#whatever. again it's not like i expect anything different. it's just so tasteless every single time | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jincherie · 5 years ago

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kiss it better | jjk

~ COMMISSION FOR @cinnaminsvga ~

✩ — pairing: jungkook x reader ✩ — genre: college/uni au, smut, cheerleader!jk, pining, borderline crack ✩ — words: 11.7k ✩ — rating: 18+ ✩ — warnings: koo takes a tumble, explicit sexual content; clothed sex, unprotected sex (not recommended), creampie, handjobs,light subby!jk, hand-holding during sex (potent), whining, thigh-riding, vaginal sex, minor hair pulling, public sex (sort of), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, light dirty talk ✩ — notes: out later than intended and a bit longer than intended !! whoops!!! i won’t/don’t charge if i go over the commissioned amount becayse that’s my bad!! but yeah. its been a hot second since i last wrote smut!! also none of my friends were awake to proofread this so….. apologies if it’s shit and has typos! its 2am! pls enjoy and lmk whast u think!!

When one goes to Kim Seokjin for advice, it’s almost guaranteed to never end well. This is something Jungkook learns quickly when he mistakenly follows treasured advice to ‘be smart’ and ‘use his assets’. He just did what he was told! Of course, the execution was a bit poor… and embarrassing. But hey, if rocking up to cheer practice in a skirt doesn’t woo your crush, what will?

masterlist | — posted; 01.03.2020

TUESDAY, SEMESTER 2 WEEK FOUR

It’s a beautiful day, the sun has just come to peak out from behind the clouds that had earlier obscured its climb from the horizon, and the grass of the Biological Sciences Library courtyard glistens with raindrops left over from the brief shower that prefaced the sun’s belated appearance. Students are finally beginning to emerge from the safety of the undercover walkways and overhangs, venturing boldly to shortcut over the grass. University life resumes, and everything falls back into its place, all as usual.

“Yah, is that Jungkook? Wait what is he—”

Well, everything except for one thing.

A red and black-clad figure slams to a stop right where two students are sitting and minding their own business outside the café attached to the back of the library—there’s no time to say hello. The table rocks dangerously on its beaten, metal leg, the impact of Jungkook’s beeline almost sending it straight to the ground if the two others weren’t already seated there to catch it.

“OW!” Jimin is never one to be quiet in his complaints, all too happy to holler his outrage at the top of his lungs. As his oldest hyung would say, no attention is bad attention. “Hey you almost jammed my fingers!”

Startled as Taehyung might have been, his focus is quickly shifted to other things. His wide eyes scan Jungkook’s panting form, taking in the clothes clinging to him like a second skin and the beet red colour of his face and ears. It’s not hard to put two and two together, but what comes out of his mouth isn’t exactly the most pressing thing he wants to ask, “Jungkook, why are you wearing the female cheer leading uniform I gave you?”

There’s a somewhat crazed look that makes itself known in the youngest’s eyes. “AHA!” he throws a finger in Taehyungs face, accusing. “So you ADMIT it’s a female uniform! Taehyung, you ass, how could you!”

Taehyung’s face is a question mark and Jimin squints, confused and still huffy about nearly losing his fingers and his triple-shot iced caramel latte that he may or may not have charmed the barista into gifting him for free. He wants to know what is going on and he wants to know NOW, damn it!

“What are you on about?” he asks, wrinkling his nose as he takes his drink into hand to prevent any future risk of spillage. “Why do you look like that time you ran the half-marathon on a dare?”

Jungkook glares at him, but it’s about as effective as it would be coming from a puppy. “Be quiet and sip your drink,” he says boldly, still attempting to get his breathing under control. Jimin considers throwing a retort back but ultimately decides against, it, shrugging and doing just that. He doesn’t want it getting warm, after all.

“Uh, yeah,” Taehyung says, sounding like he is a split second away from tacking on ‘duh’ at the end. “You asked me for a cheerleading uniform? I thought you knew some chick that needed a spare, I didn’t know you wanted one to wear.”

At Jungkook’s dumbfounded expression, Taehyung takes the liberty of continuing. “I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with it? You look surprisingly hot in a skirt, your ass looks fine as hell. But you seem kind of angry so IN MY DEFENSE, how was I supposed to know? That you wanted a male uniform? You never specified so—”

While each word that came out of Taehyung’s mouth just seemed to rile him up more, a different look passes over Jungkook’s features at that comment. “Wait, my ass looks good?” He straightens, attempting to peer over his own shoulder to catch a glimpse. “I wonder if she… No!”

He shakes his head suddenly to clear those thoughts and get back on track, whipping that same accusing finger in Taehyung’s face once more and levelling him with a renewed glare.

“Because of you, I just had the most humiliating experience of my life, and it was all in front of you-know-who!” His voice starts strong, but as he continues it shrinks to more of an angry whisper, his brows scrunched in a clear display of his displeasure. “I literally am about to commit seppuku.”

“Weeb,” Jimin utters at the same time as Taehyung asks, “y/n?” Jimin’s head whips up at the keyword.

Jungkook’s fight has all but left him at this point, and he pulls out one of the metal chairs to slump in it, defeatedly. His ears are turning crimson again as he recalls the events that had traumatised him so, and he slams his head to the table with a groan, muttering to himself in a voice that sounds dangerously like a sob.

“—stupid, was so stupid of me. I never should have asked Seokjin-hyung for advice. For actually listening I deserve nothing short of death. I’m so embarrassed I’m gonna throw myself into the lake.”

“Don’t throw yourself in there, think of the fishes—” Taehyung says at the same time as Jimin squawks, “WHAT?! You got advice from Seokjin?! He knows who your crush is? Oh my god, you’re more stupid than I thought…”

It’s all Jungkook can do to simply rest his head on the grubby-feeling table, eyes unfocused as he stares into the distance and regrets almost every single decision he has made in his waking life.

FOUR DAYS EARLIER

“My roommate,” Seokjin says, in between gratuitous sips of his monstrously sugary drink. “I think I’m almost about to get him to crack.”

“I feel bad for him,” you say, not looking up from your laptop despite the urge to gorge on your own drink. You made a goal not to look like a goblin when you woke up this morning and sipping your drink at a reasonable pace is a good start. “Being stuck in close quarters with you all the time. No doubt he needs therapy by now.”

As expected, Seokjin ignores you. You wonder if this is how he has managed not to get usurped as leader of the Contemporary Poetry Performance Club.

(To condense a very long story— he didn’t take being kicked out of the Drama Club very well. That’s on him though, he probably shouldn’t have called the Club Leader a tasteless fool for ordering a salad with his Happy Meal instead of nuggets. But, you digress.)

“I think I’m getting close these days,” the male muses, not-so-subtly making a reach for the McDonalds apple pie you have resting on the table next to your laptop. You smack his hand away without so much as a blink, more than used to having to defend any and all food from his wandering hands by this point. He continues, unaffected by the rebuttal, “Like, really close. It’s not long before my unrelenting bastardous antics wear him down and he finally breaks, spilling all his deepest secrets and confessing his long-time crush on me, thus allowing me to bring this act of friends-to-lovers pining to a close and get to the steamy stuff. “

At his spiel, you finally look at him, sporting a concerned and confused expression, if not somewhat intrigued. “… Are you talking about Jungkook?”

Seokjin chokes on the long sip he’d begun to drag up the straw, indignance making his voice rise. “NO, dumbass, I’m talking about Namjoon! Although…” He pauses only to bring a finger to stroke his chin, like a villain straight from an episode of Lazy Town, “You know, I never thought I’d be one for that harem shit, but now I think about it…”

“Gross,” you groan, wrinkling your nose. Seokjin releases a villainous cackle and you have no choice but to raise your fist in promise. He gets the message and quietens down immediately.

“No, but speaking of that little twerp,” Seokjin quickly starts up again, placing his drink down on the table. You feel an ounce of regret, knowing that means he’s about to talk for a longer time than you’re ready for. “I’m close to breaking him too.”

“He told you who his crush is?” you ask, brows raising in shock. Seokjin lets out a great sigh like the weight of the world is on his shoulders, making you snort.

“No,” he grumbles, before brightening straight after. “But! I’m getting close. He came to me for advice this morning.”

At his words, you’ve now completely abandoned whatever you were doing on your laptop and are looking at him in disbelief. “You’re lying.”

“Am not!” Seokjin denies, huffy. “He did! He wanted help making his crush fall in love with him, and so of course he came to me, Kim Seokjin, master of the heart and modern-day cupid.”

You pin him with a deadpan look. “Namjoon was out, wasn’t he.”

Seokjin’s glare is all the answer you need. He continues like you hadn’t even spoken in the first place.

“And since he so wisely came to me, of all people, and put his love life in my wise, gentle hands, I gave him the best advice anyone could possibly get.” The way his chest has swelled with pride and he’s looking all-too-pleased with himself doesn’t fill you with a good feeling. “I told him to play it smart, and use his assets.”

At first, you’re confused. “What, like… his cuteness? His endearing personality?”

“NO, dumbass, his assets! His ass! His thighs! His itty-bitty waist!” You think you hear him muttering something like ‘that lucky bitch’ under his breath, but can’t be sure. “Also, don’t think I missed you calling him cute, y/n. I’m filing that shit away for later.”

“I’ll kill you,” you inform him, but the threat has long since lost its impact. He rolls his eyes.

“Shut up, we both already know exactly how 'peggable’ you think he is.” He takes a haughty sip of his drink like he knows he’s right, and you hate that he is. “It’s not the most incriminating thing I have on you.”

You make the strategic decision not to say anything and dig your hole deeper, and Seokjin seems pleased at your silent admit of defeat.

“Anyway,” he says again, smacking the cream on top of his drink down into the liquid with a spoon. There is some fallout, but that’s never stopped him before. “Kid’s dumb as shit but pure of heart. I’m interested to see whether he will actually take my advice.”

“He won’t for sure,” you scoff, returning to your laptop at last. “Anyone who takes your advice is guaranteed to have an empty head and quarter of a brain cell to their name. Jungkook is smarter than that.”

As expected, Seokjin squawks in outrage, and it harmonises with the ambience of dead silence in your corner of the library. He doesn’t let the topic rest for the remainder of the day.

WEDNESDAY, WEEK FIVE

You think that the day Jungkook first rocked up to cheer practice at the gym a week ago at the same time you were coaching the women’s basketball team, is one firmly burned into your memory for the rest of your life. And, honest to god, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Because the boy, in all his slim-waisted, sculpted-ass-and-thighs glory, had rocked up in a cheerleading crop top and skirt.

You have absolutely no idea why he decided to wear that to his first session after joining, but you do know that while the sight of him usually makes you drool, the sight of him in that made your brain cease all higher functioning and you, in essence, became a dog. You almost barked when you saw him, for real.

Even from across the room though, you’d quickly been able to gather that he hadn’t worn it on purpose (somehow), as his face flushed bright crimson and he quickly began to look like he wanted to neck himself in the middle of the gym. Yoongi, another bastard friend of yours who through a series of unfortunate events and regrettable decisions (for him) had become the cheer captain, had been insulted that Jungkook had shown up like that and “hadn’t taken cheer seriously”, and so had given him a punishment. Yoongi said that if he wanted to rock up in a skirt so badly, then for every coming practice he had to wear a skirt again.

Had you not been busy drooling you probably would have felt bad for Jungkook, as you did later when Yoongi filled you in. As it were, in the moment you’d nearly copped a basketball to the face for being so distracted. Regrettably, you’d had to turn away from Jungkook and back to your actual duties: coaching.

Although with Yoongi being out for your blood, you have had plenty of opportunities in the past week to ogle to your heart’s desire. A real shameful amount, if you’re being honest with yourself.

“Bora!” you call, watching the girl in question halt across the gym. “Fix your footwork or I’m gonna smack you!”

The girl rolls her eyes and turns away, flicking a ponytail of dark hair over her shoulder as she does so, but listens to what you say. The familiar squeak of rubber on gym flooring fills the air as she starts the drill anew. She has a tendency to get lazy and sloppy in her movements if you don’t ride her ass, and she knows it as much as you do.

“How did you even managed to get the coaching position?” Seulgi asks from next to you, her response almost cut off by a loud racket from the cheer side of the gym. It takes all of your willpower not to fall into the trap and look over. “I feel like people like you shouldn’t be in positions of power.”

You don’t even bother arguing with her since she’s technically right and you agree. “Sheer dumb luck,” you tell her, risking a glance to the side if only to give Yoongi the stink eye. “Actually, if you really wanna know, I only went for it because Yoongi wanted it and he did something that really soured my yoghurt and pissed me off. So I applied out of spite. I probably shouldn’t have gotten the job though.”

“Huh,” Seulgi voices, eyes unfocused. “Well you’re not too bad for a fake. The team has actually been improving since you took over.”

“That’s probably because you guys went through coaches so fast for a while that for like, six months you didn’t really have one.”

“Touché.”

The only reason the girl is on the sidelines in the first place is because she’d looked over at the wrong time and caught it just as Jungkook started one of the tumbling routines, getting it almost perfect on the first go and in the process flashing his pert ass to the air and any sorry beholders. He might have been wearing bike shorts under the punishment skirt he was modelling, and he might have traded the crop top for a singlet of reasonable length, but it was still a dangerous, nay lethal sight. You’d looked over at the same time so you knew why and how Seulgi managed to tumble and trip so terribly mid-drill. She rolled her ankle so bad that as she sits next to you right now with ice on it, it looks like there’s an entire boiled egg beneath the surface of her skin. It’s kind of gross but also kind of hard to look away from.

Back to the topic at hand, there is just something about the sheer athleticism and heaven-blessed ease with which Jungkook backflips and cartwheels across the mat that turns you into a brainless slab of goo. You’re unsurprised that Seulgi got distracted and ended up hurting herself as a result of it.

The afternoon flies by and before you know it, it’s dark outside, and you’ve finished riding the collective women’s basketball team’s ass for the day. As they disperse and leave the gym at a leisurely pace, you collect Seulgi and help her towards the gym locker room to get some fresh ice for her ankle before she journeys to visit the university nurse.

The cheer squad has just about finished up their own practice, and one by one they begin to filter out of the gym. Yoongi waddles over to where you stand by the door, eyeing Seulgi with a knowing look.

“Got distracted at the wrong time, huh?” He asks, very much already knowing the answer. You give him a dirty look while Seulgi goes bright pink.

Yoongi adjusts the collar of his university sports jacket, puffing his chest out. “That’s our golden boy for ya,” he brags, sounding very much like one of the aunties and old women you find gossiping on the street near the markets. “He was born for cheer. It’s like he’s been tumbling since the day he was born. Probably even came out doing a backflip.”

You want to tell him to stop pulling shit out of his ass, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything when you agree so wholeheartedly. You’re saved from having to summon a response when in the next second, Yoongi gets the urge to turn and catches Jungkook red-handed on his way out of the gym. He seems in a hurry, moving almost like he’s trying to sneak out unnoticed, but halts at the unmistakable sound of Yoongi’s holler when it breaches the air.

“Ah there he is— Jungkook-ah!” Even while calling out, Yoongi somehow still has an indolent, lazy drawl. “Good job today! Also, proud of you for committing to your punishment. Keep it up!”

The poor raven-haired boy had already looked somewhat mortified at being singled out amongst the students exiting the gym, but now as Yoongi finishes speaking and his big doe eyes flick to the side and take in you and Seulgi listening in, his face very suddenly and violently erupts into a blush.

“Th-thanks,” he squeaks, nodding, the tips of his ears darkening to match his face. His eyes are flicking from you to Yoongi in such a way he almost reminds you of a scared rodent. When it becomes clear he has nothing more to say, he turns on his heel and flees in the direction of the locker room. For his sake, you don’t ogle him as he goes. There’s a time and a place, and he seems so embarrassed that you’d feel bad for checking him out right now.

“… He’s so cute,” Yoongi remarks a few seconds after Jungkook disappears out the door, gaze still trained in the direction he’d left. “No wonder I always look over and see you drooling, y/n.”

You agree with the first part, but honestly… you could have done without that second comment. You give him the stink eye to let him know just that, before tapping Seulgi and readjusting your grip in preparation to walk once more.

“If you’re immune, Min, you’re not human,” Seulgi says, cheeky glint in her eye. Your heart warms—you can always count on her to defend you in the face of life’s meanies.

SATURDAY, WEEK 5

It’s not often you find yourself making the long, arduous trek down the street to the apartment building where Seokjin et al. live, but it does happen on the occasion. If possible, you like to make the journey in the morning or the afternoon, because there is little to no cover on the path that takes you there and the only thing you like less than being in the sun when you don’t have to is sweating.

Still, you make the trek today, even though it’s technically past the point in the morning where you would refuse. The heat starts to come anywhere from 8 to 9 o’clock, even earlier on the stinkier days. Call you lazy, but you stick by your own rules because they work and reduce your suffering considerably.

Namjoon is one of your project partners in a random elective the two of you chose, and he was meant to give you a part of the assignment he’d been working on yesterday but, of course, forgot it. And then again today, when he was meant to drop it off on his way to work, he forgot it once more. So here you are, walking to his stupid apartment and preparing to break in because it’s due next week and you need his part to finish yours, damn it.

Thankfully, air conditioning greets you the second you step inside the building and cools down whatever heat has managed to cling to your form from outside. Luck is on your side—no sweat today, babey! In a slightly better mood now that you’re out of the sun, you follow the path your legs have committed to memory to Namjoon’s apartment.

Normally you’d rely on someone being home to let you in so you can ransack Namjoon’s room, but in his apologetic text he’d informed you that everyone is out and so with a great, big sigh you’d resigned yourself and dug the lockpicking set you received one Christmas out from under your bed. It’s heavy in your back pocket now as you walk down the hallway of the floor their apartment is on, already feeling like you’ve committed a crime. Before you can even throw yourself into thoughts of which tool would work best on their front door, you catch sight of something you most definitely weren’t expecting.

There’s someone else in front of the apartment door, jiggling the doorknob and attempting to work it. You don’t know if they realise its locked and are trying their luck anyway, or whether they’ve yet to figure it out, but while their back is turned to you they have provided you with an excellent view.

Broad shoulders with tan skin peaking out from below a muscle singlet and glistening with sweat where their body catches the light. Dark curls are plastered to the back of their neck, arms out and a tattoo sleeve on one leading your gaze down its length. He’s very athletic, you gather of the stranger immediately, and you’re almost drooling at the way his bicep shifts and tenses as he tries the doorknob once more. Your gaze finally frees itself and scans over the rest of him; defined back, tiny waist, nice butt, thick thighs—

Wait. You know that waist. The sight of it bared by a skimpy cheerleading outfit is one you’ve committed to memory.

“Jungkook?” you say, feeling your stomach dip in excitement. Does it always do that when you see him? You can’t remember.

At the sound of your voice and how close it is, the male jumps in fright and lets out a noise eerily close to a squeak. He spins, slamming his back against the door and smacking a hand over his heart.

“Oh my god,” he breathes, eyes closing and head falling back against the door with a thud. The sight is borderline sinful when combined with his damp hair and sweaty form, and your thoughts threaten to take a dangerous route before you reign them in. You smack your libido back in place— down, girl! “y/n, you scared the living shit out of me.”

A moment passes before his eyes snap open and the breath leaves him in a whoosh, and he’s looking at you like a cornered rabbit, cheeks already warming in his fluster. “W-wait, y/n? What… What are you doing here?”

Cute. If you could, you think you’d pack him up and put him in your pocket.

You ignore his question only for the sake of asking him your own—much less incriminating as a choice. “Are you trying to break into your own apartment, Mister Jungkook?”

Instantly, as you’d almost come to expect at this point, his cheeks flush cutely.

“Wh- I, uh…” he swallows and clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “No! Kind of? I went for a jog earlier and Namjoon-hyung kind of… uh… he locked me out.”

As he speaks, you’re reminded of how much you actually like his voice. It’s smooth, melodious; even when its shaking slightly from nerves. Why is he nervous? The longer you stand in his presence the more curious you become. You kind of want to tease him a little.

You hum, a smile curling the corners of your lips and one of your brows raising. “Ah, so he’s scorned both of us, I see. But fear not, little gumdrop!”

He’s staring at you in something akin to flustered bewilderment as you reach behind you and pull out your lockpicking kit, brandishing it like a trophy. “I have the solution!”

“…” He’s stunned into silence, it seems, but you don’t mind. The look on his face right now is super cute—you kind of want to pinch his cheeks. Okay, damn it, you can’t help it—you pinch his cheek and make a short cooing noise as you step past, preparing to help him break into his apartment. At least this way it feels less like a crime and more like a service.

(You sneak a sly look back at Jungkook as you pass him, and your heart squeezes at the sight of his cheeks flushing pink from your teasing action, eyes wide as they follow your form. This boy is gonna kill you one day.)

Usually you have a bit of trouble picking locks (you don’t do it often) but you crack this one surprisingly fast, and before you know it the door is swinging open and you’re letting out a noise of glee.

“Excellent!” you announce, before darting right in to search for what you came for. Namjoon left it conveniently on the dining table, so you dash over and grab the folder and USB before turning around to be on your merry way.

When you return to the door, Jungkook is still standing there, tattooed hand pressed to the cheek you’d pinched – which are bright red, by the way— and his eyes somewhat dazed.

“See you at practice later, Jungkook!” you say, waving the folder to accentuate the farewell. “Don’t forget the punishment skirt! You look too good in it, it would be a crime to forget it.”

Once you’re done speaking, you turn back the way you’re walking, missing the facial expression that accompanies his flustered sputtering of a goodbye. Your stomach still flips in excitement as you retreat, a skip in your step, and you can’t help but think it wouldn’t be a bad thing if you ended up seeing more of Jungkook outside of practice.

WEDNESDAY, WEEK 6

You’re sitting in the campus sushi place, escaping the midday heat and grabbing something to eat, minding your own business. It is, though, a nice day and you don’t mind sitting back and just admiring it. This changes when a figure suddenly comes bolting towards you from a distance and nearly bowls you and the contents of your sushi container over.

“SEOKJIN!” you exclaim, barely having saved your food from a sudden and unfortunate meet & greet with the floor. You give him a glare strong enough to kill. “What the hell! My karaage chicken!!! Dude you KNOW they only make a certain amount of these per day, you almost made me drop it and I hadn’t even taken a bit yet! Honestly! You—”

“Shut! Shut up!” Seokjin grips you by the shoulders, giving you a shake; it makes your eyes lock-on to his flushed face, his breath coming in pants from his exertion. “Shut up I have something to say and it’s important!”

“Stop shaking me!” you cry, wriggling out of his grip and leaning as far back into your chair as you can to get away from this nutcase. “And what?! You finally slipped up and Namjoon found all the secret letters you write for him when you’re horny?!”

“No, better!” Seokjin makes like he’s going to grab your shoulders again and you smack his hands away. He continues, eyes alight with something akin to glee that makes him look just a little bit crazy. “I finally did it! I found out who that twerp’s crush is! You won’t beli—”

“What?!” you sputter, your gut churning for some reason. Is the sushi you ate off? “He told you? No way he would be stupid enough to tell you—”

“Hey!” the male cries, indignant. “I resent that! Also no, he didn’t technically tell me, but I have people on the inside…”

It takes a moment for you to scan through people in your head before it clicks. You gasp. “You bullied it out of his friends?! Seokjin! Taehyung and Jimin don’t deserve that!”

“I didn’t bully them! They told me of their own accord!” He points a finger at you in retribution. “Albeit, it was by accident, but I digress.”

You’re shaking your head, returning to your sushi and ignoring the odd sensations in your gut. “This is blood information, man. I don’t know if I can sit and be accomplice to—”

“It’s you!” Seokjin blurts, sticking his pink-haired head right in your face. “The twerp has a crush on you! Finally, at least one of my shipping dreams is coming true!”

You’re so shocked by the information literally thrown in your face that you honest to god almost drop your sushi, again. You stare at the male, mouth open, as you flounder to get some order back in your thoughts.

The first thing you think to say is—“What? No way. Your info is dodgy, man.”

“Look, I know you’re sensitive so I try not to say this often, but are you dumb, y/n?” Seokjin stands back now, hand on his hip. The look he’s giving you isn’t impressed. “It makes so much sense! Why else would he sign up to cheerleading in a skirt to use his assets if it wasn’t on at the same time as whatever his crush does? Honestly, I should have seen it sooner—the way he goes bright pink every time he sees you and his eyes sparkle like an anime girl every time we mention you. I just thought he was scared of girls or had pinkeye or somethin’.”

You kind of want to smack him, but the rest of you is busy attempting to process all the information unloaded on you. Your stomach gives a giddy flip, and you decide it can only mean one thing in the wake of finding out that Jungkook’s mysterious crush is you.

Maybe, just maybe, you like him too.

…

You’re gonna pursue him.

THURSDAY, WEEK 7

It seems that Jungkook has heard that his crush on you has been leaked, because you’ve been trying to track him down and confirm it ever since last week and he’s been avoiding you like the plague. You think you see him kicking up dust as he retreats as fast as his legs will take him around hallway corners when he sees you at the other end, you catch glimpses of him across courtyards as he spins and flees in the opposite directions. A part of you wonders whether its because he does indeed have a crush on you and is embarrassed that you know, of whether it’s because he doesn’t have a crush on you and is embarrassed that you might think he does.

Well, you can’t know until you talk to him and it seems like you won’t be able to talk to him unless you ambush him in the men’s toilets or something. Which, by the way, isn’t something you’re going to do because even though your friends might be crazy, you’re most definitely not.

It was even to the point that Jungkook missed the first two practices after you found out, and you have no doubt that he would have avoided you by missing even more had Yoongi not threatened him with adding a crop top to his punishment attire should he miss another practice. He’d showed up for the next one but every time he came within five metres of you he blushed and kept his eyes to the ground, fleeing as soon as he can.

It’s a little bit frustrating, and he’s still cute when he acts all shy, but you really wish you could track him down just so you know whether its true or not.

Perhaps, with time, he’ll grow a little less skittish and let you get close enough to start a conversation. You just have to hold out hope that a moment will come that will allow you to start bridging things back together with the two of you.

FRIDAY, WEEK 7

That moment comes sooner than you expect when, just the next day, you round a corner alongside Seulgi, having just come from the women’s locker rooms, and walk straight into someone. It’s like walking into a brick wall and kind of hurts. You stumble and let out a sound in pained surprise, but manage to stay on your feet for the most part— the joy at that moment of success passes quickly when you become aware of the cool feeling seeping down your thigh and stomach.

Before even looking to see who you walked into, your gaze is directed down to see what was spilt on you— it’s light pink, and the sugary sweet scent that brushes your nose and sticky sensation that begins to make itself known on your skin are something you recognise instantly.

Strawberry milk.

You look up in something akin to horror, but the expression all but falls from your face when you see who the culprit is.

Jungkook stands there looking very much like a deer caught in headlights, drink carton crumpled and empty in his hand now that its contents are all over your front. As you gaze at him you watch the tip of his ears turn bright red, eyes wide and so unguarded you swear you can see the thoughts whipping through his mind beyond them. You also see the instant regret and mortification that washes over his boyish features as he realises what has just happened and who he has spilt his drink on.

“y-y/n—” he stutters, voice caught in his throat. Whatever he was planning on saying is quickly overpowered by an obnoxious voice from his side.

You hadn’t even noticed Yoongi was walking alongside Jungkook until you hear him speak, “Wow, you know what you were coming around that corner so hard and fast that this is on you, y/n.”

When Yoongi first started talking, Jungkook had seemed relieved, but now a sense of panic has taken over his features.

“N-no! I am so sorry! This was my fault, I shouldn’t have had it open when I couldn’t even drink it yet. I just really like strawberry milk, and…” He’s so endearingly remorseful as he speaks, big puppy eyes looking apologetically into your own like he’s searching for any hint of forgiveness there to spare.

For a moment you’re absolutely blindsided by the way he just made your heart squeeze in your chest with how damn cute he is, but you recover just in time to catch it as the shocked expression on Yoongi’s face melds into something devious and fitting for his bastardly title.

“Right, he’s right, totally our bad,” Yoongi says, doing a complete 180 and bewildering both you and Seulgi beside you. “Wow, look at your pants, totally soaked through man. Here, come with me— it’s only fair we help grab you something to change into.”

“What—” you don’t get to finish before the cat-faced bastard grabs you by the arm and begins dragging you down the hall in the direction you came from. Seulgi and Jungkook remain in place, stunned by the turn in events.

“Jungkook, head to practice and get them started! I want some pyramid practice, and then some tumbling from you and the others. Chop chop!” — is all Yoongi throws over his shoulder in dismissal, dragging you where you now realise is one of the other locker rooms. You gape at him as he walks straight up to the one that has been locked for months and opens it with a key.

Catching your expression, he shrugs. “Sometimes you just need a place of your own to hoard things.”

You don’t understand what he’s talking about until you step in and see a table in the corner near the doorway piled high with first aid supplies, twiggy sticks and energy drinks. Your bewildered subsequent scan of the room for more treasured objects is cut short when a lump of clothing smacks you in the face.

You just barely manage to fumble it into your grasp, unable to swallow your groan when you see what it is from the pattern alone.

“It’s the only thing spare,” Yoongi says, radiating true goblin energy. You don’t trust him as far as you can throw him right now but you don’t know where to look to disprove him. “Try not to get my cheerleaders too worked up.”

You have an inkling as to why he’s done this from his words, but can’t confirm it right now. You huff, moving off to one of the stalls.

“If people get flashed, that’s on you.”

Ten minutes later sees you back in the open gymnasium with cool air brushing your legs that usually only get to see the light of day through rips in your jeans. You set your team to their tasks and drills already, so now you’re left alone with your thoughts. You know for sure now why Yoongi made you change into the cheerleading skirt.

Because ever since you walked out in it and nearly made him fall flat on his face in shock, Jungkook hasn’t been able to keep the blush off his cheeks or his eyes away from you for more than a few minutes at a time. You feel slightly empowered, contrary to how you thought the dangerously short piece of clothing was going to make you feel.

You have a nice body, you’re comfortable admitting it, and the way that your unplanned flaunting of it seems to be affecting Jungkook… well it’s a nice stroke of the ego, you won’t lie, but it also makes your stomach flip giddily. God, you want him. You’ve always thought he was cute but ever since he joined cheer and rocked up in that skirt like a sweet, hot fool, it was over for you. He’s so… ugh.

Trucking through the practice of your team is, for once, a struggle. It’s so hard not to look over every few seconds to catch Jungkook when you can feel his gaze on you, and you know that once you give in you won’t be able to help being distracted afterwards. It’s a miracle you get through to the end of it while remaining sane.

As your practice wraps up for the day, you allow yourself a glimpse to the side at last. What you see is a sweaty, panting Jungkook, the muscles of his arms straining as he holds up a brunette you vaguely recall as Tzuyu above his head. Wow, you’re actually a little startled at how much arousal just washed through you— is this normal? Maybe you’re more whipped than you thought. You don’t know.

What you do know, however, is that you want that boy, and right now especially you want to mess with him. Call it a con of being around such bastardous friends all the time, but you’re really feeling the urge. You barely manage to hold yourself back, marvelling at the animal he seems to reduce you to with just a flex of his bicep.

The practice for your basketball team finishes before cheerleading; Yoongi is a ruthless coach and relentless when it comes to formations and perfecting routines. More often than not their practices end long after yours. As your girls begin to filter out of the gymnasium, the cheer squad are still going. You make to follow after, but your name is called from the other side of the gym by a voice you recognise but know instantly shouldn’t be here.

“y/n! Come here! Don’t ignore me!” Seokjin is the fiend in question, hollering at such an unmistakable frequency that you couldn’t ignore it if you tried. It’s like he’s followed in the footsteps of cats and has pinpointed the exact frequency that a baby’s cry is at, and is now using it to his advantage. You turn, wary, and see him waving like a dumbass. “Come here! Don’t make me pspspsps!”

Now annoyed, you stomp over if only so you can get within beating range. As soon as you reach a few feet away he ducks behind Yoongi though, so you don’t get to follow through on your caveman instincts to beat him over the head with a rock.

“What?” you ask, giving him a stinky look. “Are you like, stalking me or something? Why are you so obsessed with me?”

You can tell he wants to laugh, but his instinct to rile you up overpowers the humour of what you said. “You think you’re worth stalking? I don’t need to stalk you to know that your day consists almost entirely of eating, shitting, and staring at a certain ass.”

Well, he has you there. You shrug, “I’m a simple girl.”

Seokjin is momentarily bewildered that you didn’t rise to his bait and Yoongi chokes on his laughter beside you, the sound coming out squeaky. You’re glad someone is laughing, it makes your dick hard when people find you funny. Again, you’re a simple girl.

“Nice outfit, by the way,” Seokjin says. Apparently it doesn’t take him long to recover, and he’s already shifted topics.

Yoongi, who had broken away to guide his team for a moment, chimes back in at the taller male’s comment. “It’s all apart of the keikaku, man. Everything is going perfectly. My golden boy is almost too fun to torment. I’ve tasted power and now I don’t know how to stop.”

“Who?” Seokjin asks, more out of habit than anything, before looking over to Yoongi’s minions and letting out a sound of realisation. “Ahh… Mister Jungkook.”

You swear you see the male in question, who is waiting his turn to begin the tumbling routine Yoongi has changed them onto, stiffen. You’re not sure whether it is a trick of the light or not, though, because in the next second he’s shuffling forward to second in line, juggling his weight from foot to foot with restless energy. His eyes are trained on his teammates flipping across the matts.

“So you know too? y/n, you big-mouthed whore!” Seokjin exclaims, pinning you with an exaggerated look of scandal. Jungkook trips slightly in his step as he moves to the front of the line, barely a few metres away.

You don’t bother defending yourself, since Yoongi speaks before you can anyway. “That y/n likes Jungkook and has wanted to peg his cute ass since forever? Yeah, I know.”

The timing of Yoongi’s response is truly unfortunate. As he started speaking, Jungkook began his run up— and it seems that whatever snippet he heard as he started were enough to throw him off completely. He goes into the front flip kind of wonky, and you have a feeling of dread creep up as you watch him.

He doesn’t do the mid-air turns he is meant to, and instead goes to land after just one flip— the timing is off, though, and your breath hisses through your teeth and you physically cringe as you watch his ankle roll upon landing.

“Ah SHIT!” he yelps, quickly dropping to the mat and removing pressure from his foot. You feel frozen as you watch, a large number of his teammates running over and asking him if he’s okay.

“Oh feck,” Yoongi says, checking his watch as he mutters to himself. “Shit. Okay we need to practice and only have the gym for another forty-five minutes, but he needs that looked at asap. Who…”

Barely a split-second passes before he’s looking right at you imploringly, with an inappropriately devious glint in the back of his eyes.

“y/n, you’re free and you have first aid training right? Can you take him to get that wrapped and iced up?” He’s not even done asking you before he’s pushing you in the direction of the male currently curled on the floor. “That room should still be open— I forgot to lock it earlier.”

“Wait, I actually have—” you’re about to let him know about the mountain of schoolwork you have to catch up on, but of course he’s not having any of it. He’s already barking at his squad.

“Okay, everyone, back off and back to tumbling! y/n here will take care of our golden boy, we have the gym for the next forty-five minutes and we’re gonna make the most of it, damn it!”

Yoongi abandons you at Jungkook’s side, and at his command the rest of the cheerleader begrudgingly disperse— you think you catch a few of the female ones giving you the stink eye at their lost opportunity, and you know it shouldn’t stroke your ego but still it does.

“I guess this is how the Kookie crumbled, huh,” you say, embarrassed that he could have heard all of what Yoongi said and attempting to cope using the classic— humour.

Jungkook, who had turned his wide eyes and red face to you the second you started talking, now seems to be blushing harder. Evidently, for a number of reasons, he is mortified. It’s like he’s trying to hide behind the long curls that have fallen into his face. Needless to say, it’s not successful, and now both of you are embarrassed. One of you needs to take the lead.

But right now neither of you are wearing the pants.

“Alright, let’s get that looked at,” you say, wincing as you look at his ankle already beginning to swell. “Arms up.”

He obeys instantly and without question, and you’re torn between the primal powers within you wanting to both cuddle him and to drop your panties then and there.

Getting Jungkook to a standing position while he can only use one leg is harder than you could have imagined, but you know that there’s no way you would have been able to lift him had he not helped you carry his weight. Once he’s upright and his arm is around your shoulder (still panting slightly and glistening with sweat, as you’re trying not to think about) you begin the arduous journey to the locker room Yoongi showed you earlier.

Jungkook doesn’t really say anything during the trip there, and neither do you— except he has an excuse, considering he’s probably in a fair bit of pain right now. You don’t have an excuse, except that you’re trying desperately not to think about how you can feel each hard line of his body against you right now. It’s a whole-brain engaging kind of activity.

Thankfully, the room is unlocked as Yoongi said, and you grab a towel to lay across one of the cleaner looking benches on the far side of the room— just because its cleaner than the others doesn’t mean it’s clean, per se. You smile when you see Jungkook’s thankful expression.

“Right,” you say, staying in front of where he’s sitting for a moment as you shake your arms out; the boy really is just all muscle, honestly. “Pop your ankle up on the bench, and I’ll grab some ice and stuff to wrap it.”

Jungkook nods, obeying wordlessly. His cheeks still are tainted the slightest pink, and he’s making a point to avoid meeting your gaze. Fighting a smile, you move to Yoongi’s stash and grab what you need, spotting some high-end painkillers and immediately adding them to the pile in your arms.

When you return to his side, you seat yourself on the bench beside his leg— thankfully, they’re wide enough that neither your butt nor Jungkook’s leg has to be sacrificed for the fit. You go through the motions with him, poking and prodding and bending to assess the damage; it’s just a bad sprain, but damn if each watery look he gets at the pain doesn’t make you want to coddle him to death.

Surprisingly, he’s still silent as you go about icing and wrapping his ankle. You contemplated filling the silence but you’re not good at chit chat or small talk, so refrain and settle for humming softly instead. Considering the rollercoaster of feelings he’s spun you through today, you’re almost disappointed that a wrap on his ankle is all that’s going to come of this.

Which is stupid, of course. You know. You digress.

You’re still somewhat disappointed as you finish up, popping the excess bandage back in its container. “Okay! You’ll need to…”

You make the mistake of meeting his gaze, and for once he doesn’t shy away from it— there’s something about them, the endless chocolate depths and the doe-eyed look, that completely disarms you for a moment. Blinking, it takes all your might to stop yourself from studying as you continue. “Ahem, uh… you’ll need to keep it elevated, when possible. Compressing it is ideal. Also, for swelling, ice it for 20-30 minutes every 2-3 hours for the first day or so…”

He blinks up at you, and you smile. “Any questions?”

Something intriguing crosses his gaze and he bites his lip, flushing slightly. Oh, he is doing a number on your willpower. You need to get out of here.

“Yeah, uh…” He clears his throat, continuing straight away. You watch even more colour rush to his cheeks, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “About earlier… when I stacked it… Was what Yoongi said true?”

Well. You were not… expecting that. For a moment you’re stunned into silence, self control hanging by a thread. “What… Yoongi said?”

Jungkook gives you a look like he can’t believe you’re making him say it. “That you, um…”

Humiliated but deciding to face it head on, you ask him with your own cheeks heating, “Are you asking about the pegging or the, uh… the liking you part?”

To your surprise, Jungkook chokes and stiffens in place, eyes shooting wide and face and ears going beet red. “I, um… I only heard the liking part…”

OH. Well. You kind of want to die, but… at least now he knows?

…You’re gonna throw yourself off a bridge.

He must mistake the cause of your silence for something else, because he seems to panic. “B-because, um, I know you know how I feel, and it’s okay if you don’t um— I was just wondering—”

In the midst of his spiel, you take a seat on the bench, closer to him than you were last time. It only makes him grow more flustered before you press a finger to his lips to shush him. He gets the message and falls silent instantly, making your heart skip a beat at his ready obedience. God, are you an animal?! Really?!

“I was trying to track you down to confirm it, you know,” you say, shoving your embarrassment into a box in the far reaches of your mind. Time to swallow your pride. “But you kept avoiding me.”

Jungkook’s eyes are still wide. “Oh… sorry.”

You smile at his soft, uttered apology. Testingly, tentatively, you shift your hand and rest it on his hip. His whole body stiffens once more, but its more in surprise than discomfort. “What would you do if it was true, hm?”

Like a deer caught in headlights, he’s momentarily speechless. When your thumb rubs against the hard line of his hip bone, drawing a shudder, he jerks back into motion.

“Oh my god, you—” he’s dazed before he narrows his eyes at you, voice dropping to a whisper that’s somewhat tinged with hurt. “Are you teasing me?”

You manage to hold back the laugh but can’t help the smile that rises at his words. “I always get the urge to tease you, Jungkook, but it’s not to be cruel.” You lean forward, holding his gaze. “I probably never grew out of that kindergarten stage.”

It takes a second for what you said to sink in. The way that hope enters his eyes is so cute that you’re humiliated at the urge to squeal that rises. “So, you…”

It’s embarrassing to say the words out loud, especially considering the filth running through your mind right now, and you can’t quite bring yourself to. Teasingly, you bring your other hand to his thigh, brushing the edge of the skirt with your thumb and enjoying the way he shivers. “It’s embarrassing to say out loud, so if you want to hear it, you’re gonna have to work for it.”

The soft, excited gasp he lets out emboldens you to carry out your next action— you move the hand on his hip, brushing your fingertips up the side of his slim waist before bringing them back down to rest over his crotch.

To your complete and utter surprise, there is already some firmness there that greets you. At your curious gaze, he flushes pink.

“It’s the skirt,” he confesses, averting his gaze to your lap for the briefest second. “You look really good in it…”

Not that your ego needs more stroking, but you’re happy to let it happen anyway. You hum, beginning to move your hand— he stifles a gasp.

“I know,” you say, grinning. It’s ridiculous how your stomach flips, arousal beginning to trickle into your abdomen and ache in the apex of your thighs. “I could feel you looking at me. I caught you a few times, too.”

He’s embarrassed, you can tell, but the current situation doesn’t leave much room for dignity as it is anyway. Still, you can’t help but tease him some more, voice soft as you rub over his growing bulge and lean closer. “Do you always look at me, Jungkook?”

He squirms, a gasp slipping out before he attempts to send you a glare. “This is embarrassing,” he whines. You raise a brow, increasing the pressure of your hand, and he is quick to amend his response in a whisper, “…Yes.”

“And what do you imagine, when you look at me?” you ask, unable to deny the thrill running through your veins and lighting heat in your abdomen. You pause your ministrations only to move your hand to the top of his skirt and slip beneath the material. This time a moan slips out before he can stop it. “Is it things like this?”

He lets his head fall back against the wall, looking at you through hazy, lidded eyes. “Yes,” he admits, and for how readily he supplied the answer you reward him by slipping your hand beneath the rest of the layers over his hips and wrapping your fingers around his hardening length.

He whines— actually whines— and rolls his hips into your hand, thick thigh tensing beneath the grip of your other hand. The resulting wash of arousal that floods over you is so sudden it almost makes you dizzy.

“Oh, you’re a good boy,” you mutter it without much thought, but surprise filters through you when you feel his length twitch and flush with heat in your hold at the words. Ah— he likes a bit of praise, does he? You slide your free hand up his thigh, working the waistband of his skirt and bike shorts down until they rest just past the beginning of his thighs. It’s like you’re looking at a work of art, you marvel slightly— the curls that begin to trail down a little below his belly button, the sculpted line of his hip bones and the hints of his abs that show as his body tenses. You’re just one woman.

“Does it feel as good as you imagined, Jungkook?” you aimed to speak louder but it comes out sort of breathy. You trail your fingers down the tan skin of his abdomen before gripping the material of his bottoms and using the moment to free his length.

If you didn’t have such a firm grip on it, you know it would have sprung back against his stomach— you try not to let your surprise show, either, because you could feel that he was packing, but seeing it is another thing and your stomach flips in giddy anticipation. Jungkook’s chest heaves as his breath quickens, eyes boring into you and hands bunching in the material of the punishment skirt. You stroke your hand along his length, pressing your thumb along the underside and relishing in the shudder it elicits.

“y/n,” he whines softly, face flushing as his cock twitches in your hold. Whether he’s forgotten you even asked a question or simply is too overwhelmed to answer right now, you don’t know.

As for how you’re doing— you’re so turned on right now that in all honesty you don’t know what to do with yourself. A solution comes to mind quickly and you don’t have the usual self control you do to stop yourself.

Mindful of his injured leg, you rise, keeping your grip on him as you do so. His lidded gaze follows you, soft gasps escaping him all the while.

“Give me your leg,” you instruct, relishing how quickly he listens. Presented with his thigh, you swing one of your legs over the other side of the bench and rest on it so that as little weight as possible is on his bad leg, your knees brushing his hips. As soon as you’re lowered, you can’t help but gasp and roll your hips— the only thing separating you and the smooth skin and hard muscle of his thigh is the thin layer of your damp panties, and the stimulation on your clit makes your entire core throb in arousal.

Apparently this is also one of the things he’s imagined, because Jungkook lets out a low, gasping moan and rolls his hips up into your hand— which, of course, makes his thigh muscles tense and shift, rubbing oh so nicely against your clit. You almost fall off from the jolt of pleasure that shoots up your spine, free hand shooting to grab his bicep, “Ah, Jungkook!”

He apparently has the sense of mind to support you by using the arm in your hold to reach and grip your hip. Generous amounts of precum have started to bead at his tip, and you drag your hand up his girth, collecting it on your thumb and smearing it down his length for lubrication. It elicits a whine, another roll of his hips, and like that you settle into a rhythm of sorts.

“y/n.” Each gasp and moan he lets out have to be specially designed to ruin you, you decide. He seeks your gaze with hazy, lust-ridden eyes. “Please kiss me.”

It’s a brazen request coming from him of all people, and you’re all too happy to oblige. You lean forward, the rock of your hips making you shudder, and connect his lips with your own— he’d sought your kiss as you did so, craning his neck forward and awaiting your lips. It’s a heated kiss from the beginning, given the situation— you don’t fight for dominance so much as assume it from the start. Each press of your tongue, graze of your teeth, has a new sound tumbling from his throat and into your mouth. It makes your heart race even harder than it already was.

It doesn’t take long for tension to begin to build in your abdomen, and you know if you’re already feeling it then he must be even closer. Not wanting this to end just yet, you force yourself to slow your hand down, breaking the kiss and shifting to press your mouth to his neck.

“Wh-what—” he gasps, shuddering as your thumb plays with his slit, rhythm slowed to a stop. Both of you are panting, almost, and you suckle a mark into the junction of his neck before pulling back with a grin.

“Surely that isn’t all you’ve imagined, Jungkook.” You lean forward, pressing a brief kiss to his mouth before pulling back— the way he chases your lips makes your heart squeeze. “What now? Be a good boy, tell me.”

Far from being embarrassed at this point and all but a slave to the haze of lust in the air, Jungkook’s breath hitches and he responds, somewhat tentative if anything, “… ride me.”

“Good boy,” you breathe, offering him a proud smile. He preens beneath your fond look.

You shift, and you think that he must have expected you to stand up fully and remove your clothes, or at least your bottoms, but to his surprise you simply shuffle up and reach beneath your skirt, slipping your panties aside and aligning his member with your entrance. You’re so turned on that you’ve soaked through your underwear, and you know you’ve smeared enough precum along his length that lubrication will be no problem. So you simply lower yourself down until his head parts your lips and begins to sink into you.

At the sheer size of him even as just the tip enters your cunt, you have to halt, gasping, “Fuck!”

If he wanted to respond, you don’t really give him time to; as soon as you get your bearings you continue sinking down onto him. There is a slight burn, of course, but you’re so turned on that it fades quicker than you can register. The sensation of him, the throb, his girth and the way he splits your walls, stretching you more and more as you seat yourself on him— it’s indescribable, and all you can offer is that it feels so good you swear tears are gonna prick at your eyes. From the look on his face, brows scrunched and mouth parted as a long, low groan slips out, you know it must feel just as good for him.

When the back of your thighs press against the top of his his and he’s fully sheathed in you, you feel like you’re about to lose your mind— this position has him so deep in your pussy that with each miniscule shift the tip of his cock presses against a spot that sends delicious jolts of pleasure up your spine. Honestly, if you weren’t so intent on seeing this through, you think you could cum from that sensation alone.

Even as you’re in a mess of pleasure and a haze of desire, you can’t help but tease him some more. You clench your insides, rolling your hips— the sharp, lilting moan he lets out makes your stomach flip. “What now, baby boy?”

You hold his hips down with your hand, feeling them twitch with the urge to rock up into you. A long, drawn groan escapes him. “Do you want to see me? More of me? Or do you want to feel me?”

You take his hand into your hold and guide it up to your chest, slipping it beneath your shirt and bra to cup your breast. His breath hitches, lashes fluttering against his cheekbones as he blinks and attempts to clear the haze from his vision. You relish in the control you have over him until his thumb brushes your nipple and he pinches it, tweaking it instinctively. A moan tears from you, the shock of pleasure that results making you clench around him again; his free hand scrambles for purchase against your thigh, fingers digging in as pleasure washes over him in turn.

Your breath is coming a little faster now. Leaving his hand at your chest, you move it to drag up his neck before threading your fingers in the damp curls at the back of his neck. Finding a firm grip, you tug his head back ever so lightly— it elicits a new moan that you haven’t heard yet, and you really begin to think this boy will be your undoing.

“What do you want?” you ask again, rolling your hips once more. It isn’t fair of you, you know, since you can hardly think yourself from the sensations. “You want me to move, baby boy?”

He nods, attempting to speak through the moan caught in his throat. “Please… fuck me, y/n.”

Well, who are you to say no to that?

Happy to oblige, you engage your thighs and begin to rise— the sensation of him dragging against your walls makes both of you gasp, and you almost falter in your movements from the feeling alone. Gathering your wits as best as you can, you continue your movements, successfully rising and then seating yourself once more. Unable to withhold much longer, you roll your hips and begin to set the two of you into a rhythm.

You stopped paying heed to the noises escaping you a while ago, but you don’t doubt that the sinful sounds tumbling from Jungkook’s mouth as you ride him are a large contributor to the way the tension in your abdomen quickly begins to knot and bundle once more.

Even with as heavenly as it feels, it’s hard to keep up momentum when your thighs begin to burn. Thankfully, Jungkook has more than enough stamina in his thigh muscles for the both of you, and when he senses your fatigue, he brings his grip to your hips to hold them in place before rocking his own up and beginning to fuck up into you.

Needless to say, the pace he sets is much faster and much harder than the one you had. Swears tumble softly from your mouth at the change in intensity of pleasure as it shoots through you, orgasm already approaching much faster than anticipated. Your hands come to grip his on your hips with a cry of his name, knees turning to jelly.

Movement against your hand surprises you, but not as much as the sensation of Jungkook’s hand shifting to thread his fingers with yours. You honestly feel your heart burst, and as he fucks up into you that bit harder you can’t help the way you clutch his hand like a lifeline, the sweet moment quick to pass but most definitely not forgotten.

“G-gonna cum,” you gasp, eyes closing and allowing the slap of skin and Jungkook’s gasping moans to overtake your senses. You don’t forget to indulge him in some praise. “Such a g-good boy, making me feel so g-good.”

He whines at your words, and right as your pleasure approaches its peak you feel his hips stutter and slam up into yours harder than all the times before. The stimulation of that spot deep inside of you is all that’s needed to push you into the throes of your orgasm, and it washes over you more intensely than you’ve ever felt before as you clench and tense with a cry of his name.

Distantly, you feel his own grip on you tighten, and his hips still as they’re pressed against yours. Warmth floods your core, cock throbbing as he empties inside you, and you swear you hear the softest of confessions uttered to the air as he joins you in your high.

He comes down before you do, although you’re not far behind him, and for a moment you sit in place, panting and attempting to come back to your senses. He’s softened inside you slightly, but when you shift and clench on instinct as you do so, feeling cum slide down your thighs, he twitches and throbs inside you.

Taken aback, your gaze whips to him and now that his shame has returned to him, he has the decency to blush. Well, apparently Jeon Jungkook’s stamina really is no joke. Maybe he really was born to be an athlete.

“Greedy. You want more?” There’s a teasing lilt to your voice, and a thrilling mix of fear and excitement dances in his eyes.

“y/n—” he rasps, desperate. You slide off of him, making both of you groan, but return to your previous position on his thigh. He moans as he feels his own cum leak out of you and onto his skin. When your hand comes to wrap around his slick member, he jolts and whines.

“You wanna tell me what you said just before?” you ask, beginning to twist your wrist and stroke his cock ever so slowly. He shakes his head, whether at your question or the overstimulation, you’re not sure— you know it’s probably a bit of both though, considering he twitches in your hold.

“‘S embarrassing,” he murmurs, back arching as you increase your pace just a little. “Ah, y/n!”

“I see. You know, I think I can get you to cum again,” you say, changing tactics.

Jungkook shakes his head, strands of his raven hair plastered to his forehead in sweat. “I can’t—”

“You should tell me,” you say, teasing lilt to your tone. He whines, rocking his hips into and then away from the sensations.

When he shakes his head again, letting it fall back against the wall and baring the column of his throat to you, you jump on his acceptance of the situation. You pick up speed, rolling your wrist and moving in tune with the shifting of his body. It doesn’t take very long before his oversensitivity throws him into another orgasm, stronger than the last but dryer. The few beads of cum that escape seem ever so tantalising as they roll down his length, drawing your gaze.

“You gonna tell me now?” you ask, already knowing the answer. Jungkook slumps against the wall, breathing heavy and sweat glistening on his golden skin. He looks at you through heavily lidded eyes.

“It’s still embarrassing,” he whines, breathy in his exertion.

Right, well. You know what he said, but you want to hear him say it with his own mouth once more and you’ll stay here all night to make that happen if you need to.

Of course, it’s not until a while and another heated moment or two later that Jungkook realises this and gives in.

His confession is so much sweeter on your ears the second time, and of course, as promised, you reward him with your own. It’s worth it for the way it makes his eyes shine, you think.

Jeon Jungkook really has you well and truly whipped.

a/n: thank u for reading and i hope u liked it! im super excited to have completed my first commission and would really appreciate it if u let me know what u think by sending me an ask and liking & rbing this with ur thoughts!! i read & appreciate everything!! thank u !! love u !! peace out !! :D

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headoverhiddles · 4 years ago

Text

The Romance Of A Yellow Rose - Dr. King Schultz x Reader [Smut]

Words: 5.6k

Synopsis: You and King get married, and celebrate your first night together by consummating the marriage.

Commissioned by a friend! Enjoy.

Your eyes open on the rugged planes of the Southern state the three of you had found yourselves in. As you roll over to stretch the sleep out of your body, you find a single yellow rose, native to this area. A smile grows on your face. It’s King’s way of saying good morning to you, as it had been for many months.

For years now, you had been tagging along with Schultz and Django. Having attached yourself to their travels three hot summers ago, the two men had become quite fond of your travelling company; King in particular. Over time, your relationship had evolved from a companionship, through friendship, to having romantic feelings for one another. You were the first to admit to them; King hadn’t wanted to say anything, as he still held a fruitless hope that one day he could return you to the pleasantries of the normal life you once knew, before it had been uprooted. But as the months passed, you getting more and more comfortable and (dare he say) suited to the lifestyle of a bounty hunter, it was becoming apparent that you were going nowhere. Not without him, anyway.

Hildy had decided to stay with some friends in the North while the three of you travelled the country on business. Texas Jack, Turkey Creek and Jack’s wife Camarilla were more than happy to keep her with them. It had put Django at ease at least, knowing they had one less person they had to worry about with them catching a bullet. Hildy was even teaching Camarilla different things she had learned over the years at their home, and the four were getting on fine from what Django took from her letters to him. King wished you had enough sense to stay with them, but where the older bounty hunter went, you went. You had made that quite clear.

Today, a warm day in mid October, you, King and Django were headed to visit a plantation in Conroe, Texas. There an outlaw by the name of Amos “Sly Eye” Little had been posing as an overseer for 3 months, flying under the radar on the small eastern Texan plantation. He wasn’t a particularly dangerous outlaw, only wanted for his habit of skipping out on poker games before paying up. Three months ago, he ended up double crossing the wrong man which led to legal involvement, and now to deter trouble in peaceful towns he was wanted dead or alive by the state. King and Django had discovered upon visiting this plantation that the family who owned it had been dodging the law for a while as well.

After the slaves had been freed by King and Django, this outlaw family just so happened to get in the way of a few bullets. The last man left alive on the property is now Amos.

“Back here!” you call. King dashes toward you, swiping you out of the way as a bullet whizzes by your ear. You sit in shock for a moment, King’s arm still around you. For a man who isn’t very dangerous, this Amos sure is trigger happy.

“Django!” King shouts, but his partner is already far ahead in pursuit. “Never listens,” the doctor mutters, loading his shotgun and aiming. You watch as Django dodges a couple more of the outlaw’s bullets before grabbing Amos by his collar, lifting him up a few feet. The man tries to scramble for his gun, but Django of course is faster. Just as he’s about to fire at close range, King clucks his tongue, looking through his target. “Bullseye.” Your eyes shut briefly as the snap of the bullet leaving the gun jolts you closer to the older man. He pulls you out of sight once more as the bullet hits Amos through the side of his head, out the other side in a bloody deluge. Django jerks his head up your direction, dropping the corpse into the carnage at his feet.

“I was handling it!” he mutters.

King comes out from behind the tree, helping you up with one hand. You brush off your pants as you both approach the other man. “You were being hasty again,” King says.

“I was handling it,” Django insists with a look. You two nudge arms amiably, and King gives you a disapproving look.

“You are encouraging him.” He turns to Django. “And you’re encouraging her.”

“What’s wrong with a little congratulations?” you giggle. “You got your dead cowboy.”

“I would trade a thousand dead cowboys to keep both of you alive. You’re the best things that have ever happened to me, do you know that?” King gives you a meaningful look, before brushing off Django’s jacket and squeezing your hand. “Forget this place. We’d better get the horses and get out of here.”

Taking the initiative, you go off in search of Tony, Fritz and Ida, your mare. Django approaches King, taking off his bloodstained gloves. “You talked to her yet?”

“She doesn’t know, no.” King looks down, nervously stroking one side of his moustache. “I was waiting for the right time.”

“You wait any longer, she’s gonna be burying her husband to be.” King doesn’t bother taking offense—he knows Django is right. He’s much older than you—not one foot in the grave as Django likes to tease, but older. That had been another source of insecurity for him during the burgeoning relationship, but you had made it clear that you didn’t mind; in fact, you liked the difference in age. King’s fellow bounty hunter interrupts his thoughts. “Y’all should get married here. Nice place, no one left in it now.” Schultz looks around the grounds. It is pretty, and it would be nice to marry you in such agreeable weather... but King shakes his head.

“No Django. This place was built on treachery and suffering. It would be not only tasteless, but bad luck to get married here.”

When you three make it to the next town in the state over of Arkansas, something is waiting for King at the inn.

“You Doctor Schultz?” the innkeeper asks, spitting tobacco into a spittoon. King nods, taking out his billfold. The innkeeper sizes him up. “Yep, man who sent this said fella looking like you’d be coming through here. This’s for you.” He takes a letter out from behind the desk in one of the cubbies, and slides it across. King expects it would be from Texas Jack, but it instead it’s from a different friend in the North; a sheriff acquaintance he had written to before about his situation with you. Thanking the man, you all head upstairs, and when King gets to a desk, he slips on his reading glasses.

Thought you’d make your way through this here town, Schultz-

Sounds like a hell of a woman, the one you’ve told me about. You softie. Knew you wanted to settle down, and it’s about damn time, too. What the hell are you doing with her down in the South then? She oughtta be up here. Maybe I’m biased, but there’s a lot more law n order up here. Better people too. I am biased, spose.

You asked me what I thought about asking for her hand. Why wait to marry her? Hell, bring her up, we’ll have a ceremony here! I’m not only a sheriff, but an ordained minister too. Bet you didn’t know that. Wouldn’t kill you to ask. Anyway, no reason why I can’t make things look good, clean up the place nice and host your happy union. Got some more birthday cake here too, for someone to eat. Pretty good.

Come on up when you finally convince yourself she won’t say no.

- G. A.

“You got a letter back from Sheriff Snowy Snow?” Django smirks. King stares at the letter in his hands for a long while, before looking up at him with a smile.

He could do it. He could finally ask for your hand.

“Django, my boy. We’re going to Nebraska.” You overhear, and turn back with the bags.

“Up North? What for?”

“To see an old friend of mine, fraulein,” King says, taking the bags from you to carry inside. “Sheriff Gus Arnett.” You smile. It’ll be nice to get out of all this heat and around some likeminded people—people who King can relax and be himself around.

You had all stopped off to pick up Hildy in Boston after travelling by train through the Southern states and switching back to horsepower as you made your way up through the wintery landscape of barren northern land. It was worth it, of course; King and Django had insisted Hildy come too, and you had been happy for female company.

“Has my troublemaker been behaving himself?” is the first thing Hildy asks you, kissing your cheek in greeting.

“About as much as mine has,” you laugh.

“Coming from the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met. It is you who has been the naughty one,” King chastises you right back.

“Maybe one day, you can teach me a lesson for it.” King blushes as Hildy lets out a loud laugh at the connotations of such a taunt. He knows you’re still virginal, waiting for marriage as you’ve told him before. Once united by matrimony, that’s another wall that could be knocked down between you, if you decided you still wished to give yourself to him.

It was no secret you wanted King, and he had made it plain he would wait for you—he’s a gentleman in every sense of the word. Still, men have needs, and some late nights it had been hard. Many evenings by the fire had ended with you in his lap, grinding down as you kissed him with feverish intensity. It had always ended the same way however, with you heading off to sleep alone and leaving him with nothing but his mind to picture what the next hour may have felt like. This time, King feared he wouldn’t last once he finally got to feel you as he’d wanted to for so long. Either way, he had a silver tongue, and experience in the art of pleasuring a woman. He wouldn’t leave you wanting; whatever you needed he would give you.

Arriving at the snowy lodge some days later, Sheriff Gus Arnett comes out the front door. A couple of minks and rabbits are hanging from the roof over the porch, and two pairs of boots caked with snow are drying outside by a wooden rocking chair that had been collecting frost no doubt since September.

“King Schultz and Django Freeman, in the flesh! Come on in with your little ladies!” he says, opening his arms. You approach first, and he shakes your hand with the assurance of a man who’s not used to gentle handshakes. “I don’t believe we’ve met, ma’am,” he says softly, “But any friend of King’s is a friend of mine. Especially a friend like you.” He winks at you and smirks over at King, who ushers you in out of the cold quickly. Gus tips his hat at Django and Hildy, closing the door after they come in.

“Like I said,” he sighs, “We got some cake. Y’all want some?”

“Perhaps we wait until after dinner?” Schultz proposes.

“I wouldn’t mind some,” Django speaks up, giving King a look. King just chuckles.

“Go ahead, my boy. I was a dentist, remember. Old habits remain, I suppose. Would you like some, (y/n)?”

“I’ll have the piece you didn’t want,” you tease. You lean closer to him to brush your lips against his ear. “When it comes to you, I want everything.” The former dentist swallows. This proposal couldn’t come at a better time, as things between you two are heating up.

That night after dinner of rabbit stew and some leftover cake for dessert for everyone but your beloved, everyone had retired to bed a few hours after the sun had gone down. In your own room, you set your satchel on the bed of clothing you had been travelling with in the South, and just as you’re about to unpack, a knock at the door distracts you from your task. King slowly pushes the door open—he’s dressed in his white shirt and grey vest, his hair freshly combed back. It seems counterproductive to groom that well before bed, but to be fair, you had never personally witnessed King’s nocturnal habits in a place that allows such a luxury. He offers his arm, and when you take it in curiosity, he leads you out the back porch of the lodge home. The wind isn’t too cold tonight, but he still wraps his arm around you. The mountains are beautiful out here, and the snow has stopped for the night to allow for a crystal clear view of the surrounding landscape, snow white on the bottom and starry black on top.

“It’s been a while since we’ve been able to sit together like this,” King says. “Just sit and enjoy one another’s company alone. It’s very rare we get time just the two of us without our faithful hero.” You lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Mm. We’re usually around a campfire, with Django snoring behind us.”

“At least we don’t have any of that to score our evening. I think Django’s gone to bed with Hildy in there.”

“You should be in bed too,” you fret. “I’ve noticed you haven’t been sleeping well.”

“I never have been very good at that. I’m a light sleeper, fraulein. Especially when I have lots on the mind.”

“You know what helps me when I can’t sleep?” You smile. “Something I learned from you.” King turns to look at you, a soft chilly breeze blowing the silver blonde hair from his eyes.

“What’s that?”

“A story.”

King ducks his head, and pulls you closer to him. “I think that would do the trick. Go on then, my love. Will you regale me?”

“I know a story of a deep running love, where a woman slowly developed feelings for one who she learned to depend on.”

“A common story, no?” King teases.

“Shhh. She loved very freely, but this was different. She not only loved this man, but worried about him when he wasn’t around, yearned for him, desired him in ways that drove her crazy sometimes.” King’s breath audibly quickens.

“And what did our heroine do about this tumultuous situation?”

“Oh, she took care of things. But not like she knew he could.” His breath hitches. You bite your lip as you go on. “The two had been together so long... learning one another’s quirks, laughing at little things and sharing moments others wouldn’t understand. They knew what scared them, what made them smile. At the end of the day, she told the man a million times how she adored him. But she was afraid he still didn’t know how much.”

King rubs down your finger, eyes trained on it before looking up at you. “I think I do.” You forget whatever you were going to say next as King rubs his rough fingers over your knuckles, bringing them up to his lips to kiss them. His beard grazes your skin pleasantly as he opens his mouth. “Will you be my wife?” Your heart skips a beat.

“Truly?”

“True as my love for you.”

“Tomorrow?”

“If you wish.” You lean in to kiss him.

The door bangs open, Gus tosses a pail of water out all over you two. He realizes where you two were sitting, and his eyes widen.

"Gott verdammt."

“Oh, hell. I’m— what are the two of you doing out—?” He can’t even finish his sentence—you’re laughing too hard. King tries to keep up a grumpy facade at the fact that you had both just been drenched in ice water in this weather, but he can’t help it. Your laughter is infectious.

“Please tell me there is enough boiled water for a bath,” he sighs, and you shiver. “For the fraulein, at least.”

Django and Hildy had been up to witness the commotion from the noise of it all, no doubt committing the sight to memory for future teasing. They returned comfortably to bed with one another, which was a comfort you and King couldn’t currently afford in your state.

You get to work drawing the bath as Gus passes you each pails of hot water. King comes in, shedding his dripping fur coat and tugging at his tie. Your eyes drift down to his chest, then back up to his face. King subsequently tries to distract himself so as not to focus too hard on you. You had stripped down to your slip, which was stuck to every curve of your body from the water. The temperature hadn’t done much to help any other evidence of the cold, around your breasts. He tries not to look too long.

“Would you take me out of this?” you ask. It’s a harmless question, but King’s thoughts run wild. He could simply refuse you, but what reason would he give then? That he couldn’t control himself around you, so close to your wedding night?

“Of course,” he sighs softly, and approaches. He takes the back of the slip and undoes the buttons, helping you pull it over your head. He inches it up, the wet material dragging along your skin. He turns to go as you’re revealed, and to his dismay, you don’t stop him. Only one more night, and he could have all of you.

As you step out of the lodge, it’s as if you’ve stepped out into a painting. A light dusting of snow is falling over you, snowflakes catching in your eyelashes and melting tracks down your cheeks like tears of happiness. King is standing there at the end of the pathway shovelled out, just by the small lake. It’s frozen over, reflecting the light of the moon through every little icicle hanging from the branches of trees hanging over top of it. Mountains soar around the group of you, boasting the most beautiful landscape you’d ever seen.

King takes your hand as you approach. Beside him, you see Django dressed in a handsome green winter’s jacket, black leather gloves pristine. On your side, Broomhilda is wearing a beautiful green dress under layers of a form fitting brown jacket. You’re in a beautiful snow white dress with furs covering your shoulders and a fur hat. King is also wearing his grey fur coat. The two of you join hands, and recite vows.

“I know I’m a considerable number of years older than you,” King tells you softly, “But I promise to make up for this. I promise to protect you with my life, cherish you, and support you in every endeavor you wish to pursue.”

“I will stay by your side no matter what,” you tell him, “I’ll be brave when you can’t be. I’ll be strong when you need me to be. I’ll love you as long as my heart beats, and oppose anyone who tries to take you away.” Kindness in his eyes, King smiles down at you, crow’s feet crinkling. He lifts your hand up to kiss.

“Do you take this man?” the sheriff asks.

“I do.”

“Do you take this little lady?” King sighs out through his nose, thumbs rubbing over your knuckles.

“I certainly do,” he breathes.

“Well hell, you may kiss the bride then!”

When King leans forward, you surprise him by taking a step forward and wrapping your arms around him, deepening the kiss. It lasts for an eternity between you, and when you part, King brushes the snow off your rosy cheeks and presses his lips to your forehead.

“Ich liebe dich,” he whispers into your hair, and you slide your arms around his middle in embrace.

Inside the bedroom upstairs, a fire crackles in the hearth. The curtains are open to the snowy view outside, and the frost on the glass only makes you savour the warmth inside. King pours you some bourbon, and comes to sit down beside you in front of the fire. As you cuddle into him, he puts a hand on your back and draws you in for a kiss, his beard pleasantly tickling your face. Bourbon forgotten, the kiss deepens, and you feel his tongue slip into your mouth as you part your lips for more. You pull away, smiling.

“Can I ask you something?”

He looks at you. “Of course. What are you thinking about?”

“How does it feel?”

King looks at you. “You will have to be a little more specific.”

“How does it feel to finally consummate a marriage?”

He stares into the flickering fire. “We don’t have to do it if you’re nervous.”

“I didn’t say that,” you say, crawling over to straddle him. King welcomes you into his lap. “I just wanted to know. You’ll show me?”

“I would love to.”

“You know I’m inexperienced.”

“I do,” King nods.

“Isn’t that undesirable?” King seems offended that you would even suggest such a thing, at the very least ruffled by the idea of it.

“My dear, of course not. Being inexperienced merely means I can show you how to do things.” He hums against your neck, grazing his lips down.

“I’m not completely clueless,” you breathe as you tilt your head back to give him better access. You stand in one smooth movement in front of the fire, leaving King sitting and gazing up at you. “I know what fucking is.” You hear his exhaled breath.

“Yes. I would assume you wouldn’t be entirely in the dark about that.”

“But I’ve never felt it,” you whisper. “I wanna feel it, King.” He doesn’t get a chance to respond. You undo your dress, lace by lace, letting your fingers twine slowly between the hooks. You sigh his name as the corset comes free, recalling how you’d longed for him to do this last night, and you hook the straps of your dress under your thumbs, sliding it down to reveal the slip beneath. You hear his breath hitch, but he doesn’t make a move.

You run your hands down over your ass, letting out a soft noise. You hear him readjust where he’s sitting, and you work now on the cream coloured pants beneath the white gown, sliding them down ever so carefully.

“(y/n),” King whispers.

You let out a moan. “I’ve been wanting to get out of this the entire ceremony just to see how you would look at me, seeing me like this for the first time.” You swing your hips a little, arching your back, and finally wiggle some more as you drop your pants to the floor. King’s breathing is heavier now, and you stretch your arms above your head, sighing again as you let your hair free. “Like I said. I may not have done this before, but I know a lot more than you think I do.”

“I’m not certain I believe that, my feisty little one,” King huffs, averting eye contact. Oh, no. Not tonight he doesn’t. You’re only in your chemise now, and you turn to reveal smooth skin he’s never seen before, bunching the fabric up just enough to give him a peek of the v of your hips.

You can see the visible outline of his hardened cock in his pants, straining against the tight confines and desperate for some kind of relief. You put one leg over his lap to straddle him.

“Touch me?” you whisper, and reach down. He doesn’t stop you, just watches closely as you bring your hands to his pants, untie them, and reach in to take his cock in your hand. He does as you say, returning the touch with his hands up your back, taking the straps of your chemise down. He takes a shallow breath as your fingers come in contact with his warm cock. You grin wickedly, swiping your thumb up to spread his precum around a little. He meets your eyes as you pull him fully out of his pants.

“Oh,” he huffs gently, head falling back a little as you stroke him once.

“Is that good?” you ask softly, pressing a kiss to his ear. “Am I doing it right?” King stutters a little, gasping for air when you swipe over his swollen cockhead again.

“You are doing just fine,” King whispers, lips parting.

“Mmm,” you mumble, pressing a trail of wet kisses down his face and lazily taking his lips between your teeth, leading into a dizzying kiss full of tongue and one another’s slow breath.

“Stop. Wait my love,” King mumbles, stalling your wrist with his hand. You pout.

“What’s wrong?”

He opens his eyes to look at you, pupils blown with lust. “After a show like that, I am at your complete and ready service, not the other way around. Tell me exactly what you want me to do,” he whispers gently, and you get off of him, lying back on the floor like a princess awaiting a treat.

“Could you pleasure me with your mouth?”

Your cheeks heat, but King nods with a smile, dispelling any nerves you might have for such an intimate display of sensuality. He lays you on the floor, pressing kisses down your neck, over your collarbone and across the top of the soft skin of your breasts. His hands come up to gently hold your hips down as they circle upward—he moves your legs so he can brace himself between them, pressing more kisses down over your stomach to the impressions on your hips he’s left with his fingers.

“I want you to have me,” you whisper. King strokes one hand along your thigh.

“It takes time to discover each and every spot that will make you weak for me, lieb,” he mumbles, mouthing at your panties with a practiced finesse. “Be a good girl now for me. Be patient. There is more to come.” The bounty hunter takes the panties down with deft fingers, sliding the fabric down your legs until you’re bare to him. Your cheeks heat, but he reassures you with a starstruck gaze, looking over your body like a lovesick man. He dips his head back down with a soft kiss to your thigh, reaching up to hold your hips as if he’s predicted your body’s reaction already. He presses a reverent kiss to your clit, and his tongue takes a sweep of your folds, making you quiver as his beard scratches the soft skin of your thighs. His prediction proves correct when your hips jerk up as he gives his first lick between your lips. You reach back to grab the carpet, before deciding instead to grip onto his blonde and silver locks where his mouth works between your legs. It’s a surreal pleasure—unlike anything you’ve felt before, and you want more.

“Does that feel good?” King asks. All you can do is nod, but he encourages you to tell him exactly how you feel. “Use your words, fraulein.”

“Yes. Don’t stop,” you sigh.

“My good girl.” King dips back down, swirling his tongue around your bud until you’re shaking. Taking care to hold you close to him, he moves himself up until he’s grinding himself against you. “I want nothing more than to be inside of you,” he whispers.

“Take me as you wish then,” you groan.

“Tonight is about you,” he murmurs against your skin.

“I want it.”

Unbuckling himself, he takes his time slowly working a finger inside of you. He adds another and gently curves them up, before gauging your reaction. Going by the desperation in your face, he slowly replaces his fingers with his cock, pausing every inch to check and see if you’re still alright. You can tell how he’s exercising his restraint—you’re so tight, and all he wants to do is take you until both of you are sweaty and screaming, but he must make this last. You can feel him sliding into you, and his hand comes up to hold yours. Your eyes screw shut as he finally bottoms out, and he presses a kiss to your chest. “Tell me when it is okay to move.” You nod.

“Please.” He starts up a slow pace, covering your body with his as he takes his time with you. Too desperate to take the time King might have in mind to teach you patience, you push your lips harder against him, and roll over on top of him. You kiss the bounty hunter, again and again until your lips are swollen and King is painfully hard inside of you.

“Lift up your shirt for me,” he whispers, his voice gentle. “That’s it.”

“Have me,” you mumble.

“What was that?” King asks, “You must use your words if you would like something, hm?”

You blink up at your older lover. “Please take me King,” you raise your voice, and he smiles.

“Hm.” He gives you an affectionate smile. “I have no choice but to oblige my lady love when she asks as nicely as that. Very well. As you wish.”

He pumps in harder, ripping a groan from you. You’d dreamed of what this would feel like, and it turned out better than you had imagined, King’s soft sighs and the rocking of his body against yours heightening every touch he grazes your sensitive skin with.

A moment later, he pulls out and flips you over gently. He then positions himself between your legs and brings his mouth back down between your legs, suckling around your clit again. “King,” you whisper, breath hitching.

“Louder,” he encourages, and goes back to masterfully taking you apart with his tongue. He soon encourages you to sit on his face, and you do, feeling him lick you perfectly as the pleasant feeling of his beard returns to tantalize your skin. He circles your clit with the tip of his tongue as you reach down to touch his cock. It’s a foreign feeling in your hand, but you soon get the hang of the motions, twisting your fist and using his precum to slick your strokes.

“King... don’t stop,” you groan, his tongue delving just barely inside of you. He moves off of your pussy as you moan, and licks his lips.

“I must admit, I wanted nothing more than to do this all day,” he groans as he moves back up your body, “But I am a gentleman.”

“Too much of one sometimes.”

As if in challenge, he picks up his pace and starts to grunt your name, leaning down every now and then between thrusts to press a kiss to your breastbone as his face scrunches up. You love how uncharacteristically possessive King is getting�� it turns you on beyond belief. Your moans grow loud as the bounty hunter’s cock fills you over and over again, satisfying your need for him as your noises blend together into the creak, groan, gasp of making love for the first time.

“K… King…” you groan, breasts bouncing with every thrust. His breath is hot on your neck, and he presses an open mouthed kiss there.

“You are astonishing,” he whispers, “You’re perfect… oh, bitte, bitte Fraulein, you feel so nice… you are my everything.”

“King, just like that, oh god–” you groan, and he makes a noise at your slutty display, reaching up to massage your breasts. You feel your orgasm approach as he continues to touch you, and his hand quickly comes down to rub your clit.

“Ah,” you moan, and clutch his shoulders. King sighs, feeling your pussy squeeze him, and with a stuttered thrust he cums as well, spilling inside you. Soon, you’re crying out his name, and he squeezes your hand tighter as you both finish at the same time, the love you share burning at the height of its passion as your bodies become one. You both rock together to ride out your orgasms until you’re satisfied. Panting breaths mingle as you snuggle close to him.

“Is that what all the fuss was about?” you tease. King frowns at you, and you laugh into his chest.

“Into bed before I take full offense to your jokes, beloved,” he murmurs. You nod, smiling as he helps you up with one hand and carries you bridal style over to the bed covered in furs for a warm night’s sleep together—finally together.

"I am lucky I have such a pretty creature warming my bed tonight," he jokes, "A plucked chicken like me should be very grateful." You huff another laugh, rolling over beside him to finally tuck in with your love.

"I've only ever wanted you. That'll never change, no matter what." You grin. "Tonight only helped solidify that fact."

"So you are with me for my talents in the bedroom, ah!"

"NO--"

"I understand it now."

"King!"

"Shh. Let's sleep now. We will argue like an old married couple in the morning."

The next day, Hildy and Django are already in the living room of the lodge. Gus is in the kitchen making up some breakfast.

“You look radiant this morning,” Broomhilda says, smile wide.

“Yeah. You do look pretty good. Different,” Django nods, narrowing his eyes as if to try and decipher what could have changed about you. Hildy just rolls her eyes, turning back to you from her own husband.

“So. Where’s your significant other?” You grab yourself a cup for the coffee that’s brewing, settling in across from them at the table.

“He’s still sleeping. He worked hard last night.” Tucked in the pocket of your nightgown is a single perfect, yellow rose he had saved you from the South, one King had left his new wife to find upon waking.

#dr king schultz #dr king schultz x reader #king schultz #king schultz x reader #django unchained #quentin tarantino #christoph waltz #christoph waltz x reader #django #django fanfiction #tarantino fanfiction #dr schultz #reader x dr king schultz

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formulatrash · 4 years ago

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I think Alan jones is right 🤷‍♀️ Daniel sounds like some rookie, why was he so rattled by the replays? None of the other drivers said anything about it why the hell is he having a tantrum? It obviously got to him bc he had a terrible restart and got eaten up by the pack behind him, I know we love babying the drivers but thats weak. And whether we like it or not people want to see that stuff

I debated whether to post this because to me you’re very wrong but actually I think it’s good to think about these things. And to try to see it from your perspective, maybe because so many people seem to think this way.

It’s really difficult, as someone who’s sort of - oh, this is wank but like - speaking from inside racing, cus I watched the Bahrain GP from a media centre surrounded by team personnel, not to get incredibly angry at this. So I’ve sat on it for like a week to calm down and think how to discuss this properly because it would be too easy to get emotional. I do get there is a gap in perception, here.

Just because other drivers didn’t speak up about it doesn’t mean that they felt unaffected by the footage being replayed over and over. Attitudes like Alan Jones’ are what makes them suppress things they have every right to speak out on, professionally. They absolutely should have the right to agree whether footage of their or their peers bodies being mangled and broken is used again and again or at the very least, we should all accord them the respect to listen to their opinions about it and invite them to talk about it more.

When Grand Prix racing was first on TV they’d show drivers burning to death in their cars while the race carried on around them; we obviously don’t think that’s right anymore, both the callousness to the drivers’ lives and to broadcast someone dying violently for the sake of sport but at the time, it was viewed as part of the character. The TV camera doesn’t have any inherent ethics, it’s just a lens but what we choose to frame in it is important.

The viewer has a passive role in what you’re shown; you can’t select it. If it’s on the broadcast, there’s an inherent assumption that it’s ok to be on the broadcast, that this is a good or interesting thing to see. I don’t know if Liberty being an American company, where crashes are replayed a lot, lot more is a factor here but it felt very unlike modern F1 to replay it so many times.

The way that we portray the drivers and the role we give them in being able to decide that and consent to it (or to terms that they broadly agree to) should be empathetic. Because then it doesn’t come across as cheap repetition, that encourages every armchair FIA safety expert to come out with their own nonsense version of events - I understand car safety structures a lot better than twitteruser471 who reckons if Romain was a better driver he would have simply been able to not be on fire and I would never attempt to hazard a guess about what happened in a crash without proper information and data.

People are curious about things - I think it would have been best to have shown it once, after it was clear Romain was ok and then to work on preparing analysis, have a statement and timeline of events and what we know happened with it ready for the end of the Grand Prix. Knowing what happened lets people process something, endless speculation is a route to panic and well, literally trauma.

The drivers are filmed as part of competing in F1 but the idea that that gives the broadcasters the right to show whatever they like without needing to justify it is wrong and part of the culture that gets bandied about that they should be willing to endure anything to be in the sport. Yes, being an F1 driver is a privilege but that shouldn’t come parcelled with signing away the right of FOM to traumatise your mum.

Let’s be clear on one thing: Romain survived that crash but until the FIA investigation is concluded, we don’t know whether that was because you could have expected him to or a total fluke. Safety systems such as the halo did their job but the crash itself was unexpected, unprecedented, none of the systems on the car were designed to work in those circumstances, they just - thank god - managed to add up into a series of tiny bits of luck that did. What you see in that accident isn’t someone dying but a few millimetres of change it it could be; it is a deadly-high-speed impact, it is a deadly hot fire, it is the absolute limits of what the survival cell and halo can bear and try to protect the driver inside.

That can seem difficult to understand because he got out. But getting out and it being fine are very different things. Every crash is dangerous, freak things can happen at relatively low speeds and without anything apparently dramatic - like Billy Monger and Jamie Caroline’s British F4 crash.

Romain’s crash is a deadly one. What you are watching on the replay is a tiny, sliver-thin chance that a man lived or at least, wasn’t horribly, critically wounded. I’m not saying that to be dramatic or to over-exaggerate it: a 53g crash through an Armco barrier, with a fuel fire, just is that serious.

Lewis has spoken often about just how dangerous F1 is - and how little people realise it still is - and Lando and a couple of the others have spoken about how scared their families are when they go racing. Replaying something so, so, so close to being deadly to the point of, as Daniel identified, amusement, is tasteless to the people that worry about them - including themselves - and reductive of the risks.

I guess if you don’t know anyone who races cars you could view it as a video game perspective. It’s ok, Romain got out, we passed that level and now it doesn’t matter. For a lot of people, though, what you see every time is all the ways he doesn’t. Because that was an unbelievably close one - Romain himself has talked about believing he was accepting death as he sat in the burning cockpit.

The interview, afterwards, that most got to me was Guenther Steiner. He’s a hard man, who’s been in racing a long time and is performatively aggressive, unsympathetic, in many ways the stereotype of what a brutally pragmatic team boss has to be. He stood there on Sky last Thursday shaking and stutteringly incoherent, five days after the accident, not able to look at the footage - because he nearly lost his driver.

Every single one of Romain’s team was watching that footage as it was forcibly looped over the screens in the paddock and pit lane. Yes, you are glad he got out - of course, that’s the most important thing - but knowing that he did doesn’t make replaying that and seeing how small the margin by which he did really was any less upsetting.

If watching the crash means nothing to you, it doesn’t mean that the people who are affected by it are weak. Everyone has a different understanding of things - you can not care what you’re watching or even think that it would be acceptable to watch a driver die but for the vast majority of people in the sport, neither of those things are considered ok.

#cn: crash #Bahrain GP #crash #grosjean crash #tw: crash #f1 asks #f1 safety

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the-untamed-obsession · 4 years ago

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Despair | XueXiao x Reader

I know. But don’t worry, it’s just angst. Pure angst. I’m sorry if it seems like a little bit of a mess, it’s 4:30am and I’m really tired but I really needed/wanted to finish this. Happy reading💖

WARNING: mentions of severe depression and suicidal thoughts!

Word count: 1.8k

Summary: After their deaths, you’re expected to continue on living. But how can you? You’re so alone now, all alone with your thoughts of despair.

Your eyes scanned the road where many people walked, busy with their daily lives. You watched as couples passed by, then children, then adults, then people who were by themselves, and so on.

Your emotionless face didn’t change as a little girl ran towards you and stopped. She stared at you for a moment, but you looked away giving her no reaction. She took the hint and ran off, but she reminded you of her.

A-Qing.

You shook your head and kept looking ahead, your eyes following each person that passed by. But none of it brought you any solace. It only worsened the ache in your heart. How were you supposed to continue like this? How were you supposed to stay strong? How were you supposed to move through life like this?

You were miserable. The world was so bland and tasteless. The colors were gone, the life was gone, everything that made your day worth living every single day was gone. Just like that, in the blink of an eye, everything had been taken from you.

What could you have done? A lot, actually. There was a lot you could’ve done, but you were just too naive. Things had been great, things had been so perfect… then HE came along. He ruined everything, he took away your happy little family.

What could you do now? Mourn. But it wasn’t enough. Every day was harder to deal with. Every day seemed like a hassle. Everyday was just another miserable reason to join them.

Even now, a full year later, you would still imagine looking up to see them walking towards you. Every time you’d hear your voice, your hope would spike and you’d feel like you’d see them laughing at you. Laughing the way you used to.

But you knew that was all a delusion. There was nothing to fix the void in your heart. There was nothing that could take the pain away. There was nothing that could fix you.

Your eyes fell to the cup in front of you. Your fingers reached around it and picked it up; you saw the liquid swirl inside. It was tea, you’d lost your taste for alcohol a while ago.

Not that it mattered, anything you ate or drank tasted like sand. Whether it was a delicious meal or the best alcohol around. It was all the same to you.

Sweets were also something you avoided. Especially the one Xingchen bought you. You remembered the days where you woke up and found a piece of candy beside you. You’d remember the smile on Xue Yang’s face every time you gave him some. You’d remember the pout on A-Qing’s face when you’d tease her about eating too many.

All of those were just memories. Annoying little memories that never went away. How could you enjoy them, anyway? Everything that brought you joy, was taken away from you.

Your hand touched your chest as the tears pooled in your eyes. Why? Why Xingchen? Why A-Qing? Why… why Xue Yang? He had changed his life around, he’d promised he would bring him back… he never got the chance.

You smiled as you finally saw your home in the distance. It wasn’t the prettiest, but you loved it. You lived there with the people you considered your family.

Xiao Xingchen, Xue Yang, and A-Qing. All three of them meant so much to you. You weren’t even sure when you began to fall in love with Xingchen and Xue Yang, but you didn’t hate it. Neither did they.

Nothing really changed between you three. There was a day where you three sat down and talked about your relationship. It was pleasant to admit your true feelings.

From that day forward, you three had been in a relationship. A-Qing caught it rather quickly, claiming even though she was blind she could practically smell the romance.

She treated you 3 like her family as well. Everything had been so perfect.

You walked in and saw a crying Xue Yang with no Xingchen or A-Qing. You were concerned, terrified even.

“Wh-what happened?” You asked, grabbing his arm. He was a mess, a sobbing mess with a pouch in his hands. “Xue Yang… Xue Yang!”

“(Y-Y/n)...” he murmured, tears steaming down his face.

“Where are they?” You asked, taking his shoulders. “Where are they? WHERE ARE THEY?!” You knew. You just knew.

Xue Yang moved aside and you looked behind him and felt your heart shatter. It almost felt like your heart stopped. In fact, it would’ve been better if it did.

You saw Xingchen laying there, still as a statue. You saw the large slit on his throat and your hand flew to your mouth. Your knees buckled and you fell to the ground, but almost immediately shot up and ran to the man in white.

“XINGCHEN!!” The scream that tore from your lips broke Xue Yang further than he’d already done so himself.

You fell to the ground beside Xingchen and reached out with shaky hands.

“Xi-Xingchen! W-wake up… pl-please. D-don’t le-leave me! Say something! Say s-something Xingchen!”

Xue Yang watched in horror as the words Xingchen cried out, you were crying out now. Your hands were hitting Xingchen’s chest in an attempt to wake him, but it wasn’t possible.

“XIAO XINGCHEN!!! WAKE UP!!!”

You felt arms around you and tried to shove them off, but they were firm.

“I’ll bring him back! I swear!” Xue Yang cried out, wanting any way to soothe your pain. “I swear! I promise you, I’ll bring him back!!”

You had believed him, knowing that he truly meant it. Xue Yang- whatever he’d done- had regretted it and wanted to make it better. He kept you in the dark with most things, but you accepted it, now only having him. Not like it was much different. Unlike Xingchen, you never knew of Xue Yang, so you couldn’t earn him or protect him.

In one day, everything had changed. Your family had been torn apart and you were too terrified to lose the last person you cared so deeply for.

So you believed him and went along with it. You didn’t stay with him, but he visited you every single night. He brought you candy- none of which you ate- and he often brought you food.

One day, Xue Yang didn’t return. You felt immense fear immediately and went out searching for him. You’d heard word that someone- matching Xiao Xingchen‘s description- was seen near Yi city.

Back home?

It didn’t matter. You went back in search of both of them, hoping to find either Xingchen or Xue Yang.

You found Xue Yang.

Dead on the ground, missing one arm, but a piece of candy in the other. It had happened all over again. You’d lost whatever was left of your family.

“Xue Yang? H-hey… Xue Yang…” you said, falling beside him. “Th-this isn’t f-funny. St-stop! Your jokes aren’t funny! Wake up! Wake up right now!” Tears streamed down your face and you let out a pained scream, one that echoed all around you.

You pulled Xue Yang into your arms, unable to handle what had just happened. His blood stained your clothes but you didn’t care.

When did this happen? Who killed him? Where were they? Would you be able to catch them? What would you do when you did catch them? Would you kill them too?

So many questions bombarded your mind but you had no answers. All you could do was pull Xue Yang all the way back to where Xingchen was and put him in a coffin beside him.

A-Qing was still missing. No matter what, you’d find her. You’d find her and keep her safe.

You poor fool.

If only you’d known. Only a few weeks after, you’d found out that A-Qing had become a ghost who begged other cultivators to ward them off. She even searched for someone to help kill Xue Yang, the cause of it all.

Learning the truth didn’t help anything. You’d learned everything overtime, piecing together some of your own thoughts.

Song Lan had appeared one day, he fought Xue Yang who cut out his tongue and turned him into a fierce corpse. A-Qing had seen it all and told Xiao Xingchen, who told her to run and hide.

Xingchen confronted Xue Yang, who lost it and taunted Xingchen with the one thing he couldn’t handle. Killing his own best friend, one who he’d given his own eyes to. Xingchen had taken his own sword and ended his life. You’d come home the next day.

Useless. You were so useless! You did nothing to save anyone! You couldn’t save Xue Yang, you couldn’t save A-Qing! You could save Xingchen! What good were you?

For someone who claimed family was so important, you sure as hell let your own down.

Ever since then, you’d been wandering the world. You didn’t know what to do. Would you go looking for Song Lan and kill him for ruining everything? Would you kill Wei Ying for daring to come back to life when no one you cared about could? What could you do?

Nothing.

As usual, you weren’t able to do anything. All you were good for was crying and regretting every life choice.

What would they want? What would they want you to do? Xingchen would probably want you to move on or something. A-Qing would probably suggest marrying some rich clan leader or something. Xue Yang might suggest you get revenge.

But you were tired. You were so tired and your mind kept replaying scenarios where your life would've been different. You kept wishing and begging for the universe to give you another chance but it never did.

Every day you woke up realizing your mistakes. Your inability to help anyone, your inability to do anything. Your mind replayed one thing and one thing only:

“Useless (y/n)...” you murmured as you took a sip of the tasteless tea. A tear slid down your cheek and you watched it hit the table below. It was soon followed by dozens more.

Even now, you couldn’t let go. You couldn’t move on. What was the point anyway? They’d all still be dead.

One thing you often wondered about was joining them. You tried. You tried living on your own. You tried for a whole year to continue without them, but it was so hard. It was almost as difficult as bringing them back to life.

But before you ended your time on this miserable planet… you needed two things.

Xingchen’s sword, Shuanghua, and his spirit pouch.

You glared up at the bright blue sky that taunted you, vowing to get both of them from Song Lan. There was nothing else left in the world for you… but those two things… you so desperately needed them.

#mdzs reader insert #mdzs x reader #mdzs #mdzs imagine #the untamed xiao xingchen #xiao xingchen imagine #mdzs xiao xingchen x reader #xiao xingchen x reader #mdzs xue yang #xue yang #xue yang x reader #xue yang x xiao xingchen #xuexiao #mdzs xue yang x reader

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backtothestart02 · 6 years ago

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When Time Stands Still - 3/?

A/N: I really like this chap!! I hope you do too!! :D

*Many thanks to @valeriemperez for beta’ing!

Chapter 2 -

Light streamed through the windows, warming his face in lines due to the half-closed blinds. He knew it would be time to get up soon, and that if he didn’t do it in the next five minutes, first an alarm would go off, then a pounding on his door, and then a barking by whatever individual was assigned for that day – or week – to awake all the citizens in the building.

He sighed and forced his eyes open, blinking away the sleeping dust that clung to his eyelids. He pulled back the thin cotton blanket that had half-fallen off in his sleep and swung his legs over the side of the bed, pressing the red button on his bedside table that alerted security that he was awake.

He counted to five slowly, then pushed himself to his feet and padded across the all-white room to the all-white wardrobe that held all white garments inside – one for each day of the week. White pants, white socks, white shoes, white t-shirts, both short-sleeved and long, and a thicker stiffer white jacket meant to be worn for when dealing with chemicals. The blast of white would’ve been overwhelming if it hadn’t been the only sight he’d seen as far as back as he could remember. When he was in this room, sometimes he forgot what other colors could exist. He saw brown hair and hazel eyes in the mirror, but the blinds were sealed behind glass, and they couldn’t be opened more than they were. The light could be adjusted in the room, but usually it was done automatically, without his aid.

It had taken a while to learn the simplest things, though he was told often how quick of a learner he was. His mind only took him back three months, but apparently he’d been in this place for six. He wondered if that’s when he had been born. He couldn’t remember a mother or father or siblings or friends. Had he always been this old? Had he always been alone?

But he wasn’t alone. There were millions of other people outside these walls. And Clifford Devoe was his creator. He made sure he was fed, educated, clothed, given a place to sleep and a place to work every single day. He owed his life to the man who alternated between brutality and kindness as easily as he breathed.

Still, he couldn’t complain. He hadn’t been made an example of yet. That meant he was still alive.

He was dawdling, reluctant to start another monotonous day of classes and work. His position was janitorial. Luckily, he wasn’t the only janitor in the city, but he was responsible for cleaning one nine-story building in the heart of downtown Central City. He was given nine hours to accomplish it every day. It wasn’t thrilling, but all the windows in that building were clear glass with nothing blocking their vision – no blinds or drapes or anything concealing the inside of every room to the brilliance of the city.

He longed one day to go beyond the inner city to the water front he could faintly see in the distance when he reached the higher levels, but exploring any place beyond living quarters, work place, and the educational facility were only for those who finished their work for the day. He’d yet to meet anyone who had.

He heard someone coming down the hall and knew he’d taken too long. Quickly, he finished changing his clothes, moved into the tiny bathroom to brush his hair, teeth, and apply deodorant. He slipped on his shoes that were only slightly scuffed on the bottom. When the door opened barely a minute later, he was ready to go.

“Mr. Allen.”

Barry nodded once.

“I’m ready.”

The man, large and strong, gestured toward the hall and then began to walk. Barry quickly followed.

Three flights down in a bright white stairwell took Barry to the first level where many other people dressed in identical white garb were waiting. The man made an announcement to follow and together all thirty of them were led outside.

Barry wanted to stop, breathe in the fresh air, relish the warm sun hitting his face fully, take a walk maybe just to see the city streets, to experience them.

But there was no time for that. He knew better than to try it again. Instead he followed the others to the white bus waiting in front of the building. They all climbed inside, walking past the man in similar white garb sitting in the driver’s seat. Once everyone was counted, the man from the building took a seat in the very first row, and the bus began to move.

Barry counted the seconds, 587 of them, until the vehicle came to a stop. He peered out the window as he waited for the people in the rows in front of him to get up and go to the front of the aisle. He saw the tall white building. All the windows except for the ones at the very top were painted over, so white they looked like walls from the inside.

“Mr. Allen.”

The burly voice snapped him out of his fascination, his curiosity. Once he realized he was the only one left on the bus, he quickly got to his feet and walked to where the man was glaring at him with piercing green eyes.

He almost apologized, opened his mouth to do so, but then thought better of it. He would stutter, just as he had the last time, and that would land him in a dark room for hours and no breakfast.

There was nothing he hated more than complete darkness.

Outside on the pavement, he got in the back of the single-file line and entered the building, in step with the others – left, right, left sounding off in his head as it did every morning. He didn’t know why those words were so ingrained into his mind, but given that they were in his creator’s voice, he suspected they were part of his early lessons he couldn’t remember. He didn’t question it, but he was curious.

Bright white enveloped him again as they entered the building. People were milling about, on to one task or the other. Not everyone could fit into the cafeteria for breakfast, but this was the time slot allowed for the first three floors of his building. He followed the others as they got in line, not looking forward to the tasteless food awarded him for getting up this early and not being allowed to take in the sun outside.

But he was looking forward to one thing. It made this detestable meal worth it every morning. Everyone else mutely accepted food from the servers behind the counter, but when he reached the woman who promptly dumped applesauce in a small bowl on everyone’s trays, Barry Allen couldn’t help but smile. He couldn’t remember smiling at anyone but her. It was an odd sensation that he couldn’t describe. He couldn’t remember being taught what it meant in any class he’d taken, by any lesson Mr. Devoe had given him. But when he smiled at her, he felt a warm sensation bursting in his chest. When he got her to smile back, even a little, he felt as if his feet were leaving the floor and floating in the air.

It was no different today.

Nearly skipping, he made his way down to her, and when she made to dump a large spoonful of applesauce into the bowl positioned on his plate, he spoke up.

“Two helpings, please.”

She paused, nearly sending the applesauce in her spoon to fall onto the counter before he quickly moved his bowl to catch it.

“Got it,” he said easily, proud of his accomplishment.

“U-um,” she stuttered. He was slightly proud of that too.

“I didn’t take any of the oatmeal.”

She looked over at his tray. “Or the carrots.” Her eyes widened, then she looked up at him. “Or anything else.”

Her look of concern warmed him, almost as much as the sun.

“I’ll take a big glass of milk. Don’t worry about me.”

She shook her head but wordlessly agreed, giving him a second helping of the applesauce so his bowl nearly overflowed. The person behind him cleared their throat loudly, and he knew he needed to speed this up.

He leaned over the counter a little, easy to do because of his height, and lowered his voice.

“You look beautiful today, Iris,” he said, glancing down at her nametag even though he didn’t need to.

She met his eyes, shock reverberating through her. He didn’t blame her. A beat later, he was shocked himself. He’d meant to compliment her, but the word beautiful… He couldn’t remember every learning it.

“T-Thank you,” she managed, and he saw that his compliment had landed, even if she was equally confused by it.

“H-Hey!” The person behind him growled. “The rest of us need food too!”

Barry nearly jumped out of his skin, but he finally took some steps forward, though not looking away from the woman behind the counter until he could no longer see her while staying in line.

Just before he forced to look away, he saw it, and triumph arced through him.

She smiled.

…

On the couch across the room, her short nails digging into her jeans, Jesse tried to remain calm. Of all the things she had expected to happen today, her ex-boyfriend showing up on her doorstep to tell her all the people on Earth 1 – including her father – had been brainwashed for the past six months, and he was only telling her now because these people called the ‘Legends’ had convinced him to, was the last thing she would have thought of. In fact, she would have never imagined this scenario in a million years.

Wally was pacing in front of her, trying to remember every detail. The child he’d brought with him was his baby sister apparently. She supposed she’d have to take his word on that. She did vaguely remember her dad mentioning a pregnant Cecile that he’d made a device for due to her mind-reading capabilities. It was likely this was the same woman who had given birth to the child now in Wally’s possession. Still, it was a lot to take in.

“Wally, sit down,” she finally said.

He sat in the chair nearest him, which thankfully wasn’t right next to her. She didn’t know how she felt about him at the moment, but she knew she needed space. She needed to think. Especially if she was going to tuck her feelings away to come up with a solution.

“So, just to recap-”

“Mhmm.”

“This Devoe guy brainwashed everyone on Earth 1 with some intricate technology, and you left everyone besides your baby sister behind when you found them all that way six months ago.”

His lips parted.

She met his eyes, holding tight to the anger inside her and directed it to her nails digging into her pants.

“Is that right?”

“Jesse, I-”

She closed her eyes. “Just answer the question, Wally.”

He sighed, then nodded. “Yes.”

“And you have no idea what’s going on there now, if your family is even still…alive.”

His exasperated sigh was louder than intended.

“Jesse-”

“Wally.” She shot him a warning glance. “Just answer the question.”

He pursed his lips. “No,” he managed. “I didn’t see them before I came here.”

She leaned back on the couch and folded her arms across her stomach, unable to look at him.

“Because?” she finally asked.

He got up and stood in front of her.

“Because if I had gotten caught, there would be no hope for them. You wouldn’t know. The Legends wouldn’t know I’d been caught. Your dad? He’d be lost. For good. And if you ever came for a visit, chances are you would be too.”

That started to hit home for her, but she was still irritated. So she stood up and walked past him, careful not to be too close.

“So, what are you expecting from me, Wally? You think I’m so smart, I just have an instant solution to this mess? I’m not…my dad.”

His brows furrowed, and he approached her. Only one step because he could see her watching his steps, ready to bolt if she decided he was invading her personal space.

“You’re smarter than you think, Jess.”

Jess.

The nickname he’d called her the first time he told her he loved her. . She’d loved it so much that he kept on saying it. Hearing it now was bittersweet, and in her current state it almost felt like a weapon.

Wally’s voice interrupted her thoughts, as did the couple steps he took closer that she eyed warily.

“Maybe you don’t have an instant solution, but…I mean, don’t you have…a team?”

She blinked and looked up at him. The suggestion completely blindsided her, given how the guys on her team had shot glares at him the last time he was there, making it look like they thought he had broken her heart when it was the other way around. For his part, Wally didn’t look particularly pleased to see them either or how close they stood to his recent ex-girlfriend. Jesse made a point to quickly separate them, so she could speak to him alone.

She’d been too afraid to break up with him in person, so she wasn’t pleased when he showed up. But the last thing she needed was him thinking she’d developed feelings for someone on her team and that was the reason she was breaking things off. So, she put aside her nerves and spoke to him alone – far from her STAR Labs alone where the guys couldn’t overhear her, since she also turned her com off.

But that felt like a lifetime ago.

‘You’ve got to be kidding me’ was written across her face even though she didn’t speak the words.

She didn’t want to say ‘those guys hate you’ or ‘I thought you didn’t like them’ because he’d never acknowledged how uncomfortable or annoyed he’d been by their sole interaction. But it was hard to ignore, and her guys had no trouble talking trash about Wally when they thought she wasn’t listening until she called them out on it. This was a disaster waiting to happen.

“How many of there are you?” he asked, seemingly unaware of how badly she was spazzing inside her head. “Five? Six?”

“Seven,” she said.

His eyes widened. “Se- I didn’t count that ma-”

She waved that off. “He’s a recent add-on.”

“He?” he asked, and she wondered if there was just a hint of jealousy in his voice.

She stomped on the brief spurt of satisfaction that gave her. He was acknowledging he didn’t really like the guys on her team. So what? It didn’t mean he still had feelings for her.

That last thought shook her to the core, and she angrily cursed herself.

You broke up with him, remember?

“He’s a kid.” She waved him off. “Thirteen, maybe fourteen. An orphaned speedster. I took him in.” She took a breath. “I’m training him.”

Wally relented, thinking for a few moments before speaking up again.

“So…what do you think? Will they help us?”

You, she thought. But she didn’t say that. Her dad was on Earth 1 too. She’d do anything to save him.

“Maybe,” she said, contemplating. “I mean, they weren’t really fans of my dad, so I don’t know if that’s a strong selling point… Of course, they’re heroes and should want to save innocent lives regardless, but-”

“You could mention that Barry almost single-handedly saved your world from Zoom – and freed you after you’d been kidnapped.”

Her eyes lit up at that. Guilt quickly replaced the excitement when she realized after everything that happened, that fact had slipped her mind.

Her lips twitched slightly as she took in Wally holding his breath as he stood there waiting.

“That just might work.”

*Also posted on AO3.

#westallen #quickwest #fanfiction #backtothestart02 fanfiction #when time stands still #chapter 2

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baronessblixen · 7 years ago

Note

Please will you write me a sick/comfort fic? Those gifs of sick puppy Mulder have made me yearn for some good old fashioned sweet nurturing. I don't care who nurtures who. Illness or injury I'm not fussy! There is no one in the fandom more qualified to do this than you. Pleeease? 🤗🤗🤗🤗

Thank you for your prompt and your confidence. I fear that a) it got long, and b) it is not really what you asked for. It’s where the muse took me.

Tagging @today-in-fic

“Mulder,let me at least help you.” Scully stands in the doorway of her kitchen with alook of mild concern on her face. Or maybe that’s the nausea that’s been plaguingher for over a week now. Mulder feels her eyes on him as he unpacks the plasticbags from the store. He’s never been grocery shopping for her before; they’venever even done it together. Lately, though, they’ve had a lot of firsts.

“You’dhelp me if you stayed in bed, or at least on the couch, and rest,” Mulder tellsher with a stern look. She opens her mouth and he stops her before she can saya single word. “Don’t tell me you’re fine, Scully. We both know you’re not.”

“It’sjust a stomach bug. You don’t need to take care of me.”

“Butcan I, please? I want to take care of you.” They’ve been over this beforeplenty of times. Mulder finally won the first round when Scully sent him off tothe supermarket all by himself. She stares at him and sighs. He gets it. Atleast he thinks he does. Scully hates being sick. Even if it’s just a stomachbug – and that, in Mulder’s opinion, is still debatable anyway. He keeps thatparticular opinion to himself for now. This is new for her; for both of them.It’s the first time either of them is sick now that they’re… whatever they are.They have yet to put a label on it. As Mulder looks at her now, her skepticeyes and crossed arms, he thinks nothing has changed at all. Except that theykiss now, sometimes, and share a bed, every once in a while.

“Whatif you catch this bug too?” Scully asks instead.

“Thatis the least of my concern, Scully. And if I do catch it, you can take care ofme. Deal? Now go take your hot-water bottle and let me make you soup.”

“Soup,Mulder?”

“Yes,soup. You need to eat something besides these tasteless crackers you’ve beenmunching on.”

“Doyou know how to make soup?”

“Ido know how to open a can, Scully.”

“Ifyou need my help-“

“Scully…”

“If,Mulder. I’ll be on my couch.”

Hewaits until he is certain that she’s back in the living room before he unpacksthe last bag. Mulder stares at the rather small, rectangular box. He shouldn’thave bought it. He knows this. But as he walked through the aisles he came pastit and paused. The chances were slim. Nonexistent, Scully might say if sheknew. He hears the TV come on in the living room and he puts the box back inthe bag. He hides it in the highest cupboard behind an old, dusty cow-shapedmug.

Soup,he reminds himself. Scully’s kitchen is equipped with the best and newestgadgets. No rusty can openers in her drawers. Mulder stares at the kitchenhelper and is baffled. How is that thing supposed to work? He stares at theopen doorway and wonders if he should just ask Scully. But no. He can open thiscan of soup by himself. Mulder applies the can opener in the only way thatseems logical to him. Nothing happens. He tries again with the same result.Mulder inspects it and then applies it again in a slightly different way.Finally, the blade digs into the metal.

“Ha!”He twists the opener again and again and it barely moves. “Are you kidding me,”Mulder mumbles under his breath and twists harder. The metal blade jumps offthe rim of the can and right into Mulder’s finger. Blood splatters comicallyonto Scully’s kitchen counter and Mulder yelps. Or screams. All he knows isthat he makes a noise. One that doesn’t sound funny at all.

“Mulder!”Scully rushes into the kitchen and he turns to her, a simple reflex, and theblood drips, drips onto the floor. “What did you do?”

“It’sa good thing you’re a doctor, Scully,” Mulder says feeling light-headed,“because I feel just about ready to faint.”

“Noone is going to faint, Mulder.” But he feels dizzy and leans heavily againsther; she huffs and pushes him towards the kitchen chairs where he slumps downinto one. She grabs a dishtowel and hands it to him. “What on earth did youdo?”

“Thesoup,” he says with a voice that is barely there. “I just wanted to make yousoup.”

“OhMulder.” Scully runs her hand through his hair. “Let me see.” Gently she takesthe towel away; it’s already stained with red splotches. Mulder looks at herface instead, feeling as queasy as Scully has lately. “It needs stitches.”

“Thisis not how the evening was supposed to go,” he says with a pout but she giveshim a smile and pats his cheek.

“It’snot a deep cut, at least. We can fix it here.” His eyes light up. “You reallyare lucky I’m a doctor.” She kisses his cheek softly and he almost forgetsabout the cut and the blood and the pain. “I’m just going to get my first-aidkit. Don’t move, Mulder. I mean it. And keep the towel tightly wrapped aroundyour finger.” Mulder does as he’s told and waits for her to return. As she sitsdown across from him, he realizes how pale she looks.

“I’mso sorry, Scully.”

“Iwas kind of looking forward to the soup,” she says with a mischievous smile asshe disinfects his wound expertly. He hisses in pain.

“Iknow I said I could open a can, but Scully, what even is that thing you call acan opener? You’ll have to do it yourself, I’m afraid. I can, however, heat itfor you.”

“Ithink I better do that, too. I’m not in the mood to extinguish any fires tonight.”They’re quiet for a moment and Mulder tries not to look at his finger. But withher face so close he sees pearls of sweat on her forehead.

“Howare you feeling?” He asks her. He’s been asking the same question for over aweek now. Ever since she was late on Tuesday because she wasn’t feeling well. Heasked every time she spent more than five minutes in the bathroom at work andreturned with an ashen face. The answer has been each time and he doesn’texpect her to reply with anything but I’m fine. The moment stretches on andScully doesn’t answer, concentrates on stitching him up.

“Doyou need a painkiller, Mulder? How bad is the pain?” She doesn’t look at him.

“I’lltell you when you tell me how you’re feeling. You’re not fine, Scully.” Still,she refuses to look at him. Mulder puts two fingers under her chin and gentlylifts it. Her pupils are dilated, her cheeks hollow and pale.

“It’sjust a stomach bug.” Scully’s voice wavers, uncertainty sneaking in unasked.

“Youneed to see a doctor,” he says in a soft whisper.

“Iam a doctor, Mulder.” She points at his perfectly stitched up finger.

“Whatare you so afraid of? You don’t think it’s…” He can’t even say the word.Cancer. Mulder refuses to think it. Scully shakes her head, puts her hand onhis cheek to reassure him. Her fingers are cold and he almost shivers from itso he puts his own hand over hers, warming them both.

“That’snot it… I- the symptoms are, well. It’s just a bug, Mulder.”

“Whatif it’s a different kind of bug?” She furrows her brows. “I mean what if… it’snot like we talked about it or,” he swallows hard. It’s not like they havetalked about anything. One day they were partners, friends. The next night theywere kissing for the first time, then suddenly for the hundredth. Now they’rehere, a matching, damaged pair, glancing at each other in silent confusion. “Orused any protection.” Mulder says, takes her hand off his cheek and into his.She stares at him with wide-open eyes. He knows she entertained the thought;it’s as clear as day now. Yet neither dares to say the actual words.

“That’snot a possibility. Can we please not talk about it?”

“But…”Her eyes plead with his and he nods, gives in. “I say we heat up this soup andthen you can do with me whatever you want.” Mulder waggles his eyebrows at herand she smiles, though it looks sad.

“I’mnot really hungry. Can you just hold me for a while, Mulder?” He swallowsagain, takes a deep breath and puts on a smile just for her. He holds out hishand and she takes it. Before she lets him lead her away, she pauses. “Mulder,all the blood. We can’t leave it like this.” He grabs another, clean towel,wets it and quickly swipes the counter and the floor.

“There.”

“Mulder,please tell me this is not how you clean.”

“It’snot. But it’s enough for tonight. Come on. You’re sick and you need bed rest.”Scully snorts but follows him. He switches off all the lights and the TV, andthen he joins her on the bed, spoons her. Scully sighs, a shaky sound.Tentatively Mulder inches closer and puts his hands over her stomach.

“Thisokay?” He whispers against her ear, kissing her there. She nods. They’re quietand Mulder thinks Scully has fallen asleep when her own hands land over his,mindful of his stitched-up cut.

“Mulder?”

“Hmm?”

“Ithought about it.” He remains silent. “The bug. As in what if it’s… a differentkind of bug. I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

“Youknow me, Scully,” he leans over to kiss the corner of her mouth, “I want tobelieve. In the impossible, in the improbable. In us.”

“Ifit’s not better by Monday, I’ll see a doctor. I promise.”

“Thankyou.” He tightens his grip on her and wonders what it would be like. If theybeat the odds, if it were true. “I- when I was at the store earlier, I- Ididn’t mean to and I don’t know why I did it, but… if you want to check beforeMonday, I um, bought a pregnancy test.” She stiffens in his arms for thefraction of a moment, but then she relaxes and chuckles.

“You’reincorrigible, Mulder.”

“Hmm.”He nuzzles her neck, breathes in deep.

“I’mnot ready yet.” Her tone is serious now and he leaves a lingering kiss on herneck to let her know he understands.

“I’llbe here whenever you are ready, Scully.”

#i don't know why it's always about pregnancy #i guess i just love the idea #not exactly as much hurt/comfort as planned #sorrrrry #msr #xf fanfic #my writing #my fic #allyinthekeyofx

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derrickperegrine · 7 years ago

Photo

@snakepitnet halloween challenge: week one - halloween at hogwarts

‘It’s a little foolish, isn’t it?’ Draco answered, an incredulous laugh wedged against the edge of his words, but never erupting from his throat. ‘I mean, what are we celebrating? How terrible magic is? Muggles’ fear of us? Monsters?’ He flipped a page with a huff of dramatic exasperation. ‘I just don’t get it.’

(click ‘keep reading’)

‘I don’t get any of this,’ Draco said as he lounged upon the chaise, pale hair reddish gold with the light of the flames coming out of the fireplace. It seemed at first that Draco could be referring to anything -- the current Charms assignment they were working on, some frustration regarding something his parents had said, or something concerning Potter -- but Blaise knew that he’d meant Halloween.

Chiefly, because Draco had not stopped talking about it for the past few weeks, ever since October rolled around the corner, and September had burned slowly away. The season’s orange seeped into Hogwarts’ halls, and Blaise found Draco being unusually, but not uncharacteristically, bothered by the upcoming holiday. He had never been like this about Halloween before; but then again, it wasn’t unlike Draco to suddenly develop some aversion to Halloween, and then decidedly declare war upon it.

‘What’s the matter?’ asked Theo, ever the responsive one out of them. Blaise looked over to him, reclining in a quilted armchair, his eyes not lifting from the book upon his lap. Blaise watched as his idly elegant fingers turned the page.

Pansy pulled the quill from her mouth. ‘Magic barriers are thin around Halloween; all the souls come out, so people celebrate to respect them,’ she explained, ever the history and mythology whiz.

‘But why the costumes?’ asked Draco.

‘It’s a disguise, so people won’t be spirited away,’ Pansy said flatly, as she dipped her quill into her floating inkwell, and jotted down her notes in a neat cursive script.

‘Well, it’s foolish,’ Draco declared, still adamant. But Blaise saw something else in his face -- the soft disappointment of dissatisfaction. It rounded his sharp features, making him seem much like the child he was, as opposed to the miniature Lucius that he had wanted to look like. Blaise sometimes forgot that Draco still had that side to him. The side that wasn’t content in just being superior; the side that didn’t really want to always demonstrate that he was above everything.

Blaise thumbed over to the next page in his Charms book. ‘I beg to differ, Draco.’ He instantly felt Draco’s dark grey eyes bore into him -- rare was the day anyone opposed him. Blaise tried not to smirk too much. ‘It’s important to celebrate Halloween, is it not? As purebloods, isn’t it our duty to uphold the sacred traditions of our society?’ Blaise noticed Theo flinch at that argument, and he felt the sour pangs of regret. Sometimes he forgot that what worked on Draco worked oppositely on Theodore. ‘Besides, it’s a good time to let loose; Merlin knows I’m sick of always working for the past two months.’

‘But isn’t it rather ... tasteless,’ Draco countered, wrinkling his forehead and making his elegant face seem suddenly obnoxious and unpleasant. Blaise frowned. He rather thought the campy nature of Halloween was part of its charm; it was fun-loving and enthusiastic like the festivals and celebrations of Italy and Spain. It saddened him that Draco could not appreciate this type of holiday; however he guessed that Malfoy could not be to blame, being raised a snooty, typical British pureblood by his parents

Pansy shrugged. ‘Everything about Hogwarts is tasteless, Draco. It’s a school, not a party; what did you expect?’ She examined her Charms notes with disinterest. ‘Might as well join the festivities anyway, since there’s not much to do around this school to begin with.’

‘Well, what would our parents think?’ Draco wondered, his voice made blunter and softer with a desperation for approval.

‘Honestly, they could probably care less about what we’re doing,’ Theo said quietly, though it sounded like a jab. Theodore’s father never really paid much attention to him at school, Blaise recalled; all of them received regular letters from their parents, but Theo did not. Perhaps it was for the best -- Theodore never talked much about his family, but from what Blaise could observe, their relationship was frigid at best.

Pansy nodded. ‘We don’t have to go reporting everything we do to our parents, you know.’ She turned back to her homework, and Blaise thought that he glimpsed a smirk curling up her elegant lips.

Draco scowled. ‘Well, you lot can do whatever you like. I for one am not participating in this absurd tomfoolery,’ he sniffed.

Blaise tried not to laugh. ‘Suit yourself, Malfoy.’ He closed his textbook across his lap, and raised his arms towards the ceiling, feeling the stretch settle into his body. ‘I for one am going to have a good time. Anyone else is welcome to join me,’ he offered, and winked at Theodore; who, to Blaise’s delight, ducked his head behind his textbook sheepishly, hoping that no one would see his burning ears.

‘I’m so bored by all this homework, I’m off to have some fun,’ Pansy decided, shoving all her homework beneath the sofa to be finished later. She dusted her robes and sprang up from her seat. Waving a hand at the boys, she said, ‘And I’m not keeping Draco’s misery any company.’

Draco glared at Pansy, but she was already on her way out the common room, towards the girls’ dormitory, presumably where she would find Millicent to accompany her on her adventures.

Theo closed his book as well. ‘I’m done with homework,’ he announced, ‘If there’s nothing you guys are gonna do, I’ll just be in my bed reading, then.’ Blaise felt a dash of panic at being left alone with a sulking Malfoy; but more than that, a surprisingly strong dismay at the thought of Theo leaving. Although Blaise and Draco were rather closer friends, Blaise had found himself enjoying Theodore’s company more and more lately. For certain reasons.

As Theo stood up to leave, Blaise impulsively grasped at Theo’s wrists, stopping him in his steps. ‘Wait!’

Theo turned back towards Blaise, his ears red in what Blaise hoped was more than mere embarrassment. ‘Let’s go find something to do. One should never spend a holiday alone, you know,’ and he winked; and Theo pinked, much to his delight. Draco made an annoyed sound beside Blaise. ‘Unless your name is Malfoy,’ Blaise added, shooting Draco a sharp look that said, Your fault for being a spoilsport.

Without further ceremony, Blaise threw his arm around Theo’s shoulders and sauntered out of the Slytherin common room.

Although Blaise did not particularly enjoy Professor Flitwick’s Charms classes -- he found them rather dull, and that Professor Flitwick was a much better demonstrator and tutor than a lecturer -- every Halloween, he felt enthralled by whatever decorations Professor Flitwick had put up.

It was astonishing -- proper Professor Flitwick, who only taught standard spells in class, had an arsenal of decorative charms that he showed off for any holiday or celebration. For Halloween, he’d enchant gold spiders to scutter across the walls and weave glistening glass cobwebs; he’d teach the jack-o-lanterns to sing silly songs; he’d make the white Hogwarts candles burn green and drip black wax; he’d enchant the ceiling to show clouds of chattering bats; and somehow, he’d managed to cast the entire school in an orange light, with severe shadows. Blaise rather liked that -- he thought that it brought out the richness of Theo’s brown eyes, and the sharp lines of his jaw. It was astounding how much magic Professor Flitwick could work in a single night.

The hallways were already bustling with students headed towards the Great Hall, where the Halloween feast was soon to be held; Draco could call it ‘foolish’ however he liked, but Blaise loved the decorations and the autumn food; and of course he liked being able to celebrate and party with his housemates. He loved scaring Astoria and Daphne with horror stories he’s memorised from books in the library; he loved scheming with Pansy to pull a Halloween prank on the Gryffindors; he loved receiving (handmade) candy from Quidditch health nut Lucian Bole for the only night in the year; and he loved just to be around his two best friends, Theodore Nott and Draco Malfoy, at the table.

As they settled around the tables, steaming with roast potatoes and turnips, great hams and ducks and pies, and a dazzling array of puddings, Blaise couldn’t help but realise that Draco had not quietly slid into the seat beside him. Of course the prat grumbled about Halloween every year, but usually he’d appear from the shadows around dinner time and partake in the celebration, if only under the guise of ‘just eating supper’. However, as Dumbledore began to tap his goblet to signal that it was time for the Hogwarts’ ghosts to tell awful and boring stories about their lives -- since it was a holiday to celebrate all departed souls -- Draco Malfoy was still nowhere to be seen. Blaise piled food onto his plate uneasily as the Bloody Baron opened his mouth to prattle on and on about the numerous pixies he’s bested in his life.

As soon as the Fat Friar finished with his story about growing the largest potato ever, with his new growing potion -- whose recipe was soon found to be highly explosive and dangerous, and therefore withdrawn from the market -- the entire Hall began to buzz with the talking of students.

‘Blaise,’ Pansy began, ‘What have you got in mind for this year?’ she asked, referring to their annual Zabini-Parkinson Gryffindor Trap. Blaise had indeed planned something, but now he was both distracted by the very pronounced absence of Draco Malfoy, and the amusing disparity between the manners in which Theodore Nott and Peregrine Derrick were ingesting Bole’s Halloween offerings. Theodore ate them like any pureblood lordling would, patiently and delicately, almost thoughtfully; after all these were a gift from a classmate, who no doubt put great thought into it. Well, at least Lucian always did -- his hobby was, strangely, cooking. On the other hand, Derrick ate very deliberately, in a practised but brusque way, irreverently scarfing it down whilst maintaining eye contact with a horrified Bole the entire time.

‘Blaise,’ Pansy said, snapping Blaise out of his dazed observation of his housemates’ eating habits.

‘Pansy, hold on, I’ll be right back,’ he said, pushing himself away from the table.

‘Where are you headed?’ Theo asked.

‘I’m going to find Draco,’ Blaise admitted. It just didn’t feel right without Draco, who, even though he was a total party-pooper, was one of them. Yet he was alone this night. Blaise thought of his own words; One should never spend a holiday alone, you know.

‘Wait, if you’re going to see him, bring him this,’ Bole said, and tossed Blaise a small bag of sweets for Malfoy.

‘If you fatten him up he won’t catch the Snitch,’ Blaise teased, and Bole scowled.

‘They’re sugar-free!’

But Blaise was already off to find his sulking friend.

The door of the Slytherin dungeon creaked open, and Draco Malfoy felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Who was coming in? Everyone else should be at the feast; they were all celebrating Halloween together. Unless your name is Malfoy.

Of course Blaise didn’t mean it meanly. But it nevertheless touched on something -- he was a Malfoy; a proper pureblood, who didn’t engage in these frivolous celebrations because they were pointless to him. Halloween isn’t going to help him pass all his classes, or catch the Snitch before Potter, or make him into Minister of Magic. It was just stupid. And after Malfoy read the history of Halloween at Hogwarts -- that it had become like this because of the way Muggles celebrated this holiday -- he felt himself in ever more disdain for it.

He stretched out lazily in his chaise, and levitated his Potions book towards him.

‘Malfoy,’ a quiet voice said, and he almost dropped the tome on himself.

‘Who is it?’ he asked perhaps too loudly, with too much of a quaver in his voice.

Someone in the shadows tossed a bag of sweets onto his lap. ‘Lucian wanted me to give these to you,’ the voice explained as its owner walked out of the shadows. Draco let out a sigh of relief. Blaise.

‘I thought you said you were going to leave me alone,’ Draco said, rather deliberately, as he opened the package and popped a chocolate into his mouth.

Blaise shrugged. ‘You’re wrong to think that. You’re my best friend, of course I’m not going to leave me alone.’

‘Well, I thought you had Nott to keep you company. You seem to like him well enough,’ Draco commented.

Blaise smiled sheepishly and Draco suspected there was something more. Call it a serpent’s hunch. ‘You know how I need the attention of all my friends to survive, Draco,’ he said, purposefully preening.

Draco rolled his eyes. ‘Just leave me. I don’t mind. This isn’t even the sort of holiday I should celebrate anyway. It’s terrible, common, and tacky. I can’t even imagine what Father would say if I --’

‘Your father can bugger off,’ Blaise said, and Draco’s head snapped towards him.

‘What did you say?’

‘I said that your father can bugger off,’ Blaise said calmly. ‘What does he think he’s saying? Draco, you’re still a child.’

‘I’m fifteen,’ Draco said adamantly.

Blaise raised an eyebrow. ‘Case in point. You’re only fifteen; you should be doing stupid and fun and pointless things that teenagers do. With us. Draco, we want you to hang out with us. We’re friends. You shouldn’t live like a ghost of your father at Hogwarts.’

Draco looked at him angrily. ‘Don’t talk about my father like that. He’s only doing what’s good for me,’ Draco looked aside into the dimly burning fireplace; he didn’t like looking at people when he talked about his family. For some reason, that felt like something he should defend and keep for himself.

‘Grown-ups aren’t always right,’ Blaise said. He was never one to rebel against authority figures, but his mother had told him that no one was always right in the world. Sometimes those illogical and senseless and spontaneous things are what make us human.

‘Blaise, just leave me,’ Malfoy said tiredly, the voice of someone who was always told he was wrong. He just wanted to live his own truth, because he was not one to live anyone else’s truth; even if his truth was more or less the one his father had imposed upon him, it was still his. He was not willing to let it go and believe it to be false.

Blaise looked at him unconvincedly, his fifteen-year-old self unsure of what words to say to fifteen-year-old Draco Malfoy. When they were older, they both realised that there were many words that could have been said that may have led the evening to end a little differently; but they also understood that nothing could have been said or done differently, on this particular night in Fifth Year. They were only fifteen years old and unaware of all that would befall them.

‘Go back to everyone else,’ Draco waved a hand at Blaise. ‘And thank Bole for the sweets.’

‘Listen, you could come with us, you don’t have to celebrate Halloween, it’s just all of us hanging --’

‘Blaise, it’s alright,’ Malfoy said in a clipped tone.

‘... Alright.’ Blaise tried to hide the resignation in his voice, but only succeeded halfway. Malfoy made a dismissive sound.

The heels of Blaise’s shoes made a hollow sound as he walked away from the Slytherin common room; from Draco Malfoy.

And Draco Malfoy was once again alone. Even though he had so many friends in Slytherin, he couldn’t help but feel like he was different from all of them; and alone all the time because of it. Potter’s words, He’s back! He’s back! echoed in his mind as he sat in an empty common room on Halloween; Father said nothing about it after the Tournament, but Draco knew it to be true.

Draco Malfoy would soon be alone no longer.

#snakepitnet #draco malfoy #blaise zabini #theodore nott #pansy parkinson #lucian bole #hp fanfiction #saladstuff #saladfic #saladedits #//on hiatus//#prev. peregrine-derrick #reb's gang #userlyra #crvdence #rip this is So Bad #but i want to be done with it #this is so so late but i'm going to finish this challenge even if it kills me #also fuck this was supposed to be lighthearted?? but got serious quick gjdkfg i hate myself

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singingpeople · 7 years ago

Text

Undoing

Chapter 3

We're not lovers We're just strangers With the same damn hunger To be touched, to be loved To feel anything at all I miss the mornings with you laying in my bed I miss the memories replaying in my head I miss the thought of a forever, you and me

Halsey - Strangers

@pathybo @beautifulramblingbrains @tigpooh67 @jojuarez26 @iammarylastar @lets-play-truth-or-dare @deepfrz @carefultheyspit @feminamortem @mom2reesie @kellieabro @lauraaan182 @you-wont-let-me-let-you-go @beltz2016 @frecklefaceb @tomarisela

I was woken up way too early and I opened my eyes, immediately hit with a terrible headache, eyes red and completely exhausted, not having gotten much sleep to begin with, the sun hadn’t even risen yet. I felt like a zombie.

Natalie had come into the room, shaking us awake one by one, waiting in the hallway while we got up. Almost falling out of my bed, I rubbed the sleep from my eyes only being able to guess how I looked like. What I would have given for a hot shower, a mirror, a little make-up to hide the bags beneath my eyes and Eri–

No, don´t even go there.

Looking up through burning eyes I found Susan staring at my nightgown and following her line of sight, I realized that the once white gown was almost completely stained with green and brown on the bottom, making it obvious that I had been outside last night. I just hoped there was something to hide the bite marks on my neck with – and suddenly I was thankful for the high-rising neckline of my dress.

Giving her a tight smile, I shrugged my shoulders.

“Couldn’t sleep…”

Reciprocating, Susan´s expression was soft as she tightened the stocks on her legs before slipping into her shoes, her appearance immaculate while I struggled to get the dress over my head.

“I thought I heard something last night. I´m sure it be easier this night. We have a long day in front of us.”

Scrunching up my face, I ran a hand through my hair mourning the lost strands. Watching how Susan did her bun with ease, I tried to mirror her movements but mine was way too lose, falling apart instantly. After two more tries, I gave up, looking over to her in despair, holding out a hair clip. "Can you help me, please?"

“Of course.” Hurrying over, Susan gently took the clip and twisted my hair up with one turn of her wrist, pinning it tightly to my head so it wouldn’t be in the way later.

“Thank you.” I gave her a tired but genuine smile that she returned and after I tied up my shoes we followed the other two out of the room, this time punctual.

Natalie waited in front of the door, immediately leading us into the foyer where the boys already stood, ready to face the day.

The first thing we did was preparing breakfast for ourselves which even I managed. It was a tasteless mush consisting of oatmeal and milk, cooked until it was grey and resembled baby food more than actual food. Forcing it down my throat, I suppressed every thought of muffins, scrambled eggs, bacon, and sausages, knowing it would only further my frustration. There was almost no conversation on our table and for once I didn’t care, too tired to fully keep my eyes nonetheless actively participating.

Not without coffee.

I was only shoving the food from side to side with my spoon when Marcus arrived, freshly shaven as he told us to get up and follow him. Doing as we were told we first had to do the dishes before each of us received the clothes they had taken from us last night, tightly bundled up and held together with cord. Leading us outside we were met by the first rays of sunshine and I closed my eyes, for a moment just reveling feeling the warmth on my skin –

Until Marcus´ voice disrupted the tranquility of the scene.

“What you have in hands,” he started, hands folded in front of him, a content smile on his face. “is your old life. Instead of burning and throwing it away, which would be a waste, you will gift it to a person of your choice, choosing to let go of the life you are used – is it dependent of our faction, or another – you are a part of us now, adults, honorable members of our society. And we expect that you behave as such.” His dark blue eyes flitting over us, stopping at me a moment longer before addressing us all again.

“Once you have completed initiation, visiting day marking the end of the four weeks, you, that are from here, can return home to share dinner with your parents as equals, not having to wait until you are allowed to speak. Those who come from different factions will have the opportunity to show their families around – if they should come.”

Hearing that the children here weren’t allowed to speak up, I furrowed my brows, asking myself why anyone would want their children to be quiet but when he mentioned visiting day, my heart fell. There was no way even a single member of my family would come to see me, to see the embarrassment, the shunned human I had become.

Lost in thought, I didn’t realize Marcus had stopped speaking and led them away, rooted to my spot, gnawing my cheek. Looking up, I saw that they were already several feet away and I hurried after them, the bundle tucked safely under my arm.

Falling into step with Susan, who shot me a questioning look, I gave her a smile and waved it off.

Maybe, Abnegation wouldn’t be so bad as long as I had one friend by my side.

It took us only fifteen minutes to arrive at the factionless shelter where abnegation gave out food, clothing and sometimes medicine. It was only logical that they would stay so close to their only food source, only starting to become a threat when the stronger ones thought they deserved more than they received. I had seen it, accompanying my brother on patrols frequently. I just prayed he wasn’t there this time.

The shelter was like I remembered it, mostly woman and elderly, the odd kid that was condemned to live this way without having a chance to redemption all because of its parent’s fault. The whole warehouse was full of scrap, old tables and metal wires, lots of blankets building tents and separating segments from each other.

I know, for the ones that had to search through assembly points like this it was pure hell. The fluttering clothes hiding potential dangers and movements, every piece of metal could be used as a weapon and if you didn’t pay attention or when you´re caught off guard you could shot a child instead of the attacker you assumed hid behind the next wall.

It had happened before and it will happen again.

Additionally to our old clothes, we had been given a small package consisting of food I was sure was tastier than the stuff we got this morning and I asked myself if they really deserved it after all the stories I´d been told. Then I remembered that my whole life would be devoted to helping them from now on and I forced every one of those tales, every prejudice against factionless to the back of my head, locking them in tightly.

Strolling the rows of factionless, still weary, I had not the slightest idea who I should give the stuff in my hands or how to even approach them until I came across a girl close to my age and statue, her black hair skillfully braided but her clothes tattered.

But the way she held herself as she sat cross-legged, fiddling with a piece of metal in her hand reminded me so much of dauntless that I deemed her worthy of wearing their colors.

Approaching her carefully, I waited until she looked up with a questioning expression until I handed her the items expecting her to rip them out of my hands.

But she merely raised one eyebrow, slowly stretching her hand out to take them from me, her face betraying nothing as she stared at the black fabric.

“I thought they would fit you. The boots are new so they should last for some time or you can trade them for… whatever.”

She stayed silent and I was already preparing to leave, angry at myself for giving the last things that reminded me of home to someone so ungrateful when she did speak.

“A dauntless transferring to abnegation. How the hell did that happen?”

“That´s none of you fucking business.” Turning back to her, I smiled sickly sweet, the audacity making my blood boil. But instead of getting up, ready to fight me the girl just started smirking, her face promising nothing but mischief.

“Couldn’t be because you´re meek, that much´s clear.” She winked at me but a movement from behind me had all traces of amusement vanish from her face, going back to the stony way it was before. A person stepped up to us, his hawk-like eyes narrowing in at the bundle on the girl's lap, his lips curling up into a smile that looked wrong seeing on his face.

“I see, you understand what it means to give, Casey. But we don´t swear, never. Do you understand?”

“Of course, Marcus. I´m sorry.” Bowing my head, I avoided his gaze, the frustration inside me running high because he seemed to always be there when I was making a mistake. He tutted once at me before bowing his head to the girl, walking away without a glance back. I watched his back disappear further down the hall, stopping beside one of the boys who was giving an apple to a little boy.

Until she spoke, I´ve had no idea that the girl was doing the same, her face contorted into a sneer as she watched him patronizingly lecture the other initiate, too.

“Be careful of that one.” Her voice was quiet, but commanding, laced with something akin to distrust. “He´s not all he seems. Behind that posh exterior of his, he doesn’t hide a pile of gold.”

“Believe me,” I assured her, watching the smile on Marcus' face crumble the second he thought no one was watching him. “I know.”

After we had helped giving food to the factionless that had been brought by other members, we went back to the headquarters to prepare our meal – steamed vegetables, chicken and mashed potatoes once again – this time diverting into two groups: the first would cook, the second do the dishes.

Following Susan´s lead, we were the ones responsible for the vegetables and cutting the carrot into tiny pieces, even the knife felt wrong in my hand, the kitchen void of any small talk like it was usual with the dauntless cooks where their knives doubled as ones to throw at the head of the person you had a misunderstanding with. I can´t count how many of them Eri– the leaders had to punish because of it.

It had always been fun to watch full-grown man shrink a size when one of them approached, suddenly not able to hurt a fly.

Those cowards.

After we ate, we were ushered outside again without a break, claiming that personal time was wasteful and therefore selfish and before I knew what was going on I had already been ordered to help an elderly lady clean her house, a mop in hand.

Seeing me stare at the thing as if it was a torture device, she started laughing slightly and grabbed it from my hand, showing me step by step what to do.

With a few mishaps, I managed to get the whole house cleaned just in time for dinner, the nice lady who I got to know as Mrs. Miller secretly placing a piece of candy in my pocket, claiming with a wink that we deserved a treat sometimes too.

Her little act of kindness made my whole day and I didn’t even ask Susan why she behaved strange at dinner, fidgeting around while avoiding my eyes, dismissing it as exhaustion after the long day we had.

But when I arrived at the dorms as the last one, having used the bathroom while Susan had excused herself ten minutes prior, claiming she had something important to do, I realized why she had behaved so strange.

Marcus Eaten was standing inside our dorm, his hand tightly closed around a white piece of fabric, Susan behind him, eyes lowered to the floor, hands fidgeting. She looked guilty.

The other two were standing beside their beds, both too not daring to look up as Marcus turned towards me.

Watching the whole scene in confusion, it took me a moment to figure out what was happening, the scene too close to the ones at home shortly before someone was punished. That was until Marcus held out his hand, scrutinizing me with narrowed eyes while I tried to understand what he wanted with the cloth and I realized with a sinking stomach that it was the nightgown I had worn yesterday, the strains on the once snow-white fabric a stark contrast.

He knew. He fucking knew.

“Come with me.”

I was sitting in an uncomfortable chair in Marcus´ office facing the desk he was behind watching me with folded hands while I stared at the floor, his intense gaze on my skin making me uncomfortable. We had been here for over ten minutes without one word coming out of his mouth since he commanded me to follow him and I obeyed not without shooting Susan a dirty look, knowing exactly where she had been when she had claimed to have something important to do that couldn’t wait.

I was familiar with this tactic of intimidation, Eric used it all the time, just like my mother who had me sweating in fright every time she pulled this act even when I wasn’t aware I had done something wrong.

But with the man in front of me, it was something different.

He was an unknown force, I had no idea if I was here so he could simply lecture me if I would be punished… or worse. Scraping away on the remaining polish on my nails, I tried to think of anything else but the man in front of me, like how I was disgusting myself acting all meek when all I wanted to tell him that it was none of his damn business.

Of course, I didn��t.

Marcus cleared his throat and my head whipped up, for the first time since coming into this room meeting his eyes.

“There were reports of an incident last night. Have you heard anything about them?”

“No, Sir. I was too busy today to make much conversation.” I replied respectfully and honestly. I had heard nothing, abnegation wasn’t exactly known for gossip.

“Well, then let me enlighten you,” Marcus spoke patronizingly, but his voice held a sharp edge indicating that he was less than pleased. “last night around one am one of our members thought to hear noises around the perimeter. He said he was afraid factionless were trying to break into the supply building, but all he spotted was a member of dauntless. I think we both know why he was here.” I turned my head away until the movement of his hand had me look back towards him, where he placed the once white nightgown on the desk.

“This explains enough. But what I would like to know from you, Casey, is why he was here and why you thought it would be a good idea to leave the dorms after curfew and with a man nonetheless.”

“He just wanted to say goodbye.” Was all I muttered, staring at my feet slowly blinking. Just thinking about last night and the way I send him away physically hurt – but speaking it out loud was sheer agony.

“I didn’t understand you. Speak up.” Imagining to detect a small undertone of glee in his voice, almost undetectable, I gripped the fabric of my skirt in my fist to restrain myself, eyes hard as I looked back up at him.

"He just wanted to say goodbye. I send him away." My voice was sharp when I began but at the end, it almost cracked, the image of running away from him after he proposed in a way that was just so Eric… I wanted nothing more than to curl back up in my bed and cry – and almost never cried.

“Right.” Marcus raised one eyebrow, clearly not believing me. Aligning the sheets of paper on his desk until they were in a neat stack, his voice was reprimanding as he spoke after a few moments, his unnervingly blue eyes making me feel vulnerable – as if I was nude in front of him. “One thing you have to know, Casey. We don´t take lightly to adultery.”

Silence, then…

“Adultery?” I exclaimed unbelievingly sure I had misunderstood him. There was no way in hell… “How…. What?!... I´m not even married!”

"And if you won´t stop these escapes you may never be." The audacity. Fueled by rage I jumped up, the chair almost topping over by the sheer force of my movements. Right now, I didn’t give a fuck where I was or who he was.

Still, I held back. I dauntless his jaw would already be broken, shattered in at least three places. No one fucked with me like that.

“With all respect, Sir,” I spat, voice shaking with the force of my anger, the form of address just mocking the title he would never deserve in my eyes. “I don´t think my love life is supposed to be any of your interest.”

"Well, if your lack thereof isn't proven you may be right. Because then, unfortunately, you will no longer be a part of our initiation.”

I froze, his words making my whole body run cold. Factionless was worse than death, definitely worse than this and I suddenly realized that the bastard in front of me had all right and all the power to throw me out right now, just for my outburst alone not to mention the act of intercourse he hopefully knew nothing about. But looking at him, I realized he at least had a strong presumption as to what had happened last night.

I let out a shaky breath.

“If you calmed down enough, you may sit down again so we can discuss your options.” Marcus stayed calm, his expression not once betraying what he thought of my performance and I only nodded, silently taking my seat, the white-hot rage diminished by the ice running through my veins.

“Thank you.”

Too afraid to blurt out what I really wanted to tell him in the most elaborate version, I kept my mouth shut, waiting for Marcus to go on and he did, all business as he pulled out a record, flattening on the desk in front of him. Folding his hands, he watched me over the rim of his fingers.

“I understand that you may still have problems fitting in here but acting on impulses will only get you in more trouble than you´re already in.” I bit my cheek until I tasted blood, refraining myself from telling him that he had no idea what he was talking about. “And because you´re new and showed today that you are a reliable force, I will overlook this unfortunate incident for once. But –” Raising his eyebrows at me, he interrupted my relieved exhale and I tensed again, the expectant expression on his voice promising nothing good.

“you will still serve your punishment – even though I would consider it more of a chance for you to get used to the humble life we´re living here.” He gave me a smile. “ You know how much of a busy man I am, so I along with other members decided it would be good for me to have an… assistant of sort, if you want to call it that. And that´s where you come into play." Marcus watched me expectantly and even though it sounded like an offer, in reality, it was a command.

I gulped, sensing where this was heading and continued gnawing on my raw cheek. The prospect of working with Marcus for the whole four weeks of initiation – and maybe even after – were nauseating… but wasn’t that my chance?

Wasn’t this exactly why I was here, to get closer to him, win his trust?

If, then I had just come my goal a lot closer – and with that my freedom.

An anxious feeling grew in my guts, working under the leader of the government meant I had to attend meetings with leaders from all factions but it was basically the perfect opportunity for me so I swallowed down my inhibitions, looking him into the eyes.

“What would I have to do?”

“Well,” Leaning back in his chair, Marcus folded his hands in front of his stomach. “ for the last four years, since the person that run the household… resigned, there has been a number of members who helped clean and brought meals whenever I ate at home. That would be your field of duty but since I need someone here and occasionally for notes in meetings, too, you would also accompany to those.”

"So I would basically cater to your every whim?" I slipped with my words without noticing but when I tried paddling backward, he just chuckled.

“I´m a man who is easily satisfied, Casey, which you will soon know.” My skin started to crawl, the sentence too suggestive for my liking. Not noticing my disgust, Marcus sat up straight again, laying his hands on the desk.

“Of course, Sir.” I gave him a tight, insincere smile, slowly getting off my chair since I had the feeling that this ‘meeting’ had come to an end. “Is that all.”

“I think so.” He replied, already absorbed in the report lying on his desk, not sparing me another glance. Nodding to myself, I awkwardly turned around ready to flee the room. But Marcus seemed to have changed his mind and I froze on my spot, turning around with a questioning look.

“Casey, one last thing: I can´t trust you not to leave through the window again, even though you surely learned from your mistakes you won´t be staying in the dorms for the duration of those four weeks.” He reminded me of the principle who always liked to call me into his office, expressing his displeasure towards my actions, sitting in front of the sturdy desk like that, not fully giving me his attention but expecting mine.

“And where am I supposed to go?” I asked alarmed, ice running through my veins, afraid he had changed his mind and let me fail initiation after just one day. I´m sure that would be some sort of record.

The patronizing smile on his face didn’t help to relieve my unease.

“Since we will be working closely together and I have two free rooms in my house you will stay in one of those. That way it will be easier for me to keep an eye on you.” For a second, my world stopped spinning as I stared at him, unbelieving until it started turning again, faster and faster until I had the feeling I was losing my footing, slipping right of the edge, just floating in space, being drowned by moonlight.

“Won´t that be unseemly for me to live with you alone, Sir?” My voice was slightly hysterical even though I tried my best not to show any emotions. It was one thing to work closely with Marcus Eaton but living with him? No, no fucking way.

Eric was an excellent judge of character, he hated the leader of our government and I trusted him, trusted the only man I ever loved.

But seeing the serious expression he wore, the warning for me to keep myself in line I knew there was no way out of this hell.

Maybe never.

"I´m one of the most highly regarded members of this faction and I sadly have too much to do to take care of my household on my own," Marcus spoke, his voice coolly and tolerating no dissent. “You living with me will be a win-win situation for us both Casey. I will show you how to master the act of selflessness and you provide me with your assistance in whatever I may need. You will see, many would be honored to be in your position.

You have ten minutes to get your clothes, then we will leave together.

Hurry,” He said without glancing up from his paper. “letting others wait for you is selfish.”

By the time, I arrived at the dorm, I was furious, fuming, but I was also aware of the fact that one more transgression would mean Marcus would throw me out into the streets. Maybe the girl from earlier would give me back my clothes even though it was not likely. Once they had something in their hands they would let go only over their dead body.

Throwing the door open, I marched into the room ignoring the two´s shocked faces and Susan who jumped off her bed, her face contorted into worry I knew now was fake. She took a hesitant step forward, wringing her hands violently as she looked up at me with her doe eyes. Shooting her a glare, I walked right past not even bothering to acknowledge her existence. But she obviously didn’t get the memo that I wanted nothing to do with her, walking after me.

“Casey, listen, I – “ Whirling around, I took two quick steps towards her getting right into her face. My eyes were blazing with fire and she flinched back obviously afraid. Good.

“Let me tell you something, Susan.” I spat, dragging my gaze over her, disgusted. “That innocence act doesn’t work on me. So take your misplaced sense of moral and shove it up your ass. Where I came from, you don´t snitch on people.”

“Casey, I´m really so-”Sneering at her, I turned towards my former bed and grabbed the handful of stuff I had been given, wanting nothing more than to get out of here. But when I turned around she was still in my way, looking all doe – eyed as if she couldn’t hurt a fly. But I knew better.

“Go. To. Hell.” Slamming my shoulder into hers, I left the stifling atmosphere of the room with a few wide strides, sending the two gawking bitches a glare that made the red-head, Grace, fall from her bed with a loud squeal.

Rolling my eyes, I refrained myself from throwing the door shut because it would have been heard throughout the whole headquarters, leaving it wide open instead as I made my way to the front door, (im-)patiently waiting for my tormenter to come lead me into my personal hell.

Obviously, letting people wait wasn’t selfish for our great leader because I had to wait over half an hour until he arrived, walking with Andrew Prior, who I recognized as a man on the council, obviously discussing leader business. They were so engrossed in their topic that they only realized I was standing in their way when they were right in front of me.

“Casey. Good, you´re here.” Marcus exclaimed with a small smile, gesturing for me to follow as they walked out of the building completely disregarding my existence as I trudged after them. Staring at their backs, hands full of clothes, I asked myself if they ignored me because I was an initiate – or because I was female.

Prior seemed to be alright but in the short time, I knew Marcus he got creepier with every minute I spent with him. With men of power, you never knew.

Feeling low, I was sort of happy when we finally arrived at Marcus´ house that resembled a big slab of concrete, like every single house in the abnegation district, and he stepped in first, turning on the light to expose a minimalistic furnished hallway leading towards the living room. He gave me a short tour of the downstairs, only consisting of the living room, a kitchen and dining room, everything held in grey. Even the holding cells in dauntless were more appealing.

Leading me upstairs he showed me the bathroom and with horror, I realized that I would have to share it with him but Marcus was fast to reassure me I wouldn’t see as much of him as I had feared.

“I mostly leave the house between 6.30 and 7 am.” He explained, slowly pushing open the door to the room I was supposed to stay in. “You have to report at the headquarters every day at quarter to eight, so if you get up early enough you can do the chores before breakfast or just after noon. In the mornings, you will mostly assist elderly members or those who need help, while most afternoons will be spent with council meetings and errands I need you to run. If you ever should end up in dauntless, I expect you to behave to our standards.”

I nodded, showing him that I had understood his warning and he went on, pulling a wrist watch out of his pocket.

“You can have this one, your alarm is already set for 7.15.”

Taking it cautiously as if it could bite, I said a small thank you before fastening it on my wrist, having to use the last hole to clasp it shut.

"Have a good night." Nodding once, Marcus left the room and for the first time this day I felt like I could breathe, the solitude refreshing. Whenever I was forced to be around people 24/7 I got so grumpy, even their breathing annoyed me. Changing into my new, clean nightgown, I scrunched up my face, disgusted that I couldn't take a shower tonight. But with Marcus right down the floor, it would have to wait until tomorrow morning when he was gone.

I realized with a start what this meant: that I was more than just lucky.

Not only had I a room all to myself, I was alone in this house almost every day, meaning that I had enough time to search for the evidence Jeanine wanted to eliminate her strongest opponent. But what if he hid them in his office?

The meetings… he surely would have me by his side in the afternoon, filing in reports of some sorts. He´d just have to leave the room for ten minutes max. With that, I could work.

Letting myself fall back onto the bed that was more comfortable than the ones in the dorms, I smiled my first genuine smile since I arrived here, knowing that the goal that seemed so far away was manageable for me, that I could protect my family and everyone dear to me.

The only reason why I made my sacrifice.

For them, for Eric.

Eric… Knowing that I may be able to be back in his arms again sooner than I thought, I allowed my thoughts to drift to last night, the way his muscles had rippled against my bare skin, his hand on my throat, his member inside me… My hand slowly wandered downwards, bunching up the white fabric from my calf up to my tight until my fingers lightly skimmed the waistband of my panties, slipping under the unspectacular fabric, finding what they were searching for.

Slow, light circled turned faster and harder as they mirrored our favorite movements, the images of Eric surging through my head. Him shirtless, sweating after a notorious workout of his, nude, chest glistening with tiny water droplets as he stepped out of the shower, fingering me under the table while my brother was sitting opposite of us, or just the way he growled my name as he released inside me, his whole body rigid in pleasure as I writhed beneath him.

That was all it took and I came, his name just a breathless whisper on my lips, my climax bringing me just a fraction of the pleasure that racked my body yesterday. And still, it was enough.

Curling up into the grey blanket I turned to my side and soon sank into blissful sleep.

Somehow my chapters seem to get shorter each time… but after dropping that bomb on you I think it´s enough.. I also wanted to post another one since it has been three weeks since chapter two..

I´m not expecting that you like where this is going but I still hope you like the story itself :D I´m a little blown away by the response, the first chapter already has over 100 notes on tumblr, so thank you to everyone who liked/ reblogged & reviewed the chapters, it means so much to me! :)

#undoing #Eric #eric divergent #Eric Coulter #Marcus Eaton #abnegation #fanfiction #Casey #punishment #secrets #secret mission #jeanine matthews #Max

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