#the way i gave up on writing this formally like halfway | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

poisonf0rest · 5 months ago

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𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐜*𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈𝐈

love and deepspace: zayne x fem!reader

tags: smut, teasing, guided masturbation, fingering, first time (kinda), pwp

word count: 9.3K what the fuck

synopsis: Between being in the midst of your medical residency and being an up-and-coming author, it’s safe to say your personal life has been placed on stand-still. That is, until your editor decided that your next novel needed explicit smut scenes. That is, until your mentor and boss ends up striking a deal for you to help with “inspiration” for said novel. That is, until you fuck Zayne four times and your life changes forever. - partially inspired by manga of the same name by Nae Awaji

original ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57209872/chapters/145519015

art credit: @/kaito_aii

You’re screwed. Fucked. Utterly damned.

Groaning into your desk, you slam your head down upon piles of patient records and old case files.

You’re only halfway done with your medical residency and somewhere along the way turned your lifelong passion for writing into a successful side gig. So successful in fact, that it was single-handedly providing you with enough money to get by and complete residency.

After anonymously posting online for a decade, you signed with a publisher three years ago, on the exact same day you matched with your first choice cardiothoracic residency program here at Akso Hospital.

Needless to say, you haven't felt that magnitude of happiness in years.

You doubt you ever will again.

In the midst of your wallowing, your phone lights up: Michaela. It’s a follow-up to her previous messages, all with the same damn request.

Michaela - Boss Man

checking in on my star, how’s that manuscript going?

talked to the director again to try and plead your case but she didn’t budge :(

she said w current book trends the fans will go crazy for a few explicit spicy scenes

pluuuus she believes in your writing enough to know you’ll make it big! come on, star, you know I’m here if you need any extra help

You - Little Star

Hey Micheala

You cringe for a moment at how formal you sound, but honestly, you’re too burnt out from writer’s block to match your editor’s energy and too tired from today’s shift to push back any further.

You - Little Star

No I get it, thanks for trying though

I’m almost done with the novel, it's just those scenes that are taking a little more time

And by a “little more time,” you mean you’ve tried writing and rewriting them over a dozen times just to cringe, delete, and scream into your keyboard. Over. And over again.

It’s not that you’re clueless, you’ve read your fair share of erotica for inspiration and pleasure equally. But actually writing them yourself? That was a whole different story. Pacing, banter, and even making the right word choices without sounding like a repetitive pervert or absolute lunatic were all so much harder to do than you previously gave authors credit for.

Not to mention, you haven’t actually experienced a lot first-hand.

Beyond a few situationships in high school and undergraduate flings between pre-med classes and internships absolutely kicking your ass, you’re probably half as sexually experienced as most adults your age. And you had absolutely no intention of re-entering the dating scene with residency, until now.

With Michaela breathing down your neck about how these explicit smut scenes were a marketing goldmine and the combined stress from your jobs, it seems like you’ve been fighting a losing battle. This time, however, your main income was on the line.

You groan as another ping lights up your phone, going to silence it when you realize it’s from the hospital Slack and not your editor.

residency-CS-alerts

Dr. Zayne: Second look needed for a CMR scan. Nonurgent.

Jumping to your feet, you sprint from the office wing to get to the MRI’s before another resident can take your spot. It’s not that your program lacked opportunities- far from it as you attend the top program– but rather that this particular opportunity was rare indeed.

Doctor Zayne. Akso Hospital's respected chief cardiac surgeon, who has made groundbreaking advances to the treatment of congenital heart abnormalities in neonates. At only twenty-seven he is the youngest recipient of the Starcatcher Award. His dedication to his craft is unparalleled, as he tirelessly devotes more time to surgeries than any other doctor you know, cementing his reputation as an unwavering force in the field.

He’s also impossibly tall, extremely well built for a man who seems to spend most of his time in the hospital, and has a face sculpted like a Roman deity in marble. And gods, his voice.

Safe to say, you admire him just a little.

You’ve bumped into him a handful of times during your first two years here, but the doctor was so engrossed in his work that the occurrence was rare enough. But a chance to perform with him? To consult alongside him on a cardiovascular case?

You began to fear for your own heart’s safety as you felt it skip in your throat.

Finally reaching the MRIs, you knock once before sliding the door to the control room open with a bow. And when you stand straight again, Dr. Zayne’s steel-set eyes only glance at you before he points to the readings displayed on the computer.

“Tell me what you see.”

Your mouth is still hanging open from what was going to be a very enthusiastic self-introduction, but you cut yourself off with a cough and stumble over to the monitor. Dr. Zayne’s eyes follow you with a precision that makes your hands tremble, and you bend over slightly to scan the patient’s readings.

You’re about ready to make a diagnosis when you realize you haven’t gotten much background on the patient.

“What’s the patient’s briefing?” You look down, flinching as you see Dr. Zayne already staring at you. “If I can hear it, sir?”

He nods once. “An adolescent female with complaints of shortness of breath and coughing. She had no specific medical history, but grew up in the countryside unable to visit a proper clinic for several years while this issue persisted.”

Countryside… that could mean this was an undiagnosed issue that festered.

Clearing your throat, you begin to point to the different scans. “Firstly, there’s clearly an enlarged cardiac silhouette.” Squinting, you point at two denser mounds in CMR scans. “Here and here. There are two large cysts along the lateral and inferior walls of the LV pushing and invading the myocardial walls.”

Gods, the cysts were huge. Even if surgery was performed on her now, would she survive?

Dr. Zayne’s low voice pulls you back into the control room. “Then what is your final diagnosis?”

“I–” you stutter, shaking your head. “I would recommend surgery immediately.”

“More detail than that, please.”

A sharp inhale and you scan the readings again. “Maybe a cannulation? The cysts might be causing an SVC compression, which would explain her shortness of breath.” You dare ask. “Will she survive?”

Dr. Zayne stands up this time. “You did well. She was my patient, and underwent surgery over a week ago.” He gently pats you on the shoulder, touch warm. “Our job as surgeons is to act decisively, to learn, and to try. Not to be heroes.”

You can’t manage to say anything back as Dr. Zayne leaves the room, the door sliding shut behind him.

_______

Surprisingly, you’ve been seeing more and more of Dr. Zayne since that day.

And if that wasn’t enough, the doctor has also been actively acknowledging you, exchanging greetings and simple conversation when you pass in the halls, cafeteria, or shared cardiovascular wing of the hospital.

Not that you haven’t been putting in the effort either.

Dr. Zayne’s current apprentice is graduating from residency this year, and you have every intention of becoming their successor. Between picking up extra shifts, answering every pager call, and of course paying special attention in case Dr. Zayne specifically requests a second pair of hands, you’ve been climbing up the ranks amongst your peers.

Luckily, it seems those efforts have not been in vain.

You’ve been doing so well apparently, that Dr. Zayne wants to meet with you in the hospital’s cafe today. Interviews before officially announcing mentor-mentee pairs was not unusual, but the thought of being one-on-one with Dr. Zayne after your last case together still has your mind reeling.

Will he pull out old case files? Will he bring you to a patient and test you in real time? You have half a mind that he might pull out a custom-made test and timer. It seems on-brand enough to be a possibility.

Yet when you arrive, the cafe is completely empty, save for the staff and a familiar man in a white lab coat.

Dr. Zayne stands as soon as he sees you and beckons for you to sit, pulling the chair across from him out in the same movement. He clears his throat, a barely-there smile gracing his lips as he watches you settle down. “How have you been, doctor?”

“Good! Good.” The words rush out from you and you flinch, forcing yourself to slow down. Was the cafe always this small? “Discharged a patient today, so all good news.” Holy striped cows, if you say the word good one more time you might lose your mind.

“Well,” Dr. Zayne nods, taking a sip of something that looks like a far-too-sweet cup of coffee practically drenched in whipped cream. “That’s certainly good to hear.”

You die a little inside.

“I’ll keep things rather brief since I’ve already made my mind up.”

Was this it? Did you ruin your chance at having Linkon’s top doctor as your mentor because of your damn mouth?

Dr. Zayne reaches inside his jacket, and you swear your heart is going to beat itself out of your throat. He pulls out a simple white envelope with your name scrawled across the front, the paper crisp as he slides it across the table.

His fingers linger on the edges before he speaks. "I wanted to formally offer you the position to shadow me as my apprentice."

"I accept!"

The words fly out before you can stop them and Dr. Zayne looks stunned for a moment before laughing, a smooth and deep sound you didn't expect from him. He looked good when he smiled. Softer, content.

The ghost of the smile stays, even when Zayne speaks again. "It's not a timed offer, you don't have to agree so quickly."

You flush down to your neck, looking down at the envelope. "Right. Only, it would be an honor to learn from you, sir. I really don’t know anyone in our field who wouldn’t accept it."

Zayne hums, but his brows furrow. “You don’t have to call me sir either. Doctor Zayne is fine while we are at the hospital. Zayne is more than acceptable elsewhere, we’re not that far apart in age and I don’t wish for this to be an overly formal relationship.”

You curse your heart for fluttering, reminding yourself that he only means this in a conductive, professional way.

After a beat of silence, Zayne looks at the clock and stands, taking his sugar-filled drink with him. You never pegged him to have such a massive sweet tooth.

"I have a consultation now, but I would like to talk to you more about your residency. We should set up weekly meetings outside of work, check your calendar, and organize it later.”

You nod and thank him as he walks away, leaving you alone to open the envelope. Inside is a simple handwritten note, signed and stamped with Dr. Zayne's official signature alongside Akso Hospital’s.

A reminder that this was, in fact, not a dream.

_______

It’s barely been a month since you’ve begun officially shadowing Zayne, yet you swear it feels as though a part of you has known him forever.

Aside from his virtually frozen demeanor and tendency to make snarky quips at your habit of running your mouth, he’s been nothing but a patient mentor. Brief, direct, unrelenting, but attentive to your work and growth.

If that were all, then everything would be perfect.

If that were all, then you would be sticking perfectly to your ten-year plan: graduating early, completing residency under the top doctor in the top program, and then overtaking him as the top cardiovascular surgeon with a breakthrough of your own.

But of course, the plot has to thicken.

Sure, the first few weeks have been strictly business, but since then, your conversations with Zayne—Dr. Zayne—have morphed into more casual, more playful meetings. Your weekly check-ins have moved from the hospital cafeteria to a cozy family-run cafe in town that Zayne introduced to you. And the way you’ve begun to think of him was the most damning part of it all.

But you don’t have the time nor capacity to deal with whatever this was becoming.

Not when your novel’s deadline was in three weeks, and you still had absolutely nothing to show for it. Without this new novel’s money, you wouldn’t be able to pay for rent or food or transport, and residency sure as hell wasn’t giving you enough to survive off of alone.

This past week, you’ve gone from stressed to a thundering cloud of misery. Snapping at interns, drinking dangerously over the FDA-recommended caffeine intake, and ignoring the maelstrom your face has become.

And of course, today happens to be your weekly check-in with Zayne.

Dragging yourself to your usual booth, you watch him order at the counter and bring his drink to the table alongside a signature pair of macaroons, a slice of chocolate cake, and an eclair. He sets it all down with a huff and sits, looking over at you with an iron-cold gaze. You can smell the incoming lecture.

"You're late."

You dip your head, but your patience is running on reserve, and your reply has more bite than you’d dare use otherwise. "I'm sorry, it looks like I’ve lost track of time."

"You're never late." Zayne doesn't sound any angrier at your attitude, but it still doesn't settle the guilt bubbling in your stomach.

"I've just been really stressed. You know," you wave your hand, "wrapping up residency."

"Is that so." Zayne's gaze is sharp as he fights to maintain eye contact. It's not a question. "I've noticed. You've been distracted and irritated recently, and I can't help but wonder why. Is it really the hospital? Am I demanding too much aside from your typical resident duties?”

You shake your head, and the guilt is back. "No, of course not."

"Then I have to assume it's something else, is it not?"

"It's..." How on earth are you supposed to explain that the reason why you're a mess is because your editor is pressuring you to write a smut scene that you have no interest in, let alone sufficient experience with? And to someone you admire, your mentor, Linkon’s top surgeon, and apparently now someone your heart is deciding to blackmail you with. "I'm sorry, Dr. Zayne. It's nothing work-related, it's not your problem to fix."

Zayne raises his eyebrow, leaning back in the booth and crossing his arms. “That’s the first time you addressed me as doctor outside of hospital property in over a month. ”

You really, really, can’t do this right now, or else you might start spewing some things you’ll regret. “Really? That’s fascinating, sir.” You watch him scowl at the title you know he hates. “Still does not entitle you to my personal issues.”

“As your mentor, it becomes entitled to me when your personal issues begin affecting your performance.” He says.

You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing your anger down. "It's really not something I can talk about here, nor to you. Can we just have a regular check-in?"

"We are."

“You know what?" You stand, chair falling back with a screech. “I think I need a rain check today, sir. You know. Stress.”

"You’re not leaving until you tell me what is bothering you."

You're about to grab your bag and walk away when you're suddenly reminded of how tall Zayne is when he stands. Practically towering over you, he leans across the table, grabbing you firm enough to prevent you from slipping away, yet never harsh enough to harm you. “Please, we’re making a scene.”

You sit. Zayne follows.

Seeing just how reactive you’re being, he softens, genuine concern in his tone as he reaches an arm out. “Is it a family issue? Are you alright?”

“No. Yes.” You inhale deeply through your nose, but your mind is still reeling at a mile a minute. “No, it’s not a family issue.”

“So if it’s not about the hospital and not family, then what could possibly be causing you this much stress.” Zayne’s eyes narrow and you see his jaw tick. “Don’t tell me this foolishness is over a boy.”

“No! God,” you want to push yourself off a building. Or him. “No, it’s this fucking–” You’re rambling. You’re rambling, losing control, and you’re going to blurt it out and regret it. “It’s this smut scene!”

You’ve really outdone yourself this time.

Zayne chokes on his drink and slams the cup down, coughing as liquid comes out his nose. You flounder in panic, trying to help but he holds a hand up and turns, still coughing into his arm. You can only manage to pull out a few napkins, handing them over in a pathetic bundle.

“A…” Zayne almost seems to buffer, clearing his throat before looking back at you. “An erotica scene?”

Your face is burning. You can practically feel the heat radiating off of it in waves, and you have to remind yourself that writing is your job. A respectable, decent-paying, well-appreciated job that you do for the sake of womankind everywhere.

“I write for extra income alongside residency, and recently my editor got it into her head that we’ll sell even more with some extra spice.” You scoff, “But it’s been months of looking at a blank doc. Now the deadline is approaching and I still have nothing to show for it.”

Zayne doesn't say anything for a moment, and you have to check if he's breathing, or if the shock has killed him. Finally, he shifts back in his seat, adjusting his tie.

"That sounds like a difficult position to be in, doctor."

You look up, and Zayne has his arms crossed. It's an expression you're familiar with, one that means he's actually thinking about what you've said, but the way he says "doctor" now feels strange, almost as if the term has no place here.

"It's fine, I'll figure it out." This is also why you didn't want to tell him, as if Zayne has any place worrying about this on your behalf. “Besides, I’m as much a writer as a doctor, this is my job after all. I have to figure it out.”

“Of course. I’d expect no less." Zayne nods a little to himself, slightly dazed, and you scramble to find a way to change the subject back into something even remotely work-appropriate.

"Anyway, I've been keeping up with my rounds, and I think I've been able to handle more cases on my own recently, too."

"You have."

Zayne is quiet for a beat too long and you frown, tapping the table.

"Are you alright? I know this is a lot, I shouldn't have burdened you with it."

When Zayne faces you again, you watch as his brows furrow. "But if this is such a pressing issue…” He clears his throat, looking at a spot directly above your head. “Then, what if I helped you?”

You swear your head is spinning, his words ringing over and over and over in your mind. The only thing remotely in focus was Zayne’s face, far too close for comfort now, even across the table. Oh gods, you’re having this conversation in public, too.

"What do you mean by help, exactly?"

"If you’re in need of experience," Zayne's voice is low, but he still manages to keep eye contact, the intensity of it making you smile nervously. "Then I could offer my assistance. Better coming from someone you know and trust, yes?"

There’s no way you heard that right. Your mind blanks, but apparently your smartass mouth hasn’t.

"Are you offering to be my fuck buddy? Sex consultant? My smut guide, if you will?"

A deadpan, “I would prefer the term sexual partner.”

Even the way Zayne says it makes it sound more like a business proposal than an actual proposition, and it throws you off guard. He leans back, trying to act nonchalant. "You did mention lack of inspiration was your main issue, correct?”

“Well, yes.” That, and your lack of any novel-worthy sexual experiences.

“And you have had—“ There it is again. Not quite embarrassment, and if you weren’t so tuned in to Zayne’s resting expression, you may not have noticed it, but there is a deeper furrow between his brows as his eyes evade yours, and the slightest tint of pink on the tips of his ears. “You have been with partners before, yes?”

The stoic, pragmatic, level-headed Doctor Zayne is embarrassed asking you whether or not you’ve had sex before.

You nearly laugh.

“Yes,” an amused giggle escapes you at the absurdity of this entire conversation. “I’ve been with partners,” you mimic, slightly mocking his word choice, “but it has been a while, and I haven’t really…”

Zayne moves to take another sip of coffee. “You haven’t?”

“I’ve never come. Orgasmed.”

And he chokes. Again.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry!” You jump from your seat to hand him yet another pile of napkins, but this time Zayne stops you halfway there, grabbing your wrist as his coughs subside.

Neither of you speaks as he drinks water and coughs once more, his grip still iron and far colder than you imagined it would feel against your bare skin.

“My apologies,” Zayne releases you immediately, going back to staring at his coffee as his hand flexes once. Twice. “Continue.”

You can only watch him in fascination, sitting back down in your chair. The entire time he avoided eye contact, and he was definitely blushing. You almost wanted to push further, to poke and tease and test his reactions, but you knew that would end with you losing your head. Or worse, you muse, heart fluttering against your chest.

“Ah, I mean, I’ve felt pleasure before. It’s not that my previous partners were unwilling to do stuff for me, I’ve just never gotten over that little plateau.” It’s not resentment that washes over you, and not quite embarrassment either. Just a little bit of dull apathy towards the subject. And yourself. “Biologically speaking of course I know it’s possible, but there are also plenty of women who simply don’t climax during sex. I’m probably just one of them.”

Zayne, who seems to have returned to his usual stoicism, frowns at that, mouth drawn taut as though he wanted to say something.

"And if we were to engage in sexual acts," He's so clinical, even as he says something that could send anyone else running. “Perhaps that is what you need to start writing again. It would make sense. To write a compelling,” he stumbles over the word, “erotica, you’d have to experience pleasure."

The gears in your mind turn, and slowly, it begins to make a twisted sort of sense. You'd have to feel it for yourself, to be able to describe the sensation, the passion, the tension with conviction. Perhaps it really would get you closer to finishing this damn book.

But then you remember who you're talking to. Doctor Zayne. Your coworker. Worse than that, your mentor and direct superior in your field, and someone you happen to admire very much. So then why would he…?

"What do you gain from this, Zayne?"

Zayne stiffens. “I’m a doctor, it’s my duty to help my patients.”

A sly smile cracks against your lips, and you prop your chin against your palm. “I didn’t realize I was your patient now, doctor?”

His eyes snap back to yours and he straightens, his demeanor slipping back to his typical formality. "You have a bright future in front of you. This is an investment in you, and I believe this will help us both. I will draw up a contract tomorrow for us to discuss, you can meet me in my office after your shift.”

“Rather formal,” you say, but Zayne doesn’t take the bait this time.

He simply takes another sip from his coffee, and you swear you catch him smiling behind the porcelain rim. “Then perhaps I could also get a signed copy of your next book?"

You scoff, waving him off as you slouch back in your chair. "Of course, I'll throw one in the mail the day it's out."

"It's a deal then.”

He’s about to push in his chair when you lunge from yours, grabbing his sleeve as his eyes widen slightly, looking down at where your hands meet. "Thank you,” a smile. ”Zayne."

His gaze softens and he smiles a bit, nodding. "Of course, doctor."

And with a wave, he's gone.

_______

You don’t know what you expected.

Zayne seemed like the type to take his girl out to dinner first, probably somewhere obscenely expensive. He’d show up with a single rose or another simple but romantic gift so seemingly contradictory to his outward appearance. Afterward, maybe he’d take her to a show or somewhere with fancy sweets, knowing his taste. Then, after all that, he’d invite her back to his apartment or allow her to whisk him away to her place.

You’d imagine it would go something like that. But then again, the terms of your relationship are quite different then the one he’d have with this imaginary woman. So when he texts you after your shift that Tuesday asking if you’re free tonight, you’re only moderately panicked.

To make matters worse, he’s at your house five minutes early.

Two knocks, and you scramble to open the door, Zayne nearly dwarfing the door frame as he lingers outside the hallway. His trenchcoat only adds to his natural tendency to command attention, and you feel more vulnerable than usual in your sleep clothes.

“Fancy seeing you here, stranger.”

Zayne adjusts his collar. “Do you mind if I come in?”

You tap your chin, pretending to mull it over in your mind, relishing in the slight nervousness your silence instills in Zayne. “It would be rather bothersome to fuck in the hallway, I suppose…”

Zayne shakes his head at the remark, but you can see amusement dancing in his eyes. With that, you step aside, and he ducks under the doorframe to slip inside. It’s as though something irreversible- something inevitable- shifts as you watch him cross the threshold, and it doesn't get better when you close the door and lock it behind him.

You'd say he makes himself at home, but his stance is still too stiff, too awkward, even as he’s hanging his coat and slipping out of his shoes. It almost feels domestic.

"Would you like something to drink?"

Zayne shakes his head, "Not this time."

He says it so casually, and yet the notion of a next time has you dizzy. Of course there’s a next time, you’ll need more than one night to get inspiration. It was only a natural assumption, you reason with yourself.

"You seem tense," he says, and then your back is against the wall.

Zayne leans down, hovering above you as his hand comes up to your waist. A tentative touch, and you give a small nod, feeling his arm relax, palm sliding further into the plush of your hips. He looks so good like this, in a work button-down with a thin sheen of sweat on his brow and his lips parted. Gods, and he’s not even trying- there’s genuine concern written in the way he scans your body with a deep crease between his brows. You hope he doesn’t notice how you squeeze your thighs tighter.

"It's the deadline, is all," you say, trying to brush off the question.

"Ah, of course. How inconsiderate of me. I’m supposed to be helping you and here I am making it worse.”

Zayne's voice is low and smooth. The cadence in his words, the slight drawl, is a sound that makes your heart skip a beat. It's a shame it's so easy to hide your arousal when you're this nervous.

“Well,” You smile, and his gaze flickers down to your mouth. “I suppose I can forgive you if you uphold your end of the deal.”

His stare is heavy, and it feels like the room is closing in. But you understand the man well enough to know that he wouldn’t dare move first, not until you asked for it, not when you have yet to set a precedent. So you loop your arms around his neck, forcing Zayne closer as his forearm slams against the wall to hold himself up against you.

You nip at the lobe of his ear, smiling to yourself as he shivers with each warm exhale. Zayne’s hand has yet to leave your side while he lets you grind against him, guiding your movements as you groan against his neck.

But Zayne feels you rush through the movements, a messy sort of impatience less from desire and more from routine. As though you wanted this done. As though you wanted him gone.

You feel a familiar flutter against your core as Zayne’s knee comes up against your core, but when you move to grind against his thigh, the hand at your waist stops you.

“I want to do this properly. You deserve—” he cuts himself off. Starts over. “Where would you like to do this?”

You’re about to tell him that right here is fine, not wanting Zayne to feel as though you needed any more special attention, when you realize just how serious he is. “Bedroom," you say.

Zayne hums, and the rumble reverberates throughout his chest. He offers a hand, and you take it.

And with that, you lead him to your room.

Somewhere between the span of your hallway and bed, Zayne seems to have decided how tonight will go. Despite your desperate touches, teasing up his body and luring him closer, Zayne slows his own pace, leaving burning trails traced with agonizing slowness over the curves of your body. Despite your fumbling to strip off your shirt, Zayne grabs your wrist, forcing it behind your back as his other hand teases the exposed skin of your ribs in a way that has you shivering. Despite your hushed complaints for him to just hurry up Zayne merely smiles in amusement, refusing to give you anything more as he scolds you with a click of his tongue.

Zayne refuses to rush this. He wants to savor every moment, to etch the sight of you into his mind and commit it to memory, to relive it in this life and the next.

He continues walking forward, each one forcing you to take a step back until your knees hit your bed, buckling as his form looms over you.

“The largest mistake in any relationship- sexual or not- is lack of communication.” He loosens his tie, “So if we are to do this, you have to talk to me. Tell me what you like, what you don’t.”

As he speaks, Zayne continues undressing, unbuttoning the top few buttons on his shirt before rolling up the cuffs so every glorious inch of his forearms is exposed. Your breath catches with each trailing vein, shadowed in the dim lighting up until they disappear under his sleeves.

Maybe you should write a Victorian-era piece next. Clearly, you had a thing for small swaths of exposed skin.

As if hearing your thoughts, Zayne undoes another button before his hands venture south. With a slow, deliberate motion, he unbuckles his expensive leather belt and allows it to slide through the loops of his pants. It drops to the floor, joining all the other articles of clothing as he takes a seat on the mattress, resting his hand on your bare thigh, inching closer and closer to where your sleep shorts have ridden up.

"Tell me what you like and don't like." Zayne repeats, eyes focused on yours, "And remember, you say no, and this stops."

Zayne moves painfully slow, his hands fluttering down your shoulders, breasts, hips, until he plants them behind you, caging you between his broad chest and the mattress. His hand slips under your shirt’s fabric once more, and you feel yourself tense.

You aren’t wearing anything fancy. After all, you were simply writing in bed, nearly falling off when you suddenly got Zayne’s text. Only a pair of shorts and a cami, but gods, when Zayne’s hands begin trailing up your stomach, dragging the thin fabric up with him, you really wished you put something sexier on.

He doesn't stop until his fingertips brush against the underwire of your bra, thick fingers slipping under the band as he practically tugs you toward him. "Can you take this off for me?"

"Don't know how to do it yourself?" You tease.

Before you even finish taunting him, Zayne's hand has already snuck around your back, undoing the clasp and forcing you onto your back. You can feel the heat radiating off of him.

"Now, now, we'll be here all night if we start fighting." He chastises you, tone far too smug. Zayne tugs the undone bra up, his fingers tracing the red marks it left against your skin. You tremble under his touch. "Didn't realize how sensitive you are."

His tone is even, but you can see the slight curl at the corner of his lips.

"Your hands are cold," you say, voice wavering as Zayne begins taking your shirt off as well. You try not to fidget, knowing that the way your arms are held up only emphasizes the size difference, Zayne being able to completely lift your chest against him as the other binds your wrists. You're not tiny. But next to him? It barely mattered.

"I apologize." But it feels half hearted at best, especially with the way he’s staring at your bare chest, not even bothering to take your shirt all the way off. It almost feels more embarrassing like this, cotton bunched against your collarbones under his palms.

“I’m going to touch you now, okay?”

The way he says it causes a rush of blood to your face. “I’m not some virgin that might break.” You grumble under your breath, but Zayne is as stupidly attentive as always and frowns.

“Do not mistake my care for pity.”

Something ugly aches in your chest when he looks at you like that.

Zayne’s hand comes up, large enough to encircle the entirety of your cheek as you’re enveloped in the chill of his touch. His body is nearly atop yours, each word breathed into your mouth. “Then, if you have no more snarky remarks, allow me to begin."

Zayne’s gaze drops to where he thumbs at your lips, leaning in as you watch his pupils dilate, flickering with something before he flinches away, kissing the corner of your mouth instead.

His other hand cups the curve of your breast, leaving goosebumps in its wake. You gasp, the sensation heightened by the feeling of his teeth against your collarbone, nipping marks into your skin.

It takes a moment for all his featherlight touches to register, your eyes fluttering closed as his thumb rubs your chin. You try to ignore the way he avoids your lips, refusing to get too close.

All for the better, you remind yourself.

He kisses lower, down between the valley between your breasts, hot breath the only warning you get before his tongue meets your nipple while his fingers deliver a sharp flick to the other. The contrast of the heat from his mouth to the cold of his fingertips sends you reeling as you muffle your cries into your palm.

Zayne doesn’t like that. He forces your hand from your mouth, biting your nipple as if in vengeance as you moan, the sound broken and desperate as you claw at his forearm.

Satisfied, his tongue smooths over the bright pink bite mark and swollen bud, the unpredictable pressure fogging up your every thought before he retreats with a wet pop.

Finally, Zayne moves to fully remove your shirt, but pauses when you flinch.

“Would it make you more comfortable if I undressed as well?” Zayne begins to take off his own shirt, but you lunge for him, stopping his hands as your voice escapes in a whoosh.

“No.”

His collared shirt was utterly ruined, unbuttoned just enough so you could see his flushed chest when he bent over. And now when he sat up straight the bottom rose up just a bit, exposing a stretch of his lean torso, a peak of his abs, and a dark happy trail that dipped into his tailored pants. Every once in a while, you could see his muscles flex and it sent a shameful throbbing down your core.

“You can keep it like that, it’s hot.”

Zayne doesn’t respond, but when he averts his eyes you swear you watch his lips curl into a smirk. It’s gone by the time he looks at you. Not that you have any time to dwell on it, not when Zayne closes the remaining space between you, guiding you against the pillows.

You try not to focus on how out of place he seems in your apartment, mere presence dwarfing everything else as he makes his way between you, forcing your knees apart.

Zayne leans back, his fingers trailing up your leg, edging up the fabric of your shorts up with his touch, but never daring to slip past the self-imposed barrier of the cotton. He coaxes your hips up, and you kick the shorts off in a clumsy movement, Zayne's eyes now focused between your thighs before you snap them shut as best you can around his waist.

“Let me see.”

You gape at him. “I– Doctor–”

“Relax. I can’t guide you if you don’t let me, now open.”

It’s not an order. Not quite. Zayne’s voice is effortlessly assertive, but it falls just short of being a command. You could call this off, he’s told you that much directly, and knowing Zayne if you did so everything would go right back to how it was before. A mentor and student. Coworkers. Strangers.

You force the tremors in your thighs to relax, knees dropping from Zayne’s hips to the sheets below as you move your left leg just enough to feel the inner band of your underwear stretch.

It’s a bearable amount of embarrassment and vulnerability, until you look up at Zayne again, and akin to a deer in headlights, you freeze. He watches with enough intensity for it to be clinical, a vicious sort of attentiveness that sees every twitch, every strain your body responds with, as if committing it all to memory. As if he were to devour you alive.

You think you’d let him.

Zayne reaches over, and his thick finger trails a line up your inner thigh, immediately followed by goosebumps, knuckles ghosting the inner seam of your panties.

Your body reacts before you do. Before you can even breathe, the air catches in your throat, and your legs squeeze together in a pathetic attempt to hide yourself.

Zayne pins them down immediately, gaze snapping up to you. You expect a reprimand. Maybe a warning or a punishment, and the anticipation makes your stomach twist.

Instead, his brows draw in, as if lost in thought. “You said you never came from touching yourself either?”

You can barely manage a nod.

“Hm. Then you weren’t doing it right.” He says, so bluntly that you can only blink at him. “Show me how you do it.”

Zayne sits back between your thighs, one hand still absent-mindedly caressing your knee, waiting expectantly.

And you feel the flush burn all the way up your ears and down your chest.

Oh, that was not what you expected him to say. You were prepared for him to touch you, or to guide you, but instead he asks for the complete opposite.

And, well, you could only ever try your best for him— ever the people pleaser.

It's humiliating how easily your fingers slip under the elastic band. Even more so when the pads of your fingers run down your folds, and you feel yourself clench at the mere contact, already slick and wanting. You move to tug your underwear off, but Zayne stops you, grabbing at your wrist.

"Wait," He's panting, eyes blown as he continues to stare at you, at the wet patch accumulating in the center of those damned panties. "Keep them on."

His tone is so serious a part of you wants to laugh. You're about to make a quip when he pulls your hand up, bringing your fingers to his lips and wrapping his tongue around them. The way he teases from the pad of your finger to your knuckle, sucking as he goes, has you lightheaded. Your hips stutter upwards, a pitiful sound escaping from your throat as you try to keep yourself together.

He doesn't stop. Not until your fingers are clean and your thighs have grown unbearably sticky, neglected and throbbing.

When he finally lets go, you're a gasping mess, and Zayne looks downright smug. "Now, you can continue."

The bastard.

You don't know how you manage to move, let alone bring your fingers to your entrance.

Pushing aside the cotton, your first touch is tentative, and you flush at how much easier it is with Zayne’s spit covering them. Your breath catches both from the initial stretch and the way Zayne leans in closer to see, even though the thin elastic prevents him from watching the way your cunt flutters around the new intrusion.

You shift, but your need has grown nearly uncomfortable, hips beginning to buck up as one finger quickly becomes too little, and you whine as you attempt to push in another, to push in a little deeper.

"Slower. You're going too fast."

You can't help the scowl, your tone sharper than intended. “How would you know?"

Zayne’s face is a cool mask, the corners of his lips twitching with amusement. "You did ask me for advice, did you not?" Then his voice takes on a sharper edge, demanding again. "Slow down, then you may continue."

As if you needed his permission to continue. But you do as he says, rocking your fingers in and out, pace painfully slow, mere friction sending jolts of heat throughout you.

Usually, this was the best part, the delicious and tortuous build-up that would ultimately lead to nothing. Not nearly long enough, your fingers hit just below your sweet spot, and you could feel tears of frustration prick against your eyes. Writhing, you tried to plunge further, choking out a moan again and again at the barest brushing against your sweet spot, mindlessly grinding your hips up to meet each cruel thrust of your fingers.

You cry when you finally hit that spot inside you, head falling against the pillows as you tense, about to move again when something stops your hand, ripping it away from your desperate chase.

“You–“ Zayne shakes his head, breath ragged as some combination of a frustrated exhale and moan rumbles through his chest, the sound going straight to your cunt. “You’re too impatient. Too rough.”

You try to swallow, try to hide how the sound of his moan and the rough cadence of his voice makes the muscles of your belly and thighs spasm, but Zayne doesn't miss a thing. He doesn't release your hand, not fully, but rather guides both of your digits to trace around your clit instead.

"Again," he says, “This time slower. How does it feel?”

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath as you feel his hand continue to guide yours, entire body jolting when he catches against the hood of your oversensitive clit, tapping as he lets you circle it on your own.

“Good. It feels really good.”

Zayne hums, but he already knows that. He feels it through the drenched bottoms of your panties, rubbing your poor swollen clit through them, watching as you gush again, the slick coating his palm and dripping down his wrist in sticky strands.

It takes everything within him not to withdraw his hand and lick it all. Or even better, take his mouth to you directly. Not yet. Not yet, he reminds himself. Next time.

You have to bite your lip as you feel Zayne’s hand take over your own, almost greedily pushing and pinching your clothed cunt, the fabric both a delicious friction and a damn barrier you wish was gone so you could finally feel his bare fingers on you, in you. It’s torture, every nerve on fire as Zayne continues to focus on your clit while your fingers return against your folds, teasing your entrance with a light touch before pressing in.

But it's still not enough. It's not what you need.

You look to Zayne for direction, but his expression is unreadable in the darkness. "Deeper. Keep going."

The angle isn't quite right, but you do as he says, trying and failing to muffle your sounds as you fuck yourself on your fingers, desperately chasing the feeling building up once more.

“Again. Deeper.”

It hurts. Your wrist is beginning to ache, and you’re really not sure how much longer you can keep going, crying out again when Zayne forces his hand flat against your clothed core, shoving your own fingers deeper and causing the wet fabric to rub deliciously against your clit.

You don't even have time to react before he's pulling away, his own hand rubbing the wetness on his fingers together as he watches the strands break and drip down his hand.

His tone is so nonchalant despite the way he keeps his gaze trained between your legs. As if the sight of you, flushed and gasping, with your cunt pathetically leaking and yet still demanding more, wasn't the hottest thing he'd ever seen.

“Ask,” Zayne demands, his voice deep enough that you swear you can feel it rumbling through your bones. “Ask for it.”

“Need your help, please, Zayne” you manage, voice airy and heart still racing from unintentionally edging yourself over and over again. “I want your fingers.”

It’s probably impossible to miss the way your eyes have been drawn to his hands all evening, big and corded with veins and muscle and scar tissue. Hands gentle enough to care for patients, steady enough to perform surgeries, cruel enough to tease you this mercilessly, and yet you can’t help but imagine what they’re going to feel like when he starts touching you properly.

You’ve probably thought about his hands more times than you’d like to admit.

At the hospital, at the cafe, at night in your apartment. Every inch of his body seems to haunt you like a forgotten memory your body had already grown addicted to.

The moan that rumbles out of Zayne’s chest is low and addicting. He sits back for only a moment before your hips are dragged down the bed, a yelp leaving your lips from the sheer force.

Zayne practically knocks your leg over his shoulder, and when you arch off balance, you press against something that has you inhaling sharply through your nose. Fuck, Zayne’s hard.

He shudders violently at the contact, falling onto his forearms as you roll against him once more, watching his face twist from the painful pleasure you know all too well. You feel his control slipping, both in the way his fingers tighten at your hips and the throbbing heat you feel twitch against your thigh.

And just realizing how much you’ve affected him is enough to send your eyes rolling back into your skull with a violent tremor.

You attempt to grind up against him again when Zayne roughly pins you back down. You writhe helplessly, hips pinned to the mattress as Zayne curses, adjusting himself in his slacks with a rough squeeze. “No.” A command to both himself and you, “You asked for my fingers, so that’s what you will get.”

You’re about to open your mouth to make another demand, but Zayne is one step ahead of you yet again. “That’s all you’re getting.” As if to quell your anger, he begins to thumb at your clit again, moving to take off your last remaining piece of clothing. “Next time.”

A promise he has every intention to keep.

Ironically, Zayne is handling you far more gently than you usually touch yourself, and you find yourself flexing your hips in an attempt to get him to touch you with more pressure. He ignores your endeavors, keeping his pace implacably steady and slow. But you’ve been worked up far too long, and as soon as Zayne begins fucking you with two of his much thicker fingers, you already feel the familiar tension building.

“Do you want to tell me what you’re feeling?”

“Not really,” you manage through clenched teeth.

You feel Zayne pull away and thrust your hips up into nothingness, only making yourself more sensitive when he roughly thumbs at your clit. He slams your hips back down, a cruel pinch to the oversensitive nub forcing you to arch into him as your jaw falls slack.

“That was not a question.” Zayne is still hovering above you, watching as his fingers slip against your cunt, slick with your arousal. “Use your words.”

His voice takes a dark edge every time he commands you now, and you bite your lip to not whimper at the tremor his voice sends down your skin. It’s not fair, the effect something so simple has on you. But while his demand is still ringing in your ears, Zayne curls his fingers further upwards, rubbing directly against that sweet spot inside you with frustrating ease, and you sob.

"Please,” you can’t even remember to beg. Zayne nearly abuses the spot, curling into it over and over again until you’re certain you’re drooling all over the silk of your pillow, writhing. "Please, I'm– I need more, and, ah—“

Zayne hums. "More? You're going to have to be more specific if you actually want to orgasm."

You whine, shaking your head as his eyes narrow. He’s only halfway through scolding you when his finger smacks against your clit, the sharp twinge of pain enough to make you cry. "Don't be a child. Words. Tell me what's giving you pleasure so I can help you."

"It's," a huff of air leaves you and you can barely manage to form a coherent sentence, your mind fogging over completely as Zayne continues to talk. "Hah, your voice helps.”

“My voice?”

Your eyes nearly roll back at the sound of Zayne’s chuckle. A deep, cruel thing that you now think may be all you need to come as your eyes screwed shut. “Well, if that’s the case, then I suppose I should just keep talking. Keep your eyes open.”

You obey, and Zayne simultaneously pulls your jaw towards him, forcing you face-to-face with him. “Look at me.”

You do. You do and really wish you hadn’t because the smug smile pulling at the corner of his lips and the freckles of light green you now see in his softened gray eyes might really be all you need to send yourself over the edge.

And, as if listening, Zayne forces his fingers deeper inside, the tips of his digits hitting the same spot that has your mind fogging over, vision blurring with a disorienting mix of hazy and dizzy. You can barely hold on, fingers twitching against the sheets as suddenly it becomes too much, your hands shooting up as you press desperately against Zayne’s chest.

“Wait–” You’re dizzy. The pressure is consuming you, and you’re losing control. “Please, Zayne.”

He stops immediately, pliant under your touch as he lets you push him away. Even so, his free hand comes up to meet yours, coaxing your fingers against his as he holds it up to his chest, letting you ground yourself with his heartbeat.

The rhythm is comforting.

Zayne isn’t speaking anymore, just looking, waiting for you to give him a sign. He doesn’t dare move, letting his fingers sit still, buried inside of you. You don't know if it's the dizziness lingering in your head or the fact that his fingers are insistently rubbing against a spot inside of you that sends sparks up your spine, but either way, you might be going insane.

“Keep your breathing steady, even when you’re close. Deep breaths.” In, out. In, out. Your chest rises as Zayne’s does, bare skin brushing his. “Good.”

Even as your vision clears, Zayne refuses to let go of your hand, this time pinning it beside your head as he begins to move his other hand too, thumb circling your clit as the others curl against your walls.

When you begin to shake again, his lips ghost by your neck, dangerously soft and hesitant as he kisses down from your jaw, following each whimper and moan you give to him with loyal intent, sucking gently at a spot near your jugular and collarbone.

"Ah, Zayne. I think–" your breathing hitches as Zayne presses another soft kiss against your skin.

"Are you okay?" The softness of his tone nearly breaks you, and you force yourself to ignore it. Focus on the sensations; focus on what you can use for the novel. Nothing more.

You nod.

"What else, darling? Are you close?"

Your breath hitches. The sudden pet name has you reeling, and you feel Zayne keep his steady rhythm, even through your trembling and whining, his thumb mercilessly circling against your clit in ways you swear never feel the same when you’ve done it.

"Call me that again," you cry, nearly begging.

"Come. Come for me, darling."

And you do.

Your vision blurs as you come around Zayne’s fingers, a silent scream catching in your throat. All you can manage is a broken moan as you arch into him, gripping his forearm and holding it in place. Your thighs quiver around his arm, and Zayne holds you still, coaxing you through it as wave after wave of pleasure wash over you.

The sensation is overwhelming. You're not even sure how long it lasts, the only thing grounding you is the weight of Zayne's hand laced against your own.

Slowly, he begins to withdraw his fingers, kissing your knuckles softly.

"How are you feeling?"

The room is quiet, and it feels like all the sound has been sucked out of it. Your head is fuzzy and your whole body is tingling, and all you can focus on is Zayne's soft breathing.

Good, you want to tell him. More than that, your body is still shaking from pleasure and desire, and you can’t stop looking at Zayne’s lips or remembering how hot and needy he felt grinding against your thigh. You can’t stop thinking about him, so instead you say, “Fine.”

Zayne stiffens. “Good.”

He sits up, still scanning your face for something as you watch the fabric of his shirt pull taut across his chest and stomach, and once again you are overwhelmed by the desire to run your hands down his body, to feel his skin against yours. To see more of him.

“I’m going to get you water and a towel.” He says, not moving just yet. “Do you need anything else?”

You shake your head no. Zayne nods, leaning in as his hand goes to your jaw before he pauses halfway and steps out of bed, making his way to your bathroom.

You don’t really remember how much of the night goes by after that, a blur of Zayne attentively guiding you through proper aftercare and you throwing in a few quips here and there at his ceaseless worrying. Before long, he’s saying farewell, and you’re back at your computer screen, empty doc staring right back at you.

But the words never form. Not when your head is still spinning, replaying everything that happened tonight in vivid flashbacks as an overwhelming rush of mortification and desire runs down your spine.

You can’t help but feel that perhaps you just made an irreversible mistake.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace fanfiction #love and deepspace x reader #lnd zayne #lads zayne #zayne x you #zayne x reader #zayne love and deepspace #lnds smut #l&ds smut #love and deepspace smut #lads x reader #love and deepspace zayne #poisonwrites

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owliellder · 1 year ago

Text

The Finer Details

Post DI! Leon Kennedy x f! Painter Reader

MDNI 18+

(Session 1, Session 2, Session 3, Session 4, Session 5, The Reveal)

Description: Leon realizes that retirement is in his best interest now that he's getting older. All of his accomplishments as an agent mean he's truly earned a painting to commemorate..

Warnings: Not Proofread, Age gap! (reader is anywhere between mid-late 20's and Leon is 40), Porn w/ Plot, Use of she/her pronouns, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Alcoholism, mentions of trauma/PTSD/depression, P in V smut (wrap it NEOW), Leon cries during sex 💔

Tags: Older Leon Kennedy, Younger afab!Reader, Leon is SAD but he is your muse, Crying, mentions of Leon masturbating, starts off with Dom! Leon and Sub! Reader, falls into switch territory because that man needs some serious TLC, Praise kink, Hickeys, Handjob, Nipple play, Oral sex (m! and f! receiving), and a heavy dose of Aftercare

Author's Note: I write these at work and I work nightshift all alone in a little gatehouse, right? I kid you not 3 coyotes were staring at me through the door and I didn't even notice. I saw them running by on the cameras but I honestly thought it was just a group of feral cats cause they were so small.

Anyways, thank you for 300 followers!! I'm geekin' out over that! And Friday morning the last chapter will be out 😈🙏

Cross-posted on AO3

Session 5: Finishing Touches

The word excited was a vast understatement when it came to seeing you again.

Leon's heart was thrumming against his chest as he stood silently in front of your apartment door. His hand was raised up halfway, ready to knock, but a sudden wave of anxiety was holding him back. He was at your apartment. Your apartment.

The drive over was relatively short, it was closer than your workspace, yet he felt confident the entire way here. Now here he was, frozen in place, worried his knock would be too loud or make him seem desperate, even. A ridiculous thought, obviously the man knew that, but it gripped his mind nonetheless.

You must've had a sixth sense, having opened the door before he'd built up the courage to actually knock, when all reality you just recognized the sound of his motorcycle at this point. The sweet smile you gave Leon was enough to draw him into your apartment. He was quick to take his jacket off since he was sweating bullets, hanging it up on the coat rack next to your front door.

You could tell he was nervous just by how jittery he was, it was endearing yet worrisome at the same time. Seeing how worked up you made him was adorable, but at the same time you didn't want him to feel uncomfortable around you.

"Sit wherever, Mr. Kennedy. My house is yours." You placed a hand on his bicep to try and ease him, smile still remaining as you watched him survey the living room. A quiet laugh fell from his lips as he trained his eyes on you. "It's Leon, please. Making me feel real old over here..." You rolled your eyes with a playful groan. It was just a formality you'd trained yourself to respond with when it came to clients. A hard habit to break since you'd never really dated any of them before now.

With a gentle pat, you slowly turned and walked off into your admittedly small kitchen where the faint sound of boiling water could be heard. It took a few seconds before Leon decided to follow you, not totally convinced to take a seat just yet. You glanced over your shoulder at him before turning back to reach up into one of your cabinets, pulling out a couple mismatched mugs. "You like chai?" He nodded, licking his lips at the idea of something to drink.

The man could only stand awkwardly a few feet behind you and watch as you grabbed a couple tea bags from another cabinet, setting reach bag in their respective mug. An electric kettle sitting atop your counter beeped once it reached the selected temperature, prompting you to grab the handle and pour the water into the mugs.

You covered the mugs to let them steep, turning around to lean back against the edge of your counter so you could look at Leon. He looked like a lost puppy, hands in the pockets of his jeans as he took in your kitchen. With a sympathetic sigh, you pushed yourself from the counter and looped your right arm through his, leading him out of the kitchen back towards your living room. "Get comfortable, I'll bring the tea over here, okay?"

He just let you lead him over to the couch, sitting down at your request with a meek nod. He really should be more confident than this, but he was far out of practice when it came to women. The idea of messing this up for himself was terrifying.

Leon's head followed you as you walked around to the front of the couch, watching as you set the mugs on the coffee table before sitting down next to him. He rested his hands on top of his thighs, eyes now stuck to the tea placed in front of him.

"Are you feeling alright? You look like you're gonna throw up." You meant this in a joking manner, even giggling a bit as you spoke, but Leon's head jerked away from the tea to look at you, eyebrows furrowed with worry as he shook his head. "No-.. No, I'm okay, just... Can I be honest?"

That kind of question never failed to make you nervous, and he was quick to pick up on that, clearing his throat after stumbling over his words. "It's... It's been a long time since I've done anything like this. Seeing someone."

Your mouth formed a small 'o' shape at his confession before falling back to that same sweet smile that you welcomed him in with. "You're right to be nervous, Leon. But hey," you paused to scoot closer to him, ".. I've had the privilege to learn a bit of backstory from you already, and after working with a few other agents before you, I have a general idea on just how taxing that kind of job can be."

Leon tightened his lips as he listened to you, worry still plain on his face. You were right and maybe that's why he grew to like you so easily. He didn't have to explain anything since you already knew the basic gist of it all, holding a level of understanding that most other potential partners wouldn't have.

You reached in front of him to grab the mug, carefully placing it in one of his hands before reaching further to grab the other, now having him hold the mug with both hands. He kept fidgeting with his jeans, clearly needing something to hold onto.

"I won't pry, the details of your job seem pretty intense, but I want you to know that I'll never turn you away, relationship or not." You'd grabbed your own mug now, looking down as you pinched your index and thumb on the paper end to the tea bag to jostle it a bit. "You've more than earned the time you have now to just be yourself."

Leon swallowed dryly, turning his attention down to where he was holding the mug in his lap. He didn't even know he needed to hear those words, but dammit were they definitely hitting home.

"Thank you." He managed to say, voice meek and slightly scratchy from just how dry his mouth had become. "You... have a way with words?" He breathed out a chuckle to which you followed up with a laugh of your own. Despite feeling so vulnerable and awkward, he still managed to make a joke.

You closed your eyes as you brought the mug up to your lips, taking a sip of the now perfectly warm tea before opening them again to give the man next to you a smirk. "What a charmer you are, huh?"

And just like every other time the two of you had been around each other, Leon started to relax by the hour; talking more, joking more, getting closer to you, and once you both finished up the tea, he held onto your hand with his own.

He followed you around your apartment when you excitedly asked to give him a tour. It was small, a very humble one bedroom, one bathroom apartment, but to Leon it was probably the most comfortable place he'd ever been. So similar to your workplace in terms of decor, but now it was full of your more personal items.

The smell of the tea from earlier was beginning to fade, making way for the smell of just you, such a pleasant and intoxicating smell to the man.

Your bedroom was the biggest culprit so far, the two of you winding up sitting on the edge of your bed. Shamefully, he'd zoned out as you rambled on about whatever, just soaking in the feel of your comforter beneath his hands. It was soft, but definitely not as soft as your lips were.

While Leon was zoned out, his eyes had gotten stuck again, this time on your lips as they moved. You were focused somewhere else, looking forwards, not really paying attention to where he was staring. He so badly wanted to kiss you again, the last kiss didn't last nearly as long as he would've liked it to.

Leon knew his words would fail him and he wanted to act before his nerves got the better of him, leading him to moving his eyes up to yours, his hand reaching to gently hold under chin so he could turn your head to face him.

The feel of his hand caused you to pause your ramble, letting him turn your head to face him. He looked so handsome with that wanting look, his eyes flittering from your own and back down to your lips.

He seemed to know what he wanted, so you opted to just let him slowly pull you closer into a kiss, eyes closing as your lips touched his. It was a little longer than the kiss you shared the night before, but after pulling away and seeing the shy smile you had, he couldn't help but pull you right back in.

His eyebrows furrowed, hands finding their way to your back to pull you closer, one between your shoulder blades while the other on the small of your back. You arched against his touch, letting him angle you the way he wanted. Leon's hands moved to make way for his arms, biceps flexing as he tightly wrapped them around you. He had to hold on tight, fearing he would lose his little slice of heaven if he didn't.

Your lips felt amazing against his, so soft and pillowy. And god, the way your skin felt when he shifted one of his rough hands up under your shirt. He needed more, all of you.

He let out a low groan, almost a growl as he nibbled on your bottom lip before moving down to your neck. He leaned back a bit so his shoulders were resting against the head of the bed frame, managing to pull you even closer so your chest was pressed up a little higher than his, his head buried into the crook of your neck.

You breathed out a shaky breath as his hands began to wander again, still underneath your shirt. They went up and down your back, moving down to occasionally squeeze your waist. You made the prettiest sounds when he did.

Leon felt so needy, holding onto you like this, for dear life. He couldn't help it. You were his lifeline right now.

His lips trailed along the underside of your jaw and down the front of your throat, making sure to leave a trail of hickeys in their wake. He could feel you swallow and the vibrations from your moans, loving how alive you felt in his grasp.

You ran your fingers through his hair before gently tugging him away from your neck, tilting his head back ever so slightly so he was looking up at you. He was panting, breath cold against your spit-covered neck. You gave him the most endearing look, one hand trailing down to cup the side of his face. You didn't want him to worry even for a second.

"I'm not going anywhere." You whispered, running your thumb along his bottom lip before bringing him into another kiss. His grip on you loosened enough for you to carefully slide down and settle your upper half into his lap.

Leon's lip quivered as he watched you, hands trembling once you'd slid out of his grasp. Your words were comforting, but he couldn't hold onto you the way he wanted when you were down there. Though, with the way you rested your cheek against the bulge straining in his jeans, he wasn't all that worried anymore.

You watched your hand with a lazy smile as you stroked him over his jeans, both arms resting on his thighs to keep them spread apart. Leon needed love and care and you were more than willing to help him make up for the lost time.

After unbuckling his belt and pulling it off, you unzipped his jeans, sitting up to pull them down in the front. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, silently asking for permission to which he eagerly nodded his head. He even reached his hands down to help, but you swatted them away.

"Let me take care of you..." Carefully, you pulled the front end of his boxers down far enough for his cock to spring out and then up against his stomach, already leaking precum. Leon groaned as the cool air hit it, causing his hips to jerk up a bit.

You didn't want to tease the poor man, so you reached your hand up and gripped the base, pulling it upright and to the side slightly. You stroked him languidly before placing a gentle kiss against the shaft. He whined, his legs now starting to shiver from the adrenaline.

Leon never could've imagined he'd get this far with you tonight, let alone get to watch you stroke his dick while giving it kisses and little kitten licks. A pitiful moan was pulled from him when you wrapped your lips around the tip to suck, your hand now stroking him faster.

You were so careful with him, focusing on his pleasure, having even stopped a couple times to make sure he was feeling good and also just to tell him how good he was doing.

With his cock now deep in your throat, tears were streaming down his face, small sobs falling from his lips as you bobbed your head up and down. It was all so much; the smell of your bedding, the feeling your mouth wrapped around him, the sound of his own weak little cries hitting his ears.

"I'm-.. God I'm sorry- I-" He spoke breathlessly through the moans and sobs, hands fisted into your comforter as he began to worry he'd chase you away. You pulled your mouth off of him, hand moving from holding the base to stroking him again. "You're doing such a good job, Leon. Just let go for me.." With your hushed words, you quickly put your mouth back around him, going right back to deepthroating him.

His orgasm surfaced fast, throwing his head back with a high pitched whine as he all so suddenly came down your throat. After pulling away, you gave the tip of his cock a gentle kiss before tucking it back into his boxers for him, staring up at him while running your hand along his thigh.

It was hard for him to look down at you, his head feeling heavy. A few small tears fell here and there, but now he was able to give you a tired smile. "Was that alright?" You asked him again, voice raspy from deepthroating the man.

Leon huffed out through his nose, smile widening as he quickly sat up, reached down, and pulled you up so your chest was pressed against his again. He wrapped his arms around you, hugging you tightly once more before burying his face into your neck.

It would've taken years for him to open up like that with anyone else, but it was different with you. You already knew, you understood, you were patient with him.

You made him feel weak in the best way possible. For once in his life he didn't need to be that strong, stone-cold agent who didn't bat an eye at death. With you, he could be soft.

It only took a few more sessions for Leon's portrait to be finished. All that needed to get done was some finishing touches since little things tend to get smudged along the way. All a part of the process.

Unfortunately for Leon, you didn't let him see the final product, blocking his every attempt to see it while saying something about "You don't get to see the bride before the wedding!" Whatever that meant.

When you told him it would take about two months to dry, he turned into the biggest man-child you've ever seen. Leon was just as bad as Chris in that sense, only difference being Claire was there to help contain Chris when he tried to see their portrait. Now you were left to deal with Leon's shenanigans all on your own.

No matter how much he begged and pleaded, you didn't relent. Hell, you even chased him out of the building with a dirty paintbrush. Two months was too long to wait for something like that. You were basically torturing him.

Luckily for you and him, it was easy to distract the man with the promise of a comfortable night at your apartment with some takeout. Afterwards, he really only ever asked about the portrait when he saw you working on something else. By now you'd hidden the painting away from his prying mind to give it time to dry. Out of sight, out of mind.

In the meantime, you would sketch him at random; while he was sitting on your couch, with his glasses on, naked on the bed posing for you "like one of your french girls", which was pretty funny yet surprisingly helpful. It had been a long time since you had the chance to draw a nude model, and what better than the ex-agent you'd grown so fond of?

Now it was just a matter of playing the waiting game. Leon's portrait was made to be extra special, secretly working on it while he was sleeping or off at the gym. Sure it prolonged the drying process, but you can't rush perfection in the end.

tags!: @greywardensaywhat @xkittiecatx @httpsuguru @k-fallingstar @lysa1201 @bobastayhigh @pocketstoriesstore @agent-dessis-posts @klee-iii @missjoenowhere @bbjposay @lazuliglace @bigtiddiesimp @finsternisle @sweets3rial @sodacolablast (there's a few of you that tumblr wouldn't let me tag for some reason 😭)

#daily dose of dilf #hes not a dad in this #but that doesn't mean hes not a dilf #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil #leon s kennedy x you #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x fem!reader #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy fic #leon x reader

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muli-wam · 29 days ago

Text

Dos origuitas

Summary: You and Ino have been best friends for as long as you could remember. You two wereinseparable, always with eachother no matter what. That relationship lasted all the way to when you two were college aged, and decided to become jujutsu sorcerers. But 2 broken hearts and 1 broken promise later changed everything.

Word count: 3.3k

Cw: Ino says like- one thing thats kinda sexual, angst, little to no comfort (unless i write a part 2) cussing, tw:blood, reader having a panic attack, use of y/n like 2 or 3 times, lmk if I missed anything (: also this is like halfway proofread

A/n: Okay so I don't even known if monarchs live in Japan but ITS FOR THE STORY LINE SO DEAL WITH IT. anyways, I hipe yall like this,this is like my second time writing angst 💀 I'm trying to get better.

Part 1 Part 2

"Kuma! Wait for me!" You laugh while running, slightly stumbling from how hard you were laughing.

The sound of giggles and laughter echoed throughout the open meadow.

"Catch me if you can!" Ino speeds up his running on his tiny legs. He felt like the fastest runner in the world at that moment.

Cool wind blows through both of your guys' hair, gently caressing your skin as you glide through the serene meadow littered with wildflowers and lush grass everywhere you turn.

You were six and Ino was seven going on eight. You two were only a year and a half apart but Ino liked to think otherwise, always telling you whats right and whats wrong since he was the much "older" and "wiser" age of seven.

You let out a high pitched gasp, "Takuma, Look! Its a butterfly!" You lean in closer to the flower the butterfly was resting on, careful not to scare it away. Takuma runs over to you, peering closely at the insect.

"I think its a monarch," You mumble.

"Hmm..." he furrows his brows in thought.

"What? What's wrong?" You whisper, fascinated by the orange and black of the butterflies wing.

"No, it's a mimic. The real monarchs already left for Mexico to lay their eggs," he continues.

"The monarchs fly all the way to Mexico to lay their eggs since they can only lay eggs on a certain tree that you can only find over there," Ino explains softly.

"Oh, that's cool... Did you know that butterfly in Spanish is mariposa?" You glance at ino and he gives you a curious look.

"I didn't know you spoke Spanish," he mumbles, slightly jealous that you knew something he didn't.

"Mhm," You nod, leaning in closer to the butterfly, slightly flinching as the butterfly flies up and lands onto your nose. Your eyes grow wide and slightly cross as you try and fix your gaze on the butterfly.

Ino giggles, "I think it likes you."

You giggle along with him, your movement causing the creature to fly away, into the sapphire sky.

From that day forward, Ino always referred to you as mariposa. One, because it was the only word he knew in Spanish, and also because you were the one who taught it to him.

That one fact he knew about monarch butterflies was what sparked Ino's interest in animals. He fell in love with the look of admiration you gave him when he told you. Ino decided that he wanted to see that look on you every day for the rest of his life.

Throughout yours and Ino's primary school years, he was always spitting random animal facts, like how rhinos are so fast because they run on their tippy toes. Another time he told you that dolphins name themselves using different sounds that they make.

But more than anything, he always told you random facts about butterflies.

Middle school was when Ino realized he had a crush on you.

You and Ino were in eighth grade at your school's annual Winter Formal. You two always ended up going to dances together. Even if someone already asked you guys, you both always ended up with each other.

You guys were slow dancing in the school auditorium where the dance was being held.

Balloons were scattered across the smooth wooden floor with white streamers and purple drapes, elegantly streamed along the walls. Snowflakes and fake piles of snow (which was just a bunch of pillow stuffing) were decorated on the floor and consession tables. Purple and blue lights took up every corner of the room, as well as the reflections from the disco-ball, causing the once dull room look magical.

You were dressed in a knee length sparkly purple dress with shiny silver sandals. You hair was done nicely and you even painted your nails even though you hated it at the time.

Ino was dressed in a black button up with black slacks along with a purple bow tie that sat slightly lopsided on his neck, as well as a small purple flower and a gray handkerchief tucked in his shirt pocket.

This was the night ino planned on confessing his feelings for you. He's been crushing on you for as long as he could remember, always feeling his heartbeat just a bit faster every time he laid his eyes on you.

You with your purple dress and infectious smile, the one that really showed aaaalll those braces. Or even on normal days when you weren't all dressed up. You always wore those same dirty converse with blue jeans and some random band tee shirt, but to him it didn't matter what you wore because you still looked beautiful.

Every time he seess you he always gets reminded of that day in the meadow. You reminded him of a beautiful butterfly. His Mariposa.

Once he saw how beautiful you looked and how the lights made you look angelic, he just couldn't bring himself to tell you how he felt. Maybe when you both were more mature and older, Ino thought to himself.

Instead, Ino did what he always does. He leaned down slightly to murmur in your ear, "wanna hear something cool?"

"What?" You hum as you sway with him from side to side.

"Did you know that monarchs aren't naturally poisonous bugs? They get their poison from this plant they eat called milkweed." He states matter-of-factly.

You snort before rolling your eyes, "You chose to tell me this now of all times?"

"Hey, I may be helping you here. What if a crazy person is threatening me with a gun and they ask you why monarchs are poisonous but you don't know the answer? Then, they kill me, and kill you too because you were an idiot," he shrugs.

You playfully slap his shoulder, "no, your the idiot,"

He just chuckles, watching the way your eyes twinkle before continuing to dance.

And although Ino called you his mariposa, you two were more like two caterpillars growing together in this big, scary world, ready to take on anything. "inseparable", your parents called you two.

And they were right.

It was always you and ino, walking against the wind, side by side. Ino wanted it to be like that forever.

High school was when Ino realized that he loved you.

It was graduation day. You were 17 and ino was 18. You both walked on stage to get your diploma, and Ino even did a little dance on his way up, which made you giggle in your seat.

Both of your guys' families were outside in the grass by the front of the school. You mom was taking pictures of you two while gushing about how grown up you were. Ino blushed when she mentioned how "strong and handsome" he had become.

At the end of the night, your family treated everyone to ice cream. You and Ino were sitting alone at a table inside the ice cream shop. Sounds of your little siblings laughing and your parents trying to get the kids ice cream order was all white noise because at that moment, all Ino could focus on was you.

He noticed how pretty your hair was styled that day, he noticed the slight pout of your lips and the soft curve of your nose. He noticed the way your dimples showed whenever you smiled and he noticed how well your dress was hugging your body and-

get it together ino, get it together, he thought to himself.

"Mariposa?" Ino says with a mouth full of ice cream

"Hm?" You avert your attention from your phone to him.

"Did you know that monarchs die after they lay their eggs?" He said bluntly.

"I- thats... sad," you chuckle nervously before taking another bite from your ice cream.

"Yeah, but it's okay because then more butterflies can be born," Ino explains.

"That's true... I think when I die I would come back as a butterfly," you imagine yourself flapping your vibrant colored wings under the sun, with Ino along side you, of course.

I love you I love you I love you I-"I think so too," Ino gives you a weak smile that doesn't quite meet his eyes. He wants to tell you how he feels.. to tell you that he wants you to be his. To tell you that he loves you.

This was his chance.

"Hey, can I tell you something kind of crazy?" Ino picks at his lips.

"Yeah-"

"Y/n! Come help me with your sister please!" Your mom calls to you, wiping spilled chocolate ice cream from your sister's shirt.

"Hold that thought!" You say before getting up to help your mom.

Ino internally sighs, running his fingers through his hair and groaning in defeat.

Next time, he promises himself.

°•○.°•○°•.○°•○.°•○.°•○.°•○.°•○.°•

"Wait what? What do you mean you're leaving?" Ino feels a wave of panic as he hears the next words tumble from your lips.

"Yaga sent me abroad for a few months. I don't know how long but-" Ino cuts you off.

"Why would you wait until now to tell me? I could have- we could have-" Ino covers his face with his hands.

"Becuase if I told you then you would be sad, and I just wanted out last moments together to be happy," you explain, head tilted downward toward the floor.

"B-but the whole reason were here- why were even sorcerers was because we made a promise that we would do it together," You can understand why he's feeling this way.

"I- I'm-"

"You promised that we would stick together... remember? Us against the world," his voice cracked at the end.

He feels betrayed that you would keep something like this from him. As well as breaking your promise.

You feel a lump in your throat as your eyes fill with tears from the guilt as you slump the bags in your arms to the floor.

"I'm sorry," you croak.

Ino's eyes were also watery as he looked at your trembling figure. Maybe there was one last thing he could tell you to convince you to stay.

He clenches his fists together, before muttering softly, "I love you,"

Your eyes widen, "huh?"

You think you may have not heard him right.

"I love you, mariposa," he speaks louder this time, his voice cracking in the process.

You walk over to him, raising your hand to cup his cheek. "You're making this so. Fucking. Hard, Takuma,"

"That's the point," he lets out a dry chuckle.

Honk! Honk!

The sound of ijichi's car horn was heard from inside Ino's apartment, signaling that it was time to go.

"I love you too, Kuma," you whisper to him, kissing his tear stained cheek before grabbing your bags, and walking out the door.

"Mariposa," ino whispers, staring at the spot you once stood, a faint scent of you still lingering.

He just stood there. for a while, actually. Wondering why you would leave him, why you would abandon him like this. His life was so gray without you in it. He texted and called you here and there but it just wasn't the same.

He went to work like normal, but his usual energetic behavior was replaced with an emotionless, heartbroken boy.

Nanami knew why he was acting the way he was, and offered him comfort, to which Ino refused.

And you were doing no better. You were a mess. You could barely sleep at night, and you always waited by your phone for a new text from him. More often than not, it was just a pinterest notification.

You felt so numb. You missed Takuma so, so much. This was the longest you two had been away from each other. The last time you guys were apart was winter break in 10th grade when his family went to spend a week in a cabin they rented a couple hours away.

You wished you could go back. You wished you could have done things differently, and refused the assignment. So you and Ino could be together.

You two weren't even dating, but maybe, you think, just maybe if you had stayed that you would be able to call him yours.

That instead of walking out that door, you could have wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him like you've always wanted to do.

The next few months are a blur. Your mind was numb from the sulking and regret. Everyday you would fight curses, go home, and repeat.

That was until Yaga informed you that he wanted you back in Japan sooner than expected. He told you about an assignment in Shibuya and how the higher ups were requesting all jujutsu sorcerers to be there.

So here you were. In Shibuya, running for your fucking life.

You we're killing transfigured humans–or whatever kugisaki told you they were called– left and right, running as fast as you could to try and get to shoko.

Megumi told you that Ino was severely hurt and that he dropped him off with her. He was very vague about what happened which put you in a state of panic.

Is he okay? How bad is it? Is he dead?

You quickly make yourself forget about that thought. You couldn't fathom the possibility of him being dead.

Not with so much left unsaid.

You were trying to get to shoko, but as you were running you heard explosions and crashing noises. You had no clue what to do. Do you go find out where the noise was coming from and help the others, or do you go to Ino?

You were beginning to get overstimulated with everything going on. Your vision gets blurry, everything is spinning and why can't you breathe?

Your hands start trembling as you start to claw at your shirt and neck, heaving as you try and regain composure.

You heard crashes and falling objects around you but your tears were fogging up your vision.

Suddenly everything goes black.

You and Ino walk into Jujutsu Tech, side by side. The sun was peeking through the tall trees you were surrounded by, the smell of wood and pine filling your senses.

A hyperactive white-haired guy with a black blindfold that went by the name of Gojo was leading you two to Principal Yaga.

Ino slightly nudged your side.

"Look, a monarch," he points to the butterfly that was a few feet away.

"You sure that's not a mimic?" you question. Your eyes follow the butterfly with fascination.

"No, they don't migrate until late summer," Ino explains.

"Did you know that you can tell the difference between monarchs and mimics from their wing patterns?" Ino hums.

"Oh, so how can you tell that one is a mimic?" You ask curiously.

"Because of the way the black spots look. If you look closely you can-" Gojo interrupts your conversion.

"Ooookay! Here we are, just walk right in and try not to get killed by a demonic possessed stuffed animal okay? okay," Gojo says like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You and Ino exchange concerned glances before walking towards the entrance.

"Were in this together, right?" Ino sticks out his pinky in front of you.

"Together. Me and you against the world," you confirm by locking your pinky with his.

You flash Ino a knowing smile before entering the large room, coming face to face with a stuffed purple bear with cute button eyes.

"Awww!" You coo before going in to pick up the bear, only to be punched in the face.

You open your eyes to be met with bright lights in your eyes, causing you to squint and cover your face with your hands. You feel a sharp pain in your abdomen, a white bandage wrapped around it underneath your clothes.

Your face cringes at the metallic taste of blood in your mouth, as well as the familiar sterile smell of a hospital. You sit up, wincing from the pain in your abdomen, before taking in your surroundings. You were in a hospital room. Flowers and get well cards were on your bedside table with yuji, kugisaki, and megumi's names scribbled messily on them.

Shoko walks in with a clipboard in hand, jumping slightly at the sight of you being awake.

"Jesus you scared me," she puts a hand over her chest.

"Since your up, I need to-"

"Where's Ino?" You question.

"He's a few rooms down. He got knocked out cold, probably going to be out for a while," she explained to you.

You needed to get to him.

You try getting up from the bed, but fail as you cry out in pain.

Shoko lets out a dry chuckle from your failed attempt at trying to get up before walking over to your side.

"I need to change your bandages."

You sigh in defeat as you let her unwrap the soiled bandage from your side.

"So... what even happened?" You search your memory, trying to recall the events that occurred before you blacked out.

"God," she let out a heavy sight while cleaning the dried blood surrounding your wound.

From her tone you could tell that it wasn't good, so you decided not to pry.

"You were found under a bunch of rubble."

That was all she explained before leaving the room, dumping your soiled bandages and her gloves in the biohazard bin on the way out.

You groaned in pain and defeat as you laid back down in your bed, thoughts of Ino and if he was okay plaguing your mind.

Is he okay? How hurt is he? Does he hate me? He probably doesn't even want to see me, you thought to yourself.

In fact, you were thinking about him so much that your mind conjured up a life sized image of him in front of you- wait. What?

That is definitely NOT imaginary Ino.

You stare at him wide eyed, looking at his cut up and bruised body all covered up with bandages. You see faint slivers of his arm tattoos between the bandages, as well as some other bandages and gauze wrapped around his stomach underneath his black tank top.

"hey Y/n..." He walks over to the side of your bed, sitting down beside your legs. Your heart breaks a little at the sound of him addressing you by your real name falling from his lips.

"Hey.... are you- are you okay?" You ask, though the answer was obvious.

He just shrugs, "yeaaah, i'll be fine." He gives you a tight lipped smile.

An awkward silence fills the room. You were able to hear the buzz of the lights above you, as well as the air conditioning.

all the words you two want to say, but don't, linger in the air as Ino stares down into his lap, fiddling with his thumbs.

Your heart pounds faster, the beeps from the heart monitor getting louder in the process. Embarrassment floods your veins as you try to regulate your breathing and calm yourself down.

"Will things go back to normal? After all of this?" Ino asks, seeming to be referring to the Shibuya incident instead of you two.

"I hope so," you murmur, not sure as to what the future holds for anything at the moment. You just hope that Ino is in it.

A few beats of silence pass once again before you finally build the courage to speak up, "Were okay...right?" You say barely above a whisper.

Ino pauses for a few seconds before sighing and looking at your straight in the eyes:

"We will be."

°•○.°•○°•.○°•○.°•○.°•○.°•○.°•○.°•

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk fluff #jjk angst #takuma ino smut #takuma ino x reader #ino takuma #jjk takuma #takuma ino #takuma ino imagine #takuma ino x you #takuma ino fluff #Takuma ino angst #angst #anime angst #Ino Takuma Angst

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kilikina34512 · 1 year ago

Text

Loki Meets Peter

I hate how long I've been gone from writing and posting, but to explain would be a story in itself. Long short, life sucks, desire for enjoyments was gone, and I'm refinding myself and my writing. I look forward to writing more here and there until I have more time again. It's shorter than I prefer to write, but I had an hour only to spare.

This story is based from a meme I saw on TikTok that I can't seem to find again, but wrote from what I remembered with my own flare to it. Divider courtesy of @firefly-graphics. Make sure to check them out!

Pairing: Loki x f!reader

Summary: Loki comes back to the compound only to meet Spiderman. Basically, Peter being Peter and Loki's reaction to it.

Warnings: none, kinda fluffy cute

Word Count: 706

You were so happy to have Loki home, you could barely peel yourself from his side after the Bifrost had vanished. He'd been gone off world with Thor for over a month dealing with a conflict that was facing Asgard. Part of his release from life in the dungeons had been contingent on using his abilities for good, which for Odin had meant responding when summoned to fight for Asgard instead of its destruction.

A deal you weren't enthusiastic about, but that was a battle for another day.

Right now, you were enjoying just being able to hold his hand as you both walked into the compound. You knew he'd been healed already before returning home, but you could see the strain in his body language that you'd learned to read. His shoulders were more tense and tight, spine straighter than normal to hide the fatigue, his face a bit stonier than it normally would be with you around. You had a relaxing day planned for the two of you, everyone already knowing not to bother you so you could both spend time together after such a time away from one another.

You were halfway down the hall that led to your suite when a door closer to you opened and a small form came out of the room. Seeing who it was, you feared this could go badly with how tense your God of Mischief was. It wasn't uncommon for him to snap at someone when he'd come back from Asgard, which was why no one had a problem with you helping him get back into a more amiable mood.

Before you could say anything against it, the boy a few inches taller than you raced over and had his hand stuck towards your man. "You must be Mr. Loki! Hi, I'm Peter, Peter Parker. It's so nice to finally meet you, she's told me so much about you." Peter's eyes quickly indicated you before staring excitedly at the god before him. You'd already told Loki about the newest Avenger on your way inside the building so that if they came across each other, it wouldn't be a surprise. Still, you'd hoped not to have this meeting until tomorrow.

Letting go of your hand after a moment of hesitation, Loki finally shook Peter's hand. "You must be the one called Spiderman. I am Loki, of Asgard."

Peter, in his ever inquisitive nature, immediately asked, "I know you're an Avenger too, but, aren't you like... a bad guy?"

Loki, ever the smart mouthed silver-tongued Prince, didn't hesitate to respond, "It varies from moment to moment."

You gave Loki an admonishing look that you knew he saw. You could see the faint tug of his lips, knowing he wanted to smirk at your response. "So," Peter dragged out before continuing, "How much do I need to worry? Like, on a scale of one to ten, one being flicking someone's ear and ten being something horrible like killing puppies and kittens, where are you at right now?"

Loki blinked and you barely held back the giggle that wanted to let loose. You watched his posture relax ever so slightly and his voice came out with less of its formal tone. "I would say it is currently about a three."

The boy in front of you both smiled before nodding. "Cool, could you let me know if it ever gets above a six?" Looking down at the alert on his watch, Peter looked back up with a more urgent expression. "I have to go, Happy is waiting to take me over to see Aunt May. It was nice to meet you!" With that, the boy rushed away as fast as he could without all out running.

After a moment of staring at Peter as he departed, Loki turned to look at you, amusement shining in his eyes. "I like the boy of arachnids. He amuses me greatly."

A wide smile broke out across your face as you tugged him back down the hall again, ready to spoil him. "I'm glad to hear it, he's a precious bean for sure. Now let's get to our room, I have everything ready for a bath and a new book of poetry is beside the bed ready for cuddles and reading."

#loki fluff #loki fic #loki fanfic #loki odinson #loki x reader fluff #loki x you #loki x reader #loki x peter parker #loki x peter #peter parker #spiderman #peter parker fluff #peter parker his cute self #amused loki #short fic #kili stories

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dreamersbcll · 1 year ago

Text

“Ink Blots”

for @krikeymate

3/5

——————————————————————————

May 19th, 2018

Dear Sam,

Two years. Two whole years. You got up and left. No surprise. I’m still where you left me.

Every day I wake up, and there’s five seconds of bliss before I remember. You’re there for a heartbeat, nothing more. I can almost feel your breath on my cheek and your hand brushing through my hair

I can picture it all. You are holding me, your chin buried into my shoulder. I am holding your hands as they wrap around me. It’s imprinted on my brain.

Amber tells me every day that I need to move on. That you’re long gone. That when you were here, you were never really here. It’s like a broken record.

Yet, She’s right in some ways. You always chose any other substance but me.

But I don’t want to admit that she’s right. She would take it and run. I love her, but she’s a little too intense sometimes. We’ve watched the Stab movies every night since you left like clockwork. I don’t get it.

Please come home. The back door is always open. I don’t lock my bedroom door anymore. You can slip in.

Love, Tara.

——

June 15th, 2018

Dear Samantha,

Formal right? I found your birth certificate and some other documents today. Well, Amber did. She looked through my shit earlier, claiming she “wanted to see if you took your personal information.”

Spoiler: you didn’t. But I don’t know why you would. I’m pretty sure just a driver’s license is needed to disappear.

Anyways, I put your shit into a box and hid it under the floorboards. You’ll find it one day, I’m sure.

I couldn’t find my information. Maybe I’m not a Carpenter. That would be something, huh? Being able to escape this hell family line.

A girl can dream.

Tara Carpenter (maybe).

——

September 27th, 2018

Dear Sam,

High school sucks. Sophomore year sucks. I hate this place.

I don’t want to do anything. I hate math. I’m not good at history. I can’t remember shit.

All the teachers give me looks. Looks of sympathy, disgust, suspicion. I think they recognize the family name. School wasn’t your thing, but it would’ve been nice if you didn’t fuck it up for me. I can barely keep up with the shit they throw at me.

The only one who’s forgiving me is my English teacher Ms. Smith. She has kind, gentle brown eyes, just like yours. Surprisingly, she’s the only teacher who believes in me.

We read books a lot. She helps mentor me in critical writing skills.

Who knows. Maybe I’ll write a book and make us famous, just like that Gale Weathers lady.

Tara

——

November 16th, 2018

Dear Sam,

Do you ever wonder if Mom was ever good? Did we make her this way?

Did I make her this way?

I’m so sick of cleaning up broken bottles and piles of puke. I’m so tired of watching her wither away right before my eyes. I can’t even save her. I can’t tell her to stop. I can’t get her to stop.

Begging and pleading never worked. Trust me; I’ve been trying it with you every night. I think God, or whatever deities I pray to, stopped listening years ago.

It’s strange. First, Dad leaves. Then you. And now Mom had her foot halfway out the door. Is it me? Do you all leave because of me?

What the hell did I do?

Confused, Tara.

——

December 14th, 2018

Dear Sam,

Sweet sixteen. Happy birthday to me. Not that you cared.

Mindy and Chad decorated my locker. Amber bought me flowers and a cake. Ms.Smith gave me a new journal. Mom went on a business trip to Singapore.

And… I’m sixteen. I have a handful of people that care. But they don’t matter. They don’t fucking matter.

I want you, Sammy. You promised to teach me how to drive. You promised to take me for my license. I’ve had to learn how to drive with Amber. And she’s taking me for my license tomorrow. Everything you were supposed to do.

But I suppose this is what you wanted. You would’ve come back if it wasn’t.

I hope wherever you are sucks. I hope you feel my disappointment and anger from here. I’m furious with you. I hate it.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Tara

——

January 1st, 2019

Dear Sam,

I’m drunk and I miss you and I wish you were here I wish you loved me I want you to love me come back come back come back

Love Tara

——

February 18th, 2019

Dear Sam,

I got picked for the school newspaper—advice column. I laughed in Ms. Smith’s face when she offered it to me.

Advice column. As if I would be the one to give advice. I can’t get anyone to stay.

Did you hear that Robbie Sullivan asked me on a date? I said yes. He never showed up to the theater. Amber was pissed. He came to school the next day with a broken arm and fractured ribs. He said some asshole attacked him.

Funny. Amber talked about a scene in the Stab franchise where someone gets ambushed and hurt. Seemed familiar.

Anyways. School is slow, and life is passing me by. Chad is a big-shot basketball player. I haven’t gone to a game. I can’t stand being in a room full of people and feeling so alone. Mindy is okay with it. She comes over sometimes to braid my hair and make my bed.

Everything is in slow motion. Time is passing, but not at all.

Do you feel that way?

Tara.

——

April 4th, 2019

Dear Sam,

I’m doing fine. I’m regaining all my strength and self-worth in record time. I brush my hair most days and even clean my room once a week.

I stopped going through the photos I kept under my bed. I feel no need to reflect on the past right now because that’s all I can do. There’s no future when I know you’re out there ignoring me.

Maybe even forgetting about me.

I joined a club. A book club. It’s nice just sitting there and letting people’s opinions swallow me whole. I can listen and nod, and everyone leaves me alone; because I’m not moping around anymore. Amber is happier anyways. She was so angry with me for being sad all the time.

Jokes on her; I’m still sad. But I can’t lose anything else anymore, so sadness is a wasted feeling. I can walk for hours in the darkness, stay up all night, pray, and it still wouldn’t matter.

You are still gone, and I am here. I might as well try.

Tara.

——

May 19th, 2019

Dear Sam,

Three years.

I don’t know if I have any tears left to cry for you. I’ve accepted that I’ll never see you again if you could help it.

I hope that once I’m out of this town, you come back, looking for me. And when I’m not there, you understand how it feels.

I try not to be mean. But this is what you wanted, isn’t it? An escape from me. You were leaving me before I could infect you with whatever darkness swirls inside me.

No explanation comes to my mind besides the one where you’re sick of me.

I don’t blame you. I get it.

Love, Tara.

#scream #sam carpenter #tara carpenter #carpenter sisters #ao3 author #my writing tag #ink blots au #sad sad sad sad i’m sad #yeah…………

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authorgirl0131 · 1 year ago

Note

When you get this, you have to put 5 songs you actually listen to and publish. Then, send this ask to 10 of your favorite followers (non-negotiable, positivity is cool)

"Phantom of the Opera" cover by Jonathan Young and Malinda Kathleen Reese. Look, I did choir- I sucked at it, but I did it. As a certified theatre nerd, I know that Phantom of the Opera is widely considered one of the hardest Broadway plays ever- like, top five if not top three. This combined with my choir kid experience tells me that this guy and this woman deserve some kind of award for this video. Malinda's extremely high note, a note I myself am literally incapable of copying no matter how reckless I am, and absolutely belting such a high note, is an insanely incredible feat. Jonathan goes from belting at a moderately-deep chest voice and jumps to a decently high head voice in a split second, maintaining the same volume, and doing it well- I actually asked my choir teacher, a woman with at least thirty years of choir experience and a degree in teaching choir, as well as being a professional vocalist, how hard this would be to do, and she told me that it was extremely impressive from a man who doesn't have formal training. A jump like that is extremely hard to do without damaging your voice, and doing it well on top of that is incredible. I repeat that Jonathan Young has never mentioned having any professional training. If he's self-taught, that just makes it even more incredible (though it's no less incredible if he is professionally trained, just easier to believe he did that.) And the acting they're both doing on top of this, the way they are both so completely in character, the way Malinda did one of the hardest roles for professional Broadway actors (she does have training, yes, but that doesn't make how well she did this any less impressive. I stress to you that most Broadway actresses who play Christine lip-sync that last note because it's out of range for a lot of people and yet Malinda did it,) how good everything about the video is- give this song a listen and this video a watch because my gods. Yes I know I went off on a tangent but you guys really need to know exactly how impressive this cover is on both parts.

"Storm the Castle" by Jonathan Young. If you've been keeping up with my Isle of Darkness blog, you know that I gave two of my characters tattoos of this song and I've been listening to it on repeat so much that I'm probably on some kind of watchlist. Worth it. The animation is absolutely incredible. The main protagonist, the deer, is two years old. Deer reach maturity at around three years, so this protag is a child, a teenager at the oldest. A teenager who was forced to take on this role and join this war when it shouldn't have been his problem. A teenager who lost his legs in the arson attempt on his life because it was either get his legs ripped off or burn to death, a teenager who, before he even healed, was working on his sword because he couldn't let the people suffer anymore, a teenager who led a rebellion, was nearly killed several times, and who killed someone because there was no other choice. And the end, where he has his metal foot on the crown, and you can see for just a second a future where he picks it up, where he becomes powerful, happy, and horrible, but he crushes it. He rejects comfort at the expense of others and, by breaking the crown, does something far more impressive and effective than just killing one tyrant- he kills the idea of a king, of giving anyone that power that can so easily be abused. By destroying the crown he rejects the idea of ever letting one person have that unrestrained power ever again.

"Land of Broken Dreams" by Caleb Hyles and Jonathan Young, which those two characters also have tattooed. I actually created fanart for that one a while back. The fact that they wrote it in two hours will never stop impressing me- I may be a halfway decent storyteller but I can't write songs or poems for shit, so that's incredible to me. And the fact that Caleb readily admits that he asked Jonathan to let him swear, that Caleb proceeded to comment "Thanks, dad," about Jonathan letting him add a swear to the song, is hilarious to me. And the song itself- they didn't even have to say it. We know who they were talking about and it wasn't Switzerland. You just know.

"Teenagers" by My Chemical Romance, covered by- you'll never believe this- Jonathan Young and Caleb Hyles. The orange lipstick Mr Young wears in the music video really sells it. This isn't just some fun cover, Caleb's comment says they knew exactly what they were doing. He calls for everyone to start thinking of the next generations as people, don't just project what you don't like about yourself onto them. He states the belief that this is the first step in creating real change, real reform, and making the world a better place not just for us but for those who will come after. And I agree with him 100%

"American Idiot" by Green Day, covered by Jonathan Young. I wish I could say this is because I recently discovered him and Caleb and am obsessed because it's a new discovery, but it isn't. This song was covered right before the 2020 election and he made it clear that the timing wasn't a coincidence. He made sure to include a quote relating to the unrest, that those who stand neutral in situations of oppression have chosen the side of the oppressor. In his comment, he has only one word for everyone- vote. Do not let this continue to happen. Even though few people would see it and few would listen even if they were capable of voting, he tried. He put this song out there urging people to exercise their right knowing that this could have some absolutely disastrous consequences for his career, knowing only a few would listen, that the risk was far heavier than the reward. But he took that risk because if he could get half of his viewers, a quarter of them, hell, even a couple of them, to stand up to what was happening, he would consider it a success no matter what consequences came. This song isn't the most vocally impressive, not the most musically impressive (as opposed to many previous songs, he sings along to the Green Day instrumental instead of playing it on his own,) not the best in terms of costume, makeup, video effects, none of that. This is the most impressive to me because of what this cover, this song, this comment, and this video meant. It meant he cared more about the future of the country than the future of his career, that he was willing to put everything he had on the line to convince even just one person to take a stand. And that... that impresses me beyond words.

Here's a few honorable mentions

"Barbie Girl" cover by Jonathan Young (warning for flashing, shaking camera, video distortion, and audio distortion in this video. Trust me, you have to watch the video with this. You can tell he's regretting every single decision that has ever led him to this moment.)

"Silent Scream" by Anna Blue (warning for child abuse and mentions of cutting, as well as bullying)

"Reflection" cover by Caleb Hyles. He knew what he was doing. He knew exactly what audience would relate to this video as he sang "I will never pass for a perfect bride, or a perfect daughter" and "who is that girl I see, staring straight back at me" in his very masculine voice with his beard. He knew what he was doing and I thank him for that.

"Speechless" cover by Caleb Hyles

"Zombie" cover by Jonathan Young. This man is so punk I love it

"Hoist the Colours" cover by Malinda

"Killing in the Name" cover by Halocene

"The Resistance" cover by Caleb Hyles and Jonathan Young

"I'll Make a Man Out of You" cover by Peyton Parrish

"Army of the Damned" by Jonathan Young and Matthew Kheafy

Oh my gods 80% of these are by the same guy. I guess my recommendation for music is "Jonathan Young" and "Caleb Hyles."

#shut up aaron #swearing #long post

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fizzydrink698 · 2 years ago

Text

flames | hyunjin

pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader

word-count: 3.7k

genre: fantasy au, assassin!hyunjin, enemies to lovers

warnings: swearing, violence, choking (almost not in a flirty way, but not quite), super sexy hand-holding

(because that main sparks!couple is just too fun to not write again)

summary:

You frown. “Is it so hard to believe I find you attractive?”

Hyunjin raises an eyebrow, eyeing you with pure scepticism. “You’ve tried to kill me. Multiple times.”

“I fail to see how one negates the other,” you reply with a shrug.

You’re a little disappointed.

The bedchambers are so…bare. Not a hint of personality, not a taste of individuality, just bare walls and simple furniture and plain bedsheets. If you didn’t know any better, you would call this a cell, not someone’s personal quarters.

You’re not sure what you were hoping for, you muse as you open up the wardrobe. Maybe some sort of clutter, anything that gave just the smallest detail about the man who slept in these chambers. A chessboard, pieces abandoned halfway through a match. Maps of the territory, with little markings added by hand. Singed body armour. A beloved teddy-bear. Something.

No. Of course he wouldn’t make things so easy.

With a sigh, you grab at the hem of your shirt and pull it up over your head, letting it drop to the floor with barely a second thought. You fight back a shiver as cool air hits the newly bare skin of your back and chest, and you rummage through the wardrobe until you extract a suitable replacement.

You wonder how his clothes will look on you. The man is built so strangely – for a fighter as fearsome, as deadly, as he is, there’s almost no bulk to him. He’s lithe, almost scrawny, like an alley cat.

In the distance, floors and floors below you, you hear the faintest sounds of a kerfuffle. A common enough occurrence in a compound as large as this one. You pay it little notice.

The shirt fits well enough – the fabric is a little thicker than your previous shirt, suited for a colder climate than you’re used to.

You suppose trousers are a no-go. With long lanky limbs like his, anything that remotely fit him would pool around your ankles, and you’re not exactly in a position to start sacrificing mobility.

But you do help yourself to a belt, pulling it around your waist, cinching it in. You’d grown a fondness for form-fitting clothes – the weight was reassuring, almost like armour.

More noises downstairs. Footsteps, shouts of alarm. You weigh up the advantages and disadvantages of such acoustics in this compound, briefly, before abandoning this train of thought for more interesting things.

There’s no mirror in here to check if you look as good as you feel. Instead, you have to make do with taking a seat at his desk, sprawling your legs over the arm of the chair rather than sitting normally.

Your back still aches a little. Your ankles and wrists even more so.

You can’t help but eye that bed, and those soft, inviting sheets – but you know not to take things too far.

This is a bold enough strategy as it is. You’re smart enough to admit that.

So, instead, you sit. And wait.

Hyunjin doesn’t disappoint.

Less than a few minutes pass by before you hear his footsteps. Never rushed, always steady, composed, no matter how quickly he moves.

His door flies open.

It’s a testament to his instincts as a warrior that you barely get a glance at his expression when he sees you sitting there, perfectly at ease, in his chambers, before his sword is already drawn and pointed directly at your neck.

You’re smart enough to keep still. Years of combat experience has trained you well to analyse your opponent, and you waste no time taking in Hyunjin’s appearance. Hair pulled back into a ponytail, slightly more formal attire than the armour you’ve seen on the battlefield and the simple clothes he’d worn during your interrogation. They were made to move easily in, to fight in. These were not, they’re too stiff, the collar of his jacket is too high, the sleeves are a touch too tight.

You wonder if he came up here to change into something more battle-ready before joining the search for you.

A small part of you wonders if he knew you well enough to guess where you’d run off to, whether coming up here was intuition.

Still, you keep your eyes fixed on that blade at your neck, just in case.

Hyunjin’s voice is as low as ever, but you take no small amount of delight in the hint of confusion in his tone. You’ve thrown him off, just as you always love to do. “What are you doing here?”

“Finishing our conversation,” you say, so calm that you could almost be mistaken as innocent. Almost.

“Conversation?” Hyunjin repeats, perfectly neutral, as if he isn’t aware that you could count the number of conversations the two of you have had on one hand. As if he isn’t aware that your last conversation was by far the most interesting of the bunch.

“The one we had downstairs. You ran away just as it was getting interesting.”

Hyunjin’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t run awa–”

“And since you refused to come down to me to finish it,” you interrupt, ignoring him. “I was forced to come up here to you.”

“Chan might order you dead for this. He’d be well within his right,” Hyunjin warns.

You straighten up, noting the way Hyunjin’s sword shifts, rising up to stay level with your neck. This is a delicate situation you’ve thrown yourself into, and you’re aware you might need to tread carefully.

Glancing away from him, towards the door he’d just entered, your expression turns serious. “You’ll notice I incapacitated the guards on the way here. Not killed. And you of all people should know that was a deliberate choice on my part.”

There’s a long pause, as Hyunjin weighs your words carefully against what he knows about you. The similarities between the two of you, how lethal you can be with the right motivation, even the simple fact of how much more difficult it is to knock out a horde of enemies instead of killing them outright.

To your delight – and, you have to admit, a little relief – Hyunjin lowers his sword. He doesn’t sheathe it, but it’s progress enough. “That doesn’t change the fact that you tried to escape your cell.”

You can’t help it.

You snort.

“There wasn’t much ‘trying’ involved, if I’m being honest. Your security measures are…” you trail off, eyes meeting his with no small amount of mischief. “Well, as you can see, inadequate.”

“I’ll be sure to let Chan know,” Hyunjin says, stiff.

You eye him for a moment, and you fight the sudden urge to pout. Riling Hyunjin up was never an easy task, but you were never the patient type. You badly want to say something, something bold. You hate tiptoeing around the topic, testing the waters.

“If it’s any consolation,” you say, tilting your head. “If our roles were reversed, I imagine you would have broken out far sooner than I did. Imperial cells are pathetic, I’m amazed they can keep as many prisoners as they have.”

“I’m flattered,” Hyunjin replies – and you know he means it to be sarcastic, but you recognise that little flicker in his eyes. He is a little flattered.

You wonder if it’s praise in general that incites that kind of reaction in him, or specifically praise from you.

That’s an interesting new thought to consider.

“What do you want?” Hyunjin asks, suddenly serious again. Wary. Maybe he doesn’t like how silent you’ve become. Maybe he’s wary at all the thoughts that could be circling in your head.

He shouldn’t be. Well, mostly shouldn’t.

“I think I already made that clear last time,” you say brightly, lips curling up into a smile.

He doesn’t rise to the bait, but you’re not too disappointed. There’s a reason Hyunjin is such a worthy opponent, of course he’d make you work for it.

“What else do you want?”

You hum, pretending to be deep in thought. “Money. A new pair of boots. A cottage by the river. A good harvest–”

“You’re wasti–”

“Oh,” you snap your fingers suddenly, looking back at him and pointing. “To see you with your hair down. I bet it’s so pretty.”

“Stop flirting with me,” Hyunjin demands, but that commanding tone of voice he’d used just moments ago has wavered slightly.

“No.”

“My patience is starting to wear out,” Hyunjin warns. “Don’t make me ask again.”

You sigh, but eventually relent. “Fine. I want out of that cell. It’s dull, and if you’re not going to visit me, what’s the point?”

“What’s the point?” Hyunjin asks, incredulous for a second, until he recovers. Then, slowly, as if stating the obvious, he answers his own question. “To imprison you. Because you’re a threat.”

“I can be just as easily imprisoned here in your room,” you shrug, glancing around as if you’re inspecting his chambers, assessing its security measures.

Hyunjin stills, staring at you. And then, with a voice so sharp, you’re not sure if he’s directing the words at you or himself, he replies. “You’re not sharing my bed.”

You blink, staring up at him, completely innocent.

“Who said anything about your bed, Hyunjin? I said ‘room’, I don’t know where your mind plucked ‘bed’ from,” you point out, and you can’t help the grin that creeps across your face. “What an overactive imagination you have.”

Hyunjin’s reaction does not disappoint. His expression goes from shock to indignation in a flash, grip tightening on his sword as if he’s genuinely contemplating running you through just to save his embarrassment.

And there, just faintly, if you look hard enough, you can see the slightest tinge of pink peeking out under the collar of that jacket.

You’re ecstatic.

You’ve made him flush. You’ve made Hyunjin flush. This might rank among your greatest accomplishments.

Your feelings must be clear on your face, because Hyunjin grows even angrier, even more defensive. “Enough. Whatever this scheme of yours is, stop it.”

It’s interesting. A man like Hyunjin, so at ease in battle, in killing his way through swarms and swarms of people, cutting them down and burning them alive without a second thought. And yet so uncomfortable, so immediately on edge with something as small as flirtation.

A thought flickers at the back of your mind, and it’s enough to give you pause.

“There is no scheme,” you say, completely honest. Sure, you’ve got a plan or two to get yourself out of the dungeons – and a few more to escape this compound entirely, before Chan decides to have you executed. But none of those plans involve Hyunjin. “If you’re looking for ulterior motives, there aren’t any.”

This is just…fun. Curiosity. You enjoy it. You enjoy him.

Hyunjin scoffs.

You frown. “Is it so hard to believe I find you attractive?”

Hyunjin raises an eyebrow, eyeing you with pure scepticism. “You’ve tried to kill me. Multiple times.”

“I fail to see how one negates the other,” you reply with a shrug. “You should know. You’ve done the same to me, and yet…”

You trail off, eyes still on him. You don’t say it out loud. If you say it out loud, he’s just going to deny it, whether that’s the truth or not.

You just let it hang there, silent. Unspoken.

“…Chan’s not going to let you out of the dungeons,” Hyunjin eventually says. His tone is even, impassive – but no longer suspicious, so you’ll take what you can get.

You bite your lip, pausing. Hesitating. There’s a certain card hidden in your deck, one you’re unsure whether to play.

“What if I told you…” you swallow, but eventually press on before you lose your nerve. “I could be…persuaded to pull out of this war?”

Hyunjin stares at you, visibly surprised. You’re a little shocked yourself at your own words. No matter how much you’ve thought about it, actually hearing them out loud feels like a big step.

Hyunjin takes a step forward, suddenly urgent. “Would you join us?”

“No,” you say, flatly. “Chan’s killed too many of my men.”

“I’ve killed some of your men,” Hyunjin reminds you.

“On whose orders?”

He doesn’t respond, but you can tell from his expression that you’ve made your point.

“But I would stay neutral, for a price,” you relent. “For enough money to keep my men happy.”

And safe, you add in your mind. This war was spiralling out of control. Too many people were dying to justify such a stalemate. Every inch of territory gained by either side came with a body count in the hundreds. Before long, dear Chan and his estranged uncle would be warring over little more than a blood-stained burial pit

You don’t care for politics. You’ve made that very clear. You aren’t about to let your men die for nothing, not if you can find a way to get them out of the mess that a bunch of bored aristocrats had plunged the kingdom into.

Hyunjin doesn’t speak, but his interest is clearly piqued.

You try your best to seem nonchalant, as if your greatest offer was no big deal. “Just some food for thought, I suppose.”

“What would your conditions be?” Hyunjin asks, leaning forward just slightly. He’s too much of a seasoned warrior to step within arm’s reach, but the distance between you is certainly closing.

“Getting out of that cell,” you say immediately.

Hyunjin makes a face. “Chan’s not going to let you just go.”

“I gathered as much,” you sniff, just a little offended that he’d think you that naïve. “I’m open to being kept here, if he needs the reassurance of keeping an eye on me. Just not in a cell.”

“And what exactly would you be doing here?” Hyunjin asks.

You smirk at him, and he probably realises his mistake. “Sparring with you.”

He almost looks exasperated, as you’ve managed to lead the conversation right back to where you want it. But not angry. “What kind of sparring?”

“Whatever kind you’d like,” you say, your smirk only growing. “I’m open to suggestions.”

Hyunjin sighs, and you’re half-expecting him to shut you down once again. He surprises you, as his gaze drops downwards for just a moment. “The kind that doesn’t involve you stealing my clothes.”

At this point, your smirk’s so wide it’s making your cheeks ache. “Did it take you this long to notice?”

Hyunjin’s eyes flicker back up to meet yours. “…No.”

His admission, especially in a voice so quiet, so low, makes something in your stomach flutter. Your breath catches, just for a second, until you recover your composure. “Can you blame me? My old clothes are threadbare, practically about to break apart. I don’t suppose you could go ask for a pair of trousers that could fit me?”

Hyunjin throws you a look, trying to seem stern. You see right through it. “Don’t push your luck.”

You sigh. “A wise move. When these trousers fall to scraps, I would be far less likely to stage an escape in my underwear.”

For the first time this conversation, a hint of amusement sparks in Hyunjin’s eye. “No, you wouldn’t.”

He’s absolutely right. You grin. “You know me so well.”

He rolls his eyes – and you don’t know whether it’s this unexpected moment of bonding, or whether that eye-roll has pressed enough of your buttons to have you eager to ruffle him again – but you grow bold.

“Still,” you look down, faking a sigh, and reach for the drawstrings of your trousers, taking the string between your fingers and starting to pull. “With how filthy these are, needs must–”

Hyunjin grabs your wrist, shocking you into stillness. You stare down at his hand, gripping you firmly, still unable to process that he’s crossed the distance between you, that he’s in your space, he’s touching you–

Your head snaps up, eyes wide.

He realises a second too late that you were joking.

He drops your wrist as if it burned him – the irony isn’t lost on you – but he doesn’t take a step backwards. Perhaps embarrassment has rooted him to the spot.

That flush has returned, travelling upwards, almost reaching his face.

The thought that had flickered at the back of your mind, that tiny little whisper, burns brighter. Bright enough that it loosens your tongue, and has you asking.

“Are you a maiden, Hyunjin?”

You shouldn’t have phrased it like that. An old habit, from when you teased your men in countless taverns. It sounds like you’re criticising him, or making fun of him at the very least.

You’re not. You’re just curious.

His expression hardens, and you almost want to wince. All the progress you had made with him in the last few minutes, vanished in an instant.

It’s these sudden awful thoughts that cause you to slip up.

As he takes a step backward, you reach out impulsively, guiltily, to catch his wrist.

Immediately, you realise your mistake as his instincts kick in. Before you can blink, he’s twisting his arm, wrenching your own as he forces your own grip to work against you.

Somehow, it feels like an age and the briefest of seconds since the last time you and Hyunjin fought.

You don’t need to think to counteract him, like a dance you already know the steps to. You rise up from the chair before he can drag you, twisting under his arm with fluidity, like water, like smoke, before planting your feet and driving your other hand upwards against the bend of his elbow – seeking to break his grip, not his bones.

He catches on too quickly, striking away your free hand with his own before grasping at your throat. Fingers around the back of your neck, thumb positioned right under the point of your jawbone, digging into the flesh.

Not to incapacitate, you realise with a shock, but to control your balance, your movements, the twist of your head. Your free hand, knocked away, comes up to grab at his wrist.

But before you can even attempt to pry his hand away, he drops, still gripping you, forcing you downwards so abruptly that even your carefully planted stance is no match for the lurch of his movements. One foot of his rises upwards to catch you in the gut, and before you can fully comprehend what’s happening, he’s using it to hoist you over his head. You leave the ground entirely for the briefest of seconds, and when you land, you’re on your back.

He rolls backwards onto you, quick as a flash, hands never leaving your wrist and neck, knee planted on one shoulder to hold you down.

But nothing more than that.

You exhale, breath struggling to right itself, as you try to make sense of that sudden burst of movement, of combat, of old familiar sensations, and now this sudden quiet.

Hyunjin is staring down at you, his face scarily calm. Not a hint of emotion.

“Do not lay a hand on me,” he warns. It’s not angry, it’s not even cold, it’s so horribly neutral.

You inhale, sharply. That hand of his is pressing on your neck, thumb right in the squishy part under your jaw. Your own hand still clutches at his wrist, squeezing it, ready for you to make an ill-fated attempt to force him off of you.

And yet all you can think about is what a tiny shift it would be, if he let that thumb relax, if he let it just…graze your jaw. How quickly, how subtly, this position could transform.

You keep your gaze on him, refusing to break eye contact. “…That’s not what you’re angry about.”

His eyes narrow, but to your surprise, he doesn’t argue.

You take a deep breath, laboured slightly by the pressure of his hand on you. Already, the combatant in you is thinking on how to break his grip. The exact pressure points on his wrists to squeeze, the direction in which you could jerk his hand and feel a bone snap.

But you don’t. You keep the hand around his wrist loose, gentle.

“It doesn’t matter, if you are. Not to me.”

You say ‘if’ because there’s no way to tell definitively. But he embarrasses too easily, at the mere mentions of a bed, at the possibility of seeing you undressed. He’s a fighter, he has to be used to bodies, but clearly not in this particular context. He’s been moulded for battle, for assassination. There’s been no room for anything else, not while Chan has him as his little personal killer. He might have experience, but definitely not much.

That doesn’t seem like something you should say out loud, not yet anyway. This could be a sore point for him. It seems like a sore point for him.

“It doesn’t change anything,” you promise him.

He pauses. And then, finally, finally, he responds. There’s even a slight quirk of his brow, as he regards you with distrust. “No?”

“No,” you affirm. And then, slowly, you let yourself smile. Even when you’re sincere, you can never keep yourself serious for too long. “But perhaps I should stop teasing you.”

Hyunjin’s jaw tightens. “Perhaps,” he repeats, and your stomach jolts when you hear the faintest traces of something in his voice.

And then, you let your grip on the hand around your neck relax, and your thumb very slowly and very softly drags over the vulnerable curve of his wrist, running up the sensitive edge of his palm, up to the base of his thumb, and back down again. “Perhaps I should be seducing you instead.”

You half-expect Hyunjin to turn away, or turn even colder. It’s very possible you’ve pushed too far.

Instead, his gaze only intensifies. It’s practically burning.

“Isn’t that what you’ve been trying to do this whole time?” Hyunjin asks.

That fluttering sensation is back in your gut with a vengeance.

“Not quite,” you admit, your voice dropping to almost a murmur. “But look at the effect I’ve had so far. Imagine what I could do.”

His eyes flash, a ghost of recognition in his features.

He knows what this is.

A challenge.

Finally, something he’s used to. Something he can play along with.

You might just have him.

He shifts his weight, the tension in his shoulders easing.

You relax, opening your mouth to continue speaking, when–

“Guards!” he shouts, loud and clear.

You tense again, eyes darting to the door, but it’s too late. You can hear the footsteps outside, scrambling towards you, growing louder and louder.

You have enough time to sigh, glancing back at Hyunjin, who looks far too smug with himself and the upper hand he’s gained.

You scowl.

“Do I get to keep the shirt, at least?”

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writersblog20 · 3 years ago

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The grinch of New Year’s eve

Tom Hiddleston x reader

Not my picture, creds to the maker!

Summary: Being locked up for New Year’s eve with your favorite actor might’ve not been so bad after all.

Warnings: depression,feelings of being alone, hating the holidays, anxiety and that’s it I guess?

Words: 3.5K

The grinch of New Year’s eve.

New year’s eve was definitely not your cup of tea. With every year you started to hate it more just like Christmas. You did like the days that were leading up to Christmas but The days itself were just horrible. You hated every second of it because your mental health would act up, you were alone while you could see everyone you knew having fun with their family’s that you didn’t have.

Besides Christmas, New year’s eve was horrible as well. Maybe you’d always focus more on the bad than the good but either way you would dread it, thinking about what kind of shit the New year would give you. You’d rather just forget about all of it and that was exactly what you were going to do this year.

Just to clarify, it wasn’t like you weren’t trying. You did always ask your friends to celebrate but they always had other plans. You understood that but it wasn’t making things easier for you. You’d never been invited to a New years party even though you’d love to go. Nobody really knew your hatred for the holidays and you kept it to yourself.

This year was hard though. You’ve had a very rough year and it wasn’t quite done yet, and I’m not talking about the year. The last thing you were excited about was celebrating the New year. Since this year and especially this day was so hard on you, you decided to go to the library for escapism. You would just listen to some music and read books until it was closing time, maybe even write a bit.

You walked to your library, which was a formal church but they turned it in a library. They kept it old fashioned and that’s why you liked it so much. They had decorated the entire library in Christmas ornaments, giving it an even more cozy vibe than it already had. Not to forget the fact that the library was huge. There were around 4 floors where you could search for books and chill. You loved the last floor since their weren’t a lot of people, was quiet and would be forgotten about.

You looked around and it was already pretty quiet. You walked along the isle, gathering some books that grabbed your attention and where you were sure of would get you in a fantasy world. After you gathered the books, you walked to the fourth floor.

You walked more towards the end, so if their would be someone coming up, you still wouldn’t be bothered. As you walked you saw someone already sitting there. You frowned, since there wasn’t a soul that you’ve ever found there besides yourself but shrugged it off. once you came closer you saw the person. Tom Hiddleston. You started to freak out on the inside. He was one of your favorite actors and there he was in your favorite spot.

You didn’t realize you were staring until he looked up at you and gave you a kind smile. You quickly smiled back and looked around for another spot. You saw a nice spot by the window underneath the fairy lights, so you made your way towards that spot. He was probably sitting there so he wouldn’t be disturbed either.

You sat down and looked out of the window. In the reflection of the window glass you could see that Tom was looking at you and you felt your cheeks heat up. Why in the world was he staring? Maybe he thinks I’m a crazy fan and that’s why I would sit here or…. Your mind was racing but you made a halt to it. You shrugged it off and got your phone and earbuds out of your bag, put them in, chose a playlist and a book and started to read.

2 pages in and you completely forgot about your surroundings. You were in a completely different world. You didn’t even notice Tom staring at you as you were engulfed by the book. Once you were halfway through the story, you looked up. It was already dark outside. You shrugged it off since it got dark very early. You looked a bit around you and made eye contact with Tom.

Once he noticed that you looked at him as well, he took a sharp breath in and looked back at his pages. You looked down at your book in disappointment. You couldn’t really tell why but you’d knew that just a smile towards you, would make your day but that was too much to ask apparently.

You scrolled a bit through your social media and saw that everyone was out partying, with friends or family. You let out a sigh, put your phone away and promised yourself you wouldn’t look again. You already felt pretty alone but actually seeing that, made it ten times worse. You could feel the tear prickling in your eyes and tried to focus on the book as you tried to push away the tears.

It always felt like someone ripped your heart out and you could just cry for days. You didn’t realize that your breathing changed in a more chaotic pattern, catching the attention of Tom. You got back into the story where you left off and escaped as soon as you could, which didn’t take long.

Before you knew it, you finished the story, picking up the other book that you had laid out. You looked up and saw that Tom was still there. This time when you made eye contact, he smiled at you which you returned.

All of a sudden the big lights went out. You and Tom looked at each other in shock and stood up at the same time, running to the balcony. There wasn’t a soul around anymore except you and Tom. You both looked at each other in panic, you got your stuff and ran downstairs with Tom, even though he was way faster.

As you got to the main floor, you both ran up to the door. You tried to open it but to no avail. The light went on again. Great it was an automatic light, so that means the person who would close the library, could be gone for ten minutes already.

You heard Tom silently curse under his breath. “Maybe there is a window that we can open…” you silently suggested. Tom looked at you and thought about it. “That’s a good idea, let’s see.” You nodded and both looked around but again to no avail. They were closed with a key. You both groaned. “Who the fuck doesn’t check if there’s still people out there.” you asked angry but more to yourself. You heard Tom sigh a little. “my phone….” You whispered and looked through your bag in a state of panic but couldn’t find it. Maybe you left it upstairs so you ran towards the fourth floor and looked around, Tom following you in confusion.

You saw it laying there where you were seated. You unlocked it but saw that you had only two percentage left. Maybe you could still call somebody you thought. You dialed the emergency number and could hear someone ask which emergency service you needed but before you could talk, your phone died. You cursed and sat down as you rubbed your hands in your face.

Tom looked sad at you. “Do you have a phone?” you asked hopefully at him. he shook his head “I’ve left my phone at home.” You nodded in disappointment. You could read of the clock that it was already 8 p.m. “Okay, so we have at least 2 hours to get out of here.” You told him. He let out a sight, nodded and looked around for ideas. “wouldn’t be here some stupid book of how to break out of a library for dummies.” You announced, making him chuckle. “I don’t think so but they should make them. Or we should after we find a way to get out of here.” He chuckled, making you chuckle slightly as well.

“I’m Tom by the way.” He told you as he reached out is hand for you to shake. “I’m Y/N, it’s nice to meet you. I like your movies by the way.” You could see him blush and you smiled. “Thank you, that’s very nice.” He told you flustered. God he looks so cute, handsome, gorgeous, you could go on about that for a while. You didn’t want to make him uncomfortable so you dropped the subject. You looked around as well for ideas. “Maybe there is an emergency phone here or behind the desk. You suggested and he smiled at you. “That’s very smart.” He complimented and walked with you downstairs. There wasn’t an emergency phone and the phone behind the desk was out of service. You and Tom looked at each other. “Let’s get some tea, sit down and think of another plan. Because if we keep doing this, we’ll run out of ideas.” He nodded as a response to your suggestion.

You walked into the kitchen and made some tea. You got the tea and both sat down at a table. You were deep in thought on how to get out before Tom broke you out of it. “So, do you have any plans for tonight?” you looked up at him, meeting his blue eyes. It made you feel shy and excited as well but you looked down. “No, I don’t. What about you?” You asked him. He gave you a sympathetic smile “I was going to celebrate it with friends. But how come that a beautiful, smart and I can guess, nice girl like you doesn’t have anything planned?” he asked you intrigued.

You looked down and didn’t want to answer that question really. “Well, you’re still going to celebrate it with friends. We’ll make sure, just have to find a way to get out.” You told him, avoiding the topic and he noticed. He nodded and sipped his tea, being more interested in you.

“We can put on the computer and send an email to someone hoping they will see it…” you thought out loud, making Tom smile softly. “Am I that bad company?” he asked you teasingly. You looked up in shock “No absolutely not! It’s just… I don’t really like the idea of being locked up. It gives me bad anxiety.” You told him, letting out a shaky breath. He nodded in understanding.

“We’ll find a way.” He told you. You stood up, surprising Tom as his eyes followed your movements. You walked towards the computer and opened it. “fucking hell, of course there is a password.” You let that computer be and walked towards another. This one didn’t have a password. You quickly opened your email and send a messaged to as many people as possible.

“Now we just have to wait and hope. Maybe we can find another way to get out if they don’t respond.” You told him. He gave you a sympathetic smile again. “This isn’t an ideal situation but there are more horrible ways to celebrate New year’s eve. And like you said, you don’t really have any plans.” He told you.

You looked down. “Yeah, but you have.” He gave you a smile. “I can always celebrate later.” He told you as he stood up and walked up to you and rubbed your arms for comfort. You gave him a sad smile. “Why don’t we just go upstairs again and hang there for a while.” You nodded at his suggestion.

You found your spot by the window again and Tom sat down opposite to you. “I’m sorry that you’re not with your friends right now. But I am glad I’m not alone.” You chuckled shyly but felt genuine sorry for him. He gave you another soft smile “it’s my fault as well, I should’ve kept an eye on the clock. But yeah I’m glad I’m not alone as well. Normally I don’t find anybody up here.” He told you and you smiled “Neither do I. But it’s my favorite spot because it’s so quiet.” He nodded and let out a soft hum in agreement.

You both started talking about books and hobby’s and found out that you were both very intrigued by the other person. “So Y/N, tell my why you don’t have any plans.” He carefully asked. You let out a sour chuckle and looked down. “I’m not into New year’s eve. I’m always alone even though I ask my friends but they always have plans and don’t invite me, which is fine but I also think celebrating it is bullshit. You look back at your year and it’s always very though when you had a rough year, than you look towards the new year and I think: Wow, what kind of bullshit is life going to give me this year. And don’t get me wrong, I do want to celebrate it but it’s very much depressing if you do it alone, or if you are alone and see everyone on your social media having fun. Which of course I want them to have fun but it hurts…. It hurts too much you know.”

You rambled almost too quickly for Tom to follow. You felt yourself grow emotional and tears prickle in your eyes. You frustrated wiped them away with your sleeves of your cardigan. Tom was silent and looked down, not knowing what to say to make it better for you. “That’s why I came here. So I could disappear in books, not having to think about it and not really being alone.” He looked at you with a little sadness in your eyes. “They’re not great friends if they don’t invite you. You deserve better!” he told you as he rested his hand on your knee. You gave him a sad smile.

“Come join me if we get out of here.” He told you excitedly. You shook your head “I don’t want to be invited because out of pity.” This time Tom shook his head. “I’m not, I promise! I just really enjoy your company. We like the same stuff that we could spent hours of talking about, you make me think more than others do. I don’t have that with many people…. Actually none at all except for my mother and one friend but that different.” He told you and you could swear you saw him blush.

“If it’s not out of pity, than I’d love to join you. but I don’t want to be a burden.” You told him and looked out of the window. Tom softly grabbed your hand and rubbed the back of your hand with his thumb. “Sweetheart, I promise you I don’t and I stand behind what I said. Let me show you how fun it can be to celebrate the next year.” He told you genuine as he looked deeply into your eyes. You smelt shyly.

“And, if you want to I would love to take you out on a date.” You looked at him in shock. “I ehh would love to go on a date with you Tom.” He smiled at you.

You both leaned back against the wall and so did Tom. “Thank you Tom…. It means a lot to me.” he smiled at you. “It’s my pleasure darling, believe me.” you felt butterflies in your stomach and smiled as you looked down. He still held your hand and you looked at it.

Tom let go of your hand as soon as he saw that you stared at it. “Sorry.” He told you but you softly grabbed his hand back to hold it again. You looked at his slender fingers and you both looked at each other’s hands. You intertwined fingers and he continued rubbing the back of it. You both sat in an comfortable silence, playing with each other’s hands, smiling as you looked at it.

You both started talking again and Tom quietly explained Shakespeare to you. His voice was comforting and you loved listening to the stories he had to tell you. You explained your favorite writer to him and both decided to search for the books and grab them for each other.

You exactly knew where your favorite book was kept and took it, walking back. Tom got back at the same time. “I have an idea.” You told him and got a pen to write a little note in the end of the book. He smiled and got a pen as well. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure I’ll pay for the book.” You told him with a grin. “I think we should keep the books, you know because they locked us up in here.” He told you, making you chuckle. “Yeah agreed.”

You both took your time writing the note. He gave you the book after 10 minutes. “You can read the note when your home.” He told you with a smile. You gave your book to him. “Same goes for you.” you told him with a soft smile. Tom looked at the clock. “I don’t think we’re leaving any time soon.” He told you.

You nodded, you had 15 minutes left before the new year. That was when it got to you. You looked up at Tom in big eyes. “The alarm….” You whispered. You stood up and ran downstairs, Tom running behind you. “Wait, what are you planning?” he asked you. You turned around “The alarm. If we’ll let it go off, the emergency services would be here.” He softly grabbed your arms. “Sweetheart. Wait for the New year. It’s already too late. Let’s celebrate together for now and five minutes after 12, we’ll let the alarm go off, okay?” he reasoned with you. You looked down and nodded.

You both walked upstairs and sat down again. He softly took your hand in his again and started to play with your hand again, intertwining fingers again, twirling etc. You started to shiver as the temperature started to drop. “Are you cold darling?” he asked you, making you nod.

He took his knitter off, showing he had another one underneath it. He helped you get in the knitter and rubbed your arms as you both stood up. You looked deeply into each other’s eyes, going in a trance as you felt all your worries float away once you looked into his blue, soft and warm eyes that held a sort of comfort and a gentle touch to them.

The fireworks went off and you both looked out of the window and back to each other. “Happy new year darling.” He whispered as he came a little bit closer. “Happy new year Tom.” You told him, not backing away, giving him a sign that it was okay.

He softly captured your chin between his thumb and finger, pulling you in closer. His lips brushed against yours as your hand found his bicep, holding onto him. “Is this okay?” he whispered gently, scared to break this magical moment. “Yes” you whispered back, making him softly smile. He placed his lips gently on yours and let them rest for a bit before moving. His hand captured your cheek as you discovered each other’s mouth, softly moaning in the kiss.

The pace went from slow, loving and gentle to passionate, heated to slow, loving and gentle again before he pulled back. He rested his forehead against yours and nuzzled your nose against his. “Let me show you how beautiful the new year can be.” He whispered again. “If you’ll let me.” he more asked you than told you. “Okay.” You whispered back, feeling a little dizzy from the most amazing kiss.

As you both held each other, you could hear the main door unlock, grabbing the attention from the both of you. You pulled away, got your stuff and quickly walked downstairs with each other, hand in hand. “Hello?” you could hear someone ask. You both came into view of the man. “We’ve got your email. Sorry it wasn’t in time and I’m so incredibly sorry that we locked you both up in here.” The man told the both of you.

You looked at each other with a loving smile. “That might have been the best thing you’ve done this year.” You told the man. “Happy new year.” You both told the man and walked hand in hand out of the library, leaving the man in utter confusion. “It was meant to happen.” Tom told you with a smile. “It might’ve been indeed.” You told him. He gave you a quick peck. “Now let’s celebrate New year’s eve.” He told with a smile, as you walked with Tom towards his home. “this is the first year that I actually enjoyed New year’s eve.” You told him and he pulled you in for another kiss. “To plenty more.” he told you and squeezed your hand again as you both made your way, happy that this disaster, turned into a fairytale.

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ssahotstuff · 3 years ago

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Aaron Hotchner x Camgirl!Reader PART 8

part 7 is here

spotify playlist (updated daily as i write)

pinterest board also updated daily <3

This is 18+ bc smut, so minors please DNI!!!

Warnings for this series: does include formalized s*x work(cam girl obviously, & other forms also) bad cooking! So bad! The worst you've ever seen! Small fire(cooking related, but noone gets hurt) cursing, alcohol, sex, duh, mentions of cases at the BAU, crime, drama, shy Hotch, for this chapter specifically: Clarice being an absolute old bitch lmaooo also Clarice getting SLAPPED so... if I missed anything let me know please 💕

Shit pops off here lmao fair warning

Word count: 2.8K. I plan to make this fic a little longer so I'll be making the chapters a bit shorter but hopefully updating more often.

Denise greeted you at the door, her purple sequined dress fitting her tall, slender frame perfectly. You were glad Denise had suggested dinner at her place, sparing you the cigarette-laced meal at Clarice's home. Clarice would be the last to arrive, as usual, so you helped Denise in the kitchen, letting Dave and Aaron hang out in her living room. You two looked fit to be in the kitchen; you'd not changed out of your sundress and Denise looked like a sexy eggplant, stirring away at a sauce that she was burning rapidly.

"Please tell me you can help," she whispered, handing you a pan of tiny Cornish hens to be put in the oven.

"Girl, all this money and you can't pay a chef? Or get some cooking lessons?" You took over at the stove, Denise thanking you profusely for saving her ass while she poured you both a glass of white wine.

"Any idea what Clarice's emergency dinner is about?" If anyone would know, it was Denise. You two had an unspoken agreement that she played Devil's advocate with Clarice, getting all the juicy details of her master plans and delivering them to you over time.

"Aaron. Duh. She wants to make a spectacle."

You huffed, knowing all along that's why she wanted to see you. She just couldn't give it up.

"Of course. That bitter old hag doesn't know when to stop," you complained, turning abruptly when you heard the slamming of a door.

"The bitter old hag has arrived, and she has gifts!" Clarice announced, earning an eye roll from you and Denise.

"Great, because we need to talk." You dried your hands on the nearest towel, making sure to keep your tone steady, or else she'd eat you alive at the first sound of vulnerability.

"Talk, darling. Where is that fine specimen of a man you brought last night?" She was shamelessly scanning the room for Aaron, so you grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her attention back towards you.

"You listen to me. You keep your slimy paws off of Aaron. It's not cute. It makes him uncomfortable. If you make my man uncomfortable again, I will send you to the old folks' home and tell them you're mentally incompetent."

Her mouth went agape at your words, Denise howling in a fit of insane laughter at your promise. Your face never faltered, not once. You weren't going to play this game with her, not over Aaron. He was too important to you to lose.

"Oh shit," Denise sputtered, glancing between the two of you, trying to salvage the dinner she'd ruined while not missing a second of the show. Clarice was baffled, clutching her pearled chest in shock at your words.

"Is that any way to treat the woman who gave you the life you have now? I only wanted to see him because I brought him gifts, dear. You're going to love them!" Her icy tone made you feel anything but loved as she ignored your warning, running off to find Aaron and Dave before you could protest. It was no use, but the second she touched him, you knew you'd blow a fuse.

She had gift bags by the door that she was retrieving and heading towards the living room with, and instead of following, you took over at the stove so dinner was halfway edible.

"That bitch is really working my nerves," Denise whispered as she refilled your glasses. When Aaron rounded the corner with his gifts in hand, his face was pale and his eyes were averted to the floor.

"God, what has she done?" You whispered, stepping forward to check the damage. When you realized what it was, you had to grip the counter for support at the audacity.

3 framed photos of you from your website. You recognized them instantly; one was the very first picture you'd ever made money from. The second was a random photo that had more likes than you ever thought possible, and the third was one of the more recent photos you'd taken, stark naked except for a thin pink bandeau top barely covering your breasts.

"At least she chose good ones," Denise said cheerfully, trying not to show how shocked she was that Clarice would be so bold. You weren't surprised in the slightest, but your heart ached for Aaron. You'd never felt shame like this, and you couldn't imagine what was going through his mind.

"Don't," Denise warned when you calmly took off your earrings, sitting them on the counter behind you. You were seeing red, and if it had been a movie, this is the part where smoke would expel from your ears in pure fury.

"Too late," you called back to her, making a beeline for where she stood in the living room, Dave sitting awkwardly as she talked his ear off. You slapped her hard across the face, the satisfying whack! of her flesh beneath your palm distracting you from the sting it left. Before you could even ball a fist up and swing, Dave was grabbing your arms and dragging you back towards the kitchen.

"Alright Tyson, let's get you a drink," Dave let you go, asking Denise to pour you a glass of water. You sat at the table with your hands in your lap, waiting on Clarice to make you pay for what you'd done. When she sauntered into the kitchen, Aaron put himself between her and you, making sure that if she made one wrong move, he'd be able to stop her.

"Are you upset that I showed your little boyfriend what a prize you really are? You're so confident, Baby. Where's that confidence now, hmm?"

You were unsure of how to respond without making the situation worse for yourself, so you took every harsh word she had to say.

"That's what I thought. If you want any shot at a normal life, you better stop while you can."

She was gone as quickly as she'd arrived, the room in awkward silence until Dave broke the tension.

"I think they'd go well in your office," he nodded towards the framed photos, and Aaron cut his eyes at the man. You wanted to cry, but it was no use. She'd won for now, and there was nothing you could do about it.

You met Aaron's gaze for the first time since he'd shown you the photos. He didn't look happy, but if he was mad, he didn't seem the type to show it in front of other people. He stayed in his spot across the room, giving you a soft smile before he followed Dave back to the couch. Denise was pulling up a chair next to you, her hand on your shoulder.

"We'll get her back. Don't worry," she was just trying to help, but there was no getting back at Clarice. She'd make you miserable as long as she had the power to do so. You only saw her a few times a year, but each time was significantly worse than the last. This surpassed them all.

"He's pissed. I can tell."

"He doesn't really have a right to be, but I can see it too."

You shrugged, sipping at your water. You'd be pissed if you were in his shoes. You planned to let him be until he was ready to talk. He had his mind on being distracted, and you could tell by the ice clinking repeatedly into his glass that his mind was drifting further away from enjoying the evening and closer to forgetting.

"Denise?"

"Hmmm?"

"Your sauce might be on fire."

The kitchen was filling quickly with smoke as the fire alarm blared loudly, the two of you working quickly to extinguish it. Before you could stop her, she was opening the kitchen window and tossing the pot onto the street below. You waited for a scream, but instead, it clattered and bounced, landing on the opposite end of the street, the sauce still splattering against the pavement.

"Denise, where do you keep your brain cells around here?" You looked under the table and in the nearest drawers, Denise laughing hysterically from her spot in the window. Her laugh was more shrill than the fire alarm, the commotion over by the time Dave and Aaron were rushing to the rescue.

"Crisis averted! No worries, gentlemen. We'll be dining at The Playroom instead of a meal cooked by the two of us bozos," Denise announced, fanning the smoke out the window.

"What the hell did you two do?" Dave was opening windows, coughing as he and Aaron helped fan the place out. By the time you'd gotten the fire alarm to stop beeping, everyone was in tears from laughter at the retelling of what had happened.

"Is this what you learned from your cooking show?" Aaron asked lowly from behind you, his arms wrapped snugly around your waist to pull you in. As quickly as they were there, he was dropping them again, as if the contact might hurt him.

"I blame Denise. I was preoccupied." You tried hard to keep your voice steady, but the cold shoulder was difficult for you to deal with.

"We're leaving soon," he told you, and you nodded in response. You thanked Denise for the invitation to go out but explained that you wanted to find food and go back to the hotel. She was more than understanding after the events of the day, bidding you both goodnight and sending you on your way. Aaron clutched his photos tightly on his way to the elevator, a few steps ahead of you the entire time. You struggled to keep up with his fast pace, his legs much longer than yours.

"Hey, slow down for a second," he stopped abruptly and you ran straight into him, his arm breaking the contact before you collided with his body.

"I'm sorry," you sputtered, and he took your hand in his, remaining quiet on the ride down and the short walk to hail a cab. You rode in silence, watching out the window at the city lights that you'd not even gotten to fully enjoy. You'd been so excited to stay in the city; now you couldn't wait to leave.

Your heart was drumming in anticipation for what Aaron was thinking or feeling, his growing annoyance towards you a clear indicator of wanting to be left alone. When you climbed in and sat by the door, he stayed on his side, not bothering to scoot close to you. He was pissed.

You knew better than to say anything before you were in your hotel room, behind the security of the doors, so no one could see him dump you. You knew it was coming, and you'd been preparing for it since Clarice had walked through the door. Your heart was heavy, you were trying desperately not to cry until you reached the 12th floor.

You'd never gotten out of a car so fast, Aaron on your heels. The quiet was tense; the lobby was packed but you two had yet to say a word, and that was louder than anything happening around you. You leaned against the metal wall of the elevator, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. He stood opposite, almost mirroring your actions.

"You seem angry."

He nodded, shrugging his shoulders.

"I'll get over it," he said shortly, legs putting distance between the two of you before you could carry the conversation further. You didn't even try to speak to him when he stopped in the living room to pour a drink. You headed straight for the bedroom, closing the door so you could change and climb into bed. You weren't waiting on him. You knew he was embarrassed in front of his friend, but so were you, if not more. It wasn't his body on display for everyone to see.

Your head was in your hands, tears spilling over like a flood. You shoved your face in the pillow to muffle your cries so Aaron wouldn't come asking questions. You doubt he would anyway, but you didn't want to give him a reason.

You heard your phone vibrate, assuming it was Aaron asking you to come to talk to him. It wasn't.

Hotch: Are you busy?

You couldn't believe the nerve. He hadn't spoken to you in nearly two weeks; his bullshit was the last thing you needed. You blocked his number without responding, and before he could message you on your website, you banned his account, saying goodbye forever to the jackass that only wanted you when it was convenient for him. You wanted to cuss him out, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of a reply after what he'd done to you.

You knew sleep was impossible, so you flipped on the television, Aaron still drinking in the other room. You'd hear the bottle meet the glass periodically, knowing that what he was doing was his way of dealing with the shitty night. You wanted to believe things would be better if you just left him alone.

Dirty Dancing was on, so you got comfortable, making a pile with the pillows and settling under the duvet. You weren't sure how to approach Aaron without enraging him. As much as you wanted to join him and apologize for everything that happened, you were more afraid of making things worse.

You'd almost dozed off when he stumbled into the bedroom, knocking the small table by the door over in the process. You sat straight up on high alert, calming down a little when you heard him shush the table for falling and creep further into the room.

He was drunk, roaring drunk.

"Did I wake you?"

You shook your head, staring back at him. He was still dressed in his black polo, and the sight made you want to drool. Even now, red in the face and slurring his words, he was the sexiest man you'd ever known.

"Are you okay?"

He scoffed, kicking his jeans off, sliding a pair of flannel pajama pants on in their place.

"Can we just pause this conversation for when we won't be stuck together all night long? I'd rather not do this and then have to climb into bed with you afterward."

You gulped back the lump in your throat and pushed his pillows onto his side of the bed, leaving enough space that he wouldn't even have to touch you. You flipped the lamp off, leaving him to get dressed with only the glow of the television. When he crawled into bed, he rolled away from you, making sure his warmth was nowhere to be found.

"I'm sorry, Aaron. I know you don't want to talk-"

"Then quit trying to talk to me. Leave it alone. Please, Y/N. Let's just get through the night so I can go home tomorrow," his voice was strained and you could hear how hard he was trying to avoid having this conversation.

"Okay."

You grabbed your pillow and headed for the couch, Aaron almost asleep before you could close the door behind you. You wanted to call Denise and ask if you could just come to stay with her, but leaving seemed like a worse alternative. Aaron made it abundantly clear that he had no interest in fixing things tonight, so you put in your headphones and paced the floors, trying to make yourself tired.

The sun was coming up, and your eyes had yet to close. You sat against the wall, staring out the window at the city below, trying to figure out how you'd fucked up so much in 24 hours. You were waiting on the sun to be out completely before you started the day; you weren't sure if Aaron still wanted to stay or go back to work. You were going to stay in New York, with or without him.

You didn't feel like writing in your diary. You didn't feel like doing anything. You were growing sadder by the second, Aaron's behavior had been so out of character for him, even if he was drunk. The sun came, so you decided to bathe and start the day.

You adjusted the shower to your liking, shuffling your music and climbing in. You kept the volume low so you wouldn't wake Aaron, terrified of what may happen if you did. It was the quietest shower you'd taken in a while, but it was peaceful, leaving you with your thoughts. You weren't angry with Aaron, you were just upset that he got drunk instead of taking the time to talk to you.

You hadn't slept, you hadn't eaten. You were cranky, and starving. Aaron had yet to budge, so you grabbed your bag from the floor and got dressed. You pulled on a pair of denim shorts and a t-shirt, tossing your hair up before you ventured out to the streets below.

#aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner #sugar daddy hotch #hotch #criminal minds #ssa hotchner #ssa aaron hotchner #hotchner #criminal minds fanfiction #david rossi #camgirl reader

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slytherwrites · 3 years ago

Text

Dedicated Interest - pt 1

Costume Innovation

The moment when a Class 1A member became interested in you would be days into the second year of school when you actually approached them after the second year lunch. With your notepad in hand and confidence spurred on from Power Loader himself supporting the redesigns, you head towards your target: Momo Yaoyorozu.

You’ve seen her fight—you’ve seen all of the future heroes fight. Support Class students are encouraged to watch Hero Course students in order to gain inspiration. Over the winter break, something in you had the urge to fix many of the hero students’ costumes—particularly the ones in Class 1A. They seemed to need your help the most.

The cafeteria is massive. But the tall girl isn’t hard to spot. With her long, black hair and confident, but charming voice, you’re able to locate her pretty easily. Getting her away from the girls she’s walked in with is the hard part.

But you don’t stop. In fact, you just go for it. It’s now or never, afterall.

“Yaoyorozu,” you ask, “can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Oh yeah, sure!” She replies, “don’t wait up for me guys. I’ll be there shortly!”

You lead her out into the hallway. The noise of the cafeteria can still be heard, but it’s muted enough so you two can clearly hear each other.

“Have we met before..?”

“Not formally,” you reply, “I’m one of the Support Class students, L/N Y/N. I was watching a bunch of the students compete and I was inspired to do costume redesigns.”

You pass her the notepad. A barebones sketch of her is underneath a more detailed drawing of your suggested hero outfit. With inspiration from both her summer and winter costume, it gives more strategic thought to her hero costume than there was before. There is an open back with an easily detachable front that can optionally be worn with a cloak. Elbow pads and knee pads provide joint protection, as well as shoes that’ll support her instead of the heeled boots she’d been fighting in. The cutouts are strategically placed, with spots on her thighs, lower legs, back and stomach. There still is an element of modesty, as her breasts aren’t halfway out all the time anymore and it’s all in her original color scheme.

“This is…” She pauses. You can’t tell what’s on her mind.

“Sorry if I overstepped my boundaries, I promise not to bother you anymore!”

“This is ingenious!” Momo replies, “Tell me, when do you think you could have this made?”

“Oh umm… I would have to get you measurements and source the materials, but that shouldn't take too long. A week, maybe two tops? Nothing new’s being innovated, it’s just a matter of taking it from my notes to an actual thing…”

“Sounds great.” She takes the pencil you keep clipped on your notepad and writes down her number, “I need to get to lunch but I’m free this afternoon for measurements. Text me!”

“I will!” You take the notebook, clutching it against your chest. Yaoyorozu was the right person to start with.

===

You immediately added Yaoyorozu’s number after lunch and now you’re getting a ping from it.

Yaoyorozu: Hey, I’m free anytime from 4:30-6:30pm. What time works best for you?

You look at your clock now. 4:30’s coming up soon. A number of your classmates are still in the 2-H Workshop, but it isn’t so busy that you wouldn’t bring in another person—that’s only when Hatsume’s working, as she’s a safety hazard in and of herself.

Y/N: Now’s fine! I’m in the 2-H workshop. It’s in the east wing.

The chatter of machinery and the lyrics to some pop song trail along in the background. You’ve mostly tuned it out, so Yaoyorozu has to tap on your shoulder to get your attention.

“Y/N?” Her calling you by your first name gets you out of your daze and you reply, “Oh, hi Yaoyorozu!”

You turn to face her. A bit of heat heads to your face as you see Yaoyorozu’s skin tight outfit. She certainly isn’t uncomfortable in her skin.

“You like my outfit? It’s designer—part of Mount Lady’s recently dropped workout line.” She replies, “I thought I’d wear something closer to my skin in order to get proper measurements done.”

“Oh yeah. That’s smart. Let me grab my tailor’s tape and a sticky note!” You rummage through your school bag for spare supplies, pulling it out and pushing your classwork aside, “Here it is! Now we’ll start from the top down, getting all of the measurements and then you can be on your way.”

“Sounds perfect.” Momo stands straight, arms and legs shoulder width apart. She’s obviously done this before.

As you hum along to the music, Momo watches you. You don’t notice, but she stares at you, dedicating every little detail to memory. Something in her wants to replicate everything you have for herself. Though, as you stand up and put your tape measurer down, she coughs and clears her mind of it’s racing thoughts.

“So… what were you working on?”

“Schoolwork, nothing much.” You admit, “Just some back to school safety briefings—as if most of us didn’t come in during the winter to continue our projects. You probably don’t want to hear about it.”

Momo proves you wrong, “What other projects do you have going on?”

“Oh uh… well, Power Loader’s gave us a robotics project to work on and I’ve been specializing in costumes so I’ve been trying to create a list of heroes and hero students to make improved costumes on. You’re the first I’ve actually been able to do hands-on work for though… That’s for this, by the way!”

“How could I refuse?” Momo asks, “Your improvements and overall design is better than what I could’ve come up with on my own.”

“I guess…”

“May I ask,” Momo says, “How did you come up with this design?”

“Mostly by watching your trainings, as well as current pro hero costume trends.” You repsponds, “Most female pro heroes have their legs exposed in some capacity, but don’t have any sort of knee protection—which I think is stupid. And if we do knee protection, we need elbow protection. And I’d advocate for more coverage in order to have protective plating underneath the suit, but since you need your skin out, I had to limit it to specific areas. And the cloak came really handy for that! Plus I could have it cover your back in order to let you conceal items you create and have you… I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“No, no! It’s fine.” Momo replies, “I find this fascinating. Please continue!”

“Well… I’ve noticed that in a pinch that you’ll lose your top and then have to make yourself new clothes. But since your shirt is magnetic and can be put back together, you can save… materials as well as use that space for other things.” You continue with a laugh at yourself, “I don’t really understand how your quirk works, but I hope this costume will work…”

“I convert fat lipids into other atoms and release them from my skin.” Momo explains, “but I think your idea will work.”

“Let’s see.” You reply, “Well, I think that’s all I need from you. Thanks for sticking around and listening to my rambling, Yaoyorozu.”

“Call me Yaomomo. My friends do, anyway.” She tells you, “Text me anytime!”

“Oh uh, cool.” You tell her, “I will.”

She eventually leaves you to your devices, but you don’t leave her thoughts. In fact, you are steadily taking up a large portion of her thoughts as she contacts her house staff to start construction on a wing in the manor to give you the biggest, best laboratory possible.

#yandere class 1a #yandere mha #yandere bnha #yandere momo yaoyorozu

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glitxhwayventeen · 3 years ago

Text

The Lost One

Junhui

Characters: Junhui x female reader

Warnings: Mention’s of panic attacks, mentions of self-loathing, seemingly unrequited love, foreign struggles (Yes that’s a warning because it sucks being a foreigner and causes some shit), I think that’s it for this chapter but let me know if I missed anything!

Author’s Note: Sorry It’s even so long since I last updated! I didn’t forget i swear I’ve just been super sick and so has my daily and all my energy went into trying to keep my school work up to day instead of writing. I’m sending this update out today instead of Josh’s Heart Like Yours chapter because this one was halfway done and the easiest to sen out/finish.

Please remember that all of these chapters and the content within them are a work of fiction! They’re just for fun/entertainment!

🥀

Paved With Good Intentions Masterlist

The Lost One: Part 2

Bold- Korean Dialogue Italics- Thoughts Red- Mandarin Dialogue

Tag list- @babyminghao

You couldn’t believe yourself. You really were the fuckup your parents thought you were. How could you be this stupid? How could you not figure it out? It wasn’t like you were doing rocket science or something. You were just trying to read a god damn map. And you were failing miserably at it.

If you could even really call the piece of shit piece of paper the administrations office gave you that. It basically just told you were all the fire exits were. As if you would be able to use it for that. You didn’t even know the proper way of getting in to the building so you didn’t see yourself getting caught in a fire there anytime soon.

You were just trying to make it to your new dorm. That’s all. But the “map” was written fully in Korean and quite frankly you weren’t fluent enough yet to be able to understand the long ass words it was throwing at you with it’s labeling.

The university that had accepted you had the option to live off campus with other students, kind of like an off campus dorm room program. Accept in order to get to your new apartment, you had to find your roommate first and meet her to get your key. But you couldn’t seem to find where they said you had to meet her.

That’s how you found yourself having a mental breakdown in the middle of a campus square after having had tried to ask several Korean natives for directions. Clearly your attempts to ask for directions had failed due to your very very basic Korean language skills. Needless to say, you were pretty over the whole “moving to a new foreign country excitement’ phase and moving into the whole “oh my god what have I done I’m all alone in a foreign land” stage.

You threw your hands to your face and groaned out a few profanities in Mandarin out of habit, map closely grazing your cheek as you blinked back hot tears threatening to spill from your waterlines.

“Need some help?”

You looked up from your newly chapped hands to see a boy only about an inch taller than you kindly smiling at you. And he was speaking to you in Mandarin. Oh thank god!

“Yes yes oh my god please!” You let excitedly tumble out of your clumsy mouth all in one breath, causing the strange boy to laugh at your antics.

He reached his hand out to formally introduce himself, “I’m Minghao but most of my friends are Korean and tend to fuck up the pronunciation so, everyone here calls me Hao. I’m from Anshan.” He firmly gripped your hand, though not enough to hurt you, and reeled himself back in to await your reply.

“I’m _____. ____ _____. I’m from Shenzen. It’s nice to actually meet someone here who I can properly communicate with!” You said with a sigh of relief lacing your tone.

He nodded his head, almost amused, “First day huh?”

You chuckled, gripping his book bag that was hanging on one of his shoulders with one hand and throwing the other one in his pocket.

“Is it that obvious?” You shyly whined.

Minghao laughed again, “Let’s just say I’ve been there before. I only came over from Anshan a few years back myself. So the memories are… still pretty prominent to say the least,” He shrugged his shoulders a bit before readjusting himself in his shoes, “Now what are you trying to find lost girl _____?”

“Well I need to find new roommate in this place so i can get my keys. The administrations office told me to meet her in the johwa building- I think?” You replied, very unsure of if you had even pronounced the word correctly while gesturing your little map more towards him.

He clicked his tongue and leaned in to see the piece of paper, “Aw, I see. Well I don’t live on campus I live with my br-” He seemed to stop mid sentence to collect himself for some reason, but recovered quickly, “Friends. With my friends. But I know Korean for the most part so I’m sure I can help.”

He examined the daunting parchment before he finally looked as if he had some sort of an answer, “Ah yes. Well see this part- here?…” He asked dutifully as he pointed to a rectangular sized squiggle on your map.

“I think that’s where you need to go. I can walk you there if you want. It’s pretty close to my next class.” He offered politely.

You sighed in gratitude, “Yes I would like that. Thank you so much you’re such a life saver!”

As you and Minghao started to walk to the meeting point, you realize two things: 1. Was that your Korean wasn’t nearly as good as your new friend’s was and 2. Was that he seemed to be actually quite popular on campus.

Every person you passed seemed to know of or acknowledge his existence, which was incredibly weird to you because you were never someone who had that affect on people.

The constant Hey’s and Hi’s toward the boy weirded you out and just made you feel even more like an outcast than you already were. You thought maybe you had actually found a friend who got you and your struggles as a foreigner, but he seemed to fit in better than most of the Korean students around did. So much for that idea.

Though you did began to wonder if you would ever fit in like him. Probably not considering back in China people still thought you were the weirdest freak that ever walked on the face of the Earth.

But still, you figured you could dream. If you didn’t fantasize about it, you’d just end up wallowing in your own misery and having panic attack after panic attack over it.

It had happened before, half the time you weren’t even sure why. Sometimes it was for a legitimate reason like almost getting hit by a car crossing a cross walk. Other times, they would come on out of literally no where and you’d have to excuse yourself to the closest restroom to try and ride it out alone.

But as much as you disliked a lot of people, you really didn’t like the idea of being alone with just you and your thoughts forever. It was a scary idea.

So you found yourself hoping to be like Minghao as you drug on next to him; confident, foreign and proud. You found those qualities admirable in a person.

You just hoped your new roommate found you to be similar to him, or at least not as strange as you truly were, so that you could cohabit in peace.

“Well this is it!” He declared triumphantly as he flashed his hands in front of the building you were supposed to be meeting your new roommate in.

Then it dawned on you: You were meeting an absolute stranger and were going to be roommates with her. You immediately froze in place. You were completely petrified.

That small detail must have been very evident to the boy standing next to you. Because the next thing out of his mouth was, “You want me to go in with you? You know, to be sure she’s not some crazy axe murderer or something?”

Even though you had only just met him, you still knew more about him than some new stranger, so your inner fight or flight instinct kicked in and had you agreeing to him before he could even really finish his sentence properly, “Y-yes yes please. Thank you!”

He just chuckled softly at your nervous antics and linked arms with you, quickly dragging you into the lions den past the double glass doors.

The walk past the double doors seemed to slow time down. Your heart started to race, something you figured would come eventually once the reality of the situation hit you.

Except this time, your lungs didn’t feel as though they couldn’t inflate. This time your hands didn’t begin to shake and your knees didn’t begin to quiver. This time you felt like you were standing on top of the world. It was different and you couldn’t pin point why.

Part of you just thought that maybe a bit of Minghao’s vibrant personality had already rubbed off on you. But the realist in you knew that wasn’t the case, you weren’t that lucky.

As stupid as it sounded, it felt like your life had been preparing you for what was to come since you had been born. You just weren’t sure what it really was considering you knew for a fact that the feeling made no sense as you were just going to get your room key.

You had finally managed to find the slender girl you were supposed to be meeting up with by her newly blue hair the admissions people said she’d have. She seemed nice enough as when you first laid eyes on her she was laughing and giggling at something a very gigantic boy in front of her was saying. She was pretty, tall and had a smile that all but radiated off the walls.

But focusing on her proved to be a difficult task for you once she squeeled something out loud while rushing over to you both and the boy she was speaking with turned around with his hands in his pocket and his shoulders down.

“Oh my gosh Hao! What are you doing here?” She chirped in what you knew to be Korean, a smile still bright on her cheery face while the boy she was with followed her around like a lost puppy and stared at his shoes and shoes alone.

Minghao shushed the poor girl to calm her excitement, “Better question Jee, what are you doing here?”

“I told you dork,” She snorted at his very unenthusiastic response, “I’m meeting my new roommate the school set me up with.”

Minghao didn’t usually listen much to what anyone from the pack said, he preferred to just tune them out most of the time because sometimes they could be a bit much.

But he did vaguely recall a conversation he had with both Jeonghan and his mate earlier about needing to find a volunteer to go with her to school.

The elder was always very protective of the women he knew anyways, so when Jee came along, Jeonghan seemed to get that much worse and insisted she have a guard (or guard dog really) with her at all times to make sure she was safe.

Since Jeonghan had a bunch of homework to make up for from when he was going through rut and missed a bunch of classes, he couldn’t go with Jee to meet her new roommate like he normally would’ve liked.

He was worried for her, something Minghao could understand to a degree. Jee was just only a human after all and wasn’t very athletic. She could very easily be put in danger or get herself caught up in something bad very quickly.

So Jeonghan tried to rally one of his brothers to do it. And since most were either too busy or struggling with schoolwork and needing to do it themselves, Jun ended up being the one who was elected to take her. Something he clearly wasn’t too thrilled about given his sunken appearance.

And just like that, the lines seemed to connect in his small boy brain, “Oh shit wait! You’re who _____’s gonna be rooming with?” He mentally facepalmed himself for forgetting.

“Maybe. The girl I’m supposed to meet’s named _____, but I’ve just been told it’s a rather common girl name in China and we have a boat load of new foreign exchange students. Who’s your _____?” The girl, Jee apparently, questioned the boy you had just met at what seemed like a million miles an hour.

You realized your bare minimum Korean was even worse than you had originally thought after hearing the two speaking. You could only pick out your name and the word China out of all of Jee’s sentences.

“T-that would be me. H-hi,” You guessed as you shifted your weight from one leg to the other, no doubt looking visibly uncomfortable at the whole situation.

Jee gave Minghao a… very different, almost knowing look before he shook his head.

They secretly and wordlessly had exchanged the “did you just imprint on her” question with each other without you knowing as per their pack’s now near usual customary greeting when meeting each other.

“No Jee, it’s not like that. _____ was struggling to find her way around campus and I helped her. She’s Chinese too and isn’t as used to Korean yet.” He clarified quickly, even though he knew there was a pretty good chance you had absolutely no idea what they were conversing about.

After another beat of silence with both Jee and Minghao looking at you seemingly wanting you to speak, Hao decided for himself to break the cold ice the two of you had unknowingly created, “_____, this is Jee. She’s my b-” He stopped himself, an action you found rather odd, and cleared his throat to speak again, “My friend’s girlfriend. And the tall awkward lanky doll behind her is our other friend Junhui.”

He made gestures to the both of them, “And guys, this,” He gestured to you with his hands causing the lengthy boy behind Jee to pop his head up from staring at the ground to bore deep into your eyes, “Is _____.” You guessed (or more accurately used words you already knew to deduce what was going on in the conversation) your new friend said in Korean.

“Jun, _____’s from Shenzen too-” Hao tried to explain to the tall boy before you chimed in.

“Hey i know that word!” You nearly squawked at the sheer happiness of being able to find a word you knew being said in conversation.

And that surprising outburst that caused his brother to laugh is what caused Junhui to finally look up from his feet and toward you.

Once his eyeline finally caught up with you, you were able to actually take in how truly breathtaking the boy in front of you really was.

He had a cute little button nose, one that just made you want to stand on your very tippy toes and boop for no reason other than because you could.

His messy hair had you wishing you could run your hand along it to see if it was actually as soft as it looked floating through the air.

His smile had an underlining mischievous crack in it that you found heartwarming and his twinkling eyed made you want to never stop staring at the stars that seemed to be captured in them.

Everything about him screamed perfect to you. But instead of making fun of you like Hao once he noticed your little happy declaration, and just when you brought your hand up to shake his hand after you had shaken Jee’s with blushed cheeks, he just… turned and walked away in the opposite direction from which you came.

Which not only left standing their incredibly confused, but a little heartbroken too.

(Updated 11/29/22)

#seventeen #seventeen au #seventeen angst #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #seventeen smut #seventeen x reader #svt au #wen junhui #junhui #seventeen jun #jun seventeen #jun svt #svt angst #svt jun #seventeen junhui #junhui seventeen

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wiypt-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Murder, He Wrote

Epilogue

Summary: You and Ransom attend the launch of his book and the cover closes on your story.

Warnings: Bad language, Mature (NSFW, 18+) NON-CON situations, kidnap, violence. Blood. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER…READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED…YOU HAVE BEENWARNED.

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: The end! I can’t believe all this span from @jtargaryen18’s Halloween Challenge last year. I hope you have enjoyed his as much as I have.

Word Count: 3.6k

READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK series so don’t @me if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18 get off my blog!

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and by writing it does NOT mean I agree with or condone the acts contained within. This fiction is classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

Part 7

The town car and it's driver took you to whatever swanky hotel Ransom and his publishers had decided upon, you not caring the slightest inwardly, outwardly only half paying attention. You glanced out the window watching the lights of downtown pass by as your husband of merely three weeks held your hand and rubbed the back of it with his thumb.

It was a warm July evening, the two of you dressed to the nines in formal attire. Ransom had insisted the launch be an invite only, formal event. Therefore, he was dressed in a two-piece suit, black of course, with a crisp white button down, silken black tie, and you, you looked like an ice queen's slutty sister. The powder blue silk dress you wore tied together with thin straps on each shoulder, your feet already hurting in your nude six inch sandals. Your free hand tapped a neatly manicured finger over your clutch that matched your shoes. A delicate white gold and diamond tennis bracelet adorned your wrist whilst the necklace you'd been gifted at Christmas hung around your neck. You wore your hair the way he said he loved it, in a ponytail full of waves and wisps framing your face.

After the incident on Valentine’s Day, you’d spent another two weeks in the confines of the basement. All luxuries removed and you were used and abused in exactly the way you had been when Ransom had first taken you, until he’d once more sucked the fight out of you. Only this time you didn’t have the strength to find it again.

You played the part you’d been cast in his sick little fantasy and became totally passive to his whims. You let him fuck you which, in all honesty, wasn’t an entirely unpleasant situation as he knew his way around your body and it felt good. You had given up denying it, and for the moments he was teasing those carnal reactions out of you, you escaped, let yourself imagine you were with someone who you wanted. And by keeping him sweet, you fooled him into thinking you were content. And things settled down, you had that halfway to normal life that you’d achieved before you discovered his manuscript.

But it was bullshit. A means to an end. And you deserved a fucking Oscar.

He’d had the audacity to propose to you, too. In a restaurant. Surrounded by people. He asked you the question, like you had a fucking choice.

Angry, desperate tears had filled your eyes as you’d simply gaped at him, tears the deluded cunt took for you being overwhelmed with happiness. With a smile he slipped the gaudily large diamond on your finger, sealing your fate.

It weighed as heavy on your hand as the grief for your lost life, and the despair at your situation did in your heart.

You’d had a small wedding. Attended simply by your parents and sister. He sent an invite to his mother and father but they didn’t show up. Your dad walked you down the aisle and as you walked towards the man you hated with every breath in your body, your father kissed your cheek and asked you if you were sure you wanted to do this. And no, of course you didn’t, but what could you do?

There was no way out.

“You look as gorgeous tonight as you did on our wedding day.” Ransom’s voice slightly startled you and you turned to face him.

You smiled at him, the smile you knew he wanted to see, as he placed a soft kiss to your cheek before doing the same to your hand, his lips ghosted over the top of the obscene rock and matching band on your finger which caught the lights of the city, sparkling with all the ferocity of a supernova.

Before you needed to reply with some half assed compliment back, the town car stopped as the driver got out and opened Ransom's door.

"Wait here," he instructed and walked around with the driver on the other side, escorting you out the minute your own door opened.

Flashbulbs fired off in your eyes, no doubt the press there for some absolutely ridiculous notion that this book was anything but its true nature of terror and disgust.

Ransom’s hand pressed into the base of your back as he guided you along in front of him, various members of the press calling his name, and you heard the excited shouts from some as they spotted the bands on both yours and Ransom’s hands, positively shrieking as they asked when you’d gotten married.

The headlines flashed in your mind now, 'Grandson of the Great Harlan Thrombey Releases First Suspense Novel'. 'One of Boston's Most Notorious and Eligible Bachelors is Strictly Off The Market' . 'Trust Fund Playboy Sinks His Bunny'.

It made you want to puke.

In fact, as the press line faded and you stepped foot into the lobby, you swallowed back the bile forcing its way up. A tray with champagne flutes passed you by and you immediately snagged one.

When Ransom had been distracted for a brief moment, you quickly glanced around and swallowed back the entire flute of the bubbly drink. Delightfully enjoying the brief taste and quick head rush it gave you.

The further you walked into the event, his hand still against your bare back, the louder it grew and the more trays of champagne and appetizers were floating by.

As typical, the two of you were fashionably late so, you had little chance to take part in any nibble or further, a drink, because the supposed "man of the hour", more like terror of life, was due to give a speech.

His agent pulled the two of you aside and made mention that it was time for Ransom to greet his guests. He pressed a sickening sweet kiss to your lips and confidently took to the small podium atop a small stage nearby.

“First and foremost, thank you to everyone who came out tonight. But more importantly, thank you to my beautiful wife, without you Sweetheart, this wouldn't be possible.”

The smile he flashed you was loaded with meaning as the pair of you looked at one another, his eyes shining with the depraved private understanding you shared.

And you hated him then just about as much as you ever had.

Excited muttering spread around the room as he had knowingly referred to you as his wife. It was the first time he’d announced your marriage to the world but, as he smiled and held his hands up, nodding smugly and confirming whatever people were asking him, you felt nothing but an overwhelming sense of nausea. To everyone else it was a sweet dedication, to you it was a sickening truth. This book was based on what he’d done to you. What he was saying was literal truth.

And the fact that the people currently applauding whatever he had said would never realise the true nature of those words on the pages of his book made you want to vomit in your handbag.

Applause rang around the room and you realised everyone was turned in your direction. Drawing your shoulders back you stood tall and once more fixed that fake smile on your face before Ransom cleared his throat and began to speak again.

But you didn't listen, you drowned him out, the sound of his voice distant and murky like Charlie Brown's teacher. You allowed you mind to think of anything but the present, other than the fact that these people were in unknowing full support of the hell you'd been through the last nine months.

Eventually a loud, rapturous applause signalled the end of his speech and he stepped back, smiling and then turned to the man from his publishers who shook his hand furiously, before the pair of them posed for photos.

That was when he beckoned you to him, looking at you in such a way that made your skin crawl and your teeth seethe with each breath. This bastard expected a photo op from you above all this, commemorating this disaster.

On autopilot you headed towards him, indifference obedience now your specialty and his arm curled possessively round your waist, fingers splaying on your hip. You posed and smiled as the flashes went off, but as you stole a glance at the large, ornate clock on the wall, you suddenly felt your head beginning to swim.

Seeing a convenient way out of this bullshit, you made sure to falter just a little, placing your hand to your chest. It caused Ransom's attention to turn to you.

"Sweetheart, are you alright?"

“I’m feeling a little light headed and warm.” You looked up at him. “Could we maybe get some air?”

"Sure, yeah," he looked to his agent and they nodded towards a side door in the room.

His arm still round you, playing the doting husband, he led you towards it and opened it with a flourish, allowing you to step out in front of him.

You emerged into the alley at the side of the building and took a huge gulp of air, steadying yourself.

"Y/N, what's wrong?"

You were warm, flushed, your skin tingling as the now cooling air hit your slightly damp skin, your nipples perking at the temperature change were visible through the silk dress, and you didn’t miss the heated glance he gave them as you spoke. "I, I don't know. I think it's all the commotion."

“You do look a little flushed.” His eyes moved back to yours and he studied you for a moment, his large hands gently cupping your face as he kissed your forehead before his lips pressed to yours. “Wanna take a walk?”

Despite the fact you really couldn’t walk far in the ridiculous shoes you were in, you nodded. Anything to avoid going back in there and listening to all those sycophants kissing his ass.

He took your hand and started walking slowly down the alley. You were mid-way down when a man jumped out from behind the dumpster. You screamed and instinctively Ransom jumped to the side, pulling you slightly behind him.

“Give me the money and the jewellery, no one gets hurt.” The man spoke gruffly and you felt Ransom draw himself up to his full height as he glared at the dirty, dishevelled man, disdain on his face.

“Eat shit.”

“Ransom, just... please give him what he wants.” Your voice trembled as your body shook, your right hand already removing the rings on your left.

“I’d listen to your pretty wife, if I were you.” The man spoke as he reached into his pocket and when he withdrew his hand you swallowed at the unmistakable flash of metal.

“Fuck, Ransom, he’s got a knife!” You clutched his arm. “Please just give it to him!”

"Fuck, no," he started reaching for his phone but the man lunged toward him.

In the melee that followed, you were thrown to the side, your rings clanging to the floor somewhere along with your clutch, your palms and knees scraping painfully on the floor. By the time you’d pushed yourself up, you saw the man scrambling to his feet, Ransom’s watch and wallet in his hand. He turned to look at you and you backed away, stumbling once more to the ground letting out a blood curdling scream as he advanced. He stopped, picked up your rings and your bag, before he turned, bolting up the alley and rounding the corner, disappearing from sight.

"Y/N," the croaking voice came from your husband as he staggered towards you, a deep red seeping through his white dress shirt, his one hand attempting to stave off the bleeding. The other, cradling his phone. But he didn't get more than a few steps as he collapsed nearby.

"Ransom!" You shrieked and heels be damned, you ran to him, looking around, "help!"

"Call 9-1-1, Baby," he begged, trying to thrust the phone into your hand and you leaned over him.

With a jittery hand you swiped over to the emergency call option and hit the first two digits before you glanced around again and hesitated, rising slowly to your feet.

“What...” Ransom’s chest heaved as he looked up at you, his face white with shock as you turned the phone in your hand and shrugged.

“Yeah, you see, I could call for help but...” with that you tossed his phone to the hard ground and crunched it with your stupidly high heel, rotating your foot to make double sure, the glass and metal grinding between the stiletto and the tarmac. “Whoops, looks like it got smashed in the fight.” You gave a little chuckle. “And of course, mine was in my bag which he took. Isn’t that ironic? I mean the first time you permit me to use it for something other than to contact you or my mom, I can’t.” You made a little tutting noise. “Guess I’ll just have to keep yelling and hope someone hears.”

With that you turned and screamed, a frantic yell. “Please, someone help us! Please, he’s been stabbed, call 9-1-1.” You slowly dropped back to a kneel, ignoring the sting of your grazed knees and smirked. “Dammed, I really am good at this acting shit, don’t you think, handsome?”

Ransom coughed a harsh and wet cough. His chest heaving raggedly as he struggled between catching a breath and bleeding out.

“Y/N...” he spluttered, “you...please...”

"So many criminal junkies in Boston, Sweetheart. Plenty who will take the fall for a little hit,” you emphasised the 't' of the last word as you spoke the very same line that he had delivered to you months ago, the threat he had held over you and used to keep you in check whenever you stepped over that line.

His eyes widened further as the realisation set in, you could see his brain working and it gave you a buzz, a sense of satisfaction to know that he understood this was your doing.

You wanted the last thing this bastard thought about to be how you were responsible for his death. But more so, his narcissistic and sociopathic tendencies be damned, you wanted him to completely understand exactly how it was his fault.

And given the way he was bleeding and struggling for breath, you didn’t have long.

Another scream for help flew from your mouth as you pressed one hand on top of his which were now both clutched to the wound in his stomach, the other brushing his hair back slightly as you smiled down at him.

“I told you when you threw me back in the basement that the way you treat people would come back to haunt you.” You gave a little shrug. “And, when you told the homeless guy looking in the bins on collection day a few months back to eat shit and get a job, well, he took it kinda personally. He didn’t even blink when I asked how much it would take to knock you off.”

"You..." choking on blood, "vicious..." choke,

At that you gave another loud hysteric yell for help before you turned your head back to look at him.

“See, once upon a time I thought you’d changed. But here’s the thing, a person like you doesn’t change, Hugh. You’re incapable of love. You take what you want when you want for no reason other than it pleases you.”

Another scream for help, and this time you could hear someone answering and a lot of yells as people started running towards you.

“Well, now I’ve taken your life like you took mine.” You bent down, your forehead pressing to his as you smirked. His arm reached up to grab you, his blood soaked hand curling over your cheek and side of your neck. "And you know what? It feels good."

His palm was warm and slick against your skin and his eyes blazed with anger as his fingers squeezed. You knew he was desperately trying to hurt you but you felt nothing. You smiled, as you placed a soft kiss to his lips, your words whispered as you pulled back ever so slightly. “Karma’s a bitch, and so am I. See you in hell.”

As the fake tears started to pool in your eyes once more, you allowed your lip to tremble for distraught emphasis. Blood was now trickling out of Ransom's mouth, along down his ear and to the tarmac. You pulled back just a little so as to see his eyes. You wanted to watch him choke on his own blood as he took that final breath. You started sputtering words incoherently as you amped up the hysteria, hearing the footfalls now just behind you.

He didn’t even make it to the hospital.

Hugh Ransom Drysdale was pronounced dead at 21:05 hours on Friday 17th July where he lay in a pool of his own blood, in that dark alleyway down the side of the hotel.

Leaving you a widow.

And free.

***10 months later***

It was as simple as it sounded, closing your eyes and pointing to a spot on a map. Your finger ended up on Boulder.

Colorado was far enough from the last year or so of your life that you could feel comfortable. You'd researched it, finding it to be something worth interest. Affordable. Breath-taking scenery. Incredible life altering activities and quaint little towns. The summers were supposedly warm but rarely did the temperature rise above ninety-five, the winters were supposedly very cold, dry and windy; rarely dropping below six degrees with partly cloudy skies year round.

The months following Ransom’s death had been as draining as humanly possible. The investigation had involved countless interviews before the police and authorities settled for it being a mugging gone wrong. But then there had been the months of wrangling and private law cases his parents had attempted to bring against you to prevent you getting his money, despite the probate law being fairly simple. You were married. He left no will. It was yours by default.

Eventually, when the Drysdales had exhausted every last option, they were forced to concede and that was when you made the decision to leave, a decision of which your parents were highly encouraging. They practically talked you into this whole thing to begin with. Helping you leave your nightmares behind. Despite them not suspecting anything at first, you weren't blind to the fact that things still had not sat right with them. You knew they had suspected a level coercion, that maybe you'd had a manic episode of mental illness, but you never had divulged the full details and by the time he was gone, they hadn't cared. Your relationship with them had strengthened and healed and that was what you cared about.

Now, you were newly nestled in Boulder with a great condo downtown, a stone’s throw from the historic district that was filled with cliché shops and bars. Whilst you didn’t need the money, you’d taken a job working in the media department of a private law firm. It was a far cry from your journalist days, but it suited you just fine.

The more distance you put between who you were now and who you had been, the better.

You were at peace.

The May evening air was temperate as you crossed the street and opened the door to the designated bar in which you were meeting your new group of friends, mostly gathered from work, for a girl's night out. You’d been held up a little in the office so they were already waiting at a table. You waved and gestured to the bar, indicating you were going to get a drink.

As you sidled up to the wooden counter, you were jolted a little into a man to your right. You turned to apologise and gave a little double take. You recognised him instantly. But you didn’t want to make that obvious and cause him to feel uncomfortable. You knew how it felt, to have everyone looking at you, hushed whispered comments as you went about your business, people trying to figure out if you were who they thought you were.

That was part of the reason you had moved, and you sure as hell weren’t about to subject the man next to you to the same, uncomfortable experiences.

Recovering quickly, you hastily apologised and he smiled.

“Don’t worry about it.” His Boston accent was evident and you smiled.

“I miss that accent.”

The man chuckled, his warm blue eyes creasing slightly as he looked at you. “You from Boston, too?”

“Concord.”

“Newton.” He replied, “well, I lived there anyway, but I’m sure you already knew that.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Should I? Know that, I mean?”

He studied you for a moment, and you kept your face as passive as possible. You could tell he knew that you knew, but you gave a shrug none-the-less and he smiled, a gorgeous smile that lit up his entire face, perfect white teeth flashing from beneath an immaculately groomed beard, as he extended his arm towards you.

“Andy Barber.” His fingers gently brushed the back of your knuckles, as you shook his hand, his grip warm and gentle.

“Oh, of course.” You smiled back. “One of our attorneys.”

“Our?”

“Yeah, sorry, I’m Y/N. I work in the media department. I mean I only started a few weeks ago but...”

“Well, in that case, I’m pleased to meet you, Y/N, and welcome aboard.” His smile didn’t falter as he let go of your hand and gestured to the bar. “Can I get you a drink?”

You paused for a moment before you took a deep breath.

And nodded.

“Sure, that’d be great.”

******

Sequel: Follow Andy and reader’s story in Consciousness Of Guilt.

#murder he wrote #dark ransom drysdale #dark ransom drysdale x reader #dark ransom x reader #dark ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale fic #chris evans #chris evans characters

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the-badger-mole · 3 years ago

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Can you write a short story with a jealous Zuko?

PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE

Zuko was used to being overshadowed. By Azula; by Lu Ten; by Avatar Aang. It still often annoyed him to know that the most he could aim for was second best to someone else, no matter where he was. But he never minded when it came to Katara. Give her enough time, Zuko often told himself, and she could bring the entire world to its knees. She'd saved his life in more ways than he could count. She had saved them all, and there would never be enough people singing her praises as far as Zuko was concerned. She stood out no matter where she was. Even in spaces where the Fire Lord should have been the center of attention, Zuko knew he didn't stand a chance when Master Katara entered the room.

It should have annoyed him, Zuko thought, but it didn't. She was sunshine, for all she was a child of Water, and she drew everyone towards her like plants reaching up for Agni's rays. When she laughed, it filled the room- a bit too loud to be polite, but too infectious to really be upset over. She talked with high-ranking nobles with passion, leaving them stunned at her knowledge and convictions- this woman who was barely not a child anymore. She had earned the grudging respect of Zuko's council, which even he hadn't succeeded in doing. He should be jealous, but he watched Katara make her way around the room with pride. Maybe he wasn't as eloquent or magnetic as Katara, but he was her friend. He knew her in a way few- if any- in that room would ever know her.

Someone- Iroh, Zuko guessed- had signaled for the band to start playing. Business was done for the day. Soon the crowd had reshuffled itself, and couples began making their way to the dance floor while everyone else made their way to the buffet tables lining one end of the hall. Katara met Zuko's eyes across the room, and with a warm smile, made her way over to him. She seemed to glow supernaturally. Zuko cast a surreptitious glance to see if some prankster had aimed a spotlight on her. Was it just Zuko? How was no one else being blinded by the way the light reflected off her smile? Her hair? Her skin? Zuko swallowed hard, trying to unstick his tongue from the roof of his suddenly dry mouth.

Katara's smile widened and she opened her mouth to greet him.

"Excuse...um...p-pardon me." Katara turned in surprise to the young man who had approached her. Zuko recognized him vaguely, and he scrambled to place a name. Katara spared him the ordeal of guessing.

"Lord Jee-Soo," she smiled politely at King Kuei's cousin, though Zuko could see an odd tightness in the corners of Katara's eyes. Jee Soo, however, did not notice. His face was tinged pink and he leaned forward in a stiff, formal bow.

"I-I hope I'm not disturbing you," he said. "I was hoping that...that maybe you...er, that is...would you grant me the honor of a dance."

Zuko froze. A shock went down his spine as if someone had walked across a carpet and touched his skin. Katara gaped at him in surprise. Her cheeks flushed a pretty dusky red. Jee Soo smiled at her, nervous and hopeful. She cast a glance at Zuko, trying to communicate... something.

"Oh!" Katara gasped. "Well... I was just going to..." She cast another look at Zuko before she shrugged and smiled at Jee Soo. "Um... sure, I'd love to."

Zuko watched silently as Jee Soo wrapped a clammy-looking hand around Katara's and led her out to the dance floor. His hand squeezed his punch cup dangerously tight as Jee Soo slid his arm around Katara's waist and pulled her as close as propriety would allow. His breath caught in his throat as the young Earth Kingdom noble said something that caused Katara's nose to crinkle in amusement.

"Take care, Fire Lord Zuko," Iroh sidled up to his nephew, with an affable smile and a knowing gleam in his eye. "Someone might think there's trouble between the Fire Nation and Ba Sing Se the way you're glaring at young Lord Jee Soo."

"I'm not glaring!" Zuko insisted hotly. Still, he turned his scowl on his uncle instead.

"She would have danced with you if you'd asked," Iroh told him. "I'm sure she still would."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Zuko grumbled.

"Oh no?" Iroh tried unsuccessfully to hide his amusement. "My mistake. It's been a long time since I was young and in love. Perhaps I don't remember the signs as well as I thought."

"Perhaps not!" Zuko knew he was being peevish, but his uncle was overstepping. Zuko had admitted to having a small crush on Katara years ago, and Iroh had never forgotten, even though Zuko had gotten over her a long time ago. She was dating one of his best friends at the time.

But not anymore.

The traitorous, smug voice in his head sounded annoyingly like his uncle. It was true that Katara had broken up with Aang, but it made no difference. Even if he wasn't over Katara- and he was over her- she and Aang hadn't split on the best of terms. It wouldn't be fair to either of his friends for Zuko to insert himself in the middle of that.

On the dance floor, Jee Soo seemed to have gained some confidence. He twirled and spun Katara with expert ease. If Katara had been hesitant to dance with him before, she seemed happy enough now. Her eyes were bright and her face pink with the exertion of the dance. She was having a good time, and Jee Soo gazed at her as if half in love already.

Zuko could dance. He could dance at least as well as Jee Soo. Others may outshine him in literally every other part of his life, but Zuko's mastery of dance was part of what made the Blue Spirit so deadly. Maybe he could challenge Jee Soo to a friendly competition. Katara could be the judge. Maybe the first prize could be a kiss...

Zuko shook his head. Dangerous territory. She was just coming out of a serious relationship. With one of his best friends. True they had broken up almost a year ago. Also true that Aang hadn't been in close contact with any of them since the breakup. And there was speculation that things had ended because Aang had cheated. But Zuko didn't know that for sure. No one knew for sure except Katara and Aang. Suki probably had more of the story, which Toph probably bullied out of her. And Sokka at least suspected if his coldness towards Aang at the last summit was any indication.

Dangerous territory. Friends don't go after a friend's exes. Even if you happened to have had a thing for said ex before your friend started dating them. Even if that ex was also your best friend.

Jee Soo dipped Katara, causing her to let out a nervous, but giddy laugh. Her hands clutched at Jee Soo tightly, to keep herself steady, but as a result, they were much closer than they started at the beginning of the dance. Jee Soo's face lit up with a grin as he did it again. And again. And again.

Didn't this guy know any other moves? Katara was going to catch on to him, and she would be annoyed. Wouldn't she? Zuko knew she'd been out with a couple of other guys since the breakup. Nothing serious, though, Suki had informed him. No one who lasted more than a month. Still, Zuko wasn't sure what her type was anymore. Jee Soo reminded Zuko a bit of Aang, but just because Katara had dated Aang for three years doesn't mean he was her type. Maybe she was into quieter guys who got way too deep in their own heads and overthought hypothetical situations until they lost entire nights of sleep worrying about problems that didn't actually exist. Yeah...for sure that's what Katara would find attractive.

How long was this song, Zuko wondered. Jee Soo was dipping Katara again, though she seemed to be getting tired of it. Her smile was that polite, tight smile that she'd given him earlier when she wasn't sure she wanted him to interrupt her. Zuko saw her say something to him, probably asking him to keep her upright for a while. Jee Soo laughed and shook his head and said something teasing as he pulled her closer. Katara's smile fell away completely, and Zuko saw she was getting mad. He was halfway across the dance floor before he'd even realized he was going to go over. He was ready to yank Jee Soo away, and if necessary, deck the creep for not respecting Katara's reasonable wish. But before he got to them, Jee Soo had stepped away with a deep, embarrassed blush on his face.

"I'm so sorry," Jee Soo was saying as Zuko got closer. "Honestly, I was just trying to...well, I didn't mean to upset you or offend you."

"It's alright, Jee Soo," Katara said patiently. Her smile was back in place. The song ended, finally, and another one started up.

"Would you...like to dance again?" Jee Soo asked.

"I'm a bit tired," Katara begged off. "But I'll bet Kimiko would love you to ask her. Don't say I told you, but she's been checking you out." That didn't seem to soothe Jee Soo's disappointment, but he accepted the rejection graciously enough.

"Seems like you had fun," Zuko said. Katara sighed tiredly and slipped her arm through his.

"I thought the song would never end!" she groaned. "It was like dancing with Aang. Fun for the first minute, but he was doing way too much. All the dipping gave me vertigo." Zuko heard that with interest.

"I didn't realize you weren't having fun," he tried to keep his voice even as he led them away from the dance floor over to the punch table. "I would have come rescue you if I'd realized. We should come up with some sort of sign when you want me to cut in."

"You never dance at these things," Katara pointed out.

"I'd make an exception for you." Zuko blushed and scrambled to cover. "I mean, I'd do it if it saved you from some over-eager guy who can't take a hint."

"My hero." Katara scrunched her nose up at Zuko and leaned against him. It was adorable! Zuko had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from grinning.

"Actually..." Katara said slowly. "I was coming over to ask you to dance before Jee Soo interrupted."

"Really?" Zuko's voice hit an octave it hadn't hit since he was fourteen and his voice was still dropping. He cleared his throat, trying to ignore the fact that Katara was trying very hard not to laugh.

"Yeah," she nodded her head. "I know you don't really like dancing, but maybe you can preemptively cut in for me? Someone told me that Lord Hino's son wanted to ask me for a dance." Zuko grimaced. Lord Hino was one of his most trusted advisors, but his son was a famous klutz with two left feet. No woman left the dance floor without bruised feet when she danced with him.

"You told Jee Soo you were tired," Zuko reminded her. Why, he yelled internally, would he say that? Fortunately, Katara just shrugged and looked up at him coyly from the corner of her eye.

"I'd make an exception for you," she said quietly. Zuko froze midstep. Katara looked up at him in alarm. There was a spectacular blush rising from her neck towards her hairline, and a panicked retraction already on her lips. Zuko turned to her and took her hand. Then in a move that would have pleased every last one of his etiquette tutors and his uncle, if he was watching, Zuko bowed elegantly and brushed a feathery light kiss on Katara's fingertips. He lifted his gaze with an impish grin.

"I would be honored," he said, "to have this dance." Katara nodded speechlessly and allowed Zuko to lead her out to the dance floor again.

Zuko was used to being overshadowed. He wasn't the most powerful bender, or the most charismatic leader. He wasn't the most handsome man or the most eloquent. But there on the dancefloor, with the most beautiful woman in at the ball in his arms, he knew that no one could match him for dancing. Katara seemed to agree because she accepted his request for another dance. And another. And another...

#zutara #atla #zuko is a lil' jelly #katara is a queen #zuko is sprung #ask the badger mole #thanks for the prompt nonny

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echos-newlegs · 4 years ago

Note

Hi!! Can I please get wolffe with 1 and 4 smut please!!!! Thank you!!!!! 🥰

Playing Around

😏 heck yeah you can- but I apologize if it’s bad. It’s nearly 1am, I’ve never written anything for Wolffe before and I started writing another story halfway through the smut??? So if you get lost, I really do apologize. I think I fixed it though. I had to reread it a good three times lmao.

A small PSA to the others who requested, I see em all and I will get to them when I can. I start a job on Thursday so stories may be a teensy bit delayed from my posting at least once a day ordeal!

Wolffe x Reader: “It’s okay, just pretend to be my date until they leave,” and “your hair is so soft...”

Warnings: Sexual content, language, female receiving, protected sex because it is frowned upon using kids as distractions during war.

You sat at the bar with Wolffe and his brothers. 79’s was slowly starting to get more crowded. You wouldn’t really mind if the moment Wolffe walked off someone hadn’t stole his spot at the bar next to you and began hitting on you. “What’s a pretty gal like yourself doing in a joint like this?” He wasn’t a clone, but even if he was one. You still wouldn’t be amused.

You were a Jedi. Trained by General Plo Koon himself. Which was how you were so close with Wolffe— yet it still took everything in you not to knock the guy next to you off the bar stool and walk out. “I’m here with some friends.” You told him, truthfully. The man snorted, and you frowned. “Where are they then?” You motioned your head to Boost and Sinker, catching a glimpse of Wolffe heading back your way. Eyes locked on the intruder in his seat.

“And him,” you spoke. Pointing off towards the commander with a small smile and a wave. The guy turned. Flashing a glare to Wolffe then looking back to you with a dopey smile. “Well, doll, if you want to hang out with a real man..” you glared. You couldn’t stand random people giving you pet names. “I’m just over there,” he pointed to a table with a few other guys. Who all looked away when you looked over.

Wolffe finally made his way over and stood next to you. Practically towering over the man. Eyes still locked on him with a look that could kill. “Is he bothering you, Cyar’ika?” He asked, then glancing to you. Gaze softening for a second. Before hardening once he looked back to the other. “Who’s this, your boyfriend?” The guy snorted, and you grabbed your drink, taking a sip to try and calm yourself down. “I’m whatever she wants me to be, now get out of my seat.” Wolffe growled, and you glanced over to him. Brows a bit raised. Smirking behind your glass and the man cowered away.

Wolffe sat next to you with a sigh, and you leaned over. Pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Wolffy.” You teased. You were the only one that was really allowed to call him that without him getting pissy. “Anything for you, general.” You snickered, watching as his face heated up a bit. It wasn’t the first time you’d kissed his cheek before, but he always acted so nervous. Even if he knew you just meant it in a friendly manor, or so he thought.

“Wolffe, don’t call me General when we aren’t on the field. I don’t like it when you call me that. Makes things feel, too formal.” You told him, and he nodded. Sighing, and glancing over to you with a small smile. “Yes, y/n.” “Better.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, watching him with a grin. Wolffe looking back to you with furrowed brows. “What?” “So you’re my boyfriend, hm?” You giggled as you watched his eyes narrow on you, then widen in realization. “I was just trying to get him to leave, I didn’t mean-“ you interrupted him by raising your fingers to his lips. “Wolffe, it’s fine.” You spoke with a small smile. “I really do appreciate it, if it weren’t for you they’d probably be waiting for me outside for when I left.” Wolffe looked back to the men at the table. Then moved his attention back to you. “Well..” he started in, “if it’s okay, just pretend to be my date until they leave?” He spoke, and you were the one to shyly look away now. “I’d appreciate that.”

You had to remind yourself throughout the night that you two weren’t actually on a date. You were just being friends. You’ve known one another since General Plo got Wolffe in his Battalion. It was nothing new for the two of you to hang out outside of work, but you wished it was more than just in a friendly manor.

You sighed, the guys had left a while ago, yet you still felt on edge. Turning to Wolffe, you tapped his shoulder to get his attention. Since he was talking to one of his brothers. You could tell he was frustrated by the way his shoulders tensed when you touched him. He quickly relaxed though once he realized it was you. “I think I’m gunna head,” you spoke, and he turned around fully to face you. “Oh okay, you want me to walk with you back to your quarters?” He asked, and you nodded. “If you could, please?” He smiled, you were one of the few that were able to make him smile by just offering softly spoken words. “Plus since you’re my date, it’s the right thing to do.” You shot the tease at him. Snickering at his signature eye roll.

You jumped from the stool, landing on your feet. The two of you, well mainly yourself. Said your goodbyes to the others left in the cantina. Then off the two of you went. Wolffe holding the door open for you, and following you out.

The two of you walked down the street a ways until you could find a cab to wave down. Climbing in and heading back for the hanger. The ride wasn’t really too long, though it was quiet. You were thinking of what you could say to him. What you could do to maybe tell him that you wanted to go on a real date sometime, but before you could. The cab was stopped and you had reached your destination. Wolffe paying the fee and the two of you climbing out and heading back for your quarters,.

You walked the halls in silence, as usual. Though you really didn’t hate it. You weren’t too fond of silence when you had so much to say all at once. “Thank you again, for tonight.” You spoke the first thing that came to mind. Once the two of you reached the door to your room. He gave you a bit of a grunt, and nodded. “ ‘f course.” He spoke, hands resting at his side. You reaching over and grabbed his one hand. Both of you watching your movement closely. “I mean it.” You spoke, the two of you catching one another’s gaze. “For a fake date, I enjoyed every second of it.”

Wolffe was practically staring into your soul at this point. You squeezing his hand, and then relaxing your fingers in attempt to let go. Thinking you upset him, but he had a firm grip on your hand. You weren’t complaining though. “I enjoyed it too,” he murmured and you bit your lip. Glancing to the side, then back to the commander. “Did you wanna come inside?” You nearly whispered, and he nodded slowly. You opening the door to your room. Then pulling the male in behind you.

He paused for a moment, and so did you. You both back in the same position you were in in the hallway. “Can I kiss you?” He asked, and your breath caught in your throat. “Yes,” you said, nodding your head along with your words. Freezing up when his calloused hand reached up to cup your face and stroke your cheek with his thumb. Leaning down to press his lips against yours.

You had been waiting for this moment for what felt like forever. You’d dropped hints, kissed his cheek, hugged him, held his hand, everything that you thought he would notice. Since he wasn’t the best with understanding flirting. It flew over his head half the time anyways.

He pulled back after a moment. His fingers moving to trace your jaw. Whimpering a bit and your eyes fluttered open. Just in time to see a switch flip in his eyes. He pressed you up against the wall. Kissing you again, though this time it was rougher than the last. You yelping into it when your back pressed against the surface. Arms moving to wrap around his neck. Moaning into his mouth when he shoved a leg in between yours and up against your warmth.

He took this to his advantage, shoving his tongue into your mouth and the two of you battled for victory. Though it was stupid of you to even try. He was winning from the beginning, and soon his tongue was roaming every inch of your mouth.

You brought your legs up to wrap around his waist. Hands moving to undo his upper armor and he helped you out. His top half now left in his blacks. As his armor fell to the floor with a clank. Now it was your turn. Wolffe pulling the little armor you wore off, and the two of you were ripping each other’s shirts off like that was your jobs.

His mouth traveled to your neck in nearly an instant. While your hands roamed his exposed chest.. Moaning when he sucked and bit down on your skin. Thankful he was leaving most of the bigger marks where you could cover them. You’d have a lot to explain to the council if they found out you were sleeping with the commander you were occasionally the general of. When Plo needed the help or was off doing something else.

You ran your fingers through his hair. Tugging a bit when he moved down to your breast. One hand squeezing while his mouth sucked. Making you squirm, especially when his mouth swapped over to the other and your ignored one was left with cooling saliva.

It wasn’t long before he was peeling you from the wall and slamming his lips back against yours while walking you to your bed. He placed you down, parting from you for a second so he could remove the rest of his armor. Which he did effortlessly. You doing the same, slipping your pants off as he did as well. The two of you left in nothing but your underwear now. Eyeing one another like you were starving and each other’s bodies were the only thing that could feed you both.

He climbed back over top of you. Eyes roaming your skin, then moving back to your face with a lust filled gave. Though he had a look of admiration as well. “We can stop, whenever you want,” he assured you, and you nodded. You knew he wouldn’t force you into anything you didn’t want, but the words were still so sweet to you. Reaching up to hold his face with your hands, and pull him down for a short kiss. Pulling back and he was chasing your lips for more. “I can assure you I’ve wanted this for longer than I’d like to admit.” You spoke, and he smirked. “Good to know I’m not alone.” He nearly growled. Beginning to trail kisses down your body once more.

You were squirming so bad. Needing some sort of friction and attention. Basically shaking as he licking and bit your skin. Panting like a dog in heat when he moved to your thighs. Now pinching along your sensitive skin. “Wolffe, Kriff, please,” you mewled. The commander smirking as he moved his fingers to lightly trace over your underwear. “Please what?” You were going to get him back for this, but right now you couldn’t think clearly. “Please touch me,” you huffed, and he listened.

He pulled your panties down your thighs, bringing his face even closer to your entrance. Arching your back when he blew against you. You were already so sensitive and you needed some form of release. Wolffe moving his fingers to rub against your folds and then up to your clit. Flicking his tongue out to imitate the same movement his finger did. Which had you unwinding. Hands moving to tangle in his short locks while your legs wrapped around his head.

He continued licking you and sucking, like you were all he wanted to eat. Fingers pushing in and out in an upbeat tempo. Your body beginning to shake as your climax started nearing, “oh Kriff, Wolffe.” You gasped, and he could tell you were close just from the shake of your voice. Pulling back and you let out a whimper. Looking up to him with a pout, and he grinned as he kneeled between your legs. “I’m not done yet,” he assured. The gruffness of his voice making you shudder.

He pulled his boxers off, and readjusted himself between you. You eyeing him for a moment, and watching as he held something between his fingers. Then slipped it over his dick. You weren’t sure how he was keeping a condom hidden, but you weren’t about to ask. You were just thankful he wasn’t about to unintentionally knock you up.

“Did you have this idea all along, or were you planning on taking someone else home.” He chuckled at that. Leaning down to kiss your cheek and press the head of himself against your entrance, making you squirm again. “I’ve had this idea for a while, but never had the chance to act upon it til now.” He murmured against your skin. Kissing your temple, then down your face to your lips as he pressed inside you. Your arms and legs moving to wrap around his body.

He was a lot to take in all at once, thankful he moved in slowly. Thankful for the kisses and sweet nothings he used to help distract you. Once you were finally ready though, you moved your hips up a bit. Nearly melting at the feeling of pleasure that coursed your body. Wolffe obviously feeling the same by the grunt and the way his nose scrunched.

His one hand held onto your hip while the other was pressed beside your head on the bed. Rocking his hips while your finger tips pressed into his back. Eyes locked on one another. Giving him a nod and he picked up the pace. The sound of skin on skin and your guys’ short and ecstatic breath filling the room. Both your eyes falling shut as your both neared the end. “Kriff-“ Wolffe grunted, and you leaned up to burry your face in the crook of his neck while his thrusts quickened. Getting sloppier and more uneven as he chased his orgasm and pushed you to your own.

You let out a small cry, muffled by the skin of his neck as you reached your limit. Your walls clenching around him was enough for him to topple over as well, letting out a cry of his own. Riding out his orgasm with a few more sloppy thrusts, before pulling out of you and rolling off of you with a groan. The two of you laying on your backs panting. Trying to live out your highs. Once Wolffe was down from his he moved to remove the condom, tying it and tossing it in the bin next to the bed. Then climbing back next to you in bed.

He lied on his side, facing you. Unsure if he should touch you or not. Both your chests still heaving and sweat was beading on your forehead still. “You just gunna.. stare at me?” You asked, turning your head to look at him, smiling tiredly as a small lop sided smile crept onto his own face. “Wasn’t sure what else to do,” “you can hold me, for a start.” You didn’t have to tell him twice.

His arms reaching out and pulling you close to his body. You pulling the covers over the both of you, since the cold was slowly staring to creep up on you. Humming a bit when his hands repay through your hair. “Your hair is so soft,” he muttered. Making you smile, kissing a few of his scars on his chest while you cured up next to him. “Maybe I’ll let you use my conditioner in the morning,” and you did. He loved it, too. Because each time he caught a whiff of the shampoo and conditioner out on the field, all he could think of was you. Which was enough to keep the commander fighting, for you.

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