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pennyserenade · 3 years ago

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pairing: agent whiskey x female oc , agent whiskey x original female character summary: jack and alicia embark on a wild, successful night together, and they end it in a way only they would. warnings: language, gun mention, a little bit of violence, a little bit of sexism. the works, yanno? word count: 5.7k+ (this might just be the longest chapter i’ve ever written, so bare with me) rating: t (teen) author’s note: as much as this is a fanfic about agent whiskey, it has also become a scavenger hunt for cary grant lovers. if you get the references, congrats. if you don’t, that’s just as well, you don’t really have to. also, i must say that this is my first time dabbling in a genre like this, so if it’s not good, it might just be in a few years. at least you’ll be able to say you were here since the beginning

NEXT CHAPTER

CHAPTER ONE: TELL HIM

While the papers might not know who’s been on the arm of one of the most desirable men in the world this past weekend, Jack sure does. Beside Archie Leach, Pinkie looks nearly unrecognizable beneath her sunglasses and the red driving scarf, but Jack can recognize her beaming smile anywhere. This “mystery girl” they speak of - the one who made the second page of the paper even here, in France - is none other than his partner, Miss Alicia Fitzgerald.

Jack wears a teasing grin as he sets the paper down on her bed. She looks up at him from above the book she’s been reading. “What’s that?” she asks, rising to grab it.

Jack shrugs his shoulders. “It seems no one knows,” he tells her, smiling. “Well, that is except for you and I, and the handsome man there, I suppose.”

She frowns. “Oh, those photographers never leave us alone.”

“You make a pretty couple,” he mumbles as he puts the cigarette in his mouth. “Though, I can’t say this is too good for our line of work, Pinkie.”

She sets the paper down beside her on the bed. “Jack, I am going tonight,” she says. “Don’t for one minute think that I’m going to let you go to this party all al—“

He waves his hand in the air dismissively. “No one said anything about that, did they?”

“Well, I know you,” she huffs. “If you think you can do it alone, you try.”

Jack blows a billow of smoke out of the side of his mouth and shakes his head. “No, not with you,” he says, “I like havin�� you around. ‘sides, this is a two person job, so I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

The grin that possesses her lips now is enough to renew the spirit in Jack that went with her unkind words just moments before. He brings the cigarette back to his mouth and inhales. “We should be gettin’ ready. That Frenchman said he’d have a car comin’ for us at 6pm.”

Pinkie leans across her bed and takes the cigarette from Jack’s fingers. He watches her take it between her lips, amused. “It’ll be here around 6:15 then,” she tells him. “Did you call for your suit to be pressed?”

“Yes,” he says. “The shirt too, because I know you’ll be askin’ about that next.”

“And the—“

“I shined the shoes and bought the black bow-tie.”

She nods her head, satisfied. “I’ve taught you well, Cowboy.”

Jack plucks the cigarette from her lips, and puts it back between his own. “Nothin’ I didn’t know already. You jus’ help me remember, like a lil’ talkin’ calendar.”

Pinkie nods her head, though he’s not entirely convinced she’s listening to him anymore because she’s looking down at the paper again.

Jack was only having a bit of fun with her about it, but if he was being honest with himself, the idea of Pinkie being with that guy leaves a bad taste in his mouth. It’s not that he’s jealous, either. Pinkie is a good looking woman, sure, but she’s not his type, too stubborn and sure of herself. She carries herself like a man might, and Jack doesn’t think it’s unbefitting of her, but this quality of hers often sees them clashing over trivial things. Jack prefers women who seem to like him at least more than half of the time, and with Pinkie it’s hard to read.

Past the emotions he doesn’t have for her, what worries Jack is the weight of this relationship she’s in, and the gravity the length of it is beginning to have. She’s been seeing him for a little more than six months and if Jack can trust his intuition - and he should, being that he’s a top class spy and all - this picture in the paper is an indicator of more to come. Today it’s a picture in the paper where she’s just some woman and tomorrow it’s an article all about the lives of the two lovebirds.

Maybe it’s a bit of personal bias, too. Jack can give this Archie character that much. Archie comes from a background not at all similar to Jack’s, with none of that rags-to-riches, American-Dream business. Archie’s father owns a bank and Archie works at said bank; one hand full of money straight into the next.

“Archie is good-looking, isn’t he?” Pinkie remarks, running her finger over the spot on the paper his picture inhabits. “He’s got the most lovely wardrobe, Jack.”

Jack grunts. “Oh, I’m sure. With a life like his, it’d be a crime not to. They’d not let him in those fancy restaurants you frequent together if he didn’t.”

She frowns up at him. “Don’t be harsh. I like him a lot.”

Moving over to the side of his bed, Jack stamps out his cigarette in the crystal ashtray. “That’s nothin’ to do with me, honey. He’s not my boyfriend to like.”

“You’re right,” she responds, closing the pages again. “He’s mine.”

Jack gives her a wide grin, laying the insincerity of his joy on thickly as he blows out the last bit of smoke. “I’ve got to get my suit from the front desk. Start gettin’ ready.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

Picking up the hat at the end of his bed, Jack clicks his tongue. “Wouldn’t dream of such a thing, Pinkie.”

With a lone wink he knows will just piss her off, Jack slips out the door of the hotel room. There’s what they would call a “pep” in his step as he whistles his way down the corridor, and in their shared room, she lays on her own bed, thinking of when Jack will be old and grey and alone with a pleased little smile on her face.

——

Despite their disagreements and differences in opinion, when it comes to the professional partnership of Jack and Alicia, it is a guarantee when push comes to shove, they will see eye to eye. Even in the thick of the moment, when seeing each other face to face might not be an option at all - when shots are being fired and people’s lives are in danger - they both know that whatever moves they make are automatically pre-approved by the other. Many issues have been solved by this steadfast, silent agreement they share. Tonight’s is no different.

They say curiosity killed the cat and well, Jack thinks they might not have been so wrong for doing the thing in if it had been like this man. Stupidly curious, and not too quiet about it.

The hand gun Pinkie’s been carrying with her in that magnificently tiny purse of hers for emergencies sits in Jack’s hand, warm, and the bullet from it is lodged somewhere in that man’s chest. Pinkie stands beside Jack, wearing an expression of mixed relief and utter shock. Jack knows the shock isn’t there for all the reasons it should be, and it almost makes him more fond of her.

“I ruined your dress,” he comments before she can. He shrugs his shoulders. “I’m sorry, Pinkie, really, but I had to do that. You know I did.”

“He was going for the door,” she says quietly, providing an excuse for him.

“And he knew who you were,” Jack adds. “The girl in the paper, that’s what he said.”

“I’m supposed to be your wife, Mrs. Chapman,” she responds. “It just wouldn’t have done. I’m not mad.”

Jack watches her peel off the stained white gloves from her hands, trying to make out the expression on her face. “Do you want me to help you out of the dress?” Jack asks her.

Sighing, she turns. “Yeah, go on and unzip me. I’ll have to hurry to get into the other one I brought with me.”

Walking to her, Jack raises his brow. “The other one?” he asks. His fingers grab hold of the zipper on her dress and he tugs down until he can’t anymore. “You brought another?”

“Yeah. I’ve learned to come prepared.”

Jack looks down at himself. A splash of red stains the mid-section of his freshly pressed white dress shirt, and though they are black, the blood still noticeably blots his slacks. It won't do, he thinks. He simply can’t go to a party looking like this.

“I didn’t,” he remarks. “Oh, dammit all to hell.”

She turns back around to face him, wearing only her white slip and her black pair of stockings. “There’s a suit hanging in your closet,” she nods over to the wardrobe across the room. “I come prepared for all.”

Feeling so relieved he could scream, Jack runs over and grabs her by the shoulders. “I’d be nothing without you,” he remarks, kissing her cheek.

She laughs at him, tugging on his bow-tie so it’ll come undone. “C’mon, Jack, we’ve only got fifteen minutes and now we’ve got to call Ginger, too.”

He nods, letting her go. “Sorry about all that foolish talk earlier, by the way,” Jack says, making his way back to his side of the room. “I guess I’m just a tad bit territorial over you, bein’ as you’re my partner and all. Just think it’d be a damn shame to lose you, but it’s really none of my business what you do.”

The doors of the wardrobe open and as expected, a lone dress suit hangs for him beside all his other clothing. He takes it off the hook with a grin.

Pinkie, who has escaped into the bathroom, leans over the sink and inspects her makeup and hair. All she hears is mumbles from Jack and she doesn’t suppose it’s all important anyways, so she doesn’t respond.

There’s no blood on her face, or in her hair, only on her chest and on the necklace she’d been planning to wear. She wets one of the towels on the sink and wipes it off her chest, but she takes off the necklace, leaving it on the counter. Turning off the water, she lets out a heavy breath.

This is her fault. She shouldn’t have gotten so pissed at Jack earlier, because she’s been doing a stupid thing as of late, getting so involved with Archie. While his anger might’ve been misplaced, it’s not unearned.

“Jack!” she calls out. “Jack, won’t you bring me my dress? It’s in the closet!”

She inspects her face one more time in the mirror, just to be safe. All her makeup looks as it had before the incident, but can tell she’s feeling different by the way she looks. This is no time to be feeling anything other than sure, either.

After many years of molding herself into something the men at Statesmen could and would recognize as important, she’s finally doing something she feels is worthy of her time and effort. Her and Jack have been working on this case for almost as long as she’s been with Archie. This is far too precarious a time to let it be muddled easily with emotions that shouldn’t be a concern right now.

To her right, the door opens, successfully startling her from her thoughts. Her hand falls upon her chest and she laughs at herself as Jack hands the dress to her, looking puzzled.

“You okay?” he checks.

She nods. “Oh, yeah,” she says, reassuringly. “Don’t worry about me, alright? Just go ahead and call the front desk and tell them we need the Statesman special, won’t you?”

“That’ll alert Ginger?” he asks.

“Yes. That’s what she told me to say.”

Jack shuts the door without another word, leaving her to her own devices. She appreciates his cooperation, and his willingness to listen tonight. It isn’t always easy to advise Jack on matters he believes he has more expertise on, but tonight he’s agreeable.

She takes the dress out of its protective covering, and she pauses a moment to admire the beauty of it before she puts it on. Maybe it makes her a simple woman, but she doesn’t care, she has a fondness for a beautiful dress and that is precisely what this is. Crafted just for her by some tailors of Archie’s, this floor length evening dress is light pink and cinched around the waist. It only has one shoulder, but it comes with a shawl of the same color, and two pairs of gloves for her to wear. She hadn’t intended to wear this tonight, because it’s so gorgeous and she doesn’t want to ruin it, but she had brought it just in case; it’s one of the finest dresses she owns to her name.

With the telephone to his ear, Jack sits on Pinkie’s bed and leafs through the book she’s reading currently. “Hello,” Jack says, once he’s connected to the front desk. His country accent transforms into something less notable than his usual—a reflection of Pinkie’s own. “This is Mr. Chapman in room 325. My wife and I’d like what I believe is called The Statesmen Special.”

Jack hums in agreement as the woman on the phone confirms the information, and his fingers shuffle the pages in front of him until they find the end of the book. Seeing there’s an inscription, Jack resituates the phone and turns his head to see where Pinkie is.

“Yeah, that’d be most perfect,” he tells the woman on the phone. His eyes return to the book in his lap. “Yes, 6:30pm. And please,” he stresses, beginning to make out the words on the page. ‘From Archie,’ it reads. “Please,” Jack repeats, “Make sure no one but those who are advised come to our room. My wife’s particular about that.”

Humming in agreement a few more times, Jack makes out the rest of the inscription.

‘Alicia, I do hope you have a good trip. I’ve never read this, but I’m told it is good.

P.S.

Don’t forget that you can call me anytime you need.

Love,

Archie Leach.’

“Yes, thank you so much for your help,” Jack says, before hanging the phone back on the receiver.

He re-reads the letter, once more for clarity, and then once more again to be sure he saw the ill-fated words. Sure enough, each time it’s there, in neat scripture. Love.

“This isn’t good,” he mutters to himself. “Not good at all. Foolish man.”

The phone rings next to Jack and in the midst of shaking his head in disappointment, he picks it up and brings it to his ear. “Chapmans,” he answers, putting the book back in its spot.

“Oh, thank you,” he tells the operator. “We will be down shortly.”

Hanging up the phone again, Jack stands from the bed. “The car’s here Pinkie!” he shouts, grabbing the gun off the bed and her black purse. He places the gun back in it, and holds it at his side, waiting for the bathroom door to open.

Pinkie looks like a million bucks in the dress she’s changed into, and Jack can’t help but smile at the sight of her in front of him. “Woah,” he says, letting that accent of his get the best of him. “The trick is to not stand out, honey. I mean you really look good.”

She smiles warmly at him. “You think?” she runs her hands over the front of the dress. “It was made just for me.”

“Looks like it,” he says, handing her the purse in his hands. He offers her his arm. “C’mon now, we’ve got a party to rob.”

—

The Beaufoys are made of money, but it’s something they are clumsily new at. It’s a rookie mistake many get-rich-quick people make, one they don’t really even acknowledge as an error because they are so unaccustomed to their acquired wealth.

The home has a feeling of being un-lived in, despite the fact that it’s filled to the brim with people tonight, and decorated with all the materials a person could want. From the entrance with large, beautiful white doors that lead into a lobby, to the custom built elevator with their family name engraved into a plaque, to the grand room you first step into after you get out of the elevator - it’s all so lavish it appears like a satire of real wealth. Too gold, too full, too much.

Alicia does not come from wealth, but she’s rubbed elbows with just the right amount of rich people to know who’s had their money and who’s just come to it. It is knowledge one must have to play both the comfortably rich and the luckily rich, and one those at Statesmen all but ensured she had it.

While a mission of this complexity and length is new, this setup isn’t; she’s been on the arms of many agents, operating under many names, going to many parties. The year she had started field work, she’d worn a fake wedding ring so many times, she had a tan line on her finger year round.

Jack is easily one of the best fake husbands to have. She’s sure that the real thing would drive her to insanity, but the fake thing is quite endearing. He plays the role of devoted, almost reverent husband well, and never in all of their times of having done this, has anyone suspected they were anything but in love. He hasn’t always taken her as seriously as she would’ve liked, but Jack has always heeded her words about how to act.

Tonight, he holds her close to his side, wrapping an arm around her waist as they step into the crowd of people in the foyer. On both sides of the room are two massive staircases leading up to a floor that overlooks the open space between them. Everyone has people, even on the steps.

“Do you see them?” she whispers, smiling widely at those who they pass.

“Yes,” Jack says, pointing upwards. “Isn’t that chandelier something?”

She follows his finger and sees the couple at the head of the staircase, just slightly below where the larger chandelier hangs.

Alicia nods. “Just darling.”

Jack turns his body to her and brings her close in the crowd of people. “Twelve diamond crests,” he whispers in her ear. His lip hovers just above her ear. They must look like the picture perfect pair, standing so intimately like this. “Six women, six men. You get the men and I’ll get the women?”

“Women,” she repeats back to him softly, in her more smoothed American accent. His women suggests hints of what he really is.

“Women,” he repeats, almost as if it’s a question.

“Yes,” she responds, turning her face to his. Their lips ghost dangerously near each other like this. “When you are finished, meet me at the entrance?”

Jack nods his head. “Don’t do anythin’ I wouldn’t.”

“Don’t forget to drop that accent.”

Jack kisses the side of her lips as a parting, and she lets go of the lapels of his suit jacket. She stands in place, letting the crowd move noisily around her as Jack fades further and further into it. It is when he is no longer in sight that she takes in her surroundings and begins to investigate the lapels of many of the men surrounding her.

She is looking for small, swan shaped figures. Jack and herself had been invited to wear them, as they’d gotten quite familiar with the Beaufoys up until this point, but they’d said no on the grounds that they thought it would make them stand out. This was the truth, though it wasn’t for the sake of being humble. Jack and Alicia knew that having those pins on their evening wear would make them a part of the select group of individuals who had been chosen to wear them. Despite the fact that it would’ve given them an inside as to who wore them tonight and it would’ve given two of them directly two them, strategically, rejecting them was the better move.

The first two Alicia finds in the span of two band songs. She dances with the first man who wears one, and holds his lapels between his fingers affectionately as she just had with Jack. She slips it off without his noticing, and she puts it in her purse. The second one she gets in much the same manner, dancing with the man who wears it but tells him how much she likes his suit in French. Taken with her compliment, and with the explanation of his sense in fashion, he does not notice when she steals the swan off of him.

The third is found after two more band songs play. They get increasingly hard to find, as the crowd thickens in the center room the later it becomes, but they also get easier to steal. She takes the third one by merely pretending to crash into the man who has it. The fourth is found and taken not too soon after, too. She accepts a glass of champagne from a man who’s carrying a tray through the crowd, and she clumsily spills it on the fourth victim. In between her apologies and his dabbing, she takes the swan.

The fifth is hard.

The man who wears it is a desirable one, and she watches for a long span of time as he entertains a group of people around him. She doesn’t know who he is, but he carries himself as though he should be known by all. She stands in a group near his own and listens into his conversation. When he excuses himself, she waits a few moments and then follows him up one of the grand staircases.

She finds herself alone with him after he comes back from the bathroom. Using the information she obtained from the conversation she just heard him have, she compliments him on his life achievements. Stupidly, he asks her to dance and she agrees. Before the song is over, she robs him of the swan.

With five swans in her purse, Alicia hides herself in the thick of the crowd on the stairs. She looks over the party for Jack, because in her pursuit for the fifth swan, she found the sixth of Mr. Beaufoy himself. It won’t be so easy to rob him.

“Looking for me?” Jack says, sneaking up from behind her.

She turns. “Yes. How many have you found?”

“Five. You?”

“Same.”

“Where do you think the other two are?”

“They’re on the Beaufoys,” she discloses, watching around them. “I don’t know how we’re going to take them off of them because I know they’re not going to dance with us.”

Jack smiles at a couple who passes them up the stairs, and then he pushes Alicia and himself to the side of the steps, near the railing. “There’s a telephone near the kitchen downstairs. Go call us the car.”

She frowns. “Jack, we don’t have all of them.”

“Trust me.”

Jack steps onto the stair above them but she grabs his sleeve, preventing him from going further. She looks at him apprehensively. He smiles. “Don’t worry,” he mouths.

She lets go of his sleeve and he slips away again. Without looking back, she moves in the opposite direction, down the stairs and through the crowd of people to the corridor near the kitchen. The telephone sits on the table.

Bringing it to her ear, she dials the operator and tells them who she needs to reach. They connect her to Ginger and she promises a car will be there in a moment’s time. Not saying goodbye, Alicia hangs up the phone.

She goes unnoticed through the crowd again, and on her way to the elevator, she spots Jack at the top of the stairwell, chatting merrily with the famed Beaufoys. Their eyes connect and she raises her hand to wave, but just as she does, someone grabs hold of her.

“American cunt!” growls a voice she recognizes. She turns her head and sees the important man she’d chased up the stairway holding tightly onto her wrist. “You’ve stolen from me!”

Above, Jack shifts closer to the railing, but he does not break his act or the sentence he’s in the middle of. He trusts Pinkie knows what she is doing.

“I didn’t,” she says calmly. She tries to pull away from him but he proves stronger than he looks.

“You did. Give me that purse of yours.”

He leans forward to grab it but she pulls it back from his reach.

“If you’ve got nothing to hide, show me,” he tells her.

Her eyes look back up to Jack, but he’s no longer paying attention to her.

“Alright,” she says, looking back to the man. “Let me go and I’ll open the thing.”

When the man lets her go she knows she has no choice but to open the purse for him, because she’s too far from the staircase and the elevator will take much too long.

Displaying a true sense of calm, she opens the purse for the man. Much to her surprise, none of the swans are inside, nor is the gun.

“See,” she spats out. “Nothing, you fool.”

The angry red man turns into an embarrassed one. “Oh, I’m most sorry. I just thought…”

“Sure you did,” she says, mocking her own anger. “You better go find the real thief. Perhaps another American cunt.”

Alicia doesn’t wait for the man’s response, instead storming away to the elevator in a huff. When she gets to it, and she’s pressing the button, Alicia opens her purse again to ensure that the purse was truly empty. She finds it is.

By the time the doors open and she gets in, she has no idea what to tell Jack. She can’t go back in and search for them, because the mere fact that one of them had already caught on to the fact that they’d been missing the pin and connected it to her probably meant the rest were in the midst of doing the same. It would be a death mission and it's surely to draw unwanted attention to both her and Jack after all is said and done.

She collects her and Jack’s coat from the men at the front of the building as though nothing has happened, and then she steps outside onto the elegant front lawn to wait for Jack, as planned.

Maybe all those men who had been so harsh on her had been right; maybe she wasn’t a good fit. Even Jack himself had expressed his doubts when they’d begun working together. She’s really done them in with this one.

“Madam Chapman?” a man in uniform asks, pulling her from her thoughts.

“Yes?”

“Your car is ready when you are.” The man points to a white vehicle three cars down from the one in front of the doorway. “Thank you for spending the night with the Beaufoys, and have a safe trip home.”

She smiles at the man and he walks off to the next couple close beside her to tell them much of the same.

It only takes a few moments longer until Jack comes to stand right next to her. He grabs his jacket from her arms and moves them along down the steps of the home. “Where is the car?” he asks.

“Over there.” She points to the white car. “Did you get them?”

He only nods in response, but he’s wearing a proud grin. It makes her feel a little queasy.

“Jack, I’ve got something to tell you.”

“I’ve got something to tell you too.”

“No, Jack, it’s serious.”

One of the employees opens the car door for them. Jack reaches into his suit pocket and produces a tip. “Thank you,” he tells him, ignoring Alicia’s comment. “In you go,” he says instead, nodding towards the open door.

She gets in and Jack steps in behind her, lifting her dress so as not to step on it. When they’re sat and the door is closed, she leans across the middle seat to him.

“Jack, I really must tell you something.”

He shakes his head. “Oh, honey, don’t look so serious.”

“Jack!”

“Pinkie.”

“Oh, Jack,” she says. “Jack, I lost those pins I had.”

He sighs, but he doesn’t appear nearly as distressed as he should. “I know so,” he says, reaching into his pockets. He lays all twelve swans out of the seat between them. “Oh and this too.” Jack lifts himself off the seat and pulls out her gun from behind his back, putting it beside the swans. “Now stop looking so serious. It’s not befitting for a woman in a dress like that.”

“How’d you…?” She frowns, thinking. Jack pulls out a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, and puts one in his mouth. He offers her one but she shakes her head. “Oh, the staircase.”

Jack winks. “Mm, right on the head, darlin’. I saw that fellow following you a mile away, and I knew exactly what he wanted, so I followed you too. Smart, huh?”

She crosses her arms. “No,” she growls. “Not at all, Jack!”

Taking his turn to frown, Jack says, “Oh, don’t tell me you’re pissed about it! I saved your pretty lil’ life.”

“Oh, you’d love to believe that wouldn’t you?”

Alicia leans away from Jack, towards the other door. For the rest of the ride, they don’t say a thing to each other.

��—

“So the rumors in the paper are true then?” Jack says coolly. He glances down pointedly at the ring she’s just out back on her finger. The one she had there before, the decoy, is left on the table in front of them. “Mr. New York proposed to our best agent - or wait, mystery woman - and she said yes?”

She smiles at his dramatics. “Oh, Jack, don’t look so gloomy. It’s not befitting of a man who practically just completed a mission all by himself,” she mocks.

He straightens himself in his seat. “Don’t be like that, darlin’,” he scolds, a thick country accent seeping those words of his. He speaks with it like he really missed it. “I’ll be sure everyone knows the essential role you played tonight.”

“No, Jack, it’s quite alright. I’m not going to be working with you - or the agency for that matter - much longer anyhow. I was hoping we’d be in better spirits before I told you that.”

This causes Jack to lean forward on the table that separates them. “He made you choose,” he whispers, as though they aren’t the only two on this plane. “You can’t become just a housewife. That’s just not who you are.”

Smiling, she takes the cigarette case with his initials on it off of the table, and she takes one from it. Tapping the cigarette on the back of the case, she says, “He didn’t make me choose, Jack. I chose. This isn’t the life for a woman. Believe you said that yourself, once upon a time.”

Jack takes his packet of matches off the table before she can, and he lights one for her. “Well, I was wrong.” He lights the end of her cigarette. “Dead wrong. You did great tonight and I’m not so egotistical, I can't admit that.”

She takes a puff off of the cigarette and laughs. “Oh, men get awfully kind when you start pulling the punches, don’t you think?” She inspects him for a moment, taking in his frustrated, puzzled look. Then, leaning forward just as he has, she touches a finger to the lines between his eyebrows. “You got those because of the way you’re looking at me now, Mr. Daniels.”

Jack pushes her hand away from him. “You’re making a mistake.”

She flicks the end of her cigarette into a bowl in front of them. “Yes, but it’s my mistake to make. Isn’t that nice, freedom of choice?”

“You won’t ever get back to where you are if you leave now. You’re just gettin’ really good.”

She laughs but there’s mirth lacking from it. “Yes, Jack, and I’ve only been on, what, two years less than you?”

“Well, that’s not a fair comparison.”

“Why isn’t it?”

“Because I had experience before this.”

“Oh?” She raises her eyebrow. “Being a rodeo clown?”

Jack clicks his tongue at her. “Oh, you’re being rotten now. You were only a fuckin’ actress when they found you, baby. You weren’t meant to be an agent.”

“I’ll stay rotten too ‘cause it’s not gonna matter at the end of the day. I could be talking to you sweet as can be and you’d still call me that because I’m not saying what you want.”

Jack shakes his head and takes a cigarette out for himself. Placing it between his lips, he says, “Archie is a joke, and that’s what you’re going to be too. I bet you’re only with him for the money and I promise you it won’t be enough.”

Jack doesn’t even have the opportunity to light the cigarette before she’s tearing it out of his mouth and throwing it to the other side of the plane. He looks at her, taken aback. “What’d you do that for?”

She stands from her seat. “Archie’s twice the man you could ever hope to be, Jack. You’re only mad because no one’s calling him a hick, and you know that stupid accent of yours makes sure the world knows that’s just what you are.”

“Oh,” he huffs, taking a stand from his seat too. “I’ll be happy when you’re married off to him, and I was right when I said you weren’t meant for this the first time. I may be a hick, but you’ll always just be the two bit actress from nowhere who couldn’t even make it to the big screen. You were recruited by us hicks, and don’t you forget it, princess.”

Alicia stamps out her cigarette. “Jack,” she says, “You’re enough to make any woman want to marry and become a housewife.”

With those final words, she exits to the bathroom, leaving Jack to seep in his anger.

Jack sits back in his seat and smokes his cigarette, watching the night sky below the plane. Though he is angry at her, there’s a very sensible part of him alert right now, and it’s telling him that he’s got to do something about this marriage.

He’ll be damned if he lets his two bit actress become someone else’s wife.

#agent whiskey x oc #agenty whiskey #jack daniels #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #agent whiskey fanfic #jack daniels fanfic #fanfic #kingsman the golden circle #kingsman #agent whiskey x female oc

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goldilockswrites · 3 years ago

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well...😊💕

it's random question time

top 3 Ethan's photos?

OMG! Okay, so I think it's pretty clear that Ethan is very close to my heart. Now that being said I have many photos of his I absolutely ADORE. But if I had to pick three I'd say:

I absolutely love how angelic he looks here. Truly. A fucking prince. The way his hair is just a tiny bit messy, lips slightly parted, the pink shirt? Maybe it's just me, but personally, I think that when people look up (in pictures) it kinda gives them that slightly dreamy look, which for some reason makes me feel like that look really vulnerable. And honestly, this photograph is a fucking masterpiece for this exact reason. Yeah, this is definitely my most favorite pic of his. (Can I just hug you and kiss you on the cheek sir?)

So next up is this one. I really love it, because he just looks so comfortable and happy and cuddly here. Oof, I am swooning. Like the sun hitting his skin and his outfit looks so soft and his little smile. He kinda reminds me of the flowers I used to have in my tiny garden back at aunt's. I believe they are called bleeding hearts. Idk why, but this photo just radiates a bouquet of wildflowers in human form.

So this is the next photo I will add to this list. I really fucking love this one, because his face expression is just so on point, you know? Like damn it he is hot. Also the pearly necklace and the ring on the pinky? How could I not love this? I can almost feel the warmth of his body through the screen, which is obviously very nice. XD

#ethan torchio #just axe's thoughts #this took me too long to spot under all the other asks #but it's truly #golden

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sebstanseabass · 3 years ago

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Afterglow (A Bucky Barnes AU fan fiction) - Chapter 17

Afterglow chapters

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

One of the advantages of being a photographer — or a self-taught photographer in your case — is having the ability to acquire an eidetic memory. You remembered the hat that the little bitch (a four-year old) was wearing when she pushed you off the swings in daycare, or the little stain on your father's doctor's lab coat when your family had to rush him to the hospital, or what Peter was wearing the day you guys first met (some oversized flannel he borrowed from Bucky), or the look on your ex-boyfriend's face when you punched him in the face for cheating on you.

The attention to every pretty little detail is, and always will be, a must, and so not remembering where you had seen Bucky before killed you, or rather, was killing you.

It was a normal morning, well, better than your normal mornings to say the least, with Bucky spending the night in your bed. This time, you woke up first, all wrapped in nothing but sheets and Bucky's arms just like yesterday. You rolled over to his side and admired him in his sleep. Then, sudden flashes of Bucky's face from before flooded your memory. You didn't know when exactly was before. It felt like a kind of a deja vu moment.

While eating Bucky's homemade breakfast, in your mind, you listed all the possible places where you could've seen him before: a café, a bar you once went to in college, a bookstore, a museum, a convivial gathering, a convenience store, and any other places you could've bumped into him.

The morning grew unusually quiet and clouded, eliciting concern from Bucky.

"You seem awfully quiet this morning." He observed. "Are you alright, doll?"

"Y-yes, I am."

"Uh-oh, was the sex not great last night?" He joked, nudging his elbow against yours.

You shook your head, trying to smile a little. Thankful that Bucky was trying to keep everything light. "No, no, it was great. You were great. It's just... I'm just quite anxious for today."

Today, you were going to Sam's office and to his store on Fifth Street, to discuss the details about the project. It wasn't what you had in your mind this morning but as you told Bucky about it, you realized you really were getting a bit nervous about the meeting. It was a big deal, after all.

Sam's business, The Falcons, was getting more recognition than you thought. He was now in near competition with Nike and Adidas, especially with the rumors of him releasing brand-new footwear, that could — and you quote one of the articles you read while on break — “overthrow the big leagues.” That alone, already put you in the spotlight. So, whatever you put out there should only be a success, and not a flop; because if it were a failure, you wouldn't only be humiliating yourself, but Bucky as well.

"You're gonna do great!" He assured you. "Plus, it's just a meeting. You two already seem to have a grasp on the project, anyway."

"Yeah." You sighed. "You're right."

You wanted to ask Bucky if you had ever, ever, met each other before — perhaps during a party where you’ve rescued Peter before? — but you bit your tongue to stop yourself. You already did when you met, anyway. And everything was going great between the two of you — whatever the hell this was; besides, labels are overrated nowadays — and you didn't want to say anything or do anything that could potentially ruin it. You were beyond happy in your little bubble, and you could tell Bucky was, too.

You brushed all those thoughts at the back of your mind as you and Bucky strolled through Sam's building's hallways, ironically telling yourself it was all just in your head, that you were just quite edgy about this damn meeting, that you were just thinking about Bucky all the damn time; and the more you told these things to yourself, the more you believed it, and the more you hoped you would never have these thoughts again.

Today, you wore something a bit different than what you usually wore down at the bar. A blazer and pants set, adorned with black and white stripes, a tube top inside, and a white belt that kept the blazer on your sides. You got the set when you and Bucky were out shopping on Monday, of course, Bucky paid for it no matter how many times you refused. Your hair was let down, all the ends flowing down your shoulders until the bottom of your breasts. Lips painted bright red (which Bucky really, really liked). A bit of shimmer on your eyelids as well.

Today was a huge deal and you wanted to look your best.

Bucky kept his hand on the small of your back the whole time you walked, giving a sense of comfort and familiarity you now learned to be fond of. He told the story of how he met Sam (at a bar, where else?), how he had seen him grow in the industry (all the ups and downs), and also how they've always supported each other — the three of them.

"Wait, the three of you?" You asked. "There's another one?"

Bucky almost wanted to stop in his tracks but decided against it. He avoided your gaze, his eyes straight down the hallway. "Yes, but we've fallen apart." He said. "He has his own thing now. Anyway, let's not talk about it. We have more important things to deal with today."

Before you could even ask what the name of this third friend was, Sam appeared at the end of the hallway, with his arms wide open, like a king opening his arms to his heir. Bucky, without leaving your side, proceeded to hug Sam only using his free arm, "Hey, man," he said, and retreated back afterwards.

On the other hand, you shook Sam's hand and gave him a smile.

"Hi, Sam." You greeted. "Nice to see you again."

"You too... y/n." Sam replied, hiding a smirk you knew he was itching to show, hiding the fact that he wanted to mock Bucky by calling you "babydoll."

"You guys made it in time." He said. "Come with me to the conference hall."

Sam led you to his right where a white long table stood in the middle with a bunch of vacant office chairs around. A projector sat on the center of the table, a series of displays of sports apparel lying around, perfectly organized by color. A blonde woman had her back on you, flipping papers on a clipboard. Once she heard you come in, she swiveled around and put the clipboard on the table.

"Y/n, this is Sharon Carter, my assistant and the project manager assigned for this new release." Sam spoke. "She knows everything there is to know about how my business works, all the ins and outs. And if in any case I won't be around, you can always rely on her."

"Hi, nice to meet you." You said.

Sharon Carter, instead of answering verbally, just offered you a smile and a small nod. Her gaze shifted towards Bucky, and then Sam. "Mr. Wilson, does he need to be here?"

"Always a pleasure to see you, Sharon." Bucky chuckled.

Sharon ignored him and continued to talk to Sam; well, tried to. "All the details in today's meeting are confidential and he — "

"He's good, Sharon." Sam cut her off. "I doubt he'll be interested in this, anyway. He's just here for his... doll." Sam chortled and Bucky winked and clicked his tongue in response. "Besides, he's the one who introduced me to y/n."

Sharon sighed in defeat and tried to smile at her boss. "Very well then."

"Please, take a seat." Sam offered, leading you towards the vacant chairs.

While walking towards the chairs, Bucky bent over on your side and whispered: "Don't worry, she's usually like that" which gave you relief.

"Good," you whispered back, "for a moment there, I thought she hated my guts."

"To be fair, she usually hates everyone's guts. Especially mine." Then, he placed a small kiss on your temple before pulling out a chair for you. "You'll do great, doll."

"Alright," Sharon started, glaring at Bucky, "shall we begin?"

The meeting lasted longer than you had liked it to be, and for a little while, it suddenly became an understanding of the difference between working with small, independent businesses and big businesses such as Sam's. Usually, you had a lot of artistic upper hand when it came to the small ones, seeing as they were still starting — and it was also where your college degree came in handy. You would talk to them about advertising, and marketing strategies through product photography. And that was that. But Sam's business already had something to start with.

Something already big.

In the middle of the presentation, Bucky reached for your hand under the table (which took you by surprise), hooking his pinky into yours.

"Just hold my pinky like this if this is too overwhelming for you." He whispered.

"Why the pinky?"

He just shrugged in response, a smile playing on his lips.

Sharon walked you all the way through it, careful not to miss any kind of detail, small or big: from the moment the business started (Sam working in retail, then reselling clothes, then making streetwear designs of his own until he landed on sporting apparels), and to what made the business grow what it is right now.

"Inclusivity." She continued, clicking on the next slide, "This is what The Falcons is going to be all about. Plus-size workout clothes, a huge array of colors suited for every skin tone — literally any color you can think of. We also have workout clothes and streetwear in one which means new designs and new materials. And of course, the new footwear. Bringing the light in speed, bringing new comfort, a new aesthetic, footwear for all. Again, inclusivity. Right in front of you," she pointed to all the sports apparel lying on the table, "are the new designs. We just received the first batch yesterday and we're expecting the second and last one hopefully this weekend just in time for the photoshoots any day next week."

"Me and the marketing team haven't actually discussed the photoshoot details, but they've had that with Sharon, seeing as she's the project head. All I have to do is approve it," Sam said, looking at you, "with you here, of course."

You nodded in agreement, then looked at Sharon. "Will we discuss, perhaps, half of it today?"

"Oh, I can discuss all of it." Sharon smugly replied. "I have a very promising proposal right here." She clicked the next slide, showing photos of various known models. "Let's start with the models. The new faces of the Falcons — "

"Hi, sorry. Can I weigh in on this one?" You interrupted as you scanned the faces of the models in front.

"I haven't finished yet."

You looked at Sam, who had his finger on his chin (assessing the situation), pleading with him with your eyes. "Go ahead, y/n." He said, nodding.

"Thank you, Sam." You replied then went back to the screen. "If I'm not mistaken, that's Kendall Jenner."

"Yes, it is."

"That's not exactly a new face." You argued. "And isn't she already an ambassador for Adidas?"

"It is a new face of The Falcons." She answered. "And she's actually ending her contract with Adidas. Something about breach of contract or some sort that I cannot legally discuss with outsiders."

"Where are the plus-size models?" You asked.

"I was actually getting to it." She clicked the next slide.

"Ashley Graham?"

"Yes, her. She's the perfect candidate."

You bit your lip, leaning forward on the table and unhooking your pinky with Bucky's. "Look, all of these models are gorgeous and handsome and good models but they're faces you see every single day on billboards — "

"Exactly. They're faces you see every single day." She repeated. "That means that these faces sell. And that's what we want for this release."

"I thought what you wanted was inclusivity." You frowned. "We should get people who are real athletes and models from different races, colors, and sizes. Real people, not these people you see every day on your phone or everywhere you go. These models are overrated, anyways." You faced Sam, who was listening intently. "Let's not get faces but stories instead. I believe that's what will separate The Falcons from these huge brands. It's a new release, right? Might as well make everything new."

Your words hung in the air, rendering the whole conference room quiet. Until Sharon broke it off. "Business doesn't work that way. I went to business school. I know how the system works."

You chuckled. "I majored in business and finance. Trust me, I know everything there is to know about business, not just you."

She was dumbfounded but tried to hide it, anyway. "But this is my proposal. You don't have a say on who we should get. You don't work for The Falcons."

"I know." You sighed. "But I'm working with you, and I have a say in this as much as you do." You glanced at Sam who was deep in thought. "But of course, Sam will always have the last say."

You leaned back in your chair, your chest heaving. With your eyes straight ahead, you grabbed Bucky's hand and hooked your pinky with his.

"Sharon," Sam started, "that was an excellent presentation and I humbly appreciate it but y/n does have a point. I wouldn't want these people representing The Falcons. I want people like me, people with stories to tell. Inclusivity isn't a marketing strategy, or a statement. It's what I believe in. And you," he swiveled his chair in your direction, "made a good case out of it."

You broke out in a smile, glancing at Bucky who also did the same. He now intertwined his fingers with yours, squeezing your hand three times.

"Sharon, find new models and athletes and have their profiles by next week. Let's think of it like... Kind of like a casting call." Sam said, standing up. "Now, let's dismiss this meeting 'cause I am starving."

"You have got to get a new assistant, Sam." Bucky groaned as you got inside Bucky's limo. You had lunch at some fancy restaurant in Manhattan before Sam showed you around the main store down Fifth Street.

You laughed, greeting Howard who gave you a smile through the rearview mirror. "She's the best assistant I could ever get."

"Please." Bucky said. "You could have better. She's just, ugh, I don't know, what's the word for someone who thinks she's better than everyone else in the room? Who hates practically everyone but goes to great, great lengths just to kiss your ass — "

"Alright, alright!" Sam cut him off, laughing. "I get it, man. But y'know I can't afford to lose her. It took me months to get a loyal and honest assistant."

"Ugh, fine."

"You just want her out because you're protecting your little babydoll."

"Jesus, Sam." Bucky said. "Stop calling her that."

"Yeah, stop calling me that." You frowned, leaning on Bucky's side and wrapping your hand around his muscular arm. "Only he gets to call me that."

"You guys make me sick." Sam joked.

You turned towards Bucky who had the end of his eyes, crinkled, and nose, scrunched. "Hey," you said, grabbing his attention, "did you get a text from Parker last night?"

His expression became relaxed, and looked at you. "Yes, actually. Something about a kid named Schmidt."

You chuckled. "Yeah, he's kind of a bully. Remind me to beat his ass when he comes to the bar. You won't miss him. He's got way too much gel in his hair, and too much of a know-it-all, kind of like, Ross Geller."

"Oh, I'd like to watch you beat someone up." Sam nodded, smirking. "You know what, I'd pay you to punch Parker."

"Oh come on, Sam." Bucky laughed.

"Nah, I'm kidding. I love that little kid. Speaking of Peter," Sam cleared his throat, "what are you guys gonna do when he gets back?"

You and Bucky fell silent, hooking your pinky with his once more. "We, uh," you glanced at Bucky who had his eyes on his shoes, "we haven't talked about it yet. But we will tell him, that's for sure. Right, James?"

His eyes shot up to yours, then at Sam. "Yes, yes, of course. I mean it's Peter. Of course, we'll tell him. Just not right away."

"What do you mean not right away?" You frowned.

"Well, we can't flat out tell the guy we're dating the moment he comes back. I don't want him to have a heart attack." Then, he bent down a little, leveling his mouth on your ear. "We are dating, right?"

"Well, we haven't talked about it and we're certainly not talking about it in front of Sam." You replied, glancing at Sam who was just staring at the both of you.

"We're here, Mr. Barnes." The partition pulled open, revealing Howard's voice. The three of you got out of the limo, the bar right just right in front. Before we even got to enter the bar, Sam tapped your shoulder and called out to Bucky.

"Do you mind if I borrow your girl for a moment? I'll just have to discuss something work-related."

Bucky turned around and glanced at the both of us. "Yes, sure." He pecked you on the lips then turned around to enter the bar.

"This is actually about Bucky." Sam said.

"Oh." You said. "Okay. What about Bucky?"

"I have to say, I haven't seen him that happy."

"Uh, isn't that supposed to be a good thing?"

"It is, it is! And I'm glad he has you."

"But?"

He sighed. "But just be careful with him. Look, y/n, he's a good guy and all; we're practically brothers... But he's a child. I've known him since we were teenagers. He's almost forty and not once has he had a serious relationship."

"What are you trying to say, Sam?"

"You've only known him for, what, a couple of weeks? Don't you think this is going a little too fast?"

"I like Bucky." You replied. "I genuinely do and what we do or how we do is honestly none of your business. It doesn't matter how long I've known him. I appreciate you looking out for Bucky, but Bucky's an adult. We're all adults here. We can handle ourselves."

"Just promise me one thing."

"Sure."

"Don't hurt my friend." He said. "He may act like this rich bitch just parading around town, getting by with his manly looks and shit, but he's a child. He doesn't know what he wants. If you hurt him, you'll also end up hurting yourself. So, be careful, alright? Think this through, and talk with him."

Silence.

"Promise me, y/n."

You nodded. "Yeah, I promise."

"Good. Now let's head in there, I need a drink."

"Wait, Sam." You said, making Sam stop in his tracks. "Do you think Bucky likes me as much as I do?"

"I can't say for sure." Sam replied before walking inside.

You leaned your back against the brick wall, hitting the back of your head. You closed your eyes, letting all your thoughts rush in.

Still feeling a little bit light-headed, you went inside (which was still empty except for Nat, Sam, and Bucky) and as soon as Nat's eyes landed on your figure, she whistled. "Oh wow, Mrs. Fancypants!"

You chuckled, removing your blazer, revealing the tight black tube top as it was getting a bit hot. "Shut up, Nat."

"Woah, somebody call the fire department 'cause it's getting hoooot in here!" Nat continued then tilted her head towards Bucky. "Hey big guy, if you're not gonna hit that, I will."

You rolled your eyes, chucking the blazer to her face. You turned to Bucky who was sitting in the usual booth with Sam. "She said the same thing to me about you."

"Don't expose me like that, y/n. Not. Cool."

You giggled, sliding in the booth and greeting Bucky with a kiss on the cheek. "Hey, you."

"Hey, doll." He smiled, placing his hand on your thigh and pulling you closer. "We were just talking about you."

You glanced at Sam, who was smiling at you. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah." Sam nodded. "Don't worry, it's all good. And, y/n... That thing we talked about earlier."

"What about it?" You asked.

"We're good." He answered. "And to answer that last question, he does."

You beamed. "Really? He does?" You asked, as if Bucky wasn't even in the room.

"Yes, he really does."

"Hey, what are you guys talking about?" Bucky asked out of curiosity.

You glanced at Sam, smiling, "Oh, just this model I want for the shoot," and then you looked back at Bucky, "I was kind of having doubts for a hot minute over there about him, but, everything's fine. Everything's good."

"Good." He kissed your temple softly, making your heart flutter. "It should be."

#bucky barnes story #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky #James Buchanan Barnes #Bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #bucky story #marvel #bucky x female reader

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consumeconstantly · 4 years ago

Text

Summer Photography (aka the thirst trap)

Summary: Marinette is forced to take pictures for Gabriel in order to pay for her summer graduation trip with her best friends from lycee. Adrien, her primary model, wants to avoid the summer heat and pulls in one very attractive bad-boy motorcycle man to be his replacement.

_______________________________________________________

July in Gotham comes with an almost rancid kind of heat.

The kind of heat that is impossible to banish unless the air conditioning is set to 65 degrees and there’s a dehumidifier in the room. The kind of heat that makes babies cry with discomfort and adults curse whenever they have to take a foot outside. The only age population that enjoys it are the teens. More precisely, the teens are more fans of being on summer vacation, rather than the sticky warmth, but they find ways to work with the heat, rather than against it. Some teens gather on apartment rooftops, taking in the rare, smoggy breeze with pleasure. Others frequent their local swimming pool, an ice cream parlor or convenience store. If they get really desperate, they take shelter in the library.

Should a teen be forced out onto the muggy sidewalks full of sweaty bodies, they drift towards parks or areas of ‘city beautification’ and find a tree to rest their weary bodies under.

Of course, there are always exceptions to these norms.

“Marinette,” Adrien groans, sweat on his brow. “Can we please do this not during peak heat?”

“No,” Marinette says. “Your father insisted on having pictures of a male model at precisely two in the afternoon, and it took me months to convince him to let us come on this trip, so we’re not going to do anything to jeopardize it.”

“It’s not like he can do anything now. We’re literally an ocean away.”

“Suck it up, sunshine,” Marinette swats her hand at a lazy fly, not bothering to look up from changing the lens on her camera. “Maybe I’d let you get away with a substitution. Gabriel didn’t specify that the person in the pictures had to be you, but we don’t know anyone in Gotham, and everyone we’ve come across so far isn’t exactly the friendly sort.”

Adrien flicks the collar of his t-shirt, desperately trying to generate some sort of a breeze so he doesn’t melt. “This is all Nino’s fault. He and Alya insisted on going to that couple’s show when he could have been out here, taking my place. If Luka were here, he wouldn’t have deserted me like that.”

“We all know of your and Luka’s undying love for one another, but he is busy touring. He’ll meet up with us in New York, though, and you can have your disgustingly sweet love-fest over there. Meanwhile, I’ll be forever alone.”

“Don’t put yourself down like that, Marinette. At least five people in each city we’ve gone to so far have tried to go on dates with you.”

She crinkles her nose and does a test shot, making sure the light setting works out. “Yeah, but they all reeked of desperation and alcohol. Plus, at least two of them were just looking for a person to cheat with.”

“No good,” Marinette says, frowning at the shadows the tree cast. “Gabriel won’t be happy with these kinds of photos. You’re going to have to move out of the shade.”

“No!” Adrien wails. “I refuse! It’s bad enough that you dragged me out here, but to make me go in the sun? You know I burn easily.”

“Yeah, yeah drama queen, but these photos aren’t going to take themselves, and I’m one hundred percent sure that you don’t want to have to do this twice. Which is what we’ll end up having to do if you don’t get your little butt out into the sun so we can take quality shots.”

Adrien whines before a motorcycle revs in the not so far distance. A very Chat Noir smile creeps onto his face. “I don’t think I will. I’ve just found my substitute.”

Marinette follows his gaze, then shrugs. “If you think you can convince him to substitute in, you’re free to go. But remember, it’s Gotham, and if you get jumped, I’m not going to help. It’s too hot for a fight.”

“You underestimate my charm.” Adrien says, already triumphant.

True to form, Adrien somehow manages to get motorcycle man over to her.

“Not sure how Adrien convinced you to do this, but I guess he gets a free pass.” Marinette knows exactly what Adrien’s going to do with his free time. He’s gone on and on about Gotham’s Museum of Vigilantes, and to be quite frank, Marinette doesn’t want to get caught up in another one of Adrien’s rant sessions on the Bat Family. “Anyways, nice to meet you. I’m Marinette, and my awful boss has come of with the wonderfully creative idea of Summer Heat for a photoshoot in the summer.”

She has a bone to pick with Gabriel Agreste. More than one, actually. In fact, she’d say that out of the 206 (well, 207, if she counts the fracture she got in her left pinky toe after that last akuma battle that weirdly, still hasn’t healed) bones in her body, she’d pick a fight with Gabriel over at least 200 of them. The lack of originality is one thing, but she’s not sure how she feels about his blatant attempts to set her up with her son during this trip. Somehow, he still hasn’t grasped the fact that his son doesn’t swing her way despite having hundreds of pictures of being lovey-dovey with Luka all over the internet. In fact, maybe it’s because Adrien and Luka have that many pictures that Gabriel is trying to push for a heterosexual relationship. A lack of vision both for his photo shoots and for his company. Marinette doesn’t understand how she once looked up to this man.

“It’s no problem. I’ve got nothing better to do, anyways.”

Marinette blinks, then reassesses the man in front of her. Not only does he have a sinfully attractive voice, but his visual appeal isn’t that bad, either. “It’s still nice of you to do this. Should be a pretty quick shoot. Five outfit changes and a few poses in each-- shouldn’t take any longer than an hour, hour and a half.”

She rummages through her bag, fishing out a stack of paper. “You’ll get paid for your time. $250 for the whole shoot, and if you want to keep one of the outfits, feel free.”

If she’s being completely honest, she thinks that Gabriel’s summer collection is a hot mess, and she doesn’t particularly want the burden of bringing back the disgusting articles of clothes back with her in her suitcase. Should motorcycle man not want any of them, she’ll send them back via express mail.

“Don’t need the money, but I’m trying to stay out for as long as I can. Any way you could make the shoot go on longer?”

“You want to stay out in this heat?” Marinette asks in disbelief, taking out a small bag of makeup to apply to his face. She motions for him to sit in the shade of the tree while she sees what she needs to cover up.

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Motorcycle man says.

“Like the owner of a custom Harley-Davidson is poor,” Marinette quips. Humming in approval after giving his features once over, she decides that foundation isn’t necessary, only concealer to cover up the dark circles and some old scars.“You have great skin.”

During their summer trip, Marinette has become makeup artist, photographer, public relations manager, and trip advisor. It’s a taxing job, but well worth the reward, which is an all-expense-paid graduation trip with her friends from lycee. Well, Nino and Alya had to pay, but between Nino’s part time DJ gigs and Alya’s ad revenue on the Ladyblog, it wasn’t hard for them to raise enough for the two month long, seven city, four country trip.

“One of my siblings is insistent that we do our best to minimize the scarring. Don’t know what his deal is, it’s not like our faces are sellable commodities.”

“That’s where you’re wrong-- you’re pretty good looking and could easily go into modelling or acting if you wanted. So props to whoever your sibling is. And thank your genetics too.”

Motorcycle man snorts. “Not cut out for that lifestyle. I like more… adrenaline inducing jobs.”

Marinette almost-- almost laughs. The placement of the scars on his face do imply that he’s gotten in at least one or two knife fights before, and there’s a thin line on his neck that definitely looks like it hurt. Motorcycle man has definitely been in trouble before, but he’s also good enough to get himself out of it. She’s not going to bother asking what his job is. She doesn’t want to be an accessory to any of his crimes. “Action movies, then?”

“Oh sweetheart, I make action movies look like a kid’s fist fight.”

“Wow, we have a bad boy on our hands, ladies and gentleman.” She finishes applying highlighter and sits back to admire her work. His jaw can cut glass. “Okay, Motorcycle Man, it’s time to take pictures. If you’re good, maybe I’ll draw the shoot out-- I’m not a fan of this humidity.”

Summer is better than winter, if only because she’s acquired a weird habit to almost hibernate when the temperature gets too cold. It’s easy for Marinette to shrug off the heat most days, even when her friends complain constantly.

“The name’s Jason.”

“I think I’ll stick with Motorcycle Man. Alliteration, you know? Now, one hand in your pocket, the other at your collar. Left leg out a little, like you’re ready to take a step-- perfect. Walk forwards a little, yeah, just like that.”

Jason is Adonis personified. The perfect package of cocky, arrogant, and bad boy. It doesn’t hurt that he’s well muscled either-- even Adrien doesn’t have thighs like that, and he spends hours as Chat Noir jumping from rooftop to rooftop.

“You’re a natural,” Marinette praises. “Have you ever modeled before?”

“Not like this, but I’ve got my fair share of pictures on the internet.”

She’s going to regret asking this. But curiosity killed the cat, not the ladybug. “If not for modelling, then what for?”

“Oh, you know. This and that. A few odd jobs here and there.”

And if that doesn’t make Jason sound more like a criminal, she doesn’t know what will. Marinette decides that she definitely won’t bring up a day job, let alone a night job.

“All right, next outfit.” She pushes a muscle tank top and light, ripped jeans into his hands. “You can change in the public restroom, and if anything doesn’t fit, just let me know.”

He takes the outfit, but pauses at one of the other outfits she has in her bag. “Is that… leather and fur? For a shoot with the theme of summer heat?”

“I don’t call the shots, I’m just the poor lackey who has to make them look good. Trust me, if I were in charge of design, the only outfit that might still be in the bag is the one you’re holding right now.” Gabriel is definitely losing his touch. But hey, doing this weird intern summer program for him isn’t the worst thing she’s had to do in her life. It’s good to learn from other people’s mistakes, rather than making them herself.

“Don’t worry. Crappy fashion isn’t going to scare me away. Have you seen some of Gotham’s villains?”

At that, she couldn’t suppress a laugh. “You’re talking Gotham villains? How about Paris?”

“Paris is some weird alternate dimension. It doesn’t count,” Jason protests.

“I could say the same for Gotham. Really, why are there so many Robins? Can’t they come up with another name?”

“I almost wish I could argue with that.”

He comes out of the stall, and Marinette feels the summer heat. Jason, Motorcycle Man is ripped. Yeah, his thighs are probably some of the thickest she’s seen, but his biceps are to die for. She’s half tempted to ask for his workout regime, but she’s sure that somewhere he’ll casually throw in ‘beating up random people on the street’ or ‘punching people who piss him off.’ Those are just the kind of vibes that Jason gives off.

“The arm holes are kinda tight.”

“I’m sure they are,” Marinette breathes, chest tight. Jason’s eyes smoulder. He knows exactly what he’s doing as he places an arm on the door frame and flexes. She thinks she can die happy, now.

They wrap up the shoot quickly. All of the clothes are promptly packaged up except for the tanktop and jeans.

@jasonette-july-2k20

____________________________________________________________

For the other jasonette prompts i’ve written for so far, i think i’ll probably continue them eventually, so lmk if you want to be added to the tag list for that. pretty surprised these are getting such a good reception thank you guys for that ;)

#jasonette july #jasonette #jason todd #marinette dupain cheng #maribat #miraculous ladybug #dcu #summer #jason has thicccc thighs #marinette is a ho for muscles #adrien agreste #original content

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exoticarmyofcrowns · 4 years ago

Text

sing for me | kth

pairing: taehyung x fem!reader

summary: you have been living with your roommate for well over a year and the unresolved sexual tension between the two of you finally comes to a head

genre: romance, smut (VERY 18+ not for the littles), roommates au

warnings: masturbation, vouyerism??, fingering, thigh riding, attempted dirty talk, breath play, slight power play???, excessive use of the word “baby” and other pet names, kinda awkward discussion of feelings thrown in bc my characters never shut up when i want them to get it on sorry

word count: ~6.6k

a/n: hello~ um... i have no explanation for this. i am like half ashamed and half proud of this??? idek man. all i know is that i couldn’t have done it without @sugaerie so thank you so much my queen i love uuuu

You step through the door of your apartment, feet practically screaming with relief as you kick off your shoes.

Work was really kicking your ass lately. Add that together with the stress of grad school and you had a deadly concoction not even your favorite tea and copious amount of ibuprofen could protect you from. Your job as a cashier was pretty easy, you can’t lie, but constantly standing and running around the store did a number on your poor feet. Thank god you had weekends off—a perk of having worked there so long you practically had the manager wrapped around your pinky when it came time for scheduling—so you could sleep in for once.

Tossing your keys on the counter, you spare a glance at the clock above the stove as you walk into your small kitchen. It’s about a quarter to midnight. You figure Taehyung is still out with his friends, hitting up one of the bars downtown.

You sigh heavily at the thought of your roommate. Not because anything wrong with him. Taehyung is nothing short of incredible. He’s sweet and kind, always greeting you with the most adorable boxy smile that makes you feel like the only person in the universe. People gravitate toward him just as easily as he draws them in, a natural warmth that instantly puts others at ease in his presence. He’s generous and thoughtful, never missing an opportunity to surprise you at work with a coffee or just to see you. Those shifts are your favorites and maybe you’re a little spoiled because you often find yourself glancing at the entrance more often than not, trying to see if you can spot his dark, curly head from your register.

Not to mention Taehyung is incredibly stunning. Long dark curls frame his face in the most intimidatingly beautiful way it’s often hard to look away from him. He’s got piercing dark eyes that can stare right into your soul but that also crinkle beautifully at the corners when he smiles. His fashion sense is killer, obscure brands and fabrics lining his closet almost like a museum. You’re not sure how but he can wear just about anything and still manage to look like he just stepped off a runway.

He works as a freelance photographer and has quite the sizeable following on social media. He’s passionate about his work and it shows in the quality of his photos. You know next to nothing about photography but even you can see that the beauty and skill with which he wields his camera is nothing short of magical. Commissions are not hard to come by for him, though you’re more than positive it has just as much to do with Taehyung himself as it does his beautiful portfolio.

No, there is absolutely nothing wrong with Taehyung.

Only that he’s perfect and you have a massive crush on him.

Exhaling tiredly, you run a heavy hand down your face. Anyone else would be ecstatic about having such a wonderful, attractive roommate but you know things like this can only end in disaster. More than anything, Taehyung is your friend—your best friend, you would argue—and involving feelings into your relationship can only end poorly. The whole roommates thing just adds another layer of complication that is better left alone. You don’t shit where you eat, after all.

But it’s difficult. Taehyung is just so nice and likeable it’s unreal. You often find your thoughts wandering to dangerous places when you both are curled up on the couch together during movie nights, blankets and pillows and snacks scattered all over the living room, while he curls his body around you without a second thought. He’s naturally tactile, you try to remind yourself in an effort to calm your racing pulse but then he’ll laugh at something happening in the movie, his cheeks plumping up adorably, and you know you’re a lost cause as you feel your heart melt all over again.

It’s getting increasingly difficult to ignore your feelings for your roommate and you know something has to give eventually. In the last couple of weeks, there seemed to have been a shift in the air whenever you were around each other. Taehyung was still your adorable and playful friend but the hugs seemed longer, the touches more tender and lingering. You even think you’ve caught him staring at you a few times, a strange new darkness simmering beneath the chocolate irises.

Flushing with embarrassment and shame, you bury your face into your hands. Of course not. You’re just being ridiculously optimistic. You pull out a clean glass from the cupboard and fill it with water from the sink, hoping to dampen the butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

Cleaning up, you decide to pamper yourself with a long hot shower complete with a nice sugar scrub and an in-shower face mask. You even spring for a shave, already excited for the feel of your sheets against the smooth, moisturized expanse of your legs. It’s the little things.

You hum lightly under your breath, already feeling the residual tension from the week bleed out as you gently massage your favorite lotion into your skin. Finishing up, you feel much more relaxed and so wonderfully clean you can’t help the smile that graces your lips as you move to head back to your room.

“___.”

It’s faint, so faint you think you imagine it but it still makes you freeze as you step out of the bathroom. Glancing down the short hallway that leads to your room, you blink for several seconds and wait to see if you hear it again. When nothing happens, you feel your heart resume its normal pace before rolling your eyes at yourself and continuing on to your room.

“___.”

This time it’s unmistakable and you can’t help the way the sound of your name makes you jump in fear. Now you’re in full-on panic mode and you anxiously scan the apartment. Your eyes catch on the faint light emanating from Taehyung’s room and you relax slightly. How had you not realized he was home already?

Your relief quickly morphs into confusion. Why would Taehyung be calling for you? Did he need something? Was he hurt? Stifling your self-induced panic, you quietly make your way over to his door. Despite having been in his room multiple times before, something feels off now. Almost like you shouldn’t be there. You can’t quite put your finger on it but something about the whole situation has you on edge…

You shake it off. It’s fine. You’ll just casually peep through the slightly ajar door and make sure everything is okay before marching off to bed to enjoy your evening in. Simple as that, right?

Wrong.

Whatever you thought you were going to see past the small opening of his door doesn’t hold a candle to the image that will undoubtedly be burned into your memory forever.

There, laying casually on his bed, is Taehyung. That in and of itself is not out of the ordinary. Except for the fact that he is naked save for the boxers he normally wears to bed, with a hand pulling desperately at his painfully red length.

It’s suddenly hard to breathe, air catching so violently in your throat you nearly choke audibly. Slapping a hand over your mouth and nose, you will yourself to calm down enough to take in the scene before you. Taehyung’s long legs are splayed almost elegantly across his sheets, deliciously thick thigh muscles clenching and unclenching from his ministrations. His hand glides skillfully over his cock, alternating between slow, languid tugs and fast, unyielding strokes. He throws his head back before tucking his chin in briefly, tongue flicking out to wet his lips before he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. A hiss of pleasure melts into a throaty groan and heat pools rapidly in the pit of your stomach.

A voice in the back of your mind screams for you to get away while you can. You shouldn’t be here. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve lusted after your roommate, how long you’ve wanted to push him against any flat surface and have your way with him or let him have his way with you. It doesn’t matter that you want to do couple-y things with him too, like hold his hand and kiss those soft, pink lips because you are roommates—friends—and a fling like that could only end in disaster, especially when he doesn’t feel the same way. It doesn’t matter and you have to leave now before—

“___,” Taehyung groans once again, hands caressing up his lean stomach and you’re distracted by the way his muscles ripple with the attention. “Are you just going to stand there or are you gonna come help me?”

Something between a squeak and a cough leaves your throat in that instant and you wish the floor would open up and swallow you whole. You can’t bring yourself to move for a good second but Taehyung lets out another low moan and your feet move of their own accord into the bedroom.

If you thought he was beautiful before, he is absolutely glowing in the soft light of his bedside lamp. A light sheen of sweat coats his skin and you are overwhelmed with the urge to lick a stray bead that travels down his neck. Your breath is coming out in short pants and you try to subtly squeeze your thighs together to ease the ache. This does not go unnoticed.

“Hello, darling.” The words leave his lips in a low purr and a shiver zips down your spine. He’s smirking at you, hands still gripping his length but his pace has slowed significantly as if giving you a show. He seems perfectly comfortable despite the lack clothing, completely unfazed by your blatant staring. Like he wants you to look at him and only him. The thought has your face burning.

“T-Tae, what are you doing?”

“Isn’t is obvious, sweetheart? Surely I don’t need to spell it out for you, hm?” A particularly wet pass over his dick has him sucking in a gasp and you find you can’t look away. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips and Taehyung fixates on the motion, pupils blown wide and darkening further.

“Although you haven’t picked up on my blatant flirting so maybe I should.”

That snaps you out of your reverie. “Flirting?” You hate the way your voice sounds so weak and vulnerable but it can’t be helped.

“I haven’t exactly been subtle, ___. I’ve been—fuck—I’ve been trying to drop hints for the last few weeks now, hell, the last few months but you never n-notice.” He tugs at his bottom lip with his teeth again before releasing a heavy sigh.

Your head is spinning. This Taehyung is so different from the one you’re used to—yes, he’s still the same incorrigible flirt, but where he is usually giggly and playful he is now sensual and downright sinful. You think back over the past few weeks, the lingering touches, the casual hugs. Taehyung has always been touchy but they had felt charged with something else entirely. It’s good to know you hadn’t been making that up.

“I…” You truly don’t know what to say for yourself. “I didn’t know,” you murmur, feeling very very small all of a sudden.

Taehyung immediately stills at your tone and misinterprets it as discomfort. “Oh. Oh god, ___, I’m so sorry.” Wrenching his hand away from himself, he scrambles on the bed, looking up at you with earnest, remorseful eyes. The waistband of his boxers snap shut in his frenzy and you almost mourn the loss of the desire-tinted skin. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I just thought that maybe you…maybe you felt the same?”

You’re so taken aback by the complete 180 he’s made that your response gets caught in the whirlwind of your thoughts, This is more like the Taehyung you know, kind and considerate, and you almost forget the situation you’re in. Almost.

“N-No!” you stammer, eager to assuage his uncertainty. “I mean, yes, I-I…” You close your eyes tightly. “I do…feel the same.”

The way Taehyung looks at you after your stunted confession has your heart auditioning for a marathon and goosebumps prickling across your skin. You may as well have just hung all the stars in the sky with the amount of adoration swimming in his warm irises.

“I’m glad,” he grins brightly at you and you can’t help but smile back. You bite your lip out of habit and the smile fades from his face as he watches you.

Swallowing thickly, he rasps, “___, c-can I kiss you? Please.”

The desperation in his voice is not something you expect and a jolt of electricity zings down your spine. Dazed, you nod. That’s all Taehyung needs before he practically launches himself to his feet to grab you by the waist and pull you to him. His hand—the other hand that was not touching himself—cradles your face as he bends down to brush your noses together. A moment passes, Taehyung staring into your eyes to give you room to pull away. When you don’t, he smiles briefly to himself before surging forward to connect your lips.

The kiss is soft and warm, exchanging only the slightest bit of pressure as if you both are worried that you’ll frighten the other. Which is ridiculous, you think, since you have yet to run away. You bounce up on your toes to alleviate the reach for Taehyung and kiss him harder. He hums appreciatively as he nips at you, the sound tingling from your lips and down the length of your body. You shiver in his hold and move to wrap your arms around his neck to pull him impossibly closer. The distance disappears between you two and you feel his arousal poking at your stomach. You break the kiss to look down between you, bottom lip trapped between your teeth.

Glancing up at Taehyung from beneath your eyelashes, you marvel at how positively wrecked he looks. He’s still damp with sweat but his mouth is slightly swollen from your kisses and his eyes are so blown out they’re practically black with desire. You feel yourself clench hopelessly as the blood rushes loudly in your ears.

“Can I—Can I watch you?”

You’re just as surprised as Taehyung is to hear those words leave your mouth but you’re not quite thinking straight, not when he looks like that and you finally have him in a way you never thought you would. It’s overwhelming, to say the least, and you want to savor every moment together.

Taehyung doesn’t seem to be faring much better, the request making his breathing turn heavy as he leans down to rest his forehead against yours. “Are you sure, ___? Are you absolutely sure? Because once we start, I don’t think I can stop.”

Peeking up at him coyly, you respond, “Who says I’ll want you to?”

A beat. Then, Taehyung squeezes his eyes shut and practically growls at your words. His arm tightens around your waist and crushes your body to him as if trying to mold you together. You love it.

“Then sit back and enjoy the show.” His lips quirk into a lascivious smirk before crashing your mouths together once again. This kiss is different than the previous one, not one bit of hesitation lingering now. Taehyung’s tongue licks along the seam of your mouth insistently and your legs turn to jelly as you open up for him.

The kiss is over too soon but before you can mourn the loss of his lips, he pushes you down onto the bed and resumes his spot against the pillows. Tugging on his boxers, Taehyung pulls them down to discard them somewhere behind you. Heat pulses through you at the sight of his exposed flesh and your thighs rub together once again.

Taking himself in hand, Taehyung spreads his legs and begins a torturously slow pace. “You have no idea how long I’ve dreamt of this.” All the air in your lungs leaves you at the confession. You can’t even think clearly, much less think up a semi-coherent response, but he doesn’t seem deterred by your silence.

“I’ve always—shit—I’ve always wanted t-to kiss that pretty little mouth of yours, ravage it until you can’t think. Your mouth, your neck, anything I could get my lips on.” Your eyes eagerly take in the sight of the milky substance beading at the tip of his cock and making his passes even messier.

“Ah, fuck, I-I wondered what kind of sounds you would make. If you would gasp and sigh or if I could make you scream.” He twists his wrist as he glides over the head of his length and he gasps out loud, his breathing rough and ragged and oh so lovely.

“I’ve thought about what it would take you to make you beg for it.”

A whimper escapes your lips before you can stop it and heat blooms across your cheeks. Taehyung stills for a moment before resuming with a smirk.

“Oh? Does my baby like the sound of that? Of me making you beg for my cock?” You nod, stunned and aroused beyond belief. It’s as if your brain has short-circuited and all you can think about is the fantasy that Taehyung so beautifully illustrates for you.

“Dirty girl,” he chuckles, tonguing the corner of his lips. “I should have guessed at what a desperate little thing you’d be. Asking me to stroke my dick while you watch.” He tuts playfully, eyes never leaving yours.

Breathing has become steadily more difficult and you’re acutely aware of the dampness between your legs. You want nothing more than to relieve the ache but you’re so transfixed on the beautiful man laid out in front of you that you can do nothing more than squeeze your thighs together.

“Look at you,” Taehyung’s eyes rake down your form, taking in your lust-darkened gaze and heaving chest before lingering on the apex of your tensed thighs. “I bet you’re dripping, aren’t you? So eager to take my cock that I could just slip right in if I wanted to, hm?” Again you nod, fingers twitching as you grip the sheets beneath you. He laughs lowly and the sound washes over you and settles deep in your stomach.

“God, I bet you’d taste so sweet on my tongue. I would spend hours just buried between your legs if you’d let me. Every time you prance around the apartment in those scraps you call shorts, I just want to bend you over the couch and fuck you until you can’t walk. Would you like that, baby girl? Want me to sink my cock into that sweet cunt of yours? Make it mine, over and over again?”

You’re practically panting now, desperate sounds ripping themselves from your throat as Taehyung stares at you intensely, hand never faltering on his swollen erection. He seems to take pity on you because in the next moment, he murmurs a deep, “Come here, baby.”

Snapping into action, you nearly stumble over yourself in your haste to be close to him. He smiles, fondness flickering in his eyes beneath the lust at your eagerness. You crawl forward until you are settled on your knees between his legs. A feeling of shyness settles over you—absurd, given the circumstances—and you find yourself unable to meet his gaze. A hand winds around your waist and pulls you to him, forcing you to straddle one of his thighs. You feel a finger slip under your chin to coax you into looking at him. When you do, Taehyung offers a sweet smile.

“You still with me, sweetheart?” You go to nod but Taehyung clicks his tongue. “I need to hear you say it, ___.”

“Yes.” You’re proud that your voice doesn’t shake. “I want you, Tae.”

The finger on your chin turns into a forceful grip as he crashes your mouths together once again. It’s messy and desperate and you can’t help the loud moan that Taehyung swallows gleefully. You welcome his tongue into your mouth and when you give it a pointed suck, he lets out an answering groan low in his throat.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he pants against your cheek, planting wet kisses down your jaw and to the length of your neck. His lips meet the collar of your shirt but before he can even ask, you’re wrenching it off your body and onto the ground.

Taehyung seems at a loss for the first time since you’d walked into his room and you revel in the swell of pride that overtakes you. He can’t help but ogle greedily at the newly-exposed skin and you feel powerful knowing that you have his undivided attention.

Shaking himself out of his daze, Taehyung places a gentle kiss right above your heart before slowly making his way lower. The gesture is not lost on you and you find yourself melting further into his touch as your hand wraps around to tangle in the hairs at the nape of his neck. You can feel two hands ghost up your sides to tease the undersides of your breasts and you inhale sharply, chest pushing up into his mouth. Taehyung breathes a laugh onto your skin before cupping the soft flesh and placing almost reverent kisses upon their stiff peaks.

“Tae, please,” you whimper, eyes squeezing shut at the onslaught of sensations he is inflicting on you.

“Hmm, I like hearing you beg for me.” His tongue flicks against your pebbled nipple and you cry out, unable to hold back anymore. “My desperate baby girl.”

“T-Tae, ah, please don’t tease.”

“Don’t tease?” He punctuates the question with a sharp squeeze. “But you’ve been teasing me for well over a year, no? Walking around the apartment practically naked, with nothing but a t-shirt or these poor excuse for shorts.” Taehyung’s hands leave a lingering pinch before gliding down the length of your torso to the hem of your sleep shorts. Hooking a finger inside, he snaps the elastic back in place and you gasp. “No panties?” He asks in wonder, eyes fixed on your lower half.

Swallowing, you murmur, “I-I don’t usually wear them to bed.”

He lets out a throaty groan. “Fuck, you really—” He cuts himself off with another sharp exhale, head tipping backward as he squeezes his eyes shut as if in pain. Something nudges the side of your thigh and you look down at forgotten length between you, swollen and nearly purple. As if in a daze, you reach for the turgid flesh and let the tips of your fingers graze the head tentatively. Taehyung’s eyes snap open to look at you in shock and you freeze.

“Do that again. Please.”

You can hardly deny him when he looks so fucked out beneath you and your hand begins a tentative pace, stroking his dick like you had witnessed him do earlier.

“That’s it, atta girl,” he groans into your shoulder, kissing the skin almost absentmindedly. “Such a good girl for me.”

Your stomach plummets at his words, inner muscles clenching almost painfully. You’re so turned on your shorts are most likely unsalvageable but seeing Taehyung so wrecked and because of you makes it all worthwhile.

Keeping up the pace on his cock, you don’t even notice your hips begin to lower onto his thigh and rock down against him until he sits up from where he’d begun to slouch in pleasure, leg knocking up into your dripping heat.

“Fuck, baby. Look at you, grinding on my thigh like that.” His words send your heart stuttering in your chest. “Your poor little cunt has been neglected, hm? You’ve been such a good girl for me, stroking my cock and getting me ready. I think you deserve a reward.”

Taehyung grips your hips with bruising force and helps you grind harder onto his leg. The drag of your shorts against your swollen clit is a little too harsh but the sheer dampness of the fabric makes the glide much easier.

“I can feel you dripping onto my leg. You’re soaked, baby.” You’re delirious at this point, incoherent noises spilling from your lips as you work yourself over Taehyung’s thigh. It’s not long before you feel the pleasure mounting within you, hips pistoning back and forth even faster.

“That’s it, baby girl. Use me. Make yourself cum on my thigh. Get yourself nice and ready for my cock.” His hands run soothingly across your skin, sending your nerves on fire. You whine as you feel your orgasm approach with each pass of your hips.

“Come on, babe. Give it to me. Let me feel you cum all over me.”

With a strangled cry, you buck against Taehyung uncontrollably as you finally release all over his leg. You curl into him, hands tangling into his hair and tugging in order to keep yourself grounded. Your hips gradually slow as you ride out your high and you find it a struggle to catch your breath. The two of you stay like that for a few moments, letting the aftershocks wash over you.

“Oh, ___,” Taehyung murmurs in wonder. Almost sheepishly, you peek up at him from beneath your eyelashes to see him staring at you with such unadulterated reverence and want that your heart skips a beat. “You did so well, baby girl,” he rasps, lips ghosting over your face tenderly.

Face warm, you try to redirect the attention to him and begin placing gentle kisses along the length of his neck. Taehyung tilts his head back, eyelids fluttering prettily at your ministrations. Smirking to yourself, you trail your hand teasingly down the length of his chest to make your way down to his dick but he stops you with a firm hand around your wrist. Before you can even open your mouth to question him, he’s already flipped you over onto your back.

“Hmm, still so eager for my cock.” He nips playfully at your bottom lip, laughing when you move to chase him. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, we’re getting there. I have to get you ready first.”

Two of his fingers brush the swell of your mouth and you open immediately to take them in. Taehyung inhales sharply as you give them a pointed suck, eyes narrowing slightly to let you know that you will certainly pay for that later. The thought sends a shot of arousal to your core.

Taehyung removes his fingers and wastes no time in bringing them to the apex of your thighs. He makes quick work of your soiled shorts and suddenly, he’s all you can feel. A single digit swipes the length of your slit to circle around your clit, eliciting a hiss from the both of you.

“Oh, baby, you’re so wet,” Tae groans, in a trance. “All for me.”

He wasn’t really speaking to you but you nod anyway. “Yes, Tae. All for you.”

Eyes snapping to yours, he sinks one finger into your weeping heat and watches your face for any signs of discomfort. You tense slightly before relaxing and sending him a reassuring smile as a signal that he can continue. He pumps his finger in and out, letting you get used to the sensation before gently slipping in another. Scissoring the digits, Taehyung furrows his brows and bites his lip as he forces himself to be patient.

You, on the other hand, are having a much harder time controlling yourself. Soft whimpers escape you with every pump of Taehyung’s fingers. One particularly potent curl has you gasping for air as an animalistic growl tears itself from your throat, hips bucking harshly upwards.

“Gah, Tae—please,” you pant, hands flailing wildly for something to hold onto before settling on his hair.

“Anything, darling.” Taehyung inserts yet another finger and you begin to really feel the stretch, so much that it nearly becomes uncomfortable. A small noise of discomfort makes the man above you pause but he mouths at your temple reassuringly. “I know, baby, I know. But I have to make sure you’re ready for me.”

Right then, he curls his fingers just as he did before and you’re seeing stars again. He places adoring kisses along your jaw before dipping for another taste of your mouth. You eagerly accept him, opening fully to him as your hips roll along with the rhythm of his fingers.

Breaking away, you pant, “I’m ready, Tae.”

“Are you sure?” Looking deeply into your eyes, he must find what he’s looking for because he nods lightly and kisses you breathless. He reaches over to his nightstand and rummages in his drawer. The crinkle of a wrapper hits your ears, making your face warm slightly as the reality of the situation hits you full force. You were really doing this. The fact that the man that you’ve pined after for so long is here with you—actually likes you—is so surreal you’re not quite sure how to process it but you’ll be damned if you didn’t enjoy every second of it.

Once he has rolled the condom on, Taehyung moves upward to cup your face between his hands. “Before we begin, are you absolutely s—”

“Tae, I swear to god if you do not get inside me in the next three seconds I will flip us over and do it myself.”

Taehyung blinks before chuckling. “There will be plenty of time for that, sweetheart. But for right now…” His smile turns sinister, prompting anticipation to swirl deliciously in your stomach. “I’m calling the shots.”

He takes himself in hand and rubs the tip up and down the length of your folds. Your eyes flutter when Taehyung collects your pooling arousal, making a complete mess of you.

When he pushes in, your mouth drops open in a silent gasp. He’s big—of course he is—bigger now that he’s entering you and you can’t deny that the stretch is more than welcome. You glance up at Taehyung’s face and are pleased to see that he looks just as wrecked as you feel. He locks eyes with you, dark irises burning with lust but also something deeper. Something…soft and warm. The thought sends your heart pounding in your chest.

As he bottoms out, Taehyung makes sure to probe your face for any signs of discomfort. He doesn’t find any and tentatively thrusts into you, eyes never leaving yours as he does. You gasp, nerves tingling as a whine tears itself from your throat, soft and breathy.

“That’s it, angel,” Taehyung pants in your ear. “Sing for me. Let me know just how good I make you feel.”

You clench helplessly, reveling in the low grunt it earns from the man above you. He begins to pick up the pace, hips snapping fiercely against yours so that the only sound is the harsh slap of skin against skin mingling with your eager breaths.

“Such a tight little cunt, even after you’ve already cum once.” His voice is even raspier with the force of his thrusts and you practically keen at the sound. “I wonder how many times I can make you lose it.”

You sob, hips rising desperately to meet his. “P-Please,” you cry, unsure what it is you’re asking for but it doesn’t matter because he props himself up to get a better angle, looking down at your writhing form.

“Such a desperate little baby.” He punctuates the pet name with a particularly harsh snap of his hips and your eyes roll into the back of your head. You can already feel your second orgasm rising within you, all you need is a little push.

“You know,” Taehyung begins, concentrating his thrusts to a slow roll, “I’ve always been curious about one thing.”

Before you can ask what it is, you see his hand snake between you, gliding across your stomach, between the valley of your breasts, to settle at the base of your throat. Your eyes widen of their own accord, breath stuttering as you realize the intention. Taehyung’s eyes hold a silent question and you nod, albeit a bit desperately, prompting him to wrap his long fingers steadily around the lowest part of your neck.

“Fucking filthy,” he whispers in awe, gaze alternating between your face and the sight of his hand wrapped around your pretty neck. He thinks he could watch this forever. Squeezing experimentally, Taehyung watches with utter delight at how quickly you fall apart under his grip. Your hands scramble to claw at his arm, not to pull it away but to keep him locked in place.

“Poor baby just wants to be choked and fucked senseless, is that it?” You nod jerkily, pleasure fogging your mind and making you delirious. You couldn’t talk even if you tried but the way your hips buck up into his needily tell him all he needs to know.

“So honest,” he chuckles, increasing the pressure slightly. “Good girls get what they want.” Taehyung pulls his hips back, so far that only the tip remains inside you, before snapping back in full-force. The pace he sets is brutal and you can feel his hip brushing relentlessly against your clit.

“T-Tae,” you gasp, stomach tightening as a particularly well-timed thrust has you seeing stars. “C-Close.”

“Is baby girl gonna cum?” You nod frantically, eyes focusing and unfocusing on his face. “Come on, baby. Give me one more. I know you can do it. My desperate. Little. Slut.”

Taehyung tightens his grip even further and that’s the end for you. A scream lodges itself in your throat as the coil in your lower stomach snaps, sending you spiraling into the most powerful orgasm you’ve had in a while. Taehyung releases his hand from your neck abruptly, the rush of air prolonging your pleasure to the point you think you might pass out.

Above you, you hear Taehyung groan gutterly at the vice-like grip your walls have trapped him in. “Fuck, princess, I can feel you squeezing. You’re gonna make me cum.”

Still breathless, you fight against the fog clouding your brain. “Please, Tae. Cum inside me, please. I-I want it so bad.”

“Such a filthy little thing,” he stutters, breaths sounding labored in your ears as he gets closer to his own climax. “Gonna f-fill you up so good. Make this cunt mine.”

“I’m yours,” you gasp, tightening your muscles one last time around him. That seems to be the end for him because before you know it, Taehyung is moaning into your shoulder.

“All. Fucking. Mine,” he growls as he snaps his hips, once, twice, before stilling inside you.

It seems to last hours but Taehyung eventually collapses onto his forearms, careful not to crush you under his weight. You both take a minute to catch your breath, enjoying the feeling of closeness that follows. Eventually, he pulls back, carefully slipping out of you to tie off the condom and toss it in the wastebasket. You wince but relax immediately after, snuggling further into the soft down of his comforter.

Taehyung smiles adoringly as he makes his way back to the bed, heart flipping at how cute you look in his bed. Almost as if you belong there. He hesitates as he gets to the edge, fearing for a moment whether or not it was alright to join you. Those fears are put to rest as you blink sleepily up at him, arms tiredly reaching for him. Relieved, he snuggles in next to you and gathers you in his arms. It’s silent for a moment as you both enjoy being wrapped up in each other.

“Since when?” you finally break the silence, tracing mindless patterns across his chest.

Taehyung inhales sharply. He knows exactly what you mean. Still, he feigns ignorance. “What?”

You close your eyes for a moment, burying your face further into his chest. “Since when have you liked me?”

“Since when have you liked me?” he shoots back and you pinch the skin on his ribs. He yelps before you both dissolve into a fit of giggles.

“I asked you first,” you whine, risking a glance up at his face. Taehyung is already staring down at you fondly, warm gaze melting into your own.

“Since the very first moment,” he whispers softly. You almost laugh, except his face is deadly serious. It’s suddenly hard to swallow around the lump in your throat. You stare at him in wonder—the delicate brush of his eyelashes against his cheek, the soft sweep of his sweat-dampened hair over his forehead, the gentle curve of his lips as he smiles at you. You clear your throat, glancing away as a pleasant warmth settles over your cheeks.

“That’s not an answer.”

He laughs breathily in your ear and you fight a shiver. “Okay, okay. Well the first time I realized it was the day you had come back from your shift after you had switched managers.”

You balk. “Are you serious?” You remember that day. Management had decided to move your favorite supervisor over to the men’s department while you remained stuck in shoes. The new guy was awful—condescending, incompetent, and downright unpleasant. You had come home that day with three different bottles of wine and all the take out you could afford and practically forced Taehyung to drink with you and listen to your misery. The guy was eventually fired but the whole experience had left you with a bitter taste in your mouth.

Tae chuckles as he thinks back to that night. “Yes, I’m serious. You were about halfway through the second bottle and were practically screaming curses at the guy. It took you all of 30 minutes after dinner to fall asleep right there on the couch, somehow still complaining about that dickwad.” You snort, hand shooting up to cover your face in embarrassment. “As you talked, I realized…I could listen to you forever. And then you fell asleep, cuddling so cutely into my shoulder, and I knew I was a goner. Even though you snore.”

Your eyes, which had started watering at his heartfelt confession, widen before you regain your composure enough to hit his chest. “I do not snore.”

Taehyung winces playfully, knowing full-well that you don’t but enjoying teasing you all the same. “So, yeah. I’ve liked you for a while. And I had an inkling you felt the same.”

“Oh, yeah? What gave it away? The fact that I practically hopped on your dick?” you tease.

“Well it certainly didn’t hurt.” He winks at you and you have to stifle the urge to giggle like a schoolgirl. “But it was little things. Like how you’d blush at a compliment or if I hugged you just a bit too long. I couldn’t be sure though. Not until tonight, I guess.”

“Well,” you shift upwards, his confession instilling a confidence in you that you hadn’t known you possessed, “in case I haven’t made it abundantly clear: I like you very, very much, Kim Taehyung.”

He’s silent for a single, nerve-wracking beat before the most brilliant smile lights up his face and for the second time that night, you find yourself breathless.

“And I like you very, very much, too, ___.”

Taehyung kisses you then, slow and sweet, and you’re left thinking that you never want to be anywhere else.

#bts #bts smut #bts taehyung #bts v #taehyung #taehyung smut #v #v smut #bts imagine #taehyung imagine #v imagine #bts v imagine #kth fic #bts fics #taehyung x reader #taehyung x reader fic #taehyung x reader imagine #my writing

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show-choir-gal · 4 years ago

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“Pinky Promise?” Oliver Wood Imagine

Guide: Y/N: Your Name Y/F/F: Your Favourite Flower

Words: 3,098

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

Every now and again, I like to reflect on Oli and I's friendship; how we started and how we got here.

*Flashback*

It was our first year at Hogwarts, we met each other on the Hogwarts express. I had gotten a booth early, since my parents hated being anywhere near late for anything. Oliver had hopped on and was looking for a place to sit. I was sitting and reading this week's newspaper of Quidditch Weekly. "Mind if I sit here? I love Quidditch!" He said with bright eyes. "Of course! I'm Y/N McCormack, what is your name?" I asked as I reached out my hand. "I'm Oliver Wood. Wha- Wait, did you just say that your surname was McCormack? Is Cartiona your mum?" "Why yes, she is." You replied with a chuckle, "I didn't expect someone my age to know who she is." "She was an amazing Chaser for Pride of Portree and absolutely nailed herself a place on the Scottish Quidditch Team and a place in Quidditch Hall of Fame! How could I not know her!?" Oliver replied. We spent the whole train ride talking about our love for Quidditch. You could just feel the pure happiness radiating off of us and our newly found friendship. *End Flashback*

Oli and I had only grown closer and closer with each passing year. He has been my best friend in the whole known universe. We both made the Quidditch team our second year, not much of a surprise for either of us. We were a package deal, like George and Fred Weasley. Oliver was a Keeper and I was a Chaser. We killed it on the pitch each and every single practice and game. We were, and are, unbreakable. Pretty much from the moment we woke to the moment we went to bed, we were together. Nothing could break us apart. In our Fourth Year, Oliver was chosen as the team captain, which made me a bit disappointed because I really thought I was going to get the position. I was a little hurt, not going to lie, but still... my best friend was the captain. He ended up appointing me as his "second in command" aka, his assistant captain.

I remember the moment like it was yesterday, the moment I realised I was in love with Oliver. It was the end of our fifth year. It was our last match of the year, we didn't win but Oliver gave us a killer speech about how proud he was of all of us. Once we were all changed, Oli and I walked back to the castle, but he stopped suddenly. "Oli... Is everything okay? Are you ill?" I asked, walking closer Oliver grabbed my arms and pulled me in for a hug. Butterflies started flying inside me. I didn't understand the feelings at first so I brushed them off. "Thank you for dealing with me, thank you for being you." Oliver said to me, I hugged back. "Oli, it's no problem. You're my best friend, it's the least I could do...Someone has to put you in your place." I replied with a chuckle as we let go of each other. We continued our way back to the castle for dinner, "Do you want to come over this summer? My parents wanted to know if you wanted to come on holiday with us." Oliver asked. "I would love to, I'll just have to ask my parents." I replied. "Oh no worries, I have the Wood charm. Who could say no to this smile?" Oliver said, flashing that world winning grin at me. He's right, who could say no to that smile.

Summer was around the corner, and the school was really trying to do a "secret admirer" thing to get spirits up. Oliver was getting flowers left and right, as well as giggles from girls of all houses. Oliver was bragging to Fred and George about it, and they were just fuelling his ego. Oliver and I weren't together, but I was jealous. All of a sudden I was jealous, and not in the way I usually was. I was suddenly hit with all these feelings for him, feelings I have never really felt before. Every girl sending him flowers and flirting with him and him flirting back...stung. It stung like I had just been stung by a handful of wasps on the pitch during a practice. It never stopped. In class? Nope. In the corridors? Nope. In the middle of a conversation with me? Apparently that stopped no one. It wasn't even time for lunch and I already just wanted to sleep the rest of the day away. Oliver and I finished our last Charms exam for the year and we headed to lunch together, we just about reached the dining hall when a group of sixth year girls came up to us and gave Oliver all their flowers and hurling flirts in his direction. Oliver was so preoccupied with those girls that he didn't even notice that I had walked away and entered the dining hall by myself. I walked to my usual seat and sat down and started to put food on my plate. Just as I was about to take my first bite, a yell of my name made me jump out of my skin and I looked towards Fred whose voice I recognised. "Oi, you're not eating yet." Fred said. "What's going on?" George chimed in. "I don't know what you are talking about." I said as I took a bite of my sandwich. "Oliver isn't with you." The twins said in unison. "Oh, yeah. A group of sixth year girls stopped him and were just gushing their feelings about him. I'm annoyed so I walked away." I replied as I took another bite, seeing out the corner of my eye that the twins shook their heads at each other and then fixed their gaze on me again. "Sounds like someone is jealous..." George said with a wink. "Jealous that other girls are giving ol' Oli attention." Fred said as he nudge George. "Me? Jealous? As if! Why would I be jealous?" I asked with a cocked eyebrow as I turned to face them. "Be honest Y/N." George said. "It's obvious you like him." Fred chimed in. "You like him and want him for yourself." George continued. "It's quite obvious, you can't fool us." They said in unison. "You two are just ill. Should I take you two to Madam Pomfrey?" I said as I tilted my head in "concern". "Believe what you want," George started. "But trust us." Fred finished. "Make him jealous back." They said in unison and gave me a wink. Their attention quickly went to the front of the dining hall, I turned my head to see Oliver walking in with those girls trailing behind him. I rolled my eyes and just kept eating. Oliver went on and on about it, and I just slowly started to feel sad. It was so bad that Fred and George were trying to signal Oliver to stop. They didn't want to see me this sad. He would not get the hint though. He was too absorbed in the euphoria he was feeling. I decided I had heard enough and was getting ready to get up when Professor McGonagall came rushing into the dining hall. "Ms.McCormack, this is.." Professor McGonagall started, but was then cut off. "Mr.Carneirus, I'm a big fan of you and your mum," He said as he started to shake my hand, "This is the photographer Adrian. We're both here for the Daily Prophet." I gave a puzzled look. "Although Gryffindor didn't win the last match, all we can say were that all eyes were on YOU. There were Quidditch scouts here to scout out who they might want on their teams in the coming year, but eyes never left you. We want to write an article about you, the new and upcoming Quidditch star!" He said with a smile. "Oh...wow! I'm extremely flattered!" I replied, in awe of the situation in front of me. "No need to thank us! Thank yo-" He was cut off by your mother, who had a new broom with her, which she threw in your direction. "Thank me." My mother said with a smirk as I caught the broom. My eyes widened, "Wow! Is this a new broom.?" I questioned. "It's more than new," My mother said with a smile, "It's one of a kind. A Firebolt Supreme. My buddy patented this design and wants to see it in action. It won't be out for a few more years." We all talked for a few and then I realised the time. Fred and George brought my broom down to the changing rooms and Oliver and I went to class. We were discussing how the paper wants us to have a game against Slytherin to test out the broom...and make me look good.

Dinner came around, and everything was back to normal. Well, now the school was buzzing over me. Fred, George, Oliver, and I were mid conversation when Fred and George went silent and stared behind Oliver and I. Oliver and I made eye contact and we looked behind us. "What do you want Flint?" Oliver said aggressively. "Relax Wood, I'm not here for you, I'm here for the beautiful girl right next to you." Flint said with a smirk, and I immediately started to blush. Marcus removed his hand from behind him, revealing a beautiful bouquet of Y/F/F, "I've been quite interested in you for a while now and would love to know if you would want to go on a date in Hogsmeade before the year ends?" He asked, with a smirk as he slightly blushed. " I would love to." I replied with a smile and he handed me the flowers and took my hand. "I will see you tomorrow beautiful." He said before he kissed my hand and walked away, but not before he sent a wink to the group of boys around me. Oliver and the twins started to stand up but I grabbed them to stay down. "He just wants you for the spotlight." Oliver said, face becoming as red as a tomato. The twins were about to say something but Angelina chimed in before they had the chance, "He's been interested in her since second year. I hear about it ALL the time in the classes we share." Those words shut the boys up. Eventually we finished dinner and Oliver had the team head to the pitch for a practice. Just because it was to test the broom and show me off, doesn't mean Oliver won't have us go in blind.

The morning rolled around and I had to be down at the pitch extra early for pictures and the interview. The whole team decided to come down early as well to support me. Once I was in full game wear, I walked out onto the pitch and was greeted by the editor, photographer, and my parents. While pictures were being taken, the Slytherin team was walking in to change. Marcus and I made eye contact and he sent a wave and wink over in my direction. I saw that Oliver almost went over to do something but the twins held him back. I will admit, it did make me giggle. After the pictures, the interview went off without any issues. Apparently I had been deemed as "The Mini McCormack", I like the nickname not going to lie. All the stands were filled to the brim with people. From students to their parents, fans of my mother to Quidditch Scouts. Not an empty seat in the stadium. As soon as the Gryffindor team emerged from the sideline, applause roared through the stands. I was going to let Oliver lead the team up for a few laps around the pitch, but he wanted me to lead with a few fast laps by myself to show off the Firebolt Supreme. And that's what I did. I mounted my broom and went up to see all my peers. My eyes laid onto my parents who hugged and waved at me. I braced and took about 3 laps to myself, going as fast as this new broom allowed me (which was very fast). I was met by my team and slowed down to stay in formation, having Oliver lead the team like we normally did. We lowered ourselves to let Slytherin do the same. The game was well underway, and we were beating Slytherin, but not by much. As we witnessed a Quaffle go through Slytherins middle hoop, I went up to Angelina and the other Chaser and whispered "Parkin's Pincer". We all smiled and as soon as Marcus had the Quaffle, Angelina got on his right and I on his left. "You're quite handsome when you play." I said with a wink, trying to distract him. "It's all for you love." He replied, but before he could send me a wink back, our other chaser was heading right for him. He got nervous and released his grip on the Quaffle. Angelina grabbed it right out from under him and flew up, all the Slytherin chasers went up to follow her, but I knew what she was doing. I flew as fast as I could towards the Slytherin hoops. I looked up and she threw it ahead of me without climbing down. I flew and caught it and went straight for the hoops. I threw and I scored. This game went on and on until we had caught the snitch! This wasn't real game, but it sure did feel good to win against Slytherin. I took a victory lap around when a stray Bludger came hurling my way. Without thinking I grabbed a bat from Fred and got my angle right and hit the Bludger with all my might into the open box Madam Hooch was holding. I came back down to see Oliver's mouth open. "I- I didn't know you could hit..." Oliver somehow sputtered out. "My dad was a Beater, I'm not entirely my mum. Now close your mouth before flies get in." I said as I shut his mouth myself. I was about to walk away into the changing when I felt hands wrap around my waist, I looked and saw it was Marcus. I smiled. "She's quite a woman, Wood. Isn't she?" He said with a smirk. Oliver almost swung at Marcus' head, but I stopped his hand. "Get in the changing room. NOW!" I said sternly to Oliver. "You better listen to her or else you'll end up like the Bludger." Marcus said with a chuckle. I playfully slapped his arm and shot him an apologetic look before I made my way into the changing room.

It was September 1st, the first day of our Sixth Year. I boarded the train first, like I had every year previously. Fred and George joined me next, they were filling me in on how their summer was and how their youngest brother was a first year. Oliver followed not super long after the twins. He sat down beside me and we told the twins of the holiday we went on with Oli's family, and how we made some amazing plays for the upcoming Quidditch season. Suddenly, there was a knock on the booth's door. We all looked, and it was Marcus. I excused myself and went to talk to him outside, out of earshot of the boys. Soon after, Marcus and I kissed and he went to the Slytherin car. Oliver was a little weird after that, but nothing too bad. The year continued to just get better and better, until two days before the House Cup match between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Marcus broke up with me, well, I confronted him about cheating on me and he admitted to it. I had a tutoring session with a third year but rescheduled it due to "personal reasons". I went down to the pitch and just let everything I could out. I grabbed my broom and flew around the pitch. Eventually, I grew tired of flying aimlessly, so I decided to just watch the stars and hoping Merlin showed me some help and sympathy.

I heard someone come onto the pitch, but I didn't move. I stayed staring at the stars. It wasn't until Oliver was right in front of me that he was the one who had entered the pitch. "Why weren't you at dinner?" He asked, concern grew in his voice. "Personal reasons." I spit out, trying not to cry. "You're my best friend, what is wrong Y/N?" He practically begged me to give him an answer. I started to let it all out, "He cheated on me." The anger grew inside Oliver, but this wasn't the time to be angry. He brought both of us down to the pitch and just grabbed me in a hug to comfort me. I had my best friend back, the man I was truly in love with.

The day of the match came and went. Gryffindor had won because I rewrote a play last minute, I was so happy for Oliver. This was the moment he had been waiting for. I let him enjoy the glory he had been wanting for so long. The Gryffindor party started without a hitch. I kind of just stayed on the sidelines while my team was off flirting with whomever their heart desired. I didn't mind being alone, I wanted everyone else to have a good time. Oliver was heading my way despite the army of girls trying to get his attention. He grabbed my hand and dragged me to the front of the common room. "Oliver wha-" I started but before I could finish, Oliver had one hand on my waist and the other grabbing my face and pulling me in for a kiss. This was a kiss of pure love. Don't ask me how I know, I just know. This was love. I was in shock, mixed in the same silence from the whole room looking at us. I was speechless. "I love you, and I have since we first met that September 1st of our first year. Now can you promise you'll be mine forever now?" Oliver asked, with tiny tears swelling his eyes. "Pink promise?" I asked with a smirk. "Pink promise." He replied as we pinky promised and kissed again. The twins roaring for us in the background.

#Harry Potter #harry potter fandom #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter imagines #harry potter imagine #oliver wood #oliver wood imagine #marcus flint #fred weasley #george weasley #fred and goerge weasley #fred and george #quidditch #show-choir-gal

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koshicoast · 4 years ago

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Randomly thought of but MHA except Bakugou’s hatred for Deku isnt because he’s quirkless. Bakugou doesn’t hate or is prejudice towards quirkless people, he hates weak people

AU where Bakugou is still somewhat the same as in canon but his feelings and thoughts come from a different mindset

Growing up his parents taught him that a quirk doesn’t make a person stronger, the person makes a quirk strong

This leads him to train in not only with his quirk but also in various areas that could potentially come up during hero work (lock picking, reading body language, shit like that) bc if he’s weak then so is his quirk

If you’re wondering how a child is learning all of this, this is Bakugou-fucking-Katsuki. If he wants something, he’s gonna get it even if it means he has to go through hell.

Luckily in this AU, his parents aren’t neglectful or shitty!! they indulged in his whims more of them than not!!

They’re both famous fashion designers and have a lot of connections when it comes to ‘high end society’ so if katsuki wants to learn how to dress to kill or something like that, they already have it set up for him!

The Bakugou’s teach their little victory all of their tricks and tips about how to theoretically make clothes that have extra space for weapons (they know his desire to be a hero and while they’re a little worried they’re just happy he’s being prepared for the long run.) They don’t actually make clothes for him to hide weapons, they verbally tell him how to do something and tips but they leave it up to him to complete the task to a proficient level

They also let their coworkers teach Bakugou stuff, anything their kid would find important or somewhat interesting (taking pictures is boring but learning how to take clear pictures of a loving target is interesting)

Many models, photographers and people who know the Bakugous have basically adopted Katsuki as their feral child since many of them are unable to have their own kids due to their work

Now, Bakugou has learned things about body language (how to read it), how to fake his confidence, sewing, stitching, how to dress for any situation, etc from his parents and their coworkers

However while those skills are important for him (he has a plan to be the best and he can’t be the best if he’s lacking in skills) he needs to know how to fight hand to hand without a quirk or how to pick locks or how to pickpocket (who knows, maybe he’ll have to steal something from a villain!!)

He doesn’t tell his parents what his specific plans are but he does tell him he’s gonna do training on his own

Now normal parents would be worried but for the sake of the AU let’s just say that katsuki’s parents work on the mentality that ‘their child is strong and even if he gets knocked down, he’ll be right back up. He’s a Bakugou.’

Bakugou’s never give up, it’s not in their blood to give up.

So, Bakugou, feral child, goes off on his own to experience a real fight with people who won’t care if they hurt him or to find someone to teach him how to pick a lock or pickpocket

Most of the adults he’s met are just amused by this kid so they too indulge him and his demands

Especially those who spar with him, Bakugou has made it clear that if he feels like they’re holding back he’ll make it so they can’t afford to anymore

(Yes this isn’t always a good thing but what matters is that he’s survived and somewhat friends with a bunch of shady people)

(They’ll tell you that they’re friends, Bakugou thinks that they’re worthy opponents)

Now this leads me to his relationship with deku

Originally he didn’t actually hate Deku when it’s announced that he’s quirkless, why would he? The nerd just has to get strong and it’ll be fine!

Deku isnt weak because he doesn’t have a quirk just like how Bakugou isn’t strong just because he has a quirk

That mentality lasts for 3 seconds

he starts to hate how the green boy lets that determine his future of being a hero or not

Deku being quirkless isn’t a problem. Deku allowing himself to be weak because he’s quirkless is a problem.

He just gets so frustrated with deku that he eventually just pulls away. He doesn’t want to hang out with someone who doesn’t work towards a goal, blood, sweat, tears and all that.

Deku wanting to be a hero is funny to Bakugou because deku is weak, the nerd let’s people step all over him especially Bakugou

To Bakugou, if deku just stood up for himself for once then he’d respect him

For obvious reasons, Midoriya does not know this and everyone including him assumes Bakugou just hates him because he’s quirkless

(The only exceptions is Bakugou’s parents because they have the same mindset and Inko because her and Mitski are best friends so she’s more than aware of their thought process)

For reasons, Bakugou’s ‘bullying’ is more like taunts and if he does use his quirk he never directly harms Midoriya (he just wants to push the kid to act not kill him) this also means he never tells deku to kill himself

Midoriya firmly believes Bakugou hates him and acts more or less the same as he does in canon

However he doesn’t see how the blonde will text inko to let her know when Midoriya is having a really bad day or how Bakugou wards off students who want to seriously harm him

Is this an excuse to write about Bakugou acting as a ‘reluctant older sibling who just wants the best for the younger but doesn’t know how to verbalize it so their actions come off as bullying or the likes’ and Midoriya being the ‘younger sibling who is terrified of their older sibling but still admires them greatly yet will never say that out loud because they’re convinced said older sibling hates them’? Maybe

Needless to say, this leads to an interesting conversation when the topic of quirkless people comes up during class

Bakugou scowls as he feels his classmates’ stares burn into his skull. He turns around with sneer, his palms popping. “What?” He manages to ask through gritted teeth. All without blowing up too.

His dad is gonna be so proud.

“W-well..” Shitty hair stammers, looking uncomfortable as he shifts in his chair. (The only reason why he doesn’t immediately get blown up is because Bakugou likes him. He’s man enough to admit he’s got a crush but like hell is he gonna do anything about. What he’s not gonna do though? Blow up said crush.)

“Y’know how you are!” Dunce Face blurts out, Tape Face elbowing his stomach harshly as Pinky hisses a not so quiet ‘not cool dude!’ . Now the others are exchanging shifty glances and from how reluctant they are to meet his eyes, he already has a good idea what this is about.

“Yeah yknow we’re just

“Yeah?” His eyes narrow with disdain as his ugly scowl softens into a calculating frown and he tilts his head just slightly. His arms crossed across his chest while he forces his body to relax. It takes just a few seconds but his aura changes from the ‘typical bad boy delinquent’ vibe he usually has going on and turns into something much more. It works wonders and he has a brief flashback from a conversation he had as a kid.

“You want to be intimadating? Don’t shout, don’t fire off your explosions, don’t give any reaction. Be cold, be caculating. Be dangerous little one. Being quiet is the most dangerous one can get.”

He has the electric blonde pinned under his look and faintly he can hear a ‘oh shit’ from a few seats away. He knows what he looks like, practiced the fuck out of this particular stare that a Russian model taught him all those years ago when he went on a fashion trip with his parents.

“I’ll teach you how to be scary little firecracker. Make us proud, you’re our little victory.”

Models, he muses privately as he watches the boy sweat bullets, are as dangerous as they are pretty. It takes a few moments of tense silence before someone eventually breaks and unsurprisingly it’s fucking half-n-half. He doesn’t have a real issue with daddy issues but he’s got a bone to pick with the tea kettle lover after the whole incident at the sports festival. The thought of fighting him is enough to get his blood going.

“They thought you’d hate quirkless people.” Hot Water fucker says, face void of any emotion and voice monotone. Ever since being friends with the nerd, IcyHot has gotten a lot better at speaking up when normally he’d just ignore everything. (Now if only shitty deku could pound some emotion that’d be great.)

Even though he’d expect it, he can’t help but laugh.“Why would I hate quirkless people?” He questions, raising a perfect brow. He drops his arms, an elbow perched up on Midoriya’s desk as his cheek rests on his open palm. He watches them falter, hesitation in their eyes. He decides to add fuel to fire, “One of my favorite people in this world is quirkless. She works for my parents as a secretary, I visit her every time I go.”

He doesn’t bother to listen to the responses, snapping his head and making direct eye contact with the nerd. “I hate people who have potential but let others tell them where they belong. It’s pathetic and sad. They should go get some fucking dignity, you think having a quirk is any better than not having one? It’s like having an arm, it’s the norm but if you don’t got it doesn’t mean you’re broken.” His words come out even despite the frustration building under his skin, he sees how Deku’s eyes widen in some kind of realization so he forces himself to pull his gaze away before landing onto Pony Tail. He doesn’t have an issue with her and actually likes her a lot better than the others but her confidence is so low it offends him, especially since he sees her as an opponent. Her eyes grow big and he can tell she’s nervous but before he can change his mind, his mouth opens. Oops.

The idiots practically brought this upon themselves. Reap what you sow dumbasses.

He just goes off and everyone is just stunned because they had this idea of him but that completely crumbled as soon as he started to reveal some of his thoughts and opinions

(Kirishima always kinda knew Bakugou was like this just bc I say so)

I know where this was going but now I do not lmao

Anyways he said his peace and it’s all quiet as people take in what he said and Ofc mineta decides to say something

“I don’t wanna hear that from a villain!” The diaper baby shrieks loudly, the grape fucker’s finger shaking as he points at him. Now usually, Bakugou has no problem with blasting the little pervert and calling it a day but he’s not quite done giving the literal talk down of a century just yet.

“Listen here you sex offender in training” He sneers and he takes great pleasure in seeing the other tremble in fear. “Wanna know why people shut the fuck up when I talk? Why people bother to take my advice? Why compared to me, you’re just a coward that no one besides the class’s resident sunshine trio will ever look at twice?” He asks, getting up slowly. No one stops him as he takes a step forward.

“Because I say actually fucking matters.” Step. “What I say is based off of experience and talent.” Step. “If you’re lucky then maybe the shit you spew will be worth something because it’s not worth anything here.” He finally makes it to his desk, towering over the other.

“You don’t like what I gotta say? Deal with it. I’ll continue to talk my shit to everyone and anyone because I can back it up. Can you? You fought any villains recently like teach over there? You go through some sudden growth and expand your moral compass like glasses? You fight and protect a little girl from the yakuza recently like Deku and Shitty hair? How bout deal with a shitty dad or shitty parenrs like IcyHot and Eyebags? What? Piss baby too scared now? Yeah, where were you when we were fighting for our lives? Were you there when Pikachu and Tape Face and Racoon Eyes fought against the villains in USJ?” He questions but everyone knows he’s not asking for an answer. “You there when birdbrain almost got kidnapped? You there when I got kidnapped? No? Then do everyone a fucking favor and shut the fuck up or I swear to whatever god you believe in, I’ll shove my fist down your throat and into your pathetic body and explode you so badly they’ll be scrapping off your guts for days.”

Needless to say, it was an interesting class

#bakugou headcanons #bnha bakugou #bakugou katsuki #drabble #snippets #my hero academia #mha #kiribaku #but only if u squint #boku no hero headcanons #donT come for me iM tired

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yoon-kooks · 4 years ago

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The Devil Writes Romance | myg

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: fluff, angst, college!AU, fuckboy!AU, fanficwriter!Yoongi

Summary: When you’re assigned to work with Min Yoongi on a final project for your Writing Fiction course, you stumble upon the fuck boy’s secret identity as a sappy fanfic writer. With the heart and soul of an aspiring editor, you’re somehow convinced by the boy himself to help make his fictional romance more realistic and heartfelt. Before you know it, you’ve made a not-so-innocent pinky promise with the devil.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: mentions of sex :-)

A/N: this is basically a pilot that sets up a lot of plot for a potential series so lmk if you like the idea and would continue reading it as a series! also special shoutout to @chewymoustachio for the love & support 💖

As spring semester comes to a close, your only goal is to make it through finals week unscathed. Like many of your fellow English majors, most of your finals are extensive papers rather than traditional exams. Normally this would not stress you out, but your Writing Fiction course has thrown a curveball your way: half of your grade is dependent on your partner, Min Yoongi.

Personally, you’ve never been a fan of partner or group projects because you always somehow end up with incompetent teammates who either do a half-assed job or ghost you until the day before it’s due. Either way, you’ve learned and become accustomed to relying only on yourself.

However, as your Writing Fiction class has taught you, a writer’s world is not built upon independence. Rather, it’s built upon the opposite. Writers depend on others for support, feedback, and revision. That’s where your final project comes on.

For your final project, everyone in your class signed up for the role of either a writer or editor, and you’ve been randomly paired up with someone who chose the opposite. It’s no secret to anyone that you dream of becoming an editor in the industry. You love the idea of reviewing other writers’ works and providing them with as much feedback and constructive criticism as possible. Naturally, you signed up to be an editor.

As fate would have it, you find yourself paired with the boy who’s pretty much slept with the entire class, including the TA, and allegedly the professor. The only person left unchecked on his list is you. Somehow, you’ve heard more gossip about his sex life than his skills as a writer, which is why you believe you’re fucked for this final.

“Hey, Partner,” Yoongi catches up with you in the hall after class. His signature cedarwood cologne is too heavy to ignore as he strides beside you. “Are you free tonight?”

“To brainstorm some story ideas?” You tilt your head and add an innocent tone to mask the skepticism. Truthfully, you know what he really wants. It’s not your first rodeo.

“I actually already have a story in mind,” he says. “But I was thinking you and I could-”

“What’s the story about?” Because you’d much rather hear about that than one of Yoongi’s many excuses to get in your pants.

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” he shrugs as the two of you walk out of the building and into the beaming afternoon sun. You lift an arm to block the light out of your face, only to realize the boy’s shadow blocks it for you. Apparently, there are perks to walking with a buddy after class. “I’ll send you the draft tonight.”

“The professor literally just assigned the project and it’s not due for another week,” you raise an eyebrow. Weird, you’ve never seen a college kid so proactive and eager to get a head start on their final project. Something tells you the boy is just spouting bullshit and telling you what you want to hear. “You don’t have to rush and write all ten thousand words in a single night…”

“Well I don’t have any other plans tonight,” he says. “Unless you want to-”

“Nice try, Yoongi.” You start walking further ahead of the boy. You’re forced to squint as to not be blinded by the sun. “I guess you can have fun writing your story, then.”

“You really know how to play hard to get, Y/N…” Yoongi whines in that raspy voice of his, eliciting the tiniest smirk on your face. You might not approve of his fuck boy tendencies, but you’re also not opposed to teasing him a bit.

“If you really want to impress me, keep your word and send the draft tonight.” You spin around and wave farewell as you battle the sun. “Your editor will be waiting.”

As soon as you arrive home, you realize Yoongi isn’t the only one without any Friday night plans. With nothing to do, a large part of you hopes your partner keeps his promise so you can at least try to be productive over the weekend. But ten thousand words is a lot to write in one night. It’s more than likely that he won’t be able to pull it off.

In an attempt to wind down, you scroll through the blog feeds of your favorite writers. Many of them, such as @suga-fix and @jk-seagull, are college students like you, so you can appreciate all the time and effort they put into their craft on top of their school work. While the fan in you loves to shower them with sweet and supportive messages, the editor in you hopes to one day be able to also provide feedback on a professional level.

At the very top of your feed is a short post from @suga-fix, a romance fanfic writer whom you recently found while scouring the #jiminscenarios tag for something free of smut.

“Does anyone else struggle to ask their crush out or is it just me? Asking for a friend.”

You giggle at the innocent question. In addition to writing the sappiest Jimin fanfics, Suga is known to post snippets of his own nonexistent love life on his blog. From what you understand, he’s a boy who’s never experienced true love firsthand. Recently, however, he’s been gushing over his pretty classmate. You’re waiting for the day when he builds up enough courage and finally lands a date.

Until then, you’re satisfied with reading his ongoing fictional love story featuring the popular idol, Park Jimin, as a struggling romance novelist who finds inspiration in a skeptical wedding photographer. You absolutely adore the story, the characters, and the underlying narrative, but the editor in you can point out an area for improvement: his romance game.

You notice the two main characters lack a certain level of chemistry to get the readers quaking and itching for more. Most of the time, the intimate scenes end with poor Jimin getting friendzoned, which certainly has its charm and humor. But truthfully, you expect a little more love from a romance fic.

You suspect that, to some extent, this is intentional as the characters are the type to dance around intimacy and have pessimistic views on romance overall. However, you also wouldn’t be surprised if Suga’s own personal inexperience with romantic scenarios is what holds him back the most.

After catching up on your socials, eating dinner, and hopping out of the shower, you sit in the darkness of your room and check one more thing before calling it a night. No email, no text, no draft from your partner. Not that you were actually expecting anything, but it would’ve been nice for the fuck boy to prove you wrong.

To be fair, you know how long and painful ten thousand words can be. If Yoongi is in fact sprinting through those ten thousand words and gets them to you by the time you wake up, you’ll consider him a man of his word.

[4:56AM] Yoongi💋 “I emailed you the thing”

[7:24AM] Y/N “Ooh, I’ll take a look 👁👁”

[7:25AM] Y/N “Btw I don’t appreciate you adding an emoji to your contact info on my phone”

After changing Yoongi’s contact name to something more appropriate, you go into your email and find the story draft that the boy had sent at exactly 4:55AM. The word count on the document says 10,382. Not too shabby, Min Yoongi.

You grab your morning caffeine and crack open your laptop to read your partner’s story on the big screen. Right away, you notice the document is titled “Untitled1” which is never a great sign, but you’re willing to forgive him if its content is stellar.

The first thing that puts a smile on your face is the main character, Jimothy. His name reminds you of your favorite idol, Jimin, with a playful touch. He’s the romance novelist who attends his friend’s wedding where he has a chance encounter with a pretty wedding photographer-

Wait. You’re pretty sure you’ve heard this story before. In fact, you know exactly where it came from. You pull up Suga’s Jimin fic and put it side-by-side against Yoongi’s version. While it’s not exactly a copy-and-paste situation, the romance novelist x wedding photographer premise is too similar for it to be a mere coincidence.

At first glance, you find it funny that Yoongi took the time to reword everything to not be caught by the plagiarism police. If you didn’t know any better, you’d assume he did a quick search of Jimin fanfiction and picked one that was moderately popular but not viral enough for anyone to notice. Jimin fanfic just so happens to be your guilty pleasure, so there’s absolutely no way you’d let a plagiarist slip one past you.

But upon further review, after digesting the entirety of the fic, you find that Yoongi’s flow and choice of words are eerily similar to Suga’s style without recycling a single line. Likewise, you notice the same lack of chemistry in both versions of the story. You suppose this can only mean one thing, and you need to confront him about it in person. Because the last thing you want is for him to ghost you like everyone else you’ve ever worked with.

[8:42AM] Y/N “I just finished looking it over”

[8:43AM] Y/N “Wanna get coffee & discuss? ☕️📖”

[8:45AM] Yoongi🐍 “Oh? I thought you weren’t interested in a date with me 🥺”

[8:46AM] Y/N “Let’s meet in about an hour at the coffeehouse on campus?”

[8:46AM] Yoongi🐍 “See ya there, my editor”

As you stir the oat milk into your second dose of caffeine for the morning, you wonder how you can bring up your suspicions in an appropriate and professional way. Should you confront him about it immediately, gently coax him in that direction, or take a more passive approach to see if he’ll mention it on his own? Because if you’re going to be this boy’s editor, you want to do it right.

“Thoughts?” Yoongi enters the chat with slightly damp hair and an iced Americano in hand. Your only thought in that moment is about how fucking good he smells, even in the presence of the rich aromas of your favorite roasted coffee beans. But you’ll leave those thoughts to yourself.

“My first thought was that you sent me a document titled Untitled1,” you say.

“I have a working title,” he assures you. “But I’m curious to hear what clever titles my editor has come up with after reading through the whole thing.”

“Pink Cheek Syndrome sounds appropriate.” Because that’s the title of Suga’s original fic. It’s also the term coined by Jimothy to describe couples who aren’t as in love as they’d like to believe. It’s a facade to fool everyone, including themselves.

“Great minds think alike after all.” Yoongi leans in to give you a high-five, but you just throw a balled up napkin at his palm. Confess. Just confess already.

“Can I ask what inspired the concept?” You bite your lip. “You don’t strike me as the romantic type.”

“Don’t you ever feel like people get into relationships just for the sake of being in a relationship?”

“Yeah.” All the time, in fact.

“It’s pretty shallow if you ask me,” he says with a nonchalant chuckle, as if he’s not the shallowest person on campus when it comes to established relationships. “PCS is just a commentary on people like that vs people like you and me.”

You and him? You’re not sure you have anything in common with someone who breaks hearts and sleeps around so casually.

“Sounds like something a fanfic writer would come up with.” Because it is.

“Sounds like something a fanfic reader would say,” he throws back at you.

“In fact, there’s a Jimin fanfic I read once called Pink Cheek Syndrome,” you say. The dose of coffee moving up Yoongi’s straw suddenly freezes. “You’re the original writer, right?”

He swallows hard and raises an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”

“The writing style matches even though you didn’t copy and paste,” you scroll back through Yoongi’s version for reference. “And besides, scrambling to write ten thousand words in one night is typical fanfic writer behavior. A true plagiarist doesn’t know what it means to put those hours in.”

“Nothing gets past your sharp eyes, huh, Y/N…” Yoongi sighs, failing to hide behind his Americano. “I’m equally impressed as I am scared.”

“Wait, so you’re really Suga?” Your eyes widen. Suddenly you’re overcome by a wave of emotions. Excited, nervous, star-struck. But most of all? Confused. “How?”

“Just don’t tell anyone.” He picks up his phone and starts typing away at something.

“I won’t,” you say, also pulling out your phone to check up on the @suga-fix blog. Sure enough, there’s a stream of several new posts from a few seconds ago.

“fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK”

“I feel so exposed 😔”

“Quick, everyone act like this isn’t a fanfic blog.”

“We can pretend to be like a porn blog or smth”

“I can read everything you’re posting, you know.” You show your blog feed to Yoongi, who’s still busy keysmashing. When he finally glances up from his screen to yours, the look on his face is both flattered and distressed.

“You follow me, too?” The boy takes a long sip of his Americano, shifting his beady little eyes and plotting his next move. “What’s your URL?”

“You’re totally going to block me,” you frown. “I already told you, I’m not going to tell anyone…”

As you continue to scroll through Yoongi’s blog, you notice his post is gone from the day before. Perhaps that’s what the boy is desperately trying to hide.

“By the way, is it true that Min Yoongi, resident fuck boy, has a crush on someone?” You get excited because that’s not something you hear everyday. In regards to Yoongi, it’s always been sex, sex, and more sex. He’s notorious around campus for having one-night stands and breaking hearts the morning after. You’d never imagine a boy like him having an innocent crush on anyone.

“Where’d you hear that?” The boy across from you gradually sinks deeper and deeper into his seat every time you open your mouth to expose him further.

“You made a post yesterday about not being able to talk to your crush properly,” you giggle. “It was kind of cute.”

“I was talking about my friend.”

“You can’t fool me, Yoongi. I’m not that oblivious.” You take a sassy sip of your coffee and lean forward. “So who’s your crush? Is it someone in our class?”

“Don’t worry about it, Y/N,” he shoos you away and slides a hard copy of his draft in your direction. “Let’s not get distracted from why we’re really here.”

“Hold it, I’m not just being nosy for the gossip, you know,” you say. “From an editor’s perspective, I think the romance in your story could benefit from you interacting more with your crush.”

For a moment, Yoongi just gives you a look. You can see the wheels spinning in his head. “Well, that person doesn’t seem very interested in me, so…”

“Unrequited love?” you gasp. The plot thickens.

“Yeah,” he chuckles at your enthusiasm. “But you did give me an idea just now.”

You examine his handsome face for a hint of what’s to come. His signature Fuck Boy Smirk tells you he’s up to no good again. “I’m listening.”

“You’re my editor, right?” he asks. You nod. “And your main critique is that I should up my romance game, right?”

You nod again.

“What if you help me make the romance scenes more believable and realistic?” The boy watches as you blink your wide eyes, stunned at his suggestion. You know he doesn’t just mean that from an editorial standpoint. Surely there’s an ulterior motive here. “And before you jump to any conclusions, no, this does not include sex.”

Oh.

You’re reminded that Yoongi doesn’t write smut, despite how much of a fuck boy he is in real life. Because you’re sure he has the capability and personal experience to write some steamy and wild sex scenes. And yet, he chooses to focus on hardcore romance instead, something he himself is much less familiar with. It’s mind-blowing to think that a boy as experienced in bed as Yoongi could be so inexperienced elsewhere.

Why does he write the opposite of how he lives?

“I don’t think that’s how editors work,” you finally respond to Yoongi’s proposal, flipping through his draft and writing in the margins. You have to admit, the boy has a gift. His stories would no doubt skyrocket in popularity if the lovey-dovey scenes could draw out true, raw emotions as though you were there living in those moments. As a reader, you want him to pull at your heartstrings, smash your heart into a million pieces, and slowly put it back together. All of that can be achieved if the writer gets some hands-on experience in the love department. “But I get what you’re saying.”

“So is that a yes or a no?” He sips down the rest of his Americano as you continue to think your decision through.

Given what you know about Yoongi’s track record as a fuck boy, you’re hesitant. But at the same time, the ambitious editor in you knows what you want.

“It’s a yes,” you sigh. “But only if you promise me a few things.”

“Go on.”

“One, you’ll come to me if you’re struggling and need suggestions, advice, or someone to talk to.”

“Easy. You can be my editor-in-chief.”

“Two, if anyone asks, we aren’t dating.”

“Got it.”

“Three, help me study and prepare for the rest of my finals.”

“We can have study dates.”

“And lastly, please don’t sleep with anyone else while we’re doing this thing. Because that would be awkward.”

“Oh? I didn’t realize you were the possessive type, Y/N,” he smirks.

“Not trying to be That Controlling Bitch who forbids you from sleeping around, but I think it would defeat the purpose of what we’re trying to accomplish.”

“But what if this goes on for a while?” Yoongi strokes his imaginary Santa beard. “You expect me to practice abstinence forever?”

“It won’t go on forever, Yoongi,” you giggle at the boy’s silly remark. “Because eventually, you’ll find someone who can bring out those romantic feelings better than our faux intimacy ever will.”

“But you’ll still be my editor-in-chief?”

“If everything works out, then I don’t see why not.” You want to be optimistic about a long-term deal, but you can’t seem to rid yourself of the doubt stuck in the back of your mind. Because humans, not just fuck boys like Yoongi, seem to have a hard time keeping their promises. “I only ask that you don’t break my trust.”

Before responding, the boy meets his eyes with yours. You suppose tender eye contact is a skill he acquired from his flirty lifestyle. You, on the other hand, blink away. Eye contact longer than a glance has always made you feel vulnerable.

“I won’t, Y/N,” he says, coating his raspy voice with a layer of honey. It’s almost as intoxicating as his cedarwood cologne, but that’s another thought you’ll keep to yourself.

You watch as he slides his pinky into view, over the draft and coffees to make it official. After cracking a smile at his childish gesture, you wrap your pinky around his, thus marking the beginning of your deal with the devil.

#bts scenarios #bts fanfic #bts imagines #yoongi x reader #btsboulangerie #bts fluff #bts angst #bts x reader #yoongi fanfic #bts college au #bts #bangtan #yoongi #suga #suga x reader #suga fanfic #the devil writes romance

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h2bakugou · 5 years ago

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losing teeth | katsuki bakugou

a/n: songfic to neck deep’s losing teeth! i’m an emo girl at heart and this song screams bakugou. neck deep really does be hittin different sometimes.

summary: you grew up with bakugou, and have a good friendship with the explosive boy. the two of you on a day off look back at the past and think about all the good times you had growing up.

key: (y/n) - your name / (f/n) - first name / (l/n) - last name / (e/c) - eye color / (h/c) - hair color / (y/q) - your quirk / Bolt - your childhood pet dog

warnings: fluff, swearing

wordcount: 1.3k

»»————-　★　————-««

Bakugou laid on your dorm bed, his hands resting under his head, arms sprawled out on each side.

“Oi, what’s taking so long?” Bakugou called out to you. You were digging through your closet trying to find the box you’d just seen yesterday. Your eyes landed on it once more and you struggled to pull it down from the shelf.

You got it after a few seconds of reaching and returned to the bed.

“I present to you, memories.” You handed him the box. Bakugou sat up and sighed.

The two of you had become somewhat surprising friends. Bakugou’s explosive attitude mixed well with your calming almost serene aura. But little did everyone know, you were quite explosive yourself.

Bakugou had taught you a lot about self-defense and sticking up for yourself. While it may not have been direct, you still learned. And growing up with him really had an impact on you.

You wouldn’t be where you were if Bakugou hadn’t given you the idea of going to U.A. with him.

We couldn't wait for the days to get longer Spend nights sitting up, wasting away

You looked through a few photos of you and Bakugou munching on snacks at ungodly hours of the night, ones that you had taken, a few Bakugou had taken.

“You always had a shaky hand. This one’s so blurry.” Bakugou pointed out. You laughed and searched through the piles of photos.

All the shit that we did when we were younger

You pulled out another photo, the two of you covered head to toe in what you assume was pillow feathers.

“I won that stupid pillow fight.” You mumbled, a smile crossing your lips.

“In your dreams, you won it.” Bakugou looked at the photo, admiring how happy he looked. The large grin on his lips, to the way he held your hand in the air.

“I think we both won, your mom wasn’t too happy about feathers all over the house though.” You giggled. Bakugou shook his head.

“I’ll never get over that damn scolding.” Bakugou placed the photo down beside him.

Think back and it feels like yesterday We were losing teeth

“It feels like just yesterday we were losing our teeth and chasing each other around the couch with play swords.” You laugh laying your head on the blonde’s shoulder.

“Yeah.” He agreed.

You’d grown close with Bakugou, and whether he’d openly admit it or not, the two of you relied a lot on one another.

Stayed up again last night, talk some sense to me

“Did you stay up all night again?” Bakugou looked at your face, aware of the bags that had formed under your eyes.

“You should know the answer by now.” You smile.

“I don’t know how you expect to get anywhere if you’re always sleepy. Get some sleep tonight you damn idiot.”

But so it seems the time has come To pack your bags, close eyes and run like I did If you do it first I'll follow straight behind you Cuz growing old is a waste of time To say goodbye is a waste of breath We'll stick it out til the bitter end

You raised your hand and held out your pinky finger. Bakugou connected his pinky finger to yours.

“To sticking it out this far.” You smiled. Bakugou nodded and pulled his hand away.

“Ha, look at this.” Bakugou showed you a picture of him in a little All Might costume standing beside you dressed as a t-rex.

“Halloween was so fun that year.” You laughed.

“I got so much candy, and you wanted all of it.” Bakugou laughed. You rolled your eyes.

“You intimidated all the parents!” You teased. Bakugou shook his head.

“They were giving out little small pieces. What do they think I am, stupid?” Bakugou growled. You placed your hands on his shoulders and smiled.

“I don’t think you’re stupid, idiot.” You laughed, leaning on his back, draping your arms over his shoulder, looking over at the other pictures he was holding.

I remember every night that we spent on the edge The cold warmth and the bitter taste that it left

Bakugou held a photo of the two of you cuddled up to one another, you couldn’t be much older than 10 in the photo.

Suddenly you remembered why it seemed so sad.

“That was when we lost Bolt.” You said softly. Bakugou reached a hand up to rub your arm comfortingly.

You felt tears sting your eyes, but you didn’t want them to fall. But you missed Bolt. He was the best dog you could’ve asked for.

“He loved you.” Bakugou said softly. He set the photo aside, not wanting you to dwell on the sadness the photo gave you.

Young, dumb, carefree and reckless But there's some method to the madness

Bakugou pulled out another photo, the two of you sitting at the table with food all over your mouths and cheeks.

“My mom took that one, she said we were the messiest eaters.” You laughed, looking at the old photograph, trying to remember the scene in your head.

“You just copied me.” Bakugou smiled.

“No, I’m pretty sure you copied me.” You teased. Bakugou reached into the box and pulled out a few more pictures.

Passed out in the living room Moved on but I'll see you soon

The next picture caused you to blush. You had feelings for Bakugou, he knew that but seeing a photo of him laying beside you, his arm wrapped around your waist, the two of you asleep on the couch.

You must’ve been about 12.

Bakugou moved onto the next picture, this one caused Bakugou’s cheeks to turn a bit pink.

You stood beside him in a nice dress, him in a nice suit.

“My mom made us go to that stupid dance.” You laughed. Bakugou looked good in his suit.

Bakugou placed the photo down, looking at the next photo in the stack. There in Bakugou’s hands was a photo of the two of you kissing. You reached for it, but Bakugou held it away from you.

“I remember that! It was near Christmas, and there was mistletoe!” You laughed, wanting to see it closer.

“My mom snapped the bloody photo.” Bakugou laughed. He turned back to look at you. He’d watched you mature and grow, just as you had done with him.

“Wanna do it again?” Bakugou smirked. You both turned red. You sighed and pressed your lips to his.

Bakugou kissed you softly, but you could tell he was being cocky. You pulled away and looked at him.

“Just ask me out already you doofus.” You ruffled his hair.

Bored now you're absent Back home there's still nothing to do Though we complained about it all Was such a worthwhile waste of my time

Bakugou kept looking through the photos, reminiscing on the good times the two of you shared.

He missed being young, but he enjoyed growing and becoming stronger. And he enjoyed watching you grow.

Each day and each night a memory Take care and please don't forget me

The last photo in the box was pulled out and it was taken when you both got into U.A.

The two of you stood in your uniforms, excited in front of your parents. Bakugou looked bored and frustrated in the photo but you were smiling.

Bakugou put the photos back in the box, leaving a few out, one of those including the one of you kissing under the mistletoe.

“Thanks for looking through these with me.” You grab the box and hop of your bed, setting the box down on your desk.

You look beside the box you’d just set down and pick up your phone. You walk back over and sit down beside Bakugou, raising your phone to take a picture.

“Say cheese.” You giggle, clicking the button on your phone to take the picture. Bakugou placed his lips to your cheek, kissing it lightly. You blush and pull the phone back toward you, looking at the photo you’d just taken.

You laugh and look at Bakugou.

“I’m posting this.” You smile.

“You wouldn’t dare!” Bakugou reaches for your phone, but you just shut it off and toss it on the bed.

“Who cares, let’s just hang out like old times right now.”

»»————-　★　————-««

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farfromharry · 4 years ago

Text

always (part five) | harry holland series

summary: harry, sam and tom help to set up your nursery for your little girl

word count - 2.2k

warnings - language

a/n - i’m posting this earlier than i would’ve because part 7 has a christmas aspect to it and i don’t want to post it after christmas <3

The knock on your front door startled you, pulling your attention from the tv show you were watching. You turned the tv off, jumping up from your couch and opening it to find your best friend standing there in what he called, his ‘best painting clothes.’

“What do you think?” He motioned to his overalls and plain hoodie he was wearing, posing like he was being photographed in a photo shoot.

“You’re so weird.” He scoffed, closing your door behind him and stepping into your flat.

“You didn’t answer my question.” He said.

“What question?” You asked.

“Do you like my outfit?” You rolled your eyes when he started posing obnoxiously again. You looked at his outfit up and down and gave him a tight lipped smile.

“It looks great.” He squinted his eyes at you, unsure if you were joking or if you actually hated it.

“Also, shoes off, looks like you’ve been stood in mud for hours.” With a huff he began unlacing his shoes, leaving them by the front door.

“What if i just like jumping in mud?” He asked sassily. “Are you really going to judge me for my interests?”

“Okay, peppa pig, i’m just saying, no mud on my floors.” You pointed your finger at him, watching him laugh as he pieced together your tv reference.

“That was a good one.” He commented.

“Thank you, I’m honoured.” You led him down the hall, opening the door to your cluttered nursery with a sigh.

“Here we are, voila.” You motioned your arms towards the very disappointing room, seeing Harry’s face drop.

“Very anticlimactic.” You rolled your eyes, punching his shoulder.

“Shut up.” You handed him a clean paint brush, taking another one out for yourself while Harry opened the lid of the paint bucket.

“What are you doing?” He asked, pointing to the paintbrush in your hand.

“Currently, nothing.”

“You aren’t painting, you’re going to sit down on your cute butt and watch.” He demanded. You stared at him in amazement.

“I’m not dying Harry, I can still do things.” He shook his head.

It had eventually taken a lot of convincing on your part to persuade Harry to let you assist him in painting the nursery. You were going on almost half an hour now.

“I can do bits, come on, i’ll take a break if i really need to.” He sighed. You’d been bugging him about it since he started almost an hour ago, the males patience wearing thin.

“Promise?” He asked, holding his pinky in your direction. Your eyes lit up, wrapping your much smaller pinky around his.

“Promise.” You confirmed, a small smirk on your face.

“Grab a paintbrush.” You squealed, Harry certain you almost burst his ear drums.

“I’ve never seen someone so excited to paint.” You pushed his shoulder, gathering some of the light coloured paint on your brush and beginning to paint the same wall as Harry, just at the opposite side. You were working well together, music from one of his many playlists playing out of his phone, creating a calm atmosphere in the room.

You had helped paint at least one wall by the time your feet started to ache, finding it painful to stay on your feet much longer. Harry heard your uncomfortable grumbles and stared you down until you turned to look at him.

“Do you need a break?” He asked. You nodded your head, giving in, cupping your large belly and sitting down on the floor, although that was a tiring task in itself. You watched Harry work for a little while, asking him to help you up after your feet felt better. He grabbed both of your hands in his, pulling you up towards him until you were on your feet.

“Thank you.” Before resuming your painting, you waddled to your kitchen to get you both some drinks, coming back and making Harry take just a quick break.

“Think this will be done today?” He stood back and observed the progress you’d made already, one full wall down, only 2 and a half more to go.

“Possibly, if you stop slacking.” Your jaw dropped, Harry laughing as you stood there shocked.

“Well two can play at that game, Holland.” You dipped your hand into the paint bucket, moving over to Harry and placing your hand right on his cheek.

“Y/n!” He yelled, watching as you doubled over in laughter. His mind wandered from his painted cheek and he started to see the funny side of it, deciding on getting his own back.

It ended up being a full blown paint war between you two, both of you ending up covered in paint, giggling to yourselves like children.

“You can clean this up.” You told him.

“Why me, you started it!” You grinned.

“I’m the pregnant one, and i’m gonna go shower.” You placed a teasing kiss on the one spot on his cheek that wasn’t splattered with paint. “Enjoy.”

Harry shook his head, chuckling to himself as you waddled away.

“Crafty lady.” He muttered under his breath.

———

“Oh wow, you clean up nice.” You teased, throwing him a wink.

After your shower, you felt completely refreshed, especially not being covered in cakes of paint anymore. You slipped into comfy clothes and stalked your way back to the nursery, where you were currently looking at a spotless room, yet a still painted Harry. It looked almost as if there wasn’t a paint fight here only hours before.

“I know, you’d never know some rebellious girl trashed the place.” You rolled your eyes at his dramatics. “Unless you looked at me, that is.” You laughed, shaking your head at him.

“I can’t wait to see it done.” Harry looked around and silently agreed with you.

“It’s going to be so cute.” You finally noticed that Harry had almost completely finished painting.

“Might need another coat but, should be done soon.”

“Thank you, for helping me, again.” You laughed. He smiled, shrugging his shoulders.

“I think i’d be a pretty shitty best friend if i didn’t.”

“Yeah, that’s true.” He scoffed at your teasing, playfully flipping you off.

“Harold, there’s children around.” You scolded, hands cupping your belly like you were covering a child’s eyes. He laughed at you.

“Good luck getting Tom to stop, even when she’s here he’s going to be a nightmare.” You groaned.

“I didn’t even think about your foul mouthed siblings.” Harry snorted as your comment caught him off guard, the two of you falling into a state of continuous laughter to the point your stomachs ached.

“Okay, we need to get it together.” He demanded playfully. “Let’s finish painting, then we can fuck around all we want.”

You slapped his arm at his choice of vocabulary, receiving a teasing wink from your best friend.

“Just as bad as the rest of them.” You mumbled, earning an offended scoff from him.

“How dare you.” He accused, holding his hand over his heart and feigning pain.

“Just being honest, my dear.”

———

A few days later, after the room was so ‘gracefully’ painted by you and Harry, two of the other Holland boys had come over to help put the baby's furniture together. They’d had to move the toys and clothes out before they started to put the furniture boxes in, meaning it was like a maze of baby stuff just to get to the room. Something that was definitely not very convenient for you and your large belly.

Harry and Sam had started working on the crib first, while Tom worked on the rocking chair that you would feed your girl in.

“What can i help with?” You asked entering the room, ready to do anything they needed you to.

“Nope.” Tom demanded, practically shoving you out of the nursery.

“You aren’t doing anything, you’re almost 7 months pregnant.” You rolled your eyes, seeing that there was definitely a theme between the Holland siblings. But not wanting to argue about it with him, you moved on begrudgingly.

“Fine, but if you need anything, please ask.” He nodded.

“We will.” He said. “Now leave.”

“Such a gentleman.” You commented teasingly. Tom rolled his eyes, shooing you out of the room.

You were now left to your own devices, deciding on making something to eat in the kitchen.

You weren’t really paying attention to the time, all your focus on making food. So, when Harry came into the room you didn’t think it’d be because they were already done.

“We’re finished.” Harry announced.

“Already?” You asked, your question being ignored as Harry placed his hands over your eyes, blocking your vision from seeing anything.

“Harry, we still have to walk there, and i need to turn the stove off.” You laughed. You could practically hear him rolling his eyes, turning the stove off for you before carefully guiding you away.

“I’m not taking any chances, come on miss.” He helped you up from your chair and guided you through the hall and towards the baby’s room. He made sure you didn’t trip or bump into anything, which you were very grateful for.

You came to a sudden halt, hearing the hushed voices of Sam and Tom in the room with you.

“Okay, are you ready?” Sam asked. You nodded, trying to pry Harry’s hands from off of your eyes.

“Let me see, come on.” You heard them laugh before Tom started counting down.

“3-“ Tom dragged it out for a lot longer than necessary, just to try and build up the anticipation.

“2-“ You huffed, beginning to grow impatient at the lad.

“1, and a half.”

“Oh my god, will you just let me look.” Harry laughed, removing his hands from your eyes. Your eyes quickly adjusted to the bright lights of the room, looking around the nursery with watery eyes. You cursed yourself mentally as your hormones got the best of you, practically forcing you to cry.

“Why are you crying?” Sam asked, rubbing your back with a sympathetic pout.

“Hormones, happy tears, all that good stuff.” You joked. You hugged the twin tightly, well as tight as you could considering your large belly. You then hugged Tom and then Harry, staying leaned into Harry’s side with his arm around your shoulders.

“Now, you just have to sort out all the boxes.” Sam stated.

You frowned, looking at the stacks of baby things in your hallway.

“Well is anyone helping?” Harry let go of you, shifting over to stand by his twin. The brothers looked at each other with a ‘not it’ kind of look. The twins did their weird twin telepathy thing and ended up pushing Tom towards you, making a break for your front door.

“Bye y/n, bye Tom!”

“Dickheads.” Tom mumbled, you nodding in agreement behind him.

“Well, i guess it’s just us.” Tom grabbed a couple boxes and placed them on the floor, allowing you both to sort through them and hang up clothes, or put away toys.

“I’m loving all the spiderman things in here.”

“Tom, this whole box is basically from you.” You laughed. He shrugged, throwing you a smirk.

“No wonder these clothes are of such good taste then.” You picked up a spiderman plushie, aiming it at his head and succeeding in hitting your target. He mumbled an ‘ouch,’ shooting you a glare whilst you smiled innocently.

“How much longer?” Tom whined, laying himself down on the floor and pretending to sob.

“Stop being a baby.” You laughed, poking his stomach with your foot.

“Come on, get up.” He groaned loudly, pushing himself up.

“I feel like I'm being punished for something.” He sighed. You laughed, handing him some more stuff to put away.

“So dramatic.” You commented.

“I am an actor, darling.” You fake gasped, turning to face him in shock.

“No way!” You stated. “Do you by any chance play this spider guy.” You held up one of the spiderman onesies he had bought a few weeks ago.

“Shut up.” He chuckled, flipping you off.

“Harry told me you wouldn’t stop swearing for the baby.” You told him, pointing to his middle finger. “You just proved him right.”

“Oh, how awful, proving Harry right.” His comment made you giggle, telling him to behave.

You and Tom were unpacking things for a little while longer, taking the time to take a breather when you were done.

After you and Tom were finally done, you were more than ready to just sleep forever and Tom was clearly ready to go home.

“Thank you for your help.” You hugged him tightly before he left.

“Always, see you soon y/n.” He waved, closing the door behind him. You sighed, finally getting a moment to yourself after a chaotic day filled with the three lads.

“And it’s just us again baby girl.” You smiled as she started to gently kick your belly, your heart warming as she knew you were talking to her.

“Yeah, it’s your mummy.” You teared up slightly, cursing your hormones again.

“Why don’t we go take a nap, huh?” You cupped your belly, heading to your room and just hoping your baby could calm down enough to let you sleep.

“Goodnight angel.”

#harry holland x reader #harry holland one shot #harry holland imagine #harry holland

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