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1kook · 3 years

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BORN SINNER III

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summary; Regardless of whether you are a liar or not, that didn’t make it okay for Jungkook to lie to you. warnings; virgin jungkook, timid jungkook, church boy jk, a LOT of religious themes/discussion, catholic guilt, fear of sinning, mentions of masturbation, heavy doubts, a little paranoia/fear of being outcasted, jk has a crush, confessions, making out, boob lover jk has his boobs touched, groping/petting, light praise, very brief/light choking, jk is horny like 75% of the time, positive character development <3 rating; m (18+) wc; 9.5k

banner; as always, by @jamaisjoons !! ty ty ty!! <3333

notes; i have to apologize for delaying this update for so long. truth is, it was difficult to write the next part bc i felt like i had trapped myself in pt2-- jk wasn't showing ANY progress & i started to really hate his character. LUCKILY, with the help of my amazing editor n wife @kigurumu *audience cheers* i was able to put him back on the right track towards redemption! (& even more painful angst in the future!) sadly, that means that this part doesn't include any explicit smut, you'll see why. still, I'm very proud of how much i was able to build his character in this part and i hope you enjoy it!!! lemme know what u think <3

in the future, i will try my best to make sure the chapters aren’t so spaced out. again, i am so so sorry about taking so long to update this series

He gets your text the following Tuesday morning.

Now, Jungkook has never been one to be overly invested in his cell phone; he uses it as much as he needs to, just checks his emails, takes some photos, and sends texts when necessary. But you had set up a particularly unique ringtone for yourself the other day, had sweetly asked for his phone as he laid against your chest. His skin had felt warm and the slightest bit sweaty, his body pressed so closely against you that he couldn’t tell where he ended and you began. “Did you have fun?” you asked, fingers combing back his hair. He had hummed, eyes fluttering shut to the faint tapping of your fingers across the keyboard. If he closes his eyes, he can still remember the soft beating of your heart beneath his ear, the leg you had hooked around his waist to pull him closer. The memory makes him shiver.

It’s a high-pitched bell sound that alerts him of your messages now, completely unlike the classic default tone he had set for everyone else.

From the other side of his room, Jungkook immediately pauses to look at it, the lit up screen glaring back at him from its idle place on his bedside table. He always leaves it there in the mornings, beside his rosary and the picture of his family, as he gets ready for work.

He knows exactly who it’s from— after all, that’s what you wanted when you stylized your ringtone —which is why his hand trembles in excitement as he unlocks his phone.

[❤️]: picnic tomorrow? 🥰

[❤️]: after my last class of course

Jungkook’s first thought is that this was a date, his first one with you since he had met you. His heartbeat hammers at the thought, at the mere suggestion that the two of you would be able to spend more time together this week outside of your usual weekend… acts. Additionally, if you’re asking him on a date, then surely it means you view Jungkook as a potential suitor, just as he does you? Do you want to maybe date Jungkook? Jungkook certainly wants to date you— in fact, if he starts gathering his courage now, he might be able to properly ask you out tomorrow.

Jungkook’s second thought is of that guilty, gross feeling that’s been gnawing at his insides for three days now, and how it was inevitably going to get worse when he saw you again.

He had lied to you, Jungkook recalls, sinking down against his mattress, shirt half buttoned, as he stares at the screen. He had lied to your face during a critical moment, had felt that seed of doubt in his chest blossom more than ever. And not only had Jungkook lied to you, but he had lied to you about his feelings toward you. How could he ever hope to hold you close, to date you, when he couldn’t even be honest with you?

The memory of your curious gaze presents itself at the forefront of his mind, the soft sound of your laughter ringing in his ears.

You had been so sweet to him despite his blunder, had cupped his face and kissed him on the lips when he dropped you off outside your apartment. “Not today,” you crooned, unbuckling yourself as Jungkook’s eyes trailed over your throat— ignoring your cross —and down your chest. “I have schoolwork to catch up on. But soon, okay?” Another sweet peck had left him trailing after your touch, your finger bopping the tip of his nose playfully. “Call me when you get home.”

And because he was so terribly, irrevocably smitten with you, Jungkook had done as you said and called you. He’d called you and then had whimpered against his sheets as you generously talked him through another sinful deed. You had softly sighed his name over the line, told him he was handsome and that you missed him. That you wanted him in your mouth—

And of course, he had felt… something afterwards.

This is where his dilemma begins: Jungkook had felt something afterwards, and he’s not sure if it had been entirely good or bad. The longer Jungkook stays around you, hangs out with you, does things with you— the more he can feel parts inside of himself change. Because after the phone call, Jungkook had felt two distinct emotions within himself, both of which were up for questioning.

First, there was that one feeling he was becoming all too familiar with, the crushing guilt that would consume him following any sexual interaction with you or himself for that matter. Why was he like this? Why did he indulge himself in such heinous pleasures when he knew, knew better than anyone, what committing such acts meant for the future of his soul? He was practically dooming himself the way he was now, but Jungkook just didn’t understand— why did something so bad feel so good?

But alongside that gnawing guilt was this tiny, weirdly pleasant satisfaction, a gratification that superseded the relief felt by an orgasm. It was this oddly serene feeling that settled over Jungkook in the moments following a climax, the soft brush of your hands through his hair, the low lilt of your voice. They made him feel like he was floating on the softest of clouds, kissed and pampered by its wispy tendrils. It made something inside of Jungkook feel different, new. Good.

(In the back of his mind, Jungkook realizes he’s always felt that way. At the height of his pleasure, at the faintest brush of your hands against his. It was a staple of your presence, one that made Jungkook feel like he was walking on air.)

From whatever angle he looked at it, it just didn’t make sense. They were contrasting emotions; while one made him feel godawful, the other one practically made him transcend. The fact they could coincide, exist all at once, had Jungkook’s brain folding in on itself as he tried to figure out why. They kept him up the last few nights, eyes blankly staring up at his ceiling following his evening prayers. Mulling over everything he’s ever learned and been told, always circling it back to your beautiful presence in his life.

He knows sex in itself is not bad— after all, that was how the beautiful process of life came to be —but years upon years of studying his religion, cultivating his faith, had all led him to the same conclusion: premarital sex was wrong. And for the past few weeks, well. That’s all Jungkook had been doing with you.

It seems like every time you meet, you’re dead set on pleasuring him, turning Jungkook into a shivering, teary-eyed mess while you grinned from above. That confused him too— as far as Jungkook knew, the whole point of sex was to chase after your own pleasure, something you admittedly did not do. It was always Jungkook’s pleasure, Jungkook’s enjoyment that you wanted, covering him in languid kisses and long caresses until he was inevitably shooting his hot cum all over your lap and into your hands.

You had told him it was okay, that he should never feel bad for enjoying himself. But, to return back to his original dilemma, he doesn’t quite know if he can trust your word.

You’re a liar, that much Jungkook can look past his rose-tinted glasses to admit. While you may not have lied to him (or at least, Jungkook wants to believe you haven’t), the fact still stands that you are quite willing to deceive others in order to get what you want. He already knows you aren’t the biggest believer of the Church yourself, that you frequently brush off your religious duties in order to fulfill your own desires— the aforementioned sexual cravings probably the biggest one —so, quite frankly, Jungkook is untrusting of the rest of your practices. Were you lying to him, telling him all was well, just for your own benefit? Just because you wanted to drag him along on your lustful adventures? He wasn’t sure, and as much as he wanted to trust you wouldn’t, there’s a shred of doubt that plagues him.

But still.

Regardless of whether you are a liar or not, that didn’t make it okay for Jungkook to lie to you.

He taps his phone against his chin, brain a frenzied mess.

If Jungkook really wanted to pursue this relationship with you, he needed to be honest with himself and with you. Did it bother him that you were so flippant with the Church, the one he himself feels so devoted to? Yes and no. Jungkook has never been one to impress his beliefs on others, and truthfully, he would not be the slightest bit bothered if you don’t believe in the same things he does. Would there be some awkwardness in your relationship? Certainly, but at least Jungkook would know the real you from the very beginning.

But to him, posing as an avid follower when you really aren’t rubs part of him the wrong way. He’s slightly put off by that aspect of you, and justifiably felt that anyone would feel such a way if someone were to use something they love as mere leverage for their own personal gain. And to make matters worse, now that he’s been made aware, it weighs down heavily on his conscience.

Part of Jungkook, as selfish as it may be, wishes you had never revealed your secrets to him. He may have been left in the dark a total fool, but at the very least he would have been a happy fool. Would he still feel guilt about all the sexual deeds he’s partaken in with you? Sure, but at least he would only have himself to blame. The way things are now, he’s unsure who really needs to be condemned.

Realistically, it is Jungkook’s fault. He knows how you are and even more, he knows you would never proposition him for any such sexual deed if he told you no, if he simply denied you. But he doesn’t tell you no, and that’s the problem: Jungkook really likes you as you are now, questionable behavior be damned. He likes you when you make him cry and when you pinch his cheeks and when you snake your hand down his pants.

He still thinks you’re amazing, gets this fluttery feeling when you look at him with that sparkling gaze of yours. Your laughter makes him smile, even if you’re not laughing at something he said, because the sound is just so comforting, warm and soothing, makes his entire body relax when you chuckle. You have this gentle touch, these delicate hands that carefully comb his hair back for him in the car sometimes, tracing the side of his face softly. Your smile makes him dizzy, makes him want to cup your face in his hands and kiss you breathless. And, of course, he can’t complain about your… other talents when he’s only been on the beneficial receiving end of said talents. That aforementioned satisfaction, as small as it may be and as difficult as it was to admit to, was something Jungkook has begun to look forward to on the occasions that you meet.

But his inability to overlook his own beliefs and your confusing nature brings about a great strife within Jungkook. It’s the reason he hesitates outside the church after dropping you off, his car running as he glares at his steering wheel. Everything in him says to go inside and confess to his sins, relieve himself of this overwhelming sense of guilt and shame to the closest person to his Lord.

But he’s scared.

Scared that, despite the oath of confidentiality, word will get out. His fellow brothers in faith will hear about what he’s done and call him out for his lecherousness. But even worse, he’s scared of what will happen to you. Would Jungkook’s life be over if he were thrown out of his beloved church? As dramatic as he may be, no. But he recognized that there were different standards to which men were held in this society, that an act of desire by him would not ruin his name the same way it would you.

And Jungkook didn’t want that. He wanted to keep you safe. Wanted you to be happy and smiling, regardless of how conflicted it made him, because he likes you. He likes you so much, despite the fact he has yet to uncover the true extent of your character.

But the cloud of mystery is partially what intrigues him, has him pondering over your very existence instead of getting ready for work as he is now. He’s terribly enamored, thinks about you and prays for you every night. So maybe Jungkook is still the fool, because he still daydreams about you when he knows he shouldn’t.

His phone buzzes in his hand—

[❤️]: i miss you bunny ☹️

—and his decision is made.

Tuesday passes by in a blur and before he knows it, it’s Wednesday afternoon and you’re texting him the location of one of the parks in the city. You had told him not to worry about the food because you would bring it. Jungkook’s only job was bringing the picnic blanket, a huge checkered thing he had spent all morning rifling through three stores for. He wants to impress you, desperately so, that he’s even wearing a nicer outfit today, darker tones unlike his normal warm palette because he had heard a woman at his job say men look cooler in dark colors.

Suffice to say, he sticks out like a sore thumb at the park, the stark black of his jeans contrasting with the vibrant green of the neatly cut grass. Jungkook has half the mind to feel self-conscious about it, but then you’re calling his name from a couple meters away and his breath leaves his lungs.

“Hi,” you greet, the handle of your wicker basket held tightly between two hands; Jungkook rushes to relieve you of the weight. “Did you wait long?” you ask, rewarding his gentlemanly behavior with a chaste kiss against the corner of his mouth that kick-starts his heart back into action and has his face burning up.

In all honesty, you have never dressed very modestly— not that you had to, nor that there was anything remotely wrong with that. Jungkook has spent many a mass service fighting the urge to glance down the front of your dresses and tops, ignoring the cleavage you liked to show off now and then. But apparently, what Jungkook had seen up until now was your version of dressing modestly. The dress you show up with today, an off day where there are no church ladies to impress and no unspoken dress codes to follow, makes his brain short circuit. The thin, thin, straps that hold it up giving him an all access view to the broad expanse of your shoulders and chest and collarbones and boobs—

“No!” Jungkook rushes to reassure you, fighting down the blush that threatens to travel further down his neck when you carefully straighten out the collar of his shirt for him. “I- I, um, just got here.”

You beam at the news. “I bought cheesecake,” you tell him, looping your arm through his as you tug him along. “I hope it hasn’t melted yet!”

By the time the two of you settle at a suitable spot near the lake, the cheesecake hasn’t melted. It’s still cold and solid, tastes like heaven on Jungkook’s tongue, and you laugh when his eyes light up. You look gorgeous like this, nestled against the checkered picnic blanket with a glass bottle of sparkling water in your hand, sandals just beside the edge of the blanket. There’s the faint chime of a bicycle bell somewhere to his left and the chatter of birds as they flock over the pond. Wonderful sights that would normally take his breath away and make him marvel at their beauty, but when you smile at him so gingerly like that, all Jungkook can think about is you.

He watches you slip a strawberry past your lips. “Tell me about yourself,” you hum, seemingly out of the blue, wiping the corner of your mouth with one careful finger. “Other than, like, church stuff,” you tease.

As you lean forward for another one, Jungkook’s brain stutters for a moment, eyes focused on the curves of your boobs as they naturally follow the movements of your upper body until he’s dizzy. “Huh?” he says, and you snort. “Oh— me, right, yes um—“

“Your favorite color?” you suggest, tugging the skirt of your dress tighter around your legs. It’s not cold, but there’s a slight breeze that keeps rolling over the two of you, pushing your floral scent over Jungkook and fluttering through his hair. “Right now, all I know is that you like cheesecake because you ate three slices at the bazaar the other week,” you chuckle.

It’s such a basic question, the bare minimum of knowing a person. But when you look at Jungkook like that, blinking those long lashes at him, it makes him forget his answer. “Um… Red,” he murmurs, watching you tug off the stem of the strawberry in your hands. “And white.”

You nod, and then you’re stretching a hand outward to offer him the aforementioned strawberry. When he doesn’t open his mouth right away, you silently demonstrate first, until Jungkook is slowly parting his lips and accepting your strawberry. The flavor bursts on his tongue, sweet and sticky, coating the very tips of your fingers when you don’t pull away fast enough. Jungkook averts his gaze when you pop them between your own lips and suck them clean.

“Red and white,” you repeat, unaware of the lustful images that flicker through Jungkook’s mind, the way his eyes unconsciously drop to the front of your dress, at the crevice between your breasts that he remembers oh so well, the tight suction around his cock as you— “They make pink, which is my favorite color.” He desperately clears his mind of the memories that flash before his eyes.

It’s a pretty color, fit for a pretty girl. Jungkook keeps the thought to himself as he watches you sift through the contents of your basket. It’s the perfect compliment to give you, he knows it’d make you happy, but his valor disappears when you throw him a soft grin and he’s transported back to a more recent memory, the memory in the car instead.

A bad influence, he had called you, had watched your eyes well up with an emotion he had never seen on you before. Sadness? Disappointment? Disgust? He wasn’t sure, all Jungkook could really remember was the acidity on your tongue when you had repeated the words back to him, the ghost of your touch when you had abruptly pulled away from him, shut him out. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you so closed off before, not even when he had first met you and you were parading around with that staged shyness.

And even when Jungkook had corrected himself afterwards (read: lied to you to cover his tracks), the emotion had lingered. Even when you had playfully brushed him off, he had caught your reflection in the window beside you as he drove to your place. The sullen look on your normally happy face, lips down-turned, eyes lowered. A look he had put there.

And now he’s watching you carefully rip apart bread to throw at the birds with a tender smile. A cloud moves and suddenly the sun is beating down on your little picnic again, casting a beautiful glow across your skin that renders him breathless for the shortest moment, trapped by the sheer beauty you exude. You’re absolutely ethereal, and yet he had questioned you. Your morals, your character, everything.

“__?” he says before he can stop himself.

You hum, “yes, bunny?” before pausing your little feeding task to glance back over at him. When you look at Jungkook like this, meet his gaze straight on, he doesn’t see an ounce of ingenuity in your eyes. It might be Jungkook’s lovesick heart speaking, but he can’t imagine you ever lying to him. He looks away first, frowning at the various fruits sprawled between the two of you.

You care about him, that much Jungkook wants to believe. And his beliefs are confirmed, when your voice drops an octave lower, becomes softer, as you murmur, “is everything alright?” The fruits are carefully set aside, breaking the wall between the two of you until you can shuffle forward, your knees bumping against his. Hands reach for his, thumbs rubbing soothing circles against his skin.

Before you can repeat your inquiry a second time, Jungkook finds himself asking, “do you like me?”

Jungkook’s sudden inquiry makes your cheeks heat up just the slightest, your startled inhale barely contained.

It’s like a scene straight out of a teenage romcom— a confession in a park, your hearts bared for each other. But it’s a little awkward, you have to admit, unintentionally giving Jungkook’s soft hand a nervous squeeze as his question rolls over in your mind.

Duh, you want to say. But there’s something about the look in Jungkook’s eye— the eyes he very purposefully turns towards your hands, the hair he had let loose today providing him ample protection from your gaze —that has you pausing, carefully considering your next words.

You had hoped by now that it was obvious, that Jungkook understood how much he meant to you, and didn’t require some dorky confession in the park. Partially because, well. This wasn’t your usual role. Usually, it was the guy confessing to you, raving about all your redeeming qualities in an effort to win you over. But with Jungkook, all you know about relationships is flipped upside down, forcing you to play a position you’ve never played before.

Jungkook wasn’t like you; he was soft and sentimental, practically wore his heart on his sleeve for the whole world to see. And it was a massive heart, filled with so much love and adoration for the world around him, that you felt bad when he wore such sullen expressions on his face.

Expressions like the one he has now, lips pressed together tightly as he misreads your silence. He has honest eyes, a dark toffee color that sends tingles down your spine when he looks your way. They glimmer with a sort of innocence for the world, a thin sparkle that makes him look like a prince sometimes. He was devastatingly handsome, and now he was upset. “Um— it’s okay,” he stammers, trying to move the conversation along. But his eyes flicker around nervously, anxiously. Like your silence has left a burn mark on him, painful and delicate to the touch.

His comment isn’t completely unexpected. How very on-brand for big-hearted Jungkook to try to save you from an uncomfortable interaction, even if it was caused by him. “Um…” he murmurs, “it’s okay. If you don’t, uh. Like me?”

It sounds flimsy, even to you.

“No, no,” you rush to correct, your ability to speak slowly coming back to you only after the fact. “I do,” you admit, nerves on edge at this rather foreign situation. “I… like you a lot, Jungkook.”

You shouldn’t be surprised by his reaction. Jungkook blinks slowly, like his brain is still processing the information, and then, ever so artfully, goes up in metaphorical flames. “O- Oh,” he stutters, reaching a free hand up to press his knuckles against his face. The rosy hue that had first blossomed over his cheeks has now started crawling down his neck now, up his ears. It’s terribly endearing. “I— um. I didn’t know,” Jungkook rambles, and it’s so cute, so sweet, how a simple confession from you renders him this flustered.

His face emanates a warmth tangible even on your own skin, lips cutely quirking to the side as he fights off a bashful smile and the raging blush your words bring about. It certainly is a sight to see. His hair tickles his eyebrow, swept out of its usually neat style, but it makes him look all the more gorgeous. “Cute,” you chuckle, feeling the slightest bit shy at such a warm response from Jungkook. You sit back, giving him the space he needs, and turn your attention up at the big blue sky instead. “Really? I thought it was obvious,” you hum.

Part of you actually feels really awkward; as you said before, everything is so brand new with him. With Jungkook, he flips everything around for you, makes you actually admit to your emotions as opposed to simply going along with his. It’s a nice change of pace, as difficult as it may be, and the results are rather… cute as well. (He bites down a smile, but the action makes his normally soft cheeks look more pronounced than usual.)

“Because, I, um. Me too,” he says, voice wavering. He clears his throat and tries to meet your gaze under his fringe, but doesn’t last more than a second before he’s pointedly glancing at the picnic blanket beneath the two of you. “I’m— I like you too,” he admits, ears tinted a bright red. You figured as much but it was always nice to hear, especially from someone like Jungkook. “A lot.”

“Thanks,” you smile, placing a hand on his thigh.

His lips pull into a shy smile, aimed at your knees because he can never look you in the eye when you shower him in praise and other gooey, mushy feelings. It’s the same in the car or against your front door— he always manages to give your hand a tight squeeze, maybe even a kiss if he’s feeling brave. But the second you try to tell him you’ve had fun or that you’ll miss him, it’s like all his courage fades away, leaving him a blushing, smiley mess.

He was cute like that. Despite being so kind and caring, it was like Jungkook’s entire being stopped functioning when those types of gestures were aimed at him. So you relished those moments, looked forward to them with a fluttery feeling in your heart that couldn’t be tamed.

Today, he throws you for a loop. Just as that proud, giddy smile appears, cheeks and ears a pretty pink, it fades away. The excitement from your mutual confessions seems to remind Jungkook of something else, something less warm, that has him quietly mumbling, “I’m sorry.”

It’s confusing, to say the least. Just a moment prior, he had been pursing his lips in a silly attempt to hold back a smile. Now he’s staring at the ground with a rather pensive look, his apology sitting heavy in his throat. “What for?” you tentatively ask after one long beat. It had been so sudden. In your mind, there isn’t a single reason for Jungkook to be apologizing to you, especially so out of the blue. There is, however, an inkling of fear brought upon by what can only be classified as insecurity; you had just confessed your feelings for each other, why was he sorry about that?

Jungkook exhales, a quiet sound that is nearly lost among the bustling noises of the park. If you hadn’t been sitting so close, maybe you wouldn’t have heard it at all. “I just,” he huffs, pointedly glaring at some random spot of grass beside you. His features look sharper than ever now, jawline defined, brows narrowed together. It’s a rather misplaced realization, but Jungkook looks absolutely gorgeous with distress painting his face. “I was… being selfish before.”

In the few weeks you’ve known him, you’ve come to realize Jungkook was many things. First and foremost, he’s an absolute gentleman. Raised on manners and compassion, looking after others everywhere he went. He was caring and sweet, loved this world and the people in it so much. Soft-spoken but straightforward. He was dreamy, disgustingly so.

But selfish? It definitely sounds like something Jeon Jungkook is not.

Before you can interrogate him even further, it seems like Jungkook is dead set on getting through this alone. “I- I’m sorry,” he repeats, eyes downcast. Noticing his wavering confidence, you resign yourself to listening, hand giving him a reassuring squeeze. Finally, after a short moment, Jungkook murmurs, “...in the car.” You tilt your head to the side curiously, waiting for him to go on. “I said, um. Something rude.”

It takes a moment for the memory to load, and when it finally clicks into place and begins rolling, you find yourself muttering a faint, “ah.”

If it’s what you think it is, he’s talking about last weekend outside of the church. That terribly awkward encounter that had left a sour taste in your mouth afterwards. A bad influence, you recall him saying, the memory of his voice looped in your mind the entire drive to your place.

In all honesty, it had stung a little. While you were aware that Jungkook had an ongoing mental battle, you hadn’t realized your role was that big in it. It’s the reason you had sent him home that day, made up a lie about schoolwork just to give him some space. It’s nothing new, everyone’s had someone think badly of them before; gossipy classmates, rivals, maybe even random strangers on the street. But it felt different when it was coming from someone as sweet as Jungkook, so polite and righteous, who wouldn’t even hurt a fly. Like he was stating a fact, not an opinion.

It was a slip-up on Jungkook’s end, that much you could tell. Because he had been frantic to correct himself afterwards, had looked at you with these fearful eyes, like one wrong move and you’d slip from between his hands. Luckily, you weren’t that sensitive— definitely not as sensitive as him, at least —and such a comment had been practically meaningless moments later.

Still, in those few moments where it was meaningful (read: the short period it took for Jungkook to get home and call you, the words looping around your brain until the harsh ring of your cell phone finally interrupted), it had left you wondering. Have you been pushing him too far, asking for too much? The way you saw it, you always gave Jungkook room to object to any of your advances. You know he’s trapped in his thoughts more often than not, but you pay attention to him, you really do. You make sure to take his reactions into account, try to offer solutions where possible. But, for the briefest moment, all of those efforts had felt fruitless that day in the car.

What you say next is not a complete lie; sure, Jungkook’s comment had hurt for a bit, but here he was now apologizing for it. That was a good sign… right? “It’s okay,” you brush off, patting his cheek softly, hoping with every fiber in your being that it really was okay.

Your voice is gentle, soothing his doubts. Just moments prior, Jungkook had felt like he was asking for too much, especially when your feelings toward him were up in the air. But your earnest confession soothed the ache in his heart. It’s all he’s wanted these past few months, to belong in your heart like you do his.

But the guilt from before, the tumultuous feelings he’s been harboring towards you since the weekend, dampens his excitement. From your confession alone, it doesn’t seem like you questioned Jungkook. You weren’t put off by who he was, what he loved. So why couldn’t Jungkook be like you, think like you?

“I’m still sorry,” he says again, feeling like a broken record when he catches this sympathetic smile on your face. The scraps of eloquence he had gathered while originally apologizing seem to fade away, leave him a stuttering mess when he tries again. “That was— I shouldn’t have said—“

“Hey,” you cut off, placing a hand against his cheek. It stops his fidgeting, forces him to meet your gaze head on. There’s a smile on your face but something inside of Jungkook says it doesn’t feel real. “I like you, Jungkook.”

And it’s true and genuine, your words so honest it pains him to think he had ever thought otherwise. And you’re still smiling, even after being hit with the implication that Jungkook questioned your character and maybe that’s what hurts the most. That you still try to put on an easygoing expression for him after he’s said something hurtful. It’s the car all over again, that blank look in your eyes when he had spoken carelessly.

Before he can apologize for the umpteenth time, you’re shaking your head softly, smiling anew. But this time, he can’t tell if it’s real or not. “I brought orange juice,” you say, expertly moving the conversation along. And just as Jungkook has been thinking for weeks now, it’s like you know him so well. You know when things make him anxious or uncomfortable, know just how to help him out.

There’s a feeling of guilt that blossoms in his chest, but this time it’s different.

It’s not the usual sticky gross feeling of before, the one that has him staying up at night repenting for all his wrongdoings. It’s a personal kind of guilt that comes along with the frank realization that, while you have been learning and adapting to being around Jungkook, he has not been doing the same for you.

Though you may be a little playful at times, you don’t tease him for who he is, don’t stomp all over his beliefs as much as he deluded himself into thinking you do. (That whole, faux-believer thing was a different circumstance.) Like with the cross in his house the other day. As much as Jungkook wanted to believe what you had done was evil, he had, quite honestly, enjoyed himself afterwards. There wasn’t that heavy discomfort sitting on his chest anymore, that sense of shame lingering as you’d kissed his body and let him caress yours too, in the safety of your eyes only. It was enjoyable and fun, had felt exhilarating to be so intimate with you.

And instead of being thankful for your mindful efforts, he had questioned your sincerity.

The picnic goes by in a flash. Jungkook is sad he can’t enjoy it to the fullest, his brain filled with clamorous thoughts that circled around to torture him every few minutes. Still, the entire date feels like a dream, vibrant and beautiful, leaving him in a daze. He doesn’t want to wake up.

By the time you suggest wrapping up, the sun is setting over the horizon, the windows and lights of the buildings around you slowly flickering to life like a sea of tiny stars. He feels weak in the knees as he helps you pack everything back in your basket. “All set,” you smile, walking beside him, knuckles brushing against his until you fulfill Jungkook’s wordless wish and slip your hand into his.

Jungkook agrees, hoping his hand isn’t sweaty and that you mean what you say. “I- I liked the food,” he remembers to mention, the fact that you had so carefully and lovingly prepared all this not entirely lost on him. His compliment, as simple as it may be, has you beaming at him as you exit through the park’s front gates. His car is parked along the street, the sleek vehicle coming into view as you round the street corner, hands still fastened. “Um,” he mumbles, pausing beside it. You turn to face him, eyes clear and content.

All good things come to an end, he supposes, reluctantly letting go of your hand when you tug. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” you say, stepping up close, chest pressed against his. His breath hitched in his throat, eyes going wide when you nuzzle against his neck. Your hands slip around his waist. They wrap around him perfectly, make Jungkook feel like he was made for you.

By the time he’s springing into action, jerkily raising his free hand up to your back, you’re stepping away. “Call me when you get home,” you wink, sending shivers down his spine when he remembers what happened the last time you said that.

But Jungkook doesn’t think he can wait that long.

You’re slipping further and further away, fingertips just barely brushing against his forearm, when Jungkook jolts into action. “How are you, um—“ he stammers, feels too big for his shoes when you tilt your head curiously. And then, “d- do you need a ride?” he mumbles, cheeks warm.

It’s a feeble attempt at asking what he really wants. Offering you a ride home, while not a bad idea considering it was late and you had taken the bus here, is nowhere near what Jungkook really wants. What he wants is standing before him, thin spaghetti strap slipping down their shoulder, eyes sensually half-lidded and you know this too— because, again, you know Jungkook so well, know what he wants even if he can’t say it —as you step into his bubble again, peer up at him with your arms held behind your back.

“A ride home?” you ask, blinking your long lashes in a way that robs him of his breath. And he can see that switch flick on inside of you, watches that pure and innocent gleam in your eyes slowly become replaced with something mischievous. Jungkook nods dumbly. “I’d love that.”

Jungkook blinks. “Great,” he chokes out, neatly dropping the wicker basket in his hands. In a way, it brings him back down to reality, lets him snap away from your hypnotizing gaze as he reaches for the keys in his pocket. “Let me— I just have to— yeah,” he stammers, clicking the button on his car keys one too many times, has it perkily beeping. Your lips press together into an amused smile, the last thing Jungkook sees before ripping himself away from you and yanking the back door open.

He nearly throws the basket in like a madman, glassware be damned. It’s his last shred of rationality that tells him not to, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on edge as he steps up to the edge of the sidewalk and carefully places it on the floor behind the passenger’s seat.

When Jungkook rises back up, there is a hand that brushes against his forearm, a gentle touch that has him throwing a curious glance your way. He’s not expecting to be so entranced by the dreamy look in your eyes, feet glued to the ground as you trail your hand down, catching his wrist between your fingers. You’re standing so close, making Jungkook feel like he’s trapped between you and his own car. His entire body is on edge when you lean in, placing a soft kiss against the very corner of his mouth. It leaves a tingling sensation, and accompanied with the growing warmth beneath his skin, feels like he’s been burned. “I had fun,” you murmur, voice low. It sends a shock of electricity down his spine, a wave of exhilaration that has him fully turning to face you as you eventually step away, that same playful grin on your features again.

A surge of confidence and greed overcomes him, has him stepping forward into your space despite the nervousness that builds within him. There’s a hint of surprise in your eyes that you quickly mask, placating his bumbling nerves with a delicate hand placed over his heart. He can’t breathe when you lean in, softly humming, “kiss me?”

Jungkook’s lower lip wobbles. “O- Okay,” he concedes, voice but an airy whisper that is soon swallowed up. You taste like fruit and orange juice, remnants of your picnic clinging to your lips as you slowly consume Jungkook’s entire attention with this soft brush alone. It’s a rather short affair, one that ends all too soon when you pull away with a soft sigh against his lips.

Your smile is so pretty when you angle it at him, has him taking one jerky step backwards. His back hits the car, feels trapped. But he isn’t scared, doesn’t find himself anxiously awaiting your next move. “Good boy,” you purr, reaching one graceful hand forward, playfully tugging at his tie, wrapping it around your knuckles as you use it as leverage to pull him close again.

You’re just so pretty, Jungkook has always thought so. From the moment he first met you until now, there is something about you—a glint in your eyes, a quirk to your lips—that has had him under your spell for weeks now.

Had Jungkook seriously despised you and your ethics, perhaps this feeling would have gone away. But the fact of the matter is that you make Jungkook’s heart hammer dangerously in his chest, a shot of adrenaline through his veins when you look at him with those low-lidded eyes, touch him with those experienced hands. He wants you so bad, even after all he’s learned, all he’s seen. He wants you over him and under him, pressed against him from head to toe. He wants and he wants, and he knows it’s bad to want so much, to be so greedy. But with you around, Jungkook finds himself giving into that greed, clutching at it like a lifeline. “We can, um—,” he stammers, placing one uncertain hand against the top of the door frame beside him. You raise your brows, egging him on yet patiently waiting all at once.

Your gaze is so strong, and it’s in moments like these that Jungkook feels that feeling crawl up his throat. A serpentine gaze, a sticky sweet tongue. Everything he’s ever known says it’s wrong, but his heart and your confession says otherwise. He looks away, throws a bashful glance at the plush leather seats behind him. “In… inside?”

And the offer has you positively beaming before him, that same flirtatious shimmer in your irises doubling at the words that roll off his tongue. “Oh my,” you swoon playfully, stepping back to, Jungkook assumes, allow him to get in.

He plops down, feels like he would break out in a sweat if the evening temperature wasn’t so cool. The car’s interior blends into the shadows, his clothing practically indiscernible against the dark shade of the seats. A stark contrast to the pretty floral dress that suddenly spills itself over his lap when you climb in, the door tugged shut beside the two of you. All is silent, your thighs over his, hands on his shoulders. “Hi, bunny,” you murmur, lips pulled into a smirk, provocative yet playful, like you know something that Jungkook doesn’t.

Jungkook’s throat feels dry but he still manages to gulp. He’s drowning in your perfume and your body lotion, in the faint smell of the outdoors clinging to your clothes and your hair, the absolutely heavenly scent of just you in your entirety. “Hi,” he whispers back, voice lost beneath the thundering of his heartbeat in his ears. And his quiet greeting is rewarded with two soft hands that crawl up his neck, cupping his face in their palms.

“You were so sweet today,” you purr, nose nudging against his when you finally lean in, pressing your breasts against Jungkook. A tiny gasp catches in his throat, his hands instinctively going to your waist. “Can I kiss you again?”

Jungkook has never wanted anything more. “Please,” he exhales, feeling like he’ll explode if you don’t kiss him soon. You take his request in stride, jut your face forward just the slightest bit until your mouth is pressed firmly against his, the movement of your lips a practiced rhythm that he just can’t seem to master. He still tries his best, puckers his lips when he feels it’s right, tilts his head when you urge him with a soft nudge. He tries his best and hopes it’s enough.

By now, Jungkook has come to understand that there is a pattern to your kisses. You always start off slow and relaxed, mouth languidly moving against his as you lure him across a tightrope of anticipation. They gradually become more intense, pulling out whimpers and sighs from Jungkook that he had never known were possible. It’s a carefully crafted art form, the tongue that slides out from between your pillowy lips, dips into his own mouth with a giggly pant. “Good boy,” you hum in between, hands burying themselves in the hair at the nape of his neck. “Always so good.”

Jungkook shudders when you eventually part, can’t catch his breath fast enough before you’re reaching for the buttons on the front of his shirt, easily undoing the casual tie too. “Relax,” you tell him, bypassing his lips for the warm expanse of skin just below. You kiss over his chin, down his neck, as your hands crawl beneath his shirt and around his naked waist.

He’s ticklish, and when you brush against his ribs, he unwillingly releases a sharp huff of laughter. It’s followed by a wide-eyed look of embarrassment, cheeks a warm hue when you lean back in surprise at this new bit of information. “I— sorry,” he blurts out, because he doesn’t know proper make-out etiquette, doesn’t know anything really, except what you’ve shown him.

But the sound makes you snort, looking at him with this gaze that drips with honey. “So cute,” you tell him, placing a chaste kiss against his lips, before disappearing back down to lavish his throat with filthier kisses. And with you laving your tongue across his skin, biting at every inch available, Jungkook is left to fuzzily stare over the crystal clear windshield. He’s struck with the faint realization that if someone were to look hard enough, they would see him through the tinted glass as he fell apart into the hands of a pretty girl.

The soft smack of your lips against his skin is sensual, makes every hair on his body stand stiff. Your lips trail down the column of his neck, placing a bruising kiss at the juncture where it meets the rest of his body. “Oh,” he sighs, eyelids fluttering when a hand squeezes at his chest, thumb against his nipple.

Another muffled giggle pressed against the base of his neck, and when Jungkook focuses his eyes again, he catches his own gaze in the rearview mirror.

The sight of him is… weird to say the least.

Even in the dark, his lips look thoroughly debauched, puffier and redder than usual, slick with saliva that isn’t entirely his. He doesn’t tell himself to, but his mirrored counterpart peeks his tongue out, runs it along his top lip sinfully. Startled by his own appearance, Jungkook jolts in place, feeling you shift in his lap with a soft little whine. “Bunny,” you frown, and Jungkook watches your side profile in the tiny mirror as you sit back up, press your lips against his ear. “Sit still for me,” you tell him, hand slithering up his chest, around his throat. Over his Adam’s apple, squeezing just the slightest. It’s not tight, but it knocks the air out of his lungs when he sees the action mirrored back at him on the reflective surface.

That familiar guilt sticks in his throat, evident when your hand slips away and he swallows harshly, the protrusion just beneath his skin bobbing up and down.

In the back of Jungkook’s mind, he can recall the religious story that surrounded this bodily feature; a sin and the consequence. A garden and a fruit, a beautiful woman by his side.

Your hand creeps down between your bodies, palming over his quickly fattening cock, and Jungkook swears he sees stars, a strained whimper escaping from his lips that you giggle at. “Oh my,” he huffs, clutching at the skirt of your dress. You nuzzle close again, pressing a tender kiss against the side of his neck.

Your hands are so soft and sweet, brushing over his cock like you’re simply caressing him out of adoration and not because you want him to cum, staining his seats and your dress. Either way, Jungkook can’t even begin to imagine what you must be thinking; before the date and his confession, he had been afraid that you would discard him. Maybe Jungkook wasn’t what you wanted, maybe he wasn’t what you needed. You were so confident in yourself and your actions, a stark contrast to Jungkook and his constant uncertainty, his fear of doing the wrong thing plaguing him at all hours of the day.

Even now, with your hands expertly tugging his zipper down, he finds himself going back to that story. That apple in the garden, the consequences it had hailed. Never mind the fact you’re on top of him, claiming to like him, with your hands touching every inch of his skin. He keeps looping back to that Biblical verse instead, thinks about it when your fingers meanly let the elastic band of his briefs snap against his skin. “Ouch,” he flinches, voice a soft whine. He turns too quickly and too suddenly, nose bumping against yours because you’re still so close.

You smile, puckering your lips for the lightest of kisses. It’s the little things like that that make Jungkook’s entire thought process stall, distantly aware of the fact that it’s, like always, you leading the majority of your encounters once again. Even during your picnic, it had been you who had practically held his hand as you navigated through basic information, asked for his favorite color and his favorite drink. Had it not been for your own proactive tendencies, Jungkook fears he would have never known your favorite color was pink or your favorite day of the week was Thursday.

It’s a fact that makes him pause, jaw tightening as he once again realizes how little effort he was putting into knowing you. For someone who claimed to like you a lot, he rarely did the work to prove it. Even now, he’s too unsure of who he is and who you are to indulge you properly, instead watching you lead the scene as usual. Before he can stop himself, a sigh is escaping his lips.

It must convey his emotions perfectly, because it’s enough to make your wandering hands pause by his waist. “Everything okay?” you ask, always knowing what he’s feeling. And it sucks that he couldn’t say the same for himself.

“N— Yes,” he rushes to say, looking up at you with round eyes, the moonlight painting half of your face a paler color than usual, the other side shrouded in darkness. It makes your eyes look darker, makes Jungkook gulp loudly when you turn those inquisitive eyes on him.

His answer doesn’t seem to convince you, and it’s with little to no hesitation that you sit back. It puts a distance between the two of you that Jungkook can’t say he’s a fan of. “Jungkook,” you say, voice stern yet warm, one hand reaching up to brush your knuckles against his cheek. “Tell me what’s bothering you?”

It makes Jungkook nervous. He knows he thinks too much. Part of him fears that oversharing with you will drive you away, put you even farther than you are now. Maybe next time it’ll be a room’s length away, a football field’s length away. And he doesn’t want that; he wants to hold you close, he really does. But there are traditions he carries and beliefs he holds dearly that make it hard for him to do so, as much as it pains him.

The only reason he knows he’s frowning is because you press your pointer finger against the corner of his mouth. You lean in close, nose bumping against his. It sends your scent billowing over him, makes him dizzy when he becomes aware of the hand he’s got on your bare thigh, the rumpled skirt of your dress pushed away. “Talk to me, bunny,” you murmur. You don’t make a move to kiss him, a fact that Jungkook feels both grateful and disheartened by. “Please?”

And he can’t deny you, not when you ask so nicely. You have this metaphorical grip on Jungkook, a tight hold around his throat that has made him act impulsively these past few weeks, desperate to be with you, to please you. Even now, despite how much he wants to withhold his thoughts, he finds himself quietly admitting them instead. “I want to know you,” he mumbles, unable to meet your eye. You don’t push him to. “I really, um. I like you, __. A lot.” It’s a repetition of his earlier confession. And still, it makes him nervous. A thumb brushes against his cheekbone, encouraging him to meet your solemn gaze even if it means being a blushing mess afterwards. “Before we, uh, do… things.”

His words may be choppy and incoherent, but you understand him all the same. “You want to go out some more,” you clarify, removing your hand from his cheek. The phantom trail of your fingertips on his skin remains, feels colder when you lean away to allow him some more space.

Jungkook nods quickly, hoping this rush of adrenaline might help him through this. He bites down on his lower lip, carefully analyzing your expression for any signs of disbelief or disgust. But all he sees is understanding, a cool expression that makes Jungkook’s heart thunder. “I…,” he says, glancing down at where he’s still got his hand on your naked skin. Something inside of him tells him to rub his thumb across it, an action he doesn’t think through until he hears a sharp inhale, watches goosebumps rise over the skin. “I’m sorry,” he rushes out, snatching his hand away before he can do something else of a similar sort. “I- I just—“ said hand now waves around wildly beside him “—I really like you, as a, um— uh. A person. And I—“ and this is where he becomes aware of his unbuttoned shirt and the way you’ve got your pretty pussy pressed against his thigh now “—I, um. I want to know me— I mean, you —better? More? Like—“

His embarrassing babbling is cut off with a gentle kiss to his lips. No tongue, no saliva. Just soft lips against his, a delicate hand against his shoulders. When you pull away, Jungkook unconsciously trails after the touch, eyes half-lidded and in a daze when you place a palm on his chest. “I got it,” you say, lips quirking into a tiny smile. “I want to know more about you too, bunny,” you admit, reaching for the front of his shirt. He watches on with flushed cheeks as you slowly button it up for him, finishing it off with a playful tap against the underside of his chin.

You glance out of the window thoughtfully. Jungkook is suddenly reminded of how pretty you are, your skin practically glimmering under the pale moonlight. It catches on your necklace, a thin chain with a cross on the end. If he focuses his eyes behind you, his own reflection stares back once more. Jungkook’s entire body threatens to lock up tightly, but a single kiss on the cheek from you interrupts the process. “Do you wanna date?” you ask, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Jungkook can’t agree fast enough. “I— yes,” he gasps, leaning forward too suddenly. It makes you flinch back in surprise, back pressing up against the driver’s seat behind you in surprise. You wouldn’t have fallen or anything, but Jungkook reacts like it was a serious possibility anyway, grasping at your waist and pulling you snug against him, soft thighs sandwiching his tiny waist. “Oh, God,” he frets, immediately moving to release you.

But you catch him with two arms thrown around his neck, pulling Jungkook close to you for another kiss. Deeper and… meaningful, your satiny lips carefully slotted against his. While it surprises him at first, Jungkook finds himself melting into it soon enough. This was okay, he tells himself, and for the first time in a few weeks, he finds himself believing it.

It was just kissing— intimate yet appropriate kissing —between two people who were seeing each other. Him, properly seeing you. His heart threatens to burst out of its cage for a second. It’s the first time since he’s met you that he can fully say he hadn’t felt nervous about his actions, hadn’t felt like he was committing some grave sin for chasing after your touch. It was just a kiss, simple and sweet, making both of you smile bashfully when you eventually pull away. There was no lying and no guilt, no tears and no stress.

It felt good.

#networkbangtan #bangtanhq #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #jeon jungkook smut #jjk smut #jeon jungkook fic #jjk fic #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader smut #bts fic #bts smut #mine

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marvelcriminalhoe · 2 years

Text

The Vampire Kings Religion

Soft Dark! Vampire King! Steve Rogers x Human! Religious! Reader

Readers first “official” time being punished

AN: THIS IS NOT A CHAPTER !!! So, the next chapter isn’t ready yet, so I decided I’ll post one of my one shots for the story instead. I’ll post these when I don’t think the next chapters are ready, this way you still get something.

This one shot is set around the first week of Reader being in the kingdom

Series Warnings: Soft dark Steve, obsessive/possessive behavior, forced marriage, talks of blood, talks of feeding, death, eventual smut, eventual kinks, +18 minors DNI, maybe a little bit of dubious consent idk yet. This will be a soft DARK story so read at your own will.

word count: 853

series masterlist

The kingdom was nice, or at least, pleasant enough to be trapped in. You do however miss your home. You miss your own bed and your own room. You miss the window that you would stare out of every night and see the fairies flying around the woods.

You’ve stayed clear of everyone, as much as you can. At night, Steve makes you curl up next to him, something you are ashamed of getting used to.

After you saw what happened with Layla, how Steve told you punishments will always be given to those that don’t follow the rules, you have been doing everything you can to make sure you don’t step out of line. But today, today you just had to go and poke the devil.

It started off like every morning, Steve waking you up with a kiss, telling you he has to go handle some work things. Then, about an hour later, Wanda will knock on your chamber doors and bring you in breakfast. You’ll usually then go to the garden or go to the library, spending your days reading alone. Occasionally, you’ll go to the chapel, light a candle and say a prayer. Though, you aren’t entirely sure why anymore.

Then, you eat dinner with Steve, sometimes in his office, sometimes in the dinning hall with everyone else. And then, you’ll go back to your chambers with Steve, curl up next to him, and the cycle continues.

Truthfully, you have better days here than you did back home, but after a week of being in the kingdom, not cooking or going to the market like part of your usual routine, something you didn’t think was such a big deal to your mental well-being, you’re starting to feel like a cornered animal.

Which is how you’ve found yourself here, strapped to the bed you and Steve lay in every night, the Vampires fingers toying with you over and over.

He’s already brought you to the edge once, not letting you cross. But as his fingers toy with your clit, rubbing circles, you feel yourself start to reach your peak again, only for the vampire to stop before you can reach the bliss.

You whine loudly, taking in some deep breaths.

Steve slaps your cunt, tsk-ing his tongue at you, “Don’t whine, little one. You brought this on yourself.”

“I— I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to talk back.” You whine, wishing you could run your thighs together but you can’t.

Steve sighs, almost as if he’s saddened for you, but the smirk on his face proves he’s not, “I know, you’ve been so good this week. So good. But you yelled at me in front of my men, and that can’t be accepted.”

“Mhmm” you moan as his fingers start rubbing your clit again.

“So needy baby.” Steve kisses your stomach, slowly traveling down with his mouth to where his fingers are. He replaces his fingers with his tongue.

Your breathing picks up as he moans into you, the vibrations with his tongue swirling your sensitive clit pushing you closer and closer. Just as you’re about to cum, he pulls back again, bringing tears to your eyes.

Steve looks up to you, some of your wetness glistening on his beard, he smiles at you, wide and dangerous like.

“You want to cum, darling? You want me to make you cum?” He taunts.

You nod your head, “please.”

Steve puts his fingers back to use, soft, slow, almost tortures circles being drawn into your clit, “Are you sorry for raising your voice at me? For yelling at me?”

You nod your head, a few tears falling down your face, wishing he would stop torturing you and move his fingers fast, give you anything.

“I’m sorry, I won’t do it again. I promise. I’ll be good.”

“I know.” Steve tells you, stopping his fingers and moving his head down, “I know you’ll be good for me.”

He dives in, swirling his tongue around your clit, sucking on it, even giving you small little nips here and there. When you reach closer to your peak, you’re afraid he is going to stop again, but he doesn’t, he doubles down faster and harder, moaning around you when you reach your peak, lapping up all of your sweetness.

He pulls away from you, watching your chest rise and fall, your eyes closed and your face with the most beautiful sheen on it. He leans up, kissing you hungrily, giving you a taste of your own essence.

When he pulls back, your eyes half open, Steve falls in love with you a little more in that moment. He was proud of you for how long you lasted without a punishment, but he knew you would crack eventually, you just needed that extra push, which he was all too willing to give you.

When his fingers crawl back between your legs, your eyes widen, making Steve smirk down at you, “You didn’t think we were done, did you darling?” Steve laughs, shaking his head, “You need to learn your lesson, and we haven’t even begun yet.”

******

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noteguk · 3 years

Note

Taehyung fingering u while ur in zoom class,,,,this came to me as i spaced out in class

— contents and warnings: small praising kink, fingering, boyfriend!taehyung, pwp

— words; 1.6k

Thank you for your request, baby!!

You were quick to check if your microphone was still off when your boyfriend walked into the bedroom.

“I’m in class,” you mumbled, your voice a bit more bitter than you’d like. You were sprawled on the bed with your laptop heated and resting against your stomach, the screen lowered so you could pretend to pay attention to whatever it was that your professor was saying. You were in class, yes, but it certainly didn’t look like it.

Taehyung laughed at your position, and started walking towards the other side of the bed. “That explains your delightful mood.”

You hummed, eyes still stuck to the small squares on your screen. Every once in a while, you sat up on the bed and turned your camera back on (since your professor almost popped a vein every time he saw that someone had turned it off) but, for the time being, he was too focused on his explanation to care about that. You were off the hook for maybe twenty more minutes, and no one had to see your zombified face for now.

Your sleeping schedule had been absolute chaos since the beginning of the pandemic and the responsibility of an early class wouldn’t make a difference at that point — so, that night, you went to sleep at four knowing fully well that you’d have to be up at seven, and it worked just as well as anyone with a half functioning brain cell would expect. You were awake, but only physically.

The voice of your professor was a monotone, flat and repetitive melody to your ears. Absent-minded, your eyes darted from the screen and towards your boyfriend when Taehyung threw himself on the bed next to you. With interest, he placed his head on your shoulder and looked at the screen, trying to piece together the information on the slideshow.

“This looks really boring,” he commented, fumbling close to you. If your camera had been on, everyone else would think you were in an earthquake, from how much the bed was shaking under his movements. He turned to you. “And you look really annoyed.”

You sneered. “I’m glad it’s obvious. Too much emotional energy is wasted in these calls,” you complained. You did not know how your colleges managed to keep such neutral faces during online classes, it seemed like it took everything in you to look remotely pleasant and fight against your resting bitch face. “I’ll be free in twenty minutes, then I’ll help you with lunch.”

“I was thinking that maybe today we could order something,” Taehyung said, his hand finding its place on your hip bone. A bit of sleep left your body at the contact, his warmth radiating through your thin sweatshorts. “From that restaurant you like from down the street.”

Your mouth salivated at the thought. “That’d be wonderful, actually.”

He hummed, burying his face on your neck. His hot breath sent shivers up and down your skin, his voice vibrating against your flesh as he spoke. “I don’t like when you’re down,” he told you. “I’m just trying to cheer you up.”

It took everything in you not to moan at the feeling. Taehyung knew very well how much your neck was sensitive, and the little demon was doing it on purpose. “I appreciate it,” you managed to say, even if your voice wasn’t as firm as you’d like.

“There’s other ways that I could try and make you feel better.” His hand slithered closer to your center, and stopped right underneath your belly button. With your computer placed in front of you, you could only feel as he made his way down, brushing against the thick fabric of your shorts. “If you want, of course.”

Another glimpse to check if the camera and the microphone were off and you already had your answer. “I’d love that.”

With a wicked smirk, Taehyung shuffled closer so he could place kisses on your neck — hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses that made your legs weak. You bit your lip as his hand moved underneath the hem of your pants, placing itself between your shorts and your underwear.

A wave of heat ran through your body when his middle finger pressed down against your clit and started to trace small circles on it, faint motions that made your head spin. The fabric numbed the sensation a bit, but it was enough to make the first shocks of pleasure and anticipation appear.

“Don’t tease,” you asked, already a bit breathless.

You were a bit embarrassed to say it out loud — even though you were sure that your boyfriend already knew it — but you were already wet just by having his mouth on your neck, reddening your skin with every tender suck. He didn’t need much effort down there.

You made a mental note to cover your neck with your hair if you had to turn the camera back on.

Taehyung chuckled, his breath coming out hot against your neck. “Baby, I already am. Sorry.” His finger worked at a turtle pace, pressing down just right to make your hips buckle up, fighting for more contact. “Do you want me to keep going?”

You swallowed hard. “Yes, please.”

Since Taehyung wasn’t planning to make you even more irritated with his prolonged provocations, he was merciful and pulled your panties to the side, his digits traveling downwards. He moaned in delight when his index found your entrance, soaking him with your juices.

“Such a good girl, always so wet for me,” he praised, his voice deep and velvety. It was driving you crazy. “Pay attention to class while I finger you, baby.”

You had almost forgotten you even were in a zoom class and, when Taehyung sunk two of his fingers inside you, you forgot about it all over again. Overwhelmed, your eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of his long, slender feelings spreading you open, digging inside you and curving just at the right spot that made you see stars. Taehyung had done that enough times to know where your body reacted the most, where he had to touch and press to have you a whining mess beneath him.

A hoarse grunt vibrated in his throat as he started pumping his fingers in and out of you, imagining how it would feel to have you clenching around his cock instead. But that morning wasn’t about him, and Taehyung was patient enough to wait until after lunch to have you bent over and crying to be fucked. That morning, he only wanted to make you cum.

“Feels good, baby?” He asked, merciless with his movements. His hands were so big that his thumb didn’t have any problem finding your clit, putting some pressure on it as he continued to finger your pussy.

You whimpered and moaned, rolling your hips against his hand in a faithless prayer for more. At his question, you only found the force within you to desperately nod.

“You’re so pretty… and you feel so good, baby…” he mumbled to himself, his eyes closing at the feeling of your walls tightening around him. Inside his pants, his cock was hard and aching to be surrounded by your wetness; throbbing and leaking. “You’re such a good girl. Such a pretty little thing.”

“Taehyung,” you called his name and, for a moment, you didn’t know what you wanted to say. The pressure on your lower back was building up at every new thrust of his fingers inside you, and the sounds of your wetness erased your thoughts for a second. “I’m so close.”

“Wanna cum around my fingers, baby?” Taehyung’s voice was hoarse, vibrating against your skin as his mouth relentlessly marked your neck. Your class had long been forgotten, and you couldn’t even open your eyes and look at the screen. Not that you wanted to. You wanted to succumb to him. “Uh? Want to make a pretty mess on my fingers for me?”

You gasped at his words, your thighs already shaking with your upcoming release. His fingers were so big, they felt so good inside you that you could barely think straight. “Yes, please, Taehyung.”

“That’s my girl,” he said, adding a bit more pressure against your clit. The movement made your hips perk up, and your computer almost fell from your chest. “Let it go, baby. Relax. I got you.”

And you did as he said. You came around his fingers as your hand flew to your mouth, muffling your blissful cries as your pussy clenched around him, lower body buckling up and rolling against his final pumps in an attempt to prolong your pleasure. Taehyung grunted in satisfaction, his cock throbbing at the feeling of you soaking his fingers, and he waited for your breaths to settle before he spoke up.

“Better?” He asked, placing a final pec against the skin of your neck, which now blossomed in purples and reds after his attack.

Your eyes opened lazily and for a second you didn’t find your voice. “So much better. That was great.”

Taehyung leaned in and placed a soft kiss against your lips. “I like to see my girl happy,” he said tenderly. His hand slithered out of your underwear, making you feel awfully empty, and he sat up in bed. “Now, you enjoy those final minutes of your class. I’m gonna get us some food.”

“Thanks, baby,” you said, like you would ever be able to think about any subject after that. “You know my order, right?”

He rolled out of the bed with a swift movement. “Yes, Miss.” Taehyung pointed at your computer. “Now, pay attention. Your tuition isn’t cheap.”

You giggled, and your eyes followed him as he left the bedroom.

When Taehyung arrived at the corridor, he looked down at the tent in his pants and realized he might need to make a quick stop in the bathroom before he could even think about ordering food.

#Taehyung #bts smut #Taehyung smut #Taehyung x you #Taehyung x reader #bts x you #bts x reader #smut #reader insert #Kim Taehyung #bts #x reader #x you #pwp #Taehyung pwp #bts pwp

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acourtofsnakes · 3 years

Text

What Do We Say To Death? Not Today - Bucky Barnes x F! Reader (smut)

gif by: @buckypascal

Prompt request:

22. For sex after a near death experience and "I'm gonna fuck you until you beg me to stop"

I thank you for this @kenoobiwan - This was... I enjoyed writing this 😌

Summary: A near death experience encourages Bucky to make you feel better

Warnings: 18+ for explicit sex!! Slightly Dom! Bucky, swearing, Praise kink Fingering (f receiving), p in v sex, doggy style, slight cum play?, oral (f receiving and m receiving too), neck play/throat holding/breath play, begging, pleasure/pain play, mentions of death/near death/fighting, blood, injuries

Word Count: 4.4k+

Permanent Taglist: @greeneyedblondie44 @mamacitapascal @mypedrom @undiscovered-misunderstood @kaylee-krystal @queenofthefaceless @gallowsjoker @kirsteng42

Masterlist | | Requests!

There was something to be said about fighting bad guys with your boyfriend.

Especially when your boyfriend was James Buchanan Barnes – ex-solider, ex-assassin, all Brooklyn boy with a heart of gold and a smile that could bring you to your knees.

You had known him for years now, a partnership turning to friendship and friendship turning to love.

The entire time, you had remained partners because you were simply a formidable team.

Both of your experiences in training made you relentless, and you could work together like a force of nature, never failing to bring down the bad guys.

Well. Usually.

Today was… not one of those days.

It had been going well, good even but then… It wasn’t.

Somehow, one of the super soldiers you had been fighting had suddenly got the jump on you, pinning you down and then dragging you to the edge of Brooklyn Bridge.

He had held you over the drop by one of your hands, taunting you as you hung above the expanse of the East River.

It was a classic exchange.

Bucky – still fighting – either gave up and left them alone, or the soldier would kill you.

Back and forth the exchange had gone, until Bucky got even more pissed and shot the guy in the head, making him tumble back… And taking you with him.

Except, Bucky was already there, diving to the edge of the bridge and catching your hand just before you fell too far.

The force of his hand catching you had threatened to wrench your arm from its socket, but it didn’t matter – he had saved your life.

You couldn’t swim, certainly not after a fight like that and the energy it had sucked from your body.

You would have gone down like a lead balloon.

The pair of you had limped to the subway, battered, bleeding and shattered.

Everyone had avoided you in the carriage, but you didn’t care. You were both whole, safe and… together.

Even broken and battered, you still held hands up to Bucky’s apartment – he was closest. And it was cosy here, familiar and it would always be home.

You sighed softly in relief as the door of his bedroom closed behind you and you turned to look at him, only to find him already watching you.

Something stirred in you, something deep and blazing.

Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was the fact you had danced with death and looked Her in the eye tonight but there was a fire beginning to blaze it your belly.

It could have been any of those things, but it was most likely Bucky.

A trickle of blood running down his cheek from a cut on his eyebrow, his plush lower lip split and a bruise already forming over that wickedly sharp jawbone.

His Arctic blue eyes were the colour of the ocean in a storm, waves of frustration and anger pelting the shores of his mind. And when he looked at you, those waves turned into a tsunami, darkening further with desire and it seemed he had the same thoughts on his mind.

He prowled toward you on silent feet, the air parting around his lean body as if sensing the presence of a hunter.

And you were his prey, caught in that blazing gaze like a butterfly pinned beneath a needly.

And oh, how you loved it.

You raised an eyebrow, watching him with mock indifference, even as every nerve in your body stood to attention, crying out for his touch. “What?” Just the perfect amount of sass.

Bucky’s eye twitched just slightly, a faint snarl on his lips as he got closer and closer to you, but he remained silent.

This was all part of the game, your blazing desire for each other battling, rising and falling in a game of tension and edging. To see who would break first, who would surrender power to the other.

You cocked your head, pushing him further, “Can’t find your words, Buck? That makes a change.” You laughed softly, that sing-song laugh and tone that was all bratty and cocky and you knew pushed him.

He was backing you up against the wall, the scent of his aftershave, smoke and iron washing over you. “Don’t use that tone on me.” His voice had dropped an octave, sinking into that deeper and more gravelly tone that turned your knees to jelly and made you ache for him.

Heat was flowing through your limbs, your clothes becoming too tight, too constricting. Each bruise and cut faded to a background hum as the toes of his boots met yours.

Ordinarily, you were both as stubborn and hot-headed as the other, but in times like these, when he had that voice and that predatory look in his eye… You were all too willing to quite literally drop everything and let him destroy you. “What are you going to do about it, soldier?” You purred the words up at him, all arrogance.

Bucky paused, close enough now that he filled your vision. He looked over you, eyes flicking over your face with a dark hunger that reminded you of the Winter Soldier, perhaps a level of control and darkness that lay within him all the time.

The clock on the far wall ticked by slowly, the tension growing thicker and thicker with each tick.

Just when you thought your head might explode, Bucky suddenly moved.

His hands shot out to spin your body around, left hand pinning your arm to your side as his hand curled around your jaw, grasping it tightly. His right hand pressed into your lower belly, pushing you back into him and you felt the hard line of him pressing against the bottom of your back.

He yanked your jaw to the side with enough pressure that it sent shockwaves of pleasure down your spine. You felt his rough stubble graze over your neck, his teeth tug your earlobe, “I’m going to fuck you until you beg me to stop.” His snarl echoed in your ear, his breath hot and almost a pant.

Your eyes rolled back in your head as you pressed back into him more, rubbing your ass against the bulge straining his trousers. “Then what are you waiting for?” You gasped the words, still taunting him because fuck, you adored soft Bucky but this, this hot predator of desire and dominance… He owned you.

A dark laugh echoed in your ear, his vibranium fingers pressing tighter into your jaw to give him access to the soft flesh of your neck, “Still being a brat, huh? I save your life, and this is how you say thank you?” He licked a wet stripe along your neck, tasting you and he blew out a moan that pebbled your skin with the cool brush of air. “I think you need to learn some manners, doll.”

The hand on your belly suddenly plunged beneath your waistband, his nails scraping the sensitive skin and then finding how wet you were.

That dark laugh echoed again as he felt the slick coating your underwear, “Oh, baby, you are so needy, aren’t you?” He pressed the pads of his fingers to your clit, wasting no time in rubbing quick, almost harsh circles.

“Fuck, Bucky-” Your head fell back to his shoulder, hips immediately driving forward to seek more of his touch, more of that insistent pressure.

Bucky bit at your neck, straight white teeth scraping over your skin and sinking into the flesh, “That’s it, baby, I know how much you need me… Need me to fuck you so hard you can’t walk.” He smoothed his tongue over the hurt, mumbling the dirty words against your skin like a prayer. His fingers slipped deeper, gathering the wetness on his index and middle fingers before slowly, slowly pushing them inside.

A languid groan broke from your throat, your arms straining against his. There was nothing to hold, to balance out the instant fiery sparks he shot through your body, so you were forced to stand there and take it. You could only make small movements with your hips, rocking in time with his lazy thrusts with those long fingers. “Stop teasing, you ass.” You shifted your head in his hand, managing to take one of the cool vibranium fingers into your mouth and you sucked the metal, liking the tang on your lounge.

Your soldier moaned deep in his throat as you did, unable to feel it apart form a faint tingle but the mere sight of it was enough – and he knew why you were doing it, “You want these fingers inside you, doll? Want to cum all over them like the gorgeous, needy thing you are?” He pushed another finger into the wet heat of your mouth, enamoured by the sight of your tongue slipping out and stroking up the length of them, the pink flesh against the black and gold sending him into a frenzy.

You hummed against his fingers, body straining again, and you managed a nod, aching for those hard, cold fingers to be inside you.

He gave you what you wanted – he always would – and he pulled those fingers from your lips with a wet pop!

Your solider wasted no time in lowering that hand, swapping his fingers and pushing the vibranium digits deep, deep inside your core.

They were thicker, harder, colder and fucking hell, they were everything.

They never tired and could fuck into you with a pace that was unlike anything else you had ever experienced.

Bucky watched as you arched against him, your lips parting with a moan worthy of song, “That’s it, baby… Take what you want, what you deserve…”

His murmured praise spurred you on, encouraging you to roll and rock your hips against his hand. He matched your pace, pumping in and out, curling up his digits to press against that spongey spot immediately.

He wasn’t taking you slow today, not by any means.

The warm flesh of his right fingers, slick still from being inside you pressed to your bundle of nerves again, combining slow figure of eight motions with the curling motions of his fingers.

It didn’t take long until you were keening his name, body shaking with the effort of being forced to take it all and you fell apart on his hand, coating the smooth metal with your release, soaking his wrist and your own skin.

Your knees buckled, and he guided you to the bed where you flopped back, head spinning with the force of how quickly your first orgasm had barrelled into you.

Bucky looked down at you on the bed, panting and legs parted for him as your thighs glistened with your release. He then looked down at his vibranium hand, seeing that same stickiness coat the metal, turn it gloss and he lifted them to his lips, sucking each one clean with appreciative growls that had you whimpering for him. “Messy girl.” His eyes dropped to his bed covers, where your sticky wetness had soaked the bed sheets.

You leant up on your elbows, chest rising and fallen raggedly to catch your breath still, “Bucky.” The word was a command, a plea, and a prayer all at once.

You raked your eyes from the top of his messy, curly hair, down to him licking his fingers clean and then lower, over his broad shoulders and chest, the vibranium arm, all the way down to his heavy, thick cock, standing to attention and swollen from holding back his own release – purely from watching you fall apart on his fingers.

Mouth-watering, you sat up, moving to your hands and knees and you crawled across the bed to him, ignoring the sharp ache as your shoulder protested.

He watched you keenly, knowing what you were going to do, letting you take control for the moment.

Besides, he fell to pieces when you did this.

You stopped when you were eye level with that beautiful, thick cock.

God, he was so beautiful.

Long, smooth, a vein delicately running up the underside that drove you crazy.

To be honest, everything about him drove you crazy.

You looked up at him, eyes locked on his as you curled your fingers around that length, spitting lightly on the end and then smoothing the combined mix of your saliva and the beads of his precum up and down him.

Bucky hisses slowly through his teeth, his head falling down to watch you, hands curling into fists as you teased him with these pumps.

You would keep with the teasing if you weren’t desperate to taste him, so you gave in, parting your lips and lowering your head along his cock.

He watched it disappear into your plush lips, inch by inch until you took all you could, your hand grasping the rest.

You moaned in unison, his head tilting back again with the feeling of the wet heat of your mouth enveloping him – and you from the velvety weight of him in your mouth, a taste like nothing else.

He was heavy, hot and tasted absolutely divine.

You could give up food for this, honestly.

Quickly, you began a pace as relentless as he had, bobbing your head up and down his cock, tongue swiping up and around like he was the tastiest lollipop in the world. With every lift of your head, your tongue followed up that damn vein, pressing into the flesh with enough pressure that Bucky’s hips jolted forward.

Perfect, exactly what you wanted.

A soft laugh rumbled your throat, vibrating down through the head of his dick and he fisted his hand at the back of your head in your hair, “Fuck, doll – Shit.” His jaw was clenched, eyes torn between closing in pleasure and watching you devour him whole.

You wanted more, more of a reaction from him, so you pulled all the way back, locking your eyes to him again as the tip of your tongue, tracing around his head and then pressing into that slit at the end of his dick. You lifted your free hand to his balls, feeling them tight and weighty and you grasped them, tugging gently as your tongue toyed with that sensitive end.

Bucky damn near whimpered, his hips jerking forward again, and he slipped between your teeth a few inches.

And you absolutely adored it when he fucked your mouth.

So, you did it again.

Squeezed his balls and hollowed out your cheeks, tightening your mouth around him. You gave him a look, eyelashes fluttering – fuck me, if you mean it.

Bucky let out a shaken breath, tongue darting over his lips and he nodded once, grasping the back of your head and his hips began to move, thrusting into your mouth gently.

You were already there, widening your jaw and controlling your breathing so that when he jerked forward – you took him down your throat. Deep. Deep enough that the warm hand holding your jaw could feel the thick press of him widening your throat.

It sent a shockwave through him, those impossible thighs tensing and trembling by your head as you took him down your throat again and again, jerking the inches you couldn’t reach, fondling his balls with the other.

And when they tightened warning you of his release, you merely pushed forward more, taking the entire length of him so that your nose brushed the short, curling hairs.

And then your soldier came apart, crying out with a garbled version of your name, shooting hot spurts of cum down your throat.

You lapped up every drop, swallowing thickly until he was pulling back from you, his eyes wide with awe and something primal.

The next moment, you were on your back, and he was balls deep in you, your legs wrapped around his waist as he fucked you mercilessly.

Bucky folded his big, broad body over yours, his belly pressing into yours and there was a sudden jolt of icy cold on your face – his dog tags.

Fuck.

His dog tags were hitting your chin with every thrust of his hips, gently clinking together and thumping against your jaw line.

There was something filthy, messy about this. Pure, undiluted lust as you fucked each other, working off the adrenaline and fear from nearly dying.

Sure, you spoke, you had deep conversations that lasted the whole night and ranged from his time in the 40’s, to your childhood.

But other times, when words got too hard, and emotions got too painful to speak aloud… This was how you spoke to each other. The frantic movement of your bodies, the entwining of your souls as you escaped from your lives for an hour – or many.

“I love you, baby – Don’t know what I would do without you.” Bucky groaned low, hips thrusting and grinding into yours with relentless pace, “If I had lost you today – I would have torn everything apart and followed you.” He lifted his head, his eyes blown near black as he watched his tags hitting your skin.

Your head was thrown back in ecstasy, breath consistently stuck in your throat as he jack-knifed into you. Your nails scrabbled over his back, gouging deep crescent moons into his skin as you held on, “And I would have followed you to the end of the world.” A high moan broke your words, “I love you too, Bucky. Always…” You dug your nails in tighter, “Especially when you fuck me like this, break me apart with your cock – I always want it, always think about it.”

The snarl Bucky let out was something animal, unhinged and he started snapping his hips to yours with a frenzied pace, “You – You’re so fucking perfect, so beautiful”- He dropped his head to your neck, biting the skin and his hand moved to your thigh, bending your leg back to your chest to hammer into you at a new angle. The thick, blunt head of his cock thudded against that spot deep inside you, throwing you by the spine toward that edge – and when his pubic bone scraped against your clit, you tumbled off the edge, your orgasm shattering through you so hard you saw stars.

“Fuck, Bucky – Bucky-”, His name rose in a scream, back arching as waves and waves of pleasure crashed through your body.

“Bucky sucked in a choked breath, “Shit, baby – Fuck, look at you-” The feeling of your walls tightening and squeezing around him finished him, and pulled out just in time to watch thick ropes of his cum decorate your belly and thighs.

The feeling of it, warm on your skin had your orgasm riding longer, hips undulated against the air, and you barely had enough time to breath before Bucky grasped your hips, “Hands and knees – now.”

He flipped you over, panting as you rose onto all fours, and he was slamming back into you with no warning.

You cried out, the punishing size of him stretching your still fluttering walls, “Bucky, wait-”

A sharp crack to your ass shut you up, the sting of cold vibranium on sensitive skin causing you to nearly smash your face into the headboard. “I said you would be begging me to stop. I’m not finished yet. You still have more left in you, you greedy little thing.” His voice was thick and low, a rough rasp that could have commanded you to do anything and you would.

A whimper you couldn’t entirely control left your throat, causing Bucky to stop for a moment.

His warm hand caressed your lower back, silently soothing you and he slipped for a single moment, his voice normal, “Colour?”

You dragged your thoughts back together, enough to be coherent and you mumbled, “Green.” Your tongue darted out to lick your lips, the feeling of him just resting inside you was tormenting, unbearable – you needed him to move, now. “Don’t stop, Buck. For the love of God, please don’t.”

A stuttered breath let you know he had heard you. He was always in awe of how well you matched him, the darker corners of his soul and personality that you never ever shied away from.

He snapped back to attention a second later, pulling out agonisingly slow, so just the tip of his cock rested inside your aching core, “Say it, baby. Tell me what you want me to do.” He circled his hips slowly, hands massaging the flesh of your ass.

Your thighs trembled beneath you, entire body trembling actually with want and you cried out, “Fuck me, Bucky. Fuck me until I’m begging you to stop.”

If this man didn’t move, if he kept teasing you, you were going to fucking punch him. You didn’t care if he was as battered and bruised as you.

The soldier snickered under his breath, pulling on some super soldier level of restraint to not blow his load instantly again, “That’s my girl. Though, you might be regretting that.”

And then he moved.

A punishing, brutal pace, fuelled by that same super soldier serum, and something entirely his own.

His hands held your hips up, pulling you back into his body as he fucked into you hard and fast, “Gonna make you scream for me, doll. Make all the neighbours know who saves your life, who makes you feel like this.”

“Yes, yes, Fuck- ” Your spine threatened to break in half with his pace and you gripped the headboard with one hand, knuckles turning white and the other hand fisting into the bed covers. “Oh, god.” The moans that left your lips sounding more like cries, as he wrenched you toward another orgasm.

You matched him thrust for thrust, thumping your body back into his, so that the room was filled with the smell of sex, the sound of your twin panting, moans and growls and the utterly dirty wet squelch of his cock being swallowed by your core and the slap of his balls hitting your clit.

Bucky’s vibranium hand snaked up your back, the metal scraping your skin and then he curled his hand around your neck. His fingers tightened on your throat and the world tilted as he yanked your body up so your back was to his chest, “Such a good girl, take my cock so good – Like you were made for me.” He pulled your head to the side, pressing his face into your neck and he panted hot and heavy against the skin, “Fuck, I love you so much, so fucking much.”

Words were beyond you, your brain giving up as your concentration narrowed into the pleasure burning your core, your thighs beginning to quake helplessly, “Bucky, I can’t-” Every breath was filled with that feeling, the insistent barrelling of your release hovering over you. You had gone longer before, but each high he had delivered you to tonight was for more intense and relentless than before.

Bucky grinned wickedly against your neck, that slow growing smirk that was all cocky, male arrogance, “Yes, you can, doll. I know you can.” He turned his head, licking up your neck, sucking your earlobe and then tracing the tip of his tongue over the shell of your ear.

The strange, absolutely delightful feeling distracted you from the fact his other hand had slipped between your legs.

And then you felt the pressure of his fingers, rubbing little tight circles that merely trebled that building pleasure to something electric, fizzing through your veins and threatening to burn you from the inside out.

Tears prickled the backs of your eyes, the feeling almost too much, too intense, near painful and then – then Bucky thrust a particular deep jolt up into you, grinding against that spot as his nails scraped over your clit – and then you shattered apart.

Your orgasm came fast and unforgiving, searing through your spine and breaking you into a million pieces. Everything went black for a moment, a high-pitched ringing in your ears and you were dimly aware of Bucky hissing your name, his head tilting back as he came inside you, coating your shuddering walls with his release, mixing with your own and giving you that hot, filled feeling that you always craved.

You could live and die inside this moment, the hovering of blissful light as you slowly came back to yourself – except you weren’t allowed to come back slowly.

Bucky lowered you to the bed, held you there with his vibranium arm around your middle, “Stay on your hands and knees.”

When you were back on all fours, limbs shaking, he slowly pulled out of you, groaning softly as your walls tried to keep him inside, “I am in awe of you.” He breathed the words almost to himself, running a hand through his still messy hair and he sank down to his own knees at the end of the bed.

You couldn’t open your eyes, couldn’t even remember your own name, “Buck…”

Bucky laughed softly under his breath, mouthing kisses down your back, pausing to lick and bite at the bone and then his moved lower, “Oh, darling, I’m not done with you yet. I said I didn’t want you to be able to walk… I think you still have some movement left in you.”

He kissed down over your ass cheeks, delivering a sharp slap to the soft flesh that had you keening, back arching for him.

You loved the heady mix of pleasure and pain he bought you, loved that you could both let go like this with each other and trusted each other enough. Something like a moaning sob answered him, but you nodded all the same, beyond words so you held up three fingers – a silent confirmation that your colour was still green.

Bucky rubbed your lower back, watching as your walls clenched and fluttered around nothing, the combined mix of your releases slipping down your thighs. He licked his lips, tutting softly, “We can’t have that.” He gathered it on his fingers, pushing them back inside you a little.

Your hands fisted in the covers again, pushing your hips back almost without your own realisation, and gritting your teeth as heat coiled low in your belly, ready for him yet again even if there was a sting in your muscles, your thighs and arms still shook and you were wrecked, “Bucky, please-” You didn’t know if you were begging him to stop or to carry on.

He pressed a kiss to the back of your thighs, before licking a broad stripe over your lips, ‘That’s right, beautiful…” He took pity on you, using a hand to press between your shoulder blades so your torso sagged to the bed – hips up and ready for him.

“Let me hear you beg.”

#requests #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader smut #tw: blood #tw: injuries #tw: near death experience #tw: sex #dom! bucky #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #tw: hand round neck

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theshelbyclan · 4 years

Text

Family Secrets

Summary: Polly finally lets slip what the real Shelby curse is and as the youngest Shelby, with a little encouragement from John, you feel obligated to use it to your own advantage

(Gif by @mistress-gif) A/N: I wrote this one when I couldn’t sleep, a long time ago, fuelled by my own frustration of being picked on as the youngest. This has been a headcanon of mine for ages and I finally put it to paper. I never had any intention of posting it, but because I’ve reached the 500 followers mark, I decided to share. It’s short, fluffy and a lot lighter than the actual series. Enjoy!

Words: 3220

***

“Give me the fucking book, John!” you bellowed through the kitchen. Your aunt was adamant that you’d all eat together, one day a week, on Sunday. These dinners were great and important, but they always ended in chaos. Tommy usually left early to get on with work, so he was never part of the sibling banter that ensued.

You had just finished eating and while Aunt Polly was busy clearing the dishes, you thought you could read a little. How wrong you were.

Holding the book out of your reach, the most annoying brother in the world was grinning broadly at you. “I will punch you in the fucking throat…” you threatened. This only made John laugh harder and he threw the book over your head towards Arthur who caught it nimbly. “How about me, little sister,” Arthur said playfully, “Are you going to cut me?” With a sigh you turned around and made another failed attempt at grabbing the book. Arthur threw the book back at John and a little game had started that you had no energy for. Still, you wanted that fucking book. “Forget the book, Y/N,” Ada commented from behind her own book, “Let them have their fun.”

But you were too stubborn for your own good, “I’ll be damned if I let them win…” which gave rise to more laughter from your brothers. So you grabbed the nearest tea towel and threw it in Arthur’s face. Before he could remove it, you pounced and actually felt the book beneath your fingers now. Polly paused her work and watched the scene with interest, partially because it was sweet, in a very Shelby manner, and partially because she wanted to put a stop to it before her kitchen got destroyed. You were so close, but Arthur grabbed you around your waist and managed to get the book back to John. Now you were well and truly stuck. “Right, what now?” he teased in a low voice. “Get the fuck off!” you screamed, when John walked over to you and dangled the book in front of you. Stretching out your arms as much as you could, you could almost reach it. But John, evil as he was, used his other hand to tickle your ribs and you immediately crumpled down in Arthur’s arms. The second brother soon joined in and now you were being attacked by two pairs of hands. You dissolved in a mess of giggles within seconds and there was nothing you could do. Sliding down onto the floor, with very little hope of rescue from your sister or aunt, you were at their mercy completely. And then, like some miracle, Ada intervened. She grabbed John by the collar and pulled him back. You gasped for breath as soon as you could. “She’s had enough, John,” Ada said sternly, “Back off, or you’re next.” Arthur looked down on you with a huge grin on his face, “Ada, we both know she can take much more than that…” “Noo!” you whined and without waiting for him to finish his sentence, you rolled away on your stomach across the kitchen until you bumped into your aunt. “Should’ve punched him in the throat,” she said softly to you. “Don’t be a baby!” John called out, “It’s your own fault.” “How the fuck is it my fault?” you replied indignantly from the floor. “For being so fucking sensitive,” John grinned. Arthur joined in, “That’s right. Just turn it off.” You rolled your eyes almost audibly.

John scoffed and pushed Ada away, “You’re fourteen now, Y/N. Time to learn.”

Polly turned around swiftly, “Oh, like you ever did!”

“What?” your head shot up.

Ada looked at you with a smirk, “What, you thought you were the only one?”

As you got to your feet, Polly helped you up and said meaningfully, “That’s the real family curse, sweetheart.”

Years of them pinning you down and teasing you bubbled up in frustration, “Are you saying that I’ve been going through torture for all these years, thinking that it was just me, when all this time…”

Arthur shrugged, “You’re the youngest and smallest. Comes with the territory.”

“Besides, we’re stronger,” John added smugly. He was right of course, which made it all the more annoying.

Polly threw down the washing cloth and theatrically said, “Welcome to the Shelby family, feared by all in Birmingham and where everyone is ticklish as fuck!” Your entire worldview had been altered in seconds. Apparently this wasn’t news to your siblings, because they all looked completely unimpressed by this bit of information, while you stood there with your mouth hanging open in surprise. After thinking about all of this for a while, you asked, “Even Tommy?” “When we were kids we used to make fun of him,” John recalled with a glint in his eyes, “It’s just his ribs, but if you poke him suddenly, he literally jumps.” “He went absolutely feral,” Arthur nodded. An idea was taking shape in your head, “Would that still work, you think?” “You’ll only get yourself killed,” Ada commented in her usual bored tone of voice. “Do it!” John urged, “Come Ada, you know she’ll get away with it.” You and John had always been the most mischievous in the family and you shared a look with a similar twinkle in your eyes. You finally knew something Tommy didn’t know. This was your one chance to catch Thomas Shelby by surprise. ***

For the next couple of days, you tried to get your brother alone. It was strange, because on the one hand you couldn’t wait to try out your plan. Envisioning how he would react was brilliant already, but the feeling of power you had was even greater. However, you also feared his reaction. Thomas Shelby was a busy man and he had very little time for anyone these days. When he did spend time with you, it was short and it often involved him reprimanding you. In all honesty, you were a little scared of him, but not scared enough to let a prank like this one go to waste. You’d deal with the consequences, whatever they were.

John might’ve been even more excited than you were and whenever Tommy left to go somewhere on his own, he motioned you frantically to follow him. Finding the right time proved almost impossible though. So you decided just to get on with it. This was the day you would find out if your brother shared the family curse. Unfortunately, he’d been in a bad mood all day. He’d called a family meeting at breakfast and had left quickly after that. They’d all reconvene in the evening. Dodging all your other responsibilities, you shadowed Tommy for most of the day, but he had one business meeting after the other. His mood was getting darker and darker, and you began to wonder if you were actually suicidal. But then, unexpectedly, you found yourself alone with him outside. “Y/N,” he said strictly, “Tell me what’s going on.” You’d come outside for some peace, because today was one of the busiest days at the shop and you’d had enough of the noise. Outside, you planned on reading your book and you’d forgotten about Tommy for a minute. Until he had appeared suddenly. “Nothing,” you said, looking up.

“Then why have you been following me all day, eh?” He sounded annoyed almost and all courage left you.

Improvising quickly, you said, “Missed you at dinner last Sunday.” “I was there,” he lit a cigarette and sat down next to you on the stone steps.

“For five whole minutes…”

“There was business to attend to.” “And there’s family to attend to as well,” you replied, without missing a beat. Silently, he side-eyed you and a small smirk played around his lips, “You’re right, I’ll do better next week. Am I forgiven?” “No,” you feigned anger. He turned his head towards you and he smiled, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

The bond you had with Tommy was a complicated one. In many ways you were very similar, but the war had changed him the most. Sometimes you felt like you’d lost him completely, when you thought of how you used to talk and laugh with him when you were younger. These moments were so rare now. And these exact thoughts did the trick and you decided that you had to be the one to make that old Tommy come back, if only a little. So you said a silent prayer, decided not to overthink it and poked him in the ribs once. The effect was immediate. Thomas Shelby shot up and nearly rocketed himself off the steps. With a wild look of betrayal he turned his eyes on you and you almost burst out laughing. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?” you asked innocently.

He cleared his throat, ran a hand through his hair and sat back down. Apparently, we’re pretending this never happened, you thought.

A few seconds of awkward silence later, you poked him again. This time, a small yelp escaped him. The most feared gangster in Birmingham yelped, and you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing any longer.

As you were still trying to regain composure, Tommy pointed at you with a menacing finger, “Do that again and you will not live to tell the fucking tale.” You could only snort in reply. He was trying so hard to act all scary and while that had an effect on most people, you just couldn’t be bothered right now: It was too funny. Besides, you thought you could detect just a hint of mirth behind those pale blue eyes and decided to risk everything on just that.

“I mean it, Y/N,” he repeated, raising his eyebrows, “Do it again, I fucking dare you, and see what happens.” So you did it again.

In a flash, he was up and dove for you. But you were faster and jumped out of the way. Like the two of you were a part of a bad play, you started circling each other around the small yard. Neither said a word and seconds felt like hours. Then Arthur called from inside the house, “Tom!”

“You called a family meeting,” you reminded him, while relaxing a little at the prospect of escape.

Tommy’s eyes stayed on you and he cleared his throat again, “Fuck, alright. You’re coming with me.” And he lifted you up and threw you over one shoulder. Your shrieks filled the house as he walked through the betting den, over to the table where the family was already gathered, with you still on his shoulder. Without blinking, the leader of the Peaky Blinders announced, “Right, well you’re all here. Let’s talk business quickly…” Aunt Polly pointed vaguely at your arse, which was sticking up in the air, “You do realise you have my niece in your arms?” “Well aware, Poll,” Tommy continued, like it was the most normal thing in the world, “Business! We’ve done well this week. John’s shown me the books and we’re making more money than ever. Next week, we’re buying a new horse and I’m going to race her.” Flabbergasted, the family stared at Tommy. You could see the million questions on their faces, but they decided to wait until he was done talking. You had also refrained from protesting by now. “Poll, as treasurer I need your permission to buy the horse.” She blinked a few times and mumbled, “Buy the horse. Y/N‘s still…” Tommy held up a hand, “Not finished,” and everyone closed their mouths again, “John, I need you to talk to that old widow down the road. She’s recently lost her son and she should become part of our fund. Arthur, for fucks sake, get the books from the Garrison in order.” “It’s those bloody numbers, Tom…” Arthur grumbled in reply. “Are we all clear on what to do?” Tommy finished off in a hurry. When no one replied, he answered for them, “Good!” With this he plucked you down from his shoulder and held you in his arms bridal style. With a grave and business-like tone he announced, “As you all know, this is Y/N Shelby, youngest member of the family. While we were away in France, she kept the fort and she has often provided us with some relief in times of stress ever since we’ve come back. But not anymore.” John started to get nervous and looked from you to Tommy. Had they gone too far this time? But then he saw Arthur grinning and even Ada had a small smile on her face, so he knew Tommy was only playing. “Gentlemen,” Tommy continued, “This is the day that Y/N Shelby dies. Say goodbye to your sister.”

And that’s when you decided not to await your fate, so you made a sudden movement and jumped out of Tommy’s arms. Dashing past the table, you sought refuge behind Polly’s back.

“Told you this would happen, Y/N,” Ada said, not helping at all.

For some reason, Polly got up and left the room, while stating triumphantly, “The secret’s out, Thomas. Deal with it.” Now you just had an empty chair for protection. Tommy pointed at you directly and practically growled, “And it’s going back in.” With three of the largest steps he was at your side once again.

So you held up your hands, “Okay, wait, I can explain.”

“Too late, little sister,” Tommy said in a low voice, “These are family secrets that are not spoken of.”

“You’re such a drama queen, Tommy,” your sister commented, while getting up to leave. And all you could think was: why would you leave me alone with these mad bastards?

You really should’ve known better but decided to go for the cocky approach, “There’s no point in trying to scare me now, Tommy, knowing what I know.” You raised your eyebrows in an attempt to show him you were still in control. You weren’t. In a flash he’d tackled you to the floor and had you pinned down, while whispering ominously, “You picked the wrong brother to fuck with, Y/N Shelby.”

And for the second time in a week, you cursed your own sensitive skin as dexterous hands attacked your sides. Incapable of little but laughing and screaming, you flailed around hopelessly. Tommy’s face was slowly softening into a smile as well.

“Tommy!” you pleaded between giggles, “It was John, not me!” “Was it now?” he taunted without stilling his fingers, “And who was the fool to listen to his ideas, eh?” He moved up to your ribs, which made the pitch of your laughter increase. “Toohoohoom! Wait!”

Now, it was no secret that your major weakness in life was your sensitivity. Usually it was John who took the most advantage of it, being the mad joker that he was, but he often got Finn or Arthur to join in. Arthur on his own could be absolutely brutal, which was due to his strength as well, so there was no hope for you at all. Ada didn’t bother much, but when she did, she was merciless, much like Polly. But Tommy, he was a whole other story. You didn’t have many moments like this with him anymore, but when he did play and did get his hands on you, it was hell. He knew exactly how to reduce you to a small heap of giggles, pleading for your life and regretting all life choices up to that point. And this was happening right now. His smile was widening and he shook his head, “You thought you could beat me, eh?” “Yeheeeheees,” you admitted. Then he stopped for a second, allowing you to breathe, “Alright, you little devil, I’ll give you one a chance to speak.”

Residual giggles were pouring from your mouth, “Never… listen… to… John.” Tommy looked up at his younger brother who was showing zero remorse on his face, and he nodded slowly, “Good. What else?” “I’ve learned that Thomas Shelby sounds like a girl when…” but you never got to finish that sentence, as he continued his assault.

“Wrong answer. And you are way to ticklish to have an attitude like that, Y/N,” he said calmly.

As he dragged your arms up and dug his hands under your arms, you squeezed your eyes shut, “NOOOO, I’M SOOHOORYYY!” “Are you?” he asked, now smiling broadly at your reaction, “Then tell me what you’ve fucking learned from this, eh?” “YOU DON’T FUCK WITH THE PEAKY BLINDERS!” you managed to shout out between laughs. “That’s right,” Arthur commented, watching the scene while sitting back in his chair, “Finally, she gets it.” Tommy paused and looked at both of his brothers, as if he was waiting for their verdict. “Nah,” John decided to cause more trouble, “I don’t think she has…” Still struggling unsuccessfully to get out of Tommy’s grasp, you shouted, “John, shut your fucking mouth or I swear to God…” Tommy rolled his eyes and interrupted you, “Get her, boys,” he called out, “Let’s teach our sister some respect for her brothers.” So now there were three brothers trying to keep you in place, while you were being tickled from all sides. Why did you listen to John? Why did you not know better than to challenge Tommy? Spluttering, kicking and fighting like crazy, you managed to kick them a little bit at least, but the fact that they were all grinning down on you still meant that it didn’t help much.

Tears leaking out of your eyes, you shrieked, “YOOOUAAHAHAH AHAHAHALL SUAHAHACK!”

Then Tommy stopped them and crossed his arms in front of him. The amusement was twinkling in his eyes, “Had enough?” “Yep,” you said quickly, wiping the tears from your eyes. “Whatever Polly has told you,” he widened his eyes and brought his face close to yours, “Family secrets are not spoken of.” “Fine!” you called out, “They’re not spoken of.” His smile grew again, “Remember this, Y/N. And remember this was nothing compared to what we can do and what I will do, if you ever feel the need to cross Thomas fucking Shelby again.” You got up, again, and brushed yourself off while sending a death-stare to each of your brothers. But when Tommy smiled at you, there was a certain warmth to it that you hadn’t seen in ages.

“Wankers…” you mumbled carefully. Tommy smirked slightly, “You brought this upon yourself, Y/N. Now you know what happens…” “…when you fuck with the Peaky Blinders. Bladibladibla…” you finished his sentence. Making your way to the door, you turned back for a moment, “To be fair, Tommy, I did just saw you jump up about a foot because you’re actually fucking ticklish. So much for the whole gangster act, I should say.” Tommy’s eyes narrowed, John burst out laughing and Arthur managed to shout out a quick “Oi!” And before anyone could react, you sprinted away. Somehow, this still felt like a victory. Sure, you were the youngest and probably the most sensitive in the family, but you had discovered your own weapon now. John would be next, just for setting you up. Arthur would involve more planning. But finding Tommy’s weakness, that was the real triumph. Behind you, you could hear Tommy sit down and sigh, “Well, boys, we’re well and truly fucked now…”

And you grinned to yourself. The game was on.

***

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mygodyouredivine · 3 years

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The Hell In Your Eyes - 2

Summary: Loki doesn't meet her until two weeks after his initial imprisonment, but he knows he hates her. He has to hate her. Because the way she talks to him and helps him and saves him meals can't mean anything. She is too soft to deal with Loki, who is hardened with pain, pain, and more pain. And Loki hates soft things.

Have you ever seen the hell in someone’s eyes and loved it anyway?

Characters: Loki Laufeyson/(f)Reader

Warnings: mild blood

Word Count: 3498

Previous Chapter

It’s 5 in the morning.

The sun isn’t even out yet and you’re standing in the kitchen, dressed in your pajamas, preparing smoothies. You thought you’d be used to waking up early, considering how you always used to make smoothies before everyone else woke up, but apparently your recent ‘break’ has thrown off your internal schedule. In fact, if not for FRIDAY’s not-so-gentle reminder of your morning plans, you wouldn’t have gotten up in time.

You shake your head, tightening your grip on the mason jar you’re holding.

It won’t happen again.

It can’t.

Not when you’re already in everyone’s way, always leeching off of Tony’s money, always causing trouble for Steve and making Bucky worry. Not when Natasha always feels a need to look after you and Wanda constantly checks in. Not when Sam and Clint feel obligated to train with you and Thor treats you like you’re going to break — going to shatter into a thousand tiny pieces and then cut and bleed all over the tower’s expensive, clean floors.

No. If you can’t even do something as simple as making smoothies for the people you’re always inconveniencing, what use are you?

Your fingers tighten and you can feel your nails digging into the hard glass of the mason jar. For a second, you wonder if it’s possible for you to scratch the class. You clench your fingers — hard — in an effort to break the glass. Just once, you want to break something else. But as you loosen your grip, you’re forced to come to terms with the fact that the jar is just as pristine as it always was.

Not a single crack. Not even a scratch.

The jar is fine — the jar is always fine. But your fingers are dented and your joints are sore and you’re so tired of this. Of always being the one who is damaged. The only one who is ever damaged. Everyone else is always unscathed and no one else ever breaks.

You drop the mason jar.

Shit.

It falls to the ground and you watch as it shatters all over the floor.

Maybe Thor is right. Maybe you are going to shatter one day, just like that mason jar.

But it’s not going to be today. Breath quickening, you furiously remind yourself that it’s okay.

It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.

It’s not you on the floor. Maybe one day it is going to be you, lying there broken and useless and fractured and gone, but right now, it's not. You’re still full and whole and not broken and the glittering glass fragments on the floor aren’t you. Looking back down, your eyes catch on droplets of red. Your breath stops and the air in your lungs still. Sure, the glass on the floor isn’t your ground-up soul, shattered and crushed, but the blood is yours.

There are specks of blood splattered amidst the glass, staining the kitchen’s pristine floor. And you know it’s your blood because you can feel it dripping from your fingers where the glass cut into your skin and you can’t help but stare as a drop of it rolls off your middle finger and falls to the ground and you flinch as it lands in a little crimson circle.

It’s pretty, though.

And you can’t look away as another drop falls, landing directly on top of the previous one, doubling the size of the puddle. For a second, you wonder how much blood it would take to cover the entire floor — and if your body has enough.

But then you hear footsteps approaching and you hastily kneel onto the ground, furiously attempting to clean up the mess you made, to fix it. More blood trickles from your fingertips as you desperately grab at the broken pieces. You’re making it worse.

The glass blurs and you frantically blink, trying to rid yourself of the tears beginning to form in your eyes. The last thing you need is to cry — for your tears to mingle with your blood — for you to appear even weaker than you already do.

But you are weak. You can’t even win this battle — against yourself, and you feel the tears overflow and you watch as they fall, turning the dark red into a lighter pink.

It's a pretty pink.

It’s a pink that reminds you of the first lipstick you ever bought. You and your best friend had gone down to the convenience store after school, sneakily carrying the lunch money you’d both saved. You remember counting the coins together and excitedly running towards the makeup aisle, where the both of you promptly agonized over the perfect lipstick for the better part of an hour.

Eventually, you settled on a sparkly little tube of lipstick — more of a chapstick really, and you can distinctly recall how it smelled like heaven and tasted like strawberries, and how it always tinted your lips just the slightest bit pink.

But right now, the pink you’re staring at isn’t lipstick, and you can very clearly make out two feet standing before you. Looking up, you meet a pair of eyes. Blue, like the sky on a sunny day. It’s a blue filled with promises of picnics and lemonade and daisies, of innocence and childhood, of strawberry lipstick. And in this moment, you want nothing more than to drown in that blue.

Maybe if you bleed enough blood and cry enough tears you can drown in it. Maybe you can drown in the perfect shade of pink while staring into the perfect shade of blue.

______________________________

For such a muscly man, Thor’s fingers are surprisingly soft.

The god is currently standing before you, carefully bandaging your cut hands.

“My lady, I thought you specifically told me that blood smoothies were not appetizing.” His attempt at humor brings a smile to your face, but you can’t do more. Shrugging, you answer.

“Well, I guess I’m just a hypocrite.” His eyes squint, his eyebrows furrow, and you can tell he’s about to reassure you. You hurriedly continue. “Even the best of us make mistakes, Lord of Thunder.”

Thor’s eyebrows relax again, and the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles. Relief courses through your veins. You wonder if Thor can feel it in the blood that is still leaking from your fingers. Gently, you tug your hands out of his grasp, just in case. Sending out a silent prayer of thanks to whatever prompted you to wear your black sweatpants today, you try not to grimace as the fabric brushes against your injured legs. At the very least, they conceal the blood.

Thor doesn’t need to know about those. It’s bad enough that he’s already seen you dissolving into an emotional puddle earlier, not to mention how the literal King of Asgard had cleaned up the mess you made and is now attempting to inspect your hands again.

“Were you planning on making the smoothies this morning, my lady?” Thor’s voice interrupts your thoughts and you look up, meeting his poorly-disguised-concerned gaze.

“Yup.” You nod, popping the p . “I’m glad to be back, and I wanted to start making you guys smoothies before your morning workouts again. I know for a fact that whatever concoction you made yesterday was an absolute disaster.”

Thor looks sheepish as he smiles, his hands running through his short blonde hair. “My brother would agree with you.”

At this, you suddenly remember. You need to get Loki’s smoothie preference, as well as the time he wakes up. You know everyone’s preferred flavors, as well as their morning routines, to ensure your smoothies are always as fresh as possible.

“Speaking of Loki, when does he wake up?”

Thor shrugs, a confused look flitting across his face. “Truth be told, I don’t really know. Loki and I haven’t inhabited the same space in quite some time, and I am not familiar with his routines.”

“Oh.” That would be slightly hard to work with. “Uh, well do you know what type of smoothie he might prefer?”

Thor’s lips turn down into a pout. “I don’t think Loki would like any type of smoothie, my lady. Yesterday he made his distaste for smoothies quite clear."

Before you can interrupt and remind him that his smoothie most definitely tasted nothing like your smoothies, he continues with a wink. "But I suppose if anyone could make a smoothie Loki does approve of, it would be you, my lady."

You know Thor is somewhat disappointed by Loki’s lack of enthusiasm towards his smoothie. It’s easy to detect, even under his charming antics. Thor’s lips turn downward when he is upset, and he always picks at his nails. Sometimes he will suck in his cheek, and that’s when you know he is truly in a mood. But Thor never stays sad for long.

His expression has brightened up again, and Thor is back, his ever-chipper energy once again emanating from within his warm eyes. There’s not a single trace of conflict in his eyes, and you wonder, for the hundredth time, how he does it. Thor has seen so much death — caused it, even — and been through so much pain, yet he is always able to hold it together, always able to smile and laugh and come back stronger.

Thor is the embodiment of the word 'golden'. No matter how much dirt and grime Life layers on top of him, nothing could ever dim his luster.

You think you're closer to being the dirt and grime than you ever were to being gold.

“Thanks Thor.”

______________________________

In the end, you settle on making Loki Thor’s favorite smoothie. After all, Thor is the only other god here who has dined on the finest Asgardian delicacies, and if he likes your chocolate-strawberry smoothies, you just hope Loki does too.

The only difference is, Thor prefers his smoothies absurdly sweet. Whether it’s his insane metabolism or the ten thousand calories he burns a day, he never seems to be affected by the hundreds of grams of sugar you’re sure he consumes.

You’re carefully pouring the smoothie into two mason jars when Nat comes into the kitchen. You smile and motion towards her drink sitting on the counter. Natasha prefers a green smoothie, packed with kale and spinach and cucumbers and ginger — not the best tasting thing you’ve ever made, but it must do something , ‘cause Nat looks like she doesn’t understand what the word ‘bloating’ means.

The redhead raises an eyebrow, motioning to the second mason jar you’re carefully pouring. “Does Thor drink two of those every morning now?”

“Well, no. This one's for Loki. I don’t know what he prefers, so I thought I’d make him Thor’s favorite for now. Except without the whipped cream and excessive number of chocolate chips.”

Nat’s other eyebrow raises. “You’re kidding right? Angel, stay away from Loki. He’s a dangerous man. He’s deranged and unstable and selfish. He’s not going to appreciate your smoothie.”

And with that, all the self doubt rushes back in. The self hatred that Thor’s fingers had smoothed away, the shame that bled from your fingertips, it all rushes back in, pumping through your veins and into your heart.

“Do you appreciate my smoothie?” You hadn’t meant for it to come out, and you certainly hadn’t meant for it to sound so insecure.

Nat’s eyes widen, and she hastily retreats. “Nono Angie, that's not what I meant. Come on, you know all of us love your smoothies. What I’m trying to say is —” her fingers meet her forehead in a gesture of frustration “ — we appreciate and love you for all that you do, but Loki won’t. He’s too arrogant and he definitely thinks we’re all beneath him.”

With that, she moves closer to you and envelopes you in a hug. Natasha means well, you know that, but she doesn’t realize how her words come off — how she just backed up the little voice inside your head, repeatedly telling you that you’re worthless. You wonder if she even wants your smoothie, or if she just humors you. And then her arms retreat from around you, and she steps back.

“Sorry Angie, but I’ve got to go now. I love you — we all do. You know that right?”

You nod, and smile. “Thanks Nat. I love you too.”

______________________________

Natasha’s smoothie has separated. The blended ingredients have floated to the top, and the green liquid has settled below. The abandoned smoothie sits on the edge of the counter, where she left it, only reaffirming your suspicions that she didn’t really want it in the first place. Dimly, you consider dumping Loki’s smoothie out. Maybe Natasha is right. But you don’t really want to waste any food, so you move to put his smoothie in the fridge. Maybe Thor will drink it later.

(If he even likes them.)

But as you open the fridge door, you notice the plate of leftovers you snagged yesterday is gone. The saran wrapped plate is missing, and you don’t think anyone would have taken it, except…? You look around for the plate. It’s not in the sink or left on the counter, nor lying in the dishwasher. You find it in the cabinets, placed directly on top of its companions.

You’re confident that no one in this tower would clean their plate after eating, except maybe Steve. But Steve isn’t here — he made his famous lasagna last night because he was leaving for a mission early today. So really, that just leaves Loki.

Is it possible that Nat was wrong?

Did Loki take the food you left for him? And ate all of it? And cleaned up?

You suddenly remember yesterday, walking in on Loki scrubbing blood off the floor. You can’t say you were surprised Thor had left a mess, but you were somewhat surprised Loki was cleaning it up. Maybe it is possible then.

So you decide to bring the smoothie to Loki.

First, you make a quick stop at your room. Your legs are really starting to sting, and you don’t want the sweatpants to dry onto your skin. Damn. You’re going to have to wash these again, and you just did laundry. But it’s okay, and soon you’re walking out of your room, clad in another pair of sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, holding Loki’s smoothie.

You take the elevator and press the familiar button of Thor’s floor. Mentally, you’re once again debating whether or not this is a good idea. You’ve almost decided to just turn back when the elevator doors slide open and you make eye contact with Loki, who is standing awkwardly in the doorway of his room, one foot inside the door and one foot in the plush carpet of the Odinsons’ shared living room.

His eyebrows are raised comically in an expression of surprise, and for a second you don’t see the intimidating god.

But then the moment passes, and he straightens, eyes narrowing, eyebrows drawing together in a frown. “Can I help you?”

A part of you — a large part of you — wants to leave immediately. To apologize for disturbing him and go back to your room. But another part of you, the one who caught a glimpse of Loki before he threw up his defenses, roots you to the ground.

“Actually, yeah. I made you a smoothie.” You stick out your hand, ignoring the way it trembles slightly. “I know Thor’s smoothie probably tasted like shit, so I thought I’d make you one to show you how it's done.”

When he doesn’t move, you step further into the living room and set the smoothie down. One of Thor’s hoodies is lying haphazardly across the coffee table, so you pick it up. Loki is staring at you.

There’s an awkward silence, and you wish he would say something. Anything. But the raven haired prince is as stoic as ever. His eyes are still boring into your own and you can’t help but notice how strikingly different they are from Thor’s.

Somehow, you’re engaged in a staring contest with the god — and you don’t really want to lose. In an effort, perhaps, to prove to yourself that you’re not weak (especially after the morning’s incident) you resist the increasing temptation to blink. You don’t want Loki to think you’re scared of him, even though you may be a bit wary , and you continue to stare into his eyes.

They say eyes are the windows to the soul. If that’s true, Loki has a very — empty soul. It’s neither warm nor cold, just vacant . It’s almost as if you’re staring into the eyes of someone long dead.

With that, you shiver, and surprisingly, Loki breaks the intense eye contact. He looks away then, and his head tilts downward.

“Right then. I’ll just be on my way.” You hold up Thor’s hoodie. “I’m going to do some laundry. Do you have anything that needs to be washed?”

You hope he doesn’t ignore you. You really don’t need that today. You just need to be productive. To do something — to help someone. And maybe he senses that, because Loki actually nods and walks back into his bedroom, leaving you to stand awkwardly in the middle of the lavish living space.

A few moments later, Loki reemerges, effortlessly holding a laundry hamper.

“Would you like me to take this down?”

You’re a bit stunned by his unexpected and considerate offer, but your desire to prove yourself shines through.

“Nah, I got it. Thanks.”

With that, you lug Loki’s hamper and Thor’s hoodie out of their room, leaving Loki’s smoothie — and an intense hope he drinks it — behind.

______________________________

Loki is an unbelievably neat person.

His dirty clothes are folded — inside his hamper. And organized by article, as well as color. You don’t think he realizes how — awkward — it makes the entire process. After carefully shoving his button downs, slacks, sweaters, and jeans into the washer, you’re left with an interesting assortment of clothing.

His undershirts are ridiculously soft, and you resist the urge to snag one. This isn’t Thor, you remind yourself. After piling them in, you stare at his hamper. Loki has folded his socks, which are paired together. You sincerely hope the washer doesn’t decide to eat one of them, as you doubt he understands the Midgardian concept of missing socks.

Below his socks are… Loki’s boxers. You wipe away the mental image your mind involuntarily conjures and quickly dump the rest of the clothing into the washer, without touching anything.

With that, you throw in Thor’s hoodie and your sweatpants, start the cycle, and leave, shaking your head.

On the way back to your room, you realize that Loki has a very limited closet. All of his laundry had barely filled up his hamper, and you notice how most of his clothing consisted of somewhat uncomfortable items. You haven’t seen him around due to your break, but from his clothing you can assume that Loki has a very different fashion taste than Thor. Mentally, you make a note to slip him some of your oversized hoodies when returning his clothes.

______________________________

You’re immensely thankful for Thor. He always seems to have the best — or worst — timing, and this time he has saved you from a rather embarrassing situation.

You’re pulling Loki’s clothes out of the dryer (having already stolen Thor’s hoodie), and you’ve just started to fold his clothes. So far, you’ve shoved a forest green hoodie at the very bottom of the hamper, and you’re in the process of carefully layering Loki’s sweaters over it. Thankfully, the dryer is still mostly full, and you haven’t been confronted with the dilemma of handling Loki’s underwear again.

Luckily, Thor walks in before you have to.

“Are you doing Loki’s laundry, my lady?” His voice startles you and you jump, but manage to not drop Loki’s earthy brown sweater.

“No,” you deadpan, “These are all mine.”

Thor smiles that smile you’re so familiar with, and you can’t help but grin back. “Well, let me take it from here.” His grin falters for a moment, and he looks more serious when he continues. “Thank you Angel, for giving Loki a chance. I know he can be — difficult. And I wouldn’t blame you if you only saw the villain.”

You meet Thor’s eyes, always filled with emotion — whether that be happiness or warmth, sadness or anger, and you think back to another pair of eyes. Soulless. You think of Loki, and you think of how you’ve seen those soulless eyes before; every single time you look into a mirror. And for a second, you let yourself believe that maybe Loki’s soul wasn’t voluntarily taken from him either. Maybe his cruelty is his defense, just like yours is the fake-happiness that you wear as a shield.

“It’s no problem Thor.” You smile, your shield intact. “I couldn’t let him suffer with your smoothies forever, no matter how villainous he might be.”

______________________________

Cruelty is just loneliness disguised as bitterness.

- Tom Hiddleston

______________________________

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Taglist: @spacedaddydinn @doct0rstrange

#loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x reader #loki x reader #loki series #the hell in your eyes #thiye #loki x you #friends to enemies to lovers #reader insert #loki fic #jouce writes

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amjustagirl · 3 years

Text

Chapters: one. ~ two. ~ three. ~ four. ~ five. ~ six. ~ seven.

Wordcount: 3k

Summary:

Akaashi Keiji catches glimpses of another life in his dreams. He dreams of fields of endless gold, of constellation of stars that light up the night sky. He hears the echo of birdsong in her laughter, her song to the gods in the wind.

(Loosely inspired by Kimi No Nawa)

Masterlist link here

AO3 link here

Author’s note: This fic is a little different from my usual work, so I’m a little nervous about publishing it. If you do like it, would love if you leave a comment / reblog / anything!

If you’d like to be included in the taglist, do drop me a msg/ask!

The first time it happens, Akaashi is in his third year of university.

The upside of staying in Tokyo for university (his mother cried when he got into Waseda, her alma mater) is that he sees his family almost every weekend for cosy family dinners. The downside of staying in Tokyo for university is that he really has no excuse when his parents insist on carrying on Hatsumode, the first prayer of the new year, at the crack of dawn at the shrine close to their home. It’s not that he minds the tradition per se, but he did just spend all night rushing his projects just so he could adhere to the unspoken rule that no work should be done during the New Year holidays and spend some time flying kites with his little cousins.

Still, there is something magical about starting the New Year watching dawn break and the world awaken from its slumber just as he reaches the summit of all twenty six steps to the top of the shrine, shrouded in the bare branches of the wisteria trees. He tosses coins into the box, drops into a deep bow twice, chin at waist level, clapping twice before bowing a final time. His mother buys far too many omamori, presses at least half of them into his unwilling hands when the omikuji he draws has a great curse scribbled on it. He’s not superstitious, so it doesn’t bother him, but he knows his mother is, so he does accept the omamori with some grace, though he draws the line at the love charm she tries to sneak into the pile.

‘Mum, I’m too busy at school for a partner’, he tells her firmly. ‘Why don’t you pass it to Yuji-kun, he’s already started work, but hasn’t found a girlfriend from what Oba-chan tells me’. His elder cousin shoots him a particularly malevolent glare that he meets with a placid smile as his mother diverts her attention to him instead.

The faintest shiver runs up his fingers when he deposits the old charm he found in the corner of his closet, grey and faded with time, in the koshinsatsu osamedokoro, the omamori drop off open only during the first day of the New Year. The shiver turns into a ripple of cool water racing up his wrists and roars into an tsunami of dread when the attendant tells him all deposited charms will be burnt in the ritual fire in a fortnight’s time, but he writes it off as a symptom of his lack of sleep and starts to turn away.

There’s a sudden echo of a nightmare of raging flames that prompts him to swivel around to snatch the omamori and stuff it back in his pocket, muttering apologies to the shocked attendant. Later, when he has time to process his impulse, he’d find it strange. In the meantime however, the festivities wait for no one, so he distracts himself by eating far too much dango and mochi in between rounds of tossing kites up to catch the wind. His uncles slip him full cups of sake and sweetened rice wine to his mother’s disapproval, which in hindsight he should have heeded, as he stumbles to bed that night, head heavy with alcohol.

That night he dreams of a girl with curly hair, lying in a field of endless gold - daffodils to mark the dawn of spring.

‘Also known as narcissus’, he hears himself say, hears himself narrate the myth of a man so entranced by his own reflection in the water that he lost his will when he realizes he cannot have his object of desire. A girlish voice lilts teasingly – ‘the flowers are too pretty to be ruined by your obsession of stories written by grumpy old men’. He wakes up with the ghost of laughter on his lips, but there’s a lingering sense of loss budding in barren soil of his heart.

It does prompt him to pop by the florist near his parents’ house to order a bouquet of daffodils for his mom to be delivered on the first day of spring. He’s accustomed to the old couple running the shop, so he pauses just for a second when he walks into the store to find a new girl at the counter. She must not be used to customers yet, dropping the bouquet she’s working on when she notices him.

‘Hi’, she stammers, cheeks pink. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘I’d like to make an advance order for daffodils please.’

‘For spring?’ she asks, and he nods, writing down his parents’ address when prompted. ‘That’s a good choice!’

She waves him off with a cheerful – ‘please come back again’, and he does not notice that there are stars in her eyes.

His mother drags him back to the shrine on the third day of the holidays, and he obliges her, ever the dutiful only son, even though the frigid temperature makes his breath puff up into clouds and the tip of his nose turns numb. The old omamori is still snug in his jacket pocket, and as his fingers brush against it, he can feel the threads of the charm unravelling, the fabric almost fragile in its worn, threadbare state but he does not attempt to dispose of it again.

‘What are you going to do once you’re done with your degree, Keiji?’ His mother asks, when they stop by an old teahouse for a cup of steaming genmaicha, the aroma of roasted rice tea warm against his cold nose.

‘I intend to apply for a job at a publishing company after I graduate’, he tells her seriously, and she nods, encouraging him to continue. ‘I’m hoping it’s something to do with my major, preferably Japanese literature, better yet if it's poetry, but in this market, I’ll take what I can get’.

His mother nods, smiling at him fondly. ‘I remember you used to be obsessed with Shakespeare and Greek myths when you were younger, all the way through high school, and your father and I thought that you’d end up majoring in that in university. You really surprised us when you chose to major in Japanese literature instead.’

‘I don’t know why, to be honest. Maybe I had a good Japanese literature tutor?’ He laughs, fiddling with his teacup.

‘Mm I don’t think so though. I remember you complaining that Raku-sensei was so dull he caused everyone to fall asleep.’ He shrugs, and though she stares at him curiously, she does not pursue the line of conversation any further.

That night he dreams of waking up in an old wooden house, shivering in a thick futon, the smoldering embers from the irori, mere inches from his face. It’s so very different from his childhood bedroom filled with modern appliances and walls of books neatly shelved in alphabetical order, but he doesn’t notice that in the dark. Instead, he reaches for his phone to check the time, bolting awake because that can’t be, he never misses his alarm, mentally calculating that he must leave the house in exactly fifteen minutes to make it in time for practice when a little boy bursts through the door.

‘Nee-chan’, the little boy whines. ‘I’m hungry. Time for breakfast’.

Did he just say Nee-chan? Scratch that - since when did he have a little brother?

He scrambles out of bed, groping his way in the dark to the washroom. The cold water should wake him up, but when he looks up at the mirror above the sink, the face he’s staring at does not belong to him. No - it belongs to a dark eyed girl with curly hair - but it doesn’t make sense, shouldn’t make sense, because when he reaches a trembling finger to poke at the mirror, he is she or she is him -

The ensuing panic and confusion makes him jerk out of his dream, but when he rushes to the washroom to check that he’s still himself, he is relieved to see that it’s still him - Akaashi Keiji, with dark circles around his eyes, staring back in disbelief.

He chalks his strange dream up to the stress he carries around from trying to clear all his course work so he can audit additional classes over the next term.

Except the dreams don’t stop, not even when he moves back to the university dorms. He keeps waking up drenched in cold sweat, clutching at his arms even though they’re clear of the scratches he sees in his dreams, red and raw and stretching all the way up his elbows.

‘Be kinder to Hana-chan, Keiji-kun’, he hears the call of the same girl in his mind and he shudders, unsure whether the disembodied voice floating through his mind is a memory from his dream. ‘She’s going through an awfully tough time’.

‘It doesn’t give her the right to hurt you like that’, he can hear his faint disapproval.

‘Never mind that, it’s not a big deal. What are we reading today – don’t tell me it’s anything like Hamlet. That was horrendously depressing.’

‘Midsummer’s Night Dream? It’s a romantic comedy at least.’

‘Only a nerd like you would read Shakespeare in high school – and it’s not even in Japanese!’

‘Hush – you don’t get to complain when I’m reading it out to you.’

‘What on earth is going on’, he mutters to himself. The copious amounts of frigid water he splashes onto his face is no antidote to this madness.

‘Sato-san, are you feeling alright?’ he asks his grimacing classmate in concern, lines of pain etched onto her face.

‘I’m fine, Akaashi-kun’, she manages to spit out, clutching her stomach with white-knuckled hands. ‘It’ll pass in a bit, I hope’.

‘Are you sure you’re fine? I could help you to the nurse’s office if that helps’.

His classmate shakes her head, a blush staining her cheeks. ‘It’s just that time of the month. I apologise if that’s too much information to be polite’.

Ah. But somehow even though he has no sisters, and his female classmates in high school were oddly reticent about their periods (strange, considering it is part and parcel of being a mammal for far more than a millenium) the steps to deal with this particular conundrum come to him so naturally it’s almost as if the answers were presented to him previously in a dream.

‘Here’, he passes Sato-san painkillers, chocolate and a hot water bottle he’d managed to talk the university nurse into loaning him, and Sato practically whimpers in gratitude.

‘You’re a lifesaver, Akaashi-kun’, she tells him and he nods, content that he’s solved the problem so efficiently.

That night he wakes up in her body again. The room is dark, save for the sliver of white light between the blinds that allows him to discern the growing crimson stain between her legs.

‘Don’t you know all women have to deal with this nonsense every month? But I’ll tell you a trick - painkillers, chocolate and a hot water bottle will make you feel as right as rain’, he hears her voice declare in his mind, and he startles awake to find himself back in his own bed, blessedly clear of any bloodstains.

It must be a dream borne out of what happened today, he tells himself firmly and shrugs it off. The rest of his slumber is thankfully shorn of dreams.

But then these dreams start to crash into his sleep like a series of never ending waves, and he’s a short hop, skip, jump away from falling off the cliff into a distracted madness, the rate his sleep keeps getting disrupted. He keeps waking up in her body, it makes him feel like a creep, wearing her skin like an ill-fitting glove, and he decided does not think about how strange it feels to have twin lumps of flesh in front of his chest (his mother raised him to be a gentleman, after all).

The contents of these dreams are relatively cyclical. He wakes up at dawn, puts on her school uniform, makes breakfast for the little boy - Toya-chan over the primitive hearth before rushing to school through dirt paths lined with trees. His - or rather her classmates stare at her with a mix of condescension and apathy, and her hours in school are spent in a lonely silence, save when Hana-chan gets up in her face and screams absolute nonsense about staying the fuck away from her, which seems a little dramatic considering she’s the one doing the confronting, but it’s just a dream, so he keeps telling himself. It’s not like he can change anything about it.

‘Does it bother you? That you’re alone?’ he asks her one day.

‘Not really. I have you and Toya-chan, don’t I?’ she responds.

‘I suppose’, he says, voice trailing off.

He catches glimpses of sun drenched afternoons spent in fields of flowers, glances of dusky evenings spent in the forest basking in the light of the setting sun. He agonizes over stacks of homework, digs for mushrooms in the damp earth, climbs through wire fences to scavenge for eggs in neighbouring farms.

‘Aren’t your parents worried about you and Toya-chan?’ he can hear himself question her one night.

‘My mom is dead and my dad can’t be home often, he works on construction projects around Sapporo. He sends cash to me and Toya-chan, and it isn’t always enough, but he tries his best ’, she answers, her voice feather light.

‘I’m sorry’, he tells her a little awkwardly, thinking about his happy family and wondering how it’d feel like to have them torn away from him so early on in life.

‘Don’t be’, she replies, ‘Sometimes I wonder if it’s better to have good parents who’re dead or absent rather than horrible parents who’re still alive’.

He jolts awake again, relieved to find himself back in his bed. It’s barely four in the morning, but he’s not going to be able to sleep after that, so he resigns himself to using the time to get cracking on his college assignments anyway. But he makes sure to call his mother once day breaks and he’s sure she’s returned from the market with groceries in tow, telling her awkwardly that he’s just calling to catch up and hopes she’s been well and ok bye mum I love you very much, heart pounding when he hangs up abruptly.

He has a standing appointment on the first Thursday every month to meet Kenma for coffee at a café a stone’s throw away from Waseda. They both order black coffee, which is strange for Kenma considering his legendary sweet tooth, but he knows Kenma too well to know that the ridiculously successful game streamer is only drinking coffee to stay awake, the shadows under his eyes deeper and darker than those under Akaashi’s own eyes.

‘Doesn’t Kuroo-san nag you go to bed at a decent time?’

Kenma doesn’t even bother to flick his eyes up, busy gulping mouthfuls of the bitter liquid. ‘Speak for yourself. Not sleeping well either?’

Akaashi shrugs his shoulders helplessly, stirring his coffee. ‘Mm. ‘I’ve been having strange recurring dreams and it’s been affecting my sleep’.

Kenma merely hums in reply, and Akaashi finds himself spilling out the entire weird series of events – though to be absolutely accurate, his dreams aren’t real so they can’t be termed as events, but they’ve been haunting him for the past month so they might as well be at this rate. He explains about finding himself in the body of a high school girl with curly hair and a dimple on one cheek, how he’s lived her life enough in the past month that he can map out her days with startling certainty, how he knows it’s not real – it can’t be real, but his dreams glimmer with such vibrancy that they feel real.

‘Am I going crazy?’ he asks.

‘I highly doubt it’, Kenma says, tapping his chin in thought. ‘Maybe it’s like one of those exploration video games where you have to take your time to discover its world to figure out the narrative the game is feeding you.’

Trust Kenma to relate everything to video games.

‘That was singularly unhelpful’, Akaashi says dryly as Kenma chuckles quietly in response.

He is almost afraid to fall asleep again but his eyelids are weighed down by weeks’ worth of sleep deprivation and soon he finds himself again in her body.

It’s a clear winter’s night. He’s huddled under a thick blanket to shield himself from the bitter cold, watching the embers in the hearth glow yellow and gold.

‘It’s late. Can’t sleep?’

‘Mm�� he replies. ‘Wondering what tomorrow will bring.’

‘You’re overthinking again, Keiji’, she chuckles. ‘Tomorrow’s going to be just another day. You’ll wake up back in your warm bed at the crack of dawn for volleyball practice, attend classes in your fancy private school, and play even more volleyball with your beloved Bokuto-san’.

He rolls his eyes heavenwards at her words and her laugh this time is loud, bright.

‘You know I only speak the truth. Now, since you need to wake up ridiculously early tomorrow, why don’t I tell you a bedtime story so you can fall asleep.’

‘I’m not a child’, he replies dryly, but does not object when she starts to narrate the tale of a princess exiled from the moon, who is raised by a humble woodcutter and his wife to become a renowned beauty, with five suitors seeking her hand. ‘That’s mean of her’, he mumbles as she describes how the princess rebuffs her suitors by setting them impossible tasks, drifts to sleep as her voice softens as she describes how the princess falls in love with the Emperor, but breaks both their hearts because she knows she must return to the moon someday. He’s fast asleep when she reaches the ending where the princess leaves all her memories on earth with tears in her eyes, gifting the emperor with an elixir of immortality which he burns, because he declares life isn’t worth living without her.

‘Goodnight Keiji’, she says, her voice shimmering in the still night air.

For the first time in a long while, Akaashi wakes up at peace.

Taglist:

@1tooru @animeflower26 @kageyamakock

#hq #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #hq imagines #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu writing #hq writing #haikyuu angst #haikyuu romance #akaashi keiji #akaashi keji x reader #akaashi x reader #akaashi keiji x y/n #haikyuucreations #akaashi headcanons #akaashi angst #haikyuu fic rec #haikyuu scenarios

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huntertales · 3 years

Text

Part Two: Vices And Virtues. (Rock And A Hard Place S09E08)

Episode Summary: Sheriff Jody Mills enlists the help of Y/N and the Winchesters to help investigate multiple kidnappings that belonged to the same chastity group. The three decide to infiltrate the group for themselves. But things go wrong when Y/N and Dean disappear. Sam and Jody must rescue them before it’s too late. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Warning: Descriptions of intimacy Word Count: 5,728.

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

A/N: I tried something with this part...don’t know if it’s gonna come out good or totally suck. Obviously you guys know what you’re getting yourself into with the context of this episode. I really didn’t know how to add proper warning that would make sense, so bare with me. Obviously read at your own discretion. I hope you guys enjoy!

You'd do just about anything for a hunt if it meant an innocent life could be saved from disaster, or worse, death. YAnd you did your fair share of stupid things over the years. Sitting here in an abstinence support group after regaining your virginity was on the top of the list. You sat on one of the fold-out wooden chairs and patiently waited for your first and only meeting of "Abstinence Purifies Us" to begin. It seemed the group was going to be much larger than you realized it was going to be when you saw a crowd of women come into the room designated for things such as this. What you noticed right away when everyone formed a circle to start the meeting was that there was not a single man in sight besides the brothers.

While you continued waiting, you went on thinking about how regaining your virginity at your age would be slightly strange as well, presuming almost all of the group in the group were going to be those who were high school aged to some in their twenties. You were a bit surprised to see a few who appeared to be possibly other than you. Perhaps they were like you, born-again virgins like you who wanted a fresh start in life. You folded your hands in your lap and patiently waited for everyone to join and get started.

“Good afternoon, everyone. I’m Suzy.” The woman sitting at the head of the circle spoke up and introduced herself after spotting a few new faces in the group. “I’d thought we’d begin with a silent prayer for our missing friends.”

You and Sam closed your eyes and lowered your head out of respect for everyone else when they did the same. Dean didn't see much of the point, seeming to be lost in his own personal thoughts when he stared at Suzy to follow her directions. You opened your eyes to check up on Dean, only to see he was being stubborn as usual. You cleared your throat and shot him a warning glare to play along. He quickly did as everyone else, knowing it was better to go along with the part without causing too much suspension. You rolled your eyes before shutting them again for a few more seconds before Suzy concluded the prayer.

“Now,” Suzy finally moved on to the actual beginning of the meeting after getting the formalities out of the way. “Does anyone have anything they’d like to share?”

"I wrote a new piece of verse." A young woman eagerly raised her hand, deciding to go before anyone else could try. She picked up a pink piece of paper and stood up from her seat. "It's called 'Sex is a racket, and God's ball is in your tennis court."

You were expecting to hear all sorts of different things during this meeting, but that one not one of them. You had to cover your hand with your mouth to keep the smile that crossed your face from showing how ridiculous the work sounded. You quickly composed yourself when you caught the disapproving shake of the head from Sam. You wanted to hear what was written, but it seemed Suzy declined the offer, not wanting to hear it today. It seemed she was trying to save the new members from not coming back next time for a bad first experience.

“And we would love to hear that, Tammy—later.” Suzy politely shot down the woman from letting her read to the group. You swore a few people seemed relieved at not being forced to listen to another one of the woman’s works. Tammy's smile slowly fell from her lips at being shot down from her writing she spent working so hard on. She sank down to her seat as Suzy directed her attention to you and the boys. “Why don’t we hear from our new friends? Sam, what brought you here to reclaim your virginity?”

You looked over at the younger Winchester to hear his response. He suddenly appeared to be a deer in headlights when everyone's eyes landed on him, curious to see what his answer was going to be. He wasn't sure what to say, in all honesty, he decided to go with the truth. "Well, I guess because every woman I've ever had relations with, uh...it...hasn't ended well."

“He’s not lying.” You mumbled to yourself, knowing from personal experience. It seemed your comment didn’t go unnoticed from the man himself. You turned your head to see his infamous bitch face flash in your direction. “What? Sorry, Sammy, but it’s the truth.”

“Thank you for sharing, Sam. Stay strong. Stay pure.” Suzy said. The motto was chanted by everyone else in the group before the next person was up to share. And from the way it seemed to be, you were up next. “What about you, Y/N? What set you on the path away from sin?”

"Well, I guess I've been doing a lot of soul searching lately. I feel at this point in my life I need a fresh start. I haven't liked the way it's turned out since I lost my virginity." You began with your reason why you were here, thinking quick on your feet for a reasonable answer. Sometimes honesty was the best policy. So you went from there. "Funny enough, I gave it up pretty late in life. I was actually a virgin up until I was twenty-seven. Sex wasn't important to me. I was focused on other things. And if I'm being honest...I was scared to give it up to anyone else. It's such an intimate thing for someone to do. Sure, some might think sex is fun, and while they—"

You wanted to say that someone had the right to have sex with whoever they wanted, a natural reaction when it came to your way of thinking. You managed to bite your tongue in time before you could say it, remembering the crowd you were speaking to. "Basically, I wasn't in a rush to lose it. But I knew who I secretly wanted to be my first."

You turned your head to look over at Dean, a smile creeping across your lips at the honesty even he didn't know about. "It was a spur of the moment kind of thing. We just said our first 'I love yous' to each other and somehow one thing led to another…and we made love in the backseat of his old Chevy. It was out in the middle of an empty field at night, just the two of us with the radio playing in the background. All of it felt perfect, if I’m being honest.”

You swore you saw a few ladies drift off into personal thought of what it might have been like. A sort of dreamy expression when they saw Dean. He looked like the kind of guy who could charm the pants off anyone. While they were saving themselves for marriage, you saw the wandering eyes, the hidden lust even they couldn't ignore. A little bit of satisfaction came over you knowing he was all yours to keep.

“I realized a lot of bad things feel good in the moment. I had to learn the hard way temptations like mine come with consequences." You went on. "I discovered mine the morning after I gave up my virginity. It turned out Dean was doing something behind my back, something that broke my heart."

"He cheated on you?" Bonnie felt the need to cut in, her pretend sympathetic expression was hidden behind a told-you-so kind of tone.

"Sure. He...cheated on me." You went on with the lie, knowing the truth would sound bonkers to these kinds of people. "Anyway, what trust I thought I had in him disappeared. Lying to me about something like that hurt me. I guess it was God's way of punishing me. But I didn't listen. I ended up doing some other things I regretted."

"This is a safe space, Y/N." Suzy reassured you after falling silent, wanting to act as if you were still guilt ridden to this very day. "Anything you admit today will not be faced with judgement. We're here to help one another. Confession can be a great way to start over."

"During our breakup, we decided to go our separate ways for a while. Dean dated a nice woman while I stayed single. However, while I tried to be good, I lost myself again to the temptation of sin. One day when I was feeling my lowest and drinking way too much. Sam and I..." The ladies all collectively raised their brows, curious and hanging off your every word about what you were going to say. You let out a sigh, pretending as if you had been holding your breath. "We had sex. I mean, it wasn't like what Dean and I had. It was mindless, rough sex. Our souls weren't in it. Sex always seems like a good idea because it feels good. That is, until you come down from the high and realize what did."

"And you never did it again?" Bonnie asked you, her little too wide-eyed stare pointed in your direction from what you admitted.

"Oh, no. We hooked up on and off for a year behind Dean's back. And we denied it every time he asked us." You said, adding fuel to the discomfort slowly growing across Bonnie's face the more she heard. "But it made me realize how much I loved my boyfriend. Whenever I slept with someone else, it didn't feel right. And I'm sure he would say the same thing with every chick he brought back from the bars before we started dating. If anything, his biggest sin would be the slew of sloppy one night stands." You turned your head and gave the older Winchester a bright smile as you reached out to grab his hand and embraced with your own. "Right, honey?"

"Thank you for that...interesting share, Y/N." Suzy said. From the looks of it, she was still trying to wrap her head around the details you painted for her and the group. Everyone chanted their slogan to you before moving on to the next person up to share. "And what about you, Dean?"

"Like my loving girlfriend has told you, I have a history of one-night stands. I wasn't a prude. To me, Sex has always felt—I don't know—good, you know? Relationships weren’t for me. It was always too...complicated. It was better to hit it and quit it.” Dean chuckled at the joke that sounded funny to him, but landed on deaf ears. His smile slowly faded as he got more serious to match the tone of the room. “That was until I met Y/N. If there’s one thing I learned while we’ve been together, it’s the thrill of getting to know the person you want to spend the rest of your life with. And I guess like your virginity, you want to give it to someone special. You want to give all of yourself away to this person. For a long time I thought that wasn't for me. Sex has always been about the pleasure. It was fun. You know?”

Dean was trying his best to work with the crowd to try and get them to understand where he was coming from here. But it seemed he lost them again. Nevertheless, he went on with his confession. "But, uh...sometimes all those hookups make you feel bad, you know? You're drunk. You shack up. Then, it's the whole morning thing. You know, 'Hey, that was fun.' And then, 'adios,' you know? Always the 'adios.'

"I got tired of that. I hated filling the void in my heart with something temporary. I guess life kicked me in the pants at some point and made me realize what I really wanted. I wanted Y/N. And I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. And, yeah, we kind of did things backwards...had a few bumps in the road. But isn't that what life is all about?” A few women nodded their head in agreement while the others verbally answered. "If anything, being in a long committed relationship made me appreciate how sex can be something meaningful."

You had to admit, Dean had you in the first half of what he was saying. He sounded genuine with his words, as if he was putting his heart into this and playing up the role to make a good impression. Until it veered in the direction you should've feared. "Like I said, sex has always been fun. I'm not denying that. And it's even better with a life-long partner. You get to explore their body in an intimate way no one else will ever be able to do. Know what makes them go crazy . Isn’t that what it comes down to, right?

"There's the touching and the feeling all of each other, knowing exactly where to go that gets them all excited. There’s no fumbling around. You just get straight to the point.” Dean was officially having too much fun at this point when he realized almost everyone was hooked in his words, yourself included. He dropped his voice so it was lower, almost sensual. “My favorite part is being able to trace every inch of her body, touching the places that only I get to see. In the moment it’s just the two of us moving together, pressing and pulling...grinding."

Dean was and always will be a flirt, it was in his personality. A special skill set of his that you admired even before got together with him. Sometimes all it took was a pretty smile for you to feel swooned. While he might annoy you with that mouth of his most of the time, he also could get you in the mood. And it seemed you weren’t the only one starting to awkwardly shift in your seat from the way he was going on. You scratched the back of your ear as you tried to keep yourself focused and not lulled into a fantasy while he went on.

“You forget about everything and everyone around you when you hit that perfect spot. All you can think about is reaching the end. And slowly, everything just builds and builds and builds until it all just..." Dean made an explosive noise to sneakily hint at what he was saying, trying to keep it family friendly. Tammy found herself lost in the moment, crushing the paper with her written verse, as if she was trying to calm herself down.

Sam was starting to hate his brother at the moment. The room shifted to an awkward tone after hearing what kind of filth Dean thought would be appropriate enough to speak about. Simple talk that got even the prudent of virgins fidgeting in their seats. You weren’t saved from his ever present glare when you happened to feel his lingering stare upon you. You guessed it was for the confession you made yourself, and not stopping Dean when you should’ve. You innocently shrugged your shoulders and looked on, never admitting to the fact you were lost in the moment like every other woman here. Sam’s expression changed into his infamous bitchface to his brother, appearing again in the span of a few minutes.

“But the whole thing was just a little too, uh...sticky. And complicated. So, uh, I got my ‘V’ card back so I can do things right.” Dean topped off his confession with a smile and a slap to his knee. “The end.”

After Dean’s explicit confession, the meeting continued on like normal without anything titillating details from the other members. You half-listened to everyone else as they took the opportunity to confess themselves of what almost tempted them this week along with a couple of Bible verses being read aloud to help strengthen the bond to their abstinence before wrapping up things. You helped clean up the chairs and tidy up things, deciding it was the least you could do after your share.

Luckily the meeting continued on like normal without anything else more...exciting from the other members. You half listened to everyone take the opportunity to confess this week what tempted them and a couple of Bible verses before wrapping up. You helped clean up the chairs and tidy things up, deciding to be a little bit respectful after the share you had. To be honest, you said all of those things out of fun, knowing your sexual history was a tad bit odd compared to most.

You made your way back over to the boys after all of you did your share to help clean up the place, letting everyone else mingle among one another. Sam didn’t waste a second after getting you and Dean to enough of a deserted spot to share his discomfort felt during the entire meeting because of the both of you. You broke out into a smile even before he could get the words out.

“So, wee bit of an over share, guys?” Sam sarcastically asked you, still squirming around at the details forever burned in his mind. You let out a chuckle in amusement. “It’s not funny, Y/N.”

“Kind of is, Sammy.” You teased him.

“I was purifying.” Dean said, going to his defense about the reason why he went so graphic. He found himself losing track of focus when he spotted the consular, Suzy, talking to one of the members. “Hey, she look familiar to you? Swear I know her from somewhere.”

“Pack it up, Casanova. That stupid line might work, but you’re not single anymore.” You reminded him.

“Oh, sweetheart, there’s no one in this world I want to give up my virginity to again besides you.” Dean laid it on thick with the flirtation when you took his words the wrong way. You rolled your eyes. “Seriously. It’s bugging me. Come on, let’s go find out.”

You felt a tap on your shoulder, delaying you from responding to Dean’s request. You looked over to see it was Bonnie standing there with a too wide of a smile. “I’ll catch up in a second, hun. The girls need to talk.” You joked with Dean, nodding your head to Bonnie. He escaped before he could find out what she wanted to talk to you about. You returned the smile when you glanced back over to her. “Hey.”

“So?” She asked you, curious for you to answer something you had no idea what for. You raised your brows and continued to smile, wondering what the hell she was baiting. “How did you like the meeting? That was quite a share.”

“I loved it. I know, but I feel so comfortable around you guys. This is the first time I’ve ever come clean about this stuff to someone else.” You said. You decided to play along for the hell of it, laying on the act extra thick as you went on. “You know, I couldn't help but think of those who weren't here.”

“Oh. Honor. She's my favorite.” Bonnie said, sadly smiling at the mention of the missing member. Before she could continue this riveting conversation, Bonnie found her attention lingering over to the snack table where she saw one of the women sneaking an extra snack for later. “Would you excuse me?”

“Of course.” You said, stepping out of the way to Bonnie could tend to whatever needed her attention. You thought you might be able to finally sneak away and join Dean, who seemed to be in conversation with Suzy. However you were stopped again by another member. She seemed angry for some reason. “Oh. Hi, there.”

“Her favorite?” She ignored your friendly greeting, too worked up at what she overheard Bonnie say. “She has no idea what kind of girl Honor is.”

“You don't say. Uh, Tammy, right? The poet?” You asked, remembering her name from the horrible poem verse you were able to avoid. She nodded her head. You looked around to see where Sam was, hoping you might be able to sneak away, only it seemed he had your luck when he was cornered by Bonnie after she squashed whatever pulled her away. You withheld the urge to sigh and turned your attention back to her. “Tammy, why don't don't you tell me what kind of girl Honor is?”

That was the wrong thing to ask. She went on a rampage of what kind of person Honor was. You tried your hardest to sound interested as you nodded your head every once in a while, trying to be polite. This wasn’t the kind of stuff you cared for. Or would help the case. “And I bake real cookies for the bake sale. Honor just brings Oreos!” She went on, making you pretend to be shocked. “I mean, she’s not as innocent as everyone thinks she is.”

“What do you mean by that?” You asked her, your tone shifting into a more serious one.

“All I’m saying is that she’s going to hell.” Tammy said. “And you would be too if you didn’t confess those things and come here to repurify yourself. I bet you feel so much better.”

“For sure. I mean, I already been to hell twice. Not fun.” You said. You let out a breath of relief when Dean waved his arm up in the air, catching your attention. His face scrunching up in confusion as to why you were still talking to Tammy. “Could you excuse me? My boyfriend needs me.”

“Is that supposed to be like some kind of metaphor…?” Tammy’s expression dropped at hearing what you just said, making her confused. “Oh! Nice talking to you!”

You politely smiled before turning around and finally headed over to Dean and Suzy, wondering what kind of trouble he was getting himself into during your short time away. You doubt he made a good impression on the woman. But it seemed she wasn’t as quick to judge one from the way she was casually speaking to him, no spouts of words about the damnation he was going to face after death. She seemed the most approachable out of anyone here. Maybe that’s why she was in charge of running the group here. You politely squeezed yourself into the conversation when Suzy spotted you lingering before she smiled, welcoming you right in.

“I hope he’s not bothering you too much.” You playfully joked with the woman. “Dean tends to get a bit excited about these kinds of things. If there’s anything he loves more than me it’s God.”

“Suzy and I were just talking. I swear I’ve seen her face before. I just can’t put my finger on it.” Dean said. “But we were also discussing the fact that she does private counseling.”

“Really? So everyone in the group dishes to you?” You asked curiously.

“They confide. Abstinence is really rough without support and education. It’s a wonderful thing the both of you decided to go on this journey together.” Suzy said, smiling in a kind of way that was admirable for the clear love you and Dean had for each other. And yet you could see there was almost a sadness behind it, almost envious. “Hey, you know what? I have some great books on the vow that really helped me. I live close. I'll just go grab them.”

“No, that’s okay—“ Dean tried to protest the idea of making Suzy go through all the trouble, wanting more to get back to the motel. You quickly cut him off, making his grip around your waist tighten ever so much.

“With a kidnapper on the loose? We can go with you.” You suggested. Out of anyone, Suzy seemed like a sweet woman who wasn’t going to bombard you with guilt over your past behavior. Maybe if you got her alone she might be able to tell you something about Honor and the other missing couple. “Let Dean and I walk you home.”

“No, I'll be fine.” Suzy reassured you.

“Please. It’s the least we could do. Just to be safe.” You told her. When you saw the woman let out a breath, almost as if she was a bit relieved, you smiled. “Just let us pop over to Sam and we’ll be right back.”

Dean dropped his friendly face when he stepped away from Suzy after unwillingly being dragged around town when he wanted nothing more than to go back to the motel with you. You decided to put your efforts on something more important when you had the opportunity than jump into bed the first chance you got. You lost your virginity late in life, you could wait a little while to lose it again. You made your way over to Sam after he wrapped up a conversation with Tammy after he was cornered by the young woman. It seemed she had the same effect on the man from the expression that lingered on his face after she left.

“Hey, we’re gonna walk Suzy home. See if she might know anything else about the vics.” You told the younger man. “Can you stick around here and possibly talk to the rest of the group? See if you might be able to get anything else out?”

“Yeah, sure.” Sam didn’t seem to buy what you were saying, presuming it was a cheap cover to get out of here and back to the motel. “You know, I’m actually trying to work here. I don’t think it’s fair you two are trying to sneak off.”

“Come on, look. You know if Dean was single he’d be all over Suzy trying to do more than just bring her home.” You said. Sam shrugged at the thought, nodding in agreement. “We’re focused as much as you are on the case. No one’s jumping into bed just yet. We're gonna take Suzy home and see if she might know anything else about the people who went missing."

Sam agreed with the plan from how it sounded coming from you. He waited a few seconds before he nodded his head, letting you and his brother head out with Suzy back to her apartment. Right as Sam turned around to see who else he might be able to speak to, he jumped slightly in surprise at seeing Tammy standing there, a little too wide of a smile on her face when she caught him alone. He managed to hide the sigh that wanted to come out behind a forced smile. He hoped all of this was going to be worth it in the end.

+ + +

The walk to Suzy’s apartment wasn’t too far from the church like she said, the time it took to get there was filled with mindless chatter about what she thought of the town and church. She had nothing but positive things to say since moving here a few months ago herself. You continued on with the fake lie about yourself to keep the conversation going, telling her how you and Dean were planning on getting hitched and how this town was a fresh start for you and the boys. The three of you were a close family after your parents passed away, the only part of your story that was true.

Right away she got to work finding those books she mentioned back at the church. You decided to shrug off your jacket, not sure how long you were going to be here, and decided to look around yourself at how she decorated her place. Suzy mentioned there were quite a few books around here specifically for couples. Your offer to help when asked was granted when she mentioned there were some in a cabinet you were standing next to. You opened up the small door and crouched down to see what she had here. You skimmed her vast collection of books out of partial curiosity to see what an abstinence consular enjoyed to read. When you found what you needed, you cradled them in your arms and got back up, only to discover you felt a strange lingering stare on you. You turned around and spotted Dean’s eyes where they shouldn’t be.

You shot him a warning glare to behave before Suzy caught you. Dean’s smirk when he was caught by you was wiped off his face when you a little too roughly plopped the books down to his hands, Suzy followed suit a few moments later with several more of her own. He muffed a grunt from the several self help books he was forced to carry. You smiled in appreciation and slapped the pile with a little too much force, making him almost lose balance on the books. He struggled to catch them before they could tumble to the ground.

“Thanks, honey.” You cooed. “You’re so strong.”

“Okay. So,” Suzy seemed content at the eight books Dean was currently holding, hoping it would be enough reading material to get started with. “why don't you guys breeze through these, and I'm gonna head to the little girls' room.”

Suzy excused herself before disappearing to another part of her apartment, leaving you and Dean alone in her living room. Dean wasted no time ditching the books somewhere else as you casually looked around the place, all though you weren't sure yet of what you were looking for. It appeared to be like any other bachelorette home. You wandered around the place, glancing over at framed pictures of her life and examining little knick-knacks decorated around the place. Right as you were about to pick up a snowglobe, your cell phone started ringing, distracting you from your search. You looked at the screen to see that it was Sam, probably to check up on you and Dean. You went to answer the call when you spotted a half-open drawer that caught your attention. You let it ring a few more times before you finally answered it, all while opening the drawer just enough to see what was inside, wondering if it was some sort of junk drawer. Only it was much more.

You pulled out a few DVDs that weren't blockbuster movies from the cover. More dirty films from the familiar titles you heard of. You let out a quiet chuckle from the discovery you made. Apparently Miss Abstinence was a former adult star. That's why Dean knew who she was. She had a pretty active role in Casa Erotica, her movie was so good you knew the man kept a downloaded file on his computer. A secret porn stash he thought you knew nothing about. You quickly tucked them back away when an idea popped into your head.

You almost forgot about the call with Sam when you heard his voice from the other line call out your name in a slightly annoyed tone from your delayed response. You closed the drawer with your hip and turned around in your spot so you could casually lean against the dresser. Dean tossed you a confused look from the way you were acting as you finally answered his brother's insensent attempts of getting your attention before he could think the worse.

You half-listened to what he was saying about the case, something about how this wasn't the work of a dragon, but all you could focus on was the sound of Suzy opening up the bathroom door. You told Sam you'd call him back before ending the call. As Suzy stepped back into the living room, you realized the promise you made to Sam was about to be broken. It could've waited until after the hunt was over, but you figured you waited around long enough for your first time.

“I gotta go.” You said, making sure your tone of voice sounded disappointed at how you were skipping out so soon on her. Suzy seemed worried from the way you were acting from the short time she was away. “Oh, it’s nothing. Sam’s just having a bit of trouble. You know men. Always something.”

“Are you sure? It sounds serious.” Dean tried to get himself out of here before he could be pulled into the virtues of why keeping his virginity until marriage was for him. “Maybe we both should make sure he’s all right.”

“That’s okay, honey. He just needs me to pop by the store and pick up some stuff.” You said. The look on Dean’s face was easy to tell he wasn’t buying your lie, despite how it was going to be all for him. He’d find out soon enough. “Thank you for everything, Suzy. I’ll see you at the next meeting.”

Suzy seemed a bit upset at seeing you go so soon before she could properly go through some helpful techniques that you probably could've used. Dean tossed you daggers from leaving him here to spend God knows how long entertaining the consular. You gave him an adoring smile and waved goodbye to your boyfriend, figuring he would be thanking you for leaving him here after the surprise you had planned for him after he got back to the motel.

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imagine-loki · 3 years

Text

Everyone's Problem

TITLE: Everyone’s Problem CHAPTER NO./ONE-SHOT: One-shot AUTHOR: fanfictrashdump ORIGINAL IMAGINE: After the Chitauri attack on New York, imagine Loki being sentenced to public service on Earth, specifically in aiding people who got hurt during the attack. His magic has been limited to only be enough to aid keeping Odin’s spell in place so he wouldn’t turn blue. His task is to help people with special needs, to do house chores, help them get around, do their grocery and keep them company while they recover. He is assigned to a girl who ended up blind after one of the Chitauri shot at her. + Imagine HYDRA has been quietly watching Loki living a quiet life on Earth. They decide it’s finally time to bring him into the fold. It doesn’t exactly work out the way they intended. RATING: T

NOTES/WARNING: Hi, y'all! I haven’t written in a fair while, so I did a quick little one-shot with Charlie to get myself back into shape. It’s probably rough, but cut me some slack! If you’re interested in reading other Charlie stories (there’s a bunch!), you can find them on my masterlist here. Language, mentions of violence, attacks and blood, one v angry human, and typos probably.

“Loki, it’s a stomach ache. It’s nothing. I’ll be fine.” Charlie remarked for the fiftieth time that morning as she gently shoved the darling Asgardian she called a boyfriend away from her.

Loki huffed for about the same number time. “According to your interweb healers, it could be an autoimmune disorder, an ulcer or gastric cancer! Forgive me if I’m a little worried about–”

“WebMD is not a qualified physician, Loki Odinson! Settle. The fuck. Down!”

Though her tone was no-nonsense, a smile was tugging at the left corner of her plump lips, evidence that she was not nearly as cross as she portrayed herself to be. When she brushed past him, Loki circled his arms around her waist and tugged her into his body, peppering her face with kisses as she made noises of weak protest. Despite his best advances (and really, he was doing his best work here) her laughter began to trickle down and out of existence.

“Loki, stop,” she said firmly, though he was only half listening.

“Stop!” The Prince froze, holding her loosely in his arms. Her tone wasn’t exactly what had caused her to stop his affectionate attack, though. It was the fact that her whole frame had stilled, and her eyes danced from spot to spot as she concentrated on something. “Can you hear that?”

Loki tilted his head and focused. It took a moment, as out of practice in paranoia as he was, but eventually he heard the very distinct pounding of military-grade rubber on linoleum. “Boots.” Quietly, he righted himself, taking silent, measured steps around the furniture, leading Charlie along with him. “Come on. Bedroom. Quickly.”

No sooner had he gotten those words out, the front door slammed open, leaving Charlie to yelp behind him, a handful of his gray heather t-shirt keeping her anchored to his frame. As Loki saw it, there were three men in the immediate vicinity, waving odd-looking guns that bore the signature of the Chitauri. These were not aliens, though. They were humans, who somehow found a way to retrofit the technology to make more powerful weapons. Many had been foolish enough to try it throughout the years, but only one entity bore the skull and tentacled monster on their insignia.

HYDRA.

This was definitely not a great time to still be without magic.

At once, he tried to school the rhythm of his heart, knowing that Charlie was distinctly in tune with the beat and would worry if it seemed like he was in a panic. With delicate fingers, he stroked at her curls, intending to burrow into his side. “Put your arm around me, tuck your head in, don’t let go. Got it?”

She offered little resistance to the order, humming her consent and wrapping her arm tightly around his torso. The feeling gave him comfort, funnily enough, that he was still the warrior that he had trained to be in his youth, despite having lived like a spoiled house cat for the last couple of years. Where in his youth there was glory and blood to be won, today there was only one objective–keep Charlie safe. Loki moved the second the intruders set their scopes on him. Reaching to his left, he grabbed a handful of kitchen knives which would have to do in this pinch and engaged with a growl.

Charlie whimpered, her legs struggled to keep up with his. She could not anticipate his movement and was mostly just being pushed and pulled around the floor while Loki seemed to be skillfully weaving like he was dancing. It also didn’t help that with every jerk of her body and awkward moment, there was the sickening sound of injury filling her ears. In one very distinct occasion, she could feel the breaking of some sort of bone reverberate through her own hand as Loki delivered a blow. Surely, it would be a lot easier for Loki to fight if he didn’t have to worry about Charlie behind him, and the awkward shuffle he had to do to make sure she was never exposed to any of these intruders took significant mental acuity.

When the three in the room had been dealt with, Loki reached for one of their weapons and Charlie’s mobile. He wasted to no time in moving them back through the bedroom door and locking it. Surely, more men would come.

“Stark!”

“Loki, I am, er, dealing with something right now!” The sound of bullets and flying mortar filled the line along with FRIDAY’s voice in the suit. “I’ll need to call you back!”

“Loki.” Charlie’s voice was small and trembling beside him.

Sighing, Loki wrapped his free arm around her and pulled Charlie into his chest. “I have you, love. Don’t worry.”

His lips pressed into her crown. A little bit of battle had shaken away the rust of his instincts and he could feel the distinctive prickle of enemies closing in. He prayed quietly to any entity that would bear to hear his prayers that they would be left alone. There was more noise beyond the door and Loki was left to coo Charlie into silence. He understood her fear, everything to her was a surprise, doubly so when she was scared and couldn’t bring herself to concentrate on her surroundings.

“I’m going to need you to run to the bathroom and lock yourself there, dove.”

Her hazel eyes zeroed in on him with rage-filled acuity. “You’re insane if you think I’m leaving you.”

“Darling, I cannot protect you if I’m busy minding you from getting hurt!”

Her eyes widened. There was panic in her empty gaze if the fidgeting of her fisted hands was anything to go by and it pained him to think that he could not even offer her an empty promise. “No, please! Please, don’t leave me. I–I can’t deal with it if you’re not with me.”

Loki smiled, sighing at the sweet ache of her words on his heart, and cupped her cheeks, dusting them with speckles of others’ blood. “You are braver than this, Charlotte Camden.” His thumbs brushed over her bronzed cheekbones affectionately. “I know you are. So you go and keep yourself safe and I will–”

The bedroom door rammed open with a deafening crash of cracked wood and rained splinters over the couple.

“Go! Go now!”

Charlie reluctantly disengaged, taking a running leap towards the bathroom door and slammed it behind her. Her ear pressed up against the wood to hear the scuffling. It sounded like a bigger force had come in and Charlie swallowed the panicked yelp threatening to bubble up her throat. Loki was a great fighter, but without his magic there was little for him to do if he was incapacitated. All she could do was hope that he was faster, stronger, better than these intruders.

And that’s when she heard it.

His voice.

Screaming.

Screaming like he did when he had a nightmare.

Screaming like when he remembered the blood and gore that he caused and the damage he had done.

Screaming like when he discovered that the extent of his monstrosity went beyond a lineage he had been lied about and the fickle lies he had been fed by a tyrant.

And then she heard it again.

And again.

And again…

And just when she thought her heart could take no more, she heard a body thud onto the ground and the shuffling stop and she feared the worst.

And then her bracelets activated.

Nearly a year of having the damn things on her and she had forgotten that they served any purpose other than setting off the metal detectors everywhere she went. The nanites built up around her in one swift wave. It took Charlie a moment to orient herself back to the seeing world. The colors on the screen still gave her a headache, her eyes still were unfocused, but that was due to her nearsightedness more than anything else, but it was still usable. And the updates Tony had made to the AI over the years made it easy to navigate through the controls.

She kicked the door open at once. Five figures turned back to her while another three were trying to get Loki’s annoyingly heavy body onto a cot to wheel him away. There was blood on his shirt, wounds seeping the dark treacly liquid from stab wounds used to subdue him, he looked pale, but his chest was still moving air and he was muttering deliriously under his breath.

He was alive.

So every one of them now had to die.

The gauntlets whined as the blasters charged and knocked them clean out of their boots. She supposed Tony didn’t think she would ever try to blast anything at full power, but lo and behold her rage was transcendental. They tried to restructure, protect the ones trying to take Loki away while fighting her off. Bullets ricocheted off her armor, letting her forge forward, blasters pumping out energy and leaving a trail of crumpled bodies. Taking a run, her body propelled off the ground, landing with a loud thud just in front of the door and cutting off their escape.

“Put. Him. Down.”

Rifles came up to point at her. Seven in total. They fired in unison, and she raised her arms, flinching instinctually from the projectiles that were intent on ripping into her armor. Charlie’s teeth grit tightly as she waited for the jolt of bullets to knock her backwards. They never came.

I thought it might be helpful to unlock Loki’s magic from the bracelets, the AI spoke into her ear.

When she blinked up, a blanket of green held the bullets in place, swirling in the ether of his magic. Her breath caught. This was definitely not something Tony had mentioned the last time she went in for a tune-up. He had failed to mention that the dampener Loki wore, implanted just under the skin of his bicep was feeding directly into the nanites or that there was any way to access the power. What was stranger was that the magic even listened to her, in the first place. By Loki’s tales, it was untamable force and most sorcerers never got very far without proper instruction. This was most odd.

Guns cocked and reloaded, breaking her out of her reverie. With a flick of her fingers, the bullets turned and resumed their trajectory, delivered back to sender. Another flourish, she disposed of the ones carrying the medical backboard with Loki in it and he fell to the carpeted ground with a groan.

Headache in full swing, she ran to his side, pushing away bodies to fall to her knees beside him. Nanites receded from her hands to touch his cheek.

“Loki. Babe, look at me.”

A wry smile curled his lips. “I am. I’m just very tired.” He chuckled, ending it with a cough and a groan. “Well, that answers the question where has my magic gone all this time?” He blinked a little longer each time as the darkness threatened to drag him down.

“Don’t close your eyes. Please. I need to get you to Tony’s.”

He giggled a little deliriously. “Magic suits you, petal.”

“Jesus, I really do need to get you to Tony’s.” Nanites back over her hands, she pulled his long frame into her arms and heaved. Even with the armor, he was decidedly heavier than any human she had ever met. For a second, she debated going out the front door, but seeing as her apartment was pretty much totaled, anyway, she burst through a window and into the New York skyline.

Loki blinked awake to the sounds of Charlie berating someone to within an inch of their life. He smiled, settling back into the covers with a grin despite the obvious pain radiating from just under his ribs and the dull ache in his skull. He peeked an eye open to see Stark, actively cowering backwards, away from her tone, narrowly avoiding her walking cane whenever she gestured wildly.

“It would have been nice to know how to activate the damn thing before Loki got fucking stabbed or I felt absolutely sure that he was dead because you put in a life or death trigger on the damn suit! And don’t get me fucking started on the fact that I’ve been carrying Loki’s magic for the last year and had no fucking clue about it!”

“I’m sorry! I was trying to keep you from playing with the suit for funsies instead of–”

“WE ALMOST DIED AND YOU WERE BUSY WITH YOUR OWN HYDRA ASSHOLES! WHAT WERE WE SUPPOSED TO DO? WAIT FOR YOU TO GET YOUR ASS KICKED BEFORE–”

“Charlie, love,” Loki hoarsed, and the tirade immediately quieted. Charlie rushed over to the bedside, briefly tripping over a chair leg before clambering onto his cot and covering his face with kisses. “Dove, I’m bound to be disgusting at the moment,” he protested weakly, but still pulled her closer by the waist.

“I don’t care. I love you.”

“I love you, too. My savior.” He cupped her face in his hands, absorbing the warmth from her beaming smile. “Glorious. Truly glorious.” He ran his fingers through her curls, bringing them back into shape from their crumpled form. Clearly she had been sleeping here with him and not necessarily keeping up with brushing–that was usually his task, anyway–but her crumpled clothes and dark circles under her eyes belied the worry she felt for him. It made his stomach warm several times over.

“I found your magic.”

He chuckled. “I recall. You can keep it safe for me.” He looked briefly at Tony who was pretending not to smile in the corner. “Do we know what happened?”

“Looking for you, buddy boy. They were a little disappointed you couldn’t do the hocus pocus stuff, but they caught onto the problem pretty quick.”

“I’m the problem,” Charlie muttered, snuggling into his side.

“Mmm, what a lovely problem to have,” he whispered before kissing her crown.

“Look, I’ll talk to your old man and see if we can’t get your sparkles and pixie dust ban lifted–”

“Don’t bother. I can teach Charlie how to use magic if you give her access. He said I couldn’t use seidr, not that I couldn’t teach someone else to wield it.”

Tony looked apprehensive, wincing slightly at the suggestion. “You sure you want to give Live Wire there that kind of ammunition?”

“Oh, if they don’t want to allow me to use my power, that is fine. But I am making her everyone’s problem. Aren’t I, sweet?”

Charlie simply snickered, leaving Tony to groan loudly as he stepped out of the hospital room.

#Loki #Others #Submitted one shot #submission #everybody's problem #fanfictrashdump

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watevermelon · 4 years

Text

Aot!Haikyuu | MSBY Black Jackals x Reader (Introduction)

✧ Summary: (Attack on Titan x Haikyuu) In an effort to unlock the secrets behind Titans, you got injured during one of Tendou’s Scout Regiment experiments. This was nothing new, but even you were surprised at how much those boys cared about you. ➳ Warnings: Language and Attack on Titan Canon Violence ➳ Tags: Reader x MSBY Black Jackals; Slight Reader x Schweiden Adlers; Takes place before the Fall of Trost;

Pick your route!

Sakusa Kiyoomi | Atsumu Miya | Hinata Shoyou | Bokuto Koutarou

----xXxXxXxXxX-----

You were absolutely going to kill Tendou if you ever stepped foot back inside the walls. Then again, he was a squad leader and it was not worth having to go to trial for treason over his dead body.

Also, there was a three-meter class titan on your heels and you were separated from the rest of the squad.

But, y’know, just another day for the Survey Corps.

You grappled along the outside of the forest, the other two squads further behind as the Titan had turned its attention fully on you. It all happened so suddenly - Tendou was trying to plead his case to Commander Ukai, that capturing a live Titan would provide much needed research on their behavior. And even though it would not be easy, the information was almost necessary for the war.

And to your consternation, Commander Ukai was actually deliberating it.

Only a few minutes later, as if it was listening in on your conversation, there appeared a rustle in the trees, but nothing taller than the woods. And so here was a smaller titan, no taller than 5-meters, close to the Scout’s expedition site.

Tendou didn’t even ask for permission, riding out on his horse with little preamble. Commander Ukai shot a quick look toward Squad Leader Ushjima, the stoic man riding out after his longtime best-friend with his team of Hoshiumi and Kageyama trailing behind him.

Running to your horse, you rushed behind your own squad leader Sakusa with the rest of your team behind you. Atsumu was already complaining while Bokuto and Hinata almost seemed as excited as Tendou. Your team was a random bunch admittedly, but you had some of the best results in the entire regiment.

Tendou was so eager about Titans, this venture feeling like he was chasing after a pet rather than, y’know, a killing monster that has pushed humanity to the brink of extinction. A part of you wanted to remind him that this was a dangerous venture from start to finish, but there was no reasoning with him once his mind was fixated on a new project.

You pushed on the spurs of your horse to catch-up to the group. Killing a titan was no problem here, high trees of the forest giving access to grapple points that a team of advanced Scouts would be able to take care of.

But you weren’t here to kill, you were here to capture.

Tendou circled the perimeter of the woods, the Titan running behind him as if this was nothing more than a game of cat and mouse instead of life and death. Ushijima was standing on his horse, ready to take action to incapacitate when suddenly, the Titan halted all of its momentum and turned to the back of the group.

Sakusa kept riding past it, not wanting to lose momentum against the fast-moving bastard. Kageyama and Hoshiumi struggled to sharply turn their horses away from the Titan’s new warpath.

You watched the Titan’s blank eyes turn to you, dilating at your appearance and brown ponytail above the crowd. It took a single second before the Titan was on an entirely new warpath, galloping in your direction.

Atsumu spit a word of warning next to you, basically telling you to run like your life depended on it, which honestly was not far from the truth. Bokuto and Hinata separated from their positions alongside you, trying to see if the split would garner the Titan’s attention. You cursed loudly when the Titan was still fixated on you - Hinata’s shouts of rage and Bokuto’s loud insults at the monster did not get it’s attention. Sakusa was speeding up to simply end it here, but Tendou yelled and insisted that the abnormal behavior had to be taken back with them.

The question of how the hell you were going to do that never really crossed your mind, not until the Titan was speeding in your direction and you had to personally give chase. The Titan’s earlier speed was nothing in comparison before, down on all fours to propel himself to you.

It was constantly muttering something, you could not make out the words from the garble froth out of its mouth. It almost sounded like a name, Ymir? No matter the case, you would not have a chance to think more about it if you were dead.

Your horse would not be able to outrun this and you shot a grappling hook to the forest on your left, it would work better for you to turn to the higher areas if the Titan was keen on you alone. Kicking off your horse to see if it would follow the animal alone, the Titan’s eyes only widened as it followed you breaking away.

Gas be damned, you increased the output on your 3DMG gear just to get more speed when the Titan launched itself in the air, eager hands grabbing at you tightly. You shouted more in surprise than hurt, expecting pain to shoot through you as it squeezed you in its hold. If not that, you whispered small prayers to whichever God was listening, irritated that you were going to be eaten in front of your friends.

But the Titan continued to hold you like a small doll in its fist as it continued its run.

You heard Atsumu curse loudly and Sakusa bark out more orders, the telltale sound of gear launching in your direction. But the Titan was on a mission, venturing deeper into the forest as if it was looking for something.

This should have been instant death, crushed under the clutches of a monster, but the Titan just continued to drag you along as the other scouts caught up behind you. The initial surprise of being a Titan’s prisoner forced you into silence, simply looking up at it from its grasp around your middle.

Tendou shouted orders to kill it and Kageyama grappled onto the nape instantly. That was enough to finally grab your attention, yelling out a Wait! The young man was close enough to land the killing blow, blue-eyes meeting yours to confirm your words before he redirected a hook somewhere else.

“You fucking idiot you will not die on me today!” You felt more than heard Sakusa’s harsh yell seep into your bones. He hardly ever raised his voice, at you or anyone else, it had you more scared of him than the Titan.

You glanced at the three-meter titan, it’s blank eyes searching the forest as he ventured further in like a monkey. The scouts had better grappling points among the trees, but the small Titan had just as much mobility from being able to quickly climb and jump around.

“Just observe, you idiot!” You yelled back, sure that the name would earn you a permanent demotion if you ever made it back. Sakusa scowled, not even Atsumu could conjure a smirk at your mocking nickname.

The rest of the scouts were following along closely, contradicting orders between the two squads. The final say would be Ushjima - he had rank over everyone else present. This would not be an easy call, even you were hesitant to say something while his hazel eyes followed you.

You were their friend, their comrade that trained and fought alongside them since your early training corp days. Everyone here knew the dangers of picking the Scout Regiment, but it all came at the sacrifice to save all of humanity.

The last time on record the regiment tried to capture a Titan, 20 Scouts laid down their lives for the information you had today. Even the tiniest bit of information could save hundreds of lives down the line. Where would you be today if you had never found out the Titan’s weak spot? What else was there that society was not aware of?

This was not the time to be selfish in the face of humanity.

The Titan paid no attention to the others and you made the decision for them - telling the rest to keep further back, just to observe the Titan behavior. Maybe Tendou was waiting for your call before making one of his own, since he backed you immediately and ordered the rest to stand-down. Sakusa outwardly snarled and even Bokuto voiced his unhappiness, but they followed nonetheless. The nail in the coffin was Ushijima doing the same, Hoshiumi and Kageyama slowing down alongside him.

As if understanding what just happened, the Titan dropped it’s hold on the next tree, falling to the forest floor and turning sharply in another direction. The space between you and the boys were widening, had the Titan understood your yells? Was this a trap?

Were you going to die?

You watched Atsumu’s worried look turn to a brown blur, too far away to really tell the details of his face as the Titan dodged and weaved with both speed and altitude. While large, it’s sound was largely hidden under the gallop of the riderless horses in the near distance.

You were alone with a Titan.

The thought didn’t linger for long when the Titan dropped to the ground entirely, gingerly walking up to a tree as it nudged you to your feet. You silently clicked at the pistons of your grappling hooks, the entire mechanism was crushed and, even in your office back at headquarters, there was no fixing it.

Instead, you patted down to your pack, taking out your notebook and hoping that there was still a pencil there as well. You meekly followed the Titan’s insistent pushes, moving toward the hollow in the tree and sitting in it quietly.

The Titan got to its knees, bowing to you with his arms outstretched in your direction. The tension in your spine felt like a coil, completely winded and any more tension would have anyone else in a panic attack. But you were eagerly writing down everything you saw, from the Titan’s position to the expression on its face.

That’s when you heard it.

Ymir.

There was no denying the word, or rather name, coming from its lips. You steadied your breathing, compartmentalizing your panic and trying to write down everything you could.

(1) Titan’s could talk. (2) A Titan chanted the name Ymir (3) It almost looked like the Titan was worshiping you in the tree’s hollow.

Was this because of your appearance? There was nothing that set you apart from the rest of the group other than the fact that you were female and that you had long, brown hair. You wrote down every question you had, every observation there was in the case that this notebook would be all that anyone ever saw of you again.

Your pencil flew against the notebook, mind in a million places to the point that you hadn’t even realized you were crying. The only indicator was the sudden damp circles on your paper. You didn’t want to push your luck, but your sacrifice would be for nothing if you did not try.

Mustering up your courage, you whispered back to the Titan. “Ymir.”

It raised itself from his prone position, quietly observing you in the tree. You dropped your feet to the ground, still leaning against the hollow, but not wanting to be trapped against it if the Titan decided you were no longer fun having around.

“Ymir.” You stated it louder and that must have broken the strange trance you were both in.

It rushed you immediately and you dodged the best you could, tucking to the left and raising your hands as if you were going to fistfight a titan. There was almost a hint of a smile on its face as you heaved in air to steady your growing anxiety.

There was nothing in the books or your years of experience to tell you what the hell to do now. When it jumped to grab at you again, you kept your head low between your arms, deciding to dodge and bide time for your friends to hopefully find you.

If not, well that wasn’t something you wanted to think about.

Your abandoned 3DMG gear was in your peripheral, most of it in shambles but the sharp edges of the blades were still there. The hilt was not usable, but cutting yourself by wielding a blade bare-handed was the least of your worries now.

Breaking out into a run, you quickly ejected a blade out of the gas canister and brandished it like a sword. The next finger that came close was cut squarely off, but that seemed to outrage the Titan more. You swerved as best as you could, but it caught hold of your left leg.

You thought of just cutting it off, but that would only serve to make you an easier target. It held you in its fist like earlier, but with a much tighter grip. You wailed as if the sound would yield its hold on you, surely a bone or two in your calf had snapped under the pressure. Not one to lose your will to live just yet, you took advantage of the close proximity to the Titan’s face and stabbed the blade cleanly through its left eye, lodging the sharp object there and earning a loud scream in response.

The Titan dropped it’s hold on you, but you screamed back at landing on both your feet. There was no sugar-coating it - your left leg was fucked. You doubted you could walk all that far and it would take only about a minute for the Titan to regenerate. There were a few more blades left in the canister, but you barely had the strength to lug yourself over there.

The Titan yelled back in your face, but was silenced after a blur of green whizzed by, the telltale whirring noise signified the best news you got all day.

Help had arrived.

Bokuto had an arm slung around your shoulders immediately, Atsumu flanking you on the other side before they lifted you away and off the forest floor. The initial adrenaline was wearing off and the pain seared you from the inside, any movement of your lower half set your skin ablaze with undeniable agony. It enveloped your entire being and made you curse aloud. Hinata attempted to console you with low words, saying that you were only minutes from the medic tent.

Thankfully, you were not far from the rest of the other scouts on the expedition. You closed your eyes one moment to shut out the pain and re-opened them only to see the brown-top of the tent. There were low voices outside, Tendou’s familiar drawl one of them amongst the other shadows cast on the tent. How long had you been out? Were you back within the walls?

Moving to sit-up, the expletives that followed immediately gained the attention of those outside.

Sakusa's worried eyes were the first ones you saw, before he hardened them and crossed his arms. Bokuto nearly pushed aside the rest of your squad to get to your bedside, putting a hand behind your back to slowly get you to lie down again. Hinata, eager to help also, poured you a glass of water and handed it to you. Atsumu was suspiciously silent, arms crossed over his chest.

“Sit back, you fucking idiot.” Sakusa bit out.

You didn’t fit it, this was not the hill you wanted to die on. Instead, you asked, “How long have I been out?”

Hinata answered, “Three days, we’re within Trost now.”

You hesitated, biting your lip and trying to settle on something to say. “Sorry you had to haul my sorry ass all the way here.”

“All that matters is you’re back!” Bokuto replied back louder than intended, earning a glare from two of his younger squadmates.

You chuckled and unconsciously attempted to sit-up, “Where’s Tendou? Did you guys find my notebook?”

“Un-fucking-believable.” Atsumu started, he was the one to lightly push you down this time. “You had every bone beneath your knee crushed and you’re worried about your notebook.”

“I’m worried about my contribution to humanity.” You bit back, his annoyance contributing to your own agitation. “If you hadn’t noticed, we’re in the middle of a war!”

Atsumu snarled back, “Goddamnit, there’s no getting through that thick skull of yours is there?”

“I doubt it.” Sakusa agreed, eyes narrowing at you.

“Guys, relax.” Hinata attempted to diffuse, “She’s back with us now.”

“Why the hell are you guys so mad?” You ignored his attempt to calm everyone down.

Atsumu turned to Hinata, “And what if she hadn’t made it back?!”

The seriousness in his expression made you recoil, unsure what to say to this Atsumu who was so desperately hurt. You looked to Sakusa and he had a similar, yet more guarded countenance. Both boys were looking at you, their hard glares trying to convey their honest worry for you.

“I.. I’m sorry.” You stuttered out, not sure what to say to your usually closed-off superiors.

“Now, now.” Tendou, entered the tent, waving a hand away to your visitors. That only increased some of the tension, everyone turning to the red-head. It was his idea after all, but you did make the choice to play along as well.

“We need a debrief as soon as possible, so do you mind?” Tendou continued, turning to your squad-mates. Only Sakusa was allowed to stay, Ushijima and Commander Ukai entered your tent a minute later.

You watched their expression as you retold every detail about the encounter. The fist Sakusa had on his lap clenched and unclenched every once in a while, a small tell that you knew he was trying to internalize his anger. Tendou asked questions every once in a while, no doubt curious to hear that a Titan was not just speaking, but had even engaged in some type of worship. Ushijima’s face was unreadable, but enough so that you could tell he was angry at you as well.

Commander Ukai had just as many questions as Tendou, but dwelled harder on your observation of your appearance. He asked, “While we cannot assume what sets you apart from the rest, would you be willing to participate in another Titan extraction?”

Sakusa answered for you, “No, she won’t be able to.”

Ushijima nodded in agreement while Tendou raised his palms in mock surprise. Commander Ukai made no movement to chastise the two boys, just turning his gaze to observe the room before landing on you.

You felt the blaze of a thousand suns when he did so, Sakusa and Ushijima openly glaring at you and almost daring you to say something contradictory.

“Ah, not anytime soon.” You answered.

“Not ever.” Sakusa finished for you, making Tendou snort and Ukai withhold the need to roll his eyes. This was not what he was expecting, but there was no point in arguing with your direct superior when, if it truly mattered, he had rank.

Once you were done talking, Commander Ukai was the first to leave, stating that he was expecting formal reports from both you and Tendou within the next few days. You sighed inwardly, but agreed. Ushijima stared at you for a good minute, saying nothing, before exiting the tent behind him.

----xXxXxXxXxX-----

Pick your route!

Sakusa Kiyoomi | Atsumu Miya | Hinata Shoyou | Bokuto Koutarou

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