step in their direction before he remembers what also by his feet.

Legend nearly knocks himself over the head with his own staff before he kneels down and begins to shake the Captain awake again.

“Oh my god, are they ok?” Enno appears next to him from the woodwork and looks over the two of them. “They’re unconscious, of course they’re not, don’t answer that.”

Legend snorts a little as Enno’s internal monologue becomes vocalized and shakes Mr. Pretty Boy a little harder. “Hey, wake up!”

Enno gulps and stands over Sky for a minute before slowly crouching down and begins to shake him too. “H-hey… Get up please.”

Warrior groans and he begins to sit up before he even opens his eyes. “What happened? My head hurts.”

“I think you hit it on the way down Pretty Boy.” Legend tries to snark but then Warrior rubs his eyes and looks at him with such an open expression and easy going smile that it takes nearly all of Legend’s out with it.

“Thank you Legend. I appreciate it.”

Legend stares at him for a moment before helping him onto his feet. “Now I know you hit your head.”

“Do my eyes deceive me or have I been visited by one of the gods?” Sky says and both Legend and Warrior snap their heads in his direction.

“Uhhhh…” Enno’s eyes widen and they scramble away from the hero “N-no… you were not. You got hit by a wizzrobe.”

Legend blinks and nods to himself. That’s the most he thinks he’s heard Enno say to Sky consecutively.

Progress.

“An angel then.” Sky grins. “Surely I’ve been blessed for your image to be the first thing I see.”

Enno’s face blooms red and they tense up considerably.

“Don’t make them uncomfortable Sky.” Warrior calls out, with a mild tone. “They won’t be able to handle being near you if you do.”

“I’d argue that’s already an issue.” Legend mutters under his breath as he watches the two of them interact.

“Legend!” Enno cries. “Help!”

He smirks a bit and places his hand on his hip. “No, I don’t think I will.”

“BRUH”

“Beloved, why? Can I not say what I feel openly?” Sky stands up and reaches out to them. “Will it be too much to say that I want our days to be filled with joy and happiness? To love and to be loved in return with only the company spent in others arms to ward away the chill of the unforgiving night and to travel the world hand in hand-”

Enno twitches with their hands momentarily before they arc their arm back and swing forward.

Legend’s eyes bulge at the action and both him and Warrior jolt forward to stop it but they’re too far away to be of any use.

Luckily, Sky catches their fist effortlessly and it stuns Enno enough that all intensity within them has been lost to the void, carried off to the wind. Sky then turns over their hand and opens it up, kissing the inside of their palm gently.

Enno blushes all to the tips of their ears all the way down to what looks like their arms and pulls back their hand roughly.

It’s only then that Legend realizes what’s happened between the two of them.

They were hit by the other wizzrobe and switched personalities.

Legend doesn’t know if he should laugh or cry. “Hyrule!” Legend cries out. “We have another situation!”

“Turns out Wild was changed into a child.” Time says and it scares Legend out of his non-existent pants. “We need to get to Lon Lon as soon as possible.”

Legend groans and looks up at the sky, he doesn’t know whether to curse again or simply ask for a break but he knows he’s not going to get either of them. He holds him screaming internally and gives the Old Man a tired look.

Time sighs and shakes his head. ”I know.”

“To Lon Lon?”

“We’ll have to stop for the night.” Time reminds him. “But yes.”

“Oh joy.”

Tiem snorts but waves him off before looking over to Sky and Enno. Sky was bombarding the poor individual with compliments and love poems alike so Time decided to have mercy on them. “Sky, we’ll need your help to get some stuff collected since Wild is out of commission.”

“Wild? What happened to Wild?” Sky snaps to attention and stands straight with perfect posture.

It’s unnerving.

“He was also hit by the wizzrobe attack.”

“Is he alright?” Warrior speaks up, being uncharacteristically quiet the whole time. “”He’s not hurt is he?”

“No, just small.” Time answers with a small smile. “Hyrule is trying to reverse the damage but it’s a bit more complicated than he was prepared for and it’s draining his magic quicker than we think.”

“I’ll stop him.” Legend speaks up. “The poor sap is going to keep trying until he passes out entirely.”

“You do that.” Time nods.

“No! Legend, help!” Enno cries out again.

“You’re an adult, I’m sure you’ll be fine.” Legend waves Enno off with a hand over his shoulder, not even looking in their direction.

If there’s a small smirk on Legend’s face then no one comments on it. Maybe this would be good for the two of them, besides Wild might take a bit more precedence at the moment anyway.

Twilight takes to being the cook for the night and Legend is pleasantly surprised by the result. He wouldn’t have thought to put pumpkin and fish and cheese of all things together for a soup but it was actually quite nice. And on top of that it was interesting to still see Wild attached to Twilight even now that he’s, what, seven? At most anyway. Luckily it seems that Pinky took over the role of keeping his distracted as Twilight worked to make sure everyone was fed.

Enno rolled out of Sky’s way, keeping him with eyesight but generally avoiding him. Despite Legend’s assumption he actually kept his distance. He looked over every now and then but he seemed more lost in thought if anything. His eyes held calculations that Legend wouldn’t even dare to imagine for the sake of keeping a headache at bay while Warrior was probably the calmest Legend has ever seen the man.

The whole thing was unnerving.. Just wrong.

Why couldn’t they also be turned into children?

Thankfully, Legend didn’t jinx anyone with the thought and the night passed by quite peacefully.

Legend’s actually glad, no one else was turned into children, it was so weird having one less set of hands to help pack everything up, who only distracted everyone else, and over all did nothing to help out. Not that Legend could blame him- he was a cute kid- but man he wishes Wild could help.

That being said they continued making their way to Lon Lon Ranch.

Wild had one of Pinky’s hands and one of Twilight’s in the others as they walked. The three of them made quite the image. Almost family like if you asked Legend, but he wondered if that was something Twilight was even considering at this point.

It made Legend for something he wasn’t sure about, he wasn’t sure if he wanted a family or children but he could see how happy the three of them were.

He’d think about it.

Once they got to Lon Lon Ranch they were greeted by Malon who welcomed them all with open arms and zero judgment.

She seemed a little concerned when her eyes landed on the little hero but he didn’t seem to notice or care.

He just asked her if he could play with the horses and then took off running after her when Malon said she’d show him the way.

Time and Twilight took Epona with them soon after and Enno and Pinky... well… Malon told Pinky to make herself at home so she just went inside and Enno quickly took Hyrule to make him rest which Legend gladly helped out with.

”Oh hell no!” Enno had grabbed Hyrule before he could talk to Twilight about helping out Wild. Legend walked over and grabbed Hyrule’s other arm dragging away

“You’re resting.” Legend frowned and helped Enno with getting him situated.

The poor boy was trying to undo that spell all morning and had once again exhausted himself even if the day had only just started.

Enno had somehow managed to get Warrior’s scarf, Twilight’s pelt, Wild’s cloak and Sky’s sailcloth (although Legend suspected that was more Wind’s doing) and had made a nest for themselves, Wind and Hyrule to sleep in and ignore the day’s work ahead for the group.

Legend left Hyrule in Enno’s hands and decided that maybe it was for the best he didn’t get himself affiliated with that.

At this point they all knew the drill, those who could still work anyway.

Which meant for as long they stayed, they’d help out.

It was a weird but now familiar sense of domesticity that allowed Legend to think about his future and what he wanted out of his life.

He didn’t feel like settling down just yet but now that he’s a glimpse of it, he remembers back to his conversation with the Champion the first time they came here. In the future... Maybe he will. But that’s then.

He’s young. He has time. He’s not gonna worry about what if’s and tomorrow's when there’s a threat to the tomorrow they might not even have.

He walks around the ranch going around his designated chores and soul searching on his mind when he runs into Sky.

The mad man had made himself at home with the cuccos and the sight nearly sent Legend running in the other direction.

“Hello Vet. Care to join?” Sky greets him with a slight smirk on his face.

“Hell no.” Legend spits and takes a step back for good measure.

Sky laughs at his reaction and Legend feels like the world has been put off balance for Sky to look as smug as he does. Sky pets the bird like it’s the most natural thing in the world and that it isn’t two inches from his fingers or that there’s the potential to draw blood from such an unassuming posture.

Legend’s grip on the rake his hold tightens. “I’ll leave you to it bird boy-”

“Legend wait- one question… More than one actually but it depends on your answer to the first.” Sky sits up straighter, pausing in his ministrations on the bird on top of his lap. “Have you ever loved someone?”

Legend freezes momentarily and he can see that Sky noticed it. With a sigh, he forces himself to lose his grip on the rake and nod. “Once upon a time.”

“Did they like you back?” Sky asks and Legend has to stop himself from throwing the rake there and calling it a day.

“I like to think so.” He answers honestly- because it’s still Sky, and Legend has never been able to even try saying a half truth to his face. “We got pretty close, but I had to leave before anything could happen between us.”

“I see.” Sky nods and leans back. “I’m sorry to hear that. It sounds like you’re not over them.”

“Her. But you’re right- I’m not… she was… something else…” Legend gulps and takes a breath. “Is that all you needed to know?” “More or less. Thank you for your honesty.” Sky answers with another nod. “I’ve just been thinking.”

“Do I even want to know what about?”

“Enno.” Sky smirks again. “But what else is new?”

Legend snorts and rolls his eyes. “I can see that you’re smitten with them. At least you’re not as bad as the Rancher. The idiot can’t even hide how stuck stupid Pinky makes him. Poor guy is whipped.”

“And even now, he gets to play family with her now that Wild is a little boy and still attached to the both of them.” Sky frowns a bit.

“Sounds like you’re jealous.”

“Perhaps.” Sky answers with startling honesty. “I’ve been thinking about it. I just need to think about how to go about this.”

“If they’re willing Sky, you can’t force them.” Legend warns, and he knows that Sky knows, but a part of him worries that the influence Warrior has on his brain might get him to think otherwise.

“I know, I know.” Sky waves him off. “You can go now, I won’t keep you here trapped with me.”

Legend nods and turns on his heel to avoid having the feathered monstrous beast stare him down and plan his murder.

Legend doesn’t really want to know what Sky is planning, especially if he’s under the influence of Warrior of all people. Not to mention that it will ruin the surprise when Sky eventually acts on his desires and said plan and Legend can see how that ends for him. He doubts it’ll work in the way he wants it to.

Enno is very persistent on avoiding him still- even more actually, now that Legend thinks about it.

But he has to give Sky some credit. Even if anyone else would assume that they’re hated due to the cold shoulder treatment and give up, Sky is still trying to melt their heart. It’s admirable that Sky is trying to somehow get this to work in his favor. But he’s probably crushed on the most stubborn person the planet could provide- wait…

Legend nearly pokes his eyes out when he stops in his step and the rake he’s been holding gets caught in the ground.

Legend has met Sky’s Zelda, and he knows that Sky once held a torch there... Even if it died long before his adventure even happened.

Legend blinks and looks back the way he came, in the direction of where Sky was sitting and shakes his head affectionately.

He retracts his earlier thought.

Sky just happens to have a type.

With somewhat lighter spirits and well wishes to his teammate and friend, he goes on to go back to work and forget about a lot of things- only to find Warrior asleep next to the stables.

Next to the entryway there’s a bucket full of water and well…. The whole place stinks and who knows how long the Captain has been here. And Legend knows he wants to smell in front of polite company during lunch time… which should any minute now, now that he thinks about it.

An evil grin stretches across Legend’s face as he bends down to pick up the bucket, letting the rake rest on the wall. A vague voice in the back of his head tells him that this is more of Sky right now that he’s about to dump the water on top of but… But since Sky is also losing his head over someone he supposes that he would deserve it just as much and throws it.

The scream that follows makes the whole day worth it.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe x reader #but not really #sorta self insert #self indulgent as hell though #should i mention that this is more or less supposed to be a slow burn #slow burn for my impatient self anyway #it's gonna be more or less ten chapters #and it's a ride #everyone buckle it and keep your hands and feet within the vehicle at all times

40 notes · View notes

singularattitudeofasafetypin · 2 years

Text

Jumping at Shadows

Masterlist

Summary: Reader's at work when Eddie's father shows up out of the blue, looking for him.

Word Count: 3.5K ish

Warnings: ANGST, super insecure Eddie, mentions of past abuse and garbage parenting, self-deprecation, threatening behaviour, childhood trauma. Comfort at the end

A/N: I'm a Brit so anything I get wrong about America, that's why. Hope y'all enjoy!

Please don't copy my work

Seconds stretched into eternities as you flipped impatiently through your magazine. You checked your watch for the hundredth time. Three hours and eighteen minutes! Wednesdays were always slow at the record shop but today was agonising. You'd been on shift for what felt like forever and you just wanted to see Eddie.

Work had kept you apart for almost a week. You were itching to be close again. The thought of tonight’s date with pizza and a movie was too enticing for words.

The shop bell jingled. Despite it heralding the first customer of the day, you didn't look up. Reluctantly, you shoved your magazine under the counter as the customer approached. 'Welcome to Hawkins Record Store, how can I help you today?' you recited with an imperceptible sigh.

'Hey sweetness!'

Your heart stopped. It couldn’t be! Please don’t let it be him!

But there was no mistaking. His hair was shorter, eyes colder, but aside from that…

‘Listen, I’ve been outta town,’ he continued, ‘Looking for a kid named Eddie, I’m a relative. Was hoping to surprise him, know where I might find him?’

You were frozen. Your eyes must be like saucers, wide with fear, heart thumping, blood rushing so loud, surely, he could hear it! What the hell was he doing here? Eddie told you he was in prison states away.

He cocked his head to one side, a laugh passing his lips before he repeated himself, just like Eddie would to get your attention when you zoned out. ‘Any idea where I might find him, sweetheart?

‘No!’ you blurted, hiding your shaking hands by your sides.

He leaned an arm on the countertop, casual enough not to alarm an onlooker but you felt his warning. ‘Are you certain about that, princess?’

His words, laced with poison, made you shiver. Clenching your fists, you nodded, ‘I haven’t seen him around town for a long time,’ you lied, praying he didn’t hear the quaver in your tone. Your fists were curled so tight, fingertips cutting into your skin. You couldn’t stop them trembling. ‘Please let him go! Please let him give up and leave!’ you begged silently.

He stood there staring you down, testing your resolve. He didn’t believe you; you could tell. What was he going to do? Eddie had told you he was in prison. You didn’t know what for but you knew what an awful father he’d been. You had no idea the extent of what this man was capable of!

‘Well, thanks anyway!’ he said eventually, jaw set, turning on his heel and leaving the store.

The door swung shut. You tore your eyes away like he’d burned you. Paralysed by fear, you’d held your breath, now on the verge of hyperventilating. What the hell was Eddie’s father doing here? It couldn’t be anyone else! They were spitting images of each other! The way he looked at you made you feel sick, his eyes a horrible, twisted inversion of the ones you held so dear. What did he want with Eddie?

‘Hey, are you okay?’ Jan, your co-worker laid a hand on your arm making you flinch, ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost!’

Your eyes flickered to the parking lot outside where to your horror, he sat on the hood of a car, checking his watch. Swallowing, you nodded, ‘Fine.’ She didn’t look convinced. ‘Can you cover me a minute? I need to use the phone!’

Jan hesitated. Technically it was against store policy but you looked so shaken she agreed, chiding you to be quick.

You ducked into the backroom, frantically dialling Eddie’s number. The line rang once, twice, thr- ‘Munson Trailer,’

‘Eddie!’

His voice echoed your name back at you, ‘What’s up? I didn’t think you got off shift ‘til like six thirty!’

‘I don’t’ you answered, ‘I just-.’ What did you tell him?

‘Is something wrong? Do you need me to come?’

If you told him the truth, he’d do just that. Jump in his van and come and get you without a second thought.

‘That’s what he wants!’ you thought. ‘That’s exactly what he wants!’ No! After everything that man had done! After everything he’d done to hurt Eddie, he didn’t get to win! It wasn’t your decision to make but if Eddie saw his father, it would be on his own terms! His choice!

His anxious voice crackled through the line, calling your name, ‘Are you alright? What’s going-.’

‘You can’t pick me up from work tonight!’

A pause. ‘What? Why?’ he was confused and a little upset, ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yeah, I’m fine!’ you said, fighting to sound it. ‘Everything’s fine! I just…’ Need an excuse! ‘I’ve got some other stuff to do tonight so I can’t come over!’ Wow super convincing! ‘I’m gonna get the bus, don’t worry!’ Please don’t worry!

‘Okay?’ he drew out the word, clearly disappointed, ‘I can always-.’

‘No! Really, it’s alright!’ You winced at your snappy tone, ‘I’ll call you later, okay? I promise!’

‘Okay,’ came the flat reply.

‘I love you!’ you hurried but the dial tone cut you off. Your heart stung but it was for the best. If he was annoyed with you, he was less likely to show up! You’d make it up to him later.

***

You eyed the man in the parking lot all afternoon. He never moved, just checked his watch and occasionally glanced inside at you. Your heart was in your mouth and the rest of the shift passed by in minutes.

It wasn’t properly dark when the time came to clock out but dusk was falling fast and the late-autumn breeze in the shadows was cold. Somewhere in the clamour of closing, Eddie’s father had left the parking lot. If only that were enough to let you relax. Now you were even more wary. Scanning your surroundings, you said goodbye to your colleagues and headed for the bus stop a street away.

What you wouldn’t give for Eddie’s hand to hold right now, the warmth and safety of his van with the promise of comfort. Instead, you boarded the bus, hard fluorescent lights glaring as you stared out the window into the darkening night.

By the time you stepped off, it was almost pitch black. Every so often a streetlight would throw your path into sharp relief then douse it in darkness again. Light. Dark. Light. Dark. Nearly home.

A shadow flitted in the corner of your eye. You didn’t look back, only quickened your pace.

Your parents were away for a long weekend so the driveway was empty, nowhere for anyone to be hiding. You fumbled with your keys, finally closing the door behind you and locking it shut. Breathing a sigh of relief, you dropped your bag in the hall. You headed straight for the phone, anxious to hear Eddie’s voice in the safety of your home. It only rang once before he picked up.

‘Eddie-.’ Was all you managed before ruthless, ferocious banging shook your front door.

‘Hey? Hey, sweetheart, what’s going on?’

You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t move. Eddie was practically yelling down the phone but you were petrified.

The beating got louder, a string of threats and profanities roared from the other side.

Eddie stopped, ‘Is… Is that?’ his shaking voice snapped you back to your senses.

‘Stay where you are!’ you begged, ‘Please Eddie, if you love me, stay where you are!’

You hung up before he could respond, hastily dialling, 911. ‘Hawkins PD, how can I-?’

‘Hopper!’ you screamed, ‘I need Jim Hopper!’

***

Eddie was losing his mind. Huddled on the floor, next to the phone, his mind was racing. He’d thought, or maybe hoped, he’d never hear that voice again. His heart raced, lungs gasping for air, he fought the rising panic in his chest. Wayne was sleeping just feet down the hall but somehow Eddie couldn’t call out for help. He was eight years old again, listening to his mother cry, hand clamped over his mouth to stifle sobs for fear he’d be next. He kept hearing your voice pleading with him to stay put but you needed him! You needed him and he was powerless.

Somewhere in the distance he heard quiet shuffles when Wayne got up for work. His bedroom door opened just as the phone rang. Eddie shot up and grabbed the phone almost screaming your name.

‘She’s fine, this is Police Chief, Jim Hopper,’ came the reply.

Wayne rushed in, concerned at his nephew’s distress, asking a hundred questions but he didn’t hear them. ‘She’s… She’s okay?’ he breathed, scarcely comprehending the words. His heart was still beating a mile a minute. ‘You were okay!’ The thought reverberated between his shallow breaths, ‘You were okay!’

Wayne eased the phone from Eddie’s grip and placed a grounding hand on his shoulder. ‘Wayne Munson speaking,’ he said, raising the handset to his ear, ‘What the hell’s happened Jim?’

While Hopper explained, Eddie sank to the floor. A curse or other exclamation would sound from his uncle every now and then but all he could think about was you. He needed to get to you, to hold you, protect you!

‘I understand. We’ll be right over!’ Wayne hung up the phone and dropped to one knee beside his nephew, softly squeezing his shoulder.

‘Where is she?’ Eddie choked through fresh tears.

‘Down at the station, she’s alright!’ he answered quietly, helping Eddie to his feet, ‘Come on son, let’s go and get your girl!’

***

You sat alone in the police chief’s office, bouncing your leg and staring at the clock. You hadn’t even had time to take off your jacket at home but you still felt cold. Your mind was racing, a thousand blurry thoughts ran through your head, hardly formed. Everything that had happened dwelt on the page that sat on the desk in front of you and now there was nothing left to do but wait.

A door slammed down the hall and angry voices stirred you from your stupor. Above the sound, another voice cut through. Anxious and afraid. Calling your name.

You were already standing up before he burst through the door and threw his arms round you. You curled your own around his neck, relief washing over you. Eddie clung to you like a lifeline, face buried in your neck and hands grasping at your clothes like you were about to disappear. Hot tears began to soak your shoulder and you held him tighter.

‘Are you okay?’ he asked after a while, voice thick with tears. He held you at arms-length, looking you over. ‘Did he hurt you?’

‘No!’ you assured, cupping his cheek and pressing your foreheads together. ‘No darling, I’m okay! I’m okay now!’ Your voice caught on the last word and your own unshed tears began to fall.

For a long time, neither of you could do anything more than hold each other, thanking the stars you were both safe.

‘This isn’t how I thought today was gonna go!’ you laughed through the tears, remembering your ruined plans. A weak smile glanced across Eddie’s face but when he looked up, his eyes were still raw with pain.

‘If he’d done anything to you-!’

‘He didn’t!’ you soothed, tracing his hairline with your fingertips.

He caught your hand and pressed it to his lips, relishing your touch. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

Your heart clenched at his broken tone and tears began to well in your own eyes again. ‘Because you would have rushed in and got me!’ you sighed, wiping your cheeks on your sleeve, ‘You wouldn’t have hesitated and I didn’t-.’

You struggled for words. His eyes never left yours, needing to understand what he’d done to make you distrust him.

‘I didn’t want you to have to see him! That’s what he wanted and I…’ you looked away, ‘I wanted you to have it on your own terms!’

‘Oh baby!’ he melted instantly, hugging you close again, pouring every scrap of love into his embrace.

‘He’s taken so much from you already; I didn’t want him to take away your choice!’ you murmured into his chest between sobs.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, rubbing circles over your shoulder blades with one hand. The other curved around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

Absorbed in each other, it was a while before you noticed the angry voices moving closer.

‘I don’t care Jim! That monster ruined my boy’s childhood and his mother’s life! I won’t let him ruin it or that poor girl’s any further!’ Wayne had never been this angry before. He was normally quiet, a man of few words but you heard every one imaginable directed towards the man in the cell a few doors down.

‘I’m hearing you Wayne, believe me!’ Hopper countered, ‘But this is a police station! I can’t let you go around making open threats like that!’

The two men entered the room. Wayne’s anger faded when he saw the two of you. Cupping your cheek fondly he placed his other hand on Eddie’s back. ‘Are you okay kid?’ he asked, lines of worry prominent on his face. You nodded gratefully, forcing a smile.

Hopper clicked a pen, putting his signature next to yours at the bottom of you statement and leaning his hands on the desk. ‘That’s everything I need taken care of’ he said, ‘And I don’t want you to worry. He’s not getting out of holding anytime soon!’ he paused, grimacing like he tasted something bitter. His eyes shifted from you to Eddie. ‘Just one more thing… He’s asking to see you.’ Silence. ‘Now I’m not saying you have to-.’

‘Absolutely not!’ Wayne snapped, ‘If he thinks after all this-.’ He went off on one again and Hopper tried to interject.

Eddie just stood there, still holding onto you but staring at nothing. You could see the thoughts flying through his mind. You squeezed his arm gently. He looked down at you something unfathomable in his gaze.

‘I’ll go with you if you want,’ You whispered.

His eyes widened, ‘I can’t ask you to do that!’

‘You’re not asking,’ you answered. ‘You don’t have to.’

He thought for a moment then nodded slightly. ‘Okay,’ he said, cutting off the argument abruptly. ‘I’ll go.’

‘Son, wait a minute-.’

‘It’s my choice!’

***

He was going to do it! He was going to march in there and tell that monster exactly what he thought! Warn him never to come near him or anyone he loved ever again! Years of pent-up hatred and resentment boiled in his blood.

‘Just in here.’

Hopper gestured to the door. He was going to tell him where to go! He was gonna-. But Eddie’s hand stopped over the doorknob. His veins turned to ice. Everything came flooding back.

You clutched his arm, trying to comfort him but he couldn’t hear you. All the shouting and the insults and abuse echoed through his mind. Ghosts he’d thought were long gone grew flesh in an instant.

‘Eddie!’ Wayne caught his quivering hand, drawing him out of the spiral. ‘Come on son,’ he said gently, ‘Let’s go home!’

He could feel everyone’s gaze like laser beams. Ducking his head to hide the red-hot shame burning his cheeks, he nodded quickly.

***

The ride home was silent. Wayne offered to put you up in their trailer for night and you gladly accepted. You didn’t want to be alone tonight and you didn’t want Eddie to be either.

He was uncharacteristically quiet.

That was a bad sign, it always was, and him shying away from your touch was an even worse one.

‘I’m really sorry, I’ve got a shift tonight and I’m late as it is,’ Wayne said as you stepped inside, ‘I don’t want to leave you kids but-.’

‘It’s okay Wayne, we get it,’ you assured.

He nodded appreciatively, ‘Look after each other, and keep this door locked ya hear?’

You smiled and nodded, wondering where you’d be without his kindness. ‘Thanks Wayne, for everything!’

He waved a hand as if to say ‘Don’t mention it,’ collected some things, and was gone.

The two of you were alone.

After standing awkwardly for a moment, you found yourself curled up in the arm of the sofa hugging a cushion. The familiar scent helped calm your still shaken nerves. You were safe. Everything was alright.

Eddie couldn’t even look at you. He staggered into the kitchen and clutched onto the countertop for support. Humiliation kept its searing hold.

What had he been thinking? What, he was gonna go in there and say something heroic? He was gonna scare the man who’d made his childhood a living hell? Who’d hurt his mom? Who gone after you? Like some ridiculous knight in shining armour, he would slay the dragon and save the princess?

And what had he done? Cowered in fear! Stood there shaking like a fool! He couldn’t even go in there! Couldn’t face him! Couldn’t defend the girl he loved. He was a child again, running away and jumping at shadows! A coward!

He struck the worktop.

Pain shot through his wrist but he didn’t care. He cursed and cried, hitting the counter and kicking at the cupboards blindly until your hands caught his, voice begging him to stop but he was too far gone.

‘There you go then!’ Bitter tears fell as he pulled away from your grasp. ‘You finally saw it!’ he drawled. He spread his arms and grimaced in wretched, theatrical defeat. ‘The real me!’

You’d never seen him this upset. It was like some irreplaceable piece had broken inside, shattered beyond repair.

‘I don’t know how you can stand to look at me!’ he laughed hysterically, reaching to cover his mouth, ‘Especially now! Now you know I look just like him!’ he clawed at his cheek like he wanted to shred the skin.

‘Eddie!’ you coaxed. He recoiled from your outstretched hand.

‘No, no I get it! You don’t have to pretend you still want me! I wouldn’t!’ he stammered, voice catching, ‘I wouldn’t want me either!’

‘Eddie!’

‘I’ll go!’ he choked through tears, already backing away from you, ‘I’ll stay away! You don’t have to look at me! Ever again, I swear!’ Every word felt like a punch to the stomach.

He turned, moving quickly down the narrow corridor, throwing his bedroom door closed.

You ran after him, holding back your own tears and taking a breath before gently pushing the door open again.

He was curled at the foot of his bed, head in his knees, muffling his cries. Dropping down next to him, you pulled him into an embrace. He flinched at your touch but you didn’t move away. Resting your cheek on his head, you hushed and comforted for who knows how long. Stroked his hair and murmured words of solace. In time, the wrenching, soul-wracking sobs subsided and turned to stifled hiccups.

‘I mean it!’ he said weakly, ‘I won’t blame you; you don’t have to stay!’

‘I’m not going anywhere!’ you insisted, cupping his face and guiding his face to yours. His red, swollen eyes still wouldn’t meet yours but you felt him relax at your closeness. ‘I’m staying right here! With the wonderful, brave man I love!’

The ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, ‘Harrington lives the other side of town!’

A rueful laugh escaped your lips and his smile grew wider at the sound. ‘You idiot!’ you pressed a kiss to his forehead then leaned yours against it. ‘I mean you!’

‘No!’ he muttered, shaking his head and pulling back, ‘I’m not that! I’m not those things!’

‘You are!’ he kept shaking his head ‘til you gripped his jaw, holding it still. ‘You are every one of them and more!’

He looked at you now, eyes full of anguish, ‘But he scared you so much and-,’ his face contorted, ‘And I look just like him!’

You smoothed a tender thumb over his cheek, wiping away the tear tracks that had begun to run fresh again, watching his eyes flutter closed. ‘No, you don’t,’ He tried to protest but you persisted, ‘I thought you did too at first.’

He stopped, ‘What changed your mind?’ he asked a tentative smile, crossed his face.

Leaning back slightly, to take him all in, you simply said, ‘Your eyes are different.’ You reached to play with a strand of his hair while you studied him. ‘They’re warmer.’

He drew a shaky breath and, tracing his hairline, you continued, ‘Your smile is brighter, your words are kinder.’ Your hand came to rest on his shoulder, squeezing, ‘Because you, Eddie Munson, are kind, and brave, and good! And I could never love anyone better!’ You smiled faintly, ‘I don’t think you look anything alike!’

A moments silence passed then he threw his arms around you so tightly you thought you’d burst! Your arms wound their way round his neck; you buried your face in his shoulder. ‘I love you!’ he whispered, breathless, ‘I love you! I love you! I love you!’

‘I love you too!’

***

Thank you for reading! Feedback and reblogs are so appreciated! I don’t have a taglist yet but message me or comment if you want to be tagged in anything else I write!

I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing!

Masterlist

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader angst #eddie munson angst #joseph quinn #stranger things #eddie munson x female reader #amber writes

944 notes · View notes

snackhobi · 4 years

Text

this is my part of the rockin’ around the christmas tropes collab with @yeojaa, @underthejoon @ladyartemesia, @ppersonna, @untaemedqueen, @xjoonchildx ✨ MERRY (early) CHRISTMAS Y’ALL

summary: yoongi is your favourite regular. he’s patient, polite, and predictable, a-large-black-coffee-to-go-please, no cream, no sugar, thank you. rinse and repeat. the seasons might change, but yoongi’s order stays the same.

and then one fateful day in winter, yoongi asks about the weekly specials, orders a cup of christmas and sugary sweetness, and everything starts changing.

pairing: yoongi x barista f!reader / word count: 14.8k / genre: coffeeshop!au, fluff, dash of smut (NSFW)

warnings: slow burn, terrible drink concoctions, pining, miscommunication (kind of/reader comes to incorrect conclusions based on literally nothing), the tiniest bit of swearing, heated makeouts, oral (m receiving), I think that’s it

a/n: I have a lot of people to thank: thank you to my loveliest most beautiful wife @yeojaa for the beautiful banner 🥺💖 thank you to @morndas for helping me name this fic and suggesting some of the awful weekly specials featured within 🥰 thank you to @yeoldontknow for letting me have multiple meltdowns at her and for letting me pick her brain about working in the music industry, and for helping me with plot points I wasn’t sure about!! 💕

also thank you to @hobi-gif for helping me brainstorm the original fic idea with her; she hasn’t beta’ed this fic because I am TERRIBLE and literally finished this like an hour before posting. that’s on me and not her. I am a shambles without her indomitable proof reading skills; any mistakes are down to me, and I apologise for that. I’ve only read this through like once, sorry in advance, I’m literally formatting this while I should be getting ready for work

Being a barista isn’t all bad.

Like, okay, you’re on your feet for hours at a time, the pay isn’t exactly the highest in the world, and coffee beans have a tendency to end up in the weirdest places (how did you get the light roast in your bra?)—but it’s not entirely terrible.

Here’s a (totally not comprehensive) list of good things about working at the Paradise coffee shop:

The free drinks (y’know, for taste testing purposes)

The free food (you probably eat more than you’re actually allowed, but who’s telling?)

Your coworkers (like Taehyung, who is—yep—currently shoving a whole mini panettone in his mouth)

Most of the customers are pretty nice, too (you have some lovely regulars)

(If you had to be more specific, there’s one regular in particular that you really, really like—)

(Yoongi appears like clockwork every week. Just after the Tuesday lunch rush, the bell above the door will sing out its greeting as he steps inside, ordering the same drink each and every time he’s here—a large Americano, to go, plain and simple and unadorned, no room for cream or milk, no added sugar or sweetener.)

(Yoongi really is the perfect customer. He has been from the very beginning, a point of quiet in a churning sea of hot, sweaty people all begging for frappés and milkshakes, the hottest point at the very peak of summer. The queue had been growing longer and longer, out of the doors as the blenders whirred their way through a neverending cascade of sugary, iced blends; the counters were a mess and all the baristas were running around and everything was chaos and in had walked this guy, all dark hair and dark eyes and dark clothes, even in the height of summer—you were ready for death at this point, hands sticky with syrup and apron streaked with flecks from almost every drink from the summer menu, and you’d braced yourself for some terse words, impatience and passive aggressive comments on the long wait—)

(—and this intimidating man had just patiently asked for an iced Americano, calm and quiet and polite.)

(You’d fallen a little in love, then and there. Fallen in love with that simple order, quick and easy to make, and fallen a little in love with the dichotomy of the man who looked like nothing but sharp edges being the softest customer you’d had all day. There was nothing rushed about his motions, no desperate need to get his drink and get away, no anger at having waited for so long.)

(He’d been ready to pay, too, no fumbling with his wallet or money; he’d tapped his card, easy and breezy and all lemon squeezy, but he’d left a tip in change, dropped almost thoughtlessly into the jar. He’d collected his cup with the smallest upturn to his lips, a tilt of his head, and then he’d left, other customers parting before him like the Red Sea.)

(The only thing that’s changed over the months is that the iced coffees of summer have changed into hot Americanos for the cooler months, autumn and now almost-winter, warding off the chill in the air. Everything else is the same; his dark eyes and low voice and patient smile, small but ever present, pressed lightly into the surprisingly soft line of his mouth.)

(So, yeah. Yoongi is your favourite customer. Even if you’ve barely spoken, really, the two of you dancing through the same short script each time he comes in—the longest conversation you’ve had so far is the one where you’d tentatively asked if he’d like a rewards card, and after a moment of contemplation, he’d quietly agreed.)

(You like to think that you’re Yoongi’s favourite server, too. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but—)

(Taehyung had been stunned into speechlessness, because, to quote his words exactly: “I tried getting him to sign up for a card last time and I swear he just pretended he couldn’t hear me? He just straight up didn’t respond? What?”)

(—you know Yoongi likes you at least a little bit.)

Anyway. You’re getting off the point. Paradise is a decent place to work, the people are nice, and the building is pretty and airy and welcoming and warm, toasty and cosy in the upcoming cold of winter. It’s one of the things that keeps people coming back, that lovely atmosphere.

Another thing that people apparently love about Paradise is the constantly changing menu. It’s not enough to have seasonal menus, no—you need to have weekly specials, apparently, to keep people interested. It’s like a gachapon, but instead of cute little capsule toys, it’s a random mix of concoctions that are hit or miss.

“Well, I liked the Peachy Keen Jelly Bean,” Taehyung says, around a mouthful of sweet bread, still chewing his way through the panettone.

“You’d be the only one,” you reply, swiping a cloth over the counters and crinkling your nose at the pile of coffee grounds you gather. “Iced peach tea with blackberry and vanilla and cherry and watermelon syrup has got to be one of the worst things we’ve ever served.”

That had definitely been one of the misses. This week’s special, though, is far more palatable, if incredibly sweet—Crystal Snow, a white chocolate mocha with whipped cream, dusted with powdered sugar, and a crystallised sugar stick to stir in. Sugar on sugar on sugar, basically. (Your teeth ache just thinking about it.)

But there’s always something so fun about making the winter specials, no matter how sugary they are; the smell of the sticky syrups, the swirl of cream to top off the cup, the dusting of cocoa or cinnamon, everything mulled in the sweet warmth of winter. Even if the drink you’re making is questionable, you get so excited about it, genuinely enthusiastic when you recommend them to customers, carrying everyone into the spirit of the upcoming holidays. You’d hardly describe making coffee a billion times a day fun—it’s pretty exhausting, actually—but you’ve always had a weird affection for the winter menu and the weekly specials alongside it.

You don’t upsell the drinks because you have to. You do it because you want to.

(You’re pretty good at it too. Not a flex: just a fact. Your customer service is on point.)

The only person you’ve never tried to persuade into trying something new is Yoongi. He might not be rude or short tempered, but he clearly knows what he wants, and you hate the idea of ruining the easy flow of his visits. You’re not about to embarrass yourself by asking Mr No-Cream-Or-Sugar if he’d like a drink that's nothing but cream and sugar. Asking about the rewards card had been nerve-wracking enough, even if it had been worth it for the genuinely-unintentional-but-definitely-not-unpleasant brushing of your fingers when you’d handed the card over to him.

(Okay. Look. Yoongi is patient and pleasant and polite and cute. You never thought that you’d crush on a customer, but here you are. He just… oozes masculinity in an understated, self-assured way that has you internally swooning. He looks intimidating and serious but when he smiles his eyes go soft-soft-soft, his voice a low rumble as he gives you his gentle thank you, and everything about him is just so… attractive. Even the way he holds his coffee is hot, fingers loose around the lid as he makes his way out of the café, your eyes tracing every motion as he goes. Like. Come on. Of course you’re crushing on him.)

(Just a little bit, though. Just a little bit. It’s just an itty bitty crush. A teeny weeny crush.)

The bell above the door chimes. Your kneejerk reaction is to snap your head over to see who it is—but you hold it together, instead letting your head turn at a normal, natural pace. It’s just an unfamiliar woman, rearranging the tassels of her long scarf with one hand and holding her phone with the other as the door swings shut, and you deflate.

(... It’s a small crush, you swear. It’s not like this is around the normal time Yoongi appears and you’d thought it was going to be him. Nope. Definitely not that.)

As the woman lingers near the counter, eyes flicking between her phone and the chalkboard menu on the wall above your head, Taehyung finishes licking the panettone crumbs off his fingers.

“It’s Tuesday,” he states solemnly.

“I know?”

“It’s just past two o’clock,” he continues.

“I know,” you repeat, glancing at him quizzically. “You told me what the time was less than five minutes ago.”

“I did.”

The bell chimes again. This time, a gaggle of giggling girls come bubbling into the café, cutting you off before you can ask what Taehyung is trying to say. You go to flick your cloth at him before thinking better of it, not wanting to rain dark roast everywhere.

“Go wash your hands,” you say, just as the scarfed woman approaches the counter, ready to order. A bright smile splits your face, voice rising into its usual peppy Customer Service tone. “Hi, welcome to Paradise! How can I help you today?”

She barely glances up from her phone as she orders, asking for a latte macchiato and croissant, a distracted ‘no thanks’ when you ask if she’s interested in this week’s special. Oh well. The girls behind her, though, all seem incredibly excited when they catch wind of it; they all eagerly listen as you describe what a Crystal Snow is, your eyes lighting up as you mime piping the cream and dusting the sugar on top, laughing when they ask if they can buy extra sugar sticks to take home, because of course they can, you’d be happy to do that for them, would they like those in to-go bags? Yes, the bags are cute, aren’t they, the snowflakes are lovely, you agree.

Taehyung’s just finished wiping the steam wand when you give him the next order. You see the way his face crumples before his brows lift and his lips purse, pleading as he looks at you with big eyes, and you just roll your own eyes affectionately.

“Yes, yes, I’ll make them even though you’re meant to be on the bar, it’s fine,” you say, and Taehyung’s whole face lights up.

You’ve worked with Taehyung long enough by now to know that it takes him until at least Wednesday to memorise how to make whatever that week’s special is. And there’s not a queue, so you don’t mind taking over, pulling espresso shots and steaming milk and pouring everything together, puffing air in Taehyung’s face when he peers at your cream swirling technique. (No matter how many times you’ve tried to teach him, he’s never been able to get it right, usually just farting a mess of cream out of the nozzle and hoping for the best. Results are… mixed.) Maybe the flourish you put into dusting the sugar on top is unnecessary, but, hey. It’s fun. You smile to yourself as you give a small flick of the wrist over each drink, powdered sugar floating down like snow, and, done.

You don’t like to toot your own horn but the drinks come out Instagram perfect, each latte glass set on a tiny napkin on a saucer, sugar stick on one side, and you take a moment to admire your work.

“They’re so pretty,” Taehyung says, and your smile grows wider.

The girls all agree, cooing over the drinks in a way that only makes your smile grow even more, wide on your face. You watch as they squirrel themselves away in a corner, talking and laughing and nibbling their food and sipping at their drinks, pleased at the way their eyes widen at the first taste.

Yeah, it’s the small things that makes your time here good. Being a barista is a thankless job most of the time, as relaxed as Paradise usually is, so you try to appreciate the small things. Like having fun when you make a drink, for example. Making nice customers happy. (Having cute regulars that you can quietly ogle.)

Actually, on the note of cute regulars—

“Your 2:15 appointment is here.”

You tear your attention away from the table of girls at the sound of Taehyung’s voice. “My what—?”

There’s someone in front of the glass display, hunched as they slowly and quietly peruse the selection of pastries and food inside—and you realise with a jolt that it’s Yoongi. You have no idea how long he’s been there, so distracted with patting yourself on the back for making a few nice drinks; oh, God, what if Yoongi had seen your pleased expression? Do you look smug? You probably look smug. Great, now he probably thinks that you’re a self-obsessed clown, honking your nose like some sort of narcissist.

“You’re spiralling,” Taehyung points out mildly, voice low enough that Yoongi doesn't hear.

His surprisingly perceptive comment snaps you out of aforementioned spiralling, and after shaking yourself off, you glance over at him. “Why didn’t you serve him?”

He shrugs. “He didn’t seem like he wanted to be served so I just left him to it.”

To be fair to Taehyung, he’s not wrong. Yoongi is staring intently at a slice of carrot cake—even if he’s never ordered any before—and it’s not until you move to your usual spot behind the till that his attention finally rises, meeting your gaze with his deep, dark eyes.

Your inner schoolgirl feels like she needs to sit down. Your entire stomach and chest is a looping mess of frantic butterflies after making eye contact with the cute boy who you’re crushing on, but you’ve got a great poker face; you’ve worked as a barista long enough that you’re good at shoving your real feelings down, none of your internal turmoil playing across your face as you smile. Customer service mode activate.

“Hi, and welcome back to Paradise. What can I get for you today? The usual? Large Americano, to go, for Yoongi?”

You’re a little softer than you would be with other customers, a little more subdued, dialing down how upbeat you normally are to match Yoongi’s level. His lips lift almost imperceptibly, the faintest smile playing across his mouth, and it takes all your strength for your knees to not immediately buckle.

“Hi,” he says. His voice is soft and low, faintest drawl at the end of his words, and yep, just your weekly reminder that you’re enamoured with him. Cool. “Yes, please, that would be great.”

He already has his card ready, you know he does. He always does; card to pay, loyalty card to swipe, tip to drop in the jar, quick and smooth and easy. This is normally where you’d rattle off the price—as if he doesn’t already know what it is—but you pause, thinking about how intent he’d been on the pastry display, as uncharacteristic as that is.

“Did you… want something to eat, too? I couldn’t, um, help noticing that you were eyeing up the carrot cake?”

Yoongi blinks, wispy lashes fluttering. You can see the muted surprise that flashes across his face, and you wonder if you’ve misstepped, thrown off the usual rhythm of his visit. It’s an unusual step away from your regular script, an ad-lib that he wasn’t expecting.

“Uh, no, thank you,” he says. “Maybe… next time.”

He’s polite as ever, thankfully. You’re not surprised at his answer but you do have to wonder why he was looking at the cake so closely if he hadn’t planned on getting anything; you know he likes getting served by you the most, if the evidence over the months means anything at all, but you don’t think he’d stare at cake just so he would avoid Taehyung. You’re making assumptions based on the fact he just drinks black coffee and literally nothing else, but you’ve guessed he doesn’t have a sweet tooth. (The only time he’s ever ordered food had been two months prior when he’d asked for a single croissant, and nothing since. Taehyung still talks about the croissant sometimes.)

Well, it doesn't really matter. If he doesn't want cake, you're not going to force it on him, and the rest of the transaction goes as normal. Yoongi hands over his rewards card, fingers long and knuckles knobbly and altogether lovely, pays for his Americano—made by Taehyung, cup wrapped in the sleeve that you’ve written Yoongi’s name on, black sharpie bleeding into the cardboard—and smiles at you both when Taehyung hands it to him across the smooth wood of the counter.

“Thanks.” He gives you that slight tilt of his head that he always does, and you smile helplessly back.

He’s a gentleman, through and through, even if he looks as distant as ever; dressed in all black, his ripped jeans the only splash of lightness in his dark outfit. Maybe you’re biased, but no matter what he wears, he looks stylish, somehow. It’s something in his aura. All cool understated elegance and power.

And here you are, in your cream jumper under the dark mulberry apron of your uniform, a flower blooming next to the name on your badge. All chirpy customer service, smiling broad and wide as you go through the same motions over and over with each new person that comes in. Sometimes you wonder what Yoongi thinks of you, as different as you are to him, but at the end of the day it doesn’t really matter—because he keeps coming back, doesn’t he?

“Have a nice day,” you say as he turns to go, and when he glances over his shoulder and says you too, smile soft and eyes softer, you know he really means it.

(And if your eyes always trail after him once his back has turned, who’s telling?)

“You’re staring.” Taehyung’s telling, apparently.

You tear your eyes away from Yoongi, bell tinkling as the door swings shut behind him. “He’s my favourite customer,” you say. As if that explains why you were staring.

“You’ve barely spoken to him.”

“He’s my favourite customer,” you say again, emphatically. “He comes in, he gets the world’s simplest drink to make, is always polite, always leaves a tip, and he goes. Literally the perfect customer.”

“Alright, true,” he says, as if he hadn’t considered that before now. “Cute, too.”

You sigh. A little wistful. “Yeah,” you say. “Yeah, he is.”

Taehyung opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something else when someone spills their drink on their floor with an unholy clattering sound, even if nothing breaks; without saying anything, both you and Taehyung raise your hands, eyes narrowing at each other.

"Rock, paper, scissors," you chant. Taehyung promptly loses, and the pout that forms on his lips doesn't disappear until he's finished mopping everything up.

(“Why do I always end up having to clean spillages?”

“Because you never win rock-paper-scissors. You always choose scissors, Taehyung. You literally always choose scissors.”)

The tradition of the weekly specials at Paradise is a weird one, truth be told. Each Monday whoever’s on the opening shift will enter the coffee shop and find that the board on the wall has been updated, the recipe typed up and laminated, waiting on the counter for the baristas. You all assume it’s the mysterious owner, who no one has ever seen, and no one even knows the name of, apparently.

“Someone has to know their name,” you’d said, once, back when you’d first started, only to receive a shrugs from everyone.

“I heard one of the old baristas say the owner’s name was Jackson,” Taehyung had said, and you’d just blinked at him.

“Huh?” you’d said, but Jimin had rolled his eyes and told you to ignore him, so you had.

This week’s drink is the Marshmallow World. As always, when you and Taehyung start your shift together, you read the recipe and follow it step by step to learn how to make it. Warmed milk, vanilla syrup, topped off with marshmallow fluff instead of whipped cream—not bad in theory, if you like sweet things, although it does pose one significant problem.

“It’s clogged my hole,” Taehyung says sadly.

You sputter on your own drink, desperately hacking your lungs out as you try to stop milk from going down your windpipe. “I’m-sorry-it’s-what,” you wheeze all at once, struggling for air.

Taehyung tilts his takeaway cup at you, gesturing at the lid. (All the mugs are still out back or on a rinse cycle so laziness had forced you to make do.) “My drink hole. It’s blocked,” he explains. “The fluff is getting in the way.”

So, yeah. It clogs people’s holes, apparently. But other than that, you have to admit it’s pretty nice, and if you drink it in the café (and thus out of a mug) then you’re fine. You just get into the habit of warning the customers if they order it to go and laugh about it with them and it’s all fine and dandy and everyone is happy.

It’s starting to get busier, now. The nights are getting longer and the days are getting colder and everyone’s starting to think about Christmas, which feels both close and far away, all at once. Close, because you still have presents to buy and there’s never enough time for it; and far, because the lights have yet to go up and Christmas songs aren’t dominating the radio yet and you have yet to experience the real winter rush. Students home for the holidays and families out to see Father Christmas and workers grabbing Secret Santa gifts, everyone desperate for something warm and soothing, hot and comforting in the face of the snow which has yet to fall.

But there’s something in the air, that cool hush that lets you know it’s nearly here—the changing of the seasons, the burnt sunset colours of autumn melting into the iced blues and greys of winter. No matter if you prefer hot or cold weather, there’s something about the beauty of wintertime that’s undeniable.

And it’s a lot easier to sell something like the Marshmallow World on a day like this, the nip in the air almost solid, biting cold into the apples of your cheeks, nibbling at fingers that are so cold they feel frost-bitten. Once again, your genuine enthusiasm shines through, persuading people to give the drink a go, happy to add a shot of espresso for whoever needs it, desperate for caffeine to buoy them up through the day.

You’ve just finished laughing with a lovely old couple, wearing matching scarves and hats—awwww—waving them goodbye as they go to sit down, when you come face to face with Yoongi, blindsided by his sudden appearance. You’d been so caught up, once again, too busy giggling your way through the conversation with your other customers, able to persuade them to try one special to share alongside everything else they’ve ordered.

“Oh. Uh. Hi,” you say. Your hand is still by your face after you’d given the couple a cute wave, and when you realise, you freeze. Flustered. Behind you, Taehyung is struggling to spoon the marshmallow fluff neatly on the vanilla steamer, making small noises of distress, but you’re too caught up in your own distress to really notice.

Once again, you have no idea how long Yoongi’s been there. You’re slipping. You’re normally aware of him as soon as he steps into the coffee shop. (You know, because you’re always aware of when a new customer steps in. Like any good barista would be.) Had he witnessed you enthusiastically waving your hands and talking about marshmallows and s'mores? Seen the way you'd grinned and laughed as you'd gotten excited over the weekly special, yet again?

Well, if he had, he doesn't seem perturbed at all. His usual smile is on his face, though you would swear it seems a little softer around the edges, almost fond.

“Hi,” he says, and… that’s it.

There’s no addition of his usual that would be great, and that’s when you realise you haven’t asked about his coffee. In fact, your fingers are still curled near your chin, almost like a claw. You clear your throat and let your arm fall to your side, fiddling with the tie of your apron.

“Hi,” you repeat. Flounder for a second. Try to remember your usual line. “Large Americano?”

“Y/n.” Taehyung whines your name from the bar, loud enough that it catches your attention. “The marshmallow isn’t staying. Why do you keep recommending Marshmallow World? Why must I suffer through this torture? Every day I wake up and I make coffee—”

“Sorry, sir, one second,” you say, face scrunching in apology at Yoongi.

“It's just Yoongi,” he replies, gentle, and your heart thuds in your chest. "You don't have to call me sir."

Your face feels warm. "Um, okay, Yoongi." You've said his name before, of course, said it dozens of times to confirm his order, but never like this—by invitation from the man himself, an acknowledgement of familiarity.

Taehyung makes another noise. Yoongi's expression turns into one of faint amusement, eyes drifting over your shoulder to your friend; when you turn around, you can see why.

The other barista’s managed to get marshmallow fluff all over the edge of the glass, on the handle of the cup, all the way up the spoon, on his fingers—everywhere except on the drink itself. It’s funny, in a sad sort of way.

“Wow.” You have no idea how he managed it, but you’re here to help. “Alright, go wash your hands, Tae. I’ve got this.”

The cup is a goner. There’s no way you’ll be able to wipe off the sticky marshmallow. You’re acutely aware of Yoongi at the counter, able to watch your every move, but then you get distracted as you salvage Taehyung's attempt at a Marshmallow World. You just feel grateful that it’s a steamer so you can pour it into a new glass, not having to worry about layers of coffee and milk and foam; it’s a pretty easy fix. Good. (You don’t want to keep Yoongi waiting, as patient as he may be.)

It doesn’t take long to spoon the marshmallow on, whipped peaks in the sticky white, and by the time Taehyung returns you’re ready to present him with the picture perfect drink, not a single lick of fluff anywhere it shouldn’t be. You've got your hands on your hips as you survey your work proudly, and Taehyung sticks his tongue out at you.

“Witchcraft,” he says, and you laugh.

“You’re welcome,” you say. “Alright, shoo, go take this over to the table before they start wondering where it is.”

When you turn back, Yoongi’s watching you. Contemplative. You tamp down the flush that threatens to spill onto your cheeks, face burning, but before you can say anything, he speaks.

“Was that the weekly special?”

You blink. Blindsided. Yoongi’s never asked about the special before, never commented on the A-frame outside, the sign on the wall that sits next to the regular menu. No surprise there—why would someone who only drinks Americanos want to drink ninety-nine percent of the weekly specials you offer? “Um, yeah,” you say. “We’ve got the Marshmallow World this week.”

“Would you recommend it?”

You can’t help it. You light up. You love when customers ask for recommendations, and the fact that it’s Yoongi—whose blood must be made of coffee at this point—who’s asking about it? Americano Yoongi, asking about something without caffeine? Black coffee Yoongi, asking about a weekly special that’s nothing but sugar and sweetness? Something inside you switches on, a Christmas tree, all flashing lights and shimmering tinsel and excitement.

“Oh, if you like sweeter drinks, absolutely! It’s great for a cold day like today,” you gush. Maybe you should reel it in, far more exuberant than you usually are with Yoongi, but. You can’t stop. “It’s warm milk and vanilla, so it’s a lovely comfort drink, and we can add a shot of espresso too if you were wanting a little pick-me-up. And then you’ve got marshmallow fluff on top for some extra self-indulgence. We were meant to, uh, toast the top, actually, but we don’t have the necessary health and safety clearance for blowtorches. I guess you could do that at home if you really wanted to. Everyone likes toasted marshmallows, right?”

Yoongi hums, and you wonder if you’ve maybe gotten ahead of yourself. Oversold it. Maybe he was asking out of curiosity. Just because he’s asking about it doesn’t mean that he wants one—

“Can I get a Marshmallow World, please? Large, to go?”

—or maybe Yoongi is an official convert to the world of sweet drinks, changing after a lifetime of drinking unadorned, unadulterated black coffee. Holy shit. Holy shit? Holy—

“And a large Americano to go, too, please.”

(Record scratch. Freeze frame.

Yoongi of-the-black-coffee is ordering his usual drink, and another. Both large. Too much for one person to reasonably drink before one of them got cold. He’s not ordering for one person; he’s ordering for two people. Of course Yoongi wouldn’t order something as heart-stopping as the Marshmallow World—not for himself, anyway.

Mental maths. Two plus two is four, four plus four is eight; one large Americano and one Marshmallow World is two people. Yoongi and one other person is two people, a couple of people, a couple—

Oh, God.

A couple.

You’ve been crushing on a taken man.

You know how they say your life flashes before your eyes before you die? It’s sort of like that, but rather than remembering your life, you immediately recall every moment over the months where you’ve looked at him or thought about him with even the smallest iota of longing and you want to crawl under the counter and never come out.

You feel weirdly guilty. Like… like you’re some sort of unintentional homewrecker. Even though, you know, you thought Yoongi was single and you haven’t made a single move on him and nor had you had any plans to. The guilt bubbles up inside you anyway.

All at once, you feel immensely, incredibly embarrassed. Of course he’s taken. There’s no way he wouldn’t be, as attractive and nice as he is, and you’ve just been sat here crushing on him like a big dumb idiot.

You are the worst.)

You manage to squeeze this internal breakdown into the span of a few seconds. You’re grateful that you have your customer service face locked on, giving nothing away—from the outside the smile looks just like that, a smile, rather than the rictus of deathly mortification it actually is, burning through you like a wildfire.

Yoongi seems none the wiser, just patiently waiting for some sort of acknowledgement of his order. Most of your brain power is still taken up with the mish-mash of humiliation and guilt that’s roiling through you. Luckily, though, the part of your brain that’s still in the moment (trying to drag you back to the real world, shame-faced as you are) forces you to move before things get weird.

“One large Americano, one large Marshmallow World, both to go.” You tap the drinks into the till on auto-pilot, dimly noting that Taehyung’s been pulled into conversation with the old couple at their table, having delivered their drinks and food to them. It’s just you behind the counter, no one else to man the coffee machines. “Let me get those started for you.”

Luckily, making the drinks means you can turn your back to Yoongi, oscillating through the five stages of grief as you fiddle with hot milk and coffee grounds and paper cups. You always take pride in your work—especially when it comes to Yoongi—and you take even more pride now, determined to make these drinks as lovely as they can be. His Americano is fairly simple, but the Marshmallow World requires a bit more finesse, and you lavish attention on the fluff, swirling it beautifully, even though you know it’ll stick to the lid anyway.

(Okay, listen. Whoever this person Yoongi is seeing must be as nice as he is. They both deserve nice drinks.)

There’s something sweet about it, actually. Before the lids go on, you spent a second staring down at the drinks and the juxtaposition between them; black coffee and white marshmallow, bitter and sweet, night and day. It’s lovely, really, these two opposing things coming together. You wonder what Yoongi’s partner is like. Exuberant and bright, rather than his subdued warmth? A balance, yin and yang, opposite but complementary.

(Isn’t that a nice thing to think about? Finding someone who’s different to you but matches you so well?)

You firmly press the lids into place, making sure they’re secure. The protective cardboard sleeve of Yoongi’s Americano has his name—the name you’ve memorised, written out countless times—while the Marshmallow World has a scrawled happy face, and an enjoy! on it, for this mysterious person who likes sweet drinks. You do sincerely hope they enjoy it. You really do.

“The fluff blocks the hole,” you warn, sliding the cardboard tray for both drinks carefully across the counter. “It’s probably a better idea to just take the lid off.”

Something flickers across Yoongi’s face, too fast for you to identify. But then he nods, lifting the tray up with equally careful hands. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says.

He’s always polite to everyone, Taehyung and the other baristas, but he seems to smile at you the most. He’s smiling at you now, curling at the corners of his lips, and you smile back, fighting through ten layers of embarrassment and self-inflicted shame to do so. Just because he smiles at you the most doesn’t mean anything. You can smile at people and not have it be weird; it doesn’t mean you return their ill-fated attraction.

Why, oh why, oh why.

By the time Taehyung returns to the counter, having escaped the chatty, kind clutches of the elderly couple, Yoongi is long gone. Your fellow barista finds you crouched down in front one of the cupboards with your head in your hands.

“Y/n?” He sounds incredibly concerned. “Are you okay? Do you have a headache? Are you sick?”

You let out a quiet noise, a mix between a whale dying and a hippo trying to swallow porridge, muffled into your palms. “I’m such a doughnut,” you say. “Just an absolute doughnut.”

Taehyung crouches beside you. “A glazed doughnut or a jam doughnut?”

Your hands drop away from your face as you think. “Plain,” you say, eventually. “Unglazed. No toppings or fillings.” A little sad and disappointing. It seems fitting.

Taehyung puts a hand on your shoulder, warm and comforting. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You feel embarrassed all over again, thinking about admitting your (now-squashed) crush to your friend. It was stupid in the first place, crushing on a customer, especially as you’d barely spoken to him; Yoongi might be cute, and nice, but your crush was silly and dumb and you’d been silly and dumb not to think that he was already in a relationship.

“I’m fine,” you say. “Just going through it. And by ‘it’ I mean life generally, you know?”

Taehyung makes a noise of understanding, patting your shoulder. “Big mood,” he says sombrely. He always knows what to say, empathetic to a fault.

“Uh,” a customer says, craning over the counter to see the two of you. “Sorry to interrupt, but can I get a refill on my coffee, please?”

That effectively kills the conversation, which is good. Keep yourself busy and distracted. By the time you see Yoongi next week, this crush will be dead and gone and you’ll be fine. Just fine. Absolutely fine.

He’s dyed his hair.

It’s a Tuesday afternoon, the café is full of people, and Yoongi has dyed his hair.

You’d spent all of last Tuesday alternating between all-consuming guilt and embarrassment, Taehyung catching you with your head in your hands in one moment and furiously cleaning the steam wand the next, channeling your tumult of emotions into anything that will distract you.

It had worked. Mostly. You’ve had a week’s worth of time since, to get over this month’s long crush, your brain consistently reminding you that Yoongi is in a relationship, with someone who’s probably lovely and attractive and all around just wonderful (just like him). You remind yourself about this every time you find coffee grounds under your nails, or notice milk flecked on your apron, soured and off-white after a day of work; your life isn’t a meet-cute, and you’re not the cute barista who falls in love with the cute regular. You’re the tired barista who makes more cups of coffee in a day than most people probably drink in a year, and Yoongi is the cute regular who’s already in a long term relationship and comes to Paradise just because he likes the dark roast you use. That’s as far as it will go, because this is real life, and not a romance film or novel. (Even if you wished that it was.)

You’ve come to terms with it. Really, you have. But then he has to step into the coffee shop looking like that, his hair bleached so blond it almost looks white, silver hoops in his ears, and he’s still dressed in dark clothes but he’s wearing glasses, no, this isn’t a drill, Yoongi’s dyed his hair, he’s all light and dark, soft and sharp, and you want to crouch behind the counter again. Because he looks so good and of course he’s in a relationship because he’s hot, and you feel dumb for not having realised it sooner.

You can’t hide behind the counter, though. There’s a queue of people, all waiting for your attention and your time, and it’s still just you and Taehyung; none of your usual Christmas temps are back yet, still away at uni, hence the we’re hiring! posters that are up for all the customers to see (and mostly ignore). The seasons are changing and the weeks are passing and the really eager people are starting to think about Christmas shopping; you swear you don’t even need a calendar, able to trace how close you are to Christmas just based on the amount of foot traffic the coffee shop gets. You’re definitely hitting peak.

But it’s fine. You have this down to a fine art. You and Taehyung are both good on the till and scarily efficient at making drinks and plating food, dancing past each other with an ease that only comes with time spent working together and friendship alongside.

People aren’t ordering the weekly special as much, either, not today. You can’t blame them. Candy Cane Dreams is a white hot chocolate, flavoured with mint and coloured green, topped with whipped cream and sprinkles of candy cane bark and red and green drizzle too; it’s… pretty overwhelming. So it means you don’t have to take over for Taehyung from the bar, focusing on smiling at customers and soothing them after their wait, taking their orders and shuffling them along as quickly as you can. You keep a smile plastered on your face as Taehyung pulls espresso shots and grabs tea bags and heats milk, routine and familiar.

When Yoongi steps up to the counter, you’ve barely had time to mentally prepare yourself, so focused on serving everyone else in the queue; it feels like a slap to the face, a kick to the knees, but then you take one deep breath and exhale. Long, deep, slow, forcing air out of your lungs and thoughts out of your mind, and you smile.

You’ve been so careful up until this point, wanting to keep Yoongi happy, wary of misstepping—but he’s just a regular customer. You feel more confident, now, less worried about breaking this tenuous thing you thought you’d had; less worried about what you’re doing being construed as some weird, roundabout way of flirting, because. You know. He’s in a relationship, so it doesn’t matter either way. He’s definitely not interested. You can talk to him like you would anyone else.

So you say: “You dyed your hair.”

And, just like you suspected, Yoongi doesn’t seem bothered that you’ve broken your usual script. “Oh, yeah.” He reaches up, touches his head, as if he’d forgotten. “I did.”

“It looks nice,” you continue, because it does.

He’s smiling back at you. He looks pleased; maybe a little bashful, even, as surprising as that is. “Thanks,” he says, warm and genuine. (The tiny gremlin of a crush that’s still lurking in your soul lets out a wistful sigh.) “Can I get a large Americano and a—” he squints at the board— “large Candy Cane Dream, please?”

(One plus one is two, Yoongi and his other half, the sugar to his coffee.)

“Sure!” Your voice is bright. “I’m guessing the Marshmallow World went over well?”

There’s a brief beat of silence, but you don’t notice, too focused on typing Yoongi’s order into the till.

“Yeah, it was great,” he says after that moment of quiet, and you smile. Good. You’re glad they enjoyed it.

“I’m really happy to hear that,” you say, genuine and bright.

“What’s actually in the, ah, Candy Cane Dreams?” Yoongi asks, and you laugh, leaning forward conspiratorially.

“It’s horrendous,” you say in a low voice, as if you’re sharing a secret. “Have you ever seen green hot chocolate before?”

You’ve never spoken to Yoongi like this, easy and light, and it’s… nice. He gives no indication of surprise at your sudden friendliness after months of barely talking. If anything he looks pleased, and at one point he even gives you a smile you’ve never seen before, wide and wonderful, flashing his teeth and gums. (The crush gremlin rattles at your ribcage like prison bars, trying desperately to escape, but you don’t give it a chance.)

“Alright, let me just swap with the other barista, he’s still not gotten the Candy Cane Dreams recipe down.”

You hear a suspicious crunch as you make your way over to Taehyung. He turns to you with a guilty smile, edged with sugar, munching on shards of candy cane while his back is to the customers.

“You’re terrible,” you say affectionately. “Go take over on the till, I have a special to make.”

Taehyung glances over, sees Yoongi making his way down to the collection point. “Huh. Alright.”

The Candy Cane Dreams recipe might be a questionable one, but it’s definitely fun to make (watching the white hot chocolate turn green makes you feel like a kid all over again, mixing shampoos together in your bathroom and calling them potions), and maybe you’re overly generous with the candy cane bark, giving Yoongi’s beau more to nibble on and enjoy. It’s not Christmas yet but you’re already in a giving mood, so sue you.

“Here you go.” You slide the drinks towards him, the man busy reading one of the vacancy fliers, eyes flicking away from the poster when you appear. Your lips quirk up. “Looking for a job?”

You’re expecting a huff of a laugh, a small shake of the head, but he answers you seriously. “Not me, but I have a friend who is,” he says, reaching to take the tray.

You realise your hands are still curled around the cardboard; you quickly pull away so that there’s no chance your hands will brush. (You might have shoved your crush down as far as it will go, but you have to be careful with your weak, gooey heart.)

“We could do with any help, honestly. Your friend is more than welcome to apply.” You glance over at the queue, which is small but ever present, and you know it’ll only get worse as time goes on. “And, hey, if you ever decide for a change of pace from whatever it is you do, we’d be glad to have you, too.”

This gets a laugh from him, a warm burst of sound. (The gremlin points out that this is the first time you’ve heard him laugh, really laugh, a little raspy and a little quiet and altogether lovely; you beat the gremlin back with a stick.) “I’m better at drinking coffee than I am at making it,” Yoongi says, eyes soft with lingering amusement. “I’ll leave that to the experts.”

You might have gone off script, but the nod he gives you is his usual one, that familiar tilt of the head. “See you next week?” His eyes are dark, dark and deep, and it’s so hard not to fall into them, to fall all over again.

“See you next week,” you echo, hoping the smile you plaster on your face doesn’t look as forced as it feels, as you struggle once more. Yoongi is just nice, okay? He's just being nice, but still. He needs to let a girl breathe.

(He needs to let the gremlin of her crush wither away, instead of making it threaten to come back as strong as before, fuelled by his smile and his eyes and his everything.)

(... maybe you’re not as over this crush as you thought you were.)

It seems like the we’re hiring! posters actually worked.

“I’m Jungkook,” says the new starter, all crooked smiles and warm eyes and thighs so thick they threaten to split the trousers of the café’s uniform, ties of his apron emphasising his small waist.

(“Good lord,” Taehyung says faintly.)

It’s the last week of November and even though Jungkook is still learning the ropes, he’s a massive help, and you know he’ll be a lifesaver over Christmas. He’s eager, learns quickly, and gets stuck right in, material of his shirt straining across his shoulder blades when he rips a bag of coffee beans open with his bare hands, rather than having to use scissors like you or Taehyung.

Taehyung watches with stars in his eyes as Jungkook pours the beans into the grinder. You cover your smile by sipping at one of the espresso shots Jungkook has pulled—full-bodied and dark, rich in your mouth.

“This is really good, Jungkook,” you say. He looks over, eyes squeezing into a smile.

“Thought it would be,” he says, and you can’t help but huff a laugh into the tiny espresso cup. He’s cocky and competitive, telling you that he’d never made coffee before but he was going to do a better job than any of the other baristas here. He’s too endearing to come across as arrogant, though, and you have to admit that the coffee is good. (Not as good as yours or Taehyung’s, of course, but still. Pretty good.)

Taehyung coos at him and reaches out to shamelessly squeeze his bicep. “Jungkookie is a natural barista.”

Jungkook’s cocky smile turns equal parts pleased and flustered. You continue to sip at the espresso as Taehyung moons over him, then the bell above the door rings, and the mooning temporarily is put on hold. (Temporarily, because Taehyung continues to moon over him for the rest of the shift, insisting on doing the bulk of his training, which is fine by you.)

It’s the 1st of December tomorrow, so not only do you have to clean after the café is locked up, you have to put out all the Christmas decorations, too. But it’s more fun that it is work, the three of you dragging the tree out of the storage room and decorating it with a menagerie of tinsel and baubles; Jungkook lifts Taehyung so he can get the star on the tree, wrapping his arms around Taehyung’s waist and hoisting him up effortlessly, leaving your friend with a pleased smile on his face.

Jungkook is new, only on his second shift, but he’s slotted in so easily. He laughs at Taehyung when he wiggles his butt along to the Christmas songs you've put on to play, and he helps steady the stepladder as you string garlands of snowflakes on the ceiling, even if he doesn’t really need to.

He absently readjusts the reindeer headband Taehyung had unearthed from the storage room and proudly placed on his head. “Yoongi-hyung talks a lot about this place,” Jungkook comments, offhand.

If you’d heard this a few weeks ago, you probably would have fallen off the stepladder, inner gremlin grabbing your heart with both hands and squeezing tight-tight-tight. As it is you only pause for a moment, one of the larger snowflakes cradled in your palm, before you go back to your job of hanging them up.

“So you’re the friend he mentioned that needed a job,” you say.

“That’s me.” Jungkook grins, boyish and bright, and you laugh. “He really, really likes this café. Wouldn’t shut up about it, even before he told me that you were hiring.”

You can’t imagine Yoongi gushing about a café to his friends, but then again, he clearly is passionate about his coffee. Jungkook will know him better than you, having a real friendship rather than this patron-and-customer back-and-forth that you’ve had, so who are you to imagine what’s normal for Yoongi and what isn’t? You didn’t even know he was in a relationship, after all. You don’t know anything about the guy, really.

“Well, we appreciate his custom,” you say. “I know Yoongi is the one who actually comes in, but you can thank his other half, too, and I hope they enjoy their drinks as well.”

You’re too busy hanging the garland to see the way Jungkook’s face twists.

“Huh?”

“You know. Yoongi always comes in for his Americano and the weekly special for his partner,” you say.

You’re focused on stepping down the ladder without falling to see the expression on Jungkook’s face, nose scrunched and lips pursed, like there’s something he’s smelled that he really doesn’t like.

“Did he say that to you? That it was for someone else?”

“Hm?” You pause in grabbing another string of snowflakes, glancing up. “Oh, no, I just worked it out, you know? Yoongi is a religious coffee drinker, why else would he order something that’s basically hot sugar water? I think it’s cute,” you add, belatedly. “That he always comes in to grab something for them, too.”

(You wish you had someone to do that for you.)

There’s a beat of silence. Jungkook’s holding the stepladder, ready to move it, staring at you in a way that’s weirdly intense. “I see,” he says, like that isn’t weird or mysterious at all.

Then he drags the stepladder’s rubber feet across the floor with such a loud noise that Taehyung startles, bauble falling out of his hand and shattering. Jungkook, of course, profusely apologises and insists on cleaning it up—but not before making sure Taehyung is okay, of course, grabbing his hands and looking over them, as if the bauble had broken in his palms and not the floor.

Taehyung looks immensely pleased. You just smile quietly to yourself, roll your eyes lightly, and go back to hanging snowflakes as Jungkook speaks to Taehyung, soft and low.

You think your favourite thing about training a new starter is witnessing their reaction to the weekly special.

“So,” Jungkook says, slowly. “You put in the whole gingerbread man—gumdrops and icing and all—and just blend it?

“Yep.” Taehyung’s reply is cheery. “Straight in and whizz it all up.”

This week, it’s You Can’t Catch Me, I’m the Gingerbread Frappé which is a) probably the longest name known to mankind and b) probably the most questionable name known to mankind and c) who orders a frappé in December?

These thoughts are clearly playing across Jungkook’s face as Taehyung coaxes him to drop the gingerbread man into the blender, and you’re too busy enjoying the consternation on Jungkook’s face to notice someone stepping up to the counter—until they clear their throat, that is, and you all turn.

“Hi,” Yoongi says.

“Oh! Hi,” Taehyung says.

“Hyung! Look!” Jungkook says.

“Jungkook, wait—” you say.

“Whirr,” the lidless blender says.

It’s chaos. Frappé ends up everywhere, splattered over the counter and the floor, splashed across the wine-red aprons of both of your fellow baristas, as close to the blender as they were—saving you from any of the sugary fallout, unwitting human shields.

There’s a beat of silence, where you all stare at each other—

And then Yoongi laughs.

You’ve never seen Yoongi laugh this loudly, eyes squeezed so hard you wonder if he can even see, almost cackling as he laughs at Jungkook’s expression, joyful and loud and free. It’s another dimension to him, another new part you witness as Jungkook wipes gingerbread and ice off his face and Taehyung stares at the mess spattered across his hands and arms.

It makes you think of a paper crane. Yoongi is this unfinished thing in your mind, each new thing you learn about him another fold that you add, a flat sheet of paper turned into something entirely and wholly new. You wish that it weren’t so alluring, watching it come together, finding out more and more about this man you’ve technically known for months, but only recently started to get to know.

(You wish that it wasn’t so easy to keep falling for him.)

Once the counter is cleaned, both Jungkook and Taehyung retreat to replace their aprons, leaving you—once again—alone with Yoongi. He’d stopped laughing to tease Jungkook, to gently rib him, but you can see the smile that’s etched on his face, the echoes of mirth written across all his features.

“We usually train the baristas to keep the lid on, I swear,” you say, and Yoongi’s face splits into another smile.

“I was going to say that it’s an unorthodox blending technique,” and you can’t help but smile back at this, even if you’ve been trying not to laugh. Professionalism barely wins out, your lips trembling as you try to hold your giggling back, but Yoongi spots it anyway, looking pleased, like he’s accomplished something by getting you to (nearly) laugh.

You’re not laughing when you have to make one of the special frappés, though. You stare at the gingerbread man as you hold him above the blender, at his cheery iced face and his cute little buttons (not the gumdrop buttons), and brace yourself to drop him.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, and let him go, before quickly slamming the lid on top and turning the blender on so you don’t have to look at the betrayal you’ve just committed.

When you turn, Yoongi has an expression of sympathy on his face; for you or the gingerbread man, you can’t tell, but his face smooths the second he notices you looking at him, blinking innocently, as if there’s nothing unusual going on. It’s disarming, seeing that expression on his face, when you’d gotten used to seeing him act more reserved, but it’s cute.

(It is cute, whether you’re crushing on him or not. It’s just a statement of fact, okay? It’s nothing more than that. Even if that tiny gremlin of a crush still lives in your chest, scuffing its feet against your heart, reminding you of its presence when you least need it.)

(It digs its heels in when you put the frappé and Americano side by side, nestled snug in their cardboard tray. You slide it towards Yoongi and you’re a little too slow, fingers brushing his when he reaches for them; you’re surprised by how quickly he moves, how eager he seems to be reaching for his order, fingertips dragging across the back of your knuckles, and the gremlin kicks your heart, pulse rising just at that glancing touch. Even if you know it’s fruitless, useless, you can’t help but like Yoongi anyway.)

(“See you next week,” he says, and you can’t do anything but smile helplessly back.)

You normally love snow. You love waking up to the sight of it, pure and pristine white, adding another dimension to your familiar world—you love snowball fights and snowmen and snow angels, even if it all leaves you feeling cold, chilled right to the bone, nose running and hands freezing. The best part about winter is getting warm again, the season of throw blankets and hot water bottles, knitwear and scarves, tea and hot cocoa, all cosy and lovely and wonderful.

It’s a bit different when you have to work all day, though. You watch as the snow on the streets outside is threatened by the spray of salt and a thousand spinning car wheels and busy feet, ice turned to slush water; for now the snow is winning, though, and judging from the weather forecast, you think that’ll be the case for the rest of the day. You hope it lasts through to tomorrow, too; by the time you get home you’ll be too tired and it’ll be too dark to play in the snow, and it leaves you feeling disappointed and sad.

(Winter is lovely but it can be a hollow season, too, something about the leafless trees and fogged windows making everything feel like an empty dream.)

At least Paradise is warm, even if you’re cooped up inside, safe from the still-falling snow that keeps trying to turn the world into an untouched, frozen wonderland. It’s quiet in the coffee shop today. Only the bravest of people have ventured out into the not-a-blizzard-but-basically-a-blizzard, plastered against radiators and putting drinks to their faces, letting hot steam heat their cold cheeks.

It’s why you’re both surprised and unsurprised when Yoongi appears, bell chiming above his head as the door swings shut and he stamps his feet on the front mat, knocking snow off his boots. He somehow looks disgruntled and soft all at the same time, a royal blue beanie on his head forcing his fringe down to sit messily over his eyes, bundled up warm even if his face is scrunched up and his cheeks are red from the cold.

“I hate cold weather,” he tells you once he reaches the counter, gloves peeled off his fingers so he can reach for his wallet, his nose tinged pink as he sniffs.

You proffer him a box of tissues. “You look like you need it,” you say gently, and he smiles at you, a warm hearth in the cold winter.

“Thank you.” His voice is equally as gentle as yours, and something aches in your chest.

It’s just you behind the counter right now, so you take Yoongi’s order and make the drinks too—one large Americano and one large Latteggnog (a basic latte made with eggnog instead of milk, rich and thick and creamy), this week’s special: everyone’s favourite Christmas drink, but with a twist of coffee.

The quiet gives you time to think. Jungkook and Taehyung are out back, the older barista coming up with the most ridiculous excuses to take them away from the counter; you don’t mind that they’re taking the time ‘counting the coffee beans’, as deserted as the café is.

The café is practically empty and Yoongi hates the cold but here he is, venturing into the ice and snow to get this person he cares about the drink they want, because they’re that special to him. (You hope they realise how lucky they are.)

You’re normally okay being single. Don’t really think about it. But there’s something about today, this moment, that has you reflecting; Taehyung has this budding thing with Jungkook, Yoongi has this steady thing with his love, and here you are, by yourself, alone. It’s hard to summon up your usual energy, going through the motions as you make the drinks. You tilt your head forward, dusting nutmeg on the eggnog latte, watching the way the sprinkle of spice settles delicately and softly in the foam. No flourish, no flick of the wrist, not today.

(There’s two cups in front of you now, but later, when you’re home, there’s just going to be one. Yours. Yours, and no one else’s.)

(When you get home, you’re going to do what any self-respecting single person would do: order too much takeaway, rewatch The Good Place, get emotional over Eleanor and Chidi’s relationship—they’re so different but they’re so perfect for each other, why can’t you have that?—mope for a bit, rewatch The Princess Bride, get emotional over Westley and Buttercup—where’s your cute farmboy who saves you from an evil prince?—mope a bit more, before finally climbing into bed and hugging a pillow to your chest in the space of having someone else there. You know. Perfectly normal single person things.)

When you turn to Yoongi, drinks ready and raring to go, you’ve forced a Customer Service Smile onto your face. They say that just the act of smiling makes you happier, right? Maybe if you smile hard enough, you’ll cheer up, chasing away this sudden sadness that lingers in the back of your throat, scratching at your lungs like black ice.

“Here you go!” Your voice seems too loud for the quiet hush of the café, but you roll with it anyway. “Enjoy your drinks!”

Yoongi takes them from you, hands carefully cupped around the tray, but his eyes don’t leave your face. He doesn’t return your smile, as convincing as it should be (even Taehyung struggles to tell between your real smile and your work smile, sometimes); he stands for a moment, looking at you.

You think he’s about to say something when he clearly thinks better of it. He tilts his head, like he always does, but you’d swear his expression is tinged with concern. “Thanks,” he says. Pauses. “The roads are really icy. Get home safe, okay Y/n?”

Blink, blink. Your eyelashes flutter. You suddenly realise that he’s never said your name out loud, never had a need to, even if he must have known it all along from the badge on your chest. It sounds so good in his mouth, soft and safe.

“Oh,” you say, slow with surprise. “Thank you. I will. You, too.”

Yoongi nods again, as if to himself, before he turns to go.

He stops one more time before he goes. He stands at the open door, glances over his shoulder before he steps out, dark eyes meeting yours, as if checking that you’re still there, still tethered to the ground. Seems satisfied when he finds that you are. He gives you one last smile, all soft around the edges—that’s something you know intimately about Yoongi, that he’s soft through and through, even if he can look sharp, as cold as the ice outside—and then he goes, back into the falling snow to deliver a steaming sip of warmth into the hands of the person he loves.

(Your heart aches.)

It’s the week before Christmas. The whole world has that feeling it always does at this time of year—excited and bright, if a little frantic, the hanging lights in the city a backdrop to people’s last minute shopping, their breaths pluming out into the air as they rush around in the cold. The whole world feels full of life, that final push towards the end of the year; the hearth fire of Christmas before that weird in between before the new year, that held breath of potential, before the clock ticks over and the world is thrown into the next year.

Paradise has been busy. It’s like summer, only instead of sundresses and shorts, everyone is in knitwear and scarves, shivering as they wait to be served, desperate for a drink to warm them up, something to eat to fill their bellies. You spend more time in the coffee shop than you do at home, pulling overtime shifts to help your fellow baristas out—everyone thinks Christmas is a time of relaxation and coming together, but it doesn’t feel like that when you work in a customer facing job, oh no. It’s just non-stop busyness and being rushed off your feet.

(You’d barely had a chance to speak to Yoongi, café full when he’d stepped in, your pace frenetic as you’d danced around behind the counter with Taehyung and Jungkook; you’d slid his drinks towards him, his Americano and the special, and maybe your smile had looked more harrowed than you thought because he’d caught your hand and squeezed it.

“I hope you get a chance to rest over Christmas,” he’d said, concerned and sincere, as you’d stood in stunned silence, not expecting that almost-intimate touch, gentle against your skin.

“I will,” you’d said eventually. Yoongi had seemed to suddenly realise he was still touching you, fingers clasped around yours, and he’d withdrawn quickly, giving you a smile that felt like a whispered secret, before leaving you to deal with the ever-growing queue.)

Suffice to say, it’s been a long week, and you’re tired, and your feet hurt after all the running around you’ve been doing, and you just want to go home. You just need to finish the close, need to finish setting everything up for the open tomorrow, need to finish cleaning everything, and then you can get some sleep.

At least, that’s what you thought. Instead, you’re standing across from Jungkook and staring at him incredulously. You can feel a headache coming on.

“Wait.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “What do you mean, we need to deliver some coffee?”

You don’t know if Jungkook is being deliberately obtuse, but he just stares at you as if you’re the one talking nonsense right now, and not him. “We have a customer order to deliver,” he says.

“Yes, I gathered that,” you say. “I just mean, why did no one tell me sooner?”

Paradise doesn’t do deliveries, as such. You cater for events, and you technically do deliveries then, but it’s less ‘one coffee to go’ and more ‘enough sandwiches and pastries and bagels and coffee to feed an entire office’. It’s not that you can’t bring someone their order directly, it’s more that you just… don’t.

“Taehyung took the order,” Jungkook says, as if that explains everything.

You pinch the bridge of your nose again. You can’t ask Tae about it, the other man having had to leave just as you’d been about to flip the sign to closed (‘Jimin says Tannie peed in his shoes again! I have to go clean it up! I’m so sorry, I swear I’ll cover a close for each of you next time!’), so it’s just you, and Jungkook, and the slip of paper on the counter between you. You’ve worked with Taehyung long enough to trust his judgement and his decisions, as inexplicable as they might seem sometimes, but you do think it’s weird that he’s taken this delivery on board.

“It’s not too far from here,” Jungkook adds, peering at the address on the paper. “It won’t take long.”

“We have to finish closing, Jungkook,” you say.

He shrugs casually, carelessly. “I’ll do it, I don’t mind. You can just do the delivery and then go home straight after, it’s whatever.”

“It’s not whatever,” you mumble. “Why can’t you deliver it?”

“You’re the senior barista, you’re a better representative of the brand,” he says, and you have no idea where he pulled that from. (You blame Jimin. You know they’ve had shifts together, and Jimin is too smooth-talking for his own good.)

As much as you want to argue, you can’t help but cave, because the prospect of getting home early is one that you’re not about to sniff at. (You’d worry that Jungkook would get home late, what with the amount of prep he still needs to do for tomorrow, but you half suspect that Taehyung will reappear at some point, anyway.) You’re too tired to want to argue. “I just want to say this is a one off, and normally we cater for events, we’re not really a delivery service, okay?”

“Duly noted.”

It’s a simple enough order, anyway—it’s just two drinks. The first is a large quad shot latte with caramel and toffee syrup, extra whipped cream and cinnamon on top (something you’d definitely order, you think, indulgent and milky and with enough caffeine to kick you up the ass). Jungkook dutifully cleans as you start the second drink. The special this week is far, far less sweet than normal; a Rudolph the Red-eyed Reindeer: a simple red eye with a pinch of holiday spice, coffee with an extra espresso shot and topped with cinnamon and nutmeg. You take in a deep breath, swallowing down the warm smell and letting it flow through you before you double check the details on the note.

It takes you a second as you squint at the address, wondering why it looks familiar—and then you pause. This is Yoongi’s office, you think to yourself, and it feels a little like there’s an apricot pit sitting heavy in your stomach, heavy and hard. Paradise had catered a breakfast for them last week, and it hadn’t been on your shift and so you hadn’t gone, but—you’d heard enough about it from Jimin, the type who gets to know everyone and everything the second he walks in the door. You’d heard about the team that Yoongi manages, found out that Yoongi works in music, in artist and repertoire, and when you’d had the chance to Google exactly what that meant, you’d been bowled over. He has such a complex, high skilled job, and here you are, struggling to get a job with your degree, hence the barista thing. (Thanks, economy.)

You hastily shuffle past the address, trying to ward off your sudden sense of inadequacy, focusing on the name instead. What sort of name is Suga? you think to yourself, and then shrug. Probably one of the workers had enjoyed the breakfast the other week and was still hanging around before going on holiday for Christmas, or something.

“Alright, I’m off.” You’re ready to advance into the cold outside: coat on, scarf looped around your neck and hat secure on your head, cardboard tray of drinks clutched in your hands. “If you need help closing, just call me and I’ll come back, okay?”

“I won’t, but, thanks,” Jungkook says, equal parts self-assured and reassuring. “Don’t fall on your ass!”

It is icy outside, the entire world a winter wonderland, beautiful but cold and daylight long gone; snow drifts slowly from the sky above, dusting your shoulders and the top of your hat, flakes caught so softly by the weave of your clothes. It’s the kind of day that’s perfect spent indoors, curled up with the people you love, warmed through and through—and here you are, picking your way across the pavement slush to deliver a coffee to someone. (You’re not even getting paid for this.)

At least it’s not too far, really, just a few blocks away. The building is small, which is a plus, because it means you won’t have multitudes of rooms and offices to trawl past to get to your destination. The receptionist is more than helpful, too, when you say that you have a delivery for Suga; she gives you exactly directions and then she smiles at you, pleasant and pretty and lovely, and that gremlin that’s still clinging desperately onto your feelings for Yoongi whispers: what if this is Yoongi’s girlfriend? She’s beautiful.

Shut up, you think, before smiling back and thanking her, and heading on your way.

This close to Christmas you’d think that the building would be almost empty, but you’d be wrong. It’s not a buzzing hive of activity but there are still people walking around, speaking behind closed doors or laughing through open ones, decorations and tinsel hanging from the ceiling. Up ahead you see a someone come out of a room, shutting the door behind them before they walk in your direction. It’s a man who looks like he’s just stepped off the cover of a fashion magazine and as you pass in the corridor he pauses, raising his eyebrows at you. Not suspicious, just surprised.

“Uh, I have a coffee for Suga,” you say without prompting, as if he was about to accuse you of some sort of nefarious scheme and your coffee delivery is the only thing saving you from that.

“Oh,” mister-model-handsome says, suddenly smiling widely, like this is all perfectly normal and not weird at all. He’s got some of the poutiest lips you’ve ever seen. “You’re nearly there, he’s just down the corridor and on the right. Have fun!”

“Uh, you too?” you reply. (Is he Yoongi’s boyfriend? He’s tall and broad shouldered and incredibly attractive, with the type of smile that makes people’s hearts race, and Yoongi definitely deserves someone like that.)

Your destination seems to be the office the (probably) model just came out of. You look around the corridor, which seems to be deserted now, the hubbub of people elsewhere in the building. You knock quietly, not wanting to disturb the hush that’s filled the air around you.

A beat. Then: “Come in,” someone says, voice muffled through the door.

It swings open easily at your touch. You stand on the threshold, mouth open around the announcement of your delivery when the words die on your lips.

Yoongi’s there, sitting behind a desk and his head bowed as he scribbles something in a notebook. He doesn’t look up. “Shut the door,” he says. Dumbstruck, you do just that, and it’s not until the door’s quietly clicked shut that he starts to raise his head. “Hyung, I already said that I don’t need to eat—”

And then he spots you standing there.

He stops mid-sentence, mouth open, eyes widening. He looks as shocked as you feel, utterly taken aback and agog, and even now you can’t help but notice how good he looks. He’s in a black button up, sleeves rolled to the elbow and top button undone, revealing the pale skin of his collarbones. It’s another juxtaposition, the Yoongi that you’re familiar with (an aura of effortless authority and attractiveness) in a place you don’t know at all, completely professional, his desk neat and the entire space put together. There’s a tastefully decorated tree in the corner but it doesn’t throw off the balance of the room at all.

“Uh.” You cough lightly. “I have… a delivery… for Suga?”

Yoongi stares at you.

“Is this… not the right room? I can go,” you mumble, gesturing over your shoulder with a thumb.

This seems to snap Yoongi out of whatever thoughts he was having as he shakes his head. “No, this is… Suga’s office,” he says. “I just didn’t order any coffee.”

You open your mouth. Shut your mouth. You don’t have an Americano on the tray, but he’d probably like the red eye, coffee with extra coffee, no sugar or cream. Just a little pinch of spice.

“Maybe it was a surprise, or something? Couples get each other gifts all the time.”

Yoongi’s lips quirk up. “I’m not really the type that gets surprised with gifts.”

Something about this strikes a discordant note in you. He’s always delivering gifts of coffee—he deserves those expressions of love returned to him. You can’t help but say as such.

“You’re always giving gifts, though,” you say. “Those weekly specials. I wouldn’t be surprised if your other half is returning the favour.”

Blink, blink. He looks perplexed. “I don’t have an other half?”

Your mouth opens again. “Uh,” you say eloquently. “What?”

“I… don’t have an other half? I’m… single?”

“You’re…” Your face scrunches up, wrinkled in confusion. What? He’s… what? “But you always buy two drinks?”

Silence. Then: “I… the Americano is for me,” he says. “I usually just pour the special away. I only started ordering them because you got so excited talking about them and making them. I never planned on drinking them.”

Your mouth falls open, soft around a quiet breath, a soft oh. “You—wait. You ordered them because I got excited about them?”

Yoongi’s eyes are so dark, so gentle; melted chocolate, warm. “You started to talk to me more, after the first time I did,” he says, and you know you had. Because you thought it was safer to talk to him, though you were secure in the knowledge he wasn’t single—but he is single. “So I kept doing it, because I wanted to talk more to you. I thought you knew? And that’s why you started having real conversations with me.”

You’re frozen in place, eyes as big as dinner plates. Min Yoongi, your futile crush, who looks as sharp as a knife but is as sweet as spun candyfloss, has been coming back week after week—for you. He’s not in a relationship, and he’s been flirting with you.

Or at least he thought he had been. You, however, hadn’t even realised.

“I was going to ask you on a date after Christmas,” he continues, calm and steady, as if your brain isn’t melting. He’s still sitting behind his desk, and there’s something about his tousled hair and bared lower arms—watch on one wrist and a few bracelets on the other—that has your heart pounding, that casual air somehow not at odds at the weight of the surroundings. Because the world is a backdrop to Yoongi, and he makes it work.

“What the fuck,” you say. You realise you’ve never sworn in front of him when something flickers in his eyes; not a bad flicker, no. Definitely not. “I thought you were taken.”

“I’m very single,” he says lightly, belying the weight behind the words. And then his eyes drop to your hands. “You said you have a coffee for me?”

Which leads to this: Yoongi, in his chair, you, leaning against his desk. He’s taken the red eye (of course) while you sip at the latte, relishing the punch of espresso, the flavour of the syrups.

You’re both staring at each other as you drink, air in the room growing thicker by the moment, when Yoongi breaks the silence. “This is probably the only weekly special I’d actually want to drink.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Black coffee with more espresso? That’s you all over,” you say. “The other specials aren’t so bad, though. I think you just need to give sweet drinks a chance.”

You’re speaking without thinking, but the second those words leave your mouth, the air turns electric. Yoongi’s still staring at you, unwavering and intent, and everything inside you is melting, leaving you flushed and hot. The smile hasn’t left his face, which had been warm but it’s changed, evolved, edged with something sharper.

“If you say so,” he says. His eyes are on your lips. “Let me try?”

His fingers are so gentle on your face, hands cupping your jaw as he tilts your head down. All your thoughts leave you. There’s nothing in your mind but Yoongi, his warm hands and dark eyes, the heat of his body so close to yours, his mouth; you can’t help but look down, tracing the shape of his lips with your gaze, a small soft pout that’s so at odds with the weight of his intensity.

When he kisses you, it’s featherlight. Barely the softest of pressures, the potential of something more—and then he pulls you in deeper, and there it is, that heat flickering in your stomach jumping into a full fire. The kiss turns hot and wet as he licks the flavour of caramel and toffee syrup out of your mouth, and he tastes like coffee, dark and bitter; you make a noise against his lips and he swallows it down, pulls you closer.

You’re straddling his knees, a little awkward and cramped in his office chair, but you don’t care. You’ve been wanting to kiss Yoongi for so long, even when you felt like you shouldn’t, thought about his dark eyes and pink mouth, the curve of his lips, the paleness of his hands; a steadying presence around your waist, holding you in place.

When you pull apart, Yoongi’s lips are flushed, kiss swollen. It looks good on him. Really good on him.

“I’ve thought about that more than I’d like to admit,” he says, and you can’t help but feel warmed by it, the realisation that you’ve wanted to kiss him but he’s wanted to kiss you, too.

“This really isn’t comfortable,” you say, wriggling a little—your ass is starting to go numb, sat on Yoongi’s knees—and Yoongi sucks in a quick breath at the way you’re all but squirming in his lap, even if he doesn’t say anything.

Oh, you think.

When you move away, he lets you go without protest, hands sliding off your waist. It’s not until you fall to your knees that Yoongi realises what you’re doing, his eyes widening.

“Y/n,” he breathes. “You don’t have to—”

“Please, Yoongi, I’ve wanted to do this for months,” you say. Maybe it was a little crass to start with, wanting to get on your knees for a man you barely knew just because he was hot and polite to you, but now you know he wants you back. You’re not about to let this opportunity pass you by, staring up at him between his knees, hands braced on his thighs. “But if you want me to stop, I’ll stop.”

He looks torn, just for a second, eyes darting away from your face and to the door. It’s shut, but it’s not locked, and though the building is quiet there’s nothing to say that someone couldn’t walk in at any second.

Without thinking, you lick your lips. Yoongi’s eyes flicker back at the motion, watching how your tongue moves, and you can see how he crumbles.

“I don’t want you to stop,” he says, and you dig your nails into his trousers, electricity shooting through you.

“You’ll have to keep your voice down,” you warn, and reach for his zipper.

It’s a struggle for him, you can tell. He’s already biting his lip by the time you’ve tugged his trousers and boxers down, hardening under your grasp, and you knew his dick would be as pretty as the rest of him. You don’t have the luxury of worshipping him the way you want to, acutely aware of the fact you’re in his office, but it doesn’t mean you’re not going to make Yoongi feel good. It’s dirty and messy, the way you suck his cock into your mouth lewd and wet, lavishing attention on the most sensitive parts; his hips jump as you circle the head with your tongue and jerk the rest of his length with a hand.

Everything’s sloppy with spit and precum and Yoongi’s biting off curses, hand tightening in your hair as you take in as much of him as you can, relaxing your throat and swallowing him down, down, down. When you look up at him through your lashes he looks wrecked, the paleness of his skin flushed pink, and you can’t wait to see that all over. Can’t wait to see Yoongi entirely bare in front of you, when you have the luxury of time and pleasure.

But there’s something about this, too, that has your heart racing, cunt throbbing. You’re running your spit slick lips down the side of his shaft, tonguing the throb of the vein there, when you hear footsteps nearby, muffled through the door. It doesn’t sound like they’re coming in this direction and Yoongi seems almost entirely lost to the feeling of your mouth on him, but you flick your tongue across the spot where the head of his cock meets the shaft and he bows forward, swallowing down the noise that threatened to spill from his lips. He’s so fucking hot like this, falling apart under your hands and mouth, and you know he’ll give as good as he gets.

“Gonna cum,” he rasps. You smile up at him before taking his cock back into your mouth, jerking him off hard and fast as you lick and suck—and when he cums it’s with a noisy exhale of breath, a muffled groan, and even as you’re swallowing down his cum and mouthing at him until he winces with oversensitivity, you’re imagining what he sounds like when he doesn’t have to be quiet.

He’s not shy, either. You’ve barely tucked him back in when he’s reaching for you, kissing you. There’s no taste of coffee any more and you shiver, molten and boneless at the way his tongue presses into your mouth.

“Still want to take me on a date?”

You’re being cheeky, voice light as you joke, but Yoongi’s responding look is equal parts serious and affectionate. He sweeps a thumb over your cheekbone and you relax into his hands, feeling like a cat that got the cream. Here you are, on your knees in his office, the glittering lights of his Christmas tree thrown across your hair and skin, warmed by the touch of a man you’ve wanted for months but never thought you would get.

“Of course,” he murmurs, gentle-gentle-gentle, as if you hadn’t just sucked his soul through his dick—and you love that about him, love his inherent soft core, his big heart. You might not know him as well as you’d like—not yet—but you already know that much about him. “I owe you a present, too.”

Your face scrunches. “What, because I gave you a blowjob?”

At this he laughs, mouth split wide and gums on show as his whole body shakes with the intensity of it. “No, because you brought me a coffee,” he says. He still has your cheek cupped in his hand, palm warm against your skin. “But if you want to say it’s because of the blowjob as well, then sure.”

“There’s plenty more where that came from.” You smile at him, gentle expression at odds with the meaning behind the words and your position—still on your knees.

You don’t know if they ache when you stand, because Yoongi is kissing you again, distracting you. And it’s easy, this back and forth you have, comfortable as you finish the (now lukewarm) coffees and get ready to go, because Yoongi insists on walking you home. Because he’s a gentleman, your gentleman, and he even holds the door open for you.

You’re not sure if you can reach for his hand, if that would be too forward in his place of work, if he doesn’t want to when this thing between you is so tentative and new. But you’re barely halfway down the corridor when he stops you with a gentle hand on your arm; when you look over, he’s smiling at you, and then tilts his chin up.

“Oh!” You stare at the huge bundle of mistletoe above you, tied with red ribbon and messily taped to the ceiling. It brings a smile to your face. “Oh, how cute.”

The hand on your arm shifts down. Yoongi weaves his fingers with yours.

“You know about the tradition, right?” There’s a twinkle in his eyes, and it’s not just from the lights from the ceiling above, turning his dark eyes into warm chocolate, deep brown. “Kissing under the mistletoe?”

You can’t help but blink, surprised at his sweetness, his forwardness. There’s nothing to say that someone couldn’t walk by right now, to see the two of you hand in hand under the mistletoe, but Yoongi doesn’t care at all. He’s staring at you like you’re the only other person in the world, and you feel like a fountain of champagne is bubbling inside you, heady and sparkling and light.

“I think I’ve heard of it,” you say, and he’s still smiling, a small thing, just for you. “Do you think you can show me?”

And he does, with his hand in yours, your lips against his, and up above, the mistletoe sparkles.

(Your phone rings. Caller ID says it’s Taehyung, but when you pick up, he’s not the one who speaks.

“So.” Jungkook sounds knowing, his voice bordering on smug. “How did the delivery go?”

In the background you can hear someone crowding close, put it on speaker, Kookie, I want to hear too, and you can’t help but smile at Taehyung’s eagerness.

“Good,” you say. Yoongi’s palm is warm against yours and you swing your joint hands together, looking at him, entranced by the way the snowflakes dust his eyelashes. The sky above is dark and the wind around you is cold, but the man beside is so bright and warm. You feel wrapped up in it. “Yoongi says he’s going to kill you, by the way.”

“He won’t,” Jungkook says cheerfully, loud enough that Yoongi can hear. He looks fond.

“Well, tell Taehyung I’m going to kick his ass for lying about Tannie peeing on Jimin’s shoes,” you say.

“You won’t,” Taehyung says, equally as cheerful, and you can’t help but smile.

“No, I won’t,” you say.

You think about the seasons. You think about the man walking beside you; the man who says he hates cold weather, but has kept his gloves off so he can feel your hand against his. The man who came out in the snow to order a drink, just to make you smile. The man who looks like winter but feels like spring, something cold bursting into potential, new life.

In the depth of winter, under the snow and twinkling Christmas lights above, Yoongi squeezes your hand.)

taglist: @beyoncesdragon @vensulove

#btswritingcafe #btswriterscollective #magicshopnet #houseofddaeng #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #bts #yoongi au #bts au #yoongi #yoongi scenario #yoongi imagine #yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #joy.masterlist #PLEASE feel free to message me with any typos or whatever and I'll get on those when I have a chance

3K notes · View notes

psychogirlfriendandsupervillain · 3 years

Text

Leading Question

One shot (ish)

Benny Watts x Reader*

(* Reader wears a skirt, has hair long enough to pull (like anything longer than a buzzcut) and a vagina, so anyone who identifies with that: it’s free real estate. I am considering writing a copy that is fully gender-neutral, so if anyone wants that let me know (although I’m likely to do it anyway).)

Content/warning tags: NSFW, 18+, Smut (but it’s the slowest pacing smut, talking slow-burn but they’re both already in the bed, no joke), fluff?, friends to lovers, mention of alcohol, swearing, oral (male receiving), making out, heavy petting, really a whole lotta kissing, porn with no plot?, the porn is the plot, foreplay more like half the fucking play, hair pulling kink, mention of knife kink, sex, plotted during a figurative and literal fever, edited during a figurative and literal heat wave, we love it here.

Summary: Benny half-confesses to his attraction to the reader during a night at the bar and reader takes his clumsily put question and turns it into a homerun.

Word Count: 7k (this is what happens when you give me THAT and then take it away)

A/N: Entirely self-indulgent piece of smut thought out during two hours at 4 AM (and then throughout the rest of the day) the day after watching Fork, because I was frustrated and Benny is hot, whoopsie.

@go-catch-a-chickn showed some interest in what I was writing, but I bet you regret that now! Nonetheless, here’s your tag, have fun!

I’m open to criticism, just shoot me a message or an ask. Let me know if I’ve got errors or missed a warning.

--------

You and Benny were friends since high school. Not because you also played chess, but because you had been making out with your boyfriend in the back of the library and Benny had come looking for a chess book that was on the shelf you were leaning on. You two paused, moved to the side so that he could pull out the book and then he was on his way.

A few days later Benny was in the cafeteria and came up a few cents short, when a voice next to him told the woman at the register that they would pay for his meal as well as their own. He looked over at you as the cashier added your things to the total and you smiled.

“Now you have money over for other things.”

It continued like that for the rest of both of your high school stays. You would catch him in the corridor and strike up conversations before heading off for you next class. When your relationship with your boyfriend ended (mutually, it should be said; he was interested in another girl, you felt the spark wasn’t there anymore), you told Benny after he asked why you looked a little glum. He was supportive but didn’t bring it up again.

Now the two of you are sat at a bar counter, a bottle in front of each of you, as the day is winding down. You meet up like this between his tournaments and whatever else is going on your lives, touchdowns in the well-known amidst it all. The buzz of patrons has calmed down and outside the curtained windows the street is black, broken up by spots of the streetlights.

“Do you-“ Benny stops. He’s half turned towards you, left hand around his beer on the counter, legs facing you, but his eyes are currently at the bottles lined up against the back wall where the bartender is pouring a drink for someone down the line.

You put down your bottle after a sip, resting your hand on it just like he is. Benny starts again.

“What do you do when your dick tells you to sleep with your friend, but your brain tells you it’s not a good idea?” He’s still not looking at you. It’s almost a hypothetical, almost a thought about someone else.

You shrug, taking a last sip before turning forward.

“I don’t know, I follow what my pussy says.” With that you get up and put money on the counter to close your tab, seeing Benny jump in the corner of your eye at your answer. You’re pulling on your coat as you start for the door, slow enough that he’ll catch up no problem.

“Wait.” He’s at your side in no time. “I’ll walk you to your place.” Even in the slight shade of his hat you can see that he’s a bit flustered.

“You sure?” Benny nods. “Otherwise I could walk you to yours. It’s farther.” You push up the inner set of doors and Benny follows you into the dark airlock entryway.

“Why would you want to walk where it’s farther?” He asks behind you, a frown audible in his voice, and you hold up your hand to signal for him to wait as you push up the second set of doors.

The air rushes against you and the hum of a road somewhere off campus reaches your ears. There’s no one on the walk path running between fields of grass and lines of trees. It’s still too early for the streets to be filled with people getting home from the bars, too late for any overtime workers dragging their feet.

“Honestly?” You turn to Benny, who’s standing with his coat still unbuttoned and arms hanging at his sides, like he isn’t sure what to do with them. “Because I’m hoping to get invited up, and if I’m going to get fucked, I want to be in your bed, surrounded by the scent of you.”

It takes a second. Then he’s a little bit closer. Not that he was far away before, but he’s close enough that when he leans a little forward you don’t have to take a step to close the gap. Your lips run against his, soft and slow, with the slight scratch of his mustache against your skin, warm cotton and leather so close now, and then you step back, absentmindedly swiping your tongue over your own lips to chase his taste. His eyes flicker between your eyes and your lips.

“Your place or mine?” Benny’s voice is a little rough; maybe it’s the drinking, maybe it’s the kiss.

“Again, yours.” You quirk your lip and reach to catch Benny’s hand, warm in yours. Pulling him into motion you start walking in the direction of his apartment, shoes echoing against the asphalt.

“I’m not sure I will make it that far.” He sounds a bit tortured, and you laugh, squeezing his hand.

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you make it. And if you don’t, I’ll help you clean up and wait for you.”

Benny makes a noise.

“Tell me about Open Sicilian.” You look forward at the empty road as you walk.

“What?” He looks at you.

“To distract you, explain Open Sicilian to me.” He has explained that particular tactic to you several times before, not that it necessarily stuck too well.

“That’s not going to help!” Benny throws head back with a frustrated laugh. The sound makes your stomach flutter. “You’re going to make me tell you about chess, and then ask questions, to keep me distracted? Like you showing sincere interest in it isn’t going to just make it harder to focus.” He shakes his head, looking out over the empty street. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You would have gotten there quicker if Benny hadn’t stopped at every tree, stone wall, and doorway to push you against it and kiss you. He even sat down on a bench when you were halfway and pulled you down into his lap. You let yourself be pulled down but wouldn’t go along with his attempts to make you straddle him, despite his hand on your inner thigh through your skirt and his insistent, chasing kisses.

As you reach the building you let go off Benny’s hand so he can punch in the code for the door. He leads you up the hollow stairwell to his door, noisily unlocks it and lets you in before him.

It’s a short hallway with doors leading off to the kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom, lit by some cool light falling in from the open doorway to the kitchen. There are hooks for jackets with a pile of shoes beneath it to one side, and a table holding a phone and newspapers further in.

The lock clicks behind you and Benny turns around, dropping his keys back down in his coat pocket. Just as he faces you, you push him back against the door. Shock flashes in his eyes and his lips part but when you place your against his he quickly responds, pushing back against you, his tongue running against your bottom lip, inviting you to taste it. It’s with difficulty that you pull back.

“Okay, I lied.” You admit as you get onto your knees, looking back up at him. “Can I?”

Benny’s breaths are unsteady, and you have to ask him to repeat it before you can clearly hear him consent.

You hum, pushing aside his leather coat to hold his hips back against the door, pulling his belt out from its loops so you can undo the buckle. Benny closes his eyes and groans as you let the belt with his knife still attached fall back against his legs and undo his button and zipper.

“Don’t be too loud, you don’t want the neighbors to hear you, do you? Even solid wood doors are thinner than walls.” You wink up at him and he repeats the sound, head leaning back against the door and hips pushing forward. If you didn’t believe Benny before, you definitely would now, as you feel how hard he is through the barriers of fabric. He’s solid and warm against your hands.

Pushing his jeans down, you move his boxers carefully until you can pull them down as well. Precum is leaking down the underside of his erect cock and his hips push forward again, impatiently this time. You circle your hand around him, the other resting against his hip so that maybe he’ll stay in place, not having the patience to start stroking before you take him in your mouth.

The sound Benny makes when your lips close around his cock is far too loud and not loud enough. His breathing audibly speeds up, encouraging you to run your tongue along the underside each time you pull back. Sucking down his cock, you match your movements with those of your hand, creating just the perfect rhythm that has his hips pushing against your other hand. You look up at him, meeting his eyes as you circle his tip with your tongue and he pinches his eyes closed, turning his head back up and cutting off the whine escaping his throat. You swallow around him, and the whine comes back, ending in a high pitch. You do it again. His hand pushes lightly against your shoulder, and you pull off him, sitting back and licking your lips as he meets your eyes.

“I don’t want to finish before we’ve even started.” His words are low, his hand falling back against the side of his coat. You shift your legs on the floor.

“Shame, I want you to.” You smile and bite your lip. “I told you I’d help clean you up and wait after. I’m in no rush.” Benny’s hips jerk forward again.

“Fuck” His eyes flutter shut.

“Can I?” You wait for the sound of his yes before you lick a line from the base to the head, reveling in how little he is holding back this time. Pushing his hips back a little rougher against the door to keep him in his place you earn a moan of your name which has your stomach fluttering and head spinning. One of his hands rest on your shoulder again but isn’t pushing away this time. He lets you decide the speed, albeit with the occasional jerk of his hips as he hisses and braces against the door.

“Fuck, I’-” You feel Benny tensing and look up to see him looking down on you, breathing heavily and clenching his jaw. “Fuck” He slams his head back against the door, hips pushing him further in, and you can feel the vibrations emitting from his chest all the way in the back of your throat as he releases into your mouth. You swallow it down, catching the whimper Benny makes at the feeling it gives his cock.

When you get to your feet, Benny head is hanging so the brim of his hat casts his face in shadow and he’s leaning so heavily against the door you’re not sure he’ll be standing much longer. His breathing is loud in the quiet apartment, and you can’t help the pride growing in the back of your mind. Still breathing heavily, Benny finally lifts his head enough to look at you. You meet his eyes and swipe your tongue over your lips.

His eyes flicker down to follow the movement and he groans, slumping back against the door. You smile triumphantly.

“Let’s get your clothes back on and then I’ll get water.” You help Benny get his pants back on, refastening the buckle. He’s not standing entirely stable, but enough that you can slide his coat down his arms and hang it up, followed by his hat, before you sit him down on a stool right by the door. Having hung up your own coat and switched on the lights you gesture to the kitchen door. “Do you mind?” Benny shakes his head, blond hair falling in his eyes.

You fill two glasses from the tap, throwing a glance at your watch, before returning to him. Handing one to Benny you drink the other, both of you listening to him regaining control over his breathing while you empty the glasses. As you take your last sip you place both on the hallway table and toe off your shoes.

“Want to move out of the hallway?” You hold your hand out to Benny and he’s standing before you’ve had a chance to blink.

You get precisely two steps into Benny’s bedroom before he’s kissing you again. His tongue runs softly against yours, contrasting with the scratch of his beard. He won’t even let you move forward, blocking you with his body until his hands have found their place on your hips, and even then standing stronger than you’d expect from how he looked a minute ago.

Every kiss he chases after you, when you move to the side so does he, when your tongue touches his lips his tongue comes to greet it. It’s overwhelming and intoxicating, his body heat rising and seeping through his button up and your shirt, the warm scent of leather still lingering in the air around him.

Then Benny moves backwards, pulling you with him three quick steps, refusing to let your lips part for even a second, and lets you fall on top of him on his bed.

You pull back, insisting despite his protests. He managed to switch some light on before getting lost in you, letting you full appreciate the shine in his dark eyes when he looks up at you as you brush blond strands out of his eyes. Flittering over you above him, they keep coming back to meet yours, a playful smile on his lips. You lean back down and let him capture your lips again, his hands splaying one on your back, one running up and down your side. Chasing his smile you kiss the corners of his mouth, dipping your tongue in to meet his. It’s like you’ll never run out of places to taste him.

Straightening back up and moving so you’re straddling him, you undo the first buttons of your shirt, but Benny’s hands stop yours, taking over their work with slow precision. He pulls you back down so he can continue kissing you even if it makes it harder for him to get the buttons undone, not that that seems his top priority. Sitting up and sliding the fabric down your arms Benny throws it in some corner of the room, pulling you closer against him by your hips.

“Easy, tiger.” You hum against his lips and Benny laughs a little, shifting further back on the bed and letting you both fall back against the mattress again, arms wrapped securely around your waist.

His necklaces are cool against your skin, but his hands are on fire. They run over your back and sides, up one down the other, and leave nothing but further fires under your skin. Even his rings don’t feel cold as Benny brushes his fingers up your arm to cup your head, tongue skimming your lip but withdrawing whenever you try to catch it.

Pulling back for the first time, Benny looks up at you with a mischievous smile.

“If I had known telling you I like you would lead to this, I would’ve told you already five years ago.”

Not that you’d really been open to anything at that time. Five years ago, and the five that followed, you had been entirely focused on your academics, and the only person you really hung out with had been Benny. He brought his chess books and sat with you in the library while you read up for exams. You’d chat about everything while trying to cram every bit of knowledge into your tired brains. That really only slowed down once you graduated, the hyper-focus on reading every book and spending hours writing notes over bad coffee.

“Do you want to like” You look up at the head pillows laying vertically to your bodies, and Benny starts laughing, luring you into doing the same. “move up?”

“Sure” He lets go of you so you can both get higher on the bed, but the second you’re close enough Benny pulls you back over him. “Better?”

“Much, thank you.” You smile and lean down halfway. Amused you watch Benny push up to meet you, hungry lips convincing you to push him back down into the mattress.

You can’t help the occasional shifting of your hips against his, underwear pushing against the friction of jeans below your skirt. His hands skim the hem of it, but never ventures below it, favoring to run up to your hips and draw you closer.

Running his hands up your back to hold you against him, Benny rolls you over onto your back. Settling between your legs, he braces one arm above you while the other cups the side of your head, lifting just enough for your lips to reach his.

“You know, for later, we’re still on your bed.” You remind him before kissing the corner of his mouth. Benny’s lips quirk and he follows you back down against the pillow.

“I know.” He runs his nose along the side of your neck, the chains around his sliding against your skin. Warm cotton and leather surround you, and this might actually be heaven.

Pushing back a bit Benny reaches up to undo his green button up but stops when you give him a look.

“Isn’t it my turn now?”

Benny lets go off the button and shows his hands, dropping them to your hips as you reach up, undoing the first button before pulling him down by his collar. His smile meets yours, and it only gets bigger for every button, as the release of each is met with the same celebration.

When there are no more buttons to open you slide the fabric out from his pants and down his bare arms. Holding the shirt out in one hand you look at Benny, whose eyes are locked on yours, his lips kiss-bruised.

“Does this have to be folded on a chair” You tilt your head. “or can I just throw it?”

“Throw it.” His eyes sparkle, his voice hitting a little lower and sending vibrations where your body is touching his.

The green fabric flutters to rest at the far end corner of the bed in your peripheral vision. You weren’t really looking where you were throwing.

“It didn’t even get off the bed.” You speak very seriously, as if it was a grave matter, but you’re absorbed by Benny, whose eyes are as stuck in yours as yours are in his. “If you want it off, you’ll have to throw it yourself.”

His arms shift above you, and without moving away from you or breaking eye contact Benny kicks the shirt, sending it tumbling of the edge with a soft thud as it hits the floor. You push your hips up against his, the hilt of the knife at his belt pressing against the inside of your thigh. Benny’s hips thrust back against yours and he lowers down to brush his lips against yours before devouring you again. Your thighs slide against his bare skin, and he reaches back to hook them further over his hips, swiping his tongue along yours. When Benny pulls back slightly the sound he makes fills the room, bouncing off the walls. The end of it mixes with the sigh of his name pulled from your lips as he dips the tip of his tongue into the corner of your mouth.

“Think we’ll wake the neighbors?” You lift off the bed to chase after him, not giving him a chance to reply, pushing him over onto his back. His hips shift against yours as he settles into the mattress.

“The walls are thicker than the door.” He looks up at you straddling him, his lips quirking up into a smile, blond hair falling over his eyes again. Satisfied with his answer you lower your body back down over his, occupying his mouth with yours again.

From slow, insistent kisses where Benny’s tongue runs against yours, you move to kiss the corners of his lips, his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, his forehead, and his eyelids as he closes his eyes. Continuing down his chin, alternatingly placing kisses on either side of his neck, and one at the dip at the base of his throat, passing over his chains, you shift back to trail down the right side of his chest. As your lips touch between navel and the top of his jeans, brushing along the fabric, Benny touches the side of your head.

“Don’t you dare do it again.” His tone is light and teasing, with just an edge of breathlessness and seriousness.

You move up to kiss his left hip and his hand falls back onto the mattress.

“I won’t.”

You trail back up Benny’s irregularly moving chest, out his right upper arm, and lift his hand. Pressing two more soft kisses to his inner forearm, you place one in the middle of his palm and one to the tip of each finger, before beginning again at his sternum and doing the same to his left arm.

Raising back up you push Benny’s hair from his eyes, inviting the light to dance with the sparks already in them.

“Benny Watts, you are a drug.” You smile a little breathlessly and shake your head down at him. The corners of Benny’s mouth start to raise, and he quickly swipes his tongue up to pull down his upper lip and bites down on his lower.

His attempts fail and when you kiss Benny, he’s beaming, a satisfied sound emitting from the chest pressed against yours. His heartbeats translate through your ribcage and your sentiment is repeated in your mind with a flutter in your stomach.

Ringed hands shift from your hips to your back to hold you closer against him. Somehow, you’ve forgotten Benny’s knife because you can’t even feel it at this point. You only feel the friction of his body against your, the pull of his lips.

“You should be in prison.” His tongue swipes into your mouth at that, stalling your continuation with a dizzying taste. “You should be in jail, and I should be in the same cell with you.” The vibrations of Benny’s laugh and twist of his lips reach your senses at the same time as the push of his hips. Combined they’re enough to make you say his name against his lips, repeating it when he does it again.

Lifting off the mattress Benny’s hands holds your hips down against his as he sits up, lips running down the side of your neck when they slip from yours. The scratches against your skin turn into fire running through your veins, out into your arms and fingertips as you run them over his bare shoulders, along the chains around his neck. You barely hear the sound of your name slip from his tongue against the crook of your shoulder, before Benny turns to make you fall first back into the mattress.

Benny’s hands run from your hips to the hem of your skirt, warm fingers tracing bare skin. You lift your hips against his and he pulls back, but only after sucking your lip into his mouth, swiping it with his tongue.

“Want me to get it off?”

“It’s mostly in the way at this point.” Having gotten his answer, Benny eases the skirt down, letting you lift your hips and moving so he’s not in the way. When it’s all the way off he throws the fabric the same way as your shirt, or maybe the opposite. You can’t remember.

Leaning back over you Benny brushes his lips against yours, meeting you when you arch up against him, then lets himself kiss you fully again. His hips push yours down into the mattress before he pulls them back up towards him. You roll back against him, crossing your legs behind Benny’s back, and he hisses against your lips. The sound of you saying his name causes the grind of his hips to stutter, restart, a low sound resonating in his chest, sending its aftershocks through your body as his hands squeeze your thighs a little harder.

One moves to skim the inside of your knee, hot fingers with warm rings running over equally heated skin. When it reaches the junction of your thigh and hip it slides up along the edge of your underwear and then drops beside your side to support his weight as Benny brings his other hand to hover between your legs and pulls away from your lips.

“Can I?” His dark eyes shimmer.

“Yes.” Since you can’t hear your own voice over the increased speed of your heartbeat you repeat it twice, catching the way Benny’s tongue darts out over his bottom lip as his eyes flicker down.

He runs his knuckles down the slick, wet fabric. You think you hear a breathed-out curse but are distracted when fingertips retrace the same path with just enough pressure to make your hips roll against them. The feeling is dizzying, your breathing skips. Benny’s dark eyes flick back up to yours. Then he does it again, sending sparks where the pads of his fingers almost touch you. Your eyes almost flutter at the way he looks at you when your breathing stops again to become what might have been a curse, or his name, or the curse of his name. The last one in particular feels likely as the sound twists and grows louder, and Benny’s eyes are locked on yours.

Pressing back into his bed you roll your hips against his, his hands planted back on either side of you as he lowers back down to press starved kisses to your mouth. Hips lift off yours, only to change their mind and push back down, accompanied by a curse against the corner of your lips. When Benny’s bottom lip slides against yours, you pull it into your mouth and lightly push down your teeth into it. His left arm buckles as you swallow the sound of his groan.

With little effort you coax Benny onto his back. He willingly falls down onto the pillow, rings sliding against your back as he tries to entice you into press against him. His fingers trail down, skimming along the edge of your underwear until they reach the front, barely touching the waistband, eyes flicking up to yours.

You give permission before Benny even has a chance to open his mouth.

The pads of his fingers push past the fabric, running softly your body until your breathing hitches as they lightly slip over your clit. You resist the urge to close your legs around his hand but can’t help the way your breathing audibly increases when it moves further down. Bare skin slides against your wet folds, stroking up and down; the movement slow and deliberate, and far too good for you hold it out for much longer.

You make a sound.

“Explain Closed Sicilian to me.” Your voice is strained, and you are trying very hard to not focus on every slight change in pressure Benny is subjecting you to right now. Another noise slips out and you bury your face against his chest, rolling your hips involuntarily against his hand. “Please, please explain it to me.”

“Now?” Benny’s other hand pushes against your hip.

“If you don’t, I’m going to come, and I’ve waited this long so I’d rather you didn’t do that before you’re actually inside me.” You lift your head to look up at him, quickly adding “Then again, you talking about that is just going to make it worse, so maybe don’t.” You did not need his eyes lighting up and his confidence going thrice its size because he was talking about something he really, really liked. That was bound to make your situation become much better and much worse really quick.

Benny looks like he’s about to protest before making a face and withdrawing his hand.

“Alright, fine.” He rolls you onto your back and kisses you hard, raising his hips as much as possible but keeping you down with his chest.

Letting you up to breathe Benny’s hands go to his belt, pulling it fully out of the loops this time. He catches the handle off his knife as it slides off the leather and off-handedly places it down on your stomach so he can roll the leather around his hand.

You must have done something as the sheath fell flat or as your eyes shifted up and back down again because Benny’s eyes flick from the belt in his hands to your eyes and then he smiles.

“Don’t tell me you’ve got a thing for knives too.” He teases.

“Listen” You’re a little too breathless for any type of denying being at all believable and it’s visible in Benny’s eyes how little he would actually believe you if you tried. “Messing with that takes practice and discussions, so let’s put a pin in that. I like seeing you get off, let’s leave it at that for now.”

He tilts his head like ‘fair enough’, finishes rolling up his belt and puts both that and the knife out of view to your left.

You reach up to brush Benny’s hair to the side where it’s over his eyes again, letting your fingers linger just above his ear. There’s something very recognizable about the slight way his eyes move at the gesture.

“Do you- like having your hair pulled?” You ask tentatively, and when Benny doesn’t answer right away you continue “You don’t have to say yes.”

It takes a second longer, and you start to pull your hand away before he shifts his eyes away and rolls his shoulders.

“So what if I do?” Benny glances back at you.

“I’ll tell you what” You smile encouraging, guiding the topic to focus on yourself instead to make him more comfortable. “you’d be in good hands; I like it both ways.” Benny visibly relaxes but you don’t move your hand back, favoring to slide it along his jaw to stop below his lower lip.

Softly tilting his head down, you give the slightest pressure. He follows down to peck your lips before drawing back to meet look at you again, hands rubbing reassuringly over your thighs. The pad of your thumb rests against Benny’s bottom lip, and you tilt your head, trying to read out the thoughts that form and disperse behind his eyes. The corner of his lip quirks up and he dips his head down to catch the finger in his mouth. The flat of his tongue maps your fingerprint, a teasing glint in his eyes.

You make a noise, shooting him a glare as he looks far too smug when you pull your hand back to press it against his back instead. The expression doesn’t leave his lips when you push his side to get him down, as a matter of fact he looks offensively at home against his pillow, shuffling further into it before beaming up at you again. Unable to stop yourself you scoff, trying to look annoyed but failing spectacularly.

“Think you’re ready to go again, if you want to?” You look at your watch, pinching the face of the clock to keep it so you can read the time. “It’s been an hour.”

“You still have your watch on?” Benny reaches up to pull your arm down so he can look at it.

You laugh.

“Well, you didn’t take it off me.” You let him turn your hand over, undoing the watch and looking at it for a second before handing it to you. Leaning over him you put it on the empty nightstand to your left.

“I’m so glad you’ve got two nightstands.” You hum, leaning back to resettle over his hips.

Thinking for a second, Benny makes a face, a mixture between a frown and scrunching up his face.

“It doesn’t make sense to only have one nightstand.” He states, eyes flicking back to yours. Smiling at his answer you bend down to peck his lips.

“That’s what I like about you, Benny Watts. Things can’t just be for you; they have to make sense.” Continuing in the same light tone you add “I might even go as far as to say I love you.”

“Woah, you’re just gonna show your hand like that?” Benny mimics shock, before smiling, his hands rubbing your hips reassuringly. “Throw the whole game?” You snort a little, moving your eyes to the wall, schooling your expression to be serious.

“As if you didn’t show your hand back at the bar.” You tilt your head exaggerated, pretend thought. “And earlier, now that you mention it.”

“I said liked.” Just like you, Benny is pressing his lips together to prevent himself from laughing, and even then, a smile cracks through.

“I’ll give you that, you did say like.”

Benny pulls you down, kissing you with a smile. Letting yourself sink into it you push down against him, swallowing the sound he makes and feeling his heart beating through his chest. His hands pull your hips closer to his to repeat the motion. His breathing increases as you do it infinitely slower this time, feeling you press against him, although you can’t say you are doing any better.

“Ready?” You laugh breathlessly and Benny groans, pushing his head back into the pillows.

“I was ready half an hour ago.”

“Well, good sex takes preparation. And this is going to be good.” Straightening up you putting the base of your hand on Benny’s chest, holding your index in front of his face to shush him. “No, no, it’s going to be, because I’ll make it so.”

Instead of arguing, with sparkling eyes Benny favors to bend his head forward and close his mouth around your finger, sucking while you talk. His tongue swirls around the digit and the corner of his lips quirk up when you make a sound, mind drifting before you catch it.

“Asshole.” Benny’s eyes light up mischievously at that, and when you pull your hand back, he raises his eyebrows.

“Oh you wan-?”

You cut him off.

“Shut up.” The bed shakes with Benny’s laughter, and you roll your eyes, shaking your head at him. He’s really having too much fun.

When his laughter calms down, Benny looks at you for a second before sitting up.

“Come on”

He nudges you sideways until you get the hint and get off him, letting him get off the bed. Benny offers his hand to pull you up after him. When you’re both on your feet he turns back and in one quick motion rips off the covers, throwing the corner to the middle so the bed is folded half-open diagonally but not all the way down.

You’re just letting your underwear drop onto the floor when Benny turns back around, and he catches up with you in the time it takes you to blink. He holds his hand out again, pulling you with him backwards.

Jut before his legs hit the bed Benny sidesteps, pulling you down first onto the bed and following, catching himself on his arm so he doesn’t fall directly on top of you.

Settling between your legs, Benny tilts his head with a cheeky smile.

“Comfortable now?”

You make a show of settling into the pillow, trying to divert his attention from the way you pull air deep into your lungs. It’s in the pillow, the sheets, the air vibrating around you with tension, but most of all it’s above you, radiating from him. The warm, slightly sweet, smell of clean cotton shirts pulled from the tumbler, a bed slept in until well past noon, and sun-heated leather in the first days of summer.

“Yes.” You smile up at him.

“Good.” Benny lowers down over you and presses his lips to yours, tongue running over your lip once before slipping into your mouth. You hum while he pulls protection from a drawer of one of the nightstands above your field of vision and pulls it on.

Fingers skim lightly over the wetness gathered between your legs, and then Benny pushes into you. It sends lightning through your stomach, sliding slowly, almost torturously, against sensitive nerve endings. His breath is slow and controlled, albeit a bit wavering. Solid warmth spreads from his body into yours and your body clenches involuntarily around him when he stills, breath warming the side of your neck. Your hands run up his sides to find purchase.

“You’re gonna mark me?” You ask the ceiling and Benny shifts, running his nose against your throat and giving you chills.

“You want me to?” His hips pull back slightly, and you close your eyes at the slow drag of his cock against your inner walls. As Benny pushes back in, one hand disappears from beside you, moving your hand from his back to his hair. Sparks dance up your spine when he thrusts a little quicker, igniting you both like a match against a striking surface. Benny makes a sound in the back of his throat before kissing you again.

Carding your fingers through his hair near his scalp you pull lightly. The way his hips jerk forward has you arching against him, moan mixing with his. Tension builds in your stomach and if the room was hot before it is blazing now. Benny presses against you, overwhelming and perfect, filling you. Your hips lift off the bed to meet his, legs crossed behind his back to pull him closer. The drag of his abdomen against you in just the right place has you whining against his lips. His next thrust is faster, causing your body to clench down, approaching the edge fast.

“I’ve waited this long to fuck a master; you better not make this be over quick.” Your hips arch against his despite your breathless words.

“You call an hour and a half quick?” Benny asks in disbelief, but the roll of his hips slows to delightfully slow, burning pulls. He closes his eyes, breathing becomes deliberately slowed. “I’m not going to last long no matter how slow I go.”

“That’s okay, neither am I.” You quirk the corner of your lip as Benny opens his eyes again and pull him back down to your lips. Trying to starve of your orgasm you focus on tasting every corner of his mouth. It seems to have the opposite effect on Benny, as he whines and his hips stutter. One of his arms buckle and you pull your hand free to direct his to your hair before going back to his.

The first slow drag releases a satisfied noise from you, and the slight sting of the next sends a thrill down your body, connecting with where Benny’s cock pushes into you. He slides his tongue against yours, pulling your head close to his.

“Fuck” The word falls from both of your mouths as your fingers pulls the blond strands they’re tangled in, and Benny’s hips jerk forward. You push your hand against his lower back to push him down, deeper, and he pulls your hips up with his free hand, grinding against you. His eyes glitter with pride when you arch, pressing your head into the pillow, mouth falling open.

Unsatisfied, Benny slows even further, changing thrusts for slow grinds, watching you trying to make a sound with a smile, heels pressing into his lower back. Your eyes flutter, trying desperately to stay open, pleasure coursing through you in unrelenting waves. Meeting his eyes, you jerk your hand a little harder in Benny’s hair, and the sound he produces almost has you falling.

His hand pushes between your bodies as he moves faster again. The pleasure is hot and fast, and as Benny pulls your lips to his it explodes, fire shooting through your veins in search of oxygen and shaking your entire body. He swallows the cries of his name falling from your lips, but then his hips stutter and slipping from your lips he repays the praise. It’s loud, it’s messy, and it’s so fucking hot.

Benny drops his head in the crook of your neck, weakly trying to hold himself up. Your chest pushes against his until both your accelerated breathing reaches the same rhythm. There is pleasant ache starting to make itself known, one you’re sure you’ll be feeling tomorrow, and perhaps the day after that.

Softly you push Benny over and he lets himself be rolled onto his back, still inside you. Head landing on the pillow he takes a few more breaths before his eyes pop open. When they meet yours there is a content smile on his lips, with only a hint of unsedated hunger still visible in his dark eyes. He reaches forward to meet your smiling kiss and lets you pull off him and roll onto the mattress beside him.

After a few seconds of just the sound for your breathing your voice comes alive again.

“I hope we didn’t wake anyone.”

Benny starts laughing, breathlessly and beautifully, and you scrunch your nose playfully at him.

“I hope we did.” He looks at you, eyes brilliant, and adds in a more serious tone. “I think they’re all asleep so they can get up at a reasonable hour tomorrow.”

You reach over and pull your watch from the nightstand.

“Two isn’t a reasonable hour to be up?” Benny snorts a laugh at your fake naiveté as you settle back into the bed.

There’s a few more seconds of silence before he talks again.

“I still only made you come once.” Benny looks at you, eyes flicking down to your lips and back up; the hunger more than unsated now.

“That’s okay” You smile teasingly. “I wouldn’t expect you to, you did all the hard work.”

Benny doesn’t find an answer to that, but you have a feeling neither of you think two is very late at all.

#I fucking called the watch thing I'm so proud!#I'm glad the internet agrees that Benny has both bi and switch energy #benny watts #benny watts x reader #the queen's gambit

783 notes · View notes

wri0thesley · 4 years

Text

hi! please do not talk to me! i am just as disappointed in myself as you are!

arrangement - naoya x fem!reader (3.7k)

warnings: naoya is just an asshole lmao, misogyny, arranged marriage mentions, degradation, humiliation, spitting, unhealthy ‘relationship’. afab reader, fem pronouns

despite your clan elders’ best intentions, you are clearly not a good match for someone as well placed in the world as naoya. still. that doesn’t mean he can’t have a little fun with you.

You should have known that it was a fruitless endeavour.

No matter how nicely your hair might be set and your clothes might be chosen, how intricately and carefully your makeup applied – how pretty your manners might be . . . This was never going to go anywhere. Oh, your elders might have thought this was a good idea, and sure it would be – if it were possible. If your clan wasn’t hanging on by the skin of its teeth already. If you’d been blessed – if that was the right way to put it – with more cursed energy than you had been.

But you were not. It had been clear to you the moment you had been – cordially, politely – introduced to him. You hadn’t looked him in the eye – you’d been briefed on what he was like enough to know that – but you’d still sensed the flickering of his gaze over your form. You’d still seen the curve of his mouth into a cruel sneer.

“What a pity,” he’d said, tone not belying an ounce of the pity he mentioned. “I’m far too busy for acts of charity.”

You should have left it at that. You should have accepted it was not to be and went back to your own clan with your tail between your legs, just another failure – or perhaps, you should have looked up into his eyes and spat at him and insisted you were worth more than that. If you had been braver, if you had talked back--

But you do not. Inside, you are meek and quiet. You are cowed by what you know is the power that is at his fingertips, not just physically but also in the sheer luck of having been born as he was born. You duck your head. You feel your cheeks warm. Something about the sneer on his face, the mocking tone . . . sends a curl of heat right to the centre of your belly that you desperately try to ignore.

Tripping over your words, you apologise to him.

For wasting his time.

And it’s that which sets these particular events in motion.

Naoya sees how easily you bend under just his words and the weight of his gaze on you – and though, of course, you are not fit to be his wife the way that your clan elders clearly wanted you to be . . . he likes the idea of your eyes, downturned on the floor. He likes the idea of you on your knees before him. He likes the idea of being able to throw you around, and you, deferential as you take it.

No, even though you would walk three steps behind him and be behest to his whims, you lack the impressive lineage and the splendour of a great union that Naoya is looking for in a wife. But that does not mean, he thinks, as he watches you leave, his eyes following the suggestive curve of your body beneath the layers of fabric, that he cannot have a little fun with you first.

You come to his rooms without an ounce of hesitation. You must know, surely – after the way he treated you at your introduction – that he has no pure intentions. Certainly, the servants milling about his estate know as you’re shown to where he wants you.

Good. Your eager acquiescence just cements the fact to him that he has made the right decision; you will be weak-willed and desperate to please, and though he has no intentions of honour when it comes to what he’s going to do to you, he knows you will do it anyway.

“You came,” he says to you, as you stand across the room, where he’s lounging, entirely at ease, against the pillows on his bed. Your entire body fizzes. You know you should not be here.

(There is something about him that your body cannot deny.)

“I shouldn’t have expected anything less from a whore.” You flinch at the word, though that strange curl of heat returns to your middle. You fight it off as best you can. He sees how you swallow, the way you respond to the name – and he is smirking again, rising from the pillows, walking over to you with all of the grace of a predator. His fingertips reach out, tracing the line of your chin (your skin is pleasingly soft beneath them). “That’s what you are, right? Your clan elders sent you here to see if that’s what you’d be for me.”

He tips up your face. It’s the first time that your eyes have been anywhere near his, and he’s delighted to see the flair of panic and confusion in your gaze. Cute.

“That’s not—” You say, your voice very dry. You struggle with the words, knowing despite yourself that part of him must be right – if you were not, surely it wouldn’t have been as simple as him summoning you and you going there--

“You can’t honestly think you’d have made me a wife, hmm?” He lowers his head, too close to you – your entire body feels like it’s thrumming with energy, buzzing with unrestrained tension. “You’re pathetic.” The word is practically a purr, and your body responds in kind – Naoya, seeing how your eyes cloud over, how you have to stop yourself biting your lip, is delighted.

“I-I’m sorry,” you say, desperate, miserable. You don’t understand why your thighs feel slick and your legs feel shaky, or why your head seems to have clouded over with thoughts that refuse to take proper shape.

“Aww.” His thumb slides across your lip – and you find yourself opening your mouth without meaning to, letting him slide the tip of his thumb in and press down on your tongue. “That’s right. You’re cuter when you don’t talk.”

You don’t say anything. You’re not sure you could, anyway – not with how dry your throat feels. Naoya clicks his tongue.

“Suck it, then,” he tells you, with the air of an impatient man giving orders to a puppy dog. You suppose that’s what you are, really – because you do close your lips, and you do lathe your tongue across the pad of his thumb. He’s still smirking at you, damnably attractive if only for the air of self-assured cockiness. “You’ll want to get used to having something in your mouth.”

His other hand comes up and pushes the kimono you’re wearing (too formal of a kind, really – but your clan elders had wanted to show deference to the Zenins, and they had hoped that perhaps you would be meeting your future husband, and everybody knew that Naoya would prefer a traditional young bride--) to one side, exposing too much of your collarbone and chest.

“Not bad,” he tells you. “Not good enough for me, of course but . . . you’ll do for this.”

You hate that you know what ‘this’ is. You hate that you have no protest to give as he pulls his thumb out of your mouth and turns his back on you.

“Take them off,” he tells you. “Be quick about it. I don’t have all day. Women can be so slow.”

Your hands are shaking as you go to untie your obi. Your self-preservation instinct is telling you to run. Naoya stops where he is and turns his head, his lips still tilted as he sees you’re doing as he asked. Oh, but you’re fun – he feels like a cat playing with a mouse.

“Hurry. Up.” It’s a snap, all pretence – he’s rather enjoying the shaking and the trembling. He can’t help but look at you hungrily as the fabric pools about your ankles in your clumsy undressing. “Before I change my mind, and send you back out into the estate like that.”

Why are you still doing what he asks? You finish undressing and shiver in the cool air, standing there, waiting for whatever he’s going to tell you to do next.

He reaches the bed and turns, sitting on it. He’s entirely casual about the whole thing, his elbows resting on his knees as he steeples his hands together and just looks at you. You burn under his gaze.

“Yes,” he repeats. “You’ll do. Come here--”

You take a step forward, only to stop as he holds up his hand. He takes the patient tone of a man talking to an animal once more.

“Not like that. Think about it, come on. Your head is above mine. That’s not very respectful of you, is it?”

He swathes the words in velvet, making them sound like a question – but you can hear the steel inside of them. The order. He doesn’t need to tell you twice, before you’re sinking onto your knees with your throat dry. Your thighs press together, slick friction making you shiver as you crawl towards Naoya. He tips his head to one side and smiles coldly as if his smile is a reward.

(He watches the way your ass moves as you crawl. He can hear your laboured breathing in the quiet room. In the low glint of the light, he can see the hint of wetness between your thighs.)

You’re so eager to please, even knowing that Naoya is going to use you and discard you. Just as you should be. You feel lucky he’s giving you the briefest time of day.

“Stop,” he says, and you jump to his command as if it’s law. Perfect. He takes a handful of your hair and drags it, pulling you forward so that your face is close to the stiffness that you probably can’t tell he’s sporting through the loose fit of his hakama. He jerks your face so that it rubs against his thigh through the fabric. “Well?”

The bob of your throat as you swallow. You look up at him with your eyes filled with confusion.

“As much as the position suits you,” he says, tone clipped, “are you so stupid you don’t know what I want you to do?”

Oh. Oh.

You are still on your hands and knees. You go to bring one of your hands towards the ties and are stopped with a ‘tch’ of impatience, Naoya kicking at it and trapping it beneath his foot on the floor, with little care about how you wince. He doesn’t hold back his strength.

“You’re going to touch me with that after it’s been all over the filthy floor?” He asks, arching one thin eyebrow. “I don’t think so. If you’re going to be as gormless as an animal, you may as well act like one. Your cheek.”

Heat floods your cheeks once more as you realise what he wants. By now, the strange feeling in the pit of your stomach that’s making you wet has become all encompassing, not at all helped by the friction of your thighs or the way that Naoya is talking down to you. You should not be turned on by it. You should be disgusted by him, glad he doesn’t want you as a wife--

So why do you let out a soft whimper as you lean your cheek forward like a docile animal. It presses against something hot and hard, obvious even through the fabric. You don’t let yourself look at him, embarrassed by how easily you let him tell you what to do – if you were looking, perhaps you’d have seen the brief way his teeth dug into bottom lip, seen the softest exhale of his breath. (It’s better you didn’t. He does not like to show weakness.)

He lets you nuzzle against his cock for a few moments, enjoying the sight of you on your knees, your head bowed – but it is not enough for him. Not when he knows you’ll let him do whatever you want.

The hand still in your hair drags you back unfeelingly, letting go of you on the back swing. You almost overbalance – but you have been well-trained in the art of grace. That would have been something he’d have looked for in a wife, if you had been better placed.

Almost a pity, really.

“I’d ask you to undo it,” he says, as he goes to untie his own complicated knots. “But you’re shaking. Are you that eager to suck my cock? Slut.”

He’s right, you are and you are and you are--

There. There’s no going back for you now, as Naoya lets the hakama drop and then rests back on his hands, unconcerned, as if this kind of thing happens for him every day. Hell, for him, maybe it does – surely you’re not the first poor young woman who has been sent by people more powerful than her to try and please the Zenin clan. For some reason, the thought that you’re not the first, that you’re not special, makes another ricochet of heat twist low between your thighs.

“Well?” He asks, mockingly. “It’s not going to suck itself.”

You’re shaking as you approach it, opening your mouth.

“Not too much teeth, now,” he says lightly. “You don’t want to see me get angry.”

(Maybe you do? But you want to please him just as much, so you open your mouth wider, try and let your lips relax--)

He lets out a sigh as your mouth engulfs the head. He tastes salty and musky – you do not have anything to compare it to, but it’s not exactly unpleasant. You experimentally lick across the head of his cock, where the slit is leaking pre-come – and for that, you win a fluid hiss of pleasure. The idea that you’re pleasing him makes you squeeze your thighs together in search of stimulation and friction, a dull jolt of pleasant warmth spreading through your sex. Oh, you don’t think you’ve ever been this wet in your life.

“More of your tongue,” he says to you, and you do your level best to accommodate – your tongue lapping at the veins of his shaft, travelling along the underside. Your jaw feels stretched wide, and you know you are drooling a little. You shift on your knees without being asked to, taking him further down your throat – you sense a twitch in his cock, the slight relaxing of the muscles in his thighs, and a shiver of pleasure runs through you at the idea that he is enjoying what you’re doing.

Pleasing Naoya suddenly seems the most important thing in the world to you – and certainly it feels the most important thing in the world to that emptiness inside you that you feel sure would be filled perfectly by Naoya’s cock. You take him further and further. You hum low in the back of your throat and Naoya’s fist on the bed flexes – you delight in it.

Every time you do something that makes his body respond in even the smallest of ways, you feel a full body thrill run through you that starts in your cheeks and makes it’s way to the junction between your legs, soaking you, making you vibrate and twitch with need. You have never felt so hungry for anything as you do the idea of Naoya touching you--

The crown of his cock bumps against the back of your throat, making you gurgle wetly – tears springing to your eyes at just how much of him is stuffed in your mouth. It’s this that finally spurs Naoya himself to action, once more returning to grabbing at your hair.

His hips begin to piston, thrusting his cock in and out.

“You’re . . .” He breathes, in between great pumps of his hips. “Almost good at that.”

(It’s the closest he’s come to praise so far and the sound of his voice, thick with hunger and lust, is locked away inside some secret part of your mind – you know you will not be able to touch yourself without his voice, the hitch of his groans, coming back to you in a cadence finer than any music you’ve ever heard).

He uses your mouth like he’d use his own fist, pumping fast and hard, his cock kissing the back of your throat with every glide. His breath begins to get shorter, and as you feel the flesh of the shaft twitch beneath your tongue, pulsating, you ready yourself for the salty rush of his release coating your mouth. You’ll swallow everything he gives you, maybe he will call you a good girl for your troubles--

He doesn’t. The hand wrapped around your hair (so neatly arranged, when you’d arrived at the estate – now, a mass of tangles, nothing more than a handle for Naoya to grab onto) jerks.

You cough at the sudden tug. You know he was close, you felt it – so why had he pulled you off of him? The noise that escapes you is half wounded-animal, half confusion – Naoya is sneering down at you, his hand around the base of his cock.

“Open your mouth,” he tells you – and you obey. You want him to come in your mouth! You want to be good for him, you want to swallow down every drop. “Do you really think you deserve to taste my seed? When you’re so . . . inferior, in every way? So . . . inadequate?”

“Please,” you whimper, through the haze of neediness and the ache in your jaw. “Please, I want to, I’ll be good--”

“You’d take anything I gave you, wouldn’t you? You really are pathetic.” You nod, frantically – if you agree with him, maybe he’ll do something about this all, you’re too far gone to have anything close to rational thought. He laughs at you, a sound like a bark – and then, he’s spitting directly onto your mouth, the mess landing on your tongue. “Swallow it.”

Disgusting, you’re disgusting, why isn’t the way he’s acting doing a thing to dampen your desire? You swallow.

The curl of his lip is unfairly attractive. You think he’ll pull you even closer to him, make you open your mouth again and come directly down your throat until you’re coughing all over the floor – but he doesn’t. He moves his hand, pumping his cock – and then, he’s coming, his shaft twitching in his own grip--

And his come spurting across your face, painting your cheeks. You close one of your eyes to stop it getting in there, but it’s a feeble task – you feel it on your face, dripping down your nose, you know some of it has gotten into your hair. Through the one eye still open, you see Naoya’s smug face.

“Did you really think I’d come in your mouth?” He asks, all cruelty. “You don’t deserve to have my seed inside you. In fact . . . Hmm.” He relaxes, looking at you where you’re a mess on the floor. Your kimono and all the ephemera of what you were wearing lies in a discarded pile across the room where you’d taken them off. “You can put on your clothes, I suppose. But . . . don’t clean yourself up. Not even with your sleeve. You should be proud a nothing like you gets to wear it.”

He flaps his hand at you, clearly dismissing you.

“I—I--”

Your voice sounds cracked and strained and small in the room. Pathetic. Just like you. But more pathetic is the heat that seems to cling to every inch of your skin that you know will not go away until you’re touched.

“You . . . you . . . you what?” He mocks you. Your face, all heat, your big blown out eyes darkened by lust . . . He narrows his eyes and smiles, but it’s a smile that’s utterly mirthless, cold as dawn frost. “I’m not going to lower myself to touching you.”

(You think you were expecting it; but still, your sex clenches around emptiness, practically pulsating as he derides you again. Perhaps you are a glutton for punishment.)

You bow your head. You know, if you stand up, Naoya will say something about your head being above his again – so you stay on your knees, crawling towards the pile of clothes. Naoya is drawn once more to the way the slick is dripping down your thighs, the inviting slit of your sex--

“You’re so wet I can see it from here,” he jeers. “Disgusting. You really are a slut, huh?”

Your fingers fumble with the fine fabrics. If your clan elders knew how you had left your formalwear here, on the floor of his room--

You tie the knots. You cannot do anything about the mess on your face, drying too quickly, sticky and uncomfortable – but part of you wants to wear it like a badge of honour.

You finally let yourself stand up, stopped only by a mocking little sing-song of your name, the mocking inflection of the cute honorific at the end that he shouldn’t be using for you--

You turn to him for the final time, too embarrassed, too wet, too hot and aching to meet his eyes. You concentrate on his mouth instead (you know that mouth will haunt your daydreams, blanket quiet night-times when your hands delve between your legs and you have to bite your lip to stifle your sounds.)

“Perhaps,” he says, with the air of a man bestowing a great honour, “perhaps your clan elders need not know I’ve rejected you yet.” A brief flare of hope in your chest, that he sees and takes a fierce, primal kind of pleasure in snuffing out. “Oh, don’t get me wrong – I’ve no intention of lowering myself to marrying you. But . . .”

That grin, barbaric, cruel, cold, heartless.

“It’s only proper for a man of my stature to have a mistress,” he tells you. The idea should disgust you. Why doesn’t it? You need to find a quiet place to hide in the Zenin estate, where you will not be interrupted – where you can press your fingers inside of yourself and imagine they are his. He takes great pleasure in adding; “And I like a woman who knows her place.”

One more flap of his hand – this time, a final dismissal.

“I’ll see you again,” he says, as you slip out of the door--

It sounds like a threat.

#jjk smut #jjk x reader #naoya x reader #zenin naoya x reader #not sfw #jjk imagines #i dont fucking know whats wrong with me OR this reader honestly #writing #afab reader #fem pronouns #jjk posting #jjk writing tag

462 notes · View notes

bonny-kookoo · 4 years

Text

👹Bad Habits (JJK x Reader) 💜☁️🔞

👹Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

👹Genre: (Twisted)Romance, Angst, Smut, Psycho!JK

👹Warnings: Size kink, Body worship, biting, rough manhandling, JK accidentally hurts her a bit (but apologizes dw), mildly disturbing themes (blood, guts, bones cracking...), criminal activities such as theft (mentioned) and murder (not actively stated, but heavily implied), panic attack, psychotic episodes, psycho!JK because holy shit I actually got scared what did I create, degrading names (he calls her a whore in his mind like once..), possessive JK, strength kink, reader is unable to conceive (chances are very slim), unprotected sex (please wrap it before you tap it folks), impreg kink, dead dove do not eat 🕊 manipulative Koo, Dom!Kook, therapy talk, relapses, horrible anger management, emotional koo, emotional reader, look mom I actually wrote a happy ending

👹Summary: Oh monster monster under my bed, you’re the only one I have left, come out and play ‘cause I need a friend.

Jeon Jungkook is sick.

You know this, you are very aware of it if the very much still gaping holes in the walls of your apartment, left from his most recent violent episode is anything to go by. He's got anger issues, that much is very apparent to anyone who genuinely knows Jungkook. Somehow he just can't keep himself in check, it's like he just needs the perfect trigger to simply go off like a bomb dropped from ten feet. It doesn't take much to rile him up. It takes a lot however to get him back down again.

Now, this would be the perfect moment to explain that you are the sweet and kind ray of sunlight calming his temper and cooling his ever violently burning mind- but that's not the case. There's nothing that can tame the young man at your side, nothing that can snap that collar around his neck and chain him up to a wall until he's safe to be around again. You can't do anything more than watch and pray that he will keep his promise to never ever hurt you. At first, you were worried. Anyone would be.

But then the first outbreak came.

Then the second.

And you were fine.

He would wreck the apartment, throw furniture, or beat someone to a bloody mess in an alleyway next to a nightclub simply because the guy had looked at your admittedly short skirt the wrong way. While for the longest time he didn't care about anyone, you've become his possession, in every way that the word stands. He owns you, every single cell of your being is his, and he's ready to push anyone's eyes back into their skull just for looking at you weirdly. No one is allowed to lust after you but him. No one's allowed to even think about you but him.

It's quite bittersweet, the reasoning behind his obsession with you. You're not scared, you're never running away, you're always so gentle, so delicate, such an angel around him- and in one way he fears that one day he's gonna be the wolf eating the sheep in a frenzy. In the other however, he's weirdly amused by it; the way you still look at him so innocently as if you didn't know that his hands could snap your neck like a twig between his combat boots he's typically sporting. It's a very twisted story with you two, and in a sense, he's certain that you have to be just as sick in your head as he is for genuinely loving him and his bad habits.

Just like now.

You're not saying anything. Even when you can hear the young mans ribs cracking underneath the steel toed black boots of your boyfriend, you're quiet, watching, unable to tear your eyes away from him- and you don't even know who exactly you're watching. You have already forgotten what the young man looked like- your eyes unable to reconstruct his facial features back to what they were before Jungkook had thrown his fists into them until the stranger couldn't even open his eyes anymore, face bloody and bruised to the point where you're hoping he won't survive it. You're also simply watching as Jungkooks pretty long hair, drenched in a mixture of sweat and rain from above whips around violently as if to mimic the way his muscled leg stomps into the man's chest over an over again, face holding a determination that should scare you. It's all over after a moment however, as your boyfriend seems to grow a bit tired now, slowly calming down as his anger ebbs down, waves finally evening as he breathes heavily. He runs a hand through his hair as he looks at what's in front of his feet; unable to quite realize that this was actually him. He turns, looking for you, and his entire facial expression suddenly changes.

While he looked absolutely terrifying just moments before, he's suddenly holding such a sweet and calm glint in his eyes as he takes off his jacket, putting it over your head as he smiles down at you, inner demon now fed again as it seems to crawl back behind his actual soul it consumes daily. You smile back, and he leads you out of the alley, giggling like a teenager when you playfully start to run towards the car, calling him a sore looser when he doesn't let you win like he usually does.

Jeon Jungkook is sick. But he's just a young man as well, deep down.

He's got you sat on his lap as he greedily licks at your neck, teeth suddenly clamping down on the skin as you mewl underneath his touch and actions. He's grinning like the devil in person, his large-in-comparison palms holding your behind as they suddenly sneak underneath your shirt; his shirt, actually, and the main reason he suddenly got hungry to devour you. Your hair is still slightly damp, but he doesn't care as he lifts you up, placing you underneath him on your shared bed, hair falling into his eyes as he pulls the dark grey carharrt shirt over your head, immediately kissing your collarbone, hands kneading your breasts needily as he seems too eager to slow down anytime soon. He grabs your ribs and its as if he doesn't know where to touch- he wants it all, wants to feel it all, all at once, because it drowns out all the bad things he usually does. You're an outlet for his pent up aggression, only that he lets loose differently with you. He's got no hunger to make you suffer, to give you pain or to have you look at him in fear. No, he simply craves the way you writhe underneath him, ready for him, wanting, needing him. Such an angel, such a whore, so needy for his love and affection.

Something he wasn't sure he was capable of.

But he is, and it shows; while he usually moves with his jaw clenched, his brows furrowed, ever so agitated by the simplest of things, his face is calm now, relaxed, eyes however still feral- his gaze enough to make your core ache and your skin tingle. He's chuckling as he moves you around, suddenly impatient as he noticed your panties won't leave your legs as fast as he wants them to. It irritates him to the point where he just rips them as the seams, the fabric now ruined, but neither of you care as his hand instantly finds its way down to cup your heat, ring- and middle finger collecting your slick to bring it upwards to your clit, thumb running in circles over it as you squirm and whine, making him smile.

You're so sweet like this, and he can't help but move your legs, pulling you closer to him in his usual rough manner- he's not capable of being all gentle and sweet, after all. He tries, he really does, but Jungkook is like an overgrown puppy; he doesn't know how much strength he actually has. And it shows, as you squeak, painfully so, as he had gripped your legs a bit too tightly; fingerprints already an angry red on your skin, and he cooes at you, apologizing. "I'm sorry, so sorry.." He hushes against your skin, placing sweet kisses on the pulsing marks on your leg. "can't help it baby.." He muses, and you simply nod your head, hands reaching out for him as he smiles again, kissing your lips, finally.

He's never been fond of the gesture before, not understanding why something as unsanitary as this could be meant to signify any romance at all. But eventually he's gotten to know the intimacy of it, and had decided for himself that he'll never kiss anyone but you in his life. He doesn't want anyone but you anyways. You're his, for now, and forever.

"You're so sweet angel, you know that?"

He humms it against your neck as he finally rids himself of his own clothes, erection hard and proudly waiting to bury itself into your sweet cunt. "Hmm.." He humms again, amusement in his voice as he continues to draw patterns over your sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs. "I still can't believe how I fit inside that pretty body of yours." He says, as you suddenly feel the hot skin of his length against your middle. "Can't believe you can take it so well princess." His hand leaves your core finally, as he slowly enters you, making you mewl as he groans.

He doesn't have much self-restraint, but every time you're together like this, you're both amazed by how much he can control himself. The way he plays you like an expensive instrument makes you hang from his hands like a puppet on its strings. And you love it- the simple fact that he's able to do anything he wants with you, yet he'd never use you just to throw you away. He'd never hurt you. You know this.

He grins as he places his hand over the slight bulge forming underneath your skin where his cock is moving inside you, all warm and swollen, impatient as he can't help but move more vigorously, harder than before, as your body moves along with the beat he's giving you. He's in control, its impossible to lie about that and you don't see any problem with that. Your mind is empty, only pleasure remains as he bites down onto your skin again, hands roaming as if they can't decide where they want to stay; because it's the truth after all. He can't decide what he loves most about you, if your body is whats the most desirable or if its your soul locked inside of it and chained to his own like a prisoner. He gets a kick out of this feeling, out of the way you're speared on his cock like the doll you are, and if he desired to, he could simply snap your bones like those pepero snacks you always eat, and it would be just as sweet as they taste. Yet he doesn't- he's being oh so generous with you, letting you live beside him, keeping you as safe as he could at his side, never to let anything come close to you. You're his.

Jeon Jungkook is sick. But he's also head over heels in love with you.

You don't know what it was this time.

You only know that he's currently in your shared apartment, having returned from Job hunting, and by the sounds of crashing glass, he's probably having another one of those days. You know you should just leave him, but ever so often your own curiosity gets the best of you, and you sit up on the bed, dressed in nothing but a shirt, your panties, and socks to keep your feet warm, since the heating in your apartment broke months ago. You carefully open the bedroom door, peaking around the wood to spot him as he currently kicks his shoes off in an ever so violent manner. He spots you, eyes dark and feral, but this time it's not lust in them. "Get back inside." He barks out, and you know why he does it.

He wants to keep you safe.

Against all odds he knows what he is. He knows he's sick, knows he's a danger to himself and others, and that's why he's always telling you to stay away from him whenever his anger is boiling over like this. It's his way of keeping you safe, keeping you protected and you know better than to go against his own judgement. He knows himself best, after all.

Only as you can hear him hiss in pain do you go against him.

As the apartment grows quiet, you slowly step outside the room again, eyes searching for the form of your boyfriend, before finally spotting him near the kitchen table, one hand on it, while the other is held close to his chest. You can see blood on the white cracked tiled floor close to him, and you immediately grow worried for him. You slowly creep inside the bathroom, retrieving some stuff from the first aid kit, as you walk back outside, spotting him on the couch now. "..kookie?" You carefully ask, wary of any signs of his body that he's not yet down to earth yet. But he doesn't move at all. You slowly walk around the couch, squatting down in front of him as your hands carefully reach out for his inked arm, and he lets you, his eyes eerily not looking at anything at all. You hiss a bit and sit down on his lap as he doesn't argue with you, almost delicately treating his wounded skin. He's probably somehow cut himself on the broken glass from the photo frame he broke. He seems awfully exhausted, which isn't a new sight to you. He usually is after a day like that.

"We're gonna loose the apartment." He says darkly, yet you don't stop what you're doing, simply humming an acknowledgement at him, while you don't look up at him. "Are you even listening?!" He suddenly barks out, grabbing your wrists as you look at him; not in fear however. You simply wait for him, like you always do, until he suddenly looks down onto his hands, letting go of your now red wrists with a look on his face like his favorite puppy has just been killed. "They simply said because of my criminal record they can't employ me-" He began, already getting riled up again as you kissed his cheek to distract him before he could slip again. With you situated on his lap like that, it could prove fatal.

"I'm gonna get a job, from home maybe. We'll figure things out." You softly say, and he doesn't seem like he quite believes you. He doesn't need to, at least not yet. It takes time, but you'll take yourself the time you need, even if its someone else's. Its not like he ever really cared about whats who's after all. "I still love you, you know?" You say, and that's when he breaks.

For the first time in those years you know him, he falls to the ground, crashes onto concrete with full force, and it wrecks through his entire body as he pulls you close, sobbing into your neck as he hiccups and chokes on his emotions, his hug painfully tight, but you don't complain. You're too shocked by his state to react much, other than running a hand over his back in a hopefully soothing manner. He doesn't stop for a moment, and you don't have a good feeling for time, so you cant tell how long you both sit like this, until he's finally exhausted to the point of simple slumping down, asleep as his body finally gives up. You carefully stand up, letting him somehow softly fall to his side as you struggle to pull his legs up to properly lay o the couch. Walking into the bedroom you retrieve blankets for him and yourself, as you crawl underneath his arm to lay against his chest, underneath the blankets, as you try and think of a way to help him.

You can't get a job. Not only because he won't let you, but because you get sick too easily. You're not allowed by doctors advice to work in any field that requires direct customer contact- and sadly that's all your educational level would allow you to work in. It never bothered Jungkook however, if anything he welcomed it as a good reason for you to stay at home, and at his side at all times. For him however, there were different reasons he didn't have a job. He couldn't keep one, with his short temper making him unfit for any job that required him to handle other people. He was a bomb ready to explode any moment at all times, and it was hard for him to land a job at any interview he somehow got. And nowadays, as word got around, no one simply wanted to employ him; stories of him going off at complaints and always being ready to throw hands made him the talk of the town in terms of who to look out for. He also had a criminal record- which didn't make the situation any easier.

Jeon Jungkook is sick. And it's a serious issue.

You somehow made it another month concerning rent.

With you selling some clothing you made yourself for a reasonable price, you somehow had at least a bit of an income, yet Jungkook didn't really seem like himself these days. He didn't leave the apartment much, and seemed much more grim to everything around him. You somehow thought that maybe he was just in a bad mood- but it seemed like this time things were a bit more serious than that.

"Princess?" He calls, as you rub your hand over the side of your neck, having laid on the couch weirdly as you had been taking a nap recently. You perked up at his call, walking out of the open kitchen to meet his gaze in the living room, his eyes serious as he pats his thighs; an invitation for you to sit down. He likes having you seated on his lap like this; it makes him feel all comfortable, knowing that you're so close to him. "I.." He starts, and visibly struggles with finding the right words for what he wants to say. "I want to get therapy." He states, and its quiet for a moment. You need to process his words for a second, as he never spoke about his issues like this. You never really thought about this option at all, and it makes you feel bad, deep inside, as you now realize that this was something you should've thought about as well, from the start on maybe. But you never wanted him to change for you; making you kick yourself in your thoughts. It never occurred to you that he wasn't changing for you, he didn't need to change for you, he needed to change for himself as well. You simply started to smile, and your arms snaked around his neck as he breathed in your scent, happy that you take this so well. He had struggled with the acceptance of it for a long time, and with you at his side, he knows he can somehow maybe change.

Even if its just a bit.

"I want to be a better man. For me, and mostly for you." He starts, and you attempt to speak, but he smiles, and kisses you instead, successfully shutting you up. "Don't say I don't need to. We know I do." He explains, and you nod. You're curious on why he suddenly realized it, but you decide not to dig too deep, as he currently seems vulnerable enough to you. So you simply let him hold you like this, quietly, calmly, while outside the thunderstorm continues, rain hitting the windows with as much force as the wind sees fit. Its ironic, really. Typically the situation is the opposite.

But somehow it feels like everything is changing, right in that moment. Just a few words have been spoken, but the ones that did make it out were a promise, a vow, a sentence of hope to finally get a hold on the future you both had dreamed about before, tangled in sheets and each others limbs. He's always said he wanted a family, as cheesy as it sounded to him back then, and then he'd laughed about it as if it was a joke. It somehow was, at least during that time it was; how could he be a better father than his if he was just the same? He didn't want his story to take a turn like that, to end up hurting you in the process of his own selfishness just to get what he wanted. No, he wanted something different in his life; he wanted his children to look up to him as a person they could be in awe of not because they were scared, but because they were proud to have them.

Jeon Jungkook is sick. But he's also finally realizing it.

Therapy never goes smoothly from A to point B. It's never a smooth ride, never a straight line connecting the start to the goal. And Jungkook is feeling that as he walks through the door, fuming after an in his eyes pointless session with his therapist. Why the fuck would they want to know about his childhood? That's his business and his own only, it doesn't concern anyone other than himself. Hell, he never even talked to you about it- and he sure as hell won't start chatting away with a stranger like this. He can't control himself as his fist connects with the wall next to the door, drywall cracking underneath the force as you stand in the middle of the living room, looking at him like a deer caught in the headlights. He's disappointed in himself in that moment; he was supposed to get better. He was supposed to have himself in check by now, it was supposed to end; yet here he is, just the same as a month before he started. You try and walk towards him, and he's ready to tell you to turn around and leave him alone, but he doesn't. For some reason, this is not pure anger he's feeling.

It's frustration.

And it leads to his eyes watering, as he lets you hold him close, your warm palms running over his back as best as you can with the height difference, and he simply lets his forehead rest on your shoulder, breathing while you softly count next to his ear. He concentrates and lets go of his emotions all at once, taking his time to feel them before he opens his mind up to letting them go. It sounded stupid to him when he was told that this could help him, but now that he's doing it, he gets why its being taught. It helps. Its like a bandaid being taken off after your cut has heeled. It hurts a bit as its being taken off, but the fresh air on the newly connected skin feels so good that the short sting before is more than worth it.

He sniffles, and you giggle, making him chuckle as well, as he runs a hand over your head, a silent sign that he's okay now. "Try again next week. You're doing so great now, Kookie." You say, and its this small encouragmenent that makes him grin brightly.

Because as you both stand in the kitchen, making homemade pizza for the first time in ages, he feels at ease with his surroundings. He calms down rather quickly even though some things don't go as planned, and laughs more freely at his own mistakes as you smile brightly at him. Sometimes you feel like crying, seeing him change like this, but you're strong enough to hold it in until he leaves during the day. You're still unsure how the future will be changing, still a lot unknown to the both of you, but for now, you'll continue to keep each others heads above the waves with your sewing, while he does his best at getting better. You know he can make it, you're certain he can, and will.

Because Jungkook is sick. But he's finally getting help.

You don't know what has happened when he bursts through the door, uncaring to either take off his shoes nor to close it behind him, as he picks you up, spins you around, grinning so much his eyes crinkle at their sides, and you laugh, even though you don't know why he's so happy. "I got a job! Baby, I finally got a job!" He yells, screams almost, and it makes your eyes water; not because he's taking a huge weight off your shoulder, but because this has been one of his biggest goals ever since he started this journey of getting help. He's so happy about it that this time you can't keep it in, you can't stop the tears as they flow out, making you hiccup and wheep into his shoulder as you struggle to get your words out. "Baby- Princess, hey hey-" He says, setting you down as his hands wipe away at your eyes, the letter confirming his acceptance still in his left hand as he worriedly looks at you. "Why are you crying angel? hm?" He cooes, admittedly a bit amused, because he can imagine what's happening.

"I'm so happy!" You squeeze out, before another wave hits you, and he kneels down, holding you tightly again, as he doesn't let go of you, his love for you overflowing inside his veins as it fills his entire body. He's so thankful for your existence in his life, and he will never be truly able to properly tell you that. It's impossible to put it into his words how much he appreciates you staying at his side through this entire endeavor. Every time he's asked why he does this, his answer is always your name on his lips, always spoken with a slight smile, nowadays a bright grin he's not ashamed showing.

You don't let him go until he chuckles. "Will you let me close the door at least?" He asks amused, as he feels the slightly cool breeze coming inside from the complex' hallway. You disconnect yourself from him for a moment, wiping your eyes with your sleeve as he closes the door, finally taking off his shoes at last, as he walks back, running towards you with a playful growl that makes you laugh as you try and run away from him. But he catches you easily, carrying you over his shoulder into the bedroom, where he bites and licks at your neck, hands pinching your sides making you squirm around and laugh, desperately trying to get away from him. He'll never let you, and you know this, so its unsurprising that he's suddenly pulling your sweater over your head, needing to be close to you. It's cold inside the apartment, and you shiver as the almost icy air around you nips at your skin. "Can't wait until we can use the heating again.." He murmurs against your skin as he shifts around a bit, carefully undressing himself before he crawls underneath the heavy covers with you. "then you can flaunt around in your pretty underwear all day without getting cold." He chuckles, as you hit his chest playfully at the remark. "What? Its always so cold I never get to see you in it." He whines, as he reaches between your legs, inked hand easily working you up as you squirm around. "I never get to see your pretty body properly because we have to hide away like this." He complains, and you simply whine at him, as he suddenly enters you. "For now I'll just warm you up like this, hm?" He humms out, and you nod, not really understanding what you're agreeing to, but you do it anyways.

He's awfully slow and soft, you notice, as he' way more collected as usual. "I love this." He suddenly presses out, eyes closed in bliss as he kisses the side if your neck, trailing down to nip at your collarbone, while his hands find yours, intertwining your fingers in a gesture you can only describe as awfully romantic. "I love being able to make love to you." He explains, as you open your eyes a bit, meeting his as he watches you underneath him. "Though I think you don't mind me being a bit rough with you, no?" He playfully suggests, and your cheeks grow a bit red at that, before he laughs, head dipping down to properly kiss your lips, tongue instantly searching for entrance as he doesn't pick up the pace. "Can't wait until you're all round with my baby." He suddenly suggests, and your eyes open wide as you open your mouth to correct him, but you shut up as his eyes meet yours, determination in them as he suddenly grabs the behind of your thighs, positioning them a bit differently to hit even deeper. "I know, I know-" He chants, as he picks up his pace. "I don't care." He presses out between his own heavy breaths. "I'll just-" He begins, loving the way you mewl under his touch, "I'll just fuck you over and over again until it works." He promises, and you simply nod, unable to deny him. The chances you'll ever conceive are slim- but as he states, never zero. "I'll just- I'll just fill you up until your body can't help but give me a child." He muses, as you start to clench. And he knows, notices, how much this idea is just as enticing to you as it is to him. "You gonna cum? Hm?" He asks, and you nod vigorously before you arch your back off the mattress, making him groan as he shoots his load as well, the visual image of your pleasure underneath him combined with the way you clench his aching length inside granting him his release as well.

As you lay on your sides, all snuggled up underneath the covers after cleaning up, he kisses your bare shoulder, eyes closed. "I mean it, you know." He says, and you humm a reply, before he explains further. "I want a family with you. Someday. When I'm ready." He says, and you nod. You'll somehow make it work, you know this. If he can overcome his demons, you can overcome your own cursed body as well. You deeply hope, at least.

Because Jeon Jungkook is sick, but he's starting to see a future.

"Jeon!" His coworker yells in the big hall he's working in. "Why, pray tell, did you never tell us your girl is that fucking pretty, aye?" He barks in a playful manner, as you walk inside beside the old man, carrying a small plastic bag with what he assumes is a lunchbox. The view of you next to that man stirs something inside him, as he slowly gets up, wrench still in his hand, brows furrowed.

"Because your filthy hands should stay six feet away from her." He responds, with his brows still furrowed, before he finally sneezes.

"Bless you, hah! I'll let you have your break earlier-" The old man winks at you, then gives Jungkook a firm hit against the chest, taking the wrench away from him. "But only because she's cute!" He laughs, as he walks into the hall, Jungkook now walking towards you.

You're proud of him.

Months ago, this would've never been possible; neither the simple fact that he had a job, nor the small incident with his coworker just now. He still got easily irritated, but he worked through these emotions way more easy nowadays. His coworkers and boss know of his past, know what he was like and know that he's still deep in therapy, but they don't judge. They simply accept him, tame him back into his cage whenever he's close to boiling over again. You love the fact that you can walk inside the breakroom with him, eyes sparkling with newfound childish playfulness as he peaks inside the bag you brought him. He's still very careful with you leaving the house, but its not anymore just for his own gain- he's more open to his surroundings, he's starting to think about how he and his actions can affect others. He doesn't care much still; but he's realized that pretending is enough for now. Small steps.

"The handyman was there today." You say, as you watch him dig into the fried rice you brought him, his interest now gained. "They turned on the heating again. Can you imagine? I didn't even know we had floorboard heating!" You exclaimed excitedly, and Jungkooks eyes widen as well.

"Really? I didn't know either. Fuck, can't wait to come home now." He says, swallowing his bite before taking a sip of his canned soda. "Did that label contact you yet?" He asks, and you shake your head. Recently, you had gained the interest of a bigger clothing label, who wanted to collaborate with you for this season's designs. "Ah, that takes time I guess. We'll wait, its fine." You know he's not only saying that for you, but himself as well. He still gets agitated over small things, but he deals with them a bit more easily. "I'll be home in a couple hours. Do you wanna wait here, or go home?" He asks, and you stand up, packing his now empty food container as you smile.

"I'll take the bus, don't worry." You say, and he furrows his brows playfully.

"Mask?" He asks, and you hold it up proudly, well aware of the precautions you need to take to make public transport safe for you.

"Good girl. Text me when you're home yeah? I'll get us takeout for dinner." He says, as he kisses the top of your head. You nod, and wave him goodbye as you two go separate ways, at least for now, until he's finally free of work.

Jeon Jungkook is sick.

But he's slowly healing.

#bts imagine #bts #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts smut #jungkook imagine #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bts reactions #dom!jungkook #dom jungkook #Bad Habits!AU

2K notes · View notes

calaofnoldor · 3 years

Text

Sixth Time’s the Charm [4]

(GIF credit: @teamfreewill-imagine)

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 6,107

Series Summary: All the times Dean has tried to get Sam to admit his feelings for you. (Each chapter can be read as a stand-alone.)

Chapter Summary: You offer yourself as bait for a shapeshifter hunt. Things do not go as planned.

Warnings: canon level violence, language, idiots in love, mutual pining, huffy!sam, protective!sam, slight angst?, slow burn, fluff

A/N: i am SO sorry for the wait (story of my life) but to make up for it, look, 6k words! (yeah i’m sorry about that too, i don’t know what happened there.) written for @tvdspngirl314‘s birthday writing event with the prompt “You ever feel like that? Like you were just destined for someone?” which is bolded in the fic. this also fills a square for @spnfluffbingo!

Square Filled: Rescue Mission

← BACK UP | MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

The fourth time was all you. Dean barely had to lift a finger. The result, however, was far more traumatic than he had planned and rather emphatically revealed the magnitude of his brother’s feelings toward you.

Much like the previous attempts, there was a case: a shapeshifter going after women who conveniently happened to fit your description. The strategy was obvious, and you’d leaped at the opportunity to both make yourself useful and hopefully take the place of what would have otherwise been the next innocent civilian victim. But of course, Sam resisted at first.

“No. Absolutely not! We don’t know enough about this guy for you to just jump into his waiting arms, Y/N!” The fervent indignation in his tone and body language was palpable. Sam was rarely one to raise his voice or sport much of a temper at all really, but lately these heated outbursts seemed to be occurring more frequently, and frankly you were getting sick of it. The false hope they momentarily granted you through the notion that perhaps he cared about you as more than a friend was one thing. What’s more, the way his voice lowered half an octave combined with the sight of his flared nostrils, puffed chest, and straining jaw always seemed to have a sideways effect on you, in that it was impossible to keep your attention on his words alone. But boy did you try.

“Sam, how many times do we have to go through this? I’m a big girl; I can take care of myself. And your wrist is still healing so it’s not like you can call the shots on this one anyway. Besides, I’m not going in alone. You and Dean will be there for backup the whole time, right?”

“’Course we will, eh Sammy?” In a strange turn of events, Dean often appeared to be the one with a more jovial outlook recently.

Sam merely nodded and continued his heavy breathing. He glared down at his bandaged left wrist, the result of skirmish with a couple of wraiths, as if it were the root of all his problems. Then he looked up and through densely drawn brows, those magnetizing multicolored eyes pierced yours, his countenance bearing a charged and sullen expression of pensive exasperation as his jaw visibly tightened. You swallowed and could not for the life of you find the will to look away.

“So it’s settled then,” Dean proclaimed jubilantly, “Unless… you’ve got another reason you don’t want Y/N playing bait, hmm Sam? Maybe something you wanna share with the class? Or, you know, I could leave…”

“Dean, stop it. You’re not helping,” you quickly admonished before steadying your gaze back on the taller Winchester, “Look, Sam, have I ever let you down?”

“No. Never.”

“And do you still trust me?”

“Of course,” he responded immediately in a ‘what-kind-of-a-question-is-that’ tone, at which you simply raised your eyebrow to send him a reciprocating ‘then-what’s-the-problem?’ look.

“OK fine,” Sam huffed out a big breath, “But you’re not taking any risks! Anything seems off at all, just… promise me you’ll wait for me and Dean and keep us in the loop?”

His pleading eyes were so earnest and you’d truly never been able to say no to the giant puppy before, so you offered him a little smile and said, “Cross my heart.”

Sighing, Sam rubbed his face, looking lost in thought for a moment until he spoke up again, much more reserved and hesitant this time, “Do you still have that uh… ring from… that time?” Dean muffled a snort at his brother’s expense but you both ignored him, completely accustomed to his nonsensical teasing by now.

“Uh yeah, I- I think so.” The uncertainty in your voice was a lie. Of course you still had the ring you’d once used to pretend to be married to Sam Winchester. You may or may not have tucked it away in a special place for safekeeping.

“Good,” Sam nodded curtly, “I want you to wear it. It’s silver. I’ll wear mine too and Dean already has his. That’s how we’ll know that we’re still… ourselves.”

“OK, yeah that’s a good idea,” you agreed, trying your hardest not to linger on the memories.

“Well look at you two! Getting hitched again so soon-“

“Shut up, Dean,” you and Sam cut him off together.

When the meeting was adjourned and you were about to part ways to prepare for the upcoming hunt, something inside you forced you to call out his name, “Oh and Sam!” He turned around at once, questioning gaze somewhat urgently searching yours for a sign of what might come next. You stuttered though, feeling suddenly self conscious, so the next words you uttered were not much louder than a whisper, “Be careful with your wrist.”

Sam smiled, his dimples making your fingers twitch with the need to caress them. “I’ll be fine. You just look out for yourself. Remember, we’ll be right behind you.”

Somehow you both didn’t hear the groan Dean emitted as he rolled his eyes to the ceiling and prayed to whoever was listening, ‘Good lord, someone give me the strength to survive another day with these imbeciles.’

There was only one diner in the tiny Pennsylvanian town, and seeing as you were starving by the time you got there, the three of you were forced to make do with soggy fries and questionable milkshakes. As you ate, you went through your game plan once more, which essentially consisted of waiting until nightfall to visit the bar from where the previous girls had gone missing, while Sam and Dean shadowed you covertly.

Before you left, you took a quick trip to the loo and when you returned, Sam was stood outside alone, a broad smile upon his face.

“Where’s Dean?” you asked as you began to walk out the diner, expecting to find the older brother waiting impatiently in the parking lot by his precious car, but the Impala was gone.

“He went back to the motel, said he had something to take care of and that we should go scope the place out first.”

“But I thought we agreed to-“

“Yeah, well change of plans, you know how it is,” Sam replied casually with a shrug.

Little red flags started fluttering in your head, urging your eyes downward to locate the silver band on his finger. You frowned when you found it there untouched on his right hand; Sam almost never interrupted you, not even when he was absorbed in the foulest of moods.

Apparently sensing your hesitation, he added, “I mean, he made a good point. Maybe if you familiarize yourself with the surroundings first, you’ll be able to take the guy out faster.”

Sam was still smiling at you, but it felt all wrong. You couldn’t explain it, but there was something missing from his rainbow eyes. The colors were all there, but they lacked luster and warmth, a delicate twinkle that you’d learned to associate with the beautiful, heroic yet self-doubting giant of a man. Never had you seen that breathtaking magic replicated elsewhere, nor had you ever seen Sam without it, which was why you were almost completely certain that the man before you was not the real Sam Winchester.

But weaving within you was a thread of doubt, insisting that you couldn’t just pull a gun on your best friend because of something as trivial as… a feeling? No, you needed to test your theory. And so, bracing yourself with a deep breath, you slowly reached out your silver-equipped hand to do something you’d grown accustomed to resentfully abstaining from: touching Sam’s bare skin. You aimed for the large target of his hand, deeming it the most inconspicuous of places (given that he was wearing his hunters’ uniform and the only other visible option would’ve been his face or neck), but Sam was faster. Just before you were able to graze his skin with your ring, he caught your wrist in his much bigger hand and pulled it away, twisting your arm until it was locked painfully behind you.

“You think you’re smart, huh?” the shifter snarled with a flash of its eyes, moving in real close as he used Sam’s immense size and his own superhuman strength to easily constrain you.

Even so, you stared up at him defiantly, unafraid, “Sam and Dean will be back.”

“That’s the plan.”

Sam’s sneering face and threatening voice were the last things you saw or heard.

You had no way of determining how much time had passed when you unceremoniously came to in what looked and smelled to be an underground sewer. As your senses sharpened and your muddled brain began to size up your current plight, you nearly scoffed at the clichéd style of your captor. Sat on a peeling wooden chair, manila rope bound your wrists together behind your back and tethered your ankles securely to each of the seat’s front legs.

Ignoring the ache in your head, you set about strategically testing the knots and the integrity of the wood. If only you could reach the silver blade in your boot. But your attempts were interrupted by the reappearance of the shifter, whose shoe hit something as he stepped before you. A metallic clang echoed through the confined space as a result and you followed the sound to find your coveted knife on the ground, far beyond your reach.

“Fucking hunters, always think they’re so clever, always one step ahead because it’s their game. Sure, we might be the monsters but you’re the predators! So let’s see how you like being the prey for once.” Shifter Sam’s upper lip curled up in a way that seemed so foreign to you as he leaned forward to rest his hands on either arm of your chair, caging you in.

The malicious glint in his eye left you with no qualms about affronting this being who, for all intents and purposes, appeared identical to the man you’d recently discovered you were in love with. Lifting your chin, you glared up at him brazenly, “If you’re so keen on being the predator then why am I still alive? What are you waiting for?”

“Why your knight in shining armor of course!” he exclaimed, backing up as he stood to his full height and gestured to himself with both hands. “You think it was a coincidence that all those women looked like you?”

The shifter’s narrowed eyes were alight with amusement and a ripple of fear surged through your body. You were in much deeper than you or the boys had anticipated, though years of practice helped you keep your voice steady and bold, “What did you do to them?”

“Oh, I gave them a fairly painless death, don’t you worry. They were just stepping stones on my way to you. See, the Winchesters owe me a girlfriend, so I figured I’d take the closest thing to theirs. But imagine my joyous surprise when I got into this big lug’s head and discovered that he’s in love with you! No, actually it’s more than that. He’s obsessed with you; you never leave his brain! Every other thought and memory is about you... Well, it’s either you or his brother, but oh, it’s gonna kill him to see you die before his eyes. I might’ve been able to replace my dead girlfriend, but I don’t think Sam here will ever come back from losing you.”

Stunned into silence, the stupid influx of misguided hormones pumping through your veins forced you to focus on maintaining a neutral expression as he rattled on.

“And you feel the same way, don’t you? So this really will be a double kill. It’s OK, you can let it all out. I might be a monster but I’m not one to deny the dying their chance for some last words. Besides, you can say it all while looking into the eyes of the man you love.”

“Fuck you,” were the only words you could trust yourself to spit out at him.

‘Sam’ laughed, but it was nothing like the laughs you normally pulled from him. It didn’t radiate like sunshine or replenish your soul with glee. Rather, it was chilling and conniving and despite the mimicry of Sam’s beautiful voice, you immediately decided that you never wanted to hear it again.

“Not feeling too talkative, huh? Or maybe you’d rather wait until he gets here in the flesh to make that anticlimactic confession of love? That’s alright, I can just tell you more about this dumbass’s feelings for you.” The shifter chuckled with delight, as if every word brought him nothing but pure joy. “Man, he loves you so much, it’s insane. I’ve never been inside the skin of someone so in love. And I thought I really loved my ex. Afterall, this whole revenge thing is for her. But I gotta tell ya, I’ve got nothing on Sam Winchester. Did you know he thinks you were made specifically for him? You ever feel like that? Like you were just destined for someone? Cause Sam does. That’s how he feels about you.”

“Why should I believe you?” you challenged, growing tired of the inadvertent response his words were eliciting. Your heart was pounding in your neck, core trembling at the mere possibility of Sam genuinely feeling the way he’d described. But you knew better than to trust a monster, and one who was in pursuit of maximal vengeance no less. Still, those rose-colored thoughts resonated within you, and you stumbled to dismiss them as they bubbled up, one after another like a game of emotional whack-a-mole.

Shifter Sam smirked, “Yeah, you’re a cynical one, aren’t you? You know everything he said in that marriage counseling session was true. You kinda hurt his feelings when you just brushed it all off. Even big brother Dean’s been trying to get him to confess his love for you. You must’ve heard them arguing about it at some point? They weren’t exactly being discreet.”

Choosing not to respond, you simply scowled at him.

“No? Still in denial? Perhaps you need details… You ever notice how he always sits across from you whenever you’re doing research? It’s because he thinks you’re gorgeous when you’re focused, and it gives him an opportunity to admire you without getting caught. And why do you think he lets you call him Sammy, huh? Yeah, he might not let it on but he fucking loves it when you do, makes him feel all tingly inside. And you remember that cop who hit on you? Captain Anderson, was it? Sam wanted to break the guy’s nose just for touching you. Oh and why do you think he asked you to move into the bedroom closest to his? It’s so he can keep track of your nightmares. He likes to keep you close because it makes him feel like he can protect you better when you need it.”

By now, your ‘neutral expression’ must have surely mutated to betray your shock, and you couldn’t have answered if you tried. The shifter didn’t seem to mind either way. In fact, he appeared to be having the time of his life.

“And it’s not all pure thoughts, let me tell you! Oh man, buddy boy here has dreamed up plenty of X-rated scenes with you, ranging from obnoxiously romantic to just plain obscene. You name a position and he’s imagined it, in high-definition detail,” he embellished, tapping an index finger against his temple, “His mind is like a library of pornos starring the two of you, although he’ll never get to live out any of his fantasies, will he? It’s a shame really; some of these are really hot... Ooh, I’ll have to borrow that one,” he said with closed eyes, as if a figment of Sam’s imagination was playing through his head in that very moment, “Maybe my girl and I can re-enact it while we’re still in your skins-”

“Shut up, just shut up!” you finally bellowed in protest.

Sam watched the bathroom door attentively after you’d disappeared through it, unable to contain the upward jerk of his lips when he saw you walking back out of it. Heartwarming relief had become his body’s intrinsic response to seeing you safe and sound.

“You ready?” he questioned when you made it to his side.

“Yeah, I’m good.” God, even the sound of your voice made him happy.

Once you got back to the motel, Dean plopped down onto one of the full-size beds, exhausted from the drive. Within a matter of seconds, snores began to fill the room, and Sam chuckled under his breath as he sat down around a wobbly table with you to continue your research on the shifter’s victims, hoping to find something else that linked them together or a clue as to where they might’ve been taken.

It wasn’t long before you inhaled a revelatory gasp and abruptly clutched Sam’s wrist to show him what you’d found. But your grip was harsh, causing him to hiss in pain and do something he’d never before done: recoil from your touch.

“Oh, I’m sorry, does it still hurt?” you asked nonchalantly, smiling up at him innocently.

Worse than the pain in his fractured wrist was what felt like sirens blaring in his head. You were always hyper-cognizant of his injuries and exceedingly careful around them, sometimes even more so than himself. Sam looked you over subtly, eyes landing on the silver ring still upon your finger. Perhaps his mind had been playing tricks on him and all that tender attention he thought you’d shown him was simply a mirage of his own wishful thinking?

“It’s fine, I just wasn’t expecting it.” Sam sent you a tight smile, to which you responded with a dazzling one of your own. It was beautiful but something about it felt off. In the past, you apologized profusely if ever you found yourself the accidental cause of his discomfort, no matter how indirect or insignificant the case, but right now there wasn’t a single speck of concern in your eyes. Indeed, the more he looked into them, the more he struggled to recognize the person staring back at him.

In a flash, Sam had you up against the wall, a silver blade held against your neck. He looked down to see the metal sizzling there, burning your flesh, and cursed himself for failing to notice sooner.

The noise woke Dean from his slumber and what he saw when he opened his eyes was equal parts shocking and amusing. “Whoa! At least wait till I’m out of the room! And isn’t that a little kinky for your first time?”

“Dean, it’s not her. She’s not Y/N,” Sam grit out, “She’s wearing the ring but she’s not Y/N.”

His brother’s brows knit together as he rubbed the sleep from his emerald greens. “Wha- How did you know?”

“She was acting… weird.”

Dean scrambled off the bed, making a quick call on his phone to ensure you really were missing. He paled when a robotic voice over the line told him the number he was trying to reach was no longer in service.

It was then the shifter decided to speak up, “You know, the real Y/N would have liked this, you pressing her up against a wall?” she murmured suggestively.

“Shut up. Where is she?!” Sam slammed her body against the flimsy motel wall once more and dug the knife in a little deeper. In his panic-stricken state, he barely registered her remark, being driven entirely by a one-track mind at present.

Shifter Y/N grimaced slightly, glancing down at the knife, “Maybe if you stop cutting into me with that, I might consider telling you.”

“How did you get the ring?”

“Oh, this little thing? You like it? It’s imitation silver, but otherwise nearly identical to the one on the real Y/N’s finger. You see, we’ve been following you for a while now.”

“Who’s we? Where did you take Y/N?!” he demanded incessantly.

“My boyfriend’s got her, but don’t worry, he looks just like you so I’m sure she’ll find her accommodations to her liking,” she retorted with a smirk.

Sam’s heart lunged in his chest and his mind began whirring with endless possibilities of escalating dread. Had you been deceived and captured by a shifter pretending to be him? Were you being hurt or tortured by someone who looked exactly like him? How would you ever be able to look at him the same way again? Of course, you’d know it wasn’t Sam but the damage would still be done. You would forever remember his face as that of someone who once hurt you, who tried to kill you. That is, if Sam could make it to you in time.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get to see her one last time. That’s actually why I’m here, to take you to her when the time is right,” the shifter added casually.

“I will end your miserable fucking life! Tell me where she is right now!” Sam roared before pressing the blade further into her neck, the veins in his forearms ready to burst through his skin.

“Hey, hey! Sammy, ease up! We need her alive, alright?” Dean bounded over to his brother and after quite the struggle, managed to assuage him enough to release his vice grip and replace it with silver chains that shackled her to a chair.

“Sam, maybe we should also be asking ‘why’,” Dean mused as he fastened the end of a chain against one of the beds.

With a shake of his head, Sam avowed through grinding teeth, “I don’t fucking care. I have to get to her.”

“And what if it’s a trap?”

“Then I’ll find her myself.”

Dean scoffed in disbelief as he turned to his usually wise and level-headed little brother, “Oh yeah, and how’re you gonna do that? Where would you even start?”

“I don’t know!” Sam exclaimed in exasperation. Then, after a pause of desperate deliberation alleged, “Shifters like to make their lairs in sewers, right?”

Taking a step closer, Dean maintained his challenging tone, “So what are you gonna do, just wade through the entire town’s shit and piss until you find her?!”

“If that's what it takes, then yes!” Sam looked like he was about to eat his brother alive.

“Aww, that’s so sweet,” shifter Y/N interfered from her seated position before them, raising her chin to meet Sam’s eyes, “Don’t worry, handsome, I can tell you she feels the same way. But unfortunately, by the time you get to her, I don’t think she’ll be able to tell you herself. In fact, you’ll probably hardly recognize her anymore… so you might want to keep me around, if only as a souvenir of your soon-to-be-dead girlfriend.”

Sam couldn’t contain himself anymore. Despite looking like a carbon copy of you, the evil gleam in the shifter’s eyes made her easily differentiable, and so Sam held back nothing when he lunged across the distance, knife in hand ready to do some real damage. However, Dean pounced with him, having predicted his brother’s violent eruption and felt his shaking wrath, knowing a little too well just how rash he could be when it came to you. Still, it took all of Dean’s strength to pull Sam back, sending him a stern but knowing look once he did.

“Sam, stop!” His low voice rumbled as he went into authoritative big brother mode, “Listen to me, you wanna save Y/N? Well so do I, but this is not how we do it! Now I know it’s hard, but I need you to calm down, alright?”

Sam’s massive chest was practically at his chin as he heaved ginormous breaths. Though his body language was still offensive, his hazel eyes were filled with fear and devastation when they looked toward his brother, “Dean, if I don't get to her in time, I’ll...” Clenching his jaw, Sam made a fruitless attempt to calm his tremoring frame and quell his tumultuous emotions. What would he do? Sam wasn’t even sure himself. All he knew was that every cell in his being was currently screaming at him to get to you, to make sure you were safe and soothe away any of your pain. There was nothing he wouldn’t give in that moment to simply know you were alright and to hold you in his arms. He knew you could look after yourself, but for once he had a terrifying feeling that even you were in over your head, that you might actually need him this time, and he’d be fucking damned if he let you down.

“Woah! Hey, hey! Sammy, look at me! That ain’t gonna happen, alright? We’re gonna find Y/N and we’re gonna bring her home in one piece, you hear me? We’re the Winchesters, man! We’ve faced the end of the world. What’s a couple of shifters got on us?”

‘You,’ Sam thought, ‘They’ve got you.’ But he appreciated Dean’s pep talk nonetheless and nodded in response as a fresh surge of determination swelled within him.

“Alright then,” Dean nodded as well, “Why don’t you let me give her a go?”

As Dean’s silver blade cut into the detained shapeshifter, Sam flinched with every moan and howl of agony. He knew it wasn’t you, but she still had your voice and your perfect face. Yet not a second was wasted on the feeling of relief when they finally managed to get a location out of her. Sam nearly tripped over himself in his haste as he snatched the Impala’s keys and his gun before flying out of the room with a jumbled order for Dean to stay with the monster.

“Well, if you’re not gonna admit your feelings for the giant lumberjack, I guess you’re right. Maybe I should stop yapping and get to prettying you up for that first and last date of yours, huh?” Shifter Sam prodded your cheek with a switchblade.

You said nothing. At this point, you had a sneaking suspicion that physical pain might be more bearable than the psychological torment your imprisoner had been so keen on. It was one thing for you to torture yourself by entertaining the slim possibility that Sam might return your feelings for him, but to hear such outrageous perceptions from a creature who could read the inside of his mind like a paperback novel, and conveyed with such tantalizing conviction… well, it just about broke you.

And knowing that the shifter was yearning to coax a confession out of you simply to cause Sam as much anguish as possible made you more resolute about your refusal to submit, beyond the need to protect your own sanity.

One shiner and a slash to the thigh later, however, you heard a loud clash. Shifter Sam paused his handiwork and began to turn around, “Could your knight be here ahead of schedule?”

‘Dammit,’ you thought. The Winchesters were usually capable of being stealthy when necessary but in case it really was the sound of them making a blunder or encountering some other form of resistance, you figured you’d buy them a distraction.

“Wait, wait! You’re right, OK? Maybe I do feel something for Sam, but even if I told him, I think you’re forgetting… This is Sam fucking Winchester we’re talking about here. He’s been tortured by the devil himself. You really think killing me is going do much damage?”

Your abductor had now given you his full attention, leering at you with a sly smile, so you continued, “Besides, you picked a fight with the Winchesters; don't expect to live to see tomorrow.”

Right on cue, a hulking blur of hair and plaid came barreling in, growling ferally as he grabbed the shifter and threw more than one brutal punch against what appeared to be his own face. The silver ring on Sam’s hand made contact with skin and his shifter counterpart groaned in pain.

You nearly forgot about your ceaseless work of untying the rope that cuffed your wrists together as your looked on in shock. Why Sam hadn’t just shot him with a silver bullet was beyond you. He was smarter than this. There was no need to drag out a monster’s death if a more efficient option existed. But as he continued to engage his clone in hand-to-hand combat, it appeared almost as if he was venting his frustrations on the shifter, as if he drank up every ounce of hurt he was able to inflict. But his high only lasted so long and shifter Sam soon regained his balance, making use of his supernatural invulnerability and superior strength.

“Sam!” you screamed as the shifter threw him across the room.

He tumbled up just in time as the shifter meandered over, “So nice of you to join us, Sam. You know, Y/N here was just telling me about-“

Sam didn’t wait for him to finish, choosing instead to tackle him to the floor with a loud grunt. While they wrestled on the ground, you worked furiously at the knots behind you, wincing with every hit Sam took though it was becoming hard to tell them apart.

When Sam finally drew his gun, the shifter was able to divert its barrel and a shot rang out futilely. Catching a subsequent elbow to the ribs had Sam falling to his knees and you watched in horror as shifter Sam once again gained the upper hand, sending the gun flying out of Sam’s grasp. The binding around your wrists was just about undone when Sam seized a stray rusty pipe and swung it against his counterfeit. Shifter Sam was incapacitated for a brief instant but quickly returned to form with some vicious hooks and a couple of well-placed knees.

With your hands finally free of their restraints, you staggered over to the gun, the chair still attached at your ankles. As you took aim, you shouted, “Sam, get down!” before you shot his mirror image through the heart.

Sighing, you slumped to your hands and knees whilst the real Sam sat up with his back against a wall, gaping at you with a look of awe. Yet before he even caught his breath, he was up and gliding toward you, cradling his left wrist at an awkward angle.

“Sam, your wrist!”

“It’s fine, are you OK?” he swiftly dismissed your concern, cupping your face with his good hand as he examined the darkening bruise around your eye.

You ignored the palpitations in your chest and placed a hand upon his wrist, “Yeah, I’m fine. He wasted more time playing mind games than anything. You know villains and their monologues,” you joked, trying to ease his tension and the deluded self-imposed guilt you knew he must’ve been brewing in.

As if to prove your point, Sam lamented, “God, I’m so sorry. I should have known. I should have gotten here sooner.”

“What? No! They were miles ahead of us, Sam. The whole thing was a set up; this was their hunt. How could you have known?”

Rather than replying, he released a breath and busied himself trying to help you out of your binding.

Back at the motel, after icing your eye and stitching up your thigh, you insisted on re-wrapping Sam’s wrist while Dean took care of shifter Y/N’s remains. But when the older Winchester returned and spied you and his brother sitting together on a bed through a crack in the door, he couldn’t resist the chance to exercise his espionage skills.

“How did you know she wasn’t me anyway?” you asked as you gently wound the ace bandage around Sam’s swollen forearm.

“I just…” He looked down at your nimble fingers upon his skin and smiled unwittingly at their tender touch, “had a feeling.”

Sam’s sunflower gaze locked onto yours for a frozen instant and something about his soft expression made you forget what words were, until he cleared his throat, “Did you um- did you know he wasn’t me?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, smiling for some strange reason. Perhaps you were just glad to see his trademark twinkle return to those otherworldly eyes. “Pretty soon after actually. I… had a feeling too.”

Sam’s dimples made every ache in your body disappear as that twinkle glistened in full force, “And how’d you know which one to shoot?”

Well, that dampened your mood and brought you back to the task at hand, “Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you kept grimacing every time you used your left wrist?” Although your words had a bitter force behind them, the pressure beneath your fingertips never increased and Sam had almost completely forgotten about his pain.

You, on the other hand, were reminded of your struggle to reconcile with what had happened since his question prompted a restored and growing frustration.

It had been bugging you the whole time and you felt compelled to confront him about it because storming in alone with a bad wrist, ready to throw hands with an out-of-his-league monster was really not Sam’s style. Something must’ve gotten into him and with everything the shifter had told you, you couldn’t help but wonder. Nevertheless, you were a little afraid of how he might answer, so Dean had to lean in closer to hear your next words.

“Why didn’t you just shoot him?”

“W-what do you mean?” Sam stammered out after a pause.

“Sam, you have a broken wrist, but instead of sending Dean or using your gun from the get-go, you came in like a madman and went after him with your fists!” Your voice was full of incredulity though it also carried an undertone of anger.

As Sam picked up on that reproachful tone, you could almost feel the telltale signs of his puppy dog eyes coming on. “He used my face to deceive you, to hurt you. They manipulated us. I had to- ...I mean, he killed those women just to get us here. He had it coming!”

Your hopes plummeted. Of course, Sam was ever the righteous man. Why would you assume his brashness had been purely born out of a need to avenge you? Though regardless of his reason, you were still upset about his self-destructing behavior, “Yeah, but you had to have realized you were in no position to be the one to give it to him, right? I mean, you might’ve looked the same but he was juiced up on monster superpowers, Sam… which meant he was stronger and faster, not to mention uninjured, in his own territory, and apparently the only one with a sound plan.”

A breath of laughter left Sam’s lips though there was no smile on his face. Here he’d been on a mission to save you, but you were the one who’d ended up saving him, again. You must’ve thought he was comically stupid and pathetically useless. How could he possibly think he was worthy of you? “I guess I should thank you for saving my ass again, huh?”

“What?! No! That’s not what I mean. Sam, you’re the one who saved me! And I’m beyond grateful for it, really I am. I just wish you didn’t hurt yourself more in the process.” You finally finished up with his wrist wrap, securing the final ends with a clip, and letting your hands linger on his for longer than necessary, momentarily distracted by the disparity of size between them. Sam didn’t appear uncomfortable though, as his fingers twitched closer to yours and he made no move to pull away.

He couldn’t help but smile again when he noticed the sincere concern in your eyes that was previously absent in the shifter’s. “Yeah well, what was it you once said to me? ‘Your ass will always be worth it’?”

“And if I remember correctly, you once told me you don’t do things on hunts that make your injuries worse,” you quoted him back with an arched brow.

“Yeah well, I guess this is payback. Now you know how I felt.” A playful grin made his dimples deepen and you clenched your jaw to refrain from gushing over the ridiculous cuteness of this ‘giant lumberjack’.

“You’re an idiot.”

“As long as you’re OK,” Sam answered assuredly, and you nearly melted when his free hand caressed your cheek for the second time that day, big thumb tracing a feather-light path below the purpled skin.

‘You’re both fucking idiots,’ Dean groaned internally from the other side of the door. He knew he had no choice but to up his game.

thanks so much for reading! feedback is greatly appreciated!

STTC TAG TEAM: @matchesarelit @chaoticgremlinwholikescheese @gia-25 @laurakirsten0502 @ruined-by-destiel @sunflowersandotherthings @acertainhero @440mxs-wife @thatdisasteromni @spnjediavenger @justagirlinafandomworld @moostress19 @sweetjedi @stunudo

TEAM IDJITS: @mrswhozeewhatsis @carryonmywaywardbucky @swiftlymoniquesblog @moosewinchester @sams-sass @thinkinghardhardlythinking @jotink78 @winifrede @writingforthelonelysoul @turtletaylor98 @lyarr24 @deanwanddamons @peridottea91 @tvdspngirl314 @idreamofplaid @samsgirl2020 @katwed

TEAM MOOSE: @paulaern

#sam winchester x reader #sam x reader #spnfluffbingo2021 #allyswritingevent #protective!sam #huffy!sam #sam winchester x you #sam x y/n #sam winchester x female!reader #sam x female!reader #supernatural x reader #sam winchester fluff #spn #fanfiction #mini series #sttc #my writing #text

259 notes · View notes