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utterlyazriel · 7 months ago

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let me keep you company

a/n: a wee break from the doom & gloom of wtssf! it's unedited so i want no flack for that thank u <3 enjoy <3 wc: 5.1k whoops synopsis: You're studying in Velaris and a certain Shadowsinger catches your eyes in more than one way. It takes a while to realise the shadow keeping you company means more than you expect.

For the record, you had never met a Shadowsinger before.

You'd never even seen one. Sure, you’d read about them briefly in your studies and almost every Fae in Prythian had heard about them in whispers and rumours.

Rumours that increased more so when a Shadowsinger rose to become a hand for the Highlord, his own personal spy. Then became the spymaster of the entire Night Court for the next Highlord.

But beyond gossip and unfinished chapters within the scripts of your libraries, the knowledge of Shadowsingers is far limited. They’re rare. For all you know, Shadowsinger’s are a ghost— moving as a shadow, disappearing in and out of the darkness of the world.

You had never met a Shadowsinger before—so it makes sense that you hadn't an ounce of a clue what to expect.

Staring at him now, 6 feet something of pure muscle, you're a bit embarrassed at your own surprise.

Because he's probably— no definitely— the most beautiful Fae you've ever laid eyes on. His hair is tousled and dark, his glorious tan skin that's mostly hidden beneath the black of his fighter leathers, and his amber eyes that laid on you for only one long moment. Breathtaking is the only adequate word for him.

All that beauty and he's a Shadowsinger.

And it's not like you thought he wouldn't be like, well, any other Fae. But also... you kinda did? Mother, you should've known Freya was tricking you when she said they were all just shadow-y corporeal forms.

But she's also not entirely wrong there. There are dozens of wispy shadows that hover around him in constant motion, dipping and flying around his shoulders and if you look close enough, you can see how he seems to ripple at the edges. Shadows blur the edge of his very being.

You wonder if he can disappear into them all together, if that was one of the abilities granted with them. Does he control them? He must, you think, if the title is Shadowsinger.

But looking at him now, his beautiful face turned to face the Highlord you should definitely be listening to, they flit about almost absentmindedly, as though they have a mind of their own.

One curls up by his ear and you watch it, fascinated, more and more questions springing up in your mind— what do they feel like on skin? Do they make any noise? Is that what they're doing now? Talking to—

A sharp elbow jabs into your side, making you jump.

Your head whips to the side, an instinctive scowl almost overtaking your face before you plaster it over with a smile, realising your mistake. Your mentor, Sergei, clears his throat and smiles awkwardly ahead at Rhysand. You blink and take another moment to realise you've been asked a question.

"I'm— I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" You try not to sound as mousy as you feel but the question comes out as a squeak anyway. He is the Highlord of the Night Court after all. You suddenly feel very foolish for being so easily distracted.

Thankfully, Rhysand regards you with an easy smile. He's leaned back in his chair, relaxed, and his violet eyes dance with humour as he flicks his gaze over to where you had just been staring.

"That's alright. Azriel is a piece of eye candy, I can't blame you for staring," He all but purrs, a hint of mirth pulling at his lips as he casts another glance at his Spymaster. You're taken aback by the casualness of his words.

Rhysand continues. "I was only saying that for the duration of your stay, you'll be hosted in one of my homes, the House of Wind. You aren't afraid of heights, are you?"

A smidge of fear pinches at your stomach because, honestly, you aren't overly keen on the idea. But you know better than to turn down the generosity of a Highlord.

You take another glance at the wings of his Spymaster and General and pray that it's not too high up.

"Not... much." You answer honestly.

There's a chuckle from the side of the room and your head swings around at the noise. It's not the Shadowsinger, though he looks as though he's politely trying not to smile, his chin ducked. It's the General, just as beautiful as his brother but in that more rugged way.

He flexes his wings out a bit, showing off their mighty wingspan. "We'll rid you of that fear in no time."

You try for a smile but it might be closer to a grimace.

"Fantastic." You say, not managing to put all your enthusiasm into the word like you hoped.

Another sharp jab of Sergei's elbow in your side. The Shadowsinger, Azriel, huffs a quiet laugh, his amber eyes flashing up to steal another look at you. You try your best not to fluster.

It's going to be a long two months.

—

As Sergei's apprentice, you're expected to shadow him through his allowed time within Velaris.

Which means if he goes to the library, you go to the library.

There's just one problem; the library is down in the city and your temporary home is up in the mountain. The quickest way down is with wings.

Rhysand— or just Rhys as he had told you to call him— had relayed the information that you could ask either Cassian or Azriel to escort you if you didn't wish to take the stairs.

Cassian, the General, had been the one to fly you down and back the first couple of times you had asked and you weren't in any particular hurry to relive the experience.

Cassian was nice and he was more than friendly but seemingly incapable of understanding any fear of heights. You weren't sure if that was just the only way to fly— swooping and dropping fast enough to make you shriek— but it certainly seemed to be Cassian's way.

Which leaves you with the option of either asking the Shadowsinger or taking the stairs.

You get down about two hundred steps before you start to regret your decision. But, also, how in the Cauldron were you supposed to ask him to take you? (Never mind that you had asked Cassian quite easily, albeit very nervously.)

Oh, hi Shadowsinger who I can't stop staring at for both your abilities and your handsome face—care to sweep me into your arms and carry me places?

As if, you snort to yourself.

You take the thousand stairs all the way to the bottom and trot towards the enormous library, pretending your thighs aren't aching with overuse or that you're out of breath. Thankfully, the library itself isn't too far from the House of Wind, carved into the same side of the mountain.

As expected, Sergei is less than pleased with your tardiness.

"Sorry," The word rushes out of you in a wheeze, probably too loud for the library, as you scuttle in the entrance. A few priestesses turn their heads to look at you and you cringe, raising your hands in apology. "Sorry, I'm sorry,"

You focus back on your mentor and try to catch your breath, all while you explain. "I took the stairs and it took—" You huff out a breath. "—way longer than I thought."

Sergei's face softens a bit at your explanation, his face taking on a pitiful smile. "Still not enjoying the flying?"

"You are?" You ask in response. The thought of Sergei, your old-Fae mentor, swept up in Cassian's arms as he dips and dives makes you chuckle just a bit.

Sergei shakes his head as if to change the topic of conversation, deciding you've wasted enough time already. He turns, beginning to head further into the library and you follow behind him closely, eager to brush over your early morning fumble. The cavernous structure within the mountain yawns out ahead of you and you get all of two moments to wonder just how deep down it goes, when—

"You did not ask for a ride this morning."

Azriel steps up beside you, seemingly from nowhere, his steps falling in time with yours with ease. You jump, startled, and your footsteps falter for a moment. You're relieved to say that you only make one embarrassing noise in your surprise.

"I— oh, it's— I mean, I just..." You trail off, feeling flustered. "...like to walk."

You chance a glance up at him. He's wearing that same polite expression from yesterday, as though he's trying not to laugh and you get too caught up in the swirlings of his shadows to remember to be properly embarrassed. Both of you walk in tandem behind Sergei, slowly descending into the lower levels of the library.

"If you insist," He says, his voice low. It sends something warm down your spine and you pray he doesn't notice how your body temperature is definitely climbing.

His amber eyes pin you with another look, his lips twitching into a small smile. "However, if Cassian is giving you trouble, I would be happy to provide a smoother ride."

You flounder for a moment. You don't want to get anyone in trouble.

"I— he's not giving me trouble," You stammer.

Azriel smiles a little wider as if he can tell how polite you're trying to be. He slows to a meander and you realise only after you walk past him, it's because Sergei has stopped himself, turning down one of the many aisles.

You skid yourself to a halt and turn back, praying your flaming face isn't as obvious as it feels. You're not entirely sure if Azriel is accompanying you today but you're sure that Sergei would've mentioned it if he was.

You dip your head in a strange, awkward bow motion. Then point to the aisle Sergei disappeared into.

"I'll be... going this way."

Azriel's smile grows, like you've told a joke, and he ducks his head. He peers up at you through his dark lashes and you wonder if anyone's ever told him how damn beautiful he is. Probably. You're probably the last in a long line of people. Mother, his eyes though.

"If you don't wish to make the hike the other way," He murmurs.

He extends one of his hands and you watch the dozen shadows swarm around it, one of them separating from the pack to dive to the ground. It shoots forward and spins around your ankle, almost happily. "Just let the shadow know. I would be happy to assist."

When you look back up, he’s already gone without a sound. You try not to look so surprised— you’ve seen someone winnow before but you’re almost certain that the way Azriel moved about silently was something else altogether.

“Y/n!” Sergei’s voice echoes down the shelves, reminding you that you’re still late. You throw a quick glance around to check but it's fruitless; you can’t see the Shadowsinger anywhere.

You turn and bustle down the aisle quickly, not wanting to keep Sergei any longer. It takes only a second to notice the sole, black shadow that dances along behind you.

Guess you have company.

—

Okay, so, the shadows are definitely their own little guys.

Mainly because you can’t imagine how Azriel would be controlling them when he’s nowhere in sight.

And this one shadow is being awfully helpful.

The first time you drop your quill, knocking it to the ground as you lean over one of the many intricately carved desks, trying to reach another book, you don’t even notice it fall to the ground.

In fact, you have no idea how many times it’s picked up your fallen quill that you’ve undoubtedly knocked over countless times— only that it had given you the fright of your life to have it hover before your face, gripped only by the wispy shadow Azriel left with you.

“Holy shit!” You gasp, your loud voice echoing in the quietness of the library.

Sergei's head whips up, his eyes narrowing at the intruding sound with evident disapproval. You quickly snatch the quill out of mid-air and sink down in your seat. Gods, the echoes in here were doing you no favours.

“Sorry,” You whisper. Your eyes dart down to the shadow that retreated to your side, flickering around your ankle more wildly. “Er, thanks.”

It feels a bit silly to give thanks to something you’re not sure can hear you. But you figure if it can pick up your quill, you're better off using your manners.

Sergei gives you a somewhat bewildered look and you try to appease him with an awkward smile. It works enough for him to continue his work but not without one more lingering glance of worry in your direction. Great. You're talking to shadows and your old-man mentor thinks you're a bit nuts.

The shadow continues its helpful endeavours, following you when you head down different aisles at Sergei's request. It dances across the shelves, dissolving occasionally just to puff back up somewhere else, pulling your attention this way and that. It's playful. Friendly.

You deduce by the end of the day that you know even less about Shadowsinger's than you had thought. The abilities and personality of just one shadow are uncanny; like a silent friend keeping you company. You imagine that Azriel rarely gets lonely with as many as he has. Maybe you'll ask him.

When Sergei and you wind back up the staircases and he dismisses you for the evening, heading into the city for his own further business, you stand at the mouth of the library and ponder if you'll be brave enough to summon the Shadowsinger.

The shadow is still with you, circling your wrist absently. You peer down at it and think of all those stairs. Somewhat nervously, you raise your hand and try to be as casual as possible about talking to a shadow on your hand.

"Hi." You start, trying not to feel foolish. "Um, well, I guess I'm done for the day. Could— could you, if he's not busy that is, uh, let Azriel know? I don't mind waiting if he is."

The shadow zips off barely before you can finish your sentence and your head swings to watch it go, disappearing somewhere to your left.

You can't help but be a little amazed at its speed—it must be an incredible networking system to have a thousand little spies running around for you. No wonder almost all Shadowsingers tend to end up in the same line of work, you think to yourself, still peering in the direction of the shadow when—

"Y/n."

Even though he's said your name soft and quiet, Azriel still manages to take you by surprise. You jump and turn, all in one motion.

"Mother!" Your hand holds over your chest, relief curling in at the sides as your fright ebbs away. "That was fast."

"You called," Azriel responds, as if it's the easiest thing in the world. He gives you an almost shy smile.

It makes you fluster a bit and you gesture to the exit awkwardly and wordlessly, if only so you don't have to come up with a response to his intense and endearing answer.

Together, you wander out from the library and creep towards the edge of Velaris. It's a beautiful city and more than deserving of its title, especially when viewed from the House of Wind. You turn and cast your eyes up the mountainside, your familiar nervous fear pitching up from your stomach.

Then you look at the warrior beside you, tall enough that he's got what feels like more than a head's height on you, with his wings reaching above even his own head. His jaw is sharp and his eyes are already on you as your gaze trails up his face. Fuck. He's really pretty.

Now you're nervous for an entirely different reason.

"We can still take the stairs if you wish," He says, his hand sweeping back to the path you had followed along this morning. His shadows move with his hands, a black vortex that whirls around and around. "I'd be more than happy to keep you company."

Mother, he's not helping you in the slightest, being so perfectly nice to you. You regard the stairs and think back to how many hours it took before your thighs stopped aching—and that was on the way down.

"No, we can- we can try flying again." You say, nodding to yourself as if it'll help quell your fear. It takes another moment to realise that means you'll be bundled up in his strong arms, held against his broad chest and you feel a little shiver run through your body at the thought.

Azriel notices it too, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. "You're sure?" He checks.

You nod, not meeting his eyes, trying to keep your nerve. Flying is already something you're not keen on. Flying whilst being swept up in the arms of a Shadowsinger who you think is the most beautiful Fae you've ever seen? You send a silent prayer to the Mother that you don't do something embarrassing, like puking down his front.

"Let me know if you're uncomfortable at any time," He says softly and then he bends his knees slightly, one of his scarred hands resting on your lower back as the other scoops beneath your knees. He lifts you as though you weigh nothing.

It's impossible not to flush as you get nestled against his firm chest, your hands panicking for a moment as you try to think of a normal place to put them. Around his neck? On his chest? Either of them feels far too intimate for a man you've known only a week.

"You don't have to but I would suggest holding on," Azriel comments with a smile, his chest vibrating with the words. You nod, agreeing with him, but don't make a move to do so, only holding your hands out in front of you to indicate you're not sure where to put them.

The shadows adorning his shoulders move on their own, their friendly presence easing your nerves as they slither down to circle around your wrists. There's a gentle tug and you let them move your hands til they're wrapped around Azriel's neck, moving you much closer in the process.

Gods, your faces are close together. Another couple of inches and you could probably press your lips to his perfect ones—a thought that makes you fluster all over again. Was he getting prettier every time you saw him? For not the first time, you thank the Mother that it was Rhys with the daemaeti gift and not Azriel.

"Ready?" He checks, which is sweet. Cassian had just shot up into the sky the first time, without any warning.

You grip your arms around his neck a little tighter and then nod. "Ready," You say, quieter than intended.

You catch just a moment of Azriel's demure smile, your heart swooping at the sight, before you're both launched into the sky with one flap of his wings.

The noise that escapes you is one you're less than proud of, a squawky sound noise of panic that you bury into Azriel's neck. You expect him to laugh like Cassian had, not meanly but playfully, but instead Azriel's arms just tighten around you. As if he was assuring you that he would not let you fall.

By the time you're up at the House of Wind, Azriel making a far more graceful descent than his brother, you're less freaked out and more ready to point some accusatory fingers in the face of the Night Court's General.

That bastard had been fucking with you! The flight with Azriel proved as much, considering how much calmer and smoother it had been. You couldn't help but say as much as you were placed down from Azriel's hold, glad to be back on solid ground.

"I have some words for Cassian, Mother above," You ramble, straightening out your rumpled clothes from the flight. "Did he think I was kidding when I said I was afraid?"

Azriel smiles at your fieriness, his shadows calmer than they were in flight, moving about lazily. His eyes take a fleeting glance at the house behind you before focusing intently back on you.

"Cassian can have a strange sense of humour at times. He means well." He says. Then he grins. "I should like to see you tell him off— not enough people do."

You hmph. "Maybe I will."

You suddenly realise the closeness between you and Azriel, close enough to feel the warmth of his body. His scent of cedar and mist swirls around you, tantalizing and alluring in a way you've never known before. You take a step back to contain yourself.

"I—uh, well, thank you very much." You say, as sweet as you can. "For the ride."

Your eyes catch on one of his dozen shadows and you smile, observing them for a moment. "And the shadow. It was excellent company."

Azriel brightens, an expression of surprise crossing his face before he schools it away. He smiles, brazen and breathtaking. When he speaks, he sounds a little disbelieving. "You like them?"

You nod quickly, noticing how one of his shadows has snuck off again and circulates your ankle speedily. You laugh at the ticklish feeling of it against your skin.

"They're incredible." You breathe, meaning every word. "I imagine you must've ge—"

"Apologies, y/n." A smooth voice cuts in, Rhys stepping up somewhere behind you and stealing both of your attention. He dressed in more casual clothes than you last saw, but not quite Azriel's fighting leathers. "Azriel here is needed for some brief business. Do you mind if I borrow him?"

The way he poses the question, as if Azriel is yours, does something wonky to your heart. You flounder for a moment, stepping back and waving your hand in the direction of the Shadowsinger.

"Of- of course, by all means." You trip over the words and hope you don't sound too eager to escape his company. That couldn't be more untrue.

You turn back to Azriel and fix him with a smile, hoping it's not as nervous as you feel. "I'll... see you around?"

Azriel steals a glance to the side where Rhys awaits before he nods with another reserved smile. Hold on, is that pink on his cheeks?

"Let me know if you need any more help getting to and from the library. I'd be happy to assist."

And then with a quick nod to you, he walks off to join Rhys, his wings tucked in tight, careful to not nudge you. You watch them go, unable to stop yourself from letting your eyes wander down. Damn, all that training did wonders. What was that saying? Hate to watch 'em go, love to watch them leave.

Ahead, Rhys abruptly laughs and peers back over his shoulder, letting you exactly how well you had shielded those thoughts. You flush and scurry into the house as if it'll save you from the embarrassment of what's just happened. You only hope he won't pass the message on to Azriel.

—

It continues like that for the rest of the week.

Azriel carries you down the height of the mountain and leaves you with a promise that if you need anything, you can tell the shadow and he'll come to find you.

The shadow keeps its usual playful company. Beyond retrieving your dropped quills, it helpfully turns the pages of books for you. When you're focused on what you're writing, it nudges back any loose strands of hair. Once it even brings you a flower from Mother knows where. One single Lily of the Valley, left resting on your desk.

It makes you wonder; are all Shadowsinger's shadows like this? You can't help but imagine these niceties are shaped by Azriel's own soft nature.

Today, whilst you study in the vast caverns of the library, you get an unexpected visitor.

As you take your time scanning through the books in one of the vast aisles, you realise the Fae coming down from the other end of the aisle is none other than the Highlady herself.

"Feyre!" You greet warmly. The two of you had met before when she had taken duties in your home court and if it weren't too bold, you'd say you consider yourself good friends. Feyre smiles, glowing like moonlight, as she realises who it is.

"Y/n," She says your name sweetly and her hug is just as such. She pulls away, ready to inquire about your studies when she spots the trailing shadow behind you.

"Making friends, I see," She comments. Her eyebrows raise almost teasingly as if she's made a certain insinuation. You take a moment to notice what she's referencing.

"It's nice," You say, a defensive lilt to your tone. You hold out your hand and the shadow jumps at the opportunity to skitter around it playfully. "It's like a little friend."

Feyre smiles at your words but chuckles a little. "Except Azriel is anything but little."

You pause at her words, glancing down at the shadow and back up at Feyre. "What do you mean? I thought— they're not- I mean, aren't they...?”

You trail off, unsure of how to word the question you're trying to ask. Feyre smiles, her gray eyes glittering with mirth as she realises what you're figuring out.

"They're all his. Azriel's. He controls them." She tilts her head a bit, watching the shadow that drifts about your hand and wrist. "True, they roam a bit on their own but... Not like this."

"Oh," You murmur, thinking back to that first day in the library.

The playful shadow that lead you back and forth, picking up your quill and turning your pages. It was him, all along.

Something immeasurably warm starts to glow in your chest, a thread that loops through your heart and sends the valves into overdrive. Its warmth grows, something molten hot beginning to bleed in your chest— and it feels wonderful. It feels right.

"Oh," You gasp as you figure it out.

Feyre grins, watching you piece together what the rest of the inner circle has clued together from the very first day. She stands to the side and gestures to the entrance of the library with a tilt of her head.

"Go on then," She urges you.

For a moment, you think back to Sergei who sent you hunting for a certain manuscript Cauldron knows how long ago but the thought is washed away in an instant. You can feel it now, the strong tug in your chest. The connection that binds you to another.

You stride past Feyre, giving a quick thanks! and all but run up the spiral staircases, heading for the entrance. The shadow pings along with you and as you near the top, you look down at it and say through huffed breaths, "You better go get him."

He's waiting by the time you get there.

Against the setting sun, for a moment there's only the silhouette of him— a warrior with tall wings, the edges of him rippling like a mirage. He might just be one; an oasis in your life, the answer that you've been searching for for centuries. You can't believe you didn't notice.

Your footsteps echo on the marble as you march right up to him and Azriel watches you closely the whole time, his amber eyes soft but his expression hinting at his nervousness. Gods, he's wonderful. You can't believe he gets to be yours and you get to be his.

"How long have you known?" You ask because it's the first thing on your mind. You're nearly panting from the exhilaration of your sudden exercise, from the dawning future that's blooming right in front of you. He's your mate. Gods, how could you have missed it?

Azriel smiles, that same tentative one that's been driving you crazy all week. His wings give a little shake behind him, a giveaway of his nerves.

"I... suspected from the beginning." He chooses his words carefully, wary of how you might respond.

You can't help your little gasp, feeling even more of a fool. You curse, ducking your head before you glare back up at him, no real heat in your gaze. You have the urge to give him a little shove, just for keeping you in the dark.

"And you didn't think to tell me?"

One of his shadows spins up unexpectedly, dancing across your shoulders and tickling your cheeks gently. You startle in surprise but something sweeter curls up in your chest at the tenderness of its touch.

"Believe me," Azriel says with a quiet chuckle, his amber eyes darting over your face intensely. "I've been trying."

You melt. Eyes locked with his, you move slowly, letting your arms drift up to drape around his neck like they've done every morning and evening since he began flying you around. You realise acutely that Cassian's behaviour, his shoddy flying, had likely been on purpose. You laugh a little, eyes creasing shut in pure euphoria.

Azriel's hands find your waist and you can feel the slight tremble in them.

"In my defense," You murmur, pushing up on your toes. You're close, so close, your lips hovering just an inch from a kiss—his shadows go wild around you both. It makes you grin. "I had never met a Shadowsinger before."

"Yeah?" Azriel breathes shakily. "Disappointed?"

He says it like a joke but you can hear the note of sincerity in his tone. His hidden worry that he isn't all you dreamed of. It's nearly laughable how wrong he is.

This close you can see his long lashes and every shade of brown in his eyes. You wonder if you'll ever get used to how beautiful he is. Part of you hopes you never do.

"Not in the slightest," You say, nearly a whisper.

Then his lips are on yours, pillowy soft skin against yours, and it feels like coming home. He kisses you, kisses you, kisses you til you're breathless and the glow in your chest could rival the sun in its warmth.

He kisses you and every atom in your body hums and fizzes and comes to life — and all you can do is hold him tight and kiss him back, just as fiercely.

Breaking the kiss to catch your breath, you pant and grin brazenly at Azriel, at your mate, happier than you've ever been. Faintly, you realise that you won't be heading home when the two months of your study are up after all.

Not when you have a man who looks at you so reverently, who kisses you like there's oxygen hidden in the plush of your lips, who holds you like there's nothing more precious in the world.

Not when you know that home is right here, in front of you.

#YIPPEE! written in like... 3 days #no editing less go #love it or leave it #a break from all the doom and gloom of wtssf #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger x reader #azriel x you #acotar fanfiction #azriel fic #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger x you #sloane writes

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hier--soir · 1 year ago

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a lover's pinch | one

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: a one-night stand with a charming texan turns into something much more thrilling when you discover he is your new college professor. warnings/tags: au, age gap [20 something years diff], alcohol consumption, irrational sexual tension, smut, sex in a public place w/ a stranger [and i'm talking depraved/zero time wasted/known you for thirty minutes type strangers], oral [f receiving], protected piv, rough sex, dirty talk, a spot of degradation + misogynistic language, a split second of soft!joel, you get the picture word count: 5.9k series masterlist | main masterlist a/n: my friends.... oh boy, oh boy. this series is a complete au, self-indulgent, fantasy land idea that has plagued me for weeks. horny academic brain rot to the highest degree. hope some of you enjoy it with me x

Friday.

You sit with three almost strangers.

Listen to them talk about their summers and their families and their degrees as you twirl a straw around your half-empty glass, disrupting the melting ice as you try to wrap your head around what a master’s in environmental engineering might entail. One of them, the only man at the table, takes great pleasure in explaining it to you all for the second time. You take mental notes and hope he’s not expecting you to remember words like sparging and leachate.

They do ask you about your undergrad, and your internship, nodding and smiling curiously. They don’t ask what type of job you plan on getting after your postgrad, which is a welcome relief. The bombardment of questions from immediate and extended family is enough.

Cousins wondering aloud, saying you study Greek mythology, right?

Or your grandfather, before he died, berating you ad nauseam at family events about what’re you gonna do, kid? Be a historian? There’s no money in being a historian. Now, being a lawyer, that’s where the money is.

And you’d respond no, not quite Greek mythology, and no, I don’t plan on being a historian, as you gorge yourself on red wine and triscuits and wait for Christmas to end.

Thankfully you aren’t expected to rehash these scenarios with your almost strangers, who routinely ask a few well-mannered questions and then go back to talking about themselves.

After a week of living with them, in a new house, and a new city, you’re becoming used to their company. The way the four of you commune lazily in the kitchen most mornings, swathed in the light streaming through a window above the sink, making idle small talk as you wait for coffee to brew. How Pete and Trin study opposite each other at the dining table, while Nora prefers to spread her limbs across the couch, laptop balanced precariously on her stomach. She’s doing her master’s in education, which she describes as an expensive way to get a pay rise. She’s kind, with wild curly hair and dark humour, and is easily your favourite of your new roommates.

It was her idea to go out that night. One last hurrah, she’d called it. Before we enter the final circle of academic hell next week. And between four overworked, already burnt-out, twenty-something students, it hadn’t taken much convincing before you were sharing three bottles of wine and hightailing it to the bar with the highest Yelp rating.

The late August air is dry; a faint warmth that follows you into a quaint bar in downtown Biddeford. The space is small and crowded with patrons, with dim overhead lighting that casts a soft glow across the booth you’re crammed into. A thin sheen of sweat coats your skin, and your shirt sticks to your back uncomfortably. The others seem unbothered by the heat, nursing sweaty glasses and discussing how different Maine is from where they all grew up. You involve yourself here and there, offering up stories about your family and friends from back home, and suddenly an hour has passed, and then another, and you’re pleasantly tipsy, body humming as alcohol spreads its way through your veins, and your latest drink is practically empty, spare a few melting ice cubes.

“I need another drink,” you tell Nora, who nods absently before turning her attention back to the others.

You wander toward the bar, fumbling for your phone as you go. Fall in between two leather cushioned stools and rest your elbows atop the sleek wooden counter. Check your bank account and mentally traverse the list of reasons for returning to student-life when you see the number staring back at you. I don’t want to be a lawyer, I don’t want to be a lawyer, I don’t want to be a lawyer, your internal monologue runs, although you could admit how sweet a solicitor’s pay check would feel right now.

It’s a low, Southern drawl that pulls you from your reverie.

“Mind if I sit here?”

Deep. With a rough, lilting quality that piques your interest and has your eyes drifting upward from your phone screen.

You notice his body first; a tall frame with thick arms, thick shoulders, thick neck. A navy-blue t-shirt that stretches thin around his biceps, hugging the tan skin there. And then you look higher, and—oh.

Your heart stutters a beat out of time as you take in his face. Loose brown curls that are just long enough to hang across his forehead. Dark, almond-shaped brown eyes. So dark they almost appear black on the first glance. The strong nose and dark hair across his jaw, dappled with streaks of grey. A moustache resting atop a set of dark pink lips. Gone are thoughts of academia, of bank accounts, of your almost strangers. All replaced in an instant by wanton, pulsating desire.

Something like surprise cuts across his face, but it disappears just as quickly. In a far recess of your brain, you register that he must be at least twenty years older than you. You wilfully ignore the thought, perfectly content to continue admiring him.

A dark eyebrow ticks upward then, and you realise you haven’t responded.

“No,” you rush, flashing him a quick smile. “All yours.”

He gives you a pleased nod, a hint of a smirk passing over his lips as he sits down. He looks vaguely uncomfortable perched on the tall chair, all six-foot-something of him cramped onto such a small cushion. You cast a single glance back towards the booth, and then slip onto the stool beside him.

Silence descends between you for a moment. A song by The Eagles plays faintly, but you can’t figure which one - too distracted to make out the lyrics. You take a careful sip of the melted ice at the bottom of your glass, taste the last remnants of tequila in it, and watch him out of the corner of your eye.

“’m Joel,” that accent rings again, sending a volt of warmth through your chest.

You tell him your name, fingers fiddling with the hem of your skirt. If he notices the tension in your posture, he doesn’t let on. “You a Southern man, Joel?” The name feels warm on your tongue. Soft and silken like honey.

“S’it that obvious?” he grins crookedly, pink lips tearing back to reveal a straight white smile.

“An accent like that is hard to ignore,” you smirk. “It’s not a bad thing.”

‘Thought it would fade a little since I moved here,” he explains. “Y'can take the man outta Texas, but… you know.”

You hum, eyes alight as you watch him speak. His mouth is beautiful, lips parting around prolonged vowels.

“You here alone?” he asks.

“No,” you say. “With friends.”

“Let me guess,” Joel tilts his body, glancing around the bar. His shirt shifts with the movement, hem raising to reveal the slightest hint of a soft, tanned stomach. He points somewhere over your shoulder. You shut your mouth, careful not to gawp. “Them.”

You turn, a soft laugh of surprise bubbling up through your chest when you spy the bachelorette party set up across the bar. Women dressed in gaudy shades of pink. One of them with a sash—reading Jenny’s Big Day—across her chest, a short veil pinned to her head, and an empty champagne glass clutched in her fist. One of them teary-eyed, gripping the bride’s arm and yelling something in her ear, sloshing champagne onto herself all the while.

“You got me,” you turn back to him with a grin. Hold your hands up in mock surrender. “I wouldn’t be caught dead missing Jennifer’s last night as a free woman.”

The corners of his eyes crease, entire face blossoming into a smile now. He has a dimple on his right cheek.

“Knew you were a good girl,” he nods. Says the words in a matter-of-fact tone. Something twists in your stomach, and your palms dampen. You wet your lips quickly and don’t back down from his gaze, allowing the corner of your mouth to kick up a little.

“And you?”

His eyebrows raise in a silent question.

“Who’re you here with?” you clarify.

“Just you, darlin’,” he says, left eye dropping in a quick wink.

It's easy with him, you find, and the two of you sit there for a while; exchanging small talk about Maine, the hot weather, the music at the bar, slipping in flirtatious comments that are about as subtle as a neon sign, until he finally spies the empty glass in your hand.

“What are you drinkin’?” he asks.

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” you say, hoping it doesn’t come across too eager. He seems pleased though. There’s something provocative to his gaze, a teasing warmth that raises the temperature of your skin wherever he looks. But whatever it is, it’s gone by the time he reaches across the bar for the bound beverage list.

He peers at the menu, squinting ever-so-slightly to see through the dim lighting of the bar. The skin beside his eyes is soft and creased with age, crow’s feet that hint at years of laughter and smiles. You wonder again how old he is. How much older than you.

“Forget your glasses?” you tease, testing the waters.

Joel’s eyes flash up to yours. The muscle in his jaw ticks.

“Watch it,” he says. There’s a playful note in his voice, but it rings deeper somehow—a hint of a warning.

Your thighs squeeze together on the stool, warm sweaty skin peeling off the tacky leather as you move. His eyes dart to the bare skin of your legs, and then back to the menu.

He orders you both a whiskey, and a moment later the bartender is sliding a crystal tumbler in front of you. A finger of amber liquid with a single grandiose sphere of ice resting in it. Fancy.

“Cheers,” he holds his glass out. You knock yours against it gently before taking a short sip, fighting a grimace as it burns down your throat.

He watches your face closely, tries to gage your reaction. You take another sip, holding strong in your efforts to show him that you can handle it. Whatever he wants to give to you, you can handle.

“So what brings you here?” he asks. You notice how large the glass feels in your palm, and how small it appears in his. Long, thick fingers wrap around the object, dwarfing it. He takes a sip, and you watch him swallow. His Adam’s apple bobs, and you want to graze your teeth across it.

“To the bar or to Maine?”

“Either.”

“Well, I just moved into town last week, from the West Coast. It’s actually my first week back in the US; I was travelling before the big move.”

“Busy girl,” his tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth. You blink. “Travellin’?”

“I was in Greece,” you explain, sip your whiskey and definitely don’t grimace at the harsh taste. “For a month or so.”

“A month in Greece?” His eyebrows raise and he does a low, impressed whistle that has your stare zeroing in on his mouth.

“Ever been?” you ask faintly.

“No,” his reply is swift. “Never had much interest.”

And you’re nodding absentmindedly, but you can’t seem to drag your stare away from his mouth as he speaks. The trance is only broken when he raises his glass for another sip, and you shake yourself out of it, eyes shifting to stare into his brown orbs once more. They’re darker than you remembered, gaze loaded as he looks back at you. The tension was palpable when you first sat together, but now it feels impossible to ignore; an electric tangle of wire between the two of you that just keeps getting shorter and shorter. And you think, fuck it, if you’re about to descend into the final circle of academic hell, why not have a little fun?

“Can I tell you something, Joel?”

You say it softly, make your voice as sultry as possible. He watches you over the rim of his glass, eyes sparkling with intrigue. And then his mouth tilts into a sort of knowing smirk, and he’s nodding.

“I’d really like to kiss you,” you confess.

He hums, smirk broadening.

Sets his glass down on the bar top with a soft clink, and then lowers his hand to the bare skin of your knee. You gasp at the contact, nerves fraught. The callouses on his fingers scrape against your skin in slow, rhythmic circles, goosebumps raising in their wake. His fingers are long, and as he tenses them over you, squeezing your knee once, you see the way deep blue veins flex beneath the skin, hot blood pumping through him. Your stomach turns molten.

“Is that all?” he asks, a taunting lilt to his voice.

Your mouth is dry, eyes wide as you sense the proposition in his words. The hint of something darker—something greedy—in his gaze.

“No,” you say definitively. “That’s not all.”

A sharp tut escapes his mouth, fingertips dragging higher on your leg as he shakes his head. “Do you have any idea how old I am?”

“Don’t look a day over forty,” you hazard a guess, resting your shoe onto the rung of his stool, using the leverage to drag yours closer. Both your legs are between his now, thighs bracketing thighs. The denim of his jeans scrapes against your outer thighs, and you shiver. His hand pauses, fingertips just shy of the hem of your skirt.

Joel wets his lips. “Guess again, sweetheart.”

A low heat licks at the base of your spine, spreading its way through your veins until you feel like you could combust at any given moment. Fuck it.

“Don’t care,” you mutter, and drape your hand over his. You trace your nails over his skin, feel how the bones shift underneath it, how warm he is. He still doesn’t move, face pensive as he regards you. You arch an eyebrow. “You approached me, you know.”

His lips purse tightly. Another squeeze to your thigh, fingers moving again. “I know.”

Driven by boldness, by arcane desire, by animalistic instinct, you lean forward on your barstool and rest your hands atop the thick expanse of his thighs. Hear his breath kick as your nose traces the side of his square jaw, lips settling at the shell of his ear. Right at the soft, sloping crest of his neck. And you whisper those same words again, quiet enough that no one in the world can hear it but him, can I tell you something?

Your movement drove his hand higher on your thigh, the heavy weight of it now settled beneath your skirt, fingertips skimming the indent where your leg meets your hip, toying at the soft fabric of your underwear there. Painfully close to where you want him.

“Yes,” his deep voice rumbles.

Ever so slowly, your tongue slides out of your mouth to trail against his earlobe. Joel’s thighs tense beneath your palms, and you roll the balls of your thumbs against the muscles there.

“I want to kiss you,” you murmur. “So I’m going to. And then I want you to fuck me, just like I know you want to.” Your teeth graze his lobe, and you bite it once, gently, before rearing your face back to peer at him. “Hmm?”

The muscle in his jaw jumps, shifting beneath the skin, and instead of responding verbally he cups your face with a rough hand. Cool drops of condensation from the glass have stuck to his fingers, and the liquid smears across your skin as he cradles your jaw and draws your mouth to his.

Soft lips envelop yours, the coarse hairs of his moustache tickling your face as he steals the breath from your lungs. And when you lick into his mouth you can taste peppermint on his teeth, and then that oh so familiar whiskey tang across his tongue. You don’t mind the taste so much when it’s on his lips.

You nuzzle closer, dig your fingertips firmer into his thighs and grin when a deep groan falls from his mouth into yours. Wet heat pools between your thighs, liquid fire that stokes at your insides, begging for more more more of him. And, as if he can read your mind, Joel is dragging his mouth away, teeth grazing against your swollen bottom lip as he departs.

“Bathroom,” he says, voice low and commanding. “Now.”

Shock and excitement lace your blood, the proposition of something so dirty, so lewd, making your heart race. With your pulse a dull, thrashing roar in your ears, you allow Joel to help you down from your stool. Your legs feel unsteady now that you’re back on solid ground. Gripping your hand, dwarfing it in his, Joel tugs you away from the bar top and towards an obscured hallway. You amble past the bachelorette party, down the dark hall and then he’s pressing a dark hand against the ambulant bathroom door and dragging you inside, sliding the lock shut behind you.

Joel’s on you in a second, arms bracketing you against the door as his wet mouth slips over yours. His hands are so big, all wide palms and long fingers splaying across the entirety of your back, tucking you against his solid chest. He bunches your shirt in his hand, twisting the material between his fingers as he pushes into your mouth. Tongue hot and wet, gliding against your teeth, your tongue, tasting you, devouring you. there’s nothing polite about it. No more wariness, no more hesitation, no more eyes that could see the two of you at the bar. He’s insatiable, touching you everywhere he possibly can, and even then it doesn’t seem like enough for him.

“Fuck, I want you,” you say against his mouth. He makes a low sound in response, and one of his palms lower to grab a handful of your ass, dragging your hips against his. You can feel him, hot and hard, straining in the confines of his jeans. Your hand presses into the crevice between your bodies to palm him through the material, grinning into the kiss when he groans. His lips trail a slick path across your cheek, past your jaw.

“Gonna let me fuck you here?” his hot breath fans across your neck, tongue darting out to taste the salty sweat there.

“Yeah,” you say. “Fuck—yes.”

He steps back, dragging you with him, and then he’s turning you around so that you’re facing the mirror. Your hips dig into the sink, and he’s holding you there, forcing you to stare at your reflection as he bites and licks and sucks down your neck with reckless abandon, leaving marks in his wake. There’s a low, steady throbbing at the apex of your thighs, and you can feel how your underwear clings to your skin, damp and ruined. You whimper, tilt your chin up to give him access to more skin. He grinds against your ass in response, and then he’s crouching down on the ground behind you.

Fast hands push your skirt up over your hips and then flare across your ass, massaging the flesh there. You feel a nip of teeth against the sensitive skin there and flinch into the porcelain. He makes quick work of dragging your underwear down to dangle precariously at your knees. And then long fingers are spreading you apart, revealing you to him. You tilt your hips back so he can see more. Moan at the sensation of cool air rushing to meet your dripping core.

You think you can hear him speaking, but can’t be sure over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears and the low music playing in the bar. And then it doesn’t matter anymore, because you can feel his hot tongue glide through your folds, parting you like the sea. He buries his face in you, nose nudging against your asshole as his tongue swipes at your clit, moaning roughly as he absorbs the taste of you. You’re gasping, hooded eyes staring back at you in the mirror, and this time you can definitely hear him saying you’re so fuckin’ wet. The flat of his tongue smears from your clit to your entrance, and then he’s sinking it inside you. You reach behind your back and card your fingers through his hair, gripping the salt and pepper curls between your fingers and holding him against you. Joel doesn’t complain, groaning as you tug on his locks in encouragement, in fucking desperation.

Your thighs tremble where they bracket his head, threatening to squeeze around him at any moment if it weren’t for his vice grip keeping your spread apart. A choked sob of a moan claws its way out of your throat and then he’s standing again, chest against your back as you hear the clink of his belt coming undone, and he’s saying, I know, I know, you need it so bad, don’t you?

Your hand skirts around the firm sink and slips between your thighs, fingertips ghosting over your throbbing clit. The sound of foil crinkling echoes around the room, and you hear him exhale a ragged sigh as he rolls the condom down his length. You peek over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of him, eyes widening as you take in the sheer size of his length. It’s long, with a prominent vein running from base to tip. It pulses, raging beneath the skin, practically daring you to drop down and run your tongue along the length of it. And you would if you thought he’d let you.

“Shit,” you breathe, skin tingling with a fresh wave of nerves and anticipation.

“It’s alright,” his voice is a low rasp, filling your ears like molasses, and his hand is rising to push stray hairs out of your face. “So fuckin’ wet f’me, I know you can take it, honey. You gonna show me how good you take co—”

He cuts himself off, eyes narrowing as he spots your fingers shifting between your thighs.

“So impatient,” he smacks your hand away with a grunt. “Silly little slut, can’t wait just a minute for me?”

A broken moan falls from your lips, shameful heat soaring through your chest. You shouldn’t love the way that word sounds falling from his lips, shouldn’t be so turned on by it, but you can feel how the ache in your core intensifies, and so you push your hips back against him.

“’m sorry,” you whine pitifully.

“You want it that bad?” Joel asks. His lips brush your earlobe as he nudges the thick head of his cock between your folds, gliding it through your slick once, twice, before notching himself at your entrance.

“I want it,” you gasp. “Wanted it from the second I saw you, Joel, please, pleas—”

Joel curses under his breath and loops a hand around your front, pushing the neckline of your shirt down to reveal your left breast. He slips his palm underneath the cup of your bra, long fingers pinching at the peaked bud of your nipple. Your skin burns under the attention, and you push your chest further into his hold.

“Shit,” he grunts, beginning to press himself inside. “I wanna fuckin’—wreck you, sweetheart.”

“Whatever you want,” you’re pleading, arching your back for him. Your fingers tighten around porcelain, bracing yourself. “Give it to me.”

You hear a muted, dark chuckle before Joel says, “Whatever I want, huh?”

And then he’s pressing inside you with a single, harsh thrust. His thighs come flush with yours and you gasp, face twisting at the sharp sting. The weight of him inside you is heavy, and you squirm at the intrusion, shifting on your feet. He allows you a moment—just a moment—to adjust to him, before he’s moving.

Joel finds a pace he likes and sets it. Heavy, unrelenting, expert rolls of his hips that have his tip brushing against the opening of your cervix with every shift forward. The air fills with harsh sounds of skin smacking against skin, and stilted moans and spilling from your lips as your hipbones collide rhythmically with the sink.

“Christ,” he spits, hand leaving your breast to grip your jaw. He forces your face forward, pace never slowing. “Fuckin’ look at you.”

You do as your told, gazing at yourself in the mirror. And you look wrecked. Hair a wild halo around your head, makeup smudged around your eyes and mouth, lips swollen and shiny with spit.

“Bein’ so—fuckin’—good,” he punctuates the words with his thrusts. His thumb digs into your cheek, and you can see him grinning in the mirror, lips peeled back to reveal that fucking perfect smile. “Dirty little thing, lettin’ a stranger fuck you like this.”

You mewl in response, stomach tensing as his cock grazes a particularly sensitive spot within you. Joel notices and seizes your waist, one hand holding you in place and the other falling to rub your clit while he pistons into you from behind.

“Shit,” you cry, eyes pinching shut as the intense medley of pleasure and pain begins to overwhelm you. Your orgasm claws its way up your chest.

“Yeah, you like that, huh?” he’s panting. “Can you feel you squeezin’ me, sweetheart. Go on, give it t’me, show me how wet that pretty pussy gets when you come.”

“Oh, fuck, oh—oh god, Joel.”

Your lungs feel empty, chest on fire as you rake in rapid breaths. Your entire body is constricting, muscles in your stomach drawn tight as you press firmer against the sink, thighs shaking with every impact of his hips against the plush of your ass. The pressure makes your head spin. And then something in the base of your spine snaps, and you’re falling apart in his grasp. Joel curses behind you, but the sound is faint, almost inaudible over the ringing in your ears. Your vision goes white, body shifting forward as he fucks you through the high.

And even as you begin to come down, muscles going lax and body slumping against the sink, Joel is relentless. He uses you; gripping your hips to keep them tilted at the perfect angle, and just fucking wrecks you, exactly like he said he wanted to. A stream of profanities fill the air as his movements become disjointed, and you know he’s close. Can feel the way his cock twitches inside you, desperate for release. You tilt your face to the side and stare at him over your shoulder. Those dark eyes meet yours and his face crumbles, hand reaching to grip your shoulder and hold you down as he nears the precipice. You rut your ass back against him and he almost shouts.

“Fuck,” he growls. “That’s it, that’s it..”

And then he’s coming, cock jerking inside you in sporadic movements, and you’re wishing he hadn’t worn a condom so you could feel the heat of him spread inside your cunt. It’s intense, the yearning you feel to have him dripping out of you once he’s gone. But you settle for watching his face through bleary eyes, admiring the way his lips part and chin tilts towards the ceiling, eyes pinching closed as his body convulses against you.

For an all too brief moment, Joel doesn’t move. He slumps against your back, forehead resting in the gap between your shoulder blades, and just breathes. Haggard, drawn out exhales that send whisps of your hair flying forward into your face but you don’t care, too blissed out and relaxed underneath his weight to say anything. And then he’s straightening, and you gasp in unison as he grips your waist and slips out of you. There’s a determined ache between your thighs, pussy clenching around his absence, missing the weight of him already.

You sag onto the cold surface. Your mind is a blur, senses dulled from the intensity of your orgasm. The music in the bar has increased, and you imagine that your roommates must be wondering where you are, but can’t bring yourself to care all that much. You can hear him throw the condom into the trash, then there’s a low rustling as he drags his boxers and jeans back up his legs. Body trembling, you close your eyes and wait. Wait to hear the door open and close as he steps out, and leaves you in the bathroom alone, as you know he inevitably will.

But instead, you feel those hands, almost familiar now, grazing your back. They drag your panties back up and smooth your rumpled skirt down over your ass.

“Hey,” a soothing voice murmurs. “You good?”

You peer at him over your shoulder, uncontained surprise no doubt evident in your face. Joel’s expression is soft; cautious. He grips your shoulder and pulls you up, straightening your body. Drags a thumb over the corner of your mouth, wiping away the lipstick smudged there. His touches are so gentle, so tender, in comparison to a few moments ago. It almost gives you whiplash, and yet you find yourself melting under his gaze, because fuck, he’s handsome.

��I’m good,” you breathe, and he bares his teeth in a smile, cupping your jaw.

“Sweet girl,” Joel says. His head shakes once, slowly, eyes darting across your features, as if trying to memorise them. “I’m gonna remember this.”

You heart is in your throat all over again.

Your fingers fumble to adjust your top, smoothing it out as you smile, humming, “Yeah… yeah, I think I will too.”

A heady silence swells between you. His thumb brushes along your lower lip again, eyes watching the way your swollen mouth yields to his touch. The tip of your tongue slides out and glides over the tip of his digit, just for a second.

“Probably got your friends all worried,” Joel says then, hand dropping to his side. “Must be wonderin’ where you got to.”

You swallow down the disappointment you feel. It burns its way down your throat and into your stomach, not unlike the whiskey had. I don’t care, you want to say. Take me home with you. But you nod and agree. Glance in the mirror and rake numb fingers through bird’s nest hair, trying to tame your wild appearance. You swear you feel his hand graze the hem of your skirt one last time, playing with the soft material while he stares at you in the mirror.

The bubble pops as he unlocks the door, outside sounds rushing in through the gap, infiltrating the space that once smelt like sex and lust and now just feels like any other room. Joel doesn’t kiss you again. Doesn’t touch you. He steps into the hall, and you follow him out. And when he trails toward one side of the bar, with a final lingering glance at you over his shoulder, you begrudgingly head in the opposite direction to the booth, where your almost strangers await you with curious eyes and pinched brows.

Tuesday.

You feel hungover on the day of your first lecture.

A dull ache blossoms behind your left eye, a persistent reminder of how little sleep you had the night before. Your fingers wrap tightly around a tall styrofoam cup, and you take slow mouthfuls of the black coffee inside, attempting to savour the liquid gold, and letting the caffeine act as a saving grace for as long as possible.

You were normally so much better than this, too. Years had passed since your undergrad, and in the past you’d prided yourself on being punctual and prepared. But apparently one of the professors for this semester had it out for you, because when the required weekly prep work for your 9 o’clock Tuesday morning lecture was released the day prior, you were stunned to find that it included an entire fucking book.

After spending a dutiful two hours going over the weekly notes and required journal articles, you’d found yourself glaring at three sentences, written casually at the bottom of the professor’s notes.

Also, read Hesiod’s ‘Theogony’. It will do you well to have these ideas and themes fresh as you undertake the first weeks of this class. See you tomorrow.

Cue you staying up until two am reading fucking Theogony, and walking to your first lecture with a near-permanent yawn sprawled across your face.

As you approach history commons, a guy wearing a bottle green shirt that reads UNIVERSITY OF NEW ENGLAND in garish gold lettering shakes a pamphlet in your direction. It has a picture of a girl in a tiny athletic uniform on the front, preparing to spike a volleyball. You avoid eye contact and sidestep him quickly, continuing into the building.

The theatre room is easy enough to find.

Thirty odd chairs line the space on an incline, all facing toward a desk at the front of the room. A projector hangs from the ceiling, displaying the beginning of a slide show on a white wall. The slide is a muted beige colour, with stark black lettering that spells out: The Language and Literature of the Odyssey and the Aeneid.

Your professor stands with his back to the room, shuffling through a myriad of notebooks and loose-leaf pages splayed across the desk. Standard.

You traipse your way up the stairs, buoyed along by the steady stream of other students shuffling into the room, and take a seat a few rows from the front. Not too far back that you seem disinterested, and not so close that your professor will notice you falling asleep on the first day.

You open your notes on your laptop and then slump back into your chair, slurping down the final morsels of coffee in your cup before discarding it to the floor by your feet. And then the room quietens as a final group of students file in, heavy door swinging closed behind them, and you allow your eyes to rest upon the man at the foot of the space.

He’s tall. It’s impossible not to notice that first. Tall and broad. A thin white dress shirt stretches across the arch of his back, fighting to pull free from where it’s tucked neatly into the waist of his brown pants. From where you’re seated, you can see a dark head of hair shaking side to side every few moments, the man muttering inaudibly as he peers down at his notes.

You glance down at your laptop again. Watch your cursor blink against the white screen. And then you hear it.

“Alright folks,” an all too familiar voice drawls. “Let’s get down to it.”

You stiffen in your chair. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, palms going damp as a memory flits through your brain. One of your own voice.

An accent like that is hard to ignore.

You can’t make out what he’s saying anymore, every word overpowered by the sudden roar of your own heartbeat in your ears.

Slowly—so fucking slowly—you peel your eyes away from your laptop and glance upward.

And there he is, in all his glory. Pearly white smile. Strong jaw. Dark eyes.

Joel… your professor.

Fuck.

thank you for reading!! x

#my writing #fic: a lover's pinch #professor!joel #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller smut #ALP

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chatsukimi · 3 months ago

Text

ʜᴇʏ ʙᴀʙʏ, ʙᴀʙʏ

featuring: gojo satoru x reader. humour + hurt no comfort. synopsis: a collection of you and gojo's voicemails/calls to each other throughout the years. masterlist

july 7th, 2006. 11:23am.

"heyy babyy, you miss me?"

cringing to yourself, you listened to your classmate, gojo satoru's, first voicemail to you. the windows were open in the classroom, summer wind blowing in. the heat was almost as annoying as the blondie's voice. gojo and geto are staying at some estate in okinawa to catch some special grade curse.

oh, and for the record, he was not your boyfriend- whatever pet names he constructed for you were his business only.

you'd tried and failed for him to stop.

"... geto says it's a huge curse we're catching. pfft. i think it's easy peasy. and-"

you heard very distinctly geto's voice hollering at gojo on the other line. pinching your lips together, you resisted a smile. what a menace, leaving his friend in the midst of battle just to send a voicemail to you.

it almost warmed your heart.

"-ok, looks like he's having trouble. aww, suguru, do i have to hang up?" a cacophony of harsh bangs and shouting later, you were furrowing your brows and gojo was back on the line. "ok, he thinks you aren't important enough to voicemail right now-"

"i never said that you stupid-"

"harsh," gojo retorted in a strangled tone right back, the faux offence grating your ears. "he doesn't think i should be calling you right now. inconsiderate." then, in a breathless whisper, he said, "call me later, mk? don't forget to congratulate your boyfriend. i expect a hero's welcome!"

the line cut short.

you texted him straight after: i am not in a relationship with you.

september 1st, 2006. 9:49pm.

"hey baby, i'm out on a mission right now. what's your favourite sweet? they've got mochi, mooncakes, and some pocky. chocolate, strawberry and cream flavoured. tell me and your beloved will bring you his war spoils."

at this point, you'd gotten used to his endearments already.

in your room, all cozied up in your blankets with a hot cup of honey-water in hand, you stared out the window, admiring the nighttime stars. somewhere out there, gojo was fighting.

"you've got to start answering my calls." you could hear him pouting so vividly it chilled you. "wanna hear your voice, baby."

his voice, you realised, was a nice accompaniment to your nighttime routine. he spoke neither too slowly nor too fast. nice and smooth too...

wait- what? you snapped out of it. no way you just complimented gojo satoru.

you dropped the phone on your bed, resolving to ignore him this time.

and the way he haunted your sleep.

may 25th, 2007. 2:00pm.

"baby baby baby, i'm this close to killing all the higher ups," satoru was mumbling against the phone, the usual smoothness of his voice sunken into callousness. you still couldn't believe he was talking to you like you're there with him; he's miles away. "a two week mission. what were they thinking?

"hmph. it's not even a curse i'm suited to." suddenly realising what he insinuated, gojo added, "easy to exorcise, of course, but so troublesome. they should've hired someone with a slower, more detective-heavy technique. they're keeping me away from you... god, are you forgetting me?"

you listened to him while standing outside a classroom at jujutsu high. geto gave you a wry smile: can't get enough of him, mm? you shot him an angry glare.

it didn't prepare you for the sound that slipped out of the phone.

a whisper.

"do you think i should?"

then you were clutching the phone to your ear, fighting the urge to put his voice on speaker to hear properly, clinging onto every word that escaped him.

"d'you think i should kill the higher ups?"

for the first time since being forced to receive gojo satoru's number, you pressed call.

"... hey bab-"

"gojo satoru," you said his name with a meaning, like you knew exactly what it was meant for, to strike him at his very core. "i like you. stop thinking about murder."

november 20th, 2018. 5:24pm.

"babe... talk to me. i'm sorry, didn't mean to get trapped in that box in the first place. it's just part of the job. it's nothing. i'm the strongest. plus, i got out just fine.

"i..." careful and slow, his tone resumed a certain responsibility. it showed that he was trying. "... should've been careful, for you. i know that now.

"just come back and talk to me."

november 20th, 2009. 6:30pm.

"babe babe babe babe baby. please..."

november 28th, 2018. 10:23pm.

"hey baby, i'm thinking of taking a break from the jujutsu world after this. let's go on a nice holiday, just you and me. god that'll be fun... m'thinkin of you on the beach." a cheeky lilt crossed his voice. "hah- just joking... maybe. hold on a little more, mk? year's nearly over. i'll pay for it all, the trip. and, well, you know what we were saying about getting married... yeah. okinawa's a pretty place, isn't it? i overheard nanami talking to his friend bout it just then actually."

december 1st, 2018. 00:58am.

"hi baby. it's late. i know. i've been busy." he paused.

silence flooded the line for about five seconds. it was as though his lungs were convulsing in bursts of breath under the weight of things unsaid. he kept quiet.

then, he was moving around, shifting uncomfortably. he wanted to end the voicemail, didn't know why he started it to begin with.

all you heard before the voicemail ended was:

"stay safe."

december 24, 2018. 4:35am.

"hey baby, i just wanna say... i love you."

you lift your hand up to your mouth, bottling the cry that aches to get out of you. the brutally familiar voice of the white haired sorcerer rasps against your ear. then he breaks out in a dazzlingly clear laughter.

"i... really do. this isn't a joke or anything. i know you know already, but i wanted to tell you." you could guess the ensuing words straight from his mouth. "i don't know if i'll win."

there it is. despite yourself, you smile, treasuring the vulnerability he's shown.

"sorry, i'm not sure why i said that. of course i'll win." you can imagine him puffing his chest out on the other line, confidence filling up his voice once more. "but maybe... in case i don't...

"we had a good run, didn't we?"

you let out a shaky breath.

yeah. we did.

"when i come back, i expect a hero's welcome. ok, babe?"

you're chuckling to yourself as he rambles on and on about kikufuku mochi and a holiday in okinawa, just him and you. no higher ups allowed. no responsibilities. you enjoy the lilt of his voice, terrifying smooth and there despite no real presence.

at last, you put down the phone. a low static drones throughout the apartment.

your photo albums collated on the cupboards, the messy unmade bed, just as you'd left it. two mugs in the kitchen. two pairs of slippers at the doorway.

your thumb drifts away from the replay button. you close your eyes, willing his stupidly annoying voice to haunt you one more time. to taunt you, to tease you, to tell you what you want to hear.

not gojo's very last voice message.

"yuta..."

you couldn't bring yourself to look up. the height, the weight, the figure. shoko had told you to prepare yourself to see the exact replica of your lover before you.

you know that is impossible... nothing could replace satoru.

your resolve is knocked out of you when you see him. only a glimpse... but the same face, same lips and nose and hair and- oh, your breath catches. same eyes. maybe you couldn't... maybe you couldn't tell the difference after all-

"y/n?"

finally you gather the courage to study him properly.

"yuta," you acknowledge.

you know for certain this is not satoru.

for your satoru had a different voice, clear and powerful as the ocean waves. your satoru spoke with purpose, the undeniable confidence he was right, always, and could not be knocked down. your satoru had a penchant he would not let go of calling you baby.

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woso-dreamzzz · 4 months ago

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Proud VI

Hardersson x Teen!Reader

Georgia Stanway x Teen!Reader

Summary: You join Bayern Munich

The transfer was a long time coming.

You love North London. You love Arsenal - a bit too much according to Magda - but this transfer was something that you didn't need to think about.

You loved your mothers more than Arsenal and you wanted to be with them again.

You'd gotten a taste of it during your last year in London, living with them both and then they'd gone to Germany without you, stuck in your two year contract with your club.

Arsenal had tried to re-sign you but Bayern Munich had come knocking and Bayern Munich was where your mothers were.

You wanted to be where your mothers were too.

Contract negotiations were easy. They moved quickly and without much fuss until finally your name was on the dotted line and there were two Harders on the team.

It's the first time you'll be playing your club football with Magda, the first time you'll ever be playing football with Pernille.

It's not that you're nervous but you want to do well.

You want to prove to them that they've made the right choice in letting you come with them again.

Oberdorf has also joined from Wolfsburg and you think her signing is a lot more ground breaking than yours so you slip under the radar a little bit as the media and fans clamour over Oberdorf's switch from one German giant to another.

"Different kind of red than you're used to, little Eriksson?" Georgia Stanway teases as you step out onto the training pitch for preseason.

"Red is red," You say," And it's Harder, not Eriksson."

Georgia frowns. "But I thought you were Swedish."

"I am Swedish," You reply," And I'm still a Harder. Two things can be right at the same time."

Goergia laughs at your affronted look, reaching out to ruffle your hair. "I was just playing around with you. No harm, no foul."

You still purse your lips though, unsure how to take this teasing.

Everyone at Arsenal already knew you. They knew how you were. They knew how you acted. They knew that either one of your mothers would pick you up when practice ended so their teasing couldn't go too far.

"Leah's talked about you," Georgia continues," Said you usually had a sense of humour."

"I do have a sense of humour! I just..."

Magda's hand falls onto your shoulder. "She's just nervous. This is her first time in Germany, you know. She's left all her friends behind in London."

Your cheeks go red. "Morsa," You say," You're embarrassing me."

Magda pinches your cheek. "Good. That's what I'm here for."

Georgia watches as you try to squirm away, but Magda's got you in a headlock and is rubbing her knuckles in your hair.

"Come on! Come on! Get off!"

"Are they always like this?"

"You should have seen what they were like after a London Derby," Pernille says, fondly watching the two of you as you manage to tackle Magda into the ground, wrestling with her in the dirt.

"Magda said she left her friends behind?"

"Magda exaggerates. I'm afraid y/n has never really had time for friends outside of football."

Georgia frowns. "No friends outside of football? None at all?"

"She's lonely," Pernille says," Not that she would admit it but I know she is."

"She seems pretty cool. She scored that worldie on her last game for Arsenal. I was impressed."

Pernille laughs. "Don't tell her that. She hates the compliments."

"Alright, I'll keep my awe to a minimum but the goal she scored against us in the Euro Qualifiers was equally as impressive. She's good off the ball as well."

Pernille grins, puffing out her chest as pride runs through her system. "She's the best. Magda and I are so lucky to have her as ours."

"You don't mind if I steal her for a bit though? I reckon I can get her more settled."

"If you think so." Pernille moves to loom over you and Magda, getting a foot between your two rolling bodies. "Magda, leave her alone. Y/n, Georgia wants to show your something."

You shove Magda off you, hurrying to your feet before she can grab you again.

Georgia grins, arm being thrown over your shoulder as she leads you to another group of girls.

"Sydney! Have you met Magda and Pernille's kid?"

"No. I haven't."

"Well this is y/n. y/n this is Syd. She seems like your speed."

"She does?"

"I do?"

"Well...no not really but you look like you need someone to help you out of your shell. Syd did that with Sam. She can do it with you."

Sydney grins at you and you find yourself grinning back. Her smile is kind of infectious.

"So what do you do outside of football?"

"Nothing really."

Sydney's grin widens. "Don't worry. We'll find something."

#woso x reader #hardersson x reader #pernille harder x reader #pernille harder #magdalena eriksson x reader #magdalena eriksson #georgia stanway x reader #georgia stanway #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

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luveline · 8 months ago

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hi! I love coworker james!! can I request something for them? It's like james always bother and annoy her (jokingly) and then others coworkers trying to do the same to her but in a mean way so james is like 🤨hey thats rude🤨🤨

“Come on, shortcake, it’s not even that high.”

You turn around to glare at James. Whether you’re tall or not is unimportant to him, all he cares about is that you’re a good few inches shorter than he is, which gives him ample opportunity to put things in places you can’t reach.

You glare at him fiercely from over your shoulder. “James, this isn’t funny.”

“You’re getting your daily stretches in. I’m improving the health of your shoulder muscles. And I’d know about muscles.”

You wrinkle your nose. He laughs like a fool, he loves that expression on you and it’s so potently disgusted that he can’t help himself. Agitated, you reach as tall as you can on your tiptoes and attempt to curve your wrist along the ridge of the shelf to retrieve your work calculator. Accountants cannot account without a calculator.

You turn your face down and rub your brow with your fingers. He sees the moment you tip from frantically annoyed to smiling, a stuttering of humour he’s not supposed to witness. It’s the whole reason he messes with you. Well, that and you’re the most agitating girl on planet Earth.

“James,” you say, voice shining with good humour, “you should know about muscle. You know nothing about anything else.”

“Pathetic insult.” He laughs and jumps out of his chair. “Here I thought you were going to say something nice to me.”

He’s standing just behind you when one of your coworkers, Daniel, butts in. “Little miss frown lines say something nice? I’d like to see the day.”

Your smile swiftly shutters.

“Let me get that for you,” James murmurs, touching your shoulder gently to usher you aside.

Daniel leans against his desk with his arms crossed over his chest. James side-eyes the cruel pinch of Daniel’s brow as he grabs your calculator. Your silence clearly irks him.

“A day at the office isn’t complete without you whining about something, huh, sweetheart?”

What? “Hey, stop. Why are you talking to her like that?” James asks, confused and angry all in one blow.

“I’m just teasing her,” Daniel says.

“No, mate, I was just teasing her. You’re trying to knock her down a few pegs,” he says. He leaves no room for argument; his tone and face are strong but impassive at once. He gives you your calculator. “Here, shortcake,” he says, quieter.

“Whatever, James,” Daniel says with a laugh, walking off toward the staff kitchen unbothered.

You watch him every step of the way.

“He’s an idiot,” James says.

“I guess.”

He’s suddenly very aware of what he’s done. Maybe Daniel was only teasing. James has probably said worse to you over the last year —you’re a pit viper in an argument and James can’t let things lie. He’s called you lots of cruel things out of context. Abominable priss, leggy twit, try-hard. You’ve called him a prat, a twat, and a dickhead. It’s reciprocated.

Maybe. “You okay?” he asks.

You give him a funny look. “James, I’m fine. Now you’ve stopped acting like we’re in year six, I’m awesome.”

“Oh, so that’s how it is.”

You hold his gaze. You’re standing quite close. “That’s how it is.”

He doesn’t see the perplexed look you give your calculator, can’t know you sit at your desk afterwards feeling oddly pleased.

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter imagine #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #james potter scenario #james potter oneshot #the marauders #marauders era #marauders

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k-hotchoisan · 1 year ago

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7 minutes in heaven (Mingix fem! Reader)

Synopsis: a game of spin the bottle lands on you and Song Mingi for a dare of 7 minutes in heaven.

Right. We all know what’s coming.

Genre/warnings: sexual tension, sex, obviously, unprotected sex, orgasms, hickeys, cream pies, dirty talk, pet names (princess)

Word count: 2.3K

A/n: I just found out like what 7 minutes in heaven meant from my friends and I was instantly like “it’s basically sex???” Bro she was just tired of me at this point.

Also this is pretty fucking filthy. I would love Song fucking Mingi to ruin me like that too. ❤️

Spin the bottle, spin the fucking bottle.

“Oh come on. Just fucking come!” San whines. “You have me there! And Song Mingi is coming!”

“Song Mingi? Why the hell is he going?” You whip your head at San.

“‘Cause he’s Yunho’s friend?” San answers matter-of-factly, scrunching his eyebrows at you. “And he’s your crush?”

“Oh my god, San. Fuck off”, you wave him off in annoyance. As much as he was right, you hated that he was right. You and Mingi’s friendship started through mutual friends, and for some reason, it seemed that you fell for him during the course of the friendship. And you hated that, because the basis of the friendship was just extreme playfulness and constantly getting on each other’s nerves.

On that one time when Yunho teased Mingi about the both of you being a couple, Mingi smacked Yunho, outright denying any ounce of feelings between the both of you.

So now, it was two things—seething hatred and an ugly crush—the biggest paradox of feelings you’ve ever had. You spent the past few weeks lessening your meet ups with Mingi, and he didn’t question why.

And now suddenly a party that he’s gonna be at? No fucking way. San doesn’t relent though, for some reason he was hell-bent on getting you to come, and he wouldn’t tell you exactly why.

“What would it take for you to come?” San questions as he leans into your shoulder, giving you the puppy eyes that could never out-do Yunho’s.

“Five hundred bucks,” you answer, pinching his nose as he winces in pain, slapping your hand away.

“Yeah right”, San rolls his eyes. “I’ll introduce you to someone, okay?”

That isn’t the main point but you sense San’s sincerity, so you decide to humour him.

Little did you know that it would snowball to whatever had happened.

Your arm is hooked around San as the both of you enter Yunho’s spacious apartment, greeting the people as the both of you slither past them to look for the host. San spots Yunho from a distance and waves to him to get his attention. Yunho turns his head and pats the guy beside him to get his attention.

And it was Mingi.

Mingi has an unreadable expression the moment his eyes land on you, noticing your hand around San’s arm. He gives a small smile as the both of you walk over to greet Yunho.

“Hey. I’m glad you made it”, Yunho greets, giving San a hug as San removes himself from you, and then patting your head. Mingi still has his eyes on you, and you pretend not to notice.

“Yeah, I had to hold her at gunpoint for her to come”, San jokes, using your head as an arm rest. You roll your eyes.

“Damn. You really didn’t want to see me that much?” Yunho asks, pressing his palm against his chest, acting heartbroken. You playfully give him a light shove.

“It’s been awhile, y/n. Nice seeing you again”, Mingi chimes in, giving you a smile. You stare back, exchanging a small smile back at him. It had definitely been a couple of weeks since you contacted him, since the bullshit he spout.

“We’re going to play Spin the Bottle now, and you came just in time for that. San, y/n, you wanna join?”

Your gaze holds Mingi’s, almost challenging him and your grip tightens around San’s arm.

“Sure. Sounds fun.”

A circle quickly forms as everyone sits, there is about seven people in the circle, a mix of girls and guys, including you and Mingi, both of you sitting across each other. The game goes on pretty normally in the first hour, but as the drinks started flowing in, the questions and dares starting getting more spicy.

In the fourth round, the bottle spins, and it lands on Mingi.

“Truth”, Mingi says.

San pushes the question, “Have you liked anyone in the friend group before.”

You don’t catch Mingi’s gaze at you because you were too busy whispering something to San.

“Yeah.” A few “ooohs” echo in the room and you purse your lips in curiosity.

A few rounds later, the bottle spins, and it lands on you.

“Truth”, you say.

Yunho rubs his hands. “Is there anyone in the room that you wanna kiss?”

Fuck. The alcohol was definitely kicking in, but not enough for you drunkenly answer right away. You really wanted to lie.

Everyone had their eyes on you, curious of your answer, especially Mingi. He’s quiet, his gaze piercing into you, and you catch wind of it. Your anxiety slowly dissipates as you decide to be smug with that motherfucker. You know he’s gazing at you, and you hold the stare before shifting your gaze to San, who was fighting for his life with the alcohol, before saying, “Yes.”

Considering that your small gaze towards San wasn’t missed out by majority of the players, they laugh and clap their hands, evidently fooled by you. You smile as you sip your alcohol.

The bottle spins. And it lands on Mingi.

“Dare”, he says, almost too confidently.

Hongjoong immediately pushes, “Seven minutes in Heaven, to whoever the bottle lands on.”

Mingi scoffs, feeling confident, as he reaches for the bottle to spin it.

It spins, and it the neck lands on you. Your eyes widen in shock because you really did not expect that. Mingi has that unreadable expression on his face again, before Hongjoong smacks his back, reminding him of his dare. The players roar in excitement and whistles.

Seven minutes of being trapped in a room with each other.

Your mind is racing, but you tell yourself, anything could happen, including non-sexual things. The both of you could just sit alone together, albeit in a little bit of awkwardness, and just wait for the seven minutes to pass. Okay, that doesn’t sound so bad.

You and Mingi stay seated on the bed of a guest room, not saying anything to each other.

Seven minutes start.

“Are you avoiding me?” He asks after long pause.

“No?” You lie too quickly.

“Then why haven’t you been replying to my texts? We used to hang out so much.”

“I was just busy.”

“Liar.”

You glare at him, and he holds the stare.

“You’re finally looking at me properly”, he says, and your heartbeat ups another notch.

“Did I do something to upset you?”

Not really. You couldn’t really blame him, but at the same time, what happened genuinely did make you upset.

“No”, you reply, turning away, only for his fingers grab your chin.

He sighs. “Please stop looking away from me. It’s driving me crazy.”

Good. That’s cause he deserves it. The way his fingers are pressing onto your chin was starting to make you heat up.

“No. It’s mostly a me problem”, you vaguely tell him. “You sure you’re okay with doing this when you have a crush within the friend group?” You ask, as you lie onto the cold sheets.

Mingi doesn’t answer you, but he towers over you, looking at you with some sort of lust and desire—it was looking very dangerous.

“I’ll answer you non-verbally, if I get your consent”, he responds, his breathing getting heavier. You decided to take him on and nod.

He leans in and kisses you, feeling every part of your mouth, as he groans into your mouth. The alcoholic taste lingers, mixed with his saliva, tasted strangely sweet. He pulls your shirt off as you unbuckle his jeans.

The way his wet and leaking cock presses onto his underwear fucking scares you because he was so fucking big. He tugs your bottoms and undergarments off, almost too desperately, then soaking his fingers with his spit as he starts rubbing your clit slowly. Electric pulses through your spine, in pleasure as your back arches, and soft moans are leaving you.

He plunges in both hands when he deems you wet enough and you cry out as his fingers curl into you.

Five minutes.

He continues to fuck you with his fingers and you hands claw his arms, desperate for something more hotter, and bigger.

He pulls out, leaving you clenching at nothing. Mingi’s underwear is removed way too quickly and you gasp at his length and girth. He was not fucking around. He wraps his hands around his cock and pumps it a few times, giving you a small show of his groans and small bucking hips.

Four minutes.

Mingi lift your legs to his shoulder as you lay on your side as he slides his cock into you, before fucking you into the bed, his grunts and moans filling up the room. Fuck. His cock is too fucking big. It’s just dragging against every single nerve in your wall. Your hands were gripping onto the sheets, as you fail to keep your composure, and your moans.

“Fuck. You’re so tight”, Mingi exhales as he pulls out before slamming into you again as he drinks your whimpers and cries. “So fucking good.”

He lets your leg fall, and he fucks you from behind, his hands gripping your hips. Your limbs were starting to feel numb from the pleasure. He stops for a second before grabbing your waist, to put your back to lie against his chest. This only fucks up your sanity because his cock was stuffing your wet and abused cunt from the bottom.

“Mingi, it’s too much—fuck—so fucking big”, you cry out, your mind going hazy as he sucks against the skin on your neck. Your head was lolled back, and your eyes are rolled back too, feeling nothing but the sensation of Mingi’s cock going in and out of your hole, as you cream on his cock. Fuck, it felt like heaven.

“Such a good girl. Keep moaning for me”, Mingi hums as he, himself, also was struggling to form coherent thoughts as you were squeezing him out. His moans were trapped in your head because his lips were close to your ear. His fingers pinching your nipples before slapping your cunt gently, causing you to squeal and tighten around him and his voice goes up and octave.

“We have three more minutes,” Mingi says, his eyes glancing at the small timer facing the both of you. “We should really at least finish it with something good—like this”, he says as pushes into you so deeply and your body becomes paralysed, his cock slightly bulging your abdomen, your mouth is open but no sound is coming out. Your thighs tremble as tears pool at the corner of your eyes. Your pussy flutters around his cock as your orgasm hits you in waves. Mingi thrusts in you shallowly, his full cock still deep in you.

“Y/n, you’re creaming so much. It feels so fucking good. I’m gonna cum too, Princess”, he encourages, rubbing your clit in slow circles, tightening another knot in your abdomen.

Two minutes.

Mingi just wants to continue fucking into you until he’s satisfied, and once you feel his cock twitch in you, you know he’s close.

“So tell me, who was it did you want to kiss between the guys?” He suddenly asks, slowly decelerating his thrusts, and you were about to lose your fucking mind.

“Was it Choi fucking San?” He asks, his fingers cupping your chin to ensure you face him. He smiles, loving how fucked out you looked, ruined by him. “Tell me, princess.”

He pulls out in such a slow and painful speed that your thighs tremble from the way his cock just drags against your walls.

His grip on your cheeks lower to your neck, and he gently squeezes.

“Answer me”, he demands.

One minute.

“Fuck—it’s you. It’s fucking Song Mingi!” You cry out, craving his cock to fill you up like cockslut you were.

His eyes grow wild as he lets go of your throat , his hands slithering to your bottom of your thighs, spreading them even more as he bottoms out in you, slamming his cock right into you until you start seeing fucking stars behind your eyelids.

“Good girl. Take my fucking cum”, he says as he fucks into you one more time, his cock squirting strings of cum right into your pussy as your second orgasm overwhelms you, leaving you whimpering and shaking from the overstimulation as Mingi empties in you.

The timer goes off, the alarm annoyingly loud. Mingi gingerly pulls out of you as you twitch, and lets your head rest on the pillows. Your cunt was still throbbing, as it flutters at nothing while Mingi’s cum leaks out of you. He looks at you and smirks, like you are his favourite masterpiece. He inches forward and presses his lips onto yours as he strokes your hair.

“That’s my princess. I think it’s pretty obvious but I like you. I really, fucking like you”, he confesses. As you were about to reply through half-lidded eyes, the door knocks.

Mingi pulls the sheets over you before answering the door. Yunho had his arms crossed and his eyebrow raised. He spots you heaving softly against the guest bed and immediately puts two and two together.

“She’s not playing anymore,” Mingi answers, blocking his view.

Yunho scoffs. “Took the both of you fucking long enough. The tension was crazy. We’re going to get more drinks so the both of you can continue your own little game.”

Mingi laughs as Yunho leaves, before shutting the door behind him.

He stares at you, curled up in bed, still looking dazed, and walks over to you. He pulls the sheets off, and a mix of his cum and your arousal just dripping past your inner thighs, red flushing your ass and your cheeks.

Mingi licks his lips, suddenly hungry again as he towers over you to spread your legs once more, pushing in a finger way too easily, the sounds of his cum squelching out of your pussy as your eyes roll back again. His fingers cup your chin, forcing you to face his lustful gaze.

“Seven minutes are up but now we’ve got all the time in the world, princess. I’ll show what real heaven feels like.”

#ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez smut #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #smut #ateez fic #kpop fic #kpop smut #ateez Mingi #song mingi #mingi x reader #mingi smut #mingi x y/n

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kissatoru · 1 year ago

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𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓

pairing. sub!vampire!levi ackerman x dom!gn!reader

synopsis. in 19th century society, everyone has secrets they want to keep from seeing the light of day — so what will happen when you unveil levi’s?

content. implied virgin/touch-starved!levi, ooc levi at some points cause of vampire hormones, plot before porn, blood/blood-drinking kink, oral fixation, dry humping, handjob, inappropriate use of cravats, petnames (dearest, darling)

notes. first fic of hornyween!! the others won’t be as long lol this took FOREVER. anyway, please consider reblogging if you enjoy it<3

wc. 5k

Sparkling chandeliers adorn the ballroom’s high ceilings, making the polished floor gleam like honey as stylish figures twirl and glide across it. The rest of the guests are gathered by the walls in clusters, their lively chatter and chuckles mixing in with the night’s melodies.

You stand by one of the pink brocade curtains, sipping a glass of champagne. Your stance is relaxed but mannerly; not seeking nor avoiding attention, just observing and occasionally humouring a fellow guest that takes notice of your presence. Among those who approach you, admirers are plentiful, with faces of various qualities and contours, and characters both pleasant and not, but none who gain more than a few minutes of your time before you’re politely concluding the conversation or excusing yourself entirely.

As you’re meandering through laughing circles and swaying couples, away from yet another adamant admirer, you scan the room for him: the main reason you attended this ball at all. He rarely arrives for the banquets, and when he does, he even more rarely eats more than is expected of him. Now that the dancing has begun, he should be here, but you’ve yet to spot a single trace of him. It has made you restless, your eyes desperate in their pursuit. Each time you catch a glimpse of dark hair and pale skin or a short stature and a neatly tied cravat, you’re just as suddenly disappointed when you realise it’s not him. Eventually, you fall back into the same routine as before — entertaining married couples, faking laughs at bad jokes, listening to shallow gossip.

“Goodness, me,” Baroness Azumabito gushes at you, “you are as charming as they say, Your Grace.”

You chuckle courteously. “You’re too kind, Lady Azumabito.”

She offers you a closed-eye smile, her crow’s feet pinching together. “I truly must ask,” she begins, unfolding her peacock-feather fan and speaking a little quieter now. You already know it’s certainly not something she must ask. “What are your plans on marriage? You have no small number of choices, I’m sure!”

She giggles a little too hard for your liking, and you are reminded of the not-so-pretty piece of gossip you heard only a mere ten minutes ago — her husband’s gambling problems, her unmarried child. Quite the ideal motive for her to talk to you; someone who has both higher status and greater wealth. Of course, you know not all hearsay is true, but with a smile like Lady Azumabito’s, cunning as a fox and twice as sneaky, trust is a risk you’re not willing to take.

You laugh again. “Oh, none at the moment,” you say, feigning ignorance, “I’m so busy these days, I feel as though a partner might be…”

At the edge of your vision, a dark-haired silhouette passes. Your head moves in search of it, your eyes following, flicking this way and that. However, amidst the sea of extravagant gowns and upscale suits, the glimpse you had managed to catch slips from your grasp all too soon.

“Might be what?” Kiyomi asks.

An uneasy sense of disappointment hollows in your chest, but you ignore it. “Uh, a distraction. Would be... a distraction.”

Another flash of shadowy hair, porcelain skin.

Kiyomi clears her throat. “Do you care to elaborate, Your Grace?”

Just as you’re about to turn back to her, a figure stops in clear view before you: a metre and a half tall, raven black locks, eyes as sharp as falcon talons, an intricately tailored waistcoat — and the swan-white ruffles of a linen cravat.

A huff is your only warning before the short woman is stepping in and obscuring your line of sight, her round eyes now pressed into slits by her strained smile. “Please forgive my impudence, Your Grace, but what has you so–”

You abruptly but gently take her hands into yours. “Pardon my manners, Lady Azumabito,” you say, already shifting on your feet in preparation for your departure, “but I’ve spotted an acquaintance of mine with whom I’d like to discuss some private matters with.” You let go of her hands and give a curt bow. “If you’ll please excuse me.”

Her dumbfounded expression is the last you see of her before you swiftly take your leave. You track the person with your eyes and feet in tandem, each step purposeful and your eagerness barely contained. Once you’re in arm’s length, you cheerily call out:

“Viscount Ackerman!”

Several people turn their heads. The Viscount in question stops no later, though seemingly reluctantly. He turns to face you, a question perched on the peak of his raised eyebrow.

Your shoes clack as you stride the rest of the way up to him. Once beside him, you lean over and flash him a cheeky smirk. “Fashionably late as always?” you remark, but it fails to prompt any sort of perceptible reaction. The only change in his expression is his eyebrow returning to its relaxed position.

“And I see you are…” Silver blue eyes wash over you, up and down, in a single steady motion. “In attendance. As always.”

“Of course,” you reply with a practised smile. “I would not dream of missing one of the Duke of Trost’s parties.”

He hums. “I don’t doubt that.”

You hum back, thoughtful. “And what of yourself, my Lord?” you ask. “What brings you here?” You pause to smile knowingly. “Certainly not the food, seeing as you were absent for that.”

His eyes narrow and his lips press together in a firm line. “If you must know, the Duke was very insistent that I attend,” he explains, eyeing a passing servant before picking up a flute of champagne from their tray. “As for my tardiness… I prioritised taking care of some business affairs, first and foremost. Though I suppose I shouldn’t expect you to understand.” He swirls the liquid around in his glass and takes a sip.

You chuckle heartily. “Oh, come now!” you exclaim. “Why so hostile? Are we not friends?”

“Only in public,” Levi corrects in a low tone.

You turn to face the room, smirking against your glass. “That’s not true and you know it.”

A newly-engaged couple you were conversing with earlier passes by, waving. You smile and wave back at them.

Levi makes an exasperated noise. “Do you never tire of that?” he grumbles into his glass.

You bring your own glass up to your lips. “Whatever do you mean, my Lord?”

He grimaces. “That.”

You giggle. “Keeping up appearances is just the way I was raised,” you reply with a gesture of nonchalance, “but not all my smiles are fake, you know. It’s quite pleasant, smiling.” You beam at him, as if to prove your point. “I think you ought to try it some time.”

Levi scowls. “I know how to smile.”

“Oh, I never said you didn’t, my Lord,” you quip. “I have no doubt that you understand it in theory, just that you should try putting it into practice.” You point to the corner of your mouth, lifting it to mimic a smile.

He sucks his teeth and tears his gaze away from your own. “You’re infuriating.”

“And yet, here you are,” you say, stepping closer. “For longer than ten seconds, might I add. Surely a feat, no?”

Levi scoffs. “Don’t flatter yourself.” He raises his glass, speaking over the lip of it. “You just happen to be the least infuriating one here.”

You bite your tongue — “Well, by your standards, being the least infuriating is, in fact, quite flattering!” — and instead, you glance around and lean in. “In that case, what do you say we go find a place away from all this poor company?” Your voice takes on a lighter yet all the more meaningful tone. “Perhaps somewhere just for the two of us?”

There’s a glint of interest in Levi’s eyes that doesn’t go unnoticed by you as you pull away to look at him. “I would say that’s highly inappropriate,” he says, hushed, but not in a way that matches his words; hushed in a way that suggests intrigue.

“Inappropriate?” you echo, lips curving into a smile. “You really needn’t worry so much, my Lord! We shan’t be away for long, I promise.”

Levi’s thin eyebrows angle up. After a moment of contemplation, he closes his eyes and sighs. “If you insist,” he concedes.

Without further discussion, you set aside your and Levi’s drinks, then go ahead and stroll over to the arched doors with Levi not far behind.

With how often the Duke hosts such extravaganzas, you’ve had plenty of occasions to become familiar with the layout of their home, hence why you know where all of the rooms are. You navigate through the narrow hallways with an air of confidence, occasionally stopping to praise or snicker at family paintings and decor choices, much to Levi’s chagrin.

“What is it now?” Levi asks, attempting to pinpoint the subject of your attention this time.

You stand by a window that faces the rear garden, peering through the glass with squinted eyes. “Do my eyes deceive me or is that the Countess of Ehrmich and her handmaid kissing out in the gazebo?” You turn to Levi with a theatrically outraged jaw-drop, making him roll his eyes.

“You are no better than those gossiping simpletons we left in the ballroom,” he scolds as he draws the curtains shut.

You chuckle. “Apologies! Only a jest!” He glares at you but otherwise doesn’t complain. You watch him for a moment, how his nimble fingers tug and adjust the curtains, how he mutters expletives under his breath at the dust that transfers to his hands from the curtains.

Feeling mischievous, you lean in, so your lips are almost touching his ear. “It’s just so fun to tease you, I can’t resist.”

Goosebumps raise on Levi’s skin as he flinches away from you, fingers hovering over where your breath brushed his earlobe. He swallows. “Maybe you ought to practise some self-restraint.”

You smirk. “Maybe you ought to have less of it.”

He frowns. “How would that benefit anyone?”

You take a step closer. “Try it and find out.”

Levi takes a step back, but you take another step forward. His back bumps into a solid surface as your hand reaches out. He freezes in anticipation.

The click of a door handle, then a quiet creak.

“I believe,” you say, smiling cattily and circling around him, “I have found the drawing room.”

Levi huffs. “Finally,” he mumbles and pushes past you through the door. You follow after him, shutting the door behind you.

The room is a size you’d expect given how large the rest of the residence is. A ceiling mural depicting an Ancient Roman legend; tall windows and velvet curtains. At the centre of the room, atop a patterned rug, gold and beige furniture is arranged in a thoughtful composition. Dainty — yet no doubt expensive — decorations and trinkets adorn various corners, shelves and walls.

In one of the armchairs, Levi sits down, exhaling long and heavy, as if he had been holding his breath all night. You, on the other hand, decide to explore the room first, ambling between the furnishings and admiring the cosiness of the space. Absent-mindedly, you run a finger along the spines of some books piled on top of a small table, tracing the ribbed leather and embossed text.

“At last, some peace and quiet, hm?” you say, mostly just to occupy the air with something of substance, as you glance at Levi.

He’s sitting with one elbow resting on the seat’s floral print armrest, the pads of his fingers massaging the area between his eyebrows. “Until you spoiled it, yes,” he grunts.

The beginnings of a witty remark form, then just as quickly dissipate from your tongue. The corners of your lips sink, the lines in your face waning into nothing.

With his face cast down, Levi is oblivious to the change in your expression. It isn’t until you take two, five, ten or so steps — when the silence drags on without a response of your own — that he raises his head.

“Actually,” you start, standing by the armchair across from him, only a few feet away, “I brought you here to discuss something with you.”

His reaction is stalled but still comes in the form of a puzzled frown. “Go on, then.”

The floorboards squeak under your weight as you take another few steps forward. Levi shifts in his chair. “We agreed to be honest with one another, Levi. To not keep secrets,” you say, “yet I have good reason to suspect you haven’t entirely been maintaining your end of the agreement.”

As he opens his mouth to defend himself, your approaching footsteps finally seal the remaining distance between you. You step in to occupy the space between his knees and the contact is enough to make them jolt away as if from flames. Levi stares down at them until he catches the movement of your arms in the corner of his vision.

In your hands is a book, presumably from the stack you were observing earlier. He had been so absorbed in the shrinking space between you that he didn’t stop to consider that perhaps the arms linked behind you might be holding something.

His eyes roam the book, then fall on the shining yellow words etched into the front cover:

The Vampyre

by John William Polidori

Electric impulses fire through his body. His mouth goes dry. “I told Hange to get rid of that.”

“Really? Why is that?” you ask, turning it over in your hand. “I hear it’s quite good.”

Levi can’t stop the irritation from showing on his face. “The problem is not with the book itself.”

It’s the influence it has on imbeciles like Hange, he finishes in his head. Imbeciles who’ll believe anything with enough coincidences and paranoid witness accounts. Sure, Hange is a special case, because they’re not so much afraid of the rumoured existence of ‘vampires’ as they are curious, which is arguably worse — especially since, for once, the imbeciles are right.

“Then what’s the problem?” Your frown seems to be of genuine confusion, but Levi knows better. There’s an underlying something just waiting to reveal itself.

Levi folds his arms across his chest. “What does this have to do with our agreement?”

The smile returns to your face, but it is unlike any that Levi is used to seeing; not fake, but not entirely trustworthy either. “Surely you’ve figured out that much by now.” You set the book aside. “Really, Levi. Do you take me for some kind of fool?” Your hands come forward and clasp the armrests of his chair. “Did you really think I don’t know that… you’re a vampire?”

Levi scoffs. “Do you hear yourself?” He narrows his eyes at you. “Vampires are a baseless conspiracy. A ludicrous superstition fabricated by the English that only a credulous halfwit–”

A hand grabs him by the cheeks, cramming the rest of his words back behind his teeth. “Open your mouth,” you order.

The suddenness of the command evaporates any and all thoughts from Levi’s head, replacing them with a purely chemical reaction in the form of heat striking through him. Gradually, you push his head back — and he lets you — while a hard mound he can only assume is your knee eases between his parted legs, coercing a gasp from his mouth. As soon as his jaw loosens, your fingers are poking through the gap between his lips, moving as if hunting for something. They settle around his upper canines, sliding over and prodding at them, over and over, until eventually they begin to grow, extending down, down into a sharp, tapered point, much too long for what can be considered human.

Levi groans, but the sound is much too airy for pain or discomfort to be the cause of it. Drool is gathering beneath his tongue and blood in his cheeks. How humiliating it is to have his fangs coaxed out by the close proximity of his carnal weakness — by someone who should be his prey in this dynamic — and how all the more humiliating it is to have the strike of heat from before already invading the rest of his body.

Only once the fangs have stopped growing do you cease your petting, opting instead to drag a single fingertip along the newly-revealed length of bone. “My, my,” you coo, “it seems that the truth has spoken for itself.” You remove your fingers from his mouth, but Levi’s head remains in its position against the backrest. “Whatever shall I do with you, now that I have you at my mercy?”

Your fingers travel down his exposed throat. Like a frightened prey animal, Levi’s body digs into the cushioned upholstery, trying to comprehend the foreign feeling of being touched in this way. Breaths beat out through his nose in quickening puffs and miniscule tremors rattle through his chest as he attempts to control, or perhaps conceal, the frantic rise and fall of it. Beneath your fingertips, you can feel his heartbeat, the pulse so solid that if you didn’t know any better, you’d think it was hitting his ribcage with every beat.

“Are you afraid?” you ask him quietly, your fingers continuing their path downward.

Levi swallows, lets out a heavy breath but doesn’t answer. You watch him, analyse him. His tightly closed eyes, the sweat coming through his clothes… “Then perhaps you’re—” His unsteady breaths, his contracting muscles— “aroused?”

His Adam’s apple lifts and then drops. You follow the motion with your eyes, then lower, lower and lower, until you find the answer you’re looking for in his oh-so-conveniently open thighs. He immediately attempts to shut them, but your own prevent him from doing so.

“No need to be ashamed,” you assure him as you smile that knowing smile and carefully climb on top of his lap. “I can help to relieve you. If you wish.” You rub your bottom half against his hardened groin as a testament to your words.

Levi’s neck stretches over the backrest, an open-mouthed moan escaping him, then retracts back to his chest. His eyebrows cinch together in thought, but the way his hips rut into you has already declared his decision, so when his eyes finally flutter open and peer up at yours, you are unable to suppress your look of delight.

“Please,” is all he says — and all he needs to say to send your mind and self-control reeling.

You pounce forward, ravaging his lips with your own, while you grind down again; harder than before, and with more finesse. The noise that Levi makes into your mouth is much too heavenly for a creature of such damnable origin, yet as addictive as if it had been produced by a devil of temptation itself.

The swipe of a sleek surface has you parting from him on instinct. “Careful of your teeth, darling,” you warn and he nods as if in a daze before pulling you back in. He paws at your clothes, helpless and wanting, as though he aches to bring you closer. You let out an enraptured sigh at his aggressive gesture. After all, what an honour it is to have the stoic Viscount Levi Ackerman falling apart and moaning pathetically beneath you; what sacrilege to be a mortal defiling its natural predator. You feel as though you’re going mad, losing all sense of self from the sheer thrill of it.

You drag yourself away from his lips, only to see the full effects of your actions. Strong features softening as though he’s melting from the pleasure. Eyes squeezed shut while his glossy black hair, usually so perfectly combed, fans out in loose strands over his forehead. Razor-sharp nails mauling the armrests. Two fanged teeth poking out from under his lip.

In minutes, Levi is curling into you and crying out against your skin. You guide him through his climax, raking your fingers up from his undercut and through the strands at the top while whispering caring words to him, in soothing repetition. He collapses into you, his arms limp at your sides and his panting breaths warm on your neck. Before you can push him away, he’s mindlessly nuzzling and lapping at your throat like a dog, coating your skin in spit, sucking and occasionally catching his fangs on the fragile flesh. It would be a lie to say you aren’t enticed by the prospect of them breaking through; moving with more purpose and sinking into your–

Levi whines against your shoulder. “Please, let me have a taste. I’ll do anything, please,” he mumbles. “It’s been so long, I– I cannot wait any longer, please, I beg of you…” He pulls away, licking his lips, as if the taste of your skin is enough to last and cherish. “Please,” he begs, “let me drink your blood.”

You smile, wide, and brush back the hair tickling his eyes. “Only since you asked so nicely.”

As soon as the words enter the air, Levi lunges at you. You’re almost not fast enough, but manage to get a hold of him.

You pin his wrists on either side of his head, and the tightness of your grip seems to snap Levi out of his ravenous trance. “That wasn’t very polite,” you reprimand. Levi only looks up at you regretfully, which is likely the closest thing you’ll get to an apology from him. You sigh. “Don’t worry.” You let go of him and slide your palm under his chin. “Open–”

His jaw falls slack in an instant, granting you access to the inside of his mouth. You trail your fingers around his wet lips first, this way and that, slow and soft, just to hear him whine. You giggle but finally slip a finger inside and Levi groans in time with it. His tongue is the next thing to fall from his mouth, hanging over his lip and dripping saliva onto his shirt.

“What a sight,” you breathe. “I wonder what our fellow nobles would think.”

Levi moans softly as you poke your fingertip into the point of one of his fangs. You hiss as it pierces the skin and wait for the blood to collect before turning your finger over.

“Tilt your head back, dearest,” you say, and Levi does so with haste. You dangle your finger above his eager tongue and watch his eyes roll back as the first drop hits his taste buds. He savours the flavour like a man starved of water, his mouth pooling with drool, and whimpers in anticipation of the next drop.

Your eyes are fixated on him, as if hypnotised, and engulfed in sick amusement from the power you have over him. Your thumb sits under your fingertip, forcing out the liquid with steady presses, but for Levi, it’s still not enough. Animalistic hunger and impatience possess him. His arms come to life to grab your wrist and yank it toward his mouth. He manages to swallow your finger whole before you can react, though the sight is much too precious for you to deny or scold him anyway.

The grip around your wrist turns vice-like as he feverishly sucks the blood from your finger. His closed eyelids twitch and runny spit oozes down his chin. You look on in adoration at the sweetly depraved state you have him in. Who would think that a blood-sucking monster could be this docile and helpless?

Levi’s panting grows heavier until you begin to feel him rutting against you. When you look down, the lump of his crotch has regained hardness, already straining against the dark material. “Aroused again so soon?” you taunt.

He is so engrossed in sucking that he doesn’t seem to hear you, so you tug your finger out of his mouth and hands. He grunts in protest, but you ignore him and try again. “Would you like me to take care of that for you?”

As if freshly woken from a daze, or perhaps still in one, those folds you’re so used to seeing between his eyebrows take shape in a show of gentle confusion. “Take… care of what?”

You bring a hand down to his lap and lightly tap the bulge that’s formed there, making him tense and spasm under you. He must still be sensitive, you think with a smile.

“Of this,” you clarify.

He swallows. “Okay.”

“Okay?” You stifle a chuckle. “It’s a yes or no question, Levi, so answer with a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’.”

He sighs and evades your eyes as he hisses out a reluctant “Yes.”

“Good boy,” you praise and begin to make quick work of the buttons on his trousers.

Levi frowns. “Don’t call me that. I am not a dog.”

You laugh through your nose, amused. “Yet you drool and whimper just like one.” You playfully stare up at him through your lashes. He doesn’t say anything back, just blooms a deeper pink, so you accept your win and finish unbuttoning his trousers. Next, you unfasten the strings of his undergarments, freeing his leaking length.

As soon as your fingers make contact with it, Levi writhes. His legs squirm and his hips buck up into your touch. In seconds, the wet head of his cock is dripping with bead after bead of precum. In your awe of his intense reaction, you find yourself experimentally toying with it; squeezing, tugging, kneading, fingering. Obscene noises created by the remnants of his previous release make colour fill Levi’s usually colourless cheeks. His glinting grey eyes are lidded, his head dizzy and delirious. His mouth is hanging open in surrender to the erotic sounds he cannot help making, tongue dyed scarlet from your blood and glistening with saliva. You adore it — are spurred on by it, even — but his volume is now teetering on too loud, and the last thing you want right now is to be caught.

So with one hand on his dick, keeping him distracted, you hurriedly untie his cravat and stuff it into his inviting mouth. A startled, confused but thankfully muted moan rumbles through the cloth. You grin at the conflicted eyes and knitted eyebrows you get in response to your actions, entirely unbothered as you continue to take him apart with your touches, to watch him become the embodiment of debauchery. Moonlight skin shiny with sweat, teeth gnawing around his makeshift gag, pelvis involuntarily meeting your movements, elbows pointing to the ceiling as he desperately scratches and claws at the back of the chair, surely ruining it beyond repair with his needlepoint nails and vampiric strength. So effortlessly picture-perfect.

No more than a few seconds later, he’s arching his back against the chair and wailing into his linen gag. The wood of the backrest splinters and the upholstery tears loudly under his fingernails. Warm fluid gushes out over your fist and dribbles down it as you continue stroking his length. Your other hand takes out the cravat from Levi’s mouth and wipes up the mess. He lets out a few wet little warbles and whimpers at the overstimulating feeling, but quietens down once you finish.

You don’t allow him a second to recuperate from his high, instead satiating your own desires; snatching his face up in your hands and latching your lips onto his in one smooth motion. Tongues curl together and the metallic tang of your own blood swarms your senses. Levi keens and grips the fabric at your waist. By the time your mouths separate, you’re both breathless and gasping against each other, and the allure of his dishevelled state has you unable to resist trailing a few extra kisses on his skin; from the corner of his mouth to his jaw, on the soft spot behind his ear and down his delicate neck. Levi grabs at your shoulders weakly, but when you pull back to check on him, his gaze drops to your laps.

“How did you find that?” You tilt your head. “Good?”

Better than good, so much better — is what he thinks, but what he settles on saying is “Yes, it– it was good.”

The smile that stretches across your cheeks is inevitable, and the most sincere one you’ve had the entire night. “Well… as much as I would like to keep going,” you say, chewing on your inner lip corner, and making Levi flush, “I think it’s time we go back.”

You climb off of the chair and straighten out your clothes. Meanwhile, Levi tries, and fails, to stand up, his knees buckling and sending him flopping back into the seat.

You sigh sympathetically and caress the side of his face. “You should rest for a moment,” you tell him. Your fingers glide down to his chin, take it into your hand and wipe the spit, along with the traces of smeared blood, from his lips. “Perhaps neaten up your appearance, in the meantime?” you add with a smirk.

Some awareness seems to have awoken in him, perhaps as a result of your teasing, because he pouts and replies with, “I was planning on doing so anyway.”

You don’t say anything else, taking that moment to appreciate the silence, just the distant echo of music and the tick of the clock on the mantelpiece. Luckily, it does not take long for Levi’s ragged breaths to calm, and for his thighs to reclaim their strength. You help to clean up his image, fastening up garments, flattening out creases and wiping away or concealing the evidence of your activities. Kisses are exchanged in between; some of them stolen, some of them followed by giggles, and some by lustful gazes.

Once you’re ready to leave, you head for the door, but you only go as far as clasping the gold handle before stopping and turning to Levi. His eyebrows shift in that way they’re so good at, speaking when words don’t need to. Your eyes sketch out a path down his face, all the way to his lips, where you find yourself already missing the blood, drool and pearly fangs…

Before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching for his nape and wrapping your plush lips around each other.

“If you’re well-behaved tonight,” you rasp against his lips, “I’ll treat you to more than just a finger next time.”

taglist. @jazzyluuv <3

827 notes · View notes

jungshookz · 1 year ago

Text

jungkook & y/n are too shy to admit they like each other and it's cute but also infuriatingly frustrating

➺ pairing; jeon jungkook x reader // quarterback!jungkook x librarian!y/n

➺ genre; sfw!! honk honk humour!! soft soft fluff!! indulging in my wattpad-esque clichés!!

➺ wordcount; 7.3k

➺ summary; as much as you hate having to work on campus over the summer because you’d much rather be tanning on the beach inside of getting progressively paler in the library, you really can’t complain about getting to see a bunch of shirtless, sweaty boys running around on the football field whenever you’re on lunch break… and the fact that one of them is jeon jungkook is certainly an added bonus.

➺ what to expect; “you know, the next time you have an idea, i’d really appreciate if you ran it by me first before being a dickhead and launching a football right at someone-“

➺ currently playing on cee.fm; whatta man (feat. en vogue) — salt-n-pepa

»»————- 🏈 ————-««

“yo!”

“oh, jesus-“ you spin around and let out a breath of relief to see that it’s just jennie, pressing your palm flat against your chest before frowning, “you have got to stop doing that! you know, one of these days, i’m going to accidentally clobber you with a book and it’s not going to be my fault if i give you a concussion-“

“oh, please, like you have the hand-eye coordination to actually knock someone out-“ jennie snorts, adjusting the strap of her tote bag over her shoulder before wiggling her brows at you, “you wanna grab some lunch? didn’t your break start, like, ten minutes ago?”

“yeah, but then i saw edna putting books away and i love her because she reminds me of my grandma but god, it was making me anxious seeing her using the ladder,” you gesture over to the creaky wooden ladder at the end of the aisle, “so i told her i’d put the books away for her before i took my break.”

“you work too hard at a job that pays you too little,” jennie purses her lips, glancing down at your cart before grabbing the handle and pushing it forward, “you can come back and finish it! it’s not like the school is going to fall apart if you don’t put a few books back in the next hour-“

“well, i just- jennie- you’re not authorised to touch the cart-“ you press your lips together when you realise that you probably aren’t going to change her mind (you know you won’t) and put the book in your hand away in its place on the shelf before nodding contently, “okay, fine. we can go for lunch, but i’m coming back early to finish the job-“

“yes, yes, don’t worry, i won’t keep you for long-“ jennie teases, looping her arm through yours as the two of you head back towards the front desk so you can grab your bag, “my favourite food truck is back this week and i was thinking about those chilli oil dumplings the whole time i was in class- i honest to god couldn’t even tell you what we talked about today-“

“ooh, i want chilli oil dumplings!” you gasp, energy levels shooting up at the mention of food, “i’m gonna ask if they can give me an extra container of their dipping sauce… how was class?”

“eh, it was alright,” jennie shrugs with a shoulder, letting go of you so you can dip behind the desk to grab your phone and your wallet from your bag, “kinda hate the fact that i have to take summer classes to catch up on my credits, but whatever-“

“maybe if you spent less time with your tongue down taehyung’s throat all semester, then you wouldn’t have to take summer courses…” you tease lightly, jennie’s cheeks flushing bright red before she rolls her eyes and scoffs, “oh, don’t look at me like that! you know it’s true-“

“you’re just jealous because you’ve been wanting to stick your tongue down jungkook’s throat all semester but you’re too much of a wuss to do anything about it-“

“jennie!”

“you know it’s true-“ jennie mocks, and you scowl before reaching over to pinch her arm playfully, laughing lightly when she wraps her arms around herself and starts to make out with the air, “oh, jungkook, wrap your big, strong arms around me-“

“okay, point taken, you lunatic-“

taehyung and jennie have been dating for the last eight months — they met because jennie’s on the cheerleading squad and taehyung’s on the football team and jungkook is one of his team members — which means that you’ve known of jungkook for the last eight months but yes, it’s true that you’ve been too much of a wuss to do anything about it

can anyone blame you, though?? jungkook is just so, painfully attractive with his lopsided, boyish grin and pretty eyes and structured jawline and you certainly don’t have any complaints about the sleeve of tattoos he has

to be perfectly honest, you think you can keep it pretty cool even when you’re around people you find attractive, but there’s just something about jungkook that makes you uncharacteristically nervous

like clammy palms and cottonmouth and endless rambling level of nervous

you’d just hate to embarrass yourself in front of him because he seems a little too good to be true and it makes you want to present yourself as someone who is also on that level… which, of course, is a lot of pressure and has resulted in you spending the last eight months either hiding behind jennie’s back or sitting on the bleachers scrolling through your phone or thumbing through a book while waiting for her to finish up with taehyung whenever you’re on the field in order to avoid jungkook

you haven’t spoken to him too often, but he smiles at you every time he sees you and you smile back and give a wave if you’re feeling a little more brave

other than that, you really haven’t had many conversations with him

“i just don’t understand why you won’t let taehyung set you guys up on a date,” jennie frowns, “like- you literally have inside access to the man and you’re still not making a move-“

“because if taehyung sets us up, then jungkook will feel obligated to go out with me because i’m his best friend’s girlfriend’s best friend- wait- best friend’s… girlfriend’s… best… friend…“ you pause for a second to make sure you got that right before nodding to yourself, “yeah! and- i don’t know, if the date doesn’t go well, then it’d just be awkward-“

“your wussy nature is holding you back, y/n-“ jennie tsks, and you’re about to defend yourself but you feel your tummy do a flip when you realise that you guys are approaching the field (you usually cut across because it’s a shortcut to the food truck) and you hear the familiar sound of grunting and whistling, “this feels like a canon event, so i’m just gonna let you figure it out… but i’ll tell you right now that jungkook is a hot, hot target for a lot of people on campus and i can literally get you a date in 0.1 seconds, so… just keep that in mind!”

“what do you want from me??” you puff your cheeks out, “he makes me nervous, i can deal with this crush in whichever way i want-“

“baby!”

both you and jennie look over to see taehyung heading over with a bright grin, the man clearly excited to see his girlfriend

“speaking of a very attractive person-“ jennie giggles, waving at him as she unloops her arm with yours and picks up her pace

you stay at the same pace as you follow her trail, keeping a polite smile on your face as you watch your friend run up to the love of her life

“there you are, i was wondering when you’d come around-“ jennie lets out a squeal when taehyung swoops her up in sweaty, damp-jersey hug before plopping her back down on the ground and giving her a kiss, “hi, y/n-“

“hi, taehyung-“ you laugh lightly, nodding towards him in acknowledgement as you stand at an appropriate distance away from the happy couple, “nice to see you again in all your sweaty glory.”

“nice to see you again in all your-“ taehyung gestures to you with a teasing smile, “librarian glory. how’s the summer job treating you?”

“i’m getting paler by the minute and i’m starting to forget how to talk to people like a normal human being.” you joke, “you never stop by!! i’d be more than happy to give you some books to read if you ever take a break from training-“

“respectfully, those books would collect dust on my shelf-“

“we were talking about jungkook earlier-” jennie interrupts taehyung, reaching up to pat his chest with a giggle, “and how much y/n looooves him-”

“jennie…” you can’t help but roll your eyes playfully — as much as you adore jennie, sometimes you just wished she wasn’t as stubborn because once she has her sights set on something, she’ll do practically anything to reach her goal

and her new goal (the previous one was to cuff taehyung, which was an obvious success) is to set you up with jungkook because it’s painfully obvious how huge of a crush you have on him

“oh shit, you wanna say hi to him?” taehyung grins mischievously, turning back slightly to look over his shoulder, “okay, lemme see if i can get your husband’s attention-“

“woah, wait-“ your eyes widen in panic and you lick over your lips before shaking your head frantically, “i don’t- we were just gonna get lunch, i don’t think-“

“yo, kook!” taehyung hollers, holding a hand up before sticking his fingers into his mouth to whistle loudly, “jeon jungkoooook!“ he waves his arm wildly to get jungkook’s attention before stepping aside so that he’s not blocking the view

you feel your entire mouth go dry as soon as taehyung steps aside, your eyes immediately being graced with the sight of a tanned, shirtless jungkook dunking a bottle of ice cold water over the top of his head before shaking it off, tendrils of hair falling perfectly into place as he tosses his head back

he opens his mouth as he pours the last few drops of water into into it before crushing the plastic bottle against his chest with one hand and tossing the flattened piece of plastic into the recycling bin, the bottle bouncing off the rim of the bin before falling into it

jungkook reaches up to run his fingers through his hair as he spins back around and jogs back to join the others, his chest bouncing with every step and oh my god, you need to close your mouth before a fly buzzes right on in

droplets of water seem to glisten against his sun kissed complexion, and you find yourself letting out a breath you didn’t even realise you’d been holding when he turns around and gives you a very generous view of his toned back tapering down into what you can really only describe as a slutty little waist

good lord

“…is he moving in slow motion?” your voice wavers slightly as the question stumbles out of your mouth, and you wouldn’t be surprised if the lenses of your glasses start to fog up because of the heat radiating from your face right now

“jungkook!”

jungkook looks over his shoulder when taehyung calls for him again and you certainly don’t miss the way his biceps flex when he reaches up to adjust the bandana tied around his left arm

“get over here, bro!” taehyung gestures for him to come over and jungkook shoots him a thumbs up

“one sec, lemme dry off!” jungkook responds, pointing over to the benches where all their duffle bags are, “hi, jennie!”

“hi, jungkook!” jennie waves back before holding a hand over her eyes to shield herself from the sun before turning around to look at you, “oh my god, you are so in love with him-“

“oh, i am not-“ your cheeks flush and you shrink down a little, reaching up to rub the back of your neck, “i just- he’s-“

“we’d be honoured to speak at your guys’ wedding, by the way-“ taehyung smirks, and you hate the way that jennie has one to match with his, the two of them very clearly enjoying how much of an effect jungkook has on you

they certainly are the perfect couple

a match made in hell

“hey, guys!”

you quickly stand up a little straighter when you see jungkook jogging over, and you almost wonder if the universe is just testing you today when he slides a raw-hemmed crop top over his head, the cut-off sleeves making his arms look more biteable than they already do, “it’s a beautiful day out, thanks for coming out to say hi-“

“oh, of course! y/n and i were just gonna grab lunch-“

“hey, specs-“ jungkook flashes you the same crooked grin that makes your heart skip multiple beats in your chest and you know it’s only a nickname but you can’t help but feel a little giddy over the fact that he even gave you one in the first place (he complimented your glasses the first time you met), “those new?”

“these?” you reach up to adjust the wire-rimmed oval shaped frames sitting on the bridge of your nose, “yeah, i just- i accidentally sat on my old pair and i figured i’d just get a new set- thought i’d try a different style, so…“

“i like ‘em! very 90s, really cute-“ jungkook reaches over and flicks your glasses upwards a little, grin widening when he sees the blush spread across your cheeks

“thank you!” you clear your throat when your voice cracks a little and you adjust your glasses slightly before offering him a meek little smile, “i like your crop top. also very 90s of you and really cute-“

“you know what else is cute?” jennie interrupts, and you’re about to stop her from saying anything that’s going to embarrass you further (it’s her favourite thing to do and she claims she does it out of love and also to build character), “food, because i am starving. y/n and i were on our way to grab some food — did you boys want anything from the dumpling truck?”

“ooh, maybe grab one of those scallion pancakes for me for after practice??” taehyung swings an arm around jennie’s shoulder, “if i eat one now i’m definitely going to blow chunks mid-tackle.”

“and i’ll be the one having chunks blown on them because we’re partners for tackle practice…” jungkook shudders, crossing his arms over his chest, “i’m good though, thanks for the offer!”

“alright! well, if no one else has anything else to add to this conversation-“ jennie looks over at you and gives you a little look that you know translates to please, for the love of god, make a move only for you to purse your lips and shake your head no, “…okay! one scallion pancake for tae-“

“kook, you got anything to add?” taehyung looks over at jungkook and jungkook shakes his head no as well, frowning a little when taehyung gives him a look that he’s not sure what message is being expressed with, “…okay. one scallion pancake for me, i guess.”

“we’ll let you two get back to it! i’ll see you in a bit, baby-” jennie pops a quick kiss on taehyung’s cheek before joining your side again and looping her arm through yours, “don’t lose too many brain cells during practice!”

“can’t lose any if you didn’t have any to start with-“ jungkook chimes in, dodging a punch on the arm before letting out a cackle and going into a full sprint when taehyung suddenly lunges at him, “see you later, jennie! bye, specs!”

“‘bye, specs-‘“ jennie quotes, nudging your side as the two of you continue your trek, “you can’t tell me you don’t think he’s not a little into you-“

“my theory is that he knows i’m very into him and it makes his ego feel good so he just acts in ways that’ll make me all flustered so that-“

“okay, i’m gonna stop you right there and i’m going to say this out of love and also because i know you and i know the way you think, but i know for a fact that you think jungkook is out of your league and that’s what’s making you shrivel up into such a wimpy little shrimp whenever he’s in close proximity-“

“wha-“

“at the end of the day, jungkook is literally just a man.” jennie tsks, shrugging with one shoulder, “if he doesn’t like you, it would clearly be his loss because you’re a beautiful, loyal, witty, well-educated baddie-“

“you sound like such a cheerleader right now-“

“-but also he very clearly likes you so obviously he has his priorities right and a solid head on his shoulders-“ she spins over to stand in front of you, grabbing both your shoulders and giving you a shake, “stop getting into your own head. he is just a man. if it’s not him, it’s not the end of the world. if you don’t try, the answer is always gonna be no.”

“…i don’t like how well you know me.”

»»————- 🏈 ————-««

you’ve spent so much time in the library this summer that you’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to be in the sun — lucky for you, it was a slow day at the library and one of your co-workers came in a little early before his shift and very generously offered to cover for you, meaning that you could join jennie on the bleachers for lunch and actually sit and bask in the sun inside of buying lunch and hustling back to the library like you usually do

“c’mon, fellas, you can do better than that!”

the sound of the whistle blowing makes you peel an eye open as you look down towards the field, a smile twitching at the corner of your mouth when you hear taehyung letting out a groan before collapsing dramatically on the floor

your eyes wander over to jungkook, watching as he readjusts his bandana around his head to keep the hair out of his eyes

he claps his hands together and crouches down slightly before gesturing for taehyung to come at him, his eyebrows scrunched in concentration and his jaw clenched slightly

“are you listening to me or are you too busy drooling over jungkook?”

“i’m listening, i’m listening…” you let out a sigh of contentment, letting warm rays of sun wash over your skin as you lean back against the bleachers with your elbows on the steps and your head tilted back slightly

you swear you’re a good friend and a great listener, but jennie’s been babbling on and on about something for the last ten minutes and you’re starting to zone out a little bit

“i mean, seriously… how hard is it to slap a couple of sentences onto a slide and make it work? this is why i hate group projects, and i especially hate the summer school students because they’re just so damn lazy and no one ever puts in the work and then there’s always one person who ends up having to do everything and everyone still gets credit for it!” jennie scoffs, chewing on her straw with a scowl, “it’s due tomorrow and half of my group mates haven’t uploaded their slides yet-“

“well, didn’t you say you haven’t uploaded yours yet either?” you frown, raising a hand to block the sun from your eyes before squinting a little

jennie pauses, pursing her lips in thought, “…yes, but i’m just waiting to see what they’re going to do before i upload mine-“

“then maybe they’re doing the same thing and all of you are just wasting each other’s time?” you suggest with a weak shrug, reaching over to pick up your drink and take a sip (it’s a strawberry lemonade slushie and it was the perfect choice for this lovely summer afternoon)

“you know, as my best friend, you’re supposed to have my back and this just feels like a personal attack-“

“jennie, baby!” both you and jennie look out towards the field to see taehyung waving his arms around wildly, “check it out, check out how far i can throw the ball! i’m gonna get it right into the goal, you watch me-” he backs up a few steps before drawing his right arm back and throwing the football in one sharp-

“mine!” jungkook leaps up into the air all of a sudden and catches it swiftly, hugging the football to his chest before dashing off into a sprint towards the goal posts, “lunch is on you if i get this goal-“

“what the-“ taehyung’s eyes widen in surprise, “you little shit, get back here!” he snaps, chasing after him and pouncing on his back before jungkook can get to the goal

the two of them tumble to the ground, jungkook letting out a grunt as he lets go of the football and lets it roll away

“you so did that just to get y/n’s attention.” taehyung huffs, wincing as he stares up at the sky, “jesus, i am not made for tackling, i have no idea how i made it onto the team-“

“because you’re the fastest runner and- also, i did not do that just to get y/n’s attention-“

“okay, mr. quarterback, your job is to throw or hand the ball off and i just find it funny that you stopped practicing that as soon as you realised y/n was in the bleachers- there are other ways to get her attention.”

“i wasn’t doing it for attention!” jungkook props himself up onto his elbows with a frown before pursing his lips and tilting his head a little, “…is she looking at us, though?”

“she’s talking to jennie.” taehyung snorts, getting back up onto his feet and picking the ball up before holding a hand out for jungkook, “you wanna get her attention? because i have a little idea.”

“what’s your- taehyung, wait-“

“did you still wanna watch barbie together this weekend?” you turn to look over at jennie as you bring your cup back up to your mouth for a sip (your drink is starting to turn into a warm, strawberry lemonade syrupy soup and it’s not very pleasant), “or are you seeing that with tae?”

“well, i was thinking we could actually do a little double date situation if you’re up to it…” jennie grins, reaching over to swat your knee, “it’s a movie date! it’s like two hours of being in a dark room with jungkook sitting next to you and you won’t have to make conversation, you’re gonna be fine-“

“well yeah, but then after the movie’s over we’re probably gonna go get food and-“

“incoming!”

“wha- oh!” you yelp in surprise when a football lands on you out of nowhere, the cap on your drink popping open and subsequently making you spill it on yourself as you get up frantically, “oh, god…” you set your cup down on the metal steps as you look down at your soaked tank top and jeans, the sweet-sticky fragrance of strawberry lemonade invading your nostrils

“aw, it’s on my bag!” jennie scowls, looking at the two droplets of pink staining the cream of her tote bag with a frown, “this artificial pink is gonna take forever to wash out-“

“yeah, tell me about it-“ you wince, shaking your hands off as you continue analysing the mess

it’s quite literally all over your tank top and lap and you don’t have a spare top or pants with you, so the only plan you have right now is to book it to the campus bookstore and buy an overpriced t-shirt

you hate to admit it but it looks like you pissed your pants big time, so maybe you’ll have to buy a pair of overpriced basketball shorts too

“are you fucking kidding me??? that was your idea of- oh my god, you dumbass-” jungkook snaps, turning to look at taehyung incredulously before sprinting over to the bleachers

“hey, it got her attention!”

jungkook wipes his clammy hands on his jersey as he dashes up the steps two at a time until he gets to you and jennie, feeling his cheeks burn slightly when he sees you standing there soaked in your drink and obviously not knowing what to do

“shit, y/n, i’m sorry-“ jungkook bends down to pick up the football before it can roll down the steps, “i’m so sorry, i was supposed to catch that but taehyung’s aim seems to be a little off this afternoon-“ he turns his head for a second to shoot a glare at taehyung, who is very leisurely making his way up the stairs as if he didn’t just pelt you with a football and make you waste your drink

“i’m fine! don’t worry about it, i’m fine-“ you laugh lightly, shaking your hands off and peeling your tank top from your stomach slightly, already feeling gross from how sticky everything is against your skin, “good throw, tae-“

“thank you! i have to say it was one of my best throws, if i’m being honest.” taehyung wiggles his brows, plucking the ball from jungkook’s arm before swooping down to give jennie a kiss, “you two enjoying the sun?”

“we were, until that happened-“ jennie reaches up to pinch taehyung’s cheek, “your aim must be horrible if the football landed in the bleachers.” she raises an eyebrow and gives him a look that tells him that she knows he did that on purpose, because of course he would do something like this on purpose

“i have a spare jersey and shorts in my bag, i can go get that for you right now-“

“oh, jungkook, you really don’t have to do-“ you don’t get a chance to finish before jungkook is dashing down the steps and you puff your cheeks out before looking down at yourself again, “i… should probably go rinse this off-“

“rinsing that off in the sink isn’t going to get the pink out.” taehyung snorts, “i’ve had that strawberry lemonade before. the pink food-dye they use is potent. if you took an x-ray right now, all of your organs would be neon pink-”

“great, that’s great to know- lemme head to the washroom now-“

“i’ll come with-“ jennie’s ears prickle slightly when she hears the familiar sound of the sprinklers turning on (they’ve turned on automatically many times whenever the squad is practicing on the field) and a lightbulb appears at the top of her head before her lips turn up in a devious grin, “there is a faster way to clean you off, actually. tae, can you go check on the spare clothes for y/n?”

taehyung narrows his eyes slightly before nodding slowly, turning on his heel and hopping down the steps to go back to jungkook

“you think i should go to the changing rooms instead to take a shower?” you sigh, wincing as you squeeze out excess pink syrup from your shirt and let it drip onto the concrete

and now you got some on your shoes too, so that’s just great

“well, the changing rooms are too far!“ jennie’s tone is suspiciously cheery, and before you know it she has a firm grip on your wrist is yanking you down the steps like her own little ragdoll before she whips around the corner under the archway

“what are you doing?” you frown, watching as she unravels the massive hose and makes sure the nozzle is on securely

“jungkook’s bringing you a change of clothes anyway, so i’m sure you won’t mind if i-“

you barely process what the hell is going on before you’re suddenly being blasted with a hose, another yelp of surprise slipping past your lips before you hold your arms up to dodge the aggressive spray of water directly aimed at you

“jennie!”

“you know, the next time you have an idea, i’d really appreciate if you ran it by me first before being a dickhead and launching a football right at someone-“

“well, it got her attention, didn’t it? and now she’s about to wear your clothes, so like- i don’t really see what the big issue is here.” taehyung sighs, standing with his hands on his hips as jungkook digs through his duffle bag for his spare set of clothes

he only has one set so he’s not sure what he’s going to wear after practice today, but maybe he can get away with spraying himself with a lot of deodorant after he takes a nice hot shower

or he could steal taehyung’s clothes considering the fact he caused the spillage in the first place

“you could’ve hurt them or something! what if that football had landed on her head and given her a concussion?”

“you clearly underestimate my impeccable aim. if i wanted to knock y/n out, i would’ve knocked her ass out in one shot-“ taehyung scoffs, walking alongside jungkook as the two of them start trudging across the field back towards where you and jennie are

“and where am i even supposed to go from here, huh?” jungkook frowns, “ooh, she spilled her drink all over herself and now she has to wear my clothes-“

“clothes that she’ll have to return to you at some point, prompting another sweet but heinously short conversation between the two of you- do you even realise how frustrating it is for me, as your best friend, to watch you clearly be into a girl and not know how to act around her when you could literally cough and make, like, ten people cream their pants-“

“eugh- hate that imagery-“

“well, it’s true!”

“nobody is going to cream their- what the-” jungkook stops in his tracks and holds a hand out to stop taehyung when they get close enough to see jennie literally hosing you down

“there you go, girl!” jennie laughs, raising the hose upwards so that the water is raining down on you, “get into it! get that strawberry lemonade outta your clothes-“

jungkook watches slack-jawed as you run both hands through your hair to slick it back, your tank top glued and scrunched up to the upper half of your abdomen and oh my god, you have a little tattoo on your hip and that is insanely attractive to him

“wait, this was actually such a good idea!” you grin, tilting your head up and clearly enjoying the water raining down on you, “helps with the heat, too-“

“see? all you have to do is listen to me and you’ll be happy!” jennie lowers the pressure of the water so that it turns into a light mist and you let out a laugh, swiping the water off your face before looking down to see if the stains are out of your clothes

“holy shit.” jungkook whispers to himself, his grip squeezing and loosening around the clothes he has fisted in his hand

his entire mouth has gone dry and all of a sudden he also feels the need to be blasted with some cold water to snap out of it

“is my mascara running?”

“yeah, but it’s giving, like, sexy raccoon, you know?”

“you might wanna put that away, bud.” jungkook grunts as taehyung jabs his elbow into his side and he turns his head to frown at him

“ow- what are you talking about?”

the smile grows on taehyung’s face before he presses his lips together to hold it back, “i’m talking about the fact that if you turned to face me right now you would jab me in the thigh.”

“jab you in the-“ jungkook looks down, eyes widening and the blood immediately draining from his face (obviously, because all the blood is heading down south) before he hands the spare clothes over to tae and yanks the towel off his shoulder to cover himself up, “oh my god, fuck-“

»»————- 🏈 ————-««

“bye bye, you two!”

“thank you for the clothes, jungkook! i’ll wash them before i give them back to you-“

“no problem! bye… bye…” jungkook waves at you and jennie as the two of you walk off, reaching for his water bottle blindly as a fond smile sits on his face

you look awfully cute in his clothes, that’s all

“you looooooove y/n,” taehyung sings, snatching the water bottle from him with a laugh, “you love her you love her you love her you-“

“oh, cut it out-“ jungkook scowls, reaching for another bottle of water from the pack and twisting the cap off with a crack, “you don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“yeah, alright, specs.” taehyung snorts, rolling his eyes playfully, “remind me again why you haven’t asked her out yet? you know she’s into you. and you’re clearly into her.”

“i just-“ jungkook clears his throat quietly before taking a small sip of water, “i don’t know… flirting is fun and short and easy and i’m just… worried that maybe she won’t like me as much when we’re together and alone for like, three hours on a date.”

“are you nervous to go out with y/n?” taehyung asks incredulously, eyes widening in what seems to be a mixture of shock and joy, “are you shitting me right now? jeon jungkook is scared to ask someone out on a date because he’s worried they won’t like him-“

“it’s a legitimate fear! i’m allowed to be anxious about it-“

“i never said you weren’t allowed to be anxious about it, i’m just saying that you’re jeon jungkook and you have people lining up for you around the block twenty four hours of the day, seven days a week!” taehyung gives him a hearty slap on the back before swooping an arm around his shoulder and forcing him to turn towards the bleachers, “you think those girls over there are here to actually sit and have lunch?”

jungkook looks over at the clusters of girls scattered around the bleachers, each friend group chatting away and picking at their lunches

“well, they’re not just here for me,” jungkook shakes his head, gesturing to the guys all over the field, “it’s a fuckin’ sausage fest out here, they’re here for everyone-“

“but you’re the only one who can fulfil the hot quarterback boyfriend fantasy.” taehyung jabs a finger into his chest with a grin before reaching down to pat his bare abdomen, “and you’re one of the only single guys left. you’re the belle of the ball, baby.”

jungkook looks back over at the people on the bleachers, shooting the girls a friendly smile and a nod of acknowledgement when he notices them staring at them

they burst into fits of giggles, jungkook tilting his head with a cheeky grin and shaking his head again

he doesn’t know if this is going to be douchebaggy of him to think, but he likes making people flustered!! it’s always fun to see their reactions

he likes making you flustered in particular, because there’s just something about your reaction that’s just so damn adorable

sometimes you roll your eyes, sometimes you snort, sometimes you avert your gaze immediately and rub the back of your neck — but he loves the way your eyes widen slightly before your cheeks get rosy

“y/n’s really cool. she’s beautiful, she’s smart, she’s funny, she’s educated, she can hold a conversation-“ taehyung clicks his tongue, “and she has that sexy librarian thing going on if you’re into that- which, by the way, is something that jennie told me to mention to you whenever i try to market y/n off to you-“

“i know she is!” jungkook nods, “and i know she does, and i’m definitely into it, i just- ah, i don’t know. maybe i should ask her out.”

“maybe, maybe not…” taehyung raises an eyebrow, “no pressure! it’s whatever if you decide not to, because i can hook y/n up with namjoon or something-“

“hey, hey, no need for such drastic measures,” jungkook frowns, reaching over to give taehyung a punch on the arm, “…alright, fine. i’ll ask her out.”

»»————- 🏈 ————-««

“so, you’re going to find that in the historical fiction aisle-“ you lean over the counter a little and point to the back, “it’s all the way in the back right to your left. you can’t miss it, the label’s going to be right on the front of the bookshelf.”

“alright, thank you so much.”

“no problem, let me know if you need any help finding anything else.” you smile politely, reaching up to adjust your frames before turning back to look at- “jungkook!”

your eyes widen in surprise and you’re suddenly happy that edna asked you to stay at the front desk to help people when she already knows you always prefer the lowkey jobs

you haven’t seen jungkook in about a week and a bit (you’ve been pretty busy at the library and there’s just not enough time in your lunch breaks to make the long journey across the football field) but you’re pleasantly surprised to see him here

though… it is just the two of you now, without taehyung and jennie as buffers, so… good luck?

“hey, specs,” jungkook flashes you a lopsided grin before looking around, shoving both his hands into the pockets of his varsity jacket, “god, it’s cold in here, no wonder you’re always wearing jeans in the dead of summer.”

“oh, yeah-“ you snort, looking down at your jeans, “i- well, we have to keep the library at a certain temperature because it’s good for the books but- i’m sure you’re not here to listen to me talking about how to keep books in pristine condition- did taehyung give you your clothes back? thank you so much for lending them to me, by the way. you’re a lifesaver.”

“yeah, yeah! no worries, hah- sorry i, uh- disappeared for a bit, i just… had to help coach with something, so i gave the clothes to tae and… yeah.” jungkook clears his throat and averts his gaze when you offer him a smile

“so… can i help you find anything?”

“well, i actually-“ jungkook chokes a little when he looks back up to see you looking right at him, your pretty eyes sparkling behind your glasses as your lashes bat ever so slightly, “first i just wanted to say sorry again for the slushie incident, i guess i just underestimated how far taehyung could throw a ball-“

“oh, god, really, don’t worry about it-“

“okay! in that case, i- uh… i just wanted to…” jungkook doesn’t know why his brain always seems to blank out at the most inconvenient of times but he supposes it’s a character development thing, “book!”

…

book.

he feels himself deflate slightly at how much of a himbo he’s probably making himself seem and he puffs his cheeks out as he thinks about how the hell he can recover from whatever that was

for the record, he’s usually very good at asking people out

like, very good

he’s just a little out of his element!!! the library is your territory and he doesn’t know if he’s being too loud or if he should speak louder and also there’s a queue forming behind him so now he’s just anxious and he feels like he’s wasting everyone’s time and also if you say no that’s just going to be flat out embarrassing and the people behind him are probably going to tell their friends that there was a guy at the library who asked the front desk girl out and she said no and i felt kinda bad for him and-

“you wanted to… book?” you repeat, the corners of your mouth turning up in a slight smile, “well, you’re certainly in the right place for that.”

“actually, i didn’t want to book- i mean, i didn’t want a book, i wanted to ask you something-“

“oh, sure! you’re also in the right place for that-“ you gesture to where you’re standing behind the desk with a light laugh, “what can i help you with?”

“do you wanna watch the barbie movie with me this weekend?” jungkook forces the question out before he chickens out, and he stands up a little straighter to feign confidence, “with me… and tae and jennie, because they wanted to watch it too. but we don’t have to share our popcorn and nachos with them, they can get their own snacks.”

jungkook counts one, two, three seconds before he decides that you are definitely about to turn him down, and he automatically starts sorting through the many lines of dialogue in his brain in response to your inevitable rejection

no worries, have a good one!

okay, goodbye!

anyways, book time for me!

“yes!” you respond almost as soon as he’s about to open his mouth and take his offer back (thank god), and jungkook tries to hide his excitement but it’s hard when he sees that you’re also trying your best to hide the megawatt smile creeping its way onto your face, “i- no, yeah, that would be great! i was gonna go regardless but being the third wheel is never fun, so it’d be fun to go with… you. and jennie and taehyung.”

jungkook gives himself a mental pat on the back, feeling himself revert back into his normal, confident ways all of a sudden

aha

you said yes

you like him (and he likes u)

nice

“oh, sick! alright, cool-“ jungkook clears his throat, nodding to himself, “yeah, cool, cool. okay, then i guess i will see you… this weekend. or whatever.”

“or whatever.” you tease, shrugging with one shoulder, “sounds good, jungkook.”

“okay, well- practice starts in a bit so- see ya, specs-“ jungkook raises his arm to wave only to realise his hand is still in his pocket, and he quickly yanks it out to give you a proper wave as he heads towards the doors

he lets out a breath of relief, his shoulders loosening up a little and he nods to himself with a proud smile

“that wasn’t as bad as i thought it’d be.” taehyung chirps right as jungkook walks out the doors, bending down to swoop his bag up off the ground and hand it back to him, “that was worse than i thought it was going to be. jesus christ, man. what the hell was that??”

“hey, she still said yes!” jungkook frowns, feeling his face turning red from humiliation because he doesn’t even know what the hell that was

if the roles were reversed he would fully be laughing his ass off at taehyung too

“she must really be into you if she said yes to watching the barbie movie with me and tae and jennie and they can get their own snacks and-“ taehyung laughs, “my god, it’s like you left all your rizz at the front door-“

“she said yes and that’s all that matters!”

🎙️ tease jungkook and y/n for both being little wussies (talk to my characters!)

📚 why not explore the rest of the library while you're here? (full fics!)

💫 or perhaps you want something shorter to read? (drabbles and mini series!)

🌟 or something even shorter? (teeny tidbits!)

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bluehoodiewoozi · 1 year ago

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Seventeen as fake dating scenarios

⟪‘95 + ‘96 line version⟫

other versions: ⟪‘97 + ‘98 + '99 line version⟫

SEUNGCHEOL: saving you from unwanted attention.

You weren’t entirely sure what had possessed you to come to this club that night. It’s not that you didn’t like parties. Rather, you had heard plenty of disturbing rumours about this part of town. And yet, here you were, at the bar, nervously sipping your drink while trying to keep an eye out for your friends.

“Come here often, pretty lady?” came a question from your right, along with a breath that smelled of all kinds of alcohol and freshly smoked tobacco. You willed yourself not to cringe.

“I’m not here to talk to guys like you,” you said and tried to walk away.

He caught your wrist in his hand, pulling you back. “Now, now, no need to be rude. How about I buy you a drink?”

Instead of even considering humouring him, you wondered if anyone would hear you scream over the booming volume of the music. Luckily, you wouldn’t have to.

Your wrist was pulled free from his grasp at a moment’s notice. A broad-shouldered man stood between you and the guy, towering over his seated form, practically oozing with annoyance. “How about you stop hitting on my girl?”

Hold on. Your eyes widened.

He turned to you and offered his hand, smiling kindly before sending you a conspiratory wink. “Let’s go, darling. You said you’d save me a dance before we went home.”

You breathed out, trying your best to not alert the other – possibly much worse – guy. “Right. Let’s go.”

As he led you towards the dance floor, his hand hold yours ever so gently, he told you, “I’m sorry for doing that. You must be scared. I just worried he’d do something to you if I didn’t intervene.”

He seemed nice and attractive enough, you decided after a moment of thought. “Alright. I demand a dance as an apology.”

JEONGHAN: swindling your way through a stupid bet

“Listen, if you do me this favour, I’ll split the money with you, 50/50.”

You should’ve never taken that offer. Not from Yoon Jeonghan. It was taking every ounce of your self-control to not slap his hand every time it came to rest on your waist. You despised this man and everything he did and said and thought. Was 100 bucks worth it?

“Are you guys going to the festival this weekend?” Mingyu wondered, eyeing you two suspiciously. As your best friend, he was more than sceptical and you couldn’t even blame him.

“Of course! My darling is so excited to go see BTOB live. Right, my darling?”

A pinch at your waist reminded you to smile a little nicer and when you turned to “smile” at Jeonghan, you glared at him instead, warning him silently. Two could play that game. Through gritted teeth, you spoke, “Of course. I can’t wait. I hope they perform our song.”

“Our song?”

“Your song?” Mingyu blinked. “You guys have a song? What is it?”

You smiled as innocently as you could, daring Jeonghan to pull you into his shenanigans again. “Yeah, what song is it, my love?”

You were sure every person within a mile of you could hear the gears turning in Jeonghan’s head as he tried to think of a song? “Right. Our song.”

Mingyu’s eyebrows rose in suspicion. “That being?”

Jeonghan relaxed back into his seat. “Of course it’s Movie. (Y/n) and I love to dance to that song. It was our first dance.”

“That’s not a particularly cute song.” Mingyu’s suspicions were rising.

You reminded yourself that there was 100 bucks on the line and said, “Well, we’re not a particularly cutesy couple. I think Movie suits us: it’s fun!”

“Right! And we always—“ you could feel Jeonghan’s venomous glare as he spoke, “–have so much fun.”

JOSHUA: fake proposal for free dessert

“Do you think they offer free dessert for proposals?”

Joshua caught on quickly, already reaching into his pocket. “Supposedly. Or so I’ve read from about a hundred online reviews. Do you want to or shall I?”

“Rock, paper, scissors?” you suggested and he agreed. A quick game determined that you were the winner.

Joshua sighed and let out a soft whine. “But I’m wearing my good pants.”

“Don’t you dare slack,” you warned him. “I expect a proper proposal, one knee and all.”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine, but the dessert better be good. And!” He lifted a finger to point it at you almost accusingly. “If you even try to do the “but what about your wife and kids” thing again, I will make sure you'll live to regret it.”

“Oh, come on!” You laughed. “It was one time and I agreed eventually, did I not?”

“Yeah, after embarrassing me.”

“But the waiter gave you even more dessert for your embarrassment,” you pointed out. “So if anything, you kind of owe me.”

“This is the last time I do this with you. Only because I doubt anyone would ever propose to you in any other context.”

“Oh, ouch. Just break my heart while you’re at it.”

JUNHUI: partnering up for amusement park rides

“I’m just saying, you’re lonely, I’m lonely, most rides require people to pair up. I don’t know about you, but I’d prefer not to pair up with a complete stranger for every ride.”

He contemplated. “… I hate that you’re kind of right.”

“Okay, perfect. So we’re best friends, going to rides together. Cool?”

“Cool.”

It was not cool. While waiting in line for the newest roller coaster, a sweet middle-aged lady with her daughter tapped on your shoulder to ask you, “You guys are just adorable! How long have you guys been a couple?”

“We’re not—”

"It’s our anniversary today,” Junhui piped up before you could finish your sentence. Your brain completely froze like a 2002 Dell laptop trying to run Minecraft.

Your lack of reaction didn’t stop him. His arm wrapped around you snuggly as he made up an elaborate back-story about how you met while volunteering at a cat shelter and how he asked you out and how he had asked you to move in this morning – none of which was even remotely close to a truth.

“Why would you make all that up?” you asked him as the ride was about to start. “Are you insane?”

He grimaced. “I panicked! Besides – it got us a ride ticket for free, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, because the staff think we’re celebrating our anniversary.”

“Then complain less and remember your back-story. Who knows what other discounts we could get if we keep this up.”

It was then that you realised that you had created a monster.

SOONYOUNG: fake dating to avoid an arranged marriage

“Your Highness, you can’t keep dodging marriage proposals like this. I doubt your parents care that you’re ‘dating’–” he drew air quotes around the word “–the royal pet caretaker.”

“Well, it seems to be working well enough,” you pointed out and affectionately rested your chin against his shoulder as your mother – the queen – passed by the opened doors of the room. You glared after her. “I don’t understand why they want me to marry so bad. It’s not like I’m heir to the throne.”

“And you never will be if you keep acting like we’re an item.”

“Don’t act like you don’t enjoy it, Soonyoung,” you scolded him playfully and poked his puffed out cheeks.

“I never said I didn’t.”

“Yeah?” You smiled. “You must love all the perks of dating royalty without actually dating royalty.”

He laughed. “Well, I can’t say no to getting an extra dessert after dinner.”

“There’s my boy.” You hummed in thought. “Should we step it up a bit? For more perks for you and less pressure for me?”

“What do you have in mind, Your Highness?”

“First, stop calling me Your Highness,” he grimaced at the idea, “and second, we have to show them we’re serious about this. We have to step up our game.”

“What exactly do you have in mind, princess?”

You smirked just as you heard your mother’s voice coming closer again. “Kiss me.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice – whether it was out of his own free will or because this was a royal order, you would never know.

WONWOO: a cover story for an investigation

“I just don’t think that’s right,” Wonwoo said while staring at the board, his brows furrowed in concentration. “What would be her motive?”

“I don’t know. Money?” you suggested between flipping through the pages of the report you'd been sent. “Maybe she was jealous of her husband’s daughter from the previous marriage and—”

The doorbell rang.

“Please be the pizza guy,” you whispered under you breath but hid the report regardless and rushed to the door. You could never be too careful in this line of work.

Instead, Mrs Yoon – the very woman you had been discussing – smiled at you at the door. “Hi, dear! I just came to check on you; I feel like I haven’t seen you all day!”

You forced on a smile. “Wonwoo and I have just been so busy thinking about how to decorate the house – make it more our own, you know?”

“Oh right! Is your darling husband home too? I wasn’t interrupting, was I?” She winked and you didn’t like the implications behind that. She then leaned over to whisper slyly, “Who knows, maybe you’ll need to decorate a nursery soon.”

You gulped. “Oh, not yet, surely. We’re still—We haven’t even—”

“Darling, who is it?” Wonwoo’s voice sounded like the that of an angel coming to save you from this awkward situation. You breathed out in relief as he added, “Can you come help me move this cupboard?”

“Well,” you smiled apologetically, “it sounds like I’m needed. I’d love to catch up tomorrow though!”

“I’ll see you then, sweetheart!” She left with another wink. You could not have closed the door faster.

“She isn’t catching onto us, is she?” Wonwoo wondered when you returned to him.

You slumped into the sofa. “Nope. If anything, she’s buying our cover a little too well.”

JIHOON: fake dating because he lied to his friends

“I still can’t believe you posted an advertisement for a fake girlfriend,” you mused as you watched him working out.

He scoffed. “I still can’t believe you actually responded to it. What if I was a creep?”

“Fair point.” Not that you’d ever admit that you only responded to the ad because you recognised his name and phone number because you had been harbouring a crush on him this entire year. He never had to know. “So, why are we at the gym? Who are we meeting here?”

“Literally all of my friends that matter. So… I don’t know. How does the whole fake dating thing work?”

“Why are you asking me? You’re the boss.”

“I don’t know. I assumed that because you answered the ad, you must have some experience.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence, but unfortunately, I do not have any experience. I’ll do whatever you need me to. Well—” You paused, ears burning all of a sudden. “Not everything everything. Like, I have boundaries but—”

“Ay-yo, Jihoon!” Soonyoung’s familiar voice filled the gym. “Are you ready to get absolutely shredded and—Oh.” The previously loud tiger turned into a shy hamster. “Hi. Who are you?”

“That’s (Y/n),” Jihoon introduced with a smile that just naturally screamed confidence, “my girlfriend. The one I told you about.”

Soonyoung’s jaw dropped. “Wait, you were serious?! You have a girlfriend?!” He turned to you. “Are you really his girlfriend?”

Jihoon rolled his eyes, earning a short laugh from you. He then walked over and rested his hand on your shoulder, leaning over to kiss your temple. “Baby, meet Soonyoung. He doesn’t get any less annoying than that.”

NOTE: i wrote these as an attempt to get rid of the stupid writer's block i've been dealing with all month lol

#seventeen reaction #seventeen scenarios #svt reactions #seventeen x reader #seungcheol scenarios #jeonghan scenarios #joshua scenarios #junhui scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #soonyoung scenarios #jihoon scenarios

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softhairedhotch · 1 year ago

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AHHHH FIRST FIC OF COMFORTEMBER YEAHHHH >:D comfortember day one: safe aaron hotchner x gender neutral reader after having a rough night out, you call aaron and he rushes to find you immediately. he fixes you up and the two of you finally admit how you feel about each other. word count: 1.5k warnings/content: mentions of fighting and alcohol but mostly fluff.

comfortember masterlist here! also on ao3 <3

you make me feel safe

Aaron wakes up to the sound of his phone ringing beside him. It gets to the fourth or fifth ring by the time he grabs it and anxiety bubbles low in his gut when he realises it’s you calling at almost three in the morning. Answering the phone, he immediately asks, “Is everything alright?”

“No.”

He’s up and out of bed instantly, throwing on the first shirt he finds and the closest shoes to the bed. “Tell me where you are.”

“I’m at, uh, I don’t, I’m… somewhere. My mind is all over the place.”

Aaron’s heart hammers widely in his chest. “Somewhere? Can you look around for me and see if you recognise something? Anything?”

“Okay,” you reply, voice shaky. After a few moments, you clear your throat. “I’m outside the bar we all went to a few weeks ago.”

“The Tipsy Ship? The one closest to work?”

“Y-yeah, yeah.”

Aaron grabs his keys and runs out of his house, not even thinking about locking the door as he runs toward his car. Jack is sleeping over at JJ's; the house will be fine unattended for now. “I’m on my way. Are you hurt?”

“I think so.”

“You think–” Aaron stops to take a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment before shoving his phone into its holder and slamming his car door shut. “Don’t worry, I’m on my way.”

“Can you stay on the line with me?”

“Of course.”

***

When Aaron reaches the bar, his heart breaks at the sight of you standing alone outside. He tenses up once he notices that, not only are you alone, but dry blood covers your face, there’s a large bruise forming on your cheek, and the knuckles of your dominant hand are cracked and bloody. “God,” he mutters, running straight for you and grabbing you by the shoulders. He can smell an overpowering scent of alcohol on you and he winces. “What happened? Where’s the bastard that did this to you?”

You point toward an ambulance down the road. “The coward freaked out when I punched him back and thought he needed medical attention. Most they’re gonna diagnose him with is Dumbassery and Stupid Prick Disease.” You look back at Aaron and weakly smile. “And maybe a concussion.”

Aaron can’t help it, he laughs. “At least you haven't lost your sense of humour. But let's get you home and cleaned up, alright?”

“Can I go to yours? I don’t really wanna be alone right now.”

He smiles. “Of course you can.”

***

Aaron holds a wet cloth to your face, reaching out to grab your chin between his fingers gently when you flinch away. “Sorry, sorry.”

“It’s cold, is all.”

“Sorry,” he repeats, gently dabbing away the dried blood under your nose and the corner of your lips. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

“I got into a fight.”

“I can see that.”

You shrug, stumbling on your feet at the movement. Aaron gently grabs you by your elbow and shuffles you toward the kitchen counter so that you’re leaning against it for support. Once you’re stable, he begins to dab the other side of the cloth over your knuckles. “It was stupid, really.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“I know,” you sigh. It’s quiet for a few moments as you watch Aaron continue to clean up the blood. “He… the guy who punched me… I was on a date with him.” Aaron tenses. “And he kept buying me drinks and told me I had to drink them. I did because, well, free drinks, y’know?” You sigh and shake your head again, letting out a groan when it results in pain. “So stupid of me.”

“Hey, none of that. You’re not stupid.”

“Whatever you say. Anyway, I think he was trying to make sure I was drunk enough so that he could take me home without much complaint. I don’t know. I refused because I really wasn’t in the, uh, mood, and the night was a bust anyway, and he started… tryna touch me, grab me and all that, his hands were everywhere and I didn’t want them to be and…” You stop to take a few deep breaths, feeling sick at the thought of what could have happened. Aaron feels anger rip through his veins. “Anyway, he ended up punching me and I guess he wasn’t expecting me to punch back.”

Aaron grits his teeth. "Twice as hard, yeah?"

"Twice as hard," you grin.

“Good. That’s what I expect to hear.”

You tilt your head at him, trying to read his expression. “You’re not mad at me?”

Confused, his eyes meet yours. “Why would I be mad at you?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, watching as his large hand moves over yours, his thumb gently sweeping over your skin. “I woke you up.”

“You woke– You– That’s what you’re worried about?” He gives you a fond look. “Yes, you woke me up. But I’m glad you did. Thank you for calling me. And for trusting me to help you.”

“I don’t think I trust anyone more than I trust you.”

Aaron’s hand stills as the words sink in. When he looks up at you, he notices that you’re staring at him with so much love that his breath catches in his throat. He hasn’t been looked at like that in… he can’t even remember. But when he thinks about it, eyes never leaving yours as you blink innocently at him, not understanding his revelation at that moment, he realises it’s the way you’ve always looked at him. With complete and utter adoration.

As if he hung the moon and the stars.

“Oh,” is all he can get out.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Oh.”

Your face falls and he feels guilt grow deep in his gut. “You don’t trust me back?”

“What? I never said that.” He steps closer, moving a hand to your shoulder and looking into your eyes. “Of course I trust you. More than most people. More than anyone else, really.”

“Really?”

His eyes search yours and he nods firmly, squeezing your shoulder. “Really.”

You look all over his face before looking down at his lips, licking your own as your mouth immediately goes dry. “I didn't want… I… I didn't go home with that guy because of, uh, well, you. I couldn’t stop thinking of you... when I was with him.”

Aaron hums as his gaze drops to your lips. “That’s why I don’t go on dates.”

“Hm?”

“Because I can’t stop thinking about you either.” He inches closer, moving a warm hand up to cup your cheek. “Can I kiss y–"

“Yea–"

And your lips are pressed together before either of you can finish. The kiss is soft, sweet, gentle, and full of so much raw emotion that it’s almost suffocating (in the best way). Aaron moves his lips against yours desperately, holding your face in his large calloused hands as if you might break at any moment, and you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer. The moment your tongue brushes against his bottom lip, though, he pulls back with a heavy sigh. “Shit, you’re drunk. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I’m totally taking advantage of you and–”

“Aaron.”

“I should know better and–”

“Aaron!”

“You should feel safe here–”

You press your lips against his again, effectively shutting him up. It’s a much shorter kiss this time, but not any less enjoyable. “I do feel safe, Aaron. Here, with you.”

“You do?”

“Of course. You make me feel safe; you always have.”

He visibly relaxes and pulls you into a hug. “So have you.” He sighs against you, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “I like being with you.”

“I like being with you too, Aaron.”

He smiles against you and holds you for a moment more before pulling back, hands still wrapped around you. His heart breaks at the sight of the dark bruise forming on your face and he leans forward to press a tender kiss against the skin, careful not to hurt you in any way. “I wonder how long we’ve liked each other.”

“I fell in love with you the moment I saw you, I think.”

Aaron’s breath hitches at the admission. “You’re in love with me?”

You tilt your head at him, fighting back a smile. “Did I not make that obvious enough?”

“I… didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

“Well, get them up, Hotchner, because I’m in love with you, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Aaron’s face softens and he presses a kiss to your cheek, sighing in relief. “I’m in love with you, too.” He runs his hands lovingly over your back. “Now let’s get you changed into some comfortable clothes and into bed, yeah? It seems like we have a lot to talk about tomorrow.”

“Can I sleep in your bed with you?”

He presses another kiss to your cheek. “There’s no other place I’d rather you be, sweetheart.”

tag list: @criminalskies @ssahotchnerr @hotchs-big-hands @citrusiove @sillyhotchsgirl

lemme know if you wanna be tagged in future fics

#RAHHHHHH SO EXCITED TO POST THIS #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x gender neutral reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fluff #cas writes #criminal minds #comfortember 2023 #comfortember #writing events

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courfee · 5 months ago

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@jegulus-microfic | july 11 - essential | wc 519

“I think I’m a bad person.” James looks at his hands, fingers knitted together, untangling, pinching the skin of his palms, tangling together again. Red spots, white knuckles.

The silence stretches on for too long. He doesn’t dare look up when he tries again. The silence should be answer enough anyway. “Do you think I’m a bad person?”

“James...”

“Do you?”

Regulus sighs, a small disturbance of the windless night. James wishes he could feel it. The air is too still, holding him too tight. Motionless.

“You do...” James answers for Regulus. Of course he does. If James thinks it, Regulus must too.

“You should talk to the others again.”

“I don’t know how.” It hurts. It also doesn’t feel like anything. Just a hole in his chest, quietness like the darkness around him. “I don’t know how to be a person right now. I don’t know how to be around them.” He’s failing them all. He’s supposed to be there with them, supposed to be a good friend, but he’s not even being a good person right now. Barely a person at all.

“They won’t mind, you know they won’t. They don’t expect you to always be the perfect friend, sometimes it’s enough to just be there. It’s what you tell Sirius all the time.”

“It’s different for me. It doesn’t count when it’s me.”

A quiet laugh from Regulus. “Still so self absorbed that you think the same rules don’t apply to you?”

It’s for James to be silent. He doesn’t want to think about it.

When Regulus breaks the silence again all traces of his humour are gone. “You need to get out of this, James. You need to talk to someone.”

“I’m talking to you.”

“I don’t count.”

James flinches. “Don’t say that.”

“James.” His voice is gentle. “You know I don’t count.”

James shakes his head vehemently. He doesn’t want to hear it. Doesn’t believe it. Refuses to believe it. It’s the one essential thing he’s ignored for ... he doesn’t think about it.

“Ignoring it won’t change it.”

“I don’t care.”

Silence.

“I don’t care,” James repeats desperately.

More silence, until finally, “I do think you’re a bad person.” It’s a whisper. The quiet movement of words through the air. This time James thinks he can feel it, a coldness caressing his bare skin, biting on his bones. “You’re hurting them.”

“I’m trying not to, I’m trying.”

“That’s how you’re hurting them.” James thinks he can hear Regulus move away from him. He still refuses to look up. “You need to talk to them.”

“Regulus...”

“You need to talk to someone who’s not me.”

“Don’t do this to me, please.” He tries not to look up, tries to keep his eyes on his hands where he doesn’t have to see the way Regulus looks right now.

“James,” Regulus says, and this time James knows he can feel it. It moves the night, strong enough it tears the air out of his lungs. A finality. “You need to stop talking to yourself.”

When he looks up the wind slowly pushes a cloud over the stars.

#dont ask me what happened here #i couldnt tell you anyway #jegulus #marauders #my writing #jegulus microfic #mine #Hp #marauders microfic #jegulus fanfiction #james potter x regulus black

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vervainandspritz · 6 days ago

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CAN YOU HEAR ME SCREAMING?—please, don't leave me

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Request by @goblinjnr

Warnings: hurt/comfort, mentions of death, grieving, angst, suicide

A/N: it's very fucking sad so beware

Her eyes shut tight as her husband pressed a loving kiss onto her lips. Y/N's body involuntarily relaxing into his hands, causing Tommy to smile through the kiss.

”Mrs. Shelby, are you cold? I can see goosebumps on your skin” He teased, leaning forward as he grazed the skin of her neck with his nose, causing her to let out a sigh.

”Very funny” She responded, pinching his side lightly with a grin. ”That's what happens to a woman when her husband finally decides to put business away and give her affection instead.” Her voice was also teasing, as her own gaze completely drowned in his intense blue orbs.

Pulling her even closer, Tommy's nose brushed against hers in a promise of a kiss.

”So I'll have to consider doing this more often.”

Leaving last, strong kiss on her lips Tommy took a step back.

”Do what you have to, and come find me.” Y/N asked, squeezing his hand lightly, her expression relaxed and almost dreamy seeing him in such a good humour.

Bowing lightly, Thomas answered.

”Don't go too far, I'll join you soon.” His voice had an undertone of worry to it, his eyes becoming slightly more cloudy at the obvious allusion.

Giving him a weak nod, Y/N agreed, understanding exactly what he meant.

Don't go anywhere on your own, it's dangerous

Turning around, Thomas slowly walked back to his office, his steps echoing throughout the corridor as the warmth of their lovely encounter disappeared under the weight of reality.

Y/N let out a sharp breath, her heart picking up speed as her hand fell to her belly, causing more internal pain than anything. The mask she had to wear around him was becoming heavier with each passing day.

But she couldn't tell him. Not when the prognosis were so hopeful the last time they visited the hospital together. Not after seeing him gain back the spark he lost for so long.

Letting out a sharp exhale, Y/N turned around, slowly walking back to their bedroom. Wincing quietly she made her way through the corridor before settling on a bed lightly.

The day they found out was the worst day in her life. Rushing to the doctor so hopefully, once she noticed her stomach... Growing. After trying for a baby, could it finally happen? Y/N wondered back then, showing Tommy the swelling on her stomach.

Putting his hand over her belly, he was the happiest man in the world, dimples on his cheeks revealing to their full extent as he smiled so brightly, a rare sight but how beautiful she felt. A family, of her own.

A girl? A boy? They wondered the day before her visit. Chatting away endlessly about names, clothes and toys for a little Shelby.

A heavenly happiness that lasted no longer than three days, before they got crushed by the diagnosis.

Stomach cancer

Thomas' hand fell limp by his side, as Y/N froze completely. It took a longer minute, followed by ”I'm so sorry” from the doctor before tears appeared. Falling faster and heavier, each one a nail to her poor heart, wiping away every dream they managed to talk about in the last days.

All hope, gone, just like that.

...but it wasn't over just yet, as Dr. Wellerman explained the path they will have to go through. The risks of chemotherapy, additional tests and needed medication.

Tommy tried to stay strong, so badly, despite the white colour his face turned. Nausea took over his mind as he listened to each word, listening to the doctor explaining her survival rate. He needed to be strong.

So he was, carrying the weight like a world champion, never letting her carry it alone.

”Don't cry” He murmured in the worst nights, rocking her back and forth in his arms, sitting on the floor by the bed. ”We will bring you back to good health, and then have children. Little copies of our own, eh? A girl with my nose and your smile.” He spoke quietly into her ear, staring blankly at a wall. Whispering beautiful words she so desperately needed to hear, keeping her heart from breaking.

With each week they were both feeling worse, Y/N's physical state worsening visibly throughout the chemotherapy. The pain she felt in her abdomen could be compared to the flames from hell, reaching her ruthlessly and blooming the horrible thought she tried to push away so badly.

I want to die already, her mind would whisper cruelly, hating the way her husband's bones became more visible. His sunken eyes which lost all colour, almost as if he was the one with tumour eating away on his body and mind.

It wouldn't be much different then, because the pain he carried seeing her slowly fade away was easily the most difficult battles he had to fight.

A couple years back, Thomas would never expect to even think that, but the war in France was nothing compared to the unfair war he chose to fight everyday, holding onto his wife at all costs.

On the worst days, he would silently cry against the door of their bathroom, begging her to let him in as she cried so loudly.

”Don't look at me, I'm disgusting!” Y/N kept repeating, looking in the shattered mirror at her reflection. She was a shadow of her old self, her almost completely bald head mocking her, along with the colourless eyes that looked back.

”Y/N, please. Don't shut me away” His voice was breaking, despite the attempts to stay strong. Minutes later he would be on the floor by her side, kissing her temples and holding so tightly to not let her drown.

”You're beautiful, Mrs. Shelby. The most beautiful woman I've ever seen,” He talked, looking her in the eyes, his deep, honest voice never ceasing to bring her out of misery even just for a few seconds. Rough fingertips grazing over her delicate, pale skin. ”So beautiful I just had to marry you.”

A deep silence following his gentle tone, as his fingers drew random patterns on her skin.

”Am I dying, Tommy?” She asked quietly, her voice so fearful as she held onto his shirt, head resting on his shoulder. Thomas was almost sure she could physically hear his heart shattering at the question.

”No,” He replied confidently, getting her to look him in the eyes. To see the lack of hesitation and the fire he had in him, as her own was slowly getting smaller. She was losing hope. ”You're not dying. I wouldn't let you leave me, after all, eh?” He said, small, weak smile appearing on his lips and reaching her eyes.

”I love you so much” She whispered, slowly nodding off to sleep against his heartbeat.

Y/N remembered every and each of those days when he's been the lifeline. The only reason she was getting up and fighting against the cruel faith, slipping from death's embrace every day, almost like his love was keeping her alive.

...and it worked. Tests started coming back better than before, the cancer responded well to the chemo, allowing life to slowly seep back into their reality.

Y/N could never forget how happy it made them. Made him. The way he laughed and joked, and touched her looking, oh the way he looked at her. Like nothing else mattered, as he brought her flowers and loved every moment they had. Thomas grew to appreciate her presence so much, even the business wasn't able to get a hold of his mind as often anymore.

Life was a dream, until it wasn't.

The pain and swelling grew, sometimes making it difficult to move her legs even. Y/N held onto the thought that it was temporary, that everything was okay, so she didn't tell him. Couldn't bring herself to share her worries, seeing the way he lived and not just survived anymore.

So the secrets began, every letter from the hospital started coming to the rented storage she kept away from everyone. Tests getting more worrying until one, particular one, killed the hope completely.

The cancer no longer remained in her stomach, now spreading to the liver, lymph nodes and lungs, crushing the potential survival rate to 3%.

”Oh God” She cried at first, howling so loudly her throat grew sore and voice weak.

But it wasn't the worst. The worst was pretending around Tommy, forcing herself to smile and walk and talk as lively as before.

Be there for him, and try hard enough to smile so it would reach her eyes, because else he would know.

Each day was harder as the pain grew stronger. Eventually she had to start shaving her head every few days, to hide the fact she stopped the chemotherapy.

The pain was too much. The first time was easier, as she mindlessly shared the misery with Tommy. Carrying it together was easier, but with how much he loved her, seeing her in that state was killing him more than cancer was killing her.

So she pretended. Smiling, shaving her head and making sure to keep her expression stoic as the swelling burned hellishly.

So here she was, sitting on the edge of their bed, both hands on her belly in hopes to ease the pain. Unfamiliar pain, one so strong she couldn't breath at all.

”Tommy” She managed to whimper out, fingers wrapping around the edge of the nightstand so hard, her knuckles turned white. Slowly lowering herself to the ground, Y/N felt her legs giving out as she fell down with a loud thump, starting to cough.

Barely opening her eyes, she noticed the drops of crimson red fluid dirtying the clean, wooden floor. Her mind turned hazy, feeling completely out of it as more and more blood splattered the floor.

Only then did she barely register the fast, loud steps approaching.

”Y/N!” Thomas boomed loudly, rushing to her side. His face was completely pale, his shaky hands wrapping around her chest as he pulled her up, completely panicked. ”Frances! Frances call the ambulance!” He screamed in a frenzy, leaning forward to try and help. ”Y/N, I'm here, I'm here.” He choked out as her eyes became cloudy, breaths coming out in short bursts. ”Y/N! Look at me, please fucking look at me!” Tears steamed down his face at the suddenly terrible state she found herself in. She looked at him, but couldn't see.

As he cried, and screamed, pulling all the old medication she used to be taking from her nightstand, spilling them by his side and looking for the particular one that used to help with breathing problems, Y/N was halway gone.

Physically she couldn't see, struggling to breathe enough to keep her brain functioning yet the only thing she could think of was him.

Please, don't take me away. Who's going to protect him from the self-destruction his heart holds?

”Please, don't leave me” He cried out weakly, pushing his forehead against her collarbone, hiding his face in the crook of her neck. Hiding.

The memory of his happy, blue eyes was the last thing she registered, feeling as if he gently eased her into sleep, taking away all the pain. In reality, Thomas couldn't hold in the animalistic howling that ripped from his throat while he held her tightly to his chest, rocking back and forth as the sound of an ambulance pulling up by the Arrow house came to his ears.

From this moment, there was nothing.

***

She was gone.

He lost count of the amount of hours since it happened. Thomas didn't know if it was a night or a day, as he forced the maids to cover every source of light in the house before sending them away. The alcohol combined with opium in his system made him see the most beautiful things in the dark, memories shining so brightly.

His eyes rolled back at the scent of her, as he was holding her nightgown to his chest. Blood was trickling from his fingers, dirtying the pink material because of the destruction he brought upon the Arrow house once left alone.

Rocking back and forth in the middle of the room, he remembered the sight of his wife sitting by the vanity, laughing as she made him roll his eyes with her smart mouth. She fitted so perfectly, so perfectly with the scent he was feeling.

It was all that mattered, as long as he felt her presence around him.

In the next few days Polly threw away all the opium he had, trying her best along with her nephews to support him through the ripping loss. Only if he wanted that help, maybe everything would eventually be okay.

But for him, there was nothing before her, and nothing after her. The story was done.

Once left alone again, he let out a sigh, feeling the pounding headache. The noise was overwhelming, impossible to suppress ever since she was gone.

”I can hear them coming again” He whispered into the silence of his office, as the shovels dug against the walls from every direction. Getting louder with every passing minute. ”They want to take you away from me, darling” His voice was rough from the lack of using it. Opening his eyes, Thomas looked at the portrait hanging on the wall. You and him. Like like he promised. His eyes on the painting were far from reality, not resembling the dark irises, swallowed completely by madness which took over his mind without change. ”I won't let you leave me” He repeated the line from the past, lips wrapping around the familiar words as he pulled out the pistol from his holster. Lazily pressing the muzzle against his head as his lips turned upwards into a heartfelt smile. ”I'm coming, sweetheart.”

His loving words were followed by a loud bang, as the bullet ruthlessly ripped through his skull and brain, only to get stuck in the old furniture in another room.

His body went completely limp as the unlit cigarette fell onto the desk, becoming the last sound of their lively love ever heard in the wall of the Arrow house.

A house which became a cemetery for the undying love, and future that would never come.

Taggin my people: @iilovedonnatartt @gentlebeari @narlytude @honeymoon8 @chaimaarouaine11 @hatethis29 @bruhidkjustwannaread @reiwanwan @immyowndefender @jbrownta @preparedfruit @emptyvoidofmine

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #hurt #thomas shelby dark #thomas shelby smut #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders #peaky fucking blinders #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby dark #tommy shelby fluff #tommy shelby smut #peaky fookin blinders

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yuzurins · 1 year ago

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# i’m smitten with the thought of you

itoshi rin x gn!reader. sae and rin don’t have an estranged relationship. childhood friends to (eventual) lovers. crack don’t take this too srsly pls

“rin, say ahh!” you hold out a spoonful of cake in front of his face.

“shut the fuck up.” rin pouts, turning his head away from you.

you snicker, but your hand doesn’t falter. “come on! you know you want it~” you tease, dragging the end of the sentence as if you were talking to a small child.

he keeps his mouth shut, and you gush internally at the fact that he’s blatantly sulking. rin will never beat the allegations for being the cutest boy ever, even if he’s not the same as the sweet little boy you knew years ago.

desperately trying to hold back a laugh, you purse your lips and mimic rin’s little pout. “you used to listen to me much more obediently when you were younger.”

“you-“ you shoved the spoon into his mouth as soon as you get the chance. rin reluctantly complies but is quick to complain after. “that’s foul!”

you raise an eyebrow. “and that’s what the naughty boys get. tsk tsk.”

it’s obvious you don’t understand how wrongly your words could be interpreted by the way your expression stays unwavering. perhaps it was your dense disposition, or the fact that you’ve known rin since he was a kid in preschool.

rin thinks he’s being — and has been — painfully obvious about his feelings, yet you still fail to notice the faint blush creeping onto his face. even sae found out about it, and rin had to fight for his life to defend himself.

“rin. that’s practically incest-“

“oh my god nii-chan, you know that’s not true!”

sae can think you’re like a sibling to him, but rin doesn’t. in fact, he has never. he can’t deny that he’s had a crush on you the moment you were introduced to him as sae’s friend, and though it might seem like it was just puppy love, his current actions can prove that it isn’t.

“and you used to be so well-behaved back then.” you sigh dramatically. “did you know you would stick to me all the time, and get super jealous whenever i did anything with sae?”

the younger boy scoffs, standing up to go get a drink of water to make sure he doesn’t go insane from your ruthless teasing.

“hey! don’t run away!” you smile, eyes twinkling in amusement, as you get up to follow him. “it was really cute, i swear!”

choosing not the humour you, rin continues on with his task (that he could not care less about), humming in response.

you stand next to him and watch, occasionally feeling the need to poke him. starting from his arm, you string a line of pokes all the way up to his face, where you change your stance to pinch his cheek, a frequent action of endearment you used to do when you were younger.

needless to say, you were not expecting rin to grab your hand so promptly. and you most definitely were not expecting him to then lean towards you, not stopping until his face was merely an inch away.

“woah-“ you exhale as you stumble back slightly. he’s close enough for you to study all the details of his face, from the strands of his hair to the sharp curve of his jaw. he towers over you, his broad shoulders wide enough to engulf you completely into his presence. it’s funny, this scene is the complete opposite of what it was like as children, your roles entirely switched.

your breath hitches as his gaze locks onto yours, showing you all his pent-up feelings over the years for the first time. he’s determined, you can tell at least that much, but what surprises you the most is how dilated his pupils are; his eyes are begging to let you know his story, one of his long, endless pining for you, and you only.

it goes without saying you weren’t ignorant enough to overlook the reality that rin grew up, that he’s matured now. would it be cowardly for you to admit that you have indeed taken notice of his feelings at times, but refused to act on them in fear of losing him? what if you were wrong? what if rin didn’t like you that way? there was too much on the line, and you didn’t want to risk every memory you’ve made with him and sae for the past 12 years.

like an unspoken condition between you two, rin also knows the risks. he knows, but he’s so smitten it’s driving him insane. you’re a risk that he’s willing to take, and he’s had his mind made up since the beginning.

“yeah?” he whispers. “how about now?”

dumbstruck, you nod absentmindedly in response. almost like you were under a spell, and rin was the mastermind enchanting you.

rin smirks at the sight of your face heating up and flushing to a light red. “you still think i’m cute, y/n?”

“the cutest ever.” you’re quick to recover, flashing a small smile of your own. shameless, but you refuse to concede now. “care to prove me wrong, itoshi?”

“what the fuck are you two doing in the kitchen, oh my god.” sae deadpans. “rin, please pick and choose a better time to confess your feelings, thanks.”

you jump. rin groans.

“you need to pick and choose a better time to interrupt, THANK YOU.” rin scowls, letting go of your hand. the sudden withdrawal of his warmth disappoints you, but you smile nonetheless hearing their brotherly antics.

sae’s impassive, walking in between the two of you to refill his own water. “you two forgot all about me, i was getting worried that rin might’ve killed y/n or something.”

“as if!” rin rolls his eyes. “get out of here, at least let me finish.”

shooting him a quick side-eye, sae smirks at his little brother. “okay loverboy, just make sure to not make a mess in the kitchen.” and he swiftly makes an exit before any further retaliation.

“i hate him.”

“you know you don’t.”

rin sighs, closing his eyes for a few seconds.“i guess the cat’s out of the bag now.”

you laugh, and grab his hand to play with his fingers, a not very subtle attempt to hide your beet red face. “think it was obvious enough, rinnie.”

his heart throbs at your use of his childhood nickname. “took you long enough.”

“so, will you continue to show me how cute you are?” you ponder as you look up at rin.

“stop treating me like a child, jeez.” and that pout is back onto his face once again. “i’ll show you anything you want, but i’ll make sure you won’t see me as just a cute little boy anymore.”

a/n: this was so crack of me. not proofread btw i wrote this in one sitting. ^_^ @kouyun <3

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silaslich · 30 days ago

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Oh reckless abandon

John “Soap” Mactavish x f!reader

Wc - 3k

Summary - after you and Johnny cross the threshold of taking things beyond friendship, things only seem to get better.

Cw - 18+, smut, fluff, Johnny’s a smug mf

AN - had to do my boy John justice as we’re both Scots so please no one shit on this

The sun is high and bright in the balmy pale blue sky, but she’s not quite warmed up yet.

It’s early spring; the snowdrop bulbs are yet to bloom and the world still wakes in a hue of violet and grey. Winter is ebbing its way out, the cold earth making way for the dewy-green promise of spring.

The cold in the air bites, it whips her hair around her face, forced to squint as the breeze stings her eyes. Johnny is so far ahead, still talking without realising she’s fallen behind, he’s pointing out the scenery- he’s been up this trail a hundred or so times, so he knows it like the back of his hand.

“Hold up Johnny!” she yells over the wind, watching as he whips around like lightening, big blue eyes wide with worry as he comes skipping back down the mud-and-stone laden trail, his hand clutching at her elbow. “Y’alrate bonnie?” He asks, gently, he knows why she’s struggling - it’s his own fault and it makes him smirk to himself. She’s not impressed, she squints her eyes further and this time it’s not because of the weather, “fuck you, Mactavish” she grumbles under her breath, begrudgingly looping her arm around the crook of his elbow that he’s offered out toward her. The Scot’s smirk widens. “Aye, ya did lass” he chuckles, breath fanning the breeze, she makes a noise that lets him know she’s annoyed, he knows them all by now- every tick and quirk she has is all committed to memory. She pinches his arm where her hand lays around his bicep, elbows looped together, Johnny pulling her along with him as he continues to march further and further up the footpath.

They always take leave in Scotland now. There’s never any debate about it, she insists and Johnny obliges, always somewhere new to stay and something new to explore and discover. They’re yet to branch out too far, so many places Johnny has yet to show her, his childhood playground that is the rolling hills and the sheep fields - a world away from Edinburgh.

He hadn’t grown up there, not for most of his years, as much as it feels like home now, it hadn’t always.

She doesn’t want to think of home, she doesn’t have one, not one that is made of bricks and stone and a paved driveway; the home she has is tall and handsome with the most fervent Scottish drawl and uncontrollable smirk. Her home consists not of a physical place - it’s just Johnny. In his own unique way, his often times dark humour and constant rule breaking, the way he laughs and the level headed kindness he shows to everyone he meets. She thinks it’s love, well, she knows it is, and he’s told her enough times that it is too.

He treats her too good. He says it’s normal, reminds her that it’s his obligation to take care of her in any capacity he is able, she’s scolding- “I’m supposed to take care of you too, you know”. He’d make a joke about sexual favours and she’d kiss him to wipe the smirk off of that pretty mouth.

It’s comfortable. The friendship they were both so afraid to jeopardise only blossoms, they’ve always loved one another, it had simply grown from a platonic love to a romantic one. It all comes so natural to them both, it’s slightly scary, how easy it all seems. Almost like somethings waiting, like something is hiding around the next corner, waiting to bite.

That’s why she transfers, a mutual understanding and respect for the boundary, a professional barrier that will keep them both safer in the long run. It had been a lengthy and emotional conversation, mediated by Price in his office, everything laid out on the table - they all knew this was for the best.

In the long run? It makes the time they get together that much more special.

Weeks or even months at a time; communicating only through texts and video calls, sleepless nights spent on opposite sides of the globe, bleeding hours spent waiting for the other to wake up, just to hear a whisper of their voice to ease their longing.

Both of them had never had much to do on leave before this new venture with one another, months on duty and months off too, spent chasing other means of entertainment through pub crawls and one night stands. None of that now. It’s just the two of them, hours spent outdoors exploring the forests and hills - even more hours spent between rented sheets exploring one another.

Johnny drags her to a pub; tells her how he used to pull pints there when he was sixteen, a mere two years before he joined up. They order enough hearty food to sate the both of them, indulging in anything other then field rations seems so foreign, they eat between conversation and sink six pints between them. Neither are lightweights.

They walk arm in arm, stepping through the cobbled streets, illuminated in the orange glow of the street lamps as night begins to fall - everything is so beautiful. She breathes it all in, she’s never looked at her surroundings, not really. It seemed like a trivial thing, enjoying the world for what it is, instead of wondering what it could become. Part and parcel of the threats she faces, fighting for this day in and day out, she had only ever been fighting for the happiness and safety of other people. Now it seems she’s fighting for her own too, she fights for Johnny, fights to come back to this; to walk hand in hand with him through these Scottish streets while he relives memories she can try to conjure in her mind, to ensure there are many more days and nights spent like these. Over and over again.

She finds she stares at him even longer that night. Face to face while Johnny’s breathing finally evens out, clutched close to his chest, lungs synced. He’s so soft when he’s asleep, there’s no smirk or wryly raised brow, just the even-soft plains of his features as he drifts. She runs her fingers over them, over his lips and the lines on his forehead, the crows feet by his eyes and the stubble across his jaw. She admires it all.

Commits it all to memory, wants to remember every divot and wrinkle and freckle, make sure she can picture it vividly come this time next week when they’re both stationed again. Never wants to forget.

There is only one more week of their leave. Then they’ll be going their separate ways again, it’ll be months before they get this again, back to the scheduled video calls late at night or too early in the mornings - back to the pathetic pining like star-crossed lovers.

They’ll both mourn this time together, because it feels like each time they leave each other - they might never see each other again. It’s likely- a possibility. They both knew that when they committed to this, and it’s a deciding factor in why she transfers. It just means that they have to get back to one another, a firm and more solidified justification to make it back alive.

Everyone seems to notice the shift with Soap. Even if he won’t admit it, there’s less of the blind running head first into danger. He preserves more, looks after himself, takes less of a self sacrificial role within the force. If push came to shove, he wouldn’t hesitate, but he’s definitely more the aware of his need to keep himself in one piece. It’s something he’s never really done before, even for his family, they knew they could lose him - especially with his brother being military too. So he knows that they’re more then braced for the news of his sacrifice for his country, but he can’t seem to even let himself think about what it would do to her.

He doesn’t let himself dwell on the subject for too long, makes himself sick with just the thought of it.

It’s easy to sleep when it’s the two of them. It’s hard to tell where johnny begins and she ends, a tangle of limbs all wrapped together under the sheets. The demons keep the nightmares to themselves when they have each other, a steadying hand or a warm embrace are enough to keep the end of the world at bay - at least, that’s what it feels like. Try and tell them that’s not love.

Only - this is John Mactavish. Always the early riser, and a fiend for being unable to keep his hands to himself. His tongue too.

She stirs. Grumbles something in the back of her throat when the mattress dips and Johnny shifts her, she’s none the wiser, assumes it’s his usual path of climbing over her instead of getting out of his side of the bed because ‘it’s quicker’.

Then there’s the touch of warm lips, pressed to her inner thigh, and then the other. She cracks her eyes open, still groggy- not yet awake enough for this. She shifts against the mattress, then the sheets are moved entirely away from her and she complains.

She’s more the awake when Johnny laps his tongue through the folds of her pussy. Her moan sticks in her throat, voice not yet warmed up, but Johnny always tells her how good she sounds in the morning; especially like this. Her fingers find his hair, the mohawk is longer, tapers a little further down his neck then it used to- she finds she enjoys that. Weaves her fingers through the strands of it, pushes him closer when his tongue reaches that one particular spot.

The spot that has her spine arching, pushing her hips closer to the plush wetness of his perfect mouth. “Fuck- Johnny” her jaw is slack, huffs of air passing her lips as she pants, close already. She feels him smirk against her, because of course he does. “Morning beautiful” his blue eyes flit toward her- catch her off guard with the way he looks at her like she hangs the sun in the sky. It makes her melt, makes her unable to meet his stare, she presses her head back into the pillow. It doesn’t stop his assault on her however, those big palms of his cradle her so gently, hold her thighs apart so he can get his fill of her.

He’d wear her thighs like earmuffs if he could, tells her all the time.

“So wet for me, bonnie” he smiles, all toothy and drunk like an idiot, sliding his ring and middle finger into her hole when he presses another kiss to her thigh, she’s so wet and his fingers glide so easily. Then she moans, oh does she, it’ll wake up everyone in the bed and breakfast - he can’t find the heart to care. “Oh Johnny” she sighs, fingers right in his hair, practically grinding herself into his face, ebbing her way to that blissful warmth of orgasm.

“Come on, beautiful” he smiles into her skin, “nearly there, so so good f’me” his words hit her like bricks, hurled from a rooftop so they hit her with too much force. She closes her eyes, sinks her teeth into her bottom lip so she doesn’t shriek the roof off of the place. She’s gushy, can hear how sloppy and wet he makes her, an absolute mess he’ll be more then happy to clean up.

He rides her through it. Doesn’t break away even when her fingernails dig into his scalp, he works his tongue faster, rides her through another orgasm that seems to never end. That’s how they all feel nowadays, like they never end, just on and on and on.

They’re both panting, smiling like fools when they meet eyes, she can see the wetness on his face and she can’t help but watch when he slips the two fingers he’s fucked her with into his mouth. “Good as always, bonnie” he smirks, mouth quirking up at the side like always, she wants to kiss it off of him.

She catches her breath quickly, it’s not long before she’s leaning up on her elbows, a glint in her eyes that Johnny knows too well now. Her hand slides across his jaw when she comes closer, holding him close in a filthy kiss that’s a taste of what’s to come, “your turn Mactavish” she pants across his lips, her other hand guiding him down by his chest. In a swift movement, she’s straddling his waist, arms raised up as she rids herself of the only layer keeping her nakedness from Jonny’s eyes - his rugby shirt.

It’s instinct, the way his palms flatten over her thighs, taking root in her flesh. He watches her, it’s his turn to look, to commit every freckle and scar and stretch mark to memory so he can keep on remembering this even when they’re apart.

“Make me feel so good, Johnny you do” she bites her lips, grinds herself against the bulge in his boxers, teasing before she ultimately gives into him. Always does. She can’t deny this man, this big beautiful annoying man, all she wants to do is keep that wonderful smile on his face - no matter what it takes. She’s quick to tug the boxers away, twisting at the hips to guide them all the way off of his thighs and legs. Nothing to stop them, not a barrier in sight.

“Like you like this” she admits, straddling his thighs, running her fingers down his stomach, nails scratching through the wiry hair of his happy trail. The Scot quirks a brow, “do’ya now?” He runs his thumbs along her flesh, gives her the room to voice her thoughts. She nods, “mmhmm” her chin dips down and she smiles to herself, “don’t always tell you how pretty you are Johnny” she pinches his stomach and watches it dip as he laughs. “Yer always tellin me” he palms her flesh, “could never be as pretty as you” she crowds forward as he speaks, chest to chest as she kisses the words right off his tongue- tastes them for herself.

She hums, knees stabbing into the mattress, kissing him until his patience thins and his hand shifts, taking his cock to hand and pressing the head of it against her entrance. She bites her lip, retaliates when she sinks herself down into him fully, they both gasp. The feeling never gets old, not to either of them, pushing home in one quick thrust of hips.

“Fuckin’ hell” his throat tightens, teeth clenched when his words wash through her core, tightening around him like a vice. She rests her palms against his abdomen, balancing her weight off of him, beginning to set an even pace as she rides his cock. He guides her, palms sunken into her flesh, bruising her thighs when she cants her hips a certain way, knowing it makes him catch something deep inside of her. Makes his fucking spine itch, how well they know each other, how well they know what makes the other tick. She’ll kill him one day like this, he’s sure if it, but he can’t think of a better way to go.

She grinds her hips down, a moan punching out of her chest when her clit grinds friction against him, makes both of them jolt. He can’t take it anymore, Johnny is more then happy for her to take control, he hands it all over to her, but he can’t hold it together. He’s desperate for it, desperate for this, can’t help it when he fucks up into her, meeting her thrusts half way. Slapping skin on skin, how wet she sounds, the mix of them together - it’s all too much.

He’s punching the air right out of her, she squeezes her eyes shut, nails biting into his skin when his thumbs skates across her clit. Her head knocks back, chest puffed out, rising with the effort to breath, a complete mess of fried nerve endings at this point.

“Jesus Johnny” she pants, pathetically still trying to fuck herself on his cock, doing little more then bounce off the force in which Johnny fucks his hips up to meet hers. “Feels too good” he grits out, cords of his throat tight under his skin, pulse jumping under his skin as he chases both of their orgasms.

He’s too good to her, always making her feel so good, more ways then just sexually too. She wants to give him everything, never wants any of this to end. She whines, dips her chin to her chest when her jaw slackens, muscles feelings like hot rubber under her clammy skin. “So close Johnny- fuck” his pace doesn’t change, he keeps the pressure on her clit, doesn’t even let up when she grips his wrist - knowing this is it.

“Come on, bonnie that’s it” his voice slurs, he’s close too, she can feel it in the way he throbs inside of her. The thought alone rips her over the edge, it’s all too good, his eyes and his voice and the way he fits so perfectly inside of her. “Fuck- Johnny” she rides it out, tries to angle her hips when her orgasm sears through ever nerve ending in her body. Johnny comes with her, it sends a fire up his spine, slurred curses in that thick accent of his- the way he jolts upright to wrap her in his arms. Still desperate fucking up into her, chasing it till the very end.

They’re just a sweaty pile of limbs and skin. Holding each other so tight, pressed chest to chest, panting and heaving and trying to gather anything cognitive enough to call thoughts. She kisses his throat and he practically purrs, arms tightening around her, held so impossibly close.

“So in love with you Mactavish” she huffs, smiling into his skin. He hums, “love you so much it hurts, beautiful”.

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