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peridot-dreams · 3 years

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beautiful people | shawn mendes

Shawn sees a familiar face at the awards show, and learns the value of realness.

The setting sun leaves the Hollywood sky pink and full of possibilities. Shawn finds himself looking out the window at it, still in a daze after the events that had unfolded that day. He’d won several awards for a song he was proud of. He thinks of the look on his parents’ faces in the audience when his name was announced and smiles. That’s who I do this all for, he thinks to himself.

His limousine rolls up the venue. It’s already teeming with people, Lamborghinis, and cameras. Shawn is used to such commotion, but the second he opens the car door, he’s bombarded with excessive noise - noise so loud that he can barely hear himself think.

He’s still riding his post-awards high when he walks in, still dressed in the same red carpet outfit as before. He has a girl on his arm, but not by choice - rather, an unfortunate PR stunt planned terribly and executed even worse. He greets his celebrity friends as he passes by, offering a small smile and a thank you when they congratulate him on his win.

He’s just about to ask the girl on his arm if she’d like to come with him to the drink bar when he sees a flash of silver in the corner of his eye. Shawn realizes who had just walked past him; he feels his heart began to pound in his chest and his breathing gets shallow. “Sorry, can I go to the bathroom?” he tells the girl on his arm, not bothering to wait for a response. He detaches himself and follows the silver blur, around a corner and into a dark hallway.

The silver blur is standing in the dark, scrolling aimlessly on her phone. Shawn sighs and takes in the sight: the silver dress on her is absolutely stunning. Her hair and her makeup is perfect; he feels lost in her presence, stunned by her beauty. He’s never seen her like this, and it only adds to the pain of it all. His mother had once said that losing a best friend is worse than a break up and right now he completely understands what his mother meant.

“Y/N,” he breathes. When she looks up, he feels like running away - she’s looking at him as if he’s the dirt under her silver heels. He wishes she would stop, that she would run to him and hug him and make everything alright between them again. She’s standing right in front of him but he misses her, misses everything about their friendship and support for each other.

“What do you want, Mendes?” she mutters under her breath. She turns her attention back to her phone, tapping her toe incessantly. Shawn can’t stand the sound of her heel hitting the ground because he remembers that she tends to fidget when she’s upset; the clacking sound is only a reminder of their friendship that had crashed and burned for reasons Shawn still fails to understand.

“Why do you hate me so much?” Shawn blurts out. “I don’t get it, Y/N. We used to be best friends, and one day you just started hating me and I still don’t understand why.”

“Because,” Y/N spits, shoving her phone into her bag. “Because you’re like them now.”

“Who’s ‘them’?”

“All those fake people out there!” Y/N exclaims, her eyes glancing over to the party-goers with a disgusted look plastered on her face. Shawn feels her gaze coming back to him, judging and critical. He feels like he could wither under her stare like a plant in a drought. “Shawn, you’ve changed. You used to be so down to earth, so genuine, but now you’re caught up in the money and fame and corporate bullshit.”

“Am not!” Shawn crosses his arms as he unconsciously clenches his teeth. “That’s such bull-”

“Shawn, you’re the epitome of fake. You’re in a fucking PR relationship.”

“W-What-”

“Don’t even try to argue. It’s so obvious and even your fans know what’s going on.”

Shawn closes his eyes. He wishes that he could argue with her, but arguing in the dark hallway outside of an after party wasn’t the ideal setting to do so. From the outside looking in, he knows it looks like he’s changed but he needs her to know that it’s not true. He needs his best friend back in his life again.

“Look,” Shawn speaks, taking a deep breath. “Let’s ditch this party. I know you don’t like these kinds of events anyway, so I don’t even know why you’re here…”

“My manager made me come.”

“Right. Whatever, let’s just sneak out. Let’s hang out like we used to, okay? I’ve missed you.”

“Don’t you need to get back to fake-dating your ‘girlfriend’?” Y/N snaps, giving Shawn the most sarcastic air quotes she can muster.

“No, fuck that,” he says. Against his better judgment, he takes her hand in his. He’s relieved when she doesn’t try to yank her hand back. “Let’s just go.”

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Thirty minutes later, Shawn finds himself sitting across from Y/N at a dingy old diner on the other side of Hollywood. He watches as she twirls the straw in her chocolate milkshake. She hasn’t said more than three words to him since they left the party, and Shawn feels like trying to salvage their friendship is pointless at this point. Shawn knew from their now-dead friendship that Y/N was a champion at holding grudges - he just never expected to find himself at the other end of one.

“So how’ve you been?” Shawn asks softly. He wants to kick himself for how awkward and nervous he sounds, but he hopes that Y/N will take his nerves as a sign of his genuine interest in rekindling their friendship.

“Fine,” she mumbles. She takes a tiny sip of her chocolate shake. “Slow year.”

Shawn knows that isn’t true. He Googles her name every few weeks and watches every single interview she appears in on YouTube. Y/N’s acting career had taken off in the past few years, and she’d been getting tons of lead roles in TV shows and movies lately. He always gets a pang of jealousy in the pit of his stomach when he sees pictures of her with friends on Instagram, because he knows full well that it could have been him travelling the world with her, experiencing new things with her.

He doesn’t tell her that he’s been keeping tabs on her. “Yeah,” Shawn mutters. “Okay.”

The tension in the air could be cut with a knife. It doesn’t help that the diner is completely empty, save for the old man who owns it and is busy complaining about how “millenials are killing the restaurant business” under his breath. Shawn tries to focus on the owner’s mutterings, desperately wanting to think about something other than the fact that Y/N is totally not into him or the conversation that he’s been trying to keep going.

“I don’t hate you, by the way.”

Shawn’s head snaps up to look at her, eyes wide with shock. “Well, you stopped talking to me out of the blue, so I just assumed you did.”

“Well, I don’t.” She stops twirling her milkshake straw and drops her hands into her lap. She meets his gaze, eyes still hard and lips pressed together in a straight line. “You’ve just...changed.”

“I think we’ve both changed.”

“No.” She shakes her head, letting out an indignant laugh. Shawn winces at the sharpness of her tone. “You’re the one who started doing brand deals, ripping off fans with overpriced tickets and merch, signing PR contracts and betraying your fans…”

“Y/N.” Shawn’s hands are starting to shake; he rubs his thighs over his jeans in an attempt to calm himself down. Her words are cutting deeper than a knife; he can barely stand it.

“You’ve completely betrayed your fans, Shawn. You’ve sold them out to every company that has approached you, taken advantage of their trust. Damn it Shawn, you’re even endorsing overpriced water now, like how stupid is-”

“That wasn’t fucking me!” Shawn slams his hand on the table. The old man stops mumbling about millenials and looks in fear at the angry boy. Y/N is barely fazed, her hard glare still targeting Shawn.

“Oh really?” She narrows her eyes at him. “‘Cause your ass is everywhere these days, every time I turn on the TV-”

“Do you remember how my career started?”

Y/N stops for a second, but rolls her eyes immediately after. “Yeah, at some overpriced convention marketed towards prepubescent teenagers.”

“Before MAGCON,” Shawn interrupts. His eyes plead with her to understand, to see where he’s coming from. “I was just a kid, sitting in my room with a guitar. Singing cover songs and making six second videos even though no one was listening. Because I felt like it. Because it made me happy.”

“Yeah. I remember.”

“Yeah. That’s the happiest I’ve ever been in my life.” A sigh leaves Shawn’s mouth; his eyes drop to his lap as he tries to calm his shaking hands and voice. He’s never felt so heated in his life, like every emotion is about to burst out of his chest. “And then everything just took off and suddenly I was signing with a record label and being thrust into the public eye. I was just a small town kid from Canada, but suddenly people were starting to expect things from me.”

“Shawn-”

“No, please. Hear me out.” The suit on his body was tailored to be comfortable, but in the heat of his rant it feels like it’s suffocating him. “It all went so fast. It was just one song after another and interviews and TV shows and concerts and tours. Everything was just going by so fast and every day, I lost a piece of myself. I was on autopilot, and my team was just signing me up for everything and I would let myself be led by them. Even now, I just sign contracts without thinking and allow myself to be molded by people who only care about money.”

“Shawn, why didn’t you tell me any of this before?” Y/N’s eyes are soft now. She suddenly notices how tired he looks under the makeup that he was forced to wear to the awards event: his sunken eyes, the dark bags under them, the lines that furrowed into his skin between his eyebrows. He looks like he’s barely hanging on to life, like the walls are caving in and he’s been trying to hold them up. She wishes she would have noticed earlier how lifeless he looks. “We were best friends, you could have told me about this.”

“Because,” Shawn starts, holding back the sob forcing itself up his throat. “I can’t ever tell anyone because I don’t want to sound ungrateful. I’m grateful, I really am...I’m lucky to have my passion be my career. But I’m so tired, Y/N. I just want to go back to being that kid in his bedroom, playing guitar because he feels like it, not because he signed a contract or because someone else wants him to.” He closes his eyes, sighing, letting his head fall back slightly. He reminds himself to relax his shoulders and take deep breaths. “When I’m on stage, I get to go back to being happy for just a moment. I get to forget about everyone’s expectations, about contracts and brand deals and PR and all the bullshit. I get to be me. Completely free.”

She’s stunned and he knows it. He’s just unloaded all of the burdens he’s been carrying; Shawn doesn’t know how Y/N is going to react, but he feels lighter, he feels better. He just hopes, so desperately, that she’ll understand his brokenness and the wreckage that has been left in his mind as a result of the stress and anxiety of the last few years. He hopes that she’ll understand him for what he is, not what he appears to be.

“So I haven’t changed, Y/N. I’m not like them; I’m like you. Money and fame, it’s just not who we are.”

“Shawn, I’m so sorry.” Her tear-filled eyes move in a frenzy as she realizes the falsity of her words and accusations. “I should have realized that you felt this way and that you were struggling. I’m so sorry for severing our friendship and for not knowing what was going on.”

“No, it’s not your fault. I just…”

Shawn groans as he sees the group of people that have congregated outside the windows of the diner. They both gaze into the parking lot, bombarded by bright flashes and deafened by the sound of cameras shuttering.

“Fuck. It’s the paps.” Shawn groans again, head rolling back in frustration. “How did they find us?”

“They were following your famous ass,” Y/N says, laughing. Shawn smiles; he resists the urge to point out that she’s famous too, and has more followers than him on Instagram.

“Should we leave?” Shawn asks.

“Hell no. They want pics, let’s give them pics.” Shawn watches in awe as Y/N stands up on her seat despite the loud protesting of the owner. She starts waving at them crazily, her peace signs occasionally replaced by a middle finger.

“Fuck you!” she yells in between her laughs. Shawn grins; he finds himself copying her and standing on his own seat. He starts waving at the cameras, reveling in the flashes and dancing like an idiot to the music inside his head.

“Fuck you!” he yells. He’s never felt so liberated in his entire life. He starts posing with her, each pose more ridiculous than the prior. They pretend to tango on the table, screaming when they nearly topple over the edges. He twirls her around, smile growing bigger and bigger with each giggle that leaves her mouth. “It’s been two years and you still suck at dancing,” he cackles. She pretends to gasp, then sticks her tongue out at him and at the paps outside.

Before he realizes what he’s doing, his lips are on hers. She doesn’t kiss back at first, shocked, but when Shawn is about to pull away he feels her hands on the back of his head pulling him closer. Suddenly, there’s nothing else in the entire world besides her; they’re not standing on top of a diner table anymore. It’s like they’re floating and Shawn’s body is leaning into hers and he’s never felt so complete before. The smell of her conditioner makes him forget his own name and he realizes that her lips taste like chocolate and friends aren’t supposed to know how each other taste but he doesn’t care because it’s her and it’s always been her.

When they finally pull away, Shawn’s gasping for breath and Y/N’s eyes are as wide as saucers as she realizes what has just happened. “S-Shawn. Your PR contract…”

“Fuck the PR contract. Let’s give the world something real.” And their lips connect again, for the paparazzi cameras and the whole world to see.

#shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes imagine #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes x y/n #shawn mendes x you

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consumedkings-archive · 3 years

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WITCHING HOUR, a john seed/deputy fic.

chapter ten: the kind of love we gather

word count: 7.5k

rating: m for mature

warnings: there is an interaction with an abusive ex-husband that eludes to physical/domestic violence. also, i think it's fair to warn against joseph himself--whatever argument there is to be had about the sincerity of his feelings, there's a few times where it feels like there's definitely some emotional manipulation happening.

notes: this is an interlude chapter, a little flashback/prelude going through isolde and joseph's relationship--or, at least, a significant part of it (still some secrets to be discovered!). i've had this chapter drawn up for a while and i thought this would be a great cliffhanger/changing point in the story to give their relationship and their dynamic a little more context, so i hope that's alright with y'all!

some of you folks who follow me here on tumblr may recognize a part of this chapter as a smut oneshot i wrote for them; that was the alternate universe to this instance in time, which is firmly rooted in their canon. lmao

it should go without saying that i have yeeted canon out the window for all of ancient names and witching hour, and the way that the seed brothers were pre-reaping and hope county is subject to much the same.

—Before—

The first time that Isolde saw Joseph, she knew she was in for it.

If he had been any other man, she thought, it wouldn’t have been so clearly a disaster waiting to happen. She would have been able to crash and burn with him as she pleased: but he wasn’t just any other man. He was John’s man, his older brother, the one that he tried so hard to live up to and impress. She had only heard of him in passing, but that was all it had taken. Isolde knew exactly how John felt about him.

“Who is that?” she asked, when she spotted the cleanly dressed man across the room. The office was dimly lit with the lights lowered; people mingled and chatted, drinks in hand, as everyone celebrated that they’d been able to move into a nice, new office downtown, with a whole floor to themselves.

John’s gaze followed hers. His expression flattened. “Stop it.”

No fun. Isolde feigned innocence. “Stop what?”

“That’s my brother Joseph, Sol,” he hissed. “Do not try to fuck my brother.”

“You have a couple, don’t you?” she asked. “What’s the one?”

“Fuck off.”

She sighed, taking a sip of her drink. Just her luck. A Seed boy, and yet, so fine. What a waste. “Fine, Johnny,” she said, patting his shoulder. Across the room, she saw Joseph’s gaze land on hers as he politely smiled at one of the other partygoers, and then stay locked, right on her. “I won’t fuck your very hot brother, who is very plainly making eyes at me from across the room.”

“He’s never had great taste in women.” John grimaced. “Off-limits, Isolde, I mean it.”

“Scout’s honor.”

So much for that, anyway, she thought later, when Joseph crossed the party and made his way up to her. He was even more handsome up close, and though long hair wasn’t typically her type, it looked good on him, pulled back and slick. Just enough to look polished.

“You’re Isolde?” Joseph asked, and his eyes swept over her. “That doesn’t seem right.”

“Are you the authority on Isoldes?” she replied. She arched a brow loftily at him. “I didn’t realize I was in the presence of an expert.”

“Well, it’s just that John rarely complains about beautiful women,” he countered easily, the flirtation slipping so seamlessly from his mouth that she might have missed it. “They’re his greatest vice. Yet, he complains incessantly about you.” He paused. “I’m Joseph, his brother.”

That did sound like John. Isolde wrangled a smile, leaned comfortably back against the wall as Joseph sidled over to her. With him in front of her, he almost completely eclipsed out the rest of the party, like he’d suddenly bubbled her and it was just the two of them in the entire room. He was so very good at that—with his eyes on her, it felt as though nobody else in the entire world existed.

“I’m flattered,” she murmured, “that I’ve managed to break John of his greatest vice.”

“I did come to thank you for that.” Joseph’s mouth ticked up into a smile, almost playful, if the rich timbre of his voice wasn’t so soothing. “And for taking good care of John. He’s a...”

Isolde watched Joseph through her lashes. He had no alcohol in his hands, but kept them tucked easily into the pockets of his slacks; he held himself without the easy arrogance that John carried himself. It was more like Joseph knew, exactly, his place in the world, and so didn’t feel the need to assert it. It simply was.

“Handful,” Isolde supplied.

“That’s a good way to put that,” he agreed. A quiet moment stretched between them—an easy silence, and she got the impression that it was going to be like this with him; no pressure to fill the silences—before she shifted on her feet.

“So, how are you going to do it?” she asked him, taking a sip of her drink. Joseph’s gaze, which had drifted to where John was chatting with Jacob and another guest, flickered back to her. The inquisitive tilt of his head followed after, and when she didn’t supply further questioning, he didn’t bother smothering the amused little smile on his face.

“Do what?” he asked.

“Thank me.”

The smile didn’t quite leave his face yet. “Didn’t John give you the same speech about how off-limits we are to each other?”

“Well,” Isolde relented, “whatever is he going to complain about if his brother doesn’t take me out for dinner? I’d be failing him as his vice breaker if I didn’t keep my game fresh.”

“Is that what I’m doing to thank you, then?”

Joseph’s voice was a low, rich sound, rumbling straight through her, vibrating in the cavity of her chest. She thought, instantly, that she’d like to know what it felt like to have him say her name into her skin. Isolde’s lashes fluttered; she hummed thoughtfully and polished off the last of her wine.

Dinner isn’t sex, she reasoned. So technically, I’m not really breaking John’s little agreement.

“It’s an option,” she offered after a moment. And then, in an act of what John would surely describe later as pure spite for his well-being and mental health: “Though you’re welcome to do more, if you feel inclined.”

This finally (finally, a part of her said) elicited a laugh out of Joseph. His eyes slipped from hers, lingering on her mouth before pulling away to the rest of the party, almost reluctantly.

“Tomorrow,” he said after a moment. “Are you free?”

“Technically I’m working,” Isolde drawled, “but lucky for you, I’m the boss and I can make my own hours.”

“Lucky, indeed,” Joseph replied amusedly. “Six, then.”

“And don’t tell John,” Isolde said, as though making a pact. The man inclined his head a little, reaching up and sweeping a loose strand of hair behind her ear and made a low noise of agreement.

“And don’t tell John,” he reiterated. “Yet.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“I asked you for one thing, Isolde!”

John was, as to be expected, upset.

“That’s not true,” Isolde defended, busying her hands with gathering up a few files and tucking them into her bag. “You ask me for a million things, every day. Namely, tolerating your ego. Not to mention keeping your head from exploding every time someone pays you a compliment, and—”

“You know what I mean.” John exhaled sharply, pressing his fingers to his temples as though Isolde had inspired in him the greatest of headaches. She hoped that she had. It would be the least he could suffer, after all of the brainpower she had to expend on the daily to keep him in check.

Leaning back in her chair, Isolde said, “It was just dinner, John.”

“Do not pretend to be stupid all of a sudden,” John snapped. “Joseph does not date around. He doesn’t ever do something that’s just dinner."

"Funny," she mused, "it feels like that's exactly what it was. Eating food together, at a restaurant, during the evening."

John’s head cocked to the side. He leveled her with a singular pointed look and said, “Oh, yeah?”

She squinted at him. “Yeah.”

“Is that so? Then what did you do after dinner, Isolde?” He crossed his arms over his chest, leaned against the wall as he waited for her answer. She kept her face wiped clear of emotions even though John’s question instantly inspired in her a flurry of memories; Joseph, snagging her hand on their way out of the restaurant, leaning in and kissing her; and kissing her, and kissing her, keeping her pulled close against him until she thought she was going to go dizzy from it all.

And then, well—

“We’re two consenting adults, John,” she said at last, and he threw up his hands.

“I explicitly said not to!”

“Yeah, well!” There was no good excuse; she knew that. The excuse was that Joseph was incredibly attractive, and Isolde had wanted him, and so that had been the beginning and the end of it. Still, she kept her eyes on the paper in front of her. “I made that agreement before I got a good look at him. John, I’m actually trying to get some work done, so if you could—”

John scoffed. “One, Joseph is related to me, so of course he’s hot, and two—you’ve got the impulse control of a toddler. I hope you know that.”

He pushed off from the wall and started collecting his things to leave her office; a blissful departure, to be sure, but there was something sitting and stinging in the pit of her stomach that wouldn’t let her leave it to rest.

“Rich,” Isolde said demurely, “coming from the man who can’t stop an endless chain of making-up-breaking-up.”

His movements paused. He stared at her for a long moment, before he said. “Hey, Isolde?”

“Yes, John?”

“Fuck you.” John’s movements resumed to the door. “Fuck you, and see you in the conference room in twenty.” Another pause, and then thrown over his shoulder: “If you’re not too busy letting my brother—”

“Alright, point made!” she exclaimed, exasperated. “It’s really not anything serious. Okay? It was just dinner and a date, that’s all.”

This had him stopping again, paused in the doorway with a bit of frustration welling up in his voice when he said, “You don’t know my brother, Isolde.”

“But I know me. Alright?”

He sighed. “Yes, alright. Twenty minutes, then.”

For a moment, it felt like things had been settled between them. John was still young, she thought; younger than her, and the baby of his brothers, which she knew meant he held on tighter to things that maybe he needed to all the time. Too tight, or too loose, to make it hurt less when something didn’t work out.

But the peace only lasted for a moment, because a few minutes after John had settled back in behind his desk across the hall from her, their secretary came around the corner, her arms filled with a fragrant bouquet of lilies.

“Ms. Khan, you have an admirer!” she exclaimed delightedly. Isolde met John’s eyes across the hall, staring at her with an expression that could only have been described with the phrase I told you so. “It looks like they’re from a gentleman named Joseph S—”

“Thank you, Laura,” Isolde interrupted, clearing her throat. “You can set them on the table there, I’ll find them a vase.”

Laura nodded and smiled, laying the bouquet delicately on the coffee table and then making her way out of the office. Isolde left the flowers untouched for about an hour, unable to stand the thought of John catching her keeping them alive (because she would never hear an end to it), but it was killing her a little bit. She had mentioned once, in an off-hand comment, that she didn’t like the typical flower bouquets like red roses or carnations; lilies were her favorite. One tiny comment, and this was the result?

There was only a note with the flowers. It said, Hoping John isn’t giving you too much trouble. Be by at six for you.

It felt a little treacherous; just enough to make it a bit harder to look at John with a serious face and not burst out laughing at the absurdity of their situation. Thankfully, close to the end of the day John made the dramatic announcement that he thought he was going to kill himself if he had to spend even another second sitting across from the elaborate bouquet.

“I’m going to go home,” he said, shrugging into his coat, “and try to retain at least half of my brain cells.”

Isolde hmm’d. “So just the one, then?

“Ha-ha. Goodnight, Sol.”

“Have a good night.”

It seemed like there were only a few moments of quiet between John’s departure and Joseph’s arrival, though in reality it had been a few hours; focusing felt like a chore, like it took a little extra work to get through the depositions she had to prepare and the emails she had to answer.

Just dinner, she thought. Just dinner and a date, and whatever happened after. And just one more date tonight. Not a big deal; adults go on dates all the time. I’m an adult. It’s fine.

But it wasn’t just that, because she was sure her heart rate had plateaued at a solid one hundred and ten since Joseph’s I’ll pick you up from work text. Because Isolde wasn’t the kind of woman who took a man back to her place on the first date, and yet.

By the time Joseph did swing by to pick her up, John had been gone for a few hours and she’d gotten almost no work done, instead completely consumed by the predicament she’d planted herself in. It did break the rules to date Joseph. No business and pleasure, first and foremost. Normally, Isolde would have considered herself a woman of incredible discipline, able to turn down temptations of varying degrees—but when Joseph rolled through her office door with those stupid, hot yellow aviators on his face, she thought maybe she had overestimated herself.

“You look tired,” Joseph said lightly, brushing some snow out of his hair. Isolde’s expression flattened.

“Thanks, Romeo. ‘Hi, Isolde, how was your day?’ ‘Oh, just fine, except for your brother throwing a baby temper tantrum every five minutes’. ‘You poor thing, Isolde, but you have to tell me how you manage to be so exceptionally beautiful still’.”

“I didn’t say you didn’t look beautiful still,” he replied. His eyes followed her as she walked around her desk, having slid her coat on and collected her purse; they stayed trained on her all the way up to when there was no space left between them, until he was gazing at her with amusement dragging his mouth into a smile.

She said, lightly, “You didn’t say I was beautiful at all, actually.”

Joseph reached up. Though the room was empty of everyone except the two of them, somehow it still felt special when he looked at her—it still felt like nothing else in the entire world mattered to Joseph in that moment except for her. The pad of his thumb brushed her lower lip, his gaze drinking her in, admiring and hungry in equal amounts.

“You are,” he said, his voice low, the timbre of it rattling something animal inside of her. “Beautiful.”

Kiss me, she wanted to say, because he was so close and yet seemed to refuse to actually finish the job. She didn’t think she could have mustered the words even if she wanted to; Joseph was a wildfire, eating up all the oxygen around her, sucking it right out of the air until there was nothing left but for her to feel swallowed by it.

“I wasn’t entirely truthful with you, the other night,” Joseph continued, dragging his thumb from her lip down to her jawline, “when I said that John’s greatest vice was beautiful women.” He paused, his head tilting. “They’re mine.”

Isolde’s lashes fluttered. She glanced up at him, and she said, “Well, that’s not the greatest sales pitch for yourself. How many red flags should I be looking for?”

He laughed and brushed his lips against her temple. “I get the feeling you won’t miss a single one.”

It shouldn’t have been quite so endearing, his casual reference to any red flags that he might have. Even his confidence that she’d pick them out (she would; if finding red flags was an Olympic sport, Isolde would have been a gold medalist) didn’t inspire the greatest feeling in her, though if she was playing devil’s advocate she knew that there were things about herself that didn’t make her so very well acquainted with healthy relationships.

“I’m glad I was able to come and pick you up today,” Joseph continued casually as they left her office and headed down the stairs. “It’s been snowing all afternoon. I’d hate for you to have to drive in this weather.”

And then he did things like that—uncharacteristically gentlemanly of him, to not want her to drive herself home in adverse weather. “I think I would have been fine,” Isolde replied. His fingers brushed hers at her side, snagging them and bringing them up to his mouth to kiss.

“Undoubtedly.”

It hadn’t been a lie, his remark about the snow. By the time they were pushing the doors to the lobby open, bidding the security officer goodnight, at least a solid foot of snow had collected and was pushed up against the lip of the sidewalk.

She grimaced. Winter was her least favorite season. Holiday cheer and Isolde Khan were not two concepts that melded well—not that she was a scrooge, per se, but with her only family halfway across the world and, on top, a tenuous relationship at best, it didn’t make Christmas very fun.

As they walked down the sidewalk, passing Joseph’s car in favor of pursuing a nearby restaurant, the blonde kept their fingers tangled together. The gesture was light, and didn’t demand anything, but it was enough to say something: I want you close to me.

“Does your family come here for the holidays?” Joseph asked lightly, disentangling their hands in favor of giving her hip a squeeze, keeping his hand there as they drifted into a warmly-lit wine bar. “I remember you saying they live in Turkey.”

So Joseph did just have that good of a memory. She’d have to be more careful about the things she said to him. “No,” Isolde replied, desperate to steer the conversation elsewhere. “It’s too far. And I don’t go there.”

“Then what do you do on Christmas?” he prompted. He tugged a seat out for her at a spot farthest away from the door and then planted himself across from her, absently reading over the list of wines.

“This,” she said, gesturing vaguely. And then, in an effort to redirect, again: “You, if you’re around.”

Joseph’s gaze flickered up to hers from across the table. She could tell he was trying to stifle a smile. “You’d have to come all the way to Hope County if you had that penciled into your planner, Miss Khan.”

“Oh, Miss Khan, am I? We’re suddenly very formal with each other.” Isolde grinned. “And what does Joseph Seed, in Hope County, do on Christmas?”

“We haven’t spent many holidays together, but this year I’d like have a big family dinner on Christmas Eve, the handful of us.” He settled back in his chair a little, like he was getting ready to be there for a while. “Since John’s moved out here for work, Jacob’s been out of the country, and we only recently found each other again, we don’t get a lot of time together.” He shrugged. “And you, of course. If you’re around.”

Before she had an opportunity to respond, caught off guard by how easily he wielded her own flirtation against her, she felt a few bodies brush past their table and then pause, only to be followed by a dreadfully familiar voice: “Isolde?”

Something sharp and hot brought her pulse to a grinding stop—or it felt like it, anyway, like all of the breath had been sucked right out of her and she had ceased to be alive anymore, a cadaver sat up to play pretend like in those old photos. No, she thought when she felt a hand touch her shoulder, nausea welling up inside of her. No, I don’t want this, not right now.

“It is you,” Alec said, his voice blooming with warmth. “I thought I recognized you. I know you like this spot.” His hand slid from her shoulder and she felt, without even looking at him, the way he turned his eyes to Joseph. “Who’s your friend?”

“Date,” Isolde bit out. “He’s my date.”

Her ex-husband let out what she could only describe as a comical exhale of breath. Joseph was watching her, inquisitive but ever-so-composed, before he turned his gaze politely to Alec and offered his hand.

“Joseph,” the blonde said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

The sight of the two men shaking hands made her want to puke. Everything Alec touched in her life was rotten, putrid—brimming with bile and spoiled, forever. She didn’t want it to be like that with Joseph, too.

Alec began, “I’m—”

“Alec is my ex-husband,” Isolde interrupted, her voice hard, punctuating each consonant of the words that came out of her mouth with violent intent.

Joseph settled back in his seat. Suddenly, Isolde was reminded that he had a penchant for remembering even the smallest throwaway details, and that she’d probably let him in on more than she would have liked about how her relationship had been with Alec without even saying anything. Yes, Isolde thought absently, her brain careening like a plane on fire as she watched Joseph fix his eyes on Alec, yes, he can tell.

“Fresh on the dating scene, and only six months divorced,” Alec remarked lightly, his infuriatingly handsome face the only thing filling up her peripheral. “I’m happy for you, Isolde.”

“So leave,” Isolde snapped. She finally looked at him, really looked at him, and naturally he looked perfect; dark curls, stubble neatly trimmed, eyes bright and amused. There were a few thin, gossamer scars on his face from the last time they were together— but he must have paid quite a bit of money to smooth those out.

He lifted his hands in a show of surrender, his gaze sweeping over her. Just that one gesture felt like a violation—she wanted to smash his face into the table and tell him he didn’t get to even look at her anymore.

“Good luck with this one, Joe,” Alec said, his overly-familiar use of a nickname that Isolde had never heard anyone use with Joseph sticking to her ribs like a heavy dinner. “She’s a wicked little thing.”

“I think I’ll be fine,” Joseph replied serenely.

Alec paused; his gaze lingered on her neck and suddenly he was grinning. Isolde knew what it was he was looking at—a bruise, a remnant of the night before, left by Joseph.

“Yeah,” Alec agreed, “it looks like you’ve already figured out how to handle her.”

Who’s going to pity you? If you were me, you would have seen that you were begging for it. You fucking asked for it.

Isolde stood abruptly, the chair screeching against the wooden paneling of the floor. Sick, she thought, her stomach rolling. I’m going to be sick. “Leaving,” she managed out, only vaguely aware of Joseph also coming to a stand across from her, albeit more composed. “We’re leaving.”

I’m your husband, Isolde. It means it’s my job to keep you in line.

“Not on my account, I hope,” Alec sighed. “You’ve always been so dramatic. Anyway, Joseph—a pleasure to meet you, and—you know, call me if you need help with her. I’m always happy to lend my expertise.”

Everyone knows what it takes to get you under control, and I’ll tell anyone who asks.

She pushed past him, stepping around the table and clutching her coat and purse in her hands. There wasn’t time to put them on; there would never be enough time to get as much space between herself and Alec as she wanted.

I should have killed him, she thought viciously, taking in lungfuls of frigid air, snow dappling her face and sticking to her eyelashes. Right then, I should have bashed his fucking skull in.

Fingers brushed her arm. On instinct she startled, whirling to face the impending threat, half-expecting Alec to have chased her out into the street in an attempt to corner her—a thing that he had taken great joy in before, sweeping things off of the counter to grab and pull and rip—but it was Joseph. He waited two heartbeats before he reached again, his fingertips cradling the crook of her elbow.

It was a question: can I? Will you let me?

“I wish he would die,” she said, without thinking, the words spilling out of her like a poison she just couldn’t hold in anymore. Whatever information Joseph had gleaned about her tumultuous marriage with Alec made him unbothered by this statement; he tugged her closer to him, the hand not holding her arm reaching up to brush the pads of his fingers across her pulse point.

He said, “I know.”

“Joseph—”

“Isolde.” His voice was low, the words murmured against her forehead. “Don’t explain.” Because I already know, is what he meant. Because I already understand what’s going on here.

He tugged her coat out of her hands and pulled it around her shoulders. Bent like he was, leaned into her with something that she thought might be adoration, Joseph brushed their noses together. She felt tension flood her body; she was afraid that he might try to kiss her right then, of what she might do if he did while her body was brutalized by adrenaline, but he didn’t.

He just held her.

“Here,” Joseph said, taking her hand and bringing it to his neck until she could feel the steady, rhythmic beat of his pulse under her fingers. “I’ve got you.”

It should have frightened her. Joseph’s intensity was an intimidating kind, but in these moments, the intensity was required to cut through the panic. It overwhelmed her fried senses, the neurons firing rapidly stifled and swallowed up by the looming responsibility to recognize his closeness. The smell of his cologne, the bump of their noses, the feeling of his stubble under her fingertips, his hands closing the jacket around her shoulders. All of it meant that her brain could no longer panic, and had, instead, something to occupy itself with.

“Can you take me home?” Her voice felt small coming out of her, like it belonged to someone else. A different Isolde, at a different place and time. The girl she might have been or perhaps was before Alec.

Low, Joseph murmured, “Of course. Whatever you need.”

A sick, macabre part of her wanted to look back behind Joseph at the wine bar. It wanted to see Alec again—the way that you couldn’t stop yourself from peeking through your hands at the monster in a horror movie, the way that you couldn’t look away from a brutal car crash on the highway. Sick, she thought dizzily. He made me sick.

“Take me home,” she said, more firmly this time.

“I’m trying,” Joseph replied. His voice was so soft that she almost had to strain to hear it over the pounding of her heart. His hands came to her face, cradling. “You have to let me.”

Isolde nodded, swallowing back what adrenaline insisted on leaking into her brain. She hadn’t realized that she was bolting her feet to the floor, gritting her teeth against the gentle pressure of Joseph’s hands, until he said, you have to let me.

“Okay,” she murmured. He nodded and brushed the hair from her face. This time, his guiding pressure actually registered in her brain; when he nudged her away from the bar and down the street to his car, she moved, instead of digging her heels in.

When they reached the vehicle, he opened the passenger door for her and waited for her to climb in before he leaned down.

“I’m—” Isolde started, the words shredding in her mouth before they got out of her. I’m sorry, she wanted to say. “About—the bar, I—”

“I told you, don’t explain yourself,” Joseph insisted, tucking her hair behind her ear. There was something almost earnest about his gaze now as he watched her, her heart thrumming violently in her chest with a different mantra now. Same, it said, when Joseph’s fingers grazed her cheek, tilted her chin up. Same as us. Ours, too. He’s our kind.

“There’s plenty of people I wish were dead, too.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Shoes, clothes, charger, phone. No phone?

“Where did he put my phone?” Isolde muttered, searching through the suitcase on the bed. An array of clothing was laid out, but not yet folded; in fact, the only things that were packed yet were all work things that she’d have to take with her. Joseph would probably be furious—he had, in fact, specifically insisted that no work come on the vacation—but better than anyone he knew what it was like to rely on John for things. Which was that, if you liked things done to the standard that Joseph and Isolde wanted them done to, you didn’t rely on anyone else. Least of all John.

“Soli…” It was Joseph’s voice coming from the bottom of the stairs, not questioning but asking. Beckoning. You’re taking too long. “Dinner’s getting cold.”

“Where’s my phone?” she called back, pacing around the other side of the bedroom. “I’m trying to pack it up for tomorrow so that I don’t have to worry about it.”

A beat, where Joseph was likely collecting his patience, passed. “It’s down here. You left it on the counter.” And then: “Come eat, won’t you?”

He was doing that thing where he phrased it as a question and meant it as a statement. Joseph had learned, in a very short period of time, that she didn’t like when someone told her what to do; as petulant as it was, she’d buck against something like that desperately until it felt like her idea all along.

Isolde sighed. “Yes, I’m coming, Joseph.” One more up-and-down the stairs, ten more minutes of packing, and then she’d be content enough to sit down and eat.

“Full first name?” came the leisurely reply from downstairs. “My, you are in a mood tonight.”

Isolde busied herself with folding clothes, a smile fighting its way onto her face in spite of Joseph’s insistence that she was “in a mood”. She wasn’t; if he wanted to believe that, he was certainly welcome to, but she wasn’t in a mood. She was thinking.

So she put folded clothes over the work files and said, “Joseph, light of my life; the sun which my planet orbits; the fabric by which the stars are made…”

“This sounds more like the Isolde I’m used to.” His voice was closer now, coming from the doorway, and when she looked over her shoulder at him he said, “And definitely not coming to eat.”

“Do you go by Joe?” she asked lightly, dropping the last of her clothes in the suitcase.

Joseph wandered across the master bedroom until there wasn’t any space left between them; his hand came up to her face, trailing the slope of her cheekbone. “I certainly do not.”

“So, definitely call you that, then.”

“You are testing my greatest virtue,” Joseph replied, leaning down and kissing her. Just the once, though; long enough for her to want to lean into it, and not long enough to be satisfying. He pulled back just so far as to let their lips brush when he said, “Come sit down.”

Skimming her fingers along his chest, she asked playfully, “What are you going to do if I say no?”

The blonde eyed her amusedly. “John was right. You really don’t like being bossed around, do you?”

“How dare you say those words, in that order, in my presence,” Isolde murmured without heat. “You know I can’t stand to have someone stroking his ego by admitting he’s right about something.” A low laugh slipped out of Joseph and he carded his fingers through her hair, letting the pads of his fingers skim the back of her scalp as he kissed her temple.

She loved it. She loved when he did this; Joseph was so tactile, taking every opportunity to connect them through touch, like she grounded him. Like she was something precious that he wanted to enjoy every chance he got.

“You are the only one I’ll say something to more than once,” he said, his voice pleasantly low. “But luckily for you, I find your obstinance endearing.”

“If it helps,” she countered, “I don’t mind if you boss me around. Mostly. Why don’t you give it another try?” That wasn’t true. She did. But she liked the way it made Joseph’s ego inflate the second he did, even if it was for something stupid.

“Sweet girl.” His voice was a pleasant purr against her skin. “Always threatening me with a good time.”

This made her laugh. Joseph kissed the slope of her cheekbone, and then the corner of her mouth, his fingers sliding through her hair affectionately. She finally relented and allowed him to nudge her out through the bedroom door, making her way down the stairs. It wasn’t her first time going on a vacation with a… Friend of the romantic persuasion, but it was her first time going on vacation with a friend of the romantic persuasion back home. She’d never introduced her parents to any man that she’d dated—not only because they were eleven hours away by flight, but because there just hadn’t ever been anyone.

Joseph was—different. But she had always known that; she had always known that he was an exception to a lot of people’s rules, not just her own, and she was violating cardinal rule number one of her own personal regiment, which was “don’t mix business and pleasure”. Pursuing a romantic relationship with your business partner’s older brother didn’t exactly adhere to that, did it?

“It’s going to be hot,” Isolde said, “and the flight is long, and the traffic is going to be… Well, insane. But my parents will definitely insist on feeding us the second we get there—”

“That’s fine.”

“—so what I’m saying is, if I blink at you five times in rapid succession, we need to make up an emergency to leave. What’s the emergency? We have to have one ready and on hand, otherwise my dad will see straight…”

Her voice trailed off. The kitchen was not as she’d left it, a little over an hour ago, to pack. In fact, it was dimly lit by candles, the dining table sporting a bouquet—not roses, like someone might have expected out of a scene like this, but calla lilies. Her favorite.

“What—” She stopped in the doorway, but Joseph sidled up behind her, hands on her hips and nudging her forward. “Joseph, what…?”

“I told you.” He kissed just below her ear, reaching for her left hand and bringing it up to kiss her knuckles there, too. “You’re the only person that I’ll say something to more than once—”

Isolde felt something—something both hot and cold, sharp and too soft—whip through her immediately at the leading tone. “You’re not making any sense,” she managed out, trying to dig her heels in, but Joseph wasn’t trying to push her in any further so it didn’t matter.

“I want you to marry me.” Joseph said against her skin, and he slid something cool and metal along her finger. “I want you to be my wife, Soli.”

A ring, her brain said, the alarm bells ringing immediately. That’s a ring. Holy shit, that’s a really big fucking ring. On your finger. Holy shit.

“Isolde.” Joseph turned her around to look at him fully now, brows furrowing at what was surely a look of panic on her face. What she thought had to be the assumption that they were only nerves, he continued, “I know that—”

“No.” The word came out of her mouth before she could stop it, the single-word-statement fleeing her mouth in her panic. She thought she’d feel regret about it, but she didn’t; only about the way Joseph looked at her when she said it.

He seemed to be gathering himself for a moment, like maybe he didn’t think that she meant it, that she was playing some kind of joke on him.

Joseph began, “If this is your idea of—”

“I mean it,” Isolde interjected. “I won’t marry you, Joseph. So—no. Take this—” She fumbled the engagement ring off of her finger and put it into his hand like it was a cursed item, like she couldn’t get it off of her finger any fucking quicker. “Take this back. And—that’s it, I just don’t want it.”

His eyes were fixed on her, no longer soft in their romanticism, but hard, steely. “And why not?”

She swallowed up a sound that probably would have been close to agony. It was agony, having to explain to him; her mind vibrating at an entirely different frequency than his, the panic settling into her bones. She needed to say, I’ve been married before you and I know what it’s like to give yourself over to someone, she needed to say, I won’t fucking let someone own me, Joseph Seed, she needed to say, I told you two months ago I never wanted to get married again, and you just apparently didn’t listen, which is reason enough.

“I don’t need to justify myself to you,” is what she said instead, going to step around him. But his hand caught her wrist, the carefully manicured and polished exterior fading into something that hit an edge of tension, pulling pulling pulling until she thought she was going to watch him finally snap.

But he said, “You do.”

“Fuck. You,” Sol bit out. The anger flared hot in her chest. It was, at last, a familiar emotion; anger and not panic, filling her up. Drowning out the sadness that tried to rip through her like a wildfire. “I told you. I told you I wasn’t doing it again.”

“I’m different.” Now it was his turn to sound almost petulant, his grip on her wrist like iron. “You said that yourself. That we’re—”

“Not different enough,” she snapped. “Apparently, anyway, since you couldn’t wait longer than two months to try and put your name on me, could you?” Trying to pull her wrist out of his grip proved futile, and she managed out with the timbre of her voice vibrating with poison, “And get your fucking hand off of me, Joseph.”

He stared at her for a long moment before he finally loosened his hold on her wrist. Enough to let her pull away if she wanted to. She didn’t. Isolde stayed firmly put, willing her legs to carry her somewhere else—back home would probably be the best thing, driving the hours it takes between Hope County and the nearest lick of civilization.

You said that yourself. I’m different.

He was. She wanted to say, you are, Joseph, but she didn’t, because she knew that it would only start them in another circle again, a snake swallowing its own tail in an endless cycle.

So they stood there for a moment: neither of them saying anything, her last threat hanging, jolts of anger fizzing and popping in the air between them. Isolde’s hand slid just enough to catch at the wrist in Joseph’s grip, and he took her hand instead, then, tugging lightly to draw her close to him.

Testing her out. Feeling her boundaries. She’d basically said I’ll tear your hand off if you don’t listen to me, but he didn’t think she would. And now he was going to slam those buttons—slide his fingers under her edges until he found the exact farthest he could push her.

“I won’t,” Joseph said, very low and quiet, “let you do this to me, Isolde.”

She had been expecting something else. Something sweet, maybe—Joseph liked to do that. Sweet girl, he’d say to her, and if anyone else had tried to call her girl they would’ve gotten dumped, but with this viper it was different. It didn’t feel condescending when Joseph said it to her. It just felt covetous.

And that’s what he was best at: bite, and then soothe. It made his sharp edges more tolerable. It made them nice. But now he was all sharp edges, only hard lines, catching on her and tearing every time the two of them made contact. It had always been this way; John had said that he thought they were poorly matched, and at the time, she’d written it off as John not liking to share even his business partner with his older brother.

Now more than ever, she thought that he was right. They were both too unwieldy, too wretched, to let someone else sway them from their opinions.

“You are so fucking dramatic,” Isolde said, pulling her hand out of his grip at last and turning on her heel. “We don’t need to be married to be together. And your antiquated notion—”

“There are things I want to accomplish, and they’re best done with a wife—”

“I’m sorry, did you hear a period punctuating the end of my sentence? Don’t fucking talk over me, Joseph,” she snapped. For one split second, she saw something vicious flicker over Joseph’s face—just for that one, tiny second—and then he cleared his face.

After a second of silence, of waiting for Joseph to try and get the last word in, she finished, “You don’t know me well enough to want to marry me. And—marriage is a scam, anyway. I would know, I handle nasty divorces every day at work.” I’ve handled my own nasty divorce. “If you’re looking for a pretty housewife to sit around statuesque and have dinner ready for you when you come home, then—well, then you really don’t fucking know me.”

Joseph was silent. His jaw worked, his eyes sweeping over her, tension radiating off of her until he said, “I guess I don’t.”

“I guess so,” Isolde agreed. Another moment of silence, where it felt like they were circling each other like wounded dogs, and she said, “I’m going to go—”

“Fine,” he interrupted, the thing that he knew she hated. “When you’ve calmed down, we can discuss this like adults.”

“There isn’t anything to discuss,” she said, gathering up her coat and keys and walking up the stairs. “I’m not going to change my mind, Joseph.”

From the kitchen, she heard him agree, “Not yet.”

“Shut up,” Isolde snapped. “You make me so fucking mad.”

He didn’t respond to that; she heard him moving around in the kitchen, gathering things and putting them away as she hauled her suitcase down to the front door. He met her at the door, opening it for her—which pissed her off half as much as him putting an engagement ring on her finger.

It shouldn’t have, but it did. It was like he was saying, I know you’ll be back, so go on. Feel free to leave whenever you’d like.

Like the gentleman he was, he carried her suitcase out and loaded it into the car, lingering around the driver’s side as she threw her coat inside. And then she was the one waiting, unsure of what to do; the muscle memory of her body said, kiss him goodbye, the fury in her brain screaming to get in the car and leave.

“When you change your mind,” he reiterated calmly, reaching up and brushing the hair from her face, “you know how to get in touch with me.”

Isolde’s gaze flickered at the touch, Joseph’s warm, heady cologne washing over her as the space between them vanished. She said, the amber and vetiver of him welling up inside of her and filling her like a wineskin, “I won’t.”

His lips grazed her temple, fingers brushing her jaw. “I love you, Isolde.”

Fucking narcissist, she thought, venomously, pulling away from him. Her gaze drifted over his face, trying to find something familiar, something that reminded her of the man she had thought she had loved—but who had clearly proven he was incapable of thinking of anyone but himself.

So finally, she bit out, “This is what you think love is?”

She wanted the words to sting. She wanted them to wipe the tranquility off of his face. He had always been so composed; the wretchedness in her wanted to shake it out of him, making him squirm like he was so good at doing to her.

But he didn’t; his mouth ticked upward in a serene smile, eyes fixed on her as he stepped back from the car. He seemed confident in himself—that it was love, that she would see it was. One day.

I won’t let you do this to me, he’d said.

“Have a safe drive,” he called, when she slammed the door. It was an hour to the airport; an hour, and then however long of a flight, however long she’d have to wait for the next flight heading out to Georgia.

Joseph turned and walked back inside as she pulled out of the driveway, as carefully as she could through the snow; in her rearview mirror, she saw him stop at the door and turn to look, eyes fixed on her.

There are plenty of people I wish were dead, too.

#fic: witching hour #otp: i could sleep inside the cold of you #witching hour interlude #joseph seed x ofc #joseph seed/ofc #ch: isolde khan #ch: joseph seed #this felt important to include #a lot of it is polished from my pre-cult canon but it feels!!!!!#necessary to give them a bit more context esp for folks who only see my content on ao3 #thank u everyone for being patient w me <3 #my writing #far cry 5 fic #fc5 fic

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mandadoration · 4 years

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summary: clan leader din djarin has finally returned from some off-world business dealing with mandalorian politics, and you’re here to help him relax and unwind.

word count: 2, 137

pairing: clan leader!mandalorian x reader

tags: oral sex (male receiving), soft facefucking, sorta oral cockwarming?? honestly that’s it

a/n: here you horny fucks, here’s your pregnant reader/clan leader mando shit.

(teeeechnically in the same universe/continuation of before the winter, but can be read as a standalone)

Clan Leader AU by @magichandthing

It’s warm, too warm in Din’s chambers where you’re kneeling between his legs, knees cushioned by fine furs that deserve better than being strewn on the floor like this. They’re usually reserved for the colder, harsher nights, but Din has pulled them out when you first gave quiet complaints of needing more cushioning while you slept or of how you wake up with a sore back nearly every morning and with every pound you put on. You can feel sweat prickling at your hairline and making your hair stick to the back of your neck, and the heat only seems to rise with each passing second. But you aren’t going to complain. Not when you finally have him alone to yourself after he’s been away for over a week dealing with off-world business.

Despite being part of the Djarin Clan for a few years, the nuances and inner workings of Mandalorian politics still evade you. You know if you ask Din, he’ll try to explain it to you with the patience reserved for a select few, but there’s years and years of history that you won’t be able to learn in a single night, and you doubt you ever will. So when he had told you that he would need to leave off-world, the only thing you had to hear was the tightness in his voice and the way he sighed wearily. Such is the life of a Clan Leader, but you knew that when he came back it would’ve been all worth it.

Din looms over you from where he sits in his seat, petting your hair fondly as your deft fingers undo the shining mudhorn buckle. You can’t help but dart your eyes up, looking at him through your lashes for some sign of approval even though you are well-used to the beskar helmet that betrays nothing. Still, he must know what your searching gaze might be asking for because he gives you an nearly imperceptible nod. You can’t help the small smile you give him, and you duck you head back down to pull his cock out from his pants. You’ve missed him terribly while he’s been gone.

He’s already half-hard when you start to softly mouth at him. “Good girl,” he purrs, “just like that.” You grip the base of his cock while giving him little kitten licks to the head, the other hand running over his thighs. The stress that’s been thrumming through him starts to melt away, the muscles going lax with each pass you give his cock, and soon he’s nearly boneless by the time you wrap your lips around the head of his cock into his mouth. It fills you with some sort of pride knowing that you’re able to control your esteemed Clan Leader like this, turn him loose and pliant with just your mouth and hands.

It’s nice that you get to give him attention. Usually he’s the one fawning over you, incessantly touching you and running his hands all over your body each time an opportunity to do so opens up, exploring you as if each time were the first. That’s grown even more true ever since you’ve shown signs of pregnancy. As stoically as one can, he’s been fretting over you, bringing soft furs and pillows to help you be comfortable. A clan leader’s wife’s first child is always, always momentous, as shown with his care and each bit of advice given to you on how to deal with the nausea and aches and pains. Other clan members have refused to give you any substantial work to do, instead pressing gently for you to watch over the older kids or to just take it easy and do mind-numbing work. It’s not that you don’t mind the attention, instead more so that you’ve missed being independent.

But you’ve missed Din more.

He gives an appreciative groan with each inch you manage to fit in your mouth, but you’ve still yet to be able to take all of him despite the warm encouragement he gives you each time you try. It doesn’t stop you from attempting it now, but you end up gagging hard around him and having to pull away with a gasp, tears watering in your eyes as spit shines on your swollen lips, your hand coming to give him loose, lazy pumps as you try to gather yourself. Din’s gloved finger comes up to wipe away a stray tear that’s spilled over. “It’s okay,” he says, “you’re doing so good.” You give him a small smile, and press open-mouthed kisses up his cock before taking him back in your mouth. You’re aching to be touched and can feel how uncomfortably wet you’ve become, but you know the moment you try and reach down to touch yourself, Din will try and do it for you. This moment with him isn’t about him trying to please you; it’s about you showing your appreciation the best you can.

Knock knock.

“Clan leader?”

You jolt, nails briefly pressing a little too hard into the skin of Din’s thigh, and move to pull back, but he tangles his hand in your hair to hold you down as you give him a small noise of protest, muffled by him still in your mouth. “Shh,” he soothes, and releases his hold when you settle back down on his cock. You give him a questioning look, but keep the languid pace, using the hand holding his cock steady to pump the inches you can’t take, slick with spit. “I haven’t given permission for you to stop, have I, sweet girl?” he asks. You shake your head the best you can after a moment, slowly processing his casual tone. Din leans back until his back rests against the back of the chair, and you gather he doesn’t intend on telling you to stop or for him to get up. You speed up the bobbing of your head up and down, curling your tongue around the tip when you come up and breathing slowly through your nose as you dip back down. “They won’t come in unless I say so,” he says after a moment, then tilts his head. Somehow you already know what he’s going to say before he says it, and you feel a wicked grin without seeing his face- the way his shoulders roll back and casually plays with your hair.

“Should I let them in?” You furrow your brows and tense, but relax back again when he smooths down your hair. “Should I let them see how good of a girl you’re being for me? See you kneeling between my legs with my cock in your warm mouth?” It’s hardly a secret that Din has his way with his spouses often, but the idea of someone walking in to see you with his cock sitting heavy in your mouth, having to talk about whatever business they had with their esteemed clan leader as if nothing was wrong or out of the ordinary leaves you clenching around nothing.

Knock knock.

“Clan leader Djarin?”

You can’t help but tense when you hear the second tentative knock, but you force yourself to relax before Din has to correct your apprehension again. You wouldn’t put it completely past him that he’ll leave to deal with clan proceedings before you get to finish him. His voice brings your attention back to him. “Or should I stay quiet, let them leave, wondering where their clan leader is?” he asks. He’s not looking for a real answer, but you swallow around him to indicate you’re still listening, and pride flutters in your chest when his cock twitches in your mouth. “I bet they know, though,” Din continues. “I bet they know where I am, especially when they realize you’re nowhere to be found either, hm?” It’s not like you need this instance to start speculation. Already people remind you that Din is the most fond of you, one of the few non-Mandalorians in the Djarin Clan, sweet and unassuming without the assumed years of training and culture under your belt. But it takes a lot to capture the attention of Din Djarin, and if you remember your first meeting, you’ve made yourself impressionable and something to remember.

Din brings up his finger to his helmet, where his lips would be, and looks back up.

“What is it?” he calls out.

“A few people were wondering if they could have a quick word with you,” comes the voice from beyond the door. You recognize them as one of the older boys, tall and lanky and growing into his boots, a little braver than the rest and most likely sent to ask for a short meeting with those too lazy to ask themselves. Even then, you can hear the timid tone in his voice.

“Are they aware I’ve just come back?” Din asks. It’s nothing serious, a genuine question directed to those who think their Clan Leader runs on infinite energy. Then quietly, “Keep going,” to you. You resume your slow pace, up and down, drawing a sigh from him.

“Should… Should I tell them that you’re busy?” the boy asks. You know he’s fidgeting where he’s standing. If he brought someone to accompany him, he’s probably giving regretful glances to them. Din stays silent for a moment to give the illusion that he’s considering it.

“Tell them I will deal with whatever problems that--” Din says, voice catching on a particular hard suck, and gives you a warning glance that does nothing to dampen the way you cheekily grin around his cock in your mouth, “--that need to be handled tomorrow.” There’s a finality in his tone you hope the boy gets through the door. You duck down a little too much, and end up having to pull back, coughing despite how you clap a hand over your mouth as tears sting your eyes. Even if the doors here are thick and able to withstand a lot of force (as found out by the more rowdy members), it’s quiet in here otherwise. It wouldn’t be hard to pick up any sound.

Eventually, your ears perk up to catch the sound of receding footsteps over the rush of blood in your air, and Din chuckles softly when you visibly relax. “Worried?” he teases. You make a face, but when you open your mouth to say something snarky back to him, he presses his cock back against your lips, and you take him with little complaint. For now, you can put aside your spitfire attitude. “No,” he says, “you trust me, don’t you? Whatever decision I make, you’ll go along with it.” His voice isn’t necessarily condescending, but more reassured than anything, and that only adds to the fire that’s burning low in your belly.

Din’s hips start to thrust up to meet your mouth halfway, grunting under his breath, and you know he’s close. Despite the fact you know he’s holding back, trying to be gentle for you and your more fragile state, he can’t help but make your eyes water each time he hits the back of your throat. You just relax your jaw the best you can and let him fuck your mouth. “Maker,” he groans, “your mouth, fuck, you’re so good to me.” Din’s breathing turns ragged when you reach up to grab his other hand, lacing your fingers through it. Although there’s energy thrumming under his skin and making his muscles tense, there’s a certain softness to his shoulders when he squeezes your hand in return. “Can I-- I want to--” Without him even having to finish his sentence, you know what he’s asking for. Even if you know he’ll do it regardless of your answer, he rewards eagerness. You take as much of him as you can into your mouth, jaw straining as he cums down your throat. Din curls around you, almost shielding you with his body. You’re forced to swallow around him or choke, and his grip stings your scalp as a drawn out moan scrapes the bottom of his chest.

Eventually, he settles back down into his chair, cock softening in your mouth, and you move to pull off of him. However, he cups the back of your head gently before you can fully pop him out of your mouth, and stills you. “No,” he sighs. “Stay.” And there’s the weariness that he hides in front of others, the exhaustion that pulls at him day and night, the cause and effect of his restless sleeping. Your jaw is aching and your pussy is begging for some sort of relief, but you’ll listen to him still. For all you know, he’ll leave the next morning again. Din runs his thumb over your reddened cheeks.

“I still need to take care of you.”

---

Forever Tag: @mabelleen @mando-vibes @isaissafail @adikaofmandalore @mudhornmando @jokersdoll @creamysacrilege @blondecity @satans-tongues @skinny-macncheese @mrsparknuts @eupphoriaaa @talesfromtheguild

---

a/n: there’s only so much you can write when it’s just a blowjob lol

#mandalorian reader #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #din djarin reader #din djarin x reader #my writing #din djarin #the mandalorian #mandalorian #mandalorian imagine #smut #im not even gonna post this on AO3 this shit is AWFUL but idk wanna look at it anymore

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milkshakekitty · 4 years

Text

Little By Little

Little by little, Sour Bill found himself warming up to the new president he found under his care. And little by little, with the help of her confectionery vice president, Vanellope learned how life in her new (old?) home worked

Two drabbles ft poor Sour Bill trying to teach Van basic life skills since y'know, she was pretty much a hobo for her whole life

The idea for this is @pixlexic-president 's, I just loved it so much I had to write it out lol

"I am beat," Vanellope yawned. She'd won a race, killed a cybug king and regained the throne she never even knew she had all in one day, and now the new president was more than ready for a good long rest.

"I'll take you to your bedroom, Madam President," Sour Bill said, eager to have at least a few quiet hours away from the hyperactive child he suddenly found in his care.

"My...bedroom?"

He nodded silently.

"There's a whole room just for the bed?" Vanellope asked incredulously.

"Mmhm."

"Weird."

They walked for what felt like forever through the endless corridors of the castle- her castle, she had to keep reminding herself, until they reached a huge graham cracker door.

"Here it is," he said simply, opening the foreboding door and gesturing into the large dark room behind it.

"Wow," she said, barely above a whisper.

The bedroom was huge, almost too big for the new princessident to take in.

"This is all mine?"

"Mmmhm."

"And this is my bed?" she marveled at the huge canopy bed, covered in plush pillows and fluffy blankets.

The sour ball hummed again.

"Wow."

Vanellope hopped up onto the enormous bed.

And hopped again.

And again.

"I thought you were tired," Sour Bill said irritably.

"I am," she agreed, plopping down on the mattress, "But this bed is way bouncier than my old one back-"

"...home," the child said, much quieter as her grin slowly faded.

Despite having had to live in a volcano of all places, Vanellope had grown fond of the little ramshackle home she'd built herself so many years ago.

And after such a crazy adventure, such a huge change in her life, she began to miss the simple, familiar comfort of curling up in her little sponge cake bed, wrapping herself up like the little homeless lady she was in her candy wrapper blankets. She knew it was kind of silly, to miss her old life when her new home was so amazing.

But she couldn't shake it.

Sour Bill, despite how apathetic he appeared, could sense the child's mixed feelings.

So he left.

And in spite of the fact that the sour ball definitely wasn't the most comforting presence in the world, even his company was better than being alone in the overwhelmingly huge room.

Vanellope looked around as if she were lost. She guessed she kind of was, in a weird way.

The castle was so big, so silent. She felt like she was the only one in this huge place.

Diet Cola Mountain was never quiet. There was always the constant bubbling of the hot springs, the occasional booming sound of mentos falling into the lava.

Here it was just...quiet.

Unbearably quiet.

But just as Vanellope felt like she couldn't take the suffocating silence for another second, Sour Bill returned, a glass in his hand.

"Milk?" the kid asked.

He nodded, wordlessly offering it to her.

"Uh, ok," she took a sip. It was warm.

Strange, she thought, but kinda nice.

A few sips later she set the empty glass on the dainty little bedside table.

She had to admit, that'd helped ease her anxieties. More tired than ever, Vanellope rubbed her eyes, but found herself still a little nervous at the thought of sleeping completely alone in this too big room.

"Sour Bill?"

"Mmmhm?"

"Will you...stay with me?" she asked softly.

He looked at her for a moment.

"It's just that I- well...I know it's silly but..."

"...if I go to sleep I might- I just," she fumbled with the words.

"I don't...wanna wake up back in the mountain."

Even though she kind of missed it, Diet Cola Mountain was a sort of bittersweet symbol of her old life, her life as a glitch.

Of course the candy knew that it wasn't possible for her to revert back to that life. But Vanellope was a child, and as he well knew, sometimes children weren't all that rational.

Especially when they'd lived in an active volcano for a decade and a half.

"Mmmhm," he hummed simply.

"Really?" she asked. She honestly didn't think he'd agree.

He nodded and, maybe her tired eyes were playing tricks on her, but Vanellope could swear she saw the smallest semblance of a smile on his face.

She smiled, and he pulled back the plush covers for her to get under.

"Wow," she marveled quietly, her eyes starting to droop, "It's so soft."

"Mmmhm," he agreed, amused.

"I could get used to this," she sighed contentedly, snuggling into the comforter.

Just as her eyes drifted closed, Sour Bill turned the bedside lamp off, only to be stopped by a small protest from his half-asleep charge.

Vanellope sat up, looking slightly worried as she peered around the darkened room.

"Can you...turn the light back on?" she asked, her voice small.

He looked at her a bit oddly before he realized that, having lived in a bright bubbling volcano, Vanellope had probably never slept in the dark before.

Sour Bill felt the tiniest twinge of guilt. It was probably unnerving for the child to suddenly be expected to sleep in a pitch dark room.

The candy hummed an affirmative, switching the lamp back on.

As the soft amber glow lit the room once again, the little president relaxed, laying back down in her nest of blankets.

"Thank you," she said gratefully, letting her eyes close once again, the exhausted new racer falling asleep almost immediately.

He stayed by her side for a few minutes more, until he was sure she was soundly sleeping and wouldn't wake up and worry at finding him gone before taking his leave.

Sour Bill had never known a child who could be so annoying, so rash, so impulsive and infuriating and an overall pain in his rear. And he had certainly never had to show someone what a bedroom was before.

But he was starting to think Vanellope was growing on him.

Just the tiniest bit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hey Billy Boy!" Vanellope chirped.

"I do wish you'd quit calling me that," Sour Bill complained, but it fell on deaf ears.

"I uh, got all turned around," she spun in a circle, lost, "Where's King Crappy's garden?"

The sour ball looked at her incredulously.

King Candy- er, Turbo, used to retreat to his garden for a peaceful moment away from the energetic game and the child racers that inhabited it.

But the new president really didn't seem like the peaceful type. In fact, it didn't even seem like Vanellope and peaceful belonged in the same sentence, unless you were saying that Vanellope was a destroyer of all that was peaceful.

So he couldn't help but show his surprise at her question.

"Why?"

"Jeez cough drop, do I ask you for the details when you gotta do your business?!"

His eyes widened.

"President Vanellope, we have plenty of bathrooms."

"What? What's a...bathroom?" she looked at him as if he'd grown a second head.

Oh mod. Of course she didn't know what a bathroom was, she'd lived in a volcano for fifteen years.

He sighed.

"I'll show you."

"Uh, ok," she shrugged, "But I don't really get why you'd need some bathroom when you've got a perfectly good garden out there."

He tried not to think too much about that.

They walked for a bit, Vanellope looking around in awe as the candy led her down the endless hallways he knew by heart.

"This has been a nice walk and all," the kid piped up after a few minutes, the longest she'd been quiet since arriving at the castle.

"But I kinda haveta- ahh!" she yelped, tripping on Sour Bill, who'd abruptly stopped in a small doorway.

"We're here," he said simply.

"Oh," she wandered inside, looking as if she'd never in her life seen such a strange room.

She hadn't, Sour Bill reminded himself.

She stared at the bathtub, the toilet, the sink, and had nearly jumped out of her skin when upon curiously turning the handles, water came out.

Vanellope was gazing curiously at her bewildered reflection in the mirror when she spoke again.

"Sooo, is this...chair where you-"

"Mmmhm," he finished her question before she'd even finished it.

"Mmkay," she said skeptically.

"And then you push this," he flushed it, making her jump.

"Woah."

"Oh ok!" she chirped.

"Now out!" she laughed, shoving him out of the room.

The sour ball stood beside the door for a few minutes, tapping his jelly bean foot impatiently.

When he heard the toilet flush he expected her to return to what had become her favorite hobby- incessantly pestering him.

But then he heard another flush.

And another.

Only Vanellope could be entertained by flushing a toilet. He rolled his eyes.

After a few more minutes of this, he had his hand on the doorknob, about to ask if she was planning on missing the roster race to play with the flusher when-

"Hiya!" the door abruptly opened, the young president apparently having finally gotten bored with all the wonders of the bathroom.

Sour Bill startled, falling and rolling on the smooth floor.

"Oh, sorry," she apologized sheepishly, helping him stand back up.

"Hey Billy Boy-" Vanellope said as they continued on their way, earning an eyeroll.

"You never answered my question. Where's the garden at?"

He paused, "But President Vanellope-"

"Relax, Thour Bill," she laughed, imitating the "king's" lisp, "I just wanna find a buttload of gummy worms to put in Taffyta's kart."

"Oh," he sighed.

"I'll show you."

She giggled excitedly, "I can't wait to see the look on her face!"

Sour Bill knew he should probably try to talk her out of this. It would be the responsible thing to do, as Vanellope's vice president.

But he couldn't deny that Taffyta kind of deserved gummy worms in her kart. Plus he kind of wanted to see the look on her face too.

#this is the first thing I've written in a month lort

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seofine · 4 years

Text

Can You Keep A Secret? - Simon Dominic

Requested: I would like to request a fic where simon Dominic is with Jay's little sister and Jay finds out. @soulpunker58

Warnings: Angst, fluff

Everyone has their secrets.

These secrets may be big or small, they may be kept secret for your own state of mind or for the sake of those around you.

There are some secrets that will follow you to the grave and others that eventually will have to see the light.

You were keeping a secret that you knew eventually would need to come out, but you had no idea how those around you would react to it.

You had been dating Jeong Kiseok for almost a year which would never have been that big of a deal or too major a secret, except for the fact that Kiseok was one of your older brother’s best friends.

Your older brother being Park Jaebeom.

You and Kiseok had always been drawn to each other, from the first time you had laid eyes on him you had known he was the one you wanted.

You had met in such a mundane way. When you were bored you would often turn up announced to Jay’s studio. Luckily for you, on one of those days Kiseok had been accompanying Jay. You had been introduced to each other and there was no doubt in your mind that Kiseok was your type.

His exterior was rough and strong with a boyish charm, yet inside the man was gentle and comforting. He exuded a confidence and self-assured air that was refreshing. The moment he cheekily smiled at you was the moment you knew you were done for.

That day, Kiseok had taken your number under the guise of wanting to be able to get in contact with Jay even when his phone was off. He said he should have your number because you usually knew where your bother was. You agreed even though you thought it was slightly odd. You didn’t really expect him to ever actually phone.

So that same evening when he called caught you off guard. You had answered with slight confusion knowing that you had left Jay and Kiseok back at the studio together so there was no real reason for him to be phoning now. Kiseok made excuses that night in order to keep you on the phone for longer than you deemed normal for people who had only met earlier that day. You weren’t exactly complaining but you also were confused about why he had even bothered.

The next night he phoned again and the night after that too. It soon became routine for Kiseok to phone you and just talk about nothing. Finally, after a week of the same thing you plucked up your courage and asked the man why he continued to phone you. You remember the distinct silence from his end of the phone, and you wondered if he had hung up on you. Kiseok mumbled out something that sounded like he was telling you not to worry about it and then quickly moved the conversation on.

You didn’t bring it up again after that. Neither of ever mentioned to anyone else about your nightly calls and soon, without even noticing, it had been almost a year of back and forth, skirting around the issue of your mutual interest.

Your friends knew you had someone you liked but they never pushed you to admit it. If you were being honest, the relationship between you and Kiseok probably wouldn’t have progressed if it hadn’t been for your older brother and his friends being constantly in your business and personal life.

One day you had gone to the studio to sit with Jay and the rest of the boys when the subject had turned to you, the boys deciding to try and play matchmaker. Seonghwa had started to tell you about how he had a friend who you’d be perfect with and then pulled out his phone to show you the Instagram page of none other than Nafla.

You had laughed it off, cheeks burning slightly as you surreptitiously looked around the room and all eyes seemed to be on you. Kiseok particularly seemed to be taking an interest in where this conversation was going. You tried to move the conversation on but Seonghwa was relentless and started to question you about your type, suggesting that maybe you’d be a better match with Loopy.

To get him off your back you’d taken Loopy’s number from him and agreed to think about it. You liked Loopy but you had no real intention of getting in contact with him. Instead of stirring up your emotions and getting on your nerves as he wished, it seemed Seonghwa had missed the target and unintentionally hit Kiseok.

That night he phoned just as he had been doing for the past year but seemed more distracted than usual. You got tired trying to bring him to talk normally and finally asked what was bothering him. He had huffed in reply and confessed that Seonghwa trying to set you up with Nafla or Loopy earlier in the day had made him jealous. His admission had sparked your confidence and you wondered aloud why he wouldn’t do something about it if he was so jealous? He had laughed and actually agreed, asking you on a date with him for the next night.

From that moment on you both hadn’t looked back.

Your relationship just came easily and it wasn’t hard to believe that it was fast approaching your first anniversary.

Honestly, most people in AOMG and H1ghr had seemed to catch on that there was definitely something going on between you and Kiseok. However, one of those who still seemed oblivious was your brother Jay. It wasn’t as though you were deliberately keeping your relationship a secret, it had just never seemed the right time to tell him. You both hadn’t wanted to tell him in the early days and cause chaos for a relationship that might have ended after the honeymoon stage, and then the time had just slipped away like sand in an hourglass a year already on the horizon.

At this point you weren’t sure how to tell him without making him feel betrayed that you and Kiseok had gone behind his back for so long. Other members of AOMG had offered to hint at the subject to Jay but you had politely declined, you would rather your brother find out from you.

On an evening just like many others, Kiseok had come to your apartment to spend time with you and the both of you had decided to just lounge around on your couch and enjoy each other’s company. You had placed a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table and two glasses for your respective drinks of water and beer.

As the conversation was winding down, you lay your head on Kiseok’s chest and breathed in his scent. He wrapped an arm around you and helped you get more comfortable in his lap. Suddenly your phone started ringing, cutting the cosy atmosphere. You picked it up curiously not really considering your actions.

“Hey sis, open the door. I’m outside.” Your brother grumbled into the phone. You jumped up and off Kiseok’s lap, stumbling onto the floor. Kiseok opened his mouth to ask if you were alright and you pinched his thigh, motioning for him to be quiet.

“Okay, give me a minute.” You quickly told your brother and hung up. You looked at Kiseok with shock for a second before hissing at him that Jay was outside.

Kiseok’s eyes widened almost comically and he jumped off the couch, running around the room. Jay’s fist thumped on the door incessantly, indicating that he was getting impatient. You mumbled at Kiseok to make himself scarce as you slowly moved towards to the door. As you reached the door you looked back and couldn’t see your boyfriend.

You opened the door to your brother who quickly brushed you aside and went straight in, throwing himself onto the couch that moments ago had been occupied by you and Kiseok. Jay picked up a handful of popcorn as you shuffled your legs, trying to subtly figure out where your boyfriend had gone.

“What’s up with you?” Jay questioned, looking at your awkward behaviour.

“Nothing.” You tried to reply nonchalantly, eyes still slowly roaming the room. “Why are you here?” You asked your brother as he carried on eating your popcorn.

“Bored at home.” He mumbled between chewing his popcorn. As you went to tell him to leave, you watched as his eyes noticed the two glasses sitting in front of him. He jumped up suddenly.

“Sis, do you have someone here?” He laughed out, playing the role of annoying and nosy older brother so well in that moment.

“What? No.” You lied, trying to think of an excuse to give him as to why you had beer sitting on your coffee table even though you weren’t an alcohol drinker.

It was too late though; he had already begun his mission to embarrass you and whoever you had brought into your apartment. As you followed you wanted to scream as you noticed where your overgrown child of a boyfriend had decided to hide. Kiseok had decided the best hiding place was behind the curtains in your bedroom. He hadn’t done a great job of arranging the curtains properly though and it was quite obvious to you that his foot was peeking out from underneath.

You shuffled behind Jay as he walked, looking around suspiciously. You hoped that your brother was as much of an idiot as your boyfriend and didn’t bother to look too closely as you went further into the bedroom. You tried not to draw attention to your stupid boyfriend’s socked foot sticking out from under the edge of the curtain.

You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry as Jay got closer to Kiseok’s hiding place. After following your brother as he snooped around in the different corners of your apartment you could feel your nose tickling, the dust, that Jay had managed to displace, irritating your sinuses. Suddenly you let out a high-pitched sneeze.

“Bless you.” A muffled voice sounded.

You sighed, smacking your forehead with the palm of your hand. Kiseok was an absolute idiot but there was also no denying that he was also a gentleman. Quick as a flash, Jay flung back the curtain and pulled Kiseok out of his poorly chosen hiding place.

Your brother looked angry as Kiseok hung his head not wanting to face his best friend. You tugged on your brother’s sleeve, trying to get him to look at you instead of glaring at Kiseok.

“How could you do this?” Your brother questioned, frustration evident on his face. “What is this anyway? Why is he here?” Jay’s annoyance was clear as he threw questions out at you.

Your eyes started to prickle, you always hated when your brother was disappointed in you. Kiseok reached out and held your hand, knowing that you hated letting your brother down.

Your brother sighed, keeping his eyes on you. He didn’t want to look at Kiseok and snap, not wanting to be rude and disrespect his Hyung.

“He’s my boyfriend.” You whispered out, Kiseok’s hand tightening around your own.

“How long?” Jay asked, you looked at him confused. “How long?” This time he raised his voice and you jumped slightly. Jay never shouted at you.

Kiseok pulled you to stand behind him, staring down Jay. “Almost a year.” He responded to Jay.

Your brother sat on the edge of your bed, looking deflated and put his head in his hands. The atmosphere was sharp and cold, you hadn’t wanted him to find out like this.

His shoulders started shaking and you moved closer to him, putting a hand on his back. Suddenly he couldn’t hold it any longer and burst out laughing. You were confused, looking at Kiseok in shock.

“You two really thought you were being secretive?” He questioned, laughing even harder at the confused look on both of your faces.

You looked at Kiseok and made a questioning face, receiving a shrug in reply.

“I’ve known you two were together for a long time now.” Jay confessed, still laughing slightly at you and Kiseok. “I knew there was something going on back when I first introduced you. Kiseok hyung used to sneak out of the studio with his phone all the time.” Your brother continued on, rolling his eyes.

You elbowed your boyfriend in the side as he smiled sheepishly. You should have known he wasn’t as slick as he thought he was.

Jay crossed his arms, “Plus, my suspicions were confirmed a few months back when Seonghwa hyung told me you were dating.”

You almost screamed, why did Seonghwa have such a big mouth? You knew you shouldn’t have let Kiseok go and tell him to knock it off after he kept pestering you about whether you had phoned Loopy or not. Your brother had been watching you and Kiseok sneak around whilst laughing at you all along.

“You’re not angry?” You questioned Jay, still thinking about ways to torture Seonghwa for not being able to keep a secret.

“Why should I be? You’re both old enough to make your own decisions.” Jay laughed out, pulling you closer to ruffle your hair. You huffed, hugging your brother. Kiseok cheered suddenly, throwing his arms around you and Jay. You rolled your eyes, pinching Kiseok. He jumped, rubbing his side.

“This is your fault” You mumbled, eyeing your boyfriend. Kiseok rubbed the back of his neck with a pout on face.

Your brother groaned as you moved away, pulling Kiseok’s face towards your own. Jay manoeuvred around the both of you, hastily making his exit as you stroked the side of your boyfriend’s face. The door to your apartment slammed as your lips made contact with their target.

Alone at last.

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whereistheonepiece · 5 years

Text

Adore

Wrote some more Zosan fluff while I couldn’t sleep because it’s more fun writing our boys than trying to fall back asleep.

Quick summary: Zosan shower time. Zoro is feeling particularly affectionate. Feat. Background UsoLu. Unapologetically fluffy.

Also I put on a rainy 1 hour loop of “Fly Me to the Moon” for background noise and it ended up working really well?

You are all I long for All I worship and adore In other words, please be true In other words, I love you

Also also this isn’t the cuddles I mentioned last night because this hit me with more inspiration while I was trying to fall asleep, but the cuddles will happen. Eventually. I’m going out to an Irish festival today and have a full day planned past noon, so I can’t say when. But who knows. Maybe I’ll be hit with more inspiration while I’m out and not in a position to get any writing done because that’s how it always mcfreaking happens and I’ll crank something out tomorrow in the hours before and after my shift.

Zoro had his rituals: he trained, he meditated, he looked after his katanas, he napped, all with the same practiced devotion that came from years of self-discipline and routine. Showering had not been one of them until he became romantically entangled with Sanji. The ship’s cook had always been a bit of a priss and one of his stipulations was that Zoro start showering more regularly.

“You sweat more than a regular human because you lift weights all day! Go hose off, you barbarian!” Sanji had shouted at him once, kicking him directly in the solar plexus when Zoro had tried approaching him for a post-workout kiss.

It had annoyed Zoro at first, but if it got the cook off his back, then he could put up with the inconvenience. But that irritation dissolved when he caught onto the fact that Sanji tended to crawl all over him after he showered. Zoro didn’t think the firecracker of a cook was even trying to use–what did Chopper call it?–positive reinforcement; Sanji just seemed to really like it when he smelled good. He’d given him soaps and colognes that Zoro thought had no business being as expensive as they were, but you wouldn’t find him complaining when Sanji wrapped himself around him and buried his face in his neck. Eventually, showering just became another one of his rituals.

Then there was the matter of getting to shower with Sanji. Zoro enjoyed that most of all. Their male crewmates had caught on early that Zoro and Sanji were not to be disturbed when they occupied the bathroom together–although Luffy did need occasional reminders from the ever vigilant Usopp. Zoro enjoyed this time with Sanji for what it gave him; it was intimate without being inherently sexual and gave him unlimited access to his cook’s time and attention.

He enjoyed pressing himself against Sanji, letting his hands roam over the planes and contours of the cook’s lean muscles, giving and receiving lazy kisses while the water poured over them. Sanji grinned at him in that effortlessly sexy way of his while he tangled his fingers in the hair on the back of Zoro’s head, and Zoro felt compelled to reach back and grab hold of the cook’s hand.

Sanji gazed at him with half-lidded, amused eyes as Zoro kissed the creamy skin on the back of Sanji’s hand, moving down to his knuckles, his fingertips. He wanted to lavish his attention and appreciation on the hands that prepared meals for the crew one moment and then pet and caressed Zoro’s hair in another.

A chuckle sounded in Sanji’s throat. “You trying to start something, Marimo?”

Zoro lifted his lips from Sanji’s wet skin, looking up at him underneath his eyebrows. He grinned at him wolfishly, rotating Sanji’s hand. “Maybe.” He pressed a kiss into Sanji’s pulse in the inside of his wrist. “Tell me what you want, Cook.”

“Well,” Sanji said, craning his neck suggestively, his throat on display. “Since you’re working your way up...”

Zoro grinned, eager to please. His lips traveled up the expanse of Sanji’s arm, pausing at the midpoint of his forearm, the crook of his elbow, his shoulder. Zoro took Sanji’s arms and draped them around his neck while his mouth moved to the sensitive skin of Sanji’s throat.

“You’re...trying to give me a damn hickey, aren’t you?” Sanji breathed, his head lolling back, the grip of his arms tightening around Zoro’s neck.

Zoro grinned against Sanji’s skin, about to respond, when he heard Usopp’s voice outside the bathroom door: “GEE, LUFFY! IT SURE IS A NICE TIME FOR A SHOWER!” A forced pause. “OH, BUT I HEAR THE WATER RUNNING.” Three obnoxious knocks on the door.

Zoro snapped his eyes open, slowly lifting his head up and glaring in the direction of the bathroom door. Maybe they’d take the hint and leave.

Sanji snickered under his breath when Luffy’s voice rang out: “OIIII! SANJI! ZORO! YOU IN THERE?”

Zoro growled; Sanji continued to laugh quietly, dropping his forehead onto Zoro’s shoulder. “Occupied!” Zoro shouted, his voice guttural and dripping with menace.

“WELL, DARN!” Usopp again. “YOU AND I CAN SHOWER LATER, LUFFY. GUESS WE SHOULD G–”

“OIIII!” Luffy began pounding incessantly on the door, the knocks becoming erratic as a struggle could be heard outside. Zoro and Sanji stared at the door, waiting to see how this played out.

“Ah, hey! C’mon, Usopp!” Luffy whined.

“Luffy, let’s just get out of here and come back later!” Usopp hissed, failing spectacularly at whispering.

“But I wanna take a bath with you!”

Zoro groaned; Sanji laid a kiss on his cheek. “Just give us a minute, Luffy,” Sanji called, disentangling himself from Zoro’s arms.

“Someday, I’m going to cut him down,” Zoro promised.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sanji muttered, turning off the water and grabbing a bottle of shampoo. “I’ll wash your hair to make it up to you.”

Sanji’s promise placated Zoro–mostly. He sat down on one of the plastic stools, leaning his weight against Sanji as the cook massaged his scalp, occasionally lightly scratching his head with his nails. Zoro closed his eyes. “Let’s sleep in the kitchen tonight,” he murmured. Neither of them had the watch shift and Zoro found himself wanting more time alone with Sanji, free of selfish assholes who didn’t respect boundaries and made too much noise.

Sanji chuckled. “Whatever you want, Marimo.”

#zosan fanfic #zosan #zoro #sanji #fanfic #i like writing shower scenes can you tell?#yeah so when you're in bed and the image of zoro kissing sanji's hand hits you #you prioritize that shit

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wheredidhiseyebrowsgo · 5 years

Note

do you know any fics where stiles and lydia (or allison, or erica) have a really intense bond?? like they arent romantically/sexually together, but they do love each other platonically?? just its an intense love. really im just in the mood for friendship fics with stiles and the girls, but i cant find what im looking for so maybe you/your followers know some fics?

Here you go. - Anastasia

Deadly doesn’t have a Gender by artemis69

(1/1 I 2,014 I Teen I Berica)

Erica grows up, like a weed distorted by the weight of their looks.

They trap her in boys’ clothes, boys’ shoes. Inside a boy’s name. They stare at her with expectation in their eyes, waiting for her to suddenly yell, ‘Gottcha!’ and finally start acting like a real boy.

They wait for her to stop ‘joking’.

Make It Count by DenaCeleste

(1/1 I 2,178 I Teen I Steter)

The last thing Stiles expected was for his best friend Erica to trick him into kissing the Sexy Biker Dude. Who would've thought that was the guy manning the kissing booth? He was going to text Erica a piece of his mind!Stiles> HOW DARE YOUErica> You're welcome.

The Amazing Adventures of Batman, Catwoman, and Sourwolf by gryvon

(2/? I 8,128 I Teen I Sterek)

Stiles drags his best friend Erica into the woods in search of a dead body. Things turn out a little different than another trip into the woods.

Stupid Say What? by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

(1/1 I 8,437 I General I Sterek)

Stiles shoved another bite into his mouth, glancing over at Boyd and Erica. Boyd was smiling down into his eggs benedict and Erica was grinning at Stiles.

He frowned in confusion, his chewing slowing. Tucking the food into one cheek, he asked, “What?”

“Nothing. It’s just nice. I like when the four of us come out together. Our little double dates,” she teased, stabbing her fork into a strawberry and putting it between her lips.

Stiles snorted at her comment, since this wasn’t a double date—he wished—but didn’t comment on it because he liked their outings, too. Even if he whined incessantly about it until he got there, it was always a good time.

here is the deepest secret nobody knows by owlpostagain

(1/1 I 22,322 I Teen I Sterek)

“Derek,” Stiles groans. “You have me. You’ve always had me, you absolute moron, how many physically impossible feats of life-saving heroics do I have to perform before you get it?”

Our Kind of Nuts by ericaismeg

(1/1 I 22,553 I General)

Stiles doesn't know that reaching out to Erica, a girl from his Psych class, is going to change his entire life. All he wanted was a quiet place to study. Suddenly, he's becoming best friends with Erica, getting a tutor from Boyd, going crazy over this guy who is quite passionate about Pride and Prejudice named Derek, being supportive to Lydia, finding some weird peace treaty with Jackson, and inviting Erica's best friend to live with him, Scott, and Jackson for a bit.

He didn't expect things to turn out like this, but hell, he's not complaining one bit.

A Healing Silence by HelloWhyTheFuckAmIHere

(28/28 I 36,329 I Not Rated I Sterek)

Stiles is slowly pushed out of the pack following his fight with Scott about Donovan's death. After receiving a phone number from an old friend, Stiles is surprised to find that it belongs to the one person who may be able to bring him back to himself.

Impossible to a Thousand and More by sofonisba_found

(1/1 I 57,092 I Mature I Sterek)

The kingdoms of Hale and Argent have been at peace for twenty-five years, and Lady Lydia Martin and her childhood friend Junior Marshal Stiles Stilinski are chosen to be the diplomats to represent the Argents' interests in a mostly ceremonial renewal of promises of continued peace and cooperation to take place in the neutral Kingdom of Beacon, with Princesses Laura and Cora Hale and Prince Derek there to do the same for the Hale Kingdom. But not everyone wants peace between the two lands, and whether it be a boring treaty affirmation or prelude to conspiracy and war, Derek knows he shouldn't be quite so interested in the Junior Marshal's eyes.

A tale with diplomacy and manners, fights with brigands and other nefarious individuals, conspiracy and treason by malicious forces unknown to our heroes, acts of valor leading to grievous injury, Princes dashing half naked through the woods carrying an injured ally in a bridal carry, blatant flirtations even while one party is semi incapacitated, shirts that are too tight, tender bedside care, declarations of love and passionate couplings, and Royal sisters rather invested in their brother's love life and happiness.

Hallowed Grounds by damnfancyscotch

(16/16 I 109,578 I Mature I Sterek)

Everything in Beacon Hills is the same when Stiles comes home from college.

Well, except for the fact that he's a published author now, Scott is halfway across the world with a travelling circus, Erica's epilepsy has been cured, her boss offers him a job too, and there's this weird black dog that seems to be following him around just to judge him.

Oh, and the murders, of course.

But other than that stuff... totally the same old BH.

When it all comes crumbling down by Littleredridinghunter

(18/18 I 216,191 I Not Rated I Sterek)

Stiles is recovering from the Nogitsune. Erica is the only one that is really there for him, Scott's too busy rekindling his relationship with Allison and Stiles feels like he's falling apart.

When a near-miss with a kelpie results in an encounter that he could never have predicted, Stiles begins to think his life might be getting back on track.

He's wrong.

Stiles' life is so messed up he can't even begin to explain it, maybe it's time for him to finally do something for himself and get out of Beacon Hills. But where will that path lead?

With Stiles involved, no doubt danger and death won't be far behind.

#teen wolf #sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #erica reyes #lydia martin #derek and erica #stiles and erica #sassy!erica #vernon boyd #lydia and stiles

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kpopfanfictrash · 5 years

Text

A Lie of Omission

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Creative Content Contributor: @baebae-goodnight (thank u for this moodboard I keep using bc it’s so good)

Pairing: You / Jimin

Rating: PG-13 [ fluff + enemies to lovers!AU + Hogwarts!AU ]

Word Count: 3,655

Summary: A series of drabbles about Slytherin!Jimin and Hufflepuff!Y/N, the sister of his self-declared mortal enemy.

A/N: These drabbles are non-sequential.

“I’m not going,” you mutter, slumped low in your chair. Before you, the Hufflepuff common room fire roars cheerily, as only a Hufflepuff fire can.

Sandra sits in the chair next to you, scribbling notes on a fresh sheet of parchment. “And why not?” she hums, not looking up from her book. “Why aren’t you attending the Yule Ball, again?”

“Because,” you inform, groaning out loud. “In order to attend, I would need a date.” Slouching even lower, you stare at the flames of the fire. “And in order to have a date, someone would need to ask me.”

Finally, Sandra snaps the book shut. “Ridiculous,” she announces.

Glancing sideways, you frown. “There’s no boggart here, San.”

Sandra rolls her eyes. “Not Riddikulus, I am calling you ridiculous. As in, your way of thinking is absurd.”

Slightly offended, you push yourself higher. “And how am I being absurd?” you demand, crossing both arms over the table. “I would be fine going solo, if anyone else were. But even you have a date,” you complain, nudging her elbow. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for you and Hoseok but it leaves me as the third wheel. That’s no fun.”

Sandra sighs, poking you back. “That leaves you as a chicken, not the third wheel.” Standing up from the table, she stretches both arms overhead. “If you really don’t want to go, you don’t have to. But you’re selling yourself short here – there are plenty of guys without dates. Or,” Sandra brightens, “you could ask Lucas to set you up with someone! What about Seokjin, in Gryffindor? He’s super dreamy, and isn’t he close to your brother?”

With a grimace, you shrug. “I guess so, but Lucas’ friends all see me as a kid.” With hesitance, you remove a certain not-friend of Lucas’ from mind. “I would sooner die than attend the Yule Ball with Seokjin and have him curse potential suitors because their ties were askew, or something.”

Sandra snorts, picking up her bag. “Well,” she accepts. “You’re on your own, then. I just feel like this is a total waste of dress robes.”

Sighing dramatically, you stare into the fireplace. Sandra is correct, you know this – you are being a giant chicken. The Yule Ball does not happen often and Filch, along with the rest of the staff, have been decorating for weeks. It has become somewhat dangerous to venture down a hallway alone, for fear of mistletoe popping into being above you.

With a twist of your lips, you scan the common room and consider your options. By the fireplace stands Greg, a fellow Sixth-year in a few of your classes. He is nice enough, semi-cute and you hear he is not taking anyone to the ball yet. When you open your mouth to mention his name as an option, Sandra cuts you off.

“Not Greg,” she responds, shoving books in her bag. When you blink up at her, Sandra laughs and shrugs. “Sorry, I saw you looking. But anyways, Greg asked Julie Quinn to the Yule Ball this morning.”

“Oh,” you exhale, slumping back in your seat. “Then I guess I’m screwed, huh?”

Even as you bemoan, a nagging voice inside you whispers you could always ask Jimin. The two of you have not spoken for weeks, not since you realized during your last um, meeting that you were becoming too attached to said fuck buddy. Shifting uncomfortably, you attempt to push his face from mind. Jimin has not asked anyone else to the ball the last that you heard and you cannot help but wonder if this is because of you.

It is a silly thought, a baseless one and you banish it instantly. Jimin does not care and yet, for some reason you continue to wonder. Your relationship has been clear from the start. A way for him to get off, and a way for you to get practice – but now, you find yourself staring down at the table. Towards the end, it seemed as though there might be more. Jimin lingered once or twice after you hooked up, helped you with spells a couple of times and then there was the feeling you had, when Jimin fucked you from behind and pulled you against his chest.

Pressing your thighs tightly together, you attempt to forget the brush of his lips on your neck, his hands hot on your body. It felt strangely intimate, in a way it never had before and you do not know what to do with that piece of information. Shaking your head, you look up from the table. Sandra is right about two things, although she does not realize that fact.

You are being a chicken about the ball, just as you are being a chicken about Park Jimin. You should have told him you did not want to see him and instead, you fed him excuse after excuse. None of which were truthful. It is only – you did not want to tell Jimin it is over. You still do not want to tell Jimin it is over.

Why that is so, you have not allowed yourself to consider.

Drumming your fingertips over the table, you stare into the fireplace and frown. “I don’t think I’m going to go,” you announce. “I’ll just stay in the common room, conjure some Butterbeer and drink myself to sleep, or something.”

“And miss the ball?” a voice asks, sliding into the empty chair at your table.

Both you and Sandra glance sideways, surprised to find none other than Kim Taehyung, Hufflepuff’s golden boy in the seat. He grins in your direction, shaking honeyed-blonde hair from his gaze.

Without meaning to, your heart beats a tiny bit faster. Upon your arrival at Hogwarts, Taehyung was one of the first people to be kind to you – to you, Y/N and not you, Lucas’ sister. He sat beside you during the sorting ceremony and cheered when you got into Hufflepuff after he did. Taehyung is sweet, kind and it does not help that he transformed overnight into one of the most attractive men you have ever laid eyes on.

“I – Taehyung,” you blink, surprised by the suddenness of his appearance. You two used to be close, but have not talked much in years. “How are you doing?”

“Oh, you know,” Taehyung sighs, waving a hand. “I’ve been better. Been so busy studying for exams, the ball completely slipped my mind.”

“Oh?” Straightening, Sandra stares meaningfully at you. “Does that mean you don’t have a date, Taehyung?”

Sadly, he shakes his head. “Afraid not,” Taehyung explains, peering at you from beneath his lashes. “And – not to be weird, but did you just say the same, Y/N?”

Staring, heat creeps up the back of your neck. Things are a bit fuzzy and for a moment, you are about to say yes – until Jimin’s face flashes, unbidden, through your mind. With a frown, you attempt to shove this aside. Jimin is not relevant to this conversation, nor is he a realistic option.

Even if you two were more than fuck buddies – which you are not, you remind yourself – Jimin could never bring you as his date to the ball. For one, dances are not his scene and for another, Lucas would be absolutely furious. If his little sister were to show up on the arm of his mortal enemy, Lucas would lose his shit and to be honest, you could not blame him. Jimin has done some shitty things to him in the past (the spaghetti hair comes to mind) but then again, so has Lucas to Jimin.

Shaking free from your reverie, you glance at Taehyung. “I – uh, yeah,” you nod. “I wasn’t planning on going at all, actually.”

Taehyung seems surprised by this. “You’re not? Why?”

Slinging her bag over her shoulder, Sandra moves to leave. “Looks like I’m not needed here anymore,” she declares. “Y/N, I’ll be getting ready in the tower, okay?”

“Okay,” you agree, watching her go. Once she has disappeared, you return to Taehyung. “I don’t know,” you admit, trying not to look embarrassed. “I guess there was just no one I wanted to ask.”

“Oh.” Taehyung pauses, thoughtful. The yellow in his robe sets off the golden brown of his hair, making you stare. “What about me?”

“What about you?” you blurt out, surprised.

Taehyung chuckles, leaning in conspiratorially. “Would you want to go to the Yule Ball with me, Y/N?”

For a moment, you can only stare. “Are you shitting me?” you blurt, as Taehyung grins.

“No,” he insists, shaking his head. His expression turns incredulous. “Why would you think that? You don’t have a date, I don’t have a date and I’ve always liked you, Y/N.”

The way he says this – so easily, so casually, gives you pause. For a moment, you are floored. “As a friend?” you squeak out.

Taehyung blinks, his confidence somewhat shaken. “Yeah,” he breathes, tilting his head. “As a friend, I like you.”

His voice is soft, adamant and you stare at him for a moment. Jimin’s face flashes again through your mind, which is becoming annoying, to be honest. Here is a great guy, asking you to a dance and all you can think about is that tiny, little dent about Park Jimin’s lips.

It makes you tilt your chin up and nod. “Alright,” you say, standing up from the table. “I’d love to go with you, Taehyung.”

Expression brightening, he stands as well. “Great,” Taehyung beams. “I’ll meet you in the common room tonight, okay?”

“Sure,” you agree, turning to head towards the stairs. At the bottom, you pause with one hand on the railing. “My dress robes are silver,” you say, turning to face him. Taehyung smiles, having been caught watching you go. “In case you wanted to know.”

“Silver sounds good,” he responds, nodding as you turn and disappear out of view.

Sandra, obviously, is ecstatic about this turn of events. She helps you get ready, chattering incessantly about meaningless things while twisting your hair around competent fingers. At the end of it all, you barley recognize yourself in the mirror – in a good way. Marveling, you turn your face side to side and wonder what, exactly, Sandra did. Your eyes look larger, skin dewier and fresher.

“Wow,” you exhale, glancing at Sandra. “You outdid yourself.”

“Taehyung is gonna freak,” she grins.

She is not wrong, exactly. As you descend to the common room and find Taehyung and Hoseok already waiting, he does a double take at your entrance. “Wow,” Taehyung exhales, eyes wide. “Bet everyone is kicking themselves about not asking you first, huh?”

Ducking your head, you hide a smile. “Stop that,” you chide him, without really meaning it.

Taehyung laughs, taking your arm in his to exit the common room. A group of students head towards the Yule Ball together, talking and laughing the entire way to the Hall. Taehyung walks slower than the rest, falling behind so you can walk side by side.

“So,” he exhales, looking at you. He is beautiful in his slim, black robes and bright silver accents – Taehyung has always been adept at charms, you recall. “I’m glad you said yes. I don’t want you to think that… my bad timing means I’m any less happy to be here.”

He seems nervous, which is sweet and you smile. “You don’t need to explain anything,” you assure Taehyung, entering the Great Hall. “I’m just happy to be…”

You trail off when you see Jimin.

He looks up at the same time you do, freezing in place. While Taehyung recovered quickly from your visual though, Jimin remains frozen in shock.

He is alone, dressed entirely in black with nothing to accent his clothing. Despite this, you find you cannot look away. The blonde of his hair is swept back, a style Jimin seldom wears. You once told him you liked it. You wonder if he remembers.

Realizing you are motionless, you turn. You are not here alone, you remind yourself – Taehyung is your date and, looking upwards, you manage a smile. “The decorations are lovely,” you finish, lamely.

They are; this is true, but they are not the thing which makes your heart pound.

Taehyung glances around the room as you walk. “True,” he agrees, pulling you closer. It could just be your imagination, but you swear he looks at Jimin.

Jimin is not looking at you, though, having turned away as quickly as you did. When you leave, you glance backwards to spot him taking a sip of his drink. Jimin’s grip on the glass is tight, his jaw is clenched and you worry about this for a moment before turning away.

Tonight, Jimin is not your problem.

“Punch?” Taehyung offers, coming to a stop at the bowl.

Gently, you nod and remove your arm from his grasp. “Please,” you agree.

For the first time, you notice the room you are in. The Great Hall has truly been transformed overnight. Great, sparkling icicles hang down from the ceiling and golden baubles float by, dancing on air. The room is spiced somehow and you draw in a deep breath, reveling in the crisp feeling of winter.

Leaning forward, Taehyung hands you a cup. “Y/N?” he asks, a note of concern in his voice.

Startled, you did not realize you were staring elsewhere. “Sorry,” you respond, accepting the drink. “I was just... looking at the decorations.”

Chuckling quietly, Taehyung follows when you exit the table. “Right,” he nods, glancing at you. “You do seem kind of distracted, Y/N. Maybe I’m overstepping, but… was there someone else you were hoping would ask you?”

The way he says this, with a gentle arch of his brow, makes you wonder if he knows. You wonder if Taehyung saw the way you stared at Jimin when you entered; stomach sinking, you hope he did not because Taehyung does not deserve that.

Tonight, he is your date and you resolve to be better. “I,” you exhale, shrugging a shoulder. “Maybe, yes. There was someone else. But the point is – he didn’t ask me, right?”

Shyly, Taehyung ducks his head. “I guess,” he admits, glancing up. “I’m glad you’re here with me, anyways.”

Warmth spreads through your chest, a second away from something more when a hand closes over your elbow. You whirl, expecting to see Jimin and instead, find your brother.

“I need to talk to you,” Lucas hisses. Glancing over your shoulder, he spots Taehyung and forces a smile. “I’m sorry, man. Could you give me a minute alone with my sister?”

Taehyung slowly nods, looking to you for approval. “If Y/N wants to, sure.”

Gratefully, you appreciate his distinction of word choice. “Yeah,” you agree, allowing Lucas to pull you sideways. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

Taehyung nods, watching you go as Lucas drags you across the length of the Great Hall. “Ow,” you complain, turning to swat at his arm. “Watch the robe, Lucas. I’m – oh,” you blink, as he suddenly turns.

“Is it true?” Lucas demands. He glares at you down the slope of his nose.

Staring back, uncertainty unfurls in your stomach. “Is what true?” you ask, suddenly afraid what he means.

Lucas could not know about Jimin; that would be impossible. You have not seen Jimin in weeks and the last time you two hooked up, no one saw. Your stomach churns though, wondering if you messed up. Perhaps someone saw you both exit the classroom; maybe someone saw, and maybe someone told Lucas.

Rolling his eyes, your brother lets out a huff. “Is it true,” he repeats, “that mom sent candy cane cookies in the holiday packages?”

A bubble of relief pops inside. “Oh my god,” you complain, pushing his hand from your arm. “Are you serious, Lucas? You’re pissed off at me because of candy cane cookies?”

“Ah!” Lucas declares, pointing a finger. “So, it is true! I should have known the moment you offered to pick up my package from the Owlery! I should have known when you took two days to give me mine! You stole my cookies, didn’t you?” he demands, thoroughly cross.

Fleetingly, it crosses your mind that if Lucas is so mad about this, god knows what might happen were he to ever find out about Jimin. This thought makes your stomach sink, heart twisting for reasons you do not understand. If Lucas is so mad over stolen cookies, you can only imagine how hurt he would be if you – literally – slept with the enemy.

Slowly, you swallow. The corners of your eyes burn and for the first time tonight, you regret accepting Taehyung’s invitation. He is a nice guy, yes but he is not – stopping yourself, you do not think his name.

“Fine, whatever,” you exhale, returning to Lucas. “Yes, I ate the dumb cookies. I’ll have mom make you more, okay?”

Lucas squints. “With extra sprinkles and frosting?”

“Yes, your highness.”

He grins, folding his arms. “Okay, fine. I declare this sibling fight over.”

“Was there ever one to begin with?” you groan, patting his cheek as you move to walk past. “Anyways, you can consider the delay in cookies payback!” you call over your shoulder, stepping out of the alcove.

“For what?” Lucas responds, his expression one of pure disbelief.

“Remember that time you broke my Rememberall?” you yell, nearly out of earshot.

“We were five!” Lucas cries, as you slip around the corner.

Laughing, you move until someone else grabs your elbow. Really, you think as you are tugged into a hallway, this is starting to become an unfortunate habit.

Jimin pushes you against the wall. “Hey,” he exhales, before kissing you.

You yelp, a tiny noise of exclamation before sinking into his kiss, thoroughly distracted by how good he feels. Without thinking, your arms rise to wrap around his neck and pull him closer. The stone behind you is cold; rough, like his hands on your body, so eager to have you.

“W-wait,” you gasp, turning your head.

Releasing a groan, Jimin’s fists clutch at your robes. “What is it?” he mumbles, pressing his lips to your neck.

Eyes fluttering, you let your head hit the wall. Jimin feels so good, you are drowning in him after being apart for so long. Something twists in your stomach at this, realizing how regularly you met up with him before.

“Jimin,” you exhale, panting from only his kiss. His hands fumble at your dress robes, needing you closer. “We can’t.”

“Oh, I disagree,” he laughs, gently caging your hips with his own. “The way you look tonight – shit, Y/N.” He says your name in a whine, a desperate groan of desire. “I’ve wanted you since you walked through the door.”

“I-I’m on a date,” you blurt out, silencing him.

Jimin slowly opens his eyes. “Oh,” he responds, careful.

Chest rising and falling, you stare at him through the silence. “I’m here with someone else, Jimin,” you mutter, not knowing where else to look. “I know that we fuck around, sometimes – but not here, okay? Not while my date is waiting for me out there.”

Jimin stiffens. “Right,” he responds, entirely unreadable. There is something dark, almost angry to his gaze. “Right, of course. We only fuck sometimes.”

When he says the last two words, they sound like a mockery. Frowning, you search his face for an answer. “I,” you pause. “I don’t know what you mean by that.”

After a brief pause, Jimin wrenches himself away. Shoving his hand through his hair, he looks out at the Hall. People are dancing now, whirling around the decorations in couples and partners.

“Sure,” Jimin states, oddly cold. This is when you realize that before, he was not cold. In the past few months, Park Jimin has not been cold to you at all. “Of course, you wouldn’t.” Jimin turns back to you. “Why are you here with him, anyways?”

For a moment, you can only stare. “I – what do you mean? Because Taehyung asked me, that’s why.”

Jimin’s eyes narrow, as he takes a step closer. “And why have you been avoiding me, then?”

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” you respond, automatic.

He snorts. “Don’t bullshit me, Y/N. It won’t work.”

Staring at him, you consider your words. “Fine,” you respond through gritted teeth. If you wanted to, you could reach out and kiss him, but you do not. “I haven’t wanted to hook up lately, that’s all.”

At this, Jimin’s nostrils flare. “Oh?” he responds, sounding strangled. “And why is that? Because of Taehyung?”

He looks up to scan the hall but you do not follow his gaze. “Maybe,” you grind out, so angry your blood boils. Every inch of you aches for him. “Why do you care, anyways?”

“I don’t care,” grunts Jimin, grabbing your waist. He yanks you forward, chests thudding together as a tiny moan escapes you. Jimin pushes a hand through your hair, dislodging bobby pins as he hovers over your ear. “I just,” he murmurs, softer. “Why him?”

“What?” you freeze, heart catching.

Jimin inhales, his breath shaky. “Why… him?”

Slowly, you turn your head to look at him. Jimin stares back, unabashed. “Who else?” you ask him, confused.

For a long moment, Jimin does not respond. Then, his grip tightens briefly on your waist before releasing. “If,” Jimin hesitates, glancing around. Never before, have you seen him look like this – uneven, uncertain. “If you have to ask me that, then you’re right. I don’t care.”

With that, he spins on his heel and stalks out of the hall.

You stare after him, finding it difficult to breathe and wondering what in the hell just happened. You did the right thing, you remind yourself. Lucas would have been livid, if he found out and you were growing too attached. Jimin means nothing to you in the long run.

And yet – if Jimin truly meant nothing to you, your heart would not constrict so tightly. Your legs would not shake as they do and you would not reach out to steady yourself on the wall.

You would not feel as though your entire world has crumbled, simply because Jimin said he does not care.

A/N: [ Master List ]

#bangtanarmynet #jimin writing #jimin fanfic #bts fanfic #bts writing #jimin hogwarts au #bts hogwarts au #jimin au #bts au

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cakesunflower · 5 years

Text

Quiet Hours [College!Luke AU] Ch. 10

A/N: this chap’s kinda short but ya know. it be like that sometimes

Chapter 10

GOOSEBUMPS WERE RAISED on Ophelia’s skin was the first thing she noticed when she woke up the next morning, and realizing it was because she was wearing nothing but a shirt was the second. Her bleary eyes blinked open, legs shifting under her comforter and rubbing together in an attempt to warm them up. She was facing the wall once she woke up, feeling a pressure against her back which immediately had her remembering that she wasn’t alone in her bed.

That, and the fact that she could feel soft warm breaths against her ear and the familiar pine scent that greeted her when she inhaled a deep breath. Ophelia pressed a hand on her forehead as she turned to lay on her back, head turning to the right to catch sight of the boy sleeping soundly next to her. She blinked as she took in Luke, her heart jumping in her throat as he lay asleep, left arm folded under his head. Ophelia’s gaze flickered to his lips, full and pink and ones that she had kissed incessantly and felt kiss her everywhere.

She just knew her neck was once again going to be decorated with a few marks that he so generously left last night, and when she dropped her gaze and took in how he was shirtless and could see his chest since the comforter only reach their waists, she saw some of the marks that her own lips had left on his neck and even some on his chest. Dark purple mixed with red hickies stood out starkly against his pale skin, making a blush rise on her cheeks as she tore her gaze away from them. Her lips tingled at the reminder of how she couldn’t stop kissing him, either.

Her stomach fluttered as memories of last night briefly flickered through her mind as the dull soreness between her thighs reminded her of just how amazing it had been. Kissing Luke was one thing, but being with him so intimately was an experience all on its own that she was so Goddamn overwhelmed to have gone through. In the best way.

Honestly, Ophelia would go as so far to say that sex with Luke had ruined any other encounter she had with a guy or may have in the future. He knew exactly what to do, when to do it, and was all about delivering first and then receiving later. The way his hands had caressed her skin and his lips planted kisses everywhere that left a fire in their wake had her gasping and writhing without control.

Ophelia swallowed as she took in Luke’s sleeping face, realizing he looked so adorable and innocent, when in reality the latter couldn’t be the furthest thing from the truth. Last night was proof of that. Still, his blonde curls fell over his forehead and closed eyes as he inhaled and exhaled softly, innocently, and Ophelia’s hand reached over as her fingers lightly pushed his hair back and away from his face so she could see all of it, her heart jumping in her throat at the mere sight of him.

She couldn’t believe that she had slept with Luke but she by no means regretted it because holy shit she didn’t think sex could be that amazing. Ophelia’s slept with her fair share of men, but none of them had her seeing stars and desperate for more like the way Luke had.

Licking her lips, Ophelia slowly sat up instead of just laying there and admiring Luke, because if it were up to her, she would just stay there and soak in the sight of him for as long as she could. She wore only his black shirt, her pajamas on the floor next to Luke’s own clothes, and she blushed briefly when she realized he was completely naked under the covers. Carefully, Ophelia climbed off the bed, the cold air slapping against her skin as she made a mental note to turn on the heating as she scrunched her face up in a wince when Luke stirred as she got off the bed. He stayed asleep, rolling over onto his stomach and hugging her pillow as his back sank in a sleepy exhale.

Keeping Luke’s shirt on, Ophelia picked up her pajama pants and slid them on since it was too cold for her to walk around without any on, padding barefoot into the bathroom to freshen herself up. As she washed her hands and face after using the toilet, her brows raised slightly at the sight of the couple of hickies on her neck, biting the inside of her lower lip to stop the stupidly giddy smile from growing on her lips.

Eventually, after adjusting the apartment thermostat and realizing that the snow outside had been plowed yet still a few good inches covered the ground, Ophelia wound up in the kitchen as she made herself a bowl of Coco Puffs. She then settled on the couch to watch reruns of Supernatural that she knew would be on, though focusing on the show was proving to be a bit difficult when she was all too busy thinking about the sleeping boy in her room.

Especially when, ten minutes later when she had finished her cereal and was leaning back against the couch, Ophelia was startled by lips pressing to her cheek and facial hair scratching her skin pleasantly. “Oh, God,” she jumped slightly, hand pressing to her chest as she looked up over her shoulder to see Luke standing behind her, leaning forward with his hands splayed on the back of the couch as he peered down at her. Ignoring the stutter of her heart at the sight of his shirtless form in nothing but his sweatpants and tousled hair, Ophelia breathlessly added, “you scared me.”

Luke grinned, dimples appearing cutely as he walked around the couch before settling down next to Ophelia with his left arm draping over her shoulders to pull her closer. She bit the inside of her cheek at the sight of his exposed upper half, especially when she caught sight of the few marks she had left behind as Luke’s right hand pushing back his hair as he chuckled deeply, “sorry about that, sweetheart.”

Despite the fact that she had seen Luke in all of his naked, ridiculously sexy glory last night, she was still slightly unnerved with him sitting right next to her without a top. “Do you want your shirt back?” she found herself asking, fingers playing with the hem of Luke’s shirt that reached her thighs. “I-It’s cold in here.”

But Luke knew better as he kept his gaze on her, brow quirking in mild amusement as he smirked, “does me being shirtless bother you, R.A. Ophelia?”

“No.” Yes.

He saw right through her yet again as he leaned closer, Ophelia not at all resisting as he used his grip on her shoulders to bring her towards him. Luke’s lips brushed against her cheek, instantly electrifying her skin and wanting nothing more than to melt into him as he murmured, “didn’t seem to bother you at all last night, pretty girl.”

Luke would be lying if he didn’t find the shy yet radiant smile that grew on Ophelia’s face, reveling at the sight of her high cheekbones and the softness of her skin. He knew his beard was probably scratching at her skin, but she had yet to complain about it, so he just correctly figured she enjoyed it. “Does your ego just inflate after you sleep with someone?” Ophelia surprised him by laughing, prompting the Australian to pull back and look down at her with raised entertained eyebrows.

The blue eyed boy hummed thoughtfully, tilting his head back as he looked up at the ceiling before shooting her the cheekiest grin, “only when the sex is impressive enough.”

A short, amused gasp left Ophelia as she looked at him, no longer paying attention to the show playing on TV and only having eyes for the boy next to her at the moment. “And was it?” she questioned, keeping the nervous almost hesitant tint in her voice hidden. She had no idea why she asked that, and she hoped to God she didn’t appear as worried for his answer as she suddenly felt. God, she was pathetic.

But Luke threw all of her concern out the window as his expression softened, and while she had expected for him to smirk and be cheeky, her heart swelled within her chest as his right hand came to grasp her behind the knees and move her position. Ophelia was now seated with her legs thrown over Luke’s lap, body turned to face his as he leaned closer and rested his hand on her thigh.

With a dimpled smile on his face, Luke answered truthfully, “mind-blowing,” and his smile widened at the way she struggled to contain her own. Ophelia felt her cheeks heating up at his answer, wanting to avert her suddenly shy gaze but not being able to do so when Luke closed the distance and pressed his lips to hers. She instantly leaned into him, a quiet moan coming up from her throat at how Luke sucked her lower lip into the kiss that had both of them wrapping their arms around each other and Luke pushing Ophelia back down on the couch.

Safe to say, they were both eager to start their morning the same way they ended the night before.

*****

“Jesus Christ—you couldn’t have waited until after the New Year?” Calum grumbled as he slapped a twenty dollar bill into Michael’s hand while shooting the baffled Australian a glare as he paused from biting into his slice of pizza.

Michael sniggered triumphantly as he pocketed his newly earned profit before going back to hobbling down his slice of margherita pizza. “Did you—” Luke stuttered out with a scoff, sitting up in his stool as he switched his gaze from Michael sitting across from him to Calum next to him. “Did you guys bet on when Ophelia and I would sleep together?”

He watched bemusedly as both of his friends looked at him unapologetically as Ashton snickered next to Michael, before the latter informed, “literally the morning after you let her sleep in your room.”

An incredulous scoff escaped Luke as Calum nodded along and then he rolled his eyes while muttering, “unbelievable.”

“Speaking of which,” Ashton piped up after putting down his bottle of beer, quirking an eyebrow at Luke who shot him a questioning look. “What’s gonna happen between you and Ophelia? Do you actually like her or is she just another notch in your belt?”

Luke stared at Ashton with furrowed brows, his chewing slowing down until he swallowed the bite like a lump lodged in his throat. Suddenly, he felt all of his friends’ eyes on him as he tried to think of an answer, because nothing was coming to him straight away.

Truthfully, Luke had assumed that sleeping with Ophelia would ease up the thoughts that had encircled his mind since the moment he had met her. It was a selfish, dickhead move on his part but it was Luke’s thought process at the time. He was ridiculously attracted to Ophelia in practically every way someone could be attracted to another person, and he had stupidly just thought that once he got her in bed it would be over.

Two rounds of sex later and he was being proven terribly wrong.

But having feelings for her, after making sure the most he did with a girl never got past the physical point to tread into the dangerous, nagging territory of emotions? Luke hadn’t done that since he and his ex-girlfriend broke up almost a year ago, and while he had moved on from that, he would be lying if he said he still wasn’t hurt over it. What better way to hide the pain of a breakup than burying it under a growing body count?

“I don’t know,” he finally, truthfully answered because Luke was just not sure about what he wanted. When he left Ophelia’s apartment earlier today after their impromptu round on the couch, Luke had found himself still wanting to have her pressed against him, lips on hers, be inside her. “She’s a great—she’s amazin’. But I don’t know if a relationship is what I want. I don’t know what I want, and I don’t really know what she wants, either.”

“It’s not like you can avoid the topic forever, man,” Michael pointed out with raised eyebrows. “We live right next to her. You two either establish that what happened was a one—I’m sorry, two—time thing.” Luke rolled his eyes at Michael’s smirk while Ashton and Calum snickered. “Or you try to figure out if it means anything more.”

Luke’s lips puckered in thought, knowing that his glasses wearing friend had a point, as Calum spoke up casually. “I think she’d be good for you.” Luke glanced over at him, a silent question in his eyes as Calum added, “she’s got morals, you don’t. She could teach you a thing or two.”

The Australian nearly choked on his bite of pizza, looking completely affronted as he stammered out a defensive, “I have morals!”

Ashton snorted, eyes on his third slice of pizza as he picked it up on his plate and sarcastically stated, “oh, yeah, sleeping with different girls twice a week and never speaking to them again is totally honorable. Bravo!”

The other two boys guffawed at the expense of Luke, who pursed his lips tightly as he did not appreciate his friends laughing at him and the way he decided to live his life. “I like sex, what’s the big deal?” he scowled, folding the crust of his pizza between his index and middle finger and thumb before taking another bite of the slice.

“Nothing, that’s fine,” Michael assured before shrugging with a grin, “just stick to doing it with one person. The more partners, the more likely you are to getting an STD.”

Luke’s face scrunched up in disgust, wondering how the fuck they ended up on this topic of conversation as he leaned away slightly from the counter they were all seated around. “No talk of STDs while we’re eating, lads,” he ruled, shaking his head as he felt his curls brushed against his cheeks at the movement. His mother had wanted him to get a haircut, but he was liking how his long curls were looking.

Plus, it felt so fucking incredible when Ophelia pulled at them.

“No, but seriously,” Calum said after the boys sobered up from their laughter as he shot Luke a serious expression. “Ophelia’s a sweetheart; don’t string her along.”

Luke’s brows lowered in an almost offended frown. “I’m not that big of an ass, Cal.” Then with a sigh, he added, “I honestly don’t know what I want, alright? I just know that I—I can’t get enough.”

Michael snorted, quirking an eyebrow. “You make her sound like some kind of drug, man.”

Luke joined in on the light laughter that emitted from his friends, gaze lowering to his pizza as the conversation fortunately changed. They had no idea how addicting Ophelia was. He already was hooked.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her, in any aspect, and that alone was enough to have Luke realize that Ophelia was definitely not like the other girls he’s slept with. She wasn’t just another hook up because everything with her seemed so different, as if it was the first time he was doing anything like that with a girl—save for any awkward amature fumbling. Her skin was soft under his hands and lips, her own lips so sweet and addictive that he craved to taste her again while the way she worked them could be described as nothing but sinful. The pretty girl had taken him by surprise by just how fucking good she was in bed—two times wasn’t nearly as enough.

Luke had to figure out what the hell he was after and fast—whether he was capable of giving her something more than physical even if he was beginning to come around the fact that he had feelings for her—and fast. But it was just so damn hard to focus when he couldn’t get the image of her moaning, writhing and pleasure-filled expression out of his head. This was going to be hard.

No damn pun intended.

tags: @crownedbyluke @irwinkitten @glitterprincelu @softforcal @valentinelrh @sweetcherrymike @meetashthere @astroashtonio @hereforlukescruff @captain-what-is-going-on @angelbbycal @calntynes @invisiblexcth @soulmatecashton @calumsmermaid @kchillout @thewackywriter @akacalciumhood @calumculture @ohhmuke @empathycth @flannelpunkcalum @poppedpins @novacanecalum @walkedhomealone @calistheloml @gettingjillywithit @hearts-to-the-sky @old-zeppelin-shirt @5sos-stan4lyfe @all-i-want-is2b-loved-by-you @calumthoodsyonce @xhaileyreneex @rosecoloredash @asht0ns-world @cxddlyash @mysteriouslycali @lmao5sosimagines @monsteramongmikey @calteahood @5secondssofssummer @sublimehood @biwriting @findingliam-o @isabella-mae13 @canujustnotplease @vxidhood

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cherryrogers · 5 years

Text

falling for you {ch. 3}

pairing: bucky barnes x reader | high school au

warnings: mentions of an unhealthy relationship, mostly fluff.

synopsis: Unlike most teenagers, you had your life completely mapped out. You’d graduate high school, go off to the university of your dreams, and live the life that your parents always wanted you to. That was the plan. Falling for Bucky Barnes, however, was never part of that plan.

a/n: just wanted to say that the warnings are different for each chapter, but the synopsis is always for the whole fic - just in case that was confusing :) pls enjoy !!

Series Masterlist

Usually, weekends for you consisted of textbooks and flashcards galore, and of course, a helping of hanging out with Bucky on the side. It hadn’t been until Sunday since you actually heard from him since seeing him at school, so on Saturday, you’d planned to get as much work as possible done so that a burden wasn’t weighing on you when Bucky inevitably whisked you away from your bedroom the next day.

However, you somehow managed to get nothing done. Your parents still hadn’t called you about the dreaded detention that’d ruined your perfect record, which was a relieving sign at first. Although as time went on, the relief began to build into more and more anxiety. Maybe they hadn’t checked in with the school yet, maybe they just didn’t know you had detention. The thought even occurred to you that perhaps they knew you had detention, but just hadn’t called you to complain about it. That seemed very unlikely, however — when any chance to lecture you appeared, they usually took it. You knew the call was coming, it was bound to, and the thought would be keeping you on edge until it actually happened. In a way, you wished they’d just call and get it over with; they’d pointlessly lectured you enough times for you to learn to tune it out.

Bucky had shown up to your house on Sunday morning, insisting that he took you out to this diner that him and the guys went to all the time. You’d woken up late that morning, after the stress of the day prior had drained you of all energy, to the sound of pounding on your door.

“Mornin’, sunshine.” He greeted you, smirking as he eyed your pyjama shorts and oversized hoodie, as well as your far from tidy hair. It was a first for him, seeing you in a still half-asleep state. The boy had forgotten to text you first, much to your frustration, but only because he was set on getting to your house as quick as possible so that you didn’t miss the breakfast specials at the diner. Besides, he still thought you were as pretty as ever, even when you’d just rolled out of bed.

He wished he could tell you that.

You sighed, rubbing your eyes with fisted hands as you attempted to not be blinded by the sudden rush of daylight through your door. “Please tell me there’s a good reason why you’re incessantly banging on my door.”

“We’re gonna take you out for breakfast, sweets.”

“We? Who else is—”

“Hey, hot stuff.” You were cut off by another voice, one you immediately recognised as Sam Wilson’s. Leaning to the side to look around Bucky, you rolled your eyes as Sam winked at you, blatantly mocking your outfit as he leaned casually against his car.

Next to him, Steve narrowed his eyes at the boy before turning to you and giving you a shy smile. “Hey, (Y/N).”

Giving both of them a hesitant wave, you set your eyes back on Bucky. Although there was that annoying voice in the back of your head screaming at you that you needed to study, you weren’t about to turn the boy down. Even if you did, you doubted he’d take ‘no’ for an answer.

Plus, you felt bad about making Bucky worry about you on Friday. Though there wasn’t really anything for him to be concerned about, you hated thinking that you were putting some sort of emotional burden on him. At the same time, however, you didn’t want him to think you didn’t care. If you kept trying to emotionally distance yourself from him, it wasn’t going to do either of you any good. You couldn’t just study to distract yourself from the rest of your life, as much as you wished you could. When you had lunch with Pietro, that seemed to make you feel better, so you were sure going out with Bucky would do the same.

“Alright, give me twenty minutes to get ready.”

“Really? No ‘I need to study’ bullshit?”

“Do you want me to make this harder for you?”

Bucky’s smirk faded into a soft smile after chuckling a little. “No, I’m glad you wanna come. See you in the car, sweets.”

After nodding and closing the front door, Bucky grinned to himself in content before making his way back over to Sam’s car.

An hour later, the four of you were tucked into a booth in the retro diner. Carter’s, it was called. Bucky and you were sat on one side of the booth, his arm resting on the top of your seat, just grazing the back of your head, while the other two boys sat opposite.

The diner was rather lovely — it had a pale pink and blue theme, gleaming neons signs placed all along the walls, even an old jukebox in the far corner playing songs from the fifties. It was quite spacious, having lots of tables and booths scattered across the tiled floor, and the place happened to be pretty crowded.

“So, what is it about this place that you like so much?” You asked, not to any of the boys in particular.

Bucky let out a laugh. “I think Steve can answer that one for you.”

Your brows furrowed before you turned your head to look at Steve, whose cheeks had began to tint a rosy pink.

“I have a friend that works here.”

“Friend? Didn’t she stay the night at your place, like, last week?” Sam questioned, earning himself a glare from the blond as Bucky snorted.

“Well, yeah. But it’s more than that; Peggy’s different.”

“That’s sweet, Steve,” You gave him a smile. “Is she still in school?”

“She goes to Shield High, yeah.”

Sam raised a brow. “Ain’t that the fancy girls school a few blocks away?”

“It’s the same one Natasha goes to.”

“Who’s Natasha?” You asked, and an odd silence followed your question. Dumbly, Sam and Steve slowly shifted their eyes towards Bucky.

You copied them, turning to look at the boy next to you, who seemed to have joined in with the uncomfortable silence too. Cocking a brow, you looked back over to the other two boys, and after a couple of quiet seconds, you got your answer.

“She’s Bucky’s ex-girlfriend,” Sam spoke, sipping his coffee to try and hide his amused smirk. “Didn’t you know? I mean, they were together for a year. A whole ass year, I thought everybody—”

“Sam, stop talking.” Steve sighed, glaring at his friend, who soon realised that perhaps not everyone was aware of the past relationship. If you’d been looking his way, you would’ve seen the awkward smile that’d settled on his lips.

Bucky’s ex-girlfriend. Natasha was Bucky’s girlfriend for a year, a year, and you had never heard her name slip from his lips once. Your gaze was set on the table, unable yet to look up at Bucky who you could sense now swarmed with guilt. Not that there was any reason for him to feel guilty. It was clearly none of your business, clearly something he didn’t want you involved in.

Before Bucky could interject, a waitress began to approach your booth, the clicking of her heels against the tiles stopping once she’d made it over. When your eyes flicked up to look at her, you were almost taken aback by her looks. She was gorgeous, definitely — her lips were painted a cherry red, and her chocolate curls were resting comfortably on her shoulders.

And by the way Steve was looking at her, you were sure he was thinking the same thing. It was pretty safe to assume the the waitress was the friend he’d been talking about.

The blond beamed up at her as she greeted him before beginning to share a sweet conversation, Sam watching them in amusement. Meanwhile, Bucky took their distraction as an opportunity to shuffle closer to you in his seat, his right thigh now pressing against your left.

The moment might’ve had your heart racing if your head wasn’t clouded with confusion over why you’d been kept in the dark by him.

Leaning down so that the conversation was kept quiet, Bucky began to talk. “I know what you’re thinking; I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Natasha. I promise, I’ll explain it all when it’s just us.”

“When were you guys together?” You asked simply, but curious as to why Bucky felt he had to apologise.

A sigh escaped his lips. “We broke up the summer before junior year. Dated when we were both sophomores.”

It felt like a punch to the gut for reasons you couldn’t quite explain, knowing Bucky had kept a whole relationship from you. A year long relationship that ended only months before you met him. A year was a long time to spend with someone — Natasha was surely someone that meant a lot to him. Countless times, you’d told Bucky your embarrassing crush stories and about the utter awkwardness that was your first kiss. There wasn’t a lot about your past that he didn’t know, so why hadn’t he trusted you with such a large part of his life?

You made the assumption that he’d never been in a proper relationship before, and since you’d never been in one either, it gave you a sense of comfort. Thinking you could relate to Bucky in that you’d never felt so strongly for someone, that you’d never loved someone. Was Bucky ever in love with her? Was he still? And what did he think of you? God, he probably thought you were pathetic. Just a little girl who’d never been in love, who’d never been on a date, who’d never done the dirty. Not that he knew that, but he could assume it, since you had a better relationship with the librarian at the library near your house than you’d ever had with another teenager.

You know what? It’s not like you and Bucky were a thing - why did he feel like he had something to explain? Hell, he could still be dating the girl and you’d be... fine with it. Yes, it’d be perfectly fine. Why wouldn’t it be? You hated having to tell yourself that you and Bucky were only friends a hundred times a day, but it was the only way to stop yourself from overthinking into a mental breakdown.

“Sweets, you okay?” His voice broke you from your trance, and you immediately inched yourself closer to the window of the diner, so your side was no longer pressed against Bucky’s.

His heart sunk at the loss of warmth from you, but he guessed he sort of deserved it. God, why hadn’t he told you before?

“I’m fine, James.” James. That’s how he knew he had fucked up.

“(Y/N)-”

“Excuse me, can we order now, please?” You pretended not to hear Bucky, leaning your elbows onto the table and interrupting Steve and Peggy’s conversation.

Peggy nodded, grabbing a pen from the pocket of her apron. “Sorry, of course you can. What can I get you all?”

Steve looked a little bummed that he didn’t have more time to talk with her, but your head was crowded with too many questions and thoughts to acknowledge his expression. “Uh, I’ll just get another coffee, thanks.”

“(Y/N), you haven’t touched your first cup.” Steve frowned slightly, glancing at the cup in front of you that was still filled to the brim.

“Oh.” You said weakly, now feeling like a bit of an idiot. “You know, I don’t feel too good. I think I’m just gonna walk home.”

“Are you sure? I can give you a ride if you want, (Y/N).” Sam offered.

I think you’ve done enough, Sam - Bucky thought to himself. He knew it was his own fault for not telling you about Natasha, but it would’ve been helpful if Sam hadn’t blurted it out in your presence.

“Thanks, Sam, but it’s okay. I think i just need some fresh air.” You turned to the side, not fully looking at Bucky as you spoke to him. “Could I get out of the booth, please?”

“I’ll go with you, make sure you get home alright.” The boy stated, sliding along and out of the booth. You didn’t even try to tell him not to go with you, because you honestly wanted to talk to him about the whole ordeal. He nodded his head towards Steve and Sam. “I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

“Bye guys, and thanks for the coffee, Peggy.” Even though you didn’t drink any of it, you still thanked the waitress while rummaging through your jean pocket, pulling out a five dollar bill and placing it on the table before heading for the exit of the diner, Bucky following quickly behind you.

The cold air hit your body as soon as you stepped out onto the sidewalk, and you crossed your bare arms over your chest, regretting not bringing a jacket out.

Bucky walked next to you, keeping his distance a little, not wanting to make matters worse. He wished he could read your mind, know what you were thinking. You never really got into any sort of dispute with each other, because there had never really been any drama between you two. Bucky didn’t care what he had to do to resolve it, however - he just couldn’t stand you being mad at him.

“Why didn’t you tell me about her?” Your voice startled him, not expecting you to be the one to break the silence. While your eyes were locked on the pavement as you walked, you were listening intently, ready for whatever he had to say after you’d finished speaking. “I know things ended a while before we met, but I thought...”

The boy furrowed his brows, looking down at you. “You thought what, sweets?”

He noticed how you jaw clenched at the pet name, and he regretted letting it slip out. Not the time, Barnes.

“I thought, well- okay. I... I told you about my parents, and how they tend to care more about my grades than how I’m doing; I told Wanda about them too, but I don’t think she really understands, not like you do. And it was important for me to tell you that, because... because sometimes, it’s kinda hard to deal with.” You hated how you were opening up to him. You were supposed to be mad at him. But even then, did you even have the right to be mad? “And I know that this isn’t about me, but what I’m trying to say is that it helps, knowing that you understand what I’m dealing with - it helps me a lot.”

A smile appeared on Bucky’s lips. It felt good hearing that from you, that you felt like he understood you better than your own best friend. That he helped you. Sometimes, he felt like he didn’t help you at all, interrupting you while you studied at the library and absentmindedly flirting with you all the time. If he couldn’t be anything more, he wanted to be... a friend. Even though he felt like the term ‘friends’ didn’t quite fit you and him, he just wanted to be there for you. Even if it hurt him being just that.

“A year is a long time to be with someone, Bucky.” You continued, walking a bit closer alongside him. “It must’ve been an important part of your life, being in that relationship, and I guess I just don’t want you to feel like you can’t tell me stuff.”

“(Y/N), of course I feel like I can tell you things. You know that I trust you more than anyone, right?” Bucky nudged you with his elbow, making you look up at him. Well, now you knew that, and there were those damn butterflies in your stomach again.

“I’m glad, Buck. But if that’s true, why didn’t you ever tell me about Natasha?”

Shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket, Bucky began to talk. “Natasha and I... we weren’t good for each other. We went to the same middle school, and I stayed friends with her when she went off to Shield High. We started dating around year later, and it was good at first. I’d never been so close to someone before, you know? I told her things that I’d never even told Steve. And it felt great to have someone I could be so open with. But... it wasn’t like that all the time.”

When Bucky turned his head towards you, he noticed how you were shivering from the icy air. Without saying anything, he removed his leather jacket from around his body and quickly placed it over your shoulders, to which you responded with a thankful smile as you pushed your arms through the sleeves. After nodding at the boy, indicating for him to continue speaking, Bucky let out a breath.

“Sometimes, the girl was... as sour as a lemon. One minute, she’d be listening to my problems as if it was her soul purpose to help me with them. But the next, I wouldn’t hear from her for days. She’d ignore my calls, avoid me on the weekends, and eventually she’d stop being bitter and pretend like everything was right as rain. At one point, I sorta realised that she never opened up to me, and when I tried talking to her about it, she told me I was being ridiculous. It was like... like she was cold, and I burned, you know? It was never gonna work in the long run, and I think she knew that too.

And I never told you because I didn’t want you to think I was... weak.”

Yep, your heart definitely broke when those words left his lips.

“Bucky...” You gazed up at him with sad eyes. “Why would you say that?”

He stared hardly at the ground, unable to meet your gaze. “My mom always used to say that the key to relationships... was commitment. That if you can’t commit to someone through thick and thin, then you ain’t with the right someone. When I ended things with Natasha, I felt like I was taking the easy way out. She was a great girl, and I still really liked her when I broke it off. I thought that maybe if I told you about it all, you’d think I was the type of guy who ended a relationship when things got too hard, when I couldn’t handle the bumps in the road. That’s not how I wanted to be thought of, especially not by you.”

You shook your head, tugging on his arm with your hand to get him to look at you. “Ending a relationship because it’s unhealthy, even when you still have strong feelings for the other person? That doesn’t make you weak, Bucky. Strength is having the self respect to do that for yourself.”

Now you understood Bucky’s reasoning behind keeping Natasha from you. Sure, it broke your heart that he felt like he couldn’t say anything in case you thought of him negatively because of it, but hopefully now he knew that you could never think of him like that.

It took you by surprise when you felt his fingers brushing against the back of your hand, before he slowly laced them with yours, enveloping your cold hand with his warm one.

“Is this okay?” He almost whispered, giving your hand a squeeze.

For a moment, you hesitated. Holding hands with Bucky? Not something you’d ever done before. To some, holding hands might be just an innocent gesture. But to you, it was truly the most intimacy you’d ever experienced - your awful first kiss when you were fourteen was anything but intimate. And because it was with Bucky, the hand holding meant all the more to you.

Glancing between his eyes and his hand wrapped around yours, you nodded before biting back a smile. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

How were you meant to suppress your feelings for him when you were getting weak at the knees from the boy simply holding your hand?You should’ve said no. You should’ve pulled your hand away, and told him it couldn’t happen.

But you didn’t. You didn’t want to. You let yourself be selfish and basked in the comfort of being close to him all the way home. It was silent the rest of the way, but it was pleasant. And when he dropped you back at your front door, you felt like you were a teenage girl in a movie, gazing up at the boy you liked - didn’t like - as if he was some sort of angel.

“Thanks for... listening to me before.” Bucky let go of your hand after giving it a squeeze, but still stood close enough so that your chests were almost touching. “I still feel bad about not telling you about Natasha earlier-”

“It’s no problem, Bucky, really.” You reassured him. Once you were no longer holding hands with him, reality suddenly set in again. Oh, god. What had you done? Now he thought it was okay to hold your hand, which it certainly wasn’t. Nothing more than that could happen. You couldn’t be anything more than friends. You just couldn’t. “And you shouldn’t feel bad - it’s... it’s not like we’re together., it’s not like you had to tell me.”

His eyes darted to the ground, and while you knew that saying that completely ruined the mood, you had to. If he did still have any feelings for you, you couldn’t lead him on and let him believe that you could be together. Even if deep down, that’s what you wanted too, it just wasn’t ever going to work. He’d been in a relationship like that before, and you couldn’t do that to him again.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Bucky nodded, slowly inching away from you. “Are you gonna be alright for the rest of the day?”

You couldn’t help the smile forming on your lips at his question. “I’ll be fine, Buck. Thanks for walking me back.”

“S’okay.” He nodded, about to turn around and head off elsewhere. “See you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow.” You confirmed, turning to your front door and unlocking it. A weight still felt like it was sitting on your shoulders. Like there was something you needed to say.

“Bucky?” You called over your shoulder, pushing open the door but keeping your eyes on the boy who had stopped in his tracks at you calling his name.

He raised his eyebrows questioningly. “Yeah?”

Letting out an exhale, you locked your eyes with his. “You’re a lot of things, Buck, but weak? That’s far from any of them. Nobody thinks that of you - I know I definitely don’t.”

The boy stayed standing still for a moment, and his gaze never wavered in the slightest. For months, that was what he told himself. That breaking it off with Natasha was selfish, cowardly, even. He was afraid that you’d think the same of him - that was something he never wanted. But somehow, a simple sentence from you miraculously calmed his cluttered thoughts of guilt and insecurity. Somehow, you just had the effect on him.

“That means a lot, sweets.” The sincerity in your words was evident, so much that he felt guilty about not being able to resist making a joke about how nice you were being. “You sure know how to make a guy feel special.”

You let out a laugh, your next words flowing from your mouth without a second thought. “You’re special, Bucky, and you don’t need anyone telling you that for it to be true.”

God, what turned you into so much of a sap?

A smirk played on Bucky’s lips. “Maybe, but I actually sorta believe it when it comes from you, doll.”

The sentence brought goosebumps to your skin, which gave you a sudden reminder that the boy’s treasured leather jacket was still wrapping you in warmth. You called out to him again as he began walking off your driveway and onto the sidewalk.

“Hey, don’t you want your jacket back?”

“Keep it; I’ve got too many leather jackets to my name, anyway.”

And so, you were left alone at your door, tugging Bucky’s jacket tighter around your frame, inhaling the scent of his cologne and thinking longingly about the feeling of your hand in his.

He was right when he said that he burned. He burned right through the walls built around your heart and somehow managed to set a fire within your whole body. That wasn’t meant to happen, you weren’t supposed to let it happen. But you did, and now...

Now, you were well and truly, fucked.

* * *

Series Taglist:

@itz-kira @americas-ass-assins

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes reader insert

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pasteljeon · 6 years

Text

Waste it on Me (m)

Anonymous said: can I request a werewolf au w/ hobi, where he’s in heat and you’re his mate? love you!!

Summary: His wolf chose you, and he had to admit he didn’t put up much of a fight, anyway.

Werewolf!AU, wolf!Hobi, college!au

Pairing: Hoseok/Reader

Warnings: some angst, fluff, switch!hobi, switch!reader, heat sex, mild breeding kink, plot if you laugh like jimin (I’m sORRY)

Length: 3.2k

Notes: so I might’ve gotten really carried away with this concept but I think it’s time Hobi got some limelight + his hip thrusts BLEASE I’m sorry :( also this is basically gratuitous sex I don’t know what I was thinking

“Incumbents typically ignore these smaller margin markets in favour of catering efforts to their mainstream customers, allowing new entrants to introduce this disruptive technology to a niche market …”

Hoseok propped his chin on a hand, dozing lightly, exhausted from his morning practice. His abdomen still ached from where Jungkook had drastically misaimed his penalty shot.

“…which we will be covering on Thursday’s class. See you all then.”

He jolted awake at the burst of conversation, textbooks being slammed shut, laptops stuffed back in bags and footsteps trampling toward the lecture doors.

He yawned, rolling his shoulders back before he started repacking his materials, though his notebook laid mostly empty, with four hastily scrawled points he managed to stay awake for at the beginning of the class.

“Hi, excuse me?” He paused, swivelling around to see familiar, piercing chocolate eyes staring back at him, a small, knowing but exasperated smile playing on her lips.

“If you’re not going to pay attention, could you please try not to snore so loudly?” He could feel himself shrinking under her gaze, sharp yet amused. He nodded, tight-lipped. “Sorry.”

“Nice going.” Hoseok turned to see Yoongi smirking at him, having had watched the entire exchange.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” The younger hissed, cheeks blooming hotly as he took a quick glance around, relieved when no one else appeared to have noticed. Granted, his row was relatively empty, given most students opted out of 8am lectures like this one.

The other man ran a hand through his messy mint-coloured locks, laughing. “Didn’t think anyone else could hear, honestly. And it was funny.”

“Fuck you, hyung,” Hoseok complained, marching out of the hall and toward the dining hall. “I need some caffeine for this shit.”

“What’s wrong with Hobi-hyung?” Taehyung whispered loudly, prodding the pouting man with the butt of his chopsticks. Hoseok swatted him away, ignoring Yoongi’s cackles as he took another bite out of his hamburger almost angrily.

“He got called out for sleeping in lecture by ___.”

Jimin looked up from his salad, expression distraught. “Hyung! You know this material is being covered on the midterm, right? You can’t just skip like that!”

“Calm down, Minnie,” he muttered. “I’ll be fine. Besides, you should be blaming Jungkookie for this,” he pointed at the maknae accusingly. “He’s the one that wanted to hold practice at four today instead of six so he could get his dick wet!”

Jungkook only smirked, leaning back. “And what about it, hyung? Weren’t you the one that fucked—”

“Enough, let’s not talk about this while eating,” Jin intervened quickly, seeing as Hoseok was straight up about to chuck his mayo-drenched lettuce at the youngest.

“Speaking of food, Jin-hyung, is it true that—”

“Sit down and eat your Happy Meal Jungkook.”

“Want you,” she mewled, fingers digging into his shoulder blades as he scraped his teeth against her nipple, hand shoved down her panties and thumbing that sensitive bundle. “P-please! Don’t tease me!”

“God, I love it when you beg,” he rasped, erection digging uncomfortably against his stomach as he rutted against you.

“Hobi—”

His alarm screeched, ringing incessantly. He shot awake, sweat beading at his brow, the heat stifling and the silk of his briefs skimming his hardened length in a way that had him gritting his teeth.

He fumbled for his phone, shutting the alarm as he rubbed his sensitive ears, wincing.

“Fuck,” he groaned, running a hand down his face as he squeezed his eyes shut tightly. “You’re kidding me.”

He shoved his blankets to the side and hobbled awkwardly toward the washroom, locking it behind him firmly for the fifth time this week.

“That dream again?” He nodded, not looking up at where he was adding packets of sugar to his coffee, the telltale lines under his eyes a dead giveaway.

“Sorry hyung,” Jimin said sympathetically, patting his shoulder. Hoseok grunted, crumpling his napkin and tossing it into the garbage before grabbing his duffle bag and swinging his cleats over his shoulder. “See you guys on the field.”

Jung Hoseok, co-captain of the university soccer varsity team and part of BTS, the famed frat that housed the seven outworldly handsome and accomplished men, dubbed the Bangtan Boys. A tight-knit group of friends that all students longed to be a part of.

Sandy, windswept hair, a heart-shaped smile and glowing, friendly and kind personality to boot, Hoseok was a beautiful specimen. If you could see past the fact that he was no exception to the golden rule—a playboy, through and through. All of Bangtan were. You could consider yourself extremely lucky if one of them decided to pick you up, but the warnings were written in blaring red highlights—they were heartbreakers, and if you wanted to keep that thing in your chest safe, it was best not to get too close.

A whistle blew from the distance and shouts echoed from below. The bleachers were littered with students from all years, most pretending to study, though poorly conducted given the way drool pooled at the edge of their lips and the amount of books held upside down at gazes drawn elsewhere.

“What is it about him that you hate so much?” Tess asked, eyes trained on the way Hoseok’s legs flexed as he ran. You hummed absentmindedly as you squinted at your textbook. “Seriously, ___, he’s literally so gorgeous. Didn’t you end up hooking up with him last year?”

You sighed, blowing a stray tendril from your eyes as you turned to your friend pointedly. “That’s exactly why. I don’t hate him, but, well, he’s the same as any other player. He lures you in with his body and sweet talk and then throws you away when he deems you’re of no more value to him.”

“But you already knew all that,” Tess said, eyebrows furrowing. “Then why’d you sleep with him?”

You shrugged, flipping to the next page. “I thought what most people thought. That I could change him. That I could be enough to make him want to stay. I was wrong.”

A choked gasp from beside you, a blonde communications major you remembered working with on a project from that one elective class you took second year.

You glanced down to assess the damage, but it probably ended up being the second mistake of the day. Hoseok had his head tipped up, water droplets sliding down his neck, throat bobbing. His jersey was plastered against his bronzed skin, revealing lines of smooth, taunt muscle when he lifted the edge to wipe his forehead.

“Alright, I think that’s enough of this for today,” you sighed, gathering your belongings. “I’ll see you in Business Law.”

He remembered that night more vividly than any other in his life, games included.

The moment your eyes had met, the attraction burned like firelight. It was tangible, so thick he could taste it on his tongue. He body thrummed like a livewire, running cold and hot simultaneously until he thought he was going to combust.

But it hadn’t been your appearance that drew him to you. No, it was your soul. Something about the way you spoke, the way you walked, the way you grew alight by your passions, the way you insisted on wearing that ugly scarf he bought you that Christmas because even though he was horrible at gift-giving, you told him the intention was enough to keep you warm. You were beautiful, and even more so beneath him, skin bathed in the moonlight and hair slipping through his fingers like silk.

It wasn’t until New Years that he realized why your mere presence had been magnetic to him.

At that point, you’d been more than just fuck buddies, but less than lovers. You were his best friend, albeit hidden from the world, you knew everything there was to know about him. Why January meant he had to visit Busan, why he had to keep Tuesdays empty every year, why he liked yellow over red.

But there was one secret he’d been very careful at keeping.

That night. That night, it should’ve been clear from the start. He should’ve known, picked up the signs.

That night, your friends had dragged you to a bar. His heat had already begun, and he was chained to his bed, delirious. Wanting you. Needing you. At the peak of his heat, it was too much. He had to go. To find you. It was burning him up from inside, being apart from you.

He managed to trick Jimin into freeing him, poor, clueless Jimin. Hoseok stumbled to the bar, looking rather drunken and out of it himself, hair raked back, sweat coating him like a second skin. He found you pressed up against another man, and he snapped.

He took you against the wall of the bathroom, cumming so hard he saw stars. But when his knot began to form, he paled, the fog clearing momentarily as a bucket of ice washed over him in realization.

His goddamn wolf had chosen you.

He avoided you like the plague after that.

The next time he saw you, your eyes were wide in shock, disbelief and—not even anger. Just disappointment and hurt. The myriad of emotions flickered on your face before it smoothed out and you simply turned on your heel, shutting the door quietly behind you.

He had been balls deep in that blonde from communications you’d told him about.

And the last time he saw you, you’d come to pick up the books you’d left at his dorm. The ones you’d been using while you were teaching him statistics less than a week ago.

“I thought I meant more to you than just another one of your flings. I should’ve known.” Your eyes, beautiful and luminous, were glistening. Your lips, trembling, the scorn in your tone palpable. His heart clenched painfully, his wolf howling at the agony. Protesting, clawing at his throat.

“I was never going to be enough to keep you honest.”

He hadn’t had a peaceful night since.

His heats got worse. He’d essentially rejected the mating bond, forcibly removing himself from the presence of his fated one and was now suffering the consequences.

“I fucked up, hyung.”

His throat itched.

“I hurt her, did things I didn’t mean.”

His arms strained, mouth dry.

“I just want to see her again. Apologize. Tell her how much she means to me.”

His cock throbbed at the thought.

“I can’t let you do that, hyung, I’m sorry. It’s too dangerous and you’re not in the right mindset. If you want to talk to her, you can do it once your heat is over.”

God, it was the same routine. Namjoon’s heart went out for the older man, the idea of shutting out the one person you were destined for was excruciating. Every moon, Hoseok would beg, cry, scream for you. For a second chance.

Yet, as soon as his heat passed, Hoseok would shake his head, forcing them to promise not to approach you, not to take any action regardless of what he’d said.

He knew how much you despised him, and he couldn’t blame you. He’d broke your heart and stomped all over it, after all.

At least it was his final year.

“___, hi!”

You eyed the silver-haired man warily, but slid into the proffered seat across from him. “Jimin. I didn’t expect to hear from you. What’s the emergency?”

“We know about you and Hobi-hyung.” You raised an eyebrow, unsurprised. “I knew you would eventually. Is that the emergency?”

“No, actually, it’s a lot more complicated than you think,” Jimin hesitated, fiddling with the hem of his sweater. You sighed. You knew Jimin was the sweetest of the bunch, and though he didn’t seem like a threat, the man was gorgeous in his own right and had his fair share of broken hearts. You also knew he wasn’t the type to call you up idly so something was definitely up.

“Okay. Lay it on me,” you said, waving over a waiter to order a latte.

“You’re kidding.” Hoseok blinked, the heat crawling in his veins flaring as he inhaled, the sweet scent had him arching as back, a low moan escaping his lips as his head swung around frantically.

“___,” he called. He scrabbled at the chains holding him down, wrenching at the ones on his wrist as he struggled to find you, still glancing around wildly. “___!”

“___,” relief flooded him as the murmuring behind the door silenced and it swung open. The room was dark, curtains drawn and the harsh white light had him cringing away. You nodded at Jimin, who looked at you worriedly, and shut it behind you, a blanket of shadows obscuring the room once more, save for the glowing of his golden eyes.

“___,” he pressed himself closer when you reached up to cup his cheek. He nuzzled your hand, purring. “I was a coward before, and even though this is a dream, I still want you to know,” he whispered, golden irises smouldering as he gazed at you. Arousal pooled at your stomach, the mere sight of him chained down and fucked out enough to have you rubbing your legs together.

“I know,” you murmured. “It’s okay, Hobi. I know.” He panted, eyes rolling back as you fingers played with the hair at his nape.

“I can smell you,” Hoseok moaned, tugging at his bindings. “You smell so sweet. Fuck! I want a taste. I need it. Please!”

You surveyed him, stepping back. He watched, entranced, pupils blown out until a thin, amber ring remained, as you pulled off your shirt, unclipped your bra and slid off your jeans.

“Wanna make you come on my tongue, wanna make you mine,” he gasped, pulling against the straps. You approached him slowly, but he wasted no time, yanking you closer as his hands squeezed your buttocks and he buried his face in your pussy, ripping your panties away with his teeth.

“Ah, Hobi!” You cried, fingers twisting in his damp locks as he sucked on your clit, two fingers thrusting brutally. He refused to stop, even as you came and pushed him off weakly from overstimulation.

“Kiss me, Hobi,” you panted. He surged upward, crashing his lips against yours, hungry and needy. You could taste yourself, but couldn’t find it in you to care as he braced one arm under you and swept you onto the bed, mouthing your neck as he pinned you down.

“Need you,” he pleaded, barely coherent with the way his head spun at your intoxicating scent, tearing his briefs off to grind against you, tip weeping precum and his balls feeling impossibly full and heavy. “Wanna fuck you, fill you to the brim. I know you’ll bear my pups so well, baby.”

Every touch was blistering, his body overheating, his hands shoving your legs apart as he lined himself up. Still, he waited, practically vibrating with frustration and arousal, but he needed—needed you to—

“Fuck me, Hobi,” you breathed, hands trailing down his chest as you pinched his nipples. “Breed me. Wanna be yours.” He whined, eyes screwing up tightly as he squeezed his cock.

“Fuck, fuck!” He panted. He took a steadying breath, hardly believing any of this to be true, but you wrapped your legs around him, digging your heels into his ass and urging him wordlessly to continue.

“Say my name,” he growled, chains rattling as with every thrust. His fingers were sure to leave purpled bruises on your hips, but the way his thick length scraped your g-spot with every stroke had you seeing stars.

“H-Hoseok!” You cried out as he rolled that nub between his fingers, your walls clenching on him tightly. He moaned at the feeling, increasing his pace as he leaned down, burying his face in the curve of your neck, teeth scraping at the delicate skin.

“____-____!” Through the haze of your pleasure, you peeled your eyes open, his body tensed and muscles locked above you. “Do it, Hobi,” you murmured, squeezing around him. He choked, a dribble of cum escaping him. “Do it, alpha.”

He came hard, vision white as his teeth pricked your neck, cum painting your walls hotly. It took several moments before it began to stem, the feeling of fullness had you blinking sleepily at him.

Hoseok licked the small wounds, nuzzling them as he sighed, breath ghosting across the shell of your ear as he shifted gingerly to rest on his side, shoving the restricting chains to the side as he pulled you closer, ensuring not a single drop of his cum escaped.

“I love you, ___,” he rasped, and you parted your lips to kiss him tiredly. “I love you too, Hobi.”

The two of you two make out leisurely until—

You squirmed, warmth stirring in your stomach when you felt him swell inside of you, twitching.

“Sorry,” he whispered against your mouth. “It’s the heat.”

You sat up carefully to swing a leg over his waist, straddling him as you clenched. “AH!”

“It’s my turn now, don’t you think?” You traced a finger down his pecs, abs rippling beneath your teasing touch.

“Someone still needs to be punished for what he’s done,” you purred. Hoseok slammed his head back against his pillow, tossing it side to side as he wails, begging you to just fuck him already, damn it.

Fuck, it was going to be a long week.

“If I knew this was going to happen, I would’ve never done it,” Jimin whimpered, jabbing the volume button uselessly.

“That’s it,” Yoongi groused, jamming his beanie on as he grabbed his keys. “Let me know when they’re done being horndogs. In the meantime, I’m gonna go take a cold ass shower at the studio.”

Jin sighed, clapping his hands as he got to his feet. “Alright kids, time to evacuate. We can at least be happy for the man. At least one of us has a mate now.”

“Told you we should’ve invested in some soundproof walls,” Taehyung grumbled.

As they dispersed to gather some clothing, the dorm door banged open. Jungkook came staggering in, face white and hands shaking.

“Uh, that might not just be one of us anymore,” Namjoon murmured lowly to Jin.

Jimin put up a hand. “Don’t look at me. I’m not dealing with this ever again.”

#bts #bts fanfic #bts jung hoseok #hoseok #hoseok x reader #hoseok smut #bts smut #werewolf!au #werewolf!hoseok #college!au

2K notes · View notes

jimlingss · 6 years

Text

Tell Me Lies [Prologue]

Prologue | Part 1 | Interlude | Part 2 [Finale]

➜ Words: 3.3k

➜ Genres: ????? (ooooh it’s a surprise), Spin off of ????

➜ PSA: don’t steal.

Blind. People have always been easy to trick, caught within the bubble of their lives, in the midst of pretentious phone calls or frivolous conversations, masking perfection for others, leading their chaotic lifestyles with short attention spans. They fail to notice their own surroundings, the little details that go unnoticed; from cheeks that are too hollow, marks of hunger and exhaustion made, to the clothes that are frayed at the hem, a trace of the second-hand material. When people are happy and comfortable, there is no need to pay attention to the world outside. “E-excuse me!” A young lady’s shoulder roughly collides with another. He’s rushing past, head downcasted, face covered by his black hoodie, and he doesn’t even spare a single glance or give an apology. She huffs out in annoyance, left to pick up her belongings off the ground. You immediately stand from your seat, scowling at the stranger whose backside is disappearing, and you lean down, helping the woman. “Some people can be so rude.” “Tell me about it.” In the grand restaurant, the noisy background of business conversations and meaningless chatter, the female laughs, easing the tension between her brows. The jewels of her necklace and the diamond on her finger sparkles in the chandelier’s shimmer. She glances up at you as you begin to shuffle her pens, paper, lipstick tubes and tissues back into her purse. “Thank you for your help.” The both of you rise to your feet again and you give her designer handbag back. “No problem, Ms. Jeon.” “Oh.” She’s surprised at how you directly address her, and she pushes a curl away from her face, batting her lashes once when she blinks. “I’m sorry. You are..?” “I’m Seulgi, Kang Seulgi. I think my dad and your husband are business partners...or something like that. I dunno.” You give a sheepish smile, shrugging your shoulders slightly. “We met a while back.” “R-right!” The pretty woman, no more than twenty-five, blushes from embarrassment, trying to recall the last dinner party. “I can’t believe I don’t remember. I must be getting old.” “No, you’re not.” A giggle bubbles from your mouth and she smiles. “We all forget things sometimes, it’s okay. Actually, speaking of my dad, he’s coming with my mom in like five minutes. We’re having a family dinner today. They’re treating me since I’m turning fourteen on the weekend!” “That’s so sweet,” she coos, her heart melting at the thought. “Congratulations, for turning fourteen, sweetheart.” “Thank you.” Your arms are behind your back and you’re standing on the tips of your toes, rocking back on your heels every once in a while. Your pink dress is a bit wrinkled, the bows on it scrunched but it adds to your soft charm. “Do you actually mind if you sit here for a moment? They should be arriving soon but I don’t think they know where I’m sitting. I’d just go grab them.” “Oh, of course. I have a date with my husband tonight, but he isn’t here right now.” The young woman scans the premise and then offers another smile. She takes a seat at the round table and gestures towards you. “Go ahead.” “Thank you so much.” You dip your head in appreciation, ready to turn on your heel. “I’ll be right back.” The strides of your steps are calm and constant. There’s no last glimpse taken as you weave through the tables and chairs of affluent people, marching straight out of the door. It takes a mere five minutes. Five minutes before the waiter saunters to the table and slaps down a long piece of paper. “This is your bill, ma'am.” “Bill?” The young newlywed immediately frowns. It’s almost comical, the way she stares up in confusion at the server. “There must be a misunderstanding. This table hasn’t ordered yet.” The man in the red vest isn’t impressed, his brows lifting, and he clears his throat once. “There isn’t a misunderstanding, ma’am. Three people sat here and ate an entire meal, and we just cleared off the table a moment ago. The bill still needs to be paid.” “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She becomes defensive, hugging her purse to her chest and sitting straight to counter him. “I’m not even supposed to be here. My reservation is over there. I’m just sitting here because—” “If you can’t pay the bill, then I will have to grab the manager, ma’am,” the waiter interrupts in a clipped tone, adamant and impatient. She is completely baffled, muttering incessantly about the regrets the entire restaurant will have when they realize their mistake and just how important she is. The woman opens her leather purse, nearly ripping off the zipper in irritation, and she fishes for her wallet. The search begins with fury before it morphs to bewilderment and then into desperation. She’s scrambling for her belongings, dumping out the items inside onto the white-clothed table and opens her mouth before closing it like a fish out of water. In the meanwhile, the waiter is tapping his foot, arms crossed, and unimpressed at the whole ordeal. “I—...I don’t have my wallet!” She nearly screeches and several patrons turn around from the noise, meal disturbed by her loud volume. “I dropped all my stuff earlier and—...and—” The blindness pulls back like a curtain, light piercing through her pupils and finally, she can see. Realization hits her like a bullet train, the woman finally becoming aware of her surroundings, but it happens too late. Now, not only is the waiter waiting for her, the owner of the establishment has also paraded on the scene and all the customers are staring from their peripheral vision. People are blind— That makes deception all too easy. Survival of the fittest and every man for themselves. In the short years that you’ve been on this planet, if there’s anything that you learnt, it would be to protect yourself first and foremost. If you don’t take care of yourself, no one else will. But, maybe there are two exceptions to that rule. “Y/N!” There’s a shout of your name from the distance and you leap down the hill, making your way to the two boys standing by the empty railway tracks. One of them is blonde, ruffled bangs almost in their eyes, black hoodie hanging off his frame and the other is brunette, his crinkled eye-smile already welcoming you back. “What the hell took you so long?” The former bemoans, lowering his shoulders and giving you an exasperated expression. “We were waiting for ages.” “Shut up, alright?” You move to dig your hands into your pockets, used to the movement, but you forget the tight attire that you’re wearing. “God, all you do is complain. You’re so annoying.” He stamps his foot childishly. “I do not just complain!” “Yeah, you bumped into her, whoop-de-doo. Anyone can do that job, dumbass.” You roll your eyes before moving to scratch your arms. The frilly material was grating against your skin and the shivers of the cold wind weren’t helping. It was times like these you wondered why the damn sun didn’t do its job, even when it was so bright outside. “Ugh, this dress is so itchy. I hate pink! Where did you even get this thing?!” The corner of his lips curl. “Where your mom left you — the dumpster!” A muscle in your cheek twitches and you jump to tackle him down. “I’m going to kill you, Kim Taehyung!” He giggles, a box shape plastered across his face and swelling into his cheeks. His legs tremble as they try to hold him upright, even when you’re on his back, pounding him with your little fists. “I’d like to see you try—!” “Will you two stop fighting already?” The brunette boy forcibly peels you off and drags you back on your feet. He holds the two of you apart and frowns. “It’s giving me a headache. Taehyung, you’re not being funny. Stop it.” “You’re always taking her side, Jimin!” The shrill protest is ignored and he turns to you. “And Y/N, stop being so mean to Taehyung.” You openly scoff. “He started it!” “Y/N.” His brown irises meet yours, timbre dropping a pitch, attempting to sound stern and intimidating. It doesn’t really work. At least not with his squeaky voice and adorable appearance, chubby cheeks, cute eyes and the entire nine yards. Still, you know better than to make him angry and you quiet down. “We’re a team and you guys fight too much. How are we supposed to get anything done? It feels like I’m doing all the work here.” Jimin lets out a dramatic sigh. “You’re both too immature.” “Immature?!” It’s an explosion of rage and shouts. “Excuse me?!” You scoff again. “The only thing you do is look at the reservation list and find people's names. Okay, I’m the one doing all the work here in this little ‘team’.” At the same time, Taehyung knocks his head back, staring up at the cerulean sky. “Wow, I can’t believe you’d say I’m immature. I know I daydream a lot and I do a lot of dumb things, but I’m not stupid, you know. All of this was my idea anyways, you guys are just helping.” “Okay, okay! I get it.” Jimin sheepishly grins, holding up his hands for mercy. “See? You two can work well together...if you’re trying to gang up on me.” “Psh.” The trio of you begin walking, following the train tracks like you so often do, letting it lead you to the next destination. Regardless of the endless bantering and the petty arguments, it’s times like these that you feel the most at peace. It’s as if the entire universe only belongs to the three of you. “We only work well together if you make us.” Your eyes roll once more. “If it weren’t for you, Jimin, I probably would’ve already punched him in the face.” While you may be barely scraping by, you’re happy. There’s no need to pay attention to the world outside when you’re stuck in your bubble, the little world that belongs to kids who are no longer kids but not adults yet either. And maybe in that sense, you are also blinded. “Uh, you throw like a girl.” His little smirk provokes you even more and you take a step forward. “You wanna say that again?” Like the coward that he is, Taehyung hides behind Jimin, and the latter raises his arm before you can launch. “Enough, stop it. I get it, I get it.” Jimin, the official peace-maker, exhales when you both return by his side without scraping each other’s faces into bits. “Let’s talk about something more important. What did you get Taehyung?” He hums, pulling out a wad of cash from his pocket and counting through the bills. “Two hundo.” People in luxurious restaurants outright leave tips on the tables and it’s easy to snag, especially for Taehyung’s slippery hands. On the other hand, you carry a different set of talents, primarily in speaking and charming others, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t slick either. “She got a bunch of cards we can’t use.” You pluck the shiny plastic rectangles out from the woman’s wallet and toss them behind your shoulder, examining every inch of the leather. “Oh, six hundred in cash. Not bad.” “So, that’s nine hundred. We get three hundred each,” Jimin deducts and you begin dividing the cash up evenly. “That, plus the entire meal we ate.” Taehyung smiles, pocketing his share of the money and kicking a rock with his worn sneakers. “Should last us the rest of the week.” “Hmm, I’ll search for a different place.” You’re already beginning to plan for the next trip, trying to consider all the locations that you’ve been to before. Typically, Jimin’s the mastermind behind the plans, strategizing and making arrangements, but lately you’ve been helping him. With time, things are becoming more complicated. “We should...aim higher.” Taehyung picks up a stick to hurl, throwing it far like he wants a non-existent dog to catch it, and then quirks his head over to you. “What do you mean?” “I dunno.” You shrug. “I just...I don’t know how long this can last us. There’s only so much petty theft and scamming we can do and there’s only so many restaurants and people to steal from. Every other day, we’re doing this and I think we should...invest.” Jimin stares at you. “Invest?” “We should do something bigger.” The more you talk about it, the more excited you get and so does Taehyung. You open your arms wide to the horizon of the sky, letting the sun beam down on you even if it doesn’t provide much warmth on this chilly day. The possibilities seem endless and your blind confidence extends even more so. “Like one giant scheme and be done with it! We wouldn’t have to keep stealing little by little, and we’d be rich!” “I like the sound of that.” Taehyung’s humongous grin is infectious, and he turns to his other partner in crime. “What do you think, Chim? One big scheme, and we’d be swimming in cash! We’d buy a mansion somewhere in the mountains or something! All three of us living it up for the rest of our lives!” “Maybe. We would need to plan a lot though.” Jimin smiles and you both watch as the gears in his head begin turning. “And as usual, we would only take from criminals or the wealthy. Not the poor or innocent.” “I think we can agree on that,” Taehyung says, and you nod along. It goes quiet for a moment, Jimin considering the prospects while you wonder about the future. Then suddenly, Taehyung stops in his tracks. “Oh my god.” “What?” “What’s wrong?” The pair of you are immediately on alert. The boy’s jaw has dropped, his eyes squinted into the distance like he thought of the best idea that’ll land everyone into a whirlwind of success but— “That cloud looks like a perfect square! Do you see that?! Look!” He’s pointing to the sky and then takes off, running and shouting about how it’s even possible. You and Jimin exchange looks and mutually sigh. “Why is he such an idiot?” “God knows.” The boy beside you laughs, a chirpy sound that rings pleasantly in your ear, and after a moment, he peels off his navy blue hoodie, draping the fabric over your head. “Put it on.” “What?” His scent has completely enveloped you but you tug on it, holding it in your hands to stare at him. “What about you?” “I’m okay.” He smiles, his black and white striped shirt oversized on his body and the sleeves almost reaching to the end of his fingertips. If he’s cold, he doesn’t show it. “I know you don’t like wearing dresses and you look like you’re freezing.” “Thanks,” you grumble in a pout, putting the sweater on and glad that it does indeed shield you from the brisk breeze. “Hey, Jimin.” “Hmm?” When you suddenly stop, leaving Taehyung wandering ahead by himself, Jimin halts as well. He turns to face you, concern written across his features. It’s not often that you call him so softly and quietly. “What’s the matter?” You reach down and over, taking his soft hand and opening up his palm. “Take it.” He looks down at the crumple of cash, your share, now in his possessions. You let go and Jimin lifts his chin, his eyes boring in yours, gazing deep into your irises. “But what about you?” “I don’t need it. I know your mom needs it more and it’s not like I have parents. So…” You give a meager shrug, diverting your vision elsewhere, away from his intense eyes and you begin to walk again. “I’d rather put it to good use. Just take it.” He catches up with your quick strides, the corner of his mouth upturned. “Thank you.” “Uh-huh.” You try to evade the touchy-feely conversation that you sense is arising. “Yeah.” “No, I mean it, Y/N.” But unlike so many times before, this time, Jimin doesn’t let you brush it off. He puts a firm hand on your shoulder, stopping you mid-step, and then he turns you, reaching over until your chin is hooked on his shoulder, and he’s hugging you. “Thank you.” It’s a bit awkward — at least for you it is. His arms are wrapped around your back, and he’s holding you so close, in a way that you’re not used to. You’re standing stiff as a board, arms at your side, even leaning away, backwards, from his touch but Jimin doesn’t let you escape. Your cheek is squished against his and the brat is practically squashing you for dear life, utilizing the rare chance he has at embracing you. His murmur tickles your ear, “I don’t know what I would do without you or Tae. Thank you for being with me.” At this age, your heights match….well, you’re sure that you’re a bit taller than him (despite Jimin arguing otherwise) — though, you’re also certain one day he’ll outgrow you. He’ll be taller, stronger, more reliable. You’re looking forward for such a day to arrive. “Uh-huh.” You begin to ease, relaxing and even welcoming his affection. Jimin and Taehyung were always clingy from the beginning, the former more towards you, but even after four years, it still catches you by surprise. “Are you gonna cry?” “I don’t know. Maybe.” You can practically hear Jimin smiling and your own lips begin to move against your will. “You’re gonna get your own hoodie wet.” When Jimin realizes that you won’t peel him off just yet, he steals the opportunity and nuzzles into you, digging his face into your shoulder and breathing in your scent. “Don’t care.” If you were completely honest with yourself, you don’t know what you would do without the pair of them either. Those two idiots are the biggest blessing of your life. “Taehyung’s gonna make fun of you.” “I don’t care about that either.” It’s weird for him to be hugging you in the middle of nowhere, next to some train tracks and a grassy field that’s been trashed by litter. Moreover, the minute Taehyung snaps back to reality and wanders back, whining about how slow you two walk, only to realize that you’re hugging, his face will twist in disgust, and he’s gonna complain even louder. ‘Ewwwww, what the hell are you guys doing?! Gross! Get outta here!’ But like Jimin, you find yourself not caring either. For once, you savour the comfort Jimin provides, raising your hands to pat him gently on his back, something you’re aware his mother does. He hums for a moment and then finally pulls away, smiling at you so brightly that his face might break. “You know, you act really mean and hardcore sometimes, Y/N, but I know that’s all fake.” “What?” Jimin giggles and ruffles your hair, making a mess of your head and patting you like you’re his pet. You immediately scowl, slapping his hand away, but he isn’t deterred. “You’re really sweet and kind.” With that simple statement, he begins to walk away and you’re left baffled, jaw slack and you barely manage to keep up. “Am not!” “Are too!” “You’re a dumbass, Jimin!” The boy hums a small note and tips his head to the side, looking off at Taehyung’s backside, who’s now chasing a dragonfly zooming across the field. “Maybe for you I am.” Blind. Perhaps being ignorant to the cruel reality, to suffering and pain, the bleak future that is dawning upon all of you, isn’t so bad. Being trapped in your little, happy universe is all you need. Being with Jimin and Taehyung is all you could’ve asked for.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #jimin fanfic #taehyung fanfic #jimin fluff #taehyung fluff #it's time to cue my evil laughter #while simultaneously sobbing

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cottonwren · 6 years

Text

Valentines day is for capitalists | A.S.

A/N: Happy Valentine’s, you guys! I’m alone for this one and so are you, probably, if you follow me. Enjoy 2K+ of Ada x Fem!reader

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"Tommy. I need a car, a reservation at a restaurant, and for you lot to leave me alone for tonight and tomorrow. Think you can do that?" Ada was frantic. Your second Valentine's together and you had outdone her horrifically last year - two things that Ada couldn't stand were being outdone and not being enough, and last 14th Feb had done just that. "Yeah. Course." Tommy nodded from his fag. "What's going on?" Arthur asked, ever oblivious to the current situation. "It's Valentine's day, Arthur, and Ada wants to do something nice for Y/N" The passive aggression in Linda's voice made Bonnie and Michael choke on their tea - they had nowhere to go because Aberama and Polly had gone AWOL.

“Right, that reminds me, uh, what are you doing tonight after Billy boy has gone to bed?” Arthur asked softly, looking at his miracle of a wife - he really didn’t believe that he deserved her sometimes, especially when he forgot every holiday to ever exist.

“Nothing, Arthur. Why do you ask?” Linda asked with a sly smile. She had some things planned, actually, but that would be for later. Much later.

“Can I take you out? To that restaurant you like so much with all the crosses?” He asked, wrapping an arm around her waist gently. Linda nodded with a smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek. God, she loved her husband - misguided, rugged, and she wouldn’t have him any other way.

“Right, so if anyone knocks on my door, unless my child is dying, I will not hesitate to hack your heads off. Y/N works long hours and this is the only night she’s been able to get off for fucking forever - I will not have you lot ruining it.” She clarified before going to leave, then as if pulled back by some invisible voice, she retracted her steps to look at Bonnie and Michael “I’m doing the right thing by trusting you two with my baby, aren’t I? If not, let me know, because I will find an alternative. I cannot have it fucked up”

“Karl loves us, it’ll go great! Bon’s gonna tell him stories” Michael told her with a grin, setting Ada on edge. Nothing was more unsettling than his cockiness.

“Right. I’m going to get everything ready. Tommy, I’ll come to collect the car and the name of the restaurant later. A good one, please” Ada told him, though she knew that, as always, Tommy would go above and beyond for her happiness. Well, not always, but mostly. When he could, and when she was this worked up, he had always done the very best - that was lucky, because it was the least that Ada thought you deserved.

“Don’t worry Ada. I’ve got it. Go do Ada things and I’ll sort the restaurants out, and get you a good car. Tell Y/N I said hello” Tommy told her with a hum, almost nudging her out of the door.

“Right, because when I’m on a date with my girlfriend, telling her how much I adore her, I’m going to start talking about Mr Tommy Shelby OBE MP of Small Heath” Ada grinned, walking out.

“Forgot you communists don’t like the finer things in life” Tommy teased, handing her her bag that she’d thrown at the wall, widely missing literally anything she could have been aiming for.

“We just don’t think that the 1% should exist, Tom - believe that the ‘liveable’ wage should actually be liveable,” Ada told him, now standing on the path.

“Now now, Ade, don’t give them any ideas. Last thing we need is a commie revolution around here” He told her, the door closed behind him as he spoke to his little sister.

“Might do it just for fun. Bye!” Ada joked, then walked off in the direction of the train station - Tommy always thought it ironic that she hated the 1% and lived in London, of all places.

Once Ada had caught a train to London and angrily sholderbarged her way through the crowds, she was met by you waiting at the entrance. You weren’t meant to get off of work for an hour.

“Heya love” You grinned, still in your work suit. She wrapped her arms around you, confused but ultimately surprised.

“Hi… As much as I love the surprise, why’d you get off early? You weren’t sacked, were you?” Ada asked, slipping her hand down to hold yours as you began walking through the busy streets.

“Sacked? They can’t afford to lose me, love, can they?” You laughed, swinging your hands a little “Thought I’d surprise you and just spend some time with you and Karl then see if we can find a restaurant”

“Or, you could relax at home a bit, have a nice bath, I’ll pick Karl up from nursery and then let me be the best partner in the world?” Ada asked softly, proud of herself for being the one with a plan - she normally was, but when it came to anniversaries it was left up to you.

“What’s the point of a bath if you’re not in it with me?” You asked, feigning confusion before nodding “That sounds great, love. Thank you so much. You’re the best. I’m not going to ask questions because you look very proud of yourself and that means you’ve excelled - not a surprise there. Manage to excel in everything you do.”

“Good. Don’t ask questions. Just follow my orders” Ada told you in a strict voice, leading you down an alleyway that would lead you towards your apartment.

“Is that part of the Valentines Day Ada special?” You teased, giggling incessantly as she playfully slapped your shoulder.

“It could be. But shh, kids are around and god forbid we give them the homosexurabies” She hummed, mocking the countless complaints you’d recieved from the neighboring nannies and the mums that you walked past.

“What’s the worst that can happen - they end up happy?” You asked in mock horror, making her laugh. God, what a beautiful sound.

“God forbid!” Ada laughed, fishing for her keys in her bag and walking with you through the doors to your apartment complex and walking up the stone steps until you reached your floor.

“Do I get to give you my Valentines day present aswell? Or should I wait till the experience is over of your grandiose expression of love?” You enquired as soon as you were safe inside the homey apartment. Hanging your coat over the hook on the door, you checked yourself in the mirror - her present wasn’t visible at all. Great.

“Either works - unless there’s a dog somewhere, otherwise you should probably not suffocate it or kill it of starvation” Ada commented dryly, hanging her own coat next to yours and sitting her bag on the coffee table. “How does he manage to leave toys everywhere when he’s at nursery?”

“Been learning off of me - making a mess all the time” You hummed, gently pulling her closer into a kiss, your hands around her waist. She tasted like birthday cake and everything that was great about being alive - it made you wonder if she was real, sometimes, if she and Karl were just figments made up by a lonely mind. Then you’d reach out in bed and feel her strangely toned arms wrapped around Karl’s chubby little frame and try to memorise everything in that moment because nothing this perfect ever stayed that way for long.

“Takes off his mum more than his mom, then. Hopefully the same is true for his anger,” Ada joked, gently tucking a stray strand of your hair behind your ear.

“No, he’s got your blood in his veins, Ade, and you don’t learn fighting as primal as that - and as often, holy hell. I’m surprised you aren’t off fighting Bonnie and the likes of him for money and fame.” You were joking, but it couldn’t have been more obvious that Ada wasn’t made for fame - she barely handled being called a Shelby well enough when the peaky blinders were just a gang. Now? They were an international force.

“Mhm… Better go get the little bastard whilst I think about it. You go get in that bath and I’ll wish I was with you the whole time” Ada decided after a quick look at the clock and a gentle tap to your ass, narrowly missing feeling the ring box in your chest pocket as she leant forward.

When Ada got back, you were dressed up and sitting at your vanity. “Ada? Karl?” You called out, getting up, not bothering with shoes as you walked out of your shared bedroom and towards the hallway to just see Ada. No Karl in sight. “Where’s Karl? Is he ok? Do I need to phone your brothers?”

“Bonnie is babysitting him, love. He’s fine. But for now… fuck, why do you look so gorgeous? For now, we’re going out for dinner” Ada told you, amused and warmed by your worry. It really shook her that someone could love her son as much as she did, but she was sure that when she saw you read to him or when you woke up in the night and reached out for them both, you loved them both more than she could ever know.

“Where are we going then. Ms. Organised?” You asked, following her to the bedroom, turning the lamp on once again “Please don’t tell me it’s Linda’s scary restaurant with the bleeding jesus and the crosses?”

“No, that’s where Arthur is going. We’re going to Viennetta’s, I’ve been told it’s the best italian in town. Plus, I got us a nice car - as much as I hate the 1%, you have to admit, it is good” Ada hummed, pulling out a dress from her side of the wardrobe and taking off her own normal day dress before pulling on the baby blue one. “Zip me up?”

“Sure” You nodded, sliding on your heels and walking over to her to carefully zip up the chiffon dress. “Love this dress”

“Why’d you think I’m wearing it?” Ada grinned, glad it was all going to plan. “So, how was your day at work?”

“Exciting - one of my clients, you know the pub that your brothers pretty much destroyed? That one, had me assess all the damage, account for it all, and then complained about your whole family to me. Lied through my teeth, but it was funny to see someone bitch about them almost as much as you do”

“Oi” Ada laughed, clipping on her necklace after putting on her dress - she was a relatively quick changer, something you could never even attempt. “How do I look?”

“Absolutely gorgeous, Ade” You told her, sneakily swiping the velvet box from under one of your hats and hiding it behind your back “Can I suggest one more little accessory, though?”

“You can” Ada nodded, looking at the vanity desk “Should I change my earrings?”

“No, love. Close your eyes” You scoffed, watching as she rolled her eyes but did it anyway. “Your earrings are great”

Getting down on one knee, you got the ring box out, holding it open and then attempting to speak coherent sentences - it took a couple breaths but you finally got it. “How about a ring, Ada? Open your eyes”

“A ring?” Ada asked, then opened her eyes. She was taken aback “I…”

“Ada, I know we can’t make it official, but will you marry me? I know you’ve been thinking about going by another last name, so how about mine? Plus, you get this sweet ring in the de-” You were knocked off balance by Ada practically jumping on you, kissing you and then sliding the ring on her finger.

“I’ve always wanted your last name, you idiot” Ada told you with a wet smile, sitting on the floor with you, hand in yours “We’ll have a little ceremony - my family, yours, Jeremiah.”

“Little? Your family are like rabbits, love…”

“I know” Ada laughed, standing up and taking you with her “Now, let’s go have dinner and then we can get on to phase two of my awesome valentine’s present”

“Don’t forget a coat, you’ll catch a cold” You reminded her, getting your nicer coat out of your half of the wardrobe. Valentines day was a load of capitalist mush, but somehow Ada made it feel like a day of real love. A day where nothing mattered and you could be engaged to the woman you loved.

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