#i hope bones never saw this room because he would have a fucking field day
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spock’s room decor is actually fucking bonkers. The weapons??? the big red velvet curtain??? like ok phantom of the opera go crazy.
for reference jim’s room has some photos and a plant so we can surmise this is uniquely a spock being a dramatic weirdo thing
#spock baby im sorry but it looks like the backdrop of one of those alpha male podcasts#nurse chapel is stronger then me because if i saw this frat boy ass decor i would have immediately gotten the ick and left#the lack of coherent design is so funny#ALSO CAN WE TALK ABOUT HOW TO CURTAIN IS COVERING THE SHELVES WHICH IS SUCH A SMALL THING BUT IT MAKES ME SO MAD WHY SPOCK WHY#i hope bones never saw this room because he would have a fucking field day#star trek#star trek tos#spirk#jim kirk#spock#tos
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Long Late Nights | Matt Murdock x m!reader
@satan-incarnate-666 asked: HOHOHO
“Love is forever, right?” - Hurt!Matt Murdock x M!Reader
summary: Matt can be foolish and stupid and reckless, but at the same time... he's your Matt, and you do love him dearly.
tws: injury, blood, swearing, mentions of (playful) jealousy
When it was the middle of the night, you always knew what to look out for, the dashing red suit that you had come to recognise as the best kind of trouble, the white cane poking through the window as he pulled himself through and used the cane to find where he was going; the soft coughs and tired groans as an armoured suit dropped to the ground and the cane lightly tapped against the floor. But the cane didn't tap so much tonight, and although you had stayed in bed in hopes that he would come to bed, you couldn't help but to be worried when you heard a pained whimper; furrowed brows and a frown as you turned the lights on and made your way to the living room, sighing heavily when you saw him crashed on your sofa with his suit all in a puddle. He wasn't dying, at least.
"What the fuck did you do this time?" You asked. "Get into a scrap with a chainsaw?"
Matt shrugged, although it pained him as he tilted his head back and seethed, going to clutch the wound before you grasped his wrist and kept it away from the open gash. "It wouldn't exactly be surprising."
"No, no, it wouldn't," you grumbled, backing away from him so that you could tug the jumper you were wearing off. It belonged to him, originally, bright red and with the words "I'M NOT DAREDEVIL" written in white across it. You chucked it on the coffee table and knelt down beside him as you examined the wound. "Jesus Christ."
"I love it when you're blasphemous."
"Shut your fucking trap," you hissed, shaking your head as you bit back the laugh that threatened to escape you. It didn't particularly work, though, a little snort leaving you as you nearly choked on the very air you were breathing. "I'm gonna have to call Zemo for this."
Matt groaned, shaking his head. "Please don't. I don't wanna hear him hit on my boyfriend again."
"He doesn't hit on me," you chuckled, pulling your phone out and sending a quick text to the man in question. He was better at these things than you were, and more than that, he could be trusted. "We just flirt because it's funny."
He scoffed, trying to move but a bolt of pain went through him, and through gritted teeth, Matt settled and forgot about needing to move. "It's not that funny."
"Oh, it is," you hummed, tilting your head to the side and looking at the wounds once more. Zemo could treat them, you knew that, you knew that his knowledge of field medicine back was more than enough; you couldn't treat those kinds of wounds. Minor cuts and grazes and scrapes and broken bones were as far as you could go. Not this. This was too much. But you also knew that you had to be strong for Matt, make him feel like everything was under control and that you weren't currently feeling as if you were about to have a panic attack.
Matt could be stupid, he could be foolish and he could be reckless, but you knew that you loved him enough to put up with it; you knew that one day, you would have a nikah, even if he may be bloodied and bruised and battered, even if what he wore may have been torn and tattered and frayed at the seams and the edges. Matt could be stupid, he could be foolish and he could be reckless, but he was your Matt. He was the one that had taken your heart and promised to never break it, or at least to fix it if he ever did cause it to shatter. He was your Matt. He was the one who claimed to hate the way that you and Zemo flirted, but would frequently text him and would laugh and joke with him; such pretend jealousy always put aside in favour of the love that came with friendship.
At the end of the day, Matt Murdock was the one who you wanted to be with, and as you looked at him, you couldn't help but to smile; even in the awful state he was in, Matt was similar in beauty to the works of Van Gogh.
"Love is forever, right?" You asked, and when Matt nodded, you sighed a little. "You promise you're always gonna be here?"
Matt cleared his throat, a soft but dry and ragged cough leaving him as he reached for the nearest pillow and put it under his leg to give himself a little bit more comfort. "I'm not going anywhere unless you say that Sabaton are a shit band."
"I'd never do such a thing," you pointed out, trying not to laugh as you moved so that your back was against the sofa, reaching for his hand and holding it tightly. "If I ever say that, and especially if I ever say that Coat Of Arms is a bad album - shoot me."
"Noted," Matt giggled softly, the only thing he really could do without irritating his wounds so much. "You, uh, you wouldn't be able to put it on now, would you? The album, I mean."
"Yeah," you agreed. "You want me to put it on shuffle, or nah?"
"Nah," he sighed. "Just let it play."
"Zemo won't be long, mind," you assured, pulling out your phone and letting it connect to the Bluetooth speaker. You quickly found the album in your phone's library and pressed play, the sounds of 'Coat of Arms', the first song on the album, starting to play ever so quietly. "Don't go to sleep, Matt. You'll miss Midway."
if you liked this fic, REBLOG IT - you SHOULD reblog it; spam likers WILL be blocked. as will blogs that refuse to reblog or to give feedback. if you don't wanna reblog, then you'll get blocked; reblogging is the BARE MINIMUM. don't just "like", REBLOG
#mlem writes#matt murdock one shot#matt murdock imagine#matt murdock x reader#matt murdock fanfic#matt murdock fic#matt murdock#daredevil one shot#daredevil x reader#daredevil imagine#daredevil fic#daredevil fanfic#daredevil
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Sterek Fic Rec - May 2021. New rec list for you. Hope you enjoy these delightful reads featuring our favourite werewolf and human dorks <3
May I Interest You in an Apology Muffin? by Leslie_Knope (1/1 | 1,478 | Teen)
“Wait, seriously? Who is it? C’mon, just tell me.”
“Uh…,” Stiles said, buying for time while he looked around as surreptitiously as possible. “That guy over there,” he whispered finally, jerking his chin toward the dark-haired guy three tables over, a guy so hot that Stiles’ only chance with him would most definitely be in an imaginary scenario.
Scott looked over his shoulder at the guy and got that determined glint in his eye that Stiles recognized, just about three seconds too late. Scott was gonna do something that he thought was heroic but was actually dumb.
“Scott!” he hissed, grabbing for his backpack and nearly knocking over their coffee cups in his haste to follow him. “Oh, holy shit.”
you all over me by Poe (1/1 | 3,705 | Explicit)
The thing about Stiles is, Derek thinks, is that he has no idea how enthralling he truly is. He’s easy to overlook, right up until the point he isn’t, and at some stage, Derek started looking, and now, it’s all he can do.
(or: the one where the pack is happy, healthy and alive, and Stiles and Derek are sort of inevitable)
a bad case of the wilds by kaistrex (weishen) (1/1 | 6,446 | Explicit)
“I could smell you all over town,” Derek growls.
Stiles squints back at him, trying to parse what Derek wants from him with that statement. An apology?
“Okay?” he says instead, which, as with everything else he says around Derek, seems to be the entirely wrong thing to come out of his mouth.
Derek’s eyes go red and Stiles bolts upright in his chair, trying to scoot backwards, banging into his desk.
“Dude, what the fuck?”
“Get away from me, Stiles,” Derek bites out, hands clenched into fists.
Stiles rolls his head on his shoulders. “Dude, this is my room. You get away from me.”
–
Basically, I wanted Derek fucking Stiles up against his bedroom window on a full moon with the blind up, so I wrote it. Happy Valentine's Day!
Cabins, Confessions, and Cockroaches by Nutellargh (1/1 | 4,009 | Teen)
That's how Stiles found himself in the middle of a forest, trying to grab the one bag of clothes and a bajilion bags of mystical powders, liquids, books and weapons, and instantly dropping them as he spotted the cabin dude.
Derek Hale chopping wood with an axe while shirtless was not a sight Stiles was prepared for.
the rescue by EvanesDust (1/1 | 860 | Teen)
Stiles has spent every moment of the last four months tracking the hunters who took his mate. Now that he’s found them, nothing will stop Stiles from taking back what’s his.
A Crooked Way to Fly by andavs (1/1 | 14,980 | General)
“We can’t just leave him here to die.”
“He’s an emissary, Scott.” Derek tried to make his tone empathetic, but Scott’s tendency to fight back on everything always grated on his nerves. “His pack is gone, he won’t survive more than a day or two either way.”
“Then we should stay with him.”
Derek sighed as he studied the man for a moment; he was too pale against the fur rim of his hood, almost grey from lying out in the snow, and his cloak was stained with dark dried blood around a protruding arrow shaft. It was unlikely he would even last the night. They would probably be able to carry on in the morning with little time lost, if any.
It wasn’t a horrible idea, Derek decided reluctantly. They hadn’t been able to set up a real camp for a few weeks in the open foothills, and they were all on edge from sleeping in exposed areas. A defensible place to sleep would be good for them, even if they were surrounded by death. They would be able to give the pack proper burials, at the very least.
“Fine. One night,” Derek relented, already moving away to check on Isaac. “He’s your responsibility.”
Big Bad Wolves by NotThatIWillEverWriteIt (1/1 | 1,144 | General)
"What's one more canine?"
But it's better when it's you by Tails89 (1/1 | 9,707 | Mature)
Shuffling slowly towards the front door, Stiles throws it open.
“What?”
Stiles’ brain short circuits - just a little - because standing in front of him is Derek Hale.
He hasn’t seen Derek in almost four years and now he’s standing on his doorstep, in shorts and a tank top with a canvas bag clutched in one hand.
Teen Wolf Fic Fest Prompt: Someone breaks a bone and someone unexpected winds up on their doorstep with a bag full of groceries
My Soul to Keep by jacyevans, Jmeelee (7/7 | 18,660 | Teen)
Stiles came with a whiteboard, and blue dry erase marker, flapping it over his head like a white flag on a battlefield.
"Come on," he coaxed. "You must want to say something. You've never gone this long without telling me to shut up." He waggled the marker in Derek's face. Stinging alcohol and pungent polymer singed Derek's nose hairs.
His fingers itched to pick up the board, and not because he wanted to tell Stiles to be quiet. He enjoyed the babble that filled the apartment every few days, the hearty food, Stiles' particular, reassuring smell: maple sugar buzz, spicy-sweet deodorant, milk-sour frustration, floral shampoo, and spring grass at night. It soaked into Derek's couch, his bed, his skull.
If any of it were real, Derek would take the board and write: thank you.
Lost Without You by ash_mcj (1/1 | 7,799 | General
Derek made a deal. A very stupid, no-good, mortifying deal because he couldn’t bear to tell his idiotic (secret) mate no.
--
“You guys didn’t know that Derek plays piano?” Cora asked, her eyebrows furrowed. “He’s played since before I was born.”
“He was good,” Peter recalled. “He used to sing, too. Put on little concerts for the pups.”
“That was a long time ago,” Derek clipped. “Doesn’t matter now - I don’t play anymore.”
"Derek," Stiles whined childishly. He scooted closer to him and grabbed onto his arm to gently shake him. “C'mon, Sourwolf, my life will never be complete until I hear you sing. I’ll do anything. I’ll streak across the lacrosse field during our final match, if you perform for us right now.”
"When you graduate," Derek relented.
---
And then Stiles graduated. And Derek had to perform for him. And then the fact that Derek saw Stiles as his mate wasn’t a secret anymore.
---
(For~ Sterek Valentine Week 2021; Day 3 and 4: Secret Crush and Love Song)
**Songfic to "Lost Without You" by Freya Ridings
princecharmingwinks special mention (i have never read a merman AU for sterek and this was a delighful introduction to the trope! Also it has meddling erica which we all know any mention of her is my weakness!)
Beacon Gills by kitsunequeen (1/1 | 4,226 | Teen)
“Derek,” Erica singsongs loudly. Rather than knocking on the rather flimsy-looking piece of driftwood, she grabs a coconut filled with seashells and shakes it violently. “We’ve got a surprise for you!”
“I hate surprises,” Derek answers, voice slightly muffled through the door. “Aren’t you supposed to be out exploring the caves with Isaac?”
“He has some special guests tonight,” Boyd says. “And so do you.”
Derek doesn’t answer right away, and Stiles can almost imagine him sighing.
“Come in,” he yields finally. “You know it’s unlocked.”
Erica flings the door open, nudges Stiles inside, and slams it behind him.
“Surprise!” she yells, and then Stiles can hear her and Boyd’s footsteps quickly retreating.
Oh, shit.
---
When Stiles accompanies Scott on a trip to his uncle's beach house, he gets more than he bargained for after running into a pack of mermaids with a particularly attractive leader...
And that’s it for the month folks! Thank you to the amazing fandom always giving me so much content to enjoy, sterek fandom is the best fandom ;)
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The Devil's Mercenary pt.3 Technoblade X reader
Hey y'all, this is part 3. Probably not the last part tho, I have some ideas for this story, but I would love some help on ideas for 4. This was wanted by the beautiful 🐍 anon. I hope you enjoy :)
Warnings: Cursing, suggestive.
Series Masterlist
Pt. 4
Do I regret agreeing to the deal? Yes and no. I would have never said yes if this wasn't to save my ass, but at the same time, I'm glad that he gave me this opportunity.
Technoblade and I started off the next morning, giving Wilbur some bullshit excuse about going to get resources. I guess it wasn't a complete lie, but it most definitely wasn't a full truth.
The walk to the portal was relatively quiet, but oh gods was it boring. He had insisted on a portal somewhere only he knew, it was ridiculous. Not to mention the clothes I had on were not something to wear into the Nether.
We made it to the border of a glade. The sight was almost breathtaking, it had rolling hills and beautiful flowers. There were spots of ponds dotting the grassy fields. Bees buzzed overhead, and bunny's hopped along through the narrow tree patches.
A smile tugged at my lips as I followed the blood god through the greenery. I was in a daze as the ocean appeared in front of us. The coral-filled water was clear and unfiltered. The breeze was fresh, untouched by the people on the server.
The waves crashed as Dolphins rushed above the water, swimming in small packs. Fish danced in schools as they swam. If you looked close enough in the beautifully decorated area, you could see the colors of an axolotl or two.
The sight was enough to distract me from my evident demise, but only until it was rudely interrupted by the man it would be caused by.
"We're here," he huffed out. I turned to him. He was stalking off along the edge of the beach, there was a tiny shack where the woods began. I started to follow him soon after, my feet sloshing in the sand as I listened to the life around me.
The building would certainly be a blink and you'll miss it, that is if it didn't have the ghostly noises ringing out from inside it. That in itself was enough to catch anyone's attention.
The door thudded open as Tech pushed it. The hinges squeaked, and the floorboards cried out in despair as the hulking man stepped onto them. The eerie sounds only got louder as I followed him in, and it sealed my fate as purple particles came into view.
Technoblade didn't seem to care that I had frozen behind him, that or he didn't notice, which I doubt. He sat the bag he was carrying down on an old chair that looked like it would give way any second.
"We have food, water, and weapons," he stated as he turned to me. My eyebrows furrowed.
"Don't you need armor?"
"Sweetheart, the day I need armor to go into the Nether is the day Tommy's voice stops cracking."
I slightly chuckled at that, it was nowhere near as close to the feeling of calm the water gave me, but it was something.
"Well, I guess we should just get it over with then." Tech nodded as he looked at me.
"You have a sword on you, right?" I patted my hip.
"Yup."
And that was that. He stepped in first, leaving me in the dark shack all on my own. I could run away now, leave everything behind, Wilbur, Tommy, Techno... this stupid bet... and... Dream. I sighed. I couldn't do that, I've already betrayed my friends, the least I could do is face karma as I should.
I made contact with the purple and a shiver shot down my spine. My feet rested on the obsidian below me as my body started to fade out of the world I knew. My eyes closed and a nauseous feeling fell over me.
I gasped, almost falling forward before catching myself. He stood before me as I leaned on the portal's edge. I will never get used to how that feels.
"There's a fortress right near here, it's only a little ways North."
I shook my head and stood up straight, my swords felt heavier than they ever had as I walked towards the brick building. My heart was hammering as my boots thumped. The Nether was cast in its usual red hue as we walked. The heat was close to unbearable, and my skin felt like it was melting.
The fortress was in a Soul Sand Valley. Of fucking course it was. He did say he needed a bunch of Wither skulls.
"We'll split up, that way we can get in and out, meet back here in an hour, if you're not here, I'll assume your dead and tell others as such, got it?"
I didn't really have the time to argue with him, nor did I feel like it. I just want to get this over with.
"Yeah, whatever."
Then he walked away. I started to make my way through the Nether Brick walls, there was a staircase leading downwards, that's probably my best bet. The clicks of my feet were very apparent as I walked downwards. My eyes caught onto the black bones of almost 6 skeletons. I unsheathed my swords from the belt and smirked. This was gonna be fun.
~~~~
It had been about forty-five minutes. I sighed heavily as I picked up the last skull I needed. I had a full stack, if that wasn't enough then I don't know how to please this man.
My body and clothes were covered in black dust, my hands hurt, and my swords needed to be cleaned. Thank the gods I knew which way was out, otherwise, I'd be completely screwed. The familiar stairs came into sight and I smiled. Finally.
I leaned against the wall where Technoblade told us to meet, my eyes shut and I finally had a chance to breathe. There was sweat dripping from my face, and my shirt was transparent as it hugged my skin.
My eyes shot open as I heard heavy footsteps making their way towards me. I unsheathed one sword and stood there. Eyes scanning along the area. Pink hair became visible and I relaxed.
Technoblade saw me and raised his eyebrows, "I really thought you'd be dead."
"Thanks for having faith in me," I grumbled with a roll of my eyes as I chucked the stack of skulls at him, "Let's just get the fuck out of here."
"Some mouth you have their sweetheart."
"Don't call me that," I stated flatly.
"You sure didn't have a problem with Dream calling you that."
"Well you're not Dream, are you? You're most certainly not attractive enough to be. Looking like some knock-off barbie doll with that hair."
"Oh, alright high and mighty. You think you're some spectacular view?"
"Oh come on, I'm sure you'd just love to fuck me against the wall, huh Blade?"
His eyes turned to slits, "I'm sure you'd enjoy that, y'know, since you seem to be such a cock hungry whore, to the point where you'd betray the people that took you in, helped you, loved you."
I huffed. That sad thing is... he was right. Not about him, of course. But about me, everything he said about me was true in some aspect. My eyes trailed to the floor and I embraced defeat.
"Let's just go."
I stormed out, making my way back to the portal. Technoblade followed close behind me. Eyes glued on my back. I was gonna kill him. One day, I'm going to shove my sword through his heart and watch the Blood God crumbled to his knees.
But that day wouldn't be today...
And that day would never come. Because unbeknownst to me, fate had another idea. One that didn't involve hate, or plunging a sword through his heart.
I stepped into the glowing portal and fell through into the overworld.
~~~~
"There's a shower in the other room, but the water won't stay warm for both of us, the plumbing is shit."
"Well ain't that just lovely," I looked around the room, it was getting dark out, which didn't make much sense, but time is weird in the Nether, "I guess we're staying here tonight?"
Tech nodded, "It's the smartest idea, it's a long walk back, and there's two beds."
Well, ain't this just great? A night with the Blood God. Just what I needed.
"What about the shower situation?" He looked at the door, which I could only guess was the bathroom, "We could shower at the same time."
My eyes widened, "Do you expect me to shower with some pervert?"
He rolled his eyes, "Do you wanna shower in the cold?" I shook my head. "Didn't think so."
"Couldn't one of us just shower in the morning?"
"It'll still be cold, it takes almost two days for the water to warm up, it's never been much of a problem since I don't come here too often."
I sighed, "Fine, just don't be lookin at me." He nodded.
I should have just died in that fortress.
~~~~
Not too sure how I feel about that, but it didn't end up too bad. As I said earlier, I would love some ideas for part 4. Love you babes <3
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night of fun
y e s
i had way too much fun with this thank you anon for feeding my mind u-u
see part one here!
summary: a week has passed since the ‘incident’ and megumi’s thoughts have gone haywire and are utterly filled with you.
cw: smut with a semi plot (shes long cuz i got carried away), fem! reader
[lower case intended + not proofread]
—————————
the air was thick and it was hot. megumi was training with the third years while you sat on the sidelines with yuuji and nobara. his focus was all on you. how your skin has a slight glow from the heat; how the sun rays caused your skin to heat; how the heat caused you to hike your skirt up though it was against school rules. you were infecting his mind—his body.
panda landed a ruthless blow into megumi’s stomach, launching him a couple meters across the field. coughing, megumi sat up, and the third years walked over.
“what’s up with you megumi? you’ve been so distracted lately,” maki began.
“tuna,” inumaki agreed from behind her with one hand on his hip. with a final throat-clearing cough megumi began,
“i’m fine. just have a lot on my mind. nothing serious.”
“is it y/n?” megumi’s head jerked in shock, and he could feel his cheeks slightly heat. he only hoped he could mask it and blame it on the hot day. “it is so y/n,” maki smirked, “did y’all fight or something?” megumi deadpanned.
“no, we didn’t.”
“she blue-ball you?” she asked again. megumi scowled and stood, his cheeks now flaming.
“it’s not like that. stay out of it. it’s my business.” he stomped away like a child. the third years huddled together and unanimously agreed that it indeed was like that.
megumi approached the group of three sitting on the sidelines. he saw you sat in between yuuji and nobara showing them something on your phone. he looks at your thighs which were missing their stockings from you possibly running late. your uniform jacket was missing--replaced by the tight, white button-up shirt you wear in case it gets hot. he’s always loved that shirt.
then he noticed how seemly close yuuji was sitting to you. he knows neither of you would ever do anything but he’s always felt slightly self-conscious of yuuji. yuuji was physically stronger; yuuji had pure power and he didn’t. he saw yuuji place his chin on your shoulder and snuggle into your neck.
you noticed megumi’s presence and gasped. your eyes sparkled and you had the biggest smile. you dropped everything you were holding and ran over to him, holding megumi in a hug. though megumi knew he shouldn’t feel the way he did, he felt smug and looked at yuuji in the eyes with a glare and a smile as he hugged you. yuuji looked back confused.
“we were just watching part of a movie that yuuji watched while he was training with gojo.” his smile returned to a frown. for the past couple of days, yuuji has all you’ve been talking about. it’s been yuuji this and yuuji that. “speaking of yuuji, i’m gonna be in his dorm after school helping him study.”
“oh? until when?” you shrugged.
“i don’t know. whenever we finish.” megumi sighed and pulled away.
“alright. well, let me go back to--” yuuji interrupted him.
“y/n come back so we can play the movie.”
“gimme a second, yuu,” you said back. megumi turned to you confused.
“yuu?” you cocked your head to the side and giggled.
“what? it’s just a nickname, megumi. anyways get back to training before they yell at you.” you turned around and went back to the duo waiting for you. megumi stood there shocked for a second then turned and walked back towards centerfield. all he could think about was the stupid nickname and how you didn’t kiss him goodbye.
—————————
the sun was now setting. megumi was gathering his things and inumaki came up to megumi. he handed him a note.
just talk to her, don’t let things get between you two because you didn’t voice what was bothering you. you know what’s wrong, but she doesn’t. instead of staying quiet, use your words and open up. that is the only solution.
inumaki left megumi to think on his own with a final shoulder pat. megumi looked back at the note and read it over again. he sighed and rubbed at his eye in exhaustion. he folded the letter back neatly and slipped it in his pocket.
—————————
“nothing is working!” yuuji laughed as you continued to complain. “i mean, think about it. we came with this plan to make megumi jealous and nothing has worked. i didn’t even give him his good-bye kiss today!”
“well, there’s still one last thing we could do.” you rolled your eyes.
“and what might that be oh wise one?”
“megumi always gets to the dorms at 8:30, right?”
“yeah, and?”
“we’re supposed to be studying, right?” your shoulders slumped, and you groaned.
“where are you going with this?”
“if megumi hears some...uhh...well- how should I put this?...questionable noises as he passes by the room--that’ll be his last straw.” you nodded understandingly. you agreed to the plan with one final worry,
“i just hope he doesn't break up with me.”
—————————
the corridor was dark as usual on his training days. never missing a beat, megumi walks down the hallway expecting to only hear his footsteps, though we don't all get what we expect.
“yuu! fuck-- please!” megumi’s footsteps stop right before he can fully pass itadori’s dorm.
“come on, y/n. try a little harder and maybe i’ll give you what you want.”
“yuuji, please, I need it. please!” the little show was accompanied by grunts and groans from you.
megumi felt something inside of him snap. he tore the door open almost breaking the doorknob in the process. he saw both you and yuuji standing while yuuji held something--he assumes its school supplies--over your head while you’re trying to grab it. both of you are in casual clothing and out of your daily school uniforms. you both stare at megumi in the door entrance.
megumi fumes and grabs you by your wrist. he dragged you into his room, locking the door behind him. megumi turned on a couple of the lamps in his room. he drops all of his stuff and turns jaggedly to face you.
“what has been going on?” he asks surprisingly calmer than he looks.
“what do you--”
“you know what i’m talking about. what between you and yuuji, huh?” you crossed your arms and frowned.
“first of all,” you stepped closer and turned your nose up to him, “do not interrupt me. second,” you turned around sheepishly, “itadori wanted to see what you would seem like jealous, and” you slumped, regretful, “i agreed.”
megumi sighed and rubbed his hand across his face. he walked up and hugged you from behind. “so you still love me?” you scoffed.
“what? of course I do.” megumi nodded. you two stood in silence, until he spoke up with an idea.
“will you make it up to me?”
“i will...but how?” his hands slowly lift your shirt, letting just his hands under. he moves his head from your neck to rest against your ear.
“i have something in mind,” he said. his left hand reached towards your right tit while the other hand played with the waistband of your athletic shorts. you leaned back into him feeling him harden. you turn in his embrace and kiss him. the kiss was passionate but soft.
megumi led you towards the bed, laying you down. he caged you in, pinning you to the bed. he sat on his heels to see you. your face was flushed, and you were slightly trembling.
“don’t just stare.” he laughed breathlessly.
“i’m sorry, y/n. you’re just so pretty,” his voice trailed to low whisper as he leaned into your neck, “it makes me wanna go all the way.” he peppered feathery kisses onto your jaw—so intoxicating it made your mind spin in circles and your body squirm.
“wait,” you said. “are you sure?”
“what?” he asked lazily, still suckling on your skin.
“what if gojo comes in and—“ he kissed you, then rested his forehead against yours.
“forget gojo. i want you,” he went back down to your collarbone, “i want to make you feel good.”
“megumi,” you managed to say.
“hmm?”
“take me.” he stilled, but the words shot straight to his dick. the way you would say his name in the breathless, pitched voice made his cock twitch. he stuffed his face in the dip of your neck and groaned. he collected himself and crashed his lips into yours. it was messy. teeth would clash and spit covered each other’s mouths. though the love each had for one another never diminished. you could feel him pouring his love, heart, and soul—telling you, through the kiss, to take him as well.
his thumbs hooked the waistband of your shorts and pulled them down along with your panties. you sat up and took your shirt off and your bra. he pushed you back down and kissed you. he kissed you and kissed you, and you felt your lips bruising from his force. your hands reached to his shirt, and you signal for him to take it off. swiftly, he took his sweats and shirt off, leaving him in his boxers.
he went back to kissing you. he couldn’t get enough. megumi wanted to kiss every angle, crevice, inch—he wanted to kiss all over—he wanted to make sure not piece of you was left untouched. if you’d let him, he’d ravage you in one blow.
his hands began to tease your inner thighs, but always too high or too low. his kisses began to follow the path down you jaw to your collar bone. his fingers finally touched you where you wanted—needed him most; his middle finger spreading your wetness between your folds. his kisses turned impatient. he marked you with his teeth, leaving love bites behind as he moved farther down.
your gasps, breaths, and soft moans were music to his ears. they made his mind go fuzzy and his eye sight waver. he was drunk on you; he was drunk on the sounds, the smell, the taste of you.
megumi’s lips attached to you left breast which made you yelp. at the same time, a finger slipped into your cunt, followed by a second, then a third. one by one, each stretching you out, and preparing you for him. the sensation made you wriggle around. your knee dug into his cock, making him moan out. you continued to pleasure him, the vibrations from his sounds heightening your own pleasure.
“megumi—“ you whined, “please. i need more.” he chuckled and detached from your breast with a slight pop. his lips hovered against yours, not entirely kissing you.
“patience, princess.” his fingers sped up and his thumb grazed against your clit, making you arch your back.
“please,” you whimpered back. “fuck me, megumi. please?” you bucked your hips into his hands, in attempt to convince him more. with a final cry, megumi cursed at himself and removed himself from you, leaving you on the bed catching your breath and your thighs twitching. megumi got rid of his boxers—throwing them on floor with the rest of the scattered clothes.
his rummaged his drawers for the condoms maki got him as a gag gift for his birthday. megumi tore the packet open with his teeth and slipped it on. you look over to see him walking back. the bed creaked with his added weight, and a smile of anticipation graced your face. megumi gave some final kisses to your inner thighs while he got comfortable. he held the back of your thighs up, using his shoulder as leverage.
you helped line up his cock, and he pushed in. finally in, megumi moaned while you let out soft puffs, trying to adjust. he moved slowly, not wanting to hurt you as the way felt against him made it awfully hard to.
“so good—ahh!” you couldn’t help but get louder. “megumi,” you moaned, “you feel so good—fuck!” your hips moved along with his, and megumi felt something in him snap. he groaned and apologized,
“i’m sorry, baby. i can’t help it.”
“s’ okay,” you managed out before your head finally turned to mush. megumi’s thrust sped, and his hands moved to your hips pulling them into him harder and harder. megumi’s eyes crossed, getting lost in the pleasure. he felt your walls flutter against him, signaling you’re close. his right thumb found your clit again. he felt you tighten against him. “oh! megumi, i’m gonna cum!”
“cum for me, baby.” you tensed, and your voice cracked at your final wail. he rode out your orgasm and into his. he came into the condom, and he dropped next to you. you took the condom off and tossed it in the bin.
megumi welcomed you back into bed with kisses and cuddles under the covers. “that was amazing,” you whispered.
“it was,” he whispered back with a smile. he dug his nose into your hair with his arms around you and dozed off to sleep.
—————————
the door being opened harshly startled megumi awake.
“rise and shine-“
“gojo-sensei!” megumi yelled, stirring you awake. gojo saw the bedsheets fall from your bare shoulders and understood what had happened. gojo bursted out laughing and closed the door, still laughing after it was fully shut. “shit!”
“what’s wrong, baby? who was that?” you asked still groggy.
“gojo.” the sleepiness was replaced with adrenaline quickly, and you bursted from the bed naked.
“gojo?!” megumi smiled seeing you flail around for your clothes.
after both of you were decent, you walked out of megumi’s dorm, and gojo was still laughing. yuuji was also laughing. megumi rolled his eyes.
“hey megumi, did you at least wrap it before you tapped it?” gojo’s laughing increased.
“yeah, you two were quite loud. please remember the thin walls next time,” yuuji snickered.
“sorry, yuuji. his dick was just too big.” you shrugged and dragged megumi away past the bathroom area. both of you were laughing after seeing yuuji’s disgusted face and gojo’s eyes popping out of sockets from laughing too hard.
#jujutsu kaisen#megumi#fushiguro#fushiguro megumi x reader#megumi fushiguro#fushiguro x reader#megumi x reader#megumi imagine#megumi smut#smut#anime#jujutsu sorcerer#jujutsu kaisen smut#top! megumi#fushiguro smut
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i am thrilled to announce the second installment in my idle series, focusing solely on jesper and wylan. i would simply like to remind everyone, however, that these are meant to be poetic and full of prose, rather than serious and solid fics, that's all.
tag list was removed for bewildering reasons, but anyways
Wylan Van Eck hadn't always loved him.
Once upon a time, he had only been a quiet boy from the largest city in the world, lips smudged with paint, copper lashes low over eyes bluer than the fucking summer sky.
Once upon a time, he had spent his days sequestered in his favourite studio, head tilted just so slightly, dappling the canvas in shades of green and gold, a spare brush between his teeth.
Once upon a time, his evenings were spent alone at the piano, slim fingers hovering over the keys as if he could wring his childhood from the notes, copper curls damp with bathwater.
Once upon a time, artwork meant slender brushes and sticky gouache and glass jars of paint; now he could only define it as eyes like dusty sunlight, soft lips that tasted of forgiveness, a grin to light the world aflame.
And Wylan was fucking aflame.
He was burning.
When he was sketching sleepily at his desk, the sun a dying cinder at his back, sharp angles and vivid coats and pearl-handled revolvers sprawled from the tip of his charcoal pen.
When he was laying alone in the bath, water lapping over the hard planes of his body, the room aglow in soft shades of bronze and green, all he could do was dream.
When he was sitting in a lecture hall, information and dates and names pounding through his ears, all he could see was the elegant figure before him, scrawling down his notes, one leg kicked up against a girl's chair.
Wylan couldn't help but track the careful movements of his hand, the graceful loops and lines of his writing, one finger braced against the metal spiral of his notebook.
His name was Jesper, he knew. Jesper Fahey.
A soft name, the sound a rolling wave on his tongue, rising and falling. It tasted like whiskey, smooth and sweet, every note rich and unfettered.
He wanted to find out how it would feel in his mouth, during the final hours of the night, how it would sound.
He wanted to hear his own name on Jesper's lips, a breathless gasp, a quiet moan, a pleading whisper.
He wanted to hear Jesper say his name, so simply.
He wanted to hear his name.
The very first time Wylan painted him felt like taking a drug. He was sprawled in his bed, staring dazedly at a dark spider clinging to the leftmost wall, and he was losing his fucking mind.
He couldn't get the image of Jesper's hands out of his head. In the chamber of his mind, he had locked away the sight as if to keep it safe and sheltered; those fucking beautiful hands, broad and warm, lines etched into the calloused palm, nails squared off, three rings circling each finger.
He wanted to draw them in charcoal and graphite and ink.
He wanted to paint them in gouache and acrylics and watercolour.
He wanted to line them in silver and bronze and emerald.
He wanted to lift those hands to his mouth and kiss them.
And so at three in the morning, still in his pajamas and hair utterly bedraggled, eyes swollen with exhaustion and limbs sore, he was setting himself up before a blank canvas.
"Just one painting," he whispered, touching a slim finger to a brush.
He promised himself a quick sketch, just the soft shape of his hands, or the lilt to his smile, or maybe even the blazing hue of his eyes.
One painting.
He made quick work of locating his favourite paints, a set of vibrant gouache his mother had gifted him, bottled neatly into little glass jars.
And, so fucking tenderly, he selected every single colour that he had likened to Jesper.
Rich gold and heady crimson, molten copper and softest ivory, prussian blue and clinging silver, dreamy amethyst and clear chrysocolla.
They stained Wylan's hands as he dappled the bare canvas in every prismatic hue, smudging over his wrists and fingertips and the limber handle of his brush.
When the sun rose, fierce and proud against a backdrop of blue blue blue, he only wiped a droplet of copper from his lip and kept going.
There was something utterly consuming about being locked away in that room, the strong scent of paint and turpentine, the haze of shades and light and quiet piano music, the blur of being trapped in lands one never wanted to leave.
He spent hours kneeling there on the floor, head bowed over the canvas as if the painting was his altar, reveling in every last detail. And there were Jesper's hands, soft and gentle, and the sight nearly drove him mad.
He wanted to feel those hands tangled through his hair.
He wanted to feel them on his bare skin.
He wanted.
"Just one painting," he echoed, and set down his brush.
But when he glimpsed Jesper laughing in the fields, snow dripping down his cheek like tears, he wanted to capture that indomitable joy in acrylics, brilliant in their beauty.
But when he caught Jesper downing a mug of his friend's coffee, he never wanted to forget the way he winked, the way his hand wrapped carelessly around the cardboard cup.
But when he saw Jesper dancing against a curvy girl in red velvet, he couldn't tear his eyes from the sharp set of his jaw, the lowered lashes, the vulnerable angle of his bare wrists.
He wanted to trace them in charcoal, wanted to preserve the sight in paper, never to be lost or forgotten.
Jesper grinned lazily at the girl, one corner of his fucking beautiful mouth lifting, and then he was pressed up against a different boy, head thrown back in laughter.
He whirled past his partners, leaving them with only a whisper or a slow, deliberate kiss. They grabbed for his attention, for the gift of his smile, reaching out with greedy hands.
Then Jesper was scanning the club, honey eyes roaming over the floors and walls and bars. They locked on Wylan, and something in his gaze lit.
A blazing match.
A building on fire.
A city burning, burning, burning.
And Wylan never knew how he found the courage, but suddenly he was striding up between the writhing bodies, and the ocean was roaring in his ears, and he was saying lightly, "Would you favour me with a dance?"
It was not graceful and elegant and slow.
It was stumbling and gasping and and breathless laughter.
It was drowning within the cacophony of pulsing music.
It was drowning within the steady depth of Jesper's eyes.
The flashing strobe lights were pulsing blue and green and red and pink, and the sounds of laughter and shuffling steps filled the club, and there was music echoing up the walls and skittering up the vertebrae of his spine.
It felt like being trapped in a prism where time did not exist.
Wylan's eyes fluttered shut, and he thought, I will burn as those cities burned.
And when Jesper lowered his head and whispered, "What would you say to a kiss, Wylan Van Eck?" he was fucking gone.
Jesper had never looked more handsome, his lashes low, the curve of his jaw sharp, every glint of gold in his eyes sparkling.
Wylan wanted to draw him bare and asleep in his own tangled bedsheets, the elegant lines of his body extended, every single angle and plane etched deep.
He wanted to draw the way he looked in that very moment, beautiful and brash and bold.
And that was a terrible idea for so many reasons.
It was a terrible idea because Jesper was raucous and brazen as the sun, and Wylan was soft and elegant as the moon, and neither of them could read the stars, but surely it was fated somewhere that dark and light did not find peace within one another.
It was a terrible idea because they were two fucking stupid collage kids who could never, ever find a life together.
It was a terrible idea because it was Achilles and Patroclus all over again, the boy who thought he could save his heart, the fucking idiot who believed love was indomitable.
Love would not absolve Wylan of the quiet terror that had sunken into his bones. Love would not ease the addictions that had crept upon Jesper like hungry vines.
He would not be the boy waiting, dishonored and broken, in the war tent.
He would not be the boy who watched as the world's cruelty took all that was dear to him.
He wouldn't.
But there was Jesper, with his lilting smile and the fierce look in his eyes, the scent of brandy clinging to him like smoke, and all Wylan could do was croak, "Yes."
And when Wylan staggered home at four in the morning, his hair a tangled copper halo, he couldn't help but think even Achilles and Patroclus might have hoped once.
They might have made out like teenagers and laughed in between kisses.
They might have been doomed, fated to die within the stars, but perhaps Wylan and Jesper would defy the odds. Perhaps Wylan could bear the magnanimity of his father's terrors, and perhaps Jesper could set down the playing cards and walk away from a bad hand.
They didn't have to be the heroes made history, legends turned legacies.
They could just be Wylan Van Eck and Jesper Fahey.
And in his paintings, they were.
In his paintings, they were very simply two boys kissing in the dark, all roaming hands and breathless gasps, shirts unbuttoned and sleeves rucked to their elbows, lips that tasted of redemption.
But as the days whirled past, and spring blossomed, Wylan came to realize life was so much more than soft, secret paintings. Life might even have been better.
Because life was Jesper asleep in his bed, one hand tucked beneath his cheek, limbs sprawled out across the silk sheets, sunlight gilding his bare body.
Life was standing at the stove with Jesper beside him, bickering over who got the first waffle, nearly doubled up in their laughter, exchanging sleepy kisses that tasted of sugar.
Life was laying in the fields with Jesper, leaning against him ever so slightly, their shoulders pressed together, the quiet brush of the wind lulling them to sleep, sweet as any melody.
Life was Wylan playing the piano in the midst of the night, cold moonlight easing through the blinds and slanting across the elegant notes, and Jesper's head was pillowed on his lap, and he was whispering, "I love you, I love you, I love you."
Wylan hadn't known love could be so simple.
He hadn't known.
And sometimes Jesper would read to him, the low cadence of his voice a melody sweet as sunlight, and Wylan would listen with his eyes fluttering shut, and he would think, If this is burning, I will spend the rest of my life with my hands in the fire.
There was the fierce freedom of open roads and summer air and vibrant artwork and daring kisses.
There was the quiet freedom of elegant piano music and large windows and scalding coffee and history books.
There was the unfettered freedom of them, of leaping across the broad rim of a water fountain, Wylan turning his face to the sun, warmth and light and the soft glitter of water, and Jesper's eyes were the colour of hope in the haze of dusk, and he whispered, "You look like a fucking prince, Wy."
Ice cream on his hands and seawater dampening his curls and blinding sunshine everywhere, and Jesper thought he looked like a prince.
What do I see, when I look at him?
Starlight slanting through their windows, grazing the idle curve of Jesper's lips.
Chocolate ice cream dripping down the cone, catching on Jesper's tongue.
Glittering rings of silver and amethyst and veined gold, looped around Jesper's fingers.
What do I find beautiful about him?
Was it his laughter or his smile or the way he buttoned up his shirt in the morning?
Was it the soft cadence of his voice as he read aloud, or the way he stroked Wylan's curling hair idly?
Was it the clever lilt of his smile or the quick wink of his lashes or the mocking shrug of his shoulders?
Was it the very simple fact that when the morning sunlight swept through the windows and slanted over the bed, Jesper looked as though he'd been crowned by the gods, a vision in bronze and gilt and amber? With his hair rumpled and his lashes low and the hard planes of his bare body clear as he knelt, Wylan had never seen anything so fucking wonderous.
What do I want to remember?
Their mornings, a sleepy haze of pancake batter and orange juice and tangled bedsheets, of rambling stories and dazed kisses?
Their afternoons, a blissful tangle of shared smiles and iced coffee and inside jokes, of hurried texts and chocolate bars?
Their nights, a frenzied blur of pulsing music and strobe lights and bedraggled hair, of breathless moans and fizzing champagne?
All of it. I want to remember all of it.
So what do you see, when you look at him?
Wylan saw love.
He saw salvation.
He saw soft lips and blazing eyes and broad hands.
He saw cities burning, burning, burning.
He saw Jesper Fahey.
#mmb writes#also happy pride month#cheers#jesper fahey#wylan van eck#wesper au#wesper fic#six of crows#soc#crooked kingdom#ck#rule of wolves#row#i...#this isnt too bad#right#i will burn as those cities burned#anyways im going back and forth#but here we go#leigh bardugo#i want to tag her shes done so much for me#even if she doesnt know it#i want to be like her#shes a fucking icon#anyways#my work#mine#all of it#im sorry to say i wrote this
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Part two of A Road to Somewhere
💤
You weren't sure when you fell asleep, maybe after the stop for gas. But when you woke up, the skies had mellowed into soft oranges and pinks.
Hypnos' had his shade tucked into his shirt, and his fingers tapped along the wheel in time to the music.
His face looked relaxed for the first time since the trip began. Your heart tightened with something you couldn't put a name to, even if you were upset with him, you still wanted him happy.
You sat up with a yawn, "Where are we?"
"Moo." Hypnos replied.
"Really? Fine, you are free from the bet or whatever." You waved a hand around.
"We just got into the mountain path, about an hour away from the inn my mom told me about." Hypnos chatted quickly. "And then we are only ten minutes away from the ocean. Which you will be amazed at and will thank me profusely for taking you."
You chuckled, "Did you miss being able to talk my ear off?"
Hypnos shoved your shoulder with a laugh, "Shut up. You just got lucky with that cow."
"You know I've seen pictures right? I know what the ocean looks like." You told Hypnos.
"Oh sure, the pictures are totally the same." Hypnos rolled his eyes, "I told you to trust me how many times now?"
"Okay. Okay. You're right, Hypnos." You said.
"Thank you! See now only if I can get everyone else to see that." Hypnos replied.
It was about two hours of driving on the path and no inn sight when you spoke up.
"I think we're lost." You said quietly as you studied the dark and looming woods. There was no light or signs to guide you. Even the moonlight offered little help.
"We are not lost. Mom probably just forgot how long it takes to get there." Hypnos squinted into the dark, even the high beams struggled to break through the darkness.
You pulled up your phone, and tried to get the google maps pulled up. You gave up after a few minutes and opened up the paper map.
"Told you so." Hypnos murmured.
You opted not to respond as you used your phone's flashlight to read the map.
After a few moments, you found roughly where you were. You could see where the mountain path ended. "It looks like there might be a turn up here to leave the mountains. Maybe twenty miles? Is that where inn is?"
Hypnos nodded, "Yeah, you go past the mountains, keep driving until you can hear the ocean, you should be able to see the inn."
You bit your bottom lip as you watched the dark forest blurred together. You really hoped Hypnos was right about this.
💤
It had been another hour with no end in sight. Only the dark woods remained, an unwelcome present.
Hypnos had stopped talking, his hands tight on the wheel. The air was tense and you could feel how tight your chest was. Normally you could count on Hypnos to break it but Hypnos hasn't been himself for most of the trip. The drunk call at three am, the lack of his phone use and how desperate he was for you to see the ocean; something he never seemed to care about before.
You rolled your head to look at him. He still looked good, even when he was stressed and tired. And you were far too tired to care if Hypnos caught you staring.
"Do you remember what I said I would do if we got lost in the woods?" You asked him, breaking the silence for the first time in a while. "You know, eating your bones and whatnot."
Hypnos' lips quirked up in a small grin. "Why is it that every time when something happens you threaten to eat me? You did it even when we were in the boy scouts together."
"Maybe because I know how tasty you are." You said without thinking.
Hypnos laughed, "I never thought cannibalism would be used to hit on me but here we are."
You went silent, flushed and turned away to stare out the window. "I wasn't…"
"No. No, I know. Just a joke." Hypnos said quickly.
You didn't see the glance Hypnos shot you. The air grew thick with awkwardness that you were unwilling to break.
"Y/N, look I know we haven't talked about-" Hypnos started to say but you shook your head. You weren't doing this, not now, not where there was no privacy to hide your emotions.
"Do you know how much longer?" You asked, trying not to think about what just happened or about anything.
"Not too long, I think the treeline got thinner." Hypnos replied, his voice hurt. You flinched at his tone, and hated yourself for causing it.
Just as he said that, you broke past the woodland into an open field.
And just like that the air in the car changed.
"Oh thank fuck!" Hypnos whooped and you laughed at his manic smile. "Y/N, roll down the windows. Do you hear anything?"
You obeyed him, and tried to listen over the rush of wind. "Nothing yet. No wait...I think I do hear it."
"Just wait until tomorrow. You're gonna love it." Hypnos yawned.
"Let me take over, you've been driving for the whole trip." You told him, watching Hypnos shake his head.
"Thanks but no. I got this. And also look ahead, the inn should be right around there." Hypnos pointed out and once you made it over the hill, you saw it.
Softly lit by warm lights, it looked like it belonged in a storybook. Once you arrived, checked in with the chatty front desk girl and made your way to the room, one with two beds, you sat down with a happy sigh. You kicked your shoes off, watching Hypnos stumbled to his own bed.
Hypnos flopped face down on his bed with a moan. "I love this bed." He slurred. "Best bed ever."
You looked around the room, it leaned into the nautical with soft blues walls and white shells decor. A small white and green turtle figurine stared at you from your bedside table.
"Hey Hypnos?" You asked, staring at the turtle so you didn't have to look at him. "I'm sorry. About what happened in the car."
When you got no response, you glanced at him only to see him soundly asleep. You walked over to him and lightly stoke his hair. Carefully you tugged his shoes off and flipped what blanket you could over him.
And with that you turned off the lights.
💤
"No peeking. I swear I will turn the car around if I see you even try." Hypnos' hand covered your face but you pushed his hand away.
"I've been covering my eyes since we got the car." You replied, a little grumpy at how early Hypnos woke up. The one time you would have wanted to sleep in, Hypnos was up and moving even before the inn started serving breakfast.
"Mom took me and my brothers here once, did I tell you that?" Hypnos sounded excited. "Than got stung by a jellyfish and cried for like three hours."
"You sound way too happy about that." You chuckled.
"He kicked over my sand castle, he deserved it." Hypnos muttered.
You felt the car stopped and with one more warning not to peek, Hypnos got out. Your door opened and Hypnos gilded you out.
His hands rested on your shoulders, warm and big. It took everything not to lean more into the touch.
You heard the sounds of crashing waves and a faint sound of a gull cry.
"Okay... and look!"
It was beautiful. The ocean was so much bluer than you thought possible. You stepped on to the sand and walked forward, Hypnos followed behind you.
You two were the only souls around the hidden patch of beach between the cliffs, and all you can hear is the ocean hitting the rocks.
"Dude! How did your mom find this place?" You asked as you stopped short of the ocean's reach.
"My dad brought her here when they first met." Hypnos kicked off his flip flops and stepped into the water up his knees.
You copied him, only to almost fall backwards when a big wave came but caught yourself at the last second. "Woah, I didn't expect the waves to be so strong."
Hypnos tossed an arm around your shoulders to hold you steady as the waves rolled past both of you. He laughed warmly, "So pictures are totally the same thing huh?"
You smiled, "You're right, the pictures don't do justice."
"Music to my ears, Y/N." Hypnos squeezed your shoulder, "Come on. Let's get set up."
💤
The day went by quickly, sunset had just begun with deep reds and oranges. You could feel the sunburn already on your cheeks. Hypnos' shoulders and back were already burned and you knew you would be hearing him bitch about it later.
You laid on your stomach on the beach towel, lazily watching him build the tower of a sand castle.
Hypnos' tongue was sticking out a little and it made him look boyishly charming.
You looked toward the ocean, the waves lapping away at the footprints left behind. You didn't see the small bucket Hypnos packed tightly with sand or the devious look in his eyes.
You yelped when the cold lid of the bucket touched between your shoulder blades, followed by the sand. You turned your head toward Hypnos who grinned at your offended glare.
He immediately begins adding more on you, patting it down firmly with both hands.
"Hypnos." You said carefully, "If you put any more sand on me, I will kick your ass."
Wordlessly Hypnos scooped up a huge pile of sand in his hand and met your eyes.
"I won every fight we ever had since we were kids, so don't." You warned, eyes narrowed but a grin threatened to break on your face.
With a mad laugh, Hypnos dropped the sand on your back and you promptly tackled him. You were able to push his back into the sand but half a second later, you realized you missed both his arms as they tightened around your shoulders.
Hypnos rolled, pulled you along with him and your back hit the sand. You let out a grunt as you tried to squirm out but Hypnos matched you for every move. You freed one hand only for Hypnos to grab your wrist and pinned it by your head.
He immediately took the opportunity to do the same with your other wrist as he straddled your waist with all of his weight on you.
Hypnos stared down at you, panting slightly. You could tell he looked surprised as you did.
You relaxed under him, and spread out your hands.
"You win." You told him softly. Between the sounds of the waves and how the sunset made Hypnos' eyes even more golden, you couldn't think straight. Or even about how you found yourself in this position again when you swore you wouldn't.
"I win." Hypnos agreed just as softly. He leaned down and kissed you before you could react. For a few minutes, you returned the slow and deep kiss. Hypnos hummed deep in his throat, his chest fully against yours.
Hypnos pulled away, his face flushed and looking at him was what brought you back to reality.
"Nono. No. Hypnos get off now. Please." You begged him. Immediately he moved off and sat down on the sand.
There was an awkward pause as you sat up, not able to speak. A hard wind blew against you, and you shook at how cold and alone you felt.
"Y/N…" Hypnos murmured, his hand reached out to touch you but you moved away.
"No, I'm not doing this again." You said as you curled in on yourself. "Last time almost killed me. Not again."
"What are you talking about?" Hypnos moved closer but didn't touch you, his tone gentle. "Y/N. Look at me. Please. Are… Are you talking about the first time we kissed?"
"What else could I be talking about, Hypnos?" You snapped, "You can't just keep acting like it didn't happen."
"I haven't but you certainly have!" Hypnos' tone turned hard. "I just tried to act like it wasn't a big deal when you made it clear you didn't want a relationship with me."
Hypnos laughed but it wasn't friendly. "And I was the one who brought it up in the car in case you forgot, Y/N."
"Excuse me for not wanting to be your Meg replacement." You snapped at him, not knowing what else to say. You stood to walk away but Hypnos leaped up. His hands grabbed your shoulders and turned you around to face him. His other hand squeezed your biceps.
"What are you talking about?" Hypnos said, his tone desperate.
"You're kidding me right? You've been in love with her since seventh grade when she punched you during gym and gave you a nosebleed." You cried. "I knew you were upset at finding out that your brother is dating her."
Hypnos said nothing for a few moments before he chuckled, "I haven't looked, let alone thought of her that like in years."
You stared, not quite believing what you were hearing. "But you were upset when you found out Thanatos was dating Meg and Zagreus."
"I was upset that he didn't tell me that they had been together for almost a whole year." Hypnos paused. "And that they didn't lock the door. I mean come on. At least a sock on the front door or something."
You laughed slightly, and Hypnos grinned softly. He looked at you with such fondness you had to look away from him to keep yourself from blushing.
"Do you know why I brought you here,Y/N?" He asked carefully.
You opened your mouth only to close it. After a few seconds, you mutely shook your head.
"I want my best friend back." Hypnos said brokenly.
"I had this stupid idea if I could just go somewhere new or different with you, that maybe we could forget what I did to our friendship." Hypnos talked as you stay quiet. "I knew I fucked up, I pushed too hard and too soon but god, I couldn't look away from you anymore and… And I thought you felt the same."
You swallowed, "I thought when you acted like it didn't happen you regretted what happened, regretted me."
"Never, how could I regret you? Y/N, when we weren't talking I was going crazy. I felt like I had a limp missing. Mom was showing me these photos back when we were kids, and you were in almost all of them." Hypnos swallowed. "I just want you back."
You took a deep breath, feeling like you were on a cliff and didn't know if you were to fall forward or backward. "You didn't lose me. I just didn't want to be the thing you used to get over Meg."
"Is that why you didn't want to go out with me?" Hypnos asked and squeezed your arm gently. "Y/N, I don't know if you noticed but I've been crazy about you for years."
"Oh." You blinked. "Oh."
Hypnos smiled, "Yeah. Oh."
"Is it too late? For us?" You asked, heart racing.
"Never." Hypnos cupped your face. "Can I kiss you again?"
"Yes, please." You met him halfway into the kiss, smiling with relief.
Days later, on your way home, Hypnos' hand rested on your thigh as you sat in peace.
It felt like home.
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final sleigh drabble #2
❛ it’s Christmas day night...❜
original oneshot here // drabble index here
kim seokjin x reader
smut
4,179 words
It was Christmas Day night. You’d spent most of yesterday and today at Ana’s parents’ house. It was different to how your own family celebrated the occasion but lovely, nonetheless. Her family always made you feel welcome, no matter the instance, and you were really grateful that they’d let you spend Christmas with them, like you’d already said, because your parents were spending the holiday season abroad.
Now, just gone eight, you and Ana were getting out of an Uber outside a familiar house. Seokjin and Yoongi’s. You hadn’t seen your co-worker, since the weekend. The weekend of nonstop sex. You’d only parted because he had a train to catch, promising his mom he’d visit for a few of days before Christmas Eve. The sex had been so good it had taken him a while to remember said plans actually, and when he had, he’d unbelievably tried getting out of them just so he could stay and fuck you even more.
“You want to ditch your mom to continue getting your dick wet?” You asked him with severe judgment, both of you naked in your bed. It was Sunday morning. Yes, that was correct. He’d stayed over practically 48 hours nailing you over and over again. And then some.
“Don’t say it like that,” he whined, feeling instantly guilty. “I just don’t want to leave you. I’m having too much fun.”
“We can still have fun when you get back.” You murmured suggestively, running a hand down his chest. You were not ready to give this all up quite yet…
With a raised eyebrow, he seemed intrigued. “Even more fun than right now?”
“We can try.”
You hadn’t known if it was possible, the weekend had been very fun to say the least, but who knew. You’d definitely give it your all...
You’d spent the last few days messaging each other sporadically, but there hadn’t been too much conversation. You mean, you’d never talked a lot before the sex, so why would you start after it? But seeing his face right now, as he opened the door, you practically beamed.
“Merry Christmas, ladies,” he grinned, outstretching his arm to gesture you both to step inside.
Admittedly, you weren’t expecting him to invite you over tonight. He’d been back since Friday but you hadn’t made plans to meet again yet so when he’d text you this afternoon, asking if you and Ana would like to come hang out with Yoongi and him, you’d been surprised. Excited, yet surprised, but obviously you’d played it cool.
Ana had been a little reluctant. She had slept with Yoongi a couple of weeks ago after all – and hadn’t seen him since. But, obviously Seokjin had run this idea by him? They’d both decided it together, right? So it was fine. Plus, she needed to support her best friend. If she wanted you to get boned again, she needed to come! You couldn’t turn up on your own. Not that she needed much convincing after the initial unwilling... Secretly you thought she was hoping for a round two with Seokjin’s best friend... Who knew, maybe he was too...
Ana stepped in first and as you followed Seokjin pulled out a small piece of mistletoe from behind his back. He held it up between you both, taking you by surprise. A good surprise though. “Oh,” you uttered, wasting no time in reacquainting your mouths.
“He’s been planning this all day.” It was Yoongi’s voice, coming from somewhere ahead of you, but you both ignored him, kissing just a little longer.
Ana scoffed. “Surely no planning was needed. It’s holding up some mistletoe.”
“Mmm. I missed you,” Seokjin hummed, breaking away to snake an arm around your middle.
“I missed you too,” you grinned, aware Seokjin was dialling up the amount of yuck to piss your two friends off.
“Jesus, you guys.” Yoongi sounded like he was about to be sick. “I preferred it when she hated you.”
Seokjin turned to the other guy, sounding vaguely annoyed. “She never hated me. It was a misunderstanding.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, man,” Yoongi chuckled. “Ana, let’s leave them to it. I’ll get you a drink.”
You watched as they walked off together, towards the kitchen. Seokjin was the first to turn back to you, an eyebrow raised. “How much do you wanna bet they end up hooking up again?”
You were both on the same wavelength. It was obvious something was going to happen. “She hogged the entire bathroom getting ready.”
.
.
“Have fun, you guys,” Seokjin sang as Yoongi and Ana made a less that inconspicuous exit from the living room. It was three hours later. They’d lasted well, but obviously the need to get in on again had won.
Seokjin turned to you immediately, sat next to you on the sofa and gave you a wolfish grin. “Finally, we’re alone.”
You were no sooner in his lap, mouth glued to his. Moving your ass a little as you broke apart for a much needed breath, you felt the familiar impression of his erection. “You’re hard already?” You raised a judgmental eyebrow.
“Why do you sound so shocked?” He questioned indignantly. “My dick has missed you insanely.”
“Just your dick?”
It was a playful remark, you didn’t mean anything by it, but Seokjin lowered his gaze, giving you a small chuckle. Instead of answering he kissed you again, his tongue pushing its way inside your mouth as his hands gripped your ass and rubbed you against his groin. Instant pleasure zapped up your body and it wasn’t long before you were grinding on your own accord, fists clutching his white t-shirt, which you had to admit, outlined his chest perfectly – You’d been trying not to stare all night.
“Do you want to go upstairs too?” He panted against your neck, teeth nipping the flesh sharply and you bit back a moan. He was already so tuned into what you liked. “I really need to fuck you.” Pulling back to get your answer he saw the look on your face. “What’s that face for?”
“It’s turning into a sex party,” you moaned. You couldn’t all be having sex upstairs, it seemed... You couldn’t think of the word.
“An orgy?” Seokjin wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
“Behave.” You needed more people to turn it into an orgy.
Seokjin’s mouth was back on your neck, kissing down your throat, to your collarbones and he sunk his teeth into the thin skin gently, causing your breath to hitch. “Well, do you wanna fuck down here?”
His dick was so hard underneath you, you rubbed against it some more, despite your objections. “No! What if one of them catches us?”
“Don’t be stupid. Yoongi is definitely balls deep by now.”
You whacked his back and he yelped in surprise. “That’s my best friend you’re talking about.”
“I didn’t say who or what he was balls deep in.” His reply didn’t impress you and so he grumbled. “I wish I was balls deep in you right now... Don’t give me that look, it turns me on when you’re pissy.”
Unable to stop your grin, you leaned in. “You must be constantly turned on at work then.” Pressing your lips into his, you bit down on his bottom lip. His hiss soon turned into a moan – and then a whine.
“Let’s take this upstairs. There’s a bathroom between our bedrooms. It won’t be like our headboards are hitting the wall in rhythm.”
“Fine.” You couldn’t hold out much longer anyway, and you both made your way upstairs, yelping loudly when Seokjin slapped your ass. You glare didn’t do much to discourage him, laughing loudly as he wrapped his arms around your middle and directed you to the door to his bedroom.
“At least they’re being considerate and playing music,” he said, the music loud enough to block any other noise going on inside Yoongi’s bedroom... Thank God.
“I feel like I’m back at college,” you whined as you stepped inside Seokjin’s room.
“Huh? Did you and Ana make a habit of hooking up at the same time? Hot.”
You pushed his arm. “No.” Chuckling, he made his way to the bed, sitting on the end, but you were too preoccupied with checking out his room. It was a lot larger than you imagined, walls cream, some covered in artwork. His computer was the main attraction, multiple screens, an unnecessarily large gaming chair and some other things you weren’t familiar with, mainly character figurines. His bed cover was a grey check pattern, a throw draped over the end with a couple of cushions against the headboard. Very clean.
“Your room’s cute,” you commented.
“Cute?”
“Yeah.” Turning to look at him you smiled playfully. “So, I guess this is where you jerk your dick to fantasies of me.”
He scoffed. “I don’t need to fantasise anymore. I have memories stored away in the wank bank.” Tapping his temple with his index finger he looked more than impressed with himself.
“Gross!” You cried.
“Come here,” he groaned, fed up with stalling, and he leaned over and grabbed you, causing you to squeal. “Or are you just planning on being a cocktease the whole night?” The sound wasn’t like you – but Seokjin had become good at making you act in ways you weren’t used to so far...
Which is why you found yourself on your knees for him, sucking his dick, his jeans and underwear around his ankles. “Your mouth is fucking magic,” he grunted, head falling back, his perfect, thick neck on show as you glanced up. You felt the urge to take him deeper, pushing him closer and closer to the back of your throat, ignoring any noises of reluctance it made.
“Fuck.” Seokjin choked, his fingers running through your hair to collect it in his fists. “That’s it. Take it all.” He pushed his hips up, stuffing your mouth for a few gloriously unbearable seconds before easing up. You lifted off, half of his dick still in your mouth as you caught your breath. He looked down at you with half-lidded eyes that seemed to eat you up. “Do you like choking on my cock?”
Nope. He was not doing this. It was infuriating what his words did to you, and you immediately swallowed him again, ignoring the way your underwear stuck to your damp skin. He was going to have a field day when he felt you...
Gasping for air not soon after, you had no choice but to pull off him entirely, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You were drenched in spit, so was his cock. You watched him kick off his clothing, naked from the waist down and you made moves to follow, reaching for your shirt and pulling it over your head.
“Let me see those tits. I’ve missed them.” He murmured, and you complied, unhooking your bra to reveal yourself to him. His eyes instantly glazed over. Confidently, you cupped the soft flesh in your palms, massaging yourself, putting on a show, and as your thumbs brushed the hardened peaks that were your nipples he practically growled. “Oh, fuck. You want to end me.”
Laughing, you stood up, pushing your skirt off your hips, leaving you in just your tights and panties. He followed with his t-shirt, now fully naked. You’d never get enough of his body. “Come up here,” he whined. “Let me taste them.”
Sat in his lap, you let him grope you, his mouth making out with your chest like it could kiss back. The sensation was so intense you quickly became weak at the knees and you clung to his neck, grinding against his thighs like nobody’s business. Unable to take it any longer, his hands slipped behind you, into your underwear, and he felt the silky fabric with a groan. Soon enough he was wrestling with your pantyhose again.
“These fucking things. What the fuck. You’re doing it on purpose now.”
“Am not,” you insisted. (Maybe you were). “I need to keep my legs warm.” With a furious tug you heard a rip and looking down you saw his damage. “Seokjin! You laddered them!”
“Ugh. Just get them fucking off already, I need to feel you.”
Asshole, but wet and desperate you quickly pulled then off, giving Seokjin a great view of your ass in the process. The underwear you had on had a cut-out at the top of your ass, revealing a “cleavage” of sorts. He seemed to appreciate the sight very much, giving you a playful smack and now you were very confused. Was he an ass man like you’d originally thought, or a tits guy? He was probably both. Greedy.
You slipped the panties off too, settling back down in Seokjin’s lap, who instantly started running his fingers over your heat. You pulsed against him, desperate for some stimulation.
“I swear to God you get wet so easily.”
Says the guy who’d grown hard from a kiss? Okay... “Are you complaining?”
He shook his head. “Not at all. It’s stroking my ego.”
“Your massive ego.”
“Behave, or I won’t fuck you with my massive dick.” Okay, now he was just bragging. His smirk was annoying you. He looked way too sexy.
You were expecting him to finger you for a bit, make sure you were stretched out enough for him, but all he did was dip his fingertips into your entrance, content with what he’d felt and then he was shuffling out from under your body to grab a condom from his bedside drawer.
“God. I want to fuck you so much,” he muttered a few moments later, sliding the latex over his length as you securely sat on top of him again. You kissed him sloppily, letting him angle the head of his cock against your entrance. Impatiently, you pushed down, surprising yourself – and him – when you took him whole.
You sat there, both breathing heavily as you started to adjust to him, walls clamping down like no tomorrow, which must have been torture for Seokjin, if his expression was anything to go by.
“Shit. You got tighter,” he panted, reaching for your mouth again, trying to calm himself with kisses. You attempted to do the same, beginning to slowly grind back and forth, getting used to the full feeling. It wasn’t painful, just a little uncomfortable, but you were no longer scared of his monster cock. You’d had a fair few goes last weekend and you were now a near enough pro, so without further ado, you started moving for real. Up, until he was almost out of you and then down, slamming into him. You just about knocked the air out of Seokjin’s lungs, but he soon steeled himself, grabbing the tops of your thighs to keep you safe as you started bouncing up and down, riding his dick like it was the easiest thing in the world. In this moment, it was.
Seokjin started groaning pretty quickly, his jaw clenched as he watched your every movement, his chest and neck patched with red. You clung to his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him as you flung yourself back.
“Shit. Y/N!” He panicked, hands coming out to hold your lower back, afraid you were going to fall backwards off the bed. You were still sat on the edge after all, but of course he was strong enough to hold you tight, letting you lean back as far as possible to fuck yourself along his cock, the squelchy, sticky noise music to his ears.
“Mmm. I missed this cunt so much,” he moaned.
You wanted to tell him he was being a big baby, it had only been a few days but his vulgar words were having the desired effect on you yet again. You were like putty in his hands, especially when he started thrusting into you, meeting your movements with a thud. “I want you to cum on my dick.”
Fuck. You were so close, his words only helping, but by now you were getting tired; out of breath and sweaty. “Seokjin—!” You moaned, voice breaking at the second syllable, and you leaned forward, collapsing into his chest.
“Take it easy,” he murmured, hands dragging up your sweaty back. “Want me to take over?”
You grinned drunkenly. “No way, I’m enjoying myself too much.”
Seokjin chuckled, pressing his mouth into yours. “Make yourself cum.” He whispered against you, thrusting into you still as he grabbed your ass, digging his fingers into the flesh. “You can do it, Y/N. Grind on me like you mean it. Grind all over me.”
You listened, rutting into each one of his thrusts, holding on for dear life as your sensitive clit rubbed against his groin. You were both so sweaty and hot, your fingers sliding down his back, unable to grip on until you dug your nails into the skin. He hissed, thrusting into you harder. It seemed like Seokjin liked a little pain, too...
“Baby, go a little faster,” he panted, kissing your neck, and you sped up, grinding into him messily, chasing your high like something possessed. You were so turned on, so sensitive, it only took a couple more minutes, a strangled cry leaving you as you tensed in his arms, your orgasm rocketing up your body. “Ngh, fuck. Fuck.”
Seokjin stopped his thrusts, letting you gradually come down, and soon enough your body relaxed, almost turning into goo as the pleasure warmed its way all throughout you. You lifted your head up, staring Seokjin straight in the eyes, both of you panting like crazy, and without a word he lifted you, flipping you over, your back to his mattress before he crawled over you. He wasn’t done yet – and neither were you.
As he pushed inside you again, his hand found its way around your throat and he looked down at you carefully. “Is this okay?”
You nodded, voice hoarse as you replied. “Yeah.”
It wasn’t the first time he’d asked or done this – last weekend had been a lot, you still weren’t over it, and right now you were still so horny and desperate for him. You also really liked the feeling of his grip around your neck as he fucked you.
“Fuck,” you breathed, feeling him start to thrust harder, faster, his palm tightening around your neck a little. You folded your legs at the knees and widened them, wanting him as deep as possible.
“God, you’re so fucking hot,” he grunted, kissing your mouth in a frenzy, all tongue and teeth. His whole body was pressed into yours, pushing you into the mattress, his pelvis beginning to rub against your mound. You were still a little sensitive from your first orgasm, but you could already feel yourself a little needy for another. If he kept this up he’d have you coming again, and he knew by the way you started to meet each one of his thrusts, moans starting to slip from your throat – louder and louder. You hoped Yoongi still had his music on...
“S-seokjin,” you stammered, hands sprawled across his back as you felt that familiar sensation again. “I’m going to–ngh–”
He moaned in reply, pushing into your harder, using his pelvis to get you off, and you held your breath, willing your orgasm to come. Your walls clenched around him, making it harder and harder for him to drag his cock inside of you, but he fought it, continuing with gritted teeth until he heard you cry out, your body stiffening under his.
It wasn’t as strong as your last orgasm, but seemed to knock you for six, heady dizzy as you felt Seokjin kiss down your chest, slipping out of you carefully. His tongue circled one of your nipples, his hand cupping the other breast as he groaned softly. His erection bobbed against your inner thigh.
“Coming on my cock twice. You’re amazing.” He awed, lifting his head up to smile at you. He sounded drunk. You felt drunk.
“Well, I do try.” You joked, voice soft.
He chuckled, and then his voice grew serious, eyes large and black, still very much turned on. “Tell me what you want, Y/N.”
It was pretty obvious, his dick burning a hole against your leg. “Your cum.”
His eyes widened, obviously not expecting you to be so upfront, and you took great pleasure in that.
“Where?” He whispered. He didn’t bother to wait for your reply. “Mouth? Can I come in your mouth,” he asked.
Your stomach dipped with urgent need, and you nodded your head rapidly. “Yeah.”
He sat up instantly, moving to kneel over your face. He tugged the condom off, jerking himself off a couple of times before his eyes met yours. “Tongue out.” You obeyed, keeping your eyes open as the weight of his cock pressed against your tongue. “Good girl.”
Okay, that was new. He hadn’t called you that last week, and instantly you felt your gut squeeze. You sucked the tip of his cock, eager now for him to cum in your mouth. As you did so, he started jerking himself off, eyes fluttering closed as his head lolled back, Adam’s apple bobbing slowly. His movements grew quicker, matching his breathing and then he hissed, body tensing up.
“Fuckkk.” A couple of drops of cum landed against your tongue and you swallowed them, ready for more. You sucked him for all he was worth, your gaze never leaving his face, and even once he was done, you kept on lapping him with your tongue, digging the tip across the slit.
He shuddered, making a strained noise and he pulled back, his cock falling out of your mouth. “Shit. I’m sensitive,” he laughed, collapsing next to you. You were both out of breath and sweaty, but wholeheartedly satisfied.
“That’s gotta be the best yet?” You asked, grinning from ear to ear.
“I think you may be right.” He agreed, pushing his hair out of his eyes, exposing his forehead. You wanted to reach over and kiss him, but you stopped yourself. “You were riding dick like a pornstar.”
“Shut up,” you whined, pushing his shoulder. How embarrassing.
Laughing at your reaction, he sat up, propping himself up with his elbow. “If you want the bathroom I have one over there.”
You followed his thumb to a door on the right of his room. “An en suite? Very fancy.”
Seokjin shrugged. “Yoongi has the main bathroom, so.” You didn’t move, tired more than anything, peeing could probably wait. Seokjin’s brows furrowed together. “Are you okay though?”
“Of course,” you laughed. “I feel fricking amazing. I’ll be sad once this ends.”
As soon as you said the words you felt funny. Seokjin looked surprised, voice low with... what was it, concern? “Who says it has to end? Do you want it to?”
“...No,” you answered after a pause.
Truthfully you didn’t want it to end just yet, you were enjoying yourself, you were just unsure of what was happening between the two of you... You’d both confessed something back at the office last week but you were still uncertain what exactly it was. What had you been expecting? To fuck once and then that would be it? You liked having sex with Seokjin, it was fun, and you liked his company (most of the time). You liked him. He liked you. Maybe you didn’t need to put an expiry date on this thing. It was fine to see where it went. You didn’t need to turn it into a big deal. You didn’t need an outright answer for everything. It was fine to just live in the moment.
“I don’t either,” Seokjin smiled, looking mildly relieved by your answer.
“I just... when work starts back we won’t have much time to meet up like this.”
“I’ll make time, trust me.” He kissed you then, hovering over you, lips warm and soft, a far cry from earlier, and the thought made you giggle.
“What?” He asked bemused.
“You know, you turn pretty demanding when you get horny.”
He raised an eyebrow. “How so?”
“Like, bossy and all, I don’t know, domineering.” You shrugged, feeling a little awkward. “It’s hot.”
He smiled, chuckling softly as he kissed you again, a hand cupping your face. “It’s not too much?” He murmured.
He didn’t sound surprised by your revelation so something told you he was aware of how he acted. Which made it even hotter, to be honest.
“I like it.” You told him, biting down on your bottom lip.
Eyes darkening, he hummed, his gaze running down your body. “So how about I tell you to spread those gorgeous legs so I can eat dessert?”
You repressed the urge to laugh out loud. Dessert?! He was such an idiot. “Right now?”
“Yes. Right now.” Then he paused, rubbing his nose against yours, his tone softening. “Yeah?”
With a massive grin, you spread your legs. “Be my guest.”
A third orgasm? You weren’t going to turn that down.
Written 2020 - 2021.
Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed.
© floralseokjin 2021
#seokjin smut#bts smut#seokjin fanfic#bts fanfic#floralseokjin:writings#fic:final sleigh#final sleigh:drabbles
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Prince Bagration Makes a Cameo Appearance
Another excerpt from the longest-running histfic draft. This is for Tairin. I hope I did her prince justice, small though it may be.
Jean’s staff found a two-story house large enough for them all in a northern Viennese suburb. General Compans ordered the portly, red-faced owner and his large family to leave, slipping him a fistful of gold coins before he could protest. Mariana couldn’t tell how many coins constituted a fistful, but they produced an incredulous expression on the man’s face and then a deep bow that revealed his blindingly bald, pink pate. There must be a secret source of gold coins that only Compans and Thomières knew about, perhaps hidden away in a sturdy oak box labeled Bribes. She had seen these coins appear whenever Jean wanted to sleep somewhere other than a barn or outside on the ground for several days. She also knew only a very few marshals and generals bothered to compensate the people whose lives they disrupted or even thought to do so.
“Don’t wreck the place,” Compans ordered them after the Viennese family had bustled out the door, their personal belongings tied up in large, unwieldy bundles.
“Why would we?” she asked Joseph as two adjutants added more wood to a fire in the large stone hearth. She wondered how much food she might find in the kitchen cupboards and the spacious pantry leading from the kitchen. Indeed, the life expectancy of the well-fed hens she’d seen in the dooryard was measured in minutes.
“It was a pro forma reminder,” Joseph replied. “We’ve never been a horde of Vandals or Huns, and the marshal knows it.” He grinned at her and stretched so much that he almost slid out of his chair. “I can’t say the same about Prince Murat’s cavalry or anyone in Marshal Augereau’s VII Corps. Now there’s a collection of seasoned plunderers—as bad as one of the plagues of Egypt, but not, I think, as dedicated to looting as Marshal Masséna.”
Later that evening, with a cold November wind safely outside and warmth and food inside, she sipped her second cup of rich coffee laced with cream from the black and white cow standing up to her knees in hay in the barn. “After ages in Purgatory, I’ve been given my reward.”
“Savor your taste of Paradise, Gabriel, while you can. We’re leaving in a couple of days,” Jacques said, unhooking his cloak and shaking sleet from it.
“Why? The Austrians surrendered at Ulm almost four weeks ago, and we’re north of Vienna with no Austrians anywhere that I can see. There isn’t anyone to fight.”
Jacques poured coffee from a porcelain pot and backed up to the fire. “Don’t you read the dispatches, Gabriel?”
“Not often—they’re boring.”
“Well, you should. We hadn’t seen the Austrian army because it left Vienna right before we arrived. Now they’ve gone further north, with General Kutuzov’s Russians.”
“Who’s Kutuzov?” she asked, trying not to yawn in his face. She really should pay more attention to the dispatches and reports. If Jean ever asked her about the campaign's minutia, she had better know enough to answer. She’d seen what happened when an officer couldn’t tell Jean what he wanted to know and didn’t want to subject herself to the humiliation of a profanity-laced public rebuke.
“Some clever Russian general, older than God. He’s heading for Moravia, though, not Mother Russia.”
Mariana remembered Jacques’s words three days later. Ejected from the warm stone house before dawn, she bundled up in her heavy cloak and gloves and rode out of Vienna with the rest of V Corps. Now, close to midnight, she didn’t think Moravia was anywhere close or warmer than Russia. It was full dark when they rode into a tiny hamlet so small they would have missed it if the scouts and leading edges of Oudinot’s grenadiers hadn’t literally stumbled over it. Snow topped with a thin layer of rime covered the cottage roofs, garden walls, the rough pathway serving as a street, and stubble in the surrounding fields. The inhabitants had shuttered every window, but thin cracks of pale yellow light escaped from some of them.
“They’re more afraid of the Russians than they are of us,” Jean said in response to her question. Each word came out on a small puff of white, as her own had done. Soon it might be too cold to talk. “If you looked in those barns, you’d find nothing but old straw. There’s nothing of value in the cottages, either. If the villagers had enough warning, they would have hidden everything, and if not, the Russians have it all now.”
Mariana had never seen a hamlet this small before or so eerily deserted. The barrenness she saw in the faint snow light and that Jean had described made her shiver. This time the cold struck deep in her bones.
“We’ll be sleeping outside, gentlemen, on the other side of Hollabrünn and eating whatever we have with us. It will be a short night anyway—the enemy’s less than six miles ahead.” Jean spurred his horse forward over the little village track, and the rest followed, riding close enough to brush each other’s stirrups. Mariana wrapped the reins around one wrist and massaged her hands and fingers inside her gloves, afraid to take them off. The idea of trying to sleep on the frozen, iron-hard ground was dreadful. If the Russians were so close, and if Jean meant to attack them in the morning, she might as well sit up all night. If she didn’t freeze before dawn, then a brisk encounter with the enemy, even hand to hand, would warm her up nicely. “Aunt Lucrezia, you would be appalled,” she whispered through stiff lips cracked and bleeding from the cold.
Despite her plan to sit up all night, Mariana had just fallen asleep, curled into a tight ball, knees drawn up nearly beneath her chin, when Joseph shook her into befuddled wakefulness. “Get up, Gabriel,” he said, peeling her cloak away. We’re leaving now.”
She staggered to her feet, grabbed her cloak back from Joseph, and buttoned it up tight. “No breakfast?”
“No time for any. There’s a small Russian rear-guard ahead. We have to eliminate it before it reaches Kutuzov.”
Mariana didn’t mind not eating as much as she minded not having something hot to drink. However, the worst prospect was having to do the necessary at the edge of the forest to her left. She still thought it was manifestly unfair that lately, she nearly froze whenever she pissed, while her comrades did not. An inequality, however, that she was powerless to alter one whit.
Having concluded her business in the forest, she hurried to untie Odysseus from the picket line, tighten his girth, and climb into the saddle. She trotted off to join the aides, who waited in a nearly silent group, close together, their horses impatiently stamping the hard ground. Without a word, they swung around and fell in behind Jean and General Compans. She wanted to know how far away the Russian rear-guard was and how many Russians comprised a rear-guard, but she couldn’t make her lips move.
General Thomières saved her the trouble. “Excellency, how many troops does Bagration have ahead of us?”
While she wondered who Bagration was, Jean slowed his horse to respond to his senior aide. “Fewer than I have, even though I’m short two divisions and even shorter of supplies. Neither the weather nor the ground is good for much but a short skirmish.”
The air was so silent and frigid that Mariana heard the intonation beneath his words that often meant more than the words themselves. He sounded confident rather than cocky or foolhardy. A short skirmish, he’d said, and that was fine with her.
The encounter between Bagration’s rear-guard and V Corps’ grenadiers, reinforced at the last possible moment by a squadron of Murat’s heavy cavalry, was not a skirmish. Mariana thought it was more like a brawl in some wayside tavern, loud, fast, and disorganized. It ended before she’d had a chance to do anything and because Bagration told Prince Murat that he had just learned about a truce. The prince believed him, dismounted, told Jean to order his troops to cease fire, and went inside a slightly shell-shocked villa that had been some Moravian aristocrat’s summer home.
“A truce? What the fuck is he talking about? I had the damn Russians on their arses, and he rides in and orders me to stop!” Jean was livid, his expression as hard as granite. Mariana worried what he might do when he jumped from his horse, leaving the reins to trail in the snow, and stomped after Murat. Acting on instinct, aides, chief of staff, and a few senior adjutants closed around him like a protective wall and entered the villa together.
Intended for soft summer breezes, the villa struggled to combat the mid-November cold. Fires burned in hearths at either end of the reception chamber’s black and white tiled floor. Clear glass bottles filled with colorless liquid stood among scores of crystal glasses on heavily carved tables in the center of the room. Someone had shoved chairs and settees against the walls. Officers in uniforms Mariana had never seen before crowded around the tables, opening bottles, pouring liquid into glasses, and handing them around. She watched Prince Murat take a sip, then drain it and hold it out for someone to fill. She watched Jean barrel forward, his expression still thunderous, until a tall officer with the face of a young eagle and enough medals on his chest to blind half a dozen men stepped forward and intercepted him. Together they moved away from Murat and his entourage and stood by one of the double windows, heads bent close together, talking. Another officer approached them, two glasses on a silver tray, and quickly left when they took the glasses and continued their conversation. When Major Guéhéneuc tried to insinuate himself into the conversation, Jean turned on him like an enraged wasp. The major scuttled away, staring at the floor, his face scarlet. Mariana rocked back on her boot heels, a smirk spreading across her face.
As voices rose around her, followed by the rank odor of damp wool and unwashed males, Mariana felt the beginnings of a headache. To take her mind off it, she asked Thomières, “What are they talking about? And who is that Russian?”
He laughed, a soft sound but not derisive. She was glad since she rarely spoke to him at length. “I haven’t the slightest idea what they’re talking about, but that’s Prince Pyotr Ivanovich Bagration the marshal’s talking to.” He laughed again, this time even softer as if he worried someone might overhear. “Talking now, fighting later. Fine looking general, though, don’t you think?”
“Indeed he is,” Mariana said. With his chiseled features and thick, dark hair, the tall, slender Russian looked a little like Jean. Big rooster and bantam rooster, she thought, and almost hooted with laughter. When she could trust herself to speak, she asked, “What’s in the bottles?”
“Vodka. Have you never tasted it?”
“I’ve never even heard of it.”
“Then allow me, lieutenant,” Thomières said and escorted her to the nearest table. Rummaging among the glasses, he found two relatively clean ones and filled them from one of the bottles. “Salut,” he said, threw back his head, and drank it down.
She sniffed at the clear liquid. It had no odor. Since Thomières was still standing, how dangerous could it be? She drank hers in a single gulp, and the alcohol burned all the way to her stomach, where it exploded. Tears flooded her eyes, she sneezed and then coughed. One cough led to several until Thomières pounded her on the back and filled her glass.
“Quick—drink this.”
She did and stopped coughing. This time the vodka felt smooth as silk, and she grinned at the senior aide. “You should have warned me.”
“And miss your reaction?” He filled her glass for the third time, but before she could drink it, four Russian officers joined them at the table, clutching their glasses filled to the brim and sloshing onto their dingy white gloves. Their faces were clean-shaven except for amazingly full side-whiskers, their cheeks brick red in the candlelight. Raising their glasses, they shouted in unison, “Za vashe zdorovye!” When they had downed every last drop, they tossed their glasses toward the fireplace. The sound of shattering crystal brought to a halt every conversation in the spacious room, and then other Russians began throwing their empty glasses to the floor.
“Why not?” Thomières said and threw his glass toward the hearth.
“Indeed!” Mariana replied and threw hers, too.
Whatever Jean and Bagration may have been discussing, or whatever Prince Murat may have believed about the alleged truce, or whatever the French and Russian officers thought about the prospect of imminent hostilities between them, everything disappeared beneath the sharp-edged sound of crystal shattering and the roars of toasts in French and Russian. Mariana linked arms with Thomières to keep from reeling and tried to get her tongue around the consonant-laden Russian words. Somehow, they sounded more satisfactory than light, polite French phrases and better suited to the vodka, of which she had become quite fond in no time at all.
Jean summoned aides and staff officers with a sharp whistle that penetrated the merriment and stalked out of the villa and into the icy, starlit night. The sudden cold jolted Mariana from her torpor, and the sharp air stung her eyes and nose. Her comrades showed similar symptoms of waking from a muddled sleep, and she wondered what might have happened had they stayed and emptied all those bottles.
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love is in the air | bakugou k.
— Different worlds, different stories, different beginnings. It didn’t matter what universe you were in because there was one consistency in these worlds: you and Bakugou were always in love. Was it just a coincidence that love is in the air whenever the two of you were involved? No, it was destiny. —
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pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader
warnings: cursing (all), fluff (all), alcohol consumption (story 3)
word count: 3,505
a/n: so this is for my springtime anon for the bnhaclaimedmysoul event!!!! this was written for @brattyquirks !!!! anyways, I couldn’t decide what to write you sab, so I decided to hell with it and gave you four little short stories based off your favorite cliches!!!! I hope you enjoy 🌺
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SPIN THE BOTTLE
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“If you don’t spin the bottle, we’re going to make you kiss Mineta!”
“You can’t make me do shit, raccoon eyes! This’s a fucking brats game anyways, why the hell am I going to play?!”
Your eyes shone with ever-loving glee at the sight of Bakugou, gritting his teeth with his lip pulled up into a snarl. His eyes were focused on Mina, who was waving the bottle in her hand, her face in a full grin while she stared on the peeved ash blond man.
“Because its a staple to a teenager’s life, and apparently no ones played yet!”
“It’s not going to be something I fucking play!”
It often amused you that Mina was one of the only people in the class who wasn’t afraid to play chicken with Bakugou, even more hilarious being that she won the majority of the time.
“Midoriya and Todoroki already took their chances at spinning it once,” Mina sighed, her arms picking up into a shrug while she shook her head. You watched in quiet glee in the way her eyes slowly opened, like some predator corning in on her prey. “But hey, I guess that means you’re not—”
“Give me the fucking bottle!”
And she had won.
Folding your arms, you watched Bakugou break into the circle of students, slamming the glass bottle onto the floor and turning it as quickly as he could, the words “die” announced to the class. You took in the way that his face was set into a frown, the corners of his mouth cemented into this permanent scowl. But you knew that it was for show, even you knew Bakugou better after three years of being his classmate, his eyes always told a different story.
The two of you were pretty close for what could be considered relationships for Bakugou. While you weren’t apart of his core group of friends, the two of you held mutual respect and trust for each other that transcended that of daily interaction. The bottle spun for what seemed like ages, and you watched in hopefulness that it would land on someone good.
Slowly the lip of the bottle landed on Shoji, and Bakugou raged that it wasn’t fair.
Much to Bakugou’s unamusement, to Shoji’s prayers that he wouldn’t be killed, and to the rest of your classmates tear-jerking howling laughter they kissed.
“I’m fucking out of here!” Bakugou screamed, throwing himself to his feet, ready to retreat to his room with the hours of night looming in. “Get this shitty game away from me, I never want to play—”
“You can’t leave yet!” Mina cried out, grabbing his wrist before he could escape the circle, “Y/n-chan is the last one to go, and you have to watch!”
“I don’t fucking care if it was All Mights damn turn, I’m not staying!”
“Come on, Bakugou, it’s not like it’ll take more than ten seconds!” you chide, your nose wrinkling at him in your mock disgust. “What’s the worst that’ll happen? I get to kiss your best friend?”
Bakugou’s nostrils flare, a visible indicator that he took in your words as a challenge of sorts and would follow through with staying. So with a grin, you grabbed the bottle and spun it.
You didn’t really care about who it landed on; after all, most of your classmates had already had strange matchups, the worst being a kiss from Kaminari and Mineta. As long as you didn’t land on Mineta, you’d call that a win. The bottle stilled, and you looked down to where it was pointing.
Bakugou.
His eyes widened, pupils were blown, and his jaw to the floor.
“HELL NO, I JUST KISSED OCTOPUS LIKE HELL I’M GOING TWICE!”
“Oh my god, you big baby,” you laugh, standing up. You reach Bakugou, who looks seconds from fighting, moments from running, yet allowed you to approach him regardless. What a rule-abiding nerd he could be.
“Pucker up,” you tease and seal your lips over his while your classmates scream.
After you pulled away, you hated to admit that your heart hammered in your ears, months of denial over your feelings gone up in flames while he stares at you in silence. Your classmates begin to clean up; no one quite aware of how you were both just staring. But when Mina’s arm is thrown around your shoulders, your attention is stolen, and you walk off, ready to help out.
In twenty minutes, you make it back to your room, your lips still tingling in their tiny explosions of the past feeling of his smooth lips against yours. A wistful sigh escaped your lips, you knew better than to expect anything from King Explosion Murder himself.
A knock on the door startled you. Having been caught up in thought, the noise made you curse under your breath. Walking to the door, you opened it up, your eyes widening when you saw Bakugou there, his eyebrows knit, lips pursed.
“You okay, Bakugou?” you asked, concerned for your friend.
He finally meets your gaze, and his stare is intense. Vermillion eyes hold yours without a single waiver in them; it’s intense, almost too intense to the point where you want to look away. But you don’t, you can’t look away. A harsh expel of air escapes his nose, and you’re useless to the way that he surges forward, hands grasping your cheeks and lips crashing against yours.
There’s nothing to say to this, but you can attest to the fact that your hands grabbed his biceps, your lips moving passionately with his until your bedroom door closed behind him.
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BEST FRIENDS BEING IN LOVE WITH EACH OTHER
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Days at the lake were something you earnestly enjoyed. The gentle feeling of spring in the air, the sun warm against your skin, and the fresh green plants emerging from the once dead fields. It was perfect, almost tranquil if you were quiet enough.
But if there was anything to know about you and your best friend Bakugou Katsuki, it was that tranquility was something that happened once in a lifetime, and that moment was not now.
“Running away is useless!” Bakugou roared from a distance.
The cold sand flung from your feet while you ran as fast as you possibly could, the oxygen in your veins feeling like fire as you attempted to both run away and laugh at the predicament he was in.
What had started as a fun day at the lake that had finally thawed over from winter winds, turned into something stupidly competitive. You wouldn’t say you were a sore loser because you didn’t lose, but in this case where Bakugou had very obviously beaten you in rock skipping contest because he applied his quirk after you went without using your own. So in your fuming loss, you used your quirk to dump water all over his hair, leaving his hair and shoulder soaked.
His reaction to this was almost feline-like, his back arching, face set in an uproarious hiss while you howled with laughter, already running away. It took him time to respond to your act of war, but with him running like hell was at his heels, it was only a matter of time before he caught up to you.
You screamed for forgiveness, trying with everything you had to escape from his tight and torturous grasp, but you were losing.
“This is what you get for soaking me with water!” Bakugou exclaims, tossing you into the ice-cold water, your shocked and defeated scream echoing across the water until it was drowned out by you going under.
“You’re a dick!” you scream when you reemerge from under the water, fake tears pouring from your eyes, the cold water clinging, and stabbing into your body that was now exposed to the sweet air.
Bakugou looks ashamed right away, and you were sure that he hadn’t expected to have flung you so far into the water, or for you to not land on your feet. “Shit, I’m so — hEY!!!”
With your hands on his wrist, you threw him into the water, his angry screams erupting across the land the moment he reemerged from the lake. So there the two of you stood, thigh-deep into the lake, both soaked to the bone. Hands gripping each other, a feeble attempt at wrestling each other. His wet hair was slick to his forehead, the shine on his face from the water, and his heated words only inciting a fire within you that made you forget that you too were cold.
“You’re the worst!” you yell, trying to shove him forward with your interlaced fingers. “A tiny dildo is what you are!”
“A fucking dildo?! Why the ever-loving fuck would I be—?!”
“Cuz, you’re fake like plastic!!!”
“You’re an idiot, fucking dumbass nerd!”
“Oh yeah, well, you like this dumbass nerd!”
“And what if I do?!”
There was a silence that overcame the both of you, his cheeks simmering to the same degree as yours. In this silence, you weren’t sure what to say, and in a moment where you were unsure of the warmth being from your elation of his words or from your cold body hyperventilating from the cold water, you spoke.
“Do something about it then.”
There was no saying as to how this transpired, honestly it was one of the weakest fake arguments you’ve ever had with Bakugou, but with the rebirth of spring, there must have been something in the air to make his lips come crashing against yours. A wild and powerful force that ignited sparks and explosions within you, and a promise for more between both of you.
You pulled away, your eyes wide and wild, you took in Bakugou’s soft and heavy-lidded eyes and watched as his lips perked into a pleasant smile.
“Took you long enough, dumbass…”
“HOW IS THIS MY FAULT, BAKUGOU KATSUKI?!”
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ACCIDENTAL KISS
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The world was blurry while you brought your hand to your mouth. But where you had been expecting a bottle of whatever alcohol you had been drinking, you were met with nothing but your warm hand.
“Where’s my drink?! Oh no, did I drop… did I drop it?! Bakugou is going to kill me!”
Your typical cheerful and chaotic energy while being drunk had become sad and chaotic energy at the realization that you couldn’t find your drink that you knew you had. And even more so at the thought of the man you had a crush on hating on you for dropping it on the floor.
“What the hell are you wailing about, I have your drink right here, idiot.”
You whip to the side and see that Bakugou is the person holding your hand, guiding you back to your apartment.
“Katsuki, you’re taking me back to my dorm?” you sniffle, tears springing into your eyes at the thought of how kind your crush was being to you. “You didn’t have to do this!”
“Yeah, well, your drunk ass was not walking back home alone, especially not this late at night when weirdos and perverts can be out,” he justified, making sure you avoided the bush when you stumbled against a bump on the floor.
“I’m drunk, huh,” you giggle, pressing into his side, your body warm with the bitter liquid coursing through your veins. “That’s pretty crazy because I distinctly remember only taking… one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nineeeeeee shots! That’s not even that much!”
“Nine shots?! I’m going to kill that drunk idiot when I get back!” Bakugou snarls his arm fastening around your waist when you climb up the stairs, something you don’t understand why he does considering, all in all, you were walking just fine.
“Katsuki, can I confess something to ya?” you hum against his warm shoulder, breathing in his caramel scent with a happy sigh.
“Not if you wouldn’t admit it when you’re sober.”
“Well, that’s no fun to drunken confession and besides!” you slur, slamming your hand against his chest. “I don’t ever make sense.”
“Well, that much is true,” Bakugou sighs, grabbing your keys and opening your apartment door. “Come on, get in.”
You comply without a fight, skipping into your apartment with a stretch.
“Now, now, you get back home and text me when you get back, no funny business young man!” you exclaim, thrusting a finger into his chest, your lips pulled into a serious pout.
“Ya fucking right dumbass, I’m getting your ass into bed before I leave,” Bakugou grunt turning you towards your bathroom to assist you in getting ready for bed.
Within the next thirty minutes, you nearly succeed in getting Bakugou to rip his hair from his scalp. From first refusing to pee unless he was holding your hand, then forbidding to brush your teeth until he hugged you first. Of course, then it was the fact that you walked out butt naked after claiming you didn’t care if he saw you naked, and that you hated the PJs he chose for you. And how he had to chase you around the apartment to get you into bed.
But finally, Bakugou squatted at the edge of your bed, his face close to yours while you took long blinks, sleep catching up to you quickly.
“Goodnight, pain in my ass,” Bakugou says to your nodding off form.
“Thank you for always taking care of me,” you whimper, your hand stretching out to touch his face, the world slowly spinning. “You might act like a bad boy, but it’s okay, I can handle it for moments like this.”
“I don’t know what you’re — mmph!”
Your lips were pressed against his, a kiss that tasted faintly of alcohol on his own lips and the mint of your toothpaste.
“I love you,” you whisper against his lips before pulling away, sleep consuming you before Bakugou could speak.
When you woke up the next morning, your body hangover-free, you were shocked and scared to see Bakugou sitting on your chair fast asleep. It wasn’t until he woke up did you genuinely feel fear crawl and bite you in the throat when he spoke up after staring at you for a minute straight.
“So, about last night.”
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FAKE DATING
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“I can’t believe I got stuck with you,” Bakugou grits while the both of you walk around the mall, your fingers dancing along your chin while you check out the clothes in the window.
“Why’s that? Is it because I make your hands sweat, heart skip beats, and make you stammer more than anyone else in the world?” you tease your focus entirely on the outfit in the window, trying to imagine how it would look like on your body instead of the mannequin.
“You know damn well that’s not the fucking case!”
Laughing, you nodded, turning to look at Bakugou with a grin, “Well, I’m sorry you drew the short end of the stick!”
What had started off as a class after school field trip had become ‘where the fuck is everyone?’
It maybe was your fault for dragging Bakugou into the nearest store because you saw the stupidest skull shirt you wanted him to buy and ended up with the two of you coming out of said store, the black skull shirt folded neatly in a bag that Bakugou held, and your classmates were gone. Bakugou had yelled at you for five minutes while you apologized profusely for separating the two of you from the group.
A quick text from Kirishima had stated that everyone went their own ways anyway, but that meet up time at the food court would be at 5:30.
“How do you think that would look on me?” you asked, pointing to the white spring outfit in the window. You had needed more outfits, years of not having anything cute had made you want to try something new with the new spring season.
“Fucking weird,” was Bakugou’s automatic response despite not looking at the outfit.
“Come on, brat, look at it first!”
“Who the hell are you calling brat?” Bakugou grumbled but looked at the white outfit in the window. He was quiet for some time, almost too quiet for how you knew Bakugou was. He looked over at you, his face set seriously, and he sighed. “It would look great on you.”
You smiled widely and nodded, “Okay!”
It took ten minutes for you to find the outfit in your size, to affirm it was a good fit, to buy it, and then to leave the store. Bakugou took the green cream bag from your hand, adding it to the other bags he had been holding for the two of you, and you were grateful.
Grabbing his elbow, you were ready to drag him off to a store he would like better, but you froze when you saw a familiar pair of eyes in the distance.
It was your ex-boyfriend.
It had been a year relationship that started off beautifully and ended disastrously. While you wished you could have concluded that relationship on amicable terms, it ended on something closer to, “I hate you,” and “don’t ever talk to me again,” and “I can find someone better than you any day,” and finally, “you couldn’t find someone to like you back.”
To say the least, you still hadn’t found anyone knew, and your arm firmly locked around Bakugou’s arm, your body stiffening slightly.
Bakugou felt it.
“What the fucks wrong with you?” he asked, his eyebrows knit in confusion, and you looked up at him, your eyes relaying to him everything.
“I see my ex, and I said I would be with someone the next time I saw him,” you whisper, your feet feeling cemented onto the floor as your ex drew nearer and nearer.
Bakugou’s lips twitched, his nose scrunching in his premeditative way of know just what you were going to ask.
“You fucking owe me,” he hissed under his breath, his hand moving to rest on your hip, keeping you close as only lovers do.
“Thank you,” you whispered in graciousness, your lips pecking his cheek in a display of affection.
“Y/n!” your ex called, and you look at him, he was standing in front of you, a confident smile on his face. “Long time no see, how have you been?”
“Good,” you answer with a tight smile. “You?”
“Much better now, but I gotta say I do miss you a lot.”
Your face wrinkles in astounded horror, the slightest bit of disgust and disbelief while he seems to ignore Bakugou all together.
“Listen, I know I said a lot of shitty things to you awhile back, but I’m so sorry!” he says, his face nor tone showing regret. “I know you’re not seeing anyone right now, so if you want to have an amazing boyfriend again, I’ll consider taking you back!”
“Fucking horse mouth,” Bakugou snapped, his teeth gritting together while he glared at your ex, his finger digging into your side. “Who the fuck do you think I am?”
“Hm?” he alliterated, his eyes lazily falling onto Bakugou, “Oh, sorry! I didn’t see you there!”
“Yeah, and fucking back off before I shove my fist down your throat, asshole,” Bakugou threatened, his eyes squinting, his shoulders stiff.
“And why should I?” he asked, his lips pulled into a taunt. “Even if you’re dating, y/n-chan, it’s not like you’re any better than me, right Bakugou Katsuki? Y/n is grown, and I’m obviously the more mature one of…” he trailed off.
Why exactly?
Well, it seemed both you and Bakugou had the same exact idea. Your fingers thread through the thick hair at the nape of his neck. His fingers slipping under your shirt to rest against your warm back and your lips meeting in a passionate affair. His lips were tantalizing against yours, viciously warm, effortlessly smooth while your mouths moved in synch. Fireworks exploded behind your eyelids, electricity emitting through your joined lips while they moved impassioned for each other.
His hold was tight, and your head tilted with your tongue, obviously coming to sweep at his bottom tongue.
“Do you have any shame?!” a voice broke from your left, and you saw an elder staring at the two of you with obvious shock at the intense PDA the two of you had just shared.
You couldn’t even find the words to apologize, your mind utterly consumed with the need to have Bakugou’s mouth pressed against yours once again. The both of you were blissfully unaware of the fact that your ex had since scurried away the moment the kissing took a sensual turn.
“Um,” Bakugou seemed to be at a loss too, and you studied his face that seemed to be going through a million more emotions than he was used to. “Was that—?”
“If you want,” you tease, bringing your lips once more to the corner of his mouth before grabbing his hand and pulling him away.
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Merry Christmas Sweetheart
Summary: Time doesn’t heal all wounds, sometimes it just drives them into our bones and festers there, until forgiveness is a four letter word, and it’s to late for second chances.
Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader
Written for: @spnchristmasbingo
Square Field: Presents
Word Count: 2048
Beta’d by: @miss-nerd95! Thanks again love!
Warnings: Language, Heart break, Heavy angst, (This one is gonna hurt your feelings), Not really a very happy ending, a bit of a cliff hanger, Tears, past heartbreak, unrequited love. I think that’s it.
A/N: Merry Christmas @msmarvelouswinchester!! Lol, glad I found someone who loves their feelings hurt as much as I do! LOL. Hope you all enjoy this one! Please don’t copy my work! I promise my next bingo one shot will be fluffy. I was just really in my head when I wrote this one.
***MASTERLIST*** ***BECOME A PATREON***
It was cold today, especially for Austin. Your breath fogged in front of you with each puff of air from your lungs that burned in the bitter cold. A light dusting of snow fell around about, not much to keep everyone locked in their homes, but enough to gather on the top of cars that were parked out in the lot just beyond the safety of the airport terminal hanger that you were standing in front of with your bag slung over your shoulder, hands stuffed deep in your pockets.
The congestion of traffic appeared to be even thicker than what you remembered it being, even for the holidays. Everyone that walked by to get into cabs or ubers, seemed to be absorbed in their own little bubbles; either talking on phones or to one another as they made their way to their awaiting ride.
If you listened hard enough, you could hear the faint sounds of the customary cheerful music of the holidays playing in one of the little shops inside of the airport as the doors opened and closed not so far behind you. Off in the distance you could see the Christmas lights strung up in an elegant way on a lamp post and draped over shrubbery in the fading light of another day. It almost looked like a scene from some shitty Hallmark Christmas special, and it made your stomach churn uneasily.
It had been eleven long years since you had stepped foot on Texas soil, and you were seriously considering getting the hell out of here before he showed up, but it was too late to turn around. You could always tell him you missed your flight, or it got delayed by the weather so you just cancelled it, but you just knew that he wouldn’t buy it.
“Come on Steve,” you grumbled to yourself as yet another car pulled away from the hanger you were waiting under, and a happy, probably newly married from the looks of it, love-struck couple nuzzled together to fight against the bite of the cold wind that whipped around and sliced through your bones.
You probably would have been better off calling an uber to pick you up, but hey, Steve didn’t charge, and you really didn’t want anyone else to know you were here. Not yet atleast, mostly because you didn’t know if you were even going to stay.
Just as you were about to take your phone out and call him, the pair of headlights you had been waiting for pulled up in front of you.
You didn’t even let the car come to a complete stop before you pulled the door open and slipped inside, shaking slightly from the cold as you pulled the seat belt over you, meeting a pair of green eyes that were so not what you expected to see, and your heart dropped to your feet.
“Hey,” he said, his deep voice sounding like warm honey against the chill that was still making you shiver, and you hated the way you could still so easily drown into it. You were going to murder Steve when you saw him again.
“What are you doing here?” You asked through gritted teeth, and you could have sworn you saw him give out a shaky sigh as he pulled out onto the road.
“Steve mentioned he was picking you up today, and I told him I’ll do it because I wanted to see you,” Jensen said, tightening his grip on the steering wheel and shifting nervously, avoiding the death glare that you were giving him. “You left the night I told you Danneel and I were getting married, and I never saw you again. Not even a fucking word. Then I heard you're coming here, and I wanted to see you. I missed my friend.”
“The term ‘friend’ is a matter of one sided opinions, Jensen,” you told him shortly, not missing the way he flinched yet again out of the corner of your eye before trying to subtly readjust himself in his seat.
An awkward silence fell in the car, and you did your best to stare out the window and not at the man that was driving. Even though your eyes were trained on the blurry and dimly lit scenery you could still sense his every move, smell his cologne in the thick air that laid stagnant between you, hear every deep sigh that left his perfect lips as he struggled with words he wanted to say, but nothing would sound right; nothing felt right anymore.
“What are you doing in town,” he finally asked cautiously, as if he knew that one wrong move would set you off and you were suddenly demanding he pull over so that you could walk the rest of the way to Steve’s.
“Business,” you answer sharply, not in the mood for small talk, but it looked like Jensen thought awkward conversations won over awkward silences and pressed further.
“Business? This close to Christmas?” he asked, but your nerves were beginning to wear thin, and the old scars on your heart felt like they were being torn open inch by inch the longer you sat next to the man that had put them there all those years ago.
“It's real estate,” you snap, turning to face him in the seat fully in your building frustration. “Does your wife know you're here right now?”
You watched as the rebuttal question cut through him as if you had thrown a sword right at his chest. The visible shift and the clearing of his throat as he avoided your sharp gaze was speaking loud, but it only added to your growing confusion that was still somewhat blinding your judgement with old grief.
Jensen cleared his throat as he turned onto Steve’s street, still avoiding your gaze. “What kind of real estate?” he asked, trying to divert the topic, and your blood boiled under your skin.
“So you're just going to answer my question with another question? That’s real mature Jensen,” you snapped as he pulled in front of Steve’s little place, and put the car in park.
“Because I don’t want to talk about Danneel, I wanted to talk about you. I told you, I’ve missed you. You were my best friend Y/N, why did you leave me without so much as a goodbye or even a fuck you if you were so mad at me, and then show up again all these years later on 'business,' I deserve some answers too.”
You shook your head and bit back the tears that the taunting memory of the night you’d boarded a plane to New York with only a bag full of clothes, and the shattered pieces of your heart ripped through your out of repair.
You turned away from his broken gaze that still managed to make your heart clench, and gripped the handle of the door tightly, ripping it open and letting in the chill of the night air that only seemed to grow colder due to meeting Jensen to blow into the car.
“Oh you missed me so much, didn't you?” you asked, pure venom seeping into every word as your eyes threw daggers into his astonishing green orbs in the dim light that illuminated the small space between you.
“Did you miss me when you stood before God and our friends when you did your vows with that whore? After everything when I’d stood by your side, after all the years we had been together, did you miss me then? How about when she gave birth to your three children, and you were standing there in the delivery room with her? Or better yet, how about every time you were balls deep in that bitch while I was only in the next room, listening to you rip my heart out and stomp on it over and over again? You didn’t miss me then Jensen, you don’t miss me now. You feel guilty, but you shouldn’t. You can only feel what you feel and can't change what you want, but apparently pretty narcissistic bitches are more of your taste than people who actually care about you. I was right there in front of you for years and you never gave me the time of day, but one month on a movie set with her and ‘you were so in love. I left all those years ago because you left me a long time before I even landed in New York. So don’t sit here and act like you missed me, when you never saw me there at all like I wanted you to. Don't make me feel bad for leaving when you know it hurt me less than staying here.”
You tore your eyes away from him before your emotions could get the best of you, and stepped out, making your way into Steve’s home to hide from the past that was still sitting in the car outside, staring out of the window as the snow fell on the windshield.
Jensen bit down hard on his lower lip, trying not to choke on the sobs he refused to let out.
See, he had missed you, he’d missed you so damn much. He had missed you when he looked at the woman he settled for instead standing at the altar across from him on his wedding day, only marrying her because it was what people were telling him that it was the right thing to do. That she was in the same industry, and the marriage would be good for the two of them. He missed you during every milestone his kids made that never got shared with you, wishing it was you by his side. He didn't love his kids any less, but even though they weren't yours, he wished he’d have been able to share them with you like he’d always wanted to share everything. He couldn’t count the times he’d hidden away to call you, just to hear your voice, but chickened out over the years because he’d known he hurt you, he’d always known but let you get hurt just to play it safe.
That time you were talking about, how you'd heard Danneel and him before they had announced their engagement, he didn’t know you were even there. Danneel had come onto him and he was a little too drunk to say no. Not that he hated her, because he never could hate her, she’d done nothing wrong. It was his twisted mind that painted you underneath him every time they were together, not her.
Jensen took off his ball cap with force before throwing it at the dash and running his hands harshly down his tear stained face. He’d lost you all those years ago and never told you how he felt, and now it seemed like he was too late.
The cue he’d staged, the house he’d decided to look at that he had his lawyer call her to tell her that his client wanted to buy from the best realtor in New York, all to tell her that he loved her, always had and always will and that he knew how huge of a dick he had been by ignoring her feelings for his own selfishness. It looked like it was too late for any of it anyway.
His hand drifted to his pocket, pulling out the small, neatly wrapped box that contained his and Danneel’s wedding rings. He was planning to show them to you tomorrow for Christmas. He was going to tell you that they were over, and that he wanted to fix what he’d broken all those years ago with you if you'd be willing to let go of his stupid mistakes. He wanted another chance, but it was much slimmer now.
Jensen flipped the box in his hands before getting out of the car, trudging through the white blankets of snow to the front door, and placed the little box carefully on the step before he stood, leaning heavily against the door frame, trying to stop himself from falling apart.
“Merry Christmas Sweetheart,” he brokenly whispered into the unforgiving wind. Leaving his present to you, as well as his heart on his best friend's front door.
Forever Tags: @deanwanddamons @rvgrsbrns @chevyharvelle @onethirstyunicorn @i-love-superhero @akshi8278 @lyss-dw79 @magssteenkamp @lemondropirwin @squirrelnotsam @hobby27 @spnbaby-67 @mrsjenniferwinchester @defenderrosetyler @screechingartisancashbailiff @thecreatiivecorner @aflamboyanceofgays @vicmc624 @busy-bee-angel-misska @justanotherwinchester @brilovesdeanwinchester @idksupernatural @lyarr24 @amandamdiehl @love-jackles-37-blog @miraclesoflove @Waywardsistershy @emoryhemsworth @dean-winchesters-gardian-angel @softsebastian @tatted-trina6 @anaelsbrunette @hayleeharling @flamencodiva @coldmuffinbanditshoe @bxbyizzy @dirty-pan-goblin @itmejado @supernatural3002 @teresa-67 @thoughts-and-funnies @hearteyes-j2 @miss-nerd95 @writers-whirlwind
#jensen ackles#jensen ackes one shot#jensen ackles fanfiction#jensen ackles fanfic#jensen ackles x reader#jensen ackles x you#jensen ackles angst#spn fanfiction#jensen x reader#jensen x you#spn fanfic#spn one shot#dean winchester#jawritter#spnchristmasbingo
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Standards of Performance, Chapter 8: Heartbreak and Lattes
From the Beginning, Previous Chapter
AO3 Link
Only announcement for this week: I've started a new job, and my schedule is such that a weekly update is unlikely without the quality being verrrry questionable. Therefore, I've decided to move off a set schedule, but I PROMISE I will update at least twice a month. Thank you for your patience and understanding; I know a set schedule is preferable but I wanna make sure this doesn't go to shit. Also... apparently this isn’t showing up in the tags I use, which sucks - so reblogs help a lot if you’re able. I love you guys <3
Summary: You’re the BAU’s newest intern, desperate to prove yourself amongst an established team of much more experienced profilers. Agent Hotchner, the seemingly infallible team leader, sets strict expectations for your performance. He commands your respect without even trying, but is there something more to your relationship than a simple desire to impress your stony-faced boss?
Chapter Summary: In which decisions are made and overturned and many cups of coffee are drunk.
Words: 2666
Rating: Explicit, 18+. Warnings on AO3.
Pairings: Hotch x Reader, Hotch x You
You were sulking.
Not enough to affect your work - you’d have to go through something much worse than heartbreak before you risked your internship. But your home life was beginning to resemble a timelapse straight out of an overdramatic teen movie wherein the protagonist’s crush asks someone else to prom. Your apartment was a pile of half-done laundry, takeout containers, and case files; your evenings filled with sad Spotify playlists and too much red wine.
And work? Not much better. Seeing him stride into the office every morning, filled with power and purpose and completely oblivious to the fact that he had shoved your heart into a metaphorical blender with a simple response to a seemingly innocuous question was really starting to wear you down. You had been so sure, that was the thing - so convinced by the team’s reaction to your story that it had all meant something. And maybe it had. But he had looked you in the face and told you it didn’t, so that was the answer that mattered.
So maybe sulking was the wrong word. ‘Spiraling’ was more accurate. A controlled spiral, mitigated only by the fact that 1. you had appearances and responsibilities to maintain and 2. Aaron Hotchner wasn’t actually the reason you showed up to work every morning, despite what it had seemed lately.
And it had seemed like that. You remembered getting the phone call that you had been accepted for an interview for the BAU internship, and the phone call that you made it to the final round, and finally the phone call that you had gotten the position - each more exciting than the last. You remembered meeting him, shaking his hand, completely oblivious to how much he was about to fuck up your life. Even when you first started to feel something for him, you convinced yourself it was nothing - a harmless crush wrought from your veneration and respect for one of the best in the field. Someone you admired. Someone you wanted to be one day. But then he’d made the unfortunate move of revealing bits and pieces of himself to you, exposing tiny slivers of humanity and emotion you were convinced didn’t exist, until you realized he was a person, an incredible one, and it wasn’t just admiration you felt anymore. It took all of a few months and a handful of genuine conversations until you were this far gone, and after he made it clear that your pining was one-sided, you knew you had to stop your fall there.
So you tried.
You kept your conversations strictly professional. Avoided driving with him or sitting next to him on flights whenever possible. Disallowed yourself lingering glances. But it was still too goddamn much. He was still too goddamn much.
The next case pushed you over the edge. It was bad (not just normal bad, BAU bad), and it was no one’s fault, not really. You got called in late, the evidence was shoddy at best, and when all was said and done, you caught the unsub, but only after he’d killed 4 women. The last one died moments before you arrived and apprehended the killer, and despite the delay of those few minutes being, again, no one’s fault, the team was at each other’s throats the whole trip home.
You were slouched in the corner of the plane trying to avoid getting caught in the crossfire. Morgan and Reid were sniping viciously about something completely unrelated to the case, because despite everything they’d just endured, they would never outright blame each other for what went wrong. Hotch, deciding he’d heard enough, raised his head slightly and said quietly,
“They’re not always going to end the way we want. We did all we could.”
And you were just done. You couldn’t stand to be around this pillar of strength and compassion and resolve. You needed to hate him for rejecting you, and you couldn’t. So you marched over to his seat, and, steeling yourself, you said what you’d been wanting to say since he broke your heart:
“I need a day off.”
It had sounded more dramatic in your head.
“A day off?”
You nodded. Hotch gathered himself, seeming to realize that such a request wasn’t unheard of (though perhaps in his department it essentially was) and nodded.
“This case was difficult. I wish I could say exceptionally so. Get me your paperwork by tonight and take tomorrow off.”
You went back to your seat, relief overshadowed by disgust that it wasn’t, in fact, the 4 deaths you’d just been privy to that had broken you - it was the crush on your boss. You’d handled this case like a champ, in fact, because you were so absorbed in self-pity that you couldn’t feel anything else.
You needed to fucking recalibrate.
***
You were determined to make the next 24 hours the most self-indulgent, healing 24 hours you’d ever experienced. Quiet breakfast at a cafe? Planned. Self-improvement books? Downloaded. Vibrator? Fully charged.
No man was going to keep you from focusing on the internship you’d been gunning for for years. No man was worth that. You were going to cry, you were going to journal, you were going to masturbate, and you were going to get him out of your head.
You were going to march into the quaint little coffeeshop two blocks away that you’d Googled last night, you were going to order the cinnamon spice latte that an indie food blog had called “the epitome of fall,” and you were going to go for a nice, early morning walk.
Except you weren’t.
Because the next morning, when you turned to leave after grabbing your drink from the barista, you saw Hotch sitting at the table by the window. And Hotch saw you. And you weren’t equipped to handle this situation, because you were only 4 pages into your self-help book so far and honestly, the smile that lit up his face when you made eye contact would’ve broken you even if you’d read all the ‘how to move on’ manuals the literary world had ever produced.
So you obeyed his beckoning hand and sat down.
“Thought you’d be up to something much more exciting on your one day off.”
You smiled wryly. “This is exciting. I haven’t had coffee that wasn’t made out of an ancient breakroom pot or a hotel carafe in months.”
Hotch chuckled. “I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake by coming here. Breakroom coffee is going to be impossible to tolerate now.”
“That good, huh?”
“Better. Try it.”
His eyes on you, you took a sip of your latte, and swallowed the most delicious concoction you’ve ever tasted in your life.
“Holy shit.”
“Indeed,” Hotch confirmed, ignoring your vulgarity. “I’ve been coming here before work for years.”
“I hope you don’t mind if I impose on your hangout,” you laughed. “I haven’t tried many coffee shops around here, but I imagine this is hard to beat.”
“Not at all. But just know - this is my table.”
You grinned. “Understood.”
You still went on that walk. Still read that book. Still spent the day trying to think about anything else but the softness of that moment - you and Hotch sipping lattes, bathed in the light of the early morning sun.
But on Thursday, the next day, bright and early, you found yourself at that coffee shop again. This time, you took a seat at the table adjacent to his. He looked up and smiled.
“Glad you heeded my advice.”
You smiled back and gestured to the heaping pile of files in front of him. “Not like there’d be much room for me anyways.”
You finished your coffees in relative silence and left at the same time for the office.
Friday, you learned Hotch’s coffee order: flat white with an extra shot of espresso.
Saturday, you happened to arrive before he did, so you ordered his drink and set it on his table. Ten minutes passed and you thought he wasn’t going to show up, but he soon bustled in looking frantic. You waved him over, and he smiled when he saw the coffee waiting for him.
“Sorry, got stuck on a phone call,” he apologized. Like you were expecting him. Like this was something you guys did now.
You supposed it was.
Sunday, you got called for a case before you even made it to the coffee shop. You sat down in the conference room at 6 am, groggy as all hell. Hotch entered after you and handed you a mug, saying nothing before moving to address the team.
There was a small sticky note attached to the mug that read, “It’s no cinnamon spice latte, but it’s caffeine just the same.”
You fought to keep a grin from splitting your face, and ignored the team’s knowing smirks.
The case was in a small town in Colorado. The motel the team was staying in was less than ideal because of the location - bare bones, broken heaters, probably had the same bedsheets since its opening over 50 years ago. There was a small coffee pot in your room, and after you arrived Sunday evening, you walked down the street to the small convenience store and bought a bag of ground coffee.
When you handed him the cup Monday morning, he looked at it like it was salvation itself. Which, judging by the dark circles under his eyes, it may well have been.
“Long night?” you asked, loading into the back of the SUV.
“Always,” he responded from the front seat. He took a sip of the coffee. “I don’t mean to offend, but this is terrible.”
You gasped in mock indignation. “I’ll have you know that is genuine Folgers pre-ground gas station coffee.”
“It tastes like it was made in a toilet,” he grumbled. He took another sip and smirked at you in the rearview mirror.
You’d long stopped trying to get over him.
After the case in Colorado, the team was given a merciful break from the rapid-fire calls they’d been caught up in the last few months.
You and Hotch continued your pre-work ritual, showing up to the coffee shop earlier and earlier each day. For you, it was a conscious attempt to spend more time with him. He didn’t acknowledge the extra 20 minutes that had worked its way into the morning routine, but you could only hope his intentions were the same.
One particularly chilly fall day, you burst in the door 10 minutes later than your unofficial meeting time. Hotch shot you a patented raised eyebrow as you unwrapped your scarf and took your seat.
“Overslept?”
“No,” you retorted, “I was trying to make breakfast and my stove stopped working. Again. Maintenance can’t come fix it for two days.”
“Did you eat?” he asked.
“No, I was just gonna grab a muffin or something here.”
He nodded and went back to his laptop.
The next day, you sat down to a metal thermos on your table.
“What’s this?” you asked him.
“Oatmeal,” he responded without looking up. “You said your stove was broken.”
You opened the thermos to a puff of brown sugar-scented steam and the feeling that your heart was going to burst out of your chest.
“Thank you,” you whispered, afraid your voice would crack if you spoke any louder.
He looked over at you with an expression softer than you’d ever seen him wear. “You’re welcome.”
A week later, you’d miraculously worked your way through the backed-up deluge of paperwork from the last few cases, and after clicking through the morning’s emails, you slammed your laptop shut.
“We should go for a walk,” you said to Hotch, who somehow still had a stack of files in front of him that was threatening to surpass the table’s weight capacity.
“A walk?” Hotch asked, looking at the aforementioned files as if he were afraid they’d hear him considering the idea of a break.
“Yeah,” you responded. “Come on. It’s so pretty outside, and it’s gonna be too cold soon. Besides, we’re more caught up with work than we have been in months.”
“Speak for yourself,” he quipped, but he packed his briefcase just the same.
It really was beautiful outside. As soon as you stepped out the door, a gust of wind sent red and orange leaves skittering across the sidewalk at your feet. You wrapped your scarf tighter around your neck and motioned to the park across the street.
“Want to walk through the park?”
Hotch shrugged, a noncommittal ‘yes’, and followed you.
The park was sprawling, packed with massive trees in the midst of displaying their autumnal colors. Despite the early hour, there were joggers and dog-walkers populating the dirt path that meandered through. You strolled side by side, making idle chat about the weather and the holidays coming up, until you came to a bench set beside a pond in a small grove. Hotch took a seat and you followed his lead.
Reclining your head against the back of the bench, you exhaled. “This is the closest I’ve come to being out in nature in forever. I need to do this more often.”
Hotch murmured his agreement. “I’d apologize for the lack of free time, but I’m afraid it only gets worse.”
“When you officially join the team, you mean?”
“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Assuming that’s something you’re interested in.”
“Of course I am,” you said, “but I didn’t think it was really up to me.”
“It’s not - I give the final recommendation.”
“Better start buying you more coffees then,” you teased, looking over at him.
“Unfortunately, as Unit Chief, I have a responsibility not to accept bribery.” He smiled back.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. You studied his face - the stern curve of his brow, the carved structure of his jaw, the stress lines set in from decades of sleepless nights and unspeakable losses. Despite the increasing time you’d been spending in close proximity, you were mesmerized, as always, by the stormy intensity of his eyes meeting yours. You were close enough to smell his cologne, and you were reminded of the night in his apartment when he told you about his family. If you thought you’d fallen for him then, it was nothing compared to how you felt now, after starting each morning sitting beside him in the quiet peace of that downtown coffee shop.
“We should get going,” he murmured, not checking his watch, not shifting his gaze from yours. You nodded, not fully comprehending his words, feeling dazed at his nearness.
It was impossible to tell who made the first, imperceptible shift. All you knew is you scarcely had time to think before his hand was on your jaw, cradling the back of your head, bringing you to him. His mouth met yours and you closed your eyes instinctively, melting into his warm body beside you, fisting the front of his jacket in your hands.
You couldn’t remember ever having been kissed so decisively before. His fingers gripped into the base of your skull, his forehead nearly pressed against yours, and despite the chastity of your closed mouths, you whimpered into his. He stiffened at the sound and pulled back, still holding you, inches away.
You saw the shift in his eyes before he moved. It was as if he consciously closed some gate, walling himself off. His pupils, blown, started to retract to their normal size, frown returned, hand drew back. You watched, heart still racing, unable to speak as he turned to grab the briefcase sitting at his feet. Only then did he look back at you.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and if his low voice was meant to betray any hint of emotion, you didn’t hear it.
He stood, walked around the back of the bench towards the path, and paused.
“I’ll see you at the office.”
You were too shell-shocked to reply.
#aaron hotchner x reader#hotch x you#aaron hotchner x y/n#aaron hotchner#Criminal Minds#standards of performance#hotch#hotchner fanfic#aaron hotchner imagine#thomas gibson#criminal minds smut#criminal minds fanfiction#hotchner#spencer reid#mgg#david rossi#emily prentiss#jennifer jareau#derek morgan#fanfiction#writing#ao3
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@coffeeandchemicals (aka the sweetest angel bb) asked: For the drabbles, 55 or 60 or 72 with harringrove! Please and thank you!! 💙
55. “Our first date is a picnic. On a beach..under the stars? Have you swallowed a romance novel? Do I need to call a doctor?
Paper Angels.
The things is. Steve’s always had a sixth sense when it comes to falling in love. Can smell that shit from a mile away, the reeking infatuation that turns his already liquified brain into something like sludge. Mashed potatoes with too much milk, or something.
And it used to be that Robin would point it out in that usual way of hers, before Steve became a pro at monitoring his own downfall. Pick your tongue up off the floor, dingus.
And it used to be that Steve would take it like. A basketball to the back of the head, the realization that he was bleeding out in an open field for fucking whoever. Nancy Wheeler or Mark Lewinski or Brittani Clark. Robin could always sense it when Steve’s feelings started leaking out of his ears, but.
Billy Hargrove was something else entirely.
Neither of them saw it coming. The pushes and snarky comments that morphed into butterflies and concealed smiles under the light of the full moon, it was like.
Crossing a deserted road only to be fuckin’. T-boned by a cyclist who doesn’t have their lights on, or something.
One day they were enemies. Avoiding each other like the plague--Billy actually gagged when Steve passed by him at parties. Called him Steve “Sloppy Seconds” Harrington, and. Yeah. The feeling was fuckin’ mutual, alright?
Because Hargrove always wore too much cologne and Steve had the sneaking suspicion, after that night at the Byers’ when contact sports took on a whole new meaning with the sound of ceramic against his skull, that Billy perfumed his dick.
Sometimes guys did that, he’d heard. And if Steve had to bet, like, cold hard cash on it, Billy Hargrove was definitely one of those guys. And not that Steve really. Thought about it much or anything but kissing Billy was probably like licking the inside of an ash tray.
Just the thought of made him gag.
So, yeah. The feeling was mutual. The queasiness in Steve’s tummy was, like, disgust or something. Every time he saw that curly top above a sea of drunk high schoolers, he would start sweating a shit.
Bullets. Like he was going to face the electric chair, and. Steve had never thought for even a second that that feeling was mutual.
That Billy would be anxious to see him. Would escape the moment he heard Steve rounding the corner into whatever lame party was on the ducat this week, so. When they eventually became friends. Best Friends, close as a couple of girls, it felt like Steve had solved the most difficult puzzle in the universe.
They were shitfaced. Drunk enough to forget ceramic plates and nervous feelings, and Billy had tried to high-five him. Steve, on his way out for a smoke. Passed by with a little, well if it isn’t the leftover turkey, and. It would’ve been cool, but. They missed.
By a lot. Two guys who never sat on the bench during a game, they. Fuckin’ couldn’t land a high five from less than a foot away and that was it. Billy’s walls crumbled around them like so much graham cracker dust, and.
His eyes were pretty. Had they always been that pretty? Steve couldn’t remember but then Billy was leaning in, cheeks pink from laughter and whispering, You ain’t half bad, Harrington, into the shell of Steve’s ear.
Like it was a secret only the two of them could remedy, and. Billy pulled away. Winked, waggled his stupid, ridiculous tongue, and. When he passed by he smelled like summer rain. Black pepper and grapefruit.
Steve closed his eyes and felt the love leaking from his ears.
Shit.
--
After that it was like surviving a forest fire. Billy would show up at Steve’s just before midnight with a six pack of Budweiser and a half smoked joint. On bad day’s he acted like coming to Steve’s house was a chore, like. Steve was holding him at gunpoint, preaching about commitments like Steve had even asked for his company in the first place, and.
On those nights it almost wasn’t worth it. The feeling of being close to Billy, it was. Hard to talk to him.
And it wasn’t like falling slowly. Through syrup or stacks of blankets, like his usual style, it was like.
Getting in the car and driving way, into the night, with no map and no funds and no clue of what the end would look like. Steve fell hard and fast and slammed into the ground until he was one with the molten earth, on the good nights, too. When Billy grinned and cracked jokes and fuckin’. Winked.
So. The good outweighed the bad. For months, for millennia, it seemed. Until Steve couldn’t remember a time when midnight didn’t signal the arrival of love. And he would take it, anything, everything, for just a peak at the person he knew was hidden under all that hairspray and chiseled skin, so.
When Billy showed up one night with his car packed full of shit, Steve grabbed his coat without a word.
What are you doin’, Harrington.
I’m coming with you.
No you aren’t, that’s not. Look. I just came to say goodbye, so.
Not that easy to get rid of.
Billy tried to fight him, tried to. Hold him off, or something. Like any force in the fucking universe would be strong enough to keep them apart.
Steve made a face.
And Billy knew what that face meant so he cleaned out the passenger side of the Camaro. Stupid shit like lamps and folded quilts, shuffling it all to the back seat where there was clearly enough space.
It was almost like. He had known what Steve would do.
It was like he’d been preparing to say no, baby. I don’t have enough room, see? I’m saddled with more than I can take already, and I just--
Almost like he was hoping Steve would insist, anyway, and.
“Go pack a bag, pretty boy.”
Steve would follow him anywhere.
--
Billy came alive in California. The bad nights stopped existing out in the open air, they hid instead. Under the blanket of nightfall, under the sling of Steve’s arm. They paid extra for a two bedroom apartment on the beach, because.
I’m not expecting you to. Sleep in my bed, Steve.
Right. They were still pretending.
The second bedroom sat collecting dust. Steve emptied his trash bag of essentials into the dresser in Billy’s room, because. The love was constantly ruining his shirts, these days.
Steve bled blue and gold. Blatantly. Because he never felt it before, this. Feeling. Like the sand is being washed from his skin. Like he’s curling up in bed after a long day of hard work.
Billy makes him feel that way, so.
Steve can’t hide it. And he doesn’t try to. Not when they watch cartoons together on the couch, not when Billy sucks a hole into his neck under their blanket in their bed and asks, we goin’ steady? Like it’s even a fucking question, or something, but.
Steve realizes they went backwards. Won the game before actually learning the rules.
Do you wanna go on a date with me? He asks one morning. It’s raining, so Billy isn’t surfing and Steve isn’t sketching out on the porch, and.
It seems as good a time as any.
Billy has milk running down his chin when he looks up, eyes so blue and wide like he never expected it to fucking happen. Isn’t this a date?
What?
Right now, Billy says through a mouthful of Lucky Charms. We’re eating. Alone. Making eyes at each other over our meal--
Steve snorts. This isn’t a date.
And Billy’s face, fucking. Falls. He rinses his plate in the sink and kinda, doesn’t turn back around. Steve doesn’t know how he fucked it up already.
Bills?
What’s a date look like then? And that. Makes Steve laugh.
You’ve been on, like. So many dates, baby.
Not with you. Billy says flatly. When he turns around again his cheeks are pink. Not from laughter, but. From something else. I never went on any dates with you, so. How would I identify one in a crowd.
And Steve knows. Instantly, knows he’s not going to get out of this one.
Perfect first date shit, alright, I can. I can do that. He leans back in the hideous avocado green chair Billy picked out and. Sucks on his bottom lip. We have the day free. Because, um. It’s the off season. Right after labor day and, uh. The shop’s getting ready to shift into winter.
Billy grins. So in your perfect scenario we’re broke?
Listen, asshole wouldja just--
Alright, baby. Billy sits in the chair across from him and looks, fucking. So pretty in Avocado Green. I’m listening.
So Steve tells him. Their perfect date begins and ends with ease, it’s as simple as breathing. The way it’s always been for them. Natural. Steve packs a basket with a goddamn. Charcuterie board and like, fresh fruit and shit. The sun sets and Steve gets down on one knee and--
Our first date is a picnic. On a beach..under the stars? Billy doesn’t look even a little bit like laughing, not. Not when his nose goes all bunchy. Have you swallowed a romance novel? Do I need to call a doctor?
Steve isn’t really in the mood for jokes.
He covers his face with his hands, because. They went backwards. Never even put labels on it, or second guessed anything because Steve won the lottery. That night when the high fives went up in smoke, he.
Got everything he ever wanted.
Billy tugs at his wrists. Yanks and soothes and rearranges Steve’s skin until they’re chest to chest against avocado green. His eyes are teary. Fuck.
I didn’t mean to make you cry, baby. Steve says. ‘S a bad idea anyhow, too much pressure. You mean a lot and I fuckin’. Made you cry. Tears were never a part of the deal.
Billy lets Steve wipe his cheeks and then he’s smiling.
Not grinning or smirking or teasing, but. Happy. We could make this a date.
Steve shrugs. Yeah, I guess we could.
Pack some sandwiches, sit on the patio. Billy winks. Just like all those nights when neither boy could give their emotions a name. Take away some of the pressure.
I kinda dig the pressure, though.
Were you really gonna get down on one knee? Billy whispers. At the end of our first date? You know the statistics on divorce are--
Against his will, Steve’s chucking.
And on the first date? Billy tuts, cheeks pink again. You know I don’t put out for any ol’ pair of brown eyes, Harrington. I wait until at least the fourth date.
It’s been five years.
So marry me. Billy says. On Tuesday or something, we can. Go to the beach or whatever. Elope.
And.
Just like that night. With the Camaro stuffed to the brim, and Billy gripping his fingers like a lifeline in a storm, Steve has no choice. He never did, because. Yeah.
He kisses Billy, each cheek, both eyelids, before carrying him to their bedroom and wonders. If they’ll ever start at the beginning.
#harringrove#steve harrington#billy hargrove#again#this ran away with me#I hope it reads alright#domestic fluff#california#running away together#first dates
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maybe one day i’ll fly next to you
chapter 1/8
read on ao3
The sun is just rising when he gets to the rink, the early morning light streaming in through the high windows, making the ice glow. He’s the first one there, just like he planned, so he gets to take his time getting ready. He stretches a bit in the locker room before lacing up his skates and heading to the ice. Placing his guards on the boards, he takes a minute to just look, relishing in the stillness, the quiet, the smooth surface of the untouched ice. He takes one step, two, and he’s off, gliding through the mirrored surface, carving his path as he goes.
Buck can’t remember a time when skating wasn’t his entire life. He first put on skates at four, wobbling on the side of the rink while Maddie was in lessons. He started lessons of his own at six, and after that, he never stopped thinking about being on the ice. And he was good, too — by eight he was competing in the regional circuit, already landing a handful of clean triples when most kids were still struggling with doubles. He qualified for his first nationals at 10, won gold in Juniors at 11, and by the time he qualified for Junior Grand Prix at 13, people already knew his name. They knew his “modern artistry” as they called it, his powerful jumps, and talked about him like he was someone worth watching out for once he made it to the senior level.
It helped that by then, Buck was already addicted to competition. He loved skating on its own — the power he felt when he jumped and flew across the ice, the beauty of well-executed spirals and step sequences — but nothing made him feel more alive than doing it in front of a crowd and a panel of judges. Landing each element perfectly sent a thrill through him that he never wanted to stop feeling, and seeing his scores, usually much higher than others, was something that never got boring. He wanted to be the best, was on his way to being the best, and those hazy dreams of an Olympic gold medal didn’t feel quite as hazy anymore.
For a while, at least. Until he showed up.
But Buck doesn’t want to think about him right now, he just wants to enjoy the peace and quiet while he can. He’s not skating to anything in particular, just the music in his head taking him wherever feels right. He’s so lost in it, trying to nail the bit of choreo he just made up, that he doesn’t even notice Bobby until he hears him clapping from the benches.
“Looks good, Buck. Talk to Hen, I think that would work in your new short.”
“Thanks Bobby,” Buck says, making his way to the boards. Bobby hands him his guards and his water bottle, heading back towards the locker room.
“Come on, we’re just about to get started.”
Bobby and Athena have had this beginning of the season meeting for as long as Buck has been at their club. They go over assignments for Grand Prix and the Challenger series, figure out general training schedules, and do a “goal setting session” for what they want to accomplish this season.
Bobby calls it a “family meeting”, which is cute but also annoying. Skating isn’t a team sport. Families don’t win medals. And that’s all Buck wants to accomplish every season until he retires: he wants to win.
He sits down on a bench next to Maddie, who’s deep in conversation with Athena about her and Chimney’s programs, he’s sure. She’s been planning them since Worlds, so they’re probably fully choreographed and ready for competition. The Buckleys are nothing if not overachievers.
Bobby clears his throat, standing in front of the roll-away white board, and gets started. Buck’s half paying attention — it’s the fifth time he’s heard the “athletes aren’t born, they’re made” speech, he gets the point — letting his eyes wander over the small crowd of skaters. Chim’s on Athena’s other side, nodding along with Bobby. May and Hen are standing along the lockers, whispering quietly. The Juniors kids are sitting on the floor, in awe of their coach as he talks about hard work and victory. Buck gets it, he’s still a little in awe of Bobby himself, but not so much of his recycled speeches.
There’s one face, though, that he doesn’t see, and for a minute, he’s hopeful. He’s gone, he moved, he went to work with Rafael in Lakewood or something, so I’ll only have to see him maybe four times a year instead of every goddamn day thank god—
The doors to the locker room burst open, and fuck.
Because, nope, he’s still here. Windswept and out of breath and 15 minutes late, yet somehow still oozing confidence and jackassery.
Eddie Diaz. Olympic Bronze Medalist. Two time reigning World Champion. And the absolute bane of Buck’s existence.
Bobby doesn’t even say anything, just waves him in and keeps talking. If Buck had been that late, even if it was for a good reason, he would have had his ass handed to him in front of everyone and would’ve had to run laps or something after his ice time. But of course, Eddie gets a pass.
Whatever.
Buck doesn’t pay much attention to the rest of the meeting, too busy trying to keep himself from glaring at Eddie every 20 seconds. He tunes in enough to hear that they’ll both be going to Skate America and NHK because of course they are and spends the rest of the meeting trying to keep his blood pressure down. When it’s finally over, he makes his way through the crowd to get back to the ice for his first session with Bobby. He’s scrolling through his phone, trying to find his music, when he feels someone walk over and join him on the bench. He looks over, and lo and behold—
“Eddie,” he says with what he hopes is a low level of contempt.
“Buck,” Eddie responds, looking over and nodding as he laces up his skates. “Good summer?”
“Fine.”
“Ready for the season?”
“Always am.”
Eddie smiles, easy and charming, and Buck hates his fucking guts. He nods at him again as he heads onto the ice, and Buck gives into the temptation to thump his head against boards a few times.
It’s going to be a very long year.
~~~~~~~~~~
Buck has hated Eddie since they were 16 years old.
Okay, maybe “hate” is a little strong, but whatever emotion it is when just looking at a person makes you feel like smoke is coming out of your ears, that’s how he feels.
It was his first season in Seniors, and he had been doing better than he expected in the first half — a silver and a bronze at his Grand Prixs, and fifth at the Grand Prix Final. Nowhere near perfect or the best in the world, but he was the best US men’s skater and poised to win gold at Nationals. He hadn’t even heard the name “Eddie Diaz” until he got to Nats, and even then it was just whispers — some small town kid from Texas who was landing clean quadruple jumps at a time when some of the highest ranked skaters couldn’t. Buck was working on them — his coach kept harping on how important they’d be to the sport one day — but he’d hit a growth spurt just before the beginning of the season, so he was still getting used to his new center of gravity.
But the rumors were true, Buck saw it with his own eyes at a practice session. He remembers the mix of awe and dread as he watched Eddie jump — the thoughts of damn I want to be as good as this kid and he’s about to take everything from me.
Eddie won Nats by about 30 points. Buck came in second. The US only had one spot at both Four Continents and Worlds, and Eddie got picked for both. Something about having “a better chance with his abilities and consistency in the international field” or some other bullshit.
He didn’t podium at either. Buck felt shamelessly vindicated.
Over the next three years, they became perfect foils of each other — Buck with good jumps but better artistic expression and connection to the music, Eddie a little stiff but a blur of height and speed in the air. They flip-flopped at competitions — Buck got silver, Eddie got gold. Buck got gold, Eddie got bronze. Nats turned into a yearly showdown, the media always highlighting their “friendly rivalry”. Buck must have been a better actor than he thought if he was coming across as “friendly”.
He won Nats right before the Olympics, pretty much guaranteeing his chances of getting named to the Olympic Team. Two days before the announcement, he broke his leg on a bad landing and felt his dreams shatter along with the bone.
Eddie went instead. He placed third, higher than any US man had placed in 12 years.
Buck watched it all from his couch, unsure if he’d ever be able to skate again.
Fast forward three seasons, and while Buck is still struggling to get his consistent jumps back, Eddie keeps skyrocketing. He hasn’t lost a major competition in two years and is the overwhelming favorite to win the gold medal in Beijing. It was bad enough to hear about it from other skaters or see at competitions, but then Eddie moved to Bobby and Athena’s club a year ago, so now Buck gets to suffer through first hand observation.
It simultaneously pushes him harder and makes him want to die.
Which is the exact feeling he has right now as he watches Eddie land a perfect quad toe triple toe combo. He tried the same combo yesterday and landed flat on his ass, so now he just wants to practice it over and over until it’s perfect and he can rub it in Eddie’s smug face. See, you’re not the only one who can do it. You’re not that special.
“You better watch how hard you’re frowning, Buckaroo, you’re gonna get wrinkles,” Hen says as she walks over to him. She follows his line of sight, and her expression turns from vaguely worried to exasperated. “Staring that hard at Eddie isn’t gonna make him fall.”
“It could,” he says. “Maybe I have untapped psychic powers that are just waiting to come out.”
She gives him a flat look. “Sure, and I’m the long lost crown princess of a small European country. Can we go over your free instead of fantasizing about stupid things, please?”
“Fine, fine,” Buck says, finally turning away from Eddie as he steps on the ice.
He loves his programs this season — he usually doesn’t get used to them for a few months, but this time around, he already feels connected. His short is more modern, melancholic and gritty, while his free is more classic, hopeful, makes him feel like he’s floating rather than skating. He’s always been good at choreography — either taking it and making it his own or creating steps himself — and he feels like both really highlight his talents. Plus Hen, being the amazing choreographer and friend that she is, let him have a lot more input this time around, so it all feels more authentic. He likes to think that no matter what happens, he’ll be proud of whatever he puts out with these pieces.
They work on his free for an hour, and he stays an extra two to work on his short and his jumps on his own. By the time he leaves, the sun has set, his legs are already sore, and he has a lovely bruise blossoming on his right thigh from falling on his quad flip three times in a row.
It’s all worth it, though. Because as much as he wants to be happy with his programs no matter what, he knows he won’t be unless they get him to the top of that podium, hearing the national anthem play with a gold medal around his neck.
~~~~~~~~~~
He’s floating away in his dream, higher and higher like a runaway helium balloon. He can see the whole world below him, spread out and endless, rolling hills and forests and oceans. He wonders if he’ll ever come back down, or if he’ll just keep moving up and up, into the atmosphere, into space, into a different universe. He thinks that might not be so bad.
Suddenly, he’s falling, plummeting back down to Earth like an asteroid. He’s racing and racing towards the ground, bracing for impact, for everything in his body to break, he’s falling and falling faster and faster—
He wakes with a yell, covered in sweat, his leg twinging. He takes a few minutes to breathe and get his heart rate back down, but even then, he’s still shaking.
He looks at the clock. 4:30am. He could go back to sleep — he doesn’t have practice until noon.
Except his mind is churning now with the phantom memory of breaking. The feeling of going from standing to not being able to move, pain radiating from his leg into every other part of his body. The panic, not just for his body, but for his whole life and what it could turn into. What he could lose.
He lays there for another half an hour, but the memories just keep burning. So, he does what he always does when he needs to shut his mind off.
He goes to the rink.
First practice isn’t until 8am, so he uses his keys to unlock the back door. Chuck, the janitor, was sick of waiting two extra hours to lock up after him, so he gave him his own set after his first season. Buck gives him a giant cookie bouquet for Christmas every year in return.
He feels better after just a few laps around the ice. The chill that bites as he speeds up his pace, the white noise of his blades in the ice, it all settles him like nothing else. He speeds up still, setting up for a triple Salchow — easy, almost second nature, a jump he could do in his sleep. He pushes off, but as soon as he’s airborne, something jolts through him, makes his stomach turn over. He pops the jump to a single and lands on the wrong edge, losing his balance and sprawling across the ice on his back. He stays there, staring up at the lights, letting the cold leech in through his sweatshirt.
Almost four years later, and this is still happening. He scares himself out of jumps like he expects each one to end badly, even though he knows — logically, statistically knows — that it’s unlikely.
And yet. Here he is. On his back. After another failure.
He’s too tired to feel pissed or frustrated like he usually does, so he’s just resigned. Today is not the day for jumps. That’s just how it is.
He gets up finally and skates over to his bag, digs his headphones out and queues up his short program music. He works through the step sequences, over and over, making little tweaks as necessary, thinking through where the judges could take off points until it’s perfect. The repetition quiets the last of his racing thoughts, and he finally feels like himself again.
He’s moving into his last spin when he sees movement out of the corner of his eye. He slows down enough to recognize Eddie, inching towards the locker room like he’s trying not to be seen.
Buck stops, staring Eddie down. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Eddie freezes eyes wide, looking suspiciously guilty. He walks forward, hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I have an 8am and wanted to beat traffic on my way in. The back door was open when I got here, and I saw the lights on, so I—” he swallows, looking anywhere but Buck’s face. There’s a blush crawling up his neck, and he looks nervous.
Nervous like he just got caught somewhere he shouldn’t be, Buck thinks. He narrows his eyes as he checks his watch — it’s 7:00. He gets wanting to beat traffic, but a whole hour?
He quickly makes his way off the ice, grabbing his bag from the bench. “Well, I’m done for now, it’s all yours.”
“Thanks,” Eddie says quietly. Buck’s just about through the door when he hears his name. He turns back to Eddie, his blush now all the way up to his hairline.
“You looked good out there. Can’t wait to see it in competition.”
Buck freezes, processing the compliment. A compliment. From Eddie. They hardly talk unless they have to, and even then it’s never friendly. Cordial, sure, but not friendly.
So why is he being so nice now?
Buck just narrows his eyes again before stalking off to the lockers.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Mads, I really think he’s gonna pull a Tonya Harding on me.”
She looks at him over her wine glass, unimpressed. “Yeah, because that worked out so well for Tonya the first time.”
“I’m serious!” he says, taking a sip from his own glass. Neither of them drink during the season, so they’re taking full advantage of their weekly wine nights while they can. Buck’s not a lightweight by any means, but two glasses in and he is starting to feel a little fuzzy. And a little crazy, trying to figure out what Eddie was up to this morning. “You haven’t seen any weird guys lurking around have you? You’d tell me if you did, right?”
Maddie rolls her eyes. “You sound insane.”
“I’m not insane if I’m right. Why else would he be watching me?”
“We all watch each other, Buck! He was watching Chim and me yesterday too while he was on break. He even said our twizzles were really in sync.”
“You better watch your back too, maybe he’s trying to take the whole club out.”
“Oh my god,” she says, pouring another, very full glass.
“He’s just so— he’s—”
“Annoyingly perfect? Obnoxiously talented? I know, Buck, you only bring it up every 15 minutes.”
Buck deflates at that. “I don’t— it’s not that often.” Sure, he rants about how clean Eddie’s edges are and how good his quad flip is, but that’s because it’s so irritating. Buck works just as hard as Eddie, and he knows he’s not flawless. But somehow, Eddie is. Stupidly flawless and perfect and—
“I’m just saying,” she says, squeezing his hand across the table and bringing him back to the conversation. She pours him another generous glass, too. “This energy is great, but it would probably be better to put more of it into practice and less of it into worrying about one of your competitors. I know you’re nervous about this season, but you can’t let that turn into this weird paranoia. Don’t let it take your head out of the game.”
He sits back and sighs. She’s right, of course. She always is.
He doesn’t tell her that, though. Just takes a gulp of wine and tries not to think about Eddie’s annoyingly perfect anything.
~~~~~~~~~~
There’s a news truck parked outside the rink when he gets in the next morning, and he spends about 15 minutes contemplating just going home and telling Bobby he’s sick.
The lead reporter — Taylor, he thinks — claims they’re here to do a profile on the club and how they’re preparing for the Olympics, but he knows they’re mostly here for Eddie. They want any and all sound bites they can get from him to use over and over and over in coverage leading up to Beijing. Quotes about hard work and following his dreams that they can play over footage of him skating and smiling after winning again. Buck’s already annoyed at the prospect of seeing them on NBC Sports for the next six months.
To their credit, they do film everyone practicing at some point. They get Maddie and Chim doing their new rotational lift, May landing her triple lutz that she’s been working on for months, and Buck’s nearly perfect (if he does say so himself) flying camel spin. So at least they have good footage of him, not just random shots in the background of Eddie’s. Maybe he’ll even get his own little promo.
Bobby calls him into his office after lunch, where the news crew has set up an interview space. He wasn’t expecting to talk to anyone — maybe a quick question at the boards, but nothing this fancy. He sits in one of the chairs as someone puts powder on his face and tries to do something with his hair. Taylor sits down across from him, a 1000-watt smile turned on as the cameras start rolling.
“So, Evan. Or do you prefer Buck?”
“Evan’s fine.” As much as he hates his first name, it’s how the general public knows him. Buck is reserved for friends and family.
And Eddie, an annoying voice reminds him. Fine, friends and family and...competitors.
“You came in second at Nationals and Four Continents last year, and fourth at Worlds. How do you feel about the momentum going into this Olympic season?”
“Every season is different,” he says as diplomatically as possible. These reporters always want drama, someone slipping up and bragging about themselves when they have no right to. He’s not wrong — every season is different. No matter who’s expected to win or who has the most medals, you never know how everything will play out. “We haven’t had a men’s field this strong in a while, so it’ll be interesting to see what happens. But I’m as prepared as I can be at this point.”
“You were injured right before the last Olympics. Do you see this year as a bit of redemption for yourself?”
He feels his smile go tight. “It’s every kid’s dream to go to the Games. It’s certainly still mine. I’m ready to do whatever I can to make that dream come true.”
“Eddie Diaz has been with your club for just over a year now. What’s it like training with him?”
There it is, he thinks. He’s surprised she asked so many questions about him before getting to Eddie. The first responses he thinks of are all variations of he sucks and I can’t stand the sight of him, but he knows any petty answers will be worse for him personally than anyone else. So, as much as it pains him, he settles on the nicest version of the truth he can muster.
“Eddie’s an amazing skater,” he says, surprising himself at how genuine he sounds. “He’s been paving new paths in the sport, and he’s pushed everyone to be better to try and get on his level, myself included. He definitely brings that same energy to the club.”
“Do you think you can beat him this year?”
Wow, she’s not holding any punches.
He shrugs, smiling through the sudden burst of anxiety in his veins. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Despite his less than fiery interview, Taylor asks him what he’s doing after practice right before they leave. It’s easy enough to turn her down — he’s got an early PT appointment in the morning, plus the way she’s been looking at him all day is making him itchy. He can tell she only sees him as an object — as a means to get her name on a lead story or a body to keep her bed warm or both — and that’s just not something he’s interested in. Maybe a few years ago, when sex was a way for him to forget about the potential end of his career, but not now.
As nonchalant as he was in the interview, this season really could make or break him.
He can’t afford any distractions.
#buddie#evan buckley#eddie diaz#911 fox#buddie fic#911 fic#9-1-1#SHE'S HERE#I HOPE Y'ALL LOVE MY CHILD AS MUCH AS I DO#and if not that's okay this is pure self indulgence#fs au#ficcery
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Here it is friends. Part one of my Taylor-Swift-nostalgia induced carraville fic. I will be writing a short part two but I figured I’d get this up now and it could be read on its own at this point. I haven’t proof read it so please excuse any mistakes but I hope you enjoy!
Jamie undid his tie. It was a plaid tie, blue instead of red to suggest his neutrality. It was a good day or at least it should’ve been. Liverpool beat Everton two to one, he’d had a good show (no one was harassing him on Twitter yet and Gary had made a few mistakes, Jamie thought that qualified a pretty good show), and he had a date at eleven. He should be fucking buzzing but Jamie just feels the idle hum of numbness. Even the five-goal thriller that was their first game of the night hadn’t got his heart pumping like it used to.
Gary walked in silently, startling Jamie who quickly pulled on a jumper. Not that his state of dress mattered, Gary’s eyes stayed glued to the floor. He walked to the far corner of the dressing room to change out of his suit, as far away from Jamie as possible. He hadn’t said a word to Jamie all night when the cameras weren’t rolling. It hurt. Especially when Gary was so good at acting like everything was fine when the commercial break ended. He even fooled Jamie a few times.
Kelly knocked on the door, making sure they were both decent, before walking in to say goodnight. Jamie watched as Gary smiled at Kelly, as he laughed with her about something. Jamie used to do that: make Gary laugh. Kelly turns her attentions to Jamie. She compliments him on his interview tonight and asks him where he and Tom are going for their date.
“It’s quite late,” she comments, “you can’t really be going to dinner.” Jamie give her a fake laugh.
“I’ve got a reservation and everything Kells. We’re going to that new vegan place. He’s picking me up.” You heard that right: vegan. Because on top of everything, Tom fucking cared about animals and the environment. Jamie wasn’t complaining too much, though. He could suffer through some tofu if it meant not having to go to Gary and his old haunts.
“Ooh!” Kelly said, “do I get to meet him? Redknapp keeps talking about how lovely he is, I figure I could judge for myself.” Ah, yes, Redders. Running into Redders had been an accident. They managed to bump into him at the golf course the week before. Tom was good at golf, unlike Redders, as much as he tried to be. Tom gave him a few pointers, helping Redders fix his posture for his swings. They ended up playing a whole round together while Jamie played ping-pong with an eight-year-old girl in the clubhouse. Redders hadn’t shut up about how Tom’s wonderfulness and his perfect swing since. Jamie nodded at Kelly. He figured he couldn’t do any more damage.
The three of them stood in the parking lot waiting for Tom’s car to pull in. He wasn’t late of course, he never is, they just got out earlier than anticipated. Gary had tried to skitter off to his car but Kelly practically dragged him back up on the curb. Gary, despite trying to put on an agreeable face, looked about as miserable as Jamie felt. Jamie thought he was slightly better at hiding it though.
At 10:59 Tom’s blue Volkswagen pulled in. One minute early. He wore a nice checked shirt with the first few buttons undone. His hair and shirt were miraculously crisp and clean after a full day of work. He looked like a fucking god with his symmetrical face, sharp bone structure, and straight nose. Kelly certainly took note of that. “Our Carra is a lucky man!” She whispered before going over to Tom to introduce herself. Tom shook her hand and complimented her dress which, to be fair, was a very nice floral pattern.
Tom stuck his hand out for Gary to shake. “Hello Gary, my name’s Tom. It’s nice to meet you.” Gary takes a minute to collect himself and takes Tom’s outstretched hand giving it a firm shake.
“It’s nice to meet you as well.” It sounds remarkably fake, of course it does, but Tom doesn’t seem to notice. He just turns towards Jamie with a perfect smile.
“You have such lovely friends, Jamie. It was nice to meet you both.” Jamie wasn’t so sure about that but played along and let Tom walk him to the car. Tom opened Jamie’s door for him before walking around to get in himself. He saw Kelly sling an arm around Gary’s shoulders as they drove away. Jamie took a deep breath and remembered it was all for the best. He reminded himself that this was what he wanted: stability. He didn’t want to fight anymore. The words Gary had said that night still rung in his ears. He was sure his own snarls were not forgotten either.
It started to rain as they parked but Tom had an umbrella. Gary never had an umbrella. You’d think that living in Manchester he’d learn to at least keep one in his car. Instead, he resorted to sprinting away from the rain as fast as he could trying to avoid the rain, he wasn’t as fast as he used to be. But Tom was prepared, he always was. He held the umbrella for the both of them as they walked around to the front of the restaurant.
“James, try the torte it’s quite delicious.” Jamie hated being called James. Absolutely hated it. Not when Gary said it though. His stupid manc accent stretched the vowels into velvet. When Gary said it he felt special. Tom’s polished London accent made him feel posh, pretentious, and twatty. James. Ugh. It was like the word torte. It’s a fucking cake, just call it what it is. Jamie took a bite of the torte. It was good if you ignored the aftertaste of soya in the frosting, a little dry, but Jamie nodded his head like it was an orange mcflurry. He let Tom finish the dessert.
They’re in the car. Tom’s dropping Jamie off at his apartment. Tom must have noticed that Jamie had been quiet and switched the topic to something a little more in his wheelhouse: football. They were talking about England and possible squads for the upcoming international break. Tom started talking about moving Kyle Walker into midfield and Jamie couldn’t take it.
“That’s bollocks. Where is the one place on the field where we actually have players? Fucking midfield. Gareth’s drowning in defenders but not experienced ones. Playing Walker in midfield fucking undermines Henderson and leaves the young centrebacks overexposed.” Tom laughs for some reason. Jamie doesn’t find it funny.
“Well, you would certainly know.” This is what you want, he reminds himself again. Peace, calm, stability. This is happiness. But, fuck, Jamie missed Gary. He missed the challenge. He missed the little crease between Gary’s eyes. He missed Gary’s squeaky voice when he gets worked up. He missed fighting and bickering with Gary over things that didn’t matter. He missed screaming at Gary and Gary screaming back. He missed the really hot sex they’d have after such screaming matches, making Gary scream in a different, more satisfying way. He missed Gary’s laugh, his smile. It seemed to Jamie that neither of them have smiled much since that day. Jamie thought that smiling didn’t seem worth it if Gary wasn’t smiling back.
Jamie checked his phone. It was nearing 1 am. He had a handful of messages from Kelly. Jamie didn’t want to read about how great she thought Tom was, he fucking knew that Tom was great. On paper, he was fucking perfect. The perfect boyfriend. The dream guy. Not for Jamie though. He dreamed of an angry, passionate, crazy, wonderful manc. He opened his messages anyways though, figuring Tom would want to hear what Kelly thought about him.
Jamie. I know you’re on your date but we need to talk. Can you call me? It’s about Gaz. The first one read.
He’s at mine. Really upset. He said not to talk to you so I figure you know what’s going on. That sounded about right. Kelly caring more about Gary’s well being than Gary himself. Gary was too stubborn to care.
Call me please. The last one read. Fuck. They’d made a mess of things. Not only had they made a mess of themselves, but they’d also dragged the others into it.
“Can you pull into that park up there?” Jamie asked Tom. He nodded and turned down the radio, waiting for Jamie to say something more. He didn’t though. Not until he got out of the car and puked some partially digested salad in the grass. Tom came over to him and rested his palm on Jamie’s mid back. Gary used to pet his hair, carding his fingers through it, on those mornings after he’d had a little too much to drink.
Jamie laid on his back in the middle of the parking lot. The rain soaked through his thin shirt in seconds. Tom looked down at him concerned. “I can’t do this, Tom. You’re so lovely. I mean you’re so fucking lovely but I just can’t—”
“I get it, James. You’re still in love with him.” The bastard still looked perfect even drenched with rain. Jamie guessed that he probably looked like a drowned rat. Jamie must have been giving him a confused look because he laughed and explained further. “I saw the way you used to look at him on the tele like he’s the fucking sun. I saw the way you looked at him tonight like being around him was tearing you apart. Besides, I’m pretty sure half the nation knew there was something going on there.” Jamie laughed at that. They had been pretty obvious. And not just Gary, apparently. Apparently, he was just as open of a book. He needed to call Kelly.
She picked up after three rings. “Hi Carra,” she whispered, “needed to get out of the living room, Gaz’s sleeping on my couch.”
“Is he okay?” Jamie asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.
“He’s a wreck, Jamie. He misses you.” I miss him too, Jamie didn’t say, so much.
“Can I come round?” Jamie asked. Kelly said yes so long as Jamie can get Gary the hell out of her living room and gave Carra her address.
Thankfully, Kelly’s place was nearby, about a mile away. Jamie didn’t know where he got the energy considering he was dead on his feet a few minutes before, but he ran there as fast as he possibly could. His water-filled shoes squished loudly with every step. He got there in seven minutes and was panting heavily when he knocked on the door. Kelly let him in wordlessly.
Gary was still sleeping on the couch when he walked into the living room. Kelly gave him a nod and walked into the kitchen. Jamie kneeled next to Gary and cupped his cheek with his palm. Jamie hadn’t realized how much he’d missed that simple feeling. Gary’s forehead was still crinkled in his sleep. His eyes were dark like he hadn’t slept much. Jamie hadn’t either. It was hard to sleep alone, without Gary’s comforting weight on his chest. Jamie took Gary’s hand from where it was tucked under his chin and intertwined their fingers. The weight of Gary’s hand in his set relief running through Jamie’s body. Gary started to stir at that.
“James?” Jamie smiles at that. His stupid name sounds beautiful coming from Gary’s mouth. His eyes weren’t even open yet and Gary already knows it’s him. “What are you doing here?” He opened his eyes slightly but upon seeing Jamie they were wide open. Gary’s eyes were red and bloodshot. Jamie just wanted to yank him into his arms and hug him forever.
“What are you doing here, you muppet? Bothering Kelly at 2 am?” Jamie said playfully. Gary flushed slightly. “Come on, Gaz. Let’s get you home.” He grabbed Gary’s hand to pull him up. Gary stumbled when he tried to take a step. Carra looked down at the empty beer bottles and figured that was why. He grabbed Gary’s arm and slung it over his shoulder. Gary’s head rested in the crook of Jamie’s neck, his soft breathing tickling at the skin there.
“Kelly,” Jamie called softly into the kitchen, “we’re leaving.” She came out to stand in the doorway in her fluffy, pink bunny slippers that Jamie had somehow not noticed before. Jamie thought he should get Gary a pair.
“Set an alarm,” she said, “he wakes up early. Don’t let him bolt.” Jamie figured Gary wouldn’t be racing out of his apartment at 5 am with the hangover he was sure to have but it was still a good idea. Gary was an unpredictable, stubborn bastard at times. Jamie thanked her and helped Gary down to his car.
It was still pouring when they got out of the building because clearly the gods wanted Gary to either sober up or catch his death. Thankfully, in his upset Gary had forgotten to lock the car meaning Carra didn’t have to fumble around for his keys in the current weather. Except, that Gary wouldn’t get into the car. He sprawled his limbs over the door so Jamie couldn’t push him inside.
“Gary, if you don’t get your arse in that car, I’m going to leave you out here to drown.” Obviously, he wasn’t serious but he figured that Gary might be drunk enough not to know that. Gary just smiled up fondly at him and stayed put.
“I love you,” he said, looking like the most radiant, beautiful thing Jamie had ever seen in his life. His hair was a mess, stuck down to his forehead. His cheeks were bright red from a mix of alcohol and the cold. His eyes were still red but god they held all the love in the world. Jamie could see that somehow, after everything, Gary still loved him, truly loved him. After all the things he said, screamed, did, this man--this beautiful man--still loved Jamie every ounce as much as Jamie loved him. It didn’t matter what he should want, he wanted Gary and all of his adorable, infuriating flaws. His recipe to happiness was just that: his own. He didn’t need stability, calm, peace. He needed to feel something.
Jamie cupped his face for the second time that night. He ran his thumb over Gary’s wet, stubbly cheeks. Jamie couldn’t help himself. He kissed Gary with all of the kisses they’d missed in the past two months. The two months of pain, loneliness, desolation. He kissed Gary with all of the love he had in his cold, wet body and Gary did the same. Gary moved slower than Jamie, less frantically but no less enthusiastically. Gary clutched at his jacket like a vice, unwilling to let go. Jamie moved his hands around Gary’s body. He wanted to make sure that everything was still as he remembered it. And it was. Of course, it was. He had Gary in his arms, it didn’t matter that the rain had picked up. Though, he was sure he’d hear about the soggy interior of Gary’s car in the morning. He pulled away reluctantly for breath and rested his forehead against Gary’s.
#carraville#jamie carragher#gary neville#thank you taylor for the inspiration#very loosely inspired by the way I loved you#my fic
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softly | lee taeyong
▸ mafia! taeyong x reader, mafia! nct
▸ warnings: smut, fluff, angst
Lee Taeyong was always known as the no-nonsense boss of the no-nonsense mafia, NCT. He crawled his way through fire and blood to put his team to the top of the chain. Contrary to popular belief, Taeyong isn’t fond of playing around with women unless he sees a future with them and he isn’t one to put something before his work. On another note, Kim Y/N was always protected by her older brother, Kim Doyoung - one of NCT’s hitmen. She is the only family Doyoung has left so he invested in keeping sure she is always away from harm; with his wealth, it was not a problem at all. Doyoung also kept Y/N away from his field and from his comrades - no matter how much he trust them. But a pest investation in their university dorm forced Y/N to live in the NCT Mansion for the mean time.
Taeyong’s presence shouldn’t bother you as much but it does. The only interaction you’ve had with him was during your first night at the mansion. You made eye contact with him during dinner and it would be a lie to say that his stares never ran through your thoughts every night. It was the finals week in university and you only needed a few work done before you could enjoy the summer break. With Doyoung as your brother, you never got to enjoy the so-called “college life”. It was a shame to admit that you are a bit innocent to things people your age are exposed to because your brother never allowed you to go out after 9:00 pm. He makes up for it by going on trips with you overseas during your school breaks.
You noticed the time was almost midnight. You stretched your back and felt the sweet relief after hunching on your desk, writing an essay for almost three hours now. You became thirsty so you decided to go down and get a glass of whatever you could find. The men in the house was kind enough to stuff their huge refrigerator with food during your arrival. According to Yangyang, it was always empty; except for like an apple or something. You looked for something to drink inside.
“Warm milk is best for falling asleep,” a voice spoke behind you. You pivoted and saw Taeyong. His presence immediately made your cheeks flush. This feeling was foreign to you and you blame it on his magnetic eyes and beautiful bone structure. “Here, I’ll warm some up for you.”
“Oh, I can do it,” you immediately offered, worried that you might be keeping him away from doing something. “You might be doing something and I don’t wanna bother you.”
He remained silent, as if he never heard you, and continued on getting a pan from the shelves. Before you could repeat what you said, he spoke. “I don’t help anyone warming their milk so just accept it.”
You kept your mouth shut. Even though he is dressed in pajamas decorated with ducks, he still radiated dominance over everything. That thought made you feel funny somewhere. You decided to sit on the kitchen island as you watched him heat the milk up. While he waited for it to finish, he sat opposite to you.
Taeyong has always found you attractive. He noticed the pink flush that covered your cheeks when you first came to the mansion. It wasn’t in his nature to fall for the soft ones - he always preferred the fiesty ones. All he wanted to do from the very beginning was to touch your skin but he kept his composure that day. It’s only been two weeks since your arrival but all he thought about every night since your arrival is how would you look on your knees, in front of him.
“Do you usually stay up this late?” He asked, wanting to get to know you better. Despite what others might label him, he actually enjoyed getting to know people.
“I’m in university, it’s natural for us to stay late.” You responded. “I’m currently writing an essay for my class. That’s why I’m up this late.”
“What is it all about?” He asked. You furrowed your eyebrows at his sudden curiosity. For the short time you’ve been around him, he never seemed like he gave a shit about you.
“It’s about Othello.” You replied. “It sounds like a high school thing to do but it’s the topic of the class.”
“I like Shakespeare.” He stated. “If you want, I could help you.”
The two of you became close that night. It was also the first time you heard him laugh. He helped you finish your essay. The following nights made you two bond more. The mornings are always hectic for everyone - even you, with your classes and errands. You would go home earlier than any of the men and it won’t be until around 7:00 PM do you see them arrive one by one. The rest of the night would always end up with you and Taeyong doing something together; whatever you both end up doing that night, you found yourself happy and comfortable. There was a night where he asked you to watch a movie with him. He helped you bring your favorite blanket and teddy bear to his room; and yes, he uncontrollably laughed at the fact that you still needed a teddy bear to help you sleep. That revelation ended with him jokingly calling you “baby”. You found yourself a little closer to him that you expected to be. Your shoulder overlapping his as you sat on his bed watching the movie.
Taeyong looked at your side profile as your eyes was fixated to the screen of his laptop. Each time he lays his eyes upon you, he is reminded that there is beauty in this destructive world. You were too pure to be held by someone like him. His hands are tainted with the ghosts of every man he killed and he thinks they’re undeserving to touch you. He was just a mere mortal and you are like a deity that he longs so much to reach. You noticed him staring and you took every bravery you have to match his stare. Before you know it, his lips are moving against yours and his palm on the side of your face. It was a foreign feeling. No one has kissed or touched you like this before. Despite your lack of experience, you found yourself replicating the movements of his lips. You wanted so bad to be good enough for him. As if on instinct, you leaned closer to his touch as your hands searched their way through his hair. As he was about to push you to lay down, your phone alarm interrupted you both. It was time to you to head back to your room before Doyoung wakes up. You smiled at him, to assure him that you wanted it. He kissed you one last time, as if to remind you that this will happen again, before letting you leave his room.
--
You left school earlier than you usually do. You finished all the work needed for your classes and you didn’t have any lectures anymore. It was a Friday so it was natural for the boys to be at home. You wanted to show Taeyong the good score you got for the Othello essay. The memories of the previous night made your veins alive. As you were approaching his office, the faint sound of screaming entered your ears. The door to Taeyong’s office was slightly ajar, allowing you to see what was going inside. You saw him standing from his seat and as calm as his face was, the words that left his mouth said otherwise. An older man was seated in front of his joke, trying so hard to be heard but Taeyong’s angry rebuttals prevented him to do so.
“I told you, it’s not always that there’s a malfunct-” before the old man could continue, Taeyong cut him off with a threat.
“If you don’t shut the fuck and leave this room, so help me God, I will put a bullet through your skull.” Taeyong said with conviction. The look on his face and the tone of his threat sparked fear in your heart. Taeyong has always looked cold and domineering when he’s outside of his comfort zone. It was only at night you seem him smile and relax. The man hurriedly exited the office, leaving the door widely open which made your figure visible to Taeyong’s vision.
“I- you weren’t suppose to see that,” He started, sitting back down on his chair before sighing. Seeing the stress and frustration in his demeanor, all you wanted to do was to kiss him until he forgets about whatever it was that made him angry.
“Is there anything I could do to help?” You asked, softly. Taeyong was glad he had such a lovely presence right now.
“Sit on my lap.” He ordered. There was something dominant about his tone, but he still never failed to make it soft for you. You obliged; all you wanted right now was to help him relax. You made yourself comfortable in his lap as you linked your arm around his shoulders. His fingers brushed away the hair from your face as he looked into your eyes. His lips found yours in no time. You grew confidence with your kissing abilities. His hands found themselves from your waist down to the skin of your thigh that your skirt provided. He helped you put your knees on the sides of his hips so that you could straddle him. You gasped lightly as you feel him underneath you. You brief stories about this man and never once in your life did you think that you would be in this position. You moaned into the kiss as his fingers found themselves under your skirt.
Taeyong couldn’t bear it anymore. His length was hardening within his slacks but he knew better than you fuck you immediately. He knew this was your first time and the thought of him being the first one to feel you - to touch you like this - made his ego inflate. With his hands supporting your ass, he lifted you and set you down on his desk. For a moment, he felt like it was inappropriate to take you for the first time in his desk but he really can’t be bothered to walk to his room.
“Can I take this off?” He asked, his own question foreign to him. Usually, he would take off anyone’s blouse without question. But you were his baby - he wanted to put you first before himself. You gave him permission to strip you off all your clothing and he took off his as well. You gawked at his body. The sight of his muscles overwhelmed you but definitely made you burn to your core.
“Like what you see?” He smirks. You felt yourself become embarrassed and lowered yourself in hopes of avoiding his eyes. He noticed how you became shy and held your face, before leaning down and capturing your lips with his. His hand trailed down to the waist band of your underwear as he slowly peeled them away. Once there was nothing between him and your core, you closed your legs from embarrassment. He chuckled and placed his hands on your knees.
“Open up, baby, I won’t hurt you…” he said, as he slowly opened your legs to reveal your moist pussy. “…yet.”
His fingers opened your folds and his eyes devoured your pink matter.
“You’re so wet for me, baby,” He praised. “I can’t believe no one has fucked you before. You’re so hot.”
You squirmed at his words. You feel yourself become wetter and needier. You wanted him to touch you so bad and he’s still not doing that. “Please, Taeyong,…”
His head shot up at your words. Your begging was like the angels singing. He wanted to hear you say more of it.
“I can’t hear you, baby, what did you say?” He teased. His palms running up and down your legs, the sensation bringing more heat to your core.
“Please…please,” Then, you said something that drove the beast inside him nuts. “Ruin me.”
He wasted no time but to push two digits into your pussy. He moaned at how tight you felt. His cock grew needier each moment he feels your velvet walls clench around his fingers.
“You think your tight, virgin pussy can handle me?” He spoke, his face dangerously close to yours as he kissed your neck. You wanted to push his face away from your neck. You knew it could cause hickeys and you weren’t sure you wanted Doyoung, or anyone, to know you were fucking their leader. “Can you be my good babygirl and take all of it?”
“Yes, yes,” You breathed, desperate for him - all of him. “I’ll be your good girl.”
He smiled proudly at the sight of you begging for him. The first night he met you all he wanted to do was ruin you. “This will hurt, baby.”
You whimpered. You felt his tip enter your folds. You grip his shoulder tightly as he kissed your face to help ease the discomfort. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
He took his time, letting you adjust inch by inch. It wasn’t look till you’re full of him. He hasn’t moved, letting you savor him for a while before doing so. He groaned at how tight you felt. It was like you were made for him. He started to move slowly. You hissed at the sudden movement but he immediately comforted you by kissing you. His pace grew faster each time and soon the pain you felt was shadowed by pleasure. You felt like it was a sin to feel this good.
“Moan for me, baby, let them know who you belong to,” he stated. Usually, you would be appalled at how men thinks women are their objects. But here you are, fully accepting to yourself that you belonged to him. You obliged him, like you always do. His thrusts are faster than before, hitting you in the right spot and leaving you breathless. You felt a knot tightening within you and it’s aching to be released.
“Tae, I’m…” you couldn’t continue what you were about to say as your mind was clouded with lust.
“Go on, baby, cum all over me,” He said. And what he says, you will do. You felt your orgasm rock over your system as you clenched your walls around him. His pace was still controlled and quick.
“Can I come inside you?” You nodded at his questions. It wasn’t long until you felt him coat your walls with his cum. Your walls clenching for the last time at the sensation. He stayed inside for a while before pulling out. He watched his release leak from your tight pussy.
“Are you okay?” He asked, his eyes filled with concern as he stroked your hair. You nodded, still unable to form words. He lifts you and placed you back on his lap, where he held you close for a while.
--
Your relationship didn’t remain hidden for so long. Everyone was shocked but was still happy for the two of you; especially, to their leader who found true love after all this time. They vowed to remain loyal to you as they are loyal to Taeyong. Your brother, on the other hand, acted like any brother would. He was furious that you two had sex before even having a first official date. He was mad for a solid hour but in the end, he was glad it was Taeyong you fell in love with. Being with the leader of the top mafia meant extra security and protection. If you think Doyoung’s protectiveness over you couldn’t be topped, it definitely was when you met Taeyong. Your friends invited you to go to Jeju for the summer break. You wanted so desperately to have fun and be out of the house for a while. Doyoung couldn’t take you overseas because he was deployed to do surveillance work with Haechan in Busan. And Tayeong, being the leader, was always busy. Your friends knew you would say no but you appreciated how they always ask you, nevertheless. You felt sad that you missed out on such a fun adventure but Taeyong assured you he will make up for it once time was right.
The beginning of the new semester was fast approaching. It was a peaceful evening when Taeyong found you deciding what classes you should take for the semester. His heart felt heavy with the weight of the question he was about to ask you. He didn’t know whether you would like it or not and the mere thought of you being angry at him, scared him to the core.
“What do you mean I have to quit school?” Your smiley exterior was immediately replaced with a serious frown. Taeyong hated having to explain himself. But he needed you understand where he’s coming from.
“Y/N, we’re in a serious relationship now. Being Doyoung’s sister was already a risk for you. What more if the rivals find out that we’re together? You will be put into a much greater risk than you already are.” He explained.
You were tired of this. Tired of being treated like a baby. Tired of always missing out trips and fun things with your friends. You never blamed Doyoung for taking this work and you will never blame Taeyong. However, if he can’t find it in himself to protect you - with the skill and power he possess - then, he shouldn’t have bothered you at all. Education was seriously important to you. You worked your way to get accepted in a university with a low acceptance rate. You were on top of the class and never missed one lecture from any professor. That was how serious you took your education; it was something no one could take away from you.
“I’m not quitting university.” You stated with finality. You saw Taeyong’s face become frustrated but you didn’t care.
He rubbed his face with his hands before talking again. “Y/N. I care so much for you. I know how much this will affect you. But, I can’t risk your safety.”
You weren’t accepting any excuse. He could take away your liberty of having fun outside this mansion but no one could take your liberty of finishing college. You felt so conflicted that you wanted to cry. You love Taeyong. You want to be with him until you die. He made you feel things you didn’t believe in before. He made you feel wanted and beautiful. But, you also had dreams; dreams that you established for yourself way before you met him.
--
The semester starts within a week and you needed to go back to the city to fix some stuff before classes start. Your building management already informed you that it was now safe to move back. The conversation that you and Taeyong had a couple nights prior was still unsettled. He took it as a sign that you were okay with his idea but the sight of your boxes and bags packed and ready to go told him otherwise.
“Where are you going?” He started.
“I need to go back to the city to fix some stuff before school.” You replied. “I’ll just get these things settled and I’ll go back here later tonight.”
“Didn’t we discuss this already?” His brows furrowed. Yangyang, who was helping you pack, grew nervous about Taeyon’s demeanor so he excused himself out.
“Yeah, we did.” You stated. “I’m not quitting university. I can come back here every weekend-”
“You really don’t listen, do you?” He cut you off. “I’m doing this to protect you. I love you, Y/N. I know this is a huge decision for you but I expected you to understand.”
“I love you too.” You responded, making relief come to his nerves. But, that didn’t last long. With tears in your eyes, you begged for him to let you go. “I’m not leaving university. I have dreams, goals that I want to achieve. If you love me, you would let me have that.”
“If you love me, you would stay here and keep yourself from harm. I can’t lose you, you know that.” Frustration was evident in his voice. You were scared to see where this is going but you stood your ground.
“I don’t think you love me enough to take the risk.” You started, surprisingly calm despite the rage of emotions inside you. “and I don’t think I love you enough to scratch my future for you.”
You turned around from him, and head outside to go to the city.
The following nights you expected him to call. You called yourself dumb for even thinking that. He was a mafia boss; he had a huge ego and pride. You missed the way his skin felt against yours. You missed him and slowly, you started to think that maybe this was bad idea. The urge to call him first and tell him you wanted to go home to him was overpowering you. You reached for your phone and you noticed an email notification from one of the renowned companies in your field, offering you an internship.
You hoped someone would magically whisper what to do. Taeyong gave you a summer to remember. Within just a few months, he gave you a dreamy love story. You lived like you were on a dream.
That’s the problem with falling in love with dream boys. Sooner or later, you have to wake up.
a/n: hey! this is my first time writing a smut scene so pls be kind hehe i actually dont know if i’ll keep this fic up since im kinda lowkey not happy with it. idk lemme know what u think hehe
#lee taeyong#taeyong x reader#taeyong x you#taeyong imagines#nct taeyong#taeyong angst#taeyong smut#nct smut#nct imagines#nct scenarios#nct drabbles#lee taeyong imagines#lee taeyong x reader
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