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1kook · 4 years ago

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espn & bdsm

this is part 6 of my netflix & chill collection !

summary; You would like to personally thank every loud-mouthed, ESPN commentator out there for saving you from Jungkook’s dangerous seduction skills. warnings; smut (18+) in the forms of brief femdom, handcuffs, nipple clamps, blindfolding, flogging/use of a riding crop, soft dom kook, cunnilingus, spitting, unprotected but passionate, degradation, as always it starts horny n then turns into I love u kink miscellaneous; kook has a swollen ankle so idk how he did all this, jk abuses the fuck outta pet names part 7, revenge gone wrong tbh, this was honestly a beginner’s intro to vanilla bdsm word count; 12.7k

notes; this is like… a healing fic… for the part before lol. also i did not know what was going to happen next as I was writing. anyway entire smut scene was based off THIS bad boy ur welcome fellas and the Jungkook described here is from in the soop episode 2... cutie... yes every single 1 of those words is a link

lmk what you think! a simple ask goes a long way <3

You're at the nail salon with Doyeon when she first mentions it.

“Have you ever, like,” she pauses, making a vague, swivel gesture with her head. You furrow your brows and she sighs. “Topped him. Have you ever been the one to take control?”

Your nail artist blushes, furiously filing away at your nails until the most perfect stiletto shape stares you back in the face. “Oh. Not really,” you admit, wiggling your wet toe nails around in the styrofoam flip flops issued by the salon. “I mean, sometimes I talk him through it.”

Doyeon snorts. “Babe, talking him through it and being the boss are two completely different things,” she says rather dryly, seemingly unbothered by the fact your two nail techs are being subjected to this more than intimate conversation. But you’ve had weirder talks with Doyeon in public; this doesn’t phase you. “Listen,” she says suddenly, dropping her voice down to a whisper that has you leaning closer to hear her. “You know how I’m a member of that site, right?”

You nod. “Oh yeah— Sexuality Unleashed: The Best Toys Worldwide!, right?” She kicks your shin, but the jab is muted by the bottom of her own styrofoam flip flop.

“Yeah, just tell everyone here my credit card number while you’re at it,” she hisses. Her anger fades soon enough. “Well, they’re always sending me all sorts of freebies for my devoted patronage,” she explains. She quirks her lips to the side, throwing one brief glance at the blushing nail artists in front of you. Eventually she seems to come to a conclusion. “Long story short they sent me some cuffs and I’m gonna give you them.”

Your jaw drops. “Woah, really? I don’t know… Don’t those usually run kinda pricey?” you ask tentatively. You’re trying to play it off, act like this isn’t something you want, but the reality is so much worse.

The minute the word cuffs had slipped through her lips it’s like a door opened before your eyes. A big, wooden door with chains strapped across it and a padlock you swore you’d never open.

Somewhere in your mind, you had always convinced yourself handcuffs in bed was something you’d like to have done to you. But, because she was your best friend and by extension a personified version of all your freakiest, often filtered, thoughts, it was like Doyeon had reached straight into your cranium and extracted your most secret fantasy— and that was Jungkook in handcuffs.

Your nail artist pats your hand, motioning you to head over to the drying station. Before you can be separated from Doyeon, you whip around to throw her one desperate look. “I have never wanted anything so bad in my life.”

She cackles loudly, easily garnering the attention of every employee and nail enthusiast in the salon with the evil witch vibes she exudes.

Truth be told, your argument with Jungkook had brought upon a newfound appreciation for him. Weird to say, considering you had wanted to kill the dude when it had originally happened. But the great thing about you and Jungkook was that you were flexible people— both in bed and out. A few long conversations later and you had reached the root of the problem.

And that root was your apparent lack of communicating when something was wrong. It was weird to think that anything could ever be wrong when Jungkook was involved. He was your honeybun, sugar plum, pumpy-umpy-umpkin. Your sweetie pie, for lack of better wording, and he could do no wrong—

—is what you’d like to say. But if there’s anything you’ve learned in the past year of dating Jungkook, it’s that perfection was a made up belief that revolved around the idea that someone’s flaws couldn’t possibly be a good thing. And as you’ve come to realize, Jungkook wasn’t the perfect gentleman you’d initially chalked him up to be. He was human, just like you, with his own list of worries and thoughts, and sometimes those thoughts manifested into flaws. They could be ugly or they could be beautiful, but at the end of the day, they all made Jungkook into the person he was— and you loved that person. Disgustingly so.

You had your moments, and he had his. Everything would not always be sunshine and rainbows for the two of you, but it was fine so long as you learned to play in the rain and stomp in the puddles.

Still.

You were you.

A slightly mean, slightly conniving, petty ass human who had been plotting his revenge since the day the two of you made up. I mean, you weren’t actually just going to let him get off the hook like that, were you? He had saved himself last time with a gooey, heartfelt apology and confession, followed by some extraordinary dicking down that had left you Naked and Afraid for three days after.

But you weren’t that easy! No, ma’am. You had to let him know that some gorgeous demon dick was not enough to satisfy you after a fight like that.

Jungkook was in for a desperately needed reality check, one that jingles in your purse when you step out of the Uber that drops you off at his place. You know he’s home because his front light is on, and also because he’d texted you that he was watching some soccer match on tv tonight. He’s a pretty big fan, especially of the club playing tonight, so you decide it’s a perfect night to strike.

Your copy of his key slips right into the keyhole. Your slippers are in the same place they always are, neatly set off to the side right by the stairs. He’s not in his living room, undoubtedly the most perfect place to watch any type of sporting event with that huge Jumbotron of his. The damn thing made it feel like you were in the stadium itself.

There’s a quiet hum coming from upstairs. You creep up the steps, carefully rounding the corner at the landing until you’re staring right into his dimly lit bedroom.

The way Jungkook’s got his bedroom set up is so that you can look directly at his door from the bed, terribly inconvenient for when that sleep paralysis demon hits in the middle of the night and you’re left staring into the dark hallway. He’s snuggled comfortably over his sheets, about three pillows supporting his back. The light of the tinier, more acceptable television he keeps in his room is dancing across his features in bright shades of green. You almost throw yourself onto his mattress like a starfish until you spot the carefully placed foot on the bed.

“What the hell did you do?” you blurt. A wrong move, considering he hadn’t seen you yet and your sudden appearance makes him jump nearly ten feet into the air, almost knocking down the bag of ice that sits on his ankle. “Oh my god, it was that damned Pilates class, wasn’t it?” you fret, rounding the bed until you’re on his side.

“Oh hey,” he says as if you’re not currently pulling the first eight seasons of Grey’s Anatomy to the forefront of your head to treat him. “When’d you get here?”

“Cut the crap, who did this to you?” you ask, sitting beside him with the utmost care. You drop your bag off to the side, the loud clatter of the inside contents vaguely registering in your head. The ice pack comes off easily, revealing a relatively okay looking ankle save for the slight swell towards the more medial aspect of it.

Jungkook takes the moment to sit up, joining you in your inspection of his injury. “No one,” he answers, using his new position to drop a kiss against the side of your head. “I fell off the ladder helping Mrs. Jung across the street.”

You choke. “You fell off a ladder?” you squawk, eyes wide as your gaze shifts from his ankle to his entire body.

He places a hand on your shoulder, “babe, I was on like the third step. It was one of those old wooden ones,” he explains with a nonchalant shrug. “The step just happened to snap on my way down.”

You scoff. “That old lady is out to get you,” you warn him. “Remember the time she almost had you plug in those burnt out Christmas lights for her? The ones that would have electrocuted you to death.”

Jungkook laughs, settling back into his stack of pillows. “In her defense, she’s old,” he offers. He’s wrapped up in a black hoodie, fluffy bangs parted down the middle. He’s got on some blue shorts, a huge difference from his usual dark-toned clothing. He looks so good and warm, and you’re suddenly hit with the fact you can’t possibly handcuff this poor, injured angel to his bedpost and ride his cock into the sunset. “You didn’t tell me you were coming over.”

You deflate, wild fantasies thrown out the window. “Yeah, well,” you sigh, ditching your pants and climbing over him until you’re snuggled into his side. “Wanted to show you my nails.”

It’s a lame excuse. But he buys it, so.

“They’re cute,” he says, taking your hand in his. He turns your hand over, inspects your pretty new acrylics like he actually has any idea how much they cost or how sexy they look. He raises your hand to his face, pressing a smooch against your knuckles that has you heart thumping embarrassingly loud in your chest. God, you hated this fool.

You turn your nose up at him, like you’re some snooty rich girl who couldn’t give him the time of day. Except it’s not like that, and Jungkook knows.

“What’re you watching?” you ask instead.

He’s got that stupid dopey smile on you, the one that takes one nudge against his side to snap him out of. “Ah, just the game.”

You squint at the screen. “Is this Fox Sports?” you ask in disgust.

He pinches your side. “This is ESPN,” he corrects. “And you don’t know shit about sports channels,” he points out. “So sit this one out.” You give in with a huff, cuddling closer into his side while trying to jostle him as little as possible. Jungkook seems to have no deeply rooted concerns about his injured ankle if the way he hauls you into his arms is any indicator. “How did nails with Doyeon go?”

“You know, the usual,” you respond, idly toying with one of the strings on his hoodie as your eyes focus on the little figures running across the screen. He hums, gesturing for you to elaborate. “Talked about sex, how much better than you at life she is, some more sex.”

He scoffs at that. “Doyeon is not better than me, and I have a whole trophy case to prove it.”

“Okay, but have you singlehandedly Twitter beefed with an entire sorority in your freshman year of university and won?”

He frowns. “No.”

You give him a look, one that says stand down now unless you want to lose to my best friend and get your feelings hurt. Jungkook understands. “Anyway,” he announces, turning his attention back to the screen with you. You think his team might be winning—you vaguely remember seeing him wear a similar jersey once—so he’s pretty relaxed for now. “They’re doing pretty good considering they just lost their main striker.”

You have no idea what that means. “Who? Messi?”

Jungkook knows you don’t know. “He doesn’t even play in this league,” he explains anyway.

“Oh, I saw him trending on Twitter last week. Thought he died or something. Whole time it was just a bunch of soccer nerds crying about him leaving his team.”

He laughs. “You should be a sportscaster,” Jungkook decides after your ever-so-eloquent recap, tucking his head cutely against your shoulder. There was a study once that claimed the incessant need to squeeze a baby’s cheeks or hug puppies tightly was actually the innate human response to kill something they felt threatened by. Oddly enough, you find yourself thinking of that as Jungkook’s citrusy shampoo floods your nostrils.

“Oh, speaking of Doyeon,” he says suddenly. “Did you give her my address? I got a weird package from that store she likes that I genuinely don’t remember ever ordering.” You frown, sitting up slightly until you can look at the side of his face, the cute mole on his cheek calling your name.

“What?” you ask. “Was it in her name?” Jungkook nods. You’re about to tear the roof off his house and go hunt that evil wench down when realization dawns on you. “Oh, no, yeah I gave her your address. My mom stayed over last weekend and Doyeon needed to order something nasty. Guess it got delayed until now.”

Jungkook nods and then doesn’t say much else, which is weird considering the circumstances. You expected him to gently scold you for carelessly giving the psycho that was Kim Doyeon his address, but she’s been here a few times to pick you up, even came over for beer night once. She probably knew it anyway, but you still expected some type of reaction of disapproval from him.

Something’s off, and you know better than to leave it at that. You poke his cheek, right where that mole you’d been eyeing was. “Did you open her package?” you ask, grin slowly consuming your features at the fact Jungkook was apparently a mail snooper.

He looks away. You laugh. “Oh my god, you did,” you cackle, sitting up beside him to get a good look at the blush growing on his cheeks. “What did you see?”

“Nothing,” he huffs, pretending to be overly invested in his soccer match again, but that ship died the moment you stepped into his room. “Babe, I can't see the match.”

You roll your eyes, purposefully shifting in front of him so he’s forced to look at the maniac look in your eyes. “What did you see, Jeon Jungkook, and are we going to steal it from her again?”

His cheeks bloom impossibly darker at that. “No!” he coughs, pointedly avoiding your gaze.

But your curiosity is at its peak now, his reactions only exacerbating it. You grab him by the shoulders, hands balling the material of his hoodie as you give him one firm shake. “What did you see,” you demand.

“Oh my god,” he gives in. You release him and he flops back onto his pillow mountain. “They were things,” he explains slowly, cheeks rosy. “For your, y’know,” a vague gesture over his chest.

You frown. “A bra?” you guess. “I’m not gonna lie, Kook, think I just lost a little respect for you.”

“No!” he huffs. “They were… little clamps. For your nipples.”

If this was a cartoon, you’re almost certain you’d be that character with the object in question in their eyes, heart fluttering in your chest at the words that leave his mouth.

Immediately, two things become obvious to you.

One, Kim Doyeon was a bigger freak than you’d expected who obviously dabbled in an assortment of trades. Clamps, your brain screams, overwhelmed with the image that appears in your head, the one that has a shiver running straight to your core. You would have to thank her for this gracious, unintentional gift she’s bestowed upon you.

Two, you’re gonna have to write her the best, most plausible apology letter tomorrow when you inform her those clamps have been lost in the mail, never to be seen again. Or you could just straight up tell her you snatched them up the moment you found out what they were, but you doubt that’ll go over well.

Jungkook groans. “You have that look in your eye,” he points out. You snap your attention back to him. “And I just wanna say in advance that I don’t think i can give you the fun night you deserve, baby,” he apologizes, motioning towards his still swollen ankle.

Something distinctly mean switches on inside of you.

You flash him a sweet smile that has him letting down his guard. You lean forward, pressing a soft peck to his cheek as you climb down the bed towards your forgotten purse that’d been resting on the floor until that point. “Who said I needed you to have fun?” you throw over your shoulder, carefully slipping Doyeon’s first gift close to your body so he won’t see.

Jungkook levels you with an unimpressed look. “Really,” he says dryly, “you think you can have fun without me?” He almost sounds cocky, as if the idea of you even enjoying yourself the teensiest bit without his help seems unfathomable.

You grin, padding over to his bedside, where you carefully pick up his hand. You mirror his actions from before, pressing a sweet kiss against his knuckles that makes that conceited look slip off his features for a second, eyes soft.

Click.

Jungkook frowns. “What the—“ before the sentence can leave his mouth you’re lunging forward, wrestling his hands above his head, until they’re both secured at his headboard by the soft cuffs Doyeon had given you that afternoon at the salon. Jungkook’s wide eyes stare back at you, briefly leaving to glance up at the silver chain that wraps behind one of the rungs of his headboard. “Babe,” he says slowly. “What the fuck.”

You beam at him, leaning down to snatch a pillow from beneath him so he’s better positioned, leaning back more. “So cute,” you gush, taking in the way his raised arms have the hem of his hoodie lifting at the waist. There’s a faint trail of hairs around his belly button that disappear beneath the elastic of his shorts. “Do you like them?”

Jungkook blinks. “Baby,” he says a second time, much slower and a little too calm for your liking. It almost gets swallowed by the roar of the fans on TV. “What is this?”

You ignore him, scampering around his room until you find the hot pink Sexuality Unleashed packaging peeking out from beneath his bed. Sure enough, it’s in Doyeon’s name but his address. A whole complicated mess just for some nipple clamps she’ll never see again. It’s what’s inside anyway, not that you thought Jungkook was lying, but there’s something about the actual, carefully wrapped packaging that makes your heart and pussy flutter.

“Oh! Aren’t these the prettiest things?” you exclaim, whirling around to where Jungkook is shaking up a storm with his cuffs, pout growing on his features the longer you leave him there. The ice pack slips off his ankle, falling onto the comforter beside him from all his movement.

Jungkook doesn’t seem the least bit interested in the silver nipple clamps in your hands, too busy trying to free himself from the sudden trap you sprung on him. “Sweetheart, we can play with those tomorrow, alright?” he tries, relaxing his arms and finally looking your way. There’s a frustrated furrow to his brows, one you rarely see but adore very much. “Just undo these cuffs for me, yeah?”

You tilt your head to the side, placing a hand on the inside of his calf that you trail all the way up as you move to stand beside his hip. His thighs flinch at your touch, tensing when you stop just before the crotch of his pants. “Mmm, don’t think so,” you smile, dropping the thin chain beside him.

Your shirt goes first, peeled over your body until you’re left standing in your bra. It’s nothing too special this time, just your average run of the mill comfort bra hugging your chest. But that doesn’t really matter, especially not with the way you’re hoping things play out tonight. You’d discarded your jeans a few moments prior, so the shirt joins them on a pile on his floor.

As much as he tries to act irritated by your refusal to release him, there’s a slow stirring beneath his shorts. It’s emphasized by that bright blue material, cock swelling as he watches you take off your clothes. “Baby,” he warns, possibly for the last time. But you won’t know unless you push some more, you tell yourself, placing one knee on the edge of the bed, the other thrown across his lap.

“Wow,” you marvel, picking the chain up once more. Jungkook shifts beneath you, half hard cock brushing against the cleft of your cheeks. “Don’t you wanna see what it’s like, Jungkookie?”

He says nothing, watching you with solemn eyes that leave no room for reading him. Behind you, the game commentator is chattering up a storm.

Doesn’t matter, especially not when this flimsy metal had you so completely hypnotized. You reach behind yourself, unsnapping your bra with one fluid motion that has the cups falling onto your lap, soft chest on display for the man before you. Your breasts spill out slowly from their cage, pretty hardened buds slowly coming into his view. They make him pause his fussing, half-lidded gaze falling to the swell of your chest hungrily. His hands jerk, the cuffs doing their job of keeping them there.

You grin, placing a hand on his chest, over his hammering heart. “Do you wanna see me wear them?” you croon, tugging the material of his hoodie up his stomach, until your thighs are sitting directly on his tiny waist, thin thong just over his belly button. You trail your hand up, letting it brush up the side of his neck and bury into his scalp. You give an experimental tug that has his eyes squeezing shut. “Yes or no, Jungkookie?”

He’s being a huge brat for you, eyes scrunched up together like the sight of you enjoying yourself sans his touch is unimaginable. Another tug of his hair and he’s exhaling shakily, a quiet, “yes,” slipping past his lips.

The chain drops onto his chest with a quiet thud, shocking him enough to blink his eyes back open. Releasing your hold on his hair, you sit back on his lap, towering over his fidgety body like a goddess at a temple, him the lowly worshipper beneath you.

Your hands crawl over your body, starting somewhere around your waist. The glide up over your tummy, caress the underside of your breasts teasingly. Sure Jungkook knew your body well, but you knew your body best. One hand rubs teasingly over your breast, palm pressing down slightly against where your nipple lies, while the other drops down between your thighs, slowly grinding against your mound.

“Look, Jungkookie,” you gasp, body twitching at your own hands. You take a hardened nub between your fingers, rolling it back and forth until it’s standing at its peak. “I can do it without you,” you tease, rolling your hips against him slowly. The thin material of your thong does nothing to save you from the delicious swell of his cock against you. “F-Fuck,” you whimper, circling a finger over your clit. “It’s, it’s even better.”

His restraints jiggle against the bed frame, an obvious look of distress crossing his features. “No,” he huffs out a whine, tugging at the cuffs as you slowly unravel on his lap. They don’t give, no matter how much he pulls. You know he’s holding back, afraid of damaging his headboard, and you take advantage of the fact as you move to roll both nipples between your fingers. He groans harshly, jaw tight. “Hate you,” he hisses, hips wiggling beneath you. “Hate you, hate you.”

You breathe out an airy chuckle. “R-Really?” you ask, trembling hands finally reaching back for that second gift of the day. Your breath is shallow, so thoroughly wound up from your own playful hands, and you tremble at the mere brush of the cool metal. “Oh fuck,” you whimper, bringing them up to your chest, “I’ve never done this before,” you confess.

There’s a sense of amazement that consumes you at the thin chain you hold in your hands, the pretty gold painted clamps on each end. It makes you shiver, body unconsciously grinding down against Jungkook’s lap where his engorged cock was fighting against the material of his shorts.

“Then let me help you,” he tries, the childish tone from before melting into his usual silky smooth baritone. Jungkook even softens his gaze at you, let’s his tongue peek out to wet his lips as you almost seriously consider his request.

Had it not been for the sudden loud shout from the sports commentator behind you, a long obnoxious gooooooaaal, you probably would have fallen victim to that honey-eyed gaze. You would like to personally thank every loud-mouthed, ESPN commentator out there for saving you from Jungkook’s dangerous seduction skills.

Without a second thought, you bring one of the little camps close to your chest, giving it a few experimental squeezes until the nerves are replaced with an overwhelming wave of horniness that even Jungkook can sense. “Fuck,” he groans, shaking his restraints back and forth like a wild animal as you slowly get to clamping your left nipple.

You’re not sure what you expected; part of you had thought it was going to be an excruciating pain, one that would make you want to scream and shout in sheer agony. The other part had reduced it to a barely there pinch that would never live up to your fantasies. As it stands, the sensation of the clamp around your swollen nipple sits right in between, drawing in a choked gasp that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head.

“Baby, sweetheart,” Jungkook gasps alongside you, eyes zeroed in on the pinched off bundle of nerves. There’s a sudden grinding sound that fills the air, like the sawing off of wood that definitely doesn’t sound good, and it’s a direct result of the fight he puts up against his headboard. “Please, please,” he begs, muscled arms tugging back and forth. “I have to touch—“

The second clamp goes on, making your entire back arch as if you were possessed. You're not, just extremely overwhelmed by the prickle of pain on your tits that makes you grind down against his cock, hands fisting the front of his hoodie like it’s the only thing grounding you right now. “Oh,” you shudder, thighs quivering at the heightened stimulation you receive from the clamps sitting on your nipples. “Kook, I-I can’t.”

He growls, hips bucking beneath you in a crazed effort to better situate you on his lap. “You gotta take these off me,” he rasps out. The next buck of his hips makes the chain dangling between your breast brush dangerously close to his face. He’s unintentionally goaded on by the TV in the room, the annoying drone of the commentator shouting something about never giving up. “Can make you feel so much better, sweet girl,” he cooes, jutting his head out like he needs a kiss.

Your head feels woozy, pussy throbbing at the sensations being channeled down into your core. Your eyes flutter shut, and before you can think it through, you're blindly reaching for the chain, giving it one light tug that has you mewling like a kitten. “O-oh, fuck,” you sob, looping your finger around the thin chain carefully. Another tug that pulls against your nipples sends a gush of wetness down between your thighs. “Cock,” you slur dazedly, “need your cock.”

Jungkook shudders out a long breath. “Le-Let me go then, sweetheart,” he chokes out, “let me fuck that pretty little pussy for you.”

“Uh uh,” you disagree, bringing another angry buck out of him, metal cuffs rattling loudly. “Want you to watch,” you pant, reaching behind you for his shorts. “Watch me, Jungkookie.” It takes three tries for you to get a grip, the elastic material slipping from your fingers before you finally gain some semblance of control and paw them down . The shorts and the boxers came off together, his engorged cock springing up to tap against your ass. “W-Watch,” you repeat dazedly, leaning forward with one hand on his shoulder to line him up with your dripping hole. Behind you, the commentator is droning on about core balance or something of the sort. It takes two tries as you blindly have to tug your panties to the side as well, and just as you have his fiery red tip against your entrance, something else happens.

He catches you, pearly teeth biting down on the chain that connects your clamps in a motion you can only liken to a bloodthirsty shark jumping out of the water, jaws snapping to catch its prey. It dangles in his face, the same way his own necklaces have done to you so many times before. But the difference between you and Jungkook was that while you let his assortment of necklaces hypnotize you, drag across your face painfully, he doesn’t. He snaps forward, catches it between his teeth.

You mewl loudly, foggy vision turning onto him. Jungkook’s got this unreadable look on his face, likes he’s pissed off and turned on all at once. “You’re not in charge,” he murmurs around the chain, the s and c sounds all slurred together. “You will never be in charge, silly girl, you got that?” he spits, yanking his head back like an animal, pulling your upper body with him by the two golden clamps on your nipples.

There’s tears in your eyes, lining your waterline and threatening to fall with each tug his mouth gives against the chain of your nipple clamps. He’s got his neck craned back as far as he possibly can with a pillow beneath him, chain links digging into his bottom lip. “Y-Yes,” you sob, your entire body quivering at the way he so easily manages to overthrow you, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he says, solemn eyes flickering across your twisted features once more. He gives another purposeful tug, head snapping back just the tiniest bit, but it’s enough to tug you forward again, a loud whimper torn from your throat. “Undo these cuffs for me, sweet girl,” he commands softly, jiggling the same restraints he’d spent the better part of fifteen minutes fighting against.

“Y-Yes,” you whimper, hands wildly slapping down on his bedside table. You had had half the mind to leave the key there when you had retrieved the cuffs, telling yourself it would be easy access afterwards. It’s not, apparently, the silver pick falling just out of reach. For some reason— it’s probably the sensitivity and horninesss, the pinpricks of pain that originate from your nipples —this fact frustrates you to the point of tears.

“Easy, doll,” Jungkook talks you through, voice low and soft beneath you, “relax and grab it for me, okay?” You nod, angrily blinking away a tear that drips down your face. It splatters on Jungkook’s cheek, bringing a soft huff of amusement from him.

Finally the key brushes your hand, and you sigh in relief, shakily leaning forward to undo the lock above his head. He releases his killer chomp/grip on your chain just as you release his cuffs. “I-I’m sorry,” you sniffle, a sudden need to apologize as you watch him rub at the raw skin around his wrists. “I didn’t—“

“Shhh,” he says, cuddling you into his chest. “It’s alright,” he says simply and you believe him.

Which ends up being a terrible mistake exactly ten seconds later when he’s shoving your face into the sheets, your cries and whimpers muffled by the sounds of the game on TV as he winds your arms behind your back. You struggle for all of five seconds before a soft click resounds from behind you.

“Did you think I’d just let that slide, sweet girl?” he growls against your ear, hot breath fanning across your skin. “I'm not your dog, __,” he spits, suddenly yanking you up by your cuffed wrists. Your chest is heaving, arms aching from the way he’s got you on your knees, blind to whatever he’s doing behind you. “Don’t lock me up, because I’ll always come back to bite.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you stammer, flinching when a hand snakes around your waist, an experimental tug to the chain of your clamps. It sends a shudder down your spine, amplified by the hot press of his body behind you. “I won’t do it again!”

“I know you fucking won’t,” he laughs meanly, trailing his hand down over your mound. One finger circles your clit through your underwear, a shaky sigh exiting your lips at the jarringly light touch. “Because I’m gonna fuck you until you’ve learned your lesson, silly girl.”

“I said sorry,” you whimper, thighs quivering. His cock brushes up against you, the same cock you were about to ride until the sunset. Oh how the tables have turned.

A hand slips beneath your underwear, pad of a finger rubbing against your swollen clit. “Oh,” you exhale, surprised with the suddenly gentle touch following his words. “Th-That’s nice,” you murmur, head lolling forward at the slow rhythm he sets, playing with you like you were a toy that needed warming up.

“Yeah?” he husks out. There’s a yank to your clamps that makes you gasp, chest following the motion as if it’ll reduce the shock. “You think this is about making you feel nice?” he murmurs. Another tug, followed by another, until he’s raining down a series of rhythmic shocks onto your tits that make you shiver and twitch, tongue heavy in your mouth to the point you feel like you’re drooling.

“Wait,” you whimper, arms twisting behind you. “Hurts, hurts” you cry, arching your back like it’ll save you from the steady stimulation against your rock-hard nipples.

“Does it?” Jungkook hums, one hand working away at your clit. He swirls it around his finger, pressing down on the nub in an attempt to distract you. But it only heightens the sting coming from your breasts, the blossom of pain that grows over each mound the longer he plays with you. “Good. Want your pretty little body to hurt for me, baby.”

Right after saying that he releases the grip on your chain, letting it swing back and forth until it eventually rests on your stomach, throbbing nipples spared for now. A breath of relief washes over you now that you only have to worry about the hand playing along your folds. The TV is still flickering to your right, but the commentator's voice sounds fuzzy and so far away, like he’s in a whole different dimension while you and Jungkook are here.

Your reprieve lasts shorter than you expected, as his free hand slowly begins creeping up your waist, fluttering over the little gold clamps pinching your nipples. “Pretty girl,” he compliments, nudging one tender nub with a playful finger. “Pretty, pretty baby,” Jungkook murmurs as he begins massaging the scorching hot skin around your nipples gently. There’s a warm kiss pressed to your shoulder, followed by a trail up the side of your neck. You shudder, trying to focus on the hand that creeps down your folds, teases itself against your entrance.

“Jungkook,” you whine softly, rolling your head to the side so he can suck bruise after bruise onto your skin. You’re definitely drooling, the saliva thick and heavy in your mouth. “T-Too much.”

“Thought you wanted that,” he mumbles, kissing up and up until he’s at your jaw and then he’s at your mouth, languidly kissing you. He’s doing that thing again where he’s hellbent on drowning you in his spit, and if you didn’t know better you’d think he was preparing you for something. “Wanted me to watch you bounce that tight little cunt on me while your tits were like this,” he says, punctuating his statement with a light slap against the side of one breast. It makes you jump, a moan catching in your throat.

The finger that had been playing meanly along your wet folds eases itself past your lips, plunges head first into the aching heat inside of you. He works it against your walls, thumb over your clit as he curls his finger inside of you. You moan loudly, shaking in your restraints. The hand over your chest squeezes, pushes the clamp deeper against your breast until your entire body is short-circuiting.

Your first orgasm comes over you with all the grace of a lightning bolt; it’s sudden and jerky, has every nerve ending wildly spasming as you whimper his name. “No more, no more,” you beg, head lolling back against his shoulder. He shows you no mercy, simply rubs furiously over your clit, until you’re jerking into his maniac hand.

When it’s over, he places a kiss against your jaw, curling his finger inside once more “Play with yourself,” he whispers.

“H-Huh?” you stutter, the rattle of your cuffs loud in both your ears, but not as loud as the breath you were trying to catch post-orgasm. You wonder if maybe he got ahead of himself again—he occasionally did that, thinking ahead to a point you hadn’t reached in your normal progression of sex —but suddenly he’s shoving you back down again, the finger that was slowly driving you insane rudely exiting your cunt.

You flop down against the mattress with a squeal, wiggling around like you actually had a chance of doing anything with him watching you like he is. You struggle for a few beats, every shift against the mattress rubbing harshly against your breasts until you nearly want to cry.

Just as you reach that point, he’s rolling you into your back, hands uncomfortably bent beneath you. It leaves you unwillingly arching to accommodate them, tits practically presented for him to see. “Pretty girl,” Jungkook groans, reaching down for the first time that day to touch himself.

His self restraint was truly unmatched, you realize, watching him squeeze the base of his cock. He runs a palm over his abdomen, up his chest. He drags the material of his hoodie along with it, eventually shucking it off somewhere to the side. His hair, so fluffy and soft, flops over his forehead, a few defined strands tickling his eyebrow.

The mere sight of him alone made you shiver, pussy clenching at the wet dream before you. He’s not an idiot either, obviously aware of what the sight of his body does to you, the tattoos littering his entire right arm that hypnotize you. The faint glow of the TV screen against his side makes him look like the cover star of every middle-aged wife’s erotic romance novel. He reaches said arm down, runs a hand along your thigh until you’re spreading them wide for him.

He doesn’t touch you like you want, only slides over your body until he’s toying with the chain of the nipple clamps that were slowly becoming the bane of your existence. “Open,” he says suddenly, and you do. Your mouth drops open, tongue stuck out slightly even if you don’t know why. He’s ingrained the response into you by now, made you into a desperate slut always ready for anything in your mouth.

This time it’s the stupid, stupid chain connecting your nipple clamps. He tugs it until it’s pulled up, the pull against your nipples making you whimper and writhe. The metal is cool when it touches your lips, but his fingertips are warm. “Good girl,” he praises once you bite down; even this sends a shock of nerves down your spine and to your pussy. “Just like that.”

A muffled whimper escapes your lips, tears clouding your vision at the stimulation that was quickly overwhelming you again. Part of you thinks no more, please, I can’t. But the other has you spreading your legs for him, quivering pussy desperate to be filled.

The distress must be obvious in your face if the way Jungkook kisses your neck is any indication. He’s got one hand massaging against the underside of one breast, like he’s soothing the striking pain of your pinched nipples for you. If anything, it only strings you along more. “Stupid baby,” he chuckles meanly, a soft puff of laughter against your jaw, “thinking she could push me down.”

He leans back onto his knees, that same careful brush against the inside of your thigh bringing about an embarrassing whimper as he peels your thong away. “But you didn’t really want that, did you?” he eggs on, slowly shifting down against the bed, until his mouth is hovering over your exposed lower lips. His breath is warm, makes you yearn for him to be closer. “You like when I shove my cock into your little pussy, right? Like how it feels when I turn you into my little slut like this,” he sighs, pressing one chaste kiss against your thigh that makes you pull at the cuffs behind your back.

Soon, his mouth is on your clit, the same clit he had previously pampered with his hands but chooses to play with again. He licks an obscenely wet stripe from your throbbing hole to your clit, tongue curling devilishly towards the end. You whimper, though the sound is distorted around the chain in your mouth. Jungkook groans, dives mouth first into your cunt until he’s suffocating himself. His cute nose is pressed against your clit, and he takes advantage of the fact by taking one, dramatic sniff with his eyes rolled back. A soft moan escapes him.

“Fuck,” he shudders, “smell like heaven for me.” You moan at his sweet words, eyes squeezed shut as if that’ll stop the buckets of overwhelmed tears that you’ve been fighting off since the moment the clamps came on. “Wanna give you the world, angel,” he breathes, licking languidly against your folds, tongue occasionally peeking inside.

You mewl and writhe, every movement sending a tug of pain over your nipples. You want that gorgeous cock deep in your cunt, want to feel him in your womb, but you can’t voice any of this with the chain of the clamps between your lips.

Jungkook sits up suddenly, and you’re thinking yes, finally, before the look on his face has you screeching to a halt. There’s something distinctly different about him, a look you don’t think you’ve ever seen in bed before. Your thoughts are only confirmed when his foot slides onto the floor, as if he’s about to leave.

The panic must be evident on your face, because Jungkook is quick to swoop in and reassure you he’s not done with you yet. “Wanna fuck your little pussy,” he admits, carding a hand through your hair. “But the truth is I don’t think you deserve that just yet.”

With that he slinks off the bed, leaving you writhing in confusion as he heads off for the closet behind you. You can’t see what he’s doing, can only hear the shuffling of something back and forth. The TV is still on, the loud cheering of the fans muffling his clattering. You’re suddenly reminded of his swollen ankle, craning your neck to tell him to not overdo it, when something dark covers your eyes.

He’s standing just beside the edge of the bed, his signature teddy bear heat emanating off in waves so thick you could touch them. “Do you trust me?” he murmurs, voice close but not close to your ear.

Something swells in your chest, an emotion so intense your entire pelvis tightens up at the realization that Jungkook was asking for permission to blindfold you. You’re almost certain it’s one of his ties, a silky black thing that covers your vision for the most part, save for a little crack by where your nose juts out. A shuffle to your side, and then he’s gently prying the chain he had pushed past your lips earlier out. “Need an answer, ___,” he says quietly, almost nervously.

“Yes,” you gasp, your entire body set aflame at the sudden turn of events.

If you were being honest you would have never predicted your night would end like this. Maybe you came in a little too cocky, a little too optimistic for the night. It was supposed to be Jungkook handcuffed and powerless, you remind yourself— how on earth did you get here?

“Good girl,” he praises, giving you a little encouraging nudge to raise your head for him to actually tie the knot behind your head. It’s definitely one of his suit ties, you realize, because there’s a distinct cross-stitch pattern that you can feel only when it’s tightened against your skin, pressing against your fluttering eyelids. When he releases you, you’re suddenly all too aware of the sense he’s deprived you of.

“K-Kook?” you call out with a tremble in your voice. The rhythmic pattern of his footsteps rounds the bed again, and then there’s a soft touch against your leg.

“Right here, sweet girl,” he reassures you. The bed dips by your legs as he closes in on you, still tied up and on the verge of a second orgasm that he snatched away before your very eyes; not that you can see it anymore. His hand slides over your stomach, tugs playfully at the clamps. You moan, the sensation magnified tenfold by the fact you can’t see nor anticipate his actions now.

His hands glide like two sailing boats over the broad expanse of sea that is your body, molding against your curves like waves as they go. He hums appreciatively, and you find yourself glad you can’t see him. You can’t possibly imagine with what eyes he’s looking at you now.

You bask in the glory of his attention for another beat before he retracts his touch.

And then, suddenly, something distinctly not hand-like, and weirdly soft traces over the inside of your thighs. “Kook?” you ask tentatively.

No response.

It runs over your skin in the same way his hands just did, a unique shape your brain scrambles to put a name too. It’s soft, so soft. But cold to the touch. Inanimate for sure. It’s a toy, your brain supplies belatedly, but that much you already know.

It’s heart-shaped, you realize, just as it thwacks down against your pussy.

You shriek at the suddenness of it all, thighs clamping shut. Your heart is thundering at a pace of a rabbit’s, chest rising and falling as you blindly piece together what just happened. “Kook?” you whimper a second time, head craning back and forth in a desperate attempt to track his next move.

He’s not touching you anymore, but the bed is still dipping by your feet, so you deduce he must be there. You test your theory by sliding your foot against the sheets, lower lip trembling at the idea of him not being there.

Jungkook catches your ankle with one warm palm, slightly calloused from years of weightlifting. He raises it up, the cold air of his room hitting your exposed pussy. “You liked it,” he says, not a question but an observation. Your pussy throbs, the phantom strike against it lingering. A kiss to your ankle.

“Wh-What is it?” you cry, unconsciously pressing your leg closer to him now that you have his location. (You don’t see the soft smile on his face at your action.) Ever so slowly you let your thighs open again, now anticipating the next touch of that thing— that riding crop, you realize.

Jungkook confirms. “It’s a riding crop,” he explains, excitement curling around his words. Suddenly, it returns, this time against your stomach. He doesn’t strike you like he did before, simply lets it run across your tummy. “Heart-shaped. It’s so pretty,” he sighs dreamily. “Reminds me of you.”

You nod anxiously, stomach muscles tensed the longer it stays there. Jungkook obviously sees this, lifting it to give you the lightest of taps that still manages to make you gasp. “Cute,” he laughs, trailing it back to where it first touched down.

“Oh,” you tremble, thighs twitching as it pats tenderly over your clit. “Wai-Wait,” you warn, body arching as he runs it down, down your swollen folds. “No,” you weep, going to close your legs. But Jungkook predicts your moves, pressing your thigh down harshly against the bed.

“Shh,” he soothes, tracing the heart down your folds, pressing it flat against you. There’s a distinct lining over it that makes your hips jump, a faux-velvet covering the tip that tickles your skin. “Sit still for me.”

“No!” you gasp. Your back arches, body betraying you as it pushes your pussy against the toy. “I can’t, I can’t, Kook,” you sob, lips contracting around the gaping nothingness in your hole.

He condemns your attitude with a harsh swat of the riding crop against your cunt, tearing another high-pitched squeal from your lips. It’s followed by another against your clit that makes your body spasm. “Bad,” he chides. “Supposed to be my perfect girl.”

“I c-can’t,” you whine, the darkness over your eyes making the sensations ten times more intense. You don’t know where he or the riding crop are if they’re not directly touching you. Even then, the image is fuzzy in your head. “Need you,” you pant.

You try to reach for him, try to pull him into your arms. But you’re reminded of the cuffs holding you back, the metal digging into your skin behind you. You sob at the realization, angrily shaking your hands back and forth like maybe acting like a tantrum-throwing child will save you. It doesn’t.

Instead there’s a tug at the chain resting on your stomach, one that makes you cry out in pain when it pulls at your terribly sensitive nipples again. Jungkook uses it to pull you close, just a small inch off the bed that has you gasping for breath nonetheless.

“N-No,” you wail, nipples throbbing from all the sensations you’ve put them through tonight.

A chaste peck against your trembling lips. “Tell me how it feels,” he purrs, nose brushing against yours. Even with the tie obstructing your vision, the latest version of your boyfriend burns itself into your eyelids, force feeding you his sweaty skin and damp hair until even his breath against your face is enough to bring you to the edge.

“I-It’s scary, Kook,” you sniffle, listening for any signs of a reaction. But even if he did show one, your breathing is too loud and the ESPN channel is still blaring on screen. “Scary,” you whimper, lunging forward in a desperate move to feel the familiar brush of his tongue against yours. You miss.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks carefully, like he’s afraid he’s pushed too far.

He has. But fuck, do you love it.

“No,” you wail, lips smushed somewhere along his cheek, near his jaw and not his mouth like you wanted to. “Feels good, feels so fucking amazing,” you babble, cut off halfway through by a hiccup from your sad cries. “Wanna cum, wanna cum for you like this.”

Jungkook chuckles in relief, tilting his head until you can catch his lips with yours. It’s probably an awkward angle you assume, him adjusting for your vision-less whims, but it feels so good. It sends a shock to your pussy, his plush lips against yours. Without him telling you, you’re opening your mouth for him. “Spit on me,” you beg pitifully.

Jungkook groans, and you can almost visualize the look on his face perfectly— the tensing of his jaw, the push of his Adam’s apple, the pucker of his lips. “God, you’re disgusting,” he sighs, a fat glob of spit hitting the back of your tongue. Without your vision, you don’t see it coming, recoiling with a whiny mewl. The thin trail of saliva that follows trails across your chin when he finally reels back. You swallow greedily, wondering how soon is too soon to ask him to do it again.

With your full permission to move forward, Jungkook wastes no time trailing the riding crop over your wet folds, collecting your oozing pre-cum on the tiny heart as he roves it over your cunt. “Fuck, you can probably cum like this too, can’t you?”

You can’t answer, too caught up in the featherlight brushes. Even if you wanted to say something, one sudden strike against your pussy renders you speechless. “Mmh!” you hiss, biting down on your lip.

“Come on,” Jungkook encourages, resting a hand on your thigh. He presses the crop against you again, pushes down until the flat apex of the heart where it meets the flexible stem of the toy is pressing against your cunt hotly. He grinds it down against you, takes a sick pleasure in the pathetic way you arch up into it, rut against the little heart like it can provide even half the pleasure his hands usually would. “Talk to me, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

Your body is on fire, every nerve, every sensation shooting straight to your most erogenous areas— your cunt and your nipples. Talking seems like the farthest thing from your mind right now, too caught up in the way he roughly pushes the crop against your clit. A whimper rips itself from your throat, shuddering at the sensation. Unconsciously you jerk away from him, only to be scolded with another thwack against your quivering pussy lips. “A-Ahh,” you wail, squirming beneath him like a worm that can’t sit still. “Good— it feels good, Jungkookie,” you weep.

The soft mushy pet name has him raining down two snacks against you in quick succession. “No baby names,” he warns, frown evident in his voice.

Even with you completely under him like this, shackled and blinded with your love, something unmistakably childish and obnoxious curls around your throat, has you biting down on a grin as the coil in your stomach tightens. “D-Don’t like that, Jungkookie,” you choke out hoarsely, wildly bold for someone in your position. “D-Don't like being m-my baby?”

The crop loses its position over your folds, and for a minute you’re left anxiously anticipating its next touch.

It’s on the side of your breast, harder than the rest, combining with the already powerful pinch of the clamps. It makes you cry out painfully, stomach tightening at what is probably the most unexpected orgasm you’ve ever had. It isn’t like your usual ones that overpower you and make cum trickle out between your folds.

No, it comes in waves— literally. Your pussy spasms, pushes one splurt of cum out between your thighs, almost likes your lower lips are spitting it out. And then again, more the second time, against his mattress. He pushes your legs up to your chest to marvel at the cum coating your lips and thighs. “You’re my baby, stupid,” he hisses. He grabs at your clamps then, twisting the little chain in his hand harshly. You sob at the yank, at the way your nipples feel two seconds away from being ripped off. But you can’t even complain, because the sudden touch has your pussy clenching, before a final trickle of cum oozes out of you.

Even still, your mind babbles on. “N-No,” you choke, shaking back and forth. Despite the tie covering your eyes, they flicker like a mad man beneath it, like you’ll somehow get lucky and develop Seeing Through Fabric Ability if you try hard enough. “My, my baby,” you fight weakly, pelvis trembling from aftershocks of that orgasm. “My idiot b-boy,” you smile dazedly, eyes rolling into the back of your head at the sting you’ve become familiar with by now. “T-Tell me, Jungkookie,” you croon, biting down on your lip to keep a moan from spilling out mid-syllable. “Still the same, r-right?” you stutter, “still think you’re better than me, don’t you?”

He scoffs. “No,” he vehemently denies, brashly landing an unexpected smack against your hip, no warning in sight. “That’s not true,” he defends. You can hear his pout, the little push of his lips when he grows defensive.

You laugh, every bit the insane lunatic, fueled by your two orgasms and slipping sense of reality. “Ffffuck,” you whimper, rolling your hips up into nothing. “S-Say it again, baby,” you plead, tongue licking across your lips. “Tell me, tell me you don’t care about my problems, Kook-ah,” you whimper.

There’s a hesitant pause on his end, an unexpected lull in your play as he’s torn apart between doing what you want or playing it safe.

You know you’re confusing him, because you’re certainly confusing yourself. You don’t even bother trying to dissect your emotions— you’ve long since accepted your mind was a dangerous place when horny and presented with Jungkook’s sole attention. Well, you knew you were into the whole degradation bit, but this whole having-your-boyfriend-throw-the-words-that-made-you-question-your-entire-worth bit was certainly new and unexpected.

But there’s something in your heart (and in your libido) that needs this, needs him to fix this memory for you that maybe, kinda sorta, has haunted you for days, weeks now, as much as you hate to admit it. Needed him to fix the booboo he gave you with a bandaid, only leave a scar you could look back at and laugh off, not a gaping wound that opened at the slightest mention of it. Because while you forgave, you certainly never forgot*.

(*Unless forgetting meant having your boyfriend overwrite said memory that couldn’t be forgotten with the sheer power of his monster demon cock and wicked tongue. Only then could you forget.)

“Don’t be a fucking pussy, Jungkook,” you spit, feeling the hesitancy in the riding crop that brushes against your skin. It fades away quickly. “S-Say I’ve a dead-end office job; just holding you back,” you beg, trying to pretend the entirety of his little outburst hasn’t been ingrained into your mind for the last couple of weeks. Something flashes in your chest, throat closing off when the toy finally leaves your skin. “Tell me, tell me—“

He looms over you, teddy bear warmth covering the entirety of your body. “Is this what you want?” he asks seriously, lowly, breath fanning across your lips. Your makeshift blindfold feels distinctly damp over your eyes, chest heaving with an exertion that can only be emotional when he speaks so softly to you after routinely raining down brutal thwacks on you for the past half hour. “__,” he says sternly, “is this what you want?”

You gasp on a sob, unsure when these emotions had time to manifest outside your heart like this. You nod your head like a bobble head doll sitting on someone’s dashboard, lower lip trembling on a shameful cry that is not sex-induced like all the other ones until now. “I-I need this, Jungkook,” you admit, voice so tiny and soft, it almost gets drowned out by your shaky exhales and the crowd roaring on screen. “Need to overwrite it.”

He presses a soft kiss to your quivering lips, slow and so devastatingly loving. It’s nothing like the one from before where he’d spit down your throat per your request, and the unbridled adoration he packs into one simple kiss makes you crumble in his arms, sniffles piling on by the dozens.

He leans back after a moment, pulls your thigh over his forearm and finally lets you feel the hard ridges of his cock against your folds. “Stupid girl,” he huffs, trying to sound angry and annoyed, but there’s a lilting tone to his words, a love and trust you wouldn’t have been able to see with or without your blindfold, but can feel nonetheless. He pulls it off you anyway, the warm glow of the TV illuminating his face for you for the first time in about half an hour. Eyes soft, sweat trailing down his body. His body lines up against yours, but so does his heart. You feel it in the way he holds you in his arms, the way he’s careful about sinking into your folds. He slips an arm beneath your waist, uses it to hold you up so you’re not uncomfortably squishing your arms anymore. But if you ask, he’ll pretend he’s doing this for convenience sake only.

“T-Terrible fucking job,” he starts out, the stammer eluding the obvious discomfort he has saying those words, but he does it for you anyway. “Big fucking baby,” he tries again, slowly pushing past your tight walls with a shudder. “C-Can’t look away from you for two seconds because you’re such a fucking kid.”

“Worse,” you choke out. “Meaner. Please, Kook.”

He nods, holds your waist carefully when he finally bottoms out inside of you. “Dead-end office job,” he says, repeating the words that had made you want to crawl into a whole and never come out from. “Got some stupid fucking problems,” he tacks on, slowly withdrawing his hips from your heat. “Always complaining about the stupidest shit,” he hisses, fingers digging into your waist when it’s only the tip of his cock inside of you. “I don’t fucking care about it,” he seethes, forcefully snapping his hips into you.

They’re scrambled fragments of what he’d really said to you that night. Line after line that don’t carry a quarter of hurt or even make coherent sense for that matter. And still.

You whimper, mind fuzzy from the thrusting pace he picks up, body fluttering at the glide of his cock against your walls. But your heart is thundering in your throat, his willingness to help fix this memory for you tightening around your every being until you can’t breathe. “I-I love you,” you cry, clenching down around him.

Jungkook groans, pulls you flush against his cock until the thin hairs around the base of his cock are tickling your skin. “Stupid, fucking child,” he groans, “immature ass nobody,” he grunts, bucking into you like your words don’t mean a thing.

“I am, I am,” you wail, suddenly hit with the cold hard truth that your body was desperately on edge. From the stimulation your nipples had gotten all night, to the ghost of the riding crop that lingered across your skin; your body was tired, so ready for a final orgasm that you’re certain Jungkook will provide. “T-Tell me y-you—“

“Shut up,” he barks, sweaty skin gliding against yours. “D-Don't tell me what to do,” he huffs, nailing you into the bed. He’s pushing you hard into the mattress, like he wants to brand you into it. “Need to fix this— alone.”

You nod numbly, the crowd behind him cheering loudly. It’s like they’re rooting for him— for the two of you —as silly as it sounds, and as bothersome as it would be any other day, today the obnoxious sounds of the ESPN soccer match only serve to fix a bad memory from before. It’s loud and cringey as all hell, but you’ll look back to this moment and laugh.

And that’s what you want most of all. You want that memory from before, that nasty fight, to go away, to disappear forever and be replaced with this one. Of him, pounding you into the sheets as his TV blares beside you, just another day, another round of sex filled with your usual kinks. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Ffffuck,” you whine when the tip of his hard cock prods against your cervix. He’s going deep, he’s going all out, because he wants to fix this too. Wants to do anything to make it right, and he’ll never know how much you appreciate him for it. “S-So deep,” you whimper, hips jumping when he rams back inside.

“Stupid slut,” Jungkook snarls, tucking his head against your neck the same way he always does. “Making me do stupid shit like this,” he bites, but you know he doesn’t mean it, know he never will again. He rocks his hips into you, no longer concerned with holding you up from uncomfortably laying on your cuffed arms anymore as he pistons into your squelching heat. He’s pressed so close over you, lips brushing against your collarbone with each snap of his hips.

All the pushing and jostling about has the chain of your clamps wildly jumping about, sprawling across the planes of your chest, above your breasts, where he snatches it up between his lips again. “Stupid, fucking—“ he slurs, jutting his head to the side like a wild stallion. You sob at the tenderness of your nipples, at the way he pays them no mercy as he continues rutting into you like a mad dog in heat. “Slut,” he spits. “S-So fuckin’ pretty.”

Your mind is in another universe, and when that last word, that devastatingly familiar term, slips from his lips mindlessly, something inside you snaps. “N-No,” you sob, legs fidgeting around his waist at the orgasm that wracks through your body against your will. “No,” you cry in frustration, “didn’t, didn’t want—“

“Stupid, stupid angel,” he babbles, seemingly unaware of your orgasm as he continues fucking into your leaking cunt, ignorant of the cum that dribbles out, creams his cock as he carries on. “Fuck,” he pants, gnaws against the chain of the stupid clamps like he can’t bare this any longer. “Love you,” he says, though he’s still stuck in that mindset from before and his sweet confession sounds more like a threat. “L-Love that childish side of you,” he confesses, finally dropping the chain— much to your relief —and surging forward to kiss you on the mouth. He tastes weirdly metallic, a thought you can’t ponder too long as he continues ramming himself past your clenched lips and into your pussy. “Your fffucking dr-drive to succeed,” he grunts, mouth smushed uncomfortably against your cheek.

“Kook, sweetheart,” you shudder, sensitive pussy spent as he drills on. His cock is still so achingly hard, and he doesn’t seem anywhere near completion. “Take it easy,” you gently remind him, can’t brush your fingers through his hair like you usually would, so you settle for pressing your lips to his cheek.

“Fuck, fuck,” he heaves, pushing so deep you practically feel him in your womb, swollen mushroom head begging for entry. “Give me it all,” he stammers, “want you—want this forever.”

“I know you do, baby,” you coo, nuzzling your nose against his when he sloppily surges forward, panting and gasping over you like a crazed caveman. “I’m yours,” you gently remind him.

“No,” he chokes out hoarsely, eyes screwed shut. “Need more, all of it,” he mumbles. “Give me yourself, ___, need you for the rest of my life—“ he cuts himself off with a shuddered whine, so airy and wispy it makes you shiver. “Ffffuck, shit,” he howls, each thrust into your walls only unraveling him more and more. “Give me, give me—“

“Anything,” you whimper, body trembling from his excessivity. “What do you want, Kook-ah?”

He says nothing, losing himself in the warmth of your pussy as his orgasm rounds the corner. He’s in the final stretch, the final straight until achieving nirvana alongside you at the finish line. And, as you’ve long since come to understand, a true Jungkook Danger Zone. He loses all sense of self, random syllables and phrases slipping through his lips.

“Fuck, fuck, marry me— marry me,” he moans, snapping his hips into you with a ferocious speed that has you bouncing against the sheets, and that’s despite the tight grip his has on you. “Let me— fuck— let me fuck a baby into you, sweetheart,” he purrs, eyes shining like an absolute psycho, but you’re apparently into that because the idea squeezes around your chest and burrows it’s way in. “A baby,” he marvels like an idiot, eyes big and sparkly, “f-fuck.”

“Wh-What?” you choke, flinching when he bites down against your lower lip. He’s got you trapped beneath him, stuffing your brain with these ideas that make your heart enter cardiac arrest, body tingling like in Mario Kart when you’ve got the star power up. “Kook—“

“Sh,” he groans, digging his fingers into your sides as he rolls his hips against you. “Almost,” he informs you, but the blood rushes to your ears. “Oh, fuck,” he pants, jaw clenching, “oh, baby.”

Jungkook cums with a shivered cry, body hunching over you like some entity has just exited out of his spine. Maybe something did, because afterwards he manages to hold himself above you for exactly three seconds before dropping the entirety of his hefty muscles onto you. “Ouch,” you whine, wrists twisted uncomfortably beneath you.

“Sorry,” he huffs, completely out of breath and dazed as he rolls away from you. He ends up spread out like a starfish beside you, completely fucked out and definitely zooming through the fifth, sixth, and seventh dimensions.

He doesn’t say anything for a hot minute, chest rising and falling like he’s just run a marathon, until you butt in. “Kook. Undo me,” you remind him.

He looks over at you, dark hair falling over his eyes and sprawling around his head like a halo. Oh, he was going to be the death of you. “Oh,” he says, like his brain has just processed the information. “Right.” He sits up, tucking himself back into the shorts he never fully took off. That was his character flaw; never bothers to get completely naked during sex. Anyway, his straight male-equivalent of booty shorts come up around his thighs again, stretching sinfully across the thick muscles.

The five sonnet poem that was gearing up in your head comes to a halt when he touches your breast. “No, no more,” you cry, instinctively withering away.

Jungkook snorts. “I’m just taking them off, baby,” he says, reaching forward again with the same practiced ease you’d use on an animal. The clamps come off, all the nerves suddenly coming back to life. It’s a weird sensation, not having your tits subject to that prickling pain anymore, and it makes you moan softly. Jungkook soothes you with his wannabe masseuse hands, but you think it’s just an excuse for him to fondle your breasts.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks gently, hovering over you like a damned surgeon or something. His voice is so silky and smooth, hands soft against your chest. He’s so careful in the way he turns you over, somehow magically producing the tiny key pick you swore was lost between the sheets after its first use.

Being on your chest makes you tremble like a leaf, the faintest brush of the cotton against your tits enough to make your pussy clench weakly. “ I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, carefully detailing his actions like you’re not watching him with your very own eyes. But it’s oddly comforting, having him walk you through the process of rolling your sore wrists. The inside of the cuffs had a plush lining, but it was a pretty cheap thing. After he’s done massaging the skin, he pads over to his dresser and returns with a shirt and undies for you. “Shirt,” he says, helping you into the clothing.

When you’re all snuggled under the sheets again, the television still loud as hell, he mumbles, “wanna talk about it?”

You exhale against his chest, feeling so light and fluttery from your orgasms and the way he runs his fingers through your scalp and the way his heart thunders by your ear. “Hm,” you hum pensively. “Nah. Think I’m fine now,” you admit.

Jungkook chuckles. “A full miracle recovery?” he teases. You nod, taking in the comforting scent of his fabric softener and just him in his entirety.

“Yep.” A beat of silence, the commentator is back to filling the space between you two. He talks about a mile minute, spewing stats and plays you could never understand in a thousand years. But you know Jungkook will get sucked in soon enough, so you strike while the pot is hot. “Do you wanna talk?”

He cranes his neck a little to look at you. “What do you mean?”

You roll your eyes, pushing yourself up to look at him straight on. “Oh, my mistake,” you drawl. “I seem to have missed the part where we were going to act like you didn’t just ask for my hand in marriage and then offered to get me pregnant—,” you pause, the realization suddenly hitting you like a trash can whipping down a hill on a rainy day at a thousand miles per hour. “Pregnant!” you exclaim, cheeks warm at the fact he really just said that to you.

Jungkook’s cheeks fare no better, a Flaming Hot Cheeto shade dusting his skin. “I, it was just…” he tries, poor tiny monkey brain working overtime to offer an excuse. “It-it doesn’t have to be a thing,” he blushes, big Bambi eyes flickering from you to the television to the heart-tipped riding crop by the foot of the bed. “I was just…”

You raise your brows. “Consumed by the spirit of King Henry IV to have fourteen kids?”

He blinks. “Wait, you actually paid attention to that film?”

“That’s not the point!” you exclaim, shifting onto your knees in front of him. “What,” you inhale sharply, heart beating wildly in your chest, “what was that?”

Jungkook can only play the shocked angel card for so long before he’s sinking back into his pillow stack with the sigh of a man who’s worked in construction for the last sixty-four years. “I just,” he mumbles, “I think about it sometimes.” His admission makes your heart lodge itself into your throat, wide eyes watching him spill out his heart to you.

He misreads the expression on your face. “I-Not now!” he hurries to explain. “Like,” he stammers, rosy hue slowly crawling down his neck, over his ears. “Maybe, y’know? In the future…”

You blink, brain reduced to a series of beeps and clicks like that of an old computer trying to compute information that is simply not processing. “Yeah…” you murmur, unsure of what to do with the film reel that suddenly flashes before your eyes, a look into a doorway you had never considered before. “I— me too.”

Jungkook chokes on his own saliva. “Really?” he yelps, has those sparkly anime girl eyes you always tease him about.

The gulp you do sounds loud in your ears. “Yeah,” you breathe, throat drier than the desert, but more confident than the first peabrain response. “I-I’d like that.”

There’s a bright beam of light that shines right in your face, so vibrant and dazzling it makes you flinch and by the time you’ve recovered you realize it’s his smile. “Yeah?” Jungkook mumbles back, pearly teeth framed by his pretty smile, brows raised at your stuttery confirmation. You nod. His lips twist into a smaller grin, a condensed version of the superstar one he gave you just moments before. Before you can brush it off with a joke, he’s snatching your hand up in his, a soft smooch pressed to your knuckles. “Okay,” he says quietly, dark eyes meeting yours. “One day?”

Your heart constricts in your chest, and all you can do is nod. “One da—“

“Goooooaaaaallllll!” the announcer on screen shrieks, the loud sounds of the TV killing your mood instantly.

Any dumbstruck, love struck, idiotic, ditzy expression on your face is wiped clean, replaced with an unimpressed glare you narrow on him. His nose is scrunched up like he wants to laugh, lips pressed into a thin line at your annoyance. He swipes the TV remote off the side table, arms spread open for you to crawl back into. You do so with a huff, pout smushed against the front of his hoodie.

“That’s enough ESPN for today,” he chuckles, switching the channel about a thousand times until Rick and Morty is playing on screen. “I’ll just watch the highlights later.”

“ESPN,” you scoff like an evil villain in a movie who’s just been presented with their mortal enemy, fisting the front of his hoodie.

Jungkook nods. “ESPN,” he repeats. A beat passes. “Kinda like BDS—“

“Go get your ice pack.”

epilogue

Because Jungkook couldn’t sit still for that one eventful night following his ladder injury, he ends up in a medical boot for one week, loudly clunking around the place like a reverse pirate. You snap a picture of him that you post on Twitter for your twelve followers to see, just him pouting at the doctor’s office with his new boot and club jersey on to celebrate last night’s victory.

It’s just a cute pic for you and your friends to laugh at.

Until it’s not, and his handsome face is circulating around the entire internet.

He’s being called the Face of FC Seoul, with desperate women messaging you left and right for his information. Other fans are bragging about the beauty that is an FC Seoul fanboy. It gets to the point where his face appears on the next night’s ESPN Nightly Recap, a special on social media stars posting about the game. Except Jungkook is neither a social media star nor did he even post about the game— you did.

But there he is, all five feet and ten inches of him smiling brightly at you from the ESPN Sports channel, wearing the boot he got from hand cuffing and whipping you to completion.

#goldenclosetnet #bangtanhq #networkbangtan #jungkook smut #jjk smut #jeon jungkook smut #jeongguk smut #jeon jeongguk smut #bts smut #mine

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chasing-classics · 4 years ago

Text

Our Little Secret Sessions- Nate Jacobs x Reader

Pairing(s): Nate Jacobs x Reader

Warning(s): SMUT, language, toxic relationships, older reader, dubious consent

Requested: Yes, by @bokillylovesloki

Summary: After landing a job as the high school’s new counselor you settle into your new home, unaware of what danger lurks just outside your front door.

Part 2

You blew the hair out of your face, managing to load the last box full of kitchen appliances onto the hardwood floor. You smiled, looking around triumphantly at your new home. It was spacious, far too big for just you, but it had been an absolute steel on the market. Once you had gotten the call from your new boss, Principal Hayes, that you had landed the job at East Highland High School as the new counselor you quickly packed your bags and jumped at the opportunity. You were fresh out of college, bright and intelligent, but still young for the job. You were saddened to leave your friends and family up North, but this job had been far too good to pass up. Now all you had from your hometown were two dozen boxes of mementos and furniture, your old yet faithful car, and a handful of missed calls from your friends/parents asking if you made it safely. You were so busy scrolling through the various texts and voicemails that you didn’t notice a lanky figure enter the doorway of your humble abode.

‘’Hey,’’ a deep voice caused you to gasp and nearly drop your phone onto the floor.

You spun around to find a guy standing at the entrance of your new home, where you had stupidly left the front door wide open. Your eyes quickly analyzed him. Dark hair, brown eyes, pouty lips that were set in a cocky smirk, and a jawline that you were convinced could cut through glass. He leaned lazily against the door, his hand still held up from when he had casually been knocking against the wooden surface. He was tall, incredibly tall. He looked slightly younger than you, maybe twenty-one or even twenty-three.

‘’Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I live next door and noticed you were moving in, I wanted to know if you needed any help,’’ the guy chuckled a bit, eyeing your tense form. You laughed in relief, hand on your chest in an attempt to calm your racing heart.

‘’I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. Thank you for the kind offer, I’m Y/n, Y/n y/l/n,’’ you offered a welcoming smile, stretching out your hand to properly shake his hand. He returned the favor and the moment his massive hand took hold of yours’ it felt like icicles had been thrusted into your back.

‘’I’m Nate Jacobs, it’s nice to meet you y/n,’’ he smiled back. What you assumed he meant to be a reassuring smile instead filled your insides with butterflies and sent your nerves into a frenzy. He was attractive, but you could vaguely hear the alarm bells going off inside your head.

‘’Well thank you very much Nate, but I think I brought everything inside already,’’ you referred to the numerous boxes and wrapped up furniture that was currently littering your new living room, spilling into the kitchen.

‘’No problem, just let me know if you need help with anything,’’ that crooked smile was a permanent feature on his face, you quickly discovered. You nodded your thanks, moving to close the door when the power suddenly went out.

‘’Great, just my luck,’’ you groaned, moving to find a flashlight somewhere.

‘’If you want I can check your electric panel?’’ Nate’s deep voice sent shivers up your spine.

‘’Are you sure it wouldn’t be too much trouble? I can call an electrician in the morning,’’ you offered, finding out that said flashlight that to your frustration was full of dead batteries. Candles it was.

‘’It’s no problem at all,’’ you could hear the amusement in his voice as he brushed past you to check the panel. The heat from his body filled you with a sense of longing, something primal. For a moment, you wondered what it would be like to moan out his name.

‘’It should be in the backyard, by the picnic table,’’ you called out, shrugging off the less-than-appropriate thoughts running wild in your imagination.

You had successfully located a handful of candles along with a lighter. The cozy glow of the flames illuminated your house to the point you could now see where you were going without bumping into anything. Noticing that your phone battery was running low, you set it down on the counter and prayed nothing more would happen tonight. You had to be up early for the first day of school tomorrow and you didn’t aspire to look like an extra from the Walking Dead due to dark circles and lack of sleep. As you nervously tapped your foot while awaiting Nate’s return, you squealed in delight as the lights came back on. You turned your attention the French doors that led to the backyard, the smile quickly fading from your face when you saw Nate’s drenched form. You bit your lip when his blue hoodie clung to his toned form, the bulges that were his abs teasing you.

‘’Got a towel I can borrow?’’ Nate smirked, his hair falling into his eyes as he shook himself off.

Your mouth still hung open as you quickly dug through a random box, successfully finding a fluffy cotton towel.

‘’What happened?’’ you wondered, eyes straining to remain on his face and not his muscular body.

‘’I turned the power back on, I must’ve accidentally reset your sprinkler system too and, well you can figure out the rest,’’ he scoffed, removing his drenched hoodie.

Jesus Christ.

‘’See something you like?’’ Nate’s voice was low as he leaned down closer to you. You could feel his breath hitting the side of your face and shoulder. Your eyes instantly fell to the floor, your cheeks set aflame with embarrassment.

‘’Don’t look away, doll,’’ he whispered, hand gently cupping your neck to get you to meet his gaze.

‘’I don’t think I’m your type,’’ your voice was soft. Low, but vulnerable, and Nate took notice.

‘’Because you’re a few years older? Come on y/n, we’re both more mature than that,’’ he groaned, taking one step closer to you, than another and another. Your back quickly met the wall, gasping at the rough contact.

‘’This isn’t right,’’ you whispered, trembling as Nate’s thumb stroked your bottom lip.

‘’What are you? Twenty-four?’’ Nate drew back, his thumb still pressed against your bottom lip as you nodded your head.

‘’So what’s a couple of years?’’ his husky voice groaned into your ear as he bent down, pressing open mouth kisses on your exposed shoulder, up the base of your neck.

‘’N-Nate,’’ you whimpered, clenching your fists until your knuckles turned white.

‘’Just give me tonight, you’re a beautiful young woman, let me show you what you do to me,’’ he grunted, rolling his hips against your clothed center. You could feel the bulge straining against his still wet jeans. He was big, you could feel it. And you were desperate for his touch.

You craned your neck up to kiss his lips, throwing caution to the wind. It was just a few years, so what if he was just a couple of years younger? He clearly wanted you as badly as you craved him. His height, his arrogance, everything about him screamed that the age difference between the two of you wasn’t much, that you had nothing to worry about. He looked no younger than maybe twenty-one. The way he carried himself put your mind at ease. You allowed yourself to enjoy just one night with a handsome stranger.

His kisses became rougher with each passing second, his hands running up and down your body in a frenzy. You moaned and mewled as his teeth nipped at your collarbone, your neck, and then your lip. His rough hands easily covered your breasts through your thin shirt. Your own hands stroked his bare chest and alternated from tugging his hair to clawing at his back in a teasing manner.

‘’I’m going to make sure you remember this,’’ he grunted, pressing his clothed erecting to your legging-cladded center, pushing it into you and further into the wall. You whimpered, kissing the column of his neck, tracing a vein that ran along the side of it with your tongue.

You yelped when he moved away from you, dragging you toward the surface of your kitchen island. Your cheek collided with the smooth surface, hands sprayed out on either side of your head to cushion the impact. You shivered as he easily tore through the material of your shirt as if he had claws. Your skin broke out into goosebumps despite the hot later summer air.

‘’Look at you, all excited and needy for me and I haven’t even gotten started,’’ Nate groaned, hand pressed against the exposed small of your back, running upwards to the lacey material of your bra.

‘’Nate,’’ you moaned out as he began grinding himself into your backside. You could feel the heat emitting from his pants and felt the angry throbbing of his cock even through his jeans. His left hand cupped your breast underneath your bra while the right easily managed to unclasp it. You fidgeted as his fingers tweaked and rolled your sensitive bud, the other hand doing the same to the other breast. You whined as he gripped your tits, forcing you backwards to meet his thrusts as he grinded into you harder.

‘’Can’t wait to stretch that pretty pussy, make you ride this fat dick,’’ he grunted, tangling a hand into your hair and forcing your face upwards as he roughly kissed you. The kiss had you whining, panting for more. Your cheeks flushed as you felt the familiar sensation of your slickness coating your womanhood. You were quickly flipped around so that you were now able to look up and face Nate. His lips were red from the rough kisses, yours felt bruised and plump. He eyed your exposed tits as you slowly took off the lace bra. He easily leaned over, taking one bud into his hungry mouth as he began biting and sucking. You threw your head back, using your elbows to support your weight on top of the island, your legs trapping Nate between them.

You stroked his hair as he fervently sucked on your sensitive nipple. You cried out each time his teeth yanked and tugged on the delicate flesh. Once he had his fill, he switched to the other and began the process all over again. You were so lost in the erotic moment that you didn’t even notice his hand make its’ way into your leggings until you felt him roughly pull your lace underwear to the side and forcefully plunged two digits into your tight canal.

‘’Ah! Nate, it’s too much!’’ you cried out, burying your face into his neck as he lapped at your hardened nipple.

‘’I’ll tell you when you’ve had too much,’’ he growled, resuming to thrust his fingers into your pussy as you whined and whimpered below him. All you could do was grasp his biceps and whine as he stretched you out to his liking. There was something completely carnal in the way he took control and used your body like an instrument. His breathing became more labored and intense as his hand sped up, the obscene squelches causing you to hide your face further every time he entered you. You both knew your release was quickly approaching from the way your pussy clenched around his index and middle finger. The way your nails dug into the skin of his arms as you moaned and squirmed under him.

‘’W-what?’’ you cried as he retracted his hand, Nate quickly shutting you up as he forced his fingers into your mouth. You gagged, taken back at his rough actions, moving to pull back your head in protest. Nate would have none of that.

‘’No, no. Be a good slut and suck on them for me,’’ he commanded, a heavy hand forcing you further onto his hand as he yanked your hair.

You breathed through your nose, tears brimming the corners of your eyes as you tried not to choke on his slender digits. The sweet, tangy taste of your juices danced along your tongue.

‘’Good girl, now spit,’’ he growled, forcing his fingers deeper to the back of your throat. You coughed as saliva coated his hand, desperately trying to catch your breath the second he released you.

You had no time to prepare yourself as he roughly picked you up, managing to shove your leggings and underwear down in one pull. He sat you on the counter as he hurriedly forced down his jeans. The hand that as coated in your saliva angrily jerked at his impressive girth. You began having second thoughts on sleeping with Nate at that point, his thickness and length alone were something to be afraid of. He was going to destroy you. You opened your mouth to protest when he forcibly grabbed your thighs, dragging them apart and pushing you down so that your bak met the cold surface of your counter.

‘’Scream for me, fight if you want,’’ Nate whispered before jerking your body forward, thrusting his entire cock into your cunt.

‘’Nate!’’ you screamed, body lurching back from the force of his thrust. You pulled and slapped at his chest as he began bucking into you, a firm hand pressed between your bouncing breasts to hold you down into place.

‘’Fuck, it’s so much better than I expected,’’ he moaned, jaw going slack as the sound of his balls slapping against the soft flesh of your ass echoed throughout the room. You continued to scream and claw at the counter, nails digging into the palms of your hands as your body bounced from his pounding. You had never taken a man as thick as Nate, and it hurt in the best way. You struggled against him, torn between giving into the pleasure and desperate for some space to relieve the burning feeling of your insides being stretched to accommodate him. The hand that was pressed on your chest slid down to firmly rest against your stomach.

‘’I can feel myself moving inside you,’’ he grunted, his cock throbbing inside your greedy cunt. You whimpered, eyes rolling to the back of your head as your lips parted in complete pleasure and need.

‘’Harder, Nate,’’ you begged, legs now wrapped around him as your hands gripped his forearms to have something to hold onto.

You regretted your words as his thrusts angrily sped up to the point you worried your island would collapse from under you. A hand gripped your throat as he dragged your body back and forth to meet his brutal thrusts. You were a symphony of moans, cries, and nearly animalistic noises as he fucked into you. It felt like he was splitting you open with his cock, but it was one of the most divine feelings you had ever experienced in your lifetime. Lips crashed against yours as he forced one of your legs higher around him, the new position allowing him to his that sweet, sensitive spot inside the depths of your core.

‘’I’m going to cum,’’ you moaned out clawing at his shoulders as you gripped him in every sense of the word.

‘’Cum on my cock, baby. Milk me,’’ he snarled, hips snapping and bucking wildly.

One particularly sharp thrust triggered your release as you moaned Nate’s name, quivering under him as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through your entire being. Nate’s thrusts slowed down only slightly to admire the view of your juices coating his member, the tightness in his balls alerting him of his own release. He gripped your jaw in his hand, forcing you to keep your eyes solely on him as his thick release painted the walls of your cunt. His breathing was hot, fanning your face as a thin sheet of sweet coated both of your bodies. For a moment, you just laid there as his dick continue to shoot cum deep inside of you.

‘’That was amazing,’’ your voice was hoarse, lips trailing along his jaw as he smirked above you.

‘’I’m not done yet,’’ he replied, taking you into his arms and leading you to your couch in the living room. He dropped your sore body onto the cushiony surface, towering over you as his dick stood proudly once more, your combined juices still coating it. His eyes fell onto your exposed pussy, where his cum began seeping out your abused hole.

‘’Get on your knees, turn around, and hold onto the back of the couch,’’ he growled, his cock bobbing.

You hesitated, resulting in Nate forcefully turning you over himself, as if you were nothing more than a ragdoll. Your hands gripped the back of the couch as he kneed your legs apart. The air left your lungs as he buried himself to the hilt once more before he began rutting into you.

By the time you awoke you hardly had anytime to get ready. You searched your memory for a moment before you realized you had passed out after Nate took you from behind for the third time last night. You hardly had anytime to shower and look presentable before dashing out the door lest you be late for your new job. You winced with every step you took, although you tried to pass it off as a smile to your new colleagues. You wondered if after work you should stop by Nate’s house, or if it had been a one-night stand. Either way, he was probably at his own job by now. If he wanted to see you again, he knew where to find you.

You sighed in content as you sat down at your desk in your very own office. You smiled at your golden name plate and a welcoming plate of cookies left by the ladies who worked at the front office. A knocking interrupted your thoughts.

‘’Ah, Principal Hayes, good morning,’’ you beamed, pushing yourself to stand up and shake your employers hand.

‘’Ms. y/l/n I hope the office is to your liking?’’ Hayes grinned, shaking your hands in a firm but welcoming grip.

‘’It’s more than enough, truly, thank you,’’ you smiled.

‘’Terrific, I hope you don’t mind but one of our students wanted to welcome you to the campus.’’

‘’How sweet! Of course,’’ you smiled warmly.

Your warm smile was shattered and the air was knocked out of you the minute the figure walked through your office door. Nate Jacobs.

‘’Hi, I don’t think we’ve met yet. I’m Nate Jacobs, welcome toe East High,’’ he smirked, reaching out his hand to shake. The same hand that a few hours ago had been finger banging you on your kitchen counter. The same hand that had wrapped around your neck as he came inside you. Nate fucking Jacobs.

‘’H-hi. I’m Ms. y/l/n,’’ you stuttered out, a cold sweat falling over you.

‘’Well I’ll let you do your thing, don’t be late for class, Nathan,’’ Hayes bid his farewells and before you could protest, was out the door. You turned your attention to Nate, eyes narrowed and lips in a firm line.

‘’What the fuc-‘’

‘’I’d watch your mouth if I were you, Ms. y/l/n. Wouldn’t want a pretty face like yours to end up behind bars. Dirty sluts like you don’t do well in jail. Especially if you’re locked up for sex with a minor. Pretty sure that’s statutory rape,’’ he grinned that evil Cheshire cat grin.

You suddenly felt extremely nauseous.

‘’Y-y-you said you were just a few years younger,’’ you whispered, taking a step back as he stalked towards you. Out of instinct you closed your eyes when you felt his breath on your neck, hands sliding to rest on your hips.

‘’I didn’t lie. I am younger. You should’ve asked for specifics,’’ he whispered, one hand cupping your ass through your skirt. You pushed him off of you, devastated and terrified and disgusted all at once.

‘’What kind of game are you playing?’’ you snarled. The same grin was stuck on his devilish face.

‘’No games. Those are for children. I’m going to tell it to you straight; anytime I say so, you get on your knees for me. Whether I want you to blow me after a football game in the locker room, or bend your legs over my shoulders as I rail you in the backseat of my truck, no matter where or when. If I want you, I get you.’’

You felt the tears begin to build up in your eyes as a shaky hand pressed against your mouth to muffle any cries that dare trickle out.

‘’Why are you doing this?’’ you sniffled, shaking as his hands roamed your body.

‘’I wanted you, so I did what I had to, to get you. And now-,’’ he bent forward to kiss the corner of your mouth.

‘’I own you.’’

#nate jacobs #euphoria fic #nate jacobs x reader #jacob elordi #nate jacobs smut #euphoria #nate jacobs imagine #smut #zendaya

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neutron-stars-collision · 4 years ago

Text

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Chapter 4 - Bound by Fate

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2 , Chapter 3

Summary: You travel to US to meet The Protagonist. There you learn that you have much bigger part to play than expected...

Warnings: None.

Author’s Notes: 4k, ladies and gentlemen! Sorry! Thank you for all the kind words and as usual welcome all the feedback. Enjoy!

When Neil said that he intended to jump on the plane to the US soon he meant it. Friday afternoon you found yourself aboard an 8-hour-long flight to Boston with seats in business class. While going to see the Tenet’s founder in person was bound to be a good excuse for missing the training, you did worry about being behind. As soon as the plane has reached cruising altitude, you took out the notes with serious intent to focus on them. You also wanted to avoid sharing an awkward silence with Neil. But it was not meant to be.

“Are you going to study now?” he asked, peering incredulously over your shoulder.

“And why shouldn’t I? Got eight hours to spare” you sent him a glare and looked back at the pages.

“Well we could always talk…” he spoke up after a brief silence and you eyed him suspiciously.

That was tempting, you had to admit. You have barely spoken to each other since the day he came back, except for the conversations about the details of the trip. Yet after everything that happened you were grateful for that. But now, with stress about the upcoming meeting rising exponentially and tiredness gnawing at your brain, maybe it was time to change it. Before you could answer, you were interrupted by the smiley stewardess passing through:

“Drinks? Snacks?”

You immediately turned to Neil, glaring at him with a clear message: don’t you dare. But he only smirked at you and answered the flight attendant:

“Vodka tonic and whiskey coke. Thanks” your murderous frown had no effect on him.

You resorted to staring at the little flight map on your screen until the drinks have been served. Once the stewardess has moved along you went back to shooting daggers at Neil:

“What? Are you not a whiskey coke kind of person?” he asked with that innocent smile.

“I am” you admitted, and he grinned in response “But are we even allowed to drink on the job?”

“Technically we’re not on the job. Yet” he took a sip of the drink nonchalantly and you took the liberty to observe him.

Once again he has ditched the suit jacket and wore a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. You had to admit that it did look good on him. His hair was in perfect state of dishevelment and you briefly considered brushing it away from his eyes. But his intense stare stopped any intent you could have had.

“I never asked how you’re settling in” he spoke after a beat, looking at you with genuine interest.

“Well it’s not your fault I decided to get a whiplash that day” you joked and enjoyed the laugh it prompted “I’m managing. Like I said at the party, it’s difficult to understand and inversion is tricky but it’s so fascinating” the sparks in his eyes urged you to continue “When I finished uni I never thought I could have a chance to work for an organisation like Tenet. The best I wished for was the UK Government” you grimaced at the idea “Still no clue what the nuclear fission is though” you added and reached for the drink.

“The offer to help with physics still stands you know” Neil was looking at you with a gleam in his eye.

“And I’ll surely consider it” you winked, feeling glad you’ve ditched those notes.

“What’s your favourite part of the training?” he has turned in his seat so that he was facing you.

“Probably guns”

“Good choice” he sent you an impressed smirk.

“Well maybe not the inverted rounds, but all the different types of arms and artillery are fun to play with” you elaborated with a gleeful enthusiasm.

Neil smiled at the sight.

“My sources tell me your good at shooting too” he added after a short break, eyeing you with interest.

“I’m not a rookie” you shrugged “And apparently have a good eye as well” you held his gaze, feeling a boost of courage “Maybe one day I’ll show you”

Neil stared back at you with a slight shock on his face. He recovered quick enough to retort:

“Can’t wait” he smirked, and you looked down suddenly aware of what you said.

Can always blame it on the alcohol, you thought while staring at your lap. But before you could overthink it, Neil reached out and tipped your chin so that you met his gaze. He was smiling at you, but this time it was not a cocky grin. He searched your eyes for a short moment, making sure you were fine before dropping away his hand. You stared back puzzled, but before you could think about it too long, he asked:

“So it’s fair to assume that you don’t hate me for introducing you to this madness?”

“Could never” you laughed, and he grinned back “Even though I must admit I became quite a loner because of it. It’s hard to have friends when you train at a secret spy agency”

“There’s always me” he shrugged.

“I can’t say I know you” you replied truthfully and took a moment to stare at his face.

He nodded, accepting your statement and then smirked. You watched, wide-eyed, as he undid the top button on his shirt and leaned into the seat. If he noticed your silent panic, he did not show it.

“What do you want to know?” there was something almost challenging in his gaze.

You took a moment to recover before thinking hard about what to ask. You knew that this was potentially a one-off chance to learn something about him.

“How long have you been doing this?” you gestured vaguely.

Neil frowned, thinking hard and you focused on the face he made.

“Four years, I think” he ruffled his hair again “Thinking in linear terms is difficult after all those inversions” he added with a little smile “I’ve been recruited by the TP while still at my old job”

“What were you doing before?”

“I’ve been in the Navy” you stared at him surprised “Turns out they are willing to take in lost Physics students”.

He noticed your dazed look and grinned:

“What? You thought I was an ex-MI6 agent or something?” he cocked his eyebrow.

“Well you could definitely be a James Bond” you muttered and ignored the smug smile you got in return.

“I met TP one day while on the field mission in Asia and we cooperated very well so at the end he asked me to join Tenet. Naturally I said yes” he explained, and you nodded “You don’t turn away an offer like that. You know that best” you exchanged a smile “Has that satisfied your curiosity?” he finished the drink and turned to look at you expectantly.

“A bit” you admitted.

Before you could say anything more you yawned widely and then looked at Neil sheepishly.

“Shit, sorry. Swear am not that tired”

He laughed, looking at you softly:

“Maybe my life story was that boring”

“Certainly not” another yawn and you covered your face with your hands.

“You can sleep, we still have six hours to go” he reassured you.

You felt very tired. All those hours of training and the stress made you feel worn out. So you decided to give in, letting your head lean on the headrest and reclined the back of the seat.

“Wake me up for food” you joked and closed your eyes, feeling Neil chuckle next to you.

Slowly you felt yourself drift off to sleep, hoping your dreams won’t make you regret the decision when you wake up.

*** First thing you noticed after waking up was that you no longer had the leather head rest acting as your pillow. Instead it was something warmer and firmer. You could smell intense cologne and that revelation made your eyes widen. Somehow in the sleep you have moved so that your head was resting on Neil’s shoulder. And judging by his small smirk he was fully aware of that and did nothing. Quickly you straightened and looked at him shyly. He grinned and said:

“Don’t worry, they haven’t served the food yet”

“Great” you felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

You opened the notes again and forced your brain to focus on the nuclear fission. You felt Neil’s gaze on you and fought hard to ignore it.

God, this is going to be a long journey…

*** You managed to avoid further humiliation by focusing on studying during the rest of the flight. Neil has even contributed with a couple of explanations. Hearing him talk about the atoms and electrons with passion made you want to ask him about the topic again.

Once you landed in Boston, he practically dragged you through the customs and the arrivals hall. You stopped outside by the taxi stop and you finally caught your breath:

“We’re getting a taxi?” you looked sceptically at the forming queue.

Neil finished typing a message and glanced at you:

“Do you think we’re on a budget cut?” you laughed at his affronted expression.

“Judging by your suit…” you eyed him quickly “Most certainly not”

“You like my suits?” the hint of the sly grin started to form on his lips.

You were saved from answering by a black Tesla stopping in front of you. Neil opened the door and gestured for you to get in.

“Got to admit that this organisation has a good taste in cars” you noticed.

“Maybe one day you’ll get one those” Neil winked, and you grinned back.

You watched through the window as the the city sights passed by, curious about Boston. You were headed to the outskirts of the city, judging by the signs on the highway. After a short silence, you asked Neil:

“So… the Protagonist. What is he like?”

“He’s...” he took a moment to think and you observed him with interest “Fun” his face lit up “Charismatic. And very mysterious but not in an intimidating kind of way”

“You’re close with him?”

You liked the happy smile that showed on his face.

“You could say so. When he hired me, Tenet was only starting out and it was mostly us two on the missions” he recollected with fond look “These days he rarely goes into the field but if he does, it’s usually with me”

“A dream team” you grinned, and he chuckled.

Suddenly the car stopped, and you looked through the window at the building exactly in front.

“Welcome to the Tenet Headquarters” Neil grinned at you widely as he opened the door.

You got out of the car and stared at the tall glass building with a large parking area and a tall fence. Following Neil, you showed your ID to the security camera and walked through the sliding door. Interior was very like what you were used to in London, but more modern. As soon as you entered, a tall man in a suit approached you:

“Welcome back Neil!” they exchanged a handshake “And it’s nice to meet you” he turned to you and you accepted his hand “I’m Richard”.

“Y/N” you smiled.

“TP wants to see you now” Richard spoke to Neil “And he’ll talk to you both later during dinner” he explained.

“That’s good news as you can continue that nap” Neil glanced at you and you glared.

“Very funny” you muttered and chose to ignore the curious look Richard gave you both.

“I’ll show you your room now” the agent broke the awkward silence.

“Okay” you moved to follow him with your duffel bag thrown over the shoulder.

As you passed Neil, he swiftly squeezed your hand and then disappeared into on the side corridors. You briefly wondered why that became a goodbye gesture between you.

Not that you did mind.

*** You never got to have that nap. While the room Richard lead you to was very like what you were used to in London, your brain was too hyperactive to let you rest. Every time you shut your eyes, you kept thinking about the upcoming meeting and all the what ifs. Finally you gave up with thirty minutes left till the dinner and got ready. When Neil knocked on your door, you leaped out of the room, fuelled by anxiety.

“Everything alright?” he asked once he saw your wild gaze.

“Yeah, I’m just scared, that’s all” you admitted and looked at him pleadingly “Can we please get going before I change my mind?”

He eyed you carefully, making sure you were indeed ‘okay’ before pointing the direction of TP’s quarters.

“There’s no reason to be scared” Neil said after few minutes of tense silence “He’s probably the nicest person here” he looked at you with a reassuring smile.

“Nicer than you?” you looked at him sceptically.

Being this anxious meant that you no longer cared much about what you said. In this case your voiced thought was awarded with a sly grin from Neil.

“Oh you think I’m nice?” he winked, and you laughed despite the tension.

“I’m not so sure anymore…” you sent him a fake glare.

“You can think about it again after the meeting” he replied and gestured towards the door to your left “Here we are”.

You stared at the door, fighting the fleeing instinct. As though Neil knew you can run away any second, he took your hand in his and knocked on the door. Approximately five seconds later the door opened to reveal a smiling man in a suit. He exchanged a happy grin with Neil and then looked at you with interest. When his eyes darted to your linked hands, you felt your face heat up and was surprised to see him smirk knowingly. Before you could overthink it, TP broke the silence:

“Come on in” he smiled at you.

You had the strange feeling that he was looking at someone he knew very well. You ignored the spike of anxiety, let go of Neil’s hand and followed the Protagonist. His quarters had a separate private bedroom, a briefing room and a living area with a large table, set for dinner. When you all sat down, Tenet’s founder addressed you:

“First of all, I want to say I’m excited to finally meet you” he smiled at you warmly and you beamed back.

“Didn’t know I’m that important” you admitted and was surprised to him amused “But I’m glad I can be here”

“You probably have a lot of questions” you just nodded “But I thought it’s best we eat first. Is that okay?”

“Sure”

Once the food has been served by the cooks from the mess hall, the conversation has changed onto more mundane topics.

“So, what were you doing before Tenet?” the Protagonist asked you.

“I actually finished university not that long ago” you answered “I graduated two years ago and since then only did some part time jobs”

Neil was looking at you across the table with a surprised expression. You tried to search his face for answers, but he schooled his features before you came to any conclusions. After conversations about your past and how you were getting on with the training, you have all cleared the plates. Neil and the Protagonist exchanged a mysterious look before the second one spoke:

“As you know by now from your training, I have knowledge about things that haven’t happened yet…” he started, almost tentatively.

“You mean that you came from the future? To set up Tenet?” you blurted out and got met with slightly worried looks “Because that’s what everyone says among the recruits” you explained, shrugging.

When you first heard this rumour passed around by the younger agents you did not pay it much attention. But after seeing more of what Tenet was capable of you were not so sure anymore. Looking at Neil and TP right now, you knew that all the stories were true.

“That’s probably a more straightforward way of putting it” the Protagonist joked “I’ve founded Tenet to prevent world ending catastrophes involving the technology of inversion. That’s the part you already know. There’s another reason why the organisation has been founded though”

You stared as he purposefully made a dramatic pause. Glancing at Neil, you noticed that he was studying you with a rather serious expression. You got the feeling that what was about to be said, was not common knowledge.

“In the future there will be an attempt an attempt to reverse the entropy of the whole world” your eyes widened in shock.

Even with your poor grasp of physics it sounded like a catastrophe.

“For this purpose something called The Algorithm will be created and constructed. It’s a formula in a physical form, broken into nine parts so that it is not so easily found and assembled. But now the different parts of it are beginning to resurface in this timeline. Our job is to stop it from being used in the recent future” the Protagonist explained, as though he was repeating a manual for the hob.

You felt the panic rise again. All this information was too much to take in.

“What does it have to do with me?” you asked, unable to wait much longer.

The serious look in Neil’s eyes did not help you either.

“TP thinks you have a part to play in stopping the Algorithm from being used” he explained while looking at you almost apologetically “So he’s sending us on a mission to investigate some intel on one of the parts being a subject of trade in New York”

“But why me?” you frowned.

It didn’t make any sense.

“I’m afraid I can’t answer that” the Protagonist apologised with a sad smile “It wouldn’t do you any good to know this early”

You looked at Neil, hoping to find some answers. But he seemed as lost as you were. You had a feeling that only TP knew the full story and he decided who was to be let in on it.

“You will leave on the mission in two days. Until then you can prepare here, and I’ll brief you both tomorrow” he added, and you could only nod “Finally, the last thing you need to know is that everything that was said today is between us three. Is that alright?”

“Of course” you got up, desperately wanting to get some rest “Neil is the only person I talk to anyway” you shrugged and received a knowing glance from TP again.

What even…

“Sorry, I’m very tired. Is it alright if we come back to it tomorrow?” you asked, suppressing a yawn.

“Yeah sure, you need a rest” TP patted your arm reassuringly “No need to be worried though, you’ll have Neil with you. And I know he’ll take care of you” there was something way too certain in his voice.

You looked at Neil, but he pretended to study a dossier, with tension radiating from his form. You wanted answers but could not even voice the questions.

*** After the meeting finished, you both left TP’s quarters in silence. You were scared and dreamt of nothing but locking yourself away in your room. But Neil had other ideas. As soon as he stepped out into the corridor, he took your hand in his and started leading you with purpose in his stride. You didn’t even protest. At this point you resorted to following him without questions.

He lead you to the staircase and then upstairs, to what was indicated as an evacuation route. You tried to search his face for any clues, but it was pointless. Finally he stopped in front of heavy metal doors at the top of the stairwell and opened it for you. You stepped into an expansive terrace overlooking the city and the neighbouring areas, with the stairs to the helicopter pad. The night has fallen on Boston and the view was illuminated with thousands of lights. You took in the sight with parted lips, not expecting to see anything like that on this dramatic night. Neil was leaning on the railing, looking at you with a small smile:

“Do you show this place to all the girls?” you asked him, while slowly approaching the balustrade.

“What girls?” he looked genuinely confused and you laughed at the face he made.

“Oh you know, like Anna…” you gestured vaguely at the lines of women that were waiting on his every word.

“What? No!” he finally caught on what you were asking and scrunched his face in offence “Anna is cute but she’s not… no”

What was he trying to say? But he turned towards the view and clenched his jaw. You stared at him for a while before resigning to look at the cityscape as well. Every now and then you would steal a glance at Neil, only to see him staring into the darkness. This was not what you were used to from him. When the tense silence dragged on for too long, you decided to act.

“Neil is everything alright?” you stepped closer to him “You’re awfully quiet” you noticed.

He turned his head to look at you with a small smirk that didn’t reach his eyes.

“You miss my voice already?”

“Stop it” impulsively you reached out and touched his hand that was clutching the railing.

He looked up at you with a slight surprise. Now that you made the move, you felt less scared. You gently rubbed a thumb over his hand and tried again:

“What’s wrong? Because if it’s my poor jokes about Anna and stuff, then sorry-”

“No” he cut you off with a smile “It’s not you. It’s just that all this talk about The Algorithm and world ending… it’s a lot sometimes” you nodded “And today when TP told me that you’ve got a role to play in it too…” he inhaled sharply “I…”

You looked at him intrigued and worried at the same time. You were not used to Neil speaking in broken sentences.

“What?” you prodded, letting your hand trace an invisible line up his forearm.

He looked at you with an unreadable expression before relaxing his hold on the balustrade. You were surprised to see that there were goosebumps on his arm where you have touched it.

“I hoped that you won’t have to be involved in this” he sighed “Maybe it’s foolish for someone who’s worked at Tenet for four years, but I wanted you to be safe from all this Algorithm related bullshit” he met your gaze with defeat.

You stared back at him, confused.

“Why?” your voice came out quiet and hoarse.

He shrugged helplessly, with an expression of sadness in his eyes. That alone made you forego any sense of awkwardness or fear. You closed the gap between you, embracing him tightly. After a second of hesitation you felt him return the embrace. He exhaled shakily and you allowed yourself to rest your head in the crook of his neck. Your heart was hammering in your chest, finally catching up with what was happening. Inhaling his scent, you forced yourself to calm down. You felt his hand caress the nape of you neck, making all the thoughts disappear from your head. You were frozen in place for what felt like hours before Neil relaxed his grip and took a step back. You met his gaze with an unspoken question and he just nodded, composing himself. Then he studied your face for a beat, before finally breaking the silence:

“I’m sorry”

You knew he meant everything by that: the news, the plan, his outburst.

“It’s okay” you smiled at him reassuringly and placed you hand on his shoulder “Happens to the best of us” you smoothed his wrinkled shirt collar.

He stared at you with astonishment that made your face heat up. Then he smiled and nodded his head in the direction of the exit from the terrace:

“Want to call it a night?” he asked with a sparkle in his eyes.

“Sure” you smiled back and followed him back to the stairwell.

Somehow this night felt important. And not just because of what you learned.

#tenet #neil tenet #neil tenet x reader #neil x reader #neil tenet imagine #neil tenet fanfic #tenet fanfic #robert pattinson #the art of inversion #gifs not mine

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everythinggeeky · 4 years ago

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tolerate it | the Mandalorian

Din Djarin x reader

Warnings: angst, lovers falling apart

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: Mando and y/n were once lovers that completed one another, and have now fallen apart, leaving y/n broken and bleeding, trying desperately to repair their broken relationship.

A/N: inspired by the track from Taylor Swift’s new album, evermore! tag lists and requests are open

masterlist

Since your first accidental meeting in a grimy cantina with Mando just over a few months ago; before he was completely decked out in shiny Beskar from head to toe and before there was a small green child following in each of his footsteps, it was just the two of you and it was peaceful bliss.

Your first meeting was humble; he thought that you were a contact that was supposed to connect him to his client. With an innocent tilt of the head and a chuckle, you denied any knowledge of the individual he was looking for. He apologized and began to move on to the individual that matched the description he was given.

Your eyes lingered on him for a while from across the cantina while he delivered a harrowing speech about “bringing [the target] in warm or in cold” before focusing back on your drink while a shiver ran down your own spine. For the remainder of the night, the silver metallic of his helmet lingered in the back of your mind. The mystery of the Mandalorians was always intriguing to you, and now you had spent moments face to face with one and you were intimated and thrilled at all once.

After completing his task, Mando came back to you to apologize once again for the conclusion. And maybe just to say hello again, whether he’d be willing to admit it or not. He asked you to follow him home that night, to board his ship and serve as some sort of distraction for the worries of bounty hunting.

You spent the next few months working and traveling together, and it was nothing short of perfection.

You perched yourself in the copilot’s chair of the Razor Crest, just behind Mando, analyzing his calculated movements. He maneuvered his ship with such precision that fascinated you, the idea of hyperspace travel and travel beyond your previous everyday experiences.

You spent your childhood on Tatooine in a mining neighborhood, surrounded by families just trying to make a living. Most of those families were slaves, forced to mine just to survive. Growing up on the sand planet was lonely and menial. Those two things marked the rest of your life. Perhaps up until the Mandalorian walked into the bar that day.

The new freedom and adventures were the same ones that Din had promised you when he swept you along for an adventure. Perhaps a copilot was just what he needed.

“Come with me?” he asked after returning to the cantina hours later.

“What? I can’t just leave with you, Mando. I have no idea who you are. Are you going to kill me for money just like all of your other bounties?”

A warm chuckle echoed through the vocoder of his helmet, “I’m not going to kill you. Been wondering about the galaxy for a while on my own. Maybe it’s time for some company.”

After giving him a side-eye and sizing him up for a while, you agreed and joined him on your first adventure: a quick one-out on a nearby planet that you didn’t even know the name of. On the way there, you shared stories about your childhood and life at home, while he nodded and occasionally glanced back at you in your seat. He was interested and focused, laughing when necessary and silent when not.

You felt comfortable in the early days of your adventures together. There was no judgment about the other’s past or current self and there was comfort about only knowing shreds of details about the other. You were okay being yourself and Din was fine to be The Mandalorian.

Just as soon as Din had come into your life, you were following him along for countless adventures. On your first trip, after he had plucked you from the cantina, you were chasing bounties with a pistol on your hip. Din had resisted the idea at first, but you insisted that if you were going to be anywhere close to the criminals he was going to be chasing, you were going to be armed.

He fitted you with a weapon from his expansive collection and smiled under the helmet when the pistol fits your hand just right.

After landing, you followed in his footsteps, remaining calm and stealthy, just as he had instructed. Extending an arm out to stop you in your tracks, you halted and instinctively reached for the weapon, pointing it in a vague direction.

“Easy…” Din’s voice grumbled from the helmet in a hushed tone.

You settled into your feet and tried your best to be aware of your surroundings, just as Din had warned.

The rest of the mission went on without a hitch, easily returning to the Crest with the bounty in hand. After putting him in the chamber, you and Din went on to relax. Taking turns in the refresher, which was just barely large enough for him to fit inside before returning to bed, curled in on one another.

Din was the first to fall asleep, his chest heaving slowly and rhythmically as he softly exhaled. In these moments, you took note of the years that have worn on his body. Even with his face covered by the helmet, you note the years of experience that shows itself in wrinkles, scars, and bruises that littered his body.

Your heart ached for those days once more.

In those quiet moments, you felt yourself tumbling into an abyss that you didn’t quite understand, and you weren’t sure if you ever would.

Din was never explicit about his feelings, instead choosing to remain focused on the task at hand.

You ached to feel the same vulnerability from him that you offered in return. You had shared your deepest secrets with him, but he never did the same with you.

As it has been for the last several months, Mando would come home from a job, put the Child to bed, and would collapse in the pilot’s chair or the cot without acknowledging your presence.

While he was working, you scrambled around the Crest to straighten things up, take care of the fringes of his life that you actually had access to. The ship was surprisingly sterile, with no traces of a family or a life outside of his work. You tried to turn the ship into a home by including soft furs; turning the hard cot into something that resembled a mattress. You brought out the best you could find to prepare for a hero’s welcome.

You sat by the entry door of the ship like a child after cleaning and shining the ship from top to bottom. Hours later, when Mando finally came home, no bounty in his hands, he dropped his weapon carelessly to the side and pushed past you to finish getting as comfortable as one can in Beskar armor.

“Din…” you spoke up after sitting there for a few moments, waiting for him to acknowledge you.

“Hm?” he spoke up from the next room over.

“Hello….”

“Hey.”

“That’s it? That’s all I get?”

“What do you want?”

“I don’t know...maybe more than a ‘hey’” you said, rising from your seat to walk into the room where he stands with his back turned to you.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Of course you don’t,” you scoff, going back to the copilot’s chair, “you never do,” you mutter under your breath.

Mando doesn’t take note of your attitude, choosing to do a few repairs instead of carrying on a conversation with you. When he finally decides to return to the pilot’s chair, you make your way to bed for the night. Din doesn’t stop you.

The Child follows you and lays his small body on top of yours. You let out a soft sigh.

As you laid in the same bed you once shared months ago where you held onto one another and laughed joyously, you wondered if you messed something up or made a crucial mistake along the way. The bulk of his disappointment weighed heavily on you as you sobbed yourself to sleep.

On similar occasions where homesickness would send you tumbling into a similar depression, Din was the one to be your comfort, pulling a blanket around your shoulders and embracing you warmly. He had been the one to shroud the trauma and damage from your life. You had put him on a pedestal; you believed that he was the one. More than a traveling companion and more than a friend because no one had cared for you and had taken the time to get to know you as he had.

The ruins of your failed relationship surround you now, forcing you to pick up the pieces around you just enough to survive another day in the hell that was shared quarters with the Mandalorian. You begged him to share the same level of personal details that you had with him. Footnotes, even. Anything. He rejects the request, unwilling to heal the scars that cover his wounds.

He continues on with his life, assuming that you’re fine.

You’ve thought about leaving. Pulling the dagger from your chest that is keeping you pinned down in the hell that the Razor Crest has become. You could leave just as easily as you had come along. Leave the ship and never come back. Close this chapter of your life and start again on a new planet.

The day that you finally packed your bag and left while Din was at work was both the most freeing and the most pressure that you’ve ever felt. You left a note on the pilot’s chair of the Crest that read:

“Din, thank you for the last year of adventures with you. It was wonderful to try to understand you and work with you along the way. Thank you for bringing me with you to see the galaxy. It hasn’t been easy trying to understand you, but I thank you for it all.

It’s time for me to be on my own again. Take care of the Child and love him as you did me. To my clan of two, I’ll miss you always. Thank you, Y/N.”

After taking one last look at the scene you left behind, you made a run for it and found a place to stay for a few days before bouncing to the next. Eventually, you found a job as a shopkeeper in a local stall, selling handmade goods from a merchant in town. You made your own wages to pay for the cost of living and started to remember what it felt like to be on your own again.

You found freedom and independence. And just as easily as Din had gained the weight of you, he had lost it.

Tagging: @kenobee @a-dorin @smokahuntis @obiwkenobi i @jbarnesss @takenbymyfandoms @maximumninjavoid @tillytheslytherin

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #star wars x reader #mando x reader #pedro pascal #mandalorian x reader #everythinggeeky #tolerate it

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tossawary · 4 years ago

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Chapter 24: “Seeing is Believing” of “pride is not the word I’m looking for” random favorite lines and commentary. Not a full list or full commentary, but longer commentary than usual to talk about quest construction.

AN: This was... a weird chapter to write. When I started outlining, I had... the conversation with Shen Qingqiu planned... the conversation with Shen Yuan planned... the fact that SQH, SY, LQG, and LFL was the quest party... and the fact that they get the Eye at the end of it. That was everything.

The entire rest of this chapter came together FRIDAY LAST WEEK.

Huan Hua Palace wasn’t going to be there. The Weeper didn’t exist. The Eye or its previous owner wasn’t at all connected to the Garden Master. The Shadow Cave Wolf Spiders didn’t exist. The murder plant didn’t exist. The mysterious monster showing up at the end wasn’t originally planned either.

I mean, I had a lot of pre-existing plot threads to tie in and weave with, but ohhh boy! Picture someone lying facedown on a floor like, “I forgot to plan the contents of the super important quest...”

I was originally going to have the Eye quest a lot simpler, but given the weight “Death of the Author” had when I finally reached this part of the story, that wasn’t really going to do! It had to be bigger than that! It needed oomph! This also felt like a good opportunity to really establish the new SQH-SY dynamic. To explore SY fumbling to find a place in this world without strict character role, especially in relation to settled and well-supported SQH.

“One attempts to remain dignified,” Shen Qingqiu agrees. “As there is little point in kicking and screaming about how such ignobility isn’t fair.”

“Ha! Is there ever?”

“Not in my experience.”

“Yeah, it’s definitely not cute when I do it,” Shang Qinghua jokes.

Shen Qingqiu’s lips actually twitch at that.

Success?!

AN: I wasn’t going into this fic with the intention of writing any Shang Qinghua and Original Shen Qingqiu almost friendship! But it started developing and it seemed a shame not to explore Shang Qinghua developing a real relationship with Shen Qingqiu (though not a particularly close one) when the man is suppose to be the scum villain (and the readers know that the man might get replaced by Shen Yuan).

I can see myself writing more Shang Qinghua and Original Shen Qingqiu content in the future. Someone dropped a particularly nice prompt for them in my inbox that I’m looking forward to exploring at some point.

(I mean, not to say that Shang Qinghua has a type, but Shang Qinghua has a type and it’s handsome, deadly, intimidating, frosty men with a villainous character design and trust/abandonment and communication issues. I could make it work.)

“Ah, well, two ‘ideal’ situations come to mind: severing the personal relationship for good… or, ah, talking about how to do better and trying that. You don’t have to forget or even forgive if you don’t want to! But, ah… there’s got to be a difference between totally swallowing your anger and cutting ties forever, right?” Shang Qinghua says awkwardly. “If there’s… ever going to be anything good afterwards…”

Shen Qingqiu stares at him for a sweat-inducing length of time.

“Ah, fuck,” Shang Qinghua thinks.

“Sorry,” he says. “Ahhh, I’m just… thinking about something someone told me… in… in regards to some of my own problems. Never mind! Never mind!”

AN: Luo Jiahui really is out here making Moshang and Qijiu get their fucking act together just by setting a better example.

“Shizun, my apologies for the interruption, but I came to ask Shizun if he would be willing to join our music lesson today? The disciples have missed his playing and are eager to present their improvements.”

“...Very well, unless anyone here would disagree…?” Shen Qingqiu looks directly at the Qian Cao Peak cultivator, as though daring her to object and die.

“It’s an excellent suggestion!” the Qian Cao Peak cultivator says quickly.

The young woman smiles. “And perhaps Shizun could sit in on the calligraphy lesson afterwards? In order to offer his opinion on my progress as a teacher?”

“Fishing for compliments is unbecoming,” Shen Qingqiu says dryly.

“Wait, what?” Shang Qinghua thinks.

AN: So, this has all been happening in the background, but Shen Qingqiu accepted this House of Rejuvenation woman onto his Peak about... 6-ish years ago now? This is kind of meant to parallel Shang Qinghua’s once-secret relationship with Luo Jiahui.

Shang Qinghua was out here trying to be a better person and Shen Qingqiu noticed; now Shen Qingqiu has his own positive (platonic) relationship with a nameless background character who was meant to die for plot reasons. What a thing, huh? If the story was saved because Shang Qinghua started a domino effect of saving random people who went on to change things?

After all, as Shang Qinghua said to the kid, besides Peerless Cucumber’s apparent talent for cultivation, he knows that his fellow transmigrator has three very important skills that will serve him well on An Ding Peak! 1) An encyclopedia knowledge for even seemingly pointless bullshit (which is kind of flattering, honestly). 2) The willingness to fight total strangers over seemingly pointless bullshit. And 3) a sharp enough tongue to win.

Peerless Cucumber didn’t find these points as funny as Shang Qinghua did.

AN: Shen Yuan was always going to end up on An Ding Peak. I thought about sending him to Qing Jing or Qian Cao or Qiong Ding... or any other Peak... but that would take him too far away from Shang Qinghua to really explore their relationship and to move him around conveniently in the story. And SY sticking to An Ding seemed to best illustrate the fact that SY is lost and doesn’t know what to do except cling to SQH.

“It’s not much, sure, but it’s yours,” Shang Qinghua says finally. “You’ll be joining the talisman classes soon, so don’t try anything from a book and then need to request some home repairs.”

Peerless Cucumber nods and puts his stack of manuals down on the table.

“How’s your tutorial mission going?”

“Fine,” the kid says shortly. “Have you found anything for the other one yet?”

“Ah, not yet.”

AN: “Are you winning, son?” meme energy here.

Ah, now Shang Qinghua recognizes his fellow transmigrator’s expression! That’s the same stunned expression one of his Huan Hua not-disciples, Yu Chaonan, made upon meeting the Bai Zhan Peak War God for the first time. Shang Qinghua assumes that Peerless Cucumber was expecting a man who looked more like a musclebound giant and less like a pop idol (if one with amazingly muscular arms), which is a super common and never-not-funny misconception people have about Liu Qingge.

“Brother of one of the most beautiful women in this world, bro,” Shang Qinghua reminds his fellow transmigrator, amused. Aha! Now Peerless Cucumber’s vehement disinterest in the harem stuff is making even more sense than before!

Shang Qinghua’s assumption gets 100% confirmed when it comes time for Peerless Cucumber to fly with Liu Qingge for the next leg of the journey. The other transmigrator is so embarrassed and awkward about it that Shang Qinghua’s super direct brother-in-law asks if the young man is alright.

AN: This was so fun to write. Shang Qinghua really can use the Liu siblings to gauge people’s sexual/romantic orientation.

The map (or rather, the copy Shang Qinghua made of the delicate original map) takes them to a green and grey landscape of leafy trees crawling over a wide network of tall cliffs and deep gorges. Gurgling rivers cut through twisting rock formations. Shang Qinghua can’t see any of these rivers on the map. Or these deathly drop ravines. From the outside, the whole thing looks like a natural maze (holy shit, there could be so many monsters and death-traps in there!), and Shang Qinghua would know those golden robes flying low over the hanging trees anywhere.

“Huan Hua,” Liu Qingge mutters.

“Do you think they’re looking for what we’re looking for?” Luo Fanli asks.

“That’s usually how it goes,” Peerless Cucumber says, before Shang Qinghua can.

AN: I came up with the skeleton idea first. Then I was like... “I should give it three eyes.” And then I was like... “But who IS this dead author? A god? A spirit? What grander implications am I spinning here?”

And THEN I remembered that I had some ambiguous powerful being force the Garden Master into exile due to a flood. This was because, in the Epic of Gilgamesh, the immortal man Gilgamesh meets in the abyss is the survivor of a great flood. So I was like, “Reduce! Re-use! Recycle! There’s my skeleton!”

So I wanted to relate the skeleton to water because of the flood angle. Water as a symbol of cleansing/reincarnation is a big thing throughout many cultures. I can’t remember exactly how the crying aspect came up, but I knew there was going to be water in the temple now, so at some point my brain like was, “Bro, this skeleton should totally be crying because mythology vibes.”

So I built the surrounding land off the idea that there was water flowing from or around this temple. At this point, I had decided that Huan Hua Palace should also be looking for this artifact, so I had to come up with a way to hide the temple, yet have a way for SQH’s party to track it down.

The damage to the doors is worse: someone once upon a time collapsed a part of the cliff face around the entrance, essentially leaving only the top fourth of the utterly smashed stone doors visible. It��s a wall now and has been for ages. It looks like it would take days to dig through the rubble. Someone has even super helpfully carved, “These doors will never open again,” just above the wreck.

“Guess we’ll have to go in as intruders rather than guests!” Luo Fanli says.

“What would be welcoming us inside a lost temple exactly?” Shang Qinghua asks vaguely, inwardly cursing the fact that explosive mining techniques will definitely attract the Huan Hua Palace Sect cultivators’ attention and also probably collapse the whole cliff on them.

“We only have to clear a passage for us, not the whole door,” Peerless Cucumber says optimistically. “Is there a special technique for this kind of thing?”

“Aha, not really.”

“Oh.”

“Why don’t we just keep following the water?” Luo Fanli says.

“...How so?” Shang Qinghua asks.

“Some of those waterfalls could be passages inside,” Liu Qingge explains, because he and the little sister-in-law apparently share the same brain. He’s already eyeing the waterfall wearing down the giant statue on the left.

AN: Temples in quests need to have traps and obstacles and monsters! Well, not ALL of the did, but this one did. I based the obstacles they faced as much as I could around the whole “Death of the Author” theme, while using this whole quest to explore Shen Yuan, Shen Yuan and Shang Qinghua, Shang Qinghua and Liu Qingge and Luo Fanli, and so on.

The idea here with the door is that the “author” is not going to let them inside the temple to take the interpretation of the narrative (the Eye) for themselves. The story is over (the temple is closed for business)! The author is dead! If they want to get inside, they have to break inside or slip inside as intruders.

This also creates a convenient obstacle to hold up the Huan Hua Palace Sect cultivators so that our party can be nearly caught later! And shows off Shang Qinghua, Liu Qingge, and Luo Fanli’s twisty lines of thinking.

Luo Fanli is holding the light and Shang Qinghua passes the other transmigrator to her, while accepting Liu Qingge’s hand for help getting out of the water.

“Ahhh, that was fun,” Shang Qinghua mutters.

Then he notices that Liu Qingge has the Cheng Luan sword out and ready. Shang Qinghua looks through the surrounding darkness, but all he can see are columns and water. For a moment, he thinks he sees something, a prowling shadow at the other end of the cavernous room, but he wipes the water out of his eyes and it’s gone.

AN: The water in Shang Qinghua’s eyes briefly lets him see a flash of the invisible monsters who show up later! It helps up the tension.

Another low growl rips through the darkness and Peerless Cucumber shuffles a little closer to Shang Qinghua. Because that sounded really fucking close and yet Shang Qinghua still can’t see the thing that’s making that sound.

He doesn’t see Liu Qingge lunge at him either. He only feels his brother-in-law shove him into Peerless Cucumber, knocking them into the water, out of the way of something that howls when Liu Qingge slashes at it with his sword. Shang Qinghua rolls off Peerless Cucumber and looks up just in time to see dark blood splatter across the watery floor. Liu Qingge pursues the attacker with a second slash, but only seems to meet thin air this time.

“It’s invisible!” Luo Fanli cries. “Fuck!”

“Behind you!” Liu Qingge snaps, and spins to slash at the thin air beside him. Dark droplets of blood hit the water again and something hisses at him.

Luo Fanli whirls and slashes, searching for an opponent.

“They’re reflected in the water!” Liu Qingge yells at her, standing guard over Shang Qinghua as he gets to his feet again. “Listen for their footsteps and vocalizations! Feel the demonic energy and air displacement!”

AN: I got this from a list of Dungeons and Dragons puzzles. The idea is that there’s some puzzle that must be solved, but the truth of the room can only be seen in the reflection of the nearby water (or mirror or whatever).

Which felt fitting for a “Death of the Author” quest! Whatever an author’s intentions, the story is what they actually wrote, so the audience interprets a text without the context of the author’s insight. The truth (of the story) is in the reflection (audience interpretation)! It felt like a fun idea.

It also allows Shen Yuan to actually contribute to the quest via monster lore and bring up his impaired vision problem. And to confront Shen Yuan with the reality of this world. And to show off Luo Fanli’s fighting skills. And to show off LIU QINGGE’S legendary fighting skills, instincts as a warrior who fights many dangerous beasts, and the fact that he’s clever and observant!

Liu Qingge is good at what he does! And this is what he does!

Someone has… angrily… or desperately… carved a lopsided message into the wall.

“‘If I go blind, so does the world,’” Peerless Cucumber reads.

“...That’s probably not good,” Shang Qinghua says.

“Nooo…” Fanli agrees.

The messages continue as they climb, carved into the walls, the ceilings, the floors. Most of it is illegible. Some of it is just nonsense. Some of it looks like the same kind of historical records carved into the broken tablets. Some of it looks like someone attacked the walls after reading what was written there. There are deep gouges in the walls and cracked marks that would match a giant’s hands.

“‘The water cleans the lies,’” Peerless Cucumber reads. “‘I am the only one who can see.’ ‘Lies everywhere, lies everywhere, lies everywhere.’ ‘The water cleans the evil.’ ‘I do not have enough tears.’ ‘Everything is nothing now. Everything in vain.’”

“You really don’t need to read them!” Shang Qinghua tells the kid. “It’s fine. It's totally fine.”

AN: This is mostly here to up the tension, but it’s also here to try and give insight into this being and relate them more to the “Death of the Author” and the “Seeing is Believing” themes.

I also saw the phrase “If I go blind, so does the world” while I was browsing a list of riddles for D&D campaigns and I was like, “THAT’S SICK, I’M USING THAT.” Really brings the “an eye for an eye” and vengeance vibes. (The riddle was longer than that one phrase, but the answer was “the sun”.)

The top of the temple reveals one massive room that looks like someone was alternatively scratching their insanity into the walls and tearing chunks out of the interior design with their bare hands. Overtop of the rubble is that eerie overgrowth. There’s a fine layer of water over the floor. At the center of it all is an incredibly enormous desk, cracked in half, with a robed skeleton sitting behind it, slumped over the top. It’s a little too large to be an ordinary human.

Plus, its skull is a little too long, probably to accommodate the third eye socket in the forehead. There’s something gleaming softly yellow in the third eye socket.

“Is… there water dripping from its eyes?” Luo Fanli whispers.

“It looks like it…” Peerless Cucumber whispers back. “Like it's crying…?”

“Still…? Is it dead or not?”

“Holy shit,” Shang Qinghua thinks, slightly nauseated. “System, bro, the worst bro I’ve ever known, tell me that we have not been swimming in a three-eyed skeleton’s magical undead tears or something this whole time.”

The shitty, no-good System stays unsurprisingly silent.

AN: Okay, so the idea here is that this being was someone who recorded history and shared their knowledge freely. This being had the ability to discern the truth of a person - they were extremely perceptive. (The Weeper is either female or doesn’t have a gender, by the way.)

The Weeper met the Garden Master at some point. The Garden Master was an asshole, a liar, arrogant, etc.. The Weeper and the Garden Master clashed badly, until the Weeper sent the cleansing flood that nearly destroyed the sect and the Garden Master essentially had to flee to a personal abyss.

The Garden Master sent the plant as a final “fuck you” to the Weeper. The plant caused the Weeper to slowly go mad. The smashed tablets and destroyed temple are the Weeper’s work. The Weeper (not in a great state of mind) had the temple closed themselves once they realized they and their work had been corrupted. This was a “you destroy my (embellished) reputation, I destroy yours (and your entire life)” plot by the Garden Master.

The idea behind the tears is the whole “water is cleansing” thing. The Weeper tried to clean away the madness using their magical water-related abilities... and it actually worked for a long time. But eventually the madness began to overpower the effects of the magical water. The Weeper’s tears are from frustration and helplessness at losing control.

The water inside the temple combats the plant’s physical effects. Also stabbing the root killed the plant and essentially broke its mental/spiritual powers.

Unfortunately, to get the fuck out of here, they have to go back through the temple. But hey! That’s still a lot better than an extended hike through an underground, haunted desert in darkness! The battle with the now-dead plant caused its growth to writhe around the temple. The vines need to be hacked through sometimes as they travel down through the rooms of broken shelves and shattered tablets.

“So much history lost…” Peerless Cucumber murmurs.

“He still thinks of himself as a reader - an observer, a visitor, separate from the flow of fate.”

AN: This is... absolutely based on the Heart from the Dishonored franchise. But this sort of item didn’t originate with Dishonored and I need it! It’s a surprise/mystery tool that will help us later!

The Eye isn’t exactly a mind-reading object. I mean, it kind of is, but it works in a very specific way that I’m looking forward to getting into.

From there, their path back out of the natural maze is even more careful and stressful than before, now that the Huan Hua Palace Sect cultivators are actively looking for them rather than the temple. It’s slow-going and stressful and silent, except for when the Weeper’s Eye presses too close against his chest.

“He is afraid that if he starts screaming, he will never stop,” it tells him, when he’s looking at a pale-faced Peerless Cucumber, as they fly over a particularly deathly-looking drop.

“Oh, me too, bro!” Shang Qinghua thinks. “Seriously! Tell me something I don’t know!”

AN: Having Shang Qinghua be totally unimpressed by an object like this was very funny to me. He’s the author! He’s a transmigrator! He knows these people well! He already has insight into their situations.

Shang Qinghua groans, but supposes that Peerless Cucumber would have at least been disguising Liu Qingge from the back. “You tell them that you were tracking thieves who stole something from Cang Qiong Mountain Sect,” he says quickly. “Rule of embarrassment! Admitting something that makes us look bad to a rival makes it sound true. Don’t tell them what was stolen and act really offended if they try to poke into Cang Qiong business. I’ll come back as soon as I get these two out!”

Liu Qingge nods and launches forward into the fight.

“We’re just leaving him?” Peerless Cucumber says, as they do exactly that.

“I’ll get changed and come back ‘looking for him for urgent sect business’ as soon as I’ve dropped you two off in the last town,” Shang Qinghua says. “I’m really good at acting stressed and confused, and at desperately needing an unstoppable wandering Liu Qingge back at Cang Qiong Mountain Sect immediately. Now let’s go! Let’s go! Mission isn’t over yet!”

AN: Shang Qinghua is, at heart, a liar. I love him.

#tossawary updates #tossawary svsss #pride is not the word #tossawary commentary

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nyxdelanuit · 4 years ago

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We All Fall From Heaven

Hello my little constellations! @mammonrights and I are bringing you a fun little treat! We’re collabing on We All Fall From Heaven, a Yandere House of Lamentation series c: That being said, please be aware of the tags, and enjoy! I also will not be adding my usual tag list to this due to the themes involved, so please let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters!

WARNINGS: YANDERE THEMES, DUBCON/NONCON, Abusive/Obsessive Relationships, Branding/Marking, Choking and of course, SMUT ABOUND~ Please be sure to mind the tags <3

You belatedly thought you should have been more nervous being an exchange student in the Devildom, but it was hard to be when everyone was so welcoming. It was a little disorienting, suddenly being thrust into a different place with several big, attractive people waiting for you. But Diavolo welcomed you with open arms.

You weren't even the first, apparently there had been a regular human exchange student before you. She had even come back for a second year before finding her happy ending with an angel. Simeon, they called him, and though you thought you saw anger on the faces of your hosts, it was quickly brushed off as they explained what the next year would look like for you.

You were welcomed into their home warmly by all except Mammon. He had huffed off after Lucifer told him your room arrangements weren't up for negotiation, which you hadn't quite understood. You were in awe of your room, comfy and full of lush vegetation. One of the other brothers- Levi, if you remembered correctly- laughed and said he was still hung up on the normie that was here before you. None of the other brothers seemed too concerned about it, so you let the issue drop and focused on enjoying your time here.

The first few weeks passed quickly, especially with all the brothers eager to spend time with you. Asmo was quick to talk you into weekly at-home spa dates, Beel took you out to all of his favorite restaurants, Mammon eventually warmed up to you and roped you into his schemes- which rarely worked but were too fun to turn down, Levi was quick to drag you down the rabbit holes of Devildom anime and games, Satan offered a quiet space for reading and someone to study with, and Lucifer… while he was more aloof than the other brothers, he still took time out of his schedule to enjoy downtime with you. There was one, though, that was glued to your side from day one.

Belphie. He hung off your arm everywhere you went, and if it was anyone else, you'd be concerned at how easily he convinced you to start taking naps with him. But he was the Avatar of Sloth, and he curled up next to you so sweetly, who wouldn't want to lay next to him after seeing him sleep so peacefully? He always made sure you had pleasant dreams and woke up feeling rested. So you let him hang off you as you walked the halls of RAD and the house, and you weren't even surprised when you awoke to Belphie cuddled up to your side in your bed. He had told you he slept better when he was next to someone anyways.

It was one of the few times that you weren't used to prop Belphie up as you walked home from RAD. He had gone home early to nap, but the other brothers were called to an emergency student council meeting. You were sent home with the instruction to wake Belphie and send him to the meeting, and you were a bit uneasy with the idea of waking Belphie on your own. You had heard the stories…

You found him in the attic, one of the nap spots he had shown you after you had grown close. It was probably the third or fourth place you had checked, and all the stairs paired with the long day had made you a bit tired. Seeing Belphie all curled up on the bed made you want to lay next to him, but Lucifer’s wrath was more pressing.

“Belphie-boo, you gotta get up.” You crawled up next to him and shook his shoulder lightly. He wasn’t even stirring from his sleep, so you took the chance to run your fingers through his hair. He always liked that when he was awake, so maybe he would wake in a better mood this way. His hair was silky under your touch, and you noticed one bleary eye open to you. “Good morning, sleepyhead. Lucifer sent me to tell you there’s a student council meeting you need to get to.” This seemed to wake him up. You weren’t sure why, as you had seen him sleep through the meetings multiple times.

"So, you're saying you came home by yourself?" Belphie sat up and clutched at the hand that was in his hair. You nodded, a bit nervous at the glint in his eyes. Your nerves only worsened as he began chuckling, pushing you down to the plush of the mattress. "You silly human, coming home all alone to wake a demon." He crawled over you as he spoke, caging you in.

"The last one left us for an angel. We used to be angels, too, you know? But we weren't good enough for her to stay. You won't leave us, though, will you?" You froze, uncertain of how to respond. You loved it here, you really did, but you had family to return to.

“I won’t let you anyways. Especially now that I’ve got you alone.” His hand played with the tie of your uniform, slowly pulling it undone. The buttons unhooked under his deft fingers, revealing your bare collarbone to him. “I messed up bad with the last one. I was locked in here for so long, and I didn’t have long enough to convince them to stay. I won’t make the same mistake twice.” His head dipped to your neck, laying a delicate kiss to the sensitive skin.

“Belphie, I-” Your hands tried to push at his chest, but he easily caught them in his hands, transferring the one wrist to the other hand, pinning you to the bed.

"Don't be so coy now, you've let me into your bed so easily up til now. What's going a little bit further?" You could feel his grin on your shoulder as he chuckled. The warmth of his breath on your skin sent a shiver down your spine, and you tried to fight the heat collecting in your stomach. "I've seen the way you look at all of us. Just stay with me and Beel, we'll treat you like a princess. Most of the time, at least." His free hand took to your shirt again, unbuttoning faster than you thought the Avatar of Sloth could move. You struggled in earnest when you were exposed to his gaze, dark and wanting. Part of you knew, knew that he was right and that you had no hope of fighting against a demon.

With one hand, Belphie had stripped you of all clothes save for your underwear. His fingers traced the pattern of your bra absentmindedly as he leaned back to look at you. "You look so cute like this, shaking underneath me." Before you could retort, his mouth was on yours. His kiss was lazy, more aligned with the Belphie you knew instead of the demon atop you. You were so comforted by this that you hadn't fought him when his tongue softly traced the seam of your lips, exploring your taste like ambrosia.

While you were distracted by his leisurely kissing, his hands roamed your body, sneaking under the hem of your panties. You couldn’t help the pathetic whine as he carefully ran a finger through your slick. “Who are you fighting, little human? Everyone but you seems to know you want this. Even your body knows. Just give in.” It was hard to refute him when his fingers started plunging into you at an unforgiving pace. His hands seemed to be working at a different wavelength, as his sleepy kisses were still being peppered over your neck and face.

Tears pricked at your eyes, your head unable to reconcile the Belphie you knew with the one currently pistoning his fingers in and out of your heat. You barely even struggled as Belphie ripped your bra from your chest, your panties following soon after. "You know what's funny? We all had pacts with her, and she still left. You won't, though, I won't let you leave. You'll learn to love me. Then we can live together: you, me, and Beel." Energy seemed to course through him as he rushed out of his clothes. The most you could do was rise on shaking arms while he undressed, but the tell-tale sound of Belphie morphing into his demon form told you that you'd never even reach the door.

"You belong to me now." He loomed over your body, bare chest pressed to your back as your shuddering arms threatened to collapse underneath you. A gasp passed through your lips as his dick slid through your dripping slit and pressed in without warning. The breath was pushed from your lungs as he thrust in, your arms finally giving out as you landed face-first in the tangle of blankets. Belphie only pushed you down further, spreading your legs out to allow him to thrust deeper into your heat. You scrambled to get breath into your lungs before he bucked into you again, all the air leaving you with a keening cry.

"You're so cute when you struggle, you know that, right?" He cooed above you, dragging a hand through your hair much too gently for how he ravaged you. His head dropped to the back of your neck as he sped up, and you were vaguely grateful that he at least made sure you were prepped beforehand. Your hands tugged at the blanket, bunching it under your hips and unwillingly propping yourself up to meet his thrusts. With the angle you had inadvertently placed yourself at, Belphie's cock was relentlessly dragging at your sweet spot. He lifted his head to lick a line up the curve of your shoulder. "You sound so sweet, screaming for me, little human. Better than any lullaby. I promise you'll love me. The last human may have gotten my pact, but you're going to be special. You're going to get my mark." His hand drifted from the painful grip on your hips to delicately wrap around your throat. "Should I put it here? My brothers might get jealous if they see it." His manic giggle reverberated through your skin as he pressed his lips to your shoulder. His pace was relentless, desperate as he whined against you. You let out a choked sob at the thought of his brothers seeing his mark on you, which only seemed to rile Belphie up. "No, I want it to be somewhere secret. Just for you and me. And Beel, I can share when I want to." His hand slowly trailed down your body, absentmindedly groping at your breast before following the curve of your hip down.

His fingers dipped to your swelling cunt, swiping over your clit a few times until you started squirming against his hold. "Such a good little human, such a good little pet." He cooed in your ear, the loving tone in his voice a chilling contrast from the snap of his hips against your ass. His hand finally ceased their journey on the top of your thigh. "I'm going to lay my head on your lap every night and know that my mark is right there." The glee in his voice sent a chill through your veins before fire flooded your body. His hand burned against your thigh, a pure red hot agony. You clenched against his length, pulling a lewd moan from him. "Oh, such a good girl, take it. Take my mark, take everything. You're never leaving me now."

You were so thankful that the pain receded that you didn’t fight the crest of pleasure you rode on after. Belphie groaned, his sweaty forehead braced against your back as he flooded your pussy with his essence. His cum stained your insides, dripping down past where you were joined.

Belphie fell back onto the bed, an exhausted sigh filling the air. He pulled you to lay next to him, and you sought the solace of his familiar touch. You hid your face in his shoulder as he spoke soft affirmations in your hair.

"Hush, the worst part is over. You're mine now, and me and Beel will take such good care of you." The kiss on your crown was too soft, too loving, too much like the Belphie you thought you knew. His hands drew shapes against your bare back, and you hated that it calmed you down. You should be running, you should be looking for one of his brothers to help. But Belphie had been your closest friend here… Who's to say their reaction would be any better.

Belphie gently extracted you from his hold before gathering his clothes and slipping back into them without a care in the world. “I have to go to this meeting before Lucifer punishes us both.” Even after all Belphie had done, the threat of Lucifer’s punishment still made you scared. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He moved to hold you to his chest, laying a soft kiss to your lips, like a lover would.

As Belphie’s hand traced the delicate lines of the sigil inked into your thigh, you finally realized. For the first time, you truly understood you were surrounded by demons. You hadn’t known what you were signed up for.

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trashyswitch · 4 years ago

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Illogical Hobbies (Or so he Thought)

Logan is struggling with being seen as unreliable or biased in his logic. Why? Because the man likes tickling and he's super embarrassed about it. Looking for help from anyone, Logan decides to talk to Remus about his dilemma. Remus quickly proves to be open-minded, and even excited about Logan's interest!

This fanfic has some dirty jokes and ultimate gay moments. Whether Intrulogical is platonic or intimate in this fanfic...I have no idea. It could be read as both. Just keep an open mind, knowing that this is Remus and Remus us well...dirty.

Also: this fanfic was suggested by 🦂 person. Hi 🦂 person! Sorry it took weeks.

Other than that: I hope you enjoy!

For @kanene-yaaay

Logan had been struggling with his thoughts. For one of the first times in his life, Logan’s brain was overwhelming him with logical theories that haven’t been proven as of yet. The logical side now believed he might be a freak and as a result, is now unreliable for Thomas. This hypothesis was created due to his interest in one thing: tickling. He had seen the documentary they made about it. He had seen how uncomfortable people become due to others and their ‘feelings for tickling’. There are people who enjoy it as a…

Logan shivers. Despite his inability to hold onto biases up until this point...Logan had developed a strange reaction to the unspoken word. He just doesn’t like thinking about the word, let alone saying it. Society has managed to place so much of a bad condentation onto the word, that...saying it feels super wrong. Those types of topics are usually kept secret and are only discussed with people who you feel close to. Making sure the other person doesn’t mind talking about it might also be a good thing to check. You don’t want to end up in one of those one-sided conversations where you do all the talking while your friend only listens, nods and refuses to add input. That would be the last place Logan would want to get stuck in.

Logan sat down on his desk and clicked the pen to start writing. He drew out the people within the mind palace, and wrote down the pros and cons of talking about it with that person. Logan did this so that he could determine who would be the best person to go to, that wouldn’t be biased or rude about his...feelings. Yeah, feelings. He needed someone who wouldn’t look down upon him for being this way, and who would remind him that he is still the logical side who doesn’t let biases or conflicts get in the way of the truth.

Patton seemed like a good idea and he’d consider coming to him another time. But poor Patton’s already got so much on his plate. Patton’s been trying to help out Roman, who was still struggling with the truth that was told to him during the last conversation they had. Patton had gotten better acquainted with Janus by then, and was now struggling to find a stalemate between the light and the dark sides.

On top of that, Roman was also out of the question for more reasons than one. Again, Roman was going through a few different things involving his insecurities. Truth be told; Roman is now roughly 30 like Thomas is, so he should’ve been experiencing this phase long ago. But, late is better than never. Even if Roman weren’t stressed about his self-image, Logan would still turn down the prince because he found Roman too biased and rude over simple matters. It would be better to let Roman question things rather than be taunted by him for the rest of his days.

Virgil is more of a quiet citizen who probably would’ve handled it just fine. The emotional man has his own interests and hobbies that he often keeps from people as well. Example: his love for spiders. Patton would probably have a heart attack if Virgil admitted such a secret. But the one big con Logan had with Virgil was the chance he’ll let out a...strange reaction to the news. Whether it was gonna be a good or a bad reaction, was not something Logan wanted to test out.

Janus seemed like an interesting option as well. Yet despite his better understanding of the snake-like being, he began to wonder if Janus would be too manipulative or perhaps...too blunt. In this moment in particular, Logan felt he needed reassurance more than vague, or blunt answers. And knowing Janus...both possibilities stood out equally. So...Janus was off too.

Now Remus particularly stuck out to him. Remus would be blunt, but in a strangely charming way that would lessen the truthful blow. Remus would also be the most unbiased next to Patton because he’s learned about literally everything involving the subject. Remus might even have the recommended tools readily available in his room! Though Remus may immediately resort to assumptions about the interest...that’s about the only con Remus had under the list. Furthermore, Logan liked Remus. Maybe if there wasn’t a risk of getting physically injured, Logan would’ve had no cons under his name.

Logan threw away the chart and walked himself up to Remus’s room. Feeling nervous yet fascinated, Logan knocked on the door. He kept his knocks rather quiet, as to not disturb the other dark sides.

Remus opened the door and immediately pulled Logan into his room. Remus closed the door and planted a big, slightly bushy kiss onto Logan’s cheek. “Welcome Logan, to my sexy chamber of secrets~!” Remus greeted. “I am your tour guide: Sexy Sanders~. Are you ready for the greatest tour of your whole life?” Remus declared proudly.

Logan bit his lip and looked away shyly. “R-Remus…” Dammit! Now he was turning into a deer frozen in the headlights! “I’m flattered by your introduction, but-”

“OOOoooh! ReeRee, you sly dog! You just flustered the nerd beyond belief!” Remus reacted. “Perhaps the ninja star and the loss of your buck teeth has left poor Logey in a confused state of ecstacy!” Remus teased, letting out a sexy cat growl.

Logan cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. “Excuse me…” Logan started to turn around while he tried to ramble out an excuse. “I suppose now may not be the time to talk, so I’m gonna leave you to your duties and-”

Remus slammed something against the wall beside the door. Logan jumped at the bang sound it made, and turned to look at the blurry thing that had made the sound beside him.

It was a foot? A high heeled foot, to be exact. And...Oh geez Remus was wearing kinky boots. “Come here darling…” Remus put his foot down and led Logan to the bed. “Let me get you something somewhat edible to eat and drink.” Remus offered. “You seem in great dire need of it, after all~”

Remus sat Logan down on his bedside and opened a bottom drawer that was split into 2 spots and filled with snacks. On the left side was ‘Remus’ based snacky foods and on the right, was normal snacky foods that he guessed could be for Roman or Janus. “Pick your poison.” Remus told him.

Logan bit his lip and smiled slightly. “Is any of it actually poisoned? Or is that just you using a phrase?” Logan asked.

Remus giggled. “It’s just a saying, li’l sweetberry.” Remus replied.

Logan awkwardly reached down and grabbed a pack of swedish berries. “Thank you, Remus.”

“No problem. Now: What does the poor distressed brainiac need from your pal?” Remus asked.

Logan bit his lip and swallowed. “Well…I’ll start with this:” Logan took a breath and began. “I took some time finding out who exactly to talk to about my personal issue. My other choice would’ve been Patton, but...He’s busy with your brother.” Logan admitted.

“Oh Patton...The poor boy is busy trying to keep the peace while Roman loses his sanity because his biased beliefs and nasty habits are finally being seen as rude!” Remus added.

Logan widened his eyes and looked at Remus. “Yes! That’s exactly it!” Logan reacted.

Remus scoffed and looked at his nails. “He’s always been like that. I’m not even gonna start with all the insults he’s thrown at me.” Remus added. “Though I don’t mind some angst in my life...Roman has genuinely hurt me before.” Remus admitted.

Logan looked down a little. “I’m...I’m sorry to hear that.” Logan told him.

Remus quickly waved it off and readjusted his position. “It’s fine! Now: What is this seeecretive thing you worked sooo hard to talk about?” Remus asked.

Logan calmed down slightly and continued. “I have felt rather embarrassed and...unreliable to Thomas because of some interests I’ve had.” Logan admitted.

Remus gasped and leaned his chin on his hand. “Do tell! I do love a good ‘life-altering’ hobby.” Remus told him with a wink.

Logan rolled his eyes and couldn’t help but grow a little soft towards Remus. “Ohokay. Well...Because of my outward presentation, I am unable to present many mannerisms without fearing I’ll be judged by some of the sides.” Logan admitted. “And...there’s one specific activity that I have ached for…for a while now...” Logan admitted.

Remus giggled. “Does someone have a thing for bonds?” Remus teased.

Logan blinked and looked at him with a confused face. “I- no. Not bondage.” Logan replied.

Remus raised his eyebrows. “Roleplay?” Remus asked, now guessing.

Logan visibly cringed. “No…”

“Hmmm…” Remus bounced his eyebrows and licked his lips. “Sexting?” Remus asked.

Logan looked quite bothered. “It...It’s not a fetish, Remus!” Logan finally told him, feeling dirty for saying the word out loud.

Remus’s smile dropped. “Oh…” Remus thought for a moment. “Do you have a thing for furries?” Remus asked.

Logan shook his head. “No.”

“Is this more wholesome than I think?” Remus asked.

Logan looked at Remus with an embarrassed smile. “Y-yeah.”

“Hmm...Cuddles? Are you lacking a few good cuddles?” Remus asked.

Logan widened his eyes as his cheeks started to glow a dark red. “I...Kinda…” Logan replied.

Remus picked up Logan immediately and gently threw him onto the bed. “Tally HOO!” Remus shouted as Logan landed on the bed. Remus jumped onto the bed beside Logan, and wrapped his arms around him. “Is this what you wanted?” Remus asked.

Logan had frozen in place, unsure of how to react. This was kind of what he wanted, but...there was something missing…

Logan wrapped his arms around Remus as well and soon rested his head against his chest. “Y-Yeah...This is what I wanted…” Logan somewhat admitted.

Remus tilted his head and looked at him. “Stop the music:” Remus said to the quiet room. Remus pointed at Logan. “You’re hesitating...I can hear it.” Remus told him.

Logan widened his eyes. “Am I?” He asked.

Remus nodded. “I can tell you want something else.” Remus told him.

Logan looked down with a wobbly smile and blushed. “Yyyyy...Yeah you got me.”

“So: Any hints?” Remus asked.

Logan squeezed his eyes shut, and carefully gave Remus a really light squeeze on the side. Remus jumped slightly, but gasped as he immediately caught on.

While Logan opened his eyes with worry in his eyes, Remus smirked and gave the back of Logan’s neck a little tickle. “I think I understand what you want~”

Logan threw his head back and squeaked, not expecting it. He instinctually reached his arm back to grab the hand.

But Remus giggled and wiggled his fingers. “You shouldn’t have done thaaat~” Remus touched down on Logan’s now-exposed armpit and skittered wildly while making teasy ticky-ticky sounds. Logan quickly threw his arm down and let out his first snort. “Awwww! I think this IS what the distressed brainiac yearned for! Am I right? Am I right??!” Remus teased as he squeezed his hip with his other free hand.

Logan’s eyes grew to the size of dinner plates as he let out a big, overwhelmed yelp. “REMUHUHUS-” Logan started wiggling and squirming while cackling somewhat quietly with his face all squished.

Remus had a stupidly happy grin on his face as he kept going. “The smartest being in Thomas’s entire mind palace is ticklish! And he LIKES it!” Remus reacted. “This is like landing in heaven! For Logan AND myself!” Remus reacted.

Logan covered his face with his hands and whined. “Yohohohou lihihike ihihit toohohohoho?” Logan asked.

As a reply, Remus leaned in and blew a raspberry on his neck. Logan squealed like he had never squealed before, and hid his flustered face in Remus’s chest. “There’s my answer!” Remus declared.

Logan tried to mutter something to Remus, but his face was intentionally being shoved into Remus’s chest. Remus bursted out laughing at how muffled and wonky Logan’s ‘words’ sounded in his chest. “You sound like you’re stuck in a door or something! Do I need to tickle you out of your crampy situation?!” Remus asked him jokingly.

Logan giggled more into the Duke’s chest. Remus’s teasing was starting to fluster him more, and the anticipation was only adding to it. Remus was surprisingly good at this! Logan was thrown out of his moment of thought from two ticklish squeezes against his hips. “BAHAHAHA- REHEHEHE WAHAHAHAHAIT!” Logan yelled at him.

“Wait? But why? You’re already enjoying it! Why would I wait for something to happen, when everything I want is happening right now?” Remus asked rhetorically.

“IHIHIT’SSSS-SSSOHOHOHOHO TIHIHICKLIHIHIHIHISH!” Logan yelled back at him.

“I know! But isn’t that the best part? You’re getting the tickle tickle tickles you’ve been craving for…” Remus paused and thought for a moment. “Wait...How long have you been wanting these tickles for again?”

Logan snorted as his hair grew more and more messy. “UHUHUHUHUHUHH...MOHOHONTHSSSS?” Logan guessed.

“MONTHS?! Seriously?! You’ve been tickle-deprived for MONTHS?!” Remus shouted. “How in Satan’s butthole did you manage to survive months without being tickled?!” Remus reacted.

“PERHRHRSIHIHISTENENENCE!” Logan yelled back.

“Okay, maybe. But persisting without tickles and cuddles for MONTHS?! That’s like living an entire week without my favorite deodorant in the house! I’d die of starvation! And my tongue would be drier than Gluten Free bread!” Remus reacted further.

Logan laughed more at Remus’s statement. Of course Remus would starve himself if he had to live without deodorant! It only makes sense if you properly know the guy. Logan also visibly cringed at the thought of deodorant ‘moisturizing’ the tongue. The image in his head was making his tongue feel all weird and chalky.

...And surprisingly, Remus had a point. Gluten Free bread is ridiculously dry…

Remus soon gave Logan a bit of a break and spun his mustache while he watched the nerd. Logan took the moment to breathe again, but looked visibly disappointed that Remus had stopped.

Remus frowned softly with a wobbly smile at Logan’s reaction. Then, Remus made the one sound Logan NEVER imagined hearing from him: he cooed!

“Awwwww!” Remus covered his mouth and nose with his hands. “God, it’s like trying to ignore a homeless puppy! Now I know how Patton feels 60% of the time!” Remus reacted.

Logan chuckled at the last statement. Patton really does act like that a majority of the time.

Remus wrapped his arms around Logan and hugged him tightly. “I’m so happy you told me!” He admitted. “You have no clue how happy you made me feel the moment you came to my door!”

Logan relaxed a little more and hugged him back nicely. “...Really? You’re happy I told you?”

Remus nodded. “Well of course! No one besides Janus and Roman have ever told me their deepest secrets before!” Remus admitted. “And...Your secret is super wholesome.”

Logan’s smile dropped slightly as another thought went through his head. “Hey Remus…”

Remus tilted his head. “Yes Logan?”

Logan calmly stared into Remus’s eyes. “Do you still think I’m logical and reliable? Even with my...tickling interest?” Logan asked.

Remus smiled softly and placed his hands on Logan’s shoulders. “You are the most logical and sane side we have in the mind palace. No amount of feelings is ever gonna change your big IQ.” Remus reminded him.

Logan smiled and went back into the hug. Feeling safe and secure in his arms, Logan closed his eyes and rested his chin on Remus’s shoulder.

“I guarantee if you were to tell Patton or even Roman, you would be given what you want.” Remus told him. “Roman is a bit more risky. He might look at you like you have 3 heads at first. But Roman will wind up going ballistic about how cute you are.” Remus told him. “He’s done the same thing for me.” Remus told him.

Logan looked at him. “Really?” Logan smirked a little. “What’s your cute hobby?” he asked.

Remus smiled and pointed to his closet. “Making stuffed animal abominations.” Remus replied proudly.

Logan tilted his head. “I...don’t think I follow.”

Remus giggled and blew a raspberry onto Logan’s neck again. “It doesn’t take much to follow what I mean.” Remus teased.

Logan squealed and cowered into Remus’s chest again while Remus began to explain: “I make stuffed abominations out of many different stuffed animals! I switch out the limbs, I add stuffed wings, tails or tentacles to the stuffies, and they become my pile of monstrosities!” Remus explained.

“Sohoho you’re sid from Toy Story?” Logan asked.

Remus smirked and tickled his sides as a response. “Exactly! See? You get it.”

Logan snorted and tried to scoot himself back. But Remus managed to grab his arm, hold it up, and attacked his exposed armpit. “Nice try, Ms. Berry blue!”

Logan shook his head wildly and let out every bit of laughter he had. He was a wiggling mess of laughs, giggles and snorts all in one nerd. It was so cute to see!

“C-COHOHOME OHOHOHON, REHEHEHEHE!” Logan yelled to him.

“Is that a challenge?” Remus asked him. “Are you telling me I’m not tickling you enough?! The nerve!” the Duke teased.

Logan squealed and pulled his knees to his chest. “NOHOHOHO, IHIHI DIHIHIHIDN’T!”

“But it sounds like you did! What on earth could you possibly mean when you say ‘come on, Ree’?” Remus asked.

“IHIHI MEHEHEHEANT YOHOHOHOU’RE TEHEHEHEASIHIHIHING MEHEHE AHA LOHOHOHOT!” Logan admitted.

Remus giggled. “I know.”

Remus stopped tickling him for a moment and placed the nerd’s hand down. Next, Remus grabbed onto Logan’s tie and started loosening it. “Here: I don’t want your trusty tie to choke you while I tickle you.” Remus told him.

If Logan wasn’t blushing before, he was CERTAINLY blushing now! Remus actually unfolded Logan’s collar and removed the tie with genuine care presented in his actions. Logan had frozen in place, which ended up helping Remus remove the tie with little struggle.

Then, Remus put the tie around Logan’s right wrist and tightened it to a comfortable amount. “Check it out!” Remus lifted the tie up and started tickling Logan’s armpit again. Logan snorted and immediately burst into giggles while he tried to cover his armpit. But the tie was working like a bonding rope and preventing his arm from covering the spot properly! But Logan also noticed Remus had left the tie a bit looser. So with some tugging and twisting, the wrist could easily pop right out.

Much to Remus’s surprise though, Logan tried not to pull too hard on his wrist. He was actually letting his hand be bonded for a bit.

Remus happily smiled as he covered Logan’s body with all the tickles and laughter. This was so fun! And to think that just 25 minutes ago, Logan was a tense and illogical mess. He’d never seen Logan behave like that before. He’d seen the nerd annoyed, hurt, excited and in shock, but he’s never seen Logan anxious. It was quite unusual for the logical side. But now Logan was a giggling, blushing mess of emotions. It was brand new for Remus, and most likely quite brand new for Logan as well. But Logan seemed to be enjoying it.

Finally after a while of tickling, Logan decided he had reached his limit. He pulled his hand out of the tie, and curled up into a sideways ball. “Ohohokahahahay, thahahahat’s ehehenoho-” Remus had already stopped the moment Logan said ‘Okay’. He must’ve already known Logan would want him to stop. So, he did.

Logan looked at Remus with a glow of happiness in his eyes. “Thank you Remus. That helped a lot.” Logan told him.

Remus smiled back and gently punched his shoulder. “Eeh, it’s nothing. I’ll happily do it again anytime you need me to.” Remus told him.

Logan blushed a little at that and looked away awkwardly. “I’ll...I’ll keep that in mind.”

Remus got off the bed, walked over to the dresser and opened the middle drawer. Hidden within some magazines and spare sewing fabric, Remus grabbed a water bottle and wrote an L on the lid. He closed the drawer and handed it over to Logan. “Here you go. I don’t want you die-drating on my watch.” Remus told him.

Logan laughed a little at that and drank some of the water from the water bottle.

“Now: Either you can get the hell out before anyone notices the nerd’s hanging out with the crook, or you can stay and get hit with all the questions later.” Remus explained.

Logan choked on his water and put the lid back on as he coughed the drop of water out of his air pipe. “Ihi-” He cleared his throat. “A crook is a dishonest person, or a thief. You may be a bit of a Grinch, but you’re most certainly not a crook.” Logan admitted.

Remus looked at him with surprise. “Wait, really?”

“Really.” Logan put his water bottle down. “You are the most honest person we have in the mind palace. Though the honesty does cross the line to brutal sometimes, it still shows the lengths you’ll go to be truthful.” Logan explained briefly. “Besides: I think I’ll risk the countless questions and stay a while longer.”

Remus smile grew into a big toothy grin as he held his own chest. “Awwww!” Then Remus shoved his hand into his own chest and ripped his heart out, blood vessels and all. “Look! You made my heart jump!” Remus reacted as he pointed to it. Sure enough, his human heart had visibly jumped a few times in front of Logan.

Logan covered the lower half of his face and couldn’t help the laugh that left his mouth. Looks like Logan will have to add the word ‘random’ to the list of Remus’s personality traits.

I'm finally back. I took nearly 3 weeks off of writing because I hit a major writers block. I am happy to say I got other things done in that time, and I used the unexpected break to my advantage. So now: I'm back and hopefully back to stay for a while.

#dirty jokes #remus is very gay #slight logan angst #comfort #ticklefic #ler!remus #lee!logan #remus is a good friend

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thejollyroger-writer · 4 years ago

Text

Where Your Heart Will Fly on Wings - 1/2

Part One: A Ship, A Map, and A Secret

A Neverland arc (season 3A) rewrite where the gang doesn't meet Captain Hook until they get to Neverland to rescue Henry. Most of the end of s2 ("Second Star to the Right..." "... and Straight on' Till Morning," the last two episodes of the season) are the same: Greg and Tamara kidnap Henry. With Killian not present, I imagine that David succeeds in wrestling a bean away from Greg. They go to Rumple for help, and though he refused before, Blue's potion worked in giving Belle her memories back and he changes his mind. Somewhere in his shop, there is a ship in a bottle, and he removes this ship, docks it in the harbor, and leads Emma, Regina, Mary Margaret, and David through a portal that takes them to the waters surrounding Pan's island.

Also on AO3

Special thanks to @shireness-says my forever beta who only makes my life (and my stories) better, and all the ladies on discord who answered all the little questions I struggled with while writing this. Thanks, ladies. ( @kmomof4 @hollyethecurious @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @stahlop ) Written for @neverlandnewyear. Some other interested pals: @thisonesatellite @darkcolinodonorgasm @scientificapricot @carpedzem @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @regi-writes-stuff @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @winterbaby89

The ship touches down on the waters, the portal disappearing from around them — but what they find is no better. Fat, cold rain drops pelt them from above, and below them, the waves begin to toss the dilapidated ship in every direction.

“Great job, Gold!” Regina yells, wrapping one of the ropes around her wrist. “You landed us right in the middle of a storm!”

“Believe it or not, dearie, my powers do not include the ability to control the weather, and certainly not in this realm!”

"We don't have time for this!" David chimes in, helping Mary Margaret keep her footing on the quickly-dampening deck. "If we're even going to make it onto the island, we have to get through this storm together!"

"And how do you expect we do that?" Regina chides. "This ship is barely more than a pile of old boards, it's not going to survive this storm."

"Then maybe we should work together to try to make it through this!" Mary Margaret yells.

"What do you expect us to do?”

"Well, we can start by trusting each other!"

Regina scoffs. "You think trust is going to get us through this storm? Is your trust going to keep us from taking on water?"

"No," Emma mumbles, looking down to her feet, and the water that she finds there makes her realize just how much trouble they're in.

And that's when something rams into the side of the ship. And again. And again.

"What the hell was that?"

"Sharks?"

"Afraid not," Rumple mumbles, trying to plant his feet on the slippery deck to keep control of the helm.

Regina looks over the railing, conjuring a fireball in her hand. "Mermaids."

"Mermaids?" Emma repeats. "They're real, too?"

"Does that really surprise you anymore?" Regina asks.

"We have to do something!" Mary Margaret yells over the wind.

"I am not being capsized by a fish!" David sloshes across the deck to a small cannon, which he loads a length of chain into before firing it into the water.

Mary Margaret picks a large net up off the helm, tossing half of it to Emma. “Help me get this into the water!”

“What are you going to do, catch one of them?” Regina tosses a fireball towards the surface of the water — which, surprisingly, works, and a mermaids around them back off the ship.

“Yes!" Mary Margaret stops for a moment to glance at Regina before tossing the net into the waves. "And ask her to help us.”

“Mermaids aren’t going to help you, dearies!”

“Obviously you’re also not going to help us, either!” Regina crosses the deck and throws out another fireball, clearing the starboard side just as she did the port. “There.” She wipes her hands on her soaked slacks and smiles at the fact that the storm also seems to have left with the mermaids. “They’re gone.”

“Not all of them!” Mary Margaret says, grunting as she and Emma struggle to pull their fishing net back onto the deck. “What about this one?”

With a flick of Regina's hand, the creature is out of their net and sprawled on the boards of the deck, her hands bound in front of her and her shining tail flopping into the inches of water that have settled onto the boards of the deck.

But her presence on the deck only causes an argument to break out between them, each offering their own way to deal with her — to ask for help, to kill her, to let her go. With every question they ask her, she offers them a vague but threatening answer, and the storm that Regina thought was over slowly begins to reform around them. Even after Regina turns her to wood with a whoosh of her magic, they continue to argue amongst themselves, the storm surging around them — all except Emma, who realizes the mermaid’s plan was to set them against each other to be destroyed by the storm. With no other option, she tries to get their attention, screaming across the small ship towards them, but nothing works — and she dives into the sea.

Quickly followed by a piece of metal rigging, pulled off by the winds into the water behind her and making hard contact with her head, immediately knocking her unconscious.

Without a second thought, David moves to dive in behind her, but Mary Margaret’s hand tight around his arm stops him. “No! You could get pulled under, too!”

“Not to worry!” A voice cuts through the rushing wind and water, another ship appearing out of the darkness of the storm. Within moments, it is close enough for the man to follow Emma into the water, a rope tied around his waist.

For a few long, terrifying moments, nothing happens. The storm still surging around them makes it impossible for them to see into the water, and they can only hope that the mysterious man can save her before it's too late.

After what feels like forever, a head breaks the surface of the water, Emma's bright hair a strong contrast to the dark waves, and the other man follows.

"Pull me up, Scarlett!" he calls, facing away from their small ship, and the man just visible on the deck of the nearby ship does as asked, pulling the man with Emma in tow. David wants to oppose, beg the man to bring Emma back to their ship, but just the feeling of Mary Margaret's hand on his arm keeps his mouth closed.

"Can you get us over there?" Mary Margaret asks, turning towards Rumplestiltskin. He rolls his eyes, but twirls his hand in front of him anyway, taking them all onto the other ship's deck in a wisp of smoke.

"Is she okay?" David asks as soon as he finds his footing, kneeling beside where Emma is laying on the deck — just as she spits out a mouthful of seawater and rolls onto her side. Mary Margaret drops to her knees on the deck beside her daughter, wrapping her arms around Emma's shoulders.

"Perhaps we should give the lass a moment? A bit of space?" the man who rescued her says, leaning against the bannister behind him, his arms crossed behind his back.

"Oh, come on !" Regina cuts him off, raising her hand towards the wave, moving ever-closer to their ship. "We don't have time for all this."

"Alas, she's right. I'm afraid we'll have to save the pleasantries until after the dashing rescue," he says, striding to what can only be his rightful place behind the helm and leading them quickly away from the waves, away from the storm. David helps Emma to her feet and they all watch as their old ship crumbles beneath the waves, after which the storm around them seems to disappear at an alarming rate; within mere minutes, the sun shines down from a cloudless sky and the soft wind blows lightly on the sails.

The man locks the helm into place and holds his hand out in a welcoming gesture. "This seems a much more appropriate time for introductions. Welcome aboard the Jolly Roger. "

"Okay,” David says, crossing his arms across his chest. "Who are you?"

"Captain Jones," he says, mimicking David's position -- which only draws attention to his left arm, which is blunted just shy of the elbow, replaced with a shining, metal hook. "But most people have taken to calling me by my more colorful moniker—"

Rumple laughs, cutting him off mid-sentence. "You've really owned up to your ailment, haven't you, Captain Hook ?" he says, spitting the last two words between his teeth.

The man turns around, noticing Rumple standing behind him for the first time. "Oh, now that's just my bloody luck, innit?" He pushes his dark, wet bangs off his forehead with his wrist and lets out a small laugh. "All I was expecting was a few damsels in distress," he says, turning towards Emma for a moment and waggling his eyebrows at her before returning his attention to Gold. "Yet it appears I've caught myself a crocodile."

"Like, Captain Hook Captain Hook? Waxed mustache and perm and Peter Pan?"

"Well, love, I must admit I'm uncertain about the first two, but I'm glad to hear that you know who we're going up against."

"Up against? I just want to save my son."

"Why do you think they brought him here, dearies?" Rumple asks, flourishing his hands to conjure a whisp of purple smoke, revealing a new outfit of dark pants and a black, reptilian-scaled vest. "Pan is the one behind it all, I have no doubts about that. And he is a far more powerful foe than any of you are able to go up against."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Regina bites back, but Rumple is gone in another wisp of smoke before the question even leaves her lips.

"It appears that even after all these years, he is still as helpful as he's always been," Hook says, his jaw obviously tight with tension.

Emma's head is spinning. She's spent months trying to wrap her head around everything about Storybrooke and her life, around the idea of true love and fairy tales and everyone's stories intertwining — but this, running into handsome, one-handed pirates in Neverland that have a history with Gold, goes beyond all else.

"Wait, you know Mr. Gold?" Mary Margaret asks, voicing the question they all seem to be thinking.

"Aye, " he says, wrapping his hook around one of the spokes of the helm, where his attention is also focused. "though he was not known by that name. Before he became the Dark One as well, if the rumors are to be true."

For once, Regina seems interested in what he has to say." But he's been the Dark one for —"

"Lifetimes, aye," he says, cutting her off, but turning his eyes down to where she is standing on the lower deck.

No one knows how to respond to him, so the deck stays silent. For the first time, Emma looks around, taking in the small crew that stands around them. There are five that she can see, not including the captain: another tall, dark-haired man standing against the railing, arms crossed over his chest; a stout man with a red beard and an even redder hat; a fierce-looking woman with a mess of dark hair piled high on the top of her head, her dark orange tunic and black pants having seen better days; and two dark, brooding young men, no more than twenty, on the far end of the deck.

"What brings you all to Neverland?" the woman asks. Emma is not surprised that she is the one who tries to make conversation, though she vaguely remembers something about women being bad luck on ships.

"They took my son," Emma and Regina say simultaneously, and none of the ship's crew are able to keep their immediate reactions off their face.

The dark haired man leaning against the railing behind David barks out a laugh, but when Regina turns her glare in his direction, he snaps his mouth shut.

"What could Pan want with your son?" Hook asks.

"Does it matter?" Emma spits back. "We need to get him back."

Hook holds up his hands in a gesture of reluctant surrender. "Of course, of course, you're right." He turns to the man still leaning against the railing, who pushes off to his feet when he sees the look on the captain's face. "Prepare for a return to open waters, I would like to dock at Pirate's Cove before dinner time, Mister Scarlett."

Emma expects a salute, given the rest of the captain's countenance, but the man — Scarlett — just nods and walks away.

"Dinner?" Regina asks, her voice dripping with anger. "What part of ' we don't have time for this' don't you understand, pirate?" she spits.

"Can I ask you how many times you've visited this island, your Majesty?" he asks, the same fire in his voice.

She's taken aback for a moment, but answers nonetheless: "Never."

"That's what I thought. I, however, have been here for longer than any of you can even imagine, which gives me the kind of knowledge you could use on this type of quest. Are you really going to turn that down?"

To this, Regina has no response.

"Now, the beaches at Pirate's Cove will prove much more useful to your mission here, and by sailing around the island, it will rid you of the necessity of walking either through or around the Dark Jungle, which I can assure you is something you do not want to do. So, yes, we are going to chance the few hours it will take to sail around the island to hopefully cut days off of what it would have taken you on foot, and then we will be closer to Pan's camp and it will hopefully prove easier to find your boy."

This time, it's David who is angered by his response: " We ? What do you mean 'we'?"

Captain Hook practically rolls his eyes at this, which almost pulls a laugh out of Emma. “Do you expect to navigate the island yourselves?"

Emma intervenes, trying to calm the tension while also ensuring they stay focused on rescuing Henry: "He's right, David, we could use his assistance."

He winks at Emma. "I had a feeling I was going to like you."

Though she knows she should be resting, bunking with Regina, David, and Mary Margaret belowdecks, Emma instead finds herself drawn to the crew of the Jolly Roger , and spends the next few hours chatting quietly with them as the ship makes its way across the surprisingly quiet waters surrounding Neverland.

Especially the woman — Tiger Lily, Emma learns. Something about her keeps Emma interested in their whispered conversation, and it does not take her long to learn that, like her own, the woman's background is full of sadness and sacrifice. She tells Emma how she sacrificed herself to try to stop someone from turning evil and spending the rest of her magic to get to this island after exiling herself; tells her about being found by Pan and working for him in return, only to learn how evil and twisted his ways are, stealing boys from their families and never allowing them to leave. (" And there's something deeper and darker behind it all, something that he only mutters about with his second in command, a Dark Magic that keeps the island alive — I believe with the sacrifice of the boys who decide they want to leave." ) And Captain Hook, saving her as she tried to escape Pan, though she knew it was impossible — or, well, improbable.

"And I've been in his service ever since. He was working with Pan for a while, too, and able to leave this realm. He asked every time we docked somewhere if I wanted to leave, to live a better life, but I've enjoyed the time I've spent with him as my captain. I've never known a better man."

"Oh, is that so, Lily?" the very man appears behind them, a smile covering his dark features — except his eyes, Emma realizes. His eyes are the brightest blue she has ever seen, the same color as the soft waves moving in the sunlight.

"Now, come on, Captain," she laughs, and the way she sets her hand on the captain's arm sends an unwanted shiver down Emma's back. "You and I both know you're nothing if not a man of honor."

"Yes, but you're not supposed to divulge that knowledge to our new guests just yet."

"And why not?" Emma asks, knowing that her crossing her arms over her chest is a defense mechanism, but that only makes her pull them closer to her.

He wags his eyebrows across his forehead, then winks at her once more. "Can't go around telling everyone that Captain Hook is a big softie. I have a reputation to uphold."

Emma rolls her eyes and walks away, if only to save herself from any more unwanted shivers or repressed feelings.

Their mission is to save Henry. Henry comes first and everything else has to wait.

"Well, what are we going to do once we're ashore?" David asks, hunched over the Neverland map spread across the desk in the Captain's cabin.

"Pan's camp is only a short distance from the Cove, remember?" Mary Margaret adds, the focused planner and adventurer that Emma has only seen glimpses of. "We can sneak up on him and—"

"Nope," Hook says from where he has planted himself in the corner, one boot crossed over the other and his arms crossed over his chest. "There's no way to sneak up on Pan."

Regina's eye roll is practically audible. "You keep saying that but offering no helpful advice."

"And you keep saying that but not actually listening to what I have to say."

"Hook is the one with the knowledge of the island, Regina," Emma reminds her.

"And I'm the one with the knowledge of magic, maybe we should just give that a try!"

"What are you suggesting?" Mary Margaret scoffs. " Poof ing yourself into the middle of a camp on a magic island you've never visited before?"

"What do you suggest, Hook?" David asks, if only to keep Mary Margaret and Regina from fighting. It's obvious that the last thing he wants to do is take advice from a pirate, but even David realizes that they are left with very few other options.

"There is no way to plan what is going to happen once we reach those shores. Everything we do, everywhere we go, Pan will know about it and will always be steps ahead of us."

"How have you spent all this time in this realm and not learned even a few tricks that could help us?"

"Most of my years here have been spent on this ship, provided with rations by the very demon himself. Before that, he and I had an agreement that made us more comrades than foes, and all the time I spent on the island was for his own doing."

"Oh, that's helpful," Regina mutters, leaving the cabin without another word.

"So, let me see if I understand this," Emma asks, knowing that neither David nor Mary Margaret will be able to be civil about this. "Your plan… is to not have a plan at all?"

Hook nods. "There is no other option in Neverland. It's Pan's game there, and he makes all the rules. Best we can do is be ready for whatever he throws at us."

"I don't like this," Mary Margaret mumbles, and David wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to press a kiss against the top of her head.

"It's what we have to do to get Henry back, and that's all that matters," he says, a princely tone of finality in his voice, and the room falls silent.

"Can I ask you something, love?" Hook asks, his eyes leaving the horizon for just a moment to look at her (again, though she has only noticed a few of them) where she is sitting against the railing on the starboard side of the ship.

"I'm not your love," she bites, looking up from one of Hook's maps that she's borrowed from his quarters.

"I've had my share of run-ins with the Crocodile, and I've even crossed paths with the Evil Queen once or twice. The other two, that's Snow White, the princess, right? And her husband?"

"And how do you know that?"

He pauses, trying to chose his words carefully. He knows that if he says the wrong thing, he'll lose the small amount of ground he's made with them trusting him. "I've been… through an agreement with Pan, I can leave these waters every once in a while, as long as I fulfill some of the things he asks of me."

"You work with him," she says, but her face fails to give away any of what is going through her head.

"In a way, aye. But I've been to the Enchanted Forest, and I know what happened to it. How is it that you got here?"

"Well, there was a curse."

"Aye."

"And I — I broke the curse."

" You broke the curse?"

"Yeah, I — I'm the Savior , apparently, because I — I'm their daughter."

"Snow White's?" He's not nearly taken aback enough. "And the Prince."

She nods. So does he. Somehow he is wrapping his head around all of this much easier than she did. Maybe once you're alive for a few lifetimes, things like this are a lot less surprising than they were for Emma.

"How is it that you and the Evil Queen share the same son?"

Emma can't help but laugh. Where does she even start? "No offense, Hook, but it's a very long story that we don't really have time for."

"Aye, that I can understand." He lifts his hand off the helm to scratch his beard before moving his hand behind his ear and to the base of his neck. "But do you — you know — live together?"

"No, no, it's more like… joint custody."

"Come again?"

Right. "Joint custody," she says again, even though the centuries-old pirate knows nothing about the ins and outs of child custody. "We, uh… share him, I guess. Take turns."

"And what about the boy's father? Is he a part of this taking turns ?"

His question turns her blood to ice. Neal. Where does she even begin? For a moment, she's angry — at Neal, at herself. "No." How dare he. How dare Hook to even ask about Neal, he has no right —

He has no idea. It was an innocent enough question, there's no way he knew the still-gaping wound that a question about Neal would inflame.

"He's — dead."

"Apologies, love, I didn't mean to stir up any unwanted emotions."

"Stop calling me that."

"I'm afraid it's more of a habit than anything."

She has no response to this and turns her attention back towards the map.

"Bloody hell," Hook mumbles, though Emma and Smee, his first mate, are the only ones close enough to hear him. At first, they don't see whatever the problem may be, but as the ship continues to approach the shore, Emma sees him leaning against one of the trees just on the other side of the shore.

Pan. Emma can sense it somehow — her motherly instincts, maybe, or something like that, but she can feel that the man on the shore is Peter Pan.

No. No, not man. Boy , with a pudgy teenaged face and dark hair that falls down to his eyebrows.

"That's him," Emma says. She means for it to be a question, but it does not come out that way.

"Aye." She turns to him just in time to watch the edge of his jaw tick as he grinds his back teeth together. "That's the demon Pan."

For a moment, Emma is unsure how she feels about all this. Hook's plan to take them around the island has already taken hours of their precious time, and all under the guise to keep them from Pan — only to have him waiting for them right where Hook brought them to shore. What if Hook had been playing with them the whole time? Giving Pan time to plan ahead while he wasted time sailing them all around the island?

But then she looks at him again, sees the rage obvious on his face, and she almost feels bad for questioning his motive even though she has every right to.

"Bested us again," he mutters, but then straightens his back and looks out over the ship. "Prepare for docking!"

Pan watches, unmoving, from the shore as Hook and his crew lead the Jolly Roger to the dock — and, still unmoving, as they come ashore. Finally, he speaks. "Thank you for bringing our special guests ashore, Captain," the boy leers. "Good to see you're still good for something."

"You know I can't pass up the opportunity to give assistance to a damsel in distress, nonetheless three. And Dave." There's a joking tone in his voice, but it's not present anywhere else in his body.

"Ah, yes," Pan says, pushing himself away from the tree. "Welcome, your highnesses. I hope you find Neverland as welcoming as you have spent all those years hoping your Enchanted Forest would be. And you, Regina, you and I have more in common than you may want to believe."

Regina rolls her eyes, conjuring a fireball in her left hand. "Oh, please," she spits. "Let's do this the easy way: give me my son back and I won't burn your whole island down."

Pan just laughs. "No, I’m afraid that's not going to happen. You're on my island now, and you're going to play by my rules."

"Do you think this is a game?"

"Oh, your majesty , that's exactly what this is. So, Emma, I'm going to give you a map." He pulls a folded piece of parchment out from under his tunic. "A map that will lead you straight to your son."

"If this is some kind of trap," she starts, taking a step towards him with her hand on the sword on her hip.

But Pan's soft laugh stops her. "I may not be the most well-behaved boy on the island, but I always keep my promises. The path to finding Henry is on this parchment."

"Why are you giving it to me?"

He chuckles again. "See, it's not about finding Henry. It's about how you find him. And, Emma," he says, placing his hand on her wrist as she reaches out to take the parchment. "You're the only one who can."

She takes it from him, then unfolds it — only to find it blank, save a pattern around the outside. "It's blank."

"You sound surprised," Regina bites, but no one pays attention to her. All eyes are on Pan.

"You'll only be able to read that map when you stop denying who you really are."

Emma looks down at the map once more. Everyone around her looks at it.

And when they look up, Pan is gone.

As they follow Hook's lead through the jungle, Emma's focus is on the map. She thinks of all she can: her background, everything she's learned since coming to Storybrooke. She even attempts to admit that she's the savior during a short break, but nothing works.

Regina, angry and impatient and nothing if not motivated, takes it from her, insisting on magic, despite the arguments from the rest of the group. It works — to a point, leading them not to Pan's camp, but to an ambush by a group of Lost Boys. It does not last long, the heroes quickly overpowering the boys, but David gets nicked with a Dreamshade-tipped arrow — a secret he tries to keep from the rest of the camp.

Hook sees it, though, the one in the group that really knows how deadly the poison can be, but he, too, keeps it to himself.

He leads them away from the ambush, towards a cliff that looks out over most of the island. From there, he insists, they can plan a route through the jungle and maybe even scout out Pan's camp. But by the time they get there, the sun has set, and all they can see is shadow. "Now that you've seen what Pan can do in just a few short hours, we need our strength. I suggest we make camp."

Regina, unsurprisingly, is against his idea. "You want to sleep while my son is out there suffering?"

"If you want to live long enough to save the boy, yes," he argues, and no one has a comeback for this. Regina is first to walk away, huffing knowing that Hook is right. Hook is second, closely followed by David, who barks an order about finding firewood, leaving Emma and Mary Margaret looking out over the jungle.

They are silent for a moment, Emma obviously worrying about something, but Mary Margaret has learned not to push. And after a few moments, Emma does say what's on her mind:

"Regina's right, Henry's out there somewhere."

But Mary Margaret is ready with her positive comeback. "And Hook is right. We have to survive if we're going to get him."

"I know. I just hope we're not too late."

Mary Margaret leaves her there, knowing that sometimes, her daughter just needs her space to think. She stands there as the others build their camp, her attention turned once more towards the blank parchment — the map , removed from her pocket.

Though he does not mean to, Hook startles her with his approach. "I opted for first watch so you and the others could get your rest."

Emma just shakes her head, starting towards the campfire, needing the monotony of the crackling fire to slow her mind down. "There's no way I can sleep here without solving this map."

"Then it appears you and I will be not sleeping together, love," he jokes, waggling his eyebrows at her with a smirk on his face.

Emma just rolls her eyes. "Listen, Hook. I am here to save my son. The very last thing I'm going to do is get distracted."

His smirk is gone, not even a trace of a smile left on his features. "Of course, Swan. I meant no insult."

They sit in relative silence, the rest of them falling asleep quickly — or, at least, staying quiet. The sounds of the Jungle seem to grow louder in the darkness, almost deafening. But Emma's attention is still on the map.

"Nothing I can think of is working," she groans, dropping the map to the ground beneath her feet.

"None of those are what Pan is looking for. What have you been avoiding? What have you been hiding from, love?"

She is already on edge, and his endearment only makes her angrier. "I am not your love, Hook. Why are you helping me, anyway?"

He's been wondering the same, so he's quick to answer. "I've been searching for a glimmer of hope when it comes to defeating this demon for as long as I can remember. If finding your lad and ruining his plans takes his power from him, then helping you is the very least I can do."

"But why? What did Pan ever do to you?"

He's silent for a moment, trying to decide how much he wants to divulge to her, and he maks a quick decision. "It wasn't me personally," he lies. "But it's the principle of the thing. He preys on boys who think he's taking them to a better life, but all he's doing is taking them from their families. Growing up alone is the worst thing that could happen to a boy, and Pan thrives on separating families."

"Sounds like something you know a lot about." She doesn't mean to be so forward, but once it's out, there's No taking it back.

"Pardon?"

"Only someone who grew up alone would talk like that."

Now it's his turn to get defensive. "And how would you know that? You're the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming. What can a princess know about growing up alone?"

She knows that there is no way for him to know otherwise, to know the truth about her childhood, but his assumptions about her still make her a little angry. "You have no idea what you're talking about," she grits, trying not to let her anger get the best of her. "My parents sent me through a portal when I was only a few hours old. I grew up alone , spent my whole life alone . I was an orphan, too, Hook. Or, at least, I grew up believing I was."

"I'm — I'm sorry, Swan, I shouldn't have assumed—"

"No, you shouldn't have."

"You're right though, love. I, too, spent much of my life alone. My mum was sick and passed when I was a boy, and my father took my brother and I on a ship to a far-off land. Until one day, we woke up and he was gone. He left us there to settle a debt and we never saw him again."

Silence settles between them for a moment, and then he smiles. "It seems you and I have quite a lot in common, then, love," he chides, but Emma barely hears him. She's too distracted by the parchment in her hand, which has revealed a map at some point in their conversation.

"Hook—" she tries, but he cuts her off.

"Apologies, I know, you're not my love ."

"No, Hook, that's not it."

Finally he looks at her, trying to find what she is talking about on her face, following her eyes down to the parchment in her hands. But there is something else that has changed, too, something about her . He can't quite put his finger on it, but he thinks he maybe sees a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

#csnlny #captain swan #neverland new year #my writing #cs fics #ouat #neverland rewrite #really just a bunch of headcanons in one little story

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imaginedhaven · 4 years ago

Text

Rules of Engagement: Chapter Seventeen

Link to Masterpost

It’s here! It’s finally here! This one fought me more than I thought it would, but I’m pretty happy with it now.

I hope you enjoy!

~*~*~

It had been three days since Aelin had killed Maeve.

For three days, Aedion had sat in meeting after meeting, being forcibly reminded of why he preferred to command through action. Their every move and every piece of evidence had been thoroughly analyzed by the dark-haired demi-Fae that appeared to be the de facto leader of the former blood-sworn, and it was more than apparent that he found it lacking.

He hadn’t even been able to check on Aelin, though Whitethorn’s absence implied that she had yet to awaken. Aedion sighed; he supposed he should get used to thinking of the warrior as Rowan, given his relationship to his cousin. That would take a great deal of adjusting.

Truly, he wished Aelin would just wake up. He understood that the amount of magic she must have used would take a great deal of energy from her, but the sooner she awakened and the sooner she could talk to the group of Fae currently interrogating him, the sooner he could return home to his family.

At that thought, he couldn’t help glancing over at one of the males across the table in particular. He had never expected that he would meet his father, and so he had never given much thought to what he would do should the situation arise.

Years ago, or perhaps even a few months ago, he would’ve been unable to respond to the situation with anything other than anger. A large part of him still was angry that this male had seen fit to just walk away from his mother, and hadn’t even bothered to make contact as she had been dying. But now that he had not only Lysandra to consider, but Evangeline as well, everything was changing for him.

He could still blame him for swearing a blood oath to someone he had to have known had a sadistic streak, but what if Aedion had already sworn himself to Aelin and she had threatened to use his connection to his family? There was very little he wouldn’t do to protect Lysandra; it had been that way for years now, ever since she had come to the palace. It was a little more surprising to realize how quickly Evangeline had carved herself a little spot in his heart right next to Lysandra’s.

Perhaps, he thought, he could understand the male’s position. Even if he couldn’t agree with the end result.

Finally, he glanced over at the irate demi-Fae leading the continued interrogation and belatedly realized he had been asked yet another question. “For the fourth and last time, I only have copies of the letters and the passage of the book Aelin was referencing. We agreed there was an inherent risk in bringing the originals to someone who would be interested in destroying them.” He resisted the urge to feign a yawn; the leader was already angry enough as it was. This line of questioning was so boring, though. It might have been a clever tactic on someone else, but Aedion had been questioned before and had questioned others before. They would have to try harder than this.

“Then where, exactly, are the originals?”

“That secret rests with my cousin. If you want to risk Whitethorn’s wrath and attempt to wake her, you’re more than welcome to do so.” In fact, Aedion would have loved to witness such a confrontation by this point. Anything had to be better than repeatedly answering the same handful of questions.

The demi-Fae male growled, and Aedion growled right back. He had played nicely for his cousin’s sake thus far, but he was quickly losing patience with all of this. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Rowan so carefully guarding Aelin until she woke up, he might have simply carried her out himself and booked the next ship across the sea, consequences be damned.

The other male—Gavriel—his father—finally glanced up from the copies he had presented to them. “He’s not likely to give different answers at this point, Lorcan. Perhaps we should focus on ensuring a smooth transition of power? Maeve had no heir, and evidently no legitimate claim to our throne, and we need to determine what that means for us.”

The leader grimaced. “Mab’s line goes through the Ashryver family. The direct female descendant is his fire-breathing bitch princess. Mora’s… Whitethorn will know which of his cousins has the most direct claim.”

“It’ll go to Mora’s line, then,” Aedion commented. “Aelin won’t have any interest in ruling a land she’s never visited before.”

“Won’t she?” The leader was suddenly furious, dark eyes narrowed and darker power surrounding him. “Perhaps that’s why she came, after all.”

“It would mean war if she did,” another of the warriors pointed out calmly. This one, to the extent of Aedion’s knowledge, had been absent during the confrontation itself, and had yet to speak. “And it doesn’t make sense for her to begin with Doranelle, were she to become a conqueror. The Wastes would be an easier target, or perhaps Adarlan.”

The demi-Fae whirled around to glare at the speaker, then quietly grumbled to himself. Aedion took advantage of their distraction to quietly slip away.

It didn’t take someone with Aedion’s heightened senses to recognize that another had followed him out of the room, and it didn’t take a particularly wise man to guess who it had been. For a moment he contemplated not responding at all, walking away without acknowledging his presence, but finally he sighed and turned to face his father. “She died, you know,” he said, surprising even himself. “She didn’t have to. The Fae could have healed her, but she wouldn’t go.”

Gods, he wished he wasn’t having this conversation alone. Aelin might know what to say, and Lysandra…

Best not to think about her, not right now.

His father had frozen still, and vaguely he wondered if he could have felled the male simply by tapping his shoulder. He didn’t reply verbally, but that was all right. Aedion didn’t need an answer from him. “I realize now she was protecting me. From you. From your queen. From all of it.”

The golden male winced. “Aedion—”

Perhaps he had expected to feel anger or rage at the sound of his name on his father’s lips, now after all these years. Perhaps grief would have been a more reasonable expectation, sorrow for all the years missed. Perhaps even joy, for having found the male his mother had never once spoken of.

Instead of any of those, Aedion felt empty. His chest was hollow, and his voice devoid of all emotion when he replied, “I can’t do this right now.”

He left his father standing in the hallway, staring after him as he retreated to the rooms he’d borrowed.

~*~*~

Rowan sighed and glanced once more at the bed where Aelin laid, wishing he would see that she had awakened but knowing she would still be sleeping. She had drained so much of her power, and so much of it had been for his sake that he still felt a twinge in his chest if he dwelled on the thought for too long.

The instant Maeve had exposed herself, Aelin had surrounded him with a ring of fire to keep the shadows at bay, dropping the protective shield only when she needed his power to finish what she had set out to accomplish. It was something he would have done for her, if his power had been of a sufficient threat to the dark queen, but a large part of him was embarrassed that he had been surprised enough to require the assistance.

He knew Aelin would never blame him, though, not after all of the revelations she had made that day.

Perhaps the others would believe it if he told them he had been so surprised by the reveal of Maeve as a Valg queen and not Fae at all. She had long been cold and cruel, but she had done such an excellent job of hiding the truth that he knew he would never have guessed. Aelin had, though, and when she woke up he would have to ask her what had given her cause to suspect.

It was likely to be equally believable that he had been stunned into silence and stillness by the gift of his own freedom. He had hoped, certainly, that she would find a way for them to see each other again. The thought of being parted from his carranam forever had been one that he had found unable to bear, and so he had avoided thinking about their inevitable split as much as possible. Perhaps, though, that should have given him cause to guess the revelation that had shocked him beyond all others, the single word that had caused his mind to fall completely silent for the first time in decades.

Mate.

Even as he had heard the word fall from her lips, though, he had known the truth of it. If he was completely honest with himself, part of him had suspected for quite some time, though he had always found yet another excuse, yet another reason to go on believing that he was wrong. Even now it was a struggle to believe that this could all be his.

Had Lyria ever been his true mate? Could Fae have more than one mate through the course of their lives? There was so much he didn’t know. He wasn’t certain if anyone in Doranelle would be able to tell him now. He supposed it didn’t matter now. Regardless of whether she had truly been his mate or whether he had been so terribly, terribly wrong, she was a part of his past that he couldn’t be rid of even if he wished to be. It was lucky, he supposed, that Aelin seemed to understand this, just as he understood the history that had led her to him.

As he had done so many times previously during these three long days, he strode over to the bed where Aelin lay pale and still, one hand reaching out to gently stroke her hair away from her face. This time was different, though, in that she made the softest noise in her sleep and her face turned to rest against his palm.

Rowan felt something within himself crack with the almost-painful joy that filled him with such a simple gesture, and soon he was sitting on the bed beside her. In response, she shifted again, and soon he found himself seated against the head of the bed with her face pressed against his hip and her arm thrown across his thighs. Another happy little sound fell from her lips, and a slight flush returned to her cheeks, and Rowan smiled down at her sleeping form. The movements and the sounds and the color returning to her were all signs that her magic had restored enough for her body to allow itself into a more natural sleep, and when taken together they indicated that she would awaken soon.

As delighted as he was that soon she would be awake, he also felt a small thrill of trepidation. After all, the last conversation they’d had before she left for Doranelle had gone so terribly wrong, all because he’d panicked. The brief conversation they’d had on the way here indicated that he had a lot to make up for. He intended to do so, but he wasn’t sure of the best way to start.

Her hand shifted higher up on his thigh, and he couldn’t quite suppress the resulting shiver. As much pleasure as even such a simple touch brought to him, though, he knew that if he allowed it to continue he would have little interest in actually talking to Aelin once she woke up. He carefully shifted her hand back down to its previous position, lingering for a moment to caress her hair once more before relaxing back against the head of the bed.

She didn’t seem to notice, or react to the movement beyond a tiny little sigh, and he allowed his mind to once more wander to what on earth he could say to her to counteract the way he had once frozen at her touch and then fled. Perhaps the best way to prove his intentions would be beyond what he could express with words, and only time would be able to show that he intended to stay by her side forever.

Aelin’s hand wandered upward again, and he gently caught it in his own, glancing down at her once more and immediately getting lost in turquoise eyes ringed with gold and dancing with wicked humor.

~*~*~

The first thing Aelin had noticed as she began to wake up was the comforting scent of snow-covered pines. For a brief moment, she had wondered if perhaps they had already returned to Terrasen, but as she had opened her eyes to an unfamiliar bed she’d finally recalled what had happened.

Gods, it was embarrassing to realize she had fallen asleep right at the most inopportune moment, though she supposed it was fortunate that it had been with Rowan. Of all people, he would understand the toll that magic could take.

It appeared that he had stayed with her throughout however long she had slept, for she was wrapped around one of his legs with her head pillowed against his hip. She shifted slightly, blushing faintly as the movement caused her hand to brush the inside of his thigh and quickly feigning continued sleep as he moved her hand to a more appropriate placement. It was only a few moments later, though, that she decided she would not be put off so easily. Not when everything had finally come out into the open, not now that they knew they were mates and she knew that he wanted her.

She had waited quite long enough for this.

The second brush of fingers across his leg was far more deliberate, and this time when he took her hand and glanced down at her she didn’t look away, holding his gaze and watching his expression change from bemusement to shock to something so warm she couldn’t help but melt at the sight. Rather than say something truly embarrassing, however, she grinned up at him. “Why, Prince Rowan, I must say this wasn’t quite what I had in mind when you said you were taking me to bed.”

“As much as I would hate to disappoint you, I was hardly going to bed an invalid,” he retorted, though relief was shining clearly in those beautiful green eyes. The rough amusement of his voice was belied by the gentle touch of his fingers in her hair, carefully tucking a stray lock behind her ear.

Aelin sat up with a groan. “How long did I sleep?”

“Three days.” He pulled her into himself, her back to his chest and her hips nested between his thighs, and she turned her head to smile up at him. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his fingertips brushing along her jawline.

“I’m feeling like there’s a promise my mate has yet to follow through with,” she teased, though the suddenly-serious expression on his face caused her own easy smile to falter. “Rowan…”

“How long have you known?”

She supposed that was the easiest question he could’ve started with, though she still drew in a deep breath before replying. “From the moment I fell into your arms after escaping Arobynn Hamel’s home and realized it felt like I was home,” she replied. “I was… I wasn’t certain at first, given that you’ve already been mated, but then the night before I left…”

He grimaced then, and it was her turn to reach up and touch his face. “I panicked, then,” he admitted. “I regretted it almost immediately. And then when I returned—to apologize, or to do something at least to try and make it right, and found you missing, it was like a piece of myself had gone with you.”

“I couldn’t tell you what I was doing,” Aelin said by way of apology. “You would’ve been forced to stop me, by the oath that once bound you.”

“I understand.” His fingers slid under her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “But next time you leave in the middle of the night, your only two options are telling me where you’re going or taking me with you. Am I clear?”

“So demanding,” she purred. “Luckily for you, I have no intention of ever being parted from you for any lengthy period of time again if I can help it.”

She leaned in then, determined to finally, finally kiss him, but he stopped her with a gentle hand pressing against her shoulder. “Aelin, I…”

“I know,” she said. “We can talk about it as much as you want later. But right now, I don’t know when we’ll next have a moment like this again, and—”

His lips were on hers then, and rather than attempt to continue the conversation she slid her hand to the back of his head.

She had thought she knew what it was to be kissed. She had done exactly that with Sam on countless moonlit nights, and then once again with Dorian. It had always been pleasant enough before, but Aelin was quickly coming to realize that kissing Rowan could hardly be described by such an inadequate word as pleasant. No, kissing Rowan was everything—his ice colliding with her fire, the sensation both taking her breath away and fanning a flame that resided deep within her core. It was better than she could’ve dreamed—and she had dreamed of this, she could admit it to herself now, had spent long nights twisted in her sheets and waking up gasping at imagined sensations.

He pulled back, just long enough to take a breath, and she couldn’t quite help the noise that escaped her then. Nor could she help the urge to crush her lips to his once more, an urge she succumbed to happily. She tangled her fingers into silver hair, holding him close to her, though he seemed to share her desire to remain close if the arm wrapped around her waist was any indication.

A muscle in her side twinged, and he pulled free of her once more as she winced. Before he could say a word, though, she turned in his embrace, straddling his thighs and resting one hand on each side of his face. “I’m fine, Rowan,” she reassured him. “Better than fine, even, unless you get it into your head to do something as stupid as stop—”

His lips brushed her jaw then, and she couldn’t contain the gasp that left her. She allowed her head to fall to the side as his hands skimmed up her sides, slipping under the fabric of what she belatedly realized was his shirt. “If that is what my queen commands, then I can only obey,” he smirked.

She shivered, and spent a dizzying moment wondering what she would need to do to ensure that he never stopped calling her my queen. “In that case, your queen commands that we not leave this room until we have no other option, or until I say otherwise,” she grinned.

He laughed, the sound all dark tones that resonated deep within her and made her toes curl. “I’ve spent three days wondering what words I needed to say for you to allow me to remain at your side,” he admitted. “But if you would rather I do my persuading with teeth and tongue…”

He nipped at her neck then, the sensation immediately recalling a day in the sparring ring what felt like forever ago, and Aelin moaned. “I think that sounds like a brilliant idea.”

~*~*~

Rowan wasn’t entirely convinced that this wasn’t some sort of dream, even as Aelin leaned in to kiss him again. He had spent so long carefully convincing himself that this very thing wasn’t within the realm of possibility that he almost didn’t know what to do now that it decidedly was.

He wasn’t about to let this opportunity pass him by, however. Gods knew he had squandered enough chances by now.

With that in mind, he carefully flipped them so that Aelin was sprawled on the mattress, golden hair spilling across his pillow in a way he’d been longing to see for longer than he cared to admit. She glanced up at him, lips pursed in a blend of confusion and irritation, but before she could say a word he was kneeling over her and kissing that confused frown away.

Her skin tasted just as he remembered from that one time he had bitten her, all floral jasmine and simmering embers, and it was enough to drive him mad with longing. His hands once more slipped under the shirt that was covering her—his shirt, into which he’d changed her so as to prevent her from sleeping in riding leathers—and she rose to meet his touch, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.

The shirt had to go, and it was only a moment’s work to tear it open, leaving her fully exposed to his gaze. He had seen every inch of her before, of course, stolen glances while working to heal her as well as that morning she had gone to look at her own scars. None of those moments compared to this, with her warm and wanting beneath him. The flush of her cheeks spread across her chest as well, accenting the curve of her firm breasts tipped with rose-colored peaks. Her breathing was shallow and rapid, and as his fingertips swept up the plane of her toned stomach and along her ribs she let out a sound somewhere between a moan and a whisper of his name.

He had to taste her again then, and from there he allowed himself to kiss along the curve of her neck and her shoulder before dipping lower. A flick of his tongue over her nipple granted him a startled cry and a breathy please, and he obediently took the hardened nub of flesh into his mouth as his hand stroked back down her side to caress her thigh.

At the barest suggestion from his fingertips she spread her legs for him, and he slid his hand between them, tracing circles on her inner thigh until she was begging him for more with her words as well as her movements, the arch of her hips all the more appealing for its artlessness. Slowly, he allowed his fingers to wander ever closer to the slick skin awaiting him at the juncture of her thighs, not quite allowing himself to touch just yet. Her fingers twisted into his hair in response, tugging sharply enough to make him hiss and glance up at her.

She pulled him towards her once again, and he followed where she led eagerly, kissing her once again. As his tongue brushed against hers, though, he realized that perhaps there was one more thing he needed to say to her before this could carry on any further. “I love you,” he whispered into the skin of her neck, smiling as she shivered in response.

“You love me?” she asked, voice husky from their current activities.

He pulled back, just enough to look into her eyes as he replied. “To whatever end.”

She surged up to meet him then, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as she kissed him again and again. “I love you,” she breathed between kisses, “and you are mine.”

It was his turn, then, to shiver at her blatant claim of him. “I am yours,” he agreed, “just as much as you are mine.”

And then he was kissing his way down her body, past her breasts and along her stomach. He had just reached her navel when she seemed to realize his plan with a gasp, her fingers returning to their position in his hair as he finally slid his hands up her thighs to part them further and lowered his head between them.

She tasted just as perfect here as she did everywhere else; perhaps even more so. Even more rewarding than her taste, though, was the sharp cry of his name accompanied by a tug on his hair as he flicked his tongue against her. He laughed against her skin as her hips rose to meet him, allowing his hands to slip under the curve of her hips to pull her ever closer.

Before long, she was alternately praising him and cursing him as he continued to tease the tiny nub of flesh tucked between her thighs, hips almost thrashing in his firm grip. “Please,” she begged, and Rowan glanced up at her to find her chest heaving and her cheeks red from pleasure and exertion. “Rowan, please, I need—”

Her head tossed back with another cry then as he slowly pressed a finger into her, curling it slightly to stroke against her from the inside. “More,” she begged as he licked over her once again, and he obediently added a second finger beside the first. Her hips rolled against his hand and his tongue in an undulating motion, her grip on his hair tightening further and her spare hand sliding up towards her breasts, then faltering and falling to fist in the sheets. Her moans and pleas rose in pitch and in volume, and soon her core was tightening around his fingers and her voice broke on a shout of his name.

He pressed one more kiss against her flesh before she was pulling him up again, and he carefully removed his fingers from her before allowing her to guide him back in for yet another kiss to her lips. Her hands slid down his back, pausing when she reached the trousers he still wore. “These have to go,” she demanded, and he grinned in reply.

“As my queen commands,” he said as his own hand fell to the first of the buttons that fastened the trousers around him.

~*~*~

Aelin was positive that she had died and gone to the Afterworld. It couldn’t be possible to love someone this much, to feel this much pleasure at their touch. She was already falling apart, already burning inside, and they had barely begun.

He definitely knew what he was doing—she had suspected as much, given that she was far from his first, but to believe that and to experience it were different things altogether. She knew that she was far from his level of experience, and though she knew he wouldn’t judge her for it she knew she wanted to at least try to make him feel as good as he was making her feel.

It was this thought that emboldened her enough to wrap her hand around the length of him once he had bared himself for her, stroking once and marveling at the sensation of such soft skin over something so firm. He hissed in response, pressing forward into her grip, and she couldn’t keep a smile from her face. “That feels good?”

He nodded, elongated canines grazing her skin as he nuzzled his face against her neck. Before she could do anything else, though, his fingers encircled her wrist, halting the motion of her hand. “You don’t have to,” he began.

Aelin responded by arching one of her eyebrows. “And if I want to?”

“You wouldn’t rather save this part of yourself, in the event you need to make a more politically expedient union?”

Irritation flared in her then, and she instinctively leaned in and nipped at his neck. “I would rather make my own decisions, and I’ve decided I want to share this with my mate. Though if he keeps being a bird-brained idiot, I might change my mind.”

He laughed then, and she was about to unleash an irritated tirade on him when he simply said, “I suppose that’s fair.”

“I should certainly hope so,” she retorted, cutting off any reply he could’ve made by moving her hand along his length once more and reveling in the resulting gasp.

The minor argument had done nothing to diminish the arousal she felt, and judging by the weight of him in her palm and the lust shimmering in his eyes he felt the same way. She watched as he lowered his head to see the movement of her hand on him, and then suddenly he pulled her close once more in a kiss that stole what was left of her breath away.

His fingers brushed between her thighs once more and she moaned into his mouth, hooking one of her legs around one of his to tug him ever closer. “Please, Rowan,” she pleaded, her voice sounding foreign to her own ears. “Please, I—”

Words failed her then, but he seemed to know precisely what it was she was asking of him regardless. In a smooth motion he braced himself above her with a hand beside her head. The other slid down her side and then moved away to help him guide himself into her.

Gods, and she had thought being filled with his fingers was perfection. This went so far beyond that sensation that she didn’t have the words to describe it even if she had found herself miraculously able to speak. Instead, she whimpered something that sounded vaguely like his name and clutched at his shoulders, feeling the muscles of his upper back ripple as he rolled his hips slowly against hers.

When he was fully inside of her his lips found hers again, and she kissed him back, desperately trying to cling to some semblance of reality. Then he began to move and she was lost.

Her head tossed back, baring her throat to him, and her fingertips dug in at his shoulders at the delightful friction of his thrusts. With a groan, he traced the curve of her neck with his lips and then his teeth, and Aelin slid one of her hands into his hair to keep him there, dragging the nails of her other hand down his back. He growled in response and his hips slammed into her, but his teeth at her neck remained so surprisingly gentle, and the dichotomy of it only fueled the fire burning within her.

She opened her eyes—when had she closed them?—and as she tugged on his hair so she could look into his eyes the fire within her rose up, as hot as the burnout but infinitely sweeter. Keeping her gaze locked on his, she deliberately arched her neck, giving him silent permission to do what he was so clearly longing to.

His teeth sank into the skin of her neck and release crashed over her like a wave, leaving her trembling in his grasp and shouting his name for all the world to hear. His found him soon after, and then it was her turn to hold him as he groaned into her neck and spilled inside of her.

She let out a soft whine as he eased his teeth from her skin and began planting soft kisses over her face and neck. “Gods,” she managed. “I never thought… I couldn’t have imagined…”

“I couldn’t have either,” he admitted, pine-green eyes softer and warmer than she had ever seen them.

A swell of affection rose in her at the sight, and she couldn’t keep it from spilling out into words. “I love you.”

He smiled, truly smiled, and it was like watching the sun rise. “I never thought I would have the privilege of hearing those words from your lips.”

She laughed softly. “It is a privilege, isn’t it?”

He nipped at her neck again, but she only laughed harder. “What would you say,” she asked, “if I told you that my first demand of you as both my mate and my blood-sworn was that we do this as often as we can manage it?”

He chuckled and rolled his hips again, and she gasped with the realization that he had hardly even softened. “I would say we would find it difficult to get any work done,” he replied, and soon after that they were both lost in each other once more and there were no more words.

~*~*~

Tagging:

@ireallyshouldsleeprn @queen-of-glass @fangirlprincess09 @sassys-world @morganofthewildfire @superspiritfestival @perseusannabeth @sis-it-dont-add-up @jlinez @julemmaes @emilyoftheshadows @thegoddessofyou

#haven writes #rules of engagement #rowaelin

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fanficimagery · 5 years ago

Text

Flares

Summary: Imagine keeping a secret from your friends, but when you’re in need of a favor.. that secret you’ve guarded is now out.

Words: 2.9K Warnings: Cancer. The holidays have got me thinking about my mom and I just want to give someone the happy ending my mom never got.

Curled up on the sofa, no amount of TV has been able to distract you. It's been about a month since you've started chemotherapy and as warned your hair has slowly started to fall out. You had bawled earlier that morning when you noticed it, and then tried to distract yourself by binge eating and watching rom-coms. Unfortunately it didn't work.

Sighing, you pick up your iPhone to check the time. It's just after four in the afternoon and without second guessing yourself, you scroll through your contacts until you land on one name in particular. You're not as close to him as you are to others in your friend group, but you do trust him. So after quickly composing a text, you hit send on it and hope for the best.

[Hey, Jeff. When you have a free moment, can we talk?]

Surprisingly it doesn't take long for him to reply.

[I'm actually in neighborhood. Wanna grab a bite to eat?]

[Yeah. That's fine.]

[I'll text you when I'm outside.]

With your stomach in knots, you get up and quickly make yourself decently presentable for the public. You take two edibles that had been prescribed by your doctor when the nausea and anxiety became too much, and pray that you can keep your food down when out with your friend. Jeff soon texts and you quickly pocket some money, your phone, and your keys before leaving out the front door.

Then settling into the front passenger seat of Jeff's vehicle, you flash him a tired grin. "Hey, how's your day been?"

"Boring." As Jeff pulls away from the curb, you buckle yourself in and then try to sit as still as possible. "Had to film an ad for Old Spice, but that was over and done with surprisingly fast. How was your day?"

"Honestly? It's been a shit day," you say, chuckling softly. "It's kind of why I wanted to talk to you."

"Uh oh." He glances between the road and you. "This can't be good."

"You have no idea how right you are." Sighing, you then say, "I'm not sure I want to tell you right now. It's kind of an appetite killer and I already took two edibles."

Jeff frowns. "Edibles? I didn't know you were into that."

"I'm not, but they were prescribed by my doctor."

"Doctor? What the hell is going on, Y/N?"

"I'm sorry." Wringing your hands together nervously, you then meet Jeff's stare after he's pulled off into a gas station parking lot. "I'm sick. I didn't want to tell anyone until I absolutely had to and this morning I realized I was going to have to start because I need to ask you for a favor."

"Y/N," he starts, "the only time someone is prescribed edibles is when-"

"-when someone has cancer. When the chemo becomes too much and the patient can't keep food down."

Jeff's eyes close as he deeply exhales. "Jesus." A moment of silence passes and then, "what's this favor?"

"I need you to shave my head."

"What?"

"During chemo, hair starts falling out anywhere between two to four weeks. It's been a little over five for me and I noticed it falling out this morning."

He gulps. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah." Your voice wobbles and tears fill your eyes, but you're quick to wipe them away before they fall. "I don't want to go to a stranger for this. This is really personal and I would rather the person shaving my head be someone I trust."

"Then yes. I'll do it." You smile, but you can't help the tears. "Christ, Y/N, come here." Jeff opens his arms for a hug and you unbuckle your seatbelt so you're able to hug him over the center console. "You know you're gonna have to tell everyone. And soon."

"I will. I kind of have an idea of how I want to tell them, but you'd have to agree to it."

Pulling out of the hug, Jeff grins. "Okay then. We'll talk details over dinner because I'm sure you're starting to feel really hungry."

"I am." Jeff chuckles and then starts to drive. On the road to the chosen restaurant , you finally say, "Thanks, Jeff."

"Don't even mention it. I will always be there for my friends." He flashes you that dimpled smile of his and for a moment you feel like you can breathe again.

Letting someone in on this secret of yours feels like a weight has been lifted off your chest.

"So are you gonna tell me why we're doing a special edition of Jeff's Barbershop in my living room?" David wonders.

Zane and Heath are helping Jeff setup, pushing back the furniture and laying down some plastic so hair doesn't get caught in the carpet.

"You'll know soon enough."

"Can you at least let us know whose hair you're cutting?" He then asks.

Jeff sighs. "You'll know soon enough, man." David frowns, and Heath and Zane suddenly look interested in Jeff's vague answers. "Just- no jokes. Alright? This is going to be pretty serious."

"Jesus. What the hell is going on?" Zane nervously chuckles, attempting to cut the tension. It doesn't work.

"Okay. Well who's all coming?" David asks.

"Mariah, Erin, Carly, Y/N, Natalie, Jason, Todd, and Matt. Everyone else couldn't make it, so we'll call them afterward."

"Man," Heath sighs. "I've got a bad feeling about today. If Jeff isn't cracking jokes, something must really be up."

Jeff only shrugs, refusing to say anymore on the matter.

- X - X - X - X - X -

By the time everyone is gathered at David's and has calmed down from greeting one another, Jeff stands next to the chair in the middle of the room. He picks up the black cape from the seat and holds it in one hand, staring out at everyone. "Ready?"

Everyone then glances around the room, anxious to see who's going to stand, and you almost laugh at their surprised exclamations when you push yourself up to your feet.

"What?!" Erin shouts, smiling. "No way!" She then looks to Jeff. "I thought you didn't cut women's hair? You nearly panicked when I asked you buzz my baby hairs."

"This is a special occasion of sorts. You'll understand soon enough," he says.

Now standing next to Jeff, you stuff your hands into the pocket of your hoodie. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and you lean into him for some much needed comfort. "I know you're all probably confused," you start, "but I have something to tell you and I figured I'd tell as many of you as I can in one go because this is kind of hard to say out loud."

Mariah frowns and leans forward. "What's going on, girl?"

You take a deep breath, but it doesn't help. Tears immediately spring to your eyes, even as you try to screw your mouth and nose up to keep them at bay. The tears suddenly have everyone on edge. "I.. I have cancer." The entire group goes silent and those who'd been staring at their phones immediately drop them. "I found out a little over a month ago and have been having chemo sessions for about just as long."

"Why didn't you tell us sooner?" David wonders.

You shrug. "It was hard to process at first, but then I just got scared that you'd all treat me differently once you found out. And now that my hair is falling out and Jeff kindly accepted to do me a favor, I figured I'd tell you instead of surprising you with my bald noggin'."

Heath and David are the first out of their seats, the two young men sandwiching you in a hug. You laugh, but then your laughter turns into sobs as you cling to them. One by one, the rest of your friends stand to embrace you and whisper words of encouragement.

When they're done, you step back and wipe your eyes. "None of you guys actually have to stay for the cut, but you're more than welcome to. Jeff's gonna film as if he were back at his own place and I'm just going to talk about how I found out about the cancer."

"We're staying," Jason says. "We're gonna be here for you every step of the way."

You finally take a seat in the chair and Jeff wraps the cape around your neck. You gulp down the lump in your throat, inhaling and exhaling loudly to prepare yourself for what's about to come. The sound of the clippers turn on and you close your eyes when you feel the teeth of the clippers at the front of your hairline.

Then almost as if he's unsure, Jeff slowly drags the clippers atop your head. The moment you feel your hair being cut, you can't stop the tears that start to flow once more. This time, however, they're silent.

"So, uh, how did you find out about the cancer?" Jeff asks.

He continues to cut and it takes you a moment to find your voice. "It was stupid, really," you huff. "I was just feeling kind of worn down, but I wasn't sick. So after being utterly exhausted for no apparent reason, I went to the doctor where they drew some blood and found abnormalities in my blood."

"Didn't you lose your mom to cancer?" Natalie asks.

"I did." Shakily smiling, you take a moment to control your warring emotions. "Since my mom had it, the doctors urged me to get checked out early. I refused. And then I refused again when my dad's sister was diagnosed and my chances of having it as well were even higher."

"God," Erin sighs. "I don't think I could not know. I'd have gotten checked out as soon as possible."

"It's easy to say that if you haven't seen anyone go through it," you tell her. "But I watched my mom go through chemo several times and watched her health slowly deteriorate. I didn't want to get as sick as she did. It was horrible. So I came to the conclusion that if I didn't know, then it was okay. It'd take forever to actually show symptoms and I was fine with that."

"But the symptoms showed up early," Zane guesses.

You nod. "They did."

"What- what kind of cancer is it?" Matt asks.

"Breast. Exactly like my mom had, but nowhere as advanced as hers was."

"So that's a good thing. Right?" Todd wonders.

"I mean.." you trail off, shrugging. "My chances are better than hers were, but I'd rather not have cancer to begin with."

Everyone falls silent and the only sound for a few minutes are the buzzing clippers.

You let Jeff move your head this way as he cuts, almost missing his question. "Now that you know, do you wish you'd have gotten checked sooner?"

"Honestly? Yeah. Because if they had caught it sooner, then I wouldn't need chemo," you admit. "So my advice to everyone is, is that even though you hate doctor visits, schedule them for at least every six months. And if your family has a history of cancer, get checked as soon as possible and schedule appointments every three months to make sure nothing pops up suddenly."

"Okay. And we're.. done."

Jeff cleans you off and unlatches the cape from around your neck, but you're frozen in your seat. Your head feels a whole lot lighter and though you asked Jeff for this haircut, you don't want to see it.

"Y/N?" Carly's soft voice pulls you out of your mind.

"I'm okay." You shakily smile. "I just- it's just a lot to take in. Now I know how my mom felt when my brother cut her hair those three times."

Jeff comes around to stop before you, he grabbing your hands and gently pulling you to your feet. "Whatever you need, we're here for you." He wraps his arms around you, tucking you under his chin. "If you want to go to a wig shop, we'll go to a wig shop."

You sniffle, chuckling. "No offense to your fantastic cut, but we're definitely going to a wig shop."

"Hell yes we are, baby," Zane agrees.

The others slowly start to unwind from the serious situation you dropped into their laps, and though there are still tears in their eyes and pity in their expressions, they try to make the best of it.

Plans are made to keep you decently active, your friends wheedle more information out of you about your family's health history, and then before Jeff can leave you follow him outside.

"Hey," you call out, stalling him, the hood of your jacket pulled up and over your head. "I know how annoying some of your viewers are, so if you want I can make an intro or outro for your video to let everyone know the video was my idea and that you didn't make it for the views."

Jeff sheepishly smiles. "You watch my videos?"

"We're friends, aren't we?" You grin. "Of course I watch them. So what do you say?"

"I'd appreciate it. Thanks, Y/N."

"Mhm. And thank you. For everything."

Jeff's dimples make an appearance as he smiles, he nodding before getting in his vehicle to take his leave.

The news of your cancer took every one of the fans by surprise.

Jeff had edited his video as quickly as he could and posted it with your permission. Then as soon as his video was up, you took a couple of selfies and posted them to Instagram with a link to the video that explained everything. The love and support that had quickly followed left you in tears, and feeling quite content with yourself for your decision to no longer keep your illness a secret.

The chemotherapy eventually got the best of you and there were times when you couldn't even get out of bed. It went from your friends constantly checking on you to moving you into David's spare bedroom when they found you struggling to breathe one day from an anxiety attack. You hadn't wanted to become a burden, but everyone was in agreement that they'd feel better if you lived with one of them until treatment was over. And seeing as you lived closest to Natalie and David, it was their home you moved into.

You filmed bits for everyone's vlogs to talk about your journey with cancer and about the progress you'd made while getting treatment. But soon the treatments stopped and you had to endure yet more testing to see if the chemo was doing it's job.

Then a week later, you're getting ready to go visit the doctor for your results.

As you're sliding your feet into a pair of sneakers, David's just getting home.

"Hey, Y/N. Going out?"

"Yeah." Pulling a beanie atop your head, you fix it just right before meeting David's gaze. "Today's the big day. I find out whether or not I can stop chemo for good or have to have another round."

His eyes subtly widen. "Yeah? Can I go?"

"Sure. You mind driving? I'm a bit anxious."

"Not at all. Lets go."

The drive is mostly a relaxed one, David asking about your plans should you get good news. You told him that you'd be moving back into your own apartment and that you were going back to work as soon as possible because your job was still waiting for you.

David then proceeded to assure you that no matter what he and all your friends would be there for you to fall back on should you need it. Of course you knew that, but it was nice to hear it again.

The following wait in the waiting room is quite excruciating and David grips onto your hand as your knee bounces anxiously. Smiling sheepishly, you try to quit the knee bouncing, but it starts back up moments later.

When your name is finally called, you drag David with you into the back room. Hand in hand, you enter the doctor's main office and only have to wait another hand full of minutes. Your doctor's expression is quite unreadable and even David's knee starts to bounce anxiously, but when she beams at you, you break down.

Remission. You are in complete remission.

Your face is in your hands as you sob, David's rubbing your back, and it takes you a moment to calm down. Then when you're finally able to control yourself and glance up, even the doctor is teary-eyed. She tells you that all tests and scans came back clean, but she'd still like to see you every three months to make sure nothing suddenly pops back up. You're more than okay with that and after gathering some paperwork, and standing up to hug your doctor, you and David are soon on your way.

Outside the office building, you and David stare at one another before he opens his arms and you throw yourself at him. He's laughing, you're crying and laughing, and the two of you just hug it out far longer than a hug should last.

"So who are we telling first?" He wonders, grinning.

"Jeff. Definitely Jeff," you say. "He was the first to know I had cancer, so he should the first- well, second now- to know I'm in remission."

"Well alright then. But just so you know, I'm recording their reactions."

You laugh. "Of course you are."

#fanficimagery #imagine #vlog squad imagine #vlog squad x reader #vlog squad #jeff wittek imagine #david dobrik imagine #jeff wittek #david dobrik #heath hussar #zane hijazi #erin gilfoy #mariah amato #jason nash #natalie mariduena #matt king #toddy smith #todd smith #carly incontro

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