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maeby-cursed · 6 months

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KISS ME, TRY TO FIX IT…

𓂃 COULD YOU JUST TRY TO LISTEN ?

a/n: starting a new series of songfics ! this one is very obviously inspired by sad, beautiful, tragic, so you can see where this might be going. enjoy the results of my brainrot ♡ (also, i’ve never written for gojo before, please have mercy)

✧ synopsis: you’ve been waiting for satoru gojo for ten years, but there’s no trace of the man you fell in love with when you were sixteen years old. it’s time to let go, but he might not want to.

✧ pairings: satoru gojo x fem!reader

✧ wc: 2k

✧ rating: angst. so much of it, angst to drown in. might get suggestive at some points.

✧ cw: mentions of drinking, of the great jjk tragedy of 2006 and its aftermath, implied cheating, gojo may be ooc, toxic relationship ??

An ice-cold wind blows through the window as you wait.

It’s not even December yet but it’s already snowing.

Soft snowflakes the size of stars, far away in their firmament, enter your living room. When they land on the sofa, they dissolve, leaving in their wake thousands of specks of water that look disturbingly like tears.

It doesn't matter. You don't think he's going to notice anyway.

It's been ten long years of waiting. Ten long years of fighting, of fixing what's broken and denying that it's ever been broken.

It's over. Let winter freeze everything in its path.

When Satoru walks in through the door, you hesitate for a moment. A moment of madness when you see his hair, as white as the snowfall that has invaded your home. Just a moment when you see him in his burgundy turtleneck sweater, his tight-fitting coat. One single moment when you recognize the cold in his pink cheeks.

But it's all over when you meet his crystalline eyes. The fault is theirs.

"Is the window broken again?" he asks, dropping his keys on the entryway’s table.

The window has been broken since September.

You nod and he grunts, running a hand over his face.

"I'll call someone tomorrow, although you could have said something," he says. This is your fault. Of course.

You keep your eyes fixed on the snow. From the living room you can see the sidewalk across the street, covered in a blanket of white that sparkles under the street lamps. It's so painfully beautiful it makes you nostalgic.

You and Satoru moved into this house three years ago, when he got his teaching position, and you can't quite get over the fact that it's time to say goodbye.

You've spent three years of solstices here. You've seen the sidewalks covered with dead leaves, with thousands of little flowers that broke the pavement in their wake. But it’s never snowed.

It’s not fair, not one bit.

Satoru says no more. He goes to your room and undresses; he replaces his street clothes with a black outfit that seems very appropriate for the occasion. Since you’ve known him, he always takes off his glasses when he crosses the hall of your building, but for once, you wish he'd put them back on.

When he returns, his hair is dripping over his forehead. You hadn't even noticed that he was taking a shower.

But he hasn't noticed that your bedside table is empty, either; that your slippers are missing, that there's a seeping coldness in the hearth of your house, and it's not coming from the window.

"What's for dinner?" he asks, plopping down on the couch with his cell phone in his hand.

You get up.

9:26 p.m., November 8. This is where it ends.

"I don't know. I'm going out to dinner," you say.

He doesn’t even bother to look up.

"Hmm, where are you going? Are you bringing something back or should I order myself a pizza?"

It's painful to watch as nothing seems to touch him. He’s infinite — always infinite.

"I'm going to a work friend's house."

"The one with the lovely curly hair and those pretty hazel eyes?"

Christ.

"No. I'm moving in with Rhea. Dark-eyed, blonde, leggy."

"Hmm, how nice."

A moment passes where he just keeps staring at the screen, and you despair.

"Satoru."

"What's up, baby?"

"I'm moving."

At last – at last – he looks up. In his eyes you see nothing; two blue marbles that have sworn you two to an unjust fate.

"You're moving out? Why?"

Where to begin? Because you have been loving a man destined to save everything and everyone for a decade, because you have been trying to fill a void that is not your size for eight years, because the windows are broken and the bed is cold and Satoru arrives several nights smelling of anisette and the perfume of another, because you don't want to live looking at the Strongest, the possessor of the Six Eyes. Because you thought that in some hidden corner Satoru Gojo was still there, and he isn’t.

"Because it's killing me to live like this.” You settle for that as your explanation and try to keep your stare unwavering.

"Like this how?" he questions, suddenly irritated. "In a luxurious house?" He gestures around him with the cell phone in his hand. "Comfortably, with your dream job? Knowing you'll never have to worry about money?"

"No, Satoru. Like this, without you loving me."

That chills him to the bone.

"Of course I love you."

"Do you? Do you want me for anything other than to warm your bed and your cock? Do you want me here, as your partner? Do you need me for anything at all?"

You don’t gesticulate, you barely move from your spot in the middle of the room. Everything in this fucking place is white and uncannily clean; the sofas, the coffee table, the walls, even the snow; but you and Satoru. He’s in all black, you’re in all red. It’s almost dreamlike, and you struggle to stay grounded.

The only thing you could remove from this house that would grab his attention would be you.

"Yesterday you weren't complaining about any of this, what the fuck is the matter with you today?"

And you can't stand it anymore. The winter current lifts your hair, soaks the back of your neck and disguises your tears.

"THE MATTER IS THAT I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR TEN YEARS. WAITING FOR YOU. WAITING FOR THE MAN I MET AT SIXTEEN TO COME BACK, SLEEPING WITH A MAN OF ABSENT GAZE WHO STAGGERS INTO MY BED WHEN HE'S TIRED OF BEING IN EVERYONE ELSE'S. I DON'T WANT TO BE YOUR DOG, SATORU. I DON'T WANT YOU TO COME HOME AND FEEL OBLIGATED TO GIVE ME A WALK, A PETTING."

The words come spilling out of you without remedy, every wound bursting open through the stitches. He just looks at you.

"You think I don't love you?"

It hurts to hear him say it, it fucking hurts. You were prepared for the yelling and the coldness, even for a quick vulnerable stare. But never for his trembling voice and soft frown.

You inhale deeply.

"I don't think your love is of any use to me any longer."

Satoru stands up at that.

He's tall, tall and beautiful like Michelangelo's David. All your life, you've been feeling like you had no right to touch him. His infinity assured you that was the case.

He takes a step in your direction and whispers:

"Then what should I do now?"

Your eyes, fixed on the ground, rise to meet his. There's something in the void and you're not sure if it's just your reflection.

"What?" you mutter.

"How do I fix it? What do you need that I can't give you? Do you want me to quit work, for us to leave, for me to come home and kiss your temple, to cook for you, to listen to you, to cherish you in bed?” A heartbeat. “I will."

There’s something about the desperation in his tone, you aren’t sure of what to say next.

Satoru knows how to lie, but you don't know how to tell the difference.

"I don't want anything, Satoru. I'm tired," you whisper back, eyes full of water. "I want it to end. I want you to let it end."

He shakes his head, frowning, and through the mist of your tears you recognize that he is crying too.

"There has to be something. Anything. Something I can do, I can do it all."

It's partly true. He's Satoru Gojo; all-powerful, all-knowing. Eternal and young and beautiful and tragic as a poem.

You are just another person. You cried when Suguru left, when Haibara died, when Kento gave up the Jujutsu world and when Ieri locked herself in her office. You clung to Satoru, who resembled an empty seashell more than a person.

You remember those nights back in 2007. You remember blindfolding him so he wouldn't activate infinity by accident, by reflex, out of overstimulation. You remember cutting his hair when he couldn’t and looking for him in his old antics. You remember taking care of Megumi – always reluctant – and Tsumiki – who you felt was too mature for her age. You remember the burden of being eighteen and having lost a world.

And, above all else, you remember Satoru under the rain. Under the pressure of the world you had lost, the one that he was trying to put back together. There was a month where he seemed catatonic; no smiles, drinking anisette as if it were his one source of life. A thirty-day period followed by the rebirth of a person who looked like the one that stood before, but who seemed cold and alien to you.

"Don't you love me, my darling?" he seeks for you, reaching out a hand to brush against your cheek.

Of course you love him. You love him even like this, like you have loved each and every one of his versions.

"I adore you, Satoru. But I can't stay; you can't fix it."

"Of course I can," he reaches out to you, holding your face between his fingers, "Of course I can."

His lips connect with yours — one last attempt, you don't know by whom.

Snow fills the room and it's cold, but you drink from his mouth, from his everlasting warmth; everything in him lasts forever.

Between kisses, you show him everything you have been for years. Ten years of kisses, of hands looking for hands and flesh searching for flesh.

He moves backwards, keeping you between his hands and guiding you towards the hallway and from the hallway to your shared bed.

This is where it ends.

"Satoru..." you whisper.

"I'm here. I'm here, beautiful, my favorite girl. Talk to me."

A sob escapes you as he utters those words. My favorite girl. That’s what he used to call you. Talk to me, he used to plead, that year at sixteen, when everything was about to start.

Isn't it beautiful that it ends the exact same way?

"Satoru, I'm leaving," you press a farewell kiss to his jaw.

"No, you're not leaving," he murmurs, smiling against your mouth, searching for your lips.

You back away and look at him one more time. And you smile, because there's nothing left.

"I'm already gone. Just let go of me, please."

"But..." he starts, his smile hesitant, "But I'm going to fix it."

You take one of his hands between yours and kiss it as it presses against your cheek, before lowering it to your lap.

"Satoru..." You pronounce each syllable of his name carefully and he stifles a cry. "I'm not going to go any further. I've already made the move and Rhea's expecting me at her house in an hour. I love you, I’ll love you until I run out of kisses, but it does me no good to love you. It is of no use to me, this love. I wanted to tell you. I wanted you one last time. Wasn’t it my turn to be the selfish one for once?"

He watches you, and his mouth shuts close. You've never seen Satoru lose.

No, that's not true. There was a time, one time, where you saw him lose everything.

His eyes fill up with you one second and empty the next.

This is his second time.

He lifts his chin with an arrogance that no longer means anything and lets go of your hands.

"Go then, if you want. I'm not going to do anything to stop you,” he drags the words with feign disinterest. “I can't do anything."

That's the last gift he can give you. An honesty unbecoming of him, a truth that will never belong to Satoru Gojo ever again.

From god to human in three kisses and a goodbye.

"Thank you," you say to him. Then you get up, heading for the living room, where your coat and your escape door await you.

He stays in the bedroom – with himself as he always is – after you leave.

And he hides you where he always hides the things he breaks, in the back of his eyes, where no one can reach to see anything.

(reblogs are appreciated !!)

#🎐 𓂃 mae’s typing !#jjk imagines #jjk angst #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #satoru x reader #satoru x you #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru angst #gojo angst #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you

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sebstan2020 · 3 months

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Red Ties

Chapter 22

Mary, a sweet Christian girl living in the city of Brooklyn as a nurse had a simple life. She loved her work, her friends and attending church every Sunday and helping Reverend McCarthy. Her life was nothing out of the ordinary. However, it all changed one day when she bumps into the intriguing and intimidating James Barnes, Brooklyn’s notorious mafia boss and is introduced to a world of guns, lust and dominance.

Warnings: BDSM, Dom/Sub, Mafia, Violence, Gang, SMUT, Sex, Possessive Bucky, Overprotectiveness, Bondage, Sexual Themes, Dark Themes, Guns, Drugs, Gang Violence

The week had flown by. Mary had spent nearly every night at James’s house. He had picked her up from work and was waiting for her in the hospital parking lot or outside the apartment complex where Mrs. McKenzie lived. He insisted on her staying with him. And now that Mary was so much more comfortable around him and excited for what he had planned, she was happy to say yes. Every night, he unlocked a new sensation, a new type of pleasure for her, and she’d wake up in bliss, wrapped in his arms, snuggled in his warmth, with kisses laid on her beautiful skin.

She had barely spent any time in her own apartment, and James even suggested she leave some clothes at his so she didn’t have to pack a bag each time. It was moving so fast, and Mary wasn’t even aware of it. It felt like ages ago since she met James that morning, and having never even been touched by a guy, she had experienced more with him in the few weeks, coming up to a month, than she had in her whole three years at college.

It was Friday evening at the hospital, and Mary was finishing up her shift. She was packing away her bag when Peter and Anya walked into the nursing station, having both finished their shifts as well.

"Hey, are you still coming tomorrow?” Peter asked.

"Yeah, of course, I’ll bring some homemade dips and chips," she suggested, throwing her bag over her shoulder to head outside. James would be waiting for her in the parking lot, and she didn’t want to keep him waiting.

“Great, I’ll bring the wings,” Anya said.

“I’ve got loads of drinks, and that... you guys staying over?” He asked.

“Sure, I’m not working Sunday, so it will be nice not to have to have an early night.” Mary smiled as they made their way to the front doors.

“Yeah, we are going to be hanging the next day." Anya agreed.

“You are; I’m not,” Mary pointed out. She wouldn’t be drinking. Alcohol was not her thing, and from all the times Anya has been hungover, it didn’t sound like it was very enjoyable the next day.

“Come on, girl, let yourself loose once in a while." Anya whined while Mary rolled her eyes.

“If she didn’t drink in college, what makes you think she’s going to start now?” Peter piped up. It was true, though. Mary was not the type to go wild like Anya. She was happy to be her sensitive little self. Although James had seemed to turn that around for her, over the last week or so, she had done things she would have never done before in her life.

"You never know... perhaps Mr. Handsome has changed her a bit." Anya wiggled her brows, and Mary scoffed, shaking her head. All week, Anya had been wanting every dirty little detail about her time with James, and Mary couldn't keep anything away from her, even if she tried. Anya had a way of sucking everything out and squealing in delight at the thought of her best friend finally being with a man.

But it wasn't like Mary was squealing inside herself, getting all giddy with him, and letting whatever sounds and noises needed to come out while he pleasured her in all different ways. How was a man this good at pleasing a woman she didn't know?

As they stepped outside into the slightly windy city, James was waiting for her, pressed against his car with his phone to his ear, shades covering his eyes. He looked gorgeous, dressed in his all-black suit with a black turtleneck jumper. Mary resisted the urge to bite her lip at just the sight of him and quickly busied herself with saying bye to Peter and Anya.

"I'll see you guys tomorrow," she smiled, quickly hugging them. As she went to Peter, he couldn't help but look over at James and see that he had removed his shades and was standing tall, watching intently from his car. He gave her a slight squeeze and a smile, and when she pulled back, he said a quiet goodbye before she jogged off to James.

"Hi," she greeted cheerfully as she reached him, and he immediately greeted her with a kiss before ushering her quickly into the car and swaggering off to his side, pulling away with a roar of the engine.

"Alright, talk to me," Anya said loudly, pulling Peter away and back to reality. He hadn't realised he had been watching Mary the whole time. "What?" he said, confused, but Anya raised her brows, tilting her head to the side as they wandered out of the parking lot. They both happen to have taken the subway today, so they took the walk together to the station.

"You know what I mean," she said, and Peter laughed nervously.

"No, I don't," he shurried, but he did.

"Oh, come on, Peter, even a monkey could figure this out," she huffed.

"Anya, I have no idea what you are talking about," he said seriously.

"I know you like Mary," she said with a matter of fact in her voice, and Peter scoffed.

"No, I don't," he said defensively, and Anya chuckled.

"Yeah, you do," she said with a sing-song tone to her voice.

"Me and Mary are just friends." He tried to cover it up but was doing a terrible job of it.

"Oh, really... if you're just friends, then why have you been so quiet lately every time we talk about her new boyfriend?" That's it; he had been caught out. There was no going back now or covering it up. He might as well come clean.

"Okay, yes, maybe I do like Mary," he sighed as he walked beside Anya, his head hanging down a little. But it didn't matter. She was with James now, and she seemed happy with him. There was no way he could even think about telling her he liked her. For one, it would ruin their friendship, and for two, he didn't even know if Mary liked him back. They were the best of friends, and he wouldn't want to ruin that by telling her how he feels. But what does it matter? She's with James now, and it doesn't sound or look like they were going to break up any time soon.

"But it doesn't matter; she's with him," he shurried, and Anya smirked.

"Oh, so you're jealous of James," she teased, and Peter glared at her.

"I'm not jealous. I just don't want her to get hurt. I mean, he seems like an okay guy, but you never know," he defended.

"This is her first boyfriend; even if he is the perfect guy, there's nothing anyone can do to stop you from getting hurt; it's part of the process," Anay shrugged.

"I mean, come on, don't you think it's a bit weird that he would buy her a new phone and pick her up all the time?".

"Maybe he's just being nice; it's obvious he really likes her." Anya defended. Peter wasn't so sure, but maybe he was just being a bit jealous.

"But I get what you're saying, and honestly, I sometimes get weird vibes from him," she admitted, and Peter furrowed his brows.

"What do you mean?".

"I don't know; he seems a bit intense sometimes, kind of like he's a bad guy, but we've not properly met him yet, so we can't really judge. But anyway, Mary likes you as her best friend. You don't want to ruin that with her; you're like a big brother to her." Shee elbowed him playfully, and Peter groaned.

"Great, just what I want.".

"I mean that in a good way.".

"Look, it doesn't matter; I'm happy for her as long as she's happy," he said, and Anya hummed.

"If you say so.".

Mary moaned at the top of her lungs, writhing around in bed as James rubbed his thumb against her clitoral area, sending pleasure through her body. Her toes curled against the bed sheets, and she grabbed hold of the pillow above her, pushing herself further in. James was attacking her neck with deep kisses, his teeth almost latching on like he was sucking her for blood, hitting the little spot that made her jump. She shuddered underneath him as pleasure took over, and she fell into a deep state of cloudiness. Her climax came, and she spilled all over his fingers, falling into exhaustion beneath him.

James removed himself from her neck, smirking at his work before awakening her with a kiss to her lips. She was well and truly finger-fucked and wasn't going to have any energy for the rest of the night, so he pulled her into his arms, covering her with the duvet, and kissed her goodnight, watching her sleep in his arms.

The following morning, Mary groaned softly as she woke, the feeling of soft finger tips gradually waking her up from her slumber of warmth and closeness. She slighly lifted her head from his chest, smiling up with a half-woke smile and narrow eyes.

"Morning," she said with a sleepy voice, and James took a deep breath.

"Morning," he said softly, his dazzling blue eyes staring down at her.

Even after a night full of intense finger-fucking, she looked beautiful. But his eyes flickered to something else, and the corner of his lip twisted up into a small smirk. He lifted his finger, running it across her cheek and down her neck, taking in his hard work last night. He circled that large red bruise forming just at the top of her neck, speckled around the edges, and the slightly raised pieces of skin from his tiny bite marks. She wouldn’t notice until she looked in the mirror, or perhaps she wouldn’t even know what that was.

But he would. His mark. If she was going to spend all night with the competition, then he had no choice but to leave a little reminder, and he certainly wasn't sorry for it. Mary hummed softly, pushing herself off his chest, although she didn't want to leave.

"Do you want some coffee?" she asked, and he nodded, sitting further up in bed so that his fine chest was on display.

"Yes, please," he said softly, his voice all husky and sexy, and Mary smiled, pushing herself out of bed and padding to the bathroom. She was getting used to sleeping naked now and walking around freely with nothing on. Before, she wouldn't have dared get out of bed without something covering her, but she had hopes that James would be watching her while she padded off.

James certainly had his eyes on her the whole time, and while she hid away in the bathroom, he waited for a shriek or panic at the sight of the hickey adorning her neck. He wasn't too sure how she would react to it, but either way, he wasn't regretting it. Mary went to grab the soft white robe hanging from the back of the door and slipped it over to conceal herself. She made sure to tightly tie the belt this time; after her little slip last time, she definitely didn't want that to happen. But as she looked up into the large mirror, something caught her eye, and she shuffled closer, narrowing her eyes at her neck.

A large red bruise, in a slightly odd oval shape, adorned the top of her neck on the right side, just underneath her jaw, and was sore to the touch. The slightly raised bits were tender and more red, as if blood had come to the surface and dried down. She hissed slightly at its soreness and scurried out of the bathroom.

"What's this?" Granted, she had no clue what the hell it was, and her question was more curious than cross. James was slightly relieved; she didn't have a clue, and he could take this one of two ways. Make some shit up about it being a natural reaction, or tell the truth. As much as he wanted to keep her innocence, he didn't want to lie to her, and he smirked, pulling her hand into his and pulling her forward.

"It's a love bite," he wanted to say, 'it's my mark, but that would most certainly freak her out. "When you suck on the skin there, it bruises slightly; it's not permanent," although he wished it was.

"Oh" was all she could answer as she reached for it, touching it with her finger. She wasn't sure what she thought of it, as it was all so new to her. James chuckled softly, reaching up and kissing her on the sensitive spot before trailing them up to her jaw. Mary couldn’t stop the moan from escaping as he hit the sweet spot and closed her eyes, falling into his touch.

“Don’t you want your coffee?” she said softly.

“I can think of something better I want,” he whispered into her ear, and she giggled softly, playfully pushing him off before managing to escape his grabby hands.

“I’ll be right back,” she promised, scurrying off to make his morning coffee, and James hummed, slipping back into bed.

Chapter 23

Hey I hope you like this chapter, what do you think of James leaving that hickey on Mary, let me know what you think in the comments

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#sebastian stan #sebastian stan fanfiction #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #sebastian stan smut #bucky barnes fanficiton #bucky barnes smut #mob boss bucky barnes #mafia #dom bucky barnes

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zankydraws · 4 months

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You got any Wekiddy headcannons? Especially for MJ?

idk if these count as hcs or not but I might have some!

MJ 182: - he's a shapeshifting alien. idk what his true form would be yet but I want to draw it someday, I'd go with some sort of anthro reptile/shark mix probably - a bit of an asshole, likes to cause problems on purpose (his main goal is pissing off El Cool P) - loves pop-punk (bruh MJ makes me wish there was an actual pop-punk version of Incredibox where he's the main character..) - he thinks Xenomorph is a hottie.. (dfkgjhdfks) - I like to think he's a good artist, specifically good at spray painting (and he uses his talent to destroy public property or El Cool P's belongings) - definitely the most rebellious guy in the group - hates to dress up - can and will bite people (mostly Cool P)

El Cool P: - huge ego. absolutely massive - probably commits crimes (loves arson) - idk there's something wrong with him - would do good stuff for people (like giving money to charity) just to make himself feel better and make people love him more - uses his good looks and charm to his advantage - if he wants something, he WILL get it - probably has tons of merch with his own stupid face on it (he owns an El Cool Shirt and an El Cool Plushie for sure) - owns like millions of suits (and matching bucket hats) - argues with MJ all the time - a terrible driver (don't get into a car with him) (how did he even get a driving license?)

KC Glow: - precious baby boy, an absolute angel - looooong sleeves - does the excited flappy hand thing a lot - can actually glow in the dark, somehow - has freckles! - you could probably pick him up and carry him around and he would be chill about it

ASAP Bee: - looks like a cinnamon roll but could kill you - loves bees, they are his best buddies - probably stores bees in his fanny pack - if you hurt/kill a bee, he will beat the shit out of you - seriously don't mess with him and his bee friends - loves bee memes, puns and everything bee related - owns a machine gun (this one is ridiclous but some people call him a machine gun guy and it made me think that it would be funny if he actually owned a gun. so don't mess with his bees unless you want a bullet in your butt) - absolutely loves honey, he's obsessed with it, always carries a bottle/jar of honey around

Big Duke: - looks like a cinnamon roll and is a cinnamon roll - a very chill and nice guy - always ready to help! - I like to think he's a little chubby - short king

Swingy: - works out a lot, he's very fit and pretty strong - I talked about this some time ago but he gives me the 80's fitness instructor vibes so he can probably teach people how to work out properly and dance - kinda stupid but he's very nice! :D - loves food and eats all the time - likes his hair a lot and doesn't want anyone touching it - generally likes to look pretty

Blue GT: - kind of a bitch - has heterochromia (I drew him with different eye colors once and loved the idea a lot lol) - he's sooo tired of hearing MJ and Cool P argue ("just kill each other already") - he just wants to be left alone - wears turtlenecks and rings - has to look fabulous at all times - loves coffee

Memphis: - doesn't want to get in trouble but somehow always ends up getting in trouble because of MJ or Cool P (because they are assholes) (Mephis still likes to spend time with his buddies tho, even if it doesn't always end up being good for him) - his hair is extremely floofy and soft, it's unbelievable - he seems a little shy to me..

and that's all I guess.. I don't really have any headcanons for the other dudes, but I might come up with something someday

#zankyanswers #sorry it took me a while to respond

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villainartist · 2 years

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salutations, i’ve got a bucket full of V3 redesigns for you all!

this is for a “rewrite” fic, technically, and i thought it’d be more fun to give the character designs my personal touches, since i’m gonna be doing the same with my writing

little bullet point reasonings on each of the designs below the cut

ouma: - i didnt really change too much of his design, but i wanted to give it less of a “straitjacket” look and decided to go for a wispy, mysterious look. his scarf now doubles as a hood, which is loosely inspired by his cape in his official art - i gave him a bang to cover half his face, because i just like how it looks on him lmao, imo it gives him sort of a sneaky, “intentionally being the creepy kid” look

himiko: - ill be honest, her redesign was just me having fun. i dont mind her canon design too much, but i did wanna give her the air of not only a performer, but a girl who seriously doesnt care about social conventions (autism) so she wears her cape and her little witch dress around everywhere bc she loves it - i gave her more teal on her design, since APPARENTLY thats what v3 has decided is himiko’s main color? teal, not red? so i gave her a healthy mix of both

kaito: - he’s wearing a JAXA jumpsuit that is modified into his signature magenta color, but he’s an idiot so he’s wrapped the top half around his waist so he can wear his little... bomber-style jacket, since aerodynamics and all that - i made his hair.... more normal, because i really hate drawing kaito’s stupid spiky hair! now he has a little headband flattening his wild hair

shuichi: - his design in canon, while... nice, it’s very plain. so i kept the general look and feel of the canon uniform but adding some touches that feel personal to shuichi, like the turtleneck with sleeves that cover his palms. it gives him a more reclusive look, somebody who prefers being in their comfort zone

kaede: - she’s the first one i started with, so she ended up being a bit of a “basis” for the rest of the designs, considering how different my design is from her canon one. personally, dislike the skintight sweater vest, it doesnt look comfortable NOR does it suit kaede’s personality (imo) so i decided to give her an outfit that makes her look loose, carefree, but still naive and inexperienced. - ponytail, i just think kaede would prefer as well, her canon design has such a round hair shape and it looks silly if i focus on her silhouette too much. shes like a bobblehead

maki: - HOLY SHIT, maki i had a good time redesigning, since i harbor nothing but disdain for how she looks in canon. her stupid edgy red/black seifuku with thigh highs and mile long hair just was too much for me to bear. - i gave her an outfit that seems serious, but still cutesy and nonthreatening. i took her red/black palette and turned up the warmness a bit so she has more browns and maroons that give the impression she’s warmer than she acts like she is - her pigtails are much shorter as well-- i cant decide if theyre clip-ons or her real hair, but at least theyre shorter. honestly, i know she’s supposed to be the ~wooby tragic backstory sexy anime girl~, but her mile long pigtails wouldve gotten her ass yoinked from behind and killed long ago. so i chopped them. also, she’s got a handgun tucked in the back of her pants, hidden by her sweater’s bagginess. no more lame knives for you maki, you get a gun

korekiyo: - just like with himiko’s design, i was mostly just having fun with korekiyos redesign. i like his canon design, but i wanted to try my hand at giving him a much more androgynous look. it ties well into the whole sister thing, anyway... - the flowers depicted on his clothing are crudely drawn i admit, but theyre intended to be white lilies, which represent a few things: renewal of the soul, a common funeral flower, commitment and rebirth - i also figured, if im gonna give more girls pants, i should give at least one of the male characters a skirt, and korekiyo is beautiful and i wanted to draw him in drapey clothing.

miu: - and best for last is miu iruma! man, i HATE her canon design, seriously, what a lazy design! they just slapped bondage gear over a pink seifuku and were done with it! dont even get me started on her long, loose and wild hair that would be an utter nightmare for people who work with machines. i decided to keep her wild and long hair, but packed it all in a thick braid, because it ended up looking surprisingly good for her. besides, she’d probably make some innuendo about it being the “perfect to use as a reign from behind” or something lmao - i also changed her pink seifuku into a frilly, steampunk-styled shirt with the straps and gear on top to kind of... hold it into a specific shape. - we were ROBBED of miu with cute overalls in one of her beta designs, so i gave them back. i rly kinda kept in mind the mindset of “if i was miu iruma, what would *I* personally choose from my wardrobe to feel attractive and powerful?” - i wanted to give her a toolbelt, but thought it would look a little cluttered on the design. but she likely uses one regularly

#danganronpa #danganronpa v3 #new danganronpa v3 #ndrv3 #v3 #kokichi oma #shuichi saihara #kaede akamatsu #kaito momota #maki harukawa #miu iruma #korekiyo shinguji #himiko yumeno #villainous art #mine #redesign #danganronpa redesign

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crqstalite · 10 months

Text

[2] love from the other side -

This city always hangs a little bit lonely on me Loose, like a kid playing pretend in his father's suit I'd never go, I just want to be invited, oh Got to give up Get the feeling, get the feeling Don't fight it, fight it

chapter summary: no one said raising a galaxy would be easy, not with thousands of people relying on one organization and their pathfinders. and yet talis is still in this meeting, pretending like it is.

[set post-mass effect andromeda.] [female ryder/jaal ama darav, male ryder/cora harper] prev chapter > next chapter

chapter specific warnings: none

October 2nd, 2820 [1 year and 7 months since arrival to Andromeda] - Nexus Operations

Logs: Talis Meissa Ryder-Lucero

“We need the space, Ryder. People are waking up almost everyday, they need places to live and cultivate their lives. We can’t be dealing with restrictions and outright bans from worlds we already have rudimentary outposts on.”

Does he ever stop talking? Talis wonders, squeezing her eyes shut as she she rubs at her temples. Tann had called a meeting in the newly constructed council chambers specifically to discuss more immigration efforts from the Nexus with the Council and Pathfinders. That was fine, she doesn't think that the nine of them in leadership had ever had a meeting together after Hyperion's crash on Meridian. It was nice almost, to not have to play telephone with every leader and send out emails to the other Pathfinders — or receive them. But two hours deep and the only thing they haven’t circled argued about is exploring other uninhabitable planets with plans to terraform. Fine by her, it’d take some decades even with the research they continued to fine tune, and it was just up her alley, but the Council’s lack of consideration about already existing Angaran ownership over the cluster was about to cause her yet another migraine.

It happened in her mother’s and father’s respective home countries, and she’d be damned if she let it happen here, under her watch.

At the very least, the chairs were comfy, as she sits smack dab in the middle of the other Pathfinders, with the Moshae at one end of the table and Tann at the other. The coffee could be better (if she were really working as well as they said, she could get some of the good stuff soon right?), and the new uniforms could arguably be better. They look like Nexus cheerleaders, long pullover turtlenecks and slacks colored in white and blue with the Initiative insignia over the chest. And not the cute kind.

Raeka’s pin glints off the light in the room, causing her to look away from the Salarian. In her brief moment of distraction, she carefully avoids the critical glance he gives her that Addison mirrors directly across from her. Her mind tended to wander in these discussions, mostly because she had plenty to offer and few willing ears.

That’d changed at least, since Moshae Sjefa had accompanied her, considering Talis had appointed her as the Heleus ambassador a few months ago. To the disappointment of most of the council — Tann in particular because it put the Moshae a step beneath him in terms of power — but Talis was nothing if not a regular disappointment these days. The older Angara was a comforting and reasonable presence, almost a friend, but she's sure the meeting is already taking more of a toll on her than either of them had bargained for. Tann, of course, was trying to run the show like it was his, and Addison wasn’t far behind — though their interests diverged, their tactics at the table didn’t. She couldn’t help but feel sorry for the Moshae, surrounded by people who wanted her land that barely helped her take her own back. It didn’t help that, much like Talis herself, she was a scientist. One respected by her people, but at her core she was a woman who enjoyed the confines of her lab, not the boardroom.

She'd make sure to send a fruit basket to her office when she returned to Aya. And maybe some Angaran liquor.

"We do not have the resources to support your exponential growth onto your 'habitats'," The Moshae says to her right, the picture of calm but her tense mannerisms speak a different story, lips pressed together in a thin line, "With the Kett gone, we are just now able to reclaim the worlds they took from us. We appreciate all the Pathfinder and Initiative have done for us, but not only do these worlds need time to heal, we also need the time to find our footing again in our home."

"Meridian has pushed the time table forward, Moshae," Addison responds to her left, folding her hands in front of her. She’s a little less wound up these days, not quite relaxed — Talis thinks this would cause her to implode — but with outposts running and people moving in, she’s at least more reasonable. Less cold. Less likely to yell at her in the middle of Operations at least. Talis prefers her like this, hair growing into a comfortable auburn bob around her ears, but the way she seems so confident about her next steps is bordering on stubborn, "With it effectively terraforming Heleus' vault planets faster than traditionally, we're already seeing the effects of it on Elaaden, Voeld, even Kadara and Eos are almost mimicking desert regions on Earth. Our scientists are amazed, these worlds could hold the population of Earth twice over.”

"We have the people ready to build and ready to live on these planets. While we support the Angara's efforts to rebuild their own civilization, understand that we need the space to be able to survive as well." Tann adds, standing at the end of the long table. If Talis wasn't well-acquainted with him, she would say he was intimidating. After all, he was still the sole leader of the Initiative by far, and if he really wanted, he could continue making her life a living hell should she step too far out of bounds. But considering that she is, he's not. Regardless of if he stands some feet above her, she’s long shed the internal fear of a man who could barely see past his own interests. He was too cold, too analytical for her tastes. He valued himself above others, and that grinded against her gears.

She carefully began testing the waters of working indirectly against him in the last few months. Less afraid to speak up to him, or go over his metaphorical head someone more sympathetic to get access or permission somewhere.

Her father would call it using her resources.

He doesn’t like this new fact about Talis, considering how many flickering glances he directs towards her, likely unhappy with how she leans back into her chair, arms crossed over her chest.

But what was he going to do about it? Scold her like a child?

(He'd tried this, and quickly discovered using her father or her age as an insult was unlikely to get him anywhere. She'd already beat herself up over both of those topics, it was unlikely he could do anymore damage that she hadn't done already.)

The Salarian was smart at least, she would give him that. Calculating and talented in his own right. And while he was usually bargaining for his own gain, he rarely forgot about the rest of the Initiative. Leadership could be worse, it’s one of the few things she tells herself at night so she can sleep a little easier.

The Moshae muses on this, pursing her lips, "Director, forgetting even that planets like Voeld are our homeworlds, these worlds are still incredibly fragile. Voeld itself is speeding through an ice age, causing irreversible damage to existing flora that can not reasonably keep up with development. Harvesting them for further resources in the way you say you need could cause more damage that the Jardaans' Vaults can not repair."

“We’ll never know if we don’t try, and we can’t afford to be playing it safe when projected numbers say the Nexus will reach critical capacity within the next decade. We don’t have the same space as the Citadel does, even with the construction efforts.” Tann rebuffs.

“Then that,” The Moshae stands herself, on equal footing with Tann. Her eyes narrow at him, hands planted on the conference table, “Is poor planning on your part.”

“Will Meridian be available for colonization efforts any time soon?” The pair of leaders go quiet at Vedaria’s question, and she seems almost sheepish when all eyes land on her. The few months of being one of the other Pathfinders has done her some good, at least she’s beginning to contribute to discussions now, usually with her people’s interests in mind. Though she has centuries on Talis, she still doesn’t have the same experience yet as a Pathfinder, clear through her nervous picking at her clothing. She’s not a public speaker, far more a follower than a leader, but she was eager to do her best at the job. Her commando training at least came in handy in firefights. Talis motions for her to sit up, the universal moniker to be more confident in oneself. The Asari sighs before continuing, smoothing out her uniform top and sitting straighter, “If we only have certain places to go on Eos and restricted areas on Kadara, then shouldn’t we turn to expanding the Port? Meridian is basically our next Omega, it’s for everyone.”

Ding, Talis winces at the analogy, but she gets the point. Common space with a decently high crime record, but she wasn’t wrong that population spread indicated plenty of different species took refuge there. Omega itself was also a massive space station.

“Meridian is still an unknown, there are mainly concerns about it being safe past the perimeter we’ve set up. Minor encounters with the wildlife are common, but they seem docile. Still, venturing further into the jungles isn’t wise, especially considering that we do have concerns about setting up proper interstellar travel for new Human colonists,” Kandros answers, and Talis inwardly cringes when she sees Vedaria’s shoulders fall. The asari folds in on herself while the military director continues, “Not forgetting that we have yet to scout it. We haven’t had a Pathfinder team on planet yet.”

“Do we really need a Pathfinder to clear the way? We have APEX teams for that, especially knowing that Meridian is a Gaea world anyway. All of your Human specialists and scientists, whatnot, they can keep themselves entertained for years there. We just need to venture out from the Port, set up our first real cities and—“

“And yet, do you really know anything about the Jardaan, Director? Or the Remnant?” Talis finally asks, leaning back in her own chair when she cuts the man off. His eyes narrow at her, and she takes that as an offer to continue, “It’s not like you were the one chasing down Remnant leads all this time or anything but hey, what do I know?”

“Now isn’t the time to be chasing after our new Protheans, Ryder. We can ask those questions later, when we actually have labs that aren’t glorified closets in Nexus operations.”

“If you’re planning on settling Meridian, we’re going to need to know a lot more about it before we start putting down skyscrapers.” Talis had already had her reservations about settling Meridian, mostly for the sole reason that she still had years worth of things to discover on planet. Even Peebee was still incredulous over the wealth of data left behind in the vault, and not all of it pointed towards things being as easy as they’d hoped.

This was also ignoring that the Tempest crew was just now getting back to real work, months after Meridian had been fought over, enough time for retrofits and time to heal. The way the bruise under her new, admittedly soft turtleneck, rubs against the fabric still makes her wince as she leans her elbows against the table, “My team and I are still sifting through just what was inside the main vault. We haven’t even begun to touch what ecology was affected by us traipsing there while we were chasing the Archon, and I can’t imagine the kind of disruption we might have caused to the local flora and fauna. Who’s to say we won’t cause that as well if we start building before we understand what’s going on?”

“Then what plan do you have, Ryder? I’ve accepted humanity taking Meridian for themselves, and Ryder-1 when that is suitable for life. But the people coming off the Arks still need homes. Not everyone coming out of stasis, regardless of species, wants to live on the Nexus or play in an endless lottery to live in a shoebox in one of the outposts.” The Salarian paces at the end of the table, his tone just edging on frustration enough to know that he’d probably send a long email after this meeting just so Talis knew how angry with her he was. She’d make a mental note to have SAM archive it as soon as it came in.

She doesn’t think he’s entirely wrong. The Nexus had only really been functional for a year and some months, with construction stopping and starting for various reasons. They’re likely still at only maybe fifty percent capacity, and that was still an optimistic guess. While she could be incredibly proud of her work to get outposts set up as well, if she tried to say that most of them besides Prodromos weren’t glorified towns with ready-made cardboard boxes for buildings…

She’d be one hell of a liar.

"I'm not advising for it to be forever, the plan was to give it another year just to see what we were sitting on," Talis says, holding up her hands in the universal 'back off' sign, "We still barely understand the Remnant to begin with. We don't know what extent the vaults terraform to, I mean, hell, they could swing us pretty wildly the other direction. The Moshae’s right — Voeld’s speeding ice age is already upsetting most of its natural functions. Who knows, that might kill off just about all of the natural flora and fauna on planet. Do we really need to be desettling that too?"

"I've seen our projected data from our scientists. Myself and Ryder have collaborated with them -- it is not unlike work I took on in the Milky Way to restore biodiversity on my homeworld. But this...this is on such a large scale and is incredibly delicate," Raeka nods to her left, resting her chin on her propped up hands, sweeping those present with a raised brow. That was one thing Talis was still semi-surprised about, but nonetheless grateful for. Raeka’s background in biology, "Still, I am not a woman without reason. Stalling out wave three is our best bet considering we're somehow in the middle of another one. Finishing wave two and supporting our already bloated population is better than continuing on our crash course.”

Talis agrees, shrugging her uninjured shoulder noncommittally, "Leusinia is still working on waking back up leadership properly, and Natanus is still finding people across the cluster. I say give them the resources to house their wave ones, let them start up their respective initiatives. Then we really need to cut off anymore development."

"If it's purely a numbers game, I say we keep developing the outposts. They're already functioning like Ports, we might as well give them the support to act as such." Avitus says, distant to her right., "A lot of them are either dealing with Exiles or pockets of Kett, if we're quick and organized, we could have proper towns within the year. It might get a little tight for a while on supplies until we can right supply routes, but it'd be for the best. Wake enough people to man the stations. After that, we put a pin in this and come back when the Angara are ready for more of us."

“The Krogan have already found a foothold on Elaaden, and whether we like it or not, they’re expanding. We’re expanding. As long as we don’t step on any Angaran toes, slow and steady is best.” Kesh steps in for Talis this time, gesturing gently at the Moshae, who nods to her in agreement, “I agree with the Pathfinders. We can’t be waking people in droves like we’ve been doing, it’s unsustainable. Once we finish waking wave two, we’re going to need to wait until we can start with the non-essentials.”

“Even if we slow down off projected numbers, which we have already, we can’t wait forever, a lot of humans are already coming off the procreation blockers, whether through medservices or naturally. We’ve been getting news of newborns just about every other day. Asari are following rather closely, we’ve got doctors here on the Nexus studying effects on human and Asari pregnancy here in the Heleus Cluster. I’d argue that the Turians and Salarians aren’t far behind, those families need places to go. Need places to thrive.” Addison rebukes, tapping the table with a finger. Talis makes another mental note to see how Dr. Kennedy was doing these days. Likely that was exactly who she had on her mind, and it likely didn’t help Kesh much to know her own clutch was growing up in a cluster with barely enough for anyone, “It may not be ideal, but we need these towns and cities faster than a decade from now. More than just outposts, more than just one on every habitable planet we've come across. Moshae, certainly with the Kett gone, your people are considering similar family-building moves? There shouldn’t be anything saying we can’t build alongside you.”

“Alongside is not a problem, Director Addison. The problem I have is that your Initiative outnumbers my people perhaps 3 to 1. For every settlement we build as we begin to right ourselves again from years under the Kett, you will have two more.” The Moshae answers, furrowing her brow, “I am not someone who wants to see a child of any race starve, but keeping the Cluster healthy and free of any unnecessary climate-triggering pollution is a priority of mine."

"The Initiative isn't in the business of unnecessary pollution, Moshae." That much Talis agrees with Addison on, considering the entire endeavor worked rather tirelessly in the Milky Way to keep their carbon emissions under a certain level. It meant at least they wouldn't be dragging the footprint of massive corporations with them to their new home, "We aren't asking for a lot. Not in the grand scheme of things -- if you allow us to colonize portions of Eos and Kadara, and keep our outposts as outreach communities that could grow into Ports over time, you would have little reason to worry. Our trade will benefit you just as much as it will our people."

"There is not much you could be trading that we do not already have ourselves. And there still lingers the problem of your outcasts -- who you've allied with for the time being? You can blame them for our supplies becoming more of an issue." Talis actually does shrink under the Moshae's concerned gaze when she speaks again. While Reyes has more unorthodox methods than his predecessor, it would still be remiss not to mention the damage the exiles had already done by effectively pushing the Angara back off another planet, regardless of their criminal status. That was one of the few things she was just unable to do much about herself, especially with so many facts missing when she'd landed.

Though this is one of the first times that Talis is hearing the Exiles may be directly interfering with the Angara’s supplies outside of Kadara. She scribbles down a note for herself on her datapad. Something told her that Reyes might know more than he was letting on.

"Not officially, but the exiles that have accepted help from us again shouldn't continue to be a problem on Kadara -- we have a presence there now," Kandros responds. His subvocals drop deeper, "Those causing you problems are no allies of ours."

"You bring these unknowns, and with no offense to our Pathfinder Ryder, who has done the best with what she has, your Initiative has yet to bring anything but turmoil. Uncertainty. We thank you for your efforts and the hope Ryder's team brought us as a cluster, but we implore you to step back for long enough that the Angara can thrive again -- on our own terms.” The entire conference table silences at this, the elder Angara's words punctuated with an air of finality. Addison leans back in her chair, hands folded in front of her while Tann finally takes a seat. The Moshae seems some semblance of satisfied, and collects her datapad under an arm, "If that is all, I will be on my way."

"Of course, Moshae. We appreciate the time you took to meet us here," Kesh responds in kind, tone softening some. The Moshae appreciates it, evident in the small smile that crosses her features. If there was anything Talis could depend on here, it was that Kesh was willing to do her best to make sure the Angara felt welcome. Even if that went directly against her better interests as superintendent.

The others could learn a lesson or two from her.

"And Ryder?" Talis lifts her head to look over her shoulder at the retreating woman, "I'd like to speak to you about an issue after your meeting. Find me in my office later."

"Will do." Talis nods, and the door slides closed behind her. She's itching to leave and follow her right at this very second, anything to get out of the stuffy conference room and get back to work, but the way Tann is looking at her says she's nowhere near getting to leave early. She doesn't need to be here for the rehashing and debrief of a meeting she was already in. And if he really had an issue, he could go to any of the other three pathfinders currently present to take care of it.

She sighs, crossing her legs underneath her and flickering her datapad off. Talis sharply turns to Tann, setting her jaw, "You know better than anyone we have to cut back on how many people we're waking, Tann. Are you really about to drive off our own allies out here because you can't stop building for two seconds?"

Talis thinks she sees his eye twitch, "We didn't come out here to be told that we have to bend to someone else. We've tried being diplomatic, and as time passes, we're denied at every turn it seems. We need the resources, we're just getting on our own two feet out here."

"Those resources belong to the Angara. Your plans are outdated. This isn't the Milky Way."

"That's the exact reason we need to continue on course. We've been relying on stores from the Milky Way since the Nexus uprising." Addison answers, her response cold, "The colonies are just now able to begin producing useful and valuable materials, but we have no economy. The Angara do, but trade agreements are slow to come in. Credits are good on the Nexus and not for much else other than whatever it is that the Vortex sells. People need a sense of normalcy, and normalcy isn't going to come if we have to wait longer and longer on our cities."

"We're not going to get normalcy, we're in a completely new galaxy, Director," Talis bites back, frustrated. Normalcy would’ve been her father being here instead of her, normalcy likely would’ve been settling Habitat 7, normalcy would’ve likely been them not having to have dealt with the Kett or Angara at all. And yet here they were, "We're guests here right now. If we weren't prepared to not be the first ones here, if we weren't prepared to run into roadblocks, run into problems with supply chains, even have problems with settling completely new ecosystems, then what was it all for, Addison?"

The woman across from her presses her lips into a thin line, not meeting her eyes. She knew Addison still had some lingering guilt over the Nexus uprising, still had problems trying to rationalize all of her choices away and coming to terms with the ones she had already made. Talis gestures across the table, "What did we lose so many of our Krogan citizens for, huh? Every one of us at this table risked our lives to get here to Andromeda, and every one of us risked everything to beat out the Archon. And we didn't just do that for ourselves -- we did it for the cluster. And that cluster includes the Angara, whether you all like it or not."

"Those plans are drenched in blood," Raeka adds, "As soon as every Ark and the Nexus hit the Scourge, we weren't working on six hundred year old plans anymore."

"We aren't coming from a place of malice, Ryder," Kesh's softer tone acts as a counterbalance to the rest of leadership, "I understand better than anyone what it feels like to have someone else come in on your home uninvited. That's why I would be willing to slow production, slow waking waves until the Angara are ready for us. But --"

"There will always be people depending on us to feed and home them. Not just our people on the Nexus, but everyone you opened up homes to across the cluster. Whether it harms relations for now or not, we can't leave those settlers out to dry. We cannot have another uprising on the Nexus, or add to the Exiles numbers because we have unsatisfied citizens," Tann's expression hardens, and Kesh visibly winces at this when he interrupts her, "We'll continue forward with a modified plan that will hopefully meet the Moshae's request for it to be less resource-intensive, but we will have to shoulder the outward facing consequences until she allows us into more of the cluster."

Consequences. Talis relaxes marginally, that she could deal with. They didn't need to be fighting a battle on multiple fronts anymore. Dealing with angry citizens wasn't exactly in her job description, but what was anymore? Earning the Angara's trust and respect was priority number one for now. If that meant dealing out rations to every settlement for a few months, then so be it. They had enough to make it happen — and they really needed to make it happen.

"Sounds like that's a meeting adjourned then. Rix, I need you in APEX operations later this afternoon. Raeka, same with you, we need to discuss your Pathfinder team assignments." Kandros is already standing from his seat, making a beeline for the door. She could always rely on the Turian to usually have good interests in mind, and also keep himself out of most arguments the best he could. She'd have to check in with him later as well, see what they could do about getting scout teams out into the undiscovered regions of Meridian.

The other leaders file out of the room as quietly and disgruntled as they'd come in earlier. Kesh briefly puts a hand on her shoulder, squeezing as she walks by. She appreciates the vote of confidence almost, knowing the Krogan was doing her best to support the Initiative and keep from making waves. She'd have to speak with the superintendent as well about supply chain issues to Voeld and Kadara soon. She hadn't thought it was so dire until she'd actually looked over reports from herself and Addison. She hadn't exactly turned a blind eye, but she wouldn't lie and say it hadn't slipped her mind in between getting out of the medbay and working on smaller projects.

Rations indeed.

With the room empty, every pathfinder next to her settles back into their chairs. Leadership seemed to always activate the professional in all of them, but outside of official meetings, it was significantly more casual. Various expressions of relaxing or stretching spread across them as Vederia gets up to lean her forearms on the top of her chair. She turns to Talis, scrunching her face up into an expression of distaste, worry flowing underneath it, "Do you really think it's such a good idea to work against leadership so much, Ryder? They don't exactly seem happy with you right now."

"They're less mad at me, and more mad at the fact they're not getting what they want right now. I’m just happening to stand in the way, because a lot of the little things matter, and I don’t want them bulldozing over the Angara either," She answers, flickering her datapad on to search in her documents from this quarter's report. She sucks her teeth, almost all in the red. Not that it deviated much from last quarter, but still not great news, "I'm not sure which is worse for me."

"Still...a lot of people are counting on us to do -- something. They're not wrong that waiting much longer will probably cause us more unrest. We're supposed to be pathfinding, and right now we're not doing anything useful," Vedaria remarks, "We came off the arks and then now we're still waiting. They don’t really have crops or food yet, everything is flash-frozen from the Milky Way. Nothing’s stable yet. I mean, what about you, Raeka? A lot of your people are still in stasis, and so are mine. The people that are out are getting restless about their families."

Raeka hums as a response, opening her omni-tool to type away on her forearm. Her dark eyes give little away when she turns to the Asari, "That's part of being a pathfinder, Damali. Part of being part of any leadership. You were a commando once, sometimes you have to make the hard decisions to stop from causing more little fires everywhere else. We wake more people, we set fires. We wait, we’re able to work on putting out a few through trade contracts with the Angara."

"Not like life out here is much better. Besides the glitz and glamour of being in Andromeda, we don’t exactly have a lot to offer right now for people waking up," Avitus's mandibles flare gently at the comment, flexing his fingers out in front of him, "We can't solve one problem without creating more. But leadership think it's worth creating more problems to get rid of the main one right now. Addison's right, more people means a better functioning economy for everyone."

“The economy means nothing if we can’t build anywhere for them to live.” Raeka says.

"And the Moshae's in our way right now," Vedaria gestures with her hands. Her expression dulls before she raises a brow, "Why doesn't she want us on Voeld anyway? Seems like it being as freezing as it is, they'd want to be anywhere but."

"Well, most if not all the worlds originally belonged to the Angara. It's why we're not settling Havarl or Aya -- those are their homeworlds. Voeld was a massive colony before the scourge hit it. They're still finding artifacts there from centuries ago," Talis stands from her own chair, groaning as she rolls her shoulder. It cracks audibly, "So was Kadara, but that and Elaaden were settled before we woke up. The Moshae already doesn't want us on Kadara but she's giving us special privilege there because they need help clearing out the Exiles."

Vedaria considers this, "So we have what, three worlds and the asteroid field to colonize freely? In theory it's not so bad, but the fact those worlds only really have small areas where the vaults have cleared up their respective problems..."

"It's probably closer to one world. Eos is the only world a lot of us can survive on, and we only really have so much built out there already. Whenever we adapt to whatever the Krogan have going on, we earn another planet," The sarcastic tone of the Turian at least makes her chuckle while he fiddles with the collar of his uniform. His smile is dim but genuine, knocking Vedaria on the shoulder gently, "Still, we can't moan and whine like everyone else is. Best thing we can do is handle the problems the Moshae mentioned. Clearing out the more violent exiles might earn us some more land."

"I'm assembling a smaller pathfinder team myself, I'm planning to head out and see what I can do about them. I would like your help, Ryder," Raeka nods to her, pushing herself away from the conference table and standing. She collects her things methodically, swinging her back over her shoulder, "You seem to know a good deal about the Charlatan. If you can get him talking, it might help us map the movements of the Exiles not allied with him."

Talis nods, "Mayor Tate's probably going to need help on that front. Ditaeon could use the support, I'll see about his monthly report soon."

"That'd be best," Raeka looks past Talis, "Rix, has Kandros said anything on what the timeline of getting APEX teams out onto Meridian is looking like?"

"All I've heard is soon. Think a lot of teams have been assigned out to Elaaden or helping with the Roekaar...or still dealing with pockets of Kett everywhere. We're just too thin to spare anyone right now." He answers, making similar moves to pack up his own materials, "With Ryder's team already out and completing operations, it wasn't exactly priority number one to get my Pathfinder team up and operational. Especially with my ark scattered out into spirits knows where."

"Then you and Damali should see about your respective arks waking your teams, or creating new ones. Surely you both can get a foothold on discovering what Meridian has in store for us," Her towering figure is commanding enough that all Talis can do is nod in response, "I'll let you know when I have something to go on Ryder."

"Same here."

And with that, the conference room is left empty. Vedaria shuffles out last, the door sliding closed behind her before Talis checks her omni-tools messaging system, taking a sip from her cold coffee. Bitter.

Three from her brother, asking after her for their lunch appointment tomorrow. She’d almost forgotten, having to see if Harry would finally clear him for active duty with the Pathfinder team before the Tempest took off again. Updates from Gil and Kallo on the Tempest retrofits. It seems neither of them were happy to be having others in the ships engines -- she's glad they can relate on something. A few from Vetra on procuring supplies for the crew, at that she shoots back a message to see if she could find any Piattos with some of the new defrosted shipments. Peebee has forwarded quite a few new documents on findings from Meridian. She saves those into her personal drive to read later in the evening. The few paragraphs she skims over look terribly interesting, something she’ll probably stay up later than is healthy poring over.

A few from Jaal, one correcting himself once he remembered she was in a meeting for the afternoon. She smiles at the soft greetings. It wasn’t enough to completely balm over her struggles from her earlier conversations, but it was nice to remember someone was in her corner.

Turning towards the massive bay window displaying the galaxy beyond her, Talis sighs. Distant stars twinkle back at her, and the long unfinished arms of the Nexus great her like a cold hello. With all the work she had done, it still felt like she was taking her first bumbling steps into Andromeda. And yet, they were more than a year and a half in. One problem had been fixed, but more were on the horizon. These were the ones she wasn’t trained for. She wasn’t trained to fix supply issues that couldn’t be ended with an operation out to a distant station. She wasn’t trained to play diplomat, and certainly wasn’t trained to deal with the politics of situations either. But now she had to, and she’s waffling over them.

Talis hesitates, wondering what her father would’ve done. Then, wondering what her brilliant mother would have done. She comes up empty. Unsure. All she knows is that they would’ve done a better job than her.

Turning over her shoulder, she runs a hand through her hair as she leaves the council chambers. They still had a long way to go.

#oc: talis ryder #oc #original character #verse: so much (for) stardust #mass effect andromeda #my writing #HOLY #this is a tank at 6k words #good night everybody lmao

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kadavernagh · 1 year

Text

Mock Turtleneck || Regan & Leila

TIMING: Current LOCATION: The Party Thrifter PARTIES: Regan and Leila SUMMARY: Turtlenecks! Leila has them! Regan came by to peruse the sweaters Leila had set aside for her, but one of the garments is a little more than meets the eye.

The idea of not only purchasing someone else’s clothes, but wearing them, made Regan’s skin crawl. How was she to know if the clothes were even cleaned? Treated for bedbugs? Well-made? At least the store didn’t smell of any biohazards. She carried her pessimism into the store, even ignoring another wave of bristling across her skin as she approached the counter. Yeah. She just really didn’t like the idea. That was all. Even though it had an aria of death to it. Regan still maintained professionalism, propping up a bag to show the woman working there. “Are you Leila? Dr. Kavanagh. We discussed your turtlenecks online. I brought– ” Had she mentioned what she did for a living? “I’m a medical examiner, and I had some spare lab coats at the morgue. “Loved,” as you would describe them.” A favor for a favor. It was a social more that had been drilled into her over the last several years, even as it started to feel out of place in coastal Maine, among these people.

It had been an incredibly slow day. Boring, really. Leila had taken to laying in the back room on her makeshift little bed, staring up at the ceiling while Ella Fitzgerald crooned out of the little speaker on her phone (Spotify, a very good invention. Not as good as a record player) rather than sitting at the counter. She’d finally gotten comfortable in her solitude when the front door jingled, alerting her that someone had found their way into her shop. She scrambled to get up, adjusting herself as best she could as she went in an attempt to seem more professional… and not like she’d been laying down on the job. The woman that approached the counter was not what she would call her usual customer. If she even had a usual. But as soon as she opened her mouth, Leila knew who she was and how to help. “Nice to meet you Dr. Kavanagh… yes, I’ve got the turtlenecks…”

If she was trying to appear more professional, she wasn’t doing a very good job at it, shuffling around like she’d suddenly forgotten where she’d put everything. Where the hell had the turtlenecks gone off to? She’d had them a little bit ago. She had nearly scoured every inch behind the counter when she turned, only to find them… exactly where she had started. Lovely. Sometimes the store drove her a bit mad. “Here we are- turtlenecks!”

What was that? The bristling wasn’t subsiding at all. Was there something dead here? A decomposing raccoon in the rafters? Regan tried to shake the sensation away, focusing instead on the way Leila circled the store as if in search of the turtlenecks. Didn’t she just say she had them? Although, looking around the chaotic interior of the shop, it was no surprise that things got misplaced; it was the polar opposite of the sterile morgue environment she was used to. “Do you want me to help–” But when Leila circled back, the frustration plain on her face gave way to success. Even better. Regan didn’t want to actually touch anything in here unless she was wearing gloves.

The turtlenecks, though – they were pleasing. Regan looked upon them, appreciating just how neutral the colors were, exactly how she’d asked. A couple even looked new, possibly unworn. She nodded, finding them acceptable – perhaps more than acceptable. “These look high quality indeed.” She brushed a hand against the one on the top of the stack. “Feel it, too. How do you price things here? You must get all sorts of items of varying states of use.” Items was more accurate than clothes, judging by some of the odd decor. For a second, just a split second, Regan could have sworn the top turtleneck moved under her hand. The wind, she decided. It got inside. It was an easy enough thought to discard. Anyway, there was more to do. Regan set the bag with the lab coats on the counter, trying to steal a look over it as she did so. “Do you stay out here all day?”

Leila didn’t get why she thought the turtlenecks had disappeared on her. Things had a tendency to pop in and out of existence at the store from time to time- it was as if The Party Thrifter was singlehandedly determined to keep itself in stock. But usually, usually, the things that made their way to the counter, the things that she set aside for incoming customers stayed put. Were flederprey tricksters? She knew they were constantly skittering about above her head, but as far as she knew, they had never shown any interest in the clothing…

At least Regan seemed happy about the turtlenecks. There was a certain satisfaction that came with the happiness of those who came into the shop. If Leila could not create happiness in the minds of those who slept, then she would simply have to create little happinesses in their waking lives. It didn’t make up for the nightmares- nothing ever would. But it brought her a little peace of mind. She might be damned, but at least, she thought, she could still make people smile from time to time.

“Things that are very old or very rare to come across are usually on the more expensive side. However, sometimes I get damaged pieces that I’ve tried to fix up a bit. Those are always discounted.” She folded her arms, leaning against the countertop, fingertips lightly drumming against wood. “But most everything is reasonably priced in here. Plus, I’m always good for a bit of a haggle.” Leila gave the woman in front of her a little wink. “And, no. I don’t stay out here all day. Sometimes I go in the back.”

Never one to dawdle, Regan simply nodded at Leila’s answers, wondering just how often she needed to reject pieces that were dropped off here due to them being unfixable. Surely, as in life, some things were beyond repair. She supposed it took an optimist to do this job – to see the value in so many broken and bent things and to find them new places in this world. The thought made her grumble, but she kept it to herself. “Well,” Regan said, gesturing down to the turtlenecks. Wait, had the sleeve been sticking out before? “How much do I owe you for these?” The word owe burned her lips; she knew just how potent it was, had it hammered into her and had suffered through her own broken deals in lieu of training wheels. But there seemed little risk in a response that wasn’t financial.

Regan’s hand dipped into her pocket, ready to pull her wallet out, but she felt it, something soft winding around her wrist. “No, I insis–” But it wasn’t Leila’s hand, come to stop her from paying, but the arm of one of the turtlenecks. “How are you doing that?” She gave Leila a sharp look, not appreciating the sleight of hand, then glanced down at the turtleneck again. Its sleeve whipped through the air like a blind serpent. Regan doubled back, the turtleneck skittering toward the edge of the counter. “This isn’t funny. I came here to purchase a turtleneck, not be pranked. How juvenile.”

Was there a flederprey out from the ceiling? Or a rat- it could have been a rat… or one of those god-damned crabs that seemed so determined to make the shop their new home. But Leila could have sworn she saw one of the sleeves shift as if moved by some unseen hand. If she still needed sleep, she would have blamed exhaustion. She stuffed the sleeve back into the pile with an expert hand, forcing the pile of turtlenecks to return to its former state of tidiness. She was about to calculate how much to charge her latest customer, when she saw it happen. She saw the sleeve reach out from the pile and wrap itself around Regan’s wrist. Her mouth hung open in shock.

Ghosts? Was the shop haunted and she hadn’t known? She knew the clothing had personality, but this was something entirely else. Leila slammed her hand down on the shirt, but the damned thing skittered away like it was alive. “I’m not!” She cried out as she started after the shirt that was running away from her. “I love a good joke, but I’m not fond of practical ones, and I’m not magic-” She lunged to grab the shirt, only to have it slap her hand away. Was it too early to close up shop and call it a day?

Regan was far from a people person, preferring her patients to come post-mortem, but she still had a decent sense of when someone was being honest, genuine, and the shock all over Leila’s face struck her as real. Not a prank? Not a prank. Regan jerked her hand back from the writhing turtleneck, and Leila had pushed it back to the stack. “I don’t know if you should touch it.” Regan exclaimed, though she didn’t see much of an alternative. “I mean, if it’s not a joke, like you claim, then –” But the turtleneck took off like a skittish cat and darted right between Leila’s legs to avoid being grabbed. As if it… could sense its surroundings. That was an uneasy thought, and Regan chose to relegate it to the back of her brain, where all things banshee and fate lived.

“Then how is it doing this?” Regan asked, frantically turning to Leila, who should have had an answer to what was happening; it was her shop, after all. “Do you have rats? Is there a rat in the turtleneck? Don’t you check the clothes for rodents?” At the mention of rats, the turtleneck froze in place. And then swiveled toward Regan. The neck hole squeezed itself into what could only be described as an offended scowl, but of course, that was nothing more than pareidolia. A scientifically-recognized phenomenon. There was an explanation for all of this.

And then it charged. Quick as hare, it slid back across the floor, empty sleeves flapping in the air. “Get it! Get it!” Regan shouted.

Crrrrk. Oh no. Regan knew what that was – and she was immediately biting her tongue, wishing she could take back the shock that had been in her voice. Behind her, the light above the register cracked, glass raining down on the other turtlenecks and the countertop. She steeled herself, reeled back the shock. It was just a turtleneck. One with some mice or rats or guinea pigs puppeting it from the inside. Nothing alarming. Nothing to raise your voice at. She took a deep breath and turned to Leila, “sorr–” The turtleneck had other ideas.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. Leila was crashing around in an attempt to catch up with the haunted? cursed? possessed? whatever it was turtleneck. The thing was fast- faster than she would have thought a shirt could have been. It dashed right between her legs as if it had known she was going to lunge for it. As if it could see her every movement. The thought set the hair on the back of her neck on end. What the hell was possessing her turtlenecks? She wheeled around on her heels, trying to see where the damned thing had gone to as Regan spoke to her. “I don’t have rats.” Leila gave an indignant huff as she finally locked her eyes on the turtleneck.

In all of the things she had imagined, Leila had never thought she would be watching a woman get charged by a shirt in her shop while she tried to tackle it like it was some runaway pig that had escaped its pen. But there she was, diving after a gray turtleneck in broad daylight. Suddenly, the sound of shattering of glass filled the room. Leila let out a little yelp as bits of the lightbulb from above the register rained down on them. She said a silent prayer that none of the shards had cut her, but she didn’t have the time to worry.

She didn’t have the time to worry because the turtleneck, in all of their distraction over the light, had started to climb up the wall and onto the ceiling like some incredibly strange shirt-spider. Leila stared slack-jawed as the thing inched further and further across the old drop ceiling tiles. It inched itself until it sat hovering above their heads, like some great beast in the wild ready to descend on its prey. It was a shirt. Shirts didn’t hunt people, they were made to be worn by people. And yet… “You keep an eye on it… I’m gonna go get scissors…”

Like some horrible two-limbed spider, the turtleneck scaled the wall, then brachiated from tile to tile like a cotton-clad monkey. Regan only watched, gaping, as glass crunched underneath her feet. At least Leila seemed to be as shocked and confused as she was – if this had been a common occurrence in her shop, Regan might’ve just lost it then and there, and abandoned Reilly in this forsaken town. “Can rats… do that?” She asked, not really caring that Leila would probably take offense again. Finally, the turtleneck stopped, and seemed to stare down at them with its sleeves like springs, waiting for an ambush.

And then Leila was gone. “Keep an eye on it?” Regan hissed under her breath, “How do I even know you’re going to come back? You could just leave. And make a new store. And I’ll be stuck here watching a rodent-filled turtleneck on your ceiling for the rest of… however long mice live.” But even she knew that seemed unlikely. The mice would descend, dropping down on her long before they died. Also, Leila probably wouldn’t leave her store to the turtleneck. She seemed to care about it. So Regan stayed, staring up at the turtleneck she was supposed to be wearing but now grateful she wasn’t, and Cliodhna’s voice rang through her head past all the absurdity. You’re better; on your father’s life, you’re supposed to be better. Succeed, or mark every thread as its own failure. But this was no flesh and blood animal she could wrap her hands around; it had no lungs she could burst. Itt was true, though: this was shaping up to be a failure.

“Get two pairs, please.”

Leila hissed as glass crunched under Regan’s feet, shimmering in fine granules. It would be a nightmare to clean up. She carefully pushed herself to her feet, being careful not to press her hand into some hidden sliver of glass, lest she add to the glittering mess. “I don’t think so. At least, not any rat I’ve ever seen” As offended as she’d been at first at the suggestion that there might be rodents living in her walls, it was at least more plausible thant a very angry turtleneck. That didn’t make sense. Logic dictated that clothing did not come to life and try to kill it’s wearer. Though, of course, she defied logic…

“I’m not going to leave my shop, I paid way too much to get it.” Leila muttered as she tiptoed behind the counter and into the back room. She felt stupid, running away from a shirt. A drawer got yanked open and a pair of scissors were removed. Her own hand moved to her waist, where the knife Metzli had given her lived, patiently waiting for some need of protection. Would Metzli think her stupid for using a knife in a shirt fight? It didn’t matter, really. The turtleneck needed to go, and she only had the one pair of scissors. Grab a broom too… maybe you can whack it down. She crept back into the main room before sliding the scissors across the floor at Regan.

“I’m gonna swing at it with the broom. When it falls, we go for it. Deal?”

One pair of scissors and a broom, then. Regan eyed Leila’s return and nodded, understanding she was meant to catch the scissors at her feet. She didn’t like taking her eye off the turtleneck – it was hanging there threateningly like a strangling vine – but she was quick. She also couldn’t overlook the way the scissors parted a light covering glass across the floor. The right thing to do would be to offer to help clean that. She’d consider it.

“Okay, okay, then let’s get rid of this… turtleneck. And see what’s inside.” Regan snipped the air with the scissors, appraising their sharpness. Hardly a scalpel or one of her daggers, but they’d do fine. And Leila looked well-prepared, broom poised like the weapon it was. This was one deal Regan wasn’t going to talk either of them out of; she wasn’t going to risk letting Leila leave this all on her. “Deal.” She said solemnly, the word weaving itself through her, across them, invisibly and unappreciated.

But the turtleneck wasn’t waiting around. As if it heard and understood, it seized the moment, dropping down like a leaden parachute. Close, too close. It nearly landed on her. Regan doubled back, more glass crunching underfoot, and whipped the scissors out in front of her in a blind snip. There was a quiet tear that somehow managed to fill the whole store, and she was stunned to see a small piece of black fabric dangling between the two blades. But it was only a piece.

Where was the – on the ground, the turtleneck spun around an arched upward like an angry cat, missing only a hiss. There was a hole by one of the armpits, but it clearly wasn’t enough to destroy it. And it didn’t slow it down. “Where is it– the door!” Regan called out as the sweater took off in a gallop toward the entrance, hoping Leila could stop it in time.

Leila had never seen a turtleneck look scared before. But as it dropped to the ground, far heavier than any shirt should ever be, she swore that she saw it shaking in fear. Of course a pair of scissors would be scary to fabric. All it took was a few well placed snips and the shirt would be completely unraveled. And it seemed that the turtleneck, somehow, knew that. Regan snipped at the thing wildly, managing to catch the shirt in the armpit.

The shirt seemed incredibly displeased. Well… as displeased as a shirt could seem. She could almost hear the silent growl it gave, daring them to come closer before it made a bolt for the door that had been propped open to let a little fresh air in. Shit. The last thing Deersprings needed was a feral turtleneck bothering unsuspecting patrons of stores and families having a day out.

In a mad dash effort to try and keep the possessed turtleneck from leaving, she charged after it and dove, Metzli’s knife in hand. Metal met with wooden floorboard before Leila found herself splayed out on the ground, all the wind she really didn’t need knocked out of her. There was a rrrrrrrrrrrrrrip as a small chunk of fabric tore off and the turtleneck, the god damned shirt, scuttled off into the street and vanished within mere moments. “Shit.”

The very same bell that chimed when Regan walked into the store sounded again as the turtleneck took its exit, bounding out of the door like a wounded animal that had been shot at. She looked at the scissors in her hand, and the patch of fabric in the other, then out the swinging door. It was gone. She couldn’t even see it. Regan turned to Leila, speechless for a moment. At least the vermin problem was handled… unless there were more of them, ready to puppeteer other garments. But the only word Regan could find was the sentiment Leila had already shared: “Shit.”

#writing #c leila #mock turtleneck

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sir-subpar · 2 years

Text

His Translator 15- Reflection

It's here at last! More Burtmin!

Below the cut! Warning: Blood/Gore is described, and violence.

Summary: Burt thinks about how his views of Henry have changed.

Dating Henry was certainly interesting. Then again, everything with Henry was interesting in one way or another.

Despite Henry being a literal crime boss, he was very sweet.

Sometimes, Burt couldn't believe that they were dating. Then Henry would kiss his hand, or wrap his arm around him, and Burt would be reminded.

He had a boyfriend.

Burt hadn't dated much before Henry. He apparently went on a date once in high school, he didn't know it was a date.

In hindsight, he probably should've noticed the guy was flirting with him. He just assumed the guy was trying to butter him up so Burt would let him copy his homework or something.

He remembered when the guy tried to kiss him, he cringed away in confusion.

Burt was in no way in the closet. He was gay. That was just a fact. Still, the guy wasn't his type. At all.

Burt looked at the topaz top hat Henry gave him months ago for his birthday. He left it on his work desk, by his computer.

He smiled.

Apparently his type was "unpredictable, cuddly, dorky, kleptomaniac with a tendency to not think things through".

He heard someone knock on the door.

Burt pressed a button on his desk, the metal door slid open with a hiss, revealing the very man Burt was thinking about. Henry.

Henry walked in and took a seat next to Burt. He handed Burt a smoothie, and gave him a peck on the cheek.

"Heh, thanks, Henry." A small part of Burt still had to fight the habit of calling him "boss". He was getting close to breaking it though.

Like usual, Henry signed to Burt. Asking him how his day was, updating him on heist plans, the works. It was… nice.

Really nice.

Burt had always been distant with the people around him, tuning them out unless it was necessary to interact. People normally only talked with him when they needed something anyway, so what was the point of trying to get closer? What was the point of an emotional bond in a transactional dynamic?

He only really liked his friend, Sven, and even then he kept him at arm's length for a good while.

He used to be so much more passionate about his work. He worked his ass off when he first joined the clan. When he first became the head of communications, he did so much. He even did jobs outside of his own required responsibilities. He just wanted to be appreciated for his efforts.

It was never enough.

He was "too distant" to people. He was "too blunt". He "didn't dress appropriately". Reginald always complained that he wasn't approachable, and that he was creepy because he "didn't emote enough". It was always some little thing about him that seemed to irk people. No one bothered to get closer to him, so why should he try?

It was hard to shake off the apathy of it all. He stopped doing extra work, just sticking to being the head of communications. He didn't want to admit it, but he was worn out. He was tired of taking on extra work and getting no thanks for it. Why bother? It's not like he got paid extra.

Then Henry showed up. He smashed through the window, held Reginald by the throat with his own golden chain, and took over the clan in a day.

In one bold, sporadic maneuver, Henry, this complete stranger none of them had ever heard of, became the new chief.

No one knew what to expect.

Burt wouldn't admit this out loud to anyone, but a part of him felt the tiniest bit vindicated by Henry's overthrowing of Reginald. He took a bit of enjoyment out of seeing Reginald Copperbottom dragged around by this tall man in a worn out turtleneck sweater who never said a word during all the chaos.

It was also weird how… weirdly intimidating Henry was. Sure, one could argue weather Henry was brave or just stupid.

No one could argue that seeing what Henry did to Reginald's right hand man was… terrifying. Gruesome.

Right was always a force to be reckoned with. This hulking beast of strength that followed Reginald without question. If anyone dared to even look at Reginald wrong, he made an example out of them.

Burt saw it all on his surveillance monitors. Countless bloodstains were smeared on the metal bridge, some of the red ooze dripped off the edge of the bridge. Seeing right on the floor, limbs cut from his body, a mangled face with one empty socket. There was something so surreal about seeing a powerful man on the verge of death.

The sight, even through a screen, made Burt want to vomit.

If it weren't for the fact Burt could hear Right through his headset, struggling to breathe as he choked on his own blood, he would've thought the man was dead by the visual alone.

He'll never forget how tense everyone was around Henry on his first day as chief. With Right still receiving medical care, and Reginald reluctantly following Henry around with a haunting look in his eyes, the power shift hung over everyone's head. The fact he wore Reginald's signature necklace on his hat like a badge of honor, was interesting.

Nobody knew what Henry was thinking.

The clan was quick to notice that Henry didn't talk. For the first couple weeks, Henry never made a peep.

He was daunting.

Burt did what he did best: he hid under a mask of boredom with a monotone voice. He became "boring", in hopes to avoid whatever wrath Henry had.

Then, something strange happened.

When Right emerged from his medically-induced coma, it wasn’t surprising that he immediately started gunning for Henry, pissed that the man who mangled him was technically his new boss. He still wasn’t used to his cybernetics at the time, causing him to angrily stumble around, but that didn’t stop him from attacking Henry. That wasn't all that strange or out of character for Right.

No, the strange part was Henry’s response to it.

Burt, once again, only witnessed the assault through the computer and his headset, but it still surprised him nonetheless.

Right stormed into the cockpit of the airship, yelling obscenities at Henry, Reginald stood behind the cyborg. Burt could tell that Reginald was silently rooting for him.

He couldn’t remember everything Right yelled at Henry, but he did recall some. He remembered his “ears” hurting from Right’s loud voice thundering through his headphones.

“Did you think I was done with you!?” Right boomed. Henry’s expression was odd to Burt. He seemed to only be slightly surprised, like he saw this coming, but the rest of his expression was… hard to read.

“What do you have to say for yourself, huh!?”

Henry was silent, still unreadable. The shock on his face had already faded away. He didn’t look angry, or scared. Just serious?

Right charged at Henry, tackling him to the ground with his hands around his neck. Henry was pinned with his back pressed against the ground.

“What? You think you’re too good to talk? Answer me!” Right tightened his grip, shaking with anger. Henry gripped Right’s wrists, trying in vain to ease the pressure. He could still breathe, but one could tell it was starting to get difficult. Reginald gently put a hand on his organic shoulder. “He doesn’t talk, dear.”

Right scoffed. “He definitely won’t when I’m done with ‘im,” Right’s glare intensified, “As far as I’m concerned, he’s no ‘chief’ of mine.” He growled, tightening his grasp on Henry’s neck. Henry began to gasp, his instincts desperate to get air in his lungs. Fear struck onto his features once more.

It only took a few seconds, however, for Henry to make some strange decisions.

Henry let go of Right’s wrists. His eyes glossy, probably tearing up, he shakily rested his hands to the floor, and stopped gasping. He stopped resisting. Stopped trying to breathe. Willingly.

Henry closed his eyes, resigning to his fate.

In less than 10 seconds, he was already giving up?

It took an insane amount of willpower for someone to fight their survival instincts so quickly. With that sheer amount of self discipline, why wouldn’t he use it to save his own life?

Apparently Right was wondering the same thing, he seemed to hesitate. His brows tense in confusion. Right let go of Henry’s throat, and backed away from him, hesitating as he did so.

Henry sucked in a sharp breath, and coughed. He put his hand to his neck, massaging it through the fabric of his turtleneck. He sat up, still relishing the fact he could breathe again.

It was then, Burt heard Henry's voice for the first time.

"I… did what I had to do. To get my freedom." He rasped. His voice was far more rough and strained than anyone expected, even for someone who just got strangled. It was bad. Everyone could tell that it hurt for him to speak.

Henry's face had so much emotion in that moment. His watery eyes, his pained face, it showed so much. Fear. Pain.

Guilt.

But another spark found its way into his eyes. Defiance. Determination.

He slowly made it to his feet, sshakly standing. He leaned back against the control panel, avoiding any buttons.

"If you want to kill me now, then do it… If you're willing to…" he paused, coughing. He took a deep breath, and continued. He stood a bit taller. "Willing to give me a chance.. to prove myself.. Either way.." Henry gave Right a determined glare. "I'll die a free man."

Burt couldn't help but think how different things were now. They lived on a space station. Henry had his right hand lady, Ellie. Henry, Reginald, and Right actually got along. Reginald has actually defended him in the past. Right helps Henry with his new cybernetics.

Burt's opinion of Henry definitely changed. Substantially.

Henry was once this strange, intimidating force. He was a quiet, eerie, stranger that was hard to read. He was distant.

That's what everyone thought, at least.

As more time went on, Henry proved his loyalty to the clan. He showed that he was caring, determined, and still strange. He was a thief, he was a leader. He was isolated, now he's more social. He was funny, he was random, he was optimistic.

He was a kind, patient, loving boyfriend to Burt.

He was the first chief to thank Burt for his work. He was the only person who gave him a gift for his birthday when everyone else forgot.

He was decently attractive, in Burt's opinion. Something about Henry just made Burt's gay little heart twist.

Henry waved gently at Burt, snapping him out of his train of thought.

Shit. He did it again. Why did he keep zoning out around Henry? Henry signed to him, "You okay?"

Burt chuckled, a little embarrassed. "Yeah, sorry. Just thinking. Didn't mean to tune you out." Burt fidgeted with his headset's Mic.

Henry smiled, gently cupping Burt's cheek. Henry kissed Burt on the cheek he wasn't holding.

Burt wasn't ready for kissing on the lips. So Henry worked with other types of kisses.

Burt rested his head on Henry's shoulder. Henry wrapped his arm around Burt's shoulder.

Burt let out a content sigh. "This is nice."

#henry stickmin #burtmin #burt curtis #right hand man #reginald copperbottom #ellie rose #fanfic #his translator #his translater 15 #henry x burt #henry stickmin x burt curtis #thsc

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solariswrites · 2 years

Text

Just A Bite of Honesty

Pete let out a shaky breath as he started to stir from sleeping. He couldn’t remember the last time that he’d slept so well. But those thoughts were pushed aside as he realized that lithe fingers were combing through his hair. His eyes fluttered open, blearily as he tried to focus. He immediately sat up as he realized it was Vegas. The older man looked so soft and from the wet hair it was obvious he’d taken a shower.

“Morning Pete.” Vegas chuckled, softly letting his hand fall gently on Pete’s chest to check the bruising at his neck. It was fainter than before. He was glad that between the balm and the medication that it wasn’t lingering. It wasn’t common for Pete to be wearing turtlenecks and it was still a bit hot during the day. Fall hadn’t set in just yet.

Pete’s breath caught. His heart felt like it was going to beat right out of his chest. Vegas’ touch was light and careful. He hated that the touch was due to the bruising from his father trying to strangle him. The memory flashing through his mind killed the warmth blooming at their closeness. To his surprise immediately Vegas’ hand retracted.

“We can put some more of the balm that the doctor gave us when you get out of the shower.” Vegas stated with a gentle smile. “And get something to eat in your stomach. I checked the fridge a few minutes ago and your dinner was still in there.”

“I just got lost in my paper. Then Prosche called me again to interrogate me about us and I was just too tired to do anything but sleep.” Pete responded, feeling a bit guilty but on the other hand he had to get the paper done. He lowered his gaze to his hands that were now fidgeting with the blanket.

“You shouldn’t be skipping meals when you’re not well.” Vegas in a firm tone that had Pete meeting his gaze again. “And if he’s still struggling, point him towards me. I can handle it.”

“ Oh no you don’t. I can handle my best friend and for your information I’m fine.” Pete licked his lips trying to think of anything else to say to try to reassure Vegas.

“Of course you are, but one should never be so stingy they can’t accept help.” Vegas’ expression shifted into a more familiar one. It was like there was times that Pete was sure that Vegas felt more than just being a helpful friend. Like right now, Vegas’ eyes had dropped to his lips before slowly meeting his gaze again. “Such as a very refreshing bath. There’s a rather nicely sized shower in that bathroom.” His head tilting towards the bathroom door.

“Uh, no thank you and why would you want to take another bath? You obviously already had one.” Pete reached up to tug a strand of Vegas’ hair.

“Who said anything about me bathing? It’d be about you.” Vegas responded without hesitation.

Pete lowered his hand and he swallowed hard. His cheeks were heating up. He suddenly tossed the sheets back so that he could slip from the bed. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“Have I ever broken one with you, Pete?” Vegas asked,standing up to his full height. He enjoyed this side of Pete - defiant but also dash clueless in just how much of himself he was revealing to him. He’d be an idiot to not see the signs that Pete had liked him before he’d made this arrangement. Pete desired him but wasn’t ready to reach for him. Vegas knew one thing and that was that he’d be right there for his touch when he was.

“Lunch will be ready when you get out.” At that Vegas sauntered out feeling those dark eyes trailing after him. If he heard a damn it coming from behind the closed bedroom door, he didn’t bury it. Vegas grinned as he went to cook them something to eat.

/// If Pete was completely honest with himself, and he didn’t want to be, he’d tell Vegas he was right. A shower had been needed. Not because of him being unhygienic, but that he did feel refreshed for the day. Pete had checked his bruises. The memory of Vegas’ fingertips tracing the bruise had him flushing again. So he’d stopped. Since he wasn’t going to see Porsche today then he could dress as casual as possible

Which of course meant that he was in an oversized t-shirt and his favorite gray sweats that might be a bit thread barren. He tossed the towel into a basket for his hair before he headed to the kitchen. A familiar sight greeted him with Vegas at the stove. The man loved to cook despite his passion for law.

“Isn’t that going to burn?” Pete asked as he slid onto the bar stool and leaned forward watch the man cook. His gaze locked on the skillet with the lid on and he could see that there was a grilled cheese sandwich in the pan. His stomach growled. The smell of chicken, peppers, and cheese was thick in the air.

“It’s on low heat. The key is to let the cheese melt before browning. No touching.” Vegas answered, stepping close to give Pete some of the green pepper sticks. “Guess the bath wasn’t a bad idea.”

“Nope. A great self care idea.” Pete took a bite of the pepper. He chuckled as Vegas gave him a playful glare.

“Yes, rub it in my face I couldn’t join you while I make you lunch. Rude.” Vegas teased as he moved back to the stove.

Pete stilled as his heart skipped a beat. There it was again. Usually the flirting faded but it seemed like Vegas wasn’t going to stop. How was he supposed to make it if Vegas kept this up? “You know it’s just us. You don’t have to flirt with me, P’Vegas?”

“I flirt with who I want, Pete.” Vegas answered. He’d made the engineer his sandwich first so he slid it onto the plate and walked back over to him. “And besides, who’s the one that told his friends that he was living with me? If you didn’t like flirting a little bit then why’d you make it so you’d have to be here?”

“I…you know…I…it’s not like the room was being used.” Pete sputtered, not wanting to bend. He did have a bit of pride. His cheeks became heated and he was sure he looked like a tomato. “And you took liberties without consulting me.”

“I am not judging you, Pete. I want you here. So it’s not like you are bothering me or being a burden.” Vegas made sure to point out, because it was the truth. He did want him in his home, looking soft and comfortable. “Don’t give me that look. It’s true and you living here doesn’t have to be about our current dating situation. You can just live here. It’s not like every expense wasn’t already paid by my uncle or myself. You could focus on your school work and-”

“No, I can’t do that.” Pete swallowed. A month was one thing but just staying because he wanted to be here wasn’t. It would blur the lines even more for his poor heart.

“Why? Because it would be..” Vegas trailed off as he took his serrated chef’s knives to cut the grilled cheese in half before sliding it over to Pete. “...what you actually need instead of being exhausted and overworked? There’s more to life than self induced misery, Pete.” He reached over to steal a bite of melted cheese that’d oozed out. “You didn’t ask for your father, but you can ask for what you want from me.”

Before Pete could deflect, Vegas smiled at him while bending down to grab the glass from the shelf on the island then went to the fridge to grab Pete one of his sodas. Unable to find the words he just simply dug into his lunch.

#vegaspete #vegas theerapanyakul #pete #pete x vegas #modern college au #engineer! pete #law major! vegas #fake relationship trope #forced proximity

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musings-from-mars · 2 years

Text

@dragonslayer-week 2022 Day 3 (July 27): Double Date (feat. Nuts & Dolts!)

Jaune knew what this really was. It wasn't so much a double date as it was Yang wanting to scout Ruby's date. He could kind of understand; being the youngest sibling in his family, he was the center of all of his sisters' overprotective tendencies. Yang seemed to be no different. She wasn't being too overbearing about it, so he didn't say anything.

He would certainly feel bad for whoever would be joining them here for dinner, though. She probably had no idea the kind of interrogation that awaited her.

"Yang, seriously," Ruby said, leaning her elbows against the table like she had a thirty pound weight on her shoulders. "She's cool, she's literally never done anything wrong in her life, ever."

Yang shook her head. "I know, I just want to make extra sure."

"I'm sixteen now! I can make my own judgments!"

"I just want to make sure she's nice to you."

"Of course she is! That's why I asked her out!"

Jaune sat next to Yang while she argued with her sister across the table. He just kind of sipped his water and tugged on the collar of his turtleneck sweater. Yang insisted it looked cute on him but he still didn't think the itchiness was worth it.

Their bickering was only briefly interrupted when the server came by their table to refill their water, which only Jaune was really in need of.

"You're going to scare her off," Ruby murmured.

"If I do, she wasn't worthy of you in the first place!"

"Worthy? Stop talking about me like I'm a magical fantasy princess!"

"You are, though! You are so magical!"

Jaune chuckled, glancing at Yang. Says you, he thought. Her hair being up in a curly messy bun, combined with her round-frame glasses and purple dress made her look more like a fantasy character than Ruby did, though more a fantasy librarian than a fantasy princess, he figured. Ruby looked more like a skater punk who'd been forced to wear a dress against her will.

"And you're so weird!" Ruby countered.

Yang rolled her eyes, then caught Jaune looking at her. He rolled his eyes and averted his gaze in response, sipping more water. He could feel her smirking at him.

"Stop giving your boyfriend fuck-me eyes at the table," Ruby deadpanned.

Jaune coughed, which sent water into his sinuses. While he turned, sputtering and coughing, to sort that out, Yang kicked Ruby under the table. Ruby just responded with a snarky laugh.

Jaune did not have the luxury of having a younger sibling. If this was what it was like, he felt a tiny bit of sympathy for this sisters. By the time he had regained his composure and control over his breathing, he sat back up, sparing a glance at Yang, who was blushing brightly. He realized he probably was, too. "So, uh, Ruby," Jaune said, desperate to break the awkward silence. "Your date, what's she like?"

The way Ruby sprang into a ceaseless ramble about how cute and smart and pretty her date was, Jaune had heard enough to know that Yang was worried about nothing. But she was a bit too stubborn; she'd have to see for herself. It was kind of cute to listen to, though. It reminded him of when Saph would ramble on about his girlfriend to him every day when she'd drive him home from school a couple years ago. It had always been annoying, but now he could appreciate that, yes, having a girlfriend was actually very exciting, and a very fun topic to talk about.

Ruby's ramble only stopped when she got a notification on her phone. She checked it and perked up. "It's her, she's here!" She got up from the table, without even excusing herself, and hurried to the front door, speeding right past their server on her way out.

Jaune chuckled and elbowed Yang lightly. "Still worried that your sister is going out with some player?"

She sighed and looked at him tiredly. "This is revenge for me gushing about you to her too much."

"Aww you used to gush about me?" Jaune asked, smiling.

"Of course! You used to be a football player. So hot~"

"And now?"

Yang shrugged. "Eh, class president is cool too, I guess."

Jaune rolled his eyes while Yang snickered at him. Then Ruby returned, elbows linked with her date, a redhead freckled girl wearing a green shirt, black skirt, and a pink bow tie. She curtsied to them both, gripping her shoulder bag with one hand while swishing her skirt with the other. "Salutations! My name is Penny! It is wonderful to meet you, Yang! Hello, Jaune!"

"Hi, Penny!" Jaune said, waving to her.

Yang looked at him. "You know her?"

"She's on student council," Jaune said.

"I am also in the robotics club!" Penny added, grinning widely.

Yang sighed, resting her forehead on the table for a moment.

"Are you okay, Yang?" Penny asked.

"Yeah, just feeling like a doofus," Yang admitted.

"You are top of the senior class! You are anything but!"

Jaune grinned at Yang as she sat back up. Ruby was giving her a smug I told you so look. "Great to meet you, Penny," Yang said, resignation in her voice at finding out how little she needed to worry.

"I apologize for my tardiness," Penny said as she and Ruby sat down. "There was such a long line at the florist."

"The florist?" Yang asked.

"For you, Ruby!" Penny gleefully revealed a bouquet of roses from her bag.

"Oh my gosh, you got me flowers!" Ruby gasped, taking them and immediately shoving her face in them to smell them.

Yang dramatically bonked her forehead against Jaune's shoulder. He offered a slow, consolatory head pat. Poor, overly worrisome Yang...

#dragonslayerweek #dragonslayer #rwby #yang xiao long #jaune arc #ruby rose #penny polendina #nuts and dolts

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evielutionevie · 2 years

Text

Look, if I’m gonna have a phantom Lace / detective Hornet AU, we can’t forget about the other characters! Especially Ghost. Honestly, I’m surprised it took me so long to make a design for them lol

Anyways! Here are my concepts for human Ghost and the Hollow Knight!

HK’s design was actually made a couple of months ago, I just don’t think I ever posted it?? Though as of yet, I don’t have a full reference for them. Though I imagine them probably wearing boots of some kind, and long pants (though idk what color I would make either of them).

I did give them the same hair color as Hornet, just cause I think it matched well and, well, they’re siblings so it would make sense lol. I did make their skin a bit lighter though! As for the rest of their outfit… I gave them a longer coat, to kinda represent the cloak, though I guess I could also afford to make it look a little more worn out. Metal shoulder bits, a bit of call to their role as a knight (although here, HK has a bit of a… different role :)) hehe). And I think the dark turtleneck is a nice touch (an homage to the lines of their in-game cloak)!

Their hair… I just think it suits them! A bit messy, but their hair is more neat than Hornet’s is, even if they don’t know hair care very well… they got the good genes. I was also kinda thinking of Alphonse Elric when thinking about their design, something a bit lankier and messy. And it wouldn’t be HK without a missing arm, a damaged eye, and a permanent hunchbacked position (although that is not as prominent in their human form).

As for Ghost’s design… I had sketched them out during a lull during class and was just experimenting at first! I wanted them to have messier, unkempt hair, though I also wanted it a bit shorter. Though the two tied pieces in front of their face is the exception to the messiness, though honestly it somehow suits them! At first I just had regular side-hair parts, but I wanted to kinda represent the two horns the Ghost has in the game without having to stick more pieces of their hair up, and so… yeah I experimented a bit! At first I took a bit of inspiration from one of BOTW Link’s hair in the Rito outfit, but this turned out a bit better I think!

As for the outfit… I just think they’d be pretty casual, aka go more for comfort rather than fashion. A baggier jacket (with the main color being color-picked from one of Ghost’s official arts), a dark shirt because it both looks cool and mirrors Ghost’s in-game design, torn-up jeans color-picked from the Knight’s nail in the same art that I color-picked for the jacket, and tennis shoes, perfect for running around in to cause chaos. They also have a mask, and with their hood over their head, it’s perfect to hide in dark corners and jump across rooftops without anyone the wiser.

Anyways, uh… I don’t know what I want their roles to be quite just yet, but! I do have a few ideas that I’ll share later! Honestly I don’t even have much of a main story in mind, though I’ve been trying to brainstorm one up. Once again, I’ll share my ideas for this AU later. I’ve talked enough about just the designs here lol!

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drspencerreid80 · 2 years

Text

Nevermore (Part 1/??)

Paring: Spencer x Fem! Reader

Summary: Two friends going through everything together and loving each other in secret. Is it too late or just the right time?

Content warnings: Fluff, angst, mention of death (Maeve), general grieving sadness, ambiguous ending? series, mutual pinning, reader and spencer are very dumb

Part (1/??)

Part 2

Word count: 1143

A/N: please please please be nice to me I'm fragile and this is the first chapter of something I've been working on for a long time.

You remembered your first day at the FBI, freshly 21 and nervous as all hell. You’d gotten your job by recommendation, one of your mother's friends working at the bureau having put in a good word for you. Starting as the assistant to the librarian wasn’t something you’d ever expected nor was meeting a cute profiler on your first day.

He was tall. That was the first thing you'd noticed about him that, and his thin, awkward frame. Lanky and strange dressed in a massive dark red sweater, khakis, and a pair of smart-looking shoes. He’d been carrying a stack of files when he entered the library, and you couldn’t help but stare at him. Nobody seemed to notice him, but you had. His chestnut hair was a bit of a mess around his face like he’d been rushing around and judging by the stack of files he was hauling you assumed he was someone’s assistant. He looked to be about your age, maybe even younger, and very determined. You were stacking returned books on a cart to put back when he approached you.

“Um hi- hello" he stuttered out attempting to get ahold of the stack he was carrying. His voice was soft much like his features and now that he was up close you could see his eyes were a beautiful golden brown almost matching his hair.

You waited until he situated himself and his files before you responded “hello, how may I help you?” you attempted your best cheery smile even though being this close with a cute boy and talking had never been your strong suit.

He fully looked at you then, his eyes blown wide as he took in your appearance. You were suddenly very aware of your frumpy outfit. You with your oversized glasses taking up most of your face, your smock dress sitting unflatteringly atop a turtleneck and some black stockings that definitely needed to be replaced, boot socks, and the clunky doc martins that made you seem taller than you were.

He managed a very polite smile “I’m looking for law books if you’ve got any...well of course you have books on laws because this is a federal building and this is a library IN a federal building” he’s flustered and starts babbling about libraries and law. Watching him speak was so fascinating, the way he moved his free hand when he spoke while moving a bit uncomfortably back and forth on his feet attempting to steady the files in his arms. You even noticed he had perfect teeth under his beautifully plush lips. You blushed and came back to earth noticing he’d stopped talking a while ago.

“Of course, we have what you’re looking for” you pointed to the far right back of the library “over there are books on everything one may need to know about law and the like” doing your best to not stare at him for too long again you attempted to busy yourself with the returns.

“T-thank you very much” he hardly gave you another glance before hurriedly shuffling off to the back corner with his massive file stack. You stole a few glances at him walking away before you went back to work. He’d left the section with 10 volumes on laws dating back to the early 50s “These are due in 2 weeks although if you don’t have them all read by then you can always renew just come in and ask whoever is at the front desk.” smiling at him you took his badge to swipe it his information popping up on your computer you had to double-take when you read 'Dr. Spencer Reid BAU'. Your first thought was 'Dr.?...at his age?' and your second thought was 'BAU?....like Jason Gideon and David Rossi?...he was a profiler?'

You pondered all those thoughts then noticed he still had his files. “Would you like assistance carrying all these? I’m more than willing to help” he hesitated looking from you to the files in his arms then to the books “I’m sorry I didn’t think before I grabbed so many..I can always come back for them” he gets ready to walk off when you’re coming around the corner grabbing the books off the counter.

“No please it’s no trouble really” you heft the volumes into your arms and start walking towards the door and after a small moment, he follows after you quickly, gesturing to the left when you reach the doors indicating where he needed to go. You walk in silence down the big hallway not minding it because you’re not sure what to say to him, nervous you may make a fool of yourself in front of someone new like you usually do. After a long while he’s the one to speak first “I’m Spencer Reid” he hesitates a moment before adding “Dr. Spencer Reid” before you can reply with your own name he continues “I figured I might as well introduce myself since you’ll be seeing a lot of me from now on. I read a lot and in fact, I’ll probably be able to get these back to you tomorrow sometime given that I can read 20,000 words per minute”

You can’t help but smirk a bit at his confession, impressed “Hello Dr. Reid I’m (Y/N Y/LN) I’d shake your hand but the books and well your files” breaking off into a slight blush you look sideways at him. “Oh, that’s quite alright I don’t shake anyway, germs are very dangerous”

You nod vigorously “Yes actually did you know nearly 80 percent of illness-causing germs are spread via your hands and that just one germ can multiply into more than 8 million germs in one day-” you cut yourself off before you further your germ ramble. You glance over to see if you’ve completely terrified him but he’s grinning from ear to ear and it’s the prettiest smile you’ve ever seen.

“I haven’t met a lot of people who know as many germs' facts as I do” he’s still grinning as he launches into a full-blown rant on germs, the pair of you sharing facts and hums of agreement even the people on the elevator seem grossed out but at this point, you couldn’t care less having found someone so interesting to connect with was more than you could have ever hoped for when accepting this job. After dropping his things off in what you assume is the BAUs office you turn to leave, and he stops you “Y/N?” turning back to see him fiddling with his badge you smile and wait for him to continue.

“Thank you for your help with the books and I really enjoyed our germ conversation” you can see a pink blush littering his sharp cheekbones and it almost matches his lips.

“Of course, Dr. Reid, anytime. You know where to find me.” you wave shyly as you retreat to the library feeling your heart flutter remembering how he smiled at you.

#spencer reid #spencer x reader #spencer x fem!reader #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader

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mysterioushogwartsrequests · 4 years

Note

Hello! Can I request an imagine with Draco and a Slytherin! Reader where they both are totally in love with each other and maybe one day in class Draco is being particularly needy/frustrated one day and she’s his partner and sees he’s super hard and she teases him but when class is over he asks the reader to give him a blowjob because he loves her mouth and he’s just so whiny and he later spoils the hell out of his girl at Hogsmeade!

This is literally SOOOO LONG!! I don’t know why I wrote so much, but I just really wanted to include all that stuff, lol. My excuse for the length is that I hit a 1,000 followers about two days ago so this is the celebratory piece!

This goes without saying, but this piece contains a lot of sexual content so please do not read if you are underage or uncomfortable with said topics. I also wrote this in a different perspective because I wanted to try it out so I hope you enjoy!

Warning: SMUT, Oral (Male Receiving)

Title: Princess

ϟ ϟ ϟ

It was a warm summer’s day, close to the start of the new term. These past few weeks at Malfoy Manor had been tense and Draco often found himself rather stressed . A large part of him felt guilty for leaving his mother at home in the presence of Lord Voldemort, but another part of him felt grateful to be out of his sight. Finally, he could escape the Dark Lord’s watchful eyes, but he could not escape the plan set for him to complete.

Draco’s eyebrows knitted together as he squinted towards the merchandise wall inside Twilfitt and Tattings. Even when he was not around, Draco could still sense the Dark Lord’s influence and the constant reminder of the outcome if he were to fail. However, as he thought of better ways to mend the vanishing cabinet, something caught his attention.

“Draco darling,” You called to him, stepping out of the changing room with a small smile on your face. Draco’s eyes widened in an instant, a lump forming in his throat as he examined the champagne dress clinging to your body. It was a delicate number with thin, spaghetti strap sleeves attached to the cowl-neck gown, the silk fabric shimmering softly as you stepped onto the podium.

With a content hum, Draco pushed himself off the wall, his grey eyes locked with yours in the shop mirror as he walked towards you. He rested his hand against your waist, his fingers tenderly sliding down to feel the smooth silk against them, “You look ravishing,” he whispered against your ear, pressing a kiss against the shell of it before stepping back to get a better view of you.

You smiled satisfyingly, taking a moment to admire the all-black ensemble he wore and how it slimmed him down in all the right places. He stood in a black turtleneck and a fitted suit jacket, his left hand in the pocket of his slacks while the thumb of the other swiped over his bottom lip. A string of questions crossed through Draco’s mind, “When would you wear this?” he thought, tapping his finger against his chin.

Surely, there was no surprise ball this year, he would’ve heard by now. “Would you wear it on a date?” he questioned, imagining a scenario where the two of you ate dinner at a fancy restaurant, illuminated by just candlelight. “Even better,” Draco trailed off, his eyes lingering over your arse as you admired yourself in the mirror, looking over your shoulder to see the diamond detail that connected the open back, “What would such an expensive piece of clothing look like on his dormitory floor?”

Draco recalled the conversation he shared with his mother a week prior, where she had counseled him after a particularly difficult day. Narcissa Malfoy had an interesting way of comforting her son. Of course, she sat and listened to him, holding him as he cried, a mixture of guilt and failure coursing through her veins as she fought against the Dark Lord’s plans for her beloved son. The next day, however, she entered Draco’s room with a smile and presented a brand-new wardrobe for him as a start of term gift.

Pulling himself away from his thoughts, Draco gave a gentle smile and looked up at you, instantly meeting your hopeful eyes.

“Oh, those eyes”

“I’m not sure if I should get it,” You admitted, your bottom lip jutting out in a pout as you hopped off the podium and halted in front of the platinum-haired boy. Closing his eyes, Draco took a deep breath, captivated by the intoxicating smell of vanilla radiating off your body. An exquisite aroma, packaged in a —hand-blown— glass perfume bottle with delicate golden leaves painted onto it, finished off with your initials carved at the bottom of it.

Another one of Draco’s thoughtful gifts.

“And why is that?” asked Draco, his hand resting against the side of your neck, his thumb rubbing small circles against your jaw. The dress was cut just right, the tight, draped bodice granted him a wonderful view of your breasts, but he looked away to halt the tightening of his pants.

“I’ve got no occasion for a dress like this,” declared a slightly defeated (Y/N), taking another glance in the mirror, “Well, we’ve still got the goodbye dinner with your parents” You recalled, running your hands down your hips, unintentionally catching Draco’s attention as he remembered the family dinner he had forgotten about.

“That settles it then,” announced Draco in a chipper tone, “I’ll buy the dress,” he grinned, stepping towards his girlfriend, but halting by the display of diamond accessories. With a glance over the merchandise, he pointed at a necklace set with a pair of earrings, receiving praises from the shopkeeper. Taking the necklace from the older wizard, Draco walked over to (Y/N), “turn around,” he uttered and you happily obliged, watching him as he placed the delicate piece around your neck.

“Draco-” you began to protest, but he only pressed a kiss against your cheek, clasping the necklace and letting his fingers linger at the back of your neck. The necklace was a breathtaking, diamond necklace with seven glittering emeralds spread evenly across the center.

“The bracelet and earrings will do nicely as well,” Draco said, nodding his head in approval and signaling for the shopkeeper to begin ringing them up. You opened your mouth to protest again, but Draco placed his finger against your lips, “I believe you recall what I’ve told you, hm?” he teased, raising a questioning eyebrow as (Y/N) nodded, fighting back a smile, “Then, let Daddy spoil you, Princess.”

There was no denying the power Draco’s tone held over you. His words shot straight between your legs, the feeling of his lips pressed against the side of your neck making you fall against him, finally becoming aware of his erection now pressed against your thigh.

“Let's finish up so we can go back to the Manor,” you proposed, shifting your thigh ever so slightly to provide him with some much-needed friction. Draco bit his lip and gave a stiff nod, stepping away from you before you could tease him further.

“Go change,” he ordered, the cocky smirk returning to his lips, “You’ve got five minutes.” Running back towards the dressing room, you peeled off the dress and stepped into your usual clothes, practically sprinting out of it once finished. After a hasty checkout, the two of you exited the shop hand-in-hand, the bag containing your gifts swinging in Draco’s other hand.

ϟ ϟ ϟ

This school year proved to be the most difficult one yet. N.E.W.T.s we’re now less than a year away and it was never too soon to begin revising. You, however, found it quite difficult to focus on school these last few days. Despite his constant reassurances that he was all right, (Y/N) found some of Draco’s recent behavior quite odd. This strange feeling first arose the week you stayed at Malfoy Manor, where the four of them sat cautiously at a table with Draco’s aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange. You had always had a good relationship with Draco’s relatives, but it was clear to you something was occurring under wraps, something Draco did not want you to know about. Noting his hesitation whenever you brought up the subject, you decided against prying any more information out of him and returned to your studies. Your dedication to academic achievement, much to your surprise, did not go unnoticed by the new Potions Master at Hogwarts, who had heard all about you and Miss Hermione Granger, the two top students of the sixth year.

Horace Slughorn was a portly, older man, but very gifted with potions and an excellent Professor. Upon arrival, he sought out some of the school’s most promising students and invited them to his office for an elegant dinner. One morning, during breakfast, your owl dropped the intricately decorated envelope right in front of your plate. You had no chance to conceal the envelope from your curious boyfriend, the same one that had tried, without succeeding, to get invited to said dinner.

However, to your surprise, Draco was not upset. Instead, he pressed a gentle kiss against your temple and muttered the words, “You deserve it, baby girl.” The pet name sends chills down your spine, a smile playing at your lip as his hand rests upon your knee, the cold metal of his rings easing any sort of tension in your body. His left hand rested against your jawline, his slender fingers twiddling with the pearl earring, admiring the small ruby motif encrusted right above the hanging pearl.

(Y/N) leaned her cheek against his palm, setting the invitation down on the dining hall table, “Are you sure, Darling?” you questioned, taking the time to rest your hand over his, “I might not be able to fit it into my schedule...” you admitted, thoughts of Draco’s mysterious disappearances crossing your mind. Bringing your hand up to his mouth, Draco pressed a soft kiss against the back of it before leaning to press one against your lips.

“I think,” he started, a sparkle of mischief in his eyes, “You should go show them what the brightest, most caring, and, without a doubt, sexiest girl in Slytherin House has to offer” Draco praised, giving your thigh a small squeeze before dipping to steal another kiss from you, “How does that sound?” He asked sweetly, showering you with yet another kiss, this one against your forehead.

It was no secret that Draco Malfoy and (Y/N) (L/N) were truly and undeniably in love. Often, the corridors were filled with the incessant whispers of jealous girls who longed for Draco’s attention, but he paid no attention to them. The Slytherin Prince only had eyes for you, the only constant ray of sunshine in his life. Whenever he looked at you, he reminded himself of his vow to keep you completely satisfied, and the only reward he wanted was seeing that gorgeous smile on your face. You were everything to him. You were the only one who knew about his previous family troubles, the one who would hold him when he cried during the late hours of the evening. The one who would fix his tie the second it seemed out of place, the one who would rub his shoulders whenever you noticed him bent over his assignments.

He would do everything and anything to ensure you felt like the luckiest girl in the world because he knew you, out of all people, deserved it the most.

”You make an excellent point, Mr. Malfoy,” You grinned, nodding your head in agreement, and flinging your arms around his shoulders. A soft smile crept up Draco’s lips as his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you tightly against his chest and placing a kiss at the top of your head.

“Don’t I always?” teased Draco, running his fingers through your hair as the other students exited the Great Hall and made their way towards the classes. Rolling your eyes at his response, you placed your hand against his cheek, stealing a kiss from him this time and rising from your seat.

“We should go,” you announced, stretching your hand out for him to grab, which he happily obliged, rising from the bench and escorting you to your classroom.

ϟ ϟ ϟ

A week had passed since Slughorn’s dinner party, the memory of the evening still fresh in Draco’s mind as he tapped his fingers against the wooden desk. Needless to say, he was not particularly pleased with the events of last Saturday. One of Slughorn’s guests had taken quite the liking to you, practically undressing you with his eyes during breakfast hours, something Draco found incredibly disrespectful. He recalled the way Cormac McLaggen eyed you this morning when you bent over to kiss your boyfriend goodbye, skipping out of the Great Hall without a care in the world.

Draco clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white as his eyebrows knitted together, sparks of frustration igniting within him. Not only was McLaggen ogling you like you were his last meal, but he was also casually brushing up beside you in the corridors, shooting Draco arrogant smirks when they locked eyes.

Oh, how he would love to jinx that insufferable look off his face. Yeah, that’ll show him.

He should have been paying attention to Professor Flitwick discussing the proper hand movement for the Gouging Spell, but the thoughts of McLaggen badgering you when he was not around boiled his blood. In hindsight, it was a good thing he was neglecting this lesson because the prospect of gouging a large hole through Cormac seemed very appealing.

You were particularly busy this week and did not have a lot of time to spend with Draco. Sure, the two of you bid your usual goodnights in the Slytherin common room, but your studying had kept you away from Draco. Due to this, Draco Malfoy was left very touch starved and found himself daydreaming of your earlier rendezvous around the castle.

Draco turned his head towards you, his face relaxing at once as he watched you diligently taking notes, as usual. You had your bottom lip between your teeth, gnawing it softly as your quill scratched against the parchment. With a content sigh, he admired your concentration and wondered how a person could be that gorgeous. He was, truly, the luckiest man in the world when it came to you.

He supposed that one could not blame McLaggen for falling for you- I mean, who wouldn’t? Any person would be swept off their feet if you entered the room wearing those silk dresses you were oh so fond of. Draco glanced down at those pretty, pink lips of yours, his eyes practically rolling to the back of his head as you parted them, tongue swiping over your upper lip as you added the final details to your diagram.

Biting his lip, Draco forced his attention towards Professor Flitwick, but it was already too late. The thoughts of you, sprawled across his bed at Malfoy Manor were enough to replace his earlier frustrations with feelings of lust.

“Stop,” thought Draco, closing his eyes to contain his feelings, but it was no use. Your lips made an “O” shape when you finally grasped the Charms concepts, making goosebumps appear on Draco’s skin as he shuddered.

What he would do to have you begging for him right now.

His pants grew considerably tighter and he couldn’t help but feel grateful towards the school uniforms. The robe he was wearing did a decent job at hiding his current problem, but he knew it would be noticeable when he stood. However, that did not stop him from hearing the way you called his name in the back of his head.

“Please, Draco...”

“Fuck,” cursed Draco under his breath, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, a slight touch of pink dusting his cheeks. Unable to keep his eyes away, Draco looked back towards you, scanning the soft skin of your neck, and noting how awfully bare it looked. With his self-restraint wavering, he subtly slid down the bench you shared and rested his hand on your knee, something he did quite often. However, you did not question him until you felt his lips against your neck and a hand wrapped tightly around your thigh. Turning your head to face him, you were surprised to see him with his hand over his mouth, his eyes averted from yours as his fingers danced against the smooth skin of your inner thigh.

“Draco,” you cooed, but the only response you received was a rather harsh nip at your neck, “Draco, someone will see…”

“I don’t care,” Draco snarled against your ear, “I need this bloody class to be over…” He murmured in a much softer tone, his hand rubbing circles against your thigh and inching closer to your clothed heat. But once you turned to scold him, you noticed the dark, red blush that painted his cheeks and felt his hot breath fanning against your face.

“Are you alright?” you asked cautiously, innocently rubbing your thumb against his thigh, but that only made Draco twitch in his seat, and his reaction suddenly lit the bulb over your head. Your lips curled into a smirk as your hand moved closer to the bulge on Draco’s pants, turning your attention towards the front of the class as you continued your movements.

Luckily, the two of you sat at the farthest end of the Charms classroom, away from any overly inquisitive eyes. You were certain nobody would notice, if Draco kept his cool, the two of you would be in the clear.

“Couldn’t even wait till class was over?” You tutted, delicately tracing your fingers over his crotch, and smirking as he shifted in his seat, “Be careful, I don’t want us to get caught.” You added, firmly cupping his erection through his slacks, a wide grin spreading across your face as he doubled down and hid his face behind a book he propped up. It was honestly quite surprising to see Draco this way. Usually, he would be the one teasing you to no end, but you were currently in control and that was enough to light the fire of your arousal.

“D-Don’t stop,” Draco pleaded under his breath, biting down on his thumb to hold back a moan as your palm worked to release the built-up tension. Encouraged by his dick twitching underneath your hand, you quickened your pace and watched as he parted his lips, struggling to keep any sound from coming out. As his breathing grew more ragged, you felt his abdominal muscles tense up against your touch, indicating that his release would wash over him soon.

Fighting to keep the small sense of composure he had left, Draco gripped (Y/N)’s wrist and halted her movements. It took him a minute to catch his breath, but when he did, he spoke in a low whisper, “Wait...” His eyes never met yours because if he looked into those beautiful eyes of yours, he would not be able to control himself. And although the prospect of taking you over the desk seemed quite promising, he did not fancy the idea of letting the rest of the student body see you bent over in such a vulnerable state.

That was only for him, of course.

“What’s wrong, Darling?” You teased letting your fingers trace over his crotch again, but he only clicked his tongue at you. Draco knew you too well, he knew you were only trying to rile him up again, but he could not let that happen, not right now. With adrenaline coursing through your body, you leaned towards Draco and let your breath fan against his neck before licking a stripe behind his ear, “Didn’t want to come all over those expensive slacks of yours, hm?” You murmured, gently nipping his earlobe, and taking his momentary lapse of strength to palm his erection once more.

Draco gritted his teeth once again, pulling your hand away from his pants, “I said wait,” he growled, his lust-clouded eyes finally meeting yours, “You do know how to follow instructions, don’t you?” He asked in a much harsher, more desperate tone.

“Depends on who’s giving them.” You replied sarcastically, placing your free hand on his knee with a smirk.

However, Draco did not get a chance to shoot his response back at you. Once the bell signaling the end of class rang, he shot up off his seat and gathered both your belongings before taking your hand and hastily pulling you out of the classroom. A few students stared as the two of you rushed down the hall, blushing in embarrassment as you stumbled after Draco.

His hand gripped yours tightly, leading you towards the Prefects’ bathroom, and stuttering out the password once the two of you arrived. Flinging your book bags across the floor, Draco turned and stalked towards you making you step back until your back hit something solid.

“Think you’re funny, are you?” sneered Draco, pinning you against one of the cubicles, his thigh pressed firmly between your legs and his right forearm braced beside your head. Replicating your earlier movements, Draco dragged his tongue underneath your ear before taking the lobe between his teeth, making you gasp. “Why don’t we put that filthy mouth of yours to better use?” He cooed, blowing a puff of air against your ear, and admiring it as it turned red.

With a sudden burst of confidence, you gripped his robes and pulled his face towards yours, breaths mingling together, “I think,” You muttered, leaning your lips close to his, “That’s the best idea you’ve had all day…” Looking up at his half-lidded eyes, you crashed your lips against Draco’s, fingers immediately tangling themselves in his hair. Draco returned your kiss eagerly, his hands cupping your arse underneath your skirt and pulling your body flush against his.

You could feel Draco growing more impatient by the minute. His hands were grabbing desperately at your skin, squeezing every inch of bare flesh he could feel. Longing to have you closer to him, Draco slipped his hand underneath your thigh and hooked it over his hip, fingers gripping hard enough to bruise. Your back arched off the wall, hips grinding against Draco’s as your tongues laced together in a heated kiss. Tugging at your tie, Draco reached to unbutton your blouse and pulled it open, exposing your bra-clad breasts.

He pressed his lips against the base of your neck, biting and sucking encouraged by your moans beside his ear. One of his hands held your thigh firmly while the other kneaded your left breast, pulling the fabric of your bra down and taking your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. You gasped harshly, bucking into him, and digging your fingers into his hair, messing up the parts that remained previously neat. Draco rolled his erection against your soaked panties, smiling down at your face as his hands kneaded your clothed breasts, “So pretty,” he murmured, captivated by your flushed face and the shameful sounds passing through your lips.

Your hands reached up to grab his face, pulling him down for another kiss. This time, using the momentum to switch your positions so Draco’s back hit the stall door, earning a small moan of surprise from him. Grinning up at him, you pressed your lips against his neck and slid your hand down the front of his body, cupping him firmly as you sucked the sensitive skin.

Draco let out gasping breaths as you moved your hand, his fingers digging into your waist, “On your knees,” commanded Draco, trying to regain some sort of control over the situation. You obliged happily, dropping down to your knees and lazily running your fingers over his thighs before reaching up for his belt. After fiddling with the buckle, you took your time sliding Draco’s slacks down, purposely neglecting his throbbing dick hidden in his underwear.

“Don’t be a tease,” snapped Draco, gripping your chin harshly, “Suck,” He commanded firmly, releasing you as you pulled down his boxer briefs. Draco’s thick length snapped up towards his lower abs, almost slapping you in the face when it sprung out of its constraints. Almost drooling at the glorious sight of his cock, you took it in your hand, running your thumb over the pre-cum leaking out of the reddened tip. Draco bucked his hips forwards, hissing at the light touch, and looking down at your concentrated expression as you slowly pumped your hand.

Lolling your tongue out dramatically, you leaned forwards and gave the tip a kitten lick, earning a frustrated groan from Draco. Satisfied with his discomfort, you gave the swollen tip another kiss before taking his length fully into your mouth. He let out a strangled gasp in response, his eyes squeezed shut as you enthusiastically licked up his length. Sealing off your lips, much like a vacuum seal, you bobbed your head up and down his shaft, tongue swirling around it as Draco trembled underneath you, his hand over his mouth attempting to stifle the sounds coming out of it.

Draco looked down at you, unable to control the string of low moans and grunts spewing from his lips. The sight of your plump lips stretching around his cock made him lose the few ounces of coherent thoughts he had left in his mind. Draco let out another strangled moan, throwing his head back against the stall door as you swirl your tongue around his shaft and use your hand to pump the base of his cock. His hand flew to the back of your head when you moved to take all of him in your mouth, your nose brushing the trimmed tufts of hair as you choked around him, the contraction of your throat making him groan out your name.

With another husky moan, Draco balled your hair up into a ponytail and used it as leverage to thrust into your mouth. “Yes, yes,” whimpered Draco, his face flushed red and his breath caught in his throat, “Just like that, (Y/N)” he hissed, his grey eyes flickering down and meeting yours, making his roll back again as he pulled his lip between his teeth. Your fingernails dug into the back of his thighs, squeezing them tighter as he quickened his pace. You moaned around his dick, the vibrations sending a violent quake through his body as he face-fucked you, his climax only moments away.

“Ah, you take my cock so well, Princess” groaned Draco, his pace stuttering, “You’re so bloody gorgeous” He sighed, his fingers delving tightly into your hair as you continued to swirl your tongue around the shaft, relaxing your jaw to let the tip of his penis hit the back of your throat.

The sounds coming from Draco’s mouth had you soaking wet and yearning to feel his load shoot down your throat. Determined to finish him off, you moved your hand to fondle his balls, moaning with satisfaction as his cock pulsated in your mouth. His breaths grew ragged and the only sounds coming from him were small whimpers and grunts. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, his platinum blonde hair fell messily over his eyes, which were currently screwed shut as his face twisted with pleasure.

Draco’s eyes fluttered open, meeting your eager ones for a second time, but it was too much. Cursing loudly, Draco’s pace grew sloppier and rougher, his body trembling as you fondled his balls once again.

“(Y/N)!” He cried out as you gagged around him, thick ropes of cum coating the inside of your mouth as he came, hard. You struggled to swallow his heavy load, but you were adamant on taking every last drop, just how he liked it. Draco gasped as he caught his breath, his hand still in your hair as he gave your mouth two final shallow thrusts, pulling out as you licked him clean.

With his chest heaving, Draco delicately placed his hand against your cheek and slid his thumb over your swollen lips. You press a chaste kiss against the pad of his thumb, the corners of your mouth curling up into a loving smile. He brought you back up to your feet, capturing your lips in a kiss that was all tongue before pulling away with a satisfied smile on his face.

“You’re quite chipper now, aren’t you?” You teased, hitting him playfully on the shoulder as he pulled his slacks up, tucking his shirt back into his pants and shooting you a wink.

“Yes, actually,” He retorted, his usual smirk appearing on his lips, “And why is that?” You asked, taking the time to button your own shirt, blushing as Draco stalked towards you. He placed his hand on the side of your neck, pulling down your collar to admire the angry, red marks that decorated it.

With a small huff, he dipped down and sucked on the spot below your jaw, your knees buckling and hands gripping his shoulders as he bit down. Once he was satisfied with his handiwork, Draco pulled away, smirking at the mark that would surely be visible for days.

“Because I’m the only one who gets to have you like this,” admitted Draco, pulling you into a hug and resting his chin atop your head, “Can’t wait until I catch McLoser drooling over you, I’ll make sure to remind him who he’s dealing with.”

You laughed at Draco’s declaration, your arms tightening around him as you embraced, “Are you ready for lunch then? He could already be there” You teased, pressing a kiss against his nose, and pulling away to pick up your bag from the bathroom floor. Draco chuckled as you skipped back towards him, giving your behind a playful smack as you walked past him, “Don’t run off thinking I won’t return the favor,” stated Draco salaciously, catching your hand and pulling you back before you could exit the bathroom.

You looked up at him with a curious expression, “Is that so?” You questioned with a grin, walking towards him, and placing your hand on his chest, “Is it something I should look forward to?” You asked, tilting your head to the side innocently.

Draco laughed, raising his hand to cup your cheek, “Come to my room tonight at eleven, wearing that pretty little dress from Twilfitt and Tattings,” muttered Draco, his lips close to yours once again, “I’ll make it worth your while,” he winked, his fingers dipping underneath your skirt to swipe over your clothed core.

Shivering under his touch, you blushed embarrassingly as he examined the slick now coating his finger, “All for me, Princess?” He teased, contently licking his finger clean and grabbing his own book bag, “Actually, I was thinking about McLaggen” you quipped, stepping out of the Prefect’s bathroom with a bounce in your step which Draco followed after, his eyebrows furrowed as he flanked you.

“Careful, Love” warned Draco with a hum, his hand sliding into yours as you walked, “or I’ll have to teach that naughty mouth of yours another lesson.”

ϟ ϟ ϟ

Your four-year anniversary drew nearer, and you found yourself worried about Draco’s behavior yet again. He grew increasingly distant as the term progressed and you could not help but worry, despite his constant reassurances, stating there was nothing to worry about. This, again, left you feeling frustrated. You and Draco started dating during your third year and it had taken a while to break down his walls to understand him, but now it seemed like some of that progress was overturned.

However, when he was around, he always made the effort to shower you with affection and ensure you were being taken care of. Draco knew your habits better than anything, he knew you would be questioning his behavior and launching your own investigations to find the underlying cause of it, but he could not let you interfere. He was already under fire for having ‘distractions’ and had promised the Dark Lord nothing would come in the way of his success.

To keep you safe, you had to be left in the dark. It wounded Draco to see that distraught expression on your face when he came into the common room past midnight, sometimes even asleep, curled up on the couch waiting for him to return. He felt guilty for putting you through all this, but it was necessary for your safety and nothing was more important than protecting you.

His nights were constantly haunted by horrifying images of you injured or worse, dead in his arms after some terrible mistake he made. These thoughts were constantly wearing him down, but he could not tell you, it was just too risky to involve you in this situation. This stressful internal struggle encouraged Draco to show you how much you meant to him.

He wanted you to know that you were, truly, the most important person in his life.

“Draco,” You whined with your hands over your eyes as Draco led you through the empty streets of Hogsmeade, “Can’t I just open my eyes? I’ve been to Hogsmeade plenty of times” you reminded him, but he only chuckled beside you, holding you by the waist as you walked.

“I’m trying to surprise you,” Draco stated, rolling his eyes, “So why don’t you stop complaining and follow me.” He declared, pressing a kiss against your cheek, and leading you towards the clothing shops in the village. Draco halted in front of a large store window, looking up at the dress and envisioning you in them with a proud grin.

“Alright,” he started, grabbing the hands that covered your face, “Ready?” He murmured, pressing a kiss against her fingertips as you nodded. Counting to three, Draco pulled your hands away from your face and stepped out of your view, letting you take in the sight before you.

In front of you stood a tall mannequin wearing a floor-length shimmering, emerald green gown with small silver detailing the bust, “Wow” you muttered breathlessly, leaning closer to the window to get a better look of the design. The mannequin turned 180 degrees, giving her a better view of the open back and long train that followed the dress.

“Do you like it?” Draco asked, looking down at his ring with a content smile on his face.

Your eyes scanned over the glittering, diamond pendant necklace complete with matching water drop earrings, “It’s gorgeous,” you replied, looking over at your boyfriend with a puzzled expression, “Why do I get the feeling you’re up to something?” You asked, quirking your eyebrow at him as he laughed.

“You know me well, Darling” Draco admitted sheepishly, leading you towards the door of the stop and holding it open, “I just thought, since you’ve been attending Slughorn’s dinner parties, that you would need some more evening outfits to show off,” He stated proudly, his hand against the small of your back as he gestured you towards the changing rooms.

“Draco, I couldn’t possibly! You bought me one at the start of term!” You protested, grabbing his hands but part of you knew his mind was already made up.

“You’re right,” He agreed with a nod, placing his hand against your cheek, “And I’m going to buy you four more today,” He stated nonchalantly, looking back at the four sets of the dresses brought over by the shopkeeper, “You better get started,” he urged, taking a seat on the ottoman in front of the dressing room.

With a loving smile, you captured Draco’s lips in a kiss, “I love you” You said, squeezing his hand as he returned your smile.

“And I love you most,” He replied, pressing a kiss against your forehead, and urging towards the dressing room, “Come on, I want to see how stunning you look in those.” Giggling, you ran into the changing room, winking back at Draco before sliding the curtain close and getting into the first dress.

Several hours later, you and Draco exited the shop with four bags containing various dresses, jewelry pieces, and, even, a brand-new suit. After one final stop at Honeydukes, the two of you made your way towards the castle, treasuring the time you spent together and the memories you created while doing so.

#Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy smut #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy reader insert #draco x slytherin #Harry Potter #Harry Potter Smut #harry potter imagines #harry potter imagine #draco malfoy x reader smut #hogwarts mystery #hogwarts request #hogwarts fan fiction #hogwarts fanfiction #hogwarts mystery fanfic

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hyungieyoongi · 3 years

Text

See You

Pairing: Professor!Hobi x Professor!Reader

Genre: Enemies to lovers + fluff + angst + Hobi and Reader have some personality conflicts at work but should really just make out or something and stop acting like they dislike each other + this entire fic is inspired by Hobi’s look in that gum commercial I mean he screamed professor with that turtleneck and plaid blazer (thank you @moon-write for encouraging this vision)

Word Count: 3.2K+

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“No, no, please tell me you’re joking,” you groaned, eyes scanning over the classroom assignment list posted on the faculty board in the hallway over again, hoping you were seeing things wrong. A third look at the paper confirmed that your fears had in fact come true – you and Hoseok were teaching next door to each other the entire fall semester.

Hoseok was the History of Dance Professor in your department. He was hired at the beginning of last year, three years into your career as one of the youngest faculty members in the Music & Arts program at your university. While he was bubbly and energetic, you were the more typical academic – down-to-earth, a little bit serious. He was beloved by his students for his positive personality and passion for teaching; you were well-regarded as being a natural talent who wanted to hone your students’ abilities.

It wasn’t that your students didn’t like your course. No, it was well-reviewed and relatively popular considering it was an elective. But once Hoseok arrived, you felt like you were competing with the star of the program. Every student, even the ones who didn’t like dance, were lining up for his course, pushing your class and others into smaller classrooms with dwindling numbers. He, of course, got the large lecture hall this year.

He was the pain in your side, constantly flashing his bright smile to get his way in the department, dazzling your colleagues. Students would often be buzzing in the hallways about how they didn’t have to take an exam in Professor Jung’s class like they did in Professor Y/L/N’s. They got to go to a local show instead and analyze the dance performance. Hoseok was creative and intelligent – that much you could agree with – but you rolled your eyes every time you saw another one of his students attempt to flirt with him.

Hoseok and you figured out you got on each other’s nerves pretty quickly. He would always play music too loud in his office while you were grading papers – he timed how long it took you to show up at his door to tell him to turn it down every afternoon. You would make it a point to have your students play samples of their pieces they’d written on the piano while he was in the middle of a lecture, leaving your classroom doors open so the notes of the instrument would float down the hallway to the lecture hall. You’d have a satisfied grin on your face when you heard the telltale noise of the lecture hall doors slamming shut.

The entire department knew about this little game the two of you would play with each other, not to mention the sarcastic comments from you and teasing jokes from him that were on repeat any time you were in the same room. The bickering was bound to get worse with the two of you in such close quarters all semester.

“Y/N!” you heard a loud voice call down the hallway. You hadn’t heard that voice in two and a half months thanks to your summer vacation. You gritted your teeth, turning with a tight-lipped smile toward your least-favorite coworker.

“Hoseok,” you greeted with a nod. As usual, your semi-chilly behavior toward him didn’t faze him.

“Y/N, come on, I thought I told you to call me Hobi!” he said cheerfully, his eyes squinting from his smile. He was wearing a cream turtleneck tucked into his khakis, plaid blazer over his shoulders. He had dyed his hair from the black you were accustomed to, his strands now a platinum blonde. You realized, begrudgingly, that he looked more attractive than he did last year.

“Well would you look at that, we’re neighbors,” Hoseok said after scanning the list on the board.

“Try to keep the gaggle of screaming fans away from the hallway when I’m teaching, would you?” you said sarcastically. Hoseok’s hand flew to his heart, acting like you had personally attacked him.

“Y/N, I cannot believe you would accuse my students of being so frivolous,” he said dramatically. “Just because we have more fun in my class, doesn’t make it any less serious than yours.”

“Oh, please, save the theatrics for the students who signed up thinking your class would be an easy ‘A’. I know for a fact that you gave out four D’s last semester.” Hoseok’s eyes twinkled at your challenging tone.

“And how many did you give out, Professor Y/L/N?” Hoseok asked in a sweet voice.

“None, thank you very much. Since my students actually learn something in my class, I don’t have to give out such low grades,” you quipped. Hoseok chuckled, running a hand through his wavy blonde hair.

“Maybe I should sit in on one of your classes this year. Learn a thing or two,” Hoseok said, stepping toward you. You flushed momentarily at his low tone, immediately stepping back. He smirked at your reaction.

“It’s invite only to audit my class, Jung,” you said before turning on your heel to walk toward your office down the hall, “I would say I’m sorry, but I’m really not!” you yelled over your shoulder.

You heard Hoseok laugh, and you cursed yourself for giving him the satisfaction of knowing that his teasing had gotten to you.

You had promised yourself at the end of the summer not to play into it this year – you were going to be professional, courteous. But the first time you see Hoseok, bam, it goes right out the window.

You would just have to avoid Hoseok as much as possible.

You sighed once you closed your office door behind you. It was going to be a long semester.

---

Two months into the semester, the leaves had turned to burnt oranges and red, signaling the return of fall. Hoseok was sitting in one of the auditorium seats, his legs crossed over each other, looking down at his fingers with a soft smile playing at his lips. The delicate notes of the piano were playing from your classroom, the noise piercing the thin walls separating your classroom from his.

His class had been dismissed half an hour ago, and, based on the lack of students having straggling conversations in the hallway, yours had, too. He often waited after he was done teaching to see if you would play when you thought no one was listening. The notes you played sometimes indicated your mood; the music was soft and flowing, other times dark and intense.

Today it was, melancholic? He couldn’t quite place it, but it made him think about the change in seasons. He wondered if that was on your mind. The song was fluid, making him want to choreograph a piece to it, the dancer’s body matching the tempo of the music. He shut his eyes, picturing the movements behind his closed lids.

He’d never admit that he indulged in this as often as he did – he knew you wouldn’t be playing if you found out he was your only audience member. You had been avoiding him this semester. He had tried all of his old tricks – the loud music during office hours, teasing comments during staff meetings. But you wouldn’t blink.

He opened his eyes, the song transitioning into something light and happy. It made him think of sunshine.

---

You stopped playing, your hands lifting off the keys like they burned you. You had been playing mindlessly, your fingers starting to pluck away at the keys in the melody that you had thought of when you would think of Hoseok.

The more you avoided Hoseok, the more you seemed to miss his overly positive personality. You would see him at staff meetings, always giving you a big smile. One day you came in late after a meeting with a student ran long, and you came into the room to see that he had saved you a seat next to him, the last one left empty in the room.

He was still playing his music too loud, but you had stopped bugging him about it, and you noticed that it was gradually getting quieter.

You closed the cover over the keys, willing the thoughts about Hoseok to go away, packing up your papers and laptop. He was just your annoyingly happy colleague; there was no reason he should be taking up this much space in your mind.

---

“Are you honestly suggesting that the music composition class shouldn’t be considered a prerequisite for all music program students going forward?” you questioned angrily. You and Hoseok were at a standoff in the department meeting, his normally pleasant features tense, arms crossed in front of him.

“If that means that it prevents funding from getting diverted from the dance program to the instrumental students, then, yes, that is what I’m suggesting,” Hoseok countered.

“That’s ridiculous! Music composition is a fundamental building block for all students – including dance, Jung!” your voice had risen, and the department head looked between you both, deciding that the meeting had gotten too out of hand to continue.

“Professor Y/L/N, Professor Jung – why don’t the two of you take a walk around the building, get some fresh air. The rest of you, dismissed. We’ll resume this conversation, civilly, next week,” the department head declared.

You were fuming, angrily shoving your notebook and pen in your bag before storming out of the building. You felt someone else’s presence, and you turned, groaning when you saw the last person you wanted to see standing behind you, a shit-eating grin on his face.

He opened his mouth to say something, but you held up your hand to stop him.

“Give it a rest, Jung, I’m not in the mood,” you said grumpily.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to go to the bookstore to grab a coffee and put this behind us,” Hoseok scoffed, smile wiped away. “But, I guess not.”

“Not everyone wants to just roll over and play nice when you flash them a smile, Hoseok.”

“Well, not everyone wants to act like they have a superiority complex, either.”

Your lips pursed, hands beginning to fidget with how angry and upset his comment made you. The two of you had been annoying last year, sure, but you had never been mean to each other. Until today.

“You don’t know anything about me,” you said quietly, heated tone still evident despite the low volume.

“The feeling is mutual,” Hoseok said harshly. “It’s not like you’ve even tried to get to know me. You immediately disliked me from day one. You never even gave me a chance!”

“That’s rich coming from you. All that shit with the music and the comments – it’s like you wanted me to dislike you,” you replied.

“I wanted you to talk to me, Y/N,” Hoseok said, exasperated. “Forget it, I can see now that it was useless to try.”

“I was trying to play nice this semester,” you said, glaring at Hoseok. “You came in like a damn bulldozer last year, disrupting everything in the department. And everyone just did what you wanted because you’re ‘mister nice guy’, and you make people laugh and people just think you’re perfect. Well, I don’t buy it.”

You took a deep breath, leveling your gaze at him.

“Stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours,” your voice was stone-cold. Hoseok’s eyes flashed, lips in a thin line before he responded bitterly.

“Perfect.”

---

Things had been quiet between you and Hoseok since your fight outside of the building a few weeks ago. You politely nodded at each other in the hallway when you passed by, avoiding eye contact. You would grimace when you heard his laugh during lectures next door to yours, wanting to block the sound out.

You couldn’t get what he said to you out of your thoughts – you really didn’t know Hoseok very well. All you knew is what he presented to the rest of the world. He was bubbly and positive and optimistic; he probably thought you were just some brooding, academic stiff.

Hoseok noticed the songs you were playing lately were rather intense. Sometimes he would hear you smash against the keys like you were angry with the piano for not producing the sounds you wanted to hear.

He knew the feeling. He was spending more time in the dance studio lately, dancing aggressively to loud hip hop music, trying to drown out the frustration he was feeling at not being able to make you crack and talk to him.

That’s where he found himself tonight, trying to get rid of his stress. You were stubborn, but you were also beautiful, intelligent, passionate, tenacious. He turned his music up louder, drowning out the thoughts of you.

---

You had re-read the same sentence four times, red pen poised in your hand ready to edit the student’s paper. The loud beats were still audible from the practice rooms. It was late, and the building had been closed to students for the past two hours.

You decided to go down there. You weren’t going to get them in trouble for staying past close, but with finals coming up, you were sure the students needed a gentle reminder that sleeping was just as important as practicing.

You walked down the dark hallway, going down the steps to the practice rooms on the floor beneath the faculty offices, finding the one with the light on, music blaring through the glass panes separating the space from the hall.

You glanced into the room, seeing Hoseok dancing. You had never seen him in his element before, and it was captivating. He was wearing a black pair of sweats, an oversized yellow t-shirt adorning his slender frame. The music seemed to be moving through his body. He was grounded in the floor, an intense expression on his face as he hit heavy movements on the beat, fluidly moving through other parts depending on the music. You felt like this was personal, like you weren’t allowed to be watching, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him.

Hoseok looked into the mirror, his eyes looking toward the shadow in the hallway. His eyes met yours, his gaze burning into yours through the glass. You gulped.

He turned, grabbing a bottle of water and pausing the music. You figured that was your cue, opening the door to the studio and stepping inside.

“Was it too loud?” Hoseok asked, voice light despite the obvious tension in the room.

“No, it’s okay uh – I was grading papers, and I thought a student was still down here,” you explained softly. “I thought I’d tell them to go home, get some rest.”

Hoseok had a curious expression on his face. If he was surprised to hear why you were down here, he didn’t mention it. You felt the need to fill the silence, so you spouted the first thing that came to mind.

“You’re really talented, Hobi,” you said quickly. His eyebrows shot up at the sound of the nickname you never called him. “Hoseok – sorry, I meant Hoseok.”

“Watch out, people might think we’re friends,” Hoseok joked, but it came out strained.

“Hoseok – Hobi. I’m sorry about what I said a few weeks ago. I was heated, and I apologize,” you said, looking down at a scuff in the hardwood floors.

“I’m sorry, too. What I said was uncalled for, and I didn’t mean to upset you. Last year, this semester. Anything I’ve done that has made you mad or annoyed. I’m sorry,” Hobi said sincerely. “I-um, well…”

You looked up, waiting for him to continue.

“I just wanted your attention.”

“What?”

“I wanted your attention. I wanted you to want to talk to me. I wanted you to get to know me. Not the version of me that I show my students. I wanted you to see me. Really see me.”

You gulped, Hobi’s vulnerability making you nervous. He took a step toward you, and you willed yourself to stay in place.

“I know you do the same thing; you hide. Hide behind this persona you’ve created. I think it goes away when you play piano.”

“How do you–what do you mean?” you asked incredulously.

“I hear you play. After class. I never told you because I selfishly wanted to keep listening. Your music it – it tells a story. About your day, your feelings. If you didn’t tell me yourself, at least your music did.”

Your cheeks burned knowing that he was audience to all of the time spent in your classroom, working out your feelings on the piano like it was your therapy.

“Everything goes away when I play,” you stopped, thinking about how distracted you had been lately trying to compose. “Well, most of the time, anyway.”

“That’s how I feel when I dance,” Hobi admitted with a gentle smile. You nodded, realizing that the two of you had this in common, at least.

“I’ll leave you to it,” you said, backing away from Hobi toward the door.

“Wait –,” Hobi said, slightly flustered. “Dance with me.”

Your eyes widened. Hobi laughed, and you hated to admit that you had missed the sound.

“Come on, just trust me, Y/L/N.” You waited while he picked out a song, holding out his hand. You placed your fingers in his, and he pulled you close to him, leading you around the studio floor to the song. He made you feel light on your feet despite your lack of dance experience, his hand tightly gripping yours, his other floating over your waist. Your skin tingled from the contact.

He spun you around twice, your hands landing on his chest as you tried to regain your balance. You looked up at him, genuinely enjoying yourself. His bright smile you used to roll your eyes at lit up his features, causing your smile to match his.

“Can you see me now, Y/N?” Hobi asked, referencing his earlier confession. “Because I see you when you play. When you tell a student crying in your office that everything is going to be okay. And I see you now when you’re dancing with me like this.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Remember when you said I didn’t know anything about you?” You nodded, recognizing his reference to your fight outside of the department building. “I don’t think that’s true. But I know there’s so much more to know. And I want to know everything.”

Hobi’s hand came up to your cheek, softly placing it on the side of your face.

“I want to know you, too, Hobi,” you whispered.

He leaned forward, his breath fanning over your lips, “Want to start now?”

You gripped his t-shirt in your hand, pulling him the last few inches to your lips instead of answering. You felt him smile against your lips, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close to him.

He pulled back, his forehead resting on yours as you caught your breath.

“Does this mean I can start playing my music loudly during office hours again?” Hobi teased, his fingers playing with the hem of your sweater, brushing against your skin.

You made a face at him, causing him to laugh. He kissed you on the forehead, then on the lips again to make you smile before answering.

“Not a chance.”

---

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insomniackae · 2 years

Text

-Sugary sweet-

(Modern!Childe x gn(?) reader)

Ok tbh this is very bad since I made this a LONG LONG time ago, when my writing era just started. But when I was scrolling through my notepad I saw this fic and I was like, "Omg did I actually wrote this? (derogatory) " BUT. I was too lazy to write something else at the moment but I felt bad for not posting so I figured I should try and share this old terrible work of mine. I sincerely apologize if you don't like this fic.

Warning: cringe obvi, short like my sleep hours, mention of sugar daddy, word crimes, slightly suggestive, maybe a little bit ooc, not proofread, event take place in the modern world.

*･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･*

It was a sunny day. Just like yesterday. And the day before. And the day before. There's nothing interesting happening these days.

Well, today you decided to stop by the newly opened cafe near your office. I mean- why not? Sweets are your thing. You practically survive off sweets.

You got a few (a lot) of pastries and a cup of coffee. You were walking home cheerfully, eager to eat your pastries once you got home. That is until you bumped onto a tall figure, spilling your coffee everywhere. Even your box full of pastries fell to the ground. Before you could even do anything, the flock of birds nearby already surrounded it.

"Oh my, are you alright? " The soothing voice made you cocked your head up to look at the person.

You malfunctioned for awhile. How could a man like him exist? His ginger hair paired with beautifuly unique blue eyes. He's wearing a suit. And oh archons, his hand is so beautiful. His glove shaped itself around his fingers perfectly, complimenting his already stunning image. You were practically staring.

"Umm... Hello...? Miss? " You broke out of your fantasy upon hearing his voice once again. Archons, did I just openly stared at him? Embarrassing.

"Oh! Yea-yeah. Im sorry for bumping into you" You apologized.

"No! It supposed to be me who apologize. Because of me your food has gone to waste" Oh. You actually forgot about your pastries. Ok, now you're a bit mad. Though, you can't blame him.

"How about I compesate you? I'll buy you your pastries back" He offered.

You tried your best to turn down his offer but he keeps on insisting. At last, you accepted it anyway. Oh how could you resist when a handsome rich man with attractive hands practically begging to pay you back.

"My name is [name]." You introduced yourself while shaking his beautiful covered hand.

You exchanged your number with him. He said that although he would be more glad to go with you today, he has some jobs to do.

"I'll text you whenever I'm free. Nice to meet you, Miss [name]. I'm Ajax, by the way"

After all that, you went home. You lay in bed after taking a nice fresh cold shower.

"Ajax huh... "

You closed your eyes, slowly sailing so sleep. You were way too exhausted to think about anything anymore. Alot has happened today and you don't want anymore thought floods your mind after todays event.

You may not realized it, but you were waiting for his text.

𝘼 𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙠 𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙧.

You've finally gotten his text. So he didn't forget after all?

And here you are. Sitting infront of him, in a cafe waiting for your orders.

He got the casual look today. With a gray long sleeved turtleneck and black pants. He's not wearing gloves today. Archons. His hands really is beautiful. You can't help but stare at it.

"Are you done staring? "

You blushes madly. Archons, I did it again. You apologized, while still wearing that flustered expression all over your face.

"Ahaha... It's alright. I can't blame you for thinking that I'm attractive" He claimed proudly.

"My, you have quite the pride, Mr. Ajax. Though, I would too if I'm a person as handsome as you." He seems to be quite amused by your statement. It's bold, just like how he like it

And that's how you met Ajax. You've gradually became closer to him to the point that you knew everything about him and he knew everything about you too. Before you knew it, you both started flirting with each other.

One day, he asked you to accompany him to a certain place to discuss some "business" with you. You gladly accepted.

Your jaws opened wide when he took you to the fanciest hotel you've ever seen. You knew he is rich but wow...

You sat on the bed with satin bedsheet. If there is one word that could describe the moment, it would be "Fancy". Your heart races with anticipation as Ajax dimmed the light and sat next to you.

"I have... a job for you, my dear. It is quite beneficial for you, if I must say so. That is if you accept it, of course. " He stated.

You were interested with the sound of it since you were fired from your company not too long ago. A job is exactly what you needed.

"And may I know what job is it?" You asked.

He chuckled and started to get closer to you. His blue eyes fixated on you.

"You just need to love me. Satisfy me. And since... you seem to really love sweet things, how about I became your sweet sugar daddy? You'll just have to be by my side whenever i need you to. How does that sound angel? "

You were honestly surprised, but you would be lying to yourself if you say that you don't want him to say that.

"Well, the job does sound irresistible. I accept it. I'm truly grateful to have an employer such as you are~" You said seductively. Your answer was given, consent was established, now there's only one thing to do

He pulls you onto his lap, He close the distance between your faces and pulls you into a heated make out session. It went on for quite a while.

He broke off the kiss, letting you to take your breath. "I think... We shouldn't rush this. Let's take it slow. " He said as he brushed his hand softly on you cheek. Caressing it.

"And since you love this finger of mine so much... " He whispered softly to your ear.

He shoved his index and his middle finger in your mouth, touching the back of your tongue with the his finger pads.

"Why don't you suck it for me, darling~"

#childe x gn reader #genshin imagines #reader insert #not proofread #genshin ajax #tartaglia x reader #genshin tartagalia

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

Text

care less, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader, implied taehyung x reader

summary: There are countless partings in this world. People come in and out of your life, impacts large and small. But there is one where you could care less. You really could. And that’s Min Yoongi, your high school ex-boyfriend, the one who took something from you and promptly disappeared, only to come back with a furious declaration, on the night you’re supposed to teach Kim Taehyung how to eat pussy.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language, discussions about adult topics; mentions of slut shaming; reader is pansexual; rough angsty smut (fem reader, slight dom/sub themes, m-receiving oral, overstimulation, hair-pulling, cowgirl); regrets everywhere; non-idol!AU; exes-to-lovers; pianist, softsub!Yoongi

inspired by “I get mad when I see you, and even madder when I don't”, wet-haired Yoongi in Run BTS! 131, ONEWE’s song ‘소행성 (Parting)’, and you’re probably wondering how these things go together.

–

"How do you eat a girl out?"

"I... what?"

"How," Kim Taehyung repeated, slower this time, emphasizing each syllable with his impossibly deep voice. "Do you eat a girl out?"

"Why are you asking me?"

Taehyung raised his eyebrows. "Because you've hooked up with tons of girls. You must have eaten out at least one of them." You blinked at him as he continued. "I figure you have a unique perspective because you're a girl whose probably been eaten out and whose eaten out other girls."

You put down your spicy chicken. "Is this why you offered to buy me lunch?"

Taehyung's giant brown eyes shifted around uncomfortably. "Look," he said in a hushed tone. "I took this girl on a nice date and then it got to the spicy bit–"

"Leading her on, yes, yes, continue."

Taehyung narrowed his eyes at you but ignored your comment, barreling on. "And she asked me to eat her out, but I didn't know what I was doing."

"An absolute tragedy for sex god Kim Taehyung," you mocked. He growled and threw one of his chicken bones in your direction as you laughed.

"Oi, this is serious!"

You kept cracking up, taking a bite of spicy crispy meat. "Yes, seriously funny." He kept glaring at you, so you relented a little. "She didn't ask for the dick like everyone else?"

Taehyung pouted. "Well, she did, after I spent twenty minutes doing what she called, basically nothing," he scowled.

You shrugged. "Then you redeemed yourself, so what's the problem?"

Taehyung crouched over the table, stabbing your plastic tray. "The problem is, she's gonna tell other girls I can't eat pussy."

"Nah, she won't," you chewed, relishing the spiciness of the chicken. "She'll be too busy daydreaming about your giant dick."

Taehyung frowned, obviously not believing you. You casually are another piece of chicken, watching him contemplating. He was wearing cream slacks and a beige sweater, casually handsome with his dark brown hair, long enough to curl around his eyebrows. His fried chicken was already demolished into bones. He always got his not spicy.

You never understood that.

"Why didn't you ask me to eat you out?"

You shrugged. "We were only hooking up. I wanted to sit on your dick like everyone else."

"Teach me."

Your fingers were turning bright red with the crispy breading on the meat. You could feel the tingle of the spice on your puffy lips and throat, a measured fire burning. You didn’t bother to reach for your drink. Better to lull in the fire for a bit.

"Taehyung, it's just practice."

"Then let me practice on you."

You sucked out a bit of chicken from your teeth as you gave him a disbelieving look. "Thought your policy was to never fuck twice?"

He shrugged. "Not technically a fuck? Besides, you're the Sex Teacher," he added with a snicker.

You rolled your eyes. "Ugh, don't call me that. Some dudes started calling me that just because I took some guy's virginity."

"You've probably taken several virginities with your track record."

"Speak for yourself."

"Do you or do you not know how to eat a girl out?" Taehyung asked, brown eyes boring into you.

You picked up the toothpick the restaurant had provided you and stuck it between your teeth. Brushed the crumbs off your flannel dress and picked up your tray, standing up.

"'Course I do."

Thus, you were now in your apartment with Kim Taehyung, several days later, wondering why you agreed to this nonsense.

"Do I just whip off your pants or what?"

You rolled your eyes, keeping a firm grip on your gray sweatpants. He had arrived in a long black coat and brown turtleneck, black billowy slacks. Kicked his shoes off and presented you with said question.

"What do I get out of this?" you grumbled, turning around and heading into your apartment, shivering a little because of your loose white t-shirt that you had cut in half ages ago, turning it into a crop top. It had a stain at the bottom, so what better way to fix it than chop it off? Still, you should have opened the front door with your hoodie on, but it would warm up soon with the door now closed.

"What do you what? Money?"

"I'm not a prostitute, Taehyung," you muttered. "Even if you think I am."

"I don't," Taehyung said coolly. "But money happens to buy things, so maybe you want some to buy something for yourself."

You pursed your lips, grabbing your mint thermos of warm water. It was a bit weird, but you preferred warm water over most drinks, except soda. But you couldn't be binging on soda all day, unfortunately, so you tried not to buy it and stuck with the water. Kept you from getting diabetes. Damn you, weak human body!

"Nice nips."

You raised an eyebrow as you took a sip. You weren't wearing a bra. Your hard nipples were poking through the t-shirt thanks to the cold.

"Are they distracting your fragile mind?"

Taehyung smiled, dark curls around his teasing brown eyes. "No, I'm simply appreciating them. A lot."

You looked down. Taehyung opened his coat. You sucked in the side of your lip, seeing his bulge. Maybe he was too chill with you now. Ever since you two realized your sex partners overlapped, a strange friendship developed. You’d talk about it casually with him, as if you two were discussing Pokémon trading cards instead of one-night stands. He would advise you against so-and-so and you would warn him about who-the-fuck-ever. Of course, you two only figured that out after you sat on his dick, but, hey, it was a nice dick. Lived up to the hype.

Unlike Taehyung, you didn't really have any weird rules when it came to hooking up. You went with the flow, and if you were feeling it, then you did it. Didn't really matter who it was, what gender, if they wanted to be upside down on a park bench as you sucked their balls and they jacked off into their own face (happened once, was kind of interesting to be honest). Taehyung, however, had some kind of conquest thing going on, numbers and all that, and needed everyone to know he was good at it. Insanely good. Mind-blowingly good.

Taehyung closed his coat, tilting his head. "Whatchu want then? Not another fuck. Something else."

Your doorbell rang.

"Oh, for fuck’s sake," you muttered, slamming your thermos down and marching to the door. "What is this, a fucking zoo, I swear–"

You wrenched the door open.

"Fuck you."

Slightly slurred, husky, deep.

Okay, well, yeah, sure, after I teach Taehyung how to–

The black head of hair raised and your thought disintegrated into pure shock.

"I get mad when I see you," the man growled. "And even madder when I don't."

He was holding a half-full bottle of soju.

"I... what?" was your incredibly weak reply, because you were staring at the hunched form of Min Yoongi. Black hair longer than the last time you saw him, styled over a clean undercut, wearing a torn-up black bomber jacket and a green t-shirt, acid-wash jeans with giant holes, revealing his pink, slightly bruised knees. He was breathing hard, glaring at you.

Accusing you.

Suddenly the years without him felt like an eternity.

"Hyung?!"

Oh right. Taehyung existed.

But you couldn't react, couldn't breathe, starstruck, awestruck, dumbstruck at seeing Min Yoongi at your doorstep. Yoongi cocked at eyebrow, looking past you, and Taehyung's body was suddenly pressed against your back, reminding you, yes, he was real, actually there, why was he there again? What was life?

"Hyung, holy shit! I haven't seen you in ages, since..." Taehyung's voice suddenly died, baritone vanishing into nothing.

"Why the fuck is he here?" Yoongi grunted.

"I... was going to ask her to–"

"He was leaving," you interrupted, shoving Taehyung from behind you to in front of you. "Taking his coat and leaving."

"What?" Taehyung sputtered, brown eyes wide, confused, blinking rapidly. "Hyung, why do you have a bottle of soju–"

Yoongi clicked his tongue, very loudly.

"Forget this."

He turned, but Taehyung grabbed his arm.

Not you.

Taehyung stopped Yoongi.

The world was so cold. Your arm outstretched but touching nothing, because Taehyung was faster, Taehyung was closer, and you were so very far away from Min Yoongi. Yoongi turned his head slowly, venom in his gaze.

"Hyung."

Yoongi's eyes locked with yours, making you breathless.

"I don't understand," Taehyung said quietly. "What's going on? I thought you didn't care about her."

Those cat-like eyes narrowed, expression cold and emotionless. "Is that what you told them?"

It was airless and then the world burst into flames.

"You didn't tell me until the last day," you hissed, curling your hands into fists, voice rising. "You told all your friends, but you didn't tell me until the last day, not until the very last second before you flew to fucking Europe to go to university for that fucking music program!"

Taehyung's eyes widened. "Y-You said she didn't care..."

"Fuck you, Min Yoongi," you snarled, every muscle in your arms tensing, remembering all the moments, the gentleness that turned to coldness, the last night and what he took from you, turning into years and years of not caring about anything, fucking everything in sight, anyone who said yes, trying to forget his kiss and his memory before he got on a fucking plane and flew time zones away, never trying to contact you after.

"Fuck you for thinking you can be angry at me for any reason at all, fuck you for thinking I did anything, fucking anything, to deserve that shit, taking my fucking virginity and leaving me!"

"I didn't take your virginity," Yoongi spat back, spinning around, hair bristling. "You lost it to that–"

"Maybe you should have fucking asked me instead of believing stupid fucking rumors!"

The human body was useless, but also driven by emotion, and you didn't even feel cold anymore, years of anger piled up, rumors that you were a whore, so you became that whore, owning it, doing it all, because why did it fucking matter when everyone already thought that? Sex Teacher they called you and your first teacher was standing in front of you, completely clueless.

Fucking idiot.

Yoongi glared at you. You glared back.

Taehyung stood there, gawking.

Yoongi's eyes dropped. He shoved the half-empty bottle of soju into Taehyung's arms and pushed Taehyung aside, Taehyung flailing to prevent dropping the glass bottle, and closed the distance between you and him, and now you could see, older, more tired, still handsome, still the same dreamer from years ago who traced your fingers and placed them on the keys, slowly helping you play the notes even though you didn’t know jack shit, and you enthralled with his smile, his laugh, his dream of becoming a world-renowned pianist.

Yoongi grabbed your face and kissed you.

The first was the scent of alcohol, a subtle sweetness on his lips, but alcohol nonetheless. The second was the softness, the faint flush of his cheeks paired with his lips on yours, dainty despite the strength in grip on your cheeks. The third.

Heat.

The years-old iceberg of 'I-don't-give-a-shit' melting faster than the polar ice caps, sheets and sheets of ice crashing into the sea of emotions, youth and stubbornness combined, melted in his kiss, you grabbing a fistful of his shirt and yanking him in your apartment, Taehyung calling after you both.

"Um, guys? Hello?"

"Go drinking Taehyung," Yoongi growled and slammed the door.

Taehyung held the half-bottle of soju.

What now?

What about his reputation?

He frowned.

Maybe he should call up Park Jimin.

Taehyung took a sip of the soju as he walked away. He made a disgusted face. Ugh. Why did hyung like such strong shit? The flavor was unique and rich, but his throat felt like a layer of skin was being sloughed off.

One would only drink something like this if they were depressed.

Oh.

"Your reputation precedes you."

"Fuck off."

"You became quite a woman."

"And you're still an insensitive shit."

You yanked his jacket off and dumped it on the floor, fists back in his green shirt, biting his lip, kissing him hard, him gasping in your mouth, his hands on your breasts, kneading them through the t-shirt, fingertips brushing over your hard nipples, sparks of pleasure crackling through you.

"I was trying to protect you," Yoongi snarled, just as angry as you, both frustrated at time lost, both knowing it was for the best, both realizing that his misunderstanding and your reaction was just shitty communication of stubborn youth and time past that couldn't reset.

But still.

Anger doesn't care about reason.

"Protect me, my ass," you scowled, dragging him into your kitchen, pinning him against the counter. "What do you think I am, emotional fragility queen?"

"You wouldn't have cared?" he shot back, gripping your shirt and flinging it up, sucking in a breath as he revealed your tits.

"Obviously! Why would I spend years being a slut to forget about your stupid hands?" you scowled, grabbing his wrists, planting said hands on your breasts, shuddering at the cold touch, chilled by night air, not exactly the same hands as back then, but better, rougher, strength of a man and not a high school boy, thumb and index finger rolling your hard nipples. Once again, fistfuls of his shirt, shaking him aggressively through heavy breaths. "You and your stupid mouth."

Kissing him, not the same, but better, stronger, more intense, stained with alcohol and regrets, devouring your tongue hungrily, intertwining.

"It would have ended the same," Yoongi murmured, the hurt creeping in his grating voice.

It would have.

And that was the shittest bit.

Knowing that even if he told you earlier that it would hurt no less, knowing that you would have gone and fucked other people anyway, because even if you tried to make it long distance, it wouldn't have worked. Some people could do it, but not young you and young Yoongi, too immature to know the meaning of wait.

"Still gives you no right to believe the words of others instead of asking me outright," you muttered, bending him backwards on the counter with your weight and he was letting you do it, hands still glued to your tits. "Why would believe that shit?"

"Because it was easier to leave you that way," Yoongi admitted, shame flitting in his dark eyes.

"Fucking shit, you're an idiot."

You already knew that. Guessed, after years of agonizing over it. Easier to be angry than understanding. Easier to feel pain than to acknowledge it. What could you do? Tell him not to go to Europe? Not when his parents, his family, his friends, his neighbors, fuck, the whole damn school was ecstatic and congratulatory for him, everyone except you, not because you didn’t want Yoongi to follow his dreams, but because you wanted him to stay.

With you.

Selfishly.

And so, it was so much easier to be mad, so much easier for the two of you to fight until he tumbled on top of you, kissing you, tearing off your clothes as you tore off his and the first time hurt, it hurt but not as much as you thought, maybe because there was so much adrenaline from the anger and because he was so careful and loving about it.

He really was.

And there was pain, but it was nothing compared to the pain you felt the next day and the day after, and the next month, years, numbing everything, agreeing to really stupid propositions like the thing with Taehyung, all because you knew and he knew, but you both chose to be mad over being reasonable.

You hauled Yoongi up onto your kitchen counter, him kicking the side of the cabinets to lift himself up, not speaking. One look in his eyes and you saw yourself reflected in them, so close to tears that you kept your mouth shut and he kept his shut, preferring the anger to the sadness.

Because deep down, you were so, so happy to see Yoongi again.

It didn’t discount any of the wrongs though.

You fumbled with the button of his jeans and his hands came to help, unzipping, fingertips tracing over yours, more agile than before, swifter than an amateur. You raised your head, locking your gaze with his.

Yoongi was panting, cheeks flushed, guilt consuming his features.

It stung.

You yanked his pants down unceremoniously, not caring right now about stupid young you and stupid young Yoongi, gripping his underwear and dragging them down, his hard cock springing up, bigger than you remembered, thicker, red tip twitching, still wanting it just as bad, not looking at his face and closing your mouth in on it, gripping his hips and pulling him closer for better leverage. His scent and moan encompassed you, your eyes shutting as your tongue circled around his hot length, swallowing it up, oh so good, so good, better than anyone else’s because it was the one you tried to forget, entranced by the way Yoongi’s cock slid down your throat and filled your mouth, hearing his ecstasy from your touch, gasps of pleasure as you began to bob your head up and down, tongue going from the bottom of the head, down the quivering veins, all the way to the base, nudging his balls with the tip of your tongue, a skill you learned from many, many blowjobs.

You opened your eyes and you knew your guilt was in them. Yoongi could see it with every mouthful of his cock disappearing into your lips, his eyes half-lidded and pupils dilated, empathizing.

“Yeah, so what if we’ve fucked other people?” he grunted, rolling his hips into your face and making you growl in your chest. “I could care less.”

Yeah, you could, and me too.

Faster and tighter, suffocating him with your mouth, hands flat on the counter, blowing him at the same spot you were eating a fucking salad two hours ago before Taehyung’s arrival and contemplating tongue techniques, back when your iceberg of uncaring was still intact but now it was part of the ocean of emotions once more, watching Yoongi unravel, rubbing his fists into the granite, crying out and arching his back, black hair fanning out with every harsh swallow and throat clench around the head, leaking pre-cum into your throat and throbbing into the roof of your mouth.

“F-Fuck me…”

He hissed out your name and snapped his chin to his chest, thrusting into your mouth, exploding, salty thickness coating your tongue and down your tight throat, you gulping it down with a choked gasp, his taste a part of you now after all this time, an edge of bitterness that you welcomed, who knew what the fuck he was eating before this, but you didn’t care, didn’t care, you had Yoongi’s cock in your mouth and every second was worth it.

Your tongue coated the head, collecting the dribbling cum and you swallowed that too, glaring at him. Lowering down once more, swallowing him to the base once again, him sucking in a pained breath at the sensitivity because your throat was unforgiving, constricting him as forcefully as you could, tongue sliding up, teasing right under the head, the thin skin that make Yoongi squirm and hiss under you, spreading the slit with the tip of your tongue. Yoongi slapped his palms onto the counter, clenching his jaw to avoid screaming.

But he didn’t stop you.

He simply watched you with pained eyes, letting you do whatever you wanted, thrashing under your merciless mouth, rutting the sensitive head against the roof of your mouth roughly, his body thrashing to try to get away, but still Yoongi said nothing, thin moans escaping his closed lips, even twisting his hips back and rocking them into your face to let you abuse him more, manhandling him to your heart’s content. You kept going, long agonizing minutes, strongly sucking the head, shoving it all the way to the back of your throat, teasing it with your tongue, swirling around and around, pressure, roughness, tightness, aggravating the sensitive skin until you saw Yoongi on the verge of tears.

He still didn’t stop you.

You retreated, your lips now only around the head, tongue ghosting over the pulsating, inflamed tip, drenching it with saliva.

“You deserved that,” you muttered.

“I deserve a lot of things,” Yoongi grunted, finally relaxing his shoulders and laying flat against the counter, panting hard, cheeks still flushed, staring at the ceiling.

Neither of you were saying sorry.

You gave him one last painful suck and he swore under his breath, but didn’t say anything else, biting his lip hard as you popped your mouth off his cock. For a few moments, there was nothing but oppressive, irate panting. Yoongi’s dick was still hard and sticking straight up, he himself spread out on your kitchen counter like a fucking buffet, still wearing his shirt and half-wearing his jeans. You were shirtless, tits out, gray sweatpants slung low on your hips.

“When are you going back?”

Yoongi was still staring at the ceiling.

“Don’t know.”

“Liar.”

Dark eyes flickered down.

“If you asked me five minutes ago, the answer would have been in two weeks.”

Your eyes narrowed, boring into his. “How many blowjobs have you gotten overseas, huh? One hundred? Five hundred?” Frustration, grief, vehemence, all rolled into one, turning your voice into ice, sheets of frozen water churning and reforming, snapping together one by one with each word, your hands coming up and digging your nails into his thighs, racking them down, bright red scratches in your wake. “How many people have you fucked? Do you think I’m fucking stupid, Yoongi?”

He gritted his teeth, screwing his eyes shut, fingers curling onto fists at the pain.

“I really thought you didn’t care,” was his distressed hiss.

You stopped; nails sunk into his pale skin, creating dark crescents with how hard you were pressing.

“I thought you would hate me forever.”

Your hands left his thighs, glaring scarlet lines of your pain on his skin now.

“And I thought it would get better, but it didn’t.”

His fingers uncoiled, one by one. Long, deft digits, practiced, trained, beautiful, crescents of pink from his own nails in his palm. Eyes opening, lash by lash, lifting, dark, pained, regretful, drifting down to you and his exposed, still-hard cock, just there, ignored, surrounded by scratch marks.

“I was mad that you didn’t try to contact me,” Yoongi mumbled. “And madder at myself for not trying to contact you.”

Ice cracking, melting off, crashing back down into the vast ocean of emotion.

You reached into your pocket.

Your name, tumbling from his lips, his eyes shifting to you.

“In between countless partings, the one I always remembered was you.”

You climbed onto the counter, sweatpants and underwear on the floor. Yoongi’s eyes widened in shock, so stunned that he couldn’t stop staring at you, knees, thighs, crotch – clean, you were always clean-shaven, but he didn’t know that, a habit you developed without him and now you felt weird with hair down there – and so he could see everything, wet lips glistening. Up to your waist, a pattern of small moles above your bellybutton that high-school Yoongi had danced his fingers over.

Saying, “My Milky Way, my galaxy.”

This was after you called him an insensitive bastard and he accused you of losing your virginity to some athletic jock kid, as if high-school you would ever have a chance with someone like that.

Up your tits, your collarbones, your face.

Determined.

Yoongi jumped, realizing you had wrapped your hand around his cock and pumped it a few times before rolling down the condom, angling your pussy above the purple-red head. He made eye contact with you.

“I can’t go back if you do this,” he whispered.

“Boo-fucking-hoo, shut your trap.”

You sank down and he clamped his jaw shut, veins on his neck popping out in strain as Yoongi tried not to cry, your previous ministrations amplifying the sudden hot, wet pleasure that overwhelmed him, you sighing in bliss as he filled you, nicer than before, better because you knew what to do now, relaxing your muscles before pulsing around him, his eyelids fluttering, whines in his throat, palms flat on the granite, such beautiful hands that you reached down and put them on your thighs, wanting him to touch you.

Dark brown eyes shaking, pupils dilated, fingernails digging into your skin.

“Isn’t that what you do? Use your hands all day?” you taunted.

He gripped your thighs tight, apology flashing across his features.

“You better not cum before I do,” you snapped, rocking your hips a little.

Yoongi sucked in a breath. “I’ll try.”

You leaned forward, one hand on the counter, the other closing in on his black hair. Twisting the black locks in your fingers, gripping so hard your knuckles were white, but you weren’t pulling on his hair, only holding it, but your eyes told him everything.

“You fucking owe me.”

Him staring into your blazing eyes.

“I owe you for the rest of my life.”

You rolled your hips into his crotch, hard, smacking your ass down on his balls and he whimpered, jerking his head to the side and pulling his own hair, whimper turning into a wounded gasp.

“Shut the fuck up. We both know you deserved that scholarship, you talented asshole.”

You began your pace, bruising and intense from the start, unforgiving, but you had already forgiven him, years ago, by yourself with no one else to know, now your hand in his hair with Yoongi writhing under you, causing his own pain flaring across his scalp because your grip was so tight, his hands on your thighs, his length sliding out and then shoved back in. You could feel him getting harder, swelling more, the sensation unbearable so he kept igniting the pain to prevent himself from orgasm. You made sure to let the maximum amount of your skin to hit him – clit on his crotch, pussy enveloped around his cock, the tip hitting your deepest, most pleasurable spot, ass smacking against his balls – so that even you moaned, shivers of ecstasy layering on top of each other, climbing notes of a song from long ago.

Now continuing.

From that night at your parents’ house that bedroom of painful and lovely memories, his hands on your wrists, telling you that he could go slow until you felt better, how could he not know? Yoongi just assumed it was because you weren’t aroused since you were so angry at him, and you never accused him of having any experience before you, and to be honest you didn’t give a shit; if that was society’s fault or your feelings for him, you didn’t know. It all seemed so foolish back then, stupid, why were you so attached to a high-school boy when there were thousands of other men and women out there, and you tried, you fucked them, but in the end.

In the end, it wasn’t the roars of pleasure or multiple orgasms or big dicks or sweet pussy that made you feel the same as you felt when you looked down at Yoongi, eyes rolling back, biting his lip so hard the skin was white, black hair bunched around your fingers, his fucking green t-shirt still on but you could tell every muscle was tensed and he was barely breathing, anything to prevent himself from orgasm, knuckles white on your thighs, clutching them so hard they would surely leave bruises, but you didn’t care.

Yoongi was a genius. He could play the piano like no one else.

Someone could be technically better, someone could be more experienced, someone could be more nuanced, but no one felt music like Yoongi felt music, no one loved piano like how Yoongi loved piano.

He deserved every cent, every experience, every year he spent overseas.

He seemed to feel your gaze on him and his eyes found yours, black pupils nearly overtaking the irises, sweating so bad that his t-shirt was soaking down the front.

“Hold on,” you breathed. “Hold on for me, Yoongi.”

He whined pathetically.

Did he love you as much as he loved piano or was it the soju talking?

Who are you kidding?

Yoongi would never love you as much as the piano.

You set your jaw and leaned down a little more, bending his cock the tiniest bit, more leverage to go harder, rougher, rolling your spine down, smack! Onto his crotch, Yoongi’s mouth flying open and crying out your name in shock, your knees screaming on the harsh granite but you didn’t care, fucking Yoongi for all you were worth, using every muscle and every technique you knew to apply as much pressure as you could, choking his dick. Yoongi’s hands jolted off your thighs, hitting your open thermos on the counter, both of your forgetting it was there this whole time, the double-walled, stainless steel, mint thermos.

It toppled and spewed warm water all over your thighs, your joined crotches, part of his shirt, probably leaking down his ass and onto the counter.

You yelped at the sudden unexpected wet warmth. Yoongi’s hips jerked up, wild moan escaping his lips and your pussy spasmed, orgasm plummeting into you, a sudden avalanche that made your eyes roll back and a guttural groan vibrate your chest, both hands inadvertently clasping and yanking on Yoongi’s hair, and he lost it, whining your name as he came, hard cock lurching and convulsing against your walls, shooting his load into the condom, his cries extending to wanton, pained moans. It took everything in you to at least loosen your fingers, spreading them on his scalp and holding his head as gently as you could, whole body shuddering, even your jaw, not able to say his name properly because your teeth were clattering uncomfortably against each other.

You closed your eyes.

Listening to Yoongi’s strained breathing. Hearing pain, sadness, his raspy voice from long ago, words in the seconds before you feel asleep in his arms from being worn out from anger and losing your virginity. All this time, wanting to believe it was silence, wanting to believe he said nothing, letting yourself believe in your lie to fuel your rage.

“I am sorry.”

You opened your eyes, lowering your chin. Yoongi’s dark orbs, glassy and spent, trying to focus on your face. His hand came up, still wet with the spilled water, and you realized you had pitched forward a little from the force of your orgasm.

His fingers danced on the small mole pattern above your bellybutton.

“My Milky Way. My galaxy,” he whispered softly.

Lovingly.

Guilt all over his face.

“I have to go back. I have performances, opportunities.”

You leaned down. “Stop lying, Yoongi.” Eyes locked with his and a smile. “You want to go back. Because you are an ambitious, talented asshole.”

You knew you were right. You could see it in his eyes, the quickness as he looked away, not wanting to face you. You slumped down, knees giving out, Yoongi’s cock half-buried in you, slowly softening, but it didn’t matter. You put your full weight on him, fitting your chin on his shoulder, not quite looking at his face, nose far too close to your fucking kitchen counter. Yoongi grunted uncomfortably, but didn’t tell you to get off. There was water everywhere and the mint thermos was on the tile floor and somehow neither of you had noticed. It must have made a very loud sound.

“I hate my job anyway. Might as well run away to a different continent for some stupid boy.”

“I can’t ask you to come with me.”

“I’m not asking.”

He chuckled.

“You really have changed.”

“Sucks for you.”

You felt his arms wrap around your waist.

“Guess so.”

“Why was Taehyung here anyway?”

“I was supposed to show him how to eat pussy.”

Yoongi blinked at you, holding a damp rag. Both of you were kneeling on the floor, naked, attempting to sop up the mess. “How?”

“He was going to practice on me.”

“I can give a live demonstration instead,” Yoongi growled, an edge possessive.

“Yeah, no, I think my night is booked. Emergency appointment.”

You picked up your kitchen towels and wrung them out in your sink, looking down at him, raising your eyebrow. Yoongi’s hair was messy and curled, wet from sweat and water. He gazed up at you. You saw him shiver. You kept your expression neutral despite your heartbeat racing.

“Have some catching up to do.”

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi smut #bts smut #yoongi fanfic #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you

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