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mypoisonedvine · 4 years ago

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Can u pls write something like dark!reader x steve rogers high school AU , where R is rich spoil brat & she always had a crush on steve but she always bully him by calling him skinny and all and Then yrs later, time changes her family discarded her from will and she becomes poor and need job, got hired for PA by dark ceo!steve rogers who she bullied her all school lifee😈😈

okay this is a lot for a headcanon but I don’t have time to do a whole oneshot BUT I also really like it so we��re gonna just make a longass headcanon here we gooooo

warnings for heavy dub con, choking, slapping, degradation (by steve), bullying (by the reader), abortion mention, brief mention of/implied assault.

“heyo pipsqueak” you called out to get steve’s attention, laughing when he frowned. “looks like you grew a whole inch over summer, be sure to have your mom draw a line in pencil on the doorframe.”

he just rolled his eyes and got back to chatting with his friend. not friends, friend, cause he only had one: bucky, who snarled at you as well.

“pick on someone your own size, if you can find somebody with as big a head as you,” bucky shot back, making you scoff.

“you know, it’s a shame you hang out with this deformed freak, you could’ve been popular. you’ve got the looks for it.”

“I’d rather keep my brains, thanks,” bucky explained as you walked away with your posse of fellow popular kids.

you didn’t used to be so mean to steve. it was sort of a comedy of errors, really. you two had been friends in elementary school-- you, him, and bucky were the rambunctious trio up until middle school.

things change for boys and girls in middle school. guys just get along with each other and don’t think about it much. girls, though... girls need to be sharp. it’s eat or be eaten. and you wanted to eat.

you were lucky that you developed early. it meant that girls respected you and boys feared you-- not just for your attractive features but for the fact that you loomed a foot over most of them.

you started to take advantage of it. and by the time you realized you had feelings for your best friend steve, it was already too late-- he was at the bottom of the food chain and you were at the top.

you told your new girl friends that you wanted to take steve to the sadie hawkins. they laughed at you. for a moment, you felt what it was like to be outcast and you never wanted to feel it again. so, you told steve and bucky that you’d grown apart. and you were happy to just be former friends...

it was steve that started it. he called you out. he told you that you were nothing like who he used to know-- you had become vapid and cold and narcissistic.

“you’re so busy worrying about what other people think, you never take the time to think for yourself.” that was what he said. and it fucking hurt.

“saw you talking to your boyfriend steve the dweeb,” your friend tanya announced at lunch just a few minutes after that conversation. and you were angry, and hurt, and truly friendless despite being surrounded by other popular girls. so you said some things you could never take back.

“steve? as if. did you know he still sleeps with a security blanket? and he has his friend bucky fight for him every week cause if he took a punch he’d crumble to dust?”

and so, mortal enemies were formed. it only got worse in high school, as you fought to secure your title at the top while steve and bucky’s presence filled your heart with guilt and your gut with anger.

if only you’d known how quickly you could fall from your high horse.

it started when you dated tanya’s ex, brock. she was made so she spread a rumor that you would fuck any guy on the football team, even all of them at once.

apparently, a lot of people believed it since tanya had been your sidekick since 6th grade.

two football players believed it. and when you wouldn’t follow through on it, you got yourself a black eye.

that meant you missed school for a week because you couldn’t possibly show up looking like that. tanya told everyone it was because you got grounded and sent away to church camp after your parents caught you in bed with one of the neighbors. so now your reputation was ‘sleeps with football players and old men.’

only brock had been there for you.... but it turned out he had motives of his own. you had originally planned to wait until college, but brock was clearly wanting something in return for putting up with dating pariah #1... so you let him take your virginity.

the condom broke. when you dashed to the trash can to hurl in the middle of history class, you knew something was wrong. (and lost that many more social points in the process.)

brock dumped you the second he found out you were pregnant. didn’t even help you pay for the abortion. he got back together with tanya and told her the real reason for your ‘medical absence’. and that was the last straw for the former homecoming queen.

the humiliation drove you to some.... poor choices, for the next few years. you tried not to think about them now, but it was hard not to when their consequences were staring you right in the face: no money, no job, nearly homeless, and desperate.

over a hundred job applications later, only one had called you back and scheduled an interview. and you only needed one.

so there you were, waiting in the chilly lobby area while the receptionist typed away and chomped her gum, tapping your toes and glancing out the window occasionally.

you were surprised when you had been told your interview would be on the 51st floor. you sort of assumed it would just be some random manager interviewing you, not somebody important enough to have a waiting room like this, or a view like this.

when a man stepped out from the nearby hallway, your eyes went wide. he was tall, and handsome, and obviously muscular underneath the exquisite suit. you suddenly felt underdressed in your hand-me-down business clothes.

then he called your name. and you realized he was going to interview you.

you stood up and nodded. “you can follow me to my office,” he instructed with a smile, leading you down the hall to the corner office. you were in awe of the grandiosity of it all. you were dumbfounded when you saw CEO on the door.

“there must have been a mistake,” you explained as he shut the door behind you. “I... I’m just interviewing for an entry-level position.”

“no, there’s no mistake,” he shook his head, “I have you exactly where I want you. take a seat.”

he circled his desk and sat on the other side of it, resting his elbows on the desk and giving you an oddly smug smile. an awkward silence was finally broken when he realized, “you must not remember me.”

“I... have we met?”

“I don’t blame you, I look pretty different,” he shrugged. “I must’ve grown a whole inch this summer.”

you gave him a confused look before realization dawned on you, along with shame, and fear.

“oh... oh my god, Steve?!” you squawked. he just grinned. “you look... you look...”

“taller?”

sexy.

“you look great!” you said aloud instead.

“yeah,” he agreed, “wish I could say the same for you.”

you swallowed dryly. “so that’s what you want,” you sighed, “to get back at me. I understand. I deserve it...”

“I don’t want revenge,” he denied. “I’m just sorry to see you haven’t been... thriving, since high school. your job history--” he scanned your resume briefly-- “well, you don’t have one. have you been slumming it all this time?”

“without my parents’ money? yeah,” you admitted.

“surprised you applied here, instead of turning tricks on 5th and Columbus.”

your back straightened and your eyes went wide at that comment.

“I mean, you’re already dressed for it,” he smirked.

you stood up and crossed your arms. “if you’re just going to insult me, then I’ll leave now. I’m sorry for everything I did to you, steve,” you announced, voice shaky with oncoming tears.

“can you really afford to leave?” he pressed. “if you have a chance at a job?”

that, unfortunately, got your attention. “you... you might actually offer me something?”

“I will offer you something,” he corrected, “if you just sit down and listen.”

you relented, returning to your seat. you could stand a lot more insults if there was money on the line.

“to be honest, there’s no way I can hire you for the position you applied for,” he sighed. “you’re just underqualified. but I think I can create a position for you.”

you liked the sound of that. “what kind of position?”

“well, that’s tricky, seeing as you don’t have any skills,” he frowned, “except one. so that’s the one I plan on using.”

the look in his eyes made it all too clear what he was referring to, but as you shrunk into the leather chair he went ahead and clarified.

“I’ll pay you whatever salary you saw in the ad. but you won’t be doing data analysis or office management or anything like that. all you’ll be doing is spreading your legs for me whenever I fucking want.”

fear shot up your spine; his eyes were devouring you, pinning you to the chair, and you tried to process that. “I--”

“before you say anything,” he interrupted immediately, “let’s just be perfectly clear that this might be your only shot at a real job. what I’m offering has better pay than stripping, and better benefits than hooking. and unless you have any education or experience I don’t know about, you’re totally fucked.”

“seems like I’m fucked either way,” you mumbled, making him laugh.

“see, you’ve still got that sharp tongue,” he grinned. “can’t wait to put it to better use.”

maybe it was just desperation for cash. maybe it was because he was good-looking and you could do a lot worse. maybe it was because, on some level, you felt like you deserved his punishment after how horribly you’d treated him.

“I’ll do it,” you sighed. “when do I start?”

he stood up and reached across the desk to grab your neck, glaring at you. “right now.”

his free hand was already fumbling with his belt, the one on your throat guiding you downwards. “on your knees,” he instructed, and you slipped out of the chair and onto the floor.

he let go of your neck and you figured he was going to come to you, but instead he stood still and demanded: “crawl.”

debasing as it was, you crawled on your knees to his side of the desk, and he laughed at you bitterly. when you reached his feet and popped back up, you gasped at the sight of his hard cock right in front of your face. it was bigger than your face. and it was dripping precum.

“don’t get so bug-eyed, you can handle it,” he grinned. “if your mouth’s as big as I remember...”

you didn’t want to hear any more. you just wanted to get this over with, so you quickly took his head between your lips and started to suck. you were shocked when he slapped you, hard enough to knock his length from your mouth and to make you reach up and clutch your stinging cheek.

“fucking whore,” he grimaced, “did I say you could put it in your mouth? god, you’re so fucking desperate. just open your fucking mouth and I’ll show you what I want, okay?”

you nodded and stammered an apology, looking up at him with watery eyes and an open mouth. he swiped the latest drop of precum on your tongue before gliding his cock over it, grabbing your hair to keep you steady as he pushed himself to the back of your throat.

“fuck, that’s better,” he sighed. “so much better when you just do what you’re told. I remember how you used to be so cruel with this mouth. now you’re being so welcoming...”

you just sat there and let him use your mouth, trying not to gag when he hit your throat.

“look up at me,” he instructed, “yeah, that’s it. can’t have you forgetting who’s doing this to you, now can we?”

that went on for a bit longer until mascara-stained tears streaked your face, which he seemed rather proud of.

“damn, wouldn’t mind having you swallow my come right now,” he admitted, “but I have bigger plans. get up, bend over my desk.”

you coughed briefly when he pulled out, but did as you were told. he instantly yanked your skirt up over your ass and spanked you several times roughly, making you sob and whine.

“wanna see this ass all bruised up in the shape of my hand,” he explained. “so we can both remember how hard I fucked you.”

he tore your panties like they were paper, chuckling when he found you already wet.

“dripping already, just from choking on my cock? poor baby...”

you spread your legs slightly, though you were sure nothing was going to adequately prepare you for his size.

“you figured out how to use birth control since graduating, right?” he asked, and you nodded quickly. “good. cause I’m not using a condom,” he continued as he let his cock glide over your folds, groaning slightly, “and there’s no way in hell I’m pulling out.”

he pushed forward in one brutal stroke, making you cry out loudly. you really hoped these rooms were mostly soundproof.

“shit, you’re tight,” he hissed, already pulling back and thrusting back in. “clearly you recovered from your years of slutting it up in high school.”

“that-- that wasn’t true,” you defended.

“oh, just shut up,” he growled.

he fucked you fast and deep, his hips pushing yours into the edge of his desk with each thrust. his hands pinned you down at your shoulders, another reminder that you were entirely at his mercy.

“fuck, this is just what you needed... somebody to put you in your place. makes sense that it should be me, since you hated me so much.”

“I didn’t h-hate you,” you hiccuped.

“yeah, you wanted me, didn’t you?”

“always,” you admitted.

“wanted my fat fuckin’ cock to tear up your pussy? is that it?”

“yes,” you moaned, “yes, steve, wanted to be yours.”

“even when I was skinny and short?”

“even when you hated me,” you added.

he growled slightly and you felt your walls tighten around him suddenly. he chuckled, clearly aware that you were enjoying this.

“you want more, baby? want me to fuck you harder?”

“whatever you want,” you answered instead. “just use me however you want.”

he moaned and leaned down to cage your body in with his. “fuck, baby... you’re taking this better than I thought you would. such a good girl for me, huh? such a good little slut. want me to use you, baby? take all my anger out on you?”

“yes,” you whispered, sobbing when he began to fuck you more brutally than you thought possible. but it felt good. so good that your legs were shaking, so good that you felt even better when he tugged your hair.

“yeah, gonna come on my cock, aren’t you?”

you nodded and bit your lip.

“m’ close too,” he admitted, “you’re gonna be so full of my come, it’s gonna be dripping down your legs when you walk out of here...”

your orgasm made your body shake and your eyes roll back.

“fuck, I can feel you coming,” he groaned, “fuck, just like that-- fuck!”

you felt his warmth fill you as his cock flexed against your walls. you were busy trying to catch your breath when he slumped down on top of you and pushed the air from your lungs.

“damn... didn’t think I was gonna come that fast,” he sighed. “see what you do to me? fuck, I knew this was a good idea.”

sure, it felt good, but you were sure he was only going to get rougher and meaner the longer this went on. you couldn’t imagine how you were going to get out of here without somebody noticing your wrinkled clothes, messed-up hair and, as he’d pointed out himself, come all over your thighs.

“guess I’ll see you at 8am tomorrow, huh?” he chuckled, giving you an unexpected peck on the cheek. you couldn’t answer, though, interrupted by the phone on his desk ringing. “oh, sorry, gotta get this.”

he reached for the phone and picked it up, bringing to his ear all without pulling out of you or even lifting his body from on top of yours.

“bucky, hey,” steve grinned as he spoke into the phone, looking down at you and stroking your hair, “you’re not gonna believe who I ran into today...”

#dark!steve rogers x reader #ceo!steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers hc #dark!steve rogers smut #Anonymous

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talltalesandbedtimestories · 4 years ago

Text

House Edge

Title: House Edge (COMPLETE)

Characters/Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester

Summary: You're on a Girls Trip to Vegas and meet a certain hunter at the buffet.

Word Count: 9,100

Warnings: fluff, flirting, gambling, strip club, private dance, mild language

A/N: My first reader insert try. I'm thinking this is sometime around Season 7. Maybe the annual pilgrimage to Vegas when Becky whammies Sam. The majority of events that unfold will probably be right before Dean gets the text from Sam to meet up with him. Thunder From Down Under probably wasn't at Vegas yet - who knows - artistic license and all that. Also, I don't have an extensive knowledge of gambling, so most of what you'll read is from what I've Googled. If something is terribly wrong, feel free to let me know. But, I tried to stay in the vague zone.

Your head pounded and sloshed from the one too many Malibu Bay Breezes you’d ingested during the “Thunder From Down Under” show that ended minutes ago. Three of the nine others in your group were still hooting and hollering at the oil slicked row of hyper muscled, surreal Australian blokes on stage. In addition to the baby oil, the men were bathing in the estrogen overload and accolades washing over them. Wads of cash, stuffed into the glittery floss substituting as underwear, stuck to aforementioned oil slicked skin.

It had been fun, there was no doubt. But the lights and the music and the rabid female reactions were hitting you all at once. Kasey pulled you by the elbow and screamed in your ear. “Wanna get a photo with Faux Fabio?” She pointed to the long-haired blond Adonis with a shoulder span the width of a football field.

You frowned. “How much is that going to run me?”

“Shannon!” Kasey called across the table, still too close to your delicate ear drums. “How much to rub up to one of ‘em?” You were glad you weren’t sharing a room with Kasey. She’d be hurling in the toilet for most of the night after the number of Tequila shots she’d downed. So far. And the night was relatively early. Especially for Vegas.

“Thirty bucks, I think.” Shannon shrugged, paying more attention to her phone.

You shook your head. Your single status and mid-level office job already had you on a strict budget for this girls’ getaway weekend. “I’m good. Besides, the more up close I get, the more disappointed I think I’ll be.” Shannon nodded with a smirk in agreement, still staring at her screen.

Kasey huffed. “Well, Linda, Stacey and Mira are already in line. I’m going to see if I can cut!” She dashed off without another word.

Women skirted and pushed past your standing frame. You tried to become one with the table in front of you. Anything to avoid being pulled into the stampede or thrown to the ground, and mercilessly stomped on by stilettos and sneakers.

Even Shannon looked a bit miffed at the onslaught as you stared at her in a half-cry for help. “My God.” She rolled her eyes.

“Where did Cathy and that bunch disappear to?” You yelled over.

“Who knows?”

You sighed. “What was next on the itinerary?”

“I think any plans are out the window. Every woman for herself.” Shannon tapped on her phone. “My little one’s running a fever. I’m going to get back to the hotel room so I can check in at home.”

You nodded. The only thing waiting for you at home was your tabby, Tyrion. Your Grandma-type neighbor down the hall, Gladys, had offered to cat sit. So there was no one, human or feline, actually waiting for you back in your one-bedroom apartment in Albuquerque.

Holding your breath, you pushed yourself into the crowd, moving against the current towards the exit instead of the line for photos. The quadruple threat of your old college pals was screaming in line about which stripper had the tightest ass.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to have a good time or ogle good looking men. Far from it. But gambling was more your scene anyway. You had a pretty good teacher with your last boyfriend when it came to Blackjack. You breathed a sigh of relief when you shimmied out of the entertainment venue and stepped foot onto the busy carpet of the Excaliber’s casino floor. Your phone read 9:10 pm. There was still plenty of time to lose your shirt.

You’d popped a few aspirin and downed a whole bottle of water in the sitting area of the women’s bathroom, hoping to fend off a killer hangover in the morning. A quick reapplication of lipstick and you were ready to scope out a good table.

After about an hour, you’d split, hit, and stood with the best of them at one table. There’d been one experienced player, Ron, that looked like he’d planted roots in the seat next to you. He got to talking, as the old timers usually did, and you’d learned he was born and raised in Reno. You had a nice little chat with Ron and Stevie, the female dealer, and fended off a few men who sat on the other side and hit on you more than the cards they were dealt.

“That is not a bad takeaway, there.” Ron nodded when you decided to cash out.

“Thanks. Pleasure, Ron. You take care.”

“You too, pretty lady. Remember what I said about Roulette. You should try it once.”

The betting chips clinked in your plastic souvenir cup. “I might.”

He tipped you a two-finger salute. You wandered, your stomach empty. The buffet to end all buffets calling your name.

“Fuck it.” After turning most of your chips into cash at the counter, leaving one $50 chip in your jean pocket, you headed for the International food amalgamation that guaranteed intense heartburn and bloating in the morning.

Fluorescent lights and sneeze shields presented you with choices beyond comprehension. You grabbed a large plate and planned your method of attack. One of your pink manicured nails tapped on the bottom of the china. “Ease into it.” You decided to go with the Mediterranean spread first. Before you knew it, there were helpings of General Tso’s chicken, pizza, potstickers, mashed potatoes and French fries, along with some bratwurst and sauerkraut. The grumbling from your tummy may have been a warning when you sat down at the table for two, alone, on the cafeteria style floor. The waitress gave you a tired smile when she dropped off your iced tea.

You shoveled some sauce drenched chicken into your mouth and took in the scene. People floating around, getting up for seconds or thirds, talking about how much money they lost or won, what shows they should try to see while they were in Vegas. You chewed and stared at the formidable back of a man at the table directly ahead of you. He’d give Faux Fabio a run for his money. He had fluffy, long brown hair. His animated storytelling hands got your attention. You heard a deep chuckle and slurp from his table sharer, out of your view because of the mountain man. “Alright,” the man stated, “Going to give the Poker Room another go. Coming?”

“Nah.” The very deep voice replied. “I’ve still gotta hit the dessert line.”

You watched the man rise from his seat, floored by how tall he was. And, when he turned, you saw how very cute he was. You’d have paid thirty bucks to snap a picture with this man. He gave you a sweet little smile when he walked past. You couldn’t help but look over your shoulder and take in the rest of him as he left. Smacking your lips and shaking your head, you turned back to your plate to resume the dent made in the food. Your eyes darted up to look at the man left alone at the table. You were pretty sure your mouth gaped open at the sight of him, staring at you. He wiped at his face with a napkin.

Oh my. If the man that left appeared sweet and cute with just a smile, this one was a boatload of sexy and trouble with that smirk. You could tell by the way he took his time inventorying you with care, chewing slow the whole time. One side of his lip curled up in another grin variation. He nodded at you in greeting from across both tables. You smiled back and then pretended to stare at your food. He tossed the napkin on his plate and stood up. You peeked up and noted he was layered in a couple shirts and broken in jeans, like his partner. Not quite as tall; but, still very tall in your estimation. You wondered what he’d look like in a g-string and bathed in baby oil.

And, oh boy. He was walking straight over to your table. Yep, he was very tall, by the way you had to tilt your head backwards when he strolled up. He smacked his lips, disrupting the beaming smile before he spoke. “That was my little brother you were checking out. Want me to give you his number?”

You had to lean back in your seat a bit more. “Um. No, that’s okay.” Geez, he was pretty. Holy Facial Symmetry Batman!

He nodded, then smiled again. “Want to give me your number?”

You had to chuckle at the bravado. “Does that work for you a lot?”

He shrugged. “Works enough.”

“I don’t doubt it.” You decided to play along. “How long are you in Vegas?”

His brows rose up. “Just tonight.”

You tisked. “Not enough of a time commitment for what I’d want to do.”

He chuckled this time. “Is that so?”

You nodded.

He pointed to your plate. “Can I get you anything? I’m heading back up.”

“I think this should tide me over for a while. But, thanks.”

His jaw clenched. “Can I join you when I get back?”

What the hell. “Sure.” You smiled.

“Man, you almost kept up with me.” Dean sighed and rubbed his tummy after his third dessert plate.

“Hardly.” You were only working on your second serving of what might be considered actual food. A half hour had passed, you sitting with this veritable stranger. Talking about nothing of much importance, but having a grand time flirting, enjoying his rough and rugged demeanor and the boyish charm. One of your palms hit the tabletop. “I’m tapping out.”

“Not much for sweets?” He leaned in and studied you. Stunning green eyes twinkled with mischief. He batted the kind of lashes you could only get with a thick coating of mascara. “Or are you already sweet enough?”

“Is this like an Ocean’s Eleven thing?”

His smile dropped, waiting for you to elaborate. “Come again?”

“Am I like some unwitting part of a huge con job going down in the money room right now?”

He chuckled. “I’m not following, sweetheart.”

“Why are you sitting here with me?”

“Are you kidding?” He leaned way back in his chair, teetering on the back two legs. An arm swept out from his side in your direction. “Have you seen yourself?”

You pursed your lips. “Please.”

He raised a hand. “I’m not going to try and convince you. But I may take advantage. Commandeer more of your time, since you think you don’t deserve mine.”

“So you are a con man.”

He shook his head. That smile could only belong to the most skilled grifter. “If I was a good con man, I’d have more than a hundred dollars to my name after half a day in this ‘It’s a Small World’ casino.”

“It is a bit Disneyfied, isn’t it?”

A shrug. “Well, it’s cleaner than the ones near the motel Sam and I are staying at, so that’s a plus.”

The plate of food in front of you looked less and less appetizing as the seconds passed. Pushing it away, you really wanted to dig into the dessert that was Dean. But you’d only had two one-night stands in your life. Neither one was spectacular and left you full of regret that you’d had them to begin with. But this man. Oh, you had a feeling this man would love you and leave you with a million other regrets and create an addiction you’d never be able to fulfill again. What was that saying? Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. This man was surging all kinds of wants in your head. If you got a taste, you knew you were done for.

His voice rumbled like a storm cloud and pulled you out of your thoughts. “What’s up for the rest of your night?”

You grinned, wanting to tease out this time with him for as long as possible. Skirt on the edge of a pond of possibilities and drown in those sometimes sea green colored eyes. “I told you there’s not enough time if you’re leaving tonight.”

“Pretty good at completing a task quickly and efficiently.” He licked his lips. “I mean, taking my time, yeah, that’s always ideal. But, if we’re pressed for time, sweetheart, I won’t disappoint.” His brow twitched up.

You sighed, sounding a little too loud and desperate for your liking. “Does a guarantee come with that claim?”

“How much of a gambler are you?” He deflected the question with another.

“I enjoy it.”

“I might be worth taking a chance on, then.”

“Hm. I met a nice old man while playing black jack tonight. He talked about odds and luck and the house edge and why he loves cards, black jack especially. It works his brain and he can play for hours and not lose his shirt.”

Dean smiled. “So, what kind of hand am I? Soft or hard?”

You grinned at the innuendo, trying to keep your train of thought on its track. You leaned across the table. He mirrored your action, meeting you halfway. His hands clasped together on the surface, forearms firm and locked. The closest stare you’d shared.

Both thumbs lifted up in his grip and he nodded a fraction with his chin. “Well, what’s the verdict?” You could smell apples, cinnamon, and vanilla on his breath; courtesy of his indulgence in pie ala mode and his slightly parted mouth. He came into full focus now. Freckles dotting the tops of his cheeks and sprinkled across his nose. Lips that were perfect, puffy and pronounced. Sharp edges and soft curves. He watched you inventory him as he did the same, eyes scanning, crinkles emerging around them when he smiled and you thought he found something he especially liked about your visage. The gamblers and diners dropped away from your periphery. The piped in music and frantic sounds locked away in a vacuum, muffled and mumbling like the adults in those Peanuts cartoons you loved to watch when you were little.

“Neither. You are in no way a safe bet. You’ve got a major house edge.” Your answer came out lower than intended. The slight mix of surprise and disappointment on his face at the answer made you clear your throat. You continued. “So, why gamble in the first place? Cause there’s always the slightest chance you’ll get lucky and hit it big. Flip a coin and see where it’ll land.”

The smile returned and he shot stick-straight in his seat. “I’ve got plenty of coins.” He began to rifle through a jacket pocket. “Two out of three?” You held back a giggle at his eagerness.

“I’ve got one right here.” You dug the chip out of your jean pocket. The plastic disc twirled between your fingers. “Wanna see where it lands?”

His eyes widened. “Big spender. What’re we betting?”

It was your turn to lean back. “Depends. How lucky do you feel?”

He chuckled. “Stakes? And, then I’ll let you know.”

You swallowed. “Well, Ron, the old man, was explaining that Roulette has the best House Edge for the casino. Over five percent in their favor that a player loses. Think you can be my lucky charm and push those odds in my favor?”

He nodded. “What we talkin’? Street or split bet?”

The man knew his games. You smiled. “Straight up.”

His head tilted back. “Whoa. That’s a helluva lot of luck.” A finger pointed back and forth between the both of you. “I help you hit the jackpot and…”

You grinned. “You hit the jackpot. Call the shots for the rest of the night. We go wherever. Do whatever.”

His lips curled into an “O” as he tried to hold back his own grin. He nodded in thought. “If you lose?”

You shrugged. “Buy me a drink at the nearest bar, share some more stories, then we shake hands and say it was nice meeting the other.”

He raised his hands. “Well, I will take those odds. Let’s go find us a wheel.” His tall frame bolted out of his seat, beaming a smile at you.

Your heart sped up. There was no way he was winning this bet. But he seemed up for spending a little more time with you regardless. And that said something. You reached into your purse to drop a tip on the table but he’d already beat you to it.

“Lead the way, sweetheart.”

You nodded and wandered from the restaurant to the massive casino floor. He towered next to your side, the elbow of his jacket brushing against the sheer material covering your biceps. He smelled amazing. When you stopped in the middle of the floor to get your bearings and looked up to ask what direction you both should head, you found him gazing at your cleavage in the strappy surplice top. The look on his face shot straight to your core.

His eyebrows shot up at the realization he’d been caught ogling. “What’s wrong?”

A flush of warmth flooded your face. “We’re using your luck here. You pick the table.”

“Lot of pressure.” He mumbled.

“Lot at stake.” You countered.

“Alright.” He nodded to the right. You followed him, weaving through the crowd, now having the chance to notice his bowlegs and how very wide his shoulder span was. He was wearing entirely too many layers to your liking. But, you got to bathe in the wake of his scent and imagine how very pert that ass was under that denim. He halted without warning and you put the brakes on your stride, inches before careening into his back. His fingers pointed three tables over. “That one.” He looked over his right shoulder and grinned, finding your body and face quite close. “Step right up.”

You took the lead again and inhaled and exhaled deep, taking the one empty seat at the Roulette table. The wheel was currently in motion, the ball spinning, holding the breath of every gambler with a stake on the result. You heard the clicking of the ball along the slots as the rotation slowed, deciding on its destination.

Dean slid his standing frame along your right. He was warm, solid. He tipped down to whisper in your ear. “Sure you wanna go for a straight bet? Making me think you don’t even want a little fun time with me. We could lower the stakes. I’d be more than happy to let you call the shots for the rest of the night.” The offer dripped out of his voice with a deep intensity, low and tempting.

You would not meet his eyes again, already picturing the sexy smirk on his face. He would distract you, make you cave. “Nope.” You responded. “All in. Go big or go home.” You pulled out the chip from your pocket as the winning number was called. A mixture of whoops and grumbles emerged from the dealer’s announcement. Chips were swept over and around the table.

He sighed and rose up, waiting for the table to be cleared and for the dealer to tell everyone to place their bets. “Okay. What number?”

Your mind reeled with the possibilities. “When’s your birthday?” You asked.

“Seriously?” He chuckled.

“Yep.” Your eyes wandered over the red and black numbers on the green felt board. The all clear was called and chips scattered in place with both hurried and tentative fingers of various betters.

“January 24th.”

“So, we could go with 1 or 24. Red or black?”

Your body startled with the pressure of his hand at the small of your back. “Black.”

“24 it is then.” You gulped and placed the chip with care over the number. It rested there alone, a single play amid a multitude of others.

His fingers tapped against your skin in anticipation. “Well, it was fun while it lasted.” He joked. “Maybe as a parting gift you’ll give me your number.”

You smiled, focusing on the slight swirl of his fingers now, imagining what they could do to other parts of your body.

“No more bets.” The dealer called and waved a hand over the table. The wheel spun in one direction. The ball clicked and whirled in its lane in the other.

You thought about what Blackjack Ron had said earlier. Roulette, straight bet odds were 35 to 1. You could view that bet as a drowning man’s last ditch effort to keep their head above the water’s surface. Hold out for that raft to save them, give them a second chance to get things right. Or, you could view it as something as simple as hope. Hope that great things sometimes happen when you take a risk. You should try it once. That’s what Ron had said.

You closed your eyes as the wheel slowed and the ball eased in its race for the finish line. You replayed that little mantra, the pep talk you’d give yourself every once in a while in your bathroom mirror. Failure is always a possibility when you try. But so is success.

The dealer announced the winning number.

Dean’s fingers froze. “Holy fucking shit!” He bellowed.

Your eyes jolted open. The dealer placed a tiny marker on “24 Black.” Your mouth dropped open and watched the chips stack up in front of you.

“Holy fucking shit!” Dean repeated. “How much is that?”

You blinked, then repeated the calculation out loud you had figured out when you threw out the dare. “One thousand, seven hundred, and fifty dollars.”

“Wow!” You looked up and assessed his face. He was floored and amazed, like a kid that was just told he had free reign in a toy store. “That’s… that’s some luck.”

“All you.” You grinned.

The compliment took him aback. There was the slightest hint of blush on those cheeks.

You motioned to the winnings. “Okay, grab some and let’s cash out. Half of this is yours.”

Even more amazement. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“I’m feeling generous.” You packed the chips into your purse. He stuffed some into his pockets. When you rose up, a jolt of adrenaline pushed you into a new territory of action. One filled with courage. You took your time and slithered close to his standing frame. Let parts of your body sweep along his. His brows rose higher than you’d seen so far that night. “Looks like you’re calling the shots now, Dean. We go wherever. Do whatever.”

A delicious lick of his lips followed your statement. His eyes dazzled with thoughts. “Let’s get out of here.”

You’d walked with him along the strip for what felt like forever. He’d gotten you a cup of frozen yogurt for part of the adventure. The warm air and pulse of Vegas fed your lingering alcohol buzz. Dean was just as intoxicating. He talked in cryptic paragraphs about him and his brother’s nomadic lifestyle. You laughed at his dirty jokes, both basking in the artificial glow surrounding you and the high of winning. But you, most importantly, let go of the decision making.

A turn off the busy, fluorescent lit thoroughfare landed you in a much more adult amusement area of the city. And, you had an inkling, heading in the direction of Dean’s motel. You’d finished the last bit of your treat and tossed the empty cup and spoon into a nearby trash can when he stopped to read the flashing sign of a venue.

His rapt stare forced you to look up and see what he was focusing on. The amber neon depicted the figure of a voluptuous female with flowing hair, one leg wrapped around a bright white pole. You read the name of the establishment out loud. “Sapphire Gentlemen’s Club?”

He turned to you and grinned. “Been in one of these before?”

You felt your brow scrunch together. “Well, no.”

He walked over to the glass door covered in dark film. “Well, let’s go, then.”

“Really? This is what you want to do?”

“At this moment? Yes.” He opened the door and ushered you in. “My lady.”

You chuckled and shook your head. “Are you trying to test my comfort level or something?” The question breezed by his frame as you passed.

“Something like that.” He smiled.

You really didn’t know what to expect when you walked in. A bouncer looking dude waved you in after a quick survey. Dean’s hand was on your back again, as it had been off and on throughout the evening, leading you towards the dim section of tables and booths. It was packed with, from what you could see, a majority of male patrons with the occasional token female. The tables wrapped around a few circular stages with catwalks emerging from blue velvet curtains. A dozen or so topless females danced for the pleasure of their audiences. The bass of the music rumbled through your skin.

“Here.” Dean leaned in, pushing you to a free high top right by one of the stages. Enough light spilled onto the area that you spotted the kid in a toy store look on his face again when he took his seat.

You sat across, tearing your gaze from him to the ladies wrapped around poles, bronzed and oiled similar to the male counterparts you’d been hooting at earlier that evening.

“Thought you could see how the other half lives, after that Australian review.” Dean brought up the exact same thought, only he shivered in distaste. A wave of his hand requested the attention of one of the waitresses who thankfully, for you, wore a bit more than the dancers.

“Hello, lovelies. I’m Cherie. What can I get you?” She purred over to Dean and gave you a sweet smile, dropping napkins in front of your spots. Her bare glittery shoulders and cocoa skin made you crave chocolate for a second.

Dean’s lips quirked up in a smile. You realized he’d been giving your reaction more attention than the female with big onyx eyes and raven, wavy hair. “I’ll have a bourbon. Top Shelf. Neat. What are you having, sweetheart?”

You shrugged, continuing the little game you’d started since he won the bet.

He nodded. “Same for this pretty little lady.” The waitress nodded, about to walk off, when Dean asked, “Oh, what’s it cost for a private show in the back?”

The waitress raised a pencil lined eyebrow. “Depends on who you want the show with.”

“Are you available?” Dean grinned.

She giggled. “I might be.”

“Well, if you are, let me know what it’d be for the both of us?”

“Will do, sweetie.” Cherie bounced off with a pronounced sway of her ample hips.

Your mouth popped open. “What?”

“Whatever I want.” He reminded you with a lick of his lips. He leaned his forearms on the table. “You ever, ah…”

An awkward giggle erupted from your throat. “No.”

He shrugged and smiled. “Thought about it?”

“Maybe.”

That made Dean’s grin grow wider. “Well, it’s only a dance. You technically aren’t supposed to touch the ladies. Sometimes, though, you get lucky. And, the way my luck is going tonight… got to give it a shot.” His fingers brushed over the top of your hand. “Get something etched in my memory for repeat viewings later.”

The touch of his fingers, light and gentle, ticklish and thrilling, hit an itch you couldn’t quite scratch. You emitted something between a laugh and a sigh. “You’re going to blow all your winnings tonight on booze and boobs.”

“Worth it. I’m getting to spend it with a beautiful partner in crime.”

You sat with him and watched the show. A country tune blasted through the sound system. The ladies all sashayed back to the curtains, flinging them back with a dramatic flair. They disappeared only to be replaced by cowboy hat and boot wearing dancers. Daisy dukes rode so high up that half of their ass cheeks bulged out. Holsters, hung loose from their waists, held fake pistols that, when pulled out for use, were done so with the most phallic inducing reminders. And all had the perkiest, perfect breasts you’d ever seen.

His fingers tangled into yours about midway through the performance. “Thank God I’m a country boy.” He tipped his head about to the twang. “So, Albuquerque, huh?”

You attempted to track the conversation and not the feel of his warm skin tingling yours. The pads of his fingers were rough and worn, gritty but not harsh. You imagined what kind of work he did to get them that way. “Yeah. Moved there after college. Got a job at a big research company. Glorified office assistant, so just the mundane business stuff that helps keep everyone employed on the books, bills paid.”

“Research?” His smile softened, listening to you.

“Sustainable energy, nuclear weapons.”

His bottom lip jutted out as he nodded. “Like it?”

“More days than not.” Your eyes widened as one of the dancers provocatively licked the barrel of her toy gun. You couldn’t help but laugh in embarrassment. “Geez, I’ve never done that with a firearm.”

Dean chuckled. “What have you done with a firearm?”

“I’ve got a license to carry. My dad taught me how to shoot when I was around thirteen. He was a big time game hunter. Back in Colorado.” You didn’t bother to go into what happened to your parents. You wanted to keep the tone of the night light and fun.

“What do you carry?” Genuine interest spread over his face now.

“Walther PPQ. But I left it back home.” You smiled, realizing he was not put off and probably carried as well. “Are you packing?”

“Oh, I’m packing,” He grinned, “but my gun’s back at the motel. Not a good idea to mix Vegas nightlife and bullets, I’ve learned.” That sounded like a perfect lead-in for a story. But he only added. “M1911.”

You nodded then asked, “Country boy, huh?”

“Yep, Kansas.”

“We could have hit Stoney’s then.”

“You would have tried to get me to dance.” He nodded to the stage. “More fun to watch.”

Cherie returned, interrupting the flow of conversation with two tumblers of bourbon. After placing the glasses on the table and eyeing the way Dean gripped your hand, she leaned in close to his ear and whispered. You struggled to make it out, giving up when it proved pointless. His lids lifted a fraction. “Well, that sounds positively delightful, Cherie.” He added with a sexy swagger. “Think you can get yourself one of those cowgirl outfits?”

She nodded. “See what I can do. Jimmy’ll come by for you two in about a half hour then.” Another nearby table called her away.

Dean grabbed his glass and raised it for a toast. “To Vegas.”

You shook your head and clinked your glass with his, mumbling. “To Vegas.”

The sparkling beaded fringe curtaining the doorway was a nice touch. You pushed through the strands and took in where you’d be with Dean for the next twenty minutes, along with Cherie, who was on her way. It was enough privacy for an intimate dance. Safe enough, you imagined, that if one of the women had to call for an assist from a handsy client, someone could be there in a flash without impediment. Burly Jimmy, about a foot taller than Dean, seemed to be the bouncer/bodyguard for the ladies and waited outside in the hallway.

“Really playing up the Sapphire theme, huh?” You asked Dean for his thoughts on the decor. There were two blue velvet, plush armchairs in opposite corners of the tiny eight by eight space. Two of the walls were floor to ceiling glass and a tinted overhead light washed everything in shades of midnight blue.

“Fancy.” He teased. “One of the deluxe rooms.”

The two bourbons you had milked at the table for the last half hour had sizzled your senses with a warm euphoria. Almost like you were watching yourself in some sort of out of body experience. Had it really only been a few hours since you’d seen your girlfriends? You glanced at your watch and confirmed in the spin of your head it was a little after midnight. Your brain and body were wired and alert due to the proximity of this man pushing all your buttons tonight. It was raw, racy, a revelation in facets of sexiness you’d never had the honor of being in the presence of. Until tonight.

He’d teased with playful touches; flirted with that outlaw mouth; melted you with heated stares; worn you down with roguish charm; and hinted at some heavy shit that made you wonder how broken he might be under all that attractive armor. The alcohol had let his guard down a few times.

“Hey.” Dean snapped his fingers and brought you back. “You still with me, beautiful? I think we need to cut you off.”

You clicked your tongue and shot him with your finger gun. “Might be right, partner.”

He chuckled. “Yeah. Think so.” He rubbed his hands together and spotted a touchscreen in the wall. “Huh, even get to pick the music. Real fancy.” He pointed to one of the chairs. “Get comfy.” He tapped some buttons. You slid into the cushion, trying not to imagine the amount of bodily fluids embedded in the fabric. It did smell nice and clean, almost antiseptic, so that settled one of your racing thoughts. Your stare lingered over at Dean, a pensive look on his face as he decided on the tracks. It had to be illegal for someone to be that handsome without even trying. “Damn, it’s hot in here.” He pulled off his jacket and one layer of flannel, draping them over the back of the empty chair. His simple black t-shirt strained over his shoulders, biceps, chest. The alcohol had to be part of the reason he looked so perfect. No way, you kept thinking, no one’s that perfect.

The beads parted and Cherie strolled into the room. She had certainly done what she could to honor Dean’s request. She wore the same white vinyl hot pants and matching color stripper pumps that comprised her waitress attire. But she’d gone full on country bumpkin with a plaid flannel tied in a knot under her push up bra, and a cowboy hat.

“Did you pick your tunes, Cowboy?” She flirted at Dean.

“Yep.” The wide, cheesy grin spread over his face.

“Have a seat, time’s a wastin’.” She was working the southern accent, too. Dean hopped onto the other seat cushion and wiggled his ass into position. He also wiggled his eyebrows like a cartoon villain at you. You giggled.

Cherie tapped the screen. You were unsurprised by the country music that filled the room at a respectable volume. “Jimmy explain all the rules?” She asked and began to gyrate her hips to the song.

You nodded and replied, your eyes bouncing from Cherie to Dean, “You get to touch us, we don’t touch you. Stay in our seats. If we aren’t sure if we can, ask first.”

Cherie twirled and stopped to smile down at you. “I bet you were top of your class, hun.”

Your cheeks heated up at the flirting. This woman was obviously younger than you by at least a decade and was calling you hun. Dean’s jaw clenched at your reaction.

“So, what brings the two of you to Vegas?” Cherie turned around, giving you a full face of her curvy hips and tiny waist. The white pants almost glowed in the light and you could hear the slight squeak of material. Her moves were smooth, fluid, second nature.

Dean was getting a full face of the cleavage peeking out of her shirt as she bent down to give him a nice view. “Romantic getaway for my girl, here.” His eyes drifted over to you, past Cherie’s elbow, with a smirk.

Oh, this is how we’re playing it now, you thought. You had to admit the idea of you being his girl was absolute heaven.

“Aw, how sweet. How long you two been together?” She rose up, her hands gripping the back of her neck, elbows jutting out like wings. She twirled to look at you. She backed into Dean’s lap and began to circle and skirt her ass along his thighs. Cherie blocked his beautiful face with pink flannel. The only Dean reaction visible were his fingers latching onto the armrests like a vice.

You stifled a giggle. “Five years.” You threw out the first number you could think of.

“A lot of man to be working with for five years.” She smiled.

You couldn’t argue with that.

“Alright if I put my hands on him, darlin’?”

You heard Dean moan. How could you deny him? And, how fun that she was asking you for permission and not bothering with his approval. “Of course.” You swallowed at the intimate turn things were taking.

She lifted up, turned again. Her hands landed on Dean’s knees. “Let’s let your pretty lady see how much you’re enjoying this.” She cooed and spun him in the - surprise - rotating chair. You got an eyeful at this angle of that chiseled face and the wide eyes from his own surprise at the movement. He glanced over at you, turning serious in a second. It was like someone had turned the temperature on to sauna level in the room.

Cherie’s actions focused Dean’s attention back to her. Her fingers and long nails drifted and scraped along the surface of his hands, forearms, biceps. Her palms came to rest on his shoulders. She climbed on top with grace, wedging her knees into the cushion by his hips, clamping his bowlegs shut with the force of her muscular calves. Her heels poked out from the chair like weapons. That ass settled on his knees. Her cleavage inched closer to his face as he settled and reclined into the headrest.

“How does he feel?” You realized you had asked the question out loud.

Dean turned to you, languid and lush, blissed out and smiling in a lustful stupor.

“Warm. Strong. All sorts of good.” She smiled at you. “Lucky lady.”

If only, you thought.

Dean licked his lips at you, delved his gaze into Cherie’s cleavage, then met the dancer’s stare. “If you think I feel good, you should give my girl a test drive.” He unclenched his grip on the armrest for a few seconds, maybe trying to get some circulation back in his fingers. “In fact, I’d love it if you’d tell me how good my baby feels.”

Holy shit. Your panties dampened at his confession.

Cherie grinned. “Well, that’s up to your baby. Woman always gets the final say.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Dean chuckled. “I’ve gotta run everything by her, or else I’d get spanked. Can I tell you a secret, Cherie?” Dean husked out the question. Cherie nodded in interest, grinding on him now. Dean cocked a brow at the action. “Sometimes I get in trouble on purpose, just so she can spank me.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at that; the thrill and imagery of Dean naked, leaned over your lap with a bright red ass after some serious punishment from your hand.

“Sounds like you’re a handful.” Cherie snuggled down deeper, and dry humped him. “Feel like a nice handful, too.” She was humming along to the country tune. Just another day at the office for Cherie.

It felt all sorts of wrong and right at the same time, watching this lap dance. This teasing, edging. Who the hell has the House Edge in this scenario?

Dean’s hands clenched tighter around the velvet. “Don’t wanna come in my pants, Sweet Cherie. Isn’t that one of the rules?” He panted.

She laughed. “Oh, I’d break a couple for you two.” She slowed the torture and peeled off him with a groan that almost matched Dean’s. “We going for that test drive, baby?” Her hungry eyes scanned your seated frame.

“Um…” You began. Dean’s breathing regulated and he circled the seat back to face you. He grinned at you, peeking over the curve of Cherie’s hips, ready for the show.

“It’s okay. Anyplace you don’t want me touching, just streetlight. Only if you want to indulge your man.” She raised a brow. “But you might like it, too.”

“Oh, God, I hope so.” Dean mumbled.

Cherie did the same with your chair as she had with Dean’s. You tilted, looking at yourself beyond Dean in the mirror. How very deer in the headlights you appeared. Cherie was a veritable tigress, running the entire show.

She leaned down, inches from your face. Her fingers wiggled and she cupped your jaw. “I won’t bite.” Her sweet breath laced with peppermint washed over you. “So warm. Don’t be nervous.” Her soft voice lulled you into a safe space. “Your big strong man over there wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Would you, Cowboy?”

“Absolutely, fucking not.” Dean’s voice shot straight to your core again. You caught him licking his lips. He nodded, entranced at the vision of Cherie guiding her hand down the slope of your neck, then cupping the curve of one breast. Your breath hitched as she squeezed and her long nails dipped into the cleavage. “How’s she feel?” Another lick.

“Hm, so soft.” An eyebrow arched when she skirted over your covered nipple. “And excited. Still green, sweetie?” You nodded. Cherie tipped off the cowboy hat, sliding it over the crown of your head.

Dean rumbled out a low moan. You thought you heard him curse under his breath and whisper something close to “Ride ‘em, cowgirl.”

The arousal created by this beautiful woman was dizzying and the heat from Dean’s stare was making it hard to breathe. Sweat broke out on your forehead. Your stomach churned. “Oh.” Something else was threatening to escape as a sour bile hit the base of your throat. “Oh, no.” You mumbled. “Red, red. I need to get to a bathroom.”

Cherie hopped off and grabbed you by the wrist. “Jimmy! Need a trash can, stat.”

Dean jumped up from his seat. You spotted alarm on his face and got a quick glimpse of a decent bulge in his jeans before you groaned again at the somersaults your insides were doing. A hand clamped over your mouth as you forced down the gag and swallowed. It wasn’t going to be long before the entire floor would be covered with a Vegas buffet.

The saving grace that was Jimmy parted the curtains and slid a small desk trash can over in your general direction. Dean fell to his knees and held it in front of you. Cherie tossed off the cowboy hat you were wearing and held your hair back.

A deep inhale of the artificial lemon smell covering the trash can liner was what finally had you retching.

You emerged from the women’s bathroom fifteen minutes later after the whole fiasco had commenced. Cherie had been nice enough to bring you a disposable toothbrush and some toothpaste from backstage. You’d cleaned yourself up as best you could. But you were exhausted, humiliated, and planned to call yourself a cab. You were certain Dean had called it a night, leaving your sorry ass to figure things out.

How surprised, then, your face must have looked to see him leaning against the wall, Cherie’s cowboy hat twirling in his hands. He was back in his flannel and jacket, staring out onto the stage. The hint of movement by your slow trudges catching his attention, he turned and gave you a soft smile. “Hey there. How’re you doing?”

You shrugged. “I’m so sorry.” Your scratchy voice skipped over the apology.

He walked over to you. “I pushed my luck… and yours… a bit too far. I’m sorry.” He grinned and placed the hat on your head. “Cherie said you could have it. A parting gift for the both of us.”

A smile broke out on your face.

“You look really cute, Cowgirl.”

“You stayed?” You questioned.

Dean’s face contorted in confusion. “Not like I was going to just skip out on you over some upchuck. Trust me, beautiful, I’ve seen way worse.” He flicked the hat so it rose up an inch higher on your head. “So, calling us a cab or walking you back to your hotel so you can sleep this off? You are going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning.”

You tummy seesawed at the thought of a lot of walking right then. “Cab.”

He nodded and headed for the exit. “Let’s go flag one down.”

“But…”

Dean stopped, wavering in his stride and waited.

“I don’t want to say goodnight yet.”

He smiled, then sighed. “Well, I got a text about an hour ago that little brother is going off on a granola munching hike in the desert by himself.” He scratched the back of his head. “So, if you want to hang out in my seedy motel room for a couple hours, it’s free.”

You grinned, queasy but happy.

He’d found a country station on the motel’s radio alarm clock when you’d arrived earlier and forced you to down a bottle of water and pop a couple aspirin. The both of you were now on your third round of War. The conversation had gotten deeper as the battle continued. But there were still the light, fun and flirty moments that made spending this time with him feel even more special.

You sat cross legged on the blanket Dean had pulled out of his duffel to spare your ass from sitting on the dingy motel room carpet. He sat across from you, back against the foot of his bed, leaning an elbow on one propped up knee, the other leg splayed out on the blanket. You didn’t think his bowlegs could manage a cross legged position and grinned to yourself at the thought.

It was 2:00 am. He showed no signs of fading, but you were struggling. Dean kept glancing at his phone but never faltered to toss down his cards in time with yours.

“Hopefully he’s okay.” You offered. The tinge of pain crept in. You knew you had to say goodbye and call it a night. It was obvious he was worried. His brother had not returned his texts and was still roaming around, somewhere. “I should go. It’s getting really late and you look ready to form a search party.” You tossed your hand of playing cards onto the blanket and attempted a slow rise to your feet. You placed a hand on the cowboy hat to keep it from falling off your head. At least, for now, your stomach had settled. The pounding in your head had lessened.

“I’m surprised your gal pals haven’t been ringing you non-stop.” Dean’s head tilted up and stared.

“I’m the last thing they’re thinking of tonight.” You hadn’t given them much thought either since the first time you’d looked at Dean hours ago. God, it felt like a lifetime ago at this point.

“You should stay a little longer and at least see who wins. We’re all tied up.”

“We’ll just have to call it a draw.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He hopped up much quicker than you.

“Where’d I put my bag?” Your eyes found it on the little table by the kitchenette as soon as you’d asked the question. You hobbled over, letting the blood flow into your legs proper again.

As you rummaged through the contents, you heard the volume of the radio go up.

You turned and saw Dean sitting on the edge of the bed, tapping his thighs.

You giggled. “You like this song?”

“Ah, it’s pop-country. But ladies like it, right?”

You shrugged and dropped into the chair beside the table. “Where I’m from, ladies get weak in the knees for Luke.”

Dean grinned that grin you’d seen countless times that night and wished you could see for every night after. He stood up and swaggered over with purpose, in only that black t-shirt, jeans and sock clad feet. He mouthed the words to the song on his approach. Your eyes were locked on those luscious lips and how well he knew the lyrics.

Gonna stomp my boots in the Georgia mud ***

Gonna watch you make me fall in love

Dean pulled the hat off your head and slid it in the perfect sweet spot on his head. The slight tilt was sexy as hell.

Shake it for the birds, shake it for the bees

Shake it for the catfish swimmin' down deep in the creek

For the crickets and the critters and the squirrels

Shake it to the moon, shake it for me girl

Aw, country girl, shake it for me

He teased and smiled, sticking his fingers into the belt loops of his jeans and swirling his hips. You giggled at his awkward and heartfelt attempt at this show and the blush creeping over the apples of his cheeks.

You rose up and joined him, wanting to relieve him from the embarrassment. And, hell, you finally wanted to dance with him. You sidled up into his space, slotted one leg between his bow legs and circled your hips in time to his. That rhythm being something he easily adjusted to and was happy to continue. You looked up into those green eyes, wrapped your hands around his neck and felt his warm, safe hands glide up and down your back. The lyrics came to you easily and you lip synced along with him. It was corny, cheesy, unexpected, and sexy as hell.

Pony-tail and a pretty smile

Rope me in from a country mile

So come on over here and get in my arms

Spin me around this big ole barn

Tangle me up like grandma's yarn

Yeah, yeah, yeah

The brim of his cowboy hat bopped your nose during a particularly forceful pretend belting of words by Dean. “Sorry.” He spoke aloud and chuckled.

“It’s okay.” You whispered, out of breath from everything he was doing to you. “I’m so glad I took a chance on you, Dean.”

That one statement pulled you both out of the playful and flirty exploration of each other and the boundaries you’d tested. His focus on your face turned serious. And, even though the uptempo song stomped on in the background, his motions halted. His eyes drank you in, every inch of your face. His fingers danced along your jaw, curled around your neck, angling you up to him. To finally kiss you through the rest of Luke Bryan’s crooning.

Now dance, like a dandelion

In the wind on the hill underneath the pines

Yeah, move like the river flows

Feel the kick drum down deep in your toes

All I wanna do is get to holdin' you

And get to knowin' you

And get to showin' you

And get to lovin' you

'Fore the night is through

Baby, you know what to do

You’d died and gone to heaven; were positive of that fact. No man had ever had lips so soft, a mouth so determined, and knew exactly what to do with the precise amount of pressure and tongue.

As Bryan faded out, you heard the chirping of a phone. Dean broke the kiss and leaned his forehead into yours. You felt the brim of his hat on the top of your head. “Sweetheart…” The moan was a mixture of want and something else.

You sighed and knew. “Your brother.” You motioned over to the bed where his phone was. “You should go.”

He leaned down and kissed you again, placed the cowboy hat back on your head and sprinted to the phone. You did the same, found the contact of a Vegas cab company you’d put in at the start of your trip and dialed. You spoke to the weary dispatcher and repeated the name of the motel, watching Dean reply back to the text as he sat on the bed and slipped into his shoes.

“Not too far. Should only be about five minutes.” You nodded. “You can go. I’ll wait outside.”

He rubbed his thighs. “No way. You’ll wait in here with me.”

“Dean, I…”

He cut you off. “You surprised the hell out of me tonight, beautiful. You were up for everything I threw at ya.” He smiled. A genuine, heart tugging smile.

“The night could have taken a much different turn if I could have held my liquor better.”

He shrugged. “But it was still one helluva night. And, I’m glad you took the chance on me, too.” He offered his phone. “Put your number in.” You smiled and did as asked, then handed it back. He shot you a text. “There. Now, you have mine.” He pulled a business card out of his wallet. “And, here. Don’t ask questions, but if for some reason that phone stops working... call this number and say you need to get in touch with Dean Winchester.”

You read the card. “FBI Director, Mike Kayser?”

Dean raised both eyebrows.

“Okay.” You slipped the card and phone in your purse. Headlights flooded through the motel curtains. “Well, that’s my ride, I think.”

Dean stood up and opened the door, walking out into the early morning with you. The yellow cab idled in the parking lot. He waved at the driver, then turned you in his arms and stared at you hard. “You send me a text when you get into your room.”

You chuckled. “You’ll be roaming the desert like Jim Morrison by then.”

“Please.” That soft smile again.

“Okay.”

He grabbed your face with two warm palms, angled you in just the right way so he could dip down and kiss you under your cowboy hat, soft and slow. He whispered in your ear. “I wish I could be your safe bet.”

You gave him one more peck, then walked to the cab. When you opened the back door, you turned and called out. “What would be the fun in that? Flip a coin and see where it lands every once in a while, right?”

He gave you a two finger salute and smiled that Dean Winchester grin. As the driver nodded at your destination and turned out of the lot, you watched him, standing, waiting for you to disappear from view. You held onto that grin. Closed your eyes. Committed it to memory. And hoped you’d see it again.

THE END

***Luke Bryan - Country Girl (Shake It For Me)

MASTERLIST

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fan fiction #dean winchester fluff #spnfanficpond #dean x reader

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jasontoddiefor · 5 years ago

Text

Title: Robin’s Requirements Summary: The name’s Robin,” the kid said with Dick’s smirk and Jason’s accent. Bruce felt ice crawl up his veins. He was going to throw up.Robin number three wasn’t human and Bruce didn’t know how keep going after Jason’s death. They make it work (after a rough start). AN: I decided to put up all the chapters I’ve posted of this story so far in proper order on tumblr since some people prefer reading here. Here’s the AO3 link to the story! I update weekly!

Chapter 1

Summer in Gotham was almost unbearable. The smoke and ashes lingering in the air mixed with the heat radiated from the asphalt to create an atmosphere that made it difficult to breathe or even just move in. In-between the tall skyscrapers and the houses squished into spaces much too small for them, you got the closest you could be to the experience of boiling to death without actually dying.

Winter may freeze your limbs, break away one finger after another, but summer’s heat, similar to the blast of an explosion, burned away your skin.

The summer nights appeared to be the much kinder, softer counterpart to the day time for the poor creatures who had to make their way through dark alleys.

It was a farce.

Gotham wasn’t kind, she hadn’t been in a long time.

The coolness of the darkness lulled you into a false sense of security. You were exhausted already, scared of the shadows too maybe if you weren’t used to them, or if you knew what lingered beyond them, but at least death didn’t await you in the sun’s divine punishment.

A logical but wrong assumption.

Grim hunters stalked the dark, waiting for you to slip up, to make a mistake.

Or at least, they used to be there to sink their teeth into you.

For the longest time Gotham had been protected by three guardians, predators, but nowadays you only ever spotted one of them, and if you did, you were better off to slice your own throat, or so they said.

Nobody had ever attempted to deny that meetings with the Bat could get bloody, especially if you provoked him. Still, they didn’t used to look like a war zone, entrails spread over the grey asphalt as empty eyes judged you for all the horrors you committed. The Bat used to be kinder, more forgiving, more understanding.

He wasn’t anymore. He had broken like Gotham had so many decades ago.

He still protected the weak, the needy, the helpless, but he no longer fought for the damned.

Instead of being their ferryman, he brought them directly to hell. It wasn’t death, not yet, but by the time he was done, you would wish for it.

People wondered what had changed right up until the Joker nearly choked on his acid laughter in the Bat’s arms, laughing about little songbirds cut up so badly you couldn’t tell the red of their feather coat from their blood.

It made sense then that the Bat would start to lose control. Everybody knew that the little Robin was off-limits. You try to could hurt and maim him, or break him for sure, these were the rules of the streets, and if he wanted to fly through them, he had to acknowledge them, but only ever as long as the Bat was your actual target.

You did not target Robin, Gotham loved him.

(There was a price to be paid for his death.)

“Duke, honey, it’s time for bed!”

“I know, Mom! Just five more minutes!”

Duke Thomas considered himself to be a regular ten-year-old. He loved video games, Star Wars, his Mom’s cooking, his Dad’s jokes, and, above everything, Robin Spotting. It was so much fun to stay up late, hoping to catch a glimpse of that colorful uniform or hear the joyful laughter.

Duke had actually seen Robin once too, on his fire escape. The hero had smiled at him and then put his index finger on his lips, indicating for Duke to be silent. Caught up in his excitement, Duke hadn’t even been able to speak to the hero or do anything but stand at his window, jumping up and down. He had watched as Batman caught up with Robin and the duo had flown away, Robin pretty much glued to Batman’s side.

The alley beneath Duke’s window was dark and dirty, but the heroes had been able to light it up.

And now Robin was gone.

Duke couldn’t believe it.

The police hadn’t said anything about Robin’s disappearance. Duke checked the news every day when his parents weren’t watching him too closely, lest they start thinking he wanted to watch those instead of his cartoons, hoping to hear about something interesting that wasn’t economics. However, the papers had plenty to say about Robin. His Mom called them ‘gossip rags Duke was better off not paying too much attention to’, but he had read them regardless.

The papers claimed Robin was dead, said that the Joker had killed him.

Duke was sure they were lying.

Robin was magical, Robin couldn’t die.

(But the Joker rarely appeared to be human either.)

Maybe somebody just had to remind Robin that he was still needed here. Duke sometimes got so caught up in his thoughts, he forgot to do his homework. It was probably something similar for Robin

“Duke, lights out!” His Dad said when he passed by Duke’s room.

“Just one more minute!” Duke pleaded, not even looking up from his desk.

“Alright, alright.” Dad laughed. “But you have to tell me what you’re writing.”

He entered the room and stepped closer to take a look at the sheet of paper Duke had been writing on, but Duke quickly pulled it to his chest to hide his scribbles.

“No! You can’t see it! It will take away the magic.”

You didn’t show your parents the letter for Santa either, or it wouldn’t get to Santa. Of course, the latter wasn’t real, but Robin was. And honestly, there were rules about this kind of magic – his parents should know them.

Dad just raised his hands in defeat, still smiling in amusement.

“Okay, buddy, but tomorrow you have to share with the class.”

Duke frowned, unsure whether that would be enough time for Robin to get his letter.

“Later,” Duke yielded. “Once I know it worked.”

Dad’s smile softened and he patted Duke’s shoulder.

“Only one more minute, then bedtime. You have school tomorrow and I don’t want to get another call about you falling asleep in class.”

Duke huffed, but couldn’t hide his happy smile. “That was only once!”

“Once enough. Sleep well, kid.”

“Night, Dad.”

Dad walked out of Duke’s room, closing the door behind him so that Duke was staring at the Justice League poster pinned to the wood. Batman needed Robin, so Duke would remind the short hero that he had to come home.

He quickly finished his letter, packed it in transparent cover, and hid it away in his Super Secret Special box. It was actually just a shoebox he had painted yellow and orange and decorated with plastic gemstones, but Duke loved it. Then he turned off the light and crawled into his bed. Duke took his alarm clock from the nightstand and set the alarm for a few minutes before midnight. He wasn’t sure whether twelve o’clock really was the right time, but it seemed very important in a lot of movies, so Duke figured if he had to choose, he might as well go with this time. If he succeeded, he’d maybe write to the police as well, tell them how to contact Robin since the Bat-signal only worked for Batman.

Falling asleep when he was so nervous turned out to be a chore. It felt just like the evenings before his birthday when he could hear the blood rushing through his ears and it kept him awake for as long as possible.

Duke managed to sink into sleep sometime after his parents had gone to bed as well. He hadn’t even noticed that he’d drifted off right until his alarm rang again and Duke woke up startled. Tiredly, Duke crawled out of his bed and put on his socks to minimize the sound he made. He picked put the box and began tonight’s journey.

When he opened the door, he winced at the jarring sound. Even if he tried to be as slow as possible, the door refused to stay silent. Duke halted to listen if his parents still slept. His father’s snoring turned out to be a rather practical way of measuring it. Thankfully, his parents also didn’t wake when Duke stole the house keys out of his mother’s purse. With his box in hand, Duke sneaked out of the apartment and headed towards the stairs leading up to the rooftop.

The air inside the staircase was stuffy, receiving no circulation whatsoever. On tiptoes, Duke walked past the doors of his neighbors, being exceptionally careful when he passed the apartment of Ms. Norrington. She was, in the words of his usually calm and kind mother, a mean old witch, except she hadn’t said witch, but another word starting with a ‘b’ that Duke was too frightful to repeat. The old lady and her ugly little dog always watched Duke and his friend with her mean big blue eyes, especially when they were carrying toys. In Ms. Norrington’s opinion, there was nothing more terrible than children playing and having fun. One of these days, she wouldn’t even wait until Duke had made a sound, she’d just snatch his football away as soon as she would spot him. Therefore Duke needed to pass her without alarming her.

One step, another, a third and a fourth and Duke had done it. Victoriously, he rushed up the remaining staircases to the rooftop. If his parents knew that he was up here, they’d ground him for sure. None of the kids in the apartment block were supposed to go upstairs because the fence surrounding the roof hadn’t been fixed in ages and someone could get hurt or, even worse, fall off the roof when playing.

Duke thought it was stupid. He wouldn’t ever be dumb enough to fall off a house. However, that hadn’t stopped the adults from locking the door between Duke and his goal. But for that purpose, Duke had snatched his mother’s keys. His own keyring only had the keys for the front and backdoor, one for his bike and one for his Cousin’s home. His mother, on the other hand, did possess a key for the top door.

The lock was rusty and the key wouldn’t turn properly when Duke tried to open it. Duke bit on his tongue in concentration as he twisted the key multiple times until finally, after what felt like ages, the door clicked and opened.

Duke slowly closed it behind himself again, as to avoid the wind pushing it into the lock again with a loud BAM! Certainly, old Ms. Norrington would wake from that. Duke would just have to hurry and be finished before she managed to get out of bed, put on her pink shoes, ugly old and gray bathrobe and made it to the door.

Gotham was an ugly city according to the news, but Duke had long since learned not to trust them. Sure, the city could be a bit cleaner, but monuments like the shining WE building or the green Robinson park in the distance were signs that Gotham wasn’t as shitty as people claimed. The breeze here up on the rooftop was quite enjoyable too. They should tell their landlord to repair the fence quickly so that Duke could play Batman and Robin with his friends up here. That would be way cooler than going to the playground. Here they would be up on a real rooftop and didn’t have to pretend the monkey bars were the top of the Crystal Palace. Thinking of his two heroes, Duke reminded himself of his mission.

He looked around for the best spot to put his letter and settled on the water tank. A short ladder was leading up to it and so, with his box secured under his arms, Duke began to climb. He slipped nearly once or twice, but always managed to catch himself at the last second.

Once he reached the top, he allowed himself to sit down just to catch a quick breath. He was working on a schedule after all.

Duke set his box down next to him and took off the cover, revealing his letter to Robin and his most prized possession: a Batarang.

He’d found it in the trash a while ago and ever since he had the supreme right to always play Batman if he wanted to. He hadn’t told his parents about it because he knew they’d take it away, even if Duke didn’t take it outside his room usually. Why would he? He didn’t want it to get stolen by others!

Duke reached for the Batarang and then traced its edges with his fingers. It was still sharp, if he wasn’t careful he’d cut himself.

Duke didn’t have a Bat-signal, but he also didn’t want to attract that much attention. He was sure that if he just scratched something in the wooden surface of the water tank, Robin would spot it sooner or later. With the sharp side of the weapon, Duke began to scratch a big R into the wood. He made sure his carvings were deep enough that they’d be seen from above.

Then, with as much might as Duke could measure up, he rammed the Batarang through his letter into the wood so that it wouldn’t just fly away when left unsupervised.

There, his work was done.

Content with himself, Duke allowed himself to observe Gotham for a little while longer, forgetting Ms. Norrington for a moment. He wouldn’t get a sight as neat as this one again in a long while.

Duke climbed down from the water tank and returned inside. He made it past Ms. Norrington’s door and slipped into his apartment and room, his parents still sound asleep and none the wiser of Duke’s little adventure.

Yawning, Duke pulled his blanket over his head. It was sad that he had to give up his Batarang, but maybe he’d get a new one once Robin returned. And Duke didn’t mind playing other heroes.

After all, now it was really just a question of time.

Beneath him, the city was wide awake, even during such late hours. He should probably return to the Cave for tonight, he didn’t have any supplies besides the one lone Batarang. While he was sure that his wit alone would suffice to support Batman, a utility belt filled with all kinds of tricky equipment would be immense support, never mind much more fun.

He was already on the move, heading home for the first time, when Gotham started screaming for help. Her shouts spoke of fear, of a terrified mother scared for her children’s safety.

Somebody was threatening her - who?

Batman wouldn’t approve of it, he was sure, but generally speaking, it wasn’t his job to listen to Batman. He was there to support the Bat and, more importantly, keep Gotham safe. He couldn’t do that from the Cave.

With a wild grin, he jumped from the rooftop, executing a perfect landing on the balcony of the next house. Quickly he moved forward, making his way through the cold September air to come to Gotham’s aid.

He was Robin.

He had been born for this.

#dc #batman #bruce wayne #tim drake #jason todd #dick grayson #Alfred Pennyworth #fanfic #robin's requirements #dc comics

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sherrybaby14 · 6 years ago

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Forever

Prompt: Stucky x reader A/B/O and dark! A/B/O

Summary: You ran away from your Alphas and they find you. (I’m a sucker for the runaway trope as well).

Words: 2500 (I make my drabbles too long!)

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics, dub-con, SMUT!

Did you leave the stove on? No, of course not. You couldn’t remember the last thing you ate that wasn’t a microwave meal. Maybe you left a window open. The last time you opened a window was in October, when a random hot day hit. All winter you were constantly checking the locks.

A neighbor must have stopped by. Why? You glanced to your left and your right. Both houses had their lights on. You couldn’t even remember their names.

They were too busy cooking meth or yelling at each other in the yard to pay attention to your dilapidated state of affairs.

Two months in this place. It was time to move again. Find another shithole to live in. That was all, just nerves of settling in too long.

Your neck ached. You tried to stretch it as you held your key out and walked up to your house. There was a high school football game tonight and the diner was packed. You’d lifted too many heavy trays.

Once you got inside you would take off the waitress uniform and head straight for the tub. Extra salts. That would relax you.

You let your mind wander about new places to move. The slum landlord wouldn’t miss you. He obviously didn’t care about your neighbors broken beer bottles all over your lawn.

Maybe a new place would be better. You started to fantasize about what that could mean as you unlocked the door.

Crunch. You heard it as soon as you walked inside. Your hand went to the switch and you flipped on the light.

Steve was right in front of you. A pill bottle in his hand as he crushed the remainder under his boot. RUN! Instincts took over and you took a step back and turned, slamming into a hard body.

You bounced back, but didn’t hit the floor as strong arms reached out and grabbed you, holding you up.

Without looking you up knew it was Bucky, his hands digging into your arms harder than necessary. The ache in your neck started throbbing and you realized it wasn’t from the tray, it was your fading claims coming back to life with your Alphas so near.

Bucky leaned his head into your neck and inhaled. The action brought a calm to your tiring bond and you almost wanted to sink into him, apologize and have them take you home.

No. Biology wasn’t fair. This wasn’t you, this was the Omega needs. You tried to shove him away, knowing it was a pointless gesture. Bucky let out a growl and lifted his head.

There was nothing but anger in hid blue eyes as he narrowed them down on you.

“You’ve been very naughty Doll.” Bucky opened his mouth and your blood pressure spiked.

“No! Don’t!” You tried to push away, but his teeth landed in the exact same spot as his old claim and he wasted no time sinking them into your flesh.

“Ahhh!” You tried to twist away as the pain spiked followed by a strange sense of relief.

The bond had a mind of its own and was happy to be renewed. You let out a sob though. Almost a year, it barely bothered you anymore, but breaking away from them had been a painful detox and you didn’t think you could start at square one any longer.

Bucky lifted his head. There was blood on his lips and teeth as he licked them. You brought your hand to his mark and felt the wetness. He let go and you tumbled backward, but again you smacked into a hard body.

Steve wasted no time finding his own mark and renewing the bond. You whimpered this time as your body went in a different direction from your mind.

Your heart was fluttering with excitement at the reunion. There was a dampness growing between your legs too. All of the un-attended to heats over your time apart wanting answers and fulfillment.

It hadn’t taken over yet though. You were still capable of having a thought not controlled by your nature.

“Get the car.” Steve turned you around and flung you over his shoulder.

Your head hung upside down as he went and grabbed a bag on the thread bare couch. The gravity didn’t help your tears as they rolled down your forehead instead of cheeks.

“Why?” You whispered. “They were fading.”

In fact, you almost stopped worrying about this moment happening. They could’ve claimed another Omega by now and continued on without you.

“Because you’re ours.” Steve’s voice was emotionless as he flipped off the light and walked outside.

You pinched your eyes shut and pretended this wasn’t happening. But that only allowed you to pay attention to the physical response. Your claims were throbbing, but not with pain. You could feel their saliva mixing with your blood, igniting a fire that had gone dormant.

It was spreading all over your body, like a drug or a virus and soon you were going to be a complaint, whimpering mess for them. Your Alphas were aware of that fact too. Aware wasn’t the right word, welcomed it fit better.

“I hate you.” The lights from the car flashed ahead of you.

Steve let out a growl. THWACK! He smacked your ass, hard. You cried out, not expecting that response.

Instead of stopping at the back door Steve went to the trunk. Your heart flared and you tried to claw off of him.

“Relax.” Steve gripped you harder. “Thought you deserve it.”

He dropped the black bag in the trunk and slammed it shut.

“Thank you.” You cringed at your response.

“That’s better Doll.” Steve opened the back door and tossed you on the seat. He rounded to the passengers side and got in.

“You didn’t buckle her in?” Bucky looked at Steve.

It was like nothing had changed. You still weren’t even there to them. Your hand went to the handle.

“Child locks.” Steve buckled his own safety belt. “Don’t bother trying. Buckle up.”

The Omega inside you purred at the instruction, listen to your Alpha, he’ll keep you safe. But it made you sob. Still you did as you were told, silently hoping the car did crash and you had another chance at escape.

“It hurts.” You clung to the sheets as you thrashed on the bed. “I have to go back. Please, I want to go back.”

“Shhhh.” A wet cloth was pressed to your forehead. “It will pass in a day or two. You’re in the worst of it now.”

Your handler looked down at you and gave a sympathetic smile. You’d trusted her, trusted the network, but this was not what they told you would happen. You tried to lash out at her, but your wrists and ankles were bound to the bed and the older Omega was too far to bite.

“LET ME GO!” You screamed and arched your back in agony.

It was like the bond was a spirit inside of you raging at the separation. Punishing you for being away from your Alphas this long.

“I’ve been there before Y/N.” She looked unfazed. “It will get better and you’ll be free.”

She stood up and left the room as another wave of pain made hit your gut.

The cramp from your memory became real in the backseat of the car and your pressed your thighs together.

“How much longer to the room?” Steve shifted in front of you.

“I can smell her too.” Bucky hit the gas harder. “I’m going as fast as I can.”

They wanted you. They were going to have you. It made more juices pool at your core. You pinches your eyes and shook your head, not wanting your biology to take over, but your reserve was already slipping.

“Why?” You asked the question again. “You could’ve let me go, found another.”

You reached forward and grabbed the back of Steve’s seat to brace yourself as another cramp formed. The bond was spreading, they were taking over your body all over again. Putting you right back in the place you never wanted, never chose, never belonged.

“Because you’re ours.” Bucky gave the same answer Steve had.

The response did nothing to quell your fears. They called you Doll, because that’s all you were to them. But you should have been replaceable. The only reason they hunted you down was to satisfy some Alpha ego trip.

The car turned into a parking lot of a flea bag motel. This was not their style, but there was hardly a Hilton in this middle-Of-nowhere town. Bucky barely slowed down when he pulled into the parking space.

Your body was turning into an inferno, you could literally feel it spreading up your face. As soon as it reached your brain you were a goner. How long until you came down? A day? Probably more like a week.

Bucky killed the engine and both Alphas jumped out of the car. Steve opened your door and unbuckled your belt. He lifted you out of the car and carried you while Bucky pulled out the keys.

“You’ve been very naughty.” Steve glared at you. “Don’t think all is forgiven. But you need this right now.”

“I don’t want it.” You started to shake, like your soul was trying to tell you to shut up. “I don’t want…”

“But you need us.” Steve interrupted with a warning. “Do you know we felt you? What you were doing to yourself? We thought you were kidnapped.”

You looked away, feeling shame. How could you leave them? You were slipping. These feelings thoughts, they weren’t yours. They were your nature trying to take over after being denied so much the last year. You took in a breath, as if you were slipping underwater and needed one final gulp of air.

The warmth of your body became all encompassing and you wiggled against Steve. He was your protector, he was your leader, he was your Alpha.

“I’m sorry.” You reached up and touched his cheek. “Alpha, please.”

Steve seemed to relax and looked at your with approval. Bucky opened the door to the room and Steve walked you inside.

“Undress.” He set you on the bed.

Bucky was already taking off his shirt as he kicked the door closed. Memories of how sculpted the man was didn’t do him justice.

“NOW Omega.” Steve’s voice jarred you.

Your hands went to the button of your waitress uniform and you started undoing them, the clothing feeling scratchy against your hot skin.

“Working? Living in a place like that? Alone?” Bucky glared at you. “Taking suppressants?”

“I’m sorry.” You started to tear up. “Please, forgive me.”

“Buck, she’s in heat. Now’s not the time for a lecture.” Steve came behind you and yanked off the dress. “We’ll deal with the punishments when she comes down.”

You let your head lull back against Steve, so grateful he took the dress off of you. You looked up at him and puckered your lips, wanting to give him a kiss, but his jaw hardened and he shook his head making you whimper.

You didn’t deserve kisses. Bucky grabbed the rest of your uniform, drawing your attention back to him as he pulled the rest off, buttons flying everywhere.

The action made you lift your hips and Bucky did away with your panties at the same time Steve unclasped your bra. You moaned, the cool air on your skin welcoming.

Bucky dropped to his knees and kissed up your thighs. Steve grabbed your hips and lifted you up. When he lowered you his cock was at your entrance. Your eyes rolled back into your head as he split you, the empty feeling in your soul finally being answered.

“I missed you.” Steve dropped his head and started sucking at his claim.

The small affection mixed with the feel of his renewed bond made you purr. Bucky let out a growl and you looked down at him. He arrived at your center right when Steve stretched you to your fullest.

His eyes were on you while his tongue found your clit. He flicked it twice before sucking it into your mouth. You twitched and squealed.

Steve started flexing underneath you, making you slightly bob up and down his shaft while Bucky moved his head with your body, pulsing against your most sensitive bud.

You never understood how they were capable of moving like this. Bucky’s tongue swirled and Steve’s hands slid up your hips to your stomach and breasts. He started kneading and pinching, all the while giving deep pushes inside your pussy.

It was too much and too little all at the same time. You needed more, more of them. But you’d been so bad. You didn’t deserve them.

It should be you on all fours, with Steve railing into you while Bucky’s cock rammed into your throat. It should be brutal, they should use you however they liked for what you’d put them through. But here you were, the center of their world.

“We’ll do that position too Doll.” Steve’s voice carried a smile.

It warmed your core.

“Am I speaking out loud?” Your head fell back against Steve.

“Tell us how this feels.” Steve pinched down on your nipples making you jerk and moan. “Tell us Omega.”

“Like I don’t deserve you.” You ran your hands through Bucky’s hair.

He responded by pressing his tongue harder against your clit and humming.

“Ehh!” You formed fists against his locks, needing something to grab on to.

“Keep going.” Steve flexed harder, filling you almost to the point of pain.

“Like I’ll be good. I’ll be good for you, if you let me.” You wanted to please them, needed to please them. “Like I’m your Omega. Always.”

The admission brought a pulse to your bond and you were rewarded with a growing coil in your stomach.

“Like I should have never left. Like my place is with you. Like I should listen to everything you say. Like I belong to you.” The coil tightened.

Bucky growled in approval, sending another vibration to your clit. Steve started flexing faster, giving the friction you needed.

“Forever.” You moved your hips at little as you could.

Then you felt Steve’s teeth sink deeper into his claim. It brought a pain, but the sensation was enough you fell over the edge, screaming and panting.

You saw stars as your toes curled. The heat flushed away, replaced with a cooling sensation. Sweat broke out over your entire body.

“Fuck you taste better than I remembered.” Bucky’s mouth left your clit.

You moaned at his absence, but Steve dropped one of his hands and pressed down in Bucky’s tongue’s place. Then he lifted you up in the air and spun around.

Bucky climbed on the bed and you found yourself on all fours. You opened your mouth and relaxed your jaw as his cock pressed passed your lips. Steve rubbed circles on your pearl while he started ramming in from behind.

This was perfect. This was where you belonged.

“Forever.”

#stucky x reader #steve x reader #bucky x reader #a/b/o dynamics #bucky barnes #Steve Rogers #marvel fanfic #Omega!reader

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naturallytom · 5 years ago

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Ten Days (Peter Parker x reader): part 1

a/n: yee yee part 1!! im excited for this & i hope u all enjoy it too!!

warnings: missing family members, descriptions of zombies (?), uhh idk what else but lmk if you want to see anything else tagged!!

_______________________________________________________________________Ten days ago

You were sitting at home on cool, cloudy fall day studying for a chemistry test with Peter when you got alerts on your phone of a virus outbreak in New York. Neither of you thought twice about it, thinking it was the flu or something. It was fall, the weather was getting colder, people were getting sick. Nothing new.

Now, a lot can happen in ten days. You could make friends, lose friends. You could write that paper for history class or you could put it off until the last minute. You could watch your school football team win or lose at one of their games. You could ask someone to the homecoming dance or watch from afar as someone else does. Your life could change for better or worse, from normal to chaos and today marked day one of your life changing from normal to chaotic.

It wasn’t until you heard the unmistakable sound of a car crashing into something and screaming from outside that you started to get the feeling that something worse had broken out among the people of New York. Both of you glanced out the window of your apartment, seeing the chaos that was unfolding just outside. A truck had crashed into another truck and had slid on its side, inevitably hitting other cars. People were getting out of their cars, running in the opposite direction of the accident, but it was what you saw after that really raised concern.

From the window, it looked like people were biting other people, but it was also very obvious that something else was happening. Once the people were bitten, they started convulsing. And within 14 seconds, those people seemed to be no longer human. Their skin was thinner, their eyes nearly white. Physically, they were almost faster than they were before, although their arms and hands appeared bonier, you could nearly see the bones in their fingers popping through the paper thin skin.

“Aunt May,” Peter mumbled, the first words spoken since this whole thing broke out. “I have to go get Aunt May.”

“I-I’ll come with you.” You told him softly, grabbing his hand. “I’ll come with you.”

“No. No I can’t let you. I don’t want you getting hurt.” Peter muttered, allowing your fingers to run over his palms gently.

“I wasn’t asking, Peter.” You spoke firmly yet softly, cupping his cheek in your free hand. “I know you’re Spiderman but you’re not immune to whatever that is out there. And if we’re gonna survive this, we’re gonna have to do it together.”

“Fine.” Peter agreed. “But we’re not separating. I don’t wanna lose you in the chaos out there.”

It wasn’t a long walk to Peter’s apartment. Usually it only took you about ten minutes, but this time, those ten minutes felt like forever. You were holding Peter’s hand, both of you trying to duck and evade the chaos.

Seeing the infected people on a closer level made you want to pause and stare, despite knowing it was rude. You couldn’t help it though, it was a scary sight to see people you once passed on the street not acting like humans anymore.

“Y/N,” Peter tugged lightly on your hand when you paused, the scene catching your attention. “Come on, sweetheart, we gotta move.”

“Peter I-” You started, gulping when one of the infected started moving towards you. And when one started, the others followed. Peter simply grabbed your hand tighter and you both broke out into a fast run, eager to get to Peter’s apartment before they caught on.

Luckily, Peter’s apartment building wasn’t too far away and you were able to get there all while avoiding a following.

“May?” Peter called as soon as you got up to his apartment. “May are you in here?”

The lack of response made you and Peter grow worried, moving to search around the apartment some more, hoping she just didn’t hear you.

“May?” Peter called again, hoping for some kind of response, only to be met with silence. He took a seat on the couch, running his fingers through his hair before turning on the news.

“In what’s being called a national public health emergency,” the announcer started, footage of diseased people in various US cities, including New York. “The government is urging people to stay inside and not to engage in any way with someone who is diseased. The president has yet to make a statement, but it’s safe to say this is nothing short of a crisis.”

Peter turned the tv off, sighing before moving to go to his room. You followed him, unsure of what he was doing.

“Peter? Sweetheart?” You asked, seeing him rummage through his closet, pulling out his new red and black suit from London. “You okay?”

“I need to find May.” He muttered. “You need to need to find your parents and your siblings.”

He was right. Your family was always outdoorsy and active so you weren’t particularly worried, but you couldn’t help the feeling of dread you got when you thought about if your mom and dad made it out from work or whether or not they could get your little brother from school.

“We need to stick together, Peter.” Your voice cracked, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak.

“I know, I know baby.” Peter soothed, walking over to you and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “‘M not leaving you. Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You wrapped your arms around his waist, cuddling your head into his chest while he pressed soft kisses to the top of your head. The two of you only broke apart after taking a deep breath, allowing yourselves to relax before the inevitable chaos once you walked outside.

“I’ll pack a bag with enough clothes for both of us.” Peter told you, making your heart ache. On the one hand, it was adorable that he thought to bring enough clothes for both of you. On the other hand, the thought of leaving your home indefinitely was enough to bring tears to your eyes.

Once Peter was done packing, he quickly moved to the kitchen, grabbing as many water bottles as he could fit in his backpack.

“One last news check before we go?” Peter asked, turning the news on to check if there were any updates.

“In a shocking new development, the CDC has issued a statement.” The announcer spoke shakily. “Cities all over the country are being affected, but the ones we have reports on currently are Los Angeles, Houston, Philadelphia, Boston, and of course, New York. Authorities in the CDC have called this a zombie pandemic.”

A pounding on the door on one of the floors below you followed by a bang and some screaming caught your attention, prompting you to move. And fast.

“You carry and I swing?” Peter asked putting his suit and mask on, earning a nod from you.

“How long are we going? And where are we going?” You asked, as if Peter had all the answers.

The pounding, banging and screaming got louder, indicating the infected were getting closer. You wrapped your legs around Peter’s waist, the clothes bag on your shoulder, the backpack on your back. Peter opened the window and shot a web to a neighboring building, preparing to leave.

You and Peter took one last glance around his cozy apartment, catching the last bit of the newscast that was never turned off.

“Whether you believe they’re zombies or not, one thing is for sure: we are in the middle of the fight for our lives as we know it.”

_______________________________________________________________________

tags: @angelic-holland @ninaminaromina @tom-hollands-blog @badhollandfluff

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker imagine #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fanfic #peter parker fic #peter parker au #peter parker fluff #peter parker angst #peter parker series #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x fem!reader #peter parker x female!reader

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kamino-ink · 6 years ago

Text

Smoke | Hwang Hyunjin

genre ⌁ high school!au, strangers-to-lovers, angsty, fluff sprinkled in loves

summary ⌁ you’re an infamous school druggie, always coming to school with bloodshot eyes, purple bags, and cracked, bloodied lips. rumors are nothing new to you, and in all honesty you don’t fight them - you don’t want to waste time on meaningless drama, after all. everything starts to change, in a way, when a quiet, easily amused boy comes to your school - and you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

word count ⌁ 3.5k

warning ⌁ mentions of drug abuse, kinda heavy stuff - I can’t quite explain it without spoiling, but if you're sensitive to issues revolving around abortion, mentions of drug abuse, or anything of that matter - I highly suggest you go read another amazing fanfic in the community other than this one.

Check out my masterlist!

It is quiet in your bedroom. The tiny music box with a shy ballerina in the center of the stage no longer plays the gentle tune that you had since memorized as a small child, her stage broken and cracked from years of not being touched unless it was to be thrown angrily against a wall or your bedroom floor. The pathetic excuse of a vanity set up by one of your uncles many years ago is covered in bits of stray dust, stains of colorful makeup dried on it’s aging white surface. A lonesome eyeshadow pallet rests dangerously close to the edge of the vanity with the shattered mirror, now going on its second year of being unused; the same can be said for the foundation, the lid seeping with now dry product and dotted with old fingerprints.

It is lonely in your bedroom. There is no trace of happiness or laughter lingering in the open, chilly air being let in by the cracked window on the wall. When was the last time someone other than your dealer had stepped into that very room, now littered with blankets, papers, and old sentimentals? When was the last time you had a friend spend the night and build silly forts made of fluffy blankets and thin sheets? When was the last time your parents walked in to wake you up with a glass of water or a shake of your shoulder?

Gray puffs of silky smooth smoke billow into the dank air of your bedroom, seeping out along with a few stray ashes that drop onto your carpeted floor. It’s only your first cigarette of the day, so it doesn’t exactly do much for you - and it’s just a smaller dose of nicotine, nothing that made your cheeks flush a deep red in euphoria. But it would have to do until the end of the school day.

“-her eyes are so red, do you think all the drugs she does has made it permanent?”

“You think that’s weird? Check out her eyebags - I can’t believe the principal let’s a wild panda roam around our school!”

“Ew, look at her lips! I hope she doesn’t kiss her boyfriend with those lips.”

“Isn’t she dating that Mark Lee guy that graduated last year? I heard he’s a biker in a gang downtown.”

“No way, I totally saw her making out behind the cafeteria dumpsters with Jeno! Ugh, I would kill to kiss him-”

Mark Lee is someone you used to call your best friend, back in the days where neither of you had been addicted. While he was a good year older than you, the Canadian boy had not once left your side - not even when you became friends with a little pack of boys in your year; in fact, he had become the unofficial “dad” of the ragtag band of friends, trying to make sure none of you got into too much trouble in school.

That, obviously, had gone tumbling downhill when one of his older cousins introduced all of you to a drug called heroin. He said that it made you feel relaxed and totally stress free; and as naïve high school students who believed yourselves to be more mature than you really were at the time, each and every one of you tried it out. But only you and Mark kept going back to his cousin for more.

And then it got so, so much worse in just a couple of months before his graduation. You both had gotten high in the wee hours of the looming night, sat on top of the bleachers standing proudly on the football field where no school cameras could capture your faces, or the smoke that poured out between your lips. Mark had been using heroin just for the thrill, he said, stating promptly that he felt like a real man abusing the drug as much as he did. On the other hand, you sought false solace in the drug after long days of school and three different part-time jobs, as well as the constant neglect in your very own household. You didn’t think of this as an excuse, because you knew heroin was hurting your body and making you weaker - you hated it, but you also loved it.

After puffing out another cloud of stunning smoke, Mark subconsciously slid one of his larger hands onto your bare thigh, squeezing the cold flesh warmly in a sign of affection. It hadn’t been new to you at all, his touch - but then he inched it closer and closer up your skirt until his soft fingertips were just itching at the corner of your panties. You’d glanced at the senior in bewilderment, which made him blush and pull his hand back. He apologized, saying that his brain had been too foggy to think straight, and that he’d never meant to try and suggest anything more between the two of you. While you quickly forgave him, you noticed how he used that same old excuse for everything he did.

Got caught getting a blowjob from one of the school cheerleaders? Oops, he was high out of his mind and it didn’t mean anything. Found in possession of a firearm even though he wasn’t of age, nor did he have a permit? Uh oh, he was a bit woozy from his last puff. Joined his cousin’s little gang in Busan? That...wasn't a mistake. The second he graduated, Mark Lee packed his things and took a train to the city of Busan and never looked back, a white cigarette still burning between his lips as you and the other boys watched him board the train.

And Jeno - god he was like your brother, at one period in time, inching his way into what had been Mark’s space as your addiction got worse and worse with each passing day. He forced you to eat some of his lunch when you would pull out a miserable excuse of a sandwich from your bag, watching diligently to make sure you swallowed every single bite. He would help you brush out your rat’s nest of a head of hair in the girl’s bathroom every morning before the bell rang, ignoring the squealing girls with a cheeky grin and bright eye smile - even though he knew he could be suspended or expelled for it.

He sort of understood where you were coming from, as he himself was from a family of abusive parents that hit him so hard he’d come to school looking like he’d been in a car wreck. You would stay behind a few hours after the final bell each day, disinfecting his fresh scratches while he ranted about life at home. You didn't mind, because he was your brother, in a way - and you were his sister.

Then he left for a couple of months, early on in your senior year of high school - not returning until the first day of November. Turns out his parents had been caught abusing him by his grandma, who immediately took them to court and filed for custody of her precious grandson. She won the case, of course, and helped Jeno adapt to his new life full of warmth and love until he was ready to face the rumors back at school. After such trials and tribulation, you found that Jeno had moved on from you and instead took the reigns as the new “dad” of the group of friends that had been drifting away ever since the school year started. You didn’t blame him for wanting to break off any and all communication with someone who had a bad reputation for being high almost every single hour of the day - after all, he’d just broke apart from one toxic part of his life, why did he need to stick around and see if you were the same?

Now, you were completely and utterly alone, left to hang your head slightly as your fingertips slowly turned the locked dial on your steel gray locker.

“E-excuse me?”

With a small pop the door to your locker swung open, being caught from hitting your neighbor’s unsuspecting head at the last second. There wasn’t much use to your locker, since you barely kept anything in there besides a few extra textbooks that were rarely put to use inside the classroom.

“I-I’m sorry to bother you miss, but - but could you help me find my locker?”

You turn your head just enough to see a nervous looking boy staring down at you, and he jumped a bit in surprise when your gaze met his within those few milliseconds. “Yeah, of course. What number do you have?”

“Oh-! Um, it says... 4419.”

“That’s... actually right in front of you,” a snort of amusement escapes your lips while you point to the small sticker with his assigned locker number stuck to the middle of it’s rectangular shape, “did you maybe forget your contacts or glasses at home, new guy?”

‘New guy’ laughs softly at your teasing words, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. The sleeves of his pink knit sweater droop down to the tips of his fingers like paws and his plump lips twitch into a bit of a more relieved looking smile. “It looks like I forgot my common sense at my doorsteps, actually,” he hums, “my first day here and I’m already lost.”

You wonder if that’s how Mark felt when he left for college - did he even stick to his plans after high school? “Well, I can help you... not be lost, if you want.”

“Would you really? Thank you so much - erm, what’s your name?”

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N, senior.”

“Well - miss Y/N, I’m Hwang Hyunjin, also a senior and the resident new kid.”

Creative writing is by far your favorite class in the whole wide world - you can let your imagination run free, touching the clouds and diving deep into the depths of the sea to your pounding heart’s content. What scribbles of your healthy brain are left untouched by the roots of heroine have bloomed into beautiful flowers of creativity and a love for writing. While your practice in the class is deemed strange to your other classmates, you find it peaceful and heart warming.

“What’re you writing about, Y/N?” Hyunjin’s already soft voice comes out as smooth as fresh, orange honey. The boy leans over a little to look at your computer screen already jumbled with ideas and bursting thoughts - class had just started fourteen minutes ago and you were still brainstorming while he’d messily put together a web of ideas that were a bit lackluster, in his opinion.

“I’m thinking of either writing a mafia alternate universe story about Park Jinyoung, or a cheesy romance ploy. Not too sure which one is better, honestly.”

You write fanfiction - or, for lack of a better term, content that involve your favorite idols in the universe; ranging from the queen herself Hyuna to Park Jinyoung of a band called GOT7, there’s no one you won’t write about. The pieces you write so eagerly are published not in a book, but onto a social media website called Tumblr where everyone in the communities you write for can read your work. You were never ashamed of admitting that you were a fanfiction creator because it made you happy and proud of what you could do; your online mutual would shower you in silly praises and jokingly scream at you in caps lock for more pain-filled scenarios. Complete strangers would leave red hearts on your posts and send you anonymous messages that made your little heart soar in joy.

Your schoolmates thought it to be super weird - I mean, writing fantasies about famous celebrities for anyone to see, quite possibly the celebrity themselves? They couldn’t wrap their heads around it, although you didn't blame them too much for their harsh critiques of your passion. You just enjoyed making up bizarre or somewhat realistic scenarios since it made you and so many other people happy - an emotion you couldn’t seem to grasp that often in the real world.

“Mafia stories are the thing these days, why not go back to the roots of romance and write about like, a cheesy badboy and a good girl plot? Nothing wrong with clichés.”

“Thanks for the input, Hyunjin.”

“No problem, Y/N - hey, make sure I get to be the first to read it though, alright?”

“Of course, don’t worry about it.”

The next two weeks, once filled with something quite similar to nothing at all, was filled with a bright light called Hwang Hyunjin. Clad in mostly just oversized shirts that would hang comically low, all the way down to his knees, or pastel knit sweaters along with plain jeans, the senior would stick by your side as if he was stuck there. Sure he made a few other friends, but he never failed to walk with you to lunch and plop down beside you at the otherwise empty table. He would offer you some of his lunch, since his mom had a habit of giving him proportions that a whole family of four could eat.

The second week of having Hwang Hyunjin around as a friend was... interesting, to say the least. He’d been a few minutes late arriving to your designated table in the corner of the cafeteria, leaving you by your lonesome to drown in your poisonous thoughts. Just earlier the same day, the vice principal had pulled you aside and expressed her concern for your disheveled hair - saying that it could be a distraction to other students. Pah, hair being a distraction? Why, you thought it was already bad enough to comment on clothes that showed shoulders - now this? Then again, you had an inkling of understanding, especially since whenever you tried to run your fingers through your hair like the blonde cheerleaders did they would almost immediately latch onto a nasty knot.

“Hey, sorry for - Y/N, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

You hadn’t even noticed the stray tears dribbling down your flushed cheeks, nor the trembling of your chapped and bloodied lips that you’d been anxiously chewing on since the confrontation just hours ago in the hallway. “H-Hyunjin, do you... do you maybe have a brush with you?” The question slips through your lips like a mantra while you hang your head low in shame and glowering embarrassment.

There’s a pregnant pause, then you hear the boy shuffling in what you can only assume is his school bag. “Chin up, friend - I won’t be able to properly brush your hair if you let your pretty head droop so low.”

“I can do it myself.” The short words sound like a harsh jab, but Hyunjin thinks nothing of it. Instead your tall companion chuckles softly and helps you turn around so your back is facing his chest covered in a pastel blue material. “Hyu-”

“Shh, just relax and eat up. We only have thirty minutes, after all.” He hums cheekily, accepting your huff of defeat as a sign of encouragement to get started on brushing the tangles and knots out of your hair. His long fingers go to work first, carefully loosening up any problem areas so that when he brings a brush to your hair it won’t accidently tear any of the tendrils. “You know, your hair is really soft.”

You utter an almost inaudible, “thank you,” to the black haired boy, enjoying the way his fingers thread through your messy and tangled strands of hair. From the corner of your eye you spot Jeno, now sporting frosty white hair, leading Donghyuck, Jaemin, and Renjun into the crowded cafeteria. Somehow his eyes meet yours, then they drift over to the peaceful boy brushing through your hair. You’re too far away to see the way his gaze glimmers in remorse, perhaps even guilt sprinkled with hints of regret - though you’re too busy sending him an awkward wave to notice. The two of you had left things on not so much as a sour note, rather a mutual awkwardness.

But you don’t miss the tiny curl of his lips and the warm crescents of his eyes sending you a polite greeting back. While Jeno was likely to always stay in your past, you knew that deep down you both would always see each other as equals and something akin to true siblings.

For the person in the present, however - you couldn’t pinpoint exactly what Hwang Hyunjin was to you. Still, you hoped and prayed that he wouldn’t be apart of your past; just the present and the future.

“You know, my mom almost aborted me.”

Only Mark Lee and Jeno knew that your mom had been a drug addict when she was well into her pregnancy with her first, and only, child. Neither of them had much to say, assumingly because they didn’t know what they could say without coming off as intrusive or awkward.

But, of all people, Hwang Hyunjin knew just what to say - well, ask. “How come?”

The sky is a reflection of your mood, displaying poofy gray rainclouds spilling over with cold droplets of rain that echoed on the roof of his car. Its sunset painted hue with streaks of calming oranges and pinks had been stained with the markings of a dark, looming storm. Strikes of stunning yellow lightning crashed miles away from where the car was parked on a stray mountaintop, though the bellowing roars of thunder were enough to make you jump in the passenger's seat just a little.

“The doctors were worried about the fetus - me, since she was a heavy drug addict. Not much has changed in that aspect, I suppose.” You mutter mostly to yourself, even though you’re more than aware that the boy next to you can hear just about every single word being uttered from between your lips. A cigarette had been embedded in the crevice of your lips hours before, but you refused to smoke around Hyunjin, so before he picked you up from work you’d tossed it into the closest trash bin. “Low blood sugar, premature birth, all that jazz, you know?”

“I ended up having some super shitty breathing problems for the first year of my life - from what I was told, I rarely got to go home that year. My mom wanted to abort me at first, since she didn’t even want a kid in the first place and kind of didn’t want to risk having a weak baby that she’d be stuck with. My dad talked her out of it. Now... I don’t even remember the last time either of them has made me breakfast or hugged me.”

The boy next to you remains silent for a moment, his brain processing everything you’ve just told him. For just over a month he’s known you, calling you his friend and desiring in some cases for something more - but he had never pried too deep into your private life out of respect to your privacy. He had a hunch that life at home couldn’t have been the greatest of occurrences, since he made it his duty to help you brush your hair during the first class of the day; you were unmotivated to do just about anything. Depression, you said was what is was, ate you alive with every other passing minute in his eyes.

He leans over the console, free of his seatbelt since the pair of you had been parked on the mountaintop (well, ledge filled with parking spaces for sight seers) for the past two hours or so. With one arm going to rest on your shoulder, he lets the other fall down nicely into your lap so he can intertwine his warm fingers with your cold ones that usually held a budding cigarette. “While it would’ve been the safer option to - to not have you, I want to be selfish and say that I’m glad she didn’t.”

You feel the hand holding yours lift from your legging covered lap, just to brush under your jaw. “Why is that, Hyunjin?”

His knuckles and your own are controlled by his larger hand, meaning that he was the one to tilt your head up towards his own, half of his body still leaning over the console of his car. “Because... I never would’ve met you, Y/N.” His face inches down closer to your own flushed one, his lips brushing against yours as light as a feather.

Hwang Hyunjin has been your remedy to your heroin addiction for the past month or so since he entered your life. He didn’t judge you harshly, rather he’d come into your life with a nervous laugh and a warm smile tugged at his plump, pink lips. His reassuring words were enough to make you stop smoking every single morning before school. His words of encouragement made you realize that smoking twice a day only made your eyes even redder than before, to which you rounded down to just own measly smoke each day.

And his gentle kiss was enough to make you want to stop altogether, because you didn’t want Hwang Hyunjin to remember your first kiss tasting like remnants of smoke and drugs.

#skzwriters #stray kids #stray kids au #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin scenario #hyunjin imagine #stray kids high school au #stray kids scenario #stray kids imagine #stray kids drabble #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin angst

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artificialqueens · 6 years ago

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Come Home To My Heart (Biadore) - Shadyqueenie

A/N: Another one-shot? Unbelievable.

I’m sorry for who asked for a Volatile Times’ sequel – I swear I’m working on it :))))) Come Home to My Heart is a high-school/college-ish au: when Bianca leaves her hometown for college, her best friend and neighbor Adore has to revaluate their relationship. I’ve been planning this shot for a long now, thanks @clownandmermaid for helping me out and for being the sugar mommy I obviously deserve (love you lots)

The loud voice of her neighbor wakes Adore from her mid-morning nap. She can’t even remember when she fell asleep, feet planted flat against the wall and back pressed against the mattress, while her record player plays songs about love and broken hearts. The voice outside the window is happy and keeps asking “Why are you here?”, “Can’t believe it” and “Ron, look who’s here!” and Adore knows this high-pitched sound Carol’s voice makes is only for special occasions, as when Bianca comes back to visit from college. But it can’t be because Bianca’s back. She was there just three weekends ago and Adore remembers it very well. Every inch of her remembers it– her mind, her body, her lips. She grabs blindly a pillow and throws it over her face, trying to suffocate her thoughts.

Three songs later and Adore knows she can’t lay on her bed all Saturday. She should shower and prepare herself mentally for this afternoon, when she has to fulfill the perfect girlfriend duties and see her ‘oh-he’s-so-handsome-Adore-you’re-so-lucky’ boyfriend.

And she wants it, she really does. Matt’s nice and - so cliché – let Adore wear his football jacket, and they are the high school’s sweetheart couple since the very first year and all of this makes Adore’s last months’ thoughts utterly unfair. She doesn’t love him anymore, and this lack of emotions makes her feel so fucking guilty, but that is the situation – Adore’s annoyed every time he tries to touch her, let alone when he kisses her. And the only person she wants to talk to is miles and miles away.

Every time Bianca posts a photo or one of her witty statements on a social media, Adore rests her chin on her hand (breathing loudly in a very dramatic way) and whines about how life’s unfair. Bianca left her in their city, in the halls of their school that now are mute without her loud laugh echoing during the morning, because she’s chasing almost every student’s dream – attending a prestigious university, as far away from home as possible. And now Adore has to pretend in front of everyone (their families, their friends, and even herself) that Bianca being miles and miles away is the real issue – even though people and Bianca herself tells her there’s Skype or FaceTime and other millennials’ ways to keep in touch, which Adore should be grateful for. Maybe for quite a lot time that was actually the real issue.

But the real (real) issue happened when Bianca came back three weeks ago, got drunk with her at a party and the last thing Adore remembers about that night is kissing Bianca under the porch of her own house like in a 90s movie – with twinkle light decorating the columns, the cicadas’ chirp on the background and the blistering heat of the upcoming summer.

After that night Adore’s only thoughts are about that kiss and after three weeks she’s not even in denial anymore – it wasn’t a drunken kiss, at all.

Finding the courage to tell this to Bianca is a whole different kettle of crawdads, that’s why Adore avoids answering her calls, or doesn’t comment the posts Bianca is tagging her in. Adore thinks she’s playing fair, though – she equally avoids Bianca and Matt. Someone should give her a medal or some award.

Her phone on the night drawer rings and Adore could hear it even if the pillow over her head dulls every other sound. She doesn’t want to know who it is – Bianca or Matt for sure, and face reality. Not now.

Frustrated, Adore screams against her pillow.

“Trying to choke yourself?” a voice from the door asks loud enough for Adore to hear.

She takes the pillow off and pouts, trying to sound as casual as possible “S’not working”. So, Carol’s voice was high-pitched for the same reason of three weeks ago - Bianca was really back.

Upside down, Bianca’s legs looks even longer and Adore has a hard time not staring at them as they approach her bed.

“You need to press harder. Want some help?” the older asks.

Adore turns her head towards Bianca and says nothing, but pats the empty space next to her “Join me” she whispers eventually.

And Bianca actually can’t say no to those big eyes, so she does as she’s told – feet planted flat against the wall and back pressed against the mattress - as if they are fourteen again when Adore had just been gifted with a record player and they’re listening a vinyl for the first time.

Maybe they both think they need to talk, but no one makes the first move. So they just stay still, listening to the vinyl until the record ends and then it’s Bianca who speaks over the whirling muffled sound of the record at its end.

“Your music taste is still awful”.

Angrily so, Adore pouts “Don’t be a bitch”.

She hears Bianca’s chuckle even if she’s not looking at her, and then the older is mumbling something about how many times Adore could listen to that awful record and yet not being bored by it.

They’re not talking. What they’re having is just a casual exchange of empty words and Bianca has pins and needles on her legs. She turns her head towards Adore and stares at her profile backlit. The sun illuminates its outline with a warm glow and Bianca keeps on staring, trying to memorize every freckle on her face.

But Adore turns towards her and her green and big eyes steals all Bianca’s attention “Why are you here?” she asks eventually.

“You weren’t answering my calls, nor texting me back” Bianca answers flatly and that tone makes Adore both nervous and ashamed.

“I was busy”.

Bianca looks at Adore and raises an eyebrow. She lowers her glance and stares at the stain on Adore’s shirt “I can tell”.

Adore blushes and wishes she was wearing something sexier than an oversized shirt with pizza stains – this scene happened in her dreams more than once and she’s like sex on legs and Bianca’s always mouth open and wide-eyed. Surely, she couldn’t expect for Bianca to show up on a Saturday morning asking why she wasn’t answering her calls. At least not that soon.

Adore tips her head back on the mattress. She stays quiet for a long time, arms wrapped tightly around her midsection “I don’t know” she eventually breathes “I don’t know how to tell you – how to put words to it. It’s a feeling I don’t really know how to express, and it kind of stops me from… You know, be the friend you deserve”.

“Try?”

Adore buys time by chewing her bottom lip as if the words are trapped under the thick layer of the chapstick she is wearing. “Everything seems different since you’re gone. Like, we were always together and I’ve never questioned what you actually meant to me. But you left me here” she pauses again and Bianca is growing tired of waiting, but she says nothing and waits. And waits. “And now I do”.

“Because of that kiss?” Bianca asks as soon as Adore stops talking. She sounds impatient and, again, flat and Adore wants to shout at Bianca’s apathy but she’s aware her mother is right downstairs not really trying to mind her own business. So, she closes her eyes and takes deep breath “Fuck you, Bianca. Of course it is”.

“Is it because you have a boyfriend?” Bianca croaks.

Adore looks at her as if the answer she needs is hidden in Bianca’s piercing eyes. But it’s not, so Adore shrugs.

“But you said you feel nothing for him” Bianca continues, remembering the long and drank speech Adore gave her three weeks ago, trying to find an answer Adore doesn’t apparently have but still Bianca needs so much.

“Why do you care so much?” Adore asks.

“Because you are my best friend” it’s the less harmful answer Bianca can come up with.

“Am I? Just this?” Adore’s tone is both desperate and embittered. The truth has to come out eventually and it makes her chest heavy - but this could be because of the way she’s resting on her bed too. Why the hell does she enjoy listening to music in such a uncomfortable position?! She sits up straight, waiting for Bianca to do the same.

“No. Yes. I don’t know. What do you want me to tell you?”

“I kissed you” Adore seems adamant on the matter, not that Bianca has something to add.

Actually, Adore’s right – along with the softness of Adore’s lips, Bianca remembers vaguely the younger standing on her tiptoes, her eyes closed and a mild smell of alcohol in the air. “You also have a boyfriend” she says eventually, as the last word could be sufficient to erase those memories.

“You think it’s just about me being in a relationship with someone else?” question after question, Adore’s voice is lower and cracked.

Bianca shakes her head “No, of course. More than that” she breathes loudly as she always does when she tries to look for the right words. And suddenly she gives up, both for her and Adore’s sake, looking at Adore straight in the eyes “I was pathetically sure I would die of broken heart because of you”.

“Oh” Adore fights the blush on her face. Now she’s a mixture of weakness and fear and every muscle of her face is motionless trying not to let it show as Bianca speaks. Because she needs to hear what Bianca has to tell her and doesn’t want her to stop, but she’s not entirely sure she’s ready for all of this.

“Yeah. And then I came back for Thanksgiving and things felt different between us and my mind tried to convince me it meant something. And then, three weeks ago, when you spent the entire night linked to my arm and then you suddenly kissed me. I won’t lie, it’s something I’ve dreamed for a lot. But I’m still confused”.

“You’re the confused one?” Adore’s voice is high-pitched when she finally registers the words Bianca has just said and she’s trying her best not to throw the pillow against Bianca’s face. “You always knew you liked girls, and you were so brave during all those schools’ years and I always admired you for that. You’ve always been my rock, my hero, but then you moved to the other side of the State and suddenly everything I can think about is how much I miss you and how bad I want you and not in a best-friend-ish way and – fuck, I don’t even know if I like girls or I just like you and – ”

The rambling is stopped by Bianca’s hand raised in front of her “Let me re-try. I always knew you were the one for me, even when I actually didn’t know what love was and you were six and forced me playing house everyday”.

Adore’s breathing is slightly labored as she catches Bianca’s raised hand in hers and smiles at the memory of a much shorter Adore dressed in her mommy’s clothes and taking the command of the whole game session, with a spoon in her hand and an imaginary cake mix in an empty bowl. She’s lulled by the memory and by Bianca��s words she doesn’t want to say something. And she doesn’t, waiting for Bianca to continue.

“I knew it when we were in middle school and you decided it was a good idea learning ice skating together and I twisted my ankle after two steps. I knew you were the one for me even your first day of high school, when you couldn’t stop talking about that cute guy from your math class. And I definitely knew it when I saw your reflection in the rearview mirror when I was driving towards college last summer”.

Looking backwards, Adore should have imagined it. Since high school Bianca shouted down and Adore was way too blindfolded by her new friends and a new boyfriend to notice it. Her heart sinks and she doesn’t know why – maybe it’s guilt or maybe she’s just angry at herself.

“But I never was the one for you. Then, out of the blue, you say you can’t stop thinking about me and yet you avoid me”.

Adore knows she’s going to be a crybaby in a metter of seconds – watery big doe eyes, pouted lips and all the package, but that’s how always worked between them. Adore would be on the edge of crying at the top of her lungs and Bianca would just sat next to her, cuddling her and playing with her long curls.

“I’m sorry Bea, for me being me.” Adore squeezes Bianca’s hand “I wish we could go back to the days when we’d tell each other everything”.

Bianca’s smile is sad and quiet and Adore wants to slap herself because it’s now crystal clear that Bianca has never told her everything. She crawls towards Bianca until her head rests heavy against the crook of the older’s neck “Fuck,” she whines, defeat in her tone “What are we gonna do?”

Bianca is so used to this kind of situation that without thinking twice she wraps her arms tightly against Adore’s crouched figure, while she cradles her – because even if Bianca is the one who suffered through all these years, in her mind is Adore the one who’s struggling the most “I don’t think there would be a ‘we’. Not if you don’t want to”

Adore raises her head as Bianca speaks “But I want it - I want you" she says quickly, and then adds “I’m sorry it took me a while to realize it”

Bianca’s face is suddenly relaxed and happy as Adore has never seen it. Even if there’s only few inches separating them, Adore feels the urge of being even closer and rests her forehead against Bianca’s, jiggling like an idiot because of their new happiness. And maybe because she has finally found a way to shut Bianca up.

“And Matt?” maybe she’s wrong, maybe Bianca is the same, thoughtful Bianca.

“’Suppose I have to break up with him?” Adore shrugs. She hopes she doesn’t sound like a frivolous person to Bianca’s ears, but when she sees the older stiffen to those words, she adds quickly “Been planning it for a while now”.

“Are you upset about it?”

“Nope. At all. It’s a strange feeling, though. I’d say relieved”.

“Will he be upset?”

“I don’t know. Does it make me selfish if I say I don’t care?”

Bianca’s laugh is quiet and yet so Bianca, and Adore was scared she’d never get the chance of hearing it again “I don’t think I’m the right person to tell you”.

“This is the right thing” Adore mutters, more to herself than to Bianca. She has to do it by herself, and she was sincere when she told Bianca she already planned it. However, she still looks at Bianca with pleading eyes.

“Adore” Bianca’s voice is firm as much as her glance and, for maybe the first time in her life, Bianca’s not enchanted by Adore’s eyes.

“Ok. Ok, I’ll do it” Adore shakes her head as if that motion could blow her thoughts off – because if Bianca wants something, then Adore is going to do everything that takes to give it to her. The younger wonders how long it took her to realize it.

“Ok”.

“Yeah, perfect” now that everything’s sorted out Adore’s nothing but a wide smile and a light heart. She thinks of leaning even closer to Bianca and of noses touching and kissing her, until her phone buzzes again and they both jump at the sound “That’s the unfortunate sign I was waiting for” she stands up and just now she notices her shirt is too short and she should definitely stop wearing undies with teddy bears if she wants Bianca – because Bianca choose her over a shiton of college girls. She deserves having a girlfriend who wears proper underwear “I should get ready for… breaking up with Matt?”

“Right. I’ll see you tonight, I guess?” Bianca waits for Adore to nod before heading outside the room, with nothing further being said (which kind of upsets Adore because who the hell says goodbye to the person she has feelings for that way?!). But as Bianca approaches the door she makes up her mind and turns around.

Adore has no time to register the action, and a moment later she feels Bianca’s hand cupping her jaw and pulling her into what she thinks is the most awkward kiss she has ever had.

“That was…” Bianca says with her hands still cupping Adore’s face and Adore down deep hopes Bianca doesn’t say something cheesy because now she can’t really relate “… awkward”.

Adore sighs in relief “Yeah, it was” and laughs softly hoping it would alleviate the redness of Bianca’s cheeks.

“I’m better at kissing than this, I swear”.

“I know” Adore flashes a sweet smile that melts Bianca’s heart.

She presses her hands harder against Adore’s skin and she knows that now she has to go.

She just doesn’t want.

“I’m not going to disappear” Adore reads Bianca’s mind as if she’s a book she knows by heart and Bianca can’t tell why she’s scared but she is “I promise. It’s going to be a fresh start for us, you know? I’ll be your lovely high-school girlfriend who waits for you to come back and I’ll send you stupid and cheesy texts every two minutes”.

“Please don’t” Bianca says chuckling, which makes Adore think Bianca expects it and can’t wait to read those stupid and cheesy messages.

The younger laces her arms behind Bianca’s neck “Oh, you bet I will”.

Adore keeps on talking about plans for the summer and where she wants to eat tomorrow at lunch with her and Bianca swears Adore’s forgot she was meant to leave long ago, but she let her blurting about everything comes to her mind because that’s the Adore Bianca loves the most.

It feels strange for Bianca being so happy, and free to wrap her arms around Adore’s waist without the fear of scaring the shit out of Adore.

She’s so caught in her thoughts Adore had to squeeze her slightly to wake her up “Did you hear what I said?”

“No, not really”.

“I said I’ll be home again after dinner, will you wait for me at yours?”

Speaking of cheesy, Bianca wants to make a joke about how long she has been waiting for her but she knows it’d be weak. She nods, instead.

“Ok. Go now” she places her hands on Bianca’s shoulders and makes her turn around towards the door.

A smirk touches Bianca’s lips “Bossy”.

Adore hums in approval and closes the door as soon as Bianca’s outside before she regrets it. With her back against the door, Adore looks at her feet clothed in mismatched socks and smiles widely. Everything’s going to be fine now. It has to.

She goes towards the record player and moves its tone arm. The vinyl starts again and Adore turns the volume up to make sure Bianca can hear it from her room.

#biadore #cisgirl au #bianca del rio #adore delano #shadyqueenie #rpdr fanfiction #lesbian au #teen au

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vanaera · 6 years ago

Text

The Grand Masterlist

KEY: M mature | ✎ In progress | ✔ completed | ♡ personal favorite | ☽ latest

LAST UPDATED: 09.10. 20

kim seokjin

O N E S H O T S

Just Say Goodnight and Go AU: Campus Heartthrob!seokjin + Tsundere!you / Neighbor + College AU Genre: fluff, comedy Synopsis: The spirit of Christmas is yet to be felt as a blackout on a chilly December night becomes the icing on the cake of your horribly shitty day. You just really want to sleep tonight but your neighbor seems to have lost his mind again when he comes knocking on your door to demand for an uncalled sleepover. Said neighbor is Kim Seokjin, the famed crush of the university, and no, he’s not your friend. He’s most definitely not your crush and he’s absolutely not the reason why warmth fills your entire being when it’s not even summer. (college!au / neighbor!au)

You Will Feel a Flash of Red AU: College AU Genre: fluff comedy Synopsis: Seokjin colors your life with his outrageous ideas and unnecessarily wild adventures, along with his stupid mission to always scare you whenever you run into each other. Against your better judgment, you’ve already started to entertain foreign feelings in your heart concerning the certain boy. And it doesn’t help you already get scared easily without him adding his shenanigans in the mix. You just want Seokjin to stop…making you feel too much all at once.

Defining Epilogues AU: Book rental shop owner!Seokjin + animator/artist!you Genre: fluff, crack-like comedy Synopsis: Seokjin thinks he could always see the end of something before it even comes. When an annoying girl starts to rent the weirdest books from his shop, all Seokjin could see is how she will be the one to end him.

D R A B B L E S

Point of Origin and Intersections AU: bass guitarist!Seokjin + medicine student!you Genre: angst, fluff Synopsis: In which you find yourself and Seokjin back to where you started.

Midnight Colors AU: CEO!Seokjin + club dancer!you Genre: angst, fluff, implied smut Warnings: Infidelity Synopsis: No matter how many times you tell yourself never to let men you could never have complete you, you know such promises are meant to be broken when Seokjin enters your life, giving you every bit of the things you’ve always yearned for.

min yoongi

S E R I E S

The Heart Holiday — ✎ ; ♡ ; ☽ AU: Creatives manager!Yoongi + Personal Assistant!you / Office AU + enemies to lovers Genre: fluff; humor; angst; drama; Warnings: Discussions of toxic relationships and infidelity (PG-15 Rating) Synopsis: Valentine’s Day is declared as an official holiday. However, private companies’ standards dictate it’s only for the people who are currently in a relationship. Unluckily for Y/N, she doesn’t have this year’s PRS’ (Proof of Relationship Status) “in a relationship” box ticked – the only ticket out she can have to enjoy one paid week of holiday leave away from her hellish job. And more unfortunately for Y/N, everyone around her is oh so conveniently currently committed in a relationship. Except for one person: Min Yoongi, Y/N’s biggest critic in every pitch meeting, the picky guy who always picks on her, and the most annoying jerk of the century. Desperate for that holiday leave, Y/N strikes Yoongi up with an offer: Fake date each other two weeks before February 14, just enough time for the Department of Relationship Management (DRM) to consider processing your PRSs. After Valentine’s Day, they will go back to their own ways and never speak about whatever that may happen during the plan. Good, plain, and simple. That is until, Yoongi uncharacteristically oh so enthusiastically agrees to Y/N’s offer, leaving her thinking that she may have bitten something too much more than she can chew.

D R A B B L E S

When Stars Fall AU: Bestfriend!Yoongi Genre: angst; drama Synopsis: Yoongi thinks you’re a star high up in the sky, too far out of his reach. But he still tries anyway just in case you fall in his hopeful hands.

400 LUX — ♡ AU: Boxer!yoongi + bestfriend!you Genre: angst, drama Synopsis: We deconstruct the conventions, pick apart every bit of our rationality, and keep our head out of windows until we learn to lay and stay in each other’s arms. We’ll form a world of our own. Just the two of us–you and me.

jung hoseok

O N E S H O T S

Love at First Snow AU: Dance major!Hoseok + Genius!you College!AU Genre: fluff, humor, slight angst Synopsis: It is during the first snow Hoseok first meets you. It is also during the first snow he prepares to put a ring on you. Little does he know, fate has other plans. (Alternatively: As Hoseok relishes in the spirit of the Holiday season, he cannot help but also reminisce how you two, though entire polar opposites of each other, ended up together).

D R A B B L E S

Your Side of the Bed AU: Rebound!Hoseok / friends to lovers AU Genre: angst, slight fluff Synopsis: Hoseok will bask in the crumpled sheets of your bed until you learn to erase your past’s name on the duvet and replace it with his. It’s been long since the sheets were changed. He’s got a better one, a much warmer one and he hopes you could see the permanence laced in its every thread.

kim namjoon

D R A B B L E S E R I E S

Sun + Moon — ✎ (hiatus) AU: Online friend / broke college student, fanboy!namjoon + idol!you Genre: fluff, humor, angst Synopsis: Frequently exposed to the blue light from laptop and cellphone screens, Namjoon, using the username MonJoon, finds a stable online friendship with someone known as SunnyY/N, a fangirl who shares the same hardcore, dedicated adoration for Y/N, the biggest solo artist in the kmusic industry. What starts as simple chatting and exchange of Y/N’s pics turn into something more when Namjoon finds out that his online friend is actually the apple of his eyes, who is more exposed to the paparazzi’s lights and camera flashes than relationship talks.

D R A B B L E S

The Powers That Be (M) AU: Tennis player!namjoon + reporter!you / secret romance/fwb AU Genre: angst; smut Synopsis: Everything was simple at first until you entangle yourself deeper with a powerful man you know will devour you. You can’t let yourself fall; such works of the heart can never be dealt with a man who cannot settle for fickle affections.

park jimin

O N E S H O T S

Daffodil Rings AU: Idol!jimin + law student, part-time florist!you / Soulmate AU + Strangers to lovers Genre: fluff; angst; implied smut (PG-16) Synopsis: In a world where the red-string-of-fate tale has been proven true by science, each scientific journal has been up to date with every new-found “soulmate system,” and everyone out there has been in their never-ending search for their soulmate, there stands one bug in the system: You. You don’t believe in the absoluteness of the soulmate phenomenon, nor the too-perfect-to-work-out soulmate systems, arguing each and every bit of them are for everyone but you. With 17 years of defiance against such natural occurrence, you did not expect you will be literally swept off your feet by your soulmate on some ordinary Thursday into the wildest night of your life. Everything only goes downhill when you learn that “soulmate” of yours happens to be Park Jimin, the singer from the worldwide famous boy group BTS, you have embarrassingly fangirled over for six years.

D R A B B L E S

Sober (M) AU: Friends with benefits AU Genre: angst, smut Synopsis: Every night, you live and die in different beds of different men but tonight, you’ll give yourself a chance to live and die in the arms of Park Jimin.

kim taehyung

O N E S H O T S

Of Cliches and Romcom Tropes AU: Prince actor!taehyung + ticket booth attendant!you / Carnival AU Genre: fluff, slight angst, comedy that’s close to being crack Synopsis: You find yourself literally living a classic Romcom trope by being the nerdy introvert in love with her unexpected friend, Kim Taehyung, your university’s golden theater boy and campus heartthrob. It only turns more disgustingly cliché when you learn he part-times as a prince actor in the same carnival where you work as a ticket booth attendant. Trusting on the clichés you’ve watched in numerous Romcom films, you embark on a plan to get your crush to like you back this Halloween.

jeon jungkook

S E R I E S

My Time — ✎ , ♡ AU: Cop!jungkook + artist!you Genre: science fiction, mystery, angst, action Synopsis: A future technology allows cops to jump in the past and future to investigate crimes that have happened and prepare for those that are about to happen. A simple hit-and-run turns into something more when Captain Jeon Jungkook finds himself as the victim of a culprit who cannot be identified by the system. Especially when the culprit seems to be the same person behind the new case that’s threatening the order in the justice organization. All goes haywire when Jungkook gets involved with Y/N L/N, the clairvoyant sketch artist who may be his only help to solve the case.

O N E S H O T S

Translucent Fireworks — ♡ AU: Laundromat owner AU Genre: fluff, drama, angst Synopsis: Jungkook yearns for a New Year to come after the warmth he sought in Busan turned lukewarm. Sparks start to alight when spring comes and a girl with a weird laundry schedule stepped in his laundromat.

→ D R A B B L E S E R I E S

The Prince and His Rose — ✎ ; ♡ ; AU: Football player!jungkook + childhood friend!you / College AU Genre: Fluff, comedy, slight angst Synopsis: Weaving through galaxies and masses of planets around the prince, he keeps his ground, eyes set only towards his rose, magnificent in her beauty amidst the starless night with the whole world enclosing around them. The only assurance he has is a single petal from hers and promises of the worlds she creates. “Write that, write that!” “Really?” “Yes! That would be wonderful!” And so will be our story, Jungkook smiles.

o l d w o r k s

Things You Said ↳ Multiple AUs — fluff; angst; smut ❝ A couple of entries centered on things that came from the heart. Inspired by this prompt list.❞

Songs To Read Playlist (STRP) ↳ Multiple AUs — fluff; angst; smut ❝ Come close and lay your head on my chest. I’ll play you the melodies the songs failed to relay - A.K.A. Send me a song and I’ll write you a fic! ❞

Disclaimer: All scenes from movies, lines from songs, and plots from books used for some of these stories are noted in the stories and are the properties of their respectful owners. The rest belongs to the author. These stories are for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended.

#masterlist #aera writes #happy reading hons!#hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoyed writing them #and don't forget to leave some love uwu

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ineffablecolors · 6 years ago

Note

I'm sending you 42. and 80. (because this gotta be funnnn) for the trope mash-up, but only as long as you don't forget that you also kinda promised to write the pregnant-neighbor-comes-begging-for-food thing. Because I won't forget about it. :)

The lovely @laschatzi is talking about this post. I cheated a little bit but I hope you’d like how because now we have

Hungry pregnant neighbour + The Big Damn Kiss + Green-Eyed Epiphany

Family Recipe; ~ 5, 500 words; FF.NET || AO3

previous: wilderness/survival + I Didn’t Mean To Turn You On &Detective AU + Awful First Meeting

Killian is somewhatashamed to admit that he has become something of a take-out guy.

It’s just… it’s one ofthose things he never got back into after losing his hand. Like volleyball. Orplaying the guitar. Or arm wrestling Will. Or the black nail polish. Or goingto the beach. Or hitting on that cute girl at the bakery around the corner. Orgirls,period. Or basically anyone he didn’t already know before the accident.

But anyway. Cooking.He never got back into cooking. He was never all that good at it to begin withbut it gave him a funny sort of pride and he enjoyed it.

He enjoyed having togo to three different stores to manage to collect all the herbs and spices fora proper curry. And lying all his products out – basically filling everyavailable space and then having to push stuff around to have somewhere toactually cook. And chopping histomatoes really fine – concasse, was it? – and his onions not quite because hedid not enjoy crying over their massacred corpses. And – never to be revealedto another living soul – making a mini forest around his chopping board withthe broccoli and the cauliflower. And the whole kitchen smelling for two daysafter. And basically making a mess of every horizontal surface – and thevertical ones that one time when he was learning how to spin pizza dough.

Yeah, he enjoyed that.And then he didn’t. Couldn’t. Didn’t.

And now here he is,sipping his beer and scrolling down his take-out app as if he doesn’t knowhe’ll get the Chinese because he had pizza twice during the week and they’vetotally ruined the Mexican place and Liam says he is a masochist but he is nota ‘take-out sushi’ level of masochist.

He looks outside.Checks his watch. At least two more hours of solid daylight. He wasn’t evenhungry yet. He could get some tortilla chips to snack on while trying to see ifhis oven still works.

Really… what couldhappen?

///

Mrs Lucas has spoilther.

It is the only reasonEmma is even contemplating this. That and the fact that it smells really good.

And look here, Emma isnot one of those girls that needs to always get what she wants. She iscertainly not used to getting whatshe wants. It’s just… her baby doesn’t seem to have followed in her footsteps.

It might havesomething to do with said baby not even having feet to walk with yet. Or… shethinks – tries to remember what she’s been readying semi-obsessively and thenthrowing under the bed as if the books are judging her for her singleness andbrokenness and the general dinginess of her apartment – maybe it has feetalready?

They’re definitelyforming but definitely not usable hence no following in any footsteps anytimesoon. There. She’s leaving it at that. Maybe she’ll dig out that last book fromunder her bed tonight. After she has some dinner.

Which brings her rightback to the problem at hand.

She is pretty surethat 5C is one of those bachelors that live on beer, pizza and whatever elseyou can get delivered to your door; has a football or poker night with the guysevery month – see the football she is sure about ‘cause those walls are fuckingthin and those boys are fucking loud but she likes to imagine the pokeras well ever since she saw the guy in this super slick vest that she is sureonly people who can actually step into a casino and somehow manage to not look sleazy own; occasionally blaststoo loud music but not often enough to warrant a complaint; puts Netflix on loud enough and regularly enough that her brokeass is hoping she can keep up with the new season of Stranger Things simply bymoving her couch next to the wall his TV sits against; never brings girls backto his place.

Honestly, Emma is notjudging (or stalking – the walls are thin).She’d probably be giving 5C a run for his money on the easy single living, ifshe wasn’t pregnant and broke and grumpy half the time and hungry the otherhalf – which also makes her grumpy, and generally disillusioned with humanityand the world and the idea that one might actually be able to enjoy life andnot struggle through it at every step and did she mention broke? She is brokeand constantly hungry and constantly trying to fool her baby into thinking thathe likes overcooked pasta and whatever fruits are on sale this week.

He doesn’t. He likeswhatever 5C is cooking.

///

This was a disastrousidea. The kind of disastrous idea he hasn’t had since he was 4 years old andthought that if he puts snails on Liam’s bed they’d stay there and not like…make their way all over the room that Killianshared with Liam.

This is worse thansnails. This is a dozen utensils in the sink already – because of course hetosses a spoon in the sink the second after he has used it once, of course, why put it to the side and use it again when hehas to stir his unholy concoction, and half a dozen plates – one of those inpieces in a trash bag by the door because your one hand being a slippery one isnot the situation in which you want to be handling porcelain.

He has a sizeable cuton his big toe where he stepped on one of the pieces and his t-shirt issticking to his back from the effort of grinding bloody vegetable – Jesus, heused to run miles without breaking a sweat and now blasted carrots are gettingthe best of him, and all he has to show for all his work is what he hopes is apassable mince.

Now for the mash. Hestill has three limbs and 14 uninjured digits to go…

///

Look, Emma doesn’thave much but she has her pride, ok? And this kid growing inside her has madeher relinquish her hold on that enough to knock on Mrs Lucas’s door and ask herwhat it was she put in her cookies because apparently Emma – or someone else, was addicted to it nowand it was not cinnamon. And that hadtransitioned into Emma becoming almost a firm fixture at Granny’s on weekendsand then into Emma busting tables for a month until Granny gave her a nononsense look and told her she won’t be doing this in a few more months, andafter a week of asking and listening and string pulling and cookie bribing, shegot her a job at August’s bookstore even though he still grumbles that he doesn’tlike anyone else ordering his books.

And, yes, this allworked out pretty well but Mrs Lucas was the one that came to her door on her first week in thebuilding with a plate of those cookies that by this point Emma can barely lookat.

(It’s what she does.She falls in love with peanut butter and then eats so many PBJ sandwiches thatnow she almost gets sick at the mere sight of a jar on the counter. And shehears the The Kooks coming from 5C’s wall and goes on to listen to them onrepeat for two weeks. Mind you, not even everything but just Junk of the Heartbecause she is mental like that. And she starts Modern Family, when she stillhad a freaking Netflix account, and binges the whole damn thing in a couple ofweekends and a few late week nights.)

So, yeah, Emma mighthave some addictive tendencies – the legal kind, and some impulse controlissues.

But Emma would neveractually go to someone’s door – someone she has never exchanged a single wordwith despite sometimes hearing their voice float through her wall – and, yeah,he has a pretty voice but what’s that gonna do for her? shitty people can havegreat voices, she is sure – to ask them forthe love of all that is good and holy, what they are cooking because it smellsso fucking good and she has to know and she has to have something that at leastcomes close to it.

She’d never.

///

It’s in the oven. It’sover. Well, all he has to do now is make sure he doesn’t burn the damn thing toa crisp. But if he managed to put it together in the first place, for the firsttime tonight, Killian thinks he can maybe pull this off.

///

It got worse. Worse asin better. Fuck, it got so much better. And now her stomach is grumbling andshe has made for the door three times in the last five minutes and for thefirst time tonight Emma is coming to the horrible realization that she probablywon’t be able to survive this day with her dignity intact.

///

He is just about todig into his plate – fancy plate set and fancy napkins that he didn’t even knowhe owned and the second episode of American Gods queued up and-

There’s a knock on hisdoor.

Killian freezes withhis fork in the air, eyebrows bunching together. Who on earth? He knows hehasn’t invited any of the guys over and Liam knows better than to just drop infor an unexpected ‘we are going out and getting you someone to go home with’visit by this point.

He waits. Nothing.Maybe he imagined it?

///

“There, happy?”

Emma glances down ather slightly rounded stomach and tries on her best ‘mom look’. She thinksshe’ll definitely need to work on that one before the baby comes out because heis already too stubborn for her owngood.

She glances at thedoor with 5C on it one more time, raises her hand and then drops it again.

No. She knocked. Thisis a sign. For once the universe is sparing her the embarrassment and-

“Yes?”

No, of course, not.Why would the universe ever spare her anything?

///

She must be the onethat knocked. 5B. His sweatpants neighbour.

Killian tries not tofeel bad about the nickname. They’ve never been properly introduced and… well,he has mostly seen her back disappearing inside her apartment or her back goingdown the stairs with laundry or her back rushing below his window on a jog. Sohe’s never seen her in anything but sweatpants. He’s not judging. It’s just…the only thing he had to go on.

She is in sweatpantsnow as well but as he looks at her to ask what she needs, he is taken aback byher green eyes. He is taken aback by the sudden realization that his neighbouris this young and very pretty woman and her eyes are the kind of eyes you can’thelp but notice.

It’s… interesting. Hehas heard the soundtrack of her daily life through the wall they share for afew months now but somehow he never imagined the face and body that must gowith those sounds.

As he thinks his gazeslides down almost involuntary and he doesn’t know what catches his attentionmore: the fact that she is a few months pregnant or the fact that she came overbarefoot.

The latter is trulyendearing, the former a tad disheartening for some reason.

Not that he hasanything against kids. Or pregnant women. It’s just… it’s not every day yourealize your neighbour is a pretty girl about your age and currently standingat your doorstep. But he shouldn’t have just assumed and anyway he doesn’treally… that is… is she ever gonna say something?

///

“Lass?”

Emma shakes her head alittle and wants to slap herself back into reality. You know that space andtime continuum where she is not attaching thisman to every sound she has ever heard come through their wall.

(She is convinced heplays air guitar when blasting Bon Jovi hits and that his eyes blaze reallybright when he is swearing at something about “bloody this” and “bloody that”.)

“Umm, hi. Sorry. I…”

He raises an eyebrow.She doesn’t really appreciate the mix of amusement and expectation. Then again,she is standing on his doorstep. He probably has some right to expect anexplanation. Why on earth didn’t she rehearse what she’ll say if he opened thedoor?

“Did you needsomething?”

Fuck.

“I just… ummm, am I botheringyou?”

“Not at all, lass. But,to be frank, I’ll probably be more capable of answering truthfully, if you toldme what you are here for.”

The hell? Was hetalking like that on purpose?

“I-“

Come on, Emma, like aband aid, nowhere to go now unless you wanna be the weirdo asking for a cup offlour.

“What you arecooking?’

///

“Oh.”

Oh. Bloody hell.

Killian can feel hischeeks heating up and focuses half his attention on keeping his hand at hisside and not scratching his damn ear.

“I apologize. I didn’tconsider the smell might bother some-“

“No. No, no, no. Ilike it! So… I was wondering what it was.”

She likes it? Thattimid feeling of pride he felt when he took his dinner out of the over and it wasn’t burn to a crisp grows threetimes.

“It’s just ashepherd’s pie. Slightly altered recipe. My mum’s. Supposedly, probably muckedit up along the way and it’s twice altered now but yeah… Shepherd’s pie.”

“Oh.”

///

Great. She was hopingfor something along the lines of a lasagna. Then maaaybe she could’ve boughtsome frozen crappy version from the supermarket and tried to cheat her bodyinto thinking it was the real thing.

But no, of course,not. It had to be shepherd’s pie. Family recipe edition. Just her damn luck.

“Well, thanks. Andsorry! I was just… curious. Sorry to bother you.”

///

She turns to go andthis might have been the most bizarre conversation he’s had this month.Including that guy on the underground with the orange hair.

Did she just want toknow what the smell invading her home was? She did say she liked it. Maybe-

She is already half toher door so Killian just thinks to hell with it.

“Would you like some?”

He sees her stop deadin her tracks and cringes, hoping he isn’t now the biggest weirdo of her month.And not in a good way.

The blonde turnsaround and he knows the second he sees her face that she would indeed likesome. But Killian likes to think of himself as at least moderately intelligentso he keeps his smile to himself and instead prepares for the distrust in hereyes that is obviously warring with her appetite.

“Do you usually offerfood to unknown women who come knocking on your door?”

“I can’t say, you arethe first.”

He doesn’t actuallysee her cheeks change colour but then again he thinks it might be because shehas been blushing this entire time.

“I didn’t mean tobother-“

“It’s no bother, love.Truly. Now that I feel knowledgeable enough about your intensions to say so.”

She rolls her prettygreen eyes in a way that has his pulse speeding up a bit.

“Plus I just made adish more people share with a family of four. For myself. I think I can sparewhatever you can eat.”

It’s a gamble thatpays off when he sees her eyes blaze up and let’s himself grin at herteasingly.

“I’m sorry, was that achallenge to how much I can eat?”

He steps aside andwaves her in.

She only hesitates fora second.

///

OK, first of all, hisapartment is waaay better than hers like, both bigger and with more naturallight coming in but also simply more tidy and colour-coordinated. Also, ifpossible, it smells even better inside and Emma’s eyes immediately zero in onthe dish on the kitchen counter.

She hears 5C chucklebehind her and tries not to feel even more embarrassed. Her capacity for itmust be running out by this point. Thankfully, he doesn’t make a comment butjust moves around his kitchen island and takes out a plastic food container.IKEA guy. Cute.

It probably takes hera bit longer than it should – what with her still mostly trying to pretend sheis not hustling her nice and pretty neighbour for food – but eventually Emmanotices the peculiar way he moves around his kitchen and operates only with hisright hand. A quick inspection proves that it is because he simply has no leftone to assist him.

“No shit!”

The guy startles ather words and turns around and probably follows her gaze because in the nextmoment the limb is tucked slightly behind him and he is giving her a tensesmile.

“Shit, I’m afraid.”

She honest to Godcovers her mouth. Better late than never. Or not.

“Shit. I mean, sorry!Sorry. I wasn’t- I was just- you cook?!”

5C frowns at her as ifher person skills are something that would only befit a visiting alien. He’sgot her there.

“Sorry. Again. But,like, I can’t cook for shit even with two hands.”

To be fair, the crapproducts she can afford probably have something to do with it but Emma is gonnabe a single mom pretty soon and she is pretty sure that “to be fair”s won’t cutit when she has to cook for her kid.

But makes-food-that-smells-illegally-good-single-handedlyneighbour seems to relax a little.

Foot – partially outof mouth.

///

Killian tries to unbunchthe muscles in his neck and not keep his right side weirdly angled towards her.It’s fine. Really, it’s fine. She was bound to notice eventually.

“To be honest, this ismy first try in quite some time.”

“Seriously?”

“Indeed. So if you getfood poisoning or something, I’m not to be held accountable.”

The thought gives himpause and he turns to her with his eyebrows all drawn together and almostreluctant to hand her the container in his hand.

“Actually, are youallergic to anything? I mean… I don’t think there’s anything too weird in itand everything I used was fresh but-“

He can’t help butglance down at her stomach. Gods, she ispregnant, right? This will be just the kind of thing-

But the blonde’s handcomes up to her stomach and she smiles at him almost shyly and Killian breathesout a quiet sigh of relief.

“I’m sure it will befine. I mean, the things I’ve been feeding myself… I’m pretty sure someonemight get a bit of a shock from the home-cooked food but definitely not the badkind.”

He tries not tooveranalyze the “feeding myself” part and instead nods and finally hands thecontainer with half of his shepherd’s pie inside.

“Whoa. You really arechallenging me.”

He laughs and dips hishead to the side to admire the way her eyes widen a little.

“It should keep for acouple of days if you put it in the fridge. And you can always just feed it toSmee.”

“Smee?”

“Oh.”

His cold ring grazeshis earlobe and dammit, he forgot to watch out for the damn tick.

“I named the cat thatalways hangs around behind the building.”

“Oooh, ok. And hellno.”

She hugs the food toher chest almost protectively and Killian laughs again and bloody hell, is hecoming across too giggly or something? What else can he say? He-

“Well, I shouldprobably let you finally eat your dinner. Whatever you have left,” she beatshim to it and juts her thumb at the door and he can’t really do anything butnod.

///

She is alreadystepping outside, teeth embedded in her lip and what do you say to the cute neighbour that fed you dinner but not inthe date sense?

“Oh. I’m Emma, by theway. Emma Swan.”

His eyes light up andEmma finally gets to put a mark in the ‘didn’t fuck it up’ column.

“Pleasure to meet you,Swan. Killian Jones. Always at your service, though I must warn you, myculinary repertoire is quite limited.”

Killian Jones with thefancy words and delicious food. Fuck.

///

She uses her employeediscount on something other than baby books for the first time.

He finds the bookwaiting for him outside his door. The post-it note says “This is why peoplelike home-cooked food. Who knew.” And the book is Neil Gaiman’s Fragile Things and it takes him a momentto connect the dots and remember that he was watching Amarican Gods the othernight and, yeah, maybe it makes him feel kinda good that Emma Swan noticed andremembered that.

///

He tries some Mexicannext and it’s 100% because his favourite place has gone to crap and not at allbecause he once saw their delivery guy in front of 5B.

She opens the door andhis face is half-obscured by an IKEA container and he says it’s just a not sosubtle reminder that she hasn’t returned the other one yet and she pretends tobelieve him.

///

She reasons that youcan’t return food containers empty so she tries to bake muffins because muffinsare supposed to be easy.

He hears the firealarm and five second later he is banging on her door and having a veryflustered Emma Swan dragging him inside and pointing at her oven or what can beseen of it behind the cloud of smoke and explaining how it’s all his fault.

///

He’s been looking fora not food-related reason to knock on her door for a week and coming up emptyand he is damn rusty when it comes to talking to pretty girls but then againshe is pregnant and the fact that he didn’t see a naked man in the middle ofher kitchen the one time he was there for 10 minutes doesn’t mean anything somaybe that’s for the best.

She knocks on his doora day after Stranger Things comes out with three bags of popcorn, explainingthat only one of them is for him, obviously.

///

She lives to binge andyet here she is trying to stretch an 8-episode season over more than a week.

He honestly debatescalling Netflix and begging them to somehow somehowrelease more episodes of their damn show.

///

He has been thisscared exactly once in his entire life and that situation included headlightscoming straight at him.

She has a freakingstomach ache, probably from too much popcorn, and she is almost as embarrassedwhen she comes out of the doctor’s office as she was that first night sheknocked on his door but Killian doesn’t really seem to care how she is ok as long as she is.

///

She is scrollingthrough her Instagram at work and she is so bored and distracted that shealmost misses it but then she goes back and blinks and then goes to the accountto check this is not some sort of ridiculous surveillance thing or she doesn’teven know what – but sure enough, there – on @cutestparentstobe, is a pictureof her very pregnant self, eating ice-cream on the beach with one KillianJones.

He doesn’t know how heworms his way into a doctor’s appointment, he just knows that when the nursecalls him “daddy” Emma kinda sputters but doesn’t say anything to contradicther and he sure as hell keeps his trap shut and just smiles and nods when theygive him an ultrasound picture all for himself.

///

They’ve been doingwhatever they are doing for 4 freaking months and within the first couple ofweeks they were already using like only 30% of his couch for the both of themand in a month they started venturing outside the bubble of their apartmentsand Emma never thought she’d be thehand-holding type but yeah, they kinda hold hands all the time and they hug,like, every day and they text all the freaking time while they are at work andshe meets Liam when she is 7 months pregnant and convinced that he is gonnahate her on sight for saddling his little brother with herself and he doesn’treally but he also doesn’t seem to love her on sight and Killian is verypointedly unamused by the lukewarm reception but honestly, Emma is just glad tobe given a chance here, and he goes shopping for baby stuff she can barelyafford with her and then he goes shopping for baby stuff by himself and shegets kinda angry and they kinda break up or whatever at least twice, basicallyeach time Emma decides that this is ridiculous and he can’t just date a girlthat is having another guy’s baby and that’s twice the size she should be andthat he’s only known for a few months and one night Killian lines up fourfreaking shepherd’s pies outside her door and if she even keeps her door closedto that then she must be dead inthere and one night he lets it slip about these therapy sessions that he issupposed to go to but doesn’t and she basically makes an appointment for himand drags him out of the door and maybe threatens him with not coming to herdoctor’s appointments anymore, if he doesn’t go to his.

And through all that and then some, they never actuallykiss.

Sure he kisses hercheek when he wishes her goodnight and she kisses his head when he falls asleepon her during Lord of the Rings and he kisses her hand placatingly every timehe tries to dissuade her from helping him with dinner and she kisses hisforearm in the park that one time he freaks out on her because she is on hisleft side and goes to hold his arm and he kisses her stomach the first time shegrabs his hand and lets him feel the baby kicking but-

They’ve never properly kiss and it’s this lastfrontier and maybe he is waiting for her to cross it but she just can’t seem to.

And then she is givingbirth and he is there when she is givingbirth and they haven’t even kissed.

And then there’s Henryand they both kiss him plenty but-

///

they don’t kiss whenKillian refuses to hold her baby and she is hurt and offended and so confusedand kinda angry and then he says he can’t, he can’t hold him with one hand andshe is just sad and, yeah, maybe still kinda angry but also eerily calm as shebents Killian’s elbow and gives him the kind of look that makes him shut hismouth audibly and places her son in his arms

they don’t kiss whenKillian barges in on her breastfeeding and twirls around on the spot, slappinga hand over his face and sputtering apologies while all she can do is laugh andlaugh and tell him to stop acting like her tits are a big deal and make her acup of that crappy decaf coffee and he does and he also makes sure to look herdirectly in the eyes and then wink very poorly when he says that her tits are a big deal

they don’t kiss when Henrystarts teething and Emma is up at all hours of the night and she looks likefucking hell and Killian tells her so in no uncertain terms and basically,somehow, taking advantage of her sleep-deprived brain, manages to rope her intoa teeth-sharing plan which basically includes her passing half of her insomniaonto him and Emma can’t forgive him and at the same time can’t love him enoughand yeah, she loves him now and they’ve known each other for a year and they haven’t fucking kissed and what ever

///

they don’t kiss whenshe asks him if he thinks maybe, possibly Liam would like to meet Henry and allKillian can do is nod and swallow and start planning the kind of lecture he’llgive his brother, if he dares to voice any of his doubts about the soundness of the situation, but Liamseems to think that if his brother is spending half his day around a certainbaby – no matter whose it is – it probably isn’t a terrible idea for him tomeet said baby and Liam Jones may be a military man and he may have nevergotten over the fact that he didn’t manage to protect his little brother fromall the evils of the world and he may have been determined to give Emma Swan ahard time for even the slightest hint of her using Killian but he is also puttyin the hands of Henry Swan within 10 minutes

they don’t kiss thefirst time she uses the key to his apartment and sneaks into his bedroom in themiddle of the night – baby in her arms and her hair into the messiest bun thathas ever been twisted and her damn sweatpants and her eyes all puffy and herwhispered worries all about not being able to do it and being all alone and notbeing good enough and he just folds himself around both of them and tries tostart the process of getting each ridiculous notion out of her head

they don’t kiss when shetells Henry to spot throwing his food all over daddy and Killian just standsthere – carrot puree all over his t-shirt, and watches as she continueswhipping the eggs in front of her as if she didn’t just- and he loves them bothtoo damn much to point it out and risk having her take it back and bloody hell,he loves her now and they’ve been together for all intents and purposes forover a year now and they haven’t bloodykissed and good lord

///

She comes back fromthe store and heads directly to Killian’s apartment and tries to calculate ifshe and Henry are spending more time at her place or at his at this point. Butas soon as she opens the door and the smell hits her, her calculations are leftoutside in the cold and it’s all she can do not to moan out loud. Turns out itwasn’t just the little guy growing inside her that made her love Killian’spies.

She hears the lowmurmur of Killian’s voice and decides to tiptoe into the kitchen as quietly aspossible. She wants to look at them without giving her presence away just yet,when it’s just them.

And sure enough Henryis tucked into Killian’s left arm, his little fist twisted into the hair at theback of her boyfriend’s neck (god, he is not her freaking boyfriend, along withHenry in his arms he is her entire fucking universe).

She knows what theyare making already but she narrows her eyes as she realizes that she has neveractually seen Killian make his shepherd’spie.

“This is the only wayI can make your mom eat these, Henry.”

He twirls a broccoliin front of her son’s little nose and Emma rolls her eyes. Partially because it’strue and partially because the broccoli version is not her most favourite.

“When you are oldenough I’m gonna teach you how to make it on your own but for now I’ll justshow you how to make yourself a little forest.”

She honestly doesn’tknow if it’s the implication of years tocome in his promise, the fact that he says it so confidently, so easily,without any doubt, without any caveat of “if we are still together”, withoutany alternative in his mind. Or if it’s the fucking forest of broccoli that heis arranging around his chopping board like the most precious human being thathe is.

Emma honestly doesn’tknow. But she does drop the bag she is carrying on the floor and she crossesthe space between them in the time it takes Killian to turn around and open himmouth to greet her. And then she finally finallyfeels his lips under her own.

He tastes even betterthan his damn pie.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain cobra swan #cs au #cs modern au #laschatzi #cs tropes

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abreuofcoffee · 6 years ago

Text

We Bloom Until We Ache

— Word Count: 2k

— Genre: Hanahaki AU, Angst, Fluff and Light Comedy if you squint very hard enough

Ch. 1 | 2

It was a dark gloomy night, streetlights illuminating the avenue and cars wandering around the city. She stood in front of her apartment building, mindlessly wondering where it all had gone wrong. She thought there was something between them for the past years with him. She did love him very much. But him ? It was all a lie. Recalling what happened just moments ago entered her mind. It was in the midst of their bickering when she asked, “So all of that was, what, just an illusion?”, she asked and looked into his eyes, hoping for something -- anything. “I don’t have anything left to say. You should go” was the only thing he said, voice dull and emotionless. Gathering up all her courage and preventing herself from cracking her voice she said, “I let you get this far with your lies, but I know you well enough, and I think it’s about time we put an end to it.” and she did, she went to their room, packed her bags and left. It was thirty minutes ago when she had broken things up and moved out. Now, she waits for a taxi to pick her up and distract her from her wandering thoughts.

Inside the taxi where she hoped to be distracted from her recent break up, his words still ring and sting through her heart. “Celestine, I don’t want to be with you anymore. I think it’s about time to tell you, i’ve been seeing someone new.”. And that was it, her breaking point. Celestine broke down in a backseat of an old cab, heartbroken and homeless.

Half a month later, she found and moved in her apartment. Filled with hope for a new beginning, she wished to focus on herself and try to forget the things that happened. “Let’s forget the past and move on to the present”. A line that causally became her motto as time went by. The past weeks and days were nothing but hell to her. It was hard getting over someone you’ve loved and known for years. While fixing her things in her new apartment, she saw a photo album. Inside were numerous photos of him -- of them. And suddenly, she laughs. Anyone who can see her state right now would say she’s out of her mind. Her laughs turned to soft whimpers and some tears even escaped her eyes. Soon enough, those whimpers and tears turned to a total breakdown in the middle of her flat. She felt so stupid to believe that they would be able get married someday but the certain turn of events proved her otherwise. Loud sobbing and screams surround her flat as she continues to bawl her eyes out and break down.

There came a knock on her door, not knowing who interrupted her breakdown session, she went to peep who the person was but she became too lazy to tiptoe and peep. “Who would even knock on my door at 3 am?” she murmur. “Who would even does a heavy mental breakdown in the middle of the night? At three 3 am?” said in a tone of both disbelief and worry by the unknown weird person on the other side of the door. With furrowed brows and a confused face plastered on her face, she opened her door and can’t help but ogle at tall good-looking man standing in front of her door, wearing what it seems of a black hoodie and pajamas. Sleep, worry and something else she can’t quite decipher written all over his face. “Are you seriously staring at my face right now? We have other issues, woman!” disbelief laced in his tone as he barged into the said apartment. “I.. uhh.. umm… well… WHAT THE? WHO ARE YOU AND WHY ARE YOU BARGING INTO MY FLAT?” she exclaimed, angrily following the man into her flat. She gasped when she sees him holding a plastic bag holding two large buckets of ice cream. “My name’s Keith and I live next door to you by the way and the reason i’m inside your apartment because apparently I heard someone crying over….. perhaps her ex ? I don’t know for sure but that definitely came into my concern so here we are! I don’t want to see nor hear anyone having a hard time, people should have someone or anyone in that matter to comfort them.”-- having to be raised by a rather tight family, Keith’s used to being a child loved by everyone and he vowed to himself that he will help anyone who is need when he once saw his little sister crying and didn’t know what to do, he felt so helpless that day and that vow to himself was made. “Seeing that you have no one, I gladly accept that position!” he says cheerfully for a person at 3 in the godforsaken morning while removing the ice cream from the plastic bag. “I don’t need anyone to comfort me. I am comfortable by myself and ok as far as i'm concerned, thank you very much.. Keith.” Celestine isn’t really a person who would let someone just barge into her home and tell them her deepest emotions. She thinks it utterly impossible to have someone do that anyway but well, that proved her otherwise tonight. “Oh trust me, you do, darling. And it’s okay, we can go slow and take our time, we have all night anyway. Or perhaps, the whole day?” he chuckled, and Celestine never knew someone’s chuckle could be that cute. Anyways, going back to this weird attractive guy, Celestine is actually thinking through this. What more could she lose, right? And the boy actually seems very trustworthy anyway. Speaking of the devil, he interrupted her thoughts just in time. “What flavor do you want? Mint Chocolate or Cookie Batter?” “The cookie one” she grabbed the cold ice cream with both hands and wrapped a towel around it, to prevent her hands from getting cold. Whilst scooping from her ice cream, she started to open up to this strange neighbor, “Well I used to have this boyfriend for how many years and…”. The night was spent like that, Celestine opened up and Keith dropped few remarks here and there on how awful the break up was and soon after, their conversation moved to other things like how they have mutual interest on contemporary art, Durant, their insights in the latest episode of How To Get Away With Murder and how Keith almost had a criminal offense of vandalising in their college campus’ pristine white walls near the dean’s office and rather in front of the whole football field, showing it on display for the whole campus to see. That night became from one depressing evening of Celestine to somewhere between having a new friend and achieving happiness after a whole month of crying over someone who hurt her.

Few weeks past, bearing with the break up became much more easier with Keith around. He helped her get over him with their Friday movie nights --usually alternating on whose place they will hang out and their ice cream shenanigans in an ice cream shop just a block away from their apartment building. She’s slowly recovering, becoming more of herself and is finally trying to focus and love herself.

During one of their Friday movie nights in her place, Keith noticed something. While she was boringly scrolling through the featured section of Netflix, the television’s light illuminating her face, her hair softly falling from the its previous place behind her ear and her soft grunts and constant complaints of, “I don’t know what to choose! All these movies are all either about love-sick couples or a dumb person trying to escape a haunted house” with a stupefied expression, Keith stayed motionless in his position. He’s suddenly attracted to this beautiful girl sitting next to her. His thoughts surround the fact that it can be possible and it’s not morally right since she just had a quite awful breakup just months ago.“But it can’t be. I’m probably just joking myself. I don’t like her, I just care for her. It’s what i’m here for and what she needs right now, right?” -- he always believed that people sometimes get attracted to chaotic, untimely things and he thinks this is just one of those.

Celestine’s life is actually pretty normal. Being an aspiring writer that hardly gets any acknowledgements on her stories, novels and poems, she had to work in another field for a secured source of income to support herself. That work being said is just being an average corporate staff working eight hours a day. She works as a journalist in one of the most famous magazine and entertainment company that mainly focuses on celebrity news and drama -- the so called “tea” as the millennials and Gen Z people would say. After a tiring day of work, well tiring is actually an understatement. A co-journalist got fired, one A-list celebrity became the most talked about because of their magazine’s latest scoop of the celebrity’s scandal and a famous fashion designer was murdered in front of his house that day, resulting her and the team hurriedly going to the scene for the latest scoop of the happening and to inform the eager netizens about it. All that could be said was she has had enough of that day and just wanna relax in a warm bubble bath with her favorite bath bomb, smelling the relaxing aroma of lavender oil and listening to her favorite R&B playlist. Needless to say, she was met unexpectedly by Keith’s car in front of her company’s building. The car was nice -- more than nice actually, it was a sleek gray SUV with rich and class written all over it. “Do you mind if we catch dinner together and go home?” Keith asked her through the window of the passenger’s seat. “Yeah, why not? I would die for some god-tier food right now” while approaching the vehicle, she noticed pink and red flower petals, daffodil to be exact, scattered along the floor of the car but she just paid no mind to it. On the ride going to the restaurant Keith picked, he kept on talking about this one music artist he just found out recently and how one of that artist’s cover art is of Icarus and he then went on and on talking about greek gods and goddesses and how problematic they are. In that sudden moment due to Keith’s non stop blabbering about greek mythology, Celestine was vastly inspired to write a story that she think would really be acknowledged by the public. Her story would then be about the reincarnations of greek gods and goddesses in the present time, here in 21st century. She hurriedly got her phone out of her pocket and started typing out ideas and the plot of her upcoming story. Little does she know those daffodil petals hold a huge meaning.

It was two weeks after that Friday night where Keith denied himself of falling in love with his neighbor that he started to weirdly cough up flowers. Weird. He thought, “Ah! Maybe I accidentally swallowed some at the flower shop earlier.”. But then, it didn’t stop there. It occurred frequently, especially when Celestine enters his mind or whenever he tries to see her (but he fails anyway, because of his current situation of coughing flowers). And so, he went to a doctor to find out what is happening to him. He found out that he is having a condition called Hanahaki Disease and it is quite deadly. The root cause of this disease is unrequited love, the person who has Hanahaki definitely is experiencing unrequited love. Flowers bloom in the patient’s lungs and the harder the patient falls in an unrequited love with someone, the more it congests in the lungs and making the patient cough it up. If it gets worse, the congestion of the flowers blooming will cause the death of the patient. This disease entails unrequited love and will be the inevitable cause of the person’s death. Knowing his condition, he continues to be by Celestine’s side -- as a friend who needs him and as someone who loves her secretly.

#text #text au #scenario #imagine #freeform #spilled writing #word vomit #spilled ink #love letter #love #writes #writing #free write #asl writes

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crewhonk · 7 years ago

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My Girl

Summary: In which Billy has a crush on reader and he finds out she is abused

Authors Note: This isn't something that I'm too proud of, I’m just in a really rough place in my life and I needed to put something out. I wrote something called Valerie a little while back but it wasn’t as well received as I thought it would be. I’m in a bit of a stoop, but ill work through it.

Pairings: Reader X OC, Reader X Billy Hargrove

Words: 2,482

It was a Friday when Billy Hargrove fell for you. You were the shy, delicate, beautiful young lady next door and he had fallen for you. He had moved in next to you in September with the smell of sea spray and sunscreen and he was something of a breath of fresh air in Hawkins. Since you were neighbors, the windows of you kitchens lined up almost perfectly, and the view into the adjacent house was almost too perfect as there were only six feet between your houses. He had fallen for the girl next door without even speaking so much as a word to you.

Until you had been paired with him for an English project; you were to study and read Romeo and Juliet and write a collaborative paper on the tensions between two dominant superpowers— using examples from the Capulets and Montegeau’s— and relate them to real life. Topical and ironic.

You slid into the seat beside him and pushed the two desks together before opening your book to where you had left off and placed it face down on the desk. You picked the dirt from under your nail anxiously and your eyelids fluttered nervously before your eyes finally met the Keg Kings. He had one of the most gentle looks in his eyes that you had ever seen and there was a rosy blush on his naturally red cheeks. He reached over to you fiddling hands and held one of them in his own, shaking them lightly.

“Billy Hargrove.” He introduced.

“Y/N Y/L/N.” You said, almost ready to slam your head on the desk at the way your voice wavered. You tucked your hair behind your ear and cleared your throat nervously.

“Have you read much of the book?” You asked him. He scoffed lightly and pulled his dog-eared copy out of his empty-looking backpack. There were pages folded where he thought there were important details and he flipped through it to show you where he had highlighted his favorite lines.

“It was one of my mom’s favorite stories out there. I’ve read it enough times where I can almost recite it line for life.” He smiled.

“Well, aren’t you just a chip off the old block.” You remarked, taking the battered copy froths hands and flipping through it slowly. Billy’s heart nearly shuddered to a stop when your fingers brushed against his.

“Is this your mom’s writing?” You pointed to a flowery cursive in the margarine and traced over the indentations the pen had made with the pad of your thumb.

“Yeah, she always used to write everything down when she had thoughts. The bag she carried around was full of so many scraps was both impressive and concerning.” He said wistfully.

You let out an amused breath from your nose and handed the book back to him. You had written down all the lines you’d both highlighted and had read over some of his moms notes to see if the thoughts could be used in the paper. You did this and joked throughout the class, and the lightness he had brought with him to this project was a shock to your system as most of the men you had interacted with were aggressive and unpredictable. Not that Billy Hargrove wasn’t those things but it had seemed like he had tamed himself in the months since he moved here.

The bell rang and both of you jolted in surprise. You had ended up creating a bubble around yourself during the time you were in class and the sharp ring had broken you both out of it. You fixed the positions of your desks quickly and slung your bags over your shoulders, walking out of the class together. There was a change in Billy’s body language almost as soon as you had stepped out of the class— he had grown about an inch taller, lifted his chin and puffed his chest out slightly to make himself feel bigger. You rolled your eyes without him being able to see you and walked to your locker, almost too aware that he was walking closely behind you with his hand on your arm protectively.

“So,” He had said once you got to your locker. You opened it carefully as to not annoy the people next to you and placed your books in the locker— you were finally done for the day and were able to go home whenever as you had arranged your senior year schedule to accommodate you. “When do you wanna meet up? We can go for shakes at Benny’s or somethin’.”

“Um, well. I’m free next Monday after school— my little brother has his little AV Club meeting on Monday’s so I don’t have to worry about him then. Steve Harrington usually just drops him off” You watched his expression carefully when you had mentioned his ‘enemy’ and snorted when his nose wrinkled just the slightest. Little did he know that Steve Harrington was just a fly compared to the absolute dumpster fire he was about to meet.

“I’ll be counting down the day until—“ He was soon interrupted by what would be described as a Greek God. He was tall, about six foot three with a head of thick dark brown hair that flipped out behind his ears. He had vibrant green eyes, and his shoulders were impressively broad. It was Elliot Shepard, the captain of the football team and Beer Pong Champion. He wrapped a strong around you tightly and gave a sharp smile to Billy, showing him his canine teeth. This reaction immediately made Billy swipe his tongue across his lower lip as a challenge to the larger boy.

“Hey, Baby. You ready to go home?” Elliot said, not looking away from Billy’s glare. You had become about two sizes smaller in the grasp of your boyfriend, and the tension between the three of you made you break out in a cold sweat.

“I uh— yeah. Let’s go, Elliot.” Without looking away from Billy, Elliot leaned down and kissed your temple hard, making you wince. He moved his bruising grip from your waist to pull you by the neck to his chest. He pulled you roughly away from Billy and at a near breakneck speed out of the school. “Elliot you can slow down now.” You whispered, half-hoping he wouldn’t hear you.

“Repeat yourself, Babe. You know I hate when you mumble.” He grunted, opening the passenger side door and waiting for you to climb in, standing close enough to you that you did his bidding without argument. He walked around the car and climbed into the driver seat, throwing his bag into the backseat and not caring that a zipper had hit you in the eye. You immediately covered it and let out a yelp of pain.

“What was that?” He asked, looking over at you briefly and rolling his eyes when he saw your hand covering your eye. “God, you’re so dramatic.” He groaned and reached for your wrist, pulling it away roughly and throwing it into your lap. He didn’t care enough to notice that vessels in your eye had ruptured, and there was a steady stream of tears rolling down your cheek.

It was Sunday when your parents left you and Elliot alone in your house. They had a Church dinner they wanted to attend and Elliot had gotten on your parent's goodside quickly when he started talking about his scholarship and football opportunities.

“What are your plans for tomorrow?” He asked, rubbing your shoulder gently and hugging you to him. You had just finished washing dishes while he threw a medication bottle in the air and catching it. You stopped wiping a pot with your cloth for a second while your heat dropped to your feet.

“I’m um— I’m seeing Billy Hargrove tomorrow for an English project.” There was a long beat of silence and the noise of the bottle rattling stopped.

“Where are you meeting him?” He asked calmly.

“Here. I think. He only lives next door, so everything is really convenient.” You said.

“No.”

“Pardon?”

“I said no.” He growled.

“We need to meet outside of class to finish this project, there's no way we would be able to finish it in class.” You said, turning to him and throwing a dish towel over your shoulder. You placed a hand on your hip and looked at him with raised eyebrows. He blinked once, twice and when he threw the bottle in his hand hard at your head. The ringing in your ears didn’t prepare for him grabbing your arm roughly and pushing you against the counter hard enough to bruise your tailbone. You cried out and he grabbed your face roughly and forced you to look at him.

“I. Said. No.”

You’re brows furrowed in pain and you let out a squeak through your squished mouth. He shook your face roughly and your hands went to hold his wrist in hopes that he would let go. He slapped your hands hard away roughly and pushed you harder into the counter.

“What do you say when you talk back to me.” He growled, face only inches away from yours.

“I’m sorry.” You sobbed. Almost immediately, he let go of your face and pulled you to him. He stroked your hair softly and held you as you cried hard, clutching him by the shirt in an attempt to bring him closer.

“Good girl.” He kissed your head gently and shushed your sobs. “I love you.”

His grip tightened light when you hesitated in your response. “I love you, too.”

It was Monday morning when you got to school late. Elliot hadn’t shown up to pick you up and had to run to school in hopes of keeping your perfect attendance record after concealing the bruises on your face. Elliot didn’t like when you missed school and you knew the punishment would be severe if he found out. You rushed to your Biology class in hopes that you made it in time (and you did), and were desperately confused when he wasn’t in your usually shared desk. You looked at the class to see if he had changed spots, but when you didn’t see him you slowly walked over to your desk.

The day went by in a blurry haze and when you finally got to English, you sat beside Billy with a huff. “Everything okay, Sweetheart?” He asked gently. He looked so concerned, and the look in his eyes was so gentle you wanted to cry.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Today’s just been a little odd.” You mumbled. Your heart fluttered nervously and you expected him to yell at you to speak up. He never did. He just reached a hand out and rubbed your knee softly but firmly.

“I saw you guys last night. I found him afterward, I don’t think you’ll have to deal with him anymore.” He grumbled. Your world stopped and you looked at him sharply, glaring at him until he looked away.

“You had no right to do that.” You growled aggressively. You shot out of your chair and stormed out of the school, walking to Elliot’s house and knocking sharply on the door. His mother answered the door, with tear tracks staining her cheeks. She looked down at you and her eyes narrowed. You found out then that Elliot had been hit by a car and he was in the hospital now. He had massive internal hemorrhaging and both of his legs had been broken. He was then put into a medically induced coma to allow his body to heal without any other interference. She drove you home after she explained it to you, she liked you enough to offer you any basic courtesy, but when you showed up to her house covered bruises she refused to believe that her son was capable of THAT.

When she dropped you off, you stood in the dirt of your driveway and stared at your house. It was a small house, there was a wilting plant that used to be a rosebush but looked more like a tumbleweed. The red paint that framed your house was chipped and your screen door was open— it hadn’t closed since you were seven and your dad hadn’t been able to fix it as there was always something else to do. You numbly looked over your house, and your eyes drifted lazily to Billy’s house and suddenly you were filled with an unforgiving rage. You stomped over to his house and slammed your fist on his front door. Three hard knocks and three long seconds of waiting.

The door swung open and you were greeted with a sweaty, shirtless, short-short wearing Billy. He had a cigarette hanging from his lips and a beer in his hand. At the sight of you at the door, shaking with rage he grabbed a jacket from the hook next to the door and threw on a trench coat to cover up. You would have laughed in any other situation.

“You hit my boyfriend with your car? Are you fucking serious?” You glared.

“He had no right to treat you like that. If you were my girl, I would give you flowers every day. I would walk you to school, I wouldn’t drive because walking means I would get more time with you. If you were my girl, I would kiss you every time I saw you, and every time I said goodbye. If you were my girl, I would take you to California and take you to the beach, and worship the picture of you in a bathing suit. If you didn’t wear a bathing suit, I’d give you one of my favorite band shirts and tell you how beautiful you were. If you were my girl I would die for you and treat you like you were a feather. He had no right.” He said, walking close to you and holding your face in his hands gently. He stroked the tears away from your face and pressed his forehead against yours. You winced at the contact as he bumped against one of your bruises but the feeling of someone holding you so softly without any dire threat of hurt made your world stop.

Your fist rose up and you beat it once against his chest lightly. “You can’t hit people with your fucking car, Billy Hargrove. That’s not a thing that normal people do.” You whispered, hitting his chest once more.

“I like you, Y/N.” He said, holding your elbows and pulling you closer. You wrapped your arms around his torso and put your head on his shoulder, letting a few tears fall onto the corduroy, fur-lined jacket.

“I know. You’re not too subtle you know.” You mumbled into his neck. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, Sweetheart. Anything.”

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