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purelyfiction · 1 month

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NFL QB Jake 'Hangman' Seresin AU x Popstar F!Reader

Summary: NFL Quarterback Jacob Seresin is in hot water from a streak of bad decisions, just as you go through the worst public breakup of your life. With people slandering both of your reputations, your publicists hatch a plan to bring both of you back into favor and keep the heat off until spring - that is if you can keep up the facade.

Word Count: 5,334 words

Author Note: I know I have two other outstanding Top Gun fics and I swear I'm trying to get those going but I am writing what sparks joy and well.... this certainly does. || Also!! Reader's stage name is 'Celeste' with 'Este' as the nickname. So no one gets confuseddddd

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You'd never anticipated to start the biggest year of your life absolutely gutted, yet here you are. Your boyfriend – well, ex-boyfriend, severed what you had thought to be a loving, trusting and safe relationship, rather unexpectedly on New Year's Eve. Then he'd gone to the press to relay that you were a horrible person, a terrible girlfriend, too involved in your work to even bother paying attention to anyone else. The timing couldn't be worse, since you were about to start your first ever stadium tour in the spring.

The result had been you hiding away in your little oasis that was your condo in California’s southern escape of San Diego. You’d stayed off the internet, binging TV shows that you’d been too busy to pay attention to and immersing yourself in anything you could, to erase the four year relationship you’d been splintered from. The garbage people probably wondered why there were a near dozen empty quarter pints of ice cream in your recycling bin, but that wasn’t for them to care about. At least you’d recycled them.

Now, three weeks into the new year, with your favorite Chinese on the way, you sit on your couch going over tour visuals. Your lighting engineer is rambling on the line as you hear the gate buzzer go off. You’re quick to collect your dinner as one of the others on the line gasp and quickly mute their mic. “What?” You quip, walking to your expansive kitchen and dropping the large paper bag down. You’re half paying attention when the employee brushes you off, as your hand pulls container after container of food from the magical Mary Poppins-style bag. Getting to the bottom, you grasp for a pair of chopsticks, only to find several sets of them, along with a dozen fortune cookies. You take a moment to look over your four entrees and styrofoam container of sushi. The audacity of them to think you would be sharing any of this.

Finally, you address the matter of your dramatic tech director. “What’s the deal over there Hollywood?” You chide, before your phone is ringing, leaving you to hang up the video call to answer the phone. It’s your publicist and you know better than to let her calls go unanswered.

“Check your inbox.” Her voice is frigid instead of it’s usually cheery demeanor.

“Hello to you too?” Begrudgingly, you do as she commands, finding the email she sent to you.

Jonah Carter agreed to sit down for an interview with UsWeekly, post-breakup to clear the air and to make sure no one else would fall for his ex-girlfriend's (Celeste) playful, girl-next-door-ish facade.

"At first, it felt like a dream come true," Carter, an up-and-coming actor within his own right, said almost sheepishly. "I thought she was talented and kind, but I should've known it was too good to be true."

But there's more to this pop-star than Jonah says meets the eye. In addition to the vanity and self-importance that seems to plague this generation's starlets, Este was a vindictive slob who routinely talked behind the back of even her closest friends. "It makes me wonder what she's saying about me, now, after everything I've heard her say about those who think are closest to her." The concern for others is written very clearly on the actor’s face as he speaks. When I question the songstress’ messages about authenticity, the man adjusts in his seat as he holds back a laugh.

"She'd like you to believe she writes all her own music, but I'm not sure she could write a full sentence without the help of her team," Jonah chuckled nervously into his coffee. "Sorry, that was rude. I don't want to stoop to her level." Cowed brown eyes made me wonder what else he had endured behind closed doors. It struck a chord within me.

“Why did you stay as long as you had if this was what you were facing?” I ask him. The expression of his kind features morphs into despair.

“When we first met, Celeste was someone I admired. Her compassion, her drive and her dedication to the things she valued spoke so deeply to what I did, what I still do-” he fumbles as he attempts to source the proper words, “They just… weren’t her beliefs. They were her team’s.” Jonah lets out a pained sound, “I think when we got toward the end of it, I realized that she has this way of manipulating what she says, how she acts, to make herself look good. She puts on a show, on and off the stage and you pay for it one way or another. So, I knew what she was capable of. I knew she could be that person if she really wanted to and I wanted so badly to help her see that. I eventually learned that people see what they want to see.”

God, what a load of hot garbage this was. It was a particularly rare batch, clearly it had been baking in a dumpster in the scorching sun with the lid closed. All damp, with a horrendous mix of something rotting and old crusty seaweed.

The tour was supposed to be announced on the first of the month and here your ex was selling stories (horribly narrated and mangled stories) to the press. You might as well have been kicking puppies at this point.

“Isn’t he just swell? Nothing but peak wisdom from good ol’ Jonah.” Your eyes could’ve strained themselves with how far back they rolled. Probably the only time he’d ever made them do that too.

“I’ve already called a team together to brainstorm. I don't want you to respond. Stay offline, away from all of it and don't entertain any of the discourse. Not until I have something to work with.”

“None of it is true we both know that-” You begin to laugh but she cuts you off.

“As much as I want to be on your side here, we are working to put out a fire. Your silence the last three weeks has put you at a massive disadvantage and frankly? The public eye doesn’t see you in the greatest space right now.” You know she’s right. She always is, and right now ‘Celeste’ was synonymous with ‘cynical, fake and fraudulent’. You wouldn’t be shocked if the uproar demanded you be canceled based off of this testimony.

It wasn’t all but two days later that you were called in by your PR team. Into the office in New York for the first time since before Thanksgiving. It had been a busy end of the year and now that the new one was coming in so ferociously you weren’t looking toward any of the things you once had been. This was the first time back into the light and so you had made sure that the inevitable cameras had something to look at. You’d dressed yourself in your favorites, in an effort to boost your confidence as best as you could. Putting on a show, just like you had been when things had been on the rocks with Jonah.

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Getting to the office, you’re nearly trampled with the amount of people that swarm you. It’s not normally this bad - hell it’s never this bad. It isn’t until you catch sight of a football jersey and an ESPN logo that your brow furrows. Odd.

Stepping into the building, you’re pushing your sunglasses up onto your head, looking down at your ringing phone and trying to slide your coat off simultaneously. Instead, you crash right into what you think is a wall, but is instead a broad man, looking rather lost.

“Easy there, Twinkle Toes.” You guffaw and look up at the blonde man before returning your eyes toward your feet. Of course, the bedazzled statement boots on your feet call attention to themselves before the rest of the outfit can balance itself out.

“Alright, Prince Charming, you first.” You snicker before stepping out of his way and start to the elevator. Unfortunately for you, he’s apparently heading your way as well, needing access to the lift to the next floor.

“Prince Charming, huh? I mean I’ve been called worse.” His shoulders roll backwards as the elevator dings to one of the other floors. You keep your head trained forward, suddenly remembering the rule you’d been given. Stay quiet, don’t engage. And here you were giving sass to a stranger and showing up in bedazzled booties. You were really digging this grave deeper than necessary. So, instead of giving him another sassy response, you keep your eyes locked to the neon numbers as the elevator passes each floor. “Oh so, now I’m getting a cold shoulder? Darn, I was really ready to ask you all about the boots on your feet, too.” You can’t help but let your eyes move back over to the broad male, just out of the corner of your eye. His face is completely locked on you, shamelessly at that. “They expensive? They got that waxy red paint on the bottoms of ‘em?” Silently, you turn one of your feet up to give him a glimpse at the blue bottom of the shoe. “Huh, blue. That’s fun. That more expensive than the LouButton or whatever they are?” Finally the elevator reaches your floor, hopefully shutting this chatterbox up for the time being. Yet the questions continue like an immature toddler as you rise up the floors - going to the same floor nonetheless. “Hey, you’re that Celeste chick aren’t ya?”

“Yes.” You finally answer one of his questions, his face lighting up.

“Oh look at that, she cracks.” Another eye roll times well with the sound of the elevator reaching the desired floor. Instead of responding, you quickly find your way through the glass hallways and to the desired room. You are so glad to be in the presence of the familiar group, the stranger in the elevator having rattled your composure somewhat. Your manager comes in with a cup of coffee and a smile, which immediately puts one on yours.

“You didn’t have to do that!” You cheer, reaching out for it as she sits beside you.

“When you see what Rachel has come up with, you’re going to need it.” Oh. Reassuring.

You see her point when Prince Charming steps into the board room, followed by a host of men in dress clothes and suits, all matching the blue soles of your boots. Charming sits directly across from you, a hand wiggling his fingers as he waves at you. Oh good.

“Thank you everyone for coming. I know this is a very polarizing group, so before we get ahead of ourselves, I want to introduce Celeste, or Este as we all have come to call her over the years.” Awkwardly, you wave at the foreign men. They grunt and nod. You were already having doubts and not a word had been spoken on their end. “I also want to introduce Beau Simpson, public relations coordinator for the San Diego Sea Lions, Coach Natasha Trace, and Sea Lions owner, Tom Kazansky.”

Sea Lions? As in the NFL team that had been built not even three years ago but had made it to all three playoffs in their short time? The one that Jonah had ridiculed immensely when it joined the league because ‘California doesn’t need another group of inflated egos in the league’?

“I’m really feeling the love here, Rach.” Charming speaks up and the raven haired woman on the other side of the table sighs.

“This is Jacob Seresin, starting quarterback for the Sea Lions.” The coach speaks, the blonde man brushing off her introduction.

“No need for full names, Trace. Clearly we only do the stage name around here.” That was a clear jab to you if you’d ever heard it. “Hangman’s what they call me.” His hand juts across the glass, toward you. Your hands stay tucked under your biceps.

“Pleasure to meet you.” It’s passive, turning to your team leader. “Rachel. I’m not seeing a connection here.”

“Jacob is in the same pot of hot water you’re in.” Your attention moves to the similarly broad man who stands up, towering over Rachel. “We feel as though we can spin this to both of your advantages. Jake needs to stop sleeping around–”

“Easy now, Simpson.” The eldest in the room stands up and he gives you a kind smile. It’s not a farce though. You’re not entirely sure what makes it so genuine, but you smile in return of seeing him stand, despite it taking a slight bit of effort to do so. “What he means is, Jake’s professional status has changed due to the words of someone else and we’re determined to alter that. Rachel identified this and made quite the proposal.” The young woman seems all too cheery to cut off the old man.

“You’re both having relationship woes–” The raven haired woman on Jacob’s team speaks under her breath.

“Wouldn’t call them relationships.”

“And by putting you two together, we feel as though we can put you into a positive light. Let’s face it, putting two very successful, and attractive people who are already in the spotlight allows people to follow the developing love story. Este attends games, plays the WAG card, has an opportunity to be seen in the public eye more frequently and dispels the ill-spoken words that were published about her this week. Jake gets the proof that he isn’t just a love-em-and-leave-em type.” Your eyes spell out the doubt you’re feeling, looking at your team who is just as skeptical. “That’s just the beginning! Celeste is going on tour this year. Stadiums all across the country have her booked and ready for the summer. We have a captive audience already following these games to see Este and Jake together, and we get brand recognition. The conversations that will come as she gets to witness her betrothed play in a stadium she would be performing in that very summer.”

Now you see where the benefit actually is. Clearing your name while simultaneously promoting your tour in the process. Seeing stadiums you’ve booked and would hopefully sell out.

“So how are you proposing this works? We’ll need a start, an end - a story on how we met–”

“Well,” Beau settles in his seat, twisting in the desk chair as he draws in the attention of the group, “we have the major details hypothesized. Rachel and I will work with one another to get the rest of it together. For now, you two met at a New Years Eve party.”

Oh joy. Now you get to remember that bitter break-up that led you here, every time you speak about him.

The man looks like he walked out of a surfing magazine, as it were. Now, the scowl on his features paints him as a devil. Long hair, muscular arms on display as he leans into the table in front of him.

“If we don’t do this?” Jake leans back in his chair, a hand coming to fiddle with the lingering 5 o’clock shadow that he has omitted in his morning routine.

“We don’t do this and there will be a lack of support for the Sea Lions. You’ll have painted the entire team as jackasses who can’t focus to save their life, especially if you continue to party and hook up with whomever your dick has the hots for that night-” Beau has gone off the handle and Tom speaks up again.

“The point is, public favor will stay low and it will not bode well for the team. With a lack of support, we have empty seats. Empty seats translates to less viewers, then to less money and you know the song and dance. Not to mention morale for the upcoming playoffs. We need to keep the team happy, Hangman. It’s time to do something to benefit everyone.”

Jake’s expression deepens, as though he was a young child just scolded by his father for his poor behavior. Green eyes shift and face you, his hand jutting out toward you.

“I’m in.” His hand hovers. Waiting for you to join him in this grand scheme. Glancing at your own team, they look rather haunted. At this point, it was this or to hope that a long string of possible good stories and fan interactions can redeem you.

You want this to pass. And if this would make it go faster… you grab Jake’s hand firmly.

“What’s there to lose?”

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You went back onto social media. Posted some photos you’d taken with friends back at the beginning of the month, from the worst party of your life. The photos at least were cute and you loved the dress you’d gotten to wear. Luckily these photos were all taken prior to midnight. So there were no red eyes. No ruined mascara and glitter across your cheeks. No freezing car rides home and empty beds.

Mindlessly, you scroll through the comments.

Flameth: can still make the whole place shimmer ✨

RunTao: phony photos

Romanacent: so glad to see you’re not letting him get to you!

H_ngm_n: you’re still gonna let me borrow those boots right

It’s the last one you’d been keeping an eye out for. Boots? Looking back at the photo, you scroll through the carousel until you spot them.

The same shiny sparkly rhinestone boots you’d worn to your meeting.

Celeste: @h_ngm_n I’m a woman of my word, of course 🤗

Not even a week goes by before you’re ‘spontaneously’ at a bar in LA. Jake has been there for the last two hours, as he insisted you both show up alone and then end up leaving together. You eventually found him in the VIP section, drinking with his buddies.

You made sure to keep your distance for a few minutes - after all, his friends had no idea this was going down. The only people who knew about this little arrangement were your respective PR teams. That was it. No one else from your teams, your friends and family, absolutely no one knew what your little plan was. Maybe you should just leave. It was a verbal contract, you didn’t sign anything, you were just trying to make this work for the two of you-

The bartender pulls you from your deliberations. There is now a drink that you certainly didn’t order sitting in front of you. Well there was no going back now. Jake had likely made a show of sending over the drink and now you had to go through with this. Glancing over your shoulder, you see the jock, legs spread, arms resting on the back of the booth chair. Green eyes lock in your direction and send a cocky wink as a garnish to your drink.

You are about to win your first Oscar with this performance. Throwing on a grin, you pick up the drink and easily sashay your way over to him and his football buddies. Some flash titanium wedding bands, some platinum. Some aren’t wearing them at all, like your date, mister 83 who leans forward upon your approach. “Well, well, well, long time no see hot shot.”

“Speak for yourself, pop star.” Jake stands to greet you, his arms coming around you, carefully as to not spill either of your drinks. You catch a whiff of his cologne when he does so. It’s rich, familiar in the way it reminds you of summers camping. Bonfire smoke and smores. Yet clean, like when you came home to a clean house, citrus floor cleaner lingering in the halls. Pulling back, you almost move forward again to sit in it. Easy does it.

“Oh come on, three weeks isn’t that long.” You chide. While most of his body has pulled away from the hug, his free hand still sits on your waist, warm against the AC of the exclusive bar.

“Technically it was a year ago.” Jake smirks before taking a sip of his drink and you want to groan. So you do. But spin it into something more playful.

“Observant, are we?” You nearly snarl as you take a sip of your drink, Jake’s colleagues standing up. The one who’d sat right next to him grins and extends a hand. He’s tall, lean but has a stunning smile as he steps your way.

“Not sure we’ve met. Javy Machado, running back, San Diego Sea Lions-” the blonde looks at his friend with an amused scoff.

“I think she knows who the Sea Lions are, Jav.” The look on the captain’s face is one of skepticism and amusement. You were here to dispel rumors. So, as much as you’d like to smack Jake for being a dick to his friend, you shake his teammate’s hand instead

“In passing. I don’t follow football closely, but I get by. Celeste.” The smile on your face is genuine as the next player stands. Kind eyes, a domestic bar of hair on his upper lip and the build of a pickup truck, he goes for a quick one armed hug. When he lets go, you have to wipe the temptation of any swooning you were compelled to do. Especially since a gold band glistens on his left hand.

You’re here for Jake anyways.

“Name’s Bradley Bradshaw. They call me Rooster.” Your eyebrow furrows as your head twists. Before you can ask, another man on the other side of the room laughs.

“You should hear him on the field when he’s sacking someone.” This one, curls and meticulously groomed facial hair to boot, leans forward and shakes your hand kindly. “I’m Mickey. That back there is Bob.”

True to his word, at the end of the bench is a long haired man, tucked into his phone and fiddling with a ring. He doesn’t seem to match the energy of the rest of the group. Curious. “Bob!” He glances up at the sound of his name, blue eyes flitting from face to face before spotting you. When he does he breaks out into a smile.

“Celeste! Gosh, wow it’s so cool to meet you! My girls adore your music.” This catches Jake’s attention, a brow popping up.

“Aren’t both of ‘em less than five?” He asks and Bob looks between the two of you.

“Yeah? It’s never too early to introduce them to great music and influential women.” There’s no faking the smile on your face as you reach over and shake his hand. When you do, you look at Jake with a ‘would you look at that’ coded grin.

“That’s amazing to hear! I’m glad they have fun with it! That’s why I do it.” You glance back at Jake as he comes behind you, hand shifting to the small of your back.

“Pay’s in the bathroom, I’m sure you’ll meet him sometime later tonight.” The quarterback gives a nod to his group, before guiding the two of you to a high top table not too far from them. When you sit down he looks at you with a laugh. “Flirt much?”

“Excuse me?” Jumping to the defense, you watch Jake roll his eyes and then look back at Bradley, before facing you.

“You were practically eye-fucking him.”

“Was not.”

“He’s happily married, leave him be.” The blonde sips at his drink and you can’t help but laugh when you realize he’s giving you a hard time.

“Right, right, guess I’ll bother you instead.” The tease is off your lips in two seconds. Maybe he was right, you were coming off strong. You huff and sink into yourself briefly. “I don’t know if you realized this, but I haven’t had ‘flirt’,” your fingers mark the quotation marks in the air, “with anyone in a while. Let alone fake it.”

Jake leans back in his chair, downing the rest of his beverage a smirk making way when he sets the glass down.

“Don’t worry, you won’t be faking it for long.”

The two of you sat at that table for probably an hour, bickering over which of the Pirates of The Caribbean movies were the best, and why glitter was a detriment to society. Another round of drinks and the football star return to the table as he laughs when he spills a little of your overflowing drink.

“No, no I assure you. Glitter originated in some high tech nuclear weapons factory to make the enemy go insane upon introducing it to an environment.” He pushes your drink toward you as you pull your hair back. Not only were you not anticipating for him to be this passionate about it, but you weren’t planning on the night going like this.

You were enjoying yourself. Jake had told you about his time at UT, six years spent studying communications no less.

It made sense when you really dissected it. Jake had the ease to hold someone’s attention: he’d held yours this long after all, and he was well spoken. Both were things that were shocking to you. He soon enough revealed the plan had always been football. Communications was for post-retirement, when he got tired out and wanted to be back in the stadiums.

Stories of his dad commentating his high school games came fondly before he asked about your background. You were a bit hesitant to divulge too much, but what you had was pretty bare-bones.

Music had always been a hobby but never a career choice. You’d planned to go into school for a degree in education, a masters in English. Go and teach for a bit before getting your PhD in some niche of the world of writing and then become a professor at your alma mater.

With the rise of social media and the multitudinous connections of the internet, a little original song of yours got popular. Local radio picked it up and then your label signed you.

“It all was pretty spontaneous, really,” you answer. “My career was in no way by design, but… I wouldn’t change it.” The smile on your face is small, but genuine as your hair falls back around your face. Tracing the rim of your glass, you keep your eyes down before a hand pushes your hair out of your face. Coming eye to eye with him, he grins.

“Guess it was written in the stars then.” His response catches you. Jake’s eyes are much softer than when you’d approached him earlier. They were dark, focused and possibly a little mischievous. Now? They were gentle. Every shade reassured you that the boisterous man you’d seen in the office and the press was nothing like the man under the helmet.

It made far more sense to you now. How he’d gotten women hooked on him. The abrasiveness and bold exterior was the casing to the real character.

How many women had actually made it past the outside?

The rustling of a fabric on leather comes from in front of you, watching as the blonde pulls out a wad of cash from his pocket.

“Please tell me this isn’t you trying to buy my affection there, Seresin.” As he stands up, pushing his wallet back, the grin carved on his face doesn’t leave when he shakes his head.

“No, no, princess. This is for the bartender. Turns out you’re not a cheap date.” His knuckles wrap onto the table briefly before he disappears. You blame the blush on your face on the humidity inside the building.

The two of you bid your goodbyes, before starting to the front of the bar to exit. Reaching the street, it’s expectantly empty. He takes the side closest to the street as the two of you head down the way, toward the row of restaurants and shops that were quiet for the night.

“Are you hungry?” Jake’s voice breaks through the cold of late January air, looking at him quizzically.

“If you’re hungry we could go back-” His hand comes to your back again as he shakes his head.

“Oh-ho, no ma’am I promise, I’ve got something way better.”

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Unfortunately, he was right. The two of you stand in the glow of food truck lighting, beyond messy tacos in hand. He’s watching you with a smirk on his face, obnoxiously chewing the fish taco in his hand.

“Is that not the best taco you’ve ever had?” Again, his voice is filled with ardor as he watches you attempt to maneuver the soft corn tortilla that seems to be spilling into your napkin.

“It’s… a taco.” You shrug, looking down at the brown beef meal in your hands. Jake shakes his head, still chewing.

“No, no, I will not have you slander Ganso’s Tacos. Absolutely not.” He sets his red basket down on a table, hand in a vice grip around his taco. “Here, open,” he maneuvers closer and you shake your head, backing up.

“I am not eating your taco!”

“Eat it!!” The two of you laugh. Finally, you concede and take a bite of the hand fed taco. When he finally takes it back to his plate, his expression eagerly waits for your reaction. One hand covers your mouth as you chew, nodding as Jake looks like he just stole the Mona Lisa without getting caught.

“You’re right.” One singular fist to the air and he’s back to scarfing down his tacos.

“I told you. Way better than bar food. This is by far the best taqueria in all of California. And I stand by that.”

With full stomachs and messy hands, the two of you start back toward the bar, where Jake’s parked. When you do, you finally notice a car has been tailing the two of you since you ordered your meal.

The crowd in front of the bar proves that your teams were certainly on to something. Flashes of light start in an onslaught, your hand coming to block your eyes. Still, you keep walking toward them, only for Jake to grab your hand and guide you toward his car.

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Voices shout, questions sail through the air, your name, his name, Jonah’s, more questions about football- it all gets crammed into the cacophony before the passenger door opens under Jake’s hand, guiding you to your escape pod.

The driver side door causes the car to shake with an unceremonious thud. In seconds, the engine to the sports car is ignited and the two of you are underway.

It isn’t until you get about two miles out that one of you finally speaks.

“How long do you think it’s going to take for those to show up online?” White lines on the road disappear as you head further and further from the bars and closer to the hotel you were staying at for the weekend.

“I give it maybe six hours. Four if we’re lucky.” He laughs, but it doesn’t match the hearty ones he shared with you earlier.

A sports broadcast plays lowly on the radio, both of you overwhelmed by the cameras that stimulating conversation was far from what either of you were concerned with. It isn’t long until you spot your hotel. Jake navigates into the lane closest to the front of the building, pressing down on the brakes. You’re just about to unbuckle when he pulls back out into the other lane, lurching forward and away from your accommodation.

“Um. Hello?” You question. The car whips around a turn, green eyes fixated to the rear view. Shifting in your seat, you glance behind you.

“We’re being followed.” Jake just barely makes the light before it turns red, leaving the tailing SUV behind.

“It’s probably just paparazzi, no big deal.” It’s easy to shrug off for you, but Jake huffs.

“Yeah. And I’m not dropping you off at a hotel alone with vultures circling.” Navigating the CarPlay in the vehicle, he quickly moves to messages and asks his phone to send someone to your hotel to gather your things.

“Jake, I’m-”

“You’re staying with me.”

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forbidden-sunlight · 2 months

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sneak peek of a potential yandere!ceo with villainess!reader scenario

Love and Fortune is a well-known romance drama about a rich, cold-hearted CEO who falls deeply in love with a hardworking commoner who works at his family’s conglomerate. When it comes right down to it, it’s really nothing spectacular. Just another rags-to-riches depiction that had outstanding actors performing with lackluster scripts. But what would happen if someone had fallen into this world, and was unable to deviate from their role or else they would be punished and start over from the top, all the way back to the first scene of the drama?

This is your life. Forever stuck in the role of the jealous woman who opposes the love of the male protagonist Yeo Jung-Hwa and Hyeong Mun-Hee, the villainous Park Seo-yun. You needed to get through this drama in this loop, say your lines and not trigger anything that could make this world rewind time again or else you’ll go fucking insane.

But what is going on with Yeo Jung-Hwa? Shouldn’t he be controlled by the rules of this world and love Hyeong Mun-Hee, condemn you for countless wicked deeds you’ve done to win his love instead of taking you out to lunch or sending you flowers to your office? Male lead, focus on the female protagonist so that you could focus on what you need to do to survive!

©️do not repost or use any of the characters depicted here without the author’s permission. forbidden-sunlight, 2024

#forbidden-sunlight #yandere x reader #yandere male #yandere #ns.fw #yandere manhwa x reader #fem!reader #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #sneak previews #yandere ceo

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loganlermanstanaccount · 7 months

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Rigor Mortis (part 9)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 8, Part 10

summary: You both come to a realisation.

warnings: smut! f! masturbation, grinding, humping, fingering, (implied) recreational drug use, alcohol, dubcon (-ish! reader is drunk but the interaction is consensual, tagging just in case xx), teeny tiny bit of mutual pining. 18+ Minors DNI

a/n: yuhh

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 7.2k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

all that light lost in gaps

You're gone, in the morning.

…he should've expected it. Miguel stumbles out of sleep, groggy and disoriented. He finds himself reaching out for something in the half-light.

He finds himself reaching for you. And when you're not there, leaving a person sized gap at the crook of his arm, his stomach churns. He pretends it's not disappointment, or the sharp crack of yearning ; settling at his chest like a crowbar, and prying open his ribs. It's worry, he decides resolutely, a perfectly normal, healthy amount of worry. As your roommate; and nothing else, he keeps reminding himself; he's just worried about where you've rushed off to, especially after yesterday.

Senior year. He was assigned a bullshit paper in a Civics class – one he'd usually half-ass for an easy A. He'd wax poetic about morality – amorphous, vague platitudes about duty and societal expectations. By the end of the year, he had it down to a science: a couple thousand words remixed and plucked from lesser known philosophers, videos online, and overdue library books. Either he was getting too good at it, or his teacher was too stupid to notice; but regardless, he coasted through the class right up until graduation. His last paper, and he remembers it distinctly, was on the book of the same name; aptly titled What We Owe Each Other. A plodding, pluralistic read; of which he had only scanned through, anyways. Extra credit, anything to graduate early, and he'd had more than enough on his plate at the time.

And so, he wasn't expecting the B+ underlined and circled in red ink on the front page. It felt like his teacher had handed it back to him face down, slammed onto the desk like the thunderous crack of a whip. And he didn't need that A, strictly speaking. Yet, he had found himself staying over after class, crinkling that piece of paper in hand as he'd asked why.

She sighs. Miss Hunter's glasses slip down her nose, as they are prone to do.

"You're an outstanding student. I hear you're graduating early, and you're off somewhere prestigious in the fall. This is… definitely not a bad grade, and it's nothing, I promise you."

It doesn't work like that, for him. His teacher doesn't get it, but it will eat him up inside-out if he's not able to understand.

"Was it my referencing?" He fumbles with the strap of his bag.

"No. Not at all–"

"I did the extra reading…the article you mentioned in class, and–"

He's cut off by the scrape of a desk chair. Miss Hunter gets up to close the door, before settling on her desk.

Arms crossed, she seems tired. Worried, maybe, but it doesn't register with Miguel. The thought doesn't even cross his mind, that there are others with the capacity to worry about him.

"Technically, it's well written. As usual, Miguel." She gives him a weak smile. "It just… lacked heart."

His brows jump up. "...heart?"

"There's not really a narrative voice, here."

He taps at the paper on the desk, frustrated. "You didn't ask for a narrative voice, though. You didn't ask for… for heart. I read the book, I did the extra reading, and I wrote a report. That was the brief."

"Not quite." She says it gently, but it still sounds like nails on a chalkboard to him. "The brief was vague, intentionally so. 'What Do We Owe Each Other? Discuss.' I gave examples, sure: excerpts from the book we touched on in class, articles, academic papers, etcetera. They were… suggestions."

"...suggestions." He's incredulous.

She nods. "You followed it to the letter, Miguel. You gave me a summary, with a few key links. Fully referenced, yes. Well-written, yes. But this feels like a sum of parts. It doesn't tell me anything about you; your perspective, your angle. Your voice."

He's biting back choice words. It sounds like bullshit to him, for lack of a better word. Flowery, hoity-toity BS; served up to him on a steaming platter. That's it?

Maybe it shows on his face, because she's asking, as delicately as possible,

"Is everything okay?"

Instinctually, he seizes up.

"Yeah. Yes. I'm good."

"I know you don't take this class as seriously because it's not an AP, or an elective, or maybe not as challenging as you need it to be. And that's okay, Miguel. I'm happy for you to use my class as a break from all the other stuff." She swallows thickly. "You're not from our usual feeder schools. The Academy is particularly rigorous. But considering your… situation, we can make exceptions. If there's anything I can do–"

"There isn't a 'situation'."

"Right. Of course, I'm sorry. But if you need a couple days off of school because of…" She pasues, saying the next part softly. "Because of the baby… I mean, you're already acing my class–"

"No." He says it firmly, eyes trained onto the wood grain peeking out from underneath piles of documents. He wants to ask how she knows, and how he's always the last to find out that rumours have spread, and–

"Miguel." Her voice cuts through dense fog. She repeats her previous statement. “If there's anything I can do–”

“If you want to help, you can give me that A.” It's bone dry, said with the kind of sarcasm he's grown accustomed to. He wears it over his shoulders, sometimes; draped to keep out biting cold, or unfamiliar warmth from a stranger - it all feels the same, now.

She gives him a rueful smile. “Need more than that, m'afraid.”

Heart. Voice. What We Owe Each Other – and he doesn't know why that phrase sticks in his throat. It's been drilled into him since childhood; family and community, helping each other out of the starting blocks; and beaten out of him during adolescence. The creaking and cracking of bones after each step, where out in the world it's a different matter entirely.

His mama has bad taste in men, and he finds himself picking up the pieces. Gabi is more sensitive than he'll ever admit, trying not to cry amongst broken plates and chicken-wire hidden in a bouquet of peonies: prickly words that cut and hack, and it's Miguel that wipes the tears from his brother's cheek. That devastatingly gentle sigh when he had told his mama what he had done - how he had fallen for a soft bed and even softer lips at the ripe age of 16 and a half - and Miguel carries that weight. What We Owe Each Other – and he's only ever fed entitled egos. Not his family, of course, but he's been burned. He's had more than his fair share of it.

He doesn't owe the world shit, he thinks.

He doesn't owe you shit.

It doesn't help that he's been stuck in place, grasping at cushion covers and a raggedy blanket. Trying not to drown in the heady scent of you, he's been dragging thick fingers over the fabric as if in a trance. You don't owe him anything, either. Nary an apology, an explanation; so much as a sorry spilling from pretty lips in that way where they quiver like a gentle flame.

He's touched them, felt them drag across his skin like the finest silk, and dropped to his knees in search of something you've never given him. It doesn't matter if you don't; kiss him , that is; the swirling, desperate sort that leaves him heaving and creaking and begging for more. He thinks he'd still scuff up the denim at his knees if you asked, regardless - he'd do anything , if it was for you.

It's not realistic to expect anything from you. You don't need to tell him where you've gone or why you've left so early. You don't need to, and yet he finds himself reaching for his phone.

Miguel sends a well placed message; deft fingers tapping away at the screen. Before he changes his mind, it's sent; and he's chewing his lip whilst waiting for a steady three dots. Lyla is slower than usual, but she comes through. She doesn't ask questions - because she knows him better than he knows himself - and gives him a thumbs up.

They'll call each other later, that much he's sure of, but for now he reads between the lines. Short bursts of text, like firecrackers flashing across a night sky, and only through nonsensical emojis and odd slang can they understand each other.

This part, he can do. And he'll do whatever he needs to, not what he owes.

~~~

You make it to Pam's just after it opens.

At 7 o'clock sharp, you've made the journey; in an empty subway car, spilling out onto the streets like treacle left in the neck of a bottle. It's not quite a squeeze, passing by only a handful of people, with nothing but a jacket thrown over last night's clothes. In a daze, you realise too late: it's Miguel's. A dusty, worn thing; brown leather crackling at the sleeves and heavy on your shoulders. It feels like a hug, and it feels like him : warm and stiff. It smells like him too, and you bury your nose in the collar on the subway, sleeves kissing your palm like his hand is in yours.

It's a feeling that takes you all the way to the doors: past the slats bolted shut and down a familiar alley. You push past them, sneakers on slick tiles, and give a weak smile to the woman that perks up from behind the counter, kicking away the mop and bucket.

"Hiya, welcome to Pam's! How can I–"

"Oh, God , no." You wave her off. "Take your time. I need a minute, if that's okay."

Settling on the barstool, you watch as the young woman smiles, picking up a rag and wiping at the counter. You sit in it, for a while.

Dregs drip in through the front. The bell at the top of the door chimes, tinny and cheerful in the relative gloom of a quiet morning.

It's cold , outside. Autumn, biting at your fingers and nose. Eventually you opt for a coffee, piping hot to stave off that chill. Bitter, the aftertaste lingers at the back of your throat. You find yourself picking at the chipped mug, chasing away that taste with fluffy pancakes. The combination doesn't feel quite the same – not after many a morning with your roommate.

You settle into the seat. You wrap that old jacket around you. You sip at tart coffee and pick at your nails. A quiet morning, one to yourself, one to keep hidden at the crook of your chest. Some semblance of peace , wrapped up in the spindles of a dandelion. That is to say; delicate and fleeting, whipped away by the breeze.

You've decided not to think too hard about it. That kind of thinking ends dangerously, you've realised: with long, hot nights spent tossing and turning. It ends with a head full of cotton, and a pounding at your chest. With blood, with tears, with a stranger in your bed. And so, you go for the cleaner option. The safer one, all things considered, that's less likely to end in a broken heart.

You float around for a while. Walking without a real destination, trying to ground yourself. Eventually, you end up home, opening the door to an empty apartment. There's no traces left of a night spent in Miguel's arms. Good, you think, slipping your shoes off at the door. It doesn't feel good , but if you say it enough times you just might believe it.

The cleaner option; the one with less gristle and bone; is a familiar one. You settle into a shower; steamy and soapy, taking your time to clean out the blood from under your fingernails. The grime, the dirt ; you watch it swirl into the drain, hands running across soft flesh. You try to do it like Jamie did, once upon a time. It doesn't feel right, and has you leaning onto the cool tile. The shower head sputters, a shaky pressure on your back but you lean into it and close your eyes. You rub a hand at the crook of your chest, and then down, down, down, circling your breast and then following the curve of hips to the apex of your legs. Tipping your head, letting the hot water stream through your hair and then your back; and you touch, feel , and you can almost taste him ; sweet and saccharine Miguel, at your lips.

With two fingers flat against your clit, you rub little circles at the nub, dipping into your hole for much needed wetness. Your other hand travels up soft skin, pads of your fingers grazing collarbone, and then they curl around your neck. With a little pressure, your thumb grazes your jaw. Like he does, except your hands aren't as deliciously rough or as large. You slip a finger in, and then two, water pounding your back and eyes screwed. You push past that initial tightness, searching for a little give. When it comes, cunt clenching around your fingers, just shy of that sweet spot as you press your clit with the heel of your palm; you're imagining it's your roommate. He'd wrap those thick forearms around you, press his cock to the crest of your back and touch you like you deserve.

You do it like Miguel would, reverent , touching you as if you were clay at a potter's wheel. In the hands of God herself, you cum; falling, falling, falling; tumbling down white water rapids and spit back up into the rushing water. You're panting, now, out of breath.

When you sink onto your bed, you realise it's not quite enough. Still in a fluffy robe, steam curls from your skin like clouds – ones that smell of cheap body wash and shampoo. Before you know it, you're reaching for your phone, sending two quick messages to a certain somebody.

[Sent: 15:32]

hey mig

[Sent: 15:32]

where did u go?

You don't expect a quick reply - he's never been much of a texter. But those three dots pop up in no time at all, much to your surprise.

[Received: 15:33]

Out.

[Received: 15:33]

Running errands.

It's succinct and to the point – of which you expect nothing else from Miguel. Your thumbs fly to the screen to reply but another message tugs the rug out from under your shaky legs.

[Received: 15:35]

Is everything okay?

[Sent: 15:35]

yeah

[Sent: 15:36]

all good

When that provides no response, you're left chewing on your lip, anxious. He's seen the message, he's read the message; but for some reason, several minutes go by and there's no response.

You're ready to give up and chalk it to your roommate's hot-and-cold nature, when your phone rings.

Immediately, you pick up.

" Don't believe you." His voice rings out, tinny, nestled amongst the covers.

"Hey, Mig." You settle down on the bed, putting him on speaker and placing it by your ears.

" Did you hear what I said?" His tone is deep and intense, making you shiver. It's not quite the same, of course, but you're reminded of nights spent with his lips tucked close the shell of your ear.

You swallow. "Yeah. I… I did."

" You sure? Because you suck at lying."

"Don't be an asshole."

" Think I get a free pass when you disappear for the whole day."

You roll your eyes. “You didn't call–”

“ Would you have answered?”

Ouch. He sounds frustrated, the quiet chatter of his background bathed in heavy silence. Silence thick with tension, and you almost choke on it.

He breaks it with a heavy sigh. “ You okay? ”

“No. Not really.”

“ Okay. ” He lets it sit for a while, before saying, “ I'll be home, soon. There's leftovers in the fridge, and you should eat, sweetheart. You want anything from the store? ”

His voice is so, so soft. It crackles like kindling on a fire: warmth that blooms and spreads to your chest. Like slipping off frozen gloves to thaw off in front of a heater, and he just makes you feel impossibly warm.

“Not really, thanks.” You mumble it, and hear a satisfied grunt from the other end. Before you change your mind, you say, “Sorry. M'sorry.”

Miguel gives a light chuckle and you think you can hear him smile, the kind you always chase after a stupid argument: one that tugs at the corners of his pretty lips.

“ You've got nothin' to be sorry about .”

He gives you a moment to feel the weight of his words, and ends the call. That heat at your chest blooms.

If Miguel O'Hara is the Sun, then maybe you don't mind being pulled into his orbit; bathing in steady light and warmth.

~~~

He comes home with flowers. A beautiful bouquet; delicate and balanced, featherlight wildflowers and brush, interspersed with sprays of blue and purple and pink. It's wonderfully dense, reminding you of the tangles of colour a child might decorate a picture with in wobbly crayon. Simply put, it's nothing short of a vision, and you notice how delicately he places it on the dining table.

With the rest of the grocery bags, Miguel clatters in, and you can't help but be curious. You're poking through the bags, sitting on the counter as he puts them away – after offering to help, of course, but he bats you away easily. Your bare legs bristle in the chill brought on by the window cracked open, and he just breezes past.

The cabinet opens with a thud , and your roommate busies himself with putting away food. Carefully, you watch the way the muscles of his back flexes this way and that - cut and lean under that thin sweater. He’s otherwise occupied, and so you take the opportunity to stare, playing with a loose string at the hem of silky shorts. And so, it makes you jump when your phone buzzes beside you. Innocuously, you glance at the notification, and your eyes go wide.

“Who’s that?” Miguel asks, voice light. With that freaky sixth sense of his, he doesn’t need to turn around to know, it seems.

“Lyla.” You murmur, reading the rest of the message.

“ ...And? ”

“Uh. Well…” Blinking, you can’t quite believe what she’s asking. “ Girl’s Night . I-I mean… she’s asking me to come with her for a Girl’s Night.”

“Really?” His tone is surprising, and you can hear how he beams by its lilting nature. Maybe he’s laughing at you, maybe he’s not, but you snap back regardless.

“ ... don’t act so surprised.”

“ You sound surprised.” He laughs.

“It’s different when I do it.” You say simply. “I just… I didn’t expect it. I didn’t even know we were close enough to–”

“Bullshit. You text her all the time.”

“A couple of times, Mig.” You correct him, trying to pin down a suitable response to give Lyla. You draw a blank. “I don’t want her to feel like she has to, or anything.”

He turns around, sleeves still rolled up. The look he gives makes you wither: one that could say about a million things. You think it means cut the crap , but he could just be constipated: you haven't quite mastered the art of reading Miguel O’Hara.

“Do you want to go?” He gets closer, hand flat on the counter next to your thigh.

You nod, and his hand creeps up and up.

Giving you a little smile, he shrugs. “Then go.”

It makes you shy. Bashful , even; and you’re wriggling as he squeezes the flesh. A hand on his forearm, and he’s close; so much so that all you can feel is the press of skin, and feel gentle breath fluttering past your cheek. You’re stuck underneath the gaze of his pretty lashes, and entranced at the way he licks his even prettier lips. A sudden thought seizes you - so heavy it makes your chest tight and leaden.

Oh. You want to kiss him.

In a moment, it’s gone. A broad palm nudges your thigh aside, and you’re shifting so he can reach the drawers just by your legs. You oblige, falling back into familiar routine.

Life moves on. Like Miguel said it would, and you find yourself entwined with the idea of time passing. Lying awake each night, picking out sand from underneath your fingernails, after clawing your way out of the hourglass. Steady, slow dregs; and it's tipped over each morning, restarting the clock.

The flowers disappear from the dining table. Miguel retreats into the folds and dark corners of your apartment; you see him less and less. Passing ships in the night, you seem to miss each other by a fraction of a second. All of a sudden he's busy , and all of a sudden you're swamped with work. You only see each other at night, looking out for the bits and pieces left as proof of life: sometimes he'll leave a hot flask out for you in the mornings, and you'll greet him with a cheesy soap in the evenings. If he's not leaving later and later after work, that is.

He looks tired, you note. Exhausted; prone to little yawns as you turn to him every now and then whilst watching on the couch. It's sweet, the way his frown has made way to a dopey smile, but it's frayed at the edges, tinged with something you can't quite place. You let him sleep that night, bringing pillows to lay his head on, and wrapping him up in that old blanket.

Girl's night creeps up on you. It shakes you by the shoulders when you collapse on the sofa after a long day – and you're rushing to get ready. There's no Miguel to make sly remarks or prod you into action, this time. You wonder what he'd say about what you're wearing; a leftover dress buried in boxes from your ex's apartment.

Short, tight, snug; it has you feeling glamorous – but you hope it doesn't look as fanciful as it feels. Too much; yet again, you're worried about being too much. Even though you're running a little late, you take the time to carefully apply makeup; something shiny on your lids, a dab of blush, and gloss slathered onto your lips. When you sling on little heels, and snatch a petite bag from the hooks near the door, there's barely enough time to catch that last glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Down and out you go, into a dusky night.

~~~

“I had to go through her manager– and wait, can you believe this girl has a fucking manager, now?” Lyla bats at MJ's shoulder, and the redhead laughs good-naturedly.

“It's not– she's exaggerating! My manager's just my mom, I swear.”

“It's a good thing, no?” You smile, taking a healthy swig of a brightly coloured cocktail.

“It means she is booked, and–” Lyla hiccups, raising an unsteady glass that threatens to tip. MJ straightens her elbow instinctually, before raising her own. “ – very busy .”

It's your turn to laugh, glass held high in the air. With a clink , there's a clash of crystal that's all but drowned out by the chatter in the upscale bar.

Somewhere fancy, courtesy of Lyla. One of those places that serves tiny portions in big, empty plates, a fusion of cultural food with white, upper class owners. No-doubt the result of summering somewhere in the ever-broad global South , Lyla had said slyly, under the lip of a menu.

There's powdered sugar on the rim of your flute. It dissolves on your tongue. You down the rest. Sickly sweet, and you wipe what drips onto your lips.

It has you checking your phone. Miguel hasn't called, not that you were expecting anything. Whilst Lyla and MJ talk, you scroll mindlessly through his chat; a smattering of one word answers. Missed calls. Unanswered messages.

" –what about you, babe?"

Your eyes snap back up to meet Lyla's, expectant.

"Uhhh…"

"Nevermind." Sharp eyes travel to your phone, and there's a flash of recognition. "Miggy said you're in school. He said you're gonna graduate early, this year."

"He said that?" You're confused. "I mean… I'm trying but it's not looking like that, right now."

She wags a finger, shaking her head like she's trying to remember something. "No, no, he seemed adamant. Said you're working hard, doing well."

"Doing better ." You correct her, shyly.

" Bullshit. " She says it the way Miguel does, and it makes you laugh. You see it now; he's the product of the people he loves. A kind of Frankenstein's monster, he's stitched together those bits and pieces; he's made himself beautiful. You wonder what piece of you he carries. If he even holds you that close to his chest.

"I bet you're doing amazing. " MJ finishes. Her smile is warm, and copper-coloured; it feels hazy and ambered in your little corner. "Better than me, anyways. I would rather die than go back to college."

"Back?" You ask.

"Oh, of course! You don't know." She giggles, leaning in like she's about to say something scandalous - the drink is clearly doing its job. Her next words are an exaggerated stage whisper. "I dropped out."

" Seriously? " You play along, with faux shock.

"...damn right she did." Lyla gives a drunken wave to a nearby waiter, asking for another glass of wine. Something expensive, she whispers, giving a deceptive smile.

"It just wasn't for me, I guess. I went because everyone around me was going, even Pete. Uhh, English Lit, or something. And it didn't… I–I mean it just wasn't–"

"It didn't click."

" Right!" She snaps her fingers. "It was too much. I didn't know what I was doing, I was 18, for God's sake. Think I stuck at it for a bit too long, honestly."

"...and the world didn't explode." You breathe.

MJ answers with a knowing nod. She chugs the rest of a crisp Mojito, raising the empty glass once more.

"To doing better ."

You're quick to follow. "To doing better."

Lyla frowns, looking for a glass that's tucked into the corner. The room must be spinning already, with the way she pats around for it. You nudge it towards her with an elbow, and she's raucous; crumpling into a fit of giggles.

One drink turns to two, two turns to three, and then four ; until you're ready to spill out onto the busy strip. When the waiter places a slip of paper into the centre, one with so many zeroes it makes your eyes bulge, you don't even have to pretend to reach for your wallet. Gleefully, Lyla picks up the bill, sliding a shiny Amex card onto the dish.

She's generous, you note, as she buys a bottle of wine to go when MJ picks up her bag. She's perceptive, too. You see it when MJ wrings her hands, still tipsy and stuttering in her heels as you pile onto the street. She's making apologies already - I've got an early start and need to see my May - but Lyla intercepts. There's the gentle clink of a bottle thrust into her hands, something expensive, and she kisses the apples of her cheeks before sending her off in a taxi.

Her own cheeks are ruddy, rosy with drink and she splits into a wide smile. The back of her hand comes up to your neck. Warm , she whispers, before linking arms with you like a schoolgirl off to do something they shouldn't.

Eventually, with shaky legs, you end up in a nightclub. She knows someone who knows someone, apparently, and you're ushered into a packed place just off 76th. Lights and pounding music, a flurry of limbs; you let the crowd take you in. If this is what it means to be a part of a whole; some writhing, heaving beast, to be more than your hand in someone else's and theirs in yours; then you could live here forever, you think. Forever, for the night, for the next ten minutes; you blink , and time passes.

You're having fun, you think. Letting the blood rush to your head, hips swaying to the music and you don't push away the quiet snap of a phone camera, nor it's red recording light. Dancing, singing, many seem to be pulled into orbit around you. This is how it works , pushed into an ebb and flow of people held together by broken lyrics and a thumping bassline. You let it wash over you, all-consuming, dragging yourself into murky depths.

You're in a booth, now, anchored by a dainty hand around your wrist. Pupils blown, she cups your face to inspect you, to figure out where you've gone. Someone's bought you a drink, there's a stranger's arm around your shoulders, but Lyla pushes them both away. Too much? It's a question, of which you shake your head firmly - lolling and with a distinct lack of fine motor skills - no. Not enough.

You blink. Bitter liquor hits your throat, and you chase the taste of somebody else's lips. A stranger, and even under the influence you know it doesn't feel right. Bile rises, and you're gone, clamping onto your stomach and trying not to hurl.

You blink. You're on the sidewalk, with a heavy head on someone's shoulder. The strap of your heels dig into your ankles and you fumble with it, trying to stop the road from spinning. Lyla holds you up, not much more up to task than you are.

A car pulls up, and at first you don't recognise it; entranced by shiny rims coming to a stop. You look up, still buried in Lyla's thick jacket; and you see it. You see him.

Miguel's wearing glasses. That's the first thing you notice, stumbling to your feet. Immediately, your face cracks into a dopey smile, leaning onto the lip of the open window. He gives you a once over, swallowing thickly, brows drawn.

Quiet chatter flys straight over your head. Lyla arguing, Miguel wagging a finger at her; but all you can see is him. It's like you've got blinkers on, tunnel vision making you focus on the curve of cheekbone, and the way his eyes scrunch up around black rims and glass.

You clamber into the backseat.

“Get in, Ly.”

The other woman seems resolute. “ M'not –”

“Did you take something?”

“Fuck you.” Flashing a middle finger, she wraps up her coat like a robe, walking away down the road.

He's adamant, driving up next to her. You keep your head on the glass where it's cool.

“Let me take you home. Please. ”

Frowning, she stops. When he leans over to open the passenger's side, she slips off her boots, and sidles in.

Their voices feel like a blur. You can barely register, only picking up half of the words hissed under their breath.

“... I called you, you can't give me a lecture…”

“...not fair, Lyla…. can't keep babysitting…”

“... fucking hypocrite… not the only one… I'm going through some shit…”

“...too far…. always taking it too…”

He drops her off outside of the apartment. From the backseat, you're sobering up; able to catch his heavy sigh as he watches her through the window. It's only when he sees her walk in does he turn to you, passing bottled water kept in the console.

“You want to come out to the front?”

You like the way he says it, for some reason. Any anger or frustration he had towards Lyla dissipates. He doesn't bring that into a quiet conversation with you.

He's too solemn, too serious, and so you clamber into the front over the console; limbs and legs everywhere, as obnoxiously as you can. A slight elbow to his chest, a hand clutching his shirt; you want to make him laugh. As you settle onto the seat, you see it: huffing dramatically, he gives you a small smile.

Miguel reverses back out onto the road.

You blink, and you're home. Legs still shaky, he helps you up the stairs, settling you onto the sofa. Car keys clink onto the dish by the door, and he slips off his coat – that brown one, your favourite, you think.

Fumbling with the strap of your heels, it must be too painful for him to watch as Miguel settles by your feet. His big, strong hands are surprisingly deft when he undoes the dainty buckle.

“Are you mad at me?” Meekishly, you watch and he shakes his head, not making eye-contact. Maybe it's the alcohol, but you're staring; looking for that light in his eyes amongst the dark room.

Now, he looks up. “What?”

“M'just looking.” You say, chewing the inside of your cheek as one shoe slips off. “ I'm not allowed to look?”

The other one comes off, and he hisses when he spots a little cut where the strap dug into your ankle. He can't help it, rolling it gently in his hands, trying to ease the pain with a massage.

“You wear glasses.” You say it softly, more to yourself than to anyone else. Giggling now, you cradle his face and he sits up. “I didn't know that.”

“ That's not – I've always worn glasses. You're just not paying attention.” He shrugs lazily, but he's smiling.

“Not true , Mig. I would've noticed.”

“You're drunk–”

“When it's you, I always pay attention.” Absent-mindedly, your hand curls into his hair. He keens . “Like… your hair's getting longer.”

Gently, he shakes out of your grip, getting up. “I know, I know. I need a haircut.”

“I like it.” Starry-eyed, you look up at him. “You're so pretty, Mig.”

It makes him heave. Still tipsy, your legs spread ever so slightly, hand taking his and pulling him closer. Placing his hand on your thigh, you let it trace up, up, up, catching at the hem of your short dress.

He practically caves in, collapsing next to you on the couch.

“You should–” His eyes are glassy as you ease yourself onto his lap. “ F-Fuck . You should go to bed, sweetheart.”

Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, you roll your hips, watching as he groans wantonly.

“But I'm not tired.” His hand ends up on your waist, applying just the right amount of pressure. Underneath, you can feel him stir, increasingly hard under loose sweats. “And you haven't touched me in weeks. ”

You're exaggerating, but it goes to his head anyway. He buries his head into the crook of your shoulder, whispering into the bare skin.

“I know, I know…”

“Just the tip, Miguel.” You're grinding your clit onto him, pussy barely covered by a thin thong. Whispered into the shell of his ear, you're a siren, honeyed words dangerously close to breaking him down. “Just the tip, and I promise , I'll let it go. Please , baby.”

Your dress rides up, and his hands come down to palm at your ass.

“ Please…” You're pleading, lips on his neck as he squeezes, forcing you down to hump directly over his cock.

“Oh, shit.” His hips jump once, twice; and then he stills, hands at your hips and ass to stop you.

Desperate, you whine, trying to fight against it. He doesn't let up, hand cradling your chin so you can look him in the eye.

“ Bed .” He says, shakily. “Not like this.”

He slips you off, noticeably adjusting his pants. Legs spread wide, head tipped back as he sighs; he looks delicious , and you're fighting off the urge to let him take you right there and then.

You stumble through the little hallway, pushing past some doors. Something clatters into your thigh, and you hear a dull thud as another thing falls to the floor. Frustrated, you strip down to your underwear, something light and lacy and it leaves very little to the imagination.

There's a bed, and you collapse on it; swimming in the silky sheets. It smells like him - musky and oaky and gentle - and you think you must be dreaming already. And then, you sit up, realising too late - this isn't your room.

Miguel wasn't too far off, hearing the thumping and clattering; hesitant as he opens the door. You're wrapped up like a present, spilling out of lingerie on his bed. He swallows, turning away to dig into his wardrobe, intending to pull out a baggy shirt for you.

“ Miguel .” You croak, but he ignores the want in your voice, so heavy it goes straight to his cock. “Miguel, please. ”

All his shirts blend together. He can't concentrate.

“Do you think I don't want it? Because I do, fuck, I need it. So bad, baby, please.” Your body heaves with a half sob.

Heart splintering, he turns. Finally, you meet his eye. You spread your legs.

“ Here. Right here .” You tap your clothed cunt with shaky fingers, pulling your thong to the side. His eyes drink it up, the way you glisten when your cunt eats up the fabric. You know he's watching, and you take advantage of it, circling your clit with the pads of two fingers. “Like this . When I touch myself, I think of you… d-did you know that?”

Swallowing roughly, he can't take his eyes off of you.

“What… What else?” He croaks.

“I think of your tongue, a-at my pussy. And your fingers… God. ” You slip a finger in, and he watches as your cunt clenches around it; gushing and sloppy. “Your l-lips. Meant it, before. When I said you were pretty. Want to sit on that pretty face and watch you melt– oh-h- fuck- ”

He wants to lick it up, all that slick that sluices from your hole. His mouth waters, just thinking about it.

“Put another one in, for me.” He says it low, sinking to his knees to watch you fuck yourself.

Nodding, you oblige.

“Does it feel good?”

“ Yes. ” You don't hesitate.

“Can you fit another one? Want to see how good she looks when she comes, sweetheart.”

Three fingers in, now, and he slides your thong a little further aside; reaching up to press his thumb to your clit. Light streams in from blinds cracked open and highlights your thighs perfectly. Nevertheless, he adjusts his glasses to make sure he doesn't miss anything.

The twitch of your leg, the way your hand cramps up, the way your lips curl into a delicious O - he sees it all, commits it to memory.

“ Faster , please.”

“ Doesn't –” You're frustrated, clearly chasing something that refuses to surface. “Not the same. Can't fucking reach. ”

He titters, nipping at your thighs and soothing the bites with the flat of his tongue.

“Poor baby. Will you let me help?”

Fervently, you nod, slipping out your fingers as he takes off his glasses. They're discarded, too foggy to be useful right now.

“Did I tell you to take them out?” He sighs and gestures for your hand. Wrapping his lips around them he sucks them clean, humming lightly. He pats your clit with a wet slap, content. “Put two fingers in, sweetheart.”

Doing as he says, your head feels full - cotton wool and bubble wrap, only able to focus on the pleasure building behind your clit. And when he slots two fingers in next to yours , it rips out a gravelly moan.

“ Here? ” He says dragging himself deeper, curling his fingers up. “Or is it… here? ”

You groan, limp against his hand as you feel impossibly full. It reminds you of the stretch of his cock; creaming around the base of his two fingers and yours. That wonderful curl as he pumps himself in and out, cupping your hand in the process to make sure you match his pace. He can feel your walls spasm around him, impossibly soft and velveteen.

“Can't say no to you,” His eyes are low, grunting as he palms himself roughly. “Even though… fuck … even though I should.”

It's wet, the slap slap slap of skin against skin echoing in his room. Miguel sits up, pressing his lips to your neck, and you take the opportunity to slip your other hand into his sweats. You start pumping, in time with his ministrations, eyes blown as you swipe your thumb over his weeping slit.

You know he likes it rough, and you jerk him into your palm; fast and hard and you watch as he matches your pace. Even now, you're competing, trying to catch the him up; to see who can make the other cum first.

You push back on his fingers, hips slotting against his, whispering nonsense into his neck. You're too fucked out to care; confessions you never thought would see the light of day. All the little things you like about him, things he says, things he does; and you don't even register the ochred flush smattered along the ridge of cheekbone.

He spills into your hand, and you're quick to follow; cumming around him as his fingers stutter in and out. It feels good , dangerously so, and has you pressing shaky kisses around his mouth, and nipping at his bottom lip.

He stills, but you're greedy, aching for more. You want him in you; seating his thick cock deep inside, painting your walls with hot cum, and pushing it back in with deft fingers. Every part of you is on fire, barely satiated by your heated foray.

You tip back onto the bed, and he joins you; caging you in with thick forearms, looking at you like you've stolen all the stars in the sky. That feeling , again, slams into your chest like a bullet. Messy hair, ruddy cheeks, hand gently tracing your jaw; he looks gone, and oh so soft. You want to kiss him ; and it's a thought that sticks, embedding itself somewhere you can't reach to dig it out.

“ Miguel .” You whisper, enough alcohol at the edges of your mind to stop thinking and spill your guts to him, unfiltered. “Are you sleeping with someone else?”

His eyes flit over your face before answering and he shakes his head.

“No. No. Just you. Only you.”

“ Don't believe you .” But you want to. So, so desperately. “Promise me?”

“I promise, sweetheart.” He swallows. “Are you?”

“No. Don't think I could if I tried.” It comes out watery, stuck at the back of your throat.

He just looks, for a moment, cradling the back of your head.

“I want to kiss you.” It spills out from your lips.

“I know.”

“Then why won't you kiss me?”

“Not a good idea.” He strains, kissing your forehead, and then each cheek. Hesitating, he places a gentle peck to your chin. “Ask me tomorrow.”

He says it simply, too easily; and it makes you want to sob. When Miguel slips away, and you hear the sound of a light turned on in the bathroom, you can't move. Catatonic; you blink, and he's cleaned you up, and slipped a shirt over your shoulders. Laying back in his bed, you watch as he lingers by the doorway, shrouded in shadow.

Goodnight. Y ou think you say it out loud, but it echoes in your head.

He says back, but not really. Instead, he leaves that goodnight hanging by the doorway like an old coat, and you wrap it over your shoulders.

It keeps you a little warmer through the night.

Rigor Mortis Taglist: @bunnyrose01 @lavenderslemonade @tsukkie-daisuke @malxoxo @thekidscallmebosss @vvitcxen @theyoutubedork @doublevirgogirl @jnghs @taleiak @noblesavagex @cumikering @rebeccawinters @evanpetersrightbigtoe @saucypeanuttt @pix-stuff @maliarenee @truthuntolddd @honeycovered-bandaids @aiyaaayei @aeeliy @amplsblog @sikrettt @opuffmango @spear-bitch @maddielikesmoths @lemonpepsi @sweet-strawberryhoney @lacedinweb22 @bubbsby @jing5uan @ellaandorersoct @hibarbiesblog @valentxi @kittym1ka @delulu-dia @melovetitties @yohoe-hoe @acollectionofcells1 @froggi-mushroom @thund3rthighs

@bonthebunnie @natthernandez @strawberrymiguel @twwcs @mammonispunk @um-well @renn-pumkin-head @ietherealkistar @smallishbook @sonderspider @spear-bitch @cryingintheclubdhmu @mageneire @notdyl4n @slezhara @funkyfoxx0 @smol-beb @iceclaw101 @lixhizy @errorundyne-exe @707xn @beantokki@twentysomethingwereyote

#miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #rigor mortis 😼#miguel o'hara #miguel o hara x reader #kat_writes😼#spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara smut #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #angst #heavy angst #mutual pining

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gunthermunch · 2 months

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[Transcript under the cut]

Max: ugh. Rochelle. always doing her own damn thing. Who does she think she- [door slams open] Proffesor: UHHH- Good evening kids! Got stuck in traffic… my cat died… and then i had to stop for a drink. uhh let's see what you got there Proffesor: ah, Rochelle! Max: I- Proffesor: OUTSTANDING work as always! you got a bright future ahead! Max: but-- Proffesor: uh… where's our coffee machine at? Max: ugh. Max: hate this dumb stupid class.

Guy: so what did you do then? Max: well i left early. Then went back to my dorm to have a rage induced shower. Then i got bored for a couple hours because my roommate was being dorky somewhere else, and now i'm here. Max: by the way, i don't think i've ever seen you before Guy: oh yeah- i'm a transfer? Max: question mark? Guy: ah it's just-- i suck at talking Max: i can tell. so what are you doing in a place like this? Guy: my friend works here and… yeah Max: your friend. Bartender: yes. aaand that's not a guy you wanna catch, dude. Bartender: i've served absinthe to this one hundreds of times and believe me, that's the only thing he doesn't treat like a one night occurrence. Max: UGH shut up. Bartender: I'm just trying to do my friend a favor Guy: hey, it's okay. shit happens. Guy: i'll be right back Bartender: damn. i've known him for years but you bat your pretty eyes for fifteen minutes and he stops listening to me Max: fuck you. Bartender: oh come on. i'm not wrong Max: well you didn't have to humiliate me like that Bartender: fine, yes. I'm sorry, 'kay? Max: yeah, yeah. Max: y'know, i was thinking we could crash at your place when your shift ends? Bartender: Max. i wouldn't do that to him- Max: i mean the three of us, stupid. Bartender: …oh.

#YEAH. YUP #ts4 #ts4 story #this post was going to be longer but i said yknwpowow what. yeah.#munch #max villareal #and the gays all of them

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sunnebeam · 8 months

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"my boss just gave me orders."

A 'PERKS OF BEING A HOUSEHUSBAND' DRABBLE.

pairing: min yoongi x reader

plot: the (mis)adventures of retired gangster min yoongi as he leaves behind the life of the mafia and navigates the way of the househusband.

warnings: the way of the househusband au, marriage au, crack, domesticity, yoongi being oblivious & wifey being horn knee ;)

masterlist + disclaimers.

note: in case u didn't know, i'm still currently on my aug-oct vacation (see details in pinned post!) and this post was scheduled in advance :> tbf i don't really like how this turned out (well what's new?) but i hope u guys still enjoy this. and as always, feedback & reviews are highly appreciated!

After the longest day at work, you finally arrive back home.

Holly barks at you, welcoming you home, leading you to coo and kiss the poodle hello. Your husband follows right after, taking your bag from your shoulder and welcoming you with a big smooch on the lips.

"Welcome home, darling," Yoongi greets you with his signature uneven smile.

He's changed up his outfit today, choosing to wear a fitted black shirt that outlines his chest beautifully. You drool at the sight.

"Welcome home, indeed," you echo back.

"Are you hungry?" he asks you.

"Mhm," you confirm.

You step closer to him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"I'm so hungry, Yoonie," you continue in what you hope to be a seductive tone. "Absolutely starving."

Unfortunately, your husband takes it literally.

"Why? Did you work through your lunch break?"

"No, no, Yoonie, I meant—"

"That can't do, darling," he says in a no-nonsense tone. "We need to get some food in you. Come on, quick."

And Yoongi leaves you there – stunned, horny, and in disbelief.

But you remain persistent. You try again after dinner and after you've both finished washing the dishes.

"Yoonie? Wanna watch some Netflix and chill with me?"

This should work. Your husband's a millennial. Surely, he knows what Netflix & Chill means, right? Right?

Wrong.

"This is a good movie," your husband mumbles through a mouthful of popcorn. "You picked a good movie, darling. It's well-directed and the cinematography is outstanding."

You smile dryly in response.

You're both seated on the couch with clothes still on, unfortunately. Naturally, Yoongi took your words for what they were and is currently engrossed in the Netflix film you mindlessly picked.

Looks like you need to be more specific.

"God, it's so hot in here!" you exclaim in exaggeration, fanning yourself with your hand. "Aren't you feeling hot, Yoonie?"

He finally takes his eyes off the movie to focus on you.

"Uh, no?" he responds in confusion, staring at the thermostat that showed an acceptable temperature. "Are you?"

"I am!" you tell him. "I feel so hot. Maybe we should take our clothes off and—"

"Hang on, darling," he cuts you off, and promptly stands. "I know what to do."

He heads somewhere for a few seconds before returning with a portable mini-fan.

"Do you want me to hold it for you? So your arm won't get tired?"

You blink at him. Honestly, you could cry. Whether because of his sweet gesture or because of how dense he is, you don't know.

"On second thought, Yoonie, I think I'm fine now."

"Are you sure? Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Don't worry," you start to say, but then you realize you could use this opportunity as a final attempt. "Actually..."

Yoongi stares at you, waiting.

"...I'm not completely fine. I've been so stressed lately, you know?"

"From work?" he asks.

"Yeah. I think I need some stress relief..." You look him in the eye to get your point across. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

There's a glint in Yoongi's eyes.

"I understand completely, darling."

Finally.

But wait.

Where is he going?

And what's that he's bringing?

"Aroma therapy," Yoongi tells you seriously, placing a diffuser near you and setting it up. "Essential oils are known to help with stress. Don't worry, darling, I've got you."

Of course, you sigh internally.

You should've known better than to beat around the bush with your blunt, straightforward husband.

You grab his hands.

"Yoonie! Stop it!"

"But the oils—"

"Forget the oils. I don't need aroma therapy, okay?"

He's genuinely confused. "But you said—"

"I know, I'm sorry. I'm not too stressed out, alright? You don't need to worry. I just..."

"Just what?"

You grip his chin and bring his face closer.

"I just want you to fuck me."

It's out in the open now and your husband blinks at you for a few moments, before realization dawns on him and he smirks lazily at you.

"Why didn't you just say so?"

You shrug, smiling now that he finally gets it.

"Well," he grunts, "my boss just gave me orders. What should I do?"

You play along with him, wrapping your arms around his neck, making your lips hover just centimeters from his.

"I think you shouldn't make her wait any longer," you say cheekily. "And I think you shouldn't hold back on her tonight."

Yoongi sweeps you up in his arms, making you squeal.

"Be careful what you wish for, darling," he tells you in that deep voice of his and you feel your underwear dampen.

And without wasting any more time, Yoongi carries your horny ass to your shared bedroom where he fucks you all through the night.

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alwayscorvus · 2 months

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What are lions truly scared of

half-lion!Jing Yuan x malereader, fluff

Jing Yuan resembled a lion in many ways.

Lions stood out with their bushy mane, one that was incredibly similar to Jing Yuan's. Long, thick, messy. Extremely difficult to control.

Lions weighed around 420 pounds*. Known for their massive build. Their mass and strength allowed them to hunt and fight for their pride. Exactly as in case of Jing Yuan who had a powerful physique, which made masculinity radiate from him. By his very appearance, Jing Yuan woke awe and fear in eyes of his enemies.

Lions were "kings of the jungle". They kept watch over other animals. Just like Jing Yuan, who ruled Xianzhou Luofu thanks to his role as one of leaders.

Lions mostly didn't raise their offspring, leaving that to lionesses to do. Despite this, they always protected the youngest ones. Maybe that's why Jing Yuan often put off teaching Yanqing and preferred not to assign him difficult tasks through which he could get hurt.

Lions were known for performing outstanding hunts. Choosing right time, adjusting their attack tactics and observing their prey for a long while. When working as a team and carefully following tasks instructed to them, lionesses were able to knock down a giraffe that greatly surpassed them. Perhaps this is why Jing Yuan was such a great strategist. His skills worked well both in chess and on battlefield. Man didn't act by impulse, he thoughtfully chose his next steps. He knew that not all attacks should be responded to, and even if, it wasn't necessary to do that immediately. Sometimes it was better to wait for the right moment. Slow action and "patience" also allowed Jing Yuan to not get too much tired...

Lions became exhausted easily and run only on short distances. So you could say that Jing Yuan had in genes this laziness and dullness which he was always showing.

That's why it wasn't surprising when, during transformation of some of Luofu's residents, Jing Yuan was one of them.

Yes, at some point the nation over which Jing Yuan held custody began to change. At first Xianzhou Luofu was just an unusual and wonderful place inhabited by many different species. The most popular of them were of course Foxians, Vidyadharas and Xianzhou Natives. The last one were previously famous only for their long-living. They didn't show any animal traits in their apperance. Over the years, however, this began to change. Mutations weren't common, but despite that, in some individuals they suddenly triggered the appearance of parts unusual for human body. Tails, horns, extra ears, claws, scales, anything that just referred to animals that Natives personified.

Because of that, an already perfect image of General was enhanced by a pair of white lion ears and a long, swift tail.

However, that was not what caught your attention. Rather it was a Jing Yuan's strange behavior.

At first, you thought you only imagined it or that it was just a pure coincidence. Over time, however, you found that Jing Yuan was really avoiding you on purpose.

At Louofu celebrations, by the time you were able to push through the crowd to where Six Charioteers were standing, Jing Yuan had always managed to change his position. Leaving behind only sight of departing shadow and ruffles of his robe waving in the wind.

When you visited Divine Foresight for business matters, you could never find Jing Yuan. When you asked about him, you were told that man had left only seconds before you arrived. Or even better, that at that day he wasn't there at all. And you could have sworn that behind the closing door to one of the back rooms, you saw a long, white tail frivolously levitating in the air.

However, you got really fed up with all that when Jing Yuan sent his representatives to consultation with you instead of showing up himself.

You also like Jing Yuan belonged to long-lived species. Although you didn't reveal any additional features in your appearance. And in look were no different from an ordinary person (well, maybe not counting large build in form of broad shoulders and above-average height). But elephant blood flowed through your veins.

As a result, you and your family became famous for your divine memory. Because of which, male line of your dynasty from generation to generation served rulers as consultants and "treasurers of knowledge". Though this didn't happen often. Because your services were extremely expensive. And also because you have lived in a grudge against Six Charioteers since ancient times. Precisely, since a few centuries ago one of former rulers made a decision completely different from your suggestions. That offended your pride deeply. However, your helping still took place in special circumstances.

One could say that due to the long life span, there weren't many of your "generations". But unfortunately, because of your genes, you were the target of so-called "poachers". They were eliminating you because of highly paid commission. You were valuable, your knowledge was precious. And it posed a great threat to others. That forced you to start new generations. By holding sensitive information from many years, your grandfather and later also your father lost their lives. Only you remained. And it was you who held the duties of "treasurer of knowledge".

You did it with extreme diligence and were respected by many. That's why you decided to take advantage of it.

When stellaron crisis hit Luofu, and you were once again asked to share your knowledge by Jing Yuan's subordinates. You gave an ultimatum.

General had to personally show up.

New deals, raises, promises of extraordinary rewards couldn't bribe you.

What's more, enough was enough when, after "agreeing" to your terms, another broker appeared at the meeting instead of Jing Yuan. Explaining himself with General's "illness".

To some, your attitude could seem trivial. But you really needed to find out why the head of Xianzhou Luofu had been avoiding you like a fire for years. Was there something wrong with you? Did you offend him with something? But how were you supposed to do that if you had never even seen him in person. Exactly. You had never had the opportunity to even see Jing Yuan with your own eyes before. You only knew his appearance and character from stories, paintings and your own analysis. That additionally kept you motivated in holding on your decisions.

And that's why you left the meeting room with a bang. News about your grudge immediately reaching General.

Jing Yuan realized that he had crossed the line. And that if he really wanted to get answers for his questions, he had to meet you in person. Not hologram, not anyone else, but he himself. If you would grant him another chance at all….

Your curiosity, however, worked in his favor. A week later, Jing Yuan showed up at your residence.

You found him sitting on a mat in your office. At the sight of him you instantly froze for a second. He looked even better than they described him, though perhaps not as majestically... Did you imagine that or did he really give off a vibe of shy and lost? Hunched, he looked around the room with hesitation. Avoiding your gaze at the same time. You didn't know where the great, famous, well-respected general had gone.

You took a seat on the other side of the table. And you took a closer look at him.

Fluffy white ears lay flattened on his head, and eyes that still avoided your face were squinted. With your memory, you returned to books about lions that you had been browsing, wishing to learn more about Jing Yuan.

Similar symptoms occurred in cat family when they were scared of something. But what could a brilliant General be afraid of. Stunned, you looked around to the sides, but you didn't see any threat behind your back.

-So how can i help the famous Jing Yuan? - you asked almost amused.

-Nameless... Is there anything I should know about them regarding the history of Xianzhou Luofu? Something that could prevent success of our cooperation? Can they be trusted?

You smiled at this.

-Why don't we start with what we agreed on in the letter first? - you recalled your conversation that you held after the last insult.

Man pulled a book from behind his bask and slid it timidly towards you. You grabbed it and opened at the page pointed by bookmark which surprisingly matched the patterns on Jing Yuan's robe.

You read the subject and then next few lines.

"What are Lions scared of?"

"Lions have only a few predators to fear other than humans."

Not that.

"Lions are not really scared of elephants. But elephants are the only animals they really try to avoid. [...] Lions show elephants respect that they deserve. Lions know that they will not defeat an elephant alone, because elephants are too powerful and massive for that. "

You smiled even wider and came up with another idea.

-What would General say about changing our agreement? I wouldn't want to drain Luofu's treasury that much... You have nothing to be scared of General. Although your ears could "suffer" a bit under new rules -you suggested playfully.

Jing Yuan rapidly raised his head. For the first time you could sink into his golden eyes. Nevertheless, you were greatly distracted from this astonishing view by naughty tail, which also rose to attention and flicked in the air.

After a moment, Jing Yuan burst into laughter, and his confidence returned. He nudged his head over the table towards you.

-What are u waiting for?

You also responded to the remark with laughter and slight disbelief.

Several decades of waiting, and everything could be solved in a few seconds.

You lifted your hand up, over Jing Yuan's mane. You hesitated for a moment, but then excitedly ruffled lion's ears. Soft to the touch. Fluffy as a cloud. Pleasantly cold after traveling outside.

And those purrs... Almost cat-like purr that came out of Jing Yuan immediately right after your gentle hands began kneading his ears in not so gently way. You could hear it more often.

And what's more, you could probably even fall in love with it.

made while listening to AREZRA "Goodbye"

*~190 kg

#fanfic #fanfiction #scenarios #tmr #x reader #genshin impact #hsr #x top male reader #x male reader #jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x male reader #honkai star rail #hsr x male reader #honkai star rail imagines #jing yuan hsr

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cupidastrology · 10 months

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asteroid aphrodite 1388 and trines ୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

you may read more into asteroid aphrodite and trines here on my post plus 💋

the symbol for trine(s) in the birth chart is: ⵠ .

asteroid aphrodite ⵠ ascendant - youre able to seduce anyone that you like through style, presence, and ability to move through room to room. people can't get enough of you, you're the beautiful goddess in the room.

asteroid aphrodite ⵠ descendant - you may experience periods of relationships and routines that are all about self care, practicing self love, and learning how to find your own sexuality. this is the aspect that invokes self healing with a mixture of seduction.

asteroid aphrodite ⵠ mc - youre well known to be especially seductive and sexy, learning in large ways to show off your easy chances at love. you can find a big following or overall reputation that highlights your ability to seduce and express love strongly.

asteroid aphrodite ⵠ ic - you may have many suitors from the start of life, welcoming a sense of beauty and grace by childhood friends and neighbors. people in your school or upbringing may have been drawn to you. the mother or family may have been a big influence on how you should act in places of beauty or attention.

asteroid aphrodite ⵠ sun ⵙ - people can't get you out of their mind, the way you express beauty and seduction is hard to duplicate. you may use your abilities or skills to entice lovers or suitors. it's important that insecurity never falls into the mind, people can sense your like/dislike in daily life.

asteroid aphrodite ⵠ moon ☽ - you are able to focus on brand new events and peoples with a grace, pulling in others through your own emotion. when you like someone or something, it is as if an aura glows around you. love spells, romantic meditations, or practices with romance may be best for you to understand what can keep you satisfied constantly.

asteroid aphrodite ⵠ mercury ☿ - your words can attract others or seduce them. the sound of your voice or the way you express various subjects can bring eyes to look to you constantly. you may have very romantic eyes or what you create with your hands becomes a pleasure for others to enjoy.

asteroid aphrodite ⵠ venus ︎ ♀︎ - you are able to attract the most love with partners and daily life enjoyments alike. there is so issue with bringing all to your heart, possessing the ability to seduce others. you may be able to really pull in richness into your life.

asteroid aphrodite ⵠ mars - you can mix the ability to act towards impulses and goals with a conviction that is admirable. you are always able to bring in a sense of love into your desires, into hard working projects. you can get others to do for you.

asteroid aphrodite ⵠ jupiter - your love can be felt in expansive and multiple ways. the more you learn on how to attract and seduce yourself, others, and desires in daily life you will have a sense of control that's unstoppable.

asteroid aphrodite ⵠ saturn - you may attract solemn and hard set connections and needs in your life. you may see that when you truly love, it all comes to you. a need to understand simplicity and even a dedicated view of love in your life is important in the end.

asteroid aphrodite ⵠ uranus - your love and ability to bring in sexual attraction can be found in the most unexpected ways. your views on events with less popularity or knowing is attractive to others. you may get what you want in weird or annoying ways that must always be researched into.

asteroid aphrodite ⵠ neptune - you know how to attract others in outstanding ways. the love of romance spells can be found here. you know how to get what you want, you know how to use visual imagery to gain your wants, and you may have dreams of others clearly.

asteroid aphrodite ⵠ pluto - love is a hard knock in life, and here you can bring in possessive and impactful forms of love that are unforgettable. you may be connected to forbidden forms of love or love that only god can bring.

#asteroid aphrodite #astrology course #astrology signs #astrology readings #astro community #natal chart #zodiac #astrology #astrology observation #astro observations #astro facts #astro notes #aphrodite

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anantaru · 10 months

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what would your favs do in a modern au? and another really important question: who would they listen to?

cw. none, different tropes, gn! reader

a/n. nonnie I'm not sure what you meant with the 'who would they listen to' so i thought you may mean songs they like ??

heizou the private investigator, who has his own agency but prefers to work underground— he has a soft-spot for helping people in need and doesn‘t charge money for it. whilst, the local police knows of him and always hires him for quite dangerous, complicated investigations if they were to fail to do their own deep examinations on the mission at hand. heizou is vastly proud of his profession and his skills are one of a kind, for some he might appear to act relatively arrogant but it's not that at all if you dare to look at it closely, he's confident in his abilities if anything and treasures his own well-groomed skills the most. fun fact: currently, alongside the police, heizou was investigating the mafia whose members certainly are known to you.

heizou's favorite music of choice: french music (i'm biased okay leave me alone) for example demain by PLK or derniere danse by indila.

scaramouche the mafia hitman, who too— prefers to work underground to escape any awkward encounters with people. he exceedingly loathes conversations, they make his blood boil, peculiarly with his peers and would rather gauge his own eyes out than attend any special meetings. although as such, his work was in a class by itself, as perfect as someone can be, the higher ups know that he was not dispensable in any way and a real treasure within their ranks. in scaramouche's eyes, there was nothing he cannot do nor was anything off limits, if there was a mission to be accomplished, he will take the challenge without batting an eye.

scaramouche's favorite music of choice: mitski or melanie martinez (he doesn't admit it tho) <3

alhaitham the library overseer at your university who never talks to anyone, kind of a weirdo, yet he cannot possibly do so anyways since most of the times he greatly engages in yet another spellbinding book. for him, it's the perfect job; listen— he never needs to work overtime, duh, he's always home by the same, exact time and although some students can be quite loud and jarring to be around with, the library was a place of pure silence, which he greatly relishes in. but be cautious, if you dare to even raise a single octave of your voice, he will shoot you a death glare and wow, what a terrifying and overly handsome sight at once, you already know that many students only go to the library to admire the hidden view.

alhaitham's favorite music of choice: the man not only uses his headphones for music, but to block out outside noises which works just wonderfully. he prefers slower tunes, ones that do not disturb his reading. for example, ludovico einaudi or johann sebastian bach.

yelan the infamous casino manager, who makes her peers shiver in both sharp fear and terror. if she wants you to win, you will, otherwise she'll do what she does best, manipulate the game to her own benefits to slowly enchant you with her intense charms you simply cannot get enough of, only for you to slowly, agonizingly slow, slant down into the pits of literal hell and large debts. the pretty, dazzling woman has a business to run after all, you cannot be mad at her for that. yet, she is also reasonable and makes sure she isn't tainting the precious, not to mention flawless image of her casino.

yelan's favorite music of choice: no tears left to cry by ariana grande and diamonds by queen riri

dottore the mafia doctor, who works alongside scaramouche and has stitched countless of his wounds in the past. although the two of them absolutely loathe each other, no one can deny the outstanding skills dottore would display on a daily basis. whether it's open wounds, deep, dark bruises or broken bones, there was nothing he cannot heal. notwithstanding the fact that his practices might seem unethical to the outside perspective— especially if you take his habits of experimenting on his patients into consideration, yet, as long as he sews and bastes together the injured, his boss simply does not care and aids him in whatever he might be in need of.

dottere's favorite music of choice: torture sounds /for legal reasons this is a joke, or classical tunes for example the four seasons by vivaldi while he conducts his experiments on some patients he has.

kazuha the lifestyle blogger who takes you with him on every new adventure taken. his youtube channel had blown up since and had become one of the top on the entire platform. his posting schedule is all over the place though, he can go without uploading a new video in months which his subscribers do not mind, kazuha was a free spirit who goes with his own personal vibe, if he was in the mood to film something from his exciting adventures he'll do just that. expect loads of selfies with different animals from all around the world on his other social media, (ignore the weed in his hand) beautiful locations and deep talks on livestreams late at night.

kazuha's favorite music of choice: everything by tame impala, he also likes listening to indie artists and support them on his channel.

venti the worldwide music star who sells out every tour he does. the man was envied by the ones who shared his profession while utterly loved by the countless amount of fans he has. his voice acts like a charm, it's sharply mesmerizing and soothing to the ears, in some ways does it appear as if he's wholly hypnotizing the audience with his tunes. another fact, he writes all his songs himself and gets praised from every direction possible, while if you take everything into consideration of his life, venti was still very much humble and loved interacting with his fans or do interviews so they can get to know him better.

venti's favorite music of choice: loads of kpop music, for example stray kids or txt, but he does have a soft spot for classical music whenever he composes his own.

kaveh the architect who gets booked by the biggest, most flashing celebrities on the planet. fun fact, he was the one who constructed venti's mansion, since the latter only wanted the best of the best— while, quite frankly, there isn't anyone better than kaveh himself who could've adapted to venti's wished and made his home all the more personal and extravagant. in spite of the fact that he gets paid loads of money for his work, the sweet, talented architect tends to find himself broke almost all the time in his life. thankfully he had made a special friend whilst going out in town to drink a couple of his favorite beverages, here's to note that he never thought he'd become friends with a certain librarian.

kaveh's favorite music of choice: he likes taylor swift, ariana grande and tends to listen to music that is older, yet quite underrated. kaveh claims that the tracks on certain albums that get the least attention, are the best in his eyes.

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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 4 months

Text

Just What You Wanted

Pairing(s): onesided!Pietro Maximoff x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: pietro really misses his chance here, oocpietro? (first time writing him), reader being a big adult and moving on, pietro acting like a child, mentions of sexy time (readerxbucky), toxic!pietro, protective!bucky

Words: 4430

Summary: You decided to take your chance and ask Pietro out. There had to be more to his flirting right? Unfortunately he turns you down but you won't waste your time mourning what could have been. You move on and find a perfect partner in the Winter Soldier.

"Maybe I got the signals mixed up?" You lightheartedly muse to Wanda. Carefully, you push down on the button stopper of the wine box that was situated between the two of you.

Wanda shakes her head. "Don't even give it a second thought. He's my brother and I love him, but you can do WAY better than him." She couldn't fathom why Pietro would reject your proposition of a date. Wanda knew her twin brother liked you. Painfully obvious in the obnoxious manner both of you flirt.

Making a mental note to chew him out later, Wanda tilts the remainder of her own wine glass into her mouth. "He's been acting like a complete ass since we arrived in America. I think now that he has freedom, he's overdosing on it. What was the term Tony used?"

You choke on your wine, a snort burning your nose and throat. "Man-whore."

She nods. "Yes! That is it. He's become quite a man-whore!"

Near dying next to her, you're forced to put down your wine glass or you would ruin your bedspread. Once your hands were free, you use them to clutch your stomach as it aches from your laughter.

Really you weren't that upset about it. You thought you would give it a shot, maybe something was there. No big duh to you.

"Did he really say he didn't want to date you because you're coworkers?" Confusion still plagued Wanda as she slowly blinks her eyes. Trying to understand what her brother was thinking. They didn't have that type twin telepathy. That was mainly based on feelings. "That's complete bull."

"Honestly it's okay. Really." You tell Wanda trying to calm her down. "He's probably right. No harm done."

Wanda placates her own feelings with a smile at how unperturbed you were by the rejection. Pietro was a fool. His loss will be someone else's gain.

Not long after someone else did stumble upon you.

Never before had you worked with the Winter Soldier. You'd seen him around Avenger's HQ and spotted him in the common areas, but you wouldn't say you were close to Bucky Barnes. Only a handful of friendly words had ever been shared between you.

The assignment that paired you together with him would ultimately turn out to be a blessing in disguise. A simple mission that you confidently thought you could finish in no time. The run of the mill shadow organization that possessed weapons of mass destruction and infiltrating said organization. You and Bucky were picked for this based on your success record and skill set. You found it a compliment as you heard nothing but great things about Bucky. He was a fine soldier and outstanding friend to Steve Rogers.

Fury told you the timeline looked to be a month before this organization known as 'Specter' planned to launch its weapon. A major problem was that their base was hidden so both you and Bucky would have to go deep undercover.

You shared an close space with Bucky and found him pleasurable to be around. He was easy on the eyes too. His smile makes every inch of you flutter delightfully. Similar to how flirting with Pietro made you feel.

Patience was required when gathering intel. An operation like this couldn't be rushed. That meant learning more about Bucky. He even manages to pry some stories from your childhood out of you. Things you hadn't remembered in a long time.

When passing binoculars, fingers linger against one another. Excuses of offering warmth just so that you could press yourself against him. His jacket might as well have belonged to you now due to how often you were wearing it now.

"It looks better on you anyway." Bucky would tell you. A heaviness in his gaze puts all of your functions at a halt.

You started noticing how kissable his lips looked. Or the fine veins that run along his hands. Beautiful as they held a gun. Between your legs start to ache for him when you watch Bucky strangling a man for information. You never found violence. . . attractive until you worked with Bucky. It was just a means to get by. A requirement for the world you lived in.

Throughout the mission, you manage to keep things professional. Even though the burning gazes exchanged were still frequent. You had to focus your efforts on completing your assignment. Bucky respects that type of work ethic.

Identifying the main figures within Specter was easy once missing pieces were filled with the information you received along the way. One would be spared for questioning, the other two were quickly disposed of.

When your prisoner was handed over to the government which held dominion, you and Bucky head back to the room you'd been using to hide out in.

You were excited to go home and tell Wanda all about it. You're giddy, imagining her scandalized reaction that you loved. Her eyes would get so big, hands clutching onto your arm begging for more details.

A knock at the door puts a pause in your packing as you go to check the peephole. You open it once you verify it's just Bucky. "You all done packing? Sorry, I'll just be five more minutes."

He closes the door behind him. "It's not that."

The depth of his voice has you shivering, turning back to him with your full attention. He's cleaned off the dirt from his face and changed his clothes. Appeared Bucky even brushed his dark hair. Disheveled Bucky was sexy but cleaned up Bucky was a god damn smoke show. Your bones become trembling jelly as he stalks up to you.

"I believe, we have some personal business to take care of." The corner of his lips twitch up in a predatory manner to show off his sharp cuspids.

"By all means," You breathe out and internally cheer when it doesn't come out as a squeak "lets commence the business Mr. Barnes."

The delay of your return to headquarters did raise brows.

Especially Pietro's.

You took Wanda by the arm and she knew you had a story to tell. Using her magic-like ability, she conjures a bottle of wine accompanied by two glasses.

Two schoolgirls giggling and kicking their legs as they talk about one's crush.

"And he told me-" your cheeks hurt from your smile "that he wants to take me out on a proper date."

Wanda swoons backwards as she falls against your bed. She says something in her native Sokovian before switching to English "I told you that you could do much better than Pietro."

From then on it was a common occurrence to find you and Bucky together. You visit one another's room frequently day and night. Time spent not on assignment, Bucky would take you out on both fun and romantic dates. He wooed you like no other man had before. A goddamn gentleman who ate and slurped your pussy in a way that sucked the soul right out of you.

There were men before Bucky but sweet mercy they couldn't compare to the beast that was Bucky once he got your legs perched atop his shoulders. You would never had taken him for a sloppy eater, not by the way he used his fork and knife when he took you out to fancy restaurants. When he slides in his cold metal fingers, your back spikes up in a arch off the bed.

However, not everyone in the Avenger's Headquarters was happy for you and Bucky.

When Pietro first walked into the communal kitchen to find Bucky's hand up your shirt, he nearly suffered from an aneurysm on the spot. Thankfully his feet reacted faster than his brain and took off in the opposite direction before either of you noticed his presence. He'd heard the office gossip that you and Bucky were an item now. Pietro arrogantly thought that your relationship with the winter soldier was a fling or some fucked up way for get back at him for turning you down.

Hitting the two month mark had Pietro sweating. Your relationship with Bucky was thriving. The sting of betrayal sears his insides. When he voices his woes to his twin, Wanda held no comforting words for him.

"Oh well. They love each other now. So you have to move on." Uncaringly, her attention goes back to her phone. "You had your chance, Pietro."

He shoots his sister a glare. "Have some empathy."

That makes her laugh but at least Wanda puts her phone down and turns back to Pietro. "Empathy? Refresh my memory, what was the real reason why you didn't date her?" He'd told you it was because you were coworkers. Claimed he didn't want things to be weird around HQ. Conveniently forgetting that Wanda and Vision were in a happy relationship. But she knew the disgusting truth.

His eyes turn pleading, round and lined with those pretty lashes he flaunted. "Wanda-"

"No, I want to hear you say it again and really help me try to understand." Her arms cross in front of her.

Pietro takes his bottom lip between his teeth to give it a worrying chew. "I. . . I wasn't ready to be in a monogamous relationship- Hey, I'm being serious." He adds the last part after he hears Wanda snort. "We spent all of our adolescence and young adult lives under HYDRA control. It's only been two years since we were liberated. I want to live a little bit more before settling down."

"And look what that has cost you."

"I didn't think-"

"No, you didn't." Wanda's exasperated. "That's not a good excuse. Bucky is in the same boat as us and just because he missed out on having a life he didn't let that stop him from making things official with her."

In short, Pietro simply had no choice but to deal with it. And his way of dealing with it was bringing home his current ladies in the hopes of catching your attention. If you see him with another woman, maybe your jealous would remind you of your feelings for him. That tactic didn't work and only gained him disapproving looks from his twin. He stopped when it was clear your heart eyes weren't straying from Bucky.

Evident that he wasn't going to win you back, Pietro's disbelief curdled to jealousy.

Words weren't enough to bring him to his senses; none in English or Sokovian reached his ears. Exhausted from trying to speak reason to him, Wanda stops all together. Perhaps her brother needed to fall on his ass to wake up.

You weren't blind to Pietro's spike in hostile conduct. Lately there were a few close calls between Bucky and Pietro. Bucky refused to stand for Quicksilver's attitude. Fists weren't raised- not yet. But if looks could kill, both would be incinerated.

Unable to ignore Pietro at Headquarters, you and Bucky take the plunge and buy an apartment together and move out of the superhero facility all together. The apartment complex was still relatively close to headquarters; mainly housing other staff that worked out of there.

Just because you removed yourselves, you were still Avengers and required to attend functions for different movie fundraisers or anything else that had you in hair and make-up for two hours. It paid off to watch Bucky's mouth near drop at the sight of you. This once-assassin who has blood on his hands truly did something to you when he wore a sharp suit. Seams that are streamline and highlight his broad shoulders. Even his waist was deliciously framed. You wanted to hop on him and wrap your legs around that sinfully sexy waist.

Alas, neither you or Bucky could just continue to stand there drooling over the other.

"Wipe your chin, Barnes." Natasha teases as she passes by. To you she shoots a lively smile. "Come on you two. Free booze and food await us."

Pietro had already found the said free booze; ignoring the free food part. He was obligated to attend the gala, agreed to it months ago. If he backed out now, everyone else would have his ass over the fire.

Though he felt like maybe it would have been better had he just said fuck it and stayed home. Especially when you and Bucky walk in looking like the perfect couple. Cameras went off yet people kept a respectful distance from the two of you. You basically had your own guard dog in the form of the Winter Soldier. He towers over you in a way that told others to back off; a protective hand holding onto your's. Both of you are quite the sight standing next to Wanda and Vision. Wanda happily hugs you, her words lost to the loud background music.

He can't take his eyes off of you.

Alcohol warming his system, Pietro downed glass after glass. There was a momentary warmth he felt inside of him before he caught sight of you again.

Hating seeing the two of you together, Pietro spirals in his own head. Plenty of pretty girls around him, all he could focus on was you and the fact that you were hanging off the arm of a murderer. Everyone seemed to have so quickly forgotten that this man killed Howard and Maria Stark.

The moment you unlatched yourself from Bucky's side to go to the bar, Pietro descent upon you.

Your heightened senses barely register the high velocity sound that you associated with Quicksilver. Half a step back was all you were able to make before you heard his husky voice "You find killers sexy?"

His question rakes claw marks against your mind. "What?"

A mocking laugh puffs out of him and he rolls his eyes over in Bucky's direction. "The Winter Soldier. You like the fact that he's murdered innocent people?"

On edge, you notice in your periphery how people were starting to turn to look your way. The volume of Pietro's voice was gradually starting to rise and draw onlookers.

Flushing and attempting to retain your composure, you keep your shoulders back confidently. “Looks like you’ve had too much to drink.” Your eyes search the crowd for Wanda so that she could take him home before he said or did anything he’d regret later. You couldn’t see her or her floating man among the many bobbing heads. Even unable to find Bucky despite his stature.

“Deflecting the question, I see.” Pietro smugly smirks at you; a sway in the step that he took forward. “Shall I raise my voice so you can hear better?”

You narrow your eyes into deadly slits as you squint at him. He was clearly not in his right mind. “What do you want, Pietro?” What was this sudden change in him about? The moment your relationship became public knowledge, Pietro had been pissy ever since. He was the one who rejected you. The one who told you that you shouldn't date because you're coworkers. He had no right to be jealous.

Bucky suggested a few weeks ago that Pietro may still be interested in you. Proposed that his peaked interest must have been from seeing you and Bucky together. At the time you laughed it off. A corner of your mind was screaming at you to listen to him.

Not appreciating how closely he leaned into you, Pietro snarls "That guy has taken numerous, innocent lives. How could you fuck someone with that kind of blood on their hands?" Now you were sure more and more people were pulling out their phones and recording to send to whatever social media platform.

Heat rises off of your cheeks as they blare like alarms. You felt your body tremble not because you were afraid, no, you tremble under the weight of your own fury. Your powers rattled the bars of the cage you kept it in. Clenching down hard against your back teeth with the effort to keep them at bay.

"You know why he did those terrible things. It wasn't him." Growling softly you try desperately to keep a semblance of a calm tone. You were never the type to show your anger. The public might turn against you if they see you break from Pietro's cruel words. Even the bits you were letting slip was enough for your audience to know you were beyond furious. "He was under HYDRA mind control. You of all people should understand the ways HYDRA implements their tools of pain." It wasn't working.

You needed Bucky before you really snapped your last strand of patience.

At least Pietro had enough sense to take a step away from you. In his drunken stupor, he hadn't noticed the crowd. Dozens of people holding up their smartphones, a few reporters who were allowed in were snapping bright pictures. That's when he saw Bucky and Wanda toward him.

Wanda uses her power to wrap him up in scarlet bindings and drag him to where she stood at the cusp of the crowd. She spits something out in Sokovian toward him, motioning for Bucky to go to your side and get you out of there. He looked more ready to rip Pietro apart but valued your wellbeing over all else and easily strode to you.

He slings a protective arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his side in an attempt to keep you out of the sight of cameras.

Those involved were taken back to Avengers HQ so the situation could be straightened out. That is, after Fury was done yelling at everyone for how they acted at what was supposed to be an extravagant gala. Admonished how you and Pietro were acting like dramatic high schoolers with your stunt and how this would definitely tarnish the reputation of earth's mightiest heroes. Pietro was still as drunk as a skunk, hissing at everyone who tried to get near him. Only being held back by Wanda who was still yelling at him in Sokovian. As everyone argued back and forth, only you and Bucky remained quiet.

A small upside could be found. Though it was quite the public altercation, popularity for you and Bucky as a couple sky rocketed. Within the hours of it happening, many social media websites exploded with praise at how you defended your man.

That news wasn't enough to make anyone happy at the moment.

Seeing that nothing would be resolved with such bickering, Bucky clears his throat to draw everyone's attention to him. "May I get a word with Pietro alone?"

Fury doesn't look like he wants to allow it. He was assured though that if anything were to happen, Bucky would be able to stand on his own and fend off an angry Pietro. His single dark eye roves around the room before conceding to Bucky's request.

Motive unclear, you arch a brow in his direction. He just offers you a smile and leans toward you to say "It'll be alright. Jus' wanna talk to him."

"I've seen you 'just talk' to people before." You remind him trying to keep your voice stern. "Don't make things worse. Okay?"

"Yes ma'am." That smirk of his will be the death of you, you just know it. There's a silent exchange between you and Wanda who finally relinquishes her scarlet restraints on her twin brother. Pietro staggers without the additional support that held him up.

"Fifteen minutes. Cameras are rolling." Fury warns as he escorts the others out.

Comfortably strolling forward, Bucky pulls out one of the conference chairs that had been entirely ignored. "Take a seat, Maximoff." Immediately there's a snarl curling Pietro's lips until Bucky rolls his eyes. "Or stand. Doesn't matter I guess. Just, listen to me for a moment."

Inebriated individuals don't understand reason, too caught up in their own tilted perception. He wants to do anything else but listen to Bucky prattle on about how he needs to back off of you. That you belonged to him now and how he wouldn't tolerate Pietro's pursuit of you.

Luck appeared to be on Bucky's side for the alcohol was wearing off of Pietro as he started to lose his steam and reluctantly slink down into the chair opposite Bucky's. His dark eyes hold steady onto the metal armed man. Remembering all too clear the stories that HYDRA would tell him and Wanda about the best operative they've ever had: the Winter Soldier. Would this legend of a man be able to hold off Pietro's speed attacks if he were to try?

Honestly he was tired of being angry. Emotions both positive and negative were siphoned out of him until there was nothing left.

Bucky could see that.

"Whatever we say here, stays here." Bucky speaks again, each word cruelly clipped. They strike Pietro like small arrows. Nothing could prepare him for the dead eyed glare that now pinned him to his chair. "Your behavior stops here. I've been more than patient. Held my tongue and my fist when I wanted to knock some sense into you. I didn't, for her sake since she didn't want to cause any trouble among the team. But you're spoiled brat act can't be tolerated anymore. You embarrassed all of us at the gala and made the Avengers look like fools."

His metal hand curls its fingers inwards toward his palm before releasing; an attempt to calm himself before his tone became too heated.

Pietro waits for any sign of movement for Bucky as the larger man deeply inhales. Finally, Bucky's eyes flick back up to him. "I get it."

With a heavy tongue, Pietro croaks out "Get what?"

"I know why and what has fueled your actions. Underneath it all you may have possibly loved her. You're upset that you lost your chance with her. It sucks, it has to to lose someone as amazing as her. I couldn't imagine. . ."

There's a flicker of anger at how the Winter Soldier spoke to him. Reminded Pietro of when his father would scold him as a child.

Bucky's voice soften when he detects the subtle twitch of Pietro's nose. He promised you that he wouldn't escalate things. "I'm sorry. I feel for you. But. . . I'm not going to be stupid enough to let her go. As long as she'll have me, she's mine."

He wanted to ignore the sincerity that warmed Bucky's words. Wanted to keep what little resentment remained inside.

Abruptly, Bucky stands from his chair; bottom of the legs scraping against the floor and startling Pietro in the process. In half a second, Pietro is up on his feet, taking a defensive position. Though his movements were sloppy as his perception was still muddled from his quickly consumed drinks.

Whatever camaraderie had been built between them in those short minutes of Bucky talking was gone. Back were those assassin sharp eyes. "If you upset her one more time, it won't be me you'll have to deal with. It will be the Winter Soldier coming after you. And I can guarantee not even your speed will be able to stop that monster."

"I told you."

He didn't want to hear it from Wanda right now. Damn her for always being right. Right now he just wanted to forget how he made such an ass of himself in front of so many people. When he wasn't trying to fend off his massive hangover migraine he was scrolling through social media, coming upon videos of how he spat in your face saying all sorts of cruel and vindictive things to you. So many mean comments slandering Quicksilver and adoring the hero couple.

In an attempt to drown out Wanda, Pietro grabs his pillow and lays it over his head.

That wouldn't stop her as she was on the war path. He'd hurt her best friend.

Red tendrils of her power rip his pillow off of his head. Pietro hisses in response and whips his head to narrow his eyes in her direction. "You're going to apologize to her. Because if you don't and pull this kind of shit again, Bucky is going to kill you and I won't be able to stop him. You're an idiot for not realizing how protective he is of her." She mumbles something about how lucky he was that Bucky hadn't smashed his face in the conference room during their private chat.

Quiet for a moment, Pietro sits up and leans his back against the bed's headboard. "I know. . . I know I've fucked everything up. I just. . ."

Wanda still has her arms crossed in front of her chest, posture vibrating with the need to throttle her twin. The frostiness in her expression slackens though at Pietro finally admitting that he was in the wrong. Not like she got satisfaction out of it. It pained her watching her brother act like a total dick head toward her best friend. It wasn't long ago that she thought you and Pietro would make a nice couple.

He sighs and runs a hand through his ash blonde hair, repeating "I've fucked everything up."

"At least you're owning up to it." quietly points out Wanda.

Time was necessary for all wounds to heal. That applied toward the ones Pietro had caused. He gave you space for two days before he came up to you to ask for a private word; promising he'd behave and that he just wanted to apologize for everything. Even told you about what Bucky had said to him.

You knew he told the truth because his face was the definition of genuine remorse and repentance.

For most of his speech he looked at his hands, but when he dared to glance up at you Pietro would hold your gaze. His earnestness brimming in his blue eyes. For so long they had been darkened by his discontent. Now they remind you of the pretty bright hue they used to be.

After a moment of silence, Pietro hesitantly asks "Are you happy with him? Truly?"

"I am. I've never been this happy in my entire life. He makes me happy." A bright smile flourishes on your face. "I love him."

Pietro nods.

"Hey, even if things didn't work out romantically with us doesn't mean I don't want to be friends with you. I do. We had fun as friends." You bump him with your elbow.

A wisp of a smile beckons at his lips but couldn't quite get all the way there. "I'd like that. Eventually. . ."

"Eventually." You repeat in agreement.