#of course it could be because he has to carry the entire conversation on his own
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trying to go to bed mad at Carmen but he’s just not having it LMFAO i just love him with a grumpy gf :(((
You’d like to blame him for it, just because he was short with you this morning. Stressed about a food critic coming to The Bear this weekend, he’s been on edge, losing sleep, and this morning was just one of those days it was getting to him: dodging your affection, hurrying out of bed, disjointed conversations he doesn’t try too hard to be a part of.
It’s not entirely his fault, and you know this, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less, to be put to the side for even a day to make room for that colder edge to him when he gets zoned in.
So you give yourself the liberty to be a little bit shitty, too, just for the night.
You don’t greet him like you usually do, with a deep kiss hello and your hands squeezing at his sore muscles, offering to massage the knots in his shoulders. Instead you sit on the couch reading your book and offer him a fleeting glance. He pauses at the difference, but carries on.
You wait until long after he’s showered to get up. He even pops back into the living room beforehand, shorts hanging low in his waist, to call for you:
“You comin’ to bed?”
“Soon,” you tell him, which could be true, but not definite.
“Okay,” he sighs, coming behind you with a hand on your shoulder and a kiss to the opposite cheek.
You don’t give in, though, and he heads off to the bedroom.
You do join him eventually—almost an hour later, when you’re so tired that it’ll make you even more of a pain to deal with. He’s in the middle of fighting off sleep, trying to stay awake to make sure you come to bed with him, but as much as that makes your chest yearn for him, you plop down in bed a foot away and turn your back to him.
Behind you now, he shuffles to sit up. “Hey,” he tries, a soothing hand on your shoulder, “You alright, baby?”
No response.
Scooting a little closer to lean over and see your face, he brushes hair out of the way to press a kiss to your temple. “C’mon, talk t’me.”
But you turn away from his touch, and he scoffs.
“What, you mad at me now?” He watches you expectantly. “Not even gonna tell me what I did?”
“You didn’t do anything, Carmen,” you mumble, face muffled into your blanket.
“Wh—baby, don’t be like that right now—”
“Be like what?” you snap, sitting up and turning to look at him. “I’m sorry that my needs don’t align with your work schedule. Just let me know when it’d be best to reach you next time.” And with that, you drop back into bed, moving just a little further away from him.
He nearly laughs, then, real subtle with a hand rubbing his eyes and forehead because he knows you, he knows how you get when you miss him. He turns back onto his side with a groan and reaches his hand upon your waist, smoothing beneath the fabric of your shirt.
“Don’t touch me,” you spit, but you don’t dare move his hand away: it feels so much better this way, getting the touch he didn’t give you this morning.
“You’re bein’ mean today. You all cranky ‘cause you miss me, ‘s that it?”
You don’t answer.
“C’mon,” he urges you, shuffling closer so that his arm wraps fully around your waist and his face can bury into your neck with a kiss to your smooth skin. “‘M sorry for bein’ shitty this morning.” Instinctively, he draws a hand up your tummy, right beneath your breasts. “Missed you all day, y’know that?”
“Just leave me alone, Carm, I’m serious.”
“‘M really sorry about this morning, baby.” Pressing kisses to your neck, he takes a deep breath to sink into you. “After that guy comes, it’ll be over with, and I’ll take a couple days off, alright?”
“I don’t care, do what you want.”
He sighs, deep and gravelly and frustrated with your antics—but more so frustrated with himself. He has been shitty this week, he knows it, and he knows you especially don’t deserve it. “C’mon, hon, you’re killin’ me here, at least—at least gimme a kiss goodnight, huh?”
But you don’t. Because of course you don’t, he’s on you’re fuckin’ nerves with his distance lately—but this, his rough hands against your skin, his pleading, his groveling like he can’t imagine a world without you…it helps.
A little.
Not quite enough to cave or give in, though.
He seems to lose a bit of strength against you, laying into the mattress on his back again with a sigh and an arm resting over his eyes. The room stills, the fan whirrs, yet the tension between you is thick enough yet to slice through it with his chef’s knife.
That is, until his arms wrap around you again, and his hands grip your waist tight, and he lets out a grunt of a Can’t believe you’re makin’ me do this, and he wrangles you on top of him, leaving you chest to chest, with your face nuzzled into the crook of his neck and his hand rubbing soothing patterns up and down your back while the other holds you steady, worried you’ll slither away again.
Like he knew it would, the tension in your body dissolves. And maybe that’s what you wanted anyway, but you’d never tell him that—at least, not until tomorrow morning.
The room stills again. The hand smoothing along your back sneaks beneath your shirt, and you melt that much quicker. It’s hypnotic, his rough palms against your soft skin, scratches an itch you didn’t know was there until he wasn’t. He smells crisply clean and of the body wash he buys because you like the scent, a little musky with aldehydes and vetiver and sandalwood.
“This better, baby?” he murmurs, lending a careful kiss to your head.
But you only bury yourself further into him and answer with “Mm.”
He chuckles a bit, squeezes you tighter to make your heart throb. “Thought you’d say somethin’ like that.” Punctuates it with more kisses where he can reach, because now that he’s got you tethered to him again, he doesn’t think he could let you go.
The two of you stay where you are, then, just soaking in the other’s presence with wordless appreciation exchanged, growing heavier with sleep as heartbeats sync and eyelids slip closed. And by morning, legs will be intertwined, and Carmen will pull you from a groggy daze with a kiss to your lips, and you’ll be a little less bitter when he heads off to work.
(He knows it’ll simmer till he comes home, but if he gets to sleep with your weight and your warmth again, he’s sure it’ll be alright.)
#not the happiest w this but wanted to give y’all a lil somethin bc of my hiatus#carmen berzatto#carmy berzatto#carmy the bear#jeremy allen white#carmen berzatto x reader#carmy berzatto x reader#carmen berzatto fluff#carmy berzatto fluff#the bear#the bear fx#the bear hulu
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"Your husband, who is your lovely sub on normal days, asks if he could take the lead for once."
Pairing: CEO!Jungkook x f.Reader
Genre: married life!AU, Smut
Warnings: switchy Dom!Jungkook, switch!Reader, basically he wants to be Dom but ends up having quite a subby approach to the entire scene, he is so cute!, slightly bratty!Reader, he shows off his bratty side as well, he lets a few "Mommy"s slip because he is cute, sex in the playroom, leather handcuffs, he ties her to the bed with ropes, suit kink as he keeps his suit on during sex, lap sitting, he is a giggly tease, body worship, nipple licking, temperature play with peach juice, edging (f.receiving), oral (f.receiving), vaginal fingering, use of a rabbit vibrator, use of lube, strength kink, some dirty talk, he calls her "his queen", giggly aftercare, Kookie slips right back into sub-mode the moment the scene ended, they’re so in love!!
Wordcount: 9.7k
a/n: Okay you guys, you know that I love aaol!Kook and his subby nature very much, but this idea came to me one night and wouldn't want to leave me. So enjoy, this is him being the Dom in a scene I am *gulps* have fun besties 😩💜
Your husband had a request last night. It was the type of request he never made before and one you most definitely didn’t expect to ever hear from him.
“Can I dom you?”
The question fell during dinner, leaving you to look at him with widened eyes.
“It’s just that, that…”
He began stuttering then, fondling with his own ear nervously.
“...you know that I, uhm, you know how we, uhm. You know uhm. You know how we once talked about how I’m kinda only subbing for the right woman and that I’m actually a switch? You know it, it was on our first date. You know?”
You assured him that yes of course you remember.
“Yeah okay I uh. Uhm. Uh. Mmh, yeah. I was, uh.”
You had to tell him then, “Jungkook, please don’t be so nervous, there is no reason for it”, which calmed him down enough that he could finish his sentence properly.
“It’s just that, I was thinking that maybe we could, you know, switch it up for once? Just, just once obviously and I, I don’t wanna invalidate you as a Dom.”
“You aren’t, my love”, you told him to which he seemed rather assured.
“Okay good, so uhm. What do you think? Could I be, uhm, could I be the Dom for once? Just once? Please? Once?”
Jungkook looked at you with the biggest puppy eyes ever and so you told him in the most nonchalant of ways that “yeah sure, let’s switch it up. But ain’t calling you Daddy.”
“Ew hell no, that’s just gross. You’re literally the same age as me.”
At that you had to laugh, “but Jungkook dear, you call me Mommy too.”
“Well, that’s different because you’re hot and like totally my type.”
A day has passed between that conversation and the current moment. You have just come home, now in the middle of hanging up your coat when Jungkook calls for you.
“My love, can you come here for a moment?”
“Coming! Just gotta get rid of my bag!” you tell him, doing exactly that.
You find Jungkook in the living room once you are done undressing. He is sitting on the chaise lounge by the window, still wearing a suit. Well, parts of it at least. A black and terribly tight button up is tucked into his equally as tight and as black slacks. The sleeves of the shirt are rolled up, revealing his strong, lower arms to you. His favourite Rolex sits around his wrist. The suit jacket he had draped on the chaise lounge beside him.
“Hey there handsome, how was your day?” you greet him.
“Good. Yours?”
“Good too, just kinda stressful.”
“Yeah stressful?”
“Yeah very. But it’s alright because I’m home now. With you.”
Jungkook gives you a shy grin. You let your eyes run over his chest. He has three of his buttons open, leaving little to your imagination.
“But what’s with you. Why are you still in your suit?” you ask him.
“It’s not my work suit.”
“It’s not?”
Jungkook smirks and spreads his legs rather cockily.
“Come here, my love”, he says, carrying a certain rasp in his voice.
“Oh? Okay”, you chuckle, “is this already part of your plan?”
“Yeah maybe”, he straightens up the closer you come.
“Is it now? What about dinner?”
“Wanna take you out afterwards. It’s not good to play with a full stomach anyway”, he tells you, following the sway of your hips with his eyes, “now sit”, he says, tapping his lap.
You smile fondly, climbing on top of his lap in a way so that you were facing him. Your knees are caging in his hips and you have your hands hooked behind his neck.
“Like this?” you ask, playing with his undercut at the nape of his neck.
“Perfect”, he says and places his hands on your hips to massage them gently. He scans his eyes over your body, “you’re so beautiful, my love.”
“Oh? Thank you. I feel like a mess. I was sweating so much today.”
“I don’t even see it. You are so beautiful.”
“Thank you, Bunny.”
“No, no. Call me by name tonight”, he pauses, “if it’s alright with you, of course”, he adds in a whisper.
“By your name?” you stifle a chuckle, but Jungkook is looking at you with dead serious eyes, “fine. Thank you, Jungkook”, you coo, fluttering your lashes at him.
Jungkook nods his head and runs his hand up your back. He gives your body a gentle squeeze when he reaches your upper back, then begins dancing his hands down to your hips again.
“How was your day, my love? Honestly”, he asks with his attentive eyes solely focused on you. He loves listening to you.
“It was good. Just really hot and the last two lectures kinda ruined me. I’m so tired”, you say and rest your head on his shoulder, “but that’s amazing. You’re so snuggly.”
Jungkook kisses your hair and rubs his hands up and down your back. His touch is so nice, making you tingle in a comforting manner.
“Are you in the mood for kink? I know I’m kinda surprising you right now.”
“No, I knew you would. We talked about it, didn’t we?”
“Mhm, yeah. But moods can change, especially after a long day.”
“No, I still want it. I was looking forward to tonight. I’m so curious to what you have planned.”
“It’s gonna be so good”, he says and wiggles.
“Yeah?"
“Mh-hm, I put a lot of thought into it and worked with the wishes you told me yesterday. I really worked so hard on it.”
“Uuh Bunny, that sounds intriguing.”
“I know, oh Mommy I’m so-”, he stops and wiggles out of your hug. He pouts at you, “no Bunny”, he frowns cutely, “and you’re not my Mommy tonight. No.”
You laugh, caressing his cheeks, “you’re cute. But fine. I’ll behave. What do you have planned, Jungkook?”
“First, tell me your rights”, he says.
“Well, I have the right to vote and the right to voice my opinion freely, there is also the right to-”
“No ___, don’t ruin my plan”, Jungkook whines, sending you a pleading look.
You chuckle. He is so adorable. You are pretty sure that if you truly acted bratty, he would just straight up break into tears because of feeling way too overwhelmed. Poor, sweet boy. Maybe you should cut him some slack for now. After all, Jungkook has a talent for planning scenes. You are sure that he put a lot of effort into tonight.
“Fine”, you give in, “Green, yellow and red. Snap my fingers three times or hum happy birthday. Also don’t you dare call me a good girl or I will end the scene immediately.”
“Yes, that’s it. I understand”, Jungkook says, nodding his head, “do you want this?”
“Yes Jungkook, I do.”
“Good”, he lowers his eyes playfully, “you know? I did some thinking today.”
“You did?”
“Mhm yeah. I was thinking about all the ways I could ruin you.”
“Ruin me?” you gasp, feeling genuinely surprised.
“Yeah”, Jungkook lowers his eyes playfully, “you always put so much effort into making sure I’m a complete mess, so I put a lot of thinking into what I could do to you.”
“You did?” you ask him, finding more and more enjoyment in the scene.
“Yeah”, he smirks playfully, “why don’t you clean up and get pretty for me and I’ll show you?”
“You’ll show me?” you ask huskily, moving closer.
Jungkook looks at your lips with half-lidded eyes.
“Yeah”, he rasps, “upstairs.”
A shiver runs down your spine, making your hips squirm on top of his lap.
“You really prepared it upstairs?”
“Yeah, like we talked about”, he says cockily, “I also put out something for you to wear.”
“Fuck Bunny, you-”
“Uh, nuh”, he silences you by pressing his finger against your lips, “aren’t you forgetting something here?”
“Jungkook”, you murmur, gawking at him with widened eyes, “I meant Jungkook.”
“Better”, he rasps and caresses your chin with two of his fingers, “now off you go, get cleaned up and pretty and then come upstairs. I’ll be waiting for you.”
“Fine, geez you’re really into this role aren’t you?” you murmur, stumbling off his lap with slightly wobbly knees.
Jungkook told the truth. He really prepared something to wear for you. One of his shirts. Babyblue and oversized. It is resting on your bed with a single red rose and a little note on top of it. You aren’t surprised that he chose something so domestic and casual. He loves it when you wear his clothes and quite frankly, you expected him to choose domestic attire for you.
You decide to get washed up first and read the note later.
Once done and with your body finally smelling and feeling clean again, you sit down on the edge of the bed, putting on the shirt. It fits you perfectly, smelling just like him. Once you took a good whiff of him, you reach for the note and the finely wrapped chocolate praline he placed beside it. You let it melt on your tongue as you read.
“A flower and chocolate for my Queen. PS: No panties please ;) Love, Jungkook.”
You smile, folding the note neatly and placing it next to the rose.
“You’re so cute, Bunny”, you murmur, leaving the bedroom to finally hurry upstairs.
You are so excited for what he has planned. You know that whatever he thought of will be fun. The two of you had a long and thorough conversation about your likes and dislikes last night, so you know that Jungkook must have taken great advantage of the knowledge. He is your amazing husband after all.
You knock three times and wait with a racing heart.
“Come in!”
You take a deep breath and finally slip inside.
The playroom doesn’t look much different than it normally does. Except that Jungkook turned on all the moodlights and he changed the once red PVC cover for the black one. It fits well with his outfit.
“Look at you”, he says, leaving the place by the backlit window to strut to you, “you look fucking stunning.”
“Thank you”, you say, “and thank you for the rose and chocolate.”
“Of course”, he says, taking your hand to place a soft kiss on top of your knuckles, “anything for my Queen”, he rasps, looking at you with playful eyes.
He leaves you all hot and bothered. This cocky, flirty attitude suits him so well.
“So”, you begin, “finally ready to tell me what you have planned for me?”
Jungkook straightens up solely to begin circling you like a predator would its prey. His steps are confident, the sound of his shoes are loud on the floorboards.
One.
Two.
He is standing just about behind you, placing his hand on your lower back. He leans in, making sure that you would feel his breath tickle your neck.
“Patience”, he whispers, inching his hand closer and closer to your front. He presents a flute of a sparkling beverage to you. It reflects the red lights, “for you.”
“What’s that?” you gasp, eyeing it with slight shock in your tummy.
“Sparkling peach juice”, he says and giggles, “I wanted to treat you to something yummy.”
“Oh dear, you had me worried that you got alcohol for a sec”, you say, accepting the flute gladly.
“Never”, he says and snakes his arm around you so he could clink glasses with you. He ghosts his lips over your neck as he does, sending shivers down your spine, “to a wonderful evening”, he rasps.
“Yeah”, you agree and guide the glass to your lips. Jungkook does the same with his’. One sip and then he ghosts his lips over your neck again. They are cold from the juice, their kisses leave wet spots on your skin. Jungkook lets his breath swirl over them, intensifying the sensation to the max. It also doesn’t help that his unoccupied hand is running up and down your waist, reminding you just how warm his touch feels.
“I’m so obsessed with you”, he whispers, nibbling on the spots he marked to get rid of the juice, “I can’t stop looking at you in this shirt”, he says, letting his lips brush against the shell of your ear.
The shiver running down your spine leaves you seeking his closeness. You lean into him, sipping on the juice.
“Means I’m yours”, you whisper, listening to his breath hitch.
“Mine?” he repeats, voice shaky.
You smirk triumphantly, “yeah, yours. When you’re on business trips I always put it on, it’s like you’re right there with me.”
“My love”, Jungkook is almost growling, pressing himself into you while his hand grips your hip strongly. He buries his face in your neck, purring deeply.
You giggle, stumbling from how aggressively he is gripping you and with just how much vigour he is grinding into you. You knew it. This would drive him insane. You solely did it to get him that way. Desperate and oh so turned on.
“Fuck, you drive me insane”, he rasps, “I wanna treat you so fucking right.”
His hand rests itself on your stomach, pressing your body back into him. You fall gladly, moaning softly when your ass brushes against his growing cock.
You have to look at him. You just have to.
“Goddamn Kook, what’s gotten into you?”
He looks into your eyes, “why? Do you not like it? Did I do something wrong?” he asks panickedly.
“No, it’s just. You’re actually into that role, aren’t you?”
He nods his head, “I spent my entire day thinking about it”, he confesses and giggles cutely, “I couldn’t concentrate at work at all because all I could think about was us and, and you and just how excited I am for tonight.”
“Well, that’s not good. You shouldn’t do that, baby”, you say, caressing his cheek.
“I know, but I couldn’t help it Mommy, I just-”, he falters, lowering his eyes at you, “don’t do that”, he whines.
“Oh, cutie”, you laugh.
“Hey don’t laugh, it’s not funny. You’re so mean, you gotta give me a chance too.”
“I am, I am. Don’t worry”, you assure him, snickering.
He huffs out air, pouting.
“Fine”, you twirl, placing your hand on his chest, “I’ll try to behave from now on.”
“Thanks”, he says, relaxing. He touches your side, massaging it slowly while his eyes race over your features.
“I’ll try, can’t promise that I’ll succeed”, you say, smirking.
“Mhm, that’s enough for me”, he says, pulling you closer, “thank you, my love. I really need this, so thank you.”
He is so sweet. You are melting on the spot. He is so, so sweet.
“Now”, you say and shotgun the rest of your juice, “finally wanna tell me what you have planned for me?”
“Well first”, he says and takes your hand, “follow me.”
He leads you to the bed, sitting down and pulling you on top of his lap in a way so that your legs would tangle down on one side of him and your back was supported by his arm. The glasses are placed on the floor for now.
The other hand he slips between your legs, feeling up your inner thigh with teasing precision. You really want to squirm because of it. His touch is like fire on your skin.
“What would you say if I told you that I want to put handcuffs around your wrists? And then make you lie on the mattress while I feel up every inch of you?”
“Handcuffs you’re saying? What kinda handcuffs?”
You are acting oblivious on purpose. In reality, you knew exactly of what handcuffs he is talking. You talked about it last night.
He nods his head to the side, pulling your attention to the black leather cuffs currently resting beside him on the bed. You know these cuffs. They have been around Jungkook’s wrists a hundred times before.
“Those seem familiar.”
“Mhm probably. They’re comfy, trust me.”
“Yeah? Have experience with them?”
He smirks playfully, looking at your lips, “maybe.”
“That’s hot. Someone so strong and manly all tied up. That’s so hot”, you coo, swirling your nail up his exposed chest.
Jungkook purrs, moving closer until your lips are touching. One second of gazing. His hand moves, his finger brushes over your pussy. A gasp slips past your lips.
“No panties”, he says and smiles, “you listened. I like that.”
He is tracing your thigh as he speaks. He is so close to your middle that you would only have to move a little and you could have his touch. One more time. The first touch felt so good.
“I thought I’d make it easier for you”, you whisper, chasing him in a squirm.
“You did so well”, he praises, “now”, he pauses his touches, hovers his finger just above your clit, “can you tell me what you think of the idea, mhm?”
Again. He knew exactly what you thought of it because you told him last night. You were into it and you trusted him. It was still terribly exciting to hear you consent to it once again.
“It’s alright.”
“Alright?”
You giggle playfully, making Jungkook frown. It’s actually quite a sexy look on him.
“Kidding. I like it”, you say, grinning when this makes Jungkook roll his eyes at you.
“Pick them up.”
“Huh?”
“Pick up the handcuffs”, Jungkook repeats the order. His voice sounds sterner than before.
You follow with a chuckle, snatching them from the mattress to tangle them from your fingers instead.
“And now?”
“Put them around your wrist.”
“Like this?” you ask, messing it up on purpose.
Jungkook grabs your wrist harshly, genuinely flustering you. He is still frowning, working skillfully to close the shackles. First your right then your left. He twists the chain between them and tugs your hands closer.
“Like this”, he says.
“Well damn. That’s one way to do it”, you murmur, gazing into his dark eyes.
“How do they feel?” he asks.
“Good”, you rasp, gawking at him.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, you’re just really hot”, you say, making him blush and lower his eyes.
“Heh”, he lets out, gazing into your eyes. His hand slips between your legs again, massaging your inner thigh. You feel hot instantly, tensing your muscles in desperation.
And as he runs his fingers over your skin, he continues talking.
“I want to hook you to the bed by the handcuffs. What do you think of that?”
“Sounds constricting.”
“Yeah”, he places his hand over your pussy, moving his fingers as slowly as possible.
You gasp because of it, parting your legs.
“I promise that it’ll feel nice. Like this”, he rasps, parting your folds with two of his fingers. He feels you up. Once. Twice. His touch retreats, desperation remains.
“Jungkook”, you breathe, closing your fingers around a bundle of his shirt.
Jungkook’s hooded eyes flit down to them, the right corner of his lips curls into a smirk. He touches your inner thigh, basking in the squirm you do because of it.
“Can I call you cute?” he asks.
“Cute?”
“Are you comfortable with being called that way?”
“Only when you say it. Why?”
He moves closer, squeezing your thigh and eliciting a loud gasp from you. His dark eyes flit to your lips, his breath tickles you as he speaks.
“Because you’re so fucking cute when you squirm for me”, he rasps, sending shivers down your spine.
“Goddamn it, Kook”, you whisper, aching for a kiss.
Jungkook purrs and smirks. He stubs you with his nose, getting to his feet afterwards with you in his arms bridal style. His muscles tense, he bounces you in his arms twice to get a better grip. And you are dizzy. Seriously, you are dizzy. You expected anything, but not for Jungkook to be so good at controlling a scene.
Jungkook sets you down on the bed carefully, placing you in the middle of it and soothing you by caressing your cheek.
“Are you comfortable?” he makes sure.
“Yeah, I am”, you assure him.
“Okay. Good. Lift your arms, I’m tying you down”, he orders and you obey.
He grabs the rope, guiding it to your handcuffs to tie you down. He prepared the rope for tonight. Black tossa yute. He likes the feel of it and the colour. He thinks that it fits the overall vibe he is trying to go for. Dark and mysterious.
Jungkook finishes the knot, running his fingers down your arms and making you writhe in the process. His touch tingles like crazy.
“How is that?” he asks you.
“Good”, you answer him, studying his face, “what now?”
“Now? I’m taking my time with you. You’re so beautiful, It’d be a shame not to”, he says, sitting down at the edge of the bed. He pulls one knee up, placing his arm across your waist. Like this, he is propped up on his hand, facing you with sparkly eyes.
He runs them up and down your torso and as the seconds become longer and longer, those sparkles get replaced by hungry fire.
You feel on fire too. Sharing silence with him. Being gazed upon. Building tension. Jungkook hasn’t touched you yet and somehow this is driving you insane.
Jungkook moves. Finally. His touch lays itself upon your stomach. His warmth seeps through the shirt, your skin is covered in goosebumps. He caresses you, squeezes you afterwards. Strong and desperate.
Jungkook locks eyes with you. They are dark and half-lidded.
“You’re so fucking sexy in my shirt”, he rasps, voice deeper than usual, “I’m so addicted to you.”
“Addicted?” you gasp.
“Yeah”, he purrs, running his hand up your tummy and sternum until he reaches your throat. He doesn’t touch it, knowing that you don’t want him to go there. Instead he lifts his hand so only his fingertips are touching you. He tugs at the collar of the shirt, giving you a glimpse of what he will do next. “I’m running on nothing but you.”
You feel good from his sweet words. He always knows what to say. Jungkook slips his fingers to the upper most button of the shirt.
“Can I start to undress you?” he asks
“Yes, you can”, you allow him, feeling incredibly safe right now. You didn’t for a second feel fear for tonight. There is a reason why you don’t want to sub. Not only for the most obvious one that Domming just feels a lot better to you and it comes natural to you, but also because being a sub in the past hurt you. The men you had to sleep with at your job hurt you, fucked you into non-consensual submission and left without making sure to fix what they broke. Quite frankly, being someone’s sub traumatised you.
But you weren’t scared of tonight because you aren’t scared of Jungkook. You could never be scared of Jungkook. Especially not when it comes to kink. He respects you, loves you and cherishes you. You told him that you needed him to ask permission for every new step he takes and he does. He is asking, going slow, making sure that he only proceeds once he gets your clear verbal consent. This is everything you needed and Jungkook is showing you once again that you can always trust him and count on him. And it is enough to make you feel safe enough that you willingly let yourself get tied up and therefore rendered helpless.
He undresses you slowly. Button by button. Each time he opens a new one, he feels up your skin with featherlight touches. There are ten buttons on his shirt, by the time you mentally counted to ten, you are aching for his touch. You really, really are.
Jungkook retreats his hand, letting the situation hang in the air. Your shirt is still closed except for a little slit having formed in the middle. Technically you are still dressed, but feel naked already. Naked and desperate.
“How was that?” he asks you.
“Good”, you get out, “Jungkook, hurry up.”
“Patience”, he soothes you, caressing your hip.
“I hate patience”, you say and huff out air.
“No you don’t, you’re telling me to be patient all the time”, he retorts and goddamn it hits right where it hurts the most.
“No need to throw my own bomb back at me”, you mumble, making him snicker.
You send him a pout, one that Jungkook wipes away instantly with a soft caress to your chin.
“You’re so cute”, he whispers, making you roll your eyes fondly.
He retreats his hand, touching your exposed collarbone instead.
“I’ll get on top of you for now. Is that okay?”
“Yeah, it’s okay.”
“Good, that’s good”, Jungkook says and climbs on bed, claiming his spot right atop your lap. His slacks are struggling around his thighs and butt, stretching to their limit. The view is seriously making your mouth water.
Jungkook sits down on you. Nicely heavy and warm. That’s how he feels. And weirdly enough, he feels in charge. Despite how normally submissive he is in this position, tonight he feels in charge and you are starting to enjoy it more and more. At least for tonight. He is so hot when he is bossy.
Your eyes flit from his meaty thighs to his hands. He is currently fixing the rolled up sleeves of his shirt, making sure that you get the perfect view of his lower arms and working fingers. He ends it by running his fingertips down his own skin, rocking back and forth on you just once.
He is so hot without even trying. No wonder you’re so irrevocably in love with him.
He lowers himself, hands coming to rest on each side of your head and dark eyes running over your face.
“You’re so pretty”, he rasps.
“And you’re drooling.”
“Mhm proudly”, he says, giving you a cute grin, “I’ll start to open your shirt now and I’ll touch you as I do. Are you ready?”
“Yeah, I’m ready.”
“Good. Relax for me, my love. You’re in good hands”, he whispers and sits up, placing his hands on your tummy to feel up your torso. He stops once he reaches the collar of your shirt, hooking his fingers in it to tug it open.
And so it begins. The addicting game of undress. Jungkook goes slow, eyes running over your body adoringly and fingers tracing your skin ever so often.
“I love it when you wear my shirts”, he whispers in a raspy voice.
“I know, you’re not good at hiding it”, you say, gazing at him.
“Who said I wanna hide it?”
“Hah. Sweet talker.”
“Mh-hm yeah”, he lets out and lowers his lips to your neck. He kisses the tender spot where your neck meets your collarbone. You find yourself sighing his name because of it, rolling your head to the side to give him better access.
One Jungkook takes gladly, trailing his kisses along your neck while his fingers feel up your upper sides. His touch tickles in an amazing way.
“You’re so beautiful”, he whispers, “I’m so lucky. Seriously so lucky”, you adds and swirls his tongue down your neck.
“Ah”, you let out at the sensation, writhing in bliss. His tongue is so wet and warm, leaving behind a tingling cold sensation where the air hits your skin.
Jungkook wraps his lips around a spot on your upper chest and sucks. It feels gentle at first until a small sting shoots through you.
“Kookie”, you let out and luckily for you, Jungkook slips his lips from your skin to kiss a loving trail down to your breasts.
“My queen”, he whispers, “you’re mine. All mine. I love my queen so much”, he says and lifts his gaze to look at you.
“I love you too”, you tell him with a fluttering tummy.
“Heh”, he lets out and lowers himself back to your chest, “my love, can I worship your breasts?”
“Yes, you can.”
“Thank you, you are so beautiful. I wanna make you feel so good”, he whispers and begins kissing your skin. He moans and sighs as he does, running his hands over your curves and rocking his hips back and forth on your lap.
It feels so good. He is so gentle in his touches and loving in his kisses. Every second with him feels like a dream. A warm and safe dream. By the time Jungkook lifts his lips from your chest for the first time, you are so charged in pleasure that you actually whine.
“What was that?” he asks, tracing your ribs right under your breasts.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” he smiles boyishly, “are you sure? Because it sounded like a whine to me.”
He makes you frown and pout. He chuckles because of it, wiggling his hips.
“You’re a tease”, you get out and arch your back, “fuck Kookie, my nipples are sensitive.”
“I know, they’re really swollen too”, he says and rubs his fingers against them. The touch makes you arch into him again, forcing your lips to produce a soft moan. Jungkook circles his hips and moans with you, “that feels so good. Your nipples are so, so pretty.”
“Kook, seriously”, you sigh, “it’s driving me insane.”
“It’s starting to work, doesn’t it?”
“What does?”
“My plan to ruin you.”
You open your eyes, sending him a look. Jungkook snickers because of it, giving you a playful smile.
“Look at you enjoying this”, you murmur, “so mean.”
He snickers with even more boyishness in his eyes, sliding his hands to your waist and leaning some of his weight on you.
“Are you still enjoying it?”
“I am. A lot.”
“That’s so nice to hear. Oh Mommy, I’m so happy”, he says and leans down to smooch your lips. He cups your cheeks, rubbing his nose against yours as he wiggles his hips, “do you really like it a lot?”
“Yes, I really do. You feel so good.”
“Oh god, Mommy”, he giggles, “that makes me so, so happy. I wanna be such a good Dom to you, Mommy.”
“You’re cute, Bunny. Also, I thought I’m not your Mommy tonight?”
“Oh”, Jungkook lifts his head, blinking at you with widened eyes, “I uh…”
You laugh, “don’t worry, love. I’m just gonna act like you didn’t say that.”
“God”, he lowers his eyes shyly, “thank you. I can’t stop calling you that. It comes so natural to me.”
“It’s alright. You’re still in charge, don’t worry.”
“Okay, okay”, he grins cutely, “I want to do the next step to you.”
“Okay? What do you wanna do?”
“I wanna use the juice to get my mouth colder and then run it over your body”, his eyes shift to your nipples, his thumbs draw light circles on them, “especially your nipples”, he adds in a breathy whisper.
“That’s hot, do it”, you allow him, arching into his touch.
“Okay. Stay, don’t go anywhere”, he says and snickers at his joke as he climbs off your lap.
“Stupid noodle”, you murmur, smiling to yourself.
He skips back to the bed in happy steps and sits down on your lap again. He carries the flute of juice in his left hand, lifting it to his lips to take a sip. He swallows it, keeping up eye contact as he does. Once done, he smiles, letting out a soft chuckle.
You retort it, arching into his hand as he runs it over your torso. He cradles your breasts and massages them gently.
“The juice is so yummy”, he says and leans down to dance his cold lips over your chest.
“Mhhm”, you purr, closing your eyes in pleasure. His fingers are so warm, his touch so hot and yet his lips are so cold. The contrast of sensations makes you tingle like crazy.
Jungkook sits up and takes another sip. He keeps just enough in his mouth so he could wrap his lips round your nipple and make you feel the sensation. Wet and cold. Goosebumps form on your chest because of it. The tingle snakes all the way down to your pussy.
“God”, you chuckle, squirming desperately, “that’s cold. Hah.”
Jungkook swallows the juice, ending it by sucking on your nipple. You are so goddamn sensitive already that you have to close your legs and rub them together.
“Bunny…”
Jungkook lifts his lips, moaning softly. He looks up at you with sparkly eyes, smiling sweetly.
“You’re so sweet”, he says, “I love your nipples so much.”
“You’re such a tease”, you whisper.
Jungkook scrunches his nose and sits up. He lifts the flute of juice and guides it over your tummy.
“This isn’t gonna go well”, you tell him, watching with a dizzy head.
He tilts the glass.
“Bunny, listen to me. It’s gonna go everywhere.”
But Jungkook doesn’t listen. He tilts the flute and lets the juice trickle down onto your tummy. It goes well at first until it gets too much and the juice escapes down your sides.
“Oh no”, he gasps, leaning down quickly to slurp it up from your tummy.
“See?” you laugh, “you stupid noodle, you should have listened. I know what’s up.”
Jungkook slurps one last time, then licks up and down your tummy with the flat of his tongue. You have to be honest, that shit feels amazing. Cold at first until his hot mouth warms you up again.
He guides his mouth to your lower tummy, nibbling at your tenderness with his teeth tugged behind his lips. You squirm and giggle.
Jungkook lifts his head, grinning up at you.
“This was all part of my plan”, he very obviously lies, “I wanted the juice to go everywhere so I can lick your tummy.”
“Mhm sure”, you say sarcastically and snicker, “you’re such a stupid noodle.”
“Heh”, he lets out and sits up. There is one sip left in the glass. He decides to trickle it over your tummy again. It spills again, making you chuckle and glance at him. He does the same, “all part of the plan.”
“Sure.”
Jungkook grins and leans down, slurping up the sweet juice while his hands run up and down your sides. The empty glass he discarded on the bed for now.
Once clean again, he guides his eager tongue up to your breasts. His mouth is warmed up by now, it feels like fire around your nipples as he sucks and licks them. One at a time with equal amounts of attention shared between them.
And while he does, he is rolling his hips on your lap, squeezing his thighs around you needily. He is even whimpering like the natural babyboy he is. If you weren’t so tied up and ruined in desperation, you would have grabbed him and flipped him to give him the fuck he deserved.
But you aren’t in control tonight. At least, you pretend to be.
“Jungkook more”, and so you beg, feeling not an ounce of shame in doing so. He makes you feel so safe that it doesn’t feel weird to beg.
Jungkook lifts his puffy lips from your equally as puffy nipples. His fingers continue to play with them even when he sits up. His hips wiggle and roll against you, his butt is stuck out as he arches his back.
This whole situation really is one big roleplay, you think as you watch him pose so instinctively submissive.
“Did you just beg?” he asks, melting you with it. He is so cute.
“And if I did?” you answer him, thrusting your hips up. Jungkook squeaks and moans, pressing his thighs together. Cute. He is so adorable, “I need more, please.”
“Oh god”, he chokes out and wiggles his hips, “okay. Yes”, he nods his head vigorously and gives your nipples a soft pinch.
The sensation makes you sigh and arch your back.
“I want to use a rabbit on you”, he smiles with his eyes, “not me, an actual rabbit vibe.”
You roll your eyes, “you stupid noodle, that joke was terrible”, you say with a fond grin.
“Hehe”, he lets out and leans down, forcing heat to rise to your cheeks from just how seductive he suddenly looks. Playful and terribly cute, but still very seductive, “can I use a toy on you, please?”
“Yes you can”, you whisper, eyes hypnotised by his lips. They are so wet and puffy from sucking your nipples. And so pink. You want to kiss him so fucking bad.
“Thank you. Now stay here, I’ll get the toy”, he says, kissing your forehead once before climbing off bed and strutting to the big toy wall. He discards the glass on a table while he is at it.
You and he are very proud of your collection. It took a few years to get it where it is today and you are still not done. Each toy has its separate compartment, while your more aesthetic toys even have their own display case. The rabbit vibrator was a White Day present from Jungkook. Dark pink and soft silicone. The toy is both controlled by buttons and over its very own app. Sometimes when Jungkook is on a business trip and you have sex over a video call, you use said rabbit to get off while Jungkook is the one controlling the pattern. Obviously he knows that he can only get his very own reward if he gives you a good pattern and until now, he has never disappointed.
Jungkook closes the drawer and returns to the bed, but not before grabbing your favourite lube.
You also use the rabbit to jerk off whenever Jungkook is not in the mood for sex or you are too lazy to ask him and need simple, quick relief. And on your most favourite occasions, you use the toy to get off Jungkook, stuffing his ass with it and using its curve to torture his prostate while the smaller side presses against his balls. Jungkook shakes like crazy whenever you do that.
Jungkook places the lube bottle and toy next to you on the mattress. He touches your legs, running his palms down to your ankles.
“Ready?”
“For what?”
“That”, he says, grabs you by your ankles and pulls your legs apart.
You squeak right along with your feet as they slide over the PVC cover.
“Jungkook why?” you laugh, “oh my fucking god.”
“I’m sorry, it’s always so hot when you do it. Did you not like it?”
“I did, don’t worry, just fuck. You’re better at that than I thought you would be.”
Jungkook grins cockily, “what can I say? I’m a natural.”
“You’re a stupid noodle that’s what you are”, you say with a fond giggle.
“Yeah…I like being your stupid noodle. It makes you laugh. I love making you laugh.”
“God Kookie, you’re so cute.”
“Heh”, he lets out and places himself between your open legs. He places the rabbit on your tummy, resting his hand on the sheets next to your pussy. Then he flashes you a cute smile, “you’re pretty.”
“God Kookie, I love you so much which is why I’m gonna tell you something now. Hurry the fuck up”, you say and groan, bucking your hips up in desperation.
He laughs, wiggling his shoulders.
“It’s not fun is it?” he teases and kisses your knee, “now you know how I feel when you tease me.”
“If I knew you would use tonight as a revenge scheme I’d have said no”, you joke, making his laughter grow.
He smooches your other knee then flashes you a smile.
“I’ll get started, yeah?” he says.
“Yeah”, you stress, opening your legs further.
Despite his words, Jungkook takes his sweet time in getting the toy ready. He picks it up from your tummy and spreads lube over its silicon shaft as slowly as possible, all while his pretty doe eyes switch between the toy and your face.
“Kook…” you warn.
He looks at you and smiles, “patience. I’m almost done.”
“You’re such a tease.”
He doesn’t say anything to that. He merely smiles and connects his lubed up fingers with your pussy.
You hiss at the contact, rolling your hips into his touch. It feels like ecstasy to be touched by him. His fingers are so gentle and know exactly where to touch.
“You’re so wet”, he lulls, massaging your pussy in slow circles. First your clit and folds, then he lingers on your entrance.
“Fuck, baby”, you moan softly.
Jungkook slips his fingers inside, forcing your body to shudder in pleasure. The breach feels so good that you have to grip the ropes and arch your back. Jungkook watches it happening with his cock straining his slacks. He didn’t dare to imagine you twisting ropes like this and yet here you are, twisting the ropes because of how good he makes you feel. He swallows down the mewl threatening to escape him and instead channels his desperation into curling his fingers just right.
“That feels so good”, you sigh, rolling your head to the side, “fuck.”
“I love this so much”, he confesses with his voice trembling, “you’re so soft.”
“More.”
Jungkook smiles because you are twisting the ropes again and you don’t even notice it. He’s really got you desperate, hasn’t he? He feels his heart flutter and his tummy turn in desire. This is so sexy to him.
He slips his fingers free, even if you whine, and guides the vibrator to your pussy. Your whines stops, desperate breathing replaces them.
“Take a deep breath for me”, he orders in a soft voice, listening to the way your breath hitches in your throat. He puts gentle pressure on your pussy and slips inside.
“Jungkook”, you release your breath in a moan of his name, clenching around the toy with your fingers closing around the ropes again.
“Keep breathing, my love. Keep breathing”, Jungkook talks you through it, staring at your pussy with dilated pupils. She looks so pretty around the toy, fitting right around it. As if you were made for it. Jungkook squeezes his legs together and pushes the last two inches inside, “done. How are you?”
“Turn it on, please.”
“Did you just beg again?”
“Fuck, shut up and do it”, you throw back in a chuckle, sending him a look.
Jungkook snickers, scrunching his nose up, “you’re so cute”, he says and presses the on button. The toy begins purring and humming, sending vibrations through your pussy.
“Holy shit”, your eyes roll back and fall closed, your legs open further, “Jungkook….”
“That’s it. Relax”, he speaks in whispers, moving the toy back and forth carefully, “how’s that, my love?”
“Good, really good just…move the clit part a little to the left.”
Jungkook fixes the position, “like this?”
“Yes”, you groan, rolling your hips up, “yes there. Keep that going. Jungkook, right there.”
“This makes me so hard”, he confesses in a mewl. He gets on his knees, squeezing his cock between his thighs this way. He keeps rubbing them together, finding relief that way. He knows that it’s not the most dominant position, but he can’t help himself. He loves it so much when he can serve you! He loves making you feel good, moan and shake. He loves it so much that he gets so horny that he just has to rub his cock against whatever is closest. And tonight his clothed thighs are the closest friction he can get and he chases it like a needy bunny while his hand never once messes up the rhythm of the toy.
It is not long and he has you arching your back for an orgasm. Your thighs are trembling and your fingers ache from twisting the ropes.
“Jungkook, I have to cum”, you confess in a moan, readying yourself for the amazing high with bated breath. You just know that the orgasm is going to feel like heaven. He managed to rile you up so much that it will consume your entire body. You can’t wait to have it.
In three, two…
Jungkook removes the toy from your pussy and turns it off. The fire dies down, agony replaces it.
“What the hell?” you groan, writhing in pain, “holy fuck, did you just edge me?”
Your eyes meet. While you are genuinely shocked by what just happened, Jungkook seems proud of himself.
“Yeah”, he says.
“What the fuck?”
He laughs, wiggling his shoulders.
“No seriously, what the fuck? Why would you do that?” you press out. He never edged you without your orders before. This is a fucking first and goddamn, it riles you up.
“Because I can”, he throws back and grins.
“You are. So. Mean”, you get out and drop your head, “holy shit, I wanna cum.”
Jungkook snickers, running his hands down your thighs. He pushes them apart gently and lowers himself to your pussy. He plops down on his tummy and finally connects his mouth with your heat.
You flinch at the sudden wet warmth around your pussy, tugging at the ropes so aggressively that the rings jingle.
“Jungkook”, you choke out, “Jungkook, holy fuck.”
Jungkook mewls into you, lapping at your wet pussy with his sparkly eyes gazing up at you. You taste sweet like the lube he covered you in. He licks you until the taste has faded and only the amazing taste of your pleasure coats his tongue. He loves this taste so much more than the tacky artificial sweetness of lube.
He closes his arms around your thighs and tugs you closer, slurping deliciously as he drinks your taste.
“You’re fucking amazing”, you get out, writhing in pleasure, “I’m fucking serious, you’re amazing.”
Jungkook fucks the mattress because of your praise, moaning into your pussy desperately. He runs his palms up and down your tender thighs, soothing the shakes running through them each time he runs his eager tongue over your clit. He loves those shakes so much that he wants them to run through you constantly. He focuses his licks on your clit, switching between drawing circles and flicking the tip of his tongue up and down your swollen bundle of nerves. He knows that this drives you crazy.
“This is gonna make me cum”, you confess, shaking unapologetically.
Jungkook mewls and puts more pressure on your clit. He wants you to be as close to orgasming as possible. He has to get you as needy as you can get for what he has planned next. Your clit throbs under his tongue, but he knows not to pull back yet. It often throbs when he’s going down on you, this isn’t an indicator yet. In your beginnings, Jungkook often pulled back when you began throbbing under his tongue because he thought that you would orgasm, but years and years of practice and routine taught him that this wasn’t a sign yet. You just have a very reactive clit. Especially when his mouth is involved.
Jungkook listens to the noises you make. They are currently loud and filled with desperation. Good. That means he can still continue. You get quieter, the closer you get, because you always start holding your breath when you are about to orgasm. Jungkook knows that much.
He speeds up his licks and moans into you so can feel the vibrations.
“Oh, ah-”, you twist the ropes and hold your breath.
Now.
Jungkook breaks away.
“Oh my fucking god, you didn’t just- urgh”, you groan and thrust your hips against nothing, “how did you know?”
Jungkook feels so incredibly proud right now. He knows you so well!
“Years of practice”, he says. He tries his hardest to sound dominant and confident, but his voice is shaking like crazy because of how happy he feels.
“This is the worst. Why do you know me so well?” you murmur and whine, “please Kookie, do something again.”
“No”, he says, hoping for one more beg.
“Yes?” you throw back, “please”, you add, meaning it honestly.
Jungkook giggles, “I love it when you beg”, he says. He sits up and reaches for the vibrator.
“Yes. This”, you murmur, eyeing it hungrily.
He spreads new lube on it and your pussy and pushes it back inside, turning it on.
“Yes this”, you moan, rolling your head from side to side, “this is….ah.”
Jungkook makes minimal movements with the toy. He wants it to keep pressing against your g-spot because he knows that he’s got you horny enough that this is what you need. You love it so much when he goes deep and slow whenever you’re far enough into the sex. It’s those moments where you pull him closer with your legs when you’re doing it missionary and those moments where you grind down on him when you’re riding him. Jungkook can hear it in the way your moans leave you.
“Does that feel good?” he rasps.
“It feels so good”, you moan, circling your hips as you keep chasing the pleasure.
Jungkook mewls and looks at your pussy. He just noticed that your clit isn’t getting stimulated. He quickly fixes the position of the toy, forcing your hips to thrust into the sensation.
“Holy shit”, you press out under your breath and then you begin to grow more and more silent as you hold your breath for longer and longer.
Jungkook circles the toy.
Silence. You are holding your breath.
Jungkook removes the toy.
“Noo Bunny, can’t you let Mommy cum?” you whine, writhing on the sheets.
“I’m sorry Mommy, I can’t”, Jungkook says, putting the now turned off toy on the sheets.
“Fucking hell urgh”, you groan, chasing his fleeing touch as your fingers twist the ropes.
Jungkook soothes the agony by running his hands up and down your inner thighs, placing soft kisses on your knee.
“Sorry Mommy, so sorry”, he whispers.
“No you’re not, you’re enjoying this”, you grumble.
Jungkook snickers, climbing on top of you. He places his hands on each side of your head, gazing down at you. He is arching his back. Even now when he is the one charge, he finds himself in such a fuckable posture naturally.
“Can you tell me your colour?” he asks, rocking back and forth mindlessly.
“Green, but a really edged green.”
He scrunches his nose up, giggles. You chuckle, gazing at him.
“You’re so funny”, he says, booping your nose with his finger.
You shake him off, huffing out air as you pretend to be angry. You even furrow your brows at him.
“Make me cum, you brat”, you grumble.
Jungkook snickers and kisses your forehead, “you calling me like that doesn’t work on me tonight.”
“Hmpf, you meanie”, you mumble.
“I’m sorry”, he coos and turns on your body so you have his clothed cock right above your face.
“Really?” you laugh, oggling it hungrily. It is a miracle to you how his slacks still manage to contain his cock. It is filling up his left pant leg, bulging the fabric painfully. Poor boy must be in so much pain right now. You gulp, yearning for his cock in your mouth. He must be so wet by now. You want him running down your throat and throbbing against your tongue.
“Get naked and let me suck your pretty cock”, you order.
“No”, Jungkook throws back and wiggles his hips teasingly. He knows exactly what he is doing.
“You’re such a brat. Do as you’re told.”
“I don’t have to do anything”, he snickers cutely, “I’m in charge.”
“Wow”, you laugh and writhe, “fuck, you drive me insane.”
“I know”, Jungkook throws back and wiggles his hips one last time. You growl and try to snatch him by lifting your head, but he moves away. Your eyes meet. He looks so full of mischief and entertainment. The giggles he lets out are indicator enough just how much he enjoys being a little brat tonight. And you can’t even be mad at him, because he is in charge and can do whatever he wants. Oh, you are crazy for this man.
“Once I’m free again, you’ll see what this gets you”, you mumble and huff out air.
“Mhm okay”, he purrs and grins. Then he turns away again. He arches his back and lowers himself to your pussy.
“Bunny”, you gasp, arching into him. This feels like heaven. His mouth is so warm and wet, his lips are so soft.
Jungkook grips your hips and tilts them up, moaning around your clit as he sucks on her needily. He moves his head as he sucks, rubbing his cute nose through your folds as best as the position allows him to.
“Yes Bunny. Fuck, that feels so good.”
He loves sixty-nining with you so much. Bear in mind, his favourite variation of the position is when he is tied up, blindfolded and plugged up while you smother him and suck his cock. This is what really gets him going, but this right now is heaven as well. You taste like lube again, but Jungkook cleans it off within a few seconds. Then your unfiltered, raw taste coats his tongue and Jungkook finds himself moaning around your clit even louder.
“Holy fuck, please don’t stop.”
Jungkook doesn’t know if he could stop again. You taste so good that he feels dizzy. He wanted to edge you with his mouth one more time and then make you cum with the vibrator, but he doesn’t know if he has the strength to do that. Jealousy stings in his chest when he thinks about making you climax with a toy. He doesn’t want the toy to be the thing which sends you off. He wants to be the one making you see stars. He wants you to fall silent in bliss because of his mouth and not because of a stupid toy.
Jungkook growls into you and furrows his brows. It’s decided then. The toy won’t get your orgasm, never ever. He will make you cum with his mouth. Yes, that’s it.
“I’m close”, you get out and whimper, “please Jungkook, don’t edge me anymore.”
You aren’t aware that your begging is useless. Jungkook already made up his mind. He is going to make you cum. He growls around your clit, sucking it between his lips harshly. And he keeps it right there, suckling on it with his cock throbbing in his slacks. So good. You taste so good.
“Jungkook”, you mewl, sounding so utterly ruined, “Jungkook, you’re making me cum.”
He whimpers, dimpling your hips as he grips them harder.
“Ah”, you let out and then grow silent.
Jungkook mewls at the realisation, concentrating all of his attention on the spot which made you go silent.
“Fuck. Now”, you press out and thrust your hips up. The knot in your tummy bursts, the hottest orgasm takes a hold of you, “Jungkook”, you moan loudly, shaking uncontrollably. As much as you hate to admit it, you are glad that he edged you because this is paradise. You haven’t felt your climax as deeply as you do right now in ages. This is the kind of high which genuinely makes your toes curl and which makes your muscles go limb.
Jungkook licks you through it, keening in a high pitched voice as his head pounds in pleasure. This was the best decision ever. You feel so good when you are climaxing on his tongue. He can barely stop himself after your high died down, whimpering your name as he kisses your pussy over and over again.
“Well shit, holy shit. Fuck”, you get out in breathy pants for air. Your body refuses to move, your head is turning. You feel so goddamn fulfilled. This was incredible.
Jungkook guides his kisses up your torso, crawling off of you gradually. He grabs your face and kisses you in the unfamiliar position. With your heads facing opposite directions, he has to suck on your upper lip.
You snicker and moan. It never gets boring with him.
“Hm”, Jungkook hums and breaks the kiss with a cute smile. He runs his thumbs over your cheeks, gazing down at you.
“Did you like this?” he asks.
“I loved it.”
“Then you have to thank me.”
You lift your brows, “really?”
“Yeah”, he says in a giggle, nodding his head.
“Wow okay”, you smile fondly, “thank you, Jungkook.”
Jungkook snickers and scrunches his nose up, “you’re welcome”, he says and pulls your face into a big smooch.
Just once because then he sits up and runs his hands to your tied wrists. He opens the ropes and handcuffs, picking up your freed wrists to caress them gently.
“Does anything hurt?” he asks.
“No, nothing hurts.”
“Good”, he rolls circles into the tender inner side of your wrists, “you kept twisting the ropes”, he says and sends you a boyish grin.
“I did not”, you lie, making him snicker.
“Yes, you did. Admit it, you were really desperate.”
“Mhm yeah I was”, you admit happily, basking in the giddy giggles he lets out.
You sit up and turn around. Now you are both kneeling, facing each other. You run your hands up his thighs, waist and chest until you can cup his cheeks. Jungkook squirms because of the touch.
“You did an amazing job, Bunny”, you praise him, “I was only that desperate because I felt safe.”
“Mommy”, he whimpers, gripping your wrists, “this is everything I wanted you to feel. I’m so happy.”
“I’m happy too, my love”, you tell him and lean in to kiss his cheek, “good job, my love.”
Jungkook giggles and hugs you, swaying your bodies from side to side enthusiastically.
“Oh Mommy, I’m so happy”, he confesses, squeezing you gently, “and, and now I’ll take you out for dinner and, and treat you to yummy dessert.”
“Yeah? What about your cock? You’re so hard in your slacks”, you say, running your hand up and down his bulge.
“I want to go out with it”, he talks breathily because of the touch, “you can do whatever you think is right to do. In the restaurant or the car or, or wherever you think is fitting.”
You smirk, “mhm okay”, you purr, kissing his neck gently, “so I take it that order has been restored, mhm?”
He giggles and nods his head, “yes Mommy.”
#jungkook smut#jungkook fanfic#jungkook fanfiction#jungkook scenario#jungkook oneshot#jungkook x reader#jungkook x you#bts smut#bts fanfic#bts fanfiction#bts scenario#bts oneshot#bts x reader#bts x you#bangtan smut#bangtan fanfic#bangtan fanfiction#bangtan scenario#bangtan oneshot#bangtan x reader#bangtan x you#fanfic: aaol
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You don't think matcha is tea????
Matcha isn't a Tea in my humble Opinion.
Matcha is an experience.
The year is 2009, the place is the University of Hawai'i at Manoa in Honolulu, and I am recovering from a still-undiagnosed disease that left me with a 100+ degree for over three weeks, extreme weight loss and permanent Brain Damage. I have signed up for an introductory Art History class because I need an additional Humanities credit.
It's called "The History and Philosophy of the Japanese Tea Ceremony", and for a class I can only sort of remember, it stands out.
So I'm in professor Roberts' Japanese Tea Ceremony class, looking and feeling like death warmed over, but I'm genuinely interested in the subject matter and show up to every class because I have nothing better to do, and ask questions and turn in my homework, even if neither are particularly coherent at times, and rapidly become his favorite student. The thing I learned in public school was how to show up to events even if I don't want to, analyze tests and other written materials for patterns and charm educators by holding up my end of a conversation, skills that have served me in the modern world far more than learning actual course content would have.
The Tea Ceremony, historically, takes a good month to prepare and the entire evening to carry out- the guest list is curated to create social bonds and intellectual stimulation alike, a poem is composed for the season, and a seasonal flower arrangement created to decorate the space. When the guests arrive, they must all crawl through a small door to enter the tea garden, regardless of profession or rank. Hands are ritually washed in spring water, and there is a slow processional walk through the garden, to admire the artistry of the landscaping, and the composition of seasonal elements to create this particular night of beauty. The entire ceremony is about appreciating both the joy of existing right now, in this time and place, and the unification of the self and the universe and the endless cycles of nature.
The guests arrive at the tea house and meet the Tea Master, who will be making the Matcha that evening. The guests are seated in particular order, the Most Revered Guest- sometimes a high-ranking official, sometimes a visiting scholar or artist- is seated closest to the Tea Master. The Poem is read aloud. The Flowers are admired. The tools for making the Matcha are taken out, examined as objects of art, and their history told. The matcha powder itself is taken out- the case examined, the cultivation of the tea discussed, and only then does the Tea Master make the Tea.
Matcha is not brewed- it's a fine powder made of crushed green tea leaves, and the powder is whisked together with not-quite-boiling water in a bowl to create a much more substantial and flavorful drink. This drink is presented to the Most Revered Guest first, who is expected to take a sip and, in a moment of Zen spiritual clarity, comment on its flavor and how all the elements of the tea, art, garden and season all complement each other, and perhaps offer some sort of philosophical statement.
At least,
That's how it's supposed to go.
About a month before the spring semester is over, Professor Roberts announces that he has a surprise for his class- a good friend of his, a Professional Tea Master, will be visiting Hawai'i, and has agreed to perform a Tea Ceremony for our class! I am very excited. The other 10 people in class are varying levels of amiably confused to distressed by having to go to An Event (TM) for a grade, but agree. One of my classmates, an astrology hoe named Jessica, pointed out that with the 11 students, Professor Roberts, and the Tea Master, there will be 13 people present, which is basically inviting disaster.
"Jessica." Sighed Professor Roberts. "It's a Tea Ceremony. What disaster could happen?"
Despite Jessica's misgivings, Preparations for the ceremony went on. We learned about Ikebana while deciding on the Ceremonial Bouquet and tried our hands at it with what Professor Robert could get at the grocery store for $12. We learned about calligraphy and different types of poetic compositions while making the Seasonal Poem, and stain the hell out of the classroom carpet learning the brush strokes. We learn about different types of Matcha Bowl sculpting and glazing and we are not allowed to touch the demonstration bowls or the kiln because Professor Roberts was beginning to suspect that some of his students (me) were suffering from coordination issues. I apply myself with zeal, if not necessarily talent. I was, at the time, an Art Major, but my professors in the art department had been grading me on a secret "this bitch almost died last semester and is re-learning how to hold a pencil" curve, and boy howdy did I stumble and break leaves and splatter ink like it.
Despite my ongoing unmonitored recovery, Professor Roberts viewed my enthusiastic class participation with rose-colored glasses, and about a week before the ceremony we had a class where he brought out the used Kimonos and Obi and other forms of japanese dress he'd borrowed from the theater department so that we would be traditionally dressed(ish) and experience the ceremony authentically(ish). While people were trying on clothes to see what would fit, he took me aside and told me he wanted me to be in the position of Most Revered Guest, the person who makes the zen statement upon which the entire event hinges.
"Are you sure that's a good idea?" I asked.
"You're the only person who doesn't fall asleep in class and you talked about how the flowers stagger their blooms to not compete for the bees- you're perfectly engaged and conscious of the seasons!" He said, blindly. "You will need different shoes though." He indicated my flip-flops. "I won't make you learn how to walk in Geta, but nothing with Heels. Ballet flats are fine."
"...These are the only shoes I own." I said.
Professor Roberts stared at me.
"-I used to have a pair of sneakers but I think a homeless guy stole them while I was at the beach last month."
"What?" Roberts blinked.
"He probably needed them more than I do. I'll see if I can borrow some flats."
"...I don't think I've ever met a woman with less than 10 pairs of shoes." Said Roberts.
"I'm not a woman, I'm and undergrad." I said, still three years away from learning the term 'Nonbinary'. "Those are Jordan's only pair of shorts, you know." I pointed at my classmate, who had been wearing the one (1) pair of basketball shorts for the entire semester.
"I WASH THEM." Jordan shouted defensively, wearing the longest Men's Kinmo the theater department had, which barely came down to the top of his calves.
"Oh God." Said Roberts, a horrifying new world opening up to him like a tub of Expired sour cream.
*
It was the day of the Ceremony.
The Seasonal Theme we'd worked on was "The Turn Of Summer", and the weather was complying maliciously.
Normally, Tea Ceremonies are scheduled for the more temperate evening, but due to the school needing to host something in the adjoining cultural center later, we could only use the Tea Garden in the middle of the afternoon, and the summer sun was a sweltering 98 degrees and a similar level of Humidity. The Camelias were melting.
Where Jordan had difficulty finding a Kimono that suited his ent-like proportions, I'd had the opposite problem and the only Kimono short enough to not trip my Hobbit-sized self was a Child’s size. My roommate had helped me get into the Kimono and Obi before the ceremony, and leant me a pair of her Ballet Flats, but we discovered an issue- this Kimono was designed for a flat-chested prepubescent youth, and even though I barely scraped 5'0", I had the robust proportions of an Irish Peasant, and the only way to avoid displaying a frankly offensive amount of cleavage was to use the widest Obi we could find and sort of tuck my boobs into it.
"Hm" I said. "Kind of hard to breathe."
"Yeah, but you're sitting for most of it, right? It can't last more than an hour, so just like, shuffle and don't talk much?" She suggested.
To her credit, the first forty-five minutes of the ceremony only involved shuffling through the gardens and not talking while the Tea Master lectured us on some of the finer points of the garden's design.
But then we got to the Tea House- a small structure only barely able to accommodate the 13 of us, which was in the shade but hotter than the outside because of the roaring fire in the middle of the room, where the water for the Matcha was boiling. The room was surrounded by a narrow sort of porch, part of which hung over the Koi pond, where several massively overfed carp blurbled expectantly for treats at the arrival of humans. I sat down, legs folded under me like Professor Roberts had insisted, and realized that this pushed the Obi UP, and now my rib cage was being compressed in all directions.
I tried to pay attention to the rest of the ceremony, but two and a half hours is an awfully long time to listen about lecturers you've already heard when your body is undergoing a sort of internal horserace to see if the heatstroke, sciatica pain and numbness, allergies or suffocation-by-compression will cause you to pass out first. My legs had gone numb below the knee by the time we were done with the flower arrangement. My entire legs were numb before we were done with the Poem. By the time the Tea Utensils came out, I was seeing spots of colored light in my vision and could only breathe if I focused on it very, very hard.
But! The ceremony was genuinely interesting! and Professor Roberts was counting on me! So I did my best not to sway or throw up from watching the Tea Master whisk the Matcha, and dutifully took the bowl with a pair of hands that felt like slabs of ham that I was attempting to puppet from another dimension, and took a sip.
They say that Smell and Taste are far more closely connected to the emotional centers of the brain than any other sense, and I believe it because the instant I inhaled both the grassy, powdery smell, and tasted the moderately viscous bubbly liquid, I experienced an intense flashbulb memory back to a previous late May-
The Year was '98, the place was my elementary school art room, and we'd been using the seasonal hot weather to paint on a massive scale as the art dried quickly- each third-grader had been given a roll of butcher paper, a cheap brush, squirts of non-toxic paint and a water cup, and allowed to go hog-wild on our murals, and the rush of creative energy and the imminent sense of freedom as the semester drew to a close truly embodied the summer of youth, carefree but with an almost psychotic fervor, where lack of care was both freeing and dangerous as you lost track of your surroundings in the act of creation-
Which isn't a bad seasonal-philosophical connection statement to make, but the actual words that came out of my mouth were:
"Wow. This tastes exactly like paint."
The first sound I heard after the moment of silence was the cartoonishly loud gasp of horror from Professor Roberts, which was almost immediately drowned out by the thunderclap of laughter from the Tea Master, slapping his thighs and wiping tears from his face, unable to stop. I desperately tried to explain the connection between the fact I might be dying of heat stroke right now, and how I ended up drinking my paint water back in Mrs. Krantz's art class because back then I was also dying of heat stroke, but mostly ended up wheezing half-formed sentences as the rest of the class took sips and offered opinions varying between "Wow, that's thick. Like a Hot smoothie." and "Oh yeah, it tastes like summer. Like how a freshly-mowed lawn smells like summer." Professor Roberts slowly melted into a pile of shame, and the Tea Master slapped him on the back, still howling with laughter.
"They're honest! Nobody else will be honest! This is magnificent!" he wheezed.
Eventually, everyone had their taste, and the ceremony was concluded. The second the Tea Master had packed up his tools and stepped outside for a breath of fresh air, Professor Roberts was in my face.
"HOW COULD YOU SAY THAT?" he hissed, grabbing my arm and pulling me up. "GO APOLOGIZE RIGHT NOW!" he shoved me out onto the porch where the Tea Master was looking at the Koi, who had started bubble-begging aggressively again.
Except that my legs felt like blocks of wood that my pelvis was renting from another planet where legs hadn’t been invented yet, my vision was entirely static between the dehydration and lack of oxygen, and my vestibuar system had fucked off an hour ago, leaving me to stay upright by purely by the virtue of the over-tightened Obi. So instead of bowing and apologizing profusely like my professor expected, what I actually did was stumble out of the room, say something like "Hsdfkf" and topple head-first into the koi pond.
Fortunately, the impact of the bottom of the pond with the top of my skull activated a sort of last-resort emergency self preservation system and I inhaled with enough force to break the Obi-Jime and probably a couple ribs from the pain that hit both my sides like lightning. Unfortunately, the thing I was inhaling was fish-shit riddled Pond Water, so my emergency self-preservation system ordered an even harder Exhale.
The Tea Master, to his immense credit, had immediately jumped in after me, and pulled me upright just in time for me to forcibly exhale half a gallon of rancid pond water directly into his face, then start screaming. Screaming is an extremely appropriate reaction to have when injured, because it alerts everyone that you require medical attention, but is very unpleasant to experience from four inches away, which is probably why he then immediately dropped me.
Fortunately the pond wasn't very deep and this time I sat there, scream-gasping as my lungs reinflated, Koi fish burbling and sucking at me with tremendous excitement, until the EMT from the campus clinic arrived, a vanguard before the actual ambulance.
"Okay uh. You're bleeding." he said, cautiously wading into the pond.
I opened my eyes to find that I had apparently acquired a large and profusely bleeding head wound, which had activated some long-suppressed Shark Instincts in the Koi, which were eagerly gumming at the streams of blood and trying to suck on my forehead. "Good thing they don’t have teeth." I said in the distant bliss that only zen masters and people with serious head injuries get to experience.
"Do you want a towel?" he asked, helping me up.
"No, this is rather refreshing, actually." I said, still absolutely smashed on endorphins, Koi still enthusiastically swarming at my kneecaps.
"I mean like for your-" the EMT Gestured Vaguely at my torso.
I looked down and realized that not only had I broken the Obi-jime, the entire Obi had come undone and was floating several feet away, and I was only wearing the Kimono, fallen completely off my shoulders and was only being prevented from performing a full Lady Godiva by the valiant efforts of the safety pin my roommate had put in to keep it folded correctly while we figured out the Obi.
"Professor Roberts?" I stood up all the way, soaking wet, bleeding from my forehead with such force as to create actual streams of blood down my face, neck and chest, tits out, and addressed the poor man standing, white-faced on the deck above the pond. "I don't think I'm going to be in class on Monday-" I paused to fish a small Koi that had gotten trapped in the remains of the now-ruined Kimono, and tossed it back into the pond. "-Can I schedule a make-up exam for the Final?"
"FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, GET IN THE AMBULANCE!" He screamed.
I was x-rayed for a skull fracture, but my lifelong membership to the Lactose Tolerance Club had protected me, and I happily texted my roommate to come pick me up as "They x-rayed my head and found nothing" while the doctor stitched part of my scalp back together.
The following morning, I discovered that Professor Roberts had graded my exam before I took it. 100%. Truly, the best way to get a good grade on your finals is to get a serious head injury.
So, Matcha is not a Tea, in my humble opinion.
Matcha is an Experience.
And sometimes that experience is drinking something almost exactly like paint, ruining an important cultural ceremony, traumatizing your professor, and introducing a bunch of fish to the taste of human flesh.
***
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"It would have been you."
It's raining.
Of course, it's raining.
A soft, constant drizzle leaving his hair a damp, curly mess that falls into his face and clings to his skin. Even though the cold is slowly seeping into his clothes, Crowley stops and turns around. Condensation is collecting on the inside of his shades where his breath drifts up, warm and too fast, and even if it hadn't been late at night, if the street hadn't been empty, he would have still taken them off.
Aziraphale is licking rain drops from his lips and blinking with dark, heavy lashes.
"What?"
His voice is rough, almost drowned out by the noise of rain hitting the pavement, collecting in small puddles around his feet.
"If it had been a choice, a real one, it would have been you."
The world did not end, questions were answered, apologies spoken, but their last conversation before everything went to shit is still a sharp splinter lodged in his chest, cutting him open more and more with every heartbeat. All of the fears he had left unsaid, the viscous doubt pooling in his lungs and weighing down his breaths—the truth might tip the scales and finally destroy him, and yet he cannot bring himself to stop Aziraphale from talking.
"It has always been you, Crowley. You must know that."
"I don't."
Bitterness laces his voice despite his best intentions, a drop of oil tainting an entire river, six thousand years of history, and it hurts because it's the truth, because they both wish it wasn't.
He doesn't know, couldn't know, because Aziraphale always needed him to stop them, to step back when they got too close. Every single time he had tried to push, gone too bloody fast, the angel had recoiled, scared for him, scared for the both of them. Crowley knows, and at the same time, he doesn't, because he still has hope and there is nothing more dangerous than allowing it to bloom; it's small, withered, brittle, on the verge of death and has been for centuries.
(It's still there, though. It keeps fighting, keeps trying. Keeps hoping.)
They're drenched to the bone, wet and pathetic, and there is nothing romantic about any of it when Aziraphale retraces his steps and closes the distance between them; there is, however, love.
There has always been love, whether they could admit it or not.
"I'm sorry. For- for everything, for making you think that I don't care about you."
"Angel, don't lie-"
"I'm not lying."
Crowley stares, frozen to the spot when Aziraphale presses cold, wet palms to his cheeks, his breath a ghost of warmth on his skin. This is too much, too close to 'our side', and if he didn't know better (does he know better? does he really?) he would think that he is about to—
"I'm not lying," he whispers, broken, truthful, "I love you. I won't leave you."
The rain stings in his eyes, masking the tears—hot and wistful—meeting Aziraphale's skin where it is touching his.
"Don't make promises you can't keep, angel."
His voice cracks and so does his heart, and he can feel the walls they have built together crumbling to dust under their feet. It's not real, it can't be real, and yet the truth is shimmering in storm-blue eyes he has been carrying with him since the moment he first put stars into the sky.
"It's you, always has been, always will be. If you let me."
Crowley kisses him as he falls apart, barely healed fractures reopening as his essence spills over and out, drowning him in please, please be real, please let us have this, please, God.
Just this once.
Aziraphale holds his face so incredibly gently, as if it's something worth keeping, something to protect, something he is afraid to lose. When the ground doesn't open up and swallow them whole, when the sky doesn't reach for them with greedy hands, he allows himself to seize Aziraphale's face in turn, cupping his jaw and kissing the rain drops off his lips, his cheeks, the tip of his nose, tasting his tears when they begin to fall.
"It's always been you. God, of course I will let you."
Sapphire blue eyes blink up at him, a smile pressed against his lips, a smile he can feel, a smile that is for him, them.
"Perhaps you could let me somewhere less, ah, sopping wet?"
"I was right, though. It's the rain that did it."
Aziraphale laughs, bright and happy, and infectious enough to make Crowley laugh too, and grabs his hand to pull him back towards the bookshop - back home.
#alex writes good omens#good omens#ineffable husbands#crowley#aziraphale#good omens season 2#go2#aziracrow#crowley x aziraphale#ineffable divorce#this has been in my tumblr drafts forever i swear ugh#finally finished it
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Dad!John Price/female reader
This has been living in my head
“Beautiful out, isn’t it?”
The old woman on the docks hitches her shoulder bag higher, eyes fixed on nothing in the distance. John hums an agreement, low pitch slow to rise from his chest. It’s not a dismissal, but not conversation. Non-committal. About as much as you’ll get from him, on a day like today.
He keeps his focus on the expanse of the bay. A metamorphic magma layered coastal cradle holding entire populations of people, and animals, those that live on land… and at sea.
He’s waiting for a fleck of dust on the horizon, a small speck that will slowly turn into ferry, one that carries some passengers, a few packages, bundles of mail by the heap. It is beautiful today; he doesn’t disagree. But it’s not because of the weather.
It’s because the ferry is carrying more than just a few passengers home. It’s carrying his worst nightmare. The final nail in a coffin. His own personal hell.
And…
His brightest light. His favorite part of everyday. His everything. The reason his heart still beats.
Both on the same boat.
The sun shines through the tips of the trees, bright on his face, casting an amber yellow glow over the harbor, and he basks in it, even with the brittle cold.
The warmth of the light is foreign this time year, a time year when creeks all run underneath a quickly thickening layer of ice, morning frost lingers beneath cloud cover, and bears sleep.
The town will be full of life today. The bar at the top of the hill, the only one in town, will be burning the midnight oil, everyone appearing at some point throughout the night, eager to have one last rousing round with neighbors and friends before the true cold of winter sets in.
Of course, they don’t hate the cold. They wouldn’t live here if they did.
Life is different in the winter. Year round. Life here revolves more around the weather and the seasons than anywhere else he’s ever been, or lived, and everything from the kelp to the whales, the deer and sea lions, the people, and the wolves, depend on the promise of perpetual change.
The tide washes through little pebbles of ancient volcanic rock like a lullaby, one so familiar he swears he can hear it when he’s working, when he’s worlds away in his mind. It’s peaceful, full of memories, nostalgia beating in his blood for something long gone, long past.
His heart aches, for a moment. Long enough that his brow furrows, and his hands find his pocket, anxiously feeling for the chain.
The ferry shatters his memories, blaring across the beach, and the old woman gives him a smile.
“Early today.” This time, John does respond.
“Good.”
“You must be John.” She offers her hand, face half hidden beneath a large hood and knit muff, black pants and coat nearly matching his.
He hesitates, fingers flexing, and she doesn’t miss a beat, moving on to step around him, speaking briefly to the ferry captain, an old grizzled man who stared at John the entire trip, blatant curiosity wrinkling his frown lines.
The wind cuts through his jacket, snaking beneath his layers, forcing his muscles tense.
Bloody freezing. He's been cold, plenty, but this bitterness has bite.
She squints and jerks her head towards the end of the dock, sunlight glittering in her eyes. They’re beautiful, a rich shade of coffee and hazel, golden spotted and drusy, a cluster of crystals inside dark pupils. They’re a color he could drown in. The kind of eyes he could see in his dreams for the rest of his life.
The kind of eyes capable of disarming him, before he's even drawn a weapon.
“C’mon. Truck’s got heat.”
“Mari says you’ve never been a Ranger before.” She tries to make casual conversation with him, patting the steering wheel as the truck sputters to life. Gears grind, they churn, and she smiles, glancing at the road before putting it in gear. It’s old, rusted in a quaint way, the kind that makes him think of old industrial parks and aging tanks, a rugged red chipped away above the passenger wheel well, rubbed raw by salt air.
“I have… relative experience.” He’s careful with his words, hesitant about over divulging, and she shrugs.
“With people? Or wildlife?” He points his face out the window. With people, sure. With bears and wolves and whatever else lurks in these woods, less so.
The truck climbs a windy road, pushing up above the cove, narrow pitted pavement flanked by forest so black he can hardly see a meter inside the tree line. The shadow that lingers inside the tree line is primordial, alive, and he blinks when he thinks he sees something moving, deep in the dark. Douglas fir, silver fir, white pine flash by, occasional road signs with pictures of animals and speed limits dotting the way. “Logging is big industry out here. Forestry feeds a lot of families in this area, but it can be a point of contention.” She motions past him to another cove, one tucked just around the bend from where the ferry came in, its surface covered in shaved logs, all nearly uniform in size, floating together in rows upon rows, waiting for their next voyage.
“That what you do? Er… logging?” Her hands are rough, skin cracked, nails trimmed short, and the coat is utility. Built for labor. For weather. It’s a natural conclusion.
“No. I run the nature center in the late spring and summer. No tourism in fall or winter though, so I find other things to do. Work for the park. Tag trees. Winter trail maintenance. Wildlife management.” The truck rattles into a left turn, and she waves at someone in an oncoming car. “Guess I kinda work for you now.” Her chuckle is light, sweet, and his cheeks feel warm. “What brought you all the way up here?”
Bloody hell.
“Needed a change of pace.”
“Long way to come for a change.” She muses, and he agrees. It is very, very far. Three planes, two ferries, this truck. Hours of travel, temperature dropping in ten degree increments every time he stepped outside. He doesn’t know how to answer that, how to tell her, what he’s doing here, how to say he had to leave things behind.
The island changes, geology shifting, granite turning to mud and grass, darkness fading as the truck putters into its final descent.
He instinctively taps the tags in his pocket, a nervous tic that’s develops over the last few months since he took them off for the last time and clears his throat.
“Yes. It is.”
The ferry sidles up the wooden dock, rocking in the waves, captain giving the small, older woman next to him a friendly wave. At his side, a woman stands, straight backed and proud, eyes sharp against the setting sun.
Is that…
You catch his gaze, glancing at the Ranger badge on his coat, and then nodding, hand lifting in acknowledgement.
His breath freezes in his chest. You’re stunning. Beautiful, like the land, like the strait, and for a second, he forgets himself.
Igneous rock hardens in his stomach, in his heart.
He's lost at sea. Lost in the swell. An eddy line of devastation sweeps him out, past the lighthouse on the rocks, past the pod of resident orcas, past the point of no return.
He's drowning.
Only to be brought back by one of his favorite sounds in the entire world.
“Dad!”
#John price x reader#peaches writes#John price#captain john price#captain john price x reader#price x reader
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unsolved (ii)
Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)
Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky at his little shit supreme, obnoxious reader, mentions of hauntings and the things that come with (body harm, priests, etc). images all have alt texts.
A/N: if you're familiar with the format of BuzzFeed unsolved videos, the pictures in this chapter make more sense. anyway we're starting small to warm up but i assure u there's like actual paranormal shit from next chapter onward <3 thank u for the chaotic response to chapter 1 ily guys sm ! as usual, please send me things you'd like to see in the series! it always make me so happy
Previous part || Series masterlist
Bucky loves the compound. The sentiment carries a lot, considering he’s made it a non-negotiable part of his personal brand to hate everything.
The lush landscape is quiet, spacious enough that he isn’t forced to run into anyone he’s actively avoiding, and has state-of-the art security that lets him sleep soundly, assured that no one will be able to get to his floor in an assassination attempt.
All of his deep love and fond admiration disappears when it’s the crackass of dawn and his oakwood door receives the beat down of a lifetime.
He snaps awake instantly, unsure of whether there was someone actually trying to kick the shit out of his door or it was just another nightmare that often blurred lines with reality.
But after the third deafeningly loud knock confirms it, he scrambles for a pair of pants just so that he isn’t caught entirely vulnerable.
The thrashing doesn’t cease, and by the time he makes his way to the door and yanks it open–
There’s no one on the other side.
Except a coffee cup on the ground and a note scribbled haphazardly on the side.
Shoot day. See you at the studio!
He stares wordlessly at the cup, unable to differentiate whether the feeling coursing through the very fibres of his being currently is pure blinding rage, or confusion that you apparently knew his coffee order.
The studio is fucking empty. If Bucky wasn’t still reeling from the effects of being startled awake by a fake intrusion at 5am, he’d have been over the damn moon.
He does his part as a man of honour and righteousness– calls out a very quiet ‘Hello?’ and then doesn’t bother feeling guilt when his heart explodes in joy at the lack of response.
He spins on his heel to march out, only to come to an abrupt stop when he almost runs into you. He didn’t even fucking hear you come in.
“Oh, hey.” You look at him, hand on a bagel. “You actually showed.”
Bucky’s smile falters, and he returns to his default Grinchian state.
“You made sure I fuckin’ did,” he grumbles. “How’d you get on my floor?”
“I have my ways.”
Bucky’s glare presses hard into you almost like a palpable entity.
“I did a gig as an escape artist for a while. Paid super well,” you dismiss.
He doesn’t blink once, trying to decipher whether you’re telling him the truth or not.
You offer him a bite from your bagel in return, seemingly having moved on from the conversation already.
“Where’s everyone else?” he asks, turning away from you.
“Maya didn’t actually think you’d show up on time so she told everyone to come an hour later.” You speak through a mostly full mouth. “I figured you could use the company.”
Bucky immediately feels defensive, as if that wasn’t exactly what he tried to do.
He grumbled all through the morning when he saw fifteen text reminders sent to him through the night telling him he had to shoot a video that day. He grumbled when he couldn’t use traffic as an excuse to not show up because the studio is two streets away from the compound. He grumbled when the toaster actually works for once. Everything is right in the world. This was, of course, devastating to him.
He finally shuts up when Sam gives him a piece of gum. Then he just glowers, but his jaw is otherwise occupied.
“She set you on me this morning?” Bucky questions, tone on the verge of being ticked.
You shake your head, swallowing before taking another bite. “No, that was social service.”
Bucky’s eye twitches.
“I’ll come back in an hour,” he mumbles, arms crossed over his chest.
You give him a look that lets him know you’re entirely unconvinced. “Will you?”
Well. No.
“I’m gonna look around the studio. You’re welcome to join,” you say instead, looking past him. “We’ll need to know where we’re working for the next few months.”
Few months? No no– few hours at max, if this were to go exactly his way.
“Video’s not gonna do numbers,” he reminds you in a dull utterance.
“With an enthusiasm like that, it’s hard to see why you’re not universally beloved, Barnes,” you comment seriously, before clapping his shoulder. “Come on. You ever look at yourself in a mirror? You’re gonna be a star, baby.”
Bucky, in his current chosen avatar, looks less 'man of the world' and more 'reject of the jungle’.
But the sentiment is appreciated.
The studio is moderately big.
You find joy in messing around with set pieces of the other Avengers video series that were being shot there. Bucky finds joy in locating every possible escape route within a three foot vicinity.
He’s admittedly surprised by learning how much actually goes into making a simple video. He just figured they’d stick a camera in his face and teleprompt him and get it over it.
You chat animatedly about the use of gimbals and different camera gear, lighting setups and sound quality.
“You into this stuff?” He raises an eyebrow.
“No, I just did a stunt as a wedding videographer once,” you wave off, “It was great. You could always tell which couples were gonna get divorced within a year.”
Something unrecognisable flashes in his eyes.
“Escape artist and wedding videographer,” he repeats.
You stop talking to look at him.
“Yes,” you say simply and go on to provide no further explanation.
If the morning’s antics weren’t enough, now he’s convinced you’re fucking with him.
“Anyway, they’ll probably stick us in makeup before we go on camera because it–”
“Makeup?”
“Well– yeah. For the video.” Your eyes dart toward him, sizing him up in a quick glance. “If you look any paler, you’d basically be translucent.”
Bucky can’t even debate it. His skin looks like it hasn't felt the gentle touch of a sunray in millennia.
“Just say it’s part of the theme.”
You snort. “The first ghost I hunt cannot be one who sits beside me.”
So Bucky gets his makeup done.
By the time the studio fills in, he’s already drunk two cups of the shitty breakroom coffee and found fifteen innocuous things to fashion into weaponry if things were to go awry.
The large bright lights force him to keep wiping beads of sweat away from his forehead. Everything exists in a contrarian state of frenzy, and coordinated down to the second as if it were a damn rocket launch. He’s already had three staff members dart about him cross checking if he’s hydrated and if he’s signed the right forms.
“Oh, you actually showed,” he hears for the second time from Maya, who doesn’t even make an attempt to hide the earnest surprise from her voice.
Bucky wants to scream.
“The team’s picked a really simple case since it’s the first video. You just need to read it out,” she explains breezily, switching from you to him, “and you need to react.”
You flash her a thumbs up. Bucky doesn’t move an inch. He’s convinced it’ll trigger another round of people meddling with his hair until it looks ‘sufficiently casual but not artificial’.
Maya hurriedly leaves after wishing you good luck, probably to fix the walking PR disaster that was Clint, who unceremoniously went live on his Instagram the night before after consuming something he procured from some guy in an alleyway, who described it as ‘carbonated milk’. Bucky watched it for a few seconds and immediately shut down the app when Clint offered to take one article of clothing off for every million people that tuned in.
“I asked for there to be as few people in the room as possible,” you whisper to him.
“Still a lot,” he replies under his breath, watching them buzz around him, still brushing up his face and dabbing at his hairline with a napkin.
Someone hands you a folder full of papers. “We lose any more and we’re filming this video ourselves.”
“All ready!” The camera guy, Shane, announces.
“Copy that,” you call back, before leaning forward in your chair, grinning. “Chill. I’m gonna do the talking. All you gotta do is say a few words and look pretty.”
That sounds…doable.
“Make it fast,” Bucky mutters, crossing his arms over his chest.
Whether he was talking about the video or his death is still up for debate.
“Recording in three…two…one–”
The whole studio waits with bated breath, but Bucky stares right ahead.
“When I said a ‘few words’, I did mean one or two, possibly more,” you talk through your smile.
Bucky continues looking into the camera like it stole his ancestral property.
You exhale, soldiering on, lips still upturned.
You look at Bucky, hopeful that he will at least answer a question. He doesn’t offer the same kindness, and now you understand why Maya reached out to you for this.
So you do what needs to be done, as a person with a responsibility to all these fine and tired souls gathered here on a weekend.
You kick him under the table.
The crew waits for Bucky to say more. He very pointedly doesn’t.
At least one sound has been procured from him, which is more than what they can say for some other videos.
You continue, “Our story takes place in 1954, in the quaint, rural town of Ravenswood. Irene–”
Bucky scoffs. “You made that up.”
Would now be a good time for him to bring up your previous job experiences you had dropped so casually or was this enough to let you know he was onto you?
Your eyebrows pull together, scanning over the sentence. “I haven't even said anything yet.”
“A horror story. Taking place in Raven’s Woods,” Bucky emphasises. “Really.”
Bitch.
“First of all, it’s Ravenswood, not Raven’s Woods,” you shoot back. “And it exists.”
“Where?” He raises an eyebrow.
“I don’t know– fuckin’ West Virginia?” You shuffle through the papers. “Does it matter? You wanna move there?”
Bucky doesn’t add anything further.
You observe him for a moment before deciding to continue.
“In the quiet town of Ravenswood,” you side eye him but he doesn’t look affected. “Irene Wendelin, a 35-year-old woman moved into a house on the outskirts to save up money. She lived alone, had no immediate relatives and worked as a secretary at the local press.”
Bucky continues chewing his gum. You’re not even sure he’s listening, but everyone got paid by the hour regardless of whether he did, so who gives a shit.
“Within a few weeks of moving in, strange incidents started to take place. Irene’s friend Thelma, who also worked as a secretary at the press, recalled how Irene developed a persistent cough, was constantly fatigued, and had issues sleeping due to her skin itching. Thelma suggested solutions from ointments to medication, but not one remedy that she provided seemed to work. As time went by, Irene’s symptoms escalated into severe respiratory problems, leaving her breathless just from climbing up a flight of stairs. She even reportedly started having hallucinations of people crawling around in her house in the dark, but she was never able to catch them in their entirety.”
“How long did this take?” Bucky questions out of the blue, arms still crossed over his chest.
“I think within a couple of weeks of moving in.” You try not to look too surprised. “Further, Thelma recalls Irene saying she heard strange sounds at night which kept her up. The only time the woman felt normal was when she left her house to stay with her cousins for a month.”
Bucky’s head snaps to you, eyes narrowing.
“What?” you challenge.
“Nothin’,” he says instead. “Go on.”
You cast a look at the crew, who look just as confused as you, but you continue regardless.
“Things escalated when one day, Irene showed up to work in complete disarray. Thelma says that upon a closer look, Irene had bite marks over her hands and legs. Thelma, a devout Christian, insisted on getting the place checked out by the church since all else had failed. Father Gabriel, a local priest, agreed to visit the house, but upon setting foot inside, claimed it was haunted by ‘forces of evil whose reality existed beyond mortal comprehension’. This was the last straw for Thelma, who had Irene move into her house until she found a new place to stay. Within a few weeks, Irene was back to normal, and the house is still considered one of the most haunted places in the country to this place, with no one allowed to enter.”
Bucky looks at his arms, jaw tightening.
Your eyebrow twitches.
You could see Maya shaking her head from across the room, entirely fucking defeated.
You wait a few seconds but receive no response. Bucky’s gaze doesn’t shift from the table top.
You start gathering the folder with the story in it, getting ready to read out your conclusion.
You stare at him, but he doesn’t look up at you.
Collectively, every spine in the room straightens.
“Asbestos?” you echo.
“Or mold. Could be either.” Bucky shrugs, chewing on the same stupid piece of gum that had lost its flavour hours ago.
You look at him in bewilderment, partly because you weren’t expecting him to say anything at all, much less this.
“Had an aunt once who thought she was possessed. Turns out her walls were full of mold.”
You stare at him. “You’re lying.”
He finally turns to you, no traces of humour on his face. “She got remarried and moved out. Good as new.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s asbestos.”
“Had the same symptoms an’ everything. Itchy skin, breathing problems, fatigue.”
“Hallucinations?”
“Stress. Being poisoned twenty-four hours a day’ll do a number on anyone.”
“And the bite marks?”
“You never had an itch so bad you just bit it?”
“On her legs?” you ask incredulously. “She bit her legs? Is that what you’re saying?”
Bucky shrugs.
You look like you’re going to lose your mind.
You clear your throat. “What about the priest?
Bucky snorts. “What ‘bout him?”
“'Forces of evil whose reality existed beyond mortal comprehension’?”
“Maybe it was her,” he fires back. “Maybe that's just how she was, how would you know?”
“You’re saying the forces of evil are just… her bad vibes?” you say it slowly, as if that would make it better.
“Maybe.” Bucky’s shoulders rise and drop again. “My aunt was a real stick in the mud too. I coulda called her a force’a evil when she didn’t let me fire a bottle rocket into the tree.”
You narrow your eyes at him. Bucky looks back innocently.
“You’re bullshitting.”
“About my aunt?” he scoffs. “I would never. Rest her soul. Made some damn good cranberry pie.”
You roll your eyes. “It’s not asbestos.”
“Then why was she fine every time she moved out?”
“Because the house was haunted.”
“By mold.”
Maya clears her throat, pointing to her watch.
You look back at her and clear your throat as well, shuffling around your papers.
“Right. So that’s it for this episode.”
The camera guy yells “Cut!’ and you turn to look at Bucky.
But he’s already gone.
The video goes up that weekend.
It takes a considerable amount of time to edit, considering they had to bleep out the steady stream of expletives that you didn’t even know Bucky was muttering under his breath, but got picked up by the mic anyway.
To Barnes (Work):
are you ready for your influencer era
He leaves you on seen. You think you’ll send him more memes of his stupid face.
To Barnes (Work):
influenza
Five hours since the video has gone up, and your phone starts buzzing more than usual. Nat’s already sent you a clearly AI generated article titled ‘Everything We Know About the Latest Avenger’, full of incorrect information and straight up lies.
The first reviews are promising. Sort of. The newest generation of kids on Twitter are saying shit and using terms that are beyond you, but it looks good. You think.
And then somewhere close to midnight, your phone chimes with a text from a number you hadn’t yet saved.
From unknown
Hey. Steve Rogers here. Great job on the video.
Your eyebrows shoot up, discarding your refreshing of the Subreddit that has popped up in your name.
From unknown
Just letting you know though– he was lying.
From unknown
He doesn’t have an aunt.
Motherfucker.
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Next part
#bucky x reader#bucky barnes x reader#mcu fic#bucky fic#bucky barnes fic#bucky fluff#bucky barnes fluff#bucky angst#bucky barnes angst#unsolved fic#winter soldier x reader#Winter Soldier#bucky barnes#bucky
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I Think She Knows
Pairing: Tangerine x Black!Reader
Warnings: Drunk!Tangerine, Needy!Tangerine, Jealous!Tangerine, (Kinda Toxic Behavior)
Word Count: 2.4K
Summary: In which Tangie starts realizing things and absolutely does not have the bandwidth to deal with it. Because babygirl is bad at most things, and feelings are at the top of the list.
a/n: Something something... I don't advocate for getting drunk and being weird at your not-girlfriend's house. Thanks!
(gif source)
--
When it fully hit him, it was like being mowed down by a 10-ton truck.
He felt like he couldn't breathe. The way his chest suddenly rose and fell made him made him question if his heart was attempting to escape his ribcage just to be closer to you.
You were talking about...something. You came over wearing a skin tight red dress and you carried your shoes in your hands as you tiredly strolled into his kitchen.
Actually, he remembered what you were talking about.
You mentioned how tired you were of having to talk to idiot men, but that stabbing them in the head for your efforts was almost worth the annoyance. Ordinarily he probably would've just laughed or made a smart ass comment about how lucky he was that he could be around you without the threat of violence. But you mentioned fighting, did a small spin in a circle, and did something akin to a silly jig to show how secure you felt in your dress.
He felt his thoughts halt in their tracks, and he suddenly couldn't remember his own birth name, let alone how to form a coherent sentence.
You didn't even seem to notice. Or maybe he hid it well. Because the conversation continued like he hadn't malfunctioned right in front of you. Maybe he was running on autopilot. That had to be it.
He swallowed hard, ran his fingers through his mess of untamed curls, and shakily came back into himself with the heavily realization that he was deeply in love with you.
Did you even know? Was it evident on his face like ostentatious neon lights in the middle of a darkened street? You kept talking about your day and he tried to listen intently. But his own brain wouldn't shut the fuck up.
When he realized that he broke the one rule you two made (which he introduced), he wanted to walk into the Atlantic Ocean with rocks in his pockets. He loved you. You weren't even dating. You were definitely seeing other people and he realized he slowly cut out every other person he'd ever fucked just to spend more time with you.
God. He'd dropped SO many other people. He could remember canceling potential hookups just because you wanted to hang out. Of fucking course he couldn't tell you this now. He'd look like a massive idiot.
"Are you alright? You seem off." You suddenly asked. Your beautiful eyes seemed to roam his face in genuine concern. Death would've been easier to face. In fact, death has notoriously been much easier for him to face.
He forced an assumedly easy grin on his face and shrugged, "I'm just listenin', babe."
You quirked a suspicious brow at him, but continued on with your story of your mission. Every so often he could feel himself staring at your mouth and the way your nose seemed to crinkle at certain memories of the night. He was suddenly hyperaware of how much he seemed to be study your every move. Had he been doing it this whole time?
On some level, he was confident that he could tell you exactly how many birthmarks you had on your entire body.
God what a sick fucking freak.
Suddenly his mouth started moving as if it wasn't connected to his own goddamn brain.
"You stayin' over tonight?"
He'd cut you off mid-sentence with the question. Naturally, you shot him a look that screamed contempt.
"...Maybe." You cut your eyes at him in a subtle challenge.
He felt like he didn't sound the least bit convincing, but he straightened his back to force an air of confidence that he obviously didn't have, "Well I need to know, because I might have plans. With a girl. Tonight."
He wasn't sure what he expected your reaction to be. Maybe he wanted you to be jealous. Or maybe he wanted you to try and convince him to change his mind. It was childish, but he wanted you to give him...something. Instead you raised your brows in surprise.
"Oh, really?" You grinned, "Is she cute?"
Oh come on. He thought.
"Yeah, a real stunner." Stunner? What the fuck was he saying? He couldn't stop himself, "Rebecca's tall, blonde, a model. Fuckin' sexy. So gorgeous."
He watched you slip your heels back on and adjust the top of your dress to hide your bra. He wanted to grab your beautiful face and kiss you. Instead he was spiraling and you didn't even notice.
"Blonde?" You seemed skeptical. Yes, good. "Since when do you go for Blondes?"
"Since always, actually. You think I tell you about everyone I've shagged?"
You shot another cutting glare in his direction, and he fought the childish giddiness rising in his chest. When you looked away from him to tap away on your phone, he tried to figure out what else he could say to get your attention again.
"You're in a particularly bitchy mood today." You suddenly said.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Maybe you should leave, then." He responded, much harsher than he intended to. He winced the minute the words left his mouth and you looked like you wanted to throw something at him.
"Since you wanna be a dick, fine. I'm having Jamesy pick me up."
You threw your jacket on and started tapping on your phone again, which irritated him to no end.
"Jamesy?" He spat, "Who the hell is Jamesy?"
"You think I tell you about everyone I've shagged?" You threw back at him in an almost perfect accent. He deserved it. But he started to panic as you headed towards the door.
"Well fine." He countered, though it sounded akin to a whine, "Stephanie's probably on her way, anyway. I don't want to watch you two fight over me or somethin'."
"Nobody's trying to fight over you, shut up." You mumbled, shoving your phone in your pocket. You took a second to pull the door open, but hesitated, "And also who's Stephanie?"
"The model."
"You said her name was Rebecca."
He stumbled over his words but finally came up with, "I--it's...You just have to be right all the time, don't you?"
He caught the way your mouth twitched in an attempt to fight a laugh, and he really wanted to grab you by the waist and pull you back into his apartment. But your phone dinged again, and you pulled it out of your pocket, "Look, when you're done throwing this little temper tantrum, and you figure out what your problem is, text me. Otherwise, sort your shit out."
Tangerine was having a terrible night. His face sat in a permanent frown as he stared into the fake embers of his electric fireplace and nursed a mason jar of vodka. You were out there getting railed by some prick named James who's too fuckin' old to still be going by Jamesy. And you probably weren't even thinking about him and how he's absolutely piping a real person named Bethany. Stephanie. Rebecca.
♫ I wish, I could just make you turn around
Turn around and see me cry
There's so much I need to say to you so many reasons why
You're the only one who really knew me at all♫
He'd lost track of how many times Phil Collins' miserable pleading played on a loop through his speakers. He felt like a goddamn loser. He scrolled through your Instagram noting that you truly had the prettiest smile he'd ever seen. And you were so funny. Maybe the funniest person he knew. Even the emojis you used were cute.
He wanted to jump in front of a train.
"'Maybe you should leave then' you fuckin' idiot." He mumbled pitifully to himself. "What if I just like...went to her house? What if that guy is there? What if she doesn't answer? What if she tells me to fuck off? What if I tell her and she never speaks to me again?"
He stared at his phone sending and unsending his texts to you over and over, trying to figure out what to say. Or if you'd even read it. Suddenly his phone vibrated and a text from you popped up:
You've sent and unsent me like 9 messages. What the fuck do you want?
It took him 8 minutes to find an Uber to your place and 20 minutes to get there. Was he drunk and irrational? Maybe. But goddamn it, you were his woman.
You just didn't know it yet.
When he got to your floor, he started knocking incessantly on your door.
"Babe," he whined, drunkenly, "darling, are you still mad at me? I'm sorry." When he pressed his damp forehead to the cool metal door of your apartment, he didn't even realize how much he was sweating, "I know I said I was fucking that model. Um. Sabrina! Rhonda? Whatever the hell. But I lied. I'm a filthy fuckin' liar."
He pressed his ear to the door, but he didn't hear anything through the thick metal.
"Please don't fuck that James prick--I'm not callin' him Jamesy. I reckon the man is nearly 40, BARE MINIMUM!" He pressed his palm to the door and called your name again, waiting for you to open it.
When you didn't, he slid down to the floor and cradled the half empty mason jar to his chest.
"So take a look at me now, there's just an empty spaaaace. And there's nothin' left here to remind me. Just the memory of your faaaaace. I'm not leaving 'til you talk to me!"
He felt the back of his head thud against the door but he was too wasted to really feel it. He'd definitely feel it come morning, for sure. His eyes drifted closed as his mind started to wander. Maybe you were asleep after being fucked into the middle of next week. Maybe the guy was telling you to ignore his desperate pleas for attention. He wanted to throw up everywhere.
"Fuckin' Jamesy." He mumbled, crossing his arms in childish disappointment.
The elevator dinged, the doors opened, and you stumbled out of the door with another woman, giggling uncontrollably. You both held bags of fast food in your arms and it was clear you'd had something to drink as well. The minute you caught a glimpse of him sitting slouched in front of your door, he noticed you exchanging looks with the red headed woman by your side.
"Tangerine, what are you doing here?" You carefully asked, clocking the booze in his lap.
"Nevermind that," he slurred, stupidly, "where's Jamesy?"
The tall, slender red-headed woman raised a hand and waved, "Hi, I'm Jamesy. Do we, like, know each other? Or?"
Tangerine groaned and rested his head against the door again, "Ugh! Jamesy's a lass? How the shit am I supposed to compete with that?"
The woman turned to you with a curious look on her face, "What is he talking about?"
"I don't know. Can you hold this please?" You handed the bag of White Castle to your friend and approached the sad, drunk assassin sitting on the floor outside of your apartment. He looked pitiful. When you brushed his curls from his forehead, you noticed that he was sweating vodka. "Okay, sweetness, you need to get up."
When he looked at you, and saw the concern on your face, he gently touched your cheek and frowned, "You're so pretty, baby. You're the prettiest person I've ever seen in my whole entire life."
"You're pretty, too. But you really need to get up. And you're heavy as fuck, so I need you to help me out here."
"Okay," he nodded sharply, shoving the jar of vodka into his leather jacket pocket. And it surprisingly fit. You didn't question it further. You took a step back and held your arms out in case he lost his balance as he rose to his feet.
It was like watching a 5'11 baby deer.
He leaned against the door, trying to keep his balance, as you grabbed your share of the food from your friend and kissed her goodbye as she left for her Uber.
"What kind of girl is named Jamesy?" Tangerine muttered, as you attempted to unlock the door.
You sighed heavily, "Her name is Siobhan James. But I couldn't pronounce Siobhan when we were little, so I called her Jamesy and it stuck."
"That's so cute. I reckon you were a cute kid." He mumbled, resting his damp head on your shoulder. "You're a cute grown-up. We'd make cute kids."
"Yes, sweetness. We would. And also you're soggy."
"Mhmm." He kissed the shoulder that was covered in his sweat and mumbled, "I'm so sorry I was so, so mean to you, angel face. I was just being a massive dickhead."
"Yeah, you were." You agreed, giving up on trying to unlock the door while he leaned onto you.
"I--I just love you a whole fuckin' lot and I don't know how to deal with that shit. Because, like, you could have anyone you want. So why would you want me, you know?" He grumbled.
"There are a lot of reasons why I want you, Tangerine. You never have to feel insecure about that. I'm just...confused. You decided that the answer to this was to make me mad?" You scratched his scalp, "Does that make sense to you?"
"I wanted you to tell me that you didn't want me to see other people."
"Why would I tell you that, if that's what you want?" You asked, sincerely, "I stopped seeing other people because I love just spending time with you--"
"Hang on. You stopped seeing other people? Why didn't you tell me?"
"You never asked." You finally managed to unlock the door, and you both stumbled over the threshold.
"Here I was thinking you were getting pounded by lumberjack-built twats named Jamesy. I was in my apartment crying to Phil Collins for nothing?"
"I guess so." You tossed your keys on the kitchen island as he stumbled to the couch and face-planted into the cushions. By the time you showered and changed, he'd fallen into a deep sleep beside the bottle of water and advil tablets you placed out for him.
"And for the record..." you kissed him on top of his head and turned the lights out, "I love you, too. But you probably won't remember this. So we'll revisit it tomorrow."
#aaron taylor johnson#atj x reader#tangerine x reader#tangerine x black!reader#tangerine bullet train#tangerine fic#I feel like I should just make a tangie tag at this point#jae writes
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Don't Push Your Luck
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader
Word Count: 2,707
Summary: After a bad argument with Dean, over the reader putting herself in danger, another hunt goes wrong. Will there be time to reveal the feelings that lie beneath the anger?
Trigger Warnings: SPN level violence, injuries and blood. Mentions of punching a wall, anger
A/N: It has been terribly long since I have posted and I am very sorry! Life has been utterly crazy and I have not had much time or motivation to write. Please let me know what you think!
Masterlist
Arguing with Dean was one of the most frustrating things in the entire world, once he was fixated on something it was nearly impossible to change his perspective on it. Which is how we wound up here, my chest heaving with exertion as I tried my best to calm my nerves. I can barely stop my body from trembling, anger pulsating through me enough to exhibit a physical response. My voice shakes when I try to speak, causing me to stop and take a few deeps breaths, unwilling to appear weak in front of my best friends brother.
“Just because you have been doing this longer than I have, doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do, Dean.” I respond, my voice as even and low as I can manage. A sharp contrast to moments before, when our raised voices carried throughout the entirety of the bunker. Rippling through the numerous rooms and corridors, alerting Sam to our disagreement. He had made an appearance, carefully placing himself between the two of us, but off to the side, just incase anything got out of hand. Not that it would get physical, but Dean and I have a track record of saying things that we shouldn’t when anger is raging between us.
“I never claimed I could tell you what to do, Y/N. But I know that you have been reckless, ignorant and foolish the last few times we have gone on a hunt. You throw yourself into places that you shouldn’t be, you take risks that aren’t necessary. And you’ve just been an absolute idiot!” He yells, his fist slamming into the wall beside him. I flinch, shocked by his sudden movement, his words stinging as they rush over my ears. I take a few steps away from him, crossing my arms across my chest and steeling my nerves, willing the tears that were pricking my eyes to fade.
“You really think you know everything, huh.” I reply, my voice shaky and thick with emotion, a single tear falls from my red rimmed eyes. I hurriedly brush it away and in that moment, I can see Dean break. His shoulders release and his face falls slightly, he runs a hand over his face letting a sigh of frustration pass his lips.
“Maybe you two should call a truce, it seems like enough damage has been done.” Sam chimes in quietly as he shoots Dean a look of disapproval, his earlier words hanging heavy in the tension filled air. Without a word, I turn on my heel, seeking refuge in my room. I can hear their voices as I flee, distant murmurs of a conversation that I have no desire to take part in.
By the time I close the door to my room, tears are flowing freely. I stifle a sob, my hands coming up to cover my mouth, as more course through my body. Reckless, ignorant, foolish and idiotic. All descriptors that Dean knew would strike a nerve, insecurities I have voiced to him in the past. Things that I had shared with Sam and Dean on one of our many late night dinner conversations, shared between the four walls of a rundown motel in the middle of nowhere. I could see the regret spreading through his features the moment the words left his lips, but there was nothing he could do to take them back. He spoke them into existence and there they would stay, a permanent stain on my subconscious. I let myself fall into the comfort of my bed, tension escaping my body. What was left was a void. My lungs that had been so full of air to scream into his face now merely pumped enough oxygen for a sigh to leave my lips. The argument was spurred on by a recent incident on a hunt from a few days back, the tension had been simmering, threatening to boil over all of that time. For whatever reason, today was the day where it became too much. The heat grew and the water overflowed. I had been jolted out of my thoughts by the slamming of the front door to the bunker, followed by Deans booming voice. Even though I knew it was coming, that didn’t make it any easier.
There is a knock on my door, quiet yet enough to alert me to their presence. I ignore it, unwilling to budge from my place underneath the sheets on my bed. The desire to speak with either one of the Winchester men tonight was at a resounding nonexistent. My silence is not accepted, however, another knock follows. There are a few seconds of silence before Sam’s voice travels through the door.
“Y/N, it’s me. I just wanted to check on you, talk for a bit.” He sounds upset, concern flowing through his tone.
“I’m fine Sam, I don’t want to talk.” I call back, willing him to listen and not press me for more social interaction than I have energy.
“Okay, you know where I am if you need anything. Goodnight, Y/N.” I respond in turn and wait for him to leave, confirmation comes in the form of his footsteps retreating down the hallway.
My sleep that night is filled with numerous nightmares, each one worse than the last. A spattering of different conclusions to the hunt that had spurred on the argument with Dean. I had pushed him out of the way of danger, throwing myself into the path instead. Something that I had done for both of the boys numerous times, a fact that I was not ashamed of in the slightest. They were needed and had jobs to do. These nightmares were all of the numerous ways that the night could have ended if I hadn’t put myself in the path of death. Dean’s body, slumped against the wall, his final breath being drawn as Sam and I stood helpless in the room. Sam replacing Dean in the path of the bullet and both of them meeting their demise. Over and over, the nightmare repeated, changing slightly each time. No matter how many times I woke up, every time I returned to sleep it continued.
I pull myself into a sitting position, the last nightmare had been the worst. I had been helpless and forced to watch Dean be tortured by the monster of man that had us cornered. I had watched him bleed, watched Dean beg for him to spare Sam and myself. I jump as my door swings open, soft barefoot steps resounding through the otherwise silent bunker. My eyes land on Dean, disheveled and tired. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, the handle of the Bowie knife that he often uses, clutched between his fingers. I blink, staring back at him, hurt still fresh in my mind.
“I-uh, you screamed my name. So, I had to make sure you were okay.” He mutters, shame present throughout his features. The hand that isn’t holding his knife, comes up and rubs the back of his neck, before falling back to his side.
“I’m fine, just a dream. Sorry to wake you. Go back to sleep, we have to be up early tomorrow.” I respond, my voice even. I am unwilling to show him any weakness or emotion, the fight still hanging fresh between us. He nods, but hesitates in the doorway to my bedroom. I can see that he is searching for the words and I pray he doesn’t find them, I can’t hear them tonight. He nods once again, murmurs a goodnight and shuts my door behind him.
—
I manage to make it through the next morning with zero interaction with the older Winchester, both of them are distracted by preparations for the next hunt. No words are exchanged at all until we are an hour into the drive, the radio on but low as Dean focuses on the road ahead of us. I pretend to be oblivious to his glances through the rear view mirror, unwilling to be the first to speak. But I notice. I notice the way his eyes land on me, scanning my face for any hint of emotion. I notice the way he has destroyed his bottom lip, by the constant anxious biting. I notice the way his hair isn’t combed into place like it normally is, how his appearance in general is disheveled. He didn’t sleep last night. Good, he deserves to be upset by the things that he said to me.
“Y/N?” Sam calls, and I turn to look at him. The look on his face leads me to realize that he had been talking to me and I had not heard him.
“Hmm? What’s up?” I ask, giving him a small sheepish smile. His eyes are questioning but he doesn’t speak on it, simply repeating his earlier statement.
“According to Bobby, he thinks we are dealing with a Harpy.” I groan, letting my head fall back against the seat of the Impala. A harpy hunt is one of my least favorite, something I have only encountered a couple of times before, but I have the scars to prove it.
“You can stay behind at the motel, if you prefer.” Dean chimes in, “Sam and I can handle it.” His words catch me off guard, it was an offer that was by no means wanted.
“I can handle myself, thanks. It’s not like this is the first hunt I am participating in, Winchester.” I bite back, my voice cold. Sam shakes his head, in a manner that displays the smile tugging at his lips, even though I can’t see it.
"I am aware that you've done this a hundred times Y/N, but maybe a little caution wouldn't hurt.” Dean says, his knuckles turning white from his grip on the steering wheel of the impala.
“Don’t push your luck, Winchester.” I mutter, returning to looking out the window of the Impala.
Unfortunately, Deans words would ring true. The anger and desperation I had to prove him wrong, land me in a very sticky situation. I threw caution to the wind and wound up paying for it ten fold.
—
“Dammit,” I cuss, a gasp leaving my lips as I struggle to pull myself into a sitting position. Every nerve ending in my body is on fire, screams of protest are rising from deep within me. The hard wood wall of the old house provides support as I slump against it, my hands cradle my abdomen, pressed tightly against the gaping wound, that was caused by a violent stabbing moments earlier. I listen carefully, searching for any sign of the boys.
In the fight with the Harpies, we had gotten separated and I was unsure of where they were, or if they were still alive. A wave of pain rushes over me and I let out a groan, blinking rapidly to try to clear my field of vision that is rapidly fading around me.
“Y/N?! Where are you?” Dean yells, his voice traveling through the house, panic evident. I try my best to draw enough oxygen into my lungs to respond, but it is a losing battle. My lungs are on fire, along with the rest of my body. My ribcage is a vice and I cannot inhale enough to begin to speak, let alone yell. All I can do, is sit and wait. Hope that he finds me in time. Frantic footsteps fill my ears, barely heard over the rushing of blood through my head. A small rush of relief floods my body as Dean rounds the corner, our eyes meet and he crumples. His face is defeated ever so briefly, before he puts on a brave front, his eyes scanning my body an explanation of the amount of blood surrounding me. He’s at my side In record time, his hands gently prying mine away. He surveys the situation quickly, before pressing the fabric of his flannel against my stomach. A motion that pulls a guttural scream from my lips, I beg him to stop but he doesn’t, his lips pull into a tight smile and he brushes the sweat soaked hair from my forehead.
“Hey, sweetheart. It’s okay, you’re going to be okay, I’ve got you.” He murmurs, searching around frantically for something, anything to add to the flannel that he already has pressed against my body. I glance down and quickly realize, its even worse than I could have imagined. The material he had pressed against me moments before, was already soaked red.
“No, look at me. Right here.” He says, gesturing for me to focus on his eyes and not the blood soaked flannel.
“Guess you were right after all,” I whisper, a small laugh that quickly turns to a cough leaving my lips. Once I catch my breath, I continue. “ I was being reckless.”
“Stop, don’t think like that. I am so sorry for what I said, but we can’t focus on that right now sweetheart, we gotta get you out of here.” Dean says, his eyes growing sadder with every passing moment. “You think you can hold pressure on this while I carry you? Can you do that for me?” The desperation in his voice pains me, I know I don’t have the strength to do what he asks, but I nod anyways. I know that if he doesn’t do everything he can, he will always blame himself for my death. So I will try, I’ll try for him. I grab onto the flannel and pull it against me with all of the strength that I possess, as he carefully picks me up. His attempts to avoid causing me pain are useless, every step and motion causes a wave of nausea and dizziness to overtake me, but I do my best to not let him see.
“Dean, I have to tell you now, just incase,” I stop myself, unable to finish the what if scenario that is playing in my head, outloud. “Dean, I love you, always.”
“Hush, I’m not confessing my feelings to you until you are better.” Dean says, his breath catching in his throat as he focuses on each step he takes.
I can’t tell you how we made it to the Impala. My eyes are closed for the majority of the journey, only opening when Dean demands that I look at him. His voice begs me to stay with him, stay awake. Stay Alive.
—
“She lost so much blood, what if- if she doesn’t wake up?” I can feel a hand grasping my own, gently stroking my skin. Dean’s voice is there, he’s talking to someone. Warmth is covering my skin. It is almost peaceful, until it is interrupted by my nerves screaming out in protest. A groan leaves my lips and the hand on my own jerks away.
“Y/N, sweetheart, can you hear me?” It’s Dean again, I can feel the mattress shift underneath me as he sits on it, his hand coming up to stroke my cheek.
“Sweetheart is new, what happened to idiot?” I whisper, my throat dry and my tongue faltering to enunciate the words.
“You almost died and I couldn’t bear that thought, that’s what happened.” Dean says, his hand brushing over my skin. I open my eyes, squinting at the sunlight pouring in through the open blind. It takes me a second to realize that I am in fact in a motel and not the bunker.
“Who knew you had feelings, Winchester, thought you were all tough and no mush.” I say, moving to push myself into a sitting position, but quickly regretting that and abandoning the motion. He laughs, a clear and full sound. One that lifted my spirits ever so slightly.
“It’s no fun making you miserable, Y/N, not when you are already miserable. So I need you to get better, okay?” He says, pressing a very unexpected, but desired kiss against my forehead.
“Now who’s being the idiot?” I meet his gaze and smirk. He shakes his head, still smiling at me. He presses another kiss to my forehead, the breath he lets out through his nose rushing over my skin.
“I love you, too, Y/N. Always have, always will.”
Tag List: @roseblue373 @jc-winchester @hobby27 @mishreem
#deanwinchesterxreader#supernatural dean#dean winchester#deanwinchesterblurb#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester fic#dean winchester fluff#deanwinchesterfluff#sam and dean#dean x you#dean x reader#spn#sam winchester#supernatural fic#supernatural#dean x yn#dean x reader fluff#dean winchester SPN#dean winchester imagine#dean x reader imagine#dean winchester x you#Dean Winchester x Female!Reader#fluff#fluffy#dean fluff#supernatural spn#wanderingwinchesters#dean winchester comfort#dean winchester angst#dean winchester x injured reader
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Hi! I absolutely love your fics! I have a little request/idea. Sebastian finds out that MC has a little crush on professor sharp and all of a sudden can’t stand his favorite professor. (His small crush on professor garlick is totally different and super justified)
jealousy, you got me somehow
Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1.7K
Summary: Sebastian finds out about your little crush on a certain Potions master and all of a sudden can’t stand the man. (His small crush on Professor Garlick is, of course totally different and super justified.)
“You’re sure you won’t become too affected by Sharp’s dulcet tones and neglect something important?” he asks with a smirk.
Annoyed, you huff and abandon your notes at your side.
“You’ve been waiting several days to bring this up again,” you grumble. “I should’ve known I wasn’t safe.”
Sebastian first finds out about your little preoccupation when he innocently stumbles upon you studying with a group of your fellow Slytherin girls in a quiet corner of the library. Or at least, it was quiet until Nerida Roberts had started to derail your entirely legitimate conversation about the uses of Dittany for an upcoming Potions exam by bringing up Professor Sharp himself.
“He’s just so handsome,” she sighs dreamily. “How am I supposed to focus on what’s going on in my cauldron when he’s standing right across the room looking all brooding and roguish?”
Violet McDowell giggles and adds, “I could listen to him talk all afternoon and I wouldn’t learn a single thing!”
“I suppose that’s why so many seventh-year girls are still taking Potions even if they don’t need it for their N.E.W.T.s,” you murmur.
“Can you blame us?” Violet sighs. “You must admit, he’s quite nice to look at.”
“Of course I think he’s handsome,” you say with a scoff. “Just because I have a boyfriend doesn’t mean I can’t see the man.”
As if on cue, Sebastian comes around the corner carrying a large stack of books on defensive magic and spots the three of you huddled around your Potions notes.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” he says with an easy smile.
Sebastian sets his books on the edge of the table and leans down next to you to steal a chaste kiss while he can. He’s seen relatively little of you this week while you both prepare for exams in classes the other doesn’t have, so not even your late-night study sessions have overlapped.
“Speak of the devil,” Nerida teases.
“Shh!” you whisper. “Enough now.”
“Not keeping secrets from me, are you?” Sebastian asks teasingly as he snags one of the empty seats.
“Of course not,” you demur. “By the way, have you got my Potions notes from last week? I think I mixed them up with yours from Ancient Runes.”
Sebastian chuckles and asks, “Trying to change the subject? I must have walked into something quite scandalous.”
“It’s nothing bad,” Nerida says teasingly. “We were just chatting about Professor Sharp.”
“Oh?” Sebastian asks, surprised. “What’s he done now?”
“Nothing,” Violet McDowell answers. “We were just saying that he’s easily the most handsome professor at Hogwarts.”
“He’s certainly your girlfriend’s favorite,” Nerida says with a smirk.
Sebastian raises a skeptical eyebrow at you, and sure enough, you’re blushing.
“Really?” he drawls. “You have a thing for Sharp?”
“No!” you whine. “I just – I really like Potions class, that’s all.”
“Of course you do,” Violet taunts. “So you can moon over Sharp during his lectures!”
You shoot Violet a threatening look and not-so-gently kick the toe of your boot against her shin underneath the table. She yelps and curses under her breath before indignantly burying her face behind her Potions textbook, and Nerida wisely avoids eye contact and doesn’t offer anything further.
After a beat, Sebastian clears his throat and says, “Well then, I, er… suppose I’ll leave you girls to it.”
He helps himself to one more kiss goodbye and you can tell by the significant look he gives you before leaving that this is not the last you’ll hear from him about your crush.
Sure enough, a few nights later the two of you manage to claim a loveseat by the fire in your common room where you can curl up against his side and revise your Potions notes one last time before your exam while Sebastian dutifully transcribes runic diagrams onto lengths of parchment.
“Are you feeling prepared for your exam tomorrow?” he asks you casually.
“I think so,” you answer. “It’s not a practical, so I can’t imagine it will be too challenging.”
“You’re sure you won’t become too affected by Sharp’s dulcet tones and neglect something important?” he asks with a smirk.
Annoyed, you huff and abandon your notes at your side.
“You’ve been waiting several days to bring this up again,” you grumble. “I should’ve known I wasn’t safe.”
“What?” he laughs. “I’m just teasing you, love.”
You narrow your eyes at him skeptically. “I’m not sure I believe you.”
“Well, it’s just… I don’t really know what you see in him, that’s all,” he murmurs, lazily turning a page in his Ancient Runes textbook.
You frown. “What do you mean?”
“I just think he’s rather foul,” Sebastian says plainly. “He’s impatient, meticulous, he’s clearly got a dark past and I truly don’t understand why all you girls think he’s obviously the most handsome man at Hogwarts. To me, he’s simply average.”
Merlin’s beard, you think. You knew Sebastian wasn’t a fan of Hogwarts’ Potions master, but you had no idea his dislike ran so deep.
“I think he’s a good professor,” you offer quietly. “He’s always been quite helpful to me, especially when I needed to master healing potions, and he saved my life in the Repository.”
“How generous of him,” Sebastian mumbles.
Angrily, you sit up a little straighter and pluck Sebastian’s quill out of his hand so he’ll look at you.
“And what about you?” you demand indignantly. “While we’re on the subject of good-looking professors, I happen to know that you turn into a stammering, blushing fool whenever Professor Garlick is nearby.”
You know for a fact that Sebastian Sallow is not an idiot, which is why it’s all the more frustrating when he tries to deny something you’ve known about for months.
“I do not!” Sebastian protests. “That’s – that’s ridiculous.”
You scoff and roll your eyes. “You are not a subtle person, Sebastian, nor are you particularly good at being punctual, yet somehow you’re never late to the greenhouses.”
“W-well, I’m rubbish at Herbology so I like to make sure I won’t miss anything important,” he lies.
“Maybe you wouldn’t be quite so rubbish if you actually listened to the professor instead of staring at her chest for the entire lesson,” you grumble.
Sebastian goes bright red. Clearly, he had no idea you could see him doing that.
“Look,” he whines. “It doesn’t mean anything, I just think she’s nice to look at is all.”
“And I’m not allowed to think Professor Sharp is handsome?” you counter.
“It’s different,” he insists. “You actually like him, it’s not just an attraction.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” you hiss.
“It means he’s a powerful wizard, a brilliant duellist and he’s a former Auror for Merlin’s sake,” Sebastian angrily confesses. “I couldn’t possibly measure up to that.”
You feel your heart break a little when you realize what this is truly all about – your love’s relentless insecurities, the same ones he’s battled for many years now.
Softly, you ask Sebastian, “Do you actually feel threatened that I might leave you for a professor? We’re seventeen, Seb.”
“It’s preposterous, I know,” he sighs. “But I just… I feel like I could never compete with him.”
“Sebastian,” you croon as you take your hand in his lap. “I want you to listen to me very clearly, alright?”
You wait patiently for him to meet your gaze before you continue.
“As you said, Professor Sharp is impatient,” you agree. “He’s also meticulous, and maybe he does have some darkness in his past. But you also said that he’s a brilliant duelist and a powerful wizard. Do you know who else has all those traits?”
Sebastian swallows nervously and squeezes your hand a little tighter.
“You do, love,” you say softly. “So perhaps the reason I’m fond of him is that he reminds me of you.”
“I’m not an Auror,” he points out a little sullenly. “And I’ve never saved your life.”
“Not yet you aren’t, but we both know that’s why you’re studying for Ancient Runes so much lately,” you say with a fond smirk. “And since I’ve saved your life plenty of times, I’m sure you’ll return the favor someday.”
Wordlessly, Sebastian tugs you against his chest and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.
“I love you so much,” he murmurs into your hair. “I’m sorry for being such a prat.”
“Apology accepted,” you whisper into his chest. “And I love you too, you fool.”
He holds you close for a while after that, nose buried in your hair while you listen to his slow, even heartbeat through his uniform shirt. When he finally lets you sit up so that he can kiss you properly – not one of those chaste ones from the library – you find yourself halfway in his lap before you even realize you’ve shifted.
For Merlin’s sake, your notes are in a messy pile on the floor now.
You huff and try to climb off of him to gather them up, but Sebastian coaxes you back to him with a single finger on your chin, his eyes firmly fixed on your lips. By the time he’s kissed your frustration away, you can’t even remember what you were supposed to be studying for.
“We should bicker more often,” Sebastian says with a satisfied grin, his lips slightly swollen.
“On that subject, I was just wondering…” you ask him with a teasing smile. “Is there anything Professor Garlick has that I don’t? Should I be worried?”
“Absolutely not,” he murmurs as he flicks open the top button of your shirt. “Truthfully, you both have two very nice things in common.”
“You’re foul,” you tell him simply.
“I meant that you’re both kind-hearted and beautiful,” he says smoothly.
You’re positive that you know exactly what Sebastian meant and appreciate the compliment nonetheless. In fact, he’s being so sweet that you even let him undo a few more buttons while you can take advantage of your seclusion.
The next day during your Potions exam, while your female classmates are undoubtedly slipping in and out of pleasant daydreams about your alluring professor, all you can think about is Sebastian’s lips on your neck and his hand inside your shirt as he’d whispered all sorts of electrifying promises about what he’ll do to you after you turn in your parchment.
It’s a fierce struggle to focus on Dittany of all things with that in the back of your mind, but Professor Sharp is nevertheless pleased when you end up being the first to submit your completed exam and then promptly excuse yourself from the dungeons.
#hogwarts legacy#hogwarts legacy fic#sebastian sallow#sebastian sallow x mc#sebastian sallow x reader#sebastian x mc#sebastian x reader#professor sharp#aesop sharp#i know i'm supposed to be writing older requests and longer fics#but i was in a funk this weekend (hungover mostly lmao) so i needed to finish something short and sweet#so have some jealousy fluff!
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hiii,i loved your mingyu as a first time dad,if its possible can you make one for scoups 🫶 tysm<333
tyvm! sorry everyone for being ia uni has been crazy lately but i’m starting to write again! enjoy xx
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seungcheol as a first time dad! ♡
scoups would be so ready to be a dad, even before you were engaged or married. the thought of having kids with you was everything he ever wanted and he wanted it to happen as soon as possible
when he finds out you’re pregnant, scoups definitely cries. he’d pick you up carefully, tears streaming down his face asking if you’re being serious. when you nod with excitement, he would pull you into the tightest hug and promise to be the best dad ever
scoups would be the perfect husband while you’re pregnant. he’s already protective enough of you as it is, but since you’re carrying his child he wouldn’t even let you lift a finger during pregnancy. he would be ready to drop whatever he’s doing at any given moment to run to the store for you or be there to give you massages whenever you needed it, and he’d have his hand glued to your stomach at all times
when scoups meets his daughter for the first time, he’s honestly a mess. he’s overcome with love for his little girl as he holds her in his arms and tells her that he’s going to protect her and be there for her for the rest of his life. “you’re the most perfect little baby ever”, he’d whisper to her with the proudest smile on his face
he needs to be holding his daughter 24/7. you often have to put up a fight at times because he never wants to let her go. he insists you get more rest which in other words means he can spend more time with his little girl
so protective of her, even before she can stand on her own. even if she’s laying down right in front of him he won’t take his eyes off her for a second. part of him hates anyone but you or him holding her and he impatiently waits to take her back into his arms
she’s definitely a daddy’s girl since he spoils her so much. he buys her anything she lays her eyes on, and seeing her smile makes him the happiest man alive. scoups has a photo of her as his lockscreen at all times and he revolves his whole schedules around his daughter
he is definitely the type of dad to rush home from work if you text him that your daughter won’t stop crying. he’ll come speeding through the front door holding his arms out to pick his daughter up with a pout and ask her “what’s the matter, little one?”
scoups’ favourite thing to do is to run errands with his daughter, pushing her pram through the aisles in the grocery store and checking in on her every 5 seconds to make sure she’s okay. he also loves when strangers tell him how cute she is and he has to stop himself from going on and on about her
scoups honestly could talk about his daughter forever. his members tease him because he always finds a way to bring her up in conversations. but of course they don’t mind listening because they love her nearly as much as he does
he hates big milestones because it means she’s growing up. he almost wants to shut his eyes when she takes her first steps because he can’t accept the fact that she’s nearly a year old. but of course he’s the proudest dad ever and he’ll invite all his members over to celebrate his daughter’s milestone
when she does turn one, scoups is a mess. he can’t believe she’s all grown up and he holds her close to him the entire day trying not to burst out into tears
the day she starts preschool is very emotional for scoups. you question why he’s chosen to wear sunglasses to her first day of school before you see the tears on his face, and you can’t help stifle a laugh. he pouts at the sight of her huge backpack that’s twice the size of her, and he doesn’t want to let her go. “if anyone upsets you, make sure you tell your teacher to call me right away, okay?” he’d tell her seriously before finally sending her off.
when your daughter returns home one day talking about a boy in her class, you immediately move to block his ears. he always jokingly tells her to stay away from boys, but he honestly can’t handle his daughter growing up any more
he keeps the closest eye on her even when she’s playing on the playgroup or sitting with her friends. his biggest fear is something happening to his little girl so even if you tell him to relax, he won’t avert his gaze easily unless he’s convinced she’s okay and safe
scoups loves the matching pjs and outfits, but as she gets a bit older she hesitates to tell him that she’s embarrassed because it makes him so happy. “what, you don’t love your dad anymore?” he’d joke to her, but he’d open up to you in secret about how much he wants her to stay little forever
scoups is the kind of dad to stay up late watching hair tutorials so he can learn how to do her hair in plaits and pigtails and buns. he furrows his brows in concentration every morning before school as he attempts to tie her hair as neatly as possible, and is so proud of himself once he sees the finish product
he is kind of on the stricter side when it comes to school. he mostly only cares that she’s trying her best, but if he notices that she’s slacking off he doesn’t mind taking on the discipline role. scoups is the type of dad to help her with homework and projects and he takes note of due dates to keep her on track
his daughter has her dad wrapped around her finger. if she asks for a puppy one morning, she’ll come home from school to a new puppy at the front door. scoups cooks her favourite dinners if she’s having a bad day and he’ll pick her up from school with her favourite milkshake to cheer her up
as she grows up, scoups never stops spoiling her and he’s the most patient, loving, and protective dad ever!
#dad!scoups#dad!seungcheol#scoups#seungcheol#choi seungcheol#dad!svt#seventeen as dads#svt as dads#kpop imagines#kpop reactions#kpop scenarios#seventeen#svt fluff#svt imagines#svt reactions#svt scenarios#svt#husband!svt#husband!scoups#husband!seungcheol#scoups as a dad
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The next chapter of Cinnamon & Vanilla should be out mid-to the end of next week. We’re getting close to the end and I really appreciate all the support on that one. Here is a little sneak peak at the next story that I plan to release. As you can probably tell I’m very Yoongi biased. This one will probably just be one big story instead of a multi chapter thing, but that could change. Let me know if this is something you’d actually be interested in reading!
Inn Keeper Yoongi x Female Author Reader
Summary: You have never experienced true love which is hilarious considering you write romance novels for a living. When you end up staying at The Interlude Inn located in Holly Falls you start to wonder if maybe the answer to your newest love story is sitting behind the welcome desk. Quickly, you find out that Min Yoongi hides a lot of pain and sorrow behind his shy smiles and quick glances.
Warnings: (may get updated) Swearing, character death, very very angsty for a while, mentions of physical and verbal abuse, bullying, a really mean letter, panic attacks, eventual light smut, it will get better
Teaser Below The Cut
Once you arrived at the airport you really wished you’d done a little more research about Holly Falls. After some digging and a conversation with a very outgoing Uber Driver you found out that eleven months out of the year the town is very low key and relaxed, but for one month it is a tourist hotspot thanks to the insane amount of blooming cherry blossom trees. According to your new Uber friend, people come to Holly Falls during this month to see the fields of trees blooming in all their glory. The normally quiet town embraces the crowds providing various festivals and parades and gimmicks to draw in the guests as well as their wallets. And of course you just happen to travel over there smack dab in the middle of it all.
The driver dropped you off in the middle of the fun so with your bag slung over your shoulder you started heading into different hotels trying to book a room. In the city you could walk into pretty much any hotel at any time and book a room. You had assumed it would be same in this small town so you had decided to wait to book a room until you could see them in person wanting to get the feel and make sure you chose the right fit. You imagine in any other month it would be much easier to obtain a place to stay here, but due to the large tourist presence every single hotel was completely booked for the entire month.
You were just about ready to give up and head to the airport to see about booking a flight home when an older gentleman came up to you carrying various handmade trinkets for sale.
“See anything you like miss? All of these are under $10.”, he asked.
Politely you smiled, “No thank you. Not right now.”
You thought he had left until you saw him dangling a hand painted sun catcher in front of you. The design a beautiful beautiful cherry blossom. Trying to bite your tongue and not snap at the elderly man you again shook your head.
“Here have it for free. You seem to need a little cheering up.”, he smiled.
Reaching up you grabbed the delicate glass from him, “Thank you. I really appreciate it. I’m sorry if I came off rude. I’m just really stressed out right now.”
“Didn’t know about the cherry blossom season and now you can’t find a place to stay?”, he asked.
“How did you know?”, you replied wide eyed.
The elderly man chuckled while taking a seat next to you, “There’s always at least one person that gets stuck here with nowhere to stay because they didn’t know how crazy things can get around here this time of the year.”
“Mmh yeah that would be me this year. I need somewhere to stay for a couple weeks or I’m going to have to head back home.”
“You know there might be somewhere that still has a room available. It’s just outside all of the hubbub. About ten miles just over that hill. If you get to Taehyung’s Strawberry Farm then you’ve gone too far.”, he said pointing in the opposite direction of the festivities.
“Really? You think they’d have a room? I wonder why they wouldn’t be booked like every other place.”
The gentleman stood up from the bench you were both on, “Its worth a shot. It’s a little farther away from all the action than people like to be. Plus the owners are a little on the unique side.”
You were concerned at this statement. The last thing you wanted to do was end up being the story line of a true crime documentary.
He continued, “They are very nice people. A young man and his grandmother. They just tend to be very secluded and to themselves. It’s called Interlude Inn. You can’t miss it.”
You thanked him for the information and watched as he walked into a large group of people trying to sell the rest of his merchandise. Placing the delicate sun catcher in your bag you ordered another Uber to take you over to the inn. A familiar vehicle quickly pulled up in front of you with the same talkative man from earlier. You wondered how there weren’t any other drivers available, but you smiled as you slid in the back seat anyways.
“Leaving so soon?”, he asked.
You chuckled, “No I just need to find somewhere else to stay. Can you please take me to The Interlude Inn?”
Suddenly the man stopped, turning to look back at you.
“Miss you don’t want to stay there. Surely there’s somewhere else around here you can stay.”
“Every hotel is completely booked. If this inn doesn’t have a room then I’ll have to just go home.”
He sighed, “Alright miss. If you insist.”
He began the drive to your location. His words about finding somewhere else stuck in your mind.
“Sir?”
“Yes Miss”
“What you said earlier. What is so bad about this inn?”
“Well, the grandma, I think her name is Mae, is very sweet. She’s done the best she can with what she had. But that Min boy, he’s a little odd.”
“Ohhh…Like serial killer odd?”
The man chuckled, “No not that kind of odd. He’s just very quiet and keeps to himself, but he is polite. He’s never seemed to have any friends and I doubt he’s ever had any kind of relationship. He comes into town only a few times a year, mostly when his grandmother needs something. He doesn’t acknowledge anyone, even when they speak to him directly. People usually only stay at the inn as a last resort during this busy season.”
From what you’re hearing he seemed like just a quiet introverted person who loves his grandma. You weren’t sure why everyone seemed so leery of him.
The car pulled up infront of the inn. The large wooden sign out front verified you were indeed at The Interlude Inn. Thanking your driver you grabbed your bag and made your way up to the entrance.
The Inn looked cozy and welcoming. It was smaller than you had imagined. There couldn’t be more than three or four rooms. Off to the side you noticed a little garden with various plants starting to bloom.
On the door hung a welcome sign adorned with hand painted lady bugs and butterflies. Turning the handle you gently pushed in the door being greeted by a heavenly aroma making your stomach grumble. The entrance room which also doubled as a living room had two couches, one on either side of a coffee table. A television hung on the wall above a fireplace. In the corner was a small desk which you assume would be where you could request a room.
Walking over you noticed a younger man crouching down so he was eye level with one of the drawers. He appeared to be about your age, mid to late twenties. Black hair with a slight curl to it hung over his forehead. Beautiful cat like eyes and his soft lips formed into a deep pout. You wanted so badly to reach over and squeeze his chubby cheeks, but you knew that was a weirdness you didn’t want to invoke. He was fidgeting with a drawer that seemed to be stuck and you could here the argument he was having in soft whispers,
“Come on you stupid thing.”
“It shouldn’t be this difficult.”
“Please, I just need a pen and then I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the day.”
You chuckled hearing him begging the drawer to cooperate. Reaching into your bag you grabbed one of your spare pens and set it on the desk, “Here I have a pen you could use.”
The young man let out a sudden squeal after you startled him. He jumped backwards and landed on his behind with a loud thud.
“Oh no I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you had heard me come in.”, you apologized feeling terrible.
The poor guy sat on the ground trying to collect himself before bringing himself back to a standing position. That’s when you noticed his cheeks were a bright shade of red, making you want to squeeze them even more. The man didn’t say a word. His eyes were barely able to focus on you, instead they would move around the room before returning to you for just a second before he’d quickly look elsewhere.
“Ahh this must be the Min boy the driver was talking about?”, you thought to yourself.
#bts#yoongi fanfic#yoongi x reader#min yoongi#yoongi x y/n#yoongi fic#yoongi angst#bts fanfic#bts x reader#yoongi au#yoongi fluff#bts fic#bts fluff
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Little Messi (Pedri x Messi! Reader)
Warnings: reader is Messi's little sister, Lionel Messi is a professional matchmaker, lots of Spanish, mentions of Lionel Andrés Messi Cuccitini being the best football player because he is
Masterlist
Leo lately has been having thoughts about you, his little sister, with one of his teammates, Pedri, he can't help but think you two would somehow match together.
Pedri is a simple guy, nothing, wrong with it, Leo himself is too, honest, kind, great at what he does and a true Barça lover.
You are his little sister who he loves so much, the one he practically raised really, being so much younger than your other siblings and your parents being very busy with Leo's career, Leo most of the times took it into his hands to keep an eye on you, the internet is full of photos of him carrying you into matches from a very young age. You were truly Leo's first experience raising someone, there were those who even said you were actually his secret love child who he had at an extremely young age so they passed you off as a sister, lies of course, but it's not surprising there were those who believed it.
Pedri has recently joined the team, and you two, just seemed to hit it off fair quickly, something that Leo inmediatly became aware of. He knows you two are friends, but there is this part of him, telling him you two could be much more, and doesn't matter how much Antonella tells him to shut up the idea, he soon becomes your personal matchmaker without telling you.
It starts pretty simple, making you two encounter one another.
"Vení con los chicos y conmigo, así haces compañía a Pedri, que creo le cuesta un poco estarse cómodo conmigo y los pibes siendo el nuevo" he tells you one day, and of course you agree because Pedri and the rest are pretty nice, honestly most of the older players have taken you in as if you were their little sister and not Leo's. (come with me and the guys, so you can keep Pedri company, I think it's difficult for him to be comfortable with us being the new guy)
You honestly are suspicious of how much Leo smiles the entire evening and of Antonella giving him an annoyed look, as if he had done something wrong, yet you have no idea what.
You had fun honestly, Pedri is sweet, easy to have a conversation with once you break his shell, the other players tease him all the time, yet never say outright what the teasing is all about, but you do see the sneaky looks they give your way, yet decide to ignore them.
You don't see Pedri in a while, being a year younger than him, you are busy after entering 2nd of Bachillerato (Spanish last school year before university) and Pedri with training and getting to know Barcelona. One day you are laying around doing nothing, your brother approaches you out of nowhere, sneaky glint in his eye, trying to force down a smirk.
"Che, ¿me harías un favor?" (hey, will you do me a favor)
"Depende" (depends)
"Te quería pedir si podrías salir con Pedri, enseñarle un poco la ciudad, el pobre pibe todavía no se acostumbra" (I wanted to ask you if you could go out with Pedri, show him around the city, the poor guy doesn't get used yet)
"¿Y por qué no vas vos?" (and why don't you go?)
"Yo supongo él preferirá ir con vos que son más o menos de la misma edad" (I suppose he will prefer to go with you as you are the same age)
You end up agreeing, have a great time too, but are surprised to see Pedri knows all the places you took him to after your brother had made it sound like he had no idea. When you arrive home, he is looking expectant to see your expression, Antonella rolling her eyes besides him, after you tell him you had a great time and leave towards your room, you swear you can hear him let out a joyful noise, but decide to ignore him.
Every new season means a new shirt for the players to use during matches, and as always, Leo promises to bring you, the kids and Anto some for you all to wear, the number 10 and "Messi" on the back to show off your support for the greatest football player there is and ever will be.
He enters your room one random day to give you yours, you are too distracted by homework to check it out, but promise to do it later, you miss the way he pouts, as if he wanted to see your reaction over something.
You finish a couple hours later, the shirt almost forgotten before the bright red and blue colors catch your eye. You pick it up to examine it, it's not you favorite but it looks just fine, you turn it, expecting to see your brother's name and number on it but freeze as you realise there must have been a confusion.
A big 16 with the name Pedri on the top, you run down the stairs to inform your brother of the mistake, yet he has a sneaky smirk as he too checks the shirt out.
"Bueno, digo yo no pasará nada si la usas para un partido o dos. Incluso le podrá dar ánimos al pibe" (well, I don't think anything will happen if you use it to a match or two. Plus, it might cheer up the guy)
Leo promises to ask for another shirt for you (he doesn't mention his closet to be full of them and you don't remember it either, Antonella doesn't say anything, she wants to see for how long her husband will play matchmaker), he will take some time before giving it to you though, he is getting tired of all this, and wants Pedri to be his brother in law as soon as possible.
His plan, surprising or not, has been working out, many times you leave the house talking about going out with Pedri to do god knows what, he hears you two talk until late night hours, and he has heard some of the guys of the team teasing the Canarian about some girl he is crushing on-he really hopes you are the girl or everything will have been a great waste of time.
On the next match, you show up wearing the new shirt, you can feel the whispers behind your back about the unusual number 16 you are showing off, but do your best to ignore them.
Barça wins, a good ending for a long match after a hard season on the players, too far away from better times. You, the kids and Anto wait for Leo among the rest of the families when a boy approaches you, you recognise him as Fer, Pedri's brother from photos the midfielder has shown you.
"Buen partido, ¿no?" (good match, right?)
"Casi me da algo viéndolo" (I almost had a stroke from watching)
"Bonita camiseta por cierto" (nice shirt by the way)
You roll your eyes "Leo es un gil y me dio una que no era. Boludo, no quiero ni saber que se inventaran" (Leo is an idiot and gave me a wrong one. I don't even want to know what people will say)
"Pedri González, del máximo admirador de Messi, a salir con su hermana pequeña" (from Messi's greatest fan, to dating his little sister)
Leo frowns as he watches you laughing with the wrong brother as he walks out alongside Pedri and Piqué, he hits the later with his elbow and signals Pedri with his head, the younger boy seems to have noticed you and his brother too, as he too frowns, a saddened look in his face. Piqué clears his throat.
"¿Viste la camiseta que lleva y/n hoy?" (did you see the shirt y/n is wearing today)
The midfielder shakes his head, his eyes don't leave you figure.
"Che, yo también me fije" (hey, I noticed too)
"¿De qué hablan?" (what are you talking about?)
"Posta me parece que en la parte de atrás hay un 16, eh. Yo que vos chequearia" (I seriously think there is a 16 on the back. If I were you I would check it out)
Piqué nods, and the two watch as the boy approaches you. "¿Desde cuando haces de cupido?" (since when do you play cupid)
"Me tengo que entretener con algo, pelotudo" (I have to entertain myself with something, asshole)
Leo watches from his spot as both you and Pedri blush from whatever you are chatting about. The same behaviour goes on for the rest of the night, sneaky conversations in between you both that he unfortunately can't reach to hear. He pretends to not notice when you two dissappear sometime during the night.
He definitely doesn't squeal under Antonella's amused gaze at the end of the night, when you tell him how you and Pedri kissed and how the midfielder has asked you out for a date.
That night, when your brother is faraway from your room, you pick up Pedri's call.
"¿No deberíamos decirle que él no hizo nada, sino que ya estábamos saliendo?" (shouldn't we tell him that he didn't do anything and we were, already dating)
You shake your head "Naa, déjalo disfrutar al pobre chavon, que en verdad le gusta todo esto de ser casamentero" (noo, let the poor guy enjoy himself, he actually likes this whole matchmaker thing)
You don't think you will ever tell Leo the truth, let him think it was all thanks to him, when in fact you two have been together from the start and found it quite amusing how he played the fool with all these weird coincidences to get you two to become closer. It was time to let him in into your love though, let him know how much you actually like Pedri and he, you.
Unfortunately, after things become official, Leo becomes the most obnoxious, annoying, older brother the world has seen. But that is a story for another time.
#pedri#pedri headcanon#pedri imagine#pedri x reader#barca#fc barca#Barcelona#football imagine#football player#football#spain nt#Lionel messi#Messi#argentina#argentina nt#argentina national football team#argentina national team#spain national team#Spain#la scaloneta#scaloneta
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Help! I Am Entitled To Do A Bone!
The Ethicist, New York Times, 14 October 2023:
My wife became pregnant soon after we met, when our relationship was “fluid” and non-monogamous. We agreed to raise the child together and, at my urging, to have an open relationship. However, our relationship since has been monogamous. My wife was injured during the birth of our second child and now finds sex painful and avoids it. (We had a terrific sex life before the injury.) When I broached the topic of having other partners and reminded her of our agreement to have an open relationship, she became irritated and said that having kids changed things. Subsequent discussions resulted in a stalemate.
I very much enjoy my wife’s company and love her and our two kids. I have no intention of separating from my family. Nonetheless, I harbor resentments that my wife reneged on her commitment to me, and this, together with the lack of sex, is creating a wedge between us. Would it be ethical to take a mistress, given her earlier promise, and if so, can I do this discreetly so as to avoid tension and perhaps divorce? Or should I tell her I am planning to pursue this course of action? Or does the inherent risk of infidelity mean I should accept near-celibacy indefinitely? — Name Withheld
Dear Name Withheld,
The restraint with which you signed yourself "name withheld" rather than the more accurate "big fun deep-dicking from which I have been blocked by my hateful bitch wife" is admirable in the extreme. You are a credit to your gender, sir.
But on to the matter at hand, specifically, your hand, to which you have been relegated in lieu of the aforementioned big fun deep-dicking. Your wife waited to drop the vicious bomb of possession upon you until she had roped you, an unwitting fancy-free man of leisure (entitled to all the benefits thereof indefinitely and in perpetuity), into marriage and fatherhood of not one but two children — children you could have in no way have known would result from your consistently and entirely monogamous coupling over many years, and moreover, could never have expected would complicate the terms of the thing y'all talked about one time about boning other randos?? And now this self-interested harpy dares to refuse to you the clear promise of sex with absolutely anyone other than her at any time ever, which she made and guaranteed in surety after you'd been fucking for a minute? A promise you had in theory enjoyed by writ and at length in your mind based on a conversation y'all had years ago before the entire terms and nature of your relationship changed in deep and meaningful ways to literally the one other person involved in said relationship, to wit, the worst person?
A bait-and-switch of the kind your cruel and fickle wife has pulled on you cannot, should not, be tolerated. Are you — is any man, really — obligated to just not fuck his wife in addition to whoever else he wants to fuck ever? Just because she "finds sex painful"? Sex isn't painful for you, and doesn't that matter just a little bit more? Isn't it her job to have kind of a bad time so that you can have a good time? Isn't that what it is to be a woman and a mother? And she just casually eschews her duty to put up with whatever the fuck you propose? Because WHY? Because "having kids changes things"? I ask you: changes things for who? For the person who carried children in her body and experienced deep and lasting personal and physical injury? Or for you, the person who matters most?
It seems your wife has an unfortunately topsy-turvy view of partnership, one in which she believes two individuals are allowed to dictate the terms of a relationship that may change over time due to a variety of mitigating factors that one or both of you may or may not have control over. Would that she realized that her sexual needs are not merely incidental to yours, but actively irrelevant. If only she would simply give you that one, small thing (in addition to two children).
But alas, she seems sadly fixated on her own needs to the exclusion of the fact that you would like to do a bone upon her or frankly anyone, you are not picky, as long as she doesn't leave you or take your children away or do anything really to upset the world as you would like it to be, which is a classically controlling woman-type thing that women do because they are so self-involved.
Obviously you're really grappling with the profound ethical implications of lying to your wife about taking a mistress, and you're trying to find literally any other solution to just finding a girlfriend and fucking the shit out of her and hoping your wife doesn't find out. That's clearly the very last thing you want. But since you've shown such magnanimous restraint in not doing so, you probably should just do it and see what happens, it'll probably all be totally fine! And if it isn't, eh, idk? Were you supposed to just survive on beejays and handies forever? You tried your very best not to! And that's what will matter most to your children in the end.
#relationships#advice#bad advice#the ethicist#new york times#monogamy#polyamory#ethical non monogamy#just regular dude stuff#the men are fine#the men are very chill#childbirth#parenting#families#relationship advice
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A/N: Request from anon and some of my own ideas that had to be written down because Loki demanded it. This is technically Part II to this Imagine!
Words: 2492
Warnings: implied smut, biting
Your hair was still wet when you got out of the water, your back numb from the gushing waterfall Loki had kept you pressed against while fucking the life out of you and you were sprawled out on the blanket. Loki conjured a soft towel for you both to dry off and afterward, you ended up leaning against his chest as he fed you some of the grapes and read you passages of the book he had brought. It didn’t matter you couldn’t understand Old Norse—his voice was mesmerising either way and certainly the best form of aftercare you’d ever had.
Hours must have gone by. Hours filled with even more sex, passion, and some of the most profound conversations you had had in a while.
But once the sun began to set and the lagoon got darker and darker, Loki stirred and you, much to your dismay, decided to return to the palace through the stables to go unnoticed.
“Thor will decapitate me.”
“As if you care what Thor thinks,” you said, chuckling.
Loki smirked. “I don’t. But I do quite fancy my head, pet.”
Pet. There it was again. Before your mind could swoon over his new nickname for you, you were interrupted by a cute and boyish voice the very moment you entered the stables.
“Prince Loki! Shall I prepare your horse for you?”
The stable boy emerged from behind a wooden wall carrying a pitchfork. He was sweaty from the manual labour and his clothes were filthy from working with the horses. He was cute though. You could tell he had a heart for animals straight away.
“No need, Edri. I’m just passing through. Avoiding attention, you understand.”
“Of c—oh. You brought company. Oh…” He paused, blushing. “You brought beautiful company.”
You smiled at him but not without noticing how Loki tensed up right next to you. His arm came up to wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to make a statement. Edri immediately cleared his throat and forcefully ripped his gaze away from you.
“Well then… I haven’t seen either of you, my prince.”
“Thank you.”
“Loki? Can I see your horse?”
“I’ve just fed her. She’s right over there?” Edri offered before he could answer.
Loki gave you a smirk and a defeated sigh. “Very well.”
The experience did not disappoint. After Edri led you into one of the boxes, you were greeted by one of the most beautiful black mares you had ever laid your eyes upon. She seemed friendly—and she immediately let you touch her and even neighed in delight when Edri slid you an apple to feed to her.
“What’s her name?”
“Skelmir—it’s Old Norse for Trickster,” Loki answered.
You chuckled. “So she’s as mischievous as you then?”
“Occasionally.” He winked.
“She likes you. Skelmir is one of the shyer horses around here,” Edri explained. “Animals can tell if one has a good heart.” His gaze was soft and gentle—and it lingered long enough to make Loki seethe, it seemed.
“We should head inside now. Shall we? Edri.” His voice was stern and you chuckled once more, realising with a start that Loki was jealous the stable boy was flirting with you. There was no real danger here, of course—he was cute but it was Loki who had stolen your heart. But you were flattered. The fact that he was jealous meant he cared, right?
You nodded, tearing your mesmerised glance off of Skelmir, and followed Loki back into the palace. Not even a moment later, an aggressive voice echoed through the palace walls.
“Loki!”
Loki sighed. “What?”
You both turned, facing a fuming Thor.
“Where were you two? The entire palace was looking for you!” The God of Thunder spoke your name reproachfully. “You were supposed to remain supervised, Father said—“
“I was supervised,” you offered.
“By Loki! There is a reason we have asked you to stay away from him.”
“Oh, please.” What’s the worst thing I could do? Sleep with him? You grinned at your thought.
“Where did you even go? Why is your hair wet?”
Neither of you answered and Thor sighed. “Well, what’s done is done, I just hope Loki didn’t twist your head with his nonsense too much.” Your grin grew even wider—and Loki joined in. Part of you wanted to tell Thor, just to see his reaction but perhaps for now, it was for the best not to tell him that you had quite literally fucked the God of Mischief.
“We’re having a midsummer celebration in the throne room tonight. Everybody is welcome.”
You turned to Loki. “What’s that gonna be like?”
“Drinking, dancing, eating, and karaoke. Surprisingly, it’s not too different from celebrations on Midgard.”
“Karaoke? On Asgard? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Well, I’d dare assume the songs we sing are nothing like what you are used to from Midgard but essentially, the concept is the same.”
“I won’t miss that then. But only if you get up there and sing too,” you teased, grinning at him. Thor tilted his head in confusion, clearly not used to somebody being all flirty with his adopted brother.
“I’ll have a maid sent to the guest chambers to dress you for the occasion,” Loki said. And with that, and perhaps to not raise even more suspicion in Thor, he walked off with a final wink.
You didn’t realise how hungry you were until the maid came knocking on your door about an hour later, a selection of dresses in her hands—the decision was quickly made to wear the green one she had brought. It took her half an hour to get your still a little damp hair situated before finally, she escorted you to the throne room that had transformed into what could only be described as a food hall.
Your eyes scanned the room and you smiled awkwardly when Volstagg waved at you.
“Looking for someone in particular?” Loki offered, appearing behind you. Your heart skipped a beat and you spun around, joining him at the table he led you to. The other people chatting away and drinking there you did not recognise but that wasn’t important. Not even the fact that Volstagg and the others looked downright shocked upon you choosing to sit with Loki rather than with them mattered.
“You look beautiful, pet. One could mistake you for an Asgardian.”
“Thank you. I’ll blend in then. Is that the stage for the karaoke?” You pointed at an elevated platform next to the throne.
“It is indeed,” Loki said while a maid came by to pour you drinks.
“I don’t see a microphone.”
“You don’t need one. The stage is enhanced with magic. Once you step on it, your voice will be heard across the entire throne room.”
You clinked your glasses and then, the celebrations began.
You got tipsy fast, the Asgardian mead messing with your mind only one drink in. Loki needed a few more to let go. You learned from one of the men sitting at the table with you that Loki used to be the most hedonistic party guest one could possibly invite to a celebration.
You did not doubt it—because after a few more drinks, Loki stumbled on stage and sang an Old Norse song. He even changed to lyrics of the chorus to English so you could sing, clap and dance along and just for once, it seemed, all was well.
No one was judging him for attempting to take over Earth but rather for how much mead he’d already downed. You’d possibly never had this much fun in your life. And even though you’d refrained from singing a song yourself, you soon found yourself in Loki’s arms, dancing like there was no tomorrow.
The sexual tension between you grew with every beat until eventually, the God of Mischief leaned down to whisper in your ear. “Let me take you to my chambers, pet.”
You nodded with wide eyes, unable to ignore the wanton pulsing between your legs. Next thing you knew, you were on Loki’s bed on his armchair in his chambers, kissing him senseless.
“Loki…” you mumbled against his lips. “I wanna…” Another kiss, leaving you breathless.
“Wanna suck you off…” you choked out. Loki pulled away for a moment, surprise evident on his gorgeous face. He tilted his head with parted lips.
“You truly are the most peculiar mortal I have ever met.”
You grinned. “Would you say I’m also the most endearing one?”
Fuck, you felt like a teenager again. Loki and you spent half the night making out, exploring each other’s bodies, and coaxing orgasm after orgasm out of one another. By morning, he was familiar with every square inch of your skin and the soreness between your legs… it spoke for itself when you opened your eyes in his chambers when the sun was up again, naked, satisfied, and happy. Heavens, you’d spent the night making love to a god, after all! Life couldn’t get any better than that… right?
You rolled over, briefly distracted by a stinging pain in your neck. Ouch. Loki had gotten quite rough at some point last night, attacking your sensitive skin with his teeth and sucking and nibbling wherever his mouth had landed on.
“Good morning, pet…” Loki purred.
You smiled sleepily. “Good morning.” You sighed. “I want to spend the entire day in bed,” you stated. But then, your stomach growled.
Loki chuckled. “I’d dare say your body disagrees and needs sustenance after all the… activities last night.”
Reluctantly, you got out of bed. He was not wrong. You were starving. You walked over to the mirror naked, examining the hickeys he gave you last night. The one on your neck wasn’t a hickey though. It was an actual bite mark.
“Shit, Loki, I had no idea you’d be so kinky in bed.” You chuckled, practically admiring it. Loki came up behind you, his hands stroking over your upper arms as his blue gaze crossed yours in the reflection.
“Does it hurt?”
“Not more than hickey, surprisingly. I suppose you don’t have make-up here to cover this up though? That’d be easier than explaining to the rest of Asgard why the Earth girl suddenly has a bite mark on her neck.”
Loki waved his hand and the bruise disappeared. “Wait, did you…”
“It’s still there. I’ve concealed it. We can head to the healing room once you’re dressed.”
“Oh, okay.”
“Loki!”
The banging on the door that followed had the God of Mischief sigh.
“Loki, I know you’re in there! There’s someone here to see you. You have a lot of explaining to do, brother!”
Loki frowned.
“Who?” you asked quietly.
“I don’t know. I don’t normally get visitors from other realms. At least none that announce themselves officially and march straight through the palace doors. Get dressed, pet. I shall take you to the healing room right after.”
You nodded, putting on the clothes he conjured for you, and gave your hair a quick brush before you followed him outside, making sure that nobody saw you leaving his chambers. You made your way through sun-kissed hallways. It was a beautiful morning and you could already smell the Asgardian delicacies waiting to fill your tummy.
Still, you were curious about who Loki’s mysterious and unannounced visitor was. So you joined him, pushing the thought of breakfast to the back of your mind for now. In sight came a blonde woman with a suit of armour very similar to Loki’s, a guard right next to her to ensure she didn’t pose a threat.
“Who is that?” you whispered.
Loki swallowed thickly, his lips parted. His voice was a mix of relief and surprise. “That… Sylvie.”
“Your Asgard doesn’t look too different from mine, actually,” she said by way of a greeting.
“What are you doing here?”
“What, are you not happy to see me?” she mocked. Loki pulled her into an embrace. You felt a twang of jealousy inside of you.
“I’m glad to see you’re okay. Come in. And tell me what you’ve been up to. Have you heard from Mobius?”
“Not yet. Communication is a bit brittle across time and space. I have a lead on Renslayer though. You won’t like to hear it but she was last seen with Kang.”
“Great. So that’s another problem on our growing list.”
“Who’s that?” Sylvie nodded toward you and all of a sudden, you felt self-conscious about yourself. You lifted your chin in a feeble attempt to feign confidence.
You told her your name before Loki could answer, followed by a quick explanation as to why you were here. “And who exactly are you?” you asked then.
“She’s… me,” Loki answered for her. “Well, not exactly me but one of my Variants—from another corner of the multiverse, if you will.”
“Please tell me you’re joking.”
“Sometimes I wish I was, pet.”
“Pet? What’s going on?” Sylvie scanned your form—then, her eyes fell on your neck. “Is that… You idiot! You marked her?”
You frowned. How could she even see it? But you supposed that if she was a Loki, then she was able to see right through his concealment. “What? What does that mean?”
“She’s human, Loki! It’s a miracle she’s even alive!”
Loki glared at her, daring her to keep speaking all the while your confusion kept growing. Marked you? What the hell was that supposed to mean?
“Can we speak about this in private? Preferably where not the entire palace can hear us?”
“Loki, what does she mean?”
“The bite mark of a Frost Giant,” Sylvie explained coldly, “it’s like a magical seal that signifies a partnership between two Frost Giants.”
“So… what… does that mean I have magic in my veins right now?”
Sylvie ignored you. “What were you thinking, Loki?”
“I was drunk!”
“Of course you were.”
“Oh, don’t think for a second I wouldn’t have done this had I not been. She’s fine.”
Just this morning, you had asked yourself what exactly Loki and you were. Calling him your boyfriend seemed inappropriate but quite apparently, you now had an answer to your question. Partner.
Loki did not seem like the type of person who would sleep with just anyone. Having fun and giving pleasure was one thing but even then… the God of Mischief surely was selective with his lovers. You bit your lower lip. You hadn’t known about the meaning of this bite mark but you couldn’t say you minded it. If that was his way of making you his, you’d receive it with open arms. You could only imagine the exciting kind of future you’d have with Loki—even if it would take a while to convince whoever this Sylvie was that just because you were human, that didn’t mean you’d let anyone mess with you or keep you away from the cheeky God of Mischief.
A/N: Come check out my blog if you like for more Imagines and my novels! ♥
#loki imagine#loki x reader#loki x you#loki x female reader#loki fluff#loki#thor#thor imagine#the avengers#the avengers imagine#mcu imagine#marvel#marvel imagine#mcu#loki show#loki series#loki series imagine#loki show imagine#tom hiddleston
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Sooo i saw those promts and immediately fell in loveee. Just imagine a heated argument between hotch and reader with “why do you even care?” and “because i care about you, okay!?” Like inagineee the feelings😩😩
Caring
Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, mentions of sweet Jack bug, Aaron feeling bad :/, some pining?, nothing past friendship though, happy ending!, I think that's all!
Word count: 2k
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!bau!reader
A/n: Ohhhhh yes!! Yes yes!! I wrote this about Aaron feeling like he's not there for Jack enough as he grows up so I hope that's fine! I'm not really sure I made it angsty but more hurt/comfort maybe? I hope you like it 🫶.
Forever tags: @greg-montgomery @boredelle @hotchsdoormat @ssahotchnerr @criminalskies @beardedhotchh @hotchnerbau @ssamorganhotchner @mrs-ssa-hotch @canuck-eh @luvehotch @callm3c0nfus3d @ivyflowers13
Hotch: @14buddy22 @pastanoodles11 @htchnr
Let me know if you want to be added to my tags🫶.
Aaron has a tendency to keep everything locked inside. Everyone knows it. You wish he would talk to you, or at least talk to someone, but to your knowledge he never really has.
You know he's not okay. The entire team knows it. You don't know what exactly is eating at him so badly but you know there's something going on whether it's his home life or his work life. The last few days he has come into the office only to shut himself in and not talk to anyone unless he really had to. When he did talk he kept the conversations as short as possible.
Rossi tried to talk to him but Aaron shut him out just the same. You decided you would try. You had always been closer with Hotch when it came to understanding each other whether words were spoken or not. It was always easy to tell when the other wasn't alright. Not that he ever talked to you when he wasn't, but you always let him know he could if he wanted or needed to. You would pat his shoulder or squeeze his hand. Once you even hugged him and he was tense during it but still welcomed the embrace and managed to relax into it slightly.
You planned it out a little. You would stay late, or at least until everyone else left aside from Hotch of course, and then you would go to him. You would try to console him and help him through whatever was going on inside that head of his.
Once everyone has gone home for the night you make your way to Hotch's office and knock which, as always, is met with a 'come in' that is muffled by the closed door.
You open the door and step in then close it behind yourself. He immediately looks up from the papers on his desk and meets your eyes. He wasn't really working. You don't know exactly how you knew but you just knew. It almost looked like he had been crying before you came in, but you couldn't be sure about that. It was darker in the office than he normally kept it. He looks a little...lost. He just looks sad or like he's carrying something inside that he doesn't know how to deal with.
"How can I help you, y/l/n?" His voice is cold as it usually is.
You walk closer and sit down in the chair across from him. You don't hesitate. You want to know what seems to be tearing him up inside. So you ask him.
"Hotch, what's going on? What's wrong?" Your voice is soft but you're direct about this.
"Nothing is wrong, y/n. I'm fine. Everything is fine." It's empty. The words are empty. He doesn't mean them. You always know when he doesn't really mean what he says and he knows it. Why he still chooses to do it, to lie, you're not entirely sure because you both know it is pointless to lie to the other.
"Hotch, you're shutting everyone out and shutting yourself in. You've been short with everyone, even Penelope and you almost never get upset with her. You are staying even later than you normally do, which definitely says something because sometimes it already seems like you never leave. You yelled at Derek and Emily for joking around like they always do, you never yell at them you just tell them to focus but it is always calm and stern. This time you yelled. You couldn't be more obvious about this, Aaron." You always use his first name when it's something personal and between the two of you. You both use each other's first names when you're trying to get a point across. Neither of you are sure about when that started.
"Y/n, I'm fine. Really. I just have a lot of extra work to do right now. That's all." Once again, he's lying. Every word right there was a lie.
"Aaron, come on. Stop lying to me."
"Stop profiling me."
"Why won't you let me help you?"
"I don't need your help." That hurt you for some reason you're not sure of right now. You brush it off for now.
"What is going on? Aaron, you're not okay and we know it. You need to talk to us, to someone. Let me help you, please. I want to be here for you."
"Why do you even care?" He shoots back harshly.
"Because I care about you, okay?!"
All of these words were rushed between you both and hardly thought out before being said. You just yelled at him and that was the last thing you meant to do. He yelled first, but he's hurting and you understand that. You're excusing him raising his voice but you are internally scolding yourself for raising yours. All you want is to help him. You divert your eyes from him and look down.
"I care about you, Aaron. I'm sorry I yelled." It's a whisper.
When you look back up at him, his gaze is soft and gentle. "It's okay. I shouldn't have yelled either. You're just trying to help and...I'm being stubborn." You chuckle at that. "That's nothing new, Aaron." He smiles a little at you. You were known to joke about his stubborn and cold attitude around the BAU from time to time, he knows it but he doesn't mind.
"Aaron, please? Talk to me? I do care about you and I just want to help you or at least do what I can to try." Your voice is no longer a whisper but it's still soft and more on the quiet side. Aaron sighs and rubs his eyes a little. "It's about Jack." That immediately raises alarms in your mind and you're more concerned now.
"What's wrong? Is he okay?" Aaron can see the worry etched into your face and he understands that maybe he shouldn't have started with that.
"Jack is fine. It's more about...I feel like I'm not a good father to him." Another sigh escapes Hotch and he is now holding his head in his hands. You think you can understand why he would be thinking this. He is away very often, but you know he's still an amazing father. You've been around them both enough to know that.
"Aaron, why? You're a wonderful father. You love him so much and he knows you do. We all know you do. You do everything you can for him. I'm sure he knows that." He looks back up at you and he seems defeated. He still looks sad and lost with himself.
"But I'm hardly ever home with him. I'm not around as much as I want to be. I want to be able to help him figure life out as he grows up. I've missed important things in his life. I don't want him to grow up feeling like he had an absent father." You think you see tears in Aaron's eyes, something you've seen a few times during a few cases. It breaks your heart to see such a good man feeling like such a terrible dad.
"I think Jack understands. You've explained it to him, that the job takes you to many places. And he won't see you as a failed father. He sees you as his hero, Aaron. He looks at you like a real-life superhero. He understands that your job helps save people and even though he's just a seven year old boy, he supports it. He loves being able to talk about how awesome his dad is for saving people all the time." You offer Aaron a smile but he doesn't return it.
"How do you know all of this? He's never said all of that to me. Once he said I was a hero on Halloween, but not everything else."
"The playdates I've been over for and the dinners at Rossi's where the BAU kids were invited. Aaron, Jack loves you so much and he looks up to you." He smiles at that. Jack loves you too and often asks for you to come over to watch Spider-Man or to play with his action figures with him. He's a wonderful kid to be around.
"That's...that's really nice to know. It does help. But it doesn't change that I still feel like I'm missing out on more than is acceptable." He frowns again and looks down at his desk. You think for a moment and an idea comes to mind.
"I know it's hard to have a home life with the job we have and I also know that for you it's hard to get everything done in a reasonable amount of time because you have more to do. So I want you to let me help you a little more. A couple nights a week when we don't have any cases and I've finished my work for the day, I can stay a bit later and help you finish enough work to be able to go home to Jack before he's already asleep. How does that sound?" Your tone and expression are so kind and hopeful. You hope he takes you up on your offer, but you wouldn't be surprised if he didn't.
Aaron stays quiet for a moment and you can tell his mind is letting loads of throughts fly through it. Probably about how he shouldn't take advantage of you offering this or maybe how he thinks it's unfair to you. He wants to say yes but another part of him clearly wants to decline because helping him with some of the extra work he has isn't part of your job.
After about a minute of him considering what you've said he finally speaks. "Y/n, are you sure? It's not your responsibility. You really don't have to do this. I'm sure I could find a way to do this without taking up your time." "Aaron, I don't have anyone or anything to go home to at night aside from my bed and my TV. I'd rather stay a little later and help you go home to see Jack." He finally cracks a small smile and takes another moment to think before ultimately nodding.
"Okay. But only a couple nights. I don't want to take you away from your time to relax." You nod in return before responding. "I think we'll all be able to relax as long as the boss man isn't snapping at people or shutting himself in all the time anymore." His smile widens when you call him 'boss man'. He's always thought the nickname was a little funny but he wouldn't tell anyone that. "Don't worry. I won't be yelling at anyone as much, I'm sure."
"You might want to apologise to Reid for when you went off on him about his physics magic the other day. I think you hurt his feelings." He chuckles and it's such a sweet sound to hear. "Yeah, I do feel bad about that. He really is starting to get some distance on those. He almost hit Strauss with one so I think that's why I yelled." You snort a little. "Would that have really been bad if he had hit her with one?" Aaron grins at you. "No, I think it really would've made everyone's day actually. Erin would have come down on me for it but I guess now that I think about it, it would have been worth it to see her expression and confusion about physics magic." Both of you laugh a little at the thought.
The deal you made started and you stayed later to help Hotch finish the extra work he had left to do. That night you were also invited to have dinner at the Hotchner house and you're pretty sure it was the best meal you had ever had. Filled with laughter and smiles. It was something that made your heart flutter. You're happy to help Aaron, especially when you know it means he and Jack both get to be much happier.
#anon🩶#prompt list#angst prompt#aaron hotchner#hotch#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x gn!reader#aaron hotchner x gender neutral reader#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner x y/n#hotch x reader#hotch x gn!reader#hotch x gender neutral reader#hotch x you#hotch x y/n#aaron hotchner angst#aaron hotchner comfort#hotch🌜#mon answers 🩷
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Hello there! I hope you’re doing well, I was wondering if you could do a few head cannons or a ficlet (whichever you prefer) where the brothers (and/or dateables) find out that MC is multilingual.
I’m mostly thinking in the context that they didn’t know before and suddenly hear MC speaking said language, but you can change that if you prefer of course! Or not do the request entirely if this idea doesn’t strike your fancy.
Have a nice day/night!
Hi, anon!
Okay I wasn't sure if multilingual meant MC speaks two languages or if it's like more than two, so I kinda did a little bit of both. And really I think everything could apply to either option, so hopefully that all still makes sense!
Thank you for the request!
brothers react to hearing GN!MC speaking in a different language
Warnings: none!
Lucifer
When he first hears it, he’s sure he’s just tired. He’s never heard you speak any other language before. Surely his mind is playing tricks on him. Starts thinking he must really need to take a break like everyone is always saying.
If you do it again, then he’ll ask. MC, are you multilingual? Demonstrate all the languages you speak. However many it is, he's impressed. He wants to know the details of how you learned this language. Tell him more about it.
He will ask you to teach him the language so he can speak it with you. Really loves it when he gets fluent and can carry on conversations with you that other people don’t understand. He will say all kinds of things with the sole purpose of making you blush.
Lucifer will find records of music that’s sung in languages you know. Might ask you for a translation of the lyrics, but mostly just wants to share the experience with you. Sit with him in the music room to listen and he won’t be able to stop himself from holding you close, whispering sweet sayings that you've taught him in your ear.
Mammon
Woah! MC! Since when could ya speak more than one language? You’re always surprising him with the things you can do!
He will ask you to teach him all the swear words. Says them to Lucifer under his breath more because it makes you laugh than because he really means it.
Wants to know the circumstances in which you learned this language. Is it your native tongue? Or did you just learn a whole new language for some reason? Either way you had to learn a second language at some point and that sounds like a lot of work. Wouldn’t do it himself but he’s impressed that you could.
Actually picks up parts of the language pretty easily. Depending on how often you use it around him, Mammon will be able to imitate your most used phrases. He’ll say stuff without knowing what it actually means, he’s just repeating you. If you tell him what it means and how to use it, it will just become part of his own speech from that point on. Only says lovey things when the two of you are alone.
Leviathan
The first time he hears you speaking it, he’s confused. What was that? Did you just speak in a different language? Quick, MC! Tell him all the different languages you know!
Instantly wants to hire you to translate any media that’s in a language he can’t speak. Video games, manga, shows, movies, even songs! If you insist on teaching him so he can do it himself, he’ll actually be excited to learn. Teach him everything!
Absolutely will watch movies and shows in any languages you speak with you. He’s gonna need subtitles. He’ll ask you about how accurate the subs are. Makes you go through every single line and complains about any inaccuracies you guys find. Posts your translations in online forums.
Talk to him in your language and he’ll be flustered even if he has no idea what you’re saying. You could be telling him to clean his room, but it sounds so romantic? Now he’s blushing like crazy. Levi actually really likes to hear you speak to him in a different language. If he's learning it for himself, he won't get as flustered if he knows what you're actually saying. Either way, he's going to hesitantly ask you to say it again.
Satan
You’re sitting near each other somewhere when you ask a question out loud in a different language. Without looking up or missing a beat, Satan answers your question in the same language. Several moments pass before the two of you look at each other in surprise. Then you both launch into a conversation in that language about how surprised you are that the other person knows it.
This guy has spent many years learning all kinds of languages and that includes human world ones. His main goal was to be able to read books in their native languages rather than translations. But it turns out he’s just good at it so he speaks pretty fluently too.
Now that he knows this about you, he’s almost always talking to you in a language the others doesn’t understand. Finds it especially entertaining to discuss his prank ideas with you while Lucifer is sitting right there.
Do not think for one second that he’s not going to take this opportunity to recite poetry in that language to you. Blushes the whole time, but does it anyway. Please indulge him, MC. You are the only one who can truly appreciate these romantic lines.
Asmodeus
Did he just hear you speaking in a different language? Oh, MC, you’re so full of surprises! He has no idea what you just said, but he is swooning! Please flirt with him in your language, he’s really going to fall even harder for you now. You could say anything but if you do it in the right tone of voice you will get a dramatic reaction from him.
Teach him how to say “I love you” and things like “hug me” and “kiss me.” Know that once you do, he’ll be saying them to you all the time. Asmo might ask you to teach him some insults, too, just so he can use them on unsuspecting demons who have no idea what he's saying.
Designs some clothes with sayings in your language on them. Won’t tell anyone what they mean - he only knows because you told him. But everybody else is just going to have to wonder about it! This is a secret between the two of you! (Well, and everybody else who speaks that language… but that is not the point.)
Might start learning the rest of the language without you knowing. Gets Satan to help him. Then when you’re alone with him he starts saying a whole speech about how much he loves you. Giggles happily at the look on your face before kissing you.
Beelzebub
The first time he hears you, he thinks he must have heard wrong. Blinks in confusion. What was that you said, MC? He’s not sure he heard you right. Explain to him that you were actually speaking a different language and he’ll be even more surprised.
He wants to know more about it. Where did you learn it and why? Beel asks you about the names of food. He doesn’t want to learn them necessarily he just wants to hear you say them.
If you tend to refer to a specific food in the other language, he will start calling it that too. Just straight up replaces that word in his vocabulary. Might do this for non food related things as well. Pretty much just does that thing where he picks up little words and phrases from you simply because he's absorbed it from being around you so much.
He likes to listen to you speak in a different language, even if he can't understand anything you're saying. Might ask you to say anything just so he can listen to the sound of your voice. You could read a dictionary to him and he would be all about it. Content to just sit quietly and listen.
Belphegor
The only one who doesn't even notice at first. It's not that he doesn't care, it's just that it doesn't even register. For some reason, it seems perfectly normal to him that you speak multiple languages. He considers you to be a smart person, someone on Satan's level, and Satan knows several languages, so why wouldn't you?
After he hears you using that language a few times, he gets curious. He doesn't know what you're saying, but he does realize if you're using the same language, especially in the same context. Always letting out a string of it when you hurt yourself? Maybe you rant in that language when you're frustrated? He recognizes the sound of it.
Now he's going to ask you about it. What language is this, MC? Tell him about it, please. He'll ask you to teach him how to say things like "take a nap with me" and "Lucifer sucks." The first time he says that last one, Satan does a spit take.
Belphie will ask you to sing in your language. He wants to hear some songs that were originally written in it. He's especially interested in lullabies. If you sing him one, he'll fall asleep on your lap pretty quickly. Might get needy and ask you to sing to him every night.
masterlist | Thank you for reading!
#obey me#obey me shall we date#obey me nightbringer#obey me headcanons#obey me fanfiction#obey me fanfic#obey me lucifer#obey me mammon#obey me leviathan#obey me satan#obey me asmodeus#obey me beelzebub#obey me belphegor#request#anon request#misc writes
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