#also just imagine his nails being pristine as fuck
Text
More Rolan and Tiefling HC's
also if anyone wants to incorporate any of this in their own vision of fics, have at it. It's all just fun and I will read every Rolan fic and HC ever.
-After Mom passed, Rolan had to be head of the household. I see him working at a library, but then having to move to more stressful boring jobs for shittier people to make more money. Maybe balancing books for some accountants of something.
-Rolan has a lot of deep set self-hatred from being born a tiefling, and the lack of opportunities resulting from it. (literally from birth since he believes his mother was most likely a noble woman)
-He would try to make some of his tiefling features “less offensive” while he worked at the bottom of the ladder and was probably the only tiefling employed there.
-He could never hide his horns, but he did originally adopt his current hair style in trying to make his ears less obvious.
-He would have his tail wrap around his leg and dress over it. (Canonically this is something tieflings do, especially in crowds, to avoid their tails getting stepped on, but I’d imagine doing this for long stretches of time gets very uncomfortable. Imagine getting a tail-cramp)
-He would file his nails to as short and as rounded as he physically could.
TIEFLING NAILS HC: Tieflings have blood vessels and nerve endings that extend from their fingertips and into their nails, like a cats.
-Also like cats' nails, they have a “quick”, that if trimmed will bleed and is very painful.
-This is why all tieflings seem to have elongated nails, even if they are in a position or profession that longer nails would be a hindrance. A tieling can file their nails to be more blunt, but a tiefling would never purposefully trim their nails too short and cut the quick.
-none of this mattered when Elturel fell into hell. There were no “tolerable tieflings” anymore.
-His time traveling to Baulder’s Gate is actually the first time in a decade he’s grown his nails out and let his tail swing free. It was originally because of convenience and lack of a nail file, but by the end of his journey he had actually become more confident and proud of his race and kin.
-The racism at the gate was rough, but his confidence remained intact when his letter of his apprenticeship got him and his family processed quicker than most.
-It all came crashing down when he finally met Lorroakan and it became painfully obvious the wizard had no idea he had offered an apprenticeship to a tiefling.
#rolan#rolan bg3#tiefling#tieflings#baldur's gate 3#hes always tried since birth to rise above his station#always had big dreams for himself#and then his family#always carried himself high on the outside with ego and confidence#while living in near poverty raising his siblings#also just imagine his nails being pristine as fuck#long almond shape and french mani dont at me
28 notes
·
View notes
Text
TPC: Minghao is the master of Beer Pong
Series
Pairing: Minghao x afab!reader
Genre: smut
Word count: 1.5k
tags: cocky!minghao, manhandling, oral (reader giving), rough, fingering, wall stuff, choking (on cock and without), balls in mouth 😭, cum swallowing, dirty talk, heavy degradation, praise kink, unprotected sex, creampie
Summary: Winning a game of beer pong is no easy feat, so he insists he and his pong partner finds the nearest closet to celebrate.
author note: did i have a plan for this? no. but enjoy minghao being a menace
Tag list: @iwouldbangchan @1uvlywon @just-here-to-read-01 @candidupped @minnie-mouser22 @shiningstar-byulxx @90s-belladonna @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @homerunhansol @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @lovelyhan @gibbysupremeacyisreal @cuntdino
Losing is not an option for Xu Minghao, even if you are his beer-pong partner.
Beer pong to most is a mere drinking game, but to Minghao, it is one of the many things he could brag about being good at and he likes knowing that he’s better at things than some people. It is simply his vice.
He admits when you volunteered to play a game as his partner, he was the slightest bit worried you’d skew his unusually positive results, but he’s Xu Minghao. He did exactly what needed to be done and as expected, his reputation precedes him.
He was launching balls like a skilled master, landing every shot when it was his turn, filling every one of the opposing cups in pristine precision. Eventually, he is nothing short of a victory, and a victory meant a reason to celebrate.
“S-shit, you’re so much better than imagined you’d be.”
Your hands are flushed around his girth, while your mouth is unremorseful as you cover every inch. His body relaxed on the wall behind him, heavily depending on the single lightbulb above your heads to focus on your glossy gaze that stares back at him in hunger.
Usually, beer isn’t enough to get Minghao’s mouth running, so that impelled him to make the game a bit more interesting by adding kaoliang liquor in a few of the cups. Not that it mattered when he started drinking straight from the bottle. You, however–a lightweight having your fair share of losses–drank two or three of the cups, resulting lack of inhibition when it came to your beer-pong partner, who couldn’t look more edible than the microwave burritos you were also craving.
He throws leisure jerks back at your throat, guiding you with his fingers through your hair that is wrapped in knots around his knuckles. The initial pain from the grip subsides with his filthy praises as he fully darkened glower watches you take him inch by inch. You muffle your moans in your venture, nails digging into the flesh of his thigh, and in the right light, Minghao can catch the delectable glisten of your drool falling out the corner of your lips.
“That’s right. You want to drain my balls down your throat, don’t you, filthy slut?”
Minghao isn’t himself with the alcohol in his system–or so he is rationalizing in his head–so the dirty talk is all coming from his ass, but if he knew any better, he’d think you’re enjoying it. A smile stretches so wide on your face, a giggle can’t help but escape from his. He adores seeing you work so hard, especially for his benefit.
He sees and feels your head bob in response, and in turn, he groans, thrusting back into your narrow pipe. His balls hit your chin, plugging the entry of oxygen, and your mascara runs down your cheeks from tears that finally shed.
“You’re taking my cock so fucking well,” his thrusts get harder, pushing himself down deeper, and the whines suppressed around him release in vibrations up his length. Minghao shudders violently. “Fuck, you little…stupid…slut…”
It’s interesting how bad you are at beer pong considering you quite literally are taking him balls deep, puffing your cheeks up similarly to a chipmunk storing away nuts in their mouth. It is impressive, shocking, yet so enthralling. He holds you by the back of your head, stilling your mouth over his entire structure, and his thick, viscous cum runs hot down your throat. He clenches his abdomen, holding you down, and still fucking your mouth until breathing becomes a foreign action even through your nose.
You cough when Minghao pulls out of you, his cum trailing down your chin and neck. He makes sure you're okay, pulling you up from the ground. The warmth in his eyes gives you whiplash, having you nod without even considering what words had left his lips. It’s in that split second before he pins your chest against the wall, hand cushioning against your ass.
“Think it’s your turn. Time for your reward.”
The tip of his digit glides up the curve of your posterior before his entire hand rams down your pants and tugs them off to expose your bare cheeks. The draft within the closet you’ve hidden away hits your skin before Minghao’s palm does, making yelp from the stinging of your flesh. You latch forward to the wall you’re embracing, his digit gliding over your arousal-moist lips and coating himself in a thin film.
“Shit, my cock made you that wet? How cute.” He swats your ass again, his moist thick lips catching the nape of your neck.
You moan his name, drunken and horny, and that same digit plunges into your core as his body presses against you. You feel his cock—once depressed from climaxing—start to inflate again and nudge against your back. You’re trembling, but don’t fear what’s to occur.
“Aren’t you glad we won,” he asks, pushing another finger inside. His knuckles press into the plush of your ass, the distance closing between him and your g-spot. You gasp, clenching around him desperately. Sounds of anguish overtake you as he bites against your neck, fingers competing with the speed of light. “You get to have me finger fuck you just. Like. this. That’s what you wanted, isn't it? Have you come apart around my fingers after you’ve eaten my cum?”
You swallow your affirmations, embarrassment written all over your face until he slams you forward, and your burning cheeks squish harder against the cold wall in front of you.
“You’re not going to answer me? Slut?”
“Yes.” You manage to breathe out.
He scoffs. “You gonna be a good slut and take my cock after you’ve had your fun?”
“Y-yes, Minghao.”
His breath is hot against your neck, pace accelerating. “So. Obedient.”
You can feel his smile send shivers down your spine, crying his name while you are whimpering for more. You’ve become one with the wall and don’t remember a life before it, too lust blind to focus on anything else. Meanwhile, Minghao memorizes every sound you make, determined to ingrain it into his internal storage for future occurrences to reference. His mind boggles at the kind of specimen you are, so malleable and edible he wants to make every part of you shake with ecstasy. He’d kill to be the one to give you the most intense orgasm you’d ever have and he is eager to try.
He withdraws his fingers when you’re seconds away from climaxing and replaces them with his cock, fucking yours at the same pace his fingers once did. “Hao!”
Your whimpers come out high-pitched to the point of nearly shattering glass if any existed in this cramped space. Minghao’s chest—completely gotten bare without ever getting noticed—burns against your skin. You feel the slickness of his tongue run up your neck before claiming your lips, his free hand forcing you to turn your head to him by your chin.
“That’s right, you take my cock,” he mumbles. Hot pants leave his tired body, but his legs not showing him giving out. His body slammed your front harder against the wall, so hard already imaging the type of bruises he’s left behind. “You like me…fucking you deep and hard…just like this?”
“Yes, yes,” You squeak, your body not even getting a second to take a break from his manhandling.
Although he was lean, he was toned, powerful, and had a grip stronger than any industrial glue in existence. The strength Minghao had in his arms and thrusts were unlike anything you expected and you couldn’t be happier to find out you were wrong.
“Pussy so good and wet for me, Shit.”
Although it feels amazing how he handles you, you crave harsher treatment, one that would leave you sore the following day and immobile the next. Knowing Minghao’s ego, all he needed was little encouragement. He couldn’t risk ending without a proper burial of him inside you. “Fuck me harder, please…I need more, let your cock give me more…I want you spilling inside me please.”
“Greedy little fuck,” he says through gritted teeth and forces himself to take faster strokes, now holding you by the neck.
The pressure of his fingers digs into the column of your neck and works its way to cutting off your airways. You claw at the walls, your eyes begin to roll back to your skull, and clenching for dear life as you take in his vigor. It hurts, it’s bliss, it’s heaven.
“Stupid. Fucking. Slut.”
You cum without warning, gushing around his length warmth, pushing your ass up against him with a low groan. That was his breaking point. Vulgar words escape the same way as his fat climax does, harsh and unforgiving, he fills your inside like it’s his canvas. All you can feel is pure heat and your legs begin to buckle before he holds you back up, caressing your legs.
“Shit,” you mutter, hand over your chest feeling your heart. “That…that was good.”
There’s a lingering silence and somehow you’re able to sense the tension in his form. “Good. Just good.”
“Great, Hao. It was great,” you emphasize.
“Well, good if you think that was great, but we’re not done. I’m not done.”
“But hao–”
“I said I’m. Not. Done. Not until I give you the best damn orgasm you’ve ever had.” He presses you up against the wall in that familiar way, dark eyes glaring back at you determination, fueled by spite.
“Understood?”
#svthub#minghao smut#xu minghao smut#seventeen smut#the8 smut#minghao#xu minghao#seo myungho#seventeen#seventeen minghao#seventeen the8#seventeen x y/n#seventeen x you#seventeen x reader#seventeen fanfic#svt x reader#the8 x you#the8 x reader#the8 x yn#minghao x reader#minghao x you#minghao x y/n#xu minghao x reader#xu minghao x yn#xu minghao x you
459 notes
·
View notes
Text
what to expect when you’re expecting | lee sangyeon
• pairing: idol!sangyeon x nonidol!female reader
• word count: 1.9k words
• rating: PG (i’m reluctant to put G but there are a few sexual innuendos)
• genre: fluff, super cute, i’m inclined to say suggestive but there’s like one measly moment
• warnings: sickly cute, like super sugary sweet that it might make your teeth rot, there’s like one suggestive comment made by sangyeon, babies, and pregnancies
• tagging: @deoboyznet and @mars101 for the banner and beta reading! she worked really hard for me on this one and i love her dearly for it! and @heemingyu for also betareading it!!!! ILY BOTH SM🩷🩷🩷🩷
• notes: this concept with sangyeon hit me like a fucking truck. i literally was just sitting at work, thought of the not-so-original title and immediately went “ahh this is perfect for sangyeon”
“sweet girl, you are more than we ever expected and better than we ever imagined”
The word perfect isn’t a word you would use very often. Especially when it comes to your life. Nothing about your life has been simple. You had a distorted vision of what perfect might look like due to your parents' crumbling marriage. Fighting and screaming all the time wasn’t exactly the image of a picturesque marriage.
There was a period in your life that you used to want to forget. The fucked up image of love that your parents engraved into you made you run through guys like they were going out of style. Each one was worse than the last. You swore you’d give up on love after your last boyfriend. That was until you met Sangyeon.
Oh sweet Sangyeon. A dashing, lovable man that managed to steal your heart, and the hearts of many others. Sangyeon was an idol, a star amongst the stars. He was the main vocalist and leader of a very popular boy group, and no matter how much his members teased him, they wouldn’t lie when they said they depended on him a lot. Sangyeon was a natural born leader, great with anyone and in any situation.
The fact that you, in your must insecure and fucked up state, were able to catch Sangyeon’s eye was a feat in itself. When he approached you, you couldn’t believe it. What would an idol want with you? But he was so kind, so soft spoken and sweet. He made you feel so special, all the time.
Your relationship was secretive at first, with his idol image and him being a leader he had no choice. It was hard at first, your insecurities getting the best of you, but he never faltered. He never gave up on you. He fought tooth and nail to keep you and your relationship together. When the news came out, fans were supportive. Most of them at least. The good outweighed the bad, and the two of you couldn’t be happier.
People became even more supportive when Sangyeon proposed. The world seemed to be warming up to the idea that Sangyeon was beginning his life outside of being an idol. Which is why the news of your pregnancy wasn’t a surprise to anyone.
Sangyeon took the time to ease people into it, wanting people to understand that he was still the same old Sangyeon, except he’d be coming home to a wife and soon, a daughter.
Preparations for your little girl were in full swing. Gifts being delivered, cute cards, diapers (because you can never have enough), clothes, balloons. Your little apartment that seemed to be perfect for you and your little family was beginning to seem a little crowded. Sangyeon didn't seem to mind, though. Too enamored with the idea of attending lamaze classes, and what you would consider his personal favorite, decorating the nursery.
In one of his very rare off days, Sangyeon had been spending the entire time buried in ripped open boxes, instructions, and pink and lavender colored paint cans that Kevin had specifically asked not to touch until he could get to your home. Hobbling from your place in the kitchen, one hand on your stomach and another on your lower back, you made your way towards the open door that smelt more new than the rest of the house. The pristine white furniture scattered all about, some even covered in plastic so as to not get droplets of paint on it in the future.
A smile makes its way to your face when you notice the three in one crib Jacob had bought for you guys was perfectly intact, Sangyeon standing over it proudly. As if hearing you at the door, he whipped his head around, a smug smirk on his face.
“I told you I’d get it done.”
Your husband was met with a roll of your eyes as he chuckled. “My hero.”
He swiped at his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt as he walked towards you. First laying a soft peck on your forehead, then bringing both hands to your growing stomach, leaning down to place an equally soft kiss on the top of it. Almost as if feeling him place the kiss, the baby kicked. The small bump hits Sangyeon on the tip of his nose as he scrunches up his face.
“Easy. I know I stink.” Sangyeon whispers to your stomach.
You giggle, bringing a hand to run through his slightly damp, dark brown locks as he stands up.
“Well, what do you think?” Sangyeon asks, gesturing to the bed.
“I think she’s going to need more than just a bed, Sangyeon.” You counter.
Sangyeon drops his hand, beginning to pout. “Well I know that! I’m not finished yet.”
This time you let out a chuckle. “Babe, it took you three days to put the bed together. At this rate, the nursery won’t be done when she arrives.”
Sangyeon looks around the room, taking in the still full cans of paint, the partial design that Kevin had started of white lilies that surrounded your daughter’s name, and the rest of furniture that still needed to be put together.
He smiled as he turned back to you. “Being parents is chaotic, right? You gotta expect the unexpected.”
You couldn’t help but smile back. “I think the saying is what to expect when you’re expecting.”
“Well we definitely didn’t expect this.”
A breathy laugh made its way past your lips as you made your way through the chaos, laying both hands on the baby crib. Sangyeon followed closely behind you, a firm grip on your hips to make sure you don’t fall. His senses were immensely heightened when it came to you and it seemed they were heightened even more if that was even possible now that you were pregnant. You hadn’t so much as lifted a finger for anything, Sangyeon being at your beck and call.
“What do you need me to do? Anything?” He questions.
You turn to look at him. “The blanket your mother knit, it’s in our room. Can you bring it to me?”
Sangyeon smiled, turning to make his way out of the room, but not before tripping over a ripped box that still holds pieces of the pale pink rocking chair that needs to be put together. His face turns beat red as he speed walks towards your room. You giggle at your husband’s cuteness as you turn back towards the crib.
Sangyeon put the purple sheets on the mattress, and had even placed the pillows on the bed. A teddy bear that Changmin had gifted you sat in the middle of the bed. You laugh to yourself as you remember the pleas Sangyeon made to the younger boy, promising not to get anything scary for your baby girl.
“I found it!” You hear Sangyeon yell, his fleeting pounding across the hardwood floor as he rounds the corner into the room.
The small, pink and white checkered blanket swings back and forth in his hands from the movement as he hands it to you. The soft material glides through your fingers as you lay it over the mattress.
Sangyeon lays a peck on your shoulder as he whispers. “Perfect.”
You smile as you let him wrap his hands around you. He brings them both to the bottom of your enlarged stomach, putting pressure as he lifts up your bump. You groan slightly as your husband chuckles from behind you. You feel him start to release his grip on the bottom of your stomach as you whine.
“Don’t stop.” You say softly, placing your hands on top of his.
Sangyeon snickers. “I think that’s what got us in this position in the first place.”
You couldn’t help but smile at his comment, a rush of heat blooming up your neck. You turn in his arms, slowly so he can gently let your stomach down from his hold. The size of your bump leaves a substantial amount of space between you and Sangyeon as you have to just lay your hands on your shoulders. Sangyeon looks you over as he smiles slightly.
“Stop stressing.”
You frown. “I’m not. I swear. I just,”
“Want everything to be done before she gets here. I know. Everything will be done, I promise. Some of the guys are supposed to be coming over later on today to help. Kevin wants to finish painting the room, Jacob and Younghoon are going to help me put together the rest of the furniture, and Eric and Sunwoo will…” Sangyeon trails off, making you laugh.
“Just keep them away from the paint. I have a sneaking suspicion more will end up on you all and the furniture than the walls.”
Sangyeon laughs as he leans forward to peck your nose. Your eyes close at the soft contact, feeling a bump at your stomach again, letting you know that your daughter has once again kicked.
“She seems to know when we’re being affectionate.” You tell Sangyeon.
He grins before you both head a cough.
“Don’t let me interrupt, but you should really start locking the front door.”
You both pull apart as Sangyeon speaks.
“Sunwoo, please stop just entering my house without knocking.”
You laugh to yourself as Sunwoo makes his way towards the two of you.
“I did knock. You guys were too enthralled with each other to bother hearing me.” Sunwoo says.
He bends down to whisper to your growing belly. “Hi baby! It’s your favorite uncle!”
You scoff playfully as he turns his head, laying his ear on your stomach, nodding as if the baby is talking to him. You look at Sangyeon who's watching his younger member in amusement.
“Saying anything interesting uncle Sunwoo?” You ask him jokingly.
Sunwoo lifts his head giving you a smirk. “Just that she likes me more than Jacob.”
You snort as you back away from the boy. You didn’t bother commenting back knowing that even he knew that statement wasn't true. Jacob was already the favorite uncle with how much your baby girl kicked whenever he was around. Everyone knew that, but you kept quiet so Sunwoo could have his moment. You were able to hear the chime of your keypad this time around as you heard more voices enter.
Sangyeon grabbed your hand, leading you into the family room where everyone was gathering. They all smiled and said hi, some giving your stomach light pats in a gesture to say hello to your unborn daughter. Just as you had expected, the moment Jacob patted your stomach the baby kicked making both you and Jacob laugh. Sangyeon gave out the assignments for everyone as they took off towards the nursery.
“Look at the fearless leader, leading the way to build a nursery.” You said softly.
Sangyeon grinned. “Who would’ve thought, huh?”
You heard commotion in the nursery as you sighed. “Oh boy.”
Sangyeon helped you over to the couch, turning on your favorite show as he pecked your forehead. “No more stress. Everything gets done before she gets here. I promise.”
You nod. “Just as long as they don’t break anything.”
Your husband laughed, kneeling down in front of you. “I’ll rough ‘em up if they do.”
A look was thrown Sangyeon’s way as he laughed at you, the both of you knowing he doesn’t have a single violent bone in his body when it comes to his members.
“Very funny.” You say softly.
Sangyeon grins. “I guess this is what we can expect while we’re expecting.”
You grinned. “Oh baby girl, you are in for a real treat when you arrive!”
#deoboyznet#kvanity#the boyz sangyeon#tbz sangyeon#lee sangyeon#the boyz imagines#tbz imagines#the boyz scenarios#tbz scenarios#sangyeon x reader#sangyeon x you#sangyeon fluff#sangyeon fanfic#the boyz x reader#the boyz x you#the boyz fluff#tbz fluff#tbz x reader#tbz x y/n#tbz x you
80 notes
·
View notes
Text
little princess (m) | m.yg. | drabble
pairing: yoongi x reader
rating: m (18+)
genre: smut | humor | angst | fwb minus the friends!au
summary: In his defense, his trysts with you and his job at your father’s office were initially non-mutually exclusive.
warnings: emotional constipation, mean!reader, age-gap, explicit sexual content (dom!yoongi, sub!reader, dom-sub themes, oral (m), manhandling, unprotective penetrative sex, bondage, gagging), not a happy ending, unrequited feelings that are being denied left and right (’:
word count: 3.9 k
submission for the September Games hosted by House Yoonus.
❂ “Fall For Romance”
⁂ Hosted by: Professor Dia @yoonia through @bangtansorciere
⤐ AU Type: Salted Caramel Ice Cream - Unrequited Love AU
⤐ Themes: Forbidden Romance | Age Gap
⤐ Kinks: Bondage, Throat Fucking, Cum Play
note: so i saw this yoongi and lost my sanity, which resulted in this! this fic seems to have a lot of backstory bec it’s somewhat of a spin-off to a bodyguard!jk series i have in the works. i also decided to tweak it a bit and make it presentable for this month’s games for the bcs net, bec why tf not?
a very huge bucket of gratitude to ridzie, my luff @taegularities for beta reading this for me! y’all could never imagine the kind of typos she sifted through to stop this from turning into a whole comedy, smh. one of them was “noses” instead of “noises,” and that is a tame one. LOL. thank you so much for brushing this, and hyping me, up, bestie! 🥺 i love you! 🥺❤
↦ moodboard
— masterlist
— feedback is always appreciated!
Yoongi runs a hand through his hair, nails scratching through the dark roots of his undercut beneath the silver locks. Sweat is collecting under the collar of his white oxford despite the air-conditioning in the room. His pants are straining so hard, it hurts.
Maybe he should stop staring and do something about all of this.
He licks his lips, unbuttons his suit jacket and leans back on his heels, wondering if he should sit down for this.
But then a tiny, little whimper escapes your gagged lips and he launches into action – unbuckling his belt and whipping down the zipper of his pants as he undoes the fly. He lets his pants fall down to his ankles, making the hasty decision to sit on the edge of the bed, and beckons you closer.
You immediately follow, like the obedient pet you are, crawling closer to him on your knees. Your large eyes blink up at him and when he nods to grant you your wordless permission, your face presses up against his boxers clad length. He cups your jaw in his palm, smoothing his thumb over the side of your cheek bulging under the impact of your soiled panties that he stuffed into your mouth roughly an hour ago when he had to urgently leave to take an important call.
And you waited for him to return, sitting and waiting all pretty in the same position he left you. His dick pulses and heart thuds at the thought. He wishes he could curb the latter, though, because that is highly inconvenient.
You look so good like this, all bound and gagged and wet for him, only him. If he was a weaker man, he would nut at just the sight. Who knew that the girl he first met at an airport and hated with all his might for spilling coffee on his pristine, white shirt would some day beg him to use her body the way you daily do? He certainly didn't.
You whimper again, and he hums.
"What is it, princess? Got something to say?"
You sit back up to nod so violently, your chin collides into your collarbones. He laughs at your pathetic state, clicking his tongue.
"God, look at you. So fucking desperate. So filthy. So damn unbecoming of the country's metaphorical princess, hmm?"
You bat your lashes at him, pushing your breasts out in defiance, and he bites his lips to hold back a moan. It’s funny how you love it when he calls you that, but absolutely despite the pet name’s usage in any other capacity. Especially with regards to the reality of who you are.
"You're such a nasty baby, fuck. What would your father say if he knew what his little girl is up to when she leaves with his trusted guard, hmm?"
Your eyes narrow at his goading, and Yoongi has to coo at how adorable he finds it. He reaches forward to tug your gag out of your mouth, watching your heaving breasts with rapt attention when they rise, fall and jiggle with your rapid breaths.
A string of saliva extends from your lips and lands next to your nipple. His dick twitches at the sight, and he finally grabs his underwear to tug it off and free himself. He is fully hard, his tip angry and in dire need of friction. His eyes catch the sight of his wristwatch, a curse leaving him with the realization that he needs to get back to work in less than an hour.
"C'mon now,” he mumbles to you, “we've wasted enough time. Your dad needs me at his office by seven, let's move quickly."
You don't say a word in response, as you have been trained not to, and simply open your mouth and jut your tongue out for him.
Yoongi groans at the sight, wrapping a hand around himself, running it over a couple of times to spread the precum all over before resting his tip against your waiting tongue. You look into his eyes and start to roll your tongue around, licking him like a fucking lollipop. He can’t believe how amazing you are at this – both, giving head and listening to commands.
His other hand reaches down to rub your saliva over your boob, fingers plucking at your nipple, and he wishes he had more time so that he could feast on these the way he loves to. For now, he settles on briefly groping them before his attention is forced on the sensations in his dick when you rub your tongue all the way down from his tip to the base.
“Fuck, princess, you’ll be the death of me,” he mutters as he gathers your hair in a loose fist, later chuckling to himself when he realizes how much factual truth his lustful words actually hold.
Well, because –
Remember when he asked what your father would do if he knew what you were up to when you went away with Yoongi? Well for one, he would murder him. And then maybe lock you away at a Church, or something, for fucking around with him – Min Yoongi, the President’s most trusted security detail.
Yeah, that's him. Along with being the Leader of one of the country’s most reputed Security Agencies, one that is always working with high profile clients like your father, the President of the country, himself.
In his defense, his trysts with you and his job at your father’s office were initially non-mutually exclusive.
But, like, maybe lusting after the President's daughter when he didn't know she was the President's daughter was alright. But fucking your face like a deranged demon after he has gained full knowledge? Yeah, that might not be very ideal for his job. Or his life.
But what's he gotta do when you're kneeling in front of him, all naked and pretty with your hands behind your back and tongue out? Basically begging him to ruin your throat? Is he expected to say no?
Fuck off.
Yoongi grunts in pleasure when your mouth wraps around his tip, looking down at you with shuttered eyes. How is it that you look this beautiful when his cock spreads your lips apart so obscenely?
There's gotta be something wrong with his head for feeling the things he feels when he's with you, because going down this line of thoughts is straight up suicide. And it's stupid, too, because the only time he spends with you is when you're fucking in some or the other capacity.
And your arrangement works fine. You need someone to push you around in bed and Yoongi needs a fucktoy. Besides, whoever heard of a dom falling for their sub? No one, that’s right. It’s always the other way round. Which is why Yoongi refuses to acknowledge all the lurches his heart gives when he’s with you.
What business does he have feeling things when he quite literally knows next to nothing about you beyond the details of your family. You can’t fall for someone you don’t even know, right? Obviously.
His tip hits the back of your throat when you suddenly attempt to swallow him whole, and Yoongi sighs at the feel of your throat clenching over him, all unwanted thoughts cleansed off his brain.
He grins at you with his teeth clenched, lazily trailing his hands up your body to find purchase in your hair. He grips at the gorgeous curtain of your tresses—immediately mentally cursing himself for thinking of them as gorgeous like a stupid fuck—and gradually slips into directing your head over his cock, gliding the heavenly warmth of the wet cavern of your mouth all over himself.
“Oh, princess, this mouth of yours – fuck,” leaves him in a low pitched groan, his breath hitching with every brush of the back of your throat against his crown.
Finding a satisfactory rhythm, he hurriedly nods at your inquisitive eyes, reassuring you that you can relax your throat and your mind, like always, and you do just that. He grips your hair harder and thrusts into your mouth with complete abandon, throwing his head back when the knot behind his navel starts to tighten.
You gag around him, helplessly, tears dropping down your face, mixing with your spit when they run past your lips and adding onto the lubrication. Yoongi unhinges his jaw at the sight, letting all kinds of uncontrollable noises escape him.
Over the couple of months that he has been doing this with you, your body has become remarkably trained at keeping your needs and reactions in check. Yoongi cannot help but be appreciative of how you don’t fidget in your bonds for a single second even when he very nearly cuts your air supply off with the force of his thrusts down your throat. Your shoulders stay still, hands calmly crossed behind your back where he neatly tied them with your favorite, dark purple silk rope.
That is not to say your body doesn’t shake from the impact of his bruising pace, because it certainly does. You get dragged back and forth on the floor every few seconds and your knees are sure to develop abrasions after this, no matter how soft the carpet beneath you is.
Yoongi’s gaze leaves said knees to travel along the length of your folded legs to zero in between your thighs.
Your center is not as visible to him from this angle as he would like for it to be, but knowing you like the back of his hand as he does, he is certain you’re very close to dripping your arousal down on the carpet, across the couple of inches of distance between your pussy and the floor. The thought makes him groan loudly, eyes screwing shut involuntarily.
Suddenly, he wants to check and see how right he is.
He pulls you off his cock, hands clenching in your hair as a shudder passes through his body at the sudden change in temperature his length is exposed to. When he opens his eyes, he finds you panting and trying to maintain eye contact with him. His heart does that thing again, and he curses all deities in the world for inconveniencing him with the damn organ that he has no need for in his life.
“Come here,” he grumbles to you, frowning and projecting his anger at you for something that is not in the least your doing.
When you move to crawl closer, he shakes his head and leans down to wrap both his palms around your upper arms to lift you off the floor.
“On my lap.”
Your wide eyes meet his from less than an inch away when he situates you comfortably over his thighs, slowly unfolding your legs from their hairpin bend so as to not cause your muscles to cramp up. You still wince, and he lunges forward to pull you in a deep kiss.
Your lips are already open, and it takes him less than three seconds to win against your feebly fighting tongue and ravage your mouth with his.
His palms run down your back to hold your ass firmly and when he pushes you towards him, your leaking cunt molds over his length.
“Fuck—” he gasps in surprise at the amount of wetness spread all over your pussy.
Leaning away from your mouth, he runs his wondrous gaze across your face. Your eyes are closed and little and helpless whimpers stumble out of your mouth at every motion of your cunt over his length.
“Princess,” he breathes in your ear, removing one hand from your butt to cradle the back of your head, hugging you to him. “You okay?”
You nod against his neck, and the protectiveness that he feels for you in the moment makes him want to throw himself out of the closest window. He reels everything in as best as he can and instead lets your head rest against his shoulder while he uses the freed hand to guide himself towards your sopping entrance.
His fingers brush against your clit which, despite the moisture collected everywhere, is still easy to locate because of how swollen it has gotten, and it makes him go mindless with arousal that you have been this messed up from having him in your mouth.
“This okay?” he whispers in your ear, sighing happily when you nod back, and arranges himself the slightest bit before thrusting up into you.
A broken cry tears out of you, spine arching and fists clenching behind your back. Yoongi bites down on his lip to quieten his own moan of pleasure and reaches behind you to run a finger over your clenched knuckles.
“Easy, little princess.” He brushes his mouth against your temple, covering your clenched fist with his hand.
Your fingers loosen and pride swells in Yoongi’s chest.
Just the next second, though he scowls at being stupidly soft again. Growling in irritation at himself, he twists the two of you sideways to press your back on the bed. You frown at him with worlds of confusion held in your gaze. He shakes his head to stop you from questioning him. Not that you would say a word, anyway, because he hasn’t asked you to speak up yet and you’re impossibly amazing at never faltering when he gives you instructions.
Sometimes Yoongi kinda wishes you would, just so he would have an excuse to spank your perfect, pert ass red.
He pushes into you again, now leaning over your prone form on the bed, and wraps your legs around his waist, while his own stay planted firmly on the ground. Your petite body bounces with the force of his thrusts, mouth open and eyebrows furrowed, and he swears he would profess his undying love to you if you stared at him like this for a second longer—
Not that he… feels that way. No, that’s stupid. It was, uh, hypothetical. Of course.
He moves his gaze away from yours, anyway, focusing it at the place the two of you are joined, instead.
Your cunt looks so tiny, speared open lewdly by his cock, and paired with the whines every stroke pulls from you, it makes him lose his entire mind. Why are you so perfect for him?
“You good?” he still asks you to check if you’re hurting anywhere, given the less than comfortable position and your still bound hands.
You frantically nod back, as if annoyed at the intrusion and he huffs an incredulous chuckle.
Things get faster and louder with every passing second, and he can feel your body winding up tighter and tighter beneath him. Your eyes are finally shut, saving him from confronting things that he doesn’t want to, and head is tossed back into the mattress. Your hands must be suffering under the weight of both of your bodies, but not a single sound of complaint escapes you as he fucks into you without giving either of you any time to breathe.
“Princess,” he pants above you at the feeling of your heat gripping him tighter, reaching up to grip at your face, thumb digging into your bottom lip. “You gonna come for me, princess?”
You nod, hair flying about your head, sticking to your sweaty neck and splaying over the bedcovers. Yoongi removes his gaze when the sight starts to feel a bit too beautiful.
He, instead, focuses on digging his pelvis into yours in such a way that it presses over your clit, sighing in satisfaction when you shriek in response, and grips your body against him harder.
“Come on, then.” He nips at your thigh before leaning over the length of your body to dig his teeth into your breast, right above your nipple. “Be a good little princess and cream my cock. Clench me so hard, I lose it with you. Come on, princess, come for me.”
Your gasps are loud and saturated, body twisting around in obvious desperation, and Yoongi takes that as sign to press harder into you, stifling a moan when your soft body presses up harder against his planes, sending rushes of arousal down to his dick despite the oxford and the jacket he still has on.
It is with one of his hands grabbing at your tit and the thumb of the other pushing into your mouth that you come apart – screaming more than just incoherent words this time, such as curses, words of gratitude, and his name. Yoongi can’t believe himself when he realizes how much he missed your voice when he finally hears it tonight.
He is being a whole moron and it’s gonna incinerate him at the end.
Your clenching walls pull him under, though, and just as he feels the plug in his lower belly about to come off, he pulls out of you, leaving your mouth to grip his length all wet with your slick, stroking a loose fist over himself twice before he comes undone.
“Fuck fuck fuck, princess, fucking hell—”
Thick ropes of white land on you, coating your stomach, your tits, your nipples, fuck, in his release.
Yoongi sighs long and hard when he’s done emptying himself, extremely tempted to take a picture of you painted in him. The hand he still has over your breast catches some of his release, too, and before he can move to wipe it on your body, your whimper catches his attention.
You stare up at him with huge, dilated eyes, slowly opening your mouth and extending your tongue to wordlessly invite him.
Yoongi loses his goddamn mind.
“You’re such a fucking cumslut, aren’t you?”
You give him a shy but somewhat conniving grin, your mouth still open, and Yoongi curses.
He wraps his clean hand around your waist to sit you up on the bed, offering you his soiled hand to clean it up. And you lick at it, tiny kitten licks of your tongue making his head spiral with lust again. When he feels a twitch in his spent dick, he huffs in astonishment, and cupping your jaw with one hand, slides his dirty fingers into your mouth.
“Clean them up like a good, little cumslut, princess. Don’t pretend to be demure when we both know how your throat swallows my cock, hmm?”
Your lips close around three of his fingers, head bobbing up and down like does on his dick. Yoongi hates himself for wanting to tenderly tuck your hair behind your ears when you’re being so lecherous. What the fuck is wrong with him?
His clean fingers pop out of your mouth, your lips immediately curving up in satisfaction and Yoongi gives you a pleased smile in return.
“Good girl.”
He chuckles at the way your eyes sparkle at his praise, immediately sighing when he checks the time.
“Alright, princess, let’s clean up and leave. I only have ten minutes to spare.” You nod but still look at him expectantly. It takes him a moment to realize. “Oh, you can speak. Show’s over.”
You roll your eyes at his joke, tense shoulders relaxing, and Yoongi can almost see the way you change personalities from being his perfect, little sub to the President’s bitchy, entitled daughter.
Aftercare? Never heard of her. Yoongi shakes his head, amazed at how harshly you divide your behavior in and out of bed. You literally never need a single word or touch of comfort from him. The first time he tried, you got so alarmed that he was trying to start something romantic with you that Yoongi laughed until he cried. When he explained the concept to you, you were so adamant at refusing it, that he laughed some more.
Who’s laughing now, huh? He certainly isn’t.
“This was so good,” you tell him, hopping off the bed on wobbly legs that make him smirk. “Even if I’ll have to wear bracelets to cover up the bruises on my wrists.”
Working on untying your bonds when you stand with your back to him, Yoongi snorts at your words. “You’re the one who insists on ropes. I could always get you softer and more comfortable bonds.”
“I’ve already told you – I love the anticipation that builds when you’re tying them.” You turn around to narrow your eyes at him, cradling your reddened wrists in your palms. “And can you not talk like a Sugar Daddy?”
Yoongi laughs aloud at that, buttoning his pants and buckling his belt firmly over it. “As if you need one.”
“You couldn’t afford me even if I needed one, Chief Min.”
Yoongi tries to mask the impact of your words by pulling on a blank face, deflecting instead of addressing your insult. “You don’t work for me, don’t call me that.”
“I won’t call you by your name outside of bed, Min. If you don’t want me to be respectful, your wish.” You roll your eyes again and disappear into the en-suite bathroom.
He looks into the mirror hanging over the back of the hotel room’s door. His hair has gotten slightly out of place, but other than that, he looks pretty put together. Not quite what he feels on the inside, though. He doesn’t like you calling him ‘Chief Min,’ because that is what literally every other person in his life calls him. Even if you choose to address him by his surname instead of his given name, he finds solace in the fact that you’re the only person who does.
Your phone suddenly gives a few successive pings on the dresser, catching his eye.
joonie <333
Don’t be late!
I’ll give you a call when I get there.
I swear to god if you’re late…
I will KILL you!
His jaw clenches.
You exit the bathroom, sauntering up to the dresser to retrieve your phone in all your naked glory. He observes your face closely, teeth grinding when you grin at the text messages.
Yoongi clears his throat. “Going somewhere?”
“Yep!” you say, popping the ‘p’ and walk around the room to quickly get back into your thong and slip dress.
It suddenly strikes him that you’d been braless today. He frowns. “Dressed in that? Are you sure?”
“What the hell is wrong with my dress?” You give him an appalled look. “Joon is a friend, Dad trusts him. I’ll be safe.”
A friend. Yoongi scoffs.
“He goes to your college?” he asks, unlocking the door to the room as the two of you make your way out.
“Yeah.”
Yoongi hums in response, it suddenly hitting him how dumb what he’s doing with you really is. He’s definitely catching feelings and you… well, you can’t be bothered to so much as look at him when you’re done with the sex.
And why would you, when you have guys your age texting you to meet up, in perfect freaking grammar, spelling and punctuation. No matter how pliant or accepting you might be when you’re in his bed, you’re still a college sophomore — not even twenty yet, while he’s entering his mid-thirties. Nothing can ever, ever fruit from this. Your arrangement isn’t fine, the fuck? It’s messed up. Bound to get messier if he keeps feeling the things he does.
Which is so dumb because he doesn’t even know your college major! How the hell can he have feelings for you?
But he’s always been too weak against your pretty smile – ever since you had him washing his shirt in an airport toilet before his first meeting with your father. And so, no matter what becomes of him, no matter how messier things get between you two, he knows he will come running every time you call.
Some dom. Ugh.
tagging: @shrimpmsg @codeinebelle @afangirllikeme-blog @jimidol
note: DO NOT WORRY - you’ll see more of these two in the jk series! (tho i might not release it before 2022 bec LOTS to do!)
© jimilter | 2021
#bts#yoongi#bts smut#min yoongi#yoongi smut#bangtangames#bangtansorciere#bangtanarmynet#btsgoldnet#thebtstown#houseofddaeng#ksmutclub#purplearmynet#min yoongi smut#suga imagine#yoongi angst#min yoongi imagine#suga angst#bts angst#yoongi x you#yoongi x reader#suga x reader#bts imagine#suga fanfic#bts fanfic#bangtaninn#*mine: fic#w: lil princess#not q
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
random boyfriend eren hcs (modern/college au)
↯ pairing: eren jaeger x (fem) reader
↯ genres and warnings: modern/college au, himbo eren supremacy as per usual, but can you imagine eren, armin, and jean living together in one house bye
↯ notes: this is me once again trying out this headcanon format, also because i have lots of thoughts about eren (being normal) and going to college lmao
↯ more notes: sorry i have to repost this again tumblr is being dumb ://
Not a frat boy, but definitely lives by the mantra “work hard, party harder.”
Likes going out to frat parties and keggers first year, but calms down as time goes on. Sophomore year is more house parties and occasionally going downtown to clubs. By the time junior year rolls around tho, he and Jean are thee party hosts. Homecoming, Halloween, Pre-Thanksgiving break, you name it, those two have a reason to throw a party for it
But party doesn’t always mean absolute rager. Sometimes it’s just drinking with your friends, playing pong, and absolutely crushing Jean at uno.
At parties with lots of other people, Eren really doesn’t let people fuck around with you, or any of his friends really. Once almost got into a fight because he watched a guy out his hands on yours and Mikasa’s waists to “move around you.” As if.
Wears his key necklace around all the time, obviously. So he gives you a necklace with a lock on it, with both of your initials engraved on the back.
Nobody really notices it at first, since the chains are long and the necklaces are you usually tucked inside your shirts. But one day, ever the observant one, Armin catches a glimpse of yours resting on top of your shirt. Cue squinted eyes looking back and forth between you and Eren before—eureka! “You and Eren have matching necklaces!!!”
Plays sports, not for a scholarship but just for fun. Gets very pouty when you can’t make it to his games; and gets extra pouty if you show up, but you’re not wearing his jersey.
On the flip side, gets very giddy when he sees you in the stands with his jersey on and very ostentatiously scoops you up into a hug after the game is over.
Literally does not know where the library is until you show it to him. Any of them. Help him.
The worst person to study with if he doesn’t have any actual work to do. Will bother you and prefer to gossip than to let you do your work in peace. If you need an actual study buddy, you should try Mikasa.
Drunkenly hits on you a lot. Scratch that, he hits on you regardless, drunk or sober, despite the fact that you’re literally dating him already.
Literally reserves at least two nights of the week to have dinner with Armin bye and you couldn’t even interrupt them if you tried.
Waits for you outside of your classroom if you’ve had an important presentation or something. Not always with anything cheesy or loud, but just to be able to cheer you on and congratulate you after.
Hates the act of going grocery shopping, but loves going with you. Also because you force him to buy things other than Anytizers and Kraft Mac and Cheese.
Steals your hair ties and scrunchies to put his hair up. Does not fucking give them back, and denies having them, even if they’re piling up on his wrist.
Will drive you anywhere and everywhere. He is your personal Uber. Even if you don’t want him to be, he would rather die than let you get into an actual Uber—and if it’s late at night? Forget it, Eren doesn’t care if you’re 45 mins away, he’ll come get you.
After you stabbed him with your pen for drawing in your notebook (with your very pristine notes), he started leaving sticky notes inside of them instead.
They’re all super random, usually incoherent, and sometimes just drawings, and you’d never tell him, but you keep every single one.
Cuts class a lot, but not to the point where he’s failing. Just when he feels like it’s deserved, you know? Like, if he attended lecture for a class all week, he deserved to skip Friday’s lecture. As a treat.
He’s embarrassing. Endearing, but so embarrassing. Like, singing in the middle of the street embarrassing. Asking you to do a TikTok in public embarrassing. Why do you even love him.
Moves off-campus during junior year and rooms with Jean and Armin in three-bedroom house. So, he’s never actually lonely, but he’s a little crybaby and will whine to get to you to come over.
LOVES sleeping over at your place, though. Because you live with Annie and Mikasa, so your place is always clean and always smells good. Plus Mikasa and Annie are usually busy, which means you get more privacy at your place.
Mikasa honestly just starts making breakfast for Eren in the mornings when he does sleep over, and Annie is so unfazed by his presence.
Jumps at the opportunity to join in on your girls wine-night or skincare-routine night. So what if it’s him and three other girls drinking red wine with face masks on and talking about Anne Hathaway movies while playing Monopoly Deal? It leaves him pleasantly buzzed and his skin is absolutely glowing, suck his dick, Connie.
Likely doesn’t understand a thing about your major/program but listens enthusiastically when you talk about it anyways.
His lock screen is the only selfie he’s ever convinced you to take with him. (That’s okay because he has many screenshots of your snaps for safekeeping and blackmailing).
Tries to get you to exercise with him. If you’re into that, then great. If you’re not, it’s okay, he always has time to stop and take a mid-workout thirst trap to send your way. Because he’s annoying like that.
Once accidentally replied to the whole class instead of just the professor on an email asking him to be a g and bump his 89.9 to a 90. Embarrassing. (The prof did raise in the end tho, so maybe he really does have some charm to him).
Has to wear reading glasses when studying for a long time/or at his computer for a long time, and even though he doesn’t like them, you think he looks super cute in them; so he wears them more often than usual.
Calls you asking for the most obscure school supplies/stationary. “Babe, hey, you wouldn’t happen to have a spare 4x8 poster board laying around now would you?”
Mind you this is at, like, 3am, 12 hours before the poster board in question is due.
Speaking of stationary, is an absolute little shit and steals your good pens. He’s partial to the sparkly ones, if he’s being honest. They make his notes look better, fuck you, Jean.
“Eren, give me back my purple 0.4mm pen.” “I don’t know what that is, sorry.” “Eren, I can see it in your hand!”
Brings you snacks while you’re studying. If you’re really trying to crack down and be serious, he won’t even bother you. Just bring the snacks, bring you water and boba, kiss your little forehead and be on his way.
Has a polaroid camera he got as a birthday gift, and uses it to sneak pictures of you whenever you’re not looking. He keeps the good ones hung up on a sponge board in his room.
He has a few.... riskier ones too, but those are for his eyes only.
Loves to pick out your nail color when you get your nails done. Honestly gets a little pouty when you don’t ask him lmaoo
Purposely leaves his clothes around so you can wear them. Isn’t subtle about it in the slightest. Sometimes leaves them with a note: “Please wear this, you’d look cute as fuck. Thank you. —Management.”
(slightly nsfw below)
Is not too proud to ask you for risqué snaps. Not necessarily full nudes, thought he doesn’t object to those.
Will literally give you hickeys out of boredom. Will pull you onto his lap and start kissing your neck because he has nothing better to do. Also because it leads to sex 7/10 times. The other 3 times, it’s because he falls asleep with his head in your neck lmaoo
Might have once fucked you with one of his lectures playing in the background, but you’ll never tell.
He really likes phone sex. He’s shit at being quiet, so he can only really do it when Jean and Armin are out of the house, but there’s something about only being able to hear your moans to get off that really does it for him.
He’s kind of goofy and absentminded sometimes, so sometimes you’ll be mid-sex and he’ll look at you like “Hey, did you finish your assignment, it’s due tomorrow right?”
And honestly, you kinda wanna be upset, but then you start thinking—“Did I finish my assignment?” And then you realize you did and nod and he’s like “Ok, cool,” kisses your forehead and resumes where you left off.
#aot x reader#snk x reader#eren x reader#eren jaeger x reader#aot imagines#snk imagines#eren smut#eren fluff#levi x reader
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Los Guardianes | Part VII [Nestor Oceteva x Fem!Reader]
Ok, finally, some long-awaited answers! And we move towards some romantic content (thanks to my sappy sucker of a heart)!
Warnings: nudity; language; discussions of crimes being committed; mentions of domestic violence, sexual assault, guns, and murder | Words: 2,300+
Taglist: @chibsytelford @megapeacelovemusic-blog @broiderie @est1887 @mveggieburger @redpoodlern @queenbeered @mrsstevenbuchananstark @mijop @frattsparty @littlekittymeow @bellisperennis0 @beardsanddetectives @soltaasbruxas *IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE ADDED TO MY TAGLIST LET ME KNOW!*
Part VI of Los Guardianes
Nestor led you down the hall, back towards the staircase. He flipped a switch on the wall as he opened the door to reveal a spacious guest room. You sighed in relief at the sight of a bed, barely registering the lush linens. Your limbs weighed you down, crying out for rest. As you slipped your sandals off and approached the bed, you ran a hand over the pale green duvet and grimaced at the sight of your dirty nails and hands against the expensive bedding.
You started just slightly as Nestor rested a hand on your shoulder.
“Do you want to shower?” he asked. You nodded, and he guided you towards a door on the other side of the bed, exposing a bathroom decorated in pristine white tiles. He produced a fluffy towel from a cabinet beneath the sink and handed it to you. He reached quickly into the shower and turned the water on, waiting for it to warm before facing you again.
“Are you ok in here by yourself?”
You bit your lip in uncertainty. You were practically asleep on your feet and a warm shower certainly wouldn’t help.
As though reading your mind, Nestor suggested gently that he get in with you. You nodded, anything to expedite the final destination of bed. It crossed your mind, fleetingly, that this wasn’t exactly how you imagined Nestor seeing you naked for the first time would go. But you also couldn’t bring yourself to care much as you dragged your arms over your head, waiting for Nestor to help you. He chuckled quietly at the expectation.
Foregoing the hoodie’s zipper, he slipped his hands, warm and tender against your skin, beneath the hem of your shirt and pulled both up over your head at the same time. His palms grazed your shoulders as he brought them back down and you sighed at the comforting touch. He reached around you to unclasp your bra and you let it fall forward, exhaustion overwhelming any sense of insecurity as you stood in his embrace. Your fingers struggled dumbly with the button on your jeans before Nestor’s hands gently guided yours away and did it for you. He pushed the fabric down over your hips, tugging your panties down with them. Your gaze followed his as he worked methodically, his expression giving nothing away. You leaned against him as you stepped out of the pants pooled around your ankles.
He quickly unbuttoned his dress shirt and let it fall to the floor, tugging his black undershirt over his head. Your mind reeled at the sight of him, your fingers itching to touch him, and you wished your mind wasn’t so foggy. You admired the tattoos adorning his arms and torso as he shed his pants and boxer briefs.
You registered woe amidst the fatigue. “I wish I had the energy to fuck,” you managed feebly.
Nestor snorted and shook his head, biting back a grin. “Later,” he chided.
“Promise?”
“Trust me, I promise,” he assured you, grabbing your hand and helping you into the shower. The spray of hot water over your head had your eyelids drooping almost immediately. Nestor seemed to notice as he got in behind you, pulling you closer to him, his chest firm against your back. He grabbed the soap and made a lather between his palms before handing the bar to you. With nimble fingers, he massaged the suds into your shoulders and neck before gliding his hands over your arms and hips. You scoured the dried blood off your chest and stomach, watching the dirty, soapy water cascade down your thighs, taking note of the bruises blooming on your knees.
You couldn’t imagine the level of self-control Nestor was exerting as he stood pressed behind you. He began working shampoo into your hair and a whine slipped between your lips, overwhelmed by how nice it felt. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder.
“Alright?” he asked.
You nodded, finally stepping forward into the stream, letting the water rinse you clean.
Nestor helped you out of the shower and wrapped you in a large fluffy towel, scrubbing you dry, peppering your face with kisses as he finished, drawing a smile from you. He produced a soft gray bathrobe from a cabinet beside the shower and helped you shrug into it.
He stepped back, studying his handiwork, then returned to press a firm kiss to your forehead, his steady hand cradling the back of your head. The gesture was so comfortable that, for a moment, you thought you might fall asleep just like that. But he moved to pull out a t-shirt and a pair of boxers for himself and threw them on.
Nestor guided you gently by the shoulders towards the bed and helped you in. He climbed in behind you and pulled you against him, and you wanted nothing more than to sleep in the comforting circle of his arms.
In all your years, sleep had never been elusive to you. Despite the things you had seen, the things that had happened to you at the hands of others, the ugly visions that sometimes played out behind your eyelids had never hindered the soothing pull of sleep. So long as you were safe and sound, the moment your head hit the pillow, your mind began to draw the blinds and lock up for the night.
Nestor was no stranger to exhaustion. He had slept like the dead often enough in his life. But he was still taken aback by how easily you slept beside him in the dark room, knowing at least some of what you had just been through. Sleep did elude him, and so he watched the lines etched on your face change as the night passed, his mind busy with unanswered questions and more than a little amazement.
You woke to the sensation of the mattress shifting beside you. Your heart rate spiked briefly, your sleep-clouded mind still caught up in the intense whirl of the last few days. After a moment, you remembered where you were, opening your eyes just in time to see Nestor rolling onto his side next to you. Dark circles sat below his eyes and his braids looked a little disheveled; he didn’t look as though he had slept much.
“Morning,” you sighed. Your body cried out for more sleep, but the sunlight filtering into the room was a reminder that the world kept spinning, and you had things to do. The gnawing bite of hunger forced you to keep your eyes open.
Nestor was quiet, still studying you intently. Finally, he asked, “How did you sleep?”
You managed a shrug. “I can tell I need more, but I’m up now.”
He nodded absentmindedly. “Are you hungry?” he asked. He motioned towards the nightstand on your side of the bed and you turned to see a plate of fruit and yogurt and a bagel laid out alongside a cup of still-hot coffee. You rested your palm against his cheek, your thumb brushing over the tired bags under his eyes as you nodded.
You sat up slowly with a groan, your joints aching. You picked up the bagel and picked at it, popping small pieces into your mouth to quell the pain in your gut. Nestor sat up beside you, crossing his legs, his knees touching yours.
“We’re going to retaliate,” he said firmly, his dark eyes searching yours intently. His lips parted hesitantly before he spoke again. “I want to know everything that happened before I decide how I’m going to handle it. I want… I want to know if they hurt you.”
His hand rose from the covers to cup your cheek, his warm palm comforting and familiar. Although things with Nestor were still relatively new, you already felt as though you could trust him with your life. And considering his career path, wouldn’t you have to, sooner or later?
You exhaled slowly, preparing yourself for the questions you knew would come.
“They didn’t hurt me, Nes... I don’t really think they were interested in me at all. Just Cristóbal.”
“Is there anything you might have left out last night? Anything you didn’t want to say in front of Miguel?” he murmured.
You frowned, glancing away from Nestor’s gaze as you recalled the worst moments of your captivity. His fingers guided your face back to his gently, his thumb pressed softly against your chin.
“You don’t have to hide from me, (Y/N). There is nothing you can say that will shake me.”
“I… I killed a man, Nes. And I lied to a cop,” you uttered with a shaky breath, before rambling onward, trying to get it all out before you could change your mind. “And I know, logically, that I just did what I had to do to survive, to keep me and Cristóbal alive, but now that I’m back in the real world, with real rules, where things are going to go back to normal, I don’t really know how to reconcile those things, you know? I don’t want to have to do this again and– ”
“Wait, again? What do you mean?” Nestor interjected, and you could see the number of questions piling up behind his eyes.
You pinched your eyes shut, not brave enough now, in your vulnerability, to see the look in his eyes when you said the words.
“This… isn’t the first time I’ve killed someone. And it’s certainly not the first time I’ve lied to a cop,” you whispered.
“Mi amor,” Nestor murmurs, stroking your cheek with his thumb, his tone encouraging. “It’s ok. Please tell me.”
You opened your eyes to gaze, unfocused, at the threads of Nestor’s shirt. “I was married… back in LA. My ex-husband, he was a police officer. He, um – he wasn’t a nice guy. I mean, I guess he was in the beginning, I married him. And I learned a lot from him while we were together. He taught me how to shoot. I even had a carry permit. I learned how to think on my feet, how to respond quickly, all kinds of self-defense techniques. I learned it all either from him, or because of him. But that wasn’t always a positive thing. Some of the things I learned, how to hide, how to be sneaky, how to lie – I learned those things after he wasn’t so nice anymore. He used to… hit me,” your voice caught in your throat, and Nestor immediately placed a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly.
You cleared your throat before continuing. “He would force himself on me. Tell me I was worthless. And I stayed, because I believed him. Sometimes the neighbors would call the cops because they could hear me crying and begging,” you trailed to a whisper, a tear rolling down your cheek to stain the pillow. You tried to always wear your strength like a mantle, and it took a toll on you. Over the past few days, you had certainly shown just how tough you could be, but a sense of vulnerability always sprang from discussing your past, recalling with aching clarity just how scared and lonely that younger self had been. But, you told yourself, if anyone deserved to hear this story from you, it was Nestor. So you sniffed and cleared your throat and continued on.
“The cops would show up, but somehow, nothing ever came of it. And in the beginning, I even felt like I had to cover for him when they showed up, so I lied and said nothing was happening.”
“A co-worker eventually figured out what was going on, and the guidance counselor at the school I was working at approached me to talk. Over time, she helped me build my sense of self-worth back up, and she connected me with resources. But while I was in the process of figuring out what to do, there was this one night where he came home just… totally fucked up. And when he started hitting me, it felt… I don’t know, different than the other times. And I knew. I knew he was going to kill me. And for once, I didn’t want to die.”
You stared at a point on the wall beyond Nestor’s shoulder, lost in the memory, blind to the way his jaw clenched in anger.
“So I shot him,” you explained simply. “He turned his back for just a second and I grabbed my gun and shot him.” That part you had lots of practice saying out loud. “His entire department had his back, and there was no paper trail to establish a pattern of abuse, so I got arrested. I worked with some domestic violence groups, who helped me pay for an attorney. I went to trial, and ultimately, I… I guess the jury was sympathetic. So I was acquitted. But it was… It was a lot. It took me a long time to get myself back together. Moving to Santo Padre was a big part of that.”
You took a deep breath and peered at Nestor again. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about this earlier. I was… afraid. That it would change the way you see me. I know it’s a lot to put on someone.”
Silence reigned in the vast guest room as you shredded your bagel nervously between your fingers, waiting with bated breath for his response.
He blinked slowly, unmoved. “There is ugliness in all our stories, querida. It doesn’t change how I feel about you.”
Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you nodded at him, hoping he meant it.
You sniffed, trying to gather yourself. “So what happens now?”
His jaw clenched again, and there was a hint of maliciousness in the smirk that followed, as if he enjoyed the thought.
“Now we fuck some shit up.”
Part VIII of Los Guardianes
#mayans fx#mayans mc#mayansmc#mayans fanfic#nestor oceteva#nestor oceteva imagine#nestor oceteva x reader#mayans imagine#mayans mc imagine
149 notes
·
View notes
Text
Betrayal Story - Part 6
Hii look at what I finally finished! sorry for taking so long to post this guys, I don't even have an explanation lol... I have something else already half written for the boys so hopefully I won't take so long to update the story again 🙃 anyways, I hope y'all like it <3
tagging @thelazywitchphotographer @swift-perseides @whump-it-like-its-hot @sunflower1000 @msrandonstuff @fromtheo-withlove @boxofsilence @lionhxartx @sometouchofmadness @paleassprince @livingforthewhump @1becky1 @shameful-indulgence @whatwhumpcomments @tropes-for-my-md-daydreams @starnight-whump @writingbackwards @noodlesandkareokee @mylifeisonthebookshelf @nightwhumpee
CW: forced sedation, manhandling, drugged whumpee, needle mention, aftermath of branding/burning
Part 1 here, continued from here
-
Liam can’t move. Every time he does, his arms do too and the mere brush of burned skin against pristine bandages is enough to get him on the verge of tears.
The room he’s kept in is too barren, too small to provide any kind of distraction from the constant pulse of pain – too much and never abating. No one listens or cares when he begs for medication, for anything to ease the agony. The doctor comes in to see him, give him antibiotics and check if there’s no infection, but barely looks at Liam when he whimpers under gloved hands.
The first time he takes a glance at the twisted skin underneath the wound dressing, a breathy, hysterical laugh slips out, quickly followed by a silent gasp as Chase’s initials weigh on his arms. He was always his, in the end, wasn’t he? Even after being betrayed and stabbed and kidnapped, he could never get the agent off his mind. Now he’ll be on Liam’s body as well.
It takes all of his willpower not to rip the dressings off once the doctor and nurses leave, just to stare at the hideous thing his arms are now.
But in the silent room, with nothing to do but think and despair, Liam can’t stop looking at the bandages.
He doesn’t know how long he spends staring at it – at the white itchy gauze, and the burns that hurt underneath it. At the C and the R he knows are forever burned on his skin. Like fucking cattle, marked with his owner’s name. Like the stupid boy who thought he could give his heart away to the beautiful, mysterious man that smiled at him. If nothing else, it is a good reminder of how big of a fool Liam is. If he lives long enough for it to be useful, that is. If Jonah doesn’t decide he’s had enough of Liam soon.
Horror floods him at the thought, and when his heart speeds up, Liam can’t hold it any longer. He pulls off the bandages in one swift movement, holding his breath when a wave of fire licks his arms. It doesn’t stop him from ripping out the second bandage though.
His hands tremble on his lap as Liam stares at the skin above his wrists, red with blood and raw skin disfigured into letters. It looks just as ugly as it feels.
He doesn’t realize he’s crying until a tear drips on his thigh. And then another and one more, until he’s openly sobbing, chest heaving and stomach twisting.
Lost in tears and the sight of burned skin that sinks into his heart and burns everything there too, Liam only realizes there are people in the room when a hand grabs his forearm.
“What did you do? I just bandaged that,” the nurse complains.
This time, this one time, he moves. Liam yanks his arm away from their grasp and stumbles out of the bed, away from the nurse that stares at him with wide eyes and a startled frown.
“D-d-don’t touch me,” he hisses, holding his hands as close to his chest as he can, and hissing again when sore skin rubs against his shirt. “Stay the fuck away!”
But instead of moving back or so much as talking to him, the nurse calls for the guards and starts walking in his direction.
Liam takes a step backward and presses his back against the wall, wild eyes searching for an escape, a weapon, anything, but salvation is nowhere near. “Please, don’t. Leave me alone.”
When the guards open the door and enter the room, Liam slides to the ground, as small as he can make himself, elbows on his knees, arms protecting his head.
“Get off!” he screams when hands grab at him, and thrashes in the hold. His foot connects with soft flesh, his knee with someone’s chin, but there are too many men. Too many hands for too little strength, no matter how desperately Liam fights.
They drag him through the floor as Liam writhes with every last bit of stamina he has, panic driving him to fight like he wishes he could every time he’s hurt.
A different kind of pain blooms as he squirms uselessly in unforgiving grips – one deeper, familiar, warmer. Liam still doesn’t stop.
“Fuck, he reopened the stab wound,” someone shouts over the cacophony of pain and panicked struggling. “Hold him down, now!”
Liam is pushed to the floor, and when someone squeezes both his arms to keep him there, right over the exposed burns, the world turns red, and a scream tears its way out of his throat.
“No, no, no, get off!” he sobs, kicking out even when a needle sinks into his arm. “n-n-nggh off, get, get o-off,” he tries again, but the world is already slipping through his fingers. He kicks out and thrashes as best as he can, but it isn’t enough. There are stronger bodies over him and the movement is barely there at all.
As much as Liam tries to keep his eyes open, they weigh too heavy, the drugs stronger than he is.
What isn’t?
Liam’s body relaxes against his will, slumps under harsh hands and angry stares, and all he can do is whimper when they drag his limp body to the bed.
-
Chase moves through life like a ghost, only a shell of helplessness and worry, and for the first time, his team notices. He hasn’t slept in days, not with Liam’s face twisted in agony ready to wake him up each time he closes his eyes. Has barely eaten, no appetite left when all he can think about is the boy he loves being hurt on his account.
How can he be free when Liam is locked up? How can he be the one who isn’t hurting when he is the only one who ever deserved it?
“Come on, I know that there’s something wrong,” Zoey says, crossing her arms.
If he could simply flee, he would, but with the hacker standing right in front of him, Chase knows it isn’t worth it. Even if he did leave, she wouldn’t stop trying to get the truth out of him. So Chase sighs and looks down at the blond woman who looks ready to commit murder.
“We all know it. You look like shit. What’s going on?”
It takes all of his strength to plaster a smirk on his lips and lean against the wall with a casual tilt of his head. “You guys worry too much. I’m fine, Zo. Probably could do with a little more sleep, but who couldn’t?”
As convincing as he hopes he sounds, Zoey doesn’t seem at all impressed by his acting. If anything, her frown deepens. “I know you, Chase. And you know me, so you know you can trust me. You look even worse than you did after that mission with the newspaper boy.”
Newspaper boy. If that was all Liam meant for him, maybe Chase’s heart wouldn’t be this tattered.
“Zoey. I am okay, I p– I promise.”
I never lied to you, he had said to Liam as he bled out in Chase’s arms. I betrayed you, yes, but not once did I lie. Stay alive and I’ll prove it to you.
But that was just another lie, wasn’t it? Liam is as alive as ever, and all Chase’s done is cause him more pain than any of them ever imagined possible. All he’s proven is his failure to keep Liam safe.
What is another lie when he’s already filled with them? Maybe that’s all he was always meant to be, all he will ever be – a betrayer. A traitor. A liar.
With a casual shrug that makes his stomach twist, Chase sidesteps his teammate. Before he can move farther away though, she grabs his arm and pulls him back.
“You are good at lying, but I can see the way your eyes have gone dull. I’m not going to force you to say it, but when you get tired of pretending to be fine, I’ll be here. Okay?” When Chase doesn’t answer, she takes a deep breath and nods. Zoey leaves him standing there, feeling dirty and raw, something stirring inside his chest and begging him to tell her everything.
Chase opens his mouth, the truth one breath away, and takes a step towards Zoey’s back. And then his phone buzzes, and reality comes crashing back as he looks at the screen and she disappears down the corridor.
Wanna see him?
It’s the first message he’s gotten from Jonah in days, and Chase holds his breath and freezes for a second at the words.
He’s rushing to his car even before his mind has caught up with his legs.
He’s standing in front of Jonah’s building in a matter of minutes, heart racing but mind weirdly quiet. Static silence, fear building up.
Jonah waits for him in the lobby this time, leaning against the open door of the elevator with a smile on his lips.
“Chase! Long time no see.”
“Where is he?”
“Straight to the point, huh. Boring as ever,” Jonah rolls his eyes. “I was feeling generous today, thought you might want to say hello. I’m not sure our dear boy will answer you, but you can try for yourself I guess.”
“What the fuck did you do?” Chase hisses as Jonah nods for him to get inside and presses the button.
“Nothing bad. He was just fussing about the pain, so my nurses gave him have a little something to relax.”
Chase steps into the elevator, two guards close behind, and fears he’ll shatter his jaw from how hard he’s clenching it.
“He also doesn’t really like his new… adornments, I don’t think. Ripped the bandages earlier today, wet the whole bed with tears.”
Jonah’s voice is light as he says it, the tone one would use to talk about something meaningless, something that doesn’t make Chase sink his nails into his palms and hold his breath. The man’s eyes are the telltale, shining with dark glee, and Chase can see the way Jonah follows his every movement like a predator, reveling at the little cracks in his unruffled façade.
“So when I offered him something to calm down, he didn’t even think before accepting,” he continues.
The doors slide open before any of them can say anything else. A small mercy.
The walk to Liam’s room is as quick as it is infinite. They stop in front of the door so incredibly soon, yet so painfully late.
“Be nice to him, I think he’s going through a phase,” Jonah chuckles as he nods for one of his men to unlock the door. “And don’t forget that this is your fault, dear.”
He barely realizes he’s entered the room until the lock clicks behind him. And then Chase’s eyes find Liam, and the world stops on its tracks, just like it always does when they are in the same room together.
He’s lying on his back, arms open and hands hanging off the bed, bandages covering the skin from Liam’s elbows to his wrists. His eyes are open, but unfocused, slow blinks that lead to nowhere even when Chase takes the first step towards him. His chest rises and falls slowly, rhythmically, a shallow blow of air through parted lips, and despite everything, Chase is happy that Liam isn’t in pain.
It is only when he stops beside the bed that Liam’s head lolls on the pillow, a sunflower looking for the sun even though no real light can reach him here. Still, he looks, and half-lidded eyes roam around the room before finally stopping on Chase’s face.
“Hey,” Chase says, curling one hand into a fist while the other clutches the edge of the bed.
“Mmgh,” Liam slurs with a shuddering breath and a crease on his forehead before trying again. “I, mm, I’m not, n-uh not feeling… well.”
“How can I help?” Chase’s voice is hoarse and low, pained, but Liam hears it. He hears it and he whimpers, shaking his head no.
Make it stop, his mouth forms, but doesn’t voice.
I can’t, Chase wants to scream, I’d give anything to make it all stop but I can’t. Instead, he softens his voice and tries to smile. “What if I do something to distract you? I… I was told you are under some strong drugs.”
Green eyes blink at him, and Chase is happy there are only the two of them in the room. He might actually lose it and punch Jonah square in the face if the man was here.
“How about I tell you a story? You’ve always liked them.”
Liam swallows, eyes darting around the room again, and even though Chase knows he isn’t listening, not really, he sits on the edge of the bed and starts talking.
“It’s about a boy who thought he could change the world, but instead changed the person who was sent to stop him.”
“Sou-sounds like a shit story,” Liam mumbles.
“Depends on how you look at it. Or who’s the one telling it, I guess.”
There’s a pause, and Liam sighs softly before talking again.
“Are you… are, are you really… here?”
The words slam into his chest, shattering anything left in there, and though Chase holds himself firmly still and keeps his face carefully free from anything but tenderness, something collapses inside of him. Maybe it’s his heart. It feels like it, and he wants to cry, to grab Liam and leave, but he can’t, and Liam strains to focus on his eyes, so Chase smiles like there isn’t burning agony rippling through him.
“Do you want me to be?”
“I, I don’t, I don’t know.” It is only a murmur, but Chase knows he’ll hear its echo in his nightmares for a long time – the uncertainty, the fear, the sadness. The helplessness.
I’m here. I would be here forever if I could.
But the words are only that – words. He can’t be here forever, nor erase all the pain he’s caused and continues to cause. So Chase picks up the pieces of his heart and pretends it doesn’t hurt to smirk and brush Liam’s hair away from his forehead like he used to do so long ago.
If he can’t take Liam away from this nightmare, the least he can do is pretend it is a dream.
“Then you should stop dreaming about me.”
“Ca-can’t,” Liam frowns, staring at the hand Chase just touched him with. “Will, will you leave? Again?”
“Only if you want me to.”
Liam looks up again, and something is missing in those eyes. A spark of life that was still there the last time they saw each other, but isn’t now. As Chase searches for the hope he always loved in the depths of Liam’s gaze, what he finds instead is sadness.
“Don’t go,” Liam breathes. “I, I, my h-head, it it it feels weird, Chase.”
“I know, love,” Chase says calmly, nothing of the wild desperation that rages inside of him seeping through the words. Not when Liam is this lost, this vulnerable. Not when it is the first time he has called Chase by his name after the betrayal. “It’ll pass.”
“I’m scared,” he murmurs, shifting on the bed. “But, I, I don’t remember… why.”
“You are okay, Liam. I promise. You’ll be okay.”
Liam closes his eyes and shakes his head, and when he speaks, his voice is only a whisper, gone even before he finishes. “I don’t believe you.”
Chase bites on his lip and creases his forehead, but none of it shows when he takes Liam’s hand in his own and gives it a little squeeze.
“I know. That’s okay too.”
But Liam isn’t there anymore to hear it. His body sags on the bed, taken away by the drugs, and Chase is left alone in Liam’s cell, watching the boy he’d kill and die for fall asleep. As he does, all Chase can think about is that he needs to get Liam out of here. Somehow, he needs to get him away, no matter the cost of it.
An hour goes by, and though it is one of the worst hours of Chase’s life, is it the first time he doesn’t feel like a part of his heart is bleeding in days. Not when he can see the bleeding part right in front of him.
He wants to wake Liam up, to hear his voice while he can, before he’s forced to leave again. But there’s peace on his face as he sleeps, and Chase can’t take him back to reality when he looks like he used to, like he could wake up at any moment and kiss Chase with a smile.
And then the door opens, and the memories vanish as Chase reluctantly gets up. As soon as he does though, Liam stirs on the bed, frail hand reaching out and grabbing Chase’s wrist before he can move away.
“You promised me… a… um, a story.”
Liam’s eyes open for a moment before closing again, but he doesn’t let go. Chase shoots one look at the guards waiting by the door and knows that nothing good will happen if he waits. He has to play nice if he wants to get Liam out.
Chase looks down at Liam again, and when he finds half-lidded eyes struggling to stay open, he can’t stop his voice from breaking mid-sentence.
“It’ll have to stay for another time, okay? I’ll see you soon, love.”
Liam’s eyes flutter back closed with a soft sigh. His voice is soft as the tears that sting Chase’s eyes when he speaks. “You al–, you always leave in real life too.”
Chase can’t find an answer before he is dragged out of the room by a firm grip he knows better than to fight. He yanks his arm away as soon as the door locks him and Liam on different sides, and hears the words rattling around his head while he is lead to sit in Jonah’s office to hear what the man wants next. All the way back to his house.
He doesn’t think when he calls Zoey. All he hears is Liam.
All he can see is Liam’s lost gaze, the life fading out of his eyes. All he knows is that if he lets him in Jonah’s claws one more second without doing anything, he might actually, truly, crumble down until he can’t pull himself back up.
He is sitting on his couch, hands over his face and elbows on his knees just like they have been since he got home, when his friend opens the door.
“Oh, Chase,” she breathes as soon as she sees his face and sits beside him. “What happened?”
He doesn’t get to crumble down. Not when it’s Liam the one being hurt. The one branded and tortured and kidnapped and betrayed. Still, when Zoey’s gentle arms wrap around him, he hugs her back.
“It’s Liam,” he says, fighting to get the words out through his heaving breaths, trying to force his mind to put them together long enough for someone else to know it too because he can’t do this on his own. He thought he could, he thought he was enough, but he isn’t and he needs to get Liam out, no matter what, no matter how, he has to, he has to before the light goes out in that beautiful green gaze. “He, I, he’s caught and it’s my fault and I thought I could keep him safe but I can’t and now–“
“Chase, breathe,” she commands, and he answers. It’s all he knows how to do, isn’t it? Answer orders. Look at what happens when he’s left on his own. “Let’s start from the begging.”
So Chase does.
(next)
#whump#whump writing#drug whump#noncon drugging#forced sedation#hostage whump#needle cw#captivity#hostage situation#betrayal story#angst#manhandling#aw look at chase finally doing something :') go on babe stop sitting around and letting your boy be tortured#pity liam is not gonna remember any of this later :) and will continue to think chase left him there :) yeah such a pity :)))#so what do y'all think of zoey? i didn't want to introduce another character because who cares lol but chase really needs the help
146 notes
·
View notes
Text
Me and You Together
A/N: Hello! I would like to say first of all that ^ is not my gif. I had it saved on my computer from somewhere and it just felt perfect for this. I do love my little sweet pea and frat boy Harry, but I also feel like I’ve done them dirty in this fic. I wanted to add more angst, but we all know I’m shit at that kind of stuff bc I’m soft at heart. Anywho, I really hope that you enjoy this and I just want to thank the lovely @stellarboystyles for putting together this little fic challenge. Congrats on 3 years babe! I hope that you like this story and that I have done this celebratory moment justice!
Word Count: 11.9 k
Warnings: Alcohol, smut, pining, Louis being a dickhead, a mean roommate
Trope: Best Friends to Lovers with Frat Boy Harry
Prompt: “Just sit on my fingers. Yeah, just like that.” (this is all the way at the end tbh, just a heads up lol)
P.s I know nothing about frat’s honestly and I just tried to avoid that the best that I could but fratboy!h lives in my mind rent free and I wanted to write it so....yeah.
September
Piper’s POV
I rolled my head back on my neck, looking up at the ceiling as my roommate sighed.
“Has anyone told you that you’re a selfish bitch?” Carli asked, her perfectly manicured nail resting on the cheap, wooden door of our dorm room. “I’m trying to unwind and relax after an extremely hard week and you’re ruining it for me.”
“I live here too!” I felt my brows pull together in frustration as I adjusted my bag on my sore shoulders, shifting from foot to foot. “The least you can let me do is come in and change before you start fucking.”
“You’re killing my mood!” She groaned, holding her hand out. “Give me your fucking bag and tell me what you need.”
“Carli-”
“Tell me what you need or I’m shutting this door in your face, I swear to god.” She snapped, her brows arching up as she wiggled her fingers at me. “You have five seconds.”
“Fine!” I said, shrugging my bag off my tired shoulders. “I need my purse, a black t-shirt, and a jacket.”
“Great.”
She slammed the door in my face, flicking the lock as I brushed my hands over my face angrily.
College was not supposed to be like this.
The next four years of my life were meant to be spent making new friends and partaking in fun activities on campus. So far, the only person I knew was Carli and she most definitely hated my guts with a burning passion. I wasn’t sure why she hated me so much when I mainly kept to myself, hunched over my desk with headphones on for most of the night when I studied. I hardly ever talked to Carli besides the odd argument about my typing being too loud and my presence being too...obvious. I hated every second of college so far and this wasn’t helping me at all.
I was moments away from having a breakdown, the build up creeping up my throat as I stood there in the hall, waiting for Carli as everyone else stared at my back. I tried not to let their prying eyes bother me, but I could feel the hairs standing up on the back of my neck as I crossed my arms over my chest. I tried to distract my mind, thinking about where I was going to go while Carli got her rocks off in our shared room. Maybe the library? Maybe a cafe?
Just as I started listing off cafes in my head, the door opened just a crack.
“Here’s your stuff, don’t come home before midnight.” She stuck a hand out, her voice muffled by the door. I rolled my eyes, grabbing my things from her hands. “Bye, Pippi!”
“It’s Piper, you unbearable asshole.” I sighed, holding my stuff close to my chest as frustrated tears started to accumulate behind my eyes. “I hope you don’t have an orgasm.”
I turned on my heels, ready to storm towards the communal bathroom so I could change and collect myself before leaving. I only made it halfway down the hall when I heard someone shouting behind me. I wasn’t sure they were actually calling out for me until I felt a hand on my shoulder. I stopped in my tracks, sniffling as I reached up to wipe at my cheeks.
“Piper, hold on.” The girl who was calling my name stepped in front of me, letting out a shuddery breath. She only had eyeshadow on one of her perfectly shaped eyes and a makeup brush in her hand as she stopped. “I just wanted to say that I am so sorry your roommate just did that to you. You can use my room to change if you’d like? I know the communal bathroom doesn’t always offer the most privacy and my roommate is never home. I’ll stand outside and everything!”
“You don’t have to do that.” I sniffled before offering her a forced smile. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with teasing right now. “But thank you.”
“I insist.” Her brown eyes looked softer as she spoke, her hand falling to her side. “My name is Eleanor. I think we have Modern English together.”
“Piper.” I said. “Are you sure you’re okay with that?”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “I don’t mind it at all, babes.”
Eleanor left me in her room to get dressed, politely standing outside as I collected myself.
I took a few deep breaths, trying to compose myself as I stripped out of the blouse I had been wearing all day. I pulled my black t-shirt on, huffing when I realized that this wasn’t the one I actually needed. This one was meant for darker jeans and a pair of heeled boots. This top was meant for parties and bars, not a cafe. The criss crossed pattern was far too fancy for a late night cup of coffee and a lonely piece of cheesecake.
When I opened the door, my old shirt bundled up in my hand, I smiled at Eleanor.
She looked over my outfit, her eyes growing wide.
“You look great!” She said. “Do you have plans tonight?”
“I was just gonna go to Fitz and Co for coffee and dessert.” I gave her a nervous chuckle, clutching my old shirt in my hands. “Probably going to wander around campus after to kill time.”
“Don’t take offense,” She gave me a sweet smile, her accent growing thicker with each word she spoke. I hadn’t noticed it all that much before when my emotions were on overdrive and my mind was swirling with anger. “But that sounds absolutely dreadful and you deserve to have a little bit of fun. It’s Friday night for fuck’s sake and we’re in Uni!”
“I don’t really know anyone on campus.” I shrugged. “I’ve not made a ton of friends yet, you know?”
“I do, actually.” She nodded. “If I had to say, you’re the first person I’ve tried to make conversation with since I’ve been here. I’m going to a party tonight because my boyfriend’s frat is hosting it, and he’ll just text me all night if I don’t go.”
“That sounds like fun.” I said. “Thank you for helping me out and offering me your room. I really hope you have fun tonight."
“Why don’t you come with me?” She asked. “I know frat parties sound horrible after all the stuff you see in films, and a lot of them are pretty shit, but I would love to have a drinking buddy.”
“I don’t want to impose.” I said. “I’m sure you want to spend time with your boyfriend.”
“Nonsense, he sees me everyday.” She shook her head. “I would love to have someone to chat with that isn’t one of his football friends from back home.”
“Um, okay.’” I shrugged. “I guess that’s not too horrible and I kind of owe you one.”
“You won’t regret it.”
🥃🔸🥃🔸🥃🔸🥃🔸🥃
“So the house shouldn’t be too crowded.” Eleanor pulled her flannel tighter around her body, hunching over as the wind whipped around us. “A few of the guys are still out getting alcohol and people aren’t supposed to start showing up for another hour at least.”
“That’s good.” I nodded. “So why did you decide to come to school here?”
“Louis.” She said. “I couldn’t stomach the idea of being away from Lou and there are so many opportunities in America for both of us. He’s here on a footie scholarship and I’m here on a performing arts scholarship.”
“That’s really cool!” I exclaimed, my eyebrows raising up. “I didn’t peg you for a theatre nerd.”
“Just a tiny one.” She chuckled. “I’m more into the costumes than anything. Fashion has always owned my heart and my Mum took me to so many musicals as a girl. I figured I would combine my love for both and make it my career.”
“I admire that.” I said softly, glancing down at the sidewalk as we turned a corner. “So how long have you and Louis been together?”
“Four years.” She smiled. “We met on a holiday to London one summer and we’ve never let go of each other. Last year we went to the same University for our first year before deciding to come abroad and it was….magical.”
“He sounds lovely.” I said. “He makes you happy?”
“He does.” She nodded, her lips pursing slightly as she tried to hide her smile. “He’s a proper gentleman, even when he’s being a bit too laddie.”
“I don’t even know what that means.” I chuckled and Eleanor joined in. “What is a laddie? Is that like Lassie, the dog?”
“Not like that dog.” She scrunched up her nose. “I think you call them ‘Bro’s’ over here.”
“Ah, I do understand then.”
Eleanor and I continued chatting as we walked down Frat Row.
The houses were large, but they looked a little plain and rundown. I imagine having a group of rowdy, drunk boys living in a house without supervision didn’t do well for wear and tear on a house. Eleanor told me that the last house on frat row in the cul-de-sac belonged to pretty much the entire footy team with a few odd guys sprinkled in.
When we arrived, my jaw nearly dropped to the ground.
I was living in a tiny dorm room and these men were living like kings and a gigantic and modern house that looked brand new. Eleanor laughed as I took in the dark, blue-grey exterior. The shutters and the porch were both painted a dark, charcoal grey. We walked up the stairs and I continued to look around like a kid lost in a candy store.
Maybe joining a sorority wasn’t a bad move?
“So, that is the living room and just down that first hall is the bathroom. I recommend going upstairs to Louis’ room if you want to use a clean and unoccupied bathroom.” She chuckled. “I’ll show you around upstairs later if you’d like.”
“This is the cleanest Frat house I’ve ever seen in my life.” I said slowly, looking around. “How is it so pristine?”
“A few of the guys are really obsessed with cleanliness and organization.” She chuckled. “Also I spend a lot of time over here, so I do what I can.”
“I would spend all of my time here, too.” I said. “Why are you even in a dorm if you could be here?”
“Rules.” She rolled her eyes. “Technically women aren’t allowed to be housed in a frat, which blows, but I understand it.”
“Well, I’ll pretend to be you and stay in your dorm if you want to fly under the radar and move here.” I teased, patting her shoulder. “It’s a win win for both of us.”
“I might take you up on that.” She giggled, guiding me through an open archway. “This here is the kitchen-”
“Ellie, s’that you!”
Eleanor flinched at the booming voice from upstairs, her eyes casting up to the ceiling as she grumbled.
“Bloody hell, these men,” She shot me a sympathetic look and I tried my best not to laugh softly at her annoyance. “Yes, Niall?”
“I need help.” This accent was slightly different than Eleanor’s and it almost reminded me of the guy on the lucky charms commercial. “I don’t know what trousers to wear, should I do these dark jeans or these plaid one’s.”
The voice was closer and closer with each word and suddenly, a half naked man appeared in the doorway, holding two pairs of pants as he looked down at them. He was wearing white boxer briefs and white socks, the rest of his pale and freckled skin on display. I had to admit that he was extremely attractive, chestnut colored hair on top of his head and a soft stomach rounded out with a matching chestnut happy trail dusting under his belly button.
“Oh, hello.” He looked up, smiling at me with piercing blue eyes and extremely handsome features. I tried not to blush, my eyes glued to his. “Which one’s do ya think I should wear, love? Good to have an outsider’s perspective sometimes.”
The sound of a door shutting behind us caused my head to snap around.
This was more of a man standing at the opposite end of the kitchen, his chocolate colored curls framing his face and resting on his broad shoulders as he looked up at me. His face was perfect, adonis like features catching my attention and his bright green eyes causing my breath to catch in my throat. He offered me a small smile, his features soft as he cleared his throat.
“Hello.” He said softly to me before his eyes darted up, looking behind me. “For fuck’s sake, Niall. Why are you nearly naked!”
“I needed help!” I turned my head back towards Niall as his brows pulled together, his lips turning to a scowl. “I can’t decide what trousers to wear and Liam is no help!”
“We have a guest.” The green eyed god spoke from behind me, but I didn’t dare turn my head. I was afraid that if I did, I would be stuck staring at him for the rest of the night. “Don’t be rude.”
I glanced over at Eleanor who lifted her hand to pinch the bridge of her nose.
I tried, again, not to laugh at her misery.
“I swear to god, Niall,” She sighed heavily. “The least you could do is introduce yourself to the poor girl before you flash her.”
“M’Niall,” He rolled his eyes, looking over at me. “What’s your name, love?”
Harry’s POV
“My name is Piper.”
I stared at the back of her head, trying my best not to think about running my fingers through her soft curls that nearly matched the shade of my own. I inhaled sharply as I pressed my fingertips into the marble countertop below me. I had seen this girl, Piper, around campus before. I saw her flitting from building to building with her head tilted down and her headphones tucked in her cute little ears. I had a huge crush on this girl and now she was standing in my kitchen with my half-naked roommate and my best friend’s girl.
This wasn’t a good thing at all.
“S’nice to meet you, Piper.” Niall winked at her and I rolled my eyes, shooting him a glare over the girls head.
His brows furrowed and I gave him a pointed look before mouthing, ‘That’s the girl’.
Niall’s brows lifted up and he shot me a cheeky grin.
He was the only one I confided in about my girl troubles.
He knew all about the mystery girl that I passed by every day on my way to physics class and he had suggested to me several times that bumping into her was the best way to catch her attention. I declined, rolling my eyes at his childish suggestion. I had to admit though, if she had been in my class, I would have tossed paper at the back of her head to get her attention.
It was a trick that never failed.
“Well, I’m gonna go get dressed then.” He cleared his throat, glancing over at Eleanor. “Lou is stuck on the phone with his Mum, babe. I think he might need some rescuing if he’s going to join the party at all tonight.”
“Oh,” Eleanor stood straighter, glancing over at Piper. “I don’t want to leave Piper-”
“I can stay with her.” I cleared my throat, reaching up to fiddle with my hair as both girls turned to look at me. “I’ve finished my part of party prep, so I don’t mind.”
“Harry, I don’t know.” Eleanor said. “I’m already afraid Niall’s neon white body is going to scare her off. I don’t need you turning on your Cheshire Charm.”
“Oi, I resent that.” I narrowed my eyes at her playfully, trying to fight off my smile as she chuckled. “I won’t be turning on any charm tonight, love. I’ve got a big match to play tomorrow, remember? Gotta save my strength and energy if I wanna do well.”
“Alright, fine.” Eleanor sighed, turning back to Piper. “Are you okay if I disappear for a few minutes? I promise I’ll be right back.”
“It’s fine.” Piper smiled at Eleanor, gently nodding her head. “Please, go ahead. I don’t mind waiting down here.”
“You’re sure?” Eleanor asked, her face laced with concern.
“Positive.” Piper glanced over at me. “I think I’m in good hands with ol’ Cheshire Charm back there.”
My smile was so wide that it hurt my cheeks.
She was funny and gorgeous.
Eleanor glanced between the two of us before saying a quick ‘be right back’.
“It’s nice to meet you.” Piper turned around, her hands pressing against the countertop as Niall wiggled his brows behind us. He disappeared behind Eleanor moments later, leaving Piper and I alone in the kitchen. “Would you like a Whiteclaw?”
“Oh, sure.” She nodded, her eyes dropping down to her hands. “I would love one.”
“You seem a bit nervous.” I said, walking towards the fridge. “Do you have a flavor preference?”
“No.” She said softly. “And yeah, I guess I am a bit nervous. I’ve had a pretty tough day and I wasn’t exactly prepared to come to a frat party.”
“Why are you here then?” I asked, my eyes scanning the shelves until I landed on the one filled with canned drinks. I reached for two lime flavored cocktails, pulling them out before I shut the door with my hip. “If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”
“Um, Eleanor extended the invitation and I kind of owed her one.” Piper smiled, taking the drink with a soft ‘thank you’. “My roommate is a bit of a dickhead and she kicked me out so she could get laid. Eleanor saw me in the hallway on the verge of a mental breakdown and we just...hit it off, I guess.”
“Sorry your roommate was a dickhead.” I smiled, letting my eyes roam over the soft features of her face. “I’m glad you and El hit it off though. It’s nice to have a new face around here.”
I let my eyes trail over the features of her face now that she was up close and personal.
Her eyes were hazel, a soft golden hue to her irises. Her brows were thick and wild, but perfectly shaped. There were soft freckles peeking out from under her foundation and her cheeks were a soft shade of red. Her nose was soft and rounded at the end and I couldn’t help but think of hovering over her, brushing my own nose against hers as I thrust into her.
I hated being a man sometimes.
She was a beautiful girl and even in my head she deserved better than to be thought of that way. She was more than just a sexual object and she didn’t need some creepy frat guy thinking dirty thoughts about her only moments after meeting her. I cleared my throat, reaching for my drink. I took a long sip as she raised her brows, offering me a sly smirk as she sipped at her own drink.
“Eleanor is a really sweet girl.” I rested my can on the marble countertop. “She’s been having trouble making friends over here, so it’s nice that she’s found someone to hang out with besides us.”
“I really like her.” Piper said softly. “I’ve been having trouble making friends, too. I’m not really the best at putting myself out there, you know?”
“I think you’re doing just fine.” I flashed her a reassuring smile, noticing how her cheeks turned a shade darker. “I don’t think I’ve fully introduced myself, love. I’m Harry.”
“I’m Piper.” She held her hand out and I took it, giving it a soft shake. “It’s nice to meet you, Harry.”
Her skin was so bloody soft, her hands a little cold and damp from the can she was holding.
“You too.” I said. “If you need anything tonight, please don’t hesitate to find me. I know how overwhelming these parties can be and I’ll be happy to keep you company or walk you out for some fresh air if you need it.”
“Thank you.” She said softly. “The same goes for you. If you need any company tonight, I’m your girl.”
Just like that, my mind was back in the gutter.
All I could hear in my head was the echoes of her sweet moans, her voice chanting over and over again ‘M’your girl, Harry. Yours’. I cleared my throat, giving her a tight smile as I tried to avoid thinking about her tucked in my sheets, writhing and gasping as I licked into her.
I was so totally fucked.
🥃🔸🥃🔸🥃🔸🥃🔸🥃
“Piper, babe,” I laughed, holding her hips tightly as she swayed. “I think we should sit you down for a minute, yeah?”
“If I sit, I’ll sleep.” She whined, looking up at me with her sweet puppy dog eyes. “Where did Eleanor go?”
“Eleanor is going upstairs with Louis.” I said softly, digging my fingers into the fleshy skin above the waistband of her jeans. “Do you want me to take you home?”
She pursed her lips, shaking her head as she pressed her hands into my shoulders.
I knew exactly how we’d gotten here.
The party was still going strong around us, people dancing and shouting as Piper swayed in front of me. I wanted so badly to brush her hair from her face and stroke the soft skin of her cheek, but I would never do something like that when she was this off her face. Holding onto her hips was already too intimate for my liking, but I was afraid she would topple over without some form of support. She swayed forward, her eyes face pinching up ever so slightly before she pressed one hand to her forehead. I frowned, pulling her closer as a group of guys rushed by.
If Niall hadn’t suggested we play four drinking games in a row, Piper and Eleanor might not have been off their faces within the first two hours of the party. I had to admit that I didn’t exactly mind taking care of Piper. She was a funny drunk, silly puns and snide comments slipping from her lips carelessly as she leaned against me. It was when her eyes started to drift shut and her body started to sway, that I started to worry about her. I pulled her into the kitchen alongside a giggly Eleanor, handing them both bottles of water while I quickly cooked up some pizza rolls that Niall had hidden in the freezer. Both girls ate between loud laughs, knocking into each other as I watched them with a small smile on my face.
Seeing Eleanor happy made me happy, but seeing her happy with the girl of my dreams made me feel like I was on cloud nine.
“Mate,” Louis’ hand clapped down on my shoulder and I turned my head as Piper’s body fell into mine. “I can take her off your hands. El told me they live in the same halls-”
“She can barely stand on her own, Lou.” I shook my head, glancing down as she rested her head on my shoulder. “Gonna go put her to bed in my room. I’ll sleep on the couch after everyone is gone.”
“Lock the door if you leave her up there.” Louis said. “I’m going back up to El in a minute, but I figured I should get some painkillers and water for the morning.”
“Bring some up for Piper?” I asked him. “I probably won’t leave her alone in there, knowing all of these jackasses are around.”
“Tell me about it.” Louis snorted out a laugh, shaking his head. “I’ll be up in five.”
I nodded, watching him disappear through the crowd of people in our living room.
“Hey, love,” I said softly. “Gonna take you upstairs and tuck you in, okay?”
“Kay.” She mumbled, turning her head until her nose brushed against the column of my neck.
I made a mental note to have a talk with her tomorrow about going places with strangers when she was drunk. I knew that I meant no harm, but we were still getting to know each other. It set off a level of worry that I only ever felt when it came to my Mum or Sister. It was almost a primal need to protect, my arms winding tightly around her as I guided her to the stairs.
It was no easy feat to get her up the staircase, but when we finally made it to my room, she snapped into a more alert mode. She looked up, her tired eyes growing as wide as they could before she brushed some of her hair out of her face. She looked up at me, her eyes searching my face as I pressed my hand lightly to her lower back.
“Thank you for taking care of me, Harry.” She said softly. “I’m really sorry I’m ruining your fun.”
“Nonsense, love.” I shook my head. “S’just another party, there will be plenty more.”
“Still.” She mumbled. “I don’t want to take your bed. Sleeping on the couch is bad for your back and I overheard that you have a match tomorrow.”
“S’alright.” I said. “I’ve slept on a floor before a match and still kicked ass, Piper. I don’t mind giving my bed up for a good cause.”
She let out an aggravated sigh, rolling her eyes at me.
I tried not to smile as she grumbled under her breath, reaching for the doorknob to my bedroom door. I followed in behind her, flicking the light switch on before I shut the door behind me. Piper staggered a little and I hovered, my hands waiting to catch her should she fall. Instead, she stumbled over to my bed on bambi like legs, collapsing on the foot with a soft groan.
“You need some help?” I asked her as she lifted her leg, struggling with her shoe. She merely waved her hand at me, shaking her head. “You want something comfy to change into? I’ve got sweats, shorts-”
“Sweats sound lovely.” She mumbled, a soft ‘aha’ falling from her lips as she finally tugged the shoelace of her boot out of a knot. “You’re a true gentleman, has anyone ever told you that?”
“My Mum.” I chuckled, walking over to my dresser in search of comfy clothes.
“S’good,” Piper sighed out as her boot hit the floor. “Hard to find a proper gentleman these days, Harry. I think Jude Law was the last of them.”
“I won’t argue with you there.” I shook my head, trying to contain my laughter as I sifted through my sweatpants. I settled on my favorite pair, the light grey fabric soft and worn. “Do you want a t-shirt to sleep in or a long sleeve shirt?”
“Um, t-shirt.” She mumbled. “Your room is lovely. Did you do all of the decorating yourself?”
“I did, yeah.” I nodded. “Brought a few key things from home, but I spent most of my money in Target when I got here.”
“Amen to that.” She hiccuped softly. “I like your record player. I’ve always wanted one of those.”
“One day you’ll have to come up and listen to some records with me.” I glanced at her over my shoulder, noting how the corners of her lips ticked up into a girlish grin. “What kind of music do you like?”
“All of it.” She said simply, her voice trailing off. “I’ve always been a fan of classical music for studying. My mom calls me a psychopath.”
“They are known for indulging in the genre.” I snorted, pulling out a white t-shirt before I turned around. “I think that’s lovely, though. I’ve heard some good stuff from Bach in my music theory class and I have to say, it makes for good studying music.”
“That’s what I’m saying.” She said. “I love me some cello, mate.”
“Look at that.” I hummed out, holding the clothes out to her. “Got you talking like a proper brit now, don’t we. Didn’t even know what footy was at the start of the night.”
“Piss off.” She grumbled, trying to hide her amusement as she mocked my accent.
“I’m gonna run to Louis' room while you get dressed, okay?” I said. “Gonna steal you some makeup wipes from El’s overnight bag so we can take your makeup off. I want you to lock the door and don’t open it for anyone besides me. I don’t care if it’s Niall or god himself, alright?”
“Alright.” She whispered softly. “You’re really fucking nice, Harry.”
I tried to resist the urge to brush my knuckles over the soft skin of her cheek, but I couldn’t.
I inhaled sharply as she closed her eyes, leaning into my touch with a soft hum.
“I’ll be right back.” I said softly. “Lock the door.”
🥃🔸🥃🔸🥃🔸🥃🔸🥃
Piper’s POV
Falling in love with Harry took me all of five minutes.
I decided that it was physically impossible not to love someone so perfect. He was a real gentleman, keeping his hands in respectful spots even when I was falling all over him, drunk off my ass. I felt a little guilty about being so touchy-feely with someone I hardly knew, but I was comfortable around him from the start. He stood by my side for most of the night, talking with Eleanor and I as we tossed shots back like water.
I stood up from the foot of his bed, fiddling with the button on my pants. My vision was most definitely blurry and my fingers were shaking as I swayed on my feet, but I managed to pull the button from the loop before I shoved my pants down my legs. It took a bit of wiggling to get my ass settled into Harry’s sweats, an article of clothing clearly meant for a man with no….assets.
With a soft hiccup, I worked on my shirt, tossing it to the ground before I reached behind me to take off my bra. My drunk brain didn’t care about etiquette or embarrassment anymore. That all flew out the window with my third shot of tequila that Niall handed over. When I settled the fabric of Harry’s shirt over my tired limbs, I heard a soft knock at the door.
I stumbled over, pressing my ear against the wood to hear who was there. I was plastered, yeah, but I remembered Harry’s speech about not opening the door for anyone.
“Who is it?” I called out, my voice breaking just a little.
“S’me.” I heard Harry’s gruff voice. “S’Harry.”
I flicked the lock on the door, opening it up with a soft smile.
Harry held up some makeup wipes and a bottle of water, flashing me a cheesy grin. I laughed, shutting the door and flicking the lock behind him again as he walked into his room. When I turned around, my arms crossed over my chest, he was looking at my body with soft eyes.
“Everything feel comfy enough to sleep in?” He asked.
“Yeah, thanks.” I nodded.
“Alright.” He nodded, looking up at me with glassy jade eyes. “Let’s get you tucked in, shall we?”
I smiled, walking over to his bed.
I picked the side farthest from the door and closest to the window.
Harry pulled back the covers, waiting for me to climb in before he rested them over my legs. He set the bottle of water on the bedside table, two painkillers falling to the wood next to the plastic bottle. He sat down next to my legs, ripping into the makeup wipes with ease. I watched him pluck a sheet out before closing the pack back up, tossing it to the nightstand with the other items. I rolled my lips in as he turned towards me, holding the cloth out.
“Do you want me to do it?” He asked. “Just so you know it’s all gone?”
“Yes, please.” I nodded.
I could take my makeup off in my sleep.
I’d done it before, actually.
But there was something about being doted on by Harry that I wasn’t ready to give up just yet.
I preened as he wiped the cloth over my skin with gentle strokes, swiping away concealer and highlighter with ease. I let my eyes slip shut when he asked, his index finger gently brushing at the small bit of liquid liner and shimmery shadow on my lids. When it got to my lips, he did a few quick dabs before his touch was gone from my face all together.
“All clean.” He smiled, tossing the wipe towards the bin in the corner of the room. “Alright, I’m going to tuck you in and turn on a movie. I’ll just be on the floor next to you if you need anything at all. Bathroom is through that door right there.”
“Don’t sleep on the floor.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m okay with sharing a bed with you, Harry. Friends do that all the time, don’t they?”
“But you’re drunk.” He said softly. “And I don’t want you to feel pressured or uncomfortable-”
“I don’t.” I said. “From the moment we met, you’ve made me feel very welcomed and comfortable. I promise that I don’t feel unsafe or pressured in any way, Harry. If you feel more comfortable sleeping on the floor, then I understand, but I’m okay with you sleeping next to me.”
Harry reached up to rustle his long strands of hair, his curls flopping about as he looked at me with a curious gaze. He inhaled sharply, nibbling on his lower lip as I stared back at him with raised brows and an amused grin.
“I’ll put a pillow wall between us and everything.” I said. “If it makes you feel comfortable.”
“I just don’t want you to wake up in the morning and freak out.” He said softly. “You’ve had a lot to drink and if you don’t remember any of this tomorrow, it might be a little scary to wake up with a strange man in your bed.”
“Well, it’s your bed.” I said softly. “And I’ve been worse off than this and still remembered what happened the night before, Harry. I come from a very small town where drinking is considered a sport. This is a regular Tuesday for me.”
“Alright.” He whispered through a breathy laugh. “But if you change your mind at any point through the night, feel free to kick me out of bed.”
“I won’t.” I rolled my eyes. “Get ready for bed, yeah? You’ve got a big day tomorrow and I can’t have you losing a match because of me. People will think I’m bad luck.”
🥃🔸🥃🔸🥃🔸🥃🔸🥃
Harry’s POV
When I woke up in the middle of the night, our pillow wall was gone.
Piper’s cheek was pressed into her pillow, soft puffs of air escaping her parted lips as she tightened her grip on my shirt. Her hand was resting on my tummy and her foot was hooked over my calf muscle, but she remained on her side of the bed. I lay there for a minute, watching her peaceful face as she slept. I tried to commit her features to memory, my heart squeezing in my chest as she shuffled around a bit. I rested my hand over hers, softly brushing my fingers over her knuckles as her body moved just a little closer to mine.
The dry feeling in my mouth pulled me from my peaceful moment, urging me to go downstairs for my own bottle of water. It was silent in the house, no more music pumping through the speakers downstairs, and I felt safe enough to leave Piper on her own in my room without the doors locked. I would only be gone for a few minutes at the most, running down for water before I ran back up to curl back up next to the sleeping girl in my bed.
When I made it downstairs, Louis was already in the kitchen.
“Hey,” I grumbled, walking over to the fridge. “What are you doing up?”
“Same as you.” He said. “Thirsty.”
“Hmm.” I nodded. “Eleanor still knocked out cold?”
“Yeah.” He chuckled. “Love that girl to death, but she snores like a bloody chainsaw.”
“That she does.” I laughed, pulling a water bottle out. “I’m glad she’s got Piper as a friend. It was nice to see her unwind tonight.”
“It was.” Louis nodded, pressing his hip into the countertop. “Piper likes you.”
I nearly choked on my water as Louis looked up at me.
“What?” I asked. “How on earth-”
“It’s obvious, mate.” Louis rolled his eyes, an amused grin on his lips. “She’s got a bit of a crush on you, but what girl doesn’t?”
“Lou-” I said slowly, my eyes narrowing. “Why do I feel like you’re about to give me a speech.”
“It would break my heart if Eleanor lost her as a friend, Harry.” Louis said softly. “She doesn’t have anyone over here and I at least have you and Niall, you know? If she lost Piper because you two decided to fool around and things ended badly-”
“That’s not what this is.” I said quickly. “And I don’t appreciate what you’re trying to say, either. I would never hurt Piper, or anyone, on purpose. She’s a very sweet girl and it just so happens that I’ve liked her for a while.”
“You know each other, then?” Louis brows arched up and I sighed. “Wasn’t aware.”
“We don’t know each other, but I’ve seen her around campus.” I mumbled. “Always had my eyes on her, Lou. She’s fucking gorgeous.”
“Harry,” Louis said softly. “I’m asking you as a friend, please don’t get involved.”
“That’s a shitty thing to ask.” My voice was hoarse. “It’s late and we’re both still pissed. I’m going to bed.”
“Just think about it.” He said, knocking his knuckles against the countertop.
Lucky for Louis, it was all I could think about for the rest of the night.
🥃🔸🥃🔸🥃🔸🥃🔸🥃
Piper’s POV
When I woke up the next morning, I could feel Harry’s heartbeat against my cheek.
The annoying beeping of his alarm had me groaning and turning my face into his chest. I heard him mutter a soft series of ‘sorry’s’ before it turned off. Harry’s arm draped over my back, holding me against his chest as I closed my eyes again. I let out a soft hum as he brushed his fingers up and down my back, his chest rising and falling slowly under my head.
“I see that we’ve lost the pillow wall.” Harry’s voice was deep and raspy, causing a shiver to run up my spine.
“Sorry.” I whispered, lifting my head up as I pressed my palm to his chest. “I guess I tossed it aside in the middle of the night.”
“You did.” He chuckled softly. “You pushed it down with your feet and then you pulled it out and chucked it because you were trying to get comfortable.”
“You watched me?” I asked, blinking a few times to try and focus my vision as I rested my chin on the back of my hand.
“I felt you flopping around like a fish out of water and I had to check on you.” He said slowly, his own eyes still shut. “I fell back asleep and when I woke up for a wee you were snuggled so tightly against me that I could barely pry you off.”
“I didn’t know that I was a cuddler.” I mumbled softly. “I’ve never really slept in a bed with anyone else before.”
“Well, you can tick that box off of your bucket list.” He smiled, his fingers still brushing over my back as I looked down at him. “You staring at me?”
“A little.” I confessed, a small smile creeping up on my lips. “Think you’re pretty.”
“Love,” He let out a breathy chuckle. “Easy.”
“What?” I asked, dropping my head back to his chest. “Why can’t I say you're pretty? We spent the night together, I’m allowed to compliment you a little.”
“Do you think it’s a good idea to flirt with me?” He cleared his throat, shifting around under me. I groaned, falling back to the pillow next to him. “Do friends flirt?”
Friends.
I should have known better.
There was no way on earth someone like Harry would want to be with someone like me.
“Friends can call each other pretty.” I said dejectedly, turning on my side. “And friends can cuddle, too.”
“Well, if it makes you feel better, you’re an amazing cuddler.” He said softly, pressing his palm to my bicep as he leaned over to kiss my temple. “You’re welcome to sleep more if you’d like, but I would love to take you out to breakfast.”
“Breakfast?” I turned my head, looking at him with furrowed brows. “I thought you had a match this morning?”
“I’ve got a few hours.” He rested his body next to mine, his head falling on the pillow next to mine lazily. “Eleanor will be at the match.”
“I know.” I whispered.
“You should sit with her.” Harry smiled. “I would like that.”
“Okay.” I said softly as he snaked his arm underneath my own, curling it around my middle. I tried to fight off a smile. “Thought we were getting up?”
“Few more minutes.” He mumbled. “You smell nice. S’that your perfume or your shampoo?”
“Probably both.” I smiled, resting my palm over his forearm. “Both sweet pea scented.”
“Piper.” He mused. “Sweet pea.”
“What are you mumbling about?” I asked, trying to contain my giggles at his sleepy rambling.
“Gonna call you sweet pea.” He mumbled. “Because your name starts with a P and you’re so sweet.”
Fuck being friends.
I liked this boy.
And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t ignore the fluttering feeling in my stomach.
I was truly fucked.
⚽️🔹⚽️🔹⚽️🔹⚽️
December
Piper’s POV
There were only a few seconds left in the match and our boys were killing it.
Eleanor gripped my hand tighter as Louis shouted to Niall across the field. Seconds later, he was kicking the ball with the side of his foot. Harry was much closer to the goal, ready to land the winning kick into the goal. I looked at him, his chest heaving and his hairline coated in a thin sheen of sweat. His face was intense and it made my thighs clench ever so slightly to see him so serious. He was always so attractive in the middle of a game, his brows pulled together and his lips pinched tightly together. I loved watching him pull his hair up before a game, twisting the long strands around before he tossed it up in a bun on top of his head.
“He’s got this.” I said. “Come on, Lou!”
“He’s gonna pass to Harry.” She shook her head. “He has to, babe. He’ll miss from back there.”
“They have five fucking seconds.” We always got a bit snippy during games, but never at each other. “It better be a flawless fucking pass.”
Louis passed the black and white checked ball to Harry with a swift kick and I held my breath, waiting to see what would happen. Harry pushed a guy on the opposing team gently with his shoulder, sliding low until his foot collided with the ball. Just as the last second ticked down, it collided with the net behind the goal and Harry collapsed on his back as players rushed around him.
Everyone cheered loudly, Eleanor jumping up with a loud cheer alongside the crowd. I could barely move, my heart thumping so loudly that it was all I could hear. I watched Harry’s back flat on the ground, my eyes watering as he continued to stay still. When I saw him sit up, shaking his head, I finally took a deep breath. Moments later, Louis and Niall were lifting him up on their shoulders.
“Thank, fuck.” I whispered, standing up next to Eleanor as I clapped.
Harry’s eyes flitted to the stands, landing on mine with a wide grin.
He was covered in mud and dirt, but he was fine.
Eleanor grabbed my hand, guiding me down towards the field.
She was quick to launch on Louis when her feet hit the grass and Niall was quick to run over and scoop me up. I patted him on the back, laughing as he shook me around in his arms.
“We won!” He cheered. “We bloody won!”
“I know!” I chuckled, brushing my hand over the back of his head. “I’m proud of you, Ni.”
He put me on my feet, pressing a kiss to my cheek before he turned around to Harry. He grabbed his best mate by the face, kissing his forehead before he ran off shouting something that was terribly hard to make out. I rolled my eyes, steadying myself on my feet. Harry walked over to me, holding his arms out with that same wide and cheeky grin on his lips.
“Come give your best mate a hug,” He said. “Gotta thank my good luck charm.”
“Harry, no.” I said, holding my hands up. “You’re covered in mud and grass and- Harry!”
I squealed, taking off on the grass as Harry chased me.
I dodged a few members of the opposing team, apologizing profusely.
It didn’t take very long for Harry to wrap his arms around me, pulling me against his chest.
“I deserve a bloody hug, sweet pea.” He squeezed me tight. “I won!”
“I know, but you’re gross.” I groaned, dropping my head back. “You get to shower before we go to lunch and I don’t.”
“You could always join.” He whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear. “Know you’ve been dying to see me naked, haven’t ya pea?”
“I will elbow you.” I grumbled, spinning around in his arms. “Don’t be a prick.”
“Just like watching you blush, Piper.” He reached over, pinching my cheek softly. “Where are we going for lunch today?”
“Where do we always go for lunch?” I rolled my eyes. “Go on, get cleaned up so we can go.”
“Fine, fine.” He sighed. “I’ll see you in ten?”
“I’ll be here.”
I walked back over to Eleanor and Louis, my mind stuck on Harry’s cheeky comment.
I hated when he did stuff like that.
He was always toying with my emotions, pulling me to and fro like I didn’t have any feelings at all. He knew that I had a crush on him and he knew that it sucked for me to be so close, but I had the power to stop it at any time. The truth was that I couldn’t stomach the thought of being away from him like that. I wanted him in my life, no matter how I could have him. I walked towards Eleanor with a heavy sigh, crossing my arms over my chest as she kissed Louis deeply.
Being around a couple constantly was torture when you weren’t apart of one yourself. Especially when the person you wanted to be a couple with was always around anyways. When the pair were done kissing, Louis ran off towards the stadium to take a shower in the locker room. Eleanor smiled over at me and I gave her a blank stare, my lips turning down.
“What happened?” she asked softly.
“He’s done it again!” I tossed my hands up. “He was all ‘you should come shower with me, I know you want to see me naked’. Isn’t he the one who keeps insisting we should just be friends?”
“He’s an idiot.” She rolled her eyes. “I hate that he keeps doing this and I hate that you won’t let me talk to him about it.”
“I don’t want to come between you and an old friend, El.” I shook my head. “He’ll grow up eventually, I guess. If he doesn’t, I guess I’ll have to start moving on.”
“I think you two would be so perfect for each other, babe.” She sighed. “I don’t know what his deal is!”
“Has Louis said anything?” I ask softly. “I don’t want to pry but-”
“Not a word.” She said, her sympathetic grin causing my heart to sink. “He spends all of his time with you and we both know that he’s into you, but something is holding him back.”
“Yeah.” I grimaced. “I like him so much, El.”
“I know.” She frowned. “I wish I could smack some sense into that thick skull of his. I mean, men can be so daft and then they say we’re the complicated ones!”
“I know!” I exclaimed. “Anyways, you and Lou are still coming to lunch with us, right?”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “Louis is dying for a turkey apple sandwich.”
“That does sound good.” I hummed out. “I was thinking about soup, though, it’s freezing out here.”
“Oh, soup.” She groaned out. “That’s perfect,”
⚽️🔹⚽️🔹⚽️🔹⚽️
Harry’s Pov
I wrapped my towel around my waist, letting out a heavy sigh as I turned the faucet off.
I hated what I was doing to Piper.
My sweet pea.
I couldn’t help but rile her up like that, watching her face flush red as I whispered in her ear.
Part of me was certain that I was riling her up so that she would make the first move. If that was the case, maybe Louis would realize that our feelings for each other were real.
“Mate,” Louis said. “What was that on the field?”
“What do you mean?” I asked, my brows furrowing as I walked up to my locker. “We won, Lou.”
“I meant when you were chasing Piper.” He said. “That was flirting, Harry.”
I snapped my mouth shut.
If he heard the things that passed between Piper and I when we were alone, he’d be livid.
It was borderline verbal sex with us sometimes, the tension so thick that it had her clamping her legs shut and me shifting in my seat.
“Was just teasing her, Lou.” I rolled my eyes. “You’re not getting onto Niall for picking her up and kissing her face.”
“Niall means no harm.”
“And neither do I.” I shot him a glare. “Mind your mouth.”
“Why her, Harry?” He sighed. “You could have any bird or lad on campus and you want her, why?”
“Because she’s Piper.” I turned towards him. “She’s the one that I want, okay. I can’t tell you why I think about her every moment of the day or why I want to be with her, I just do. I want to be there for her and you’re stupid fucking fear for Eleanor is standing in my way.”
“You can do what you want.” Louis’ jaw tensed. “M’not standing in your fookin’ way, mate.”
“But you are!” I shouted. “You are because you know that I would never do anything to hurt you or El because you’re family to me. You asked me not to do something and I’m being respectful of that because I respect you. I can’t say that you respect me though, because you would never ask this of me if you did. Can’t you see that this is killing me?”
Louis let out a frustrated huff as I turned back to my locker.
I grabbed my clothes, angrily pulling them on before I ran my towel over the wet strands of my hair. Piper would be pissed to see me pulling at my curls instead of properly scrunching them up with a soft t-shirt, but I couldn’t be arsed to care about that right now. I slammed my locker shut, hiking my bag onto my shoulder before I stormed out of the locker room. When I walked out onto the field, Eleanor and Piper were whispering amongst themselves.
“I just don’t get it.” Piper let out a sad sigh. “I want-”
“I know, babe!” Eleanor interrupted her with a chipper voice, pressing her hand to Piper’s bicep with a wide smile. “I wish they still had pumpkin spice too, I already miss it.”
“You women and your pumpkin spice.” I grumbled, pressing my hand to Piper’s hip before I leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Know you miss it, Pea, but it’s peppermint season now.”
“You’re right.” She gave me a playful pout. “I guess I can survive with that for now.”
“Thatta girl.” I chuckled, pulling my hand back as she reached up to touch my hair. “What?”
“You didn’t scrunch your hair properly, H.” She sighed. “I’ve told you to take better care of these curls! They’re going to be frizzy when they dry.”
I licked over my bottom lip, resisting the urge to lean down and kiss the pout off of her lips.
“Sweet Pea, I’m sorry.” I said softly. “I was in a little bit of a rush, yeah? Wanted to get my favorite girls to lunch.”
“In that case, I guess I can forgive you.” She mumbled.
☕️☕️☕️☕️
Piper’s POV
I sipped at my peppermint latte as Harry tossed a french fry into his mouth.
“So when are you all flying home?” I asked. “Only a few weeks left until Christmas and exams are almost over.”
“El and I are flying out next Friday.” Louis said, smiling over at his girlfriend. “I’m excited to see me Mum and sisters.”
“Me too.” Eleanor nodded. “Missed them all.”
“What about you, H?” I asked.
“I decided to stay.” He shrugged. “I don’t want to disrupt my schedule mid year, you know? It’ll be hard for me to get back into things come January if I spend an entire three weeks vegging out with Mum and Gem.”
“Oh.” I said softly, my face falling as he cleared his throat.
He was avoiding something and he was sad about it.
“I’m not going home either.” I said softly. “Too expensive to fly around the holiday’s, you know? Don’t make nearly enough being a full time fan girl for the footie team.”
“Tell me about it.” Eleanor rolled her eyes playfully. “Who do I talk to about getting that raise I was promised.”
“Oh, you get plenty as it is.” Louis leaned forward, capturing her lips. “Pay you in love and other things.”
Harry let out a frustrated sigh, standing up from the table.
“I’ve gotta go.” He pulled his wallet out, tossing twenty five dollars onto the table. “S’enough for both of us and the tip, Pea. I’ll see you later in Mcgregor Hall for our study session.”
“H-”
“Bye.” He leaned over, pressing a sloppy kiss to my forehead before doing the same to El.
I watched him storm out with a confused look on my face.
“Should I not have asked about Christmas?” I looked at Eleanor with soft eyes. “I can’t….El, I can’t do this anymore.”
“Babe, it’s gonna be fine.” She said softly. “He’s just a bit moody today, isn’t he? Misses his Mum a whole lot, it has nothing to do with you.”
“What are you two on about?” Louis asked, glancing between us. “Is something going on between you and Harry?”
“No.” I shook my head. “That’s the problem.”
“They have this chemistry and Piper really likes Harry, but he told her that being friend’s was their best option.” Eleanor explained softly. “Sometimes he’s sweet on her though and it makes her sad because she wants him.”
“El.” I mumbled, my cheeks growing warm. “He doesn’t need all of the details.”
“You like that miserable sod?” Louis asked. “You’re not worried about a relationship with him ruining your friendship?”
“Not really.” I shook my head at Louis. “Harry and I will always be friends.”
“No, I mean,” Louis sighed. “You’re not worried about it ruining you and Eleanor’s friendship?”
“No.” I said slowly. “What are you talking about?”
“I feel like if you and Harry were to break up, you wouldn’t want to be friends with El because he’s always around.” Louis said softly. “Wouldn’t that be hard?”
“For a bit, yeah.” I shrugged. “We’re both mature, though. I think we could work through any differences and remain friends.”
“Why are you being so nosy?” Eleanor narrowed her eyes, looking at Louis. “What have you done?”
“Nothin’!” Louis exclaimed. “I’ve not done anythin’.”
“Louis!” She cried out. “You’re lying to me.”
“M’not.” He fidgeted in his seat, avoiding her gaze. “Swear I meant well.”
“Louis, what did you do?” I asked softly, my heart dropping as he avoided my gaze. “What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything, I just…” He licked over his bottom lip, looking between Eleanor and I with wide eyes. “I just asked him to consider your friendship with Eleanor before making any moves on you. I didn’t want to see her lose her best friend, you know?”
“You’re a sodding prick, Louis Tomlinson.” Eleanor snapped. “You knew that Harry would respect that if you asked. He thinks of you as a brother and he would do anything for you.”
“I have to go.” I grabbed my bag and my coat. “I have to find Harry.”
“Go on,” Eleanor said. “I’ve got a very naughty boyfriend to deal with.”
❄️💠❄️💠❄️💠❄️
The first place I ran to was the frat house.
Harry wasn’t there and Niall hadn’t seen him at all.
The second place I ran was the park on the far end of campus that we often spent weekends at.
He wasn’t there either.
When I finally found him, I was only a little shocked.
“You just played a match, mate.” I let out a relieved sigh when he snapped his head up, his eyes softening when he saw me. “What are you doing out here?”
“Just needed to clear my head.” He said as I walked closer. “Why are you here?”
“I had to see you.” I took a deep breath, swiping the ball from between Harry’s feet with a swift kick. It landed in the goal and Harry let out an amused, but breathy chuckle. “I’m getting good.”
“You’ve got a good teacher.” He snorted out a laugh. “Everything okay, sweet pea?”
“No.” I said. “You see, I’ve got this friend and he’s having some girl trouble.”
“Oh, yeah?” He asked. “What’s his deal?”
“He really likes this girl and he flirts with her all the time, but he hasn’t made a move.” I shrugged, glancing up at Harry. “There’s this other friend of theirs that asked an impossible favor of him and he’s being loyal, which I admit is admirable, but a little daft, as you would say.”
Harry’s Adam's apple bobbed up and down softly and he looked over my head.
“He does sound quite daft, doesn’t he?” He let out a soft laugh, closing his eyes. “Piper-”
“It makes me love him more though.” I said softly. “The fact that he’s putting aside his feelings because he’s that loyal to the people he loves. It’s stupid, but really sweet.”
“You think so?” He asked, his eyes a little watery as he looked down at me.
“I do.” I nodded. “Why didn’t you talk to me about this, Harry? We share everything with each other and-”
“This was the one thing I couldn’t tell you, pea.” He said softly. “I never wanted to hurt you and...I knew that this would. I didn’t want you to feel like I was choosing something over you, because that isn’t the case.”
“Harry, it’s okay.” I said softly. “I would have understood and I also would have had a very long talk with Louis about minding his own business, darling. You’re free to be with whoever you want and no one can tell you otherwise.”
“What if I want to be with my beautiful best friend, pea?” He reached up, brushing his thumb over my chin. “What if I want to be with the girl that stole my heart the moment I saw her?”
“Then make a fucking move, Styles.” I let out a breathy laugh as he leaned closer. “She won’t wait around forever. She’s a fucking catch and-”
Harry’s lips pressed into mine, cold and wet and perfect.
I pressed my fingers into his shoulders, gripping his coat tightly with glove covered fingers.
He tilted his head slightly, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of my lips.
“You’re perfect, Piper.” His breath washed over my lips as I shuffled closer, desperately seeking his body heat. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” I said. “Just be with me, H. Be mine.”
“I’ve always been yours, Piper.” He brushed the tip of his nose over mine. “Always will be.”
When Harry’s lips pressed to mine again, something wet landed on my cheek.
We both pulled back, looking up at the sky with wide smiles.
“Snow.” I said softly.
“Christmas miracle isn’t complete with snow, is it?” He teased, brushing his nose against mine.
“Shut up and kiss me.”
🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️
Harry’s POV
Louis looked like a child who had just been told Santa wasn’t real when Piper and I walked back into the cafe holding hands. He shot me a soft look that said ‘mate, I’m really sorry for being a dickhead’ and I gave him a tight smile in response. We still needed to have a talk about everything, but there was no use in fighting over something that was in the past now. It felt good, sitting next to Piper as her boyfriend and not just her best friend. It was sudden and my mind was still reeling, but I wouldn’t want it any other way. I walked her back to her dorm that night with a pout on my lips and our fingers tightly laced together.
“I don’t want to say goodbye, pea.” I mumbled, my thumb brushing against her cheek softly as we stood in front of her door. “Just got you.”
“You’ve always had me.” She snorted out a soft laugh.
“Never been able to make out with you, though.” I wiggled my brows. “Think we can finally carry through on all that sexual banter we’ve been partaking in.”
“Yeah.” She said quickly, her cheeks getting pinker. “But not tonight, H. Think we should take some time apart to think about things before we jump right in. It’s going to be a bit different now and I need to get used to the idea.”
“Take as much time as you need.” I pressed my lips to hers in a soft kiss. “I’ll be waiting.”
I was only slightly regretting my words now.
Everyone had left for Christmas and we had the house to ourselves.
We were in the middle of a movie marathon in the living room, a few bottles of wine and takeout boxes scattered on the coffee table as we snuggled into each other. Piper’s head rested on my chest and her fingers rested against my stomach, slightly drumming over the bit of holiday weight I had put on over the last week or so. She looked so cute all snuggled up in my sweater and a pair of fluffy sucks, my sweatpants tucked into them carelessly.
“You’re thinking too loud.” She whispered, lifting her head up. “What’s going on in your head, H?”
“Just thinking about how cute you are.” I smiled down at her. “You’re all snuggled up in my clothes with your pretty hair and your pretty eyes. I just can’t believe that I’m lucky enough to call you my girl.”
Her eyes searched my face as I reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
“I want you.” She said softly. “But I’m scared.”
“I wasn’t…” I trailed off. “M’not trying to get in your pants, sweet pea. I just wanted you to know that I’m so in love with you.”
“And I’m in love with you.” She sat up. “And I would really, really like to show you how much I love you.”
“When you’re ready.” I said. “I know that you didn’t have the best first time and you’re a little nervous to dive back in, but I can wait. I want you to be one hundred percent ready when the time comes.”
She inhaled sharply before giving me a soft nod.
“I love you.” I said, brushing my thumb over her bottom lip. “Get back over ‘ere, pea. Wanna snuggle you some more.”
🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️
Piper’s POV
Harry was snoring softly in my ear on the couch.
The sun had long gone down and the credits for The Holiday were rolling on the flatscreen in Harry’s living room. With a soft groan, I flipped around in his arms, nuzzling my face into his chest as he tightened his arms around me. The scent of his cologne filled my senses, nearly lulling me back to sleep. I was moments from falling back into dreamland when I felt something firm pressing between my thighs, causing my eyes to snap open. I pulled back to look at Harry’s face, his eyes still shut as he continued to softly snore. He was still fast asleep.
I let out a soft gasp, my walls clenching down as I shifted against his thigh. I let out a soft gasp, my fingers tightening against his sweater as I stilled my hips. I tilted my head back, looking over his face as he slept peacefully. I didn’t want to wake him, but was done waiting. I wanted him. I wanted everything with Harry and I especially wanted to indulge passion filled moments with frantic hands and desperate kisses with a christmas film playing in the background.
“Harry.” I said his name softly, my fingers trailing up his throat to cup his cheek. “Harry, baby, wake up.”
“S’wrong?” He asked, tucking his head down. “You alright?”
“I want you.” I said it softly, my heart pounding against my chest. “I’m ready.”
“Sweet pea, s’late.” He opened his eyes. “Are you sleep talkin’?”
“No.” I shook my head. “I mean it.”
I rolled my hips, grinding my core against his thigh to really send the message through.
“Piper.” He gasped, his eyes wide open. “Darling, what….what’re you doing?”
“Was trying to snuggle up to you and you put your thigh between my legs, H.” I said timidly, my face heating up under his gaze. His lips were curling into a soft smile and I bit the inside of my cheek. “It felt nice.”
“S’that why you want me?” He let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Needy girl.”
“Please.” I whispered. “I need you.”
“I’ve got ye’.” He leaned down, pressing a series of soft kisses to my lips. “Gonna push your pants down, okay?”
I nodded, but she shook his head.
“If we’re doing this, I want to hear you.” He said. “I need you to say what you want.”
“Take my pants off.” I griped, tilting my head back.
“Good girl.”
Two little words.
They sent a shockwave through my body, running straight to my core.
I let out a soft whimper as he pushed at the waistband of my pants.
“M’too tired to fuck you.” He said softly. “But I promise to make you feel so good, sweet pea. Gonna have you cummin’ fo’ me.”
“Please.”
I shifted my hips as he moved the waistband of my sweats to my thighs, his hand brushing up the skin of my leg to my hip. He gave it a soft squeeze as our lips collided and I squirmed beneath him. He pulled back, brushing his nose against mine with his eyes shut tight.
“Do you want my fingers?” He asked me softly.
“I do.” I nodded. “My fingers are too small and I can never get the angle right when I try.”
“Fuck, pea.” He groaned, opening his eyes. “You’re killing me, my love.”
“Just want to love you.” I pouted my bottom lip out. “Wanna feel good.”
“I know, darling.” He sponged a few soft kisses over my hairline. “Let me get on my back, okay. I want you to ride my fingers.”
Harry wrapped his arms around my body, turning onto his back. I fumbled, my chest pressed tightly to his as he let one of his hands trail over my bum. I whimpered when he tucked his fingers between the crease of my bum and my thigh, brushing the pads of his fingers over my lower lips. His other hand maneuvered its way between our bodies, his thumb brushing swiftly over my clit before it dipped towards my entrance.
“S’this okay?” He asked. “You feel comfortable?”
“Yes.” I nodded. “I’m good.”
He inserted his thumb, pulling it out quickly before he slipped it back up to my clit.
He rubbed soft circles over it as his fore and middle finger brushed over my entrance in a teasing manner.
I rolled my hips, desperate to have them inside of me.
“Yeah, just like that.” He said gruffly. “Ride my fingers, sweet pea. Take what you want from me.”
I gasped when he pushed two fingers into me, my slick walls stretching around them as I moved my hips. I pushed down as Harry curled his fingers up, stroking over that spongy spot inside of me. I moved my hips up, his fingers sliding out slowly before I fucked back onto them. He cooed, brushing the pad of his thumb over my clit in quick circles.
“You’re so tight, Piper.” He whispered into my hairline as I gripped onto his shoulders. “You’re clenching my fingers so tight.”
“Feels so good, Harry.” I whimpered. “Wanna cum.”
“Are you close?” He asked, a teasing lilt to his voice. “My girl is so greedy, isn’t she? Gonna cum before I properly fuck her with my fingers becuase she wants it so bad, isn’t that right?”
“Yes.” I gasped against his throat. “I need to cum, Harry. It feels so good and I can’t...I need it, baby. Please let me cum.”
“Take it.” He said, sliding his free hand up to my hip. “Take it from me, Piper. Make yourself cum for me sweet pea.”
I felt my thighs clamping as he pressed harder against my clit, my hips stilling against his hand as he stroked that spongy spot inside of me. I felt my walls clenching down around his digits, my whole body warm as my mouth fell open. It was better than any orgasm I had ever experienced on my own and it had me crying out into the skin of his neck. He brushed his hand up my back, slowly slipping my fingers out as I started to come down.
“You’re so good.” he whispered. “That was perfect, darling. Did so well for me, didn’t you, pea?”
“That was nice.” I mewled. “Thank you, thank you-”
“Gonna treat you so good tomorrow, darling.” He promised, a sharp edge to his voice. “Gonna spend hours with my head between those pretty thighs and then I’m gonna fuck you like you want. Gonna have you screaming for me, sweet pea.”
I whimpered into his neck, nodding.
“I want that.” I whispered.
My eyes felt heavy as he started to pull my pants back up.
“I love you so much, H.” I whispered, my eyes slipping shut as he covered me up. “Love you, darling.”
“I love you more, pea.” he whispered. “Go to sleep, baby. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
I drifted off to the sound of Harry’s voice, my face snuggling into his shirt.
This was all I ever needed.
#kaylee i hope you like this#stellarboystyles3years#harry styles smut#harry styles fluff#harry styles writing#harry styles frat au#harry styles frat boy#harry smut#harry writing#harry fluff#fray boy au#best friend#friends to lovers#bff!harry#fratboy!harry
999 notes
·
View notes
Text
I Carry Your Heart With Me (Part One)
masterlist playlist
previous next
Summary: Spencer and the reader are reunited for the first time in fifteen years.
A/N: Very excited to get the ball rolling on this one. I hope you all enjoy it! Message me if you would like to be added to the taglist.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader
Content Warnings: swearing
Word Count: 4.5k
“I cannot believe you talked me into this,” Damien mutters from the passenger seat, his icy blue eyes wide with fright. He pulls his gaze away just long enough to point at a lone cow grazing to the left of the road. “Look! That cow is just like… standing there. No fence around him or anything. What’s stopping him from stampeding into us the second we get out of this car?”
Damien sounds so genuinely horrified that you almost feel bad for laughing. Almost.
“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem, Dee. Besides, that cow didn’t even look up when we drove past. We’re not even on its radar.”
“Oh, yeah? Ever heard of a little thing called mad cow disease?” Damien persists, in typical dramatic flair. You roll your eyes at him and he curses underneath his breath. “You know, when I agreed to go with you to this wedding, I pictured something more akin to a five-star resort with a minibar and a heated pool. Not rogue livestock and shitty cellphone reception.”
“You didn’t agree to anything – you practically begged me to take you with me.”
Damien waves his hand, dismissive, his eyes still roaming over the pasture. “Because I wanted an excuse to take a week off work. This is not the controlled environment I expected.”
“If you don’t quit complaining, I won’t hesitate to push you out of the car and leave you here with the cow,” you retort. In your periphery you’re able to make out Damien raising his middle finger to you. Rude.
You chuckle and fix your attention back on the dirt road. You’re driving almost painfully slowly, because the very idea of having to pay extra for damages to this already astronomically expensive rental car makes you feel nauseated. Despite your efforts, the car is covered entirely in dust. Its once pristine, white paint job has transformed into a muddy color.
There goes my deposit.
You shake your head at the thought. You had more pressing matters to concern yourself with; i.e., the fact that you were approximately five minutes away from coming face to face with the one person you swore you’d never speak to again. Two months seemed like ample time to prepare yourself in theory, but now that it is no longer some far-off thing, you know that your attempts at preparing yourself were in vain. With each day you crossed off the calendar leading to your departure date, your anxiety grew and grew until you worried your poor heart would give out under the stress. Getting onto the plane bound for Montana felt like the proverbial nail in the coffin, and a hefty dose of Dramamine was the only thing that kept you from spiraling as the plane ascended into the air. You slept through the entirety of the trip and, much to Damien’s chagrin, there is a sizeable puddle of drool on his left shoulder to prove it.
The lengthy nap helped. The tight band constricting your chest had loosened, and you pulled out onto the highway feeling refreshed and rejuvenated. You had Damien by your side and five vacation days to enjoy. Your best friend was getting married to the love of her life, and you were hellbent on standing by her side through it all. Spencer Reid can kiss your ass, as far as you are concerned. No way is he going to ruin this for you.
You are still very much clinging your take-no-shit mentality when you breach a hill and the ranch comes into view, effectively expelling every single positive thought from your head. Aforementioned anxiety reappears in full-force and you stomp down on the breaks.
“Fuck, I don’t think I can do this,” you squeak out, casting a look at Damien, whose eyes are trained on the sprawling expanse of the house ahead of you. “We can still turn around – no, we should turn around. There is no version of this that won’t end in me getting embarrassingly drunk and crying in front of everyone. I’m turning around.”
Damien’s hand on yours, strong and steady, is the only thing that keeps you from whipping the car around and retreating with your tail between your legs. His fingers pry your white knuckled grip off of the wheel slowly, his thumb rubbing reassuring circles across your skin. Its sweet and so overwhelmingly gentle that you’re a bit stunned. You glance at him in a silent question, as if to ask who are you, and what have you done with my friend?
He gets the message loud and clear, because of course he does. Damien fixes you with a smile, grip tightening on your hand.
“I’ve seen you hold your own against some of the biggest names in journalism on an almost daily basis – looking damn sexy while you do it, might I add,” Damien chuckles, and you can’t help but give a weak laugh of your own. Damien’s smile grows at this, and he continues, “If you can handle your business against those conniving pricks, I’ve no doubt that you can tough it out for this. You’re not the type of woman that lets some guy dictate what she does or doesn’t do. And you sure as hell aren’t the type of woman that would let some guy rob her of the opportunity to stand by her best friend on the most important day of her life. As the person who probably knows you better than anyone else on the planet, my opinion of you is pretty rock-solid, if I do say so myself. So, unless I’ve completely overestimated the extent of your badassery, I suggest you rethink that plan. What do you say?”
You avert your eyes and swallow against the lump in your throat.
“Spencer’s not just some guy. For a long time, I was convinced that he was the guy,” you whisper. The car is silent, save for the quiet crooning voice of George Michael flowing through the speakers. Damien squeezes your hand, prompting you to continue. You blink up at him with wet lashes, lips pulled into a sad smile. “Have you ever been in love?”
Damien shakes his head and rubs his thumb along the top of your hand. “I can’t say that I have, babe. Haven’t been that lucky.”
You let out a shaky breath and bring your other hand up to wipe at your eyes.
“Maybe you’re better off. I’ve only been in love once,” you gesture to your pitiful appearance and choke out a wet laugh. “Look where that got me. He fucking crushed me, and fifteen years later I’m still broken up about it. It’s pathetic.”
Damien frowns and shifts in his seat so that he’s fully facing you.
“I don’t want to hear you say that self-deprecating shit again. You were hurt by someone you gave your heart to, and I can only imagine how devastating that must feel. Being upset about seeing him again does not make you pathetic. The fact that you’re here, about to spend a week with the guy just so you can be there for Cassidy, is pretty damn admirable as far as I’m concerned.” Damien ends his monologue by pulling you into a tight hug, and you couldn’t be more thankful that he’d come with you. Not only was he a secret sweetheart, he also gave the very best hugs.
By the time he releases you, the tension in your chest has eased significantly. You nod once, and Damien’s rewards you with a smile.
“I am pretty cool, aren’t I?”
Damien snorts rather unattractively and rolls his eyes.
“I take back everything. You suck, and I don’t know why I bother with you, you narcissist.”
Now that the mood has lifted significantly, you reluctantly press your foot against the gas pedal.
“Too late. No takesies backsies,” you singsong. “You think I’m sexy and badass, and I’m never going to let you forget it.”
Damien mutters something undoubtably snarky underneath his breath, but it’s drowned out by the sound of gravel crunching underneath the tires. That, and the sound of your blood roaring in your ears as you inch further down the driveway.
The house, a beautiful log cabin with stone accents along the underside, is massive. Standing at two stories tall with a large wraparound porch and more than a dozen large windows, it’s a far cry from the modest little cabin in the mountains that Cassidy had made it out to be. Even Damien is slack jawed at the sight of it, sitting pretty against a back drop of rolling mountains, and you can’t help but feel a little smug.
“Still want to complain about that five-star resort?”
Damien shakes his head dazedly, “I retract my earlier complaint.”
All too soon, you roll to a stop and put the car in park. Several other cars are parked haphazardly in the grass around you, and that annoying voice inside your head wonders which one belongs to Spencer. It’s not that you care – you totally don’t – it’s just that you are kind of hoping that he hasn’t arrived yet. A few hours to acclimate to the environment before having to deal with him would be nice.
“You’ve got this, babe,” Damien murmurs. “And I’ll be with you the whole time, just in case you need a reminder.”
You flash Damien a nervous smile.
“You’re a really good friend, Dee. I’m really glad that you’re here,” you say, before narrowing your eyes at him. “If you tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny it.”
Damien snorts and pushes open the door.
“Get your sassy ass out of the car. I’m ready to mingle.”
As soon as you set foot on the porch, the front door flies open and a flash of curly red hair precedes a collision that nearly sends you flying back into the railing. Ecstatic squeals rip through the otherwise serene evening air and two boney arms envelop you into a tight hug.
“I cannot believe you’re actually here,” Cassidy laughs as she squeezes you tight. Her enthusiasm has you joining in, the two of you laughing happily and pulling back to examine one another. Cassidy places a sloppy kiss to both of your cheeks before throwing an arm over your shoulder. “I fully expected you to just blow off the whole thing, if I’m being honest.”
You cast at Damien, who’s watching on with an amused grin on his face.
“Believe me, she tried.”
Cassidy turns her attention to Damien and extends her free hand.
“I take it you’re the infamous Damien that I’ve been trading emails with?”
Your eyebrows scrunch together in confusion, “Wait, what? The two of you have been emailing?”
Damien accepts Cassidy’s hand and gives it a firm shake, all while smiling smugly.
“Yep. Me and Ms. Cassidy go way back.”
“I mean, that’s cool, I guess, but why?”
Cassidy and Damien share a look, both of them shrugging.
“Mainly to talk about you,” Cassidy admits, not even bothering to look apologetic. When you frown up at her she waves her hand dismissively at you. “All good things, I promise. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” Cassidy punctuates her words with a patronizing pat on your shoulder.
“I knew letting you two meet was a bad idea,” you grumble.
Cassidy simply drops her arms from its place on your shoulder in favor of tugging on your hand.
“Come on, sour puss. I want you to meet my husband. He’s a real sweetie – you’re gonna love him.”
A flash of white-hot panic shoots down your spine and you dig your heels into the floor.
“Wait,” you squeak out, eyes wide. “Is… Is he here yet?”
Cassidy’s eyes shine mischievously, briefly flitting up to Damien before returning to you.
“He is. And you’ll be happy to know that pictures do not do the Good Doctor any justice.”
Salt, meet wound.
“Don’t know why you’re telling me that,” you mutter.
“Denial is not just a river in Egypt, my friend,” Cassidy singsongs as she begins tugging you forward. For someone so tiny, she makes easy work of forcing you through the threshold.
The foyer is just as impressive as you expect it to be – beautiful cedar walls and a grand staircase that leads to the second floor. If you weren’t horribly on edge at the current moment, you would definitely comment on the fact that the foyer alone is probably larger than your entire apartment, but you’re too busy scanning the immediate area for tall skinny white guys with stupidly curly brown hair to comment on the grandiosity.
Cassidy leads the two of you to double doors to the right, and just as she’s about to push them open, the shrill ring of your cellphone offers you an out.
You slip your hand from Cassidy’s grip and give her a faux apologetic look.
“I should probably take this – it might be work.”
Damien narrows his eyes at you. “I thought you left your work phone at home.”
You ignore him and begin taking a few steps backwards, “Is there somewhere private I can go?”
An indiscernible look flashes across Cassidy’s face and then her lips pull up into a sugary sweet smile. “Follow the hallway to the very end. Leads to the back porch,” she says. “No need to rush. Take all the time you need!”
Okay, weird, you think to yourself, but the idea of putting off the inevitable for a few extra moments is too tempting to pass up, so you continue your retreat. You make it to the back door in record time and let out a relieved breath as you bring the phone to your ear.
“Hi, mom.”
“Hi, baby. I was just calling to make sure the two of you got there safely.”
You push open the back door and the breathtaking view of the ranch prompts you to take pause; sprawling fields and rolling hills as far as the eye can see, grazing livestock congregating near a lazy stream at the far end of the property, and several horses running across the expanse of the left field. It was wonderfully serene and vastly different from the bustling rat-race that was New York.
You smile to yourself when a loud moo rips through the otherwise quiet ranch. I could get used to this.
“Yeah, we made it,” you murmur into the receiver. “You would love this place, Mom. It’s probably the prettiest place I’ve ever been. I’ll send you a picture when I hang up.”
“How’s Cassidy? Still a little spit-fire, I assume?”
You lean against the railing and let out a snort, “Oh, absolutely. Don’t think that’ll ever change.”
“I’d hope not,” your mother hums. “How does Damien like the ranch?”
“He’s not exactly a fan of the livestock,” you chuckle. “Damien’s never even seen a real cow before. City boy through and through, that one.”
You and your mother share a laugh that dissolves into a comfortable silence. Comfortable, until the telltale clearing of your mother’s throat warns you of the impending inquisition.
“So,” your mother begins. “Are you going to tell me how it went, or are you going to leave an old woman wondering? “
You sigh and run a hand through your hair. “Fortunately, I have yet to run into him. I may or may not be hiding out on the back porch as we speak in an attempt to avoid just that.”
“Y/N,” your mother chastises. “Prolonging the inevitable isn’t going to make this any easier.”
“I know, I know. I’ll go in there soon. It’s just a lot, you know? I needed to take a breather, first.” Just until my hands stop shaking. Or until Cassidy comes hunting for me. Whichever comes first.
“I know, baby,” your mother coos. “I’m proud of you for trying. Just don’t drag things out, okay? You’ll only make yourself sick with nerves.” Unfortunately, that ship has sailed. The rolling in your stomach can attest to that.
You laugh a humorless laugh, “I don’t know, Mom. You always like to remind me how stubborn I am. I’m sure if I put my mind to it, I can just avoid him for the entire week.”
A tiny movement at the very corner of your vision and a loud creak makes you whip your head around, and what you see has your heart falling to your ass.
Spencer Reid, looking absolutely stunning in a pair of khaki dress pants and a white cable-knit sweater, sits in a porch swing with wide eyes and a book clutched tightly in his hands. Soft, caramel-colored curls frame his face and a five o’clock shadow runs the length of his jaw, adding a bit of grown-up flare to his otherwise boyish features.
He looks every bit as beautiful as he did on the day he broke your heart.
--
Spencer knows that he should have spoken up as soon as you walked onto the porch. It was immediately obvious that you hadn’t seen him, and he swears he’s one second away from clearing his throat and launching into the introduction he’d been planning for the last sixty days. But the words die on his tongue as he drinks in the sight of you.
You’re so close to him for the first time in years and it’s more than a little bit dizzying. And yeah, he’s used his very limited knowledge of how the internet works to Google you on more than one occasion, but the version of you leaning against the porch railing is a far cry from the pixelized one. A light breeze rolling through the air lifts your hair away from your face, and Spencer’s breath catches in his throat as he surveys every perfect inch, from the curl of your lashes to the smattering of freckles on your nose. He indulges himself, eyes settling on your cherry red lips, fascinated by the way they move as you talk on the phone. Spencer is intimately familiar with those lips – can recall the way they felt pressed against his own. The years spent apart have done nothing to dull the memories. He’s not entirely sure if that’s a good or a bad thing.
It amazes him how you’ve somehow managed to change a lot, but also not at all. You stand before him as an oxymoron personified, and it’s a lot for Spencer’s poor heart to take in. Your hair is a bit lighter than he remembers, as well as a little longer, but it still looks just as soft and he can recall with startling clarity how it felt when he used to run his fingers through it. You have a few more laugh lines than you did, as well as a scar on your left elbow that hadn’t been there before, but everything else about you is so painfully familiar that Spencer could almost pretend that no time had passed – that he still knows your body as well as he once did.
Spencer knows this isn’t true. Every seven years, the body resets; old cells destroyed and replaced with new ones. You’ve both spent enough time apart that your bodies have reset twice over. You’re as much of a stranger to him as he is to you.
Spencer positively abhors the thought.
The sound of your laughter pulls him from the depths of his mind, and while the laugh isn’t warm or inviting in the slightest, he relishes it. What was once one of his favorite sounds has existed in his head as only a memory for far too long. Hearing it in person is jarring in the best of ways.
The euphoria he feels dies a horrible death when you speak again.
“I don’t know, Mom. You always like to remind me how stubborn I am. I’m sure if I put my mind to it, I can just avoid him for the entire week.”
Fucking ouch.
Spencer cringes hard, too hard, because the porch swing screeches out an angry creak and you whip around and holy shit, have your eyes always been that entrancing?
He watches as your entire body goes rigid, tensed as if you’re about to bolt. You blink hard, eyebrows drawn together to form an adorably bewildered expression as you assess him. Spencer hopes he doesn’t look too disheveled. He hadn’t even thought to freshen up after his trip, an oversight that he’s regretting terribly as your eyes flit over him.
Spencer isn’t sure why, but he stands up. Maybe it has something to do with feeling vulnerable. Maybe he just wants to close the distance. The two steps he takes towards you support the latter. He’s thankful that you don’t move away, but the blank expression on your face worries him.
The two of you stand five feet apart, but you feel worlds away. Spencer refrains from speaking for as long as he can stand, which is only about thirty seconds.
“Hi.”
Your lips part, and Spencer holds his breath.
“Hi.”
More silence. Spencer gulps.
“It’s good to see you,” he says, cautious. The last thing he wants to do is fuck up within the first five minutes. Unfortunately, his brain and his mouth seem to have some sort of disconnect, and Spencer continues against his better judgment. “It’s been a while.”
It’s been a while? That’s seriously the best I can come up with?
Spencer contemplates drowning himself in the nearby stream.
“It certainly has.”
“Five-thousand, five-hundred and seventeen days.” And roughly thirty-six and a half hours, but who’s counting?
Muted noises flow out of your phone speaker and you pull your eyes away from Spencer. He’s both relieved and devastated.
“Yeah, Mom, I’m fine. I just ran into someone. I’ll call you back later, okay?”
Spencer agonizes over the fact that he’s been reduced to someone while you and your mother exchange goodbyes. You’re smiling when you look up at him again, but Spencer’s seen what a genuine smile of yours looks like, and this isn’t it.
“I didn’t see you sitting there. My apologies.” Your formality makes the situation all the more excruciating.
Spencer lets out a nervous laugh, “I suppose avoiding me is out of the question now, huh?”
It’s hard to tell who’s more horrified by the words that tumble from his mouth, you or Spencer. A fierce flush spreads across your cheeks. It’s the first crack in your otherwise calm and collected exterior thus far and Spencer relishes in it. Maybe you’re not as unaffected by him as you seem.
“I… I’m sorry you had to hear that,” you stammer, blinking up at him with guilty eyes. “That wasn’t very kind of me.”
“Don’t worry about it. I can’t say that I’m undeserving of your anger,” Spencer whispers so quietly that he worries you don’t hear him over the gentle flow of the stream. The hardness that returns to your eyes lets him know that you heard every word.
You clear your throat, signaling your unwillingness to discuss that particularly painful topic. “You’re still partial to Cummings, I see.” You gesture to the book clutched tightly against his chest.
Now, it’s Spencer’s turn to blush. The book in his hands, tattered and worn from years of use, is incriminating. The two of you both know what lies just beneath the binding. The fact that Spencer has it with him now makes him think that he might as well be wearing a t-shirt that reads, I’M STILL NOT OVER YOU.
Spencer raises a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah. Old habits die hard, I guess.” His eyes scour your face for a sign of anything that might clue him in to you feeling the same way. A flicker of something dances across your face, but it’s gone so quickly that he can’t be sure if he imagined it. He forces a nervous smile. “If I remember correctly, he was your favorite.” It’s a shitty attempt at a joke.
You exhale a shaky breath and to his absolute horror, your lower lip begins to wobble. He wishes he could reach up and pluck his words from where they hang heavy in the air.
“Not anymore,” you murmur, and fuck if that doesn’t absolutely wreck him.
Spencer shouldn’t ask, but he can’t help himself. “Oh. Why not?”
He holds his breath, anxiously anticipating your next words. You seem to be battling with yourself, mouth opening and closing several times. Spencer is content to wait as long as it takes for you to answer, but the universe is much more impatient than he.
The door leading onto the porch swings open and out walks an honest to God Abercrombie and Fitch model. Or at least, a man who meets the qualifications and then some. Long, flowing blonde hair and a crisp white dress shirt makes Spencer’s unruly brown mop and dumpy sweater look pitiful in comparison. Spencer frowns.
“Sweetheart, you’ve been out here for like ten minutes,” the man chastises as he closes the distance between you and him. Spencer watches him wrap his arm around your shoulders and pull you to him like someone might watch a car wreck happen; with equal parts horror and morbid curiosity. “You can’t hide out forever.”
All traces of rigidity leave your body and you melt into the man’s side. It happens in such a way that screams familiarity, as if the pet name hadn’t already driven that point home. The awful, gut-wrenching realization slams home and Spencer has to fight to keep his knees from buckling.
“Uh, sorry,” you mumble, before nodding your head in Spencer’s direction. “Damien, this is Spencer Reid.”
The man’s – Damien’s - eyes go almost comically wide as they settle on Spencer’s dejected frame, before schooling into a cool indifference. He offers him a polite smile that’s a little tight around the edges, but doesn’t outstretch his hand.
“Ah, Spencer. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Spencer swallows hard to keep himself from barking out a crazed laugh. He’s heard of me! That’s certainly something, considering the fact that no one thought it necessary to tell Spencer that you have a –
Spencer’s eyes dart down to your left hand. Thankfully, mercifully, your ring finger is bare.
“Uh, y-yeah. It’s nice to meet you.” The words burn as they roll off his tongue.
Damien nods at him before turning back to you. There’s an unmistakable fondness in the way he looks at you as he speaks. “Cassidy wants everyone back inside. They’re about to serve dinner.”
You smile up at him, not even casting a parting glance at Spencer before Damien leads you back inside. Spencer stands there long after the door closes behind the two of you.
The book feels heavy in his hands.
-
-
-
-
taglist: @is-this-even-important @evelyncade @usuck @m0rce1ddd @bauhousewife @whxt-to-write @spencerwaltergubler @lovesicksofi @idgafayiowf @shadyladyperfection @mercy-burning @sapphic-prentiss @itsmytimetoodream @m0rce1ddd @bauhousewife @whxt-to-write @spencerwaltergubler @enchantedcruelsummer @no-honey-no @inkstainedwritergirl @tnoh13 @xxconfettiitsaparade @calm-and-doctor @muffin-cup @fortheloveofcriminalminds @arcticrory @holl2712@themanwiththreephds @blameitonthenight21 @stellabelle @me-a-hopeless-romantic @musicxlover97 @anightflower @andiebeaword @annesauriol @haylaansmi
#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fic#spencer reid self insert#criminal minds fic#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds self insert#fanfiction#icyhwm#my writing#spencer#reid
184 notes
·
View notes
Text
~*ᑕᕼᗩᑭTEᖇ OᑎE*~
warnings: alcohol consumption, oral sex
words: 2.8k
Prologue
-
Perhaps you should’ve have taken Daki more seriously. After that fateful night at the so-called gathering, she’s become adamant on getting you hooked onto the luxurious life. Frankly, you thought the rest of the night was a bore, watching rich people mill about, talking to each other about issues that you could wish to understand. The only thing that really kept you going was the company of your best friend and the delicious edibles set on the many tables.
Time and time again, Daki brought up the encounter you had with Idris’ friends – could they even be called that? She gushed about how handsome Rengoku Kyojuro was, how darling it would be to hang off his arm. You noticed the suggestive hint to her tone; you knew exactly where her train of thoughts was going, and you’d be damned if she acted upon them.
In fact, you’re entirely positive that she’s planning on whisking you into her lifestyle. Even now, as you sit in some one-roomed, slinky club, she taps a manicured finger against her chin. The place itself is dripping with wealth, from the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, the clusters of velvet chairs, right down to the mahogany bar you sit at. You don’t have the slightest clue how Daki knows of a place like this, but – judging from the few other patrons acquainting the place – it’s meant for those types of meetings. You have the slightest inkling that this is where she met Idris in the first place.
Glancing over at her, you can understand why Idris was drawn to her in the first place; of course, Daki has always been insanely beautiful, but her sense of fashion is impeccable. Combined with her short skirt and the thick platforms on her feet, her legs are long, soft. She looks like she just came off straight off a runway; she might as well have, if the big Chanel logo on her beret hints at anything. She’s perfect sugar baby material, and you’d be lying if you’d say you didn’t respect her for pulling off such a feat.
“Mitsuri really liked you,” Daki’s saying. You snap back to attention, mentally cursing yourself out for getting lost in your thoughts. “She thinks you’re really pretty, too.”
Ah, Kanroji Mitsuri: renowned fashion designer and easily one of the most beautiful women you’ve ever met. Her welcoming, bubbly personality had definitely struck a chord inside you, and you were more than thankful that she had been so nice. Hearing something like that, though… Well…
Staring down at your wine, you swirl the deep red fluid around in your glass. “She’s just being nice,” you say, deflecting the compliment. You didn’t want to get your hopes up for nothing.
Rolling her eyes, Daki pops a grape into her mouth and waggles a finger at you. “Listen here, darling; Kanroji Mitsuri thinks you’re pretty. I wouldn’t take that so lightly.”
“You’re also drop dead gorgeous,” you shoot right back. “Of course you wouldn’t take it so lightly.”
“You’re missing the point,” Daki says with a sigh. “An insanely hot and rich woman – who has a great personality, by the way – is interested in you. By the way you two were talking at the gathering, it’s almost like you two have known each other forever.”
Deciding to take the bait, you set your wineglass down and turn towards her. “So what am I supposed to do?”
“Go on a date with her, obviously. I know Mitsuri will treat you right. And, if the night ends well…” Trailing off, she follows up with a giggle. “We’d be sugar sisters.”
“Come again?”
“Oh, come on, (y/n)! Think about how much fun it’ll be! Mitsuri will spoil you rotten and you’ll have mind-blowing sex.”
Your eyes nearly pop out of your head at the unexpected confession. Wait, did that mean…?
Daki flashes you a sly look. “What, you don’t think I only like men, do you? I may have fucked around with Mitsuri once or twice… But it was only a physical attraction, nothing more. Sometimes you just need to get with a woman.”
Embarrassment crawls up your neck at the mere idea of Daki and Mitsuri engaging in certain… activities. Warmth floods your system; you should be ashamed of thinking of your friend like that, but she did just tell you something you particularly didn’t want to know. And, truth be told, you are growing the slightest bit curious as to how Mitsuri’s like in bed…
A smirk pulls at the corners of Daki’s pretty mouth. She obviously knows what’s going on in your head – the two of you have been friends long enough for it to be second nature at this point. However, it still catches you by surprise as she fishes out a little piece of paper and slides it across the bar to you. “Since you’re clearly thinking about it, have her number,” she purrs. “I don’t think you’ll regret giving her a call.”
Taking the paper into your hands, you examine the neat, curly writing. You can imagine Mitsuri writing down the number, a flattering smile on her face. Your heart nearly skips a beat; did she really feel attracted to you? It’s just that, well, somebody at her social standing would usually stick to someone in the same group. You’re nowhere near it, so to have something like this happen… It’s kind of incredible.
You sigh. “Fuck it. I’ll call her.”
Daki eagerly claps her hands. “That’s my girl!”
-
On second thought, you might be regretting your decision.
Around you, the delicate clank of crystal glasses and fine platters intermingle with the soothing piano music. Other patrons talk amongst themselves, the slight murmur of dozens of voices reminding you of a hoard of bees. Some call out to the waiters passing by, wanting them to refill their glasses or get the check.
The dim, golden light makes the place ethereal, a heavenly glow surrounding everyone’s heads. Your hands glide over the spotless tablecloth, the pristine white of it practically mocking you. Jeez, if a single drop of wine spills on it, they’d probably just throw it away. Damn rich people and their ways – the mere idea of how much this tablecloth costs has your head spinning.
“You don’t have to look so scared,” Mitsuri says. “Believe it or not, but everyone here is just like you.”
You nearly scoff at that. You want to tell her that no, nobody is like you. You’re not rich and swanky, not by a long shot. Besides, this is Kanroji Mitsuri you’re speaking to. She’s part of this crowd; and since she’s a renowned fashion designer with a fairly large following, she’s practically a celebrity.
“I find that hard to believe,” you mutter. Picking up your glass, you take a careful sip of water, not wanting to cause a spill and embarrass yourself.
It’s not helping your nerves in the slightest that Mitsuri looks the way she does; hair pulled into a high ponytail, a slinky dress with a plunging neckline, dangling earrings that reflect the soft golden light. You don’t want to be disrespectful and stare at her pure, creamy skin, but it’s so hard. She’s downright beautiful – breathtaking, even – and it’s a challenge to keep your head on straight.
Her green eyes practically light up at your comment, a light giggle passing through her plump lips. “Everyone feels the pressure, you know. The need to keep up a perfect façade. It’s a shame, really, how so many people in this room wear a mask constantly.” She sighs, then, leaning forward and perching an elbow on the table and resting her chin in her palm. “I’ll be truthful, darling. The very first moment I met you, I knew you’d be different. You’re not some stuck-up corporate brat who’s too deep in their own shit to know right from left anymore. It’s refreshing.”
You can’t help but laugh at that. She hit the nail right on the head; sure, the upper class are usually depicted as being entitled assholes, but to hear it from Mitsuri? That’s just gold. She joins in on your laughter, the sweet, tinkling sound gracing your ears. It’s actually incredible how comfortable you feel around her, despite only knowing her for a couple of days.
“Plus,” Mitsuri continues, her laughter dying down, “I think you’re really cute.”
Scoffing, you try to downplay the excited fluttering in your heart. She’s almost been gushing about how nice you look all night, how much of a pleasantry it was that Daki introduced the two of you. Even better, she was so freaking ecstatic that you called her. Okay, yeah, so maybe you’re interested in Mitsuri. Who wouldn’t be? With the personality of a puppy and the looks of a supermodel, how could anyone say no to her?
“Now you’re just spoiling me,” you tell her.
“What can I say?” Mitsuri replies, voice smooth. “You deserve to be spoiled.”
Shock floods your system, sucks almost all the air from your lungs. Jaw dropping, you gape at her, completely at a loss for words. It doesn’t matter, though; your waiter comes back with the meals the two of you’ve ordered, placing them down gently on the table and busying himself with pouring glasses of wine.
“Enjoy the meal, ladies,” he says, his thick accent flooding his words. With a polite bow, he takes his departure, stepping away with quick, precise movements.
Staring down at the food you ordered, your mouth begins to water. Even though you aren’t the biggest fan of these damned rich people, you’ve got to admit that you’re jealous of the things they eat. Like, look at this! This is something King Midas would eat himself!
“It’s almost as if you’ve never eaten before,” Mitsuri says along with another adorable giggle. “If that’s your reaction, then I’m going to have to take you to every high-end restaurant in town!”
“What? No! Mitsuri, you don’t have to do that!” you ramble. “It’s just… Well…”
“Oh, come on. I want to.” Mitsuri pauses, then, picking up her glass with slender fingers and taking a sip of her wine. “I agree with Daki, you know,” she continues, “I think the two of us could have a lot of fun together.”
“…I’m afraid I don’t understand…?”
Mitsuri casts a devious smile over the rim of her glass at you. “Don’t worry, sweetie. You’ll find out soon enough.”
-
If you can recall it correctly, there’s a saying that would fit perfectly into this moment – blame it on the alcohol. Oh, but you’re not stupid. No, you at least have the guts to own up to your actions, as great or as stupid as they can be. That being said, you don’t want to admit to how desperate you’re feeling.
You didn’t doubt Daki for a single moment. As kind as she is beautiful, Mitsuri is the perfect package. She only managed to prove that point over and over again throughout the evening, swapping stories and genuinely taking the time to get to know you better. You still can’t believe she’s taken so much interest in you, but you aren’t going to complain about it any time soon. In fact, you’re glad that she’s into you.
Perhaps it was your tipsy mind that made you say yes; that’s what you want to believe, anyway. You don’t want to own up to the fact that you practically jumped at the opportunity of Mitsuri taking you home, to some swanky penthouse in one of the richest parts of the city. You barely had any time to gawk at the immaculate décor or overpriced furniture; no, what you got was a short tour as Mitsuri drug you off towards her bedroom.
The moments from there on out became nothing more than a blur. Clothing being slipped off, hands roaming over bare skin, the delicious heat of Mitsuri’s mouth. Your mind is still reeling from the turn of events, but you don’t have a single chance to think about it.
Heavy pants break through your lips, grace the still air in Mitsuri’s bedroom. The mattress is large, unforgivably so, topped with some of the softest blankets you’ve ever felt. Settled between your open legs, Mitsuri looks nothing short of perfection; long ponytail clutched in your grasp, her full eyelashes fluttering, the prettiest of blushes on her face, she’s a remarkable piece of art, reserved for your eyes only. The sounds spilling from between your legs is utterly sinful. Her lips and tongue eagerly work away at your sopping cunt, break down your walls until you’re a moaning mess.
“Fuck, Mitsuri,” you breathe, voice turning shrill towards the end. “That feels so good.”
Mitsuri moans at the praise, her manicured nails digging into the plush flesh of your thighs. Arching her back even more, you’re presented with a better view of her godly ass, the defined dimples on her back. She’s too gorgeous to handle, too fucking sexy. Giving her ponytail a yank, you relish in the pleased hum vibrating in the back of her throat.
“Naughty girl,” Misturi purrs as she pulls away. A mix of slick and smeared lipstick cover her lips, the lewd shine making your insides tighten. “I didn’t say you could do that, now did I?” The mere controlling tone of her voice causes another fat drop of slick to push its way out of your pussy. Eyes locking onto the sight, Mitsuri cracks a salacious smile. “Does baby girl like being talked down to?”
“Don’t… Don’t say it like that,” you whimper.
“I’m just speaking the truth,” Mitsuri purrs. “It’s not my fault this pretty little pussy likes it.” With her words, she traces a finger up and down your slit, collecting even more slick. Waggling the coated finger in your vision, she makes sure your eyes are on her before she slips it into her mouth, her swollen lips wrapping around it. “So tasty,” she moans. “So fucking sweet. You’re a real treat, you know that? It’s a shame Daki didn’t introduce us earlier.”
“Mitsuri-“
“Ah-ah-ah, don’t call me that,” she warns, the honey in her voice turning into something darker, heavier. You swallow thickly. “If you don’t mind, sweets… Call me Mommy. That is, unless you don’t want to cum? That works too.”
Oh, god, with an expression like that and her fingers playing with your sex, you’ll call her anything. “Mommy,” you murmur, “please.”
“Hmmm… What was that?”
Clenching the blankets between your fingers, you call out louder, “Mommy, please!” A loud gasp bursts from your throat, then, as Misturi shoves three fingers into you with no hesitation whatsoever. Her mouth descends on your clit once more, a pleased hum escaping her mouth at your sweet, sweet taste. Your hips buck into her wildly, your back arching off the mattress.
Mind clearing, vision turning fuzzy, your orgasm crashes over, your slick spilling all over her fingers and onto the blankets below. Mitsuri chuckles at that, seemingly pleased with both herself and your reaction. She keeps pressing on, though, her mouth and fingers working you through a second orgasm, and then a third. She’s relentless in her quest to make you cum over and over again, leaving you a shaking, crying mess of overstimulated nerves.
“Oh baby,” Mitsuri purrs once she pulls her mouth away. “You’re such a good girl to me, aren’t you? I’ll groom you real nice, shape you into something utterly perfect,” she continues, leaning in close and brushing her lips against your ear. “You’ll let me, won’t you? Come on, baby, let’s have some fun.” Shuffling up your body, she perches herself over your face, thick thighs encasing your head. “Be a darling and help me out, won’t you?”
“Yes, Mommy,” you coo. “Yes.”
-
In the end, Daki got what she wanted – a sugar sister.
Granted, you weren’t super eager to jump on the opportunity at first, but after some convincing from Mitsuri, you figured why not? As long as it’s with Mitsuri, there’s no harm, really. Plus, if you’re going to continue having incredible nights with her… Hell, of course you’re gonna agree!
“So, how did the date go?” Kyojuro’s voice rings through the phone. He sounds a bit too eager to hear the fine, juicy details.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Mitsuri teases. Sitting comfortably next to you in bed, she scans her eyes of your sleeping form, at your bare arms and shoulders unhidden from the blankets. She smiles. “It went great, actually,” she says, voice gentle. “(y/n)’s incredible.”
“She’s a looker, too,” Kyojuro says. Even though Mitsuri can’t see him, she knows he’s smirking. “Real beauty.”
“Heh. It almost sounds like you want me to share her.”
Kyojuro huffs in amusement. “Now that sounds like a good idea. Even Tengen wouldn’t shut up about her after she left. Maybe if you’re feeling generous…?”
Running her fingers over your smooth skin, Mitsuri bites her lip. “…Maybe. If she wants to be shared, that’s up to her. Either way…” she trails off, gives a light giggle. “She’s great in bed.”
#kny#kimetsu no yaiba#demon slayer#kny x reader#kimetsu no yaiba x reader#demon slayer x reader#kny pillars#kny pillars x reader#kny hashira#kny hashira x reader#diamonds are a girl's best friend series
202 notes
·
View notes
Text
If It Were In My Hands: (2/2)
One
Warnings: Janus gets angry during this chapter, mentions of possible violence, mentions of nightmare, past use of the dark used as punishment, mentions of verbal threats, angst, and hurt/comfort.
Summary: Virgil has a nightmare about what he said to Logan in a fit of fear and anger when Remus was making himself known, but was a nightmare all that it was?
AO3 LINK
Word Count: 2404
“What were you thinking?!”
It wasn’t often that Janus found himself both losing his temper as well as shouting, but when it came to instances like this… the only thing he felt that he could do in order to get his point across was shout until his voice went hoarse. At least he’d be listened to that way, and it seemed Remus very much needing someone to shout at him right now.
Especially after the stunt he had just pulled.
“What were you thinking?! Sending Virgil that kind of nightmare, and making him go through that kind of panic attack!” His coffee cup slammed against the counter so hard tat he was sure that it was going to shatter. Janus turned his blazing eyes towards Remus as he gave the creative side his full, but very pissed off, attention. “Are you fucking crazy?! We’re trying to get Thomas to LISTEN to us! Not to be scared off because you sent Virgil a nightmare about him fucking strangling Logan to death! If he finds out you made that nightmare and sent it to him it's over for all of us!” Janus raked his gloved fingers through his hair tugging angrily at the ends, forcing himself to take several breaths so that he wouldn’t explode again.
Remus clenched the fabric of his sash tightly, his knuckles turning white as he forced himself to keep his eyes down and not looking at Janus’ freak out.
There wasn’t much he could say to make the situation better, he’d known the moment that he’d done it that Janus would be pissed beyond belief. But he had to do it, he just had to. Even if Janus didn’t understand his reasoning.
The sigh that came from Janus made Remus flinch, he already knew how hard Janus was working and all of this was just one more thing that the dishonest side would have to work around in order to get anywhere close to being accepted by Thomas and the others. It made his guts churn with guilt, to know that he had inconvenienced the other side in the way that he had, but… he’d had to.. he just had to.
“Tell me Remus,” The side in question couldn’t help but to flinch yet again and tense up at the cool collected tone of the other side, even if Janus had never hurt him in any kind of way… everyone had a breaking point. Virgil’s threat towards Logan was proof enough of that, and Logan was supposed to be his friend. “What exactly was your thought process when you decided to do what you did?”
Janus sounded calm now, but that wasn’t necessarily a good thing.
It was like the calm before the storm.
But in the very least, Janus was giving him the chance to explain himself, that was more than anyone else had ever done. It ignited a little spark of hope inside of him, hope that perhaps Janus would understand where he was coming from and not immediately disregard his thought process as crazy or just plain wild. He had a method and he had a reason, it just… wasn’t a reason that many other people would understand without the proper context.
Janus’ raised eyebrow urged him to begin, for fear of losing patience.
“I didn’t make the nightmare,” Remus blurted out, desperate to make the other side understand all at once. Janus’ quick blink of surprise urged him onwards. “It was already a nightmare that existed in a mind space from one of the others, I had nothing to do with its creation. I swear! If I had made it I wouldn’t have sent it to Virgil anyways, I would have just kept it on my side of the imagination, or sent it to Thomas like last time. I promise.” Once the words began he couldn’t stop them, he felt as if he were begging Janus to believe him, as the words all came out in one heavy flow of ramblings. Screw whatever he had practiced saying…
It was true, and the chances of Thomas even remembering a dream like that was slim to none.
Janus slowly raised his hand, a motion for Remus to stop for just a second and to slow down, and without even thinking Remus slammed his mouth shut almost immediately.
“Then..” The dishonest side slowly began, his temper sinking into oblivion the more that Remus had been explaining himself. The knowledge that the other side hadn’t made the dream helped a little, but the fact that it existed at all made him more curious than anything. A dream like that… It needed trauma, and more than anything.. broken trust. “Who did the dream belong to, if you did not make it?”
That was the real kicker, and Remus hesitated to answer as his gaze once again shot down to his shoes. He chewed the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, anything instead of immediately having to fess up to the truth. He knew that Janus wouldn’t like it, even if it was one of the light sides that the dishonest side had clashed with being the epitome of self preservation meant that Janus was always worried about their health.
Mental or otherwise.
Janus wouldn’t like what he had to say about who the nightmare belonged to, much less the circumstances of how such a thing could ever come to be. Remus usually didn’t involve himself in homemade nightmares, unless it was truly horrifying ones that he knew they couldn’t handle. The nightmare he’d seen was way more than that, just the fact that it had messed Virgil up as badly as it did meant that whoever else it was meant for… it would have made them end up so much worse. He knew this, and Janus knew this as well. Which was why...
Even he would have preferred the lie to what he knew for a fact.
Janus’ pristine shoes made an audible clicking on the tiled kitchen floor as he closed the distance between himself and the other side, his approach was carefully slow but also very determined. “Remus.” He gently asked worry coursing through his veins like a gushing river, as he placed his hand on the creative side’s shoulder. “Who did the dream belong to?”
Remus’ nails bit into the palms of his hands as his eyesight became blurry for a moment and his breathing hitched, for a moment he contemplated shaking his head at the question in order to deny it. It was unlike him to get upset about a nightmare, let alone one that he had no business in. But this one… this one had made him upset. Upset enough to the point where he’d acted without even considering the consequences that Janus had reminded him of. It wasn’t like he could hide his true emotions from Janus, he’d always told Janus everything that had gone through his head without so much as a mental filter to be found, and this.. this was no exception. Janus deserved to know, especially if he was going to be going back and trying to get Thomas to listen to them. He needed to know what he was going to be up against, especially when it came to Virgil.
His mouth tasted like iron, and the words laid heavily on his tongue.
But regardless… he spoke them.
“It was Logan’s…”
The admission rang hollowly in the air, and on his shoulder he could feel Janus’ hand stiffen.
“What?” Janus rasped the single word out, a flurry of emotions passing over his face in an instance before finally settling on abject shock and horror. His eyes reflected more though, as his grip balled the fabric of Remus’ shirt. “Why?” He asked confusion flitting through him, “What on earth could have caused Logan to have a nightmare about Virgil taking his very life?!” He ranted to himself, shaking his head repeatedly until he was feeling dizzy. “What?!” Janus repeated again his confusion not alleviated in the slightest. His lips had curled back into a snarl revealing one fanged tooth that stood out among the rest, this time there was a layer of rage coating his voice that Remus had only heard in very rare occurrences.
This kind of rage didn’t even come close to the anger he’d felt when Roman had chosen for Thomas to go to the wedding.
But this time it wasn’t rage directed towards Remus.
It wasn’t directed towards anybody.
Remus caught Janus’ elbow as the dishonest side attempted to pull away, instead of keeping him standing though he directed him towards the living room where they could both sit down. Janus seemed to fold in on himself the moment that he’d seated himself, his fingers rubbing at his brows as he focused his gaze on the floor, keeping it there. Remus could tell that there was a cocktail of emotions stirring inside of Janus, after all, he’d felt very much the same way the moment that he had caught the nightmare before it had ever gotten close to Logan. At first he hadn’t been sure as to why he had stopped it, he’d caught it as if it were pure instinct. It had only take him a moment to realize…
It was thanks to Logan that Thomas had started to understand Remus, it was thanks to Logan that he was scary to Thomas anymore. Thomas could understand him, and understand what he did more thanks to the knowledge that the logical side had.
Without him… Thomas would still be pushing him away instead of letting him stay close.
Logan had made his step closer to acceptance that much easier, and he had even done the same for Janus. All by explaining their core, and how they worked to benefit Thomas, instead of hurting him like he’d been led to believe.
Logan had helped them.
Even if said side didn’t realize it yet.
So it had been almost instinct to protect the logical side in the very same way that he constantly protected Janus from his own nightmares. But to see just what the nightmare was about… it had made his blood boil with the kind of rage and righteous anger that he hadn’t felt in several years. So…
He’d done something about it.
Remus thumped his hand on Janus’ back, awkwardly trying to soothe the other side out of whatever turmoil he was going through. “I…” Remus felt like his tongue was trying to stick to the roof of his mouth. “Before I revealed myself to Thomas, Logan was trying to explain what I was to Thomas. And Virgil… he was… angry.” Remus wanted to groan and thump his head against the coffee table, but kind and gentle in both words and touch was most certainly not his thing. “None of the other sides really wanted to intervene, because well… it was Virgil. And Virgil was still freaking out from the thoughts I’d thought up for Thomas, and he… threatened Logan.”
Janus’ head snapped up, his eyes locking onto Remus’ with a blazing fury that made Remus’ skin itch and crawl, as if he’d released a herd of bugs into it. That look made him want to inch away and put something between them, so that whatever Janus did… the damage would be minimal.
“What did he say?”
Remus blinked in surprise at the sheer calmness of Janus’ voice, “Huh?” He dumbly asked.
“What…” He whispered in a soft growl, “Did. He. Say?”
Janus had straightened up, readjusting his gloves and caplet as he did. He looked like the moment he found out his answer he was going to go right out there and give Virgil a good walloping. Regardless of how slow he wanted to take things or how he wanted to win the others over, he knew that Janus would make good on that. Threats weren’t exactly something that Janus took very lightly, especially being a side of lies and protection for others. Those threats always struck very differently with him when he could tell the truth behind the words that always came spewing out, and one way or another…
There was always a little bit of truth behind the falsest threat.
Remus honestly wasn’t sure that he wanted to tell him if that’s what was going to happen, and especially if that was going to be the case with Janus’ clenched fists that promised some kind of violence. He didn’t want to be the one who would have to hold Janus back from giving Virgil a different kind of dark circles, and he honestly didn’t trust himself enough to not just let it happen and for it to ruin all of Janus’ future plans that he’d been working so hard on. If he did tell Janus... and if he let him walk out that door without looking back… there was no telling what would happen. His shifting Logan’s dream to be Virgil’s had been dicey and troublesome enough as it was, but for Janus to go out there and give Virgil a punch or two… it would just serve to bring back the dark days for them.
Everything would be ruined, and they’d be stuck in the dark forever this time.
There would be no chance at light.
Remus shuddered at the mere thought of being trapped in that kind of darkness again, he didn’t want that. The screaming, the broken voices, and blindly feeling around trying to find the others so that he could know that he wasn’t alone. Janus shivering alone in the darkness, with Remus and Virgil trying as desperately as he could to warm him up so that he wouldn’t go under like all of the other darks that they had lost along the way.
No.
It wouldn’t matter to Janus if Virgil had apologized, the fact that he’d made that kind of threat to begin with was enough.
For both of them.
“You can’t.” He finally said, trying desperately to keep the soft and squishy emotion out of his voice. “Ordinarily, I wouldn’t give two shits, and I’d tell you anything you wanted to hear, especially if it pertained to Virgil getting his shit rocked. But… No matter how angry you are, you can’t do anything. We have to keep going according to plan.”
Janus’ gloves gave a faint squeak the more the clenched his fists, it was hard for Janus, once he got riled up it was so hard to get him settled back down until something had been done about it. But regardless, the dishonest side forced himself to take in several deep breaths, his jaw was so tense that Remus could see the muscles bulging out with the concentration that it took to not do anything rash. His leg bounced in place, desperate to burn off whatever energy that was trapped inside of him.
Remus’ hand remained on his back, “We have to keep according to plan,” He softly spoke again, giving the other side something to focus on at least. He hated this, he hated being the voice of reason. But someone had to do it, especially if Janus was the one flying off in a rage towards someone they had promised not to touch. “You’ll take Virgil’s place after the wedding, when Thomas is all in a tizzy and-”
“No.” Janus spoke for the first time in several long and agonizing minutes, his voice was cold and dangerous. It sent shivers up and down Remus’ spine, as Janus’ seething eyes locked onto his. “I won’t be doing that.”
In a grand flourish Janus stood, and for a tense moment Remus was sure that he was going to have to body slam Janus to the floor so that he didn’t go after Virgil right then and there. Instead however, Janus spun around his caplet flowing behind him as he booked it for his bedroom, the door remaining open behind him as the other side disappeared into the darkness of his own room. He was gone for several long minutes, where Remus could hear him rifling through something, oftentimes accompanied by a few soft curses that even he was initially surprised by. It was at the ten minute mark that Janus finally left his room, sprinting out with a handful of papers and his pocket stuffed with several red pens.
The rage that had once radiated off of Janus seemed to be dying down, as if having those precious moments to think in his room had cooled him off a little.
Remus was dearly thankful for it.
“I won’t be taking Virgil’s place this time,” Janus hurriedly blurted out scattering the papers all over the coffee table so that Remus could lean over and see what changes he was making to his plan. “I’ll take Logan’s place, it’ll save him from being ignored from the others and myself like last time. And given the fact that I’ve been watching him long enough to properly know his mannerisms, and with Roman’s most helpful notes I’m sure that I can successfully take his place, At least without the others catching on for too long, or until it’s time for the final reveal.” Janus’ hand moved in a blur as he crossed out several things, and scribbled a few more on the many papers he had.
There was a look of zeal in his eyes, a look that Remus much rather preferred compared to the look of pure rage he’d once had.
“What about Virgil?” Remus almost hesitated to ask, for fear of making that anger resurface once again. But Virgil would be the most suspicious out of all of them, all things considered, especially given how clingy he had been to Logan that night after the nightmare he’d suffered. He’d notice almost immediately that something was up with the logical side, especially if Janus had taken his place and acted even the slightest bit off from how Logan normally was. “He’s gonna know, he’s got like… a nose for you and everything.”
That much was almost certainly true.
Janus went silently for a moment, as he chewed the end of his pen. His eyes scoured the papers he’d laid down for some kind of hint as to what he should do about the biggest problem to his answers.
And then his eyes shifted over to Remus, and lit up like lights on a Christmas tree.
“You!” Janus shifted his entire body to face Remus. “You distract him, keep him with Logan and distract the both of them for however long that you can. Tease him about his eye shadow, or just about anything. So long as he and Logan don’t distract Thomas for a good couple of hours, then we’ll be in the clear.” A brilliantly devilish look lit up Janus’ face as he squeezed his pen so hard that Remus was sure that it’d crack any second now. “I’m going to make sure that something like what happened to Logan never happens again… The more that we’re in the picture the more that we can shut that kind of thing down for good.”
That and finally being listened to by Thomas always had its perks as well.
But having Logan as an ally… that would be invaluable to what they needed to do for Thomas to start on a more mentally healthy lifestyle. They would need Logan and his research, and… they’d listen to Logan at least too.
No threats.
Remus could sense the truth in Janus’ voice, the pure and utter conviction that he had to make sure that Logan wouldn’t be hurt by Virgil…… let alone any of the other sides.
“Yeah.” Remus nodded, placing his hand on Janus’ shoulder to give it a firm squeeze. “It’s not going to happen again…”
With that being said, their plan was in motion and their hope for the future as well.
#janus sanders#ts janus#ts janus sanders#remus sanders#ts remus#ts remus sanders#janus angst#remus angst#sanders sides#ts sides#ts sanders sides#sanders sides fanfiction#ts sanders sides fanfic#sanders sides fanfic#ts sanders sides fanfiction#logan mention#virgil mention
53 notes
·
View notes
Note
... May I ask you about the slow excruciating progression from Meng Yao to Jiggy?
also paging @holdmycaffeine and @cadencekismet, who asked me for the very same, and @acutebird-fics, who is my partner in crime deep philosophical discussions about these characters, and a great deal of this messy essay is informed by those
Tl;dr: JGY is a multifaceted character and the author struggles not to lose her mind trying to find the right words to describe that. Literally every single point of this rant is up for discussion, begging for it even, so please don’t hesitate to engage me, but, like... tomorrow, maybe. After I sleep it off.
Meta I used or referenced: THIS ONE explaining how JGS deciding to give him the name GuangYao is all kinds of wrong | THIS ONE talking about the red bindi-like Jin forehead dots, among other things | THIS ONE about his capacity for evil and his own recognition thereof
-
Alright, without any fancy preamble, here goes. Honestly, whenever I think about JGY for more than three seconds, it becomes painfully evident that there are two wolves inside me at all times - one wants to spend tens of thousands of words exploring his narrative, his choices, his abilities and his failings, his capacity for violence as well as his capacity for love...
And the other one just likes to call him a gremlin in chief in a fancy hat, and doesn’t want to go much further than that. I’m going to try and feed them both.
The thing that pisses me off about Meng Yao is just. The fact that he doesn’t stay Meng Yao, and we get to watch it happen in slow motion. You get a tiny little twink-ass kid who suddenly finds himself adopted into the Nie by the Sect Leader himself, and this is Meng Yao, the son of one of Jin Guangshan’s many mistresses, who doesn’t have a whole lot going for him aside from that, at that moment - his cultivation, weak. His opportunities, nonexistent. His dick, small. His political savvy, only just starting to show itself.
And this guy gets the chance of a lifetime presented to him on a Qinghe-silver platter. Like, we can argue about book canon and try and decide if he did anything at all to make NMJ notice him, but show canon makes it all the more hilarious (again, please refer to this gem of a post for a level of humor I’m sorely incapable of) - you’re seventeen, and the Batman of the cultivation world picks you up and elevates your status across swathes of societal norms, to a level you previously could have only dreamed of.
It’s interesting to me to try and imagine if this was the moment that Meant Something - in the grand scope of things, of course it did, because it started MY on the road to JGY, but also to Meng Yao personally, in terms of what he believed he could comfortably achieve. I do not for a second believe he started out wanting to murder people to reach his goal, or that he even had a good goal to begin with - being accepted by his father, maybe. Murdering the (at the time) greatest villain in the world, becoming a renowned spy, landing an incredibly beneficial sworn brotherhood, et cetera et cetera? I mean, the kid has wet dreams, but no way do they reach this far at this point in his life.
But so many things about him are unclear. Show canon changes his timeline, in that he met NMJ before he met Lan Xichen, and even accompanied NHS to the Cloud Recesses. Either way, his stint with the Nie is incredibly personally important to him. I firmly believe he loved and admired them, in his own way. He certainly flourished under NMJ’s tutelage and approval, but in the end, his motivations, his entire raison d’etre, clashed with NMJ’s too much. To Meng Yao, who’d gotten kicked down those infamous Koi Tower stairs for daring to ask for his father’s attention, murdering a guy for slandering him and his mother was a natural outcome of being slandered his entire life, and finally having had enough - to NMJ, it was unforgivable.
But this still isn’t where Meng Yao becomes Jin Guangyao, and it begs the goddamn question - how much of what JGY was perfectly willing and capable of doing to stay in power, had been present in Meng Yao that entire time? You see him make excuses that someone who isn’t NMJ, with his incredibly staunch morals and black-and-white view of the world, might have even accepted, but instinctively, you know - making excuses is just how it’s going to be with this guy.
Because Meng Yao, as well as Jin Guangyao, lies, and he is damn good at it. He is so good at it, that he lies his way to the very top of the Wen, all the way to Wen Ruohan’s side. His lying is what enables him to become Jin Guangyao. And like any good liar, he doesn’t only lie to the people around him - he also lies to himself.
And I can’t blame him, because - been there. Lying to yourself becomes absolutely necessary, when you want to keep everyone else around you believing in a mask you wear. You need to start believing it, at least a little bit, at least sometimes, for it to work.
At this point, you’re probably wondering - but Annie, what about the time he spent a year sheltering Lan Xichen? Did he lie then? Was he not just Meng Yao, a poor but cunning bookkeeper, then? I’m getting there, I swear. Slowly and in a roundabout sort of way, because honestly, I don’t know how I can start talking about the LXC of it all, without it turning into a novel.
Because whichever way you twist it, whatever canon you choose to follow, one constant remains - A-Yao’s feelings for Lan Xichen. I’m deliberately not calling him Meng Yao or Jin Guangyao, because it’s these feelings that divide the two, but also ultimately unify them, fatally so. But we’ll get there.
In one version of events, Meng Yao travels to Cloud Recesses at the behest of NMJ, and falls in love with a statue made of jade there. In another version of events, they meet during something LXC only describes as ‘the shame of a lifetime’. Both of those events lead to Meng Yao sheltering LXC, hiding him, saving his life and those precious Gusu Lan texts.
Whatever version of events you choose to see as the right one, one other truth also remains - Lan Xichen offers freely and without asking that which Meng Yao has had to struggle to attain, that which has been denied to him time and time again, based only on the circumstances of his birth: respect. Lan Xichen never looks down on him, never brings up his origins, and instead extends him respect and dignity in a way only he is capable of - no fucking wonder Meng Yao admires him. No fucking wonder, when this amazing guy, this perfect pristine handsome number one young cultivator, looks at him, smiles at him, and actually sees him, son of a whore or not.
No fucking wonder Meng Yao loves him, and Jin Guangyao continues loving him. No fucking wonder he never means to hurt him, but does so anyway.
But here’s the thing - lying to yourself to make things work only gets you so far. Do I think Meng Yao spends restless nights in cold sweat dreading who he’s becoming, thinking about all the lives he’s taken to further his goals? Absolutely not. Do I think he does good things, often even great things, because it helps him feel better about himself? Do I think he both loves Xichen and keeps him around because it’s beneficial to him, having the Lan Sect Leader in his pocket, but also personally speaking, having someone who so firmly believes in the goodness in him? You bet your overly adorned murderhat I do.
And frankly, reducing Jin Guangyao to one or the other - coldblooded murderer or a man plagued by his own insecurities, helpless and trying to be kind in a world that’s so evidently against him - is doing a character like him a huge disservice. You have to consider all sides, if you want to truly understand him. Hell, I myself am by no means claiming to truly understand him! He pisses me off daily, and I’m writing this stream-consciousness-y thing because he simply won’t shut up in my head.
This kid makes Choices, and here’s the catch - he doesn’t regret a whole lot of them. If anything, I’d like to think he regrets going along with his father’s plans for so fucking long before finally realizing that avenue won’t bring him what he seeks. Killing Jin Guangshan, by the way? Very sexy of him, that I’ll admit. Guy was a pig.
But even the obviously Good Choices he makes? Building those damn watchtowers? Letting Mo Xuanyu stay at Koi Tower? Seating Qin Su by his side at that same throne where his shitty father entertained concubine after concubine? (Frankly, please make up your own mind as to whether he was lying or telling the truth about learning about Qin Su being his sister before or after they’d consummated their marriage, I’m choosing to believe that he hadn’t known.)
How much of it really happens out of the goodness of his own heart, and how much of it happens because he wants to improve his own reputation, kintsugi away the minuscule cracks in his own image until he’s once again a perfect picture of Jin gold? Is he himself even capable of telling the difference, recognizing where his good intentions end and his desire to look out for number one begins? When you spend so much time crafting your own perfect mask, in your own head as well as others’, the lines blur real fast.
I think ultimately, he craves respect as much as he does pity, and those two never mesh well - the cultivation world never truly accepts him, his father certainly never truly accepts him, but Jin Guangyao is not Wei Wuxian, he can’t just look at all of these perceived injustices and slights, all of this gossip and slander, and say ‘Whatever’. No, Meng Yao takes one look at the world standing against him so very vehemently, and decides to fight it, fight tooth and nail for his place in it, until he comes out Jin Guangyao on the other side, gilded and pristine, ascending the stairs of Jinlintai to exact his revenge on anyone who dares not accept him.
The Guanyin Temple, in a way, is a perfect little vignette of his character - we observe him wildly oscillating between seeking out the aforementioned respect and pity, confessing boldly and laughing loudly one second, and pleading on his knees and clutching onto Lan Xichen’s robe the next. To him, that night, and everything leading up to it, is a series of footholds - the ground begins crumbling under his feet when he learns of the letter, and he has to act fast.
He buys himself time, excuse after excuse, thinking on his feet, and here’s the thing - he’s not necessarily the best at that. Anymore. Up until that point, until the letter and Qin Su and WWX turning up, everything is going according to plan, and his plan at this point is, frankly, correct me if I’m wrong, sitting pretty at the top of his golden tower and making sure the truth about him never comes to light, which... Well, we all know the truth has a nasty way of coming around when it’s least convenient for you.
And I think Jin Guangyao (not Meng Yao) is, at that point, unused to being inconvenienced. Everything he ever does, he calculates, he twists the public opinion of himself, he twists individual people’s opinions of himself, to suit him - nothing unexpected ever happens anymore, because he’s played the game long enough to foresee most things. Nie Huaisang beats him at that same game, not because he has a huge plan spanning decades of his own, but because he’s good at improvising, kicking the hornet’s nest and then knowing where to direct the fallout - but that is another essay all of its own waiting to happen.
For now, I feel like I need to wrap this up before I lose my mind. Personally (and please feel free to challenge me on this any time), I don’t feel like there’s a single defining moment, or even a handful of them, traumatic or otherwise, that irrevocably turns Meng Yao into Jin Guangyao. Sure, being kicked down the literal stairs leading to a better place for you a handful of times will have you feeling some kind of way. Sure, serving a maniacal warlord while playing an impossibly high-stakes game of spy poker will leave a mark or two. Sure, your sworn brother spitting in your face the very insults you’ve been hearing your whole life and never learned to shake off, will make one more vestige of patience inside you irrevocably crumble to smithereens. But.
Your whole life, you work very, very hard. You know to put your head down and get your hands dirty, but you also know that sometimes, the best way out of a hairy situation is turning on those puppy eyes and appearing just a smidgen weaker, a smidgen more frightened and helpless, than you actually are. And if, when you actually tell the truth and people still don’t believe you, lying becomes easier, becomes, eventually, so easy it feels as natural as breathing? Well. Might as well use that particular skillset to sneak your way through a war, am I right? Might as well use it to build yourself a nest among the very vultures who resent you, and whom you resent, and make sure that they have to respect you.
In the end, to me? Jin Guangyao is the guy who jumps from person to person, from callout to very personal callout, there in the Guanyin Temple, just to stall for time, just to regain some sort of foothold in the situation - he’s the guy who probably views losing an arm as a necessary sacrifice, shakes it off and still gets to work from there.
Meng Yao is the guy who wants to take his mother with, and who asks Lan Xichen the one question he’s dreaded knowing the answer to his entire life - not ‘will you stay and die with me?’, but the one that hides beyond that.
Is this what devotion is? Respect? Love? Is there, at this moment in time, enough of all of those things in your heart that you will, in fact, stay and die with me?
When Lan Xichen says yes, without words but still loudly enough to be understood without a doubt, Meng Yao is relieved, while Jin Guangyao is vindicated.
When Lan Xichen says yes, neither version of A-Yao needs to hear any more than that - the seventeen-year-old boy shooting a shot way above his station and loving a statue made of jade, who wants Lan Xichen to survive, and the man wearing the wrong name and the title of the first Chief Cultivator of his generation, who wants Lan Xichen to live with the weight of all his mistakes and misgivings, are both, for once, in accord. They’re both happy, and they both make that final push to save him.
In conclusion, if there even is one to this jumble of random thoughts... Jin Guangyao and Meng Yao are one and the same. Aspects of one can be found in the other, but neither feels remorse about his choices. Both of them, in turn, are capable of amazing things. Both of them are, in fact, capable of decidedly horrible things. One builds a wall around the other so thick, so impenetrable, you only catch glimpses, and only the ones he allows you to see. One learns very quickly that vulnerability is dangerous, unless employed proactively, and the other one perfects the craft.
Both of them believe they are perfectly justified in their actions. Both of them believe their own line of reasoning, their own excuses. Both of them want to be loved, for very different reasons, or for the very same ones, at the end of the day.
Both of them aspire to greatness, Meng Yao some vague idea of it instilled in him by his mother teaching him to believe his own worth, Jin Guangyao a more concrete vision of it, always one step ahead, one step higher up those gilded stairs. Both of them are willing to excuse a whole lot to reach it, too.
And when Jin Guangyao finally stands in Koi Tower, properly this time, wearing that coveted golden peony, wearing that red zhushazhi and a much nicer version of the hat his mother always told him to wear, but also wearing the wrong fucking name, one that barely gives him a spot in the family he belongs to by blood?
All he needs to do is take one look in the mirror to see Meng Yao staring back, always there with him, always ready to remind him where he came from. He’s seventeen years old, and he just buried his mother, and somewhere out there, the rest of his life awaits. His smile is all dimples, and that, too, they have in common.
Time to get to work, Meng Yao suggests, and Jin Guangyao agrees.
#jin guangyao#the untamed#mo dao zu shi#so this is..... a thing.#honestly I'm. i can't say that eloquence was my primary goal here#can't really even be sure WHAT the primary goal was#but this is now a thing that exists so take it off my hands I suppose#while I go make some hot chocolate and think of bunny rabbits and rainbows for a while#to cleanse my palate#Anonymous#ask#jgy#my meta
689 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hey, Leti! I saw you wanted some flyboys prompts. I'll give you two so you can pick between them if you want? How about for Words: “I’ll always be here when you need me,” or for Actions: "for one muse to help the other clean blood off of themselves." <3
You really hit the nail with the second one, it's like you're inside my mind asksjsisnsk but really, this idea wouldn't leave me alone today. I said over on discord I wanted conflict...
Collins breaks about sixteen weeks into his service. It's the first time he loses his nerve, regrettably, because he lets his new wingmate buy him one too many drinks. He's just trying to make a good impression, Jack knows, but he doesn't care for it. Not when Tony got shot down only yesterday and he's been grounded on account of it.
So he can mourn.
Fuck that.
He's only thinking about it more, now that he doesn't have to fly and the day seems never-ending. He lets the new cadet take him out for drinks only because Farrier isn't around.
There's a Royal Artillery regiment off duty occupying half the tables, and Collins almost turns on his heels and heads back to base when he sees their soft-brown uniforms all over the place. But Robert goes on, none the wiser, and Collins has no choice but to follow suit being the older, more experienced one and all.
In the end, it's the rookie who keeps his cool against the harsh words and teasing and Collins the one being held back.
"Oi, pretty boy!"
It's late and he's tired and Robert has money to spare and he keeps leaving pints in front him.
"Yeah, you in blue, why doncha buy us a round?"
"You gotta be joking!" Robert laughs, half-turning on his seat next to Jack at the bar, wearing his pristine new uniform that looks like was unboxed just this afternoon. He's a perfect target for worn-out soldiers temporarily off the line. Collins is already drunk and their presence at his back set his teeth on edge.
"Why? Your lot sit there all day long while we do your bloody job, seems right t'me you'd show a bit of gratitude, right boys?!"
Jack sets another glass softly on the counter and locks eyes with the bartender that looks at him like he's the one stirring up the pot. It's the only reason why he turns his head towards his chatty companion and mutters: "leave it," because the old man is kind enough to accommodate them every time they come round and lets them run a tab.
Robert scans his unfriendly frown and slowly sits back down on the stool, sending Jack a furtive glance.
That would've been the end of it.
"Look at that, not even me mum's got boots as shiny as yours," this voice is closer, and it's a different one.
"Fuck off," Collins mutters under his breath, hand wrapped around his half-empty pint and itching to turn around and bash the idiot's head in.
"What?"
Now he gives him the courtesy of turning around and standing up to say it to his face.
"I said fuck off, I see yer bleedin' deaf as well as thick."
He likes to think it wasn't his words that set it in motion, but the little chuckle Robert couldn't suppress right next to him.
What's-his-name, with his perfectly gelled-up hair and an unbuttoned khaki shirt, sends the new cadet a killer look and Collins wishes he'd gone for it, right there. He wishes he'd gone for his mate so he would've been able to blame his actions on the undying stupid rivalry between Army and Air Force. But he doesn't make a move towards Robert, and instead gives Jack a once-over and a sneer.
"Why don't you sit back down?" he offers, with a mellowy voice that makes Collins' blood boil, "you look like you're about to fall."
To his credit, Jack is swaying on his feet, except that's also the same reason why the cocky gunner ends up with a bleeding nose just two minutes after.
"That's what you get paid for, after all!" is the last straw, a high-pitched mocking voice coming from the sea of men that Collins can't really pinpoint, "t'keep your sorry ass down on a chair."
What comes next is more missed blows on Collins' part than he'd like to admit and more blood on his face and collar than he'd like to explain. Robert comes out unscathed save for a crinkled uniform when some by-stander had the sense to keep him out of the ruckus, but he doesn't stop babbling all the way back to headquarters.
Collins only hears half of it, mind too foggy by an ache both physical and emotional, and bites his tongue one or two times when he turns to acknowledge the boy's existence and sees the face of his dead wingmate instead.
Farrier finds him two hours later, lying on his upper bunk bed in full uniform except for his jacket, which he briefly had the sense to hang before climbing up. Collins hears him come in, close the door and approach, but doesn't move.
He stares at the wall and breathes slowly through the mind-nulling pain taking over, feeling a sore cheek and a lip cut open and thinking that he deserves it, that it grounds him, that it keeps the thought of Tony's silence through the intercom and the sight of his Spitfire hitting the water with a distant thud away.
Was he dead by then? Did he die in the air, or was he conscious all the way down, unable to do anything to stop it? Collins hopes one of those bullets got to him. He knows that's how he'd rather go down if it came to it. When it comes to it.
"What happened?"
Collins stays still and pretends he's not there.
It's not very difficult to imagine, really, because Farrier is never around lately. It's probable that the only thing that brought him up to his room at this hour was Robert's big mouth, surely going on about his new mentor standing up to a room full of soldiers, drunk and out for blood like a fucking lunatic.
Perhaps a little less self-deprecating account of it. More on the heroic side, because Robert's got that naive look about him. Collins hates to think of it: that it is probably a foreshadowing image of what's to happen once he goes up in the air and has a fucking nazi on his tail.
"Collins," Farrier calls again with a quiet voice. Jack feels one of his hands coming to rest behind him on the mattress, like he wants to place it on his waist instead and turn him over but doesn't dare, "you can talk to me."
"There's nothing to talk about."
More silence.
A sigh.
"Don't ya have somewhere else to be, anyway?"
He feels like a dick the moment he says it.
Luckily for him, Farrier isn't so easily swayed. That same hand finally lands on his left shoulder and tugs insistently until he's turning on his back - when he does, Farrier takes a deep breath in, those ones he takes when he wants to lash out at someone but swallows his words instead.
Collins isn't sure he likes that look of anger directed at him, but he stares back defiantly because the influence of alcohol isn't completely gone and because he hates Farrier being this persistent.
Green eyes survey every inch of his battered face and if they stop for a moment too long on his lips, Collins pretends he doesn't notice. Farrier winces and then runs a hand over his face and looks away, again biting his tongue to prevent himself from talking.
Jack wants him to talk, wants him to tell him off so he can answer.
"Come down," Farrier asks, taking a step back from the bed and making a hand-gesture that is a bit too authoritarian for Jack's taste. He half-wants to hop off the bed, stand to attention, make a salute and bark out a yes, sir! only to annoy him, "Collins, don't be a child. Come down and get that shirt off before it's unsalvageable."
His irritation bleeds heavily through the words this time and when Collins looks back at him from the top bunk, he does feel like a little boy being told off.
He only sits up, yanks his tie off, takes his shirt off above his head without unbuttoning it and knowing full well he's only beating up a hornet's nest, makes it into a ball and throws it at Farrier's face with force.
Only then does he jump off and land in front of him.
"Anything else?" he asks through gritted teeth, as Farrier holds the shirt to his chest and looks at him the same way he looked at that gunner back at the pub.
But he stays silent. Farrier doesn't take a step forward and punches him in the face like he did to that poor sod. The annoyance gives place to something else and Collins doesn't know what to do when Farrier doesn't move, because he'd been counting on him turning around and striding off after that outburst.
And he needs him to, quick, because there's a lump forming down his throat.
"No?" he asks, shaking his head, confrontational.
Farrier just stares at him, his poker face the antithesis of Jack's. He only sniffs, crosses his arms on his chest and shifts his weight on his feet comfortably, like he's planning on just staying there standing guard.
Collins feels like he walked right into his trap. Can't climb back up now, show him his back and stare at the wall and ignore him until he gives up and leaves.
"Are you done?" Farrier asks when he looks away.
He doesn't give an answer and sits on his roommate's made-up bed instead because he can't feel the chilly air down there as much.
He probably should wash that shirt before the crimson red becomes a permanent stain, if only to avoid being told off by his superiors. He really doesn't find it in him to care for a stupid blood-spluttered collar when Tony's dead, he's dead.
Farrier sits next to him and brings a damp cloth to his lip without warning. Jack flinches away before he notices it's only his handkerchief soaked in water and has the decency to turn towards him this time, the will to put up a fight all but gone.
"I'm sorry..." he starts, trying to get the words out but failing.
"It's alright."
"No," he chokes out, "sorry."
Farrier presses the wet cloth softly above the cut on his brow and looks him in the eye with honesty.
"No need to be."
Collins disagrees, but he stays still for a couple of seconds and lets Farrier slowly wipe the dried blood off his skin with the utmost care and tries to think only of this moment.
"That's a nasty bruise," Farrier says, conversationally as if the silence makes him uncomfortable and the close space between them makes him nervous.
Jack doesn't trust himself to open his mouth without bursting out crying in his face, so he doesn't say anything and just avoids his gaze again.
The silence stretches on for another minute.
"All done."
He bolts upright soon as Farrier is off his personal space and makes for the metal wardrobe in the corner to fish for a tank top, because it's that time of day when the sun is completely gone and he may as well have an early night in.
Anything to get Thomas off his hair.
"Thanks," he throws over his shoulder, tugging at his belt hoping that's enough of a dismissal for Farrier, "I'll wash that shirt," he adds, noncommittally.
Farrier stays there for another quarter of a minute.
"Yeah, you do that."
When the door closes behind him Collins braces himself against the wardrobe and holds onto it until his knuckles go white, feeling like he can't take enough air in.
#i know i have two more suggestions on the discord#but honestly this was so spot on i couldn't let it pass#i just wanted collins to punch someone okay 😂😂#also i couldn't really come up with a better ending so#i gave up#i hate unresolved comfort but inspiration just ran off you know#so i'll leave you with a grieving collins instead haha you're welcome.#dunkirk#dunkirk fanfic#dunkirk fanfiction#dunkirk 2017#flyboys#pilot husbands#collins#farrier#collins/farrier#farrier/collins#farrier x collins#collins x farrier
23 notes
·
View notes
Text
You C-Could’ve Just Told Me Y-You Didn’t Want Me
A/N: I stumbled upon the MorMor fandom again and thought, “What the hell, why not? Most of this is either depressing, sad or kinky. Right up my ally.” Unbeta’d as always.
Pairings: Jim x Sebastian
Summary: Moriarty really did it. He killed himself and Holmes. But did the great consulting criminal think of the outcome? Did he think of what would become of his tiger?
Word count: 2,591
Warnings: Please do not read this if any of the warnings trigger you, I’m touching on many heavy subjects and there will be a sad ending. Please be aware of what you can handle. There is no shame in reading the same coffee shop AU over and over again. Please proceed with caution. Major character death, death, suicidal thoughts, suicde, attempted suicde, violence, language, depressing thoughts, mourning, grief, poor coping mechanisms, blood, alcohol consummation,
Moriarty really did it. Jim’s really gone. No warning. No notice. No caution. No nothing. Just a single message plastered on the building in front of his window.
“Behave tiger.”
Sebastian learned on the news that night after not having heard from his boss, the man he thought of as a friend and more. The newscaster focused on Holmes’ leap from the building, but all Sebastian cared about was the body being dragged off the scene. That same empty gaze he had grown to adore, the same slicked back hair he wanted to run his fingers through, the same sickly pale face he wanted to feel under his fingertips.
Gone.
Just like that.
He had never told Jim about the beating in his chest, the butterflies in his stomach, the constant searching for him in a crowd. But the man must have known. He read Sebastian like a favorite book. Had memorized every line, every page, every chapter, everything. Jim had known and yet he was still gone.
The arguably new fridge in his kitchen had not seen the sight of alcohol since it was installed. Sebastian had swore off of the thing since his parent’s passing. He had seen what it did to people. But tonight was an expectation. And so was the next day. And the next week. And the week after that. And the months that followed.
The only reason he left his small flat was to get more. Nothing else mattered anymore. Time passed as it always did when someone died. Sebastian had no right to be mad at the human concept of time, but he had to have someone to blame. Something that made sense. Because if time was allowed to move on as if nothing happened then time was a bastard.
Jim wasn’t just some concept a man with too much time on his hands created. Jim was more then every human life was worth and more. Jim was also a Westwood wearing bitch.
The man just won’t let Sebastian die. Appearing in front of him at his worst moments.
One morning or afternoon, he wasn’t sure, he was awoken by the sound of polished shoes on his tiled kitchen. His first thought was Jim, just like every other thought he’s had for the past year. Time wasn’t even really a thing. But alas, when he opened his exhausted eyes, because his bed was just a place marker, he was greeted by the sight of an old woman in a suit.
“Good day,” she spoke in an central London accent, too polite for a shirtless man in his pants.
“The prostitute lives a floor down.”
She seemed to be taken aback by his comment, visibly flinching. Her lips pressed together a moment before she spoke, “I’m here for you on behalf of Mr. Myrcroft Holmes.”
“Tell him to go fuck himself.”
“That can be arranged, but for the time being he wants you to meet him at his estate. He sent me here to make sure you were alive,” the woman said sternly, regaining her composure. Jim wouldn’t have even faltered at his comments.
“Tell him I’m dead.” Or will be if he could find the tenner he kept hidden in his couch cushions. He was due for another bottle. “I’ll even give you a blood sample. Just give me a knife.”
The woman seemed unimpressed, taking in the state of the flat. Things were askew, he knew. That was the point of grieving wasn’t it? Being self destructive to the point of insanity? Give him time, grieving takes time, everyone suffers differently. He could no longer count how many times he’s been to Bart’s, just sitting on the ledge. The fact that jumping, falling, seemed like a simple matter to see Jim again should frighten him but...it doesn’t. He’s just biding his time until he’s had enough. Unsure what’s holding him back, waiting.
That was a lie and a half. He had jumped, twice. First time a moving truck broke his fall. The movers had called an ambulance and he was rushed to the hospital. That was eight days after Jim shot himself through the skull.
The second was last night, morning? Some twenty hours ago that was foiled by a short woman who wore her hair in a low ponytail. She had given him some sort of speech but he just tuned out her voice and threw away the slip of paper with her number on it. He didn’t need pity.
“That won’t be necessary. I can inform my employer of your beating heart and he will arrive here himself,” she turned on her heel and headed for the door, her hand lingering on the handle before turning back to him. “What made him worth suffering for?”
The door clinked shut.
More than the bastard realized.
“Calling me a bastard and a bitch? On the same day? I’m honored, Sebby,” came Moriarty’s voice from the arm of the couch. “Really, just wonderful what you’ve done to the place.”
“What are you doing here?” Sebastian groaned to the figment of his imagination which was also a shit eating bitch.
“Picking flowers, what do you think I’m doing?”
Sebastian couldn’t help but grin at the comment. He knew Jim wasn’t actually here but if he could fool himself for an hour or so. The calmest hours he granted himself once a week.
“C-could you hold my hand?” Sebastian begged in a whisper, not looking up at the gaze of his one sided lover.
“This again?” He could hear Moriarty rolling his eyes. “I guess, but only for a moment.” The ghost held out his hand, far enough to make Sebastian work for it. He always did, forcing himself to move, to crawl, fight tooth and nail with his useless body to get up and hold Moriarty’s non-existent hand.
Moriarty’s hand was cold. That was how he imagined it if he had ever gotten the chance to hold it. Moriarty’s hand was soft because he never had to do any dirty work. Nails filed down and clean, pristine. The real Jim would never, but Sebastian let himself have this.
“You’re crying again. I thought this was supposed to be my moment.” Moriarty lifted his face to meet his, wiping the tears with an invisible force. “Can you not make this about yourself for one moment? It's starting to get on my nerves and Daddy wants the spotlight so SUCK IT UP.”
Sebastian clenched Moriarty’s hand, nodding and willing himself not to cry. It never worked. “Why did you have to leave?” it came out as an uncontrollable sob.
“Things were too boring. I needed a change of pace. What’s better than being a ghost?” Moriarty licked his tears clean but more poured down.
“I-I could h-have-”
“You could have done NOTHING to change my mind. Even your subconsciousness knows that, Sebby.”
Seconds, minutes, hours, days, who knows passed as Sebastian cried into the arms of a dead man. He curled into Moriarty’s side, a trembling ball of compressed pain. The alcohol was wearing off at this point and he longed for another hit. Something stronger perhaps.
Just anything to make him forget for a while, because while he permitted himself to cry with Moriarty, feeling nothing at all felt better. Just empty, mindlessness. Unconsciousness. Anything but this.
“Why...why won’t you-you let me die?”
“Because you know I would be furious if you died. Rage wouldn’t even cut it if you met me in hell.” Moriarty brushed back his overgrown hair, messing with his beard just because he could.
“I want your rage instead of this. Please,” he begged, rubbing his head against Moriarty’s chest. “I-I had a gun stashed here. I knew exactly where it was and how many bullets were in it. Jim...he...the real Jim took the bullets out.” He picked at the loose strings on the couch, unable to face his mind. “He-” he croaked, “He took them and put them in his own gun. I-I checked and everything….” Pressing the heel of his palms to his hand Sebasatian continued in between gasps. “I want them back. I want my bullets back. I want him back. I want him. I want him alive and here. I want to hold him and let him hold me. I want him. I want Jim. I don’t care if-if he never wanted me. If he-” It pained him to keep talking, to admit this in his worst moment. “If he did this just to get away from me...I just want him back.”
“You’re being awfully selfish today. What if I really did this to get away from you? And now you want me to come back? Sebby, please. Be realistic. If all of this is because you’re useless, and it can very well be, then I don’t want you.”
“So that’s it? You won’t even let me off myself?” Sebastian mumbled into his sleeve, his eyes stung from crying and he was too dehydrated to continue.
“Behave tiger.”
He didn’t clean himself off or made himself look presentable like he did with Jim. He just smoked as he tried to find himself a cab to the other Holmes’ estate. Apparently that wasn’t needed due to the fact a black car pulled right up next to him, the front window lowering to reveal a driver that motioned for him to get in.
Sebastian did so, flicking off the cigarette before entering. The driver didn’t speak, not that he would reply, but the man looked like he wanted to. A new guy who was still learning the ropes.
“D-”
“Talking out of turn will get you fired, or killed,” Sebastian repeated the phrase Jim had told him the first day he worked for the man. Back then he didn’t know what he was getting himself into when he wanted a quick, high paying job.
“Rude,” the driver murmured before pulling into a driveway. He stopped the vehicle and gestured for Sebastian to exit with a roll of his eyes. Sebastian wondered then what the other Holmes would do if he blooded up the driver. Getting himself killed had crossed his mind numerous times, bar fights and ally robberies, but he was too skilled to allow himself to be disarmed. But the Holmes were of a different story altogether. They could have him killed in an instant if they felt like.
“Well are you going to leave or what?”
Holmes would probably do nothing, not for a driver this chatty. He left the vehicle with Moriarty on his tail, “You’re useless, you know that? I tell you to do one thing and you do another. Well you come to hell, don’t talk to me. Don’t even look at me.”
Sebastian resisted crying in the home of Jim’s worst enemy’s brother. It wasn’t worth it, he told himself. Whether he believed himself? He didn’t feel the tell tale wetness on his cheeks so that was something.
“Good day,” the elder brother greeted him, not a hair out of place despite the fact that his brother was dead.
“What do you want.”
“Getting straight to business I see. Very well then,” Mycroft thumped his cane on his hardwood floors of his parlor. “I have an assignment for you, think of it as a favor if you will.”
“Fuck off,” he turned on his heel to leave only to freeze in place. Sherlock Holmes stood in the doorway, as alive as the day he was born. Not a wound or sign or anything that said he was dead or had been. Just standing there.
Sherlock Holmes is alive.
Jim Moriarty is dead.
It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair.
“Sebastian Moran, Jim Moriarty’s right hand man and one sided lover from the state of your appearance. How is crying over a man who will never love you going?”
Sherlock Holmes is alive.
Jim Moriarty is dead.
The other Holmes rolled his eyes, “I’m trying to get him to work with us Sherlock, not plan our murders.”
“I can’t say the same for him though,” Sherlock smirked, like he was getting a rise out of seeing Sebastian like this. A caged, striving tiger pacing.
Sherlock Holmes is alive.
Jim Moriarty is dead.
“Sherlock.”
“Mycroft.”
Sherlock Holmes is alive.
Jim Moriarty is dead.
“If you want to kill me just do it. I won’t fight back,” Sebastian stated, meaning every word. He just wanted the release of death. If anything his dying might please Jim Moriarty. Having someone watch the life or what was left of it, drain from his eyes. He could only hope. “Just kill me.”
“On the contrary. We want you alive.”
“I’m useless alive or dead,” he repeated what his mind told him.
“I can assure you, you’re m-”
The gunshots shattered the parlor windows. Glass burst from their constricting frames, a shower of shards raining down. More gunshots followed, a dozen barrels at the least. Sherlock and Mycroft ducked for cover because they wanted to live. Sebastian stayed where he was because he would rather not.
A shot pierced his side immediately, then another and another. His legs could no longer support him so he fell forward, the side of his face pressed up against the rough carpet. He was staining it red, a stark color against the shades of brown and white.
Rope ladders dropped the sky, bodies lowering from out of view helicopters. They entered in pairs, shooting up the parlor room and everything in it. Over the sound of gunshots nothing could be heard then it stopped like a conductor silencing an orchestra with practice.
A suited man entered the ruined parlor, his arms spread wide in dramatic flare. “Daddy’s back, Sherlock!”
“Jim Moriarty,” Sherlock exclaimed, smiling from his cover behind a bookshelf. “Glad you could make it.”
“I missed you, Sherly.”
Sebastian could only smile from the floor.
Sherlock Holmes is alive.
Jim Moriarty is alive.
And all it took was for him to be bleeding out on the floor from gun wounds. Dying. Unable to feel his arms or legs. That was all it took for Jim Moriarty to come back.
His grin pained his face from disuse, but he couldn’t stop it. Joy didn’t cover what he was feeling. The love of his life, forever one sided; the man he yearned to stay by, to hold, to drink and live alongside was fucking alive.
Sherlock Holmes is alive.
Jim Moriarty is alive.
Jim Moriarty is alive.
Jim Moriarty is alive.
Jim Moriarty is alive.
“Y-you’re alive,” he gasped from the floor, his blood cooling but his smirk never faltering. He wanted so badly to drag himself to Jim Moriarty but he couldn’t feel the warmth in his limbs. The man was right there, breathing, standing tall, and looking so jubilant. Sebastian really was useless.
“Tiger?” Jim Moriarty’s act flickered when he heard the sound of Sebastian. He turned to face the fallen sniper and every set of eyes in the room followed.
“Y-you’re here,” Sebastian choked on a laugh, his eyelids heavy. “You c-could’ve just told me y-you didn’t want me.”
“SEBASTIAN?!”
His eyelids closed shut. What remained of the feelings in his limbs dispersed. His labored breaths evening out until he disappeared altogether. His hearing was the last to go but even that shut down. He was dead. That was all it took.
Sherlock Holmes is alive.
Jim Moriarty is alive.
Sebastian Moran is dead.
#mormor#jim x sebastian#james x sebastian#james moriarty#jim moriarty#sebastian moran#sherlock#mycroft#sherlock holmes#mycroft holmes#William Sherlock Scott Holmes#bbc sherlock#death#suididal#tw suidice#suidicidal#attmepted suicide#suicidal thoughts#violence#language#depressing thoughts#depression#mourning#dealing with grief#grief/mourning#grief#poor coping mechanisms#blood#alchol tw#alchohal
51 notes
·
View notes
Text
Started this like two weeks ago, oops. Part one here, more of that ‘redeeming Scourge’ au. Likes, comments, and reblogs appreciated!
Wordcount: 1000
At least he didn’t have a cellmate. The fact that he wasn’t flattened under a snoring cat was some small mercy.
“Yo.”
Unfortunately, it was a mercy negated by the fact that there wasn’t a routine he could plan around- or ‘visiting hours’. Anyone could waltz in whenever the hell they wanted, because the warden was a never-sleeping AI. Scourge gritted his teeth, counting to three before rolling off his bed. “What?”
“Can’t I come in to say hi?” Sonic was bouncing on the heels of his sneakers.
“You wouldn’t be here unless you wanted something, or to rub your victory in my face.” The ‘glass’ was perfectly pristine, no matter how many times he’d slammed his fists against it, so it looked like there was nothing between him and Sonic even though he knew that there was, and he couldn’t just punch him in his smug face like his fists were begging to do. Stupid nanites.
“It’s been weeks, I was wondering when you’d stop being pissy, actually.” Sonic raised an eyebrow. “I brought you in hoping we could at least start helping you, but you keep digging your heels in.”
“Look, at least at the regular slammer, they let us out for recess now and then without bribing us about it.”
“You know the deal.” Sonic leaned against the glass- it seemed as though his palm was flattening in mid-air. It’d be hilarious if Nicole dropped the door just for a second and his arms started pinwheeling before he’d fall flat on his face.
“Yeah, yeah, ‘community service’. I’m gonna have to be a little more desperate to start picking up litter or whatever.” Scourge examined his nails through his gloves.
“Zonic said you were actually falling into line for a while.”
Scourge froze, fingers tightening into place.
“Or at least Zobotnik thought you were. I wouldn’t trust him, but Zonic seems to think he’s pretty good at his job, and I’d imagine he’d know about rehabilitating prisoners.”
“That shit wasn’t rehabilitation.”
“Uh-huh.” Sonic didn’t sound convinced. “I can guess why you’d be touchy about the blunted quills-“
“Ya think?”
“-But come on, you’re a version of me. You conquered a planet, I’d think you’d manage fine with a couple of bruisers trying to smack you around.”
Scourge raised two fingers with a growl. “Two things, blue. One: These collars cut down speed and agility. You try and win a fight when somebody taped cinderblocks to your feet. Everybody else there was mostly used to ‘punch things hard’, so they didn’t have to readapt their flow. Two...” He gestured up to his face. “What do you see right here?”
“Uh, green? A handsome mug? Not sure I’m grabbing what you’re throwing out here.”
Scourge dragged a hand down his face. “Because what everybody else saw was a Sonic that could serve as a revenge replacement for the one that probably beat them up, and almost definitely brought them in.“
There were a few beats of silence, nothing but the omnipresent hum of the nanites surrounding them. “...Ah.”
“Yeah. Ah.” Scourge leaned against the wall, arms folded. “I bounced back, but it turns out even being a different color can’t stop everyone from seeing me as just another goddamn alternate.”
“Excuse me while I wipe away my tears. You were a jerk and dealt with the consequences. Boo-hoo.” Sonic gave a sarcastic clap, and Scourge growled, slamming his fist against the ‘glass’ right in front of Sonic’s face. The cell shook slightly, nanites absorbing the impact before reconstituting themselves in an instant. (Nicole had said the cells had held a lot worse than him. He’d buy it.)
“Alright, Blue, let me put it to you this way: Imagine your Robotnik capturing you.”
“That’s happened-”
“-And then breaking both your legs.”
Air sucked in through Sonic’s teeth as he gave a hiss. “Oh, come on, they didn’t-”
“This collar means I’m as slow as everybody else- slower, actually, since they overcompensated with mine. Only reason I made it out of there with my sanity intact was because I’m the baddest bitch around, got that? Losing your speed really, really fucking sucks when you’re one’a the smallest guys there and the one everybody is using as their personal punching bag because most Sonics are goody-goodies and the only other one in the jail was a beast twice your size.”
“Excuses, excuses.” Sonic waved a hand. “You don’t have to worry about that anymore anyway, so what’s the hold-up? You’ve got to be bouncing off the walls, I’d think you’d be jumping at any opportunity to get out, even under supervision.”
“Yeah, well, prison also taught me some patience, and I’m not gonna dance for you.” Scourge said. “Go find another puppet, I’m sick of getting yanked around by people who’re just using me for shit.”
“It’s not....” At that, Sonic sighed. “It’s not an act. I’m trying to help you realize you don’t have to be the bad guy anymore, alright? You tried to do things your way and it just keeps not working. You could really help the Freedom Fighters- and you could be happy.”
“You can keep me in here, but you can’t make me start ranting on about friendship like some sappy Saturday morning cartoon,” Scourge said, plopping back down on his cot. “That’s not going to make me happy.”
“Hey, I don’t expect that. Knuckles and Shadow are both still kind of prickly and neither probably would admit we’re friends, Shadow especially, but I know they’d both help if I really needed it. It’s less of a leap than you might think, and I know enough guys who just really needed somebody to care about them. Nicole’s always here to pass the message along if you decide that you’re willing to do something good for once.” Sonic waggled his fingers in a wave, zipping out before Scourge could throw out a retort.
He groaned, pulling his legs up to his chest and flopping his chin down on his knees.
#sonic the hedgehog#scourge the hedgehog#shadow writes stuff#sonic writing#archie#sth#king douche#scourge redemption au
16 notes
·
View notes
Text
Quirk Oddities: LOV
A/N: Warning, reeeeeeeeeally long post under the cut lol yeet
Gotou Imasuji/Muscular:
You have NO IDEA how happy I am that we F I N A L L Y know this man’s name,, anyway
Due to his Quirk having to do with his muscles (and obviously, augmentation of said muscles), he’s constantly in danger of muscular dystrophy if he doesn’t exercise them enough, even when not tapping into that muscular form.
Also feeds into his ‘blood knight’ behavior -- his eternal battle to fight stronger and stronger people and his own fight code matches with his Quirk, which gives him a stronger and stronger physique. He’s literally always itching for a fight.
Needs to eat a lot more than your average person, more on par with someone like Fatgum. Eats a ton of proteins and has a relatively healthy diet compared to a lot of other people. He’s very strict about what he eats so that he can get the maximum amount of energy for his muscled-up form.
Mustard:
His Quirk makes him more quiet and chill than most of the League; due to its somnolent properties (and due to the fact that he likely accidentally exposed himself to it far too often when he was younger), he reserves his energy for when he truly needs it.
As a negative side-effect, however, he suffers from chronic insomnia, which is mostly to blame for his irritability and (relatively) fragile mental state (not ‘fragile’ as in ‘literally an inch away from snapping’, but moreso ‘this close to mania at all times’.)
Drinks a lot of tea to try and calm himself down in the evenings. Lavender and chamomile are his teas of choice. On the flip side, tends to drink energizing drinks during the day so that he has enough energy to function.
Really prone to emotional lows. If he’s not careful, he can fall into depression and can get anxious very easily.
Moonfish:
Eats a ton of meats. Just... raw meats. All the time. He’s incredibly unhealthy. The bloodier the meat, the better. Will not eat anything cooked more than medium.
Will try to bite your arm off if you try to take food away from him. Actually, probably just tries to bite your arm off regardless. Don’t feed him unless you have a Quirk to subdue him in like 0.58 seconds.
Has to keep his teeth in pristine condition so that they don’t... accidentally break off when he’s trying to attack someone. Spends an obsessive amount of time brushing every morning and night. It’s one of the only times you will ever see this man even close to sanity, ironically.
Kenji Hikiishi/Magne:
Used to have to be cautious with using her Quirk when she was younger. Due to her inability to wield it correctly, she ended up magnetizing everything within a 2.5 meter radius. Eventually, she learnt to control it, but this caused some upsets when she was in school and people learned to avoid her if they didn’t want to get thrown like a ragdoll.
Very attracted to people. Not in a sexual way, but she loves socializing and can often wander near groups of people without realizing at first.
This isn’t an oddity with her body, per se, but she used to constantly be careful about magnets getting stuck to her giant magnet. It’s a pain to pluck them all off, so she eventually just started wrapping it, which negated some of its effects on anything close by.
It’s honestly good that her Quirk doesn’t work on herself, for many obvious reasons. When she was a young child in the first years after it manifested, she always questioned it. Now she’s incredibly glad it doesn’t, considering how much havoc she could wreck on other people. Instead she’s more in-tune with it, in a sense. She can tell apart red and blue ‘magnets’ very easily due to that.
Kurogiri:
Y’all don’t know how tempted I was to put Oboro’s name in there lmao
Constantly has a dark aura around himself that looks like a thin fog. I know, that’s canon, but unlike his actual fog created around his neck, this stays around his actual body shape so that even if the collar is gone and he can’t form more fog, the aura would be there enough to obscure some of his more defining features.
Due to him being a literal reanimated corpse, the reason his eyes are glowing and yellow is due to being reanimated. That, and yellow looks cool as hell with black and purple, amirite?
Prefers totally dark rooms. If he’s by himself just chilling after a long, hard day of being a babysitter to about 6-9 societal outcasts, he’s sitting or lying down, eyes closed, with all of the lights off, just basking in it.
Adding to that last point, enjoys misty, foggy days. He doesn’t so much enjoy rain as much as he does the general vibe of a fog-dense area. Really feels at home in it.
His sense of pain is highly muted, and his body is incredibly cold to the touch. I mean, he’s literally a reanimated corpse. It takes a lot of force for him to actually feel anything, and this goes for non-pain sensations too. Often loses feeling in his hands and feet and they feel like wisps of mist.
??? Shigaraki/All For One
Due to his Quirk’s innate nature of taking and giving, he’s a huge kleptomaniac. He just can’t resist swiping things (and maybe giving them back later).
He’s drawn to studying Quirks. Like a certain someone else we know, he’s obsessed with hashing out the more intimate details of a person’s power, and then he can truly decide whether or not he’s taking it.
His body is more naturally suited for taking on more than one Quirk at a time, but without his life-support system he would be royally fucked. Many of his Quirks require a lot of energy and his body is just too weak in its current state with all of his injuries to sustain them all. I know, he’s still incredibly powerful, but he’s considered ‘weak’ right now. Imagine him at his peak. How many Quirks did he have? 50? 100? More?
Adding onto his kleptomania, this applies to people too. He’s incredibly possessive of people he deems worthy of his time (his brother and Tomura being two notable examples) and will do whatever it takes to keep them at his side in the name of ‘keeping them safe’. If he had a family somewhere and he found out about them, you bet your ass he would go full yandere on them, but isn’t hesitant to lay the emotional/mental manipulation on thick.
Tomura Shigaraki:
As I’ve stated a few times before, due to his Quirk, Tomura’s body is constantly destroying itself, from within and outside. His skin is the outward reflection of it; after being found by AFO he was weak and easily sick due to his immune system not fully ready to handle the destructive properties of Decay.
Sometimes he’ll choke on debris from his own mouth and throat, as I’ve stated before. Very prone to ulcers and muscular dystrophy, so he has to be careful to exercise just enough that he staves off his body totally shutting down.
Has to be incredibly careful with his diet, because the wrong foods could damage his body more than before. CAN NOT HAVE SPICY/HOT FOODS. His taste buds have already been damaged enough due to forays into it before, and he can’t afford to sustain even more damage to his throat.
Has to drink a ton of water, not just to flush down debris in his throat but because he’s very prone to having a dry mouth. Part of the reason his voice (well, English Dub voice anyway) is so raspy is because his throat is constantly dry. If he doesn’t have enough water, he’s prone to bad coughing fits.
His nails are actually quite brittle, and when he scratches his neck he has to be careful not to break them. His lips get chapped easily and will split and bleed unless he lays on some ointment.
AND SPEAKING OF OINTMENT! I know the jokes about him needing moisturizer/Chapstick are hilarious, but Tomura has extremely sensitive skin and can not put on anything that has perfumes of any kind in them, otherwise it triggers a severe reaction and it takes him a while to heal. There’s a specific brand of ointment that he and Dabi use, and like the flame user he has to be constantly reapplying it during the day, otherwise his skin dries out even more.
He’s drawn to death/destruction, much like Toga is fascinated by blood and death (and birds). Much of the time, he causes said death/destruction. It’s so morbidly fascinating to him and it fills him with a weird sense of pride or calm.
Prefers humid conditions. If it’s more arid, he suffers. Can’t go out in the sun too much, because he burns very easily (more than Dabi, surprisingly). He likes lukewarm, cloudy weather, and especially autumn (can you guess why?).
Can’t do alcohol. Not just that he legally can’t drink (I doubt he’d give a damn about that), but consuming too much would further damage his body and he can’t afford to do anything too reckless.
Himiko Toga:
Her Quirk makes it so that she’s prone to anemia much easier than a normal person. She needs to keep her iron levels up, especially as a teenage girl, so she usually goes for more iron-rich foods (and especially meats). Give her a blood bag and she’ll drink it like a Capri-Sun.
Normally, a person can’t ingest much blood through their digestive system, otherwise they get sick. Himiko doesn’t have much of a problem, thankfully, but she still has to be careful not to drink too much otherwise she does feel nauseated (kind of like eating too much food will leave you full and vaguely sick).
Like Tomura, she’s fascinated with death, but to a more obsessive degree (given that we’ve seen her literally eat a dead bird before). Unlike him, she actively seeks it out, and most often creates death herself.
Jin Bubaigawara/Twice:
Oh boy, what else is there to say that hasn’t already been revealed in canon? I’ll try my best to go with headcanon here, but Twice is a complicated person to speculate about given that we’ve seen most of everything there is to know.
His body constantly feels like it’s about to split apart. It’s not much of a painful feeling as it is an odd sensation. He’s constantly aware of it and it does a toll on his overall mental state Every time he does create clones, the feeling briefly intensifies, and he finds it very hard not to keep splitting.
Needs the suit to feel like he’s ‘contained’ himself, if that makes sense. Like, he’s less likely to physically split in half if he’s wearing it. That, and of course, needs the suit to keep his crumbling mental state in check.
Atsuhiro Sako/Mr. Compress:
Much like AFO, he’s a compulsive kleptomaniac, especially for expensive/shinier things. He just can’t help but swipe things up, but if the other members ask for it back, he’s generally good about handing it over.
Sometimes is filled with a lot of nervous energy that manifests itself in fidgeting with his marbles. In those periods of time, he feels even stronger compulsions to steal and they mostly go away when he does.
Shuichi Iguchi/Spinner:
There’s so much to put here. Mainly gecko-related things.
As I’ve stated before, he thrives in hot, humid weather. Loves chilling on sun-warmed rocks the best. SUFFERS in the cold.
It’s a legitimate struggle not to eat worms or bugs whenever he sees a juicy one. When he was a kid, he just ate them whenever, but after being bullied for this compulsion, he tried to stop and eventually just hid it from others.
Sometimes when startled, he might make a chirping noise, much to his irritation. If any other gecko-type people are around, they might chirp back.
Sheds a few times a year on a fairly regular schedule. Gets really uncomfortable and itchy for a bit and gets irritated more easily as he sheds. Once it’s over, his mood gets back to normal.
Enjoys dark places to just hide in sometimes. If you can’t find him, maybe you’ll be able to find him in a dark crevice or a hidden nook or cranny. He feels a degree of safety in spots like this.
As we’ve already seen, he can stick to walls. I don’t know why, but that just makes me happy for some reason.
Touya Todoroki/Dabi:
Hoo boy. This one is a doozy.
Despite his Quirk, his body is more suited to cold temperatures, as seen in canon. This means he greatly prefers cold conditions and suffers in heat. He’s one of the only ones of the League who can be out in winter weather without bundling up.
Burns extremely easily, especially when it comes to consuming hot/spicy things. If you’ve ever burnt your tongue on a hot drink, that happens to him at least 70% of the time, but not just his tongue. His entire throat gets burnt, and it takes a while to recover.
His skin is incredibly sensitive to temperature, and whenever he uses his Quirk too much he burns more and more of it. But due to the large amount of his body that’s burnt and scarred, a lot of his sweat glands don’t work properly, and this can overheat him even more. He constantly has to be careful about his internal temperature and often carries a thermos of something cold to help himself cool down. He needs to take colder showers otherwise his wounds get aggravated. It just soaks up the moisture and he’s more prone to bleeds.
As I’ve hc’ed before, Dabi needs eyedrops. Due to his tearducts being damaged enough so that he can’t cry tears (as he’s stated himself), much like Aizawa, his eyes get dry and irritated way too easily. He constantly has to be reapplying eyedrops to keep his eyes moist and try to heal some of the damage already done. If he goes for too long without them, he’s prone to bleeding, and witnessing this man literally cry blood is viscerally disturbing.
His staples can get easily irritated and due to his fire they stay hot for longer. If he’s not careful when dealing with them, he’s liable to get burnt worse just from the metal. If he’s too rough, they will start bleeding and he’ll have to disinfect his wounds yet again.
The purple parts of his body? Third-degree burns. He can’t feel a damn thing. Doesn’t mean he can’t rip and tear, but he’s likely not gonna feel it. He’s had to throw away a lot of shirts because the bloodstains were just too hard to get out.
Prefers drinking things to eating things whenever his jaw is sore from his wounds. While he was first healing as a teenager, all he did was drink things until he could reliably work his jaw again. Cold brew and ice-blended coffees are his drink of choice.
Gets sick really easily. Ever since he was a young child, he’s been more susceptible to ailments like the flu and needs to constantly keep up his health. His body is weaker than it should be, and that frustrates him a lot. As he’s stated in canon himself, he can be easily motion-sick.
19 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
d516973
Untitled
sissy2useandabuse
Pinky's Place
whatsupitsanthony
Its Really Brody Though...
broken-spirit101
broken_Spirit101
mgiindia
MGI-India