#but i hate the completely smooth plastic skin. away with it
Text
those playdough ass sims aren't gonna fit in with that beautiful beautiful lighting let's get a move on i wanna see some realistic skin folds (MODELED not a flat texture) and blemishes and subsurface scattering i want that-specific-breed-of-maxis-match-tiktoker-you-know-the-ones tears
#i changed my mind about not liking the hair being clay#as long as people can still make alpha hair i actually like having the option between the two i wasn't thinking#in my dream utopia we get some kind of particle system but in actuality that would make modding way less accessible#and you can't count on ea to give us all the hair we want so that's definitely a no#but i hate the completely smooth plastic skin. away with it#i saw people say those supposed leaks look 'too alpha' YOU'VE LOST YOUR MINDSSSSSSSS#just because the shirt's not painted onto the skin with a shitty low quality jpg graphic doesn't make it 'alpha'. unfortunately#they were on the right track with sims 3 medieval but noo#project olympus has done so much damage it's unreal. in a million years aliens are somehow going to trace the apocalypse back to it#my mom was trapped in the passenger seat of my car today listening to me explain the entire project olympus history. i'm sorry#i mentioned the live stream and she harmlessly asked if it seems better than ts4. like oh man do you have a minute to hear about ts4#but it's on my mind it's such an interesting topic too bad it poisoned my water supply and killed everyone i love
26 notes
·
View notes
Text
Epilogue
“Everything good must come to an end.”
- Geoffrey Chaucer.
Jonathan levy x reader smut.
Word count: 6k
Viewers beware you’re in for a scare with: Depression level angst, heavy sexual themes, smut, breeding kink, power exchange, age gap, daddy kink, a little hint of dd/lg, abuse of power, explicit language and themes, rough smut, sex in public, nudes, very graphic detail of sex, talk of punishment, dirty talk, jealousy, over protectiveness, spanking, overstim, choking, biting, bruising, fingering, rough blow jobs.
A/n: y’all dirty animals wanted a part two, so eat up. Might I say I didn’t hold anything back, plz beware of the warnings. Sorry for taking forever to write this I just wanted it to be a masterpiece. The second part to this: lovers exchange.
Jonathan’s hair stood on his skin, as the sun's glow of the early morning shone through his curtains. Bars of gold hit his bare chest. His long body contorted on his sofa. The chatter of hollow television continued to chime. He moves his forearm away from his eyes. Groggily blinking his dull eyes open. The beige ceiling and instant brightness blind him. He winced to himself before sitting up, putting his elbows on his knees, and running his hands over his face. He groans, smoothing out his hair. He sighs, slipping his glasses back on. His eyes adjust in a quick second. He only had approximately three hours of sleep before he passed out ultimately. His brain never fully rested running with rampant images of you. Before he can register it he’s running up his stairs, two at a time. To his bedroom and bathing. A short brisk shower and basic hygiene are kept in pristine condition. He stills. The wet splat of droplets crusading down his body made dark circles on the tile. He pauses giving his reflection a minute. Dismal rings are around his eyes, almost looking black from sleep deprivation.
He thanks the world that he’s going to get coffee with you. Almost having a mental breakdown about what clothes he should wear, he has a breakthrough. Remembering what you’ve said about his cardigans and khakis. He blushes. It really feels like a fever dream, he’s an imposter of himself. Pausing by the floor-length mirror Mira had purchased. Pivoting to see himself from all angles. White shirt, mousey wool coat, with dark brown pants. He stylishly rolled up the ends twice, he should change his emerald green socks. He thinks it compliments his beige tones and his gray shoes. Scratching his neck he sighs. Looking at his watch to find the hour to be nine. He swears. Even if he’s going to be early, he wants to be comfortable before you arrive. He’s rehearsed everything he was going to say to you. Reciting over in his mind in a tandem. His aged body doesn’t move as fast as it used to as he hobbled down his stairs. Grabbing his keys out of the dish along with his satchel off the rack. Locking the door on his way out, he jogs out of the house that he hated and starts his car. Knuckles white at the right grip around the steering wheel, he ponders a story he once read that’s eerily reminiscent of his life. Lolita, is slightly less illegal.
_______
He parks by the side of the building, not in the lot. People billow out of stores into another on the busy street of the city. Completely engrossed by the people, it’s strange. How strangers are programmed to detach themselves from others, to not intrude on bystanders out of their circle. Enlightened to know that you stumbled onto his messy circle. Poking holes into the plastic bag around his head so he can breathe. Walking down the street by the greyhound bus, he wonders if you’re on it. His heart flutters thinking of you being so close. He wraps his chilly hands around the strap of his bag, keeping him anchored.
Keeping his head buried to his chest as he pushes open the glass doors of the cafe. There’s a few other people all from different backgrounds scattered around. Sat drinking and conversing. A couple is fondling one another in a corner. It makes him burn up with embarrassment for walking in on it. He dashes into the industrial loft, to a booth seated by the enormous window. Shrugging off his satchel, he takes off his coat too. He puts the thick fabric over his bag. He folds his hands neatly on his lap. A soft folk song pours from the speakers, he pushes his glasses up. People watching is his new favorite hobby. They’re younger than him, hipsters who laugh at obnoxious jokes. Who overindulge in pda. For some reason Jonathan feels like he doesn’t belong. The stereotypical mundane things people do are normal. He doesn’t feel normal, not in any way. This was such a stupid idea. It was just a story. Fiction.
Contemplating for a while, he plays with his fingers absolutely lost in his thoughts. He pulls his jacket off his bag, reaching in to retrieve his current read. It’s worn and faded, one of his favorites. Knowing he can recite it front to back without question. The Scarlet Letter. He just can’t get over the taboo, the utter mourning of tragedy. Opening the abraded book to the number he mesmerized. Reading through a third of the book, he realizes its ten past the original meeting time. Having to wave off the poor server twice since he first came. What if he was a fool? What if you didn’t want to meet with an old creep who has an agenda? He bounces his leg, knee brushing the underside of the table with each jump. Closing the book over his finger to hold his spot, he does the thing he does best and overcompensates. Now Jonathan is a grown man, and he’s not upset, but his ego is bruised. He breathes heavily as he gets worked up. He considers leaving.
Before he does, he hears the bell chime as the door opens. Head popping up to find the visitor to be a disgruntled you. Messy absolutely wild hair. Your backpack strewn carelessly on your shoulders. One hand you hold a strap to keep it on, the other you hold your phone with white earbuds connected. He’s shocked to find your shoes on the right feet. His heart stops and time freezes, as it does he wonders how fast he can sprint to the bathroom. Your head whips around finding him pale face and wide eyed. A bright, stunning smile spreads across your face. Tangled hair bobbing as you walk, you wave at him; he returns the greeting with a meek smile. As you settle down into your seat across from him. He smiles at your perfume and he’s whipped by the scent. It’s youthful like spring, nothing like Mira’s dry smelling daffodils. Shrugging off your bag, you pluck the buds from your ears. Pausing your music. You’re sweating and breathing like you ran a marathon.
“Hi.”
He smiles wider, eyes crinkling.
“Hello.”
You sit straighter, smoothing out your lilac damp shirt. Wondering if that’s your perfume he’s smelling or if your body’s essence smells just that good.
“Missed the bus. Had to run. Sorry I was late.”
So you weren’t on the bus. Each pause that you took you huffed. Gasping to breathe. He shoves his book back into his bag, his physical spot lost. Mentally he’s at page 100. His attention is fully onto you.
“It’s alright, are you okay?”
Your eyes bulge out of your head, jumping at his question. For you to have run so far, you’re full of energy, youth.
“Oh! Yeah, I’m just not used to extracurriculars such as track.”
He chuckles, smart too. Extracurriculars. He’ll be thinking about that one for a while. Curtly nodding at your response.
“Well, I’m happy you made it.”
You beam up at him, eyes gleaming and big. You reach over across the table to squeeze his forearm. His mouth is almost dropping at your affection.
“Thanks for inviting me!”
He pushes a hand to his hair when you remove your delicate touch. He scratches lightly at his scalp, then brushes his curls away from his face. Your eyes catch onto the cover of his book. Quirking your head to the side you read the title aloud.
“The Scarlet Letter?”
You furrow your brows in confusion along with curiosity. He jumps at your question, feeling like a kid red-handed. He hides it, when you look at him.
“What’s it about?”
His mouth falls agape, trying to find a string of comprehensive thoughts. He desperately searches for an answer that doesn’t make him sound like a freak.
“Forbidden love.”
_______
Jonathan is full of hapless serotonin. He’s found a new subject for his people watching. Adoring watching you, to examine the things you do subconsciously. Be a simple witness to admire your beauty. How you cover your mouth when you eat, place a napkin onto your lap. Such diner etiquette learned at such a young age has his blood rushing. He sips on his black coffee, hating the brew. It’s much different from his own. Much more acidic than the one he makes. He wonders if you’ll like the organic kind he drinks. He’s slightly frightened by your order, at least half a container of sugar is dumped into the cup. More of a carbonated energy drink he enjoys the mixture of elegance and chaos you exude. You chew your muffin with stuffed cheeks.
“What music do you listen to?”
He most likely didn’t know the artist, but was still interested. Anything you listened to would easily be his most listened to after the conversation ended. You ball your hand into a fist, to hide your mouth as you chew.
“Lana.”
You grumble, almost scared to admit it. His pants get tight with the flow of blood to his cock. His stomach churns painfully. He’s heard of her, the infamous philosophy she’s developed for young women. It’s a phenomenon to him, but it suits you. The femme fatale.
“Del Rey?”
He mumbles, giving him a brief nod. You smile as much as you can with a full mouth.
“Surprised you know her.”
He knows of her; he doesn’t know a single thing about her. He doesn’t listen to a lot of music; he doesn’t have social media. He just never really got it. There’s seven- no, he read an article where there’s eight billion people in the world right now. Already gets nervous about the people he walks by on the street and around the ones in his close circle. He’s happy to be unknown and be a hermit. So knowing Lana was a win. Smiling softly in agreement to your claim.
“One of my students did a thesis for impressionable young women for them to stay wary of what media they digest. They wrote about Mrs. Rey. Albeit grotesque, I like the Cola song.”
You gulp down much of your muffin. You snort, laughing to yourself how strange it was to hear.
“What? I like the song, what’s so wrong about that?”
He laughs with you, a charming big smile on his face.
“You can like it however much you want. But that will forever be comical.”
You point an accusatory his way, waggling it. Dropping it when the laughter dies down to a small smile. It’s quiet for a few minutes, peaceful even, warm. Not the awkward quiet, the one where the silence is mutually understood and welcomed. He licks his lips, tasting the harsh grain on the sensitive skin.
“I was amused by reading your commission.”
He nearly chokes on his tongue, seeing your eyes widen.
“Thank you, I appreciate it.”
It is less bubbly than your normal chime, more serious. It’s an interesting contrast. He runs his forefinger over the ring of his cup, collecting the substance then bringing it to his mouth.
“Like I said in the email I sent. I’d like to discuss your afflatus. I’m more than interested in knowing where it sourced from.”
He’s intrigued how your eyes glow when you’re acknowledged.
“Have you ever had a dream that felt real?”
He nods slowly, almost hesitantly curious where this was going.
“It was kinda like that for me. Except each time I would walk through this door into this room.”
You pause, eyes taking over his top half. He’s wearing a silver chain that dips under the collar. You weren’t sure how but it made his already alluring neck more appealing.
“I was just completely captivated by this person and well, I wrote about my dreams.”
You shrug nonchalantly, his stomach flips. You tiptoed about just saying outright it was about him. A dirty brief fantasy you had about your mentor. He wondered if every time he taught and glanced at you. Your Bambi eyes gawking at him, you were thinking of such things. He drinks from the cold cup, the liquid almost gone.
“It’s admirable how much you retain from these
dreams.”
He waves a hand in the air like he does when he’s teaching.
“How vivid you made these,”
He clears his throat, noticing your prying eyes at the muscles in his arms contracting. His eyes close halfway, staring you down from the bridge of his nose.
“Encounters.”
You beam brightly at his praise.
“I-, thank you. It means a lot to hear you say that.”
You sheepishly say with your head tucked downwards. Oh, so now you’re shy? He tugs on his bottom lip with his teeth.
“I wanted to introduce you to this program that the college is starting. It’s an apprenticeship to become an insightful tutor to other students.”
He bites down harshly on his bottom lip, tugging at the flesh.
“It’s an extracurricular, I think you’d do well in it since you said you didn’t partake in any others.”
You can’t refuse his offer, he put your own words against you.
“I completely understand if that’s something you do not wish to do. However, I think you’re the most suitable candidate.”
Your stomach bursts from excitement. Unlimited hours with someone you’re completely infatuated with? It’s so mind-boggling that you’re becoming dizzy.
“Is there an application form I have to sign?”
He smiles wide, happy to know that you’re more than willing to be his apprentice.
“Not really, no. But, there is a sheet that I need to give you.”
He turns to run a hand through his bag trying to find the papers. He comes up dry. Shit. He left them at home; he cursed himself for leaving in such a haste. Face falling before an idea pops into his head. He grabs a napkin and a pen from his bag scribbling down his number and giving it to you.
“Unfortunately, I’ve forgotten the papers. Please, if you have any questions or concerns, contact me.”
He smiles warmly, as you nod, staring at the numbers briefly before pocketing them.
“Will do.”
_______
He almost lost his mind when you offered to pay. After a great conversation with you and a farewell. He’s practically in the clouds. It’s the Evening now, mostly spending the day chatting with you. It didn’t feel like hours to him, just a casual meeting with an old friend. A very attractive friend. As he drives home, he listens to Lana. Thinking of all the pretty smiles and suggestive glances you gave him. God what fuel for his eager brain. He hums to the tune as he pulls into his street; he notices a familiar car parked in the middle of where he parks Mira.
He almost has a heart attack as he pulls in. She wasn’t supposed to be here for another week. He sighs, grabbing his bag and keys. Trudging up the steps and opening the door. He’s met with literally the scariest thing ever, Mira making dinner with his kid perched up on a stool. Mira will go through later, but he wraps his jacket and satchel on the hook. He kisses the small child on her head.
“Hey sweetie.”
She mutters a small squeak of ‘hi dad’ and gives him a small hug. Mira turns, hair put up messily as she pours boiling water into the sink. He’s told her over and over that using a strainer is very useful but she continues to do it her way. He crouches, pinching Ava’s small cheeks. Tilting his head, sorrow fills him. She’s grown so much since the last time he’s seen her. It’s just the cost of separation, it’s okay though, it’s supposed to be his weekend.
“Glad to see you’ve joined us.”
Mira sneers, not looking up from the mess she’s making.
“Was busy.”
She whips her head to him, eyes fiery and body rigid. He doesn’t even know why she’s pissed at him but he’s used to it. He just plops into the chair next to the kid who’s grabbing at his fingers.
“Oh yeah, where were you?”
He wants to lie; it wasn’t her business, anyway. Maybe therefore he couldn’t do it anymore. This fighting every night, the difference and insecurity. He breathes in, fixing to do the ten things you hear and feel, before he freaks the fuck out.
“I don’t know Mira I was..just out?”
She laughs a bitter laugh like the gross coffee that’s making his stomach hurt.
“You just avoided the question. Where were you Jon?”
He hated the demeaning way she used his name. Biting on his tongue, pressing his head to the stool.
“I went out to the coffee shop for a meeting.”
She pauses for a second before she goes back to cleaning up the pasta and ravioli she just made, knowing that he doesn’t like the processed shit. She turns, hands on hips.
“Oh. And with who?”
He chokes, he wants to smash his head on the table. Think of a name. Any name that’s on the board.
“L/n.”
Christ’s sake.
“Huh, that’s funny I don’t remember a L/n being on council.”
She sneers.
“She’s new.”
Mira makes a mental note of her, she shakes her head walking to the table. Handing the kid her bowl and setting one out for Jonathan and herself. She chews slowly.
“I didn't sign them.”
Jonathan makes an airplane to land in the kid’s mouth. Cupping under to catch whatever falls. His eyebrows pinch together.
“What?”
Mira stares at the food she eats.
“I didn’t sign the papers you served me.”
Jonathan’s jaw ticks. The bones locking up. Fury rages beneath his skin.
“What?”
He asks again in disbelief. She’s the one who wanted to get separated. She’s the one who cheated on him with Poli. He laughs brutally.
“Are you joking? Please tell me you are?”
She scoffs, offended.
“Why would you think I’d be joking about this?”
She rolls her eyes.
“Of course you want to push this on me. Make me a single mom with no support.”
She says it as a fact as if it wasn’t the farthest from it. She’d have a more than sustainable life with Poli and he wasn’t making her do anything. He sighs, getting riled up.
“Whatever, I just-“
He stops shrugging and shaking his head.
“I don’t know anymore.”
His phone buzzes in his pocket. He clinks the small spoon into the dish and he reaches into his pocket. Confused who might summon him. His eyes bulge out of his head. He wonders if it’s a spam message, one of those things where if you respond they take your identity. A nude lady with an absolute jaw dropping figure dressed in lavender lingerie. Posing in a scandalous contortion. His cock instantly hardens on his thigh. Your face relaxed with eyes looking up and tongue rolled out. Hand tucked into those skimpy panties. His heart pounds against his chest. He quickly pushes the rectangle to his chest. Eyes wild to find his daughter playing in the pasta. Why- who- what- he can’t even think right. In the bottom text is just filth:
“Touching myself to you, daddy.”
“Who is that?”
Mira asks and Jonathan’s up and out.
“Excuse me.”
He rushes up the stairs and into his bathroom Quickly pacing around hands in his hair. He texts back:
“Wrong number.”
Three little dots appear and disappear as anticipation builds. He sighs falling back on his bed with a heave. He thinks that the worst part is that he’ll jerk off to that picture later.
_______
The first day of your new hobby has come. You wear a button up blouse that’s yellow, along with some loose pants and sneakers. Brushing your hair and teeth, spraying something that smelled like flowers. You grab your phone, plugging in your earphones. Reading a text from an unknown number:
“Wrong number.”
Your eyebrows pinch as you unlock your phone. The picture you sent to who you thought was the friendly boy from class ended up being..not who you thought it was. Yet it was your former professor you forgot to put a contact for. You blush profusely, sitting down on your bed. Trying to ground yourself, you have a headache. How could you make such a mistake? Now it made sense why your sneaky link didn’t text back. You groan, rubbing your temples. Horrible turned to worse. As the alarm rang telling you need to leave to make it on time. You wonder if you should stay or not. To just wallow in the suffering of embarrassment of perpetual grief. That your one shot with your handsome more antiquated counterpart was ruined. To think of it all was because you sent him proof you masturbated to him.
_______
Jonathan trudges through the enormous doors, with his home brewed coffee sipping from the mug. He strides into the vacant auditorium, shocked to actually find you sitting on a stool next to his chair. Nose shoved into a book and listening to music. He smiles to himself walking to the desk and taking his things off. He likes the yellow; it suits you well. The lilac was too mature for you. You look up at him, taking a bud out.
“Morning.”
He whispers. You nod your head, putting the bud back in and returning to the book. Cold as ice, it has him frostbit. He sits in his swivel chair with a plop. Rubbing his temples trying to not encourage the head splitting headache that’s growing. He can already tell today is going to be interesting. It’s noon when his first class comes in. You mostly had done nothing, just proofread over assignments and emails, redoing poor grammar and punctuation errors. He stands pointing to something on the board which had an image projected on it. He’s babbling about something, rolling up the sleeves of his gray sweater that hugs him a little tighter than usual. Strong arms being shown has your pussy clenching. Soft tingles bursting in your stomach. You’re supposed to keep your distance; he probably thinks you’re a freak. You bow your head smiling to yourself. He reaches up to grab the screen that’s rolled up at the top of the chalkboard. As he reaches his sweater pulls up showing the curve of his pelvis. The hair flowing from his abdomen down below his pants open to the public. Your breath catches and your eyes dart away. He walks over to his desk, sitting back down next to you. You can feel his heat radiating off him buzzing over to you.
“Turn the lights off.”
He whispers in your ear, and you jolt up.
“What?”
“The lights. Turn them off.”
You nod, pivoting and switching them off. Darkness spreads throughout the large room. The gigantic mass of students almost filled every seat. That’s usually how it is when a new semester begins. Young excited individuals, soon to find the crushing weight to toll. The light chatter dies as the film plays. He obviously made them read the book beforehand, had an excruciating test over it in order to watch and behold in all its glory. Some old French romance that’s a revolutionary development in art and culture. You watch the movie on his computer.
It’s almost a private screening, reserved for two. There’s great unspoken tension between the two of you. He knows and you know the tragic consequences of what happened. However, if the both of you wanted to forget then why not just stop thinking about it? Both of you are corrupted entirely by the other. Jonathan crosses his arms, bouncing his leg. He tilts his head to the side.
“Glad you came.”
He licks his lips.
“The movie is pretty tedious, actually.”
You smirk.
“Oh, really?”
He nods as you continue a hushed conversation.
“Yeah, the only striking thing is that she murders him in the end.”
You let out a shocked gasp, softly hitting him in the arm.
“Spoilers!”
He looks at you like you’re crazy. Making you smile. It was too hard to resist the intoxicating feeling you get off him. The taboo is exciting, but the banter is better.
“How could it be spoilers? I specifically assigned this to be read by last week?!”
He scolds. He leans back, fake shock written on his face.
“I’m floored that you didn’t read it.”
You scrunch your nose, pointing a finger at him.
“It’s not that I didn’t read it.”
You pause, shrugging.
“I just didn’t read all of it.”
He clicks his tongue on the back of his teeth shaking his head, gray curls following.
“Poor excuse.”
You smile leaning back into your chair, watching the movie with him. You notice how he spreads his legs wider, scooting a tad bit closer to you. Mira isn’t here, he reminds himself. It’s better to ask for forgiveness than for permission. He watches the black and white woman dance along the train tracks resembling lost in hope. He bites his lip leaning down again.
“You look ravishing in lavender.”
You bury your face in your chest.
“Thank you.”
He nods.
“I like the little gems on the panties.”
Your mouth closes tight. He uncrosses his arms. One shoves into his pocket, the other lightly tracing the wrinkles in your pants. Your eyes dart from the screen to the students. It’s impossible to make them out in the dark.
“They can’t see, I’ll be shocked if any of them are awake.”
You think for a second before the uneasiness fades.
“Okay.”
You whisper, and he takes it. His hand is slotting on the inside of your thigh. Gradually rubbing up and down, stroking you. Each stroke has him growing. His pinky rubs your clothed slit. The friction makes you grind your hips into his palm.
“Patience little girl. We still have an hour and a half left.”
You groan, biting your lips almost until it draws blood. He runs his forefinger, pushing in he can feel you soaking through the fabric. He does it slowly, like he does when thinking and runs it around the mouth of coffee. Clit to hole, up and down. Your head hurts as you get lost in his hand.
“Touch me.”
He smirks, casting a look over the crowd. He puts his fingers over the tops of your pants and the bottom of your blouse. His nose digs into the side of your cheek from how close he is. His lips brushed the bone.
“What makes you think that you're good enough to think about me when you're touching yourself?
He tugs your pants open. He runs his tongue over his lips, teeth glinting. Your breath catches in your throat, heart pumping fast from the reference of the photo. He was right you weren’t getting off a fellow peer but to the man who smells like heaven.
“Hm?”
He questions softly. He tilts his head to the side, examining you. He pushes the top of his index in.
“Going to teach you some morals, won't I?”
He smirks as he takes his hand back out.
“Sending suggestive pictures to older men is wrong,”
His breath fans over your neck. It’s quiet before he speaks again.
“Isn’t it?”
His thumb soothes below your belly button.
“Yes.”
You whisper almost as soft as the snore of an unconscious student. His hand sinks down from your stomach to your pubic bone. He scratches the hair, making your skin crawl. His fingers dip and he’s instantly damp with your slick.
“Should tell me what’s going on in that filthy mind of yours.”
He growls in your ear, his voice magnified by his proximity. He moves his finger back and forth on the ball of nerves. Your hips jutting up to his arm. Your hand scratches his thigh, squeezing tight. He pushes down, hand fully in your pants and Uber your panties. Constricting him to be close. He pushes his finger into you, feeling you coat him more.
“Go on.”
He thrusts his finger deeper.
“Tell me.”
You can’t think when his fingers are in you, his thumb rolling your clit.
“Want you to fuck me.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“Where?”
He pushes another one beside the other.
Your grip tightening.
“Anywhere, on the desk. Front of everyone I don’t care.”
He smiles, swallowing.
“Dirty girl. Wanting me to give everyone a show.”
He tears through your core, making you mewl.
“Is your little boyfriend here?”
You freeze, eyes popping open. You look at him like you’ve seen a ghost. It’s one thing that he’s seen it, another that he knows who it’s actually for. He licks his lips, tongue pulling in his bottom lip. His eyes were unwavering. You nod briefly and he sneers.
“It's funny that you thought he could have you. Have you want him as much as you want me.”
Jonathan’s not entirely sure why he’s spewing this shit maybe it's jealousy. But he’s making you keen.
“Have to fuck an old man in order to get off. How sad.”
His fingers fasten, and he’s curling them. Your toes curl in your shoes, eyes rolling back as your thighs shake. A hot wave crashes over, and suddenly your thighs are sticky and wet. You lay your head on his shoulder, sleepily. He pulls his hand out of your pants. Zipping them backup for you. Letting you sit in the puddle you made yourself. He sucks his fingers clean before wiping them off on his thigh. As he watches the film, he crosses his arms. He presses a gentle kiss to your hairline.
“Stay after lunch and I’ll fuck you.”
He laughs quietly
“If you can keep up, sweetheart.”
_______
Twenty something walk out of the class. Some stretching with a yawn, others asking Jonathan questions. As you sit there flustered and uncomfortable. Hoping they won’t figure something out. The last student walks out. Jonathan types something into his computer. It’s quiet and filled with tension. You wonder if he’s actually going to fulfill his promise. He looks at you.
“Get on your knees.”
You take out your ear buds and put them along with your phone into the bag. You push yourself off the chair and onto your knees crawling between his spread legs. Your hands come to steady yourself. His hand cups your cheek, his thumb rubbing against your jaw.
“Gotta do a few more things.”
His hand leaves to unbuckle his pants.
“In the meantime, keep your mouth warm for me.”
He unzips and takes himself out of his pants. The ruddy head is a pretty dark red. Thick veins running up his shaft. He works himself over a few times. He taps the crown on your lips and you lift on your knees to lick him into your mouth. He groans but quickly returns to his work typing away something. You make it your goal for him to not concentrate. You flatten your tongue. Shoving your face down to the coarse hairs at the base. One hand grabs your hair to hold your face down. He thrusts shallowly. You gag and sputter and he lets you breathe. You lick the tip as you huff. Beads of ivory roll down his shaft. You lick them up and the veins pulse in response. You take him fully into your mouth once more. Dipping them comes back up with a wet slurp. He’s thrusting up. His lips part, he takes his glasses off. Throwing his head back he just lets you swallow him then come up. He’s close as his legs shut and pulls you off him.
“So good at everything. Especially that fucking mouth of yours.”
He pulls you up making you walk to the board, hands flat on the wall. Ass perched as he kicks your feet out. Thirty minutes he reminds himself, before the next class comes. He holds his pants up with one hand. He gropes your body with his other. Squeezing your hips, your stomach and chest. His hand stays at your lower stomach. You know what he’s thinking; he wants to make his. Make you have his kid. He wonders if Mira would be pissed. He doesn’t care.
“Try not to scream.”
He grabs your jaw, tilting your head to kiss you. His tongue instantly pushes through your mouth. Scooping out each inch. You whine, jerking your hips back. His hand drops from your jaw. To pull your pants down around your ankles. He squeezes your hip. Grinding his cock into the crevice of your ass. His girth spreads open your cheeks. Weighing heavy on your dry hole, but he dampens the slit with his own set cum. He bites your shoulder. Pawing at your hips. A hand falls to hold himself to run over your folds. The head, easily slickened. He slides in. Not waiting for you to adjust to surge his hips forward. A loud moan hit through you. His hand wraps around your throat, constricting your breath. Not allowing you to breathe. Head going fuzzy and vision blackening. Your mouth hangs open. He pulls you to his chest once your arms give out. His elbow hits your shoulder as he thrusts. His balls brushing your thighs. His little huffs heat the shell of your ear. It makes your core clench to know he’s there. Fucking you, touching you, needing you as much as you do.
“I should be mad about you teasing me.”
He bites your ear and the rumble of a moan as your walls flutter.
“But how can I be mad when you give me what I want?”
His hips undulate, the roughest smacking is heard through the bare walls similar to the applause of an encore. He likes the yellow reminding him of the rising sun he watches before driving here. The strange ecstatic feeling he got when he thought of you. He’s wrinkling your shirt as he fucks you. You can even hear him, too unfocused to even. The burn of his beard on your shoulder is the only thing that kept you anchored. Once your lungs burn with fire and your body shakes. You claw at his forearm begging for him to release. Each pound of his hips into your ass is another red streak down his arm. His hips are still deep inside you. You feel the warmth implore your womb. He releases and instantly you're leaking down your thighs. Exploding with your own orgasm. Your eyes roll back in your head. He holds your hips to his. Kissing your hairline as you come crashing down. He pulls his pants up and buckles them. Helping you dress yourself on unsteady legs. In all honesty you couldn’t even walk. As you limp to sit uncomfortably back on your seat, he crouched down. Slotting on his glasses, his eyes dark embers. There’s something strangely exotic, addicting to fucking someone who’s a teacher, someone older who can teach you what you want. His hand rests on your knee as he rubs his thumb back and forth there. He smiles after studying you. Kissing your hand softly. That fatherly instinct kicking in, the caring adoring one that takes over his whole being to care.
It’s attractive the tone of the greedy man replaced by a teddy bear. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear before kissing your forehead.
“It’s better than fiction.”
#jonathan levy x reader#jonathan levy#scenes from a marriage#oscar issac x reader#oscar issac hernandez estrada#jonathan levy x reader smut#oscar isaac x reader smut#fanfiction#smut#oscar isaac smut
818 notes
·
View notes
Text
— killing flowers.
pairing: javi gutierrez x fem!reader
genre: shameless smut, minors dni
a/n: I literally wrote this because I can't stop thinking of him in that orange shirt and gun-- i needed to let out my frustrations somehow
word count: 1.7k
summary: guns and javi, what else can you say?
warnings: established relationship, exhibitionism but no one sees it's just you and javi on the balcony, gunplay, mild dirty talking, day time drinking, the use of wh.ore but once, piv, creampie, mild over stimulation
Another gunshot echoes and you swallow. You’re perched on top of a plastic chair as Javi practices his aim, your long island iced tea long forgotten while you stare at him, entranced. A gust of warm wind blows and your eyes follow the movements of his orange button up shit, a bit of skin showing at his hip. You’re basically salivating at this point. Streaks of amber shimmering within his chestnut hair, you take in a shaky breath. Eyes traveling up, you stare at his neck, observing the way the muscles flex under his sweat coated skin as he cocks the gun.
Shit.
You tear your gaze away and with a shaky hand you grab your drink. Javi was a gentle natured man, if he had a choice he wouldn’t even hurt a fly. Knowing this, the way he handles the shotgun still manages to send shivers up your spine, perspiration thick against your forehead. He looks dangerous, which is the thing that’s getting you all riled up. You want to feel those same hands ravishing your body, squeezing every inch of you while he claims you as his own again and again.
After another successful hit, Javi cries out with joy and lifts his hands into the air. With the widest smile you’ve ever seen on a man, he turns to you, eyes sparkling.
“Did you see that, my love?”
Oh you see it alright. His stomach is completely exposed, fabric grazing against his smooth skin as the wind envelopes you both like satin sheets. Your eyes trace over every inch of his exposed skin, muscles hiding beneath a bit of fat, you press your thighs together. His smile wavers a bit, making you realize that you’ve been starting a bit too long. Clearing your throat, you take a sip of your long island iced tea. The alcohol burns your throat but it's nothing compared to the way Javi’s worried glance brands your skin.
“Is something wrong?”
A nervous chuckle makes its way out of your lips, you wave your hand in hopes to dismiss his worries.
“No, no– Everything’s fine,”
Shit, your voice is shaking.
Javi hurriedly makes his way to you and pulls up a chair, averting your eyes, you take another sip of your drink. He isn’t going to let this go, is he? The shotgun lazily leans against his inner thigh between his legs, you tense up, continuing to sip the damn drink as you try not to stare. Gosh, he’s probably even more worried now.
“Are you mad at me?”
With that you lift your gaze up, you try to give him your most heartfelt smile but from his over the top horrified reaction, you realize that maybe you’re not the best at faking a smile.
“You are, aren't you?” he begins to mutter. “What is it tell me,”
His hand squeezes around the barrel of the gun, knuckles turning white. You hate to make him worry and it wasn’t your intention in the first place but you had no idea what to say. Your eyes travel down to his neck, you love that he never fully buttons up his shirt. Completely forgetting about your surroundings, your lips part with a soft gasp. Javi’s chest rises and falls like the winter wheat, another warm wind blows.
You fail to notice the way Javi’s gaze follows yours, neck caving in on itself as he looks at the same place you are; his chest. His lips twist into a playful smile, turning his eyes back to you, he raises an eyebrow.
“I see now that I might have been misreading the situation,” he purrs, scooching closer. You swallow thickly as his knees brushes upon yours. “Is there something I can help you with, mi amor?”
Your tongue feels incredibly large within your mouth, you don’t know what to say. Breath hitching, your gaze shifts to the gun, Javi moved closer to you, the weapon had fallen between your legs instead. You feel the coolness of the metal against your thigh, clenching your teeth, you meet his glance. The way he stares at you makes your heart jump, you have managed to capture his entire undivided attention. Javi places his forearm against your shoulder, fingers lazily grazing against your nape as he awaits your answer. With his other hand, he takes your long island iced tea away and places it back on the table.
A faint moan makes its way through your lips.
“You look really good in that shirt,” you choke out.
“Thank you. I am glad you enjoy it,” he grins, fingers now curling around the column of your neck.
Your thighs close around the gun, actively searching for any kind of friction that would douse out the flame between your legs. At this moment you’re ready to beg for his cock. You had marinated in the feelings of lust and love enough to get on your knees.
You part your lips, ready to give the man sitting across from you whatever he wants but the words die on your tongue when Javi grabs the barrel of the gun and shoves the gun into your cunt. Your back arches against the chair and your eyes roll back. Gripping the plastic armrests, you revel in the feeling of metal parting your wet folds, Javi chuckles.
“My poor girl, so needy but doesn’t know how to ask for it,”
You’re about to cry as you nod. You just wanted him to hold you, fuck you, care for you. With a hiss, you grind your drenched heat against the weapon and let out a sultry moan. It feels too good to stop so you continue to pleasure yourself under Javi’s watchful gaze. He moves the gun whenever he pleases, either pulling it back slightly, or pressing it into you in an almost painful manner. You’re positive that the metal is shinier than ever, cleansed with your slick. Javi’s name falls from your lips again and again, eyes fluttering closed as you simmer in your own filth. He must think you’re an animal.
“If I didn’t know any better I would think you are trying to make me jealous,”
Despite his playful tone there’s something dark laced within his words. Eyes fluttering open, you blink away the tears and groan. Only now you realize that he hasn't touched you, not even once.
“Javi,” you whimper. “I want you, please,”
And that’s all it takes.
The gun falls to the floor, clattering as you suddenly find yourself leaning against the stone railing, facing the magnificent view. Your fingers curl around the stone as he lifts up the skirt of your dress, his movements hurried, desperate almost. Javi decorates your skin with open mouthed, wet kisses, soft facial hair tickling your skin while he slides your panties to the side. He drags his fingers between your fold, hips thrusting as he feels how wet you are.
You gasp when he shoves in two fingers with ease, your legs tremble, arms shaking as you try to hold yourself up. You feel his thick, golden rings at the base of his fingers, one of them presses snug against your clit.
“You are so wet for me,” he groans. “Do you want my cock now?”
You breathe out, “Yes,”
You almost topple over, his cock filling you up with one smooth thrust. Javi’s arm snakes around your waist, keeping you upright as he sets an relentless pace. The balcony echoes with the lewd noises of skin slapping against skin, your eyes rolling back each time he snaps his hips. His hand slides up to your neck, fingers gently curling around as he pulls you flush against his back. You cry out, eyes barely open. You feel so exposed, yet there’s something beautiful about the way the wind caresses your damp skin.
Cunt squeezing around his cock, he groans into your neck, nibbling the sensitive skin, he grinds his hips. His cock is thick enough to make you feel every curve, the stretch he provides makes your legs tremble.
“You like me fucking you out in the open like this?” His accent is thicker, dripping with lust. “My little whore, so hungry for my cock, always,”
The tone of his voice, his breath against your skin, his cock slamming into you again and again– It shatters you into a million pieces, the coil within you snapping as you gush all around him, slick dripping down to the marble floors and echoing the sound of rain. Javi’s hips still, cock hard and deep inside of you. He presses his lips against your ears, you shiver, your breath oneven as the tremors of your orgasm still rock throughout your body.
“Fuck that felt good,” he groans. “Do that for me again, love,”
“I-I can’t,”
He resumes, dragging his cock almost all the way out and snapping his hips forward, you scream, eyes glossed over with tears.
“Oh you will,”
The way he rasps into your ear makes you shiver, the undertones of danger lurking deep within his command. Your insides throb, cunt twitching uncontrollably while he fucks you, wanton moan rips away from your throat, nails clawing against the stone railing.
“Javi, Javi– I-It’s too much– I can’t!”
“You can,” he moans, sloppily thrusting into you. “I know you can– You want to make me happy right? This will make me happy, come on you can do it–”
Heat begins to blossom within you once more, slick dripping down your thighs. You can barely think, the heat grows and grows, encompassing your entire being, his cock hitting your deepers parts again and again–
Your eyes shoot wide open, your body convulsing as your vision blacks out. Your head falls back on top of Javi’s shoulder, you’re breathing heavily, chest heaving as you gasp for air. He holds your tight, both arms now wrapped around you while he animalistically fucks his cock even deeper. Waves of pleasure continue to wash over you, your oversensitive pussy still dripping and gushing around his length. With one more thrust he bites your shoulder, pain blossoming across your skin as he emptied himself into you.
Javi can’t help it as he continues to shallowly rock his hips, cock throbbing. Cum spills from the sides of his length, tickling the inside of your thighs and staining the floors. When he pulls out you almost fall but he holds you, carrying you back to the plastic chair. Javi adjusts your dress and sits in his prior seat. You both stare at each other in complete silence, breathing heavily, feeling the sun against your skin. Your eyes fall to the shotgun forgotten on the floor.
Javi is the one to break the silence.
“I should wear this shirt more often,”
“You definitely should.”
A/N: to be notified of future work follow @burnthoneymintsathenaeum and turn on notifications✨
#javi gutierrez x reader#javi gutierrez x you#javi g fanfiction#javi gutierrez#javi gutierrez fanfiction#javi gutierrez x fem!reader#javi gutierrez x y/n#the unbearable weight of massive talent fanfiction#javi g x reader#tuwomt x reader#tuwomt x fem!reader
614 notes
·
View notes
Note
Can I get uhhhhh England with a GN reader who believes that England hates them, they wilt around him and are very careful about how they compose themselves; they find being around him frustrating. He doesn’t hate them, he actually likes them a lot but can’t express that?
Your fingers traveled over your keyboard, touching the smooth plastic against your skin. Your hands stopped moving by a few letters, feeling the abnormaly smoother tiles compared to the rest of the keyboard.
However, your eyes ran back and forth from the screen to who just sat a few meters away from you. It didn't matter when or what you could be doing, his presence made you insanely frustrated. You had no reasons to dislike Arthur, except that he never shown any signs of appreciation towards you.
Earlier this week you both quickly had a chance to chat. It was rather short and useless. For a brief moment after, you fetlt relieved by this meaningless talk. He wasn't rude or weary whilst in the conversation. However, you still felt stiff again the next day as he didn't pursue any other talk with you.
The lad wasn't particularly talkative, however he wasn't mute as well. You did heard him in the past being quite the talking box surrounded yb his siblings or outside on a Friday afternoon after one too many drinks. Still he never shown you more, the latter being unexpected times where you happened to cross the brit's path.
You started to overthink the situation as you never shown displeasure or negative feelings towards the blonde's the rare time you both interacted. So why would he literally avoid you most of the time. Did you ever look uninterested or busy ? Not that you could think of.
The overthinking lead you to believe your own little thoughts. He probably disliked your company. The source of your frustration was your own conclusions adding to the siatuation never changing as well.
You hoped that you both have the occasion to interact today, then tomorrow then the next day. But it didn't happen, so you would feel slowly worn out or triggered by this as time goes. Moreover, you kept overthinking the lad's reasons to not interact as well, turning into negative thoughts about what could be his personality.
You barely knew Arthur, but your conclusions made you think that he was distant, detached or even quite taciturn, but only to you.
You slowly started to pay more attention to the lad but in a reclusive way. He didn't deserve you, but still intimidated your entire being with his presence. You would avoid coming certain days just to not deal with the composure you started to put around him, seeing the lad out or enjoying himself raised this inner jealousy and frustation you couldn't handle because you still had no reasons to hate on the brit but.. you couldn't have what the people around him had.
You gave him quite the light and cold looks when he would enter a room or act really distant, often being on the verge of being completely rude with him. Same went as people would mention him. You never clearly expressed insults or wrong words about him but your expressions would be quite vague.
As the days went by, your frustration towards Arthur only seemed to intensify. It was a constant battle within yourself, torn between your genuine liking for him and the inability to express it. You couldn't understand why he seemed so distant and detached, especially when he appeared perfectly at ease with others.
You found yourself observing him from a distance, trying to decipher his behavior and the reasons behind it. You noticed how effortlessly he engaged in conversations with his siblings or friends, his laughter filling the air and his eyes sparkling with warmth. But as soon as he caught a glimpse of you, his expression would change, becoming guarded and reserved.
It was as if there was an invisible barrier between the two of you, one that you couldn't break no matter how hard you tried. Your overthinking had led you to believe that he disliked your company, but deep down, you knew it wasn't true. There had to be something else, a hidden truth that eluded you.
Your frustration turned into jealousy as you witnessed him enjoying himself in the presence of others. It stung to see him surrounded by laughter and camaraderie, knowing that you couldn't be a part of it. It was a painful reminder of the distance that remained between you, a distance that you couldn't bridge on your own.
Unable to contain your emotions, your expressions towards Arthur became colder and more distant. You would give him fleeting glances filled with a mixture of longing and resentment, hoping that he would somehow understand the turmoil within you. But he remained oblivious, or perhaps he chose to ignore it.
People around you started to notice the tension between the two of you. They would ask about him, mentioning his name in passing, and you would respond with vague comments and half-hearted smiles. You didn't want to reveal the depths of your feelings, fearing rejection or humiliation.
Each day became a battle against your own emotions. You wanted to let go of the frustration and anger, to find a way to express your genuine liking for Arthur. But it seemed impossible. The more you tried, the more you realized that your own conclusions had created a barrier that neither of you could cross.
Perhaps it was time to confront him, to lay bare your emotions and seek understanding. The fear of rejection and disappointment gnawed at you, but you couldn't continue living in this limbo of unexpressed feelings. It was time to take a leap of faith, to open up and share the truth that had been hidden for far too long.
Summoning all your courage, you decided to approach Arthur the next time you saw him. You would find a moment when you were both alone, away from prying eyes and judgment. It was a risk, but it was a risk worth taking. You couldn't let your own insecurities hold you back any longer.
As you made this resolution, a sense of determination washed over you. Regardless of the outcome, you knew that it was time to break free from the cycle of frustration and silence. The journey towards expressing your true feelings had begun.
31 notes
·
View notes
Note
For some reason today I have possessive thoughts about John. Like you're partying and random annoying human start flirting with him. Idk how I would react to that tbh...I wanna think that I would kiss him in front of this human or like somehow show he's mine, but tbh I feel like I would just be sad and nervous😭😭😭
Do you still doing blurbs? If yes I need something...smutty as usual🥺
- 🐷
so sorry this took me so long. I went more of a possessive route for both reader and johnny because I love possessive freaks, so I hope you enjoy
Warnings: jealousy, grumpy reader, public
——
You try not to let the jealousy that rises in your chest show on your face. You want to be mature and level headed about the situation, but the alcohol that swims through your veins makes your body flush in irritation as you watch the unfamiliar woman drape across your boyfriend.
You can see the way he cringes at the attention, his shoulders tense as he tries to put distance between them, but you assume she’s more inebriated than you as she seems to struggle to get the hint.
You put on the best faux smile you can manage as you walk towards them, Johnny’s awkward laughter hitting your ears as he tries to let her down easy. He notices you quickly, throwing you an exasperated look as you get closer, and you hate how annoyed you feel when the woman doesn’t seem deterred by his attention being placed elsewhere.
“Hello, my love,” you speak loudly over the music, interrupting whatever flirtatious words that were slipping past her lips as you push his drink into his hand quickly. You take advantage of your now free hand to grab at his jaw and pull him into an obnoxiously deep kiss, before you turn to the woman with a smile drenched in phony concern, “am I interrupting something?”
You hear the huff of amusement Johnny lets out behind you, his hand moving to curl around your waist as you stand in front of him possessively. You tilt your head as your eyebrow bounces up, staring at her with a challenging glint in your eye, until she mutters out a simple whatever, before she steps away.
You’re still glaring at her retreating form when Johnny places his chin on your shoulder, “never knew you were the jealous type,” he teases, his voice making you jump slightly before you sink back into him, “it’s a hot look on you.”
“I don’t like sharing,” you confirm, your voice almost coming out as a growl as you bring your drink to your now pouting lips.
“No one’s asking you to share,” he reassures, pressing his lips against the shell of your ear with a soft peck, “I’m all yours.”
“I know,” you say with a clipped tone, turning your head until you can look into his wide eyes, “m’just making sure everyone else knows too.”
“Oh you’re so feisty tonight,” he laughs in pure enjoyment, walking you backwards until his back presses against the wall, “I like this side of you.”
You grumble as he keeps you pressed against his chest, his hand smoothing up and down your side as he dips his head to kiss your throat. The woman is lost to the crowd now and completely gone from your line of sight, but that doesn’t stop the way you still stare at where she once stood.
You stand stoically against him, hiding the way his hands make you warm, until he nips at your jaw and forces you to pull in a sharp intake of air. Your hand was already wrapped tightly around your drink, denting the plastic cup inward, but when he starts to suck gently at your skin, you feel your grip tighten even more.
“I wanna be the good boyfriend and tell you that you never need to be jealous of anyone,” he starts, his hand slipping down to push against your lower stomach, “and even though it’s the truth, I can’t say I’m not a little turned on right now.”
You huff out his name as he punctuates his words with his fingers twisting into the fabric of your dress, your voice scandalized as he tugs at it until the fabric slips higher up your thighs. You move your free hand down to wrap around his wrist, your fingers digging into his skin as you try to stop his movements.
“Stop,” you command weakly as his strength overpowers yours. He ignores you for a moment, pulling your dress higher, until his hand shoots down until he can press his fingers between your thighs.
“Why?” He asks innocently, as if he’s doing nothing wrong, “you got to prove that I belong to you, it’s my turn now.”
You squirm as he presses against your clit through your underwear, dragging against the damping fabric in small circles. He tilts his hips roughly, grinding his growing bulge against your ass shamelessly, and you feel the jealousy slip from your body and get replaced by anxious anticipation.
“People will see,” you argue, the dark of the club and the bodies writhing around you only doing so much to conceal you.
“That’s the point.”
You feel your drink splash over the edge of your cup, the sticky and sweet cocktail you had ordered sticking to your shaking hand. You twist your hips against him, fighting his touch halfheartedly, until he lays his palm flat against you and rubs against you harshly.
You gasp when you feel his fingers prodding at the damp spot that formed on your underwear, his digits dipping to push the wet fabric into you as he grunts in appreciation. You’re hyper aware of your surroundings, the strange man only a few feet in front of you who turns his head in curiosity making you tense and whine, but when he loses interest quickly and returns to his conversation without question, you let out a soft sigh of relief.
He starts fucking you shallowly, pushing the fabric deeper and deeper inside of you until your hips start rocking against him. You feel your entire body flush in embarrassment, the way he toys with you so proudly making you want to shrink, but when he digs the heel of his hand into your clit, all you can do is whine and claw at his skin.
You glance down hesitantly, the way the dancing lights bounce off his tensing muscles making you feel dizzy, and the sight of your dress bunched around your hips making your jaw fall open. The sticky warm air of the room clings to your skin, your arousal and heated breath adding to the humidity around you, and when he pushes his foot between yours to kick your legs further apart, you can’t stop the soft sob that falls from your lips.
Your head falls back over his shoulder when he starts to lick at your neck, his voice coming out gruff as he mumbles possessive claims of owning your body fully, and you feel dirty and exposed as the bass shakes the floor beneath your feet.
“Are you gonna come?” He asks bluntly as he scrapes his teeth along your skin, pushing his hand tighter against your clit, “gonna ruin those pretty little panties when anyone could look over and see you?”
You can only groan in response, your legs shaking as the knot in your stomach tightens. You bite harshly down on your lip, trying to muffle the sounds that threaten to claw out from the back of your throat, but when he pushes your underwear aside and slips his fingers against your slick skin, you lose your sense completely.
“Do you think she can see you?” He asks with a taunting tone, reminding you of the woman before and making anger light up in your chest again, “do you think she’s watching us and just wishing she could be in your place?”
You scratch long burning red marks up his arm, reveling in the way he hisses in pleasured pain, before you squeeze at him to hold yourself steady. You hate him for bringing her up, reminding you of what got you in this position in the first place, but the idea of her watching you and seeing what she can never have makes the stimulation he subjects you to hit even harder.
“Come, baby,” he demands, abusing your clit with quick swipes as he coaxes you closer and closer to the edge, “show everyone what they can never have.”
Your body follows his command immediately, your muscles tensing as you come against his fingers. Your back curves deeply and you hear the broken sounds that slip off your tongue as you’re completely wrapped in pleasure.
“That’s it,” he encourages, toying with you as he watches the way your face twists with intense eyes, “you’re all mine.”
147 notes
·
View notes
Text
Rosebud’s HorrorFest:
Day two: who you gonna call? Ghostbusters!
Theme: ghouls
Content: in which the local DILF turns out to be something you would never have anticipated
This one isn’t as intense as the previous day, but AFO is a dick in this bc men can’t convey emotions healthily lmao. Mentions of cat death, people being killed, blood, torture (?).
Whatever being that resides in the sky absolutely fucking hates you, you were certain of it. For the past week, you have found yourself in absolutely abysmal luck: first, the cat that normally comes to greet you on your commute to work was found dead by the locals. The poor thing had had the shit rammed out of it, blood and guts coating the road with a slick sheen. Next, you found out that the cute person who made sure to bring you a fresh cup of coffee everyday was a victim of a massive accident, this time they had slipped on a ladder and snapped their neck cleanly in half. And to make matters worse, the news had been reporting a grave robber. Multiple families had been thrown into further grief as their loved ones’ final resting place was completely desecrated, ones who hadn’t been cremated disappeared completely.
==================================
The bitter yet familiar smell of coffee filled your nose as you stood idly by the bar, ears pricked for the call of your name. A small TV was placed on a shelf in the corner of the crowded coffee shop, and its contents was the news. A well dressed presenter droned on about a new mass grave robbery, this time in a more local graveyard. Disgust filled your being as a new voice pulled you from your rage.
“Such a shame, isn’t it? Those poor families, I can only imagine the grief they are feeling,” the voice said. It was smooth, suave and well educated. You turned your head to see a middle aged man staring back at you, seemingly waiting for your response. In all honesty, he was quite attractive: smooth skin with a few laughter lines and the start of some forehead wrinkles.
“Huh? Oh yeah, it’s heartbreaking to see. I mean, what kind of sicko goes around digging people’s graves?! That’s a new low, there’s a special place in hell for that bastard,” you ranted, fists clenched into your trousers. You missed the small smirk that befell the handsome stranger’s face.
“My, this seems to sting you deeply, my dear. Perhaps you were one of the deceased’s kin?” He feigned a sympathetic tone and placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. For some reason, you couldn’t find it within yourself to shake him off.
With a low murmur, you said “yes, my boyfriend. He was taken away from me by villains in a bank robbery a few years ago. We were bystanders when one of the villains sent debris flying towards us and he pushed me away before it could hit the both of us.”
You looked away as tears threatened to line your lashes. The hand that was perched on your shoulder went to thumb smooth circles on your back as you sniffled and tried to maintain your composure. Again, you had no idea why you felt so trusting of this stranger, to lay your soul bare to someone you had met in a coffee house of all places.
“My deepest condolences my dear, that must be an awful feeling to experience. You know, I am a licensed psychiatrist and it just so happens that I am on my annual leave. I have been bored stiff, so I would be more than willing to allow you to spill the contents of your soul,” he maintained the same small grin as he watched you contemplate and then nod your head.
“There you are, come along (Y/N). Grab your coffee and we can go to my office”.
“(F/D) for (Y/N)?” The barista called for you with your plastic coffee cup in hand.
Whatever spell you were under didn’t allow you to wonder how he knew your name before the barista had even called it.
==================================
Your relationship with the handsome stranger blossomed deeper than you ever imagined it would. He introduced himself as Shigaraki, and the relationship quickly went from professional to… less than professional.
You definitely weren’t complaining however, maybe he was twice your age, but maybe that was what you needed. Instead of guys that flutter around, fuck then leave or the endless months of “are you awake” texts at 2 in the morning, you had found someone to share blissful mornings filled with cups of sweetened coffee and cuddling in fresh linen. So what if he was a little bit older than you? It made pleasant conversations.
==================================
“Fucking hell, baby have you seen the news? That grave robbing motherfucker has struck again,” you called over to your boyfriend. It was a peaceful Sunday morning mid fall, the perfect season to lure your boyfriend on romantic evening walks in the park.
You could already imagine it; soft mittened hands intertwined as you swung your arms gently, leaves crunching under your boots as squirrels chittered in the trees above you. It was going to be perfect. The creaking of the stairs behind you informed you of your boyfriend’s arrival, and with a soft and slightly prolonged kiss to the cheek, Shigaraki wrapped his arms around your waist and rocked you with him.
“Oh my, that’s dreadful. I really thought that the thief would be arrested by now,” he murmured, mouth just kissing the shell of your ear. You leaned back into his chest and inhaled deeply. God, you loved his scent. It was like hand soap with a hint of musk. The musk drove you absolutely mad, and yet whenever you asked what the smell was, he just smiled and bopped you on the nose.
“It makes me wonder why they’re doing it, and what they’re doing with the body afterwards? I mean, no one has reported seeing any missing bodies, and they’re all people who chose not to be cremated. It’s all very peculiar,” you pondered, swaying gently with your lover.
“Don’t worry about it anymore my darling, let’s have a peaceful Sunday and then we can go for our nightly walk. I have a new walking place I found online if that’s quite alright with you,” he murmured softly again, kissing the patch of skin above your ear and on your jaw. A soft moan left your lips at his actions as you grinded back into him unintentionally, causing him to swallow a grunt.
So much for a quite Sunday.
==================================
“Baby, where is this new walking place that you found,” you questioned Shigaraki, hands locked tightly together as you trudged your way through thick piles of leaves. Shigaraki turned to you with a small glint in his eyes and smiled that million dollar smile again.
“It’s just through these woods my love, not much further now,” Shigaraki replied as you met the gate of the pitch black forest. Something was definitely amiss.
“Um, babe? Are you sure this is the right place? It looks a little… I don’t know,” you trembled slightly, rubbing small circles on your lover’s hand to steady yourself. Shigaraki seemed annoyed at your constant pondering.
“Yes, I’m certain. Now please hurry up, I want to get this over with as soon as possible. I’m hungry and tired,” he snapped back at you. You visibly shrunk upon yourself at his tone and nodded timidly.
“Okay, now in we go,” your boyfriend let go of your hand to jiggle the lock on the thick metal gate, grunting slightly when it opened. He never offered you his hand back, instead speed walking into the labyrinth of gargantuan cedars and oaks.
Panting, you stumbled to keep up with him. Large roots kept making you trip over yourself as you struggled to both watch Shigaraki walk further away from you and try not to break your neck.
“HEY, PLEASE, WAIT!” You borderline screamed at your rapidly disappearing boyfriend, tears pricking your eyes and breath picking up. What the hell did he think he was playing at?!
Tears blurred your vision as you latched on to the fading silhouette of your lover, until a particularly massive root comes out of seemingly nowhere and forces you to fall down, smashing the side of your head on a rock. Black washed your vision as your boyfriend slowly walked back towards you as you croaked out his name and held a trembling arm out for him.
==================================
“(-N)…”
“(Y/N)…”
“(Y/N)!”
A shout of your name pulled you from your slumber, groggy eyes trying to adjust properly to the figure in front of you. A weak moan left your lips due to the throbbing pain in the side of your head, the thin trickle of blood becoming more annoying.
Heavy arms tried to wipe away the aggravation, only to find that both wrists had heavy, thick metal attached and clinked the most atrociously when moved. You were becoming way more aware of the coldness of the stone that you were pressed against and tried thrashing about. More rows upon rows of rocks made their way to your vision as you finally understood where you were.
You were in a graveyard.
“Ahh, there you are sweetheart. I was worried you would never wake up again,” that same suave voice that lured you in was speaking to you once again. Something that felt like a hand rubbed circles on your cheeks. Felt because it didn’t feel human, far too cold and smelly to ever be human.
“W-where am I? What are you doing?! Why are we in a graveyard?!” You shrieked as you thrashed around. Shigaraki chuckled as he watched your pathetic writhes to free yourself.
“Oh, be careful my sweet. I wouldn’t want the taste of metal to taint your sweet flesh,” he tucked his fingers under your chin with a sly grin. Your eyes widened in alarm, screams increasing tenfold.
“What the hell do you mean, ‘taint my flesh’?! What kind of sick joke is this?!” Sweat and tears poured down your face in buckets as you yanked even harder on your chains.
“Please, what do you want from me,” you sobbed noisily. Shigaraki took a step back as the skin on his body greyed and melted, some bone peeping out if you squinted hard enough. The foul odour of rotting meat summoned with the transformation of your lover.
Your jaw dropped slightly before you pulled in on yourself and screamed again. Shigaraki’s lip curled at the noise and with a snap of his finger, vines from the tombstone behind you slithering up before wrapping themselves in your mouth, promptly gagging you.
“That’s much better. At least now I can explain myself before you die,” Shigaraki grinned again.
“You see my darling, I am a ghoul. You know what that means, yes? It means I am an entity that peruses the Earth for corpses to consume in order to maintain my appearance,” he pauses, looking at you thinking hard.
Eating corpses?! What the actual fuck!?
Shigaraki continued, “although I could kill people to devour their corpses, I prefer having them… ready made if you will. That’s why graveyards are perfect for me! I float from town to town, especially where there is a lot of crime, and exhume those who were fortunate enough to be buried whole”.
You struggled to breath as you tried piecing at all together before it suddenly hit you.
Shigaraki leaned forward.
“Yes, little lamb. I’m the grave-snatcher. I am also the ghoul who exhumed your beloved boyfriend’s grave! I could see why you liked him, he had a very refined taste to him,” Shigaraki sighed dreamily. With another more urgent sigh, Shigaraki straightened up and fiddled in his bag before pulling out a knife.
“On the other hand however, I couldn’t wait until you died to taste your flesh. You smelled so sweet when I met you, and your personality is reflective of that. I truly do love you. But that is why it must be i to kill you. That way, we can truly be together!” Shigaraki crouched back to your screaming form, rubbing away the tears on your face and then rubbing the tears from his.
“Now my darling. Hold still.”
#yandere all for one#yandere bnha#yandere afo#yandere MHA#yandere angst#rosebud’s horror fest 2022#bnha x reader#yandere shigaraki#yandere x reader
92 notes
·
View notes
Note
The sound of footsteps behind you 👀
Tired from the day you reluctantly open the kid to your garbage can and start to tie the bag. It's shitty work but it has to be done tonight. You lift the small bag out of its home and place it in front of you back door. You hated going outside to the end of your driveway in the middle of the night but you valued sleeping in more. With a quick click and a hefty tug you were out the door, the cool humid air sticking to your skin like the plastic wrap that covered the leftovers in your fridge.
The driveway wasn't long but you lived out in the suburbs, far enough away from the hustle and bustle of the city but close enough to still enjoy it's conveniences. The gravel under your sneakers provided a rhythmic crunch, crunch, crunch under your feet as you braved the journey. It was still considered winter in your area so there wasn't even a bug or frog sound in the distance. Just the gravel beneath your feet, the occasional drag of your plastic bag, and the soft huffing you did from how exhausted you were.
You see the larger trashcan in sight and excitedly you pick up your pace. Let's get this over with, you think as you finally reach the can and open the lid. With one smooth arm throw you launch the full trash bag in the air and it lands with a thud into its appropriate destination. You sigh with relief as you slap your hands off of each other to dispel of the errand.
Eagerly you shuffle back, home just ahead, and the comfort of your shows and those leftovers wrapped in plastic ready to be devoured. Your complete focus was on comfort and relief until you heard a snap. It was a loud snap, like a branch breaking from a tree. Instinct kicks in and you turn to look, could it be an animal or simply a dead limb finally giving in to gravity?
It was too dark to see more than 3 feet ahead and you narrowed your eyes hoping that somehow it would grant you an extention to your vision but instead it was just more darkness. After a few more minutes of silence you give up just like that possible branch that may have fallen. You continue forward the thoughts of warm blankets and food awaiting you.
The crunching gravel underneath your feet started to echo, at first it was faint but when it happened the third time it sounded louder than before. Your heart pounds drowning out the silence making it impossible to tell the difference anymore. At this point you move quickly and do not dare to turn back, your thoughts racing faster than your heart and your body unable to meet its pace. The echoing of crunches grow louder and louder until the hair on your neck stands and the caress of hot air tickles your ear. There's a hand over your mouth and an endless well of fear.
This is from the sensory prompt post!
(I didn't do a ship sorry!)
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
Out on a Limb
Brutal fighting. That's what the wizarding world had succumbed to. Violence. All her life, she had only known the peace of magic. That changed when she became an apprentice at the ministry. She wanted to be an auror. She wanted to restore peace. He who shall not be named had ruined everything for her, and it needed to be set right. Nothing felt normal for her.. not until him.
__
Chapter 3: Rest
The small house seemed much too empty tonight. Plastic covered furniture sat in the middle of the living room, reminding Venus of the home project she had yet to complete. She barely felt at home. The confines of the walls made her feel suffocated-as if she was choking on the air she breathed. Venus hated being home. The door behind her clicked shut, cutting her off from the outside world for the rest of the night.
She stepped through the home. Each room was undergoing some kind of project. Her bedroom was the only place truly safe to be. She stepped into the bedroom, flicking on a half melted candle with her wand. The lazy motion ended with her wand on the bedside table while she flopped onto the bed. The bed creaked and bounced under her weight.
"So.. fucking.. tired.." Venus mumbled out. She kicked off her shoes and tossed away her clothes. Exhaustion had taken its toll; only leaving her enough energy to throw on a sleep shirt she had laying on the bed. Her eyes drifted closed the moment her head hit the pillow. Dreams over took her vision. Haunting memories surfaced from deep within her memory. One jerk turned to two. Jerks turned to rolling between the covers.
A vision of Alastor played beneath her eyelids; blood pouring from his leg, color from his face draining, her silent voice begging to be heard across the field. She watches helplessly as Alastor dies slowly, moaning in pain and pleading for it to stop. Voldemort's laugh echoes in her ears and mocks the loss of her coworker. It won't stop. She just wants it to stop. A scream rips through her throat and out into the air, "Make it stop! Please! Make it stop! Why won't you please make it stop!" It all feels too real. And it is. Her body jolts awake with a choking cough. Her own saliva is caught in her throat while she screams. The thick spit is moved with a strained gag, and Venus sits up.
Her palms place on her eyes, wiping away the sleep. She yawns into the back of her hand. Her knees feel weak the moment she stands. That dream.. its all too real. Even though she knows it isn't. The dark hallway is lit by the soft words of "Lumos" and her wand. Venus moves her eyes from the floor to the kitchen. They glance over the brand new tile placed along the back of the stove-beautiful mermaids she painted herself; each one was slightly different from the last. Different eyes, different hair, slightly different skin tones or patterns, different tail shapes. A soft smile spreads over her lips at the sight. Pride swelled in her chest. Her art had come a long way.
Her eyes shifted from the tile to the covered table. Venus difted her wand over the top, looking over the numerous paint cans and paint caked brushes. She hovered her light over the middle of the table. A guitar, painted to look like the seaside, stared back at her. She reached out for the neck. It was heavy in her already tired arms, but welcomed.
The floor invited her down for a seat. Venus took the guitar into her arms. One hand placed on the neck while the other wrapped around the body. Her fingers smoothed over the strings, letting out an off pitch tone. Her face knitted together at the sound.
"Guess i forgot to tune it after I painted it.. didn't i love?" Venus spoke softly to the instrument- as if it were a child in her arms.
Her left hand moved up the neck and to the headstock. She turned the pegs, testing the sound each time until the key satified her. One stroke of her hand over the strings filled the house with a beautiful melody. The moon shone in through the window, down onto the floor where Venus sat. Of all nights, the moon chose tonight to be full of her silvery glow.
Venus strummed her guitar peacefully. Her head nodded in a rhythmic pattern with her lips parted in anticipation. One last cord, and she began to sing. A song of two lovers; one lost in the seafoam, the other waiting anxiously on shore. The words barely leave her lips before flashes of the weeks before take over. Her friends, family, and coworkers. All of them, gone. Her fingers slip from the chords. The house falls back into silence while tears fall from her eyes.
She wipes away the first few. The salty substance clings to her skin and only makes a path for the next droplets to replace them. The guitar is set back on the table, and Venus turns to the floor for comfort. Beneath the table, she is safe to let her feelings flood through her body. Sobs wreck through her relentlessly. There is no one to comfort her. The once beautiful moon only reminds her of how lonely she is in England. She would do anything to be with her family again in America. But what good would it do? Her work is here. Her dreams and passions live here. There is nothing for her there, and no one for her here.
__
Author Note
Okay, so i know this focuses on Venus today, BUT i promise it's important. Also, im not sorry about the sad bits. She needs her moment. Shes gonna get several of them. Chapter 4 makes it all worth while i PROMISE.
~Project V-175 🖤
#alastor moody#alastor moody x oc#alastor my beloved#oc insert#novel#fanfic#angst#im not crying you are#pining#Harry Potter#romance#tension#mermaid oc#main character#mutual pining#strangers to lovers
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
dire, m | jjk
pairing(s): jungkook x reader
summary: One fateful night. That was all it took for Jeon Jungkook’s world to turn upside down. One mistake, one lick to the face, and something between biology? a spell? and now he’s horny as fuck for a Dire Wolf. Who needs catgirls when you have doggirls, right?
warnings: rated M (18+) for language, world building, mentions of death, blood; eating raw meat; mentions of (species) discrimination and prejudice; violence; smut (fem reader, too much m-masturbation, m-receiving oral (ish?); saliva everywhere lol); non-idol!AU - werewolfAU; werewolf!reader x blond, human!Jungkook; switches between Jungkook’s POV and your POV; is JK a furry? you decide
tried to keep it fast paced during the world building, hopefully it doesn’t feel as long as it is haha and yes there’s a rap line cameo slipped in there hehe
inspired by YOASOBI - 怪物 (Kaibutsu)
--
He shouldn't be out so late at night. He had lost track of time, stayed out too late, and now he was paying for it, running, trying to stay swift and quiet, keeping out of the streetlights. The sky was pitch black, oppressively towering over the city. The moon was high above him, thick and full.
A howl tore through the darkness.
The hair on the back of his neck raised. His breathing shallowed and he tried to move quicker, hiking to the tips of his sneakers, trying to avoid the fallen leaves. There was no one walking around. No one else would be crazy enough to be out this night. The wind swirled around him, as if it too was afraid, hurrying him along. Another howl followed.
And then another.
And another.
Panic rose within him, breaking out into a full out run, not caring anymore about being silent because there was scraping now, claws on asphalt, insatiable huffs mixing with growls.
This was why they had curfew on the nights of the full moon.
He was going to die.
Anyone in their homes was off limits. But he wasn't in his apartment, he wasn't home, and he was going to die, he was going to die, he was going to–
Strong arms grabbed his body from the air, dragging him into an alleyway. He almost screamed, but a hand clamped over his mouth, grip like iron.
A human hand.
He was slammed against the alley wall, brick cutting into his thick hoodie, pain shooting up his back, tearing it up as he was thrown down onto the dirty sidewalk. The body followed, flattening over his. For such a strong grip, the weight was not as heavy as he expected. The stranger was wearing a dark hoodie as well, incredibly oversized, similar black jeans to his, but it was obvious they were several sizes too big, swamping the legs inside.
He whimpered as his head was pushed into the brick.
"Silence, human."
The hand was still over his mouth but his eyes widened. The voice was low, grating, yet distinctly female. The other hand, her left, popped up and he saw the tattoo on the back of her hand, a number below a wolf symbol.
Stay away from the Dire.
The Dire were the reason he was running. The Dire were the reason he was going to die. The Dire were the wolf people that lived among them, too many to not be members of society, but hated for what they were. Essentially werewolves, but not as romantic as the folktales like to make them.
She reached up and lowered the face mask.
He could smell it on her breath.
Blood.
He was going to die.
He started at her teeth, sharp, pointed, a true carnivore, almost too big for her mouth. Still, he was surprised to see her mouth was mostly human, full lips, smooth skin. He thought all the Dire were forced into wolf form during the full moon.
"Stay still."
She licked him.
His eyes went wide, unexpectedly seeing her lean over, long tongue extended, slobbering on his cheek, all the way to his temple. It coated his face, the scent of blood and something else – thick, intense, and heady, unlike anything else he had ever felt in his life. His eyes rolled back in his head, entire body shuddering at the touch, thighs quivering. Her hand pressed harder against his mouth and she drew back, turning her head, waiting.
The snarls neared, then stopped.
"I swore I smelled human here."
Heavy, thudding steps. His eyes snapped back to see the shadows dancing on the wall. Huge, misshapen shadows. Multiple ones. The fear rose within him, but she pressed her hand down on his lips, shaking her head just barely. Her body was still on top of his, covering it. He was very aware of her weight now, firm, solid. He heard more noises. Rustling. Harsh sniffing.
"Ugh, let's get out of here. I smell a claim," came a deep, disgruntled grumble.
"We can take them." Higher pitched, a little annoying.
"Smell it, you fool."
A snorting whiff.
"Fuck, you're right. Let's get out."
Then the heavy steps bounded away, claws clacking on the concrete.
She waited until the night was silent for a full minute before removing her hand from his mouth. His face was still covered in her saliva. He raised his hand to wipe it off, but she growled deep in her chest. The sound tingled throughout his nerves, igniting them.
"Do you want to die, human?"
He froze at her cold tone. She backed up, hood falling.
Suddenly, he forgot how to breathe.
She had tall, pointed ears, fur silvery in the moonlight, with black tips. Her hair was wild, the strands probably thickened from the full moon. Whatever her usual eye color was replaced with bright yellow, flashing as she scanned the area outside the alleyway. She had a mole underneath her right eye, near the inner corner.
She sighed, standing up. A bushy silver and black tail poked out from under the hoodie. Despite her smaller frame, there was sheer power in her stance, an unmistakable predator.
"W-Why aren't you in wolf form?" he wondered out loud, breathless in awe.
She turned her head to look down at him. Something flitted in her eyes. Then her gaze hardened.
"How close is your home?"
He swallowed, shakily standing up, aching all over. He pointed. "A block from here."
She stepped back, ticking her head. Her silvery ears were straight up, tufts of white hair sticking out of them. They looked soft, pretty.
"Go home, human. The world will be yours when the sun rises."
She left quickly, light steps in her wake.
-
You shadowed him until he entered his home.
He didn't notice.
Dumb human, almost getting himself killed.
-
The Dire wolf people lived among them. Some had good jobs, worked hard, and even had respect from human society. But most had low-paying jobs, poor reputations, and were behind bars. Because at the end of the day, they were carnivores. They hunted. They ate meat. Most of the time they hunted animals in the forest, with one exception. Any human out during the full moon was free game, no reprimand. Any other time was considered murder, but the full moon was theirs. That was the deal between the Dire Alpha and the nation.
It was not a great deal, but that was the deal.
Even though the Dire looked human most days, a few things gave them away. The ears, the fluffy tail, the teeth. Some Dire had them removed, clipped, or filed, for style, in shame, whichever. But every Dire had the tattoo on their left hand, complete with the identification number. If you didn't have a left hand, the national government put it wherever it could be visibly seen.
That was also part of the deal between the Dire Alpha and the nation.
If you asked Jeon Jungkook, he tell you this deal was absolute shit, but there really wasn't anything anyone could do about it.
No one except the Dire Alpha and the government.
We all know the old ones are set in their ways.
-
"How much?"
Jeon Jungkook raised his head at the familiar voice. It wasn't as grating or rough as before, but it had a distinctive raspy huskiness to it that he recognized instantly.
It was the middle of the day, at the local butcher's shop. The air was frigid, mostly to help keep the meat fresh. The prices were cheap here, definitely cheaper than the supermarket chain.
He looked up to the counter to see a huge bag of meat sitting on the scale. Raw, red, bloody. The figure was wearing a dirty oversized black hoodie and jeans that were about four sizes too big, swamping the legs. Not that imposing, but there was something about that voice that made it imposing.
The left hand slid out of the hoodie and sat on the counter. Wolf tattoo, numbers. Nails painted black, a wolf ring on her middle finger with glittering, opalescent stones for eyes. Her pinky had a simple silver band. She hasn't been wearing those rings on that night.
The butcher curled his lip and stated the price.
Jungkook could see the weight from here. He did a quick calculation and furrowed his brows, marching up to the counter.
"That's twice as much as you charge me."
The butcher looked startled that Jungkook had cut in. The hooded figure was wearing a face mask but there was no mistaking the mole under the inner corner of the right eye, even if she had her normal eye color now.
"It's... it's higher quality meat!" the butcher sputtered, alarm rising in his throat.
"Oh, shut up," the woman spat, reaching into her hoodie and dumping bills onto the counter. "There's no need to lie. Dires can do math as well as you, human." She grabbed the bag from the counter, growling. The butcher crawled back in fear, hand fumbling for the knife behind him.
"Keep the change."
She yanked the bag off the counter and stalked away. Jungkook stared at the bills and shot the terrified butcher one last glare before he rushed out to follow. She wasn't that hard to find. The bag of meat was huge. It bulged against the thin plastic, almost breaking. Jungkook ran up to her, skidding on his sneakers and grabbed the bag from below, hoisting it up.
The Dire turned her head, raising an eyebrow.
"It'll fall," he explained, swallowing. She released her hand from the bag. The black face mask covered her expression but her eyes were visible. Careful, intense, not to be messed with.
"Do you want it, human? Is that why you're bothering me?" she asked. Her tone wasn't condescending or rude, mostly impartial.
"Uh, what? No, no, I was worried that the bag would break and the meat would fall to the ground and then you wouldn't be able to eat it..." Jungkook trailed off in his explanation. His nerves felt like they were on fire when she looked at him, even if they weren’t the same yellow color as that night.
Those eyes sparked with something unknown, squinting in amusement. There was a single bark of laughter, her chin lifting and hood sliding back a little, revealing some of her hair.
"Silly human, everyone knows dogs can eat off the floor."
She said it lightheartedly, but there was bitterness, piercing like venom.
Jungkook frowned.
"You're not a dog."
She raised an eyebrow. Reached up with her left hand, lowering the face mask. The wolf hand tattoo gleamed, dark despite probably having it for most of her life. The government probably forced her to touch it up every so often. His eyes widened as her face was revealed, nose, lips, chin. He remembered the intoxicating feeling of her tongue on his face. The way his whole body reacted, falling into it. Her mouth opened, white teeth sharp and pointed, but not as large as they were during the full moon.
"Are you sure?" she growled.
It was the middle of the day. Lunchtime. Her right hand lifted, reaching into to the bag. Jungkook's eyes grew wider as her fingers closed around a hunk of meat, blood seeping onto the silver rings she wore on this hand, an intricate skull with a snake coming out of its mouth on her index and a silver band with script on it on her ring finger.
It read...
FEED.
She gripped the slippery meat and pulled it out of the bag. Brought it to her lips and sank her teeth in, tearing at it. She even turned her head sharply to the side, ripping the uncooked muscle to shreds.
Chewed.
FEED.
Chewed slowly, staring.
"Best stay away from the Dire, human. They are not nice like me."
"Thank you," Jungkook blurted.
He did not know why he said it now. Now, as she was literally eating a chunk of raw meat in the middle of the fucking street, blood dropping down and seeping into the face mask on her chin. She was eating like an animal, probably on purpose to scare him, but all he could remember was arriving home and looking at himself in the mirror, her saliva stuck to his cheek and temple.
She blinked, slowly.
"Thank you for saving me."
She shoved the last bit of meat in between her lips. She looked thoughtful as she swallowed. Something seemed to be different now.
"You're welcome, human. I'm glad you're safe."
She held her bloody hand out.
"I need to feed. I would like to do so in peace, if you don't mind."
He jumped, holding out the bag of meat. She gripped it from the top and placed her left hand under it, supporting it as she took it from him.
"Um."
He lowered his hands. She looked at him with impassioned eyes.
"My name is Jeon Jungkook."
She tilted her head, a curious puppy gaze.
"What... what's yours?"
-
You told the human your name.
Not your full name. Just your given name.
Part of you still wanted to refer to him as the dumb human.
But he did say you weren’t a dog.
That was nice of him to say.
-
Maybe he should have been disgusted, watching her eat raw meat like that.
Then again, maybe he was desensitized, because many Dire ate raw meat out in public. At restaurants and such. Usually with some sort of utensil though, and not with their hands.
Jungkook wasn’t sure what came over him to be honest. He just kept thinking about her tongue. The smell. The saliva. The two Dires hunting him had called it a claim. He wondered what that meant. He took to the internet.
The internet scared him.
He put down the internet.
He stared at his phone, reading the words that he had looked up in the web browser. What is a claim? That didn’t work. What is a Dire claim? Jungkook found the answer on a communal website that defined slang words.
A claim is when a Dire wolf claims a piece of property as theirs via marking them with their scent. Usually, that property is a mate or a human used as a sex slave.
The internet was scaring him. That can’t be right. She didn’t have sex with him. She didn’t even attempt to or try when they met again afterward. She had spent the time eating raw meat in front of his face. She didn’t even give him a phone number.
“I don’t have a phone,” she said. “Such things are of no use to me.”
Who didn’t have a phone these days? He thought that was weird.
“If you want to find me, I can smell it off you. I will come. Or I will not.”
That was also weird.
But she was a wolf. So. Maybe not?
Jungkook did not have many interactions with the Dire. He met a banker once when he was withdrawing some money. Saw them went he bought groceries or went to amusement parks. The Dire didn’t really interact with humans. The Dire even went to different schools than the humans, so he wasn’t exposed to their customs. The education system didn’t focus much on Dre history or culture.
Also.
Sex slave???
Jungkook couldn’t stop thinking about it.
They must have been mistaken.
-
You could smell the human. He was thinking about you.
What was his name again?
Jungkook.
He was horny.
You snorted and went back to your shower.
-
Jungkook was in the middle of gripping his dick when he realized.
If you want to find me, I can smell it off you.
Was there a radius? A limit?
The words sex slave kept flashing in his head.
Could she smell him now?
He stroked his cock, slowly.
Maybe?
He kept going.
-
You were in the middle of drying off when you smelled it.
You raised your eyebrows.
You went back to drying yourself off.
Your tail was drenched with water. Sigh. Perhaps you would have to blow dry it before sleeping.
Oh dear.
He made a mess.
Could she... smell it?
No way, right?
-
“I can smell it, you know.”
Jungkook shot up out of his bed. He was shirtless. Fuck that, he was pants less too. He only had his underwear on, and the female Dire was standing in his bedroom, hood down, head cocked. His window was wide open, curtains flapping in the wind. Her fluffy silver ears were ruffling in the breeze.
It was nearly noon.
The next day.
After, well, the night he jacked off to thinking about her tongue.
She was fully clothed, in a giant gray hoodie and loose black pants, far too big for her. They looked clean, compared to last time they met. There was a black face mask under her chin, squishing her cheeks a little. As usual, her voice was a little raspy and husky, if not monotone.
“H-How did you… g-get in?” he sputtered, grabbing his covers and yanking them over him.
She raised an eyebrow. “This window, obviously.”
He stared at the window. How…? He was on the fifth floor.
“O-oh…?”
Her ears twitched, up and down. He watched them with fascination.
“Well. I just came to tell you that. That’s all.”
She turned around and placed her hands on the sides of his window.
“What are you–”
She turned back, lifting the hood up and over her head and ears.
“Good afternoon, by the way.”
And she launched herself out the window.
Jungkook’s eyes widened and he bolted out of the bed, scrambling to the window. He stuck his head out, looking down. Her sneakers deftly tapped windowsill after windowsill and she dropped down, landing on the sidewalk. She seemed to feel his gaze and looked up.
Tilted her head.
Then pulled the face mask up her nose and walked away as if nothing had happened.
I can smell it, you know.
He turned fifty shades of red and yanked his window closed, locking it, and drew the curtains.
-
The human had a clean bedroom. Shades of navy and dark wood. Pretty. A lot of speakers. Records. Did he actually play them or did he only have them for aesthetics? You knew humans these days loved aesthetics. It was trendy. That’s all they cared about, really.
So, why did the human do that last night?
You wondered.
Maybe he was desperate or something.
No.
He wasn’t that ugly. And, even ugly humans these days could attract mates. With personality. And such.
Maybe he was a freak or something.
Ah.
Yes.
Sexualizing the Dire.
There were people like that.
You nodded, accepting this as your answer and went on your way.
-
Jungkook stood at the counter of the records store.
He worked here most days as the cashier. The manager was rarely here. At this point, it was basically Jungkook’s store without the actual responsibility of paying the rent for it. Jungkook was fine with that. He liked talking about music, not fighting with landlords about the raising rent prices.
There were a few people in the store. A guy with dark hair and cat-like eyes, frowning as he looked even though he probably wasn’t upset by anything. He was probably just frowning because that was his default expression. Another guy with colorful clothes and an equally brilliant smile was browsing through the ’80s section. He looked quite cheerful. There was another tall guy with an inquisitive face that was inspecting the artwork on every single record. He nearly dropped them six times.
Jungkook was a little worried about him.
Also, he couldn’t stop thinking about how the Dire said she could smell his orgasm.
Or rather, his orgasm as he thought about her.
Maybe if he just…
Did it without thinking about her.
But that was impossible.
If he tried not thinking about her, then he would end up thinking about her. That was how ‘The Game’ worked and, fuck, now he just lost that too.
Sigh.
“Could I buy this?”
Oh, thank God, please don’t drop it again, Jungkook thought as he pleasantly rang up Kim Namjoon.
-
Should you eat the cheese?
You ate the cheese.
It was very delicious.
Maybe you should buy more cheese. You father did not like you eating human food. Every meal was only raw meat. It was fine, but boring. You could digest human food, but only in small portions, and still had to eat meat. You didn’t really have much chance to eat human food anyway. But you had bought this cheese out of curiosity. It had smelled interesting.
So, you ate it.
And it was good.
The human was horny again.
The human really needed to stop this.
You rubbed your chin. Perhaps it was the claiming. Still, he shouldn’t have noticed what it was. Humans couldn’t smell it like other wolves could. Maybe he was starved for intimacy. Maybe no other human had licked him like that. You frowned. Why not? He seemed attractive. Long, ashy bleached hair with strong features and pouty lips. He had moles too, one under his lip, one on his nose, and one on his cheek. You only had one on your face, the one under your right eye. He had tattoos, an entire right sleeve, all the way up to his shoulder. You liked the red eyeball one. That was interesting.
You ate another piece of cheese.
You wouldn’t have marked your scent on him, but it was meant to mask his human one. He was going to die if you hadn’t. You didn’t need to do anything other than the simple lick. You had a strong scent, only outdone by the Dire Alpha.
Your father.
You ate another piece of cheese.
The human was really wanting you.
Should you have saved him? You had saved humans before. You did it often, on full moon nights. You never had to mark a claim though. Every other time, all you needed to do was drag them to safety. They sometimes thanked you and sometimes screamed in fear before slamming their doors in your face. Odd. Some thought about you afterwards, but not like this. You father would not like you saving the humans, but you didn’t really care. You father was an ass to the humans.
He was kind of an ass to you too, but he was less of an ass to you than to everyone else, so you accepted it. You were his only daughter, after all.
The human was having a good time.
You raised an eyebrow and ate another piece of cheese.
Let him be.
-
What if he just…
“This is the third time this week.”
Jungkook jumped, throwing himself into the wall. He was standing in his kitchen, and the window was opening, the female Dire sliding in, hands first, then legs, too much fabric. She must have had a smaller body than her clothes showed, because the window was not that big. The hood of her blue hoodie fell back, revealing her silvery pointed ears. She was still wearing her black face mask. Dark brown pants. Dirty white sneakers all over his countertop.
“H-Hey!”
“Stop jacking off thinking about me.”
“What?”
She slumped down on the counter, legs hanging off the edge. Her ears flickered back and forth. It was early evening. He had been trying to decide on whether to make dinner first or, well.
The other thing.
Her tail slid out of the bunched up blue hoodie, slapping against the gray countertop. Silvery fur, tipped black. It looked really soft. He kind of wanted to pet it. No, he very much wanted to pet it.
“Human.”
Jungkook snapped to attention. He did not really know how to feel about her breaking into his apartment like this. He wasn’t mad at it. Just didn’t understand how or why she kept doing it. He could have opened the front door for her. She didn’t lower her face mask.
“You are distracting me with your constant masturbating, so I would appreciate it if you watched some other porn and did it to that.”
“E-eh?” He swallowed. “H-How would you know?”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course, I know. I told you, if you want to find me, I can smell it. What more want is there than sex?”
Jungkook blinked at her.
“Are all Dires like that?”
She tilted her head.
“No.”
Finally, she reached up and lowered the mask. Her voice was now less muffled, still husky though.
“Only strong Dires can discern who desires them. And most can only smell it when it’s sexual desire, driven by the need to mate. My nose is a little more sensitive.” Her fluffy tail thumped. “I can smell you if you are simply wanting my presence.”
She didn’t move from the counter. Just kept talking to him as if this was normal.
“Humans do not usually desire Dires. It is typically the other way around.”
Sex slave???
“And Dires frequently simply use humans for fun.”
Jungkook’s brain was still fixated on that weird definition he had found on the internet.
“But, in any case, pheromones are usually not compatible, so therefore most humans don’t even realize they’re not physically attracted to Dires. Which is probably why the segregation is so strong, even now.”
She was giving him a biology lesson and his dick was wondering is he was going to get any action.
“Anyway,” she finally said, raising one of her sneakers to place it on his counter. Jungkook winced. So dirty. He would have to deep clean that counter the second she left. “Go get laid or something.”
“I tried.”
She looked like she was about to get up and paused. Her head turned; wolf ears perked.
Jungkook’s cheeks burned hot as he shifted his eyes. “I tried earlier this week. I wasn’t… masturbating.”
No expression.
She raised her face mask to cover her nose and stood up.
“Human.”
Jungkook looked up at her.
“That’s weird.”
And she slithered out his kitchen window.
He didn’t even bother to see if she made it safely. He could hear her deft sneakers touching the wall before the heavy sound of her dropping down to the sidewalk.
-
From now on, you ignored it.
Humans were peculiar.
-
Maybe he was just… weird?
Jungkook leaned against the at the counter of the records shop, hand on his chin tapping his cheek. No one was in the store.
He never really thought about his sexuality much. He just did stuff when the opportunity arose, mostly because he was horny and the chance was there. He never noticed that everyone who was interested in him was human or even those he had a minor interest in were human. Why was that? Why didn’t he think about Dires sexually until that female one licked him like that?
And now she was all he could think about, which was weird because he never really thought about them like that at all.
The wolf people weren’t well liked by society and Jungkook, while not going along with it mindlessly, was definitely influenced by popular opinion. He stayed out of their way, took more care when he noticed a group of them congregating at the sidewalk, and did not have idle chat with them like he would with a human.
He bit his lip thinking about it. He did not like that he only noticed this now.
It took lust for him to realize that he had innate prejudice.
That was a little fucked up.
But better than never noticing?
Jungkook slumped onto the counter. Maybe she could tell. Maybe that’s why she acted so aloof and indifferent. Could she discern his emotions when they were close? He didn’t really know what was fact or fiction when it came to the Dire wolf people. He knew the Dire couldn’t turn humans like the stories. That was just a fable. They could eat them though. That wasn’t a fable.
He wondered how genetics worked. Could they have children?
Was he seriously speculating if be could have children with the silvery female Dire right now?
Jungkook blinked slowly.
Oh, fuck, what if he was weird?
-
You slipped your silver rings onto your aching fingers.
The wolf one.
The silver band.
The skull with the snake.
The FEED ring.
And now, a large opalescent gem inlaid with a star design around the stone, onto your right thumb.
Around your neck was a medium-weight silver chain, carrying the symbol of the family of the Alpha. The jagged diamond shaped like the full moon with a platinum plum flower pressed into the center. The pendant was over ten centimeters wide and hung like a weight under your collarbones.
This was a stupid tradition.
Still, you put it all on because your father insisted. You were proud to be his daughter, but this shit was unnecessary in your opinion.
You licked the back of your forearm, sighing. You were cleaning the blood off. The gash was deep, but it would heal. It was clotting quickly.
Unlike the other times you were outside, you had been previously dressed in a tight, short, sleeveless robe. Silver, with a black sash, and black shorts. Your tail out and proud, not hidden. Ears up and well brushed, hair braided back. There wasn’t much other clothing, because it all immediately got ripped off.
That’s what happened when you changed into wolf form.
You always wondered why the wolf form was always such a contrast to your human form. It made life somewhat inconvenient.
This tradition was stupid, but it was what your father wanted, so you did as you were told. And besides, you hadn’t wanted to marry the other Dire anyway.
You looked down at the silver rings.
The symbols of each family that had tried to present their suitors to your father. Five in total you father accepted to the ritualistic arena. And all five you defeated, now adorned on your hands. They were all different, from rich to poor. The simpler ones were from the poorer families. Your father didn’t care about family background, at least. He wasn’t classiest. Was that a good point?
Your father only cared about one thing.
Power.
If you were to be Alpha, then you needed to have a strong husband.
The point of the ritual wasn’t for you to be defeated. It was for you to be matched. If you didn’t want the match, you had to defeat your opponent.
Which usually meant kill, but you infuriated your father by only breaking bones until the other Dire begged for the ritual to end. He really hated that, but you didn’t care. The Alpha tried to kill them himself, but you always pinned him down, stopping him.
Your father never told you he loved you. You only knew he did because he let you pin him down and stop him, even though he could probably fight you tooth and nail and win. But not without killing his own daughter and he would never.
“They are strong, Father. You let them in this arena. The pack needs strength.”
It was fucking stupid to kill the strongest men in your pack on the sole basis that they wanted to marry you. Again, why this ritual was stupid. Your father saw reason, but not without losing his temper first and trying to kill them.
Again, why your father was an ass.
You checked the gashes on your naked body. They were clotting fast, a result of your Dire blood and Alpha family strength. They were nothing more than flesh wounds. The other Dire male was strong, but slow. He hadn’t been able to get a good hit on you and make you submit.
One day, you might have to kill your opponents.
You had killed before, executions for those that transgressed the Dire law. If a Dire broke human law, they were tried by the humans. But if they broke Dire law, they were tried by the Dire. And trial by Dire usually meant death. Your father made your carry out the executions, because you didn’t like killing. You felt a little less bad about it because those Dire were seriously twisted.
But once you were Alpha, you would have to fight those who challenged your rule.
Would you kill them?
Or would you let them live and allow them to keep challenging you?
You sighed. That would be very tiring.
It would be much easier if the Dire could listen to reason, but they mostly only listened to strength.
Why couldn’t you be courted like humans? Clumsily falling in love, doing silly romantic actions, nervously picking out gifts. Actually, most Dires were like that too. You were the exception because you were the Alpha’s child. It wouldn’t have mattered if you were male or female. The difference in strength was negligible when it came to the Dire. Your people were not like the humans.
You sat on your bed. Your room was black, with accents of silver. Black furniture with carved images of wolves everywhere. A high canopy bed, with velvet curtains tied back with silver rope. You had never untied them in your entire life. What was the point of them? Too ornate and too frivolous for your taste, but you didn’t pick out this décor. The Alpha did. You didn’t have much interest in interior design anyway. The velvet duvet underneath you warmed your naked body.
You settled down, resting your chin on your hands, legs curled around you.
You did not hate being your father’s daughter, but sometimes you wished your biggest problem was being horny and constantly annoying a Dire with your insatiable lust.
You breathed out and your head tipped over, slowly falling into sleep.
The human was still going at it.
-
Jungkook was pretty sure he was going to die.
Last time he thought he was going to die, he was saved.
But this time, it was not the night of the full moon and he was already ganged up by five Dire males who decided mugging him and kicking his ass was a great idea on this random Tuesday night.
Should Jungkook have given them the money outright? Yeah, maybe, but he had a bad day, snapped at the first guy and told him to fuck off, only for two guys to grab him by the armpits and drag him into the alley where two more were waiting and they were currently beating the shit out of him. He was fighting back, kicking and twisting, but it was still five guys and he was rapidly losing strength despite the adrenaline. He was a good fighter and he got a couple of good hits, but a couple kicks to the solar plexus and he was seeing stars, gasping, pain all over.
“Stupid human,” one of them cackled. “You should have listened like the weak species you are.”
Fucking shit. Was a rib broken? He didn’t know. His vision was clouding and his lungs were on fire. Why was no one helping him? No one could help him. He was going to die in this dirty back alley.
Don’t let her see me like this.
The roar tore through the night.
Like bowling pins, the Dire males were scattered, flung aside suddenly by a strong force. Jungkook crumpled, unexpectedly let go. A pained shriek left his throat as he hit the floor, his battered body further injured by the concrete. He could barely see, hazed by pain. The only thing he could see was a huge silver blur. He could hear better.
The sounds.
Gashing of teeth, vicious growling, the sound of ripping flesh as claws tore in, violent smacks of bodies being thrown around. Cries of immense pain as the five were thrown around like rag dolls by the massive silver figure. The voice, booming and intense, with the distinctive huskiness.
“Weak, pathetic creatures,” came the snarl, pure authority to the whimpers of the beaten. “Do you think you are strong, ganging up five against one? You insecure imbeciles, I will show you what true strength is.”
“P-please, it’s just a human!”
Another roar and there were the sounds of a slap and a yelp.
“You embarrass the name of the Dire. Get out of my sight or your families will have one less member to feed.”
Teeth snapped savagely and the five males scrambled away, whimpering and sobbing as they rushed out of the alley on all fours. Jungkook could hear the large form letting out huffs of rage and exertion. He blinked, trying to clear his vision. Silver fur tipped with black. Obvious, rippling muscle underneath the layers of fur, down to a bushy tail and canine legs, far too large for a domestic dog. There was a pattern on the wolf’s back. Some of the fur was white, creating the shape of a large crescent moon that went from the shoulder blades to the small of the wolf’s back.
The wolf turned around.
Large silver ears with black tips, elongated snout. A black nose, far too many teeth, and yellow eyes, with a tiny patch of black under the right one, disturbing the otherwise perfectly silver fur. Anthropomorphic, but with long, wicked black claws tipping each finger. Around the neck was a necklace with a circular pendant, jagged diamond with a platinum plum flower pressed in the center, five rings slipped onto the chain. A wolf with opalescent eyes. A silver band. A skull with a snake. A script one that read, FEED. A large opalescent gem with stars. The pendant and rings looked small on the furry chest, but Jungkook suspected it was because the wolf was huge.
He had never seen a fully transformed Dire in real life before.
The wolf bent down, breathing out. Hot, heavy, intense.
“Human,” the wolf said, voice deep but still recognizable.
Jungkook whispered her name, pain overtaking him.
“You should have called for me.”
-
He woke up.
Everything hurt.
He was in the hospital.
He tried to lift his head and look around, but he couldn’t focus on anything. It was like his eyes hadn’t been opened in years and they no longer knew how to process light. All he saw was a black blob at the end of the bed, furry silver splotches twitching at his movement.
Unconsciousness took over once again.
-
“You’re free to go.”
His parents picked him up from the hospital. They asked him so many questions, and Jungkook struggled to answer with his limited memory. He was worried for them too, asking about the medical bill, wishing he hadn’t been so stupid and put such a burden on them, but they blinked at him, confused.
“The nurses said everything was paid for already.”
What?
“They said someone brought you to the hospital and an anonymous donor paid for everything.”
-
You father found out you saved the human.
The five wolves had babbled, the little shits.
He was angry at you, but also proud you smacked around the five Dires like the bitches they were.
Still, you used his money to pay for the medical bills.
So.
He had you kill each one in front of their parents.
It was very unpleasant.
You told him that wouldn’t earn you much favor with the pack if you were killing them over a simple human. Your father told you that was your problem for saving the human. You could have let the five Dires kill the human and let them be persecuted by the humans instead of saving him and letting the Alpha decide the fate of the Dires.
“But then the human would be dead.”
“So?”
Your father was an ass.
-
“How are you, human?”
Jungkook mumbled in his sleep. He squinted and blinked as he heard the raspy voice. It felt a little cold. He could feel a slight breeze. He turned his head and opened his eyes.
The female Dire was looking down at him.
He jumped, but she pressed a hand to his chest, steadying him. Pain shot up his torso from the sudden movement. Her black hood was pushed back, revealing her hair and her large wolf ears. Face mask taken off, hanging by one ear. The hand on his chest was her right. Three rings. Gem on the thumb, skull on the middle, FEED script on the ring finger.
“I wouldn’t do that.”
His window was open. Of course.
She looked solemn. Worried. Tired.
“Are you okay?” Jungkook asked.
She removed her hand and brushed his hair away from his face. He hadn’t been able to upkeep the blond well because of his injuries. It was getting a little brassy. His mom came over every week for a few hours to help him out with house chores, but he bathed alone. He could still do it, slowly. His parents lived in a different province, after all.
“I am a bit disappointed you didn’t think of me immediately,” she said quietly with a small smile. “Am I only interesting to you when you’re jacking off?”
His cheeks heated. “U-uh…”
She lowered her hand to the bed. “Then again, you were probably too busy thinking about survival.”
She looked sad for some reason. Jungkook frowned, watching her look around his room.
“Have you been getting by well? Do you need monetary help?”
“Was it you?” he questioned.
She turned back. She seemed to know what he was referring to. “It was me.”
“Are you rich?”
She tilted her head. “Something like that.” Amusement flitted in her eyes. “Is that it, human? You want money?”
Jungkook looked into her eyes.
“Why do you always think you know what I want?”
The female Dire paused. Jungkook had been thinking about this for a while now. She seemed to have a fixed opinion of who he was, not bothering to learn more. She came and went as she pleased, as if she owned the place. She was not without some sense of entitlement. He didn’t know why that was, but he had accepted it because of his initial attraction that was still very much there. But he too, was disappointed. He was disappointed that she didn’t try to get to know him and simply observed him and assumed things.
She smiled a little. “I suppose it is because of the way I grew up.”
“That’s not an excuse.”
She chuckled. “No, human, it is not.”
“I have a name, you know,” he pouted.
Her smile widened. It was pleasant, not teasing or mean.
“Yes, Jungkook, I remember.”
-
“Why do you only come through the window?” Jungkook complained.
She crawled through the opening, hands touching the floor first before swinging her legs in, removing her sneakers and placing them on the towel next to the window.
“Because,” she said, patting down her gray hoodie. “I don’t like the door.”
“Why not?”
“The humans will see me enter.”
Jungkook pursed his lips. “It’s the same.”
“It is not,” she retorted. “If I enter by the door, your neighbors will have reason to question you, judge you, hate you. If I enter by the window, then they will only find out by being nosy and they cannot display this obvious prejudice to your face.”
“Someone will think you’re breaking and entering and call the police.”
“I will handle it then.”
Jungkook frowned. “Who cares if they hate me?”
“I do.”
She pushed her hood back and made eye contact with him.
“I care.”
She looked down at the laundry he was attempting to fold.
“You are terrible at that.”
-
“You have another ring.”
“Yes.”
It was a black stone with a bone pressed into it as the silver band.
“What do they mean?”
You looked down at it. It was on your left index finger. You were wiping the blood of the gash above your left eyebrow in his bathroom. He looked much better now, the human. Fuller, less broken than the last time you saw him. You saw some bruising on his ribcage, but he was mostly healed now. In contrast, you ached all over, wrapped up underneath the large blue hoodie you wore. The gash on your eyebrow had reopened when the girl in his bedroom had thrown one of his Bluetooth speakers at you when you entered from his window.
Well, to be fair, you had thought he was masturbating.
He made this confusing sometimes.
“I think I scared her.”
Jungkook laughed. “You did. She fucking ran.”
“Are you going to explain?”
Jungkook shrugged. “I could, but she was pretty drunk when she got on top of me, so I don’t even know if she will remember.”
He was naked at first, but he yanked on some underwear after you appeared. The first couple times you visited him, he cared more about his appearance, but as time went on, he seemed to care less and less. He was more worried about your cut that was already clotting.
“What do they mean?” Jungkook asked again, pointing to the rings.
“They’re trophies,” you replied, flecking away from dried blood into his sink. “From defeating the suitors trying to woo me.”
“Huh.” Jungkook watched you rinse off your eyebrow. “You can’t just get drunk and fuck?”
“I can. I just have to viciously beat the living shit out of them if they want to marry me.”
“Damn, every Dire has to do that?”
You lifted your head, water dripping down your face.
“No.”
You suddenly felt very heavy.
“Just me.”
Jungkook stared at you through the mirror. His blond hair was more well-kept now, ashy and light.
“Why?”
You wiped the water off, shaking your hand onto the sink bowl.
“Because of tradition.”
Jungkook raised his eyebrows. “Sounds like that tradition sucks ass.”
You chuckled. “It does.”
He scratched his nose. “Uh, so… Why did you come?”
You stared at the drain of the sink.
“Because you wanted me.”
You could hear the embarrassment in his voice. “But you, uh… never come during the act.”
You kept staring at the drain.
“You have a nice life, Jungkook.”
“Huh?”
You lifted your head, exhaling tiredly. You were aware he was watching you, but you were looking at yourself, at the cut above your eyebrow, at your own eyes, hours before bloodthirsty and violently gold, at the pointed teeth and the furry ears and the everything, the fucking everything and for some reason you hated it all, you hated it and wanted to be human, just like Jungkook, just be human and do dumb shit like have drunk sex with a stranger, but instead you had just competed in some primitive combat ritual with some male Dire who thought he was hot shit and wanted to be the Alpha’s partner.
You wanted to scream.
“I wish I could just get drunk and fuck.”
Jungkook blinked at you.
“Well, uh… I have some soju… and a dick, so…?”
He was relentless. Why? Was he even aware of it? You suddenly narrowed your eyes.
“Why are you turned on by me?”
Jungkook blinked faster, cheeks flushing pink.
“Uh… I don’t know?”
You frowned. “It shouldn’t be possible.” You turned around and tilted your head at him, inspecting his anxious, self-conscious expression. “All this, since that night. Since the claim.” Jungkook stiffened, but you figured it was because you were verbally analyzing the situation. “But the claim is my scent painted on you. It is a possessive action and should have no effect on the way you feel about me.” You placed a hand on your chin and walked out of his bathroom, still thinking. “Unless for some reason you reacted to my scent. But how could that be? You’re human. Sure, humans sexualize Dires, but it is more of a fetishization in most cases.”
You spun around, standing in his bedroom, where, ten minutes before, he had been in the middle of getting head from a stranger.
“Did you react to my scent?”
Jungkook’s eyes darted from side to side. “Uh.”
You waited.
“I don’t know what that means.”
You waved a hand impatiently. “The scent of the saliva. Is that what you think about when you’re getting off?”
Jungkook shoved his hands in front of his boxer briefs. Your eyes darted down at the action. Then you lifted your gaze.
“You reacted.”
“Uh…”
You moved your tongue in your mouth, producing the saliva enriched your scent. Then you opened your mouth and breathed out, tongue extended and glistening.
Jungkook crossed the room instantly like he was pulled on a string.
You shoved your tongue back in your mouth, startled.
“You do react.”
His body collided into yours and his hands gripped your arms, pushing your body into his. He was breathing hard, right into your face, eyes glazed, lower lip quivering.
“Wha… what happened?” he gasped.
You frowned a little, cocking your head. No one had ever reacted so strongly to your scent before. Sure, all the male Dires were supposedly attracted to you, but that was because you were the Alpha’s daughter and all of them wanted to be the Alpha’s partner. But Jungkook’s reaction was completely pure, because he had no such external desires that drove his attraction.
Just one weird night where you licked him in the face.
-
She was so close.
So fucking close.
And Jungkook could smell it, feel it, needed it.
“Uh… I know you’re trying to break down the science of this, but I’m really fucking horny right now.”
Her silvery ears flicked upwards and she raised her head to make eye contact with him. Was it his imagination or did her irises become flecked with gold?
"Oh, right. I suppose you are."
He frowned at that. She seemed to be contemplating something. Then she removed her arms from his hands. He let go, but the feeling in the pit of his stomach remained. Like he was possessed, like all of his blood was calling him to the Dire.
"Jungkook," she said slowly in that husky voice of hers. "Today is not a good day to see my body."
I beg to differ, he wanted to say, but she cracked her neck, holding up her left hand, the black stone on the index finger gleaming.
"I had a fight today, so I've got some cuts," she clarified. "Don't want to bleed all over your sheets and stuff."
"Oh." Right. He wondered how bad it was. "Are you in pain?"
She tilted her head, one ear flattening. Fuck. She looked so cute.
"No. Well, I am, but it's familiar so it doesn't seem too bad."
The ear raised again and she breathed in, eyes on him once more. No, he wasn't going crazy. There was definitely gold laced in her iris color.
"Let me smell you, Jungkook."
"Uh... sure?"
She leaned in, sniffing his neck. Jungkook was suddenly aware that he was mostly naked, but there was no time to think about that as her breath wafted against his collarbone, her silvery wolf ear brushing his jaw. Oh! It was furry. Well, yeah, duh, it was obviously furry, but he hadn't expected the contact. He stiffened as she bent down, sniffing his chest, tilting her head this way and that, not touching him except for the soft huffs of breath on his skin. It was not making him any less horny. In fact, it was making it worse. Hopefully she didn't–
She dropped to her knees and took a huge whiff his crotch.
Oooooookay, now that wasn't what Jungkook thought was going to happen, but he wasn't exactly complaining, but also it was kind of embarrassing because he was pretty damn hard now–
She shoved her nose into his clothed cock and inhaled.
He moaned.
What?
He couldn't help it! He was already horny, was midway in getting a blowjob from some random girl he picked up at a bar but spent the entire said blowjob thinking about her tongue, and then the female DIre interrupted by arriving, and after that she did that weird breathing thing that made his body all hot and bothered, and now her face was all up in his dick!
She nuzzled around, either ignoring or not caring about how he was grimacing, trying to muffle his lustful groans behind closed lips. Did he maybe have a preference for blowjobs over pussy now because of the whole lick-on-the-face thing? Maybe. Okay, yes, absolutely. Was this probably turning him on too much?
Yes. Yes, it was.
Jungkook looked down. Oh, fuck. It made him harder, seeing her face pressed into his crotch, eyes closed, nose buried in the crook of his cock and balls, silvery ears perked with interest. Her bushy tail poked out of her hoodie, swaying from side to side.
Was her tall... wagging?
She inhaled sharply and one of his balls pressed against the fabric, right to her soft lips.
His hips bucked into her face.
She made a disgruntled noise and pulled back, rubbing her nose.
"Sorry! S-sorry, it's too... a-are you okay?" Jungkook sputtered, very disappointed in himself.
She made a strange noise, hurrrmph, and sat down on the floor, pushing her sleeves up. He saw the scratches on her arms, cut up and slashed, but all clotted and dark. Did she heal quicker than a human? Her hands glinted with the various silver rings.
"You smell different than a regular human," she murmured. "Do you have wolf blood in your family?"
"Uh... no? At least, I don't think so?" Jungkook scrunched up his face. He didn’t remember any Dire present at his family reunions.
She pursed her lips. "Maybe it's a genetic mutation."
He wished she would address the fact that she had made a giant tent in his boxer briefs instead of trying to break down the biology of his desire for her.
"Maybe I'm attracted to you too? Maybe that’s why you smell different," she pondered. "But I can't really tell until I smell your orgasm."
Please, you're driving me crazy.
"Well, uh, that could be arranged... in probably less than a few minutes..."
She raised her eyebrows and looked up at him.
"Okay."
She placed her hands on her lap and sat up, opening her mouth. Pink tongue sliding out, white pointed teeth visible. Wicked, sharp, definitely capable of chewing on flesh.
Oh.
No.
This wasn't turning him off.
"Um... should I just...?"
"Onto my tongue, mhm," she said with her mouth open.
What?
"Er... this is kinda awkward..." he said, even though his dick was screaming at him to fucking do it.
She closed her mouth. "Do you need encouragement?"
Jungkook felt his face heat. "Uh..." He watched her tail sway slowly. "Maybe?"
"You seem hard enough."
He swallowed.
"You also have casual sex with strangers."
Yeah, his face was definitely on fire.
"So, what's the difference?"
I don't know, maybe because... the reason I have casual sex with strangers is because I can't stop thinking about your tongue and saliva???
Then it hit him again.
The feeling, the need, rising, all encompassing, like a flurry of desire overtaking him. Jungkook snapped his head back to see her tongue trace her teeth, coating them with saliva, the scent, the scent. He could smell it and rousing him instantly, suffocating the embarrassment.
"Y-You're cheating..." he moaned, his fingertips touching the waistband of his underwear, cock throbbing uncomfortably.
A single eyebrow raised. Playful. Ears perked, tall rising, eyes flecked with gold, the mole underneath her right inner corner a little scrunched from her smile. Mouth open, tongue glistening.
She breathed out.
Jungkook had a split second of – how weird does this make me? – before he realized he didn't give a shit and shoved his underwear down, right hand clasping his stiff length. Oh, fuck, it felt so good, even if he was only touching himself, because he could see her, her face, her tongue, smell the scent that had covered him that night. He stroked himself right in front of her face, grasping his cock firmly and pumping it, wincing at the lack of lubrication.
"C... closer, please..."
Her eyes traveled down. She slid closer, hot breath on his hand and the swollen head.
"Move your hand," she rasped.
He whimpered and lowered his hand to the base of his cock, holding it in place.
"A-are you going to...?"
Her eyes flickered upward. Smirk on her lips.
"You look like you need some assistance."
Then she collected the saliva on her tongue and let out drip down onto his swollen cock.
Ho-o-oly shit.
Warm, wet, thick, saturated with her scent, so erotic that his hand slid up to catch it and spread it all over him, his length, his balls, fucking everywhere. His head was clouded, his core was on fire, his cock was slippery, and her eyes were on him, blazing gold.
"Better?"
The scorching rasp faded on his equally hot skin.
Jungkook was gone.
His hand was moving automatically, closing around him and pumping fast and hard, breathy gasps leaking from his lungs, instinct taking over and consuming him, completely focused on chasing his release, staring into gold and peeled back lips exposing sharp teeth and strings of saliva clinging to the insides of her dark pink mouth and tongue. He whimpered in desperation, her name drifting out of his lips like smoke.
Her tongue lowered, dripping spit onto his bedroom floor.
"Jungkook."
Like a rumble, deep in her chest, a command.
The fire inside him exploded and he gasped, grabbing her head and shooting straight into her open mouth, coating her tongue, teeth, and lips. The force was so strong that his entire body shook, fingers grasping one of her silvery ears, pleasure shooting up his spine like lightning, racking his ribs. She growled low, tongue scooping it in, swallowing in large gulps, voracious grunts as she leaned forward, swiping her tongue on the head to collect the last bits dribbling from the tip.
O-oh, fuck, it was pure elation and ecstasy.
The high was so high that Jungkook momentarily forgot he was standing and fell, tanged from his underwear still around his knees, yelping as strong arms caught him and brought his shaking body to her chest. Almost possessive. Her breathing was coming out in harsh puffs, tongue still licking her lips.
She reached up and brushed his blond hair out of his eyes. The gold streaks in her irises still seemed so strong.
"Are you okay?" she chuckled. "People don't usually fall over."
"Uh... yeah..." His face heated at their closeness but, somehow, he didn't want her to let him go. He was much too large to fit in her lap, but she held him easily as if this wasn't awkward for her at all. "I don't usually, uh... fall over."
She hummed. Jungkook started as her fluffy tail brushed against his legs. So soft.
Silence.
Her breathing calmed, the gold fading. Her left hand on his leg raised and she swept back her hair, rubbing the ear he had yanked at.
"Oh, sorry... sorry about that..."
Her right hand was around his back and upper arm. She turned her head, face right next to his. He gulped. She lowered her left hand, placing it on his chest.
"Don't worry. I doubt you could do any real physical damage to me," she chuckled, caressing his skin.
Their faces were so close. If he just...
"So, uh... what are the results?" Jungkook whispered.
Her eyes weren't giving him any hints. He kept staring at the mole underneath the inner corner of her right eye.
"Hm?"
"Uh." Mole. Eyes. Mole. Eyes. An amused spark as she noticed. His eyes dropped down to her lips. "Are you... attracted to me?"
Wait.
She tilted her head.
The lips were getting closer.
"Unfortunately for you," she whispered. "I am."
And then she kissed him, soft and warm, a resigned sigh in her chest, her hand holding him close. She still tasted a little bit like his cum, but he could also taste the unique flavor of her, sensual and addictive. His hands found her hoodie and he righted himself, pressing back into her lips. She smiled, backing up a little. He whined, tugging her back, but she was stronger, unmoving.
"Jungkook," she said gently. "Maybe calm your insatiable hormones for a second and think about what I am."
He opened his eyes, gazing at her through his lashes.
"You're a fucking tease, that's what you are," he hissed, grip on her hoodie tightening. "You can't just give me a taste and not expect me to want more."
Her smile was frisky, but also rueful.
"Ah, I admit I probably shouldn't have done that." She placed her hands on his, silver rings cool in his hot skin. Prying his fingers open one by one, releasing his grip on her. "Perhaps my curiosity got the best of me."
Jungkook frowned. "You're not a cat."
She laughed. It was like a bark, a little husky, but lovely, full of life. It sounded genuinely happy, fading into light chuckles.
"Not tonight, alright? I'm all beaten up." She pointed to the cut above her brow. "It's worse under these clothes, believe me."
"I can be the judge of that."
She flicked his chest. He winced, rubbing the sore spot. Damn. She had a mean flick.
"Give me some time." She stood up, looking troubled.
"Okay."
He yanked his underwear back up as she went over to her sneakers, slipping into them.
"But don't take too long or I'm going to relentlessly jack off thinking about you now that I have more material."
She was halfway out the window but stopped, looking back at him with a raised brow.
"Jungkook."
She pulled up her hood.
"You're weird."
And then she jumped down.
"Yeah, yeah, don't keep reminding me," he mumbled, shoving the window closed and drawing the curtains.
-
part ii
--
masterpost
#jungkook x reader#jungkook x you#jungkook smut#bts smut#jk x reader#jeon jungkook smut#jeon jungkook x reader#jeon jungkook x you#jungkook scenarios#jk x you
634 notes
·
View notes
Note
could we get more of good girl and rafe pleasseee?? i’m a sucker for the good girl/bad boy trope. like her getting upset about him getting in fights and cleaning him up I DIE
A/N: Wasn’t sure on what type of ‘upset’ you meant, so I made her a lil mad at him. Hope it’s okay.
Bruises - Rafe Cameron [GoodGirl!Reader]
Words: 1.4k+
Type: Mostly fluff
Warnings: Female!Reader. Mentions of bruises and blood.
DO NOT REPOST, REWRITE OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORK!
You roll in your bed, mind completely occupied with the show that you’re watching. A stupid smile has spread over your features as the main character finally does what she has been planning on doing the whole season.
A knock on your window makes you jump in your bed and look over your shoulder to look it beside you. You frown while sitting up and grab your phone to check the time, 4am.
What in the hell...
Another harsh knock makes you jump in your feet and finally make your way to the curtains. You pull them way hesitatingly and sigh in relief at the sight of Rafe scrolling through his contacts, probably to call you.
You put your phone down and unlock the window, making the blonde look up from his phone at you. You slide the window open and he puts his phone back on his pocket.
It’s extremely dark in your backyard, so if it wasn’t for the dim lighting from the street lights, you would’ve thought it was a serial killer.
Good thing for street lights, uh?
You step back to let Rafe climb your home’s wall like a complete monkey and make his way inside your room with ease. Something he has mastered with much practice.
“What are you-” You start but as soon as he stands straight and looks down at you, you freeze.
“Do I look that bad?” He asks and tries to reach for your arm, making you step back.
The shocked look falls from your face and a scowl forms almost instantly.
“Just sit down” You order him while crossing your arms in front of your chest.
Rafe carefully does as told and you make your way out of the bedroom and down the stairs of your house to grab the med-kit.
While you’re absent, Rafe looks around your familiar room and finds a mirror. He stares at his own reflection and cringes at the sight.
“Fuck” He whispers under his breath.
No wonder you were upset just by looking at his face. He has a small trail of blood coming out from his nose, a cut above his left eyebrow and on his lip, and a bruise forming on his jaw, close to his ear.
He looks down at his hands and the sight is not any better. His knuckles are bruised and his fingers are stained with dry blood.
You come back inside the room and don’t even him spare him a look. You close the door as silently as you can, turning the lock this time, just in case your parents get any ideas to check on you at 4 in the morning.
You walk towards your bed, where Rafe is sitting and you start opening the plastic box so you can pull out all possible disinfectants for his wounds.
“I’m so-” He tries to say but you stop him.
“You promised me, Rafe” You say, finally looking at him, “No more fights”
He gives you a sad glance and you look down at your hands, opening the new pack of cotton balls. Something you’ve had to purchase more and more recently, all because of Rafe.
“I know, but I- Shit. The guy was saying so many things and I couldn’t just not do anything” He tries to justify and you shake your head, “I’m sorry”
You walk away from the med-kit with everything you need in your hands and stand in front of him. Rafe leans back and you take your usual seat over his lap, straddling his legs.
The boy in front of you almost sighs in relief as you do it, since in his mind it shows him how you don’t completely hate him, but it doesn’t take long before he’s hit with the amazing feeling of rubbing alcohol over a fresh wound.
“Ow, owww” He repeats in pain at you, “More gentle, please”
You pull your hand away from his face and send him a glare.
“Right, sorry. You can keep going” He corrects himself and you move your hand back to his face.
Rafe closes his eyes to try and not show the pain he really is in as you continue to rub the cotton ball over the wound, that seems to need a lot of cleaning, carelessly.
You throw the used cotton ball into your crash beside your desk, which is still completely occupied with your late night study notes, and when you look back at Rafe, he’s already staring.
“Are you mad at me?” He questions.
“Am I not allowed to?”
It’s rare for Rafe to see you mad at him, since, when it happens, it usually doesn’t last that much time (thankfully). But, if he had to be honest, he finds you cute whenever you glare at him, but also intimidating when you actually use words against him.
He doesn’t say it out loud, though. He likes to live.
You look away from him and start laying another product over the new cotton ball. He sees you do everything while sitting on his lap, completely lost in your thoughts as you do it. Still holding that frown, even though now mixed with your usual one of concentration.
You look up and grab his chin to hold his face in place. You fight the urge to warn him about how much it will sting, and press the cotton ball over his lip.
Rafe moves his head away as a reflex.
“Motherfucker, dude. That hurt!” He curses and you can’t help but let a chuckle escape your mouth.
He looks down at you and you cover your mouth to hide your smile. You’re supposed to hate him for now. Remember that.
“Is my suffering that entertaining to you?” He asks, playfully poking your side.
“In these type of days, yes”
Before he could say or do anything else, you grab his face again and this time he prepares himself mentally for what’s to come.
You’re quick with your dabs and swaps with the cotton ball, which almost makes Rafe want to scream a ‘thank you’. You clean his bloody nose and bloody knuckles just as quick, and before you could even tell, you were finished.
“I’ll go get you some ice” You say while throwing the last bloody cotton ball to the trash.
Rafe’s, now, warm hands hold your hips down to his lap so you don’t get up and you send him a confused look. He wraps his arm around you and snuggles into the crook of your neck, catching you by surprise.
“Thank you” He whispers against your skin and squeezes you close to him.
You do the same and wrap your arms on top of his shoulders, pulling him to you. Rafe relaxes all his muscles in that same second and closes his eyes, smoothing himself while holding you.
“I’m sorry, again” You hear him whisper.
“You don’t need to say sorry, Rafe. I just get worried when you get in fights” You whisper back to him.
“I know, I know”
You two stay like this for some time and you let him be the first to pull away, but it seems like he’s not even thinking about letting you go this soon.
“Did the guy deserve it?” You ask him as you look at the wall of your room, leaning your head against his cheek.
Rafe chuckles against you and squeezes you even more.
“Of course, he did”
“Than I’m not mad anymore” You say playfully and he laughs at you.
His chest moves against yours as he does it and you smile at the sound of his cackles.
He sighs when calmer and gives you a small squeeze against him.
“God, I don’t deserve you” He whispers.
You pull your head away from his shoulder at you hear his words and take a quick look at him.
“Of course, you do” You tell him, making him give you a soft look with a small grin, “You deserve me and more”
He chuckles slightly with a sad smile and you kiss the corner of his lips, pressing a lot of pecks over his skin.
“I need to go get you ice, now” You tell him and he nods, slowly releasing you for his hold.
As you’re about to get up, he leans forward to give you a kiss and you pull away as dramatically as you can while shaking your head.
“Nuh-uh mister. Not when your lip looks like that” You say while pointing at his wounded lip.
His shoulders fall and you get up from his lap, letting him fall on his back on your bed in defeat.
“I’ll be right back” You say while leaning down at him and kissing the center of his forehead lovingly. “Pick a movie while I’m not here, yeah?”
Hope you liked this! 🥰
And YES! Good girl x Bad boy trope is one of the superior tropes!!! It’s so goooood!
#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron#outer banks rafe#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron imagines#drew starkey#drew starkey x reader#drew starkey imagine#drew starkey imagines
827 notes
·
View notes
Text
Love Is Not Over; ksj.
Pairing: Seokjin x Reader
Genre: Angst. Barely there fluff, you really gotta squint. Exes-to-lovers.
Rating & Warnings: PG15. Swearing. Mentions of alcohol consumption. They argue. The pining hurts my heart and soul.
Word Count: 1,788
A/N: This drabble is a part of the Debut Drabbles collab with my near and dear @mochi-molala over on @homeofbangtan! (Give her some extra love, folks! I got sick in the middle of this collab and she was nothing but patient and kind during the whole shabang!) Thank you to @joyfulhopelox for hyping me up and always supporting what I create. A special thank you to @min-yoon-kween and@sugasbabiie for beta reading this little drabble! An equally as big thank you to @ttaetae for creating the STUNNING banner!
Like my work? Join my taglist!
Kim Seokjin can pinpoint the exact moment he fell in love with you in his memory.
You had been sitting behind him in your foundations of modern literature class as the professor’s lecture droned on endlessly. Jin had mumbled a complaint under his breath and was surprised to hear the sound of suppressed laughter over his shoulder. He could tell by the way your cheeks reddened as he turned to shoot you an amused smirk that you had no intentions of being heard, much less caught in the act. You had sunk into your seat, raising your textbook to shield your flushed face from his view.
He had decided then - Dr. Ford barely taking a break to breathe between sentences as he led a discussion about the themes of transformation and the relativity of truth in the background - that your laugh was one of his favorite sounds and he would do whatever it took to hear it as often as he possibly could.
He spent the rest of the semester occupying the once empty spot beside you, whispering awful puns into your ear, grinning proudly each time you failed to keep your laugh quiet. He loved the way you would shift in your chair until your face was pressed into his shoulder whenever your professor would spare the two of you a disapproving glare.
It had taken him exactly three months to convince you to hang out with him outside of class, another two after that to talk you into being his girlfriend. Then, in one month - only four short weeks - it all fell apart.
Looking back, he should have seen it coming. He had spent so much time wooing you that he never stopped to think about what came next, what happened after the chase was over. He hadn’t seen the signs that had been right in front of him. You spent your time together curled up on the couch in his apartment, watching reruns of sitcoms, trading comments on the mundane back and forth. It didn’t take long for the talking to stop and different variations of the same generic television story arc playing in the background to grow old, the routine feelling stale and worn out.
It had ended quietly.
No shouting.
No fighting.
No, all it took was a whispered “I think we should break up” leaving your lips for Seokjin’s life to come crashing to a halt. He had nearly choked on his chow mein, the Nailed It episode playing in the background long forgotten. You had made it seem so easy, that breaking up with him was as simple as asking him to pass the salt or what the weather was meant to be like the next day.
Now, even just standing across the room, Seokjin couldn’t help but feel like you were hundreds of miles away. His heart tightened as you threw your head back as you laughed at something the boy with his arm around your waist said.
He was younger than Jin. His dark hair fell around his face in waves, lips spread in a wide grin as he watched you with soft doe eyes.
It makes Seokjin’s blood boil, seeing someone else look at you the way he did. The way he still looks at you.
“You’re not very subtle, you know.” Namjoon’s voice brings the elder back to reality, snapping him from his tumultuous thoughts. “You’re staring at her. Again.”
“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Why do you look so upset then?”
“I’m fine.”
“Bullshit. Spit it out.”
“It’s not even that big of a deal.” Seokjin groans, sinking into the couch cushions. “So what if she wants to ditch me to go on dates with the toddler? That’s her prerogative, but why did he have to come tonight?”
“Seriously? Toddler? He’s not even that much younger than us, Jin.” Namjoon snorts out a laugh as he settles into the empty spot beside his friend. He offers him one of the beers in his hand, setting it on the coffee table in front of the couch when the elder refuses in favor of the plastic cup already in his hands. “Do you even realize how jealous you sound right now? They’re dating. Why wouldn’t she bring him?”
“I’m not jealous.” It was a lie and both men knew it. “I just miss my best friend. She’s never around anymore and when she is, he’s there, too.”
“Just because she’s dating this Jungkook guy doesn’t mean that she’s going to stop being your best friend. You’re her favorite. Always have been, always will be.”
“Whatever.”
“I’m serious. Even after the breakup. You guys were never not close. Never one without the other. Maybe you just never got the chance for things to fully sink in. To let the fact that even if you guys were still best friends, you weren’t dating anymore. She wasn’t yours anymore, at least not in the way that she had been.”
“I’m gonna go get some air.” Seokjin downs the rest of his drink, liquor burning the back of his throat and leaving a bitter taste on the tip of his tongue. He crumples the now empty cup, tossing the ruined plastic onto the ground near his feet without much thought. He stands from the couch, hands pulling at the bottom hem of his denim jacket. “It's too stuffy in here.”
Seokjin weaves his way through the mass of bodies, the smell of sweat and cheap cologne invading his senses as he makes a beeline for the balcony door at the far end of the living room.
If he was paying more attention, he would have seen your eyes following his movement, excusing yourself from your conversation with Jungkook to follow after him, stumbling in your steps as you try to catch up with him without knocking into anyone.
“Hey.” Your voice is soft as you reach out to stop him from closing the sliding glass door before you can make it outside. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” He mumbles, leaning against the balcony railing.
The city is alive below, neon lights illuminating the dark streets and casting vibrant shadows across the pavement. The fresh air is a much needed reprieve from the crowded apartment, the small living room jam packed with faces and names that blur together and leave Seokjin’s temples throbbing with an inevitable headache. His palms are sweaty and he hopes you don’t catch him wiping them dry on his jeans, one hand at a time.
“I know you better than that.” You tilt your head, leaning forward to get a better look at his face, catching the grimace that contorts his features. The downturn of the corners of his mouth is a drastic change from his usual smile. “What is it, Jin?”
“Just drop it, Y/N, and go back inside. It’s cold and you’re not wearing a jacket. You’re going to get sick if you stay out here.”
“No.”
“Y/N.”
“You heard me. No.”
“Stop.” A warning.
“No!” You feel your cheeks heat, the flames spreading until the tips of your ears are consumed by them and left painted a bright red. You know that you probably resemble a stubborn child throwing a fit because they aren’t getting their way, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not now, not when you know there’s something bothering Seokjin and instead of opening up to you, he’s holding you at arms length. “I’m not going to stop! You can’t just shut me out, Jin! We don’t do that! Not to each other!”
You don’t think he’s going to answer and, when he does, you almost wish he hadn’t. The pleading look in his eyes when he shifts his gaze to you is nearly enough to leave you with regret that you hadn’t surrendered and abandoned the chase. Maybe some things were well and truly better left unsaid.
“What?” Seokjin straightens his back and fixes you with a narrowed gaze. “I’m shutting you away? Are you kidding me right now? If anyone is shutting someone out, it’s you!”
“Me?!”
“Yes! You, Y/N!” His voice is sharp, the bitterness that has gripped his heart for longer than he cared to admit slipping out and lacing his tone. His hands ball into tight fists at his side, muscles in his arms straining and knuckles white. “Ever since Jungkook came into the picture, you’ve been distant! You never come over anymore, never answer my calls! I get that you’re moving on but we’re still friends! Best friends!”
“Is that what this is all about? Jungkook?”
Jin’s cheeks are flushed - whether from the cold or the alcohol you had seen him downing earlier in the night you aren’t sure.
“What if it is? It doesn’t matter. It wouldn’t change anything, so what’s the point?”
A loud, echoing crack of thunder sounds overhead. The first drops of rain begin to make their descent from the graying sky, goosebumps dusting your skin at the contact. Seokjin moves on instinct, shrugging out of his jacket and draping it over your shoulders to shield you from the rain and chilled wind. He lets himself fasten the buttons, smoothing down the collar before taking a step back.
The sadness that seems to consume him leaves your chest aching; heart beating wildly, hammering violently against your ribs.
“You don’t know that.”
“What?”
“You don’t know that it wouldn’t change anything. You’re just assuming it won’t.”
“I just...” He says with a sigh, shoulders falling limp. Defeated. “I don’t even know what went wrong between us. I don’t know what changed. I thought that maybe staying friends was better than losing you completely, but it’s worse. It’s so much worse. I see you with him and I feel like I’m going to be sick. I hate that someone else gets to look at you like I did, that they get to touch you and make you laugh. That should be me.”
“Jin...”
“Just tell me.” The crack is his voice, the tears welling in his eyes. The Seokjin standing before you now is nothing short of broken. “Tell me what I can do to fix it and I will. I’ll do anything. I just...I can’t be just friends. Not with you. I never said it before but I’ll say it now. I love you. I’m in love with you. Don’t tell me that it’s over. It can’t be over.”
He reaches forward and pulls you into his chest, arms wrapping around your waist and you know then.
No one was Seokjin.
No one ever would be.
#btshoneyhive#bangtaninn#bangtanuniversity#btswritingcafe#heartsforbts#btsgoldnet#seokjin x reader#seokjin imagine#ksj x reader#ksj imagine#bts imagine#bts reader insert#bts seokjin#bts angst#bts fluff#bts drabble#bts scenerio#bts fan fic#kim seokjin fanfic
89 notes
·
View notes
Text
smoke and fire (12)
word count; 8943
summary; you and newt are called to another unusual call.
notes; this is the first half (technically) of a mini sub-plot. the end comes in the next part.
warnings; violence, gun use, description of injury, slight gore, intentional harm, attempted murder, reference to drowning.
“I feel disgusting.” You mumbled, water still dripping from your arms as you stood, shaking yourself odd a little and groaning at the chill that was beginning to sweep in. The lights on the firetruck were flashing, equipment still being loaded back up, and Newt was standing on the other side of the ambulance, a water bottle Minho had given him sitting in his hand as he took another large sip, gargling the water loudly and frothing it around his mouth before spitting it out onto the concrete and grimacing.
“I think I swallowed, like, half the lake.”
You felt bad for him, you really did, and you tried to peel the wet material of the shirt away from yourself. Unbuttoning it slowly, you frowned, wet hair plastered to the back of your neck in the ponytail you wore, and Newt choked on his drink, laughing loudly and spitting up water again. He patted at his chest, turning away from you, his cheeks going red as he tries to hack up water that had gone down the wrong pipe, and you patted his back, startled at his sudden reaction.
His eyes were watering when he recovered, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “You know, if I was straight, I’d be very flattered.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your nipples.” He beamed, and your brows furrowed, before you glanced down, noting the hardened peaks from the cold, showing clearly through your tank that had gone clear enough in its pale grey colour to show off the plain design of your bra, and you scoffed. “Truly, it’s an honour, but it’s doing nothing for me.”
“Oh, no, whatever will I do now?” You mused, voice flat of any emotions, and he only laughed again, peeling off his shirt, and ringing it out, goosebumps rising along pale skin as the chill of the air washed over his skin. The lake was clear now, a group of kids who had stupidly enough decided it would be a good idea to jump off the edge of the dock before realising the wall was too tall and slippery with algae to get out, beginnings of hypothermia and ingestions of dirty water before anybody had wandered past close enough to hear them calling for help.
Sometimes, you really hated teenagers.
“Think if we’re fast enough, we can get back to the house before the firefighters? First dibs on the showers with the best water pressure, and guaranteed hot water.”
His eyes twinkled a little as he lifted a still damp but no longer sodden shirt back onto his shoulders, grimy and covered in green and brown stains from the water, no bothering to button it back up. “I take that as a challenge, and I accept.”
You climbed in through the back of the van, pulling open the bottom drawer and finding the plastic seat coverings, chucking one of the sheet packages to Newt for his own chair, before he slammed the doors with you in the back, and rounded to the driver’s side. Smoothing the plastic over your chair to make sure it was covered, your shoes squelched a little as you collapsed down into it. Newt did the same, and the second the keys were twisted into the lock once he was shuffling uncomfortably on the plastic, you were flicking the heating on to the highest temperature you could get it.
The downside of working in a van filled with drugs and medicine? The heat didn’t get very high in order to keep what needed to be refrigerated at the temperature is was required to be at. His eyes checked the mirrors as he reversed, noting the firetruck that was beginning to back out, the Squad truck leaving first, Gally and Fry still milling around to talk to the cops, and so you and Squad had a head start.
It would seem that they had the same idea, because Minho had a positively dangerous look in her eyes as she pulled up towards the entrance alongside you both, and Newt smirked, hand on the gearstick as he switched gears and pressed his foot down on the pedal. He surged forwards, the van moving faster than the trucks due to their added weight, a delay in its start-up, and the pair of you shot across the uneven gravelly path towards the main highway.
The red truck wasn’t far behind, and yet you were laughing a little at the determined look on your partners face, what had been a modest challenge was now becoming a battle between yourselves and the Squad team. You had the edge, being a lightweight vehicle, easy navigation and more speed, but they had the edge, the big red truck was more noticeable to other driver’s and they tended to move out of the way more for firetrucks than they did for ambulances.
As you met the junction for the highway, Newt flicked on the indicators and swerved onto the highway in a gap between cars that was too small to be considered safe. The move left you pressed into the side door of the ambo’, turning to look at him as his eyes stayed fixed on the road, a smirk on his face as the red truck was left in the dust, having to wait much longer to be able to pull out.
“Alright, Vin Diesel, settle down.”
“You want a hot shower to get clean? Or do you want lukewarm water with weak pressure that takes hours to get you clean?” You considered it, knowing that the more the showers were used, the weaker the water pressure got and the colder they ran as the hot water was distributed out, and you weighed out the pros and cons. You gave in with a reluctant sigh, watching Newt weave between cars, and he let out a triumphant noise. “Exactly. So, be a good co-driver, and play something exciting.”
“This is an ambulance, Newt. We have the classical jazz station, the news station, the emergency radio, or static and silence.”
“Sing something.” He offered, and you laughed loudly. “Maybe just yell exciting things at the top of your voice like it’s a James Bond movie. You can be my Bond woman.”
“Exciting things? You mean like ‘Quick, Newt, watch out for the rock slide’ or ‘Oh my God, Newt, he’s shooting at us’?” He hummed, rolling his lips together a little, and looking into the mirror where the red van wasn’t all that far behind anymore. “Oh, okay, I got it. How about ‘Quick! Newt! The bomb that will destroy world peace and the alien trade federation is about to go off, hurry so you can disarm it and save the galaxy!”
“That’s the one!” He shouted back, laughter taking up the cabin between you both as he picked up a little more speed, growling under his breath as distant wailing took place. “Did they just turn the fucking sirens on?”
“That’s illegal! A crime! Disqualified!”
Only a moment later, the truck was passing you by, Thomas lounging in the front seat with a smirk on his face, not even bothering to look at the two of you as he held up his middle finger, feet popped up on the dashboard, before they were pulling ahead, and you gaped at it.
“He flipped us off!”
“He did what?” Newt sounded like he had been told that Thomas had run over his dog, before his face was growing stormy, and he peeled off towards one of the exits, and you sat up a little more in your seat.
“Newt, this isn’t our exit, why are we slowing down? This is war now!”
“We’re taking a shortcut! I think.”
You pouted, watching as he pulled off onto the quieter roads, already resigning yourself to the loss. The van moved slower, not by much and certainly still considered fast for these roads, and you didn’t recognise the area you were driving through until you were almost at the house, coming at it from a completely different angle. It was a side that the trucks would be unaware of, the roads on this side of the house too narrow for the trucks to navigate on, but an ambulance could definitely weave and dodge along them.
You were expecting the grey garage to already be stained with bright and shiny flashes of colour, but as you approached it, the bay was still empty, and you gasped.
Unclipping your seatbelt before the vehicle had even rolled to a halt, and as soon as it was in park, haphazardly and slightly wonky within the designated space but still inside the lines, and Newt was ripping the keys from the ignition. You didn’t even bother peeling away the plastic overs, both hopping down from the van, doors slamming, uncomfortable runs in wet shoes from the vehicle to the changing rooms, the door practically bounding from the wall with the urgency that you forced it open.
Your fingers were trembling with both the cold and the adrenaline as you opened your locker, grabbing for the towel and washbag that sat on the middle shelf, slamming the metal canister shut a second behind Newt, and on the other side of the room, you heard a shower curtain swipe open, before the water spray was coming on.
Kicking off your shoes onto the white tile, your socks were ridden with water, and you stopped into the basin, flimsy curtain closing behind you. Switching on the water, you didn’t care about clothes getting wet as they were all drenched regardless. The water was hot and strong, pouring down over you as you let out a breath in relief, sighing out at the feeling, and stripping the partially unbuttons shirt the rest of the way down.
Dropping it to the floor outside, your vest followed, bra dropping by your feet for modesty, not all too thrilled about the idea of the entire team seeing your underwear. One fireman was plenty enough. Your trousers came next, panties following your bra, and socks lastly, before you were freeing your hair from its bobble and scrubbing dirt from the tendrils. The water was murky as it pooled around your feet, and you grinned through the suds as you heard the locker room door open up.
“Nice of you guys to finally join us!”
Newt laughed at your words, and you scowled at the taste of shampoo that got in your mouth, eyes squeezed closed tightly, but you couldn't hold back your laughter at the several complaints that burst out.
The shower next to yours clicked into gear, a slight dip in the flow of water as it adjusted, and it was steadily growing weaker as the firemen all changed and climbed into a shower, but you had already shampooed, only some soap and conditioner to go.
“How the fuck did you guys beat us here?”
“We played by the rules, Bren! Flicking on sirens, that was cheating.” You tutted, the girl scoffing from the cubicle beside you.
“Uh, playing it smart isn’t cheating!” She retaliated, and you scrubbed a bar of exfoliating soap over your skin, the extra shrub helping to rid you of the feeling of grunge from the lake away from your flesh. “But seriously, how the hell did you beat us here with so much time?”
“Newt knew a short cut, apparently.” She made a vague sound of agreement, the boys all chatting loudly from the other side of the room, and the build-up of steam was beginning to give you a headache. Running some conditioner through your hair and combing the knots out quickly, you finished up, switching off the water and finding your towel, hand fumbling outside of the stall for the material, before you were finding it, and wrapping it around your body. Wringing out your hair, you pushed back the shower curtain and stepped free.
Newt was at the lockers, pulling a shirt over his head, almost fully dressed, the plastic washing basket from the corner was sitting outside him, water pooling through the cracks to the floor as his clothes dripped, and you scooped up your own, dropping them in with his and flashing him a grateful smile as he all but nodded in a promise to load them into the washer.
His fluffy hair was almost dry already, messy and sticking up from his towel, and you envied how quickly he could get ready again. How quickly all men could get dressed, really.
Taking your kit over to the sink, you fastened your towel a little tighter around yourself again to make sure it would stay tight, before wiping a patch in the steamed-up glass to see your reflection. Running a collection of moisturisers and serums over your cheeks, keeping it at it’s best despite the smoky and dirty conundrums you found yourself in on a day to day basis, you rehydrated and cleansed your skin, before moving on to your hair.
Heading to your locker to get a new set of clothes, you lifted the catch open, the door swinging as you gathered belongings, checking you had everything for a new uniform in your back-up bag, before placing it down on the bench. As you closed it, you jumped, a body leaning on the metal on the other side, and a mumbled curse fell from your lips at the shock. Reaching up to clutch at the edge of your towel and ensure it didn’t fall, you glared at the laughing attacker.
“You fucking suck. Why are you scaring me when I’m in a towel? Dumbass.”
“Oh, ouch. Cranky today, huh?” Thomas teased, reaching out a finger to poke at your stomach through the towel, and you jumped, slapping his hand away as he chuckled more.
“I’m cranky when I’m in a towel, and risking flashing the entire team because you wanna’ startle me!” He smirked, eyes scanning over your body particularly slowly, as if to make a point, and you rolled your eyes, despite the heat forming on your face. Adjusting your towel again, he watched your fingers move, and you kicked at his shin, watching him hop around in his towel at the aggression.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“You know what that was for!” You held your fingers up, pointing them from your chest to your eyes, and he got a wicked grin once again as he clocked onto what you were saying. “Go away so I can get dressed in peace!”
“So now you don’t want me around? That’s not how you felt a couple of weeks ago.” You glared at him again, crossing your arms and stomping your foot a little, knowing what he was referring to, and he hadn't been any less affectionate since. At the action, though, he gave in, hands held up in a surrender and his laughter following him all the way around to his locker on the other side, leaving you alone.
Members of the team were still wandering around, and so you tried to be as quick but as discreet as you possibly could, tugging your panties and trousers up under your towel. Your spare shoes were uncomfortable and tight, barely worn in as opposed to your regular ones, and you were cold as you put on the clothes that had been chilling in the metal canister, bag ready to be taken home to refill.
Rubbing your towel across your hair to dry it out better, you left it as it was, towel folding in the bag to be taken home, and you placed it all back inside. Adjusting your fresh uniform to sit a little more comfortably on your body, your fingers smoothed along the collar and flattened it down, before sweeping still damp locks away from your clothes.
The men were all filtering from the room, a faster turn around as they dried, all carrying dirty and sodden uniforms to the laundry room to try and get them sorted, hoping to find themselves with one less task to do when they go home, and not wanting to stink up their cars with the foul smell that came with the water from the dock by trailing the wet garments home.
The dull buzzing of the only hairdryer the fire station had was already in use by Brenda, shorter hair looking a little crazy as she only had her fingers to come through instead of her usual styling brush, and she was scowling at her reflection in the mirror as her hair curved up in the wrong directions at the edges, bangs looking untamed. She glared at your snickering as you approached, finger flipping over the switch to turn it off, clearly deeming the effort good enough, and she stuck her tongue out at you and handed it over, letting you start it up to reduce some of the water trapped in your own hair as she tried desperately to do something to control it a little better.
“Why don’t you just comb it all back?”
“And look like a starring member from ‘Grease’? Want me to start singing ‘Go Grease Lightning’ on the top of one of the fire trucks, huh?” She was so over-dramatic, and yet you loved that about her, shaking your head and smirking a little as she continued to struggle. You weren’t all that bothered about getting it completely dry, just enough that you wouldn’t catch a chill from it. You didn’t really feel like facing the next few weeks with a sore throat and a blocked nose.
“Would it make you feel better if I told you that I’m pretty sure I have a curled brush in my bag?”
She paused her work, arms crossing over her chest, hip leaning on the porcelain of the sink, and you could feel her burning glare on you as you continued to keep your one hair tame just with the use of the machine and your fingers. “You’ve had a blow-dry brush this whole time and you let me suffer?”
“Uh, first off, it’s not a blow-dry brush. It’s just a round brush. Make do. Secondly, you make it sound like I had food and you’ve not eaten for three days.”
“Same thing.” She hissed, playfully through it all, and she didn’t wait for permission, before she was meandering to your locker over hers and letting herself in, beginning to dig through the items in there to find the brush. She let out a triumphant little noise, and as she all but skipped back across the room, you decided you were close enough to dry, shaking your head to tame fly-aways and handing her the dryer back. You turned, walking away from her, and she let out a sound of complaint. “You’re just gonna’ leave me in here, alone?”
“It’s the changing rooms, not a back-alley at a nightclub at 3am.”
“What if I get lonely?” She pouted, turning the heat up and power down, the whirring going quieter so neither of you had to shout quite as loudly to one another, and you shrugged, backing away from her a little more, and smirking.
“Talk to your reflection. I’m going to make a snack.”
She huffed, but smiled, turning back to her plans, and you were the only one to what your soft chuckle as you left, the chill out in the corridor being shocking as you stepped from the steam-filled room to the breeze-filled hall to the main bay, shuddering as goosebumps rose over your arms, and you crossed them across your chest to keep your heat in.
Thomas was standing at the entrance of the laundry room, a basket full of wet clothes, nose turned up a little as Newt and Jeff loaded the machines, and you didn’t envy them at all. The doors to the common room were sealed shut tightly, presumably to keep in the warmth, because Fry had turned on both of the space heaters, and the room was already warming up to being hot. The smell of garlic bread was filling the room, some kind of cheesy pasta following it, and Fry was already singing loudly to the song playing over the radio, almost drawing out the television as Gally watched a movie that was so old it was in black and white, but he wasn’t paying attention, rather, he was texting on his phone and enjoying the background noise.
Minho was sitting beside him much the same, fingers moving swiftly over the screen, and Clint was chewing on a pen at the table as he filled out the puzzles in one of the newspapers from last week's stack.
“What’cha making, Fry?”
“Chicken and mushroom pasta, you want some?” Your face screwed up, shaking your head, and he laughed. “Let me guess, you don’t like mushrooms?”
“They’re gross and slimy. No offence to your pasta.”
“They’re delicious, and healthy.” He corrected, and you grunted, opening the fridge, and pulling out a loaf of bread, shuffling through the contents of the fridge to find a topping you wanted. As you searched, a soft bumping at your ankle caught your attention, a sharp and chipper bark to follow it, and you glanced down, finding a wagging tail and a ball of golden fur staring up at you expectantly. “That dog is a bottomless pit of food!”
“He’s a growing boy!” You waved the cook off, taking a packet of ham out and peeling a slice off from the inside of the pack, holding it up at about waist height, and watching as the dog shuffled backwards, staring up at it and preparing himself. “C’mon, Scoot, jump!”
The dog did so, a happy yip sounding from him as he did, snatching half of the slice as it tore in your hands, and chewing down on it happily, pieces falling from its mouth and onto the floor, and he was quick to lick those up too. “He’s never going to learn any tricks if you pamper him like that.”
You looked up, Thomas having come through the doorway, Newt following behind him, your partner raising his shirt to his nose and sniffing at it, trying to determine whether the stench had transferred to his uniform just from doing the laundry, before collapsing down in the armchair. “He just did a trick! He jumped!” Scooter did it again, snatching the rest of the ham from your fingers, and you gasped as teeth brushed over your fingers, your hand snatching back, and Thomas chuckled, coming to a stop before you and taking the ham from your fingers.
“He did not jump on command, he just jumped for food.”
“Fine! You try!” You raised a brow, and Thomas took the challenge, a smirk forming.
“Scooter!” The dog’s head snapped to face him, from where he’d been occupying himself with pawing at one of your undone laces, now focused on Thomas. “Scooter, sit.” The dog remained still for a second, your lips pursing as he continued to pant and wag happily, stood on all four paws.
“What was it you were saying?”
Thomas’ eyes flicked up to you, narrowing for a second, before he was trying again. “Scooter, sit.” Your jaw was slack as the dog did exactly as told, sitting neatly and letting his tail brush over the flooring patterns, hearing the fridge behind you opening and closing, jars and tins rattling as Fry continued to cook. “Good boy, Scoot! No, lay down.” Thomas clicked his fingers, pointing at the floor, and the dog flattened out, staring up at Thomas expectantly, and you huffed. “Good boy. You want a treat?”
A bark signalled that, and Thomas rolled up a piece of the honey-glazed delicacy that Fry was snatching back a second later with mumbles about it being wasted, and Scooter stood up to snatch it, running away across the room in a pitter-patter of movements, scurrying away to his bed in the corner.
“See?”
“How the hell did you do that?” You demanded, washing your hands under the tap and drying them off, before going back to the sandwich you’d been preparing, and Thomas seated himself on one of the island stools with a shrug.
“I’ve been practising. Wanted to surprise you.”
“Well, consider me surprised.” You offered, grabbing a knife from one of the drawers, and Fry groaned beside you, shooting you both a dirty look as you began to spread the butter.
“Consider me revolted.” He gagged, and you rolled your eyes, swinging your foot out to kick at his shin, Thomas flipping him off despite the heat that was building on his cheek, and the chef wasn’t deterred from mimicking your conversation. “Seriously, get a room.”
“We have a room. It’s this kitchen. Two out of three, we win, majority rules.”
“Nice.” Thomas grinned, holding his hand out, and you slammed your palm against his in a satisfying high five, before pressing the knife down and cleaning it off, sealing the butter back up and putting it in the fridge, before grabbing your fillings. Layering them on carefully, you started slowly, constructing your sandwich carefully, and building it on your plate, before slicing it evenly down the middle, starting at your lunch proudly.
You only had a second to appreciate it, before a large hand was picking up a piece of it, taking it away and biting the corner off or it happily. “Hey! Who the hell said you could eat my sandwich?”
“Sharing is caring, sweetheart.” He winked, taking another large bite and speaking through his food, hopping down from the stool, and your face screwed up. You took your now half a sandwich, walking towards the empty couch and hearing Thomas trail after you, the couch the wrong way to the screen, but you weren’t all that bothered about what was happening in this movie anyway, and so you faced away from it, spreading out along the couch. “Move your legs.”
“Give me my sandwich back!”
“It’s half gone now!” He held it up, showing you the evidence of the half-eaten piece, and you shrugged. As if to prove a point, he pushed the rest of it all into his mouth at once, cheeks feeling with food and lips barely able to close, before he was brushing crumbs from his shirt, and picking your legs up at the ankles, lifting them up to be able to sit down.
“You’re disgusting.”
“Yep.” His words were muffled, your feet being laid back down across his lap, and you took a more polite bite of the remaining half. His fingers moved to your shoes, finding the undone laces and wrapping them around his fingers, before pulling them tightly and looping them into neat knots. He repeated the same on the other foot, before slumping back into the couch a little, still trying to chew the whole mouthful, and you wiggled a little as you got more comfortable, sliding further down until it was your calves in his lap instead of your feet, and your shoulders could rest on the armrest.
His hand rested on your knee, thumb smoothing over you lightly as his other hand produced his phone from his pocket, beginning to swipe at it absentmindedly.
“You two are honestly sickening. I have toothache.”
“Oh, cut the crap, Newt. You spent a half-hour on the phone to me two days ago talking about Derek.” Newt looked shocked for a second, pale cheeks flushing with warm colour, before he was shrugging it off.
“Yeah, well, at least me and Derek have never cuddled in a waiting room at his job.”
“We aren’t cuddling right now!” You scoffed, taking another bite of your sandwich, and chewing it as you process what to say next. “Besides, it would be unprofessional to cuddle in a waiting room where patients could see. This is totally different because we’re inside the house, an-”
Your words went flat as you heard the siren overhead go off, even Thomas’ thumb on your knee pausing its motions, everybody going silent, only the sounds of sizzling oil and the muted television static to go as the alarm went off. You deflated, only yourself and Newt being called for, and you heaved yourself to a sitting position, Newt already beginning to peel his body back up out of the comfy chair he’d seated himself in.
“At least it’s only a local call, we’ll be back before the shift even ends.”
Your partner’s words did little to comfort you, and he chuckled as you continued to glare, before forcing yourself into action.
Swinging your legs down to sit up, you looked mournfully at your only half-eaten meal, before handing the plate to Thomas, who beamed at the offering, your fingers tousling his hair before you were wandering away, and attempting to pull your hair back into something that resembled a pony-tail using on the bobble on your wrist and your fingers.
Newt grabbed the keys, ready to set off, and you followed after him as the doors remained yet to even start swinging shut in his haste. Reaching the van, you hesitated as you neared climbing in, stripping away the plastic over your seat and dropping it down into the footwell of the van, watching Newt do the same. Starting up the ambulance and fastening your seatbelt, Newt flicked on the SatNav, the machine taking a second to load up, before it was programming in your given destination and beginning to guide you.
“So, that’s something pretty new.”
“What is?” Your eyes flickered over yourself, the same uniform you always wore clad on your body, and a pair of sneakers, your brow raising as you turned to your friend, the silence saying everything, and he scoffed. Switching gears as he pulled out onto the faster roads, he spared you a look, dubious and unbelieving of your confusion.
“You know what.”
“I assure you, I don’t.” You shuffled a little, the radio crackling, but none of the chatter directed toward the two of you was coming through yet, and you waited.
He sighed, flicking on the indicators and pulling out onto the highway. “You and Tommy. That’s what I’m talking about. What’s up with you two?”
Heat flushed over your face, and you sank back a little further into your seat, but your lips wanted to form a smile, and you had to bite down on the inside of your cheek just to contain it. “I’m not totally sure.”
“You’re not sure?”
“Well, I kinda’ know. It’s all so new. It’s scary, but exhilarating.” Newt only smiled, eyes flicking to the mirror to check over everything he was looking at, before taking another turn following the SatNav, a side road to leave the highway, and you were still waiting on call details to come through on the radio. “I mean, I know it’s something. He knows that, too. We’ve talked about it, but we’re just, sort of, waiting.”
“Waiting for what, exactly?”
“The right time, I guess.” You sighed, realising how odd it all sounded out loud, to be talking like a teenager to your friend about a guy you liked, but it also felt natural and right. “Everything has just been crazy lately. I don’t think we would be like we were without the craziness, and it’s kinda’ weird to think that this job has changed my life so much, that this house has changed my life so much, when none of the others did before. I think we’re just waiting to see if it’s real, or just an in-the-moment emotional deal.”
“Seems pretty real to me.”
You smiled, knowing that Newt’s words were intended to be soothing, but instead, they made your heart race a little more.
Everything made your heart race nowadays, like you were in overdrive all the time, you were constantly on the edge, and not in an anxious way. You’d spent so much of your life feeling closed off and locked down that you weren’t used to how it felt to be on the opposite end of the scale. You had anxiety, and fear, and loneliness, that was your normal status, but since settling into Firehouse ‘21, everything had been turned upside down.
Your heart would race with thrill and excitement, and the heat flushing over you wasn’t so much from rage - after you’d sorted your problems with Thomas, anyway - but from flustered shyness. On the days when you felt lonely, when the urge to be around someone else was stronger, your phone was there, lighting up with notifications from a group chat and you knew you had friends you could call, someone who would spend time with you, when they weren’t on duty.
It was all still new, and a little scary, and still thrilling.
Then, there was Thomas. You weren’t sure what it was with Thomas, because you had nothing to compare it to. Your previous relationships had been quick and spinning. A fling that ended just as fast as it started, almost always ending after a first date with tumbling into bed and shutting down when the first signs of intimacy began to rear their heads. You moved around and you never stayed put long enough to invest in something, but you had no plans of leaving Firehouse ‘21 any time soon, and so you’d allowed yourself to let Thomas in before you’d even realised it was happening.
Intimate and emotional, a connection that wasn’t physical yet, you didn’t even know what it felt like to kiss him, and yet it still made you feel a little breathless and lightheaded to imagine it because there was a weight and meaning hanging to it now. There was something deeper than you’d ever had, a relationship that wasn’t pinned on sex and quick connections to chase away the cold sheets when you felt truly alone, but instead, left you feeling warm and loved even when no one was around.
“So, what about you and Derek?”
It was Newt’s turn to be embarrassed, the gravel and shale under the tires crunching loudly as the two of you began to trail up abandoned dirt roads, the rickety and deafening sounds of the trains of the metal bridges overhead shooting past were like the banging of metal against metal, hitting a spoon against a pan or steel-tipped work boots on metal platforms.
Pale skin turned dark pink, and he flashed a cheesy grin, eyes sparkling a little, and you already knew how excited he was. “That good, huh?”
“Things with Derek are awesome.”
“I take full responsibility for that awesomeness.” You teased, and he chuckled, the van coming to a halt, and your brows furrowed, amusement disappearing and confusion over as you stared out at the empty scene. The SatNav on the dashboard clicked green and shut down as you reached your destination, clearly telling you both that this was the correct location, and yet there was nothing, and nobody to be seen. “Put a pin in that conversation.”
He only mumbled his response, equally as confused, and the two of you stepped out of the car, a chill sweeping over you as it became eerily similar to the last case you’d received with nobody present, still so recent that the police investigation into it was still open, the court case over Chuck’s death was yet to be closed and the arson investigators hadn't even completed their analysis. “Check the radio. Is it turned on?”
You moved back in, knowing that it was because the static had been playing lowly in your ears all the way through, but there was nothing else. Normally, at a call on the edge of a town like this, the two of you would be greeted by someone, a frantic pedestrian, friend or family member, the person who had made the call would arrive to lead you to the person, and even as you listened, you couldn't hear anything.
No loud groaning or yells of pain, no mangled screams for help or even a blood trail to guide you. There was absolutely nothing to suggest why the two of you would be here, and it all became more and more suspicious as each second ticked by. Newt tucked his hands into his pockets, and you picked up the receiver, sitting sideways on your seat and turning the dial, before pressing the button down on the side.
“House ‘21 ambulance, calling in. We haven't had any more details, can we get an update?”
You waited for a second, eyes narrowing as the machine clicked you through to an operator, and there were muffled voices in the background of the call centre, before a clearer voice rang through. “‘21 ambulance, can you confirm your location, registration number and ID for me.”
Newt smirked at the frown on your face, knowing that every so often a caller came who actually required you to cite the information. While you couldn't deny that it was protocol, and they should be doing it every time, most of them took it simply at your word of being the paramedics, because they knew that most robbers wouldn't be bothering to call in on the radio of they were stealing from an ambulance, they’d just clear out all the medicines and run.
Listing off the information she requested, you listened and waited, the sound of long nails typing quickly at a keyboard sounded out, and you turned up the volume, holding the device out from you a little, so Newt could hear more clearly, even as he wandered a few feet away, looking around some more. “Still there, ‘21?”
“Yep.” You paused, hearing a few more clicks, before the woman was sighing.
“My files don’t have much. The caller didn’t leave a name or an identification, the only notes here are the address, and that you’re looking for a stab wound victim.” Newt's brows raised as he heard the words, and you only felt more confused. If someone had been stabbed, there should be a trail of blood or someone calling for help, you should be able to see them, they couldn't have gotten far without leaving a pathway of where they were, and yet, there was nothing here except the trains on the bridge overhead. “That all?”
“That's all.”
She hung up not long after, and you grabbed for your go-bag, chucking Newt his bag too, and he only just managed to catch it as the breath was knocked from his lungs, sticking his tongue out at you childishly as you grinned, before slamming your door back shut, and letting Newt lock it up, the van chirping and flashing as it sealed.
Swinging your bag onto your shoulder, your partner mimicked you. Wandering away together, you paced a few minutes from the van, staring out across the empty area, and crossing your arms. “I gave up my lunch for this shit.”
“You go left, I’ll go right, we’ll sweep around, and in ten minutes we meet at the van?” You only nodded, kicking at a particularly large pebble under your foot, and turning to face the direction you were told to go in. You heard Newt stepping away, pebbles shifting underfoot, and you followed suit, glancing back at the blond over your shoulder for a second. “Yell if you find something.”
“Will do.” You saluted, a grin thrown over his shoulder to you, before fixing your gaze ahead of you once again.
There were a few old houses, run-down and abandoned, nobody having lived in them for at least a decade. Broken windows were boarded up and front doors were hanging on their hinges, spray paint that was old and faded, drips and chips on the wood that was stained with years of abandonment, and wire fences with chains on that had been long since cut away. The grass was dead, yellowed and brown and overrun with weeds, and spoke spots ere charred blank with ash, where you suspected kids had come to light fires and get away from parents when they were bored; empty bottles of booze and cans of pop littered the ground, among wrappers and boxes for things too old to see the labels on.
You checked every garden, standing in the gate and calling out to offer help, but nothing except for silence came back. The rusty metal creaked as you stepped out from the last row, three random houses in an area of town that had clearly been skipped in the surrounding gentrification, left to fall into disrepair, and you didn’t blame it. The constant source of trains of the tracks overhead was already beginning to give you a headache, there were no real roads built to this area, and it was miles to the closest bus stop or shopping centre.
Turning back around, you didn’t walk straight back to him, but you walked a little to the side, taking an angle back towards the van just to be sure you were covering the maximum space that you could, checking over it all thoroughly, and just as you’d been giving up, your eyes caught the flicker of movement in your peripherals. When you focused on it, it took you a second to find it again, the trembling of metal stilts holding the bridge up forty feet above you disguising it, but then there was a twitch again.
In the shadows, easily missed, but then there they were. Sitting, leaned up against one of the bars from the other side, hand-pressed weakly over their stomach, head lolled to the side. You weren’t even sure if they had moved, or if they’d simply slumped forward because of the vibrations of the rickety bridge legs, and you felt a jolt of adrenaline race through you as you tried to jump into action.
“Shit!” You muttered, a slight rise on the hill before you as you tried to climb up it, the dust forming clouds behind you as the stones slipped at the sudden and uncoordinated movements, before you were stumbling closer to the person. “Newt!”
Another train shot overhead, drowning out the sounds of your shouts, and you hoped Newt had actually heard it, because you’d walked so far that he was more like a blur away from you, and you certainly couldn't hear his yells as he offered help anymore, they’d faded away a few minutes ago, but you couldn't be occupied with it now. The second the train had passed, you tried yelling again, out of breath and panting as you dropped to your knees before the person.
Their head was lying forward, chin pressed to their chest, fresh red blood seeping out between their fingers in weak bursts, and at least you knew they were still alive. Cupping their face, you pushed their head back, skin sickly pale and flushed with sweat, a very quiet groan leaving his lips, and hooded eyes cracked open barely at all to look at you. “Did you make that call?”
“Call?” He echoed, seemingly confused about what was even happening, but with the amount of blood that was staining the pebbles around you and clumping in the dust and dirt as it turned dark, you weren’t all that surprised.
“Alright, buddy, we’ll get you all sorted out, okay?” You circled a hand around behind his neck, the other on his side, and you needed to lay him down just to be able to get to the wound, because you couldn't see anything with him slumped over like this, daylight partially blocked out from the bridge overhead and shadows forming over the man. “I need to get you laying down, think you can handle that?”
He didn’t even nod, simply made a broken hum under his breath that you decided to take as an acknowledgement, before pulling him forwards. He let out a louder cry this time, the pain taking him over, and you heard the rapid-fire crunches of Newt running towards you, slightly uneven footsteps on his hurt leg, but you didn’t pay any attention to it, grateful that he’d heard you, but focusing on your patient.
His hands had fallen away from his wounds, and you fumbled for your torch, the light designed to check eyes did little to light up the wound but blood was staining the pale shirt he wore, leaving wet red patches as far up as his ribs. Newt skidded to a stop behind you, a hand running through the longer fringe in his face as he pushed it back, eyes wide.
“Well, shit, I’ll be damned.”
“Knife wound, pretty deep, can you hold the torch for me?” He nodded, stains of red smeared across it from where you’d already got blood on your fingers, and you pushed up the edge of his shirt, getting a look at the wound. He sank to his knees, holding the light over it more clearly, and you hoped he could sense your silent appreciation. It helped you to see, but didn’t clarify much, because blood was smeared over his skin and gave illusions about where his injuries started and ended, bubbling blood still leaving the gash. Dropping your bag down to your side, you opened it up, fumbling through for a pair of rubber gloves, and a tissue to be able to wipe away the blood with.
Snapping the latex onto your wrists and taking the folded clump of paper, dragging it delicately but firmly over the spot to try and get a better look. A second, maybe two, was all you got of clear skin before blood was beginning to fill the space once again, the man’s shallow pants and groans getting lighter and weaker, and you knew you had to hurry, lost time in having to search for him taking its toll now, but it was long enough to get a good look.
“We’re going to need some stuff from the van, probably the stretcher, but I don’t know how well we can wheel him across that gravel.”
“I can just pull up the van?” He offered, clicking off the torch to hand it back to you as you put the correct pressure down on the wound to stop the bleeding, pinching around the edges and holding tight to seal the wound, and you nodded.
“Yeah, yeah. That’s good. Pull up the van!”
He nodded, brushing dust from his knees as he stood, and you used your other hand to begin searching through your bag for the disinfectant spray you needed to start cleaning up his wound so you could put a provisionary seal on it.
You found the canister, shaking it carefully and trying to squeeze the lid with two fingers to get it off, a ‘pop’ sounding before the fading footsteps Newt was making came to a sudden halt.
“Woah, woah, woah..” You looked up, eyes widening and blood running cold at the sight. Newt had his hand held up, a man who’d ace you couldn't quite see behind the baseball cap and the hood he had pulled up to obscure his features, sleeves reaching gloved hands, and a gun in one hand, finger pressed over the trigger as Newt took a few steps back toward you both and stumbling slightly, his leg going weak as he stood unevenly on a rock, and you couldn't help the gasp in fear that left you. “Look, man, we don’t want any trouble. We just got a call, for that guy.”
He reached out one hand, pointing to where you were kneeling still, and you leaned forwards, moving very slowly as you tried to press down gently on the top of the canister, spraying gently on the wound, but as the man let out a sudden and pained noise, the gun moved to you, and you froze, jumping back from the actions and dropping the can.
“I know, because I made the call.”
“You made the call?” You repeated, the face of the shadowed man becoming a little clearer, a large tattoo taking up one side of his face, and you shifted, the uncomfortable stones digging into your knees making you wince as you tried to hold still, an ache in your muscles as your heart raced with fear once again. “If you made the call, why can’t we help him.”
“You’re not here to help him, his wound is just to get you here.”
“You stabbed a man to get ahold of a paramedic?” The gun clicked, the safety catch off, and you swallowed thickly, internally berating yourself for asking such a question when the moment was so tense. “Look, we’ll come with you, we’re more than happy to, but just let me help him and then we’ll go wherever y-”
“Lady, if you don’t stop talking, I will blow your fucking brains all over these stones.” Your jaw snapped shut, heart freezing in your chest entirely, and you nodded dumbly. “Great, now get the fuck up, grab your bag, and walk over here real slow.”
You hesitated, only for a second, before lifting your hand from the man’s wound, hearing him groan out a little, and you ducked your head, knocking your bag over and the contents falling out across the gravel. “I don’t know if you’re even sentient enough to hear me right now,”
Your words were as low as you could get them, hoping then standing a few metres away wouldn't pick them up as he focused back on Newt, and you packed away slowly,
“If you can, I’m leaving the antiseptic and some gauze here. You need to pinch the sides of your wound, lay still, take deep breaths, and hold as much pressure as you can. In about forty minutes, we’d be due to make a call in, we’re supposed to every hour we’re out; when we don’t report in, they’ll send another ambulance. Just hold on, alright?”
You nudged the items a little further into the shadows, hoping the man had caught your words and had the strength to hold on, before you were peeling off your gloves, tucking them into your bag, and zipping it up to sit on your shoulder. Holding your hands up to show they were empty, you stepped beside Newt, the look on his face silently questioning if you were alright, and you gave him a subtle nod, raising a brow in return, and he ducked his head once in reply.
He stood behind you both, pushing the edge of the gun against Newt’s head to urge you both forward, and you matched his steps, the three of you walking slowly as you allowed yourself to be guided. There was a sleek black car pulled up, one you’d missed when arriving, and you suspected he’d driven away and waited somewhere for the ambulance to go past before pulling up again, because it wasn’t exactly hidden.
“Look, we’re going willingly, alright? No fight here, I’ll help. Our ambulance is right there,” You pointed to it, hands still raised up, arms beginning to ache and tire, and Newt folded his, resting his hands behind his head, and turning to look at you as you spoke, “Just let me call in for someone else to come help the other guy, they won’t even get here until after we’ve gone anyway, it’ll t-”
Your ears were ringing, the sound of the bang going off, the rush of air, and the way it felt like an explosion had gone off inside of your own head. You stumbled, falling to your knees at the impact as your entire body went weak, and your vision went black for a second as you tried to process it. You couldn't focus, everything seeming a little blurry, and you could feel Newt’s hands on your shoulders, shaking you, a very muffled shout of your name, before it was all torn backwards once again, and you felt nauseous as the shock swept through your body.
The man crouched down, pulling his hood back and directing an angry gaze straight at you as you blinked to clear your vision, barely able to hear a thing. “That was a fucking warning shot, speak again, and the next bullet won’t miss.”
You had to read his lips for half of the words he said, barely processing them, the bullet that had flown past your ear was making everything fade around the edges, and you were hauled roughly to your feet by a hand under your arm, leaning you against Newt as you staggered the final few feet to the car that was your destination. You could barely clear your head, shaking it a little bit finding even that action was too painful.
Blood was rushing, your headache felt like it was about to split your skull in half, and your shoulder ached as you were tossed down roughly into the open boot, unable to catch yourself in time. Newt followed, the lid slamming shut, darkness surrounding instead. You could feel Newt’s hands on you, the flash of light from his keyring over your irises making you wince, his fingers pressing along your jaw and around your ears, checking for any signs of a ruptured eardrum or any bleeding, but as the car rumbled to life, peeling out of abandoned area everything felt like it was slipping.
Your fingers scratched at the flooring of the car, nails digging into the felt, grains and dirt stuck under your fingernails, and then the car jolted, dipping into a pothole on the road, your head hitting against the floor of the car, and everything you were still clinging to was lost as well as you blacked out.
#thomas#thomas x reader#thomas/reader#smoke and fire#SAF#firefighter!tommy#ff!tommy#the maze runner#thomas the maze runner#dylan obrien#dylan o'brien#dylan obrien x reader#dylan obrien/reader#dylan obrien thomas#dylan obrien the maze runner#dylan obrien x reader smut#dylan obrien/reader smut#thomas x reader smut#thomas/reader smut
179 notes
·
View notes
Text
Catch These Hands
Pairing: Baekhyun x Fem!Reader
Description: Living with Baekhyun comes with its own challenges
Themes: Fluff (surprise!!!!), established relationship, make up artist and masseur Byun, a little bit of byuntae, and one (1) Eminem reference lol
Prompt: @/notyourenglishprofessor : You SAY you didn’t eat in bed but these crumbs say differently.
A/N: Happy Birthday @is-that-baekhyuns-shirt !!!! here’s your biggest pet peeve woven into a bbh fic! Hope you enjoy it XD
Word count: ~ 1.7k
Nights out have never agreed with you. It’s 2 a.m. and your feet hurt from the heels, your head hurts from the drinks, your little black dress (your best friend sure does have a penchant for party clichés) is mocking your food baby, your makeup feels clumpy - maybe you overused the setting powder but you wouldn’t know because the complex art of blending cosmetics has always eluded you. How do they make it look so easy in YouTube tutorials?
As you’re keying in the passcode to your apartment, despite all the malaise, a sudden surge of comfort courses through your veins at the thought of your adorable boyfriend asleep in a clean, cozy bed, engulfed in warm and fresh sheets that exude the fragrance of a spring meadow - courtesy of your brand new laundry detergent. You imagine he is dressed in his snuggly pajamas, with his lips slightly parted, dark hair tousled, and your ostrich plushie clutched to his chest. Ever since you started living with him, you’d never spent a night away from home but the one time you returned after a weekend long Neuroscience conference, you found your plushie resting in the comfort of his arms. The next morning he insisted that he didn’t know where it came from.
‘Time to catch him red handed’, you smile to yourself.
Kicking off your heels and scraping your hair up in a bun, you tiptoe to your bedroom and the faint melody of Baekhyun singing in a highly expressive croon falls upon your ears.
Tell me you’ll love again, come back to me again..
He should’ve been long asleep and while you can’t wait to crash out either, you allow yourself the pleasure of eavesdropping on his heavenly vocals that always sound especially sweet when he’s wrestling sleep. Until..until you hear it.. the sharp crunch of plastic which sends you barging into the bedroom with exasperation painted across your features.
Baekhyun clamps his mouth shut.
Instead of jumping out of bed to wrap you in his arms, he uncharacteristically stays burrito-ed in his duvet, fixing you with an apologetic gaze. Elbow crushing the pillow underneath him, shoulders crouched, lips pursed, hair dishevelled, pajama bottoms scrunched up to his calves, he tries to blink away the very apparent guilt in his eyes. Your ostrich plushie lay on your side of the bed as if its neck had been snapped like a popsicle stick.
As you loom over him, lower lip wobbling, he pushes his weight further down the pillow but the tail end of the red Orion choco pie wrapper teasingly peeks from underneath it, glimmering in the cozy golden lighting of the bedroom, already chuckling at the drama that is to ensue.
You’re too tired for this.
Without a word to him, you grab a bunch of blankets from the dresser, shut it with a loud bang and stomp out of the room while Baekhyun’s bearing is that of a frozen frame. As you’re questioning your life choices and are about to vent your frustration on the irreproachable couch, your weary gaze finds the bane of your existence again - crumbs. White, inelegant fragments of food conspicuous against your tan sofa.
They say the more you try to avoid something, the more you create it. This was unequivocally the worst quote you’d ever read. You created nothing! You were not the one to leave this slew of crumbs on the sofa neither did you leave a pile of crumbs on the bed! It was all Baekhyun!
You’re way too tired for this.
Drowsy, you lie down on the floor, curled up in the many blankets, although still cautious as your piercing eyes doggedly probe for more evidence of Baekhyun’s insolence. Surprisingly, the rug was clean-ish. It was almost as if he had planned on you sleeping on the floor tonight. This thought fuels the rage bubbling in the pit of your stomach so you force your eyes shut to avoid a shouting match this late in the night.
The shuffling sound of footsteps grows closer and you’re determined not to give him the satisfaction of even a glance. The sound comes to a halt and you feel a gentle caress of warm fingers ghosting over your cheeks which is quickly replaced with a smooth and cool touch of a cotton pad against your eyelids, cheekbones, jaw line, with a distinct scent of micellar water wafting in the little to no space between Baekhyun and you.
You continue to play dead as he’s quietly and deftly taking your makeup off while delicately holding you up by the back of your neck and you coyly move your face from side to side to allow him better access to every inch of your skin.
“Too much setting powder”, he whispers.
Darnit!
“Still so pretty”, he remarks in his dulcet voice. Your head now rests in his lap and he’s gently moving his thumbs in tiny circles under your brows, working his way from inside out and continuing the movement all around your eyes and ending back at the bridge of your nose, almost lulling you to sleep.
At this point every cell in your body is waging a war against your now weakened spirit that’s continuing to disregard him yet you find yourself revelling in his mellow affections.
“It’s a rookie mistake. Not to worry, baby, I’ll help you get it right the next time.” He reassures, planting a soft kiss on your pout.
“Right”, eyes still wilfully shut, you chastise him, “maybe when you find the time from eating in bed.”
“Yah! Don’t be like that.” Baekhyun whines, prying your eyes open with his fingers, not-so-gently.
You smack the back of his hand and sit up cross legged facing him. He stretches his hand out to pat your head and you smack it again invoking a look of pure confusion in Baekhyun’s soft features. His hand is now barely an inch away from your lips and he commands with a raised brow, “Now kiss it better.”
“Ew!” Your hand strikes the back of his, again. “How many times do I have to tell you not to -”
“Not to eat in bed!” Baekhyun completes your sentence with a deep sigh, “I know and I wasn’t -”
“Do not lie to me Byun Baekhyun!” Warning him, you wag your finger as annoyance betrays your voice, rendering your pitch shrill. Dusting the corners of his mouth with the pads of your fingers, you sneer, “These crumbs say otherwise. You know I hate it when you eat in bed! It’s ...It’s….disgusting! And -”
“And?”
“You always ignore my post-its!”
Baekhyun huffs and runs a hand through his hair. Letting on a forced smile, he reasons, “We’ve been living together for three years now. I think it’s time you stopped leaving ‘do not eat’ post-it notes on everything you buy!”
Tilting your head to the side, you explain animatedly, “First of all, you won’t let me buy snacks on our grocery runs because they’re unhealthy or whatever and you want to bring about a stupid dietary reform in the household which, by the way, is failing miserably - ”
“Yah!! We’re still in January, don’t be such a pessimist!”
“Do not interrupt me! The few that I do manage to sneak into the cart are mine and mine alone!”
“It’s just that..the ones that you buy taste better”, he mumbles, unveiling the most powerful weapon in his artillery - the pout.
“That is the most ridiculous thing that’s come out of your mouth today aside from the crumbs! I imagined you’d be...”, it’s nearly 3 a.m. and you’re starting to descend into a fugue state, “you’d be...curled up in bed like a...like a... cooked shrimp with a plushie clutched to it’s chest!”
Visibly offended, he flicks your forehead and bellows, “Cooked shrimp!? It’s called the fetal position. Look it up!”
“I know what it’s called!” Your livid expression eases into a rather ill meaning smile, “My apologies, I took you for a grown man.”
“What in the world - I am a grown man!” His lips stretch into a wide grin and the tips of his fingers tease the sensitive spot on your neck, “would you like to see?”
“You’re disgusting, Byun Baekhyun! A grown man does not eat in bed!” You smack the back of his hand. Again.
“Strike four! You’re obligated to kiss it better now!”
Tears start to well up in your eyes at the sight of his hand dangling so close to your face. “I’m tired”, you cry, burying your face in your hands as exhaustion and exasperation take over, “I really need you to stop eating in bed.”
“Babe, I -” His eyes grow into large brown circles at the sight of your distressed state and he freezes.
“I feel like the crumbs will, like, turn into ferocious ants and nibble at my skin while I’m asleep”, you break into full blown sobs and Baekhyun takes you in his arms, holding you tight against his warm and comforting frame and patting your head to calm you down.
“Hush, baby”, he sing-songs, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! You go get changed into something comfortable and I’ll dust the bed, okay?”
“Can you change the sheets instead?” Sniffling, you ask him with wide, pleading eyes, a sly smile playing at your lips.
His eyebrows shoot upwards and he exclaims, “It’s three in the morn-”
“Please?” You sing-song, a little too loudly.
He lets out a deep sigh, “Okay! I’ll change the sheets.”
With his slightly dispirited face sandwiched between your hands, you ask cheerfully, “And you promise to never eat in bed again?”
“I promise to never eat in bed again.” A dejected Baekhyun says to his knees.
“And you won’t steal my snacks?”
You had now started to push your luck with him, but it was a risk you were willing to take.
He flicks your forehead a little harshly this time making you squeal. “Can you stop with the stupid post-its, already?”
Rubbing your forehead, you surrender and get up. “Fine! I’ll go shower now.”
Baekhyun wraps his arms around your waist. Nuzzling your neck, he coos seductively, "I’ll join you.”
“Byun Baekhyun!”
#exowritersnet#bbh-net#exosnet#exo fluff#baekhyun fluff#exo#baekhyun#exo oneshot#baekhyun oneshot#baekhyun oneshots#byun baekhyun#exo x reader#baekhyun x reader#exo x you#baekhyun x you#baekhyun fanfic#baekhyun fanfics#exo fanfic#exo fanfics
235 notes
·
View notes
Text
don’t rush | 04
pairing: Yoongi/reader
genre: slight enemies to lovers, college au, fluff, smut, classical pianist!yoongi, violinist!reader, they’re both actually really into each other but won’t admit it
warnings: excessive amounts of pining, explicit smut, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, semi-public sex, mutual masturbation
words: 10.3k
rating: +18
summary: You know, when Min Yoongi’s face isn’t screwed into an accusatory scowl, he looks exactly like the kind of guy you’d have no trouble falling in love with. Or, the conservatory au where Yoongi helps you get over your stage fright. In more ways than one.
a/n: thank you for waiting... if you've stuck around this long :") i've tried so hard for the past couple months to condense this story into the original length (3 chapters) but i've gotten attached and i'm afraid that this will turn into a longfic at the rate i'm going. so after this chapter, i'll be sure to post lots of drabbles of the scenes i couldn't fit in!! thank you so much for the wild ride, and without further ado, i present to you don't rush 04.
start from the beginning?
You can’t bring yourself to fault Yoongi for what happened that morning. You also can’t bring yourself to say that it was your fault either–or even that there may be a single person to blame.
24 hours of radio silence. No good morning text, no morning after–or really, afternoon after–text. Nothing.
The thing about silence–absolute silence, with the exception the low hum of the air-con, or the distant sounds of a city, or footsteps from the room above you–is how slowly it passes. Maybe that’s why you’re a music student, spending all your time filling the silence with your own music.
Silence is such an empty space–and can breed such bored thoughts. And where else for your mind to wander but Yoongi?
It’s not that you were waiting for a text from him, it’s just that… you were half-expecting a text from him. Like he owed it to you. Even if none of this had ever happened, he would have texted you good morning by now.
At least in your head, it seems fair that the onus is on Yoongi to text first. After all, he was the one who dragged you tightly by the wrist back to his apartment. He pushed you down on his couch, and in a very roundabout way, made you late for class.
It’s not that you let this whole affair happen to you, but he started it. So it’s his job to text first. That’s the excuse you use, for not being brave enough to do it instead.
It honestly feels a little pathetic that most of your thoughts outside of music and school are occupied by Min Yoongi. Even now, weeks after you’ve started talking to him, even mere thoughts of him elicit physical reactions from you.
Your heart rate picking up, skin flushing where your neck meets your collarbone… maybe you’re allergic to Min Yoongi.
It’s hard for your mind not to run wild with conclusions and assumptions after what happened between the two of you, even if a day hasn’t elapsed yet.
Why hadn’t he texted? Does he do this often? Did he hate it? Did he ghost me, and now I’m never going to hear from him again? Should I text him first? Why is this so hard?
Why do I care so much?
The worst part is, you can’t turn it off. The thoughts follow you throughout the day, a weight sitting on your shoulders as you flit from class to class, building to building, rehearsal to rehearsal. Once the sun dips below the horizon, you’ve almost completed the process of resigning yourself to never knowing the answers to any of your questions.
You make a note to yourself that you might start grieving the loss of any sort of closure–other than what Yoongi had given you the day before. All evenings this semester have been relegated to the confines of the practice room, so that’s where you head next after chamber music rehearsals end. Finally, the Bach partita has a purpose in your life other than plaguing your waking dreams–something to focus on other than Yoongi. But for God’s sake, it sounds pathetic when it’s put like that.
Your. Life. Doesn’t. Revolve. Around. Min. Yoongi. You tell yourself, punctuating each word as you march down the stairwell in the music building. You clutch your violin case to your body, seeking warmth in the cold plastic.
The universe likes to play tricks on people, and its language is irony. Yoongi taught you that lesson, the hard way.
So it almost makes sense that the next time you encounter Yoongi is when you collide head-on with Yoongi’s smooth chest as you speed-walk through the doorway once you’re at the foot of the stairs. Just as you dreaded (and knew was going to happen anyway), your cheeks light up, some light from deep within you turning on. You kick yourself for the fact that your entire body perks up in his existence, erasing the cold and the tiredness from the night before.
“Oh–I didn’t expect to see you here.” At the very least, Yoongi doesn’t look like he hates you. Or is disgusted by you. If anything, he looks a bit coy. If you could let yourself believe it, there might even be the warmth of fondness in his eyes, and even more incredulously, maybe the hard edge of guilt.
“Didn’t expect? Yoongi, I’m here more than my own room.” You laugh despite the thoughts that have been trailing you all day, sounding something like cherry blossoms floating on the new breeze that spring has brought. You feel like you’ve forgiven him for something that he didn’t do, even if he hasn’t said anything yet.
Just seeing him makes you feel better, the devil in the back of your head whispers.
“Right, right.” His answering laughter is familiar. Even now, ever after everything, he still has the audacity to smooth his hands over your shoulders, make sure you’re intact and okay. “Violin okay? You okay?”
You try not to let his scant touches send a shiver down your spine, just so you don’t give him that satisfaction, but you fail all the same. You manage a nod, but can barely bring yourself to look in his eyes. But is it for fear of seeing that warm tenderness again, or something else?
“So…” With no prompting from you, Yoongi slides a fingertip underneath your chin. It feels simultaneously casual and momentous, and you’re not sure which one you prefer.
Is this really happening right now?
He looks deep into your eyes, taking inventory of something that you’re too self-conscious to think about right now.
Of course, you’re self-conscious. You bump into your hookup a day after the fact, now that it’s nighttime in the practice rooms on the second floor of the music building. Both of you should be somewhere else, anywhere else, preferably drunk. How could it not be awkward, and how could you not feel self-conscious?
His eyes flick lower, to your lips, and you avert your gaze. Yoongi’s hand returns to his side, and he coughs.
“Sooo…” You say, digging your foot through the carpet, the warmth of his hands lingering on your skin. You play with the buckles on your violin case, just to give your hands something to do. You hope he says something first, because you’re sure as hell not going to do it.
“Got something to say?” There’s a hint of a laugh in his words. He coughs again.
“I thought you were going to say something,” You say, still not looking at him. It’s all you can do to not shrink away. In the dim lighting of the mouth of the hallway, there’s no way he can see your blush, but you turn away all the same.
He’s smiling like he knows something you don’t, or maybe like he’s purged the last thirty-six hours from his memory. “Let’s not be strangers, come on. Are you busy?”
“Not… particularly.” You commit to the words before you can finish the thought.
“Can you do me a favor?” Right. So he wants something from you. Of course, of course he wants something from you.
“What kind of favor?”
“I was going to print something downstairs, but now that you’re here, can you listen to my piece? I need a second opinion.” He sighs, as if remembering something sweet. “It’s time I made it even, right? I’ve kept you waiting for long enough.” He smiles, just barely, and yet it feels like a gift.
So that’s it. It’s confirmed. This is officially Not a Thing, you consign yourself to the fact. It’d be a lie to say that you aren’t a little bit relieved. At least you have an answer.
There’s no need for a great step forward that’s necessary. No more awkward conversations like these, no admitting of feelings, let alone reciprocation of feelings.
Nothing has to change between the two of you. Isn’t that what you wanted?
“Yeah, yeah, of course,” You say, like it shouldn’t have been a question in the first place. You hate that even despite his silence on the matter, you’re running back to his side. You hate that you’re happy that he still wants anything to do with you. You ignore the empty kind of ache in your chest, too hollow and too full at the same time.
You follow him down the narrow hallway, past the couch where it all began, and into the practice room. Of course, Yoongi’s already booked the only one isn’t a dingy cesspool.
He pats the space next to him on the piano bench, beckoning you closer.
“Sit down, don’t stand the whole time.”
“Don’t you need the space?”
“No, no, it’s okay. Come here.” If it’s even possible, your face burns even hotter when you sit down next to him, shoulders brushing just so. It’s harder to forget about the fact that you are hopelessly crushing on Min Yoongi when you’re literally touching him again.
It reminds you of all his touches from before, because it was good. The sex was good. If it had been awkward and fumbling, if Min Yoongi hadn’t been able to push you over the edge with only his mouth and that look in his eye, you would be a lot more inclined to leave those memories in the past.
You don’t need to relive the memory over and over, an endless reel. And yet, glimpses, flashes, disjointed stills of that morning still follow you everywhere. But you look at him now, silently flipping through the marked pages on his score, and now you see more than just a good lay. Looking at him now, in his natural state, you’ve fallen down the rabbit hole, you’re whipped, there’s no chance for you.
“I don’t have it memorized yet, please don’t judge me.” You try not to think about the way he had pulled you closer by your hips. You try not to think about what you might have thought was lovesickness in his eyes. You try not to think of the timbre of his voice, when he told you to come for him. You try not to think about that.
“Really, a pianist who can’t memorize his pieces? Sacreligious.” The delivery of your jibe falls flat. You steady the ricketing breath in your lungs. You’re nervous, and tired. Accepting that your Min Yoongi has absolutely no interest in you other than when he needs you for something isn’t easy, you know.
“Oh come oooon y/n, this is something I’m learning this semester.” He pouts, just like he had before the both of you had fallen into this nebulous mess of feelings. Or maybe, it’s all one-sided and you’re the only one feeling like things have gotten messy.
You poke him in the side, which you regret immediately after doing so. “I’m just joking. Show me your piece. Are you warmed up?” Yoongi turns pink, again.
You remember the pink dusting his cheeks when he was–right, you’re supposed to be forgetting that ever happened.
He runs his tongue along his lower lip, everything moving in slow motion. Your head is swimming.
Well, maybe things aren’t moving in slow motion, and it’s the proximity to Min Yoongi that’s making time distort. “Yes, yes, yes, I’m fine. Are you ready to listen?”
“Yeah. Go ahead.”
Yoongi hovers his hands over the keys. He does that pianist thing you’ve always loved, where he pauses before the keys, preparing to play.
He leans in slowly, sinking his hands down, pulling out a sound so sweet and, so, so solemn. This is a different Yoongi than the one thirty seconds ago.
You realize somewhat belatedly that the fluorescent lights, the same ones that erase any sort of proper time telling in windowless rooms like these, still make Yoongi look good. The light bounces off of him just right, his cheekbones casting a gentle shadow on the sloped panes of his face. Like the rest of him, there’s no harsh angles, just soft gentle slopes that feel like home. Like comfort. Your gut twists in yearning. The hollow of his cheekbone is the perfect place to kiss, you ponder.
Things should be easier now. All of it was a mistake. It’s in the past. It seems that Yoongi doesn’t seem to care at all. It should be forgotten about. Things, in theory, should be easier now. You should be able to carry on as you’ve always been able to. The path of least resistance, right?
He pauses, and begins what must be the main theme, cascading sixteenth-notes that sound about as tumultuous and troubled as you feel.
He looks like he’s about to cry. Sure, you’ve seen sleepy Yoongi, cranky Yoongi, even a little bit of earnest, pleading Yoongi. But whoever is in front of you is entirely different. He’s approaching the main theme again, hands jumping over the keys as if they were hot irons. You can see all the versions of him laid out before you. Younger Yoongi, hands too small to reach the tenths written in his score. Hungover Yoongi that shuffles into class a couple minutes late, remnants of a late night out drinking written all over his face. The Yoongi that holds your hands between his and tells you that everything is going to be okay.
When he reaches the final cadence, he doesn’t look at you immediately, still trained on the keys. His hands are still placed in the final chord, lifting them off slowly so the sound doesn’t quite fade away yet. The both of you stay like that, in the aftermath of what he just played. You hear the click as he takes his foot off the pedal. The tension that he was churning out doesn’t fade away when the sound stops. If anything, it gets worse. Blood rushes to your cheeks, the room warmer than it was before.
“So… that’s what I’ve been working on so far. I, uh, hope you liked it.” It’s shocking how that compelling spirit from just minutes ago dissipates into thin air. He looks vulnerable, naked despite the fact that he’s fully clothed.
“You’ve been holding out on me, Min Yoongi.” You laugh in disbelief, blinking away tears. God, you are so fucked. Sure, you’ve heard him play before, practicing with him. But you’re not practicing with him now, you’re watching. You’ve become the audience, and the dynamic has changed once again.
There’s been many a night where you googled his previous performances and competitions on Youtube, but this doesn’t compare. Not in the slightest. So this is what all your teachers were talking about when they were lecturing you about the importance of stage presence.
“Uh, wow. Wow.” You’re still tearing up, no matter how much you try to will it away.
You’re not even really sure why you’re tearing up or why you can’t stop. It’s usually difficult for music to elicit such a visceral reaction from you. Goosebumps, sure. That very specific thrill down your spine when you hear music that isn’t so much as something that you hear, but feel in your blood, thumping, alive, real.
But tears, no. That doesn’t happen.
It feels like your body is reacting to something that isn’t tangible, that you can’t see with your eyes or hear with your ears. Like there’s something else in the room that you can’t quite register. Like you’re crying despite yourself.
You desperately want to kiss him. You want to pull him close and breathe in his familar scent and feel him pull you closer. It feels like the only appropriate thing to do, rather than just say “wow” over and over, in that stupid longing voice because you don’t what else to say. This is too overwhelming. More overwhelming than what it feels like when he finally puts his hands on you.
It’s the only thing you want to do. You can’t imagine the night ending in any other way. It seems like it was prewritten in the stars, like the universe came together to stitch this scene together. Like it was fate for you to find him here, long after the sun disappeared over the horizon, practicing just like you were.
But you can’t, so you hug him. Like an absolute idiot.
You regret it as soon as your arms circle around his shoulders. Yoongi stiffens, as if startled, as if he wasn’t expecting the hug either. Then his hand come to awkwardly pat the space between your shoulder blades, as if this couldn’t get any worse. This feels like a consolation prize.
He can’t see your face nestled against his shoulder, but you cringe.
You feel the vibration of his laughter against you, his shoulders shaking, “You liked it that much?” You can feel the way his voice resonates in his chest, and like everything else about this ordeal, it’s overwhelming.
“Yeah,” You pull back away from him, relieved that the moment is over, “Yeah, I liked it. Winter Wind, right?”
“Yeah, fitting for this fucking weather.”
You laugh. “Look, thanks. But I gotta go, it’s getting late and I have a paper due tonight. Thank you, again. It’s really good.” You pick up your case, “You have good start, but keep practicing. Can’t stop until you have it memorized, ha.” You try to force a laugh.
You hope you don’t look like you’re fleeing the scene. (Except you are. You leave the building without even practicing. But you don’t tell him that.)
As you stream down the steps leading to the music building, the cool night air blotting away the swelling tears in your eyes, there’s something else that takes up residence in your heart: jealousy, and initiative.
You envy the lucky bitch that ends up with Min Yoongi. And if Yoongi won’t talk about it, then you will. You won’t let him drag you around on a whim without a real answer. You can’t bring yourself to wait any longer.
~
Min Yoongi doesn’t like you back.
At least, that’s what he tries to tell himself before he goes to sleep, as if lying to himself might make sleep come more easily.
The truth is, you are Min Yoongi’s favorite bedtime story. Like many other nights before, Yoongi falls asleep thinking of you, hashing and rehashing all the little details and inside jokes and past conversations. It’s a small comfort during this semester, thoughts of you keeping him warm.
Tonight, Yoongi is replaying the conversation from earlier, the way he saw you nervously rubbed at the tough calluses on your left hand while he was playing for you, out of the corner of his eye. It made Yoongi want to make you smile, laugh at his bad jokes, and maybe, if you’d let him, gasp against his lips. It’s been less than a day since he saw you and yet he misses your laugh.
That morning after class, you had sat up, blinking away the sun filtering through his shades, or maybe trying to clear the post-orgasm fog. Post- orgasms fog. Then you mumbled something about being late for class, a thin layer of sweat shining down to your chest.
You had thanked him, then laughed at the misstep. God, you were so dorky that you thanked him. How was he ever supposed to resist you?
How had the two of you come so far?
And the guiltiest indulgences Yoongi would allow himself in the middle of the night were the things he hadn’t experienced with you. Like a kiss. He hasn’t gotten a chance to do that, not yet. Maybe not ever. Would it be chaste? Slow and romantic? Or would it be impassioned and angry?
Yoongi is particularly fond of the image of taking you to the jazz cafe a little ways away from campus. Would you wear a dress, once the weather warms up a little bit? What kind of coffee would you order? Do you even like jazz? What would it feel like to feel your hand slotted against his?
He definitely wasn’t been thinking about pushing you up against the mirror in the practice room and seeing if the soundproof padding was actually properly installed. Or about that morning after classes, and those little mewling noises you made to urge him on. You were so desperate. It was cute, to say the least.
But Yoongi wasn’t trying to think about that right now. He was thinking more about your unwavering diligence. Or the merriment in your eyes despite the tired shadows that hung beneath them. Or the way you didn’t back down from the way that he was obviously flirting with him, fighting fire with fire.
How much longer can the both of you live in denial, waiting for the other to make a tentative step forward?
The more he thinks about it–about you–the less he can comfortably stay in his little bubble of denial. Denial can only get him so far. He tells himself that whatever relationship between the two of you is inevitable, and someone is going to do something eventually, and that’s why he’s not making a move just yet.
Much of your relationship (or lack thereof) has been stepwise progression, slow steps. Graduating slowly from classmate to study partners to friends and closer, still. And now Yoongi had made this great leap and it felt like the both of you were lost amid the signals and the truths neither of you knew how to broach.
And no matter how brave he is on stage, it’s nothing compared to being up close and personal with you. Cheesily enough, it’s easy enough to show a crowd what he’s been working on for months, but with you, he has to improvise.
Truth be told, Yoongi knew he was being idealistic. The space that you two existed in had become precious to him, and he didn’t want to do anything to upset the balance, until now. There’s no easy way to make this all go away. Both of you were in too deep now.
He saw the way you sighed into his touch, the way your eyes would go unfocused when he said something that was even remotely flirtatious, then then snap back to reality, as if you were reminding yourself of something. He knew you wouldn’t do anything any time soon. The past evening had shown him that.
And how was he supposed to admit his feelings for you… when he could hardly admit them to himself, in the privacy of his own room?
And now, how could Yoongi make sense of anything? Every quiet moment carried the ghost of your voice. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was the way you had squeezed your eyes shut when he brought you to rapture. Even when you’re not with him, you’re filling up his senses. His thoughts.
Am I in love with my friend? Are we friends because we’re in love? Am I feeling like this because of the way she says my name? Am I feeling like this because of the way she touches me?
So those are all the reasons. To not talk to you. To talk to you. God, how the fuck was Yoongi supposed to know?
~
You (5:03pm): hey, I think we should talk soon
The minutes tick by. Does the time always pass this slowly, you think to yourself. Your hand hovers over your phone keyboard.
Fuck… what have I done.
You (5:15pm): that sounds sooo scary lol no pressure okay?
You grow desperate in the wake of his silence. Have you ruined it all?
Yoongi (5:30pm) yeah
Yoongi (5:31pm): sorry I was practicing
Yoongi (5:31pm): wasn’t looking at my phone
Yoongi (5:31pm): let’s talk then
Yoongi (5:32pm): where are you?
You find yourself at his apartment once again, the closed door spelling out all the possibilities in front of you. At least give him the benefit of the doubt, something reasons inside of you, but something darker says, think of what he’s put you through.
Think of what you’ve put yourself through, you finally think. You’ve stood outside long enough. You’ve overwrought this, alone, long enough.
Each knock that you rap against the door sounds like another nail in the coffin, but you still cling onto the last dregs of hope left in you.
The door opens immediately, a rush of warm air enveloping you from outside. “Hey,” Yoongi says, shyly, almost demure in his lounge clothes and undone hair.
You want to take him apart.
“Hey,” You mirror, and try to pretend like Min Yoongi hasn’t stolen the breath out of you for what seems like the thousandth time. You hate that he has this effect on you. With nothing but a simple greeting, it seems like you’ve forgiven him for all your grief already. You try to push that feeling further down, trying to stay objective.
Yoongi leads you to his couch. “Here… sit down. It’s cold outside, I made tea,” He says, padding into the kitchen. He doesn’t say anything else, but it looks like he knows exactly what you want to talk about. There’s something in the little tick in his jaw that tells you he’s just as sure as you are, but you’re tired of guessing. Your eyes are blurring from looking in between the lines for so long.
There’s a big difference between overt facts and implied certainties. Fact: You and Yoongi are friends who study together, and now, ex-hookups. Implied: There’s something more there, something between friend and one-time hookup.
“Um, what did you want to talk about?” Yoongi says, setting down a steaming mug in front of you. You don’t reach for it.
“I–” You steel yourself for the words to tumble out of your mouth, but you lose your nerve. You had prepared a whole monologue on the walk to his apartment, but it doesn’t seem right now. You sigh, loosening the tension in your shoulders. “I wanted to talk about… about the last time I was at your apartment.” You hope it’s enough for him to get your point, and you hope that he’ll be honest and direct. He owes at least that much to you.
“What about last time? Like specifically, what about last time?” Yoongi says, not flippantly. Please, you silently plead, please… just say something good.
“Yoongi,” You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what’s to come, “What happens now? What does it mean? Please, just be honest.” When you hear your voice leave your body, you can hear how pained you sound. It wasn’t something you intended. You match his gaze and his eyes are like mirrors. “Yoongi… whatever you say, I won’t be angry. I just–I just want to know how you feel.” Your voice trembles. You hope you don’t sound as pathetic and humiliated as you feel, the scorned hookup.
Worse yet, the scorned hookup who didn’t get the hint the first time.
“No, no. You deserve the truth.” He sets his mug on the table, and you bristle at the fact that he doesn’t use a coaster. “I’ll, um, tell you my side of the story. Just to be clear I’m not like, mad at you, or anything like that. I’m also not the type to fuck and go… even though it looks like that. And I’m not like, going to ghost you or anything. Unless you want me to do that. In that case,” Yoongi runs a hand through his hair, lingering on the nape of his neck, “I’ll do that.”
“Can you do something for me, y/n? Can you just–” Yoongi holds his hands out in front of him, and he clasps his hands between yours. He always knows exactly how to comfort you, even now.
He sighs. “I wasn’t… expecting everything to happen like this. y/n, I… Just let me think about what to say for a second. But I promise, you’ll get the explanation you’re owed.” Another deep breath in. Another deep breath out.
You sit like that for what seems like a long, stretched out moment, your hands clasped in Yoongi’s, his brow furrowed.
“Why didn’t you say something yesterday?” You burst out.
Yoongi clears his throat. “Okay, look. I have… a lot of… okay, I just, I wasn’t sure how to go about this whole thing. And that morning in class, I rushed everything and after that I wasn’t sure how to approach you. Then when I saw you in the music building afterward, I just wanted to talk to you… to make sure you were okay. I saw you and I blanked. I didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t know what to do without making it weird. That’s a shitty reason, but I blanked and didn’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”
“So,” You blink, frustrated, confused, flushed hot with embarrassment and maybe a little bit of arousal, “Okay,” You say. At least you’re getting somewhere. “So… why did it happen? Why… why did we…”
Your eyes sting, and you breathe deeply, as if you might run out of words. “Was it all in my head?”
Yoongi’s clammy hands tighten around yours, as if he’s afraid you’ll leave.
“No,” Yoongi exhales, “No, it wasn’t.”
Your body is running hot and cold. It feels like something in the air has been punctured, all the tension, all the doubts, rushing away. Something new rushes in.
“I spent all this time guessing and wondering and hoping. I ran myself ragged with all my thinking. It’s not your fault, mostly, but I’m so tired. Of guessing.”
He smiles. Well, smirks, in that Yoongi fashion that makes it feel like the top of your head is spinning. “Stop thinking so much then.”
“It was–” Yoongi’s voice breaks, rips in half. “It was a mistake,” Yoongi lies. You know he’s lying. You can tell from the way his eyes are looking everywhere on your face but your eyes. You can tell from the way that he wrings his hands, like he’s reading a pre-written apology from behind the camera. “I’m so, so confused about everything. This isn’t going the way I thought it would–not that–it’s just my words aren’t coming out like I thought they would. I’m sorry. I don’t mean it like a bad thing.”
Yoongi sighs, “I thought this would be easier.” And when you look at him again, you can see the pink on his cheeks. And how dilated his pupils are, and the decreasing proximity between his lips and your lips, because again Yoongi is still death-gripping your hands in his. If you could let yourself entertain the idea, he might be pulling you closer.
“You’re going to need to be more specific,” You say. You lean away from him, hoping that the energy in the room will simmer down if you’re not centimeters away from falling into his arms. You need to hear him talk more, say everything, explain himself. You can’t leave this room without knowing more, you won’t be satisfied with anything but the truth and the full truth. You really don’t have the energy to wait more.
“Well, even before everything–” And this is where Yoongi waves his hands in the air, gesticulating wildly. He doesn’t elaborate, although you suppose “before the almost-handjob in class and the whole mouth-fucking each other on your couch” is a bit of a mouthful.
“Even before everything– I knew you liked me. Like, you can’t even be surprised that I knew. Because you were really obvious. Like so obvious. But yeah. I knew, and I thought it was cute, and it was super flattering.”
You open your mouth for a response, but you concede that he’s right. You flush ever hotter.
Yoongi’s voice drops a little lower, like he’s telling you a secret, “And it was so fun to mess with you. Like, I could make this cute fucking girl blush and giggle and squirm and it was all because of me, how can I not be flattered? How can I not want to spend more time with you, push all your buttons? I figured you’d eventually do something about it. But you never did, no matter how much I pushed it with you. I wanted you to make the first move. But we started getting closer, and I thought maybe you were never going to do anything about it. Like we agreed to be friends, but on the inside we both liked each other? I didn’t want that to happen, but I was too scared to just go and ask you out. So I was getting frustrated. So that morning, I was just messing around with you again. I wanted to annoy you during class, I wasn’t expecting anything to come out of it. But you–I guess you were frustrated too, because you called me on my bluff. And then, you know, one thing leads to another and we’re somehow at my apartment, which I barely remember how we got there in one piece before–” Yoongi stops, breathless and something tender sparkling in his eyes. His hands aren’t gripping you like you might run away, just resting on the tops of your knees. Reminding you that he’s there.
“And now, in the present, I’m just confused? Did I like you before or after we…” He trails off, bashful still, even now. “Or do I feel like this now because we were together? And does that even matter now, because I like you regardless?”
All the blood has rushed away from your chest. It feels like someone has knocked all the air from you but also as if a winch has tightened ever-so around your heart.
“Let’s take it slow, if that’s something you want. Nobody…” You grapple for something to say, after that hell of a fucking lovesick speech, “Nobody said that you needed all the answers now. Don’t rush.” You take his hands back into yours.
The weight of it all hits you slowly, in successive waves. You don’t have to filter anything out, never have to make yourself feel appropriate for him. When you practice with him, study with him, eat with him… all the quiet spaces and body-wracking laughter just feel like a perfect fit. Nothing out of place. There’s never a conversation topic or something to stray away from, other than circumventing the feelings you have for him. Even then, it’s not like Yoongi pretends like the attraction isn’t there. He doesn’t skirt around it, avoid it like taboo conversation. It really only serves to amplify your conversations, a red thread pulled taut underneath everything else.
And now, you can give into that? You can show him how you really feel, and there’s just one less thing to hide?
“You know, you’re not blameless. I was super stressed out at the time, and with the Bach Festival and midterms and everything I guess… you gave me the opportunity to lessen that a little, so. I know, I know. It’s a shitty excuse. But I wanted things with you and with the way that things converged, it seemed like–”
“Serendipity?”
“A bit like that, yes.” You tighten your hands around his, and he pulls you a little closer. You’re leaning over his lap now.
You can’t choose whether to look into his eyes or at his lips. It looks like Yoongi has the same problem. He pulls you imperceptibly closer.
“Can I kiss you? If that’s not rushing, of course.”
“Yeah. Yes, please.” You soften yourself into his lap, Yoongi pulling you closer by the shoulders, sliding down to rest on your arms. You relish in the sensation, knowing it’s something that you can enjoy with a reassured heart now.
He plants a closed kiss against your lips, and somehow that makes your heart flutter more than anything else he’s ever done before. The pads of his fingertips are soft and gentle against your arms, pulling you closer by the bicep.
“I like you… I like you a lot…” Yoongi whispers against your lips, laughing at the confession. So sweet, so soft.
“I like you too…” You whisper, kissing back. Slow, chaste, if a bit restrained. The realization hits you again, slowly, like an ocean wave washing over wet sand.
Yoongi likes you back. Yoongi wants you back. You laugh at how absurd it sounds, even in your own head, nipping at his lip. “Say it again, Yoongi.”
“I like you…” Yoongi sounds coy.
You smile against him, “Say it again,” You gasp, pushing him back on the couch, gentle but firm, “I like you too, in case you didn’t know.” You can’t help but laugh. Not at the absurdity at the situation, but just out of happy shock.
“y/n, I like you…” Yoongi chuckles, deep in his chest, looking up at you. His hair falls out of his eyes.
“Do you know how happy it makes me, to hear you say that?”
You’re honestly surprised that you don’t have whiplash. Whiplash from the weeks of tension and denial, feeling like you would never get this relief, but now you have a whole new set of problems. Dating Min Yoongi.
~
This whole “taking it slow” thing is fucking bullshit. The past couple weeks have been one long sustained effort, some kind of marathon in testing the waters, drawing back and then pushing forward.
Maybe you spoke too soon. You have to admit that the slow build, chaste romantic courtship is nice .
The study dates are more than nice. The coffee shop dates feel almost luxurious, expensive in time in the same way that the actual coffee is cheap.
Actually, all of this is a lot nicer than having to guess his every intention, the message between the lines. But you already know what it’s like to have Min Yoongi.
In fact, things have been largely the same for the past couple weeks, except now you can feel the weight of his flirtatious jokes. You can now confidently say that Yoongi says what he means. The more time you spend with Yoongi, the more liberated you feel in letting yourself delight in the feeling of being allowed to show your feelings for him, and having them be duly reciprocated.
After the confessional evening the both of you had, Yoongi had agreed to take it slow. In your lovesick state, you probably would have said yes to anything that Min Yoongi put on the table. Which is probably why you agreed to the whole courtship thing.
“y/n… think about it like this! If we take our time then when the time finally comes… to… uh, you know, then it’ll be so much more gratifying. And I want to be with you more, like this,” Yoongi says, as you lean against his chest, feeling it rise and fall with his words.
“Delayed gratification, have you ever heard of that?” Yoongi had said, smiling wider than you’d ever seen.
“Although from my experience with you, I think you like instant gratification more,” He said, a touch darker. Your memory blurs now, because that was about the time he started tickling you relentlessly. And then kissing you relentlessly.
And at the time, you had agreed. The delayed gratification would make everything better, make the world a little more rose-colored than before.
You don’t want to push his boundaries, he doesn’t want to push yours, but now it’s begun nearly feels both of you are so afraid of each other that you haven’t touched each other in what seems like fucking forever–and it’s reached a boiling point, from what you can gather this evening.
The newfound tension between the two of you is new, maybe a day or two at most, but annoying nonetheless.
“Y/n, how many times have I told you? Stop rushing. Do you need me to count your part out? One, two, three, four.” He punctuates every count with a clap in your face, and a sneer to boot.
Yoongi has been especially volatile this evening. His normal jokes and jabs at you fall just short of endearing. Your initial approach at remedying the situation by focusing on the music at hand has only seemed to make things worse, and you’ve given in to your slowly-growing temper.
“I am fucking counting, and I’m not the one playing fucking half notes, okay? How about you just focus on making the harmony, I don’t know, harmonious ?” You lower your violin, face screwing up in anger, only you don’t know how much of it is joking anymore.
You don’t know how much longer you can take this kind of tension in the air. It feels angry and red and biting, but you can’t help it. The stale air-conditioned air in the practice room only seems to make your face warmer and warmer as time passes.
All this tension, and no release. That’s what music is all about. The build-up of musical intensity, the expectation and anticipation for resolution. It’s like you’ve been stuck on the same chord of a cadence, waiting for a release that feels like it isn’t coming anytime soon.
You take a deep breath, the frustration tightening in your chest. “From measure eighty-four, and take the fucking repeat this time. Let’s just move onto the next section after this, we’ll just come back to it later.”
You fight the urge to huff and sigh, knowing it would only earn you a comment from Yoongi about being, as he had put it, ‘wound up.’ Yeah, no shit, you’re wound up. Wound up is putting it lightly. Just last week Yoongi had made a mess of you at his apartment, teasing you apart and then stopping just short of an orgasm. And he said the same thing last week too: delayed gratification.
You try again, cueing him in with a sharp breath and the uptake of your bow.
And again, and again, and again.
“This isn’t working.” You set your violin on the soft lining of your case and rub your temples, resting your upper body on the body of the piano. You swipe the back of your hand across your face, breathing in the clean smell of the hand soap from Yoongi’s apartment bathroom, from when you were there a couple hours ago. Warm. Brown sugar. It feels like his embrace–if only you’d ever feel it again.
God, why did you let him push all your buttons? All evening–ever since the two of you left his apartment to come to the practice rooms–he’s been acting like this. You know it has something to do with you, another game. But you don’t have the energy to divine his ulterior motive, whatever it is. You shut your eyes to provide some reprieve from the strain of staring at the same phrase that you have been stuck on for what has felt like an eternity.
“Yeah, this isn’t fucking working,” He says. It reminds you of the way he talked to you when you found him practicing in the early morning that one Tuesday. You only open your eyes when you hear him get up from his bench.
Min Yoongi is standing too close to you. His eyes are on your lips and not your eyes. Even in the dim light of the practice room, you can see how dilated his pupils are.
You meet his eyes. “You’re ridiculous,” he says, more breathless than he’d like to admit, “You’re provoking me. Why?”
“Who said I was trying to do that? I think you,” You point a finger at his chest, looking into his eyes, “Are provoking me.” You try to sound as petulant as possible, and it works.
Yoongi’s lips meet yours before you can even take your hands off of him.
In the best sense of the word, you are cornered. Backed up against the piano, enclosed by his arms. He slips his hands up underneath the cotton of your sweatshirt, pulling you flush against him. His cool fingertips grazing the small of your back have you gasping against his soft lips.
“Tell me, why are you provoking me?”
“I, well-” You don’t continue with an excuse, because you’re finally getting what you want. What you both want.
He presses on. “Gonna answer my question, or are you just gonna keep being a little brat?” He wedges his thigh between your legs, closer to where you need him most. You stifle a moan, it’s too soon to be making those kinds of sounds, but you grind down on him anyway. “What?” He laughs, the sound sitting deep in his chest. “Aren’t you going to say something?”
You try to focus on the possessiveness in the way that he holds you by the waist, so you’re not thinking about how weak your knees are.
He sighs, as if in disappointment. Only you’re not sure who it’s directed towards.
“If I touch you right now, will you be wet?” He laughs. “I don’t even have to guess.” The ghost of his breath fans against your upper lip. “Is this what you want? Do you, do you, want to keep going?” Yoongi stops his ministrations. When you meet his eyes, both of you breathless, you can see the inquiring concern in his eyes again.
“Yes, yes, don’t stop,” you say, trying, and failing, not to sound frantic, “Only if you’ll see it through to the end this time,” You bite.
He laughs, devoid of mirth. “You say that like it’s not hard for me, either.” His hands trail down your torso to rest at the waist of your jeans. You don’t want to pseudo-argue with him anymore, so you just whine a little from the back of your throat, hoping he’ll get the point.
You don’t want him to think that this isn’t what you want, because truth be told, it is exactly what you want. Your hands come to meet his when you reach to undo the button.
“You know exactly what to do.” He laughs, lighter this time. He’s laughing like he’s not mad at you. He helps undo your jeans, pushing them and your panties just past your thighs. You gasp when he starts rubbing gentle circles on your clit. His fingers slip against your wet, slippery pussy.
Yoongi is everywhere. He’s crowding your space against the wall, hand down your pants, the other holding your neck in place. It’s getting overwhelming with his beautiful hand rubbing little circles on your clit. So simple, and yet it feels like you’re breaking apart underneath him. It’s getting harder and harder to bite back the moans, stay in control.
“You know, these rooms are soundproof. Let me hear you,” He murmurs, pulling you closer. “Stop hiding from me.”
Yoongi shifts his attention from your wet cunt to the collar of your shirt. “What’s this? Getting busy without me?” Yoongi brushes his free hand over the circular dark mark coloring the crook of your jaw. You’re starting to get impatient with all this teasing, how much more can you take?
“Haven’t you ever heard of a violin hickey?” You spit, grinding down on his hand, but it’s not enough. God, it really has been too long since he last touched you. He never stops the gentle advance he makes on your clit, never faster, never slower. Just barely enough. “We were just practicing, it gets darker when I play.” You try to explain yourself, as if that might make him show mercy later on.
“You’re not in any position to talk back right now, don’t forget that.” He leaves open-mouthed kisses down your neck, sucking gently. “I’ll just help you add to your little collection.” Your eyes roll back, unable to help yourself. It’s been so long since anyone has touched you. It’s been so long since anyone has held you so closely.
Your desperation is beginning to show. With every movement of his hands, Yoongi starts to lessen his touch, your hips dogging his hand. You come to the realization that you’re not above begging to get what you want. He doesn’t even have to ask.
He continues his gentle assault on your clit. “Do you know what these mirrors are for? They’re for checking your posture as you practice, but I guess this is just a different kind of practice.” He turns you around, your hips digging into the wood panelling of the piano. You’re confronted by your own fucked-out reflection, flushed and panting. You’re still mostly clothed, and yet you look debaucherous, like some ancient painting of a study into the nuances of female pleasure. “Look at you. All messy. And for what? I’ve barely touched you.”
The frustration is too much, reaching a boiling point. “Please, I swear to God.” You bury your hands in your head, wiping away frustrated tears. Your legs are trembling now, now that Yoongi is only using one of his arms to brace you against him.
“Please, what?” He digs his nails into the soft skin of your hip, and you can’t help but like it. He lowers his head so it’s level with your ear, sultry, low. “Use your words.”
“Can’t you just, just-” Again, you buck your hips against his hand, as if that might make him get the point, only for him to nip at your inner thigh with his hand.
“Don’t rush me, babe.” Babe. Min Yoongi is calling you babe. Is the universe playing some trick on you?
He takes advantage of your position and leverages his knee on the inside of yours, spreading your legs further. “That’s it, just take it. Take it.” Finally, he takes pity on you and slips a finger inside. He earns an answering gasp. You can tell he means business, because he doesn’t take it slow, he doesn’t let you adjust, going directly at that spot inside of you that makes you keen for him.
You struggle to stay upright, eyes rolling back. Your fingers scrabble along the dark wood of the piano, struggling to find purchase.
“Fuck, Yoongi…”
“So needy, look at you, so fucking needy...” He drives his point home further by adding a second finger.
“I’m sooooo sorry… how can I ever make it up to you…?” Even despite the mind-bending pleasure and the prospect of Min Yoongi blowing your back out this evening, you roll your eyes.
“What if someone hears?” Your point is lost when Yoongi changes the angle of his hand, and you break off into a ragged whimper. It’s loud enough to make you embarrassed to have made that sound in the presence of another person.
“Oh, so you care about that now?” “What about that one time in class,” Yoongi all but pants in your ear, digging his nails into your thigh, “That you were being a desperate little cocktease?”
You don’t answer, shame stoking the embers in your belly, driving lower and lower. You hate, and love, that he can make you feel like this with only some stern wording and a firm hand. Because it feels that good. Because you like him that much.
“What then, hmm?” Yoongi doesn’t wait for a response however, before he’s yanking your jeans and panties further down your thighs. “Do me a favor. Touch yourself for me. Show me.”
“Why?”
“Wanna see you all messy for me,” Yoongi says, voice silky soft, liquid sex. He guides your hand down to your pussy, and god, you realize just how embarrassingly wet you are for such little foreplay. “Please?” He presses his chest flush to your back, leaning his forehead into the crook of your neck.
You oblige him. You’re wet to the point where it’s difficult to find purchase against your clit. “Okay… but you have to forgive me.”
“Forgive you for what?”
“For being needy…” You say, sweetly.
“Sure. I’ll forgive anything you do if you do this every time.” He says it like it’s a matter of fact.
You giggle, like a lovesick idiot. At the very least, you’re glad that Yoongi can make you laugh even when you’re half-play-fighting, half-on-the-verge-of-having-sex-in-your-favorite-practice room.
The vibrations of your laughter traveling through your body have you moving in new, novel ways against your own hand, and you break off into a moan.
“You’re so beautiful,” Yoongi murmurs, voice barely above a scratchy whisper. He sounds genuine, and the tenderness of the moment isn’t lost to you, even despite your pleasure. At least now that you’re touching yourself, you don’t have to suffer the patient wrath of Yoongi and can touch yourself the way that you see fit.
You feel his free hand nudge against the back of your thigh and when you look, he’s dragging the heel of his hand across his pants.
Fuck. Fuck, you are so wrecked for Min Yoongi.
“No, you too,” you say, “Show me too.”
Yoongi moves away from you, pushing his waistband past his hips. He’s gripping his cock in one hand. He’s reaching for your waist again, his hand traveling up to grasp your throat. He jerks your head back. “Look, look at yourself.”
The combined sensation of his hand on your neck and own hand on your pussy is too much. Your eyes water. “Yoongi,” You gasp, “I’m going to come.”
“No, not yet. Not yet.” He wrenches your hand away, and the sudden lack of touch is almost cruel.
You buck against him, his back to you. “Please, please let me come, I can’t–you can’t do this again, fuck,” Your desperation comes out in whines, all shame lost.
“Be patient, come here.” He turns you around again, your back against the wood of the piano. And you’re looking into his eyes, dark and filled with something like lust. Min Yoongi wants you. You reach up to brush his hair out of his eyes.
Yoongi’s on your clit again, drawing light circles, testing the wetness before slipping a finger inside again. “I wanna hear you,” He says, adding another finger, more tenacity behind his strokes. He rocks his thumb against your clit. “I wasn’t asking.”
Up until now you’ve been biting your lip, muffling your cries as best as you can. You look up at him again, drawing up your courage. You feel exposed–how can you not, half-naked in the practice room, when you’re not completely confident that the soundproof padding on the walls can contain the sounds of your rapture.
“You-you fuck me so good Yoongi–” And you keen, just because he asked you to.
He stops in his fucking tracks. Again.
“Well. You fuck me so well. You can’t describe a verb with an adjective. God, I really shouldn’t let you come…”
“Oh my God, are you really going to do this right now.” You bear down on his hand with your hips again, seeking more friction. “Please… please, I can’t wait anymore.” You can hardly finish your sentence, as Yoongi fucks into you with a particularly hard thrust. You’re finding it difficult to keep your eyes open, instead opting to rest your head on his shoulder.
God, he smells so good. Like fresh laundry and the melting snow outside, warm and human and reassuring.
You can feel his smile ghosting over your neck as he leans down to suck another mark into your collarbone. “Yes, yes, I am.”
“I’m–I’m getting close again,” You say, fisting your hands in his shirt, “Just, ah–” It takes you by surprise, crashing over you. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to stay upright, pulling Yoongi against you. You can feel his satisfied smile, as he pants against the curve of your neck, hot and heady and everything you need.
“Good?” He asks, after your breathing has calmed, even though you know that he knows that he’s done more than a good job.
“Okay, okay, enough bragging,” You half-laugh, half-scoff, pulling your pants up past your hips again.
“I wasn’t bragging,” He whines. It’s endearing, and you pepper his face with kisses before you get to business again.
You sink to your knees before him, and his expression immediately softens. You try to bridge the gap between the two of you, placing the palm of your hand on his thigh. Asking for permission.
“Are you sure?” He says, but the expression in his eyes saying something to the effect of “I really hope you’re sure.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” You say, smiling as you tease the head of his cock with your parted lips. You replace his hand with yours. It’s barely any contact, really, but Yoongi closes his eyes in pleasure nonetheless, head tilted back. Normally, in any other situation like this, you’d be at least a little bit nervous. Or shy, hoping that Yoongi keeps his eyes closed so he’s not looking at you. But the absolute deprivation you’ve felt for the past couple weeks is enough for you to not care.
You sink lower, in the wake of remembering how pent up and frustrated you’ve felt for the past couple weeks. You even, at least try to, bat your eyelashes at him. But like you guessed (or had hoped), his eyes are squeezed shut. You try not to delight in the sudden change of power too much, but it’s impossible not to.
He tightens his grip on the back of your neck, groaning. “You’re so good to me.” You take him further in your mouth, eager to please. Eager to hear him make more of those sounds. Eager to take this further.
You try your best to make it slick, flattening your tongue against him. You’re a little out of practice, after months of being alone, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to notice. And if he does, he’s still enjoying himself. Thoroughly.
“Fuck, fuck,” He gasps, in hushed whispers.
“What a mouth on you…” Yoongi moves stray hairs out of your face, surprisingly tender given the lewdness of the situation. The sounds of your mouth fill the practice room, although hopefully not loud enough to expose your vulnerable position. You truly hope that the soundproof padding lining the walls works as advertised.
“Ah–ah wait, I’m getting close, wait–ah, y/n, fuck,” He rasps. You don’t let up quite yet, letting him sit in that in-between space between ‘on the edge’ and ‘letting go’. His free hand makes a weak fist against his leg.
Someone knocks on the door. Your first thought is that it may be security wrapping up rounds for the night.
Your eyes widen in shock as you stand upright and zip up your jeans. The surge from adrenaline at the prospect of getting caught in the act makes your head pulse and spin. Your heart seems to have fallen from the left side of your chest all the way into the pit of your stomach.
It’s hard to remember how aroused you were, not thirty seconds ago.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” For someone who was quite literally about to be balls-deep inside you, Yoongi tucks his dick back inside his pants with a surprising amount of tact and speed.
Yoongi is fixing his hair in the practice mirror as you cross the room at the piano bench, pulling out your phone to make it look like the two of you were just dawdling or taking a practice break.
Maybe twenty seconds have elapsed since the first knock at the door, which you reason might be a reasonable time for someone to stop practicing, and walk to the door to answer it. You hope it might seem reasonable.
You can feel the pulse in your neck moving as Yoongi opens the door. You train your eyes on your phone screen, as if that might make you more nonchalant.
“Hey, Yoongi-hyung.” The voice at the door is youthful, and energetic. You can even hear the smile in his voice. “I didn’t know you were here this late. I was looking for you!” You finally muster up the courage to stop staring at your phone, your eyes venturing to the other side of the room.
It’s… Jungkook?
Jungkook, as in, the only bassoonist in the department, Jungkook?
Jungkook must have had the same idea as you, because he looks over at you at the same time you do.
His smile falters, albeit briefly. Whatever replaces it is something akin to a smirk. A knowing smirk. An accusatory smirk. A proud smirk.
“Hyung, who’s that?”
#armywriterssupport#btsgoldnet#yoongi smut#yoongi x reader#bts smut#yoongi fanfic#yoongi scenarios#bts fanfic#bts scenarios#min yoongi x reader#bts x reader
182 notes
·
View notes
Text
i don’t want you to worry
ALMOST PARADISE: PART THREE - CHAPTER ONE OF ELEVEN (?)
pairing: steve harrington x henderson!reader
word count: 3.8k
a/n: six months later, here’s part three! i’m not gonna lie to y’all, i have no idea how many chapters there are gonna be or if it’ll get updated regularly, but fuck it. i’ve been sitting on this for a while and figured we could use a bit of levity! thank you for your patience! hope you enjoy! lmao i didn’t feel like making a gif pls forgive me
masterlist
Fog is hovering just above the ground; you can practically feel how thick and wet it is against your skin. The hairs on the back of your neck all stand as a gust of wind flows through the air - the freezing temperature makes you shiver.
The ground is wet, squelching underneath your sneakers as you move forward, still uncertain of where you are; the environment’s been completely coated in the dense fog. When your surroundings finally begin to clear a bit, your heart starts to race in fear once you recognize where you are.
It’s the junkyard.
“Stay close, yeah?”
The voice sounds like it’s right inside your ear, but at least he’s here - you’d recognize him anywhere.
Steve’s to your left, bat slung effortlessly over his shoulder, and his presence helps calm your nerves. You won’t have to face this alone.
You want to thank him before the situation gets any worse, but your mouth won’t cooperate. All you’re able to reply with is a nod.
Suddenly, the palm of your hand feels heavy with the weight of your weapon; Steve presses on, moving through the space to approach the threat that lurks beyond. A form begins to take shape behind the grey clouds, hunched down on all fours as it stalks towards your position. Your fingers tense as you prepare to fight and adrenaline begins to overtake you, until the silhouette rises onto two legs. It’s not supernatural, it’s human.
You want to call out to Steve, tell him to fall back because it’s too dangerous but your voice still doesn’t work - you can’t warn him what’s coming. The soles of your shoes dig into the ground as you run to catch up with him, fingers extended out to grab and yank him away.
But it’s too late. One moment he’s right there in front of you, the next he’s gone, vanished right before your eyes. You blink.
On the ground, Steve’s in the dirt, blood spilling from his face; Billy Hargrove quickly approaches.
And then, it’s just like that night. You’re unable to move, unable to save him as Steve tries to fight back but Billy’s too quick. His crimson colored fists are tearing skin with each impact until the brunette boy on the ground is lifeless, as if all warmth was drained right from him. Billy’s twisted grin never falters as he relishes in your pain, tears streaming down your face until-
You wake with a gasp, body jolting, hands shaking.
God, it feels so real, like you’re still there; your nose can smell the disgusting metallic scent from the blood, skin still chilled from the temperature, veins still threaded with adrenaline.
That was only a dream… right?
As soon as that thought is introduced to your worried mind, you throw off the covers before grabbing the nearest hoodie off the bed post. Tugging it over your head, your bare feet skid across the hardwood floor as you rush to the phone in the living room.
Your fingers are trembling as you press the buttons of the number; you have to know if he’s okay. You have to confirm it was just a dream.
“Fuck, Steve,” You start to mutter to yourself, counting the rings to attempt to steady your breathing, “Come on, pick up, pick up.”
The longer it takes, the more nervous you become. The darkness that surrounds you starts to close in, and when you squeeze your eyes shut, the image of him bloodied and lying dead in the dirt haunts you.
“I swear to Christ - Dustin, if that’s you and those bozos again, I’ll come kick your ass myself,” Steve’s voice, tired and very irritated, comes through the speaker.
“Steve! Oh my god-” The back of your throat starts to burn at the feeling of tears welling up; the relief crashes over you in a wave, “Are you okay? Where are you?”
“What? Jesus-” He pauses, his tone softens once he hears it’s you, “Why wouldn’t I be okay? It’s nearly-”
Steve stops again; you reckon it’s to glance at the time.
“Shit, sweetheart it’s nearly two in the morning, what’s goin’ on?”
You sigh, finally realizing that you must’ve awoken him, “Fuck I just-”
The phone is gripped tighter in your hands as you speak, “I really just needed to know that you're okay. It’s stupid, I shouldn’t have called. I’m sorry-“
“No, no it’s okay-”
“But I-”
“No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about me,” Steve’s reassurance helps to slow your pounding heart; he’s okay. He’s safe at home.
There’s nothing to worry about anymore.
You repeat that to yourself multiple times, whispering it to yourself under your breath. At this point, you think that you’d do anything to forget that night.
Your back slides down the wall as your body grows exhausted from the severe reaction; Steve’s voice continues through the phone, “Did something happen?”
“I had-” You force a deep breath through your lungs, face scrunching in fear at the memory, “I had a really bad dream, Steve.”
Your arm wraps around your knees to pull them into your chest, forehead coming down to meet them and dig into the soft material of your pants, “I woke up and fuck, I was so scared. I was so scared and all I could think to do was call you. And I’m all alone. I’m all by myself tonight and I hate that I can’t be alone anymore. And I haven’t slept through the night in weeks-”
“Weeks? What do you mean weeks? I mean - I knew you weren’t sleeping well right after, but Christ it’s been nearly two months!”
You curse at yourself for rambling, words suddenly escaping your mind as you hesitate to respond. With your silence, Steve huffs; you can imagine the disappointment and worry over his face, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
You bite down on your lip before answering, only letting up on the pressure when the taste of blood touches your tongue; you’re ashamed of the answer, “I don’t know… I’m sorry, Steve.”
All you feel is guilt in the moments that follow. Something like this… dreams about him dying in front of your eyes isn’t something that should be kept from him.
“Hey,” Steve’s soft tone reels you back in, “You call me whenever you have to. I’ll always pick up, okay?”
You exhale as you nod, before remembering that he can’t see your reaction through the phone, “Okay, yeah. Thank you.”
“Of course, anytime. Are you okay?”
You weave the phone cord between your fingers, “I’m better now. Uh, I’ll let you go then.”
“Okay. Try to get some rest, for my sake,” Steve pleads. You twist the cord tighter, “I will.”
He sighs at your oath, finally able to relax a bit more, “Hey, we don’t have to do anything tonight, if it’s too much. Or if you’re tired… ”
You hum at his words, head leaning back against the wall. A smile creeps over your lips at his consideration, wishing that you could thank him in person for his words, “No, no let’s do something. It’ll be good for me.”
He laughs a bit; even with how horrible the quality might be through the receiver, it still makes your stomach flutter with butterflies, “Okay, good. I’ll see you tonight. Get some sleep.”
“I’ll try, Steve.”
After wishing him a good night, you place the phone back onto it’s base. Standing up on wobbly legs, a shaky exhale leaves your lungs when your fingers remove themselves from the smooth plastic. The image of him is still there when you blink.
Fuck - you should’ve told him.
—
Three taps against the window pane startle you awake. Rubbing your eyes as you sit up, you check the time - you were only able to finally fall asleep twenty minutes ago. Anxiety starts to creep over the back of your neck - until you see the culprit.
“Jesus…” You mutter to yourself. You can’t help the small smile that erupts over your face at the sight of Steve, fingers nervously drumming on the window sill. His expression relaxes a bit once you come over, and you’re already rolling your eyes as you move to pull it open.
“You know that I’m the only one home, right?”
Steve nods, not following your logic, “Yeah? And?”
“You could’ve just come to the door, Steve.”
The boy in front of you shifts at your words; his retort stutters as he tries to come up with an excuse, “Okay, alright. But you know, I didn’t want to scare you or anything!”
You step back to cross your arms over your chest, “And coming to my window while I sleep seems a whole lot better to you?”
“Alright whatever, Henderson,” He answers quickly, waving off your tone, “Will you just let me in already?”
You gesture for Steve to enter, laughing quietly to yourself as he does. As soon as he’s crawled his way through the opening, you latch and lock the window closed. He huffs, “You have no idea how thrilled I am that your house only has one floor.”
“Did you drive across the neighborhood just to scare me?” You ignore him, pulling the cord on the lamp by your bedside. The light illuminates the worry on his face.
“No, I just-” Steve pauses as he fiddles with his keys, “I couldn’t stop thinking about what you said. I had to know you were okay.”
You nod, crossing your arms over your chest once again, “Y-yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Steve’s brow raises at your deflection, “Um, did we not have the same conversation over the phone?”
“We did,” Your answer is laced with a bit of aggression, “You didn’t need to come all the way over here, okay? I’m fine now-”
“But are you?” Steve interrupts. His voice is genuine, soft, and you want to spill everything because he has that look in his eye; you’re not sure you can push him away forever.
“Of course, Steve-”
“Don’t lie to me,” Steve puts more force behind his words - it’s like a demand. He takes a few steps closer, “Please don’t lie to me.”
Hearing Steve plead with you like that makes your heart shatter. It’s killing him to watch you stand before him like this. He’s known you long enough to know when something’s not right, and he’s gotten especially good at reading you over the past few weeks. And by the way your jaw clenches, Steve knows you’re about to crack.
A shaky inhale comes through your lips; you have to tell him something. But how much?
“I just… I don’t want you to worry,” You mutter. Your voice is just above a whisper, although it doesn’t matter; it’s not like there’s anyone home to overhear. You’re scared to admit there’s something wrong. He shouldn’t have to do this for you.
Steve almost laughs. He runs his free hand through his hair, “It���s like, a year too late for that, you know.”
You sigh, realizing that he’s absolutely right. Of course he should worry, especially with how vague the conversation over the phone was. Letting him in is something that you’ll have to get used to.
Even though you’d been friends for a while, it was always more about him than you. You always wanted to be there for him, if he ever needed anything, how he was doing. It’s something neither of you understood was happening until your relationship became more; it was no one’s fault.
All of a sudden, Steve realized just how much you’ve done for him - he’s wanted to return the favor. And this… is all new to you; you’re not used to someone checking in.
“Oh god, you’re right,” You mumble under your breath. Your hands come up to cover your eyes in shame as you continue, “I’m sorry, Steve. I shouldn’t have lied to you.”
Witnessing your sudden change in mood, Steve moves towards you; he sets his keys down on your nightstand as he does. He goes to reach for you, pulling your body into his, “Hey hey, it’s okay, it’s fine.”
He wishes he could come up with something better to say. You’ve always been better with words than him. You’re better at a lot of things than him. But he’s trying - he’s trying to be better to be worthy of you.
Your arms wrap tightly around him once Steve’s pressed against you. He smells like freshly washed cotton, like pulling sheets from the dryer when they’re still warm.
It’s all so overwhelming, it makes you want to cry. You feel like you should, but the familiar burn behind your eyes never comes. Instead, you resume speaking.
“I guess I just…” You trail off, wanting to give him a reason - he deserves one.
Your fist knots the fabric of his tee; Steve’s palm slides up over your back, “I’m just not used to leaning on others for help. I’m trying to get used to it.”
“Sometimes it’s okay,” Steve’s reply is muffled by your hair. He ponders what to add, lips pressed into a firm line as he thinks, “Sometimes you gotta do stuff on your own and sometimes you need somebody else. That’s just how life works.”
Your chest heaves as you sigh at the weight of his words, this moment cements a single fact inside your brain - you won’t plan on hiding anything from him.
Well, except for that one thing. You’re still not ready to admit that to him yet.
You wish that pulling away didn’t mean losing his warmth; but his gentle eyes meeting yours mimics a feeling like it that fills your chest.
“You can lean on me, you know,” Steve says, and the smile that was already pulling at your lips widens even farther. And then he nudges you - his mouth curls into that stupid smirk of his, “However you want.”
You crack a laugh, accompanied by a roll of your eyes, “Yes, I know. Sometimes I just need a little reminder."
Suddenly, you remember just how lucky you are to have him. How fortunate you are to have him there to brighten your darkest moments, even if he’s sometimes battling his own demons at the same time.
“Thank you,” You say, bringing your gaze back to meet Steve’s again. He nods slightly, tone genuine and soft as he answers, “Of course. Anytime.”
The pads of your fingers graze over his cheekbone before tucking a strand of brunette hair behind his ear; Steve shivers a bit at the gentle touch before you meet his lips in a kiss.
He still gets a bit nervous each time, only because this feels so much more different than the others. The level of comfort and security he feels when you’re in the room was never there before he met you. Like really met you.
And you - well, you’re still so overwhelmed that you finally, after all that time, get to be with the one you love - you feel like you could jump out of your skin with joy. You’ve treasured every single moment, because it’s never been lost on you how it all could be taken away in an instant.
The brilliant grin you two share after pulling away shakes it all from your mind. Your fingers move to grip his hands in yours; you just like being able to do it, even if it is in the privacy of your own bedroom.
But then that feeling settles in your stomach, the one that doesn’t go away until morning. The dread that something’s going to happen. Steve can sense your growing anxiety - it’s almost like the air surrounding you changes. Leaving you now, something about that doesn’t sit right with him.
“I’ll uh, stay if you want.”
He mentions the idea quietly because, well, you’re not officially together. But to be fair, he hasn’t asked - but neither have you. Even though your hands are still in his, pressing into his skin, Steve finds it important to ask and make sure you’re on the same page.
You can’t lie - the idea of Steve spending the night makes you a little nervous. Although, knowing that you’re safe with each other might just be the push you need to relax. And with that thought, you’re stepping away from him, “Okay. Yeah, sure.”
The doorknob is so cold against your skin as you exit to grab an extra pillow from the closet in the hallway. The darkness of the living room seems to go on forever; it almost feels like something’s creeping up your neck once your back is turned to it.
After quickly shutting the door once you’re back inside, you turn around to see Steve, perched silently on top of your comforter - his presence warms the entire room, bringing life and love into it.
He hasn’t spent that much time in this space; he’s trying to take everything in, because it’s very reflective of you. There are neat piles of VHS tapes and comics on top of the dresser, a closet dominated with dark colors and sneakers, and some of your well worn denim tossed over the desk chair.
But his eye catches on a stack of photographs on the desk’s surface, and he’s halfway across the room before you can interject. You clutch the pillow a little tighter to your chest as Steve flips through them, laughing at one of you and Dustin from a few years ago at Christmas wearing matching pajamas.
He spins to show it to you, “I’m never gonna let him live this down.”
You approach his side when he finds another one of you as a child, playing with a cake battered spatula in your previous house. Baby curls framed your face, and your eyes were wide with adventure and wonder, “Holy shit, look at you!”
“I don’t know why I remember that day so much,” You mutter.
Steve’s silence pushes you to continue, “It was Mom’s birthday, and my grandparents baked her a cake - double chocolate I think. I wasn’t tall enough to reach but I wanted to help so badly. So they sat me on top of the counter and let me mix everything. They even let me tell her that I made it.”
You laugh quietly before the memory turns cold in your mind, and your wistful smile turns to a slight frown, “I haven’t seen them since we moved here.”
Steve isn’t even looking at the picture anymore. He listened to every word that left your mouth; you don’t speak much about the rest of your family. Instead of trying to probe further, he leans over to press a kiss to your forehead, a gentle and silent reminder of his support.
This feels strange. Opening up to him like that, making yourself that vulnerable - that’s a level of intimacy you haven’t explored quite yet. At least not with him… or anyone really.
Thankfully, it hasn’t seemed to scare him off. If anything, Steve’s more relaxed. He likes knowing how you feel.
Steve flips through the others while you rest your chin on his shoulder, your eyes intently watch his reaction to each one - you think you could stay in this moment forever.
And then he comes across one - an image of you and the kids on Halloween a few years back all dressed like Jedi. He pauses on it, “When do you think we should tell them?”
A sharp inhale comes through your nostrils at his comment; you hadn’t thought about that.
In all your bliss, you had completely forgotten - no one else knows. Not even your brother.
“Oh God, Steve-” You start, removing yourself from him, “I don’t even know how we would do that.”
“What are you talking about?” Steve replies, turning back to meet your gaze, “We just… tell them. It’s not rocket science.”
You squeeze your eyes shut as you answer, clenching the pillow a bit tighter in your grasp, “It’s really not that simple with them, Steve. You know that. And honestly, I still feel like I’m trying to figure out how to do all this.”
You sigh, running a hand through your hair, knowing just how messy involving the kids could make your relationship, “I’ve kinda liked it just being about us. You know, we’re together because we wanna be, it’s not for anyone else. And trust me, they’ll have so many opinions-”
“So let’s keep it to ourselves then,” Steve interjects, shrugging his shoulders a bit as he answers, “We’ll tell ‘em when we think it’s right, when we’re sure if this is serious or not.”
You hated keeping your feelings for him a secret. You hated that you were never able to tell him, but this is different. The idea sends a rush of excitement through your veins, you can’t deny it.
He smiles a bit and sets the photos down before continuing, “I know it might be too early to tell, but I feel like this could last, you know.”
You feel blood rise into your cheeks when he looks at you like that - irises filled to the brim with admiration. His hands come up to cup your face as you reply, “Me too.”
Steve leans in to drink a slow kiss from your lips, the kind that leaves you breathless when it’s over.
“Good,” He mutters, earning a small grin from you. Steve takes the pillow out of your grasp, “What do you say we try and get a couple hours of sleep in? I guess Dustin wants to go to the arcade before lunch.”
You laugh, pushing your hair back away from your face as you answer, “I will never be able to get used to that, I’m sorry.”
Steve tosses the pillow onto the empty spot on the mattress while you pull back the comforter. The bed dips as you both settle under the covers; Steve’s arm starts to slide over your waist before stopping abruptly, “Is this okay?”
You clear your throat, “Yeah, yeah that’s fine.”
The darkness washes over the room after you pull the cord to the lamp; it doesn’t feel as scary with Steve lying behind you. His touch stops your mind from wandering as it so often does - it can’t concoct anything to torment you with.
That being said, the sight from the earlier nightmare does appear behind your eyelids when you blink.
“It was about you,” You mutter, “The dream.”
It’s spoken before you can stop yourself. You instantly regret it, due to the lack of a reply that follows.
But then Steve tugs you closer, and you feel like you could melt against him. He tucks his nose right underneath the base of your hairline, deeply inhaling as you relax into him.
“I’m sorry,” He mumbles against your skin; your fingers curl around his as a quiet thank you.
Steve thinks that this is probably what home is supposed to feel like - warm clothes, the scent of your shampoo, a comfortable silence to lull you both to sleep. He doesn’t think he’s ever been more comfortable.
And for the first time in what feels like forever, the pair of you have finally found a bit of peace.
—
taglist: @stevebabey / @mrsukai / @hannarudick / @crazycookiecrumbles / @hellisateenageheather / @alewifex / @l0ve-0f-my-life / @naomiiiiiiiiiii04 / @daddystevee / @thecaptainsgingersnap / @let-the-imaginationflow / @asianravenpuff / @im-a-stranger-thing / @mikariell95 / @pilunb / @harringtherin / @royalestrellas / @ultrunning / @buggs177 / @poutfull / @yoheyyosup / @duchessdaisybat / @janieavalos / @sassisaluxury / @beththebubbly / @i-bitch-you-bitch / @captainstilinskis / @juliebean247 / @im-nada / @whatabeautifulsurrender / @rexorangecouny / @pass-me-jeez-it / @ahoy-scoops-troop / @halefirewarrior / @jointhehunt67 / @wallacetdog / @ketchuplukehemmo / @m-a-r-i-n-t-p / @fangirl485 / @emmegirl827 / @lookalivesunshine-x / @elite4cekalyma / @marjoherbo / @just-my-fandom / @idumpyourgrass / @alafolieee / @mochminnie / @phantomalchemist / @dustyblueboo / @alonewolfsblog / @ggclarissa / @hufflepuffing-all-day-long / @bippityboppitybabe / @readinthegarden12 / @bakugouishusbando
if you wanna be added to the taglist, just lemme know!
#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x henderson!reader#steve harrington fic#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington x you#st fic#st imagine#my writing#almost paradise
461 notes
·
View notes
Text
Ocean’s Eternity
So. I’ve been thinking about the end of Obsidian Age a little too much. Basically this is the 3000 years Plastic Man spent on the bottom of the ocean. I might do a follow up to this later.
When he woke, everything was dark. There was a sensation throughout his body which felt like suffocation, and there was this... itch. All over. But it was mild. It wasn't important compared to the other, more pressing matter at hand.
He couldn't move. He couldn't see. He couldn't feel or hear or smell or taste or do anything.
Well, that's not true.
He could wait.
~~~
He was on the ocean floor, this much he knew.
~~~
He wasn't being saved. After waiting for however long he'd waited, that was becoming clear. His team was most likely all dead. That was the only scenario he could see where they didn't save him.
He was in the thick of it, that was for sure.
~~~
He was going to be stuck for a long, long time.
~~~
He mourned for his team. He would have cried if he'd had eyes, but he didn't. Not like the ocean needed any more salt water. He mourned for a lot longer than he should have, honestly. But it wasn't like there was anything else to do but sit there and be sorry.
What finally got him to stop, however, was the fact that they all probably went somewhere nice. Excuse his pun, but there was no way in Hell that the Justice League didn't go to heaven.
~~~
This couldn't be fixed.
~~~
He wasn't sure how long he'd been there. It had been a long while.
He'd taken to counting the seconds, unsure if he was anywhere near correct. No one really concerned themselves so much if the space between beats were too long or short enough. Maybe the Flash, actually. But even he didn't count the seconds.
Or maybe he did. He didn't know. He couldn't ask.
He was going crazy.
He was going very, very crazy.
He knew this. He was pretty sure crazy people weren't supposed to be so aware of their craziness. But when you are aware of nothing else but your mind, he supposed you had to be self aware.
~~~
Every once in a while, he'd have something happen to him that felt like a seizure. It was painful and sudden and sharp and he begged any gods that would listen to let him be. And maybe something out there listened. Maybe something took pity on this wretched thing on the bottom of the sea because when the seizure ended, he'd black out.
Peaceful oblivion.
~~~
He was mad. In more than one way, he was mad. He was pissed, would be the more correct term in this situation. He was mad at his team. At the Justice League. He was so, so angry. How dare they. How dare they?!
They talked shit about him. Sometimes behind his back. Sometimes to his face. They never gave him an ounce of respect. They never gave a damn.
And then they had the audacity to die and leave him there, on the bottom of the sea. Forever. With nothing to do but count the seconds which was probably wrong now that he was so worked up. Great job, Justice League, you made me lose count!
He fumed and raged and plotted and didn't scream because he had no mouth.
~~~
The itching was bad. It was really, really bad. It was so, so bad. It was the only thing he could feel. It was consuming every memory of every other sensation. He didn't remember what sunshine felt like, or the rain. He couldn't even feel the coldness or the water or the pressure that was certainly around him.
He could only feel that damned itching.
He hated it. He hated it so much.
He wanted to turn into a monster and rake his claws across the Earth, he wanted to pull up the land and have magma flow out like the world's life blood. He wanted to shriek and yell and cry and tear his brain out of his skull and slam it into the center of their planet and then maybe- just maybe- he could finally die.
Or maybe he'd infect the planet with his strange body, and then the world and everyone on it would know his pain, know this madness that crawled like a million spiders made of razor blades just under skin that wasn't there.
~~~
His dreams offered no reprieve. His dreams were too lucid, nowadays. Too much time alone in your head would make you a master at your subconscious, he supposed. Except he was still very very very crazy, and so he wasn't quite a master at anything.
But sometimes- sometimes.... his dreams weren't lucid. Maybe he wasn't even asleep when he dreamed, anymore. Maybe it didn't matter. But sometimes, his mind finally calmed, the insanity put away for a few hours, minutes, seconds, all would be soft.
His dreams, the not-lucid ones, whether he was awake or not, had a common theme.
He would be spending time with his son. Whose face, despite so much time alone and insane and in pain on the bottom of the sea, had remained clear as day.
He would be holding someone's hand, and despite how he can't remember the warmth of the sun or a fireplace or a hug, would be warm anyway.
He would be smiling, calm, and happy. He wouldn't be so alone.
When he woke, the madness usually got worse.
~~~
He was no longer mad at the Justice League. He'd finally calmed down. He was still mad, he was certain of that, but that was in the sense that he was insane. He was no longer angry at his old, dead team.
Because rational thought, something he thought had died within him, had found a way to resurrect itself. Like some shambling zombie, it crawled its way up from the bottom of his soul and started to whisper facts to him.
And he was so, so tired of being mad.
They didn't put him here. They would save him, if they were alive. They'd pull him from the depths of this dark Hell and they'd put him back together, piece by piece. They would take away the pain and the darkness and they'd give him back his sunshine and his family and his heart.
Because they were the Justice League. And they were good.
He mourned for them again, because they deserved to be remembered, even if the only thing that could remember them was the dust at the bottom of the world.
~~~
He was no longer mad. Probably. He wasn't in the best position to tell, honestly. Oh, and he means mad in the sense of insanity, this time.
He was no longer crazy.
It lost its appeal, strangely enough. If he was correct with his counting, it had been around a thousand years. Maybe more, maybe less. Maybe he was completely off. It didn't matter.
What mattered was that, even though he was sane -saner- his mind was still a wreck. In the expanse of his mind, he stood, hands on his hips. He surveyed the damage. Memories shredded, emotions lost, fear and despair and loneliness on a rampage.
He cracked his metaphorical knuckles.
It was time to start picking up the pieces.
~~~
Slowly, very slowly, he pieced together his memories. Some were beyond repair. He tried to fix them anyway. With patience and care and all the time in the world, he glued his old life back together. His name was Plastic Man, Eel O'Brian, Patrick. Huh.
He was a thief. A hero. A father.
He had a son. He remembered his son. He never forgot his son, despite it all. But his son's memory did get warped- he'd have to smooth that out.
But, he noted with no small amount of pride, he'd remembered his son's face. Not his height or his age or his voice, but he remembered his face.
He also remembered that he wasn't a very good father. That came with much less pride.
~~~
In the wake of his madness came clarity. Acceptance. He made his peace with his eternal damnation. Some sort of thousand-year long five-stages-of-grief thing. With a lot more insanity than was usually recommended.
He wasn't going to lie to himself: it sucked. There was nothing good about his situation. But there was nothing he could do, and going mad had only made things worse.
In the wake of his madness came clarity, and with clarity came the realization that he was lonely. Eternally so. He was lonely and regretful and sad. He had so many things he wanted to do. So many places to go, people to see. He had wanted so much.
He didn't know if he deserved it.
He probably did.
~~~
So he was probably still a little bit crazy. Not like before. He was, what he considered, a healthy amount of crazy.
Just enough to pass the time. Talking to yourself was never considered 'sane' anyway.
~~~
He was still counting the seconds. It helped things stay in order. He was counting in his dreams, in the deepest part of his subconscious, he counted. He had built quite the internal clock for himself, it seemed.
~~~
Sometimes, he'd stop for a while. Not counting, of course. He had probably forgotten how to stop counting. But everything else. Sometimes, everything else would stop.
His mind would be ever so slow, and nothing truly mattered in those moments. He simply existed, pieces of plastic on the ocean floor.
And it would take a while to come back. He didn't really want to go back, but he always did. And when he did, he'd laugh.
He was plastic in the ocean. He'd been polluting the waters before plastic had even been invented.
It wasn't very funny, but he'd laugh anyway.
~~~
He was in the middle of replaying a baseball game in his mind for the nth time when something happened. Another seizure. Hadn't had one of those in a while.
But something- something was off. It-
He woke up.
~~~
His thoughts were sluggish. There was- noises and- lights? Pressure. He must have really gone off the deep end now.
And he felt like a pile of mush- of goo or slime- and-
And the itching wasn't there.
The itching was always there.
And he could move.
He may have freaked out a little bit.
~~~
"Plastic Man, you need to calm down!" Superman yelled.
He snarled, "Don't tell me what to do! You're not even real!"
"We are real! Please, we need you to listen to us-" Martian Manhunter was cut off as he wrenched up a metal panel from the floor and chucked it at him. It phased through the martian, of course, but it did seem to surprise the green guy. His hallucination was very convincing, he'd admit.
The sensations being too loud and painful and too much. The light too bright, the air too fresh. He didn't even know he'd remembered how to breathe.
Suddenly, Superman was in front of his face and was- well he was petting him. It was kinda weird.
But- but his hands were warm. Not only that they had- they had texture and he could feel how tense Superman was, but as the seconds passed and he calmed, so did the tension leave Superman's hands.
"Oh." He whispered. He reached up and took Superman's hand, inspecting it. It was strong, like steel, and he could feel a pulse beat just beneath the skin.
"Oh." He said, interlocking his fingers with Superman's. He gave a light squeeze and Superman squeezed back. He looked up at the man of steel, noticing for the first time he'd shrunken back down into a reasonable size.
A pressure was draped across his back- A black cape had been wrapped around him. He looked over to see Batman kneeling beside him, a hand on his shoulder. He touched the cape on his shoulders- it was heavy and thick and made of something smooth on one side and soft on the other.
He dragged his fingers across it, reveling in the sensations.
Martian Manhunter was there too, now, and he reached out and gently touched the martian’s face. J'onn allowed him to do that, his eyes shut.
"Oh wow," He said, his voice strange to his own ears.
"...Is this real?" He asked, finally pulling away to look at his hands. They were melted slightly. His entire form was melted slightly. He was also naked. He hadn't even noticed. No wonder Batman covered him up.
"Yes." Batman said, his grip tightening like he could convince him through sheer force of will. Maybe he could.
"...Oh," He said, letting his hands fall.
He swallowed.
"Oh my God." He said, his voice cracking. He buried his head in his hands, feeling his body melt even further.
Someone hugged him. He wasn't sure who. He rested his chin on their shoulder. They put their arms around him and somehow that helped his body stay stable.
And everything was still too much and too close but it was real. It was real.
He was back.
The Justice League saved him.
~~~
He knocked on the door. He stood there, anxious. The sky was dark. It was dusk. Clouds covered up the sunset. Smog was in the air. Cars drove in the street and the wind howled overhead.
He couldn't stop staring at it all. It was real. It was real. Real in a way he'd forgotten. Real in a way his mind couldn't replicate, not in 3000 years. Though it had come very, very close.
The door opened.
"Patrick," Angel greeted, "How nice to see-"
She paused, taking him in.
"Did something-?"
"Yes." He said, his voice hoarse.
She opened the door for him, and he stepped inside.
"Where's Luke?" He asked.
"Living room." she said, "Come."
Their apartment was small. But not too small.
Luke sat on the couch, cartoons playing on the TV.
"Dad?" Luke said, brightening. He jumped up from the couch and hugged him tight. He returned the hug, stretching his arms out of his sleeves and holding his son close.
"Dad!" Luke said, pulling away, "You're back!"
"Yes." He said, "And I'm here to stay."
He turned to look at Angel.
"If that's alright...?"
"Of course." She said, smiling softly, "But I'm going to need help around the house."
He smiled at her, and nodded.
"Dad?" Luke said, weary, "What happened? You and the Justice League saved the day, right?"
"Yeah, Luke. We did." He said, "But I'm not a part of the Justice League anymore."
There was a pause. Angel sat down in a chair.
"Did they kick you out...?" Luke asked.
"No, son, they didn't. I didn't do anything wrong, either. I just-" He choked back a sob, "I can't go back."
Luke hugged him tighter.
"I love you, Luke. With all my heart." He said, failing to keep the tears at bay.
Luke nodded into his chest. He thought he could feel his shirt getting wet.
"So I'm going to stop being Plastic Man."
#plastic man#patrick o'brian#eel o'brian#jla obsidian age#obsidian age#jla#fanfic#fic#my wrtiting#fanfiction#luke o'brian#superman#batman#martian manhunter
28 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
meugi78
Sans titre
extenler
extenler
neverinadream
welcome to my world
me-her-and-la-lune
ah well, we'll know better next time