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princessbrunette · 4 months

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CRUSH ♡

… based loosely on the song crush by ethel cain ⊹˚. ♡

pairing: linecook!jj maybank + sweetheart!reader

synopsis: you’re head over heels for your bad-boy coworker, jj— the linecook for the outerbanks beachside restaurant you waitress at. a customer spilling coffee over your uniform catalysts a chain of events.

cw: a gun but no violence, shitty customers, jj being jj, smut.

You didn’t really know about restaurant employee culture until you started your job as a waitress. Stereotypes, things that fate would just simply decide to come true in every single restaurant no matter what. Waitresses were either the sweetest people you’d ever met or the bitchiest, managers had favourites and if you weren’t one of them they treat you like shit, the kid who gets stuck on dishwasher duty was always younger than everyone and fell in love with all the waitresses— uber specific and odd stuff. Oh, and that linecooks were troubled, or whores.

JJ Maybank was more troubled than the latter. Well, you’d hoped so anyways. You’d had a crush on the blonde linecook from your very first day, a quieter morning at the beginning of spring when the beachside restaurant was criminally understaffed. Your manager had appointed him to show you around before either of you had even made it inside, the tough older woman calling him out as he arrived to work, climbing off his bike, chewing on a toothpick with headphones over his ears. Your heart had fluttered when he bantered with the older woman, pointing to the music-playing-muffs over his ears, mouthing an ‘I can’t hear you, sorry’ when she’d approached him.

You’d felt embarrassed almost, like you were taking up his time. He was clearly comfortable here, had a good relationship with everybody— even the manager who seemed to hate the world tenfold. She’d yanked off his headphones and jut her thumb towards you as he stared her down with a mischievous grin.

“Maybank, I need you to show around the newbie— uh, what’s your name again sweetheart?” She spins to you, and for the first time JJ’s eyes flicker towards you, brows jumping up just a hair, a micro-expression that only you could hold onto for hope. Hope that he might be a little interested. You speak your name, and he’s swerving around the manager in his white tshirt, apron tied lazily around his waist, hung down, not even wearing it over his shirt like he’s meant to, black backwards cap over blonde messy hair.

“Well it is very nice to meet you ma’am.” He juts out a hand with a stupidly large grin that makes you feel even more shy.

You remember that day so clearly, the blonde showing you the ropes, practically training you whilst your manager chain smoked out the back. You remembered how you hadn’t had a proper school-girl style crush like this since forever, and one day into working at the restaurant you were already head over heels for the loud and hyperactive Pogue.

A few months down the line, and your bond had blossomed. Well, somewhat — it was a busy restaurant, lots of waitresses and cooks and customers. There wasn’t always time for chit-chat and flirting. Which sometimes you were grateful for, plates clanking awkwardly in your hands as you spot a more confident waitress trying her luck with him, hair twirled around a long finger. You were delusional enough to believe JJ seemed politely disinterested at the least, choosing to busy himself with ruffling the top of your head with his knuckles as you pass by him, hiding your smile at his acknowledgment.

You wouldn’t say the two of you were friends. You’d hoped not anyway, dreading being stuck in the friendzone with the guy you’d spent months pining after. You couldn’t be friends because you’d never hung out with him outside of work, not that you’d deny him but he’d never asked. You’d seen him around, don’t get it twisted — that group of friends of his; the brunette one who always seemed to be the talk of the town, the darker skinned boy who seemed too smart to be slumming it on a boat smoking weed, and a girl — who laughed at all of JJ’s jokes and threw glares to anyone she deemed too ‘Kook-y’. That was some serious intel, but you swear up and down you weren’t a stalker— just paying attention when you’d see him outside of the workplace.

JJ made it clear you were his favourite waitress. Well, he’d said it himself, holding a plate just out of your reach when you’d come to collect an order, playful smirk on his face as he stares down at you. “Can I have my order?” you pretend to hate it, hiding your smile as you huff, reaching out.

“I dunno, I could almost swear there’s a magic word that you’re missing there, girlie. Y’wanna help me out with that? Orrrr…” He tilts his head, playing dumb and you let the smile free— cheeks pushing up as you gaze at his stupid expression.

“Please, JJ.” You offer sweetly instead of sassing him, which makes his heart clench a little because you were just an absolute sweetheart by nature. He lowers the plate, hovering it above your palm and giving you a more serious look.

“Plates hot, alright? Better be careful with those delicate mittens.” You roll your eyes bashfully and he presses it into your palm. The plate was warm at best, it seeming that JJ would say anything just to keep the conversation going longer than it needed to.

“Thank you.” You smile once it was in your hand and he nods, faux solemnly as he backs off back to his work station, ignoring the knowing stare from his partner linecook.

“So polite, s’why you’re my favourite, princess.” He points with a wink and you turn away before he can see how flustered it made you. Princess, are you kidding me? It’s like he wanted to make you drop the plate. He watches the door swing as you head back out into the bustling restaurant, and jumps a little in surprise when he turns back to come face to face with another linecooks smirk.

“Playin’ favourites, huh Maybank?”

The blonde itches his cheek, bashful with a shrug— going back to chopping a carrot like he was before.

“Yeah well— doesn’t everyone do that here?” He tries to brush it off, head swivelling to glance back at the door, just incase you overheard.

“Yeah… yeah, chose a pretty one though, I’ll give you that. Lemme know when you’re done with it, I wanna play.” He speaks with a stomach-turning smile, and certainly doesn’t miss the way JJ’s jaw clenches, knife nearly going not only through the carrot but the chopping board too. Dont cause a scene now, Jayj.

JJ was troubled, like you’d said. You’d heard whispers from waitresses or friends of a friend outside of work — things about his father always being in jail, the blonde himself ending up in overnight cells a series of times. You’d heard about fights, his name always ringing close to the scene, even car chases and rumours about his run ins with big time criminals— but you wasn’t sure how verifiable any of these were.

It didn’t seem totally far fetched though, the Pogue occasionally showing up to his shift with his head down, a new bruise splattered on his cheek bone or a gnarly gash. He had one the day things changed, a cut through his lip, gone almost black from blood constantly drying after he’d assumably lick it open. From a glance, it almost looked like a lip-ring, and he sported it well with a large greenish yellow bruise beside his eye over his temple. You wish you felt close enough to ask where they came from, but knew that would be prying. You didn’t even wanna listen in when you’d see the manager nod him into her office to give him ‘the talk’ and ask about it presumably, which you’d also guessed she’d gained no information from as he’d leave her office looking casual whilst she still wore that slightly frustrated and worried look on her face.

Everyone seemed to be in a weird mood that day, even the customers. It wasn’t really his fault, the man somehow backing into you abruptly enough for you to spill an old container of coffee all down yourself. Well, to rephrase — it was an accident, which was actually the best case scenario considering you’d had drinks poured down you on purpose for making them wrong before.

You get that awful coil of embarrassment in your stomach when you walk into the kitchen, beige staining right through your usual pristine uniform and falling in droplets off the ends of your hair. JJ sees the pout before the stains, and it comes as no surprise to the other linecooks when he rushes over like prince charming.

“You good? Someone do that to you?” He’s already trying to bound past you to go and ‘handle the situation’ (AKA, kick them out) but you shake your head— not really upset just tired, and now cold thanks to the old coffee soaking through to your skin.

“It was an accident. I don’t have anything to change into so I don’t know if I should just… go home, or something.” You hold your hands out in frustration, looking down at yourself.

“Oh, nah— don’t sweat it. Got a spare shirt in my locker you can wear. S’just a white t-shirt, should do the trick.” He steps backwards.

“But it’s not uniform?” You furrow your brows and he huffs out a chuckle at you always being such a stickler for following the rules. “Our manager will have my head, surely.”

“Think she’d rather that than you walkin’ round smellin’ like cold brew.” He fishes through his pockets and tosses you a small key with a red triangle keychain on the end, the key to his locker in the staff cloakroom. “Help yourself.”

“Thanks Jayj.” You smile, excusing yourself shyly at the use of the nickname you’ve heard others use on him but always chickened out on. He noticed, because he shows all his teeth when he smiles and nods, turning back around.

The cloakroom always smells weird— like mulch and rubber, a cold and windowless room with a bench and a wall of seafoam lockers. You flip the key in your hand, spotting the number on the back and match it to the lockers. Wearing JJ’s shirt, huh — you smile to yourself, feeling giddy and stupid at the butterflies that brush their wings against the inside of your stomach. He was just doing you a favour, sure — but you got to prance around wearing him all day, and that was enough to fuel your delusion. You off your stained shirt, leaving you in just a small and flimsy tank top that you usually wear beneath it incase of accidents like this.

You open the locker, and something black immediately drops out onto the floor, echoing loudly and bouncing once a tiny bit by your feet. The weird clinical lighting of the cloakroom casts a dark shadow below where your head searches down for it, so you move slightly— brows furrowing when you see the shape of it.

Your brain clearly hasn’t processed or caught up with just quite what you’re looking at as you bend down, lips parted as you pick the item up in your hand, standing back to full height once more. In your hand, you stared directly at a gun. A pistol, to be precise. You seem to be in shock, the weapon glued to your hand despite anyone being able to walk in and get you fired and or reported to the police within a matter of seconds. You turn the weapon in your hand in fascination, whispering a “What the…” to yourself.

JJ leans against the doorway with a forearm, just now remembering what resided in that very locker other than the shirt he so generously offered. He’s distracted for a moment by your skin, the skin on the back of your arms and your back as you stand with your uniform shirt bunched in your hand, until of course he spots what’s held in your other hand and physically winces.

“Shit, uh—” JJ vocalises and your head snaps around, sighing in relief once you see that it’s just him. You’re back to marvelling in shock at the item in an instant, ogling between him and the weapon. “So, that’s — that’s not what it looks like—”

“A gun?” You whisper the second word, looking up at him with wide eyes and he points the pistol downwards with his finger when you hold it accidentally facing him.

“Well, okay I mean yes — it’s a gun, but I had no choice. Had to momentarily keep it here, alright? I took it in for a friend and —”

“What are you, some kind of hitman?” You shake your head, earrings jangling a little with your stressed little gesture which would usually warm his heart if he wasn’t focused on deescalating.

“Okay, first of all— why don’t I take this from you missy,” He eases the gun out of your hands and accidentally fumbles it inside his locker, the weapon clattering against the echoey walls making him let out a quiet ‘whoops’ before placing a black gym bag on top of it. He turns to you. “Secondly, no okay I’m not a hitman— I haven’t ever shot a person with this thing.”

“Then… why do you have it?” You furrow your brows, seeming to have calmed down a little, which was relieving despite your reaction being totally valid.

“W—you know, gotta stay strapped. Protect my people.” He shrugs, attempting nonchalance and your eye twitches, realising how different the two of you are. JJ, bad boy with a gun in his locker— and you, straight arrow waitress. “Look all m’saying is if you told me someone was messing with you… I wouldn’t hesitate.”

You stare at him dumbfounded, wondering what on Earth he was going through to lead him to owning a gun, but you daren’t ask— even now. You eye him, brows knitting cutely.

“And you’re sure you’re not some serial killer?” You ask, folding your arms. Mostly joking. Mostly.

“Yeah nah I couldn’t do the whole choppin’ up dead bodies thing, m’pretty squeamish n’I got this thing with my gag reflex where y’know, I — I just—” He gestures to his throat, head bobbing with a preemptive gag but sees the way you’re staring at him like he’d just stepped off a space ship from Mars and decides against the bit, clearing his throat and glancing into his locker. “Enough of that uh— why don’t I go ahead and grab you that shirt you were after…” He reaches inside his locker, pulling out balled up white shirt, quickly turning it back from being inside out.

“There y’go…” He murmurs as he does so to no one in particular before shoving his arms inside and pulling the head hole wider before stuffing you inside it, tugging it until your head pops out, still staring at him a little dumbfounded. “Peekaboo.” He smiles nervously before leaving you to shove your own arm holes through, pulling it down over your tank top. He awkwardly watches before you hand him back his key and he locks his locker once more, glancing around at you.

“So about the—”

“Your secrets safe with me JJ. Thanks for the shirt.”

You swan around in the white fabric like it’s a ball gown for the rest of the day. Delusional didn’t feel like the right word, no— he gave you the shirt, which in your head is flirting— handing you the opportunity to daydream about being his girlfriend and wearing his clothes all the time. Each time you moved you could smell him on you, that faint smell of cigarettes and just him — reminding you of the times you’ve caught him on a rough shift fumbling for a pack of Marlboro Red’s and heading out the back door to be angsty for a while before returning with a plastered on smile. You bite your lip, staring into space as you rub the material between your fingers, waiting for a table to flag you down, excited for the next time you could go into the kitchen and see him… have him see you, wearing his shirt only hoping it hot-wires his brain with some sort of romantic association. Oh, JJ Maybank. He just made you so… so…

“Ugh, mmph JJ!” You cry out, later that night. Guilty, you ended up in nothing but the t-shirt and two fingers stuffed into your weeping cunt. You felt kind of perverse, despite the million promises to yourself to wash the shirt immediately after to return to him— but also there was just something painfully arousing about touching yourself wearing it— every layer beneath it removed to have your hardened nipples peak beneath the thin white fabric, tousled and jostled up where your ribcage was as you grind your digits inside of you.

You were home alone, like usual — which gave you the perfect opportunity to moan his name. Too horny to care about the 0.05% chance he’s strolling in your area and walking past the window, hearing. Even the idea of that aroused you further in the moment, wondering just what he’d think if he knew the sweet and harmless waitress was defiling her cunt in his name, in his shirt. You think about best case scenario, the blonde with his rough hand around his cock— and you knew it was rough from the way it felt when he’d touch your arm or brush against your fingers when handing you a dish. Rough from working on his bike and handling hot food and other Maybank shenanigans that still lead him to fist at his dick in his room at night thinking of you, you and only you.

You cum in your palm and feel disgraced. Poor JJ. You’re a total pervert and you must wash that shirt.

Except you don’t, and you fall asleep— returning to work in your spare uniform the next day. Empty handed. JJ doesn’t notice, hell — he doesn’t care. He’s stacked up with so many orders you almost feel bad even though it’s not your fault. Maybe you’re still riding off the guilt of masturbating in his shirt. There’s a sick sense of pride that twists in your gut when you look at him though. Boyish, sometimes thoughtless blonde with no idea that you came so hard moaning his name just a matter of hours before facing him again. You catch him in a quieter moment, leaning over to his station with a stressed expression to tell him that you forgot to bring his shirt back, to which he just responds with a shrug and a careless wave that read as ‘It’s cool.’ That was the JJ you knew. Cool, calm, didn’t give a shit. You got butterflies at the minute gesture. God, get a grip.

The next time it comes up, it’s because he brings it up. Catching you on your break, a cheekful of pasta he’d made for you to quickly cram down before your manager gets onto you for slacking off— JJ approaches your little table outside, blonde hair feathery and light in the sun. “Howdy there, shirt thief.” He grins lightheartedly, pulling out the other chair on the small circle table you sat at and straddling it backwards, leaning his arms on the backrest.

You nearly choke on your pasta at the speed you go to explain yourself— way to not make yourself seem guilty. “It’s in the washing machine, I literally just kept forgetting I’m sorry JJ.” You look all sweet and worried in the way that makes him wanna pinch your cheeks, so he fiddles with his lighter instead, flicking it on and off in his grasp.

“Nah you’re good.” He chuckles, staring out at the water the restaurant overlooked. It was a windier day, and even from where you sat you could hear the loud roaring of distant waves. “Hey uh— you want a ride home on the old bike? I can come in and grab it if like— if that’s cool.” He suggests, almost seeming a bit hesitant, nervous even.

“Oh! Yeah, I mean I’d have to stick it in the dryer first but you’re free to hang out whilst it dries… unless you really gotta go then, you can have your shirt back damp, I guess.” You mirror the nervous energy tenfold, practically stumbling over yourself to not sound as eager as you were. JJ, in your house.

“Yeah, sweet. Cool cool cool cool.” He bops his head, drumming on the table before suddenly his name was called from inside.

“Maybank! These fish aren’t gonna fry themselves, you know that right?” The tough, unmistakable chain smoker voice of your manager rings through the air and JJ winces theatrically for your entertainment, making you giggle the same way a child might after a party clown does something stupid. It was kind of pathetic, but atleast JJ found it endearing.

You weren’t lying about the shirt, thankfully. Honest — the JJ smell was gone so you’d tossed it in the washing machine before you’d head out onto your shift, planning on finally (reluctantly) returning it the next day.

He pushes himself up to leave, before pausing and leaning over the table towards you. You freeze, and he brings his thumb to your cheek — swiping away a speck of sauce from the pasta that has splattered into your skin from how greedily you wolfed down his food. “Lemme just… get that for you.” He mutters as he does so, turning his thumb around to show you the sauce stain that had transferred to his skin and ease your confusion.

If that wasn’t bad enough, he holds your gaze as he leans back, bringing his thumb to his mouth, cleaning off the sauce. Oh, you sick bastard. He doesn’t even try and hide his smirk— and you stare dumbly at the space he stood even after he’s long gone.

The shift dragged on, tip tapping your feet whenever you stood still for too long, excited bubbles in your stomach fizzing up like shaken pop everytime you thought about the linecook. It felt like hours longer than usual, but finally — the end of your shift came. JJ’s had ended twenty minutes earlier, being replaced by another chef whose plates were always too hot and spoke too loud, making the last stretch of your working hour even tougher. You thought JJ might have forgotten about your little arrangement, just taking off to head home or to go and smoke on the rickety little boat you’d seen him on— but lo and behold, you step out the doors to that wretched place and there he is, leaning on his bike like something out of an 80s movie.

“No helmet?” You’re grinning by the time you reach him, barely containing your excitement. You don’t think you’ve even been on the back of one of these bikes before, let alone with the boy you’re crushing on. JJ scrunches his nose, wincing.

“Wasn’t countin’ on having anyone else on board today, that’s my bad.” He helps you climb on, ensuring you’re sat securely. “I’m a good driver, you’ll be alright. Just uh— hold on tight and I’ll avoid any big potholes, yeah?” He reaches back, taking your arms and wrapping them around his middle, forcing you against his warm back. He’d probably done that for plenty of people, the way it came naturally to him— but in that moment you didn’t care, just nodding as you leant more against him. You tell him your address, and he recognises it, someone he knows living near by. With that, the two of you are off.

You’re truly in bliss, closing your eyes with your cheek pressed to his back, wind whipping past your face. He is a good driver, and you dare even let yourself believe he’s being extra careful with you on board, none of the harsh turns or skids you’ve seen him do on the streets alone. Your cheeks start to ache with how much you’re smiling.

“You all good back there my lil’ backpack?” He pats your leg in a friendly manner at a stop light and you giggle, embarrassed with how fast goosebumps break out.

“Yeah, this is fun!” You yell at an unnecessary volume to be heard over the running engine, making him chuckle and glance round at you.

“Good, that’s good.”

You’re almost sad when the ride is over, his wheels coming to a slow as he parks up haphazardly beside your front lawn. You’re quick to pat your head down, knowing that journey must have you looking dishevelled at best and hop off the bike, patting the pocket of your shorts for your keys.

“My humble abode awaits.” You chirp, cringing afterwards but he smirks and follows you regardless, pulling up his pants boyishly as he stalks behind you up to your front door. Inside your head is a chant, one that consists of hoping and praying your parents wouldn’t be home so you didn’t have to do the whole awkward explanation thing, not that you didn’t have a totally valid excuse — and you were grown, so interacting with boys shouldn’t be the awkward dilemma that it was — but to them you were still their sweet girl regardless of age, and you’d like to keep it that way, which wouldn’t be possible being spotted ushering Pogue King JJ Maybank into your bedroom.

You unlock the door, calling out a ‘hello’ to be met with miraculous silence. JJ shuffles in behind you, closing the door for you and whistling quietly. “This place is pretty fancy, yeah… bet you got like, an electric toothbrush n’shit.” He comments, neck craning to look around as he follows you slowly through the house.

You huff a laugh out your nose, cheeks pressing upwards as you stroll through toward the kitchen. “An electric toothbrush?” You question.

“Yeaaah man, kook shit.” He peers nosily at the calendar, eyeing the events your family have coming up.

You spot a note pinned to the fridge and head towards it, shaking your head. “If I was a kook I wouldn’t be working at a restaurant getting coffee poured down me. Are electric toothbrushes the pinnacle of wealth in your eyes?” You laugh quietly, pulling the note off the fridge.

“Dude in eighth grade I lost my toothbrush and for a year all I had was my finger, some toothpaste and a dream.” He chats, appearing directly behind you and plucking the note from your hand. “Out ‘til late, pizza in fridge.” He reads blankly out loud and you take it back from him, tossing it aside.

“How’d you lose a toothbrush?” You chuckle, leading him out the kitchen.

“I be in situations.” He shrugs, following you to the short flight of stairs. To his core, JJ was truly just a guy— and took very little pride in watching you climb a few steps before he joined you so that he could check out your ass.

“Bet your dentist loved you.” You comment, glancing behind you at him making his eyes snap upwards guilty. He scoffs, wiping his hands on his pants like he was worried about dirtying up your house before grasping onto the bannister, skipping a few steps to hop up.

“Yeah, like I could afford one of those.”

On the landing, you point him towards the hallway, stepping back once you realised you were practically standing on top of him. He didn’t seem to notice, or mind, staring down at you for direction. “My rooms the last door on the right. I’m gonna go toss your shirt in the dryer, ‘kay?”

He nods once, strolling in the direction you pointed him. “Yes ma’am.”

You head to the laundry room and take a moment to collect yourself, sniffing his shirt to make sure it was properly clean before stuffing it into the dryer to turn it on. You lean against its circular door as it starts up, taking a breath before realising you left JJ Maybank alone in your bedroom.

You arrive at the door to your girly haven, immediately yanking a pair of panties off the ground and throwing them into a corner as you spot the blonde by the window, curiously looking around.

“So this is where the magic happens, I assume.” He glances at you, swiping his hat off his head and placing it on your dresser. Something about his gaze and the way it continually flickered to you, waiting for an answer suggested it was a genuine question. He was asking if you were seeing anyone, perhaps. You giggle.

“And if by magic you mean napping after work and reading books, yeah. It gets so magical in here, you wouldn’t believe it.” You sit on your bed, watching him semi-awkwardly pace infront of you, running hands through his hair before stuffing them into his pockets.

“Ah yeah, ha— forgot you were a real good girl. Should stay that way, I like it— and I mean like, there’s hella weirdos round here. Y’know? Better to… steer clear.” He rambles as you watch him with a smile. At work, the blonde seemed more calm, in his element— but here, in your terrain— he seemed slightly more on edge. You tried not to read into it.

Your stomach warms at the ‘good girl’ comment, lashes fluttering only a little before he’s distracted once more. You see him gazing ahead at the shelf above your vanity, opposite the bed where all your baby photos were lined up. His smile grows, and you see the cogs turn in his head.

He strides towards it in an instant, taking the framed image off the shelf. You jump up, following him to try and save yourself the embarrassment of whatever he was looking at but it was too late. He grins, turning his head to look down at you. “Oh wow, now don’t tell me this is you?” He holds the photo up beside your head, glancing theatrically between the two to compare and you bat him away.

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re nosy?”

“Oh yeah, all the time. That, that is adorable though.” He’s immediately distracted by another photo, setting the one in his hand down to pick it up. “And who’s this?” He lifts the picture of your mother holding you as a baby.

“My mother.”

“Total fox. As expected.”

“Okay, no more for you.” You hide your amusement well, reaching out for the photo and grabbing it. He puts up little fight, letting you snatch the frame from his larger hand as he reaches for another, making a total mess of your embarrassing nostalgia display. This last picture is of you, around 5 years old— adorned in a pink princess dress and a plastic tiara, grinning at the camera.

“Aw.” He smirks, turning his body to face you. “Guess some things never change. Still a pretty princess.” You’re not sure if he’s mocking you now, because he’s tonguing at the cut on his lip which makes you gain a second heartbeat in your panties and you freeze up— which in itself is more embarrassing that this whole ordeal. He was a tease by nature he’ll admit, but this — this was fun. Seeing you get flustered was his new favourite thing.

You give him the exact reaction he’s after, failing to hide your smile as you lurch for the frame. He hides it behind his back and you stumble into him, stabilising yourself with both hands on his chest. He’s all… warm, and firm.

There’s a silence, but things are never quiet for too long with JJ. Thankfully.

“Damn, if you wanted to touch me up you could’a just asked. Pro’lly would’a said yes.” The smirk is yet to fade, infact you think it’s permanently stamped onto his mouth and your eyes widen just a smidge— scrambling for a witty comeback that didn’t make you look like a perverse idiot.

“I dunno, after you made fun of my baby pictures? Think I owe you two black eyes.” You tilt your head sweetly, proud of the response and his eyes flicker over your expression, eyes softening just a tad. Or maybe you imagined it.

“‘Think that’s a little extreme. How ‘bout a kiss instead?” You freeze, because it’s then you realise how close the two of you are still. Hes practically got you caged against your vanity, can probably hear how fast he’s got your heart beating— maybe smell the pathetic dribble of arousal seeping into your underwear just from being this close to him. You can’t tell if he’s kidding, and it seems he even caught himself a little off guard, blinking a few times during your stunned silence.

But then you look at his mouth, because asking a question like that is totally giving you permission to do so, and he takes that as an answer and leans in.

You’re so hypnotised when his mouth starts moving against yours that you nearly jump out of your skin when his large hands bracket your waist, pulling your body more flush against his. JJ was a good kisser, which lead you to indeed that he was infact— a whore. Well, maybe a former whore. Whatever, in that moment it didn’t matter— nothing mattered, just JJ and his tongue that was sliding against yours as the kiss heated up.

It feels like hours that your tongues are looping round eachother, snapped out the moment by the hungry blondes hands sliding down, your waist in his grip becomes suddenly your ass cheeks through your shorts, squeezing and pulling you against him practically lifting your entire body. It’s then you realise you having a working voice box, because you let out the most pathetic mewl you’ve ever heard yourself make. Even more pathetic than the noises you made only a few nights ago from your own hand.

He groans back almost as like a response, and with that — finally, he manoeuvres you to start walking backwards towards the very bed you fell apart on at the thought of what you were currently doing, or about to do. Your lips detach when the backs of your knees hit the bed, falling to sit down at the edge of it with a few bounces. He stares down at you for a couple of seconds, disorientated and sore-mouthed like even he can’t believe what’s happening— before he jumps into action. Jittery and clumsily like he always is.

“Should probably uh— if we’re gonna get on the bed I don’t wanna— poke you with somethin’” He stuffs his hands into his pockets, unloading them. His phone, his keys, earphones, cigarettes, wallet, other random knickknacks that would otherwise make you raise an eyebrow if you weren’t already so dazed by him. He’s about to return to you, before his mouth forms an ‘o’ shape, as if he just remembered something — and he reaches into the back of his pants, pulling up the shirt that hung over his waistband to there retrieve his gun. He holds it up with a smile that said ‘How silly of me!’

You gape. “JJ, why do you have that?”

He shuffles some things around on your vanity, scrambling to make space for the piece. “Uh, had to bring it home today… lemme just… set that down there.” He places it next to your jewellery stand, the contrast in the items almost making you laugh in disbelief. “The old problem solver.” He mutters, giving it a fond pat before turning back to you, happy to carry on.

“What if my parents were to come home and see that?” You challenge with a pout, not too keen about him bringing a weapon into your house. He huffs out a smirk, leaning back down to where you’re sat, hands on your shoulders as he slowly lays you down.

“Think they’d be a little more concerned about the dirty pogue on top of their little girl, but y’know…” His words get lower and lazier as he draws in before locking his lips onto yours again, this time wasting no time with introducing his tongue.

You’re back in the zone, gun long forgotten within seconds— running your hands through his hair, over his strong arms, touching everywhere you’ve wanted to touch since you started working at the restaurant. Well, not everywhere.

He’s not holding back on being handsy either, body slotted between your legs after he lifts you further up the bed, grappling at your thighs, hips, and eventually tits. You can’t blame him, there’s desperation behind both of your actions — the fact you’d both wanted this for a while now slowly becoming clear. Your heart thumps hard at this realisation, suddenly less able to breathe and you pull back panting, breath trembling.

His eyes flicker over your face, watching your wet mouth as you ramble. “Wanted— mmph— wanted this for a while.”

He drags his lips over your cheek, pressing his hips against yours and you can feel him hardening. It does little to help you calm down. “Yeah, same… Is it… uh, is it weird I kinda didn’t want you to wash the shirt before givin’ it back to me?” He smiles, dropping another toothy peck to your mouth as his hands continue feeling you up.

Your eyes flutter closed once more when he softly grinds his bulge against your cunt, your knees tightening against his hips as you let out a silent moan, lips parted.

“H-had to. I slept in it.” You admit before you think, brain focused on other things. He laughs quietly against your jaw, smoothing his tongue over the now bitten skin.

“Aw, you did?” He creates some space between the two of you, his hand very slowly starting to trail down your body, past your stomach. “You got it so bad for me, huh?” He teases and you whine, openly and pathetically— spoiled and childish even. JJ didn’t seem the type to talk about his feelings easily, but teasing you for yours was outright mean.

“Shutup.” Comes with the whine, your breath catching pathetically as you feel the rumble of him slowly unzipping your shorts zipper at your crotch, lips detaching from your jaw for a second to look at what he’s doing, still chuckling.

“Thats rude.” He grins, quiet and lighthearted, elated when you start helping him pull your shorts down and kicking them carelessly off. If he wasn’t so desperate to get his hands on you, he would have taken more time to appreciate your cute little cotton panties with the bow on top. They were so you, exactly the sort he pictured you wearing, moreso pictured you soaking through the way you were now.

His hand slides over the length of your covered cunt, all but cupping you and pushing his fingers over the embarrassing amount of wetness on the fabric. “What else did you do in the shirt, hm? Talk me through it babe.”

He’s teasing you, not truly expecting much of an answer as he genuinely believed a sweet girl like you wouldn’t have the gall to do anything but sleep in his shirt. His lips trail down the centre column of your neck, and it bobs with a harsh swallow. Now, his interest is piqued.

“Can’t say!” You whimper, eyes screwed up, legs spreading wider as he gently thumbs at your clit through the fabric, just enough to stimulate you. You feel him remove his mouth from you, lifting his head into your direct eyeline with an amused raise of the brow.

“Well now sweetheart, you’re just gonna have to tell me.” His fingers tuck into the leg hole of your panties, like he wants to pull it aside but won’t. You realise he’s still watching you, waiting for an answer and that he’s not gonna go further until you speak. “Don’t be shy, tell Papa J what you—”

“Touched myself. I touched myself.” You release all in one breath. Now it’s his turn to ogle you, completely off guard. If he wasn’t hard as a rock before, he certainly was now. Probably leaking in his boxers too from how things felt down there. This was poor performance from him, he thought at the back of his mind. This fucked so early on? Shit, he knew he liked you but c’mon.

He peels your panties to the side and you squeak, the boy making no effort to touch you still— just letting the cool air of your room grace your glossy folds.

“And why would you do something like that, baby?” He noses at your cheek, trying to get you to open your eyes. You squeeze them harder before fluttering them open, so hot in the face and embarrassed when you find his gaze you think you might just die.

“Because I like you.” You whisper. It’s sweet, just like he thought you’d be when the time comes. He smiles, dimple deepening as his free hand cups your cheek.

“Because you like me.” He repeats in affirmation. It’s a little smug, he’ll admit — but having his dream girl beneath him had his ego on ten, what can he say. He slides two fingers through your wetness, dragging what he collected up your clit and circling it making you arch your back. “Gotta say, the feelings definitely mutual.”

He kisses you again, and this time it feels like something else. Like a confession, a proposal of some sort. It’s passionate, overwhelming in the best way, intimate — as his fingers start to move, stroking your clit and making your legs tremble in adrenaline.

As you writhe and moan beneath him, his lips swallowing as many as he can, unable to stay away— his other hand starts to slide up your work shirt. You wished you’d been wearing something sexier the first time the two of you got it on, but clearly it sort of did something for him.

If the speed at which he located and stimulated your clit wasn’t enough to convince you that the boy definitely had experience, it would be the way his hand slides around to your back, unhooking your bra singlehandedly. You can’t help but giggle through your whimpers and you’re not sure why, but he smiles too— murmuring “Party trick.” against your mouth. The smile is wiped from your face when his digit glides around your hole, as if lapping up all the wetness and then pushing in— all the way to the knuckle.

You moan and tense up a little, it’s been a while and your own fingers were definitely smaller than his. At your reaction. he pulls back only slightly— a look of concern poorly masked on his face.

“Are you… have you uh, been with a guy before? Or is this…”

“One guy, a while back. Not good at all.” You sigh and he nods patiently, lips twitching up when he starts to move his finger and your eyes flutter involuntarily. “Think I can work with that.”

He twists his wrist a little, working you with just one finger as he paws at your free’d tit, sucking on your tongue. You moan, the sound of your own wetness having its own presence in the room and he hums, pulling back to look down at the way you’re sucking his middle finger in.

“So pretty, you’ve been holdin’ out on me baby. Should be a crime to hide this cute little pussy, damn.” He whispers and you whine in preemptive embarrassment to the way you clench around him, making him chuckle again. “Oh yeah? She liked that, huh?”

“More, please—” You nearly choke on your own swallow as you lift your head, looking down at the way he’s got you spread out. Reaching downwards you gently tug at his wrist, not quite sure of the aim. “N—‘nother one.” You pant. Jeez, already totally fucked dumb and he hasn’t even made you cum. You were going to give JJ Maybank an even bigger head.

He doesn’t say anything, just sinks two fingers into your cunt and you make a noise he’s only heard in amateur porn videos from Twitter, dick usually nestled in his fist. He presses his lips together in a quiet ‘Mhm’ and your hands are back on him, desperate once more to consume him wholly.

Your nails rake through his hair as he finds his rhythm, tonguing at the cut on his lip with wide observant eyes that flicker between your face and your cunt. “Look at you go.” He responds to a moan— but JJ being JJ knows he can do better, which is why he stops thumbing at your nipple and pushes his hand into the bed instead, using the weight on his arm to start sliding down your body.

The first kiss against your stomach catches you off guard, and if you weren’t so dizzy from pleasure you might wanna think about it more. He repositions his hand, stroking your inner thigh as he pushes them wider apart and shushes you, now face to face with your glistening pussy. His fingers slow their movements for a moment.

“She’s real pretty.” His fingers slide out so he can make messy doing of spreading your folds with his fingers, licking his already wet lips.

“Thank you.” You mewl happily, eyes watery as they gaze down at him like he hung the moon and stars for you.

“You’re so sweet.” He smiles genuinely and fairly innocently up at you as he strokes your thigh affectionately— before of course counteracting that by shooting out a thick bubbling glob of spit directly onto your clit, making your jaw drop. Lifting your thighs, he murmurs. “So sweet you get me hard. S’kinda unfair… at work.” Before he chases the spit with the flat of his tongue, bringing the muscle up to then wrap his lips around your clit and suck.

No noise can leave you for a few seconds, brows furrowed and jaw dropped in a silent moan until he forces the noise out of you by stuffing his fingers back inside your weeping hole.

“Oh— oh, JJ!” Your toes curl and in record time you feel your first orgasm approaching. It’s different from the ones you give yourself, it’s a ball of fire in your stomach and heat licking up your spine, eyes even watering at the exertion.

“Yeah say my name, c’mon.” He coaches you, moving his tongue faster like he’s competing with himself to make you cum.

“JJ, mmpph— feels— it feels—” You nearly sob.

“How’s it feel?”

“M’gonna—”

“Cum, babydoll. I got you.”

White noise. Like, almost the sounds of waves crashing. It doesn’t really feel like you’re a person anymore — but one thing is for certain. You have never cum like that in your life. You must of been on autopilot, moaning and whining pathetically, slurring out nonsense and maybe a twisted version of his name— but when you come back to Earth you’re near hyperventilating.

You slap at his shoulders with shaky hands because his lips are still latched onto your pulsing nub, fingers still squelching and working the release out of you. “Ok—okay, Jayj— please!” You let out a pathetic little cry and he eases up, pushing himself off you with a satisfied hum and grinning cheekily, letting you push out his fingers. You suck in shaky breaths, letting him soak in the moment by bringing his fingers to his mouth and cleaning them off.

“Better than anything I make, can tell you that.” He jokes. “Taste that shit, s’fuckin’ delicious.” He eases his fingers into your mouth, letting you suck off the remains with a humiliated mewl before removing them, leaning over you to kiss you. God, it’s embarrassing how much you soaked his face. Really, how it ended up on his forehead— you wasn’t sure. You were too focused on your own taste he was forcing into your mouth with his tongue, purposeful and cocky, making sure to roll his own wet muscle over your tastebuds so that you never forget who made you cum that hard.

It’s then, and only then he realises you’re freaking a little and lets you off for a break, cupping your cheek as he pulls back. “Are you good?” He chuckles and you inhale deeply, still trembling. You’re not sure what he does, because everything’s all hazy but he manhandles you a little until he’s cradling you in strong biceps, brow creased. “Did I go too hard? I may— may have gotten a lil’ carried away there. My apologies.” He holds up a hand that wasn’t cradling you.

“Was just— haven’t — it’s never felt like that before. Never felt that good.” You admit, which brings back his dimple and that sickeningly soft look in his eyes.

“What can I say, you deserve the best there is when it comes to receiving orgasms, and I,” He presses his mouth back on yours, kissing you between each word. “Am the best, there, is, at, giving them.” On the last kiss you lean into it, holding him there, as you’re ambushed by an unexpected feeling.

Some kind of surge in your stomach, like butterflies but bigger, your heart pounding. If you weren’t so dazed you’d be worried the L word was coming to doom you early. The feeling made you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him back ontop of you, jean clad bulge pressed back against your sensitive heat as you moan, high pitched and happy against him.

He pulls back to make some kind of joke, maybe a comment about your recovery time but you beat him to the chase, staring up into his dilated pupils with love hearts occupying your own. “Wanna make you feel good, Jayj.”

“You—how—”

You suckle on your bottom lip, hand bravely travelling down to cup the bulge that was calling to attention in his jeans. His breath catches in his throat, lips parting to let out a quiet and surprised groan.

“I’ve never—” Your face is hot again. “Never given a blow job before but—”

“Next time. Yeah? If you’ll let me I kinda just… wanna fuck you.” He smirks and hides it in your jawline, almost too shy in the moment to look you in the eye. Your brows furrow with a silent whimper at his words.

“Next time?” You mewl happily like you’re floating on air. At this he pulls back, a hopeful grin.

“If you’ll have me, that is. Figured I should take you out on a real date.”

You don’t have time to respond, he doesn’t let you— perhaps out of nerves. Instead, he’s working your panties that had been pushed to the side down your legs, followed by pulling your tshirt over your head. “Peekaboo, there she is.” He smiles quietly and you giggle, thinking back to the time at the locker where he pulled his shirt over your head. You toss your loose bra away from the bed, now laying bare beneath him.

He sits back on his knees, hands instinctually lifting to his head like he wanted to fix his hat, a habit you noticed of his that would occur when he’s overwhelmed or in awe. He settles on running his hands through the blonde tresses instead, big goofy smile on his face.

“Holy shit. I mean like — holy shit.” He breathes and you turn your head shyly, then reaching out to tug at his shirt.

“You too.” You gesture to his shirt and he offs it within a second, not wanting to look away from your naked body from a minute. Once his hands are free again, he’s sliding them up to your chest, greedily massaging your tits in both hands.

“Fuck, you are so fine. I mean like I think I nearly came in my pants.” He admits quietly and you tug at his belt, having to remind him of what you were actually doing.

“C’mon, Jayj— want you to fuck me!” You whine, all doe eyes and pouts, not even registering how pathetic and desperate the sentiment was — only making his cock throb harder. He buckles slightly, like it physically pains him and he nods quickly, fumbling with his belt until he could pull his jeans down just enough to release himself.

It’s long, pink and pretty like you expected — pearly precum gathering at his tip. He grasps it infront of you, eyes flickering between yours and his dick, suddenly looking hesitant. “So uh, this is what m’ working with.” He announces awkwardly, overthinking everything — but it doesn’t matter because you’re wrapping a delicate hand round it, guiding him to your entrance.

“Woah there missy, okay uh— hold your horses. This job don’t pay either of us enough for you to get knocked up.” He side rolls off the bed hobbling over to the dresser for his wallet, retrieving a condom and returning. You would have laughed, but you get all embarrassed and teary eyed about how overly eager you’d been.

“Sorry. I wasn’t thinkin’.” You pout and his eyes flutter up to yours, kneeling between your legs.

“Hey? You’re good.” He tears the packet open with his teeth and you clench around nothing. “You’re good.” He repeats, stroking your thigh as he eases the rubber onto his cock. “Still up for it, babe?”

You bite your lip with a sniffly giggle, nodding and he grins himself, laying on top of you to press a sloppy kiss to your mouth. He pulls away, and he lines himself up before slowly easing himself in.

Your legs around his waist hug him tighter and your toes curl at the stretch, wincing. “You got it.” He encourages, voice breathier like it teetered on a moan which only made you flutter around him.

“S’big, JJ.” You whimper and he huffs against your neck.

“I— thanks.”

Once he’s in, he’s in — and you can see how his fingers and tongue were only just the appetiser. He fucks like it’s the last time, like his life depends on it— rolling his hips, his hands somehow in ten places at once, his tongue — oh his tongue, it’s in your mouth, then down your neck, then looping around your nipple making you clench and whine and cry.

He starts to speed up, unable to control himself as his hands slide under your lower back to hold you, thumbing at your waist. “Shit, shit, shit.” He grits his teeth, having to contain himself there and then from cumming when he sees the way your tits bounce beneath him. “Takin’ that shit so good, huh? Jesus baby.” He wrinkles his nose in exertion, panting.

“S’just so good, JJ— mmph!”

“Yeah? Y’gonna think of this everytime I see you, shit, everytime I see you in the kitchen? Givin’ me those big sexy fuck me eyes everytime I hand you a plate? Shit baby, pretty little waitress, huh. N’ you’re all mine now. So freakin’ lucky.” Hes rambling, nonsensical— already pussy drunk.

You’re in ecstasy. Not only from how he felt, but from how you were making him feel. It occurred to you that no one seems to talk about the validation you receive from finally getting to fuck your crush, watching them come apart over you. You wanted more, wanted to impress him.

In a trance, you push at his stomach, shuffling upwards so he reluctantly pulls out, concern on his clammy face. You fumble, rolling onto your front, sticking your ass in the air, looking over your shoulder.

“Please.” You plead, and you’re not sure what for— but it works, the blonde puffing out his cheeks with a dramatic exhale, lining himself behind you and pushing in. “Gonna be the death of me, babydoll.”

You may have overestimated your abilities, crying pathetically when he bottoms out, his cock feeling ten times it’s size from this angle.

“Arch that back baby, there you go, just like that.” He whispers, pressing down on your lower back making you sob. You fuck back against him, pressing your cheek to your pillow, fingers curling into it for security. “Good girl, that’s right.” He drops a hand beneath you, finding your clit once more and as a surprise ambush, you cum— suddenly and embarrassingly, gushing around his cock leaving a ring of cream at his base.

He doesn’t stop this time, giving you a moment to catch your breath as you whine and mewl like a distressed kitten. No, if anything — he goes harder, his own release on the precipice. The bed is creaking now, wooden headboard smacking the wall as he leans his weight on the back of your arms, pelvis slapping against your ass. Little squeaks are punched out of you with each thrust, and when you think he’s reached a crescendo— he slows.

“Fuck, fuck turn around baby. Need to see that pretty face to cum, c’mon.” He pants in one breath, fighting you back onto your back and sliding back in with ease this time, pushing one knee up to your chest and rolling his hips, eyes squeezed shut.

He tries to keep them open, eyes everywhere— your tits, your big wet eyes, your lips. Like he can’t help himself, he sloppily cups your cheek, a thumb brushing your bottom lip. Wanting to help him along in your post orgasm brain-fog, your tongue peeks out, trying to catch the finger as he bounces you on his cock. Once you’ve got it, you wrap your lips around it, sucking with devotion and love hearts in your eyes.

“Oh my— god” He whimpers, finally dropping his cheek to your chest as he ruts into you, spilling his seed. You moan at the feeling, scratching at his back and fluttering around him. The butterflies return.

After ten minutes, you’re laying on his thick bicep— his blunt fingernails scratching your scalp at the bottom of your skull. The dryer beeps distantly, signifying that it’s completed its cycle.

Maybank is staring at you, like he’s trying to memorise your face, like it’s the last time he’ll ever see you. An amused smile breaks out onto your face, trying to hide it in his arm as you press a kiss there. At this, a grin spreads on his own face, questioning.

“You know… I do actually have an electric toothbrush.”

“I freaking knew it.”

#linecook!jj #jj maybank fic 🎀

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bts-hyperfixation · 9 months

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Repercussions

A Hoseok x Namjoon x Reader Fanfiction

Summer madness 7/32 Y/N is fed up of not being the center of attention because Namjoon and Hoseok are busy. But can she handle it when bratting gets her EXACTLY what she asked for? Degradation, name-calling, fem oral, Dom/sub

"I'm kinda busy here sweetheart." Namjoon dismisses you.

The rapper is bent over his mixing boards, hard at work on what is sure to be the next big thing on the Korean music scene. Too bad you didn't really care all that much, the South Korean public had monopolised more than enough of his time, especially with enlistment coming up. It left you feeling particularly sour about the lack of attention you had been receiving of late, both from Namjoon and Hoseok.

You drape yourself over Namjoon's shoulders and sigh dramatically. He rolls his eyes but continues with his work, largely ignoring you in favour of his new album.

You walk your fingers along his arm, tracing the veins that stick out along his biceps.

"Love we can play later." He says shrugging you off.

"But I want to play now." You whine in the most petulant voice you can muster.

He looks up at you finally, but it's not the look of defeat you'd been hoping for. His tongue is buried in his cheek, one eyebrow raised. It's a look that tells you he is not in the mood for you to be bratty right now...

It's a look that might've worked on you ordinarily, sent you whimpering off with your tail between your legs to wait for him on his terms. Except he has told you later twice this week and fallen asleep before later ever arrived. This time you weren't willing to back down.

"That look has never been followed by anything good." You tease.

You make yourself comfortable on his sofa as he watches. You make a point of laying against the arm and arching your back in a way you know accentuates your curves, a pose he wouldn't normally refuse. You close your eyes and run your hands down your body, groaning as you ghost over your breasts. They continue down past your belly button, hovering at the tops of your thighs.

You open one eye to glance at him, to make sure your audience is truly captive. His knuckles are turning white from holding on to his knees too tightly.

"Y/N..." It's a warning, his voice low and gravelly.

"What? If you don't want to play I might as well make myself comfortable."

Your hands continue. You let your skirt fall upwards exposing your thighs properly. You dig your nails into the unmarred flesh leaving red marks in your wake.

"Y/N stop." He commands, but you've gone too far to listen.

You play with the seem of your panties. Your finger dips across the growing wet patch in the middle of the fabric, the coolness of your hand making you shiver. A hand reaches out and covers yours and you think you've won.

You open both your eyes to look at Namjoon but your triumph is quickly replaced with dread when you meet his eyes.

"Y/N I love you so much, but right now you are testing the limits of that love."

Your stomach drops and immediately you sit upright. He brings his hand up to your face and caresses your cheek as you whimper under his touch.

"I said later, sweetheart."

You nod this time and he releases your face. He turns back to his work and it is clear that is all that will be said on the matter for now.

You decide to go in search of Hobi. His mood hadn't been particularly cheery this morning, but perhaps he might be easier to sway than Namjoon.

You find the man in your 'everything room'. A spare bedroom that you had converted for use as a dance studio, gym, movie theatre, and other recreational activities. Your favourite feature happened to be the closet that turned around to reveal Hobi's favourite toys. It fills you with hope when you see him standing near the door only to find it facing the other way and filled with boring things like ankle weights and sweat towels.

You loiter in the doorway watching him wipe away the sweat that accumulated along his collar bones. He doesn't seem to notice your presence, or at least he ignores you if he does. He tosses the used towel across the room towards the hamper and presses play on his phone.

A song from his latest album blares across the speakers and like clockwork his body springs into the routine he has been practising for days. He moves harshly in time to the beat, meeting each step with perfect timing any mistakes he makes are completely imperceptible to the untrained eye. But he sees them. And you can see each one on his face as he becomes more annoyed with himself.

As the song comes to an end he grumbles to himself and finally turns to look at you.

"What's wrong Jagiya?" He asks.

"Missed you." You pout.

You jut your bottom lip out hoping to goad him into kissing you. It fails.

"I need to get this perfect before the weekend Y/N... How about we spend the evening together?" He suggests.

"But I'm lonely now..." You groan.

"Don't use that tone of voice with me." He rolls his eyes "You know that only works on Joonie."

"Not today apparently." You grumble under your breath.

He catches it anyway.

"OH! So I'm not even your first choice today? Silly Brat couldn't take no for an answer?" His voice turns cold.

You stammer for a response but he raises his hand to stop you.

"I want you to go to our room and stay there until I come and get you. Don't ask for things you've already been told you can't have Y/N you know better than that." He chastises.

You want to protest, not ready to give up on your endeavour. You're certain if you could just try for a little longer he will give you exactly what you want.

"But Hobi..." You pout, fake tears threatening your waterline.

"Don't. I've given you your orders, I'll deal with you later. Now go." He waves you away and starts his music again.

You huff loudly as you leave ensuring he hears your displeasure.

You glance at Namjoon's closed studio door one more time but decide better of it. And so you sulk for the rest of the afternoon, lounging on your shared bed and flipping through different shows on Netflix.

______________

Almost five hours later the door opens to reveal an irate-looking Hoseok. He flicks on the lights and unplugs the TV.

"You're so annoying. Did you know that?" He pauses like he expects a response.

But you know better than to give one.

"You think you'd be grateful, you know? So many others would kill for the life we've given you, yet you take it for granted..."

You whimper as he stalks closer to the bed, scrambling against the headboard.

"But maybe you're right. Maybe we haven't been indulging you enough. Maybe the unlimited credit cards and a beautiful apartment aren't enough for you? Maybe we've been selfish working so hard to provide for you, hmm?"

He crawls across the bed towards you leaving you nowhere to escape to as he cages you in. He reaches out and hooks a finger under your thumb, forcing your gaze up to meet his.

"Clearly you've been neglected, so let me fix that... strip."

His hand drops down into his lap and he gives you just enough room to dispose of your clothing. You do so quickly, knowing better than to leave Hoseok waiting when he gets like this. You sit with your back against the headboard, legs spread wide with space for him in between. He appraises you, gaze lingering in all his favourite places. He looks hungry. But he doesn't touch, not yet.

"Show me how needy you are."

You place your hand between your legs, using two fingers to part your labia exposing your little pink hole. You can feel how wet you are with just a small motion, the skin sticky from waiting so long. The cool air causes goosebumps along your skin.

"Touch yourself." He growls.

You whine, realising he has no intention of touching you himself, at least not yet. You start reluctantly, teasing at your entrance with no real conviction hoping he might take over if you do it wrong.

Instead, he slaps your thigh, making the skin jiggle and leaving a bright red print in his wake.

"I know you're dumb Y/N but you're not that dumb. Show me how you pleasure yourself." He sneers.

This time you try harder, dragging your hand up towards your clit. You circle the sensitive bud, eyes closing as you focus on the pleasure.

Another slap lands on your leg, this time he digs his nails into the flesh leaving behind little halfmoon bruises. His free hand tucks back under your chin, forcing you to look at him. He doesn't need to speak his command this time, clear in his intention. Your eyes don't leave his as you play with yourself.

Your hand moves quicker and in more erratic rhythms as you get close. Cramps start in your wrist as the movements become more jolted the closer you get to the edge but you don't dare stop. Your head flops back against the headboard as you cum, eyes squeezing shut, unable to focus them any longer.

"Colour?" Hobi asks as your high fades away.

"Green." You affirm.

Hoseok grins at you and leans forward to kiss you quickly.

And then just like that, nice Hobi is gone again.

He attaches himself to your collarbones, marking across your skin with ugly red and purple bruises. His hands press your legs outwards, making them burn as he stretches them further apart than naturally possible. Slowly they inch down towards your centre so close to their target before you are interrupted by a cough at the doorway.

You look up to find Namjoon looking annoyed with his arms crossed, but Hoseok barely bothers to acknowledge his appearance, fingers finally finding their target as he pushes two inside of you with no warning.

"Hob-ah... I thought you were going to wait for me." Namjoon frowns.

"Got impatient." Hoseok shrugs, mouth refusing to detach from your collar.

You try to reach out for Namjoon but Hoseok curls his fingers at just the wrong moment, all thoughts of getting to your other lover abandoned instead for incoherent moans.

"I don't think you're doing a good enough job Hob-ah, the needy brat is still verbal." Namjoon scoffs.

Easily provoked, Hoseok immediately abandons his attempt to completely repaint your collar bones and drops into his stomach. His lips wrap expertly around your clit as his tongue dives into the centre of the nerves. You squeal and writhe as he attacks the sensitive bud.

Namjoon is quick to cross the room, pacing his lips on yours to swallow the noises that escape you. He bites hard on your bottom lip making it swell, a reminder of him that will likely last for days. His hand comes up around your throat holding you in place.

Hoseok pushes a third finger inside of you. The stretch proves too much and he works you through your second orgasm. His fingers maintain their pace and his tongue continues to wiggle against your clit preventing you from seeking any relief from the intense wave as it washes over you.

You try to moan out for Hoseok to stop, hands seeking his hair to tug at the strands but Namjoon stops you. His free hand bats yours away easily and his lips capture any noise that manages to escape past the hand constricting your throat.

"I thought this was what you wanted slut? Didn't you want our attention? Don't tell me after two orgasms you're ready to throw in the towel?" Namjoon whispers cruelly, biting at your earlobe.

Hoseok chuckles at Namjoon's taunts, the vibrations making your overstimulation worse. The man between your legs keeps going until your thighs are shaking, threatening to close in around his head, a third orgasm rattling through you. When he eventually does pull back, you're panting for air, Namjoon's hand finally fully releasing your throat.

Hoseok doesn't allow you much time to catch your breath, claiming your lips with his own, allowing you to taste yourself all over him, his chin dripping with you.

You're so wrapped up in what he is doing, you drift away from Namjoon, no longer aware of what he is doing. It's too late when you realise he is between your legs, dangerously pillowy lips torturously close to your clit. The bundle of nerves is still throbbing from Hobi's onslaught, not yet ready for more.

But Namjoon isn't always known for his patience.

He lays his tongue flat against your heat and licks a long slow line upwards, gathering your cum along his tongue. You try to scramble away as he flicks the tip over your clit, but are met by the headboard with nowhere to escape. Hoseok bites along your shoulder to distract you, settling in at your side so he can watch Namjoon go down on you. He reaches out and threads his finger in the other man's hair, guiding him along your sensitive pussy.

He is messier than Hoseok, much less precise in his movements. His tongue dips inside of you, pushing as far as he can manage before pulling back out and dragging upwards to circle your clit. It's just enough stimulation to keep you hanging, but never quite enough to push you over the precipice.

His hands dig into your thighs, pushing them away as they try to close around his head. Tears roll down your cheeks as he pulls back and bites at your legs in warning. You try to force them to stay open but the closer you get the more you tremble. Just when you think your legs are going to snap like a rubber band he lets you cum. Your thighs suffocate him as they rush to close around his head, shaking from the force of your fourth orgasm.

He doesn't seem to mind as he emerges beaming moments later. He reaches out to caress your face, wiping away the tear tracks.

"Are you okay love?" He asks.

You nod in response, not trusting your voice to have returned just yet. Namjoon wipes your cum from his face using his t-shirt and tosses the soiled garment towards the door to be dealt with later. He then pulls you forward into his lap, cuddling you closely.

Hoseok brushes a hand lovingly through your hair before disappearing from the room. He returns with wipes and snacks. He plugs the TV back in as he walks past and settles in on the bed next to Namjoon, playing with your hands.

"I'm sorry we've been busy lately, love," Namjoon whispers, kissing your head.

"Once I've finished this weekend's performance, all my schedules are finished, I'm all yours," Hoseok says.

They turn the TV back to the channel you had been watching when Hoseok had come in and set about cleaning you up as you lay limp in Namjoon's arms.

"You guys didn't cum..." You say as Hoseok pushes your legs apart to clean you up.

"I'm sure you'll make that up to us next time, I don't think you could handle anymore today," Hobi says.

As if to illustrate his point, he merely ghosts a wipe over your clit and it causes you to flinch.

"As long as next time is soon." You pout.

"Very soon," Namjoon promises " You have some very bratty behaviour to make up for..."

Masterlist

Prompt from: @hobizjagiya

#namjoon smut #hoseok smut #jhope smut #rm smut #bts smut #bts fic #kpop smut #kpop fic #bts imagines #namjoon fic #hoseok fic #bts poly #rm fic #jhope fic #hobi smut #Hobi fic

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sparkypantaloons · 8 months

Text

Pocket Square

Dick helps Jason get ready for his first gala.

When Alfred sends Dick up to check on Jason, it’s all Dick can do not to snap at the older man. Agreeing to be here was one thing, but playing babysitter had never been part of the deal.

“Master Bruce is already at the Museum.” Alfred calls up the stairs after him. “We need to be on our way in fifteen minutes.”

“Alright!” He calls back, dragging his feet to the East Wing. He doesn’t quite manage to keep the bite out of his voice.

It’s the annual Wayne Memorial Fundraiser. An obscenely ostentatious party at the Gotham Natural History Museum. Every year Bruce pours who knows how much money into hosting, and every year, everyone from celebrities, to politicians, to Royalty, stump up for a ticket. Their money goes towards everyone in Gotham who has lost a family member to crime that year, and the rich and fabulous get photoed at the event of the season for their trouble.

Bruce says he hates it as much as Dick does, but clearly not enough to keep hosting the damn thing. This year the theme is 1920s, all Great Gatsby opulence, and totally ignoring the greatest economic downturn to ever hit the country that same decade.

Dick is dressed in a tailcoat. The soot-black jacket cut short at the front, tapering off at the back down towards his knees. Beneath is a white waistcoat, over white shirt and a white bow-tie for good measure. He feels like he’s going to dinner on the Titanic; impending sense of dread and all. But while he’s never been one for all the pomp, circumstance and nonsense that comes with the Wayne lifestyle, even he can admit to feeling pretty sharp in a tailored suit.

Jason’s room is down the same corridor Dick’s old room used to be, and the dull clench Dick feels in his stomach, is the same one he had last time he was down here. Packing his bags to leave… Not that things are as bad these days, as they had been then. But the Manor is hardly, Dick’s favourite hangout spot at the moment. He’ll be glad to get out of here.

He raps on Jason’s door with his knuckle, frowns at the light scuff in his otherwise brilliantly polished shoes. Wonders if he can get away with using his pocket square to buff it out. Jason distracts him before he can get to it.

“I’m not coming!” The twelve year old shouts from behind the old wooden door.

Dick scoffs. “Yeah right, kid. If I have to go, you have to go.” He pauses for a response. “Alfred says we’ve gotta be in the car in ten minutes.”

“I don’t care.” Jason yells back. “I’m not going to the stupid party.”

Dick rolls his eyes. “Yes, you are.”

“No. I’m not.”

Dick did not sign up for this. He might be trying to be more civil with Bruce these days and maybe he was a bit harsh towards Jason when the kid arrived, but he sure as hell isn’t interested in dealing with temper tantrums. It’s way above his pay grade, and his emotional investment if he’s honest. “Whatever, dude.” He says nonchalantly. “Ten minutes! Well, eight now.”

“I said—” There’s a sudden whoosh, as Jason positively rips his door open. “I’m not going!” He stares up at Dick glaring, cheeks flushed and eyes red. He’s dressed in his pyjamas, his hair sticking out all over the place.

“Have you been crying?” Dick asks, incredulously. A little meanly, actually. Smart move, Grayson. So much for that Rob— Nightwing empathy. He slides his foot forward just in time to stop Jason slamming the door in his face. “Sorry.” He adds, more sincere this time. “Are you okay?”

“Like you care.” Jason snaps, savagely. He’s trying to force the door shut in Dick’s face, but Dick doesn’t budge. “Just fuck off,” He growls, giving up. “I’m not coming.” He abandons the door and flops over onto his bed.

Dick stands a little awkwardly in the doorway. Considers his next move. He doesn’t have much interest in this kid if he’s honest. No more than any other child he might meet in the course of his day, at least. He doesn’t wish him ill and yeah, it’s a shame the kid is upset for whatever reason, but it’s not… it’s not his problem. And part of him, the part he’s been trying to tame these last few months, is more than a little pissed off that Bruce isn’t here to deal with this himself. Bruce is the one who adopted the kid. He’s about ready to turn on his heel and head back down to Alfred. Let the older man deal with whatever pre-teen-temper-tantrum this is. But then he hears what is undeniably a choked-off sob from the bed.

“You uh… you wanna talk about it?” Dick asks, hands in his pockets as he slowly heads to the bed.

“Nope.” Jason pops the p. Doesn’t look up from where he’s face-planted on the covers.

“You sure? Maybe I can help.”

Jason snorts at that. “Like you give a shit.”

Dick can’t really argue with that, he’s never been a very good liar. Instead he says “Maybe not, but it’s gotta be better than,” he gestures vaguely at Jason’s back. “All this.”

Jason turns his head to look at where Dick is now standing at the end of the bed. “I’m not going.” He says again. He sounds utterly miserable.

“You have to.” Dick shrugs.

“Why?”

“Because Bruce said so.”

“Since when do you do what Bruce says?”

The comment hits a little too close to home and for a moment Dick’s temper flares.

Jason must see it cross his face. “Sorry.” He says quickly, and he looks genuinely sorry. “I just…” he sits up on the edge of the bed, wrings his hands. “Sorry.”

Dick sighs. “It’s okay.” He says. Even though it doesn’t feel it. “But we really have to go. Alfred will kill us if we’re late.

Jason bites his lip at that, looks like he might start crying again. “Dick, I— I can’t...” He says quietly, eyes on his hands.

“Why not?”

Jason looks Dick up and down, gestures. “Look at you.” He says. “And Bruce too, will look so, so smart and— and—” he screws his eyes shut, “and I’m just going to look like some Crime Alley kid he dragged off the street. Some fucking charity case and he said Michelle Obama is going to be there, Dick and I can’t even get my shirt to button up.”

“Your shirt?” Dick asks, because that’s a lot of information and he needs to work up to the big stuff. “Why can’t you button up your shirt?”

“Because they’re not buttons!” Jason wails, miserably. “They’re these funny little metal things and I’m just too stupid and too poor to—”

“Hey.” Dick says firmly, placing his hands on Jason’s shoulders. “Hey, enough of that.” He waits as Jason takes some calming breaths. “You’re not stupid. And you’re not too poor either. You’re Bruce Wayne’s kid now. That makes you richer than Michelle Obama.”

Jason doesn’t say anything to that, just sniffles.

“Let’s take a look at this shirt.” Dick suggests, stepping back from the twelve year old. “Where is it?”

Jason shuffles over to the closet and passes Dick the shirt. Then he rummages in his pyjama pocket. Pulls out a handful of little silver studs.

“He couldn’t have just got you a regular shirt?” Dick mutters.

“I wanted to be like him.” Jason says, so quietly Dick almost doesn’t catch it. The sentiment is painfully familiar.

“Why didn’t you ask Alfred to help you?”

“Alfred cooks all of my meals and helps me with my homework, and cleans my room and helps me if I’m injured on patrol. I can’t ask him to help me get dressed as well.” Jason says miserably.

Dick frowns at the shirt in his hand, creased from lying in a pile on the floor. He lets out a sigh. “I’ll help you.” He says, shaking out the shirt. “You’re not stupid, Jason. Bruce is stupid. He forgets not everyone grew up in Downton Abbey.”

For the briefest of moments, Jason looks hopeful. Then it descends into confusion. “What’s Downton Abbey?”

Dick helps Jason with his suit. He’s not surprised the kid was stressed. The stud buttons are fiddly little beasts, and it takes more than a few attempts at each one before the shirt is properly done up. It has double cuffs too and Jason had never even heard of cufflinks.

The twelve year old’s mood slowly improves as he puts on each part of the suit, and by the time Dick is showing him how to do his bow tie, he’s almost grinning.

“Okay,” Dick says, manoeuvring Jason in front of the mirror. “Step one. This end longer than the other.” And he adjusts the tie slightly around Jason’s neck. “This loops over here, then pull this across. Loop that side back over the top and— pull it through… et voila!”

Jason beams at Dick’s reflection, his eyes are wide. “Thanks.” He says, slightly breathlessly. He turns slightly, to look at himself over his shoulder. “I… I look like Bruce.” He says, puffing his chest slightly.

Dick can’t help but laugh at that. He remembers doing exactly the same thing before his first gala. For all that Batman was impressive, there was something about just Bruce that was special too. In a suit he looked somewhere between James Bond and the President and a school Principal. Someone who was smart and important and capable. Who always seemed calm and and in control, when so much of Dick’s life had been chaos after his parents died. In the early days, it was what used to make Dick feel safe. Before he knew the truth about presidents and Bond and Bruce. Unreliable, controlling and secretive.

Jason will learn for himself one day, Dick thinks, a little grimly. Though maybe it won’t be so bad for him, if Dick is there to ease him through—

The thought catches Dick off guard and he shakes his head a little.

“One last touch.” He says, to Jason. “We really need to brush your hair.” And he ruffles Jason’s curls with his hand.

Fifteen minutes later, they’re stood in front of Bruce’s 1920s vintage Rolls Royce. Alfred’s irritation at their tardiness seemingly alleviated by the skip in Jason’s step. He insists on snapping a photo of the two of them.

“Can I have a copy?” Jason asks, before Alfred has even lowered the camera. “I mean um…” He looks up at Dick. “If that’s okay with you?”

The question takes Dick by surprise, the answer even more so. “Of course.” He says to Jason, putting an arm around the younger boy’s shoulder. “Alfred, I’ll have a copy too.”

#batfam #spbfic #batfam fic #jason todd #batfic #batfamily #dick grayson #batfamily fanfic #robin #nightwing

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msanonymous · 1 year

Text

“What do you do about your future husband?” my cousin asked me the other night.

“What can I do about him,” I answer, chuckling, at the absurdity of the question, and when she stays quiet, “I pray for him, I think that's what I can do the most." I add.

“I meant other than praying, obviously.” she says.

“I don't know what else is there?” I ask. “I wonder about him...” I add later in a quiet voice.

“Like what? Please enlighten me.” She turns to me eager to hear what I'd say next.

I shift my gaze to the moon, sigh and let it all out, not caring about the fact that she'll call me an idiot after hearing the words that I'll utter next.

“I wonder if he likes to read, like me, if yes then what kind of books he likes. What are his favourite books? Favourite author? I wonder if he has a favourite spot at the masjid, where he likes to pray. What Quranic verses are his favourite and which ones give him strength every day. How does he prefer his coffee hot or cold, or not at all. If he ever takes a long way home just to appreciate the creations of the creator. If he smiles at strangers, on the streets. If he takes pictures of the sky. I wonder who he wonders about when looks at the moon. What kind of dreams he sees, while gazing at the stars. If he likes rain and goes outside to play in it like a little kid or just likes to stay inside his room and read while sitting by his window, like me. If he likes reading poetry, if he ever writes them. I wonder what his voice sounds like and what accent he has. I wonder what his laugh sounds like, or if he ruffles his hair often. What is the colour of his irises? What will his eyes do when they'll take me in for the first time, will they avert like every other soul or he'll be different. If he dreads social gatherings, just like me or enjoys spending time with people. Like I tap my fingers on surfaces and crack my knuckles, what does he do when he is anxious and overwhelmed. I wonder what calms him after that. I wonder if he has someone he can go to when he feels like that, I hope he does. I wonder if he was ever brave enough to fall in love with someone. I wonder if I'll ever get the chance to meet him in this world. I wonder if I'm even the last person on his mind, while he somehow never leaves mine. I wonder if he is looking for me, at the end of his story…”

“Oh my, that's a very poetic way to love the love of your life who still belongs in the future.” She says, chuckling. Making me surprised about the fact how she didn't think it was funny and absurd.

“How did you even form that sentence sitting here on the rooftop at 4am very very sleep deprived?” I ask her.

“The same way you could write an entire poem sitting here on the rooftop at 4am very very sleep deprived, darling. Well, you are my favourite poet for a reason so I shouldn't be surprised of course.” she finishes, smiling at me.

“First of all, don't tell me you didn't ever wonder about yours, before meeting him. Secondly, why did you even ask that & thirdly, I'm not a poet, let alone your favourite one” I mumble the last part, staring at my empty coffee cup.

“I did, but not like you. And I asked that because I wondered if people can love despite the distance in time, I guess we can. And I get to decide who's my favourite poet and who's not. You don't appreciate yourself enough, you know. You're always writing poetries without realising, you write poetry even when at times when you think you don't, you speak poetry, as if you're the poem itself. But don't worry he'll let you know, once he'll meet you.” she replies, taking the empty cup from my hand, getting up from her chair.

“And you should write it in your diary, the poem, it was worth it. And come down.” she yells, before descending the stairs.

#scattered pages of my diary

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cherievol6 · 2 years

Text

hey, neighbour!

this isnt proof readddd. sorry if there’s mistakes and/or it’s bad. it moves kind of fast but i kind of like it tho. also just wanna say: AS IT WAS SUPREMACY. love you all, gonna go to sleep now, good night.

please like/reblog if you enjoy!!!

harry is your insufferable, yet slightly hot neighbour.

word count: 2.8k (slay)

warnings: swearing, sexual references (not smut), illness (mild), Wicked slander, cuteness, more cuteness, ...thighs

Harry found you insufferable. He just did. He wasn’t sure if it was the fact that you blasted music too loud in your flat, or how loud he could hear you talk when he was sat by his Juliet balcony. Either way, he’d dread the moments when you’d leave your flat doors at the same time and share the same stinking look at each other, occasionally issuing your weekly complaints. It was a shame you were such a cow, he always thought, because he thought you were pretty. Like, really pretty. Almost too pretty, and he found himself having to stop wandering off in thoughts about you.

It was okay, though. You thought was Harry was a bit of a prick…an attractive prick, at that. You simultaneously dreaded and anticipated the evenings you’d reach your doors at the same time when you got a glimpse of his rugged-work-day look. Or when you’d catch him before his morning run, kitted out in short shorts and your favourite muscle tee of his.

You both wordlessly agreed to not mention the night you were coming home on a late and saw him getting handsy in the corridor with a leggy blonde. Although, you’d be lying if you didn’t try to picture his glossed over eyes and flushed cheeks sometimes when you were alone.

Sadly, his personality somehow cancelled out his attractiveness. You’d experienced the brunt of his bad moods just as much as his sly comments, specifically one morning last week.

“-I mean seriously, if you’re gonna rattle my fucking bedroom wall with your music, at least play something good.” Harry’s voice had filtered back into your daydream and your eyes re-focused, zeroing in on his frustrated expression and his hand white-knuckling his doorknob. You really worked this guy up, it was quite amusing.

“I have no choice, Styles. I mean, if you didn’t nearly break the plaster of the wall with your bed frame every night I wouldn’t have to,” you grinned, shoulder leant on your doorframe as you observed him, “that reminds me, tell your lady friend to keep her voice down next time.”

“That’s funny, I haven’t heard a peep from any visitors in your flat recently. Dry spell?” He mirrored your taunting smile, dimples poking out annoyingly.

He could dish it and take it, which was something that made your dynamic so good. Harry was chronically miserable, and you were looking for a bit of entertainment during the day.

Just to prove him wrong, you’d invited a guy from a club back to yours the night after to finally break said dry spell. Unfortunately, the guy had been obnoxiously vocal…almost too enthusiastic. The mood was ruined when Harry’s door slammed and you heard him sprinting out into the hallway before he banged on your door, screeching: “You’ve got to hear this. I think someone in the building is conducting an exorcism! Get up, you need to get out of there before the spirit inhabits your body too!”

Safe to say you weren’t ever seeing that guy again. And Harry had ammo indefinitely. You’d actually considered ending your lease early and moving out.

“So, how’s nightmare neighbour doing, still shagging anything with a pulse?”

You laugh loudly at your friend Saoirse, tapping the ash off your cigarette as you lean on the tiny railing of your balcony.

“Still the bane of my existence. Although I haven’t seen him in a while, I’m wondering if he’s away or something.” You ponder. You’re met with silence as you blow smoke into the muggy English air. You’re about to call your friend’s name when you hear her speak again.

“Oh my god. You like him, don’t you?”

“What?” You screech, prompting one of your neighbours to obnoxiously slam their window to make a point of your loudness. “I don’t like him at all, I’m just missing winding him up until he looks like a beetroot.”

“You miss him, hm? You mean you miss drooling over his ‘wonderful thighs’ as I so clearly remember you describing them last night.”

“Saoirse!” You scold, grabbing your phone and turning it off speaker, dropping your cigarette and traipsing back into your flat. Your friend cackles down the phone at your chagrin. Yes, you may have gone on a bit of a tangent about how Harry was a bit of eye candy, but had you said something about his thighs? You were a bottle of wine deep last night, so your memory was hazy. You act on the defensive, nonetheless.

You hadn’t seen Harry for nearly a week, and you were admittedly starting to grow slightly curious. You didn’t miss him; you were just nosy. At least that’s what you say to sleep at night. You didn’t see him outside stretching before his run; you didn’t see him coming back from a late night at the studio with a dark shadow around his jaw. He was nowhere to be seen, and suddenly you were finding your socked feet padding out into the hallway to investigate.

A parcel and a couple of letters lay abandoned on his doormat, and you were met with silence on the other side of his door as your ear pressed up to it. Maybe you were crossing some boundaries, but for the sake of your sanity, you held you ear there for a few more seconds. Your knuckles rap a few times on the door.

“Styles, ever heard of collecting your parcels? Nearly cracked my head open tripping over one this morning.” You jest, but no-one provides any answer on the other side. You knock again, getting impatient and also cold, and maybe also a tinge worried about his wellbeing. He would have swung his door open by now and cursed you away, so you knew something was up.

Taking a deep breath, you rattle the door handle with your hand gently, surprised to find it open, as it clicks and creaks inward to his flat. You’re met with a cold breeze and a soft light coming from what you assume is his living room, his flat laid out identical to yours.

“Styles? Harry? It’s-um. It’s me. Just wanted to check you’re alright?” You stammer, moving further into the flat until you hear a weak call of your name.

“I’m in here. Why the fuck are you in my flat?” His voice says scratchily. You pad down the hallway and find him sprawled on the sofa, blanket tucked all the way up to his chin and a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a tea towel placed diligently on his forehead. He looks as white as a sheet, and you think you can see his cheekbones even more.

“Thought you were dying. Clearly I was right.” You sigh, removing his makeshift ice pack and feeling his forehead, him immediately saying ‘piss off’ and trying to swat you away.

“Maybe I am dying. Maybe all of the physical and emotional toll of your presence has finally knocked me off my last legs.” He mutters, immediately shivering after the sentence and tugging the blanket even tighter around him. You frown.

“Definitely smells like you are in here. How long have you been trapped on the sofa?”

“Who knows. The days are blending. I think I can taste colours.” You roll your eyes at his dramatics, marching into his kitchen and demanding he tell you where his medicine cabinet is. He simply replies that he doesn’t have one, and you have to refrain from telling him off for being so careless.

“So, you’ve been holed up for what you think is nearly 50 hours without taking any painkillers for your fever? Have you even been eating?” You scold.

“Does bread count? I’ve just been eating the slices out of the pack. I haven’t had chance to go and do a shop, you div.” He weakly manifests a crumpled pack of bread from the duvet over his body, and you stare at him agape.

You always envisioned the nights spent with your miserable neighbour would never go past the extent of a few snarky comments in the corridor and some volume-wars when you both played your music, but never did you expect to be standing over his bed-bound self trying to treat him for his fever. Here he was, trying his best to keep up his arsehole act in his worst state.

“Call me a div again and I’m out that door—”

“No! Please. God I can’t believe I want you here, I must be ill.”

“Okay! Bye, Harry…” You say saracastically and wander away; he weakly grabs your hand. You ignore the tingles shooting up your body. He pleads that you stay, and you agree, retrieving him some painkillers from your own flat and grabbing your period water bottle, gathering a few more supplies that you deem fit for his symptoms. He looks like a kid on Christmas when you bring him a Sports Drink and a sandwich, too, making a comment about how you were ‘turning soft’. You refuted this, “I just don’t want to be a suspect in your suspicious disappearance.”

From then on, things definitely simmer down between the two of you, and it’s shocking to say at the least. He stops scowling at you 24/7, and almost stops the comments everyday; it feels like you’re living in a simulation. Who was this Harry and what happened to the old one? One morning, he even offers you a cereal bar on his way out, claiming he didn’t want to eat right before a run. You decided to ignore the fact that he never usually has a cereal bar in hand in the past mornings you’d seen him.

“I think I broke him.” You say, swiping your bronzer brush across your face rapidly and glancing at the clock on your phone in the top left-hand corner. Saoirse’s face contorts into amusement over facetime at your comment.

“You’ve got him all sappy for you. A bottle of Lucozade and a hot water bottle is the way to a man’s heart apparently.”

“Oh, Sersh, you should have seen him. Looked like death warmed up, he did. Maybe the fever gave him amnesia, he’s forgotten that he doesn’t like me.”

“Or maybe he liked you this whole time and tried to hide it through angst and fake-hate.”

“You read too much modern romance, babe,” Your right hand props your phone against your desk as the left tugs your dress down to your mid-thigh. You crouch to fit into the Facetime screen, and Saoirse lets out a stream of praises and compliments, making your cheeks heat under your makeup. Someone you knew from home had texted saying he was in town, and to your surprise had invited you on a date after a bit of flirty back and forth. You felt like you deserved this, although a very tiny part of your brain couldn’t help but feel different.

“You look fit. God knows if you’ll make it to the restaurant.”

The irony of that statement sits comfortably on your shoulders an hour later when you’re still waiting outside of your building for him to come and pick you up in the pouring rain. Maybe he was in an accident, you thought, although people in accidents don’t usually have time to block your phone number and all of your socials.

You can’t help but feel slightly defeated as you clamber up the flights of stairs back to your flat, heels in hand and tears threatening to spill at your seemingly horrendous luck with men. And just to top it off, Harry is stood outside of his door leant against the door frame, checking his new post.

He never checked his post outside, you thought. You put the thought to the back of your head.

“Wow, you’re dressed up. What happened to you?” He says, a hint of a smirk creeping on to his face. You ignore him rifling through your small handbag for your key. He shuffles on his feet and clears his throat.

“You’re quiet.” He tries again, and you look up at the ceiling in frustration when your fingers conveniently cannot find your key. He mutters a ‘never mind’ and gathers all of his post in his hand, heading back into his flat. You let a little cry out thinking he’s gone, but he’s paused in his doorway, now looking very alarmed.

You sniffle, tears now streaking down your face rapidly. His breathing is staggered, and you can almost hear his brain whirring, before papers are dropped to the floor and a gentle hand is on your forearm. This makes you cry harder, and he tugs your arm over his shoulder, embracing you semi-awkwardly, but comforting, nonetheless. Your nose buries into his neck and you can smell his aftershave that usually coasts past you in the hallway; it’s woodsy yet homey.

“This is so embarrassing.” You wail. He laughs and you feel the sadness lighten from your chest.

“Maybe. So, who was this guy anyway?” Your ears think they pick up on a hint of jealousy in his tone.

“An utter prick. Probably drives a shit car and calls women Females anyway.”

“Damn, now that you mention it…I think I was supposed to pick up this Female for a date tonight. I hope she’s not waiting for me…she kind of seemed like a psycho anyway. The type that blasts the Wicked soundtrack at 3am.” You can’t help the laugh that bursts out of your mouth as you pull away and swat his chest, earning a proud grin from him at his joke.

“Maybe you dodged a bullet with that one.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” He mumbles, swiping his thumb under your eyes. Your chest twists and sparks with giddiness at his implication.

“Why are we being so nice to each other now? it’s weird.” You frown, dropping your heels to the floor and leaning against your door. He takes a few steps forward.

“It is kind of strange. You just do that to me, I guess.” You’re shocked at his boldness. Forever you’d been in this weird in-between stage of enemies and friends, and now he was possibly implying that you had some kind of effect on him. It made your head spin.

The air feels slightly muggy as you close your eyes, feeling the heat of his body radiating to yours. He goes to speak, stepping slightly closer but you place your hand on his chest.

“Can I kiss you, Harry?” His cheeks redden and his eyes bulge. You tip your chin back and place your head against the door. You aren’t sure exactly where you wanted this to go, but you’d been thinking about what it would be like to kiss him for a long time and now felt better than ever. His arm presses into the door beside your head as he breathily mutters ‘please’, igniting you into action. Your hands grip his plush hips as you kiss him, all teeth and tongues, all hot and bothered. He whimpers, completely divulging in the searing kiss you were leading him through, and you could feel your body light up with heat almost everywhere. You stay like that for what feels like eternity, barely coming up for breaths as he now presses you flush against your door, hands wandering, breaths heavy.

“Fuck.” Is all he says once you both pull apart, barely, as Harry keeps his lips hovering a hair away from yours as his eyes dart all over your face. You smile, biting your lip to try and hide it and he grins back, fingers trailing over your collarbone.

“Glad that’s over, felt like kissing a fish.” You say, and he gapes, pinching your waist and attacking your neck with lovebites as you laugh loudly.

“Shut up. I think we should be more concerned about the fact that we’re neighbours. Neighbours who just snogged. And it was, like, really good.” He says breathlessly, hand carding through his floppy hair. You shrug.

“If you’re so concerned then lets just end our relations here, hm?” You tilt your head, patting him on the cheek and attempting to enter back into your flat. He makes noises of disapproval and drags you back, kissing you again.

“Nope. You’re not getting away that easily. Want to spend a little more time with you tonight.” His words make your stomach flutter, and you feel slightly warm. Your hand goes to tug at the curls on the back of his neck.

“And what exactly did you have in mind?”

“Hm. Not sure. I have some running shorts to wear for you…I’ve heard they’re a fan favourite because they show off my gorgeous thighs. Maybe a bit of the Wicked soundtrack—”

“Oh my God. You heard that?” Your voice is shameful and small as you try and hide your face in his neck once again. You hear his ‘mhm’ hum in his throat and you groan.

“I may have been sofa-bound and deathly ill, but I still had working ears and an open window, beautiful.” He winks. You groan again, face in hands.

“Are you put off now?” You sigh, rubbing your arm with your hand and looking at his nervously. He doesn’t respond verbally, kissing your mouth gently for the third time before lacing your hands together and guiding you towards his still-open flat door.

“Nothing can put me off. Kind of been into you from the day you moved in.”

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles story #harry styles blurb #Harry Styles #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #enemies to lovers #boyfriend!harry #husband!harry #harry #one direction #fanfiction #oneshot

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i-cant-sing · 3 years

Note

Hey I have a yandere erasermic obsession. I don’t know if you do angst but what if they were punishing reader and she gets really exhausted and passes out. They think they killed her, I know this is dumb and you don’t have to do it if it makes you uncomfortable-🍓 anon

Yandere Erasermic punishing reader

I've missed these two a lot😭

Anyways, enjoy! Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

Yandere Erasermic:

"Hey! I'm home! How are my darlings- Shou? You okay?" Hizashi asked as he entered his home. He was looking forward to spending time with you and the hero, but judging by the pissed off look on Aizawa's face, it didn't seem like happening.

Aizawa was taking deep breaths, his eyebrows furrowed and face contorted into a scowl. God, what did you do now? Hizashi couldn't help but wonder that, as he slid onto the couch next to his husband.

"What did she do now?"Hizashi asked, resting his head on Aizawa's chest as his arms wrapped around him.

Aizawa closed his eyes in annoyance, his own arms engulfing Hizashi as he let out a huff. "She's so ungrateful."

Hizashi lightly chuckled at that, waiting for him to continue. "You know what she did today? She tried to escape. Again. I don't know how she got the code to unlock the main door, but she opened it. She barely made it 2 steps out the door before I pulled her back in. I was taking a shower and she thought she could make a run for it. " Aizawa runs a hand through his hair, but Hizashi suddenly caught it. He looked at his husband's hand, it was turning a nasty shade of purple, and was red around the knuckles, slightly swelled. "Shou, babe... what happened to your hand?"

Aizawa exhales deeply, closing his eyes, trying to control his anger. "Our sweet little darling happened. After I got her back in, I told her to apologise. You know what she did? She spit at me, screamed all kinds of profanities. When I took her down to the basement to chain her up, she tried attacking me." Aizawa clenched his jaw. "I was only going to leave her there for the night. But what she said to me next... Hizashi, I lost it. I punched her." Hizashi's eyes widened. He knew Aizawa wasn't one to lose his temper easily, he knew he wasn't one to resort to violence immediately. So the blonde could only wonder what in the hell did you say to him. "Shouta... what did she say?" He asked softly, almost afraid of the answer himself.

Shouta looked at his husband, trying to calm himself when he told him what you barked out. "She said...she said that she wondered how UA let... let creeps like us around kids." Hizashi's eyes widened. If there's one thing he knew about Aizawa, it was how deeply he cared about his students, treating them like his own children. He prided himself in being their teacher, and so the nerve of you to even say something so disgusting like that, Aizawa was bound to snap.

"I cant believe she'd say something...so horrible. I'm so sorry, Shou." Hizashi whispered, nuzzling Aizawa's neck. The pro hero only grunted. "Whatever. I think it'd be good if she stays down there... for 2 weeks. Yeah that'd be good. And no dinner tonight either. I don't want to put up with anymore of her bullshit." Hizashi only nodded, but then caught another look at his hand and he stood up, pulling Aizawa along with him to the kitchen. Hizashi pulled out a bag of frozen peas and started applying it on his bruise hand to reduce the swelling.

As the two ate dinner, Hizashi couldn't help but worry that if Shouta's hand looked like this from the punch, then what did the receiving end look like. He chose to remain quiet on that matter, not wanting you to ruin the night anymore.

The next morning when Aizawa woke up, he went downstairs to the kitchen to find his husband. Hizashi who was almost done plating up, greeted Aizawa with a kiss. "So, should I take this plate down to our baby bird?" Hizashi asked, already knowing Aizawa didn't want to see you yet. You had really hurt him. Shouta nodded as he took a sip of his coffee. "Be right back." Hizashi pressed a kiss to his lips before going to the basement.

Hizashi opened the door to the basement, walking down the stairs, hoping to see you greet him like the angel they know you are deep down. But when he got down there, he saw you were still asleep on the floor, your limbs still bound to the chains. Your face was turned away from him and Hizashi wasnt sure if he wanted to see the damage that was done to your face.

Hizashi just called for you. “Love, I’ve brought breakfast! Eggs and hashbrowns! Your favourite!” When you didnt respond, he just sighed before placing the plate on the floor. Your chains were long enough to for you to reach it, and while Hizashi wished nothing more than to feed you himself, he knew you needed to be punished.

As he went up the stairs and out of the basement, he couldnt help but feel a sense of dread creeping up on him.

“Do you think she’ll be sorry after her punishment?”Hizashi asked his partner. Aizawa rolled his eyes. “Unlikely. But she’ll learn to think twice before she says stupid shit like that.” Hizashi chuckled, but secretly hoped that would be the case. He got up from the couch where he and Aizawa sat. “I’ll go get her plate.” They were done eating 2 hours ago, but still waited for you to finish up because they know how stubborn you are.

When Hizashi walked down the stairs, he wasn’t surprised to find your plate untouched. You would always do that the first few days, before finally succumbing to your hunger. Pointless, really. But what disturbed him was how you were still in the same position he had seen you in 2 hours ago. And it was coming to him how still you looked, he couldn't see your body moving a single muscle, he couldn't see if you were breathing.

Hizashi walked towards you cautiously, waiting for you to jump up and scare the crap out of him. But his breath hitched when he finally saw what had happened to you.

A big bruise had formed on your cheek, swelling and taking all the shades of the purple, blue and green. But the worst part was seeing the blood and a clear liquid dripping out of your nose slowly, forming a pool around your head.

He turned you on to your back and started shaking your shoulder. “Darling? Wake up, baby. Its me. Baby, wake up.” But your body remained unconscious. He started tapping your cheek, only then noticing you weren’t breathing. All the alarms went off in his head. “SHOUTA! COME DOWN OVER HERE!”

Shouta rushed to the basement, wondering what stunt you pulled now. But seeing your limp body in Hizashi’s arms, blood coating your cheeks, he knew something terrible had occured. Aizawa ran towards his partners, looking at your bruising cheek. “She’s n-not breathing. She’s not fucking breathing, Shou!” Hizashi sobbed as Aizawa took your wrist in his hand. His blood ran cold when he found no pulse. “What are we gonna do?! She’s dead! Our baby is dead!” Shouta blocked out Hizashi’s voice. They both cant be panicking right now. Aizawa turned to his partner. “Hizashi. Bring her up. I’ll get the car out.” He commanded. “H-hospital? Shou, its too late-” Hizashi cried out but Aizawa gave him a stern look. “Bring her up. Now.”

They got to the hospital in fairly record time, passing you over to the doctors while Aizawa made up a story of how they found you in an alley. Only after the doctors left them alone did it dawn on Aizawa how serious the situation was. He killed you, didnt he? You would still be alive if he hadnt hit you. How could he ever claim to love you when he hurts you-

Aizawa shook his head, he could wallow up in his guilt later. For now, he needed to comfort his husband and pray that you make it through somehow.

A few hours later, the doctors had given them an update on your condition. You made it, barely. Something had hit your face and damaged some part of your brain, causing there to be a very slow heart beat. But you're all okay now, since they brought you in time.

When they were allowed to finally go in, thats when Aizawa finally broke down. Seeing you unconscious, knowing he almost killed you, it got to him. Hizashi wanted to console Aizawa, but he couldn't bring himself to leave your side. Hizashi pressed soft kisses to your temples, wiping his tears that fell on your cheek, while Aizawa stood to your side. He wanted to hold your hand but he was afraid to hurt you again. As the duo sat by your side, they made a silent promise to never hurt you again, at least not physically.

After that incident, you'll never be left alone. The two are always breathing down your neck, drowning you in love, looking at you with even more fondness; obsession and protectiveness swirling in their eyes, right there with guilt.

Aizawa would never apologise, but that doesn't mean he's not sorry. You would often wake up to him looking at your bruised cheek with worry, caressing it so gently, as if he'd break you. He'll be a lot more demanding with physical affection, always wrapping his arms around you, forcing you onto his lap and tucking your face under his chin as he cards his fingers through your hair.

You didn't think Hizashi could be anymore overbearing, but you were proved wrong. He'd panic if you were out of his sight for more than 5 minutes. Always worrying, paranoia creeping up on him when you're not in the same room as him. And when he would finally find you (mostly in the bathroom), he'd check you all over for injuries, not trusting your assurances.

Punishments aren't violent anymore. They're humiliating. Pulling you in their laps and feeding you by hand, talking about you as if you're not there, making you take baths with them(not showers because they end too quickly), making you sleep with them, naked.

And the couple won't lie, but this form of punishment seems to be far more effective. With how quickly you turn docile, folding in on yourself as if you could hide from them... its cute.

But hey, its better than getting beat, right?

#yandere erasermic x reader #yandere erasermic #yandere eraserhead #yandere aizawa shouta #yandere aizawa #yandere aizawa x reader #yandere hizashi #yandere hizashi yamada #yandere present mic x reader #yandere present mic #yandere bnha #bnha headcanons #yandere dabi #yandere mha #bnha imagines

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sej2020 · 2 years

Text

Hotch and WITSEC

You walked into the apartment and you knew instantly something was off.

Mr Scratch had turned up at the soccer field where Jack was playing that morning. You and Hotch had immediately jumped into action, at the end of the game Hotch had rushed Jack into the car, a look of understanding passing between you as you went hunting for the man, along with SWAT who you had called in.

Having not found anything you made your way back to the apartment expecting to find both your boys waiting for you. Only you got there and it was quiet, too quiet. Nothing looked out of place, only it was. The small things, like a picture of Haley from the living area was missing, Jacks favourite hoodie that you had bought him. When you noticed these were missing you immediately scoped out the rest of the apartment.

Immediately you went to Jacks room, finding clothes missing, draws pulled out, the photo of you, him and Hotch from his bedside was gone, along with the blanket that sat on the bottom of his bed. You couldn’t breath, and dread to think what you would find in your shared bedroom.

Rushing wildly to your bedroom now, you found a similar sight. Clothes missing, draws open like someone was in a rush, Hotch’s watch gone, his work suits left behind. The picture of the two of you being goofy, taken by Jack was missing. You knew now, what you felt as you entered the apartment, they were gone.

You wondered now to the home office, your feet basically dragging along the floor as wondered in. Walking to what was your shared desk you found Hotch’s gun, credentials and an envelope. With shaking hands you picked it up, taking a seat and opening it.

Dearest Y/N,

This is not what I had envisioned for us. Believe me when I say I envisioned the whole nine yards with you. I wanted so much more for you and Jack, I wanted a life with you. You are the love of my life, my biggest regret is not telling you how much I love you nearly enough.

I know you’re sitting there hurt and betrayed, and you truly have every right to be. But I couldn’t bring you with us. You’re with out a doubt the best agent and human being I have ever known. And I know without a doubt you’ll be able to bring this bastard in.

And when you do maybe, just maybe we’ll be reunited again, but until then I need to look after Jack.

I believe in you my love, and you will always have my heart.

Aaron.

Inside the envelope was the ring you had given him along with the chain he threaded it through to wear it. You couldn’t help the cry that came from you. Through your tears you blindly called Hotch again and again only to find his number had been disconnected.

Starting to hyperventilate now you called the only other number that came to mind.

‘Y/N, what is it? I just heard are you all alright?’ Asked Rossi in concern.

‘They’re gone, they’re gone and I don’t know where, I can’t… Dave I…..’ you said gasping now.

‘Y/N… Y/N… Y/N’ Rossi’s voice faded into the background as blackness surrounded you.

**************************************Time Skip*****************************************

Coming too, you found yourself in a hospital bed, your entire body was aching. Looking around blearily, you made to get up, only to have a warm set of hands holding you down firmly.

‘Y/N hey shh, you’re ok, you need to relax’ came Rossi’s voice.

‘Dave, what, what happened?’ You asked slumping back, now looking directly at Rossi who settled into the seat beside your bed.

‘You passed out… broken heart syndrome’ said Rossi, taking hold of your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles.

‘Oh… they’re in Witsec, aren’t they?’ You said your eyes closing in pain, when Rossi nodded.

‘I’m sorry sweetheart’ sighed Rossi.

‘I don’t want anyone to know, please’ you whispered brokenly.

‘I won’t say a thing, you take as much time as you want off, I’ll sort it, and before you argue, you will be staying with me’ said Rossi firmly.

You didn’t argue, you just closed your eyes. You just felt… nothing, you didn’t feel anything anymore. How could you? He shattered your heart, and you weren’t sure if it could ever mend.

Part 2

#Aaron Hotchner #Aaron Hotchner x reader #bau #criminal minds

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inkykeiji · 3 years

Text

anonymous said: i would like to suggest, keigo having you on speed dial to call you up and use you whenever he's too pent up because his public girlfriend wont sleep with him. you feel guilty for being the other woman but you were such a big fan of his. you want to end this but keigo isn’t about to let his little bird get away

warnings: 18+, dubcon, rough sex, manipulation, minimal prep, cheating, mentions of caning, noncon photography, dacryphilia, slight degradation peppered with slight praise

words: 3.3k

Gentle vibrations coursing through your mattress and quivering softly against your skin rouse you from your half-conscious state, bleary eyes blinking slowly as you gain your bearings again. It’s late, the wall of full-length crystal windows allowing the moon’s beams to stream into your condo, weakened by the magnificent glow of the city below it, encased in halos of turquoise and jade and violet.

And then, the vibrations start again, and your heart drops.

You know who it is before you even glance at the screen of your phone. Only one person ever calls you this late.

You had been expecting it, to be honest. Crime has hit an all-time high, and it seems like every time you turn on the news, or scroll through your social media feed, there’s a fresh story about a new villain he’s just defeated, headlines in big bold letters, peppered with photos of windswept golden hair and an award-winning smile, or grainy footage of him zipping around, so fast he’s just a blur of gold and crimson, as he neutralizes the enemy, serif words chalk full of praise for the Number Two Hero. As always.

It makes you sick, makes your stomach churn with a toxic mixture of guilt and revulsion.

Yet, in spite of this, your hand moves on its own, disobeying your brain as it screams at it to let it go to voicemail, just this once, thumb pressing that little green button before bringing the heavy electronic to your ear, quiet and groggy as you answer.

“I’m in the lobby,” his smooth voice, always laced with just a hint of cheekiness, flows through the speaker like melted chocolate, dark and decadent. “Let me in?”

You know he could get in on his own if he really wanted to—he chose this building for a reason, after all. He chose you for a reason, after all.

He could’ve had anyone—could still have anyone—he wanted, with a plethora of beautiful, adoring, devoted young women hanging on his every word, but he picked you. He picked you, because no matter how dedicated and supportive all of those other girls are, none of them have ever loved him the way you did—the way you do.

The feeling lingers, much to your disgust. It lingers when he gives you that gentle, private smile—the one the cameras have never seen, the one that he saves just for you, in the middle of the night after he’s filled you with cum and sucked his name into your neck; lingers when he murmurs sweet nothings into your hair, arms curling around you in the early morning sun; lingers when he fucks you stupid, until you’re a sobbing, drooling mess, until all you can think about is his cock.

The soles of your bare feet echo as they pad against the marble floor, powerless to stop the heavy sigh that slips from between your lips as you fiddle with the little keypad close to the front door, those soft beepbeepbeeps forcing chills to skitter across your skin.

Once, this condo had been everything you had ever wanted. Once, you had considered yourself lucky to be the mistress of such a well-known, distinguished, so-called good man. Once, you had dreamt of him, every single night, of lazy smiles and easygoing drawls, of wicked golden eyes and matching tousled hair.

Once.

Now, it feels like nothing but a cold, empty cage. Fitting, you snort to yourself, shaking your head a little.

Now, all of those extravagant items he had bought for you—the expensive coffee machine, the stupidly massive 4K TV, all of the shimmering dresses and lavish coats, the silk sheets outfitting your gigantic bed, the delicate Agent Provocateur lingerie—have bile rising in the back of your throat, coating your tongue in bitterness, dread sinking thick and heavy in your stomach, turning your blood to concrete in your veins.

Now, that golden gaze makes your skin crawl, those large, impossibly soft hands—protected by those ridiculous gloves, of course—make you want to scrub your body with scalding water until it’s raw, until you’ve ridded yourself of his stare, of his touch, of his scent—sickly sweet and sticky like toffee, blazing and spicy like cinnamon.

And yet, the feeling still lingers, taking root deep at the very core of your body, feeding off your soul like a fucking parasite.

Teeth clack against yours the moment your front door swings open, your body slammed up against the wall a second later as he skillfully kicks the door shut, producing an echo of tremors through the surrounding walls much too loud for three in the morning.

Hands, silky and smooth, are gliding up your bare thighs, playing with the hem of your lacy babydoll slip, lithe fingers tangling in it and pulling as he sucks on your tongue.

“Missed you,” he mumbles between kisses, catching your bottom lip and tugging on it just to hear you whine, a delicious chuckle vibrating against your mouth a moment later, inspiring a shameful, scalding heat to begin spreading in the pit of your belly. “So much,”

“Did you?” and you hate how breathless you already are, hate the way your head tilts and neck arches as his lips travel down the sensitive skin, nipping gently with his front teeth.

“You know I did,” he singsongs, but you can hear the irritation sown into his tone. Hands grip your shoulders, pinning you against the wall, a soft noise of surprise escaping your lips. “Mm,” he hums appreciatively, pulling back a little as lidded eyes scan your form, dark like thick caramel when they meet yours again. “You know this one’s my favourite,”

It is, composed entirely of scarlet lace that dips just below your sternum, the delicate material clinging to your body like a second skin, leaving very little to the imagination.

His hands roam, taking the hem of the dainty fabric with him as he pushes it over your hips, up your abdomen and to your breasts, before letting the garment slide down your body again.

The softest, sweetest mewl of his name escapes your lips as the tip of his tongue flicks over a lace covered nipple, circling it once before taking it between his teeth and tugging slightly.

Another laugh, deep and dark, vibrates against your chest, while a hand slips between your thighs, a soft groan rumbling in his chest.

“Such a good, good girl for me, aren’t you?” Two fingers rub achingly slow circles into your clit, Keigo’s tongue darting out of his mouth to lick at a pert nipple again, drenching the lace in saliva. “Following the rules, just like I asked,”

A whimper catches in your throat and you nod, spikes of sharp fear shooting through your stomach as faded memories float languidly through your mind. You can barely remember it, brain so delirious from the pain that you hardly retained any of the experience, but the sound of the cane slicing through the air, mingled with the sound of your own wails echoing throughout the bachelor condo, the intense sting of its impact against your bare skin, the ache in your fingers from gripping the bedsheets that lingered for days later…Those you remember.

He had turned your backside into a brilliant piece of art, you remember him telling you, the morning after when gentle fingers were rubbing cream into your wounds, the obnoxious click! of his phone camera sounding a few moments later seared into your memory. Such a beautiful masterpiece, full of periwinkle and indigo, and it was all for him—because of him.

You couldn’t sit properly for a week and a half after the incident, and that you’ll never forget, either.

All because you had broken one teeny tiny rule, a rule you didn’t even know was a rule, a rule you thought he had been joking about—no panties when sleeping.

Two fingers pushing into your little hole snaps your mind back to the present, a whine falling from your lips as your hips push towards his palm, instantly craving more of him. Curved lips, formed in the shape of a sinful smirk, drag along your jaw as he murmurs to you. You like that, baby? Huh? Did you miss me as much as I missed you?

It’s only been a few days since you saw him last, but you find yourself nodding anyway, breathy little yeses exhaled through parted lips as his fingers pump in and out of you, knuckles curling with each pull out, catching on the spot that has you moaning out his name, that has you pathetically trying to fuck yourself on his fingers, that has you begging for more.

He’s always impatient anyway, barely takes any time to stretch you out—just enough so it isn’t uncomfortable for him, really, scissoring his fingers and grinding the heel of his palm against your clit until it’s throbbing, until he deems you wet enough to take him.

The drywall quivers as Keigo deftly spins you, shoving you against it, a low whine sounding in the back of your throat.

“I’m gonna fuck you in this,” he says decidedly, as if he’s just chosen what his lunch will be for tomorrow, big hands roaming over your ass, kneading and squeezing.

“Keigo, please, not here—”

“Shh,” he hushes you, and his voice is so gentle, so tender, gathering the delicate lace in his fists and pushing it up, up, up, until it bunches around your waist. “Be good for me, yeah?” sharp teeth sink into the back of your neck hard enough to break the skin, an alpha marking his territory, your responding cry muffled by the wall. “I’ve had such a long day,” he mumbles against you, licking over the bite. “Haven’t been able to stop thinkin’ about you all day, y’know,” his hips grind against your ass, hard cock nearly slipping between your cheeks and accentuating his point, the thin fabric of his grey sweatpants being the only barrier between you. “And that bitch couldn’t satisfy me right even if her life depended on it,”

His tone darkens at the end, and you hate the way it still manages to send a flock of butterflies fluttering through your stomach, hole clenching greedily around nothing.

“So be a good girl—” a slap echoes throughout the empty apartment as his palm collides with your skin. “—and lift your hips for me,”

And then he’s tugging, hands wrapped around your hips as blunt nails dig into your flesh and hoist up, forcing you onto your tiptoes. You obey, of course, because you always obey, aiding him by pushing your ass towards him, chest and cheek pressed up against the wall.

A shiver courses through your body as he leans away for a moment, taking his body heat with him, the shutter of his phone camera click!ing a few times in quick succession.

“Fuck,” he breathes, heat returning as he taps the head of his cock against your soaking cunt, reveling in the soft, wet little slaps. “You’re so beautiful,”

And he sounds so honest, so sincere, unexpected tears springing into your eyes and blurring your vision. Because his words shouldn’t, they absolutely shouldn’t inspire a deep warmth to bloom in your chest, but they do. It’s selfish, and pathetic, and derisive, sour shame taking root at your core a moment later, black and inky and rushing through your veins, eating up the warmth in an instant.

But Keigo shatters it all a second later with one quick, sharp thrust, burying himself deep within you, cockhead nudging against your cervix.

A yelp hitches in your throat at the sudden action, tears spilling over your lashline as your little hole burns, struggling to accommodate his girth. “Too thick, Kei, too thick,”

He doesn’t care, he tells you with a breathless chuckle, hips setting a punishing pace right from the start, refusing you even a moment to adjust. He knows you love it, he says to you, words growled into your ear with a sadistic smile, punctuated by the harsh slap of skin against skin that accompanies each of his thrusts.

Your nails scrape against the drywall, trying in vain to grip something, anything, to keep you upright as he pounds into you. A harsh gust of wind swirls around you, cool against your heated skin, and then his wings are caging you in, slamming against the drywall with such force that bits of it crack and crumble. Your hands fly out to grip them, little fingers curling around the edges as you try to keep yourself steady for him.

The sweetest moan escapes his lips, hoarse and whiny in the back of his throat as you clamp down on them, fingers slotting through the sharp feathers, hissing through your teeth as they leave superficial cuts along your sensitive skin.

It’s beginning to build, that familiar heat pooling in the pit of your stomach, coiling tighter and tighter and tighter with each snap of his hips, broken whimpers and airy little Kei!’s slipping from your parted lips as your legs begin to tremble.

A deep growl rumbles in his chest as he tells you to keep standing, damn it, the order spit through clenched teeth as his fingers grip your hips, spots of blue and purple blooming under them.

You’re trying, you want to tell him, words leaving your throat in the form of pitiful little sobs as your fingers clutch his wings, joints aching and stiff from being curled in the same position for so long.

The heat is rising, higher and higher and higher until your choking on it, scalding your tongue and blistering your throat.

“M’gonna—” you gasp out, the words garbled with spit as teary eyes roll back in your skull.

“Yeah—Y-Yeah,” he encourages breathlessly, hips gaining more speed with each piston into you, cock repeatedly dragging against that spot, the one that alights your entire body, that shoots tingling sparks up your spine and through your veins. “C’mon, baby, cum for me, cum—” a low grunt cuts him off, hips stuttering. “—Cum on my cock,”

It’s pathetic, really, how quickly your body obeys, knees nearly buckling as uncontrollable mewls of his name escape your lips, catching in your chest with his ruthless thrusts as you gush around him, cute little cunt clenching almost painfully on his thick cock.

“Good—Good girl. Now beg for it,” and he’s nearly whining, voice cracking as his movements begin to falter.

Pleads spill from your lips before you even know what you’re saying, voice absolutely wrecked as you beg for him to please, gimme your cum, please k-keigo, want it, I want it, I want it, fill me up, please, please, please!

Honestly, how can he deny you when you’re asking so nicely, so prettily for him, hips messily pounding into you three more times before he stills, the weight of his body crushing you against the wall as his cock pulses, filling you with ropes upon ropes of thick, hot cum.

And he’s relentless that night, insatiable that night—fucking you over the arm of the couch, deep and hard and fast, cockhead slamming against your bruised cervix as a hand fists in your hair and yanks you up, snarling out the dirtiest words as his lips graze your ear, then praising you for being such a good little cockslut for him; fucking you in your giant jacuzzi bathtub, nimble fingers digging into your hips as he forces you to ride him, reinstating the fresh bruises from not long before; fucking you into your plush mattress, sharp hipbones signing his name into the soft flesh of your inner thighs in blotches of navy and violet as endless tears leak from your eyes, streaming into your hairline, head beginning to throb from dehydration.

The sun is just beginning to rise, peaking over the horizon and painting the city in a soft golden light. The buzzing of a phone on your nightstand rouses you from your half-asleep state for the second time, lifting your head to blink blearily at Keigo, who rolls his eyes without even glancing at the caller. It’s her—you know it is, calling to ask him where the hell he is, if he’s alright, if he’s coming home soon, if he’s safe—and acrid guilt settles on your tongue.

He lets it go to voicemail without a second thought.

“I hate her,”

“Break up with her, then,”

“And what, date you?” he snorts, and although you know he doesn’t mean for it to, it still stings. Rolling over, he turns to face you, his head propped up by his palm. “You know I wish I could,” he says softly, his free hand reaching out to cup your cheek, fingers grazing your cheekbone. “You know I would if I could, but…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t need to—you’ve heard it a thousand times before.

Doesn’t mean it hurts any less.

But she’s the daughter of a world-renowned, established hero—you’re a quirkless nobody. But she’s good for his image, good for his brand—you’re not.

Sometimes, though, after he’s fucked you into a boneless mess, when he’s laying in your bed with a cigarette perched so artfully between his fingers, he opens up, allows you a tiny peak inside that gorgeous head of his.

Tonight it’s something you’ve heard before, but you don’t mind listening anyway, drawing nonsensical patterns on his bare chest, little fingers following the dips and curves of strong muscle, gliding under smooth skin that almost shines gold in the pale morning light, little blonde hairs catching in the beams as he breathes slowly.

It fucking sucks, he’s telling you, honey eyes trained on your finger’s movements, following its ministrations in a trance. He never wanted this—never asked for this, he admits to you, as he has so many times before, at four in the morning when the city is at its quietest, just before it begins to wake with the dawn of the sun. He hates it, all of the obligations and responsibilities that have been thrust upon him since he was a child.

“Sometimes I feel like my spine’s gonna fucking crack under all of it,” he laughs a little, though it’s wobbly and frail, looking away from you as he stubs out his cigarette.

“It’s just exhausting,” he flops onto his back with a deep sigh, staring up at the ceiling. And you can hear it, his voice heavy with fatigue, with the duties that have been forced upon him, the ideals he’s been forced to uphold, laced with a hint of melancholy.

It makes your heart ache, despite the derision you now feel towards him. You don’t know his struggle—never could, never will—but he looks so…sad, eyes desolate as they gaze up at nothing, lips pressed together in a thin line. And that spark of love, the one you repeatedly keep trying to snuff out, blazes with the need to comfort him.

Reaching over, gentle fingers card through his sweaty golden locks, soft and shining in the dim light. His chest rises and falls with the effort of another sigh, eyes closing briefly at your touch, nuzzling ever so slightly into you.

“But at least I’ve got you, right?” he rolls onto his side, hands finding your hips as he drags you towards him, pulling you into his embrace and crushing your body against his chest. “You’ll never leave me, will you, my little bird,”

And although it isn’t phrased as a question—because he already knows the answer—you respond anyway, swallowing thickly against the acid rising past the lump lodged in your throat. “No, Keigo, never,”

#takami keigo x reader #takami keigo smut #hawks x reader #hawks smut #takami keigo #this is how we're gonna do ask oneshots now #because they're TOO LONG jfc #my own fault i know #WHEWWWW WAY LONGER THAN IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN LOL #HAPPY BIRTHDAY KEIGO I GUESS #tw manipulation #tw cheating #tw degradation

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bakugohoex · 3 years

Text

“you’re such a pretty setter”

pairings: atsumu miya x female reader, eita semi x gender neutral reader, keiji akaashi x female reader, keishin ukai x female reader, kenma kozume x female reader, koshi sugawara x female reader, tobio kageyama x female reader, toru oikawa x female reader cw: swearing, kissing, fluff word count: 4500+ a/n: this took so long, bruh i have to isolate as well which sucks but more time for school work at least, keep sending in requests summary: in which you wait for the setters after practice

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atsumu miya

Atsumu knew he had fangirls; knew he had a lengthy line of girls who would do anything to fuck him. Through them all the only person he would ever see was you. You and your bright eyes, your soft y/e/c eyes looking past the fans as you saw him.

You had walked towards the gym after studying for you and Atsumu to walk home. You loved walking home with him, the way his fingers wrapped around your own, the way he brought your knuckles to his mouth. He adored you and you adored him.

The fangirls screeching with baked goods that Atsumu wouldn’t take, you tried to barge through them, getting elbowed, why was it so hard to see your boyfriend?

Osamu had been at the door as he noticed you, “Y/n.” You smile at him as he takes your sleeve dragging you through.

“Where did all the fangirls come from?” You mutter as you follow him inside.

“It’s summer and you know what happens then.”

“What sweat and shirtless men.” He laughs at your comment as you try to find Atsumu.

“Agh Osamu, we need to do some sets before we can leave.” Kita speaks before noticing you. “Is this your girlfriend, nice to meet you.”

He gives a smile as you look at the twin, both looking at disgust at the thought of being in a relationship together. Sure, he may look like your boyfriend, but his qualities were more brother like whilst his brothers were more boyfriend type.

“Ugh...” You were interrupted as you felt arms wrap around your waist.

“What’s my princess doing surrounded by all these boys?” Atsumu’s lips brushed against your ear as you shivered at his touch.

“Osamu helped me past the fangirls.” You said as you turned to meet his eyes, his hands moving to your waist to being you closer.

“They weren’t any trouble.” You shook your head as he leans down to meet your lips.

His soft lips on your own feeling as you both move together. “Oi you two we still have some sets to do.” Atsumu huffs at his brother as he leaves you.

“Wait on the benches princess.” You nod as you walk away.

Kita looks between the twins before shaking his head, “someone’s actually dating you.”

He walks away as Atsumu scowls, he watches you sit down making sure nobody disturbed you.

He starts the set effortlessly before he hears you speak, “You’re such a pretty setter.” You had stood up cheering him as he did one of his great sets to Osamu who spiked it. He blushes at you he knew how much he loved your eyes on all of him, his body, his form even his hands. He wanted you to know that he was all yours.

eita semi

“Semi.” You hum his name out to the empty gym, he was with Ushijima and Tendo as they were practicing spikes and blocks.

You smiled at three boys as you walked onto the court, “do you boys never get sleep?” You laugh as you walk up to Semi.

“I get the daily amount needed to survive.” Ushijima spoke stoically he had the ball in his hands rotating. You raised your eyebrow at the boy as Tendo started to sing about sleep, his fingers doing little dances.

“Come on guys it’s like 9, don’t you have beds to get too.” You mutter as you lean against Semi, his arm wrapping around your waist.

“One more minute.” Semi pleads his eyes softly looking at you, “and I’ll even teach you how to set a ball.”

Ushijima gives a confused look as you look at the boy, “Fine by me.” Is all he mutters.

You drop your bag only wearing your skirt and thigh highs with your button up. Semis hands wrap around you showing you the technique of setting, how far your hands should be raised, the whole lot.

Before you knew it Ushijima passed the ball to you ready to spike, you push the ball from your hands upwards making it go towards Ushijima as he spikes it down, Tendo just missing it.

“That was amazing, you might even end up taking your boyfriends spot.” Tendo joked out as your waiting for praise from your boyfriend.

“You did amazing baby.” Semi smiles kissing the top of your head. “Give us another five minutes and then we’ll leave.”

You nod as you move to the benches watching them practice, you admired all of Semi’s features, the way his hands moved to set the ball, the way he scrunched his noise. You loved it all you loved everything about him.

“You’re such a pretty setter.” You say aloud, the boys looking at you, Semi goes red as you gawk at him. He finally walks up to you kissing you softly, his hands wrapping around your waist to bring you forward. He would never admit it but you calling him pretty made him feel some type of way.

keiji akaashi

Fukurodani’s practice game with Nekoma was closing to an end, you had stayed late in the library to revise for an upcoming exam and had sadly missed the game. Knowing Akaashi would be upset, you left a little early to catch the last part of the game. Hopefully.

You walked through the gym doors, the points at a mere 2-point lead by Fukurodani, Nekoma had been putting up a fight, you examine the game, going towards the two managers who you were friends with.

“How longs this been going on then?” You ask Yukie as she gives a look of dread.

“Too long Y/N.”

“Has Bokuto gone into emo mode?” You question as Kaori speaks this time.

“Gladly no.” You loved the frosted tip owl like a brother and a happy Bokuto meant a happy Akaashi, you watched as the game was drawing to a close, the ball being sent to Akaashi as he effortlessly set it to Bokuto who spiked it down winning the set.

You admired all of Akaashi’s features, the way his blue eyes analysed the area, brightening up once he saw you. He rand his hands through his already messy black hair, Bokuto screaming at Akaashi, “Akaashi you saw that.” He bounced about as Akaashi quickly praised him before walking up to you.

“You’re such a pretty setter.” You hum at the tall boy; he gazes down at you smiling at the comment.

“You’re my pretty girl.” He kisses your temple before quickly going back to thank Nekoma.

“I’ll wait outside for you.” He had passed you gesturing five minutes as you walked outside. The chilly air hitting your exposed thighs as your socks only went below your knees. The uniform not helping as you hadn’t worn your blazer due to the immense heat in the morning.

“What do we have here? A cold owl.” You could recognise that voice from anywhere.

You turn around to be met with the one and only Nekoma’s captain. “One day Kuroo I’d wish you weren’t an ass.”

“Ooo my bad, princess.”

You glare at the tall boy, he was mocking you, knowing already of yours and Akaashi’s relationship. “Don’t call me that you dickhead.”

“Are you pissing off my girlfriend?” Akaashi walked towards you unamused at the situation.

He handed you a hoodie as you quickly wore it, not wanting to freeze your tits off.

“Me never.” Kuroo laughs as you roll your eyes.

“Come on Y/n, pain in the ass Kuroo san must be getting tired from all the loosing he did today.” You smirk at the uncharacteristic comment of Akaashi but nevertheless take his hand.

“You’re so cute.” You sing out as he grabs you closer to his body, putting a hand to your jaw as he kisses you softly, his calm demeanour making you melt underneath his touch.

“You’re cuter Y/n.” You blush as you remain in each other’s arms.

“AWWW MY FAVOURITE COUPLE.” Bokuto screams as he runs next to you.

“Bokuto san.” Both you and Akaashi scold in unison at his shouting. He gives a signature smirk as he beings to praise both his and Akaashi’s skills. You listen intently as you stare up at Akaashi his warm eyes filling you with love and comfort.

keishin ukai

Keishin and you had dinner plans and knowing him you knew he would not be ready or ever arrive early to get ready. Being the best girlfriend ever you went to go collect him, you had already closed the shop up for the night, occasionally helping out when you had free time mostly to spend time with Keishin though.

You had always wanted to meet the kids he coached but he had always been a wary because he knew the kids and knew exactly how they acted in front of pretty women. Especially Nishinoya and Tanaka.

You walked up the steps leading to the volleyball gym, well that’s what you assumed it was. Knocking on the door as you saw the team taking a break, a man comes up to you with black hair and glasses as you smile at him.

“Hi, how can I help you?” He speaks cheerily before you recognise him as the man who had tormented Keishin for a couple of months back at the shop.

“Who’s she?” You hear one of them mutter, you were dressed up to be a teacher and you couldn’t have come for any of them. Even with the blue dress that clinged to you, you looked gorgeous and the whole boys team knew it.

“Oh, hi, I’m Y/n I looking for Keishin.” He gives a confused look inviting you in from the freezing air.

“You know our coach.” A loud orange hair boy jumps up in front of you as you look between both males and the rest of the team. This had shocked the team how did their coach know you.

You nod speaking, “Yeah he’s my boyfriend.” Deadpanned as the team goes silent, Takeda goes red at the fact that Keishin had mentioned you but never introduced you to them all.

Two boys instantly jolted in front of you as you jumped back, one with a buzz cut and another with a brown strip of her between his black hair. “Tanaka, Noya don’t frighten the woman.” A guy with grey hair spoke calmly to the boys.

“I have hope, if coach was able to get her than there is hope for us all.” Noya screams at the team as you fiddle with your clutch that kept your phone. You regretted not calling before you had arrived.

“Hope for what?” Keishin had come through the doors carrying his car keys. “Y/n what are you doing here?” He looked even more confused before seeing the dress and how amazing you looked

“You forget didn’t you.” You walk towards him as you mutter at looking up at him.

“Dinner, fuck, let me wrap practice up, I need to…” You bring your finger to his lips.

“I know you need to get changed we have an hour before the reservation.” You spoke confidently, the team gawking at how you shut their couch up so easily.

“Guess you better meet the team before we leave.” You laugh as he grabs your hand making you stand in front of the boys. “Introduce yourselves make it quick.”

One by one they all introduce themselves even stating their position as you remembered what Keishin had taught you about volleyball. “Wow you’re both setters, I love setters.” You smile at both Kageyama and Sugawara as you turn back at Keishin.

“You’re such a pretty setter.” You coo to your boyfriend teasingly.

The team laughs at Keishins bright red face, “Yeah, yeah.” He mutters grabbing your waist feeling your skin through the thin dress material. “I’m gonna wrap practice up early, you are all free to stay longer, but I’ll make practice a lot longer tomorrow.” The boys groan at the lack of energy knowing that they did love Volleyball enough to spend all hours of the day doing it.

“Before you leave, how did you get her?” Nishinoya said with no filter.

“The imbecil actually asked that.” The tall blonde Tsukishima snickered as you laughed.

You turned to face the dyed blonde man, “He begged.” He goes wide eyed as he pokes your side.

“You really be telling people that’s how I got you.” He pulls at his hair taking the headband out of his hair as you smirk.

“He begged on his knees.” You rephrase as the boys laugh at how embarrassed their coach was getting.

“Okay this practice is done now.” He grabs your hand as he pulls you outside, “Princess I distinctly remember you were the only one of your knees.”

You slap him playfully as you look at him, “you perve.” You give a quick kiss as you retract he grabs your throat making you stay close to his mouth as he continues the kiss. His rough hands on your body.

He retracts the mere inches between both your mouths still visible, “as soon as I saw you in that dress, how could I ever resist you?” You chuckle your head going back as his hand was still wrapped around your neck, his thumb brushing against your lips. “A quickie in my car.”

“You pervert.” You could almost feel his smirk as he laughed at your reaction. He adored everything about you as you go back for another kiss. He loved you and you couldn’t lie and say you didn’t love him back.

kenma kozume

You had been showing the new kid around making sure he knew where his classes were, you were going to show him the volleyball club so you could end the day meeting Kenma. He seemed nice enough but had already asked for number which you rejected as soon as you realised what he wanted.

“Finally, this is the gym, the Volleyball boys team are practicing, and I have to meet my boyfriend but if you have any questions.

“Isn’t volleyball for girls.” You gave a sign as you looked at him.

“Some of my friends are the best volleyball players in Tokyo, so no its not just a girls sport.” He gave a look as he peeked through the doors.

“There’s a girl right there though.” You grew confused as Nekoma had no manager and people wouldn’t stay long enough. He had been pointing to Kenma, you scowled at his ideocracy.

“He’s not a girl, he is the setter and he’s fucking amazing at it.” You shout urning the glances from the team as they heard you shouting. “If you started thinking with your upstairs brain maybe you’d realise that people don’t have to conventionally look like boys to be boys, they are whatever they want to identify as.”

He was scared and you had started to get pissed, the team walked up to you as Kuroo looked at you, “he giving you a problem Y/n.”

“I handled it Kuroo.”

“This the boyfriend.” The new kid asked as your blood boiled.

Kuroo was confused, he grabbed Kenma by the hood as he made him stand in front of you. “Kitten is everything okay?” All the anger that filled you had disappeared as soon as you saw him, your love, your everything.

“This is your boyfriend.” Your face grew angry again.

“Cover me.” Is all you said to Kuroo and the rest of the team, Kenma knew what was about to happen as he stopped the game he was playing to watch. “You want to say that again.”

Before you let him speak, your fist went to his face, pushing him back even if you didn’t condone violence, it was sometimes necessary. Kenma smiled as he saw his girl fighting for him. “That’s enough kitten.” He spoke softly as you stopped beating the crap out of the boy.

You don’t say anything as you leave, he wasn’t injured just a few scratches, Kenma grabbed your hand holding it, even if you were shorter than him you would always fight for him. He brought your bruised knuckles to his mouth. Kissing it better as if all the love and care he had was going to heal your wounds. You giggle at his touch as you watch the rest of the game feeling his eyes fixated on the ball.

Before you knew it the practice had finished and you and Kenma held hands walking to the train, the new kid disappearing. He smiled listening inattentively at your day. “You know.” You pause speaking as you notice him watching, “you’re such a pretty setter.”

He hides his face with his hair not wanting to feel embarrassed you knew he loved it as he squeezed your hand softly, you smiled leaning your head against his shoulder, feeling everything, you needed in him.

koshi sugawara

You hadn’t intended to come watch the practice, but Suga had insisted you come so he could walk home with you. You adored him and even though you knew the basics of Volleyball it was still a confusing game.

You ended up coming right on time with Kageyama swapped out with Suga. He noticed you as he gave a bright smile, you smiled back going to Kiyoko and Yachi as they greeted you with cheery HI’s.

The game started again, Suga serving as he started getting passed the ball, you understood the terminology and what was going on, it was when they would do their insane moves that were unexplainable. He set the ball effortlessly as Asahi spiked it right past the blockers.

You cheered always being Suga’s biggest fan, as they continued on with the game you watched smiling at the love you had for him. The devotion you had to this boy who brought happiness to your life. You knew he would bring about comfort in a room and right now all you could feel was admiration at his perfect sets, his perfect passes, his perfect serves. He was perfect to you and he deserved the world.

They had started doing something you didn’t know much about, Noya coming from the frontline as he jumped up setting as well. Suga had told you about this attack, a synchronised attack that would only work if everybody was perfect. You didn’t really read up on it as much as you did other attacks but seeing it in action as Suga spiked the ball passing the blockers you realised just how much satisfaction it brought your boyfriend.

“Suga that was amazing.” You shout as he smiles, the practice game having been won as he scored the last point.

He walked up to you, opening your arms for a big hug. You loved his hugs he always smelt of fresh towels and vanilla a combination expected from the grey-haired boy. “You’re such a pretty setter.”

He smirks as he remains around you, his arms encasing you as he was so in love with you. You were his everything and he wanted to show you the world.

“Can you two stop making us want to puke?” Daichi laughs out as you stick your tongue out at him.

You turn back to Suga his eyes remaining glued to you, “just because nobody loves you Daichi.” Suga spoke still fixated on you, “I love you.” He whispers as you reply back the same love and adoration for him. He kisses you quickly before coach shouted at him.

Even with the smallest quickest kiss it still brought happiness to you as you felt your heart beat through your uniform, your body missing his touch, even your thighs encased in tights had hairs risen just at the pining of love you had for this boy. He was going to ruin you and you were going to gladly let him.

tobio kageyama

Kageyama had been none stop practicing for the past week, even with nationals months away he was still concentrated on improving. You loved that about him, loved his dedication but his lack of knowing when to take breaks is what worried you the most.

You walked through the double doors, it was another late night of studying for you and playing volleyball for Kageyama, your lack of communication annoying you. You saw as he set the ball perfectly, Hinata spiking it to where the water bottles were. You smiled as you continued to watch not drawing any attention to yourself, he kept setting perfectly for the orange haired boy.

As soon as the last ball had been set, he looked at the door seeing your cold frame watching intently. You smiled giving a small wave as he gestured for you.

“Hey Y/n, what are you doing here?” You play with your fingers being shorter than the boy making you have to look up to him.

“I thought we could walk home.” He knew you both hadn’t spent that much time together since the team had won Nationals.

He hesitated a response, but you spoke before he could, “you’re such a pretty setter.” You were embarrassed at what you said his face going a bright red.

“Kageyama you look like a rotten tomato” Hinata said as he walked past, you giggle at the comment as he looks at you again, the reddening calming down.

“We should walk home together; I’ll go grab my stuff.” You smile as he starts to walk off before pausing in his tracks, “thank you Y/n.” He was never this outwardly affectionate but in the enclose where only you could hear you felt love.

“It’s all true you’re a…” He interrupts you quickly.

“No, thank you for that but also thank you for staying by my side, I love Volleyball and I love you, I’m not very good as balance, but you realise how important Volleyball is to me, so thank you for always being there.” You smile looking down.

“I’ll always be there for you.” He smiles as he leaves to grab his stuff.

He arrives as quick as he left, the small action of skimming his fingertips beside your own, made you grab his hand, he looked down smiling as you leaned in closer to hid frame. He let your other arm go around his arm, bringing warmth to you.

“You know, every time I set, I set for you.” He smirks as you have love in your eyes.

“R…really.” You choke out.

He stops you, putting his hands to your face, “yeah and I really do love you Y/n”

“I love you too Tobio.” You close the gap, his hands guiding the kiss as in the privateness of the empty street allowing Tobio to express himself in which words could never do. You had to hand it to the boy, he would always be better at physically showing his love than emotionally. But even then it made you love him even more, it made Tobio Kageyama, Tobio Kageyama.

toru oikawa

Oikawa had fans, a lot of fans. You hated to admit you were jealous of how they’d come up to him after games, how they’d touch his arm. It was always a race to get to him first and even him always ignoring them as soon as you came. You still hated them.

You knew how much Oikawa had been practicing lately so you made him some milk bread and would wait for him to finish practice so you both could walk home. You walked towards the double doors, his fans crowding around as they watched intently.

You sign as you push past them, hearing scowls, someone even elbowing you as you glared at the girl, just as you reached the entrance about to walk in. Someone on the team came running up to you, he looked new and have the ugliest hair ever.

“Sorry you can’t come in when practice is on, are you one of Oikawa’s fans?” You were about to answer him as he saw the food in your hands. “Fucking hell you fangirls are obsessed with him, y’know he won’t eat it.”

You raised an eyebrow at the first year, “Yeah well I’m not a fan so move it.”

You try to barge past him, but his arm was out, he glared as you glared back. Almost a competition of seeing who would retain eye contact. “Then what are you doing here?”

“I’m here to see my boyfriend.” He raised an eyebrow as he chuckled.

“You must be crazy if you think Oikawa’s your boyfriend.” You grew even more frustrated at the new kid.

“I’m going to kill you if you don’t move.” He remained standing in front of you.

The commotion that had been occurring had made Iwaizumi come over, “Leave Y/n alone Kindaichi.” You finally found out his name.

“But…”

“Thank you Iwa-chan.”

“Who the fuck is Y/n.” Kindaichi mutters as you continue to glare at the boy.

You walked towards Oikawa who was sitting on the bench, his knee was getting better, but he needed some breaks occasionally. “You okay, baby.”

He broke out from his trance as a soft smile appeared on his lips, “What are you doing here princess.”

He gestured for you to come closer to him, you complied as he brought his arms around your waist, hugging you, his head resting on your stomach. “I brought you some milk bread, you didn’t eat enough this morning.”

He smiles as he takes the bread, he puts it to the side before hugging you again. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He lets go looking up at you, “now go show me those amazing sets of yours.”

He nods standing up becoming a lot taller than you now, grabbing a slice of bread he stuffs it in his mouth as he goes into a game. “Shittykawa don’t stuff your face.” Iwaizumi shouts as Oikawa looks at him hurt.

“My baby made me bread.” He coos as you laugh sitting on the bench.

The game occurred, Oikawa setting perfectly as Iwaizumi spiked it past the blockers especially the annoying turnip head. You watched Oikawa intensively occasionally glaring at Kindaichi as he glared back. The game ended quickly as Oikawa’s serves allowed for many points to arise.

He came up to you, smiling happily waiting for some praise, “you’re such a pretty setter.” He grabbed your waist pulling you towards him as he hugged you tightly.

“You’re too nice to me.” You laugh as your hands played with his hair, it brought comfort to the tall boy. He gave a genuine smile as he looked down at you.

He brought his face closer to yours as he kissed you softly, his mouth gaining momentum as it became heated. His hands bringing you closer to his waist as you could feel his skin on your own. Before it could go anywhere further, you felt Oikawa’s head push against you, he let go off you his hand to his head as you saw the stray volleyball roll away.

“Iwa-chan don’t be so mean.”

“Lazykawa we still have practice, stop eating Y/n’s face off.” He huffed at the boy, you watched as Oikawa left to go pout to Iwaizumi for being mean. The tall boy would be the death of you, but even then you still loved him.

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smoochkooks · 3 years

Text

—chapter four: white lies

this is a part of my an ode to a broken heart drabble series.

pairing: jeon jungkook/reader

genre: unrequited love, best friends to (?), heavy angst, future smut

word count: 1.5k

summary: it came easy to you to lie. but with every untold truth, you were hurting more on the inside.

previous || next

one year and 6 months ago

April was exceptionally moody that year.

Every day you woke up to either heavy rainfall or a beautiful, cloudless sky. Alternatively, it could also snow for a couple of hours just to have it all vanish once the sun reappeared. As much as you loved Spring, you hated the capricious weather with passion.

It was a normal, peaceful, Saturday afternoon. Saturday meant no classes to attend, no work to do on the side. It was just you in your small, cozy apartment, tucked underneath the blanket and binge-watching Attack On Titan.

You were never an anime enthusiast per se, but you happened to befriend a doe-eyed weeb all those years ago. Your current occupation was just a part of the aftermath. It wasn’t like Jungkook was obsessed, not at all. He was actually far from it. Now, at the tender age of twenty-three, his old hobby was like a relapse. His love for anime was coming in waves every once in a while, gradually transforming into a two-months-long hyperfixation and then, it was nothing. And the cicle continued.

He was currently in the stage of re-watching Attack On Titan, hence why you had been forced to finally give the damned anime a try as well. Hell, he was even coming over tonight to have a marathon with you.

(He’d said that season three, his favourite, you had to watch alongside him.)

You: eren's annoying little shit

Jungkook: told you so

You: but levi? damn I’d sell my soul for him

Jungkook: for a 5’2 emotionally unavailable man?

You: yep. that’s my type

It was far from truth. As much as you liked Captain Levi, he wasn’t Jungkook. You are my type, you wanted to write instead. There hadn’t been a man in my life who managed to even come close to you. But, as always, you kept those confessions to yourself.

Right when you were about to play another episode, your phone buzzed again.

Jungkook: I have a weird question

You: I’m used to that

You: shoot your shot.

Jungkook: what’s your finger size?

Confused, you read his last message once again. That was indeed a weird fucking question to ask, you thought. You had never really been a fan of rings. You only owed one - a gift from your grandmother she gave you for your sixteenth birthday. Rummaging thorough your drawer, you found it in a separate, black case.

It still fit just right, so you took a ruler, measured the size and googled the results.

You: it’s 7.5 I guess

You: why do you ask tho?

Jungkook: I need you to go somewhere with me before our marathon if that’s okay

You: you didn’t answer my question

You: but okay. what time?

Jungkook: ill pick you up at 5pm

Jungkook: you’ll see

Maybe it was for the better he hadn’t told you where he was taking you. If you had know, you would have backed away last minute. Come up with so lame excuse, blame it all on a headache or period cramps.

If you had known Jungkook was taking you to pick up an engagement ring for Soojin, you would have never come with him.

When you parked in front of one of the most high-ranking jewellery stores dowtown, the solemnity of the situation hit you like a whiplash. You took a deep, shuddering breath. Jungkook was thinking about marrying Soojin. Jungkook was going to propose to her, soon. He was ready to spent the rest of his life with her.

Jeon Jungkook, the love of your life, was about to slip out of your reach for good.

You couldn’t cry. Not in front of him. You clenched your fists so tight the knuckles turned white.

“I figured out you could help me,” Jungkook said, breaking the silence and unbuckled his seatbelt. “I checked Soojin's finger size once when she was showering and then I found out that your’s the same and well, you’re a girl so you obviously know more about jewellery than me and–”

“Jungkook,” you cut him off with a dry chuckle. You didn’t want him to speak. You didn’t want to see him. You wanted to jumped off his car and ran away from that place as far as possible. “You don’t have to explain yourself. I get it.”

You smiled at him with reassurance. It was actually hilarious, how you mastered the art of feigning your real feelings when you were with him. It came easy to you to lie but with every untold truth, you were hurting more on the inside.

“I’m here, so you don’t have to worry about chosing something horrible.”

He grinned and you noticed a dust of pink covering the apples his cheeks. It was hard, so fucking hard seeing him happy because that was all you ever wanted and yet it pained you not to be the main source of it. Jungkook was twenty-three and already so in love he wanted to get married. You were going to see him in a black tux, a prince charming waiting in front of the altar for his princess.

It ached. Why did it ache to see him happy?

The lady who worked at the jewellery store greeted you politely with a bow. “What can I do for you?” she asked.

“We are looking for engagement rings.” Jungkook answered.

You could tell she was a bit astounded but her professional smile never faltered when she responded with, “Oh, that’s still quite unusual to see the couple chosing an engagement ring together.”

You were about to protest but then, Jungkook did something you would never expect him to do.

He grasped your hand.

(It was warm. His touch was soothing. Comforting. Then why did it hurt so bad?)

“My girlfriend wants to chose the ring herself but she doesn’t know when she will get it.”

To make matters worse, he sent you a wink. The store’s clerk cooed at the scene and clasped a hand over her chest. For her it was yet another day at work, yet another pair of adults who had decided to get marry.

“You make a really beautiful couple.” she said.

Even Jungkook’s hand squeezing yours couldn’t ease the sting you felt hearing her speak those words to you. You smiled lightly for good measure. She then pointed at the display and gave you some time and space too look at the options.

Your whole face felt hot. Jungkook was still holding your hand, still playing the role of a perfect boyfriend. He didn’t seem to notice what kind of effect it had on you. He didn’t know how fast your heart was beating, how warm his touch felt on your skin. It was all just a silly joke to him.

He leaned closer to you, so the store's clerk couldn’t hear him. His breath tickled your skin. “You’re blushing.” he whispered.

“Shut up.”

He chuckled and let go of your hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

(No matter how much it hurt you on the inside, you already missed his touch.)

“It’s okay. Let’s chose my damned ring, shall we?” you proposed, mustering a nonchalant tone.

Dodging uneasiness with humor always worked out, it seemed.

You felt odd and out of place standing next to him and staring at all those glimmering jewels. In the corner of the eye you saw the lady who worked there glancing at you from time to time and that was when you remembered you were supposed to act like a soon-to-be fiancée.

“They’re all pretty.” you said to Jungkook.

“Which one you like the most then?”

You didn’t have to think long about the answer. The ring with an emerald stone caught your eye from the beginning. It was different than the others, definitely not a standard choice for engagement but something about its peculiarity made you want it to have it shinning on your finger one day.

Except, you weren’t here for yourself. Jungkook wasn’t your boyfriend. You were helping him chose a ring for Soojin. And you knew exactly what she would like.

So you pointed at the number thirty-two. A sparkling, white-gold ring with an oval-shaped diamond.

Jungkook let out a hum. “It’s really pretty, yeah. Excuse me,” he called. “My girlfriend would like to try out this one.”

You ignored the phantom pain you felt as you put the ring on. You flexed your fingers and just for a moment, you pretended it wasn’t a farce your best friend came up with. The diamond shone brightly just like the glimmers of happiness in Jungkook's eyes. He didn’t have to worry about Soojin's answer. He knew it would be thousand times yes.

You were good at pretending. After all, you had been practicing the art of it almost your entire life.

So you drove with Jungkook to your apartment and listened to him babbling about his newest project at work. You made snacks, sat in front of your TV and spent the next couple of hours watching Attack On Titan. You cursed him for spoiling you a few bits of the show and Jungkook, like the petty Virgo he was, reminded you how you accidentally revealed him Little Women's ending because you had read the book years before.

As you laughed and bickered with him, you still remembered about the crimson box tucked in the pocket of his leather jacket, but you didn’t allow yourself to break. Not yet.

It was only when Jungkook fell asleep around 1am that you stepped into the shower and let the tears flow.

And a week later, when the dreaded became real–

Jungkook: she said yes!!!

A white lie was told to avoid hurting someone’s feelings.

You: I’m so happy for you, Jungkook!

After all, the best you could do was give up your happiness for the sake of his own.

#jungkook smut #btswritingcafe #ksmutclub #bangtanarmynet #bangtanhq #jungkook angst #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x you #bts smut #my writing #an ode to a broken heart

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sserpente · 4 years

Photo

A/N: Let us kick off autumn season with everyone’s favourite pirate! This Imagine is based on requests from @manymanycupsoftea and two anons. This is probably not entirely historically accurate or more than a fluffy piece of even more fluff but… Have fun! 🎃😋

Words: 1913 Warnings: fluff, anxiety (fear of thunderstorms)

The first thunder ripped you from your light sleep, growling in the grey sky. It was so loud you could feel it vibrating in your chest. Sweating, you sat up, your limbs shaking.

One of the more considerate crew members had offered you a hanging mat but you had opted to build yourself a little nest behind some heavy wooden boxes full of ammunition and cannon balls instead, on top of a pile of fishing nets. It was surprisingly comfortable but most of all, it was safer.

It was for the first time now that you regretted your decision. Thunderstorms did not usually scare you this much—but on a ship, in the middle of the ocean with no land in sight… your anxiety stirred like a rousing lion ready to devour you.

You whimpered, unable to stop the pitiful sounds escaping your lips as you curled up in the corner. You had long gotten used to the way the ship kept rocking on the strong waves of the sea—but today, it made you sick to the core. The Captain had promised land soon, if anything to stock up on the crew’s rum supplies. If you were not mistaken, you were sailing somewhere on the Atlantic Ocean. Jack had told you about an island where the British settled and harboured many treasures and expensive alcohol. He had only been once, in his drunken state, however, barely remembered any of the experience.

Another thunder. You flinched once more, pressing your forehead against your knees until you felt a stinging pain spreading on your skin but only pulled away to look up with tear-stricken eyes when you heard a barrel being knocked over, and the Captain cursing under his breath.

Closing your mouth shut, you sank against the wood, wishing you were a mouse. Unlucky for you, he noticed you regardless.

“You alright there, missy?” He leaned over one of the boxes, his dreads hanging down and making the beads woven into them clatter.

“No. Yes. Go away!”

Jack pouted. “That was… an unhelpful answer.”

“I’m just sea-sick.” You choked out, unwilling to meet his brown eyes. They were, so you had to admit, far too captivating.

“In which case you should hop on deck and not cower in the dark.” On deck. That would be even worse. And in this weather… what was he thinking? Probably nothing at all, given the amount of alcohol on the Black Pearl.

“H-How… how close are we to land?”

“’Bout half a day’s journey if the storm doesn’t blow us off course.” Jack leaned in even closer. You could smell him now. A wondrously intriguing mixture of rum, a little bit of sweat and the tangy soap he had stolen from a British mercenary last week—and strangely… having the infamous pirate so close to you calmed you down. A third thunder echoed through the endless sky above the ship, so loud this time even the sleeping crew stirred a little in its slumber. A scream escaped your lips before you were unable to stop it.

Captain Jack Sparrow was many things but he was certainly not stupid—and he did not quite manage to wipe the shit-eating grin off his face when he said, “You’re afraid of the storm?” It was not a question; and even though you felt the urge to slap him for mocking you for your anxieties, what he did instead startled you to the core.

He reached out for you, offering you his hand. Utterly confused, you stared at it, counting the many precious rings on his fingers and wondering what had caused the long scar right above his knuckles. A sword, perhaps?

He was a pirate. Pirates should not behave this way. You had not expected a life where you were being respected by your comrades when you joined this ship for no other reason than to escape the social conventions of your own family, to flee having to bend to rules you fundamentally disagreed with. Rules like forced marriages for the sake of society and reputation. Ugh.

And now here he was, taking your hand into his, pulling you off the ground and leading you over to one of the hanging mats. You stopped dead in your tracks when you realised what his destination was.

“I am not going to sleep in a hanging mat with you!”

Jack’s upper lip twitched slightly. “I wasn’t gonna sleep, I was gonna drink.” He said matter-of-factly, pointing to the bottle of rum on another wooden box next to the hanging mat as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Jack let go off your hand and made himself comfortable.

You presumed you had two options now. You could either jump in at the deep end and join him or you could return to your little nest, letting your anxiety get the better of you. The next thunder made you decide quickly. Before you could change your mind, you climbed up to him, realising only when it was too late that this hanging mat did not provide enough space for two people. You ended up using him both as your pillow and your mattress and Jack had the audacity to groan and then chuckle as he took a greedy sip from his rum.

“Sorry. This isn’t going to work, I’ll…”

“I’m not complaining about havin’ a beautiful woman sleeping on me, missy.” He cut you off.

“I won’t sleep. I’ll just… wait until this stupid storm is over.” You retorted, ignoring vehemently how the pirate had just called you beautiful and made his comment sound ambiguous. It was oddly flattering.

And then there it was again, his intoxicating smell, the alcohol more prominent now that he was sipping on his rum. You almost smiled to yourself. What would your mother say if she knew you were currently resting on top of a fearsome pirate who had more or less just non-verbally promised to protect you from a storm? This was more than your husband-to-be ever could have done for you.

Against all conviction, you fell asleep.

The next morning the crisp October air was fresh, as if cleansed by all the rain that had poured into the ocean and on deck of the Black Pearl overnight. The dark and threatening storm clouds had gone, the sun rising on the horizon. Jack had been right. There was land in sight—and the haven was busy, full of merchants and traders wearing… exceptionally strange clothes, their carriages full of pumpkins.

A frown decorated your forehead. Pumpkins? It could not be… had you been sailing for so long now?

“It’s Halloween.” You whispered—both euphoria and grief washing over you all at the same time. As a child, you had loved Halloween. Your father had brought Turkish Delight all the way from Eastern Europe to be eaten and you had been allowed to dress up as a fierce pirate girl with a wooden sword.

Jack leaned over, his lips slightly parted in an irritated manner. You shivered when his hot breath brushed against your ear.

“Uh… do you know why they’re all dressed like that?”

“They are wearing costumes.” You responded, smiling faintly at the memory. Jack looked at you as if you had grown two heads, eliciting a giggle from you. You didn’t know why but somehow… you kept growing to like the cocky pirate.

“It is an annual celebration to scare away nasty spirits. So this might be the one day of the year you will not look conspicuous being dressed like… well, a pirate.” You concluded, your voice more confident now. Perhaps it was not so bad after all. Jack had shown you nothing but kindness so far. “I wish I had a costume.”

“That can be arranged. Master Gibbs!” He called out, without ever taking his eyes off of you.

“Aye, Captain?”

“You’re in charge! I’m takin’ this lovely lady out for a drink!”

“Aye, Captain.” Gibbs repeated, raising his eyebrows just a little at being left with all the work while Jack was amusing himself with a woman. Heavens, what were you thinking? He was a pirate. You would not be amusing yourself with him… like that.

“Why?” You asked, as soon as you had followed him across the wooden boarding ramp and past a few merchants offering you fresh and big pumpkins. It was almost short of a miracle Jack’s ship did not attract any attention—but then again, this island was different—and it was Halloween.

“’Cause I’m thirsty.” He replied.

“You’re always thirsty. I mean, why are you taking me with you?”

“Cheer up, luv.” Love? Did he just call you love? It did in fact distract you so much you did not realise he never bothered to answer your question. “They serve the best rum here! But don’t tell that me mates on Tortuga. Ah, wait.” He stopped dead in his tracks and spun around, the sudden movement having you knock straight into him. He chuckled when you blinked.

You were standing in midst of a rather busy alley now. Market stands and laundrette services caught your attention, across the dusty ground a few chicken ran for their lives, being chased by a butcher with bloodstains on his white apron.

Unceremoniously and without any shame, Jack plucked a surprisingly well-made suit from a nearby clothesline. It was a British sailor’s uniform.

“You wanted to dress up?” He grinned, his golden teeth glinting in the rising morning sun.

“As a British sailor?” You asked, reaching for the appertaining hat but unable to stop yourself from reciprocating his grin in the process.

“As a freebooter!” He protested as he took the hat from your hand and put it on your head. Heavens, could this get any more bizarre?

Apparently it could, for about ten minutes later you found yourself sitting in a dimly lit tavern in a stolen costume, sipping, for the first time in your life, on a mug filled to the brim with rum. Jack had already half-emptied his while you were struggling not to end up completely drunk after only two sips.

If all this wasn’t strange enough already, you were the only woman in here—a circumstance which the other men, pirates or whatever they might have been, did not fail to notice. And when one of them gathered up his courage to approach you in a both eager and suspicious manner, the infamous pirate Captain simply slipped an arm around you, pulling you against his strong body and hence, scaring the stranger away.

Rum, sweat, tangy soap… you could get used to this.

“Jack? Thank you.” You blurted out before you could stop yourself. To say he was startled did not quite capture it.

“What for?”

“Everything. I think… I think you’re a good man.”

He frowned, hesitating. “I’m a pirate.”

“Yes, you are. But you have a good heart. You could have left me behind laughing at me when I begged you for shelter on your ship upon fleeing from my family. You didn’t… and now this is more than I could have ever imagined.”

“You’re livin’ a pirate’s life now, luv.” Love. There it was again. Smirking smugly, he raised his mug. “Take what you can.”

You laughed, more men turning their heads your way—right now, with Jack by your side, you couldn’t care less. “And give nothing back!” You clinked your glasses and drank. “Oh, and Happy Halloween!”

A/N: If you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate it so much if you considered supporting me on Kofi! Caffeine is essential as a writer, I guess. And red wine. A lot of red wine. ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

#halloween clipart in title by hotshotspecialgmailcom #jack sparrow #jack sparrow imagine #jack sparrow x you #jack sparrow x reader #jack sparrow fluff #captain jack sparrow #captain jack sparrow imagine #captain jack sparrow x you #captain jack sparrow x reader #potc #potc imagine #pirates of the caribbean #pirates of the caribbean imagine #johnny depp

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hes-writer · 4 years

Text

Birthday

Summary: harry forgets y/n's birthday

Warnings: angst and fluff if you squint

Word Count: 2871 words

A/N: I’m tired. My head hurts (sucky ending ahead)

___

How silly was it to stare at a phone in anticipation for hours, waiting for it to buzz and light up with a simple banner stating ‘happy birthday!’ from your closest friends? It was a sad reality for Y/N. She was never very outspoken, often opting to keep to herself and speak only when she was comfortable. Friends were a touchy topic because she had lost so many in the past that she didn’t bother making new ones for the sake of not going through another fallen friendship.

What was the point of going through the cycle over and over again if Y/N knew the dreaded ending? She was better off saving herself from heartbreak and stick with the true friends she had.

For the past years, Y/N’s closest friends brought her joy and animated presents to celebrate her birthday. She appreciated them very much, declaring that they only had to give her greetings and she would be happy. They cared so much until they didn’t. Was it because of quarantine that they failed to realize what day it was? Were they busy with work? Were they finishing up a university project worth half of their marks? Did they forget? Y/N wondered what changed.

Having stability within herself was something that she always struggled with. As much as she tried to convince herself that she is important and that she’s worth it—Y/N knew that it was only a matter of time before all those reassurances blew up in her face.

Sometimes she feels as though she cared too much, expected too much and got nothing in return. It wasn’t a competition; really, it wasn’t. Y/N didn’t want to sound entitled but the fact that she remembered the important days and the special occasions, bringing gifts and cheery greetings only to have nothing but empty silence when the day was about her hurt more than a metal scooter to her ankle bone.

And for the sake of it, Y/N forced herself to understand that her friends didn’t remember. They were still her friends even if she hasn't spoken to them in a while. Their life didn’t revolve around her even if it felt like she dedicated too much of hers caring for them and making sure that they felt good about themselves. Y/N hated to see them sad, doubting themselves to the point where she had to step in—too irritated to bite her tongue because they didn’t deserve to be put down that way whether it was by their own thoughts or somebody else’s.

It was a completely different story with Harry. She and Harry have been together for three years and counting, sharing memories between the two; affection, intimacy and caressing touches imprinted on one another’s skin. He was the most amazing person Y/N had ever met; always pleasing others but knowing when to draw the line. He was both logical and affectionate, never letting his heart rule too heavy on his decisions but always using his head to think it through.

Recently, Y/N felt as if their relationship was taking a low. She wasn’t too concerned because it had happened before and a simple, meaningful talk was often what she and Harry needed to get back on the right track for a long-lasting relationship. The days were passing by continuously, sometimes even confusing her until she found something to look forward to. Her birthday.

—-

The rays battled through the blinds, blinding her with faint yellow sunshine yet Y/N could see the clouds covering the sky, indicating that it was cloudy and frankly, a little bit cold today.

She yawned, pressing her fists against her eye to knuckle on them, rubbing the sleep out before stretching them outwards. She expected to hit a body laying beside her, Harry, but she was met with open-air and a sudden chill enveloping her body despite the thick comforter laying on top of her.

Y/N pressed her palms on the mattress. The creases imprinting indents on her skin as she pushed herself up slightly in alarm. Sure enough, Harry’s side of the bed was empty, wrinkled with his movements from sleep but he was nowhere to be found. His usual humming habits didn’t echo from the bathroom, nor did his constant yelps of clothes falling off the rack reverberate from the walk-in closet. She concluded that maybe he was in the kitchen preparing a special breakfast in bed—waffles and freshly cut fruit were always her favourites.

Y/N smiled at the thought, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, slipping her feet in her fuzzy slippers before dragging her legs to the bathroom to get ready for the day. Aside from a few work emails needing to be responded to, her day was essentially empty, hoping that her time would soon be filled with long-lasting memories.

Ten minutes later and a questionable frown on her face, Y/N entered the kitchen with a beating heart. The smell of breakfast food didn’t linger in the air as she had expected. In fact, there was nobody there. No one in the living room, nowhere. There was no note taped to the fridge, no gifts sitting on the counter, no cake cooling on the stove rack.

Y/N felt the corner of her mouth dip in disappointment, returning to the bedroom to switch her phone on.

A hole in her chest formed at the sight of an empty lock screen—no messages or calls needing to be tended to because no one had remembered her birthday. She tried not to think too much about it, maybe they were busy or forced by Harry to stay quiet because he had planned a surprise party later in the evening. Y/N sighed, tapping her thumbs to text him ‘where are you 🥺’.

The damage ripped her further apart at a notification showing pictures of ‘Today, 1 Year ago’. She contemplated whether to view them or not, aware that she was torturing herself for not getting the same amount of sentiment as the previous years.

‘meeting. I’ll call you x’ - Harry

Y/N swiped the message up, opting not to reply and wallowing in self-pity as she tried not to let her thoughts get the better of her. Today was supposed to be a happy day so why was she feeling so sad?

Wandering around Harry’s large house, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a cold blanket of loneliness draping over her shoulder. She wished that Harry was here to ease the ache quelling in her heart. All she wanted was to share sweet kisses with his soft lips, to feel his strong arms wrapped around her waist. Hearing his voice whispering dirty thoughts and compliments in her ear while she buried her face on the nape of his neck where his scent was the strongest. Maybe they would bake a cake in the kitchen. Flour dusting the air as Harry let his fingers wiggle to get it off of him. The finished product didn’t always look good but it tended to taste delicious. At least it was edible.

The daydreams in her head moved with the branches swaying outside the window, the fluffy white clouds moving westward as Y/N reeled in memories of her past birthday like a camera roll, creaking with each spin. The flickering blinking with forgotten remnants of happy flashbacks.

It was nearing four in the afternoon when Y/N decided to stop antsily waiting for the device to buzz in hopes of a message from Harry or anybody, really. The slight grief she felt washed over her mind, echoing that she wasn’t important enough to be remembered.

She didn’t want to feel like that anymore.

Y/N didn’t know what bothered her the most. Is it fair for her to expect Harry to remember her birthday? Was it a given? If he came home right now with a present on his left hand, balloons and flowers on his right with a sheepish smile inching up the lower half of his face—would Y/N still feel angry? Sad? Disappointed? All she wanted was him to remember on his own. Maybe then she’ll feel as though she was worth his time. It wasn’t even about the gifts or a celebration—just a simple acknowledgment that meant he cared for her.

She kept asking herself if she should feel sad. If she had the right to feel disappointed. It wasn’t like they made any plans. It wasn’t like he promised to do anything special with her. It felt more and more like a normal day instead of her birthday and Y/N’s heart twinged with realization.

If Harry ‘made it up to her’, was it overpowering guilt that would make him do it? Or because he genuinely forgot? Maybe both? Nonetheless, the hours passed by with barely anything productive being accomplished, having taken the day off for nothing. The device beside her vibrated once, a message from her aunt saying ‘happy birthday’ left a smile on her face. It wasn’t every day that Y/N received a text from her extended family-- she concluded that it was because her birthday was on the same day as her grandfather’s.

____

The sun sunk down beyond the horizon, darkness littering the streets that the light disappeared due to nighttime slowly cycling through the rest of the day. Y/N spent her time as she would any other day, except this time she baked a cake. A pity cake for her gloomy day. She was like a burnt cigarette crumpled on the ashtray, the last traces of orange hue fire spotting into black traces.

Y/N felt foolish wearing a party hat with a string that was way too short stretched around her head. The tightness tramping her that would probably cause slight indentations on her skin. It was nearing midnight when she decided to sing herself a happy birthday and made a wish.

The door unlocked, followed by keys rattling on a hardwood. The flame on her wax candle dancing with the gasp she released as Harry rounded the corner to the kitchen.

“Y/N, you in here?” He froze in place as his eyes caught up with the rest of his body. Harry’s fingers tightened around his phone before slipping it in his back pocket. His mouth parted open, throat closing up as he tried to swallow the lump that formed. The party hat sitting on her head almost took away from the severity of the situation.

He messed up. Really bad.

“Hey, Har,” Y/N greeted, crimping her lips to bare a small ghast to the candle. The flame disappeared in the blink of an eye. Harry’s heart hammered harder in his sternum, Y/N’s plunged to her churning stomach. “Where have you been?”

The tone of her voice was mundane. Harry was trying his best to decipher how she was feeling so that he can act accordingly and that was exactly why Y/N purposefully voided it of any susceptible sentiment.

“Y/N, I-I’m sorry,” He padded his feet closer to her, the kitchen island putting distance between them. She sat on the barstool, removing the hat from her head. She fixed her hair as Harry spoke. “I’m really sorry,”

Green eyes bore through her with a sincere expression, shooting daggers in her heart for staying quiet while Harry apologized profusely. The chocolate frosted cake drooped on the edges--she had a habit of smothering the layers with frosting before it fully cooled down-- just like the corners of her mouth.

“What are you sorry for?”

Harry blinked at her, resting his hands on the edge of the counter. “I forgot your birthday,”

Y/N nodded, “Yeah, you did.”

“Happy birthday, baby” His voice was tender, like a bowl of sweet, milk chocolate. Decadent and rich as it released the words she had been waiting to hear all day long. And frankly, it would’ve been enough to put a smile to her face, but the lack of content for the day embedded her in a mindset that not even Harry’s simple words could dig her out of. The amount of self-reflection she did today was a topic that she had tried to avoid for so long because it was too destructive--she never handled these thoughts well.

Y/N peered at the digital clock on the stove just as it switched to ‘00:01’. Harry followed her gaze, hitching a breath in his throat. She stared at him deeply, "Where were you?”

“Studio. I had a flow, couldn’t stop and I--,” He rambled on, nervously scratching the nape of his neck, fingers playing with the tiny curls. A part of Y/N couldn’t help but feel selfish for making this all about her (even if it was about her). Harry had other commitments besides her. He had a music career that depended on him writing songs. She knew how much it meant to him when a flow was just too good--lyrics spewing out of his mouth, melodies humming from the base of his throat. Harry wrote some of his best work in the middle of the night after dreaming about something that absolutely puzzled her to no end. Remorse spotted in her chest.

“It’s okay,” Y/N said slowly. “You were working hard. I get it,” Her hands reached out for his waist, his Gucci hoodie soft to the touch.

Harry hesitated, opening and closing his mouth, wondering if he should uncover the whole truth. His arms wrapped around her shoulders, his chin jutting on the crown of her head. A sudden breeze slipped up his back when she slid her warm palms under the fabric. “No, I wasn’t,”

“Hmm?”

He cleared his throat, leaning back far enough that he could maintain eye contact with her, “I wasn’t working hard. I was sleeping. I did write some tunes bu’ then I got knocked out for hours and didn’t wake up until eleven,”

“Oh,” Y/N let her hands dangle beside her, a rush of disappointment flooding her every being. She carefully sewed up her next response, “S’okay, you were tired,” And she was too. All she wanted was to cuddle up in their bed and he can make it up to her another day.

“It’s not okay!” Harry retorted. “I forgot about your birthday, left you all alone. I didn’t even text you,” He pounded his fist on the counter, way too close to the chocolate cake that had Y/N sneakily pulling the tray away from him but he caught her, “Didn’t get you a cake. Didn’t buy ya’ a present,”

“Harr--,” She tried to intervene in his monologue. Disappointment still weighed heavily in her chest. However, the sight of Harry fuming at his ability to remember reminded her that she didn’t enjoy seeing him blaming himself. As much as she wished to have this day play out differently, everything was already said and done.

“Stop that, Y/N! I was sleeping while you were blowing a candle out on your own. I was s’pposed to be there with you,”

Salty tears flooded her waterline, overwhelming emotions swamping her and saturating her mind, “No, no, no. Please don’t cry,” He rushed out, willing his legs to stand between hers from the distance he created. His thumb stuck out to pad a tear to her temple, “I’ll make it up to you. I swear it,”

Earlier, she contemplated if he would be acting out of guilt. Seeing the sincerity in his eyes and hearing the intensity of his voice asserting that he had messed up so badly that he reprimanded himself; there was no doubt in Y/N’s mind that Harry would do everything he can to make her feel better.

“Do you care about me?”

“‘Course, I do,” He cringed internally at his words, visibly shuddering as his actions surely emphasized the opposite. “Dunno how I forgot. It must’ve slipped my mind,” The groove in between his brows thickened, his cheek absentmindedly leaning towards her palm cupping his cheek. “I care about you a lot, Y/N.” He breathed through his nose, letting the scent of her fill his lungs.

“Do you love me?’

His lids snapped open, jaw tensing against her skin, “Loads. I love you so much,” He turned his head to kiss her palm, holding her wrist to press kisses on her fingers, her wrist, her forearm.

“I’m really sorry,” He rested his forehead against hers. Y/N tangled their fingers together as she held him close.

“You’re sorry?” She asked, the crest of her lips brushing over his plump ones. Harry nodded, keeping his eyes on hers.

“Very,”

Y/N let her eyes fall shut, peering closer to his cloudy lips and attaching his mouth to his. Her hands travelled to his broad shoulders, straightening her back to reach his height. Harry bent down in retaliation. They pulled away with a smacking sound, lips glistening from their intense kiss. “S’that mean I’m forgiven?” He mumbled, pressing a kiss on her head.

She scoffed, turning her attention on the cake, “Have you made it up to me yet?”

___

sucky ending, i know.

___

Permanent Taglist: @fangirl-moment-x @kissme-hs @agoddamnmango @harrys-kingdom @harrysstyleseyes @calums-sugarbaby @queenbeestuffs @ashkuuuu @kettxo @send-me-styles @littledreamybeth @trustfulhaz @harrysfeastedflower @harrystxleslx @befourep @moonandstars-xo @babebenhardy @particularnarry @mendesromano @harrystylinsince1994 @juliassgem @miscll-fangirl @little-dragon-ate-my-heart @myfangirlworld @haroldssfedora @winchesterwife27 @w0wfxck @arypesanchez @harriemelonsugar @someinsanefangirl @derangedcupcake @bobo-bush @peachesaquari @shawnsnovel @ivegotparticulartaste @adore-you-hs2 @combativehood @simonsbluee @hockeyschmockey @belovedcherry @harrysahottie @adore-you-hs2 @splendidsunsetsx @turtoix @la-cey @harrys-watermelons @softkidinlove

Birthday Taglist: @millie-753 @tomhiddleston-is-mischief @liaabsurd

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles angst #harry styles drabble

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checkmatein3moves · 3 years

Note

I was thinking… maybe festival + windo?

😎 — windo

“My dear darling favourite person ever, have you come across my summer sunglasses? The pink and red ones?” Windo calls, his voice carrying from the ensuite.

“Nope. I only see your spring pair,” you reply, a brief scope of the room only revealing the green cat-eye pair with painted daisies sitting on his desk.

You hear nothing back until he appears in the doorway haloed by his bright bathroom light, hair pushed back by a flannel headband. “I suppose…that means I should look for them. Somewhere in all this. But once I start working on the mess, I know I won’t be able to stop.”

When Windo had suggested you come over to help him pack for Horizon Festival with the addendum of ‘my room’s pretty cluttered though,’ there was no way you could’ve been prepared for the catastrophic level of disarray he’d somehow gotten the place into. Among the chaos of clothes and containers and accessories, you‘ve managed to pick out a wax kit wearing a sparkly hat, at least five different travel bags that Windo deemed too small, and a single leg from a pair of jeans thrown over the back of his recliner.

“You’re only this disorganised when you’re really stressed about something,” you say, clocking the look on his face; bottom lip sucked in and blankness behind the eyes, a subconscious threat of impending shutdown.

He trudges into the bedroom and sags down on the bed, barely making a noise as he sinks into the island of dress shirts. “I have no idea how I’m gonna enjoy Horizon this year. Not when all I can think about is whether I can afford to take three days off from studying. I know it’s gonna rattle my focus. I’m just…dreading it. It’s never been this bad before.”

You can tell. You’ve been kneeling in front of his open suitcase, holding up articles of clothing and watching him give you his signature outfit despair expression (a semi-apologetic pout, eyebrows drawing in, slight head shake) to at least one of every four garments. You move to sit beside him on the bed and he reaches for your hand, twining your fingers together in your lap. His palm is soft. Always soft, moisturised, the perfect hands for pockets and holding alike.

“You know I could never bring myself to ask too much of you, right?” he says quietly, with a tinge of guilt. “But now I feel like I’m offloading the consequences of my time management failure on you.”

It’s hard to comfort him. When he’s focused on something it’s almost like there’s nothing else in the world, but you press his hand to remind him that you’re both as real as his worries. “I’m here for my best friend,” you say. “Some clothes aren’t scaring me away.”

Letting go, he wriggles his way up to sit opposite you and take both of your hands instead. He loops his fingers loosely around your wrists and skims your skin as he gradually makes his way higher, finding the hold he likes best. His thumbs hook around yours and his fingers fold into your palms like a hand-hug, content that he has your touch mapped out. Easier to pull you closer if I need to, he always says.

“That’s kind of what this is all about. In a way. Not really directly.” He shakes his head and scoffs at himself, eyes on your hands. “I love you. A lot. But I can’t stop thinking about what things are gonna be like when I get into my advanced program. I already feel like I’m only seeing you in between whirlwinds of meetings and classes and seminars and — you get the point. If I keep going like this, you’ll forget me and I won’t even blame you. I’d like time to stop now.”

“Oh, Windo…” You lean in and rest your forehead against his lowered brow, making his breath hitch. You fold your fingers over his. He squeezes the knuckles of your thumbs in response.

Then he pulls away, stands up, and presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I’ll just wear my spring pair. That’ll fix it for now."

#windo #drabbles #hiii alive #this is gonna be a recurring theme thru his route #time o__o

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eldritchqueerture · 3 years

Text

Point of View - Original Statement Fic

Point of View (5004 words) by LadyNikita Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Original Statement Giver(s) (The Magnus Archives) Additional Tags: Statement Fic (The Magnus Archives), Original Statement (The Magnus Archives), this was intended as the eye but evolved into the vast as well, happens, cosmic horror, attempt at Eldritch Madness, unreality, Discussions of pointlessness and meaninglessness, Canon-Typical The Vast Content (The Magnus Archives), from the eps about space, Mentions of Death, Compulsion, discussions of free will (kind of), Dissociation, Panic, Mentions of addiction, Leitner Book (The Magnus Archives), except it was not possessed by Leitner, Pretty Colours <3, Neurodivergent Protagonist, Queer Protagonist, because I can project a bit as a treat, Can Be Read Without Prior Knowledge of the Podcast (I think)

Summary: "Humans crave understanding. They strive towards knowing more and more, that’s what all science is about, isn’t it? To study, to learn and understand; to seek answers to questions. But are we really equipped to handle the answers we seek? Even if we were able to reach them, are our minds advanced enough to grasp the truths about the world we live in? What if there are things just beyond our understanding, lurking in the shadows of reality, peeking into our world just enough to feed on us, on our uncertainty and our pathetic scrambling towards answers that would only bring madness?" --- Statement of Lyria Ellison regarding a different point of view and the dangers of knowledge.

Notes: Hiiiiii <3 I've been reading Lovecraft recently and as much as I hate the dude, The Colour Out of Space gave me so much inspiration that I immediately sat down and produced this in one sitting. I've been meaning to play with the concept of eldritch madness for a while; something about this trope is really appealing to me and I'm really enjoying my attempts at shaping it with words. Lyria is a preexisting OC of mine, I will give some background on her in the end notes because I love her very much. This is a form of practice for me; I'm playing with horror themes and I'd like to get acquainted with them to better incorporate them into my overall writing. Therefore I will accept constructive criticism if anyone wants to give it, but only in the form of DMs, either on Tumblr (your-queer-vampire-dm) or on Discord, if we know each other through a server. All of the warnings I think should be mentioned are in the tags, but if you think something should be added then please tell me!

Date: May 10th , 2018

Name: Lyria Ellison

Subject of experience: A different point of view and the dangers of knowledge.

—

How do you start telling a story that changed your heart, your mind, and your soul so profoundly that you can barely still function in a society? How do you say all that without sounding borderline insane? Nobody knows what I’ve seen, what I’ve been through. I know they would all say I’ve hallucinated it all and should seek treatment. But I know it won’t help. I know… I know so much now. Too much and not enough. Never enough. I know what happened was real . I don’t have proof so I’m guessing you won’t believe me either, but I need to tell someone about it. So I might as well tell you.

My name is Lyria Ellison and I’m a neuropsychology major. Ex-major, I should say. I dropped out after… Yeah. I dropped out; there’s not much point in continuing studying things about the feeble, insignificant human brain. Utterly pointless venture.

Humans crave understanding. They strive towards knowing more and more, that’s what all science is about, isn’t it? To study, to learn and understand; to seek answers to questions. But are we really equipped to handle the answers we seek? Even if we were able to reach them, are our minds advanced enough to grasp the truths about the world we live in? What if there are things just beyond our understanding, lurking in the shadows of reality, peeking into our world just enough to feed on us, on our uncertainty and our pathetic scrambling towards answers that would only bring madness?

Just a year ago, I was convinced I was going to finish my degree. I was so passionate about it too, eager to learn more and more, to research and seek knowledge. Curious and fascinated by the world around us. What a foolish thing it was to give into that drive. My mind was open to the supernatural, although I always approached it scientifically; I never said the supernatural existed, but I also never said it didn’t. It was plausible; all in all, every scientist must accept that there is still a vast amount of knowledge we don’t have about the world.

The ignorance was a blessing. But I shall not get ahead of myself.

It started around December last year; my dad had died, and my girlfriend, Shawala, and I were clearing out his house. There wasn’t really anyone else to do it; my mother had passed a couple years prior, I had no siblings, and extended family was out of the picture as well; and my dad had gathered a lot of things in his adventurous life; he was a traveller, and he loved the world, loved learning about it, just like me. I was feeling pretty overwhelmed with it all; my dad meant a lot to me back then, and Shawala proved an excellent support at that first shock. She promised to do some first view assessments of the ground floor, while I went to scope out how things looked in the attic.

It’s always either basements or attics, isn’t it? I used to read horror, Lovecraftian was my favourite – how ironic, isn’t it? How stupid . How utterly ignorant. The hubris of the human race at its finest.

Anyways, the attic was half-lit from the small windows in the roof, and dust was swirling in the faint light of the afternoon sun. It was cold here, but I didn’t pay much mind; the house was old, and it wasn’t surprising that there was draft. To say the space was cluttered would be an understatement; I could barely walk around the numerous boxes, old furniture, crates, and overflowing bookshelves; all of which made something in my chest curl tight, bringing tears to my eyes. I steered my steps towards the nearest bookshelf; I’ve always been a bookworm, fascinated by nearly any tome I came across; I’ve been reading popular science books since I was eight. So naturally, I was drawn to the books, taking huge steps above the cardboard boxes and careful not to hit anything else.

The books were old, of course, and dusty. Some of them had loose pages, and I treated them very gently, almost reverently. I have a little bit of a bookbinder streak, and I decided I would take them home and try to put them back together. As I rifled through them, I saw they pertained to a vast variety of subjects, from poetry, drama, and history, to science, metaphysics, and maths. The deeper I looked into this stunning collection, the more reverence rose in my heart; at my fingertips I had the oldest and the biggest accumulation of knowledge I had ever seen. I saw some books dated back even two hundred years ago.

At that point Shawala called me to check if I was alright. I put the book I had in my hands back and my knuckles brushed against the black leather cover of the next one on the shelf. I felt pleasant tingling in my palm at the touch and my heart leaped at the prospect; I didn’t know why – the book seemed ordinary enough on the shelf and there was no title on its spine.

I sometimes wonder if I could have just left it there and gone downstairs; chosen to come back later and then maybe, it wouldn’t have enticed me as it did. If, by that point, I had had any choice left on the matter.

Alas, intrigued by the book, I placed my palm on the spine and took it out. The leather was soft and smooth, probably sheep, with familiar subtle grains all over the texture. I remember it striked me as odd that it was warmer than the rest of the books in the drafty attic, but I shrugged it off. The front cover had a title, small but visible in the centre, etched in gold – Punctum Visus .

I, by all means, cannot read or speak Latin, but I figured it was something to do with vision. I opened the book, an unknown anticipation buzzing in my stomach. The pages were worn and old, their texture was slightly rough but pleasant under my fingertips; as I opened the front page, I saw the title again, this time in thick but still elegant, black letters, and the smell came up to my nostrils.

I tried to describe it in my head countless times after. I always loved the smell of old books, and I knew it very well, so it came to me as a surprise to realize it wasn’t the only smell I could feel from the book. It was… cold, somehow, distant but prickling at my nose, a little bit the way peppermint tastes. It reminded me of the night sky and distant stars somehow. The smell awakened an unease within me, as I couldn’t quite place what it was and why it seemed so weird , but it wasn’t by any means unpleasant. It was… enticing. Like a promise of a mystery.

I breathed it in again through my nose, closing my eyes, and for a moment I lost all feeling in my body. I was untethered and immaterial, somewhere in deep darkness that seemed to envelop me whole. It felt cold on my mind, stretching it thoughtlessly in the empty vastness, and I saw distant flickering lights of stars. Before I could form a coherent thought, I was back in myself, panting and shaking, staring at the front page of the Punctum Visus . I looked around with shaky breaths; the attic looked the same, and Shawala’s steps on the stairs reached my ears, with her voice calling my name. A shiver passed down my spine, causing goosebumps to bloom on my skin; was it the draft, the dread, or the excitement I couldn’t tell.

I knew I had to read this book, no matter what it took for me to do so.

I took it home, almost forgetting about the rest of the books upstairs. It had spent the next month laying in my room, as I dealt with the formalities and moving the rest of things that weren’t sold from the house either to my place or to charity. After the day we left the house for the last time, I collapsed in my bed, exhausted, but instead of closing, my eyes fell on the book unassumingly waiting on my nightstand.

A surge of excitement passed through me, waking me right up. I sat up and reached for the book. It was still warm; I couldn’t tell if it was good or bad, but warm it was. I think it made me subconsciously assign it more… being? Like, even before I knew anything, I somehow subconsciously accepted that it was more than just an object; that it was, in a sense, alive on its own. I brushed my fingers on the cover, feeling the texture of the leather and the etching of the letters. In the meantime during this month I had checked the meaning of the title – Point of Sight; a position from which a thing is or is supposed to be viewed. It makes so much sense now.

But then I didn’t know what dangers it held; or I didn’t want to think about them. I do remember feeling anxious, my hands trembling every time I opened the cover, but it was so mingled with exhilaration of the certainty I was discovering something important that I must have disregarded it. As I turned the pages, I wasn’t surprised to find the text in Latin; though I still felt a pang of frustration that it meant I couldn’t read it for now. I rifled through the pages, looking curiously at the letters that formed words yet unattainable to me. There was a hunger inside of me; a hunger to Know. As I turned the pages past various symbols, illustrations of the constellations, and of Earth, I determined it must be some sort of a metaphysical work. The point of view on the world around us.

Normally I just skim through works like this and leave them. While they are an interesting read sometimes, they’re not my favourite genre and, looking objectively, putting in the effort of learning a whole language just for the sake of reading a treatise on the meaning of cosmos by an unknown author seems strange at best. But somehow it seemed obvious to me that I had to read it. It called to me, sang into a part of my being that begged to be filled, promising knowledge that would finally leave me satisfied. I know now that it’s impossible. Once you’ve tasted the hunger for knowing, you will never find satisfaction; it’s like an addiction. You just crave more and more, and the knowledge never ends. After a certain point you know too much and when it all connects, when it starts to make sense… you slip. I didn’t know that, even though maybe I should have. I didn’t know what those things I was feeling meant then and I didn’t stop to question them; I gave into it as soon as it touched me. I was stupid.

What followed were a busy couple of months. Every waking moment that wasn’t spent keeping up the pretence of being interested in my major (back then I only thought it a brief hyperfixation, of course, and wouldn’t have called it a pretence at all), I was learning Latin online or staring into the incomprehensible words on the pages. This period of my life is a blur; I remember my friends checking up on me if I was alright, since I wasn’t particularly social anymore. Shawala got progressively more worried, but it fully escaped my mind to care. I know that staring thoughtlessly at the book took up more and more of my time; once, I remember, I returned from my classes at three PM and took the book out; when I came back to myself it was well past midnight. That’s when I started to feel truly uneasy about it. It was the second half of April; I looked back on what I’ve been doing these past months and this cold dread started creeping up to my throat. I realized I didn’t know why I wanted to read the book so much and I remembered the “vision” or the hallucination I had that first time in my dad’s attic. I had set it aside completely as unimportant, and I couldn’t wrap my head around why. I started shaking and theorizing in my head about the book being able to influence my mind somehow, to control it. Had my actions not been my own? How much of it was my own will and how much was the book? Was it even possible for it to influence me like that; could it be that it was supernatural in some way?

The house became cold, unnaturally so. It was dark and all the windows were closed, but a chill draft managed to find its way into the corridor I was in anyway. I sank to the floor and hugged my knees, trembling in panic. I was all alone in the flat, everyone I knew was surely already asleep in their homes, and I was small and weak in the face of something that maybe could have controlled my mind. I suddenly became aware of the leatherbound book in my hand, and I threw it along the corridor at the front door with a whimper, as far away from me as possible. The book thumped against the door, then the floor, and opened on a random page.

I’ve read enough horrors. I knew that the page would be significant, and that knowledge made me sob and hug my knees tighter. I didn’t know what was happening; I felt like I’d just woken up from a months-long dream… and perhaps I was right. The recent past felt alien.

I felt tears sting my eyes and that’s when the smell reached me. Again that mixture of old paper and peppermint cold, distantly sweet but freezing the blood in my veins. My breath came in ragged and shallow, and tears streamed down my face as I stared at the open book that was calling me in an inaudible whisper. The logical side of my mind was trying desperately to make sense of it, to assign the dissociative feeling to my father’s death and yeah, it was plausible, but somehow it just didn’t feel right. The whispers sounded again, swirling around my head, the golden sound almost touching the back of my neck, making me wince. It was enticing and promising, but this time, I felt terror instead of excitement. Disregarding how my mind was trying to rationalize the situation, I knew the book was cursed somehow. I knew that I was its victim. And I knew that I would not be strong enough to resist it.

I don’t know how much time I sat there, trembling, and sobbing into my knees, before I calmed down from the panic and decided I had to do something. I had to find out what this book was and how it found itself into my dad’s library. I couldn’t remember seeing anything in his diaries that would mention it at all, but then again, I didn’t read them all cover to cover. On wobbly legs I carefully made my way back to my room and searched the Internet until the sun started peeking out of the window; I found nothing about any book titled Punctum Visus . I tried all the libraries that I’d known of, that had their assortment online, all the research databases; nothing.

So, at the crack of dawn, with a fast-beating heart, I stood in the door of my room, staring out into the corridor, where the book still lay by the front door, unmoving. The golden strings of a wordless melody made it to my ears; it promised an explanation; that this time if I looked close enough, I would find what I was looking for.

What was I looking for?

Where else could I find the answers if not in the book itself?

I could feel its cold fingers slowly wrap around my mind, steering me to come closer. It called me with a hypnotising voice that awakened all the red signals in my brain, telling me to run and hide, but I didn’t. The voice meant danger, but I knew it also meant knowledge.

Dangerous knowledge. The pull dragged me through the corridor step by step; I hadn’t been fighting it as strongly as I could have had and I was about to start, since I was getting closer to the book, but suddenly I felt the chill of the influence let go, hovering close but out of reach. It was still compelling me to come, to Look, but I could move my own limbs. I had a choice to make.

Knowledge of danger. Did I believe my own warning thoughts that I would regret looking into the book? Did I take my own logical, rational side seriously? Was I ever good at resisting my own impulses?

I’ve never been addicted to anything, but then again, I never really had the opportunity, as it were; my friends were more of a no-alcohol types and I really ever smoked cigarettes once. I’ve never seen drugs in real life. So who’s to say if I’m not an addictive personality? And this, this was addictive. The thrill of mystery, the exhilarating process of learning, the anticipation of the answers.

Was it ever really my choice?

No supernatural force guided my steps that night; no cold fingers made me kneel next to the book and carefully cradle it in my arms, looking at the page with a shaky breath and tears in my eyes, as if I was coming back home like the prodigal son. But I’m sure it was by some paranormal means that this time I could understand the text on the pages.

I honestly don’t remember what it said. As I read the unfamiliar words, the meaning presented itself in my mind, not entirely unlike that first “vision” I had in the attic; as soon as I started reading I knew that I had made the choice and there was no turning back. That cold draft enveloped me, sat on my skin, and started to bite; I felt that smell again, stronger than ever before, something intangible but unmistakably inhuman . It was then that I realized that’s what had felt wrong to me about the smell since the beginning. It was inferior and alien. My hands started shaking as my eyes, glued to the text, moved now on their own down the page, drinking the words in. I was terrified out of my mind, but the pleasant tingling along my nerves was back, the anticipation of the promised understanding.

My mind was drowned with the tide of knowledge. This was just a prologue; a true discovery would require preparation, but I was almost ready. The voice said I was chosen, that I was a perfect candidate to bring It what It needs and that I would be rewarded. I cried tears of amazement and horror at the sheer scope of the voice – it seemed to encompass the entire world. I couldn’t comprehend it, but I didn’t know then that it was a blessing. I wanted to know, I craved to know what It was and how I could be of use to something so powerful, so huge. Divine. That was a word that crossed my mind, as much as I don’t like that. I don’t like many things, but I can’t change any of them.

The voice said I’m on the right path. I would Know and Understand. First, I needed to do something. As It told me what that was, doubt started to creep up to my mind. What was I doing? What was happening? How could this be real?

I came to on the floor by my front door, the cursed book in hand, with a tear-stained face and a bloody nose.

I knew what I had to do to get ready and, as I calmed down and went over everything in my head, I was surprised by how trivial it was. Honestly, by this point I was kind of afraid It would tell me to hurt someone, so I was glad this was just about reading a bunch of words in a specific location at a specific time. I was aware of the fact that this was most probably a ritual, and I was quite apprehensive. I kept arguing with myself in my head, over and over whether I should follow through, but deep down I knew that I would, no matter what I told myself. This part, I think, scared me the most; how compelling the promise of knowledge was, how reverently I’d found myself thinking of the book and its owner (which I assumed was the voice), how fanatical some of my thoughts sounded. I’ve never been religious, never really felt idealistic either. I was always focused on facts, on the here and now. Can knowledge be an ideal? Can you be a fanatic of Seeing and Knowing?

How much had I changed since I’d found Punctum Visus in that old attic.

I found a good, quiet spot, on the north-west side of the New Forest National Park near Southampton. I told no one about this, deeming it unimportant. I would come back after my big discovery, I would explain everything. I laugh at myself now; at my naivety.

The night of April 28 th was clear, and the starry sky looked back at me as I parked my car on the road in the forest and locked it. I tied a piece of a long red string to the wheel, not to lose my way in the forest, and started to walk forward. I held the book close to my chest, as if it could protect me from the dark, eerie outlines of the trees, swaying gently on the wind and whatever the darkness around me held. I didn’t light the torch; the moon was nearly full, bathing everything in its gentle light, and besides, for some reason it seemed that the crude yellow light would somehow break the sanctity of what I was about to do. I could see the ground in front of me and managed to lose sight of my car and everything else besides trees pretty fast.

I stopped when I found a small clearing. The moon was high in the sky, shining down on me like a big eye; I didn’t know why this comparison seemed the most fitting, but it did. I took a deep breath, feeling a chill plant little dots all over my skin, making my hairs stand on end. The wind died down and the trees froze, as if in anticipation. I felt something watching me closely; I was not alone here anymore.

The realization made my breath catch in my throat and the last streaks of sanity broke through my thick skull. Run! Drop the book and run! I didn’t. My hands trembled, my muscles tensed, and I stood there, frozen with fear as something stared at me, seemingly for eternity. Something bigger than me, bigger than anything I have ever seen was watching me, waiting. My eyes dropped to the book in my arms. The black leather was warm, as always, but this time I felt a pulsating sensation from it. A heartbeat.

I screamed. The book landed discarded on the ground, and I stumbled backwards and tripped, landing in the grass as well. It was cold and wet, and it glistened with something in the faint moonlight. At first I took it for water, but upon closer inspection I saw it was the grass itself that glittered – a shy rainbow, glowing iridescently in an impossible way. I froze, stunned, for I have never seen such colours before. It seemed utterly alien, something unfitting for the human eye to see; simultaneously beautiful and horrifying.

As I looked around, I noticed that everything alive in the forest – the trees, the grass, the bushes, the plants – had taken on that iridescent mixture of faint light that prickled my eyes and sent a shiver of terror down my spine. It was beautiful, utterly gorgeous in a way that nothing a human eye can perceive could be. It was horrifying in how different, alien, and other it was. My senses could tell this is not of the Earth; not of this reality, not of this world; everything in me that still had common sense tried to recoil from the inferiority of this magnificence and the danger it brought, but I had abandoned common sense a while back. Maybe even when I touched the book for the first time. I stared then, breathless and trembling, at this scenery as if from a fairy tale and decided to lock away my rational thoughts. I wanted to See, to Know; I wanted to experience and if this was the death of me then hell, it was a pretty good way to go. To behold such a sight, I thought, was a reward in and of itself.

Of course, I had no idea what any of it meant. I slowly rose to my knees and patted the ground down until I felt the book. It still pulsated with this heartbeat and the letters etched in the leather glowed with golden light. My hands were sweaty, and I didn’t know whether I was shivering from fear or the cold. I opened the book on the first page.

What I saw was not what I had expected. I remembered that the first page, after the titular one, was the beginning of the introduction, that much I had understood, but now it was a big picture in black and white; a night sky, with an almost full moon and strewn with stars. It was a shot from the ground and treetops could be seen at the edges of the picture. As the book swayed in my hands, the stars glittered, and the perspective shifted ever so slightly, as if it was in 3D. Stricken by a surge of dread and cold certainty, I looked up. My suspicion was right – the picture in the book depicted the exact image that was now above me. I gasped quietly and looked down at the book—

And this is where things started to really go horribly, horribly wrong.

The book was gone. What’s more, the ground was gone too and suddenly everything was not where it should have been. I blinked but it did nothing to ease the dizziness; and when I composed myself enough to register what I was seeing I froze, the most intense horror I have ever experienced crushing my body from all sides and inside out.

I realized that I was Seeing. I was finally Seeing, and I Understood it all.

I don’t know how to convey in words what I saw. I don’t believe it’s possible; humans were never made to see and understand such things. I should have never touched the book, I should have never asked for knowledge. All my life I believed that knowledge was the point; it was a tool, and it was power. I don’t know what I think anymore. I think some knowledge should always be hidden because we were not made to know everything. We can’t , it’s physically impossible for us to comprehend.

For one moment in my life. For one moment I became something else, and I saw the world in the way It sees the world. For one moment I shared a mind with an eldritch being, a thing that is Fear itself, and I saw the Earth through Its Eye. I can’t… I can’t tell you just how horrible it is. How… How meaningless; we’re all intertwined things, guided by strings of web that lead us through life, and we’re all connected in this maze of fear . We’re not individuals; we’re not special. We don’t have souls and none of our experiences matter. We’re just fear. These… These entities are a part of all of us. They’re our fear and they live inside of us, inside of every living creature that can feel fear. Can you comprehend that? How can you be sure you are yourself when there’s a cosmic entity, a power as old as life itself, living you ? And no one has any idea. Nobody knows and if I tell someone they’ll think I’m crazy. Sometimes I think I’m crazy. But deep down I know what I saw. I know it was real. And I’m terrified. I’m terrified because I know that this Being of eyes that I became a part of watches everything I do. I feel Its presence here very strongly, and I guess it makes sense. It will never leave me. It’s a part of me, just like the rest of them; just like they’re all a part of every one of you, yet you have no idea. But I know. And I know I’m all alone with that knowledge, the knowledge that I can’t comprehend, but I know I could in that one moment. It’s a very lonely place to be and I’m scared.

I’m scared as I have never been before; this fear doesn’t leave me anymore. Every second of every day I’m aware I’m watched by something as great as cosmos. I’m aware I shared my mind with that being and it makes my skin crawl.

I don’t know what to do now, but I don’t expect any advice from you. I’m leaving the book with you, as proof. Its heart doesn’t beat anymore, and I’ve seen what I was supposed to.

Don’t read it.

Notes: If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving me a comment!! For people interested in a little bit of background: Lyria is a D&D character I have created that still awaits her chance to play in a campaign. She's an arcane scholar that has a dark little secret of actually being a warlock of a being she doesn't know a lot about. She's in love with knowledge and she seeks to learn about her powers as well as the world around her. I'm currently DMing a Ravenloft campaign and I just couldn't miss the fact how much potential for a corruption arc she has. Then I listened to TMA and I was like, she would definitely become the Avatar of the Beholding.

#i discovered you can copy tags straight from ao3 #ive been using that site for how many. 5 years now #:|#anyways #tma #the magnus archives #tma original statement #cosmic horror #niki.writes #lyria elerieth #goes in my oc tag because thats technically an au #im really happy with this one guys!

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