#recognising that you were in the wrong is a big step in the right direction | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

helen-with-an-a · 1 month

Text

The object that stood in the way of a World Cup pt. 4

Hi. So here is part 4. (The next part will be the final part of the full story with an epilogue/side story type thing, too) Big thanks to @lyak12 for helping me out once again <<3

Ona Batlle x Reader

Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 : Part 4 : Part 5 : Epilogue

Flashbacks are in italics

TW: bad mental health, suggestiveness

Description: Ona and R have a long-awaited argument, and R begins to heal

Word count: 3.9k

You had been given the ok from the physios to start rehab a few days after your breakdown. Alexia had told Lucy all about it, phoning her as soon as you were asleep. The pair had cleaned your flat, so there was no trace of what had transpired. Alexia was convinced the trigger had been your physical recovery. Why would she not think that? She had no reason, no way, of knowing that something was seriously wrong with your mental health. She had only known you in Barcelona. She had never seen the way you smiled so brilliantly or the loud laugh that used to brighten anyone’s day. She had only seen the small smirks and quiet chuckles. Lucy had known you for longer, though. And she was so concerned.

“Ok… and here is the changing room. Your stuff is in your locker so just get changed and head on over to the pitch, yeh?” The woman showing you around was kind. Even despite this kindness, the 19-year-old you was terrified. It was your first day at a senior England camp and everything was quickly becoming too much. You nodded at her and moved through the door. The room was nice – clean and tidy with the faint smell of floor cleaner. You recognise some of the names on the cubbies, and you couldn’t believe yours was in the mix. These were living legends. And now your name might be among them.

You came to a stop in front of yours. Even with the name on the top, you knew it was yours. It was the emptiest. You looked at the ones next to you and gawked when you saw who it was. BRONZE. Holy shit. You would be next to Lucy Bronze. It was becoming far, far too much for you. You were 19. Why would anyone want you to play for England? Ok, you had a fantastic season. Yes, you had been involved in some capacity with every goal your team had made this year so far – whether that be the first pass to start the charge, a precise cross into the box, a direct assist, and occasionally making the ball ripple into the back of the net yourself. But this … this was England. This was the Lionesses.

“Hey, you’re Y/N, right?” A northern accent broke you from your spiral. You couldn’t speak. You opened your mouth, but no sound came out. God, you were pathetic.

“I’m Lucy, it’s nice to meet you.” She extended her hand. It was warm and soft and rough. “Don’t worry about anything, yeh. I’ve got you.” She smiled as you shook her hand. She could see the panic in your eyes. She could see the fear of the unknown. “You’re gonna do great, kid. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t deserve it.”

Ignoring Ona was easier than you thought it would be. At least initially. Pre-training activation for the team started at 10. But your daily physio appointment started at 9.30 meaning you were often in and out of the changing room before she had even stepped foot in the building. You weren’t allowed near the weights or machines for the first few weeks of rehab, so you didn’t really need to go near her during the gym sessions. When you had to start doing exercises with more than just your own body weight, you found it easier to pretend she didn’t exist. She was often hanging around Lucy and some of the younger girls in the squad, but you stuck to those on the injury list. At first it was just you and Frido, and then Jana joined and then Mapi and Alexia. You had your own group of friends who could understand the physical aspects of rehab. You didn’t like to acknowledge that you were hyper-aware of where Ona was at all times. Lucy had recognised fairly quickly that something must have happened between you and Ona. You two were like magnets with opposite charges; as one readjusted, the other did, too. What had happened to your relationship? She thought back to Derby days; the way you were so in tune with each other was unique, to say the least. Your chemistry on the pitch was electric. You always knew exactly where the other was. She thought back to the warmups, half-time and post-match huddles. You were always next to each other. You were always touching in some way. So, something serious must have happened to make you behave this way.

“Lucy,” You bounded over, escaping the red side in favour of hugging the woman clad in blue.

“Hey, kid.” She laughed as you wrapped your arms around her shoulders. “Ready to lose?” She challenged teasingly.

“Oh, please. You ain’t gonna get anything past us. Me and Oni have some solid tricks up our sleeves,”

“Don’t give all our secrets away,” Ona joked as she came to stand beside you.

“I would never, Oni. This is derby day. We will crush them to smithereens!” You leaned into her as she traced lines across your back. You had never mentioned to Lucy that you had a girlfriend or a crush, but she could see from the way you behaved that something was going on between you. You chatted away to Lucy, Keira, and some of the other City Lionesses before Ona whispered in your ear.

“Nosotras deberíamos volver” You smiled and nodded.

“Alright, later losers. Don’t cry too hard when we win.” You laughed and waved, interlocking your fingers with Ona’s as you headed back to the United Players.

Match days were the only time you allowed yourself to wonder. When you were sat in the stands, watching the matches with the rest of the injury squad, you finally allowed your eyes to roam. How did she manage to look so good? Ugh, this was torture. Her strong rippling muscles, her freckly skin, her braid, her look of concentration — she was perfect in every way.

I don’t even know why Barca wants you, honestly. You're not good enough. Of course, she would think that you weren’t good enough. She was phenomenal. She was truly world-class. Her speed was unmatched, her technical abilities were flawless, her dedication unprecedented. And then there was you. Someone who had to stay late to work on extra drills and practice your skills. Yes, she frequently volunteered to stay with you – to work on them together. But she didn’t need to do it. You did. Or at least that was what you believed.

As she started to head back to the changing rooms, Ona looked around for you. Baggers had told her a joke that she wanted to steal to hear you laugh. She quickly scanned the group but quickly realised you weren’t there. She completed a full 360 before she heard the methodical thwacks of someone kicking a ball hard.

“Amor? Home time, no?” She called out to you from the side-lines.

“You go ahead, Oni. I want to work on some free kicks and stuff. I missed the last one at the match, so,” You called back, already readjusting the mannequin figures to make it harder for yourself. She frowned at your response. Yes, the ball didn’t go into the goal following a free kick that you took in the match on Saturday. But you weren’t the problem. You had sent an amazing cross into the box, Alessia’s head had made contact with it, but Spencer’s hands had pushed the on-target shot away. It was excellent goalkeeping; even Ona had to admit that. But you saw it as your failure, not the keeper’s success.

“Amor, you don’t need to practice. You’re fantastic at set pieces.” You rolled your eyes at her statement.

“Oni –”

“No. If you want to practice, that’s fine, but you don’t need to.” She placed her hand on your cheek, raising an eyebrow at you.

“I want to,” You answered her.

“Ok… vamos. We’ll do it together, sí?”

You didn’t know that you were all Ona could like about. You were consuming her thoughts in a way that should have scared her. But it didn’t. She had tried to approach you a few times, but you always seemed to move away before she got anywhere near you. She considered that as rejection. You didn’t want her in your life anymore. And she had to accept that. No matter how much it hurt her. No matter how many times she had cried over old photos of you on her camera roll. No matter how much she longed for you. She had made you hate her. She had made her bed, and now she must lie in it. So, she said, watching you from a distance. She stayed in a corner of the gym, as far away as possible from you, so you weren’t uncomfortable. She would often stare at you from the corner of her eye under the guise of looking out the window. You were looking fantastic. The muscles were slightly smaller, closer to what they were in Manchester, but that was to be expected – you weren’t allowed to even walk for more than a few minutes for many months. You had gone back to your ‘regular’ clothes – still fashionable, but you looked happier, more like yourself. But on the rare occasion she was able to look in your eyes, she could see the mental war that was raging in your head. She hoped it was because you wanted to return to football, but she had an inkling she was at fault.

You were finally on the grass again. Soft yet firm grass, slightly damp from the morning dew. There was coldness in the air, even for Barcelona. The slight nip caught at your skin as you waited for the trainer. You had come down earlier than you needed to. You took your boots and socks off and pushed your feet into the ground – taking a moment to really appreciate this moment. It had been a long 7 months since the tackle. You hadn’t spoken about the Incident with Alexia since it happened, but that was fine. You were still broken, but you were slowly getting there. You think. You were still quiet; you didn’t like going out anywhere with the team, and whenever you were alone, your thoughts still drifted back to Manchester. You didn’t think that your mind was hindering your rehab – but it was. You weren’t as optimistic as you once were, and that reflected slightly in your progress. You were mostly on track with the plan for your return, about a week behind where you wanted to be. But that was ok; that was normal. Alexia, Frido and Mapi had promised you that it didn’t mean anything. You weren’t scared it could happen again. You wanted to be on the pitch more than anything … well, that bit wasn’t quite true. There was one thing … person … you wanted more than football, but you couldn’t allow yourself that pain.

“Estás lista para correr?” Your personal trainer, Margarita, asked.

“Sí. Más que lista.” You slipped on your boots.

“Bueno. Let’s start slow, sí. Just a gentle jog to the cone.” Margarita instructed.

Running again was wonderful. You could feel the underused muscles slowly coming back to life. With every step you took, the storm clouds in your head began to look less dark and broody. As your session progressed, you realised your fitness wasn’t what it once was. But you knew that it would return. You wouldn’t allow it not to. The session was short for you. A lot of breaks followed by stretching and more running, slowly increasing distances and speed. You weren’t allowed near a ball just yet, but you were itching for it. You had been given a taste of your past life, and you wanted and needed more.

“Ok. I think that’s enough for today. You can head back inside.” Margarita called to you as you took deep gulps from your bottle. You threw her a thumbs up and helped collect the equipment you had used.

Your studs clacked against the concrete as you walked back inside. You heard another set joining you but thought nothing of it. You didn’t turn around, too much on a high from finally running again.

“You were looking really good out there today.” You froze. That sweet, rich, caramel voice. Had she really just said that to you? After everything? Ona knew it was a risk to approach you, but she wanted to tell you how much improvement she could see. She genuinely thought you would be better once you made your return.

You scoffed.

“Qué ocurre? Estás herido? Necesito ir al fisio?”

You saw red.

“You didn’t think I was good enough before, so why would you think so now? Isn’t that what you told me? You couldn’t understand how Barca would pay so much for me. I wasn’t good enough.” She was stunned into silence. She had said all of those things to you. That day in Manchester will forever be here biggest regret. “Did everything we were mean that little to you? Did every word you said to me mean nothing? Just something to keep me strung along?” You were crying now. Ona had only seen you cry once before the World Cup.

Ona had just come back from coffee with Laia and Leila, when she heard short, sharp gasps.

“Amor?” She called from the hall. You couldn’t respond. It was getting harder and harder to breathe. You didn’t need to explain what had sent you into a spiral. She knew exactly what was running through your mind. “Mi amor. You are having an ataque de pánico. You are ok. You’re safe. I’ve got you. Te tengo. Eres todo para mí y más” She said confidently, pressing kisses to your hair as your tears soaked her shirt.

“I gave everything to you. I let you into my heart in a way no one else had. I laid my soul bare for you, and you broke it. You broke me, and I’m terrified that I can’t be fixed. You broke me in ways I never thought possible.” You were shouting, your voice echoing down the empty corridors.

“Oni …” She kissed down your neck, lips biting purple marks down your neck. “Oni … as much … as much as I want this. You’ve, we’ve… we’ve been drinking.” That didn’t matter to you. You had only had 2 drinks and she had half of the second one. She’d nursed one drink all evening, bar the sips she’d stolen from you. You wanted her so badly, but you’d never been with someone that way before.

“I only had one. I want this. Te deseo. If you don’t want to that’s fine. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. We can do as little or as much as you want. But I’m not drunk. I promise.” She leaned back to look in your eyes. Your black bralette left a lot of skin for her to gently run her hands across. It was safe, comforting. This was Ona. Oni. Your Oni.

“It’s just … I’ve never … um … I’ve not …” You blushed hard. Ona understood what you were trying to say. She would be your first, if you let her.

“That’s ok. We don’t have to -” she began to reassure her.

“No, no. I want to. Please. I really want to. But I don’t want you to be disappointed.” You looked away.

“You could never disappoint me, mi amor.” You were always so kind, always looking out for others over yourself. “If you would let me, I would love to go further with you. All the way if you allowed me to.” The love in her voice was evident. She just wanted to take care of you in the way you deserved. “Deixa'm estimar-te.” she whispered against your chest.

“I don’t speak Catalan.”

“That’s okay. We have all the time in the world for me to teach you.” She smiled as you pushed a piece of hair behind her ear. You shivered slightly. “I thought you said you didn't get cold?”

"I'm not cold."

"Deixa'm estimar-te."

"I still don’t speak Catalan." You whispered as you tugged her to you.

You were a mess. You threw your hands in the air as you began pacing. “And yet, after everything you put me through, everything you said to me. I am still devastatingly addicted to you. You meant the world to me, and you threw me away like I was nothing. You hurt me so much that I don’t think I can ever be whole again, and still, after all of that, I am still hopelessly and absolutely in love with you.” Ona was crying, her face red, tear tracks running down her cheeks. You had to leave. You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t. You had to leave.

You rushed back around the corner and straight into arms that felt so familiar.

“Easy, kid, easy.” Lucy’s voice soothed. You clutched at her; your eyes were filled with tears. She just pulled you to her and let you bury your face in her neck. You sobbed for what felt like hours – Lucy was becoming concerned with how many tears were still falling. Eventually, you slowed down. You weren’t calm. You still had tears falling steadily, but you weren’t sobbing.

“You don’t have to tell me, kid. But I think you should tell someone. That … what just happened … that’s not … that was almost a year’s worth of feelings being let out.” Lucy had moved you to against the wall. You were still in her arms, a safety blanket for you that offered so much protection.

“I … I don’t know where to start.” You answered honestly. Everything was a giant mess in your brain. Doors to rooms in your head that you had previously sealed tightly shut were beginning to open and you were sure what to do.

“Wherever you feel most comfortable. I’ve been concerned for a while now. Something happened to you before you came to Barca—why don’t you start there?” She smoothed your hair, her nails lightly scratching.

So, you did. You told her everything. It took a while. You cried some more. She cried some more. But eventually everything was said.

“Listen, kid. … I can’t imagine what this past year has been like for you. That seems genuinely horrible. I think you need to talk to a professional and regularly. You’ve had a lot of emotions, and you will need help, proper professional help, in processing them.” You nodded. It was something that Alexia had said to you early on in your rehab, that she had emotions that she needed help dealing with, and the club had a great psychologist on hand. “I also … I also think you should step back from football for a little while. Go home, go back to England. Have a bit of a break; let yourself heal properly without the added stress of rehab.” You weren’t a fan of stopping football, but you couldn’t deny the sound of going home was appealing.

A week later, you were on a flight to London. You had cleared it with Barca. They were giving you a month to do whatever you wanted. After the month was up, they wanted you back in Barcelona, but you didn’t have to train or even consider football if you didn’t want to. You wanted to get better. You wanted to get better for yourself.

Ona was not doing much better. She had told everything to Aitana and Alexia, who had found her in the changing room showers, the water running over her fully clothed body. They had helped strip her of her wet clothes and took her home. She didn’t deserve their kindness – she was a horrible person who had hurt the best thing that had ever happened to her in ways she didn’t even think was possible. Alexia had given Ona a week to wallow in bed. After the week, she was forced to at least make it to the kitchen. Eventually, Ona agreed to go to the counsellor as well. Ona wanted to get better. She wanted to get better for you.

When you first arrived in London, you were still very much a broken shell of your former self. But with time and love, you began to become whole again.

England had dreary skies and warm hugs.

England had frigid temperatures and proper roast dinners.

England had Lessi with her loud laughs and ever-present optimism.

England had Tooney with her constant jokes and sarcastic comments.

England had Mary with her quick come backs and gentle teasing.

England had Leah with her potato smilies and plain ham sandwiches.

England had Beth with her constant conversations and excitable nature.

England had helped heal your heart.

You had thought you would have felt dread or anxiety as the wheels touched down in Spain. But you hadn’t. You were surprisingly neutral. Walking back into the Barcelona training ground didn’t cause fear to strike you. You had daily chats with the psychologist, to begin with. She helped you work through your emotions, from everything from your first goal as a child to how you felt when the Doctors told you what happened in Australia. You spoke about the happy times with the Lionesses, your dark days when you had thought the lowest of yourself. Eventually, you spoke about Ona. You spoke about every emotion she had caused – happiness, sadness, anger, fear, overwhelming joy, love. You were encouraged to write a letter to her – although you didn’t have to send it.

Oni. Although I’m not sure I should call you that anymore.

I was encouraged to write this letter to you to process my emotions. So that’s what I’m doing.

You hurt me in ways I never imaged anyone could hurt me. What you said that day echoed what I already thought about myself so having you confirm it – even if you didn’t believe what you said – it really screwed with my mind. Whilst your actions caused me to spiral, I can’t blame you fully. I didn’t tell anyone. I kept my emotions bottled up. I am owning that much at least.

But I am still in love with you. I don’t think I’ll ever not be. The happiness and love I felt when you were around me was unlike anything I’ve ever felt with anyone before, or since. I would like to try again with you … maybe. I want what we had in Manchester. But with everything that has happened between us, I’m aware that can’t happen. As of right now, I want to at least start with a friendship. I want to start a fresh. So, I’m reintroducing myself.

Hola, I’m Y/N. I play defending midfield for Barcelona and England. I used to play for Manchester United. My favourite colour is purple, and I hate tomatoes. My favourite number is 17 and I prefer hot chocolate over coffee or tea. I prefer the summer over the winter, but I love when I can hear the rain on a window, especially if I’m warm in bed.

I was am hopelessly in love with a girl, and I think she loved loves me too, but I know that if I want to get back into a relationship, I need to work on myself first.

Forever yours, Y/N

Aaaa. So there will be a pt5. (and probably an epilogue type thing too). Hope you enjoyed it.

#woso community #woso x reader #ona batlle x reader #ona batlle #woso fanfics #lucy bronze #woso imagine #woso blurbs #barca femeni x reader #barca femeni #fc barcelona #manchester united #man utd #man utd women #lionesses #lionesses x reader #woso #woso soccer

221 notes · View notes

wakeup01 · 1 month

Note

Hey, is it still open ? If it is, I've got something to ask. See, the university that I attend is apparently quite focused on sports, when compared to degrees such as mine in linguistics. It means that, on my way to class, I see a lot of hot men with great hairstyles, and I've always felt a bit jealous at that. Don't get me wrong, I love the eyecandy, but it always made me wonder what would happen if, one day, I entered the wrong building. Could you help me to see what would happen ? Just as an experiment, of course, I want to go back to my degree nice and easy after that...

Team Player

Linguistics? Oh dear, oh dear. I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you won’t be getting anywhere with that. But don’t worry, I’m feeling generous today. Okay, listen up. It’s very simple, all you have to do is follow that hot jock with the gelled blond hair to the left. No, no, not the right, the left. Take note of his smile. The way he laughs at literally nothing. Why? Oh, no reason…

Whoops. The locker room you say? What a blunder. Egg on my face, I tell ya. But while you’re there, maybe it’s worth taking in the sights and….smells. Every step is like walking through the humid air of the jungle, a breeze of sweaty jockstraps assaults you from every direction as the Football team get changed. You fail to avert your eyes from their hot glistening bodies, the display of pure strength and testosterone.

The jock you followed in notices you, notices certain inadequacies that need amending if you’re gonna be on the team. The team? Yes, the team. That messy hair for one. You barely get the opportunity to argue as he sits you down and scrapes the clippers across your skull. The buzzing sound makes you shiver. An overwhelming lightheaded feeling allows him to easily tilt your head down and mow the back. Running his hands through what little remains as he gells it up into a spiky jock style. Patting your strapped rear and padded thighs as the dirty, preused tight leggings pull up your legs and cover your cupped crotch. Your mouth opens, opens before your brain has engaged, just hanging ajar for several seconds. “B—bro.” The word is more of a proclamation than anything else. You impulsively adjust your junk, a clear shadow visibly outlines where your big balls push the cup outward.

He tells you that the newbies are liable if the team loses. That would be you. Taking one…or many, so to speak, for the team is the accepted punishment. He tells you this while stroking at his own cupped groin, a rather large bulge growing as you swallow hard.

Before you know it, you’re completely kitted out in the heavy uniform, a thick helmet lowering over your head - silencing those niggling doubts in the back of your increasingly tiny, sports obsessed mind. It’s like a deprivation chamber for your head, your inner monologue being blocked. The only thing that matters to you now is the game.

The game.

The ball.

The team.

The… punishment.

The twitching of your cock and ass makes you wonder if losing would be all that bad. You stand up and admire yourself. You barely recognise what you see, uncontrollably getting turned on by your own appearance. Were your arms always that chunky, that tanned? Like prime cooked beef hanging from your wide shoulders. Looking like a proper jock boy…smelling like one too. Huhuh. You turn, smiling dimly back at your bro. Laughing out loud for a reason you don’t remember. Uhh, I’m sure it’ll come to you…eventually.

I mean, you’re just trying out something new, right? No harm done, you rationalise as you sprint and achieve your first touchdown, your memory of…le..lin….lingizztics? Completely knocked loose from your ‘bro’d out, empty head.

Of course, the team loses anyway. Though you, and the rest of the team have suspicions about how accidental your ‘fumbles’ really were. Never-mind, that didn’t matter so much anymore, not while the whole team form an orderly queue behind your bent over rear. Your blonde bro is first up, he spreads your sweaty cheeks wide, spits on your crack and lines himself up for the ‘shot’. “You ready to learn how to handle some balls dude?”

“Hell yeah brah!”

#dumbing down #jock #frat bro #brainwashing #request

114 notes · View notes

save-the-villainous-cat · 1 year

Note

*scurries in* COULD YOU MAYBE PLEASE WRITE ABOUT A SICK AND INJURED HERO BEING TAKEN CARE OF BY VILLAIN????

*whispers* it's one of my favorite tropes

“I do not want you here,” the hero hissed. “Leave.”

With a calm and totally unfitting gaze, they surveyed the hero. Broadly speaking, the villain wasn’t one to take orders and when going into detail, it was anything but a secret that the villain was a stubborn and powerful person. The hero was pretty sure that they’d never listened to anyone in their life. Not that the hero cared about that right now.

“I need to talk to you.” The villain’s voice was unbroken, clean and direct in a way that usually made the hero shiver. Today they were too annoyed to heed it.

“Are you not listening to me? God, what’s wrong with you?” the hero asked. Their whole world started spinning again — fussing over the villain made them feel worse than ever. It had started innocently with a cough this morning and when they’d made the dumb decision to take over the morning patrol, it had ended in a sprained ankle. The hero wasn’t one to curse quickly, wasn’t one to get agitated but today was a real challenge for them. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

“I need to talk to you,” the villain said again, unmoved. The hero stared at the cold coffee on the counter. There was really no privacy when one knew the villain, was there?

“What do you want?” The hero’s voice was sharp but the villain didn’t seem to mind. Actually, the hero felt stupid for giving in so quickly. They could’ve punched the villain for inviting themselves in. Through the window.

“Last week,” the villain said, “you kissed me.”

The hero took in a deep and painful breath. Sinusitis.

It was this big pressure on their cheeks, on their forehead — it hurt and pushed and pushed and pushed.

“I also tried to kill you last week, what are you trying to say?”

“No, don’t do that,” the villain said carefully, softly even. They took a step towards the hero and the hero couldn’t even take a step back without wincing. “Don’t push me away like that.”

“I took advantage of you. It was for my mission. Satisfied?” the hero asked. One might expect the villain was hurt by that and yes, it was the hero’s intention to hurt and shove them away but their enemy just threw a confused look at them. Nothing about them said anything about defense nor attack and it made the hero slightly uneasy.

“Quit that bullshit. What is going on with you?”

“Leave me alone. That’s all I want.”

It had been a mistake to kiss the villain, they knew that now. All in all it had been the best night of their life — recognising the villain had been easy, flirting with them had been easy and drinking the drinks had been easy. And when both of them had found themselves on the balcony, escaping the loud party and gazing up at the stars, the hero had thought to themselves: we’re not so different, you and I.

Living a violent life like this had traumatised the hero, they were scarred and hurt, more a broken thing than a healed one. Sometimes, they felt more like a monster than an actual human being. They were ashamed of that.

So, it had been easy to look at the villain with hearts in their eyes when they’d told the hero that they’d wished for another life than this. Grabbing them and kissing them was the right thing to do in that moment, tasting the chocolate cake they had for dessert on the hero’s tongue, pulling them close and feeling their hand on the hero’s lower back, the slight grip in their hair…

At that time, it was perfect and the day after that it still was. But when the weekend had rolled around, anxiety had taken over the hero in a harsh and unpleasant grasp. They’d gotten sick, sprained their ankle today.

If their boss found out about this…

“You were head over heals,” the villain said.

“I wasn’t head over heels,” the hero said. They felt how they were heating up but this wasn’t because of the conversation. It was a fever. They were so overwhelmed, so sad…it was hard to live alone and be sick and then this was happening too.

“Ergo dum me diligis. That’s what you said to me. I know you love Latin, I know you mutter curses under your breath when the fight gets heavy, I know this language means something to you.” The villain sounded frustrated now. “You don’t say stuff like that for fun.”

The hero searched for some stability and grabbed the counter. Pain shot through their head, banging inside it mercilessly. They couldn’t breathe, it was like their whole respiratory system was on fire.

“You…” Their vision blurred gently and they couldn’t hear properly. “You should leave—”

Before their head could crack open on the counter, the villain caught them and pulled them up.

“Jesus Christ, you have a fever,” they mumbled but the hero couldn’t really understand the words. They heard them far away but putting them together in a smart line wasn’t possible.

The last thing they remembered before falling asleep was the villain’s other arm on their calves, swooping up the hero and carrying them to bed.

#woahhh epic can u carry me too?#writing snippet #heroxvillain prompt #heroxvillain snippet #heroes and villains #hero #villain #heroxvillain #hero x villain #request #an answer for an ask #.

413 notes · View notes

sodoshame · 6 months

Note

if it isn’t to much/if you want to and or have time could I have some little aether hurt/comfort? If not that’s totally okay!!

Hello anon! I hope this is okay! I used this ask to slip in some Omega and Aether since I love them hehe.

Below the cut: Little!Aether, Caregiver!Mountain, Caregiver!Omega, brief description of blood, Aether calls Omega ‘daddy’ (completely innocent), completely SFW like always!

Aether was always the strong one. He was always the one to care for others; he looked after the other ghouls when they were little. He spends so much time looking after his pack, he doesn’t have time to even think about looking after himself.

The quintessence ghoul never let himself slip; he always had too much to do. The only times that it had happened before, it was involuntary; something forced him down into a dark enough headspace that his brain couldn’t do anything else.

Aether had been busy all day; Dew wasn’t feeling well so he’d spent all day fussing over him and now, he’s absolutely exhausted. Once the fire ghoul finally fell asleep, Aether realised he hadn’t seen Mountain since breakfast- this, for some reason, gave him a bad feeling.

The quintessence ghoul rushed down towards the gardens, feeling panic rise in his body. From somewhere off in the distance, he hears screaming. Logically, he knows it’s probably just some of the children in the ministry; but a tiny part of him is yelling that it could be Mountain in danger.

He can feel the panic rising, but at the same time, he can feel his head starting to… cloud over, almost.

Aether quickens his pace, his heartbeat getting faster and faster. He can see the greenhouse in the distance, the lights inside still on. Out of nowhere, his foot catches on something wedged in the grass and it sends him tumbling to the ground. Aether feels his knees make contact with the ground and he tries to put his hands out to protect his face, but he’s too late and his face hits the ground too, and he can hear his nose break.

His mind feels heavy and fuzzy all of a sudden and he can feel himself slipping. Aether tries to fight it, trying his absolute best to stay big; what if Mountain needs him?

He brings his hand to his nose, wincing at the pain. He pulls his hand back and sees blood. For some reason, the sight of his own blood makes a sob rise in his throat. He slowly gets to his feet, letting out a whimper as he feels the tears starting to fall. The quintessence ghoul can’t make sense of his thoughts other than one thing; Mountain.

Aether arrives at the greenhouse, stumbling through the door as he lets out a broken sob.

“M-Mount?” He calls out, the nickname taking a lot more effort to say than it normally does.

The earth ghoul comes rushing around the corner, dirt smeared on his cheek and a concerned look on his face.

“Aeth? What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Mountain asked, stepping closer. He sees Aether’s bloody nose and the tears running down his cheeks and immediately pulls him into a hug.

“F-fell.. hurt m-my nose.” Aether stutters, letting out another sob, bringing his arms to wrap around the taller ghouls neck. Mountain immediately catches onto the fact that Aether is regressed; he’d never dealt with him like this before, but he could recognise it from the tone of voice and just Aether’s whole demeanour.

“Oh, honey. Okay, you’re gonna be alright, okay? Let’s.. let’s just get you down to the infirmary, go and see Omega, hm? I’m sure he can fix you right up, sweetheart.” Mountain mumbles, bringing his hands under Aether’s arms and lifting him up with ease. The quintessence ghoul wraps his legs around Mountain’s hips and keeps his arms around his neck.

“G-go see M-mega?” Aether repeats to the best of his ability. He tries to bury his face into the earth ghouls shoulder, but cries out in pain when he feels the pressure against his nose.

“Yes, honeybee. We’re gonna go see Omega. You’re going to be okay, I promise.” Mountain responds, starting off in the direction of the infirmary, keeping Aether rested on his hip, wrapped safely in his arms.

Once the two ghouls walk through the door of the infirmary, Mountain immediately spots Omega and rushes over to him. The older quintessence ghoul looks over, his eyes immediately widening when he sees Aether being carried like that.

“Woah, what happened?” Omega asks, automatically reaching out for Aether.

“I’m not sure, he said he fell. He came stumbling into the greenhouse, sobbing and his nose covered in blood.” Mountain quickly explains, sounding slightly panicked as he hands Aether over to Omega.

“Aether, can you look at me, love?” Omega questions as he takes him from Mountain, sitting him down on one of the beds. As soon as the younger quintessence ghoul looks up, Omega recognised the look in his eyes; he’s seen it before.

“M-m-” Aether stutters, fresh tears rolling down his already tearstained cheeks.

“Shh, my little quint. You’re okay. I’m gonna make you feel all better, okay?” Omega coos, bringing a wash cloth to Aether’s face, gently wiping off the blood from around his nose.

“H-hurts-” Aether whimpers.

“I know, baby. I’m sorry.” Omega whispers as he finishes wiping the blood from the younger quints face. He then hovers his hand over his face and focuses his mind, using his quintessence to dull Aether’s pain.

After a few seconds, Aether visibly relaxes, letting out a relieved sob as reaches out to Omega.

“D-daddy-”

“I’ve got you, baby. You’re okay, I’ve got you.” Omega coos softly as he sits next to Aether on the bed and pulls him into his lap, wrapping his arms firmly around him. The older quintessence ghoul looks over at Mountain who’s still stood there, watching them.

“I’ve got him, Mountain, it’s alright. You can go.” Omega says softly, offering the earth ghoul a reassuring smile.

“Are you sure? I can stay-”

“I’m sure. Go and get some rest, okay?” Omega cuts him off, gesturing for him to leave. Mountain nods and leaves the two quintessence ghouls alone.

Aether’s sobs seemed to have finally died down now that he’s not in pain anymore. He let’s out a little whine and presses himself further into Omega’s embrace.

“You okay? What do you need, baby?” Omega asks, bringing his hand up to stroke through Aether’s hair.

“N-need you.” Mumbles the younger ghoul.

“I’m right here, love. I’ve got you, okay? Everything’s alright, sweetie.” Omega coos, pressing a gentle kiss between Aether’s horns.

“T’ank you, d-daddy.” Aether whispers in response, nuzzling into him.

#nameless ghouls #ghost #the band ghost #omega ghoul #regressed ghouls #aether ghoul #mountain ghoul #regressed aether #caregiver mountain #caregiver omega #omega and aether

65 notes · View notes

banditsonwheels · 7 months

Note

Hey, I read the rest of the article first before reblogging from OP and it's bad. Furthermore Daniel would've been on the podium even if the accident between Max and Lewis didn't happened.

There are multiple ways of praising his and the team's performance but saying that today's race was more deserved than Monza after talking on multiple interviews about how deserved it was and how anybody who questioned their win is wrong it's simply distasteful.

You can read it however you want but this isn't the first time that Lando has took a dig at Daniel and everyone chug it as "British humour"

Hoi, it's quite ridiculous how bad Lando is at disguising how he feels/thinks ("He got driver of the day? What the hell?" with the driver in question right next to him ☠ or "Who are you??" to a reporter being a dick to another reporter). While he's proven his immaturity and cockiness plenty of times (driving off the track in the rain in Russia must still haunt him lol), Lando doesn't come across to me as malicious. Even when he said he had "no sympathy" for Daniel being forced out of Mclaren (that shit got my blood boiling big time at first), he was referring to a rule he and plenty of drivers apply to everyone including himself (you fail to perform/ live up to expectation, you're out), not a personal dig directed at Daniel.

To me, both can be true: Lando being super proud of the Monza P1 and P2 and saying Dan and him deserved it, as well as recognising that with the current car and fewer mistakes on his part due to being a more experienced driver, his P2 today came about less due to chance (rival crash etc.) and more to having reliable equipment. I found the article and:

Again, this can be read differently according to personal interpretation. To me, he's pointing out how satisfied he is about the effort that's been put into the car (pace) and how today's result was meaningful for the whole team as a sign of their progress. He doesn't mention Daniels efforts in Monza being less meaningful and, maybe more crucially, he doesn't say anything about the Monza podium being less rewarding or even deserving on a personal level. Both Dan and Lando drove their asses off to keep the rest of the pack behind them. And Lando isn't saying anything that suggest to me that Daniel is undeserving of praise.

Lastly, my best guess is that if Daniel (god fucking forbid) had driven the second Mclaren car today and had been asked if the Monza or Suzuka podiums were more deserved, he would have recognised that while Monza was personally gratifying, excruciating and well deserved given the circumstances, chance did play a role in him being on the top step. Making a P2 and P3 without any uncontrollable incidents in Mclarens favour (at least at the top of the grid) a more deserving experience from the perspective of the team as a whole (read: no credit to the team for Monza, that was all Daniel and his f.e.a. attitude). It's not about how Monza doesn't feel as fucking awesome as it felt before, it's about how the team can look at the data now and be like: We're seriously making progress after investing so much time and money into this bloody shitbox (I have to be very careful cause I'm using up all the empathy I have for this team in a year on a single post).

That's how I chose to look at it. I might be completely wrong. It does give me peace though to think that the little men on my screen are not all blatant cunts who'd throw each other under the bus first chance they get. Except of course for Alonso 🤝🏻

#ask #f1 #daniel ricciardo #lando norris #suzuka gp 2023 #mclaren

13 notes · View notes

itsmarlboro · 7 months

Text

“ Familiar grey eyes ”

self-indulgent as usual.

very bad written, i know. i didn't want to forget the stupidest idea my brain came up with so this user tapped fast, fast.

they keep me going.

Was he lost? Most likely. But he was, at least, an eighty percent sure he followed the directions quite well, he remembered and could recognised the specific trees the old man in the previous town mentioned as well as the peculiar yet pretty black bell-shaped flowers. He turned right, and then left, and then right again and kept walking straight to the north through that dusty path full of rocks and cactuses.

So how could he be lost? Of course he wasn't. However night was falling over and covering the sky. The ray of sunlights, barely touching the tips of those tall pine trees, were getting weaker with each passing minute and not providing him of warmth. Nights in the woods was absolutely not a good idea so he was thinking of finding a good spot to sleep.

Not the best idea but he didn't have any other choice, the cold breeze making its way through his clothes was enough reason to give up on trying to find that town. Besides Xiao XingChen was sure wild animals were ready to step outside and haunt some food after a long day. He did not want to get in the way, he quickly dashed to pick up some dry wood to start a fire and keep, not only those predators, but insects off him as well.

Walking forward a few more metres he found a good spot, the roots of the trees was giving him the best hide out. Xiao XingChen was ready to make that his new place to rest when his ears picked up some noise. It sounded like a crowd cheering at something. The sound seemed to be far from were he was standing and the sun was nowhere to be seen, but the pale moonlight did its job by not letting him in complete darkness.

The cheers could be heard again. He looked at the directions the voices were coming from.

"I wonder what's going on over there," he couldn't wonder to himself, curiosity was killing him. He ought to wake up as early as possible and walk to that town and find out.

"Haunting." a husky voice said from behind him.

He turned over his heels but there was no one. At least, as far as his eyes could see, only the pines were there, not a single human silhouette was standing there. Thinking he probably heard wrong or the fatigue was making him hear things he was ready to ignore it until his ears caught the same husky voice.

"Up here." The owner said, giggling.

Xiao XingChen looked up and there it was. The human. The young boy resting over one of the pine's branch, big enough to hold him secured, a half smile plastered on his face and his grey eyes seemed to pierce through Xiao XingChen's very own soul. He was, chewing? what it seemed like some dry thin grass, looking as relaxed as anyone could ever be considering it was a dark and quiet night.

Xiao XingChen thought staring at him for too long was being a bit rude. He cleaderd his throat and asked, "haunting did you say?".

The youth jumped down the tree and answered, "yeah, someone announced a big deal as a reward," he cleaned some dust off his clothes and continued, "for the haunting."

The cheers now made some sense, however, haunting at these hours? It didn't sound smart at all but maybe that was part of the town's tradition so Xiao XingChen opted for ignoring that reasoning and tried to get more information.

"May I know what are they haunting?" questioned while crossing his arm over his chest. It was getting too cold.

"A cat," the grey-eyes boy said and then did a movement with his head, pointing out something with his chin ahead of them "We should head over to the town, it's too cold to sleep outside, don't you think?" spoke and started walking at a slow-paced, making sure Xiao XingChen was following right behind.

Which he was, in fact, doing. He was following that young man to the town he had been trying to find so desperately during the whole day to no avail. He gave up just because of the obvious fact it was too dark and, if he was lost to begin with, roaming around in the darkness would've been a bad idea. He was hoping the boy knew the road well.

"Watch out, there are some big roots here. You don't wanna trip and hurt, right?" joked and, not only that, but he also guided Xiao XingChen to make sure he could get over them without problem.

"I can barely see them. "I guess you know well this path to even pint point such details. " XingChen voiced after successfully passing through the moldy roots.

The boy giggled, "I guess."

The two of them walked for a couple of more minutes, Xiao XingChen could hear some cats meowing in the distance as well as some distinctives howls but, fortunately for them, nothing decided to attack them in the way. Xiao XingChen was deeply grateful and he could sense his body relaxing after they reached the entrance of the town.

He was ready for a warmth room, a soft bed and cozy blankets.

"The lodging house is right there. The owner should be awake" he said and was already in his way to leave.

"Wait!", Xiao XingChen urged while grabbing the boy's sleeves in an attempt to stop him, "you didn't tell me your name. I am Xiao XingChen and I thank you for helping me get here" finished at the same time he slightly bowed to him.

There was an awkward silence before the young man decided to speak again, "I'm Xue Yang," and left as fast, and misteriously, as he showed up.

Xiao XingChen sighed and quickly walked inside the building. It was old, the wooden floor would often creak under his weight, some of the boards seemed even a bit loosen so he was extremely careful when walking. The walls covered in an already faded wallpaper of a dark green, a few paintings hanging, they looked as bad as the building.

"Young man, are you here for a room?" a high-pitched voice startled him.

He looked to his right and saw an old lady dreeses in red and a white headscarf standing close to the stairs.

"Yes, in fact."

The lady asked for his name and some amount of money XingChen thought was a bit too much taking in consideration the state of the building but, since it was the only place and there was no other option since the outside was definitely a no, he opted to keep quiet and gave the woman the money. She gave him a rusty key and he climbed up the stairs.

The room was... good.

The bed did not looked comfortable and the blankets were yellow from the pass of ages. Nevertheless it served its purpose of keeping him protected from the cold. The lighting was good enough and he could see the moon through the window. XingChen was so tired from the long walk and the sudden stress he felt thinking he got lost, that he actually didn't mind at all the state of the room. The moment his eyes saw the bed, his body was completely ready to give up and started to doze off. His eyelid were so heavy and keep them open was a tough task.

Clumsily he took his boots out and lay down on the bed. Ready to fall asleep at any second when he sensed something, there was a peculiar sound coming from outside the window. Maybe it was a bird, or anything like that. He tried his best to ignore it but the noise became louder and too annoying. So, with great effort, he opened his eye, stood up and looked at the window.

It was now open and a black cat was, calmly, sitting on the window frame. XingChen made eye contact with the animal and he could not flinch slightly at those big grey eyes. They seemed to pierce right through his soul.

Didn't he think that a few hours ago? A Deja-Vu?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

#writing #mdzs #mdzs xue yang #xue chengmei #xue yang #xiao xingchen #xuexiao #english is not my native language #mdzs xiao xingchen #mdzs xuexiao #xuexiao au #they keep me going #i should be sleeping #yet I wrote this #or I tried #i am so sorry

7 notes · View notes

voidify333 · 9 months

Text

Got a lot of OFMD vibes from Good Omens s2???

BIG spoilers for both GO S2 and OFMD S1 under the cut

Like, this isn’t a situation for the copied homework meme format, I believe it’s just same braincell on a really juicy story beat to create drama in a high concept romance, but I find the similarities fascinating so I’m gonna post about them. (What’s funny is that the thing that actually got me to watch OFMD in the first place is the promise of Stede being like aziraphale and blackbonnet being like A/C…)

The main thing is how the ending of ep 6 reminded me of OFMD ep 9.

The central pair kiss for the first time— letting any remaining oblivious audience members know this isn’t just a bromance, and alienating any homophobes in the audience who weren’t already alienated by the queer supporting characters. (That last bit is actually the biggest other “ofmd vibes” thing I picked up— how the very queer supporting roster served both to let homophobes know the show isn’t for them, and to reassure the queer audience that they’re allowed to hope for the main pair being Outright Canon)

But they also enter their divorce era— specifically, what happens is this:

The sunshine bookworm has a scene with a character the audience recognises as antagonistic (completely different scenes though— Stede’s traumatic experience with the bully in the woods vs Az being emotionally manipulated by metatron into thinking coming back to heaven is a good idea)

This scene, combined with his existing insecurities, causes him to return to a life that he won’t even find fulfilling (we know this bc he stepped away from it in the first place!) but he’s been convinced that it’s The Thing He Has To Do

In the process, he abandons his black-clad true love and breaks his heart

But here (in addition to all the obvious differences in context and execution), the season cliffhanger cuts away BEFORE “episode 10” as it were.

And… I don’t think “episode 10” is going to happen immediately for Aziraphale when lights go up on s3. Like, the “love epiphany” part may come in an early episode (we saw the way he touched his lip), but he’s certainly not getting the “plan to leave” part until some time further into s3, because the life he’s mistakenly gone back to isn’t with a Mary figure who cares about him but wants him elsewhere as much as he secretly wants to be elsewhere— instead, it’s with Heaven, an abusive cult that is planning to use him to destroy Earth, and has the power to destroy him on a whim.

Aziraphale’s key insecurity is his need for authoritative reassurance that he is Doing The Right Thing. This is what allowed metatron to use the offer of heaven to manipulate Az into hurting Crowley’s feelings and then abandoning Crowley. The tone demands an eventual happy ending (my faith in this is why the ending of e6 didn’t even make me mad), but Az is going to have to work through those issues before the happy ending can take place— Nina basically spelled this out.

The next place this comparison led me was to the thought “can I connect a red string on my cork board between post s2 crowley and ep10 Ed?”

There is an important difference between them, and it’s in kind of the opposite direction as the difference between Az-when-we-cut-away and Stede-when-we-cut-away

Ed has closed himself off to vulnerability completely after his heartbreak, and lashes out horribly, and we all know the reunion in s2e1 is not going to go smoothly

Meanwhile, although Crowley is heartbroken and mad… he is ultimately like Maggie on the “I hope she’ll be there when I’m ready but there’s no guarantee—” “there is” front. Aziraphale needs to work through his issues, and the plot needs to get to a place where The Real Big One is foiled and neither of them are in imminent danger of destruction, and once Az stops being an idiot he will need to do a great many “you were wrong” dances, but once all those prerequisites are fulfilled, we’re getting our second kiss (and I’m fanning myself just thinking about that hypothetical scene hoooooboy)

Maybe there will be a period of “angel I can’t forgive you. not yet”, that would be juicy drama, but the tone of the story demands that any such moment will be temporary

However, I do have a vivid mental image now, inspired by e10 Ed, of post s2 crowley standing in the bookshop and saying to himself out loud “oh, nothing lasts forever, is that right, angel?” and then going on a bender of destroying or giving away books (I lean towards giving away as it would leave less permanent fallout for later, and also be funnier, while still being just as potent a gesture of spite in the moment)

Anyway when OFMD S2 comes out and we get a better look at the blackbonnet divorce arc I’m going to try to use it as a divination tool to predict the events of the A/C divorce arc

#good omens #ofmd #good omens spoilers

11 notes · View notes

thedivergentswriting · 2 years

Text

𝕍𝕖𝕔𝕟𝕒'𝕤 ℂ𝕦𝕣𝕤𝕖

Warning! Stranger things 4 spoilers ahead

Pairings: steve x reader

Summery: Deciding to go and visit Billy’s grave, Vecna’s curse had caught up to you. Steve, being the amazing boyfriend he is, does anything he can to save you.

Warnings: language (like once)

A/N: thank you all so much for over 700 likes on “Hurt!” Y’all are so kind I can’t even. So in honour of season 4, I thought it write one based on the best scene in Netflix history. I hope you enjoy! <3

———

“Dear Billy. I don’t know if you can hear this, but I miss you very much.”

You sat facing your big brothers grave, watching as the little insects crawl across the Engraved letters that spelt out William. He never liked to be called that though. Billy was always kind to you, blocking your ears when you were younger every time your parents fought, reassuring you that everything would be okay. When max came into the picture, her now being your step-sister, you felt the need to do the same with her and protect her from the world.

After Billy died, max was distraught. She’d come into your room every night after another nightmare about what happened the night of starcourt, and slept quietly next to you. You never said anything, as you were feeling the same she was. You didn’t know what to do without him, he wasn’t there to help you like he usually was.

“I hope you know that I’m trying to help max the same way you helped me. You saved me Billy, when no-one else could.”

A tear rolled down your cheek as you looked back at your boyfriend steve, max, Dustin and Lucas all waiting for you by Steve’s car. Steve worried for you, like he usually did. He knew you missed Billy, and hated seeing you upset, so he wanted to do everything he could to help you. “Right thats it, I’m going to make sure she’s okay.” Steve said when he started to walk up the hill. “Steve, give her time!” Max yelled, but she was too late. He was already half way up the hill and was too worried about you to turn back.

“Y/n? Y/n are you okay?” He said stepping beside you, but there was no response. He squatted down and tried again. “Y/n?” But that’s when he noticed, your eyes had rolled back and we’re flickering aggressively against your skull. “Y/n?!” Steve yelled, shaking you. “Guys!” He yelled to the three waiting by the car. “Somethings wrong!!”

Max, Dustin and Lucas ran up the hill as fast as they could, dashing to your side. “Oh my god Y/n!?” Dustin screamed in Shock. “Y/n! Y-Y/n please!” Max begged. After she lost Billy, she knew she couldn’t loose you as-well.

But, from your point of view all you could see was a vast plain of fog, everything had gone dark. The trees had no leave and slimy vines wrapped around them, there were small grey particles floating around almost like ash. A thick grey cloud had covered the sky, and bursts of lighting came shining through. Your heart began to beat faster, the air getting thicker around you. “Hello?” You shouted, trying to get someone’s attention. “Steve? Max?” You yelled out.

“They can’t save you.” A deep voice said. It’s almost like you recognised it, it sounded familiar. “Who are you?!” You said, more tears running down your face, too frightened to turn around, you stood looking the opposite direction. “Come on Y/N, you don’t remember me?” The voice chucked darkly, getting closer and closer behind you. “It’s me - your dear old brother.” The voice said, uncomfortably close to your ear. “B-Billy?” You whispered, turning around slowly, only to be met with your brothers eyes. “Why’d you do it?” He said, not blinking once. “Do w-what?” You said, still trying to make sense of what was going on.

“Why’d you kill me?” His face changed to a frown as he took a step close to you. “W-what? I didn’t- I didn’t kill you?” You said, confused as to what he was saying. Why was he here? Why is he saying these things?

—

Meanwhile, on the other side, Max and Steve were trying to shake you awake. “Y/N please! I can’t- I can’t loose you too!” Max cried. “Dustin! Go call Nancy and Robin!” Steve yelled and shoved him over. Dustin quickly got up and ran to the car, grabbing his walkie talkie.

“You didn’t save me Y/N. It was your fault. You could’ve stopped it.” Billy said, slowly making his way toward you, causing you back away. Tears ran down your cheeks as he blames you for his death. You were beginning to believe it. “Billy please! I-I tried! I didn’t know what to do! I was so scared for you.” You tried to reason with him. You looked at your feet, not being able to look into his eyes anymore, the pain, the guilt still being there. ‘You could’ve done something to help’ you told yourself. “Y/N” your head snapped back up to face what was no longer Billy, but what you guessed to be Vecna.

Your body moved so fast as you sprinted away from him, your heart was in your throat. Running past all the broken graves and dead trees, you ran and ran until your legs couldn’t carry you anymore, but to your surprise you weren’t in the cemetery anymore. No, this was different. This time, it was red fog you could see, debris floating all around you, you saw what looked to be a door above you with a red stained glass rose on it, and red thunder appeared all around you. The floor was covered in what looked to be water, but you weren’t certain as you had no idea where you were. It could’ve been anything.

Carefully stepping along some fallen bricks, you found yourself on a hilltop with remains of a house around you. A door frame and some some parts of a wall still remain but everything else had gone. Turning around you saw someone trapped in the slimy plants you had seen earlier, but their jaw was too wide to be human, and their arms and legs bent in impossible ways. Your hand flew to your mouth, not being able to process what you were seeing.

—

“Nancy! Robin! Are you there?” Dustin screamed down his walkie talkie. “Yes! Yes! We’re here- we’re here.” Nancy said out of breathe.

“Y/N? Please- please wake up, you have too!” Steve still tried shaking you awake, but it was no use, your eyes were still flickering against your skull rapidly. “Y/n please! We’re all here for you! Can you hear us?” Lucas tried. But again, nothing. Dustin came running back up to where you all were sat holding some cassettes. “They said the key was music! Steve, max, do you know what her favourite song is?” Dustin rushed to say.

—

“Y/N.” You heard Vecna say. “You don’t belong out there. You belong here. With me.” He said. You felt a slimy vine run up your arm and squeeze around your neck. You were dragged up onto one of the towers and held there, more vines snaking around your arms and legs to keep you there. “Join me Y/N.” Vecna came right up to your face, his hand lifting up to gently touch your face.

—

“Where is it!” Max rushed looking through the many cassettes trying to find your favourite one, Steve doing the same. “There!” Steve shouted, grabbing “running up that hill” by Kate bush. Putting it in the cassette player attached to your belt, he pressed play, hoping, praying this would save you. “Come in Y/n.” He whispered. “Holy shit!” Dustin screamed, as suddenly, you started to float up into the air, higher and higher above the ground until you were stuck, your hands beside you and your head tilted upwards. “Y/n!!” They screamed. “No! Please!” Max yelled.

—

As he watched you struggle out of the vines, your favourite song started to play, surrounding you and Vecna. You looked over his shoulder, still struggling to breathe, but finding a portal had opened. You could see yourself floating in the air above everyone, your friends and boyfriend all panicking and yelling at you, waving their arms around.

Memories started to flood your brain. Ones if when you first came to Hawkins, when you first met Steve and he took you out in his car to sit on top of a hill and watch over the town. Memories of you and Max singing together in the living room whilst Billy was laughing at the side. Memories where you became freinds with the party and you all went out to the arcade and tried to beat max’s high score on Dig Dug. One where Billy had taken you out to get ice cream because some douche bag had tripped you up in the hall at school. Little memories that made you happy.

You closed your eyes, listening to your song, letting it flow through you, and finally, you could move again. Reaching out quickly, you grabbed Vecna’s neck ripping part of it off in an attempt to distract him, and then fell out of the vine’s grip. Hitting the floor, you looked up to see the portal was still open. And it was.

It was like it all happened in slow motion. You sprinted to it, running though the water as fast as you could, watching as the debris started to hit the ground around you, water splashing in your face. You did everything you could to not get hit, a few objects scraping your arms along the way, but nothing was going to stop you from seeing your friends again.

—

“Y/N!” Max yelled as you fell from the sky onto the concrete floor. “I-I’m alive!” You said in disbelief. “You’re here! Oh my god you’re alive!” Steve said as he held onto you like there was no tomorrow, rocking you back and forth slowly. Lucas and Dustin held onto you too, the feeling of happiness overtaking you once again. You were here with your friends, finally.

“I’m here. I’m here.”

#stranger things x reader #stranger things #steve x reader #steve harrington #max mayfield #stranger things imagine #st4

21 notes · View notes

smileygoth · 2 years

Text

Hellcheer at Redwood - Part Two (Stranger Things / AHS 1984)

Continuing on from Part One, Eddie struggles to sleep, gets some alone time with Chrissy, and finds out that sleep is the last thing on everyone else's minds. The calm before the storm!

CW: drug use, creepy flirting, mention of past traumas, spoilers for AHS 1984.

Word count: 1,759 words.

Image is of an official AHS promotional map, found on Google.

Part Two

Deciding to skip the showers (he’d had one that morning before he left home), Eddie went straight to the boys’ bunkhouse, stripping down to his boxers and curling into the bunk he’d snagged for himself. It was narrower and shorter than his bed at home, and he’d never slept in a bunk bed before, so there was the unnerving feeling that he was in some kind of wooden cage. Plus the other guys hadn’t come in yet, so he was constantly anticipating the door banging open. And it was eerily quiet and dark, with no streetlights or traffic or arguing neighbours. He lasted about forty minutes before he decided he wasn’t going to sleep anytime soon. With a grunt of annoyance, he swung his legs over the edge of the bunk and stood up, careful not to slam his head on the edge of the bed above. The night air was cool, so he redressed quickly, then grabbed his cigarettes and went outside onto the bunkhouse’s narrow porch. Lighting up, he inhaled with a small hum of appreciation and looked out over the forest before him.

The bunkhouse looked out over the majority of the campsite, though in the dark and past the trees that wasn’t saying much. He could see the kitchens across the way, and off to the right, past the empty cabins that would be filled with children tomorrow, the lights from the girls’ bunkhouse. The staff cabin, where Margaret (and supposedly Rita and Trevor) slept, was just down from the kitchens, and opposite that was the infirmary. Both were dark. Deeper in, he knew, were the various activity areas, the showers, and behind these cabins, the boathouse and the lake.

He heard a peal of laughter from the girls’ bunkhouse and briefly wondered if he’d made the wrong decision about going to bed early. Then he saw a light moving out of the corner of his eye. Turning to get a better look, he saw the beam of a torch and a familiar blonde ponytail bobbing down the path toward the kitchen. Chrissy. On her own? He finished his cigarette, flicked it into the night, then jogged down the path after her.

“Hey,” he called as he approached. With a small gasp, Chrissy swung to face him, shining the torch directly into his face. He threw up a hand to shield his eyes and stopped. A second later, Chrissy lowered the torch.

“Sorry!” she said.

“That’s okay,” Eddie replied. “I didn’t mean to scare you. You okay?”

Chrissy nodded. “Yeah … um, I just wanted to get some air.” She jerked her head in the direction of the girls’ bunkhouse. “It’s getting a little weird in there.”

“Weird?”

“Yeah …” Chrissy looked down bashfully. “Apparently Montana recognises Trevor from some aerobics video … and then they started talking about how big his … uh … you know …”

It took a moment for Eddie to understand. Then it clicked into place. “Oh. Oh wow. I don’t blame you for bailing.” He took a few steps closer to her. “You want some company? Or were you looking for some time alone?”

Chrissy smiled shyly. “Actually, company would be nice,” she replied. “I didn’t realise it was going to be so spooky out here.”

Eddie grinned and fell into step with her as they started walking. “I know what you mean,” he agreed. “I’m not exactly a city boy, but even so, it is way too quiet out here.”

Chrissy nodded. “Where are you from?” she asked.

He paused. She doesn’t remember me. But then why would she? “Uh … Hawkins, Indiana,” he replied, and laughed when she looked at him with wide eyes. “Yeah, we actually go to the same school … I’m a couple of years above you though.”

Chrissy put her hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry!” she cried. “I … I don’t …”

“It’s okay,” Eddie replied. “I nearly didn’t recognise you out of your cheerleader outfit.” That was a lie, but it seemed to make her feel better. “And this isn’t exactly our usual environment …”

Chrissy nodded. “And I’m a little … frazzled,” she admitted. “It’s been a weird night.”

Eddie cast her a cautious look. “You want to talk about it?”

Chrissy looked uncertain. “Well … it’s not really my story to tell … you’d have to promise not to tell anyone else.”

Eddie put his hand over his heart. “You have my most solemn oath,” he replied.

Chrissy looked a little taken aback, but smiled. “Okay,” she said. “Well, you know that girl Brooke?” Eddie nodded. “She seems to have decided that I’m her therapist or something, because she’s been pouring out her tragic backstory to me all night. Which is fine, and I’m happy to help her if I can, but … it was a lot.”

“Really?” Eddie couldn’t help but be curious. “Like what?”

“Like …” She took a deep breath. “Like her fiance accused her of sleeping with his best man the night before the wedding, at the altar, and when she and the best man denied it he shot the best man and her dad, and then himself.” She gave him a cautious glance.

“Oh shit.” Eddie took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “That is a lot. That really happened to her?”

“Apparently,” Chrissy said with a shrug.

“Wow. Poor girl. And I thought my past was bad.”

Chrissy gave him a curious look. “Really?”

“Oh, you want to hear another tragic backstory?”

She laughed. “It seems to be the night for it.”

“It’s not so bad, I guess,” Eddie shrugged. “I mean, it’s bad for me, but nothing out of the ordinary. Dad was an asshole and a drunk, Mom got sick of his shit and left him, but forgot to take her son with her. Dad got me into some illegal shit – which incidentally, is why I’m here doing community service - then got himself thrown in jail a few months ago. And now I live with my uncle, who is much better as guardians go, but can’t really afford to take care of me.” He shrugged again. “That’s it.”

Chrissy nodded sympathetically. “That sounds terrible.”

Eddie tried to read her expression, but in the dark he couldn’t quite tell if she was being genuine or just being polite. “Like I said,” he said, “It’s nothing unusual.” He paused, then added, “What about you?”

Chrissy blinked. “Me?”

“Yeah, what’s your tragic backstory?”

She laughed nervously. “Oh, no tragedy here,” she said quickly. “I’m about as normal as it gets.”

An uncomfortable silence fell between them. Eddie wanted to ask more, but Chrissy had looked away as if finding the shadowy forest very interesting. Whatever it was, she clearly didn’t want to talk about it. And who was he to pry? He barely knew her. Reluctantly, he let the matter drop.

Looking around, he saw that they were passing the infirmary. With some amusement, he noticed that the archery range was right next door to it. Probably wise, he thought. He opened his mouth to make a joke about it to Chrissy, but she spoke first. “We should probably get back.”

“Oh … sure.” He turned with her and they walked back to the bunkhouses in silence. Eddie listened to the crunch and crackle of their shoes on the twig-strewn path and wondered if he’d upset her. She appeared to be lost in thought now, the beam of torchlight not really focused on the path ahead.

He walked her in the direction of the girls’ bunkhouse. As it came into sight, they saw Montana and Trevor emerge and head downhill toward the shore of the lake, laughing and grabbing at each other. Chrissy wrinkled her nose, looking for a second much younger than seventeen. Eddie laughed. “Nice,” he said. “So much for the no sex rule.”

Chrissy climbed the steps to the bunkhouse door, then turned and looked back at Eddie. “You can come in if you like,” she said. “Everyone’s in here.”

Shrugging, Eddie followed her inside. He was immediately hit by a strong smell that he knew well – the smell of weed. Chet, Ray and Xavier were well on their way to getting stoned, and Brooke was coughing, her eyes watering, having clearly been talked into joining in. Chrissy fidgeted uncomfortably in the doorway.

Xavier looked up at grinned. “Eddie!” he cried, lifting up his arms. “Join us!”

Eddie cast a glance at Chrissy. He was tempted, but the obvious disapproval on her face for some reason discouraged him. “Nah, I’m good,” he replied. “Just making sure Chrissy got back safely. It’s darker than the devil’s … uh, it’s dark as hell out there.”

Getting to his feet, Xavier crossed the room to stand by them. “That’s cool,” he said. “I will personally make sure our pretty little princess is safe. I’ll tuck her into bed myself, if she asks.”

He turned a dazzling smile on Chrissy, who blushed and giggled happily. Eddie’s stomach twisted at the sight. Xavier’s creepy come-on aside, he didn’t like that he was flirting with Chrissy, and he really didn’t like that she was liking it. He wasn’t going to sit around watching that for the rest of the night.

“Well, then I’m gonna head back,” he said. “Get myself a little peace and quiet before bed.” He looked hard at Chrissy, willing her to hear his unspoken invitation, but she was busy looking at Mr Perfect Face. Asshole, he thought. Why couldn’t he be gay? And then on top of that: Why do I care? Since when was I into cheerleaders?

“You sure?” Xavier asked. “We got some more beers and plenty of weed.” He paused, then his eyes widened. “Oh, you’re straight edge!”

Eddie shook his head. “Nah, man,” he replied. “Just not in the mood. Like Margaret said, we got a big day tomorrow.”

The excuse sounded lame even to his ears, so he said goodnight and got out of there quickly. On the short walk back to his bunkhouse, he berated himself under his breath. “Stupid, like you’d stand a chance against that LA douchebag,” he grumbled. “Never mind that he’s probably way too old for her … at least I’m only a couple of years older. He must be, what, twenty-five? But hey, chicks dig older men, and when they look like that …”

He got into the bunkhouse and flung himself, fully clothed, onto his bunk. He was still muttering complaints when he fell asleep.

4 notes · View notes

slyvieselkie · 13 days

Text

It Was Him

Warning: phrogging, violence, minor deaths, stalking, harassment, home invasion

It felt like the opening of some kind of movie, you noted standing before the house.

Well, house was a humble word. Your residence towered over you at two stories, sandwiched in between round towers with turrets, and a large porch wrapping around the manor. It was decorated with oriel windows and columns which had some of fancy pattern carved into. To be honest you were glad that the house was painted white and sky blue, otherwise this would have been the beginning of a horror movie.

"Woah, she's rich?!", you turn back to see the young part timer get smacked by his supervisor.

Ah, the shipping people were here.

Unlocking the door, you pushed the double doors open and fell speechless. Before you was a broad lounge space, to the left was a winding staircase made of cherry wood and polished to the moon. You heard the sounds of awe behind you, and now you're wondering if that part timer was right.

As boxes and furniture were moved inside with your direction, your trembling hands opened the will your grandfather had left you. A year ago after his heart beat for the last time, his lawyer announced to the family that you will inherit their estate and a small sum of money. No one really cared since it was quite far from the city, everyone thought it was some old barn house. You were just the same, having planned to sell it cheap when the lawyer came with the blueprint. The goddam thing clearly failed to show just how grandiose the place was.

And so you stood there wondering just what kind of people your grandparents truly were. To you, they were just a sweet elderly couple that always took you to the park and went to every choir performance of yours. They comforted you after your parents yelled at you, and always praised you for just doing your best. Your eyes glistened with tears as you remembered them. Who the hell cares, they're your precious grandparents. You marched on determined to take care of their final gift to you.

....

It took a whole week for you to finish putting everything in its place, because the damn place was just way too big. And empty. And silent. And creepy.

Unlike the exterior, there was no blue paint covering the deep cherry wood that would slightly creak with every step you took. Furthermore there were barely any installed lights, only oil lamps that you had to light up every night. Sunset in this place felt like your worst nightmare was arriving. It felt childish but you would pray everyday that the sun would never fall.

But soon enough, you kind of got used to the place. By the second week you felt confident enough to go down the hallway for a sleepy wee. At the end of that week, you were shamelessly roaming the whole house in a towel after bathing. The trick, to ignore everything. A small creak that didn't come from your movement? It's an old house. Some strange hush? Just the wind. Something weird in the corner of your eye? Bad brain.

It was a random evening on your fourth week when you heard the doorbell chime. In the middle of making dinner, you quickly rushed out to greet the person that was not someone you recognised from your neighbourhood.

"Evening, how's your day been?!", the suited young man chirped and you smiled back, "Uh it's been quite good, thanks. How can I help you?".

He beamed brightly, "Well I live on the next street over and heard that someone finally bought this spectacular house, so I had to check it out!", you laughed softly, "Yeah, it's quite amazing..."

His eyes then traveled past you and you blinked, "Sorry, is there something wrong?", showing another charming smile the man answered, "Sorry, I just noticed that you seem to live alone?"

You nodded slightly uncomfortable, "Yes, is there something wrong?", the man laughed, "I was just wondering if it had been a family that bought it, but I guess not. I would've never expected a single person to buy this giant house. Must be a pain to clean up!"

Clicking your fingers you agreed, "That was a worry of mine, so I just decided to lock up the spare rooms. I can worry about those when I have thirty guests over, safe to say that's not happening."

Noticing that the man didn't seem to be leaving, you felt amazed by this guy's ability to chat up a storm after getting of work. You would've been exhausted, only having enough energy to microwave some takeout from another day. Speaking of takeout, you were hungry.

"Well thanks for coming over today! I better get back to my dinner!", you chirped and wished him a good night before shutting the door.

Back in the kitchen, you turned the stove back on and praised your past self for being smart.

....

"Morning Eloise!", you waved to the elderly woman also taking her trash out.

She grinned and slowly made her way over, "Morning my dear!", you met her in the middle and began a small conversation, "You've been settling in well, love?", "Yeah! Work's going well, I'm still keeping in touch with everyone back in the city, and everyone here is amazing! Especially you!"

The two of you giggle before you exclaim, "Speaking of which, I recently met this incredible guy! So friendly and polite, quite handsome as well~", you winked playfully.

Unfortunately, she didn't smile, "Are you talking about Spencer?", you beamed, "Yeah, you know him too?", Eloise scowled, "You mean that damn real estate agent?!"

You raised an eyebrow, "What?", she hissed gripping your arm tightly, "That man's been bothering your grandparents for years now to sell that place! At one point he visited them for a whole month straight! And when that didn't work, had a car drive past at night to intimidate them, and even people stand outside!"

A shiver went down your spine and you stuttered, "S-So what do I do?", even glancing back to make sure he wasn't on your porch like usual, "Don't open the door for him! Don't even answer him!", she stated sternly, "He'll only try to scare you from afar. He can't just up close without getting the police involved, so stand your ground. After a while, he'll give up when there's clearly no chance."

So that night, you stood in the kitchen glancing at the clock and watching the second hand tick. Any time soon, any second now, any moment-DING DONG. You jumped, right on the dot. Holy shit this was terrifying now.

Letting out a deep breath, you started playing a video on your phone and continued making dinner. He rung once, twice, thrice, before knocking loudly. You reassured yourself that you were inside the house, that man couldn't get inside.

Then Spencer began calling out to you and singing your name, "I know you're in there~ Why aren't you coming out like usual? Did you already hear from Eloise?", your blood went cold.

You pursed your lips and began plating your food, he'll leave soon enough.

"Haha, you're just like your grandparents", the spoon slipped from your hand and the metal sound rung loudly.

With a wince, you picked it up only to hear a clonk from the window above the sink. Confused you turned around and screamed seeing Spencer wave at you, like he hadn't jumped your fence to get there. Instantly you were reaching for your phone, more than relieved that the window couldn't be opened.

From the other side, the man sighed and shook his head before disappearing. You froze, heart beating faster than faster because what the fuck was going on? Suddenly you felt the urge to make sure every door and window were fully locked.

....

Everything Eloise said was coming true. Your second month at your new home was filled with fear and exhaustion. Spencer would be at your door every evening, then around 10pm a black car would drive past every ten minutes for an hour. Finishing it off, a dark figure would stand outside and even wave up at you.

However, a delivery would relieve you of your problems. A set of security cameras that would catch those bastards in their act and provide enough evidence for the police. With the help of a handyman in the neighbourhood, you were able to install a few around the perimeter, one at the front door, and another on in your lounge room just to be safe.

That evening, you watched from your phone as Spencer arrived, wondering what he'd do. It was the first thing he noticed, the man stared at it for a moment and you felt like you had won. That was until he gave a wide smile, horrifyingly happy.

Do you think this will stop me?

He mouthed and you clenched the knife in your hand, because what could he possibly do?

You opened the door the next day to find all of your camera at your front door, crushed into small pieces. With shaking hands, you closed your door and looked for your phone. Surely that was enough for the police?

With the evidence and Eloise's statement, the police found it probable enough to place a patrol car outside your house. You were able to sleep peacefully for a week before they deemed there was no danger. No pleading or begging would make them reconsider, the only suggestion they had was for you to gather more evidence and apply for a restraining order.

....

Soaking your body in the bathtub, you leaned back and sighed. What the hell were you suppose to do? Buy more cameras for him to break again? Confront the car, the man outside your house, and fight him?

"Grandpa, grandma", you whispered, "I don't know how you did it, but I'm not as strong as you guys were. I might just have to give him the house", and sniffled.

Slipping into a silk nightie, you walked down the hallway back to your room. A flash went by the corner of your eye and you froze. If it wasn't Spencer, it was paranoia that would be the cause of your death. Blinking for a few seconds, you began to walk normally as if you weren't desperate to flee. Inside your room, you closed the door normally and locked it with wide eyes. You might've just been making it up, but it felt like there was someone right behind you the whole time.

In the bed, you couldn't close your eyes for more than a few seconds. That night, the most you got was an hour of sleep.

Slumped on your couch, you held a mug of coffee tightly and pursed your lips, "I can't do it anymore...I'm gonna sell him the house", you spoke aloud as if their ghosts were listening.

Then you wiped a tear, because it was so frustrating. This was their parting gift to you, they trusted you to care for it and turn it into your family home. It wasn't fair that someone else was going to take it away.

"But what else can I do?"

You decided that you would call Spencer the next day, he'd left enough business cards that you've already memorised the number. With no appetite, you skipped out on dinner and sulked in your bed. And despite your resistance, your eyes slowly dropped.

CRASH

Gasping, you shot up and looked around. It was nighttime. Then you began to hear more thuds and silently sobbed, because they've finally had enough of waiting.

Exhausted, you slipped out of bed and turned to the doorknob but it wouldn't open. Confused you looked down and noticed you had locked the door, out of habit clearly. Unlocking it, you opened the door and stepped out wondering what was going to happen now. Maybe they wouldn't even accept your offer, too pissed off to think about making a deal with you.

Finally at the top of the staircase, you looked at Spencer. And blinked because why was he lying on your staircase with a dark wet puddle around him? Looking down to the first floor, only a small gasp left you. Your door had been flung wide open, your grandparents' precious vase shattered on the floor, and more bodies sprawled around the place.

You zoned in on the only man standing, nothing more than a looming black figure. He turned around and you jolted, that was your cue to run. But your feet were planted to the floor. It wasn't until he moved that you did, sprinting as thundering footsteps chased after you.

Slamming your bedroom door closed, you instantly locked the door and stepped back frightened. There was nothing else you could do except pray that the door was strong enough to endure the force of his body. Your breath hitched seeing the shadow of his footsteps.

Silence fell between the two of you for a few seconds before a deep voice spoke, "I'm going to clean up downstairs...sleep well."

....

You were unsure of what to do now. It's been two days since the attack...and since you've left the house.

After making sure the intruder had truly left, you instantly ran away. Definitely not to Eloise's because that would only put her in danger. So you made your way to Stephanie's house, a hairdresser that you had befriended ages ago. Her house was a ten minute walk and her husband was a policeman.

Seeing the state you were in, she immediately ushered you inside and sat you down on the couch. Unsure of what to tell her, the only surviving camera clicked in your mind. The three of you played back the moment at 9:45pm that the door opened, Spencer and a group of guys walked in like they owned the place. That was until a dark figure rolled in, a familiar figure. He struck them down with swiftness precision, hunting them one by one like a shadow. All of them went down with barely any fight. It was Spencer who had smashed your vase over the man's body, but that barely did anything. Then he ran up the stairs which was where he met his fate, multiple slashes and stabs through the torso. He was starting his clean up when you entered the picture.

While Stephanie's husband immediately alerted the station, you were ordered to stay at their house until the intruder was tracked down. Intruder, you thought hugging yourself, was he really one?

Now you sat in a small booth of a diner, drinking coke and munching on some fries. Hearing a jingle, you turned to the new customer. He was a tall man, with messy ebony hair and caramel eyes. He also caught everyone's attention with his sharp features and toned muscles visible through the fitted maroon shirt he wore. However, you had caught his attention. And you knew why.

The man smirked waving off the waitress and making his way to you, strolling over and sitting across like you were close. As if you weren't pale as a ghost and trembling right now.

"Why haven't you come home yet?", it was the same deep voice, "I didn't expect you to run away."

You could only whisper back, "You were in my house this whole time. It was you that turned of my stove, you that locked the doors before me, you that followed me back to my room", and his smirked widened.

It had been him all along, every little creak, the so called wind, just your imagination...it was him.

With a hum he reached out and held your hand, thumb rubbing your fingers gently, "And it was me who protected you, defended our house from those bastards."

"The bodies of Spencer Green and four other men were found at the bottom of the lake with heavy rocks tied to their ankles", your head whipped to the television, "An autopsy revealed they had all been slashed to death. Now police are looking for the man that murdered them."

The hand on yours then migrated to cup your cheek, "See? You're free from that man, he'll never haunt you again...So come home."

In a blink of an eye you found yourself entering the house, spotless of the horror a few days ago.

You squeaked feeling his body against your back, hands helping you to take your coat off. His lips pressed against your forehead, telling you to go rest upstairs while he made dinner this time. Walking off you wondered how oblivious you had been, to not even notice that.

Entering your room, you saw your bed had been done neatly and an item left on the top. It was one of your nightgowns, deep red with white lace along the bottom and slits on the sides.

"Go on, wear for me. Don't you think I deserve a reward?"

God Lovelies, what the hell did I just create?

The amount of fear and exhaustion I felt was fucking crazy. At some point I got so scared, I had to watch some dumb animal clips. Then I was trying to find some images for this - never search up dark figure or dark silhouette on Pinterest because that shit is scary. Anyways, I might to a second part just to flesh out whatever this guy is. Maybe write some smut as well because clearly he's a pervert. Stay tuned! (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡

#reader insert #long reads #spooky #there's someone else in the house #Simon Riley inspired

0 notes

bubblegumfanfictions · 1 year

Text

Down the Rabbit Hole- Chapter 6

Fandom- Angels of Death, Satsuriku No Tenshi

Ships- Zack Foster x Original Female Character

Warnings- Swearing.

Summary- Robin Reyes is a fucked up girl, from a young age she was molested by doctors and sometimes her mother's boyfriend. With her mother's abuse getting worse and worse the girl snaps and kills them both. While on the run she gets approached by a group of people claiming they know a place where people like her could kill, legally. All she needed to do was follow the rules.

When Robin meets Rachel she realises that she wants to try her hand at a normal life despite how abnormal she is and when she meets Zack they gradually warm up to each other until she realises who she wants that normal life with.

Word Count- 1828

I'm out, fuck this. Big time." Robin shuddered looking around at the setting around her. The smell of sterile equipment wafted through the floor giving her a perfect image on what this floor was modelled after. A goddamn hospital.

"Robin, we need to get out of here." The elevator closed behind the two girls leaving them trapped on the floor. Robin huffed and stomped ahead of the small girl.

"Stupid elevators, Stupid hospitals. Stupid. Fucking. DOCTORS!" She kicked the white wall next to her with all of her might. Her mind going to a dark, dark place that she wished she couldn't remember.

Flashback

"Robin? Robin? Can you hear me? My name is doctor (REDACTED)." A man stood over the small Eight-year-old. Robin nodded as she looked around the white room with a frown. She noticed her mother was sitting in the chair next to her with a solemn-looking face. "You were in a car accident. We’re sorry, we did all we could."

The doctor asks Robin a few questions before leaving the room. "Mo-mommy. Where's daddy?" The woman in question snaps her head in the direction of the girl. A deep scowl set on her face.

"He's dead. Thanks to you. He's fucking. Dead!" Robin's eyes watered heavily. Her mother got up and left the room. Leaving her alone. Robin grabbed the clipboard at the end of her bed to see what happened.

"Name- Robin Reyes.

Age- 8

D.O.B- 20th September 2000

Issue- Due to the severity of the accident we have urged the doctors to keep the Patient here to monitor her behaviour, we have noticed no signs of distress but we want to keep her here to make sure."

"Robin?" Rachel asked the woman, tugging on her sleeve bringing her back into reality. Robin shook her head, freeing herself from her thoughts.

"I'm fine!" She grinned nonchalantly and walked ahead of the small girl. Robin entered the next room only to see that it was a normal looking reception. A desk on the far end of the wall before her and two sets of sofas either side of the door she exited from. The only difference being the gate covering the hall on the very right side of the building.

" Let's check this out," Robin suggested pointing over to the gate. Just as they near it the door opposite the gate opens. Out stepped a man, maybe 5'8 ish in a doctor's uniform. However, that is all Robin could make out.

The two girls quickly backed up with Robin holding her bat in front of her. "Wait! Rachel, it's me!" Ray made a sound of confusion looking at the man with a distant look in her eyes, unable to recognise him. He held his arms open. "Don't you recognise me? I'm the doctor who examined you."

The doctor stepped from the dark revealing his appearance to the two girls. Murky Brown hair hung down his pale skin and a pair of glasses sat on his nose slightly hiding his brown eyes, one of his eyes appeared to be prosthetic due to the artificial shine.

"The doctor who examined me?" Rachel asked. She looked undoubtedly confused by the doctor's statement. Rachel's dark blue orbs examined the doctor to find something recognisable but there was nothing. Rachel couldn't remember who he was.

"Rachel, what's wrong? Look, it's me." The male smiled sweetly at the small girl paying no mind to the taller killer behind her. "Doctor Danny!" Rachel's expression shifted to a somewhat more knowing look once the man, now known as Danny, said his name.

He's trying way too hard Robin rolled her eyes at Danny. The only people who are on these floors are serial killers. Despite her knowing this Robin didn't bother attacking the man since she wanted to see how this would play out. Maybe this could be fun.

"Could it be? Doctor Danny. My therapist." Danny's expression lit up once he saw the small light of recognition in her eyes. He looked around the hospital as if to play on the fact that he hadn't been there long himself.

"You're a little confused huh? I don't blame you, this place is horrific." The doctor goes to walk towards Ray but he is stopped by Robin's baseball bat. He looked up, his line of sight following up the arm and to her eyes. He swore her eyes were almost as beautiful as Rachel's. Her stern, fiery expression sent the doctor into a frenzy of emotions and thoughts. Maybe he could live next to these peepers also? Only, in a more... Pleasurable way, a way that he couldn't with Rachel. After all, he was a serial killer, not a pedophile, he had standards.

"Hey, get any closer to her and I may need to end your life, bud. So back the fuck up." Danny smirked at the woman using his fingers to prod the bat away from his face, she had moxie and he very much liked that in a woman, he'd have fun tearing that away from her.

He pushed his simmering thoughts to the side and smiled at the small girl before him. "But rest assured it is I, your therapist. Right?" His kind eyes looked down on Rachel's small form.

"Ah, that's right. Yes, doctor." Ray nodded her head even though her eyes still lacked much recognition of the man before her. Was she some kind of idiot? At least I won't get attached to a ditsy little child and feel guilty when I leave her for dead if something happens. Robin's eyes moved to the floor as her thoughts enveloped her.

"Good. Besides all that- You're safe." He stepped closer to Rachel kneeling down to her height to check for any injuries. Once he was satisfied he stood up once more taking a couple of steps away from her.

"Doctor, what on earth is this place? And- And what was that thing chasing us!?" Rachel began to panic as she looked towards the elevator scared it would open any minute.

"I'm not entirely sure. But that thing chasing you is probably the psycho killer." The doctor muttered, placing his hand to his chin in thought. No shit sherlock, Robin thought as she swung her bat from one hand to the next.

"Huh. Wow, couldn't tell. Nice evaluation there. Doctor." The woman scoffed at the doctor as she flipped her hair back behind her head.. Either this doctor thought she was a dumbass or he was just a huge idiot.

"The... Psycho killer? But there was more than one... Robin is one..." Ray pointed towards the aggravated woman who was flipping her bat. A confused look crossed her face.

"Oi! I'm not a psycho, don't lump me in with mummy boy down there." Robin perked up at the sound of her name being called, pointing her bat towards Rachel in annoyance. So not only am I stuck babysitting a kid because I wanted to get out I'm also stuck with this huge dumbass.

"This place is like a site for some sort of game. Being hunted by a psycho killer." Danny eyed Robin up and down whilst licking his lips. "and as good as dead if caught. Apparently, they chase their victims."

"Stop lumping me in with the other god damn psycho's! I have class unlike some of these assholes, my deaths are clean and excruciating." Robin sulked looking at the two in feigned offence.

"Doctor, I'm absolutely petrified." Rachel finally speaks up after a moment of silence, her voice broke slightly as she went pathetically quiet. Robin frowned at Ray's pathetic fear, sure it's okay to be scared but Robin was brought up thinking that fear was a weak emotion that was eventually beaten from her.

"Rachel it is perfectly natural to be scared. Especially with such a heartless monster following you around." Robin's eyes narrowed as she growled at Danny who was just smirking in her direction. Strike One. She thought, Three strikes and he fucking dies.

"Oh eat a dick, Danny." Robin threw her head back in annoyance followed by a loud groan. If she was going to have to deal with his snarky ass he would need to deal with her dramatics.

"At any rate, Let's find a way out of here. If possible, I'd like to get out of this whole ordeal alive with you." Danny placed his hand on Rachel's shoulder offering her a kind smile hoping to calm her down.

"Yes, Doctor." Was all she responded with. The number of times she's said that now reminded Robin of the old robot movies she used to watch with her mother before she damaged her brain and killed her remaining family.

The trio walked over to the gate with Robin lagging in the back to keep an eye on Danny. He yanked on the gate only for it to be locked, spinning on his feet he turned to the two girls with a light blush and furrowed brow.

"Ah, It's locked. I'm pretty sure there was a key in the examination room." Robin raised an eyebrow at his comment taking a step back towards the room he was just in. This man was sketchy and Robin had already come to realise this, she also knew that he was the B5 serial killer but she didn't care enough she'd get out either way, with or without Rachel.

"Then why didn't you pick it up, Jackass." Robin pushed Rachel towards the examination room letting her enter first, then Danny. She stayed by the door keeping it open with her foot so Danny couldn't lock them in.

The room itself was dark. There was a small bed placed in the corner of the room with a desk and a computer in the same place against the opposite wall. With the little lighting available Robin noticed something gleam on the chair in front of the computer.

"Hey, Kid. What's that shiny thing on the computer chair?" Rachel went over to where Robin mentioned and picked up what was there.

--Acquired A Key--

"Nice job Rachel, I'm pretty sure I was just sitting there." Robin frowned since it was technically her who found it but in all honesty, she would've rather not had his attention on her for too long. She kept the door open for the two of them and they stepped out of the room, Rachel giving Robin the gate key in the process.

"You didn't try to escape?" Rachel asked Danny looking up at him with a naive look adorning her face for a moment. Danny seemed momentarily taken aback by Rachel's question due to his jittery response.

"Well, I was worried about you. Besides you've got a good head on your shoulders and your own little monster. So I knew you'd make it this far." Strike Two. Go on, say one more thing, look at me one more fucking time and you'll see what happens.

1 note · View note

dragon-kazansky · 2 years

Text

Masquerade at midnight

Gender neutral reader

[Masterlist]

[Previous Chapter] - [Next Chapter]

Word count: 3.2k

Notes: Violence. Things escalate.

♡♡♡

Chapter Nine - Whisked away

'Come to me.'

You look upstairs, listening to it.

'Come to me.'

Tucking the ticket into your pocket, you take slow steps toward the staircase. You place your hand on the bannister and take the first step. Something feels wrong. Perhaps because you can't tell who the voice belongs to, but also because you can't recognise it though it's coming from within the house. Perhaps it's just Mads. David said he was up in his office. Maybe this is some kind of power he had and it sounds strange.

Unsettling wasn't enough to describe how you were feeling right now. When you reached the hall, you could make out that the voice was not coming from the direction of Mads' office. This is when fear set in. Something felt so very wrong.

You look in the direction of the office. The door could just be seen. It was closed. The thought to go and see Mads crossed your mind, and you were about ready to do so when the voice called out again.

'Don't do that. Come this way.'

You turn back in the direction the voice appeared to be coming from and swallowed nervously.

"Who's there?" You ask.

'Come this way.'

You hate the obviously ignoring of your question, but find yourself going the opposite direction of Mads. You really should go and speak to him. Perhaps tell him you're crazy and hearing things. You don't.

The path leads into the opposite side of the house, through to big dark doors. There is nothing notable about them other than they're dark. You stare at the doorknob.

'Come inside.'

Reaching out, you turn the doorknob and half expect it to be locked. You honestly do think you're going mad. Why else would you be doing any of this?

Opening the door, you peer inside. It's dark, but you can make out the furniture within. Everything was covered up though. Everything except what you believed to be a box on the bed. Turning toward to the nearest lamp, you turn it on and let light flood the room. You can see a lot better now, and can confirm a wooden box on the bed.

'Welcome to my chambers.'

"Who are you? What do you want?"

'I want you to open the box.'

You stare at the offending object. You did not trust a single thing about this. You take a step back and think about running for the door. You really should go and get Mads. Before you can even think of turning around to run, the door slams shut behind you and you let out a scream. You were caught off guard by the sound. You run to the door and grasp it, trying so hard to pull it open. It won't budge.

'Open the box.'

You let go of the door and lean against it. You stare at the box.

"No!"

'Open it.'

"No! What do you want? Answer me!"

The voice says nothing for a moment. You almost believe it's gone and that you really were just going mad, but when it speaks again, you know this is actually happening. All of this is real.

'I want you to open the box and come to me.'

Ah right, yes, of course. Why wouldn't you do that?

"Who are you?"

'I think you know.'

You step away from the door, eyes still drawn to the box. You didn't seem to have many choices. You couldn't get out, you couldn't call for help. You were stuck.

Walking over to the bed slowly, you took deep breaths. You had to be brave.

Cracking open the box, you see a pendant sitting on a green felt cushion. You dare not touch it right away. It's nothing outstanding, but it looks old. A silver pendant hanging from a thin bit of rope. Your hand hovers over it.

'Come to me.'

Your fingers grasp around the pendant, lifting it from the cushion. You bring it up closer to your face.

"Do you like it?"

You drop it out of shock and look up. No longer were you in that empty bedroom. Now you were in a small well lit living room. A fire was crackling in the fireplace. Sitting on one sofa was an older gentleman looking up at you.

"Uh-"

"Come, sit." He gestures to the other sofa across from him.

Slowly, you pick up the pendant and walk over to where he was sitting. You sit down across from him.

He smiles.

"Jeremy?" You ask.

His eyes seem to light up just by the sound of his name.

"That would be me, yes."

"And this is yours?" You hold the pendant up.

Jeremy nods his head, "yes."

You lowers the pendant to your lap and looked at him.

"How am I here?"

"Just a neat little trick I know. Technically you're still in that room."

"Oh..."

"Now, I've been waiting to speak to you." You nod awkwardly. "A dagger has been stolen from my home. Though I am aware it does belong to you, I not appreciate spies taking things from under my nose."

You drop your gaze. Jeremy shifts in his seat.

"I know who you are."

"Do you?" You ask, quickly.

"I do. I know the intentions Mads has for you. You cannot trust that man."

"No?"

"No. He's using you."

"I agreed to the terms."

"He only cares for his own wellbeing. He will only dispose of you when he's done with you," he says, sternly.

"What do you want?" You ask him.

"I want you to switch sides. Join me. Spy on him. Report back to me. Use the dagger on him. Let his kingdom fall. Help me make Mads Mikkelsen no more."

You shake your head.

"No."

"Don't be a fool now."

You shake your head and stand up, staring down at him.

"You don't have the power to fight him. Mads will find you and he will end you."

"Will he?" Jeremy rises from his seat. "Or will he have you. Will you have the strength to end me if he asks you do it."

You stay silent.

Jeremy stands over you, looking you in the eye. He raises his hands to your shoulders and smiles. His palms feel warm.

"I will not wait for my next move. I am coming to you. I will kill Mads. I will offer you a place amongst my ranks. You will see that just because I'm a lower type vampire, it does not mean I do not have power."

You shake your head again and try to stand back.

"You will not win."

Jeremy grins.

You hear pounding on the door. You turn and look. It's locked. Jeremy still has his hands on your shoulders. You can hear your name being called from the other side of the door. You try to move away from him, but he doesn't let you. The room begins to feel suffocating. You push back at Jeremy and stumble backward. You prepare to hit the ground behind you, closing your eyes expecting an impact, but instead two arms catch you from under your arms.

A voice calls your name in your ear. You open your eyes and see Mads kneeling down in front of you. The pendant you were holding is now gone as you reach out to accept Mads' help. Ben is behind you, he helps steady you.

"Are you alright?"

"What happened?"

They both ask their questions. You focus on steadying your breath and figuring out your surroundings again. You focus back on Mads who looks at you with concern.

"Where did you go?" He asks.

"Jeremy..."

"Jeremy?"

"I was coming to see you. I heard a voice. At first I thought it may have been you, even though it didn't sound like you. I followed it. It asked me to touch the pendant that was in that box. I did. He was there. He was trying to make me believe you were using me, though I had agreed to all of this."

Mads looks at the box on the bed. He stands and turns to it.

"Where is the pendant now?"

"I don't know. Once I realised where I was, it seemed to have gone."

That meant Jeremy had it now. No matter. At least he can't use it against you any more. Mads closes the box and takes it.

"Ben, see to it they are safe. I have some investigating to do."

Ben nods and takes you out of the room. You offer Mads a small smile, in which he returns, as you pass him. You follow Ben back to your room.

Ben closes the door behind him. You sit on the bed.

"Did he hurt you?"

You look up at Ben and shake your head.

"We won't let him harm you."

"I don't think you can stop him. For a weak vampire, he certainly has a lot of power."

Ben sits next to you on the bed. He takes your hand and brings it to his lap, holding it gently.

"I don't care what I have to. I won't let him hurt you. Ever."

You give his hand a squeeze and rest your rest against his shoulder.

"What's that?"

You look up and follow his gaze. He's looking at the ticket David and Michael gave you. You pick it up, not realising you had dropped it. Someone must have found it, leaving it here for you to find.

"A ticket. David and Michael are doing one more show before they give up their roles to help us."

"When is it?"

"Tonight," you say, sighing softly. You lower the ticket into your lap.

"Normally I would suggest staying here and staying safe, so we can keep an eye on you, but would you like to go? With me?"

"Are... Are you asking me on a date, Ben?"

The man grins at you, shrugging a single shoulder. He still has your hand in his. You run your thumb along his and smile softly at him.

"I'd like that."

You feel Ben relax. He lets go of your hand and stands up, grinning like a fool at you.

"Get changed and meet me in the lobby. I need to go speak to our acting duo to get a last minute ticket for myself. I won't be long."

Ben leaves your room and you watch the door close behind him. You chuckle softly and go over to your wardrobe to get changed. You pick out a nice outfit and grab your ticket. Once you're ready, you head down into the main entrance and sit on the bottom stair waiting for Ben. While you're waiting, Benedict come through.

"Off somewhere?" He asks.

"The theatre. David and Michael are doing one last performance."

Benedict smiles at you.

"How odd. I was just about to leave for the show myself. Would you like to come with me?" He asks, making his way over to where you sit.

"They're coming with me. Better luck next time, Oscar."

You look up at the top of the staircase and see Ben making his way down. He's changed into a stylish black suit. You notice the ring on his finger. The thought isn't comforting.

"I'm sorry. I had no idea you two were-"

"We're not!" You stop Benedict's sentence midway. "We're not..."

Benedict close his mouth and winks at you, knowingly.

Ben comes to a stop when he reaches you and offer you his hand. You take it and stand up, thanking him. Benedict takes a step back so you can move from the stairs. Ben keeps a hold of your hand as he leads the ay out of the house. Benedict follows a few steps behind.

The ride to town is quiet. Ben stays that little bit close to you through out the trip.

The car pulls up outside of a huge fancy theatre. There are lights strobing from different points of the building, the name of the play is in huge black letters over the entrance. There are a couple of steps leading up to the huge doors. Crowds of people are making their way inside. You smile at Ben as you both make your way through the doors, Benedict still tailing behind.

The inside is just as magnificent. Red carpets on the floor. Chandelier hanging above your head. Staff were dotted about the room helping people, checking tickets, selling programmes and snacks.

"Programme?" Ben offers.

"Please."

Ben buys one of the booklets and hands it to you. You take it and the three of you make your way over to the theatre hall. A lady checks your tickets and directs you to your seats. Ben and yourself have box seats, being guided upstairs by another staff member. Benedict is guided into the theatre hall from there. You wave as you part from him.

Ben finds the right box number and you both enter, taking your seats. You have a perfect view of stage from here. You cast your eyes down and look for Benedict. There are still many people entering the hall, but you spot him. He takes his seat and gets comfortable, though he looks a bit lonely down there. As if he could feel your gaze, he looks up. You smile and wave. He waves back, smiling too.

"I thought this was a date," Ben states, looking at you with a smug grin.

You turn to him with a deadpan expression.

"Very funny."

"I'm joking. Thank you for letting me come with you, though."

You smile at him.

"I'm glad to have you here with me."

You can't help but look away slightly bashful. During your time with these vampires, you have grown close to them. Each one had become someone rather special to you. It made you wonder what you would do once your job here was done.

After all, you only came to help them. You never said anything beyond that.

The lights dim over the audience as the stage lights up. The curtain begins to lift and the music begins to play. It's showtime. You lean forward in your seat with your eyes on the stage. After everything that happened earlier, you wanted something to help get your mind off it.

Ben watches you curiously. Seeing you sitting there with a smile on your face. Your face lights up when David and Michael come on. While you become invested in the performance, Ben cares little for the show as he watches you. Benedict, unknown to both you and Barnes, is looking up at you from below.

Another pair of eyes watch from across the room. In a box opposite your own, sitting back in the shadows, Jeremy watches you.

If he wants to stand a chance at defeating Mads, without your help, then he has to take you out of the equation.

The plays reaches an intermission. You sit back after act 1 and smile over at Ben.

"It's a shame they're having to stop performing to help us, this play is great so far."

Ben agrees, not showing that he hadn't actually watched any of it. With the theatre lit up again, his eyes are drawn over the audience. Specifically to who he thought he saw leaving the box opposite. You see that his interest is held somewhere and turn to look, seeing nothing.

"What is it?" You ask him.

"Stay here," he says, speaking rather firmly.

Ben gets up and leaves the box. You watch him go, feeling a little disheartened that he left without explanation. You do as you're told and sit there, waiting. Though it isn't long before the door opens again. You stand up and prepare to lay into Ben about why he left, but it's Benedict who stands there.

"We need to go."

"What?"

"It's Jeremy, he's here. We need to go." Benedict holds out his hand. You take it and allow him to lead you out of the theatre. However, you don't get very far. Your path is blocked off by, who you can only assume to be, Jeremy's lackeys. Benedict holds your hand a little tighter as he pushes you behind him.

It's then you realise he is also wearing his ring.

Did they wear them expecting to bump into Jeremy? Did they know he would be here tonight? No, why would they let you come if they did?

"BENEDICT!" You hear. That's Ben's voice. Both of you whip your heads around to see Ben on his knees and Jeremy standing over him, a hand on his shoulder.

"Tonight was an unexpected night," Jeremy says. You keep your eyes on him, still being shielded by Benedict. "Your friends let slip that you were expected here tonight, after our little chat earlier this evening, it became clear where you stood." You did not like the way he was looking at you.

"Leave them alone!" Ben hissed. Jeremy gripped his shoulder tighter, causing Ben rather a lot of pain. You wanted nothing more than to go over there and help him, but Benedict had a good hold on you.

"What do you want?" Benedict asked.

"I think you know."

"The answer is no."

"I'm not asking," Jeremy warns him.

"What if I go willingly?" You ask.

"Your fate will remain the same."

"He will kill you," Benedict warns.

Jeremy glares at Benedict. You don't even notice the lackeys moving in. Benedict tears his gaze away from the man and shoves you harshly away from him. The lackeys leap and Benedict grabs at them. Fangs protrude and long fingernails slash at each other. You back up once your shock wears off and crawl backward.

Watching vampires fight right in front of you was not what you thought it would be. They were aiming to end each other.

Ben goes to leap at Jeremy, but Irons saw this coming and takes a violent swing at Ben. Barnes doesn't get away unscathed. A nasty slash across his face. He cares little for it as he goes again. Jeremy is just as quick to move away.

You have no where to go that's safe. There are lackey's everywhere.

Blood stains the concrete as the vampires lash out. You're scared. You're actually scared. You want to help, but that would most defiantly result in your death.

You go to run. Something grabs you. Stopping you. You want to shout. You don't get to.

Ben lifts himself from where Jeremy knocked him back. He had hit a lamp post, the post now crooked from the force. His eyes land on you. Ben shouts your name, but you're gone before he can even get the first letter out. His eyes threaten to spill tears as stares at the spot Jeremy had grabbed you.

The lackeys disperse, leaving both Ben and Benedict worse for wear.

Benedict rolls over from where he had been pinned to the ground. His eyes land on Ben.

"You shouldn't have them come."

Ben doesn't say anything. He just stares.

As act 2 of the play begins, Benedict gets up and dusts his suit off. He doesn't spare Ben another look as he walks away. Ben doesn't move.

Mads will be furious with him. He never should have let you come tonight.

♡♡♡

@lieutenantn @ntlmundy @ilussionary-forest @that-one-fandom-kid @mischief-siriusly-managed @madhatter2727 @gabrielapoe-16 @baronesszemo-blackwood @valquiria3000 @wannabevampire @ten-tenya-iida @crackedout @rothko-mirror @niceshadeofblue @my-fic-corner @bdffkierenwalker @nezla @bb-skyrunner @dezzylou24 @meganlpie @casi-eternal @janine-007

#masquerade at midnight #mads mikkelsen x reader #daniel bruhl x reader #ben barnes x reader #benedict cumberbatch x reader #anson mount x reader #oscar issac x reader #david tennant x reader #michael sheen x reader #jodie whittaker x reader #lauren ridloff x reader #barry keoghan x reader #tom hiddelston x reader #tom ellis x reader

52 notes · View notes

yeojaa · 4 years

Text

( DEVIL IN A NEW SUIT. )

Money’s something that makes the world go around. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with securing the bag. You don’t shame anyone for doing what they need to do.

That is, until you come face to face with the poor guy that’s being suckered out of both his heart and cash. You simply can’t let it go on.

pairing. jjk x f!reader.

genre + rating. idiots to lovers. fluff, angst, smut. the holy trifecta, babies! explicit, obviously.

tags / warnings. mentions of infidelity, kook being adorable and sad, reader being a bit of a tactless butthole, a satin playsuit (very nsfw), kook does a 180, smut in the form of: a slight oral fixation, too much spit, overstimulation, pussy slapping, unprotected sex (pls don’t be irresponsible).

wc. 12.2k of nonsense. pure nonsense, i tells ya.

beta reader(s). @hobi-gif did what she always does aka read through this and made me a better writer and @yeoldontknow dealt with my big dumbass and let me cry about my pea brain to her. i love you both sm!!! ✨💜

author note. the long-awaited fic is here!! i really hope you enjoy it. if you do, please maybe leave a comment or something? i swung back and forth between loving and hating this so it’d really, really mean a lot. anyway, thanks as always for reading and i adore you! stay safe and happy and healthy!

He’s a sucker. That’s what you think of him, despite the fact you’ve never met him. It’d be impossible not to, given what you’ve heard.

His girlfriend - or something - is in every other week, flashing his black card like she has something to prove. Sometimes, she’s by herself; often, she’s with another gaggle of girls that fawn all over themselves and shriek a little too loudly for your taste. They’re vapid, snooty in a way that makes you cringe every time they step into the boutique. Still, you’re nice because this is your job and you have to be. You can’t exactly tell a paying customer to get lost - even if you think it at least six times each visit.

“He has no idea.” It’s always the same thing, a story that pulls at your heartstrings yet has you scoffing in equal parts. “I told him we were doing a girls’ trip but Hyunjin’s going to meet me on his way back and we’re spending the week at the Ritz.”

How can he possibly be this dumb, you wonder. How can’t he see past the pretty pink lipstick and perfectly coiffed blonde hair? It isn’t even that nice of a colour job - too icy and reminiscent of Malibu Barbie.

(She’d bragged about it once - how she’d gotten an appointment at one of the most coveted salons in the city, spending hours in the stylist’s chair to get this “perfect shade”. Her words, not yours.)

You figure he must be some lonely schmuck, some poor old sap who can’t possibly get what he’s looking for anywhere else. Maybe he had some weird spoiling kink - if so, where was your man like that - or he just wanted companionship and found it in the arms of girls who paid him any sort of attention. Truthfully, you thought a lot of things about him. Kind of had to, given how often his girlfriend was in, rambling about her exploits and snickering behind his back.

You’d never expected him to be like this.

Jeon Jungkook shows up on a Sunday afternoon, shortly after lunch and with the dopiest smile on his face.

Your colleague notices him first, nudging you to attention because you, unlike her, actually do productive things while you’re at work like go through layaways and make sure items aren’t sitting in the back gathering dust.

“He’s cute,” she very poorly whispers, voice carrying because it always does. She’s a younger girl - maybe a few years your junior, who’d gotten her job through pure nepotism - but she’s sweet enough. Zero tact, though. Never notices when she’s being just a little too forceful with her sales but her sweet smile and full rack seem to keep her from getting into any trouble. You consider her a vaguely annoying sister, someone you love even when you don’t necessarily like her.

You glance up from the iPad balanced in your hands, disinterested. “Who?”

There’s an older couple striding past the entrance, hand-in-hand with three Hermes bags. (God, what awful taste.) There’s another couple standing at the mouth of the Louis Vuitton boutique, bickering about which belt will best match the boyfriend’s tux best. (The answer is neither, because those belts do not belong with a classic black tux.)

“Him.”

Yejin all but points him out, jerking her chin in his direction. You don’t know how you hadn’t really clocked him in the first place. Maybe because he’s so unassuming that you’d just brushed over him, noting his outfit before moving on. When you look at him - really look at him - you can’t look away.

You think he’s handsome in that off-kilter kind of way, too-big teeth and too-wide eyes. He’s terribly innocent looking, despite the fact that he’s wearing a gleaming gold Rolex and sleek black boots you recognise from Prada’s 2019 RTW. Everything he wears is tailored, fitting him to the point you wonder who his seamstress is.

But then he speaks, and it’s not the suave, sultry voice you’d expect. It’s featherlight and almost shy, bashful in its delivery.

“I’m here to pick up a bag for my girlfriend?” He upspeaks. It’s stupidly adorable.

Bless her soul, Yejin throws a glance in your direction first. A silent ��yours or mine?’ that’s answered when you step forward, blindingly bright customer service smile in full effect. “What’s the item and the name it’s under?” You keep in mind he’s said girlfriend very clearly, even as you can’t help but trail your stare over his shoulders, the dimple that digs itself into his cheek when he speaks again.

“Oh, it’s under mine. Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.”

You’re floored. This is Jeon Jungkook? This specimen draped in leather and fine Japanese silk is the poor idiot wrapped around Barbie’s finger? You’ve got to be kidding.

You wonder whether the surprise is evident on your face. It must be, given how quickly Yejin interrupts, piping up in that saccharine sweet voice of hers. “I’ll grab it! The Box bag in cloud, right?”

Jungkook can only nod dumbly. He has no idea what he’s there to pick up - only that he needs to because his girlfriend is away on a trip with her two best female friends. He tells you as much, chuckling at his own ignorance. It’d be cute if it weren’t so sad, his eyes twinkling like the jewels set in your ears. There’s so much love in his eyes it’s frankly sickening.

It comes before you can help it, snapping off your tongue - an oil spill ready to drag him to the depths of hell.

“Oh - you’re Kiko’s boyfriend? I thought you’d left for Hong Kong already.” Your head tilts - the picture of innocence as you continue to spew things you shouldn’t, staining the innocence of his expression with each word that drops off. “She said she was leaving on Friday.” Even while you’re tearing this poor man’s life apart, you’re racking your brain for the off-handed comments she’d made. “She kept going on and on about how she was so excited to be staying at the Ritz.”

It’s almost like you gain some sick sort of satisfaction in watching his face fall. You’ve never seen someone crumble so quickly, every ounce of affection swept up and spat out in the time it takes you to take a solid, proper breath.

You do feel bad. Not for saying it, but for being the person to do this. For hurting this stranger. (At least he knew?)

“I think you have me mistaken for someone else.” Gone is the sunny friendliness, the blissful geniality. He’s very much uncertain, bunny teeth digging into the full swell of his bottom lip. He’s pigeon-toed and round-shouldered, thick brows drawn neatly over his stare as he focuses on some indeterminate point somewhere by his feet.

If Yejin were on the floor with you, she’d tell you to knock it off. Chastise you for getting involved in something you had no business being in. (She’d be right, but you’ve always been an advocate for tough love.) As it stands, she’s still in the back finding that stupid girl’s bag and you’re here, shaking your head, weakening Jungkook’s resolve with the edge of your teeth. “No, she definitely said she was going away with her boyfriend. Did you maybe give us the wrong name?”

Maybe if he weren’t so upset, he’d be more offended by the insinuation he’s stupid. Instead, he only falters further, head mimicking yours. Poor guy.

“I—I think there’s been a mistake.”

Yeah, you dating that gold-digger, you want to say. Instead, you meet his stare like you haven’t just dug a thousand holes in his foundation. “Oh, maybe. I’m sorry.” The apology is honest, even if the meaning behind it isn’t. That’s a thing, right? Apologising to make someone feel better, even when you don’t necessarily agree with it?

God, you’re an altruist.

“It’s fine.” When he stutters, adorable lisp coming out to play, you know it’s not. You applaud him for his brave face, even if it’s very poorly offered - a makeshift mask you think you could tear off with just another well-aimed word. (You won’t.)

“Here it is!” Yejin’s back, bouncing out from behind the counter with the giant white bag in her hands. If she notices the atmosphere, she says nothing. You remind yourself to tell her good job once Jungkook leaves - and you know he’ll leave the moment he’s got those silk handles in his hand. He looks about ready to cry - or ready to fight, you’re not sure.

Once the purchase is passed over, he nods his head furiously and you swear you see a tear go flying. You don’t have time to ask before he’s hoofing it out of the store.

He doesn’t even notice he’s left his wallet on the counter.

By the time you snatch it up and round the corner, he’s nowhere to be found. Probably because running in stilettos is next to impossible and he’s gotten an embarrassed head start. Well then.

“I guess we’ll have to call him,” you hum, turning the Prada bi-fold over and over in your hands. It’s practically brand new, stuffed with large bills, his driver’s license, and few credit cards, including a Hyundai black card. The same one on file that his girlfriend - maybe soon-to-be ex-girlfriend? - uses shamelessly.

Yejin’s watching you carefully, silently. You’re counting down how long it’ll be until she asks - because you can see the curiosity swimming in her eyes, practically bulging her cheeks with the effort of keeping her questions caged behind her teeth.

Finally, after a good three minutes, she’s at your side, bony point of her chin digging a grave into your shoulder. It’s probably not the most appropriate thing but she’s never much been one for decorum. (You either, but still.)

“So… what was that about?”

You don’t bother to turn when you speak, back to running through order details and matching them with customers. “What?”

“You know— that!” She waves her wrist in a circle, gesturing toward the space Jungkook had occupied not five minutes ago. “He ran out of here like he was scared for his life.”

“Scared of the truth,” you correct.

You hadn’t thought it was possible for her to get more pale - she’s already fine porcelain, perpetually slathered in sunscreen - but she somehow does, balking at your response. There it is.

“What?” There’s a reproachful edge to her words, an uncertainty that tells more than the single syllable.

“What?” It’s mimicry and a challenge all in one, meeting her stare from the corner of your periphery. You can read every emotion that runs through her expression: shock, displeasure, confusion.

She retreats a step, bottom lip caught between her teeth. (She really does remind you of your little sister.) “So, you told him?”

You shrug, a noncommittal gesture that disrupts the curtain of silk that falls over your shoulder. You hadn’t laid it out for him but surely he had an idea now. There was no way he didn’t.

“I pointed out a few conflicting facts. That’s all.” You’re not ashamed about what you’ve done. You’d want to know if you were him. Consider it an act of goodwill.

The silence that meets your ears isn’t surprising but you don’t pay it any further mind. What’s done is done. Now he knows, or something close to it. The chips would simply fall where they were meant to.

You have to admit - you’re rooting for him.

Whatever Yejin’s thinking, she keeps it to herself for the rest of the shift. She knows better than to berate you about something like this, not that she would anyway. Obnoxious as she can be, you have an understanding. It strengthens your not-quite-close-friends-but-more-than-colleagues relationship.

It’s only at the end of your shift that she brings it up again, drifting over to you as you complete your cash count for the evening.

She holds Jungkook’s wallet in her hand, mouth pursed thoughtfully as she taps it against the edge of the counter. “You have to call him.”

You almost lose your count, finishing with a pinched expression. “Whoever works tomorrow morning can call him.” You’re not brushing off the responsibility - you really could care less - but simply passing it along to the next person. Sensible.

As it turns out, you’re the person who works the next morning, called in because another associate has come down with a cold.

You’re two lattes deep when you remember the wallet, tucked neatly behind the counter with a yellow sticky note posted to the front. You suppose it’s your responsibility now. You know if Yejin comes in tomorrow and sees it, she’ll give you her childish brand of hell.

The line rings twice before it picks up, that oddly familiar voice crackling through the speaker. “Hello?”

“Jungkook?”

There’s a beat of silence followed by a careful confirmation. “Yes, that’s me?” Upspeaking again. How cute.

“I’m calling from the CELINE boutique.” You can practically imagine the look on his face, eyes as wide as saucers as he recalls the awful-to-him encounter. “You left your wallet here and I wanted to make sure you got it back.”

“O-oh, uh—“ It’s like encountering a baby bunny - or deer or something equally adorable and vulnerable. “Thanks. I didn’t even notice. Um, I can come pick it up today?” There’s another pause, the sound of fingers over a screen, and then he’s back. “Is that okay?”

Leave it to him to have lost his wallet and yet be worried about putting someone else out. He truly was a sucker.

“That’s fine. We’re open until six tonight.”

“I’ll be there before dinner.” As if realizing how vague that is, he continues, words running headlong into each other like he can’t get them out fast enough. “Before six, I mean. Um, is around five-thirty okay?”

You want to tell him to just come whenever, that it really doesn’t matter to you, but that probably isn’t going to help the situation. Instead, you hum a quiet sound of confirmation. “Of course. We’ll see you then.”

He hangs up immediately.

The second time you meet Jeon Jungkook, he’s just as endearing as the last. It’s actually surprising, if you’re being honest. You’d thought he’d be resentful or mean or any other emotion better fitting someone whose entire world had turned upside-down.

As it stands, he’s just the right-side of anxious, a hundred little sparks of uncertainty flaring beneath his skin and lighting him up in neon. You can see him from a mile away he’s lit up so bright, seemingly uncomfortable in his own skin.

Your heart aches for him - and then it skips, almost trips over its own two feet when he wanders into the store with his hands dug deep into the pocket of his pants.

How he looks tonight is nothing like how he’d looked yesterday. Somehow, you like it more. The undone head-to-toe Balenciaga, the unruly curl of his dark hair. It’s effortlessly chic - though you think it might have something to do with the fact that he’s just an attractive person. (Good-looking people could get away with anything - even god-awful fashion faux pas.)

At the sight of you, he seems to further lose steam, eyes widening to such an extent you briefly worry for him. Surely they’ll fall out of their sockets one day.

“O-oh. It’s you.” The moment the words come, he’s blushing the colour of your red-soled shoes, horrified. “I m-mean, just—” He takes a deep breath, finds his footing and tries again. “You’re the girl that helped me yesterday.” Spoken like you, the exact girl who helped him yesterday, wouldn’t remember that fact yourself.

“That’s right,” you say evenly, expression neutral. It’s almost as if that surprises him more - as if he’d expected you to shy away from the knowledge.

The two of you stare at each other for longer than is strictly speaking necessary. Well, you stare at him and he kind of bounces his eyes around the room. You know he can’t be that interested in the croc stamp Belt bag behind your head or the selection of small leather goods in the glass case.

He’s so awkward.

(You did kind of ruin his day though, so you can’t blame him.)

“So, um, my wallet?” He’s made barely any headway, still lingering awkwardly by the front of the store. You can’t help your smile - it’s more of a smirk - as you raise the item in question.

“Right here.”

Jungkook glances from it to your face, then back again. He makes the same trip twice more. “Can I have it?” To your surprise, he’s taken two whole steps toward you, brow furrowed. He’s still terribly soft, rounded edges and innocent eyes, but he’s making progress. Good job, you think.

“Of course.” You mirror him, moving out from behind the counter. Somehow, that’s not the right move, because his features are breaking and rearranging, big bunny teeth worrying a hole straight through his bottom lip. You’d think he’d be more confident, more demanding, more… everything. (You quite like that he isn’t - a complete anomaly - but you also imagine it’s also to his detriment. Too much honey, not enough vinegar.)

This time, he closes the distance with three long strides. It hadn’t escaped you how tall he was, the length of his gait - after all, you’d tried to run after him - but you’re still a little surprised when he’s in front of you, not a foot away, arm extended. Palm out, he asks again, all while refusing eye contact. “May I have it, please?”

You hand it over with a soft laugh, pressing the grained leather into his hand. You expect him to retreat immediately and he does - but then he turns and his expression is inscrutable. Is he going to say thank you? Berate you for what you’d done yesterday?

Neither, it seems. “Why did you do it?” There’s no anger, just an abiding sadness that laces his words, turns them the saddest shade of blue.

“Do it?” You know what he means. You ask anyway.

“Why did you tell me?” Jungkook’s doing that thing again, alternating between biting his tongue and chewing his cheek as he stares at you. You can practically see the melancholy rolling off him; it shines dark on the depths of his irises, how his fist trembles just barely at his side. For all his good looks and leisurely charm, you can see the effort it takes to hold himself together now.

Guilt ascends, starts somewhere deep in your stomach and turns stomach acid to butterflies. It creeps higher and higher over your spine, locking each vertebrae until you’re immobile, unable to tear your gaze from his. “I thought you deserved to know.”

“But why?”

“What do you mean?”

It’s almost comical, how both your expressions descend into bewilderment - like looking into a fun house mirror. He’s trying to wrap his mind around your actions and you’re just trying to make sense of his confusion.

You anticipate a response - can see it tittering on the tip of his tongue - but he seems to think better of it, shaking his head. It dislodges a wayward curl from behind his ear, silver twinkling with the movement.

“Thank you” is all he offers before speed-walking away.

You don’t expect to see Jeon Jungkook for a third time.

He’s waiting for you when you end your shift on Thursday, standing somewhere between the two boutiques, loitering like some kind of gremlin. (Except he’s dressed exceptionally well, slick black jeans and a Balenciaga tee shirt that rivals the cost of your shoes. Of course he’d get away with hanging out in the store without being told off.)

“Excuse me.” For once, he doesn’t sutter. The lisp doesn’t present itself, either. Was this the same Jungkook? You’re not sure until you meet his stare - or try, his own skipping away the moment you make contact.

There he is.

“Yes, Jungkook?” He flinches, as if he isn’t expecting you to know or say his name. How can someone so big, so broad across the shoulders with a face that belongs on billboards, look like such a terrified rabbit? It makes no sense to you.

“Can we talk?” The stare he levels you with is unfair, too sweet and coaxing for you to even consider saying no. You’ll still mess with him a bit though.

“We are talking.”

He sputters at that, hacks out a cough that makes you snicker openly. It’s just so easy with him, like taking candy from a baby.

“I mean like— talk talk.” The set of his jaw gives away the whisper of frustration, the fleeting touch of exasperation that doesn’t allow itself to live anywhere else. His eyes are still soft, round and glossy beneath the fluorescent storelight.

“Sure, we can talk talk.”

“Did you, um, want to grab dinner?”

You don’t mean to mock him (at least, not really) but he just makes everything so easy. You hope he doesn’t take it the wrong way. “Are you asking me on a date?”

“W-what? No!” Despite the immediacy of his response - the look of utter shock that cracks the careful facade - he’s burning bright, cheeks aflame with colour that licks up and over his ears. “I just— I thought you’d want to talk somewhere else—”

“I’m kidding. Let’s go.”

You move first, stepping past him and onto the elevator without a backwards glance. He scampers after you, trails like a lost puppy in the wake of your shadow. Even while you stand in the corner, waiting for the lift to meet the main floor, he keeps a careful distance, hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans.

“So, what do you want to talk about?” It seems you have to take the initiative, throwing him a curious stare as the floor number ticks down. His gaze is trained on neon digits, unmoving. You repeat yourself, glancing up at him, half-tempted to nudge him out of his reverie. It’s almost like talking to a really hot brick wall. “Jungkook?”

He tears out of his thoughts like a wayward bullet, head swivelling wildly. “Huh?”

“What did you want to talk about?”

“Um—” He hesitates, not as if he doesn’t know the answer, but rather that he’s hesitant to speak it into existence. There’s a tidal wave in the depth of his stare, a cresting wave that looks on the edge of breaking. “—m-me?”

Brows furrow then amusement spills out. “You want to talk about… you?”

“That sounds bad.” The shape of his grow prominent over his bottom lip, his mouth pulling and pursing with whatever maelstrom exists inside that pretty skull of his.

“It’s fine. We’ll talk at dinner.”

He nods. You think it means thank you.

Sitting across from each other in the Michelin-starred restaurant - a sought after spot that takes reservations weeks in advance - it’s easy to imagine Jungkook is just another guy. Another bachelor with too much money and not enough sense, eager to sink his teeth into his next victim.

It’s hilarious how far that is from the truth.

“What did you want to eat?” He’s speaking into the pages of the leatherbound menu, half his face hidden. Whether it’s a defense mechanism or just how he woos pretty girls, you’re not sure. (You have a feeling it’s the former.)

“Whatever.” Everything here is incredible. You really don’t mind.

Jungkook’s face falls, folds in on itself like wet paper and you sigh a sound that further breaks apart the pillars keeping his composure in place. His right cheek is hollowed, interior being shredded by enamel. You take pity on him then, flipping open the menu with a great flourish.

When the waitress - a lovely little thing whose gaze lingers on your dining partner for too long to just be polite - comes to take your order, you rattle off your usual order, doubling certain selections. Soft-spoken as he might be, you have a feeling the size of his stomach makes up for all the mumbling and half-hearted glances.

“So?” You level him with a stare over the rim of your glass, lavender and lemonade bursting across your tongue.

He echoes you, wide-eyed and Bambi-like and stupidly cute. “So?”

“What did you want to talk about?” If you’d had a worse day, if you were a lesser person, you might be irritated by having to repeat yourself so often. As it stands, you’re only curious, your inquisitive nature outweighing your naturally short temper.

“Oh.” Poor boy looks like he’s been asked an impossible question, like what’s the meaning of life or the secret to eternal youth. He fumbles with the edge of his sleeve, turns the plaid over and over in his fingers as if it were a puzzle. You stare at him the whole time, unflinching, unrelenting. He’d asked you here so you damn well expect an answer.

You’re about ready to repeat yourself - fourth time’s the charm? - when he finally finds his voice.

“I wanted to say thank you.”

It’s not the answer you’d expected. It whacks you in the face, smacking your usual confidence out of place and shooting your carefully threaded eyebrows into your hairline. “What?”

He’s terribly uncomfortable, unhappy with being on the spot. You watch the flicker of emotions through his face, the ones that creep into the delicate skin beneath his eyes, the wobble of his bottom lip. Try as he might, he can’t keep the light from his eyes - twinkling stars that bloom like newly minted stars.

“Thank you.” It’s just that much harder when he repeats himself, edges he builds with his bare hands and a clearing of his throat.

You’re silent for a long while - long enough for the first few plates to be set before you. You gather up shredded radish and perfectly charred beef with your chopsticks, chewing thoughtfully on the morsel. Jungkook doesn’t move - doesn’t even reach for his chopsticks - and simply stares at you. You might find it off-putting if it were anyone but him.

You get through half the bowl of green beans, well on your way to finishing it, when he finally begins eating, deftly transferring little bites to his bowl.

The only sound is crunching - king oyster mushroom tempura, ice from your cocktail - and you’re pleasantly surprised to find it’s not uncomfortable. A little different, sure, but altogether nice. Like dining with an old friend.

You finally answer when half the plates are gone, another three laid out in their wake. You’re careful not to speak with your mouth open - you notice Jungkook doesn’t either - and take a long sip of your water. “You’re welcome, I guess.”

Something tells you you’re always surprising him - whether intentionally or not. His eyebrows have a tendency to shoot up, making him look even more shocked than he normally does. (Seriously, how big are his eyes?) You find that funny but don’t comment on it, opting to pop a silken piece of black cod into your mouth. Your stare never falters, trained on his face as you chew thoughtfully.

“What?” He’s had enough of your quiet observation, apples of his cheeks reminiscent of the tree in your parents’ backyard.

“What?” You parrot back, shameless, dark eyes twinkling at him.

“Y-you’re staring at me.”

“You’re sitting in front of me.”

The line of his mouth hardens then, tongue rolling against his cheek in a gesture that stands out. It’s the first glimpse of something rude, something not doe-eyed and innocent. Oh?

“You don’t have to stare.” Said with a speared piece of sashimi, the end of his chopsticks assaulting the poor piece of bluefin tuna like it has personally offended him.

You reach for the same place, knock ornate wood against his, and quirk a brow when he meets your stare. “Does it bother you, Mr. Jeon?” The inflection is drawn out, almost mocking, only softened by the smile you offer.

“That’s not my name.” The bite disappears past his teeth. You expect him to continue three chews later but he only goes for another, filling his plate and then his mouth.

“Sorry— Jungkook. Does my staring bother you?”

It feels a little like playing with fire - holding your hand too close to a flickering flame, curious what it’ll do. Juvenile in a way but enticing in another. You’ve never met anyone quite like Jeon Jungkook.

“It’s rude,” he reasons, glossy eyes meeting yours for perhaps the fifth time that evening.

“Maybe I’m just rude.”

He shakes his head then - dislodges untamed strands from behind his silver-lined ears - and sets his chopsticks down. (Perfectly matched up, propped against the provided rest.) “You’re not.”

You can’t keep the surprise away, the emotion threading through your brows to tie them into a little knot of consternation. He says it so readily, as if he knows you and this isn’t one of a handful of very short, very unexpected conversations. He’s not even looking away, meeting your stare with a confidence that surprises you.

It lasts for all of five more seconds before he clears his throat and sips at his tea. Anything to busy his hands, you think.

“You don’t know that,” you finally return, after what seems like too long.

“I do.” He nods - almost to himself - and continues, matter-of-fact. “You care about people. You’re… hard around the edges but you don’t mean to hurt anyone. You want to do what’s right. Sometimes it means you have to do things that aren’t easy.”

For once, you’re at a loss for words. Really and truly silenced, unable to articulate anything that might beat back the kindness he’s offering.

How the tables have turned.

He likes waffles with chocolate syrup rather than honey. He doesn’t like whipped cream or citrus-flavoured desserts. He has a tailor he’s gone to since he was a child, the same elderly woman he sometimes calls halmoni because she’s watched him grow up. He decorates his apartment with the most random things: limited edition KAWs figurines and the guitars he still hasn’t had the most practice with, one of a kind paintings from the gallery one of his best friends curates. He buys the most expensive bottles of wine at any given restaurant not because his palate is so evolved it matters, but because it’s what he’s been taught to do.

He’s been in four serious relationships in his twenty-five years. All of them have ended poorly, though his latest with Malibu Barbie is the first where he’d been cheated on. (Somehow, you doubt that but you don’t voice this disbelief.) He tends to lean towards long-term relationships with women who baby him (your words, not his). He scoffs when you call him a serial monogamist, insists he isn’t even as you list out all the facts pointing otherwise.

“I just… don’t like wasting my time,” he insists from behind his coffee cup.

“You mean you don’t like the potential to be hurt.”

Jungkook blinks at you then, Bambi eyes so big and bright you almost want to laugh. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He seems confused - as if his reasoning is solid, irrefutable.

“High risk, high reward, Jungkookie.” It’s something your father had taught you years ago, the crazy old sap. It’s probably why he’s had three divorces since you were seven years old, but you suppose it’s worked out for him now. He’s been happily married for the last ten years - the longest relationship he’s ever had. Youngin is good for him, though. You like her - even if you sometimes wish she weren’t young enough to be your older sister and not his wife.

“You say that a lot.”

“I mean it when I say it.”

He’s quiet then, shoving a corner of his croissant past his lips. When he speaks - starts to, anyway - his mouth is still full and you level him with a look that silences him until all traces of the pastry are gone. “Girls are scary.”

You laugh. Cackle, really. You can’t help it. He says it with a pout, the expression so utterly at odds with the offensively revealing shirt he wears, the smooth unblemished skin of his chest almost too much for such a quiet afternoon. He glares at you across the table, shoves another piece of the flaky golden treat into his mouth, and waits for you to speak. He knows you’re going to give him a piece of your mind because you always do, rebuffing 99% of the things he says. (Sometimes for fun, often with good intentions.)

“Heights are scary. Death is scary. Leaving your wallet at home when you’re low on gas is scary—”

“Don’t you have Apple Pa—”

“Don’t interrupt.” He clamps his lips shut, folding his arms across his chest. From anyone else, it’d be a defensive gesture; from him, it’s patient. “Girls aren’t scary. Having real feelings for people is scary, but that doesn’t mean you should just stay with people who don’t deserve you.”

“Not all of us have cheater-sniffing noses.”

You suppose he’s right but the fact still remains that he’s too nice for his own good. Too trusting, too lenient, too blind to all the red flags. Like he’s living life in greyscale.

“Well, that’s what you have me for.”

The look Jungkook gives you then is incredulous, screwing his pretty face up as if he’s about to sneeze. Instead, he laughs. “I’m not hopeless.”

“Oh, but you are.” You’re adamant, insistent. He’s more comfortable with you now - sometimes teases you in a way you’d never have expected weeks ago - but he’s still so soft. An absolute marshmallow dressed in designer duds, a heart of gold wrapped up in a bubble gum package.

You want to protect him, teach him to fly. Be his wingwoman until he’s soaring the skies on his own.

You know it’s not his pride that keeps him from saying yes. He doesn’t have an abundance of that, far too gracious to ever deny help when he really needs it. He’s just shy, doesn’t know what he wants until it’s staring him right in the face.

“Fine,” he agrees after you’ve stared at him for too long. It’s one of his weaknesses - his inability to handle attention when it’s laser-focused. It makes him sweat, prompts his nervous habit of chewing at his bottom lip, long fingers picking at the peach fuzz on his cheeks.

“You won’t regret it.”

Jeon Jungkook has gone on six dates over the last ten days. You know, because you’ve helped him pick out outfits for each of them, seated at the edge of his bed with your knees folded and a bag of white cheddar popcorn in your grubby little paws.

It’s not that he isn’t stylish - you both know he is - but there’s a certain finesse to dressing for dates, to knowing the likes and dislikes of your potential partner and playing to those.

He, to no one's surprise, does not have this finesse. If it were up to him, he’d wear his favourite clothes every day, different jeans and joggers in medium-wash denim and impossibly soft cotton. He’d swap his Balenciaga separates in and out and stick with the finely tailored Gucci suit he calls his lucky ticket (ew). He’d live in those stupid two-toned sneakers and barely do his hair, allowing it to become a powder puff reminiscent of old Hollywood movies.

The girls would probably still love it. (It’s easy to love him.)

“What do you think?” It’s low-cut black, relaxed in the shoulders and flattering in the torso. It holds him just right, hugging the muscle that threads across his shoulders like armour, coils around his upper arms and makes his tattoos stand in stark relief where the sleeves end, mid-forearm.

It looks good— but then again, a lot of things look good on him. He wants great.

You answer honestly, because that’s what you do and that’s what he has you there for. To knock him down when his (admittedly small) ego gets a little too big, remind him of his hubris like the summer sun upon his candle wax wings. “Not bad…”

You don’t even need to finish the thought for him to be tugging the shirt over his head, back flexed, ink-strewn fingers gripping the hem.

Not for the first time, you’re reminded of just how unfair life is.

How had Jungkook - bona fide dork, certifiable shy guy - been gifted one of the best bodies in human existence? (You wish you were joking.) It was utterly absurd, a complete waste on someone who’d only learnt to utilise his good looks in the last five months you’d known him.

“This one?” He’s grabbing another hanger, all but thrusting it into your face. Medium-weight cashmere. Probably too hot for a night like tonight but you’ve seen it on him before and it hugs him like a lover, displaying his best assets (titties) and drawing attention to the narrow shape of his waist. It’s the equivalent of a little black dress.

“Look at you go,” you tease, mouth full of mirth and popcorn kernels. “Throw that Juun.J trench you have overtop and you’ll be set.”

Jungkook nods sagely, as if your word is law. You suppose it is.

“Thanks, ____,.” He says it in that sweet way of his, eyes lost to the weight of his gratitude.

Your response is a shrug. “Bring me back some dessert and we’ll be even.” You don’t know where he’s going tonight but you figure it’s one of the many restaurants you’d recommended earlier in the week when he’d started lining up his various dates. You know there’ll be something good on the menu.

He promises he will as he slides the turtleneck on, tucking it into the dark trousers he’d picked up days ago, and redoes the slim black Rag & Bone belt around his waist. You have to admit - you’ve done another great job of styling him. Simple yet painstakingly attractive, playing at all the little bits of Jungkook’s best qualities without outlining them in bright red ink. Understated but elegant, effortless yet seriously hot.

Maybe you should quit your day job and become the female Hitch. That was a viable plan, right?

You’re mulling it over when you realise your walking Ken doll is making toward his bedroom door, wallet clasped in one hand and phone in the other. “Hey! You’re leaving already?” It’s polite surprise that colours your words, stare drawn to the screen of your iPhone. It’s only 6 PM and the reservation isn’t for another hour.

There’s a sheepish look creeping over his features, painting itself in delicate strokes that you spy past the line of his smile, how the skin crinkles around his eyes. For a moment, he’s the shy Jungkook you’d met in your store and not the one that now bleeds careful confidence, filling his little black book (read: phone contacts) with names as easily as he breathes. “I was, uh, going to stop and get f-flowers.” A silver-lined hand scrubs across his nape, dislodges the carefully styled waves he’s settled for.

Flowers, huh? Well, that’s certainly something new. Good for him, you think.

“Jeon Jungkook, going all out.” It’s heavy on the teasing, playful mockery lending a warmth to your words. “She’s special.”

Which you’d figured, given he was seeing her. Repeats were rare for him now that he’d learned how to weed out the bad seeds, held his hand a little closer to his heart (at least, sometimes). Since he’d started dating again, this would be the first time he’d be going on a second date. It’s a big deal.

“Yeah—“ Nervousness sparks across his face, lights up his stare like the stars in the night sky. “I guess she is.”

You smile fondly, like a proud mother. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

“I will,” he promises, looking so giddy it makes your heart swell ten sizes.

You don’t even think anything of it as you follow him out of his room, bag of popcorn neatly rolled under your arm and your socks slid back into place. It’s only when he levels you with a strange stare, pauses in the shrugging on of his coat, that you return his look. “What?”

“Where are you going?”

“Leaving?”

“Why?”

Wasn’t that the million dollar question?

You don’t normally leave, usually waiting here at home for him until he returns to give you a rundown of his date (and the promised appetizer/dessert/whatever). It feels somehow wrong to stay, though, as if you’re taking up space that doesn’t belong to you. He’s going on a second date, after all. Soon enough, he won’t need your help picking out clothes or deciding on a restaurant. You won’t get to curl up on your usual corner of his sectional, wrapped up in the obnoxiously soft blanket you’d convinced him to buy one night while online shopping.

But it’s fine. Totally, one hundred and ten percent fine. The two of you are friends. You’d always expected - anticipated, hoped - this day would come. Baby boy was growing up.

“Y’know.” You answer a second too late and he’s still wearing that odd expression, handsome face flooded with something that looks like disappointment. It flickers in the bits of his stare you can make out past his fringe, partially concealed by the dark silk that you know feels as soft as it looks.

“I know?” He never tries to read your mind - knows it’s utterly useless.

You wiggle your hand dismissively. “Second date and all that.”

Jungkook giggles - the same deceptively sweet sound he always makes - and finishes tugging his jacket on. It fits him so well it should be illegal, falling to his knees and ending just shy of the intricate laces of his boots. “Just stick around. I’ll drive you home when I get back.”

It’s something he always does - his way of saying thank you for putting up with all of his first date jitters, his outfit changes, his worrying over how to first approach a girl on Tinder - so you don’t doubt him. “Fine. I’ll stay.”

He beams, caught halfway out the door. “Tell me to break a leg.”

“Go break her back,” you retort to the sound of his laughter.

You’re almost asleep when your phone starts going off, the vibrations jolting you awake. It rattles across the glass table, won’t shut the hell up until you’re slamming your hand atop it, glaring at the screen as it lights up with notifications.

It’s almost 2 AM and they’re from Jungkook. This can only mean one thing.

from jeon jungkook: Hey. from jeon jungkook: I’m really sorry but I won’t be home tonight. from jeon jungkook: If you want to stay over, I can drive you back in the morning. from jeon jungkook: Please don’t be mad.

Leave it to him to apologise for getting his dick wet - to feel bad about having a successful second date. It makes you laugh as you stare down at the texts, tap a quick response you know will have his heart racing. (Even after months of friendship, it’s hard not to tease him just a little bit.)

to jeon jungkook: i officially hate you

The typing notification gives him away immediately, but the moment you do the same, he stops. Of course. He hates confrontation - would rather leap off a cliff-face than deal with negative emotions. (He’d told you that once, over a night of beer and fried tteok.)

to jeon jungkook: it’s fine! have fun! to jeon jungkook: turn her world upside down 😏

He doesn’t answer after that but the read receipt pops up. Good, you think. About time he finds someone nice. You wonder what she’ll be like when you meet her.

Jungkook’s third date comes with another third - you.

He drags you along to dinner, insisting there’s nothing at all weird about the fact. He has to repeat it at least four times during the drive there, head nodding like a plastic bobblehead as he weaves in and out of traffic.

“I want you to meet her,” he mumbles, like that makes it better. As if bringing a friend along to a date with that reasoning means it’s totally acceptable and not on the list of Hard No’s When Dating.

“Don’t you think that’s kind of weird?” He’s too focused on changing lanes to answer you, signalling before seamlessly drifting over. (He’s an impressively responsible driver, but that’s unsurprising.) You repeat yourself.

“It’s not… weird.” But you have a feeling that he knows how odd the request is. Knows and doesn’t care, unfortunately. “She wants to meet you too.”

(When had Jungkook turned into this person who argued with you?)

You somehow highly doubt that. No girl in her right mind would leap at the chance to meet her potential beau’s wingwoman. It’s something reserved for official status, when the foundation is set. Still, you play into his hand, level him with a stare he should recognise. It’s the one you throw his way any time he’s too nice, gives a mile when he shouldn’t even offer an inch. (It doesn’t come as often anymore, but it still makes appearances once in a while.)

“What does she even know about me?”

“That we’re friends.” His vague response speaks volumes. The look changes - grows into a glare that has him furtively peeking at you from the corner of his periphery. When he speaks, it feels like a dead giveaway. “That I really value your opinion.”

You groan, a noise so loud it rattles around in the car and interrupts the ballad playing through the speakers.

“She’s trying to figure out if I’m competition or not!” Of course. It’s obvious. She wants to know what she’s getting into it before things get too serious, determine if her Prince Charming is really all that. (He is.) “I’m not coming to dinner.”

“You’re already in the car,” he reasons.

You note he doesn’t deny your first statement, mouth rounding into a pout that should crush your resolve. Instead, it drives you mad, irritation bubbling in your throat.

“I just won’t go in.”

“____,.” When he says it like that, it’s hard to deny him. Jungkook might not utilise his charms often but when he does, it’s lethal. Undeniable with those dumb Bambi eyes of his.

“No.”

“____,,” he repeats, almost pleading. You can’t look at him. You won’t. The moment you do, you’ll be sucked into the swirling vortex that makes up his stare - a million pretty little lights caught in the brown of his iris, so many possibilities you’d lose yourself trying to explore them all.

You last a whole ten seconds before his staring becomes too much, those round eyes tracking you in the rearview mirror until you’re relenting, softening in the way that only he can cause.

“Fine.” You hate how it sounds rolling off your tongue, terse and a little pissed off. You’re not actually mad. Just worried. You’ve seen situations like this play out - not that you’ve been in this position before - but female friends and potential girlfriends just don’t go hand-in-hand. It takes a very special kind of person to facilitate a meeting this early and you are not that person. You’re ragged edges, uneven temperament, distrust that you can’t help.

Jungkook knows that. Should, anyway. You’ve grown close over the last nearly half a year.

When he mumbles a quiet sorry, turns to rest his chin against his knuckles as he drives, you know he means it. He’d never put you in this position if it didn’t mean a lot to him - if his own happiness wasn’t somehow also on the line. (Truthfully, it’s your fault. All that self-love encouragement was coming back to bite you in the ass.)

You grumble an obligatory acceptance as the streetlights fly by. You’ve got a reputation to uphold.

“You’re paying for my dinner.”

“Of course.”

How many times have you pictured this same situation, watched it unfold on your television screen as the protagonist gasps wildly, hand at their throat? How many times have you laughed at the exchange, snickering into your palm as the romantic interest makes some wild declaration of love and wins the protagonist’s heart?

Answer: you’ve lost count.

Still, it doesn’t prepare you to be thrust beneath the spotlight, half-dreaming and terribly confused.

“What’re you doing here?” At any other time, it might be as reproachful as you want, full of disapproval and sleepiness. Here and now, it’s slurred speech and the lines of your pillow dug into the softness of your cheek, lashes dusted with sleep and breath freshly minted.

Jungkook’s oddly surprised, considering he’s appeared unannounced at your doorstep at the crack of dawn (not really). “C-can I come in?”

You don’t budge. It’s not because you’re about to say no, but because you’re still really tired. So tired you stare at him for a moment too long, zoning out as you drink in his appearance. He’s wearing the clothes from last night - the same animal-print silk shirt that hangs obscenely low and reveals too much skin. You recognise it because you’d picked it out for his date.

(The one where he was supposed to ask Jiwon to be his girlfriend, you fail to note.)

You repeat yourself around a yawn, ignoring the way your vowels crash into each other and barely make it to the light of day. “What’re you doing, Jungkookie?”

“Please let me in,” the doe-eyed prince at your door mumbles, gaze bouncing somewhere beyond your shoulder, over your face, to the wayward strands that’re the result of sleeping too well. Everywhere but your eyes.

“Fine,” you huff, stepping back to allow him over the threshold. You don’t miss the way he smells - his signature cologne and something else. If you had to guess, it’s her perfume. It’s distinctly floral, drawing you into a garden of roses. You don’t know if you like it.

Without a second glance, you’re shuffling away from him, dragging your slippered feet into the kitchen.

You move on autopilot, spooning coffee grounds into the Chemex filter. You don’t bother asking whether your surprise guest wants any - assume he does, because the fiend somehow lives on caffeine - and settle against the counter as you wait for your kettle to whistle.

You’re still so tired you feel like you might fall asleep standing up but you think you do a good enough job of levelling Jungkook with a solid stare. “So?”

“W-what?”

It’s been so long since you’ve last heard his stutter that it surprises you, recentres your attention from your own exhaustion and has you frowning. Something’s happened. Must have. There’s no other explanation for it - for how he looks at you, so uncertain like all those months ago when you’d smashed his glass house to pieces.

“What’s going on?” You’re demanding, full to the brim with concern as you round on him. He flinches away as if your words have burnt him, leaning into the stainless steel side of your fridge.

(Silly Jungkook - that won’t protect you.)

“What do you mean?”

The early hour has, luckily, dampened your usual aggression. He’s stalling, you can tell. You hate when he does this. You tell him as much, glowering at him as he tries to shrink his nearly six foot frame into something small. “You’ve showed up at my house unannounced. What do you mean ‘what do I mean’?”

He looks as if he’s on the brink of repeating himself, biting it back behind his neat white teeth when your expression grows darker, more frustrated.

It’s impossible to stay dressed in red, lethargy swathing you up like a cocoon and softening your edges. You sigh heavily - perhaps a little overdramatically - and go about completing your coffee ritual. Patience works best with Jungkook, you’ve learned. (Though, he sorely tests your own sometimes.)

With a steaming mug in your hand and the other passed over to him, you gesture toward your living room.

He nods once - a small up and down of his head.

“So.” You try again, softer this time, warmed by the heat that permeates ceramic and settles your sleep-ravaged nerves. You’re seated cross-legged on your couch, facing him with your back pressed to the arm rest. He’s half-turned to you, coffee cup slotted between his thighs. Feet turned in, mouth wobbling with the intensity of how hard he’s chewing into his bottom lip.

“I couldn’t do it.” The words rush out too fast, tumble into each other in such a way you have to take a second to comprehend what he’s said. Couldn’t do… it?

You stare at each other for a long while, you trying to understand and him refusing to meet your stare.

When realisation dawns on you, you can only imagine how you look. It must be terrifying by how Jungkook practically tries to crawl into the cushions of your couch, shoulders rising around his ears like a turtle.

“You didn’t ask her?” It explodes out, a question that demands an answer.

He’s staring past your head, unblinking. You’d almost worry he was a robot if his voice weren’t so damned human, full of melancholy and rounded by his lisp. “I c-couldn’t. It was just…” The shrug he offers is half-assed at best, not nearly good enough to excuse him.

“Just what?”

“Just—” There’s the wiggly hand gesture you do that he’s adopted, his ink-strewn hand waving through the air like a floppy chicken foot. He thinks it’ll earn him a pass but your unrelenting glare indicates otherwise. He deflates, hand falling back to his lap, clutching his mug like it's a makeshift security blanket. “It didn’t feel right.”

What did that even mean? Feel right?

Love didn’t just appear, fully-formed and complete. It took work and dedication and the understanding it could all come crashing down. Didn’t he understand that? Hadn’t you drilled that into his head?

You exhale through gritted teeth, push breath past enamel that acts like a solid steel gate.

“Jungkook, it’s not going to just ‘feel right.’” You’re air quoting, all tact thrown out the window. “You like her, don’t you?”

You expect him to nod immediately. He doesn’t.

“Jungkook.”

“Yeah?”

“You like her, right?”

“I think so.”

You want to tear your own hair out. Instead, you press the pads of your fingers into your temple - apply pressure in hopes of alleviating the tension that settles there. “So, you like her.” It feels a bit bad, condescending in a way; you don’t mean it in any way but supportive. You just want him to be happy. “But you couldn’t ask her out because it didn’t feel right?”

“She’s not you.”

He’s looking at you now, looks like he might have a heart attack if he does so any longer. But he doesn’t tear his gaze away when you meet it, entire expression warped into something you don’t recognise. Hope, maybe? Fear?

“What?” You wish it were hard rather than feather light, almost lost to the cacophony in your head.

The hollow of his cheek is thrown into stark relief, the line of his jaw clenched tight. He repeats himself even as you’re the one looking away, shaking your head as if that might will away the irksome answer. (It won’t.)

“Don’t say things like that.”

It’s hurt that flashes through his expression and strikes you right in the centre of your chest. His face crumbles, brows knit together beneath his mop of shiny hair. He looks so terribly sad - a kicked puppy, an abandoned deer. Bambi, through and through.

“You asked why I didn’t do it,” he reasons in a voice far more solid than he looks.

“I didn’t think you’d say something so ridiculous.” It’s cruel. “You’re making a bad choice. You’re into this girl. Don’t be dumb.”

His features rearrange, then so do his limbs, entire body lifting from his seat in jerky, disjointed movements. “I’m not dumb.” There’s a reproachful quality to his words, a distaste he doesn’t bother to mask. It’s not something you’ve ever faced, surprising you enough to draw your eyes to his face.

He doesn’t look like the Jungkook you know.

When he leaves - sets his cup in the sink and storms out the way he’d come before you have time to stop him - you wonder if you ever knew him at all.

“Okay. Spill.”

Yejin’s tired of your abrasiveness, tired of having her head bitten off every time she tries to approach you with a question. You can’t blame her. You’ve felt like shit the last week, sleep-deprived and generally pissed off.

All because of a doe-eyed idiot.

“What?” It’s less snark, more sigh. You’re counting down the minutes until you’re free, until you can curl back up in your bed and try to sleep like you’ve done the last four days.

“What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit,” she hums, trailing after you as you move behind the counter. “You’ve been in a bad mood all week. I’ve never seen you this upset like, ever.” She’s right, of course. You’ve always been very careful to keep business separate, pushing the customer service agenda no matter what. “Did something happen?”

You grit your teeth. An expletive careens off your tongue when you slam the tip of your finger within the drawer you’d just shut.

“____,” she tries again, concerned.

“Nothing happened.”

“See, I don’t believe that because like, look at you!” She gesticulates wildly, adorned wrists clinking loudly. “You look like hell—”

“Thanks.”

“—and you’re being clumsy and like, I think I know you well enough. So just tell me?”

You hate that she’s right. It doesn’t mean you’ll relent, too caught up in your own strange brand of strength to unload. (Maybe it’d be helpful. Probably. But you’ve never found comfort in other people. At least, not like this.)

“Yejin.” Her name stops her in her tracks, hurried and insistent as you pull your coat on. “It’s fine. Really.” You’re swallowing your pride - practically choking on it - as you offer what you hope is a reassuring smile. “I just need to get some sleep.” And figure out what the hell to do about Jungkook, but that’s a can of worms you refuse to open and certainly not here.

Maybe at home, over a glass of wine, fueled by liquid courage.

The bottle of Côtes du Rhône has aided you more than you’d hoped, offered an armour that slinks over your shoulders and drives your fingers to action. It’s prompted something - started the ball rolling.

(Idly, you think that might not have been a very good idea, but it’s too late to care now.)

“You’re here.” You being him and him being Jeon Jungkook, hair damp and imposing frame draped in an oversized sweater. He looks terribly uncomfortable standing in your doorway - more so than he had days ago - hands shoved into the kangaroo pouch of his hoodie, dumb sneakers pigeon-toed as if he’s ready to take flight.

“Y-you asked,” he mutters, refusing to meet your stare. At least, you think he’s refusing. It’s a little hard to focus when there’s this fine film turning everything hazy, the bitter taste of wine heavy on your tongue.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

He looks at you like you’re crazy then, though he never quite meets your eyes. It’s a smart tactic - level you with a look then immediately bounce it away. It has you coming back for more, eager to refocus his fretful gaze until it’s locked with your own.

“Will you come in?” You sidestep, give him enough space that he can enter without feeling suffocated. He still hesitates, takes a second too long in deciding. “I won’t bite.”

You don’t miss the better promise that comes under his breath.

“So.” This feels oddly familiar, him backed into the corner of your couch again while you settle across from him. He hums a noise but offers nothing further.

This is how it’ll be then. Fine. If he wants to be this way.

“You like me.”

He sputters - doesn’t mean to, by how big his eyes go. He hadn’t expected it to come barreling out of your mouth. “I— I don’t— I didn’t say that.”

If it were anyone but him, you’d take his reticence as rudeness.

“Tell me why.”

The poor boy blinks, stares at you full on now. Can’t look away, locked in the intensity of your stare.

“W-what?”

“Tell me.” You sip carefully at the liquid in your glass, swirl it ‘round and ‘round. “You said that girl wasn’t me but you haven’t made a case as to why that matters. What have I got that she doesn’t?”

“You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack, Jungkookie.”

The brunet swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion. You think he might say no, outright refuse. You don’t expect him to start rattling things off like the list lives in his head, answers printed against the darks of his eyelids.

“You’re funny. You’re honest. You speak your mind.” You don’t mean to scoff but his reasons are so shallow - so easily found in other people. He must read the doubt in your expression, pushing on to cut you off from doing the same to him. “Y-you care about people even when you pretend like you don’t. You’re just as scared of being hurt as I am.”

For the first time in a long time - in years and years - you feel seen. As if he’s pulled back the cover of your unpublished draft, memorised the redlines and notes in the margins.

“I don’t—”

“You have this face you make when you’re proud of me.” He’s turning his own fingers over in his lap, knuckles white from the strain of locking them together and undoing them again. “When I do something you approve of or when I make you laugh.”

There’s something thick in your throat.

“You make me want to try.” He clears his own, speaks so softly you have to strain to hear it. “Y-you make things not so scary.”

It grows heavier, harder to breathe as you stare at the man sitting across from you. He’s focused wholly on his hands, too caught up in his words to help the way he plucks at his skin, fiddles with the silver chain that loops around his wrist.

“You know what I need, even before I know myself. You make me laugh.” He laughs, an almost choked sound that fizzles and rattles bashfully. “You look really, really good in your work skirt.” You know the one he means - all black, pencil-fit. Makes your legs look a mile long, despite the fact that they aren’t.

You can’t help but join him, a little breathless, with a strange sensation behind your ribs. Like sunshine on a cold day, filtering past the walls you’ve put up, streaming through the windows that’d replaced drywall when Jungkook had waltzed into your life with his fluffy hair and boyish laugh.

When you speak, you don’t even believe your own words. They come of their own accord - a defense mechanism. “I can’t.”

As if he knows - as if he’s got a polygraph going, Jungkook shakes his head, meets your eyes and holds you there with the intensity of his attention. “Can’t or won’t?”

“I—”

“I’m not asking for the world here. Just a chance.” He’s got a peculiar look on his face. “Don’t you think you owe it to me?”

“Excuse me?”

All of a sudden, he’s close. Closer than you’d expect, far closer than he should be. There’s nothing beyond his expression, the way his eyes twinkle under the dimmed apartment lights as he stares you down. The scent of his cologne is cloying now, the fading nectarine hint of his shampoo making your mouth water.

“You kind of ruined my life. I think this makes us fair.”

You sputter, gasp, make sounds that careen off your tongue and fill the air with nonsense. You’d ruined his life? (You’d made it better - made him see the light, you thought.) You’re working to find your voice, ready to tear into him for this abrupt accusation.

Then he’s giggling, nose scrunched and delight filtering past his teeth.

“I’m kidding.”

It feels like whiplash. You’ve created a monster.

“But you do owe me, I think. So why not?”

You only have yourself to blame when you say yes, conceding to his pretty eyes and sweet smile.

Dating Jungkook is easy - as effortless as breathing. He’s a bona fide dreamboat plucked from your wildest dreams.

He texts when he says he will and picks you up every night, stamping a kiss to your cheek the moment you’ve clocked out. He holds your hand and refuses to let go, rubbing soothing circles over your wrist when you’re tired or stressed or annoyed. He brings flowers to every date - insists on them even when you tell him they’re a waste of money. He knows your coffee order, has learned the art of the pour over when he wakes up before you.

You understand now, why he’d stayed with women who were terrible for him (to him). If you were them, you wouldn’t have let him go either. Would lock him up in an old tower like your own personal Rapunzel.

(You say that because you’ve been on a Disney movie binge. He is, unsurprisingly, very into these sorts of things.)

“Open it,” he pleads, pushing the luxurious pink box towards you.

You stare down at the lid, the Agent Provocateur label glaring back at you. You can’t help how you laugh, sound bouncing around his bedroom. “Are you trying to tell me something, Jungkookie?”

Your lover - not boyfriend, because you haven’t had the talk and it’s still new and you’ve never been this careful before - rolls his eyes, pushes the box closer with a huff. It’s adorable.

“Just open it.”

You finger the soft bow strapped across the top, play with the neatly cut ends. You can feel the impatience radiating off Jungkook, feel those pretty doe eyes boring holes into the top of your head. You take your time even more now, unravelling the ribbon with slow, measured twists of your wrist.

Whatever you’d expected to find nestled among the tissue paper, this isn’t it.

You’d imagined he’d be into something feminine, all pristine white lace and scalloped cups. Something he could brush his cheek against, run his fingers over.

Tucked within the box is something that doesn’t even earn the title of lingerie, a few flimsy straps bonded together. Blush pink satin and dressed with buckles, you turn it over in your hands, trying to make sense of the way it all connects. Surely there’s more to this. Surely, darling innocent Jeon Jungkook doesn’t expect you to wear just this?

“Do you like it?” You can sense the eagerness in his voice, that desire he has to please that seems to never go away.

“What is it?”

“It’s a playsuit.”

“A playsuit?” You’re no stranger to experimenting in the bedroom but this— this looks like it’s meant to harness a dog in. Would it even fit? Soft as it is, it seems terribly restrictive, made for someone with model proportions and no body fat at all.

He nods, round eyes so bright, so hopeful, you can’t voice your concerns. “Will you wear it?”

It fits you better than you’d expected. Or at least, you think it does. If Jungkook’s reaction was any indication, it’s heaven sent - the perfect gift wrapping for a present he’s been dying to claim.

The buckles you’d studied earlier - that had taken you too long to strap together - dig into the tender flesh of your hips, the shape of his fingers imprinted along the metal. He grips you so tight you think you might bruise, left with a reminder of his love for weeks.

“S-so wet,” he groans, sound dropping into an almost whine as the swollen mushroom head of his cock brushes through your folds. The satin of the playsuit has been long since tugged aside, stained with your arousal as it cuts into the softness of your thighs. He repeats the motion once, twice, coats your clit in pre-cum that leaks out of the slit and adds another layer of slick. “So ready for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

You nod dumbly, drool around the two fingers he’s got slotted against your cheek, ring finger pressed down over your tongue.

“Use your words, gorgeous.” As if you can, as if you’re not riding the high of your last orgasm and about to come apart beneath his playful teasing.

The palm of his hand meets your overstimulated clit with a sharp smack, the cold of his teeth bared against your neck. He doesn’t like when you don’t answer - much prefers to make an effort even if it’s indiscernible.

“What did I say?”

Something garbled comes, a plea as much as a sob. Another hit lands, just shy of the pearl that throbs with need and pain, landing instead on the sensitive, already red skin of your inner thigh. He soothes it this time around, massages your own wetness into the roses that bloom beneath his touch.

When he speaks again, it’s so utterly sweet, tender as can be. The Jungkook you’ve known for months and not the devil in disguise.

“You like this, don’t you?” His kisses are searing, laced with reverence that feels at odds with the way he forces your gag reflex, taps his curved cock against your pussy. “You like what I’m doing?”

“Y-yes,” you cry, spit pooling past the sides of your mouth, dripping lewdly across your breasts. The hand cradling your chin is all but drenched, dark ink thrown into stark relief by the way it slides over his skin. Jungkook hums against your cheek, licks a fat stripe from shoulder to ear.

“Good girl.” Two fingers spread across over your heat, pointer and index sliding over your lips. You’re spread obscenely - can see it in the mirror that rests against the far wall. Can see how the head of his cock peeks between your thighs, runs the same path over and over with each languid, slow roll of his hips. “Such a good girl for me. My perfect girl.”

Your shoulders shake with the effort you put into nodding, throat clenching on reflex when the three fingers in your mouth flatten over your tongue, hold you steady in place.

“Pretty girl wants more, doesn’t she? Wants me to fill her up?”

He’s teasing you, the bastard. Dragging his aching erection against your cunt as you writhe against him, desperate. It’s amusing to him - you can read the delight in the reflection, see it shining bright like a beacon when he pulls his hand away and recentres it across your chest. Digits tease at the already pebbled buds, swollen and sensitive from how hard he’d sucked them into his mouth earlier.

“Say it. Say you want me.”

You do, without hesitation, without fear. You know he’ll catch you. “I want you.”

He sinks into you the same instant the words fall, holds you tight against him when your entire body begins buzzing and threatens to do the same. Your walls feel like a vice grip around him, greedily sucking in his cock as he slams home, ruts into you like a wild animal.

Strong as he is, he’s weak to the noises you make - the broken sobs that spill off your tongue and make up the prettiest sound he’s ever heard - and how you feel absolutely perfect, wet and warm. The muscle in his thighs strain, pleasure vibrating up the notches of his spine, setting every nerve ending alight with its ascent.

“B-be mine,” he returns, practically begging as he spreads you wide, making you take everything he has to offer. Heart and soul and stupidly huge, perfect cock.

“I am. I am. I am,” you chant, tears welling along your lash line. They fall when his rhythm stutters, when the heat overwhelms and you’re coming for the third time that night, crying his name like it’s the only word you know.

They continue to pour, carve trails down your reddened cheeks as you reach nirvana, wait for moment he’s right there with you. It doesn’t take long - a few more punishing thrusts into your fluttering heat - and then he’s found his bliss, crying into the silk of your hair, spilling inside you.

It doesn’t happen how you thought it would - a shy question poised over dinner, sealed with a sweet kiss on the way to the car - but it means just as much. Breaks you apart as it rebuilds you, fills you up as it splits your seams.

You’re his and he’s always been yours.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle @shaybtsforever @we-found-wonderland-in-1989 @justanothergirlfromeurope @jalexad @bonnyskies @coffeeismylife28 @haeilove @purplespaceymermaid @sunsetsnsirens-blog @beingbeings @veronawrites @notmontae97 @papillonsgf i’m really hoping i didn’t miss anyone e___e

2K notes · View notes