# while i work on ask and drafts.... *bats lashes*
Note
I miss the priest and his pet!!
What about if we get to kind of see a continuation of where she was sitting on his lap with him inside her while he was getting his homily ready at the end of part 3??? Because that was hot and I want to know where that went. There’s no way they didn’t have hot seggggs after he was done.
Summary: Harry lets you sit in his lap while he finishes his homily. But you continue being a brat so he has to take further measures to get you in line.
A/N: Thank you for this request! Loved writing this one - though it's been in my drafts for months! Enjoy babe! 4k words
Warning: 18+ only, smut, bondage, overstimulation, cage play, dom/sub dynamic
Priest!harry Masterlist
✞✞✞✞
Excerpt from Ch. 3 of Forgive Me, Father (read for refresher)
“You’re naughty today. You were given a lot of attention already this morning pet. You know the rules. But let’s try something else now. Climb up into my lap and sit over me. But you have to stay still, otherwise, I’m going to tie you up and put you in your cage where you’ll stay until I’m done.”
Harry helped her stand up and she sat over his lap, facing him. Harry held onto the base of his cock as Y/n angled herself to slip down over him. She watched his face as she slowly encased him and Harry was barely holding it together. He pulled her into his chest and she tucked her face into his neck so he could see his work as he scooted back up to the desk and picked up where he left off once Y/n had coated him with herself fully. The tiny squeezes and clenches felt good around Harry’s big dick, but he remained calculated as he read the scripture he was using for inspiration for the homily he was preparing for Sunday mass.
✞✞✞✞
Y/n was a very good girl for nearly ten minutes. Harry was impressed. His pet had been a bit of a brat all day but it seemed all she needed was just to be close to Harry. He'd let her sit with him as long as she kept still.
Her warm breath was humid against Harry's neck and he could feel her breathing in soft puffs. Her naked body sat against his clothed one as she gently shifted over him.
Harry closed his eyes for a moment to call on a higher power to control himself. The girl was warm and wet and her walls were clenching around him each time she tilted her hips.
Harry was prepping for his Sunday homily. It was a Friday and it was important for him to have it ready that evening so he could go over it again the following night to make sure he hadn't missed anything.
He scribbled a note in the margin of his Bible and then jotted down a verse in his notebook when he noticed his pet shifting back and forth very very slightly. The tiny tick of her hips and the way her pelvis tilted and she squeezed around him was delicious but he needed to finish before they could really get to playing.
"Little girl," he said in a tone of warning, "what did I tell you?"
Shifting back a little so she could look up at him she rounded her eyes sweetly and batted her lashes, "Sorry, Father. I'll stay still."
"Not what I asked you. What did I tell you was going to happen if you didn't stay still?"
She bit her lip and let her eyes wander to the side of the room before slowly bringing her faux innocent gaze back to Harry, "You said you would tie me up and put me in my cage."
Harry hummed, "That's right. If you do that again I will have you sitting in your cage away from me until I'm done. If you're a good girl for me, you can sit here in my lap and you'll get to feel me inside of you the whole time. And when I’m done, then we'll play."
Y/n nodded. Her soft bottom lip bit into her mouth.
Harry pulled her into his chest as he turned his attention back to his homily. Y/n sighed and he could feel her fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt. But she was being good keeping still and not moving over him. For a few more minutes.
Harry's focus was already interrupted by having her in his lap as her soft and wet pussy kept his cock nice and warm. But when he noticed her breath pick up and he felt the way she was gently pulsing herself around him he sat his pencil down and she moaned at the small movement he made and then rocked down over him once. And then twice. A third time.
"You're a brat today. So you'll get the punishment a brat deserves," he spoke and he moved her off of him and stood up, grabbing her by her ponytail and leading her to the bedroom.
"Father! Please! I need you! Please!!" She squealed as he opened up the cage.
She put her hands onto his forearms and he let go of her hair, "Get in."
Immediately she fell to her knees and grasped onto the fabric of his trousers just under his knees, "No. Please! I just... I need you so bad today. Father," she pressed the top of her head into the space between his knees before slowly craning her head back to look up at him, blinking her eyes with her lips set in a pout, "please."
Harry stood tall and unmoving. He wasn't buying her act. She loved all his attention on her when they were home alone together. It wasn't the first time she'd interrupted his studying because she was too needy. Sometimes he'd give in but the more he gave in, the more she did things like this, thinking she could possibly persuade her dominant to let her have her way.
She needed to learn her lesson. He couldn't leave another homily prep until the last minute. He hated to rush. Hated to feel like he wasn't prepared. He'd allowed it too many times, secretly enjoying the way she needed him and begged for his attention.
"In the cage."
Y/n let go of his pants and put her hands in her lap as she looked down. She wasn't moving.
"Do as you’re told like a good girl."
No answer. Just a huff.
Harry sighed and shook his head as he went to the dresser and removed the red cotton bondage rope.
Kneeling behind her he pulled at her arms and drew her wrists behind her back and began winding the restraints together upward toward her elbows until the fit was snug and she would be unable to get out but not so tight that her circulation was cut off.
As he stood, he pulled her with him, grasping the back of her arm, and brought her into the cage, where he had her sit on her pillow, moving her legs to the side and began to wrap more rope around her ankles.
She didn't say a word as she kept her head down.
"There," the priest spoke when he'd finished tying her up as he stood to close the door.
"Please don't go,” she spoke with her face still downcast.
Harry latched the door closed and paused, "Look at me, pet. Right now."
She turned her head and tilted her neck back so she could look up at him.
"Are you okay?"
She sat for a moment as she blinked her eyes. She just wanted his attention. She hated when he was so focused on something else.
"Please will you give me one more chance? I'll be good this time."
Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head, "I have to get my work done. You are making it impossible. Last week you pulled something like this and I had to rush through finishing my homily last minute,” he swiped his tongue over his bottom lip and tried to keep a grin from breaking out onto his face (because she was so cute and he actually enjoyed this kind of play with her), “You’re naughty. Stay in here until I’m done. And I don’t want to hear a peep from you either or I’ll have to gag you.”
He took the skeleton key from his pocket and placed it into the lock, twisting it and securing the door. Harry looked back over his pet to make sure she was okay. As much as seeing her in the cage with her hands and ankles tied gave him a tinge of excitement, power he always wanted her to be okay.
When Harry left the bedroom he closed the door behind him and she whined quietly. She knew she deserved this. And he might not fall for it anymore. Last week she really made a scene. She was a brat, interrupting his work repeatedly. He spanked her. She resisted. So he put her in her cage (but made the mistake of not locking it because she promised to be good) but she got out and crawled to him begging for his attention. He put her back in the cage, tied her arms above her head, and gagged her. And by the time he sat back down he was fully distracted, turned on, and too much time had gone by to get his mind back into his work. So he didn’t finish his homily that night. Rather, he listened to her muted whines and grunts from his work desk and planned out a more appropriate punishment for her.
And now, a week later, here they were again. He loved to play with her. He enjoyed their dynamic but she had been quite a lot brattier over the more recent weeks. So he was being made to stay on his toes with her. It was fun. He actually liked this. But he truly did have a homily to finish.
She was tempted to call for him. Or whimper loudly so he could hear it. But she decided against it. She didn’t know what had gotten into her exactly. She just liked having his attention on her. Liked it even if was in the form of punishment (but of course she liked punishment and spikes of pain that led to an overflow of oxytocin afterward).
She shifted on the pillow, trying to keep herself in a comfortable position, sitting on her bottom and bending her knees into her chest. She used her feet to push herself back against the cage to lean onto the cool metal, her arms behind her digging into the bars. She rested her head back and closed her eyes. She’d try to be a good girl for her priest. Y/n knew getting his homily finished was important to him.
With every line Harry wrote and each passage he read and contemplated, he couldn’t get over how quiet she was being. Why was he now unable to stop wondering what she was doing (which was obviously nothing because he’d tied her up and locked her in her cage) when he’d finally gotten her to be quiet and could focus on his work?
He groaned and closed his eyes. It had only been about a half hour and he had made some ground in preparation for Sunday, but he didn’t get as far as he wanted. He hoped to be mostly done at the half-hour mark but he was far from it. In fact, at the pace he was going it would take two hours to have everything prepped.
Looking toward the bedroom door he had an idea. It would make for a long night but in the end, they’d both get what they wanted and he could clear his mind to focus on the task at hand when he was done with her.
She popped her eyes open when Harry stepped into the bedroom, “Father! Are you done?”
Harry unlocked the cage door and grasped her underarm to help her scoot out of the metal enclosure and he lifted her up to bring her to the bed, “Not yet. But I’ve decided to show you mercy.”
The truth was that he was just as needy. His cock was still half-hard in his pants the whole time he’d been studying and so he was really the one that needed mercy if he were to tell her the whole truth. He needed his urges soothed.
Lying on her side she stretched her neck to see what he was doing behind her but he was across the room and she was unable to get him in view.
“Need to calm you down. Make you feel all soft and pliable so I can get my work done finally.”
Y/n grinned to herself. She knew the truth. She’d been good and quiet for a while but he couldn’t stop thinking about her and now he was the one that needed to calm down so he could concentrate. She’d done her job then.
When she felt the bed dip and Harry grab her wrists, he pushed at her to lie face down into the mattress. He lifted her ankles up, pushing them close to her wrists behind her back, and began tying another rope in between to attach her ankles and her wrists.
He tugged at the braided material when he was done and grunted. She felt the mattress shift and she turned her head to look at her priest but he swatted her bottom with the leather paddle and she squealed, “Face down.”
She could hear him removing his clothes. She loved to look at his body and ogle him. He was fit and muscular. And he was strong. He always handled her as if she weighed nothing and she knew it was because he was in such good shape. But she took a deep breath and closed her eyes as she kept her face into the comforter below, using her sense of hearing to determine what was happening next.
Harry kneed up behind her and nudged her thighs apart so he could have access to her. Smoothing his hands over the outside of her thighs and up to her hips he pulled at her and lifted slightly before she felt his fingers spreading her cheeks apart.
She was vulnerable tied up this way. She couldn’t move much. She was able to open her thighs up and twist to her side but that was about it.
Suddenly Harry’s fingers were in her ponytail and he pulled her head up with one hand as he stuffed the gag ball into her mouth with the other. He buckled the gag in place and released her hair so her face fall back into the mattress. But with the gag, it was far less comfortable. She’d deal with it, though. She’d had worse.
“Was this what you wanted?” Harry spoke in a deep voice. Dominant and dark.
She moaned as a response and the priest laughed, “Oh. My sincerest apologies. You can’t talk right now, can you? Well, I guess that’s a good thing since you’ve been trying my patience for most of the day. I’m gonna fuck you and make myself come. I don’t care if you come at all,” his words were tight as he pushed his thumb into her labia, already wet for him. He actually did care if she came. In fact, the intention was to make her come until she couldn’t take it anymore. And since Harry knew just how to do it and make it happen fast, he was going to torture her with overstimulation until he finally came himself.
A stinging smack against the side of her bum with the paddle caused her to groan but the next smack had her eyes watering. The third rendered her silent as drool pooled onto the blanket below her mouth where she was gagged.
When he’d gotten her nice and red, and the skin was raised and hot to his touch he chuckled at how quiet she’d gotten. But the glistening from her pussy was the giveaway indicating how much she enjoyed it. She loved being spanked. He loved spanking her.
Suddenly she was being pulled at again, her hips brought up another few inches when suddenly she felt the cool silicone of one of the vibrators enter her pussy. Harry pushed it in slowly but she was fully aroused and ready for it. He brought it into her until it was secured and the front tip of the silicone that laid against her clit was in place. She knew this vibrator. This was the one that had her coming fast because of the way it vibrated against her clit and curled into that yummy spot on the inside. He turned it on and cooed at her when she moaned around the gag, “S’good isn’t it pet? This’ll have you nice and subdued for me while I come in your ass.”
She was already shaking and her heart was racing by the time Harry had prepped her bum for his cock, adding lube and fingering her open.
Harry could hear the way she was moaning and breathing through her nose heavily. He’d have her nice and worn out for him by the time he was done.
Filling her bum slowly she suddenly stiffened and her muffled moans were louder, “Aww, poor baby. Did you need to come? You can if you need to.”
As he continued to prod into her he could feel her clenching around him and he held the vibrator back in place as the way she was squeezing and pulsing nearly had the toy being pushed out, “Ah ah ah… this stays in.”
She wasn’t in any mind to understand what he was saying as she had her first orgasm, letting the electricity heat up her core as her eyes rolled to the back of her head. When she began to come down she squealed as the vibrator was buzzing against her sensitive clit. She tried to cry out around the gag but the noise was muffled and her drool only increased. Her chin and cheeks were drenched. But now she was feeling his cock too. He was slipping himself in and out, pressing into her deeply and moaning above her as her pussy was still being stimulated.
Harry kept his hand on the vibrator as he fucked her. The vibrations filling her insides and tapping into his cock the entire time. It felt good. Harry loved fucking her when she had the vibrator in.
“Your bottom is all red but your pussy is dripping pet. You’re so needy today. You were even taken care of this morning and yet here you are on the cusp of coming a second time in less than five minutes.”
Harry smirked as he eyes the scene below. Her ankles and wrists tied together behind her back, her sore bottom needing a bit of soothing (which he’d get to later), her pussy packed with the vibrator and the little nub at the end dancing over the hood of her clit, shiny with arousal, and his favorite thing to see; the way his cock filled her bottom and how she opened up wide for him.
Each time Harry’s hips met her ass she was shoved forward slightly. He was inside of her deeply, moving in and out, making her brain turn to mush when suddenly she was hit with another wave of ecstasy. She gurgled and clenched hard around the toy and her lover’s cock as he continued pounding into her.
Harry closed his eyes and groaned. He needed to last as long as possible, which he knew wouldn’t be long with how worked up he’d been and good she felt around him at that moment.
Her shaky limbs were stunted by the rope as he fucked into her fluttering muscle.
“Fuck…” he let out a curse. His own hips stuttered as he struggled to keep it together. But part of her punishment would be to come a couple more times. He knew he could hold out.
She whined and arched her back at the excess of sensations. Her clit was revolting, her pussy was clasping and leaking, her ass was getting stuffed so hard it ached.
Harry buried himself into her and paused for a moment, the little toy buzzing and making him moan. He had to still himself for a moment before he came as his balls were already tightening and preparing for his orgasm.
But the way his orgasm continued to slowly build he knew he had to pull out. The vibrations alone would make him come. He slipped himself out and panted as he held the vibrator inside of her and used his other hand to hold the rope to keep her position for him.
She was making soft little whimpers and her hips were gently swaying as she was trying to fight the hyperstimulation. But she was powerless against it. Because she began to come again for the third time. Harry choked out a moan and watched as her body convulsed and her neck tightened, causing her head to lift upward. Her tensed muscles had her constricted limbs jerking in compact little movements.
When she had come down from her orgasm and began to wiggle away from the vibrator (which was impossible as he kept it in place with his hand) he finally dipped himself back in and gasped. His cock twitched and the sensation was delicious.
“Gonna come again, pet? Bet this will teach you to behave, won’t it?” His words were panted as he languidly pushed and pulled himself into and out of her tight hole. His thick cock was being squeezed and petted by her insides as he sunk into her repeatedly.
He watched her closely as he clenched his jaw holding back his orgasm. He wanted her to come once more before he poured into her.
And it came quickly. When her body tensed again and her soft muted moans grew louder around the gag he began to pump himself into her harder and faster as his release finally took over.
She jerked around him as she came and he pushed into her until his come was filling her. He stopped his hips as he spurted warm sperm from his tip inside her but her body was trembling and lurching.
It was so much. So much. She thought she would simply cease to exist. Her body didn’t feel real. Her insides were melted by his cock and the vibrations from the toy. It seemed as if she didn’t exist as a human, but only a thing that kept coming involuntarily and was being used as a holding vessel for her priest.
When Harry clicked the toy off she felt her heart beating again but her mind was elsewhere. Her body floating in the clouds above.
The priest pulled his cock out and watched as his come dripped from her ass. He’d leave her lying on her side, filled with his come, tied, and gagged as she came down while he finished his homily.
Now he was ready to get his work done. His mind was cleared, his body relaxed. And afterward, he’d untie his sweet girl and kiss her all over, put her in a warm bath, and speak softly to her as he brought her back.
He kissed her temple as he gently laid her on her side, “Stay here and relax. I’ll be back for you, pet.”
She was in a dream state with her eyes closed and her body like jello so she didn’t even notice when he finally returned and his warm hands deftly untied her until her arms and legs were free and the gag was removed. He kissed her wrists and her ankles and her bottom before placing her in a tepid bath. He held her to his chest and whispered to her.
“Such a good girl. I love you, pet. My little sweet submissive. I’m right here when you’re ready.”
She could hear him. His words and his voice but to unscramble the sentence and make any sense of it was difficult at first.
He rubbed his hands up and down her arms and squeezed every now and then to switch up the sensation and bring her back as he continued speaking into her ear, “Tomorrow we’ll have a movie night. Whatever you want to watch,” he chuckled when he felt her move and she groaned lightly, “How does that sound?”
Harry stayed with her and coaxed her back slowly with soft coos and touches, damp presses of his lips on her neck and cheek.
They’d both gotten what they wanted. Harry finished prepping his homily and Y/n had gotten his attention. He adored having her so soft and gooey after she came so many times and her body was limp, but he loved it even more each time she began to come back to him, her doe eyes blinking and soft sighs falling from her mouth.
Helping her dry off and steadying her as he brought her to the couch with a big blanket he tucked her in and brought her a warm tea with honey to share.
“Father?” Her first real words to speak since he’d had her gagged.
He looked at her as he secured her red leather collar back to her neck (which he’d removed before the bath) and her eyes were on his, “Yes, pet.”
“I’m hungry too.”
Harry smiled and took the mug from her hands and placed it on the coffee table.
“You know what? So am I. I’ll make us some cucumber tomato sandwiches with that cheese you like. Does that sound good?”
She nodded and hummed, “Yes, Father. Thank you.”
Feedback/Thoughts | Support Me! | Main Masterlist
Thank you for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like 💕
Tags: @michellekstyles @golden-hoax @a-strange-familiar @reveriehs @yousunshineyoutempter @the-gardener-31 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @swiftmendeshoran @luvonstyles @tiaamberxx @lukesaprince @harrys-foxy @dirtytissuebox @closureesny @lhharrylilpumpkin @chaptersleftunwritten-deactivat @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysmimi @itsgigikay @angelbabyyy99 @lllukulele @lanadelharry @novasblogofstuff @gills-lounge @damnasstyles @malwtilda @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @0oolookitsme @babybunharry @anothermannharry @love-letters-to-uranus @itjustkindahappenedreally @love-all-things-writing
#priestrry#firstpost#harry styles#harry styles smut#harry x reader#priest!harry#soft dom!harry#sub!reader#dom!harry#harry styles fic#harry styles one shot#harry styles fanfic#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles writing#harry styles fan fiction#harry x yn#harry x y/n#harry styles x reader#harry styles x yn#harry styles x y/n#harry blurb#harry styles x fem!reader#dom!harry x sub!reader#soft dom!harry x sub!reader
582 notes
·
View notes
Note
4, 8, 15, and 16!!! for any WIP you choose!!
More from Customs and Duties, ch. 30, because I'm not allowed to work on anything else until I figure this chapter out.
4. Whose is your least favorite character for this chapter/fic?
Simply because it's her POV chapter, and because I'd have an easier time knocking down trees with a feather than writing it (four drafts and counting?), I'm going to say Nellie Treat. She's really beginning to fray this chapter (I say like she hasn't been fraying since well before the first chapter) and, while I sincerely hope the choices she makes feel justified, it's hard (?) writing a character going against the traits (pragmatic, careful) they value the most in themselves, and lashing out.
8. What is the last scene you’ve written?
I haven't written a fully finished scene in a while - I've just been trying to get 200 or 300 words down every day. But the last 300 words were part of the introductory segment/Nellie going to the burying ground to talk at her dead husband's grave marker, as you do when you're an incredibly well-adjusted widow who's not holding a baseball bat in two hands and looking at a wasps' nest like a piñata.
15. In as vague of terms as possible (to avoid spoiling), how do you anticipate this chapter/fic to end?
This chapter: Nellie goes out of her way to make her life more difficult, which would be funnier if she were not one more bad day away from metaphorically putting an oar on her shoulder and walking inland.
I do know how the fic ends, and spoilers: Nellie finally gets a good night's sleep.
16. Write the next 5 sentences and share.
Thinking this, she hauled herself out of bed and set about the business of the morning, dressing herself, and the children, and coaxed herself to eat the eggs which had been laid out for her without asking – she saw the hand of Aunt B or Mary in this – aided and abetted by her own children, who were sneaking glances over their own dishes and frowning when it seemed she would not touch her own food. Spies in her own household, she thought bad-temperedly, but smiled and choked the eggs down, runny yolks and all. It was a blessing to be loved – far better than the alternatives – but it could be a damned nuisance, and rang discordant bells in her own consciousness. Children were not supposed to have to mind their parents.
But if she started thinking in that way, she could so easily follow the great chain of those thoughts link by link – and in the murkiness below, the great shadow of the past two, now closing on three years –
Nellie took a great gulp of switchel, wincing at the vinegary bite.
Ask Me About My WIPs!
#thank you kind friend!!!#ask meme#polkaknox talks#i'm sorry it's not 1899; i'm just desperately trying to fix this chapter so i can give my full attention to other fics.
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
All of me loves all of you
'Cause all of me
Loves all of you
Love your curves and all your edges
All your perfect imperfections
Give your all to me
I'll give my all to you
You're my end and my beginnin'
Even when I lose, I'm winnin'
pairing: best friend!namjoon x reader !
summary: he loves you but your heart belongs to someone else. he should be happy that you're happy. that's what love is, right? giving someone your heart and not wanting anything in return, even though it hurts you !
word count: 803 words, 4337 characters !
genre: fluff but ends with angst (if you squint) !
warnings: extroverts being called annoying once + talking about insecurities (nose hump, hip dips, stretch marks, cellulite) + sad ending // do not read if you are uncomfortable with any of these topics !
song otd: all of me by john legend !
notes:
⊹ i posted a fic after a long time yay please reblog or like! leave a comment as well,, thank you !
⊹ i started writing this long time back and i found this in my drafts lol soooo i decided to complete it. but i was having a writer’s block so i had to google a few phrases for love hehe so if you find a link attached to the fullstop of a sentence then it’s the link of the website i found the text on !
imp if this gif belongs to you, please dm/comment so i can give you creds,, as i said i wrote this long time back !
unedited !
© retrojennie 2021. do not repost or modify !
❝ When I see you, it's as if space and time become the finest point imaginable, as if time collapses into one tiny speck and explodes at light speed. It's as if my universe begins and ends with you. I could run forever, search forever, but in the end, every path leads right back to your heart and soul. I love you, always. ❞
"Joonie!" you yelled excitedly as you pulled your best friend into a tight hug.
"I'd love to hang out with you right now, but I have to go to a restaurant," you said with a pout, “I hope it’s okay.”
"Yeah it’s okay," He replied with a small smile on his lips.
"Do you wanna walk to there? I can tell you about my day,” you asked to which he nodded.
You grabbed his arm and started walking towards the restaurant babbling about how bad your day was.
Namjoon knew what it was going to be. Your boss shouting at you for giving him the presentation one minute late, Cindy, your colleague, being mean to you for no reason, the printing machine not working— the list could go on.
His focus was on your fingers. Your medium long nails which were covered in white nail polish with small black hearts decorating the corners.
He screamed inside his head when he saw you unconsciously playing with his fingers. Your tiny little fingers.
He could tell that the ring that engulfed your middle finger was a little bigger for your size. In his eyes, you were so adorable that you needed to be protected.
He was in love with you. All of you.
The people that were passing by were annoyed by how much you spoke and how loud you spoke but Namjoon simply didn't care.
Being an extrovert was a big part of your personality and he absolutely loved it.
He would look at you with heart eyes whenever you would talk about how your dog tore your paperwork or how your mom sent you food.
He was soft for you. Only you.
People found him intimidating and stuttered while talking to him. You did too until you realized what a sweet heart he was.
At the beginning of the friendship, he would bring you small presents for weekly anniversaries even though they were just to see you excited. Just to see that beautiful smile plastered on your face.
Your smile... Your beaming smile would always cheer him up. One glance at your toothy smile and his day was made.
He loved the way you would laugh at his cringy jokes till your eyes formed crescents and you couldn't see anything.
Your eyes... They held stars. He could get lost in your eyes forever. Your huge irises made you look extremely adorable.
The way your eye lashes cutely batted against your cheeks made him fall in love with you all over again.
Your cheeks... Your round cheeks made you look extremely adorable. His heart would do flips whenever he so you puff out your cheeks.
He just wanted to grab your face and squeeze your cheeks till he was satisfied.
The way you would get so determined while doing tasks that you became almost angry made his heart melt. Your eye brows furrowed, lips pouted and cheek puffed out.
Your lips... your cute asymmetrical lips. There was always a pout hanging on your lips. You looked extremely pretty even when your lips were chapped.
He loved the feeling of your lips on his cheeks. He would even often flirt with you by taking some lip stick off your lips and applying it to his. Your cheeks would form a pink tint and your ears would turn red.
Your ‘imperfections’... they were all perfect in his eyes. The small scar under your eyes, your hip dips, your slightly humped nose, your stretch marks, your cellulite. Everything that you called imperfect and cried over were beautiful in his eyes.
This man was star struck by you. If his love for you was a type of satisfaction it would be coming home after a long day and lying on your bed. Or completing all the tasks and finally having time to relax. Or when your favourite song plays on the radio. Or watching those satisfying tiktoks.
He keeps falling in love with you and each time is harder than the last. Every time the feeling gets deeper, more complete, more bewitching.
Alas, his life was not a fairy tale. He watched you bid goodbye to him and rush inside the restaurant to hug the man you loved.
But your happiness was more important to him that his, right?
So he walked away, kicking stones on the lonely streets fantasizing about the day he would find his person, his lover, his other half, his soulmate.
#bts#bts imagines#bts fluff#bts fanfic#bts angst#bts incorrect quotes#bts incorrect texts#bts imagination#bts reactions#bts x reader#bts story#bts fic#bangtan boys#bangtan sonyeondan#mmm angst#kim namjoon#kim namjun#kim namjoo icons#kim namjoon imagine#kim namjoon fanfiction#rm#rap monster#rap mon#rap mon bts#rap mon ff#bts rm#bts kim namjoon#kim namjoon ff#kim namjoon angst#namjoon ff
81 notes
·
View notes
Text
hey lover |s.r.|
pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader
summary: spencer wants to ask you on a date but his fear of rejection causes him to write you a letter. however, he’s made the miniscule and idiotic mistake of forgetting to sign it. (fluff, mutual pining, and miscommunication!!)
warnings: very light swearing, description of murders/crime scenes (criminal minds level gore/description), food mention
guide: (Y/N) = your name, (Y/L/N) = your last name, (Y/N/N) = your nickname, italics = letter
word count: 3.2K
a/n: asjkdfhkj this is my first spencer fic i hope it turned out ok!!
***
It seemed like a good idea at first. Derek’s ideas always seem good at first. Spencer wasn’t sure why he trusted things would work out without error. Yet there he was, letter in hand and eyes wide at the stupid, miniscule mistake he made while you awaited his answer.
***
You had just begun working at the BAU no more than 3 months ago as the new communications liaison, replacing JJ while she was absent on maternity leave. You were quickly integrated into the carefully woven quilt that was the BAU and, in turn, you had built some very close relationships with your coworkers.
However, there was one person who you had grown extraordinarily fond of: Spencer Reid. You didn’t want to admit how smitten you were with the doctor, seeing as you were only working at the BAU for so long, but it was an indisputable fact you had fallen for him.
Unbeknownst to you, Spencer felt the exact same way. Your courageous and selfless demeanor struck him as something he hadn’t seen in anyone in quite some time. Not to mention how incredibly beautiful you were. Spencer knew it was impossible for anyone to be perfect but, when you made him feel the way he did, he began to question his thinking.
Spencer was quite terrible at hiding his feelings, finding himself staring at you a second too long when you walked to your office in the morning or bringing you extra breakfast and coffee because the store just happened to have an extra muffin they wanted to get rid of. It was so obvious yet you couldn’t pick it up for the life of you and Spencer really thought he was flirting to the fullest extent of his ability.
One morning you were running late. You had yet to arrive but you called Hotch to let him know you’d be at the office in no more than 30 minutes because the train was down for the time being. You also had texted Spencer, asking him if he wanted something at the small coffee shop around the corner while you waited. So as Spencer gave you his order with one hand, he downed the coffees he had made for you and himself in the other.
“Whoa, kid,” Morgan chuckled, prying the cup from his hand, “slow down. Your toothpick-body can’t take all that caffeine.”
Spencer swatted at Derek in an attempt to get the cup back only to see him lift it to his lips. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Morgan started with mock innocence, “was this for a certain communications liaison that a certain doctor has a crush on?”
Spencer rolled his eyes but felt the back of his neck heat up. “I don’t have a crush on her.” He made his way back to his desk, ignoring Morgan’s eyes boring into him.
“Oh, really? That’s a shame,” he could practically hear the teasing grin in Morgan’s words, “because she likes you.”
Spencer went rigid. He spun slowly on his heel until he saw Morgan’s smirking face, feeling his stomach drop again. He couldn’t believe he fell for that. Spencer retreated to his desk with Derek chasing after him.
“Kid, kid, listen! I know you like her! I was just-”
“Be quiet!” hissed Spencer, his cheeks now coated in a healthy flush.
However, Morgan wasn’t quiet enough. Emily perked up from her desk, rolling her chair over to join the conversation. “What are we talking about?”
Spencer tensed his hands and shook his head, turning to face his work again when Morgan explained, “How pretty boy’s got it bad for (Y/L/N) and won’t do a damn thing about it.”
“What?!” Spencer whipped around, his jaw slack from panic. Morgan and Emily were cackling to themselves at his shock, not even bothering to silence themselves.
“Reid,” Emily began, clutching her stomach from laughter, “it’s okay, I know you like her-”
“What?!”
Spencer’s increasing panic only furthered the pair to laugh even harder. Was he that easy to read? Did everyone know how he felt towards you? Dread began to set into his stomach at the thought of you knowing. His overthinking mind started to wander, assuming you knew how he felt and had led him on to get free breakfast every morning. He quickly scolded himself for thinking that— he’d been hurt too many times before, making that line of thinking second nature. But you weren’t someone who wanted to see people hurt; you were too kind, too caring to do that to anyone.
“Why don’t you just ask her out?” Emily asked. “She obviously likes you, too.”
Spencer’s eyes lit up for a second at the thought of you feeling the same but he caught himself. A moment too late, however. Emily and Morgan teased him, batting their lashes and making kissy faces at him, leading to Spencer throwing his head in hands to hide from their stares.
The two were no later interrupted as Hotch called Emily up to his office to go over a report she had put in, leaving Spencer and Morgan alone. Derek nudged Spencer’s leg, Spencer frowning at him as he met his eyes.
“Listen, kid, Prentiss was right. Why don’t you ask her out?”
If what Derek and Emily had said was true, why couldn’t he? He imagined himself walking up to you and asking you on a date, his heart fluttering at the thought. His fantasy soon turned sour as you snorted at his question, shaking your head vigorously and pushing him out of your office.
“I don’t think I could look her in the eyes if she rejects me.” Spencer’s voice was no more than a whisper as he announced his realization.
Morgan laid a hand on his shoulder, the other reaching around Spencer’s desk to hand him a piece of paper and a pen. “Then we’re going to do this the old fashioned way. Women love it when they get love letters, so write her one.” Spencer’s eyes bulged at Morgan’s words. “Love might be a bit strong, I get it, but you get the sentiment, right? Write her a letter about why you like her, ask her out at the end of the letter, and then slip it under her door.”
Spencer nodded slowly before shooing Morgan away, already hunched over the first draft of the letter. He worked it over and over again, feeling like each copy wasn’t good enough for you until he saw his phone buzz. It was a text from you. You were heading up. Spencer panicked, folding his latest draft and slipping it under the door to your office before settling back at his desk.
You waddled in from the elevators, attempting to balance a carry-out tray of coffees and a bag of croissants in one hand and your work bag in the other. Spencer jumped up from his seat, relieving you of the items belonging to him in an instant.
“Thank you so much, Spence. I was seconds away from dropping my breakfast.” You shouldered him gently in place of a grateful gesture. He nodded, ducking his head in hopes you hadn’t noticed the blush creeping up his cheeks.
Before Spencer could say anything, your phone rang. Sending him an apologetic smile, you managed to slip it out of your pocket and place it on your shoulder, shrugging it up to your ear as you answered. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N).”
Spencer watched you walk off towards your office, taking a short sip from the coffee he definitely didn’t need. You stepped in and flicked the lights on with your elbow before tossing your bag onto your desk, freeing a hand to hold your cell phone. You took another step in before stumbling, your shoes caught on a loose paper by your door.
It was go time.
Spencer hurried back to his desk and pretended he wasn’t looking at you, even though it was extremely obvious he was. You set your breakfast on your desk and bent over to pick up the note, skimming it as you spoke. Your head snapped up and you turned to face the window that exposed the bullpen, Spencer ducking his head down and innocently reading the newspaper on his desk. He chanced a look up only to see you frown and hurriedly shut the blinds.
Spencer thought he was going to be sick. He paled and ran his hands over his face before digging the heel of his palms into his temples, massaging them roughly. You looked upset— disgusted. Why did he think you’d ever like him?
Before he could indulge in his own pity party, you stormed out of your office with a large file in hand. You raised it in the air to gather the attention of the team as you announced, “We have a case!”
The team scurried in after you, everyone finding their places in the conference room as you clicked on your presentation. The pictures of two young couples appeared on the screen as you passed the files around.
“Four victims from Atlantic City have been found dead in their homes.” You clicked to the crime scene photos, wincing at the sight. “The husbands’ C.O.D. being a slice through the carotid and the wives’ a shot through the head execution style. The husbands have also had their...hands removed.”
Hotch looked up from the file, brows furrowed. “This all happened in the span of 3 days so we need to be vigilant. He could be planning his next attack right now. Wheels up in 20.”
***
On the plane ride to New Jersey, the team had finished being briefed by Garcia’s intel quicker than usual and were left to ponder their own thoughts. You sat off by yourself at a table in the back of the jet, opening your bag to sneak out the letter left at your office earlier. You scanned the words and frowned again before being hit with a genius idea.
You stood from your seat and settled next to Spencer on the couch. Oddly, he went rigid at your presence, sitting up straight and avoiding eye contact. You shook it off and continued on with your plan.
“Spence, hey, can I ask you something?” you whispered.
Spencer’s mouth went dry. He knew what you were going to ask about. What else could you be asking about? “S-sure.”
“You’re the guy who’s good at identifying handwriting, right? Like matching it and stuff?”
His eyes flickered up, mouth opening and closing a few times before he settled on a nod. His mind swarmed with questions but none of them came out. He decided it might be best if he were silent, anyway.
“Great. Then can you help me out with” —you pulled the letter from your bag and handed it to Spencer— “this? I think I might have a secret admirer or something. Whoever it was either wanted to stay anonymous on purpose or forgot to sign their name. Either way, could you help me out?”
And that’s when Spencer started to blame Morgan for his terrible idea. Well, it wasn’t exactly his fault but Spencer couldn’t take the blame for something so embarrassing. There his letter was, his handwriting, his words, his admission, and he forgot to sign his name.
Spencer debated the logistics of admitting to his error; he wouldn’t have you pining over a mystery man, but then again he would be asking you out in real time. The whole point of the letter writing was to not see your face and if he told you he wrote it you could reject him straight to his face. He couldn’t deal with the thought of that. So Spencer, fear consuming him, shoved the letter back in your hands with a nonchalant shrug.
“Sorry, (Y/N/N), I don’t recognize the handwriting.”
“Oh,” you muttered, standing up. “That’s okay. Thanks for looking.”
And as you returned to your seat on the other end of the plane, a pit formed in your stomach. You were no profiler but you hoped you could have read Spencer better, seeing if he let on any signs the letter was his, that he liked you. But at that moment you had to push it aside. There was work to be done.
***
After a few days in the case, the team had a breakthrough. They had discovered all the women had been drugged and used a bargaining chip to lead the men back to their homes before getting killed. The unsub had been targeting wealthy couples at casinos and the only way the team could catch him is if he was drawn out of hiding. The whole explanation was a long winded way of Hotch telling you you needed to go undercover as Spencer’s wife.
You begged him to let Emily take your place but Hotch assured she would be better as a lone guest to cover your perimeter. Frowning, you explained you didn’t have any undercover experience but Hotch assured you you’d be fine, that the unsub would fall easily for your charade because of your close identification with the victim pool.
So there you were, in your hotel room sitting in a dress you didn’t care for with a wire far too uncomfortable running up the length of your sleeve. Your body thrummed with nerves so, in an attempt to calm down, you reached for the letter and reread it, practically having it memorized by now.
(Y/N),
I don’t normally do these sorts of things but you deserve these sorts of things— nice things. You deserve the best things. You deserve the things that make you happy, that make you smile, that make you laugh. You deserve all of that and more.
I’ve only known you for some time but I can safely say I’ve completely fallen for you. To be entirely honest, I don’t know how everyone here hasn’t as well. You have this gorgeous smile that makes everyone light up around you. Not to mention your laugh; it’s harmonic and encapsulating, like good music you never want to turn off.
I like you. A lot. And I know you’re too good for me but I can’t help but try. I get scared because people might see right through us— through me— and you’ll realize it, too, that you’re too good for me.
But now isn’t the time to worry about the future (even though I may have a tendency to do so). I’m sorry for not being the best at words. And I’m sorry for not being able to say this to your face but I like you, (Y/N), and I want to go on a date with you.
You were sure you had the confidence to spur forward with the night.
You left your room, ready to knock on Spencer’s door when you heard hushed whispers coming from inside. From the sound of it, Spencer was trying to opt out of the night while Hotch was trying to convince him to stay.
“You’re the only one on this team that can play some convincing poker, Reid-”
“That’s not the point!” Spencer huffed. “It’s...it’s (Y/N). People might see right through us— through me— and they’ll realize she’s too good for me. They won’t buy it. Not when she looks like herself and I look like, well, me.”
Something about his words hung around in your head. It was disquieting. His words weren’t true, of course. He was everything you could’ve wanted and the sheer fact he didn’t see himself that way broke your heart. But it wasn’t just that, there was something else. Something hidden in his words triggering a memory in you.
You were pulled from your thoughts as Spencer and Hotch walked out of Spencer’s room, giving you curt smiles before leaving towards the undercover van outside.
***
Fortunately, the night went as planned. The unsub was apprehended and you managed to stay cool undercover. Mostly cool. Your head was up in the air for a bit as you tried to recall what exactly Spencer had said that reminded you of something. Spencer had to focus you back in a few times but didn’t think anything of your lack of focus. Or, at least, he didn’t say it.
The jet couldn’t leave until the next morning so the team was stuck overnight at the trashy little motel the bureau had paid for. You tossed and turned in your bed, unease settling in your stomach. You decided it might be best for you to read the letter again, seeing as how it brought you such comfort earlier. But the second you scanned the words, the realization hit you squarely in the face.
Disregarding the late hour and the fact you were in pajamas, you ran out of your room and up to Spencer’s knocking on the door with haste. Spencer also seemed to be awake, answering just as quickly as you knocked.
“(Y/N)?” His voice was gravelly and low, like he had been in and out of sleep. You bit back a grin at the adorable pajamas he wore: plaid flannel bottoms and a t-shirt reading “I LOVE LAS VEGAS!” in bright gold lettering. Spencer tracked your eyes roving over his body before clearing his throat to get your attention again. “What’re you doing up at 3:00-”
“I know you wrote the letter.”
You didn’t mean to blurt it out but you just...did. Spencer coughed awkwardly and avoided your stare, shaking his head.
“I don’t...I don’t know what you’re…”
“Spence,” you began, taking his hand in yours, “I overheard you and Hotch talking earlier, about how people would see right through us. It’s the same thing in the letter— nearly identical.”
Spencer, positive he was completely red in the face, muttered, “Must’ve been a coincidence.”
“But it wasn’t, because I know you, Spencer.” You sucked in a sharp breath, your heart pounding in your chest. “Because I like you, Spencer.”
Spencer cocked his head, a smile tugging at his lips like he didn’t want to believe what you said. “You...you like me?”
You took a step towards the doctor, locking your hands around the back of his neck with a chuckle. “Yeah, Spencer, I like you.”
Spencer reached a careful hand up, brushing your hair out of your eyes and running his knuckles down your cheek with an adoring smile before connecting your lips. The kiss was soft and unsure but worth exploring. As you began to deepen it, you heard a door click open from behind you.
“Nice pajamas, you two,” Rossi teased. Spencer glared at him over your shoulder for disrupting what was the most perfect kiss he ever had. Rossi chuckled, holding his hands up in defense. “I saw nothing!”
Rossi slipped back into his room, laughing to himself about the interruption. You tucked your head against Spencer’s chest, feeling him place a soft kiss against the top of your head while his arms looped around your back, pulling you impossibly tighter towards him.
“You know,” he began, his chest rumbling against your ear in the most comforting way, “I’m beginning to think I should be writing you more letters.”
“A few more couldn’t hurt.”
#spencer reid#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid oneshot#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds oneshot#criminal minds imagine#aaron hotchner#david rossi#derek morgan#emily prentiss#cm fanfic#cm oneshot
344 notes
·
View notes
Text
the proposal (m)
banner done by the ammmahhzzing @eerieedits
summary; Jeon’s the editor-in-chief for Big Hit Publishings, a closet romantic with a penchant for antagonizing his assistant on the reg. When his work visa is in the process of being renewed and he takes a trip to Norway, his eligibility to stay in America is on the line. However Jeon Jungkook doesn’t go without a fight, and in order to save his job he offers you a proposal you can't refuse.
pairing; editor!Jungkook x assistant!reader (f)
genre/warnings; the proposal!au, fake marriage au, enemies to friends(!!!), friends to lovers, bouts of flangst, dry humping, slight blood but not too bad, lang, alcohol, poor jjk discovers he has the ability to feel emotion, poor y/n is in the middle as always
w.c; 20.1k of endless banter and koo hiding his romantic side
a/n; yeah, it’s almost summer. But i think we need a lil holiday magic in our lives! I rewatched the proposal this weekend and whipped this up. Why is koo so gosh darn easy to write? This is my longest fic since i wrote maze runner back in 2014!! i rec this extension to get fully immersed in 2pov! Enjoy and pls tell me if there’s any errors im too poopied to proofread it again
drabbles; 01
“When I hired you, you basically signed a contract that said you’d do anything for me.”
“Yeah, Jeon. I did. That meant like, getting you coffee or working late hours—normal work stipulations,” you can feel the hair on your scalp growing thinner, “not commit fucking fraud!”
Your boss looks moreso frustrated than you are, but you cease to care. Jeon Jungkook has been nothing but a thorn in your side since your employment at Big Hit Publishing two years ago. Being a budding author who wanted to graduate from online sites and freelancing, you accepted the job as the editor-in-chief’s assistant in the hopes of getting your first book published.
However, your dreams of being an editor are quickly dissipating, especially when Jungkook corners you this afternoon and announces that he may have left America during the time his work visa was still processing. He may have to give over his editor-in-chief position because there’s no way he can get a work visa processed in time. As a result of this information, he may have told his supervisors that you seduced him on a late night one year ago, and you two fell in love and have been secretly engaged ever since.
Because y’know, your citizenship to this country is an asset to the company.
“We didn’t have to go to Norway to PR Emma Watson’s autobio,” you huff, fingers going pale from how hard you were gripping your iPad. Jungkook is an esteemed workaholic, and you have no idea where it stems from. You remember that trip to Oslo, Jungkook insisting that you and him both go to make sure everything goes smoothly.
“You weren’t complaining when we went to that restaurant with the open bar.” he runs a hand through his coiffed hair, making the pomade untack from its style. “You got so drunk that Emma held you while you cried about global warming.”
Wholly unamused, you frown. “Jungkook, can you please take this seriously?”
“I’m taking this seriously, you’re not the one who’s about to be deported in two weeks!” Jungkook hisses, face dangerously close to yours. Not that anyone would know what he’s saying, but you can tell from his defenses that he genuinely is nervous.
“You wouldn’t be deported if you had just set an earlier appointment to renew your Visa!”
“I wouldn’t be deported if you had just set an earlier appointment to renew my Visa!”
At least twenty pairs of eyes are watching your confrontation, probably making their own conclusions as to what you two were fighting about again. Curse this office for having full-walled windows, you often feel like an ant in a plastic farm. Your work relationship is an anomaly to the rest of the staff. Before you started working at Big Hit, Jungkook’s assistants did not last long. Within the first week of working, you understood why.
Jungkook whirls around his desk, glaring at the glass doors as he puts himself between the staff and you. “If you don’t marry me,” he says lowly, close enough for his hot breath to fan your face, coupled with his fresh-scented cologne. It annoys you how good he smells. “You’ll also be replaced because they want to give the my position to fuckin’ Karen of all people,” you fight the twitch of your lips. The only thing you two mutually agreed upon is the hatred of his co-editor, Karen. “All of the late nights we’ve worked together, the gallons of coffees you consumed, putting up with my shit, your dreams of becoming an author,” his eyes flicker to the way the grip in your iPad trembles, “will go down the drain and turn to shit. Whether you like it or not, we’re in this together.”
Pretending to be unfazed, you bat your lashes, “So are you saying, you need me?”
“For fuck’s sake—”
“Ah-ah, Jungkook. I’m not going to ask you to get on one knee, but you should at least tell me how much you need me.”
You assume with great confidence that the only reason you’re kept on Jungkook’s payroll is because you’re not afraid to stand up to Jungkook’s bullshit. He looks positively disgusted at the mere thought of paying you an iota of a compliment. You’d say on average, you get half a compliment a month from Jungkook. You say half because he’ll compliment you, then downplay it with whatever flaw he can fabricate to get under your skin.
He loosens his lavender paisley tie, annoyed. “Fine. I need you. I need you because you’re the only one who knows me well enough to be my wife. You’re the only woman I’ve had full conversations with in two years and knows all my dietary restrictions, favorite books, foods, and hobbies. By process of elimination, you are my best candidate.”
“Romantic,” you roll your eyes, “I guess I do,” you push him away with a finger to his chest, “but I want a raise. And after we finish Sorn and Mark’s project, I want you to read my novel.”
“Done and done.”
“Well Jeon, I guess you’ve wifed me up with your ways of seduction.” you muse sardonically, feeling more upset for yourself than anything.
“Fantastic,” he sighs, finally throwing his tie across the desk and plopping in his armchair. “Cancel the call with Janet, call PR about Irene Kim’s interview on Ellen, and order me a medium rare steak from J.J. Bittings with a side of brussels.”
“Right,” you mutter under your breath as you pull up your checklist, as if you didn’t just give away your life to the Devil incarnate.
Jungkook’s back is already facing you, focusing on his computer displaying two new manuscripts. “Oh, and on your way to J’s don’t forget to pick up your ring at Saks.”
“Bitch, you’re asking me to pick up my fake wedding ring?”
Unbothered, he shrugs. You see the planes of his shoulders stretch beneath the blazer, because he’s deemed this conversation long over and he has work to do. “Yeah, but it’s real diamonds.”
You’ve been seeing red for days.
While the rock on your ring finger is indeed beautiful because Jungkook has impeccable taste, it drags you down and arouses the elephant in the room everytime you show up for work.
You get enough stares on the daily, and you were just getting used to the looks of pity and sympathy for working under Jungkook, but now there are only snickers and playful winks as you trudge down the cubicles every morning. Everyday feels like the runway at a shitshow, and you are the headliner.
Taehyung clapped you none-too-hard on the back when you showed up to work the next morning, congratulating you on the engagement. “Can’t believe you’re fuckin’ the big boss!”
The rest of the staff poke their eyes out of their cubicles like Digletts, and you shush them, using your hand to make them sink down.
Coffee is spilling down your shirt thanks to him, and you reach for tissues in his cubicle. “Can you not say it like that, please?”
“Oh, come on. I heard from the supervisors Jungkook went on about how you seduced him late at night and took charge,” Taehyung wiggles his eyebrows approvingly, and you fight the urge to not throw up your coffee in his face. “How do you keep it so professional? Or do you save all that pent-up energy for after hours?”
“You disgust me,” you grimace, stepping out of his cubicle and immediately regret wasting your five-minute break conversing with the typist.
Striding back into Jungkook’s office, he doesn’t hesitate to rattle off the next items on today’s agenda. He barely looks at you when you stride in, too focused on whatever corrections he’s slashing in red ink.
“Did you get Taemin’s second draft?”
“No, and I told him that if he can’t get me the draft by tonight he won’t get a publishing deadline and the number of copies published will be decreased by a third.”
“And Taehyung’s author agreed to our stipulations?”
“Of course, she’d be dead not to.” you mutter, “she’s a nineteen year old Influencer, what would she know?”
“Exactly, that’s why we milk it out as long as we can.” Jungkook throws the first draft in a large, intimidating pile, mixing in with all the others like a needle in a haystack. “Which is why it’s important we snag dinner with her this weekend, we can really—”
“What, this weekend?” your sense of equilibrium cracks, and you walk forward to put his hands on his desk. “I took this coming week off for Christmas. I’ve planned this for months.”
“I know.”
“I can’t just cancel my flight! I saved up for that!”
“And?” Jungkook brushes off your fury like a piece of lint, “I’m Korean. Christmas is a fake holiday for me.”
“You can’t just tell me I can’t go home to my family, it’s the fucking holidays!”
“Why not, I’ve done it before. Remember on Valentine’s day when I told you the only date you have is a date with Kwon Boa’s publicist? Or on Secretaries Day when I argued that you don’t feel appreciated by society anyway and therefore why bother taking one extra day off? Or during Easter when your family screamed in my office on speakerphone that you should quit—”
“Okay,” no need to be reminded of how much you’ve wasted your life for this man, “but this is different. I’ve already bought plane tickets and this holiday is special. It’s a whole family reunion in the Poconos and we’ve reserved over five houses to fit all of us! I can’t just ditch!”
“But I need you!” he replied just as hotly, in a tone that reminded you so many times of how tethered you are by this man. Two years have gone by, and the only thing that kept those strings together is the constant ache in getting your first novel published. “With all the marriage stuff and stupid extentions we had to make on these writers there’s no way we can get everything done before winter ends!”
“You’ve done it before, why can’t you just ask Taehyung to assist—”
“Trouble in paradise?”
A chill travels up your spine, and you and Jungkook exchange panicked eye contact. A tiny, pretty blonde lady struts in the room like it's hers, plopping a fruit basket atop Jungkook’s manuscripts.
“If by paradise you mean our relationship, then no.” Jungkook’s the first to recover, meeting you at your side and stretching an arm around your waist. “I’d say work-wise things are getting a little rough, but nothing we can’t handle. We’re a team, after all.”
“I just wanted to stop by as I was in the neighborhood,” the woman says, making herself comfortable in a leather seat reserved for guests. “Congratulations again on your engagement.”
You tack on a smile, squeezing Jungkook’s arm a little too hard, but it’s enough to make the lady in front of you smile back. “What brings you here, Taeyeon?”
Kim Taeyeon is Jungkook’s immigration liaison, AKA the person responsible for making sure you’re not breaking the law. She’s a pretty thing, with eyes sharp but a smile that’s soft and deceiving.
“It’s just a shame you two have to rush a civil wedding,” Taeyeon sighs, looking at the window overlooking the city.
“Ah, it takes some of the planning stress off my back, really.” you force a laugh, tugging Jungkook to sit on the couch opposite her. “At least one thing is done. The thought of planning a whole wedding with over two-hundred people is so stressful.”
You weren’t really going to have a white wedding with Jungkook (however you may have entertained the thought, which is reflected in your Google search history) but you had to keep up the ruse that you were. A civil wedding in two weeks, then a quickie divorce a year later.
“I know! My wedding was a real mess let me tell you, straight out of a movie!” Taeyeon is certainly the type of person to make you feel at ease, so at ease that it’s simple for you to melt your front. “But besides the point, are you two doing anything special for the holidays?”
“Ah, well I bought a flight to meet my family in the Poconos,” you start, trying not to succumb to your nervous habit of wringing your fingers. You grab Jungkook’s hand as a reprieve.
“And you’re not going?” Taeyeon’s gaze snaps, yes snaps, to Jungkook.
You try to step in, realizing your flaw. “We’ve just been so swamped with work, all the immigration stuff and with these book delays Jungkook suggested he stay behind—”
“But we’ve decided to prioritize our personal life and enjoy Christmas with our family,” Jungkook swoops in, threading his fingers between yours. He flashes Taeyeon a smile, and from the way his face lights up and his nose crinkles, you could’ve mistaken it to be genuine. “I’ve never experienced a big family Christmas, y’know. I’ve missed snowboarding too, I used to do it a lot in highschool.”
“Oh, that’s just so sweet!” Taeyeon cooes, clasping her hands together. “Do send some pictures when you come back!”
“Of course,” Jungkook stands up and attempts to leave Taeyeon out. You follow in tow, She obliges easily, mentioning something about just wanting to check in and she also has work to do.
“Also,” Taeyeon’s head flickers to the people sitting outside Jungkook’s office. “You should manage those workers out there,” she looks at you, sympathetic. “Apparently, they didn’t peg you as the type of person to sleep their way to the top. And that’s just what I heard from walking down the hall once!” she laughs, tinkling brighter than a windchime, but you just tighten the grip on Jungkook’s palm. “Such a childish assumption. Things can be much more complicated.”
She tips a “happy holidays” off her shoulder, and you both are smiling like the loving couple you are. As soon as the elevator doors close and Taeyeon is really gone, Jungkook moves to let go of your hand, but you hold him in your grasp.
“She’s onto us,” you snap, tugging him closer to you so your co-workers wouldn’t read your lips.
“Don’t you think I know that?” he bites back. He looks offendingly at the fruit basket adorning his desk.
“What if we get caught, Jungkook?” you start to spiral, feeling your deepest fears crawl to the forefront of your brain. You’ve done extensive Google research on commiting fraud, and if you do get caught, Jungkook will never be able to come back to this country and you’ll have a fine of up to $250,000. Your boss doesn’t pay you nearly enough to get by with that kind of debt. “We’ll ruin this company, and our lives, and any hope of being published or credible.”
“Hey, relax,” Jungkook whispers in your ear, the tone oddly comforting. He pulls you into his arms, and you barely have a chance to recover when he squeezes you extra tight around your waist. Jungkook only ever hugs you when doing PR, and even then it’s an awkward half-hug. Hell, he never hugged you on your birthday. “This is what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna book my flight to the Poconos, bring some manuscripts so we can work remotely, and no one will ever know.”
You sigh into his arms, nodding tiredly. It feels nice to be hugged like this. His arms are strong and warm, and you feel small and protected. It’s been a while since you’ve felt like that. Maybe Jungkook did have a heart under all that muscle.
“I’m putting up a good show, aren’t I?” he says, and you feel your heart drop just a little. Disappointed, but not surprised.
From your view facing the cubicles, you see at least half the employees comically bugged with heart eyes at you, enamored by your fake relationship.
“Do not stretch your long-ass legs on this plane, Jeon,” you nudge your smaller leg away from your section of leg room, “Jesus, we’re flying economy!”
It scares you how little you fought against Jungkook joining you for the winter holiday. It is the logical decision after all, Taeyeon is on your trail about your sudden engagement and you both needed to keep up the ruse. That includes going on family vacations. Also, the fact that Jungkook works through Christmas because he doesn’t celebrate it does make you feel a little bad. You can’t remember the last time the man took a vacation.
The man in question barely moves at your weak attempt, and stretches his leg even further across your seat. “Sorry, babe,” he says, fishing around his seat for the included blanket.
“It’s fine, Kookie.” You reply sweetly, and decide to kick off your shoes to drape a leg over Jungkook’s thighs, “you’re like a portable footrest!”
He looks absolutely insulted at your objectification, but smartly decides to choose his battles and lets you keep your position. Tucking himself in with a scratchy blanket he waves you off, “Whatever, just wake me up when we arrive.”
“What, no.” you pull up your iPad, shoving the note entry in his face. “I know everything about you, and yet you know nothing about me. I made this easy on you and just wrote everything down. You just have to read it.”
“Seriously? I’ve known you for over two years, I’m sure I know enough about you.”
“Really, then how do I like my coffee?”
“Uh… hot?”
You give him a look and he knows. With a sigh he grabs the iPad from your hands. Within seconds he’s giving you another dirty look, as if he’s skimming a conspiracy novel.
“You know all this random shit about me?” Jungkook asks, scrolling down as to what feels like your life story.
“Yes, because unlike you, I listen when you talk.”
“Fine. What’s my favorite type of weather?”
“A warm and sunny day, which correlates to your favorite kind of date which is walking along the beach at sunset. Cliché much?”
“Okay, rude. Who’s my favorite artist?”
“You like a little bit of everything, but since seventh grade you’ve been pining for IU. In the office, you like to sing along to Lauv and Hozier.”
“Favorite movie?”
“The Marvel Series. But you really like 5 Centimeters Per Second, you like the romance.”
“And how do you know my favorite anime movie is 5 Centimeters Per Second? I’m pretty sure I’ve never told you that.”
“Jeon, when we were promoting Momo Hirai’s self-help book at Anime Expo you were gone for two and a half hours at 1:50 sharp.” your boss’ Adam’s apple bobs and he swallows thickly at your admonition. “And low and behold, you gave yourself thirty minutes’ time to line up early because when I checked the schedule Makoto Shinkai had a panel on ‘The Otaku’s Perspective on Romantic—”
“Alright alright, I get it.” Jungkook slumps in his seat, as comfy as it can get with your legs draped around him and a seat at the far end of the plane. You know he’s trying to hide a blush, and you feel proud for making him a little flustered. “You’re lucky I’m a fast reader.”
The plane ride goes relatively fast, with Jungkook asking quick questions about your family and other random things. It’s like playing a game of 20 Questions, instead it’s the final boss battle with 200 questions and if he doesn’t get them all right, the penalty is deportation.
When you land, you’re both stiff and glazed over. Once you exit the terminal, Jungkook ditches you for the bathroom and says he’ll meet you at the luggage pickup. You give yourself a few moments, gearing yourself up for the long week ahead of you. At the luggage pickup, you see a tall man watch the revolving conveyor belt with interest. Either that, or he’s zoning out.
“Joonie!” you cry, nearly dropping your phone upon seeing your big brother. He’s dressed comfortably in a grey sweat ensemble, as if he rolled out of bed and came straight to the airport.
A bright grin takes over his face, and he doesn’t hesitate to smush your body against his. Under his tall frame you sway, your toes barely swiping the ground. “You’re alive!” he cheers, pulling back and holding your shoulders to get a real look at you. “I can see you’ve gained a little weight, eyes are a little dark, but I’m glad the Devil let you go. I still can’t forgive him for making you skip out on Jin’s wedding.”
You don’t appreciate the way that Namjoon picks and prods at your exhaustion, but you know he means well. While he does not know your boss by face and name, he had enough artilerary from the billions of phone calls to learn about the Devil and the havoc he’s wreaked upon your life.
When you don’t respond he gets the cue that you do not want to talk about work this week, and he smacks his lips together. “But nothing a little R&R can’t fix! The ski resort nearby has a really nice outdoor jacuzzi and we could set an appointment for facials if you’d like. Or we could do absolutely nothing and turn into baked potatoes and watch movies until our eyes burn up.”
“Both would be great,” you smile softly, catching two familiar suitcases make their rounds on your flight’s conveyor belt. You grab your pink luggage with one hand, and Jungkook’s black chrome one with your other.
“So, where’s the new beau?” Namjoon rocks back and forth on his heels, hoping to get a glimpse of the mystery boy you mentioned you’d be bringing as of two days ago.
“He really had to go to the bathroom,” you squint your eyes to make out the newcomers exiting the dropoff area. “Oh, there he is. Kook!”
Like a goddamn model, he struts in your field of vision like nobody’s business. Unlike you who stayed in your apartment all day before leaving, Jungkook decided to spend a few hours at Big Hit in the morning to tie up most of the loose ends before your trip. He’s talking to what you assume to be is a client, noting the way his brow furrows as he clutches his phone with a tight hold. He’s changed out of his tie and leather oxfords, but he’s dressed crisply in a dark button up and blazer ensemble, still wholly overdressed for a family reunion.
Namjoon starts behind you, “He looks...”
“Handsome?” you goad, elbowing him, “Charismatic? Undeniable presence?”
“Hard.”
You don’t know what to make of that adjective, and you subtly shrink further in your jacket as you mull over the implications of his word choice.
Jungkook steps up to the two of you, ending his call. His eyes float between you and your brother, and he manages to put two and two together. “Hey man,” Jungkook gives a practiced smile, extending a hand. “I’m Jungkook, I’ve heard lots of things about you.”
“Good things, I hope.” Namjoon chuckles, returning the handshake. “I’ve heard absolutely nothing about you, though. Can’t wait to get to know you this week.”
“Looking forward to it,” Jungkook takes his luggage and Namjoon grabs yours, leading you two out to his minivan. While Namjoon is preoccupied with getting the car started, Jungkook looks at you as if he’s already regretting making the trip down. “This girl has two braincells to her name. I just got off the phone with Sorn’s publicist.”
“What trouble can an influencer do?” you reply in disbelief.
“Exactly, influencing is the trouble,” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “she did some mukbang and now she’s in the hospital for food poisoning.”
“Ah, don’t get too worked up,” you help him lug your suitcases in the trunk. You spot Namjoon subtly eyeing you two from the rear mirror. Pressing a thumb between his brows, you make work to melt away the 11-shaped stress lines on his forehead. “Let’s just send her a Lush gift basket and she’ll be fine.”
You ignore the way Jungkook’s gaze lingers on you longer than needed, running over to your seat at shotgun.
The inside of his car smells like bergamot and lemon, and the sweet, vulnerable side of you wants to cry over how much you’ve missed your brother’s scent. It’s been way too long.
Once you’re all safely in the car and driving Namjoon says, “So, are you going to hide the engagement ring or give the family a collective heart attack?”
You tense, hands automatically floating to the teardrop diamond weighing heavily on your ring finger. The story that you two contrived about your relationship isn’t too complicated, but complex enough that it seems convincing. Instead of being your boss, Jungkook is your Literary Agent who gives you referrals to new and upcoming authors. You working closely together and bonding over the stresses of the publishing world, have kept a secret relationship under wraps for over a year to avoid any unprofessionalism or favoritism.
“I was thinking about that the whole ride, actually,” you twirl the metal back and forth, watching it gleam in the light. “Mom and dad know, but I don’t wanna lie to the rest of my family. They’ll freak out because it’s the first time they’re meeting Kook and we’re already engaged. It’s just a location thing, y’know. You guys don’t live in the city so we’ve never had a chance to really talk it out.”
Namjoon snorts, “Or, because your boss never gives you a break.”
If Jungkook finds any offense, he doesn’t show it. Putting what should be a comforting hand on your shoulder, he says from the back seat, “I already told you babe, do what makes you comfortable. But I don’t want to lie to your parents early on, you don’t wanna make the situation any more complicated.”
In other words, you better tell them about our engagement because Taeyeon could be hiding in the bushes waiting to catch us.
“Smart man,” Namjoon says shortly, but you can’t tell whether it’s a compliment or not.
“Yeah,” you exhale, turning to smile stiffly at Jungkook, “no use hiding the inevitable, right?”
The next couple hours are overwhelming. There’s a party right when you walk in your winter villa, your parents throwing you a reunion party (not for your family, but for you specifically because you’ve been MIA since Big Hit) with the house filled to the brim with family members. Within seconds your favorite cousin checks out the rock on your finger and screams that you’re engaged.
Everyone must be so high off the fact that you’ve made it to a family event that they’re elated you have a life outside of work. Jungkook is treated like a prince, charming the hell out of all your aunties and baby cousins.
“Oh, pumpkin!” your auntie squeals, linking arms with you while you’re trying to eat your dinner, “I just hugged your fiancé, and he has abs! Lucky you!”
“Auntie,” you hiss playfully, “you hugged him that tight?”
“He’s part of the family, isn’t he?”
“Right,” you force a smile, downing your glass of champagne. The bubbles burn your throat pleasantly.
“Babe, can you come here for a second?” Jungkook manages to swim his way through the throng in the living room, holding out a hand for you, “your mom said that our room is ready, care to lead the way?”
His smile, as pretty as you can care to admit, renders your aunt speechless, and she lets him whisk you away to a long hallway that leads to a set of bedrooms. Jungkook lets go of your hand as soon as you're alone, letting his palm run along the pictures that decorate your hallway.
He stops at a picture of you and Namjoon as kids, faces tanned and lips cherry red from your twin popsicles melting on your hands. “Wow,” Jungkook pretends to be alarmed, “I didn’t know you used to be cute, what happened?”
“Shut up,” you smack his hand away, walking ahead of him.
“I thought you guys reserved a bunch of houses, why does the furniture look worn and there’s pictures of you everywhere?”
“Our extended family has reserved houses, but this is actually my family’s vacation home. I used to go here every winter and summer break,” you reach a bedroom in the corner of the hall, smiling at your wooden name tag hanging on the front, “this is my old room.”
It certainly doesn’t have that youthful charm it once had, but there are still bits of your childhood scattering the room. There’s ticket stubs and photobooth strips tacked to a corkboard near your desk. Books that you would reread cover to cover are organized proudly on your shelf, worn for wear.
Jungkook groans in relief, plopping his body down on your freshly made bed. “Your family’s really clingy.” he sighs, throwing an arm over his eyes.
You turn to give him a snappy answer, but it dies in your throat when you see what he’s laying on. The familiar family quilt sinks under Jungkook’s weight, mocking you. You shriek, throwing your arms over to lug his body to the other side of the bed. Bundling up the quilt in your arms, you glare at a very appalled Jungkook.
“The hell is wrong with you, woman!” he cries, not loud enough to escape the room, but enough to have your body vibrate in annoyance.
“Jeon, they put the fucking baby blanket in my room,” you mutter more to yourself than him, folding it under your arms.
The blanket is comfy in your grasp and you’re sure it’s clean, but the fact that you weren’t actually married and in love made its appearance a whole lot worse.
“So?” his eyes are wide in confusion, “my mom still has my baby blanket too, I’m not gonna shoot anyone because of it.”
“It’s not my baby blanket,” you admonish, “it’s the baby maker blanket. A weird family tradition when someone gets engaged.”
“Which means?”
“They’re expecting us to fuck and have children.”
The thought of procreating and starting a family with you must’ve caused all the champagne to return to his throat, and he looks a little pale. “I think I’m gonna be sick.” he lies back down on your mattress, and you leave him be so you can chuck the blanket back in your parents’ room.
You’re barely out the door when a young man is waiting out in the hallway for you, poised to knock. “Hey, baby girl.” they throw you an easy lopsided grin, opening their arms to you.
In your haste, you slam your bedroom door a little too loudly. “Yoongi!” You let yourself sink into his waiting arms, reveling in the familiar embrace you missed so much. Yoongi is Namjoon’s best friend and work buddy, not to mention the man you’ve had a crush on since you were able to walk. While you can safely say at this moment there is nothing serious going on, a small part of you always wishes there could be.
His voice husks in your ear, “Why are we hugging in between the baby blanket?”
“Oh!” you brush past him, opening the door to your parents’ room and flinging the offending item as far into their room as possible. “Sorry, Jungkook and I were a little freaked out when we saw it. We’re definitely not thinking about children right now.”
“Jungkook,” he hums, and your smile falters just a tad when you see the way Yoongi tips his head down in thought, “It was quite the news. Congrats though.”
You want to say what you’re supposed to say, that yes, you should be happy. But the selfish part of you does not want this exchange between you and Yoongi to be happening. When you get your quickie divorce in a year, the small, hopeful part of you hopes you and Yoongi could be something.
Before you have a chance to fabricate a response, strong hands encircle your waist, and you feel Jungkook’s chin digging into your shoulder.
“Thanks, man,” Jungkook’s voice rumbles, “we really appreciate it.”
Yoongi gives a nod, muttering something about catching up later before he walks back to the party.
It’s then that Jungkook’s weight feels impossibly heavy on your shoulders. “You know, you’ve been doing a really shitty job of being my wife-to-be ever since we landed,” Jungkook whispers, feather soft lips dusting across the shell of your ear. It’s an act so intimate you can imagine your family passing down the hallway could be mistaking you two for speaking unthinkable acts. A toddler cousin spots you two and giggles, babbling something to your uncle about how you’re hugging. “You did so well when we were with Taeyeon and Big Hit.”
“It’s not the same when I’m lying to my family,” you turn to face him, equally simmering. “These are people that actually love and care for me, unlike you.”
“At least I care about what’s most important,” he grits back, “our jobs, our futures. Is that not enough for you to keep it in your pants?”
“Excuse me? You don’t even know him!”
“I don’t have to know him because I’m holding you right now and you’re practically sweating through your cardigan.” he grimaces, digging his chin further into your collarbone, literally trying to get under your skin. “Your face looks like a cherry tomato.”
You turn your head to bite back, your noses touching. The staring contest seems to last for days. Unlike Jungkook who doesn't know how to register basic human emotion, you still have hopes for a life after this. Before you have a chance to answer, your favorite cousin enters the hallway, oblivious to your concerns. Jimin’s red all over, passing you two flutes of blush champagne. “Hurry up, we’re making speeches!”
Champagne is overflowing like Niagara, and you and Jungkook are the reason for it as you’re thrusted into the living room. Your weird uncle is in the middle of a long-winded speech about his fishing business and how dreams are made from ‘bait and a dream’. You make eye contact with him, and he gestures wildly to you and Jungkook.
The crowd proceeds to go wild, echoes of speech! Speech! Reverberating throughout your living room. You and Jungkook share uneasy smiles, unsure of where to go with this show.
Deciding it’s your family by blood, you start first. “Honestly, when I moved to New York I wasn’t expecting to feel so lonely,” you clutch your flute with both hands, swirling your drink absentmindedly. You then turn to Jungkook, giving him a tender smile which he returns back just as fondly. “Until I met Jungkook. I’m really happy that I get to share this week with the people I love the most, so let's drink to family!”
Jungkook lifts his glass, “Thank you for the warm welcome, I can’t wait to spend time with all of you. This is my first Christmas with a large, loving family. Cheers to that!”
The room erupts in cheers, allowing themselves to clink glasses and chase down their respective drinks. Even the little ones crowding the kiddie table in the back are enjoying their apple juice while making silly faces at the new couple.
Jungkook weaves his arm between yours, and you get the signal to do a couples’ drink. He eyes you with mischief, as if to say we did it. After you two take your drink, Jimin’s the first to drunkenly yell, “Ohmygod just kiss already!”
“Kiss kiss kiss!”
“This is going on my story so make it good!”
“Kiss him before I do!”
“Oh my god,” you groan, throwing your forehead on Jungkook’s chest. Your family really is something else.
As if the chants can’t get any louder, it’s hard to focus on anything but Jungkook’s presence. Jungkook lifts your chin up, murmuring, “Let’s give the people what they want.” and he presses his lips to yours.
It’s awkward at first. Why wouldn’t it be, you’re making out with your boss, in front of your family, pretending to be engaged. But Jungkook doesn’t let up, parting your lips slightly to deepen the kiss. As much as you want to make up how terrible and disgusting kissing Jungkook is, it really isn’t. His lips are soft and he tastes like the peach champagne, and his grip on your waist is strong and warm.
He leaves you breathless when you pull away, a smirk on his lips for a brief moment before he turns shyly to your family who are probably foaming at the mouth now.
Maybe it’s the champagne coursing through your veins, but why does it suddenly feel so hot in the middle of winter?
The first day back starts off wholly uneventful, with Jungkook working on some manuscripts and you preparing dinner with Jimin. Most of your family is on the resort hitting the slopes, so you’re quite thankful for the reprieve since the party was so overwhelming. The blonde is all smiles as he bumps the oven closed with his leg, letting your lasagna bake to perfection.
“I’ve missed you so much,” Jimin rests his head on your shoulder, “it’s definitely not the same when we’re adults. Frankly, it sucks balls.”
“Big balls,” you agree, gnawing on a leftover baguette from last night.
“Speaking of big balls,” Jimin wiggles his brows as you attempt to move farther from him.
“Please don’t say it.”
“C’mon! Just tell me if the sex is good!”
“No!” you cry, flicking your crumbs at him.
“I will open this oven,” his hands are already on the handle, “and your dish will undercook.”
“Don’t you dare!” he opens the oven a tad, and you slam your hand down. “Fine! The sex is fantastic, happy?”
“Ewh, no!” The storm door swings open, revealing Namjoon, Yoongi, and Lisa, Namjoon’s lady friend. “I didn’t need to hear that, thanks.”
Your face looks absolutely pained as you watch the two older men walk in. They were the last people you’d ever want to share about your sex life too, even if it is fake. You can only bear to look properly at Lisa as they kick off their boots and shake the snow off their heads. Lisa pokes her tongue in her cheek, looking at you with a wild look in her eyes. “I’ve heard so much about your current drama. Can’t wait to hear the 411 from you, though.”
Yoongi looks unfazed, then again you never really know what’s going on in his head. “You guys wanna go to a movie tonight?” Yoongi asks, grabbing a slice of the baguette and dipping it in a dish of olive oil. “I think the one that’s showing is based on a book your company published.”
“Is it ‘Rotten Love’?”
“That’s the one.”
Pushing yourself off the counter, you nod eagerly. “I’ll go tell Jungkook to get ready. We can eat dinner real quick and then go right after,” you grab a bottle of water from the fridge, “Joonie, set up the table please.”
Jungkook doesn’t notice you walk in, and you can hear the faint sound of Muse blasting from his Airpods. He’s on your floor, doing pushups while reading a transcript under him. This time he’s using your iPad, every few seconds taking a thumb to scroll down. Sweating through his shirt, you can see the beads running along his silver reading glasses. It’s completely contradictory, your muscle bunny of a boss getting in his reps while psychoanalyzing a potential novel, but somehow it works with him.
“Maniac,” you mutter, bending down to place the cool water bottle on his cheek. He stops abruptly, like you’ve pressed the pause button on his seemingly robotic arms. Seriously, you can’t fathom how he manages to do both. You swipe the iPad under his body in place of a white towel, which he accepts gratefully. This isn’t the first time you’ve had to snap him out of it, sometimes you’d catch him at the company gym nearing 10PM, reading on the treadmill.
“What time is it?” he asks, fluting the water bottle down his throat.
Ignoring the way his neck glistens in sweat, you say, “It’s almost seven. C’mon, we’re gonna eat dinner and watch a movie. You’ve cooped yourself up in this room all day, time to interact with the world.”
“What movie?”
“The book we published in 2018, ‘Rotten Love’? They made it into a movie,” and you can’t help the wry grin that takes over your face when you say your next words, “guess who directed it.”
He sighs, rubbing the towel over his damp hair. The normally styled strands fall limply at his forehead. “I don’t remember, I shifted over that project to PR. Any director’s fine, but please please please don’t let it be—”
“Jung Hoseok!”
“Son of a bitch, we gotta go.” And it’s the first time in a while you see a genuine smile graze his features, one not laced with you and your marriage. It’s an old pastime for you both to get picky over Jung’s work. “I swear, he better not put his scenes all over the place like last time, I got whiplash.”
After a quick dinner you all pile into Namjoon’s minivan, making your way to the theatre. The drive is fast, and before you know it you’re waiting in line to get inside. It seems that the PR between the film studio and Big Hit did a good job assisting, because there’s a sizable line despite being half an hour early.
“So honey,” Lisa leans into you, squishing you further into Jungkook’s shoulder. “Did you like, help out with the publishing of this novel? To be honest I don’t even know what your job is,” Lisa admits with a shrug, “you’re not a glorified coffee girl, are you?”
“No,” her mixed enthusiasm never fails to stump you, “Ah, but I really didn’t do much in the production of ‘Rotten Love’,” you reply easily, relaxing into Jungkook as he moves to drape an arm around your shoulder. “I just told my boss to sign some documents n’stuff. It’s really nothing—”
“Babe, are you kidding? You ran the whole freakin’ project!” and you’re in shock, because for the first time in the history of ever, Jeon Jungkook is paying you a real compliment. “It was her first assignment when she got hired as the big boss’ assistant. A lot of people in the office doubted her,” he squeezes your shoulder, “but not for one second did I doubt her, you could see how hard she worked to make it perfect. I heard the boss was really impressed, too.”
You remember that period of time. Jungkook made you dive headfirst into the publishing for ‘Rotten Love’, letting you sink or swim in his decision for keeping you employed. After a full month of meetings, negotiations, and debating whether you should have caffeine IV’ed in your body to save time on eating, you got Jungkook’s evaluation. You remember the stoicism in Jungkook’s frame as he surmised your work, throwing you a flippant “it’s decent” before sending you off to do more work.
Relief flooded your system after those two simple words, because that meant you had a chance and you could keep your job. But this? If what he’s saying is true, you’re on Cloud 9.
“Awh, thanks Kook.” you squeeze his arm, letting your fingers trail down to lace your fingers with his.
Lisa’s face is all scrunched, and she doesn’t hesitate to stretch over you to smush Jungkook’s cheek between her two fingers. Her blue nails dig into his soft skin. “I like him, honey. Keep him, he’s so cute.”
She leaves you alone after that, skipping over to bother Namjoon about buying an extra bucket of popcorn.
“At first I was nervous having you near my family for a week,” you say brightly, rubbing a thumb over his hand, “but I kinda like seeing you try so hard to not rip other people’s heads off.”
He puffs out his cheeks in an attempt to soothe the stinging. “Could be worse, I could be engaged to Karen.”
With that you laugh, loud enough to turn heads and have Jimin and Lisa send you adoring looks. Jungkook sends you a nervous smile, the one that he’d always send you during team meetings when he was unsure of how to respond to something. Instead of giving him a smart answer, you get on your tiptoes to pat his reddened cheek. “But she’s right, you are kinda cute when you wanna be.”
Instead of replying, he squeezes your hand tighter to lead you inside.
Everything is smooth sailing after that. You, Jimin and Yoongi are saving the seats while Jungkook, Lisa and Namjoon are getting the refreshments. Jimin is prattling on about a new job interview and you’re listening attentively, while Yoongi shoots off advice every time Jimin says he’s nervous.
Yoongi looks past Jimin to give you that gummy smile that always made your chest ache. “Chim, remember when she applied to work at Jamba Juice?”
“Oh my god,” Jimin giggles, clutching your arm. “When you had to do a trial run in front of the manager? You forgot to put the lid on the blender and you sprayed the staff with green juice?”
“The stains took forever to get out,” you pouted. “And I didn’t appreciate the snaps you saved of me. I got nervous because you were recording me!”
“Am I hearing some juicy details about your childhood?” Jungkook appears, passing a huge tub of buttery popcorn to Yoongi.
“Emphasis on juice,” Yoongi says tartly, popping a handful of kernels in his mouth.
“Yes, do you wanna see a picture of your fiancé covered in green juice? She wore a low-cut shirt that day so it got deep, man.” Jimin says, using his hands to gesture obscenely to his own chest.
You’re mortified, and you push down Jimin’s phone and cover whatever receipts he has on you. “Jimin, I’d like to stay engaged, if you don’t mind?”
Your not-so-favorite cousin cackles in response, telling Jungkook that they’ll talk later.
“Here,” Jungkook cooly hands you a King-Sized KitKat.
“Awh,” you marvel, immediately opening the wrapper, “you actually read my notes and found out what my favorite candy was?”
He scoffs, dark bangs blowing up. “Who doesn’t like KitKats?” but you’re giving him the look, and he sighs, “C’mon babe, just gimmie a break.”
“Ha-ha,” but you break off a piece anyway, lifting it to Jungkook’s lips. It’s then that the theatre starts to dim, and the telltale signs of the movie begin. “Ready to rip Jung Hoseok to shreds?”
“Always.”
Barely fifteen minutes pass and Jungkook is spreading his legs. You’re about to kick him before he leans in to whisper, “They made Renee too dull,” he sighs in disappointment, as if he sincerely had high hopes they’d bring the novel to justice. “I mean, I get it, in the novel she’s supposed to be a plain Jane. But she isn’t grey.”
“Right?” you lean into Jungkook, throwing your legs over his thighs like you’re back at the airport. This isn’t out of intimacy, you think to yourself, you just need to be close enough to Jungkook so you don’t disturb the other patrons with your talking. “She’s either a bad actress or they messed up her character. I really got upset when I read this part, but it’s kinda bland on the screen.”
As much as you love Jimin, you know he’s not going to get your over-criticality over the media. Yoongi and Namjoon are on the other end of the row, but they wouldn’t be too pleased having you gab over the movie because you’re too much of an aficionado. Jungkook is the only one who can tête-à-tête, or in this case, Kit-a-Kat with you.
You sigh into his shoulder, inhaling his clean scent. “Let’s pray Jung didn’t completely butcher the chapter where Kenzo reflects on his penniless journey.”
“I’ll leave the theatre right then and there if that happens, care to join me?”
“Already out the door, bossman.”
Jungkook looks away from the screen briefly, reaching forward to take an obnoxiously big bite of the KitKat in your hand. You stifle a giggle, and before you can soak up his cheeky grin he’s already looking back at the movie.
You wonder what Jungkook is like outside of work, if he has that side to him. A little part of you wishes that this playfulness he’s exuding is real. Not to your fake marriage, but a playfulness he can execute to a person that he really likes. Two days out of the office and you’re starting to see that Jungkook has the capabilities to enjoy life, however simple it may be.
The movie is finished in a blur, and you and Jungkook are still bickering over the intricacies of the film compared to the novel. The night air is cold and burns your cheeks, reminding you exactly how late you’ve been out.
“Well, I thought the romance was so boring!” Lisa blurted, wanting an in. Her lime green ski jacket glares in your vision, and you move away from her immediately. “No one cheated on each other, there was no drama, or evil best friend!”
“Whoa there,” and you see the little fire in Jungkook’s eyes, one you’ve learned early on to stay away from when you spent hours in his office debating over manuscripts and plotlines. He stares down at Lisa, really stares down. “You think every romance needs some sort of internalized conflict for it to be good? Why can’t they just grow and learn from the external conflict together? It’s literally useless for them to break up over and over just—”
And that’s your cue to walk ahead of them, because while you did agree with Jungkook, you’ve heard this debate one too many times. Ever the closet-romantic at heart. You hope Lisa doesn’t lose her patience and punch him out.
“Hey,” you feel a hand pat your hair, and you look up at Yoongi. He looks absolutely fluffy in his long puffy jacket, and he matches your steps with his. “Do I look ugly tonight, or something? I feel like we barely exchanged two sentences with each other.”
“What, never!” you chastise, “you always look good, Yoongi. And we have the whole week to catch up, remember?”
“Really, then why don’t we go out in two days to pick out a tree for your house? Joon and I are planning on going.”
“I would love to go pick a tree!” you exclaim, “the last time we got a tree together was when your brother had to lift.”
“Great,” and he pats your head again, but this time his hand lingers to finger the ringlets of your hair. “It’ll be just like old times, baby girl. I’ll pick you up at 9.”
Unbeknownst to the both of you, Jungkook’s argument ended minutes ago and he’s mulling over a new type of internal conflict.
“Owie, ow, ow—fuck you! Ow!”
“Well if you just hold still,” Jungkook grimaces, taking his turns with both hands to simultaneously wipe the injury with a cloth and then pressing the affected area with an ice bag.
“Buh ih hurths!” your voice is muffled by the cloth, stained red with freshly bloomed blood.
The ski lodge started off great. You enjoyed a fabulous beligan waffle breakfast courtesy of Jimin’s parents, and then made the trek to the slopes. You’ve been here dozens of times, so you didn’t feel an inclination to gravitate to any of the fancy schmancy sports. You were fine playing shuffleboard inside, but your inner youth complained that it’s the holidays and you should be getting out more.
Jimin and Jungkook (who claimed he hasn't snowboarded since he was 16 yet he’s doing tricks like a goddamn Olympian) were shredding on the slopes while Namjoon and Lisa were skiing on a smaller hill. You and Yoongi watched safely from the lift, riding it like a kiddie attraction. You must’ve taken the lift at least ten times, complaining about how you’re both too lazy to function and you could really use a hot chocolate and a fireplace.
After the fifteenth time on the lift, legs numb, you stumble over with heavy boots to where Lisa and Namjoon were waiting for Jimin and Jungkook. They wanted to walk around more and see if they could try a more difficult slope.
While you were waiting, you had to admit that Jungkook did kind of cool all decked out in his gear. A competitive, playful smile was easily reflected in his gaze despite his helmet and goggles.
That slight admiration is knocked right off your feet when Jungkook speeds by way too close for comfort and you’re in his path. Jimin had already slowed next to your friends and family, looking at you in anticipated horror.
It’s far too late, and despite the fact that Jungkook manages to pull your body to his while you wipe out, your face crashes into his helmet and you taste metal.
Mildly disoriented from the impact, Jungkook’s muffled string of curses nurse you back to a decent consciousness as he tries to carry you to the lodge.
“Holy shit, I got that on camera!” Jimin cries, gesturing to the Go-Pro nestled in his helmet.
So now you’re in pain and it’s all Jungkook’s fault. Your bottom lip is split, and the burn on your face won’t go away.
You watch as Jungkook dotes on you, his bangs pushed up everywhere due to his grey goggles haphazardly being propped upon his forehead. His pink tongue sticks out as he concentrates on not getting blood on your sweater. It’s just you and him that are stuck around in the lodge after you got pummeled, standing by the fire while everyone else continues on with the fun.
“Why were you over there anyway, in the middle of the slope?” he scolds.
“It was the slow down zone, Jeon. You were the only one not slowing down, you speed demon.”
“Sorry,” he says gruffly, pressing a little too hard with the ice and you wince. He lets up and presses the cloth to your lips to soak up the moisture.
“Did you say something?”
“I said, I’m sorry.”
You sigh dramatically, “I wish I had a camera to save that shitty excuse of an apology.”
“Speaking of cameras,” he shucks his phone out of his pocket, handing it to you. “Jimin uploaded the video.”
That man, you don’t know where he has the means to quickly upload and edit things, but if it’s for the ‘Gram, it’s worth it to Jimin. You open Instagram and immediately click on @chimmyboi’s story, immediately wincing as the first few seconds reveal the brunt of the impact. He should really put a disclaimer before uploading content.
The tumble between you and Jungkook doesn’t look so bad, but it’s when you get up does it look gnarly. Your chin is dribbling in red liquid, and Jungkook’s throwing off his helmet and goggles in a panic.
He makes a half-assed snowball where you’re lying on the ground, pressing it against your mouth. With his other hand he pulls you into a sitting position, not caring that you’re staining his clothes as he hauls you on his body.
“Ohmygod,” you splutter, trying not to move your lips, “I look like I got decked with a hockey puck.”
“It wasn’t that bad, don’t be a baby.” Jungkook sees the piecing glare you give him, and he sighs. “Okay, it looked pretty bad. I was a little worried back there, but now the bleeding pretty much stopped and holy shit—stop smiling! You’re making it open up further!”
“You were worried?”
“Shut up.”
The ice bag is watery and not doing much anymore, but Jungkook still insists to cool your face down. You lift a hand to his cold ones, attempting to take the bag and cloth from his grasp.
“You should go board with Jimin and the rest of them. I can take care of this.”
“It’s fine,” he reasons, reaching for the ice bag but you hold on tighter.
“C’mon, I know the only thing you were looking forward to this entire trip was going snowboarding. I’m a big girl, I can be alone for an hour or two.”
Jungkook locks his jaw, gnawing at his cheek as he mulls on his decision. “Wouldn’t I look like a bad partner if I leave you?”
“Nah, this has happened before. Almost always someone gets injured on the trip. Last time something like this happened I was eight and I got five stitches on my leg. This is nothing. You’re fine.”
“But still.”
“Fine, you wanna make it up to me?”
You scan the room for any ideas, and it settles on a trio of girls huddled by the register of the built-in café. They’re pretty snow bunnies, decked out in sweater dresses and fur lined boots. They remind you a little of The Powerpuff Girls, all in pastels and attached to the hip. Their gaze has taken hostage in Jungkook’s frame, blatantly ignoring the fact that majority of his attention is directed towards you. You wonder why you haven’t noticed them sooner, because now the staring is getting borderline discomforting.
Slipping off his goggles with your free hand, you gesture subtly to the girls. “They think you’re hot. Go flirt with them a little and get me a free drink, I’m sure they’ll pay for you.”
He doesn’t understand the correlation, “Why would I do that?”
You shrug, separating the strands of hair that stick to his forehead. “Lisa and Namjoon do it all the time when they go clubbing. They compete and pretend they’re single for like two hours, and then they keep a tally of how many people offer to buy them a drink.”
“That is completely different, but I’m open to trying it when we get back to the city.” he acknowledged briefly, getting up from his crouching position. “I got a better idea.”
Puzzled, you watch him saunter over to the register. Like bees to the honey, the girls follow Jungkook with their eyes, watching him exaggeratedly mull over the menu.
He spares the slightest of head inclinations to the drooling trio, “Hello ladies.” The smile is not flirtatious, but kind.
You suppress a giggle, burying your chin in your scarf as you watch the whole interaction. You don’t even know why you asked Jungkook if he would flirt with those girls, as he kept most of his dates private over the years. You picture a college-aged Jungkook getting his daily breakfast on his way to class, ignoring the way his presence attracts heads.
The barista hands Jungkook a tray filled with a plastic cup of ice, and a cup filled with something hot, and a chocolate croissant. He grabs a straw from a tray, stabbing it in the hot drink’s lid.
“Excuse me,” one of the girls coquettishly puts her hands behind her back, puffing her chest out as she leans over Jungkook’s order. “The regular croissants actually taste better in my opinion.”
“Well my wife’s had a hard day, so I think she deserves something sweet.”
He doesn’t even turn around as he makes a beeline to where you’re seated on a loveseat, carefully placing the tray on the coffee table.
“Your better idea was making them jealous?” you ask, unsure of his intentions.
He shrugs, “College-Jungkook always wanted to show off his girlfriend like that, so indulge me for a second, alright?”
Rolling your eyes you reply, “My life is about indulging you. Don’t forget the trips I’ve made to the grocery store when your personal fridge was out of banana—”
“I thought I said we don’t speak of those hard times,” he cuts you off, “ever.”
You stop him from filling up your ice bag with the ice he brought. “C’mon Jeon, you’re burning daylight out there. I got this. You’ve stalled enough, go have fun in the snow with Jimin, you adrenaline junkie.”
He scrunches his nose, but relents when you throw him his jacket and goggles. Before he pulls on his gloves, he cups your face with both hands to pull you in a kiss. His hands are cold from the ice, gluing you in place in fear of him kissing you too hard. But it’s barely that, a brushing of lips so tender as he takes extra care with your open lip.
“Is this also a self-indulgent request?” you pucker, “who knew there was a hormonal teenager under that editor-in-chief’s body.”
His eyes flicker to the audience in the back, and you don’t need to look behind you to note that they’re glaring daggers in your head. It’s like you’re straight out of a rom-com.
“You’re leaving me to the bunnies,” you say teasingly.
“Then hurry up and get better so you can join us,” he taunts, “or else you can’t help me bury Jimin in the snow.”
It’s a tempting offer that makes you down your drink so you can enjoy the rest of your day.
Light seeps through your windows, rays kissing your eyelashes and willing them to open. You groan, hand splaying out to wake up Jungkook. When you find his space empty and cool, you sit up and search for your fake-fiancé.
He’s on the floor, smack in the middle of his morning workout. Your iPad is under his body, and somehow he’s managed to find a setting where the document scrolls for him automatically. He’s not wearing his Airpods, so you rasp, “Jeon, you’re crazy. I get the morning workout, but you don’t have to look over any more transcripts. I think you’ve read enough for this week.”
“It helps me ignore the burn,” he says shortly, and you see the ripples of his back flex with every push-up. “And I wouldn’t have to do so much reading if my assistant would just do her job.”
“I already told you, I’m not working during my vacation.” you throw off the sheets, padding to your closet. “I’m going to pick the tree today. You should go to the mall with my mom and Jimin to pick out some new ornaments.”
“What?” he gets up, and you ignore the perfect view of tight muscles decorating his abs. Exactly how long was he awake for to have sweat clinging to his shirt? You’re going to short-circuit and it’s barely 8:30. “But I wanna go help pick out the tree.”
“You don’t have to do that, Joon and Yoongi got it.”
“Yoongi, really? You think he can carry a tree?”
“This isn’t a pissing contest, Jeon.” you settle on a burgundy Patagonia jacket and grey leggings. “Besides, Yoongi and I are just friends.”
“You sure about that, baby girl?”
You whip around to poke at his chest, and you ignore how smug he looks. “Do not test me, Jeon. Like you said, I’m with you every step of the way in this marriage. I’m not going to jeopardize that over some childhood crush.”
“Wow, your life is really turning into a Wattpad entry,” he admonishes, “fake-fiancé still pining over his older brother’s best friend, really high-qual stuff.”
“I’m serious.” you grit, “I took a week off so I can get away from you and that was ruined, so I would like a little bit of space today.”
And that gets Jungkook to back away. His face deflates a little, and you feel a little guilty for making him upset, but you stab that thought down and convince yourself that he deserves it. It’s not like he cares about you, he just wants to show off to the boys.
“Fine,” he turns around to put on a fresh shirt, and you almost notice the pout marrying his face. “You could’ve just told me you wanted space. I’m getting kind of tired of you too, you know.”
He flops on the bed and you huff in reply, quickly throwing on your attire inside your closet while he watches a YouTube video. You check your phone, and at 8:59 a knock is at your door. Jungkook doesn’t bother to get up to answer, and you open the door to see a sleepy Yoongi with a paper cup in his hand.
“An English breakfast with two sugars and a dash of milk, baby girl.”
You mask your wince at the pet name. It hadn’t bothered you when you were young, but its starting to feel coddling now that Jungkook is making you hyper-aware of the attention. “Perfect,” you faux-beam, the hot beverage warm your fingers.
“I’ll just warm up the car and—”
“Babeeeeee,” the deepest, sexiest voice echoes from your bed and out in the hallway. He sounds absolutely tempting, and needy. You freeze at the way your boss can so easily pretend he’s exhausted and wanting you, “come back to bedddddd. I’m not done with you yet.”
Yoongi’s ears are red, “Aaand, I’ll let you finish whatever business you have.”
The older man bolts out of there, and you snap your head back to look at an innocent Jungkook. He tilts his head at your bout of anger.
“You know, I have half a mind to fling this tea down your shirt.”
“What?” he looks at you like a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar. “He can’t be the only one who can call you baby.”
Honestly, you didn’t mean to lash out on Jungkook like that. You did need to put up a face as you were each other's significant others, but it doesn’t mean you have to be together all the time. To top it all off you’ve been feeling weird as of late, and you can only attribute these terrible feelings to a certain brunet who’s been sleeping in your bed.
But you pin these feelings for another time, because you need to enjoy what little quality time you have with your brother.
“Hey, whaddya think of this one?” It's just you and Namjoon picking the tree, and Yoongi’s sitting in the cabin keeping warm. He said to call him once you’ve decided, since it is your house.
“Hm, it’s fine.” you shrug, inhaling the pine. “Maybe a little too tall.”
Namjoon nods, and you follow him to the next row of greenery. He’s been pensive this whole time, and you have a feeling he’s hiding something. Surrounded by pine and the fresh winter air he says, “Hey, I just wanna say sorry.”
“Why, did you like that tree over there? I don’t mind it, we can go back!”
“What, no? I’m sorry for being weird around Jungkook.”
“Huh?” sure, you noticed the weird language and terseness he gave Jungkook initially, but you chalked it out as big brother issues.
You two continue to walk around the forest aimlessly, not really tree hunting.
“I was just upset that the engagement was so sudden,” Namjoon starts, and you feel the guilt start to set camp in your stomach. “And I don’t know, at first he just didn’t seem like your type? I always thought you wanted to date someone gentle, someone you could hold and depend on. He looked so serious, and maybe a little immature.”
“He is a little immature,” you agree softly, digging your boots in the snow, “but I don’t love him any less because of it. We’re growing together.” Shit, why was that so easy for you to say?
“Figured,” and Namjoon stops to place a hand on your shoulder, “I see the way he looks at you, and you can’t fake love like that.”
Namjoon’s admonition is so convincing that you almost convince yourself that it is something.
Something is bothering Jungkook, and he doesn’t know why.
It’s not the billions of charges he made on his credit card for new ornaments, because it simultaneously inflated his ego and impressed your mom.
It’s not the way Jimin hangs onto his every word and doesn’t let up, because it is refreshing to have your cousin find a genuine interest in him.
Jungkook, Jimin and your mom have been taking laps around the mall for the past hour. They’ve floated around here and there, picking out whatever catches their eye for the tree.
Jimin’s in the middle of explaining the Jamba Juice story when a glimmering window display catches his eye.
“Hun, have you not bought her a present yet?” your mom says over his shoulder.
“No,” he exhales, embarrassed that he just admitted he didn’t think of getting you anything in front of your mom. “She doesn’t ask for anything, really.” Besides her book published, a raise, and a potential promotion as editor, but they didn’t need to know that much.
“Good thing you’re with the right people!” Jimin cheers, ushering him into the jewelry store.
Funny enough, he knows exactly what to get you. Once he points it out, Jimin and your mom “ooh” and “aah” respectively, agreeing that what he chose was perfect. If you had asked Jungkook a week ago what kind of jewlery you like, he’d give you a dumb look and say “something shiny.” But that’s what’s bothering him. He just walked right into the store, saw what was right, and everything just clicked.
Jungkook pins that thought for later, because once their shopping is done they’re back at your villa, arranging the ornaments and detangling the lights that have been holed up in the closet for eleven months.
Jimin and he are sitting on the living room floor, stabbing thread through popcorn. He really only saw this craft in the movies, and the small part of him is amazed that you and your family go through the hard work to make your holidays so warm.
Your mom appears from her bedroom, clutching something in her hand. She sits in front of Jungkook, a huge smile on her face.
“Before you say anything,” and it strikes him how similar you are to your mother. There’s that tone he always receives before he gets new news, or the way you’re eager to share something that will make him happy. “I don’t want you to think this is a luxurious gift or anything. But I realized that you don’t have a wedding band so I went through my old cases and found this.”
She opens her palm slowly, revealing a simple black band.
Jungkook’s lips part to form words, but his vocal cords betray him. At first glance, this ring could’ve been mistaken for one of Jimin’s plentiful rings adorning his fingers. Upon closer inspection however, Jungkook notes that this band is thinner and more worn. The metal looks strong and old, the slight scratches and faded color revealing that it was a well-loved piece of jewelry.
Your mom is offering Jungkook a wedding band.
“If you don’t like it, that’s okay!” your mom says quickly, nerves radiating because of Jungkook’s silence. “It was my grandfather’s. Don’t feel as if you have to accept it. It’s not a wedding band persay, but I think it matches and it looks about your size and we didn’t get you a Christmas gift so—”
“It’s perfect.” Jungkook tells her firmly, sending him a tight-lipped smile. “Thank you, I guess we kind of rushed the engagement so I didn’t think of getting a band of my own.”
Your mother is grateful, dropping the ring in Jungkook’s awaiting palm. “I think my daughter should be the one who puts it on you, don’t you think?”
“Right,” he echoes, and he just stares at the ring in his hand, feeling weird in his chest. He can’t remember the last time someone put this much thought in getting him something this significant. He can’t accept this ring, but he can’t refuse it either. “I could never find something with this much value from a little shop in New York, so thank you.”
“Oh, and while we’re on the topic of New York,” Jimin puts down his completed popcorn wreath, “y/n said she already put in her off days for Easter, so you should too. It’ll be at my place this year, and I live by an indoor skydiving zone. She mentioned you’re an adrenaline junkie.”
“She also mentioned that your birthday’s in September.” your mom pops in, “We were thinking we could take Friday off and stop by for the weekend. I’ve always wanted to see Hamilton!”
Jungkook knows they’re trying to cheer him up. They’re trying to make him feel part of the family, feel wanted. But he can’t remember the last time he’s felt wanted unless it’s for a book deal or a business exchange. It’s been so long since he’s felt this warm, and he didn’t realize how much he yearned for it until he proposed to you.
“Hey man,” Jimin puts an arm around his trembling shoulders, “are you alright?”
“Fine,” he’s crying, and doing a shit job at hiding the tears. “It’s alright, I just,” he can’t even find the strength to get up and walk away from this. Is it pathetic that he’s breaking down in the comfort of your cousin and mom, starved for affection? “I just, I miss my family. It’s just the four of us, but they’re all the way in Korea and it’s been awhile since I’ve really celebrated anything with them. They visit sometimes but it’s not the same, y’know? And work is so stressful but I’m not in a position to say that. And your family is just so, so nice and it makes me miss them even more. You’re all so lucky to support each other like this.”
Jimin and your mom sandwich him like an Oreo. It’s almost funny, how two smaller humans are comforting this big human and not the other way around. “Poor baby, it’s your family too.”
Pathetic. It’s pathetic how much he wishes to have a family like yours, but he can’t have that.
“Can we please not tell y/n about this?” Jungkook wishes, leaning his head on your mom’s. “She’s going through a lot right now with work and stuff, I’d rather just talk to her about this after the holidays, if that’s okay.”
“It’s quite alright, sweetheart,” your mom runs a hand through his hair, and his eyes automatically flutter closed, “just remember, your feelings matter too, okay?”
You and Jungkook slip into bed at the same time, murmuring half-hearted “how was your days” and brief descriptions of your outings. It’s a little awkward considering the morning’s events, but not unbearable.
“The tree smells really nice,” Jungkook tries, looking up from his phone.
“Yeah, makes the whole room smell like Christmas.”
“Yeah.”
“Did you have a good time shopping, find anything good?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s nice.”
[11:29] Jimin: hey, you know my room’s right next to yours right?
[11:29] Jimin: we share a goddamn wall and im NOT hearing shit
[11:29] Jimin: are you putting that baby blanket to good use ;)
[11:30] You: YOU”REE DISGUSTING are we even family!!!! Can i disown a first cousin??
[11:30] Jimin: i’m just sayin.. U said it was fantastic
You throw your phone away, letting it slide off to the mattress and onto the baby blanket. Yes, the baby blanket is unfortunately here to stay. Over the course of three days, the quilt is like a ball in a tennis match between you and your mother. You’ve given up and just kept it on the floor.
“I have a question,” you say aloud, motioning to your bed partner.
“Shoot.”
“Was it true when you said I was the only girl you knew well enough to be your wife?”
“Of course, that’s why we’re here.”
“I’m just wondering, because I really thought you could pick any girl in the office to be yours.” you stuff your hands under the covers, playing with your ring. “I mean, you’re kinda-sorta handsome. You could’ve picked someone just as pretty and they would have studied your whole life story for you.”
Jungkook's phone falls in his lap, and he looks at you like you’ve lost a couple brain cells. “Normally, I would eat up the fact that you admitted I was attractive. But do you realize you’re just as beautiful, if not more?”
What?
“I know it’s unprofessional, but how professional can we get when we’re married, but you’re the whole package, y/n.” and he says it with such fervor, you can’t formulate a response. “I wouldn’t have wanted anyone else. No one else can take my shit and throw it right back in my face, or debate with me for hours on end about a novel’s direction. Only you can do that.”
“I’m sorry,” you shake your head, “thanks, you’re right. I’m just clouded, and stressed. And Jimin’s being an ass and it’s really bothering me.”
His chocolate eyes flicker in the darkness of your bedroom, making note of your phone on the floor. “What’d he say?”
“It’s stupid, he said that he thinks it’s weird he hasn’t heard us bang all week,” you force a laugh, “it’s my fault though, he wouldn’t get off my back so I gave up and told him the sex was fantastic.”
“Are you worried he’s unconvinced?”
“A little, maybe? I don’t know.” you’re wrinkling your bedsheets now, turning the cotton into putty as your sweaty palms wring at the edge.
“I don’t mind giving him a show.” Jungkook blurts, and you instinctively pull the covers closer to your chest, even though you’re fully clothed.
“What, like fake moan into the wall?”
“There are things you can do over the clothes,” he says matter-of-factly, pulling the sheet of his bedside down slightly. “And you just said you’re stressed. I’d be a bad fiancé to not let you relieve some of that tension.”
Jungkook opens his arms and gestures for you to get on his lap. Your body is hot all over, and you can’t tell if it’s because you’re horrified or aroused. Maybe a little of both.
“Are you kidding—you’re my boss!”
“And we’re consenting adults!” he narrows his eyes at you, “don’t say you’ve never thought about it before.”
And the sick, twisted part of you has, a lot. There’s something about a man in a tailored suit and owning up to its power that’s really attractive. Not to mention all those times they’d be traveling for work, stumbling for a quick McDonald's bite at 12AM and he’d be dressed casually in tight black jeans and combat boots. The energy really kept you on your toes.
“Wow, I really hate late-night talks. All the secrets come out, don’t they?”
“If it makes you feel better, your ass looks great in pencil skirts,” you turn to him with flared eyes, “what? I’m just trying to let you know I mayhaps find you attractive.”
“Mayhaps you should stop talking before I regret this.”
His eyebrows lift and disappear from his bangs, the hair freshly dried and fluffy from his late night shower. He then pats his lap with a little blasé as if to say “hop on”, and you ignore the way how good the seat looks, his boxer briefs doing nothing to hide his unmentionables.
Trying to fight alongside your last drop of dignity, you take your time.
“C’mon y/n, don’t make it weird.”
“It’s been weird, Jeon! Jimin’s next door!” you hiss, backing away slightly, “Give me some time, I can’t just hump my boss!”
“You’re not humping your boss.” Jungkook has the audacity to grin, the expression looking absolutely sinful in the moonlight. “Think of it as your lover wanting to make you feel good.”
The bridge between love and hatred is a fine, fine line stemmed by passion.
Careful, you lift your blankets up and slip out of them, moving to sit up. It’s ridiculous, tiptoeing around your bed to avoid any sudden creaks in the aged wood of your mahogany headboard.
“We’re out to prove to your family we fuck on the reg,” Jungkook snips, “you can make noise.”
Within seconds, he’s hauling you on his lap. You squeak in surprise, feeling the thin material of his boxers seep through your thin silk shorts. You wriggle around, monitoring Jungkook’s expression. He does not allude too much, but you take note of the way Jungkook secures you with his hands between the swells of your thighs.
“I’m not a rollercoaster, stop adjusting like you’re gonna buckle up.”
Jungkook’s dry humor lightens the mood considerably, and you can’t help but smile timidly at his attempt to make you feel at ease. He lets you take your time, and you never imagined someone so demanding in the office can be so… kind in bed.
You dip forward to kiss his lips once, twice. He looks needy, but lets you set the pace. You appreciate that. You’re salivating at his willingness to make you feel good, and you whimper as he nibbles on a sensitive spot on your neck.
You need more. Sensing your urgency when you jerk his chin up, he muffles your sounds with a harsh kiss, taking care to moan deeply into your mouth. The heat is luxurious on this winter night, burgundy kisses exchanged between the sheets like secrets. His tongue slips between your teeth, tasting every inch of you and exploring you like the deepest texts.
He pulls away slightly, and you’re drowning in his gaze. “Am I still just kinda-sorta handsome now?” he nips at your neck, sucking on a spot between your jaw.
“N-no,” and you pull him up by the chin, taking in his messy hair and glazed eyes, “you’re fucking sexy,” and you tug your mouth to his once more.
You don’t even realize that you’re rolling your hips until Jungkook breaks the kiss in favor of grabbing your hips, making sure your core is nestled perfectly between his hardening length. It doesn’t take long for the both of you to get wet, and the silk glides easily between your thighs like butter.
“That’s it, baby girl,” he encourages, one hand reaching up to cup your breast, “use me, make yourself feel good.”
“Please, don’t call me that,” you whine against his mouth, trying to keep the mood in, “Babe is fine, but baby girl makes me feel like a little kid and I’m not a little kid.”
“You damn right,” and he lifts his hips to meet yours in a sharp thrust, and you gasp hotly into his mouth. It’s too late to muffle your moans, not when you’re drenched with two pathetic pieces of fabric stopping the both of you. “You’re a gorgeous, intelligent, strong, amazing woman.”
With every compliment, he does all the work, thrusting with each adjective like he’s blessing poetry into your body.
“J-Jungkook,” the name is muffled against his shoulder, too fuzzed in ecstasy to be embarrassed by the drool coating his tank top. His hair tickles your shoulder as he nips at your clothed breasts, swirling around your nipple. “I-I, m’gonna come,”
“You’re almost there huh?” and he slips a hand between you two to find that sweet spot, swirling designs between your shorts. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”
And you’re shaking, collapsing into his embrace as he rides out your high. He cradles one hand in your hair as you rub furiously against his other, chasing your pleasure like a starved animal.
“K-Kook,” you murmur into his neck, finding the strength to roll your hips one more time to check. “You’re still hard, do you want me to help?”
“No.” he’s forthright, and as tired as you are, you force yourself to pick your head up. Sweat lines his brow and his face is flushed, but he’s already helping you off and handing you a tissue from the nightstand.
“What?” you’re hurt, and don’t want to admit why.
“Don’t feel like you need to,” he grunts into your forehead, dipping a chaste kiss right in the center. “Just let me do something nice to you for once.”
As much as you want to, you don’t complain as he tucks you in. You don’t complain when you see a wet stain on his Kirby boxer briefs. You don’t answer back when he checks his phone one more time and pulls you in to press a kiss to your cheek. It’s 12:31.
“Merry Christmas,” he murmurs into your skin, and turns over so his back faces you.
Christmas is a loud and eager affair. The entirety of your family piles into your house while still in pajamas, aunts and uncles from other villas running in with their children with their newly opened toys and gadgets. There’s a buffet style breakfast piled on the kitchen island, and you’re all eating in the living room while watching holiday movies.
Jungkook melds right in, unsurprisingly. He has your baby cousin Dante in his lap, teaching him how to use the controls of his new Nintendo Switch.
Despite only meeting Jungkook a few days ago, you notice that some of your family have taken the liberty of giving him small presents. You spot a simple silver chain around his wrist, courtesy of Jimin, and a fluffy grey scarf wrapped around his neck, courtesy of your aunt’s impeccable knitting club.
“He fits right in, doesn’t he?”
Yoongi hands you your usual cup of tea, and you accept it gratefully. You’re sitting right next to the tree, and you notice that some of the ornaments are miniature books. You absentmindedly run your fingers over the carved wood, especially on the ones that are your favorite titles.
“Yeah,” you hate to admit, so you whisper it into your mug. But Yoongi can hear, he always does. “I didn’t think it would be this easy.”
“Easy to love him, or easy to fit into this family?”
You splutter into your mug, and Yoongi does the right thing by patting your back. It feels a little bit like he’s burping a baby, but otherwise, it soothes your lungs.
“I am happy for you, you know.” he says, knocking knees with you. “It might not seem like it now, but I truly am.”
Deciding not to dwell on his subversive confession, you thank him for the tea and excuse yourself. Dante seems like he’s got the hang of MarioKart, so you tug Jungkook by the hand and lead him back into your bedroom.
“I got you a present, but I didn’t feel like making a scene about it,” you pull out a pink gift bag, tufts of white tissue paper sticking out. “Also, it’s kinda cheap and it was a last minute thing, so don’t have any high expectations.”
“Gee, you’re really making me feel deserving of this gift,” but he takes his time in unraveling the bag anyway.
He pulls out a shiny onyx black mug, rolling it between his hands. On one side it’s engraved in gold cursive “World’s Best Boss” but on the other side it’s engraved, “World’s Best Husband”.
“Subtle,” he grins, pulling you into a hug. He gets that it’s a gag gift, but because it’s from you, it's a lot more meaningful. You could’ve easily delved into his bank accounts and see what he buys for himself, but you decided to take the more personal route.
“Thanks,” he murmurs into your hair. And to really throw you off he says, “For my gift, I’ve decided to publish your novel.”
You shove him away as if you’ve been stung, and you barely have the voice to ask, “Are you serious, you’ve read my novel? I didn’t even send you the first draft!”
“We share the same Google Drive, it was easy to find. If you had noticed, it’s the only thing I’ve been reading this week,” he shrugs as if it’s nothing, but he’s in actuality giving you your lifelong dream. “You deserve it, really. I’m sorry if you felt like it wasn’t ready to be read. But it was wonderful, you’re a real wordsmith.”
“I’m not upset,” you can’t be, not when he smells so good and he’s trying to hug you all over again. “How many copies?”
“10,000.”
“20,000.”
“15,000, and I’ll even give you permission to dedicate your novel to me.” he raises his brows irreverently.
You scoff at his arrogance, but you don’t admit to confessing that along with professors and your family, you would be dedicating it to him. “Well my gift feels like absolute shit,” you deadpan, “can I have a do-over tomorrow? We can go to the mall or something.”
“You’ve done enough for me,” he disagrees, breaking away from you to place the mug on your desk. “Agreeing to my farfetched proposal, letting me into your home. I think that’s an amazing gift.”
“You’ve been way too nice,” you look at him wearily, noting the rosiness in his cheeks.
“You say that like it’s not possible!”
“Who knows? Maybe the Christmas spirit has performed a miracle, who am I to judge?” and you can’t get enough of the man, running into his heart one more time. Pressing your ear to his chest you sing, “Well, in the Poconos they say, that Jeon Jungkook’s heart grew three sizes that day.”
It may have not grown three sizes, but if the living room wasn’t so loud, maybe you could’ve heard his heart beating three times as fast.
The calm after the storm is your favorite part of Christmas. Most of your extended family has left to mull in their own homes, leaving your family to laze around until it’s just you and Jungkook that are awake.
Jim Carrey’s version of How the Grinch Stole Christmas is playing on Netflix, arguably the only superior rendition of the children's book. The tree is still glowing by the fireplace, soft white lights trickling in the darkened room.
Earlier in the night, you and Jungkook had cuddled up in the middle of the couch under a blanket, and were too lazy to move even when the entirety of your family vacated. Either of you could’ve easily shoved each other off and went to bed, but here you are, making offhand comments over hot cocoa. Each second that passes by, you’re more aware of how well you two sink between the fabric like you’re meant to do this. The domesticity terrifies you, but you don’t dare to point it out.
“How does his face do that?” Jungkook turns to you, contorting his face into funny expressions. It’s a poor attempt at the green creature on the screen, but it makes your mouth twitch and you fight the urge to giggle. “It’s like he’s made of rubber.”
“He has a sense of humor, unlike some people.”
“Very funny,” he says, turning away to take a sip of his cooca.
Sinking further into the couch, you unconsciously latch onto him more, savoring his body heat. “Can I confess something?”
“What’s up?”
“A week ago, I loathed you. I used to have recurring dreams about you getting run over by a Wonderbread truck. And I was driving the truck.”
“Wow, that makes me feel so much better.”
“No really, if I had the opportunity to watch you get hit by a cab, I would’ve paid for it.”
“If it were possible for me to file for divorce at this very second, now would be time. You are a walking red flag.”
“Okay, but!” you shush him with a finger to your lips, and he goes cross-eyed at the touch. “After seeing your stellar performance this week and an impeccable display of human emotion. I think after all of this, we could be friends.”
“Fwends?” he says through your finger, mouth smushed. “Why whuh we?”
Instead of lifting your finger right away, you swipe at his cherry lips, getting rid of the marshmallow sticking to the corners.
“Because we get along.” you say simply.
“Because we’re supposed to be getting married.”
“No! We’ve always gotten along! We’ve just been too up our asses to notice!” you sit up, appalled. “Here’s my theory, a change of setting has suddenly spurred on your character development—”
“—y’know I really don’t appreciate your use of literary jargon, it’s really pretentious—”
“—because without your external conflict, you have a chance to let loose and enjoy your life for once!”
Jungkook frowns, adjusting his frame so he slightly hovers you. He’s pretty like this, dressed in fluffy black pajamas and his face soft. His eyes absorb the Christmas fairy lights, and you notice for the first time in two years that there are no longer purple bags under his eyes.
“I don’t know,” he murmurs, voice so small you wonder if he’s worried to crush the moment. “Friends are hard.”
You shake your head vehemently, “Friends are easy, keeping them is the hard part.”
He doesn’t know why he’s being so weird about this. You’ve worked for him for over two years, you know him as well as you know your skincare routine, down to the last detail.
“Jeon, don’t think too hard about this,” you try to get him to lighten up, the intense look in his eyes throwing you in for a loop. It makes the little hamster wheel in your head spin rapidly, and you wonder if you’re really crossing a line. “Jimin said you had a really good time yesterday, I was almost jealous I couldn’t come shopping with you.”
He cracks a smile at that, “Yeah, Jimin and I shared a moment,” and he leans down to the shell of your ear, “and he said he really enjoyed our moment last night.”
“Oh my god!” you grab a nearby throw pillow, chucking the rough fabric in his face.
He breaks into a laugh, but not the wine and dine chuckles that he’d have between terse negotiations for work. It’s a full out giggle, like he’s proud to have riled you up enough to break your resolve. Who knew your angry face could be so cute?
“I guess if we’ve crossed a line, might as well make it all the way to the end,” Jungkook says easily, running a hand through his chocolate tresses.
You and Jungkook are leaving the day after tomorrow. Most of your stuff is packed and ready to go, and you’re currently spending the rest of your night at a sit-down dinner with your immediate family plus Jimin.
It’s peaceful, you muse. Jungkook even offered to help cook. Back at Big Hit not once did he ever bring leftovers from home, always insisting you order something for him during work. Kimchi fried rice is a simple dish, but Jungkook had taken great care in making sure it was cooked properly and adjusted to your family’s tastes.
Your parents are glowing and enjoying their time with the whole family, a rarity that grows more valuable with age. The meal soothes you like a balm, reminding you of old conversations that had you spew milk out of your nose or Namjoon accidentally spilling beans on your lap.
“Oh, you should also clear your schedule for the first week of September,” Jimin says absentmindedly, shoving another mouthful of fried rice. “Besides Easter, Jungkook says we can celebrate his birthday and visit for the weekend.”
“Seriously,” Namjoon balks, sitting up straight as he regards you in disbelief. “You’re sure your Devil of a boss will enjoy you out of his chains for two vacations, god forbid you take the holidays off again.”
The grip on your fork tightens, but you steel yourself. Honestly, you were wondering why it took Namjoon this long to let it all out. He was always vehemently against your job, as he was the person who got the brunt of your vents when you were stressed. Probably for the sake of Christmas he let it go, but now that it’s over, the topic’s fair game.
“Oh, c’mon Joonie,” your mother frowns, “not at the table.”
“He isn’t that bad, Joon.” you reason, completely ignoring Jungkook as you stare straight at your brother. “He means well—”
“Means well?” Namjoon barks a laugh, as if it’s the most laudable thing. “Sis, you cried everyday for a straight month after you were hired.” he places his hands on the table, regarding you carefully, “I had to personally call your doctor in New York to get you sleeping pills, and not to mention that two weeks ago, you were crying again because you were worried he forgot your vacation and would make you work! Don’t tell me he ‘means well’ when I’ve been busy picking up the pieces!”
At this point, you’re livid. Jungkook’s right here, and while you can’t go ahead and out the fact that he is your boss, you can still have his back.
They don’t know that you’ve picked the pieces back up, reinforced yourself to create a better version of the person you once were.
“He does mean well,” you cry, matching your brother’s red tone to a T. “He’s just stressed and genuinely cares about the company. I choose to work long hours because he takes his time in making sure the work we publish is worthwhile, and I support that. He’s hard on me because he knows I have potential. He’s going to make sure I succeed.”
Namjoon looks at you like you’ve grown two heads. “You’re seriously defending your shitty boss?”
Jimin puts a hand over Namjoon’s in an attempt to placate him, but he shoves it away.
“Honestly,” Namjoon spits venom, “how can you possibly stand to be around someone who makes your life so miserable?”
Your meal has gone cold, and your fists clutch desperately at your jeans. The breath is robbed from your lungs, and you can’t look at anyone for fear of them regarding you with guilt. You know since the day you got hired that your family wasn’t exactly enthused at your boss’ level of expectation and work output. But they don’t know the industry, and they don’t even really know Jungkook past the surface level. .
But you know in their eyes, they’re right. Their daughter left their comfy home to pursue her lifelong dream, only for it to be broken in a matter of weeks. It’s natural to feel protective, and while you’re resilient and were able to get it together as of late, it wasn’t enough for them to understand. As someone who loves you, it’s obvious they’d want to blame your boss, blame Jungkook for your suffering.
You imagine your father would ask Namjoon to step outside, or your parents would make Jimin pull you and Jungkook out. Neither of those things happen.
A warm, large hand is placed on top of yours. You look towards Jungkook, face unreadable as he squeezes your thigh.
“Namjoon’s right.” Jungkook utters, pressing his lips together. “You deserve to be treated with respect. The boss has never appreciated the hard work you do, at least not out loud. You’re too good for him.”
“Jungkook,” you gape, putting your other hand over his.
He pulls away at your touch, glancing at the clock. “This dinner was wonderful,” he says gently, looking apologetic to your parents. “Excuse me, but I promised to call my parents at this time.”
The excuse is completely half-assed, but no one says anything as he leaves, walking out the door without a coat. The table is terse, with your parents attempting to coax out dessert while Jimin clears the dinner table. You refuse to look at Namjoon, who has no idea why you’re so upset. You wait five minutes before you mumble about getting Jungkook a jacket.
However, when you open the door he isn’t sitting on the porch. He’s all the way up the street, too far for you to be heard with a yell, and walking farther into town. The black hoodie falls to your side, disappointed.
Jungkook does in fact, call his parents. Your mother suggested it when she gave him the ring, thinking it would ease his homesickness if he made a better effort to communicate his feelings.
And so he spends over an hour huddled in a cafe, talking about nothing and everything with his mom and dad. He tells them about the little novelties he’s experienced this week, like making popcorn strings and picking out themed Christmas ornaments. He tells him how he promises to book a flight back to Korea as soon as his work visa goes through. While he doesn’t mention the proposal, he mentions you. He prattles on and on about how strong and beautiful you are, and how you’ve crept up on him and made him realize how awful of a person he was.
His mom prattles excitedly through the line, saying that women make you realize how much better you can be for them, but she doesn’t know the half of it.
Jungkook sat there in your dining room, Namjoon boldly telling you off about how miserable he’s made you.
And yet still, you defended him in ways he never imagined. Your relationship has always been mutual, and prickly at best. You balanced each other out, but he knows he doesn’t deserve you. When he first hired you, he rendered you indispensable like all the other assistants that couldn’t handle it. You’d break eventually.
And you did break. But you picked up the pieces and put yourself back together, and you didn’t resent him for it. He hated that. How can you trust someone who’s hurt you so much?
He can’t let you go through with this marriage. You’re wrong. You don’t need him to be successful.
[11:09] You: mom unlocked the door for you. Jimin and i went out for drinks so idk when ill be back
[11:09] You: please don’t be mad at me
Silly girl, why would he ever be mad at you?
His plan is simple, Sneak into your villa, grab his luggage, and try to book the earliest flight back to New York. Then, he can come clean to Taeyeon and spend the year in Korea while they work out his visa issues. He’ll quietly pack his things and clear out the office before Monday. Hopefully by the time he makes it to Busan, he can forgive himself. He’s going to regret missing your expression when you get to hold the first physical copy of your novel.
This plan proves difficult when he sees Namjoon waiting outside for him, sitting on his luggage and reading a book. His long legs are splayed across the porch, and he doesn’t spare Jungkook a glance.
“Knew something was off,” the older man doesn’t look up from his novel, “found the mug on her desk, bossman.”
Muttering a curse under his breath Jungkook opens his arms, “Are you gonna beat me up now?”
“What? No, I’m a lover, not a fighter.” Jungkook scoffs, and watches Namjoon roll his luggage to the back of the van. “And out of the kindness of my heart, I’ll save you the Lyft fare and drive you to the airport.”
Is he that predictable? He flinches at the sudden jet of the ignition, and he takes heavy, snow-laden steps to the passenger seat. Once buckled in, Namjoon tosses the book in his lap. “Some light reading for the drive.”
If Namjoon wasn’t the driver, he wouldn’t hesitate to chuck the book at his big, intelligent head. Instead, he glowers, clutching the book tightly. It’s only when they round the corner to a house brightly decorated with lights, does he see what novel Namjoon’s plucked.
A Mutually-Assured Attachment. Jungkook tosses the book back and forth between his palms, noting the soft cover is so worn it could melt apart in his lap. It feels tended and loved from years of use.
It’s Jungkook’s first novel, and you had a copy. One of the first editions, if he remembers the cover art correctly. Granted, he thought you had some of his books purely because of your job, but not one from your childhood. Frankly he thought this should have never been published, but he was nineteen and that in itself was a large feat.
He carefully peels the pages, and takes out his phone to shine the flashlight mode. At the very front, blood red ink is scratched next to the title: “this is THE most pretentious title i’ve read in my life! Don’t disappoint me jeon!!”
Your handwriting’s all over the place. He sees graphite, gel, and glitter pens mark the margins, as if you’ve come back each time to write something new. The annotations vary, from “this part sucks” to “shit, that’s good i should do that”. You draw little pictures of the objects he’s contrived, from the little brass locket one character cherishes to the facial expressions you imagine they hold.
And at the very end, your handwriting sits neat and bold on the inside cover: I can do better than him.
Jungkook chuckles to himself, turning off the light. You’re always right.
Namjoon senses the younger one is done, and he clears his throat. “I really really don’t understand what she sees in you.”
“I don’t understand either,” Jungkook agrees easily, his finger tracing your handwriting. He muses that you were always out to get him, even if you didn’t know it.
Namjoon masks his surprise by clearing his throat. “But I’d rather seek to understand than live the rest of my life having my sister resent me. I don’t really know what you two are going through, but if she trusts you with her life, I’ll try. Emphasis on try.”
“I don’t deserve your trust.”
“You damn right you don’t,” succumbing to his impulses Namjoon makes a sharp turn, and Jungkook holds his stomach together before it flies out the window.
You come home to find your room cold and barren. All of Jungkook’s things are gone, except your Christmas mug.
You at least thought Jungkook would spare you a goodbye before he ditched you. You hoped you’d at least consider each other friends who provide explanations after all of this.
Lifting the mug off the desk, you hear a little clink in the glass, the chime unfamiliar. Hurriedly, you pour out its contents. A heavy, tungsten black ring lands in your palm. You clench the metal between your fingers, hugging it to your chest.
Mind made up, you dash out to the hallway, nearly bumping into your cousin. At the same time you and Jimin blurt, “We need to go to the airport.”
Apparently Namjoon warned Jimin that something fishy’s going on. Namjoon didn’t know what, but he had the inkling that Jungkook was hiding something. Once Jimin received the text to meet them at the airport, he flung you in his sedan and floored it. Flushed with adrenaline, Jimin is speeding with a fervor you’ve never experienced.
“Can you please, take the edge off and tell me what the hell is going on?”
Just like how Jungkook didn’t want Big Hit to go down the drain, you didn’t want this week to be in vain. You can’t wait a year for Jungkook to come back, and you didn’t want to publish your first novel without him by your side.
“Long version or short version?”
“The in-the-middle version. I don’t think I have the brain capacity to absorb all your drama right now but I really need some answers.”
“O-kay. Basically, Jungkook isn’t a Literary Agent. He’s my god-awful boss. Or was awful, I don’t know. Jungkook left the country before his work visa was fully processed. That’s a breach, so he needs to live in Korea for a year to come back. But he can’t run Big Hit remotely, so he proposed to marry me to attain citizenship.”
Your head whips to the dashboard and you cry out, barely stopping the impact with your hands.
“Sorry, sorry!” Jimin’s eyes are focused on the red light, absolutely terrified. “Bitch, you’re committing fraud with your boss! You could go to jail, that’s like, the hottest love story ever!”
“But he’s going back to Korea because now he suddenly realized he can forge basic human connection.” you mutter, “so no, we’re not going to jail because he’s decided to do the right thing.”
“So what you’re saying is, Jungkook has achieved self-actualization and decided to peacefully move to Korea and sacrifice the company for you.” Jimin is carving his free hand in the air, gesturing wildly. “Don’t you see! He really likes you.”
“Yeah, so now we need to go to the airport and tell his dumbass this isn’t the time to be selfless.”
Once you find a spot you’re rushing out of the car, weaving between carts and people to find the correct terminal. This airport is much smaller than JFK, so it’s easy for you to navigate and get past the TSA. It also helps that Jin’s wife is an attendant.
“He chose the 1:45 flight in Terminal 31A,” Mijoo chirps from her tablet, leading you in the right direction. She’s dressed impeccably, the odds and ends of this airport glued together by her impeccable organization. She points to the clock, which glares a digital 1:18AM. “You have time.”
“Thank you Mijoo,” you exhale gratefully, “and I’m so so sorry I skipped your wedding!”
“This is the 300th time you’ve said it,” Mijoo rolls her eyes, pushing you and Jimin forward, “But I’ll make sure not to miss your wedding.”
You’re sweating from your down jacket, and you can’t believe it’s really all come down to this. The one person you’ve spent the last two years of your life doting on, and you didn’t want to stop. You wanted him not just for the publication of your novel, but because you needed him.
Jungkook’s sitting in the waiting area of Terminal 31A, looking wholly inconspicuous as he reads a book and has his hood propped up.
Fists balled, you stride forward only to have Jimin tug you back. “What?”
Jimin pulls off your thick coat, making haste to wipe the sweat off your brow with his sleeves and flatten your messy hair. “What?” he tilts his head to the side, “you need to look good before the big confrontation. I’m recording this for archival purposes. Do you have any lip balm by any chance? You look chapped.”
You slap his hands away, but those grubby fingers just come back with a vengeance. “My life is just a big show to you, isn’t it?”
“Living vicariously all day, every day.”
While Jimin parts your bangs, the intercom cuts through the air.
“The 1:45 flight to John F. Kennedy International airport will now commence boarding. Please line up according to the ticket class.”
Jimin smiles at you, squeezing your shoulders and gestures for you to go. To your horror, Jungkook is first in line. Panic bubbles to your throat.
“Jeon Jungkook!” you cry, voice echoing throughout the terminal. “If you so much breathe in the direction of that plane I will call Mark Lee right this second and tell him the book series is off!”
Like a deer in the headlights, Jungkook heeds to your voice immediately. In his stupor you jog forward to snatch his wrist and pull him out of line. You don’t let go until you’re away from the long line, and Jungkook tugs his wrist away.
“Don’t you dare call him,” Jungkook looks serious, as if you didn’t drive all the way to stop him from making the biggest mistake of his life. “I will never forgive you if you terminate Mark Lee’s contract.”
“And I won’t forgive you if you get on that plane.”
Pain flashes in his eyes, and he shakes his head. “I need to. I can’t let us—let you go through with this. You and your family deserve better.”
“What? Jungkook, I agreed to this just as much as you did.”
“No, you didn’t.” he’s adamant, and steps back with every step you take forward. “As your boss I threatened you, held it over your head like an ultimatum. I’ve hurt you,” his voice cracks, looking at you desperately, “why would you want to be stuck with me when I’ve made your life miserable?”
“If I really wanted to leave, I would’ve done it a long time ago.” You reason, “Do you really want to leave the company behind? To fucking Karen?”
“Of course I don’t!” Jungkook exclaims, “but it isn’t worth hurting you, hurting your family and everyone that loves you.”
“And what about you? You’ll be hurt when you leave,” and you step forward, so close that your chests are touching. You take hold of his hands, clutching them between your small ones. “Don’t go, stay with me in New York. We’ll both work hard and try to not run each other to the ground. Let’s be better together.”
You’re practically begging, biting your lip raw and hoping Jungkook understands how good this change is for the both of you.
Jungkook is conflicted, looking back and forth between the airline boarding for JFK and your watery eyes. He hates seeing you like this. He can’t imagine you, the strongest woman he’s ever met, crying because of him. Namjoon’s voice echoes in his mind and he tries to smash it to the edge of his memory. But as always, you’re right.
He replaces your grip with his own, and gets down on one knee.
Jungkook says your name like it's the sweetest of songs. You’ve never seen him so terrified. “y/n, I didn’t do it right the first time, so let me try again. Please, marry me. Marry me because I want to date you. I want to take you out and give you what you deserve, what we deserve. I want to do better for myself, do better for you. I’ve realized you’re the only person that makes me feel like I’m simultaneously on fire and on thin ice,” he pulls out a velvet box from his pocket, revealing a thin band with interlocking black and clear diamond studs. It’s a pretty little thing, with a groove in the center so it stacks perfectly with your engagement ring. “This was supposed to be your Christmas present, but I chickened out at the last second,” he says sheepishly, tucking his head in. “But if you let me put this ring on your finger, I promise to be your home away from home.”
With a sob you fall to your knees, throwing yourself onto Jungkook. A small “oof” escapes his lips, and he struggles to hold your waist so you both don’t topple over. “Yes, yes, yes!” you cry, pulling away to cup his face with both hands, pulling him into a sweet kiss.
Jungkook’s smile takes up his entire face, and he eagerly pecks your lips one more time before ripping the ring from its holder and stacking it on top of your engagement ring. The teardrop diamond is nestled perfectly between the thinner band’s V. “Pretty,” he says, pressing his forehead to yours.
“Wait,” you pull out the black ring that you found in your room, holding it to his face. “I’m assuming this is yours?”
“Yeah,” he replies, “your mother said it was your great grandfather’s. It’s not an engagement ring, but it’s the thought that counts.”
“It matches,” you hum, placing his simpler band in his ring finger. Once it’s on, you take a deep breath. “Shit, we’re really doing this?”
Jungkook pulls you to stand, wiping the happy tears from your cheek. “We are, we’re a team, remember? We’ve crossed the line and we gotta finish it.”
And he picks you up, the workouts definitely paying off as he spins you around like you’re the leads in La-La Land, drunk off the happy chemicals firing in your brain. Jimin whoops and hollers, along with all the other patrons in the vicinity of the airport terminal.
Your real-fiancé puts you down, the both of you now hyperconscious of the stares people give you. Other people have filmed the proposal as well, completely smitten by your confessions.
“Jungkook,” you giggle into his shoulder, “you were right. Our story is straight out of a Wattpad entry.”
“Down to the super cheesy in-public airport proposal?” he chimes, pressing his forehead to yours. “Couldn’t have asked for a better love story.”
“I can’t wait to fall in love with you,” you whisper, quiet enough for his ears only, “for real, this time.”
“Not that it’s a challenge,” he teases softly, “but I’m already halfway there.”
some months later.
“Like the new office, boss lady?” your new assistant (yes, you have an assistant!) asks kindly, his bubbly presence uplifting you immediately. He leads you to the window box, filled with tiny plants. “I figured you like succulents, because you have no time to water them and they’re prickly like you.”
“Very funny, Seungkwan.” you chide good-naturedly, picking up a succulent with a yellow flower in the middle. “But thank you, your interior design skills are outmatched. I can’t wait to work with you.”
“Me too, your social commentary you published on the literary industry? And you managed to lace it all up in an inconspicuous fantasy novel?” Seungkwan boasts, “I applied for this position right then and there.”
“Thanks Seungkwan, why don’t you take your lunch and we’ll meet back at one to discuss our plans for next week.”
“Sounds good, do you want me to pick you up something?”
“I’m good, I’m meeting with the bossman.”
Seungkwan gives you that look, his lips jutting out in a suggestive manner that almost makes you burst into giggles. Your assistant decides not to bother you until after you’ve eaten, and bids you goodbye.
Just when you get a moment of peace, a handsome face pokes his way inside. “Hello editor,” Jungkook knocks on your door for the sake of attention, but you’re already dragging him into the office and shutting the door tight. “Like your new office?”
“Love it,” you moan, gesturing to Seungkwan’s light filtering curtains. They’re not dark, rather a tasteful sea green, but they’re opaque enough to stop wandering eyes from peeking into your space. Your personal space was a qualm that immediately needed to be mended after your experience in Jungkook’s office. “A lot more private than your office.”
“A little part of me hates how much you deserve this promotion,” he sits on your desk, and doesn’t hesitate to pull you between his legs, letting you lean into his chest, “but I do love the added privacy.”
You fiddle with the buttons of his navy collar, his strong thighs trap you between him, “Why, miss me already?”
He shrugs, “Taehyung doesn’t look as good as you do in a pencil skirt.”
You laugh, brushing the strands of hair that fall from his coiff. “No one looks as good as I do in a pencil skirt.” A firm grip confirms that, two strong hands cupping your backside. “Mr. Jeon!” you gasp playfully, pushing him away slightly to pinch his cheeky grin. “Can we save this for later? I’m hungry, but we can always continue this for dessert.”
He groans in your neck, “Love the sound of that, Mrs. Jeon.”
bonus.
“FUUUCCCKKKKKK YEEAAHHHHH!” Park Jimin’s voice bounces off the walls of Taeyeon’s office, his face taking up the entire screen of his desktop as the camera shifts harshly between him and you and Jungkook at the airport. “My cousin’s not going to jail! WOO!”
Taeyeon pauses the YouTube video at a particularly unflattering screencap: Jimin’s nostrils are flaring wildly and he looks fairly high mid-scream.
A low whistle escapes Jungkook’s lips, “Wow. That video’s viral,” he looks to you appreciatively, “if Jimin kicks off his YouTube career, you think we can milk a memoir outta him?”
“Potentially,” you reply nonchalantly, playing with your rings.
“So,” Taeyeon’s voice is icy, slashing between your casual conversation, “you’re getting married, for real this time?”
“Yep,” Jungkook pops.
“Alright,” and from her desk she pulls out an ungodly stack of documents, one that mirrors your own back at the office. “Jungkook, you’ll stay with me. y/n, you’ll go to Vernon’s office and he’ll give you the same spiel. We’ll interview you privately with the same questions. A hair out of place and you’re in trouble. You sure you want to go through with this?”
You and Jungkook exchange looks, betting your own company that you got this in the bag.
“Hit us with your best shot.”
#jungkook#jungkook fic#jungkook smut#jungkook fanfic#bts fanfic#jeongguk#jungkook fluff#kpop#kpop fic#jjk#bts x reader#how did i manage to write this
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
The Weeping Angel
Pairing: Billie Dean Howard X Fem!Reader
Word Count: 2007
Warnings: none???
Summary: An introduction story with Billie Dean, how you met on the Hotel Cortez's devils night
A/N: For @lilypadscoven !! Thank you for always pushing me and being so supportive, here's your little Billie fic :)) ps sorry for any mistakes, I have yet to go through it <3
Gif by: @illuminated-blue
It wasn’t the first time you’d had to spend a night in a sketchy motel in downtown LA, and although you’d hoped you’d gotten yourself to a place where you wouldn’t need to rely on them, you knew it wouldn’t be your last.
The wallpaper was dusty, peeling at the join of the ceiling to reveal the damp clinging to the walls. You tried to ignore the mildew that crept across from the corners, dark and whispering and eery against the dirty white paint.
There was a hole where a past resident had quite obviously punched through the wall and into the bathroom, showing the fragility of the plaster that separated you from the rooms next to you. The room was alive with past anger, souls in the walls with spindly arms that reached for the living.
It was cold, and you shivered beneath the itch of the hotel blanket, wrapped loosely around your shoulders. The motel windows did nothing to still the cool draft of the city night, allowing it to cut through ill-sealed panes.
You’d left your college accommodation earlier that evening, clothes thrown haphazardly into a rucksack as you’d hurried to leave. You hadn’t time to collect your personal belongings in the rush, so you knew you’d have to return there at some point.
There was no point worrying about the why’s now, you were locked in the room and you were safe. Safely unsafe in one of the roughest areas you could find, but you knew they wouldn’t think to look here. You couldn’t bring yourself to care about the details of your leaving.
You could hear the almost constant wail of sirens as police cars zipped past the motel, piercing and fading as they neared and went.
You sat with your back against the wall, in the space beside the bed. Your laptop balanced on your crossed legs, you connected to the flaky hotel Wi-Fi to try and get some of your college work completed before your food arrived. You still needed to keep up with your work if you were to have any semblance of a future.
A muffled sniff broke your concentration, cutting through the thin wall to you. Trying not to pry, you refocused on the illuminated screen, words blurring as the sound didn’t cease behind you. Sighing, you tore your eyes away from your work and onto the floor.
You were meant to be keeping a low profile, goddamn it.
Listening, an ear to the rough wallpaper, you closed your eyes to better gage if the occupant next to you was simply unwell or was crying. You settled upon the latter when a clatter of what you assumed was the bedside lamp fell to the floor, and the sniffling intensified.
“Are you alright?” you spoke to the wall, wrapping your knuckles against the plaster to show that you were talking to her.
Another sniff, this one an obvious attempt to disguise it as a cough. Feminine, you concluded, closing your laptop and sliding it onto the bed so you could shuffle around.
“Yeah, I’m alright.” Billie spoke, the pads of her fingers coming to wipe hesitantly under her eyes at the smear of mascara.
She stopped pacing at the sound of your voice, coming to kneel at the wall where she thought you’d come from. Unknowingly, you both reached up to the wall with searching fingers, resting on opposite sides in a fateful mirroring. Reaching out.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I-” she paused, voice cracking as she shook her head in surrender, “no.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“I- I can’t,” Billie confessed, forehead falling to the wall with a thud that you felt from your side.
You could practically hear the pain in her voice, the fear. You nodded in understanding, despite her not being able to see you. Luckily for the mysterious woman in room 124, you were capable in the art of distraction and it was an apt skill for moments like these.
“Okay. Well, urm- I, what’s your favourite colour?”
“I don’t- wait what?”
Her confusion had you subconsciously repeating the question, fingers pressed to the wallpaper as if you’d slip right though and into the woman’s arms, able to hold her and chase the demons that plagued her.
“Pink,” she rasped, “like the faded kind.”
You hummed, your stranger in pink.
“What’s your name?”
“Billie Dean Howard,” she paused, a small smile flickering at the corner of her mouth, “medium to the stars.”
“I’m Y/n. Medium to urm, LA?” you laughed uncomfortably, unsure of why she’d spoken her name as if a catchphrase.
Billie’s eyes narrowed to the wall momentarily, were you mocking her? She felt the tugging need to feel offended by your taunt, the familiar jolt of anger under skin. It would be easier to be mad, to rage at the world for giving her this gift and putting her in danger; but the silk to your voice softened her.
“You don’t know me?” She assumed, an expecting tone in her voice that made you faulter. You’d never really been one for reality television, even for factual programs like Billie’s.
“I’m sorry, should I?”
“No, I suppose not,” she trailed off, happy that you were in the dark about her personality. Glad you
People who knew her were curious, always asking questions she would be too eager to answer with a bat of her lashes and a confident tone. But on this occasion, she was relief that no questions would be asked.
Questions about what happened would be dangerous if answered. She knew she could never speak of the happenings if she valued her life, or those around her.
Billie Dean wasn’t stupid. But she was scared.
Your phone buzzed beside you and Billie jumped, hand to her chest to still the frantic beating of a nervous heart. Your food had arrived, and you moved away from the wall with a whispered goodbye.
Your new absence was overwhelming for the medium, panic looming as eyes darted around the dimly lit room. Lights from passing cars cast menacing shadows across the walls, each resembling ghosts from the hotel.
Reaching claws to drag her back to the Cortez, a change of their mind. Why should they let her go, when they could have much more fun with her in that chair.
Tears fell freely again and she let out a strangled sob. The phantom touch of the knife against her throat had Billie reaching up to push it away, the whir of the hand drill behind her closed eyes. She’d been so close to death, practically tasting its breath against her tongue as it mocked her.
The crack of a knock against her door pulled her from herself, and had her hastily wiping her tears with the back of her palm, smoothing down the dress with trembling hands.
Was it her, at the door, ready to finish her off?
Treading lightly against the scraping of old carpet, Billie Dean made her way to the door, fingers ghosting over the handle as she willed herself to be braver.
Through the peep hole, with Billie holding a nervous breath, she saw your back, and how you kept glancing up and down the corridor as if someone were to jump out. So you were frightened of someone, something, too. Just as she was, running.
With a shaky exhale, Billie drew the door open. You turned at the familiar click of the mechanism, a shy grin ghosting on your face as you held the takeaway bags up in silent offering.
Hello.
She was so familiar, almost as if you could reach out and touch her and remember. As if your past self was emerging to greet you again. A phoenix in fire from the ashes, a weeping angel from the rubble of death.
It’s you. It’s going to be you.
You couldn’t help but rake your eyes over the mysterious women silhouetted in the doorway. She looked out of place here. Too perfect to be haunted.
Your stranger in pink wasn’t actually your stranger in pink.
She wore a cornflower blue dress that held delicate white flowers, too dainty and too perfect to be dampened by the tears that tracked through her natural make up. It was cinched at the waist and just served to make her look ever smaller, more frightened. Like a child awoke by a nightmare.
Her hair was dishevelled, and it haloed her face in rays of glowing honey.
A weeping angel.
She wore pearls around her neck. Expensive and slightly scratched, as they get when they are someone’s favourite accessory and must be worn.
You could see where her rosy acrylics had picked her skin raw, worrying it unforgivingly between the nails. See the pain and fear reflected in her eyes, could she see it in yours too?
“Hey,” she whispered, ushering you past her and peeking into the empty corridor as if staying out in the open for too long was dangerous for the both of you. Maybe it was.
In her room you saw no belongings, nothing personal that would serve to tie her to the space around her. It was as if she were an echo before you, neither here nor there. An angel sent and trapped as a mortal, an echo.
She patted the bed beside her, drawing the table closer for you to place the bag on. You hesitantly set it down, moving to perch next to her and shyly look down at hands clasped on your lap.
Uncomfortable silence filled the air, thick and suffocating and it made your joined hands clammy with sweat. You busied yourself by unwrapping the food on the table, there wasn’t much due to your need to save money and only buying for one, but it would go round. You didn’t suspect that she’d eaten that evening either.
“Thank you.” She smiled, and you offered her one of the boxes of food with a shy glance. You assumed she meant for more than just the food. Her eyes conveyed what her words could not.
There was only one pair of chopsticks so you passed it back and forth, wordlessly, gratefully. The hum of the TV balancing upon the wall giving a welcomed distraction from talking, although you talked anyway.
You’d described your degree, your hopes and plans while she listened, the hint of a smile again on the smudged lipstick. She still looked beautiful, you thought, even with her messed up makeup and leg that bounced unrelentingly against the floor.
She still looked like an angel to you, one carved from marble, imperfectly chipped by the sculptor. Too broken to be granted eternity but ethereal all the same. A mortal angel among the living.
The angel spoke with chords of light and you were caught, hanging onto every word that dripped effortlessly from her silver tongue. She spoke about nothing, about everything.
At one point, Billie Dean reached her hand tentatively towards your, searching for the comfort of a strangers touch. You didn’t shy away from that touch; because even though there was safety in loneliness, you couldn’t help but feel the shelter from her invisible wings.
Perhaps Billie Dean Howard could be your safety, and you hers.
You knew she was running, and maybe she could run faster if she had an encouraging hand held fast in her own. Your hand. You weren’t an angel but your hands were steady. They were strong and guiding and made of your own marble. Forged by your own touch instead of the delicate chisel of an artist.
Neither of you asked the other why salty tears dried against the curve of delicate cheek bones, knowing that knowledge would do nothing but bring more pain. More pain that neither needed.
After all, misery likes company, and both of you were content to give that, even just for the night.
You hoped for more, but could learn to settle for a single moment of her presence, if that was all the weeping angel could allow.
taglist: @pearplate @billiedeansbottom @pluied-ete @notokpaulson @extraordinarilycelestrial @nothingbut-a-beautiful-monster @mssallymckenna @magnificent-paulsonn @shineestark @commanderspeach @grilledcheeseandguavajelly @darling-dontforgetme @amethyst-bitch @its-soph-xx @germansarechill @bluesxrgnt @d14n4ol @ninaahs @sarahp-stan @natasha-danvers @imgayandmymomdoesntknow @lovelypeasantjellyfish @rainbow-hedgehog @paulawand @saucy-sapphic @lilypadscoven @citizenoftheworld-stuff-blog @sapphicsarahpaulson @delias-bitch-craft
#sarah paulson#sarah paulson x reader#billie dean howard#billie dean howard x reader#american horror story#ahs#ahs imagine#ahs murder house
160 notes
·
View notes
Text
♠ character, fandom, type of reader: mori ogai, bungou stray dogs, woman reader.
♠ genre, rating: nsfw, 18+ only.
♠ themes, triggers: sugar daddy mori ?, overstimulation, semi public sex, oral ( m receiving ), light degradation, light humiliation, face slapping, 🐱 slapping
♠ author’s note: this was in the drafts... for a while. but i finally got it out and 💢⭕💢⭕💢 so um ... n e way ... enjoy~
Spoiled. That’s what you were. This afternoon trip with Mori was proof of it. He was in his casual attire but you begged him to leave the lab coat at home. Instead he wore the sport coat you had bought for him for his birthday a year prior. You sat in the passenger seat of the car Mori’s hand reached over to hold your hand as the other kept the steering wheel steady. The backseat was littered with numerous bags from high end designers and boutiques. Each bag was filled with goodies you had asked Mori to gift you with. Mori could never say no to your wishes especially when you batted your lashes and pouted your lips.
Although Mori had taken the afternoon off from work to spend time with you, you had assumed that your day of shopping was complete. It wasn’t until he pulled up to a boutique that you thought different. You had never seen this storefront before. It was an all black building with a golden calligraphy sign. The windows were tinted black and you were unable to see what was inside. Turning your head to Mori you asked, “honey what is this place?”
“You’ll see.” He responded while exiting the car. As always Mori came to the passenger door and opened it for you. He took your hand and assisted you out the door. He held your hand as he escorted you to the cryptic building. You were nervous but you had your suspicions about the building. When Mori opened the door for you your suspicions were proven to be true. It was a lingerie boutique that had also carried a wide variety of sex toys. Expecting gag gifts you’d find at a bachelorette party -- you were greeted with something are more different. The high-end boutique carried intricate bondage sets, expensive vibrators, and beautiful sets of lingerie.
As you were busy browsing what unique gifts the boutique offered Mori had his hands busy with picking out sets for you to try on. He asked for an attendant, “your luxury room” was all Mori said to them. The two of you then followed the attendant to the back of the boutique where the fitting rooms lined up. As you did you past a shelf stacked with dildos. Mori looked at you and quipped, “maybe I should get you one for when you miss me.”
“Mori!” You pinched his arm embarrassed at his lewd remark. The attendant opened the door for you two and you followed Mori inside. The room was fairly large and you assumed that’s what luxury meant. The dimly lit room had multiple mirrors, grand curtains, and a large tufted circle couch sat in middle of the room. Mori had placed the lingerie sets on the couch before sitting down himself. He looked up at you and asked you to come near. You stood between Mori’s legs and your hands came up to pick at the strands of his hair. His hands were on your hips.
“You want me to try them on for you?” You asked Mori with a bit of a smile lingering on your lips. He had spoiled you the entire day. Whatever you asked for he didn’t hesitate to say yes. He brought you here with the intention for you to treat him and you couldn’t possibly bring yourself refute his wish. Mori nodded his head in response.
“If you could be so kind, Y/N. I would love to see you try on what I picked out for you.” Mori handed you one out of the numerous sets he had picked out. The first set he had given you was a slate blue teddy piece. The lace lingerie had a crisscross back and you warned Mori it might take you a second to put on the piece properly. Mori pulled out his phone from the pocket of his coat, it was a work text, “Take your time.” He said.
You escaped behind one of the curtains and placed the set on a hook on the wall. You undressed and tried on the teddy set. Never a fan of a teddy set you didn’t protest but you would much rather try on the two-piece sets that Mori had also grabbed. The set slipped onto your figure with ease --- except for the crisscross back that had always given you trouble. Pulling your hair through the straps you wiggled your arms and felt accomplished. Loud enough for Mori to hear you spoke, “Mori, honey. I’m ready.”
"Mhmn.” He said. You walked out with confidence but noticed that Mori was still occupied with his phone. “You look great.” Mori said. But he always said that. He raised his index finger at you, “I’m sorry sweetheart. I have to take this.” You scoffed loudly and made your distaste with Mori obvious. He gave you a remorseful look but you were far too annoyed to give into it. You walked over to Mori’s side and took another set to try on.
Instead of a teddy suit it was a two piece; a triangle bra with a thong. Instead of lace it was mesh with a floral applique. Upon trying it on the set left little to the imagination. The cool breeze from the boutique’s ac had caused your nipples to harden. The buds peaked through the mesh and you knew the sight would drive Mori insane. That is... if he would pay attention to you. In your baby pink set you walked out from the curtain. Instead of showing Mori your set, you stood in front of a mirror and observed it yourself. The color looked beautiful on your skin and the floral applique gave you such a feminine aura. You took your hands and ran them up your sides before giving yourself a hug. You leaned forward towards the mirror and pushed your breasts up with a bit of a giggle. You felt beautiful, you loved the set.
“I’m going to have to call you back.” You heard Mori say. You had deliberately chosen a mirror where you could see Mori sitting behind you. When you first walked out he was far too concerned with his phone call to pay any attention to you. But then he noticed how you looked at yourself in the mirror. How your hands touched yourself, how you smiled --- not only did you feel beautiful. You looked beautiful.
Mori stood up from his seat and approached behind you. He put his chin his chin on your shoulder and looked at your reflection in the mirror.
"Have I gotten your attention?"
Mori kissed your cheek, "I'm sorry my love." He ended his sentence with another kiss. "Work is work, if this is the one shall we head on home?" Mori walked back to the tufted couch and took a seat. The apparent outline of his hard-on was difficult to ignore. You walked towards Mori and knelt in front of him.
"...Bad girl." He said with a huff of his breath.
"How can you walk out of here with this?"
You playfully asked while placing your palm on his clothed cock. You unbuckled his pants and Mori lifted his hips to slip of his clothing. You greeted the tip of his cock with a kiss and your hand held his shaft. You began to gently stroke his length. You then invited Mori’s length into your mouth still leaving enough room for you to stroke him with your hand. You felt the vein on the underside of his cock twitch in your mouth. It only encouraged you to hollow your cheeks.
“Look at me.” Mori demanded, grabbing a fistful of your hair while doing so.
The waterline of your eyes was red and filled with tears that had yet to fall. You looked up at him while taking his cock deeper in your mouth. The sensation of his tip touching the back of your tongue caused the tears in your eyes to fall down your cheeks. Mori was quick to wipe them away.
“Your lips always look so beautiful around my cock, Y/N.”
As you began to bop your head up and down Mori began to moan. They were soft enough to be confided for only you to hear. Despite how soft they were you were encouraged to move your head faster. Your throat burned but your eagerness to make him cum outweighed the pain. With a fistful of your hair in his hand, Mori moved your head up and down your cock. HIs own hips thrusted at the same pace and your hands gripped his thighs.
His dick was twitching in your mouth and his legs began to tremble. His moans were shaking as he was trying to suppress them. “F-fuck, Y/N --- I...” He didn’t need to finish his sentence you knew he was about to cum. And when he did you swallowed each drop of his cum making sure he didn’t leave a mess behind. With the edge of your finger you wiped the salvia from your bottom lip before placing that same finger in your mouth to suck it clean. Mori watched your movements and his lust filled eyes were proof that he wasn’t completely satisfied.
Once Mori gathered himself together he stood and gathered the sets he you had yet to try on. “If we stay any longer, I’ll have to throw you over this couch and have my way with you.”
“And what’s wrong with that?”
Mori laced the space between the two of you. He kissed you fervently and in your mouth he moaned, “because you’ll have to be quiet if I fuck you here. I want to hear those moans clear as day. Meet me outside once you’re changed.” The lewd statement left his lips with ease and the eagerness inside of you began to grow. Before Mori left he ripped the tag from your lingerie set.
“After that, you’ve probably soiled them. Should I let the attendant know?” He teased.
Mori left the fitting room to pay for the sets he had picked out for you meanwhile you changed back into your clothing. Before you left you gave yourself a look in the mirror. Your makeup had smudged completely and your hair was out of place. After adjusting your appearance you rejoined Mori out by the register. The attendant handed him a bag that looked larger than what could hold a few pairs of lingerie sets. Not thinking too much into it, you rejoined Mori and the two of you headed home.
The journey home was quiet and fast. Shocked that an officer hadn’t stopped Mori for speeding the two of you found yourself at home once again. Mori had walked out of the car far more calmer than you had expected for him too. He took each of the bags and headed inside calmly as if he hadn’t promised you the reward you craved.
You entered inside your shared home and set your things down. Mori was looking inside the black bag from the boutique.
“Take yourself to the bedroom and undress.” Was all Mori said and you followed his instructions without question.
With all your clothes removed, you kept the baby pink set on and sat on the edge of the bed with your legs closed tightly together. Mori had entered the room holding something behind his back.
“You were such a bad girl today Y/N.”
You opened your mouth to speak but he stopped you.
“After all I did? I spoiled you rotten and you acted like such a whore in the boutique. You nearly embarrassed me with your lewd actions.”
Mori revealed what was behind his back. It was one of those bullet vibrators that were controlled by a remote. He must’ve picked it up while you were changing.
“Come here.” He said.
You stood and walked towards him. Mori placed the bullet vibrator in your mouth and demanded for you to suck on the object. As you did he asked,
“do you know what this is? It’s something to teach you a lesson.”
He removed the vibrator from your mouth and knelt down in front of you. He slide down your panties just enough for him to place the vibrator inside of you. The full feeling of it made you gasp.
“You’re so wet.” Mori noted. “It went in without any trouble.” As he stood on his feet he placed your panties back on. He kissed your forehead and as he did you didn’t notice his hand was already on the remote. He clicked the button once and a vibration started to flourish inside your pussy. With weak legs you leaned in forward to press your body against Mori’s.
“That’s the lowest speed.”
That was the lowest?
Mori clicked the remote again. The vibration sped up only the slightest but even then the pulsating sensation was so euphoric. You gripped the fabric of Mori’s shirt and clenched your jaw. Your moans were held in your throat.
“Let out your voice. Let me hear you.” Mori only watched as you were crumbling underneath him. He clicked the button again, “this is the second to highest speed.” He noted.
Your body was sinking and you fell to your knees. The moans that began leaving your lips were involuntary. The vibrations were so concentrated on your clit that the stimulation was intense. On the floor you laid back and opened your legs. The sound of the vibrations mixed with the wetness of your pussy drove Mori insane. You could see the outline of his cock throbbing under his pants. You wanted to come up and stimulate him --- level the playing field but each time you tried to get up Mori messed with the dial on the remote.
Sometimes he sped it up other times he slowed it down. He had yet to use the highest vibration but it didn’t matter. You were so close that you began to shake and twitch. Mori lowered down to your eye level.
“Does it feel good?” He asked. You were to busy moaning and gasping for air that you couldn’t answer. “Are you gonna cum? Just from this, hm?” You were shaking your head yes. You opened your legs wider and your eyes rolled back. You were so desperate for your release. Mori began to fidget with the remote causing the vibrations to move in unreliable patterns.
“Concentrate.” He told you. “Are you gonna cum for me, sweetheart? Are you gonna come for your master?” Again you can’t bring yourself to speak. Mori placed a slap across your cheek. “How many times do I have to tell you, slut? Use your words.”
With a soft moan you finally spoke, “yes master! Yes! I’m going to cum!” Your confession was rewarded with Mori finally placing the vibrator on the highest speed. The sensation was blinding and you arched your back into it. The sound of your pussy grew wetter and wetter. Mori enjoyed every bit of your body convulsing underneath his command.
You reached your peak. Pure ecstasy consumed you entirely. The orgasm you experienced had caused you to squirt. Your liquid had stained your new set and drenched your thighs. With a single hand Mori removed your panties he admired the sight of your swollen, wet pussy before removing the toy from inside of you. You squealed at the sudden emptiness.
Mori slapped your pussy. “My, my. I didn’t know it was possible for you to get this wet. You have such a lewd, perverted body.” He slapped your pussy again harder, hard enough for your wetness to slosh at the touch. You brought your knees up and moaned innocently at the vulgar act. With his hand still on your pussy Mori looked at you,
“can you handle more?”
You looked at him and that could’ve been an answer enough. You were exhausted but you still craved the sensation of his cock inside you. Without any hesitation you pleaded.
“Yes.”
“Good girl.”
Mori said. He carried you onto the bed in order for your evening of pleasure to continue.
342 notes
·
View notes
Text
patience runs out
pairing: tommy shelby x reader (requested by: anon)
summary: while at a gala, Mosley has the audacity to make vulgar comments about you, but instead of Tommy, it’s you who deals with him
warnings: some derogatory language from Mosley when referring to you, the reader
words: 928
a/n: let me start by saying that I am SO sorry it took me this long to get your request out, anon. but I thank you for your patience and I hope that you enjoy this story!! at first I wasn’t sure what direction to take this in, and there were many different drafts, but here is the end result! have a lovely day!!
oOoOo
There were very few that worked with the Peaky Blinders who dared cross Thomas Shelby. It was like crossing the devil himself and something few lived to tell the tale. However, there was always a man brave (or moronic) enough to push the limits as far as possible, and currently that man was Oswald Mosley. The cocky bastard knew Tommy needed his aid and, therefore, worked to push every button of Tommy’s that he could.
Although Tommy despised the man with every fiber of his being, he silently endure each jab at his Romani heritage, the business he had built, and even his family. While Tommy wished to end Mosley with a single bullet to the head, he refrained each time and forced a smile for the man. He knew that in the larger picture, Mosley would get his comeuppance.
But, as with any man, Tommy’s patience on these comments had a limit - you. He was fiercely protective of you, barley letting his own family off the hook for their familial teasing. Even when his Blinders made lewd comments about you, Tommy lept to your defense through both verbal and physical means. When Mosley made such comments, however, Tommy worked to restrain himself for the sake of business.
“That’s a fine woman you’ve got there, Shelby.” Mosley said before he washed his thought down with a sip of whiskey. “I’d like to fuck her before the night is over.” he continued boldly, not caring who overheard him at the charity gala.
Tommy tightened the grip on his glass, as he tried to keep up his cool exterior while his blood boiled. “You know I don’t share well.” The thought of anyone thinking of you as a piece of meat disgusted Tommy and he was grateful you hadn’t heard.
What Tommy’s normally sharp eye had missed was that you and Polly stood to the side and heard every word that Mosley breathed. Knowing you’d need to calm you husband down, you stood ready to swiftly cut in and smooth things over. Your moment came when you heard Mosley utter, “If we’re going to be partners, there needs to be some trust. Besides, with a body like that, she looks like she’d be a whore for any man in and out of the bedroom.”
Once Tommy began to cock his fist, you hitched up the skirt of your dress and rushed to lay a hand on his wrist. “Arthur needs you in the kitchen, dear.” you lied, your eyes telling Tommy to roll with it.
His racing pulse did not subside as he nodded, but continued to stay next to you. Through a silent conversation you and Tommy had perfected over the years, he relented and left you with a peck on the lips, knowing full well that you could handle yourself. The rest of the party continued in full swing while the tension between you and Mosley grew as he devoured your figured and undressed you with his eyes. In that moment, you knew the chauvinistic pig needed to be put in his place if he was going to work with Tommy and the Peaky Blinders.
“How are you enjoying the gala, Mr. Mosley?” you asked, feigning innocence and batting your lashes like a naive schoolgirl.
“Extremely well now that you’re here.” he said and the ‘giggle’ you let slip only egged him on. “Is there a spot we could get to know each other, privately?”
Wordlessly, you led him to a secluded corner outside the ballroom, ignoring the incredulous looks the Shelby’s gave you as you passed. You knew you’d only have a short time before Tommy came storming out, so you placed your hands on Mosley’s biceps, leading him into a false sense of power.
“Let me show you how a real man fucks a woman.” Mosley growled in your ear, not wanting to wait a second more, and leaned in to press his lips against yours.
Right before your lips met, you sharply brought your knee up to his groin and received a groan in response. With Mosley distracted by the pain, you took the opportunity to punch him, just like Arthur had taught you. The hit sent Mosley to the ground with a thud, and you smirked at how small he looked underneath your heel. That would teach him to think twice that you were a loose woman ready to give it up to any man in a suit who showed you a bit of attention.
The sound of echoing footsteps reached your ears as Tommy and his family rounded the corner. While they had missed the action, they could piece together what had went down and watched as you pulled Mosley up by the collar. “Don’t you ever speak about me that way again, and don’t fuck with the Peaky Blinders.” you hissed, throwing him back to the ground for Arthur and Finn to take care of.
Brushing non-existent dirt of your dress, you walked straight into Tommy’s arms and smiled at the look of pride and lust that shone in his ocean blue eyes. He wrapped his arms tightly around your waist as though to remind himself that you hand’t run off with Mosley.
“Something on your mind, Tommy?” you teased, biting your lip as you returned his gaze.
“You’re bloody perfect, you know.” he told you, and in a rare moment of public affections, he fervently kissed you, not caring that his whole family and Mosley watched on. As you had put it, no one fucked with the Peaky Blinders or, more importantly, with you.
oOoOo
tagging: @captivatedbycillianmurphy
#tommy shelby x reader#tommy shelby imagine#thomas shelby x reader#thomas shelby imagine#peaky blinders x reader#peaky blinders imagine
674 notes
·
View notes
Note
I'll keep you warm, stevetony (fluff mayhaps?)
Anon, not gonna lie: I did the prompts in order so the one I did before this were angst and hurt/comfort respectively which made me forgot how to write fluff for a sec. Point is: before I wrote the actual (what I hope) fluff (above cut and some below), I wrote something that leans more to hurt/comfort/soft (some weird genre idk) and I’m including that under the cut just because.
Hope at least one of the below satisfies your fluff need, anon :) (from this list: "I'll keep you warm")
-//-
Steve is something else.
Well, he's many things in the sense that you see or hear him do that and be like, yeah. That sounds like Steve.
But then, there are other things he'd do and nobody would buy Tony when he says: "Steve did that! I swear, Pepper, I'm not exaggerating."
Like right now, coming into the workshop wrapped neck down in their comforter which -
"What are you doing?" Tony asks, jaw slack, voice high and airy in disbelief, mouth agape and eyes wide behind his safety goggles.
Lucky for him, he created JARVIS when he was 21 and had a stroke of brilliance in the middle of an ugly grieving so he doesn't have to suffer a third-degree burn from a hot glue gun today.
Steve though, he plops in front of Tony with his massive comforter wrapped form and burrows into it deeper, letting only baby blue eyes peek out like a damned mole - Jesus Christ - and he whines, "I'm cold."
Tony's mouth snaps close at one. His eyes narrow and he points the glue-gun at Steve. "You," he says, "You, you, you. I know exactly what you're doing."
But Steve is a stubborn, stubborn man. He makes sure he gets what he wants by the sheer force of his will if that's what he's left to give. Or maybe it's Tony who's a weak dumb man when it comes to Steve.
Either way, Steve purses his lips, bats his lashes and tilts his head at an angle. All the while looking at Tony with those baby blue puppy eyes and that's all it takes for Tony to drop the glue gun and groan into his hands.
This is not fair! "Jarvis, I need this footage to show Pepper tomorrow morning," he says, standing up.
Steve straightens up, letting his whole head pop out of the blanket burrito he'd wrapped himself in and Tony makes it a point to chuck his goggles with an extra dose of venom while glaring at him.
"Captain America, they said. Prime man full of virtues, my ass. This!" he points at Steve's exaggerated innocent face. "This is not virtue. This is playing dirty."
"But I'm not Captain America," Steve grins, dropping the facade as he waddles clumsily behind Tony, marching out of the shop; the extra length of the comforter dragging like a tail behind him. "I'm Steve Rogers, making sure my boyfriend comes to bed on time."
Tony waits until they're inside the elevator to stare him up and down and he lets out a defeated sigh, "Still not fair."
Steve smiles, smug and well - he has a very good reason to be, no shit. "All is fair in love and war," he says, chest puffing out in pride.
"No," Tony draws the line. "You say that one more time and I'm going straight back to the shop."
The effect is instant like he'd flicked a switch and Steve goes from a smug bastard to his faux innocent puppy eyes burrowing into his comforter wrap.
"But I am cold." He mumbles into it, blinking up at Tony. "I need you to warm me up."
And the elevator door opens, but Tony has already made up his mind quicker. "Are you now?" He pouts back, cocking his head sideway, playing into whatever his boyfriend's doing.
But the wiggle to his lips betray his mischievous intent spectacularly and Steve's already one foot out of the elevator by the time Tony lunges for him.
Super soldier and their super speed: "Come here, you!" Tony calls, breaking into a jog and God forbid, he'd lived close to half a century of his life; Steve even worse, but also not. He's 33 if they're counting out the years he'd spent in the ice. Still old enough to not run but he is; bolting into their shared bedroom like the devil himself is at his tail, chuckles like chiming bells following his path.
And no, Tony thinks, after the first few feet. He refuses to play chase at this age, but not so much to tickling Steve in the bed once he'd caught up. Asking, "You want me to keep you warm? Huh? Is that what you want? I'll keep you warm. Come here, you big blonde cheat."
All the while Steve's laughing into the pile of comforter he'd shed as soon as he'd accomplished his mission, twitching with every poke and jab to his flanks.
"Uncle!" He gasps. "Uncle, uncle, uncle!"
And Tony lets him go. Breath heaving as he rolls off of Steve, brushing hair out of his eyes. "You asked for this." He tells his panting boyfriend; red in the face, hair mussed, spilling soft all over his face and he looks so precious that Tony has to just cup his face and smack a kiss on his grinning mouth.
"You win," he admits, rolling out of the bed and peeling off his shirt, letting it fall in a lump on the floor as he walks to the bathroom to brush his teeth.
"This time!" He shouts back just to make it clear, so Steve doesn't get any wild ideas about fooling Tony again in the future.
He thinks he hears a faint "Every single time," but promptly decides to ignore that.
-//- vers 2 -//-
“Come here,” Steve says, stretched out in bed looking expectant like everything’s perfect.
Any other time, Tony would have leaped at the chance. He’s never been a guy for picket fences and happy endings but sitting in one of Barton’s kid’s rooms changes perspective.
If you look out the window, you can see the barn cum garage and Tony’s been there earlier this afternoon, checking on their tractor, speaking with Fury about stuff and he’d came out of there for hours now but there was a thought he had when he was still inside:
Wood fire is great; Steve could chop the logs and I can work the tractor. We’ll have to discuss who cooks dinner, and there’ll be a kid, a boy running around calling for us, maybe. One day - Maybe.
And that thought’s still swimming in his head.
The thing is, they’re still raw from battle. Just hours ago, they’d almost had a fight (if not for Mrs Barton) and now, Steve’s here on a single bed pretending like that didn’t happen, calling Tony for a cuddle.
“I’m fine.” He says, turning back to the gauntlet he's fiddling with under a low table lamp, straining his eyes behind his glasses.
It’s late summer but something about the secluded farmhouse in the middle of nowhere makes the wind chiller. And his body responds with a shiver when a draft passes by. He looks up, checks the window and he knows it’s closed tight; he did that a minute ago.
“Tony,” Steve sighs, sounding closer than before and when he looks up, he’s right; Steve is closer, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed now - Didn’t even hear him move, which is a surprise, so Tony looks at the bed frame, wondering what material it’s made of.
“Tony,” Steve calls again. Softer.
He looks up. Steve looks weary, but he strains to smile. “Come to bed,” he says. “You need rest.”
And Tony knows he does, but-
But, he doesn’t deserve to rest. He is the reason why all this happened - is happening - in the first place. He caused this - How can he rest?
He goes back to the gauntlet.
And he forgets just how stubborn Steve is until he feels a hand on his shoulder. Then another lands over his, before he can even turn around, to pry the gauntlet from his fingers. “Come on,” Steve says, pressing the words into his temple.
With one hand, he frees the tiny wrench from Tony’s grip while he holds Tony’s head to his mouth with the other, pressing a kiss and he combs his hair back, leaning away, looking into Tony’s eyes when a shiver wrecks down Tony’s spine.
“It’s kinda cold tonight,” he smiles, soft eyes tempting like whiskey on a lonely evening, “Warm me up?” and Tony has to roll his eyes at that.
“What are you? 12?” he snorts. “Is this how you flirt, because Rogers you better count your lucky stars you landed me for your boyfriend. I let you get away with this. Anyone else, I doubt they will.”
“I got blue eyes and blonde hair,” Steve shrugs and it’s lame; Tony knows what he’s doing, knows it’s working, but it’s not like he’s fighting against Steve’s efforts, anyway.
They’re lame; could be better. But it’s past midnight in some unregistered region on earth and they’re tired from fighting his own creation, tired of arguing; it's a picket fence farm with children and everything feels like fairy dreams here.
Tony doesn’t do fairy dreams but Steve makes him want to. He makes him think: maybe - one day.
Maybe that’s why he lets Steve have that satisfaction of pulling him up to his feet and onto the bed.
Maybe that’s why he lets Steve tuck his head under his chin and says, “I’ll keep you warm, super soldier.”
#stony#i love them in case that hasn't been made clear yet#stevetony#mine#prompts#HOW DO I KEEP INJECTING MY REPLY INTO ASKBOXS??? ASKSJSJSKS
82 notes
·
View notes
Text
Winter Solstice - Chapter One (undergoing re-work; new chpts posted on Patreon)
PLEASE NOTE THAT THIS IS AN OLD, FIRST DRAFT, AND IS CURRENTLY UNDERGOING A COMPLETE RE-WRITE. I’ve left it up in case you’re interested, and I intend to release it in full as a self-published novel. Consider this a tease/sneak peek.
Who remembers my Fae Realm? Well, here's Chapter One of a new story set in that universe, released on Winter Solstice night (it happens at 4.19am on Sunday 22nd December in the UK, so I think this counts).
I hope you enjoy it! See the links at the end for more stories set in this universe.
It’s been up on Patreon for only a couple of days (to keep it roughly Solstice-relevant), but the second part will be up on there for longer before it gets its Tumblr debut. As it was a surprise post, it was also available to all patrons, from the Shadows tier up.
Content: female character attacked in the woods by a mysterious dark fae creature, rescued by a shadowy fae with one wing, and the Prince of the Winter Court himself...
Wordcount: 1678
___
On the longest night of the year, when the veil between the Mortal Realm and the Fae Realm is at its thinnest, its weakest, she, like the chump she was, found herself riding alone through the forest between the harbour town and her little village.
Foxfire danced between the trees as the sun’s last rays dissolved in the watercolour sky above her, and she tried to keep her heartbeat steady as she trod the familiar path back home with her saddlebags empty and her coin purse full. She’d finally sold the last of the pendants that she’d made from old iron horse-shoes to protect mortals against the advances of the Fae, but of course, she’d not left enough time to get home.
Her ears picked up almost nothing save for the whisper of snow falling all around her. The woods were silent and empty save for the hiss of the wind in the bare branches and the steady, creaking crunch of her horse’s hooves on the old forest track. No birds sang; no deer moved between the sentinel trunks of the ancient trees; no rabbits scampered through the thorny arcs of purple-limbed brambles.
She had just leaned forwards to pat her mare’s coarse, white mane, the dapple of her coat blending in with the winter around, when the silence of the woods exploded into chaos.
Something erupted out through the trees with such force that her ears rang from the crack like a thunderclap, and snow sprayed in a thirty foot arc, spattering against trees, and sending her horse rearing up, hooves lashing out as the mare neighed an equine scream of pure terror.
She fell from the saddle and landed heavily on her back, the wind knocked from her lungs and her vision sparkling. The heavy-set mare launched herself into a plunging gallop away through the trees, tail streaming behind like a banner, leaving her rider exposed beside the frozen, woodland stream and wondering what in the name of all the realms had just happened.
Then she heard it; a slow, deep growl, and the prowling footsteps of something creeping through the mist of disturbed snow up ahead at the point of impact. Her heart thudded in her ears, almost drowning out the sound of the creature, but as she scrambled backwards in blind panic, she saw it crawling out of the debris on all fours, turning its head this way and that, snuffing and scenting the air like a hound trying to find a trail.
Its body was as big as a bear’s, but it was skeletally thin, hairless, and with gangly arms and long, spindly fingers. Its skin was a mottled greenish grey, and as it swivelled its head around and fixed its gaze on her, she was met by two enormous, moon-like eyes, glowing with a horrid, dead light.
The scream that tore itself from her throat sounded foreign to her ears. She scrabbled to her feet and grabbed the first thing her hands fell on, which happened to be a stout, fallen branch. The creature skittered this way and that, bouncing playfully off the trunks of the trees, lunging after her like a cat at play, and then it opened its maw. Horrifically, its jaw split into four, fringe-like sections, like some hideous flower, and the inside of its mouth was blood red and filled with row upon row of needle-like teeth.
She scrambled to her feet, desperately trying to find traction in the mucky slush beneath her, and swung at the creature as it made its final dash towards her, quick as a spider and as unstoppable as a charging bull.
The branch collided with the side of its head, and it staggered and veered away, snarling and snapping that grotesque mouth and narrowing its enormous eyes. The drool that dropped from its four-fold lips hissed and sizzled as it hit the snow.
A blueish light shifted in the trees a little way off behind the monster, but she didn’t have time to call out for help as it darted for her once again.
This time it was too quick and she screamed again as its vile mouth clamped down on her neck and collarbone, sinking its myriad venomous teeth into her skin. Searing pain shot through every nerve and she dropped the stick, her fingers going almost instantly limp. Its disgusting breath stung her nose, its continuous and delighted snarling filling her ears, but she could barely breathe through the pain as it tightened its grip on her and brought its long, gnarled fingers to her waist and drew her close to its foul body.
She was going to die. It was Winter Solstice, and she was going to die in the rotting claws of some foul creature from the Fae Realm.
Her arms were clamped to her sides by its terrible grip on her, but as the long, hard handle of her belt knife dug into the inside of her wrist left, she thought vaguely of freeing it somehow so she could at least try to gut the creature who was going to take her life. It had to be a Fae creature, though she had never heard of one like this before. As the best blacksmith and farrier within thirty miles of the lord’s castle, she had seen the Fae pets that the nobles kept on iron chains, parading them around like exotic animals for everyone’s entertainment. Fae on this side of the shield between the realms were not supposed to be able to access their powers. This one, however, was strong and quick, lithe, and gods above, her neck was on fire with its venom.
Finally loosing the knife as she twisted, choking on the pain and screams which lodged together in her throat, she rammed the six inch blade deep into its gut. Foul black liquid gushed out, burning her hand, but the creature released its hold on her neck immediately. She staggered and fell backwards into the snow, her right hand darting to her neck that was a mess with ragged puncture wounds. The pain was indescribable, searing beneath her skin in waves of rippling needlepoints and clenching her lungs and throat so tight that breathing became almost impossible.
The creature writhed on the ground, reaching for her with its taloned fingers, scraping them through the churning snow and mud as if determined to drag itself towards her and finish her off, no matter the cost to itself. She managed to kick it in the face with her heel before she slumped back into the snow, dizzy, cold, and sweating.
“I don’t want to die,” she rasped, turning her blurring vision up to the lacework of black branches above while the snow pattered down around her. “Please…” she prayed to no one in particular.
Hoof-beats pounding through the slush made her turn her head dazedly, and a second later, a burst of darkness exploded out like a drop of ink in water, and the creature screamed. A human-shaped figure now stood beside it, and she squinted as her own vision began to dim. She thought the figure that had erupted from the pure, writhing darkness had wings, but when he turned, she saw that in fact he only had one wing, and where there should have been a second protruding from the special slits in the back of his leather armour, there was only a ragged, black stump. The right wing hung like a giant bat’s wing down his back, and she could see dapples of moonlight through its shredded membrane.
Before she could take in much more about the figure, he had clutched the creature’s head in his hands and torn it clean off in a spray of gurgling, black ichor. The thundering hooves drew close and a second person swung down from the saddle of a huge grey stallion. The horse’s hooves danced in the snow while he whinnied and snorted at the scent of the creature’s blood.
“Is she alive?” she heard a rasping male voice ask from above her.
“Yes, highness,” the winged figure swathed in shifting darkness replied. “Looks like she did our work for us though.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, and suddenly he was crouching beside her.
His clothes were simple fighting leathers, but they were tooled with silver filigree and studded with a glimmering metal that was not of the Mortal Realm. His long, silver-white hair was tied back in a simple ponytail at the nape of his neck to reveal tapering, elegant ears, and he wore a simple band of white metal around his head. As he turned to look at her, she caught a glimpse of the right hand side of his face and gasped. Where his left cheek was smooth and pale as polished marble, his right seemed, to her blurred and fading vision, to be made of quicksilver, or iridescent ice. All the planes of his face were hard as crystallised ice and his eyes were a blue so pale they were almost white.
Their voices warped, her hearing failing as the poison in that creature’s maw got to work on her body in earnest.
“She’s going to die,” the prince remarked, in much the way that a housewife might comment that someone was nipping out to the market.
“Please,” she hissed, her fingers - slick with the creature’s black blood - groping for a hold on him. She found his hand and he wrenched it back from her clutches with a look of disgust on his beautiful face. “Please… I don’t want to die. I…” Her throat closed, but as the world tilted back into darkness in a wash of agony, she caught the flare of curiosity in his grey eyes and hoped it would be enough to move him to pity.
It didn’t occur to her that asking a Fae for her life without waiting to hear the price - and on this night of all nights - was a very, very foolish thing indeed.
Part Two
Fae Realm Stories
Prince of the Court of Night x female reader *commission* (nsfw) Part Two (nsfw)
Male winged shadowborne fae (Shaer) x female reader (nsfw) *commission* (long!)
Male reptilian fae (Adan) x female reader (nsfw) *commission*
Male triton Fae (Kaerio) x female character (sfw) *commission*
—
I really hope you folks enjoyed this one! Don’t forget to let me know if you did enjoy it by leaving a like and/or reblogging it!
For all early releases, character art and bios, upcoming story info, and much, much more, join me over on Patreon!
You’ll have access to stories before anyone else, and you’ll get instant access Patreon-only content as well, including polls and an exclusive monthly story for those on the Pixies and Goblins tier or higher!
__
| Masterlist | Patreon | Ko-fi | Writing Commissions |
209 notes
·
View notes
Note
I thought of a really cute scenario. It's a modern au and reader is back from shopping with the girls or something like that. She buys a whole set of "Levi's" yknow the clothing brand. And she's all cute about it. Just some fluff, hopefully it makes sense.
Y/N Shopping With The Girls:
Levi didn’t really pay attention when Y/N said she was going shopping with her friends. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, he did, but he was still working on the last draft of his contract.
He was happy that she was getting out and enjoying herself while he was chained to his computer for at least another few hours. The deal was a big on and he needed to make sure the contract was iron clad.
The time passes and suddenly, right as he’s hitting save on his computer, she is bursting through the door. A pile of shopping bags in her hands as she lit up with a beautiful smile.
“Levi! I can’t wait to show what I bought!” She dropped a kiss on his mouth before disappearing into the bedroom to organize and model for him.
He always enjoys when she buys clothes, showing off what she got with a private show, just for him. He hadn’t missed that pink lingerie bag hidden among the others.
His lips curled in anticipation as he put away the laptop and settled on the couch, his silver eyes fixed on the door to their bedroom.
He gives a snort of amusement when she comes out.
She’s wearing a new pair of jeans and a tshirt. The logo proudly displayed across her breasts.
“LEVI’S” emblazoned in bright red letters on the white shirt.
Even the jeans were Levi’s brand. The little tag on the waistband saying the same thing.
He kind of wished those bright red letters were on the back of her jeans, right across the ass.
“What do you think?” She asked, turning around and posing like she on a runway.
“Come here you dork.” He says, grabbing her hand and pulling her down into his lap.
“Hmmm?” She bats her lashes at him playfully.
He rolls his eyes and tugs her closer for a kiss. “I love it. You are mine....but I’m also yours.” He says.
“Maybe I should start a clothing brand for you to wear. Y/N’s!” She teases.
“I’d wear it.” Levi says, nibbling on her lips before standing and carrying her into their bedroom.
He liked that brand on her, but he preferred her without anything on...unless it was the contents of that pink bag.
Mobile MasterList
#snk headcanons#aot headcanons#levi headcanons#levi modern au headcanons#levi modern au#levi ackerman headcanons#attack on titan headcanon#shingeki no kyojin headcanon
126 notes
·
View notes
Text
Untitled Guardian Fic, 1/1
Title: Untitled
Fandom: Guardian
Pairing: Zhao Yunlan/Shen Wei
Summary: Shen Wei has a headache, Zhao Yunlan gets to be the one to take care of him for a change.
For @musicalluna, who asked for Shen Wei having a migraine
This is a super rought draft, no betas, we die like men
~
The lights are off in Shen Wei’s office when Zhao Yunlan gets there.
He hesitated a moment before rapping his knuckles against the door, but Shen Wei had said he’d be ready, and if Shen Wei said he’d be somewhere, he meant it. The man had never been late in all the time Zhao Yunlan had known him, barring times he’d been under attack and that one time he’d almost stood Zhao Yunlan up for a lunch date because he’d been cornered by a small pack of enamored first year students who’d presented him with a cake and then very nearly tried to eat it off him (Shen Wei rolled his eyes at this point whenever Zhao Yunlan told the story, but Zhao Yunlan knew what he’d seen when he’d gotten tired of waiting and come to see what was keeping him).
There’s a brief pause after he knocks and he almost turns to leave, thinking perhaps he and Shen Wei had gotten their wires crossed after all. But just as he’s about to head back toward the stairs he hears Shen Wei’s voice call out, “Come in.”
The office is dim. It’s a miserable, rainy day outside and little sunlight has made its way through the cloud cover. The lights coming in through the door feel strangely intrusive, and Zhao Yunlan closes it behind him. “I thought maybe you’d left without me.”
Shen Wei leaned back in his chair a little and offered him a small smile. “Yunlan. Of course not.” He sounded tired. He looked tired, too, which was a little rarer - Shen Wei managed to look unflappably gorgeous even when the world was burning down around him, so Zhao Yunlan tended to notice the moments when he didn’t. Shen Wei was sitting at his desk, but his bag was neatly packed on the guest chair, and there were no papers or books set out before him - certainly no computer in use. In fact, it looked as if he’d been sitting quietly in the dark with his eyes closed.
“Are you all right?” Zhao Yunlan asked. He took a few quick steps closer to the desk, but up close Shen Wei looked unharmed as far as he could see. He gave him a once over anyway as Shen Wei stood and collected his things.
“Just a headache,” Shen Wei said gently. “I attempted to heal myself but it appears that the use of dark energy is contributing to the condition, so…”
“So you just made yourself feel worse for trying.” Zhao Yunlan leaned in and brushed his lips over Shen Wei’s forehead. No fever, he noted, though Shen Wei swayed into his touch a bit. He wrapped his arms around Shen Wei’s waist and held him carefully. “Did you take anything?”
“I had some tea,” Shen Wei said.
“Tea is not medicine, I feel like we’ve had this conversation before.” Zhao Yunlan kissed the top of Shen Wei’s head and pulled back. He kept one hand on the small of his back partially to offer support but partially because he just really liked touching Shen Wei. His hands seemed to find their way to Shen Wei’s body whenever the opportunity presented itself - in the fun way, too, of course, but in more publicly acceptable ways like holding his hand, or touching his arm or an arm slung over his shoulders. Shen Wei had never objected, not even in public, and usually he would even lean into those touches, which never failed to make Zhao Yunlan’s stomach go all fluttery and dumb. “Come on, let’s go home.”
In the daylight, Shen Wei looked a little pale, and the corners of his eyes were pinched. He kept his head down even though the sun was completely hidden behind the rainclouds. He would look up and speak whenever someone addressed him, but each time he did his smile was a little thinner and the skin around his eyes a little more pinched. Once they were in the Jeep with the doors closed, Shen Wei leaned back into the seat with a tired sigh and closed his eyes.
“Seat belt,” Zhao Yunlan said, pitching his voice to be low and hopefully soothing. Or at least not too jarring. He shot a quick text to Da Qing while Shen Wei was strapping himself in, then started up the engine and aimed the Jeep for home.
It was early in the evening yet; Shen Wei’s Friday classes ended before lunch, and he tended to spend the afternoon doing research or paperwork, which meant they tended to finish up at about the same time. It was the only day of the week where they consistently got off at the same time as each other and Zhao Yunlan quietly looked forward to it all week. Picking Shen Wei up at the University, driving home together, doing the shopping if needed, cooking dinner together… It was super boring domestic stuff that would have sent him screaming into the hills just a year or so ago but now he looked forward to it. Relished it, even, because it was super boring domestic stuff that meant Shen Wei was part of his life now and Zhao Yunlan would not have traded those quiet evenings for anything.
Shen Wei’s headache seemed to be getting worse; either that or his tolerance was getting lower. He spent the ride with his eyes shut, his head resting against the back of the car seat. At one point a car behind them leaned on the horn for some offense or another and Shen Wei actually winced, drawing in a short, sharp breath and eyes clenching tightly shut. His hands were curled into fists on his thighs, pressing down against the pale blue material like he meant to hold himself in place.
Zhao Yunlan reached across the console and laid his hand over Shen Wei’s. Squeezed just a little, just enough to let Shen Wei know he was there. Shen Wei exhaled in a slow breath, and the hand beneath Zhao Yunlan’s slowly relaxed until he could coax the fingers apart and lace his through them.
He didn’t take his eyes off the road because of the traffic, but he was pretty sure he saw Shen Wei smile, just a little.
He parked as close as he could to the apartment, abusing his position as a police officer just a little. He took Shen Wei’s bag, and looped an arm around his waist as soon as he climbed down from the Jeep.
“I’m not injured,” Shen Wei said. “You don’t need to carry my things.” But he didn’t try to take the satchel back, either, and when Zhao Yunlan urged him to rest his head on Zhao Yunlan’s shoulder, he did.
Zhao Yunlan didn’t turn on any of the lights once they were inside. He hung the satchel on the peg beside the door, in between Da Qing’s jacket and a couple of empty shopping bags, then walked Shen Wei to the bed. He threw back the duvet and coaxed him into sitting down. “Lie down for a while,” he said. He carefully took Shen Wei’s glasses and folded them, setting them down on the bedside table where he would be able to find them again easily. “I’ll get you something for your headache.”
“It’s not so bad,” Shen Wei said.
Zhao Yunlan had watched him bleed out without wincing, so he was perfectly willing to call him a lying liar to his face if that was what it took to get him to take care of himself. “It’s bad enough. Come on, rest a little now and you’ll feel better later. Try to power though and you’ll be miserable all weekend.” He took the initiative, carefully pushing Shen Wei’s suit jacket off his shoulders and tugging it free, then nudging Shen Wei’s chin up so he could undo his tie.
Shen Wei’s eyes watched him as he worked, soft and beautiful. Zhao Yunlan loved his eyes - dark and rich and shining - like well-polished wood, old and valuable, with a hint of honey-gold. They were kind eyes, most of the time, and Zhao Yunlan loved it when they looked at him, whether it was soft and loving, or annoyed or - his favorite - sharp and hot with need. He smiled down at Shen Wei and dropped a kiss on his forehead, then slid the tie free of his collar and wrapped it around his fist. “Come on, lay down.”
Shen Wei would never dream of putting his feet on the bed with his shoes still on, so there was a brief pause as he tried to lean down and untie them and Zhao Yunlan batted his hands away and knelt down beside the bed to take care of it himself. “Be honest with me,” he said, tilting his head so he could look up at Shen Wei from beneath his lashes. “You just wanted to get me on my knees before you, didn’t you?”
“There are so many other places I would prefer to have you,” Shen Wei said. He laid a hand over the back of Zhao Yunlan’s neck and just held it there as Zhao Yunlan finished untying his shoes.
“I’m going to want a list later,” Zhao Yunlan said. He let Shen Wei see him grin, waggled his eyebrows a little for good measure. “In order of preference. And maybe some practical demonstrations of these favored positions as well.” He waited till Shen Wei had rolled his eyes at him - aborted halfway through with a tiny wince - then cupped that beautiful, stubborn face in both hands and kissed him properly. Shen Wei sighed into the kiss, eyes drifting shut and some of the tension going out of his body, and when Zhao Yunlan reluctantly pulled back, Shen Wei’s entire upper body swayed toward his, trying to prolong it. Zhao Yunlan cupped the back of his head with one hand, and pressed down on his shoulder with the other. “Rest now.”
Shen Wei obediently lay back against the pillows, his entire body going boneless and practically sinking into the mattress with a heavy sigh of relief. Zhao Yunlan pulled the duvet up to his chest, smoothed it flat and watched him for a long moment as Shen Wei breathed slowly and evenly and the lines around his eyes began to ease.
He set the water to heating up and found the naproxen in the medicine cupboard, then detoured to the front door to finally kick his own shoes off. He brought the pills and the water to the bed, setting them down for a moment as he carefully eased an arm under Shen Wei’s shoulders to help him sit up. Shen Wei gave him a narrow-eyed look for a moment, like he might be seriously considering shoving Zhao Yunlan off the side of the bed and doing it himself just to make a point, but he let Zhao Yunlan hold him up. His fingers shook a little when he took the pills from Zhao Yunlan’s hand, so he held the water glass to Shen Wei’s lips while he drank. Then he dropped a kiss on Shen Wei’s lips - just to make sure they were nice and dry, of course - and lowered him back down to the pillows.
“I’m not an invalid,” Shen Wei said without opening his eyes.
“No, but you’re hurting and I hate that.” Zhao Yunlan brushed a strand of hair off his forehead and over to the side where it belonged. “Let me try and make it better.”
Shen Wei turned his head on the pillow so he could face Zhao Yunlan, though he didn’t open his eyes as he did. “You do make it better. There isn’t anything I couldn’t bear as long as you were at my side.”
“Well, if I’m doing my job properly, you shouldn’t have to bear anything worse than this headache ever again.” Zhao Yunlan smoothed the duvet over Shen Wei’s chest one last time, then let his hand rest there for a little while, feeling the soft rise and fall of Shen Wei’s breaths.
He should get up and cook dinner, maybe do some chores. There are casefiles he could be reviewing, and there’s a hamper full of laundry in the bathroom that could be thrown in the wash. But there were leftovers in the fridge, and none of the cases were urgent, and the laundry hamper lid still shut so the situation hadn’t reached emergency status yet.
And Shen Wei said him being there made it better. So he stayed.
48 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Best of the Best
Pairing: M!Cassian x MC
Word Count: 2,950
Summary: Kellen decides it’s high time to treat Cassian to some of the finer things in life.
Note: This is one of those fics that’s no longer relevant to the plot, but has been taking up space in my drafts for ages and needs to be booted out for the sake of my sanity. I guess it’s set somewhere before chapter 12? Regardless, it features some backstory and a more gradual recognition of feelings than the one we got in canon.
Craning his neck, Cassian tried to catch a glimpse his of collar in the bathroom mirror. Still brushing his teeth with his right hand, he snaked his left behind him to smooth the wrinkle that bent the structured band. His hair would likely disguise any such imperfections, but that didn’t matter. It was the principle of the thing.
This was the first evening he and Kellen had gone out since their arrival in Nantucket, and he wasn’t going to do it halfway.
He completed a final lap across his teeth and spit into the sink. Once finished, he rinsed off the brush and laid it in his toiletry bag. Drawing back his hand, his eyes rolled toward the ceiling. The footsteps coming from the bedroom had become sharper -- more pronounced.
Kellen had put on her shoes.
It won’t be long now, he reasoned, taking one last look at his appearance in the bathroom mirror. His hair still looked a little windblown from the hours he’d spent working on the outside of the cottage, but the helmet would soon negate any efforts he made to improve it. He made a note to double-check his teeth, then realized his mouth was already open from smiling.
It wasn’t the first time something similar had happened over the last few weeks. Living with Kellen had been more enjoyable than even his wildest expectations might have predicted.
Cassian heard the click of heels on the stairs seconds before she appeared in the open doorway.
“Please ignore the fact that you’ve already seen me in this dress. If we were back in Boston, I’d have a whole closet of them to pick from, but, you know...”
He couldn’t help laughing at her nonchalant shrug. “This one suits you. You could wear it every day and you’d never hear me complain. You look gorgeous.”
It had been over a month since they’d locked eyes on that rooftop in Boston, but he still had to do a double take every once in a while. Tonight, with her dark berry lipstick and her hair styled into a low bun, Kellen was positively enchanting.
She dressed up for me.
He knew it wasn’t quite true, but that didn’t stop the pleasure from swelling his chest at the notion. For the thousandth time in the last five weeks, he tried to censure himself -- an increasingly difficult task where she was concerned.
“You're making me feel underdressed, if I’m honest,” he continued, hoping his mind would accompany the words instead of remaining stuck on her appearance. “What is this about, anyway?”
“You look perfect.” She pinched the point of his collar between her fingers and gave him an appreciative once over. “And I’m taking you out to dinner: that’s all you need to know,” she challenged, sapphire eyes blazing.
Cassian’s mouth went dry as she released her hold. “Have you forgotten that I’ll be the one driving us to this surprise? I’ll need to know eventually.”
“I’ll give you directions as we go. It’ll be more fun.”
Forehead against the doorjamb, he let out a groan of apprehension. “I thought we decided you weren’t going to do that again.” Her methods of giving directions from the back of a Vespa were very...creative.
“I’ll keep my hands to myself this time.”
A quiet cough was enough to call her bluff.
“Mostly.”
“That’s what I thought.”
She answered the accusation with a cheeky smile before her eyes fell on the stovetop clock. “Our reservation is for 6:30. We’d better get moving.”
Slipping the keys from his pocket, he motioned toward the door. “I’ll follow you,” he promised, resigning himself to a very long ride into town.
_____
“What is this really about?” He asked a second time, some half-hour later. Leaning back in his chair, he tried to perform a scan of the restaurant’s other occupants, but his eyes kept landing back on Kellen.
Candlelight danced on her skin as she pondered his question. If he hadn’t been so intent on hearing her response, he could have easily become lost in the sight of her. The beauty mark on her collarbone, the way the light caught on the dainty line of her chin, the flush of pink still on her cheeks from the ride over... He watched the shadow cross her perfect lips as they parted to answer.
“Breaking up the monotony. Testing some of Nantucket’s best food. Showing you the finer things in life.”
“Ah.” He wasn’t sure the answer had told him any more than he’d already known.
Whatever her intentions, this definitely wasn’t a date -- even if instinct kept trying to tell him otherwise. The lines between his conduct were so blurred that even he couldn’t guess his true motivations. Holding open doors, pulling out chairs -- they were things he’d done for the sake of courtesy since he was a child. But here with Kellen, he knew that more than politeness was driving his actions.
But Cassian wasn’t going to bring that up in conversation. Instead, he inclined a brow. “No fish ’n’ chips, then?”
“Have you looked at the menu?”
He had, but he made a show of perusing it a second time. There were dishes he’d only vaguely heard of, most of them paired with prices that seemed anything but reasonable.
“It’s restaurant week,” she reminded. “That means the food is affordable and there are a lot of people for us to blend in with,” she told him in undertones, as though sensing his worry.
“You could never blend in, Kellen.”
The woman demurred, taking a sip of her wine to hide her smile. When she replaced the glass, she crooked a finger to draw him close. “The low light helps. It’s one of the reasons I picked this restaurant,” she confided in a half-whisper.
Cassian pulled away with a proud grin. Kellen was getting savvier all the time. It should have come as little surprise, given how she’d excelled at anything else she put her mind to. But for whatever reason, it had taken far longer for caution to become second nature.
She caught his eye and flashed a subtle wink.”Told you I’d thought this through.”
“I’m sure not going to complain. You know how I feel about candles.”
Her gaze narrowed before darting back down to the menu. Clearing his throat, Cassian let his own eyes pause on her for a moment longer. From the gentle motion of her jaw, he could tell that she was rolling her tongue between her teeth -- something she only did on the rare occasions when she held back her words.
Did I say something wrong? he wondered, reaching for a sip from his water glass. After weeks of living together, they were well accustomed to each other’s teasing. She knew his tendency to turn things more serious, and he knew her default to deflect. He usually tried to tread lightly, but she was smart enough to tell that there was more to his comment than flirtation.
As she batted her lashes and met his eyes again, the telltale spark had returned. “Anything look good?” she inquired, tracing the edge of her booklet. From the coquettish incline of her brow, it was clear she was referring to more than just the food.
“All of it,” he answered truthfully, biting back an oath when the words came out sounding more sincere than playful.
Tonight isn’t a date. And whatever this is with Kellen isn’t serious. She’s not interested.
Although she said nothing in return, the sensation of her dainty foot coming to rest at his ankle was almost enough to make Cassian lose his composure. Her touch, that act of reaching toward him without flirtation, called his certainty into question.
Maybe she was more interested than he’d given her credit for.
“Kellen,” he whispered, one hand slipping under the table in a vain attempt to find her skin. If he touched her back, perhaps the moment would become real.
“Can I answer any questions about the menu?”
The waiter reappeared just as Cassian’s finger brushed the inside of her thigh. Swallowing back his disappointment, he pasted a grin and relaxed against the splat of the chair.
Kellen straightened in her seat and began listing her order. From all Cassian could tell, she was unfazed -- as comfortable and self-assured as he’d ever seen her.
Surely he’d been imagining things after all.
_____
The sun had just started to set by the time they finished dining, and the balmy breeze from the water was all the encouragement Kellen needed to suggest a post-dinner stroll.
“So, what’d you think?”
Cassian cut his steps short to match her stride. He was so used to her power walking that this leisurely pace took a bit of adjustment. “It was all very tasty.”
“Good. It was so nice to be able to go out. I’ve missed it, you know?”
“Thanks again for bringing me along.”
“We go everywhere together, remember? Besides, who else would I bring all the way out here?”
She was still a couple of steps behind him, but his ears picked up on the catch in the laughter that followed her words. For someone who usually exuded confidence, the slip was noticeable. Is she nervous? He mulled over the question for a moment before dismissing it as nostalgia for her old way of life.
Coming to the edge of the railing, Kellen cocked her head toward him before casting her eyes on the water below. There was an almost imperceptible pause between the release of her breath and the moment she started speaking. “So...I might have lied earlier.”
“About the risotto being better than the gnocchi?” He caught up to her, propping his forearms on top of the well-worn wood.
She nudged him with an elbow. “No, I don’t lie about food--especially when mushrooms are involved. That risotto was amazing. But I wasn’t completely honest about why I brought you out here.”
Eyes locked on the rolling tide, she explained further. “I know I haven’t been the easiest person to live with over the last several weeks. There have been a lot of times that I’ve made your life harder than it needs to be, and I’m sorry for that.”
Cassian opened his mouth to insist that the confession was unnecessary, but her fingers curled around his wrist. “Don’t argue. I know I have. And I don’t apologize very often, so you’d better not mess this up for me.”
Realizing the sincerity of her threat, his breath stumbled out over a half-serious laugh. He gently pulled his arm from her grasp and turned his hand to clutch her fingers. “I won’t.”
“Thanks.” Though she inched nearer, her eyes stared far ahead. “Clearly, you deserve a lot more than one fancy dinner as an apology, but I’m working with limited resources right now and it’s the best I can do. Will you forgive me?”
His forehead lifted slightly with his initial surprise, though further consideration left him feeling foolish. It was true that the woman he’d met on the rooftop a month before would never have apologized for anything, but this woman? She’d changed significantly over the past few weeks.
This Kellen was willing to admit when she was wrong.
This Kellen was choosing to make herself vulnerable. With him.
As his pulse beat a deafening tattoo, he wondered how she’d respond if he hoisted her onto the railing and kissed her senseless. Whether she knew it or not, it would hardly be the first time he’d kissed her with more affection than lust. Still, taking that kind of action meant he risked disrupting this moment.
Feeling the gentle course her thumb was charting over the back of his hand, he realized he’d been too distracted to answer her question. “All’s forgiven,” he assured quickly. “Besides, I’ve had a better time with you this last month than I’ve had with anyone in ages.”
“Of course you have. I’m excellent company.”
Her confidence was coming back, and it spurred his own bravery: potent and perhaps a little foolhardy. “While we’re on the subject...” he began, forging ahead before he could think better of it. “Would you let me take you out once we’re back in Boston? There’s a pub in Allston that I used to go to at least once a week. I know it’s not exactly what you’re used to, but everyone says their fried mushrooms are to die for.”
“I’d love that.”
Cassian hoped she couldn’t feel the goosebumps that sprouted across his skin at her immediate response.
She didn’t even have to hesitate.
“I’m not making any assumptions,” he continued, trying not to get ahead of himself. Just because she was willing to let him return the favor of buying her dinner didn’t mean that they’d remain a regular part of each other’s lives. “I understand if I’m not what you’re looking for in...”
He didn’t have to finish the thought. Kellen met his eyes briefly, but soon glanced away. “I haven’t been looking for anything,” she admitted. “Not really, anyway. Just some fun.”
”You’re a whole lot of things beside fun, Kellen.” Pulling her hand to his lips, he pressed a kiss to her knuckles. Cassian was almost certain he imagined the quiet hum as she sighed out her next breath.
“I know. But most men aren’t like you.” The statement was matter of fact, and the low timbre of her voice was enough to tell him that experience had been her teacher.
His dark brows plummeted. “How do you mean?”
“Responsible. Genuine. Interested in taking care of others.”
“You’ve been hurt in the past.” His skin heated at the thought, erasing the chill bumps on his arms. Thinking of anyone taking advantage of Kellen was enough to boil his blood.
“Who hasn’t?”
“But hurt enough that it’s put you off love completely.”
“Between that and the crazy work hours, yeah. Relationships haven’t been a priority.” She picked at a splinter in the wood grain before rubbing it smooth with the pad of her thumb. “Guess that’s what happens when you waste two years of your life being used by someone who doesn’t even love you back.”
He didn’t want to pry, but he was happy to listen for as long as she wanted to talk. Avoiding any additional leading statements, he ultimately settled on a neutral apology. “That’s awful, Kellen. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
“It’s not like it’s your fault.” She took her hand from his loosened grip, but she didn’t move away. Still close beside him, the fine hairs of her arm tickled his skin. “Blame my boyfriend from undergrad. He was more interested in getting a position in my dad’s company than he was in being with me. Once he had the job he wanted, he didn’t need me anymore.”
“And your dad?”
Kellen tensed. “He told me it was “just business” and that I needed to stop taking it personally. I haven’t wanted anything to do with either of them since.”
“It’s their loss -- truly.” Though he sought her eyes, they were obstinately trained on the pattern of wood beneath her fingertips. Cassian linked a pinky with hers instead, hoping that she’d take the motion as proof of his convictions. “You’re one of the most amazing--”
"Sorry!” She gasped out in apology, pulling her hand away and cutting him short. “Tonight was supposed to be about treating you to something nice -- not using you for therapy. It’s just really easy to talk to you, and tonight has got me thinking about a lot of things.”
Kellen wove her hand through the crook of his elbow, pulling close enough to rest her cheek on his shoulder. “And I’m glad you said what you did about the pub. After everything we’ve been through, I can’t imagine not seeing you once we’re back in Boston. You’re the best of the best, Cassian.”
Her words were quiet, spoken more to the bay than to him, but they were still enough to make his heart sputter. Whether or not Kellen remembered, she’d used a similar phrase on the night they’d met. Did the compliment mean what he hoped?
He wasn’t sure he could bring himself to ask. “I’d miss ya far too much,” he told her truthfully, quashing down the disappointment he felt at his own cowardice.
“We can’t have that, can we?”
“No, we can’t.”
Her scent wove together with the salt of the sea and the earthy must coming from the wood beneath them. The soothing combination was a perfect blend of all the things he’d soon exchange for the teeming streets of Boston.
But certain as Cassian was that he could live without the endless whisper of the waves or the tang that lingered on his tongue with every breath, he was beginning to doubt that he could go on without her. Taking full advantage of Kellen’s nearness, he brushed his lips over the shell of her ear.
“Once we’re back in Boston, you can see me as often as you want.”
At his arm, her cheek tightened with the curve of her smile. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”
_____
Later, as he drove them home with the stars overhead and Kellen’s arms wrapped tightly around his waist, he took stock of the night’s events.
Tonight hadn’t been a date.
It hadn’t answered all of the questions he had about their future.
The evening certainly hadn’t ended with a confession of feelings, but the confirmation that she wanted him in her life once they’d left Nantucket behind? That was enough for now.
22 notes
·
View notes
Photo
[Image Description: A foggy, whitewashed hill is littered with snow-covered pine trees, the top of the hill disappearing into a layer of opaque white. Over the opaque white, black text reads: “Work-In-Progress Wednesday [/] starring “That One Madara Fanfic”.”]
WORK - IN - PROGRESS WEDNESDAY:
starring
“ That One Madara Fanfic ”
Please enjoy an excerpt from my draft of this fanfic. I promise it’s coming. Here’s an extra long snippet from a midway chapter I just wrote. Please enjoy below the cut!
Fandom: Naruto
Pairing: Uchiha Madara / Original Female Character (Ōkami Kyoko)
Rating: E (explicit, 18+)
Warnings: (for this particular excerpt) Public Sex, Oral Sex, Allusions to Anal Sex, Foul Language, Allusions to Prostitution, Extramarital Affair (not mentioned, but is to be implied).
Introduction: Madara and Kyoko continue their long journey to the Land of Snow, where Kyoko holds new ambassadorship. Hashirama has recently named her Konoha’s representative to the Land in hopes of quickly uniting their two countries during these unstable times. As the hokage’s foreign advisor, Madara must learn about the Snow country’s economy and society; and of course, Kyoko’s parents are expecting to see him for a truce negotiation between the estranged but related Uchiha and Ōkami clans. But Madara can’t keep his mind off last night. And it’s probably a problem. But maybe everything else can wait. Maybe. (Though, probably not.)
Even before the mountains began, Kyoko was determined to get him to buy a coat. And she wouldn’t settle for anything she considered cheap.
“You’re going to be coming up here often, so you should get a nice one.”
Madara wasn’t exactly one for spending too much. Everything here was grandly expensive. But she said if he waited until they went any further, he’d regret it.
The cold wind had already started to pick up outside. Attached to the little clothing shop was a cafe. All the detailing inside was wood and bark, but almost in a gaudy way. It wasn’t ugly, but the texture was overwhelming. A fire burned in the corner, gated by a three-paneled iron guard. Another stone hearth stood by the cafe at the other end of the store. It was quiet and empty.
Kyoko pulled him through the racks of clothes toward the coats. She wasn’t at all subtle or modest. Madara should have known that by now, and part of it turned him on, even now. In the bedroom, it was one thing entirely; she was brazen and beautiful and fearless. But out here, under the scrutiny of the world, it was different. And she paid it no mind. Her fingers laced with his, warmly, and she drew him to a different rack. Soon, when she was dissatisfied with his choices, she went looking on her own. He followed her quietly, lazily; she seemed to enjoy picking things out for him. He didn’t mind that either. None of this bothered him, as they were far from home, and far from the watchful eyes of people who knew them. But still, they were in public. While no one knew who she was now, and probably who he was, he knew that would change eventually.
She held up a coat to him, only for a split second, and then put it back. Too small, she’d decided, just by looking at him. It was almost shocking how intimate she was. It was second nature to her. Sure, public sex was her thing, and Madara could easily get behind that, too. But this didn’t feel like all those times. She was warm, like the quiet-burning hearth in the corner. Bright and gentle. She had a glow of her own. Madara wanted to look at her, maybe all day. But he didn’t.
“Try this one,” she said.
“How much is it?”
“Just try it.”
He rolled his eyes. She held it out to him and he unzipped it and put it on. She watched him carefully, every seam, every fold, how it looked on him. Her gaze came to his eyes.
“Try the hood.”
He grumbled. She didn’t skip a beat.
“You’re going to want to make sure it shields your cheeks and mouth.”
“Alright.”
He pulled the hood over his head. He almost couldn’t see through the fur lining.
“How does it feel?” her now muffled voice asked him. He had closed the flaps over his mouth.
“Fine.” His words came out muted and sloppy. She nodded.
“Do you like it? That’s a good one.”
“Sure.” He wasn’t sure he had much choice. They all looked nice to him. But he let her be picky. She knew this climate better than he did.
As he slipped off the coat, the shop attendant approached them. Madara handed it off to him. Before he could even look at the price, Kyoko’s voice called him.
“Come try this.”
She had disappeared behind another rack. Madara glanced down at the tag on the coat.
This woman.
He nodded quickly to the attendant, who took the coat to the front for them. Kyoko was rifling through gloves when Madara found her. She handed him a pair, and a scarf, glancing down at his sandals.
“Did you bring boots?”
“Yes.”
“Snow boots?”
“They’re boots.”
She turned toward the back of the store, the shoe section. Madara wrapped an arm around her waist and stopped her, pulling her in close. Carefully, he eyed the clerk, who was nosedeep in a book. He murmured,
“You’re going to empty my wallet before I even get to Yuki.”
A tiny smile stirred in her eyes. She glanced at him, and the grin spread to her lips.
“I can help you.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. She enjoyed tormenting him like this. She was a child inside, and he got her whatever she wanted, but with a price. She nudged, he pushed back, she pulled more, he resisted, and eventually, when she pushed just the right button, he gave in. It turned him on, and it got her hot, too, he knew.
“Are you getting anything?” he asked.
“No.” Her eyes met him again, glancing at him up and down. “Unless you’re wanting to dote on me.”
“Do you want me to?”
She turned to him. Those soft blue eyes were like melted snow. Her nose brushed his. He glanced at the occupied attendant, and then back at her.
“Breakfast would be nice.” Her breath ghosted his lips. Mint from her toothpaste filled his nose. He wetted his lower lip.
“Are you sure that’s it?”
She nuzzled him slowly, her eyelids heavy. Last night, he let himself get lost in her gaze. He remembered the taste of it now. The attendant would look up soon.
“There’s a little shop in Yuki.” He tangled himself in her eyes, in her lashes. She murmured on. “I think you’d like it. They don’t have anything like it in Konoha.”
“Mm.” Her freckles dusted across her nose and cheeks, even her eyelids. The apples of her cheeks plumped in a smile.
“We can get a few things together.”
Her eyes fluttered. She wanted him to kiss her. He wanted to, bad. He glanced over at the clerk. Still taken by his book. Madara leaned into her, still watching. Her lips opened for him, and drew his tongue across her top. She responded slow and begging. His eyes started to shut naturally. He pulled them back open. The clerk still hadn’t noticed. Her lips pulled him in again. Slowly, he let his eyes close. She consumed him so painfully slowly. A kiss, and a pause; another kiss, lingering, and a pause. Why he had wanted to leave the inn so quickly this morning, he didn’t know. She was starting to get him hard. He could have spent days letting her run her tongue across his lips, sucking on his lips, every kiss imaginable. He wanted her to open up his shirt and kiss down his chest, dripping with saliva that would cool on his skin after she left. He wanted her to trail down his body to his cock, kiss his tip, right there in the store, roll her tongue around him, teasing the life out of him. He wanted her to eat him out, right now.
He opened his eyes. The store clerk had turned a page. Kyoko already pulled away from him. Not batting an eye, she started right past him toward the back.
“What size shoe are you?”
He heaved a sigh, watching the clerk. “Twenty-eight and a half.”
“Mmm.”
Turning, he caught her gaze with a smiling glare. She flicked her ponytail at him, looking at the shoes. He followed her. She had leaned over to check the sizes on the boxes. He wrapped his hands around her hips, pushing his now throbbing cock against her thigh. He heard her exhale a smile, and she stood up straight again, box in hand. He nuzzled her ear.
“Suck.”
Her smile only grew. She glanced at him for a long time, just to be sure he was serious. Her eyes lifted from him and darted around, above and behind, left and right. Satisfied, she handed him the shoe box.
“Sit and try these on.”
He took a seat in the one nearby chair, and she was already kneeling at his feet. She had better hearing than him; she would hear if someone was coming. Madara wasn’t worried.
“What are you going to do for me?” she asked as he leaned over to put on one boot. Once he slipped it on, she started lacing it. He held the other boot.
“What would you like?”
She glanced up at him, failing to hide a smile. Clearly, she had something in mind. But she didn’t answer.
His body filled with heat. It had been so long since last night. His libido was finally catching up. Maybe his pace would improve faster than he thought.
“You can have whatever you want,” he added lowly. She tightened the laces on his boot, not glancing up. Her smile remained, small and hidden. He leaned down and put on the other boot. She raised her eyebrows, turning to tie that one.
“Whatever I want.”
He relaxed into the back of the chair. “Anything.”
“On top of my things at the store.”
“If you convince me.”
She tightened the laces, her brows raising in amusement.
“What if it involves the thing from the store?”
“Maybe,” he answered easily. “And what might you be interested in there?”
She pulled the knot tight on his shoe. Her hands slapped gingerly onto his thighs and ran up slow. She looked him in the eye.
“I’m asking if you want to get pegged.”
He raised his eyebrows. So, it was a sex shop then. Her hands leaned him back further in the seat, pulling his hips closer to her. It had been a while since the last time he did that. He was probably out of practice. But why not try?
“Maybe.”
“You said anything.”
“I said maybe.”
She undid his zipper and pulled his cock through his underwear. One hand stayed at his balls, squeezing him through his pants. He gazed at her as her tongue began to swirl around his tip. The way she met his eyes reminded him too much of something. It had been sitting in the back of his mind for a while now. Before, he always explained it away. She probably had been married more than once. Maybe she really was a slut, definitely a problem-child. But it really felt like more.
“Has anyone ever paid you to do this?” he murmured.
She only raised her eyebrows at him, dropping some spit onto his tip, her fingers spreading it slowly down his shaft. “Have you ever paid anyone for this?”
Conditional honesty, huh. Alright. “Once.” She didn’t look up at him. Slowly, she slid his shaft in past her lips. He suppressed a sigh. Her other hand came up from his balls and squeezed against him. He continued.
“I’m asking if you ever did this for a living.”
Her tongue pressed against him, deliberately making it feel suddenly, oh, so tight. He clamped his mouth shut. Why was the urge to moan even more strong when you weren’t supposed to? She was being cruel. His heart was pounding. She lifted her head, her hands still working.
“I did it for spending-money.” He nodded. Her eyes pierced him still. “Why? Does it bother you?”
“No. I merely expected something of the sort.”
She raised a brow in feigned interest, taking him in her mouth again. She did it so slow, and so hard. He bit his lip.
“Your parents seemed adamant to erase any suggestion of sexuality in your description.” He was struggling to maintain a normal tone. Everything sounded affected. “Despite referring to you as ‘pleasing’.”
She lifted her head. “My parents only found my interests useful when it benefited them.”
He raised a brow. “Well, now it sort of does.” He glanced down at her hands rubbing his member. “A bit indirectly.”
“Do you know what you’re going to say to them?” She popped her mouth back over his head. He sighed, at both the feeling and the question.
“What all do they know?”
She lifted her head again, sighing.
“Could you let me finish?”
He waved. “By all means.”
She started again, and he closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the shelf. She would hear if someone was coming. She was starting to pick up speed. Her hands squeezed him just right. Then, her mouth disappeared.
“If you could keep talking, that would be amazing.”
He opened his eyes. She was giving him a look. Of course. The sounds. That couldn’t be avoided. He shook the blur from his eyes.
“Uhm.” Talk about what. His brain wouldn’t think. What did she just ask him? Right. What he would say to her parents. Her lips surrounded his cock again. “They know I’m interested in unity.” God, it was getting hard to talk. He couldn’t even think to pick words. He felt so hot. He couldn’t remember. She felt too good. But he had to say something. “I think they’ll be much like you. Wanting an equal truce.” God, that was growl. He didn’t sound normal at all. It really sounded like he was trying not to moan. That clerk had to know. But Kyoko wasn’t stopping. “Fuck. Talk.” Something else. “Kyoko, I really don’t know what your parents—” Swallow the moan. Shaky breathing. God, her mouth. “I don’t know what they think.” He sounded dumb. “What are they—” Goddamn it, no questions. “Will they assume I know about your…” Eyes. “Eyes?” No questions. “Shit.” Shit. “Are they going to want equal share in that?” God, he couldn’t do this. He’d never tried to do this. He was going to cum. “Kyoko…” He looked down at her. Her eyes were closed, eating him up, swallowing his whole length. His shaft was glossy. His hand clasped hers and squeezed. She kept going.
The feeling washed over him. His head hit the back of the shelf. Throbbing. Pulsing. It hit a few times. God, that was good. She was good. He could feel her licking off the cum. Fuck.
Slowly, it started to fade. He looked down at her. His cock was limp and covered in saliva. She swallowed and glanced up at him. Her hands squeezed his calves.
“How do they feel?”
The boots. Right.
“Alright.”
That sounded more hoarse than he expected. His throat had dried out.
“You should get them then. Walk in them some.” She stood up, hand on her hip. “There were some tarts up there. I want one.”
He reached lazily into his pocket, fumbling for his change purse. “Get me some tea.” He held the gingling bag out to her. She gave him a look and pushed his hand aside, straddling one of his legs. Her hands brushed his face, and she kissed him.
Her voice murmured into his lips. Her eyes were deep.
“That’s how you pay me.”
He scoffed a smile. Alright. “And with a strap-on dildo.”
It was her turn to grin. Her eyes wandered the ceiling. “And maybe you eat me out, too.”
He nodded softly. She kissed him again, a long peck. Her lips just felt right.
His coin purse was gone, and she was headed up front for their breakfast. He sat up finally, tucking his penis back into his pants. Already, it was starting to harden again. He slipped off the boots, put them in the box, and gathered his other purchases, holding them subtly over his crotch. As he turned, he spotted her curly hair at the cafe bar, studying something through the glass. He made his way to the clerk and set his things down.
“Kyoko,” he said. She glanced over at him, surprised. Realizing, she stuck her hand into his purse and pulled out a few coins, and returned the bag, and walking straight back to the cafe. Her curls swung behind her, and Madara shook his head.
The clerk finished adding up his total.
“Four-thousand, four-hundred and twenty-five ryō, please, sir.”
Madara blinked, pulling the billfold from the purse. He was never living in the Land of Snow.
Thanks for your support @kaileyistrash @kaileywritesstuff @peechybreeze102-blog
Send an ask to be added/removed from the Tag List! :)
11 notes
·
View notes
Text
Forbidden Fruit → Peter Parker
pairing: fratboy!peter x reader
warnings: swearing. use of alcohol. fluff!
prompt: he was desired by many but wanted you.
The probability that you’d be at a college party on a Friday night over studying? It wasn’t likely. Now, the same situation with a very persuasive friend? Consider it done because here you were, fishing through crowds of fratboys and sorority girls to find her, the one you came with. You were annoyed to the fullest because your only condition to Bella was that she wouldn’t leave your side. And she lied. Now you knew not to trust her. Actually, you been knowing that. So this was on you.
You tried not to step on any toes, muttering apologies as your attempts failed. Not that they minded, they were too fucked up to notice.
“Bella!” you shouted, gently grabbing her arm before she could escape from your vision. She wasn’t hard to miss anyway, she had bright orange hair.
“Oh hey Y/N! Did you want a drink?” she handed you her red solo cup. “It’s just jungle juice, taste it!” while you were weary, you were also relieved that you had found her. You took a sip of the drink, blinking a few times in surprise.
“This has alcohol in it?” you were shocked. All you could taste was juice. You noticed the limes and strawberries floating around. Bella nodded her head.
“I know right? Gage makes such great drinks. Come on, I’ll introduce you.” Bella tugged at your hand, pulling you through the dancing bodies. You wondered how the house wasn’t foggy from the body heat, maybe the AC was on?
Bella moved quickly, swiveling in between bodies and dodging dance moves. You however weren’t so lucky and ran into a wall, Bella’s drink splashing all over your stomach.
“I’m so sorry,” okay, maybe not a wall.
“No, it’s cool.” you rose on your tiptoes to relocate Bella who’d clearly not noticed losing you.
“Here, I can show you the bathroom. If you wait too long, it’ll stain.” the voice muttered again. Your eyes quickly flickered to him. You could barely make out his facial features. It was a black light party for fucksake.
“U-uh, sure?” you cursed yourself for being so willing. He gestured for you to follow him, moving slowly through the thick crowd. It was easy to navigate behind him, his curly brown hair standing out.
You shut the door behind you, the mysterious man waiting right outside the door. Running straight to the sink, you turned on the faucet and let it run before pulling off your shirt. You tried dabbing the material, hoping for the stain to move out of your shirt. You cursed under your breath, no progress.
“Jesus,” a voice called as the door shut. Your eyes widened, you hadn’t even heard the door open. You were met with the boy from outside- er, who was now in the bathroom. His reaction seemed to match yours as he quickly turned around to face the corner. “Fuck, I’m so sorry! I didn’t know you had your shirt off, the hallway just got a little crowded.” his cheeks heated up in embarrassment.
“N-no, it’s okay!” you stammered, still quite shocked. “I actually uh, made the mistake wearing a white shirt. It’s stained.” you couldn’t help but nervously laugh.
“I, can lend you my flannel? It’s the least I could do, it’s my fault your shirt is stained.” the brunette offered.
“You don’t have to do that, I ran into you.” but he was already sliding off his blue flannel, holding it out behind him, not wanting to disturb your privacy. You stood behind him, pulling the material from his hands as you pulled your arms through. You buttoned up the middle buttons and tied the strands at the bottom, so it’d at least be intact, leaving your chest exposed to avoid swoob. “Thank you.” you said softly, scaring the boy. He hadn’t realized you were this close.
“I’m Peter.” he told you, peaking over his shoulder, seeing you were finally situated.
“Y/N, sorry again, for all of this.” you stammered.
“No, you have nothing to be sorry for. And, I know who you are. We have American Literature together.” Peter was just as flustered as you were. The way you’d styled his flannel made him sweat. You definitely had worn it better. The top of your chest was slightly exposed. You looked stunning.
“Oh shit, we do?” you blinked a couple times, leaning in as you recognized his face. “Oh shit, we do! Well, uh, it’s nice to finally meet you.” you flushed.
“Do you uh, wanna get a drink with me?” he couldn’t deny how yummy you looked. He didn’t even try to hide it, he was gnawing on his bottom lip right in front of you. You couldn’t help but bat your lashes innocently as you nodded your head, pushing your way out of the bathroom. And Peter followed you like a lost puppy.
You didn’t go home with him that night. He was the youngest in his fraternity, and that made him weary of other people’s intentions. He was untouchable. That was what he was known for. It’s what made him lusted over. Unlike his brothers in Alpha Kappa Psi, he was more reserved. That didn’t mean he hated partying, oh no, he loved to party. His intentions with women and men were different from his brothers.
“Are you sure you don’t wanna go out tonight?” Bella frowned as she’d seen you pick up your laptop for the fourth time that night.
“Yeah, I’m sure. I have to write an essay, it’s due this on Tuesday and I haven’t even started the rough draft.” that was half a lie. You started a small portion of the first draft, but you were still way behind. And your essay was due the following weekend.
“You’re such a buzzkill,” Bella commented, letting you roll your eyes. “Don’t wait up, okay?” you nodded your head in response. You could hear the door moving to shut. “Oh hey-“
“This is where I can find Y/N, right?” the soft voice murmured. You perked up a bit, eyes not leaving your screen as you typed.
“Y-yeah,” Bella was shocked for words, jutting her thumb back, letting the man push through your room.
“Hey,” Peter’s voice made your eyes flicker up. He sported a black v-neck and a pair of blue and yellow sweats, repping his fraternity while silver chain hung around his neck. He looked gorgeous, not to mention, he didn’t do much with his hair; instead of it being nicely slicked back, his curls were tousled around.
“Peter, what are you doing here?” you sat up as he pushed your door shut. You happened to look just as beautiful. You wore a lavender bralette, outlined with lace, a pair of yoga pants and Peter’s flannel. You had it completely unbuttoned and the sleeves rolled up. He didn’t make checking you out discreet at all.
“Your sorority sisters let me in the house and said your room was up here,” Peter said sheepishly with a blush. “I wanted to see if you were okay. I didn’t see you in American Lit today.”
“Yeah, I emailed Rostershire about today and he said he had everyone work on their essays. I asked him if I could work on it in my room because it was my only class and I’m super behind.” you rambled, standing up as you set your laptop aside. “You were worried?”
“Y-yeah, of course. I walked you to your place one night, and then I don’t see you the next day?” the brunette was flustered, thinking you were demanding an explanation. But you were just thinking out loud. His whole face flushed when you gazed at him with a small smile. He was different when he was sober, more shy and introverted.
“Shame you didn’t have my number to text me to see if I was okay,” you playfully flirted.
“Well, it’s not completely a shame. I got to see you, didn’t I?” and maybe his game wasn’t too shabby either. He was oblivious that he was flirting; believe it or not, he was pretty suave.
The next day, Peter showed up at the front of your porch, waiting for you. He wanted to walk you to class. It surprised you to say the least, you weren’t expecting him to be this... interested in you.
Winter rolled around and he still followed you around. And he didn’t make bold advances either. They were simple and small, they made you so warm that you could melt the snow. Like one morning, you were shivering your ass off as you walked through the snow. Yeah, you were bundled up for the weather, but you’d always been sensitive to the cold. Peter tugged the beanie off his head and pulled it over yours, making sure to cover your ears. The gesture alone had melted the icicles forming over your cheeks. It wasn’t long before you started returning them. Grabbing his hands and stuffing them in the pockets of your hoodie, your smaller, warmer hands gripping onto his colder ones. It was about halfway through December and winter break was just around the corner, everyone at school knew you and Peter were a thing. His frat brothers would give him shif about being tied down too early, having not experienced life. Peter was just fine by your side though, he didn’t have eyes for anyone else, he was too enamored with you and learning about you to be bothered with someone else.
“So, my brothers are throwing a party on Friday. I was wondering if you wanted to go as my date.” Peter was a bit hesitant to ask you. He knew parties weren’t exactly your thing. He had to go to parties without you (you insisted), and while he had a good time, he missed the feeling of your skin.
“Okay.” you said without blinking. Peter waited for a ‘but’, yet it never came.
“Wait really?”
“Yeah, I finished my last final today. I think I can handle some fun.”
“YEAHHH!” a scream blew through your ears as a boy from another frat had passed you, running around with his shirt off.
The second you stepped in, Peter’s eyes were stuck on you. He wasn’t the only one. You wore a pearl blue bodycon dress; you looked classy, yet ready to party. Suddenly, Peter’s frat brothers understood why he was only interested in you.
“Hi baby,” you had stumbled on the last few steps to Peter. You already smelled like alcohol, you must’ve pregamed with Bella. You were also overly affectionate (with words and touches), not that he complained.
“Hi Y/N, you look stunning,” he tucked your hair behind your ear. Peter really got a good look at you. The thick diamond choker lined your neck perfectly, it sparkled at every angle, if you didn’t have everyone’s attention when you walked in, you were sure to now. Your hair was pulled up into a ponytail, not wanting it to be a bother when you went dancing.
“Me? Have you seen yourself? Baby, you’re looking fine.” there it was again. The little petname that sent him over the roof. He wasn’t sure if he’d missed something or it was because you were drunk, he liked hearing it anyway. He sported a black button up with tiny white dots scattered everywhere. He left the top button undone, mostly for you. The silver chain didn’t go missing with this look, as well as an apple watch, rich boy things. He wore black jeans to match. He stuck by you the entire time. Even though it was you following him around, he let you hold his hand or grab his bicep.
Peter actually handled liquor pretty well. There wasn’t ever a moment in which you questioned if he was sober. You, on the other hand, were making up for the time lost spending time studying and aceing every single final thrown your direction. You weren’t shitfaced, thank god not yet, but you were not sober; you were at the sweet spot of drunkenness, where you were so comfortably drunk, you wouldn’t even have a hangover. So you stopped the drinks from there.
“Peter,” you frowned, leaning against his arm as you two took the loveseat. He immediately stopped conversing with friends to give you his attention.
“Angel,” he said back.
“C-can I hold your hand? Mine feel lonely.” you made grabby hands for extra effect. Peter couldn’t help but grin at your cheesiness, grabbing your hand and lacing your fingers together. He kissed your knuckles, noting how soft your hands were compared to his.
Peter held your hand the entire night, when introducing you to his friends, when grabbing you a water. If he let go, it was only for a brief second. You were just as needy for affection as he was and he was down for it.
“Peter?” you called out again. Once again, he finished his sentence and glanced at you. You were worried that you were interrupting his conversation, so instead of using words, you hugged him, stuffing your arms under his. He could feel the contrast between his warm arms and your slightly colder ones. He could hear you hum in satisfaction. He held you with one arm wrapped around your waist and the other holding his rum and coke. He let you tangle your fingers with his jewelry.
Peter was the forbidden fruit, everyone knew that at this point. He didn’t like hooking up and was even hesitant about making friends, it’s what made him the most lusted for man on campus. He wasn’t oblivious to that fact, it made him more timid and aware of everyone’s intentions. For the first time in months, a girl had approached him. Months because everyone knew who you were to him, even if it wasn’t official, you were his girl and that was that. You recognized her. She was in your communications class, her name was Bianca. You weren’t sure if she was blind or just bold. She openly flirted with Peter, anyone who couldn’t hear the conversation could tell. The hair twirl, the smile and giggle, all of it. Right in front of you as you were curled up in his chest. Bold, she was. Peter was polite though, not giving into the flirting and not being rude. You were waiting for the moment she realized you were there. Or maybe she knew, she was just being ignorant. You were itching to make your presence known.
“Well, I’m actually here on a scholarship. I happen to be really good at basketball.” Peter explained.
“Oh yeah, I know, I’ve come to games to see you play. Are you teaching any classes or anything? On basketball, I mean, I’d really love to get into it.” Bianca shamelessly flirted. Peter didn’t know how to respond. You were annoyed, but he was in complete shock that she’d flirt with him in front of you. Was this how girls were?
“W-well, I-“ you gripped his jaw with one hand, your other hand tightly gripping his shirt as you tugged his jaw in for a kiss. It was spellbinding, tasting the plump lips he’d been daydreaming about for almost an eternity. He’d watched you speak with your hands for months now, but his attention were always on your mouth. Your lips were perfect in comparison to his thinner ones. Peter’s hand caressed your side, pulling you close to him. There was no one else but you.
When you pulled away, his eyes were still shut, his mouth slightly ajar as he slowed his breathing. When he opened his eyes, you couldn’t help but beam at him. Those were the brown eyes you were head over heels for. Bianca was long gone at this point. She was embarrassed and scurried away.
“Let me guess, your lips were cold?” Peter slyly grinned as he snickered at your scrunched up face. You could only shake your head and giggle, nuzzling your face in his neck.
“No, you just looked cute.”
“Baby, I am just your reflection.”
#also: i wrote the first half and then i went thru like a depression n then continued on w the second half#sorry it it’s all over the place :(#peter parker#peter parker imagine#peter parker x reader#alia writes
176 notes
·
View notes
Text
World Spins Madly On
Author: idkhaylijah
Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader - Professor AU
Word Count: 3.7k
Warnings: Endgame spoilers at some point - but the Russo brothers lifted the ban...so that’s more a courtesy ;)
Also this is AU - so while it does take place after Infinity War, the time line does not follow Endgame - hopefully if you’re flexible you’ll enjoy it, idk!
A/N: So this is for @thatfanficstuff‘s 1500 challenge. I couldn’t decide what to do, so Kat gave me the Professor AU. Everyone (including myself) kind of assumed I’d write it for Elijah - but I wanted to go out of my comfort zone a bit. I’ve never written Steve, but I adore him and also Professor Elijah has been done quite a few times (even though I love them all). Thought I’d switch it up a bit.
**Also sorry this is late - it’s been in my drafts but I haven’t had a chance to post yet!
He hadn’t intended on staying.
It had been weeks since the snap. Weeks since he had failed, since he watched his friends disappear right before his eyes.
And it hadn’t just been the battlefield.
The world had gone dark, quiet...empty.
Empty was exactly how he had felt. It was how they had all felt. There was no fixing it. No replacing what they had lost.
And they had lost everything.
But life went on, time moved forward, and just like he had done when they pulled him out of the ice, he kept moving. It was the only thing he knew how to do. If he stopped it all came crashing down around him, suffocating him, and he couldn’t afford that.
He hadn’t intended on staying.
He had meant only to check in on her, make good on his promise, and move on.
Instead he had found himself watching her, entranced by the way she moved. His world had flipped on its axis once more, and for the first time in a long time he felt hope. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was about her, but he held onto it, and the idea of that hope being ripped away from him was too much.
He was so tired of loss.
So he had stayed. At first it had been for a few days, waiting for his moment, but then Nat called with an assignment.
“How do you feel about teaching?”
He was grateful for the distraction, though he was sure his skill set was being wasted on this mission. S.H.I.E.L.D. had fallen apart since the snap, agents struggling to rebuild without their commanding officers, and Captain America being a fugitive was the last thing on their mind, so he took it.
He knew Nat threw him a bone, giving him the opportunity for an easy assignment gathering intelligence. He was sure the position of interim history professor at the college where she attended as a senior was no coincidence. Nat was observant, and giving him a chance to do what he came to do. He didn’t fight it though, needing life to slow down, at least for a little while.
It was an easy get in, get out job - but she had walked through the door to his classroom and he was ruined.
And so a week’s intel mission turned into a month, which rolled into two.
Two months in, and what was left of his team wasn’t pushing him, though they chatted weekly - if nothing else to remind each other they weren’t alone. The calls always ended the same, that there was nothing new, but they’d keep hoping.
And the more time he spent with her, the easier he found it to be hopeful. To keep moving. He let his mind wander to her, instead of the dust that haunted him. He thought of her eyes, the way the Y/E/C of her irises danced when the sun hit them just right. He thought of the blush that would creep up her neck, and he found himself wanting to know just how far down it went, feeling the guilt settle into his stomach like iron.
She was technically his student, and even if it was temporary, she was still so young. She would be graduating college in just a few months and had her whole life in front of her while he was so tired from the weight of it all. Even so, it didn’t change the fact that she-
“Professor Rogers?” A soft voice pulled him from his thoughts. He jerked his eyes up to his office door to find a girl he vaguely recognized from his class. She rapped her knuckles on the door frame as an afterthought, blushing furiously under his gaze.
He was not unfamiliar with the way women reacted to him, though he never seemed to get used to it. He swallowed, clearing his throat, trying to ignore the way she batted her lashes. “Yes, Miss….” he trailed off realizing he didn’t remember her name.
“Please,” she giggled. “Call me Allie.” She shifted further into the room, placing her books on the edge of his desk to reveal her tight shirt, leaning forward so her cleavage was on display.
He averted his gaze, busying himself with a stack of papers he was trying to get through. Paperwork, as it had turned out, was not his forte. “What can I do for you, Allie?” He asked politely.
She bit her lip, leaning further in until her perfume clouded the area, a sharp overly-floral scent filling his lungs and burning his nose. “I was just hoping for some one on one tutoring,” her lashes fluttered, and she pushed her arms together, accentuating her chest. “I could really use the help...Captain,” she added flirtatiously for good measure.
He stifled a cough, wondering if it would be too obvious if he stood to open a window and let the room air out. Deciding he’d wait, and he had faced worse, he smiled up at her. “Of course,” he quickly grabbed a pen and scribbled down some information on a pad of paper, tearing it off and handing it to her. “Tutoring is available on Tuesdays and Thursdays in the library, but you have to make an appointment, so be sure to check in with the librarian to see which tutors are available.”
Her face fell and she stood, straightening her shirt and taking the paper from his hands. “Right…” she mumbled, grabbing her books and storming out.
He leaned back in his chair, sighing in relief. Dodging bullets was something he knew.
“Ugh, open a window.”
He sat up, smiling at the familiarity of her voice washing over him. “Y/N,” he stood. “What are you doing here?”
She ignored his question, dropping her bag in an empty chair and crossing the small room to open a window. “Let me guess, Allie?”
He chuckled. “How did you know?”
“Please, the stench of her perfume can be followed all the way from the library,” she joked. “So she finally made her move, huh?”
He shrugged. “She was looking for tutoring.”
Y/N laughed at that, tucking her Y/H/C hair behind her ears. She cocked her head, studying him, and he was sure she could see everything - every inappropriate thought he had since meeting her, the guilt he felt at his ever growing feelings, the tiredness he felt at fighting them. He was sure just by her looking at him she had stripped his layers away and saw it all.
“Here in 2019, that’s called flirting,” she teased.
He nodded sarcastically. “Very funny,” he groaned as she once again pointed out their age difference.
She turned to look out the window, her face falling slightly. “I was just wondering if I could eat lunch in here?” She asked.
It wasn’t uncommon. He had become a mentor to her, which had blossomed quickly into an easy friendship. They often shared lunch, at first under the pretense of discussing history, which quickly turned into sharing their experience in the After.
He learned that she had lost her family and a boyfriend, and he shared about his failures. She was quick and confident in her reassurances that he was a hero, that he had done everything he could, and sometimes he even tried to believe her. He let her words sink into him, replaying them in his darkest moments when he’d wake and try to shake the memory of the dust away.
Their talks had started out weekly, which turned into two or three times a week. He cursed himself for never finding the right moment to tell her. He should have told her when he had seen her that first day, she deserved to know and he had made a promise.
But as time went on he found it more and more difficult, the words dying in his throat as new words tried to force their way out.
I want you. I need you.
This week she had been by every day. He glanced at the clock hanging on the wall behind her, leaning back to sit on his desk and crossing his arms. “It’s a little late for lunch,” he commented.
She shrugged. “Early dinner?”
God, just the thought of being able to take her to dinner was exhilarating. He wished he could ask her. “I’m sure you have something much better to do on a Friday night,” he said instead.
She laughed sadly at that. “Today would have been my dad’s birthday,” she explained. “I just didn’t want to be alone.”
He stiffened at the mention of her father, swallowing thickly. “Y/N….”
She turned to him, her eyes glossy. “It’s okay,” she forced a smile. “I should get going. Have a nice night.”
She picked up her bag and rushed out of the room as he watched her go. Even after she was gone, he watched the space she had left, waiting for her to come back in. Wishing he could chase after her, knowing it was best to let her walk away.
He tried to work the rest of the day, his mind racing with thoughts of her. Deciding it was useless, he sighed heavily, packing his own things up and heading out for the night.
*****
He didn’t cook. It seemed pointless to cook when it was just him, and he was just so damn tired. He missed home. Missed Nat, missed Banner. He missed Thor.
Hell, he’d even take the racoon at this point.
He wandered the city streets, searching for a place to eat and resolving himself to ending his stint as a Professor first thing Monday morning.
He stepped into an Italian restaurant he had discovered the first week he was in town. It was a family owned hole-in-the-wall, quaint and homey.
The hostess greeted him with a sad smile. “Just one?” She asked. They had served a lot of tables for one recently.
He smiled tightly at her, but before he could answer his eye caught a table in the corner. “Actually, my party is already here, thank you,” he said before crossing the room.
“Y/N,” he greeted, drawing her attention from her menu.
She looked up, startled, her eyes red rimmed and glossy. She wiped underneath of them with the sleeve of her sweater, taking a deep breath and plastering on a smile. “Professor Rogers, hi,” her voice was laced with question.
He shrugged. “One of my favorite spots,” he offered. He gestured toward the chair across from her. “May I?”
She shifted in her seat. “Yeah, of course,” she nodded.
He took a seat and they sat in awkward silence for a few minutes, both unsure of what to say. Outside of the classroom or his office was unfamiliar territory.
The waitress brought wine and took their orders as the silence stretched on. Y/N picked at her napkin, shredding the edges into strips until it was almost gone.
He thought it was better to not acknowledge the fact that she had been crying, figuring the less he knew the less he’d want to pull her into his arms, but that didn’t last long. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asked.
Her lip trembled and a tear fell down her cheek. He offered her his own napkin, which she smiled at before dabbing under her eyes. “I just miss them, you know?”
He nodded. He knew all too well. Without thinking he reached across the table, placing his hand on top of hers. He took in a deep breath at the contact, stilling as he felt the warmth of her delicate hand beneath his calloused fingers.
She froze for a moment and looked down at their hands, the pink tint he had come to adore crawling up the skin of her neck, but recovered quickly. “I'm sorry, I’m a mess,” she took a deep breath, pulling her hand out from under his and throwing her head back as she centered herself.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he reassured her.
She shook her head and when she tilted her chin back down she looked more relaxed. “Nope, no more crying for me tonight,” she chuckled. “So tell me, what big plans does a professor have on a Friday night?”
The laugh that escaped him was self deprecating and he ran his hand over his beard before throwing his arms up. “You’re looking at it, I guess.”
She made a show of wincing. “So sad and pathetic,” she teased.
“It is, isn't it?” He looked around at the empty restaurant.
She smiled at him, and his heart lifted, the weight of the world that rested on his shoulders a little easier to bear for a moment.
“Beats sitting in my apartment grading papers,” he offered.
She pressed her lips between her teeth, holding back her laughter.
“What?”
She shook her head in amusement. “Just the idea of Captain America grading papers,” she snickered. “It’s a little ridiculous when you actually stop and think about it.”
He smiled at that. “I feel ridiculous,” he admitted.
“Don’t, you’re an excellent history teacher.”
“Thank you,” he nodded.
“Of course it helps that you were there,” she jabbed.
He clutched his chest, feigning hurt. “Ouch!”
“Oh come on, big, strong Steve Rogers hurt by little ol’ me?”
He smirked, his eyes falling to his lap. He shouldn’t feel pride that she thought of him as big and strong, but how she saw him mattered - whether he wanted it to or not.
The waitress broke the moment, bringing their food out, which they were both quick to dive into. They made easy, light conversation, and Steve imagined it was exactly how a date would have gone.
It was the best non-date he had been on, and it was ending all too soon.
He offered to walk her back to her apartment under the guise of being a gentleman and making sure she got home safely, but if he were honest his motives were selfish. He just wanted to be in her atmosphere a little while longer.
When he got to her doorstep they lingered. He rocked on the heels of his feet, his hands in his pockets as her laughter trailed off.
“Thank you,” she said when she turned the key.
He smiled tenderly. “Of course,” he said. We’ll do this again, he wanted to promise.
She was about to head inside, when she caught him by surprise, turning and leaning up on her toes, throwing her arms around his neck. Before he could react her mouth was on his.
Her lips were soft and smooth - and so much better than he had imagined.
She pulled back just as quickly as she had kissed him, her hand moving to cover her mouth, her eyes wide in shock.
Steve stood, frozen on her doorstep. He wanted to open his mouth, to say something - anything. But he was so afraid he’d ask to come inside.
Or worse, he would tell her all the reasons it was a bad idea and she’d walk away.
Instead he stood there dumbstruck.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” She gasped.
He shook his head, but before he could form a clear thought she disappeared with a promise to forget it ever happened and a slam of her door.
He wasn’t sure how long he lingered on her doorstep, but when he went home he dreamt not of a snap and the dust, but of her lips.
*****
Monday morning came, and Steve paced the classroom, waiting for the first class to come piling in.
Waiting for her.
She came in at the last second, her head down and made her way toward the back of her room, sinking into her seat and avoiding his gaze.
He did his best to conduct a lecture, but his mind was reeling, so instead he offered a pop quiz, letting students leave as soon as they were done.
Y/N was one of the last few to remain, her pencil working furiously over the page, her eyes darting to the clock. He knew she was trying to get out of there quickly, but she also cared about her grade.
He didn’t give a damn about the quiz.
She dropped her pencil, grabbing her bag and slinging it over her shoulder as she made her way toward his desk. She slipped her answer sheet wordlessly onto the pile, but before she could get out the door he called after her.
“Miss Y/L/N, I’d like to speak to you in my office, please.”
She froze on the spot, her eyes finally meeting his, and he recognized the fear that flitted across her features. “I have another class after this,” she explained.
He nodded. He knew her lunch hour was free. It was always free. Free for him. “I’ll see you at 12:30,” he said, leaving no room for argument.
*****
When she knocked on his door, it was so timid he almost didn’t hear it.
“Come in,” he said.
She stepped inside, careful to leave the door open, he noted. “Hi.”
He stood and stepped around his desk, taking a breath. “Close the door,” it was a question, not a command, and she pushed it closed gently.
She dropped her bag, her eyes holding a hint of anger. “Is it true?” She asked.
So she had heard.
He crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned back onto his desk, the answer in his eyes.
“So you’re leaving? Just like that?” Her eyes burned with tears she refused to shed, but the anger that they held faded quickly into hurt. “I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I don’t know what came over me. It was stupid and ridiculous and oh my god, so humiliating and I’m sorry.”
“Y/N…”
She crossed the room to him, just out of his reach, and he balled his hands into fists at his side, aching to touch her. “Please,” she begged. “Can we please just forget it ever happened.”
He slammed his eyes shut. He reminded himself of all the reasons he couldn’t have her, and shared the least of which. “Y/N, you’re my student.” He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince himself or her.
“I know, and I take full responsibility. Please stay. Just forget it...”
“I can’t forget it!” He blurted, his ocean eyes crashing in waves as he finally met her gaze.
She froze, swallowing nervously, unsure of what it meant.
He sighed, taking a step closer. “I have to go,” he offered half heartedly, his gaze darkening.
She took a step towards him, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. “Please stay.”
He shook his head, but advanced another step towards her.
She thought for a moment, as if realizing her next movement would change everything. A step away from him and she’d likely never see him again - but towards him…
She moved into him and he crashed his lips into hers, desperate to taste her. She reacted immediately, pushing up onto her tiptoes as he dipped down, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders. His hands found her waist, squeezing there in a chivalrous attempt to keep them from roaming.
His tongue traced across her soft lips, begging for entrance and when she opened up to him he couldn’t help the groan that escaped.
She moaned in response, pressing her body into him. She ran her hands through his hair, as his own trailed up her sides until they rested along her face.
He pulled back as they gasped for air, and she relaxed into her stance, her heels finding the ground beneath her once more. “We shouldn’t,” he began.
But she had been done with thinking, so she kissed him to silence him, and he quickly got lost once more.
He turned them around, pushing her up onto the desk and gently nudging her legs apart so he could stand between them, pressing against her center.
Her hands rested along his chest and she ground her hips against him, shooting pleasure straight up his spine. He nipped, pulling her bottom lip between his teeth before tracing his tongue across it.
She pulled him into her, impossibly close, and he tugged at her waist, hating the barriers between them. His thumb traced just under her shirt. His rough, calloused fingers against the smooth skin of her sides sent shivers up her spine.
It wasn’t enough, and so she reached under his shirt, letting her soft hands dance along the muscle beneath them. She wrapped her legs around him, caging him in as she leaned back. Her Y/H/C hair fanned out along the papers that scattered his desk. He followed her movements, leaning down over her, knocking his desk lamp to the floor in the process.
He stilled his movements, the crash of the lamp pulling him back to reality and reminding him of exactly why he shouldn’t be doing this. He stood, distancing himself from her, an apology already on his lips as she sat up.
Her hair was a mess, her lips kiss swollen as she tugged her shirt back down. Her cheeks were tinged pink, and he wondered what he was doing.
But god was she was beautiful.
He averted his gaze and looked at their surroundings. He slammed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. She deserved better than being taken on a desk in a dusty, old office.
“Was it something I said?” She asked, an attempt to lighten the mood.
He smiled softly, dropping his hands and meeting her gaze. “Y/N, you’re my student,” he reminded her.
She nodded, hopping off the desk and sauntering towards him. “For the rest of the day.”
His jaw clenched, because she was right. He wasn’t staying, and even if he had, she would be graduating in the summer - but it didn’t matter.
She stepped into him, crowding his space and running her hands along his chest. His hands shot up to grip her wrists and still her movements, and he pressed his forehead against hers.
“I want you,” he confessed with a whisper. The words he had been holding in for weeks left and took the weight of them with it. He let out a shaky breath.
She smiled, pecking a kiss on the tip of his nose. “I want you, too, Professor Rogers,” she whispered.
He groaned. “Steve,” he corrected, leaning back to look her in the eyes. If they were going to do this he couldn’t handle any extra guilt, and he didn’t need to be reminded she was a student.
She beamed. “Steve,” she said, trying it out.
He liked the way his name rolled off her tongue - loved it. “God, I want you,” he said again.
She leaned up, eager to continue where they left off, but he stopped her.
“Not here,” he glanced around the room. “Not like this.”
Her lips formed an O and he wondered if she knew just how serious he was, what the weight of what they were doing meant.
He was all in, he had been from the moment he saw her, but that meant he had to tell her the truth.
“Have dinner with me,” he said before he could stop himself. “Tonight, at my place.”
She smiled shyly, the blush he was so eager to trace with his fingers returning, and she tucked her face into his chest.
He brushed her hair back from her face with his hands, tilting her chin up so she looked at him.
“Okay,” she said with a grin.
#Steve Rogers x reader#Steve rogers#captain America x reader#captain america#marvel#mcu#mcu fic#Chris evans#kat's1500challenge#Steve x reader#marvel x reader#marvel x you#Steve rogers x you#captain America x you#reader insert#marvel reader insert#mcu x reader#mcu fanfiction#marvel cinematic universe#infinity war#endgame#avengers engame#avengers#avengers infinity war#post infinity war#slight au#professor au#fanfiction#fanfic challenge
204 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
ahmednewashy
Faded
ccyotras
CC y Otras páginas
lynnyartfiend
Lynns'arts
thedevilsalive
this is a shit show
finanfi-blog
Finan