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nokwisi · 2 years

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the necessary energy — viktor x f!reader; nsfw

when an experiment involving a mysterious drug known as Calor goes awry, you and Viktor struggle to navigate the resulting effects—both physical, and emotional. note; so, this is my very first attempt at writing for viktor (or arcane, for that matter!), so please bear with me on characterization and all that jazz. science jargon is pulled out of my ass, and in great abundance. apologies, but also not really because this was fun to write! content warning/tags; 18+, sex pollen, multiple orgasms, porn with feelings, scientists being dumbasses, viktor is self-conscious, reader is emotionally stunted, love confessions, slow-build, angst and a dash of fluff. word count; 7.6k, heavy dialogue

It could be a quiet thing, humming to life lazily, blossoming in the space between as you worked side by side on your projects; a wrench passed from your hand to his, a touch that would ignite it just a little more, like fanning a glowing ember aflame.

Although neither of you would say anything, you'll both categorize it within yourselves as something—something inexplicable to two brilliant minds, and it would be ironic in that sense; and lovely; and gradual.

Gradual enough that you won't realize your affinity has evolved to glowing, aching infatuation. Until you're pondering not the relative equations to your current conundrum, but rather the sharp angles of his face, or the pinch of his thick brows; the zeal of determination in his golden eyes as he dissolves into his work.

Indeed, in an alternate reality, the two of you might have been in love.

As it stands now, you're entirely convinced that your confrère believes love to quite possibly be the worst condition of the human mind—'an affliction of productivity, it's symptoms hiding under the guise of yearning hearts and anxious minds'— a rather peculiar ideology for a man ailed such as himself.

You sympathize with Sky, the poor girl's gone and fallen for a man who deems himself monogamous—both mind and body—to the pursuit of science. Married to his work, as it were. Sky could never hold a flame to the burning ambition Viktor harbors. Perhaps, and although the concept is saddening, no one can.

A small, melancholy smile graces your lips as you think back to your time spent at the Academy, where you watched from the perspective of what you can only surmise as that of friendly rival. Witnessing Viktor— already so enamored with the pursuit of knowledge—fall in love with it completely. He would scoff at the notion of mixing pleasure and work, even by way of colloquialism, and the thought makes you huff a laugh.

He's always been set in his ways; driven with a powerful sense of ambition, of curiosity and hunger. Fated to spend endless nights diligently drowning in his work, only to be restricted by the physical limitations of his own body.

It was those quiet nights that you'd gotten to know the Zaunite: sequestered together in the Academy's labs long after all other students had left. The busied scratch of fountain-pen on parchment, tools placed upon tables, comfortable silence that—given time and ingrained curiosity on both ends—broke in the form of questions, and good-natured competitiveness.

Reminiscing silently, you peer down through the double magnifying glasses and into the innards of the mechanism before you, pinching a battery between a pair of tweezers. It's a touch like surgery; wires and gears like sinew and viscera, collaborating in a symphony of machinations to create life—or, in the case of your little friend, a humble emulation.

"You intend to use a lithium power source, then?"

You startle at the voice—one so distinct and lilted there's no questioning it's owner—and let slip the small, albeit very expensive battery. It clinks it's descent into the depths of the open paneling, making quite a ruckus for such a little thing; as though teasing you.

You sigh, a little defeated, a little irked. "Aside from dabbling in potentially nuclear territory, lithium endures power the longest, and is relatively stable." Righting the tweezers in your fingers, you shift and peer determinedly into the bot.

"Yes, but conducting experiments with these batteries have yielded other, potentially failing results to your goal, have they not?" Viktor's cane clacks rhythmically against the porcelain floor as he approaches. "While lithium provides a stable source of energy, it is a gradual winding up of power."

"I feel as though waking up slowly would be preferable to a heart-attack, Vik." You murmur.

Viktor huffs a laugh, "I agree...but sometimes, it is precisely that which the body needs. A potent, powerful jolt of energy."

Focusing on fishing out the battery, you absently acknowledge Viktor's presence at your side: a slight shift of air, a gentle hint of something sugary—sweetmilk, a regular indulgence of his—and warm cedar coalesce to bring his familiar scent. You can hear the way he rolls his fingers against the metal of his cane. He's lingering.

Setting the tweezers down and leaning back from the magnifying glasses, you roll your eyes up and look at Viktor through the fan of your lashes, expression pinched with faux annoyance.

"Please, indulge me more on the semantics of batteries, and their applicable use on a machine you did not create."

Viktor raises his brows, momentarily stunned by your heavy sarcasm, but then something sharpens in his golden eyes. It's a miniscule thing, a flash of guile that's taken years of practice to decipher.

"Ah, you're right—my many successful endeavors in automation certainly wouldn't be of use to you," he waves his hand dismissively, you roll your eyes with a touch of genuine annoyance, now, "I'll leave you to your work, then."

You wish, with no real malice, that he isn't inarguably better at automation than you. His cane signals his departure, slower than his usual cadence—he's giving you time to change your mind, your brain supplies—and with an exasperated sigh and a knowing smile, you turn in your chair.

"What would you recommend, then?"

Viktor stops not halfway to the door, pivoting on unsteady legs to look at you with an insufferable, endearing smirk. It's a look you'd come to know quite well. Years of working side by side has provided plenty of time to memorize it.

"Oh, don't look so smug, Vik. There'll be no working with you."

Viktor laughs softly, lured back to your side with a newly invigored gleam in his eyes. "Apologies, although let us not pretend you aren't exactly who you are. I thought that stubbornness of yours was left at the Academy—"

"Right alongside your manners, it seems." You quip smoothly, "you aren't making this very easy, Viktor."

He gives an inquisitive quirk of his brows, his voice light and feigning, "making what easy? Accepting graciously offered advice from a former classmate? Ah—of course, a scientist such as yourself must take great pride in self-sufficiency."

"You know, Sky often speaks of your humble nature. I've yet to see it for myself." You lob out, teasingly. The smile that'd taken over Viktor's sharp features wanes just barely, but enough for you to notice. Interesting. "Enough banter, Viktor—would you help me with this?"

He blinks twice, and pans his attention from you, to the vaguely humanoid bot splayed on the workshop table before you.

"Right—yes, of course." He steps closer, and with his free hand gently grazes the copper housing equivalent of it's chest. "You wish for the function to be that of assisting the handicapped, no?"

You nod, fleetingly glance to the cane perching Viktor on his feet, and say, "yes; simple command functions such as carrying items, text-to-speech for the hearing impaired, and potentially an alarm system. I'm brainstorming more, but it seems it will remain a concept unless I find a suitable source of energy."

"I see." Viktor hums. "Perhaps a differing power source may be the key to creating a constant, steady stream of energy. Batteries, they are—" he shakes his head a little, "eh, well they are susceptible to erosion. Not ideal for a machine that mimics life."

You huff humorlessly, "that depends on who you ask. Humans erode just as well. Some fear a sentient machine that may well outlive them, even if it's sole function is to fold your underthings. But, I understand."

"Have you considered hydraulics?" Viktor queries.

You knit your brows, echoing incredulously, "hydraulics?"

"Yes. It seems simple—elementary. However, I have heard of amplified iterations. Charged fuel, of sorts." He says, vague.

Leaning forward, you peer once more into the cavity of your machine. A thick lattice of wire twined together, reminiscent of an artery, protrudes from the housing case of the battery; the heart, it you will.

"Explain." You simply say.

Viktor shuffles a little on his feet, gripping the handle of his cane tight enough to elicit a small creak. "It is an iteration of a substance well known to the undercity—"

Quickly, you sit straight. "Viktor—"

"It is not immediately dangerous, as it has been stripped of it's more extreme reactive properties. The rate of deterioration is far less than that of oil, or water, or any other viable liquid. And it is charged, as I said."

You're scoring your lower lip with your teeth, ruminating. "Meaning a continuous cycle: powering itself...no need for batteries, but rather a cooldown system..." Tearing yourself from the magnifying glasses once more, you look to Viktor. "What is it called?"

"They call it Calor."

"I take it you already acquired some?"

Viktor's mouth twitches with the threat of a smile, "of course. Why else would I have suggested it?"

Fluidly, he slips a hand into the pocket of his trousers, procuring a glass vial of liquid; it's red, glimmering in waves as he displays it between his thumb, and forefinger. You stand, approaching to gently pluck the vial from him. Viktor's gaze flits between your face—ostensibly gauging your reaction—and the Calor.

"What are your findings?" You ask, turning the vial over in your palm, watching the light from your workstation refract through the substance; it shimmers, in a way.

Viktor replies, giving a long-winded explanation on the properties of the liquid, and you don't fail to notice the ostentatious, scientific jargon he uses as he does it—as though trying to bury something else beneath the complexity of it all. Still, you listen to him patiently, take in the information he gives, and there—at the tail end of it all: "Is commonly ingested to trigger synapses in the cerebral hemisphere to the amygdala—"

"This is a drug." You state plainly, looking at Viktor deadpan.

Viktor stutters marginally over his words, stopping to look at you with what you believe is the most poorly constructed act of innocence you've ever seen.

"You want me to power my handicap-assisting robot...with drugs."

"It is only a drug if ingested." Viktor says, matter-a-fact, "just as it is a fuel, if applied as such. So, I suggest we do not ingest it."

You look at Viktor for a beat longer, as though anticipating a sense of exasperation that does not come. Sometimes, you really wish it did. If only to dampen the self-satisfaction that manifests on his ivory features when he realizes—and he really is so smug about it—that you're relenting.

You heave a sigh and curl your fingers around the vial. Viktor's anticipatory expression melts into a smile, and for the life of you, you can't find it in you to be annoyed—genuine, or not.

"We will tell no one until we have either perfected it's uses, or managed to replicate it's properties in a safer, less...illegal fashion." Viktor says, his mind leaping right into it as his body settles a touch warily into the seat you'd occupied moments prior.

You catch his amber eyes with your own. "I'm not going to ask how you even procured this."

"Yes, it would probably be best not to."

"Fantastic! Your integration of conduits are reminiscent of veins. Entirely synthetic, inspired by the organic." Viktor muses, his focus poured through the magnifying glasses and into the newly retconned innards of your bot. "Have you already calibrated the coolant system?"

You hum in affirmation, standing beside Viktor as you slip on a pair of protective gloves. "All that remains is the Calor."

"Basic functions?"

"In place. If all goes well, our little friend here will, at the very least, be capable of movement." You reply, excitement curling your lips as you begin transferring the Calor.

"To run, one must walk." Viktor murmurs, watching your hands as you unscrew the vial.

A light hiss of air punctuates the action, followed by the unmistakable aroma of...cinnamon. Scrunching your nose, you toss a glance at Viktor.

"Manufactured aroma, to make the drug more appealing." He supplies, "we should not be affected unless properly ingested."

"Should not?" You jab lightly, "I'm surprised you didn't run any experiments with the effects of the drug itself."

"I don't think I'm well suited to execute a proper experiment," Viktor replies, lifting his cane up slightly with emphasis, "and for obvious reasons, I could not employ a subject."

You hum softly in response, engrossed as you transfer the Calor to the renovated housing core of your bot. It's a tense thing; a slight tremble could have you spilling the fuel all over the workshop station. Viktor remains as equally silent, watching you work.

Upon completion, you exhale a steady, long breath.

"Let us create life, then." Viktor announces, and you can't help the little snort you give in response.

"If it's life you want to create, there are much easier methods." You tease him, and the very subtle color that blooms on Viktor's sharp cheekbones makes you feel proud—it isn't easy to make him flustered.

He coughs a little, "of course, but what scientists would we be if we did not overcomplicate everything?"

"The boring kind." You smile, setting aside the empty Calor vial before clapping your hands together, excitedly. "Now, for the moment of truth."

Gently, as though your little bot's sentient and sleeping already, you close the paneling on it's chest, and secure it in place. To start the initial pump lies a switch on the counter-side of the bot—the equivalence of it's spine—and with no ounce of hesitation, you flip it.

Taking a small step back, you tug your protective goggles over your eyes and cast a fleeting glance at Viktor. He's already wearing his, leaning forward, perhaps a touch too much, with anticipation.

A gentle whirring purrs to life after a brevity of silence. Creation in sound; you can hear the bot's artificial veins being pumped with the Calor. A triumphant grin begins splitting your face as you watch, breath held in your throat as though waiting for the automation to breathe, first.

The sharp piquancy of cinnamon fills your senses, and it isn't until Viktor places a hand on your shoulder that you realize he's been saying your name—and with an underlying urgency that pre-emptively makes your stomach drop.

"—is overheating," you catch, the whirring purr since escalated into a grating, mechanical din. "The coolant system is not engaging, we must stop the process, or the Calor may vaporize."

You tear your attention from Viktor, to the bot. There's steam—although not uncommon with mech these days, it most certainly is not meant to happen here—erupting from the fissures of it's outer-shell.

Unthinking, you touch the bot to move it. Heat bleeds through your gloves, making you flinch and hesitate, giving the automaton just enough time to implode in on itself. The steam takes on a pink hue, curling upwards sinuously; Calor invading the air as the remnants of the liquid seeps from the bot like blood.

"Step back—open that window, now," Viktor struggles to hastily move from his position, his tone sharp and pointed. "We must ventilate the room before—" he coughs, clamping a hand over his mouth as he shuffles further from the table.

The spice of cinnamon burns your nostrils, tickles your throat, seeps into your lungs enough to have you stifling a series of coughs as you quickly run to the window and throw it open. The air outside is brisk, and you inhale greedily before realizing Viktor hasn't joined you.

"Retrospectively—" Viktor says, coughing intermittently, "we should have worked with ventilated masks. We failed to—" more coughing, spurring you to move from the window towards him as he leans haphazardly against the table, "failed to consider the simplicity of heat and liquid."

"Yes, a simple mistake, but you need to get fresh air and not contemplate what we should have done—save that for later, Vik." You close the space between you two, reaching out to coax him with a hand around his forearm.

Viktor makes a noise when you touch him, a strained sound akin to a whine, and for a fleeting moment you're concerned you might've hurt him. Quickly ceasing your touch, you search his tense expression, noting the color in his gaunt cheeks.

He averts his eyes, looking downwards, and the underlying chagrin there is enough to distract you from the heat that simmers beneath your skin. A slow, gradual thing that doesn't register as anything more than raised temperature from the steam.

"I...may have withheld a particular aspect of the drug." Viktor says, sounding uncharacteristically meek. The way he reaches up and tugs at the tie around his throat—a simple movement, nothing of importance—catches your attention. "I'm sorry."

The heat is rising, now. What you thought was just the steam proves to be something more: a reaction of the drug, most definitely. You swallow thickly and try to ignore the gooseflesh on your skin, the shiver that threatens to trickle down your spine.

"We ingested it, you need to tell me everything you know about it's effects, Viktor. We can go to the infirmary—"

"We cannot go to the infirmary." He cuts you off, his usual soft tone sharpened. "It is an illegal substance, you could lose your work."

Your brows knit, "this drug could seriously hurt you, Viktor. We don't know what effects it could have on—"

"A cripple?" He finishes, unfairly harsh as locks his gaze with yours. His pupils flood his eyes, blown wide to whittle the amber down to a sliver. "You need not worry about me." He tacks on, marginally softer.

It's the drug, it has to be, because you can feel the frustration he displays. It coils within you, deep down in your belly like a hunger. It makes your blood pulse painfully loud in your ears, has your fingers tingle like static. You push through the sensation, absently tugging on the collar of your blouse. You don't notice the way Viktor follows the movement from beneath his brows, his head cast downward.

"If we can't go the infirmary, I need to know what we're dealing with, here." You exhale shakily, growing uncomfortable with the way your shirt chaffs against your skin. Without thinking, you begin popping open the buttons on your vest, working it off your shoulders.

"Elevates body temperature, obviously. You should rid yourself of your vest, it helps."

He shakes his head a little, looking anywhere but your face, "the vendor may have mentioned it's uses as...an aphrodisiac."

You freeze in your movements, fingers fisted in the fabric of your vest as you place it on the table. Glancing at Viktor—perhaps timidly, with this newfound knowledge—you catch the way his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows thickly. There's a scarcely noticeable sheen of sweat beading along his brow.

You can see the way his slender torso rises and falls with his uneven breathing, the grip he holds on the notch of his cane turning his knuckles white; and then, just beyond that, the very obvious strain of his slacks—

Whipping around to spare you both of embarrassment, you're assaulted with a powerful jolt between your thighs. It throws you entirely off kilter, weakening your knees enough that you have to slap a hand against the table to balance yourself.

"We should wait it out, then." You grit out, but the prospect of enduring this quickly growing ache makes you irrationally irritated. "All drugs...filter through the body eventually."

The clang of Viktor's cane hitting the floor has you quickly pivoting; what you see makes that heavy pulse between your thighs thrum, arousal so poignant it makes your limbs feel weakened: he's holding himself up with one hand on the table, lanky body bowed inwards as he presses a shaking palm against the hardness in his pants.

His teeth are clenched, lips curled into a grimace as he screws his eyes shut. He looks as though he's in agony, but the pinch of his thick brows and the clear flush that colors his face renders you incapable of thinking anything other than how absolutely beautiful he is.

Has he always been so breathtaking?

Your throat is dry, clicking when you swallow, and he's moving his hand now, a trembling undulation that forces a desperate whine from his mouth. The answering throb of your cunt feels like a Pavlovian response; and you can't stop the small, yearning moan that escapes your lips.

"Manual stimulation," he stutters, "it—nnnh—it alleviates the symptoms." His slender hips buck forward, and you can't take it anymore.

"Vik—" you croak, and find that your tongue now feels a heavy, useless thing in your mouth. The heat is consuming you, sweating from your body, pooling liquid lust in a manner so intense you swear you can feel it slither down the insides of your thighs.

Pointedly, Viktor turns his darkened gaze upon you, breathing ragged, skin blushed and hot. There's such intensity in his eyes;

"Touch yourself."

It comes out sounding like a demand, and perhaps it is—regardless, you concede, because the desire that's coursing through your veins, the way he looks at you, demands it just as well. You turn from him, leaning against the opposite end of the table before hesitantly slipping a hand beneath your skirt.

Whatever reservations you might've had in this moment melt away the instant your fingers graze the soaked fabric of your panties, the faintest touch against your over-sensitized clit making you whine loudly.

Viktor groans in response.

You shiver at the sound of him, and he's so close, close enough that you can hear not just his small noises, his labored breathing, but the rustling of clothes; the implications of that making you burn hotter, making your fingers work quicker, clumsily slipping beneath the gusset of your panties to glide along your wet slit.

It's searing pleasure, entirely not enough, and without a second thought, you push two fingers inside yourself, spread them to feel the stretch, and then—"Viktor..."

You moan his name. Lustful and weighted and so incredibly needy, and somewhere far away yet so frustratingly close, you hear his breath hitch in his throat. There's a slick, repetitious clicking noise emitting from beside you—from him, and in your stupor it takes a second to register what it is.

You're suddenly struck with the overwhelming urge to see him—gods, you want to see him so bad it feels like a necessity.

"Let...oh, fuck—let me see you, Vik." You plead without an ounce of thought, functioning on the innate whims of lust.

There's a brief moment of hesitation. You would worry of overstepping boundaries, but that seems a bit of a moot point now.

"I d-don't—mmmh—you want to...?" he stumbles over his words, sounding incredulous and piqued in equal balance.

You can't stop the movement, like your body has torn from cognizance, acting through sheer impulse as you turn your head to peer at him.

The vision before you makes you clench down on your own fingers and moan: he's gone and unbuttoned his vest entirely, undone his tie and the first few fastens of his dress shirt beneath that. There's sweat beading on his exposed chest; sharp clavicles and alabaster skin shuddering as he groans with the movement of his hand.

Your attention drops from his beautifully tormented face, downwards. He's fisting his cock, thick and long, flushed a lovely pink at the tip where it pearls with precum. It's a frantic pace he's set for himself, the tendons in his hand prominent as he strokes himself off, barely keeping his balance against the table in the process.

"Vik—" you whine, pumping your fingers within yourself, trying to reach a spot within you that seems to move further and further away as the seconds pass, "fuck, you're so beautiful."

He gives a trembling groan in response, his eyes opening to a lust heavy, haft-mast to meet yours. "You're letting the drug speak for you."

You bite your lip, "no, Vik, I'm not."

His brows pull upwards, a look akin to despair, like he doesn't fully believe your words to be true—but wishes them to be. And then his gaze drops to where your hand has disappeared beneath your skirt, and his own hand stutters, the smooth stroke he's employing slipping from his grasp. The frustrated growl of a noise Viktor releases ignites something baser within you.

"Let me help you, I...I can help you."

Viktor shakes his head, "I am fully capable of—"

"I know you are, Viktor." You cut him off, snappier than you intended, but you're so damn tense you feel as though you'll burst any moment. "I'm not offering through pity, I'm offering because I want to."

A heavy silence balloons in the space between for a moment, Viktor's amber gaze searing into yours, before he closes his eyes and gives a small, relenting nod of his head.

"Yes," it's nearly a whisper, "yes, please."

Your heart stutters in your chest, seizing up with anticipation—to touch him, to feel him in a way that's never occurred to you before this moment, and yet, rings as completely inevitable all at once.

Quiet nights spent in the Academy labs, admiring his work, admiring him; a touch of fingers, a spark categorized as something, something—

Your fingers slip from within yourself, the lost felt acutely, but you think the ache is worth it when you step into Viktor's space, and he looks down at you through heavy lids; desperation was made for him.

Keeping your eyes locked, you reach down. Viktor's hand slows, stops, he whines softly at the loss of friction, and when you wrap your fingers around the space his does not fit, he chokes on his breath and moans. He is weighted and thick in your palm, slick with precum that allows you to stroke with ease.

He looks as though he wishes to close his eyes, but can't find the will to completely look away from you; attention darting from your face, to your hand, to the floor when you wring another deliciously debauched moan from him, as though he's ashamed of it.

Your skin feels scorching, arousal pulsing through your veins like magma, spurring you to move quicker. You can feel the way his cock twitches in your hand, stiff like steel silk as you analyze the way his pretty features twist.

"It feels—I'm g-going—" his breath catches in his throat, his hips bucking into your touch as his other hand snaps up to grip your shoulder, balancing himself. "—cítíš se tak dobře," he whispers harshly, and although you have absolutely no idea what he's saying, the very intensity of the words is enough to make a shiver lance down your spine, settling hotly in your gut.

You're enamored, craving his release almost as much as your own, losing your self in the way Viktor falls apart in your hands. You've always preferred the process of creation, but no amount of destruction has ever looked as magnificent as him in this moment.

"C'mon, Vik." You breathe, moving in closer, close enough that his breath is on your lips, and his focus has nowhere to turn except into the depths of your eyes, "come for me."

His hand hastily moves from your shoulder, to the nape of your neck, fingers burrowing into the notches of your spine. His teeth grit, the workshop table creaking in protest with the way he grips the edge, trying to find some semblance of balance as he bucks haphazardly into your soft palm.

He swears in his mother tongue, you can tell by the way he hisses the word, and then he grits out your name; yanking you forward to smash his mouth against yours in the messiest, most desperate iteration of a kiss you've ever experienced.

He tastes sweet, his moans vibrating against your teeth, and it feels more like you're simply sharing the air. Viktor's attempt at a kiss dissolves in concert to the stiffening of his frame; the tightening of his fingers on your skin; the finality of the broken groan he gives.

You feel his cock pulse, hot wetness spilling against your hand. You moan softly into his mouth, gazing up at his blissed out expression through your lashes—softer now, shattered, but by way of euphoria. His mouth is open and his eyes are glossed, heavy.

Giving him a moment to chase down his breath, you pull back and give an involuntary whine at the shift of movement. Pressing your thighs together, flexing the muscles, hurting with how much you need him.

Then, with a suddenness that takes you completely off guard, Viktor pulls you back into him, kissing you properly—surprisingly sensual for a man who has denounced love. He licks a line along your tongue hotly, open-mouthed and fluid, guiding your head to the perfect angle to completely devour you.

"Need you." You gasp against him, uncaring of the residual spend on your hand as you start to finish his earlier process of removing his clothes. "Vik, please," whining, splitting his dress shirt open to paw at the hardness of his chest.

Viktor draws back, his hand coming around to cup your chin, grazing his thumb against your tumescent lower lip. His countenance is more lucid, the orgasm you'd torn from his body dulling the sharpness of the Calor, but there is still a fire burning in his eyes; you wish nothing more than to be scorched.

"You know, I'll never tire of hearing you beg me for help." Whatever slyness he's aiming for falling short with the unsteadiness of his breathing.

A soft puff of a laugh escapes you as you reach up and take hold of his wrist, fingers shaking against the drug, still burning you up, "there's no one else capable, even now."

"Truly?"

"I've stroked enough of your ego, Viktor...among other things." You exhale, impatiently. "Would you help me, please?"

Viktor answers you with a quick kiss, his lips touching yours as he whispers hotly, "of course. On the table, if you would."

You don't need to be told, twice.

The metal is frigid against your thighs as you slide up, barely mindful of your failed automaton and the remaining Calor spilled from it's artificial veins. You're trembling with anticipation as Viktor pulls the chair up close, taking a seat before you as though preparing to delve into his work.

Mixing pleasure and work.

The thought is fleeting but still makes your stomach swoop, and then Viktor's hands are behind your knees, the contact burning your skin with desire. Notching your legs higher until your shoes are against the table, you follow the motion of him splaying them wide. The blush that overtakes you is sweltering, your head reeling with suspense at the thought of those long, dexterous fingers working between your thighs, sinking into your heat, twisting and stretching you out—

"Do you know how long I have thought about this?"

Your heart lodges in your throat, blocking the moan that bubbles there when he closes the distance, stroking his fingers against the thin, soaked layer between you, and him.

Having someone else—him—touch you right now feels as though your nerves have been exposed, raw and dangerously sensitive. You buck up, and Viktor reacts accordingly: gripping the crescent of your hip with his free hand, pinning you back down with a surprising, and absolutely frustrating display of strength.

You want him to just get on with it already, but whatever sense remains within you demands to explore what he just said.

"Tell me," you hiccup a moan, his touch evolving into a more firm caress, "h-how long."

Viktor maneuvers his hand deftly, pushing aside that barrier to touch you, skin against skin, sliding two fingers against your slit to press inside your tight heat with no ounce of resistance. The moan you give is lewd, splintering the stillness of the room as it coalesces with Viktor's appreciative groan.

"Ever since the Academy." He breathes, and the tension's back in his voice, Calor swirling together with the natural arousal of having you in such a position, "when you criticized me, and complimented me—challenged me."

He starts pumping his fingers, pushing them to his knuckles, curling them just the slightest, drawing back. You're so wet, and it's obscene, and lewd, and everything you ever wanted. You struggle to keep your focus on him, propped up on wobbly hands, but you try, because the imagery of Viktor fucking you with his fingers is too intoxicating to miss.

"You were the first person to truly push me. Who looked at me, and decided I was not frail. I will not break." His movements quicken with the conviction in his tone, dragging his fingertips against that bundle of nerves nestled deep inside you.

It's electric—charged, and so, so sensitive.

Your head falls back, losing yourself completely, moaning unabashed as your hips attempt to roll in time to the relentless piston of his fingers. When Viktor's thumb ventures upwards between your slick lower lips, honing in on your swollen clit to rub sharp little circles around it, you feel as though you may truly ascend.

It's too much, not enough, searing pleasure that has you squirming on the table, pushing against him and pulling away all at once.

"Vik—!" You gasp, eyes screwed shut tight enough you see phosphenes, "Vik—oh gods, I can't—"

"You can." He exhales sharply, "you have to."

You whine, that high keen of a noise bursting in the air when Viktor removes his thumb, dips down and closes his lips around your clit.

Instinctively, you try to close your thighs around his head, but he pushes one away, ignores the other, and sucks, giving a deep, throaty hum that vibrates throughout your entire being.

Scrambling, you find an anchor in his hair, gripping the tousled strands tight enough you're sure that you're hurting him. Viktor's responding groan feels like raw electricity, rippling through you, catching every single nerve in a miasma of pleasure.

You feel like you're glowing from the inside, out; bursting with pleasure so intense it renders you incapable of vocalizing other than his name. He does not seem to mind, if the eagerness of his tongue flicking against your pulsating clit is evidence, enough.

Gradually, Viktor winds down alongside the calming of your moans, licking gingerly against you, soothing you as he slips his fingers from your still aching cunt. You whine deliriously at the loss, the scraping of the chair heard distantly, and then he's above you, kissing you.

You can taste yourself on him, spurring you to kiss him back with vigor. Pulling on his hair tighter than you intend, as though willing him to never leave, Viktor grunts against you.

"S-Sorry," you shudder, "I just—"

"I know." He sounds winded, feverish, "I need you, too. I have always needed you."

Your heart sings at the confession, at the revelation.

Viktor's lips leave yours, gliding to the cusp of your jaw, kissing down the column of your throat as he moves his hands beneath you. You lift your hips without thinking, not needing to, knowing that this is what you want—what you have always wanted.

You just needed the necessary energy to realize it; a potent, powerful jolt.

Reemerging from sucking what you're sure is a lovely mottle of purple on your neck, Viktor locks his golden eyes with yours. Between your bodies, you feel the heat and weight of his cock pressing against your slick; teasing, prodding, but never quiet delving into where you desperately need him.

"Viktor," you reach out, "please," pulling him close once again, grazing your lips against his in an almost kiss, "fuck me."

His entire frame shudders in response, hips canting forward as though he can't control it. With the way you're feeling, you're positive it's exactly that; and you whine, thrilled and eager against him when he sinks deeper.

The stretch feels divine, the sensation of him slowly sheathing his cock within your throbbing cunt overwhelming. Viktor vocalizes his appreciation of you with a moan that cracks right down the middle, sounding nothing shy of wrecked.

Dropping his head to your shoulder, his hold on your waist bruising, he pushes far enough that the sharpness of his hipbones dig into the plush flesh of your inner thighs.

He's murmuring something against your shoulder, strings of dialect that remain foreign to your ears, but praising in it's lilt, and then, as though struck with the realization that you cannot understand him, Viktor turns his head and begins kissing your neck.

"Amazing...you are amazing." He pants, sounding as overcome with you, as you are, him. "Fantasy does you no justice."

You buck against him in response, mewling deliriously as your hands roam anywhere they can reach; through his hair, down his back, following the ridges of his spine. You can feel the shift of bone, the tense of muscle as he finally—finally starts to move.

It's a slow drag, his length spearing you so deep there's a slight twinge of pain before he draws back, leaving you feeling achingly empty. The process is maddening, and you're squirming, rolling your hips, pawing at him, pleading with your glassy eyes for him to just—

"Viktor—harder, please!"

He grunts, digs his fingers into your flank tight enough you're sure you'll bruise, pulling you against him in unison to a forceful thrust. The table jars, the metal clinking of tools rolling off and onto the floor echoing through the room. Viktor garners your attention with the reverent touch of his trembling fingers against your damp cheek.

You don't realize you're crying; desperate tears that line your flushed skin, until Viktor gathers them with a swipe of his thumb. He knows—of course he does, and with all problems he's come to face, he resolves it through action, determination.

His gaze darkens, molten gold and liquid jet, thick brows pinching with focus. It's a look you've seen countless times before: when he immerses himself in his work, vigilant in his pursuit.

His unsteady rhythm evolves, each forward stroke purposeful, driving his cock to the hilt each time, and you would praise him for it, if your voice wasn't rendered to a staccato of high, keening moans.

It feels good—it feels seismically better than good: searing, white-hot pleasure that blooms in your belly, coiling and tightening each time Viktor's sharp hips collide with your quivering thighs, the slick crash of skin against skin resonating through your whole body.

And the look on his face; you've always appreciated his undeterred focus, but never considered you'd be the subject. Viktor's looking at you like you're the only thing that matters; hyper-focused as he fucks you hard enough the table actually shifts.

With a grit of his teeth, he pushes himself upright, takes proper hold of your waist, and yanks you against him. Your back arches as you cry out, writhing on the workshop table as he digs deep; bottoming out each time, his thick cock grazing every single electric spot within you.

"Oh f-fuck—oh gods," you groan, quickly spiraling towards an orgasm you're not entirely sure you'll be able to handle; physically or mentally.

You don't want this to end. To lose the euphoria that courses through your veins, the imagery of Viktor above you, pouring his entire being into you as though making you cum is the answer to all his problems; the missing variable to all his equations.

He looks beautiful like this: sweat beading on his skin, shirt split open to frame his angled body; sinewy muscle flexing and rolling with the relentless thrust of his narrow waist. Freckles dot his alabaster skin like perfectly placed constellations. Wayward strands of hair hang over his eyes in an elegant dishevelment.

Gods, why did it take a failed experiment and a dose of liquid lust for you to realize—

"I love you," you gasp out, and it feels as though those words were carried within you all along; trapped behind your teeth, sitting on the tip of your tongue, "I love you, Viktor—"

You can see the exact moment those words hit him. His tense expression softens; brows lifting, eyes clearing, like seeing for the first time. You're on the precipice, and the way Viktor jerks against you, like your confession is his undoing, sends you over completely.

Viktor loses his strength, crumbles against you as he moans open mouthed against your shoulder. You can feel the heavy pulse of his cock, nestled deep inside you as you clench involuntarily tight, succumbing to an orgasm that you can feel in the very marrow of your bones; all encompassing, a maelstrom of pleasure.

There's a blooming warmth, and you let slip a blissful, hazed whine from you realize that it's him—finding his release. His weight trembles above you, his voice a series of strangled swears and gravel-pitched moans as he rocks against you, chasing down the ecstasy to the last drop.

The tension that's been progressively winding up in your bodies releases in an almighty, euphoric rush, and in the aftermath, there is only you, and him.

No Calor to blind your senses, to manifest confessions where there may otherwise be none, and you realize—with Viktor's head cradled in your arms, resting on your chest—that everything you've said and done has been true. Regret does not fester within you, all you can think about is him. How often you had thought about him, still think about him, years and years past a time you resolved not to.

"How...do you feel?"

Viktor's voice, exhausted and perhaps disquieted, snaps you from your stupor. Your attention flicks from the vacant spot on the ceiling you'd been staring at, downwards.

"I feel..." you begin, and there's a hollowness behind your sternum now, an uncertainty. Does he feel the same as you? Was his heated confession as genuine as yours? "I feel...better."

You swallow thickly.

Viktor shifts, pushing himself up right. You silently mourn the loss of his heat and weight atop you; flinch at the feeling of him slipping out of you, and the grimace that twists his mouth in the process. His gaze, now lucid, aware and painfully reluctant to meet yours, darts around the immediate area in search of something.

"I am sorry. I should not have...erm, I should not have finished inside—" he cringes at his words, glances down and hastily begins tucking his length away, blushing furiously. "Where are the towels? You keep towels in your workspace, no?"

"Viktor."

Moving to sit straight, you can't ignore the ache between your legs. You didn't realize how much the drug dulled your other senses, like pain, until now. It feels as though you've been whittled down to your very core, incredibly sore and yet, entirely sated. Knowing it is Viktor's doing makes your stomach flutter; residual arousal thrumming weakly.

"We need to dispose of the remaining Calor, or otherwise risk a repeat—" You put a stop to his words with your hands on his face, coaxing him to look at you as he stands inert between your legs.

"Viktor, look at me." You breathe, inhale, steel yourself, "did you mean it?"

His attention flits between your eyes, like he's searching for something; perhaps the very same thing you are. A modicum of uncertainty, a wisp of regret, something to tell him what you suspect he's believed all this time: that he isn't what you want, that he can't be what you want.

"...that I need you? That I have thought of you—your brilliance and your beauty—every night since first meeting you?" His voice is quiet, but intense. "Absolutely."

Your heart is fluttering around in the cage of your ribs, uncontrollable.

"Why didn't you tell me?" You whisper, sweeping your thumb across the beauty mark below his eye.

Viktor sighs, gently wrapping his fingers around your wrist as he closes his eyes. His brows twitch, as though he is contrite, and then his lids flutter open. There is a sureness there that has you feeling anxious; worried.

"I could not burden you with something as...trivial as my desire. I am not what you need. I am..." his gaze flits to your automation, bleeding and broken on the table, "not right, for you."

There's an air of sadness in his tone. It doesn't sit right with you; Viktor, always so determined. Viktor, never backing down from a challenge. Viktor, refusing to let his physical limitations stop him from achieving what he wants.

"I meant it." You say, not daring to look anywhere but the depths of his eyes, "I love you, Viktor. Nothing is going to change that."

You hope that your truth is conveyed through every facet of your being; that he feels your sincerity in a synapse more powerful than any drug could ever create.

"Everything about you. Your mind, your body—everything. I...I think I always have. I just...showed it the only way I knew how." Your gaze softens, committing Viktor's rapt expression to memory. "But, one of the things I love most about you, Viktor, is your unshakeable determination. I have never met anyone as ambitious as you...and I have never known you to give up."

His grasp tightens marginally around your wrist; you dare to lean in, sharing the charged air between you, watching the way his eyes flit to your mouth.

"So...are you going to give up?"

"You—always pushing me, challenging me," he quickly breathes, closing the distance in a blink to kiss you hard enough your teeth knock together; perfectly imperfect.

You smile against him when he echoes your words from earlier.

Confident, sure, determined.

"I love you, too."

#viktor x reader #viktor x you #viktor imagine #arcane #league of legends #viktor x y/n #arcane x reader #viktor arcane #guess whos incapable of writing smut without the feels #its me #my writing

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munsons-maiden · 3 years

Text

𝐂𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫

Hi lovelies! Here's some soft smut with a dash of angst (because I seem to be incapable to write anything without at least a dash of angst 😂). I hope you enjoy! - Love, Kiki 🖤

(PS: I’m still working on all the other lovely requests you’ve sent me 🖤)

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Loki x female reader

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 | by @sunshineyrosie , I hope you like it, dear!

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | An accident at Dr Banner's lab brings you to Loki's doorstep, desperate and in pain, to seek the trickster's help. Loki, who'd once been your friend; who stole your heart and then left without any explanation. (reader is an Avenger & the whole story takes place after the second Thor movie)

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 | smut, fluff, angst with a happy ending

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 9 k

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | SMUT (ONLY READ IF YOU'RE 18+ YEARS OLD!), unprotected sex (please be safe in real life and wear a condom!), sex pollen (it's a dub-con trope but these two idiots are secretly in love with each other and I've written it with as much consent as possible)

𝐀/𝐍 | the part written in italics is a flashback

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ♡

𝐀𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝🖤

“Bruce,” you greeted, after a short glance at your phone’s display before accepting the call, “Let me guess, Tony was getting on your nerves and you finally murdered him?”

With your free hand, you shovelled a spoon full of sugar into the mug of fresh, steaming coffee on the kitchen counter in front of you.

The doctor laughed. “Not yet, but he’s working hard to get there. It’s a miracle I haven’t turned into the Hulk yet and smashed the whole town. What about you? I was sure if we left you and Loki alone for a whole week, one of you wouldn’t survive it. Which makes me wonder, since I’m talking to you right now, if we’ll ever find his corpse.”

You forced yourself to a short giggle, but it sounded fake and strained even to your own ears. So, the icy silence between you and Loki had not escaped your friends’ notice.

“Is that why you called?”, you asked with a light-heartedness you didn’t feel, and hadn’t felt in a while, “To make sure I’m still alive? I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself.”

“I called because I forgot to pack my notebook and I need you to send it to me.”

“Can’t FRIDAY just send the necessary data to you?”

A beat of silence, before he answered, a little indignantly, “Notebook as in paper-and-pen, not laptop.”

“How very old-school for somebody who’s working together with Tony Stark.”

“It prods him as much as he keeps prodding my nerves.”

“I’ll get it for you,” you huffed.

“Great. Thank you. It’s a little black, leather-bound book, somewhere in the lab.”

Somewhere in the lab. He could as well have asked you to find a lost ring somewhere in the streets of New York City – the last time you’d set foot in Banner’s lab, which he occasionally shared with Tony, you’d felt as if you’d stepped right into the Room Of Hidden Things from Harry Potter, what with the chaos lurking behind the metal doors.

“It might take a few days. If you don’t hear from me again, I might have gotten lost in there so please send help,” you deadpanned, and told him goodbye.

It felt strange, this quietness which had settled over the Avengers headquarters, like a once lively, bustling city which had been abandoned. It had turned into a ghost town, with everyone gone on separate missions, on visits to families and science conventions. The only two people left to wander the empty rooms were you…and Loki. Ghosts roaming around and haunting each other, you thought with a bitter smile as you grabbed the cup of coffee you’d just prepared and left the kitchen, only to bump into the raven-haired trickster in the doorway.

“Sorry,” you muttered, eyes downcast to avoid his gaze, a gaze which you could still feel on your back as your steps quickened to leave him behind in the hallway, to bring as much distance between the two of you as possible, and as fast as possible. All the while your heart screamed at you to walk back to him, to finally ask the question which kept burning through your mind: why did you push me away like this? What have I done to make you shut me out? It wouldn’t have made a difference, you told yourself. All of the bridges had already burned down. Loki had made sure of it with his rudeness and his silence, and so had you.

***

Ever since you could remember, you’d had trouble sleeping. Nightmares, sleep paralyses, insomnia – the list was endless, and so you regularly found yourself in the living room in the middle of the night, watching whatever trashy TV show was on air right now to silence the thoughts in your mind which seemed to get louder the deeper the hour of the night.

In one of these nights, a short time after Loki’s arrival at the Avengers headquarters, you sat on the sofa, watching TV with a steaming mug of fresh tea clad in your palms to spend some warmth and calm your nerves so you might be able to at least get an hour or two of sleep in the early morning, when a smooth, dark voice chimed up from behind you, “I thought this part of Midgard was opposed to having a harem.”

With a squeal of surprise, you jumped from the sofa – nobody had ever joined you in the living room at three in the morning – and the hot tea spilled all over your hands and bare legs, the short pants of your pyjama no match to stop the scalding water, and a second yelp escaped you, this one distinctly more pained than shocked.

“HEAVENS!”, you half-screamed, half-hissed as you whirled around, coming face to face with the trickster who stood right behind the sofa, having strolled into the living room as silent as a cat.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, eyes wandering briefly down your bare legs before they snapped up to meet your gaze once more, a sly little smirk playing on his lips as he added, “I didn’t think you’d be so immersed in the harem TV show.”

“It’s The Bachelor,” you grumbled while you placed the now half-empty cup of tea on the coffee table beside the sofa and grabbed the fuzzy blanket to wipe the droplets of tea from your legs and arms, all under the god’s scrutinizing gaze, “You could have warned me instead of creeping up on me like this. What are you, a cat?”

“Well, we can’t all announce ourselves by thunder and rock songs”, Loki quipped. “I take it you’re having some trouble sleeping as well?”

“My sleep schedule is none of your business.”

You took a few moments to hold his attentive gaze. Even with only the flickering TV screen as the sole source of light in the room, painting half-shadows over his handsome face as he watched you, you could see how tired he looked. Not as arrogant and witty as he usually carried himself. As if the illusion he cast over himself in the light of day was slipping at night, fading away like Cinderella’s shimmering gown at midnight to turn back into the scraps and rags it was actually made of. Showing what he kept hidden beneath the façade. And beneath, there was loneliness.

“Well then, I’ll see you around, Lady Y/N.”

You heard his footsteps padding softly on the cool tile floor, retreating to the door, and felt a pang of guilt in your chest. Loneliness was a feeling you knew all too well.

“You could join me,” you chimed up, following some strange impulse, and it sounded way more timid than you’d intended.

The footsteps halted, and you turned to glance at Loki.

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll stab you if you fall asleep?”, he inquired smugly, and you rolled your eyes.

“That’s a great conversation starter,” you quipped, “But don’t worry, you’re not as threatening as you think. And I don’t sleep in the presence of people I don’t trust.”

He chuckled and seated himself at the other end of the sofa, as far away from you as possible, before he inquired with a critical yet confused glance at the TV, “What even is it we’re watching?”

“The Bachelor,” you explained. “There are a lot of women he dates and at the end of each episode, some of them get a rose from him, which means he’ll keep dating them. It goes on until there’s only one woman left.”

“What happens with the ones who don’t get a rose?”

“They’re stabbed and given over to the sea.”

Loki blinked, before a wicked little grin flashed on his face, and your heart stumbled a little in your chest.

“I wouldn’t have expected for your humour to be as dark as the shadows under your eyes, but you’re proving me wrong. I’m impressed.”

“I bet you’re quite attractive when you shut your mouth,” you quipped sweetly, and Loki’s smirk morphed into a delighted grin at your clap-back.

“You’re a feisty one.”

“You’ve been here for a minute and, between the criticism of my looks and the vague death threat, you’re already more annoying than every commercial break combined,” you remarked with raised eyebrows, “How do you do that?”

“I consider myself a natural talent, but honing these skills through practice from time to time doesn’t hurt, either.”

You couldn’t help the little snicker which escaped your lips at his words.

From this night on, you knew you wouldn’t be able to stay away from Loki. One night spent watching TV together from different ends of the sofa, both of you careful and wary of the other’s presence, turned into a second night the day after, and finally a third, until it was an unspoken agreement between the two of you: you met in the living room at night to watch TV and, with time, talk.

When Loki had joined the team and moved into the Avengers headquarters, you’d expected a ruthless criminal who still posed a threat to the world and everybody in it. You’d expected him to be arrogant and reckless, to dislike him at best – and despise him at worst.

And now, it turned out that Loki was neither of these things; not even close. No, the first thing you’d noticed during this first real encounter with the trickster had been the shadow of loneliness which seemed to surround him like a layer of clothing, a loneliness you could all too well relate to.

Loki, you discovered, was not menacing or arrogant, but witty and…kind. In the span of the following weeks, these weird, clandestine meetups in the living room in the dead of night, when everyone else had fallen asleep a long while ago, became your highlight of the day – so much so that you found yourself, for the first time in your life, looking forward to nightfall and padded downstairs to wait for Loki even in the nights where sleep would have come easily.

And with every night spent in front of the flickering TV screen, with the winking city lights outside like an upside-down sea of stars, the distance between the two of you on the sofa shrank as fast as the distance between your hearts while Loki told you of his childhood as a prince of Asgard, and you told him of your own life. He never spoke about how it had felt, growing up in the shadow his brother was casting, but he didn’t have to. It was all there, between the lines.

The loneliness, the feeling of never quite belonging. Most of all, though, Loki told you of his mother, and the softness and love shining in his beautiful eyes alongside the grief as he did, made your heart bleed for him. You knew how Frigga’s life had found its brutal end as she’d tried to protect Jane Foster. Thor had told you, though you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else to the story. Something Thor didn’t know, but Loki did – but of course, you never asked.

Over these next few weeks, something was changing.

You began to fall for the mischievous trickster – slowly at first, and then faster and faster, as if the fall was picking up speed. And you let it happen, because hearts are stubborn things, evading every reason and command. All you could do was hope that Loki would be there to catch your fall, eventually, and you never needed to find out how it would feel to hit the ground in the end.

In one of these nights, you woke with a start – to realize that you had fallen asleep with your head resting on Loki’s shoulder. As you stirred awake now with a yawn, you murmured, “How long was I gone?”

Your eyes drifted to the windows and the darkness beyond. The sun hadn’t yet started to rise.

“Maybe half an hour.”

I don’t fall asleep in the presence of people I don’t trust, you’d told him that first night. You could tell from the expression on his handsome face that he was remembering your words as well.

You righted yourself on the sofa, and your gaze met Loki’s. The light of the TV danced in his stunning eyes, and the expression in them, a mixture of softness and something else, made your heart rate accelerate and your breath hitch in your throat as the last wisps of drowsiness loosened their grasp on your mind. You realized how close the two of you were sitting, your legs brushing against his, faces only inches apart as you kept gazing at each other in a silence only broken by the low voices droning on from the TV. All of a sudden, you felt more awake than you ever had in your life. It had nothing to do with the power nap you’d just taken, and everything with the gentle look in Loki’s mesmerizing ocean eyes.

Never had anybody looked at you the way the Loki did now.

“Did I…miss anything important?”, you asked, clearing your throat as you realized how hoarse your voice suddenly sounded.

“You did, indeed. Peach – I still refuse to believe it’s her real name, though – had a date with the Bachelor, and they kissed. When she told the others, the blonde one – the one with the ugly shoes – slapped her.”

“They slapped each other and you didn’t wake me up to witness it?”, you retorted with feigned shock, placing your hand over your heart for good measure to underline the dramatics, and Loki smirked.

“I didn’t think it was important enough to wake you. After all, we’re here because we’re dealing with insomnia.”

The last sentence sounded like a question rather than a statement. I’m here because of you, you wanted to tell him. But like so often in life, the lack of courage had stopped you.

“Though do you think the Bachelor will pick Peach in the end?”, you finally asked with a low voice, trying to break the awkward silence which had settled over the two of you.

“That was an awful pun,” Loki commented, before his face grew serious again. “I don’t think he’ll pick her. The kiss wasn’t real.”

“Real,” you repeated hollowly, not knowing what else to reply at the intensity flaring in Loki’s gaze as he still held yours. “How do you know if a kiss is real, then? I suppose you’ve had your fair share of experience, as a prince.” It stung, to think about all the other princes and princesses Loki might have kissed and bedded, beautiful immortals compared to whom you surely faded like the reflection in the glass of a tarnished mirror.

Loki chuckled softly, and his eyes drifted down to your lips – a fleeting moment, so brief that you wondered if you’d imagined it before his eyes snapped up to meet yours again, and he said, “None of it has ever been real. None of it has ever been anything else than lies and illusions. But if I had to take a guess how a real kiss should feel like…I would say fireworks. Bursts of sparks in the most radiant colours in your chest, loud and explosive and all-consuming against the darkness of the night sky.”

You could feel your pulse racing with every one of his words, spoken in a voice which slowly morphed into a hoarse whisper as Loki leaned closer to you, so close now that the tip of his nose was brushing against yours and your eyes fluttered closed with the sensation of his warm breath prickling on your lips, his scent all around you –

The brush of his lips against yours was fleeting, as delicate as the fragile wing of a butterfly, and it made your whole body tingle as if every single nerve had burst into colourful sparks. Fireworks, indeed. You tilted your head a little to deepen the kiss – but Loki’s hands grasped your shoulders, and he pushed you away, shock written all over his face. His eyes were wide, as if he were horrified by what you’d done – what you both had done.

“I’m sorry,” you stammered, “I –“

“I can’t.”

Your mouth fell open, and for a few stunned, horrified seconds, there was nothing you could do but gape at him before Loki finally spoke, “I should go.”

“No – wait,” you began, “Loki, I’m sorry, let’s just forget it ever happened…” The words were spinning in your mind in the whirlwind of embarrassment and hurt and the fear to lose Loki as your friend – because that’s what he was, that’s what he’d become over these past weeks – and you stammered, voice soft and pleading, “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You can’t lose what has never been there.”

With these parting words, he left. It had been the last clandestine TV night, and it had been the last time you’d talked to him. The distance was back between the two of you, like a vast, frozen lake too dangerous to cross, the ice waiting to give underneath your feet and the freezing water to swallow and drown you, should you ever try to get to the other side.

***

Before you’d met Loki, you’d always made fun of the term “broken heart”. A heart was a muscle – an important one, but still nothing more than that. Hearts didn’t have anything more to do with love than lungs or kidneys. And they most certainly couldn’t break.

But the moment Loki had pushed you away, had rejected you without any explanation and shut you out of his life, you realized that you’d been wrong all along.

Hearts could break. Yours had been shattered into a million pieces. And it hurt – a pain deeper than any physical pain could ever feel, a pain which never seemed to cease but only grew dull over the days, ready to flare to life whenever you met Loki in the hallways, the kitchen, the training rooms. It felt as if a monster had settled in your chest, nestled itself between your ribs, ready to sink its teeth and talons into your heart whenever your eyes fell on the raven-haired trickster to tear open the barely healed gashes and make you bleed all over again.

Avoiding someone who was living in the same building was no easy thing to achieve. But seeing him was worse. So much worse. So you’d changed your schedule. Meals were taken as fast as possible. You trained whenever Loki didn’t. The living room had become a restricted area altogether.

How was it even possible for someone to, in the span of mere weeks, steal your heart, paint your world in the most vibrant, beautiful colours – and leave you behind bleeding and heartbroken and grieving? Loki had been the one. You’d felt it with every smile, every shared laugh, every glance which lingered longer than it should have. He’d been the love of your life, and he would always be. Maybe his blatant rejection would have hurt less if he’d given you an explanation, instead of this frozen silence which had left so much room for your own dark thoughts and musings.

You’d known him for a few weeks, but when he’d started to walk away from you, he’d taken all the colour with him, leaving you behind in this sad world of hues of grey. You missed him so much. The secret nights of watching TV together, his laughter, the way he’d made you feel safe. Safe, and safe to be yourself around him, as safe as you’d never felt with anyone else.

From strangers to friends – and to strangers again.

Loki had become the headlights on your path, keeping the night of loneliness at bay for you, a guiding light in the darkness surrounding you. Now, it was dark once more.

You were glad he wouldn’t see the fresh tears which spilled from your eyes, and hurried down the corridor without another word.

***

The tears were still wet on your cheeks as you reached the laboratory in the tower’s lower levels, and your hands trembled slightly as you punched in the security code, before glancing into the camera for the retina scan.

“Your eyes are very puffy,” FRIDAY’s pleasant voice droned from an invisible speaker.

“Gee, thanks. You know how to give a compliment. Can you please just let me in?”

“You look as if you have cried, miss.”

“That’s because I have,” you muttered your reply as the metal doors swung open and you stepped inside.

As Bruce Banner’s assistant, you’d visited the laboratory more times than you could count – but you’d never been down here alone. There had always been Bruce, silently adjusting numbers on screens or preparing ominous liquids, or Tony, AC/DC blaring through every speaker at an ear-shattering volume as he tinkered with one of his many iron suits. Now, with the two of them temporarily gone, the lab held an eerie atmosphere. Like the lair of mad scientists rather than heroes.

But FRIDAY wasn’t done yet with her enquiry. “Is there anything I can do for you, miss?”

“Yes”, you answered with a half-hearted quip as you walked on, “Let it go.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin when the first tunes of the Disney song started playing, and the coffee you’d still clutched in your hand spilled over your shirt, the hot liquid burning your skin as it seeped through the fabric, and you hissed in pain.

“Not the song, FRIDAY! The topic!”, you shouted into the vastness of the lab, groaning in frustration as you searched for something to dab at the stain of coffee quickly spreading on the front of your shirt. There you were, stained with coffee, heartbroken, crying alone in the middle of a lab as queen Elsa herself continued to sing her heart out, while you were screaming at an artificial intelligence program – and felt guilty about snapping at it nonetheless.

“Apologies, miss. You haven’t been clear about it”, FRIDAY answered – did she sound indignant? – and the song stopped, drenching the room in silence once more as your gaze roamed the space.

It wouldn’t have hurt to give it a dusting, you noticed as you strolled through the assortments of tables filled with microscopes, vials, bits of computers and devices the name of which you didn’t know, your eyes scanning the room for the little black notebook Bruce had described to you. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack.

“I’ll spend the night here,” you groaned after a few minutes of futile search, “Somebody sedate me.”

“Anaesthesia prepared. Initiate Knock-Out Protocol,” FRIDAY’s pleasant voice rang through the air, and before you realized what was happening, one of the robotic arms placed on a table beside you swung around, the tip of a syringe catching the bright overhead lights, and your eyes widened.

“No!”, you screeched as you dodged out of the way, barely avoiding the tip of the needle to pierce the skin on your upper arm, “Stop it! FRIDAY STOP IT!”

She didn’t. She didn’t even answer, and with a string of curses, you realized that the robotic arm wasn’t an arm at all but a whole damn robot opening the hunt for you. Another swing with the syringe had you jump out of the way and over a table, but this time, you weren’t fast enough. Metal hit your head, hard, and you were sent flying into the tiled top of the nearest table, skittering over the surface in a rain of equipment and shards as vials burst at the impact, before you landed on the ground on the other side with a huff as the force of your fall momentarily knocked the air from your lungs.

“Knock-Out Protocol paused,” FRIDAY announced cheerfully.

“I’ll pause you,” you groaned as you sat up, wincing a little at the sting at your left forearm, but before you could check yourself for any injuries, a cloud of something that looked suspiciously like pollen, glittering beneath the lab’s artificial lights, rose around you, and you sneezed. When the sparkling dust had settled over the nearby surfaces – and all over you, your hair, your clothes – your eyes fell on the bleeding gash the shards had torn into your arm. It wasn’t deep enough to be dangerous, but it hurt nonetheless, and you sighed at the blood seeping out of the wound to dribble all over your clothes and mingle with the glittering dust.

With another huff, you grabbed the nearest surface to pull yourself back on your feet. Further examination showed you that, during your fall, you’d knocked down a glass case which had contained a plant; the very same glass case which had shattered and cut you. Eyes narrowed, you bent down to save what was left of the – surprisingly sturdy – plant. Despite the fact that you’d fallen on it, it still looked pretty. The leaves and the red blossom, glittering with its pollen, looked strange. Otherworldly. It probably was. Or a mutation of some kind.

You placed it half-heartedly back on the tiled top of the table and limped out of the lab. Enough for one day. Banner’s notebook could wait. You needed to dress the wound and rinse off the pollen, and then, all you wanted to do was sleep.

***

Stepping out of the shower, you quickly dried off, wrapped yourself in the dressing gown Nat had given you for Christmas with a comment on how your wardrobe could use some spiciness – you could hardly call it a dressing gown; it made from black silk with lots and lots of lace adorning the sleeves and barely reaching down to cover your butt, but you had to admit that you felt, indeed, sexy and confident wearing it – and settled down cross-legged on the bed with the little first aid kit you kept in your bathroom to dress the cut the shards of glass had torn into your forearm.

The bleeding had stopped, and the pain was bearable – as an Avenger, you were used to worse injuries, that was part of the job description – but your vision blurred as you tried to dab some iodine on the cut, and you blinked rapidly to clear your sight.

It was also warm. The hot shower had probably boosted your blood circulation, you pondered as you rose from the bed to check if the air conditioning in your room was already running, but all of a sudden, the floor seemed to move beneath your bare feet, shifting like a ship at sea, and you caught yourself on the wall.

Not good. This was not good.

It didn’t take long for the realization to hit that this was neither caused by circulatory problems nor tiredness. The strange plant. The sparkling pollen.

Suddenly, you felt scared. What if you collapsed on the floor? What if the plant had been poisonous? You needed help. You needed to call Banner and tell him –

With a new surge of panic, you realized that you’d left your phone in the kitchen, at the other end of the building. There was nobody else in the tower but…Loki.

You could practically hear your bad luck laughing at you.

Another wave of vertigo flooded you. Warm. It was too warm.

Was your condition serious enough to rouse him? It was already late in the evening; Loki had probably gone to bed already. He most definitely didn’t want to see you. And you…did you want to see him? You did. You were missing him terribly.

Focus, you chided yourself as you worked up the strength for your wobbly legs to carry you to your door and into the hallway. Tiny white stars danced in your vision as the floor seemed to jerked under your feet, as if you were standing on the back of a giant monster which kept trying to shake you off. And right now, it seemed the floor was winning. Yes, you needed help. Now.

Panting, clad only in your dressing gown, hair wet and leaving a trail of droplets on the polished floor, you stumbled through the hallway, into the elevator which would bring you to Loki’s room two levels above your own, along another hallway…there was the door.

It felt like walking through a dream. Everything was strangely detached, and there was the hue of unnatural brightness creeping in at the edges of your field of vision, making you feel as if you were glancing through one of these contorted binoculars they had at fairgrounds. When you raised your fist to knock on the smooth wood, you tried to take a moment to steady yourself and catch your breath.

As if he’d sensed your presence, the door swung open to reveal Loki, and he took a surprised step back at the sight of you, leaning against the wall beside his door. His eyes widened as they briefly travelled down your form before snapping up again to meet yours, and it dawned on you that you were still half-naked, wearing nothing but delicate silk and lace, your hair a soaked mess which dribbled onto the black fabric which clung to your shoulders.

Loki himself, you realized, was wearing something you’d have described as the Asgardian version of a comfortable outfit – which was still one hundred percent more elegant and classy than any sweatpants – but he didn’t look as if he’d gone to bed already. He looked wide awake.

Your heart bled as you took him in, at the loss of his friendship and everything it could have grown into, but there was a twisted spark of happiness as well. You’d missed him so much. If your predicament was the reason you could talk to him again, at least for one last time before he would shut you out once again, it might be worth the pain.

“I’m – I don’t feel good”, you chimed up timidly to break the astonished silence between the two of you, and your voice sounded strange. As if you heard someone else talking. As if you were underwater. The second thing you realized was that the strange roar you kept hearing wasn’t the sound of waves – it was the sound of your own blood rushing in your ears.

“I can see that,” Loki deadpanned.

“As charming as ever,” you retorted, and your words slurred. It sounded as if you’d ran a marathon. Actually, you felt as if you’d ran the whole way instead of creeping through the hallway with the vigour of a zombie, palm always on the wall as you dragged your steps along. Your chest was rapidly rising and falling with every laboured breath.

“Are you drunk?”, Loki inquired with a sceptical glance at your imbalanced posture.

“Wish I was.”

It was so easy, to get back to the usual bantering which had paved the way to your friendship. But we aren’t friends anymore, you reminded yourself. He doesn’t want to be your friend. He doesn’t want to be your anything.

“You look like you downed an entire liquor store,” he went on and took a few steps closer to you, and his eyes narrowed as he tilted his head a little to examine your face with a stern expression of his own. “I don’t want to have you puking all over me.”

“The only thing making me want to puke is you.”

“Why did you bother to visit me at all, then?”

“As I said, I don’t feel –“

You didn’t get to finish your sentence before the floor bucked once more, this time accompanied by a wave of heat travelling through your body like a forest fire, and you were thrown off balance with a groan of pain. Loki was at your side in an instant, catching your fall before you could hit the floor, and he finally seemed to have realized that something was, indeed, wrong.

“You really need help,” he muttered, and despite the vertigo and the sudden pain, you couldn’t help but mumble, “I wouldn’t be here if I could have prevented it.”

“Glad to see you kept your belligerence.”

“Glad to see you kept your arrogance,” you shot back through gritted teeth, with as much dignity as you could muster in your dizzy, pained, half-naked state, with his strong arms around you making your heart race for a whole lot of other reasons, and Loki’s glossy black strands tickled your cheeks as he glanced down at you in his arms, his face suddenly so close to yours, and alarm slowly crept into his blue gaze.

With a gentleness in his honeyed voice which you’d never heard before, never thought the trickster capable of, he said, “I’ll carry you inside, okay?”

You gave a weak nod, and Loki bent down to lock one hand at the back of your knees, supporting your spine with the other as he carefully picked you up and carried you over the threshold like a groom might carry his bride, before he placed you down on his bed.

His bed. Had your mind been clear, you’d have started to protest, but there was no strength left in your muscles. With another agonized groan you rolled to your side, tugging your legs closer to your chest as your whole body seemed to go up in flames and your boiling blood turned into tiny needles which sliced through veins and skin with every heartbeat.

It felt as if you were burning alive.

Through the veil of tears blurring your eyes, you saw Loki’s calm façade crumbling, and concern fused into worry. No, not worry – something way more fierce. Panic. He was panicked…for you?

“Make it stop,” you whimpered helplessly before your voice broke, and at the periphery of you vision you saw Loki settle on the bed beside you, felt the mattress dip, and the flames in your body seemed to roar hungrily as the god’s hands settled on the sides of your face.

“You’re burning with fever.”

“Make it stop. Please make it stop.” Your voice was breaking with the pain, and the strange sensation which was building in your lower belly; a feral feeling of desperately needing something…someone…

“I’ve got you,” Loki’s voice cut through the haze of your racing thoughts as his hands began to gently massage your temples, “I’ve got you. We need to cool you down.”

And he did. Where his fingertips made contact with your skin, a pleasant coldness seemed to ooze into your very blood to ease some of the scorching heat, and a shaky exhale left you as Loki’s hands slowly wandered down over your neck, your shoulders, your arms, spreading the cold throughout your body. It felt as if you were slowly sinking into a lake, its soothing cold waters immersing your aching body, and for a few glorious minutes, you could feel the relief of the sensation Loki’s magic was granting you. Your eyes fluttered close when your strained muscles relaxed. It felt as if you were floating.

“Is it getting better?”, he asked quietly, and the slight quiver in his voice didn’t escape your notice.

You breathed, “A little.”

“Will you tell me what happened?”

You could feel his fingertips hovering over the cut on your arm, and when you opened your eyes to meet his gaze, the softness of his voice was mirrored in his beautiful ocean eyes. He was bent over you, his hands still working his magic, and you could see that the skin on the tips of his fingers had turned blue. When he noticed your gaze, a flicker of sadness crossed his features before he muttered, obviously trying to sound as indifferent as possible, “Being monstrous has its benefits.”

“You’re not monstrous,” you protested softly.

For a split second, Loki looked surprised, and you thought he was about to say something else. Had you missed you as much as you’d missed him? Did he still think about the night he’d pushed you away, the kiss the two of you had shared? But the moment passed, and you cleared your throat. “I had an accident in the lab. One of Tony’s robots went rampage and I fell into a glass case with some plant and cut myself. I went to take a shower because there was pollen everywhere and then I started to feel like everything was on fire, so it’s safe to say I poisoned myself”, you croaked.

“And waited until now to tell – “ he began, but with a look of horror dawning on his face, his hands left their place on your wrists to gasp your upper arms before he pressed, “Which plant? What did it look like?”

At the loss of his cool touch, which seemed to be the only thing to keep the pain at bay, the agony rushed back to you, crawling beneath your skin like a swarm of venomous spiders. You doubled over once more with a low moan as you croaked, “Red petals. Like…like clover.”

Your throat was sore, and your skin, you realized now, was clammy with sweat; your breathing shallow and laboured, and white-hot anguish shot through your lower abdomen like a bolt of lightning, making you groan.

When Loki didn’t reply, panic seized you – and another wave of this strange heat in your lower belly, this pulsing need between your legs; an ache in your core like you’d never felt it before. Ravenous. Raw. Primal. Intensifying with every passing minute.…And with terror, realization hit you what it was you were feeling.

“Loki, I –“

“It’s an Asgardian plant. We call it crimson clover. In low doses, its pollen has a calming effect, used in the infirmary and to induce sleep. That’s why Banner asked Thor to bring him a specimen of it as a sample. He hoped it could help him gain control over his transformation into the Hulk.” Loki’s voice sounded strangely hollow.

“And high doses?”, you urged, and it cost you everything not to moan aloud with the growing need glowing in your core, the urge to let your hands slide down between your legs and stroke yourself, to ease this ravenous urge. No. Please, no. No no no…

“In high doses, it’s a neurotoxin, which enhances heartrate and…other functions.”

“Am I going to die?” Fresh tears started pricking at the corners of your eyes as you glanced up at Loki’s, whose grasp on your arms had loosened to a gentle touch at your words, before he assured, “No. No, you’ll live. It just makes you…”

He drifted off, obviously searching for a good way to put it, when you finished blatantly, “Horny.”

“You could put it that way.”

“Oh god,” you choked out, pressing your hands to your burning face in horror and embarrassment, but Loki gently pried them away to make you look at him.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, “Oh god, I’m so sorry –“

“Don’t be,” Loki hushed, and tears choked you at the tenderness with which he spoke to you despite everything that had happened between the two of you, all these things which didn’t make sense and the questions which kept haunting your mind day and night. He cared for you. You’d sensed it before, and you could see it now in the compassion shining in his eyes as he looked down at you, sprawled on his bed.

You wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole. Everything to be spared the humiliation of the damned plant’s toxin wreaking havoc in your body and twisting your hormones, taking every shred of dignity as you burned alive with this agonizing desire. The sensations which kept flooding your body at the slightest movement, the slightest touch of the bedsheets against your exposed skin, the damp fabric of your dressing gown plastered to your feverish skin, were too overpowering for your senses, and every one of Loki’s touches seemed to worsen your condition further, feeding these greedy flames of need. You felt as if you might go crazy with lust.

“If you…um. Would give me a few minutes?”

“To help yourself?”, Loki asked with a stern expression.

“Either that or to die of embarrassment,” you deadpanned with a croak, “Probably the latter.”

Loki chuckled softly, but the concern in his gaze was unrelenting. “It doesn’t work like this.”

“What do you mean?”

“It has to be someone else. Or your condition will just worsen.”

“How long, then? How long until it stops on its own?”, you urged, desperation growing with every second of silence which filled the air as Loki contemplated his words, before he replied, “Days.”

You would have stared at him in horror, but your world was already fading into the white noise of pain sizzling along every nerve, every sinew and muscle and bone in your body. It felt like dying. You could only hope that the blackness which had begun to slowly creep in at the edges of your contorted vision would hurry to render you unconscious, passed out with agony so you wouldn’t have to suffer through these next few days.

“Let me help you, Y/N” Loki murmured softly, his voice nearly drowned out by the pounding of your racing pulse in your ears.

“Coldness helped,” you gasped, clammy hands clutching the bedsheets as another wave of pain rattled your bones, and you bit back a groan when Loki’s hands, still cool with his magic, cradled the sides of your face again to gently tilt your head and make you look up at him.

“We can’t put you in a freezer for the next days. You’re in pain. And I can’t…I can’t stand to see you in pain. Please, let me help you,” he implored.

“No,” you said, surprised by the vehemence in your weak voice as you shook your head, “No, I can’t let you do this.”

He frowned with hurt. “You would rather endure days of agony instead of giving in and letting me help you?”

“I can’t…”, you choked, interrupted by a sharp inhale of breath. Breath which seemed to burn your lungs as if you’d swallowed acid. With the last remains of strength you could muster, you whispered, “I can’t ask that of you.”

Your eyes fluttered close at the sensation of Loki’s fingers brushing away stray strands of your wet hair which had fallen into your face, before he murmured, “You didn’t ask. I’m offering. It’s my decision to offer – and it’s your decision to accept.”

The pad of his thumb ghosted over your cheek, and only then did you realize your face was wet with tears. Tears Loki was swiping away with a tenderness in his touch, in his gaze, that made your stupid little heart stumble in your chest. How many times had you imagined him looking at you the way he did now, touching you with such gentleness? But not like this. I couldn’t happen like this.

“We can forget about it, when it’s over,” he offered quietly, his tone growing more desperate, “We can pretend it never happened. Just let me help you. I just…I just want you to be okay.”

He was right. You needed help. And if anyone, you wanted it to be him.

“Okay.”

It was all the reassurance he needed, and the mattress dipped beneath you as Loki shifted and carefully pulled you with him, placing you between his legs with your back resting against his chest, and even this slight touch on your arms made you groan with unbearable desire flaring in your core.

“I’ll take care of you,” he soothed, and placed one hand on the damp skin over your collarbone to uphold his cooling magic and keep your fever as low as possible, while his other hand slowly wandered down to the apex of your thighs and the arousal pooling there, already running down your bare thighs, and you desperately rutted your hips in need of friction.

“Is this okay?”, Loki mumbled softly against the shell of your ear, and you gave him a breathless, panting nod, while he continued to let his hand roam down over the damp silk of your dressing gown, giving you time to stop him should you change your mind. You didn’t, though. You wanted nothing more than for him to touch you, to hold you...

“I promise I’ll make you feel good, my love,” Loki kept murmuring while his hand finally dove beneath the fabric of your flimsy dressing gown, and his voice was like honey running down a sore throat, a soothing balm against the guilt and shame raging beneath this all-consuming desire. Reassuring you that it was okay – something you needed to hear more than anything else right now. In the delirious state of your mind, you wondered if he’d actually called you love, or if you’d started hallucinating with the raging fever eating away at you. The touch of his cool hand against your blazing skin made you bite your lip with a drawn whine, eliciting the sweetest sensations in your fever-addled body.

“No need to stay quiet,” he encouraged softly, “Be as loud as you want to, darling.”

He didn’t need to tell you twice. A desperate cry fell from your lips when Loki dragged his cool fingers along the slickness of your folds, slowly spreading your arousal before he started to caress the throbbing bundle of nerves between your legs with gentle brushes of his fingertips. Your head fell back against his shoulder as you rolled your hips against his hand with the despair of a starving person at a banquet table, and every rational thought left you. The pleasure which flooded your body was unlike anything you’d ever felt, singeing your nerves until you felt like you might burst with it, craving more, more, more…

Loki’s breath against the column of your throat summoned trails of goosebumps on your heated skin while he started to whisper praises you his words a susurration which tangled with your moans.

“You’re doing so good, my love.” The tenderness in his hoarse voice made warmth bloom in your chest. His words, you knew, were meant to convey so much more. It’s okay. You don’t need to be ashamed. I’ve got you. It’ll be alright.

“You…” you breathed, and your lips brushed over the skin of his neck as you angled your head, “You feel so good.” The sensation of your lips against his throat made him utter a low moan, such a lovely sound; oxygen feeding the hungry flames in your core, and you rutted more desperately against his fingers to chase these sweet sensations…

His cheek was resting against yours, ink black curls tickling the side of your face as you tilted your head and the tip of your nose brushed against his jaw, feeling his own thundering heartbeat against your spine as another glowing bolt of bliss made you arch your back as Loki kept building your climax with slow caresses, his cool fingertips dancing over your clit in time with the movement of your hips, clouding your lust-addled mind and stealing every last ounce of control as the ball of fire in your aching core morphed into an explosion.

Your climax was so forceful that it knocked the wind from your lungs and let darkness seep into your mind, and you were glad nobody else was in the headquarters because you were certain the cry which spilled from the back of your throat as Loki’s skilled fingers continued to massage your clit and guide you through your orgasm would have woken everyone up to the highest storeys.

When the waves of your orgasm finally ebbed, consciousness started to reclaim your senses, and the haze over your mind lifted as fast as it had descended upon you, leaving behind nothing but pure, unadulterated grief. Grief, because it was over and you would leave, and you would never again feel Loki’s arms around you, his heartbeat thrumming against your skin, his voice whispering to you.

“Ssshh, it’s okay,” Loki soothed with a whisper, and suddenly his arms were around you, pulling you closer into him, “Did it work? Are you okay?”

“It did,” you uttered on a broken whimper, “It…Thank you.”

With the pain gone, the fire in your core extinguished and the toxin burnt from your system, there was no reason for you to stay. Loki had made it clear that he didn’t want to have anything to do with you, and the least you could do now was respect his wishes. But as you shuffled out of his arms to leave the bed and his rooms, his fingers wrapped gently around your wrist to hold you back and he pressed, “You’re crying, Y/N. You don’t seem to be okay so, please, tell me what’s made you cry. Because there is nothing to be ashamed of, and nothing you should feel guilty about.”

The pain in his words was more than you could bear, and when you finally shifted at the edge of the bed to look at him, his hand still holding your wrist, you could see tears brimming in his beautiful ocean eyes while he held your gaze.

“I miss you, Loki.” It came out as a quiet, broken sob, along with fresh tears spilling from your eyes. “I miss you every day. Every night. But I know that you want me gone and I respect that, so that’s what I’ll –“

You didn’t get to finish the sentence. Your mind went beautifully blank when Loki’s lips captured yours in a kiss which left your breathless and dizzy in the best of ways, urgent and desperate as his hands found their way to the sides of your head and he pulled you closer, making your heartbeat stumble and kindling new flames in your core, flames which felt right, so much better than the desire the toxin had awakened in you.

The world blurred and nothing else mattered anymore as the two of you sank down onto the mattress together, Loki situating himself on top of you, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer while your fingers wove through his soft raven strands, and the blissful moan which escaped him at the sensation sparked another burst of colours in your chest. Fireworks.

“I need you,” you breathed, “I need to feel you.”

Upon hearing these words, Loki broke the kiss to glance down at you, worry flashing in his eyes as he asked, “This…this is real, is it? Not the toxin?”

“It’s real,” you reassured with a breathless smile, and his lips where on yours again, one of his hands gently tilting your head to deepen the kiss, coaxing open your mouth to taste you, and you could feel his clothed erection pressing against your core, eliciting a sweet torrent of pleasure which cascaded through you, and you languidly rolled your hips against his, grinding your soaked core against his length to summon another lovely sound from Loki’s lips as his free hand left its place on your chin to tangle in your wet hair.

Your hands slid between your bodies and down to free him, and the groan he uttered against your lips when you grabbed him and aligned him with your dripping entrance was the most beautiful sound you’d ever heard, and you took your sweet time to drag his tip along the wetness of your folds, his breath hot and heavy on your lips, feeling how his grip in your hair tightened with the sensation.

“Are you sure?”, Loki whispered once more, and your heart seared at the tenderness in his coarse voice, the affection shining in his lust-darkened eyes as he gazed at you as if you were the only person in the world. As if you were his whole world. He was stunning in every way, with the slight flush in his cheeks, the ghost of the soft smile which played on his lips, the stray curls of his raven hair which fell into his face, and you reached out with one hand to brush them away from his forehead before you murmured, “I need you more than anything else.”

His gaze stayed locked on yours as he slid into you, burying himself in your throbbing walls until he filled you to the brim, with a gentleness as if he were scared that he could break you. The sensation of him sheathed inside of you, his chest rapidly rising and falling against yours, breathing in each other, relishing the sensation of each other, made your eyes flutter close with overwhelming bliss.

“You feel so good,” he whispered, pressing a trail of kisses along the line of your jaw. The soft moan which spilled from your lips in reply was swallowed by his kiss as he started to move, burrowing himself deeper inside your dripping heat with every languid thrust, and you felt your walls clench around him with every electric wave of pleasure he sent through you.

Head tipping back with pleasure, you slid your hands beneath the soft verdant fabric of his shirt and to the soft skin of his back, nails leaving scratch marks as you pulled him closer and deepened the kiss, and you could feel the pace of his thrusts quickening, matching the movement of your own hips snapping against his with every wanton whimper tearing from you, every stroke of his tip against the sweet spot deep inside of you.

It was your name on his lips, murmured against your own, which made you come undone with a cry of pleasure as the first waves of your orgasm swept through you, immersing you in this beautiful glowing warmth Loki made you feel, the euphoria he instilled in your very soul, and you clung to him like a lifeline as your muscles went limp and he chased his own high beside you with faltering pace, telling you he was close as well.

“I love you,” he murmured as you felt him come undone inside of you, stealing another greedy kiss from your lips as the feeling of his hot cum spilling inside of you, paired with the confession he’d just whispered, unravelled you for a third time that night, gentle and all-consuming, filling you with bliss and love and the beautiful feeling of being safe and sound in his arms, surrounded by him, bodies moulded and souls aligned like the stars dancing in your vision while Loki gently rested his forehead against yours and helped you ride out both your climaxes.

A few heartbeats of silence passed in which you both waited for your ragged breathing to calm, your heartbeats to slow. You wanted to stay like this until the end of time itself, him buried inside of you, as close as possible with his heartbeat in tune with your own.

“Did you – did you mean that?”, you panted.

“I did. I do. Every word”, he rasped, and his hand slid out of your hair to caress your cheek as he continued, “I love you, Y/N.”

Against the lump forming in your throat, you whispered, “Then why did you push me away after that kiss?”

His expression darkened, sadness obscuring the happiness which had glimmered in his ocean eyes.

“I should never have treated you this way, my love. But I was scared.”

“To let me get close?”

You cupped his face between your palms, and whispered, “I love you, too, Loki. I love you so much. But I need to know why you did it.”

He nodded, and with a shaky exhale, he rolled onto his back, pulling you with him.

“My mother’s death was my fault.”

It took a few breaths for the meaning of his words to sink in, and you could feel the strain in his voice as he went on, “I didn’t know it then, but I told them where she was. I wanted to send them to Odin, and the only person who ever believed in me, who ever gave me the feeling that I was loved, paid the price. And I was scared the same thing could happen to you.”

He swallowed, and you inched closer, placing your palm on his cheek to gently turn his head and make him look at you. Your heart bled for him, for everything he’d went through.

“I’m so sorry. I wish I could help you ease the pain,” you whispered. “But I know, with all my heart, that you won’t hurt me.”

“I was scared, because…I never loved anyone else. I never even loved myself, and I’m still sure that nobody could ever love me.”

You felt as if you could burst into tears all over again upon hearing these words, but you bit it back. There were far more important things to do. You swiped at the tears which had sprang from his eyes, just as he’d done for you earlier, and asked softly, “Can you still do this memory-telepathy-thing?”

Loki nodded with a confused frown.

“Good. Then do it”, you urged gently and grasped his hand to place his palm on your temple, closing your eyes to summon all these memories from the past few weeks. To make him see what you saw whenever you looked at him. Beauty. Pain. Loneliness. Greed. Kindness. Jealousy. Wit. Humour. Compassion. Empathy. Snatches and fragments of colours in a kaleidoscope, and above all else, love.

When Loki released his magic’s soft grasp on your memories, his tears had started flowing once more, accompanied by the most radiant smile you’d ever seen him wear, a smile which chased away all the shadows and the doubts to replace them with nothing but a pure, unfiltered joy.

He didn’t say anything when he pulled you closer into his arms, against the heart which was beating for you. And for the first time in his life, Loki felt…happiness. For the first time, he didn’t feel alone anymore. For the first time, he believed that he could learn to love himself, with you by his side.

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salazarslytherin · 3 years

Text

midnight rendezvous (b.w x y/n)

requested: yes! by @weasleyswizardwheezes1 [i love you arms your writing so uh anything w bill weasley. either smut, angst, fluff, etc. is fine, but could it be on the longer side. please and thank you, no pressure btw :)] send in your own request here

summary: where you and bill have a penchant for meeting in the night

part two here

🃛 masterlist

cw/tw: angst, smut AND fluff babes fem!reader, bill's kind of a dick for a part. sexual tension to the MAX doll. age difference (~6-7 years?) reader IS 18! jic anyone was worried. also i imply reader is short-ish? but in my mind bill is like 6’3-6’5 so he’s massive and like most people would be shorter than him

word count: 5.25k (so i heard u say ‘on the longer side’ and interpreted it as ‘i want a short novel’. hope this satisfies u doll, there'll be one or two?? more parts coming!!)

a/n: requested by @weasleyswizardwheezes1 . hope you like it! pls leave a comment, like or reblog to help boost if you did xx

☯︎ join tag list here

Being the best friend of the Weasley twins definitely had its perks. Spending summers at the Burrow, having a second family that was closer to you than your own, friendly banter that came along with the family.

However, there was an unexpected drawback that came with this.

A drawback by the name of Bill Weasley.

⚔︎

Although in the same year as the twins, you were a year older than Fred and George, meaning you had always felt a little more mature than the two pranksters.

Thus, you felt like you noticed things that the two of them never really noticed. Girls having crushes on them, boys being envious of them, the ways rumours would fly around about the three of you.

The main thing, however, that you felt the two of them didn't notice, was the way Bill treated you.

It wasn't that he'd always been like this. The first few years you'd known the man, he was very nice to you – familial and brotherly, much like the rest of the family had been to you.

However, sometime in fifth year, things changed.

⚔︎

You arrived at the Burrow with the twins for Christmas, ready to be welcomed by the family you'd come to call your own, but was left feeling hurt, weirdly hollow.

Every Weasley had welcomed you with open arms, except Bill. Harry, the only other non-Weasley around, was embraced heartily by the curse-breaker, but you were given a sharp nod, and nothing more.

Confused, you shook it off, moving to sit next to George, his arm wrapped around your waist as you snuggled into him. Fred landed on your other side, passing you a mug of hot cocoa as he landed a kiss on the top of your head, arm enveloping your shoulders with a tight squeeze.

Surrounded by the younger Weasleys as you watched Ginny, Ron and Harry play a game of Exploding Snap, you felt an intense gaze on you, looking up to see the four oldest Weasleys sat around the dining table, watching all of you.

You caught Bill's eyes, sending him a familiar smile, but was ignored as the man took a sip of his coffee, turning to look out the window instead.

Your hurt was short-lived as Fred leaned into whisper a soft quip into your ear, letting out a laugh, turning to relay the same quip to George.

The rest of the trip went similarly – every time you attempted to catch Bill's eye, to hold a proper conversation, he'd ignore you, or brush you off, pretending that he had something else to do.

The day all of you left the Burrow to go back to Hogwarts, Bill had even left the group before you could say goodbye to him, and you could only be left wondering, what did you do?

⚔︎

Now that you've graduated, you were relishing in the last summer you could spend in the Burrow as a teenager without the pressure of work hovering over you.

Determined to have the best time you possibly could with your 'family', your days were consumed by pranks with the twins, quidditch with the family, and helping Molly bake.

Yet, you still felt empty; a hole in the warm pit created by familial love, a hole marked with the name 'Bill Weasley'.

The cursebreaker was still actively avoiding you, for no known reason, and you stopped seeking out why a year ago. Instead, you sought to live your life with one less brother, one less family member to love.

Tossing and turning, you found yourself particularly restless one night. Not wanting to wake Fred, who was sleeping soundly in bed next to you, you got up, tiptoeing down to the kitchen to have a nice cool sip of water.

You'd taken to sleeping in the twins' room since the first holiday you were at the Burrow. Molly was against the idea at first of course, but was incapable of stopping the pranksters who managed to sneak you in night after night, insistent on having 'sleepovers' with you.

After the third night, Molly gave up, only giving you three a strict 'no funny business!' warning, before trudging back off to bed.

⚔︎

The dim lamplight from the kitchen illuminated just about enough for you to see your surroundings, having been around the Weasleys' long enough to know which boards to avoid so as to not have them creak and wake the family up.

However, what you hadn't taken into account was a body on the ground, hitting your foot into a blanketed torso, making you elicit a shriek, the unknown body on the ground letting out a muffled groan.

"What the fuck?"

You muttered a quick 'Lumos', pointing your wand at the person under the quilt, only for the fabric to be thrown aside, revealing a tousled Bill Weasley, sleep clouding his narrowed eyes as he massaged his abdominal with one hand, ruffling his hair with the other.

"Oh."

Realising that the man on the floor was, in fact, a Weasley, and not some thief who'd stolen into the house in the middle of the night, you dismissed the charm, lowering your wand and shifting awkwardly on your feet.

"Sorry, I didn't know you were there."

Throwing a curt apology at Bill, you moved off towards the kitchen, grabbing a mug from the cupboard above and wordlessly filling it up, intent on finishing your business as quickly as possible before heading back up to the twins.

"Pour me a cup?"

The deep voice startled you for a moment. At some point Bill had gotten up from his mound of pillows and now found himself stood behind you, his hand holding out a mug that had a 'B' painted on it, gesturing at the water jug you were holding.

Nodding curtly, you poured him his water, Bill thanking you before moving to lean against a counter, watching you from behind the rim of his mug.

"'m surprised you're down here."

Furrowing your brows, you looked up at the man in confusion.

"What'd you mean?"

He shrugged, downing the rest of his water before placing the mug down on the counter with a tad bit more strength than he needed. He stretched for a moment, arms pulled over his head to pull the sleep out of his eyes, shirt moving up with the movement to show off a slither of his toned stomach.

"You're always around the twins, never see you without 'em. Expected you to be, in their beds or something I don't know."

A protest spluttered from your throat, choking slightly on the water that you'd been drinking.

"I–what?"

The man lifted an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side.

"Am I wrong? You've been in and out both their beds since you were firsties. I mean, it's not hard to guess what you're doing in there with 'em."

You huffed at the implications of Bill's words, putting your mug down with much of the same vigour as he had just now.

"First off, I'm an adult, and I can do what I please."

You were fuming, steam practically coming out your ears, and hearing the muttered 'clearly been an adult for a while' from Bill's lips didn't help.

"Second, even if I was sleeping with your brothers, which I am not, I don't understand why it'd be any of your business. It's not like we're friends or anything."

An odd, emotionless laugh came from Bill's lips, pushing off the counter to come stand over you. His tall stature forced you to stumble backwards, pressed against the wooden cabinets as he glared down at you.

"First off," Bill's deep voice was modulated up an octave, mocking your previous rebuttal.

"I am not saying your life is part of my concern. I'm concerned for my brothers."

A hand landed next to your head, pushing against the cabinet harshly.

"But second, you're practically a Weasley. It's my duty to look after you guys."

You laughed indignantly, looking away from the intense man to focus on his arm instead, as if studying the tattoos that covered his tanned frame.

"I'm sorry. It's your duty to look after me?"

You pushed him off of you, moving away with a huff, grabbing the two abandoned mugs to wash them with far too much tenacity, water splashing everywhere.

"Yes, that's what I said. I've known you since you were eleven – of course I have to watch over you. You're like family."

You rolled your eyes, giving up the facade of placidity as you left the mugs clattering in the sink, whipping around to face Bill.

"I'm like family? That's rich, William, truly rich."

Now it was your turn to advance towards the man, causing him to back up as your anger fueled you with energy, stomping dangerously close to his feet.

"If how you treat me is how you treat your family, I pity Molly for having you as a son."

Incoherent words left Bill's mouth in an attempt to argue further with you, but you didn't listen. Turning on your heel, you left the man in the kitchen, no longer concerning yourself with which steps to avoid as you stomped back to the twins' room, leaving Bill accompanied only by the dim light from the lamp, and the creaks coming from the floorboards.

⚔︎

After that infuriating night, it was no longer a 'hidden' fact that something was off between you and Bill.

While it had seemed that Bill used to be the one avidly avoiding you, the tables had quickly turned – you were now the prey ardently avoiding any encounters with your predator.

Any time Bill came into the room, you'd either leave, or place yourself as far away as humanly possible. During meals, you'd move yourself to sit next to Ginny, as opposed to in between the twins as you'd been sat for years, just so you no longer sat across from Bill. Even during quidditch, one of your favourite things to do with the whole family, you opted to sit out and stay in the twins' room or help Molly with the dishes, just to make sure you never had to interact with Bill.

Honestly, you weren't quite certain why the conversation with Bill had ticked you off so much. Maybe it was because he accused you of sleeping with your best friends, as if that was all you were good for. Maybe, it was because he had no right to insert himself in your life like that, to pretend like he cared about you in the first place.

It was clear he no longer wanted to be a part of your life when you were sixteen. You had no desire to welcome the curse-breaker back into your life now.

⚔︎

Three days after the midnight meeting with Bill, you found yourself restless again, unable to sleep.

George shifted slightly as you moved out of his bed, turning to cuddle with your now abandoned pillow as you slipped out of his grasp.

You decided to go for a quick midnight broom ride, hoping that the adrenaline rush and energy that you'd burn while flying would tire you out so you could finally fall asleep. A lot of the time you'd spent avoiding Bill turned into naps, which meant you were increasingly unable to fall asleep at night, disrupting your sleep schedule massively.

Cursing Bill under your breath, you creeped down the stairs, hoping that he wouldn't be down there again. You didn't want to have to deal with the eldest Weasley again.

Thanking your lucky stars, you landed on the final step, noting that the first floor was empty. Hoping that the door wouldn't creak when you opened it, you ran towards the small shed out back, grabbing a random broom from it and got ready to fly.

"Y/N?"

You were already mounted on the broom and ready to kick off as that dreaded baritone resounded from the door.

You should have known you weren't that lucky.

Yelling a quick "Nope!", you kicked off and flew out towards the countryside, only looking behind you to see Bill standing in his sleeping pants, hands gesturing out at you in exasperation.

"Now how's that for some good ol' avoidance?"

⚔︎

Though you'd initially planned on flying only for a little bit, seeing Bill at the door really put a damper on your plans, making you decide to fly to a nearby watering hole the Weasleys used to bring you to.

Illuminated by the moonlight, you descended upon the grassy area, smiling at the way the water rippled in the soft night breeze.

Tranquility was what the scene spelt.

In a moment motivated by something you'd come to dub as 'Weasley Whims', i.e the reason the twins had gotten the three of you in trouble constantly, you decided to strip down to your underwear to take a dip in the cool water, abandoning your clothes and wand on a mossy rock nearby.

Taking a running leap, you threw yourself into the water, feeling, for the first time in three days, free. A laugh rippled the waters as you broke through the surface, swimming back over to the edge, only for the laugh to be stolen away as you noticed a shadowed figure land next to your broom.

Bill Weasley was here to ruin your night, yet again.

You let out a strangled scream of frustration as the man alighted from his broom, feet and torso bared to the moonlight.

Clearly, he, like you, had not bothered to dress properly for the impromptu flight.

"Why are you following me."

Your question held no semblance of curiosity, only frustration as you demanded an answer from the man. His answer did not come, only moving towards the water to kneel in front of it, looking down at you.

"Why are you running away from me?"

Wisps of his ginger hair fell forward, covering bits of his handsome face as the rest was carelessly thrown up into a short ponytail, clearly done to prevent his hair from falling into his face during the flight, a precaution that you'd forgotten to take.

"I could ask you the same. Only, it must be a bit harder to hide from someone when they're already hiding from you in the first place, hmm?"

You turned away from the man, diving back down into the depths of the watering hole to kick yourself over to the other side, wanting to do nothing more than swim away from the ginger, or maybe, have him leave you alone and fly back to the burrow, alone.

But of course, fate never let you have your way.

You turned around only to see the man had sat himself down cross-legged, body illuminated by the moonlight as it highlighted the tattoos decorating his forearm, the several scars that littered his chest a sharp white juxtaposing his tanned skin.

"I never ran away from you."

Your head fell back as you tread the water lightly, looking up instead to admire the stars that embellished the night sky, recalling fondly the astronomy classes you'd taken in the past two years as you focused on constellation after constellation, intent on ignoring the man in front of you, hoping your disregard would drive him away.

"Y/N, I'm talking to you."

The words drew a monotone chuckle from you, your eyes snapping to meet Bill's.

"Well that's a first."

Bill moved to stand up, and your heart jumped for a moment. Maybe he would finally leave you alone.

But yet again, luck never did seem to favour Y/N Y/L/N.

Instead of moving further away as you'd thought he would, Bill moved closer, stepping into the shallow of the watering hole, the water soaking the bottom of his pants.

Your eyes darted at the ripple of his abs with every movement, swallowing as your eyes darted to look anywhere else you could. You were not about to find this man attractive.

You could see him coming towards you in your peripherals, and moved back to face him, his pecs the only part of his torso above the water.

"You haven't spoken to me for almost two years, and now you've just got so much to say to me, huh?

Bill looked down into the water, nibbling on his lip as he looked back into your eyes, almost sheepish as he tried to answer.

"I–"

"You know how much that hurt?"

You swam closer towards him, your feet finding ground as you stood next to him, your shoulders bared to the world as you were no longer submerged.

"You were like family to me for almost five years, and then one day. You just fucking stopped. Stopped talking to me. Stopped joking around with me. For a while, you didn't even look at me!"

Your hands came up out of the water, gesturing wildly as you basically screamed at the man, Bill flinching slightly as the water splashed into his face, looking back down at the water again.

Ashamed.

"D'you know how fucked up that was? I had no clue what happened, why one of the people I considered family, one of my favourite people in the world, just fucking despised me all of a sudden."

Bill looked up at you in surprise at your words.

"And you know the worst fucking part?"

Your voice suddenly fell to a hush, almost a whisper as a tear welled in your eye, prompting you to shut them as your head tilted down, urging your breath to slow down.

"The worst part, the worst part was that I thought it was my fault, that it was something I'd done to drive you away. I blamed myself for ages, didn't know what I said, didn't know why you hated me."

"Didn't know why you'd never like me back."

The last part was said in a true whisper, barely audible despite the silent night.

Yet Bill still heard it, and his breath hitched in his throat, eyes searching your face as a tear escaped you, rolling down your cheek.

Unable to restrain himself, Bill's hand darted forward out, cooled by the waters you two found yourself in, a blatant contrast to the warm tear as the pad of his thumb wiped it away.

You flinched away from Bill, feeling vulnerable for the first time that night, coming to the sudden realisation that you were clad only in your underwear, your unintended confession drawing heat to your cheeks as you moved away from the man.

"I, I was afraid."

Bill's own confession halted your movements, making you turn back around to look up at him, confused.

"I–, how do I say this. I was ashamed of myself."

It was now Bill's turn to feel vulnerable, his unease making him shift in the water, the water rippling around the two of you at his movements.

"That winter when you came back here, when you turned sixteen, I started seeing you as more than family. I– I found you attractive, and I felt disgusted with myself."

You huffed, disbelieving of the words you were hearing.

"I'm being serious Y/N. You just, grew up over those few months, and just came back different, somehow. I felt like a predator, I was twenty-three! You were still a kid, and I, I just didn't know what to do anymore."

"I wasn't a kid!"

"Of course you were! You were still in school, I'd been working for five years, I couldn't live with myself feeling like that. I didn't know what to do, so I just, distanced myself. Hoped that the feelings would go away eventually, then I'd just, go back to being normal."

Your eyes scanned the ginger's face, searching for a speck of a lie, a pinch of deception but only found uncertainty, attraction and lust dusting the man's face.

"But you never stopped..."

Your breath stopped for a moment as your eyes met.

"Are you being serious?"

His breath fanned your face as both of you instinctively moved closer towards each other, more of your body exposed to the world as you came further out of the water.

"As serious as I could be Y/N."

Your breath was taken away as Bill leaned in, ghosting his lips over yours, strands of ginger hair falling to tickle your face.

"Can I kiss you?"

A breathless whisper fell from Bill's lips, prompting you to nod in assent, the man falling to capture your lips before you even finished the move.

Sparks flew in that moment, the man's lips gliding over yours as he stole your breath away. You pulled apart after a second, before your lips fell back together again, insatiable in your desire to taste each other.

Bill's tongue teased you, mouth falling open for his teeth to graze at your lower lip, making you gasp such that your lips fell open in the same way, his hand moving to cup your jaw. Taking advantage of your momentary shock, the ginger slipped his tongue into your mouth, exploring every nook and cranny of you as you moaned into his lips, pressing your chest against his.

The water waded around you as Bill's left hand moved down your body, fitting snugly under your ass as he muttered a soft 'jump', which you obliged.

Your legs wrapped around the man's hips, Bill walking the two of you onto the soft grass, muttering a charm against your lips before placing you down.

Instead of feeling prickly blades of grass on your skin, a soft blanket had appeared, making you smile, pulling away from the man.

"Quite the romantic, Mr Weasley. Know how to treat a girl right don't you?"

A deep chuckle sounded from the man who hovered above you on his hands and knees, biting his lower lip at the sight of you.

"Only the best for my girl."

Your heart leapt at Bill’s words; were you his now?

Not wanting to dwell on it, to overthink this moment of passion, you pulled his lips back down onto yours.

His girl.

⚔︎

The moon hung high in the night sky as both your hands explored each other, frantic, as if it was your last day on Earth and you only had here and now to envelop yourselves in each other.

The pure animalistic need that pulsed through the two of you allowed no time for foreplay, fingers hooking into the soaking fabrics that clung to both of you.

“Can I?”

Bill fingered the waistband of your underwear, thumb brushing your hip bone with motions feather light, wildly disparate from the way his lips devoured yours hungrily.

One act designed to ruin you, the other almost afraid he’d break you.

“Yes, I need you.”

You deigned to show him just how much by hooking your own fingers into his waistband, soaked pajama pants pulled away to reveal his boxers, clinging to his muscular frame.

Bill responded by undressing you with much of the same vigour, moving to pull your underwear down to your ankles, his pants in very much the same state, gazing down at your soaked private with lust clouding his vision.

“Next time,” he breathed out onto your glistening lips, “I’ll make you cum with just my tongue.”

Your breath hitched at his words, no, his promise, of a next time as Bill made his way back up your body, peppering kisses on your exposed skin, his hard-on grinding against your leg as he moved up.

The cursebreaker’s deft hands unhooked your bra expertly, sucking in a breath as your pert nipples were revealed to him.

“Beautiful.” He mumbled, almost as if he was speaking to himself.

Bill moved to unclothe himself fully, before you stopped his movements, his hands already pulling at the waistband around his hips.

“May, may I?”

He nodded as you sat up, eyes glazed as he studied your body, memorising the way your breasts glistened in the moonlight. He would make it his mission to mark them, to show anyone who came near you that you were no one’s, but his.

You hooked your fingers into his boxers, pulling them down to his thighs at an almost agonising pace as every part of Bill was unveiled to you, standing proudly in the light.

“Are you... a virgin?”

The man above you asked as it dawned upon him. He was really about to have the girl he’d been craving for.

“No, I’m not.”

His jaw clenched at your admission, the thought of someone else’s hands on you ticking him off, before pushing it away.

It didn’t matter. You were with him now.

He nodded, coming back down to kiss you as one hand braced him by your head, the other reaching down to pump himself slowly.

Your hands wrapped around his neck, eyes falling closed as you immerse yourself in him.

Bill’s knee nudged your thighs apart, moving himself so he was lined up against you, hand brushing his cock up and down your lips, causing both of you to shudder.

His head dipped into you, your tight heat causing him to hiss, pausing for a moment to savour the feeling before pushing himself in fully, stopping only once he’d bottomed out.

“Are y’okay?”

You bit your lower lip as Bill moved away from you to scan your face for discomfort or pain. His girth, while not quite painful was definitely bordering on pain, your walls stretching as he filled you entirely.

“Yes, just, one second.”

Your hands gripped his neck, lacing your fingers through the tresses of his hair as you adjusted around him. As the pain receded, you nodded, a silent signal for the man to move.

He carefully pulled out of you, then pushed back in slowly, hands landing by your head to brace himself, testing the waters whilst both of you moaned at the feeling.

“Faster.”

Bill obliged, moving to thrust in and out of you at increasing speeds with each movement. His hips snapped against yours at a speed that could only be described as vicious, eliciting sounds that defiled the tranquil nature you were surrounded by.

You were breathless as the man thrusted in and out of you, his movements only capable of drawing pants and whimpers from your mouth, the activity rendering you a simpleton who knew only two words - ‘Bill’ and ‘please’.

Your climax soon drew close, a coil tightening with his every sound and every move, your body notifying the man above you by the clench of your walls around him, the motion drawing him closer to his own orgasm.

“Are you close baby?”

A nod was all you managed as you threw your head back, Bill’s tip brushing against your g-spot edging you even closer to your precipice.

One of Bill’s hands moved down your body, landing on the bundle of nerves above where the two of you met, rubbing figure eights onto you, making you let out a gasp of surprise as the older man helped you move closer to your orgasm.

His movements didn’t falter as your moans grew louder, seeming instead encouraged by the promise of your climax, your moans growing loud and unabashed.

Each pant of his name made the man groan in return, moving both his fingers and his hips so ferociously that your breasts bounced with each thrust, your back sure to be red and chafed in the morning from the friction against the blanket.

But you didn’t care - the only thoughts you were capable of manifesting was how good it felt to have Bill inside you, how this was the one thing you’d ever needed to feel full, how he never stopped in his stimulation, the way his mouth felt on your nipples - sucking on the skin of your breasts, a reminder that would last of this fleeting night.

As Bill stimulated you with his cock, his fingers, his mouth, you couldn’t hold it in any longer - and you could tell Bill was reaching his breaking point as well - you let out a moan that would awaken the sleeping birds in the tree nearby, a scream of “Bill” that would leave the twins wondering why your voice was hoarse in the morning left you, legs trembling as you released around the man.

Yet he still never relented.

As you rode out your orgasm, your cunt throbbing, Bill never faltered in his actions, hips thrusting into you as he bit into your neck softly, intent on marking you for all to see as his cock twitched inside of you.

With a moan that you could only describe as sinful, yet angelic, a sound that would haunt your dreams and bless your nightmares, teeth grazing your sensitive skin, Bill came into you. Hot stripes of white liquid coating your walls while his thrusts slowed to a stop.

Getting up on trembling hands, Bill hovered above you, exiting you in a slow movement that had you whimpering at the sudden emptiness, your eyes still shut from your post-orgasmic bliss.

Lips pressed onto your forehead, as if Bill was savouring something he didn’t want to lose.

Something you didn’t want to lose either.

⚔︎

The flight back to the Burrow was silent, the two of you side by side as you flew through the wilderness of Ottery St. Catchpole.

When you landed, you looked out onto the nature around you, Bill landing almost immediately after you.

In the distance, you could see the sun readying to rise in the East, colours bleeding into the sky that had been pitch dark save for the spattered stars hours ago.

“Did you regret that?”

The man standing beside you asked after a moment of silence, not daring to meet your eyes as he appeared vulnerable, afraid, feigning an interest in the rising sun.

His muscular arm was what you were faced with as you turned towards him, his tall stature casting a shadow over you. You eyed the red marks you’d left on him, the little reminders scattered on his shoulders and back.

“No. Did you?”

The cursebreaker turned to face you, an unreadable expression on his face as he watched you, scanning your face for the umpteenth time that night.

“Of course not.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, drawing Bill’s gaze down towards them, a small smile telling you he was admiring the slowly darkening marks he’d left on you.

“Then why’d you assume I would’ve?”

He caught his lower lip between his teeth, gnawing on it absentmindedly as he shrugged.

“I dunno. Just assumed you wouldn’t have wanted that with an older man or somethin’, I s’just worried, s’all.”

You inhaled deeply, letting out a long sigh as you reached out towards the man, cupping a hand on either side of his chiseled jaw, making him look into your eyes.

“Bill, that was my decision to make. If I didn’t want to have sex with you, I wouldn’t’ve done it. It’s not your place to decide for me whether I wanted it.”

You leaned in to capture his lips in yours; this time deepening the kiss on your terms, slipping your tongue into his mouth and savouring his taste.

Cinnamon, with a hint of mint and tobacco.

You pulled away, tracing your lips to the sweet spot under his ear, sucking softly before turning to whisper in his ear.

“I wanted it, and I’ve wanted you for longer than you could have known.”

part two out now x

#mine #writing #request #bill weasley #bill weasley x reader #bill weasley angst #bill weasley smut #bill weasley fluff #harry potter fluff #harry potter imagine #harry potter angst #harry potter smut #bill weasley imagine #hp angst #hp imagine #hp fluff #hp smut

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fandom-monium · 3 years

Note

i finished for the holidays and i just *chefs kiss* beautiful talented amazing sajkgdkj no words i love that romance wasnt even the main point 🥺💘 anyway i love how you write reader and i wondered between her and spencer who gets jealous???

Unrivaled

Summary: In which you seem pretty close with the new intern, and Spencer is not happy about it. (ft. one of my fave white bois) “Have I ever told you how much I value your friendship?"

WC: 3.6k

Tags/Warnings: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader, fluff, cussing, Jealous!Spencer bc id like to see that, established relationships (blegh), Garvez if you squint, the lightest implication of smut ever, points to yall who can guess who the intern is before reading the end or the tags 😉

—

Spencer is not jealous. He’s not.

Why would he be?

He has no reason to be jealous, Spencer chants to himself as he sits at his desk. Even from across the bullpen he still manages to hear your voice, and while normally it’s music to his ears, even better than Mozart, now it just feels like nails against a chalkboard. Grating his eardrums, making him wince.

Because you’re laughing. Not with Spencer though. Not at his obscure references or lame jokes.

With the new intern.

Why did Emily have to put you in charge of him? She could’ve chosen anyone on the team to have him shadow, but it had to be you! Not that you’re incapable or unqualified; you’re experienced, talented, and the best person he knows.

… Okay, he can see why she picked you.

Why do they even have interns? Unnecessary, really, when the BAU has you and him and he guesses the other teams too (it’s weird, he’s never actually interacted with them but whatever). Maybe it’s time to start making budget cuts. He’ll discuss this with Emily when he gets the chance. He’s got some influence, working at the BAU as long as he has.

But he’s not jealous.

Logically, jealousy (like an intern) is unnecessary. The green-eyed monster (like an intern) is ugly and contributes nothing productive, and if Spencer’s being honest, the world (like an intern) would be much better off without it.

At least that’s what he keeps telling himself as he downs his coffee like a shot of whiskey, trying to quell the squirming beast in him. Despite 90% of it being sugar, it still tastes bitter. He sets his mug down with a thud, and it’s loud enough to make Luke, Garcia, and JJ turn their heads, exchanging concerned glances when he slumps back in his chair.

Spencer doesn’t care. The world’s ending; you’re apparently into younger guys, with neat dark hair and forearms that can probably snap someone’s neck, and he can’t do anything about it. What does it matter if his best friends catch him in a sour mood, right?

“Hey, Spence,” JJ's tone is soft as they slink over, Garcia and Luke leaning against the edge of his desk and JJ flanking the other side. “You alright?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Spencer gazes past them, his eyes never leaving you. He deflates; your stance is relaxed, completely open as you nod at whatever Intern is saying, his hands gesturing spastically. It must be interesting, the way you listen with rapt attention and respond just as enthusiastic.

Spencer scoffs. Not like that’s anything special. You do the same for him. And the rest of the team.

...What the hell are you guys talking about?

“Well, you look like you’re about to throw your mug across the room. Or at an intern.”

Spencer blinks, finally breaking away from you long enough to eye the ceramic octopus. “That’s a good idea actually.”

“Don’t,” Garcia and JJ both shoot him a warning and he huffs, resting his chin in his hand. Garcia looks horrified, betrayed even while JJ has that expression on, the one she gives when she scolds Henry and Michael.

Whatever. It’s not like he’d ever sacrifice Mildred. Garcia entrusted her to him, after all.

Unless...?

No, he couldn’t… Maybe.

“You know, Reid, if you’re jealous—”

Spencer snaps his head to Garcia, eyes wide and darting to you like you have super-hearing, “Jealous? Who’s jealous? Not me.” He cringes, his voice octaves higher and cracking like a prepubescent boy.

Garcia snorts, “Okay, sure. But if you are jealous, I was going to say you have no reason to be. You wanna know why?” Spencer raises an eyebrow at her and she continues, “Sure the guy’s smart enough to get a full-ride scholarship at GWU, and he’s top of his class at the academy—”

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?”

"And he’s one of the most good looking guys I've ever met—”

"How is that relevant—"

Luke frowns at her. "And have you met me?"

“My point is,” Garcia’s red lipstick curls into the most reassuring smile, “that you have nothing to worry about because (Your Name) loves you. A lot.”

Spencer perks up. “You really think so?”

“I know so. I see the way they look at you, and if that’s not love I don’t know what is," She shrugs, "And just because they’re talking doesn’t mean they’re into him.”

There's a collective nod of agreement and Spencer sags in relief. Of course they're right. He knows they are.

If you think about it, technically, he's got the advantage. You've known each other longer, bonded and shared experiences together good and bad, and you’re emotionally and even physically intimate with each other (something he's especially proud of, considering how long it takes you both to warm up to others).

And who knows? This is probably temporary! Whatever this is, the connection you seem to instantly make with Intern (faster than when you two had met, he realizes with a needle to his heart) is short-term at best. It'll peter out eventually, like most friendships do.

It’s sad, but a cruel fact of life.

(Is this selfish, wishful thinking? Nah.)

They’re right, there is no need to worry, Spencer thinks as a weight lifts off his chest, finally able to breathe. You love him and he loves you and eventually, everything will go back to normal.

There’s nothing to worry about.

—

The world’s ending.

“It’s really not.”

Yes, it is.

“Doc, come on.”

“Do not ‘Doc’ me,” Spencer grumbles, lifting his head from the comfort of his arms. He grimaces at Luke. “You didn’t see the way they looked at him. The way they talk about him.”

Two weeks. It’s been two weeks since you’ve taken Intern under your wing, and he’s had enough. If Hell is real, this is it. For days, he’s tried to resume some form of normalcy, and he was never one to be bold but desperate times call for desperate measures as he asks you out for lunch or invites you out on dates, even stuff he wouldn’t normally do because they’re more your thing. Something, anything to get you away from Intern. But...

At work: “Hey Spence, I'm teaching Intern (menial task that a 4 year old could do). Would you like to help—”

During break: “I’m taking Intern out for lunch. He’s still new to town, and I thought he could use a tour—”

In bed: “Did you know Intern’s a huge fan of Star Wars—”

Snap, and there went his patience.

Intern this, Intern that.

Spencer could tolerate this at work. At least he’s saving lives, being productive, getting paid. But under his roof? In his bed?

That was the last straw.

Spencer's not one to wish ill on another, he's not like that. But if something happened to the guy, say, get injured in the field, perhaps from a "stray" bullet, he'd be intern-ally grateful. Heh.

"Hey, you good?"

Spencer sighs, swiping a hand over his face and turning back to Luke. "Yeah, why?"

Luke waves a hand at his face, eyebrow raised, "For a second there, you kind of had a scary look on your face."

"Did I? Weird."

"Right," Clearly unconvinced, Luke brushes it off, deciding to get to the root of the matter. "As I was saying, I still think you have nothing to worry about. Although, I do think it's a little weird that (Your Name) is talking about Intern as much as you say they are." He offers Spencer a little smile, his hand falling heavy on his shoulder. It's the most comforting touch he's had in two weeks. "I'm not one to talk, but I suggest you speak to them. I'd also be uncomfortable if my partner were talking up someone else."

Spencer blinks, squints at Luke, before gripping his hand and standing up. "Have I ever told you how much I value your friendship?"

"You can stand to mention it more often," Luke shrugs, eyes crinkling with amusement as Spencer lets go and heads for the door.

"Noted."

—

Spencer nearly goes feral when he finds you.

Of course you're with him.

He searched the floor like a bloodhound, discovering you've been on your feet almost the entire day, running around the office, up and down the elevators, finishing your work and helping around. You must be exhausted. It's because of this he tracks you to your favorite break room, mostly quiet save for the buzzing drip of the old coffeemaker. He knows you need to be alone sometimes, recharge those social batteries.

So when he bursts into the room like he would hunting an unsub, eyes quickly scanning the immediate space, he expects nothing less but you. What he did not anticipate was to find you, just as soft and pretty as ever under the fluorescent lighting, leaning against the counter and sipping daintily at your favorite mug.

With Intern standing a little too close to his liking.

“Hey, Spencer,” You chirp as you lower your coffee mug, lips glossy from your drink. Spencer's quick to shake his stupor―he can’t afford to be distracted, but it’s difficult when you’re beaming at him, clearly excited. You nod at the home-wrecker, “Me and Intern here were just talking about demonology and he’s got this interesting theory on werewolves―" Lycanthropy? Are you fucking kidding him right now?

Just when he thought he couldn't hate the guy any more.

"CanItalktoyou?" It comes out rushed as Spencer gasps between breaths, leaving no room to second guess himself.

"Sure," You blink at his urgent tone.

For a second, you watch him expectantly, and Spencer's gaze darts between you and Intern. "Alone?"

"Oh! Okay. Be gone," You wave Intern off, and when you place a hand on his shoulder, Spencer sees red. Or green in this case.

Intern doesn't resist, but the noise Spencer releases is animalistic because the guy can’t seem to read the room, questioning you as you gently shove him towards the door. "What about the thing―"

"We'll talk about that later."

"But you still need to show me how to―"

"Don't worry, Intern. Just wait for me, I'll show you once the adults are done talking."

"You know at some point you're gonna have to call me by my name."

"Nah. If we get to call Luke a newbie, we get to call you Intern. Also I do not know how to say your first name."

"You could just call me St―"

Enough of this. Spencer closes the last stretch of distance, batting your hand away from Intern’s shoulders as he kicks him out himself, slamming the door in his face. Spencer turns on his heel to face you, caging you both. “You―” He pants, chest heaving for air.

“Me?”

“You-him-we―”

You’re unfazed, simply nodding at him and his odd behavior. If anything, you’re enjoying this as your lips twitch in a poor attempt to withhold your amusement, trying to cover it with a slurp of your cup. Then again, it’s not everyday you get to see Spencer, face flushed from exertion, speechless as he gasps for breath.

(At least not at work… In the break room specifically.)

It takes a minute as Spencer swallows a few times, but his heart’s erratic and it’s not just from running through the entire building. When he’s got enough air, he blurts out, “Did I do something?”

Your brow shoots up. “What?”

“Did I forget something important? Upset you in some way?”

“No? I don’t think so?” You frown at him, your answers more like questions.

It only spurs him on, and though his tone is frantic and his eyes just as wild as his hair, you’re more intrigued than frightened. Definitely confused.

“Okay, but you know I love you, right?”

“Yes and I love you too but Spence, what’s this about?" Setting down your mug, you look at him like he's grown another head.

Spencer sighs, "I just… you…" He frowns, glancing between you, the floor, and the empty space between you.

Spencer Reid is a man of words. Many, many words, according to all his friends and his coworkers. Mainly knowledge―he's never been great with feelings―but as you gaze at him, patiently waiting for him to gather his thoughts, he wants to melt into the floor. There's not a hint of annoyance on your features, your eyes warm and inviting.

He's so in love with you.

Then like scripture the words come, natural without much stuttering or hesitancy. He recounts the last two weeks. The internship so far, the times you've left Spencer behind for him, the times you just talked about him, like the guy (practically a stranger) is your new best friend. Usually, pretty people make him tongue-tied and you do―god, you do―but at the same time only you make it so easy. Talking, expressing without fear of―

"Pfft―"

―Judgement. Pausing mid-sentence, Spencer gawks as your nose twitches and your blink rate increases. You purse your lips, a hand slapped over your mouth as it threatens to break out into a grin.

"Are you-are you laughing right now?" When he just poured his feelings out to you?

That does it. You keel over, peels of laughter coming like a tsunami, crashing into him and Spencer loves your laugh but not when it's at him.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I shouldn't be laughing," you wheeze, gripping your stomach. Spencer pouts. There's even tears in your eyes. "But you're telling me this is all because you're jealous?"

He stutters, "Well-I-no-It’s just…" He wants to say ‘you're mine’, but as your eyes crinkle he knows there’s no need.

"That's kinda hot."

"Wha-really?" Wide-eyed, Spencer squeaks as you step closer to him, backing him into the door. His hands come up to his chest in a kitten-like manner yet at the same time protective―you'd never hurt him and you both know that―but you admit your initial reaction was poor when he laid his feelings bare.

“Ahhhh Babe, you know there’s no one else for me but you.” Spencer blushes and you chuckle, taking his hands in yours. He let's you. “Also, as adorable as Intern is, one, I think I’d be able to tell if he was hitting on me, and two, he’s not really my type.”

Spencer swallows, “And what exactly is your type?”

“Hmm, let’s see,” Looking him up and down, you step closer, enough that your breath puffs against his chin. You smell like cheap coffee. “Tall, handsome doctors with messy, brown hair―” You lightly tug at one of his stray curls and he bites back a smile.

“―and a cute nose―” Your hand moves to cup his cheek, bringing him down to peck the tip of his nose. It scrunches as Spencer breaks out into giggles.

“―Who can recite classic literature. Who can bake like he belongs on The Great British Baking Show but can’t cook for shi―”

“Okay! Thank you, I get it,” Spencer says, almost completely relaxed now.

“Good,” You nod with finality. “And for your information, I wasn’t trying to make you jealous."

He raises an eyebrow. "So you just abandoned me and talked about another guy for the hell of it?"

Spencer's tone is casual, joking even but you know better. There's underlying bitterness and hurt and your heart squeezes because you did that. "No, of course not. There is a reason behind all that.“

“What could possibly excuse you going above and beyond your job as a mentor―”

“I was trying to set you guys up.”

Spencer deadpans. “Set me up? With him?” Oh god, he knows you’re weird, but he’s never considered you to be outright insane (is it weird he still loves you?).

As if reading his thoughts, you roll your eyes, “Spencer, how many friends do you have outside the team?”

“Not a lot.” No hesitation, but he accepted the fact a long time ago.

“Yeah and that’s okay. But if you’d talk to Intern, you’ll find you two have a lot in common. I know he’s younger than us, but he’s a good kid, real smart,” You give him a meaningful look and shrug, “Not like IQ 187 smart but he could definitely hold a conversation with you.”

Spencer murmurs, pulling you in so you're chest to chest, “This entire time, you were really trying to make us friends?”

You nod, your expression a mix of giddiness and hope that makes whatever feelings he felt before, the confusion and―yes, fine―the jealousy, dissolve like sugar in water. Spencer sinks into you, burying his face into the crook of your neck and inhaling your soap. Of course you had good intentions. Of course you wanted to do something nice for him.

Fuck, he loves you.

“So… we good?”

Spencer huffs, “I hope you realize how much I suffered the past few weeks.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“Then yes, we’re good,” He mumbles into your shoulder, “I appreciate what you were trying to do.”

“And?”

His brow furrows and he pulls back, meeting your eyes. “And what?”

“Will you try to be friends?” You look at him expectantly.

Spencer opens his mouth to answer, a definitive no on his tongue, but then you’re giving him puppy-dog eyes and before he realizes it, “Okay.”

Wait, no. That is not what he meant to say.

“Yeah!” You throw your arms around him, and Spencer can’t stop you, grunting as you basically swing him around like a rag doll. But he finds he doesn’t care when you set him back down because you’re happy, happy for him, grinning ear to ear as you babble, “I can already tell you two are gonna be the best of friends! You guys have so much to talk about, all that nerdy stuff. Maybe even debate! And we could play chess and―”

There’s a knock and you both turn, a voice muffled by the door, “Hey, guys? I don’t want to interrupt in case you’re boning, but you didn’t exactly tell me where to wait for you? God, I hope you guys aren’t boning. Please tell me you’re not boning right now.”

You groan, “No Intern, we’re not boning! Right-uh-go ahead and meet me back at the office, I’ll be right with you.” You turn back to Spencer, sending him an apologetic look. “I will see you later, okay? And since you’ve been such a patient and understanding partner,” You plant him one last kiss before patting his cheek, and his eyes widen as your voice lowers in the way you know drives him crazy, your eyes glinting with mischief, “I’ll make it up to once we get home. Bye, love you!”

Before Spencer can fully register your words, you're out the door, cackling as you leave him to compose himself, his face beet red from running the possibilities. By the time he emerges from the break room, you’re long gone.

“Hi, Dr. Reid?”

Spencer almost snarls, cursing under his breath. Just when he thought the day was getting better. He turns back.

Intern stands tall, relaxed and shoulders back, black tie loose and cheap white-collar button up slightly wrinkled. No doubt from working hard and following your instructions throughout the day. Spencer respects the work ethic at least. Meanwhile, the younger man eyes him, and he’s certain it’s not from intimidation but with curiosity.

Spencer doesn’t linger on that. He’s used to it, not being intimidating to others.

He continues, “It’s nice to finally talk to you, one on one I mean. I’m a fan of your work. Seven degrees, huh?”

“Yeah,” Spencer says curtly. Recalling the earlier conversation with you, he stamps down his irritation and tries to extend an olive branch. “How did you know?”

“It’s the internet, sir,” Intern raises an eyebrow, offering an innocent smile.

“Right,” Spencer returns it with an awkward one of his own, “Hey, sorry for... literally kicking you out before. That was completely unprofessional.”

Intern waves him off, “No, it’s cool. I totally get it. I’m flattered, by the way.”

Spencer frowns. “Flattered?”

“Well, it’s not everyday you find out your superior’s jealous of you.”

Spencer blinks, and it takes all his experience as a profiler to mask his embarrassment. “You heard that.”

“The FBI’s got thin walls,” Intern shrugs and steps towards him. “Although I have to say, Agent (Your Last Name) is wrong about one thing.” Stopping short in front of him, for the first time Spencer is close enough to note the moles dotting his face. “They can’t tell that I’m flirting with them.”

He starts down the hall after you, and Spencer’s eyes trail after him as his brow furrows, until realization slams into him and his jaw drops. “Wait, you...”

“Oh and since (Your Last Name) wants us to be friends, I think we could be on a first-name basis,” He pauses to look back at Spencer, watching with a crooked smile as the older man sputters.

“So, you can call me Stiles, sir.”

Then once again, Spencer is left behind, frozen in the hallway as he processes what just happened.

And the next time he finds you and Special Agent Stilinski in the same room, whether it’s crowded or not, Spencer does not hesitate to cling to your side, putting as much distance between the intern and you as he can. Spencer’s grateful you don’t question it.

There may not be anyone else for you, but that doesn’t mean no one will try.

―

AN: ahhhhh thanks anon!! There was a similar request then i saw this tiktok (and listened to this tiktok the entire time) and i combined them. Id also like to emphasize that my version of reader is neutral across the board, race, gender, etc.

Yes, i have a type. No, i will not be taking criticism.

Been hella overwhelmed with classes and work so here’s my way of destressing. Also suggest checking those tiktoks if you wanna understand me :))) also you mean to tell me i have to write the threesome myself?? Bs tbh 😔

watched 15x4 and i was so sad when Spencer addressed Luke as his coworker like no bitch hes your new bro stfu

and i have no doubt that stiles and spencer would be one of the best crossover duos given the chance

#spencer reid x reader #mgg x reader #matthew gray gubler x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x y/n #mgg fanfiction #mgg imagine #mgg x y/n #matthew gray gubler x oc #matthew gray gubler imagine #mgg fic #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds x oc #criminal minds x reader #stiles stilinksi x reader

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the-eldritch-it-gay · 3 years

Note

Spare explanation of fandom zev and fenris for the da layman 👀 ?

Honestly it's not like, the whole fandom i guess, but i feel like both of them in the fandom tend to be boiled down to very one dimensional. Also I feel both get sexualized a lot in a way that's uncomfortable (and unfortunately on par for any fandom's treatment of men of colour).

Zevran tends to be boiled down to like, you know, sexy and flirty and exotic and a bit dumb (at least in the sense of lockpicking, which i think the joke of zev not being able to pick locks is overplayed, its not a skill he starts with, as leliana does. but you can make him good at lock picking, i know, because my first playthrough i didn't have leliana so the only rogue in the group was zev).

And like, to be fair, in canon he is flirty, but like, also very kind, smart, and loyal. And also dealing with a bunch of trauma and depression. He states outright he was sold to the Crows when he was a child, tortured during training in order to become heartless and a killer. He also tells the warden (when revealing about Taliesen and Rinna) that he wanted to die, which is why he took on what he thought was a suicide mission. He's a kind and warm person who's been through so much. But I see lots of just seeing him as just the latin lover, as well as always drawing and associating him with the Crows, despite how he left the Crows and the Crows literally bought and tortured him.

With regards to Fenris, he really tends to be boiled down to like, angry hot-headed mage hating borderline alcoholic. Plus people are SUPER weird with regards to how he was a slave, there's way too many people who write smut fics with slavery.

Fenris can be a bit angry, like, definitely understandable and proportionate to what he's been through. He's not like, hot headed, really. He's like anyone else most of the time, he laughs and makes jokes and smiles. His stance on mages is genuinely introduced as far more nuanced than "all mages are evil", I went into DA2 blind with a mage Hawke and ended with Fenris joining my Hawke in siding with the mages without having to referance approval guides. Genuinely, Fenris is only angry when things related to his trauma come up. I know there's lots of hostility in his banter but like, it genuinely seems more like poor writing choices rather than something about his character. And wrt to drinking, he's really only shown drinking wine on special occasions such as the anniversary of his freedom iirc.

I really love both Fenris and Zevran, and I'm basically incapable of not romancing them, but I almost go out of my way to avoid fandom content of them due to how fandom often treats them (which is inextricable from the rampant racism within the DA fandom).

Anyways the long story short is both Zevran and Fenris are both traumatized men of colour with a lot of depth and character beyond being just sexy or angry, but fandom (especially white fandom) tends to ignore that depth in a way that's deeply uncomfortable for me to see, especially given my own traumatic experiences and the racism I've faced both online and in the fandom and everywhere irl.

#Eldritch IT Speaks #Eldritch IT Anons #neither character is without flaws especially given how shitty bioware is #but god do people water them down into 1d stereotypes #Eldritch IT Meta #The Eldritch Dragon Age

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shreddedparchment · 3 years

Text

A Wife for Thor Pt.14

The Garden Hallway

01/02/2021

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader Word Count: 5,974

Warnings: language, smut, smutty smut smut, talk of pregnancy, jealousy, spoiled lobster, alcoholic Brunnhilde, babies

A/N: First post of the new year! This was a fun one to write with lots of little tidbits that were enjoyable. Writing doubts aside, I hope you all enjoy this one! Sorry it took so long to get to you, but holidays, ya know? xoxo

“She’s beautiful, Thora. Just gorgeous.” You bounce the infant in your arms and she coos and goos.

Spittle runs down along the edge of her lips and Thora, the most gorgeous woman you have ever seen in your life, leans forward to gently dab away at the clear liquid.

Her very long ice blonde hair falls forward, half braided, the other half loose. She tosses it back then sighs and rips it back feeling frustrated.

“You could cut your hair, if it’s bothering you.” Ice blue eyes meet yours, slight shock at your observational skills painting her pale cheeks pink.

“Oh, no. I’m too fond of it, Your Majesty. I’ll grow used to it again. Having a little one to care for does make it a bit tedious to handle. But ‘tis no worry. I will just have to braid it more tightly and perhaps wear it atop my head to keep it tame.”

She’s all politeness, this Agardian beauty. The Goddess of it, if you’re honest, though you know that’s not true. To you, every Asgardian woman is the Goddess of beauty. They’re all so stunning in their own unique ways.

The same could be said for the women of your own species, but these Asgardians seem to glow.

“Well, if you ever change your mind, it’s really very normal for women of Earth to have very short hair in some cases. Especially when work or busy lives get in the way of maintaining it. I’m not sure how often women in the old Asgard used to-”

“It was not uncommon, though ‘twasn’t very common either. Most of us keep our hair long. I’m not sure my husband would love me as much if I did cut it.” She confesses, and you see a fleeting worry pass through her exquisite face and you can’t imagine how a woman this beautiful can doubt the hold she has on her husband when you’re only mortal and constantly worry about Thor’s love for you.

“Armod is a lucky man. I’m sure he knows that you’re more than your hair. But if it’s that important to you, I can try to find ways of keeping it out of your way? Some new hairstyles maybe?” You smile at her, hoping to offer comfort.

She relaxes, the little bundle in your arms wiggling just a bit as you lean forward to place your hand over hers.

“She really is so beautiful,” you say, hoping to redirect her attention to her perfect little girl.

Luta has deep olive skin, her hair the same stunning raven as Armod.

Thora’s entire being shifts. She gleams at her daughter, the clear apple of her eye.

“It won’t be long before you and His Majesty are blessed with a baby of your own. An heir to the throne? The celebration will be monumental.” She wiggles her eyebrows at you and you smile shyly, remembering almost every night since your honeymoon has been spent pinned either underneath Thor, or to the wall, or on the dresser, or his desk, or the tub, or even the floor in an attempt to get that heir to finally come.

Both of you want a baby so badly.

“We’ve been trying for almost two months,” You confess, a sadness in your voice incapable of hiding.

“Armod and I tried for nearly a year,” Thora nods, her own happiness sidelined to make way for understanding. “I believe that sometimes it just takes a while. My sister was able to conceive so quickly I began to think there was something wrong with me.”

She gives you a reassuring smile, almost like she can read your very thoughts.

“But it happened. It took time. It will happen for you as well, Your Majesty. We are all looking forward to an heir, but even if it takes a while, you’re still our Queen.” She assures you and her words do make you feel better.

Maybe you and Thor have just been trying too hard?

Oof, but there’s no way you can give up those touches.

“I guess I’ll just have to relax and take it one day at a time. Thank you for your encouragement. I’m seriously really jealous of you. She’s so lovely.” You offer her over, and Thora takes her eagerly.

The baby, Luta, whines a little but then settles as she’s held to her mother’s breast.

“She’s a peach, isn’t she?” Thora gloats, and she’s absolutely beaming.

The front door opens and there’s a startled pause by the tall dark Armod, long pitch braids swishing as he comes to a stop.

“Your Majesty?” The shock is clear, but he quickly bows and you get up, waving away his formality.

“No, please.” You smile, throwing out your hand for him to shake, “It’s so nice to see you, face to face and not from the backseat of a car.”

Armod laughs, taking hold of your hand gently and he quickly kisses the back of it.

The respect of the gesture is flattering.

“I was not expecting to see you here today, though I’m not going to lie, it’s an honor.”

“I promised I’d come,” you remind him. “I’m sorry it took so long. I’ve been so busy with the planning of the park and meeting with the Ambassadors to see what they want from us, and it’s just been so busy day after day.”

“Your Majesty,” Thora stands, shaking her head. “You have no obligation to explain yourself to us. We are at your service.”

You smile at her, reaching over to caress Luta’s little head then Thora’s shoulder, “I think it’s the other way around, but I’m grateful for your generosity.”

They both seem happy with you and as lovely as they are, you can’t spend all day here in their comfy little home.

Armod is paid really well and that’s reflected more in their belongings as opposed to the size of their house.

Very neat and high quality furniture and gadgets display their wealth though compared to the one you inherited and the one you married into, it’s just a fraction.

Armod and Thora's wealth lies in their love and family.

As they stand there, the ache in your chest begins to get unbearable so, you quickly tell them goodbye and you walk back up to the palace.

Armod's home is situated within the grounds of your New Asgardian dwelling. Smallish cottages that line the inner stone and vibranium wall are filled with staff who living close by makes it easier to work here.

If they lived outside of the palace walls, you'd have needed Armod's services to visit his own house. Luckily, in this way, you can visit some of your people without the need for fanfare.

You like not having to dress up.

As you slip into the garden and move for the large heavy door that Thor had shown you through two months prior to propose to you out here, you smile at the sight of the only person who hates it when you don't wear a dress, or at the very least a skirt.

This isn't of course because he wants to have you he all wrapped up in tight dresses and uncomfortable, but rather it makes certain activities just a little more difficult in rushed moments.

Thor's smile widens as he spots you, shutting the door behind you before you put your hands behind your back.

"There you are, I've been looking for you," Thor says.

He looks so good in dark jeans and a slightly loose tan t-shirt. The round neck gives just the slightest peek at his trapezius and you force yourself to keep your eyes on his beautiful face instead of the way his biceps strain against his sleeves.

Fuck he looks good.

"Looks like you've found me. What did you need?"

"Where were you?" He wonders, putting his own hands behind his back to copy your stance.

"Is it curiosity, suspicion, or control making you ask?"

"Interest. And because I missed you and if I have an hour free again, I'd like to spend it with you."

Damn him.

"Well, shoot," you scoff.

He quirks his head inquisitively and you smile wide at the sight of your puppy. How can he be so damn hot and cute at the same time?

"That was the perfect response. But, an hour?" Quick glance down at your watch reveals it's too early for lunch. "I thought we were meeting for lunch at eleven?"

Thor’s smile falters and he nods slowly, looking at your collarbone instead of your eyes.

"About that…"

"Oh, shit. What?"

"I'm leaving in about twenty minutes," Thor confesses, bringing his hands back to his front to fidget.

"Twenty minutes? But you said an hour!"

"And I spent forty minutes looking for you, cherub. That leaves me with twenty."

He closes the distance between you, tracing the length of your arms to your wrists and then pulls your hands out from behind your back.

"And leaving? Where are you going?"

The pout that overtakes you feels inevitable. You can't even attempt to hide it.

"The Warriors Three have reported in. Sif says that they are ready for inspection so I must go and see each outpost's condition before I can deem them proper watch towers to guard against the threat that Loki has foreseen.

"Heimdall says he is in agreement. Whatever it is that is coming, it's hiding itself from his sight which should be impossible. I must go, love. I'm sorry."

He really does sound and look apologetic too.

"And...I won't be home until possibly very late. Nearly morning I think," he tells you, voice low.

For two long moments the two of you stand there, minds whirring until they both reach the same realization.

It's Thor that voices it first and he nearly kills you with how much you want to swoon, "You know, this will be the first night since we've been engaged that I won't be sleeping beside you."

Your pout only grows more pronounced.

"Will you be lonely without me?"

All of the insecurities he's felt since marrying suddenly come pouring out of him in that one singular question and you can suddenly see all of the fear and strife he has been dealing with since he chose to marry you.

Like you, he's been wondering whether you're happy in your new married life. He's been worried about you in your role as Queen but worried for you, not whether you can do the job as you have been fretting.

You sigh, a heavy release of your own tension, "Oh, Thor…"

Hooking your hand behind his neck you pull him down until you can kiss him.

His response is ready, eager. Hands funding your hips as he pushes you back until you're shoved into the small space between one pillar and the wall it supports.

You're both very aware of the loss of activity this night will also bring, but maybe a rest is due.

Pulling back, you place your hands on his chest and give him a little push. He stops his kissing, licking his lips as he leans back to fix you with his star-eyed gaze.

"Maybe this is a good thing? We've been trying so hard to get pregnant for two months and my last test was negative. Maybe what we need is a break?"

Thor blinks, considering your words but then he shakes his head.

"Is that the only reason you've been laying with me night after night? To be with child?"

He almost sounds hurt by the idea and you hurry to reassure him.

"No! Of course not, Thor. I...being with you intimately is one of the best things about my adult life that I never knew I wanted or needed. It feel so good to be with you. Sometimes I can't believe that you want me.

"You're this perfect God, desired by millions. Billions even. And I'm-"

"Let me stop you there, cherub. If you are ever in any doubt as to how you affect me-mind, body, and soul-" He reaches down between your bodies, unbuttons his jeans and lowers his zipper.

"Thor!" You gasp quietly, peeking around at both ends of the long secluded hallway.

"No one will see us," he whispers, seductive and deep.

He's right though. Especially here where the pillar meets the wall, a tight corner where he's got you trapped. Right where you want to be.

He takes your hand and pushes his pants down a bit until he's exposed, erect, and throbbing.

As you wrap your fingers around him, he purrs and after another lick of his lips, he flies into a frenzy that you match with your own fervor.

It has to happen fast and before you know it he's inside, thrusting up into you as he holds your right leg up around his waist.

Neither of you have any words, only heavy breathing. A gasp. A grunt. Mewling moans that rise from your throat which he quickly silences with a finger pressed gently to your lips.

"Shh, my cherub," he urges.

Even if no one ever comes down here. The sound of the Queen making these noises would surely draw someone's attention.

"I'm coming…" you whimper, hands vices around the fabric of his shirt.

Thor groans again then mashes his lips against your own, thrusting faster and smoother. Like silk on skin he fills you up and as you grip his cock, twitching around him, he empties into you.

He coats you with his heat, caressing the curves of your body as he continues to kiss you with slow and deliberate passion.

"We aren't missing a day," he declares.

As the two of you recover, a voice from the far end of the hall interrupts.

"Thor, we must go if you're to be back by morning."

For a moment your heart leaps into your throat. Loki’s voice is knowing. He clearly gets what you two were doing.

You peek over Thor’s shoulder but don't see Loki anywhere. He's got the sense to give you two your privacy and stay out of sight.

"I'll be right there," Thor says, leaning in to kiss your lips slow. "Don't worry, he's discreet."

Thor helps you get dressed again, blocking your body from sight even though he knows no one is looking.

When you're both decent again, he takes your arm in his and leads you out into the main hall where Loki stands by the large doors pacing.

As he spots the two of you, he gives no indication that he heard or saw any of what happened down in the garden hallway.

"You two look...refreshed," Loki says pointedly.

"Brother, do not tease Her Majesty the Queen. She's already fretting."

Thor adjusts his arm to wrap around your shoulder and gives you a quick squeeze as you glare at Loki.

"Of course, you're right. I'm sorry, Y/N."

Loki gives you quick polite bow, then a mischievous smile curls his lips and you can see the trickster God peek through.

“I am a most avid supporter of my monarchs doing what they can to provide the kingdom with an heir, and if there is any way that I can help, I would be happy to lend my assistance.”

“Watch it, Loki,” Thor warns, only half heartedly but with the punch of genuine jealousy.

You haven’t really questioned lately whether you’re Thor’s because you are. No doubt in your mind. He has you wrapped around his finger. Hearing him assert that claim, the one on your heart and body--it drives shivers up your spine and you suddenly want him back home from his trip already.

“I only meant that I am glad to make excuses if you two wish to escape for a few hours a day,” Loki clarifies. “What did you think I meant?”

He’s teasing Thor, you can see it. That playful jabbing is routine and you’ve seen him do it before but you were never the tool for his poking at Thor.

“I’ll wait out front,” Loki takes his leave, shutting the large doors to the front hall with ease.

Without a word, Thor pulls you into his arms. He embraces you tightly, sighing heavily and you shut your eyes at the feel of his body wrapped around yours.

You can’t remember ever feeling so happy. So, safe? There’s something in the way it feels to have his large arms around you, a weight pressed to you but not down on you.

He’s not suffocating you or oppressing you. He’s supporting you, ducking down a little to get a better hold of you. He presses his nose against your hair and breathes in deeply.

It could just be a sigh, but if he’s anything like you, he might be trying to memorize your scent.

As your own nose is pressed into the crook of his neck, you let his own wash over you.

His unique smell brings to mind a dark cloudy sky, a field of soft overgrown grass swaying in an endless cool wind. The scent of freshly sodden earth. It’s rain and nature, with the briefest sting of ozone as the sky lights up with his immeasurably powerful lightning.

All of that runs in him and you can’t believe that you’re lucky enough to be here holding him close.

“I will be as quick as I can be,” he says, deep tone settling in your chest.

“I wish you were back already.”

You can hear him laugh, just a small huff of air before he kisses the side of your head.

“You will be so busy with the park and then so exhausted you will pass out before you even have time to miss me.”

“I miss you already, doof,” you sigh.

“Will you promise me something?” he asks, pushing you back to meet your eyes.

“Anything,” you promise.

“Will you stay in the palace for me? I-I know that you were supposed to go down to the park to walk the new pathways and tree markers but I would feel much better about leaving you if I know that you’ll be here, safe.”

“You said there was nothing about this threat to worry about?”

Suddenly, a fear begins to grow in your belly. It twists it in knots and makes you nervous. Like if your marriage and all of this confidence you’ve found in yourself as Queen of New Asgard has been snuffed out, you feel like the nobody who sat in her room writing stories of lives you would never live.

“There isn’t, cherub. Not that we can tell. But we don’t understand it. With Stark and Banner having had delays in coming to install their extra measures of security, I was hoping that this inspection could wait until they had finished whatever business it was that drew them to Wakanda, but Steve says he is not sure how long they will be there.

“And until they can come, I--I cannot stand the thought of something happening to you, that’s all.”

Thor hooks his hand behind your neck, caressing your cheek as he ducks his head and gives you a reassuring smile.

Inside you’re at war with yourself. On the one hand, if he’s this scared, this threat is more serious than any of them are making this out to be.

On the other hand, Thor is so convincing in his words. You can clearly see the worry he has for you, for your safety. The tight hand on your hip tells you that he does indeed have some fear, but his gaze tells you that his favor is for his peace of mind.

So, you nod.

“Yes,” you give in. “I’ll stay here. I can work on the plans from my room and I have a lot of studying to do about the Valkyrie anyway.”

“Thank you,” Thor physically relaxes, his shoulders falling as a teeny bit of weight comes off them. “I will be as quick as I can be and then I will be here with you again and we can resume trying for that baby.”

“Thor about that,” you begin, licking your lips and wondering if he’ll even understand where you’re coming from. “I think maybe-?”

“Thor, I’m really very sorry. Y/N, if we don’t leave now we might have to extend the inspections until the day after tomorrow. Volstagg has to leave the planet for a short visit with his kin and cannot miss his window to do so.”

Thor stands taller, disapproving of the interruption, but he knows better and he leans down to kiss you.

“Can we continue this conversation when I return?”

You kiss him back as he leans down for another and nod when he pulls away, “Of course, Thor. Go. Hurry back.”

He gives you one more kiss, this one lingering before he presses in on your lips a little harder as if it pains him to pull away, then marches out the door without another look back.

The heavy doors close with a loud clatter and you’re left in the empty hall feeling strangely out of place.

You take your time getting up to your room. The bed looks huge without Thor sitting on its edge, pulling his shoes on in the morning with a groan of complaint at having to leave you so early.

His mornings are always full of rolling back into bed to cuddle you for a few more minutes before he has to go.

This morning feels like ages ago and maybe it’s because this really is the first time the two of you have been separated since before your wedding, but you miss him so much already and it’s only been minutes.

There’s a rush of air from the balcony, so strong it pulls your attention, but the smell that entices you has you running for the open door.

Through the rippling flowing curtains you see Thor in full armor, gold and black, his right hand wrapped around his hammer.

He opens his left arm for you as you reach him, pulling you right up against his body as he meets your lips sweetly.

“Mmm,” he mumbles.

“Why are you here? You’re supposed to be gone!”

You gasp, hands pressed to his chest as your heart pounds hard.

“Just one more kiss,” he simpers. “This is truly much harder than I thought it would be.”

“It’s only a few hours,” you tease, but you’re so ecstatic that you weren’t the only one feeling that ache.

“Too many,” Thor sighs.

“Then kiss me, and go. The sooner you’re gone the sooner you’ll be back.”

He obeys, and kisses you only less sweetly and with the passion to leave you wanting more.

He leaves you in a second rush of air leaving the smell of coming rain in his wake.

“Well, that was dramatic.” A voice interrupts from within your room. “You’d think he was going off to war.”

Moving inside, you find Hilde strewn across the chaise at the end of your bed, crystal bottle sloshing with brown liquid in her hand.

“Give us a break, it’s been nearly two and a half months since we’ve been separated.”

“Two and a half months is but a split second in time for us,” Hilde explains.

Her words give you pause and then the ache in your heart is hard to keep from spilling onto your face.

Hilde notices and quickly sits back up, “Your Majesty, I didn’t meant-”

“It’s alright. Really. It’s okay.”

With a quick smile at her you move to sit at your desk and put your feeble mortality out of your mind.

It’s not something you like to think on, and you’ve been good at forgetting about not only the significant age difference between you and Thor but also how fast you’ll age in your marriage and Thor will pretty much look the same as he does now.

Pulling over the large binder with the park plans, you reach for your phone to dial up Edgar, New Asgard’s senior construction manager and explain to him that you won’t be making your appointment for that afternoon.

“Good morning, Edgar. Yes, I’m doing well, thanks. I just wanted to give you a heads up that I won’t be able to walk the park today. Yeah. Thor has gone with Loki to attend to some things and won’t be back until early in the morning and I’ve had to take over a few things here in the palace. I’m so sorry, I hope you can forgive me.”

Edgar is all politeness and eagerness to please you and Thor. Like the rest of his people, they look up to the God of Thunder and for some reason, they’ve accepted you into their hearts openly.

“We should reschedule. Let me know when you can walk the grounds with me and I’ll-” You stop and listen to him assure you that he’s available at your convenience. “I appreciate that. I’ll give you a call tomorrow and we can set something up for later this week. Thank you, Edgar. Okay, bye.”

“It’s really not necessary to call him and tell him all that, you know? Just tell him you want to reschedule and he’ll do what you want.”

“I know, but that feels weird to do. I can’t just order him around. What if he had something special to do later in the week and me moving the appointment affects that?”

You throw open the binder and the map of the planned park. Already you and Edgar have marked it all up with red scribbles where things would need to be changed. You’d wanted a man made lake in the center, but you’ll have to settle for a small pond in one of the corners until more land can be leveled for a lake.

Several of the trees you’d wanted are not available so you’ve had to get new ones there too.

Every bit of this park has been selected by you from the type of grass, the stones in the pathways, to the wildflowers planted in the flower beds.

The responsibility of giving your people a space that they can love and appreciate stresses you out from time to time though you’ve pretty much accepted the weight of your crown.

Without another word, you go to work and Hilde, who you assume is here to be your personal bodyguard while Thor is out, gets up and presses a small button hidden underneath a small steel panel the size of Thor’s large palm.

She moves back over to the small breakfast table where you and Thor enjoy your first meal of the day in private, and sits back to wait patiently. Her bottle with drink has been abandoned on the chaise, now empty.

As your mind begins to focus on your work, you register Hilde telling Estrid to send for food and drinks.

“And make sure they bring her Majesty’s favorite snacks so that she can eat while she works. I’m sure she’s been neglecting her meals all day,” Hilde knows.

Time passes without you realizing and you do appreciate the small munchies that are brought and placed on the edge of the desk.

You eat without thinking and soon the plate is empty, wrappers littering the top right corner of your workspace as well as the floor below.

“Shit, what time is it?” You crane your neck around to look for Hilde and find the room empty.

Pulling your phone close you click the screen on to see that it’s just before dinner and Hilde is probably waiting for you down in the dining room.

You don’t bother changing much of your clothes. You slip out of your jeans and shirt and quickly pull a simple cotton dress on.

It’s customary to dress up for dinner a bit but without Thor here, you put in minimal effort and the burnt orange cotton dress is relaxed enough to let you breathe but nice looking enough to be presentable.

You’re tying the sash around your waist to heighten your curves as you make your way down the two floors to the dining room and fixing the wrists of your long loose cinched sleeves when you reach the hallway and look up only to gasp as Hilde stops right in front of you looking frazzled.

“Hey, what-?”

“I need you to know that he didn’t know about this. If he did, he would have warned you-us. I also don’t think he thought he’d be out when they came.”

She’s so stressed that you reach out to grab hold of her arms and smile through your confusion.

“Hilde, what are you talking about? Who’s here?”

You receive your answer only too quickly, “Is that you, Cherub? Queen of New Asgard?”

The snark is brief but familiar and you don’t need further explanation to know who you’ll see behind Hilde.

She steps aside to reveal Tony Stark, moving towards you a few steps until he’s standing right in front of you.

He bows.

“Oh, shit, please don’t do that,” you gasp, embarrassed.

Tony smirks, “Gotta follow the rules, Your Majesty.”

“Please, Tony. Just my name is fine,” you plead. “Really, I can’t bear anything else.”

“Queen’s orders?” he teases.

You genuinely chuckle, rolling your eyes before finally noticing his extended hand. Taking it, he lifts it to his lips to give you a quick polite kiss, then gently drops it.

“Thor wasn’t expecting you for another few weeks. Wasn’t there a mission? It was going to take a while?”

“My fault,” Bruce’s voice interjects.

Tony steps aside and you smile as your eyes find Bruce. He walks towards you both with his head slightly ducked, his hands held together at his front as he moves towards you nervously, wringing them.

“I kind of Hulked out and might have single handedly taken out the guys patrolling the building we were trying to get into. And then broke in through a wall and started a fire. And then sat on the mainframe of their computer system and lost us all the data we were trying to steal in the first place which cut our mission short by a few weeks.”

Bruce extends his hand and you take it, all too happy to see him again.

You’re halfway to a laugh at the chaos he seems to have caused when you notice a small head of swaying hair behind him. As your chuckle is caught in your throat, you freeze mid handshake, heart stuttering as those pretty brown eyes that have plagued a few of your nightmares meet yours.

“Jane…” you quietly gasp.

“Remember what I said?” Hilde asks, moving to stand by you.

“Oh, um…” Tony points at Jane as Bruce releases your hand and moves aside to give you full view of the pretty brunette dressed in a semi-formal pantsuit complete with thick jacket to combat the Norwegian temperatures that press in on the warmth of any home after the sun sets.

Jane is quick to give you a much better curtsy than she did the first time and then hesitantly offers you her hand, “Hello again, Your Majesty.”

“Jane has something to show Thor and well, you. Where is he, by the way?” Tony asks, giving the hallway a complete turn to see if he can spot Thor hiding behind some chair or doorway.

“Just, my name, please,” you tell Jane, giving her your hand and fighting the urge to run and shove your face into a pillow to scream in order to focus on the stronger urge of finding out why your husband’s ex-lover came all the way to your home to see him. “Thor’s out. He and Loki have gone to meet with Fandral, Volstagg, Hogun, and Sif to see how far along the outposts are.

“Does your visit have to do with the threat?” You turn back to Jane and slowly take your hand back.

“I’d really like to talk about it with both of you, if you don’t mind?” Jane explains.

“Listen,” Hilde begins, but you shake your head just a teeny bit and she stops and shuts her mouth.

“Okay, that’s fine. He won’t be back until tomorrow morning at the earliest, so join us for dinner?” With a gesture at the doors to your right, Estrid throws them open and inside is waiting a modest but still lavish feast compared to most dinners in common households. There are three main courses to choose from as well as plenty of sides to give the most picky eater options.

Even though there is plenty of food, they’re simple foods. Roast chicken, sandwiches, salad, soup, bread, rice, potatoes, and other vegetables. Lots of it, but plainly prepared.

Hilde had known you wouldn’t even really be tasting your food with Thor gone and now, you doubt you can find your appetite again to consume anything.

“Nice spread,” Tony admires, but he holds out his elbow for you and you take it.

He escorts you to your usual seat by Thor’s at the end, then pulls it out for you and as the others take to standing behind their own seats--Hilde across from you and the others wherever they’d like--they wait until you take yours before they even attempt to pull their own out.

As several younger looking men and women move in with pitches of ale and wine and water, you catch Estrid’s gaze as she whispers instructions to a much younger looking girl with very curly dark hair.

The young girl rushes off when Estrid sees you need her and gives her a small push and a quick word.

“Yes, Your Majesty?” Estrid asks, stopping beside you and silencing the others as they had begun to dig in and chatter pleasantly.

“Have three rooms made up for our guests? Make sure they want for nothing while they’re here, alright? The best rooms for Thor’s close friends.”

“Yeah, I’ll take the suite,” Tony teases, and Estrid looks flustered for a moment before she realizes that he’s joking and then with a kind and surprised smile, she gives you a curtsy and then rushes off to do as she’s been asked.

“I’m sorry if the food isn’t more…” You can’t find the word to convey what you want to say, so you leave the sentence hanging there. “If I’d known you were coming, I’d have had Cook prepare you something nicer.”

“Oh, this is wonderful,” Bruce assures you, lifting his fork laden with broccoli and chicken.

He nods and smiles, then shoves the forkful into his mouth.

“Yeah, this is good,” Tony nods, using your name which gives you a strange sense of acceptance.

It’s casual, the way he says it. It’s like he really has welcomed you into his circle after your visit with them during your honeymoon.

“We can’t all have lobster every night. Bruce is allergic.”

“What?” Bruce asks, slightly stunned. “Me? I’m not…”

“Aren’t you?” Tony asks.

“No,” Bruce shakes his head, flabbergasted.

“How come you didn’t want to eat those Lobsters on Fourth of July then?” Tony demands, dropping his hand so that his fork clinks against the side of his plate.

He’s starting to look upset.

“You bought the box off some guy standing at the mouth of the alley where we were catching arms smugglers!”

“What’s your point?” Tony demands.

As their banter flows, you keep a pleasant and appropriately amused smile trained on the pair of them but you have one eye fixed on Jane and carefully you take a few hurried looks at her. Admiring the way her hair falls softly against her shoulders and the way she eats with poise and why the hell did she have to come in person?

Hasn’t she ever heard of fucking e-mail?!

#king!thor x reader #thor x reader #thor odinson x reader #thor x read fanfiction #thor x reader fanfic #thor x reader fic #royal au #arranged marriage au #a wife for thor #a wife for thor pt14 #marvel fanfiction #marvel au

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themandhoelorian · 3 years

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Dincember - December 2: December (Ariana Grande version)

summary: Your plans for Life Day include getting dressed up, going to the cantina, and doing anything to stop thinking about the Mandalorian that’s been frequenting your repair shop. But when he shows up with a broken heater, your plans quickly go out the window as you work to keep him warm.

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x gn! reader (but they have long hair)

warnings: *spicy* themes (reader throws that ass back ahaha, some shoulder touching, implied smut), mentions of drinking, a little bit of swearing, heels and a minidress probably deserve a warning considering the pain they’re caused me, a lot of Yearning (TM)

word count: 3.8k

a/n: I had never heard this song before writing this, and let me tell you, it was NOT AT ALL what I was expecting. I never thought a xmas song would inspire so many Thots in me, but here we are I guess ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ . Hope you enjoy!

***

Maker knows there’s no good reason for you to be wearing this dress.

You wanted to wear something at least a little bit festive to celebrate Life Day, but the shimmering silver frock you picked is admittedly a bit fancy for going to a party that’ll just be Nevarro’s shadiest figures getting plastered in the cantina.

You’ll probably freeze because of it too, the lacy edges of the skirt barely grazing your mid thighs and the thin straps doing nothing to protect your shoulders from the wind.

It’s so damn impractical, you’re not even sure there’s an event that this would be an appropriate outfit for, but you haven’t had a reason to get dressed up in so long that your wardrobe has dwindled to the few plain jumpsuits you work in.

And for some reason, this tiny piece of satin.

So without much hope of finding something better to wear in the small market, here you are, tugging down the edges of this too-short dress, trying to make yourself look a little more sensible before you head out the door.

It’s far from ideal, but you figure it’s worth it if it means you’ll finally be able to go out for the first time in Maker knows how long.

It has to have been at least a year, before things started picking up so much at the shop that you barely had time to sleep, never mind going out and doing anything for pleasure. You’d chosen to set up your repair shop on Nevarro knowing you’d have a steady stream of business from the bounty hunters returning with their always damaged quarries and usually damaged ships, and for the first few years, that’s exactly what you had. Enough work to keep yourself fed and the shop running, but not so much that you never stepped outside to see the light of day. It was the perfect work-life balance you’d heard so much about.

But then one day, a certain Mandalorian landed his cruddy ass, pre-Imperial, piece of crap ship on your dock, and you haven’t gone out since.

When he first started coming in, you thought you had lots of time to take on another client, but as you’d quickly come to realize, Mando is no ordinary customer.

For one thing, no one else returns to Nevarro nearly as often as him. Give your average Guild member half a dozen pucks, and he’ll be back for his payment in about three months.

Mando’s back in a matter of weeks.

Just the sheer frequency of his visits in addition to your original clientele is enough to keep your hands full, but on top of that, there’s his sad excuse for a ship, always seeming to be on the verge of falling apart, that you have to deal with.

You’re not sure if it’s because the Razor Crest is a prehistoric relic or if his quarries actively hack away at the frame while he drags them into the carbonite or if Mando is just totally incapable of maintaining even a base level of functionality on his ship, but every time he comes back with his half dozen frozen bodies, his ship has just as many repairs for you to complete.

Honestly, it’s a little ridiculous how often Mando is in your shop, how many times you’ve had to rewire the same parts, but you can’t say you’re ever upset when you see the sputtering thrusters of the Crest dropping onto your dock. He pays you well, always tipping more than you probably deserve, and he keeps you company if you’re still working when he returns from getting his next round of assignments.

At first, he would just watch silently as you showed him how to perform routine maintenance on the part you were fixing. You didn’t mind, it was nice to have someone there when you were alone in the shop most of the time, but once you’d explained every part twice over with no fewer damages to the Crest, you decided maybe it’d be better to talk about other things instead.

For a while, he kept up the steely mystique, only grunting out a few words if you asked him a question, and you thought he was getting irritated with how often you tried to coax him into conversation, wondering each time he flew off if that would be the last time you did business with him.

But he kept coming back, kept hanging around whenever you patched up his ship, and slowly, you got him to talk. He started with stories of his most recent hunts before working backwards through the memories of his distant past, showing you a dry wit and smoldering tenderness you found yourself growing fond of.

As more and more of his deep, filtered voice replaced the silence you’d come to expect from your job, you found yourself losing more and more of the free time you’d become used to as well, for reasons that had nothing to do with the fragile machinery of the Crest.

You started taking longer to complete even the simplest tasks when he was there, getting too caught up in thinking of a snappy response to his teasing comments to care about being efficient about snapping the ship’s broken parts back into place. And then, without fail, every time you thought you were finally done, several hours behind schedule, he’d suddenly remember that there was just one more thing he wanted you to look at, keeping you working for an extra hour or two as the sky turned dark outside.

If anyone else asked you to stay past your listed hours on such a regular basis, you would slam the door in their face without a second thought, but for Mando, you’re always a little too willing to do the work for him.

After all, if you turned him away, you’d just end up where you always do after a long day in the shop, curled up in bed, thinking of him even long after he’s gone as you work the tension from your body. You’d remember how he looked, what his voice sounded like that day, and inevitably your mind would drift to wondering what his broad chest would look like hovering over you as his gloved hands fist your sheets, what his voice would sound like growling that nickname you don’t understand into your neck.

You know it’s wrong, but what can you say? You need some kind of release from working so damn much and it’s his fault you don’t have time for a more wholesome form of self care. It’s only fair that he be the one to help you, even if it’s just in your head.

Not that you don’t wish he’d help you for real too.

Maker, you don’t know how this happened, but somehow, Mando’s managed to take over your entire life. When he’s here, you spend all day flirting with him while you fix his ship, when he’s not you spend all day wishing he was, and at night, well, you’re definitely still thinking about him then. You’re in desperate need of something to distract you from him, somewhere to go that isn’t this shop and someone to talk to that isn’t covered in beskar.

So when you ran into Karga on your last run to the market and he invited you to a party at the cantina for Life Day, you immediately accepted. You usually don’t like parties, much preferring to stay in for the holidays, but you figured going out for a big celebration was exactly the chaos you needed right now. Talking to strangers mindlessly all night to distract yourself from your thoughts and drinking enough to drown out the rest sounded like the perfect plan for Life Day.

Especially when the alternative is staying here alone, cold and miserable, as you imagine what it’d be like to spend the holiday with Mando.

So you closed the shop early today, giving you lots of time to dig through your closet for the most festive (and apparently shortest) piece of clothing you own and get ready for the party at a leisurely pace. You felt overindulgent spending so much time on your appearance, and you’re almost certain you’re going to show up severely overdressed, but hey. If it makes tonight feel as far from your everyday life as possible, you’re all for it.

You’re just about to head out, checking yourself once over in the mirror as you slip on a pair of strappy heels, when the comm in the control room starts beeping.

Kriff, you swear you had turned everything off when you locked the landing dock, but even if you hadn’t, you don’t know who the hell is trying to get their ship fixed on Life Day. For the few hours you had the shop open today, not one person showed up, and even yesterday, only one customer had dropped in for a quick oil change. Everything always seems to freeze around the holidays, the galaxy in silent agreement to leave business aside for a couple days, but apparently the dumbass waiting outside your shop didn’t get that memo.

You let the beeping run, figuring whoever’s trying to get through will eventually leave on their own, but it never stops, the blaring persisting as you struggle with the buckle of your heel until it’s just too much to ignore. You storm into the control room, the unsecured sole of your sandal slapping against your foot as you slam the speak button on the console.

“It’s Life Day. We’re closed,” you snap, returning to your heel before you can even check the source of the frequency. You finally fasten the strap and start to back out of the room, but then a smooth, modulated voice comes through the comm that makes you freeze.

“Even for me, mesh’la?”

Maker, of course it’s him. Of course he has to show up the one time you’re absolutely not supposed to be thinking about him.

“Especially for you, Mando. You’re already in my shop too much, you can’t be here on my one day off too.”

You try to sound irritated. You should be irritated, he’s actively messing up your plans right now, but you know you’re not fooling anyone when just the sound of his voice makes your heart flutter.

“It won’t take long, it’s just my heater this time,” he reasons. “Are you really gonna let me freeze, mesh’la?”

You think that maybe you should. Maybe if you left him in the cold he’d be so upset that he’d stop coming to you for repairs. Maybe then you could finally stop thinking about him.

But really, you know that would just make you more miserable.

“I showed you how to fix it last time, you can warm yourself up,” you challenge. “Or did you really forget already?”

“I remember. I just wanted you to do it for me.”

That makes you pause. Why would he come to you for something he already knows how to fix? Mando’s not exactly one to waste credits on things he doesn’t need, and he’s considerate enough that you wouldn’t expect him to bother you on Life Day with something he could take care of himself.

You’re about to point it out and turn him away, but then he sighs your name, warm and rich even through the comm, and you feel what little resolve you have left evaporate into the temperate air.

“Come on, I’m kriffing cold.”

“Fine,” you mumble as you punch a passcode into the console. The ceiling of the shop whirrs open, revealing the familiar sight of the Razor Crest descending onto your dock.

You have time, you decide. If it’s really just the heater, it should only take 15 minutes to finish, still leaving you lots of time to get to the party, and you figure it’d be a little cruel to let Mando to spend Life Day cold and alone on that sad hunk of metal, even if he can technically fix those problems by himself.

Besides, he’s already ruined your plans of not thinking about him today, you might as well let yourself see him too.

By the time you grab your tool kit from the closet and step out of the control room, heels clacking loudly against the worn duracrete, Mando’s halfway down the ramp. He’s about to greet you, but as you approach, his already rigid stature tenses, his visor trailing over the exposed skin of your chest and legs.

You can’t help but smirk, knowing he’s probably shocked at seeing you like this, in a dress with your hair draping over your shoulders, a drastic contrast to the way you usually only wear plain jumpsuits and keep your hair pulled back in a messy knot.

“I should make you pay extra for making me work when I look like this,” you joke.

You strut past him into the ship, heading straight for the heating system in the corner of the hull you’d come to know so well.

“Yeah,” he rasps out, following behind you. “Sorry, uh, were you about to go somewhere?”

“No, I just hang around the shop like this when you’re not here.”

He cocks his head to the side when you look back at him, like he’s rolling his eyes at you under the helmet and waiting in annoyance for an actual answer. You give him a playful grin as you hand him the tool bag.

“I got invited to a Life Day party. Figured I should probably try to dress up a little bit.”

“Oh. It-- well, you look good.”

You scoff as you turn back to inspect the pipes, squatting with your knees pressed together, one hand holding the back of your dress down.

“I’d look good in anything compared to what you usually see me in.”

“No, mesh’la, you always look good. But this…”

You’re not sure if he stops mid sentence or if your brain just isn’t comprehending what he’s saying anymore because hold on-

Did Mando just say you always look good?

You turn back to him and raise your eyebrows, silently urging him to elaborate, but he just stares at you with that impossibly intense gaze, making your stomach flip and giving you absolutely no indication as to why he just said that.

Well if he’s gonna be like that, you guess you’ll just have to figure out what he meant for yourself.

You walk towards him until you’re mere inches from the tool bag he’s cradling against his chest, holding his gaze as you slowly pull a wrench from the assortment of tools. You linger there for a second, looking up at him through your lashes, before you make your way back to the heater.

But this time, instead of squatting tastefully to reach into the panel, you bend over, sticking your ass out towards Mando as the short skirt of your dress rides up your thighs.

Mando coughs behind you, so you look over your shoulder at him, arching your back more to maintain your position. His grip on the bag tightens while he growls out your name in a warning that goes straight to your core, and it takes all your willpower to keep your composure as you blink innocently at him.

“What’s wrong, Mando?” you mewl.

He actually grunts at that, shifting his weight from where he was leaning into one hip so he stands completely upright. He looks even broader like this, so strong and domineering that you know you should be intimidated, but you just feel incredibly hot watching him squirm.

“Just- stars, just fix the kriffing heater already.”

Your lips turn up into a wicked grin as you turn back to finish the repair.

“Okay, Mando. Whatever you say.”

As you make quick work of the damaged pieces, you can’t help but revel in the feeling of Mando’s gaze burning into the expanse of your thighs, relish in the knowledge that the ever stoic Mandalorian is flustered at just the sight of you.

You can’t lie, this feels good. Really kriffing good. After months of thinking about him every time you laid in bed and trying desperately to forget those sinful images every time he’s near you, to know you have that kind of effect on him too is sending warmth all over your body, along your chest and through your stomach.

With a final twist of the wrench, you flip the switch to turn the heater on, the old pipes creaking and small puffs of vapor shooting out of the system as it hums to life. You admit, it’s not your best work, but in your defense, you’re not usually trying to, well, present yourself to your customers while doing a repair.

And honestly, you couldn’t give a damn about how well the finicky heater’s working when Mando is right there, so clearly enticed by your show, and you’re as close as you’ve ever been to getting what you’ve been dreaming of.

You stand up, smoothing down the back of your dress as you turn back towards him. He hasn’t moved at all since you went back to work, still standing with his back perfectly straight and gripping your tool bag just as tightly as he was a few minutes ago.

“Well, that should do it,” you muse, looking into the steely visor. You’re expecting him to make a move, say something or step towards you or really just do anything, but he just nods, keeping the painstaking tension in the rest of his armored body.

For a while, neither of you move, frozen as you try to anticipate what the other is thinking. From what Mando has told you, you think this is what hyperspace must feel like, each moment seeming to stretch into infinity as the energy of a million stars spins around you. The two of you look at each other, unmoving for what feels like ages, willing the other to close the gap first and let the galaxy of suspense you’ve created collapse around you.

You wait and wait, but at some point you remember this is Mando you’re dealing with, the man so stubborn his head is literally made of beskar. Mando, the reason you’ve abandoned the Life Day plans you were determined to follow through on because he wouldn’t take no for an answer when you said you were closed.

Maybe it’s persistence or maybe he just knows that if he waits long enough, you’ll give him whatever he wants anyway, but regardless, there’s no chance he’s going to be the first to give into this standoff, no matter how bad you both want it.

No, if you want this, you’re going to have to work for it.

But you’ve never minded having to do a little extra work for him.

You stride towards him, returning the wrench to the tool bag before taking it from his arms and placing it on a crate behind you.

“While you have me here,” you say, turning back to him with wide eyes. You take another step towards him, bringing yourself so close that you can hear the soft hitch of his breath come from his modulator.

“Is there anything else I can do to help you stay warm?”

He brings his hand up to brush your hair off your shoulder, exposing the thin strap of your dress. You shudder as the worn leather of his gloves barely glances across your skin, the small touch charged by the way he keeps the rest of his body so static.

“Yeah, mesh’la. There is.”

You gasp when he hooks a finger underneath the strap of your dress, his touch feather light as he traces a line from your collarbone to the top of your shoulder.

“Yeah?” you whisper. “Tell me, Mando. Whatever you want.”

“Don’t go to the party tonight,” he hums, his voice thick and dripping with desire, making heat pool in your stomach. He fixates on the strap, rubbing the satin between his index finger and thumb. “Stay here instead. Let me take this pretty thing off you. Show you just how grateful I am that you always keep me warm.”

“Okay,” you exhale a little too quickly, but he just keeps studying you, staying completely still besides the hand playing with your dress. You don’t know why he’s still holding back, not sure how much clearer you need to be for him to know you want this, but if he needs another reassurance, you’re more than willing to give it to him.

You’ll give him anything if it means he’ll finally touch you the way you both want.

You bring your hand up to cover his, stopping the rhythmic movement of his fingers as you guide his gloved fist down your arm. The strap of your dress slips off your shoulder, the neckline hanging dangerously low on your chest, and you lick your lips as you stare straight into his visor.

“I said whatever you want, didn’t I?”

And then finally, finally, he gives in, pushing you back against the wall and peeling the dress from your body. His hands run over every inch of you, his grip firm and electric on your skin, and he doesn’t stop until you’re crying his name as you come undone beneath him.

***

Hours later, you end up where you always do after a long day in the shop, curled up in bed, thinking of a certain Mandalorian.

But today wasn’t just another day in the shop. Today was Life Day.

Today was supposed to be different.

Maker, you can’t believe you let Mando ruin your Life Day plans, let him take over the one day that you were absolutely not supposed to think about him. You can’t help but feel a little pathetic thinking about how much of a grip he has on you, how you can’t manage to have a life outside of him for even one day. It’s driving you so crazy you think you won’t be able to sleep-

But then he shifts next to you, wraps an arm around your torso and pulls your back to his bare chest. He mumbles something in your ear that you don’t understand- cyar’ika, you think he says- his voice sounding so affectionate even though it’s thick with sleep.

Your heart swells as he holds you, the even breaths coming from the modulator easing the worries from your mind, and as you drift into the sweet lull of sleep, you think maybe it’s not so bad that you let Mando mess up your Life Day plans.

You’d let him mess up all your plans if it meant you could end every day like this.

#dincember #trying this again b/c it didn't show up in the tags the first time smh #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x you #din djarin #emi writes #if you need me i'll be in h*rny jail byE #also i didn't know tumblr tags post if you even like mention s*x and shit wtf #like this is nothing compared to some of the shit on this site lmao bye

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curly-bangtan · 5 years

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Blizzard (M)

Pairing: roommate!Jungkook x reader

Summary: When a blizzard hits your town, you and your shy awkward roommate are forced to spend time together, not being able to leave the house due to the strong snowstorm. To make matters worse, the power gets cut in the middle of his shower. Which also means no heating.

Genre: roommate au, domestic au, fluff, smut, strangers to lovers

Warnings: bit of a slow burner, vanilla!Jungkook, virgin!reader, dry humping, penetrative sex, fingering, oral (m receiving), losing virginity, shy soft boy Koo with a crush and a noona kink, your heart could possibly burst from how cute he is

Word Count: 15.5k oops

A/N: (This fic is written in parallel to Heatwave, with an opposing concept in mind. You don’t have to read Heatwave to read this, but it would be interesting and funny to see the differences in the two scenarios that both lead to roommates hooking up.) Also, happy birthday, bunny boy! Sorry this was a day late, I was honestly swarmed. I love you, koo. Writing this very much gave me a bias crisis but it was all worth it. Enjoy! :”)

PS. Think April 2019 Jungkook

‘A severe snowstorm is set to hit us this weekend with temperatures dropping down to -16˚C. It is therefore ill-advised for anyone to leave their houses during this period until the blizzard subsides as the fifth snow-induced traffic accident has been reported this week in our town…’

You have always marvelled at how the weather lady announces such things with such a passionate captivating tone.

‘The calculated probability of a city-wide power cut is currently at 72%, so please be well-equipped to stay indoors for the next two days.’

Oh shit. A power cut?

This is not good at all. Not like you have any plans for this weekend anyway, and you wouldn’t necessarily mind being stuck inside since you are good at entertaining yourself. But to possibly have no warm water, no internet in the duration of these few days?

You are currently snugly rolled up in the warmth of your blanket burrito, a mug of chamomile tea fitted in your hands, the steam of which evaporates under your chin into a slick coat. Friday evenings have never been eventful for you as long as Jimin doesn’t drag you out to some bar with him. As introverted as one can get, you much prefer staying in and watching TV or endlessly browsing the web.

The distinct rattling of keys spins your attention to the front door. Hearing the plunge of the metal into the keyhole is strangely satisfying to your ears. In steps a pink-nosed, frost-dusted Jungkook, all wrapped up in winter apparel thick enough to make him waddle clumsily.

A gust of cold flares inside from the harsh outdoors, stray flakes of snow flying in after him and landing on the rich oak tiles of the foyer. From the couch, you see his silhouette breathe out a visible grey huff. The door behind him falls shut, once again entrapping the warm temperature into the confines of these walls.

You watch your roommate, humming to himself with his black earpods hooked in his ears, as he unties the scarf around his neck. He probably hasn’t noticed your presence yet; he’s always been a little clueless afterall.

Then he looks up and meets your lingering gaze.

You both jump a little, his humming ceases instantly, eyes scrambling, darting away to your surroundings: the quiet television, the arching lamp, the white powdered window panes. Anywhere but at each other.

Clearing your throat, you greet him softly . ‘Hi.’ Your thumb rubs at the lip-shaped tea stain on the rim of your mug.

‘Um, hi. Good evening, noona.’ He dips his head at you, hood drooping lower over his head. You are two years his senior, and despite your supposed familiarity, he insists on formalities.

The weather lady has now been replaced with the anchorman, who is droning on about the car accident this morning. Awkwardness hangs in the air between you, as it always does every time you speak. It’s now your turn to say something, you’re painfully aware. But what do you say?

‘Snow storm.’ It is a statement more than anything. As if he hasn’t noticed… Nice one. You immediately want to hide your face in the mint furry throw you’re wrapped in.

‘Yeah. Snow storm.’ The rubbery sound of the careless removal of his shoes against the floor is louder than his response. ‘Jimin didn’t make it.’

Your blood freezes. ‘Wait what?! Oh my god! What happened to him?’ It takes the blanket sliding off you for you to realise that you’ve stood up abruptly. Your body is immediately flushed with a breeze of cold, devoid of insulation.

The car accident… It can’t be…

Jungkook’s attention flickers to the glaring screen as he paces towards you and realises how he must’ve sounded. ‘Woah, sorry, I worded it badly. I mean, Jimin’s stuck at Taehyung’s because the snow is too thick for him to drive back. And the service on his phone is whack, so he can’t reach you. Taehyung told me. Sorry, I didn’t mean he didn’t make it.’ Nervous chuckle. Scratching the back of his head.

Never has he said this many words to you in one go, this must be a record. That, as well as your own silly misunderstanding of his words, makes you release a humoured breath. ‘Oh right… Haha… I’m stupid.’

‘No. my bad.’

Wow. If you two keep this up, this might just be your longest running conversation in the history of living together.

Because he’s looking at the floor rather than you, you feel the liberation to look directly at his face. His round nose is red from the freezing temperature, his teeth gnawing at his chapped lips. You follow his gaze travel across the dark wooden panels, reaching a halt at your feet.

‘You’ve got a hole in your sock, noona.’ He states.

Indeed you do. Under his wide-eyed glare, you can’t help but curl your toes inwards as if it would hide your pinkie jutting out of the fabric. The way he addresses you, how his lips form a pouted ring when he pronounces the “oo”, makes you particularly self conscious. ‘Oh… Yeah, I know, it’s fine. It’s my only pair of fuzzy socks.’ These socks have sheltered your feet for three winters only to betray you now, during a bloody blizzard. The icy floor licks at your exposed skin tauntingly.

Silence draws taut between you. Like you’re tied to opposite ends of a string and are both trying desperately to escape, to walk away from each other.

It’s his move now… Why isn’t he saying something? But at the same time, what can he possibly respond to ‘It’s my only pair of fuzzy socks.’?

‘Right… See you.’ Jungkook nods politely and heads for his room. And you know you probably won’t see him reemerge until tomorrow; it’s practically his batcave in there.

A shudder courses through your body. Though it’s not from the cold but rather the embarrassment of that encounter. Quickly switching off the TV, you hide back in the comforts of your blanket like a Halloween ghost and scurry into your own room to avoid seeing him again.

Jeon Jungkook.

Even the thought of his name makes you crease inward involuntarily like it’s some bad memory. Despite having lived under the same roof for more or less six months, neither of you have warmed to the other in the slightest. It’s not that you have anything against him; you’re sure he must be a lovely boy, but…

Well, when you put two shy individuals next to each other, you can’t really expect them to bond over their bashfulness. No, they both tend to retract into their shells.

How you came about living together is three simple syllables: Park Jimin. If it wasn’t for this one common thread you share, your worlds would never have collided.

Ever the caring friend, it goes without saying that Jimin would rent out his vacant room in his three-bedroom house to you without even a second of hesitation after Hoseok ditches the boys to move in with his girlfriend. You’ve met all his friends before. Jimin is a social butterfly afterall, how could he resist forcing all his best mates into a confined space and make them talk to each other, or more commonly known as a party?

Namjoon and you get along just fine, seeing as you both are whores for literature. Seokjin? As long as you compliment his cooking and force a giggle at his jokes, he’ll accept your friendship. Surprisingly, Yoongi took a liking to you; you guess is due to your mild mellow nature which must clear his headaches caused by this chaotic bunch. Unsurprisingly, Hoseok took a liking to you, well, because he’s Hoseok and incapable of negativity. Much to Jimin’s jealousy, you have a soft spot for Taehyung, his mysterious charm and boyish charisma; your friendship was almost instant.

But then Jungkook…

Your introduction was a blur of awkward hellos and unmet eyes. Every time you spoke to each other, it’s a nervous stutter from him or unwarranted silence from you. Worse, if the two of you happened to bump into each other in public, neither of you knew whether or not to say hi and commence a conversation like normal acquainted people, so it always ended up being an uncomfortably long pause before nodding out of courtesy then parting ways. It’s not like you belong to the same friendship group and see each other every week or anything.

Jungkook’s playful childisness shines brightly when surrounded by the boys, witch-cackle laugh and all. However, for some reason unbeknownst to anyone, this goofy side to him is immediately switched off in your presence, as if you’re the rain that extinguishes the flame of his candle. His body stiffens, eyes widen, voice stammers. Which only leads you to mirror his behaviour.

‘He’s just really uncomfortable around girls.’ Jimin has tried to offer the only plausible explanation. ‘Poor kid went to an all boys’ school his whole life, has only ever had one girlfriend who dumped him on their one year anniversary. Your femaleness scares him.’

That would be kind of cute, you guess, if you weren’t also a socially-uncomfortable hermit who requires soft gentle prodding in order to befriend. Because then you become two logs sitting beside each other, neither willing to inch towards the other.

Forgive Jimin’s mistake of thinking that sharing a roof would change this. Because how wrong was he… If anything, it only led to increased timidity around each other.

When you first moved in, Jungkook was eager to help you carry and unpack everything, seeing as he is the most physically apt person in the house. So you thought that it was his first step towards you, and that your dynamic was finally making progress into becoming one that’s more comfortable. He even lingered around your room the first few days with Jimin to help you open all your cardboard boxes.

However, he has since struggled to utter more than five words to you. Which has continued forth until this day. In the morning rush to class, you never encounter him due to your proneness to punctuality and his to tardiness. If you ever do, it’s only ever just a quick good morning, noona without looking up from his cereal. You both enjoy the safety of your own rooms, hence rarely peak your head out unless it’s for food. Jimin is always the one to drag you out by the foot, even if its just to his room or the sofa to watch a film with him. You say drag, but really you just enjoy seeing Jimin all pouty and whiny and sucking up to you in order to earn precious quality time with you; you actually enjoy being around Jimin. It’s worse for Jungkook though because he has his own ensuite bathroom, orders Deliveroo instead of coming out to eat with you two, and only ever joins social gatherings that you’re also involved in if a high enough bribe is offered.

Hence the time you and Jungkook are exposed to each other gradually diminished over time despite being roommates. At first you only suspected, but now you know for a fact, that he is purposely avoiding you like the plague.

It baffles you, if Jimin’s theory is true, how he could possibly be scared of you, regardless of his shyness towards the female specimen. Look at you, you’re this soft-mannered, quiet-spoken creature with a meek presence. You have more reason to be intimidated by his melon-sized biceps and aggressive shouts that echo from his room when he’s gaming at 2am.

So due to this mutually reciprocated mousiness, this awkward friendship-but-not-quite thing, has never been overcome in these months.

This is not a result of lack of trying, at least from your end. You do try to talk to him, exerting enough friendliness to burst your balloon of introversion. And you suppose he does make as much effort as he can as well. He once left you a note telling you to help yourself to the leftover pizza in the fridge. On your birthday, he gave you a card in which he drew cute little cartoon illustrations of you three housemates and wrote a short message.

Happy birthday, Y/N noona!

You are such a kind person, I hope we can speak more.

Jungkook :)

You thought the exclamation mark and smiley face were above and beyond for his standards. It made you smile for the rest of the day.

It’s 6:23pm and your growling stomach is exacerbated by the cold that has made itself at home in your bones. You’ve always been an early dinner person while Jimin and Jungkook are the opposite.

You’ve managed to get a hold of Jimin through Taehyung; your FaceTime call with him lasted a total of twelve minutes before the connection got too poor that it hung up on its own. Berating Jimin for leaving you alone with Jungkook, especially in this snow storm where everyone is basically on house arrest, all he did was laugh at your feign annoyance. You know it isn’t Jimin’s fault but you still like to blame him for all the awkward predicaments that are bound to happen.

After this chapter of the book you’re reading, you’ll go out to the kitchen and make some dinner, you decide.

Wait a second... Do you even have enough food in the pantry to last a whole weekend? Particularly since Jungkook can easily demolish three bowls of rice and a whole pound of meat, and still have room for dessert?

Looking out the window, you realise it’s snowing way too hard for you to feel confident to pop to the nearest grocery store without slipping and dying.

Shit! What are you going to eat these few days? Especially since the electricity can cut any minute?

Just then, you hear the echo of the front door shutting. Oh no… Jungkook did not just go out in this weather. He probably noticed the lack of food as well and decided to go for a shop. You know what he’s like, he’s a boy who’s really certain of his capabilities, over certain in fact. He probably does not see the hazard of leaving the house in such heavy snow, especially in the evening. Because nothing stands in the way between Jungkook and Food.

Do you go after him? Hell, if you do, you would probably get lost somewhere and slowly freeze to your inevitable death. You can barely navigate in perfect daylight.

Scrambling for your phone, you begin searching for his number. You’ve embarrassingly only called him once, and that was when you and Jimin got locked out of the house after a pub night.

No one is picking up.

In fact, when you check your screen, you don’t even have signal. The blizzard must be getting so bad that it’s refracting the radio waves. Which means it’s even worse for Jungkook to be out right now.

He’s such an idiot. Why did he think it’s okay to just take a walk to the supermarket right now in the middle of a snow storm? You’re such an idiot. Why were you too lazy to stock up on food during the day?

You pace around your room, phone clutched in your hand in case you miraculously get signal somehow. How on earth would you explain to Jimin that your roommate, his friend, whom he left in your care since you’re his senior, went out in a blizzard to buy food that you were supposed to have gotten this morning, and ended up dead from hypothermia?

Are you overreacting? Surely you’re overreacting. Everything is going to be fine! Deep breaths.

He’s going to come back any minute now and see you losing your mind over nothing. Right? Right.

Jungkook isn’t going to die. You’re being paranoid. Ridiculous. Overly anxious as usual.

But you can’t help yourself from pressing your face against your window to try to peek outside for a sign of him. The glass is ice cold against your skin, and it sends a blood-chilling shock through your veins. You can barely make out any shapes in the sea of greys and whites.

If you can’t even see out the window, how is he walking outside right now?

Screw it, you’re going to find him.

You’re a tornado getting dressed, whipping on your massive faux-fur lined puffer coat over two layers of fleece. A pair of gloves, double layer of socks, snow boots. Useless phone and hand warmers shoved in your pockets, you storm out of the house.

The cold that greets you burns up your nostrils and painfully invade your lungs. Snow is flying directly at your face, and you’re barely sheltered by your hood as you feel the icy flakes stab at your skin and melt away. Step by wary step, you steadily walk off your porch, careful not to slip. Your heart leaps out of your chest when your feet sink down at least 10 inches of snow, your squeal is muffled by the scarf you’re using as a ski mask.

It’s now been at least 10 minutes since he’s left. Jungkook is a fast walker, but in the snow, perhaps you could catch up with him.

The flickering lamp posts light up the night, but they may as well not be working because all you can see is white. Barely able to keep your eyes open, and batting away the heavy wind that’s threatening to blow you over, you trek in the direction of the local supermarket.

You don’t know how much time has passed when you realise that you don’t recognise the way anymore. Everything is a blur of snow. The cars, houses, street signs. All snow. Google maps is failing you; you’ve given up removing your gloves each time, your fingers instantly freezing at the exposure, to zoom in or rotate the navigation which keeps hopping from location to location.

You’re utterly and undeniably - lost.

Stopping dead in your tracks, you just plop down on your ass in defeat.

Where the hell are you? Where the hell is Jungkook?

Fear and frustration bubbles in your chest. It must have been half an hour now since you left the house. Surely he should be back, and surely he would’ve intercepted you on the way. That could either mean one of two possibilities: he got lost, slash, injured, slash, died on his way, or you have somehow strayed from the route to the store and he’s now frantically searching for you.

The lump in your throat festers into a ball of panic and despair. Looking around you, there’s absolutely no one. Just eerily-still buildings and snow-hidden cars. The only sound is the howl of the winter gust and your own uneven breathing.

You’re scared, and cold, and alone.

Why the hell did you think you could find him in this snow storm? You watch your warm visible exhale disperse in the icy air, the stinging of desperate tears piercing the back of your eyes. What are you supposed to do now?

And then it hits you. Perhaps you could trace your steps back since your feet have imprinted a trail in the snow. Looking behind you, you see that the downpour of snow has already began filling the footprints nearest to you. You’re praying that they haven’t already entirely covered your earlier steps closer to the house.

Gathering yourself together, you exert a lot of effort to stand up from the ground. Your butt is now wet, and a damp chill is seeping into your underwear. Determined, you follow your footsteps, which are growing fainter, back home.

You’re hoping you recognise the way now, that you’re not just convincing yourself that the street looks familiar.

Then an awful realisation hits you.

Both your hands are stuffed into your pockets, holding those hand-warming packets and your phone. But not your keys. You forgot your keys.

‘Fuck!’ Cursing is rare for you, but anyone would probably deem this situation as a very reasonable one to swear at.

Hot gushes of tears begin flooding down your face, painting streaks of cold that freeze over in a matter of seconds. How could you be this dumb? The snow is getting heavier right now. Checking the time on your phone, it’s 7 o’clock. The streetlights are dimming due to the weather, and the pitch dark night is starting to settle in around you.

You sink to a crouch.

This is it then, you guess. You’ve met your inexorable demise, rooted from your own stupidity. And Jungkook.

You can’t believe you’re going to die trying to find Jungkook in a goddamn snow storm.

The quiet sobs and sniffles that escape you are muted by the hood around your ears. A shiver overtakes your body as your muscles tremble as a last attempt to keep you alive. Your whole face is numb, teeth clattering, eyes clamped shut to stop the tears from freezing on your cheeks.

‘Noona?’

The voice is muffled but you recognise it instantly. Your eyes fly open to see a pair of shoes halted in front of you. You look up.

And there Jungkook is, eyes wide in shock, quivering lips parted in concern, carrying four plastic bags full of food and supplies. The streetlight situated directly behind him shines a halo around his head, painting a heavenly image of him. You’ve never been more glad to see anyone in your life.

Unable to contain yourself, you fling your ice-stiffened arms around his waist and bury your face in his coat-clad torso. Your knees give in and hit the ground. New tears spring from your eyes, but this time it’s tears of relief, tears of joy, tears of gratitude. A surge of his warmth washes over you, and all of a sudden, the cold cannot touch you.

‘W-What happened? Are you- Are you okay?’ Jungkook is rooted to the ground, he wants to wrap an arm around your small head or help you up but his hands are full with the groceries.

Gripping his sleeves, you tug yourself up to face him. You probably look like a mess, red eyes, nose and cheeks. But you don’t care. Jungkook is alive, you’re alive, and you’ve found each other. ‘Yeah, I’m fine, Jungkook. Everything is fine.’

‘You’re crying, noona.’ His ears are neatly tucked under his black knitted beanie.

‘Not anymore, I’m good now.’ Ferociously wiping the liquids profusely leaking out of your orifices, you give him the biggest grin your frozen cheek muscles would allow. ‘Let’s go home. Do you need help with the bags?’

‘No, don’t worry about them.’

Standing an inch apart, you walk side by side following his lead, assuming he knows the way. The material of your coats scrape at each other when either of you leans a bit too far towards the other.

‘What are you doing out here though?’ He asks quietly.

What are you doing out here? How do you give him an explanation that does not depict you as an idiot? Because once again, you’ve been stupid and dramatic and stressed over absolutely nothing. It’s twice in the same day now that you thought one of your roommates have died. When both of them turned out to be alive and well.

‘Um… Well, I thought it was dangerous for you to go outside alone in this weather, especially since it’s getting dark... I tried calling you but had no signal so, uh, I decided to... uh, come out to find you…’ Embarrassment begins to creep it’s way to your senses, it claws digging into your skin.

You peak at him in your peripheral vision to see him stiffen, eyes eerily focused on the snowy path in front. What is he thinking? Is he going to laugh at you? Think you’re dumb? Find you weird and obsessive?

‘Oh… Um.’ Clearing his throat, he glances at you and you quickly look away. Flustered. ‘You didn’t have to, I’m fine. I know this neighbourhood like the back of my hand, noona.’

‘Yeah, but you took so long. I got worried…’ You whisper the last bit.

An awkward pause is birthed. Your fists tighten around the hand warmers in your pockets.

‘I- I’m sorry for worrying you, noona.’ You hear his own fists tighten around the handle of bags as well, the plastic crinkling. ‘The supermarket around the corner was shut so I had to find another one that wasn’t. I made it just in time, though, right before this one closed as well. Then I also had to find a store that sells those so-’ He stops abruptly when he realises that he’s rambling.

‘Sells what?’

‘Doesn’t matter.’ Jungkook mumbles.

Another silence. The night has fallen, looking around, if it isn’t for the scarce light casted by the lamp posts, everything would be pitch dark. You’re so glad you’re not alone. Worse come to worse, you would’ve had to knock on these random houses and beg them to take you in for the night.

‘Wait,’ he says, ‘That doesn’t explain why you were crying.’

Well, crap. What are you supposed to say?

‘Uhh… Well, I got lost and my phone wasn’t working, so… I just kinda panicked.’ If your face wasn’t red from the cold and embarrassment from before, it definitely is now. You feel the blood pumping to your head, enough to make you sway a little.

‘Oh shit. I’m sorry, that was all my fault. I- I should’ve told you I was popping out in the first place. Ugh, noona, I’m sorry.’ You’ve never seen him display much emotion towards you, but currently, seeing him so alive with exasperation… It’s kind of endearing.

Screw earlier, this is the longest conversation the two of you have had, ever.

‘No, Jungkook, stop apologising. It wasn’t your fault at all!’

To be fair, you couldn’t have wandered that far if Jungkook found you on his way back from whatever shop he went to; you must’ve been close at least.

And so you two arrive safely to your house. Carefully wobbling up the porch slippery with slush, you stop in front of the door.

He looks at you expectantly. ‘Keys, noona?’ Of course, his hands are full.

Here you are, thinking you could’ve gotten away with not telling him you had moronically left your keys at home. ‘Um, I forgot to bring them with me.’ You utter, then add. ‘I was in a hurry.’

For a second, Jungkook looks like he’s about to tell you off for endangering yourself with such stupidity. But he just lets out a half-laugh half-sigh and bites down on his lip. ‘Mine are in my left, no, right back jean pocket.’

Right. He is asking you to get his keys from his back pocket.

His back pocket.

You freeze.

You’ve never so much as touched Jungkook, if you don’t count brushing shoulders. Hugging him back there was purely out of hysteria, which you retracted from the second you registered your action. Now, you’re going to grope his ass. This day just keeps getting you more familiar with him, doesn’t it?

Gulping, you suck up your cowardice and slide your hand into his back pocket, intentionally not looking at him while doing so. The firmness of his buttcheek fits snugly in your palm while your index finger hooks around his keyring. And what the hell, you strangely get the urge to squeeze it.

You yank your hand out of there before it can betray you and act on that impulse. Glimpsing up, you see that his cheeks are also crimson as he stares up at the ceiling a little too attentively.

After changing into some warm dry clothes and setting your snow-dampened ones on the radiator, you go out to the kitchen to see Jungkook cooking some ramen, which doesn’t come as a surprise as he practically lives off them. He’s dressed in sweatpants and a black hoodie; after cupping his ass through his back pocket, you can’t help but notice how round his rear is, especially in those bottoms.

God, what is wrong with you? You cannot seriously be checking Jungkook’s ass out.

This time his hood his down, and you appreciate how fluffy his hair is starting to grow. You can’t help but wonder what it sme-

Woah.

Why are you thinking so much about Jungkook?

Truth be told, that scare he gave you just now opened your eye as to how much you actually care about him. Despite never really saying much to each other, you guess you’ve grown a sort of fondness for him that you didn’t realise you have. It’s only natural; you have known each other for close to a year now, and half of which was spent under the same roof. Of course you would worry for his well being, you tell yourself.

The kitchen fan must be blocking his hearing because he doesn’t sense your approach, he’s singing softly to himself. He’s got a lovely voice, both your roommates do. But whereas Jimin sings loudly and proudly, Jungkook only does so in the shower or when he doesn’t think anybody is listening.

When he notices you finally, you’re peering over his shoulder. He jumps. You jump. The chopsticks he’s using to stir the noodles fly out of his hands, clattering on the counter.

‘Oh jeez, you scared me.’ He picks up the chopsticks.

‘Sorry.’ You squeak and take a step back when you realise your proximity.

‘Haha…’ He chuckles nervously, embarrassed. ‘Noona, you like jajangmyeon, right?’

Do you like jajangmyeon? You live and breathe jajangmyeon. You can’t go a week without jajangmyeon. You’ve had it for breakfast, lunch and dinner before all in one day. Those noodles in that sauce… Mmm…

‘Yeah, they’re my favourite.’ Is all you say though, you figure he probably doesn’t care for a whole speech about your love for them. Surely he knows at this point, there isn’t a single day in this house where the ramen cupboard is devoid of jajangmyeon.

‘Great, I’m making you some.’

Oh. Jungkook is cooking for you. A warmth creeps into your cheeks, and you’re not sure why.

‘You don’t have to, Jungkook. Just cook for yourself, I’ll make myself dinner after you.’ But then your stomach chooses now to bellow aloud like a bullfrog traitorously. You look at him, abashed.

A smile is playing at his lips, though he’s trying not to show it.

‘Go sit down, noona. It’ll be ready in a second.’ His eyes are fixed on the bubbling water, chopsticks hauling up the softening noodles to check their texture. Though you’ve never tasted his cooking, you don’t doubt ramen mastery, so you nod compliantly.

The bags of shopping are half unpacked on the dining table, so you decide to finish sorting them out. He’s bought gimbap, bread, cheese, some salad, mostly food that doesn’t require cooking; you can tell he has thought ahead for the potential blackout.

Then something else in the bag catches your eye.

‘Dinner’s ready.’ Jungkook carries two bowls of brown noodles, garnished with sausage and cucumber, just the way you like it.

He sets the bowls opposite each other on the end of the table that’s not packed with groceries. This feels extremely weird and domestic. Although you live together, you don’t remember the last time you’ve had a meal together on this table, just the two of you without Jimin. Yet now, you’re about to eat jajangmyeon that he cooked for you, right across each other. Extremely weird.

‘Thank you so much for cooking, Jungkook.’ You bow your head at him politely and take a seat opposite him.

‘You’re welcome, noona.’ He also mirrors your action. You can kind of understand why it must be so annoying to Jimin how you’re so formal to each other, it must sound so forced and awkward.

Which is what this meal is going to be. Forced and Awkward.

Jungkook waits for you to take the first bite before digging, which you have to do so without rolling your eyes back and moaning out loud in satisfaction. Jajangmyeon tastes so flipping good! Your one and only true love.

You’re too focused on slurping down the noodles that you don’t notice him smiling fondly at the rare sight of you so blatantly excited.

The meal goes by quietly, neither of you are talkers to begin with, much less while eating. Whether it’s because it’s your favourite dish, or because it’s a freezing cold winter day, or even maybe because it’s Jungkook’s own cooking, the food tastes especially scrumptious.

‘This is delicious.’ Your eyes are practically glowing at him; he shys away from the praise by sipping on his can of coke. Who drinks coke in this weather? A smile stretches your lips at the oddity of this boy’s taste.

Jungkook mumbles a thanks, avoiding your eye as usual. But the jajangmyeon has put you in a good mood, you’re feeling rather chatty actually. ‘Also, Jungkook, I saw you bought-’ You dig into one of the grocery bags and pull out what you spotted earlier.

‘Oh yeah.’ Jungkook stares at the two-pack of fluffy socks in your hand, wearing a slightly mortified expression. ‘Um… I thought... you could do with some new ones.’

Surprised, your whole body tenses. You had thought he bought them for himself after seeing you wear yours so comfortably. All thought flaps away from your mind like a flock of frightened birds, leaving an empty field. He- Why- What do you-

‘Oh.’ Clearing your throat, you murmur. ‘Wow, thank you so much.’ Unable to look at him for any longer, your eyes fall onto your noodles. Your hand holding the socks drop onto the table at the weight of his kindness. Then a realisation creeps up on you. ‘Wait… They don’t sell these socks in supermarkets…’

Glancing up, you find him fiddling with his fingers nervously. ‘Uh. I went to another shop that does.’

Knots upon knots begin to tie in your stomach. So that’s why he took so long out there, not only did he have to find another supermarket that was open, he also searched for a store that sells fuzzy socks. For you.

Why do you feel so warm everywhere?

When you fall into a silent trance of your own thinking, Jungkook gets worried. ‘Noona, do you not like them? Did I get the wrong ones?’

‘No, no, no!’ You frantically dispute, forcing yourself to look at him. ‘These are perfect! I’m just surprised… and touched. That’s all. Jungkook, you really didn’t have to.’ The fabric of the socks feel heavenly to touch, your thumb sinks into the clouds of its softness. Truly, this has taken you by surprise and you don’t know how to react.

‘It’s okay…’ Redness blooms across his cheeks like drops of watercolour.

First he cooks you your favourite meal, then he buys you fuzzy socks? Is this the same Jungkook you’ve been living with all these months?

‘No, here…’ You rip open the card of the packet and snap the plastic wire that holds the four socks together. ‘Take a pair, I only need one anyway.’

At you waving the socks in front of him, he leans back in refusal, shaking his head and muttering a string of no no no’s. You’re not at all a strong-willed person by any means, but you’re not backing down on this, not when he’s been so lovely to you all night. When he realises that you won’t take no for an answer, he sighs, scratching the back of his ears. ‘Okay, okay. You can have the mint ones.’

One pair is mint and the other is pink. You blink. He wants the pink ones?

When he realises what must be going through your head, he quickly says, ‘Mint is your favourite colour right?’

Mint is your favourite colour. Though how does he know? All your possessions are in a variety of pastels: baby blue, cotton candy pink, mint green and lilac purple. He couldn’t have possibly guessed…?

‘Yes, it is… But I seriously don’t mind if you want the mint ones, I’m not gonna make you take the pink ones.’

‘No, it’s fine. I don’t mind.’ Jungkook snatches the pink fluffy socks from you before you can argue and stuff them onto his lap.

Your heart does a little thing that you can’t describe.

The two of you finish your dinner in silence, mirroring each other with one hand gripping the socks ever so tightly and the other hand picking up the noodles with your chopsticks. Awkwardly, Jungkook take a glimpse at you. A tiny smear of sauce stains the corner of your mouth.

Does he tell you? It would make it awkward though, wouldn’t it? But then again, it would be worse for you to find out yourself when you look in the mirror and think that he didn’t tell you you have sauce on your face.

‘Sauce.’ He accidentally says before he could finish formulating what he’s going to say to you. Shit. What’s wrong with him? Why did he say it like that? In response to your confused expression, he gestures dumbly at the corner of his own mouth.

Instantly a blush flames across the apples of your cheeks. You are about to wipe it away with your sleeve when you realise a second too late that you’re wearing a white sweater.

Your hand dangles a centimetre from your face, wrist caught in Jungkook’s fingers as he notices the mistake in your action before you. His whole body is leaned over the table in order to reach you. Wide eyes locked on each other, neither of you dare to move at his sudden outburst of motion towards you.

‘Um.’ He peeps. ‘Careful, I’ll do it, noona.’

Before you can register, he lets go of your arm allowing it to fall onto your lap. When his index knuckle brushes against the end of your mouth, a wave of shock zaps down your spine. Your heart lurches down an abyss at how soft his skin feels on your sensitive lips. Then his touch is gone, leaving a warmth tingling in his wake.

As he looks around for something to wipe his finger on, pupils round like a puppy, your eyes refuse to leave him. Thank you sits at the tip of your tongue but your throat is too clogged to utter a sound. The clockworks are trying to turn in your brain but all you can focus on is Jungkook.

How is he this nice, kind, gentle boy? And how have you completely missed this about him? In fact, why have you been so demure with him when he’s… an angel?

Watching his tongue poke at the inside of his cheek, a much scarier thought dawns on you.

Do you have a crush on Jungkook?

White screen glaring at you, the words of your unfinished essay frowns at your lack of attention in disapproval. You can’t write about Jane Austen’s exploration of feminism when Jungkook has overtaken your capacity to concentrate on anything other than him.

The radiator by your desk acts as your foot rest, blazing the pleasant heat up your legs. Ever few seconds, your eyes would wander to those mint green fuzzy socks you’re wearing, so brand new that its fluff caresses your toes like a flower bed. Just the thought that he went out of his way to replace your old hole-ridden pair…

Stop.

Jane Austen. Focus.

But the phantom touch of his finger sweeping across the plump of your bottom lip is etched on your skin, the picture of his doe eyes staring at your mouth refusing to leave your memory.

What has happened to you? How have you just swung from two extremes: from hardly able to speak a word to him without stuttering, to daydreaming about his kindness towards you?

The cold is making you delirious. It has to be this godforsaken cold, because why else would you all of a sudden be so flustered from the thought of Jungkook?

You take a long hard sip of your coffee, and mark it as a new leaf. From now on, no more thinking about anyone else other than Jane Austen. Pushing up your sleeves, you straighten your slouching back and face the monster of you assignment head on.

Not 5 minutes later, your desk lamp begins to flicker. You throw it a quick glance as your fingers type on your keyboard. Weird, you just changed the bulb a few weeks ago. Nevermind it.

Then all of a sudden, all the lights in your room go out. Frowning, you get up and try the switch several times to no avail. Peaking outside your room, all that greets you is a cold darkness. So you turn on the flashlight on your phone and try other light switches of the house. Nothing. Even the heat begins to seep away from the heaters as they dim to a cool. Oh no, right now?

Using your phone as a torch, you pad towards Jungkook’s room and open his door before you can remember to knock. Perhaps your anxiety has overridden your common sense and courtesy. Unfamiliar with the orientation of his room, you trail your side against the wall to guide you.

‘Jungkook? I think the power’s ou-’

Your phone shines onto a tall silhouette, illuminating a view that makes you shriek and stumble back.

There he is, standing with a white towel around his waist, beads of water splattered across his naked body and dripping rapidly out his wet slicked back hair. The swell of his biceps catch your attention first, lined with prominent veins running all the way down to his large hands placed on his hips. Which leads your gaze to the illustrious v of his hips that arch down to-

Without meaning to, your eyes travel down to this bulge. His hefty unmissable bulge. The towel protrudes out like a tiny hill, and you want to scream at it.

If you had a drink in your mouth right now, you would surely spit it out all over him and choke to your death. But you don’t, so all that comes out of you is a strangled cat noise. Looking away from that sinful area as quickly as you can, you arrive at his face - shocked, alarmed and confused. Your cheeks burning in the flames of hell, you spin away hastily to sprint out of his room in horror.

Except you run into the wall.

The impact hits your forehead and thankfully not your nose. Phone flung onto the ground with the light facing up, you fall onto you knees clutching at the eruption of pain. But nothing hurts more than your pride and image.

‘Noona!’ One hand securing the towel covering his manhood and preserving his dignity, he scrambles over to help you despite himself.

You flinch away at his hand on your shoulder because he is now right beside you. And it’s as if you’ve zoomed in too far on a picture because his nakedness is suddenly magnified 100x. You want to Ctrl Z yourself out of his room and back into your own desk. Because what. the. hell.

What the hell? What the hell? What the hell?

Transfixed on the ridges of this abdomen, you cannot focus on anything other than the way his muscles groove up and down so smoothly to form a six pack. Shadows casted by the flashlight sculpting more definition onto his marble chest. Goosebumps are raised on his blemishless skin, which you almost want to stroke away with your warmth.

‘I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay.’ You chant cataleptically in a daze. It’s more for your own reassurance than his. His bare upper body needs to let you breathe.

‘Are you sure?’ His concern is apparent in his expression, eyes examining your entire face for your injury.

‘Yes, yes.’ Desperately wanting to shoo him away, you wince at the pulsing ache burgeoning in your forehead.

‘I’m sorry.’ You both say in unison, though neither of you understand why the other is apologising.

Though he seems abashed about being shirtless, his humiliation comes nowhere near your level. Why isn’t he scrambling to put a shirt on?

To be fair Jungkook does seem awfully self conscious, you’ve caught him looking down at himself for about the fifteenth time now as he helps you up to your feet.

‘I’ll let you get dressed, sorry.’ Is all you say after snatching your phone off the ground, not even bothering to check for a cracked screen, before making your timely escape. This time more successful than the last.

Clutching your throbbing head, you race to your room and catapult onto your bed. The picture of a wet, shirtless Jungkook with only a towel to shield you from his crotch is now ingrained in your mind. You think shutting your eyes will help but you still see his divine abs behind your lids.

Holy shit.

What perhaps scares you more is how attracted you are to him. Since when did you find your roommate hot? This is shy, quiet Jungkook who plays overwatch until 4am. How dare he have a Greek God’s body to confuse you like this?

You need to stop thinking about his naked body right now.

Instead you check outside your window to see that the streetlights are off as well; it must be a blackout across the whole town, if not city. Without heating, the cold air begins to harshly sting your exposed skin. Panic starts to fester in your chest. How long can you last with no electricity whatsoever? You don’t even have phone signal, or something to charge your phone with except the one portable charger that may or may not be dead right now.

Though your door is wide open, Jungkook knocks on it politely outside your room. Which is what you should’ve done with him, you mentally scold yourself. Though he is now dressed in an oversized hoodie, your image of him is forever changed after seeing him fresh out the shower, hair still dripping. You blink hard in attempt to rid that thought.

‘Hi…’ He whispers. He’s holding two burning candles against his chest, their flames lighting up the underside of his sharp jaw.

‘Hi, come in.’

You can sense his hesitancy, the unease in the air between you, when he enters your room gingerly, feet clad in those pink fuzzy socks.

‘Sorry-’ You both say at the same time again, then release a breath of laughter. Mirth twinkles in his eyes, though his shyness does not stray from him.

‘I’m sorry for barging into your room like that.’ It’s an effort not to glance down at his adorable socks. ‘That was completely my fault, so don’t apologise.’

He swallows. ‘It’s okay, noona.’

His eyes hold yours for a solid moment before dispersing. A familiar blush is starting to paint your cheeks, you feel the heat from your chest blare up to your entire face. Unable to help imagining those solid muscles underneath his clothes, you tug at the hem of your sweater.

‘So,’ Jungkook places one of the candles on your desk. ‘This is for you.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Instead of using the flashlight of your phone, use the candle or one of the torches I’ve put on the table outside to save your battery. I’ve checked the main fuse, it isn’t switching back on. Good thing is that we still have running water and plumbing, just no heating or any electricity.’ He glances at your own socks. ‘We need to use the water sparingly though or the reservoir will run out. From the shops, I’ve bought some food that we can eat without cooking like gimbap or sandwiches. There’s also a stash of hand warmers in the drawer of the TV stand if you’re cold.’

That’s a lot of words to come out of Jungkook’s mouth in one go, all spoken to you. What he’s saying is sinking in and relief washes over you, yet you can’t help but focus your attention on the way his lips move as he speaks. The dark red gleaming with lip balm, curving over each syllable so prettily.

‘That’s great, thank you.’ You finally snap out of it. ‘I’m so glad you’re here.’ That last sentence slips out of you before you could stop it.

Pupils widening a fraction, Jungkook’s lips part in reaction. Why did you tell him that? Maybe you should just lock yourself in your room after continuously embarrassing yourself tonight. But then he pulls into a smile that melts away the ice that’s numbing your limbs and burning your lungs. The front of his teeth slightly jutting out sweetly.

Again, a fondness tickles your chest.

‘Me too.’ The tingle spreads into a pulse that crushes your throat. Is that why they call it a crush?

You simply cannot suppress your own growing grin.

Jungkook begins to walk away, but then stops at your door and turns back. There’s a reluctance, an uncertainty to his slow movement as he faces you.

‘If… If you get too cold without the radiator… you can…’ His voice barely a husk. ‘You can come over to mine.’

Then he’s gone. The aura lit up by his candle gradually diminishes away from you as he walks down the hallway to his room.

Frozen in place, you’re not even sure if your heart is beating anymore. Those final words ring in your ear like wind chimes.

You can come over to mine.

Does he mean what you think he means? Is he offering to keep you warm during the night?

You watch the candle he’d placed on your desk, its flame mirroring the small fire kindling in your core for the boy who went out during a blizzard to buy you fuzzy socks so your feet don’t get cold.

On the other side of the wall, Jungkook is on the verge of combustion at his bold proposition to you, red burning the tips of his ears. Though the memory of the look of pure euphoria on your face when you took your first bite of jajangmyeon burns his heart hotter yet.

The cold is brutal and shows no mercy. Despite your tossing and turning and effort to warm yourself up, sleep does not grace you. Part of the blame goes to Jungkook, you have not been able to cease thinking about him and everything he has done tonight. It makes you reflect on all your past moments together, whether he has always been like this and you were only too closed off to pay heed.

Sitting up from your bed, you decide you won’t be able to fall asleep without extra warmth. You need hand warmers stuffed down your pyjamas.

So, muscles stiff from the cold, you clamber out the little warm burrow of your covers and head for the living room, forsaking any light since your vision has adapted to the dark. On your way there, you walk past Jungkook’s room. Without knowing why, your legs betray you and stop outside his door.

You can come over to mine.

The low rasp of his voice still echoes in your head, stirring your unwarranted feelings for him into a warm pot of honey.

Had he really meant it? Did he honestly invite you to his share his bed? Surely not - this is Jeon Jungkook you’re thinking of, he doesn’t even speak to you most days, can’t not cower away from your glare. And he also knows what you’re like, how it took you two whole months to even warm to all of Jimin’s friends, how you only recently stopped using honorifics with those older than you.

And surely he must be at least mildly aware of the lack of boys and romance in your life, living just down the hall from you. Jimin is the closest male friend you have, and even so, you aren’t completely comfortable with sleeping beside him.

But then… All that has transpired about Jungkook’s character tonight, how sweet and kind and thoughtful he is which completely falls outside your predictions of the boy…

You realise you want to know more, want to explore the depths and mysteries that is your strange roommate. This intangible force that has been building up in the mere hours you’ve spent together this cold winter’s night draws you to him.

So screw those hand warmers, they last way too short anyway. Who needs those fidgety packets when there’s a whole Jeon Jungkook next door?

Gathering all the courage you can muster, you knock on his door.

The wood sends tendrils of cold into your knuckles. There’s a pause at first which leaves you thinking that he’s asleep, and to be fair, this late at night he has every reason to be. You’re about to turn away and head forth down the hall when you hear sheets moving, followed by his muffled come in.

Timidly, you step into his room, mind still fresh with the memory of what had happened last time you entered here unannounced, mere hours ago. Let’s not think about that right now, shall we?

Jungkook is sat up in his bed, black hood engulfing half his head. A single scented candle lit on his bedside table beside him illuminates the whole room into a golden ochre hue, it smells of freshly washed sheets.

‘Hi…’ You peep out, stopping in front of his bed.

‘Everything ok, noona?’ His eyes are fixed on your face in wonder, but when you meet them, they dart to your socks.

‘Um, yes.’ How do you put this? How do you formulate those words? ‘I just… It’s absolutely freezing with the radiators not working. Maybe- D-’ You exhale shakily. He’s gaze slowly crawls back up to your face as he realises where you’re going with this. ‘You know how you suggested that we should… sleep tog- on the same bed… to keep each other warm…? Well...’

Jungkook blinks at you. For a heartbeat, all you want to do is curl up into a ball and roll out of here. You couldn’t even finish what you were saying because your jaw has simply refused to move, refused to let you carry on embarrass yourself.

Then, although he was already on one side of the bed, he scooches over to the left. He doesn’t look at you when he replies, ‘Of course.’

Your heart is pumping fast, almost making you choke on your constricting throat. Warily you clamber onto his bed, but stop when only your knee is on the mattress. The bed frame creaks. Jungkook is regarding you with an unreadable expression, nibbling on his bottom lip. ‘Wait, if this is weird, just tell me to go.’

‘N-No. It’s fine.’ Pulling the covers over his chest, he crosses his arms shyly. There’s a pink tint to his cheeks, though you could be mistaken due to the odd lighting. ‘I was struggling to fall asleep from the cold as well.’ He adds when you don’t seem convinced.

Both of you are making this a bigger deal than it actually is, you are fully aware. It honestly pains you how awkward you two are with each other; if this were Jimin, he’d be dragging you onto his bed by the waist, letting you flounder about in his arms like a cat trying to escape before smothering you with his affection. But this is Jungkook. Quiet, shy, awkward Jungkook. Jungkook who hasn’t spoken more than ten words a day to you before the events of tonight even though you live together. Jungkook who you’re slowly learning more and more about during this blizzard.

Plus, he was the one who offered to share his bed earlier in the first place. This is fine, just fine. Act normal.

Overly conscious of how he’s watching your every movement carefully, you slowly burrow into the comfort of his bed. Immediately you’re enveloped in his residual body heat under the duvet. Now you realise that he moved over to the other side of the bed, the cold side, so you can relish in the warmth that he’s been collecting under these covers.

Why is Jungkook so… considerate?

Again, the same fuzzy feeling as before tugs at your heartstrings. Suddenly you want to reach out to him, but instead, you tug at your sleeves.

You’re both staring at the blank ceiling as if it is some fascinating art piece, with enough space between you to fit a Jimin. The candle has casted long grey shadows across the room, occasionally flickering haphazardly.

Everything that is currently whizzing through your head is driving you insane. This is actually happening. You are sharing a bed with Jungkook, the guy who you can’t even look in the eye when speaking to, your roommate who has only ever tried to avoid you. This day is a jack-in-the-box of Jungkook-themed surprises. What’s going to be next?

‘Feeling warmer, noona?’ He breaks the silence first, and you can’t help but glance over at him. His side profile is mostly masked by his hood, yet you can still see his jaw clenching. You can only imagine how uneasy he is currently feeling.

‘Yes.’ It’s barely a whisper you manage, so you clear your throat. ‘Much better Jungkook, thank you.’

Another silence. Though this is an improvement from before, you still feel a chill in your bones; the cold is a resilient pest that aches your muscles and numbs your face.

‘Should I blow out the candle then?’ You ask.

‘Oh right, yeah.’

You huff at the small flame but it refuses to go out, and you kind of don’t want it to as it provides a strong beacon of heat as its smoke licks at your face. You huff again. Still, it only wavers. You’re so cold that you don’t even have the strength to take out a candle. Peaking over at Jungkook, his eyes are locked on you patiently.

‘I’ll do it.’ He leans across the bed over you, you feel his warmth radiate into your proximity as his should hovers over your face. His scent, a clean soft musk, swims up your nose; you never noticed how pleasant he smells. The veins on his neck are protruding as he strains to reach over. When he extinguishes the candle with a single harsh blow, embarrassment rains on you.

Darkness enshrouds you two. As he returns to his position, you notice that he’s closer to you than before, now only less than a foot away. The sound of his breathing provides a steady rhythm that soothes your wild thoughts.

Though your social skills are subpar by nature, Jungkook has a way of magnifying your awkwardness. Should you say something? Good night? Thank him again?

Then you realise, he’s shivering. Of course, his hair must still be wet from his unfinished shower that was cut short by the blackout. God, he must be freezing.

‘You’re cold.’ You state, though you mean it more as a question.

‘I’m fine.’ Hums his response, yet his inhale is shaky.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you know what you’re going to do next is completely out of character and will require more guts than you actually possess. Your hand gropes at the space between you until you find his hand. It’s ice cold. Jungkook jumps at the contact and you hear him turn his head towards you. You hope his sight hasn’t adjusted to the dark yet so he can’t see how abashed you are.

‘You’re not fine.’ His fingers are stiff when you interlock yours between his. Everything is screaming inside you. What are you doing? What the heck? If Jimin were here to see this his jaw would drop all the way down to hell.

Unable to suppress the urge either, you also turn to look at him. In the dark, you can barely make out the outline of his face, the shape of his glossy eyes reflecting the moonlight seeping in through the window. Slowly, his fingers curl up around your hand. Your heart flips.

Blood roaring in your ears, you inch towards him like a frightened deer until your sides are pressed against each other. Your faces must be a hand’s width apart, but the darkness fuels you with a brazenness that allows you to not cringe away. His whole body tenses in response.

‘Better?’ Voice so soft he strains to hear you.

Jungkook nods, eyes never leaving yours. ‘Better.’ His response rumbles into your ear and percolate into your mind, and only now are you aware of how close he is.

An amalgamation of unidentifiable emotions stir inside you. You feel your own warmth trickle towards him as his does with you, and slowly his presence plucks away the cold you are plagued with.

‘Good night, Jungkook.’

‘Good night, Y/N noona.’

Though it’s only briefest of movements, you feel his thumb stroke over yours once, twice, as your eyelids fall shut.

The next morning, you wake up first with your head fitted cosily on his heavily breathing chest, his arm draped across your shoulder, shielding you from the chilly morning air.

The power still isn’t back on.

It’s now nearing 24 hours since the blackout first hit.

You’ve wasted the day wandering about the house, unsure of what to do with yourself. Though you tell yourself it’s the withdrawal symptoms from the internet, it’s mostly due to the fact that you slept next to Jungkook last night.

The earlier half of the day was spent subtly avoiding him because what the hell are you supposed to say to him? Do you just carry on your usual selves around each other or are you, like, friends now? You caught yourself watching him sleep this morning, serene breaths in and out through his nose. There’s a tiny mole under his lips that you’ve never noticed before. You had poked it with your pinky before you could stop yourself. And thankfully he’s a heavy sleeper, he didn’t even stir.

With more effort than you thought would require, you pried yourself out of his arms, a cold breeze instantly welcoming you in an embrace as you left his bed.

Those scenes keep replaying in your head: him finding you out in the blizzard, watching him cook you jajangmyeon, discovering that he when out of his way to buy you new sock, then walking in on him almost stark naked from the shower, and finally, falling asleep enveloped in his warm and scent.

You’re definitely crushing on him.

You’ve stopped denying it when you saw him meander wearily out his room at noon, bed head ruffled, eyes still droopy from sleep. Wordlessly, you had passed him the ham and cheese sandwich you prepared for yourself and you don’t even know why because you were absolutely starving.

The downpour of snow only stopped for a good 10 minutes this afternoon, a tiny window in which you poked your head out for some fresh air. Jungkook had tried to shovel away some snow to clear the porch, but quickly ran back inside when he saw your worried face plastered to the window watching him.

There isn’t much either of you can do with no electricity, no internet, no television, trapped indoors. So you occupy your day curled up on the couch, nose buried in a novel, completely immersed in that beautifully crafted fictional world.

Until Jungkook walks out in a white t-shirt and shorts.

Your eyebrow raises, peeking at him from behind the pages.

‘I’m gonna work out here, if you don’t mind. There isn’t enough space in my room.’ He scratches the back of his head.

‘Sure.’ You exhale, knowing your demise is looming over your head like a storm cloud. A lot of self control is exercised in order to not ogle at his calves.

Training your eyes at the novel in front of you with great determination, you turn the page. The first minute is easy enough, you just have to angle your book to block your view of him. But then his breathing grows heavier, panting every rep. At that, you can’t help but glimpse past the corner of your page.

Oh Lord. He’s doing push ups.

Though his biceps are mostly covered by his sleeves, the muscles of his forearms tensing at every contraction catch you eye. You marvel at the way his tendons flex out, and the way his serpentine of veins snake down his hands.

Jeez.

Then he lets out an unholy grunt, setting your whole skin on aflame. Scarlet stains your cheeks, you’re sure of it. But the sinful sounds do not stop. Sweat his now seeping through his shirt, rendering the material transparent down his back. And his ass…

You snap your focus back to your novel.

Just in time as well because he stops onto his knees, head falling back as he sits on his ankles, panting. His neck is shimmering with his perspiration, droplets trickling down like a brook.

Jungkook glances over at you to see you reading intently, jaw clenched from what he guesses is due to the excitement of the plot.

But then you stand up so abruptly that it startles him. You can’t sit here and spy on his workout any longer, you physically cannot take it. Not to mention, it makes you feel so awful, like you’re perving on the poor clueless boy who only wants to break a sweat.

The both of you just stare at each other, flustered for different reasons. His breathing slows.

‘I’m gonna-’ You don’t know where you’re going with the sentence. Gulp. ‘Uh, see you later.’

Scampering away into your room, you don’t wait for his response. Why are you panting heavier than he is when he’s the one exercising? Your book is pressed tightly against your pounding chest as you lean your back on your door. Your legs give way and you slowly slide down onto the cool floor.

There’s one thing you know for sure.

Jeon Jungkook is not good for your heart.

It’s almost midnight and Jungkook is standing outside your door. Fist clenched, inches away from rapping on the wood, but completely frozen in action.

Just do it, idiot. He scolds himself.

After an ice cold post-workout shower, this time early enough so he doesn’t have to sleep with wet hair, you both had gimbap for dinner. It was an excruciatingly silent meal which he blames himself for, though he can’t help the way his tongue gets tied every time he wishes to speak to you.

And now, bed time, he is at a dilemma of whether or not to ask to sleep with you again. It may come across as too forward coming from a guy, he doesn’t want to scare you. But he also knows that he will be missing the warmth of your body beside him if he goes to bed alone.

Jungkook sighs and lets his hanging hand fall to his side.

If you wanted to, you would have gone to his room anyway. Might as well save the awkward rejection and just take this as a no.

However, your door suddenly swings open. He’s confronted with a pyjama-wearing, baby-faced you, flinching back a step at the surprising sight of him.

‘Op- I was just....’ His sentence falls flat. He was just what?

‘I was just coming to find you.’ You mutter, eyes softening if he isn’t mistaken. A flood of relief rushes at him, so you were planning on coming to him tonight.

Wordlessly, you pad after him to his room. Everything is dark but you see his figure clearly in front of you. It gives you a false sense of confidence which leads you to trip over his charger wire you so clumsily missed.

You don’t know how he reacts so quickly to your yelp of distress, but he turns around in time to catch your outstretched arms by the elbows. ‘Watch out.’ Feet fumbling over each other, he stumbles back onto his bed as you fall onto him. The weight of your bodies sink down onto the mattress.

Hard muscle cushions your fall. Chests pressed against each other, you don’t realise your hands have instinctively circled around his shoulders for balance. Your nose is touching his fabric of his collar, his musk instantly overriding your senses. When you look up, his eyes are a crystal clear pool somehow reflecting the constellations of the night sky in this darkness. His breath caresses your forehead. Your gaze drops to his mouth, pink and parted.

You want to kiss him, you realise. So badly. Every fibre of your being is currently yearning to meet his lips, longing to know whether he tastes better than he smells.

But then your limbs are moving for you, propping yourself up and off him. Your own mouth forms and quiet ‘sorry’ as you shuffle under the sheets. It’s as if you’re watching your own actions through your eyes, controlled by your logic rather than desire. You couldn’t let yourself kiss him.

Jungkook silently squirms into his bed beside you, unwilling to look your direction as much as you’re averse to his.

So this is how it’s going to be again. Two sleeping logs next to each other.

There’s an ache of regret in your heart for being so timid. Annoyance at yourself drips down your throat, fist clenching at the sheets. You should’ve kissed him right then and there, consequences be damned. When will you get another chance? But perhaps it was fate. You have no idea how he would’ve reacted; the pessimist in you thinks he would’ve been disgusted. Yes, it was fate. It was right not to have kissed him.

Wait, no. A boldness suddenly pours down on you. Shyness and introversion has gotten you nowhere before, and it will not help your situation now.

‘Jungkook.’ Your voice comes out crisp and clear.

‘Hm, Noona?’

‘I’m still cold.’ Turning to face him, you see innocent confusion settle in his expression. The sound of your thumping pulse has reached your ears, your heart is a speeding motor flying off to find him. ‘Come closer.’

The shadow of his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. His focus does not stray from you as he slides across the bed hesitantly.

‘Closer.’

He edges further towards you. You can now just about make out the shape of the scar that flecks his left cheek.

‘Closer.’

This time, his exhale tickles your neck. Warm bodies touching, confusion and perturbation cloud his glassy orbs as he scans your face for an answer to the plethora of questions swimming in his head.

‘Thank you.’ You breathe, though it feels like no air is entering you. You can’t believe what you’re doing. This close to him, you’re entire being bathes in his presence, his aura; a familiar tingling ails your soul as your eyes flicker to his lips.

Every single muscle in Jungkook is frozen in shock, unsure of what is going on and why the sudden change in your demeanour towards him. And when you turn onto your side away from him and inch by inch back your body onto his front, his heart

stops

beating.

Nose buried in your floral-scented hair, vacillating thoughts tell him to put his arm around your waist and hold you close to him. You sense his unsureness in the way his hand rests on your side and pauses for too long before pulling you into his chest.

His frame engulf yours, the curve of your back lining perfectly with his. You feel safe, protected. His furnace touch on your waist burns through the thick fabric of your jumper and seeps into your core. The effect he has on you is nothing you’ve ever experienced before, and neither have you ever been in this position with anyone. Although it isn’t much, merely just cuddling, this feels so remarkably intimate and intense, like you’ve finally stepped through a threshold built into the emotional wall that towers between you and him.

You’re not entirely sure if you’re breathing.

Despite being the one to instigate this, you’re awfully apprehensive, not daring to even twitch incase it rattles him and sets him scrambling away. The two of you are like a pair of squirrels, slowly approaching to sniff each other, curious yet easily frightened.

His hot breath rushes down your spine like smoke. You desperately want to know what he’s thinking. Is he as nervous as you? Do you feel comfortable to him as he does to you? Or is he already falling asleep?

You should close your eyes and try to. Though who are you kidding? You’d never manage to catch a wink when you’re an accidental turn of a face away from kissing him, at least not right away anyway, not until you calm yourself down with a mental meditation exercise or something.

The urge to check if he’s indeed asleep is yanking at you, but you use all your willpower to resist, not wanting to risk rousing him when he’s as skittish as you.

But then you feel it.

Him.

It’s subtle at first, just a gentle pressure at your bottom.

Innocent and untainted as you are, you don’t even realise what it is at first, so you shift your hips unconsciously.

Then it’s stiffness grows, and grows, until it’s a baton poking at your rear.

Something in your core ignites, your chest constricts, and a wildfire of lust you’ve never felt before smoulders from your scalp to your toes before finally rooting itself in your sex. Ten hells, Jungkook’s boner is touching your ass. Jungkook has a boner and it’s touching your ass. Jungkook has a boner because of you and it’s touching your ass.

Your brain is devoid of all senses except a formidable hunger for him. Suddenly, though he’s almost surrounding you completely, the only thing you can feel is his hard member prodding you.

Is he asleep or not, you need to know.

Then a strange force possesses your lower half, and like a puppet on a string, your ass sinks back further onto him until his length is tunnelled between your cheeks.

The softest moan escapes him, almost a gasp even.

You think he’s going to say something, move away or stand up and leave. Instead he pulls himself away and slowly thrusts forward again. His clothed length slides smoothly up your crack, brushing ever so slightly over your slit. It sends a wave of arousal convulsing up your core, so powerful you almost choke.

Continuing to encourage him, your hips move in tandem with his, rubbing your ass all over his pulsing erection, occasionally letting it slide between your thighs against your clit. A pleasured mewl escapes, though you’re not sure who from. You’ve never felt anything like this, the ruin that overtakes your core at the friction. This is a divine sensation, luxury of the gods.

Jungkook’s fingers dig into your waist as his pace increases, his breathing slowly shifting into wavering panting. Finally you succumb to the urge to twist around to look at him. Your heart erupts at the pure devastation contorting his face. His brows angled in pleasure, teeth clamped down on his lip to suppress those unholy noises, lids hanging heavy at the weight of his thirst for you. When his eyes lock on yours, something unleashes in him and devours you wholly.

Fire and ice. His lips feel like both fire and ice. Fire because your entire mind is burning at his smoothness, fuelled by your unkempt want for him to take over you. Ice because everything that isn’t him feels numb and insignificant, and your feelings for this man holding you is the purest flake of snow.

Your first kiss, and it’s already the best kiss you’ll ever have, you’re sure. Because the way his lips meld onto your, the desperation in the way he leans so far into you, the heat of his arousal forging it’s mark between your legs. Nothing in this world can top that.

‘Noona.’ He sighs into you. It drives you absolutely insane.

Fingers grappling in his wavy locks, you reposition yourself completely to face him. His length twitches against you as your leg swings behind him to pull him closer. He is holding your neck with a heartbreaking delicacy, thumb stroking your jaw like it’s the most fragile of chinas.

‘Jung-’ You whimper. ‘Koo…’

Tasting of mint, his tongue gently laps at yours when you open for him. You’re drowning in his essence, lungs filling with his air, though you welcome your sweet painless death like it’s a heavenly gift.

Knowing his docile nature, you move his hand underneath your top, giving him permission to roam freely on your skin. He snakes around your back and circles around your front before finally meeting your sore breasts. As he kneads them tenderly, you feel a warmth ooze out of you into a puddle of concupiscence in your pants.

Oh God.

Your own hands wander beneath his hoodie, raking up the bumps of his god-sculpted abdomen and taking hold of his muscular chest. His wet kisses are a drug, and you’re completely and utterly under its control.

‘Jungkook, I want you.’ You moan.

When his eyes fly open, you’re met with pools of desire, seething into you like jets of lust. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you’d experience him like this, covetous for you and withering under your touch.

‘Noona… Fuck.’ He trembles as your hand travels down his navel, daring to slide under the band of his sweatpants. ‘I want you so bad, noona.’

The whimper that leaves his mouth when you palm him through his boxers sends a flood of yearning down to your core.

Holy shit.

He feels…

Massive.

Heavy with girth, only about half of his length fits in your palm. You have to stretch your fingers in order to fully encompass him. He is fully at your disposal, groaning, grip tightening on you.

As he huffs into the edge of your jaw, his own hand comes down to find your pussy pulsing for his touch. When his touches your clothed slit, a compulsion forces your hips to buckle forwards. And when he begins to rub circles right on that tender spot, waves upon waves of ecstasy hit you.

Whining like an animal, your head falls back at the newfound pleasure he’s showing you. With you neck presented so openly to him like a platter of dessert, he plants dulcet kisses onto you, his gentleness kindling your fire for him. Despite your attempt to wind your focus back to him, your grip on his erection slackens at his vibrations on your cunt.

‘Can I?’ Jungkook whispers into your ear, softness tickling your lobe. You don’t waste a second before nodding eagerly.

Then his fingers slide underneath your panties. Sensitivity explodes at the contact between the pad of his thumb and your clit. A string of moans release from you. His fingers stroke tactfully up your slick, lubricated by your wetness for him. And when he slides his digit into you, the thread that holds your soul to sanity snaps.

‘Oh my god.’ He pushes through the sleek pressure of your walls. ‘Jungkook.’ The whimper of his name rolling off your tongue sends a rush of blood down to his aching cock.

‘Noona, is that okay?’ The genuity in his voice squeezes your heart.

‘Yes, it feels so, argh, good.’

He latches his lips onto your neck and sucks clouds of lavender to your smooth seamless sky. His finger is slowly pumping in and out. It is a foreign feeling, so strange and unfamiliar, yet all the more exciting. The rise of his knuckles hit your wall at eye-rolling angles. Your hips roll in his rhythm to help him reach newer depths. The pleasure is unforgiving, relentless.

Another feeling gnaws at your chest, a longing to please him.

‘I want to make you feel good, Jungkook.’ You mumble, shy.

He looks up at you, finger gradually ceasing its movement. The pure passion alit in his eyes drives you thrumming for him.

‘O-Okay.’

‘You… You have to teach me though.’ Redness flushes your cheeks.

‘Okay.’ He says again, and you wonder if you’ve broken him at the way he’s frozen.

Sheepishly tugging down his pants, you inch yourself down and settle between his legs, the duvet rested upon your shoulders. He bobs free from the restraint of his apparel.

Your eyes bulge at his cock that is, despite the darkness, standing tall and proud, beaming at you. How is that monster going to fit inside you?

A strong vein runs down the course of his length. Angry red tip swollen and trickling with a clear liquid. You look up to find him staring helplessly down at you, gulping. A nervous fear is eating away at your throat; you’ve never done this before, how are you supposed to know how right now?

‘Teach me.’ Your fingers come around the base of his shaft and he gasps audibly.

‘Uh-’ Another gulp. ‘Lick the tip.’

You lick the tip. Drawing your tongue over his engorged head, tasting his salty precum that continues to leak out of him profusely. He curses.

‘Like that?’ Your mouth doesn’t leave him as you say.

‘Mhmm.’ He runs his hand through his dark locks in exasperation. ‘Suck on it gently.’

You suck on it gently. Lips wrapped around his tip like a vacuum while you breath him in. Your cheeks hollow. You look up at him for approval. One eye is clamped shut, the other is barely held open to witness the most seraphic scene.

‘Fuck, noona, like this.’

You try to take in more, letting his wide cock slide into your mouth, careful not to scrape your teeth against his hilt. When he hits the back of your throat, you gag and splutter around him. Embarrassment shoots at you, yet when you glance up, he doesn’t seem to care.

Instead, he brushes your hair behind your ear and coos, ‘Careful, noona.’ He’s so sweet, so dear, you feel a crack in your heart.

So you try again, this time slower, swallowing as much of him as you can. Your hand swirl around his shaft while his massages the back of your scalp. You roll your tongue around his head every time you come up, flickering at his slit. Soon, your pace increases along with your confidence. Jungkook is a mess under you, thighs quivering, toes curling. Humming in satisfaction, your vibrations resonate into his dick and he yelps.

‘Noona, stop before I cum.’ The way he pleads sends your cunt throbbing. You pull his member out of your mouth almost obscenely, inhaling sharply for air.

He gently places you on your back, finger tracing your drenched lips in endearment. ‘Was that ok?’

‘That was perfect, noona. Are you sure that was your first time?’ Doe eyes wide in awe of you. You giggle and nod, glowing in timid pride. ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’

At that, the reality of this situation hits you. This is happening, this is actually happening. You’re going to have sex for the first time. With Jungkook.

Are you sure you want to do this?

You are sure you want to do this. If not with him, then no one else.

‘Yes.’ You state firmly, eyes never once wavering from his.

His gaze on you is so soft, yet so intense, you want to melt under him. ‘Okay. I- I need to go find a condom in Jimin’s room.’

Fuzzy with your feelings for him, you watch him scramble off in the dark to the other room. Loud clangs echo down the hall, you can’t help but smile at the thought of him digging through Jimin’s pig sty, frantically searching with his rock hard cock.

Jungkook returns moments later to the sight of you completely naked on his bed. Gaping like a little boy, he almost falls onto you as he climbs onto the bed while he tears off his own top. For a minute, you two just stare at each other’s bodies, allowing the beauty to sink in and etch itself forever in your souls.

‘Noona, you’re so beautiful. Do you know that?’ He leans over to kiss all over your face.

A warm prickle sieges your heart. No one has ever called you beautiful before. Emotion floods you like an ocean, and you’re suddenly met with a familiar sting behind your eyes.

He hovers over your lips, nose rubbing on yours so lovingly you want to cry. You’re at a loss for words, so you just nod, not daring to peep a sound lest a tear escapes from you.

His hands are shaking as he rolls on the condom. Prudently, he kisses up your inner thighs before spreading them open with care. Finally, he pecks the top of your flower fondly.

Then slowly he rests his elbow beside your head and situate himself between your legs. Both your breaths are wobbly, you search his face for security and find it. His irises reflect his galaxy - you. And your fear ebbs away.

Stroking his tip along your wetness, he kisses the shell of your ear. ‘Are you really really sure?’

‘Yes, Jungkook.’ Your fingers entangle in his hair assuringly.

‘Tell me to stop if it hurts a lot. Promise, noona?’ His concern is heart wrenching.

‘Promise.’ You whisper, other hand locking with his.

Only then does he begin to ease into you. At first you don’t feel much, just his tip diving into you. Then the rest of his length pushes in, plunging through a tremendous pressure built into your walls. Pain blooms inside you as he enters deeper and deeper, it’s an ache that you anticipated but never imagined. You both cry out, though for different reasons.

‘Are you okay?’ You can tell he’s struggling to stay still, shoulders tensing at the temptation to thrust again.

‘Mhmm.’ You manage to gripe. Because despite the blinding pain, you are okay.

‘I’m gonna go as slow as I can.’ He ensures you, fingers tightening around yours.

When he plunges into you again, you expect the hurt to lessen, but it doesn’t. It overwhelms your whole body, yanking inside you. Though, every time he kisses your lips so tenderly, your forget the soreness he’s impaling into you for a fresh second. Opening your eyes, you see him panting at your tightness, trying with every muscle in his body not to go wild at you.

‘Fuck, noona.’ He exhales, forehead rested on yours.

Seeing him so berserk with pleasure calms your running anxiety. His thrusts inevitably quickens, and you just about begin to see pass the pain. Behind the ache, there’s a gratifying sting clenching your walls. The slap of his hips against your thighs ring loud.

‘Still okay?’ Jungkook asks again, worry painting his face at your silence.

‘Yes, you can go faster.’ You answer despite the ever-present soreness. When he drives hard into you, stars and tears blurring your vision.

Something in him snaps as you feel him twitch inside you. His movements grow sloppy and feral, just like the grunts that he heaves. Chasing his climax, you can tell how close he is to his sweet release.

‘Oh- Noona, I’m so cl-ose.’ He’s whimpering into your neck.

‘Jungkook, baby. Come for me.’

At your name for him, he goes crazy, ramming into you with a strength and stamina that you couldn’t expect less of from him. ‘Noona…’ He begs. The pressure inside you is easing, pain dulling, though you know you won’t feel any pleasure this time round.

Then, in one last powerful push, he ejects into you with a loud cry. You pull his lips to yours immediately to soothe his euphoria. This look of pure pleasure on his face rips you to shred as he refuses to let go of your hand. His hips jerk into yours to ride out is high as his whole body deflates onto you.

Although it’s a freezing night, goosebump plaguing both your skins, neither of you feel cold. Instead, you are enshrouded by the warmth of your passion and desire, all you feel is each other.

You, wrapped tightly around him, and him, spasming inside you.

Heavy with exhaustion, he nuzzles up to kiss you. Long, slow and hard. You have never truly appreciated his beauty until this point, under the subtle snow-clouded moon, eyes boring into you with a never-dimming glow of adoration.

Jungkook removes himself from you, hastily disposing the condom to not miss a moment by your side. Dressing you first so you don’t catch a breeze of cold, his touch feels so much warmer, gentler.

Snuggled up under the covers, he holds you so close to him that you hear his beating heart. For a timeless passage, you stare into each other wordlessly, fingers tracing delicately over every patch of skin.

‘Y/N...’ He muses out loud. ‘Y/N… You don’t know how perfect you are…’

Again, he has rendered you speechless.

Caressing your cheek in his palm, he continues. ‘I wish you could see yourself through my eyes because then you would understand why I’m so completely in love with you.’

At his words, your throat constrict. ‘What?’ You choke out.

‘I’m in love with you, noona.’ His lips are trembling, chest pounding against you. Disquietude emanates from how he’s peering at you.

‘Oh.’

‘I don’t know how you never knew, I mean- I guess it’s pretty obvious from the way I act around you. Even Yoongi-hyung spotted it right away…’ He begins to ramble, focus hopping to the collar of your jumper that he’s toying with. ‘I just… I don’t know. There’s something so special about you that I can’t find in anyone else. I thought it was just a crush but... but then you moved in with us and… And my feelings for you just drove me insane. That’s why I kept trying to avoid you. I know I wouldn’t be able to hide it if I actually spent time with you, I’m kinda stupid when it comes to girls if you can’t tell already.

‘But the truth is,’ he takes a deep breath and sighs, ‘I am truly, deeply, madly in love with you, Y/N noona. Everything about you. The way you devour jajangmyeon as easily as breathing. The way you never go a day in winter without wearing these fuzzy socks. The way you only drink lattes and chamomile tea. The way you would rather spend your friday nights curled up with a book. The way you pretend to find Jimin annoying but secretly love the attention he gives you. The way you rushed out to find me in the snow and forgot the bring your keys. And the way you can’t talk to me without stuttering just like how I can’t look you in the eye when we have a conversation.

‘I know this is a lot to spring onto you, and I don’t expect you to love me back at all. But just know that I’m here for you whenever you need. I’m your furnace in a snowstorm, hand warmer in a blizzard. And it’s okay if you don’t feel the same for me, I’ll still be here.’

Jungkook finishes with a final huff.

You stare at him, dumbfounded by his confession. Emotion floods your veins at the revelation, and you can all but break down into sobs. Jaw gaping, you regard him from his arms, trying to piece together your scattered thoughts.

‘Noona, say someth-’

You kiss him, urgently and desperately. Like you’ve been drowning in a sea of lostness, aimlessly floating about to try to find your way, and he’s your first gulp of air. Mist of perplexity is finally starting to clear away, and you see the path ahead of you with crystal lucidity.

It’s Jungkook. Jungkook, who knows your favourite colour when even your own mother doesn’t. Jungkook, who waddled out into the freezing snow to buy you new socks. Jungkook, who so gently and delicately made love to you tonight. Jungkook, who has loved you unconditionally and will continue doing so regardless of your feelings towards him.

‘I think… I think I’m falling truly, deeply, madly in love with you too, Jungkook.’

End

extras: christmas special

@shookpreme @hazelelizabeth99 @teenage-hippie @bunbundesu @tangledsparkles @gingerpeachtae idk who wanted to be tagged lol 😬

02/09/2019

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