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treysimp · 2 years

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I don't know how else to say this, do you want to make out on my couch? (Explicit Remix)

Side: Riddle Rosehearts/AFAB!Reader (Reader has a vagina)

Riddle/AMAB!Reader

As per our vote (thank you again for voting!) Riddle is the next spicy couch series conclusion. According to said vote, next in line is Azul. Do you all agree?

This is a partial continuation of the work “Do You Want to Make Out on My Couch (Part 6)”. Said fic is also included below if you want to re-read the beginning or this is your first time seeing this work.

Reader not described other than their junk, and pronouns are not used for them.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, M/F sexual relations, handjobs, PIV sex, ask to tag for more.

Want more TWST? Here's my masterlist!

To skip straight to the action, scroll to the next picture of Riddle, thanks!

“Really!” Riddle sputters, his brows knit in irritation “you should…. you really…” he trails off, his eyes frantically darting around your face as if a puzzle piece would magically fall into place if he just had the final hint.

“…You should ask in a more romantic way than that.” He finally finished, fingers drifting to your tie to straighten the lopsided knot.

Your eyebrows involuntarily raised to the sky.

“Is that a no, house warden?” You ask. You wanted to start hysterically laughing, oh my God how could he possibly be so cute?

Waiting for his response, you placed your hands on top of his to still the fingers that had been fussing over your tie.

You were going to get him to answer your question in a forthright manner if it killed you.

“It’s not-not a no!” Riddle sputtered, pretending to wipe his mouth with his sleeve to hide away his increasingly flustered face. You noted that he had kept his other hand in your grasp though, feeling him shake gently beneath you.

“Next time I expect flowers! Or chocolate!” He finally shouted, pulling both of his hands away to cross them over his chest haughtily. You couldn’t hide the grin splitting your face.

“Oh? You’re already planning on next time?” You said, smoothing your hand over his ruby hair.

Riddle seemed to finally register his slip of the tongue as his face lit as scarlet as the rest of him.

“No!” Riddle practically screamed. You were glad Grim wasn’t here tonight, as he definitely would have woken up upon hearing this exchange.

You raised an eyebrow, “No?”

Riddle’s gaze was fixed on the floor, face knit in irritation.

“Only if you play your cards right.” He finished, turning his head away with a huff.

You couldn’t stop the giggling that bubbled from your chest, God he was the cutest. How did he do it?

Not being able to help yourself, you wound your arms around his body, pulling him close to you as you buried your head in his neck.

Unsurprisingly he smelled great, like sweets and roses and some other sort of soft musk that was no doubt from some sort of expensive atelier. It was so charming the things he did to take care of himself for the sake of appearances.

You idly wondered if there was a rule about smelling good in Heartslabyul. There probably was, but you decided that asking would only mortify Riddle further, and you wanted to get him to do more than talk to you tonight.

Riddle was stiff as a board, arms hovering around you awkwardly for a moment until he finally relaxed, pulling you snugly into his arms.

“Do you really want to kiss me?” You could barely hear Riddle mumble, his voice muffled by your hair as he nuzzled it into your neck to mirror the way you had been holding him.

You pulled away slowly and held him by the shoulders, eyes boring into his shy grey gaze. You took a moment to take in the loveliness of his face for just a moment, relishing in the closeness you had never been afforded before now. The red eyeliner around his lashes, the rosy sheen of his heart-shaped mouth, and a tiny mole you had never noticed on top of his eyelid. So lovely.

“Yes. I do.” You said softly.

If you could believe it, Riddle got even redder. He cleared his throat and seemed to make an internal decision, twining his hands behind your neck as he pushed himself forward to meet your lips.

His lips were stiff but very, very soft. You pressed gently against him, massaging your mouth against his in hopes of loosening him up. It seemed to work, as you heard the smallest of moans as Riddle tried to mirror your movements, lightly sucking on your lower lip. It was shy, but also heartbreakingly genuine and careful.

You both separated slowly, you wished you could take a picture of the expression on his face.

Gorgeous eyes half open, glossy lips slightly swollen from the contact, he pulled the bottom of said lips into his mouth to chew on it lightly as he snapped his gaze to the side. How was he even real? His beauty shines like a fairy tale prince, and yet this gorgeous boy thought himself a villain. How ironic.

“Again.” He whispered, pushing his face back towards you with more aggressive energy, seemingly having gained confidence now that the spell of your first kiss was broken.

His kisses sped up and gained in ferocity, each time you separated for breath being punctuated with another ‘again’. His affection grew more demanding, his chest grew tighter and each breath became more labored.

“Let me inside.” Riddle finally demanded, his hands curled into the lapels of your jacket. “I want to come inside.”

You swallowed audibly and nodded, pushing the door open while Riddle pulled you inside of Ramshackle.

Now that the dam of tension had broken, Riddle was adorably needy.

He ushered you to the couch, pushing you down and continuing to pepper kisses on your face as he whispered little compliments and appreciations to you, almost inaudible between the soft smacks.

Pulling his face away from yours for a moment, you stroked his cheek with your thumb, taking in the soft flush of his face and the way that his wide grey eyes scanned your face frantically for an explanation as to why you stopped him.

“What is it?” He questioned, putting one hand over yours as he worried over his lip anxiously.

You shook your head and stifled a laugh. Where did all that confidence go?

“You’re just beautiful, is all. I wanted to appreciate it.” You teased, happy to see how much your every move affected him.

It was charming to see the faces he made when he was overthinking, though you would prefer that he relaxed a bit more sometimes.

Riddle inhaled through his nose loudly and steeled himself. A strange reaction to a compliment, you thought.

Riddle grabbed you by the lapels and shook you lightly. Face pinched in a clearly frustrated frown.

“H-how can you-! How can you say stuff like that so easily! It’s infuriating!” He huffed, then sighed, then buried his head into the crook of your neck.

His next words were quieted even further by your skin.

“How can you say something so romantic? So… like a fairy tale…” He murmured. “I’ve been in love with you all this time and you just… come out and say this? How am I supposed to act?”

Riddle was lost, trapped between happiness and panic. He had convinced himself that he didn’t need affection, he just needed order.

Much to his discomfort, his thoughts felt even more chaotic than ever when faced with one of his most secret desires coming true. He couldn’t decide if the tears threatening to spill from his eyes were ones of happiness or sorrow.

“Riddle…” You whispered, wrapping your arms around his shaking frame. “Do you really want this? It’s okay if you don’t.”

Riddle bolted up to attention and shook his head violently.

“No! Absolutely not! I-I want you! Desperately!” His proclamation was a bit over the top, but it made you smile.

Everything about him was just a little over the top after all, why would love be any different? It was what drew you to him.

“Okay then… what do you want to do?”

Riddle hesitated, clearly puzzled over this question. What did he want?

You sat in the comfortable silence for a moment, but it seemed that he was pretty deep in his head. You decided to offer your own option instead.

“Riddle, I want to make you feel good. Will you let me?” You asked, propping yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at his face.

Riddle nodded stiffly and slowly crawled backwards as you rose to meet him. Eyes fixed on your lips while he tried to smooth out the wrinkles in his clothing. He was clearly doing this out of habit, considering the fact that his clothes being out of place was your fault anyway.

You approached him carefully, sliding your fingers under the collar of his shirt as you coaxed each closure undone, holding your breath as you got a peek at each additional inch of his perfect doll-like complexion.

Riddle was visibly shivering, lightly gasping and leaning into your touch each time that cold fingers happened to make fleeting contact with his bare skin. Finally unbuttoning enough to push the shirt off his shoulders, his torso revealed bare.

You started slowly, giving him unhurried and smooth kisses on his lips as you gently massaged his body with your hands.

He was so unbelievably soft, but you could feel the slim muscles that lay under his skin as well, clearly having benefited from his riding practice.

You took joy in watching the goosebumps form on his skin as you slowly trailed your mouth down his body, fluttering butterfly kisses punctuated by each little whimper and gasp that spilled out of his mouth.

Riddle had clamped a hand over his mouth in embarrassment, and while you wanted to hear his sounds better, you let him have that one piece of comfort.

It was cute, and unsurprisingly as someone who liked Riddle this much, you were easily swayed by cute things.

Finally trailing your kisses to his abdomen, you unbuckled his belt and started to make quick work of his pants, silently proud in how you could tell how aroused he was by the tightness of the fit.

After getting his zipper down, you placed your fingers on the waistband of his underwear, patiently waiting to see if he would let you so forward or ask you to stop. You were willing to do whatever he asked of you.

“Please…” He whined, a strand of ruby hair falling into his face and sticking to his cheek. You reached up and tucked the offending hair behind his ear.

“Anything for you.” You said, pulling his pants down teasingly slow.

Finally springing out of the restriction of his underwear, Riddle let out a barely audible sigh of relief.

You were surprised, quite frankly.

He wasn’t hung, per se, but what he did have far exceeded what you would proportionally expect of his small and soft body. He was pale and smooth, petal pink at the tip, with a generous curve to the sky. You pushed back the thought of where that curve might be able to hit for later, you were taking care of him right now, after all.

You gingerly ran your fingertips over the softness of his skin, keeping your eyes locked on Riddle’s face to see every change in expression and twitch that hinted at his quickly crumbling composure. He was harshly biting his lip, and you could see that his ever-present flush of red had crawled down from his face to his chest.

You started stroking him gently, not too fast, just ghosting touches along him. You worried that too much too fast would overwhelm him, and you wanted Riddle to enjoy this for as long as possible.

Gripping him loosely, you started at a slow tempo, watching the way his thighs would twitch when you ran your thumb softly over the bulb of his head.

You had internally compared him to a doll, but perhaps he was actually an angel.

Watching the way that Riddle’s back arched off of the couch in yearning as you began varying the pace of your pumps, you certainly felt like you were having a religious experience.

The way his soft grey eyes rolled back in his head, the way his arms and body tensed and relaxed with each stroke, it was mesmerizing.

You couldn’t take your eyes off of him.

You heard Riddle softly call your name, so you shifted your focus back to his face. Nibbling along his neck as your pace turned strong and slow, you started milking him in a way that made his hips harshly buck into your hand.

“Yes, Riddle?” You cooed between barely-there kisses. “How can I help you?”

Riddle looked up at you with glassy lust-heavy eyes.

“I’wanna…” He gasped, urging his length into your hand at a particularly harsh stroke, “I wanna make you feel good too.”

His words were slightly slurred, and he looked almost drunk on the feeling of your touch on him, his gaze wandering from your hand to your face and back again.

“Oh?” You tease, spitting onto your hand and adding the moisture to the steady build-up of pre-cum that Riddle had been supplying you with.

Your effort was met by another heady moan and then a hand harshly catching your wrist, causing you to stop your motions in surprise.

“Let me fuck you… please?” Riddle asked between pants, the hand that had grabbed yours clearly shaking.

You swallowed audibly with a gulp.

Well.. you always were a sucker for cute things.

He made quicker work of your clothes than you had his, perhaps owing to all of the beautiful yet complicated outfits that we wore regularly.

Riddle's face was knit into a frown of concentration. The process of him taking your clothes off was a little less than sexy, but his innocently-serious charm made up for it.

Upon spying the skin of your chest, he froze. Staring at the pertness of your nipples in the cold air and the softness of your skin, he couldn't resist reaching forward to cup your chest softly, massaging the area with tender care.

“Ah.. that feels good Riddle.” You say in encouragement.

If he really wanted to make you feel good, you were going to make an effort to tell him when he got it right. You moved your hands over his to knead your chest a bit more aggressively and to lightly pinch at your nipples.

Riddle froze for a moment again at your demonstration, but quickly got the hang of the motions, causing your breath to come out in shaky puffs.

Riddle had made his way to your bottoms, undoing your buttons and sliding them down from your waist. He observed the small wet spot that had been forming on your underwear with pride, knowing that he was the one making this mess of you made his heart swell.

He hooked his fingers under the garment and pulled, revealing you wholly bare to him. His breath caught in his throat at the view.

“...Like an angel.” He murmured reverently, pulling you to him to passionately kiss you once more.

How ironic for him to say that, you thought.

The hard heat of Riddle's length had begun grinding against your thigh, his moans matching the tempo of his length rutting into you. Hands returned to messily groping at your chest, open mouthed kisses spread across your face, neck and chest.

Sitting back on his feet to catch his breath and the rapid beating of his heart, Riddle grabbed his length in his hand and stroked it softly, staring directly into your eyes.

“Can I feel you?” He asked, looking at you through his thick lashes. You nodded and opened your arms to invite him to you. You wanted to feel him more than anything.

Riddle started slow, rubbing his tip up and down your slit to gather some of the moisture that you had been so kindly supplying for him.

Remembering what you had done a few moments prior, Riddle spit on his hand and ran it through your lips and across his length, letting out a slight gasp at how good the slick felt on his burning skin.

Feeling as prepared as he was ever going to be, Riddle began pressing himself inside you slowly, pumping his hips slightly to allow him easier entry.

Your breathing was heavy as you were using all of your self-restraint to not claw the shit out of Riddle’s back.

After a few moments of heavy breathing, gentle thrusting and gasped praises, Riddle bottomed out with a loud groan.

Hazarding a glance at your face, he was amazed by the bottom lip that was plumped from the friction of his kisses, eyes half-lidded in need and his cock completely buried in your body.

He had to move. Right now.

Riddle knew that he had to start slow and gentle. While he would never admit to reading a smutty romance novel in his life, he certainly had tried to absorb all he could from the ones he did get his hands on.

Riddle allowed himself to pick up a little bit of speed, electing to move from slow and shallow thrusts to deep and grinding ones instead, both of you groaning when he kept pushing just past the point of comfort.

Your chest was rising and falling to the beat of his hips meeting your own, and he found himself varying this timing to see if he could make you move in different ways, delighting in how you might spring forward or arch your back depending on where and when he was hitting inside of you.

“Riddle, faster…” You gasped, knitting one of his hands between your fingers in an intimate hold. Riddle nodded and began doing as you asked, slamming himself in and out of you, pistoning himself so hard that you could feel his balls slap against you with each thrust.

Your sounds were unlike anything that Riddle had ever heard before, and he wondered if something as heavenly as this could be considered addicting.

One more thing that he had recalled from a particularly steamy bodice-ripper was that there was a button above the lips that was supposed to feel even better than just his thrusts.

Taking the hand that you weren’t holding off the back of the couch, Riddle placed two fingers on the top of your lower-lips, drawing messy circles with his fingers.

You held back a giggle (because after all, you were actually impressed) as you guided Riddle’s fingers to your clit and helped him swirl his fingers. The friction created a warm tingle in your toes, and you knew you were close. Based on how Riddle had lost all sense of consistent timing and rhythm, you suspected that he was too.

“Riddle…” You shakily called out, willing him to look at you again, “p-please cum for me darling.”

Your voice quivered between thrusts, but if someone could be described as literally having a fire behind their eyes, that was what it was like looking at Riddle.

Gaining to a violent speed, both of your moans and gasps and pleads building into a crescendo, Riddle held your hips one final, bruising time, as he finished and near collapsed over you.

Not wanting to finish without you, Riddle frantically swirled his fingers over your clit until you released the loudest ‘ah!’ of your life. Riddle felt you clench around his overstimulated dick and almost felt like fainting, but he resisted the urge in order to watch your face as you came down. Both of you panting, sweating, shaking, an absolute mess.

It was the first time he could really say that he was happy having made one.

"...Prefect?"

"Yeah, Riddle?"

"Do you want some tea?"

"What do the rules say about tea at night?"

"I can't find it in me to care about the rules right now." Riddle said with a smile, snuggling up to your side sleepily.

"Me either." You replied, pulling Riddle off of your couch for you both to clean up and hopefully get some sleep.

You were far too tired for tea, as cute as it was of him to ask.

And there you have it! Did you like it? Do you want more of Riddle? Someone else? Let me know!

AMAB counterpart is coming soon and will be linked as soon as its posted.

Violent Delights Part 2 is also mostly written because I am out of control haha.

Love you reader!

Requested tags: @readinganas, @yandere-kou, @daeda21, @buckketboy, @kxhyuns, @aikochan4859, @prince-zukohere, @star-gods, @sarahyumiko2, @rosalie-in-twisted-wonderland, @chopid-lulu, @naniky, @kashasenpai, @the-mermaid-of-the-stars,

#twst reader insert #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twst #n/sfw text #riddle x reader #riddle rosehearts #riddle rosehearts x reader #riddle x yuu #riddle x y/n #twst smut #lemon fic #twisted wonderland smut #twst #riddle smut

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imaginedreamwrite · 1 year

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Heaven For You: Part 6

The keys laid on the desk where you had set them, the gift from your forcible husband had seemed to be a step in the right direction with your internal struggles to want to completely cold-cock him with his shield and the opposite want to allow yourself to be open with him.

It had been a step in the right direction when he had gifted you an entire clinic to run and take care of, and the old stethoscope that belonged to his mother.

That right step had been kiboshed almost immediately by the selfishness of his actions and his constant directive to always be the hero. He had claimed that he was trying to keep you safe from the tumultuous reality of rebels who wanted the world to return to normal, but instead, he had locked you out.

Instead of trusting you and telling you ahead of time that he would be leaving, he had told you at the last possible second and then had still expected you to give him what he wanted. Regardless of whether you wanted to be here or not, regardless of whether you wanted to be put into this role that he wanted for you, it still cut you deep to have the person you needed to rely on, lie to you like this.

How could he have possibly thought it would be a good idea to wait until the day or the day before he had to leave to tell you that he was leaving? Did Steve think you would worry less if he told you the day or the day before? Did he think you would be calmer about his departure if you had less time to know?

“He’s such an idiot.” You scoffed and swiped the keys off the desk and stood from where you sat, only taking a few steps around the desk before you were stopped.

The door to the office had opened and a woman had entered with a stack of files and papers, her eyes growing wider when she looked at you. She had squeaked and stuttered, her mouth opening and closing a few times before she had cleared her throat and stumbled over the words.

“H-hi, Mrs. R-Rogers.” She was nervous, she was anxious and your eyebrows had knitted together the longer you looked at her.

“Can I help you?” You had never seen her before, she was a completely new face that was in Steve’s office. “Did you need something?”

“Oh!” She took a few steps forward and then paused, her fingers running along the top of the files while she hummed, determined to find something. “I’m….Captain Rogers hired me to help-“

“He hired you?” You bit the inside of your cheek as you pressed your lips together tightly, your foul mood taking a nosedive into an entirely new lowly state. “Steve hired you-“

“Yes! I’m his…personal assistant? Yours too, in a sense. I mean while he’s gone-“ She stammered again, almost fearful as if she thought you were going to not only can her ass but kill her.

“Steve hired you as a personal assistant? And for me?” You repeated her statement slowly, forming the words as she nodded her head and smiled forcefully. “He didn’t…he thought you could also use a friend?”

“The nerve of that arrogant bastard.” Your emotional turmoil had shifted from angered and irritated by his insistence on lying to you, to downright vengeful and aggressive at the thought of Steve thinking you needed someone to keep you company when you didn’t ask for it.

“What does he think this is? Daycare? Does he think-“ the door opened and it had been enough of an interruption, before one of the guards that had been stationed to protect you had stepped into the room?

“They need you.” The guard held the office door open, eying the assistant Steve hired with speculation momentarily, then focused back on you. “The council is at odds and they need a final decision.”

“What does that have to do with me?” You were flummoxed, you felt as if you were being pulled thin in every direction by the choices he had made without informing you of any of them. “I’ve never even-“

“In the absence of Captain Rogers…you have the final say, Mrs. Rogers. As Captain Rogers’ wife-“ The guard had once again looked at the assistant standing idly while shifting her weight from foot to foot.

“Fuck,” you cursed and lift your hands to cover your face, groaning into your palms, “are you kidding me?”

“Mrs. Rogers-“ the guard and the PA had spoken at the same time, both of them vying for your attention.

“Mrs. Rogers-“

Your eyes screwed closed behind your hands, your lips pursed and your teeth gritting. You knew this wouldn’t go away, you knew that this had to be dealt with and yet you didn’t want to do any of it, you wanted to completely disappear and remain unbothered until Steve came back.

And then you wanted to kick his ass for putting you through this. Through everything.

“Fuck!” You cursed again and lowered your hands, exhaling slowly. “Okay, I’ll come to deal with the council and you…find something to do or-“

“Mrs. Rogers, Bucky Barnes is supposed to arrive today, he’s offered assistance while Steve is gone-“

“Bucky? Bucky is coming here?” You had cut her off, your mind immediately settling on the statement she had just made. “To help me?”

“He’s set to arrive soon-“ she had started to hold out a few things for you to take before you shook your head and cut her off.

“Okay, good. So you meet Bucky and you bring him here. Good? Go.” You huffed again, a weight on your shoulders that you didn’t want, yet you had to deal with.

“Me? Do I have to meet him? Me by myself…?” She trailed off as you followed the guard from the office, leaving her standing on her own in the empty office.

You followed after the guard who had come to fetch you, silence brooding between the two of you as you walked in silence. There was a lot to be said, a lot that you wished to unload and get off your chest however he was not your target, he would have never faced the brunt of your aggression and anger.

As icy as you could have been to the men and women who were working here under Steve’s order, you unleashing your rage upon them would have done no good. It wouldn’t have made you feel better by blowing up on someone who had no more control over this than you had.

“They’re waiting for you.” The guard had stopped before the double doors and slowly opened the one on the left, allowing you to hear the chaos inside in the form of raised voices and cathartic divides between the two opposing sides of the council.

You grit your teeth and stepped inside the room, standing just beyond the door as your eyes took in every detail possible of the council members who were seated at the board room table, and the sleek bar cart off to the side of the room, the liquor bottles opened and used.

Six women were sitting on the council and seven men, half of them were looking at you with scowls and the other half were staring at you expectedly, like they were waiting for you to raise hell upon the meeting.

“This is not a decision that the wife-“ one of the councilmen on the left side of the boardroom table had jeered, his scowl deepening as he looked you over.

His steel blue eyes were as unsettling as the man himself and he had struck you with the impression that he was the kind of man who would take and degrade women in bed, mistresses and prostitutes, before returning home to his wife and daughter as nothing happened.

He had given you the immediate sense that he was the kind of man who had closeted his true intentions and had kiboshed his true nature by shielding it with falsities.

“I have a name.” You cut the councillor off, talking over him with as little disrespect as he had shown you. “If you think you’re going to address me as the wife, then you might as well sew your mouth shut.”

“This is ridiculous! She can’t possibly make the final decision! She has no idea what is going on in the world, all she’s done is act like Rogers’s pretty little doll-“

“Captain Rogers,” you cut him off again, going on the defence even if you were going to give Steve hell from a distance, “do you always talk with such disrespect or is it because I’m here and not Steve?”

“You are the wife, you have no right to be here-“

“She has every right, and you know it. Captain Rogers chose her as his wife, she is his equal. They’re equal, or do not remember that? The way society was is gone, there’s no more division-“ One of the women on the right had argued in your defence, the two of them standing on opposite sides of this decision, neither one willing to give in to the other.

“-equality across the board doesn’t mean that she is the best person for this decision. She is his wife, she has her place-“ The bastard that opposed you being here had dug his heels into the position he had taken, denying you the right to be here again and again, in such a manner that had you wishing you could have smashed his head against the table.

“We need a decision to be made, we need that final say and in Captain Rogers’ absence, that duty falls to his wife.”

The council member on the end had spoken with an air of finality, drawing the majority of their attention to you as you stood at the far end. “Mrs. Rogers, Y/N, please sit and we’ll fill you in so you can make the final decision.”

“This is a mistake.” Your strongest opposition had hissed, his glare burning into your back as you moved around the table to the place Steve would have normally taken. “Including her in this discussion is-“

“If you had any real sense of wisdom, you’d shut your damn mouth.” Another councilwoman came to your defence, addressing him with the same aggression that he had inflicted upon you.

“That’s Captain Rogers’ wife, you don’t want to push your luck just because he isn’t here.”

The shield felt heavier in his hands now. It had carried a weight he hadn’t felt for a long time, not since the first time he had seen Bucky as the Winter Soldier, and the war with Tony that tore the Avengers apart. The first fight with Thanos and the mission to reset the world after Thanos wiped out half the population was its weight with its own harrowing experiences that shaped him.

You had shaped him, you had shaped the man he was and could be. When he returned and found you missing, when he found out you had been snapped, Steve mourned the loss of you with every single atom in his body.

He had mourned you like he would have if he were back in the 1940s and had been a soldier returning from war only to find his hope and the light of his life extinguished. He had mourned you intensely, and when he had been given the chance to help bring everyone back he had.

And then he used the stones to create his own reality where the people he needed and loved, the people he cared about most were back in his life.

Steve had created the happy ending he needed and deserved.

“This is going to be harrowing, this is going to be hell. We’re going to face off against their stronghold and we don’t know what to expect.” Natasha had taken the lead on this mission.

She was in charge of the mission to eliminate one of their bases before they could gather the numbers to attack one of the northernmost cities that didn’t have adequate defences of their own, at least not against the manufactured weapons that the rebels had.

“You need to know that they are desperate and a humans’ ability to be destructive is relentless when they’re desperate. They want to take back what they lost, they want to not only kill you but destroy everything you stand for.” Natasha had been relaying the important details of this upcoming mission they were heading on, speaking to their ranks while she poignantly looked at Steve, watching him as he held the shield in front of him.

He was lost in thought, he was relatively quiet and anyone who had known of him would have thought he was trying to gather his thoughts before they landed.

Natasha, however, knew better. She knew that he was thinking of you and only you, he was thinking about the conversation you had before he left and the argument that created a vast divide.

“You need to call her, just to hear her voice.” Natasha cornered him after she was done speaking, approaching him at the back of the larger quinjet. “Even if she wants to reach through the phone and strangle you, she’s still your wife Steve. Hearing her voice-“

“-even if she’s cursing me?” Steve set the shield down by his feet before he reached behind him for the communications portal, lifting it from the stand.

“You need to talk to her, trust me.” Natasha had set her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Hearing our wives’ voices is the best motivation to make this mission work.”

Steve had turned the comm on and tapped the number he had memorized by heart, and as it had started ringing he stepped away from Natasha. He had stepped into the private and soundproofed room meant for private calls, and shut the door quietly, waiting for you to potentially pick up the call.

He had leaned against the wall, waiting and wondering whether this would be a pointless effort to try and talk to you before he was due to go.

Steve felt every thunderous beat of his heart and the painful jerk that had rattled him when the call hang rang again and again to no answer. He had absorbed the painful stab of denial, the hurt he had rightfully deserved after what he had done to you without considering how you felt. He was an idiot back in the 1940s and he was an idiot now.

“Sweetheart,” your name fell from his lips in a delicate breath that had hovered in the soundproof room, his mind running to catch up to the reality of you picking up his call, “hi-“

“You didn’t tell me that Bucky was coming by to help me while you were gone. You didn’t tell me that your PA was also my PA, oh and by the way…thanks for the heads up with your brain-dead council. Never before in my life have I ever been talked to like I was nothing.” You stopped any chance of sentimentality or gentility before he could even begin, laying your anger on thick.

“Y/N, doll-“ While it was good to hear your voice and see you in the breathtaking glow of the sunset behind you from his bedroom window, he was fixated and stuck on your position on his bed, wearing his shirt.

“You’re such an asshole, I hope you know that. You didn’t tell me anything and you left me hanging out to dry. Bucky by the way is even more of a pain in the ass than you are, and that’s saying something.” You scoffed and rolled your eyes, tucking a pillow into your chest and under your chin.

“Baby, it’s so good to hear your voice-“

“Don’t baby me, dickhead. I’m beyond pissed off at you and when you get home, I’m going to tear you a new asshole.”

You cut him off again, denying him the chance to endow you with sweet words and affectionate pet names. “You are so screwed, you are beyond screwed-“

“Captain,” the door opened and one of the soldiers dressed in tactical gear opened the door apologetically, “we’re a minute from landing.”

“I have to go, honey.” Steve had still endeared his heart and soul to you, despite your vivacious anger he had addressed you with unkempt affection.

“Don’t die,” you quipped, “I want to kill you myself.”

“I love you, Y/N.” Steve had let it slip, he had let his feelings fall from the tip of his tongue before you hung up on him.

As the call ended, Steve handed the comm to the female soldier waiting on him and then he left the soundproofed room.

“I agree with her,” Natasha had nudged Steve, “you need a new ass hole.”

“I thought you said you were going to kick my ass.” Steve grabbed his shield and lifted it over his head, resting it upon his back.

“After we do this,” Natasha nodded her head, the door opening after they landed, “I’m giving you the ass-kicking you deserve.”

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fluffnflightillustrations · 9 months

Note

Here are a couple of writing suggestions, in case any of these strike your fancy: (1) Rukia takes Renji on a date in the World of the Living (possibly to show off how much she knows about the WotL). (2) Rukia gets an extremely minor injury and Renji patches her up. (3) Rukia is wearing a pretty outfit and Renji loses his entire mind over it. Good luck with your writing practice!

I couldn't choose, so I'll do all three! I combined the first and the third for the last one though. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ (Minor Injury drabble) Rukia sighed loudly, brows knitted together in irritation as her husband fussed over her, wrapping a big bandage around the small scrape just above her knee that she had recently earned, courtesy of an unfortunate run in with the side of the coffee table of their new shared home. "Renji. Babe." He ignored her, unwrapping the bandage quickly upon forgetting the antiseptic. He was in intense concentration, so much so, that he acted as if he hadn't even heard her. She rubbed her temples. While she could understand wanting to be careful and extra safe whilst carrying a child to term, this was getting incredibly exhausting. They were warriors; they risked their lives on the battlefields together, their lives were built on death, hunger, and hardship. And now, after they had almost lost their lives in the Quincy War, Renji was fussing over the most minor scrape she had ever had. It was sweet, but sort of also pissing her off. In fact, she wasn't even that far into her pregnancy, so he was being extra ridiculous. "Babe." He rubbed the antiseptic on her carefully, and looked up at her, finally hearing what she had to say. "Hmm?" His ministrations slowed down, his gentle touch moving away from the wound to grab at the bandage again. "We are soldiers... do you know how silly this is, over a single little scrape?" She couldn't stay too pissed at him, not with all the worry in his gaze, unfounded as it may be. "You're a little too paranoid." He shook his head, and continued securing the bandage. "I mean, yeah, I know we've been through nastier, but Hanatarou was pretty clear about watchin' your immune system while expecting. I ain't taking a chance." She let a slow breath out of her nostrils, rubbing her temples again. "I don't think he meant it like this." Renji finished with the bandage, securing it in place by tucking it in between her skin and the other layers. He sat next to her on the sofa, pulling her gently to the side, to carefully rest her between his legs and sit together lengthwise on the sofa, her head nestled under his chin and his arms wrapping snugly around her shoulders. He placed a kiss on the top of her head. "Rukia..... we're going to have a family again soon. Me, you, and this little tyke." His arm drifted down, resting on her stomach. "I know it seems kinda minor, but I don't want to mess this up. I'm not gonna take a chance on anything happening to you, and I sure as hell ain't gonna lose this kid from an infection from a scrape. I don't want a coffee table to take away my chance at a family." Rukia tried not to laugh, really, but he was still being a little ridiculous. "Whatever you say, babe." If he wanted to schmooze all over her, then she would let him schmooze. If it made him feel better about it, then she would deal with it. She sighed, placing her hand atop his. "After this kid's born, I'm not sitting around for this, though." He was too schmoopy for his own good.

#part 1

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ohallthecrushes · 1 year

Text

Kissing session.

A/N: I wanted to write something short, a drabble, cause I haven't written for some time. I had a scene in my head and it went that way. An unexpected love confession from Henry. It's a fluff, not a smut.

Warnings: a little cock squeezing xd but through pants only

Your neck hurt a little from all those angles your head had been turned and your lips were swollen from kissing for so long, but hey... Those weren't any reasons to complain! After all you couldn't imagine a better way to spend your time with Henry.

It didn't happen often, though it was happening more often. His new found activity gave him surprisingly big amount of endorphins and he couldn't help but wanting more and more. You didn't mind, for it was indeed very addictive.

You knew each other for some time. He once helped you escape the Lab, and you helped him find himself in a new life. As time had passed you became friends. And only recently you found out the chemistry between you.

You didn't consider you two being a couple, it was something undefined. And if you were being honest, you liked it that way.

You heard a phone ringing in another room, but neither of you reacted. His tongue was dancing with yours in, what it seems to be, an endless dance. Your hands pulled him closer, so his body weighted on yours. You both were fully clothed even though your kissing session was lasting for some time. There was this comfortable understanding that it didn't always have to lead to sex. Henry didn't push it any further, he never did, unless you gave him a clear signal that you wanted more.

The phone rang again.

Unwillingly you broke the kiss. You needed some air. Henry looked down at you with his beautiful blue eyes. His face was so close to yours, it was difficult not wanting to capture his lips again.

"What is it?"

His voice was like music to your ears.

"Nothing, I just need to breath from time to time "

"Good, cause I thought for a moment, that you wanted to leave me to pick up the phone."

"What phone?" You teased him as your fingers followed the lines of his jaw. "Im not gonna leave you till I'm through with you."

You reached your hand down to his hard cock and squeeze it lightly.

"Then I will answer the phone."

Henry shifted slightly. He wouldn't say it out loud, but you were driving him crazy doing things like that.

He also wouldn't say it out loud, but he had a... Hard time to give up control. So every time you were trying to take the initiative, he stopped you.

When you squeeze it again, his hand gently grabbed yours and held it still. The phone started to ring again and this time you glanced at the door thinking who could it be. Henry must had thought the same.

"Telemarketers don't call so repeatedly." He said.

You looked at his lips, as irritating as those phonecalls could be, it wasn't going to stop you from kissing Henry again.

"You don't know how persistent they can be sometimes."

You thought that Henry would ignore this ringing and come back to kissing your neck, but he didn't move. His swollen lips tightened into a thin line and his eyes got a colder look.

"You didn't give this phone number to anyone, right? You know how reckless it could be."

You were probably too bothered and wet to recognize the hidden meaning behind his words, otherwise you wouldn't respond like this:

"And what if I did? Maybe someone on the street asked for my number and I gave him this?"

You were obviously joking, your lips turned into a smile and a small chuckle left them. With this joke you wanted to check if you could turn him on a little. Get on his possessive side if he had one.

Henry however didn't get that sense of humour. His brows slightly knitted.

"I was joking, Henry... I have no idea who was calling."

He didn't respond at that and from the look on his face you seriously started to consider to apologize to him. Maybe it wasn't the best joke you ever made.

Henry sighed as he brought your hand up and rested it on your chest. Then he lifted himself up to sit.

"I'm serious about this." He said. His face was turned to you, but he didn't look at you.

"I'm sorry, darling, i would never put us on risk. I swear i didn't give my num-"

"It's not... I don't mean the-" His eyes landed on you. If you didn't know Henry, you would think that there's a fear behind them. "I'm serious about what we have, Y/N. It's something special and I don't want it to go to waste, because you didn't notice."

You slowly lifted yourself up on your elbows. Was he trying to tell you he had feelings for you?

He wasn't prepared for this conversation, but he knew you wanted him to continue and he had to make it clear.

"I've never understood the concept of... Love and relationships, but there is something in me..." He paused to take a breath to collect himself. "Something in me I think still able to feel it. And I have to know if you take it seriously too, because you're the one who's caused it."

There was a long pause while you let it all sink in. Silence filled the room and even the stupid phone stopped ringing. When you figured out what to say you sat up next to him and took his hand in yours.

"Henry... I would never, ever play with your heart. You know you have mine. And it'll always be yours."

Henry's face softened and he smiled. He knew you meant it. And it was all he needed to know.

#peter ballard #henry creel #001 #stranger things #peter ballard x reader #henry creel x reader

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leogichidaa · 2 years

Text

Psychoanalysis Sunday #14

Non-magical AU where Regulus is put in therapy with a psychoanalyst

Part 1 | Previous | Next

"So," the analyst says, looking over at Regulus, who is watching him nervously. "Care to explain this?"

Dr. Robertson holds up a piece of paper covered with hastily scrawled but tidy handwriting:

DIE DIE DIE I HOPE YOU DIE DIE DIE DIE I HOPE A GRAND PIANO FALLS ON YOUR HEAD AND YOU ARE CRUSHED BY THE INSURMOUNTABLE WEIGHT OF IT AND DIE

"Quite the statement," the analyst comments.

Regulus' brows knit together as he stares at his hands. "Father went through my private things..."

"Your mother actually," the analyst replies. "She was quite concerned."

This surprises Regulus, who looks up at the analyst in disbelief. "Mother?"

"Indeed."

"But she does not believe in you. She told me."

Dr. Robertson's mouth twitches in a smile. "That may be so. This caught her attention, though, and she seemed quite unsure how to handle it."

Regulus frowns. "You spoke to my mother?"

"I did. She is quite charismatic. I can see why you are drawn to her."

Regulus makes a face of disgust. "I preferred when she did not want anything to do with you, I think."

"Mm. Well, I thought it was lovely to get a chance to speak with her. To get back to the note..."

Regulus sighs. "I may have been a bit angry."

"That much is clear. Who is this note referring to, Regulus?"

Regulus gives the analyst a wry smile. "I'll give you three guesses."

The analyst returns the smile, then asks, "Sirius?"

"Sirius," Regulus confirms.

"We have regressed back to wishing death upon your brother, then, I see."

Regulus lets out an irritated sigh. "He is so unendingly frustrating! It is like he was put on this Earth to infuriate me!"

"Ah well that is interesting."

"What?"

"Does that not sound shockingly like something your mother might say?"

Regulus looks taken aback. "Maybe."

The analyst writes something down and Regulus scowls at him. Regulus is not pleased with the analyst meeting his mother, it sets him on edge for reasons he cannot fully articulate.

"I am also interested in the wording here: 'crushed by the insurmountable weight of it.' That paints quite the picture."

"Pianos are heavy."

"Is that how you feel, Regulus? Crushed by an insurmountable weight?"

"No. That is how I want Sirius to feel."

"Why?"

"Because he is cruel to me. He deserves cruelty back."

"Does Sirius make you feel crushed by an insurmountable weight?"

"I—what? No. No, I do not think so. He just makes me so angry, I feel like I could explode. I—I feel it, physically. Like when my chest hurts, from the worry? Only this is...different."

"What does it feel like?"

Regulus' body tenses, thinking about how angry he had been when he wrote the note. He clenches his fists. "Like I need to jump out of my skin. It feels awful. I hate it. I never want to feel it again."

"I am afraid killing your brother will not spare you ever feeling rage like that again. The only way to reliably minimize that feeling is to make changes in yourself."

"I would rather kill him," Regulus grumbles. "It seems easier."

"Perhaps. But you cannot kill everyone who fills you with rage." Regulus opens his mouth to protest, and the analyst holds up his hand. "It's not a long-term solution, murder. Have you heard the phrase 'wherever you go, you take yourself with you'? Whomever you murder, you still have to live with yourself."

Regulus sighs and rolls his eyes. "Fine. How do I fix myself then?"

Dr. Robertson shakes his head. "You are not broken, Regulus. You just need some fine tuning."

#psychoanalysis sunday #regulus black #not me channeling my rage

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j-graysonlibrary · 9 months

Text

Fort Heaven Chapter 4

Title: Fort Heaven

Author: Jay Grayson

Word Count: 69K

Genres: Suspense, investigative, drama, LGBT+

Available on: Kobo and my website

Synopsis: Some call it a hoax. Others claim it’s a cult. But, to Evon and his friend Yasmine, two online journalists, Fort Heaven is the subject of their latest story. Along for the assignment is cameraman and not-so-secret crush of Evon’s: Russet. With a drunken, murky night in their recent history, things are especially tense between them but, of course, personal matters take a backseat when the interviews start. The trio speaks to ex-members of Fort Heaven and, while some of the accounts are shocking, the job remains just that: A job. That is until one of the women they interviewed, along with her daughter, goes missing. It soon becomes clear that not only is Fort Heaven a real threat but Evon and his friends are being watched. And what started as a simple cash-grab article is now a matter of life and death.

Full Chapter 4 under cut

Chapter 4

Some female indie singer played over the radio and filled the space of the coffee shop when the idle chatter of customers wasn’t covering it up. At most, the place could seat maybe forty people and there were around fifteen at the moment. It was also after the lunch rush and people tended to be at work at this time.

Evon didn’t have to go into the office on a daily basis and, while he wasn’t getting paid for it, he was still technically doing work. It just happened to be work that had come about as being deeply personal.

He adjusted the knitted cap on his head and shuffled his coat around to get more comfortable. Across from him, Russet seemed perfectly cool and not anxious a bit.

As soon as Yasmine heard that they would be meeting to discuss work at the new coffee shop in town, she decided she’d be doing independent research and would “meet up” with them later. It was transparently intentional.

“I got coconut milk. Hope that’s okay,” Evon said before coughing a little because of a crack in his voice.

“I’m allergic to coconuts,” Russet responded and crossed his arms.

His appearance alone was enough to distract Evon—especially since he was wearing a pair of glasses that accented his features in just the right ways. But, the panic of seemingly trying to kill the man took those thoughts over.

“You are? Since when?!”

Russet, with a smirk on his lips, didn’t say anything for a second and then picked his coffee cup up. “I’m just messing with you.”

First there was relief and then irritation—though the irritation only went so far. “You jerk.”

“What? It was too easy.”

“Meanie.”

“Meanie?” Russet questioned with a laugh. He took a sip of his drink and then sighed. “So, are you willing to listen to anything this ‘meanie’ has to say?”

“Sure; that’s why we’re here. You wanted to talk.” Evon pointed out and centered himself. If he and Russet could just bicker back and forth then things would at least feel a little normal.

“Right,” the man agreed. “I want to let you know—since we’ll be working together and all—that I have no ulterior motives. I’m not doing this because of any feelings you think I might have for you. Let’s just clear that up now and get it out of the way.”

“Well you’d already made that pretty clear,” Evon remarked with a grumble.

“Then why ask me to do this?”

As much as Evon did like him, he still had a limit to how much of his ego he could handle. “You think I asked you to help because of…that?” He shook his head. “No, I just know you’re good at what you do and you would help us get this done the fastest and with the most efficiency.”

Russet raised an eyebrow but whether or not his pride was hurt was hard to tell.

“Alright so I suppose it’s unnecessary to talk about it.”

“I don’t mind not talking about it but…you are being a bit dodgy, aren’t you?” Evon’s words put him on edge.

It had been an issue he’d always had. Evon was irritating, juvenile, a cry-baby, and honest to a fault but he somehow always knew how to get under Russet’s skin. Something about him just bothered him and the older he became the more he had an idea of what that one thing was. He just didn’t like it.

Almost a year ago, a mutual friend of Evon, Trinity, and Russet had a birthday party and invited around twenty people to a nightclub. It was a weekend so the place was quite packed which made it hard to stay together as a group.

Evon didn’t know as many people as Trinity did and Russet, unfortunately was on that same boat. Stephanie, the birthday girl, had friends with a lot of affiliations with Trinity’s jewelry story so a lot of their conversation ended up being work related.

“Leave it to the thirty year olds to go to a club and only talk about their jobs,” Evon mentioned loud enough to where his voice was heard.

Russet wasn’t far away and, as one of the people who had shown up the earliest, he’d already had a few drinks. He slid closer to the younger man so he wouldn’t have to yell. “Yeah, at least if I did my job here it wouldn’t be weird.”

That got him Evon’s attention. “It would be if you hauled around a giant camera from your studio.”

He laughed before fishing around for his phone. After pulling the camera option up, he pointed it at Evon. “I still have this.”

“Are you filming me?”

Russet nodded. “I can make a documentary.”

“About me?” Evon asked with a raised brow before laughing. It was pretty clear to him by then that the man had been drinking already.

“It’ll be called The Reality of Adulthood,” he said and waved a free hand off into the air with a dramatic flair, “A tale about Evon Sparks: The social butterfly who could no longer make friends at a party.”

The younger man’s jaw dropped. “Ass!” After they both laughed, he pointed out, “I’ll have you know I just got here. I could make friends with anyone I wanted.”

“That’s no good for my documentary.” Russet looked almost like he was pouting.

“So you just want to film me…doing nothing?” Evon asked and then looked off to the side with a roll of his eyes. “That’s thrilling. Why don’t you go bug Trinity?”

“She’s ignoring me,” he answered and walked closer as Evon started to take a few steps back.

The bar wasn’t that far away so they both squeezed into a spot and got drinks. Russet ordered for both of them and grinned. “I’ll pay.”

“Thanks,” Evon responded in kind, “So why do you say she’s ignoring you? You two get into a fight or something?”

Russet shook his head. “She’s busy with her girlfriends. There’s nothing here for a guy like me here…except the alcohol.”

“So that’s why you’re drunk,” the younger man mentioned lowly to himself.

“I am not drunk,” he’d somehow managed to hear him. Regardless, Evon gave him a disbelieving look. “What? I’m not!”

“You’d only be talking to me this much if you were impaired.” It was a joke though there was a bit of truth behind it as well.

Instead of responding to that statement, Russet leaned over and poked Evon on the side of the head and then proceeded to play with a few curly locks of hair. “We should do something more fun.”

The dim lights in the club hid the embarrassment on his face well and, in a rare event, Evon was also able to keep his voice level.

“Like what?”

It was a dangerous open ended question but the answer was quite innocent. “Go have a nap. Maybe get ice cream.”

Evon laughed at the sweet suggestion and bit down on his lower lip. Then their drinks arrived which distracted him. “You don’t want to stay and have more drinks?” he asked.

“This last one and then we leave,” Russet said, sounding rather sure of himself.

It would be Evon’s first and last drink of the night and the glass was rather small so they weren’t there for very long. And, since Russet was quite drunk, Evon drove. He took him back to his townhouse since, at the time, he was living there alone.

That was according to Evon anyway—and a few clips on Russet’s phone the next morning. Russet didn’t recall being in a car at all but did recognize when he was in Evon’s home. He was given water—a lot of water—and some pain killers.

Another time period was lost but Evon said not much happened anyway. There was a bit of TV watching though, after a while, the camera movement and colors started to make Russet feel nauseated. He remembered that. Sort of. He also remembered Evon going up to his room and then following him after a few minutes.

In his drunken state, he wasn’t questioning his thoughts and he wasn’t trying to restrain his impulses. To that point in the night, the most trouble that had gotten him into was filming boring and useless video on his phone. Walking up the stairs to get into bed with his best friend’s little brother was certainly the worst thing he did but, besides some hazy memories from a dream, he didn’t do anything more.

Waking up in his bed was a shock and sent a chill down his spine. Evon was dead asleep but he had rolled over on top of Russet’s arm and trapped him. Then, when he tried to slide his arm out, he woke up the other man.

Evon’s brow furrowed and when his eyes opened and focused, he looked just as terrified as Russet felt.

“Oh…you’re up…” he said with a crack in his voice. He must have noticed the unease on Russet’s face so he quickly went to explaining. “You don’t remember crashing here? I brought you here after the party and you fell asleep pretty quickly.”

It lined up with his memories but he still had the feeling that there was more. “We didn’t…um…?”

Evon shook his head. “No. Of course not.” He laughed dryly and played it off as a joke.

“Of course not,” he agreed, still having an off feeling.

But they hadn’t spoken of it again. Evon had his own secrets he was keeping to save the older man from embarrassment and himself from knowing the only reason he’d receive any attention from Russet was under the influence of drugs.

It was best for both of them, Evon knew, if Russet didn’t know that they’d kissed…or rather that Russet kissed him. The hard part came now that he’d brought it up and seemed to actually want to talk about it. Maybe he remembered or maybe he just wasn’t satisfied with the answer.

He was tempted to reveal the truth but he also feared it would put their deal in jeopardy. So, he figured the best thing to do was to lead Russet into telling him everything he knew or at least allow him to air his grievances and then base his answer around that.

Lying would take all of his effort since he was awfully bad at being dishonest, but he was ready to attempt it.

“So what’s the issue you want to talk about?” Evon asked and braced himself.

Russet glanced down at the table—his coffee cup specifically. “I had just been thinking that, you know, whatever happened then that we just forget about it. If anything did in fact happen.”

He was still dodging and it was borderline painful to listen to. “Do you think I lied when I said nothing happened?”

“Yes,” the man answered surprisingly fast. Even if it was true that he did technically lie… “I know it wasn’t a big one but I know something did happen and I just want to say that I’m choosing to forget about it and you should too.”

Evon almost laughed but it would have been both condescending and kind of depressing. “Okay,” he said simply instead.

“Okay.”

A long moment of silence passed while they both finished their coffees and Evon tried not to think about the night he was now supposed to simply forget. He couldn’t, of course, but he almost wished he could. The kissing, the feel of his hands against his face, his arms, and his bare stomach. It still made the hairs on his body stand on end.

To the relief of both of them, Yasmine called with news on a confirmed interview and would be on the way soon to meet them. Having her there would give them something to be distracted by and, more importantly, it would get them all closer to being finished with this little project.

#fort heaven #my novel #my writing #writeblr #lgbt writers

0 notes

jiminrings · 3 years

Note

Hey bb! First of all, let me just tell u how much I love your writing! You're fabulous, love. Don't ever doubt yourself. Secondly, I wanted to know if u could do a college professor! Jungkook and pretty student reader where Jk is absolutely enamoured by her.. (also, with a bit of the good ol smut🤭) It's a-okay if u can't tho! Just know that you're appreciated!❤️

the probability of us

pairing: jungkook x y/n

wordcount: 6k

glimpse: jungkook’s the son of the university’s president, y/n’s cardigan is everyone’s favorite, and adjacent walls mean shared victories.

notes: there’s something so warm about this request that it made me write it as an actual fic and not a bullet one!!! i did alter it a little bit but i was genuinely so happy writing this so thank you sO much for this babe :D // gif from pinterest!

Jungkook, in his better and most definitely unbiased judgement, thinks he knows enough about you.

He knows you well enough to have noticed your patterns and habits with almost everything in between. They were predictable for the most part, and that was partly because he takes pride in being observational, but you manage to unintentionally throw him a curveball every now and then that makes him smile.

You always come into class when there’s atleast fifteen people in it and Jungkook wonders if you know it in the back of your head or if you just sneak a peek at the room every now and then. He’s not keen on being early to classes, and on the three straight occasions his dad left something in the classroom from the day before and got him to retrieve it for him, you were already there.

You’re fixated and practically attached to your knitted cardigan, seemingly having no problem wearing the same outfit for days straight — something so both adorable and visibly heart-racing when it’s almost always a tank top underneath that’s on the lower scoop, and a rotation of pants and sweats that sometimes feel so misplaced with your cardigan that it matches.

Jungkook’s found out that you probably wear atleast three rings on a daily basis, and that only took him two days to figure out because you’d exit the classroom with slight marks and indentations on your cheeks or on your jaw. Whether it’s to being sleepy, being bored, or being focused is something he has yet to discern — but yeah, he looks at you with his eyes silently when the class is dismissed, wondering if he’d see the same Pandora tiara ring mark on your cheek, or this time from a signet ring you sported more often.

He’s eight weeks in doing whatever this is. Whatever having the definition of him trailing behind his dad, a back and forth between his classes and his office, then them eating out for lunch break.

Sometimes, Jungkook forgets that his dad’s the president of this very university.

He’s only really known him as dad and he’s grateful for that, and the only times he’d see his father as the educator he was with the fancy doctorate degree was whenever Jungkook’s been a little lacking in his studies as a child up until high school. His mom, a doctor, would be on duty for nights and at home for mornings so that’d be the window she’d teach him the alphabet and addition with the carrying, something that eight-year old him would tear up just at the mention of.

His dad would just sit beside him in a very calm manor, take out two notebooks for one of them each, and make reviewers. Jungkook writes down what he knows and what his dad tells him to, highlights the key terms, and for some totally odd reason, making his own reviewers saved him from failing altogether and become an honor student with little help from his parents and most especially his dad.

It humors him that people are so rigid and intimidated by his dad, and he knows that not everyone would believe that this is the same guy that taught him how to give someone a proper wet willy. Jungkook sees people left and right going out of their way to greet him and pay their courtesies, stifling in a giggle that his dad also fights the need to laugh.

He loves and looks up to his dad, feeling a lot more thankful that he has a healthy relationship with his parents as an only child. Jungkook feels he owes that much to his dad that he took education for his college course, despite his blatant lack of interest for it.

And here he is — a senior at another college his dad’s not the professor of, studying a degree that he’s not gonna practice, and shadowing his father for eight weeks while he goes and teach for the “experience” as his dad calls it.

This has got to be a little ethically questionable, but that’s okay. Jungkook takes some comfort knowing that his dad’s the boss and he could just sit in a chair, pretending to absorb his lessons. In fact, he doesn’t even know why his dad opts to teach still even if he’s well high up in that ladder, the only explanation being that his father just really really likes teaching and not just be moving between airconditioned offices and meeting rooms all the time. And if that was enough, his dad just had to teach two classes to which Jungkook needs to accompany him in both — Statistics and English Literature.

Jungkook has a memory of stone that’s probably of the same kind the Code of Hammurabi was inscribed in (because he just swears his memory started way earlier than the age of four), because he practically knows everyone in each of his dad’s classes.

Eight weeks in. He’s only known that long.

But Jungkook knows for a fact that you’re never late — that much he knows. He refuses to believe that you’re actually gonna be late to class.

His dad comes in early and normally, he sits by his chair just when he’s a minute away from starting class. For some odd push today, he felt the need to enter the room with his dad and be early for once; but for the one time that he did this, you weren’t around for it.

You’re late, and you’re never late, and you’re throwing him a curveball, but something tells him in his gut that this just wasn’t something you pull out of your cardigan sleeve to confuse him.

You’re confusing.

You’re never usually confusing.

He visibly straightens in his seat when you enter the room with a sense of complacency and without the need to rush, the class only in the quieting down stages before the lesson begins when you walked in.

Mr. Jeon’s flickered to the entrance briefly, his tinkering with the HDMI cord continuing nonetheless. “Kook,” he just barely manages to get out because he’s already standing up from his seat, nimble fingers grabbing a slip from his desk that makes his dad perplexed.

Jungkook walks all the way to you at the back of the class, holding out the late slip to you a little too eagerly as it seems, and you can’t help but feel confused and irritated at the same time with how you started your morning.

For starters, coffee was spilled on your cardigan from the night before, and soaking it overnight in a mix of detergent, softener, and the tiniest bit of bleach wasn’t enough to completely rub the stain off — which meant you had to get up extra early to have it dry-cleaned (the staff looked at you a bit weirdly) and head off to where you needed to be, in a rush.

“But I’m not late though.”

You murmur as you peer up at him, refusing to even take the slip in between Jungkook’s fingers. He turns impatient, even more-so at your retort that honestly sounded genuine, that he settles on dropping it down your desk.

“You are, Y/N.” He says as convictedly as he can, only having to glance sideways briefly to your nosy seatmate to keep him out of a conversation he clearly isn’t a part of, and you make a note in your head to apologize to Jimin who gets scared easily, especially by the president’s son.

As if to prove his point, Jungkook rolls the sleeve of his bomber jacket in the slightest, enough for you to see a glimpse of his flashy gold Rolex in an attempt to tell you the time, one you couldn’t decipher because it was analog and your eyesight’s not that quick-witted nor clear.

“It’s three minutes before the start of the class,” you make it a point to outstretch your forearm, one that isn’t covered by your cardigan as he now realizes, your silver and digital Casio telling him that it’s 9:57, indeed three minutes away from the start of his dad’s class.

He barely even blinks before he adjusts himself to stand between your stretched legs so he could hold your arm and adjust your goddamn watch to be set four minutes later, his movements done so quickly that you straighten your back to the seat.

Jimin pretends he’s looking away, but deep down you already know that he’s gonna ambush you with questions as soon as Jungkook leaves.

“See that? You’re late,” he hums contentedly, pushing the late slip towards you and stands by himself with his hands across his chest, all-knowing that he wouldn’t leave not until you comply with his stupid request for a late slip.

His dad sees the interaction unfold from a distance, still confused but somehow amused, and a curious smile appears on his face as he now has something else to bring up on the dinner table later.

After all, he only called out to his son to tell him that they should go pick up a few groceries over lunch break — not to give you a late slip.

Jungkook collects the piece of paper from you wordlessly, letting his hand linger for the briefest moment but you pay him no mind, too occupied to looking at your left and gesturing for Jimin to scoot closer.

Something’s wrong.

His instincts are not exactly the most accurate but after all, it does account for something. He’s not the best at reading people when they’re indifferent, and normally you’re never indifferent to him.

He decides to lay low at that, sitting back on his chair and only twirling the slip in between his fingers and not once setting it down on the desk, preventing himself to look at it.

It’s only when his dad calls him to do a summary and explain to the class about his lesson’s breakdown, and he turns stern when he crushes the paper within his palm for the sake of being indiscreet that he totally wasn’t fiddling with paper for an hour and a half.

Jungkook returns and that’s when his dad starts giving out final reminders for their next meeting, straightening it out as much as he could until he can see your messy handwriting more than he could see the creases.

Tutored Hwang Hyunjin; state quizbee next week.

And why, exactly?

As far as he knows, Hyunjin’s the faculty’s favorite because he was such an intelligent student. He might be the favorite of his dad but he’s not entirely sure because his dad says he doesn’t like playing favorites, but he seems to think so nonetheless. If the guy who’s in the line-up for summa cum laude is asking help for a mere quizbee, what exactly is it for?

You’re an honor student, sure. In the dean’s list and in the running for cum laude, but you’ve said it yourself that you’re no Hyunjin and in verbatim, anyone who takes education as seriously as he does needs a hug and an emotional support system. Do you see yourself doing all the extra credits when you already have the highest average on all of them?

Did you hug him?

Jungkook scoffs to where his mind is running, a little dejected as he ponders on it even more as he stands next to his dad’s desk, nodding curtly at the students who bid him goodbye.

He’s extra quick to stepping up when it’s you who passes him, hands on his pocket as he asks under his breath.

“We cool?”

He tries to search for a hint of distaste in your face and he’s almost disappointed to find none, a genuine small smile on as you reply and come out the door without so much of a look back at him.

“‘Course we are, Mr. Jeon.”

... \ ( ♡ ) / ...

“What’s up with you?”

Jungkook utters the moment the door of your apartment swings open. It was straight to the point, really. No buttering up to you and no unnecessary bullshit before he drops the question that’s been plaguing his mind the whole day.

You had only been brushing your teeth when you hear a series of crisp and heavy knocks that led you to think that your neighbor Hoseok next-door has finally screwed up the pooch completely, and accidentally set his kitchen on fire with the cookie batter he’s been doing a series of trial and error with for a dozen times already.

Oh.

It’s only Jungkook, then.

He doesn’t look the slightest bit concerned being out in the hallway that gave everyone an opportunity to see him. Frankly, everyone who’s set foot to the president’s office, which is everyone, could tell who he is simply by looking at the few hundred picture frames Mr. Jeon has on his desk.

He’s not concerned and he doesn’t have the gall to be concerned either, because as much as he knows that although underneath his dad’s section, the housing section of the college wasn’t under his close supervision. Besides that, he finds that there’s absolutely nothing wrong with this.

Jungkook only looks up to you for a few seconds, wide-eyed with your toothbrush in your mouth, and decides to let himself in.

This being yours and Jungkook’s interactions for the past eight weeks. There’s not a label to it, but it goes along the lines of the occasional fuck, and then the ranting about each other’s days, and binge-watching that either ends up as hook-up, or trying to pick up new hobbies the other’s just suggested, or whatever’s playing is actually playing and the two of you just watch, your head laid on his lap and his hand brushing your hair.

Yeah, that one. Whatever that’s called — that’s what you and Jungkook are.

It’s been painfully obvious to your tight knit of friends, namely only being Jimin and Hoseok, that those things practically yielded to the commitment of him being something that starts with boy and ends with a friend, no spaces in between and all in one word.

You blink away your internal monologue, remembering that you need to spit before replying to his question that he’s asked you point-blank two seconds ago.

“You saw me in class today.”

That one couldn’t be anymore obvious and he huffs at that, once again going on a grumpy fit of frustration while he lies on your bed upright, arms across his chest. “Off,” you swat his leg immediately, making him haphazardly throw away his shoes if he want to keep being frustrated with you.

That’s the exact bit though. Regardless if you forced him to take off his shoes while he’s on your bed, he’d be frustrated at you regardless. He doesn’t know why he’s frustrated with you in the first place and that just makes him stressed even more.

The realization hits him that Jungkook doesn’t really know why he’s so pressed about you, his tone considerably softening because now he feels a little smaller under your curious gaze.

“Yeah, yeah. I clearly know that. I, uh, I meant outside of class.”

Normally, he’d find your avoidance of things actually endearing because you seemed to worm your way out of any situation you just deem to be unrelated to you — but for the first time, he doesn’t know if you’re avoiding his question. If this was still your passive-aggressiveness or genuineness showing its head right now.

“You’re starting to sound like a professor, y’know,” you note with intrigue, relishing to how Jungkook lying on your bed and looking at you under such intensity seems normal to you at this point and at this moment. “A professor hanging out with his student outside of class, in her dorm, and on a weekday.”

The comment you add was supposed to be humorous but you find it rather odd now having said it out loud, the realization dawning on you that whatever this is, is just too ambiguous and vague that you’d never wanted something so specific in your lifetime.

“Just trying to appease dad. Do I look like I have the patience to teach a class, better yet show up?”

That’d be the actual bane of him.

Don’t get him wrong, professors must be so cool and patient with their workload and stuff, but holy fucking shit does he hate it for himself. He means no disrespect to his dad but he honestly can’t see himself doing what he does, even for a fraction of his life willingly.

You sort of envy him for the upbringing he has and the wholesome and healthy relationship he has with his family that you wouldn’t mind telling people all about. Not everyone expects Jungkook to be as family-oriented as he looks, and the little nugget of information he made you privy too puts a gentle smile of your face.

“You do have the patience to ask me if I’m okay though.”

It’s a question between reeling yourself in and putting yourself out there more, plopping to sit on the edge of your bed as you try to put lotion on your legs all the way down to your heel.

Jungkook finds it normal to see you putting lotion on and zit cream on your face, and he doesn’t question it for one second.

That doesn’t automatically mean that he’s gonna address it though.

“Well, baby, are y’okay?” he crawls the short distance from you, putting half of his body weight as he slings himself on your shoulders from behind, lips brushing against your ear as he pulls you tighter.

“Mhmmm.”

He finds it that as much as he pulls you tighter, you grow a bit more distant. You’re there with him but your mind isn’t, perhaps lost on the lotion that only adds into your scent that seems engraved in his mind nowadays.

Jungkook does as much as to tug a sleeve of your shirt to expose the slightest bit of your shoulder blades, pressing wet gentle kisses that leaves you, surprisingly, unfazed.

You make no move nor action, just continuing on rubbing your arms with your hands and him taking the momentary act of silence to look around your room, seeing your textbooks piled neatly on your desk with your lamp on.

“Long night?”

He asks and not a second later do you hum in confirmation, making him roll his eyes and his stomach churn, but it probably just has something to do with a heartburn that’s beginning to form because the ache’s spreading to his chest.

It’s got to be heartburn, right?

“Alright. Didn’t have to answer me too quick just so you can kick me out.”

He mutters underneath his breath a little hurt, taking your responses as his cue to leave. His flair for what you think is the dramatics makes you roll your eyes and slap his thigh, following him out on the way to the door.

Jungkook’s fazed because he doesn’t exactly know the essential purpose plus his expected outcome of this five-minute visit. He doesn’t have a clue, but dropping to your apartment unannounced and seeing you for just even five minutes, even if he doesn’t know why, doesn’t seem wrong.

What is wrong, is that you’d normally kiss him goodbye.

This time, you don’t.

... \ ( ♡ ) / ...

Jungkook’s gut tells him to come early to class, even telling his dad that he’d come down there by himself so he could scope out his class like the great son that he is, and he does exactly that.

Some of the early-birds are pleasantly surprised to see him there, early and alone without Dr. Jeon, sitting on his usual chair.

This setting’s odd for him and as much as he wants to leave, he doesn’t feel the need to. He doesn’t really care if he’s intimidating the students because after all, that’s not the reason why he’s here. In fact, he’s aware that he seems to be quite the talk of the campus, the verdict being half and half if he was as fun, easygoing, yet stern like his father — or if he’s something else entirely. Either way, none of them could catch on to the fact besides you that he’s not here out of passion, but rather obligation.

There’s less than thirty students in the room but Jungkook could just feel it at the back of his spine that you’re gonna walk through the door soon enough. You’ve got to be, right? Jungkook stands by himself near the door, practically barricading the door with how he’s built.

This familiar guy he can’t put a name to is walking through the door carelessly, eyes completely fixed on his phone that his shoulder’s barreling into Jungkook’s.

“Oh hey dude, what’s up?”

The guy in question barely even looks up for a second, a meek smile on his face before turning to his phone again and just staying there by the door, a character paused to block it all for a fucking text as what it seems.

Jungkook barely needs a second to look at him eye to eye; tall, pale, long blonde hair, and smooth pronounced features.

Hwang Hyunjin.

He’s only seen him in passing but never on this scale, his first instinct being straightening his back. They’re roughly the same height, Jungkook shoving his observation to the back of his head that Hyunjin’s only a millimeter higher than him.

He’s probably the only one applying pressure to this scenario, thick brows furrowing as he almost grimaces looking at the younger guy in front of him.

“Are you in this class?”

What?

Hyunjin’s confused to say the least, not only because this random dude he bumped into is suddenly making conversation with him, but because someone’s actually questioning about his presence here.

He lowers his phone, putting a pause to his heated exchange of which installment of this series they’re watching this, all in the favor for staring at this guy who’s cowling at him.

“... Yes?”

His answer even sounds unsure, Jungkook’s questioning raise of his brows prompting him to explain.

Hyunjin doesn’t even know why he feels compelled to explain but he does it nonetheless. “They say I could sit in this class. Some topics would show up in the quizbee next week.”

That’s just grand.

Before Jungkook can simmer in his irritation even more, his dad slips through the door by holding his shoulders in place, looking between the two of them briefly before walking to his desk.

“Kook? Thought you’d open up the lesson without me.”

Blondie tilts his gaze, eyes narrowing as he tries to scan a Kook in his brain’s directory and why it sounds so fond coming from Dr. Jeon.

“Mmmm, sorry dad.”

Jungkook emphasizes a little more than needed, turning to him and sending him a half-hearted grin while unbeknownst to him, Hyunjin pales and is having a breakdown and a half.

Did he really just accidentally bump into the college president’s son? Is he gonna be expelled now?

Jungkook’s oblivious to the inner turmoil that’s unfolding in the guy in front of him, crossing his arms before looking at his dad once more.

“Is he allowed here?”

He questions sharply like a toddler who’s just seen an inconspicuous man by the swing, his cheeks rounding with his lips pursed.

His dad’s really confused because this is the most intrigue he’s seen Jungkook inhibit for the whole eight weeks.

Of course his dad knows; he’s more than aware that his son has literally no interest in being a professor, and honestly speaking, he’s not even mad at that. He’a outsmarted him on this one and just went along with the lengths of hi son trying to impress him, falling into this eight-week routine of them bonding together with little practice teaching, yet Jungkook still wonders where he got his wit from.

He looks back and forth between Jungkook and Hyunjin, perplexed because he’s pretty sure that the two of them don’t know each other and that doesn’t explain the tension lingering.

“Hyunjin? Yeah. President’s lister, right?”

Hyunjin grins and chuckles at that, bowing slightly as he just passes Jungkook that appalls the latter.

“You put me there, sir.”

Jungkook mocks him under his breath, not going unnoticed by his dad who just chuckles all the same. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” he lies right out of his teeth, sitting on his chair and spreading his legs until his dad nudges him to be atleast decent because he wants the students to focus on his presentation and not his son’s crotch.

He feels cursed having such clear vision because even when the lights are dim, Jungkook still finds his gaze looking for you out of habit. Cursed for seeing Hyunjin sit on the other side of you and suddenly he wishes that this would be the time that Jimin interferes.

He’s unsure if you’re making him confused or he’s confusing himself, but the way his head feels like splitting just by thinking about you and what he could’ve done wrong tells him that he should be definite.

“Would you mind wrapping up the lesson, Mr. Jeon?” his dad asks outloud and for any other context, they’d share identical smiles on how they should be professional towards each other (as suggested by his dad) during class.

“Not at all, Dr. Jeon.”

God, he’s so oblivious to see how he has everyone gravitating towards him that it’s actually endearing. You sitting all the way up gives you a front-row seat to see how everyone sits up a little straighter and how heads follow his every move.

Jungkook has everyone wrapped around his finger and he doesn’t even know — you’re everyone; he can’t know.

He steps up to the plate and the natural dominance and hold he has on everyone broke through, a lesson about statistics never being this intense and a large majority of the people would really stay for another hour and a half if it’s Jungkook who’s teaching.

He’s so absorbed into summarizing as a way of destressing that he ended up giving perhaps one of the best makeshift lectures ever, his dad positively awed and ending up even more confused.

Jungkook’s coming down from his lecture high, nervously fiddling with his fingers as his dad gives the final reminders. What doesn’t help is also you coming out of the classroom with Hyunjin in tow, wearing your cardigan, and that’s what considerably sets him off.

Suddenly, he now decides that your cardigan is the ugliest and most disgusting piece of clothing he’s ever seen in his life. It’s the furthest thing from adorable, and the nearest thing into being set on fire.

You still smell sweet and homey when you’re nearing him, and the realization that your cardigan’s tainted by the smell of you and soon enough, Hyunjin will — it hits Jungkook too hard that he mutters under his breath, his jaw lax from being clenched.

“If you have a problem with me, just tell me about it.”

He can’t find the will in himself to care whether or not Hyunjin’s gone on without you and is waiting for you by the corridor, or that his dad’s arranging his shelf and could be possibly listening.

“I don’t,” your face reflects the same thing as your answer, devoid of any uncertainty that you have a problem with him.

“You don’t?” he prods further even if he knows that asking the second time wouldn’t even help.

“I don’t. Do you?”

There’s no malice in your tone. It’s the same gentleness laced with mischief underneath, head tilting in question.

That’s when he narrows his eyes at you, always knowing how to play your cards right without him knowing.

“With you or with myself?”

You shrug carelessly, an automatic giggle tumbling out of your lips that it bothers you too because you shouldn’t be okay with pulling yourself away from Jungkook, and the fact that it could be because you made peace long enough that the two of you will never be more is something to blame.

“You tell me, Mr. Jeon.”

He’s never hated his family name more and the formality preceding it than now. In reality, he’s just a year older than most of you in this class and the last time he’s checked, no one calls their senior, despite being from another university, like that.

Everyone assumed that he should be called with respect because after all, they’re probably looking at the future of this institution anyways.

Stable breaths aren’t enough and Jungkook seems to despise the way your slightest change towards him affects him the most, and his pride over not reaching out to your first has long been gone since.

He figures that this is just your way of detaching from him because his eight weeks are almost up, and that he should be totally fine with it because after all it’s only been eight weeks.

He can’t see another eight weeks of you pulling out from him, and even worse, eight weeks without you.

“We’re not cool.”

Jungkook says as soon as you open your door, not waiting for you to gesture him to come in. In any other situation, he’d find you adorable having traded your contacts for glasses, and absolutely sexy if his blood’s rushing elsewhere besides his cheeks. There’s no introduction of asking about your day nor catching you off-guard with a kiss either.

It’s him going straight to your bed and lying upright, looking at you somberly that you feel sorry you’ve been establishing this change in the first place.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

His question is a complete 180 from his voice that’s been gravelly since morning, sincerity underneath the rough edges.

You shake your head no, a signal that there’s absolutely nothing wrong and you don’t have anything to tell him about.

“Are you sure?”

He looks at you with wide reassuring eyes just begging for anything, atleast something, the only time that he wishes there’s something wrong going on so he could chalk it up to that instead of facing this shift with you blindly and aimlessly.

You’re wordlessly climbing up on bed too, making him automatically scoot over to his side of your bed when he stays overnight, instant warmth welcoming you just by having your shoulders touch with him. It’s a head nod of yes, I’m sure that there’s nothing wrong with your eyes closed.

Being beside him is the equivalent of all the comfortable nights you’ve slept. Jungkook’s the ultimate compilation and the most expensive goodie box of warm hugs and warm tea that tasted familiar instead of incredibly earthy. He’s white noise and eight-hour loops of rainfall against your windows and humidifier-goodness of sleep that you take indulgence and warmth in.

Jungkook’s in another realm of thought when he almost snaps at you because your roles have been reversed and it’s him who’s doting over you.

“Are you usually this non-committal?”

You’re always warm with a cherry on top when you talk to Jungkook, and just only two days of you giving him timid replies has him asking you if you’re the opposite of the adjective that people most commonly attached to you.

“I think we both know best that I’m loyal.”

You are.

It’s a word that’s almost always attached to your name. You’ve never really sustained a large group of close friends, and it wasn’t needed, but Jungkook finds it funny that you’re oblivious to how people look at you.

He’s well-acquainted with what goes around, and the only things that go around about you was that you’ve touched them in one way or another. You’re the most loyal friend Jimin has because you’ve stuck with him even if he’s spilled his guts on your bathroom floor, missing the mark of your toilet bowl. You gave up your bed for him and tucked him in even if he was still at risk of throwing up because he just couldn’t stop, and made him breakfast the next morning. You’ve only known each other for three days.

Hoseok considers you his most loyal neighbor slash friend ever, because you let him have a go at your pantry even if you knew at the back of your head that he’d screw up something in his recipe one way or another. Even started buying extra ingredients whenever he needs them, and him purposefully forgetting that he has brown sugar at the back of his cabinet.

You are loyal, and that’s what he sometimes hates about you too because it makes you more vulnerable. A little too easy to trample on. A little too easy to have you cheering for someone from the bleachers when they’re still on the bench.

Jungkook wonders if you’re loyal to him too, and if you were (which he’s sure of, and there’s no denying it), would you still be even if he feels like the two of you are growing apart?

“Then why do I feel that-“

He sighs in exasperation, head turning to face you and he’s greeted with your finger outstretched, digging in to where his dimple would appear.

He could look at you properly this time because he’s not in a rush asking if you’re okay. Eyes glazed looking up at him underneath your glasses, scrunched nose with the cutest smile and all that he wants this to never stop.

“Hey.”

You whisper in a rush all of a sudden, a toothy grin fading steadily when your thumb comes to rest on his cheek, whole hand soon pressed to it whole that Jungkook finds himself leaning.

“I’m in love with you.”

It comes out of you fluidly; no baited breath and no hesitation at all. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, actually. Not once did you think that you’d ever tell Jungkook you love him in this way, or ever for that matter, but it’s something that materialized out of thin air.

It’s as quick as a passing thought and as stable as a core memory, reiterating what is only a truth instead of a confession.

There’s no sadness in your gaze and no distrust either, but the smile that stretches on your cheeks doesn’t look as giddy.

He’s a little cross-eyed with how close you are, but Jungkook audibly whimpers when you pull away suddenly and out of the bed altogether, picking up your laptop from your table.

You don’t know what you’re doing either, but you could only hope that it looks as natural as it seemed, wanting him to know that your sudden realization that you need to make a twenty-page essay in size 12 font has nothing to do with your profession of love.

“But I know I shouldn’t, and besides, it’s a conflict of interest. Anyway, let’s just end this here now and-...”

“Are you insane?”

Jungkook exclaims in punctuation marks and of deep urgency, looking at you as if you suggested the most ridiculous thing ever after what you’ve just said, which you exactly did.

“Just continue loving me!”

He says it as the most obvious thing ever, his chest feeling an odd sense of relief after having blown up with emotion. He’s a sponge at this point in whatever relationship the two of you have. He’ll take what you can give, but this was something Jungkook would run to hell and back for to not take from you.

“You didn’t even ask if I loved you back! And that’s my honest answer, not something that would appease you when you return the question.”

He looks a little softer around the edges at the moment — arms flailing around and hair bouncing as he keeps moving his head.

His cheeks are puffed out when he’s angry and his lips are red from trying to get his point across strongly, stammering with what more he could think of in his head.

“It’s not a conflict of interest either! I only shadowed my dad to please him, but we both know that I don’t want to become a professor like him. You just think that it is because you’re up on the seats and I’m down on the podium!” he’s heated and his cheeks are warm and there’s no way it has something to do with your airconditioning.

“It’s a stint. It was a literal eight-week stint for free, because he’s the president for god’s sake — that’s it! I go back to my university in like what, a week? And they don’t even need me passing requirements, because they already know, again, that I’m the son of a university president! Honestly, it’d be stupid of them to.”

Jungkook feels like he’s gonna pass out with how overwhelmed he is. Too overwhelmed to the point that he doesn’t see you smiling out of the corner of his eye, hand rubbing down the length of his nape to his back.

It’s only then that you realize that he’s rambling and his voice is wavering, concern dripping down from you instead of amused laughter.

“Y/N, please, it’s convenient — more than convenient. I graduate this year, and you next year. The last thing I’d do in my life is grade papers. You know what I want to be? I wanna be-...”

Jungkook’s cut off with a tender kiss on the corner of his mouth that’s grounded him, blinking twice to look at you.

He should really kiss you right now.

“You could’ve condensed that into a single simple sentence,” you snort when you pull away from Jungkook’s hold, sending him a look of faux disappointment to which he whines. “It’s called I love you too, Jungkook.”

He squints at your teasing but reasons just as quick, sneaking in his head underneath your shirt to escape from your teasing and importantly, press a gentle kiss to your chest, then your boobs, and settling to lie down on your stomach as he’s content.

“I was panicked!”

Jungkook’s certain that he loves you, laughing to himself when he heard heavy knocks against your bedroom wall that just conveniently happens to be adjacent to Hoseok’s.

“Fucking finally! I was about to flirt with either of you just so you could cut to the chase and admit it to each other!”

Your laugh is the sweetest thing he’s ever heard, coming out from hiding underneath your shirt and just laying on top of your clothed tummy, hand looking for yours to hold on to.

You’ve been sleepy the entire time, he’s figured. You having switched to your glasses meant you’ve already had your night shower, and only had three hours maximum before succumbing to your bed. You’ve had a long day clearly, and it’s when you’re starting to succumb into sleep right exactly where you are that Jungkook suddenly remembers.

“You know what I want to be? I wanna be-…”

“With you.”

“Mhmm?” you all but mumble, feeling him adjust your head on the pillow while he lays on his, literal weight being lifted off from you.

Jungkook feels even more endeared if that’s any more possible, the tiniest boop to your nose and the softest kiss on your forehead.

“I wanna be with you.”

#fEEDBACK PLS AND THANK U :D #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook imagines #jungkook drabble #jungkook drabbles #jungkook oneshot #jungkook oneshots #jungkook au #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook fic rec #jungkook fic recs #jungkook angst #jungkook angst imagine #jungkook fluff #jungkook fluff imagine

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flickeringart · 3 years

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Minor aspects

While the nature of the major aspects in astrology is quite straightforward and has been covered more than sufficiently, there’s still a lot of fog surrounding the nature of the minor ones. There are a lot of minor aspects that can be taken into consideration when interpreting a chart… however, since they are labeled minor they won’t be as obvious and much more difficult to spot in one’s own life. Note that this doesn't mean that they aren't impactful. There’s a lot of speculation and vague terms used when describing them. It seems that every minor aspect is said to have a “spiritual/creative dimension” as if that is supposed to clear up any of the mystery surrounding them. Perhaps, on one level, we don’t want to pin them down too much because certainty is the enemy of exploration. Or perhaps it’s the case that the aspects themselves don’t want to be pinned down? There’s an appeal in keeping certain things mysterious in our lives, to avoid defining and putting rigid labels on phenomena. It makes life alive and beautiful. Many people dismiss astrology is because they are afraid that they’re going to be reduced to a set of characteristics and have their personality mapped up to the point of being able to predict and foresee patterns of behavior and fated themes. The fear of knowledge is not irrational; it is probably healthy to an extent. Knowing too much can be dangerous and rob life of its magic. “Curiosity killed the cat”, as the saying goes. However, this is not the whole truth because curiosity also leads to expansion and better understanding, so let’s not be afraid to concretize these aspects, it's not the same as "killing" their potential. Life is never completely in our hands anyway, there's no risk of knowing it all.

Quintile (72°)/Bi-quintile (144°)

These aspects are said to have something to do with individual style and quality of creative work. It is suggested that these aspects say something about a mental-creative process of imposing one’s mind on a particular subject. It is also linked to talent and gifts the individual would possess that have not been actively learned. Basically, it seems to be indicative of the particular way a person would approach a subject. For example, the quintile would not describe the activity itself - the activity could be painting, knitting, running, cleaning or whatever – the quintile/bi-quintile would point to the way the person approaches the activity.

For example, Ted Bundy (whose chart I’ve explored a bit here), has Neptune bi-quintile the MC. Neptune, being the planet of illusion hints to Bundy’s quality of being a chameleon, deceiving the public as part of his personal style.

Prince Harry, (whose chart I’ve touched upon before), has his Moon bi-quintile Neptune. The Moon can be indicative of the mother figure, and his mother Princess Diana certainly had an elusive style and charm that was a bit deceptive and seductive. Of course, he would have the same thing going in his own life but it would perhaps be difficult for us to spot. He also has Moon quintile Venus and he definitely has a style/quality of emotional-physical comfort. He has Pluto quintile the AC, which would point to a style of showing up in the world that is powerful and intense. He has a tendency to come off as destructive and chaotic at times. There’s also a quintile aspect forming between Mercury in the 8th house and the MC which would hint to a public image that is colored by the “taboo” things he has said about his family in the recent present, but also in the past. He’s a public image that is aligning with the style of the playful amoral trickster.

As I’m going with charts I’ve already explored, let’s look at the quintiles in Meghan Markle’s chart. Her Venus is quintile Uranus and it perfectly describes her style of “wokeism”, that is, appearing to be objective and intelligent about feelings and affective values. She has a style of being “the loving humanitarian”. Whether she is this way in an actual sense is debatable. The quintile aspect is describing the quality and style not the actuality. But, it is disturbingly close to reality that it somehow becomes reality. It’s like the actor who adopts another energy signature in order to portray a different person. It doesn’t really matter if a person is rotten at the core - if he has a loving way of being, what difference does it make? The style is real enough to not reflect and give the impression of love.

Semi-square (45°) / Sesquiquadrate (135°)

These aspects are said to precipitate events. The nature of these two aspects is more immediate than the square aspect (which causes tension and doubt and needs constant navigation). The conflict represented is usually unconscious and is therefore not easy to identify. However, as these conflicts tend to manifest quite abruptly, we can take a look at the concrete problems the person faces. The planets connected by a semi-square/sesquiquadrate aspect will be in conflict but force some kind of release (that may result in an accident because of it’s autonomous/unconscious function).

I have Saturn sesquiquadrate my Moon. Since I tend to unconsciously block my emotional responses, the pressure builds and I am “forced” to get out of a situation, “forced to listen to my emotions”. I have encountered the theory that the sesquiquadrate in particular is manifesting as something that is looked down upon societally. This would make sense considering the aspect forces a breakout of one of the planets and nothing that is immediate and abrupt is ever favorably looked upon when it comes to social-societal structure and predictability. I have been meaning to take on commitments that would further my status in society in terms of formal education (Saturn in the 9th conjunct the MC) but I have not been able to do it without considerable decline in my emotional well-being. So, I have been “thrown out” by unconscious forces every time I’ve tried.

My sister has her Venus sesquiquadrate Saturn. She’s known for her deliberate and strategic way of dressing. She plans her outfits carefully, there’s nothing haphazard about the way she presents herself. However, she has Lilith conjunct Venus so she can push the limits and simply do what she pleases sometimes as well when the pressure of Saturn becomes too much. But, this often causes external judgment. A relative of mine has her Sun semi-square Venus. I can tell that she’s highly aware of her appearance. She is very pretty but there’s always something that is a bit off between what she wears and her self-expression. It’s like it doesn’t quite fit and it’s irritating.

To get back to the celebrities, Meghan Markle has Neptune sesquiquadrate Mercury. Is it possible that this forces distortion and vagueness in opinion and communication? It would certainly fit the bill. She also has Uranus sesquiquadrate Mars. She simply has to “break out of her confining situations”, cut people out of her life and move on in her own way. Uranus is also sesquiquadrate her MC, which seems to point to her unconscious pull to “do what she wants to do” at the detriment of her public image and reputation. Notably, Uranus sits in her 5th house of personal enjoyment and creation.

Prince Harry has a semi-square between Mars and Pluto. When he is angry it blossoms into rage and he can’t see straight. It has gotten him into quite a lot of trouble and societal-social disapproval. It seems that this is a common theme with the sesquiquadrate and semi-square. He also has his Moon sesquiquadrate Jupiter. Isn’t it the case that he tends to indulge in a way that makes him look bad in society?

Quincunx (150°)

This aspect is typically found between planets incompatible by element and mode. Basically, they have nothing in common and have a hard time cooperating, which will cause minor stress in the individual because of necessity to work around the incompatibilities. The planets are not in direct conflict but they are uncomfortable with each other.

For example, I have my Moon quincunx Mercury. Every time I sit down to write I’m mildly disturbed by little things like an aching back, a headache, restless legs or whatever. It’s not very comfortable for me but I can still keep with it, however it might take a toll on me health wise. The quincunx has been related to health issues because of the mild stress that it causes. It is manageable and one is usually able to cope with the stress, but it’s not very pleasant. Because it is not as demanding as more disturbing conflicts in one’s life, it’s in the background causing irritation.

Meghan Markle’s Venus makes a quincunx aspect to her MC. This suggests that she has a hard time reflecting her value on a public level, it’s as if how she’s perceived publicly disturbs her sense of ease and comfort. She has an Aries MC with a Virgo Venus and she’s continuously depicted as a bully these days, as some kind a selfish and aggressive bitch (the more negative attributes of Aries). This must be undermining her self-worth immensely, however, it’s perhaps too minor of a problem to do anything about. It is still there nonetheless, harping on in the background, breaking her down and causing slow disintegration…

Semi-sextile (30°)

Planets forming semi-sextile aspects are said to be able to aid each other, to have a better connection than if they had no link at all. Usually one planet is in the sign that comes before the sign of the other; in other words, a semi-sextile might be forming between Mars in Aries and Venus in Taurus. The semi-sextile usually connects consecutive sign like this, but planets could be in semi-sextile in the same sign, like Mars in 0° Taurus semi-sextile Venus in 30° Taurus. In any case, the planet placed at an earlier degree or in the earlier sign can draw on qualities of the planet in the later degree or the later sign and vice versa. For example, Prince Harry’s Venus in Libra is semi-sextile his MC. He can draw on his sense of harmony a diplomacy to benefit his public image. His Mars in Sagittarius is also semi-sextile his MC, which makes it so that he can draw from his Martial qualities of energy and action to influence his career and success.

Parallel/Contra-parallel

These are called aspects in declination because they are measured by latitude and not by longitude. This essentially means that two planetary bodies can aspect each other in a certain way measuring the distance between them north-south of the celestial equator. Two planets at the same degree north and south of the equator form a parallel aspect and can be interpreted the same as a conjunction (some say that it's more obscure like a quincunx/semi-square). Two planets opposite each other north and south form a contra-parallel aspect and can be interpreted as an opposition (some say that it's basically the same as the parallel though).

I have found, looking at my own chart that these aspects only confirms already existing aspects measured by longitude or it confirms the sign that a specific angle is in. For example, my MC is in Aries and it is also parallel Mars. Mars is the ruler of Aries so it emphasizes my already martial MC. My Sun is conjunct Saturn and it’s also parallel Saturn. My sister has a Scorpio MC and it’s also parallel Pluto, the natural ruler of Scorpio. For example, my sister has a wide Moon-Mars conjunction (6°) but they are also in contra-parallel. How is this supposed to be interpreted? I would simply see it as Moon-Mars is connected strongly despite the orb being a little wide with the conjunction.

However, it’s not always the case that parallel and contra-parallel aspects only confirms already existing influences. They can also add themes and connections. My sister doesn’t have any longitude aspects between Saturn and Uranus but they are contra-parallel to each other.

Septile (51.43° - a 1/7 of the 360°)

It is said to indicate a hidden flow of energy between the planets involved, an inner sensitivity to the spiritual dimension of the planets. Another description I have come across is that the planets “darkly interact” and there’s an occult theme surrounding the connection.

I have Venus septile Jupiter in my own chart. Going by the said method of interpretation, it would mean that I have sensitivity to the hidden wealth and underlying beauty and abundance in life. I think it is quite accurate.

Novile (40° - 1/9 of the 360°)

Is said to be describing a contact of perfection/idealization. It also seems to have something to do with spiritual awakening and growth, lack of fear and freedom.

Having Sun novile Saturn for example could be interpreted as a feeling of communion with the world and life itself through responsibility and the control one can exercise through self-expression.

----

There are of course other minor aspects to explore, but I'll stop here for now.

#astrology #aspects in astrology #minor aspects #minor aspects in astrology #quintile #bi-quintile #semi-square #sesquiquadrate #quincunx #parallel and contra-parallel #aspects of declination #prallel aspects #contra-parallel aspects #septile #novile #aspects in the natal chart #aspects #aspects in declination

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st0nesnglitter · 3 years

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The boss

This man, this fucking man, will be the death of me

Also it’s the gifs fault this has taken so long cause I’ve just been staring at him

Also thanks to @quindolyn who helped me write a part of this so I could get it out

Disclaimer: This is just a piece of fiction and the abuse of this power balance isn’t acceptable.

Smut lol

The constant tapping of keys could make you mad sometimes, a pattering melody that indicated that time was passing during your work days. The job was simple. Check emails, answer the phone and keep track of his schedule. During the months of working for Mr. Black you had also developed a habit of ordering his lunch. In his top drawer he always had some crappy candy to keep him going, sometimes walking down to the floor below to get himself a coffee, and nothing more. So you asked him if he wanted a sandwich when you got back from your lunch break and kept doing it ever since.

The sound of buzzing pulled you from your thoughts and you looked down to press the intercom button.

“What do you need, sir?” You asked politely and looked over at the calendar to make sure you haven’t forgotten anything.

“Will you please get in here?” Sirius responded before dropping the conversation, keeping pleasantries short.

You stood up and straightened out your skirt before walking around your desk. Even though didn’t need to you gave the door a small knock before opening the door to his office.

“What can I help you with?” You asked sweetly and closed the door behind you.

Sirius sat behind his pitch black desk wearing just a dress shirt and slacks, his jacket descarded over the stiff sofa by the window. His hair was pulled into a bun that sat at the bottom of his neck, a couple curls had sprung free and framed his face.

“Can you look over these forms for me and then get them down to HR?” He asked holding a folder up toward you and you stepped forward to take it.

“Sure, should I make copies and get them back here or are HR filing them?” You asked as you flipped through the papers to get an understanding of what they were about.

“Tell them to file them, don’t want to put any more work load on you, love” he said and looked up with a smile, before turning back to his screen, “that’s all”.

You took the folder and walked out to your desk again, a little more flushed in the face than when you walked in. Before you took the job you had heard how the boss was harsh and pretty mean when he wanted to, but Sirius seemed to have taken a liking to you. He had only spoken kind words to you and had never made you worked overtime. In the mornings he always greeted you, sometimes staying to have a chat about the day ahead, and if he didn’t stay to work late into the night he always bid you goodbye.

Your thoughts started to wander into a daydream as you tried to read the forms he had given you, slowly drifting to some rather inappropriate thoughts to have about your boss. But how could you not when he looked like that? Eyes shining like the moon with such a depth that could make anyone lose their breath, hair silky and shiny that fell over his shoulders perfectly and the most blinding smile. How you got to see him so dressed everyday always made your mind wander to how he looked under his clothes. And his hands, oh his hands, were the most glorious things you’ve seen. The rings he wears, the way the veins pop out when he grips a pen and how he gestures to make his point clear always made you drool and your knees buckle. It always ended up with you thinking about how his hands would feel on you.

You shook your head to rid the thoughts and took a deep breath. After lazily reading through you walked three offices over to give them over to HR. The secretary behind the desk was unfamiliar to you and you greeted him with a smile, making some small talk before walking back to your desk.

The rest of your work day was uneventful. Talking with other companies over the phone, planning meetings and updating Sirius’ schedule over the next month.

Two men walked in for an afternoon meeting and you decided to take a little break, going down to the nearest cafe.

When the two men came back out you met them with a smile and the blonde one walked up to your desk.

”He wants you to in there” he said before giving you a quick nod.

You finished up the email you were writing and went into the office. Sirius sat behind his desk with his jaw clenched, fingers tapping against the wood of the table.

“What’s wrong Sir?” It was clear that something was wrong with Sirius, tension radiated off of him, if the physical signs weren’t clear enough.

“Close the door please,” he commanded with a stern tone and a slight unpleasant feeling washed over you as his irritation was now directed toward you. For the whole time you had worked for him he had never been harsh against you.

Closing the door behind you, making sure it latched, you walked further into his office and thoughts were flashing in your head. Is he going go fire you? Did something happen to the deal? Was it your fault?

“Did those men bother you?” He asked, his eyes holding yours with what seemed like a kindness hidden behind layers of despise and

You furrowed your brow in confusion, had you missed something? The only words they had uttered to you was about him wanting you in his office.

“No sir, is something the matter?” He was silent, “Did they agree to your proposal? Should I begin the paperwork?”

He scoffed, leaning back further in his chair, “I won’t be doing business with them. I’m sorry if you wasted your time with beginning the paperwork.”

“It’s fine, I didn’t start it but may I ask why not? It seemed like a promising partnership.”

Sirius sighed as he massaged the bridge of his nose, seemingly very upset over something. When he didn’t answer right away you opened your mouth to say some rushed apology if you overstepped some boundaries, but then his cool grey eyes shot up at you.

“They said some very unprofessional things about you and I don’t wanna validate their statements by going into a partnership with them”.

You were slightly taken aback by his statement: both relieved that you were not the one who explicitly did something but also even more stressed since he blew off a big deal because of you.

“Mr. Black, if I’m in some way am standing in the way of this deal I can stand back, work behind the scen-“ you started but got cut off by him standing up abruptly.

“You did not do anything wrong. They’re just sexist pigs who obviously never been in the presence of a gorgeous woman” he muttered out, dropping the professionalism and the proper words, shifting the energy in the room.

He turned around to look at you, the line in between his eyebrows softening and he slowly tilted his head.

“M’ sorry, didn’t mean to put this in you” Sirius put his hands in his back pockets and pulled his lips into a thin line.

“I’m just confused why you aren’t more upset about the deal” you said honestly, feeling comfortable to share your thoughts in the more casual conversation you had, “I’ve been planning sub-meetings for weeks”.

“They disrespected you! Said some shit about you being a trophy” he sighed and leaned against the front of his desk, “can’t stand stuff like that”.

Your eyebrows knitted together tighter and let your head fall into a shake as you huffed slightly.

“Don’t understand why I go higher than a multi million dollar deal”.

Sirius looked back up to you again and sighed, but not as frustrated anymore.

“You really don’t get it, huh?” He asked, mostly rhetorically, but was encouraged to continue when he saw your little shake, “you are ethereal. You have this magnetism to you and I’ve tried to stay away but it’s so fucking hard!”

You gasped slightly at his word and in a haze from his compliments you took two small steps forward, getting closer to him.

“Why don’t you try not staying away from me?” You asked in a quiet voice, almost like you didn’t want him to hear.

But, oh, did he hear you and he closed the gap in between you, soft lips grazing yours. He stopped his movements right before it became an actual kiss, savoring the moment before crashing into you.

The kiss went from slow and reassuringly to heated in a matter of minutes and you started to grip onto him harder, pulling him as close as possible. But as his kiss went down your neck you realized where you were and who you were doing this with.

“We.. we maybe shouldn’t do it here, in your office” you whimpered out, but your grip on him to get him closer, “you’re my boss”.

His lips kept attacking your neck, sucking and biting, and he huffed at your comment.

”We can stop if you want, just say the words” he challenged and nipped extra hard at your neck.

You shook your head violently and let out a gasp at the feeling of his teeth grazing your skin, right by your pulsepoint.

“You’re a teenage wet dream” he pulled away to look at you, his lips a little swollen, “the sexy secretary”. He punctuated his words by grabbing a handful of your ass.

Sirius’ lips went back to your neck but slower this time. The passion was still their but it felt like he made an attempt to savor it, to take his time. His hands gripped onto your hips to push you closer to him.

“Do you know how many times I’ve wanted to bend you over my desk?” He growled as he pulled off his tie, snapping you out of your shock and your hand went to help him with the buttons of his white shirt.

His movements were harsh but you were always comfortable, he kept pulling away for eye-contact to make sure you weren’t regretting anything. And in your frenzy of pulling at the fabrics around his body your brushed against the package in his pants and his whole self tensed up. At first the placement of your movements and his reaction didn’t connect, but when it clicked you laughed breathlessly and started to palm his softly.

“Did that feel good, Mr. Black?” You asked as innocently as you could when you stood there with your skirt hiked up, red marks all over your neck and with your hand on your boss’ bulge.

“Oh you little minx” he growled before reaching for the buttons of your blouse.

Slowly the black fabric of your bra started showing and he let his forehead fall onto your shoulder, letting out a low groan, before taking in the view that was your chest. His eyes raked over your figure and a mix between a giddy smile and a mischievous smirk found its way onto his lips.

“You’re gorgeous, and all for me, huh?” He asked as his bottom lip got caught under his teeth.

You backed up so you could rest your butt against his desk, pushing his shirt off of his shoulders. Sirius’ hands found their way to the back of your skirt, fiddling with the zipper until he felt the nod of your head, pulling it down so you could step out of the garment.

When he got a glance of the black fabric of your panties that matched the bra he let his head fall back. You weren’t ashamed to admit that a chunk if your paycheck went to pretty underwear, one of your favorite ways of self-care.

He started undoing his pants as he watched you, eyes slightly glazed, and with his full attention on your body you felt a surge of confidence and your hands went behind your back to unclasp your bra. You let it fall to the ground, next to the rest of your clothes, and you smiled proudly at him.

“You’re gonna be the death of me” he muttered as he grabbed onto you again, kicking his pants of off him, “gotta be quick, love, and I promise to make it up to you”.

Sirius hooked two fingers under the waistband of your underwear and slid them down your legs, kissing his way back up. Somehow he had pulled down his boxers too and your eyes went down to see the most glorious dick you’ve ever seen. Instinctively you went down to grab it but he caught you.

“Can’t right now darling, gotta be inside you right now or I might combust” he grabbed onto your hips and placed you firmly on the desk.

With your legs spread he had easy access to slowly push into you, eyes trained on yours to detect any discomfort. Your breath hitched as you felt him stretch you out, dragging a hand through his raven hair.

“Fuckin’ hell, you feel so good” he let his head once again fall against your shoulder as he slowly brought his hips away from you, feeling every intricate detail of your inner walls.

The lazy pace didn’t last long though as his hips started to snap into yours, a rush flowing through his veins to make you feel as good as possible. You wrapped your legs around him and hooked your feet at small of your back.

“Harder Sirius, please” you whined, slightly embarrassed that he had made you so desperate so quickly, but the pleasure that resulted in your command let those thoughts fall out of your head quickly.

The sound in his office was downright filthy as you both moaned out loud, skin slapping against each other. Even though you were at a considerably public place that didn’t stop the noises that he pulled out of you.

“Fuck you’re so big, sir” you didn’t mean to utter the title in that moment, your need to be professional hardwired into you, and you felt Sirius slow down slightly.

“Say that again” he demanded.

“Yo-you’re so big... sir” you mewled out and his eyes scrunched together.

The speed that his hips were moving most have been close to speed of light, your body moving around like a ragdoll on the furniture. A pressure was forming in your lower stomach and an urgent need for release filled you. Your hand went down to rub at your clit but he swatted it away to do it himself.

“Are you getting close?” He breathed out, his thumb moving deliciously over your bundle of nerves.

The combination of stimulation got you so close that you couldn’t even utter the words before crashing over the edge. The way you squeezed him got him there too, filling you up with warm ropes of cum.

The two of you stood there for a while, foreheads pressed together, and basked in this new form of intimacy. Sirius slowly moved to pull out of you and let out a puff of laugh as he looked down at his clock.

“Seems like I might have kept you in the office after hours” Sirius smiled brightly at you and you shook your head with a giggle.

“Fine by me if that’s the work I do after hours.”

#sirius black #sirius black smut #sirius black headcanon #sirius black one shot #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius black blurb #sirius black fic

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thedamageofherdays · 3 years

Text

This week's (16-08-2021 - 22-08-2021) reading log is here. This week's reading log is super duper long and filled with lots of good things (my apologies for the long post, I really could not find a good spot to do a read more). I discovered some new favourites and re-read some old favourites and while I had an intense week personally at least the fics I read were absolutely phenomenal. I do recommend checking out the warnings as some fics are a bit heavier/angstier and you might wanna be prepared. Most of these fics are Stucky but there are a couple of other ships in between.

If you are looking for more fun and/or good things make sure to check out the @marveldisabilitycelebration as well to see all the awesome art, fics, meta, etcetera people created! And while I am mentioning events I am a mod for let me also just quickly mention that sign-ups for the @stuckygiftexchange are still open until the end of the month <3

Favourites are marked with a 🌻 Fics that are only available to AO3 users are marked with a 🔒 and Tumblr fics are marked with a 🍀

🌻 The Bends by dreamsinthewitchouse @dreamsinthewitchouse [Danbeau, side Stucky, 2k words, Teen]

Memory is not a house you can just walk back into after finding the key you thought you’d lost. It’s a thing you wade into and out of, rewriting it as it rewrites you.

It’s not without its rewards, either - recovering a memory about Maria and Monica, about her life, feels better than socking a thousand bad guys in the face, better than all the photon blasts in the world.

Then again, realising there’s still memories she can’t access, even after all this time, feels like drowning in space.

Not the one out there - the one inside her.

🌻 Sweet & Salty by musette22 @musette22 [Stucky, 3k words, Teen]

Idiots in love. That's it. That's the fic.

When life gives you lemons by moonythejedi394 @moonythejedi394 [Stucky, 34k words, Explicit] (11/15 chapters)

Or 13 Terrible Things to Do With Lemons Other Than Making Lemonade

Steve Rogers is a home health nurse. He works for an agency, which assigned him to the aging Winifred Barnes, the one and only Silent Era Hollywood darling. As her needs increased, she requested the agency assign Steve to her full-time. She could pay for it, so she got it. Steve then moved in with her, becoming her caregiver; he cooked, he cleaned, he managed her medications, he made sure she was comfortable.

Winifred's children treated him less than ideally. He was the help, after all. And then Steve had the audacity to go and turn out to be eldest son James Barnes's soulmate. No one saw that coming.

🍀 SamRhodey Tumblr Fic by ipoiledi [SamRhodey, ? words, Teen?]

“Wilson, this is Rhodey; Rhodey, Wilson,” Tony Stark says, and suddenly some six foot tall sexy guy is shoved right in front of Sam, and they both stumble a little, bumping into each other. This is a crowded party. “You guys have things in common, right?” Stark asks. “Uh, Army stuff. Talk about that. I hate wallflowers; stop wallflowering and talk to each other.”

Shorteralls by moonythejedi394 [Stucky, 6k words, Explicit]

The first time Bucky ever saw Steve Rogers, he was struck by how Neanderthal-like his response was. It was immediately followed by a bout of mental scolding. The second time was just about the same. The third time, it was actually appropriate for Bucky to start a conversation with him, at which point he was determined to be the gentleman.

No such luck. Steve Rogers is, always has been and always will be, a relentless flirt. These days, Bucky's Neanderthal-ist feelings about Steve are consensual and highly appreciated. More so now that they're having a baby.

what the fuck are perfect places anyway by tigerlilycorinne [Stucky, 6k words, Teen]

Steve clears his throat and stands. “Well, I should head in. I might want to begin packing.”

Bucky stills. “You won’t,” he says, trying to sound commanding. It only comes out uncertain. “Don’t.”

Steve shakes his head. “Maybe not tonight,” he says, and Bucky knows they’ll be discussing this again soon.

“Then stay. Play… play cards with me or something.”

Steve’s eyebrows jump up, his mouth tugging up in another of his bemused smiles that do things to Bucky’s insides, but he drops his hand from the doorway and steps back into Bucky’s room. Somehow, Bucky feels as if he’s won—not the war, just the battle.

Steve won’t stay forever. But he’ll stay for cards.

Steve and Bucky, on the run after Civil War (with a few alterations to canon), are laying low in Wakanda. But they can’t stay there forever.

🌻 honestly thought i’d be dead by now, but what you can trust is that i need your touch by moonythejedi394 [Stucky, 105k words, Explicit]

Bucky is 37 years old; he’s unmarried, hasn’t had a Sub of his own, is definitely not ripped, comfortable at his job as an Advanced Practice RN at Brooklyn General ER, and just got his Five Years coin from AA.

Steve is 26 years old; he’s unmarried, his last and only Dom has Alzheimer's, he's worryingly muscular, uncomfortable in his job as the government’s poster Alpha for masculinity and strength, and worries more than he should about his BMI.

Unfortunately, Steve and Bucky meet initially in a not-cute moment. Bucky’s tired as shit thanks to the sudden alien invasion that shook New York and Steve is tired as shit because he hasn’t slept more than 20 minutes at a time in – well, since 1936, probably. Bucky’s Alpha instincts get irritated at the sudden presence of another "Alpha" into his territory and Steve’s suppressed submissive tendencies latch onto this grumpy bachelor Alpha and he only suppresses it further.

Bucky’s grumpiness and Steve’s duckling impressionism aside, both of them are a mess. But since both of them are a mess? Their messes seem to fit pretty well together.

Deep Sea Diving by Aida Ronan [Stucky, 5k words, Explicit]

Steve's wallowing in heat-related misery under a shade tree in Central Park when a man walks by in bright red booty shorts and a crop top. RIP Steve Rogers. It was nice knowing you.

honey, make this easy by steebadore [Stucky, 8k words, Explicit]

Bucky likes the way he looks. His silk button up with the tiny gold polka dots feels soft on his skin and is tailored perfectly; no pulling at his chest or belly. His hair falls in shiny dark waves and his skin is smooth and dewy. He looks expensive. He looks taken care of. He looks like Steve’s.

🌻 let's take it back to the start by howdoyousleep @howdoyousleep3 [Stucky, 6k words, Teen]

How it all began.

This sleepwalking through my life. by barthelme [Stucky, 1k words, Explicit]

The internet is an interesting place and when Bucky came home (or, when he came to live with Steve), Steve did a lot of research. Apparently, it’s not safe to wake a sleepwalker. He assumes that waking a sleepwalker with traumatic dreams and PTSD is beyond just being frowned upon.

And he tells himself--has told himself--that this is safer for Bucky. That if he were to stop him and wake him up, that Bucky would be mortified to be slurping on his best friend’s cock. That all of the improvements he’s made would be lost, would be repressed, would be just--

They’d be back at square one.

So he lets Bucky do it.

🌻 the way i've been craving by howdoyousleep [Stucky, 3k words, Explicit]

"Lunch break at 12:30. My office. Hope you’re hungry…"

It’s the ellipsis that sends Bucky’s insides swimming warmly, his heart beating twice as fast against his ribs where he sits in class. Senator Rogers is concise, direct, to the point. Without an ellipsis this is lunch, this is a meeting. With it though?

This is a booty call.

nasty but classy by howdoyousleep [Stucky, 4k words, Explicit]

“No, you don’t have to know the purpose, that doesn’t matter. Nat showed me this challenge where couples drink a lot of wine and get drunk together but they can’t touch each other. And whoever touches the other first has to...has to give the other head.”

🌻 Put It on Repeat, It Stays the Same by giselleslash [Stucky, 20k words, Explicit]

Steve and Bucky have a one night stand that turns into a friends with benefits situation. A weekend snowed in at Bucky’s apartment brings to light how much that really doesn’t suit either one of them.

Greetings to the New Brunette by victoria_p (musesfool) [Stucky, 10k words, General]

"You said he should have a hobby. That it would help."

"I meant, like, knitting or coin collecting. Motocross, if he was feeling antsy. A baby's not a hobby. It's lifetime commitment."

🌻 Rogers & Barnes: Partners by triedunture [Stucky, 10k words, Teen]

Steve and Bucky have to pose as a couple for a mission. Nat insists it really is the only option. She's checked.

The complication: unbeknownst to even Natasha, Steve and Bucky's friendship has been rocky ever since Bucky confessed his tender feelings and Steve left him out in the cold. Can asexual, completely-in-love-with-his-angry-best-friend Steve complete the mission and win Bucky's heart?

(The answer is yes. Yay!)

this will be our year (took a long time to come) by biblionerd07 [Stucky, 4k words, General]

Bucky's therapist is worried he's using Steve as a crutch and wants him to try going on outings without Steve. It wouldn't be terrible, honestly, if Bucky could just manage to open his mouth and say something to Steve.

I'll hold my breath by Little_Lottie (tfwatson) [Stucky, 8k words, Mature]

Sometimes Bucky’s hands flex in Steve's direction. Neither of them knows exactly why, but at least one of them has a hunch.

Bucky touches everything but Steve, even though Steve is all he really wants to touch.

Start from the Beginning by Mumble_Bee [Stucky, 13k words, Explicit]

What about a sex pollen fic where the pollen-ed one doesn’t remember getting hit in the face with a sex flower, and wakes up midway through the depollenating?

Or: the one where Steve wakes up on his back with a stranger buried balls-deep in his ass.

Match by emphasisonem [Stucky, 4k words, Mature]

The situation’s actually kind of funny from the right perspective, Bucky thinks as he reads the message for what feels like the hundredth time. He’s finally matched with a hot, funny guy. Tall and broad and clean cut. An absolutely breathtaking smile. Bucky’s walking wet dream. And he’s good. They haven’t messaged on the app, but Bucky already knows him.

He knows him because Steve Rogers is an art history professor at his university. His art history professor.

Best friends and married since childhood by StuckySituation [Stucky, 1k words, General]

Inspired by @/peterssquill's post in tumblr: "bucky and steve got married on the playground when they were like eight and though neither of them would ever admit it to anyone, even each other, they still consider it official"

~♥~ ♥~ ♥~

“Natasha, stop trying to set me up with every woman you meet, I’m-”

“Too shy? Too scared?”

“No, I’m-”

“Too busy? You’re mostly retired these days, not a good excuse anymore.” Natasha smirks and then drawls: “Or just too gay?”

Steve flushes at that, even if isn’t true -- he’s bisexual, not gay. “Let it go, Nat, I’m not looking for anything. I’m already married, for fuck’s sake.”

Clearly not what she expected. “What.”

Steve grimaces. He didn’t mean to tell anyone that, ever.

“Sorry, can’t talk about it right now!” he says and jumps out of the plane.

Nobody Should Be Alone on a Holiday by emphasisonem [Stucky, 2k words, Teen]

“So, um-” Bucky begins speaking again, pulling Steve from his less-than-work-appropriate thoughts. The brunet has shoved his hands into the pockets of his dark slacks, and he’s shifting from one foot to the other as he smiles shyly. “I have a question for you.”

“Shoot,” Steve grins, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his broad chest. Bucky swallows deeply as one of his hands comes up to pull at the collar of his button-up, and Steve can’t help following the motion of his Adam’s apple.

“I was, uh-” Bucky continues- “That is, I heard you don’t have Thanksgiving plans?”

In which Bucky finds out that Steve's going to be alone on Thanksgiving and invites his coworker to spend the holiday with him.

🌻 It's Been A Long Season Through by thiccbuckybarnes @thiccbuckybarnesfic [Stucky, 49k words, Explicit]

Bucky Barnes is in desperate need of a change in scenery, which is why he makes the foolhardy decision to quit his job, leave his asshole of a fiance, pack up his life, and move to his grandfather’s old farm all within a single day.

He expects confusion, hardship, and maybe even failure. But love? He wasn’t expecting that.

Or, a Stucky Stardew Valley AU that nobody but me wanted and that’s ok.

oh, peach pit, where'd the hours go? by thiccbuckybarnes [Stucky, 10k words, Explicit]

Can't see the forest for the trees.

Or, Steve learns that just because he and Bucky got their happily ever after, it doesn’t mean the past won’t come back to bite them.

I'll find my way by rainbow_nerds [Stucky, 725 words, Teen]

Steve had watched Bucky fall, and nothing had been the same since.

AU-gust day 19: Daemons

special delivery by glim @glim [Stucky, 6k words, Teen]

It's not that Steve's bad at taking care of himself when he gets sick; he just wishes he didn't have to all the time.

At least he can order most of what he needs online. That's some small comfort, that he can have soup and ice cream and everything else brought to his door.

at first chance i'd take the bed warmed by the body by spacebuck @spacebuck [Stucky, 8k words, Explicit]

This close, Steve can see exactly how beautiful his hands are. He’s never really noticed before, or at least he’s never really had a reason to notice, but the man’s hands are large, tanned like he works outside all day. There’s an endearing callus on the heel of one of his palms, and Steve can’t quite work out when calluses became endearing.

Steve pauses the video. Swallows hard. Casts his eyes around for anything that’ll keep his mind off the hands on his screen, off the words inked into those hands, the delicate shape of a bird’s wing, the curling edge of a vine.

He looks down. The name of the channel is right there, blaring the man’s name right into Steve’s brain until it feels like he’s known it all along.

Bucky Barnes.

OR: the one where Bucky's a youtuber who solves puzzles on camera, and steve's smitten and horny

🌻 Rock On! by millesable @marvelousescapism [Clintasha, 700 words, General]

“Hey, Romanoff!”

He lifted his hand, index finger and pinky finger raised, thumb out, all other fingers tucked. Their secret sign; their confession for the world to see, safe in the knowledge that the world wasn’t listening.

“Rock on!”

🌻 You Like the Way I Look by dontcallmebree @iamthe-wo-manwhocan [Stucky, 2k words, Explicit]

Bucky sidles up to him, hand boldly coming to rest on his chest. “What about you, big guy? Care for a dance?” Steve watches Bucky’s eyes twinkle with satisfaction, somehow already knowing he’s got Steve on the hook.

A decade out of the ice, Steve Rogers returns to New York. Reeling from a battle against the Chitauri, a night with the troublesome Bucky Barnes might be just what he needs.

Join the Rebellion by rainbow_nerds [Stucky, 765 words, Teen]

Bucky knew he shouldn't be out after curfew, but he couldn't resist the urge. He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew it was where he wanted to be.

AU-gust day 20: Dystopia

🔒 Five Days in December by mywingsareonwheels @mywingsareonwheels [Evanstan, 4k words, Teen]

“Shit shit shit shit...” muttered Chris to himself, glad that the sound of piped Christmas carols was drowning out his swearing amid the picture books. Most of the store was heaving even though it was Sunday, he’d been recognised at least three times, finding presents for all of his nieces and nephews was proving far more of a headache than expected, and he’d just sent a pile of copies of "Strictly No Elephants" tumbling off the bookshelf.

He scrambled about trying to pick them all up, and then dropped them again as someone bumped right into his backside. He lost his balance, caught himself against a bookcase, and a landslide of "Carter Is a Painter’s Cat" joined "Strictly No Elephants" on the floor. He yelped.

“Ah fuck, I’m so sorry… Chris!”

* * * * * * * * * *

London, December 2021. Amid cats, books, and the cold English drizzle, Chris finds everything he was hoping for and thought he would never have.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Reaching for Fire by dixons_mama @dixons-mama [Stucky, 7k words, Explicit]

Bucky has always felt a fire in his heart (and other body parts) when it came to his boss, Steve Rogers, but he's made sure to never feed those flames. When he finds out about Steve's second job, though, he's tempted to let that fire out.

i've been dreaming of a face like yours by thiccbuckybarnes [Stucky, 3k words, Explicit]

Bucky is about to busy himself with making a small dinner for himself when he stops in his tracks at the figure drinking a cup of coffee in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and smirking at him.

It’s Steve.

“Surprise, sweet boy,” he says before setting his cup down.

Or, PWP reunion sex

🌻 Somewhere, Under Your Skin by thiccbuckybarnes [Stucky, 16k words, Explicit]

Bucky Barnes treats himself to a one-night stand after having a very bad no good day.

The sex is good--great, even. Might be the best sex of his life.

But Bucky wouldn’t have slept with the guy if he had known that he was going to continuously run into him every day for the next fucking month.

Or, a Big Grump Bucky has a hot one night stand with a college kid who is popping up everywhere in his everyday life and he doesn’t know how to deal with it.

(Written for HYBB Bingo Square: Grumpy Bucky)

i've played heartstrings before but not in your key by thiccbuckybarnes [Stucky, 11k words, Explicit]

He glances down, seeing a folded couple of papers, before peering up at Bucky. The older man is biting his bottom lip, making it pretty and red. Steve wants to run his tongue across where his teeth are digging into his flesh.

"What's this?" Steve asks, setting his phone down, emails forgotten. Bucky shrugs and looks away.

"I dunno. You tell me, genius," he says, sounding bratty enough that it makes Steve's dick twitch in his pants. Jesus, there has to be something wrong with him.

Steve glances once more at Bucky, who now has his arms crossed against his chest and is pointedly not looking at Steve, before picking up the stack of folded papers. He opens them, seeing a collection of maybe five or six sheets of paper. His eyes immediately land on the list of familiar words with negative next to each one. -- Or, Steve Rogers is a jealous, possessive little shit that wants nothing more than to mark up his boyfriend and stake his claim. And Bucky knows it. (And he likes it.)

🌻 I'm Home (With You) by BonkyBornes @padfoot-and-the-marauders [Stucky, 2k words, General]

In any other circumstance, the apartment would've been perfect. But it was today, and the fact that he was here meant he wasn’t out searching. He knew they hadn’t had any leads for weeks and he knew Natasha was right; all three of them were exhausted and a break would do them good. It just felt wrong to Steve that he was comfortable while Bucky was still out there—somewhere. Probably cold. Probably hungry.

The knock came again. Sighing, Steve unwrapped his hand from the dog tags and remembered how to move. Cold wind and snow greeted him when he opened the door. The solitary figure was walking down the steps, collar popped against the chill.

“Did you need something?” he called.

The person stopped. They were still. And then they turned. *

Or, the Christmas Steve deserved after Winter Soldier.

The portrait by rainbow_nerds [Stucky, 915 words, General]

Steve Rogers has a Gift. He can help people find their soulmates, all he needs is some art supplies, a quiet place, and eye contact.

AU-gust day 21: soulmates

Maybe A Muse by buckybarnesdeservestobehappy [Stucky, 2k words, Mature]

When Bucky Barnes needs extra money, he’s appalled that his best friends think he should become a model for the art department on campus. Shy, nerdy, and socially awkward, he’s not sure that’s something he feels comfortable doing. Still, he needs money, and he likes the idea of becoming someone’s muse. The problem is he had no idea two things would happen. First, one of the students in the class is exactly his type; second, he has to model nude.

#my reading log #r's reading log #fic rec #stucky fic rec #fics recs #stucky #danbeau #samrhodey #longpost #long post #clintasha #evanstan

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tartagilicious · 3 years

Text

sun and moon > xiao

happy (late-ish) valentine’s day yall! thank you, mihoyo, for once again reminding me that i’m easily attached to emotionally unavailable pretty boys. the "I hate everyone but you" trope is real here, I wanna be his friend and gain his trust like this is a mf otome game. to anyone still pulling for him, good luck~ don’t worry, you have a little bit more time and more free rewards are also on the way!! have some soft xiao for good luck >:D // w.c 1.9k // not a request

also a big ty to @seerie for being my beta reader, bc I don’t know what I’m doing 🥴

summer sky by asking for a friend

You hiss softly as Xiao runs a damp cloth over the gash adorning the length of your cheekbone, face scrunching as his eyes narrow in concentration. It feels somehow wrong to have him taking care of you, much less sitting in front of you and dressing your wounds himself.

A majority of the bleeding had stopped not long ago, but there's still another fear that plagues you more -- your agreement with the yaksha adeptus, or rather contract, specifically trying to combat injuries on your behalf.

You aren’t sure if chickening out on calling him in the midst of the situation you were hurt is grounds for breaking the contract somehow, though either way, Xiao has always seemed to be quite serious regarding his promises. You remember his first and only instructions to you weeks ago being clear and concise,

“If you awake to a knife at your throat, if monsters dig their claws into you, if death comes knocking at your door, call out my name; adeptus Xiao. I will be here when you call.”

Surely a small wound like this wasn’t serious enough?

Xiao pulls the fabric away from your face and silently notes what must be the mess of blood covering it, lips turning up in a grimace. His standards of emergency are usually as one would expect, though lately for whatever reason, even the smallest of your wounds tend to put him in a bad mood.

From such a standoffish person, it’s a bit hard to get used to or understand -- but a part of you is only happy to know that there’s a chance he might care more than he lets on.

“...The abyss mages, they just came out of nowhere,” You try to explain but the silence is deafening. Eyes downcast to the stool beneath your legs, you mumble, “It’s not that big of a deal.”

Xiao doesn’t give any more of a reaction than an arched brow and a slight gesture with the gruesomely dyed cloth. You half expect him to be irritated; to give you a lecture on keeping an eye on your surroundings or to take better care of yourself, but he doesn’t. Instead, he looks away and shakes his head, spiking your nerves with a low sigh.

He looks back at you as he rests his elbow on his knee and thrusts out the cloth again, almost in exasperation. “Why didn’t you call my name?”

You feel the blood drain from your face as the words leave his mouth, and suddenly, you’re terrified to answer honestly. As already long-established, Xiao is someone who despite thousands of years of trauma, remains as hard as the rock of the nation he watches over. Compared to his lifespan, you’re relatively immature, so the last thing you want is to give an embarrassing reason to make him think that you suddenly don’t trust him enough to help.

“I-I don’t know,” You stutter and curse pitifully inside your head as you return his eye contact. “But I can’t just call you every time I’m in trouble, especially when I think I can deal with it myself, right?”

He scoffs as if you’ve just said the most ridiculous thing.

“This shouldn’t have to be a discussion. Your capabilities don’t lack anything, but your hesitation may very well be the death of you.”

“I never hesitated,” Though your voice is more steadfast, any illusion of confidence is shattered by the way you fidget with your hands. “I only misjudged. I make mistakes sometimes, but I think you forget that I’ll heal even after the worst of these injuries.”

Xiao sighs and crumples the bloodstained cloth in the palm of his hand, caging himself in his arms before speaking again -- just as he always does.

“Don’t be outrageous, I haven’t forgotten anything.” He averts his gaze and for a moment, you swear that you notice the tips of his ears flush. “It’s only ignorant to assume that I want to see you injured.”

Your brows knit as a similar knot slides down your throat. “I just, I just don’t get why you’re so worried about it.”

He stares at you, once again, as if you’ve just said something completely outlandish -- as if it wasn’t as hard to tell what he was thinking beneath such a guarded personality as you made it out to be.

“What?” You ask, slightly exasperated as you sit up straighter. You had still been sitting as if he were cleaning your wounds. “Is that not a valid question? It seems like you want nothing to do with anyone, but then turn around and worry when I’m hurt?”

“How could you do that and still not know why I hesitate to call for you?” Exasperated, you exhale and shut your eyes for a moment, deliberately avoid seeing his reaction to these words.

“...All I mean, is that sometimes it’s hard to tell what you’re thinking -- I feel like I’m bothering you, even if it might be in a situation where I really do need you.”

For a moment, Xiao is blatantly surprised by your reason for not upholding the contract you’d made. It almost gives you the impression that in your spiel, you’ve said something completely idiotic. A gradual flush of embarrassment flares up beneath your skin, but thankfully, you contain yourself before you have the chance to blurt out anything you’d regret.

His lips twist ever so slightly, as if he’s combing through things to respond with in his head. Obviously a bit flustered to hear your reasoning, it’s odd to see him in such a way, albeit while somehow remaining so uniquely him

“You… really are incomprehensible.”

Turning his head to shield his expression, he discards the cloth by tossing it in a nearby basket and stands. Your eyes follow him up until his own turn back towards you, golden irises glinting with a sort of hesitant concentration. You blink.

“If you trust me enough to enter a contract where i very well might decide between your life and death, do well and also trust me as someone who doesn’t break their promises.” Xiao’s brows fold delicately, as if mulling over the words coming out of hisin real time. “___, I don’t want to see you hurt like this.”

Your heartbeat briefly stutters, lips opening and closing as if to say something even when no thoughts are formed. Eyes trailing back down to your hands, you let out a small sigh. Before you can say anything, though, a gloved hand takes your chin and gently guides your eyes back upwards.

“So don’t hesitate.” His touch is soft as he maintains comfortable eye contact with you despite the straight-forward words. “I won’t allow you to die because of me.”

Blood pumps wildly through your ears as you suck in a breath of apprehension. As hard as you try to break away your gaze, something in his face keeps you anchored even when your chest begins to seize; a face that has been hardened over a millenia of suffering stares back at you with the improper care of a hopeful innocent, as if you are something that is worthwhile in the purest sense.

You swallow, Xiao’s hand’s position above your throat making it painfully obvious to him how caught off guard you are. Though naturally, if this action of yours makes him falter at all, he does so unnoticeably.

“I won’t,” It’s said slowly, as if you can’t comprehend what exactly you’re saying just yet. “You said I don’t lack anything, but in the moments I do--”

Your lips rest parted as anxiety cuts off the last part of your sentence, but Xiao’s patient expression pushes you forward.

“...I trust you to help me.”

Those words echo in his mind for a moment, ricocheting and hitting even the most unfamiliar parts of himself that he’d long buried. Feelings and memories that have since collected cobwebs begin to resurface and remind him of a more simple time he treasures dearly.

Trust.

Xiao’s thumb ghosts over your jaw, slowly wiping across the skin as he’s propelled deeply into thought -- fortunately too much so to notice the rising pigment on your cheeks.

He himself places his trust in people far and few. You might be different, well acquainted to human customs and the world around you, yet those words from you somehow feel just as special as if the roles are reversed. Your honesty and courage to accompany him has always dug at the cavity in his chest, but to hear you voice the metaphorical fruit of your labour so clearly is an entirely different sense.

All this time he’d blindly protected you, warned you about monsters lurking in the darkness, he’d fallen too far to even realise that you were beginning to change him. He no longer ate alone, nor did he adventure or sleep as he once did -- you had stuck onto him like a stubborn thorn despite, in your words, tending to feel as if you were bothering him. Regardless, he had somehow still earned your valuable companionship, and with it, commendable words that he could accept from you alone.

But there were times where he despised feeling such a way. He battled over the reasons he felt so inflicted when it was you who was injured, or you who chose to stick by him even after he tried so desperately to push you away. It was frustrating, dealing with a gentle care so foreign. Once he was used to your considerate nature, though, it became a different story.

Seeing you hurt began to shift from an expectable casualty to a blow to his own chest.

“...Xiao,” Your voice is hesitantly quiet, and suddenly, his eyes come back into focus. You’re staring at him with hesitant concern, setting his heart abuzz. “Are you okay?”

It’s when you reach up to wrap your hand around his that his mind finally completes his thought.

I love her.

As an Adeptus, he’s lived thousands of lives and outlived many more, and has taken the role of slaughterer before protector throughout many of them. In a way, the latter ways of his previous life have been ingrained him, regardless of those he manages to save in the more current centuries.

He imagines the figures of the spirits of those he’d wronged watching him in this moment, screaming a sound of contempt that he would never hear. They’re right to do so. They have no reason to pray for his happiness, much like he has little reason to pray for forgiveness.

Yet looking down at you, for the first time in a long time, none of that seems to matter.

With little thought, he grips your hand a bit tighter before letting go, his own hand travelling the length of your jaw to bring himself down to you. You remain completely still as he places a gentle kiss above your brow bone, breath hitching.

“I’m okay.” He reassures you quietly, resting there for a moment and sighing a small gust of air onto your skin. You mumble his name softly, hand reaching out to grab a hold of his shirt. The thin layer between your skin and his sends a sudden shiver down his spine, but regardless, he hums in response.

Your voice comes out in a whisper. “Are you sure?”

He nods, for the first time completely certain.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact xiao #genshin impact imagine #xiao x reader #genshin impact xiao x reader #xiao imagines #genshin impact fanfic

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cryptiql · 3 years

Text

smoke signals

pairing: dabi/m!reader

warnings: smoking, mentions of anxiety and abuse, but otherwise okay. please do not read forward if any of the listed warnings might trigger you in any way, and stay safe <3

words: 6.5k

a/n: this is my first ever mha fic and the fact that i decided to do dabi first shows i have some massive balls but i'm giving it a try! if he seems ooc at all or i get some facts wrong, please lmk and i'll fix them. (heavily inspired by smoke signals by phoebe bridgers—would recommend listening to it or any of her other songs while reading)

dabi found the meaning of life in a simple strum of chords; a melody twisted by melancholy tunes that resonated deep within the gates of his mind. they haunt him—either by breaking his conscious from a much needed rest to bring him tossing and turning in the damp air of the loft, or making sure that he stayed wide awake during the late hours of the night and well into the creeping day. the lyrics are so surreal that he has to sit down and contemplate their meaning like an english teacher would to the color red, but they're painted saccharine and drip with honey flowing from the mouth that sings them and he hates it. he hates that he's wasted moments better spent wrecking havoc just to understand that stupid little ditty that clings to his heart like a leech. but this song did not come from his own craft—no.

dabi had known the putrid stench of sweat and vermillion blood when the flames licked at his skin, breaching the coarse flesh of his palms to rain hellfire upon all those who dared oppress him. he could weave lies with knots that would take years to unravel, and set whole cities ablaze with a mere finger. clawing oneself from a well built to drown them in their trauma does tend to leave scars on ones hands, and dabi's body was practically a canvas for mutilation, so he could consider himself an expert on the matter. he could attempt to make such a song by strapping in with his many hours of free time and diligent persona, but his hands were not made for music; neither delicate, sonorous tunes or dark, grating strains. they were made for war.

so if anyone had asks, "no" is his answer. "i don't play." and yes, it is while he's drumming a rhythmic beat that he claims this to be true, but the last thing he thinks about is donning a set of drums during his free time. he's far too distracted by the image of your taper fingers curled around the neck of your guitar to consider anything else.

the gentle but keen plucking of chords startles him from yet another ridiculously long-winded spiel by shigaraki, and dabi swallows a strangled groan behind his grinding teeth. it's in his head, now, and so far the only thing that has succeeded in reaping it from his memory—if only for a few minutes—is the blood stained battlefield that he's found himself fighting on far too many times this month alone.

what's he complaining about, though? it's not as though he minds getting down in the dirt. in fact, he's ecstatic to dig his claws into any gruesome ordeal so long as it benefits him in some way, so why is he so invested in this little to and fro game of twenty questions with the likes of you; someone as significant in the world as a paperclip without paper to hold? why come back, despite there being nothing in it for him besides a series of migraines?

not from you, a voice answers from inside. you're an absolute pleasure.

dabi nearly snarls at the confirmation that his own mind is turning against him, and as he does this, a plume of smoke erupts from his lips, billowing and curving to create intricate patters before dissipating into the atmosphere. a second time. a third. a fourth drag from the cigarette has completely obscured his face from anyone's view, and he relishes in the instant of privacy it gives him. however, it has also blocked him from seeing everyone else in the room, and while he normally would have considered that a blessing, it appears tomura has had enough of it.

you get headaches because you smoke too much, comes a second voice; yours, scolding in a way he'd only expect from a worried mother. dabi only has a split second to register it before shigaraki's head pokes through the fumes, red eyes alight with rage and lips pulled back into a snarl.

"would you quit doing that inside? it's fogging up my brain and i can't think straight." he grates.

"strange—i assumed there wasn't a brain in there to fog up in the first place." tomura's nostrils flare and dabi's pride spikes.

"besides, you came in here and looked directly at me as i was smoking—why didn't you ask me to stop then?"

"i was telling you with my eyes, idiot. you should know when it's time to either take it outside or put the damn thing out. there are ashtrays for a reason, and not everyone here wants to inhale that shit." he interrupts their intense staring contest only to wave his hand to clear the smog. now he can see the rest of the league clearly (oh joy, he thinks) and gives an indignant grunt when spotting toga at the bar table, covering her mouth and nose as a pitiful aim to block her lungs from the smoke. twice, who had unfortunately used up the last pack of his own cigarettes that morning, leans forward to take a whiff, exhaling soon after with satisfaction.

kurogiri stands at his usual spot behind the bar, seemingly unaffected as he idly scrubs away at grime infested glasses, while sako lounges at the opposite end of the room. his mask is on, leaving dabi to wonder if it's been like that all day, or if he just recently put it on to better fend off the fumes. he doesn't really care, whatever the case.

after a beat of silence, dabi wets his lips to respond, a lopsided smirk growing on his features.

"oh, i'm sorry your frail body hasn't adapted to a bit of vapor in the air. and with that flakey skin of yours, it's no wonder you're extra sensitive—"

shigaraki's hands come flying through the next waft to slam against the tabletop where dabi's feet lie, causing it to wobble and creak in protest. the ravenette doesn't even flinch as the harsh, raspy words are spat in his face.

"if you're not going to pay attention, then leave. actually, i'd prefer you do that either way."

and dabi would have happily disregarded his request if not for the faint ringing in his ears, rising higher and higher before receding back into his skull like the tide. a scowl morphs its way onto his once vacant expression as he puts pressure on his temple, rubbing softly where his eyebrows knit together. just for today, he'll indulge his so-called boss's whims. the piercing screech that emits from below when he pushes his chair back does nothing to help with the ever-growing headache, but it hardly matters now that he's headed out the exit. he's able to catch the last fragments of shigaraki's raving before the door closes, leaving him to stand amid the tumult of the city in all of its glory.

the alleyway is dark with looming shadows, but people are still milling about, so dabi considers himself lucky for already being dressed in his disguise. he flips his hood up, pulls the surgical mask over his nose and quickly slides on his sunglasses for good measure before slipping out into the traffic, sometimes going with the flow and then weaving past those moving too slow for his liking.

right now, his patience is a mere thread; hair thin and on the edge of snapping whenever someone bumps his shoulder. their negligence is infuriating, and he's tempted to roast them into a charred, mangled mess then and there—the consequences of blowing his cover be damned—but by some miracle, he manages to refrain from doing so. it takes about five minutes for his temper to shorten to the length of a matchstick, and he knows that one more shove will be what strikes it. dabi pauses for a moment to crane his neck, allowing the sea of people to flow around him like a stream to a rock as he searches for an alternative route. it appears as though he'll have to take his chances with the crowd until he hears the repetitive ringing of a bell and a man's voice calling for passengers to board. public transport was risky, what with him being a menace to society, but he can't possibly be the single most shady dressing person on the train, right?

he wouldn't bother answering his own question when daylight was burning, so dabi pushes himself from the swarm and leaps for the streetcar just as it begins pulling away from the stop. there's a shuddering jolt before the passengers settle in for their departure, and as his palms squeeze the metal railing in response, he notices the peeling red paint clinging to the car's exterior and finds himself staring at it for a ludicrous amount of time, not thinking about anything in particular.

the rickety trolley is semi-packed with civilians, none of whom regard his presence with anything more than a noncommittal glance. good—that makes his job ten times easier. to his chagrin, it runs over more than a few opposing train tracks or crudely paved bumps in the road, and this causes the whole cart to jostle before stilling completely, the process repeating itself over and over.

the knowledge that his trip to the outskirts of town is a short one is the only thing that calms his nerves.

when dabi finally arrives at his destination, the sun is gradually descending from its peak in the sky, and the clouds are more like wispy tufts than the luscious, cotton candy lumps they were just hours earlier. overhead, the baby blue hues turn to shades of opal; a forewarning of rain. the feelings of irritation and malice from earlier are still bound to him like chains that threaten to snap him in half when drawn too tight. the crippling weight causes his feet to drag along the gravel path at a sluggish pace, his own hot breaths fanning against his face from behind the mask. if anyone actually lived out here and they were to see him, their first impression would be that a living corpse had just waltzed onto their property. it was just his luck, then, that you were the only person out here, and by extent, the only one not deterred by his appearance.

even so, dabi's mind kicks into gear. was this a good idea? he doesn't even know why he came here—he just needed a place to blow off steam and his body had already made the choice on its own. this isn't any different from all the other times, though, and he can't ignore the fact when it sits in the pit of his stomach like an anchor. you're always the first person he goes to at times like these (dabi subconsciously rules out the man working at the local 7/11 who sells his liquor cheap, though he's still appreciative of the bottle to numb his thoughts). that tells him more than he wants to know.

your house is quaint, like those old country cottages he sometimes sees pictures of, and squats on a large, grassy mound of earth surrounded by heaps of rocks and sand from the neighboring beach. it merges with a towering lighthouse, and dabi notes that there must not be any sailors due to make port yet, otherwise the light would be on. the second thing he takes in are the flowerbeds sitting under your two front windows, and how they look withered and close to death.

"i wanted to add some color, but i can't keep plants alive for shit." you had said, huffing in amusement to yourself as you tended to the weeping alliums. "succulents are the only exception."

a small pot of them sits on the windowsill, but they seem to have gotten to big for it; the rubbery leaves spilling over the cracked rim. he hardly registers how much of a stalker he must look like until he stands on your welcome mat, peering through the dirty glass panes to find you nowhere in sight. the lights aren't on, so he can only see the outlines of furniture when bands of light stream in to reveal them.

sitting back on the balls of his feet, dabi curses under his breath. it's not like he was expecting anything. how was he supposed to know whether or not you were home when you had no way of telling him?

"jesus, patch!" a shout startles him from his brooding, but he doesn't let it show as he looks towards to ocean. you're hauling yourself over a large rock to wave him over, wearing a familiar grin. so that's why he couldn't see you. dabi makes careful work of leaping over jagged stones and threatening to bake any nosy seagulls as he makes his way to where you sit, with your favored instrument slung over your shoulder. the ghost of a smile graces his lips when he recalls how you would have scolded him for being mean to the birds, but that was before last week.

"pesky fucking bastards—they keep shitting on my music sheets!" another seagull waddles into your vicinity, only to squawk in distress as you shoo it away with your foot. "i wonder if this is natures way of telling me to quit while i'm behind. . ."

after breaching the treacherous terrain and nearly scraping himself in the process, dabi squats on the stone beside yours, looking up at you with hooded eyes. you meet his gaze with nothing short of merriment and a shake of your head.

"if someone had seen you, you would have been arrested on the spot for being a peeping tom." you chuckle, combing a hand through your hair with a smirk. "what? you lookin' you catch me in the nude or something?"

dabi scowls, choosing to ignore the question rather than give into the bait. as if i would be satisfied by looking at anyone but you in that state. he swats the air as if it would drive the notion from his mind like a bothersome fly.

"in the middle of fuck-ass nowhere? i'd never get caught."

"aw, don't be like that. if you really wanted a peek you could've just asked." the mocking tone in your voice spurs him to smack your thigh, which earns a hearty laugh in reply.

"ooh, don't treat me so roughly, or i might begin to like it!"

dabi has had more than enough experience with your flirtatious tendencies, and he feels he should have gotten used to it by now, but his heart still clenches every damn time. the worse part? he can't say that he minds. you don't give him a chance to respond, but dabi hasn't a clue what he would have said, so he lets you continue, watching intently as you rifle through your bag to fish out a guitar pick. shifting into a crisscross position, you perch the guitar on your lap and begin tuning the strings, idly talking about how uneventful the past days have been. dabi pretends not to have heard that it was because he wasn't there to visit, and instead gives his attention to the lighthouse in hopes that you won't see the faintest of reds dusting his ears.

five minutes pass before you actually start playing, and even then, it's only a few experimental notes here and there that help you build towards the perfected melody.

it's too sweet for his taste; dabi swears that's why his stomach turns so ferociously and prompts him to lean against the boulder to his right for some sort of stability. he won't even humor the idea that it's because of the way your lips twitch into a near half-smile before melding back into a concentrated frown the moment you strike a wrong cord. an embarrassed flush captures your cheeks as you study the music sheets, briefly pressing down on them when a sudden breeze flutters the pages. the pencil that was once tucked behind your ear now sticks out from one corner of your mouth, a flash of pink and orange melding together when you go to absentmindedly gnaw on the wood.

many more minutes fly by, and you've long since abandoned the new tune just to pick up an old one. dabi's back straightens at the first set of strings you pluck, and he recognizes them as the same ones that have been playing on repeat in his head since the day you met.

dabi's heart hammers in tune with every footfall that slaps against the pavement, tearing through the small pools of water that grow with every second. it hasn't stopped raining since the chase began, and there isn't an inch of him that hasn't been soaked through. still, something good must come from this little dilemma—the burning sensation that clings to his arms has almost settled down. the silhouettes of trees merge with inky blackness when he blinks, and he reaches with trembling hands to wipe the droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes.

a yellow square of what assumes to be light shines in the distance, contrasting wildly adverse to the darkness that sweeps him up from under his feet and pushes him forward. the sound of police sirens has been reduced to a mere memory in the time that was running, but he isn't about to risk going back to the league's base in fear of a stakeout waiting to get the jump on them. besides, why stop there when the possibility of shelter awaits him?

the bottoms of dabi's shoes are slick with mud, and blades of grass have snuck their way under the cuffs of his jeans to scratch at his skin. the sensations paired with the numbing cold are beyond uncomfortable, but he won't have to worry about that once he gets inside—that being if the person inside doesn't put up a fight.

he'd expect them to be mad if they did anything except that, no matter how welcoming the house looked. dabi's instincts tell him that someone out this far from the city doesn't a have a lot of connections, and thus killing them wouldn't cause an uprising if it were needed, but the minute he grips the doorknob, a thought occurs. if they have a quirk, its power could level my own or even surpass it. . . he grits his teeth. but like hell i'm going to let them win.

the hesitation vanishes in an instant as dabi turns the knob and thrusts himself inside, wielding a blue flame in his dominant hand to further illuminate the room. the wind is so fierce that it pulls the door shut for him, and the villain finds himself staring down the unperturbed figure of another man, perhaps around his age, hunched over a stove and glaring at a steaming kettle. they lock gazes, and almost immediately, the kettle gives a high pitched whistle. you look away first, lifting the pot and turning the burner off whilst opening the cupboard overhead to pull out two mugs, both of which adorn ugly christmas-themed patterns that dabi wishes he could forget ever seeing.

his glare hardens when you move to the table in the far corner and begin pouring what he assumes to be tea, taking one cup into your own grasp and leaving the other at his own disposal. your one mistake is grabbing your phone from the counter, but when dabi's flame enlarges, you hold your arms up in defense. then, before he can even formulate a proper threat, you toss the phone to him. he catches it easily and observes the dark screen, masking his astonishment with a more sinister expression.

the only other move you make is to drape yourself across a cushion on the window seat with an acoustic guitar in hand. you look more relaxed by the second despite being cornered by a dangerous criminal, and dabi has to refrain from voicing his shock when you address him with an almost bored tone.

"if the tea isn't to your taste, there's more in the cabinet. shower is down the hall to your left, and there's a spare bedroom upstairs to the right. do whatever the hell you want, just don't burn the place down or touch my freddie mercury records."

dabi is stuck to the spot for one of three reasons, he determines. one, your attitude has surprised him into a stupor that not even hiw own will can break. two, his refusal to believe that you're handling this situation in a calm manner is really just his defense mechanism kicking in, and he won't move until proven that you won't do anything when his back is turned. and three, you're quirk is similar to that of madusa's and you've successfully turned him into a fleshy mannequin.

"if you're worried about me calling the cops, what you're holding is the only working phone here. the power is out due to the storm, so my landline is dead, and the nearest form of help is a crippled old widow five miles west. i'm not going to risk running when i'm up against someone with a quirk."

dabi considers everything said, but never once allows his fire to dim. he took the surrounding area into account while making his escape, and he can see the landline is in fact out of service, so the male's assurances checked out. hell, the light source that guided him here was nothing but an old-timey oil lamp. the fact that you're quirkless does him a great amount of good as well.

with cautious steps, dabi makes a beeline for the bathroom, but he stops halfway to stare at you again. you respond by quirking a brow and kicking your feet up, something akin to mischief in your guise.

"i can take the shower with you since you're so afraid i'll make a break for it." you drawl, and dabi snarls, a fowl cuss bubbling in his throat as heat crawls its way up his neck.

"why, with a blush like that you might not need any drying off~."

dabi decides that he's had enough and storms down the hall, already peeling off his dripping clothes and and silently promising that he'll burn the guy to a crisp if he so much as tries to catch a peek. he can hear you calling out in hilarity even as he slinks into the shower and attempts to drown you out with the static-filled haze that captures his senses.

"the name's, y/n, by the way!"

try as he might, dabi had never been able to keep from coming back. now the reason why has been revealed to him on a silver platter, and he won't even spare it a glance.

your soft singing snaps him from his reminiscing as he stretches his legs, stifling a groan when something pops as not to disturb you. while digging through his pockets for a cigarette, he stops momentarily for fear of forgetting how to breathe when he lays his sights on you. you're in your own little world; everything else—him included— seems to have disappeared as you play from the heart. you need no standing ovation, no adoring fans or fantastic lightshows. you've said it once, that fame and glory mean nothing to you, and that you have all you could ever want or need right here, nestled in the beachside view of what you call home.

"and i have you." a cool breeze ruffles your dirt stained overalls as you reach up to wipe a bead of sweat from your forehead. the sun beats down on you, never shining half as bright as your smile, and the shore kisses the boulders with waxing and waning waves of aquamarine; frothy, foamy masses washing up with it to carry lone strands of seaweed. "otherwise i'd go mad without your company."

okay, that was lie. the truth is right there, practically spitting in his face how much of an idiot he is for trying to deny it, and dabi is glaring right back at it. he feels like an impatient kid on christmas eve, sneaking glimpses of gifts under the tree and feeling like he's committed a felony after getting caught. and you do catch him.

"penny for your thoughts, patch?" there it is—that stupid nickname. it's always been laced with mirth when you call him as such, but now it's replaced by genuine curiosity. and is that a hit of concern he hears? you study him with pursed lips and stony features that gradually morphs into that of concern when the silence stretches on. dabi forces himself to sneer at you, and something stirs inside his chest when you don't flinch.

he hates it. he hates you.

dabi nods to the sky, a guarded noise building in the back of his throat as he tugs on his earlobe.

"s'gonna rain." your jaw visibly clenches, but you humor his evasive habits just like you always have, looking to the clouds, which have darkened considerably in the last hour or so. it's around this time that the weather patterns become more unpredictable, but you've noticed the distinct lack of rainfall in spite of the gathering storm brewing overhead. you could sit out here for a while longer without much activity in the sky, and it would take more than a little shower to drive you inside, especially when you finally had the chance to enjoy some quality time with dabi. you notice the way his shoulders droop and the tension from his facial muscles all but disappears when he sits amidst the smell of fresh salt water and unpolluted air—the weight of his past slowly but surely ebbing away. you'd like to hope you have some part in that. oh god, do you ever hope.

you plead to whatever omnipresent being above that he's not just here to hit a blunt without getting reprimanded for it, or that he's making these daily visits out of pity.

"nah. it's been like this for a little while—looks like a storm will hit, but then it passes before it even begins." you sling the guitar back over your shoulder and gather up your music sheets, eyeing dabi from your perch. you're challenging him now, and normally you would never dare force him to speak if he didn't want to, but something about his aura is off. you can sense it in his words; the very air he breathes; and it compels you to hold him close, if only he would let you.

"so, you gonna tell me why you're avoiding the ques—" a deep rumble interrupts you, and dabi lets out a sigh of relief that you're thankfully too distracted to hear. a single drop of water hits your nose, followed by another, and another, and—

"you were saying?"

"oh shut it." you don't get to finish speaking, for a crack of lightning strikes the far end of the beach, scattering sand in every direction. you just barely manage to scoop up your belongings before sliding from the rock, but your footing betrays you and send you stumbling to the ground. dabi is there to catch you, wasting no more time in hauling you to your feet and rushing you as carefully as possible through the jagged maze. he can't refrain from smiling when you splutter a string of profanities pass poorly hidden laughter, an unmistakable "FUCK ME!" spilling into the cold evening when you accidentally stub your toe on a particularly sharp stone. it's pouring within seconds, and no sooner do you reach the doorstep do you both realize how sopping wet you are.

the last thing you think of is your chattering teeth, however, when you see dabi's spiky tufts of hair dripping with residue and his electric blue eyes gazing into yours. what you do think is that for the first time in your painfully ordinary life; your twenty three years of mediocrity and progressive isolation from the world around you; you have found the single person who understands your struggles and has chosen—for some unfathomable reason—not to abandon you. you wish you could say your parents were the same, but you also have scars from a distant childhood that brought you to this place.

this old lighthouse is your home, yes, but dabi is your sanctuary. he might as well be a god by how often you worship him from afar, wondering if ever you'd be so lucky; so eternally blessed; as to call him yours.

you don't register that he's opened the door to let you both inside until a cozy warmth envelopes you. no, wait, that's dabi's fire. it should terrify you that the same man who threatened you with those flames is now at arms length, but you trust him not to hurt you in any way, and so you lean into the gentle licking of heat on your skin, humming in content as your shivering comes to a halt.

dabi's fear of burning you diminishes when you flash him a grateful smile, a whisper of thanks echoing across the walls and pummeling his heart without resistance. he averts his eyes with a curt nod, a feeling like molasses weighing down his tongue and drowning the words he wants to say.

"you're welcome." is all he can muster.

half an hour later, your guitar is drying by the hearth and the two of you are huddled on the window seat, nursing cups of coffee and watching the storm in a comfortable silence. you haven't blinked in a while, meaning you've wandered off the tracks of consciousness as suspected, and pretty soon, you start singing quietly to yourself; the deep crooning used as background noise to your aimless meditation. dabi nudges your calf with his foot and is rewarded with a brief quirk of your lips and a nudge back. he doesn't have the patience nor the brain power to decipher how long this goes on for, but it doesn't matter.

this is fine. the image of red hair and a tall, intimidating figure invades his train of thought, and dabi curls inwards on himself. this is fine.

but it's not.

trembling, he places his mug on the table before retracting back into his seat, clasping his hands together. he tries visualizing the ties of his life coming together to form a rope. the fingers on his left—memories from his past—linking together with those from his right—memories made with you. his palms connect, bringing instant relief with the knowledge that he's here now, practically nestled between your legs, out of harms way. you're both fine.

dabi takes the swelling anxiety and pretends to crush it within his fist; clenching and unclenching it until his peace of mind returns.

"penny for your thoughts, patch?" you ask again, still in somewhat of a trance. this time, dabi answers.

"why do you call me that?"

you're caught of guard, half expecting him to ask why you haven't turned him in to the authorities. you've seen him without his disguise, you know his name, and for the past eight months you've been socializing with him like normal human beings do. that's more than both of you could have said in the past. of all the burning questions, he chose that one? "i've heard 'patchwork' and 'staples' and just about everything in between. why shorten it to patch?"

you gape at him, opening your mouth, then closing it, and so on. the pitter patter of rain against the window has ascended into relentless pelting. it sounds like gunfire to dabi; assaulting his ears in floods; but to you, it's nothing more than a waterfall hindering your view of the ocean. the deep breath you take seems to put more suspense in the atmosphere than needed, and it makes dabi's heartrate quicken for an entirely different reason, yet he makes no sign of stopping you.

"because my first thought whenever i see you is how much you remind me of a doll." oh. what?

you can tell by dabi's reaction that that wasn't what he was expecting, so you gesture for him to wait. he isn't sure he likes the forlorn expression you're wearing.

"typically, when kids first get a doll, they treat it like glass and make sure to tend to it with love. other times, doll owners are reckless and tear them apart just to stitch them back together like nothing happened. you use that camouflaged to blend in with the public, and i'm lucky enough to see what's under it. . .but sometimes i wish you'd keep the mask on so i don't have to see you upset."

upset? a fizzing sound erupts from his palms that he struggles to put out. he's not upset.

"don't try to hide it. you're always scowling when you think i'm not looking, or when you forget i'm even here, and i know it's because someone broke you without the intent of fixing you up."

once more, red clouds dabi's vision, and he moves to stand up.

"you had to clean up after their mistakes because no one else would, but instead of reusing the bits and pieces of your old self, you burned them. you destroyed any and all evidence of who you used to be and now you're patching yourself together with parts that aren't your own, because you don't want to hold onto what happened. though, something tells me you still haven't let go, otherwise you wouldn't be so angry."

"you don't know that!" he snaps, but he knows it's not true.

your hand closes around his wrist, and dabi recoils with such strength that it yanks you from your seat. dabi doesn't want you to let go, no matter how much he thrashes in place, because the sensation of your skin on his grounds him. somehow you know this, and you give a comforting squeeze to his pulse.

"but that's not all i see. because dolls are beautiful, and it's the ones who still love them after they're broken that they need the most. no one's told you they think you're beautiful, have they?"

dabi shakes his head, refusing to meet your gaze even when you cup his cheek with your free hand tilt it towards you. every touch is filled with hesitancy; feather light and more intimate than anything dabi has ever witnessed, let alone experienced personally. with the way you hold him like he's water in your hands, your eyes overflowing with a love he hasn't known in forever, dabi knows he won't find another feeling like it. you're not the embodiment of good—at least not by society's strict standards—but at least you can sit there and say you've committed a crime. you've never bloodied your hands by hurting others, much less gotten a thrill from doing so, and that's why he pulls away. he has to, because dabi is a harbinger of war, and if he holds you any closer it will only be to kill you.

he says something; a snarl mixed with a broken plea that he prays will make you stop; and you do. his silent victory doesn't last for long, though, because then you're using both hands to cradle his face and fuck, the pads of your thumbs grazing his scars feel like heaven. "won't you let me be the first?" how could he say no? how, when the taste of honey and whiskey is so addictive that he's already drooling into the kiss and willing to beg for more; when your mouth slots perfectly with his and dabi begins to wonder if he's stumbled right into the scene of a cliché wattpad story. the idea causes him to huff out a growl, and although neither of you can talk, he can imagine how strongly you must want to poke fun at him for the action. he can feel you smirking—the smug little bastard you are—and dabi ponders how long it will take to reduce that attitude of yours until you're submitting to him.

not yet. he chastises himself, completely unaware that you're currently thinking the same thing. dabi kneads the flesh of your hips through your jeans while you comb your fingers through his hair, gasping sharply between bruising, wet kisses and keening when he leans down to nurse your lips with soft pecks afterword. you're still trying to process the fact that you've coerced this devious criminal into making out with you in the pale glow of your seaside residence, but for the moment, you need not concern yourself with the details. you've forgotten all about dabi's ego and how this whole situation is no doubt feeding its flames. his grip on your waist is making you too delirious to care.

"fuck." dabi's breath is staggering when you finally pull back, an aura of clarity and desire hanging between the two of you.

"y-yeah. . .that was. . ." you can't produce a word, or even a paragraph to describe it. you know you're going to hit yourself later for admitting such a banal phrase in the midst of what could be classified as your very first kiss, but that is neither here nor there, and you would rather suffer an agonizing death than let dabi find out that he stole your first. you're too preoccupied envisioning all the other firsts to come, so you don't notice the way he stares at you like some precious jewel, but his fingertips brushing your bottom lip succeed in snapping you out of it.

"hm?"

dabi goes quiet, contemplating what to say as the thunder moves abroad and the rain comes to an end, leaving the house in a numbing state of tranquility.

"why not call me doll, then? it'd be easier."

you chuckle in response, playing with the hairs at the base of dabi's neck and making sure not to miss the way he melts into the affection. "i thought that'd be moving too fast." and dabi; still drugged from your kiss and what he can only hope is love; rasps out a genuine laugh, cupping your jaw with a tenderness that makes your knees weak.

"you offered to take a shower with me the night we met, and you think a nickname is moving too fast?"

you stick your tongue out at him, and dabi resists the urge to grab it, even if it's just a bluff.

"would you have let me call you that anyways?" you ask, something hopeful ridden in your tone. dabi feigns consideration as he looks to the ceiling, snickering when you smack his chest. eventually, he murmurs what you audibly hear as "brat" before resting his forehead on yours, an impish glint in his gaze.

"no."

you turn your chin up at him, giggling when he nips at the skin. dabi knows just as well that your attempts at escaping him are halfhearted, so he encircles his arms around your waist tighter, delighting in the flush that paints your cheeks.

"then i think i'll settle for my love, or darling, if that's alright with you."

dabi can't fend off the blush for his life, but he's not afraid if you acknowledge it. he can get you back easily, and he plans to. "fine by me, doll."

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bokettochild · 3 years

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Fic request! Legend and Ravio being best buds and being there for each other? Or like just them getting along. Platonic cuddling? I love them both.

Slight self projection on this one, but oh well!

I really like writing the dynamic for these two! But i would like to clarify that I write it as being strictly platonic.

Yes, Ravio does kiss Legend on occasion. But Ravio is a toucher, and that's just how he loves! For him, that's normal, that's something you do to those you love, not just in couples :)

Legend isn't great about physical touch, mostly because he's unaccustomed to it. He loves it, he just doesn't know how to ask for it or receive it most of the time.

And with that cleared up, on to the fic!!!

Mr. Hero was acting weird again.

His family had come back to visit again, and while many of them were wrapped in bandages and sporting some rather nasty wound, Mr. Hero seemed to be relatively well off from the fight. He wasn’t untouched, this was Mr. Hero after all, but he wasn’t as poorly as some of the others, which is why it was so odd for Ravio to find him curled up on the couch in their living room when he’d thought that everyone had gone to visit the local village.

They’d talked about it over breakfast. They’d arrived yesterday and hadn’t had time to restock in a while. The worse injuries were a broken arm on Mr. Smithy’s part, and that in no way hampered them from being able to do a run to the village, and it seemed many of Mr. Hero’s family saw visiting towns and villages as something of a treat.

They had been so eager over breakfast, talking over each other while Mr. Hero had rolled his eyes and pushed Tune- Wind back into his seat, scolding the champion for chewing with his mouth open and generally just correcting table manners and keeping people under control during the meal. Typical Mr. Hero, fussing over everything being right but pretending not to care, Ravio wouldn’t be surprised if the next time he sees them all they all eat like they’re in a castle, Mr. Hero’s just the kind of person to subtly train them all to behave lest they be faces with his flashing indigo gaze.

But he really would have thought, what with how everyone had chattered, that Mr. Hero would be with them all, leading them through the village and haggling with shopkeepers on the prices of potions and food. Yet here he sits, curled on their couch with that bulky quilt he likes so much thrown over his shoulders. Mr. Hero hasn’t bothered to fix his hair or tuck it under his cap, and it tumbles down his shoulders in a messy tangle as the Hylian stares unseeing at the far wall.

Ravio pauses in the entryway to the living room, his cup of cider still on one hand, and the book he’d been hoping to read in the other, heart torn over walking back into the kitchen and asking why Mr. Hero isn’t with his family. The slight shudder that runs across Mr. Hero's shoulders is all he needs as an answer and it’s without a second thought that the merchant strides across the room to settle on the couch beside his housemate, eyes bright and smile disarming as he looks over to Mr. Hero.

Dull violet meets his own green as Mr. Hero pauses and sighs, gaze shifting back down to the ground.

Oh. Oh, this is bad.

No snark, no dismissal, no ‘Ravio, I’m not in the mood’. Mr. Hero is at a stage where he is simply accepting things, and that’s never good!

“Why the long face?” He prods gently, settling himself on the couch as Mr. Hero moves slightly to accommodate him.

Okay, that’s even worse. Mr. Hero is being accommodating.

Oh Lolia, is he dying?

“Enervated.” Mr. Hero drawls, and Ravio is now officially freaking out. The big words have come out, the big words that he doesn’t know the definition of. His gaze trails back over to his book.

Most people don’t consider reading a thesaurus a past-time, and Ravio never would have considered it before moving in with Mr. Hero, but if he wants to understand the hero than he needs to know all the words that will crop up in his vocabulary anytime he is especially tired or bored.”

“E-enerv-”

“Tired.” Mr. Hero clarifies, shifting in place and drawing the blanket tighter around is shoulders.

Sharp green eyes watch his movements. It’s autumn and a slight chill has pervaded the air, but there really isn’t any need for the heavy blanket in this weather. Maybe a shawl or afghan of some sort, but the thickest and heaviest blanket in the entire house? That’s just plain overkill!

“Just tired?” He doesn’t even bother pretending to respect Mr. Hero’s space as he reaches out to rest his hand on his housemate’s forehead, gently shifting to touch the vet’s cheek. Rather than shake him off, Mr. Hero gently leans into the touch, eyes fluttering closed gently as a breath whistle from his lips. Ravio frowns as he pulls back.

Mr. Hero is warm, but not unhealthily so, and it can probably be blamed on the heavy quilt he’s got throw over his shoulders.

The merchant quirks a brow. “Are you cold?”

Mr. Hero’s face twitches oddly, eyes darting up to meet Ravio’s before drifting back down; blank and tired in a way they often are after a long day. But today has not been a long day, he reminds himself, and Mr. Hero must have been in here since finishing dishes with him this morning.

“Yes.” Mr. Hero murmurs softly, more at the folds of his blanket then at Ravio. “But not...outside?”

And that is... that is confusing.

“I don’t understand.” He half wishes for his hood and robe, but he’d only just finished cleaning and he hasn’t put them on again, so he plucks instead at the edge of his scarf, similar to what Mr. Captain Hero Sir does when he’s anxious.

Mr. Hero huffs a breath. “I wouldn’t expect you to. Glad you don’t.”

He doesn’t like the blankness of Mr. Hero's face or the heaviness of his words. “Can you explain it to me?”

If there’s one thing that brings light into his friend’s eyes, it’s teaching. Mr. Hero loves to share his knowledge, and Ravio has sat contentedly through a dozen lectures on bee-keeping and orchard work or weapons care and traveling precautions and any number of other things. All he ever needs is a cup of cider and a warm nook to bundle himself away while Mr. Hero talks. Goodness knows he chatters quite a bit himself; Mr. Hero deserves to have an audience on occasion too, and he always has such interesting things to say that Ravio never minds listening.

But Mr. Hero’s eyes don’t light up with that glint of passion and his fingers don’t tap with barely contained energy. Quite the opposite. He curls in closer around himself, eyes clouded as he breaths heavily. “It’s like there’s somethin’ ‘side you that’s cold an’ empty. Like you swallowed ice or somethin’ cold like an’ it won’t melt. You can be toasty warm on the outside and it ne’er goes away, it’s jist-” The pink-haired Hylian’s ears flick as his nose twitches with pent up irritation. “It’s like you’re empty and no matter how much you eat or sleep or keep busy, it ne’er goes away.”

Understanding dawns with a heavy heart and tears pricking in his eyes. “I think that's called loneliness, Mr. Hero.”

Mr. Hero’s eyes glisten as he turns away. “’m not lonely. There’s eight people on my tail on the day to day an’ I can’t lose ‘em even if I tried.”

The tight ball Mr. Hero is curled into could be defensive or self-comforting, and he can’t tell which, but Mr. Hero's grip on his blanket laden shoulders is too tight to be anything short of strained.

“Being with people doesn’t mean you aren’t lonely.” Ravio’s voice comes softer than he means it too.

Mr. Hero once complained that his own voice was trapped in the stage of squeaking and breaking, but Ravio’s could drop low ‘till it was nothing but a deep vibration. He’s teased Mr. Hero about it more than once, but he finds that it’s also effective at making the other boy calm. Mr. Hero loosens so now, eyes still blank as Ravio stares at them, hoping that they’ll turn to meet his gaze. “You can feel lonely in the middle of a full kingdom.”

He knows. He remembers hiding in his big room in the castle and wishing that it wasn’t so cold and empty and that someone would look at him and see something other than a cowardly advisor. He'd wanted someone to look at him and see a friend, or a brother or a loved one. He’d wanted to matter and be safe in the warmth that was a real home.

Mr. Hero gave him that. Mr. Hero’s house, with its big apple tree and buzzing bees, it’s pokey little kitchen and creaky staircase, the blasted rocker and the freaky masks on the wall, all of it makes this house a home that is so distinctly Mr. Hero's, yet somehow also his own.

He can see it in the knitting needles stashed in their basket by the couch. In the mugs that he’s left empty on bookshelves and table tops. He sees himself in the drawing of the curtains to let in sunlight, and the organization of the items on the shelves and the wall.

This is their home, something that is both of them, and it’s always felt warm and fulfilling to him.

He’d never realized that Mr. Hero might not feel the same...

It’s on impulse, and the fact that Mr. Hero doesn’t push him away speaks volumes, but Ravio scoots forwards and pulls the veteran hero over to rest against his chest, his arms wrapping tight around his friend as heavy breaths escape from them both.

“Is this better?” He whispers softly against the pink that curls beneath his chin and the fluttering breath of Mr. Hero.

There’s only a faint grunt from the hero in his arms, non-committal, but Mr. Hero isn’t complaining or pushing him away, so he doesn’t let him go either. Never mind that he’s almost pulled his friend on top of him, Mr. Hero needs a hug, and Lolia danggit! Ravio is going to give him the best one he’s capable of!

Mr. Hero’s breath evens out as he adjusts a few times, shifting but never pulling away, and Ravio takes that as a cue to make himself comfortable.

Short, pale fingers trail up to weave through curling pink locks that are still unbrushed from the night before. It’s silky under his touch, a testament to his friend’s alternate form, and he takes no small amount of pleasure in winding his fingers through it and gently tugging out the tangles. Mr. Hero only sighs under his ministrations.

“It’s okay to ask for hugs you know.” He teases softly, almost disappointed that he can’t see how his housemate blushes and stiffens, but Mr. Hero's ears give him away, red as they are, and a smile tugs across his face when he sees it. “I'm sure Mr. Chosen Hero would love to hug you, he seems like that kind of person. And Mr. Smithy always seems fond of that sort of thing. Why, even-”

“Shup.” Mr. Hero huffs, and Ravio grins as his eyes fall down to where his friend’s arms have wrapped around his waist, a messy head of pink lying against his chest and the full weight of hero and blanket pressing down on him.

He doesn’t respond, but he does go back to running his hands through Mr. Hero’s hair.

A tune comes to mind as he sits there, and he lets the melody drift through the room as he absently strokes Mr. Hero’s long pink hair, the book in his hands capturing his attention until soft squeaking snores begin to sound from the hero on his chest.

No one’s there to see the kiss he presses to the mess of petal pink, and when the others return from their trip, neither of the two bunnies is awake to say anything at all.

The heroes stop in the doorway, surprise and fondness taking over their faces at the sight of both of their hosts stretched out over the couch, Legend lying over the top of Ravio, one of the merchant’s hands still resting on Legend’s head while the other hangs down towards the floor, barely grasping the book he'd been reading (Wind makes a comment about reading a thesaurus being strange, but no one really questions it too much). Legend’s arms are still wrapped tight around Ravio’s waist, his cheek pressed against the merchant's chest as squeaking snores escape through parted lips.

They’ve never seen the veteran so peaceful, Time muses as he removed the book from Ravio’s hand and tucks the quilt tighter around the two, noting with surprise it’s weight. Neither hero nor merchant wake, although Ravio does shift in his sleep at the disturbance, but the two are out cold.

There’s the snap of a shutter and a faint coo as he looks up, single blue eye meeting Wild’s own, the champion smiling sheepishly from behind the slate, the image on the screen of him knelt beside the two boys, tucking them in on the couch. Time smiles at his cub. “I want a copy of that picture, you hear?”

“Yes sir.” The champion whispers in return.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu ravio #lu legend #fluffics #linked universe fanfic #linked universe fic requests #lu time #lu wild #not ravio\i #do not tag as ship #thank you!

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ultraimaginez · 3 years

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My Love Is Not A Joke - [Mammon x Reader]

Fandom: Obey Me! Ship: Mammon x gn! reader Word Count: 1.9k Rating: T A/N: just thinkin about the amount of effort it would take to convince mammon you actually like him and you’re not just being an ass to him like everyone else made me feel a lot of thiiiings and then this was born lol.

Mammon lives in a liminal space between fear and a love so fierce it threatens to consume him. It’s a hell of his own making-- too cowardly to tell you how he really feels and too devoted to let you go.

And so you are forced to exist in this hellish space with him. Each time you try to get close he pushes you away, afraid he’ll be the butt of just another joke. Each time you try to give him space he pulls you back in, terrified you might leave him. It’s an exhausting game of tug of war between his ego and his heart and, frankly, you’re sick of being the god damn rope.

Eventually you reach your breaking point.

You are lying in bed, staring at the ceiling and replaying another days worth of back and forths between you and a certain white haired demon boy. This has become as much a part of your night time routine as putting on pajamas or brushing your teeth. Every flush of his cheeks-- be it in anger or embarrassment or affection-- every dumb argument, or sweet sentiment, or stupid joke. They all play like a never ending feedback loop in your mind. But tonight a thought strikes you as you roll over to finally try and get some sleep-- as long as Mammon is engaged in this endless war against himself you’ll be stuck in it right along side him. He’s never going to give himself peace. He’ll fight until there’s nothing left of himself. So if the two of you are going to get out of this mess it comes down to you.

It’s a scary thought, the idea you might have to be vulnerable and make the first actual move. Scary enough that you try and let it go. Maybe you can just sleep on it and think about it more in the morning.

But now you can’t think of anything else. The thought begins to ruminate in your brain and there’s no way you can sleep at this point. You stay awake all night wondering if there’s any other solution. Any other way out of this mess. It turns out you also exist in the liminal space between fear and love. The idea of telling Mammon how you feel is paralyzing. And so you go to school the next day not having slept at all.

This pattern continues for nearly a week. Each night you stare at your ceiling going round and round in circles. And maybe Mammon can take this awful tug of war but you certainly can’t. You don’t have millennia to stay away pondering this shit. You’re a mortal and you’re being driven in-fucking-sane. So finally, on the seventh night of nearly no god damn sleep, you fling off your covers and irritably begin stomping down the hall.

You ignore Beel who is hip deep inside the refrigerator cleaning it out of whatever the hell is left inside. You passively wave to Levi when he sticks his head out of his room to ask you to play games and mumble some lame excuse. You’re on a mission to resolve this once and for all and nothing will stop you.

You make a beeline to your destination and once you reach Mammon’s door you begin to pound on it aggressively.

A familiar voice rings out from inside. “Jeez, cool it, Lucifer. I told you, I’m working on it. I’ll have all these late assignments done by tomorrow just gimme some time.”

“It’s me.”

There’s a pause and you can’t practically hear the gears turning in Mammon’s head as he registers who is speaking.

“Oh well why the hell didn’t ya just say so? Come in.”

You open the door to his room and find Mammon sprawled out in one of the arm chairs in the center of his room. His feet are propped up on the table and his leather jacket is flung over the couch opposite of him, leaving him in his normal jeans and black shirt. You can tell he’s been running his fingers through his white hair in frustration as it’s mused and messier than normal and his brows are knit in concentration as he looks down at his notebooks.

“Stupid Lucifer. Makin’ me do all this damn work in one night. It’s not fair.” He says, tossing the books onto the table as you shut the door behind you and approach him.

You have a rebuttal about how it’s not exactly ‘unfair’ since all of that work had been assigned weeks ago, but it dies on your lips when he looks up at you. You can feel you heart jump into your throat as your eyes meet, the normal façade of the student mode dropped here where he is comfortable and alone. People often attribute fastidiousness with appearance with Asmo, but Mammon is usually just as put together. Seeing him so relaxed is special, it’s something you know he reserves for only people close to him.

Your not sure how long you stand there at the edge of his chair looking down at him but it must be longer than normal because the sound of Mammon clearing his throat pulls your attention. “Eh? Do I have something on my face? You’re staring and it’s weirding me out.” His cheeks are pink and he looks absolutely anywhere but your face. “Anyway, what the hell are you doing here in the middle of the night? Couldn’t wait to see me until tomorrow, huh?”

Well.. It’s now or never. You’ve plucked up enough courage to make it this far so you might as well commit.

“Mammon, I like you. A lot. And I hope that doesn’t make you uncomfortable but I just... do. So. Yeah... Do with that what you will.”

If you weren’t borderline unhinged from the complete lack of sleep and frayed nerves and being so vulnerable, you would find the way his eyes quadrupled in size fucking hilarious.

“Wha? What do you mean? Is this some sort of dumb prank.” You can see him looking past you at the door. He’s searching for his brothers, searching for a camera, searching for the evidence that this is all some elaborate joke at his expense. You can already hear the derisive laughter he’s waiting for playing in his head. ‘Stupid, Mammon.’ ‘How could you think they would ever like you?’ ‘Got you good, huh?’ ‘Actually thought that they might like you? You’re even dumber than we thought-’

You cut off whatever string of insults he’s playing in his own hand by gently touching his face, cupping his cheek with your hand.

“It’s not a joke, Mammon. I like you. And I understand if you don’t feel the same way but... I need you to know that.”

It’s clear that the moment you touch his skin his internalized war rises into a crescendo. It breaks you open to see his eyes soften with a vulnerability you’ve never seen before, blue gold shimmering with an emotion you can’t quite place but sends your heart hammering harder than it ever has before... and then immediately they harden again. “Do you have a fever or something?! Jeez, leave it to a human to get sick right when I’m supposed to be doing something else. I don’t always have time to be-”

He begins to rise from the chair and it’s clear he wants to run, wants to hide, wants to lick his wounds before they can even form. You can tell he’s already written this off as another joke at his expense. If you let him get away from you right now you’ll lose that look you found in his eyes just moments ago for good.

You push down on his shoulders, seating him in the chair again, and then wordlessly climb on top of him, pinning him beneath your weight. Surely he could pick you up and yeet you across the entire god damn room if he wanted to, but the action seems to break the string of negative self talk long enough for you to actually speak to him.

“Mammon.” You grab his face between your hands and force him to look at you. His expression is wild-- scared and hopeful and completely unguarded. “I. Like. You. And it’s not some joke. If you don’t feel the same way just tell me. But if you do-”

You don’t get to finish the rest of the sentence.

Mammon kisses you like you are oxygen and he’s on the verge of drowning. One hand shoots up to the back of your neck, pulling you close, tangling his long tanned fingers in your hair. The other comes to rest on your thigh. It’s all you can do to twine your own fingers through his soft white hair and pull him closer as he rocks into your body. You feel tears begin to well in the corner of your eyes as a surge of emotion races through you. You’ve never felt so much for one person in all your life. It’s enough to make you feel like you’re being crushed under the weight of it all.

At some point you physically can’t keep kissing him because you’re afraid you might actually suffocate. You pull back to take in a breath but he continues to hold you close, keeping his hands in your hair, lips still only inches from your own. You look at him, his eyes are more gold than blue now and you feel like you might catch fire if you look at him too long. You let out a breathy “Oh...”

Apparently he’s decided you’ve had enough time to breath and he’s on you again, pulling you close and making desperate little noises every time you part lips even briefly. You wonder if maybe you can die from catching on fire internally because every part of you feels like it’s engulfed in flames.

Eventually you manage to part again, long enough to put a hand on his chest and keep him from chasing your lips. You’re breathing heavily, trying to suck in air but finding it hard to do so when Mammon is looking at you like he’s just waiting for the chance to devour you again.

“So..” your voice comes out an octave higher than normal and your face turns scarlet, clearing your throat so you can try to speak somewhat normal. “Uh.. I take it... we’re on the same page then? Y’know... about... stuff...?” You’re not exactly eloquent but Mammon just kissed you to the point of ceasing brain function so, really, who can blame you?

There’s a beat of silence, and then Mammon speaks, voice deeper, quieter, and more serious than you’ve ever heard it before. “Don’t leave, okay?”

You’re not really sure what he’s referring to. Leave this chair? Leave the Devildom? Leave him? But he’s raw and real and so fucking perfect staring up at you perfectly kissed like that and the answer comes to you without thinking.

“Never. I’m never leaving. I’m here for as long as you want me.”

Suddenly both of his arms are around your waist, drawing you close. Your face is pushed into his neck and his into yours. You breathe in the smell of his aftershave and shampoo and you’ve never felt more at home. Your hearts are pressed up against one another and you know you’ve never felt more right than in this moment.

The last thing you hear him whisper as you drift off to sleep for the first time in nearly a week is a whispered. “Always... I’m always going to want you, silly human.”

#obey me #obey me! shall we date?#obey me mammon #obey me mammon x reader #obey me mammon x mc #mammon x reader #mammon x oc #obey me imagine #obey me imagines #obey me fic #fic #0-2k

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slashingdisneypasta · 3 years

Text

Ram Sweeney x Reader || Headcanons

Topic: Dating HC's

Notes:

*Sigh*... I write regularly write for creeps like Freddy Krueger and Offenderman... and am one of the few tumblrs that write for Sheriff Hoyt romantically... and yet Kurt and Ram are my real guilty pleasure characters.

Anyway I hope someone other then me wanted this XDD I'm gonna do a Kurt one too.

Warnings: Some NSFW but not explicit.

Your song: The Way I Loved You (Taylor Swift)

He respects my space and never makes me wait

And he calls exactly when he says he will

He's close to my mother, talks business with my father

He's charming and endearing and I'm comfortable

...

But I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain

And it's 2:00 a.m. and I'm cursing your name

So in love that you act insane

And that's the way I loved you

Breakin' down and coming undone

It's a roller coaster kinda rush

And I never knew I could feel that much

And that's the way I loved you

You two as a TV/Movie/Book couple: Bianca Piper and Wesley Rush (The DUFF)

Having the kind of relationship that no one else understands at all. Like, you have nothing in commen except commen history and your feelings for each other (Which are, on the other hand, totally clear to everyone) but when you're together you're always laughing and being affectionate.

Being in an on and off relationship throughout middle school and highschool- but never and I repeat; Never, is anyone permitted to mess with you at all. Because Ram always considers you his, even when you arent together.

So yeah, you always have 2 (Ram, and Kurt) large football star bodyguards at your disposal.

Being very playful together.

SOOOOoooooo much PDA. Including: Making out in the hallways and at school events like football games (You dont care who sees), sitting in his lap or at least squished close to his side at lunch, him throwing you over his shoulder to carry you places, him giving you piggy back rides, him picking you up and twirling you around, him just standing behind you with his arms around your waist and his chin rested on your shoulder when he's bored (With everything but you), his arm being over your shoulders as you walk together, you wiping peanut butter on his nose to get a rise out of him and then running away so he'll chase you, you peppering his face with kisses to make him laugh, etc.

Having a turbulent relationship. Because while, when all is well you two are like peanut butter and jelly and seem like the perfect highschool sweethearts, when you arent it's because Ram has gotten really jealous over something and called you a terrible name (Skank, whore, slut, bitch- any of those) or you understandably got irritated by his bullying and/or being a perverted, sexist asshole and you have huge, blow out fights in the middle of school and by the end of the period the whole student body knows about it.

You give him the silent treatment and the cold shoulder after those (If you didnt break up, that is) and he sends Kurt to give you messages.

When you make up its because he sincerely apologises although he doesn't 100% understand what he did wrong which becomes part of the next fight.

As you've been together so very long, he is basically part of your fucking family. He's so familiar and casual with your parent/s and/or sibling/s. They love him so much that, whether you're with him at the time or not, they allow him into the house and your bedroom with a cup of tea and snacks. (Its the 'American dream' popular-boy / football-star thing.)

So yeah, sometimes when you're mad at him or he wants to get back together (Which generally you want to do, to. You honestly have the same biological timer. Its like, 3 weeks pass by of being broken up and then ding ding ding! You both get the feelings its time to get back together and start sharing grins in the hallway and talking to your friends about eachother) you'll just find him waiting for you in your room when you come home.

Hanging out a looooooot with Kurt. Movie nights at your place, hanging out at the mall together on weekends sneaking out to see them at the football field at night time, etc. When you're sad, they'll both turn up wherever you are to cheer you up, too! Goofballs.

This does not mean there arent times where Ram shoo's Kurt off, though, when you two want some alone time together (*Eyebrow wiggles*) because of course. I'm just saying, you're a close-knit group.

When you are alone together, not much changes from when you're around others honestly XD You're still just as playful and affectionate. You just, you know, also have sex.

When he's down, you rusk your graceful image and climb through his bedroom window to be there with him. You dont fuck, you dont even really kiss. You just climb into bed with him and he'll tuck you under his chin and close his eyes. Legit old married couple. And you two sleep- by morning, he usually feels better and refuses to let you get out of bed with him.

"Five more minutessssss, babe!" He whines, holding you against him and pressing kisses to your head. You know he'll just say that again in 5 minutes time- and over, and over, and over again.

"Oh- no. I've been caught in this trap before Ram. We have school, so we have to get up. Come on!" You push firmly at his stomach (or abs) with your fists; not that that does much as he just just groans or gathers your little wrists in one big fist to stop you (Either way he certainly doesn't even flinch). His eyes are still closed. You sigh.

Now you have two choices, you can either give in and snuggle back into him for the rest of the morning, or threaten to send an attack towards his groin and he'll literally fling himself outta bed. Like "OH LOOK AT THE TIME- Kurt's gonna be waiting for us outside. Lets go!"

There are also mornings that you wake up with him (No sad Ram the night before necessary) and are all too happy to stay there with him. You just adorably nod into his chest, eyes still closed and making the cutest half-asleep morning sound when he asks if you wanna stay here a bit longer and he happily pulls the blanket over both your heads; shielding you both from the real world for a while.

OKAY MOVING ON FROM THAT FLUFFINESS.

You are also the only person who has any sort of control over him and Kurt. Like you can take them down a few pegs with just a look.

You two do date other people when you're broken up but its clear to anyone watching that these are just nice place holders for eachother. Neither of you are ever as happy with others as you are with eachother. You're ridiculously in love, actually.

Ypu were the first one to say I Love You, and he immediately called Kurt for guidance XD

Places you've had sex (Because it is always the full monty with Ram): Both your bedrooms so so so many times, the school bathrooms, his car, Kurts car (Kurt was NOT pleased.), the back of the football field, under the bleachers during a game or pep rally (he was benched for being too violent) + under the bleachers during practise + under the bleachers when the football field is deserted, the back of the school, the faculty parking lot at school, Kurts and Heather Chandler's houses (Parties. Basically a Westerburg High party is not complete without Y/N L/N and Ram Sweeney breaking in someones bed), his parent's car, the woods, cow pasture (a picnic blanket was used), and finally some mall changing rooms.

You leave him messages on his answering machine. He listens to every one of them (Which means something because he doesnt listen to anyone elses, unless he's gotta get through them to get to yours).

Him being SUCH a jealous asshole (With everyone except Kurt).

HIM STANDING UP TO THE HEATHERS FOR YOU.

#PromKingAndQueen

Having Kurt "Smartest guy on the football team," Kelly be your (Occasionally, live in- yes, he has slept over with the two of you on the floor so he could break up fights) couples councellor. Often his advice is 'fuck it out' but he also comes up with oddly wise shit sometimes. Mostly he's just very exasperated though. Like, its obvious you two are gonna end up together- stop bothering me with this shit. Let me get some pussy for myself guys please-

You two getting a bit frisky on movie nights with Kurt and he throws stuff at you. He just starts bringing a pool noodle (That he drew an angry face onto) along with him and hitting y'all with it whenever he feels its necessary. Cuz I mean, on one hand, of course he's happy for his bro Ram that he's getting his dick wet, but on the other- ITS FUCKIN MOVIE NIGHT, PULL YOURSELVES TOGETHER FOR T W O S E C O N D S (Oh the irony- it does indeed escape him). He'll park his ass right in the middle of you two if you keep it up.

If he had survived, you and Ram would have broken up after graduation and spent college apart, before bumping into each other again back home as new (Improved. Especially him) people that fit together better now and ended up getting back together for good.

#Ram Sweeney x Reader Headcanons #Ram Sweeney #Ram Sweeney x Reader #Heathers #Kurt and Ram #Kurt Kelly #Headcanons #Heathers Headcanons #Heathers x Reader

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