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seenashwrite · 5 years

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The Cupid Complication

Word Count: 5.2K Category: Humor, Fluffersnark, Romance, Friendship, Behind-the-scenes canon compliant, Holidays, Valentine’s Day Rating: Teen & Up Character(s): Dean, Sam, You, a Cupid Pairing(s): Be surprised - stop wanting to know the endings at the starts, my loves Warnings: None Author’s Notes: Happy Valentine’s Day! More post-story Overall Summary: During the Valentine season this year, complications arise for you & the Winchesters due to a cupid who could use some more practice at her job. A lot more practice. A *supreme* amount of practice.

The slow, methodical rapping sent a sharp, scolding noise into the air each time fingers hit desk.

THRRRUMP

Sinking lower into her seat, the cherub waited as her supervisor finished scanning the report.

The high-ranking angel behind the desk closed her eyes. The rapping stopped. She brought both hands up, now rubbing her temples. She sighed.

The cherub gulped.

"On your latest mission, your first arrow hit a statue, then your second, a tree, before successfully striking a human target upon your third attempt.”

"Y-yes, ma'am."

“To be precise, with the third, you managed to hit three of them.”

"Uh... yes, ma'am. That’s funny, huh? But it only nicked the woman, I don’t think she was affected. See, what happened was----"

“None of which were the assigned targets, that's what I'm to understand?”

"Well, yes - I mean, no - I mean, yes, ma'am."

"Octavia, I've repeatedly instructed you to not call me that."

"Yes, m.... Okay."

“Can you tell me why it is that we’ve navigated all the drama that is constantly plaguing heaven? Why we remain celestially adjacent?”

“Because we bring love to the world?” Octavia guessed.

“Because we - along with the muses and the reapers - specialize in the three things that will always be: life, death, and relationships. Those three things cannot be stopped, no matter how great a power may try to do so. They just are. And what keeps things running smoothly amidst all the chaos?”

“Being good at our jobs?”

“Are you telling me, or asking me?” the supervisor snapped.

“I’m… I’m telling. That’s why.”

“That is why. We coordinate. We make sure the looms of the fates have nothing time-sensitive in store for our targets. We cross-check that they aren’t in the reapers’ queue. It is a finely-tuned machine. It is a flow. It is a rhythm. And you, Octavia, have continued to disrupt that rhythm, despite your missions being limited to the month of February, the easiest, the simplest month on the calendar for making matches.”

Octavia hung her head and picked at her glittery pink-polished fingernails.

It did not go unnoticed.

“While I have you here - I’ve let it slide, but your appearance----”

“You told me I couldn’t be invisible except when I’m firing my bow! I’m trying to be festive for the season!” Octavia interjected, and was met with a stern look.

“If you hadn’t materialized when you were marking that poor woman’s heart and grabbed her breast right there in the middle of that coffee shop----”

“I wasn’t grabbing!” Octavia again interjected, and it was met with an even sterner look. “It was a really soft sweater,” she mumbled sheepishly.

“That righteous ruckus, I remind you, is what got you downgraded back to arrows. And now I find myself wondering what to do with you, if you can’t even manage what new recruits seem to execute with accuracy!”

While her supervisor began adding notes to the sizable file on Octavia, the cherub caught a glance of herself in the mirror on the wall behind the desk. She thought she looked the part - her style was cheerful, and when she was visible and surveying, it made people smile, and she didn’t care what her co-workers said, not about her heart-patterned shirt, or the shiny red shoes, or the nail polish, or her hair.

"It's pink!" they’d cried.

Octavia disagreed. Regardless of her form - big, small, skin tone, eye color - she always had wild, curly red hair. And not of a hue typically seen in nature; less ginger, more actual red. Actually, burgundy. Actually, it was possibly on the pink end of things. Fine, it was pink. But only in certain lighting. Besides, her clothes were needed - being naked was uncomfortable what with the oft-chafing quiver, so the clothing may as well match the hair - and besides that, Octavia was fine with the whole being-more-visible-than-not requirement. She liked being able to get to know her targets; even though the intel was always spot-on, it made her heart swell to know for sure she was making a good match.

They just didn’t understand. Most all cherubs - the cupids, at least - were less than enthused about Valentine’s Day, and Octavia couldn’t imagine why; after all, it was the holiday of love! And hopefully it was not spent alone, not if she had anything to do with it, despite the fact that Octavia herself often spent it alone. She didn't have many friends... really, she didn’t have any friends. And so, her companions were her targets. And she loved them, all year ‘round.

Octavia was shaken from her thoughts when the file was slammed shut, and her eyes met the steely gaze of her supervisor once more.

“Your targets have been reassigned. You have a new assignment, which - if you succeed - means I won’t transfer you to…. to…. Oh, I don’t know where, but you’ll be gone. Do you understand?”

“Ma’am? I mean, what? What is it? The assignment?” Octavia asked, nervous.

Her supervisor leaned across the desk, pointing a finger. “You are going to fix this.”

“How?”

“Think, Octavia. Who saw her first? Which of these----" A pause as the file was opened and papers were shuffled, followed by a huff when the sought information couldn’t be found immediately “----humans saw her first?”

Octavia blinked, not following.

“The woman! You say she was only nicked, and if that’s true, you must focus on the other two - so Who. Saw. Her. First?”

"It seemed both of them at once. They do lots of things in unison. It’s kind’ve weird."

“Then I suppose you’ll have to figure out how to untangle this weird one by weird one. You have approximately twelve earth days - I want this done by sundown on the 14th. And without the bow, I don’t want to hear of any more stray shots.”

“But then how do I----”

“Fix it.”

“But if you don’t want me to----”

“FIX. IT. Dismissed!”

Octavia stood, held out her arms for the customary goodbye handshake, but when the gesture was most decidedly not reciprocated, she slunk from the office.

After the door closed, the supervisor muttered under her breath as she dug around in her drawer for the small bottle of liquor she kept handy for such situations. Situations that most always involved Octavia. And as she sipped, she glanced back through the file. And then she blanched. And then she dropped her glass with a thunk onto the desk, causing the liquid to slosh across the paper, across the last names in the universe she’d have ever wanted to see.

CONFIRMED HUMAN SUBJECTS INVOLVED IN INCIDENT, FEBRUARY 1st

WINCHESTER, DEAN

WINCHESTER, SAM

~ Almost twelve days later ~ .

"Can you help me with something?"

I glanced up from my research at the sound of Sam's voice. "Of course," I said, removing my glasses. "I need a break, anyway."

In the kitchen, there was a small box on the table, wrapping paper, tape, scissors, and a ribbon lying next to it. And there was crumpled wrapping paper on the floor. A lot of crumpled wrapping paper. I looked from it to Sam, amused.

"I keep getting one side right, then the other side comes out all uneven when I fold it," he explained. "And forget the bow, I wasn't even gonna try."

"No worries, I got you," I told him, and plopped onto a seat. He sat across from me and watched as I picked up the paper and began to unroll it to judge the size. “So, is this for who I’m thinking?” I took a peek at Sam, caught the blush rising to his cheeks, and I grinned, having my answer. “You’ve been talking about her a lot since the last hunt.”

“Yeah, I guess I have,” he said. “I don’t know why, I just… started looking at her differently, you know?”

“Oh I know, and I get it, she’s great. And it’s nice to see you happy,” I said, about to lift the box - but then I stopped, met his eye. "Sam… this is leaking."

"What?"

I pointed to the moisture trail the box had left when I'd pulled it closer. "Did you... you didn't cook something, did you? I mean, that's fine, it's just we may need a different type of box, and no sense in wrapping it yet if it needs to be refrigerated, and----"

Sam cut me off. "I didn't cook anything - it's a chocolate heart."

We stared at each other for a moment, then stared down at the box, bewildered.

Which is when it jumped.

To be specific, it pulsed itself into the air, though only a tiny bit, shifting its position on the table slightly every time it came back down. Two successive plops, a brief moment, then it repeated. And it kept repeating. And it was on its fifth cycle before we came out of our shared daze, both putting our hands on the top to stop the movement. It vibrated under our palms.

“We gotta open it,” I said.

“What if it’s a cursed object?” Sam asked in response.

“Where the hell’d you get it?”

“Candy shop, same one that’s been on main street for forever, a little old lady owns it.”

“Witch, maybe?” I suggested.

We looked down as the box became a touch more aggressive in its pushback, the sides straining slightly - something thick was beginning to sneak out of the corners.

Sam shook his head, bewildered. “I dunno.”

“Well, whatever it is, it’s pissed off!” I announced and, as if it wanted to confirm my assertion, the box managed to knock our hands away, sending itself clean off the table and onto the floor, where it resumed its original soft bum-bum… bum-bum… bum-bum...

“It’s beating,” Sam said. “The heart.” A pause. “I can’t give her that!”

“THAT’S your concern?!” I shouted, then took a deep breath, exhaled it slowly, trying to quell my annoyance. “Okay. I’m opening it.”

“Wait! We should---” Sam began, but was interrupted.

“Hey, whoa - what’s going on, why’re you guys yelling?” Dean asked as he walked in, frowning.

The box performed its routine for him.

“Wow,” said Dean. “Never mind.” He looked to me. “I was gonna ask your opinion on something, but since you’re busy…”

I gave him a look. “You’re in this now, too, bud.” I dropped into a squat, did a mental 1-2-3 count, and took the lid off the box.

“Gross,” Dean said, his nose wrinkling. “I mean, cool, but gross.”

“That’s not what I bought!” Sam said, pointing down at the cool-but-gross.

It was an actual, for real, no denying it, right there, in the box, human heart, and it was pumping out a brown, viscous fluid with every beat.

“Is that….” Sam said, but trailed off, and he squatted beside me, then dipped a finger into the goo. He held it to his nose, sniffed. “I think it’s chocolate.”

“Lemme see,” Dean said, and now he squatted, too - then to our horror, he dipped his finger as well, and immediately brought it to his lips, giving it a lick.

“Dean!” Sam and I exclaimed.

“Mmmm,” Dean hummed, his eyes closing briefly. “Oh, yeah. That’s the stuff. Good stuff. Is the rest made out of candy?”

“No!” Sam and I exclaimed.

Dean’s face went pinched again. “Gross,” he repeated, then promptly stood and began walking to the fridge. “I need a beer.”

“’I need a beer’, he says,” I commented, shaking my head.

Sam and I straightened ourselves, still watching the heart pump-pump away, but we looked back to Dean at the sound of chuckling.

“You may as well give it up, brother. I got you beat. Heh. Beat,” he said with a smile, popping the cap off the beer.

“Beat at what?” I asked.

“Yeah, beat at what?” Sam echoed, and the look on his face and his stiff posture and the way he crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes made me think he already knew what Dean meant.

“I mean, it’s creative, I’ll give you that - but chocolate’s not her favorite. Which you’d know, if you knew her as well as I do,” Dean replied, cool as could be.

It hit me then that Dean had also been talking about our hunter colleague an awful lot in the recent past, and it prompted me to ask, “Dean, what was it you wanted my opinion on?”

He swallowed a mouthful of beer, then replied, “I wanted to see what you thought about how my Valentine’s gift turned out.” Looking to Sam, he added, “Which I wrapped by myself.”

Sam looked like he wanted to smack the smug right off Dean’s face. “You did this!” he said. “You put some sort of hex on that heart - you’re trying to sabotage me!”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I don’t need to sabotage you, she’s not into you.”

Sam turned to me. “Years ago, over an autopsy, he passes me a human heart, just like that one---”

“No chocolate,” Dean pointed out.

“---and he said ‘Be my valentine’.”

“Dean... asked you... to be his valentine,” I said slowly.

“Not like--- that’s not--- it’s his sick sense of humor!” Sam explained. “And he’s doing it again! Trying to split us up!”

“Split who up?” I asked. “You’re not dating her! Neither of you are!”

“Not yet,” Dean said, still with the smug.

“What did you get her? Show me,” Sam demanded.

“Like I said, I got her favorite candy. C’mon,” Dean replied, setting down his beer and gesturing for us to follow.

As we walked down the hall to his room, they kept fussing, and as Dean was opening the door, I said, “You’re both acting really weird, I’m honestly getting concerned because---- good lord.”

A gift bag was tipped over on his bed, and what had to be dozens of worms were happily crawling around: on the bed itself, on the pillows, on the floor, on his desk, and - to his horror - over the stack of vintage porn mags on the nightstand.

“What the hell?!” he shouted.

Sam snickered.

The worms were fat, and glossy, and each segment was a color of the rainbow.

“Gummy worms?” I asked.

“Gummy worms,” Dean confirmed.

After a shared look - the same one we’d share during hunts when we knew it was time to cut out and regroup - we all left the room, shutting the door behind us.

“You believe me now? That I’m not sabotaging you?” Dean asked Sam.

Sam nodded. “Yeah. Something’s up.”

“Finally!” I said. “We have to retrace our steps, figure out what caused this. Now, you two started talking about her on the way home after that hunt, I think, so----”

“Something’s trying to keep me from her,” Dean and Sam stated in unison.

I groaned. “No, that’s not it - it’s that something’s, I dunno, infected the both of you, to make you want her. You know, want-her, want her.”

“I’m gonna go see her,” Dean said, determination all over his face and in his tone.

“Not if I get there first,” Sam replied, equally determined.

When they both began to move to, I assume, race each other to the car, I stood in the way. “Stop, okay? Isn't she still up at Donna's, going over traps and sigils with the girls?”

Dean got a moony smile on his face. “Man, she's so freakin' smart.”

Sam went dopey, too. "Right? So smart. Smartest person we know, definitely."

“And the prettiest.”

“Pretty? She's gorgeous.”

“Totally the hottest chick we know.”

I raised my hand. "Hi? Right here, remember?"

Dean gave me an up-and-down. “You’re all right, you got nothing to worry about.”

“I’m. Not. Worried,” I said through grit teeth.

“And you’re good with the lore,” Sam offered halfheartedly.

“I know. Look, if you’re gonna go up to Donna’s----” I began, but they cut me off by going around me, headed toward the garage at what seemed like light speed. “I’m coming with you!” I yelled, hot on their heels, pausing only to snatch my jacket off the back of a library chair.

Thankfully, the road trip conversation was less argument and more fawning over the object of their mutual desire, and as much as I liked our friend, I got bored, which meant I got sleepy. In what felt like a blink of an eye, I suddenly found myself in the next county over from our destination. The slamming of the car doors had jolted me awake - according to my watch, they’d driven all through the night, the maniacs, and now it appeared a side mission had emerged.

We were parked in front of a liquor store.

It was surprisingly empty for Valentine’s Day, at least in my estimation. I’d have thought people would’ve been buying out the joint, last minute prep for their sappy candlelit dinners. I shuddered at the thought. That was me: Not Romantic, party of one.

When I entered, the gal behind the checkout counter gave me a polite smile and a small point in the direction of the refrigerated areas at the back of the store, to the only other occupants besides ourselves. But she didn’t need to - I’d heard them already. And it sounded like the most recent bout was about to hit a fever pitch.

“It’s the last one, and I got to it first!”

“Yeah, well I saw it first!”

Dean and Sam were yanking a bottle back and forth, and when I came up to them, I noted it was champagne. Pink champagne. I rolled my eyes, then reached in and snatched the bottle away, which earned me two dirty looks.

“Guys, I have a idea about what might’ve happened - is it possible this is a cupid situation?” I asked.

They both stared at me for a couple of seconds, and then smiles began to appear on both their faces.

“That explains it,” said Sam.

“It sure does,” said Dean.

I eyed both of them, suspicious at why they were pleased to hear my theory, but went on. “We should call Cas, see about doing a summoning spell.”

“We could do that on our own, I don’t wanna bother him while he’s spending time with Jack,” Sam replied.

I was instantly relieved - at least Sam was getting some sense.

“Why should we summon a cupid?” Dean asked. “If it is a cupid, that must mean I’m meant to be with----”

“Whoa, hold on,” Sam interrupted. “I’m supposed to be with----”

So much for sense.

Now I interrupted. “What makes you think either of you are supposed to be with her? Regardless, both of you can’t be meant for her! This is obviously some sort of mistake!”

Dean's lips curled into a smirk. “You jealous?”

My eyebrows shot up. “Jealous of what? Not being on the receiving end of leaky organs and creepy crawlers? Can we focus for a second? Back on the hunt, did you two see anybody that shouldn’t have been there? Before or after the salt and burn?”

“Nope,” Dean answered.

“Same here,” Sam agreed.

I sighed. “Me, neither.” I thought a few more moments, then asked, “Anywhere else? Anybody new? Anybody unusual?”

“Well, I mean… I guess the girl that sold me the heart was a little different. Different for Lebanon,” Sam said. “I’ve never seen her around town before, and I’d have noticed - she had pink hair.”

Dean nodded. “Uh-huh. Same girl sold me the worms. I’ve never seen her before, either.”

“Okay, so, pink hair - what else?” I asked.

“She was just… really Valentine-y. I thought it was just part of the sales shtick,” Dean answered.

“Yeah, her dress was patterned with these little lips, like kisses,” Sam said.

Dean gave him a look for remembering that piece of info, and I hid a smile.

Sam ignored him. “And she had a name you don’t hear often… it was Opal… Olive… Ophelia?”

Dean snapped his fingers. “No, no - it was, like, Octopus or something.”

“Octop---- Dean, what?” Sam said, exasperated.

I ran a hand over my face, looked skyward for a second, briefly turning over in my mind how my life had come to this point, then brought my eyes back to them. “Was it Octavia?”

They were mildly stunned.

“How in the hell could you have known that?” Dean asked.

“Because I’m a hunter, and I’m observant, and I’m not in some whack-a-doo crazy cupid coma,” I replied, and I sounded snide, because I was being snide. “I know the name because of the name tag.”

“I thought you didn’t see anybody at the cemetery,” Sam said, brow furrowed.

Dean frowned, as well. “And cupids wearing name tags? No they don’t, they’re naked. Where would they put it?”

“Oh my god, the stupid has to end,” I announced, and stepped behind him, grabbing his shoulders, shifting him so he was facing down the aisle, to the front of the store. I pointed. “Checkout girl? Up there? Pink sweater with white hearts? Pink-and-white striped skirt? Pink tights? Pink hair?!?”

At that moment, the shelves began to tremble - specifically, the shelves lined with the not-pink champagne bottles. Glass clinked as they bumped into one another. The ones stored upright tipped onto their sides.

And then they fired.

Corks shot out like bullets, and we dodged and weaved, getting popped here-and-there, but other than sticky, bubble-coated boots, we managed to get out of the store unscathed. And on the sidewalk, we found her. There, the cotton candy-colored cupid stood, fidgeting, a hesitant smile on her face.

We stared.

“H-h-hi?” she managed.

We continued to stare.

“I screwed up,” she admitted. “And unless I fix this, I’ll be kicked out of the cupids.” Tears sprang to her already shining eyes. “I don’t even know what other cherubs do! And I don’t want to, I’m a good cupid, I am.”

“Oh no. You suck,” Dean stated, and I frowned at him, gave him a sharp elbow, then looked to the source of our troubles.

“It’s Octavia, right?” I asked, glancing at the name tag.

She nodded. "I wouldn't lie, I promise."

I nodded in acknowledgement, and said, “Okay, then, keep that going. Tell us what, exactly, you screwed up.”

“I got the address backwards. I was supposed to be across town, not at that graveyard.” She paused, a contemplative expression coming to her face. “Now that I think of it, that isn’t a romantic place.”

“No,” Sam responded flatly. “It’s not.”

And then Octavia told her story, confirming what I’d guessed. “I thought all this would discourage you, but seems my arrows were more potent than I realized,” she finished. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am. You mean so much to me. Every one of you.”

Dean and Sam and I looked at each other, all of us softening - we believed her.

“Octavia, what else can be done?” Sam asked. “Because I’ll be honest, all I want to do right now is tackle Dean and steal the keys and leave him in the dust and go to her.”

“Awesome. Let's see you try,” Dean shot back, eyes narrowed, fists clenching.

I looked to the cupid with what I knew was desperation on my face as I moved to stand between the lovesick idiots.

“I could use something else on my arrows—-” Octavia began.

“NO ARROWS!” the three of us shouted.

“—-but it should work if you use it on yourselves.” She pulled three small bottles from the pocket of her skirt, all filled with a shimmery red liquid that gave off a slight golden glow.

“So do they drink it?” I asked.

Octavia shook her head. “It needs to be applied to where I hit them - well, Sam can maybe drink his, but…”

“But what?”

“But… butt. I hit Dean in the butt, then it kind’ve curved up and hit Sam in the cheek. Not one of those cheeks, I mean----”

I held up a hand. “Stop, I got it.”

Sam’s jaw dropped. “You’re--- you’re telling me it went through his ass then in my mouth?”

Dean leaned over, gripping his knees, laughing so hard he was gasping for breath in no time.

One of the bottles was smaller than the others, and after Octavia handed the first two to Sam and Dean, and they went back into the store to use it, she handed the tiny one to me.

“Give this to her, just in case. It’s for her arm. The arrow lost a lot of steam by the time it got to her, I think most of the juice was off it. Has she been calling a lot or did she show up at your place or anything?”

“Ah, that’s a big fat no,” I answered. “All the crazy has been with these two. Lucky me.”

“You are lucky,” Octavia said. “My aim is so bad, I could’ve hit you, too. Then two of you could’ve been mismatched, along with that other woman, and it would’ve been worse.”

“Yeah… worse…” I said under my breath, my mind wandering for a moment. I shook myself out of it. “Well, look - no harm was done. Maybe a few bruises from your artillery in there, but otherwise we just have some clean-up to do back on the homefront. The candy stuff was pretty genius by the way.”

Octavia blushed. “You really think so?”

“Absolutely. And listen, I’m sure where you come from, they’ve got practice areas for shooting, right? That’s all you need. Hell, I had to practice every day for a long time before I got good at throwing blades. You’re creative, and you’re clearly passionate about your job. I don’t know what else heaven could ask for.”

A bright smile came to the cupid’s face. “Thank you. So much. I mean it.”

“So what’s on deck for you tonight, since you pulled this off? You gonna celebrate?” I asked.

“I don’t have any plans, it’s not like cupids have matchmakers, so… But I like being around love. I think I’ll hang out at that little restaurant around the corner, the people seemed happy there, and there’s paper hearts all taped on the windows, and I think I even saw some balloons. There’s no balloons in heaven.”

“Okay,” I said, and I smiled back, but I felt a little sad for her.

I didn’t have time to think on it for long - Dean and Sam emerged, and we all said our goodbyes.

The would-be paramour was packing up her car when we pulled up to Donna’s place, and after a brief round of rock-paper-scissors, Sam got the honor of explaining what had happened - a win or a loss, hard to tell.

But she was laughing through the whole story, and when it was done, she gave me a big hug, saying, “Bless your soul, I can’t imagine what it’s been like for you.”

I laughed, too. “Honestly, it wasn’t so awful. Plus, I get to bring this up every Valentine’s Day for years to come.”

“Great,” Dean said, not meaning it in the least.

“Do any of you have anything going on tonight?” she asked. “Should we go get a pizza or something on the way back to Kansas?”

“Nah, I think I’ll pass,” Dean said.

“Um, yeah. Me, too,” I said.

She turned to Sam. “How about you? I mean, why not make the best of it? And we don’t have to do pizza, we could do a movie, maybe?”

“You sure you’re feeling okay?” Sam asked hesitantly, which got another laugh out of her.

“Yes! If these two party poopers are out, that means we can watch something artsy they’d hate.”

Sam smiled, relieved. “Yeah, that actually sounds great.”

While they discussed their plans, Dean turned to me and said, “That's not a half-bad idea.”

I was surprised. “What do you mean?”

“Making the best of it. We can go make with the best.”

“You wanna spend Valentine’s with me? I figured you’d… what happened to celebrating Lonely Ladies Getting Laid Day?”

“It’s Unattached Drifter Christmas. And I don’t mean anything fancy, or… stuff... It’s just... you know, as friends.”

That’s what he’d said, but he’d taken a step closer, and his voice had gotten a little softer, and if my eyes didn’t deceive me, the expression on his face held something I’d seldom seen on him: uncertainty.

“Friends?” I clarified.

“Well friends with be----”

At my raised eyebrow, he cut himself off and course-corrected.

“Beer. Friends with beer.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

“Sure.... sure, as in.... you'll....”

“Sure, Dean. I'll go.”

“You’ll go. Okay. Okay! That’s… that’s good, that’s…”

“Do I get flowers?” I asked casually, and at the near-horrified look on his face, tacked on a wink to let him know I was anything but serious.

He grinned. “You get a burger.”

I brought a hand to my chest. “Oh, Mr. Winchester - be still my heart.”

We were ready to get going, but after I filled him in on the rest of my conversation with our clumsy cupid, we agreed we had a quick stop to make before our Valentine’s Day evening got fully underway.

Octavia was at the bar nursing a cosmopolitan when the maître d' approached.

“Miss? Might you be Octavia?”

She swallowed and said, “Yes? I mean, yes. That’s me.”

“This was just dropped off for you,” he said, handing her a plastic bag with a drugstore’s name across it. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Octavia took it, mumbling a thank you as he walked off, completely distracted; she’d never received a gift before. And it was the most perfect thing she’d ever seen. She knew well that most all the cards had long been sold, and she was glad, because this was much more special.

There it was, in her hands, her very own valentine, handmade with what materials were at their disposal. It was a cut-from-newspaper heart, trimmed in cotton balls, with random stickers that weren’t holiday-related but were all pinks-and-reds, stuck here-and-there around the writing. And that writing said:

. Have a happy Valentine’s Day, Octavia. You deserve it. - Your favorite hunters .

After swiping a few tears away, Octavia left money on the bar and upon exiting, scurried around to the back of the building so she could disappear. She needed to drop her valentine off back home. And she also needed to pick up something while she was there.

When she reached her final destination of the night, the cupid watched through the window of the burger joint for awhile, drinking in the happiness before her. It could mean trouble, what she was about to do, but in this case there wasn’t need for an assignment, or cross-checking with the fates or the reapers, because she felt it was right. She knew it, sparkled tips to shiny toes.

Tonight’s arrow was smaller, and coated delicately. Concentrating, Octavia aimed carefully. She didn’t blink, and she didn’t wobble, and for the first time ever she hit precisely the targets she intended.

It sailed clean through both their hearts, and Octavia smiled. They would have an amazing night. As for the rest, well - she’d leave forever up to them.

Author’s Notes: This is not only for Valentine’s Day, it’s also for the Galentine’s celebration hosted by @spnfanficpond and my secret Galentine is fellow Pondie @bookshido (who I cannot tag, but have arranged for them to be tagged, cross my heart!) Hope you enjoyed!

...And a quick PS: While you'll notice standard divisions for change of scenes, the intro and ending are separated from this first-person perspective tale by the heart dividers, and are in third person for the purpose of giving the audience information that the main characters don't know/don't need to know - just FYI so you don't think I've lost my mind... or my perspective, as it were. ;)

See Nash Write : Master / See Nash Write : Mobile

🏷️🏷️Wanna be tagged? Hit me up! 🏷️🏷️

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#Supernatural Fanfiction #SPN Fanfic #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #Valentine's Day #Nash Writes #Queueby Dooby Doo #Dad's on a blog post and #he hasn't been queued in a few days

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ve1vetyoongi · 6 years

Text

remember me | kth - 02

chapters: I, II, III, IV, V

pairing: taehyung x reader

rated: mature - contains smut.

genre: idol!au, baker!tae, french!reader, angst, romance, fluff, smut.

summary: Taehyung wants to be forgotten. Overwhelmed by his life as idol persona V, he longs to just be Kim Taehyung for once. Even if that means forgetting everything he ever knew.

word count: 6.1k

warnings: (fluffy) smut, oral (f receiving), penetrative sex, mentions of blood, strong language, memory loss.

a/n: here is the second chapter of Remember Me! A big thank you to everyone who said kind things about the last installment and for getting chapter 1 to nearly 100 notes! It means so much to me that anyone read my work let alone 100 people haha. I hope you enjoy this part just as much!

Getting a job at your father’s bakery was easier said than done. Workers had come and gone over the years, some citing conflicting schedules as their reason for resigning and others blatantly blaming your father’s strict approach to enforcement when it came to his employees. You couldn’t blame him for being that way, really. After all, the business had been in the family for years, the pastries a sweet testament to your grandparents and their grandparents before that. Belle Epoque had a reputation for being one of the best patisseries for miles - admittedly not hard in a small town like this, but an accomplishment none the less - so it was unsurprising that your father took great pride in ensuring everything was at it’s best, including the employees. Come to think of it, you were the only worker who wasn’t fired after a few months on the job, probably because the only thing above the bakery in importance to your father was his family.

“Papa!” You had announced upon entering Belle Époque’s swing doors, surprising a couple eating breakfast at one of the high seats overlooking the harbor through the tall glass windows. Your father was behind the counter, arranging the freshly baked breads of all shapes, sizes and varieties on a wire rack behind him. A line was already forming to buy the warm loaves, the smell comforting and delicious. Your sudden arrival drew your father away from his ministrations, wiping flour from his palms onto the sides of his black uniform as he spun in search of you. His eyes met yours immediately, worry filled as he looked you up and down once, then twice to check for any obvious bodily harm.

“What is wrong, mon amour?” He questioned, anxiety evident in his voice. An elderly man in line for your famous croissants tutted when your father pushed away the five euro bill he held out in payment in favor of slipping beneath the counter to pull your chin into his hands. He smelled like gooey danishes and apple turnovers and you breathed in the scent gladly, a feeling of home washing over you.

“Nothing, I have good news!” You pulled on his wrists, loosening his grip on your face. He cocked his head to the side, wrinkling his nose in relief when he realized you were not in any immediate danger. “I found you a new worker!”

A large poster was taped to the glass doors, labelled HELP WANTED, advertising the shortness of staff at the bakery. You had put it up yourself weeks ago and still nobody had come in to query about the position, probably put off by the stories of your fathers harshness when it came to cleaning the kitchens or baking the perfect pastries. It was becoming urgent - you were overworked, trying to balance your kitchen duties with stock responsibilities and working the counter so you were pretty sure your father would accept anybody who was brave enough to apply.

“Eh? I thought nobody around here wanted the job?”

“They don’t.” You say with a roll of the eyes, referencing the many conversations you had had regarding his unforgiving attitude. “He isn’t from here.”

His eyebrow cocked uncertainly. “You trust someone you don’t know to work here?”

“Papa, I do know him.” Although you had only met a few days ago your time with Taehyung felt like a lifetime. “I promise you can trust him.”

“I don’t know about this.”

“Please, Papa! He is hard working, I wouldn’t come to you if I didn’t believe it myself.” Your father’s face was still stony and unimpressed, quizzically considering your proposition. “S'il vous plaît?”

Your pleading cracked his resolve. You could tell by the way he softened, palms squeezing your shoulders gently as he clicked his tongue in disappointment at his own inability to say no. “Fine. But he’s on stock duty for now - keep him away from my kitchen, you hear me? - Leon will be here with this weeks stock in twenty minutes.”

Practically jumping with glee, you rip the poster from the window and triumphantly toss it into the trash. “I won’t disappoint you, Papa! He won’t disappoint you.”

“Just bring him in.” He tuts, waving you away as he moved his attention to the grumpy queue of impatient customers. “Twenty minutes!”

His reminder sent you into action, grabbing two aprons from the hook and rushing out into the street, scanning side to side until you finally laid eyes on Taehyung. He stood with his back pressed to the brick wall of the bakery, toe of his boot kicking stones into the middle of the cobbled road. He seemed nervous, eyes trained to the ground as he mumbled various greetings under his breath, apparently preparing for an introduction to your father. He snapped out of it quickly once the slam of the door gave away your presence, granting you a smile as you approached.

“How did it go?” His cane clicked as he closed the distance between you.

“You start work in twenty minutes,” You throw one of the white aprons you clutched in your hands, smirking as he fumbled to catch the flimsy fabric. “Get to work, kid.”

“You’re kidding?” He exclaimed, eyes as wide as his open mouth as he watched you fasten your own apron around your waist. A small nod was all it took for him to explode, discarding his cane all together as he scooped you up at the waist, bouncing up and down excitedly. The loss of gravity was unexpected, causing a squeal to escape your lips against his neck as he whispered a repetitive mantra of thank you’s into your hair.

The moment was cut short by a searing pain in Taehyung’s thigh, causing him to stagger backwards under your weight and reminding him of his still weakened state of health. Your feet touched the ground again as he grasped the cane, attempting to cover the heave of his chest with a smile.

“No need for thank you’s, just don’t make me regret this.” You mumbled in response.

Taehyung’s grin widened as he fumbled to tie his own apron around his waist. Noticing his struggle you slipped behind him to tie the strings into a knot yourself.

Once his apron was secure, he turned to face you again, pulling your face into his palms. “I promise, you won’t!”

As it turned out, it was Taehyung who regretted accepting the job.

August’s peak had arrived, bringing with it the hottest summer the town had experienced in years. Your father had meant it when he said Taehyung was to stay far away from the kitchen - and the air conditioning as a result - instead ordering him to do all the literal heavy lifting he was apparently too old (or self righteous, Taehyung considered) to do himself. Leon, the bakeries supplier, came twice a week, bringing with him crates of flour and obscene amounts of chocolate chips and apple slices for Taehyung to unload and keep track of in a leather bound note book. He had voiced the idea of perhaps getting a laptop or tablet to make the job more efficient, only to be shut down with a harsh no from your father. He preferred to do things traditionally, he said.

Leon arrived late, setting Taehyung behind on his schedule by fifteen minutes he could not afford to waste; after all, he was already slower on his feet due to his wounded thigh. Taehyung watched with a sigh as Leon disappeared into the distance on his bicycle, pulling an empty cart back to the market. The stock seemed to be larger in quantity that day and sweat laced Taehyung’s furrowed brow before he had even attempted to begin shifting it bit by bit into the stock room.

Though, the hot stare of your father watching as he scratched his head in thought did not help his predicament. Taehyung’s back was to the door of the kitchen but he knew he was there, keeping a careful eye over him as he worked. He was still an outsider in this town, his employment at the bakery quickly becoming a topic of gossip among the people and apparently fueling your fathers inherent distrust of him. So far, Taehyung had proved himself as a good worker albeit a slow one, so your fathers reasons for continuing to stand with his arms crossed across his chest like a lion protecting its cubs was beyond him.

“You just gonna stand there, kid?” His sharp voice rang out, drawing Taehyung from his inner debate with a jolt. As if reading his mind, he added: “Start with the flour, y/n’s running short.”

Taehyung swallowed loudly, nervous under the scrutinizing presence. He had discarded his cane a week or two ago, able to limp where he desired now. It was progress, he figured. The black boots he had borrowed dragged across the cobbles as he approached the stack of flour sacks that almost towered over him in height.

They were heavy, he knew that from experience and he was practically winded just by lifting the sack at the top of the pile. The veins in Taehyung’s neck bulged as he struggled to keep his balance under the hefty weight. He felt his biceps begin to ache, opting to press a knee to the underside of the flour in an attempt to distribute the mass only to find himself balancing on his weakened leg, a sharp pain shooting through his thigh. The pain was sudden, eliciting an agonizing gasp and causing his grip on the sack to loosen substantially. Before he knew it he was stumbling forward, letting go of the flour all together in favor of breaking his fall with his hands. There was nothing he could do at that point, watching with wide eyes as the sack hit the ground, splitting and spilling onto the concrete beneath before he landed a top of it himself in a cloud of white.

The powder stung his eyes and tickled his throat, coughs wracking his frame as the flour irritated his lungs. Taehyung staggered to his knees, ignoring the way his thigh still protested, attempting to scoop the flour back into the sack to no avail. He sank back against his heels, finally accepting there was nothing he could do to salvage the ingredients, dragging his palms down his face in defeat.

A click of the tongue sounded behind him and Taehyung’s neck snapped towards the source, eyes immediately meeting your fathers own disappointed irises. His head shook side to side as he took in the sight before him. Taehyung noticed the way his jaw tightened in dismay, probably calculating the exact amount of money he would be removing from his paycheck before he simply disappeared back into the kitchen without a word.

His silence was enough.

“Fuck!” Taehyung exclaimed, slamming his closed fist into the belly of the now half empty sack of flour repeatedly. He had really done it this time. If he was on thin ice before he was in cold water now, pretty confident that his time working at Belle Epoque was over. He had tried so desperately to prove himself to the big man himself, your father, only to fuck everything up over a sack of flour. Why didn’t he take the candied fruit first? Why did his leg have to take so long to heal?

“Why did I take this job in the first place?” He muttered under his breath to nobody but himself. “I should have been a fucking fisherman.”

Deep down, he knew the answer to the question. The reason he didn’t want to become a fisherman or a sailor or even a bar tender was all down to one thing, one person.

You.

The entire reason he was here was because of the little glimpses he caught of you when he passed the kitchen window. Or when you rushed into the stock room in search of chopped almonds, hair tied back messily but still sparing him a smile and a few words through the stock room shelves before your father returned and caught you slacking. The only reason he was afraid of your father and his ability to fire him was because he couldn’t stand to sit at home, surrounded by you in your own apartment without you in it.

His heart ached at the thought and he realized that seeing you right now was exactly what he needed to calm the anger at his own weakness. Stock still surrounded him, ready to be accounted for and time still ticked away but he figured since his time here was limited he might as well break a couple of rules, right?

His hands left white prints on the back pockets of his slightly over sized jeans as he got to his feet, brushing powder from his shirt as he crept past the window before sidling up to the back door. It was propped open by a metal bucket, allowing him to slip inside relatively quietly if you overlooked the way his boot dragged a little with every step.

Taehyung’s eyes fell on you straight away. He felt himself relax somewhat instantly, just your presence unknowingly putting him at ease. You had that effect on him.

You stood with your back to him, ceramic mixing bowl balanced on your forearm as you folded a creamy mixture with a wooden spoon. He had tried some of your confectioneries, anticipating the times you would slip them to him during his breaks while your father was out front. Taehyung could confidently say you made the best croissants he had ever tasted, understanding immediately why customers returned day after day to experience the buttery goodness melting on their tongues time again.

Even while working, he thought you were beautiful. The effortless waves that usually cascaded across your shoulders had been tied back with an elastic, exposing the perfect curve of your jaw. He noted the way you hummed gently under your breath in time with the soft accordion crackling over the radio. Taehyung pressed his back to the far wall, watching your delicate ministrations with an air of amusement at your blissful obliviousness. Before long he cleared his throat, snorting when you almost dropped the bowl in surprise. You spun on your heels, another bout of shock taking over as you discarded the tools in favor of rushing across the kitchen to where he smiled at you lazily.

“Tae!” You hissed, grabbing his shoulders to drag him out of the direct line of view from the front of the bakery. Glancing side to side to check the coast was clear, you kept your voice to a whisper as you scolded him. “You know you aren’t meant to be in here!”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” Taehyung said a little too loudly for your liking, resulting in a stern look. “I needed to see you.” He lowered the volume a little, unintentionally though as embarrassment began to rise in his cheeks at his admission.

“You wanted to see me?” You blurted. He gripped your elbows firmly, thumbs rubbing gentle circles into the flesh there as he scanned your face for any indication that you were uncomfortable. “You are lucky you didn’t see my father on the way in here!”

“I always want to see you.” He confessed. “Just this time I actually had the courage to do it.”

“You don’t usually?”

“I’m pretty sure your father would fire me if he caught me in here,” Taehyung span you around so the small of your back pressed against the counter, settling himself between your legs. “But I’m pretty sure I just gave him a reason to do that already, so I’ve got nothing to loose.”

“What?” You exclaimed, hand covering your mouth when the words came out a little to loudly than was appropriate for the current situation.

“I messed up. Dropped a sack of flour while he was watching me.” You couldn’t help but giggle against the palm of your hand as he explained, the image of your unforgiving father’s face enough to weaken your knees.

“So that is why you are covered in white stuff?” You manage to let out, thumb coming to swipe at the layer of flower that obscured his nose. Your hand paused against his cheek, feeling the way his face stretched into a smile.

“Yeah,” His breath was warm against your forehead. Taehyung’s eyes drew a line down your face until they reached your lips, his own slightly parted with want. “I’d kiss you but I don’t want to get flour on your face.”

Your breath caught in your throat at his words. “I don’t mind.”

Taehyung’s heart somersaulted in his chest as he gently cupped your chin in his large hands, fixated on you. The rest of the world faded to a buzz, your vanilla scent consuming his senses deliciously and his heart a thumping reminder of how long he had been waiting for this moment.

Deciding he was taking too long, you encourage him a little by tugging on the collar of his shirt, the small push enough for him to finally connect his lips to your own. Warmth spread through Taehyung’s entire body, the feeling of your plump lips moving against his own enough to make him dizzy. Your fingers tugged at his hair - it was a little longer now, enough to wrap the blonde strands around your fingers as if to ground yourself - or perhaps to keep him from disappearing, convinced the way your body melted against his was a figment of your dreams. His tongue snaked out to run along the stretch of your bottom lip, educing a soft sigh to leave your chest.

As soon as the moment began it was over, Taehyung pulling away almost too soon, lips tingling where they had touched yours. He panted heavily, finally taking a breath after what felt like hours. High on the kiss you had just shared, you fell against Taehyung, burying your nose in the crook of his neck while his arms simply tugged your body as close to him as he could manage.

“Holy shit.” He whispered against your cheek. “That was-”

“Amazing.” You breathe before he could finish.

“Am I interrupting something?” A thick accent permeated the atmosphere, bringing you both back to reality before you were ready. Taehyung’s jaw snapped shut, forehead crinkling in a mixture of humiliation at being caught in the kitchen but mostly panic when he realized he had been caught kissing his boss’s daughter.

You swore you had never seen him move so fast, the warmth of his body gone in an instant as he leaped as far from you as possible, avoiding the gaze of your father who had entered the kitchen who knows how long ago. Maybe he didn’t see.

“Taehyung, I need to speak to you.”

Oh god. He saw.

Red hot heat rose in your cheeks, embarrassment washing over you before the implications of his words hit you fully. “Papa! Please don’t do this, it was my fault not his-”

“No, sir, this was all me.” Taehyung interrupted, raising his hands in surrender. “Please don’t blame y/n for what I initiated.”

You must have looked a picture, both pleading wide eyed and embarrassed and you were sure you saw the hint of a smile creep into the corners of your fathers mouth.

“If you would let me finish,” your father tried again, “I was going to tell Taehyung that he will be working out front from tomorrow morning.”

You both stared at him open mouthed, astounded that he did not seem angry or at all intent on firing Taehyung.

“O-oh, I - thank you! I uh, won’t let you down.” Taehyung coughed after a few moments of silence, bowing his head in a sign of appreciation.

“You are a hard working kid. Consider it a promotion.” Your father tugged at his apron as he made his way back into the bakery. Just as you thought you were in the clear, his voice sounded again from the distance. “But no funny business in my kitchen!”

Taehyung wasted no time resuming his earlier position, wiping a spot of flour at the corner of your mouth that had transferred from his face. “No funny business? I can’t make any promises.”

Taehyung fell into routine quickly, so quickly that he almost stopped longing to remember what came before he met you as he was sure it could not have been as perfect as this.

Your apartment was small but it felt bigger since Taehyung started living with you. It was like your beings fit together like a perfect jigsaw, never once falling over one another and always somehow in sync. Everything felt fresh and new and enhanced somehow, the town a little more vibrant, the warmth of the bakery a little more inviting and your bed a little more comfortable while sharing it with someone else.

Life was simple and that was the beauty of it. Weekdays were mostly spent at the bakery, you in the kitchen and Taehyung serving customers out front, occasionally sharing looks in the form of a smile or the simple cock of an eyebrow in between hushed rendezvous carefully calculated to begin and end before your father came back from his break. Weekends were for laundry dates and reading books with your head in his lap, him pretending to read over your shoulder but losing his place half way through in favor of watching your face instead.

Evenings were for drinking chamomile tea in your bed, legs tangled in one another as you told stories of life before him - what you remembered of your mother, your childhood cat, the time you slipped at the harbor and broke your collar bone. Taehyung always felt a little guilty that he could only listen, unable to tell stories of his own because as hard as he tried he just could not remember. You had tried to reassure him, reminding him that you knew this Taehyung so it didn’t really matter who he used to be.

That night was like any other; your head on his chest as you recounted a childhood story in between giggles. His hand stroked your silky hair gently and he enjoyed the way your eyes fluttered shut when his fingers massaged your scalp. The sight of your cheek pressed to his bare chest was enough to send his heart into overdrive, three words lingering at the tip of his tongue but never quite confident to leave it. I love you. He was sure of it.

“Tae?” You mumbled, raising your head to look at him bemusedly. “Are you listening to me?”

“Mmmf - what?” He replied, scratching the nape of his neck as he sent you an apologetic look. “I was listening!”

“What was the last thing I said?” You kicked the covers away from your body, throwing a leg over his lap to hover over him playfully. “Prove it.”

“You were saying…” He paused for a moment, staring into the distance as he tried to recall something to no avail. “Fine, I was distracted. Now just shut up and c'mere.”

Before you could protest, his lips were on yours. He tasted like Jasmine and herbal tea and you just about melted into his touch, moaning slightly when his hands pressed you to him roughly at the back of your neck. Kissing you had become all too easy for Taehyung, never satisfied until his lips were moving against yours and immediately starved once they parted.

You were the one to pull away first, tugging his bottom lip between your teeth and watching the way his eyes glazed over at the sensation. “Distracted by what?”

“By you.” Taehyung practically growled as he gripped your wrists, managing to flip you onto your back so he was above you, his knee pushing between your legs. “You make me forget everything.”

“How so?” You nibble on your bottom lip as his hands push you firmly into the mattress. His eyes were boring into yours but his dark stare only excited you.

“You’re doing it again!” He groaned, swallowing thickly as he relished the way you felt so soft, so needy beneath him. “I can hardly control myself when you look at me like that.”

Placing your palms carefully against his cheeks, you pull him in for a kiss, a warm tingle spreading through your chest when his nose brushes yours. His finger tips traced your jaw, dragging down the expanse of your neck and arms before rubbing feather light circles into the flesh of your waist that peeked out from the top of your pajama shorts. Taehyung’s actions were soft and so sweet you were sure you would melt under his touch.

You barely left his lips for long enough to take a breath before your tongue was tracing his bottom lip, begging for entrance which he granted with a sigh. Your arms looped around the back of his neck, your wrists grazing his bare back and sending shivers through his entire body.

Taehyung wasn’t sure how much longer he could last before he caved. So far, sweet kisses and lazy make-outs were the furthest you had taken things and honestly, he was happy for things to stay that way. As long as you were comfortable, he didn’t care - Taehyung was determined that if things were going to go any further it had to be under your circumstances - so, until you initiated anything he was content to just be as close to you as possible.

Unfortunately, that didn’t stop nature from taking its course - Taehyung’s problem was more than obvious, his hard on grazing your inner thigh as you desperately clawed at him, ever deepening the kiss. He could not help the small groan that left him at the contact, a hot blush sweeping your cheeks when you realized his predicament.

Leaving your swollen lips with a pop, Taehyung rolled to your side and scooted towards the edge of the bed. “Fuck,” He said through broken breaths, heels grazing the carpet as he avoided your gaze, unsure why he was embarrassed. He was always comfortable around you. Taehyung knew you could never judge him. “I had better go to the bathroom - ”

“Wait!” The cold raised the hairs on your arms almost as soon as his warmth was gone, an unbearable emptiness. You appreciated that Taehyung was respectful of your wishes - it made you feel safe in his company, wanted for more than what your body had to offer. More than anything, though, it told you that he was the right person to do this with and his sudden withdrawal confirmed just how much you wanted it, needed it. “Taehyung, I want this.”

You scrambled to your knees, wrapping your fingers around his wrist before he could escape and forcing him to face you once again. His eyes softened as he scanned your face, searching for any indication that you were unsure. “Really?”

A gentle tug encouraged him to return to his earlier position above you, though on his knees this time. Your hands shakily closed around the hem of your shirt, pulling the loose garment over your head. Taehyung’s eyes raked down across your bra before raising to meet yours again, his mouth agape a little. “Really.” You insisted.

At your confirmation, Taehyung was on you again almost immediately, hands finding any expanse of skin they could, enjoying the way they glided across the smooth surface of your stomach and the dips of your collar bones. His lips followed soon after, leaving open mouthed kisses to your forehead and then your nose and then a series down the valley of your breasts. His ministrations caused your core to throb, a bout of heat hitting your lower regions deliciously.

Arching your back under his touch, you reach behind to unclasp your bra, enjoying the way Taehyung’s eyes widen as the fabric falls away to reveal your hardened nipples. He wastes no time taking one between his lips, evoking a whimper from you as his teeth graze the nub. Your fingers weave into his hair, a series of moans leaving your lips as he begins to work their way down your stomach to the waistband of your shorts.

His thumbs slip beneath the hem, teasing gently as he asks for permission. “Can I?” His voice is husky, laced with desire as his finger tips dance across your thighs.

“Please.” You manage to gasp out, taking it upon yourself to start removing the barrier between him and your heat, the place you wanted him more than anywhere else. Taehyung’s breath hitched in his throat when he took in the sight of your panties, already sticking obscenely to your heat as you squirmed beneath his gaze. “I need you, Tae.”

“Fuck me,” Taehyung mumbled under his breath, mouth dry as he settled between your legs. His hair tickled your inner thigh and you writhed with anticipation. “I want to taste you.”

He lowered his head again, returning to his previous ministrations as he placed wet kisses to both of your thighs, teasing you by ignoring your sweet spot. Your heart was racing, practically beating out of your chest. “Taehyung?”

He stopped instantly, neck snapping up to scan your face. “Do you not want me to?”

“What? No! Trust me, that’s not it,” You jump to reassure him, dragging your thumb against his cheek to validate your statement and appease the worry evident in his irises. “It’s just…I’ve never done this before.”

“No one has ever eaten you out?” He blinks at you through his lashes, surprised at your confession, mainly because he couldn’t understand how anyone could manage to keep their hands off you.

“Opportunity never presented itself?”

“Don’t worry,” His head dipped back down again. “Just relax.” Taehyung carefully placed a final kiss directly to your heat, breath hot against your wetness through the fabric of your panties. Finally at the height of your impatience, you slide the garment down your hips, Taehyung unhooking them from your ankles before throwing them somewhere behind him, eager to finish what he started.

“Fuck, y/n.“His hands felt like fire against your thighs and you were sure the imprint of his palms would remain as he pushed your legs open a little further, tongue slipping out to wet his lips as he finally laid eyes on your heat. "You are beautiful.”

Before you could respond, his tongue was dragging a long stripe up the length of your slit, sending pleasure through you as he swirled around your sensitive clit. You gasped at the sudden contact, hands threading through his hair which only served to encourage him further, pulling your clit between his lips and sucking obscenely.

“Oh my god Tae,” You groaned, back arching as he dragged his tongue all the way to your entrance. “Fuck, don’t stop.”

Taehyung began thrusting his tongue in and out of you, enjoying the way you instinctively clench around him. A string of pleading whispers began to fall from your lips as he slowed his ministrations.

“What do you want?” He questioned, breathing labored as he ran his fingers up and down your sides comfortingly.

You twisted under his burning hot touch. “Fingers. Please.” You were barely able to mutter the words in between your own short inhales.

Taehyung simply smirked, gently easing a single finger into your entrance, moving slowly to begin with as you adjusted to the feeling before his tongue was back, teasing your clit once again. Before long, he sensed you were still a little empty, adding another finger, increasing the pace of his thrusts and focusing his mouth on your folds.

His tongue felt like heaven and you could feel your orgasm building steadily. Taehyung grazed your swollen clit with his teeth and before you could fathom it, you were coming hard with a sharp cry, entire body shaking as you came down from your blissful high.

Taehyung gave a few final kitten licks to your oversensitive folds before pulling away when you began to shudder and writhe due to overstimulation, sitting up and allowing you to pull him into a deep kiss. It felt different somehow - if that was even possible at this point - as though you were more connected than before.

“You are fucking incredible.” He mumbled against your cheek when you broke the kiss, placing his hands over yours as you fumbled with the button of his pants. Before long he was shimmying them down his thighs, discarding them at the foot of the bed in favor of enjoying the way you cupped his erection through his boxers, a low groan leaving his throat at the much needed contact.

“Take these off,” You practically pleaded, wrestling with the fabric of his boxers. “And fuck me already.”

“I’m getting there.” Taehyung chastised, still fulfilling your request by pulling the shorts down his thighs. His dick was finally freed, slick with precum as he hissed at the sudden cold air against his length.

“Don’t act like you aren’t eager.” You whispered against his ear, the hint of a smirk evident in your voice as you nibbled at the base of his neck, making him shiver.

Suddenly, Taehyung wrestled you down onto the mattress, causing a few giggles to flutter from your lips at the unexpected dominance. A smile threatened the corners of his own lips, despite his desperate need to take you then and there. “You know I’m eager, baby.”

Taehyung leaned over your body to reach the nightstand, his instincts correct as he successfully located a condom before sliding it over his length. The contact caused a sharp hiss to leave his throat and he felt dizzy imagining what was about to come.

“Let me know if you feel uncomfortable, okay?” Taehyung hovered over you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear sweetly. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You nod in return, biting your lip to hold back an anticipating moan. He ran the head of his dick up and down your folds, coating himself in your slick before finally pushing into your heat. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place and allowing him to keep himself grounded.

“Oh fuck,” He drawled when he finally bottomed out, your velvety walls almost too much around his sensitive dick. His voice was strained, cracking a little as he desperately tried to fight the haze of pleasure and keep a grip on himself. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He waited for you to adjust, lidded eyes watching as yours fluttered closed once he finally entered you.

“Move, please.” You gasped.

He didn’t need to be told twice, drawing his length out almost all the way before slowly thrusting back to the hilt. The pace was almost agonizingly slow, long whines slipping past your lips as Taehyung buried his face in the crook of your neck, hot breath fanning your shoulders.

“Just fuck me, already.” You whimper. You bucked your hips impatiently, squirming as you felt his dick enter inch by inch, getting used to the way he filled you deliciously.

“God, you are going to kill me.” Your words seemed to be all he needed to finally start moving properly, increasing his pace as he finally lost himself above you. His low groans filled the room and before long you found yourself meeting his thrusts.

Taehyung pressed his thumb to your clit, circling it in time with his thrusts and before long you felt another high begin to take you, another orgasm causing you to shudder beneath him. Feeling your walls clench tightly around his dick was all it took for him to come undone, fingernails pressing into your flesh as he came with a dark moan.

Taehyung stayed like that for a couple of minutes, his face pressed into the crook of your shoulder as you both tried to catch your breath. You stroked a hand across the top of his head, pulling his face to yours to connect your lips in a kiss. It was slow and long and filled with words Taehyung wanted to say but hoped you could feel just through the way his lips moved against yours.

His bangs stuck to the beads of sweat that laced his forehead as he rolled onto his back, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you close to him. You pressed your cheek to his chest, eyes closed as you simply listened to the way his heart beat began to return to normal.

“I told you so.” He mumbled, slumber already lacing his tone and threatening to sweep him up in its embrace before he was ready to leave this moment behind.

“Hmmf?” You question, confused.

“I forget about everything when I’m with you.”

And in that moment, Taehyung knew he was irrevocably, undeniably yours.

#thebtstown #kwordsmith #bts fanfiction #taehyung fanfiction #taehyung fluff #taehyung imagine #taehyung smut #bts smut

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dwestfieldblog · 3 years

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DOOMSCROLLING

Rocking and doomscrolling in an Eigenstate, the English Variant is here...All virtue signalling wannabe edgelords, sleepwalking ’woke’ automatons, fake Christians, Faustian Republicans, corrupt Conservatives and retarding neophobes look away now. Little more than domesticated primates, a majority of larval humanity continues to ignore its astral biology...yes really. ‘Those who control symbols control us’. And Pavlov dogs do love flags eh? Here is a balanced, mostly unpretentious finite rant for breakfast where the opinion arises from triple checked facts rather than mere emotion. In God we rust.

Straight off...Disgusted to rage by the English government’s March budget which gives nurses a ‘pay rise’ equivalent to three pounds fifty pence a week, (which doesn’t even begin to cover the cost of their parking at hospitals) the disdain these arrogant swine feel for truly essential workers is revealed in full. The ‘Heath’ minister explained that times were tight due to Covid...yes Matt, fairly sure the nurses working 18 hours a day had already noticed this in their desperately overworked, overcrowded hospitals. Deeply in debt, Britain plans to borrow 355 billion pounds this year, the highest amount in her history. Corporation tax will possibly increase in 2023, a little late to balance wages elsewhere for nurses etc...And given the previous ten years, highly unlikely it would even be used for such. But it might look good to those brainwashed gimps that STILL plan to vote for this bastardly corrupt party in 2024.

A clip taken in March of an exceptionally long queue for a food bank in London brings it all into sharper focus. The 6th richest economy in the world has the most food banks of any democratic country. Over 2000 in the UK. (Over 900 in Germany.) Hate to come across as a Socialist but The Tories have been in power for ten long years, historically destroying the NHS a bit more each time they hold power. Endlessly subcontracting, pouring money into new unneeded tiers of management, slowing operations down with extra paperwork, voting down pay rises, thus expediting a brain drain of doctors, nurses and surgeons to other countries and private practices...and over the last thirteen months, supplying those who stayed, with mountains of PPE equipment not fit for purpose. A ‘jolly good show’ handclap every evening on doorsteps doesn’t fecking cut it. Neither do all the rainbows drawn by children put into windows. In fact, Boris, it looks like outright damn cynicism. All the more since your dose of the virus (‘I visited the Covid ward and shook hands with everyone’) was healed by excellent work by the NHS. Mr. Boris ‘No government could have done more’. Johnson...a lot of us are keeping score.

Lord Bethell, (‘Parliamentary under secretary of State for Innovation at the Department of Health and Social Care’) said that nurses are ‘well paid’ for the job they do, reiterating that times are hard; ‘There are millions of people out of work on the back of this epidemic’. Well yes there are. And why? A government which dragged its heels many times after salient scientific advice, prognoses/ projections were given, and allowed three massive social gatherings (384,000 people) to take place for superspreading, as well as conflicting advice about masks, herd immunity and confusion over open borders, schools to return for one day, etc...All of which led to the dire need for total lockdowns and the impossibility to sell or go to work (unless working from home) leading in turn to unpaid rent/bills, evictions, bosses laying off those they cannot afford to pay. And to mention again, the Tories have been the ones in power for ten years...with banking scandals (where chiefs were not punished but the public were twice, once by collapses and once for raised taxes to prop up the greed). The expenses scandal of politicians, massive public service cutbacks, corruption, the smug George Osbourne guiding Britain disgracefully to poverty via austerity, a National Health service being encouraged to disintegrate and’ an oven ready’/tramps breakfast scraps Brexit...and LO!... the coffers are indeed a little empty thanks to all the contracts tossed without oversight to the governments mates without due process, including 37 billion pounds spent on a Test and Trace programme which did not function, 252 million AND 6000 pounds a DAY to ‘consultants (for the essential chimera of PR etc).Chumocracy at highly profitable work.

Over to you Boris, ‘...it is thanks to PRUDENT FISCAL MANGEMENT that we have been able to fight this pandemic in the way that we have.’

Well exactly.

A dishevelled adult leader of a country who cannot even brush his hair or dress himself, a ‘leader’ who missed five vital COBRA meetings about the pandemic, never took in the notes from scientists of advance warnings and blustered his pompous comedy horseshite rather than leading from the front. Father of six or perhaps 7 illegitimate children (does he pay child support? No records). But never mind eh, he is a rum sort of cove. No. Churchill would have him horsewhipped naked and tarred and feathered in Trafalgar Square. But still! When questioned on whether there would be an inquiry into the colossal waste without recompense or standard clauses in contracts of taxpayers’ money raped from the Treasury, Mr Johnson replied that it was ‘NOT IN THE PUBLIC INTEREST’. Really. REALLY? Boris, if you were a catheter, you could not extract more urine than you already do. The clown father of the motherland. BJ said he took ‘full responsibility’ for the massive number of fatalities. But hasn’t resigned.127 thousand covid deaths in UK, leading Europe by 33 thousand. Well played chaps. 545 thousand USA. China 4636. Yeah RIGHT. Sure.

Once knew a guy who, if you told him something factual, most often replied with ‘Well, it’s the first I’ve heard of it’...meaning anything he had not already been told was automatically false. How did he ever learn new information? Neophobes, their insecurities heavy chains to evolving, seem to rule the world; Good news is they don’t. Bad news is, they know it and are getting ever more desperate the rest of us go down with them in righteous conservatism and counter evolution. ‘Perception does not consist of passive reception of signals but of an active interpretation of signals...active, creative trans-actions’...‘The easier you can predict a message, the less information the message contains’. If a media source etc attempt to relay actual news and it does not fit what is already believed, it is disregarded or worse...GIGO...Garbage In=Garbage Out.

The pandemic is doing great things for the further global rise of populist swine...When the mass public mind is aflame with anger and fear, new bastards step up and old governments impose harder laws. Hungary loses her last independent radio station and Orban rejoices. Brazilian bastid Bolsanaro continues to see his people as expendable inhuman statistics. By their hatred he will burn. 301 thousand dead. Totalitarianism creeps apace via populist chancers, Stalinist fascists, nationalist bullshitters who care far more about their ego than their country. (Hello frog eyed Nigel Farage aka Lord Haw Haw the 2nd.) Speaking of which...Lord Mayor of London wannabe Laurence Fox bought a mask exemption badge online because he didn’t want his pretty face to be unrecognised. Narcissist, who as leader of a new party Reclaim, wants to ‘take back’ Britain from the Woke snowflakes (even while speaking like a laidback Establishment version of them) and end up in Parliament. Good for you luvvie. But now with acting career ended and music career failed, he does look a lot like a pretty poster boy who needs to stay adored and recognises (along with his string pulling financial backers) there is a bandwagon to be jumped on. In 8 years time he (or someone similar in insecure need for others approval to give vent to their sadistic impulses) could be a new type of prime minister and the V for Vendetta pre-scenario will be in full swing. ‘Politicians should wear sponsor jackets like Nascar drivers, then we know who owns them’ Robin Williams via Jonathan Pie. No one from Texas should be allowed to be president...and no one from Eton (or Harrow) should ever be allowed to be Prime Minister. Apart from Churchill.

Sometimes it takes a nightmare to wake one up...an authoritarian dystopia coming soon to a land mass near you...a failed state and a divided kingdom of Mediocre Britain with bad laws for her citizens but great if you are a ‘public servant’ or a friend of those that are. Probably a good thing for Euope that we are an island eh? We turned our back on them and they can cast us adrift like an oil tanker filled with toxic waste. Sunak or Patel next? Will the ‘Elite’ (Ha) allow a person of colour to rise to the depths of Prime Minister? The entire cabinet should be sent to a Chinese prison. Avaricious liars. If you don’t stir the cream it turns into scum.

And speaking of destroying your country from inside....

Oh America... just watched the Idaho mask burning clip in Boise, adults encouraging children to pick up discarded masks, pathogens, all with bare hands and drop into the garbage bin flames...inhaling the formaldehyde smoke... Freedom! End lockdown now! Breathe deeply rednecks. So looking forward to having a black woman president over there. Please be better than all these useless white trash MORONS...Q Onan, the ‘storm’ (in a beer can), the ‘plan’, ‘where we go one, we go all’...right down the toilet of history into the sewers of oblivion. Good riddance to foul rubbish, Believers anxious for orders from ‘Christians’ who are actually serving what they would call ‘Satan’. Ironic on the darkest level, no? LOOK at their faces, into their eyes, naught but greed for power. Two thousand years of inverted truths. ‘Religion’ became consumed by ‘the Devil’. Discuss with yourself after watching the majority of preachers.

The Trumps, Hawley, Cruz, Lindsey Graham, Bannon, the Mercers, Paula White, Stella Immanuel and the Gawd awful Marjorie Taylor Greene should be sent alone, foodless to a small island surrounded by sharks. And filmed for our entertainment. And oh...that dumbass disgusting false idol kitsch gold statue (to celebrate his love of golden rain) of Donald, created via Mexico and China in artistic irony. And, and AND the Republican senators against any background checks for those who want to own guns. (Seven mass killings this year already by armed wankers.) Britain, Europe and America, unions encouraged, persuaded to break apart into hexagram 23 while China and Russia grin. Q seems like a new form of right wing bullshite to rally the dumb against what they perceive to be the ‘left wing’ rebellion of Anonymous. I think Q originated in the Kremlin myself. An electronic baobab seed...

Back to my birthland...New powers of arrest looming for ‘Non Crime Hate Incidents’, and a new police bill of up to ten years prison for silent protest. One almost expects this in (arf) lesser countries with pantomime dictators, but on the septic, excuse me, sceptre’d isle of Britain? An obvious Government first shot reaction against what they know might be coming for their dire mishandling of the pandemic, loss of jobs and no real support for the underlings...Governments ARE afraid of their people, that’s why enough laws are passed (with minimum debate or under cover of smokescreen news events) to ensure all those not wealthy and well connected are in daily risk of being arrested for ‘criminality’. So be sure to be obedient to your ‘public servants’.

Ahh.. enough eh? Apolitically incorrect, radical liberal, fundamentalist atheist, remember the Tar Baby idea Dave, the more you attack something, the more you are attached to it. Let it go brother. The difference between being frozen in stasis and empty with Zen calm. But to paraphrase Robert Anton Wilson, (as I am so often wont to do) thanks to our own programming, when we do not frequently examine and cross check our input we become full of Self Hypnotic Ideational Trance. Dogmas must be only transitory, flow river, flow...

Bells Theorem? Pretty good but this is mostly Jameson’s (with Czech spring water) theorem. In confession, I crave your indulgence, Invoke Often, Repeat repeat repeat, ‘How far is it, if you can think of it?’ Transduction of thoughts into chemicals...surfing the neuropeptides and there you stood on the edge of your feather expecting to die, A skeleton breastfeeding a priest, and if that mocking bird don’t sing, daddy’s gonna break off both its wings. Whoops. The optical illusion of a rainbow halo as beautiful as ‘God on drugs’. Melancholy melophile, melomaniac and melomaniacal, I am an Audiophile in the paralysis of rapture...Ahh...and now I have obtained an elegant sufficiency, multitasking in five time zones. Left frontal lobe digital (manual) moving to Right frontal lobe analogue non Aristotelian (self controlled). Get it? DNA appears to be a cybernetics information/programming system...but anyway...

Bet there will be a massive increase in the birth rate nine months after most of the world is vaccinated, a surge of relieved masses celebrating in the old fashioned way. All those who died will be ‘replaced’ at double pumping speed. The idea that the vaccine contains the ‘Establishment’s’ nanobots seems unlikely...how on Earth would at least ONE person in the know, not spill the (genetically modified) beans? And those wondrous illogical conspiracy theories that Covid was triggered deliberately via 5G mast networks by a satanic paedophile elite will fade for a while. Until the ‘Christian’evangelical (evil angels) right wing restart their crazed rambling about the Illuminati/Freemasons again. For the record, my own feeling is that any group which had Leonardo da Vinci, Goethe, Beethoven, Sir Issac Newton, Washington, Mark Twain, Churchill, Oscar Wilde, Jefferson etc as members, seems like a fairly cool and worthwhile group for humanity to learn from. Is it because Lucifer was the Light Bringer that they conflate illumination with evil? How very aware of them. Arf. Paranoid magicians live longer. Speaking of witch...’Nothing is, nothing becomes, nothing is not’. A.C. The Book of Lies. Be aware, not woke. Look for the hunchback (?) behind the soldier (!)...‘You can empty infinity from it and infinity still remains’.

‘The data may not contain the answer. The combination of some data and an aching desire for an answer does not ensure that a reasonable answer can be extracted from a given body of data.’

Ever see Interstellar? Love that film. Elon Musk should just select 100 people, blast off and leave the rest of us to burn. As psychologists would call it, most of humanity is indeed still at the larval stage. Most of us stay on ‘the fourth circuit’ all life and rip at anyone who goes beyond or tries to. Christ would be murdered again, that’s why Buddha avoided crowds. Release and receive...channel.

‘Truth, truth, truth! crieth the Lord of the Abyss of Hallucinations...’

Paradise in a scientific quantum possibility...A dimension where the ‘soul’/ recorded/imprinted memory continues in ‘A quite specific electromagnetic-gravitational field in which mind can manifest without organic bodies’. As all ‘reality’ is subjective, and an individual life most likely takes up a mere byte in a terabyte (trillion bytes). Personal Heavens, the way YOU design and chose. Dream and imagine possibilities now...much Love forever from Anon of Ibid

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