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wkemeup · 4 years

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Honey and Chamomile

summary: Four cups of tea, four distinct moments in time, and each pulls you in closer beyond the walls surrounding Bucky’s heart pairing: bucky x reader word count: 5.8k warnings: lots of fluff, but also nightmares, and lots of tea because im a fanatic a/n: this was written for @coffee-with-bucky‘s 2k writing challenge and it’s a thousand years late, but I hope you enjoy it! My prompt was 🌟 tea 🌟

It starts late in the evening as the thunder rolls in, low breaks amongst the clouds in the distance, a flicker of lightening touching the night sky and illuminating the shadows cast by the city. Painted raindrops slide against on the windowsill, racing one another to the edge of the pane. It’s soothing as you close your eyes and lose yourself in the soft tap-tap-tap to the walls of the tower and the hums of thunder miles beyond the city. It’s better than the silence, anyway.

The whistle of a kettle sings by the stove and it pulls you gently from your stance at the window. Mug in hand, you grab a bag of peppermint tea from the small box to the right of the kettle; paintings of sunsets and starry nights along the wooden frame. You close the lid and tug the string of the bag so it lays over the lip of the mug. Hot water finds its home at the center and the air around you fills of candy canes and memories of nights wrapped in blankets by the fireplace.

You hear footsteps behind you as you set the kettle back on the stovetop, careful of the bright red rings of the burner, and slowly wrap your hands around the mug. There’s a shuffle at the edge of the kitchen as the warmth of the mug touches your palms, soothes right up into your arms, the liquid too hot to drink but the steam of it is comforting against your cheeks. Crisp and cool amongst burning heat.

“Didn’t think you were home,” you say quietly, back turned to the figure who takes in a sharp breath in response.

The team was out on a mission, one Cap insisted you stay clear of after your near fatal gunshot wound in Bratislava last month. You fought it tooth and nail, but what Cap says goes, and well, you didn’t.

“Steve says I need more time,” Bucky replies, voice barely a whisper and you can practically picture the way he digs his hands into the pockets of his plaid pajama pants, scrunching at the fabric from the inside as a way to ground himself.

“Steve’s a little overprotective, don’t you think?” you chuckle lightly, turning from the window where the raindrops cast down along the glass in full, sweeping lines to find Bucky standing just beyond the plane of the kitchen. Just close enough to make his presence known, far enough to escape. Always one foot in, one foot at the exit. Self-preservation is a hell of a drug to kick.

“He’s right, though. Hard to trust a teammate who doesn’t trust his own mind,” Bucky mumbles slowly, scratching at the nape of his neck.

The shine of silver catches your eye under the dim overhead lighting and he notices it almost instantly, the way your gaze draws to solid metal, how you study the lines and bolts in his joints, and he drops his arm. He holds it then behind his back, tries to play it off casually, but you see how he hides it from view, like he’s been caught with something he shouldn’t have. A weapon.

You sigh, setting the mug down on the counter, the whisper of peppermint on your lips. He sells himself short, gets locked up in the mindset of what Hydra conditioned him to be, struggles to come back to himself and trust that he can control his own mind again. You know how often he wonders when he’ll lose it again, when he’ll break to someone else’s will and be forced to commit terrible acts again. It’s never a matter of ‘if’, but ‘when.’

He wonders when he’ll hurt Steve, or Sam, or Nat, or you. He wonders when the final straw will break and the floor will be ripped out from under him, when he’ll take a life he can’t give back. He wonders when enough will be enough and you’ll decide he’s not worth the trouble.

“I trust you,” you say, and you do mean it, but Bucky only shrugs, eyes downcast.

He shuffles he feet again. It’s uncomfortable for him to hear, you realize. It's foreign in his body and he barely recognizes the kindness in it when he feels it, the certainty of it, because it has been so long since he knew anything but cruelty and manipulation.

So, you pull a second mug from the cabinet; the one behind the Captain America logo painted on the side and Tony’s Disney themed mug that reads ‘Greatest Place on Earth 2003’ down the handle. You grab onto the edge of the mug tucked far into the back; light blue in color, soft undertones along the bottom. It’s painted like the waves of the ocean. It reminds you of him.

Bucky doesn’t say anything as you grab a second teabag from your wooden box and drop it in the mug, or as you fill the cup with the steaming water. You set it at the edge of the counter, eyeing him carefully as he remains still in his stance. One foot in, one foot at the exit.

“There’s sugar and milk if you want some,” you offer but Bucky shakes his head.

“No, no, this is just fine,” he says, voice a little uneven, almost as if he’s surprised by the gesture.

He steps forward, out of the shadows of the hallway and lets the soft lights of the lamp at the couch’s end touch his skin. They illuminate over messy hair, a few strands out of place, creases in his cheeks from pillow cases, the way he sways side to side in his stance. Nervous energy for a man with precision behind a barrel unlike anyone you’d ever seen.

He takes the mug, testing the heat of the surface, before he pulls it between his hands. You busy yourself with your own tea, taking a sip as you watch him bring it the mug to his lips. He pauses, smelling the hot water and you’re almost certain you see his cheek twitch. Ever so slightly, gone in an instant, but a remnant of a smile remains.

“I’ll be at the gym by nine tomorrow morning if you want to join me,” you say as you head towards the hallway. “I’ve seen your left hook and I could use some help on my stance.”

Bucky swallows back scalding hot tea like it’s nothing, his shoulders pushing up by his ears, startled by your request and it makes you laugh a bit. He chokes out a short nod, flustered perhaps judging by the pink in his cheeks.

You smile back at him, pausing at the doorframe to look at him one last time as he leans against the kitchen sink.

The smell of peppermint lingers in your wake.

***

You sit on the couch in the living room with your feet kicked up on the ottoman, book resting in your lap and a warm cup of tea nestled in your right hand. Its leans onto your chest as the steam of a sweet, woody scent of green tea filters through the air.

Fresh off of a month-long surveillance mission in Chechnya, your body is sore from long nights in cramped cars and your mind a little disengaged from hours staring out at a single window through the short end of binoculars.

Natasha sits quietly at the kitchen table behind you, flipping through the files spread out amongst the surface in organized chaos. The soft hum of a playlist on the overhead speakers drown out the grunts of Steve and Sam sparring down the hall in the training room.

You smile as you hear the shuffle of footsteps at the edge of the room, feet dragging purposefully along the tile. You don’t have to look up to know who is it, but you do wonder when Bucky decided to start dragging his feet to alert you to his presence.

He used to be impossibly quiet in his steps, like he was hunting prey even with his defenses down as much as he would allow them. He's snuck up on you a few times before without meaning to, his voice in greeting startling you enough to drop a mug of scalding tea from your hands and onto your exposed thighs and the tile below. If you think hard enough about it, you’d realize it was that moment, as he scrambled to dry your skin of the hot water, frantic apologies under his breath, as he knelt into the broken shards of your mug, that his steps became louder when he approached.

He hasn’t been able to sneak up on you since.

“Hey,” he says quietly from the edge of the room.

You smile to yourself, eyes still on the lines of the novel though you haven’t looked up at him yet. “Hey.”

“Smells good.”

You nod, taking in a heavy whiff of the steeping tea. “Wanna try?”

Bucky sits down on the couch beside you, a full cushion as a barrier between, but you don’t mind. He’s slow to warm up, cautious with even the people he trusts most, and you have no interest in pushing him beyond his boundaries. He sits rigid on the couch, stiff, though you can tell he’s trying to relax. He's fighting with his muscles and arguing with his mind.

“Here,” you offer, extending the mug to him.

He stares at you, blue eyes flickering from the tea and back to your face suspiciously.

“I haven’t poisoned it, Bucky,” you tease, pulling it back to your lips and taking a sip in proof. You sigh as it passed down your chest, warming you from the inside. It doesn’t slip your notice that Bucky’s eyes linger on your lips long after you’ve extended the mug back to him.

“If it’s a germ thing, I can make you a fresh cup,” you offer, laughing a bit under your breath.

“No, uh, thank you,” Bucky musters out and slowly takes the mug from your hands.

You nod and quickly return to your book, though you keep an eye on him in the reflection of the television screen. He studies the mug for a moment, looking over the slightly uneven edges of the ceramic, the speckles of golden flakes mixed amongst the brush strokes.

“Did you make this?”

“Steeped it myself,” you chuckle. “Strenuous work.”

Bucky laughs at that, though it’s muffled a bit, restricted, but it’s still there, still light and airy and incredibly beautiful.

“The mug,” he clarifies as he holds it up. “Did you make the mug?”

“Hey, even an Avenger need a hobby, right?” you shrug, albeit a little embarrassed. The walls of the mug are uneven, the painting done under dim lighting after hours as the little ceramics shop would have been swarmed with fans if not for the kindness of the owner who let you stay late into the evening. “I know it’s not very good--”

“I like it.”

Bucky smiles softly as he nods at you, examining the mug further. He traces over the handle that’s slightly too small for his grip, the edges that sway up and down like waves, the dot of red paint at the bottom that accidentally made its way onto the surface.

He takes a sip and you watch as his whole body seems to sigh in response. Muscles easing, tension leaving him. It’s a respite.

When he hands the mug back to you, you expect him to leave. He doesn’t. Instead, he stays quietly with you, sitting contently as he picks up a newspaper from the end table and you resume your place in your book. Perfectly quiet. Comfortable.

***

“Will you just take the medicine... please?”

“I’m an Avenger, Bucky, I can fight off the common cold.”

“You can barely breathe on your own. I might call for an ambulance. It's starting to look dire. Life or death kind of situation.”

“Oh, shut up,” you laugh, swatting his hands away as you quickly move to cover your mouth as another coughing fit takes over. It burns deep into your lungs, aches hard in your chest, makes it quite hard to catch your breath again, but you feel a soft touch on your back; gentle, soothing circles of a flat hand pressed to your spine, and you manage to find air again.

You wipe your lips as he pulls back. “Thanks.”

“It’s nothing,” he says with a soft smile, waving you off.

“I could get you sick. You should’ve had me quarantined like everyone else.”

“Aren’t you dramatic today?” he chuckles, shaking his head. “I can't get sick with this serum running in my veins, you know that. Besides, no one’s quarantining you. They’re just--”

“--avoiding me like the plague?”

Bucky grimaces. “Yeah, maybe.”

You smile tiredly at him, heat a little fuzzy, vision a little tunneled, but you enjoy the way he smiles back at you. He has such a nice smile, pretty, to the point where it’s almost unfair. It curves up into his cheeks, creating lines around and under his eyes, bright and cheery and you almost forget he’s also a ghost story of an assassin with the sharpshooting range more precise than a drone.

Before you can realize what you’re doing, under the haze of a clouded mind, your hand reaches out and touches his cheek. He freezes under your touch, surprised more than anything else, and he watches with wide eyes as you dreamily trace the lines in his face, the curve of his jaw and the tip of his nose. Your head feels a little fuzzy and your eye lids flutter heavily, just as Bucky begins to smile again.

“Take the meds, doll,” Bucky asks again sweetly. He slowly pries your hand from his face and sets two red pills in your left hand, a glass of water in your right. He guides your hand with the medication up towards your mouth. “Please? I miss my training partner. Can’t spare with someone who’s half dead in the living room from a stuffy nose and I refuse to go back to Wilson.”

“Okay, okay,” you grumble playfully, quickly swallowing the medication and chasing it with the water.

The couch dips slightly as Bucky gets up, jogging over to the kitchen. The whistle of the kettle is muffled in your ears, like it’s distant and behind several walls and closed doors. You stretch your jaw, trying to pop away the barrier, but it’s of no use.

You watch silently as Bucky scrambles around the kitchen, a little flustered for his frame, and you can’t help the smile that pushes at your cheeks.

“Top right,” you tell him, pointing to the cabinet over his shoulder.

He sighs, shakes his head, and sure enough, the mugs are in the cabinet on his right. He pulls down two from the shelf. For you, the one with the tiny cartoon dinosaur on the front dressed in an Iron Man suit, and for himself, he grabs the one you made months prior, with the uneven edges and the red paint stain on the side.

Then, he starts in search of the wooden box and you give him a minute of pulling open every drawer he can find until you tell him, “behind the bread bin on the counter.”

"Oh, of course. Makes perfect sense,” Bucky teases and flips through the packets inside.

He purses his lips, narrowing his eyes, clearly in search of something specific. His whole face lights up as he grabs what he’s in search of and quickly rips open the packets and sets them inside the mugs. He pours the hot water and carefully blows on the surface of the mugs, the steam pushing out in front of him as he sighs.

“Careful, it’s hot,” he says as he makes his way back to you, setting the mug on the arm rest of the couch to give you enough leverage to grab the handle. You smile up at him appreciatively as he takes his seat next to you.

Bringing the mug to your lips, you take in a deep breath – or, as much as you able to give the swarm of congestion in your head.

Spiced and warm. Peppery sharp. Lemon and ginger.

“Bucky Barnes, did you use google for me?”

He chuckles nervously as his hand rakes through his hair, pushing it from his eyes only for it to fall back to place again. “It, uh, it said ginger tea is supposed to be good for you when you’re sick, so I thought, uh, it thought it would help.”

You struggle to contain your grin, hiding it behind the mug as you take a sip. You can already feel your sinuses beginning to clear.

“That’s very sweet of you. Thanks, Buck.”

He nods a little sheepishly, fluster burning warm in his cheeks, but he meets your eyes; the perfect wave of blues and greys, a gentle ocean amongst a sweeping current.

***

When you wake with a harsh gasp in your throat, a sharp yank of reality away from your dreams, the piercing sound of screams echoing down the hall, it’s not the first time.

You know the routine well by now, know that Steve will meet you in the hallway by Bucky's door where the screams only seem to get louder with every passing second and he’ll ask you gently to go back to your room, remind you that he’s got this and Bucky will be alright. He always is, Steve tells you, but it doesn’t lessen the heartbreak of hearing the cracks in Bucky’s voice, the sudden whimpers, the shattering silence that follows as he wakes.

The two of you will skirt around things in the morning as you always do. Bucky will stumble out of his room with dark circles under his eyes, a drag in his feet, shoulders slumped as he slides into a chair by the kitchen. He’ll sit silently as you pour him an herbal tea from your box, never something with caffeine because he’s got enough energy in his veins as they come out in tremors in his hand and bouncing in his knee. Sometimes you give him raspberry, sometimes apple caramel, sometimes peach, and he’ll nod without looking at you, pull the mug close to his face and hold the steam to his lips until it goes cold.

Those mornings frighten you because it takes him back to Bucky you knew in the beginning, before he’d learned to smile and laugh again, before he became a permanent fixture in your life, one you were unwilling to live without.

So as your feet carry you down the hall, skirting around the corner and chasing after the screams, you realize Steve won’t be there waiting. He’s out on a mission with Sam in Ukraine for the next few days. There’s no one else on this floor. It’s just you.

You, Bucky, and the monsters in his dreams.

You freeze at the edge of his door, hand gripped tight to the handle, but you can’t move.

You’re made of marble and stone because even though you and Bucky had come miles since he first came to the tower, you’ve never seen him like this; scared, begging to invisible forces, voice breaking, crying. You haven’t seen him at his lowest and you don’t know if he’ll resent you opening this door, if he’ll be angry with you for breaking that wall of trust, for intruding on something so vulnerable he doesn’t share with anyone but Steve.

But when a scream leaves his lips again, one so broken and distorted it jars itself straight through to your heart like the serrated edge of a blade, you shove your way inside, pushing consequences to the morning.

Bucky lays amongst a mess of sheets, damp with sweat as his hands curl into the fabric, teeth gritted, chest heavy with labored breaths. His eyes are closed shut, painfully so, and you try to ignore the drip of sweat down his exposed chest, how it falls along the lines of his muscles, because he’s thrashing in his sleep like something is holding him down, chocking him, and there’s tears in your eyes as you rush forward.

“Bucky,” you call far too gently. “Bucky, wake up.”

You don’t know what to do. Steve is the one who usually wakes him and you don’t have the kind of strength he does. You don’t know what laying a hand to Bucky’s shoulder will do, if the touch will ground him or shock him to a dream like state, pull him from his nightmares or throw him back to the clutches of the soldier.

But you have to try.

You can’t listen to him beg through bated breaths, “stop, stop please-- don’t! Please, someone help--”

“I’ve got you,” you say a little louder. “You’re okay, Buck. You’re not alone. You’re safe, alright? But you’ve gotta wake up now. Please, Bucky. Wake up.”

You set a hand on his forearm and he jolts up in an instant. You stumble back a few paces in shock, heart beating like thunder in your chest as you hit the sharp edge of his dress to your spine. Hands clutched tight to your chest, afraid you might have to fight him to bring him back, but Bucky remains still. He’s panting, chest heaving as hair falls down into his eyes.

You decide to test the waters.

“Bucky?”

He flinches violently, a sharp intake of breath, though he doesn’t turn to look at you. His hands dig deeper into the sheets in search of a respite he will not find and it nearly breaks your heart in two.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, voice rough and used. He can’t bear to look at you. “I thought it was under control. I—I told Steve it was okay for him to go. You shouldn’t-- You shouldn’t have to--”

“Do you want some tea?”

The words tumble out faster than you can process them. It feels like the wrong thing to say, especially with that look on his face, the guilt and shame seeping through beautifully soft and kind features, but you know his heart is racing a hundred miles a minute. Judging by the tension in his back, he’s stiff as a board, too.

You step forward as he slowly turns to look at you. There's confusion mixed in with the undeserving shame, but it’s a start at least, you think. A couple cautious more steps closer to the bed and you’re standing right next to him, hovering above him as he bends his legs and wipes his brow of sweat with the edge of the sheet.

“It usually helps me calm down at night,” you offer slowly, as gently as you can manage. “I, uh, I get nightmares, too, sometimes. Not quite as loud as yours but...”

Bucky nods in understanding. He’s heard you pacing in your room in the dead of night when sleep evades him as it often does. He’s seen when you trudge out from your room in the early hours of the morning with the kind of look in your eye that reminds him too much of himself.

“It’ll only take a second,” you say, nodding to yourself as you try to calculate the time it would take to boil the water and ready the mugs. “I’ll be right back.”

You move to take a step back but there’s a tug on your wrist. You pause, glancing down to find Bucky’s hand circling at your arm, holding you steady, though his stare remains glued to the sheets.

“Don’t go.”

It comes out in a whimper, a low break in his voice, and your heart plummets down to your stomach.

“I’ll come right back. I promise,” you ease him, stepping closer again, though you notice he doesn’t release your hand. It’s not painful, but it’s firm. He’s holding on for dear life.

“Please,” he whispers and this time, as he looks up with you, you’re met with tears in the blue of his eyes. It cracks your resolve in an instant.

“Okay. Will you come with me?”

Bucky swallows thickly, holding your gaze for a moment before he eventually nods. The sheets are thrown from his legs and you realize he sleeps only in his boxers. The realization seems to hit him just as quick.

“S-sorry,” he mumbles, “just, um, just let me--”

You step back as he releases your hand and slowly stands at the edge of the bed. He grabs his pajama pants from the floor and quickly step into them with a heated blush on his cheeks. It makes you painfully aware of the mess of an old, ratted t-shirt and shorts you sleep in, though you push it aside quickly because Bucky’s eyes have fallen to the ground and you don’t want him to retreat within himself. Not again.

“Come on.”

You extend your hand for him, waiting patiently as he stares at it for a moment. It’s an intimate gesture, more contact than you’ve had with him, but you know despite his aversion to touch, he craves it unlike anything else. He’s vulnerable right now and you hope he’ll take the anchor as you throw it to him.

When his hand does mold to yours, it fits perfectly, exactly where he’s supposed to be and you can’t help but wonder if he’ll ever let you do this again. You squeeze his hand softly as he finds an even pace at your side and you lead him to the kitchen.

He lets go of your hand to give you enough space to prepare the water, but he’s never far from reach. When you glance back at him, you find a strange mixture of fear and something you can't quite place in his eyes. It isn’t until you catch him surveying the room, the adjoining hallways, the flinches at the slightest settling of the tower, that you realize he’s on guard. It’s like he’s protecting you.

“Take a seat, Buck,” you ask of him gently, nodding to the chair at the kitchen table. “Try and relax for me. Deep breaths, okay?”

He follows your gaze, hesitantly glancing over the area, always on alert, before he turns back to you. There’s a resistance in his movement as he takes his first steps away from you, but he holds your gaze, holds the softness of your smile as long as he can, while he slumps down into the chair. It’s too far away from you, but he manages.

The kettle boils quickly and you slip two bags of tea into the mugs. Hot water in next, you drizzle an ounce of thick amber on top, swirling it around with the heal of a spoon. The smell of earthy apples and sweet nectar.

Honey and chamomile.

When you make your way over to the table to join him, Bucky is slouched down in his seat, dark circles heavy under his eyes, though he forces out a strained smile as you slide in next to him. You drag a chair up as close to his as you can, your shoulders bumping somewhat as you set the mug in front of him.

“Drink,” you tell him. “It will help you fall back asleep.”

“I can’t go back to sleep after that. I never do after... you know,” he mumbles, shaking his head, though he does take in a heavy inhale of the sweet aroma of steam.

“You’re telling me my teas won’t cure all of life’s problems?” you scoff playfully. “Blasphemy.”

It steals a smile from his lips, curving up ever so slightly into his cheeks though you can see his body fighting against it. You set a hand on his forearm, one that comes in comfort by stark contrast of the way he used to flinch out of your touch. With a slight squeeze, you draw his attention back to you, the blue of his eyes overcast into deep navy, lids falling heavy with sleep despite the race of his heart.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” you say slowly. “You don’t have to say a thing. Just let me help you, alright? Drink the tea, Bucky. I’m not going anywhere until you do.”

He nods, a slight ghost of a laugh in his exhale. “Okay.”

You smile triumphantly as you pull your own mug to your hands, warmth spreading into your palms and you take a sip. It stings on your tongue a bit, too hot, but it feels nice as it travels down into your chest, warms you from the inside out.

The two of you sit in silence for a while, the only sounds between you coming from the muffled purr of the furnace and the contented sighs as the tea touches your lips. Bucky’s shoulders start to relax as he his mug nears empty, his body swaying in his seat and you can practically see the exhaustion nestled in his bones.

You swig back the last sip in your own mug and set it on the table, a task you’ll deal with in the morning as you slowly push Bucky’s mug out of his reach.

“Come on, Buck. Let’s get you back to bed.”

He comes easily as you offer your hand, guiding him away from the sanctuary of the kitchen and back to the room that holds his monsters. The grip on your hand tightens with every step and you rub your free hand down his forearm soothingly, trying to pull the tension away. You can feel the anxiety rushing through his veins, the panic reemerging back to the surface as you cross the threshold into his room.

You know he won’t ask. He won’t dare because he can so often get wrapped up in his own mind, the chamber of burden and isolation, of guilt and shame, and he often forgets how much of yourself you’re willing to give to him.

So, you don’t say a word as you lead him slowly to the bed, releasing his hand as he slides back under the covers. His body is rigid as ice and you can feel his eyes on you, trying to memorize your face for when the darkness takes over and he prepares for you to leave.

It surprises him when your hand slips over his forehead, brushes up into his hair, and you lean down to kiss his temple. The gasp that it pulls from him is muffled, impossibly sweet, and you linger there a moment longer before you pull away.

Bucky stays silent though you can see the question burning behind the blue of his eyes.

Stay. Stay. Stay.

There isn’t an ounce of hesitancy as you slowly make your way around to the other side of the bed and pull back the covers. The mattress is firmer on this side in its lack of use as your knee dips onto the surface. Bucky is watching you cautiously, stunned, but his muscles start to relax as you settle in next to him.

“This okay?” you ask, just to be sure.

He nods quickly. “Y-yes.”

“Try to get some sleep, alright? I’ll be right here.”

He doesn't say anything, but there’s relief slipping through the tension in his body, pushing out the stones with the gentle flow of a calming stream. You smile at him as you turn onto your side, one hand gently resting on his shoulder, grounding him to the earth, to you.

You close your eyes and hope that he will feel safe enough to follow.

***

“Y/n?”

“Yeah?” Your voice is muffled by the pillow and you turn to find stars still littering the night sky. You don’t know how much time has passed, how long he’s been lying there in the prolonged silence, churning thoughts racing through his mind, so you turn onto your stomach, prop yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him.

“You wanna go to the tea shop in Brooklyn with me tomorrow?”

You narrow your eyes, confused why he’s asking you near – you check the clock by his bedside – three in the morning. His stare is trained up at the ceiling for a moment before he turns to look at you, ocean blue littered with nerves, a new kind of vulnerability you haven’t seen in him before.

“Of course, Buck. Whatever you--”

“As a date, I mean.”

It catches you off guard, wakes you quickly. Tongue tied and throat dry.

Bucky swallows nervously and you can tell that he’s been working himself up to asking you in the hour or so that he’s been lying here awake as you curled up next to him. There are dozens of excuses brewing in the back of his mind, ways to play this off as a joke or anything but what he wants it to be in a way to preserve the friendship between you, but before he can start the waterfall of backtracking, a smile curves up along your lips.

“That sounds really nice.”

He smiles back at you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Okay, good.” He nods to himself, settling back into the mattress with the widest grin you’d seen on him in ages. It wrinkles up into his eyes, brightens across his face bright and cheery, sits in startling contrast to the way you’d found him just hours before. You like seeing him this happy. You like being the cause of it even more.

“Will you go to sleep now?” you tease him, nudging at his shoulder enough to pull a laugh from his chest.

“Yeah, I can do that.”

“Good. Don’t want you half asleep on our date.” It twists pleasantly in your stomach as you say it, butterflies and goosebumps and you bite back the smile pushing high up into your cheeks.

“Can’t have that,” he replies, chuckling to himself and it doesn’t slip your notice how his smile seems to widen as you say the word, too. Date.

You slide back down onto the mattress, trying to find your comfortable position again when Bucky extends his arm. There’s a short pause as he waits, staring up at the ceiling, and you realize what he’s offering. Without a second thought, like you’re coming home, you scoot your body closer to him, rest your head on his shoulder as his arm curls around your back, holding you securely against him.

The soft thumping of his heart beats gently under your ear, your hand resting against his ribs, tracing lines that leave shivers in their wake. He traces patterns onto your back, his eyes slowly fluttering shut until the movement stops and he falls into the warm embrace of sleep.

You sigh, content in his even breaths, the slow pace of his heart, the muffles snores. Hugging him close, holding him in your arms where he’s always belonged. You fall asleep wrapped in the scent of honey and chamomile.

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #lyn2k

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rosaetae · 4 years

Text

spellbound to be | one

☇ “I don’t need to drink your blood to have my lips on your neck.”

[this is a part of tale of the purebloods] — prologue / one / two

➣ pairing: jungkook x reader

➣ genre: vampire!jungkook, fanatasy!au, soulmate!au, angst

➣ word count: 12.3k

➣ rating: pg-13

➣ synopsis: jeon jungkook is the cursed pureblood to have fallen in deep love with someone who was not his Complement. having to have fallen hard, he has to compensate with a life full of heartbreak and pain— one of which a burden weighs heavily on his shoulders. so much so, he hires a witch one day to reverse his inevitable Complement tie.

Bloodshed.

That is what derives from Witch Trial Week at Ember Academy— overly exaggerating, of course. A witch-made week established decades ago, the equivalence to Hell Week in the mundane world, but something your friend, Piper likes to call "Heaven Week" for her own musings.

Ember Academy's witches spend the week hexing, jinxing, cursing each other in the light of every October 31st, Halloween. There's no real motive behind it. Before, whoever was the last witch standing would be given special treatment, but in modern day, it was used as a tactic for the professors to oversee who would be a powerful witch, for some it was a mechanism to either get revenge or to let out one's anger. For you, it was always fun.

To your misfortune, you were at the short end of the stick, being clever and witty enough to be made part of Witch Trial Week, one of the notable witches that some would target, but unlike the rest of Ember Academy, you didn't grow up with the others. They all knew each other the day you stepped into the academy, looking and talking about you as if you were anything but one of them.

And it was true, you weren't fully one of them.

Growing up, you lived in the mundane world, surrounded by people who upheld no special abilities as those in the Upper World. Surely, you were no stranger to the realm of where your mother comes from, you coming home every day from primary school to your father, a human, and your mother, a full-fledged witch who gave up her immortality and her life in the Upper World for the sake of her Complement. You'd spend the day learning simple arithmetic, and after school, you'd come home to your mother teaching you simple, harmless charms.

It was a normal life growing up for you, your upbringing never straying too far from your roots. On some nights, your father put you to bed by telling you bedtime stories, on other nights, your mother would sing a lullaby of broken latin. You were convinced for awhile that it was your mother's soothing voice, but at a certain age when she stopped singing you to sleep, she exposed that it was a siren's song she learned from a friend in her hometown.

As a child, you'd constantly ask about the Upper World, having constant dreams about another worldly realm and a recurring figure holding their hand out for you. And the minute your finger grazes theirs, you awake. Not on your bed made of sea water and a ceiling made of glass, but in your normal New York apartment that had some crooked crevices on the ceiling, on your springy mattress with beige linen sheets. Although, despite your continuous desire to visit your mother's home world, your mother and father were very against world hopping.

However, due to your father's passing when you turned 14, there was no reason as to why your mother should keep you in the mundane world any longer if you didn't want to stay, and brought you to the Upper World of where your dreams of it had come to reality.

Entering Ember Academy, you could not fathom why your mother was so strict of you convincing yourself and everyone else around you that you are a full-fledged witch. And then you learn during one of the history classes that a hybrid witch that shares two worlds forbidden from each other was subjected to execution if entered the soil of the Upper World. You never understood why such a thing as your existence had such dire consequences, but that just made you more aware of your lies to everyone in the Upper World.

Your mother raised you believing that love shouldn't be forbidden, no matter the circumstances, even if that meant two different worlds. The mundane world was like that too. Star-crossed lovers consisting of Romeo and Juliet, Jack and Rose, Joel and Clementine, your own parents— they're all the epitome of what your mother likes to gush on and on about. And in hindsight, you are the product of it.

Due to your inability to grow up with the other witches, you had almost the entire academy against you for the past few years, especially on Witch Trial Week, only for this year to completely change that.

In the mundane world, sports like kickboxing was one of your favorites, and while there was no such thing as kickboxing in the Upper World, your main characteristic was that you like to play rough. A tug a war, a game of chess— this year, you were not holding back.

"Don't be so quick to be disappointed, Piper."

Piper, one of your only purely good friends at Ember Academy, watches you grind up dried lavender buds in a hard stone mortar and pestle, making a few grinds before running an index finger along an old page of your mother's book you took without her permission. She plops down onto her seat in front of you, her dark purple hair bouncing on her shoulders as she taps on her star glitters on her face. "It's Witch Trial Week, ___. That means I have to witch-proof all of my belongings because Rina and her damn fritter friends are going to pull a last year's move."

"Oh, come on. It wasn't that bad," you state, pouring the crushed up lavender into a glass bottle that had frog mucus and torn rose petals sitting inside about one fourth of the way. Piper doesn't question what you were up to, only continuing to voice out her frustrations.

"They cursed my assignments! You know how many extra credit assignments I had to do? 200 points gone because of this bloody witch-made week!"

Smirking, you peer up at her before standing up from your seat to grab a large jar of purple dragon drool on a shelf right behind you, before sitting back down, "calm down, I have plotted the perfect revenge."

"What?" Piper raises an eyebrow, her facial expression looking concerned. "Is that dragon drool?"

Opening up the jar, Piper makes a sour face when the aroma of a putrid, green whiff draws out of the jar, you having to stifle in a cough at the stench that made no warning traveling up your sinuses. Bringing your index finger and thumb to pinch your nose, you grab the small wooden serving spoon attached to the side of it and put two heeping spoonfuls of the dragon drool into your concoction before swiftly shutting the jar and finally being able to breathe again.

Piper lets out an exhale she's been holding in, staring at you with wide eyes, waiting for an answer that you were sort of stalling as you rip up a piece of paper. "I borrowed my mother's infamous dark magic book."

She gulps at the sound of that. "Dark magic?"

"Calm down, it's not that bad," you roll your eyes at her fear of using an area of magic that you were technically not supposed to touch upon— but you couldn't help it. It's dark magic, it's bound to be used somehow. "Just going to tease around with Rina's emotions a bit. We all know she's been trying to hit on Namjoon despite her Complement is Doyeon. I'm making a simple love potion for Namjoon to fall in love with Rina— only for the week though. She'll be a bit heartbroken at the end, but hey, she stained my uniform with troll's blood last year."

Jung Rina, daughter of Ember Academy's high priestess, who also adapts an attitude problem. She likes to taunt other witches from afar because of the power she gains from being the high priestess's daughter, cursing and jinxing others and acting as if it wasn't her— she gets away with it anyways. Unsure why, even when you do mind your own business, it's as if Rina has something against you— you confirmed this when even after Witch Trial Week, she wouldn't stop jinxing you.

Last year, she took your uniform while you were showering after with a game of shuntbumps, only to wear a uniform stained with a bright yellow color leaving a horrendous, pungent smell of troll's blood. It was one of the most talked about trick for the year, everyone bringing up the fact that Ms. Jung Rina was able to get her hands on troll's blood and use you as a target. A laughing stock, the black sheep— you've endured it for long enough.

"You're using dark magic! On the high priestess's daughter! That's—"

"Risky? I could care less." You finish for her, shrugging. You write down the template for the love spell that was written in high level latin, writing it carefully letter by letter. As your quill inks the paper, you look at a sweating Piper momentarily. "Stop worrying! If anything, you're guilty by association."

Piper places her hands over eyes and sighs. "I did not see anything."

"No, you didn't," you muse along with her as you place your quill back into its holder and roll up the paper into a thin tube, tapping it into the bottle that finishes up the spell. You watch as the dragon's drool acidifies the paper, already acidifying the rose petals, ground lavender buds, and frog's mucus prior, all in all creating a lilac hue in the glass bottle. "See? It's done. Now I just need to pour this into his cup of juniper latte when we go to potions."

"Huh," Piper says aloud. "That's sneaky."

Clicking your tongue at her, you slam the dark magic book closed, quickly shoving it into your tote bag while you plug the glass bottle with a cork, gently placing it along with the magic book.

"May the games begin," you whisper audibly only for Piper to let out another sigh of disappointment, but also in anticipation.

Everything was going smoothly. Going to class was like a mission, having to make sure that you don't mindlessly enter a trap, but as you sit down in your seat, in the sight of Professor Young of where safe base was, you just had to get through this class without being suspicious. Despite all else, everything was smooth sailing. Even pouring the potion into Namjoon's juniper latte when he wasn't paying attention was easy. And you noticed that no one has caught you— yet.

In a whirl of lingering moments, the grace period, you were sat in your seat, reading your potions book when you hear an abrupt sound, you and almost everyone in the class looking up to see Namjoon, his told figure looming over the other students with eyes wide as day.

He makes one audible noise, "Rina," before dashing out of the potion room in a coarse and gawky manner, Professor Young calling after him while the rest of the class took it to their own accord to follow him, already presuming that something only Witch Trial Week can influence. Eventually, all classes grew curious of the commotion that people trickle into the crowd as they follow in a hearty distance from Namjoon's graceless gait.

You pull Piper to the side when you see Namjoon approach his and your target, standing from one of the many columns of the area to get a good look given by the angle you were given. Piper couldn't help but to let out an amused giggle when you both see the moment unfold in front of your eyes.

"Namjoon?" Rina speaks, her cheeks going red when she sees Namjoon on his knees, head down. You almost snort at how her eyes go wide when she finds her biggest crush right in front of her, thinking this was out of his own willingness— Namjoon actually being in love with Rina. "Namjoon, what are you doing?"

"I love you!"

The loud announcement rings and echoes in waves down the hallway, you and Piper already having a hard time stifling your laughter at the confession. Rina gulps before she lets out a scoff in disbelief, a smile creeping on her face as if this was a moment she was expecting. Her cockiness makes you want to gag.

"I love you with all my heart, Rina! I want to stay by your side forever!"

Whispers upon whispers dissipate into the air, one of concern, one of cheer for Rina, and one of straight amusement.

Rina raises her eyebrows, clearing her throat. "Namjoon."

"Please, keep me in your life," Namjoon states, almost like a whimper. In that moment, he peers up at Rina with huge bug eyes, as if he was really begging. The anticipation stabs at you like daggers as Rina continues to stare at him in both awe and confusion by the sudden confession. "Master."

The last word leaves his mouth almost like a mutter, and you were for sure, for a mere second, that you misheard him— everyone did, until you're finding Namjoon leap from his stance into Rina's arms, immediately peppering her with kisses on her cheeks, causing her to stumble backwards. The murmurs amongst the crowd grow, following with a few giggles as Rina is trying to push Namjoon away, trying to hold in her giggles.

"Namjoon," Rina says through fits of giggles as she brings her hands up to his chest, trying to keep some distance between them. "Namjoon, not—"

The words are taken out of her mouth when Namjoon, shamelessly and giddily swipes his entire tongue along her cheek, earning a large gasp from the crowd. It leaves not only you in shock, but as well as Rina who entirely freezes in realization of the contact that was just made. Your mouth hangs open, until you roll your lips inward, trying so very hard not to break into a fit of laughter.

"Wrong spell, you hobworm!" Piper whisper yells, slapping a hand on your arm as you let a snigger out, looking at your friend with amusement, wondering why she wasn't finding this just as funny as you did.

"Hobworm?" You gasp at her insult, your amusement unabashedly shining through.

Piper scowls at you, biting her tongue to prevent from encouraging you further into amusement. "You cast the wrong spell!"

As your smile grows, you shake your head. "No, I swear I didn't. I did everything correctly—"

"Then why on earth is Namjoon under a puppy love spell?"

Glancing your eyes at Rina, you hear whispers among the crowd who watch as she tries to push a puppy in love Namjoon away from her. He whines and whimpers each time she makes the distance greater between them.

"Who did this!" Rina exclaims, trying to push a licking Namjoon away from her. "Who in the heavens thought this was funny? I will be reporting this to my mother and every little squeamish fritter that allowed this to happen— no, Namjoon, bad dog!"

This allows you to snort, all your laughter you were containing bursting out as you couldn't hold it in anymore. However, doing so only allows Rina to make direct eye contact with you, her face twisting in volatile spite, knowing very well that you are the culprit. Widening your eyes, you began to run before your mind processed it.

"___!" Rina screeches from the tops of her lungs, everyone in front of you turning heads to find you, the witch who dared to pull a little stunt against the High Priestess's daughter.

Legs stride step by step, zooming through the halls with adrenaline pumping your veins as the wretched witch was probably right behind you, chasing you down when you hear the sounds of heels, knowing very well that's Rina's 3-inch heeled mules clacking in the distance. Professors peek their head out of their classroom in curiosity, some yelling at you to not run in the halls, however, your eye is set on the prize— the exit.

It was closed, and to save time, you swipe your hand in front of you, a spell recited in your head swinging the door wide open that it hits the walls and causes a loud slamming noise. It was the door that led out to the garden of the academy of where fresh herbs grew, and at this point of your escape plan, you were hoping to hide in the depths of the greenhouse until class ended.

You run down the steps, eyes looking down as your feet land on each step, careful not to miss one or you'd fall down to your doom. And just when you safely made it down the staircase, you are bumped into a wall of rigid flesh and muscle, your immediate reaction to apologize, except the words are taken out of your mouth when you look up and see the face on all pictures and drawings matching to the person who looked just as mesmerizing in person as he is on paper; the one and only—

"Your grace," Jungkook hears you sputter, shutting your eyes and lowering your head to hide your own embarrassment and disappointment in such a quick second. His men behind him step forward, but he raises a hand to halt them in their place. "My sincere apologies—"

"Do you have no mind?" Jungkook hears the secretary who was leading him on a tour around Ember Academy snap, her booming and high-pitched screech at the sheer shame that has been exchanged by this incident.

"I am so incredibly sorry, your grace. I am at fault—"

The king himself is not at all bothered by a simple bump by a young witch, considering that it seemed you were on the run from something. He glances down at you in subtle curiosity, your head bowed before him with your hair braided, as you stand still despite the constant nagging of the secretary scolding you for being so unaware. And something catches his eye.

His eyes focus in on the crystal of pale, fair, ivory that hangs on your neck. It twinkles in his sight with the sunlight just bouncing off of it into his cornea, right before he settles in recognition of where he recalls it. There's a swift movement moments later of where you raise your head just slight, only to lock eyes with him.

How you've grown, he thinks to himself. He remembers how your eyes were that of similar of a doe, and how you stared at him with the same wide eyes when you were little. It scares him how much time has passed and how you stand before him, more matured than before— he wasn't expecting to see you this soon.

The locked gaze lasted briefly before your eyes widen and you bring your head back down.

He manages to let out a sigh, "I suggest you pay attention where you are going in the future."

Jungkook can tell that you were surprised by his response, despite you committing the worst crime by even daring to be this close to the king. Even the secretary was a distance away from him.

"Yes, your grace."

"You may look up," he speaks. The permission makes you hesitate, but swallowing the lump in your throat, you inhale deeply and rise, and when you steadily meet his eyes, immediately, it's as if you could see his past. The pain and sorrow he has been through. It all encompasses into the hallows of his eyes.

"What is your name?" You blink at the question blankly as he awaits your answer, arching an eyebrow when you stay mute. "Well?"

"___," you answer. "My name is ___, your grace."

There's this glint in Jungkook's eye that even he is aware that you notice. It occurs to him that he has not once asked your name before, but somehow he finds it this moment valuable to gain that piece of you. Meanwhile, you hope he does not find any significance to your name, that this incident isn't one to be held against one day.

It's then, he smirks, giving a single nod, etching your name into his brain for he knows he will not forget it.

"Your name will be in my memory, ___," he speaks ominously. Your heart drops in return. "You are dismissed."

six years later.

"Welcome."

The books weighed heavy in your arms, but you ignored the fact that it was nearly slipping out of your grasp as you gripped on the jar of dried magnolia leaves in the other hand, making your way to the small work table just right out into the shop of where you greet the presence inside the shop. Taking one last step to your marked destination, you let out a sigh of relief, your shoulders relaxing as you plop all of the buttery books onto the work table, still keeping the jar of magnolia leaves in your grasp.

"Is Circe here?"

At first, the voice processes in your mind, realizing that you were so engrossed on completing a minor trip without making a fool of yourself and dropping all your books at once that you forget for a mere moment that someone was in the shop. And what makes your whole body freeze like the ice age of modern day was the name you haven't heard in so long— only when your father would let it tumble out of his mouth and him being the last one to ever speak of the name.

The aura shifted within the shop. Not daring to turn around and meet eye to eye with the person who knows your mother's real identity, you keep your back turned away, placing the jar gently onto the table right next to your books, a pinky setting down first before gently setting down the bottom of the jar to relieve the loud sound it would have made.

"Who's asking?"

There's a moment of hesitation, one that you can only take in as sly and mischievous. Silently, you maintain a mantra in your head, one that recites a spell to freeze one's muscles entirely, the silence teeter totter between having to put the spell to use or not. The sound of a step is heard— one that sounds too close for your liking that in a whirlwind, you swiftly twirl around and let the mantra come to life in an instant, "carpe musculus."

And with wide eyes, you realize your mistake immediately when eyes lock with the ones that belong to the sheer ruler of the property you stand on— the king. It wasn't hard to forget them, since the last time you two had a rather unpleasant encounter. His eyebrow quirks up at your spell you casted upon him, his body completely frozen over as he was in the midst of grabbing one of the crystal necklaces hung on display at the register, an arm outstretched, but posture and dignified stature remained.

"An old acquaintance."

"Verto," you mutter, blinking with the same wide eyes as you see him gain control over his muscles again, his hand retracting and meeting his other hand from the behind, his throat clearing at the situation that he assumed— correctly— that you were fearful of. Bringing your head down instinctively, you open your mouth with eyes shut. "Your grace, I apologize—"

"Apology accepted," he cuts you off, making you peer up at his form from the curtains of your draping hair. Slowly, you rise your head, keeping your chin up to match his formal, dignified persona. "I am merely here to see your mother."

Scoffing lightly, you let your lips curl upward, turning around to grab at the jar of dried magnolia leaves from the table. "You must be an old acquaintance to call my mother by her real name," you take note aloud, wandering and maneuvering around the vast shop to the corner near the front of where the jars of special ingredients sit in the cupboards.

"Is Circe not what she goes by?"

You shake your head, opening the jar with one of the keys wrapped around your neck, twisting and turning before the cupboard unraveled a collection started by your mother. "Cora," you correct him. "She went by Cora."

"Very well then. Is Cora present?"

You blink at the question, mindlessly nudging the other jars to make room for your new ingredient you've obtained from the village due to a friendly seller who saved the leaves just for you.

"You just missed her," you announce, placing the jar snugly just between the phoenix feathers and pickled frog tongues. "By three years. She passed away."

"She passed?" The king speaks his question in subtle shock, evidently oblivious to your mother's passing, one that makes you question what connection he had to your mother as you turn around to meet his wide eyes. Politely, he realizes the atmosphere that was created and clears his throat. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"I'm sorry for yours," you try to keep the the spirits high, a teasing smile on your lips. "It seems like whatever reason you came here for was pretty important if the king is in need of my mother's services. And in replacement of my mother's absence, how may I assist you?"

In comparison to the young witch that was so invigorated with competition that you grew blind to your own surroundings, you were not like her to easily cower in front of intimidating figures— including the king— anymore. If she saw you now, she'd probably wonder why you are so nonchalant speaking to the king as you are in the moment, but there is one thing you noticed that allowed you to act the way that you are now.

He came into the shop looking for your mother, seeking for her services. Though he has the power to put you into exile or to chop your head off or to even rip your heart out of your chest, it means nothing when he is obviously wanting a favor.

Jungkook's eyes narrow slightly before he scoffs lightly. "Not quite sure if you can help me."

"I'm not that sure either," you muse. "But I am the next option to my mother's assistance. Or if you have no interest of my assistance, then I believe this shop is not meant for you, your grace."

It wasn't hard to notice that he was having an internal battle the minute you turned the other cheek to resume what you were doing. Shutting the cabinet and locking it, you wander to the back of the room of where the work table was, taking the top book of the stack and dusting it with one of your mini feather dusters.

"What do you know about Complements?"

Freezing your wrist, you take a second to process the question set in the air, your eyebrows furrowing. Setting the duster and the ancient novel down, you twirl around once more to meet the eyes of the distant king, each second becoming more comfortable under his gaze that seemingly brought temptation and fear amongst others.

"Depends. I'm not very interested in the topic enough to know the ins and outs of it. However, I do know how to expose a Compliment tie—"

"What about erasing a Complement tie?"

An eyebrow shoots up on your face, his questions becoming more questionable from your mere curious uprising, but as you let his inquiry sit in your mind, you shrug. "Never been done."

His grace scoffs, allowing the pad of his thumb swipe under his nose before returning to hold his hand from his behind. "That's what your mother said."

"And I'm afraid, to this day, her word remains true," retorting to his attitude, you fold your arms over your chest. "However, I can unknot a Complement tie if needed."

"Your mother has already done that."

"Of course she has," you roll your eyes, realizing that the more you talk to the king of Frawen, the more you realize that you were talking to a wall. "How about this? I will do some digging about it in her archives. She has mentioned before that terminating a Compliment tie is hard. However, I do believe it's not impossible." He stares at you attentively before you placate his energy with a smile, a little light of hope intended. "I will come by your castle once I've retrieved a decent amount of information."

He stays silent, a steady gaze on your eyes that slowly made you more uncomfortable with each passing second, but thank the dark lords that someone enters your shop, the door making a very loud entrance that ruined the staring contest between you two, your eyes averting to the customer who entered the premises.

"Welcome," you announce, strolling from the work table up to the front to sit right behind the register, flickering your eyes towards the king when seeing that he hasn't moved from his spot. "Until then, King Jungkook, I have a customer to attend to."

The customer that saved the awkward tension takes a step into the shop, but with a single glance headed their way from the king, the customer drops their head and mutters an, "I'll wait outside" and flees back into the Upper World sun, the door shutting again. Lips parting, you gape at Jungkook who looks back at you, ignoring that his own presence had made one of your customers scurry off in intimidation.

"When will I hear from you again?"

Scoffing at him, you shake your head at his evident advantage and inhale deeply. "I'll start doing some research tonight, your grace. Expect me in front of your castle in two days. And if you could kindly so, can you tell my customer they may come in on your way out?"

He lets his gaze linger on yours for a second before silently nodding on his way out, his presence exchanged for the customer's. The customer glances at you awkwardly as you count write something on a piece of paper with your quill, as if confused that you were not trembling after just speaking with the king, but going back to your normal day as if the king had never arrived.

"Why, King Jungkook came to visit. Quite sooner than I expected," the amused tone that drips from Circe's tongue when she notices the arrival of none other than the King of Frawen just two weeks after he had gone up and left her abode after the reveal of his dreaded Complement tie.

"Came to greet a happy birthday to her?" The witch doesn't meet his brooding gaze, but gathers bouquets of flowers in her hold.

"No," he flatly states. "I still have a favor to ask of you."

"Ah," Circe nods, balancing the bouquet carefully before tossing her aging hair over her shoulder. "The one about your Complement? You left so quick the last time we spoke."

Jungkook clenches his jaw, an attempt to not forget that his own fear and apprehension after making the forsaken revelation that he had met his Complement so soon; a child— a hybrid, a product against the Upper World law— is his Complement. Curse himself for being so easily affected.

And while the two have known each other for awhile, Circe wastes no time to remind him of inevitable fate, despite her own idea of the past he carries. It weighs on him heavily that even Circe cannot recognize the aura of whom she once knew of.

"Yes," he inhales sharply. "I need you to erase it."

Circe bellows a light chuckle, one that makes his eyebrows raise at the response. "Are you insinuating I kill my daughter?"

Jungkook knows that the witch likes to dig in places to prevent the other party from kicking around the bush. She hates fluff and she hates time being wasted. Only now, giving up her eternal life only makes her that much crabbier about it.

"Do you believe that I'd be daft enough to try to imply such a thing?" He shakes his head, a slight smirk growing on his face. "Murder doesn't sit very well on my shoulders, Circe. You must at least know that much of me."

"Do I? It's been too long."

Jungkook smiles at the grinning witch, "I am insinuating you sever our Complement tie."

The witch in decorative forest green and black, stares at the king who wears a sack-colored cloak that did not do justice hiding his black, feathered doublet that resembled such royalty and wealth. Even with the hood on, it is no mistaking that the man with raven hair and pale, glimmering skin, is the king. She laughs, her finger tapping against the paper wrapped around the bouquet of plum-hued calla lilies. "I'm afraid I can only live up to your favor in part."

"The most powerful witch I know cannot cut a Complement tie?"

She is no stranger to his challenges, but because she has no need to maintain the name of being the infamous witch who wields such immense power no longer (as she knows that name will be given to someone much worthy), she merely shrugs, a smile on her face. "Not even I know how to cut a Complement tie, dearest Jungkook."

"Your lack of knowledge of erasing something as mere as a Complement tie is disconcerting, Circe."

The witch hums in response, before whispering something of broken latin, and with a waver of a her fingers, a string of deep scarlet attaches against Jungkook's chest, one that floats in the air and trails in a ragged line right over Circe's shoulder and through the wooden door of her home as if he were tied to something— to someone.

The unveiling of the string causes Jungkook's breath to be caught in his throat, a pinch of nothing like before right against his chest of where the string is attached to.

"I see that, despite your best efforts, you could not stray away from her. And you want to know why?" Circe turns over her shoulder, before pointing at the single evident knot made along the string. "This knot was formed when she touched you and so long as it is there, you will live in constant yearning to see her and to be with her. Tell me, how many times have you had to prevent yourself from coming here until it became too unbearable?"

"Can you reverse it? Untie the knot?" His breath is tattered, uneven. It's as if the exposure of the string wrapped every inch of his heart and silently, the king of Frawen fears that his heart might be taken out of his chest.

"I can," she nods, an expression of indifference on her face. "But doing so does not change the fact that you are each other's Complements. It means that you will no longer feel the constant and desperate need to see her."

"Then I beg of you to do it—"

"However, the bond is strong, Jungkook," her gold eyes stare back at him before they soften, as Jungkook's mental mantras to fight off the peculiar pain deriving from the scarlet string has become a door to all of the pains he has experienced in the past. "I fear that the more you leave it in the dark, the more it will create more conflicts in the future."

"Having this complement now is already creating conflicts for me, Circe."

"Jungkook, if you two were to see each other again by the universe's happenings, must you know that the knot cannot be made again by simple touches. It has to be tied by the hand of a witch."

"If it's not any burden to you," he breathes in sharply. "I'd like you to unknot our Complement tie."

Circe makes a face of indifference before sighing. "Very well," she states just before she mumbles another string of latin and snaps, and lo and behold, the knot unravels by itself. The scarlet rope looked like it had no indentation of where the knot once was.

Jungkook lets out an aching sigh, as if he was under water for too long. Circe makes one more movement of her hand before the red string dissipates into the air, no longer exposed to the eye.

"There," she says. "Now leave, before she sees you again."

Circe doesn't give Jungkook a look of goodbye as she hurries inside her house. She feels the presence of Jungkook leave, exhaling in relief as she peers down at her daughter who gleams up at her, her hair in two buns on either side of her head. Her daughter lets out a squeal of "mommy!" before dropping a sage bundle in her hand to run up and hug Circe's leg.

"Happy birthday, my dear. Six years old already?" The witch pats her daughter's head as she giggles against her. "Go on into the kitchen. I'll be there in a moment."

And as she turns around to trot inside the kitchen, Circe takes notice of her neck that has been exposed due to her hairstyle that she wanted to wear this morning. The etching of her Complement mark that once inked her skin of a rose, had become a blank canvas.

As if the mark was never there to begin with.

You haul across the other wing of the castle that stretches from the main entrance of where the gigantic black, grandiose door stares at you mockingly for not having the privilege to be invited by the king himself as well as enter the main entrance to unravel the glory of what stood for centuries.

Servants of the fairest skin and darkest of hairs escort you to the a room you are unsure of, but you don't question them when they open the doors for you of the building. This was as close you were ever getting to the castle.

"Your grace," you announce your arrival before you could realize that another man stands there from the side of your kingdom's king. Freezing in place with books tensing against your chest, your lips part. "King Jimin—!"

"Hello— oh, please. I don't like the bowing," his voice is light, a striking contrast from Jungkook's ominous tone. You lift your head that was on the way down of honorability, eyes staying wide at his unexpected presence. "Trust me, I'm not a big formalities type of person like my brother."

"What is it? Did you find anything?" The king ruins the moment by his barking, an impatience growing in his chest.

You open your mouth, and close it. "Yes, and no."

"Proceed."

Walking over to the table, Jimin smirks when he hears the loud plop that comes from your stacks of ancient books slapping on the table, dust sprinkles in the air by such impact as you wave it dismissively out of your face to spread out the books evenly.

"These are just merely collections my mother had of Complement ties laying out and about," you begin, grabbing hold of the green and gold accented leather bind novel of browning pages. "They all talk about the history of it, the perspectives of it, and some old spells that used to be done moderately back then, but have been taken out of a witch's curriculum in school. Oh, like this one goes on and on about the importance of it and why finding out who your Complement is before you meet them is deemed as bad luck. Like seeing the bride before the wedding, which actually originated from arranged marriages when— sorry, tangent. If I can just find the book..." As your voice trails, your eyes furrow in concentration to find the book amongst the pile you brought that would deem as very important.

Finally, you hold it up to and pat it, Jungkook raising an eyebrow and Jimin looking bemused at your inner workings being elicited through your rambles and tangents.

"This is where I stumbled upon something fruitful," you began. "It's a book that's anti-Complement. The author was actually a witch who thought his Complement was, and I quote, "vile and tremendously horrendous", so he composed this book that explains how to unknot the Complement tie."

"Nothing about cutting it?"

You smile as you open the book. "There's a whole chapter about it, but," as you flip open to it, the book in your hands bursts into bright blue flames illuminating your skin with a blue tint before it calms down, living proof that the book itself was cursed, either by the author or your mother's doing. "The book has been cursed and the most vital information you want means you're not the only one who is searching for a severance."

"Couldn't you just... cut it?" King Jimin chimes in and you shake your head.

"No, this witch said that cutting it would damage the blade and not the tie," you close the book to prevent the fire from getting anywhere. "The tie itself, when exposed, is simply a scarlet rope. Its material is very ethereal and even your finest sword cannot cut it in two."

"Brilliant," Jungkook says, defeatedly. He sucks in a deep breath before looking at you, eyes flickering up and down your form. "When will I hear from you again?"

Making a loud sound as you stack the books on top of each other, you look up at him and raise an eyebrow. "Again? You're expecting me to continue the search for an answer that I can't give you? This is all the information that I can gather from my mother's archive. I don't know what else you expect me to do."

"What the daughter of the most powerful witch of this kingdom can do, of course," he retorts, easily. It makes you scoff.

"I apologize, your grace, but I am not going through those extra lengths."

"For someone who adheres to formalities very often, you don't seem to be very intimidated by me. At least not enough to do what I say."

"Is your job as a king to be intimidating?"

It was that type of riposte that would have your head, an immediate escort to your death for even thinking that a cocky retort would come out of your mouth. If only if Jimin hadn't let out an amused snort, punishment would not have immediately be put off the table, but the irritation forming in the king's blood remains. He doesn't turn to his brother to hush him, but rather keeps a heavy stare at you, narrowed eyes into slits as a heavy warning— yet you stay grounded, raising an eyebrow at him.

"And you don't seem to know when to not speak your mind."

"With all due respect, King Jungkook, may I remind you I am here because you requested my services. I've given you what I can provide, free of charge. My mother has probably dealt with a customer who has wanted the same thing, and if the book was cursed, it's a heavy sign that it's not a wise path to follow."

King Jungkook inhales deeply, eyes staring at the hybrid who fears nothing under his gaze. He mentally curses to himself knowing very well that Circe was the most probable culprit of cursing her own books, for the sole reason of not wanting him to get his hands on vital information that would separate a Complement tie attached to her own daughter. Sighing, he makes a dismissive nod towards you, a finger tapping on his arm chair repeatedly. "Very well. Dismissed."

And without a word, you gather your things and leave, the same men escorting you away from the castle and the inconsiderate king.

Once your presence no longer lingered, Jungkook sinks down into his chair, letting his head fall against the fist of his arm that propped it up. Jimin clicks his tongue beside him.

"Now tell that was not who I thought that was," Jimin sings once the door had fully shut closed and it was just Jungkook and his brother of the neighboring kingdom.

"Your instincts are spot on, brother," Jungkook says with heavy sarcasm, shaking his head.

Jimin heartily laughs. "It doesn't take a Merlin to see that she's your Complement. It's quite obvious."

"Care to go more in depth?"

"Other than the fact that she's the only outsider you granted a visit at your castle, you're not so quick to throw her out either," he begins before tapping his finger on the table. "You also don't like looking her in the eye. You get tense when you do. Either you fear her or you fear getting close to her."

Jungkook raises an eyebrow in surprise at his brother's quick observation— it must be all the times he's observing human behavior in the mortal world.

"She's mentioned that her books derive from her mother's archives— is her mother...?"

"Her mother was the one that undid our Complement knot."

"Her mother was the infamous Circe, then?" Jimin marvels with his signature taunting smirk on his face. "Well, I'll be damned."

"You already are," Jungkook rolls his eyes.

"Your Complement is a hybrid— and not just a hybrid, Circe's daughter?" Jungkook didn't like that his own brother kept reminding him of who his Complement was, thus encouraging the fire of searching for a severance. "Despite the fact that she holds tremendous power, she seems very promising. You're not fond of her?"

"Jimin, you know—"

"Right, pardon me. You don't want her," Jimin inhales deeply, nodding.

"Jimin," Jungkook begins once again. "I can't have her as my Complement. I need her to find a spell to wither our tie."

"Is there another reason why you need to find such spell other than you're dreading that she's bound to you?"

"So that she could find real love and romance. She will not find it with me."

There was an unreadable look in Jimin's face that even his own brother could not decipher. It lingers for a moment before he makes the executive decision to stand up from the seat, knocking on the table with his pale knuckles. "I'm heading back to Merosa. May I make the suggestion that you take her to Sagewood?"

"Sagewood? Why in the heavens would I take her there?"

"If you want to cut the tie so badly, then I think it wouldn't be a very shabby place to start, no? After all, she only has access to such limited information— you're not being much help either. Besides, you both will most likely find something valuable there."

It was pruning day.

The plants you planted outside your windowsill in its respected pots looked green as ever, with some minor flaws sticking out. You walk outside with shears in hand, identifying the buds you'd snip off with love. You enjoy taking care of your plants, the only common denominator between this world and the mundane world that gave you a sense of normality.

Humming an old folk tune from the mundane world, you admire your plants, recalling that some of these plants were the ones your mother would plant back in the mundane world. As you snip off one of your greenery, you hear the faint sounds of neighs from afar, halting in front of your shop and creating audible commotion behind your back. You overhear your neighbors rush out of their respected buildings, having you grow curious by the second.

Raising an eyebrow, you turn around to find nothing but the king hopping off his trusty steed of ebony glory with a luscious mane, planting his feet flat onto the ground with ease while two other men follow his lead, staying a hearty distance from him. He meets your eyes immediately, ignoring that everyone around him are caught in a trance by his sudden appearance in the town.

"King Jungkook," you marvel with a smirk, ignoring the fact that your neighbors were staring in mixed awe and fear. "What a lovely surprise."

He approaches you, stepping onto the gravel, expressionless. "I request your stay at my castle."

The words don't process fast enough in your mind, a blank expression being your response, but even then, you couldn't help but to laugh, but it came out more like a baffled scoff. "I beg your pardon?"

"To make use of the castle's library," he fills in, a smirk painting his face. "We, too, have an archive for all things your curious, knowledgable mind may want to see. Thousands of collections over the centuries, compilations from notable figures. I'm giving you access to that information in search of the severance."

You gape at him, lowering your shears. The king takes this action with positivity as his smirk only grows for a second before he's back to his emotionless expression.

"I will have my men come by to escort you to the castle tomorrow morning at nine-hundred. Pack your things," he says with no confirmation from you. His passive command makes you blink while you watch him turn his shoulder.

Amidst his turn to head back to his source of transportation and the other men who stand in front of your property, you stop him, "really? And when have I agreed?"

His body comes to a full stop just a hearty amount of distance from you. "And you wouldn't?" He calmly states aloud. In a moment, he's turning his body back to completely face you, cocking his head slight. "Tell me, you're not at all curious about how to cut a Complement tie?"

"Why would I? I have no intention of doing so."

"So you'd want to stay bound to one person your whole life? When you meet your Complement, you want to be so attached to the point that being even just miles away from them tears you apart? Every second you do not see them is as if your heart is being shredded apart in layers. Finding out who your Complement is only ruins you in a way that is a hell disguised as a heaven," he says as if it were straight spitfire. There was remorse and dread in his voice that even you cannot decipher completely— as if the pain that courses through his vein is truly authentic.

"In the mundane world, it's different, no? Humans fall in love with who they want, when they want. Did you ever compare that to the Upper World where it is frowned upon to not be with your Complement?"

"They differ, yes," you say through gritted teeth.

"Are you not so curious as to how to sever the tie? To at least be one of the first witches in centuries to hold great knowledge of a severance? That maybe you would one day change your intentions to cut your tie?"

You stay silent, placing your shears down as you stare at him attentively. Sure, you were curious, but your curiosity grew more prevalent seeing how the king was doing so much as to using a rhetoric tactic to ease your answer into a yes. And oddly enough, it was working.

"Besides... free stay, breakfast— in the castle? Surrounded by all things good and gold?"

Letting out a scoff, you narrow your eyes at him. "Is that your way of paying me for my services? A bed and breakfast at the castle? A week to pretend I'm royalty?" Challenge dripped from your tone evidently, but while the others around you and nearly the whole kingdom all feared the king's presence, you didn't share the same feeling. After all, this was the king asking for your services.

And suddenly, his expression changes, one of seriousness turned into dry amusement as he lets out a deep laugh bellowing from his stomach. "No, I'm offended that you may think I'm that cheap," he states as you raise an eyebrow, stabbing your shears, sharp point down into the window sill just right behind your plants. "I may have taken advantage of your services before, forgetting my place as a client to you. For that, I apologize sincerely. I am offering pounds of gold to you in exchange that you continue your search to cut a tie."

"Pounds of gold?"

"I notice that you live in your shop," he speaks of apparentness, making your cheeks go red as he turns his gaze to look at the shop behind you, a place you vaguely remember growing up in. "After your mother died, you decided to turn your home into a shop? Selling your services?" In that moment, you freeze only slight, caught off guard by how easily he put two and two together, you merely forgetting that he was an "acquaintance" with your mother— of course, he knew of this property before you probably were born.

"If the pounds of gold are not enough, I would be glad to make your stay at the castle permanent after you've found the severance."

You raise your eyebrows at his offer, never missing the way his lips quirked upwards for a ghostly second when he sees he's appealing you in the right direction.

"A permanent stay at your castle? As what? Your mistress? A maid?"

He chuckles and shakes his head. "Of course not. Your mother would find a way to resurrect herself to rid of my existence if she found out that I made you, her daughter, a mistress. Let alone a maid."

"You will be staying at my castle free of charge. And while I know this shop has been dear to your mother— dear to you, I am also willing to put a new location in the center of Sapphire Hill for your services on the table. Closer to the castle and in the heart of Frawen. That is, only if you have a mind to accept my proposal."

Inhaling sharply, you both stare at each other in silence as your mind juggles and he patiently awaits your answer, his body still as a stone, probably cold as one too. There was no other ulterior option to choose from— after all, why would you decline such a proposal? You were just as curious about the severance as he was, wondering why your mother never wanted to stray close to that path and why she has never mentioned about it before. And perhaps, you too could also cut your tie before you ever get to find your Complement if you ever came down to it.

However, despite his generous offers for a mere severance, there was a deep feeling in your stomach that didn't sit very well with you, one that was silently yearning you to not accept. It felt alarmingly unnatural. Just as unnatural as interacting with the king up close three times in a month.

"Alright," you sigh, defeatedly, grabbing your shears from the wood and returning to pruning day. "You've appealed to me."

"Wonderful," he acknowledges, a single celebratory nod coming your way before he turns around to head back on his steed. "I will have people to escort you tomorrow. Nine-hundred."

"Quite a castle," you announce, eyes boggling at the interior design of the castle you never thought you'd see in person. Hell, you didn't think you'd ever get to see it closer than it being on top of the hill until just previously.

The halls were a fair color accented with alluring gold, intricate designs resembling a brush stroke, as if the gold were painted free-handedly, yet a symmetry being maintained. Crimson rugs, drapes, furniture dabble the expense of the hallway itself, and ebony statues and sculptures stare back at you broodingly. Two broad statues of fairies introduce you on either side of the entrance, facing each other with conch shells held to their mouths.

Selene purrs in your arms, probably just as dazzled at the structure as you are. "I know, baby, I know," you mutter under your breath as your pace slows along the red carpet.

"___." The voice announcing your name echoes throughout the vast hallway, pulling you out of your thoughts and daydreams as you peer towards the grandiose staircase ahead, finding a familiar figure in red with accenting white tassels walk down the steps, slowly and gracefully.

Selene suddenly paws out of your grasp to be let go of, you lowering her down to the floor carefully as you know that she likes to roam around new and foreign areas by herself.

"Your grace," you acknowledge, pacing towards him to meet him in the middle, eyes watching Selene trot along the scarlet carpet just in front of you, only to realize that she made her independent way to the king. You arch an eyebrow when Jungkook stops his footing altogether, both of you noticing Selene taking a liking into him, purring against his leg and her tail curling around his calf, making elegant circles around him in adoration. "I see Selene likes you."

Jungkook coughs before removing his eyes from the feline to meet yours. "You have a cat."

"I do," you nod. "Is she not allowed in the castle?"

"I'll make the exception," Jungkook swallows as Selene rubs her cheek against his leg. You mentally thank Selene for kissing his arse, knowing that Jungkook might have gone soft for your feline friend immediately and discarded the direct thought of kicking her out.

"I was given her a couple years back."

"Were you?"

You hum in response. "Given to me as a gift for my birthday. I named her after selenite, one of my favorite crystals."

"As long as she doesn't get into anyone's way, your feline company is welcome. However, if she were to be causing mischief, do not be blowed if she is in your soup," the king warns as he turns around, a hand motioning you to trail behind him, but the whole situation nearly made you snort out loud. Was that humour in his voice?

Following him, you scoop Selene with a hand as you caught up to her, cutting her curiosity trip short as you did not want to have her disappear and find her as your dinner, despite King Jungkook's warning sounding slightly sarcastic. His foot steps climbing up the stairs echo, his boots emphasizing his steps as you follow a few steps behind him, your flats being light-sounded from underneath you.

The Upper World resembled a victorian age from the mundane world. As much as you missed your tennis shoes and trousers, the Upper World called for bell-shaped dresses, the air-sucking corsets, and uncomfortable shoes that hurt your back if standing for too long.

As King Jungkook walks down the spacious hall with such glorious designs, you notice that there were two beautiful women in gray high neck dresses, eggshell aprons wrapped around their waist standing on the side with head lowered. Despite their dull attire, their appearance is what caught your eye.

The one on the right had skin of the bluest topaz with complementing navy hair tied up into a sleek bun. If she had looked up earlier, you would admire her sunshine eyes that made her look so kind. The on the left had contrasting mauve skin and emerald hair flowing down her shoulders. She wore a headband to keep her hair out of her face.

Nymphs.

"Cricket, Calla," the king's voice ruined the solace of the hallway, the snap of both ethereal beings' heads making direct eye contact with King Jungkook, you catching the hazel eyes of the mauve skinned beauty for a split second before she keeps steady eye contact with the person she serves.

"They will be serving you throughout your stay," he states towards you, a nod cueing the two nymphs accordingly.

"Good morning, ___. I am Calla," the topaz nymph speaks first, bowing her head as you respectfully did the same.

"And I, Cricket," her partner speaks, bowing as well.

"It is lovely to meet you both, Calla and Cricket," you speak with a kind tone as they give the smallest of shy smiles.

"Aster and Fickle are unloading the carriages. They will be up to bring her belongings in any minute. You may start unpacking—"

"Oh no, that's not necessary," you intervene. The king sends you a glare for interrupting him, but daringly, you roll your eyes at him. "Cricket, Calla, just have Aster and Fickle leave my luggages on my bed. I didn't pack heavy, so it's alright. I'd prefer if I unpack myself."

"As you wish," Cricket and Calla say in unison before King Jungkook gives one last asserting, yet hesitating nod, turning his shoulder to continue walking down the hall.

"Come. I will show you the library," he orders, having you share one last look at the beautiful nymphs who both smile at you. In that moment, you give them a smile that you hoped would make them feel safe— as if you all have been friends before. As you tear your eyes away, you trot up to the king's pace, Selene being safe in your arms as you mentally curse the king for having long legs.

Walking for nearly a minute or two, you didn't realize he had stopped in front of large double doors, black wood engraved with the exact designs you recall in the main entrance, intriguing you with every bit. You blink for a nanosecond until you hear the door unlock and open, having to blink once more when you see that the king was only a few feet away from the immense opening, arms held behind his back as the door widened.

"Did you do that?" You question aloud. It sounded very mundane of you— as if you had not seen anything weirder in the Upper World.

"Yes," he speaks, raising an eyebrow at you as you wait for the doors to open fully. "I am a Pureblood, aren't I?"

His reminder made you realize that you did indeed forget that Purebloods hold some sort of power. It was only the three kings who held such powers, being why they were named the most powerful trio over centuries to live. Unsure why, you didn't take the King of Frawen to hold telekinesis, if anything.

The doors finally stop opening, two grand doors coming to a halt on either side of the opening and creating an entrance to a room that already has your mouth hung open.

"This is the library," he speaks, taking a step in first. "All of Frawen's greatest works over the centuries are all kept in here."

It was not the immense room that was its own castle itself, but it was the giant collections, endless spines of literature and word composition that was tempting you to swallow all of the knowledge up from them.

"These are the collections of Edgar Allen Poe," you observe, remembering that you had to read one of his famous works in your mundane junior high, the eerie components of his pieces standing out to you enough that you recall his name. "The Upper World holds mortal works?"

"Just the finer ones. Homer, Machiavelli, the Brontë sisters, Cordelia Maine—"

You widen your eyes. "No way. Cordelia Maine? You have her works, too?"

"Of course," he laughs at your never-ending bafflement. "She might be famous to you mortals, but her roots don't stray away from Frawen."

"Mortals," you repeat, catching his word that he knowingly categorizes you. It makes you blink up at him, more concerned why you weren't feeling as uneasy as you should that the king who stands in front of you and has brought you inside his castle knows you're the product against the Upper World law. "Dare I ask how you know this?"

The king smirks at you, probably bemused at how you weren't exactly trembling in your boots, but you probably have a spell prepared at the tip of your tongue. "Do you forget that I can smell your blood? You reek of mortals."

Arching an eyebrow at him, you narrow your eyes just slight. "Should I be worried?"

He smirks. "That I hold such knowledge? No, or else I would have no way to find a severance now, would I?" His rhetorical question is followed with a quirk of his eyebrow, a bemused smile illuminated from the indirect sun from the window. "Besides, your mother and I were acquaintances. I am well aware of your father and while I have never met him, I do know that your mother loved him, even if they were worlds apart."

Not saying another word, you smile. One that lingers on your face for a bit, one that is shared between you and the king, one that is as if you two have created some sort of connection by this secret he finds indifference to.

However, you do not let the smile linger for too long, for you cannot trust anyone so easily, no matter if your heart is oddly beating out of your chest and there is an odd stir in your stomach when his eyes remain on your form for a moment as if he is trying to study you and your every feature.

You disregard it though, as if a chip on your shoulder, or a hair in your face when he leads you back to your room from the grand library, claiming he has work to finish.

Later that afternoon, you were in the midst of unpacking your luggages when Calla and Cricket make an appearance into your room. They were there to escort you to lunch, but you told them to give you a few minutes to organize your things, encouraging them to wait in your room as you did so.

"Are you his betrothed?"

The sudden question makes you stumble, nearly dropping the books in your hand that you deemed most viable to bring to this trip. "Sorry?" You laugh, looking at them with a sheepish smile. A harmless question, but a stretch to inquire.

"Isn't that why he's having you stay here at the castle?" Cricket asks, keeping her hands intertwined in front of her as they both watch you organize your knick-knacks of books and crystals and Selene's toys.

"Oh to the heavens, no," you laugh, Cricket furrowing her eyebrows and cocking her head to the side, wondering why your peculiar stay at the castle isn't for that singular motive. "I'm here for an entirely different reason."

Calla blinks blankly, her long, blue lashes making it obvious. "Our king doesn't usually like to keep guests overnight— let alone indefinitely."

Placing your books onto the antique dresser, you raise an eyebrow at them. "Is that right?"

"We thought, perhaps, this was his attempt in courting you," Cricket says, rather timidly. "After all, you're very beautiful."

The compliment brings red to your cheeks. "You're just saying that—"

"But, 'tis true," Calla nods. "We're nymphs—"

"We can't lie—"

"We thought that he may have found love again—"

"We would be surprised if he didn't find you, at the very least, beautiful—"

"Our king doesn't open a room for just anyone, since he's very..."

"Closed off."

They jump off their sentences swiftly, as if a ball ricocheted against the walls in great speed and force. It intrigues you as you furrow your eyebrows, more interested in the last part they had to say. "Closed off? Why is that?"

Cricket and Calla look at each other before bringing their head down. "Have you not heard of his past?" You shake your head before Calla sighs and begins again. "Our king is the most kind, most fair— but it does not redirect the light away from his past—"

"Lost the people most close to him. Lost his mind along the way, and perhaps, most tragically, lost his soul. It began with Dawn and then his best friend who happened to be his general, and then his parents, and so on. They are frightened of him."

You furrow your eyebrows. "Who's they?"

"All of Frawen. Even those in the mundane world have heard of his story," Cricket answers.

"Frawen respects our king, if anything. However, that respect derives from fear. I'm afraid that the people in this castle are the only people who love him, who see the better in him."

"So I see it's been a lonely castle on this hill," you nod in understanding. "I won't bombard you both with anymore questions. You both are free to leave, I will meet you both in the dining room."

"Are you sure, my lady?"

"I'm sure. Please, I do not want to be a burden to you both."

The nymphs giggle. "We assure you that you are not. It's rather refreshing to tend to someone other than the king and his brothers."

"You both have been very kind. I will see you both there."

"And my lady," Cricket speaks. "We wish you a wonderful stay."

"Jungkook," Circe acknowledges his presence in a blink of an eye the minute he makes a step onto the property that was under an invisibility spell for nearly a decade, only to have it reappear as if it didn't disappear in the first place. "Here to welcome me back?"

The king lowly laughs, not taking another step onto the property as Circe turns around from watering her deep red rose bushes planted right outside. "I was surprised to hear that you made a foolish decision to move to the mundane world."

Circe ticks her tongue, shaking her head at how his prejudice against the humans stain his tone. "I don't believe it was foolish, dear Jungkook."

"Is that what you tell the Counsel?"

Circe lets out an amused sound, maneuvering around her bushes. "The Counsel can believe what they want, but they hold nothing against me. By law, I am allowed to be here and to be there. I may be a witch, aging like a mere mortal, but I still uphold powers strong enough to burn them alive before they can even think of crossing me."

"I have no doubt," Jungkook smirks. "But by law, is your daughter allowed to be here?"

Circe pauses her watering, hose in hand halting with the water continuously drenching a part of the rose bush as she raises an eyebrow. "Why are you here, Jungkook?"

"I heard she attends Ember Academy now. Enrolled as a full-fledged witch. I've come bearing a gift for her."

"A gift?"

"Call it a welcome back gift," he speaks with an anticipating tone right before he walks over to his horse of where a woven basket was attached to the saddle. Circe remains where she stands, watching him carefully as he walks towards her before she senses something, one that makes her hair stand on her arms. As he nears, Circe peeks into the basket, only to have her jaw drop as she sees that it is a kitten.

A kitten of midnight beauty, sleeping soundly in its basket of blankets.

Circe, who could not help it at all, laughs. Soft laughter rumbles through her throat as she coos at the creature, reaching her hands out to take the basket in her hands. "And your arrival has nothing to do with the fact that today is her birthday?"

"Is that today?" Jungkook ponders aloud as Circe laughs, sneaking a smirk on his face before she strokes a finger on the kitten's head carefully and gently. She can tell that he remembers, and that the years leading up to now, he always have.

Sighing, Circe's smile fades as she looks up at Jungkook, tired eyes and all. "I must tell you, Jungkook."

He raises an eyebrow at her.

"I've grown ill," she begins, retracting her finger from the kitten to hold the basket with two hands. "I have been for awhile now and I can feel my end nearing. I trust to believe that you will protect her."

Jungkook blinks a couple times, the odd construct of having someone who has been around for longer than he has tell him explicitly that their end is inevitable and that it was nearing quite sooner than he expected was worth a double take and a few seconds to digest.

"You may not want to stay tied to her, but I trust you enough to uphold her secret. And to protect her when needed," the kitten purrs meekly in the basket, making Circe glance at it for a mere moment before meeting the concerned eyes of Jungkook with matching knitted eyebrows. "Believe that I am not entrusting you with her life, but that the feeling in your heart of wanting to protect her is inevitable. No matter if the knot remains untied."

He opens his mouth, but the words he could not formulate were taken away quickly by Circe's chuckle, waving him off.

"I know what you'll say," she raises an eyebrow, lips curling and eyes creating crescents. "But if anything happens in the future, must you know you have my blessing."

"Circe," he begins.

"She'll appreciate this kitten," Circe interrupts, smiling at how the kitten inhaled and exhaled, curling in its ball with comfort of the soft fleece blankets. "I'm sure you don't want her to know it came from you, perhaps?"

There is a knowing look that the two share, one of pure guise. "May it be our little secret."

"Among thousands," Circe nods, one in which Jungkook does the same. "Will this be the last time we meet?"

"I would hope not."

"Then I bid you farewell, either for now or forever," Circe smiles, a weak curl of her lips, an evident form that made Jungkook realize that she looked much older than before— the gray hairs, her smile lines and forehead wrinkles. It all reminded Jungkook that she is, in fact, a pure mortal, withering faster than most. It scares him, but it makes him curious as to her motive despite him knowing that she did it out of love.

As he leaves the ebony kitten in Circe's hands to give to her daughter's possession, he departs her property with the lingering thought that maybe— perhaps people really do scary things out of love.

343 notes · View notes

sofreddie · 3 years

Text

Serendipitous Souls 8

Summary: Dean and Y/N arrive at their first stop in the honeymoon tour.

Characters: Dean x OC!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Angst

Word Count: 1,313

A/N: We couldn't have just pure smut and fluff, right? LOL

They drove for hours, windows down, music playing. They sang along, they talked, they became familiar. He could be friends with her, good friends. Easy. They were already lovers. That was also easy. And so, so good. He hoped it would always be like this, feel like this. He felt so lucky to have her. Maybe he did deserve it, he thought.

Maybe I’ve earned it.

Dean turned the car off the road onto a dirt lane, a sign reading for some camping and cabin location. Y/N hummed as she took in the beautiful forest around them, the smell of pine filling her nose. Dean stopped outside the main office, asking her to wait while he ran inside. He was grateful he asked Sam to help. Sam had already set up reservations, called ahead for places to stay and eat. Sam seemed fully on board and invested in this pairing as much as Dean and that only made him more sure of it all.

He returned to the car, flashing the key at her with a smile, “Honeymooner’s Cabin,” he announced with a wink, driving the car up the path to the secluded cabin, one of many. He parked the Impala and Y/N climbed out, stretching after the many hours in the car. Though she wouldn’t complain. She loved road trips and getting to do it in the Impala only made it that much better.

“Go check it out,” he said, handing her the key and pushing her towards the cabin as he retrieved their bags from the trunk. She smiled and turned, heading to the door and opening it wide. Her eyes glanced around the open cabin, the bedroom area split from the main by a stone fireplace. There was also a large jacuzzi tub off to the side of the bedroom area, just outside of the bathroom, also surrounded in stone. It was cozy and romantic.

“What do you think Mrs. Winchester?” Dean asked with a smirk, dropping their bags in the bedroom part of the cabin before returning to her. His smile faded however when he saw her suddenly frozen and wide-eyed, staring at nothing, “Babe?”

It all suddenly hit her at once. The gravity of it all. They were married for crying out loud. All the sex…she was pregnant. She sobbed, a hand coming to cover her mouth. Dean rushed to her, hugging her tightly before she started sobbing hard into his chest, clinging to the sides of his shirt as he held her close and let her work through whatever was happening.

He was suddenly scared. Give him something to hit or kill and he was golden. But there was nothing to hurt to stop her tears. He didn’t know what to do. So he just held her, keeping her safe while she took the time to be vulnerable.

When her sobs calmed down, he cupped her face, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. He wiped away her tears with his thumbs, brushing hairs back from her face, letting his knuckles trail down her cheek.

“What happened?”

“Everything just…hit me, I guess,” she shrugged and sniffed, shaking her head at herself, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” he urged her, “A lot has happened in the past twenty-four hours. You’re allowed to take time and have a freak-out,” he chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.

“You didn’t want this. You didn’t want any of it,” she insisted with a pout, trying to fight off another round of crying.

“Maybe not, but I certainly do now,” he insisted, his arms tightening their hold on her. “Now, how about you and I try out that huge tub together, hmm?”

“You don’t have to do this,” she insisted, removing herself from his hold and Dean felt cold, “All of this,” she said, gesturing around them, “We never really talked about it. We had to do this. For Sam,” she started crying again as she spoke, working herself up more and more, “But we didn’t talk about this,” she whined, “It’s perfect and romantic and I appreciate it, but you don’t have to do this.”

Dean frowned as he took in her words, “Why are you so convinced I don’t want this?” he asked, unable to keep the tinge of hurt from his tone, “I mean, I know I have a reputation and I had a certain sort of mindset,” he reluctantly admitted, “But I thought I was doing a good job of showing you how much I want this. I really want this to work, Y/N.”

He knew she was scared. She was making excuses the same way he would have. Except he was sure of this.

“Can’t you feel it?” he asked, coming to stand before her once more but reluctant to touch her. He wasn’t sure he could take her rejecting his touch again, “I feel it. I feel you.”

“I thought maybe that was just my fangirl or some-”

“Don’t do the fangirl thing as an excuse,” he lightly chuckled, “Maybe you’re a fangirl because your soul knew you were supposed to be with me?” he countered with a boyish grin that melted her heart.

She cleared her throat, walking across the room to the tub, “So, a bath huh?” she smirked over her shoulder at him. She readied the tub while he readied the fireplace. She added bubble bath from the container next to the tub, taking a whiff of the pleasant aroma. By the time she shut off the water, the tub was full, bubbles adorning its surface. Dean’s arms wrapped around her from behind as he placed a kiss to her shoulder.

She let her head lay back on his shoulder as he kissed up her neck. His hands moved slowly to remove her shirt, skimming her skin as he moved.

“You’re always so soft and warm,” Dean praised as his hands explored her newly exposed flesh, squeezing handfuls here and there. His lips skimmed up her neck and behind her ear, sucking a mark into the sensitive flesh and relishing the feel of her hips stuttering against her will. He continued slowly undressing her, kissing and sucking marks all along her neck and shoulders.

“The sounds you make,” he breathed out against her skin, giving her hips a squeeze before backing away from her, “Get in,” he said, helping her into the tub. She moaned as she slipped into the water, letting it soothe aches she wasn’t even aware she had. She opened her eyes to see Dean waiting for her. Once their eyes connected, he slowly removed his clothes, revealing himself to her - just for her.

She let out a dreamy sigh when he was finally standing nude before her. He smirked, feeling more sexy and confident than he had in a long time. He sauntered to the tub, helping her sit forward so he could slip in behind her. Once settled, he pulled her back against his chest and between his legs, his arms finding their place around her once more.

She let out a happy hum as her head rested back on his shoulder. As much as he wanted her, he also didn’t want to break her or think it was only about sex for him. He decided to bathe her, before massaging the aches from her muscles that he put there.

“I know you’re sore,” he admitted apologetically, “And tired,” he chuckled, “I just wanna take care of you.”

“Mmm, well you’re doing a fantastic job,” she giggled, so completely lax.

“Let’s dry you off and get you to bed, hmm?”

After getting them all dried off and throwing back the covers, Dean decided he wanted to sleep nude with her. Feel her softness and warmth against him all night and in the morning. He spooned her and breathed her in, the two of them falling into a happy sleep together.

Forevers:

@sis-tafics

@lyarr24

@calaofnoldor

@hobby27

@spnbaby-67

Dean Winchester:

@akshi8278

@jerkbitchidjitassbutt

Serendipitous Souls:

@brilovesdeanwinchester

@xhannahbananax03

@440mxs-wife

@crist1216

@deans-baby-momma

#serendipitous souls #dean x reader #dean winchester #oc!reader #reader-insert #supernatural #spn #fluff #angst

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sellyoursoulforagoodfic · 3 years

Text

Shelbys at Somme: Chapter 7

Thomas X Reader

2873

Summary: Reader gets medical treatment. Thomas is not ok.

by @adventuresintooblivion

They didn’t speak again until the Garrison Pub came into sight. Several men were milling about trying to figure out what the hell was going on. They parted with excited chatter craning their necks to see what Thomas was holding.

“Open the door! If you’re not helping, you’re in the way. Go home. We accomplished what we came here for tonight.”

Only a handful of people remained. Most of them were the Shelbys themselves. Danny paced back and forth in the back of the bar murmuring to himself. Thomas nodded to the small room they conducted their business in. John hurriedly opened it enough for Thomas to set Y/N down on the table.

Y/N sat there swaying back and forth slightly, her eyes closed as she focused on not falling over. Moments later, Thomas draped his coat around her shoulders. A sigh of relief escaped her lips. For the first time, she looked up at the people gathered around her.

Aunt Pol’s face was pale. A shawl was clutched in her hands with her hair unmade. John blinked blearily, but she could visibly see the fatigue drain away as he took stock of her injuries. Arthur simply wouldn’t look at her.

Thomas hovered over her protectively. She could just barely see the redness on his cheek where she’d slapped him. His hand rested lightly against her lower back. She could feel his hand shaking even through all the layers.

“The doctor is on his way but there’s a few things I need to ask you before he gets here.”

Y/N shook her head, “I want to talk to Pol first.”

He stiffened. “Excuse me?”

She lifted her head, leveling her gaze at him, “You heard me, Shelby. I want to talk to Pol first.”

“Did he touch you?” He growled almost under his breath. Something about him changed. His knuckles turned a stark white as they gripped the table. His lips pulled back in an inaudible snarl, eyes wide as he used every inch of self control he had left not to turn on his heels and find whoever had done this.

“Wha…?”

Thomas roared a tremor visibly running through his body, “Did he touch you!”

Understanding dawned on Y/N. She reached out to lay her hand on his. He recoiled. She leaned forward just enough to press her hand over his. Her skin was ice against his rage, but he did stop shaking once she rubbed her thumb across his knuckles.

She spoke softly, “He didn’t. But that doesn’t change the fact that I need to talk to Pol.”

He turned toward her, almost pressing his forehead into her shoulder. “I need answers.”

“And you’ll get them. After.”

Thomas locked eyes with her. Finally, he straightened and led his brothers out of the room.

Pol was left behind, her eyes wide as she adjusted her shawl. “That’s the first time I’ve seen Tommy listen to anyone when he’s like that.”

Y/N glanced down

“Well, you wanted me to yourself. Now what is it?”

“I think Grace is working for Inspector Campbell.” Y/N said it all in a rush, not trusting herself to actually speak if she took her time with it.

Today, the inspector had wanted to instill fear in her and make her a useless pawn in this game of his. She hated to admit that she was in fact afraid. Of what she wasn’t sure, but she’d be damned if she let that decide her actions.

Pol cleared her throat. “That’s… a serious accusation. What is your proof?”

Y/N steeled herself before telling Pol everything. How she’d seen Grace at the opera, the little hints here and there that it wasn’t a place she’d normally be caught dead in. Then the great reveal of the man’s identity.

“I watched her hand him a piece of paper. I don’t know for certain that she is working for him, but it seems like the only logical answer, and at this point it’s dangerous to keep it to myself,” she finally finished.

The whole speech had taken a lot out of her, and she was already exhausted at best. Y/N pulled Thomas’ jacket closer around her, grateful that she was finally starting to warm up. At the edge of her senses, she caught a whiff of a smell that was distinctly Thomas. Stale cigarette smoke, aftershave, and hay. She almost smiled as she remembered the horses he loved so much.

Pol rubbed her eyes with the palm of her hands. “That’s a lot of information to deal with. Why haven’t you told Tommy?”

Y/N frowned, “Right now if I did he’d storm off to kill her. I’m not sure that’s the best idea. Hell, maybe turning her in and ending this now would be preferred. I just… I wanted to ask your opinion.”

Her head jerked up. “This is your business. I’ll have nothing to do with it.”

Y/N sighed, finally letting the exhaustion cause her to sag in on herself, “Well, fuck.”

“I can’t believe you told me this. I won’t be caught complicit if he finds out,” she hissed.

“Pol, I’ve seen the way he looks at her. He likes her, even if it’s just a little, and with Thomas that means miles. This could destroy him. Or it could get one of them killed, and I don’t know if Grace worked at an opera house and just hates it from exposure and this is all some huge misunderstanding. I just don’t know.” Even to her ears Y/N sounded a bit hysterical.

Pol began to pace, thinking. Her heels clicked loudly on the floor, and even if the boys weren’t listening in they’d be able to hear that. After a few solid moments Pol rounded on the wounded girl.

She shook her finger at Y/N. “Listen here. For now, we say nothing. But if ANYTHING goes wrong and Grace is within ten miles of it, you tell him. Understood?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Alright, now let's get those boys in here. He’s probably about to strangle Arthur.”

As soon as the door knob clicked, Thomas stormed back in. His eyes were dark and cloudy as they traveled over Y/N’s exposed skin. Behind him, a small man with glasses shuffled in.

He spoke with a nasally voice, “Hello, I’m Doctor Tanish. Now if you could remove your coat I’d like to get to work.”

Y/N reluctantly shed the layer of warmth she’d built during her conversation Pol.

The doctor immediately swooped in, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Are there any pre-existing medical conditions I should know about?”

Y/N glanced at Thomas before turning to the doctor. “I have a bullet that’s lodged in my back that’s an inch to the left of my spine by vertebrae T11. They uh… found it and got me with a billy club. A couple times.”

He paused. “That’s very specific.”

“Yeah, well, you hear doctors say it enough eventually you can parrot it back if you need to.”

He nodded before continuing with this ministrations.

Thomas, who was leaning against the wall, had turned a light shade of green when she spoke. His world was slowly closing in on him, a dark tunnel taking over his vision. It wasn’t until Arthur elbowed him that he was able to regain some control and return to the real world.

Eventually the doctor needed to see beneath Y/N’s underclothes.

Pol shooed them out saying, “I’ll be right here with her. Let the girl keep some of her dignity.”

Thomas’ hand snaked out to grip hers firmly. “What did you two talk about?”

Pol’s lips settled into a thin line. “I will not betray her confidence. Just have faith, Tommy.”

He released her, allowing himself to be pushed back out into the pub with the others.

Arthur growled under his breath, “You’re gonna want a family meeting as soon as that doctor is done aren’t you?”

“Am I that predictable?”

He just grumbled and went to take a nap in one of the stalls. John soon followed suit, not really sure what his stakes were in all this.

But Thomas sat at the bar nursing a glass of whiskey. He couldn’t make out much in the way of sounds. That’s why they like that room so much. There were a few moments when a yelp or shout would set him on edge. But all he could do was wait.

It wasn’t until the sun had started to come up that the doctor slipped from the room, blood covering his hands. Thomas sat up straighter, not realizing just how much he’d drunk until he tried to stand.

“How is she?”

Doctor Tanish let out a tired sigh. “Exhausted. Most of the damage will heal itself just fine; however, there are a few spots that I am concerned about. Will you be taking care of her?”

Thomas was a gang leader. He didn’t have time to be coddling people while he was supposed to be out managing things.

“Yes.”

Doctor Tanish nodded, pulled out a piece of paper and began to write. “She has three fractured ribs and another one that was popped out of socket, but it’s back now. Her toe was also broken; that’s been splinted. There was some minor internal bleeding, but that’s been addressed. The thing I’m most worried about is that bullet in her back.”

Bile rose on Thomas’ tongue. “Is it that bad?”

“Well, it was already something that could cause chronic pain and difficulty walking. Now that it’s been agitated, the muscles around it have swollen which would lead to temporary paralysis. Honestly, I’m surprised she’s up and around at all.” He tore the paper of a small notepad and handed it to Thomas, “I’ll have medication waiting to be picked up by the end of the day. I’d get it here earlier, but she insisted that she wouldn’t take opium. Under no circumstances let her walk.”

Thomas nodded dumbly, not exactly sure how to process all the information, but as the doctor left he glanced down at the paper. Detailed instructions were scrawled out in handwriting that was little better than chicken scratch. Luckily, John’s scrawl was also atrocious, and if Thomas could read that, he could read anything.

The door was left open. As he looked at it’s gaping maw, something inside him wanted to run. If he didn’t go in, she would once again become a ghost that haunted his memories. He wouldn’t have to face the words he’d said that night, or back then.

He took a deep breath and walked in. Thomas was a Shelby after all.

〜

Y/N had stopped paying attention to the doctor a while ago. Between the war and her childhood, she’d gone through all this before. Pol on the other hand looked like she was having a rough time. At one point Y/N even caught herself reaching out to hold the older woman’s hand.

“It’s going to be fine, Pol.” Her voice didn’t even quiver.

Pol nearly jumped out of her skin. “Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?”

Y/N flashed her a wicked grin. “Eh, getting hurt comes with the territory.”

“With knowing Tommy.” Pol’s gaze fell. A deep sadness had made a home for itself. It was in the small things. Her posture, her subtle frown, but most of all her eyes. Eyes that Y/N suspected had seen too many people die.

She gave a small tug to get Pol’s attention. “Actually, I was a bastard long before I met Thomas.” Pol’s brows furrowed so she continued, “Da wasn’t exactly a law abiding citizen. Hell, if I’d been a man I’d probably be in the same position as Thomas.”

A silence settled between them as they both came to terms with Y/N’s past. The doctor didn’t seem to care much about what was said around him. He only spoke to instruct Y/N to move.

Finally Pol spoke, “While I don’t doubt the legitimacy behind your claim, you have,” she paused searching for the right words, “a certain level of education that isn’t typically available to people of our status.”

Y/N shrugged and immediately got scolded by the doctor. “Over-achieving bastard child. Not much else to it.”

Pol leveled her with a knowing gaze but enough had been shared that night. For the rest of the evening they either chatted idly or Pol dozed. The continuous attention was starting to wear Y/N out even beyond her limits.

She vaguely wondered if she was going soft after the war. Then she remembered that she’d been traipsing around town, got kidnapped, beat to hell and walked back on her own. Y/N allowed herself a small smile. Today was a productive day.

“It’ll take a couple months for your ribs and toe to heal but they’ll do it with little assistance. You must stay off your feet however. Especially if you ever want to walk again.” Doctor Tanish’s voice startled Y/N out of her thoughts.

She glanced at Pol’s dozing figure before replying, “I’ve beaten those odds before. But I’ll try not to push my luck.”

He gave her a curt nod and left.

Y/N glanced around the room, grimacing as she remembered that her flat was upstairs. She also had no way to pay for it now until she was healthy enough to work again.

A soft knock got her attention. There by the door was Thomas, peeking his head through as if he were walking into her bed chamber not his office.

“How are you holding up?” Deep circles had carved themselves underneath his eyes. His already drawn features took on a more extreme form in the dim candlelight.

Y/N couldn’t take her eyes off him. “I’m doing pretty well, all things considering. I might need help upstairs, though.”

Thomas cleared his throat before entering the room. He paused a moment to consider the best course of action. Then with little warning he simply picked her up. She bit back a startled yelp, clinging to Thomas as he moved easily with her in his arms.

“Tommy!” she hissed. Y/N couldn’t properly lift her arms to wrap them around him securely, so she clung to the front of his shirt with all she had. Her knuckles turned white instantly.

He simply chuckled. “I think that’s the first time you’ve called me ‘Tommy’ since you got back. Maybe I should pick you up more.”

Y/N could already feel her ears heating up. “Don’t try and distract me with flirting.”

“Why not? It usually works.”

She didn’t reply as they reached her room. With horror she realized that her key was still in the pocket of her jacket. Which was probably in the back of some copper’s car.

Thomas seemed to read her mind, “You don’t have the key anymore do you?”

She shook her head.

He gently set Y/N down, careful not to jostle her. Then produced a pair of lockpicks, making quick work of the shoddy lock. A few moments later Y/N was sinking into her mattress slowly.

Thomas kneeled beside her. She couldn’t see him; the darkness clouded his features. He reached out, fingertips the barest touch against her skin, to brush her hair out of her face.

Y/N would later blame the overall shittiness of the day for what she did next. She leaned into the touch. Her own hand reached up to cup his and press it to her lips. Thomas froze. But he didn’t pull away.

“Y/N.” His voice was gravilier than usual.

She wasn’t sure how long they sat there, but it felt like all the years that had been lost came back to life in seconds, all at once. Something between them had faded over time. Now was the first time either of them had actually reached back out for it. It was a tenderness they’d never let the world see. A secret of the trenches. A dream of what could be.

Eventually, the spell broke, and she released her hold on him. At first he didn’t pull away. Then he stood, ending the moment all too quickly.

Thomas cleared his throat, “I...I need to head out. If I catch you on your feet, I swear I’ll send Aunt Pol after you.”

Y/N chuckled, and pretended her smile was as genuine as she wanted it to be. “I’ll have to be careful and make sure you don’t catch me then.”

He rolled his eyes as he closed the door behind him.

Y/N let the darkness envelope her as she rolled onto her back. Her movements were stiff with pain. Exhaustion seeped into her joints and with Thomas gone there was nothing left to distract her.

For the first time since it’d happened she let her mind wander over the events of the day, a sob ripped itself from her throat. Then another. She pressed the palm of her hand into her mouth in a desperate attempt to stifle herself. But Y/N couldn’t stop the tears from streaming like trails of fire down her cheeks.

#thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagine #reader insert #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinder imagine

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getdownkyh · 3 years

Text

Feel Good (m) | Sungjin | Smut | 1.1k words

The sun was up, and if you focused you could probably hear the bustling of the locals going about their day through the streets. Out of habit, you stayed in your bed, scrolling through your phone, Sungjin’s soft snores to your side the only sound filling the room. You decided you could stay in bed a bit longer, at least until he woke up, since you didn’t even know what time he came home last night.

Still sleeping, or you assumed so, he slung his right arm over your abdomen, bringing you closer to him. You looked at his peaceful sleeping face for a while, mentally tracing his features. He looked tired, as he always did when he worked at night yet he was enchanting to look at, ethereal in his sleep. Beautiful.

If you stared at him longer you might not be able to resist from peppering his face with kisses so you turned, your back facing him as you placed your phone down, your hands now finding his that was rising and falling with every breath you take.

You felt him slip another hand underneath your torso, locking you in his arms as he pulled you against his chest, his scent engulfing you. Cautiously, you whispered, “Morning?”

Sungjin hummed lazily in response, opting to bury his face in your hair, his hold on you firm and secure. You caught a whiff of his shower gel and perfume, indicating two things : it hadn’t been long since he came back, and he showered right before he went to bed.

He kissed the crown of your head, groggily mumbling, “Missed you...”

You softened, “There, there, I’m here with you now.”

Sungjin sighed, “Need more of you...”

He pulled you even closer to him, seemingly innocent, before his hand snuck underneath your shirt, moving upwards to your breasts, softly squeezing as he took them in his hand. You breathed out shakily, slightly squirming in his grasp as you arched into his touch. Your hands instinctively grabbed onto his arm, feeling him smirking against your hair.

Tired Sungjin was clingy Sungjin. And clingy Sungjin had a high tendency to be needy.

He brought his lips to your neck, trailing kisses to the exposed skin as his hands massaged your breasts in soft squeezes. Your breathing escalated, feeling his teeth and tongue leaving marks on the junction of your neck, humming every so often to hush you from getting riled up too quickly.

Your fingers clutched the sheets beneath you tighter, feeling his hand moving south, fingers massaging the skin over your hipbone before dipping into the waistband of your panties, groaning at the feeling of your warmth encountering his fingertips. He stroked your folds, moving his palm up and down, as you let out a moan, your butt pressing closer against his crotch.

Sungjin groaned again, the small space inside your underwear limiting him from properly setting up a rhythm to finger you. Pulling his hand out, he harshly tugged the piece of clothing down, lips close to your ear as he breathed out, “Can you just, not wear these.”

The question was rhetorical at most, if anything it just confirmed your suspicions that he was being extra needy today.

Once your core was bare, his hands were quick to resume his earlier ministrations. Your eyes fluttered close, feeling his fingers spreading your folds, collecting the arousal before spreading it around, gentle circles igniting a flame at the base of your stomach.

When he finally inserted his finger, both of you moaned in unison. You threw your head back, pressing into his shoulder, your soft moans so close to his ear, spurring him on as he added another finger. His long, thick fingers caressed your walls deliciously, and your hips stuttered, your body stuck between the instinct to pull away from the overwhelming sensation or to give in and indulge in every single touch.

He delicately pulled out his finger, slick with your liquid, teasingly dragging it across your stomach, as your breathing hitched in your throat. His hard-on was painfully pressing onto your back, and you shuffled slightly, giving him room to release his erection. His hand gently rubbed the side of your thigh, coaxing you to lift your leg a little, making your wetness accessible to him.

His throbbing head met your dripping hole and you arched your back, pressing your hips downwards as he pushed into you, bottoming out in one shove, your leg falling, tangling with his as you lost control of your limbs.

He hugged you tighter, pressing his lips onto your shoulder, moaning into your skin as he felt your warm, tight walls hugging his member. Every time you clenched around him, his hold on you tightened, grounding himself as he snapped his hips into you repeatedly. The way you were pulsing around him everytime he filled you up in one shove urging him to push into you harder and harder. Your body jostled with every thrust, your boobs squished between your body and his arm, sheets balled between your fists.

He kissed your shoulder, moaning between words, “You’re, ah, so good for me.”

Mewling, unable to speak, feeling overwhelmed by the way you could feel his pulsing vein stroking your walls, you gasped, buried in his scent around you as he continued burying himself in you. Your back was plastered to him, sweaty and uncomfortable, but somehow making the whole experience even better. The initial shove was full of urgency and you didn’t think it could get even more intense, but it did.

With the amount of fervor he was penetrating you, you were certain you would be lying on your stomach by now, if his arm wasn’t tightly wound around your body, keeping you in place. Your nails scratched his arms, feeling him brush against that heavenly spot inside of you, sending you teetering over the edge of pleasure.

You drew in a sharp breath, neck fully craned, back of your head pressing further into his shoulder, “Kiss me,” you mouthed breathlessly. He angled his head to face you, his pace not faltering, and connected your lips, messily tugging your bottom lip between his teeth.

Another breathy whine escaped your lips, swallowed by him, seconds before you trembled in his arms as your walls convulsed uncontrollably, incoherent words spilling from your mouth. Sungjin lightly bit the skin of your shoulder as he reached his own orgasm, his grunts sending chills down your spine.

His vice like grip on your body loosened as he came down from his high, panting. Pulling out as carefully as he could, he delicately used his hand to prop your head against a pillow, watching you lay flat on your back, your chest heaving, eyes closed. He gently fixed your hair, pushing back the strands that stuck to your sweaty skin, exposing your blushing face. Beautiful.

Breaths stuttering, fingers tracing his hand, you exhaled, “Only you can make me feel this good.”

#sungjin #sungjin smut #park sungjin #day6 smut #sungjin fic #sungjin scenarios

76 notes · View notes

deltas-writing-corner · 3 years

Text

Warmth: Act 1 - 14

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Disclaimer: This is only the first 1000 words of the chapter. If you would like to read the rest, click here!

Warnings: none

Masterlist: (coming soon)

Ieyasu presses the pads of his middle and index finger all over the area where you had gotten stabbed. He squints at your leg, trying desperately to find any sign of a usual scar on your skin. You want to tell him that no matter how long he looks, no line of lifted or discolored skin is going to miraculously form. Unfortunately for him, you find his confusion hilarious and simply leave him to ponder over your smooth and flawless skin. You don't want him to go back to his grumpy and dismissive attitude. Not yet.

While he stares and slightly twists your leg from side to side, he asks his normal set of questions. Does it hurt anywhere? Do you feel even the slightest bit feverish? How's your appetite? Any headaches or dizziness? What about your breathing, are there any irregularities or pain in your chest? Have you been drinking your medicine as I ordered?

Your answers are always the same. No. No. Normal. No. Not even a twinge. Yes, even though his concoctions taste bitter and make you want to gag. He never gets offended over your clear disdain towards his medicine. He only gives you an approving nod upon hearing that you've been following his instructions, regardless.

It's been a few days since you've regained consciousness, but even when there is no sign of you being ill and with your injury being all but non-existent, you haven't been allowed to do much. You're under strict orders to remain in the medical ward, under constant care and surveillance. The maids won't let you do your normal chores, much less let you thread a needle. You've been very vocal about wanting to return to your room for some much-needed space, but your pleas seem to fall on deaf ears.

At least your new companions have been making the agonizing wait more bearable. Hayai, the little pond turtle you found and showed off to Hideyoshi, rests comfortably by your side. He watches Ieyasu carefully as if to make sure the blonde does nothing that would cause you harm or you didn't like. You reach down and give his leathery neck some good scratches for his diligence.

Despite being wild, he's taken quite a liking to you since you've found him. You think it's because you feed him some fruits and vegetables that come with your meal. But even when there isn't a whiff of food in the air, he always remains by your side and hides away in his murky colored shell whenever you're not around. Even when Kuro was still around, Hayai didn't shelter himself and allowed the serpent to rest on top of his back while he ambled around. They even splashed and chased each other around in the water a few times! Hayai may be slow on land, but he zooms whenever he's within the water. That's why you named him as such, and you’ll continue to stand by your choice even when Mitsuhide pokes fun at you for it.

"By the way," Ieyasu looks up briefly and meets your eyes before looking back at your leg again, "where's that cobra of yours?"

"Viper," you correct him. "If you're wondering what happened to him, ask Mitsuhide.”

Ieyasu is surprised by your answer. “Why him?”

“It's his punishment."

Before he can question you any further, a few knocks rattle the door before pale and slender hands slide them both open to allow your visitor in. Mitsuhide's eyes go wide when he notices your exposed leg within the grasp of Ieyasu. "Oh, my!" he covers his mouth with the tips of his fingers as if he were some innocent noblewoman. "Have I come at a bad time? I can return later and let you two finish up. You ought to lock the door too while you two are at it."

It doesn’t take a genius to understand that he’s subtly implying something more than a medical checkup. You're tempted to grab one of Ieyasu's glass vials he brought, filled with various dried herbs and medicinal roots, and chuck it at Mitsuhide's head for his lame tease. However, you’ve been expecting his arrival these past few days so you’ll let it slide... for now .

“Why are you here?” Ieyasu asks, unsurprisingly sounding annoyed. “Did Lord Nobunaga send you to get me?”

“No, he hasn't. I merely thought our young chatelaine would enjoy some slices of watermelon. It is rather hot today.”

He lifts the neatly wrapped furoshiki with both hands for you two to see. You immediately recognize the fabric wrapped around the small-sized watermelon, green with a white chrysanthemum pattern. Grandmother Hisa must have pulled Mitsuhide aside and ordered him to deliver it to you. Do you think she kindly asked him to hand off her treat to you whilst giving him a kind and grateful pat on the back? Absolutely not. You’re almost certain she gave him a good smack on the back of his head after hearing that he held you down and pressed a knife to your neck. You love that woman so much.

“Come,” you usher him to your side. “We can share a slice.”

“You’re sharing your food with me?”

“Yes, I am. Or have you already forgotten our arrangements?”

“What arrangement?” Ieyasu asks.

“Our Chatelaine is determined to fix my poor diet by having me eat alongside her,” Mitsuhide answers.

“Good luck with that,” Ieyasu unenthusiastically says. “Masamune has been trying to fix his eating habits for years and he has made little progress if any at all.”

“Yeah, well, it's either he eats willingly or I'm tying him up and forcing all his meals down his throat,” you hiss out.

“There’s no need to go that far for my sake. Although...” Mitsuhide cups his chin in his hand and looks off in contemplation. “I suppose being tied up by you doesn’t sound so bad.”

You glare at him. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” he asks with an innocent smile.

Once he’s within range, you reach out and give a harsh tug on his ear, causing him to wince. “Saying weird things!”

“Speaking of weird things,” Ieyasu butts in between your banter. “Mitsuhide, what did you do to the cobra.”

“ Viper .”

Ieyasu gives you an exasperated look. “Does it matter?”

“It does to me!”

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#ikemen sengoku #ikemen sengoku writing #ikemen sengoku fanfiction #ikesen #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #ikemen series #ikesen writing #ikesen fanfic #writing #ao3 fanfic #otome #cybird #fanfic: warmth

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boarix · 4 years

Text

7 Day S.P.E.C.I.A.L.

3. Essential Personnel

Starring: Courier 6 Snowflake, Craig Boone and Rex (Fallout New Vegas (as part of the Wraith in the Ruins AU))

Trigger warnings: canon violence/language/gun use/animal injury/suggestive content

“It’s a shit gun, Snow.”

“It’ll be fine, Bubba.”

“No.” Craig Boone’s headshake was a subtle motion, almost like he was working a kink out of his neck. He held the AMR out toward the courier, “It jams.”

“You mean, ‘it has jammed’.” Snowflake gave the other man his brightest smile, “That rifle has incredible power at long range…”

“I’d do better with mine, closer…”

“Nope, I need you to stay up here. You can see into the quarry, right?”

Snowflake was on a mission to collect the head of an alpha male deathclaw as proof to Chomps Lewis that Quarry Junction was clear as well as a clutch of deathclaw eggs for the ravishing leader of The Thorn, Red Lucy. His optimistic declaration of “two birds with one stone” wasn’t sitting well with his somber companion. Especially once Snowflake had told him the plan.

“The scope is fine. I just don’t think it’s safe for you to have me so far away.”

“Bubba, if shit goes sideways, I’m gonna need room.” He held his large arms out to either side, flexing.

Boone was unimpressed, “Take Rex with you.”

The dog had been intensely sniffing at a crack in the cliffside but trotted over to Boone as soon as he heard his name. The sniper, in turn, absentmindedly shouldered the enormous rifle to reach down to pat his flank.

“Well, I can’t do that. Who’s gonna have your back if we’re both down there?”

Boone pointed over his shoulder, “The mountain.”

Snowflake frowned down at the dog, “I guess so… you wanna come with daddy and go chase some lizards?” While the dog pranced about, barking enthusiastically, the courier did a last check on his equipment.

When he saw that the courier picked up his Blade of the West, (dubbed Butter Knife) Boone frowned critically, “You’re not taking that thing with you, are you?”

“Craig Daniel Boone, please stop nagging me!” He turned away to begin his careful decent from the cliff.

“My middle name isn’t Daniel…”

“It was a joke, Bubba.”

“No. Jokes are funny.”

The plan was simple: using Stealth Boys, the courier would sneak past and count the resident deathclaws while locating the clutch of eggs. Along the way he would deploy frag mines, and then find his own perch to snipe from. They would each take one or two strategic shots to stir the reptiles up, and then eliminate the threat in relative safety. Or as Snowflake had put it, “It’ll be easy! Like shootin’ fish in a barrel.”

After politely telling the dog to stay, Snowflake activated a Stealth-Boy and crept along the narrow canyon and down into the quarry floor. He caught a whiff of deathclaw scat and followed his nose around a particularly large conveyer/excavator, laying mines as he went. Despite his earlier bravado he was still momentarily frozen when he turned a corner and came face to face with sleeping juvenile. He sucked in his breath as the beast grunted and shifted in its sleep. Satisfied that it was going to carry on in dreamland, he peered around its haunch and saw that its brethren were all in a similar repose.

Apparently, it was dragon nap time.

Finally locating the eggs, he removed his shoulder bag and carefully packed them away. As he turned to head back to the excavator he was hit with a waft of the cloying smell of death and rot. The odor was sufficient warning and he dodged to his left as an enormous, sickle-shaped claw slashed through the air; missing him by a hair’s breadth. Abandoning stealth in favor of speed he sprinted toward the conveyor in the hopes that the beast wouldn’t be able to climb up the boom after him. The deathclaw reared back and bellowed, rousing its pack to war.

Shit may have been heading in an adjacent direction.

Not only was the deathclaw able to climb the conveyor belt, it was doing so much faster than Snowflake was. Dodging on the narrow platform while the creature took swipes at him took all of his coordination and he was too hard-pressed to get off a rifle shot. At a certain point he ended up hanging underneath while it tried in vain to poke its claws through the gap between the belt and the steel frame. Glancing down, he could see a rather large gathering of the lizards forming underneath him.

“Well, doesn’t that just rot yer socks…?”

Boone sat waiting for the signal shot. Switching between the gun scope and his binoculars he was muttering to himself in frustration, “Too damn long. Can’t see anybody. Where are you?” It never occurred to him to change position. After all, the courier told him to ‘stay’.

Snowflake watched in frustration as the quarry’s full complement of deathclaws (save for his conveyer belt companion) avoided his mines and settled themselves beneath him, waiting for his arm strength to give out. He briefly considered whistling for Rex, but dismissed it just as quickly. Sure, the dog might have provided a useful distraction, but he might also be hurt and the courier would rather die than let that happen. Desperate times called for desperate measures, “Well, now that I have all y’alls attention, won’t you please consider this?” Letting go with one hand, he grabbed a frag grenade from his belt, pulled the pin with his teeth and dropped it.

Several of them leaped out of the way which triggered the mines which in turn triggered the vehicles and other machinery. Soon the entire quarry floor was flashing and shaking as one explosion after another rocked the very earth.

“Ooopsfuckingshit!”

Boone was confused by the sudden light show. This wasn’t the signal that he and the courier had discussed. The percussive blasts reaching his ears snapped him back to his task and he looked through the AMR’s scope for his first target. The clouds of dust and debris made this nearly impossible and when he finally found a deathclaw to aim for, the gun jammed. Looking down at the useless rifle and then at the hellfire of the quarry, the sniper decided that, regardless of orders, Snowflake needed him.

Throwing the gun to the ground, he half ran, half slid, down the side of the ridge. The sharp rocks rolled up the sleeve of his uniform jacket and cut his arm in the process. Ignoring the wound, he drew his combat knife and sprinted as fast as he could toward were he judged the first explosion came from.

What he saw he couldn’t fully comprehend.

There was what appeared to be a glowing one fighting the few surviving deathclaws. Leaping, spinning and dodging, it was wielding Butter Knife in an expert display of swordsmanship. Slicing at the tendons in wrist, knee and ankle, they brought down several of the beasts, rendering them helpless. Then, to Boone’s further astonishment, they brandished Snowflake’s revolver, sending shot after shot into the open mouths and eyes of the creatures.

When the alpha charged the glowing warrior, they sent out an enormous blast of radiation causing the beast to stager and rear back from the heat. Then, taking advantage of the deathclaw’s exposed throat, they made several slices in rapid succession, the last swing causing the head to come free and fly in Boone’s direction. When the sniper stepped out of the way, the glowing one saw the movement from their peripheral and raised the magnum as if to shoot.

Sudden recognition froze Boone in his tracks as he stared into the unmistakable eyes of his friend. Rather than make an attempt to evade, he threw his arms out wide and flexed his chest toward Snowflake; as if asking him to shoot.

“Boone?!” Lowering the now melting revolver, the glowing courier slammed the remains of Butter Knife into the ashen quarry floor and leaned heavily against it, “What the fuck!”

“What do you mean ‘what that fuck’? WHAT THE FUCK TO YOU?!” Suddenly angry, the sniper yelled back at his friend, “ARE YOU… what… How are you doing that!?”

“Never mind this, did you just… what were you… do you know what it would do to me if I accidentally shot you?!”

“I just thought… that if it was you… I’d be okay with it being you.” Boone was so confused and mentally turned around; he didn’t know what to do or where to look and he stood awkwardly with blood dripping from his fingers.

“I need your help! I can’t do this without you! And that’s… that is not how I want to show my love for you, Boone.”

“You… love me?”

The halo of light around Snowflake had begun to diminish. It was becoming clear that all of his clothes, hair and a good portion of his skin had burned away. Exhausted, he dropped to his knees and would have fallen over, had Boone not rushed to catch him.

The sniper took off his jacket and tucked the other man into it, “What are you talking about?!”

Snowflake smiled up at him and when he spoke, his voice, although ragged, was closer to normal, “You’re my best friend; of course I love ya. You’re my brother, Boone.”

“Oh.” The sniper gave the courier a brief squeeze and looked around at the carnage, “This got messy. Where’s Rex?”

“You wrap up your arm, take some Rad-X and go look for him. I need to just… I have to lay here a minnit.”

After about an hour, Boone returned carrying both the dog (who despite having lost both of his rear cyber limbs, seemed to be pain-free and happy) and miraculously, Snowflake’s pack.

“I’m sorry super pup! Don’t worry; I know Raul can fix you up.” Snowflake was in a fetal position, trying to fit as much of himself as possible into Boone’s coat and his voice was muffled, “Ha ha, that rhymed!”

“Are you… going to be okay?”

“Sure. This isn’t the first time this has happened, you know? Although… I’m always afraid my hair won’t grow back. Do me a favor and don’t tell anyone? People wouldn’t understand.”

“I don’t understand.”

Boone went back up the cliff to retrieve the rest of their equipment (including spare clothes for Snowflake) and then the trio spent the night huddled together. In the morning, Snowflake’s condition had much improved and had even begun to grow back skin.

“Is that where your nickname come from? Why you wear gloves? From the scars?”

“Yes and no.” The courier was surprised and a little excited that Boone would ask him such personal questions, “I wasn’t nuclear for very long yesterday and these burns are… different. It’ll take a little bit but I should regrow most of what skin I lost yesterday. No, these…” he held out his hands and gestured to his face, “are from when I was a kid and my family’s wagon hit a land mine. I wasn’t in it; was riding our big horner, Ladd, alongside. The shrapnel cut me up real bad and I burned my hands trying to pull my brother from the wreck. Other families in our caravan took pity on me and would share their food, but their kids started calling me ‘Snowflake’ on account of all my little white scars.” His smile was forced, “No two alike!”

Boone was quiet for a moment as he studied the courier’s face. When he spoke his voice was soft, “Kids can be mean. Why did you keep the nickname?”

“Well, I figured I’d steal some of their fun by ownin’ it. Sides, ‘a snowflake in the desert’ sounds romantic, right? Who doesn’t root for the underdog?”

“Right.”

“Speakin’ of dogs; which would you prefer?” He gestured to Rex and then the severed head of the alpha deathclaw, “Doggy style or head?”

Boone rolled his eyes as he gathered the dog into his arms, “I’ll carry Rex, thanks.”

“Oh, c’mon, Bubba, that was a joke!”

“No. Jokes are funny.”

#Vault720 #7DayChallenge #fallout fanfic #fallout fan fiction #fallout writing prompts #fallout new vegas #craig boone #boone #courier 6 #fallout companions #theartofblossoming

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justthehiddleswrites · 3 years

Text

The Reluctants | Chapter 4 | The Reluctant Embrace

Pairing: Adam (OLLA) x OFC (Charlie Bock)

Summary: Charlie can’t believe her luck when she lands an apartment all to herself in Quincy, Massachusetts in a decaying triple decker. But life gets more complicated when someone moves into the basement. Specifically her landlord, Adam, who also happens to be a vampire. As life collapses around Charlie, these two forge an uneasy and unlikely relationship. But is their relationship as doomed as the building they live in?

Chapter: As Adam and Charlie enter into uncharted territory with this new arrangement, things get complicated. Charlie tries to re-establish order. It fails.

Warnings: Violence, Smut, Frottage, Dry Humping, Teasing, Coming In Pants, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex. Couch Sex. Kidnapping. Stalking. Non-Graphic Violence, Character Death

Adam offered Charlie a spot on the sofa which gladly she took, folding her hands in her lap.

“I can’t ask you to do this.” Adam offered.

“You’re not. I’m offering.” She squirmed under Adam’s stare. “It’s different. It’s not like I am under some thrall or something.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “Stop reading books about vampires. It’s all bullshit.”

“Except for the blood and sunlight.”

“Yes.”

“So are you in? Otherwise, I need to find somewhere to move.” Charlie pressed the issue.

“Fine.” Adam huffed.

Charlie squealed, bouncing in place. Adam’s eyes focused on Charlie’s chest for a moment too long, his mind wondering if she bothered to put on a bra or not to see him. She blushed when she followed his gaze, crossing her arms.

“So… so… How would this work?” she stuttered, conscious of everything.

Adam licked his lips in hunger. “I would feed off your blood. Preferably every few days.”

Charlie gulped. “Would you need to bite me?”

“Yes.” Adam hummed, his fangs becoming more prominent. “I can show you.”

“Now?!”

“Can you think of a better time?” Adam snapped back.

“No.” Charlie fidgeted a bit before leaning her head away.

“No, not there. Give me your arm.” Adam commanded.

Charlie’s left arm shot out. Adam’s fingers slid along her hand as he turned her hand palm facing up. The callous on the index finger caught on her wrist.

“The radial and ulnar arteries run through the arm.” Adam traced two lines of each side of Charlie’s wrist. The hair on her arm stood on end. “They carry oxygenated blood to the hands.”

He lifted her wrists to his lips. Adam’s stubble rubbed against the delicate skin, leaving a red mark as he nuzzled his nose, inhaling her. Charlie didn’t seem as he expected. He expected something… well feminine. Flowers, sugar, something sweet. She instead smelled of bay rum and citrus. It made his head spin.

“I’ve already eaten today, so I won’t feed long.” Adam reassured Charlie, and she sighed in relief. “Relax.”

Charlie recognized Adam’s lips were soft and warm, she had thought they would be cold. As Adam’s fangs sunk into her wrist, she hummed.

Adam’s mouth filled with Charlie’s blood and realized he was more hungry than he let on. It had been a long time since he had a “warm meal”. And Charlie tasted delicious. He wanted to drink all of her. He pulled away. His tongue licking away an errant drop from his lip.

“And see,” he turned her wrist to face her. “the bleeding is already stopped. Here.” He rose and grabbed an old t-shirt, ripping it. Adam wrapped the strip tight around the wound. “Keep that in place for at least an hour.”

He patted on the makeshift bandage, his fingers lingered.

“That wasn’t as bad as I thought.” Charlie whispered, feeling somewhat lightheaded, not sure if it was the blood loss or something else. “I will see myself out.”

Adam stood as Charlie did, his arms hanging tight at his side. He didn’t know how to quite end such an encounter.

“I’ll see you in a few days.”

Charlie nodded. “I’ll come down the interior stairs after sunset. Does that work for you?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” Charlie gave a slight smile.

“Thank you.” Adam repeated back, the corners of his mouth twitched into an almost half smile.

Charlie disappeared up the stairs while Adam shut the door with a soft click. He pressed his head against the wood.

Charlie and Adam continued on just as they had agreed. Adam would feed on her every few days, always the wrists. And Charlie continued living upstairs. One day, Charlie stopped as Adam took his seat on the couch as he always had.

“Is there a problem?” he inquired. He had been following the arrangement to a T, despite his libido’s desire to do more.

“I need you to not feed from my wrists today.” Charlie mumbled, her hands twisting in front of her body. She plopped down beside him. She continued to fidget beside him.

“Why not?”

“Because I have a job interview at Sheffield and Wyatt and I would rather not have to explain why my wrists are bandaged.”

“Cover them up.” Adam retorted, in a flat tone. The alternative was too dangerous.

“I can’t!” Charlie’s voice broke. “It will look like I’m trying to hide something.”

“You are.”

“Please. Just this one time.” Charlie begged.

Adam contemplated his options. He could refuse to feed, but the fatigue coursed through his body. He didn’t want to be weak like that for another moment, let alone another day.

“Lie down on the couch.” Adam snapped, regretting already what he was about to do.

“What?” Charlie stiffened, wishing she had changed before coming down to meet him.

“If I am to feed from your neck, you will become weak sooner than the wrists. I can’t have you passing out in the process.”

“Okay.” She tugged her jean shorts down, doing little to cover up before lying on the sofa.

Adam tugged at his trousers for different reasons and settled behind her.

“Apologies for the tight fit. Unless you would prefer to do so in the bedroom.”

“No!” Charlie jerked her head to face him. “No. Here is fine.”

Adam pressed against the back of the couch, trying to put any space between his bare chest and Charlie’s bare arm. It wasn’t working. He leaned forward to brush her dark curls away, exposing the soft skin of her neck.

“Just breathe.” he whispered to her. Adam’s breath fanned across the skin behind her ear. Goosebumps broke out on her arms. She exhaled a shaky breath.

“So where will you feed?” Charlie’s voice wavered.

If she tilted her head slightly to the left, then their noses would bump which meant inevitably their lips would touch. And Charlie would have plausible deniability for kissing Adam. And how she wanted to kiss him. Her chest ached when she took a deep breath and inhaled that scent of sandalwood and men’s cologne.

Adam ignored Charlie squirming for the moment, her thighs rubbing together, while he traced the curve of her neck. His backside pressed as far back as he could manage without becoming part of the fabric of the sofa, his cock threatened to ruin everything.

“So the carotid artery.” His fingers danced across Charlie’s neck. Adam marveled at how perfect, how exquisite Charlie’s neck was. Not a blemish, not a freckle. A perfect canvas. And he would be the artist. “takes the oxygenated blood to the brain, neck and face.”

“Oh, I see. Will it hurt more than the wrist?” Charlie’s chest was heaving at this point and she was certain she would need a fresh pair of underwear.

“Much more.” He leaned in. Charlie smelled of bay rum and flowers. A heady combination of her shampoo and the boutique perfume she always wore. “And if you move, I might accidently rip open the artery. Can stay still while I feed or should I hold you down?”

Adam’s hair tickled her shoulder. “It might be best if you hold me down.” Adam’s eyes widened. “We don’t want to take any chances do we?”

“Of course not.” He wrapped his arm around her ribcage, pushing her into the cushions. His thumb grazed the underside of her chest. Adam wrapped his foot around her ankle, locking her in place. “Ready?”

Charlie gulped and nodded before closing her eyes and tilting her chin away from Adam. The tip of his nose moved along her cheek and his lips ghosted over the crook of her neck. She jumped when his stubble scratched along her skin. Adam pulled Charlie tight to him.

“I promise to be quick.” His voice deep in his chest.

He licked her right as his fangs sunk into her and Adam felt the soft pop of the carotid. Charlie whimpered as Adam suckled and fed. His mouth ignited every nerve in her body. She never felt more alive and aroused than lying there in Adam’s arms.

Adam realized as he fed on Charlie, inhaling the smell of bay rum and catching a whiff of her arousal, he had royally fucked up. He should have insisted on feeding her anywhere else. The crook of the elbow, the knees. Hell, the ankles. And here he was with Charlie pressed against him, his thumb threatening to inched upward to pinch her nipple and his fangs deep in her neck with his cock straining against his jeans. He recognized he was past the point of no return and all he could do was move forward and pray Charlie didn’t run.

“Are you all right?” he inquired as he pulled away. Droplets trickled from the puncture marks. Adam used the tip of his tongue to swipe them away. Charlie shuddered against him.

“Fine.” She tilted up to gaze at Adam to find him looking at her with a strange look, not the I’m-too-cool gaze he normally wore. “Are you okay?” Charlie reached out and touched his chest. His shirt, as usual, unbuttoned and hanging loose.

“No am I not.” Adam’s voice low and drawn out even more than usual.

“Do you need to feed some more? Perhaps you are still hungry.”

“Yes, I am.” He leaned forward and Charlie tilted so he could feed some more only to gasp as she felt not fangs but Adam’s soft lips against her neck. She curved into his lips.

“What are you doing?” she breathed, turning to lie flat. Adam twisted to lie on top of her.

“Making either the best or worst decision of my life.” he muttered as he covered her mouth with his.

Charlie’s hands moved to cup his face, pulling him deeper into the kiss. Adam’s nose nudged against hers, his mouth open panting. Charlie slipped her tongue into his mouth, tasting blood and mint. Adam followed. She tasted of peach lip gloss and earl grey tea. He wanted more. Adam wanted to inhale her. He could devour her right there and he knew it would not be enough.

He pulled the two of them to sitting, Charlie straddling his hips. His cock teasing the crotch of Charlie’s shorts. Adam’s hands pawed at the ridiculous cartoon tee shirt Charlie wore, squeezing her tits.

Charlie groaned and her back arched at Adam’s touch. “More.”

Adam smirked into her neck and squeezed again, only to be rewarded by not only another moan but Charlie’s hips grinding against him. Denim on denim. Delicious friction.

“Fuck.” he cursed into her mouth, desperate to taste her again. Adam’s hands traveled down Charlie’s curves to light on her hips. His fingers bruised through the material.

“Hmm.” Charlie hummed as she nipped along Adam’s neck. His mouth fell open when she licked along the curve of his own neck, mirroring the spot where he had fed just moments ago.

“Don’t stop.” Adam pleaded, at the mercy of this human, this woman. Charlie.

She bit down on him, and he groaned bucking into her. Her hands splayed across the taut muscles of Adam’s torso, caressing each angle and ripple, reveling in his beauty. Charlie continued to grind against Adam’s lap as he massaged and fondled her tits. He moaned against her mouth as he came, ruining his favorite jeans. He was still hard. His hands slipped under her shirt and snaked their way to the clasp of her bra. She pulled his hand away and stilled.

“I think I should go.”

“I think you should stay.” Adam countered, placing a kiss on her lips and moved to deepening it before Charlie turned her head away.

“I think I should go. This is supposed to be a business arrangement.”

Adam huffed. “I just came in my pants, darling. I believe our business arrangement is over.” He nuzzled against her, peppering her collarbone with kisses and love bites. She spied the large wet spot on the crotch of his pants, wondering how much was Adam and how much was her.

“No, no no!” Charlie rolled off of Adam. “This is a business arrangement, nothing more.”

Adam pulled her onto his lap. He pressed his forehead against Charlie’s. “Is that all you want? Because if that is the case, we can forget about this and go back to the way things were.”

“I didn’t say that.” she shrugged her shoulders. “You are an excellent kisser.”

“Centuries of experience. You should see what else I can do with my tongue.” He kissed her again, pecking her lips over and over, tongue teasing the inside of her top lip.

“I don’t fuck musicians.”

“And I don’t fuck zombies.”

“So where does that leave us?”

“I don’t know but it is better than the alternative.”

“Which is?”

“Jerking off to lesbian porn.”

Charlie laughed and stood on wobbly legs, Adam steadied her. “I’m leaving. And if I hear any moaning down here, I am calling the cops.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

“You could just stay and you know watch it with me. Or we could do other things?” Adam ran a finger along her waistband.

“I better not but I would very much like to see you tomorrow and do this again.”

“Yes.” Adam stated.

“Goodbye Adam.” Charlie leaned down and kissed his lips. Adam got an eyeful down her shirt and spied the blue lacy bra.

“Wear that bra again and you’re on.”

“Deal.”

“Goodnight Charlie.”

Adam held onto her hand until his arm stretched no further and his fingers lost purchase with hers. He fell back against the couch as the basement door shut and he heard Charlie’s footsteps up the stairs to her own apartment.

“FUCK!” he hissed, not too loud so Charlie didn’t overhear through the thin floors. He rose from the couch and to find a clean pair of trousers and a towel to clean himself up.

Charlie fidgeted the entire way down the basement stairs the next night. She adjusted her top. Another one of her favorite t-shirts. It was broken in by the hundreds of washing, so much you could barely make out the Bruins logo on the front. And it was so thin, you could see the blue lacy bra through the material. A deal was a deal and Charlie intended to honor it. She knocked on the door at the foot of the stairs.

“You know you don’t have to knock.” Adam leaned against the door frame. He wore dark rust red pajamas. The pants hung loose and low around his hips and the top unbuttoned halfway. “You are the only one that uses this door.” He huffed before his lips curled into a devilish grin.

“Manners matter.” Charlie stated matter of fact, hoping she wouldn’t lose her resolve before she even got into the apartment. “May I come in?”

“I don’t plan on making out with you on the stairs, so yes.” Adam bowed to let Charlie in and for once it was her turn to roll her eyes.

“I appreciate your restraint. Now I just have—”

She was cut off by Adam’s mouth on hers. His tongue tasting and licking the inside of her mouth. He tasted that she wore that cheap cherry Chapstick. The kind that tasted nothing like cherries and everything like cough syrup and petroleum. For a moment, she melted against him, her hands reaching underneath the satin material of his shirt to splay across his stomach. And then she remembered herself.

Charlie stepped out of the embrace and into the kitchen, sitting down at the cluttered table. Adam’s brow furrowed. Not a good sign.

“Why are you carrying that?” He jabbed his finger at the legal pad and pen in Charlie’s hand, which she placed on the corner where she cleared some room. “Are you planning on taking notes?” Charlie didn’t laugh.

“Not exactly.”

She folded her hands on top of the pad. Charlie gestured for Adam to take the seat across from her. He ignored her directions to flip the chair next to her backwards to straddle it, his arms propped up on the back of the chair. Adam leaned over to ghost his lips across the nape of her neck, pushing her hair aside. Goosebumps again. His tongue darting along the curve of her neck.

“I thought you were here to have some fun?” Adam’s voice rattled in his chest, like a deep resonate note from an upright bass. The sound went straight to Charlie’s core.

“I did. But before that, if we are going to continue down the path and venture, I think some ground rules and a framework need to be agreed upon.” The words tumbled out of her mouth as a huge run-on sentence before uncapping her pen.

Adam sat back in the chair. “We already have ground rules. No fucking.” he attempted, but he knew that once Charlie set her mind to it, there was no deterring her. The incident with the speakers proved that much.

“That is a rule, not the rules.” She huffed, recapping your pen. “If you’re not willing to negotiate, then I can just leave.” She stood up, pressing against Adam in the process. Just because she wanted some rules, didn’t mean she wasn’t horny as fuck.

Adam snatched her wrist and pulled her back into the chair with a snap. She landed hard on the cushion. “Ow.” She rubbed her bottom in mock pain, as the shock hurt more than the actual injury.

“Talk.”

Charlie smiled and wiggled in the chair as she uncapped her pen again and wrote 1. No fucking in big looping cursive.

“And bottoms and underwear should remain on at all times. Just in case one or both of us loses self-control.”

“I have excellent self- control.” Adam scoffed, he was losing interest in this pointless exercise.

“Who came in their pants yesterday?”

“Who helped?” he countered. “Can we hurry this along?”

Charlie smirked, writing 2. Bottoms and underwear remain on at all times.

Adam leaned over to read. “Except your bra.” He tapped the paper.

“The bra is remaining on.”

“Bra is off. Your tits are magnificent.” Adam nuzzled against Charlie’s neck.

“I’ll compromise. Bra unclasped, straps remain on the shoulders. You will have to get creative.”

Adam nipped her neck with his teeth causing her to jump. He chuckled against Charlie. “I’m an artist, I am nothing if not creative.”

This continued several more minutes until the following rules were created:

1. No fucking.

2a. Bottoms and underwear shall remain on at all times.

2b. Bra may unclasped but straps must remain on shoulders.

3a. Adam’s hands must remain on top of the clothing mentioned in (1) at all times. No rubbing on Charlie’s genital area with hands or fingers without prior permission. Permission may not be given during the session.

3b. Charlie’s hands can go wherever the fuck she wants them to go. Rubbing of Adam’s cock is encouraged. Adam says fuck permission.

Adam leaned over and read it, “Are you really going to leave it like that?”

“You said word to word.”

“Fine.”

4. Bedrooms are strictly off limits.

“There. Sign.” Charlie slid the paper over after signing it herself. Adam huffed once.

“In order?” He stood from his perch. Charlie nodded pushing the pad off to the side. “Good.” He spun her chair around and lifted her onto the table. Adam tugged roughly at her shirt and stretched it over her head.

“Hey, I like that shirt.”

“I like that shirt on the floor.” Adam moved to bite Charlie’s lower lip, rewarding him with a whimper. “Did you have your interview today at Sheffield and Wyatt?”

“Yes. Do you want to know how it went?”

“No.” Adam growled. He used his hips to push Charlie’s legs apart, standing in between.

He cupped her face as his tongue licked the inside of her mouth. She groaned against him, scooting to the edge of the table. Charlie pushed his shirt off his shoulders and onto the floor. Her nails dug in his sides as she pulled Adam closer to her core.

Adam smiled against her mouth as his hands traveled to Charlie’s back and popped the clasp of her bra with ease. The bra loosen and Adam cupped her chest, squeezing them. Charlie’s breasts were heavy in his hands. Adam lowered his head, pushing her bra up and sucked her nipples.

“Hey!” Charlie jumped back although not moving out of Adam’s reach, her voice heavy. “That’s against the ground rules.”

“Check your paper.” Adam nuzzled himself in her cleavage. Charlie leaned back and twisted the pad to read.

“Shit.”

Adam chuckled. “You forgot about mouths. Now let’s put that self-control to the test.”

He pulled her tight against him, pulling her legs to wrap around his waist. Adam rutted against her. His hands mauled against her breasts, pinching at her nipples. Charlie moaned and whimpered as Adam crushed his lips against her already swollen lips.

Soon, her coil grew tight inside her core, she whined and gasped as her release grew closer. Adam lowered his head and sucked upon her nipples.

“Oh god!” Charlie yelled as she came, soaking through her clothes.

Adam’s head fell into the crook of Charlie’s neck as he bucked against her one more time as he reached his own release. He would have to do laundry more often at this rate. Charlie relaxed while Adam slumped against her. The two of them using each other to support their bodies. Each of them breathed heavy.

Charlie pushed her curls off her face. “So…” she clapped her hands against the table until she found her legal pad. “… I think the rules work.” She lied.

“No.” Adam growled.

“Excuse me?” Charlie blinked at Adam’s sour expression. She slid off the table. “They… they… are great.” Her voice an octave higher than usual.

“They’re bullshit. A feeble attempt to deny what this is.” Adam towered over her, backing her against the table, jostling the contents. “Denying yourself. Zombies.” Adam spat.

“Adam!” Charlie screamed. “Don’t fucking call me that!” She ducked under his arm and stormed off towards the stairs. With his unnatural speed, Adam ran to block her path.

“I’m sorry.” Adam mumbled.

“What did you say?” the tiniest hint of a smile at the corners of Charlie’s lips.

“I’m not repeating myself.”

“I will just assume you apologized and agree the rules are perfect. Goodnight, Adam.” She moved to walk up the stairs but Adam didn’t budge.

“Tomorrow?” Adam pulled her against him, her body still warm from their earlier tryst. “Unless you would prefer to stay.” He dug into her hips. Charlie bit her lip to hold back a moan.

“I don’t think that is a good idea.”

“Since when have we ever come up with a good idea?” Adam leaned down to kiss her, but she turned away.

“Night, Adam.” Charlie stated as firmly as she could before walking up the stairs. “Tomorrow.” she called after him. Adam’s mind is already turning.

Once she made her way back into the apartment, Charlie glanced down at the legal pad, tightly gripped in her hand.

“Fuck… shit… fuck!” she moaned and cursed, flinging the legal pad across the room before heading the bathroom to clean herself up. Perhaps skirts were a better idea than jeans.

#adam #adam fanfiction #adam fanfic #adam angst #adam fluff #adam smut #only lovers left alive #only lovers left alive fanfiction #adam x ofc #the reluctants

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real-sotenbori-hours · 5 years

Text

As You Like - Majima Goro x Fem reader ~ smut

Summary: After a busy night at Sunshine, Majima makes the grave mistake of kicking back at one of the tables for a sec... and you decide this is the perfect time to physically demonstrate how much you love this fucking dude.

You’re alone in the back room, having just changed, packing up your stuff. Youda-san knocks twice and cheerfully informs you that he’s locking up, heading out, and thank you for your excellent work tonight. You laugh and thank him right back, zipping up your bag and pushing the chair back into the vanity.

You swing the door open, switch off the light in the back room and shut it, assuming it’s just you in this now dimly lit place of splendor and excitement. Something about being alone in a building typically packed with beautiful women, big spending men and an energy of excess turns you on for some undefinable reason.

Looks like you’re all alone... and you can’t shake your arousal. You’re tempted to do something about this rush that’s running up and between your legs... something exhilarating, a secret you’ll keep with yourself, something that’ll put a hell of a smirk on your face the next night you work, and then some. You start scanning the room for the booth that most strikes this filthy fancy within you.

All alone.

Darkness surrounds you, teasingly. Total darkness but two of the globe table lights sleepily lit at the far front of the room.

You slowly saunter towards the stage, surveying the two booths subtly inviting you to indulge yourself.

The veil of obscurity spurs you on. You scan the room, noticing a figure sprawled out in the corner.

You assumed you were alone, and you were wrong.

The muted, faint sound of relaxed breathing draws you close and as your eyes adjust, you can finally make out the identity of this tired silhouette.

His hair barely brushing the back of the booth, you catch the warm glow of the globe light, illuminating the gorgeous face of your boss, Majima fucking Goro. Each of his arms extended along the top of the cushioned support as his legs hung wide open, allowing him to stretch out completely.

The heat pools between your eager thighs at the mere thought of taking advantage of this stunning god of a man. In your schoolgirl mind, any woman in his mere presence had to be helplessly enamored with him. How could you not be? You’re certain you’ve hid your desperate adoration well, thinking it best to never act above your respective station... but there he is, napping peacefully after a big, booming evening... and now you couldn’t care less, all you wanted was to drop to your knees before him.

So you do.

You crawl underneath the table, trying to stifle a giggle at your mischieviousness. On your knees, you slide between his, slowly running your hands up the inside of his legs. Euphoric with desire, you watch his face as you sink your fingertips into his thighs, breathing slowly, seductively. He twitches, releasing a quiet moan. His lap tightens and you gleefully watch as a stiffness makes itself apparent. You rake your nails along the stretches of his inner thighs, coaxing his arousal to grow. It does. Feeling brazen, you delicately pull on the overlap of his belt, prying it free from the pin. Just as you’d had it almost undone, his eye flies open, spearing you with a look of alarm... and curiosity.

Your face erupted, burning... what’d you expect? To hide your panicking fear of rejection, you lean back, sitting on your heels and tilt your head, pursing your lips.

He sighs, and those stupidly kissable lips part ever so slightly. “Well, well, well... Y/N-chan, what on Earth do ya think yer doin’ down there?”

Lust courses through your veins like a fucking drug. You cackle and reach for the back of your neck, unsnapping the top of your dress and letting it drop freely to your waist, exposing your breasts. His eye widens. “H-h-oly...” You reach for your nipples and start slowly tweaking them. He places his hand on his lap and palms himself. “Y/N-chan, I never thought you’d had the balls...”

You lick your lips, tossing your head back, “Why, whatever do you mean, Majima-san... the balls with which to demonstrate my tireless devotion?” You leave one hand on your breast and move the other down your side, slinking it up your dress, between your thighs, working slowly...

His breath hitches.

“Devotion, eh... ta lil’ ol’ me? Y/N-chan, I’m impressed that ya took initiative... I like that.” He keeps rubbing himself, slowly. Breathing, slowly. Smirking. You try to laugh but it all feels too good. You start to shudder and he sits up, sensing that you’re close.

He kicks his leg out, knocking the table over in one fell swoop and drops to his knees before you, grabbing your hand from between your thighs and running his tongue up and along your pruning fingers, his eye blown wide with desire, piercing into yours. You whimper. With his free hand, he grasps the nape of your neck and yanks you toward him, crashing his mouth onto yours, prying your lips apart, slipping his tongue in.

You pull him in by his collar and deepen the kiss, losing all consciousness of everything but the electric current rushing through you. He pulls away and leans into your ear, “Hey, come a lil’ closer. I have been dyin’ to find out just how good that body feels, flush against mine...” An involuntary moan escapes you at his smoldering words as he continues to grip your neck with one hand, bringing your lips together while pushing you against the booth, steadying himself with the other. “Mmmm... fuck, Y/N-chan... I’ve barely even touched ya and yer drivin’ me crazy...”

His admission goads you as you slip your hands beneath his jacket, pulling him free. He undoes his tie with one hand and pulls it straight from his collar, snapping it with both hands and grinning. “Lie back, Y/N-chan. Ya caught me off guard. Now it’s my turn. Close yer eyes.” You do as instructed, exhaling deeply.

He runs his lips along your cheek to the shell of your ear as he wraps that soft, black, silky strip of decorum around your eyes, fastening it behind your head, dazing you with a faint whiff of his cologne. He rolls his bottom lip up the other side of your neck to your earlobe and chuckles, “Since ya think yer in charge, I’m gonna have ta remind ya where ya stand.”

“Yes, sir. You’re right.” You whimper. He gets more tantalizing by the minute. For fuck’s sake, if he brushes your cunt even haphazardly, you’re going to come like a fucking fountain.

He runs a long finger over your blindfold, pressing down on the bridge of your nose. “You been entertainin’ some less than professional thoughts about me, Y/N-chan?” He strokes your jawbone.

“Yes, sir. I have. I touch myself to them all the time.”

Once again, his breath hitches.

He wraps his hand around your throat, squeezing, biting your bottom lip, hissing, “That so? And what am I doin’? Markin’ yer soft, tasty skin, showin’ every man in sight who yer thinkin’ of? Feastin’ on ya like the goddamn delicacy that you are? Poundin’ into ya over n’ over?”

“Mmmm, fuck...” You tilt your head, searching for his mouth... lazily bringing a hand to your lap, under your dress...

“Ne, Y/N-chan. You’ve lost yer privileges fer now. Sit on yer hands. I’m gonna use ‘em later.” You obey. He gropes your breasts, pinching your nipples until you moan, leaning in to take your mouth again. “Majima-san, please...” you whisper, “I wanna wrap my arms around you, feel you...I need you closer...” He fists your hair, yanking your head back over the seat of the booth and licks from your clavicle up to your chin. “I don’t think so, babygirl. A lesson’s a lesson. A good boss makes sure his girl knows her place.”

He kisses you deeper, more intimately than before, holding your face with both hands.

“Goddamn... I just can’t get enough of ya, Y/N-chan...” You suck in a deep breath, frustrated, bucking your hips, desperate for friction, “Majima, please, I can’t take it anymore, I need your touch... please...”

He clicks his tongue and sits back on his heels, taking in the sight of you: ablush, tits out, begging with each panting breath for a fucking MODICUM of lasting physical contact. Every time he pulls away, you’re left burning. Your desire swells on the verge of combustion. You can’t fucking take it. He laughs and leans forward, placing a hand on each of your knees.

This fantasy that you’ve teased and touched yourself to for months... finally coming to fruition... you can’t help but tremble. You sigh, voice dripping with want, “Majima-san...”

Gripping each knee, he rips them apart, wider than they naturally go. Your dress slinks up over your hips. You moan as he moves quickly, pinning you to the booth. He pecks your lips and grabs your chin. “Ne, Y/N-chan. You can call me Goro.” You bite your lip as he slowly, painfully rakes his fingertips up your thighs, gripping your hips and curling his fingers beneath the band of your panties.

Hungrily, you rock your hips against his hands, begging him to remove the pesky fabric separating your starving cunt from delicious contact. He pulls them down one side at a time, one inch at a time. You groan. “Goro, take them off. I can’t fucking wait any longer...”

He growls and smacks the side of your bare ass with an open palm. “I fuckin’ love me an impassioned woman...” He rolls them over your thighs and down, you lift your legs and he peels them further, past your knees, along your calves and off. The cool air hits the dripping mess radiating from your core, your scent sending shivers through Majima like a gust of cold wind and dry heat at the same damn time. He snarls. “So this is how ya smell when yer cravin’ me, babe?”

You smirk. “I always smell like this.”

He moans a trail of airy kisses along your inner thighs, kneading with his fingertips. “Yer divine. I can’t wait to taste from the source.” You squeak as he grabs your ass and lifts your lower body up, dangling your legs from his shoulders, leaving you guessing in complete darkness. You take in a deep breath and just as you release it, you’re granted the tip of his warm, wet tongue sliding up your folds, poking at your swollen bud.

“Fuck, Goro-kun! Fuck, it feels so fucking good, baby...”

He grips you harder, pulling his face deeper into you, lapping you up, praising you. He adds two fingers into you, stretching you, finding you ridiculously tight, moaning into you, wanting to work you up more and more and then hear you beg, more and more. Your fingers dig into the carpet, your entire body trembling while your thighs vibrate violently, toes curling hard enough to cramp your calves, you bleat, “Goro, baby, I’m gonna fuckin’ explode, you’re so fucking good, I-I can’t—-”

He rips the blindfold from your eyes, beaming into them as he watched your release break over you: screaming, not giving a fuck if anyone outside in the alley can hear you... and watching you not give a fuck, coming so hard that nothing else mattered... generously releasing yourself all over him...

He continues, slowly sucking your clit; sucking your obsession, your lust, your pining, your hopeless infatuation that you thought would go forever unanswered, right out of your womanhood, dripping down his irresistible mouth as he licked it all up, savoring every drop, groaning, thirsty for more.

You whimper, unable to speak, shaking, slowly floating back down to Earth like the last leaf of Fall.

You lie there, lethargic, a puddle of bliss. Majima reaches for his belt, not breaking eye contact. “Yo, Y/N-chan...”

You sit up to smooth the skirt of your dress, preparing to redress yourself, assuming he had somewhere to be, assuming this amazing evening was over.

“...Where in the hell do ya think yer goin’?” He hissed, “Take two fingers, I wanna watch ya fuck yer pretty self while I lose the rest of my threads...” without a second’s hesitation you instantly slip two fingers into yourself, working slowly, staring right into him, inviting him to take complete ownership, moaning softly, glistening all over again...

He glares, “...And now a third. Good girl.”

Finishing what you started, he pulls his belt completely apart, making quick work of his pants and remaining undergarments. He lunges forward, ripping your dress off of you in one smooth motion, tossing it over his shoulder aggressively in the opposite direction. Feral.

“You think fer one second that after just a slice of that ravishing body, I’m not gonna want the whole damn thing?” He strokes himself once, twice, and immediately stands at full, glorious girthy attention.

He kneels before you, placing each hand on your thighs, lowering his face just above your lap, pausing for a moment, as if to pray. Peppering your thighs and stomach with kisses and bites, he works his way up. Pulling your hand free, he sucks your fingers and replaces them with his own, groaning. He then takes a nipple into his mouth, kissing it, and then wraps a hand around your nape once again and a jolt of humidity and wetness zaps right to your cunt, coating his fingers, forcing a sweet, faint whine from his intoxicating lips.

He punctuates it, feverishly taking your lips again, tongues and teeth intermingling in the most carnal, desirous, all-encompassing kiss possible. It was perfect. He’s fucking perfect. You return the sentiment, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, wrapping both hands around this neck, pulling his mouth further into yours because it was all too much and not nearly enough, and all you wanted was to exist within this moment alone. You wanted to melt into the heat of your bodies and remain.

He pinched your chin between his index and thumb, bit it lightly and tilted your head down, meeting your eyes. “Watch me give you everything, Y/N-chan... I’m gonna get you off all over again...”

Your eyes roll back before you can catch them, shivering, “Give me all ya got, Goro-kun... make me yours.”

He brings his lips back to yours again and slips his tongue back into your mouth as if breathing heat directly into you. He pulls away abruptly, with a suck.

“That’s a good girl,” he moans as he rubs the tip of his throbbing cock in slow, deliberate circles at your entrance, allowing his eye to roll involuntarily for just a second as he spears you with his gaze. “Eyes on me, Y/N-chan....”

You’re weakening by the minute. He’s so fucking devastatingly sexy, appealing in every sense of the word... if you could overdose on him, you would.

He hooks an arm around your back, pressing his hand into your shoulder while the other holds you open, wider still... he breathes in sharply and slips just his head into you, glaring right into you, smirking. “God, ya look so fuckin’ good, achin’ for me...”

You cried, “More, Goro-kun...”

He chuckles darkly and slams into you, now grabbing under each of your knees, pushing them up to your chest and further apart, further seating himself within you as deeply as fucking possible.

He leans in again and captivates your mouth, pulling back, rearing and thrusting back into you fully, groaning as he feels you grip him like a warm, wet vise. He breaks your kiss and digs his teeth into your neck. “Mmmmm, Y/N-chan... yer so warm... I knew ya would be... god damn, why’d ya have to take so long to come to me?”

Your breath catches in your chest at the mere thought of him regarding you in any way sexually prior to this brazen night.

“Ohhh, Goro-kun, I love knowing that you think of me... uhhh...but wh-uhhh-why didn’t you—-”

He grasps a fistful of your hair and yanks your head back again, exposing your neck to his lips. He presses into you again and moans, “Because, Y/N-chan... I love that ya came to me on yer own. Yer so confident and sexy... yet totally unassumin’... it’s intoxicatin’...” he licks up your neck again and bites down, harder than before, somehow finding the spot that tases your entire body.

You fucking convulse. He sucks your neck mercilessly, now withdrawing and slamming into you viciously, over and over, setting a punishing pace for waiting so long to take what you want.

You plant each hand on his shoulders and push him down, provoking him to pound into you harder, faster... wanting to get fucked raw enough to bleed.

He growls and leans into you again and you grab his face, nipping at his pillowy bottom lip, sucking, inhaling him... pushing him away. You grab his face again with both hands and tilt your forehead against his. “Goro, take a seat. I want to go back to the start of this. I want to make ya feel good.”

A stunned look peeled across his face, “Baby, you do... but hey, I can’t wait ta see what ya got planned...”

He stands, pulling you to your feet as you turn on your ankle and push him into the booth. You giggle and drop to your knees, once again spreading his apart, ghosting up his inner thighs, relishing everything.

You slink your tongue out along his shaft, taking every inch of him into your mouth, little by little. His legs tighten beneath you as he slips his fingers through your hair, twisting. “Mmmm, Y/N-chan... kimochi-ii...”

You look up at him with your lips hugging the tip of his cock. You lick it and sigh, “Keep talking like that and I’ll finish you off right here, right now, Goro-chan...”

He runs a finger along your face and shudders as your mouth keeps working every bit of magic, pulling him closer to the edge. “Y/N-chan, yer incredible...”

You’re starting to ache, wanting to ride him to the blissful end, unable to shake the urge. You stand before him, taking your fingertips to your mouth and bringing them back between your thighs. His eye widens further.

As you return your hand to yourself while continuing to take his every inch deeper and deeper into your mouth, you feel the tell-tale twitch of pre-release begin to rumble from his core. You immediately rise to your feet while digging your nails into his thighs, gradually letting every last inch of him slide past the flat of your tongue on your way up.

He watches you unblinkingly, musing, “Y/N-chan, yer a fuckin’ goddess...”

You grab his shoulder as he instinctively grips your hip, hopping onto his lap, placing your wet heat just against him, leaning in to reunite your lips as you guide his tip to your sweet, weeping slit. You sigh, deepening the kiss as you impale yourself on him, both of you groaning at the complete sensation.

You lean back, gripping just above his knees as you gyrate slowly, watching him fight the urge to roll his head back against the seat. He fans his fingers along your sides, tightly grasping you as he meets your motions with a starved twitch in his hips.

“Y/N-chan, ya know just what yer doin’...” You smirk, rubbing your nipples again as he watches you ride him, a look of admiration on his face. He grabs your neck and pumps into you harshly, stilling you for a moment to let you know just how incredible you feel.

Just as your ever flexing thighs begin to seize, he wraps both of his hands around your neck, sealing your lips together as he stands, still within you, slamming you onto the seat as he latches his mouth at the crook of your neck, reclaiming you with a voracious rhythm.

He sucks a violent kiss from you as he pulls away growling just beneath your ear. “God damn, I’m about ta fill ya up.”

You fill your fingers with the smooth locks of his hair, yanking him in more closely than possible as you whisper, “I want every drop. Leave me dripping.”

He stifles a moan, sinking his teeth so deeply into your shoulder, you feel your skin ripping beneath his teeth. He pounds two, three more strokes into you before pinning you by your shoulders, filling you completely while still sucking your neck.

He rolls onto his side, pulling you on top of him and cradling your face against his chest, twirling your hair, sighing contently.

“Y’know, I’ve thought aboutchya, alone, many times. The thing about you is I could daydream about gettin’ ya all to myself and no matter how wild my ideas of ya are, I still knew all along that the reality of havin’ ya would be ten times better than my darkest fantasies...”

God, what a sexy thing to say. But suddenly the reality of everything that just transpired between the two of you comes bubbling to the surface. You try not to grow too defensive, but in order to protect your expectations and thus your tender heart, you bristle ever so slightly.

“I assumed you had a woman, or a number of them and/or I figured that all the girls here probably vie for your attentions and that you’re plenty satiated... I don’t know...”

“Wrong, Y/N-chan. I got no one at home and all a’ the other girls are like younger siblings to me... like if our parents had me an’ then a litter a’ Trust-Me babies a decade later, ya know? They’re my lil’ sisters, I look out for ‘em and at the end of the day, we all make a comfortable livin’. There ain’t nothin’ like that from my side of things... until you came along.”

Your face burns and you find yourself more grateful for the dim lighting now than ever.

“Mmmm... Well, you hid it well. It never occurred to me.”

“And how would it? I knew you’d come around, so I sat back and watched, on the edge a’ my seat.”

“Was I so obvious?”

“Nah, but I could feel it whenever I was near ya. And I’d catch ya starin’... And I knew if I made a move on ya, I wouldn’t be rebuffed... but it was too fun watchin’ ya all hot n’ bothered all the time.”

Frustration aside, you can’t help but laugh. “That’s what I love about ya, Goro-kun. I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”

You bring yourself closer to him as he meets you, kissing your lips softly, urgently, subtly letting you know that you matter to him.

He takes in a deep breath and sighs, long and pained. “Y/N-chan, you could be the death a’ me.”

“I’m not like that. I’d be so good to you, Goro... but I understand if you think we shouldn’t do this.” You wilt, knowing it’s a very real complication, forcing yourself to be an adult and accept it... and wanting to crumble. You always know better, but you act on impulse anyway. It’s part of your charm even if you’re the one paying the price in the end.

“Ne, that’s not at all what I’m sayin’. I just know now I won’t be able ta keep my hands off of ya!”

You giggle, a wave of relief washes over you as you peck his lips again, pulling away to kiss the tip of his nose, his cheekbones and his forehead. He sits up, reciprocating your affections as he begins gathering his clothes.

“Wanna get somethin’ ta eat? I’m famished.”

“I would.” You smile, slipping back into your dress.

He slides his arms back into his shirt, loosely tucking it into his pants. “Whatever ya want. I did wanna ask ya to dinner anyway so hey, now’s the perfect time.” He chuckles, pulling his pants up, fixing his belt.

“You’re the best, Goro-chan.” You giggle, putting your shoes on, realizing you still haven’t located the last of your effects.

“Ready, Y/N-chan? I got just the place.” He beams, heading for the door.

“Hmm, just a sec... I believe I’m missing something...”

He smirks so slyly, you feel a balmy rush between your legs as you slowly stride towards him.

He cocks his head to the side playfully, hooking his index finger into his pocket, pulling barely an inch of lace into view from its deep confines. “Uh-uh, these are mine... and everything on ‘em.” He leans against the door, motioning for you to walk before him.

You grin, grabbing his hips, cupping him and and breathing against the nape of his neck. “I’ll take care of dessert, then.”

He squeezes your waist, brushing the tip of his tongue along your bottom lip, escorting you out the door.

***

This was my first Majific, wrote it a few months ago while grinding out the cabaret missions in Y0. Glad I finally got around to tweaking it for upload 😏💦 taking requests if ya got em! ARIGATŌGOZAIMASU

Tagging some Yakibabes~

@lonelyselfship 💗💗 @crimsonflowersheaven @a-kiss-from-loki @ohmyfuckinggoro @glitteringroseangel 💗💗

#majima goro #ryu ga gotoku #goro majima #ryu ga gotoku 0 #yakuza fanfic #yakuza fanfiction #majima goro smut #yakuza #yakuza kiwami #goro majima x you #majima goro x you #majima goro x reader #goro majima x reader

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