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euphoricfilter · 2 years

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Helping Hands || Min Yoongi

Pairing: Caretaker! Yoongi x Kindergarten teacher! Reader

Genre: Fluff || Smut || Strangers to lovers || Non-idol AU

Summary: Yoongi always had a knack for fixing things, and with producing getting him nowhere, he ends up working for the school his long-time friend Seokjin, teaches at. With his new job, he meets you, and although your first encounter hadn’t been the best; at least not in Yoongi’s eyes, he could have never guessed how your relationship would bloom. And Yoongi gets to show you his hands can do more than fix your faulty heating.

Word Count: 13.3k

Tags/ Warnings: fluffy, smut in the forms of: oral (f. receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, protected sex (because that’s cool), they hold hands while they fuck, boobie play, squirting, boyfriends taekook, namjoon is a bit of an ick.

Notes: this idea was derived from a tiktok, but the original creator has deleted the video :’( but the idea of someone having a crush on you and helping fix up your classroom was too endearing to pass! when i thought about writing this i didn’t think it would be very long, and i thought how on earth am i meant to write a decent story from this vague-ish concept but here we are 13k words of two people falling in love. considering i’ve never had a s/o i don’t think i did too bad… but maybe this is just what i want from someone i like even if the idea of becoming a teacher makes me want to hurl. if there's mistakes, no there isn't.

edit: the tiktok that inspired this fic! thank you @devilonmyshouder for finding it! my savior 🥲

<3 <3 <3

“Have you asked for her number yet?”

“What?” Yoongi releases a long sigh, head turning so his eyes can meet Seokjin’s, who had a sly smile pasted on his annoyingly handsome face. And it’s at times like these where Yoongi wonders why he still puts up with Jin’s bullshit.

“The kindergarten teacher you’ve been staring at since we sat down” Jin points out, watching you as you laugh with a few of your co-workers on the other side of the cafeteria; in perfect eyeshot from where Yoongi sits.

“No? Why would I do that?” said man asks, stabbing a piece of meat with more force than it deserved. Yoongi has to will himself to not let his eyes wander back in your direction; like hell would he give Seokjin what he wanted. Yoongi doubted he had enough patience stored up to deal with the impending teasing that his long-time friend would surely thrust upon him if he were to prove his point correct. Plus, he was nothing more than being a little intrigued by you.

“Because you clearly like her” Jin tuts.

“Do not”

“Do too. You can’t deny your little crush. I’ve seen the way you look at her” Jin exasperates, flinging his arms above his head dramatically, catching the attention of a few other teaching staff scattered across the growingly scarce cafeteria.

Yoongi cringes, eyes squinting in distaste at his friend’s flamboyant antics that seemed to always garner the eyes of everyone around him. But Yoongi supposes with Jin’s face, it shouldn’t come as a surprise the attention always seemed to be on him, even if he was acting somewhat civilised. Yoongi had never thought of Jin as more than a friend, even if he did swing both ways; but, he could see why Jin’s face had such an appeal, even Aphrodite would have a run for her money if Jin were to rock up in those times, stealing the attention all for himself with his aggravatingly perfect face.

“It’s not a crush. This isn’t high school Hyung” Yoongi grunts, shoving his lunchbox back into his bag. Uncaring as he squashes a banana, already a little too overripe for his liking anyways.

You’d have to pay him millions before he dared touch the cafeteria food, in no way, shape or form would he risk growing a third arm from the slop they served. It’s offensive they had the gall to call it food, let alone serve it to the poor children. And he swears he saw one of the chefs spit in the pasta once, he doesn’t care if it adds flavour.

Now, Yoongi didn’t like children. Not in the slightest.

Thought they were disgusting, foul little creatures that had no sense of personal hygiene or self-awareness. With their sticky hands and voices that carried across miles, everything about children made Yoongi recoil.

And that may leave you wondering why on earth is Yoongi working in a school?

Money. That’s the simple answer.

Yoongi had a knack for fixing things, he’s good with his hands (interpret that how you will). And he really needed the money. His little ‘side hustle’ of producing only made him so much money, and as inflation increased, so did Yoongi’s bills, and slowly he had started finding it a little harder to pay bills and food for not only him but Holly; his cute little dog that he refused to believe wasn’t a puppy any longer. Jin had argued that Yoongi spoiled his dog, buying premium food and overpriced treats, but Holly only deserved the best.

Therefore, the job had to change and not his dog’s nutrition.

So, when the same Seokjin who complained about his pampered pup, had told him about the open position in the school he worked at, Yoongi was sceptical to say the least. He’d dropped out of college after a semester, taking on shoddy part-time jobs to pay for his producing equipment and clearly that had only brought him so far. So he couldn’t see any good reason to waltz back into a school.

Not only that, the thought of having to share space with tiny terrors for hours a day, 5 out of 7 days a week, the offer didn’t seem all that worth it. Until he saw the salary.

Not only was he now making 10 times more than he had been, basically teachers wages (still not enough but better than nothing), he got his own little office in the far end of campus, so he wouldn’t have to interact with any sticky babies and loud-mouthed teens unless absolutely necessary.

With his shiny new office, secluded from the crowd of teachers that gathered at lunch, Yoongi had zero intentions of sitting in the crusty cafeteria; even if his Jin Hyung had begged him for the first two weeks of his new job, to come and sit with him and his other teacher friends. He’d never enjoyed everyone gathering in one place to eat, crowds of people sounding more like squawking birds than hushed chatter that always ended up in arguments.

That was until Yoongi had met you. And suddenly the cafeteria seemed like the only place he wanted to be.

Pretty you who looked like a goddess among humans. Even with the splodges of paint staining your dress, and snotty babies clinging to you like nothing Yoongi had ever seen.

Yoongi had only been working at the school for a month, the start of the school year rolling by quicker than he had initially anticipated. And before he knew it, two weeks had passed by; and that second week on the jobs was when he had first ‘met’ you.

‘Met’ was generous. It was more a brief encounter where Yoongi couldn’t get the words off his tongue quick enough and had been left dumbstruck. Worried he had scared you off with how rude he must have been. You’d strutted out of your classroom, a model among the little children waddling behind you like little ducklings would their mother, hot on your tail as you led them to the bathrooms.

Yoongi had been fixing one of the fan units in the hallway, and you’d politely smiled up at him, making sure none of the children would knock the ladder Yoongi had been stood on, worried their little bodies would bulldoze into the wonky frame and Yoongi would be sent flying. And although that would make a memorable first impression, Yoongi didn’t want to be rushed to hospital with a concussion and his pride bruised.

‘Good morning’

Two simple words and Yoongi felt as if his heart would implode; he felt silly, coughing, and then only managing a curt nod as a reply, words sticky on his tongue like taffy. Clogging his throat as he holds his breath momentarily.

You see, Yoongi was prone to worrying, anxiety always laying under his skin like an itch that he could never get rid of, irritating but part of his life whether he liked it or not. And that night he’d laid awake, worried he hadn’t made a good first impression, scaring you away when he hadn’t even gotten the chance to learn your name.

And sure, he could have asked Jin, but that man had enough blackmail material already; he didn’t need to know about Yoongi’s budding interest in the pretty kindergarten teacher. If he hadn’t embarrassed himself enough then Seokjin surely would.

To Yoongi’s surprise you hadn’t seemed too offended by his reply, or lack thereof, as a week later you’d greeted him during lunch; even going as far to hold the door open for him as he languidly wandered into the cafeteria, in search of Seokjin.

This time Yoongi felt a little more prepared, muttering a short ‘thanks’, small smile stretching onto his lips as he points it in your direction. He doesn’t wait for your reply, legs already pulling him out of what could be another embarrassing encounter, a little disheartened that the day he finally decided to eat with the rest of the staff (secretly hoping to see you), your encounter had been so brief.

Yoongi’s easy smile however, remained throughout the course of lunch, heart fluttering like little butterfly wings locked in the cage of his chest; and if Seokjin noticed his friend’s flushed cheeks he chose not to say anything.

The caretaker thought he was sly with his little crush, never mentioning you to Jin, only stealing short glimpses of you from across the cafeteria, that short half an hour a day enough to recharge his motivation to continue this job. And he has the gall to be surprised when Seokjin finally decides to bring it up.

“Might want to hurry up, Jungkookie might beat you to it” Jin calls out, and if Yoongi hadn’t seen a few kids running around the area, he would have flipped off the elder. But Yoongi does nothing more than wave him off, and he may have been worried if he didn’t know Jungkook was already seeing someone.

That someone being Kim Taehyung, the high school art teacher, who occasionally sat at their table at lunch. Most of his time hauled up in the art rooms where students were welcome to work during the lunch hour.

Yoongi wasn’t one to stereotype but Kim Taehyung was the very definition of eccentric art teacher. Style a little unusual, paintings so abstract Yoongi felt like he was on acid while trying to decipher the meaning.

He had seen how Jungkook looked at Taehyung, the little galaxies that shone in his eyes when he looked at his love, where each star represented one thing that Jungkook adored about his boyfriend, his gentle gaze enough to show the absolute adoration they held for one another.

Yoongi had complained, telling them to get a room on more than one occasion when they’d decided to lick into each other’s mouths during afterschool dinners. But truly he was happy they had something so precious, a love like a warm hug, infinite trust between the two of them; something that Yoongi secretly yearned for.

More often than not Yoongi felt a little misunderstood. He never meant to come off as cold or disinterested, he liked the silent company of a person as much as he enjoyed his time alone, you didn’t have to always be talking; silent comfort of another person enough for him.

Yoongi didn’t want to come off as rude, he just didn’t know what to say sometimes, happier to prove his love with acts of service than empty words that even he doesn’t know the meaning of. He doesn’t want to come off as unapproachable, but when you’re tired from work and lacking the energy to act like a ray of sunshine, much like the physical education teacher, Hoseok, Yoongi could only wallow in his own self-pity some nights. Wondering why only a select few seemed to enjoy his company, or why so many romantic relationships have been washed down the drain.

As the first semester of school progressed, the weather had started to get colder, autumn slinking by before anyone could comprehend the unusually warm summer.

Kids starting to layer uniform, and teachers turning to the heaters to defrost their fingers as they arrive early, grass still dewy with air that nips at your skin like little needles.

Yoongi jolts up from his seat at the gentle knock of his office door, his feet flying off the desk from where he’d been resting them; worried that it was his boss coming for his usual weekly check-up.

However, Yoongi was pleasantly surprised to find you stood in his doorway; soft-looking sweater cocooning you in its warmth, nose tinted red from the frosty morning air, tips of your fingers barely peeking out from where you try to warm them up from the confines of your sleeves. And it takes all Yoongi’s will, not to tell you he had more ways than one he would love to heat you up (though he supposes he should take you out on a date before that).

Yoongi thinks you must have been sent from the sky, pretty, even in the dim morning sunlight, kissing your skin like Yoongi would if you would let him.

“Good morning” you smile, nose twitching at the strong scent of coffee that permeates the air of Yoongi’s office.

“Morning. Can I help you?” Yoongi asks, leg bouncing up and down anxiously. He has no time to curse himself for how blunt he must have come off, tone anything but inviting, before you’re opening your mouth to answer him.

“Yes actually. The heater in my classroom isn’t working”

Yoongi nods, pushing himself from his seat, ignoring the piping hot coffee he was moments away from drinking as he picks up his little toolbox that sat beside his desk.

“Lead the way” he motions out of the room, not daring to make eye-contact with you; worried he were to drown in the depths of your eyes, calling him in like a siren would with song.

He watches your back as you walk him to your classroom, fingers itching to hold your hands, help you warm them up as the stupid heater in your classroom couldn’t do its job properly.

Yoongi didn’t exactly know what he expected your classroom to look like, never working up the courage to peek inside and take a look into such a large part of your life.

The flurry of colours was expected, paintings from what he assumes to be your classes over the years hung on the wall, with paints and pens stacked on short shelving by each wall of the room.

Your desk sits at the front of the room, little trinkets lining the edges, papers covering the surface like a blanket. And Yoongi has to stop the smile from pulling at his face from how disordered you are; just like him. And he can somewhat appreciate the beauty in the mess of your classroom, it showed it was loved, enjoyed by more than just the small group of children that spent nearly every hour in here every day, loved by you who clearly spent time lining the walls with letters and drawings all addressed to you, carefully printed and cut letters of the alphabet climbing the walls like vines and fairy lights hung like tree snakes lounging on a branch.

“This one over here” you point to the heaters under the window, and Yoongi cringes at the cool air that caresses his cheeks as he stalks the length of your classroom. Nipping his cheeks like little jaws trying to pull apart his skin.

As he kneels down, pulling his glasses from the front pocket of his hoodie, he takes a closer look at the pipes connected to the main framing of the heater. Yoongi tries not to pay attention to you as you shuffle through the mountain of papers on your desk, he tries not to focus on the way you bite your lip; the little devil that rest on his shoulder whispering for him to just kiss you.

Yoongi distracts himself with your heater, fingers a little shakier than usual as you wander around the room, picking up pots of paints off the shelves, brushes stored in separate drawers and laying them all on the little tables, perfect for the little toddlers you taught. Chairs so small they must have been the first bear’s that goldilocks had thought were too uncomfortable to sit on, they sure looked it; no amount of colour enough to mask the hard plastic they were made of.

Yoongi frowns when he finds the problem with your heater, somehow a bolt had gotten loose; he can only assume one of the children had fiddled with it. Little fingers always having to play with something, another thing he hated about kids. If it’s not meant to be touched, then don’t touch it.

He pulls a spanner out of his toolbox, fingers skimming over a screwdriver. He looks over at shelving unit by the heater, screws glimmering in the slowly growing sunlight that climbs its way over the top of the neighbouring school building.

And that same little devil on his shoulder whispers something a little naughty, something Yoongi knows he shouldn’t do. And maybe Yoongi was a little bit of a hypocrite, after just saying kids shouldn’t touch everything, but the screws looked so shiny, so inviting, a little accident that means he may get an extra half hour with you.

He peers over at you, sat at your desk, typing something on your laptop. And decides that what’s the worst that could happen? He quickly tightens the loose bolt to your faulty heater, turning the knob on the side just in case before he scoots his way over to the shelf that had been holding the paints you now had on the table.

He licks his lips, sucking in a sharp breath before he unscrews a few nails. Silently praying the shelf can hold up until he leaves the room.

You stay none the wiser, typing away on some blank document from what Yoongi can make out. He tucks his glasses back into the front pocket of his hoodie, dusting off the imaginary dust that clung to the knees of his jeans before he’s clearing his throat to catch your attention. You startle, eyes wide when they meet Yoongi’s, who thinks you look a little like a puppy caught doing something they were told not to.

He stifles his laugh, coving it with a cough, “Your heater should be working, I turned it up a little so the room should heat up quicker” he explains, motioning towards the offending object. Your shelves staring at him, and Yoongi worries you can see the guilt swimming in his eyes.

You nod, pushing yourself from your seat, you bow a little in thanks, “You’re the best” you grin, and Yoongi can feel his heartrate pick up; cheeks dusted in rosy red.

You were so pretty.

+ + +

Yoongi waits all day, ears perking up when footsteps echo down his end of the hall throughout the rest of work. Begrudgingly helping a few other teachers that seemed to have had heating problems in their classrooms too; a common theme it seems.

Or, the occasional pitter patter of kids running down the hallway like a heard of wild animals during breaktimes, or teens sneaking off to the bathrooms where they liked to make out, or a few other things if their dishevelled uniform meant anything as Yoongi wandered around for his afternoon walk.

He tries to spot you at lunch, his mood only souring when you never walk into the cafeteria, your melodic laughter not gracing the usual grating sound of stressed teaching staff, that all seemed to have a passion for complaining about their jobs.

Jin had tried to cheer him up, offering to share his homemade lunch just to get even a hint of a smile out of Yoongi, and usually the caretaker would love to bless his tastebuds with actual decent food; but it seemed nothing, but your pretty smile would suffice to sate his grumpy mood.

The minutes before the home-time bell slowly creep up on Yoongi, and on most days he would be ecstatic that he could finally escape this hellhole. He never understood why teachers would willingly return to the place that is designed to fuck over students; especially when the pay isn’t all that great. And most of them seemed to despise their jobs anyways.

Even after the bell rings, startling Yoongi from his own little reverie, he remains sat at his desk; a little quiver of hope still left inside of him that you would be stood in the doorway of his office once more.

He thinks it must be a daydream when you show up, unable to properly comprehend that you were once again stood before him. That would be the second time in one day.

He isn’t at all surprised when you give him a sheepish smile, “Do you have any spare screws? It seems my shelving has broken”

And a small flame of guilt licks at Yoongi’s heart and mind, but the pretty smile that stretches onto your lips when Yoongi only lets out a little laugh, picking up his little toolbox, is enough to expel any of his worries.

He once again gets to stare at your back as you walk back towards your classroom, pretty sweater still veiling your body; and Yoongi licks his lips at what you could be hiding underneath the layers you wear.

A blink of an image flashing behind his eyes of you sprawled across the sheets of his bed, his head tucked in-between your thighs. He knew he’d get addicted to your taste, surely with such a sweet voice, all of you must be just the same. Your arousal thick like nectar on his tongue as he pushes you over the edge to your own pleasure.

“Mr. Min?” you wave a hand in-front of his face.

Yoongi blinks, “Sorry?” he coughs, heat creeping up his neck, pinching the tips of his ears.

You point towards the mess of your bookshelf, paint pots and art supplies scattered across the floor from where the shelf had caved in on itself. A mound of mess that you would now have to tackle once Yoongi acts as your saviour; a dark knight that had secretly put you in this messy situation.

“I was putting the paint pots away when it sorta of just… collapsed”

Yoongi lets out a grunt of understanding, that same guilt from earlier tickling up his spine as he looks over the huge mess you’ll have to clear up once he fixes your shelving. He shouldn’t have taken those few screws that morning and should have just worked up the courage to ask you out instead of making your day harder. But he supposes what is done is done and now he must fix his selfish doings.

You remain sat at your desk, finger scrolling through your phone as Yoongi rummages through his little box of screws.

His fingers dip into the pocket of his jeans, shiny steel nails pricking the tips of his fingers.

“Do you need any help?” You startle the caretaker, worried smile on your face as Yoongi picks up a few of the fallen shelves.

“No, it’s alright” he waves you off.

“Would you like something to drink then?” you ask.

“Black coffee is fine, thanks” he shoots you a quick smile, gums on show.

Yoongi doesn’t notice the bristly heat that burns the soft skin of your cheeks as you wander towards a cabinet in the back of your classroom. Rummaging for the granulated coffee that a few of your co-workers stored by your kettle. Not your first beverage of choice but a few of your friends took advantage of your little drink station.

As the kettle boils your water, Yoongi can see you intently watching him from the corner of his eye; and he feels his palms get clammy from your attention set so closely on him. He would have compared your eyes to those of a hawk if you hadn’t been so utterly soft; tempting Yoongi to wrap you up in his pocket and dote on you.

“How did you get so good at this?” you wonder aloud, awe evident on your face as Yoongi easily slides a shelf back into place.

Yoongi pauses, “Honestly I’m not sure. Guess I’m just good with my hands”

Your tongue peeks out to wet your lips at that; body jumping when the little click of the kettle finishing boiling. You whip back around to finish Yoongi’s drink, said man finding it hard to stop a little smirk from tugging at his lips at your flushed cheeks, pretty even painted in red.

You place a rounded pink mug on the windowsill by where Yoongi is working, and he mutters a quick thanks before he’s focusing back on holding the panel of wood back into the right place, silver nail balanced between his lips.

“I never got your name” Yoongi says when you take a seat at one of the student’s tables, warm mug of hot chocolate heating your cold hands up.

“Y/n” you tell him, “And you are?” you ask, only knowing of him by his surname.

“Yoongi” he tells you, pushing himself up with the help of your now sturdy shelf.

You push yourself up from the desk, placing your cup of drink down before you start picking up the scattered art supplies. Yoongi follows, tucking his screwdriver into the back pocket of his jeans as he picks up the paint pots that brought him back into your room. The vibrant colours glaring at him; a reminder of his sins.

“You don’t have to, Yoongi” you tell him, but said handyman ignores you; brain replaying how nice his name sounded when it came from your lips, dipped in sweet honey, addictive in the way that makes Yoongi want to beg you to say it one more time. Something about your voice enchanting, pulling him closer like a snake charmer does a snake with its pipe.

Instead, he brushes you off, “I’ve stayed this late, what more is a few minutes?”

Your nose scrunches at that, “Sorry about that”

+ + +

“Have you asked for her number yet?” Seokjin asks.

“What?” Yoongi feels a sense of déjà vu as he sits in the corner of the cafeteria, you sat at another table with a few other teachers. Though today you seem more focused on your lunch than any of the baseless chatter the others on your table seem to be immersed in.

“You stayed after school with her, had dinner together after that and you still haven’t asked for her number?” Jin gawks.

“No?”

“Min Yoongi” Jungkook shakes his head, “Ask the poor woman on a date or something”

“What if she was just being polite?” he asks the youngest, chewing at the skin of his bottom lip.

“She must be interested; she went out for dinner with you after you’d fucked up her shelves”

Yoongi’s head snaps in your direction, worried you'd somehow heard Jungkook, “She doesn’t know that, keep it down”

Jungkook snickers, “Seriously, ask her out. Otherwise, someone else might” he nods in the direction of your table, a stupidly handsome male laying his hands on your shoulders. Green jealousy bubbling inside of Yoongi as he just watches.

You turn to look up at him with a smile, grateful as he places a bag on the table in-front of you.

Yoongi narrows his eyes, “Who the fuck is he?” he tuts.

“Kim Namjoon, works in the high school”

“Cute dimples” Taehyung pulls out a spare chair beside Jungkook, leaning over to lay a wet kiss on his boyfriend’s cheek.

Yoongi grunts dramatically pushing himself from his seat. His hands slam onto the table, “You guys are going out tonight, right?” he turns towards Jin who only nods, confusion evident on his face.

Yoongi storms over towards the table you’re sat at, and as he draws closer, he can only wonder where this burst of confidence came from; ignition slowly burning to nothing but warm embers as he pushes one foot in-front of the other. But when he makes eye contact with slimy looking Namjoon, a cursed smile being shone his way Yoongi’s anxiety seems to be the least of his worries.

“Y/n” he calls you, endeared by your wide eyes that flit to meet his own, happiness enveloping your eyes as you look up at him.

“Yes?” you stand when Yoongi makes it to your side, still having to stare up at him from beneath the veil of your eyelashes, ones that Yoongi finds very pretty.

“We’re going out for dinner tonight” he throws a thumb over his shoulder towards his table of friends, Taehyung waves, boxy smile an attempt to placate your worries, “And I was wondering if you wanted to… wanted to come with us?”

Yoongi knows you must be able to see the unease that swims in his eyes, and he worries that maybe he looks a little desperate, stalking towards your table unannounced; but with your small group of co-workers all staring at him like he’d grown a second head, he’s seconds away from scuttling out the cafeteria.

“That would be lovely, Yoongi” you smile.

“I’ll meet you at the gate after school?” he asks, eyes brightening in hope. You nod and Yoongi has to bite his lip to stop the huge smile that threatens to pull at his cheeks.

+ + +

“I swear he isn’t always like this” Yoongi shakes his head, turning his attention to look at you.

“I think it’s amusing” you turn towards your new friend, wincing when Seokjin, who had previously been dancing on a chair, falls onto a table. Both your eyes snap towards the eldest of the group, trying to gauge if he was okay or needed immediate medical attention.

Yoongi supposes the alcohol coursing through Seokjin’s veins was enough to help him stagger to his feet like he hadn’t just body slammed into a table, and Jungkook has to wave off a worried bar tender who had already pulled his phone from his pocket, moments away from calling for an ambulance.

Taehyung scans Jin’s body, trying to figure out if he had a concussion or not. And Jungkook tries to ask his hyung if he remembers who he is.

“This isn’t what I imagined dinner to be” you turn back to Yoongi who elegantly brings his glass of whisky to his lips, somehow looking like royalty in such a grimy bar, tucked away in an alleyway.

He hums, letting his taste buds soak in the refined flavour of the liquor before he answers you, “Me neither. Usually, we go to that shitty Italian place down the street”

“I like it there!” you exasperate, “Their dessert is really good”

“I don’t like dessert”

“What?” you breathe, “You devil, how could you not like dessert?”

Yoongi snorts, a little unattractive on his part but he couldn’t help himself, “Why stuff yourself more when you’ve just had a meal?” (Maybe you liked to be stuffed, but you thought it was a bit too soon for that conversation)

“Because you always have a second stomach for dessert” you tell him instead, “Honestly I got that vibe from you”

“What vibe?”

“Dessert hating vibes, I knew the moment you told me you liked black coffee, with no milk, no sugar that you were a dessert hater” you explain, dramatic shake to your head.

“I’m not a dessert hater, doll. I just have priorities”

“Really bad ones. I refuse to accept any dessert slander”

Yoongi opens his mouth, eyes widening a little in shock when you place a finger over his lips, “Uh uh” you shake your head.

Yoongi laughs at that, tongue poking out from between his lips to lick your finger. You recoil, nose scrunching at Yoongi who only laughs. (He had always preferred his own fingers in other people’s mouths, never really enjoying them in his own).

“Okay, lovers, we’re going home” Jungkook pushes between yours and Yoongi’s seats, “Jin’s about to pass out and I’m moments away from leaving him on the streets”

Both you and Yoongi turn to look over at Taehyung who holds up a very wobbly Seokjin, and you nod in understanding. But Yoongi feels his heart sink at the thought of having to go home already, he had started to enjoy your company, slowly peeling back each layer of your very being.

“I’ll walk you home” Yoongi places a hand on your shoulder when the five of you make it out of the bar. You nod, giving Jungkook a quick hug before he helps Taehyung lug their friend home.

You and Yoongi walk in silence, nothing uncomfortable; just the two of you basking in the company of one another.

Yoongi startles a little when you take a sudden hold of his wrist, “Yoongi, let’s go there” you pull him towards the familiar, drab Italian restaurant that he’s spent way too many weekends drinking in.

The lights at the front blink, bare wires hanging on for dear life to keep the neon lights hung about the windows of the restaurant. The fluorescent light momentarily blind the both of you as you wander inside.

Yoongi makes no fuss as you pull him into a booth by the window, encouraging you even, by handing you a menu. You flip it open, “My treat” you say, ignoring Yoongi as he opens his mouth to argue.

“You can treat me, next time”

Next time.

You wanted to see Yoongi again. Maybe it was the alcohol coursing through him, making him that little more delusional that you could feel the same about him as he does you.

“Fine” he drawls, motioning for a waiter to come to the table when you drop the menu with a little smile.

“Did you really have to order only dessert?”

“I got you black coffee as well” you argue, “if you don’t like them, then I’ll eat it”

Yoongi tuts, watching as the waiter brings over your tray of treats. More sugar than the mad hatter had at his tea party balanced on one rusting metal tray.

You wiggle happily in your seat, and Yoongi turns his head to look out the window, coving the blush that coats the skin of his cheeks in dusty red; and Yoongi wonders if this is what falling in love feels like, a new addiction worming its way into his heart. And Yoongi worries he won’t be able to stop himself, fingers itching to feel this again even if it’s only one more time.

“I got you tiramisu, because it tastes like coffee” you push the small plate towards him, eyes wide with wonder as Yoongi take a fork from one of the napkins, everything he does fascinating you as he holds himself with the grace and dignity a lot of people aspire for.

He awkwardly takes a forkful of cake, worried you were scrutinizing him for not eating this right. What if he hated it? And you got offended? What if you were turned off because he didn’t like the same foods as you? Is it a red flag to not like sweet things? God, Yoongi would shovel this cake into his mouth if it meant you’d give him a smile.

Yoongi thinks you must be able to read his mind, “You don’t have to like it” you remind him, picking up your own fork as you pull a plate towards your body, excitement of a child in your eyes.

+ + +

“What are you doing for Christmas?” you ask, turning towards Yoongi who dips his paintbrush into the can.

“Probably spend it with my dog” he shrugs, rubbing his gloved hands across his sweats, hoping to warm them up a little.

“You have a dog?” you gape, “Why didn’t you tell me?” you sulk.

Yoongi had told you he’d noticed the paint on your heaters chipping, a potential fire hazard (or so he claims), and that he would repaint them for you with heat safe paint. You’d nodded, offering to help him during the weekend, He’d shrugged, telling you it was your choice, that the room would be cold as you couldn’t paint on scorching hot metal, but you’d only giggled, telling him to pass his phone so you could add his number, and that you’d see him tomorrow. And Yoongi had felt dizzy when you’d brushed him off, determined to meet him that weekend and help.

Now he finds himself with you, both bundled up in coats, and woolly gloves to keep the both of you warm as you paint the morning away. The morning birds haven finished their songs for the day, probably ready to eat as lunch neared, afternoon sun squeezing minimal heat into the classroom through the windows.

“Do you have any plans?” he asks, foot tapping anxiously on the floor.

You shake your head, “I usually visit my parents, but they said they’re sick of white Christmases. So, my dad whisked them off to some tropical island until the end of February when it gets a little warmer”

“You didn’t want to go?”

“It’s not that, I just have a job, and I wouldn’t be able to stay all that long with work chasing me during the holidays”

Yoongi hums, “Want to spend it together?”

Your eyes widen, turning towards Yoongi who continues to paint, acting as if he hadn’t just offered to spend Christmas with you.

“Huh?” you breathe, “Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude”

“On what? Me and my dog? Jin Hyung usually stops by, but I think he secretly has a girlfriend because for the last two years he drops off some cookies and then rushes out the door, without his obligatory kisses”

“What about Jungkook and Taehyung?”

“They spend the holidays together, probably fucking. They can’t keep their hands to themselves” you giggle at that.

“They’re cute” you tell him, happy smile pulling onto your face as you recall the ‘dinner’ you’d had together a few weeks ago. And how much Jungkook and Taehyung seemed to be drawn to one another; you think they must the definition of love. Just pure, unadulterated love between the two of them. Two little lovebirds who are mates for the rest of their lives, always drawn to one another.

Jin had showed up to your classroom with a box of chocolates to apologize on the following Monday, babbling how unprofessional the whole encounter was. You’d waved him off, inviting him for coffee or tea during break times if he ever needed a breather from the swarm of students that always seem to gather outside his office door. All hoping to spend a little more time with the good-looking language teacher, innocent crushes pushing them to work hard in class.

He’d thanked you. Apologizing once more before he’d scuttled away with a sheepish smile plastered on his face. Late for a meeting he had with the head of department, and he had already missed the meeting the month prior.

“They’re cute when they’re not sucking each other’s tongues” Yoongi grunts, nudging the sleeve of your jacket so it wouldn’t fall into the pan of paint, worried it wouldn’t wash out from your sleeves.

“Let them be in love” you whine, wiggling a little in place, “Could you imagine loving someone like they do?”

Yoongi shakes his head, “Never been in love”

“Really?”

“I mean I dated in high school but nothing close to love” Yoongi turns towards you, “What about you?”

Your cheeks flush, “I’ve never uhh—I’ve never dated. Like at all”

Yoongi blinks, “Not even that smarmy dick?”

“Who?”

“Kim Namjoon or whatever his name is?”

Your tongue wets your lips, and then your eyes widen, “God no” you let out a long breath, “He asked me out last year and I said no. Why on earth would a high school literature teacher ask me out?”

“Because you’re pretty?” Yoongi replies, avoiding eye contact by mixing the paint a little.

“That’s shallow of him” you scoff, “He’s a narcissist anyways, I would never be as good looking as he believes himself to be” you tell Yoongi, and the caretaker wants to bash his head against the table behind him with how oblivious you are.

“That’s shitty” Yoongi agrees, though he feels his heart constrict. Didn’t you know how perfect you are?

“You know he told me I should have studied for a more sophisticated profession, and asked why I wanted to work with kids below the age of 15” you frown, “I thought that was a little mean, so I told him to go fuck himself”

Yoongi laughs at that, “I always see him near your table at lunch”

You hum, nodding—“He’s been trying to win me over with cakes and cookies, I only smile so I get free stuff out of him”

“So, you’re leading him on?”

You drop your brush into the paint pan, “Is that what I’m doing? That’s really shitty” you look at Yoongi with guilty eyes.

“I guess if he’s a bad man then it’s a little more forgivable” he gently places his paintbrush beside your own, “But he doesn’t deserve you if he’s an asshole”

You nod at that, small smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

+ + +

“Please Yoongi” you tug on the sleeve of his jacket, trying to veer him towards the ice rink.

He only grunts, “I don’t skate”

“But it’s Christmas” your shoulders fall, and Yoongi feels as though he just kicked a puppy with your sad pout.

“Fine” he takes your hand, pulling you towards the old woman at the rental booth.

Yoongi can’t help the laugh that bubbles up his throat, having just watched you fall onto your bottom only minutes after getting onto the rink.

“Hey!” you point an accusing finger at him, “It’s not funny”

“Just a little, darling” he tries hard to stifle his laugh, but fails miserably when you try to push yourself to stand; stood more like a new-born doe who hadn’t grasp the concept of walking yet.

Yoongi misses the devious smile on your face when he bends down to help you stand, your cheeks warming at the pretty smile the caretaker had, warm like a spring afternoon.

“When you offered for us to go skating, I thought you’d be good at it”

You cross your arms over your chest, instantly regretting the sudden action as you wobble. You let out something akin to a squeak when Yoongi takes a hold of your arms, helping stabilise you as your stomach tenses.

“My little deer” he laughs, hands skimming down the length of your arms to hold your hands.

You feel heat creep up your neck, burning the tips of your ears; feeling some relief knowing that your nose and ears were already red from the cold, so you only bite your lip, trying not to let your shuddering breath become known to Yoongi.

He, however, sees your eyes glaze over, something he hadn’t seen from you yet. And it only feeds into his little fantasy of you sprawled out across the sheets of his bed, his name clinging to your tongue, dripping like sweet honey as you beg for more. More of what? He has yet to decide. He’s imagined eating you out, sure that you’d recoil, shy, when he tries to go down on you. He wonders what you’d look like, bouncing prettily on his cock, begging for him to help you, legs shaking as he pounds into you, if your moans would be as soft as your voice, if you’d try to cover your mouth with your hands.

Yoongi coughs, bringing his attention back to you who wobbles, another attempt to skate towards him on your own. This time, Yoongi is ready when you stagger forwards, holding onto your waist as you tumble into his chest.

“Sorry” you whisper, “I don’t think I’m very good at this”

Yoongi laughs, “Nothing a little practice can’t fix”

+ + +

“Merry Christmas Yoongi” you beam, handing him the neatly wrapped gift, little cats printed on the paper.

“Merry Christmas” he takes you hand, pulling you into his warm apartment, heat enveloping you, cleansing you from the toe biting cold of the outside world.

You startle at the wet nose that prods your bare fingers, gaze flitting towards the floor where the fluffy little dog sniffs at your clothes, a cute puff of brown.

“That’s Holly” he tells you, placing your gift underneath the small tree into the corner of the living room beside the one he had bought you.

You crouch down, scratching Holly under the chin, giggling as the excited dog circles your legs.

You wander into the living room, not so subtly peeking at Yoongi’s home. You liked it; it was cosy, and ever so Yoongi. You take a seat on one of the couches, Yoongi following suit once he’d turned the tree lights on, green like vibrant dragonflies dancing from branch to branch.

“I hope you’re okay with takeaway, I looked up how to cook Christmas dinner online, and it’s a little too advanced for me”

You smile, “Don’t tell my mother, but I’ve never been a fan of Christmas dinner”

“Perfect”

“You make music?” you gawk, “That’s so cool”

“It’s a nice side hobby I suppose” he shrugs, not delving into how deep his love for music really is; he knew that if he started, he wouldn’t know when to stop. A little too passionate about his producing than he would like to let on, the last thing he needed was for you to leave when he was enjoying your company.

“You’ll have to show me one day” you tell him, nudging his shoulder as you sit beside one another. Knees pressed snug, body heat warming one another up.

Yoongi picks up another slice of beef, placing it on your plate, “maybe” he shrugs.

“You’re very secretive” you point out.

“Private”

You hum at that, “That is a good trait. More for me to uncover”

“Yeah?” he asks, smile tugging at his lips, “What are you trying to uncover”

Yoongi doesn’t miss the as your eyes flit down his body, straying a little at the waist band of his sweats before travelling back to his lips.

“Everything” you tell him honestly, and he can see the naked emotions that swim behind your eyes; raw need.

“I suppose you should get started then” he whispers, eyes flicking between both of your own.

“Right now?”

Yoongi nods, turning his body to face you; his hand coming to cup your cheek. You close your eyes, low moan reverberating up your throat as Yoongi presses his lips gently against your own. And as cliché as it sounds, Yoongi thinks he hears fireworks somewhere in the distance, lips tingling with want as he feels the warmth of you pressed along the length of his body.

Yoongi drinks in every little sound you make, spurring him to deepen kiss, his tongue flicking to part your own. As you both pull away, Yoongi leans in for a quick peck to your lips before he falls back into his seat.

“I guess I also have a lot to uncover, huh?” he whispers, fingers tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “I really like you Y/n” he admits, hands clammy as he gauges your reaction.

“I really like you too” you tell him, and Yoongi smiles at the red hue that coats your cheeks; he can only imagine his match your own.

+ + +

“We should totally go on a double date” Taehyung grins, arm wrapped around Jungkook’s shoulder.

“We’re not dating though” Yoongi grunts, leaning back in his seat. His gaze flits over towards your table of co-workers, you more focused on something on your phone than what they were gossiping about.

“You went on a date, spent Christmas and New Year together, kissed, confessed and you’re not dating?” Jin gawks, astonished by what he was hearing.

Yoongi had asked after your little Christmas escapade, if you wanted to spend New Year together as well. He took you out for lunch, and then the two of you milled around a little market on the outskirts of the city. He’d met a few of your students, their happy smiles when they spotted you, warming Yoongi’s heart. And God forbid he didn’t hate children as much as he used to. (They could be cute sometimes, but only when it comes to you.) As well as conversing with a few parents, more than a few commenting on how cute you and Yoongi were together.

Nothing much more than kissing had happened, and you’d found the excuse for a few more kisses when you’d spotted little brushes of mistletoe hanging from the market huts, left over from the Christmas market that plagued the streets only weeks prior. And who was Yoongi to deny tradition?

The two of you had sat on a hill on New Year’s Day, Yoongi with his coffee, and you with piping hot, hot chocolate, both a little hung over from your little festivities the night prior (with a kiss when the clock hands struck midnight), and the both of you talked about the future. Your individual futures, and the future you want to have together.

You’d both agreed to take it slow, neither of you needed to rush into this relationship. You both knew you liked each other, that much had been established, and there was a mutual understanding that you had all the time in the world to learn more about each other before defining your relationship. You both understood what you had was exclusive, but neither of you felt labels were necessary. The unnecessary shadow that would loom over your shoulders, creeping up on you until your relationship evidently crumbles under the pressure of societal labels and standards of what a ‘good’ relationship is.

“So what?” Yoongi turns towards Jin, “We’re taking it slow”

“Slow my ass, you both act like you’ve been in a long-term relationship”

“Do not” Yoongi argues, feeling stupid that his reply had come off so juvenile.

“Yeah?” Seokjin challenges, and Yoongi knows he shouldn’t take the bait.

But he does, “Yeah”

“Whose lunchbox is that then?” he points at the prettily wrapped lunch that sat before you on the table. New shiny bento box that Yoongi had ordered online especially for you, with enough layers to make sure you would eat a nutritional lunch. With how many sweets you ate, Yoongi worried you spoiled yourself, so he took on the role of your chef; making sure you were eating healthier.

Yoongi coughs, “Mine. What are you gonna do about it?”

“Tease you” Jin laughs, pushing himself from his seat when Yoongi shoots him a hard glare. Waving at the small group before he makes his descent back to his classroom, a small group of students having filled in what was meant to be an easy lunch.

“I think you’re doing great, Hyung” Jungkook soothes, smiling over at Taehyung who nudges his side.

“Kookie is right, you don’t have to rush into these things. As long as the two of you are happy, that’s all that counts” Taehyung nods.

“Plus, Jin Hyung is definitely projecting, he’s hiding someone. I just know it” Jungkook nods, head falling onto his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“Yoongi!” you call as you skip towards his lunch table, perking up at your voice.

“Yes?” he pulls out what was once Jin’s chair, pulling you to sit beside him.

“What do you think about these for Holly?” you shove your phone into his face, “I really like the blue one” you mutter.

“They’re lovely, doll” he smiles, taking your phone so the bright screen wasn’t blaring in his eyes, the images more of a blur of colours, messily mixed like paints on a pallet.

“Personally, my favourite is the purple one” you scroll down when Yoongi places the device on the table. He looks down at the little sweater you have on a website that specialises in dog clothes.

“It’s cute” Yoongi agrees.

“But Yoongs, Holly would look good in like red or something” you sigh dramatically, prominent frown pulled at your pretty lips, begging Yoongi to kiss it away.

Yoongi scrolls up, eyeing the other dog clothes they had on the website, “Why not get both? One for you and one for Holly” he shrugs, “There’s still a few weeks left of winter”

You nod, small smile now tugging at your lips and Yoongi feels somewhat accomplished. He ignores the intruding stares of his two friends sat across the table, kicking Taehyung’s shin when he opens his mouth to surely make a comment on Yoongi’s somewhat soft behaviour. Emotions on display for everyone to see.

“Okay!” you push yourself to stand, “I’m going to find my credit card” you announce and Yoongi grunts at that.

“I’ll pay” he also stands, but you push him back into his seat, shaking your head.

“No, you won’t. It’s my gift”

“Doll” Yoongi stares up at you, and he thinks he sees a crack in your resolve. He smiles when you cover his eyes with your hand.

“Don’t look at me like that” you whine, skin prickling with goosebumps when Yoongi skims his fingers down your arm, blindly seeking out your touch.

“Like what?” he asks, teasing lilt to his tone.

“Like you can tell me what to do”

“Is that so?”

You pull your hands from his eyes, frowning down at the caretaker, “I’m leaving” you tell him.

“I’ll take you out for dinner then” Yoongi calls when you turn away from the table.

“Okay!” you call over your shoulder, “text me later” you wave at him.

Yoongi turns towards Jungkook and Taehyung who have two annoying smiles plastered on their faces.

“Neither of you say a word” he points between them, “Not one”

+ + +

“Y/n!”

You startle, Yoongi using his hand to cushion your elbow before you could whack it on the edge of the table.

Both you and Yoongi turn towards where the honeyed voice came from, and Yoongi let’s out a low grunt when Namjoon saunters towards the table you’re sat at.

Yoongi had asked you out on a little coffee date, nothing too fancy, something to help the two of you wind down from another hectic week of work.

Yoongi had bought you a cake, getting the one that had little cat ears cut from sugar paper, and got himself a black coffee. You got sweet tea, and then you told him everything you’d been up to, talking of parents that had given you gifts at the start of the semester, and that you’d have to give him one of the funnier mugs for his coffee in the morning.

Everything was serene, perfect even. And Yoongi couldn’t have asked for anything more. His favourite girl by his side, with a perfect cup of coffee. Until Kim Namjoon decided to ruin his good mood.

“Namjoon” you greet, empty smile being thrown at the high school teacher.

“Fancy seeing you here” he laughs, inviting himself to your table. Taking a seat opposite Yoongi. Said man places his hand on your thigh gently, silent reassurance that he is there for you just in case this unplanned meeting goes south. And as much as you wanted to tell him to go away, you knew you would see him around work and the last thing you needed was an awkward encounter in the halls, you could feel your skin crawl at the thought of it.

“Yes, funny coincidence” you squeeze out, turning to look at Yoongi who gives you a curt nod.

“And who’s this?” Namjoon motions towards Yoongi, acting as though he was the one who had just barged into his café date. Eyes narrowing in slight distaste.

“Her boyfriend” Yoongi tells him, smug smile unmissable when Namjoon’s smile drops.

He turns to look at you, as if asking for confirmation. You nod, only deepening Namjoon’s frown. Yoongi’s fingers tighten on your thigh, and you feel a dull throb between your legs when he does, squirming a little in place, and if Yoongi notices, he doesn’t make it apparent.

“I didn’t know you two were—” he wags a finger in your general direction, “a thing” he finishes, the words leaving a bad taste on his tongue.

“Not everyone drones on about their relationships, Namjoon” you point out, finding it hard to fight off the smug smile that threatened to show. You see, Namjoon had a track record of bragging about his escapades, either it be a quick fling with a woman who worshiped the ground he walked on (his words, not yours), or short-term relationships where he would boast about every detail of his sex life. Something you had no interest in.

“If you’ll excuse us, I was enjoying my date” you motion to Yoongi beside you, a bored expression taking over his features.

“You heard her” he adds, motioning for Namjoon to leave. Translation: Fuck off.

Yoongi thinks he sees the tips of Namjoon’s ears flush red, slithering its way down his cheeks and neck, and Yoongi feels his heart swell when you lean against his shoulder; Namjoon glaring at the two of you as he stands up.

“Boyfriend, huh?” you ask when Namjoon is out of your general vicinity.

Yoongi turns to look out the window, his silent wish of you not bringing that up clearly not being heard by some higher power.

“Only if that’s okay with you” he mutters.

“Is this you asking me out?” you laugh, head falling backwards, and Yoongi turns, wanting to catch your smile.

“Y/n?” he calls, hand coming to hold your cheek as you tilt your head back down to look at him.

You hum.

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

+ + +

“Okay!” Seokjin claps his hands, “News for this week. Yoongi first”

And all three pairs of eyes land on the caretaker. Now that the weather had started to warm up a little, the sun no longer shying away behind fluffy, cotton candy clouds, lunch times were spent behind the school. Away from students, and the beady eyes of other staff that had a habit of eavesdropping on everyone’s conversations. And then before you knew it, the whole faculty knew about your secrets.

Yoongi places a hand on his chin in thought, “I helped Y/n build a new desk for her classroom and put up some new blinds that she bought. Oh...” he drawls, “And she’s now my girlfriend”

Seokjin’s jaw drops, and Yoongi wants to make a snide comment, being cut out by a loud gasp from his hyung. Jungkook and Taehyung laugh from their spot opposite Yoongi, nodding their congratulations as Jin pinches the bridge of his nose.

“And you didn’t think to text me?” he mutters, mock offense lacing his tone.

“What about your partner Hyung?” Jungkook prods, not missing the wide eyes of the eldest.

“How did you know about that?” he whispers, leaning across the table.

“You were kind of obvious” Taehyung placates, wrapping his arm around his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“So? Who are they?” Yoongi prods, having waited years for his friend to finally spill the beans on this secret relationship he’d been trying to hide (and clearly failed).

“I met her in the town over, she already has a kid, but the father left. We’ve been taking it slow, but I really do like her” he admits, and Taehyung can’t help the mushy smile that takes over his features.

“On the topic of children…” Jungkook trails off, giving a look to his boyfriend, who only nods in encouragement. “We’re planning to adopt”

Yoongi’s eyes widen a little in surprise, it’s not as if the two hadn’t fiddled with the idea of adopting; he just never expected it to be so soon.

“Oh my god” Seokjin cried, “I’m going to be an uncle”

“That’s a really big decision” Yoongi nods, a small smile toying at the edge of his lips.

“It is” Taehyung agrees, “But we both have stable jobs, and a home. Neither of us plan to go anywhere anytime soon”

“What about the wedding?” Jin asks.

“A wedding can happen any time. We both know that we want to spend the rest of our lives together, so there’s no rush really” Jungkook shrugs.

“What about you Hyung? When are you getting married” Taehyung points his attention towards the caretaker.

“He only just asked me to be his girlfriend” your arms wrap around Yoongi’s neck, leaning down to press a featherlight kiss on his cheek.

Yoongi scoots over to make room for you on the bench.

“Not with your friends?” he asks, hand coming to rest on your thigh as you pull your own lunch (courtesy of Yoongi), placing it onto the table.

“Nope” you shake your head, handing him a neatly cut triangular sandwich, “Namjoon came over, so I lost my appetite” you tell him, and he hums in understanding. Muttering a short ‘bastard’ under his breath.

+ + +

Perfect didn’t seem like the right word to describe your relationship with Min Yoongi. It was beyond anything you could have ever asked for. Something that not many people had during their first relationships; trial and error finally pulling you down the path of your soulmate. However, you seemed to hit the jackpot, first try.

Before you knew it a year had flown by, memories floating by like the wind would, caressing your cheek in the morning on the way to school. Days merging into weeks and weeks into months. And even with a mush of weeks and days, Yoongi always made you feel the most special, like you were the only one he had eyes for.

Yoongi had never been the most vocal man, but you’d learnt that he loved you all as much. He would pack your lunches in cute little boxes, and on Friday’s he would slip a little note into your bag with plans for the weekend or a shopping list so you could both wander around the supermarket as soon as the home time bell rigs. He would come to your classroom after school with cold drinks in the summer and overly sweet hot chocolate in the winter.

Although he would never admit it, he really did like the tiramisu from that shitty Italian restaurant at the end of street, and he thought it was ridiculous how many dates the both of you had spent in there. He’d voiced out a concern one evening, you sprawled across his bed like a dream, with your favourite candle lit, and Holly filling the gap between your bodies; he worried he wasn’t doing enough. You had told him you really didn’t care, as long as you were together, even lounging in bed for the day made you happy. And as if to prove a point, you and Yoongi had spent the whole day in bed together, binging your favourite shows (amongst other things).

You walked around fair grounds together, shared secrets between kisses, and it was the small things that he would do for you, that reminded you that Min Yoongi really did love you. Like washing your face of an evening or picking up snacks from the convenience store because he knew you’d ran out.

You remember the evening he opened up about his music, not just a silly little hobby like he had initially told you. He told you about how cathartic it was for him to produce. He showed you notebook upon notebook of lyrics that he had written from his teens through to his adult years; a little window into the man you were dating.

You know he likes dogs more than cats; you know he adores Holly. You know he hates sweet coffee, the bitter taste on his tongue somewhat of a comfort for him. You know he liked to stay home rather than melt within a crowd of rowdy people. And if the two of you ever found yourself trapped with too many sounds and too many bodies, Yoongi would place his hand on the back of your neck, reassurance that he was still there, helping ground you from all the overflowing number of stimuli that were trying to scratch at your brain.

Min Yoongi liked to cook, liked to experiment in the kitchen and he loved it even more when he could cook for you. He liked watching your face light up when you liked something, he liked the way your nose would scrunch up in that cute way when a taste was unfamiliar or too bitter.

Yoongi liked the curtains in your apartment, thin in a way the sun would caress your skin as it woke before you. As he would lay there, fingers trailing over the naked skin of your back, loving the way you’d slowly start to become conscious of the world around you. And the smile that would stretch onto your face, unconditional love mingled with tired eyes as you woke up to the sight of sleep roughed Yoongi first thing in the morning.

Yoongi liked the winter more than he did the summer. Maybe it was because that is when he first worked up the courage to talk to you.

Yoongi liked wearing the colour black, something so simple but looked so good on him. He, however, adored when you’d wear colourful shirts, dresses that complimented the tone of your skin, and he thinks if he were to turn this into a metaphor, you were the one who finally brought colour into his monotone life. An endless cycle of loneliness that he hadn’t realised he was drowning in before he had met you.

Yoongi liked that when you had moved into his home, small parts of you leaked into his, your, living space. Canvases of unfinished paintings, and photos from your childhood. His closet was no longer half empty, overflowing with a concoction of both your clothes. Odd pieces of furniture that you hadn’t wanted to let go of now filling the gaps of his once arguably scarce apartment.

Min Yoongi loved you.

He loved everything about you.

He loved how kind you were, patient in a way that only a kindergarten teacher could be. He liked that with others you always seemed a little reserved, shy in your actions, but with him you had no qualms about what you said or how you acted. Min Yoongi loved you because you always thought of him as much as he thought of you. He would feel his heart flutter when you would leave coffee on the desk in his office or help him pick out what shirt to wear to work.

Min Yoongi loved that you were the last thing he would see before he went to sleep, with his arm slung around your waist, and he loved that from the minute he would wake up, there you were, right by his side.

Min Yoongi loved that you were the last missing puzzle piece of his life. Fitting ever so perfectly in the gap he never knew was missing.

+ + +

“Yoongi, hold on” you gasp, head falling back into the plethora of pillows he had thrown onto the bed.

‘So you’re comfy’ Yoongi had frowned. And if you could think a coherent thought maybe you would thank him. Your head rocking up into the pillow padded headboard; pleasure licking up your spine.

You feel Yoongi’s tongue flick at your clit, a mixture of his own spit and your arousal dripping down his chin like liquid honey. And Yoongi makes sure to try and save every delicious mouthful of your essence. Something so uniquely you, so sweet, something that only Yoongi gets the pleasure to taste; because he had no plans of letting you go anytime soon.

Your boyfriend prods his tongue at your entrance, your legs shaking as his thumb gently brushes over your overstimulated clit. You see, Yoongi had this game, he liked to see how long he could eat you out, and how many times he could make you cum before he fucked you senseless on his cock. Leaving your clit to throb in a mixture of want and denial, swollen from being toyed with.

“One more, baby” he takes a deep breath, wasting no time in diving his tongue into you, molten arousal coating his lips, and as much as Yoongi loved it when your thighs would clamp round his head, today he wanted you bare. Spread out prettily just for him to devour. So, he holds your thighs open, straining them as he tries to push his head as far between your thighs as physically possible, lips pulling into a grin when you thrust your hips to meet his tongue; chasing your own pleasure.

He feels your fingers thread with his hair when he pushes his tongue in a little deeper, thumb still strumming at your clit. And he wonders if he could make you cum from just playing with your clit alone. He’d made you cum just from toying with your nipples once, the picture of you, flushed face, a sheen of sweat coating both of your bodies as his teeth clamped down on your puffy nipples, red raw from his mouth, and he remembers the surprised moan you’d graced him with when you had come.

“I can’t” you moan, mouth falling open.

Yoongi grunts, pulling his face away from your cunt, his index finger sinking into your entrance.

“Yes, you can” he tells you, fingers delving, eager to find that spot which will make you see stars, groaning at the sound you let out when he sinks a second finger into your greedy cunt.

He uses his other arm to hold down your waist as you try to eagerly buck into his fingers, little whimpers tumbling from your lips, and Yoongi thinks that was his favourite sound. He had asked once to add your moans to a song, your cheeks had flushed, laughing like Yoongi had been joking. And then your boyfriend had fucked you in his home office, with your hand clamped over your mouth, a little game to see how long you could stay silent.

He was surprised how long you’d been able to keep it up, and it had become his own personal goal to make sure you moaned his name every time he played with you.

“Please, please, please” you whine breathlessly.

“Please what, baby? I can’t help you of you don’t tell me what’s wrong” he frowns, tone mocking as he slows his fingers to a gentle thrust.

“No, no, Yoongi faster please” you cry, tilting your head to look at him, and Yoongi leans up to brush the stray tears from your cheeks, sadistic smile on his face.

“Yeah?” he asks, watching as you nod; pitiful as you rock your hips to try and push his fingers deeper inside of you.

Your boyfriend leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your pouty lips, your sad frown enough for him to finally give you what you want.

He trails his lips down your body, stopping to press a gentle kiss to your nipples, tongue flicking out to toy with them as you wiggle underneath him, shuddering breath reverberating around the otherwise silent room.

“Cum one more time and then I’ll fuck you” he mutters, “Okay, baby?”

You hum, and Yoongi pushes himself off your body.

“Words” he reminds you, and you have to wrack your brain.

“Yes”

“Good girl” he pushes his head back between his legs, something comforting about being here; like Yoongi belonged, sandwiched between your thighs.

Two of his fingers strum at your clit, a breathy chuckle fanning over your sensitive cunt when he laughs as you moan. His tongue lapping up the arousal that had started to dribble from your hole.

“You’re really wet, baby”

You hum, not quite sure you heard him or not. But Yoongi laps up another string of your essence, acting more like a starved puppy than a man, but he supposes he always was a little feral around you.

“Think you can squirt for me?” he grunts, exchanging his tongue for his fingers as the wet muscle in his mouth now plays with your clit.

He suctions the sensitive pearl, teeth grazing it as he sinks three fingers into your hole. You moan into a pillow, thighs once again shaking as Yoongi thrusts his fingers into you in quick succession. He can feel your walls clench around him sporadically, tips of his fingers nudging that spongy tissue as he curls them upwards.

“Cum, baby” he grunts, wrist straining as he tries to keep a steady pace.

He feels his fingers being pushed from your hole as you squirt, his shirt soaking through with your juices. Your thighs shakes as he pushes his fingers back into your cunt, thrusting them in a couple of times before more of your arousal leaks onto the bed sheets.

“How messy” he tuts, pulling his shirt from over his head.

“Your fault” you argue, chest rising and falling, uneasy as you catch your breath.

Yoongi pushes himself up your body, arms flexing as he leans down to press a kiss to your lips; a lot slower, more passionate than those from prior in the evening.

Yoongi brushes a wet piece of hair from your face, your forehead glazed with a thin layer of sweat.

“You did so well for me” he whispers, hands trailing down the sides of your body, an attempt to ground you a little. When he sees a little more clarity in your eyes, legs not still shaking where they rest against his thighs he presses a gentle kiss to your cheeks.

“Think you can take my cock?” he asks, “We don’t have to do anything else if you don’t want to” he reminds you.

You nod, “I’m okay, I don’t know if I can cum again though”

“Guess we’ll have to check” he pushes himself to sit on his knees.

Yoongi ignores you as you eye his sweats, hard shaft hardly veiled by the grey fabric. And you think you are moments away from jumping the man. With how perfect he looked in the orange glow of the lamplight, chin shining in your arousal. It was hard to stop your pussy from leaking, and it would have been a little embarrassing just how wet you were if you didn’t know Yoongi absolutely loved when you got like this for him.

You watch as he leans across the bed, lithe fingers tugging the drawer open. Your fingers toy with the waist band of his sweats, and Yoongi lets out a breathy chuckle when you tug on them.

Your boyfriend sits up, shiny foil packet held between two fingers, those same two fingers that had brought you to your high twice already tonight.

“Can I help?” you push yourself to sit up, biting your lip at the dull throbbing between your thighs.

Yoongi hands the condom to you, scooting himself off the bed to discard the rest of his clothes. You watch as he pulls off his sweats, having foregone any underwear that evening, and your eyes train on his cock.

You think that your boyfriend maybe had the prettiest cock, he took pride in grooming himself; always making sure to be clean. You can only wonder how long it must have been erected for, cockhead an angry red, shiny with Yoongi’s own arousal, little beads of pre-cum cascading down his length.

You lean forwards, taking the girthy cock into your hands, the familiar weight making you salivate a little. You run the tip over your lips, coating it in Yoongi’s pre-cum.

“No teasing, doll” he grunts, and you smile, pulling back.

You roll the latex over his shaft, leaving it to bob uselessly against the skin of his stomach as he climbs back onto the bed.

“You sure you’re, okay?” he checks, helping lay you down comfortably, lifting the lower half of your body by your ankles, his other hand grabbing a pillow to cushion your hips.

He drops your legs back onto the bed, watching as you smile up at him.

“Come here” you tell him, and Yoongi obliges, humming into the gentle kiss you place on his lips, your own cum still staining the taste of him.

He wraps your thighs around his waist, one arm holds him up as he lines himself with your entrance.

Your mouth falls open into a silent ‘o’ when he pushes the head in, and Yoongi always makes sure to watch your face when he finally fucks you; not only as reassurance that you like what’s happening but so he knows just the right spot to drill into you.

Yoongi holds your hips as you try to rock forwards, his own hips stuttering in anticipation; but he holds himself back, liking the intimacy of having you sprawled out beneath him, fully trusting that he’ll take care of you. There had always been something so fulfilling to Yoongi about these intimate moments with you, your bodies joining to become one, your body pliant to his every move.

His hands leave your hips, skimming up your body before lacing his finger between your own.

“You good?” he whispers, unsure if he could utter anything more with how warm and wet you were, cunt clenching rhythmically around his length.

“Yeah” you whisper back, fingers tightening around his own when he gently pulls out before thrusting back into you.

Something akin to a squeak, tumbles from your lips when Yoongi picks up his pace, hands never letting go of yours as his hips snap forwards, thighs slapping against thighs with nothing more than the music of your bodies filling the silence of your bedroom.

Yoongi can only describe the sounds coming from you as pornographic, his thrusts pushing you up a little on the bed, he feels your nails dig into the skin of his hands, his own grunts mirroring your own pleasure.

“So close, so close” he chants, using whatever strength he has left in his arms to lean down, greedily sucking your left nipple between his teeth, teasing nips sending jolts of pleasure down your body.

Your boyfriend can feel your legs shake as he sucks a love bite just above the sensitive skin of your nipple, your hips bucking to meet his own.

He lets go of one of your hands, “Play with yourself, pretty. Let’s cum together”

You nod, sweat trickling down your neck as you trail a hand down your body. Slicking up your fingers from where Yoongi thrusts into you, your fingers start to play with your clit, jolt of pleasure causing your cunt spasm around Yoongi’s cock.

“Gonna cum” you whine, Yoongi’s teeth clamping around your nipple enough to push you over the edge.

Your legs tighten around his waist, stopping Yoongi’s sloppy thrusts, as you push him as deep inside of you as humanly possible. Your mind a blank slate as it rewires, slowly trying to become conscious of your surroundings.

You feel his cock twitch, his own cum shooting him the condom.

Yoongi collapses on top of you, a rush of air squeezing from your lungs when he lands with a dull thump.

“Ouch” you giggle, not protesting when his arms snake around your waist, flipping the two of over so you lay gently on his chest.

Yoongi’s fingers brush through your damp hair, “You did so well for me, pretty” he tells you, golden glow of the lamp illuminating him in that post-orgasmic bliss. If you though Yoongi looked good on a normal day, you had been utterly in awe when you’d seen him after he’d came.

“Thank you”

“For what?” he laughs, chest rumbling under your ear.

“Making me cum three times”

“Nothing I like more than my girl feeling good”

You hum at that, trying to push yourself up. Yoongi grunts, tugging you tighter against his chest.

“Yoongs I need to pee, and I feel all sticky” you complain, fingers toying with the divot of his collarbone.

“5 minutes”

“Min Yoongi” you laugh, pinching the skin of his neck.

“Fine but be quick” he loosens his arms. When you push yourself to sit, he pulls you back down.

“Hey!” you complain.

“Need a kiss first” he puckers up his lips, and you indulge him this one time, never in a hurry when it came to kissing your love.

And as you wash up in the bathroom, door slightly ajar where he can see you milling around, his fingers play with the little beaded bracelet you’d gifted him when you spent that first Christmas together.

Yoongi loved you a lot, more than he would ever be able to describe in words. He loved that he could give you a helping hand no matter the situation, and the shiny little ring, hidden away in his nightstand shrouded in a pretty, purple velvet box was his promise to you; that he would stay by your side for the rest of his life.

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schemmentis · 10 days

Text

La Cosa Nostra - Pt. 8

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7

Cowritten w/ @janeyseymour

Summary: Sunday dinner brings unexpected news.

WC: 2.8k

You practically have to pry both your daughters from Barbara and vice versa after breakfast. You promise the twins they'll see her again soon. Your wife promises Barb to do her best to make it before next Sunday.

You're home for much of the afternoon, unaware of the sudden lack of eyes following your every move. At least, for now. You entertain Cat and Rosie, reveling in the extra bit of twin time as you keep them out of the kitchen and thus out of your wife's way.

Sunday morning means church and breakfast with Barb and Gerald. Sunday evening means family dinner at Melissa’s mother’s. A much different affair than it had been when you'd picked the girls up from there earlier in the week. In the middle of the week, it rivals your own house. Relatively quiet aside from your twins and whatever they're getting into.

Tonight, the house is going to have a small handful of people in every room. Mel's large family is a decent portion of it but plenty of the kind of family neither of you are related to at all will be there too. The kind of family only had by the bond of the life you're all in. In reality, it'll probably be barely a fraction of that type of family too. The Schemmentis don't let just anyone in. A type of attitude that didn't begin with your wife, or even her mother.

Since they had to dress up a bit in Sunday best this morning, you compromise with the twins on their evening wear. You send them off to pick what they want to wear to Nonna's, reminding them that you might have to change a piece or two that they pick if it doesn't match. You mentally correct it to be when they don't match. You know they both will pick things from four different kinds of outfits to make into one. Still, it helps when they have some kind of input when you can let them.

You peek over Melissa’s shoulder as the twins are off in their room choosing. She's still busy packing up what you'll be taking over with you that she's made over the afternoon. As if she hasn't made enough to feed your own family three times.

You wrap your arms around her waist, kissing her cheek. “Lemme guess, the extra container is Sammy's branzino.” You mutter as you rest your chin to her shoulder.

“I ain't gonna let him say I ain't paid him. Not in front of Ma.” Melissa grumbles.

You squeeze your arms lightly around her. “His job ain't over yet, anyhow. I told him to be ready to sue the assholes for tearing up Twelve Tables once everything has been cleared.”

Melissa laughs. “Damn right, amore.”

You smile to hear her laugh. Seeing her a bit more at ease today has healed a bit of the stress and wear you've felt. You steal a kiss or two before you let her focus on making sure she's packed everything exactly how she likes.

“No more business talk, huh?” You say as you pull away. Family might be at the house tonight but Sundays are rest days. The one day of the week you don't have to worry like all the rest.

“Cat, you have to take a coat.” You sigh a few minutes later. Her little coat held in your hands as you all stood in the doorway, attempting to leave. You'd managed to get Rosie's on just fine but her sister refuses.

“Mam, the coat doesn't go!”

You look at your wife, a bit pointedly as you know exactly where this sudden phrase has been learned. Notoriously, Melissa is much more concerned with fashion than you are. You dress well, of course. It wouldn't do to be who you are and not dress well. Still, the phrase your daughter is echoing definitely didn't come with you.

“Sweetheart,” Your wife says, looking at your eldest twin. “You have blue in your outfit, don't you?”

Cat looks down, studying her outfit before looking back up to Melissa. “I do!”

“Then your purple coat goes with it. You don't want to be cold, especially when we leave Nonna's do you?

Reluctantly, Cat holds her little arms out to you to put her coat on. You kiss her small head in affection even if she'd been making you exasperated a few moments ago. “Thank you, A storin.” You whisper before taking both her and her sister's hand to walk to the car.

As much time as it took you to get little coats on is at most half the time it takes for them to be removed and dropped at your feet once you've walked into your mother-in-laws.

“No running!” You call after your girls that already aren't listening as they hurry to join their cousins to play. You sigh dramatically as you pluck little coats from the floor before trailing after your wife who has beelined for the kitchen.

You quickly say hello before putting the girls’ coats in the room that's designated theirs when they stay over. You know better than to linger in a Schemmenti kitchen when you haven't been asked to. Especially with more than one generation of Schemmenti women sharing it already.

You say hello and mingle with those who have beat you to the house already. Business and anything close to it doesn't surface at all. It's only talk of family and what everyone's kids are up to or in some cases what trouble they're getting into for the older ones.

It isn't until after dinner that things really settle. The various rooms of the house with small groups chatting quietly. You're sat on one of the couches in the living room, catching up with Kristen Marie when Melissa reappears, claiming the seat next to you. Instantly your arm wraps around her shoulders and your lips press a kiss to her temple.

“Next week it's your turn to do dishes after dinner.” She says to her sister as she leans against your side.

“It should be Mickey's.” Kristen Marie retorts. “I swear when he gets home I'm makin’ him do it every week.”

“Ya, good luck with Ma lettin’ him. You know she'll catch on a lot faster to him doin’ your chores than me doin’ ‘em. Just like when we were kids.”

“That was only ‘cause he was such a tattle tale, you know.”

“Hey, Y/N.”

You look away from the sisters to the figure calling for you. “Hey, Luca.” You greet easily as you look past your wife. “Did you just get here?” Your brow furrows as you realize you hadn't seen him earlier in the night. “You missed dinner.”

“I'm alright.” Luca assures, waving off your worry. “Can I steal ya for a minute?”

You nod, quickly kissing Melissa before you get up. “‘Course ya can.” You say as you follow him toward the kitchen.

You think he's going to fix a plate of the plentiful leftovers while you talk. It isn't unusual for the extended family of Italians to pick your brain about things. Even just for opinion. Melissa tells you it's because you're Irish. You grew up outside of all of this even if you still grew up in the life in your own way. Either way, you've never minded listening or talking things through with any of them.

Instead of stopping in the kitchen though, Luca keeps walking through it and steps into the family room. You trail after him, your brow furrowing. He really wasn't going to eat? That just wasn't normal for anyone in a Schemmenti house.

Once you step through to the family room, you realize you aren't alone. “Uncle Dom,” you greet the older man sat in one of the arm chairs just as easily as you had Luca. “How're you doin’?”

“Good, good, Y/N. I'm sorry to steal ya away from Mel. This'll just take a minute.” Uncle Dominic assures as he shakes your hand.

Luca closes the door that connects the room to the kitchen. Leaving just the three of you in the quiet room. You suddenly don't believe it will only be a minute. Luca remains near the door, his hands crossing at his waist as he stands patiently.

You sit in the other armchair at Uncle Dom's head nodding to it. You don't ask what's going on or what he wanted to speak to you for. You know not to press or hurry. The information is coming.

Uncle Dom sips from his wine glass before setting it back down. “I'll do this quick, like rippin’ a band aid, since you know I like ya, kid.” He says. His hand moves from the glass set down to fiddle with the head of the cane he's needed to start carrying the last two years or so as he's aged. “We're takin’ you off the salon.”

You blink. “I own the salon.” You answer lamely.

“Ya do.” Dom agrees. “But with everythin’ goin’ on right now, it's been decided that it's best if you ain't so…hands on.”

You sit stock still in your chair as you stare back at the older man. You're at a loss for words.

“You're to start actin’ like a…more silent partner from Monday on. Tony’ll take care of the day to day. You worry about your girls.”

You take a deep breath. “I own the salon.” you repeat, slowly leaning forward in your chair. Until your elbows rest against your knees. “And you're tellin’ me to act like Tony does?”

“For now. There's a lot of eyes, kid. It's better if you just stay home, worry about the twins.”

You bite your tongue, hard. You want to argue. You want to fight. Except you know better than to. It won't get you anywhere. This decision comes from higher than you and from more than one person, no doubt.

You push yourself up from the armchair. You don't bother saying anything else to Dom. “Oh, fuck off, Luca.” You mutter when he moves to open the door for you. You throw it open yourself as you storm past him.

You take your spot next to your wife again, as she watches your little girls play with her cousins, and she can immediately feel the tension radiating off of you.

“Mi amore?” She looks to you sharply, your nails just digging into her hip slightly as you take up your position again.

“We need to go, or I’m going to flip my God damn shit,” you whisper into her ear. “I don’t think you want me doing that in front of everybody.”

Melissa gathers the girls, and the four of you attempt an Irish goodbye- running out and leaving without anyone noticing. Somehow, someway, the only person that you run into is Dominic. You glare daggers at him and all but dare him to stop you. He raises his hands in surrender, and the four of you are in your car no sooner.

You absolutely blast the Disney songs through the speaker as you begin to curse in Irish at a rapid fire speed.

“Y/N,” Melissa squeezes your thigh as you drive. “What has you up in arms?”

“I’m going to fuckin’ kill ‘em,” you seethe.

The redhead rolls her eyes. “You couldn’t if you tried.”

“I’m going to,” you hiss. Then you switch to Italian, having run out of cuss words in your own tongue. And finally, you let out a, “Mother fucker!” as you slam your palm on the steering wheel.

Your wife’s brows raise as you continue to curse under your breath. She knows she’ll have to talk to you once she gets the kids to bed- because tonight you are clearly off of parental duties with the attitude you have now. You’re one minor inconvenience away from taking one of her baseball bats to someone’s car, and with the trouble you’re in right now you can’t afford it.

As you pull in, she sets a gentle hand on your upper thigh. “Let me take care of the girls tonight while you simmer on the couch,” she tells you. “Pour yourself a glass of wine, and try not to explode from your rage.”

You kill the engine and storm into the house, not even bothering to help your wife get the girls into the house.

“Mommy?” Rosie asks as you stomp into the house.

“Yes, my little love?” your wife asks as she climbs out of the car.

“Why didn’t Mam get me out?”

“Mam is a little frustrated,” the redhead tells your daughters. “She just needs some time to cool off.”

“Mam is more than a little frustrated,” Cat notes softly. “Mam is really mad.”

“Just let Mam be for now,” your wife tells your girls. “It’s time for the two of you to head to bed anyway.”

“But Mam is home, and I want her to read a bedtime story,” Rosie whines.

“Mommy can read a bedtime story,” Melissa tries to placate as she ushers the girls into the house and up towards their room.

“But Mam reads better!” Cat groans. “You don’t do the funny voices as good!”

Out in the kitchen, you can hear your girls moaning and groaning, and you sigh heavily. If you can’t have control of your business right now... Dom is right- you should focus on your girls. You do end up reading them a story, tucking them in with a few extra kisses for the night, and then you’re out in the kitchen downing at least two glasses worth of scotch.

“Honey,” Melissa wraps her arms around your waist as you throw the last of the liquor down the hatch, loving the way that it burns. “Slow down. You haven’t even told me what’s happening.”

“Dom and Tony are takin’ the business out from underneath me.”

“What?” Melissa asks, sounding as incredulous as you felt when you were first told. “They can't do that! You own it.”

You laugh as you pour yourself another glass. “The fuck they can't. You know as well as I do they can do whatever the hell they want.”

Melissa's hands reach from your waist to your own hands, still trying to get you to slow down. “Amore.”

You put both the glass and bottle down on the kitchen counter a bit harder than necessary. “I have done everything they asked.” You grit through your teeth. “From day one. Even when Bobby was still there. They trusted me more than him at the end of it. And this is what they pay me back with, huh? The hell do they think this is gonna solve? You think the Feds ain't gonna notice I'm all of a sudden not there?”

Melissa sighs at your shoulder, her hands rubbing along your arms to try and calm you. “You know they have some sorta story to feed them if it's asked about already, honey.” She says softly. She isn't trying to give more fuel to your fire, but it is true. You know it is. Nothing is done without being thoroughly thought through.

“Fuck.” You curse once more as you close your eyes. You let your weight lean back into your wife. Her arms wrapping around your waist again. “Is this what we chose?” You ask, your voice much quieter than it has been in the last hour aside from reading to your girls and kissing them goodnight. “We get taught and spout all this shit about family. You're family. You do it for the family. Nothin’ comes over the family. This don't feel like fuckin’ family.”

Melissa doesn't answer you. There isn't a clear cut one. It's a complicated life for even the average person. Add in the mix of mafia and mob and all that comes with them both and complicated is an understatement. Instead she keeps you close to her. One hand letting go of you in order to cap a bottle of scotch to carry as she guides you with the other back to your couch.

You curl in with her on the cushions. Trading the bottle back and forth. The silence of your home cuts only when your mind whirs back to life, and you're ranting your thoughts at her again. In turn, Melissa just pulls you closer to her each time, humming the confirmation of her listening.

Eventually, you end up laying down with Mel on your couch, tangled up together beneath the throw blanket. You raise your head, blinking at your wife for a few moments. You're definitely drunk. Even still, you think she's the most beautiful woman you've seen. “You're family, y’know? The kind everybody in this damn neighborhood wants to keep talkin’ ‘bout. That you do anything for. Nothin’ else above it, all that. It's you and the girls. That's it. The rest of ‘em can get fucked.”

#melissa schemmenti fanfiction #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x you #abbott elementary fanfiction

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simp4konig · 8 months

Text

"Can I sit here?" König X Gender-neutral Reader

Word count: 3060

*Part one?

*Slow burn?

*Strangers to Friends (to Lovers?)

Not decidedany of those yet 😶

Edited on 23/8/2023 for some grammar tweaks.

*!!Fanfic inspired by @theeggrollslord's drawing on Twitter!! I really wanted to use their art as the cover for this fanfic, but due to me not having an Twitter (or X 🤮) account, and not knowing whether the original artist consents to people reposting their art, I held back. 😿 If anyone knows whether they are able to give me permission or are cool with it, please let me know!! ☺️

*Author has played MW1 + 2... but not the newest reimagines. 😭 all I remember from the campaign is that Shepherd shot Ghost in the face,but in NO way did he look as fine as he does now ☠️☠️

*Author does NOT speak German... but can use Google Translate !!😊

As is customary with all foreigners, English is not my first language!. Pls do not bully me if my grammar is bad i will cry 😢

König sat by himself in the cafeteria.

Three sausages, a spoonful of beans, and two eggs alongside a 500ml water bottle were all that consisted of his daily breakfast. Hash browns would be served raw, and the bagels were solid enough to break teeth when bitten into. He didn't even want to consider the sandwiches, as their stale, stinking cheese and slick ham made him gag. A pity that they didn't serve Bratwurst or order authentic — hell, even half-decent — eggs, as the meat in his sausages tasted out of date and the yolks were a dull yellow. The beans weren't even Heinz.

Looking at the cheap slop on his tray made him lose his appetite. At least the water was drinkable, but its taste was peculiar at best.

König sighed.

Every day "eating" the same breakfast, sitting in the same spot, at the same time.

To say that he enjoyed the routine of the barracks would be an overstatement, as he felt oppressed by the monotony: rigorous and thorough briefings pre-missions; intense training three times a day; shooting drills and target practice right after the sun barely opened its eye or into late hours of the evening when it was hard to see. Yet he couldn't complain, and forced himself to appreciate the predictable structure of the barracks.

After all, routine meant safety.

Knowing the details of the misson and the intel required guaranteed a flawless operation. Knowing how exactly to eliminate an opponent in any given situation meant that it made the job even easier. Knowing when to dive for cover to avoid a rain of bullets and the rumbling thunder of machine guns in an active shootout equalled survival.

And knowing that you intimidated everyone on base at least made social interactions easier. All of these extended his life expectancy, yet by how much was anyone's guess.

Being a 6'10 wall of a pure muscle made him the perfect human bulldozer, and paired with his animalistic instincts taking over while on the battlefield, he struck fear in even his own teammates.

Most of the time, König didn't even need to use a gun, as he could snap an enemy's neck faster than they could blink; and, even if they could do that, they wouldn't be able to react fast enough as he manhandled their body like a rag doll and snapped their spine in half over his knee. Quick and easy kills. Other times, frantic stabs in the abdomen, chest or neck finished with a harsh cut of the throat sufficed when sneaking, and allowed him to release any pent of frustration he felt that he wouldn't have been able to relieve through strangulation alone.

Yet, all of the time, seeing König's brutality first-hand made his teammates lose their balance and struggle to collect themselves during the mission, fearing that he would turn to indiscriminately killing anyone that had the misfortune of entering his field of vision. Compared to König's animalistic instincts taking over in an active firefight and causing bloodshed, his allies putting down enemies with a bullet to the head seemed merciful, and even kind.

Unlike friendships, killing people was easy. Keeping good relations with people was difficult enough for König to begin with — with his first hurdle being his social anxiety, and the hurdle of others being getting used to his frightening exterior — and it grew more and more into a challenge as he moved up the ranks, until his position as Colonel made him feared, not respected. People avoided his eyes, and kept conversations to a minimum, bowing their heads in fear, not respect.

After witnessing him maul enemies like a feral animal, König walking down the barracks had people scuttling away like rats in opposite directions, a horde of people dissipating in an instant. Crowded rooms with rowdy laughter suddenly were brought to silence once he made the mistake of entering, with people speaking in hushed whispers or not even speaking at all, opting to escape before their colonel addressed them.

Truth of the matter was, König never wanted to be a colonel. He'd had rather been the one receiving orders than the one making them, as his social anxiety in front of innumerable pairs of expectant eyes put pressure on him in the moment and made it near impossible to let a single word out.

He was not a natural born leader: he knew it, everyone knew it; but he kept his position solely due to his ruthlessness in action and his cold efficiency, as there was no one like him that could come close to imitating his behaviour.

Then, to say that he enjoyed the daily routine of life in the barracks was a stretch to say the least. The thrill of killing on missions and the primal adrenaline that took over his veins and clouded his senses could not be more of a contrast to this boredom and overwhelming isolation on base: of every day sitting in the same damned spot; of every day pretending to eat the same damned food; and, of every damned day being avoided by the other operators to be at a peace he was forced to accept, whether he liked it or not. What a miserable life to live.

The beans on his plate looked menacing, and he had the urge to crush each one individually until they'd stop sneering at him so, as being judged by off-brand beans was running his patience thin. Yet, he wouldn't do that, as everyone else would view him as not only a brute but a mentally unstable lunatic who was now using food scraps as an outlet for his temper; so, he resorted to just picking at the rations instead. His head was in his palm, and his gaze went elsewhere, his pale blue eyes drooping.

So engrossed in absentmindly pushing the beans on his tray with his fork and contemplating what went wrong with him that he did not hear the footsteps walking towards him.

You cleared your throat. "E-excuse me, sir, but can I sit here?"

König looked up, and saw a young recruit hovering over him with a small brown paper bag in their hands. Your face was one he hadn't seen before around here, and you weren't in the standard military uniform, so he assumed that you were perhaps a groundsperson of sorts.

Your ignorance of him was probably the only reason you dared approach him, as any other person would have avoided his table at all costs and gotten whiplash from how quickly they'd turn their head the other way. However, he was glad that he didn't intimidate everyone that encountered him, and was internally thanking you for giving him a chance. Some hope.

Feeling uncomfortable under his scrutinising stare, you tugged the collar of your t-shirt and struggle for words.

"S-sorry," you begun, sheepishly looking down at the floor. A rub of the neck and a shuffling of feet. "It's just... all of the other tables are crowded, and I don't know anyone here well. And yours—" You looked at him, shooting him a lopsided grin, "—yours is empty."

"I understand," he stated, before looking back down at the mush on his tray. "Not a problem."

You gulped, feeling like he was dismissing you, and beginning to regret approaching him. "Are you sure, sir? I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable."

Look at you, he thought, so thoughtful over his feelings. When was the last time anyone bothered to ask him how he felt, or treated him like a human being?

"Ja. I am sure."

Still standing, unsure as to how to interpret the tone of his statement, you shot him a shy smile and sat down at a reasonable distance from the man, beginning to unpack the contents of your bag.

König kept stealing glances of you from under his eyebrows, trying to be discreet. Although he actually was uncomfortable — not used to company in the slightest, especially with someone so polite and courteous — he was oddly drawn to you.

He was thankful that you were oblivious to his status around these parts, and he wanted to leave a decent first impression on you before you finally overheard the true rumours about him, and paid attention to how quiet the cafeteria had gotten now that you two were sat together.

The thing was, he didn't know where to begin.

Communication was not his strong suit. He mused over potential ways of starting a conversation, yet not only had he never been faced with a situation like this, the language barrier was ever so present. Perhaps if he could speak to you in German he'd be able to formulate his thoughts better, yet at the moment it felt like all his knowledge of English seemingly evaporated in an instant.

"You prepared well your breakfast," he stated plainly, angling for any kind of small talk. He internally cringed at the order of those words and how wrong that sentence sounded in his voice, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

An awkward smile. "—W-wow. Thank you, sir!"

König felt his chest tighten, but he didn't know why.

"My first day on base I had the misfortune of being served breakfast," you continued, "so, from then on I decided right then and there "never again". The food—" you laughed weakly, "—sure is something."

"Du hast recht," agreed König. "I mean... You are right. If I had a dog, I never would feed it this— these... scraps."

You could sense König hungrily devouring your food with his eyes. Although he tried to be subtle, he was not good at going unnoticed. Really, stealing glances of this behemonth in front of you, you kind of pitied the man, especially when the next edible meal would be in precisely 5 hours. With his breakfast beaten and bruised into an unrecognisable pulp, it was definitely too late for him to consume.

Mourning your sandwiches, you silently bid them farewell and took a deep breath:

"Well, sir. I would assume that you're hungry." You took out the contents from your bag and slid them in front of him, smiling meekly. "You can have my breakfast."

He looked down at your two sandwiches and his eyes visibly widened under his hood; four thick slices of sourdough bread, a generous slather of butter, cheese, rocket lettuce, and thinly sliced pieces of meat, topped with tomatoes, and most likely seasoned with spring onion and pepper.

They looked so appetising, and he felt his mouth salivate, yet he shook his head vehemently. "Nein! Ich sollte das nicht tun, nicht, wenn du dich so sehr bemüht hast!"

You tilted your head in confusion. König mentally facepalmed.

"I-I mean... you tried very hard, and it isn't right of me. They are yours."

You waved a dismissive hand. "Honestly, you need them more than me. Have them."

"Einer wird ausreichen," He shook his head again, and picked up one slowly. "One will be enough."

He reached over to take one and you looked at him expectantly, patiently waiting for him to take a bite and give you his thoughts, yet it hit you. He was wearing his mask. He probably wouldn't eat in front of you.

A cough. "S-sorry. I'll look away while you eat it. Tell me what you think about it."

König practically shoved the entire thing in his mouth the moment your back faced him and and started choking. He saw you turning back to assist, but he raised a weak hand to stop you.

Getting over his coughing fit, he could finally appreciate the freshness and the flavour of the sandwich. It tasted of... nostalgia. Like the sandwiches his Mama would make for him after school to reassure him and to take his mind off the day's events. He felt like a young boy again. When he closed his eyes, for a split-second he imagined he was in the kitchen with his mother chatting energetically, taking his plate and ruffling his hair when he had finished and feeding him another, insisting that he "was a growing boy".

"So köstlich..." he said, and was disappointed to see that the sandwich was gone from his hands, already eaten. "Mein gott, that was perfekt. A sandwich of the Gods."

You turned around and you were beaming so brightly that König swore he would need to shield his eyes from the sight.

"Thank you so much! You don't know how happy that makes me."

You looked at him, your smile unwavering. "Do you know what would make me happier?"

He gave you a blank look. "...No?"

"If you ate the other one," you said, and König's eyes widened comically. "Though, please, be careful. Sandwiches can sure be a choking hazard," you dared tease him, and was actually surprised when he let out a quiet chuckle.

After savouring his second sandwich, the two of you were quiet. Although the tension had evaporated, the silence was deafening, and you felt suffocated by the lack of conversation.

"Uhm... Sir. What is your name?" A hesitant start, your hands folded neatly in your lap. "If it isn't too much of a personal question, of course."

He deliberated for a few moments, before responding with a quiet "König."

"König," you repeated, making sure to pronounce it properly. Your eyes widened in realisation, and you smiled broadly. "That's King, in German, right? That's so funny, because I go by King!"

König froze up like a statue.

"Holy fucking shit, what are the chances?" You rambled, not realising how quiet König had become. "Honestly, what are we doing here? Where are our castles, our riches? Our chariots led by silver horses and our toilets made of 24 carat gold?"

König shrugged stiffly. "Blown up by a grenade, I suppose."

You looked at him, dumbfounded, then burst into laughter. Like, fits of giggles, too many of them and too strong for his unbelievably dry response. Maybe that's why you were laughing so hard.

Either way, König couldn't believe it at first.

It was so... beautiful. Almost angelic in a way, despite you holding yourself up with a palm on the table and unable to contain your pig-like snorts. He could get used to hearing you laugh more often.

And, just like that, he dropped his guard. Slowly, all of his stiffness melted, and he became more of his confident self, this trait only ever coming out when he was actively shooting.

The two of you spent the entire length of breakfast chatting, joking, and telling each other things about each other. Although König insisted that his English wasn't good, you assured him that you understood him just fine — if anything, his confused looks and furrowed eyebrows at idioms you used were adorably endearing, each time earning a sympathetic giggle from you.

At some point — and though he would've been ashamed to admit it — he tuned out the babbling that came out of your mouth as he admired your face, noting all of your features: the colour of your eyes and how they'd crinkle in happiness whenever you smiled; the way your hair flowed and framed your face; taking the time to count all of the freckles on your nose and committing the number to memory.

He'd only catch himself staring when you'd suddenly finish talking. "But what do I know, I'm kind of stupid if you ask me. It's a wonder I passed the tests to qualify for this job in the first place."

You locked eyes with him, interested in hearing what he had to say. "What do you think, König? I bet you know the answer!"

To which he'd quickly clear his throat and respond with, "Ich weiß nicht. I don't know. To be... frank, though that is strange for me to say when I am not "Frank"—"

You struggled to struggle to contain your laughter, and quickly apologized as soon as you stopped shaking, before attempting to explain to this clueless Austrian man why it was used. König didn't feel demeaned by your explanation, though, as he thought that his blunders would be worth it every time if it meant hearing you laugh so sweetly.

To König's dismay, half an hour flew by in minutes, and it was time to part ways as you began your daily duties.

As the two of you stood up, you initially had realised that König was taller than the average man based off how his knees could barely fit under the table.

You sure as fuck did not expect to see this.

He towered over you, casting a shadow down below. You had to strain your neck to make eye contact with him, and a painful cramp was already forming.

"Ha—ha.... you're pretty, uh... big."

That statement had more than one connotation. Gott sei Dank für diese Maske, he thought. Thank God for this mask, otherwise you would have seen the blush from his neck up to his ears after his mind went to a place he hadn't thought it'd go, especially not with a person he had formally met not even an hour ago.

"Oh well, I can finally put those 4-inch combat boots in the bottom of my closet to good use," you laughed, playfully nudging what meant to be his shoulder but your height difference meant that you instead touched his pec. Not that you minded though.

With your arms behind your back, you shyly averted your gaze. "Well... It was nice to meet you, König."

"You too... King."

Furrowing of brows as you tilted your head. "How do you say it in German? "Auf Wiedersehen"?"

"Ja, das ist es."

"Well then, Auf Wiedersehen, big guy. I'll see you around!"

Big guy... In more ways than one...

God. König had to get a grip.

Yet, with the way he was looking at your backside and fantasizing about your next meeting, he already knew that not even Gott could help him.

...

Note: I HATE this fucking fanfiction WITH MY SOUL 🤬🤬. This fucking thing was NEARLY FINISHED and I was in the process of tweaking yet my phone decided to erase half of my progress !!!! 😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡

My phone 📵 and God 🤬 didn't want this fanfiction getting published yet guess what!!! 🖕🖕🖕🖕Fuck you!!!🖕🖕🖕 Ive gotten it out anyways🗣️ fucking shaved a decade off of my life trying to recovervthe opening part of this fic,,

,,,,literally why did I get punished for writing a very mild and unextreme fanfic 😭😭😭😭 like the first half was just in Königs perspective and Ur telling me that i can't do that?????

I mf get fucking crucified like Jesus on the cross, only this time I sarcificed my sleep and sanity to not be ressurected again,, bitch I would have rather died if I had known tjis would happen ☠️☠️ I could have actually SLEPT?!! 🤬🛌

Never again writing fanfictiosn on my phone, I can't trust this evil technology!! I'm gonna draft them with PEN and PAPER bitch!!!! Typewriter!!!!!!!! Chalk On Pavement™!!!!!!!!!!!! PERMANENT MARKER ON MY FOREHEAD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

...

If you read this rant of mine, I hope you have a lovely day/night, beautiful person. <33 (please wash your eyes after reading that,,I needed to release my anger somrjow don't judge me hhhhhhhHHHH—)

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oh-goddess-of-chaos · 1 year

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⠀ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑 – 𝐣. 𝐝. 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ✧‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ (navi. & masterlist. & tag. )

「 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 」 yandere!jason dean 𝒙 female!reader

「 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 」 being the new girl at a school can be difficult, especially during the middle of the year and in a place with a rigid social structure such as westerburg high, but things can only seem to worsen when you start feeling as though you're being watched.

「 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 」 general themes from heathers the movie such as bullying, mentions of suicide, murder (c'mon, it's a heathers fic, what did u expect?), usage of guns, kissing, stalking, attempted rape (kurt n' ram), swearing , usage of drugs such as cigarettes, unconsensual kissing (doesn't get further than that in this), very slight insinuations to sex (spoken), the whole shebang.

「 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 」 4.5k

「 𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐧'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 .⁺ ˖ �� (slight spoilers) i wanted to make the reader decently perceptive and sarcastic this one, but nearing the end i definitely made her rationality kinda disappear since that's what fear can do to a person. jd is more based off movie jd, and so is veronica.

Joining a new school midway through the school year was, to say the least, unideal.

You and your parents had just gotten the wonderful opportunity to move to the quaint town of Sherwood, Ohio, somewhere you all were essentially forced to go since your father had been promoted by his job and your family was strapped for cash. And, sure, your house was bigger and nicer than your last, but you'd had to leave all your friends you'd been with since your childhood, which was difficult.

To add to all of that, the people were unfriendly and rude, and the weather was tolerable at best. Though your old home wasn't perfect by any means, it was most certainly better than where you were living now.

And now, here you were, standing before your new high school, knowing perfectly nothing about it or what to expect yet still expecting it to be one of the worst schools you've gone to. The odd stares your fellow students were shooting you seemed to be indicative of that.

Oh, good grief.

You sighed as you entered, only to immediately crinkle your nose in disgust as you were hit with the pleasant aroma of sweaty jocks and what you could only guess were something akin to rotting bodies. Speak of the devil, you thought to yourself as you were almost hit by what you guessed were two football players dashing down the hallways.

This was going to be a long rest of the year.

You were quick to shove past the students to get to the front office, keen on getting your class schedule and getting to your class as early as you could. You'd only just gotten here and yet already you wanted to go home, though you supposed that that was how high school normally operated. It was never something anyone particularly enjoyed. Most people just managed to tolerate it enough to attend the next day.

"Hello, I'm looking to get my schedule?" You said once you'd reached your destination, crossing your arms as you stared at the woman at the front desk. Focused upon her own work, she offered you no response. You pursed your lips.

"Excuse me?" You spoke, louder this time, a hint of annoyance in your voice.

Apparently you weren't the only one unhappy to be at Westerburg high today, as the woman, seemingly irked, slowly craned her head to face you. "Yes?"

She seemed an unpleasant sort of woman, a frown etched permanently upon her wrinkled face. You wondered what the other teachers must look like, and if they resembled her by any means.

"This is my first day here. I need my class schedule."

"Name?"

"Y/n L/n."

The woman nodded and typed something into her computer. She then pointed to the printer. "Wait over there. Your class schedule is printing right now. Once it's finished, just go to your first class. The class numbers are listed on the right side."

"Well, is anyone going the help me find my way around?"

Your question was only met with silence. "Fine, I'll find it on my own. After all, why would I ever need the help of a teacher, anyway? It's not like I'm new to this school or anything." You grumbled before grabbing your schedule and exiting.

Luckily, navigating the school was a relatively simple task. The numbers on every door and the maps plastered on the walls definitely helped, and you were able to find your history class before the bell rang.

"Here's your textbook, Ms. L/n." The teacher said to you the moment you told her your name. Silently, you nodded, deciding to take a seat somewhere in the middle of the classroom as you waited for class to begin.

Something seemed off, though, as the lecture began and you jotted down nearly everything you heard. You could sense eyes boring into the back of your skull, like daggers piercing through your mind, and it inhibited your focus. You could hardly pay any attention to the teacher as she went on and on about some war you didn't even know the name of. And so, discreetly enough, you 'grabbed' something from you bag, staring over your shoulder briefly in an attempt to see if anyone really was watching you.

And, as it seemed, someone was. You managed to spot them - or him, to be more specific. Uncannily dark eyes stared back at you, blank and hollow. It made your stomach sink. Quickly, then, you retrieved an object from your school bag and continued with your notes to the best of your abilities. Unfortunately, though, you couldn't get that kid's sharp gaze out of your mind. Something about it - something about him - was off, though you couldn't quite place what it was. And, sure, from what you could see he dressed somewhat oddly - a dark trench coat adorning his shoulders, covering his already black pants and shirt - but it was more than just the way he was dressed. You knew it.

You gave up on the matter minutes after you were done with US History. As much as you were curious at the time, you could care less if some creep was watching you. It wasn't like you didn't have your fair share of those back at your old school - you just supposed that they didn't seem so outward about it. After all, you'd stared at that kid - caught him right in the act, but he didn't look away, didn't flinch, just kept staring. Looking back on it, you were convinced that you'd caught the glimpse of some sort of smile. But, as you'd mentioned, what was done was done. You'd only have to deal with him for 45 minutes every day for the rest for the year, at worst.

Sighing, you dropped your bag beside you as you sat down on one of the sticky cafeteria benches, secluded from everyone else. Although you knew you could've tried to make friends during your classes, you were aware of the truth about social politics in high school: halfway through the year, friendships were already sealed airtight and people were much less open to saying 'hi' to a new face, so you didn't even bother. And, sure, the seating was horrible, but you weren't about to make a fool of yourself, especially on your first day.

The food at Westerburg High was - albeit surprisingly - quite alright, and you found yourself somewhat enjoying it. Disregarding the horrible smell and the violently loud chatter, you supposed the cafeteria and lunch as a whole was okay.

That was, at least, until you caught sight of that kid who'd been staring at you in history. You hadn't even noticed he was there at first, but there he was, halfway across the cafeteria, staring blatantly right at you. This time, though, he was just smiling - smirking, even, and it unnerved you.

What is wrong with this guy?

The rest of the week went by like this. On your way to class, you'd always see him in the halls, eyes locking with yours as you passed him. Or getting your books from your locker - he'd always be there, eyes glued to your form. He wasn't even doing anything, was simply fixated on you. It made you shiver, the looks he gave you at first.

Now, however, it was almost expected. You'd anticipate dark eyes boring into your skull and the fumes of cigars to follow you in class, or truly just anywhere around school, just as you would expect your shadow to follow you in the sunlight. And, as annoying as it was the every first day, now it was eerie. You didn't have to look over your shoulder to know you were being watched, but when you did, you'd surely freeze out of both paranoia and fear. While, yes, you'd expected this year of high school to be your worst yet, never had you expected for it to be to such an extent.

Your fear later festered when he pulled a blank on two jocks in the cafeteria. Although you knew blanks couldn't truly hurt them, you shuddered to think what he'd do if he really wanted to cause some damage.

Things got worse still when the kid started dating the infamous Veronica Sawyer, not quite a Heather but not quite anything else either. Gossip around the school grew mad about the unconventional couple, and you soon learned the name of the kid who never did seem to leave you alone: Jason Dean, or 'J. D.' as everyone knew him.

Now, whenever you'd see J. D., he'd always be accompanied by his girlfriend, Veronica. He never did stop staring, though, resulting in numerous glares coming from Veronica's way.

So much for being tolerated by the popular crowd.

School had then became a living hell for you, because if one Heather didn't like you, none of them did, making life going unnoticed near impossible. Now, no matter where you were, someone was either glaring or gazing at you, their intentions vague and unclear.

Things then got particularly bad when Heather Chandler became a sort of enemy of yours. You weren't sure what you did to irk specifically her, but, whatever it was that you did, she most certainly hated you, more so than Veronica, even. Not a day went by without a rude confrontation by her, and you could name several instances when she'd embarrassed you in front of the school.

But then, one day, she was gone.

Suicide. At least, that's what they said it was, but you knew too many people hated that bitch for it to be so. All it would take was a teenager driven insane enough by her to be driven to such a point, and considering the state of Westerburg high, you didn't doubt for a moment that the queen bee of the school essentially prompted her own death.

So, yeah. You knew her suicide was faked. Not that you were going to report it to the cops - you weren't planning on stirring up more drama - but you weren't stupid enough to be fooled by such a thing. And, besides, though you'd never admit it aloud, you were glad she was dead, in an odd way. Now you had at least one less person to make your life at this sorry school miserable.

So, life was okay for a while. People got too busy about mourning Heather's death to notice a nobody like you. Other than that creep J. D. and his jealous girlfriend stalking the halls, life was tolerable.

But when you're at the top, the only way you can go is down. And that's where you went. Down. All the way to rock bottom.

You didn't know how to put it in lighter terms, so here it was: You were almost raped. By Kurt and Ram, to be more exact.

Apparently, J. D. wasn't the only one who had an eye on you, and with all your attention focused on him (since you were so damn paranoid) you'd failed to notice the two jocks that also seemed to have been interested by you.

It was late at night. You were walking home from some house you'd babysat at as a favor, and two guys started following you. You didn't think much of it at first - just tried to forget about it and cool your nerves, but then they started to get faster, and faster, and you did too, until suddenly you were running, and then, almost abruptly, the two jocks had grabbed your arms and startled forcing you elsewhere. You screamed and fought, but no one was around to hear you.

You could only imagine the other 'nobodies' they must have done this to.

You remembered vividly your horror as the two piled themselves on top of you, eager to rip your clothes off. But, just as they were about to do so, a gun shot rang out, and then another. Frozen in terror, you didn't even move as you felt the boys' bodies go limp over you. You were only able to move when you felt a hand grab onto your own and force you up and get you back on your feet.

"Thank you," you barely managed to sputter out once the initial shock wore off.

"Go," is all the figure replied. A man, you presumed. You couldn't see his face, though, covered by the dark lighting. And so, dazed and confused, you obliged, not thinking twice about the words spoken to you.

The next day, though, was when things truly got out of hand.

Kurt and Ram, supposedly, had died in some gay love pact, wherein they killed each other. Hearing the news over the TV your parents played, you felt sick to your stomach. But, there they lied on the screen, a bag of supposed 'homosexual artifacts' and a suicide note to tie it all together.

And the whole town ate the story up.

You didn't go to school for about the next week or so. You told your parents that you were sick, and even though they knew you weren't, they still called in sick for you, able to detect that you weren't exactly feeling well mentally.

The week of repose was good, too. You were able to gather yourself up, not to the point where you didn't fear what could have happen had your savior not came to the rescue, but to the point where you could suppose that you were grateful that you wouldn't have to answer any questions from the police.

But now, at least for now, you knew you'd be safe.

* * *

You let out a soft sigh as you landed on your bed, curling into your warm sheets as a way of seeking comfort. At least you were safe and secure at home, you supposed, your parents only a relatively quiet yell away and your windows locked for good measure. If school was your hell, then you would consider home your heaven, away from the Heathers, away from J. D., away from everyone.

Turning off your light, you sank into your pillow in a desperate sort of way, clinging to it as if it were your lifeline. You'd hardly been getting sufficient sleep within the past weeks, so it didn't take long for you to fall into oblivion, the abyss of sleep consuming you whole in minutes.

So deeply unaware of your surrounding now, you didn't even hear quiet footsteps entering your bedroom.

J. D. was, to say the least, unsure what made him drawn to you in the first place. Maybe it was your calm and uncaring demeanor, or maybe it was the way you seemed to pick up on things through simple observation so easily, similarly to him. Whatever it was, he most certainly found you interesting. And, somehow, he could simply tell that there was something different about you - something like him that he saw in you, and it intrigued him to no end.

No matter how paranoid you were, you were never completely aware of J. D.'s reach in your life. When he'd watch you when you were at home, he'd remain particularly clever, knowing that if he was caught there was a high chance that he'd get into some really deep shit. Staring at a girl in school every day was one thing, but following her home? That was much more serious, and required a much less conspicuous plan.

But, alas, his plan paid off, and J. D. smiled knowingly as he stared at your vulnerable figure, taken over by a much needed sleep. You simply looked so perfectly innocent like that, something he couldn't wait to ruin once he had the chance.

J. D. laughed euphorically as he continued to just stare at you, unsure if he still had his wits about him but uncaring at the very same time. Perhaps all the cigars he had been smoking really were getting to him. But he knew what he needed to do before he brought you with him. So, quietly, resisting the urge to kiss your pristine lips, J. D. raced out of your bedroom, your door that was previously shut left open behind him.

Unfortunately for him, however, he'd forgotten that you were often a light sleeper that woke up at different intervals in the night, so when a particularly cool gust of wind came in through your open window, you were startled awake.

"What the fuck?" You muttered under your breath as you drowsily peeled your eyes open, squinting them as you stood up to close the window, before pausing and wondering how on earth your window had opened. After all, your parents never came into your room late at night as far as you were concerned, and you had locked your window when you'd fallen asleep, so how could it have opened?

It was at that very moment, too, that the faint smell of smoke wafted through the room, and you froze.

Sure, you knew you were paranoid, and that maybe fear had gotten the better of you, but you also knew that a potentially dangerous kid had been staring at you ever since you got to school and that it would be idiotic for you to assume that he had no malicious intentions.

Your stomach then tightened up once you noticed your open bedroom door. So, yes. It was possible that maybe your assumptions were idiotic, but you'd be a fool to not go with your gut when the most it'd cost you was some short-lived embarrassment, especially considering what could have happened with Kurt and Ram. So, quietly, you exited your bedroom, looking down the hallways of the upstairs floor as to reassure that the coast was clear.

It was.

More silently than you've ever done so before, then, you tip-toed to your parents bedroom, hoping to either alert them of an intruder or ask them what the were doing. But, just as you were about to open their door, footsteps were heard on the other side - not your mother's quiet, considerate ones, nor your father's loud, heavy ones, but a different kind.

Fuck.

As fast as you could, you dashed into the nearest room, leaving the door only just barely open as to not allow it to make any sound. From your parent's room exited a dark silhouette, wearing what you guessed was a trench coat and with only the burning edge of a cigarette as a light source plucked between two fingers.

You were right. You were fucking right. No other than Jason Dean was in your house, and right now, he was heading right for your bedroom, most likely intending to kill.

You needed to think fast.

My parents - right, my parents. They keep a gun in their bedroom.

You were shaking. Yes, your parents showed you were they kept the gun in the case of an emergency, but you'd never been taught how to use it.

As quietly as you could, you dashed over to your parents bedroom, closing the door behind you. And, even though you knew you didn't have the time, you took a moment to catch your breath. God, you couldn't breathe. And neither could your parents, as it seemed, when you looked over at their limp corpses sprawled in the bed. Slowly, you retracted the covers from their bodies, only to find a wet pool of blood that lay beneath them and their slit throats.

They were dead. J. D. had fucking killed your parents. You felt your knees buckle underneath you as you caressed your mother's lifeless face, her eyes never to once again open.

"Mom..." You whimpered, not caring if her blood stained your fingers. But then, you paused, realizing that, if you didn't speed up, you could be next.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! I really need to find a weapon or a way out of here. I only have so much time before he finds me.

You suppressed a scream as you then scoured their bedroom in search of the gun safe, not keen on wasting any more time, but to your dismay, you couldn't find it.

They must have moved it from last year - fuck! - what else could they have?

Your eyes then landed on your father's esteemed baseball bat. You'd remember him talking about it, the pride radiating from him as he explained how it was the first bat he used to hit a home run with in high school.

Well, sorry dad.

Picking up what was now a weapon and placing it in such a way that would allow you to swing at a moment's notice, you slowly sauntered out of your parent's bedroom and into the hallway.

Your blood ran colder and colder as you approached your bedroom door, until, finally, you did, and raised the baseball bat even higher as to deliver the hardest blow on the boy that stood before you.

"You know, it would have probably been better if you'd stayed hiding," you then heard J. D. speak, turning around and raising an eyebrow at the bat in you hands. "You know, that isn't going to do much against a gun."

Time seemed to stop, and all you could stare at was the gun that sat loosely in J. D.'s hand. He was going to fucking kill you.

"Oh, don't worry, I'm not going to use it on you," he then reassured coyly, as if reading your mind. "It's just a necessary... precaution. Now, why don't place the bat down so we can talk."

"I could scream."

J. D. seemed to smile at this and clicked his tongue, as if scolding you. "Now, would you really like to have someone else's blood on your hands like that? Just because I'm not going to shoot you doesn't mean I won't shoot anyone else. It'd be a shame if anyone had to die because of you."

Silence.

"Good, now... place the bat down."

Nodding, you complied, slowly placing your only means of defence on the ground.

"Okay, okay," you mumbled, trying to calm your racing heart down. Though you doubted it, you supposed that there was a chance that, if you could calm down enough, you could convince J. D. to leave you alive.

J. D. grinned. "Now, darling, why don't you come right here."

If you could've moved, you most certainly would've. After all, you'd seen that gun in J. D.'s hand. You knew what it could do. But you were frozen by fear, and no amount of rationality was going to move you.

"Now, this would all be, uh, a lot easier if you'd just come with me, because I'd hate to have to man-handle - " J. D.'s words cut short as he watched you, nearly stunned, as you bolted past him and towards the window. But he was quick to recoup his bearings, cocking the gun (for good measure) and grab onto your leg, successfully dragging you towards the ground. You grunted in pain upon your head slamming against the hardwood floor, the beginnings of a bruise already starting to appear.

Now only partially unconscious, it took you a long while to notice the tongue now prying apart your mouth and the chapped lips pressed against your own. You'd only really noticed when you realized that you couldn't breathe, and you let out a strangled groan as you tried to detach yourself from the figure above you, but to no avail. J. D. merely slid his tongue deeper down your throat, inhibiting you from screaming or making any other noise as he kissed you roughly.

You thrashed and flailed under his touch, but nothing was enough to free yourself from him. He was faster, stronger, and had the firearm in this situation. You stood no chance. So, with a heavy heart, you moved pliantly underneath J. D.'s touch, hoping he'd at least go a little easier on you at the very least.

And then, with bated breath, you observed as he stopped, and, hovering above you, took something out of his pocket. At first, fearing it was a gun, you began to once again fight against him, but then paused upon not recognizing the silhouette of the object in his hand.

"You know, as much as I'd like to continue this, I did come here for a reason." J. D. stared at you, no ounce of sympathy as he spoke his next words. "You know, it'd have been a hell of a lot easier if you'd just fucking stayed asleep."

Without so much as a moment to respond, a wet rag was forced upon your face. Confused at first, you lied still, before realizing what it must have been drenched it. You were now even more urgent in your fighting of J. D. (if that was even possible), punching and kicking him wherever you could. But he didn't budge, simply kept a firm grip on the rag.

"Shhh, it's fine, I won't hurt ya," he reassured, "Not unless I need to, of course."

But you didn't hear him, your consciousness already slipping as you'd only been half conscious before. You were trying to kick free, but already you were so exhausted, your adrenaline already beginning to ware off. Worse still, J. D.'s words of reassurance that you'd be fine and that everything will be alright were starting to mess with you.

You could hear him talking, but the words were muffled and blurred, and your body seemed to take everything in as if it were truth, because it was already relaxing under his cool touch. And it seemed that, the more fearful your mind grew, the more numb your body became, until, finally, you gave up your thrashing and your fighting, and sunk into J. D. harsh embrace willingly.

Upon your figure going limp, a devilish grin spread across J. D.'s face. Though he knew this was not how things were meant to occur, he was simply so happy - for he finally had you in his arms, where you belonged. And then, unable to help himself, he pressed a hungry kiss on your mouth, pleased to hear a muffled moan escape it as your tongue moved submissively under his own.

This was it! Finally - finally, after waiting for so long, you belonged to him. No more were the days when he'd have to watch you through your bedroom window, or the days where all he'd see of you were your paranoid eyes in the hallways, because, finally, here you were, in his arms, where you belonged!

Here you were at last, finally.

Finally, you were his and only his.

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kiddbegins · 3 months

Text

Closed Off - Will Halstead

requested: yes

word count: 2,231

warnings: nothing really, just cute, closed off reader i guess?

a/n: i apologize if this isn't written well?? i cant tell-

Masterlist

“You’re a lot different under the sheets, aren’t you?” “How so?” “…You’re way softer, I like this side of you.”

When you started working at Chicago Med, you swore that you would just live your life there as a doctor and that was that. No romances, no mingling of any sort. As minimal talk of your personal life as possible.

You wanted to leave that part of you back in New York and let Chicago be completely detached. As well as not letting your coworkers into your inner circle. And so far it had been working. Most of the people you worked with knew you were self reserved, respected that.

Including one Will Halstead but he really couldn’t get past the fact it drew him in even more than any sort of mystery usually would. Seriously, how could he just ignore that the new beautiful doctor at the hospital had so much hidden behind a brick wall.

He of course respected your want to privacy, but that didn’t stop him from conveniently going to the vending machine at the same time as you, offering up any sort of light conversation he could. Simply wanting to offer out his attention and want to at least be friends.

And in all honesty, you found it cute. That he cared, if that was even the right word to use, to try and let you hunker down in this city. To know that you had each and every person in this hospital to lean on regardless of what you tried to shut out.

Usually you would just brush him off, but today was… decently hard. You had no real way to save this mother and you had to tell her family that. So you decided on grabbing something to try and calm yourself down. Some chips.

As always, Will followed you, leaning against the side of the machine with a slight grin. “Hey, what kind you getting?” He waited, knowing if you were going to reply it wouldn’t be right away. And he was right.

With a sigh, you looked up at him, “Salt and vinegar.” Short and bluntly, leaning down to grab the bag out of the bottom, sucking in a breath before going to go around him. As if he could tell, Will turned with you.

“Hey, wait. You alright?” His hand went to your arm, something that usually wouldn’t have made you stop but for some reason you did, gripping the small bag of chips in your hands. Genuinely you didn’t know if it was the bad day getting to you or what but you shook your head.

Will frowned slightly, pushing past the surprise that you actually spoke to him, “Do you wanna talk about it? Maybe I could help?” He offered, you nodding faintly. If it meant even possibly coming up with something to help your patient you’d do it.

“Yeah, my patient, she’s sick and I can’t save her. She’s past the point of chemo and everything so,” You paused faintly. “I don’t really know what to do.” Something you didn’t admit lightly.

You were good at your job, cold shoulder or not. And honestly, one of the highest success rates of doctors in the ED, only topped by Dr. Choi. “Let me take a look at her and her papers and I’ll see if I can find anything. New eyes and all.” He once more offered.

Part of you was ashamed of the help but you brushed it off. Will managed to find something and by the end of the day, she was on a new treatment plan that was hopefully going to get her home before the holidays.

Later that night, when shift was about to end, you went into the break room, not looking for Will, but bumping into him was actually alright. “Hey, Halstead.” He lifted his head towards you with a hum of acknowledgement. “I just wanted to say an actual thank you for today.” You paused, actually feeling a bit nervous speaking up.

“I’m glad I could help. Always nice to see a parent make it home to their family.” Will shrugged his jacket on, watching as you still stood there, hands clasped together, “Was there something else?””

With how quickly you usually split from any sort of conversation it was odd that you didn’t with him, at least not now. “Well, I was uh, gonna see if you’d let me get you a drink.” Will’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Because honestly, I don’t think I could have handled losing that mother today.” You rolled your tongue against your cheek nervously.

He nodded faintly, doing his best (and failing) to hide the smile that was actively growing on his face. “Well, I think I’d like that.”

“Just the one though.” You faintly laughed, “Don’t get your hopes up.” You managed to joke faintly, Will holding his hands up in defense. He’d take anything he could, conversation was conversation and that was how the two of you ended up next to one another at Molly’s that evening, a beer in both of your hands.

Will leaned on the counter, “You know, you’re pretty hard to read.” He spoke, looking over at you. “And I like to think I’m pretty good at reading people.” He sipped from his drink with a thoughtful look behind his eyes. That much was true, Will was good at knowing what kind of person he was getting entangled with.

Not that he ever had the best judgment on what that meant or would lead to but at least he had a baseline. With you though it was like there was nothing. You didn’t give off anything. He had nothing to base his thoughts off.

“Well, that’s kind of the point.” You shrugged, taking a swig from your bottle, “That’s exactly how I want it to be.” Will shifted at the statement, facing you more, his eyebrows pulling together as he looked over at you.

“Why?” He chuckled faintly. “I mean, you’ve been in Chicago a few months now and all I got from you is that you’re from New York and that you like cats.” The only reason he even knew that was the pin you had attached to your jacket that you sometimes wore.

A small black cat pin. “Well if I answered that I’d be giving away all my secrets, wouldn’t I?” You cocked an eyebrow up, crossing a leg over the other. Will chuckled faintly, nodding with a shrug. He sighed faintly, tilting his bottle towards you.

“I guess you’re right.” Once more he took a decently big swig from his beer, taking a moment to think over his next words, “You know I’m gonna keep trying to get to know you right?” Will spoke, glancing to you. If he was one thing it was stubborn and one thing he wanted more than anything was to sneak through one of the tiniest cracks you had to have.

Because everybody has one in the walls they put up. “I know.” You leaned your elbow on your knee, glancing up at him. “Doesn’t mean I’ll give in though.” The two of you shared a look, and you were unable to say you weren’t attempting to flirt at least a little bit. And it wasn’t like you were fully against talking to him in general. He wasn’t the worst company.

Will hummed faintly, he wasn’t sure what he was exactly allowed to do or say. Sure you had asked him to get the drink but that only put you at acquaintance level. If that. And as much as he wanted to reach out, put a hand on yours, he couldn’t let himself. That would be too far.

At least to him. But truthfully, you couldn’t keep the facade up that much longer. Because he was persistent and you were only so strong. “Well, I figured as much. But hey, maybe I’ll crack you down.” Will smiled warmly, and for some reason that was it. That was the smile that made you just want to confess everything you’ve ever held back to him.

You sucked in a deep breath, looking away from him in a vain attempt at keeping your composure. “Yeah, maybe.” There was a brief silence, you finishing your beer before standing, grabbing your jacket off the back of your chair. “Well, thanks again. Enjoy the rest of your beer.”

Will stood quickly, reaching his hand out just as fast, stopping before it touched your arm, “Wait, you’re leaving already?” He said, a tinge of disappointment in his voice. Slightly you nodded, lifting your gaze to him with pursed lips, his eyes locking with yours.

“Uh, yeah, I should,” You gave him a light smile, frozen in place as much as you wanted to walk away it was like you couldn’t. Something about looking at Will just made you want to stay. Whether it was the warmth of his eyes, how he pressed you for conversation while still respecting when you snipped it in the bud.

Something held you there, and it wasn’t the hand he lightly put on your arm, stepping slightly closer, “Or, you could stay. Let me buy you another drink.” His voice was hopeful and so alluring that before you knew it you were agreeing, sitting back down with another drink in your hand.

It was like somehow he just knew that you didn’t actually want to leave. That you wanted to keep talking. And he managed to keep you wrapped up in conversation along with a few more drinks that led to you walking out together and you laying in his bed that night.

Not minding when his hands traced over your skin or how your head rested against his chest, his hands twisting through your hair, luring you to sleep.

You were the first to wake up the next morning, shifting onto your side to face Will. He was still asleep, his arms tucked under his head and hair sticking up all over the place. It was admittedly extremely cute and you couldn’t help but gently reach over, raking your hand through his hair and pushing it off of his forehead.

He just looked so peaceful, content, that it almost made you feel bad for always brushing him off. Made you second guess the fact that you were so closed off. Maybe this was your way of finally opening up. Will shifted slightly under your touch, making you retract it quickly, eyes widening.

“Mmm, what time ’s it?” He mumbled, eyes still shut. Just slightly you leaned up, looking over his shoulder at the clock on the bedside table, having to push hair out of the way as it fell over your eyes.

“Only 7,” You spoke softly, laying back down, this time meeting his gaze as he finally opened his eyes. Will grinned widely, shifting closer, his arm going around your waist, nuzzling up against your side. “You’re clingy when you just wake up huh?”

The man nodded as best he could, tucking his head away in the crevice of your neck. “Only when I’m this comfortable.” His statement was muffled but you understood it nonetheless, unable to keep yourself from bringing a hand up to rake through his hair. “Now you just don’t want me to get up,” He chuckled lightly.

You hummed softly, twirling some of his hair around your fingers. “You are admittedly kind of cozy, I won’t lie.” The man lifted his head, looking across your face quickly. A deep blush covered your cheeks as he looked at you.

He was practically studying you, taking note of your face, how you looked back at him. All of it. “I… what?” You asked quickly, eyebrows tightly pulling together.

Will shook his head slightly, “Nothing, you’re just a lot different under the sheets, aren’t you.” He leaned up on his elbows, planting them on either side of you as he spoke. It made his heart flutter, the way you only seemed to be comfortable letting him in.

“How so?”

“You’re softer. Not as closed off.” He spoke, a breath catching in your throat. The man reached out, hesitantly putting a hand on the side of your face. “I like this side of you.” Will swiped his thumb over your cheek, “A lot.” He admitted, giving you a tight smile.

Everything he said was thought over, worried that the wrong move or wrong saying would send you running. That he’d overstep in some way or another. But in reality, you missed being around others.

A lonely life in Chicago was just that. Lonely. And as much as you were content with how you were living there was always a bit of something that had you wanting to change your own mind.

Heavily you sighed, giving up on keeping yourself from leaning into his palm. Will grinned wider, shifting closer to you. “Does this mean you’re done with that? At least with me?” He muttered, eyes meeting yours as you slightly nodded.

“At least with you,” One of your hands went over his, pulling him closer. Will’s arm went to the spot on the bed behind you, leaning forward. “Which makes you, very lucky.” You mumbled, in turn putting your hand on his cheek instead,

Will laughed quietly with a hum, “Is that so?” His voice low as you got closer to him, nodding once more before pressing your lips to his firmly, putting your arm over his shoulder tightly.

“It is.”

JOIN WILL'S TAGLIST HERE!

tags: @winchesterszvonecek, @everything-fandom, @thebejeweledwatercat, @mrspeacem1nusone, @wnbweasley, @alexxavicry, @halsteadbrasil, @firetruckstuckley, @lilithblade, @angelicbxtchthea

#will halstead #will halstead x reader #will halstead writing?#chicago med #chicagomed #chicago med fanfic #fanfiction #one chicago fanfiction #will halstead imagine #will halstead oneshot #one chicago x reader #teddy writes #teddy writes will halstead #teddy writes chicago med #teddy writes one chicago

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nethhiri · 2 months

Text

Marooned: Chapter 12

Kid x Fem Reader x Killer

Warnings: sex, slight blood play

Easy (D/P)ickings

Kid went in for a bear hug, without even the decency to put his dick away. But when has Eustass 'Captain' Kid ever been decent? Without much of a warning, Killer decked him. They bickered back and forth, Kid attempting to grab his friend and Killer batting his arms away. "Fuck you, Kid. I didn't want to wake up to that!"

The last thing you wanted was to be caught between the two, so, doing the waddle of shame, you escaped into the bathroom to clean yourself up. I should just jump into the ocean. The only thing that made you less embarrassed was the assumption that Killer had probably seen Kid do worse things and in worse positions. You just didn't want your first impression on Killer to be... that. At least Mini didn't wake up. Somehow. You came out of the bathroom and didn't really know where to place yourself, though it was a relief to note that Kid did actually put his dick away, and he seemed to have captured Killer in his embrace at the cost of a bruised cheek.

Kid wasn't phased by it, it seemed. He was saying how happy he was that Killer was okay and thanking him for saving him from drowning. It was weird to see him like this in place of his normal grouchy asshole exterior. He was rambling trying to catch Killer up on everything that happened while he was unconscious. You felt like you were third-wheeling their reunion and were about to retreat into the bathroom, when his amber eyes found yours. "And I got us a doctor," he released Killer from his vice grip to motion towards you.

How many times did you have to say it? "Temporarily." You glowered at him, tugging your shirt to cover more of yourself. Grumbling, you went looking in the cabinets for an eyepatch, since Kid wasn't going to give your prothetic back any time soon.

Killer, still miffed, took in your appearance. "Kid, and I don't mean this to be rude, Miss, why does our doctor look beat to hell?" Killer directed the middle part of that at you. In a voice so low he thought you wouldn't hear, he added, "Did you do that? When you were...?"

"No!" Kid looked insulted. "I would never give a lass a black eye," he went on to list exceptions to that, where he would, in fact, give a lass a black eye. Killer crossed his arms and rolled his eyes, something you could tell was a routine for them. Kid lamented to Killer how the ship was a mess without him and explained what happened earlier that day, how it wouldn't have happened if Killer was there.

Killer digested the information, took a deep breath, and sighed. "So let me get this straight: You let this woman, our guest, our temporary doctor, get attacked, she fought her ass off, you left her to tend her own wounds, and then instead of apologizing or helping to her, you fucked her... fucked her right in front of me, your unconscious, possibly even dying, best friend."

"Yer makin me sound like the bad guy." When Killer didn't say anything, Kid added, "WELL YER ALIVE AIN'T YA?"

Killer exhaled an exasperated sigh, "No thanks to you". He looked around quickly, suddenly realizing his face was uncovered. "Where's my helmet?"

"Ah sorry, Kil, it got smashed in the ocean. Ya can wear an old one."

You had been watching the exchange with a hint of amusement in your expression, leaning against the counter. Unable to find a proper eyepatch, you taped some gauze over your missing eye. The pieces of Killer's mask were still with your stuff. Killer eyed you after Kid left to grab him an old version of his helmet. "What?" It came out more snappy than you intended.

"Nothing." He had been looking at his shirt on you. It was cute how you were swimming in it when on him, one flex would turn it into useless shreds.

You cleared your throat. "How do you feel?" Even after that embarrassment, you still had to do your job.

"Better than you look." It wasn't said in a mean way, more of a factual statement.

That made you snort. "Guess that's fair." There wasn't a mirror, but you were really starting to feel sore. You assumed Killer would go back to his room, now that he was awake and there really wasn't anything left you could do for him. "Take it easy for a day or two. You were out for a while."

It was dark out by the time Kid came to collect Killer, old helmet in hand. As he was heading out the door, you called, "Hey, K-Eustass, what did you do with the... deceased."

"Dumped em overboard."

You frowned. "What about the other?"

"In the brig, why?"

"Leave him there, would ya? Minerva needs to eat." Sure she preferred vegetation, but boars would eat anything you put in front of them... bones and all.

The swelling in your face had gone down over the next few days and your cuts had healed a tad more than one would expect, thanks to your devil fruit. You figured if you healed it in small intervals, no one would notice. Heat had brought you an eyepatch with the Kid Pirate insignia when he noticed your eye covering. Quincy kept checking on you an annoying amount, yet it was growing on you. You met the rest of the girls and a few more of the crew. Killer seemed to take your advice, seeing as you didn't see him above deck. You snooped a bit, gauging how plausible it would be to sneak into Kid's workshop to get your weapon back. Though with your current situation, maybe you could get it back the same way as your eye. While doing whatever task Heat or Wire assigned, you did your best to avoid Kid. He was really taking advantage of your 'deal', somehow finding you and pulling you into a supply closet, or cornering you in the infirmary. You pretended to be irritated or bored, though your act never lasted long, and you had to admit you liked when he sought you out. It was your little cat and mouse game. The man was insatiable, which is why you were currently hiding in the women's showers, the only Kid-free zone, or at least, you were told it was.

"Rotten? I wonder where my wee mouse has gotten ta." Kid feigned not knowing where you were even though you could hear his heavy boots approaching.

You could feel your body respond to his teasing. It wasn't like you didn't want to, Kid was damn near the best you had experienced, but you had things you had to do. This time, you had a surprise, a bucket of water, as you crouched behind a screen. As soon as he turned the corner, you sprang up, dousing him in cold water. Then you used his moment of distraction to run. You tried to anyway, it was hard when your leg was still hurt. You weren't even sure why it still hurt, it should have been healed now. You didn't even realize you were giggling until he caught up to you, without much effort, and grabbed you around the waist.

"Ya think yer fuckin funny?" Kid spit some of the water that was dripping into his mouth. It seemed like you got him right in the face.

The giggles waned as you tried to slip out of his grip. "How do you keep finding me? And I thought you weren't allowed in here!"

It was Kid's turn to laugh, "Doll, I'm the fuckin captain. I can be wherever I want ta." Kid nipped at your neck from behind, "What? Ya don't want ta see me? Yer gonna hurt my feelings."

"If I don't, who will?" You teased.

"Yer beggin me to stuff that smart mouth of yers instead of yer cunny, are ya?"

That made you shut up. You could fuck just fine, amazingly, some might say. You couldn't be perfect though, and had been cursed with a terrible gag reflex. Most of the time you could work around it. There would be none of that with what Eustass was packing. And even worse, he was definitely going to torment you about it. His free hand was already grabbing and groping at any part of you that he could. When he grabbed at your injured thigh though, you cried out, "Fuck!" Your weight sank into the arm wrapped around your waist as you took some off your leg. The rest of your weight was taken off your leg as Kid picked you up, taking you closer to the wall, and pressing you up against it.

Kid lifted your bad leg with his hand, nothing but cool air between your cunt and him. "Better?" There was the quick jingling of belts and the shift of fabric before you could feel his hardness pressing into you from behind.

"Not really." A loud groan escaped your throat as he pushed himself into you. The ease with which he sank to your core betrayed how much you liked when he was mean to you. Eustass could get deep from any angle with how big he was, but from the back it felt like he was fucking your stomach. Whatever pain you were feeling was quickly replaced with pleasure as soon as Kid started to move. The slight sting of your pussy stretching around him was still there, you guessed that wouldn't change in the near future.

Kid tucked his head next to yours, panting into your ear. He pressed your leg up to get a better angle and increased the pace. A twinge of guilt tickled the back of his mind. He knew why your leg still hurt, how he could always find you. He was actually planning on helping you the evening where the two of you made Killer want to go blind. Kid could still help, he just didn't want to. Not now, when it was so enticing to chase you around the ship and see your fake pout when he caught you. There was something he wanted to try, however, and there were other ways he could play this trivial game with you.

"Do you trust me?" Kid had a proclivity for the rougher side of things, and he guessed that you did too. He wasn't entirely sure about the extent of your likes since these escapades had all been quickies and he hadn't had time to draw it out of you. Why was he thinking about that? Why did he even care about what you liked anyway? This was about him. He would do what he wanted regardless of your answer.

"Not particularly." You could barely form the words to answer with the way he was scrambling your guts. The cool tile pressed into you from the front and the back of your shirt was wet from the water you had thrown on Kid soaking into it.

Kid growled. "Do ya trust me to make ya feel good?" He dropped his free hand to press against your clit, but he stopped moving until he got the answer he wanted to hear.

You whined at the loss of friction. "Yes. Yes! Jus keep going." You put your hand on top of his to make him rub against you as he started fucking into you again. Your eyes were scrunched closed, eyebrows knit together as the heat in your center grew. Then, you felt a searing, dragging pain in your leg and you opened your eyes to see a crackling purple energy dance over the skin of that leg. Kid was using his devil fruit?

Kid felt you tense when he started pulling at the bullet fragments lodged in the muscle of your thigh. He eased up though keeping a steady rhythm in the circles he rubbed into your clit. Kid felt his balls tighten when the sweet sound of your whimpers met his ears. It was a mix of pain and pleasure, and even you couldn't have told him which was which.

The intense burn from Kid manipulating the metal in your leg and the blissful way he was toying with the apex of your thighs was overstimulating. You couldn't focus on either one at any given moment. You didn't have the capacity to even wonder what the hell Kid was doing to you, you just knew you liked it. The nail imprints from your hand gripping Kid deepened as you slid closer and closer to the edge. A warm feeling spread over your thigh as blood wept from where Kid freed one of the fragments. The pain started to dull as he removed each one, leaving you with a few fresh, small wounds. Kid didn't let it fully dissipate however, pushing his thumb into one of the defects where he pulled a fragment from. That finally sent you crashing over the edge, a string of curses tumbled from your mouth, brought to an end only when Kid released your leg and pushed his bloodied fingers into your mouth.

Kid had been holding out since he saw the red of your blood dripping to the floor, and he wasn't far behind you. Digging his finger into the fresh wounds again, the warm, wet feeling of your flesh, the cry of pain from you, and the intense clench of your cunt around his cock was all it took. Kid grunted and pinned your hips into the wall, at the same time gripping your hair roughly to bring your mouth to his so he could taste the metallic tang of blood left from his fingers.

It took a minute or two to catch your breath, and when you did you realized what Kid had done. Even though the bullet went through your leg and hit the deck, some fragments were left behind. You guessed Kid could sense these pieces with his devil fruit. "You're a real piece of shit," you panted. "You really let me painfully hobble around with metal in my leg just so you could find your nut faster." Kid pulled out and you felt the warm drip of your mixed juices go down your leg. Good thing you were in the showers already.

"Ya weren't complaining." Kid smirked, "Didn't even hafta spit on yer pussy ya were so drippin wet fer me." He tugged his pants on and fixed his hair before turning to leave.

You wished so badly that you had something to fling at his head to wipe the smug look from it.

#eustass kid #massacre soldier killer #one piece #kid x reader x killer #killer x reader #x reader #eustass kid x reader

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sungbeam · 2 years

Text

𝐚 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤

yang jungwon x gn!reader

0.5k words, fluff, won's sleepy

a/n: my favorite thing is figuring out a new way to describe jungwon's dimples ;D

It must have been early, early morning when you felt Yang Jungwon shift. One moment, you were drifting back into deep sleep; the next, his head was nestling into your neck and his arm came around your waist, soft and sleepy breaths tickling your throat. You slowly opened your eyes to face the dark ceiling, your arms moving to gently cradle the precious cargo lying on you.

You marked a change in his breathing just as he woke up. He mumbled into your skin, holding you tighter, "Mm… sorry, woke you up?"

"No, you're good," you whispered to him, your voice barely audible. You combed your fingers through his hair and he hummed in contentment. "Go back to sleep, Wonie."

A couple minutes passed by in silence, and you believed him to be asleep. But then Jungwon stirred again. "Honey, can't sleep."

You frowned a little, but kept combing your hand through his hair and also started to rub his back to help him feel more comfortable. "Is this helping?"

"Wanna talk to you," he said instead. Jungwon shifted, wiggling around so he laid on his side, but his cheek was pressed against your heart. "Like those aesthetic conversations you hear about."

You chuckled. "Aesthetic conversations?"

He nodded, fingers playing with a loose thread on the blanket. "Yeah, the ones people have late at night. Deep ones."

"So what deep conversations do you wanna have, love?"

Jungwon shrugged one of his shoulders. He inhaled, his mind going slightly fuzzy at the smell of your body wash lingering on the surface of your sleep shirt. "Have you thought about your future? Not your job, I guess. Or maybe, yeah. Just like… what you wanna do after college."

It wasn't like the two of you hadn't discussed your post-college activities. You both were going into decently stable industries, and you were both in internships now. Getting into your careers was always a worry, but at least it wasn't the forefront right now.

"We've never really talked about where we'll be afterwards."

He hummed. "I thought we have. Like, you were going into—"

"Mm-mm, no, I mean…" You pressed your lips against his head, voice slightly muffled, "Where we'll be, y'know."

"Oh." Jungwon began drawing swirls on your stomach with his pointer finger. "We'll be together, of course. Wanna move in together?"

You laughed. "We're already living together, Wonie."

You could feel him smile against your body, his inkless, mindless drawing stopping for only a moment before continuing. "Oh, right. But I mean like, a house, honey—hey, that rhymes."

"Won, love, that doesn't rhyme."

"House… honey. Right." He sighed, rubbing one of his eyes, then turning his body over so he laid staring up at the ceiling like you were. "What kind of house do you want? Do you like one of those cookie cutter ones or like, save for a big mansion or something?"

Before you could reply, Jungwon asked, "I want room for a cat. Do you want a cat? Am I your cat?"

You giggled under your breath, combing your hand through his feather soft strands. The combination of sensations made him purr in delight, his dimples pressing simple contentment into his cheeks. "We can have another cat. Maybe you'll be able to understand it."

"Probably."

a/n: i crave cuddles, okay? sue me 😔✨

enha m.list

permanent taglist: @tayunji @im-a-big-mess @staysstrays @y3jiishot @crazywittysassy @seomisaho @stopeatread @enhacolor @yedammi @rnjfy @jaehunny1428 @w3bqrl @smolpeyy @otchae @luv4vernon @shakalakaboomboo @ashxxkook

#enhypen x reader #yang jungwon x reader #jungwon x reader #jungwon drabbles #enhypen drabbles #enhypen imagines #jungwon imagines #enhypen fluff #jungwon fluff #clovers.write

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peepslibrary · 1 month

Text

Introducing~ Lay Bankz

This is probably one of the funniest things I've ever written. I guess this qualifies as a song fic? If you've been on tiktok a couple months ago, you'd probably recognize this song.

Synopsis: What would happen if the LU boys heard the song Ick?

Warnings: Explicit lyrics, mentions of sex

Y'all can thank @trippygalaxy for this.

... Why is there a portal right outside the camp?

Why is there

PORTAL-

You're fairly confident the whole town heard your sigh and the chain's groans as y'all packed everything up and linked hands to go through the stupid portal. The other side of the portal was - in fact - NOT another Hyrule. It was a stadium. A stadium filled to the brim with people, a gigantic stage, and multicolored lights moving all around. Ok wait- the portal might've been the least of your problems.

The group looks around with emotions varying from confused to overstimulated. Honestly, if you squint you could see their braincells work together. You turn around, doing a quick headcount. “Wait, where’s Wind?” You count again and… nope still 9 including you. Fuck

I don't mean to judge off a first impression. Or his part-time job at 7/11. But he's a broke-ass peasant ask-

You feel your eyebrows furrow. Where do you know this song??

(ick) and he's got bad credit (ick) and he got a foot fetish (ick) DNR, but he tryin' paramedic

Shit... that's where you recognize this from. Tiktok

You're quick to move and cover Sky’s ears, making a silent prayer to whatever poor soul is listening. You need to get everyone out. You guys need to find Wind and you're fairly confident that everyone present will get red in the face when they register the lyrics.

"Time." Thankfully he managed to hear you despite the current situation. You see him angle his head up for a milisecond. Just subtle enough for you to reply with a tilt of your head towards an emergency exit. He doesn't hesitate to nod, moving to Wars and Twilight to help move everyone along. It's not a stretch to think that he's overstimulated with the environment. Has any of them ever heard this much noise so close?? You wouldn't wish that on your worst enemy.

Actually... Dink can kiss your ass. He's literally the one that pulled you into this craziness in your pjs. Like... dude coulda waited until you were decent t-

“Hey, what’s going on?” You curse and look up at the question-er. His eyes stuck looking at the ground, his ears lowered under your hands while his playing with the fabric of his sailcloth. “Sky I’m trying to get you guys out of-“

(Ew) Lady boner gone (Oh no), He dry humpin' me and huffin' like a dog (Hah, hah), And he whispered in my ear did I get off?

You didn’t think it was possible to cringe laugh *this* hard. But oh boy, the collective faces made shouldn’t have been that funny. Red in the face and trying to move everyone faster - incredibly hard considering they’re all standing like statues - are Time, Wars, Legend, and Twilight. Sky, Wild, Four, and Hyrule have moved to cover their own ears, with some crouched against the floor.

Somehow everyone is able to leave the stadium with only their innocence (or lack of thereof) injured, only to find Wind standing with a security guard eating a string cheese and a can of soda next to him.

“There you guys- what happened?” Wind makes his way to y’all and you use that chance to check for visible injuries, making sure no one injured him.

“Although it’s likely they would be the one injured.” Your brain supplied helpfully.

“Uhh…” you look at the group’s states, “let’s just say they weren’t expecting what was inside the stadium.” Wind nods in understanding, “Yeah, Sam wouldn’t let me in because it was ‘for adults.’” You spare a glance towards the guard, who gives a humored nod and sends you guys on your way.

#had to listen to this song on REPEAT #Y'ALL MY BRAIN DIED #first post ever plz excuse formatting #linked universe x reader #lu x reader #modern reader #x reader #cw swearing #cw suggestive

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behindthewanderlust · 7 months

Text

Waterworks

Murdoc x gn!reader

Masterlist

Summary - Murdoc likes to think he’s a decent enough lover. Except for when you give him a problem he doesn't know how to solve.

Word Count - 904

Warnings - Hints of Murdoc’s alcoholism, Murdoc’s self doubt (he thinks he’s a bad partner), this isn’t beta read

A/N - Can take place in any phase! Also, constructive criticism is very much welcome! If I missed any warnings, please let me know

——————————————————————————

Murdoc likes to think he’s a decent enough lover.

Don’t get him wrong, he could do a better job and he knows you deserve someone better than him…but hey, you haven’t left him yet - that’s gotta mean something, right? He can make you laugh like no other and will buy you the flashiest shit on the planet if you asked. He knows how to do that well.

So it’s quite unfortunate that you’re now crying in his arms. He shifts uncomfortably, he doesn’t know what to do about this. He’s tense as you sob into his chest; his mind races, wondering what he should do or say. He gives you a few awkward pats on the back, something he remembers Noodle doing the last time he vomited after drinking too much. Drinking’s always been how he solved all his negative emotions. He almost suggests it, but stops himself, knowing he doesn’t want you to end up like him.

Murdoc thinks about getting Noodle, Russel, or the nitwit - someone, anyone who can comfort you better than he ever could. He thinks about a previous time you cried, Russel made you tea and offered you words of wisdom before watching a movie with you. Another time, 2D and Noodle brought you food to lift your spirits. Kind gestures don’t come easily to Murdoc, he mentally curses his bandmates for having sympathy. He tries to get up to grab someone, but you hold him so tight there’s no point in standing up. His shirt’s soaked, and you only seem to be crying harder. Murdoc’s powerless, a feeling he can’t stand. Negative thoughts gnaw at his insides with each sob you let out; he silently beats himself up for being such a useless boyfriend.

“Er - uh, do ya wanna talk about it?”

A sense of familiarity is felt when Murdoc finally spits a question out. He remembers Russel asking the same question after he first witnessed one of Murdoc’s drunken depressive episodes. You shake your head and whine out a quick no thank you. His memory’s a bit spotty, but Murdoc remembers his reaction being much more violent; a chair was possibly thrown in Russ’ direction.

He glances over at a clock that may or may not be set to the incorrect time. You’ve been crying for hours - at least, that’s what Murdoc thinks. Father Time would disagree and say you’ve been wailing for only seven minutes. He sighs, starting to feel a bit impatient. He’s got a raging headache from the stiff drinks he had last night. His plan was to keep this escapade from you, not wanting you to know he’s been drinking again, but he knows you’re not an idiot. You smelled the remnants of alcohol when you barged into his room, face wet with tears.

Murdoc then wonders if distraction would work. He’s already 0-2 when it comes to ideas, so why not go for a strikeout?

“Ha! I just remembered! I swiped Noodle’s last cig earlier,” he starts to boast, “and she gets all pissy ‘bout it, but guess who she’s blamin’? The half-brain 2D, who else? ‘Coulda told her I nabbed it, but why would I? Watching the two argue about a smoke was pure entertainment.”

Murdoc laughs again, before shifting you in his lap to sit more comfortably. “It wasn’t even a good smoke anyway.”

He begins to recall other events, like 2D’s voice cracking during a song, and Russel’s drumstick falling out of his hand. Murdoc, of course, claims to have played perfectly; not a single bum note coming from his bass.

“Ya should’ve been there, love,” he hums, his hand unconsciously rubbing your back much less awkwardly than the tense pats from earlier. You take a few sharp breaths. Murdoc notes how you’re slightly more calm than before. He took the moment to speak again.

“Now, why am I seeing waterworks? Spit it out, what’s got ya bawling like a baby?”

He doesn’t miss the amused huff you let out. You sniffle as you pull away from his embrace and wipe the tears. Your eyes are a bit dull, and your face is red and puffy. Murdoc still thinks you look nice. He stays quiet as you take a few more deep, shaky breaths to calm yourself. You speak, your voice cracking as you force the words out.

“I just had a rough day, that’s all. Thanks for holding me.”

Murdoc wipes a stray tear from your eye before looking down at his shirt. It’s cold and wet with your tears and snot. Your eyes follow his, and you cringe at the mess you left on his clothes. The room is silent, save for the murmur of the TV you didn’t even realize was on. You enjoy the moment; a calm that came after the storm instead of before. Your eyes dance across the room, not really paying attention to anything interesting before they land on your boyfriend, who is staring directly at you.

“Y’know, love,” he speaks, a grin forming on his face. “For a moment there, it felt like I was at Niagara Falls.” He laughs, the noise turning into a cackle as you groan and hit his shoulder. You roll your eyes before laughing too. The dullness of your eyes is now replaced with a slight sparkle. Murdoc couldn’t think of a prettier sight.

Maybe he wasn’t as bad of a boyfriend as he thought.

#gorillaz fanfiction #murdoc gorillaz #2d gorillaz #noodle gorillaz #russel gorillaz #murdoc niccals #gorillaz fanfic #murdoc x reader

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mywritingonlyfans · 1 year

Text

Longshot // Alex Turner X Reader!

this fic about: you always have the urge (fate, honestly) to meet Alex from time to time in the midst of moments in your life, but you never stay close to each other for a long time, after all, he is not your boyfriend. There's smut in this one!

words: 4,6K.

Your head hurt, you knew your face was probably red due to your desire to go home and cry, but yet, you convinced yourself to go out for a drink.

Somehow, you found yourself happy for doing so.

You couldn't tell Alex was back in town, you briefly wondered why you didn’t know. He always contacted you when he was near (or at least that was what it seemed to be). Still, you were glad to see him there. He was always able to make things better, even if only for a short period of time; which in your case was a very short one as he wasn’t yours to have.

Alex waved to your friends, they were all familiar to him. He hugged you, giving a small kiss to your head while sitting next to you. Suddenly, you felt like a stronger drink would do you good.

It wasn’t hard to tell what was going to happen in the next few hours. After a couple of years going through that, you knew the time you spent together always ran the same streets. You guessed that you were able to put his head in place, just as he did with yours; and that was why he always came back to you. You’d never be able to tell if it was luck or mischance.

“Was it too hard to find me?” You asked him, frowning in a happy face.

Around now, your friends had moved to another corner. “I mean, I’m not complaining, I’m glad you did.” You offered him a weak smile. He did the same.

He looked tired, yet deadly cute. He had longer curls and no beard anymore.

He shuffled his chair closer to yours, letting his leg touch your bare knee. “Not really, Miles said he called you in the mornin’, then told me that you intended to visit ‘ere for the night,” he mumbled, blinking eyes to the bartender that he needed a beer, and so did you.

“Oh, he’s a gossip,” you wrinkled your nose, causing him to offer you a nasal laugh that you had learned to find lovely over the years. “But what has been happening in your world? You’re good?” You tried to sound casual, but deep down you knew he wasn’t there entirely for you.

Something was bothering him, he was looking for someone to rely on.

“Pretty much the same,” he sighed heavily, sitting better on the chair while rolling the t-shirt cuffs to his elbows.

In the face of this, your throat dried up in anticipation.

He wasn’t just physically tired. “We finished the last album, I feel exhausted.”

He looked at you like a lost puppy, watching your face, taking in if you were in the mood to listen to him and even if you were fine with having him around. After all, he came to you out of nowhere.

He’d never make you uncomfortable, maybe he couldn't tell that yet. “C’mon, let it all out. I haven’t seen you in such a while for you to deprive me of the details.”

“If I tell you,” he pondered, “ you’ll tell me why you have that runny nose that matches your watery eyes?” He poked your cheek, dragging his fingers so he could put some strands of hair back in place.

You cuddled up in his palm, like it was their right place.

His chair was so close to you that you’d be able to rest your head on his shoulder if you wanted to (without creating any bodily discomfort, not that you were capable of that).

“I guess life just hasn’t been all that gentle with me lately,” you giggled. “I lost my job last week, the same life shit’s going on as usual, and when I finally manage to move to a decent place, I’ll now be actually going back to sharing an apartment with strangers, because, huh, y’know, I can’t afford being in there anymore.” Your breathing has sped up and you have indeed had to hold some tears to the vague memory.

Alex was quiet for a while, you needed him more than he needed you, it wasn’t hard for him to tell that. Listening to you made him realize how his worries were nothing at all, not in a mean way, but made him wonder why he wasn’t always around for you when he felt like could/should. He knew that you didn’t mind sharing an apartment with someone, but the loss of perspective was always tough.

Without further thinking, he pulled you to himself, so subtle yet so significant, fluffing your hair and holding you tight in his grip. You let yourself get involved in his essence, wrapping yourself in his t-shirt. You didn’t cry, but you knew it was possible to read your emotions – at least for him to do so. It could be little, but Alex knew you.

You took your head off his chest while he still had his arm around your waist. Taking a deep breath, you stared at your laced fingers. You couldn't properly look at him. “I guess it’s all happening at the same time, I’m just not sure how to handle it at the moment.” He held your face in his hand, his mouth close to yours as he ran his thumb over your chin and as soon as your breath met, you felt his lips on yours.

He was soft and wet, he had the same taste you still had etched in your mind, at that moment it seemed to be all you needed.

When he walked away, he was left a few pecks in the corner of his mouth as his forehead rested upon his, making you sigh to feel his hair on your face.

You two stayed like that for a few minutes and you could bet that anyone who passed by could see how much of a fool you were for him. You tried not to think about it too much, it was better to have little of him than nothing at all. “Al?”

“Huh?” He murmured with his eyes closed, giving your lips a tickling sensation.

“Kiss me more,” and then he did.

Alex was holding you in place while your hands intertwined around his neck. You played with the chain around it, savoring the touch of his tongue on yours, focusing only on him while pulling at his hair to hear his soft moans.

It didn’t take long for the bartender to come and get your attention. You laughed nervously at him, you were embarrassed because you didn’t even remember where you were, still Alex seemed untouchable about it, even though he was dead red on the cheeks. He wasn’t one to be embarrassed over small things like that, at least not around you. The bartender was quite irritated with you and just now you noticed that your drinks had arrived and hadn’t even been touched; the guy was rightly pissed.

Alex stood up, lifting you up with him. You looked in your pockets for your money, but then Al got you. You’d argue, but you thought better and any money left over would be useful. You held both beers in hands as he paid, thanking the old lady for the service, still feeling your skin burning due pure embarrassment, and then headed outside to wait for him.

“Are you drivin’?” He asked, laughing at your state of awkwardness.

You bumped into his shoulder slightly, laughing along with him. “I am not, I’m living nearby,” you whispered as he put his hand inside your skirt pocket, bringing you to his side for a walk. “In the apartment that soon won’t be mine, but, huh, how ‘bout you?”

“Not driving’, I thought ‘bout staying somewhere for the night.”

He was close to home, but not that close, it’d take about 3 hours to get to where he lives; it seemed plausible that he wanted to stay. “Are you only here because of me?” You risked asking.

“Yeah,” he took his hand out of your pocket and ran it through his hair, face properly red. “I didn’t think it’d be a bad idea, I think.”

There was silence, but it was so far from being uncomfortable. “You know you can stay with me.”

***

Considering that you were in the process of moving to another place, your house was a bit of a mess. Alex wouldn’t be bothered by that, somehow your instinct of needing things always in place - aka Monica from Friends - made you wander around the space in an attempt to make Al at home.

“What ‘bout the new album?” You asked, dragging one of the boxes away from him.

It wouldn’t even bother anyone, but the thought that it’d be in the middle of the room while someone was at your house bothered you.

“I don’t really know, I feel anxious about releasing it. It’s not that I don’t want to release it or am afraid of doing so, far from that, it’s just, I don’t know…” His voice fell silent, lost in his own thoughts. So typical and amiable of Alex.

You turned to him, wanting to ask him what he had said, after all, that didn’t sound like him, to be insecure. You felt as his hands touched your hips, pulling you on his lap. “Y'know, I don’t care about your mess at all, right? Just, please, stop walkin’ ‘round the house dragging your stuffs, darlin’.” He said with his face close to your neck, hugging you from behind. His warm breath was in contact with your soft skin, providing heat to your body.

And well, there was a minimal percentage chance that you were trying to make the place look good for him but just because he made you a little nervous.

“Okay, fine. I’m fine,” you exhaled, turning to face him. He was smiling with his eyes almost closed; he still looked tired, but at least you were improving his mood. “You know you’re good at what you do, Al. You shouldn’t worry 'bout those things.” You held on to his shoulders, breaking something that could turn out to be a pitiful silence.

He squeezed your thigh at the same time as he laughed humorlessly at your words. “I know that. I guess that this is the short time they gave us to finish the album – it was drivin’ me crazy. The album isn’t bad, not at all, it’s honestly very good. We did an incredible job, still if it weren’t for the time, oh babe, it could have been even better. That’s crazy how I’m still letting myself get stressed over this, don’t you think?” He vented, moving his hands up your skirt.

“I know it’ll be good, I can’t think of anything you did that ended up bad, love!” You ran your fingers over his covered shoulders, down to his chest, going to the first open button of his silk shirt. “But if it’s just stress, well, I can help ya.”

He lubed his lips, nodding assiduously, putting you properly on top of him. That way, you were stuck to his body, feeling the roughness of his flare jeans along with the zipper against you. You gulped as he held your face, sealing your lips with his. You were relieved he always guided you through that. The leading up part was way better when it came from him, not least because he was pretty much able to leave you without the senses with so little.

You unbuttoned the rest of his shirt in the middle of sloppy kisses and grips. Then, you ran your hand over his belly, tracing your fingers to the back of his neck while moving your hips lightly. You lugged on his hair, pulling him away a bit to catch your breath. You opened your eyes to find Al with deep pink lips and brown eyes more intense than normal, at that moment you could have sworn that he was the most beautiful thing you had ever laid eyes on. You spread his shirt to the sides, sensing your body getting hotter, when he smirked at your rush, managing to hold both of your hands behind you, forcing you in place.

“No need to rush, we have plenty of time, lil’ one,” he clenched you in his hands. You arched your back, breathing heavily at each pressure of his fingers on your wrists.

He ran his nose over your neck, placing kisses and bites on the way to your collarbone, leaving wet tracks that would later turn into dark marks.

Your legs ached from that position, the couch wasn’t the best, but feeling Alex getting hard under you as you writhed yourself against him, made you want to stay there for as long as he wanted you to. It was crazy to think that at the beginning of the day you were sure that the rest of it would be a pure disaster, and now being spoiled by his lips your worries were gone.

Temporary as that would be, you were determined to give him your all, making his and yours next hours one of the best escapes from both of you.

Unnecessary to say that you were lost in your own mind, craving for having his soft curls in-between your fingers, wanting him tugged into you furiously, causing you to ache.

Your mouth was ajar, your vision was just white dots as he played with your sensitive skin, driving you insane. And then, Alex paralyzed when his grip became too strong around your fists and you got louder than usual.

“D’you like that, huh?” He did it again, but this time pushing your body backward, giving him a better look of your state. He kept his devilish grin on his face, watching you from top to bottom. You bit your lips, containing your noises to yourself, you were such an angel in his eyes. “Up, babe. I need to see something.” He didn’t let you answer, not as if he needed to. You stood up in front of him, legs shaking with your head definitely not in the right place. “Undress, please.” He rested his elbows on his knees, like you were his little show.

He had an immovable jaw in a serious face, and just like that, you didn’t see any problem in obeying his voice, but perhaps, due to the lack of his body being glued to yours, you couldn’t help but let out a laugh.

“Don’t act like you don’t like it when I tell you what to do,” he caught you by the hem of your underwear, helping to take it off while you got rid of your blouse. “Especially, when I just got you off my lap, almost unconscious 'cause of some kisses on the neck, pet.” He added, drawing circles on the inside of your thigh, smoothly going up to your center.

You felt your breath come to a halt. “You’re just too bossy.” You teased, confirming that your breathing was faulty.

He patted his nose over the damp stain of the fabric, placing a wet kiss there. “And you love it.” He pecked you a few more, teasing you by running his fingers on the edges as putting the cloth to the side; never touching you where you needed him.

Taking a deep breath, you've had to hold back a groan; letting the urge to have his tongue and the tip of the nose rubbing you stick to your mind only.

Involuntarily you took hold of his hair, bringing him closer to you. And then, you understood his previous question, it wasn’t just about not being able to touch him, but also about the power he was having (always had) over you.

He cut his actions short and got up, hovering over you. “Is that ‘kay, darlin’?” You agreed, mouth dried up, without even being able to words. “So no touching me then, huh?” He whispered, tossing your hair behind your ear, aware of the challenge he was casting upon you.

That’d be comical in any other situation, but with his body and eyes fixed on your frame you felt in his pure domain.

You nodded, diving into the way he pulled at the hair on the nape of your neck firmly so that you were looking at him. “Go on, babe,” He insisted on having the words he wanted.

“Yep, fine, Al,” it was far from fine, you couldn’t do that.

How could you go without touching, making a mess of his hair or marking your nails on his back?

“That’s my girl,” he praised you in between sighs.

He was excited while your face was overflowing with nervousness; not out of fear, but out of curiosity. He finished taking off his shirt and indicated with his fingers for you to lie down on the couch.

You shut your eyes tight, with his voice echoing 'my girl’ inside your head. Alex was lugging your wrists above your head as you did what he told you to do. He tied them with his shirt. “Is this hurtin’ you? Feelin’ comfortable?” He tightened it in a knot.

Your head and elbows were on the arm of the couch, only your hands were unsupported. Although you weren’t uncomfortable, it was to be expected that pain would appear the next day; yet it’d be worth it. “No, it’s fine. I’m good.” You assured him as he knelt beside the couch, running his hands down your torso, making you squirm.

He went down to the hem of your underwear, taking it off with the help of your legs kicking the lace away. “Good then,” he warbled, pattering lines on your under belly. “Needy and in your proper place.”

“Bastard,” you swore through clenched teeth.

He grinned, admiring how your breast rose and fell in a quick but punctual rhythm as your hips fidgeted at his touch. You looked like a piece of art he had just created, swollen lips, filled in lovely marks on the collarbone. He found himself in need to concentrate on his breathing while watching you, to control his pulse as he reached between your legs for further care.

“Al,” you breathed out, forcing your fists in vain. “Go on, please,”

With that, he held your hands, forcing them down and slid a finger inside you. Your lips opened in a sigh and he took the opportunity to kiss you, running his tongue over your bottom lip and nipping it to his mouth, keeping things on a slow pace.

You wanted to hold his hand, make him go faster or be able to pull the locks of his hair until he understood how much you wanted him, but you had no way of doing that, and you knew he was doing that to provoke you.

His lips traveled over your neck again, this time giving light kisses, blowing air on the soft fresh he had left in there.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he said without even opening his eyes, delighting in your skin as he sped up, rubbing his thumb gently over you.

You whispered something almost inaudible that he recognized as his name. He raised his head, coming face to face with you. “Right there, huh?” He asked, focusing on the spot that was blurring your vision, without speeding up, just kissing you more.

You moaned with the satisfying running fast through your veins, making you go numb in the knees. You closed your legs, wishing you could hold on to his body, but all he did was laugh, shoving his fingers even leisurely into you.

“No, no, Alex,” you looked at him properly, thinking that if you hadn’t been with your wrists tied you’d have slapped his chest hard.

He wiped his hand on your thigh, and stood up slipping his jeans down his legs along with his underwear. You sighed at him, stretching your arms, staring at the ceiling to disguise yourself. Not that it was necessary, but Alex was already too much of a show-off when it came to you for your liking.

“You good? How’s your arms?” He asked with his attentive eyes over your face, Soon, he was on top of your weak body.

His hair was damp, falling over his forehead. Sweat was glued to his chest and his silver necklace dangled in front of your eyes. For a split second, you thought about saying that you missed him, but you were wise enough to know better than this.

“If I say that I’m not good. Are you going to untie me?”

He pressed his chest to yours, your body sticking to his due to the sweat.

“There's not even a single chance,” He stroked your neck with his thumb, up and down, with a silly look on his face.

You grunted as soon as you felt him against your thigh, he placed himself in-between your knees, holding on to your shoulders, and without hesitation, he filled you up. Your body tingled and your voice failed, causing a silent moan to slip from your lips. His head fell over the crook of your neck and you could feel how dysrhythmic his breathing was. His warm body along with his breath hitting on your neck added a pleasant feeling in your stomach, leaving you dizzy under him.

“Move Al,” you tried to sound understandable, embracing his waist with your legs.

He thrusted deeply into you, leaving a groaning sigh of relief in your ears. You stretched out your arms, tightening your thighs around him. He held the shirt in your hands, preventing it from coming loose.

“No, I wanna touch you,” you whined.

“You will, just be patient, babe,” he squeezed your wrists in his hand.

Closing your eyes, you enjoyed the way his body was over yours, every movement and delicate touch.

He went slowly at first, making sure you were taking all of him, every inch, before going faster. Once he felt your walls clenching around him, he murmured a breathless 'fuck’, letting go of your hands so that you could finally feel him. You dug your nails into his back, kneading your body against his at the same time as he hugged you.

As you opened your eyes, he was already looking at you, with an intense gaze, building you up so you were feeling nothing but sexy and wanted.

Both of you were a mess; sweaty and sticky. You felt a tingling ecstasy take all over your body, your toes twitching as you emptied yourself into him. He kept working on you until his body collapsed into yours, filling you up to perfection.

The last thing you remembered was having your fingers entwined in his hair, patting at it slightly as he whispered sweet nothing against your skin; just like a lullaby.

———–——-

You woke up to the television, trying to adjust your vision to the brightness of the daylight.

Failing to stretch, you felt how sore your body was.

Your eyes searched for Alex, finding him sitting opposite to you with a lazy grin and a cup of tea in hands, his attention was all on you.

Friends was playing on the television, but you doubted he was watching it.

“Good mornin’, babe,'' his husky voice echoed through the room. It was the best thing to hear in the morning, honestly. “How’s it? Hurtin’?” He asked when you started examining your marked wrists.

He was fully dressed and although you weren’t, he had managed to get a sheet to cover you.

“Good mornin’. It’s fine, well, huh, it doesn’t hurt,” you mumbled, scratching your eyes, curling up on the sheet. And as much as you wish it could last more, you asked. “How long will you be stayin’ in town?”

“Not long,” he paused thoughtfully. You already expected that he wouldn’t be with you for longer, still sometimes you liked to think that it’d last longer than just a few nights before he disappeared to another continent. “I need to go home in a few minutes, I’m going to take a flight at night to adjust the final details of the album in LA.”

“Sounds nice,” you wanted to have the courage to tell him how he made things in your life look just right, as if he were some kind of missing piece from your damage puzzle. “I can’t wait to hear it, hear what your great fingers and mind are capable of.” You ignored your thoughts. He laughed.

However, you truly believed that not saying anything was a wise move.

He lifted a cup from one of the boxes next to him, holding it out to you. “I made one for you too, I 'ope you don’t mind.”

You didn’t mind it, in fact, you loved the way he made himself at home so quickly. The home that soon wouldn’t be yours anymore. You wished Al could remedy your worries for more than just one night.

“Thank you,” you took the still warm drink in your hands, looking at him as if he were part of your decor. “You can smoke in here, I don’t mind that either,” you spoke up. You couldn’t even imagine that he’d have gone without lighting a cigarette all morning.

“The place is all clean, and smells nice. I bet you never lit one yourself, I wouldn’t do that.” He was right.

“Well, y'know, I don’t care about the smell, I just don’t see the need to leave the house impregnated with it.” You explained, remembering that his place was a perfect description of that smell, yet you loved his warm flat.

“I know this's going to sound stupid,” he started. “But if you can’t find a place in time to live in, y'know, you can stay at mine. Well, I mean, you know I am never home much and as I’ll be travelin’ you could make yourself at home.”

He said it casually, and you knew he wasn’t lying. If you wanted to, he wouldn’t even think twice about letting you stay at his.

“No need, I’ll be fine. I do appreciate it though.” you took a sip of your now cold drink.

He bobbed, checking what you thought could be the time on his phone.

“You have to go, I'm afraid?” You asked, your soft voice revealing you didn’t want that.

“I need to,” he gave you a small smile, getting up. “It’s gettin’ a bit late for me.”

“I see,” you went to him, adjusting the sheet on your body, feeling ridiculous for still being undressed. “I guess I’ll see you, right?” You added it while he picked up his stuff on the couch; keys, wallet and the pack of cigarettes. There was no answer for your question.

“Yeah,” he breathed out, heading to the door. “You could come and visit, spend a few days with us. It’d be nice.”

“To LA? For the album thing? Like I'm one of your groupies?” You wrinkled your nose, jokingly. His arms wrapping around you. You’d miss it.

He squeezed you into his chest, his growing beard tickling your cheek. “You know you are much more than just a mere groupie for me, babe.”

You didn’t answer that. He pulled away and for a second you thought he was going to kiss you, but he didn’t.

“See ya, darlin',” instead, he kissed the top of your head. “Think 'bout it, both about comin’ to visit, but also, 'bout needing a place to stay for a while.”

“I for sure will, thank you, Al,” you watched him, from his rumpled shirt to the red and cute circles under his eyes. He’d always have a special space in your heart. “Well, I think I’ll see ya then.”

#alex turner #alex turner x reader #arctic monkeys #alex turner smut #alex turner x y/n #alex turner x you

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ghostboneswrites2 · 2 months

Text

Doe Eyes || CH3 - Wait

See CH1 for warnings! || Chapter list || Masterlist

Photo reference for how I imagine Brandy (your bestie):

The Governor had decided to start training every able bodied person over the age of thirteen for combat. Andrea had fought for a ceasefire, for some kind of 'live and let live' agreement, but the Governor was hellbent on retaliation and revenge. You didn't get it. A few of the Woodbury dwellers had fallen, but there was a sort of rage behind his good eye that told you that this was much deeper than that. Otherwise, the dude was just a psycho. Either way he had gone from leading everyone in a safe community to leading his community to war. A needless war, it seemed.

Then Andrea left. The Governor seemed oddly content with it, given their previous 'arrangement'. It led you to believe he probably sent someone after her, too. The same way he sent you and Merle after Michonne. Merle, who, had also left with his brother, who you'd later learned was actually his brother. At least he got what he was searching for with all that violence, you guessed.

Then Sasha, Tyreese, and a guy named Alan and his son showed up. They negotiated for safety and shelter, offering their hand in the battle in exchange for such. You had managed to keep quiet, following along with whatever whacky plans the Governor spelled out. You were tasked with assisting in training people on basic gun management. You hated it, it made you sick to show teenagers and regular people how to kill. They were told it was to defend themselves but you knew better than that. Brandy was there too. She learned how to shoot before, but only BB guns. She had decent aim, but she was no killer. None of these people were.

When you were on guard one night, Andrea rolled up in a car. You guys let her in, but you didn't see her again after that. You wondered if she was turned out on her own, but you knew better. By then the Governor had strayed further and further from the man who had welcomed you there and showed his true self. There was no telling what he was capable of.

"I still think we should go." You told Brandy, sitting at her table that night for dinner. It wasn't much, supplies had been scarce since all the efforts were focused on war instead of supply runs.

"I can't leave these people, (y/n)." She sighed. "They need me. We're a community."

"I won't leave you. But I don't think it's safe to stay. I think he's leading us all to our deaths." You shook your head.

"Whatever it is, we can get through it. As a community. You heard Andrea. One day the history books will talk about Woodbury. Even if part of our story includes mutiny."

"Mutiny." You scoffed. "What, we overthrow him?"

"If we need to." She nodded.

"Please." You waved her off. "These people are too loyal. He's like their prophet or something."

"No, these people are afraid, and they look tot he man who provides for him." She corrected. "They don't have anyone else to look to. We give them someone better, someone stronger, someone more convincing, they'll follow that person instead."

"Oh, you mean like you? Like me? Like Mr. Farris?" You rolled your eyes. "That's a bigger job than we're up for, Brandy. Our best bet is to go. Maybe others will follow. They were ready to leave when the barrier was breached, before Andrea gave her inaugural speech."

"Yeah, maybe. But how would we keep them all safe out there?" She asked, rubbing her temples.

"Not like we're doing much of that in here." You mumbled.

"Look, the Governor's system works. How was he supposed to know there's be a group of rogue prisoners out there?" She argued.

"You still don't get it, Brandy. They weren't just rogue prisoners. They were here to get their people that Merle kidnapped and beat! And the Governor let him! He stripped that girl's shirt off and did whatever with her!" You snapped. She just stared back at you, stunned. You let go of a breath and ran your hands over your face. "Look," you began, more calmly. "I'm telling you. I've seen some shit. All on his orders. He's not a good man. It's an act."

----

"What would your daughter think? About what you are?"

"She'd be afraid of me. If I'd been like this from the start, she'd be alive today."

The conversation played in your mind. Milton and the Governor. You watched him beat his little scientist, then watched as he tried to force him to kill Andrea. You were sick to your stomach. This wasn't right, not any of it. How could you have let your loyalty to Brandy keep you here, working as one of his henchmen? Milton refused. In retaliation, the Governor stabbed him and left him to turn, and then he'd tear Andrea apart.

"In this world, you kill or you die."

That was hours ago, and like the obedient little soldier you were, you left them there too. Andrea was on her own. You were just glad it wasn't Brandy. Now, you were preparing for war, a real war. You were loading trucks, counting ammo, fueling gas tanks, whatever needed to be done. Anything to numb your mind and keep the images of what was happening to Andrea at bay. You should have helped her, but you didn't. It wasn't like you to put someone's life before your own. You were a fighter, not a martyr. Although, the way things were headed, being martyred was probably in your near future.

"Let's roll!" He shouted as everyone piled into vehicles and readied themselves for a fight.

"Governor." You spoke up. "I'd like to stay and look after the children we're leaving here. With every able bodied adult out there fighting, they're a defenseless buffet."

He looked at you, an unsettling sort of calmness in his eye.

"Us too." Tyreese spoke up for himself and Sasha.

"And the elderly, I've always cared for them." Brandy added. He looked around between the four of you, before he nodded. He handed a weapon to Tyreese. You already had one.

"Thank you." He finally said, before they all fired the engines and left.

You exchanged glances with the other three, before you all spread out. Sasha and Tyreese took watch over the gates. You patrolled the street. Brandy cared for the children and the elderly inside the strongest building with the most supplies. All that was left to o was wait.

By nightfall the troops still hadn't made it back, but some others did. Karen and the ones who the Governor had gone to attack. Karen said they saved her, after the Governor gunned down everyone that went with him.

"We were coming to finish this. Until we saw what the Governor did." A man told Tyreese.

"He killed them?" Tyreese gasped.

"No." Brandy shook her head. "That's insane."

"He did." The man confirmed. Karen nodded. Brandy wept. Those were her friends, her people. The very reason she didn't run with you when she had the chance.

You all went to find Andrea. She was alive, but not for long. Milton had turned. She was a badass, so she too him down, but not without her own loss. She was bitten. Your stomach turned over and over as you watched them say their goodbyes.

"I can do it myself." She said.

"No." Michonne cried.

"Oh, I have to. While I still can. Please. I know how the safety works." She argued. That last part was some kind of inside joke, you could tell.

"I'm not going anywhere." Michonne protested.

Andrea shook her head. "I tried." She said.

"Yeah," The leader agreed. "You did.... You did."

With that, all of you except for Michonne filed out of the room where she was held. You waited, until that dreadful sound rang out. Andrea ended it. Just like she said she would. Like she said she had to, while she still could.

By dawn you had loaded the surviving members of Woodbury unto a bus and their leader, who you'd come to know as Rick, led you all to safety at the prison and welcomed you with pen arms. You protested at first, but it was what Brandy wanted, and you'd go, because she was your only friend.

#daryl x reader #twd daryl #daryl dixon #daryl fanfiction #the walking dead daryl #daryl x female reader #daryl twd #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl x y/n #daryl x you

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dittodon · 1 year

Text

ᶻz﹒sherlock holmes

— 002﹕ew who's that?

[name]’s ears perked up at the keys dangling outside their door, signifying that someone was outside and, even more, had their keys to enter the dorm. "goodbye, my privacy rights," crocodile tears metaphorically streamed down [name]'s cheek as they wished that their roommate was at least decent.

the door opened, and [name] peered out to see who this wonderful roommate could be. yes, they’re still pissed over the fact they’re forced to have a roommate, even though it's the school’s law to have a roommate. they looked out of his room to see a man not much taller than them, with purple hair, a jellyfish haircut that somehow fit him, and a scowl on his face.

‘damn, not gonna lie, he's kinda hot.’

his luggage was hooked by his arms as he tried to pull it into the dorm, and he was failing at it. [Name], being kind—but not—roommate they were, went outside to help the little man.

"let me help," was the first thing [name] said in the heat of the moment, as he tried to grab one of his suitcases to bring it in. all came to a sudden stop after the little man slapped their hand out of the way, saying, "I don't need it."

[name] was surprised. they were supposed to get a ‘thank you’ back or some sort of kindness, but no, it was an ‘i don't need it.’ they rolled their eyes, stepping aside to let the little man do his job on his own.

‘at least his looks make it better.’

"hey, new roommate, may I ask your name?" [name] still had the heart to be kind, something forced in his mind by his oh-so-good friend Ayaka. Once the little man’s luggage reached a side of the room that might not be a hassle to pass by, he sighed, loudly.

"Scaramouche, yours?"

'a name I'll never remember, fantastic.'

"[name], nice to meet you, I guess." [name] replied, trying not to sound as dry as possible, their attempts aren’t working, so that you know.

"yea, where do I put my stuff?" Scaramouche completely ignored [name]’s meeting and went straight to his question, to which [name] reluctantly pointed at the empty room. Scaramouche immediately started moving, not wanting to converse any longer.

‘son of a bitch.’

— masterlist || next

smau﹒scaramouche x gn!reader

sypnosis﹕not looking forward to your new roommate after the school finding out you've been living by yourself, you were greeted by an arrogant short man at the door. furthermore, he's been accompanied by his infuriating girlfriend. but from having him as a roommate, you find out secrets you'd wish to see, and secrets you feel guilty about knowing.

— note﹕first written part of the season, is pretty bad but please accept it. i also read 19 days and gawdamn

taglist﹕zuchilovescats user11918163805279 crucnhice xirthia the-ghost-0f-t0m0 yoursockstinks yukiipc inferisk0

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin fanfic #genshin smau #smau #genshin impact smau #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #genshin modern au #modern au #fanfic #x reader #scaramouche modern au #scaramouche smau #ᶻz﹒sherlock holmes

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 2 years

Text

Wildest dreams, pt. 9

Summary: Paul and Jacob come clean...about most things.

Warnings: angst, swearing

Wildest Dreams Masterlist

Jacob stood behind Y/N as Paul shifted, half expecting what would happen. She’s never been a fan of surprises, much less of those who are certainly going to change her life forever. Y/N adores animals, but humans turning into them made him skeptical about her impending reaction.

It’s why he wished Paul would stick by her side having the advantage of an imprint to make the process easier on her. She could hardly look at Jacob, she wasn’t about to let him comfort her. This was Paul’s job, but he selfishly wanted to be the first of the wolves she’d meet – he wanted to be the first that feels seen.

So when Y/N fell back into Jacob’s arms, he was anything but surprised.

“Knew it!” He chuckles as Paul growls, less than impressed by someone else holding his imprint.

Effortlessly, Jacob picked her up and brought her to the couch. Heading to the kitchen, he grabs a paper towel, wetting it.

“At least you won’t be as mad at me when you wake up”, he continues, half hoping she might hear him.

Placing the towel on her forehead, he smirks. “Your book obsessed ass is going to love this.” Biting his lower lip, he shrugs, “Or you’ll hate it because it’s Paul, but then again you did seem to quite enjoy hugging him.”

Groaning, she stirs but her eyes remain closed.

“Is she okay”, Paul stumbles through the door, still bare.

“Put some clothes on”, Jacob grumbles. “She’s coming to”, he throws the shirt she held onto at Paul. “Last thing she needs is your tits in her face.”

Rolling his eyes, Paul picks up his shorts. “I thought your time with the Cullens would make you more refined”, pulling them up, he continues, “I guess not even they can make you decent.”

“At least I’m not nearly thirty and still acting like a high school bully.”

Smacking his forearm, Y/N opens her eyes. “That’s enough”, she snaps. Looking at Paul who just put his shirt on, she lets out a sigh in relief. “I had the weirdest fucking dream.”

Raising his brows, Paul’s lips press in a thin line as he places his hands at his hips.

“Hate to break it to you”, Jacob trails off.

Sitting up, she grimaces. “Thought so.”

“At least you know”, Jacob grins, earning a glare from her.

“I COULD HAVE KNOWN BACK IN HIGH SCHOOL TOO!”

Paul takes a few steps closer, “It’s not that simple.”

“You turned into a frickin’ wolf!”

“I do that too”, Jacob interjects, earning himself two glares – from both Paul and Y/N. Raising his hands in mock surrender, he moves back to the kitchen and the bag of chips he dropped earlier. He’ll allow them to hash it out while he remains close enough to be of help.

Sighing, Paul moves to her side. Dropping to his knees, he places a hand on her knee with care. It’s such a small thing to do, but one she can easily reject.

“You went to the same schools as we did. You’ve lived here most of your life”, licking his lips, he looks up at her only to find her already looking back. “You know our tribe stories.”

“Stories”, she huffs. “That’s the whole point, Paul. Stories tend to be just that, stories.”

She places a hand over the back of his and Paul can’t tell if it’s something she meant to do or if it’s some sort of an instinctual way of seeking comfort, but he won’t move. He wouldn’t dare to. The risk of her pulling away is too great.

“They’re all real”, Paul’s lips curve in a small smile and her heart flutters at the way his eyes soften with it.

“And you can turn into a giant wolf”, she glances back at Jacob, “both of you can?”

“Embry and Quil too”, Jacob exclaims with mouth full of chips.

“Sam, Jared, Seth, Leah and a few more”, Paul pauses as he sees her pale, her blank look falling to their hands and he knows now it’s not by accident – she meant to hold his hand in the most Y/N way possible. But that empty look in her eyes, the silence of a woman who tends not to shut up, all of it unnerves him. She loves books, always has, but her whole life has always revolved around science. The base of who she is has been rooted in things she can prove, research and this? This is shaking the very foundation of who Y/N Y/L/N is and her mind is spinning.

“It’s in our genes”, Paul continues and her eyes shift to his. “Our DNA has predetermined us to turn if there is need to protect the tribe.”

“What need could have cause you to turn?” She frowns. “When did this even happen?” Her eyes widen and her lips part as the realization hits her. “That’s when you all disappeared for a while and then”, she closes her eyes, shaking her head lightly. “You were just kids.”

Bravely, Paul places his left hand on her right cheek, watching her eyebrows furrow as she bites her lower lip and her eyes flutter open, brimming with tears she’s too proud to shed.

“You were seventeen”, her voice is quiet, fragile. “Sixteen”, she turns to Jacob and then her eyes widen. “Seth wasn’t even in high school!”

Nodding quietly, Paul traces her cheek with his thumb. He’s never been this close to her before. He should be all kinds of worried about how he will introduce the subject of imprints and her mental state right now, but all he can think about is how perfectly her cheek fits in his hand.

“Are you okay”, Paul asks softly.

“ARE YOU”, she grips the hand resting on her cheek with her shaky one. “I have so many questions.”

“I’ll tell you everything you want to know”, Paul is quick to say.

“We”, Jacob corrects, “will tell you everything you want to know.”

Nodding, she turns to sit properly, making room for both Jacob and Paul to sit beside her.

Giving Jacob a pointed look, her lips purse. “I expect that bag of chips replaced.”

“So you still eat your feelings away?”

“If there isn’t a replacement I’ll feast on your flesh”, she remarks and Paul looks at her in shock.

“I can tell you were close”, he notes as Jacob plops in his seat with a chuckle.

Paul is the one to start explaining the process of shifting, the uncontrollable rage that comes with it that was made even worse by his underlying anger issues and the way their body changed too. Puberty definitely made it harder for them than it had to be.

“So the stories about steroids weren’t so fake”, she sighs. “Except these were magical steroids.”

Y/N’s heart broke as she listened to Paul’s confessions, about the struggles with his anger and she made a mental note to delve deeper into that when they’re alone. She wanted to hear more, to have him open up to her, to possibly become someone he’s comfortable around enough to show her his darkness as well as the sunlight.

It couldn’t have been easy to come to school every day and keep his composure. Looking back at it, so many things made more sense now – the classes they missed, the fights he used to get into stopped but she always assumed it’s because he was around less. He stopped playing sports, hooking up with girls, he never even looked at her – just like the others.

There was always a piece of her heart that was hurt by it, because their arguments were gone. She had no one to banter with, no one to scream their name in pure rage at 2 am as he’d randomly cross her mind on the nights she couldn’t sleep, no one to rant about to her best friend…the very best friend who was gone months later too.

At the time, she just assumed Paul’s best course of revenge and proof of hate was him ignoring her. So, whenever she could, she pretended to ignore him too. But she caught herself looking at him when he wasn’t aware only to shift her gaze when he’d seemingly look her way. She was so childish back then. Too many of her problems were caused by her immaturity.

And then it was Jacob’s turn – he spilled his heart open for her, no shame about doing it in front of Paul. Some details were spared for a later conversation, mainly the one about Jacob’s confession of an old crush on her, but for the first time in a long time, she felt this ordeal had left a mark on him too. He wasn’t okay, far from it. He missed her just as much as she missed him. It pained him to stay away, to be torn from their little bubble. Selfishly, she was glad it hurt him as much as it hurt her.

Yet in all of their talk, neither of them spoke beyond high school and no one explained what the danger was.

“Remember that thing in the woods?” Paul frowns as she raises a brow.

“Yes?” She folds her hands in her lap, waiting for an explanation.

“They’re called cold ones”, Paul licks his lips as he glances at Jacob. “They’re essentially vampires….just much harder to destroy.”

Swallowing thickly, she stares ahead. “What works?”

“Dismembering and burning the pieces”, Paul answers. “Their skin is hard, like diamonds. Humans can’t harm them.”

“They’re not all bad”, Jacob adds. “Some don’t hunt humans. Like the Cullens.”

Her brain stutters for a moment, her eyes widening as it takes her a few moments to understand. “As in Carlisle Cullen and his kids? The family Bella Swan married into?”

Nodding, Jacob chews on his bottom lip. “I’m sort of with them.”

“You’re a vampire?!”

“No!” Jacob exclaims, “Just a protector of one.”

Leaning forth, she rests her elbows on her knees as she hides her face in her hands. To say she feels confused is an understatement. She needs to gain a greater perspective, to take a step back and have time to think through all the things they told her and yet she feels they’ve barely scratched the surface. What confuses her more is that people see truth from different perspectives and their narrative is skewed when talking about the same events from their point of view.

The only thing she’s certain is that her brain can hardly process it all, she needs clarity that comes with time, with patience. All this time she’s been asking for answers, she didn’t expect them to entirely shatter her idea of reality. Now she knows, but at what cost?

A comforting hand on her back snaps her back to reality and by the warmth it exudes, she can tell it’s Paul’s. Jacob feels like a furnace beside her, but Paul is a comforting hue of the morning sun.

“I think I’m done for today”, she mumbles. She’s sweaty, tired, confused and most of all, scared – for them. They’re meant to be canon meat for creatures who can snap her like a twig, but neither of them seem to take it seriously.

“That’s okay”, Paul assures her.

But there is another thing that bothers her, something that she really can’t shake off.

“We should leave”, Jacob stands, “give you some time to breathe.”

“I’d rather stay”, Paul narrows his eyes at Jacob. “But if you want me to go, I will.”

“No”, she says breathlessly. “Can you stay”, she turns to Paul. That’s the thing that bothers her - she can’t stay away from him. Well, she can, but the aches she was feeling are gone now and she can’t help but wonder if it’s because he’s here too.

Clicking his tongue, Jacob nods. “If you need me, I’m a call away.”

She nods, sparing Jacob a curt look as he heads to the door, visibly dejected by her choice.

“This feels weird”, Y/N breaks the silence. Looking at Paul, she sees his shit eating grin and reluctant nod.

“Good weird”, he corrects her and she snorts.

“Still not sure about that.”

Part of her wants to snuggle into his side while the other is screaming at her for telling Paul to stay and not Jacob. It’s as if she abandons common sense around Paul and it’s not hard to see why so many girls lost their minds around him. She just never thought she’d be one of them.

“I’m really glad you allowed me to stay.” Paul’s earnest, she can feel it in her bones. His left knee is bouncing, running his hands over the back of his thighs.

“I’m glad you wanted to stay”, she says quietly, not only to Paul’s surprise, but her own. And she is. Being around him is intoxicating. There is no reason why she should feel so at peace, so calm and yet have her heart beat so fast.

One day she hates him, other she craves him. Her pride didn’t allow her to see it sooner, but every time he drove her home, a sliver of her heart had been stolen. Slowly, but surely, he had robbed her of quite a big chunk, the rest of it flailing in her chest for the very thief.

Biting her lower lip, she leans back on the couch. Her head is turned to Paul who tucks a stray lock of her hair behind her right ear. Crossing her legs, she turns her body lightly toward him, just staring back at his dark eyes.

Gnawing at the inside of her lower lip, she waits for him to make the next move. The silence is overbearing, crushing her under its weight but he seems unbothered by it.

How is he so sure of himself even now? Does he just assume she will fall prey to his charm and allow him to have his way with her? Is this how he wins girls over?

Swallowing thickly, she releases her tortured bottom lip and they part.

“It was you”, he says quietly and her brows furrow. “When you asked if anyone made me feel like that song”, he clarifies and she quirks her left eyebrow.

“Why are you telling me that now?”

Smiling, his eyes flicker to her lips momentarily. “Because I’m done being stubborn and lying to everyone about how I feel, how I felt even back in high school.”

Inching closer, she holds her breath. Letting it pass her lips, she gathers courage to ask. “And how do you feel?”

“Like I’m yours.”

She didn’t quite expect a direct answer, much less that it would leave her winded as if he had knocked the very breath out of her lungs. There is such relief and freedom in his eyes since he let the words out into the world, and while she can’t be certain what she feels, she knows that he steadies her heart in a way she’s needed in a long time. He had seen her at her best and he had seen her at her worst and he’s not running away. He’s here, offering to be an anchor so that she cannot be swept away by the storms she’s barely been surviving on her own and it’s impossible for her to look away. He feels like the other half of a broken locket she found after searching for it for her whole life, like completeness. And it’s positively terrifying.

“So be mine”, she reaches for his hand, gingerly finding a place for her own inside it. “But know I’m not sure how I feel just yet.”

Bringing the hand she placed in his to his lips, Paul graces the open palm with a tender kiss.

“Take all the time you need. I certainly did.”

He did. He truly did. If this is how he felt even back in high school, why didn’t he tell her then? Because he shifted? He couldn’t risk that secret being out in the open, but he risks it now? He and Jacob both told her, but why?

“Paul”, she purses her lips. “Why did you tell me all of this”, she wets her bottom lip. “About the shifting, about the cold ones, about your feelings for me?”

Noticing him tense up, she continues to push. Perhaps it’s not the smartest idea considering all he’s told her, but something isn’t adding up. “You didn’t tell me for so many years only to tell me now? What changed?”

Letting out a heavy sigh, Paul can feel his heart is overcome by a panic as it begins to race. He didn’t quite think he’d tell her on the same day as he shared the legends. He wanted her to grow accustomed to the new truths, to win her over in the meantime so that when she learns about imprinting, she wouldn’t think he’s somehow forced to love her.

But he promised to answer all her questions. If he breaks his promise now, it’s going to set a dangerous precedent he doesn’t want in his relationship with the woman of his dreams.

“Only pack members can know.”

Shaking her head, she smiles in disbelief. “It makes no sense. I’m not a pack member.”

“Imprint are.” Paul pauses as he sees the confusion his words causes. “I imprinted. It makes you a part of the pack.” Paul didn’t hesitate, he didn’t stutter. He told her, perhaps with less tact than he should have, but had told her the truth.

But the way she pulls her hand out of his hold, he can tell he should have laid it out carefully, in a way that she could understand it better. And when she speaks, he’s sure he’s made a mistake.

“What the hell is imprinting?”

Tags: @the-chaotic-cow @xxxjaexxx @captainrogers-19 @bexloxl @laehlaluvs @adaydreamaway08 @sunsetevergreen @volturiwolf @twihard08 @galacticstxrdust @sorrow-and-bliss @ireadthensuetheauthors @missxmarvelous @locokoca @unstablekay @makhaia

part 10

#paul lahote #paul lahote x reader #twilight #Twilight series #twilight saga #paul lahote series #paul lahote imagine #twilight fandom #twilight fanfiction #jacob black

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succubus-interactivefiction · 10 months

Text

Final Girl Blurb

Trans MC x Devon Low A possible scene that can happen if the MC is trans and on decent terms with Devon.

“What do you mean I know you from highschool? We never met before this job!” You snap as you spin on your heel towards Low.

“Of course you know me you stupid prick! We dated for three years and you dumped me to go to college across the country!!” What? Wait, WHAT?! Your eyes immediately begin scanning Devon’s face.

“I never dated…wait, JASON!?” Your jaw drops and you notice a few of your co-workers edging closer to the heated argument between you and your ex.

“It’s Devon now” She growls, her fists clenching at her sides and you immediately recognize the gesture, she is so close to simply slugging you. “Let’s take this somewhere else" she mumbles as she eyes your nosy co-workers. Grabbing your arm she drags you into an empty office and slams the door behind the two of you. “Now, stop acting like this is something bigger than it is,” she bites her lip as she looks you up and down, “I’m not the only one who’s changed. Who’d have thought we were both trans.”

That snaps you out of your thoughts and you close your mouth, readjusting your posture to your usual professional self. “Yeah, who would have thought,” you hesitate for a moment before you and Devon try speaking at the same time.

“You owe me...”

“I should tell you…”

You both stop and each fidget in your own way. A full minute goes by before she motions to you, “Will you at least tell me why you felt the need to break up? I just woke up one morning and you were already gone. I tried talking to your parents but they refused to even look at me, and none of our friends knew why you had just vanished overnight.”

“Oh, yeah, that…” You sigh and run a hand through your hair, your posture immediately slumping again. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I wanted you to come with me like we talked about and I was going to wait a year for you to graduate so we could go at the same time, but when dad found out…well he flipped. I was trying to explain that taking a year to decompress and evaluate life was a common way to go but at one point I accidently let slip that we were dating and that just made things worse…it took weeks for my black eye to heal.” Devon’s eyes widen and she takes a step closer. “He actually hit you? I never thought…”

“Yeah, turns out there was something that could tip him from always angry into rage. Turns out having a gay son was what did it, though, heh,” you shake your head as you chuckle, “Nope nevermind, guess I'm still gay. Anyway he gave me a warning, leave for college immediately without telling anyone and he and mom would still pay my way through school, or stay and become homeless with no job.” You slump against the desk behind you, picking up the nameplate and fiddling with it. “I took the coward's way out, and I regretted it for so long, still do in some ways I guess. After I managed to shake off the fear I did try to call you but you had blocked me on everything and no one else would even talk to me or let you know what had happened.”

“Actually Kate did tell me that you had been trying to find me, but I was still SO pissed off. I still am if you couldn’t tell,” she leans against the desk next to you, “But at least now I understand. So thank you for that I guess. Hey, so can I ask when you realized…” she trails off.

“Realized I was a woman?” she nods, “Second year of college, I had just met my, uh,” you cough into your hand as you try to say ex to which Devon just rolls her eyes, “Smoooooth”

“Right, yeah so I had just met my ex and we were hanging out with some friends and one of her friends was trans and I started asking her some questions, you know just the usual cis curiosity questions, but her answers started to make more and more sense you know? I started to realize that a lot of her answers applied to me, to things I kept secret. It took months of research and talking to a few of the other transwomen around campus before it fully hit me. Took another year for me to accept it and tell anyone.”

“How’d your parents react? I can’t imagine it was good.” You can’t help but snicker.

“I never told them. I held out till graduation and as soon as it was all said and done I immediately cut them out of my life. No calls, no messages, I just changed my phone number, moved in with my ex, and changed my name. So I basically did to them what they forced me to do to you, I just cranked it up to eleven. Didn’t even bother to tell them about the graduation.”

“Wow, well they kinda deserved it huh?”

“Eeeeyup” You reply, popping the p at the end. “So when did you?”

“Another time Nancy, okay? We just dropped some major bombshells on each other and I need some time to absorb everything.” She stands back up and heads towards the door.

“Yeah, no problem Devon, another time.”

“For what it’s worth…it’s nice hearing you saying my name.”

“Ditto”

#happy succubus #interactive fiction #writing #final girl #the final girl #final girl if #the final girl if #blurb #trans #ro: devon low #lesbian #lesbian romance #romance option

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bluestar22x · 10 months

Text

The Great Mountains

The Journey - The Great Mountains

Summary: For enough coin a mercenary will play guardian

Pairing: Pero Tovar x F!Reader

Rating: 18+ series

Warnings: Underage arranged marriage and infertility mentions. Mentions of rape. Murder. See the full warnings list for this series on the masterlist.

Word Count: 3,096

Author’s Note: The Great Mountains are the Alps. I’m sure they weren’t always called the Alps so I took a guess at what people in 1010 or whatever would call them. Also, wow, this chapter got dark for a split second. Sorry.

xxx

Another night. Another dim lit tavern in a small village. Pero Tovar was sipping on another drink, seated in the far back corner of the main room when a bag of coins was tossed in front of him, clinking heavily as it landed on the table.

His eyes shot up from his drink in the direction the bag had come from. There was a man in his early sixties standing at the end of the table, silver hair cropped short, beard well trimmed, one hand on a cane for support. He was well dressed, not a speck of dirt on his expensive shirt and pants. His stance was of someone who was important (or at least thought he was) and knew it. He was studying Pero, like he was trying to get a read on him.

“What’s this?” Pero inquired, tilting his head at the bag.

“Compensation,” the man answered plainly.

“For what?” Pero asked guardedly, an eyebrow cocked.

“I’m hiring you to bring my daughter through The Great Mountains,” the man informed him. “I have overheard that you’ve seen combat and know how to transverse the land. That you work for coin. You could get her to her destination safely.”

“That is true,” Pero confirmed. “But I am a mercenary. A hired swordsman. Not an escort or some kind of a nursemaid.”

“My daughter is far from a child,” the old man told him. “She is getting married to a man in Poland, but she cannot there travel alone, and I cannot go with her. Neither can her future husband pass this way safely, not anymore. With the ongoing war and the danger of bandits, I need someone like you to bring her on this journey. It shouldn’t take you more than a month and a half. You’ll be done with her before the leaves begin to change. I’ll make it worth your time.”

Pero huffed and folded his arms. He shouldn’t have even been entertaining the idea, but he was curious. “What’s the payment?”

The payment was pretty decent. More than Pero was normally paid for a single mission. It would keep him fed and sheltered for a full year if he was mindful of his spending, even if he didn’t do any other jobs. It was suddenly very tempting for him to accept. Even though he’d told the old man he wasn’t an escort, he could be one for that amount of coin.

It didn’t mean he was particularly happy about accepting it. He could only imagine what it would be like traveling through the wilderness and dozens of small villages for so long with a spoiled rich man’s daughter. He could already hear the whining.

But it was a lot of coin.

He sighed. “I’ll only do it if you pay me at least half upfront.”

“You’ll have that and more,” the old man promised. “I’ll be sending you on your way with extra coin so you do not have to spend your own to get her there.”

“And the back half?”

“It will be paid by her fiancé when you deliver her to him.”

Pero nodded. “Alright then. Show me a map of where we need to go and I will get her there.”

The rich man’s daughter was a lot older than Pero had expected, every inch of a mature woman, not the young maiden he’d imagined. Old for a bride-to-be by their century’s standards.

She was as pretty as he figured she’d be though. Definitely eye catching, especially in her dark green flowing dress that was highly inappropriate for traveling on horseback as they would be. She’d be riding sidesaddle, but the dress was long enough it hindered her from mounting and dismounting without assistance.

At least the horse that her father had bought for her to ride was solid. The dapple gray mare was as thick legged as Pero’s black stallion, and appeared to be of good health, her ribs not notable except upon palpation.

There was a quick exchange of greetings between the three of them when they met outside the tavern the morning after he’d agreed to the job, then the rich old man hugged his daughter goodbye, said a few words to her too lowly for Pero to hear, and nudged her towards her horse. The rich man had brought a stable hand with them, and the man helped her up into the saddle quickly, leaving her to adjust her dress and secure her delicate riding boots into the stirrups. After her father and the stable hand left she adjusted the reins in her hands and nodded at Pero without a word, signaling to him that she was ready.

He nodded back at her and started his horse into a fast walk. He could hear her kiss at her horse to get her moving, and after a couple seconds they stepped in stride with him and his horse, shoulder to shoulder.

They were out of the village in a few minutes, through a grassy field in ten, and beginning the climb through the first set of The Great Mountains in an hour.

In all that time, she remained silent, to Pero’s surprise. He was not used to a woman who was this quiet, especially a woman of her high status. Hell, he wasn’t used to riding with anyone that speechless. His last mercenary partner, a good friend, had spoken enough for the both of them. Not that Pero didn’t have his moments.

Usually Pero didn’t mind silence, it was much better than the bellyaching he’d expected, but the more they rode together, the more curious he got as to why she was acting like a mute. Surely she had something on her mind.

“Planning out your wedding?” he guessed out loud.

She craned her neck to put her eyes on him and her eyebrows knitted together, like it displeased her that he had asked, but she was polite when she answered. “No.”

“Thinking of your family?”

She barked a laugh at that question. “I should not. They certainly will never think of me again.”

“Your father seemed to care,” Pero said pointedly.

She snorted, not very lady like. “Seemed. Trust me. He was the most anxious to be rid of me.”

“Last to leave the nest?” Pero inquired.

“How many twenty-nine year olds do you know who are maidens?” she asked.

He thought about it for a moment. “None that weren’t outcasts.”

Outcasts who were disfigured or otherwise deemed not fit for society for one reason or another. This woman was definitely not one of those women.

“Exactly,” she said. “I’m not a maiden; I’m a widow.”

“Oh.” He instantly regretted digging. “Sorry.”

“I’m not,” she told him without hesitation. “It was an arranged marriage. My husband was nearly twice my age and a bastard through and through. I was overjoyed when he was killed in battle. Finally free of him after twelve ridiculously long years.”

Twelve years. That would’ve made her seventeen at the time she’d been forced to marry her first husband. Pero’s jaw twitched. He wasn’t the best example of a man, but he had never stooped to bedding down with a teenager. He knew it wasn’t an uncommon practice in many villages, but he’d grown up in one that detested older men preying on young ladies who were hardly mature yet. He couldn’t comprehend how any father would want that for his daughter. It was a good thing they were over an hour away from the tavern or he may have turned back to give her sorry excuse of a father a piece of his mind...or his fists.

“Is this marriage arranged too?” he questioned instead, not sure he wanted the answer, but wanting to know anyway for some reason.

“It is,” she replied. “I met him once. He’s more my age and seems nice enough, but we lied to him, so I have no idea if that will stick.”

“What do you mean, lied?”

“You sure are nosy for a mercenary,” she quipped. “But I suppose it would be somewhat of a relief to spill my transgression to someone.” She sighed heavily and stared at a snow-capped mountain in the distance. “The man I’m marrying wants children. He was concerned that I had never bore any for my first husband. My father lied to him and said that the three children we’d had all died from a tragic disease two years ago. He made me go along with it, saying my options were too limited not to and he wasn’t going to keep me through the winter. I’d have to lie or live on the streets, maybe work in a whore house. He said I’d be perfect for it.” She chewed her bottom lip, and Pero could see moisture filling her eyes.

“Your father is a bastard,” he declared firmly.

She turned her head to flash him a small smile. “That he is. But he was right. A barren lady is a whore house owner’s dream.”

She clucked at her horse so the mare broke out into a trot, clearly no longer wanting to take part in their conversation. Pero let her put distance between them, respecting that she wanted to be alone, but he made sure she was in sight at all times as he scanned for danger. Bandits, wolves, enemy soldiers. It was early morning, so man and animal alike weren’t likely to be traveling this particular path, but it didn’t hurt to keep an eye out.

It also kept him from thinking too much about his conversation with the woman in his charge. He’d barely known anything about her less than two hours ago and then the next thing he knew he’d known too much. It was his own fault.

Lesson learned.

Traversing The Great Mountains was tedious on the best days and a nightmare on the worst days. The weather always was the biggest factor. On the sunny, dry days, the worst thing that could happen was one of the horses could take a misstep and lose their footing for a split second on a narrow trail, pumping their rider with a shot of adrenaline, but usually not dooming them. The rainy or snowy days were much more frightening. Pero had seen some of the mountain paths give out under horse and rider before, plummeting them to their deaths. He’d also heard of avalanches burying them prematurely on occasion, those few riders who were reckless enough to traverse them in the winter and early spring.

Safe to say Pero avoided the narrow paths on the rainy days, even if they ended up covering less ground in a day because of it.

Outside of the weather, the beginning of Pero’s journey with the rich man’s daughter was surprising calm and predictable.

They spent their days on the trail in peace, nothing but the sound of birds and their horses’ hooves clopping along. Pero only spoke to her if he needed her to direct her horse to a specific spot and she only spoke to him if she needed a break to stretch her legs. Every time she did, he had to help her down, hands under her arms.

They were usually able to stop at a village to rest at night, either in an inn or a private home when someone offered their hospitality to them. It wasn’t common, not with the scar over Pero’s left eye and his grumpy demeanor. The times they were allowed beds in a private home his charge had turned up her charm to convince them.

She’d turned out to be a tough lady. Sitting hours side saddle without complaint, ignoring the flies, enduring the rain. She hadn’t even complained when they’d had to set up camp in the forest, those few nights they weren’t close to a village. Sleeping on the hard ground with nothing to cushion her body.

It was Pero who suggested a week into the trip for her to trade in her dresses to buy a set of feminine riding pants and a couple blouses with vests. He also suggested trading in the side saddle for a normal one, telling her it was better for her to sacrifice some of her femininity in the wilderness than her life. Riding side saddle was dangerous, especially in the mountains.

She did not hesitate, seemingly having thought about making the exchange from the start of her ride, but feeling the need to be proper. She’d needed to be given the okay. It was a strange realization for Pero. Everything about her otherwise screamed independent. She’d been forced into marriage and was about to be forced into a second, but he didn’t get the vibe that she usually was one to ask permission to do anything, which must’ve drove her late husband mad.

Maybe Pero was just making assumptions again, for the wrong reasons. He liked strong minded women, and the more days he spent at her side, the more he felt something for his charge. He was attracted to her. Not just to her beauty, but also her will, her inner strength, and her pose.

By their third week on the trail together, it was eating at him. Especially because she’d finally started talking to him again the last few days, telling him about her childhood with her eight other siblings and asking about his adventures as a mercenary. He answered all her questions as honestly as he could, avoiding any talk of the monsters he’d faced in China. The ones that still haunted his dreams some nights. She’d just think he was crazy.

It wasn’t until the fourth week that something happened to shake their world, to remind them both of the dangers of their reality.

He’d left her with the horses at a post in front of a village store, in the middle of broad daylight, to quickly buy a new girth to replace the worn one on his saddle.

When he’d returned, he was just in time to see his charge get pulled off her mount, kicking and screaming, by three very large men. He gritted his teeth at the sight and unsheathed his sword.

“Let her go!” he commanded.

The men had her on her knees in the mud. One was in the middle of trying to tie her hands behind her back. Fury flared in Pero’s chest at the sight. “Now!”

The men pulled their own swords. “This woman yours, mercenary?” one asked.

Pero shook his head. “No, but she’s under my watch. So back off.”

“We can’t offer you a better deal?” the second inquired. “Such a pretty little thing.” He caressed her right cheek and she flinched away. Pero hated seeing her so afraid.

“You’re quite brash, trying to steal a woman on main, and then making a counter offer when you are threatened for it,” he growled.

“This is our town,” the third, who’d finished binding her hands together, declared. “No one confronts us when we take a woman. We return them, after all. Well, most of them anyway. The ones worth returning.”

The implications of his words made Pero’s skin crawl. He thought the monsters in his dreams were bad. How could any village allow this? Why would anyone stay?

“I don’t make deals with rapists,” Pero told them.

“Too bad,” the second said.

The next thing he knew, the three men were upon him, swords flailing about. They were clearly inexperienced swordsman, and he had armor on, unlike them.

Catching their blades on his own, blocking them, Pero smirked and got to work.

If he ever told the story in the future, he’d play up the fight, make it tense, say that the three men nearly got him, they were that good, but the truth was he wiped the floor with them without a sweat because they were downright awful at it compared to him.

In less than a minute all three of their bodies were laying at his feet.

Without a second glance at them, Pero slid his bloodied sword back into its sheath and marched over to his charge’s side, kneeling at her back to untie her hands.

“Are you okay?” he inquired as she began rubbing her freed wrists.

She nodded at him quickly, and stood, tears of relief forming in her eyes. Without warning she threw herself at him, hugging him tightly. “You saved me.”

“Kind of part of my task,” he said, awkwardly patting her back. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

Like she hadn’t heard him, she pulled away, eyes studying his, then pitched forward to plant a kiss on his lips.

Her mouth was so warm and delicate and inviting that for a moment, he lost all sense, deepening the kiss with a groan.

How many times had he daydreamed about how it would be like to kiss her? Countless. But the real deal was even better.

It was only when they had to part for air that his senses returned to him. “We need to get out of here,” he repeated.

He boosted her up into her saddle and climbed into his own, encouraging his stallion into a canter. Her mare followed.

They were quiet for a while after, as they returned to the general safety of the forest on the bright, sunny day. Pero was ready to pretend like the kiss never happened, to just keep going, there was really no need to say anything about it, but his charge was not having it.

“I don’t regret it,” she told him. “You are the best man I’ve ever known.”

“You only feel that way cause I saved your life,” he refuted.

She scoffed. “I’ve liked you long before today. You’re a little rough on the edges, and you’re far from unfamiliar with violence, but you are a good man. You’ve been nothing but thoughtful and patient with me since this trip began.”

“Nothing can come of it,” Pero told her. “I am being paid to bring you to your future husband and I will not touch a woman promised to another man.”

It was a lame excuse, not the truth. He did not hold arranged marriages anywhere near the same standards as a genuine engagement. But she couldn’t be with him. He was a mercenary and she was too sweet for his lifestyle. He could not give her the life she deserved and she would not survive his world. She’d have a better chance with her new husband. She said he’d been nice.

She deserved a chance at nice.

xxx

Masterlist

#The Great Wall Fanfic #Pero Fanfic (Mine)#The Journey Series

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