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whorekneecentral · 6 months

Text

Snow Storm

Pato O'Ward x Fem!Reader

Warnings: pato doesn't listen, snow storms, getting stranded, car troubles, reader's mad at him and will lowkey let him freeze, teasing, it's giving dom!pato for like 0.2 seconds, oral (f!receiving), lowkey blackmail, penetrative sex (P in V), creampie.

Word Count: 1,729

Author's Note: this is for the six pato fans out there, I hope y'all like this one :)

merry smutmas series

Your boyfriend insists the roads are fine to drive despite the massive incoming snow storm; as someone who grew up in cold weather, you knew better. yet, there you were stuck on the side of the road with him in the snow.

"Do you seriously have to go right now?" You asked him, leaning over from your spot on the bed.

Your boyfriend nods, "yes, because if I leave it back - I won't finish wrapping it. Plus, it's a week before Christmas, the wrapping paper might be sold out."

Rolling your eyes, you sit up properly. "Pato, don't be ridiculous. They're not gonna run out of wrapping paper."

"You never know!" He huffed, arms flung in the air like a child.

You and Pato had returned to your home town to spend Christmas with your family before heading up to Mexico to join his family for New Year. It had been snowing on and off since you got home a few days ago but it really came down last night. Most of the roads were a disaster but Pato was insistent on getting this stupid wrapping paper.

"The roads are going to be a mess, babe. Can we not just go tomorrow?" You asked him but the man was already getting up, grabbing his hoodie off the end of your bed.

"Please," he shrugs you off, "I drive race cars, a little snow ain't nothing to a driver like me."

You can't help but laugh at his dramatics; you grew up in the snow, you know how brutal it can be to get stuck out there and yet, you stupidly follow him down the staircase and to the car.

Pato takes the side street the two of you had taken many times before. See, you lived in a small town in the middle of basically nowhere. When it snowed, people tended to stay indoors but they did plow the roads, but only the main ones took priority. This meant that the road you were on was one of the last to be plowed yesterday and had yet to be plowed today.

With the snow coming down on top of what had already fallen that morning, the mountain of snow piled up along the sides of the road. Pato's focused on the road but as he turns to go over the hill before getting into town, the wheel stops moving. He can hear the grinding, the wheels spinning but it's stuck in something.

You look over at the man, "are you kidding me right now?"

"Wha-" he sighs, "I'll go check." He tells you, pulling the hood over his head as he steps out of the car.

When he opens the door, you shiver. You had not only followed him out of the house but you were wearing sweats and a hoodie, that was nowhere close to enough to keep you warm.

"So," he says as he gets back into the car, looking over at you with a tight lipped smile. "We're stuck."

"Yeah, no shit Sherlock." You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

"Okay, so I can push the car out-" he says but you stop him, waving him off. "There's no point, you won't make it over the hill and there's too much snow to make it back to the house right now."

His brows furrow, looking over at you. "So what? We're just stuck here?"

"Yeah, for now at least." You pick up your phone and text your sister, letting her know you two are stuck and if she could please call the roadside assistance. Pato sat quietly, not wanting to annoy you further; after all, you did suggest to wait until tomorrow.

"We're here for at least another 3 hours," you tell him, "she says they're gonna clear the roads and then come this way."

The man nods, staring out the window as you unbuckled, shifting in your seat to climb into the back. He looks at you, confused and you pat the spot next to you. "If we're gonna be stuck for 3 hours, we can at least be warm. Come cuddle."

He climbs over the seat, clinging to you the moment he gets into the backseat. While you were cold, you were used to this weather so it wasn't so bad but for Pato, it was as if you had shipped him off to Antarctica. He's shivering, trying to get as close to you as possible; he wonders if you'd let him get into your sweater with you.

You can't help but laugh at the sight of your boyfriend. He huffs, looking up at you. "What?"

"I told you not to come out today." You laughed and he rolled his eyes. "How rude? Don't roll your eyes at me."

"Or what?"

"Or I'll move and let you freeze to death." You tell him and Pato smiles, sitting up a bit. "You won't."

It's your turn to roll your eyes now, moving away from your boyfriend towards the door. Pato ignores your theatrics and moves closer to you again, cuddling into your side. You don't move nor do you react, you simply ignore the man.

Pato holds back the urge to roll his eyes, his lips pressed to your jaw and moves down to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses behind. "C'mon mi amor, I'm sorry."

You ignore the man, not answering him. You'd move away again but if you move another further, you'd end up outside of the car.

He huffs, "fine, if you won't help me warm up, I'll warm myself up." His hand moves from your thigh to the hem of your sweats, shoving his hand down the front.

"Pato!" You laughed, grabbing his wrist. He smiles, "oh so that got your attention?"

"You mean you shoving your freezing hand down my pants? Yeah," you laughed but the man doesn't move his hand- at least not in the way you meant. His fingers rubbed over your panties, he can feel how warm you are, how wet you were.

"Something's got you worked up?" He asks and you ignore him question, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth as you try not to moan.

Pato's fingers worked slowly, pulling your panties to the side to rub on your clit and you let out a little whimper - by accident of course.

He figured there had to be a fast way to get you to forgive him. He moves his hand away and you give him a look, one he knows too well - why'd you do that. "I know," he tells you, "I'm sorry babe, one second." He pulls you by your hips to lay on the bed seat, your Uggs on the floor as he reaches for your sweats, pulling them off.

"How is this gonna make me warm?" You grumbled, an arm over your face.

"Shut up, will you?" He glances up to you, repositioning himself between your legs.

His hands rub over your thighs and despite his hands being freezing, it felt like every nerve in your body was on fire. Eventually, his hand ends up right where it previously was - exactly where you wanted it.

You let out a breath when you feel his lips on your thigh, soft kisses being peppered across the surface of your inner thigh. Your head falls back against the seat when you feel his tongue on you, he’s yet to move your panties and you're already a mess.

He finally does, smiling to himself “Fuck-” you breathe, fingers tangled in his hair.

Pato glances up at you, his nose brushes against your clit and he doesn't miss the sound coming out of your mouth or the way your hips jut towards him.

"Pato," you whined, pulling on his hair when he stopped for a moment. He chuckles, "do you forgive me?" He asked, a hand running up the side of your thigh.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, looking at the man. "What?"

"Say you forgive me and I'll give you whatever you want, corazón."

"Fine," you huffed, "I forgive you." You tell him quickly, pulling him back to you. Pato laughs, his face buried between your legs once again.

Your thighs squeeze around his face; he'd die a happy man right there.

You can't wait any longer, you need him in every sense of the word. Pulling your boyfriend up, he kisses you when he meets your face and you can taste yourself on him, the two of you shuffling around a bit. Pato's sitting now, his own pants pulled down half over his thighs and you're on top of him, straddling him.

He lets you sink down onto his cock. Both of you letting out a satisfied sigh, your hands gripping on his shoulders as you set the pace.

He lets out a groan when you clench around him, his hands squeezing your bare thighs, red finger prints on your skin. Pato's face buried in the crook of your neck.

Your hand tangles in his hair, pulling his head back so you can kiss him. You kiss all over his face, Pato cheeks red from the blush forming on his cheeks.

He loves when you love on him like that.

“You’re so good for me,” you mumble against his cheek, rocking your hips back and forth. “Mmm there,” you breathe, chest pressed to his. His lips find the base of your neck, he bites down softly before kissing up to your jaw.

Pato's arms wrapped around you, holding you close as you bounced on his lap. The two of you are tangled together, not sure where one of you ends and the other starts. The windows are steamy, you're no longer freezing but instead, you were sweating.

"C'mon, just like that pretty girl," he edges you on, lifting his hips to meet you halfway.

“My pretty girl, so good for me.” He whispers into the silence.

You pull him down onto you, his chest pressed to yours and your hand rests on his cheek. Your boyfriend kissing you and with a few sloppy thrusts, you feel yourself being pushed over the edge.

He groans, feeling you clench around him and he follows behind you, now coming down from his own high.

The two of you clinging onto each other, his hands slip under the back of your sweater and you giggle, bucking forward on his lap which makes him groan.

"Don't do that," he tells you and you roll your eyes, "then don't tickle me!"

Pato laughs, pulling you in for a kiss. "Warm now?"

"Sweating," you huffed, smiling against his lips.

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#pato o'ward #pato o'ward x reader #pato o'ward smut #f1 #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 smut #f1 x reader #merry smutmas xoxo

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junkdrawerfics · 4 months

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Gonna ask me to dance, Cowboy?

Jasper Hale X Reader

Summary: Reader was in an accident that damaged her spinal cord and left her temporarily wheelchair bound. It's during this time that the Cullens move to Forks, and she meets and falls in love with Jasper. A little bit of your story, wrapped up with a big surprise at the end. Requested by @twilightlover2007

Words: 2457

Note: Obviously went with Jasper and boy did this take on a life of its own! I hope you like it!!! It's a little cheesy, but that's what I like.

Disclaimer: I have limited knowledge of temporary paralysis and life with a wheelchair. If I'm wrong about anything, please let me know!

---

The accident happened before the Cullens moved to Forks. You don’t remember much of it, which the doctor says can be common given the head trauma you experienced. All you know is that you were driving home from a game and a drunk driver decided not to stop at the red light.

The accident left you with some severe damage to your spinal cord. Not irreversible, but enough to strand you in a wheelchair. It took almost two months alone for the fractures in your leg to heal, and then another to find a good physical therapist in Seattle who could work with you.

In the midst of this, the Cullens showed up. And you fell for Jasper like a newborn fawn trying to walk for the first time. A fitting comparison considering your legs worked just as well.

Your friends thought you were crazy. Afterall, he was the least…approachable of the group. Always frowning. Not at all talkative. Everyone thought he was a bit of a grouch. But you knew better.

You met the real Jasper the first Friday after they arrived. It was another game day, meaning your little high school was going all out cheering for the team throughout the day (even though everyone knew you didn’t stand a fighting chance).

You were making your way to the pep rally at the end of the day when someone jostled you from behind, sending your wheelchair right over the sidewalk’s ledge and into the grass. You cursed the school’s outdoor hallways so hard that day. It was raining, as it always was, and the moment your wheels hit the ground, you could feel them sink into the mud.

You were effectively trapped.

Or at least, you thought you were. Until a certain blond appeared out of nowhere.

---

“Are you alright, miss?”

You huff out a laugh, trying to keep a smile despite it all, “Yah, yes, I’m okay. Just a little stu-”

When you look up, the words get stuck in your throat. Jasper Hale. Jasper Hale is standing right in front of you, in the rain, hair already sticking to his face, and despite the concern dripping from his features, you can’t help but notice how absolutely gorgeous he is. How did you not notice before?

Before you can stop yourself, the thoughts spill out of your mouth, “Wow, you’re really pretty.”

Shock flickers across the blond’s face, though it’s quickly replaced by a soft smirk that makes his eyes crinkle just a little, somehow making him look more attractive. You blink. And blink. And blink. Until what you said finally sinks in.

Your face goes impossibly red.

“I am so sorry,” you squeak, eyes wide. His smile only widens when you continue to sputter, “I’m fine! Really. And um, I, you can, you don’t have to worry! I’ll just-”

You try to push yourself forward, anything to escape this moment, but your wheels just spin futilely in the mud. You’re not going anywhere, not without help, and Jasper seems to know that, his gold eyes glinting with amusement. You purse your lips, face only going darker.

“Would you like help, darlin’?” Jasper asks, voice low and honey-like, and wow - it seems so unfair for someone to look so handsome and sound like that too.

You cast him an embarrassed smile, “Yes please. If you really don’t mind, that is.”

The blond chuckles, the sound making your heart flutter. He makes it look effortless, the way he maneuvers you out of the grass and back onto the hallway sidewalk. You hum happily when you’re back on solid ground, wheeling back and forth a bit to dislodge the mud from your rims.

“That’s better,” you sigh, spinning back to face him, “Thank you so much.”

Jasper nods, “It was my pleasure, miss.”

You roll your eyes playfully, “Please, call me (Y/n). (Y/n) (L/n). Miss makes me feel so old, and I’m like, a hundred percent sure you’re older than me.”

Something flickers behind his eyes, but it disappears as quickly as it came.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss (Y/n).” You narrow your eyes, but he only grins a little teasingly, which you refuse to admit makes your pulse race even more. “The name’s Jasper Hale.”

“Nice to meet you too, Jasper.” Officially at least.

“I suppose you were headin’ to the rally?”

Your nose scrunches,“Yep. Before the impromptu shower, at least.”

“Would y’mind if I accompany you?”

Blinking, you glance up at him in surprise. Jasper just looks down at you, face still set in a charming, calm smile, so different from the scowl you’d grown accustomed to in passing. He’s being genuine. Actually genuine. It makes your face go warm all over again.

“I think I’d like that.”

---

You don’t know what possessed Jasper Hale to help you that day, but he did.

From then on, you and Jasper became friends. He was still a bit odd, but his whole family was. And you liked them. Even Rosalie, whose bluntness was refreshing compared to most of the girls at your school. You befriended all of them, but you and Jasper were particularly close.

Falling for him was easy. Between the soft smile he seemed to reserve only for you and the way he always supported you, how could you not? You realized it after a particular hard day of physical therapy, when your legs were aching and it felt like you were making absolutely no progress. It was a day that Jasper offered to pick you up because your dad had to work late.

---

Jasper can tell you’re upset before he even reaches you.

You sit at the entrance to the rehab center, head ducked, fingers fidgeting in your lap. You see Jasper’s shoes first before he’s kneeling in front of you, honey eyes dark with concern as they flicker over your features. You look back at him, eyes blurry with unshed tears.

The blond’s gaze softens, “Oh, darlin’.”

And you break.

All the pent up frustration and guilt you’ve been holding onto comes pouring out. You manage to stay quiet, barely, but your whole body trembles with your tears as you collapse forward into Jasper’s arms. He holds you close, not saying a word, just humming softly into your hair.

The longer you stay like that, the calmer you feel. It’s like magic, the storm of your emotions calming to a dull roar, until you can take in a few deep breaths

It’s only when your hiccuping goes quiet that he draws you back, eyes scanning you again. You glance down, feeling too raw, too vulnerable like this, with his thoughtful gaze burning over you. But you also feel undeniably safe somehow.

“You’re doin’ so well, darlin,” he eventually murmurs, voice low, soothing your frayed edges. “I know you’ve been hurtin’ and you’re feelin’ like giving up, but we’re all so proud of you. Someday you’ll be back on your feet and I’ll be here ‘til that day comes. And long after it.”

It’s the most you think you’ve ever heard him say at once. His words ring with something so genuine, you can’t help but melt.

“Thanks, Jasper.”

“Always, darlin.”

---

It felt like more than a promise about that day. More than just a friend being there for another friend. And it was the moment you realized you really liked Jasper Hale.

It was only a matter of time before you learned about his world.

None of them told you, of course. They couldn’t. But the truth was hard to deny when a lone vampire came through Forks and almost killed you.

You knew it was a bad idea to go out by yourself. Even though your legs were getting stronger from your perseverance in physical therapy, you still couldn’t walk by yourself. Which made you quite the easy target.

Luckily, Jasper was just in time to save you.

After the shock, though, came all your questions. Why did that man try to bite you? How did Jasper throw him all the way down the alley? How did he know where to find you and that you were in trouble?

A silently distraught Jasper ended up taking you back to the Cullen house. The air was tense, except for Alice, who was more than excited. She foresaw it all, of course.

Carlisle explained it all to you as Jasper paced off to the side. A scowl lingered on his lips, his eyes set on something distant. The moment you felt a flicker of panic though, he was there, kneeling at your side, smoothing a hand over your shoulder. You covered his with your own, holding on so tightly that if he were human, he'd probably be hissing in pain. You had a good grip strength from wheeling around for a few months.

It took time to settle into this new reality. Jasper gave you space to process, scared to push you too hard, but you wouldn’t have it. Vampire or not, you couldn’t stand the distance. You hadn’t realized just how ingrained he was in your life until then. Whenever something happened, no matter how small it was, you wanted to rush to him and tell him everything. You hated life without him.

So you ended up asking him out.

Dating came as naturally as breathing. Nothing changed. He still drove you to physical therapy and walked you to all of your classes. Only now, he would press a kiss to your forehead when you parted ways and take you on dates after every p.t. appointment.

You had never been happier.

That’s when you came up with an idea for the upcoming school formal.

---

“You ready, darlin?” Jasper pauses at your side of the car, wheelchair pulled out and set up behind him.

You grin, squashing the nerves buzzing in your chest before he can sense them, “Yes! Now help me out of here, mister.”

The blond chuckles. He helps you down from the car, touch overwhelmingly tender, as if he’s scared of breaking you. Which, you suppose, he could. You settle into your wheelchair with practiced ease, your dress only causing a little trouble.

The night starts off perfectly. You take your pictures and meet up with his siblings inside the venue. Everything is beautiful. As usual, Forks high went all out with the theme. It’s something cheesy, like ‘a night under the stars’, everything draped in a deep navy blue, the ceiling decorated with shimmering stars.

When the dancing starts, you give Alice the cue. She sends you a little wink before dashing off to the dj booth. You catch Edward grinning out of the corner of your eye. It was impossible to keep him out of it, what with the whole mind reading thing, so you just shoot the man a playful glare. He stifles a chuckle, making an excuse to go get some punch, despite the fact he can’t drink it.

Sighing softly, you steel your nerves, spinning back to your boyfriend.

“Hey,” you call, catching the cuff of his suit.

Jasper’s eyes turn to you, and oh, wow, you’ll never get used to that. The way he looks at you, it’s like you’re one of the stars decorating the night. His eyes glow with an overwhelming warmth and something so so fond. All of a sudden it feels like you’re the only two in the room, everything else fading away.

“Yes, darlin?”He hums, slipping your hand into his to brush his thumb over your knuckles.

The touch sends sparks cascading over your skin, settling in your chest among the wild butterflies. You bite your lip to try and hold back a massive smile.

“You gonna ask me to dance, cowboy?” You tease.

A smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth.

Jasper makes a show of pretending to tip a hat, voice bright with amusement, “My apologies ma’am. I shouldn’t have kept you waitin’.”

“Mmm, I’ll forgive you,” you hum, biting back a laugh, “just this once, Mister Hale.”

“That’s very kind of you, darlin. Now, would you give me the pleasure of escortin’ you to the dance floor?”

“Why, of course.”

Jasper figures he’ll hold you up as you dance, or maybe spin you while you sit. Anything you want.

Except you do neither of those things. Instead, you gather every ounce of your strength, and shakily push yourself to your feet. Your wheelchair disappears (thank you Alice) and you stand there, all on your own.

After a few seconds, you’re certain that your legs won’t give out, and glance up at the blond expectantly.

Jasper stares back at you, eyes wide, brows arched. It almost looks like he’s forgotten to breathe, his whole body rigid. Shocked. Your grin finally breaks loose, so wide it makes your cheeks ache. Squeezing his hand, you take a tentative step closer. A little wobbly, but you stay standing. It’s only one step, but -

You’re walking.

In an instant, Jasper’s hands are cupping your face, and it’s only then you realize you’re crying. Tears race down around your smile and he’s quick to wipe them away, drawing you close so he can rest your foreheads together.

“My Lord, darlin-” He lets out a breathless laugh. “-you’re goin’ t’make this old man’s heart start again.”

You giggle, curling your arms around his neck, “I wanted to surprise you.”

“Been a long time since I’ve been surprised.”

“But I did?”

“Yes, you certainly did.”

Jasper leans down, pressing his lips to yours. It’s soft, featherlight, and you feel like you’re floating. It’s perfect. Everything about it is perfect and so much better than you expected.

The vampire pulls back, just enough to whisper against your lips, “You’re amazin’ darlin. Absolutely amazin’.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” you hum back, “Now, dance with me, cowboy.”

Your song comes on. The one you first danced with Jasper to in your kitchen, when he set you on his feet and held you close to support your weight. A knowing grin falls across his lips, his eyes creasing as he looks down at you.

“It would be my pleasure.”

Unlike that first time, you don’t have to stand on his feet. You don’t even have to clutch onto him to stay upright. Instead, you rest your hands on his shoulders, and Jasper traces his along your waist. The two of you move together slowly, perfectly.

By the end of it, you’re leaning against him, head tucked under his chin, just soaking in the feeling of his arms around you, his lips pressed to the crown of your head. Your legs are shaking, but you don’t care.

This is everything you could ever ask for.

---

I had fun writing this!! It came really clearly for me, though it ended up being a lot longer than I thought because I wanted to add so much exposition.

#reader insert #x reader #reader #jasper hale #jasper whitlock #twilight saga #twilight #jasper hale x reader #jasper x reader #jasper whitlock x reader #sorry for any mistakes #correct me if i'm wrong

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alexlwrites · 1 month

Text

As REQUESTED! Here's part 3 of "Yoongi who never had a crush... Until you" from my notes app!

This is a little longer than the others due to my commute to work taking a little longer today, so yall can thank the Sao Paulo train system for that!

As I mentioned previously, I am now open to commissions through my ko-fi! So you can buy me a coffee and request a short scenario, whether it be based on this fic, one of my others, or something entirely new! The link to my ko-fi is in my bio!

Anywho! Enjoy!

----

Yoongi had an on going theory - now proven over many many times - that any and all problems he encountered could somehow be traced back to Jimin.

Beer missing from the fridge? Jiminie. His files mysteriously disappearing from his computer, replaced by a bootleg version of The Sims 3? Jimin. The Plague? Park Jimin, that fucking rat.

And once more, in a house party he had no interested being at, poor Yoongi found himself victim of the consequences of his ill-fated association with that god-forsaken gremlin, now smiling smugly from across the circle where his friends and a few acquaintances sat.

"Everyone knows the rules, right?" Jimin said, innocently like he wasn't the cause of Yoongi's on going demise "You spin the bottle and whoever it points to, you have to kiss!"

Yoongi snorted from his place in a chair outside the circle. At 30 years old, he was clearly above such childish games and would never submit himself to such humiliating and depraved behavior...

"I'm here! I'm here! Sorry I'm late!" he heard and he swore time stopped as you, of all people, sat within the circle next to a Jungkook, smoothing down your tennis skirt as you smiled "What are we playing?"

"Spin the bottle!" Jimin smiled grew, a mischievous gleam appearing as he peared at his frozen friend.

Your eyes looked around the circle, falling on Yoongi's a couple feet behind and he swore even the singular hair in his left toe stood up in alert "Yoongi's not playing?" You asked.

Jimin shrugged in despondency "Well, no-"

"Of course I am!" Yoongi threw himself onto the ground, sending a poor unsuspecting Taehyung flying out of the way with a whelp "I love this game!"

Yoongi did not in fact love this game. He loathed it.

They had played several rounds and his bottle was nowhere close to pointing at you. Instead, he kissed Namjoon twice and slapped Taehyung once for putting his slimy tongue out as their faces got closer.

Was he cursed, he wondered, the face of dispirited desperation, watching as Hoseok and Jin made out in a way that could only be described as disproportionately violent. What could he have done in his past lives that would lead to this punishment, the sheer torture of sitting across from you and not getting to kiss you? Had he not earned your affections? Did he not claim your love through the cosmical power of dibs?

Whatever. WhaTEVER! So it would be, he would die alone. A monk amongst 6 manwhores, a fortitude of loneliness, cursed to roam the earth in his loveless state...

Oh, it was his turn. He spinned the bottle thoughtlessly, mind still wondering about the implications of his slowly returning virginity due to solitude.

Oh.

You looked up at him as the bottle pointed straight at your form all the way across the circle and Yoongi swore someone had to call 911 at the way his heart stopped. His condition - simptitis - was worsening by the second.

Someone wheel him into the emergency room - you were crawling across the circle, prowling really, your blouse dipping in a way that left nothing to the imagination, and trust him, he had imagined!

You stopped, kneeling in front of him "Hi, Mr. Min."

Here are some symptoms to look for if you believe you could suffer from simptitis:

-accelerated heart beat

-exaggerated hand sweating

-inability to form coherent thoughts, not to be confused with just being stupid, which Yoongi was starting to think it was his case

-ill timed boners

And, the most common one:

-praise kink

Yoongi seemed to be displaying all of the above at the same time and when you softly asked "Are you okay with this?" All he could do was brace himself and nod.

If Hoseok and Jin's kiss was violent, this one was peaceful, slow, soft and way too passionate for a spin the bottle session. You tasted like sicilian lemon and gin and Yoongi was only but an alcoholic man at your feet, cradling your face to keep you close, refusing to let go of the addictive feeling of your lips on his.

Someone coughed awkwardly and you stepped back, face flushed and chest heaving. You looked deliciously disheveled and Yoongi thought of other circumstances where he could make you look like that again.

Okay, so maybe Jimin wasn't that bad. Maybe he wasn't the physical manifestation of Yoongi's karma. Maybe that phat assed hobbit was up to something with his seventh grade games...

Oh, it was your turn. Maybe Yoongi would get to kiss you again!

Nope. It landed on Jimin, who wasted absolutely no time in bringing your face down to his.

The betrayal? The bro-trayal?

Back stabbing little tinker bell bitch.

Bugger.

Bugger it all to hell.

#bts fanfic #bts x reader #bts #min yoongi #yoongi imagine #yoongi fanfic #min yoongi x y/n #yoongi x reader #yoongi fluff

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theemporium · 9 months

Note

If you’re low-key obsessed then I am a gone😍 what about sunshine being awol the morning of a race 🤷🏼‍♀️

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

“Have you seen Sunshine today?”

“No, sorry.”

“Hey, have you seen Sunshine this morning?”

“I haven’t, no.”

“Have you—”

“Daniel, I don’t think she’s here, mate,” Max muttered, placing a hand on his teammate’s shoulder in hopes that it would stop him from pacing around the garage, and it did. But it didn’t stop his mind from wandering and spinning on where the hell you could be.

Despite the separate hotel rooms booked by the team every race weekend, you would always find each other using one room. In fact, it became rarer for the two of you to not share a hotel room when you were in another country for the race weekend, and it just so happened that it was one of those weekends.

You had been out late the night before, out with some of the others in the engineering team as you perfected a few faults you had found in the cars during qualifying. You had messaged him not to wait up for you, to not stay up and risk his own sleep just for the sake of falling asleep with you. And as wrong as it felt, he had managed to fall asleep.

However, when he woke up in the morning, you weren’t there.

And when he arrived at the paddock, you weren’t there either.

Now, it was a few hours until lights out, you were nowhere to be seen and Daniel was losing his mind.

“Where is she?” Daniel muttered, his brows furrowed in concern as he tried sending you another message, only for it to come up as undelivered once again. “She should’ve been here by now.”

“Daniel—” Max started but his teammate was already pacing again.

“What if something happened to her?” he whispered, a sense of chilling dread washing over him as he looked up at Max. “What if something happened to her and she needs my help?”

Before Max could even reply, Daniel was jumping up to grab his keys for the car he drove to the paddock. He was ignoring all logic and rationality that was telling him he should stay in the paddock, that he needed to start getting ready for the race with the rest of the team. His only thought was you.

Max, despite knowing better, knew that Daniel was in no state to be alone right now. WIth the rest of the engineering team also clueless on your whereabouts, the Aussie’s concern only shot through the roof, and his friend didn’t think it would be the best idea for him to be behind the wheel just yet.

They ignored all the warnings other team members gave them and did their best to ignore the cameras following them towards the exit. Daniel had one track mind and it was completely focused on finding you and making sure you were safe. His fingers were itching to hold you close again and it was starting to consume him.

However, neither boy expected their search to end as close to the exit as it did.

“I am telling you, I am a part of the Red Bull team! Just go get someone and you’ll see.”

“Ma’am, we have to ask you to leave—”

“Oh my god!”

Daniel’s head whirled around at the familiar sound of your voice, his eyes eagerly seeking you. And he spotted you, on the other side of the turnstiles, a frown on your face as you argued back and forth with a few of the security guards at the entrance.

“You need a paddock pass—”

“And I usually have one,” you interrupted, already angsty and on edge, and feeling like a broken record wasn’t helping your mood. “Except for today. Now can you please let me in because they need me—”

“We can’t do that, ma’am.”

“Fuck off,” you groaned, running a hand over your face.

“Sunshine!”

Your eyes instantly found his and he couldn’t bite back the smile that spread across his face. His feet were moving before he could even think to move, his body too eager to be beside you that he didn’t even bother swiping his pass to get through the turnstiles, instead just jumping over the bars.

“Danny,” you almost sagged in relief the second his arms were around you.

“Is there a problem here?” Daniel asked, his eyes now on the security guards as he placed a hand protectively on the back of your head.

“Mr Ricciardo,” the security guard blanched. “No, it’s just she needs—”

“She’s with our team,” Max interrupted this time, giving the guard a pointed look. “A very important part of the team. So, the sooner you let her through, the more appreciative we will be.”

“Of course, sir.”

Daniel had yet to let you go as the three of you made your way through the paddock, heading straight towards the Red Bull garage before Christian or anyone else could notice you were gone. You didn’t mind though, the weight of his arm over your shoulder was something you found comfort in these days.

“Where were you?” Daniel asked eventually, his brows furrowed together in questioning. “I was worried sick.”

“It’s embarrassing,” you muttered, a scowl on your face which only amused the Dutchman.

“Well, now you have to tell us,” Max grinned, poking your side and only laughing when you batted his hand away.

“I forgot my keycard last night,” you told them with a heavy sigh. “I couldn’t get into the hotel room so I had to bunk with one of the other engineers. I tried to get a new card at reception this morning but they thought I was some crazy fan trying to get into Daniel Ricciardo’s hotel room. And I couldn’t even get an extra key to my room because I had no ID with me.”

Daniel snorted. “Why didn’t you just call me?”

“My phone died,” you replied sheepishly. “I had to borrow an extra polo from a colleague before trying to get to the paddock with no phone, no money and no paddock pass.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t arrest you on the spot,” Max teased.

You rolled your eyes. “Funny.”

“Well, if I have to find any crazed fan in my room, I’d be pretty chuffed if it was you,” Daniel joked as his arm around you tightened.

“Whatever,” you grumbled but there was a smile on your face. “I gotta take you everywhere with me, Ricciardo. Might even say you’re my crazy fan.”

“That wouldn’t be a lie,” he grinned down at you.

#daniel ricciardo #formula one #f1 #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo x y/n #daniel ricciardo fic #daniel ricciardo one shot #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #formula one fic #formula one one shot #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 fic #f1 one shot

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daechwitatamic · 2 months

Text

Of Ruin: Chapter 12 || KTH

(banner by @itaeewon)

Of Ruin (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni Genre: vampire!au magic!au royalty!au, s2l, slow burn, eventual smut, angst and fluff

Summary: Taehyung of House Rune, Prince of Infracticus has been cursed. You’re the human world’s leading curse-breaker. It should be simple. But unraveling the curse becomes the least of your problems in the face of a world on the brink of civil war… and the love you start to feel for the prince.

A/N: Thank you endlessly to @sailoryooons for betaing!!! 💕

Section Warnings: language, tense situations with dangerous vampires, violence: vampire biting and feeding!!, lots of blood!!!, kissing wc: 4.8k

You spend the ride back to the palace in silence. You can’t even watch the beautiful landscape roll by, because Taehyung keeps the curtains closed as a precaution.

At the palace, he walks you back to your rooms. He doesn’t kiss you goodbye; you aren’t sure if you expected him to or not. Instead he takes your hand, glances up the hall where a team of guards wait for him, and gives it two quick squeezes before striding away, his footfalls echoing in the stone corridor.

You wait anxiously in the main room until the door opens, Namjoon looking just as relieved to see you as you are to see him.

You wonder if Jimin and the guard who took the main road made it back okay.

You don’t tell Namjoon about this kiss, nor about Taehyung’s comments about wanting you to stay.

You do fill him in on the meeting with the Scores, and Taehyung’s tentative plan for his reign.

“That’s ambitious,” Namjoon admits, rubbing a hand over his forehead. “He’ll have his work cut out for him.”

“He’s determined,” you say, somewhat absently. “I think the Scores might be on board. They’re not immediately objecting, anyway.”

“Would you stay?” Namjoon asks, dark eyes on yours inquisitively. “As, like, a representative for above?”

You shrug, averting your gaze, lest he spy your secrets in your eyes. “If he wanted me,” you say. “Of course, I’d try to help.”

Namjoon hums in response, meaning he doesn’t want to say what he really thinks.

You can’t find it in you to care.

About half the Scores return to court. No more attacks come. Satuel tells you, when you inquire, that that coach had been stopped by riders on the main road, but when they found only Jimin, they made no trouble.

You fall back into your routine. You spend your days reading through the notes Namjoon took at the archives. You spend your nights practicing magic, branching out from defensive spells and beginning to dabble with practical magic, and the odd offensive move.

Over the next week you break your lamp three more times while practicing, and you try to counter Taehyung’s curse - unsuccessfully - just as many.

The first two fizzle out and go nowhere, unceremonious and anticlimactic. The third one goes wrong so immediately that Namjoon physically yanks you away from Taehyung to break the connection, black smoke rising from each of your palms as you break away.

Taehyung heals your burns, the first time he’s touched you since you said goodbye after kissing in the carriage.

You feel stalled out; you feel your wheels spinning.

“Taehyung,” you say heavily, one of the evenings he comes to check your nonexistent progress. “We’re still missing something. Something we thought we had worked out isn’t right. I’m telling you. Something’s messed up.”

“What do you need?” he asks, looking back at you seriously. “More time at the archives? I could take you back -”

“I need to see the curse at work,” you say determinedly. It’s been over a month since you’d last had this argument, since the prince had put his foot down definitively. “I’ve been saying it since the beginning, and it’s still true. I have to.”

“We discussed this already,” he says tightly. “I won’t allow it.”

“Maiesti,” you say desperately. “We’ve run out of other choices. No book will tell me what I need - the curse will. If I can’t crack this, everything else you’re working on will never happen. You can’t do anything you’ve planned until this is solved.”

He stares at you, and it’s plain on his face how much he hates that you’re right.

“I can keep myself safe,” you say. Beside you, Namjoon murmurs your name, apprehensive. “You’ve seen me do it. I’m better now than I was then, I’ve practiced and practiced - I can do it, I can keep you back.”

The prince looks like he wants to vomit. “I can’t,” he croaks. “I can’t allow it.”

“We have to -”

“What if the worst happens?” he snaps, breaking. “What if I kill you? Seriously - that is a serious question! Think about that. I could kill you.”

“I’ll send you through a wall,” you say, half-joking. But you both know you can.

He shakes his head. “It’s too risky.”

“The bigger risk is never breaking the curse,” you say. “Think how much is at stake, now. You can only hold off the Scores for so long before they move back to the offensive. War is on the line, Taehyung, is that what you want for your people? Is my life worth more to you than the good of Infracticus? It shouldn’t be.”

He swears in his people’s ancient language, turning away from you, rubbing his face roughly, as he often does when overwhelmed.

Namjoon takes this opportunity to say your name again, quietly.

“I know what decision I’m making,” you say stonily, to both of them. “I know the risks, I know the dangers. We have to. We’ve come to a point where this is the only solution.”

“Fine,” Taehyung snaps, finally, turning back to you, eyes narrowed and mouth tight. “Fine. Is tonight too soon?”

You blanch. “Tonight?”

He looks at you, pleading. “Please. I can’t go through a whole day knowing it’s coming. The sooner we do this, the less time I’ll spend sick with worry. So - can you? Will you?”

“Yeah,” you say shakily. “Yes. Yes, we can do it tonight.”

“Fine,” he says, and when his voice is cold this time, you know it’s because he’s scared. “Satuel will bring you before midnight.”

He leaves without goodbye, as he used to do.

Namjoon says your name, more insistent this time.

“I know,” you tell him. “Believe me. You trust me, right?”

“I think so,” he says, which makes you laugh.

“It’s going to be fine,” you tell him.

—

The room Prince Taehyung spends his nights in is nicer than you’d envisioned, though not as nice as his actual wing of the palace.

Prince Taehyung sits at a wooden table, legs crossed so that one ankle rests on his knee. He eyes you coldly when the guards let you in the room.

Once, you would have seen his coldness and felt small. You know better now.

“It’s going to be okay,” you tell him, as gently as you can.

He swallows, looks at the floor. Then he rises, walking towards you. He stops before you, raises his gaze to meet yours. His eyes, irises white and human, dance with something too complicated to name.

“How can you be willing to do this?” he asks, something broken in his voice. “How, when you know the risks?”

Something in you breaks too, a dam that has been holding back every foolish, dead-end, illogical feeling you’ve been having these past months: because I love you, you think. Because I love you, and I want to save you.

You don’t say it, don’t say anything, but he’s watching your face carefully, and you think maybe he hears you anyway, somehow. He raises one shaky hand and cups your face, so light it’s barely there.

He kisses you chastely, gently, then shuffles backwards, glancing at the clock on the wall.

“Three minutes,” he says. “Put the wall up now. Do it now.”

“Taehyung,” you say, but you have nothing to follow it. You do as he says, pulsing your palms towards the floor between you, feeling the magic swim through you.

You both watch the clock, together, in silence.

He paces, and you miss the moment he leaves you, leaving only the beast. But you notice his movements grow choppier, and you watch the exact second that he smells you.

His head wheels around, fangs displayed, crackling grumbles beginning to emit from deep in his chest. He stalks towards you, elbows bent up behind him, until he hits your wall. He bounces backwards almost comically, then snarls louder, eyes narrowed at you. They swirl, like pools of ink.

He tries again, slower this time, pressing his hands to the wall he cannot see, investigative. You try to breathe evenly, to ensure the magic holds. His gaze snaps back to you, his mind putting together the pieces and figuring that you are causing the problem.

He snarls at you, jaw snapping, lip curled, cursing your existence in the ancient language of the Infracti, which you aren’t sure he’s even fluent in when he’s himself.

You put your shoulders back and walk closer to the wall you made.

“If you want something,” you tell him firmly, “then you need to ask me in my language.”

The beast freezes in place, eyes locking on you. The curl in his lip relaxes just slightly, and he blinks at you. He cocks his head just slightly and blinks again. It’s like you can see him thinking, cogs in his head turning.

Then, voice raspy and entirely unlike Taehyung’s low, honeyed tones, he grits out, “Drink?”

Your heart pounds.

“Not too much,” you say, still firm, like you’re giving directions to an unruly toddler. “If you take too much, I’ll die, and then you never get more.”

His head cocks to the other side. His brows furrow. “Small?” he asks.

“Very small,” you say. Your legs don’t even feel like jelly beneath you - they feel like nothing, so numb with fear that they could be gone and you wouldn’t know. “From here.”

You hold out your wrist, veins up, and look at him. “You understand?”

“Yes,” he says, licking his lips in anticipation.

“I’m putting the wall down,” you tell him. “Come slowly.”

He waits, and you do. When you nod, he comes forward on that jolting, uneven gait, as if it’s screwing up his whole balance to move at a human pace for your sake.

He takes your arm in his hands, nails biting into your skin as he forgets his inhuman strength, and you grimace.

“Only a little,” you remind him, heart pounding so hard in your ribcage that it’s almost painful.

His swirling, black eyes land on yours as he brings his mouth to your wrist. You feel like you can’t breathe, the anticipation is so strong. A detached part of you knows that he could get one taste and lose this tentative control, that this could be your last moment.

You sort of wish you’d called your parents before coming.

You cry out when his fangs sink into you, instinctively flinching away, but he holds you so tight that you stumble closer to him instead. The pain is bone-deep, not a shallow pinch like a shot - and that’s frightening, your systems telling your brain that there’s danger, that something is wrong. You start to struggle, to try fruitlessly to push him away, alarms going haywire in your mind, and then -

And then the venom hits you.

The pain is eradicated - or, at least, you don’t notice it anymore. Instead, a high comes over you, and you feel like you’re floating away, the room going quite bright as you feel the unfamiliar and startling sensation of blood being pulled towards the wound as Taehyung sucks at it, his tongue running circles over and around the puncture marks.

“Enough,” you manage to say, your voice seeming disembodied to you, coming from nowhere. The beast lifts his mouth and snarls at you, before returning to lap at the rivulets of red that run over your wrist bone.

“You said small,” you remind him, trying to stay grounded. “Let me breathe, let me make sure I’m okay, and then you can have more.”

He utters a sentence at you in his language, hands tightening on your arm to the point they hurt.

“Back off, or I’ll knock you back,” you warn him. His eyes narrow as he processes the threat. It might be empty - you’re not sure you can do it one-handed.

Then, for just a second, his eyes flash human again, the whites showing. It’s him, your Taehyung, and he releases your arm so frantically it’s as if it burns to touch it. He takes two steps back, eyes wide and frightened. You blink, and he’s gone. The beast is back again, that quickly, frustration coming back over his features.

You throw the wall up as quickly as you can.

It doesn’t work.

He’s on you in an instant, so quickly you don’t see him move. Your back hits the wall behind you and you let out an audible grunt. He cages you in, a hand on either shoulder, pressing you into place against the stone, and he uses his tongue to swipe along his fangs, cleaning remnants of your blood from them, as he looks you over. Slowly, he leans his weight on you, his hips pinning your hips, his chest pinning your chest, his hands firm on the fronts of your shoulders.

Your breath comes in and out in shaky waves. You’re not sure you’d still be standing if he weren’t holding you in place. You try not to think about all the places your bodies are touching, the weight of him over you, the stuttering rhythm of your heartbeat, the fiery look that he settles over you. You try not to think about how precarious this is, how easily he could let go of his control and simply tear your throat out in one seamless motion.

He sniffs at you, fangs displayed and ready, as if trying to find the place most palatable. Your heart pounds desperately, and beneath his inhumanly strong hold, you can feel your muscles shaking. Your body knows you are about to die, even if your mind still wants to lie to you about it, to pretend otherwise.

He chooses a spot near the base of your neck, near the front, and laves at the spot with his tongue, giving a happy hum as your pulse thunders visibly over the inch of skin. You close your eyes, feeling your whole body shudder in terror.

“Taehyung,” you whisper, barely able to give volume to the word.

The beast pulls back and looks at you, reacting to the sound of its name. Somewhere in there, he recognizes it. Somewhere in there, he recognizes you; you watch as he draws even further back, then removes one hand from your shoulders and reaches for your uninjured wrist instead.

He lifts your limb to his mouth easily and you flinch before anything even happens.

“Here?” he asks, in that gritty, not-Taehyung voice, and your eyes snap to his.

He’s asking permission.

You are not going to die. Maybe.

“Small,” you utter. Then, since it seemed to work a second ago to use his name, to remind him who he is, “You promised, Taehyung. A small one.”

The puncture hurts - enough that you cry out again, the pain deep and throbbing, the cry morphing into a sob of agony - but the high comes quickly, melting it away. The sensation of blood being pulled to your wrist is less frightening this time, and you breathe deeply, trying to assess how dizzy you are, if you need to tell him to stop yet.

“Enough,” you say, and he licks one last stripe over the wound before taking his mouth away. Blood smears around his lips and down his chin, but his black eyes watch yours, obedient, waiting. His chest heaves as he waits, like it’s hard work.

Maybe it is.

Maybe it is only a sliver of Taehyung’s humanity shining through that is keeping you alive right now.

You both wait, him still pressing you to the wall by one shoulder. You breathe, closing your eyes for a long inhale and then opening them again.

Taehyung’s eyes are human, and he opens his mouth as if to speak. He blinks. They go black again. Whatever comes out of his mouth isn’t human.

He presses closer again, raising the wrist he just bit up to his face and inhaling deeply. He sticks out his tongue and licks over it once more, then continues to trace up your forearm with his tongue, past the crook of your elbow, stopping when he finds the pulsing point of the brachial artery in your fleshy upper arm.

“Here?” he asks again. He shudders, blinks, and your Taehyung looks at you.

This time he manages to speak, all in a rush, before he’s sucked under again. “You should run,” he tells you, breathless, and then only snarls fall from his lips as his eyes flash black again.

You press a hand to the monster’s cheek, blood still rising to clot at the first wound he’d given you. The beast looks at you, waiting, mouth still inches from your bicep, waiting for permission.

“Yes,” you whisper.

This one hurts worse - maybe the bite is deeper. You hear yourself shout and your eyes roll back, your knees giving out beneath you. The beast uses both hands and his hips to hold you up, press you in place, as he sucks and licks at the twin wounds in your arm.

The high comes, but combined with the blood loss it’s no longer pleasant and floaty. Instead, you feel yourself weakening, unable to remind Taehyung to stop, unable to even stand. The room goes fuzzy as he pulls more blood from you, becoming nothing but colors, and your head spins so violently that it makes you want to cry out.

He stops when your head lolls, brow furrowing as if he’s trying to remember why he doesn’t want you gone. He licks at his lips, rising to stand, and picks you up, your jelly-like arms flopping over his shoulders. He carries you easily to the large bed on the other side of the room and places you down gently on your back.

Your head lolls to the side and you work on breathing, work on staying here, not floating away. The beast sits on the bed next to you, cross-legged, and waits, watching your chest rise and fall, watching your eyes go unfocused and then come back again.

After some time, you do settle back into yourself, the high from his venom dissipating and your mind clearing as you rest. You still feel weak, a bit dizzy, but the room comes into focus again.

The beast has been waiting, and he sees it immediately when you’re coherent again. He stretches out his legs and rolls over top of you, holding himself up with his arms. He presses his nose to your most recent wound, the one in your upper arm, and gives it a long sniff, and then one last lick.

Then, he noses his way up your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps, past your shoulder, and up to the junction of your neck. He presses his lips to the spot he wants, licking at it, feeling your pulse thud against his tongue. You feel him shudder, wanting.

“Here?” he asks, leaning up to look at you.

“Last one,” you breathe, unable to sound any more firm than that. You can only pray that he listens, that enough Taehyung is in there to know you mean it. “Last one, or it’ll be too much.”

“Small,” he says, a promise, and lays himself over you, heavy. He sinks his fangs into your neck and your whole body reacts to the white-hot pain, hands coming up to claw fruitlessly at his upper arms, legs scrabbling against the sheets, eyes screwing shut, breaths heaving noisily through your open mouth as you pant through the pain.

He drinks longer here, despite his promise, licking and licking over the spot like one might scrape the bottom of the bowl for any last dregs of soup. You float, incoherent, trying to count your inhales and exhales, trying to measure your heartbeats and ensure they’re not slowing too much.

He doesn’t remove himself from you when he’s done, and it’s honestly kind of nice having his heaviness over your body - you know you can’t actually float away, something is tethering you here. He sniffs and licks and presses his lips against the wound on your neck, but doesn’t drink more, doesn’t suck anything from it.

Then, as your head begins to clear a final time, he noses his way up your jaw, still pressing his open mouth to spot after spot, tongue tasting your skin but not puncturing it. Finally, he finds your mouth, pressing his lips to yours in a searing, lingering kiss that you try your best to return.

When he pulls away to look at you, his eyes are his own, brown and anguished.

“There you are,” you manage, trying to reach up for his face. You can’t get your hand high enough, and your arm flops uselessly back to the mattress. For some reason, this makes tears prick at your eyes. You want to touch him, your Taehyung, want to feel closer to him, protected by him. Instead, you can only look at him as he pants over top of you, clearly exerting himself even as he’s holding himself still.

“Run,” he begs in between pants. You shake your head, flopping from side to side. You don’t want to leave him. Your Taehyung is here, fighting to get through, and you don’t want to leave him.

“Stay with me,” you whisper, and he closes his eyes, still panting. Fighting. Fighting it with everything he has. “Please.”

“I’m - trying -” he lets out between gritted teeth, but when his eyes open again they’ve gone black again.

You wait for him to pick a new place to bite, to ask permission. Instead, he shifts to lay next to you instead of over top of you. He pulls you tight against his chest, one arm over your middle, tangles his legs between yours, and buries his face in the back of your neck, inhaling deeply.

“No more?” you ask, trying to turn your head to look at him over your shoulder. You find it hard to believe that he’s satiated… but that last bite was long, dizzying. Maybe he is.

“You said,” he grumbles, the monster’s gritty voice still coming out somewhat petulant and pouty. “You said last one.” Then, his voice turns hopeful. “Tomorrow? More tomorrow?”

“Okay,” you breathe; it’s an easy promise to make - tomorrow you can talk to normal Taehyung, your Taehyung. Tomorrow at this time, chances are you’ll be safe in your own rooms. It’s a promise you won’t have to keep.

“Yes,” the beast grumbles, wiggling closer to you, but you think it’s a happy grumble. “More tomorrow. Now, sleep.”

The room spins a few times, then settles. You feel him press his lips to your shoulder, then return to the back of your neck. It takes a lot of strength, but eventually you manage to lift your hand high enough to grip his.

With his body firm behind yours, his hand under your hand, his breath against your neck, you let yourself float away.

—

You’re awakened abruptly by hands jerking you around by your arms - lifting you up, rolling you over, turning you this way and that with a frantic energy that you are too sleepy to comprehend.

“Stop,” you whine, squeezing your eyes shut. Somewhere deep in your mind you know it’s Taehyung, and you know he’s freaking out, but you were sleeping so well, and you’re so bone-tired - probably from the blood loss. You just want him to leave you in peace, in the dark room and fluffy bed, to sleep many more hours. “Taehyung, stop it.”

“I bit you,” he utters, horrified. He’s holding you in a sitting-up position, and you work hard to open your eyes to slits so you can see him. His eyes - humanlike, beautiful brown - dance between the puncture marks on your upper arm and the ones on your neck. He curses in Infracti, the word coming out quieter than a whisper. “I hurt you.”

“I’m fine,” you insist, eyes adjusting. “I’m tired, and I’m starving, but I’m fine.”

You scoot away from him a little, laying back against the headboard, too weak to hold yourself up for long. He’d been kneeling as he turned you from side to side, assessing the damage, but as you get more comfortable he climbs off the bed entirely, coming around and sitting on the edge near your torso.

He clearly hasn’t cleaned up this morning - he’s in last night’s rumpled clothes, dried blood caked on his jaw. Despite this, he looks no more dangerous right now than a teddy bear, with huge, worried eyes and a pronounced frown.

“I can’t believe you’re even alive,” he utters, still whispering. “Why did I agree to this? God, you could have died, I could have killed you -” His voice completely breaks, and he brings up a hand to cover his face, ashamed and guilty.

“Taehyung,” you say, reaching up to tug his hand away. He lets you, but looks steadfastly at his feet, his eyes swimming. “Hey - I let you, I told you it was okay. You didn’t do anything without my permission -”

“I know,” he bites out, then swallows hard, his facial muscles quivering as he fights off emotion. “I know, I remember, but it doesn’t matter - it was still dangerous. It’s a miracle you’re alive -”

You stare at him. “What do you mean, you remember?”

He freezes too, coming to the same realization as you.

“I… remember,” he repeats, eyes widening. He turns his body to face you, looking at you wildly, desperate for an explanation. “I remember every bit of it,” he adds, voice breathy with disbelief. “I couldn’t stop myself from doing any of it, but I was there.” His eyes linger on yours, lost and baffled. “How can that be?”

“You broke through,” you say softly, the only explanation to the magic’s inconsistency. “Somehow, you pushed through it - enough to control yourself, and enough to remember.”

“What does that mean?” he asks, deep voice still breathy, shaking a little.

“It means…” you pause, collecting your thoughts. “It means that even when the curse is active, your humanity isn’t gone, it’s just suppressed. It’s there, we can reach it. I’ve had this wrong all along - my countercurse was trying to replace it… but really, I needed to just… unbury it. And…”

“And?” He tilts his head cutely.

“And… well, there’s probably a level of…”

You trail off, embarrassed, unsure. You don’t know how Taehyung feels, but you know magic and countercurses.

“What?” he asks, reaching for your hands, which lay limp over your lap.

You press your lips together, mine for courage. “It seems like you came through once you recognized me. It makes me wonder… I mean, I’d hypothesize… whatever it is you f-feel for me,” you stumble over the words, starting to mumble, “acts as a counter to something built into the curse.”

He blinks at you a few times, his thumbs absently stroking the backs of your hands. Then, as if he’s asking about your breakfast order, he clarifies, “Love? Love counters something in the curse?”

You pull your hands from his, your body reacting defensively - as if it’s sure this is a joke being played on you.

“What?” he asks, oblivious.

“You what?” you manage, heart pounding desperately against your ribs.

He frowns at you, like you’re being purposely obtuse. “I love you,” he repeats, like it’s not a big deal at all, no more weighty than saying I’m wearing black shoes tonight.

“Taehyung,” you whisper, shaking your head. “What are you saying? You can’t love me - I’m nothing, just a human, I’m not -”

“Are you joking?” he asks, and he actually looks angry, suddenly. “Nothing?” He scoots closer, brushes his thumb up your jaw, then leans closer, pressing his forehead to yours and closing his eyes. “You have never been nothing,” he says, voice dangerously low. “Never.”

You want to protest, to object, but then he’s lifting his chin to slot his lips against yours - soft at first, then more insistent - and the words die on your tongue, replaced by a small, happy sigh.

When he pulls away, he shakes his head, eyes closing. “Y/N, if something had gone wrong last night, and it had been my fault, I think I would have lost my mind. Truly. I might be losing my mind anyway just because it almost happened. I’m so sorry you went through this.”

“Nothing almost happened,” you press back. “I knew what I was getting into. I knew what I was agreeing to.”

He shakes his head again, wordless, and reaches for you, long fingers reaching to pull you from your spot against the pillows into his lap instead. You allow it, letting him pull you closer until you’re straddling his legs, his arms wrapped tight around your back, pulling you ever closer.

Safe, you think, as he presses his face to the top of your head, giving you a squeeze.

Lips close enough to your ear that he can speak so quietly it’s barely there, he murmurs, “You must have been terrified.”

“No,” you assert, shaking your head, causing him to pull away and look at you. “Not once I knew it was you.”

<- Prev || Next ->

KBYE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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theyhavetakenovermylife · 3 months

Note

Did I hear mating season? jekshfjsjhsh well don’t mind if I do. Just imagine: the turtles “mating season” being more of an uncomfortable but manageable slump some time in the spring-BUT after meeting reader and developing a new crush things start to take a change. At first they think nothing of it-expecting the season to go just as it always has, then as time goes on it becomes more and more apparent that something is VERY wrong. Side effects like possessiveness/ aggression/ courting/ nesting/ libido+their urges all suddenly rear their ugly heads to the turtle that is frantically trying to manage his primal instincts and dick

Mating Season With A Crush (18+)

Dark Turtles x reader

A/N: The lucky wheel did a spin and decided on the Dark Turtles for this one🖤💚 This may not be exactly what you were looking for, but I thought it would be fun to play around with the mating seasons of the Dark Turtles, and how it may be different from the original turtles. There’s a lot of potential with all that Kanabo stuff🖤

Warnings: Talk of masturbation, imagination about sex, a porn game, and talk of former pain (not the reader).

Common For All Dark Turtles:

The Dark Turtles had only had one mating season in their new, half mutant turtle, half Kanabo bodies. Yet the memories of their counterparts many years with springs in the back of their heads, made them prepared for what was to come. Yet they were all surprised when their season became less intense than their full blood turtle DNA source. Sure, the dark turtles became more aggressive during this time, but they did not feel this intense need to relieve themselves in their hiding spots like their counterparts did, but they did feel a strong possessiveness, both for food and the few belongings they had. To them, their mating season was horrible, almost painful. With spring the days became longer and the sun stayed up for longer, and for a Kanabo, that was not good news. And neither was it for Kanabo clones. But of course their turtle side has to make them more sensitive these times, only causing the pain, confusion and discomfort to become worse. During that one time, all four of the Kanabo clones had found themselves wishing that their seasons would have been like their counterparts, only making them horny instead of hurtinging. So of course, as they came closer to their second season, the clones expected it to happen again, dreading the upcoming weeks. But to their surprise, upon moving into Cody’s penthouse, their mating seasons took quite a turn.

Dark Leonardo:

That one mating season Dark Leo had experienced, was nothing compared to what Leonardo had been through, with his long seasons that never really seemed to end, until he finally gave into his urges. But Dark Leo had never felt these urges, except the one for punching his brothers growing a lot stronger whenever they came close, feeling this strange pain inside of him intensify whenever they came too close. So when spring time came around in Cody’s penthouse, Leo expected that to be the case once again. But to his surprise, no pain came around as he felt his season come closer. Instead he felt something else. Something that reminded him of what Leonardo usually felt…

As his season crept closer, Leo found himself staring at you more and more, and strange need to be around you growing and growing, coupled with extreme annoyance whenever one of his brothers talked to you. He had once punched Raph out of nowhere, when the red turtle had asked you something pretty innocently, causing both you and Cody to ask him panicked questions. But Leo thought nothing of it in the beginning, thinking it was a sign that the pain and irritation would be coming at any point. But pain never came. Or, at least not a pain Leo had tried before.

One spring evening, as Leo laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering what this strange feeling was, he felt this extreme urge grow between his legs, pushing at his cloaca in a way he had never tried before. It was almost painful. Almost. But Leo knew what that feeling was. Leonardo had felt it before. But where Leonardo would have tried to push it away, not wishing to give in, Leo gave in. Untucking himself and giving in to all of his urges, surprised by the explicit thoughts he was forming about you, dreaming that it wasn’t his hand around his dick, but your tight count.

That night Leo stayed in his room, realizing the extent of the crush he had formed for you, and how it might be the sole reason that he wasn’t rolling around in pain, but instead fucking his own hand.

Dark Raphael:

The only reason Dark Raph had hated his first mating season was because of the pain. The irritation and the need for punching something had never been knew for him, but the pain was really something he could live without. It made him angry. So angry that he wanted to break something. Raph knew that Raphael had often been angry while on his season, but not in the way Raph was. For Raph, the mating season had been nothing but loathing, but for Raphael, it had been a strong irritation that his urges just wouldn’t stop.

As spring came around one more time, Raph was expecting the pain to come out of nowhere, making him horrible and angry. But the anger and pain never came. Instead his own head was flooded with your scent and your sweet smile, making Raph’s knees turn to jelly. Raph had already been aware of his feelings for you for some time, but this was different. It was stronger, the picture of your beauty playing in his head over and over again. And it scared the big Kanabo clone, making him hide out in his bedroom, while his thoughts about you turned further and further to the naughty side.

It didn’t take long before Raph started stealing pillows from the living room - the pillows you had been sitting with a few days before his season started - and brought them to his room. Here he was quick to give into his newfound urges, his hips pounding the mattress while burying his face into the pillow, taking in your smell like he was addicted, imagining it was you that held onto him, begging him to go deeper and harder. He did that for a whole week, finding the need in his cloaca return everytime he came. It was almost frustrating.

Although his mating season was much more pleasant now, with no strange pain running through his body, he could not help but long and feel like a madman, dreaming and hoping for the day he could bury his dick inside of you, instead of his big soft mattress.

Dark Donatello:

Just like his counterpart, Donnie liked to think that he was too smart for a mating season. He couldn’t be bothered, having so many other things that he wanted to spend his time on. But during his first season, Donnie could not fight through the pain that went through him, causing him to hide out in a dark corner of Darius’ storage room, not wanting to be seen or heard, pushing the sun and spring as far away as possible.

But many things changed for Donnie when he and his brothers moved into Cody’s penthouse, taking over the old rooms of their counterparts. It was here that he discovered that Donatello had stopped fighting against his mating season, finally deciding to enjoy it. Donnie found Donatello’s old VR headset, and the program he had made for it. Esensically, it was a porn game, with a customisable player and NPCs.

This headset soon became Donnie’s best friend during his second mating season, customizing the player in order to look like him, and the NPC to look like… you. Donnie could not deny it any longer, especially not while making sure the NPC’s hair and face looked like yours. Donnie had developed a big crush on you, and during his second mating season, he wanted nothing more than to share it with you, hoping that you could calm the growing need pushing from his cloaca.

The whole next week, Donnie locked himself up in his bedroom, and fucked the NPC version of you over and over again, in every possible way he could think of. On his bed, over his desk, pressed against the window, in the bathroom or directly on the floor. And it was during those many sessions, that Donnie couldn’t wait until he had looked through all of Donatello’s old things. Maybe his counterpart had been hiding other things that could help him relieve himself while entertaining his fantasy about you.

Dark Michelangelo:

It might have been Dark Mikey’s often manic state, but the pain of his first mating season did not bother him as much as it had done to his brothers. He had been the one that would poke his head around, and purposefully anny his aching brothers, to the point where they would try to mangle him. It was a strange thing. It was like the pain never touched him, or maybe he even enjoyed it. Or maybe Mikey was just lucky. Like he told his brothers; “Come on guys! It’s not that bad!”

But then Mikey and his brothers moved into Cody’s penthouse, and Mikey was smacked in the face with your beauty from the moment he walked through the door. And that was the start of Mikey’s growing crush on you.

When spring then approached along with the turtle clones’ second mating season, Mikey was shocked to find that it did not feel like it did the last time. Mikey became jumpy and anxious, almost fearing that you were nearby without him knowing. He wanted you to be around, really, but you made his heart beat and blood pump in a way he hadn’t tried before. For the first time in Dark Mikey’s short life, he did not enjoy the adrenaline that ran through his body.

But once in the comfort of his room, where Mikey wouldn’t fear your beautiful eyes looking his way, he could let his mind wander. Mikey could stay in his room for days at the time, feeding on the big scratch of snacks that Michelangelo had left behind before he went back to his own time. But it was here that Mikey could be alone in peace, and touch himself to the thought of you, bringing himself to one orgasm after another, all in an attempt to calm this strange new feeling that his counterpart had been such a big fan of.

Once the week was over, Mikey finally emerged from his room. He was tired, looking forward to a time where he wouldn’t jump whenever you looked at him.

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mcondance · 1 month

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southern fantasy

— this is indulgently a self-ship. | reader is explicitly and beautifully Black southern (specifically from louisiana). this is literally the definition of “i wrote this for myself, but you can read it too.” | no smut 😱 | hotch got me writing fluff yall do you know how out of character this is for me? | inspired by @murdrdocs’s persisting southern enthusiasm with her characters | story is non-linear mostly, just snapshots if you wanna call it that

1.2k words of fluff and southern fantasy, ft hotch. a love letter to my state, and to hotch.

in the car, hotch’s finger taps in time against the steering wheel, sliding gracefully into the rhythm of the song rumbling out of the stereo. the sun is setting, casting a glow over his face, outlining his prominent nose and cheeks, lighting up the smile on his face.

southern skies are beautiful when you’ve got hotch to see them with.

the south is your home, your territory, your space. hotch, on the other hand, is new. he was fresh, but he’s fit in so well. the difference in birthplaces was stark, at the start, hotch’s eyes gaining a youthful glow every time you showed him a green bayou or took him to a gas station in the middle of nowhere with chicken and meat pies so hot he laughed through the burn.

he still sees everything like it’s new, eyes surveying the small towns you take him through, telling him you have family from here or there, about how your dad knows someone from here and your mom’s childhood friend lives here now. but he’s experienced, has a thing for the nights when it’s quiet out, when even in your bed he can hear the crickets chirping just outside the window.

he likes the drives, the rolling roads and graveled streets and towns that pop up here and there. the breaks in trees that reveal a church, the yellow, faded Dollar General signs and the pastures with cows and horses grazing away.

the towns are his favorite, though. small and cozy, one store for everyone, a mom & pop shop, a church.

lousiana summers are hot, bright and burning and, with the proper precautions, he can enjoy you in the sunshine. under the shade of pecan trees, a distance away from the playground, you sit across him on a checkered blanket, and it looks the image of a picnic date, your dress loose and flowing.

the nights are his favorite, too. you’d both picked a house on the edge of town, half an hour away from the nearest big store, where it’s more practical to hit a market or a gas station than drive to Walmart.

so at night, when it gets dark, it gets dark. he’s never seen the stars so clear until he met you. you and your southern wit entranced him and are still entrancing him now. he likes the subtle differences, the different ways you go about things.

and if he’s being honest, your drawl makes his head spin. he hangs on your words, on the elongated syllables and sour twang and how your accent grows deeper when you’re angry about something, or when you’re so excited your words twist and curl around themselves.

he can’t help but poke fun at you for it sometimes, when you’re speaking normally and a word comes out a little more flavored than the others.

he repeats it to you in his own voice, laughing as you scold him, saying he knew you were country when he met you.

“i did,” he concedes, and it’s like a gut-punch every time he speaks with such fondness about anything related to the relationship you two have shared.

you showed him a different kind of southern, one that isn’t horses and cowboy boots, but parties with familiar songs and a city where everyone knows everyone, nights with fireflies, and foxes you just barely catch glimpses of, rap groups proclaiming their pride in their southern heritage and experiences you only know if you’ve been here.

he’s learned some party songs, and you’ve taught him the dances. he’s so comfortable with them now that he can do them with his arms draped over your shoulders, leaning into the groove as the family you welcomed him into enjoys themselves around him.

he’s a dream at the backyard parties. he lets the kids bounce him on the trampoline, and hang off his shoulders, and pretends like he doesn't see your little cousins sneaking up on him with water guns that look more like water bazookas.

“you know, if that thing isn’t registered, i could confiscate it,” he jokes, dripping with water and too entertained to even fein professionalism.

your cousins shriek with delight, running off to no doubt refill their guns and attack him again.

he’s got rhythm, for a white guy, still awkward but endearing and he’s got enough to make the line dances fun. he claims his favorite is a toss up between “cupid shuffle” and “candy,” but it’s obvious what he leans toward more. he hears the bassline of “candy” and he’s rising out of his chair with a beer in his hand and turning to pull you up too, dancing you backwards into the mass of your family.

your love for him grows with every party you attend, with every dramatic slap he delivers to the ground.

he watches you run and play with your siblings, grown but morphing into the children in the pictures hanging on the walls of the house, your dress soft and purple and flowing and he falls further in love when he hears you scream “stop, i’m not playin’ with you,” all country and playful and beautiful.

inside, squeezed up beside you on a chair, the darkness of night falling over the party and moving everyone inside, his heart is light. he goes back for more plates than he’s proud of, pretending like he doesn’t hear a cousin or aunt giggling at you as he walks away with the promise of bringing you more lemonade.

he’s grown accustomed to the hour long goodbyes, where he’s still talking to your dad or brother about something or the other with his keys dangling in his hand and you talking to your aunt as she plates and wraps up another bowl of her banana pudding.

and the drives. god, the drives. he traded his big truck in for a lowrider at your request, an old car from the 70s that’ll fall apart before it needs to hit the shop. he’s navigated this road more times than he can count, knows what gas station is where and when to look out for the nasty bends and twists that are so prevalent back here.

there’s a CD labeled with yours and hotch’s name in the player, fashioned with hearts all around and a plus between the two names. the sunset flows in through the window, eclipsing hotch’s face and molding him so perfectly with the sky you swear he belongs there.

high and happy, the gas station stop is silly, you fill the small space up with your laughs and chopped up words and hotch laughs with you, finding humor in the smallest things with you.

there’s soft conversation and snacking and feeding him food, him trying and holding his own on a particularly difficult song. he slows the car down, at times, cruises way under the limit cause he just wants to look at you, wants to indulge in the sight of you while he listens to you speak in that tone he can’t get enough of.

he really can’t get over your accent. he gets wrapped up in the push and pull of it, the lows and the highs and the way you sometimes sound like a southern belle, sweet-talking him into staying in bed another hour or hitting the store nearest your house for a drink.

his ears perk up when he hears the subtle (and sometimes, not so subtle) inflection, the way you say “baby,” how his name sounds different from your mouth. he’s wrapped up in a southern girl, in the life he’s grateful to have been given.

southern nights with hotch, through the window of a car or in a closed-in porch on a house in the middle of nowhere, are a dream. a fantasy.

#hotch x reader #hotch fluff #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch fluff #aaron hotchner x black reader #aaron hotchner x black!reader #aaron hotchner fluff #hotch x y/n #hotch x you #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #— 🎠

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aurumacadicus · 17 days

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55 for the ficlet pls!

Steve took a moment to take everything in. Dum-E was cheerfully spinning its wheels and going nowhere in a puddle of blue foam. U was trapped in a corner, beeping pathetically as the same blue foam oozed in its direction. Tony looked unbothered by it. Or maybe he was just succeeding at trying to look unbothered. He supposed looking unbothered was the only thing Tony could do in defense to the scene in front of Steve.

Especially since Tony was hanging from the ceiling, left arm stuck above his head with the same blue foam.

"Hmm," Steve finally acknowledged.

"I said I was busy," Tony cut in before he could continue. He waved his free hand around. "I was just figuring out a way to tackle this. I'm fine. Everything is fine."

"You are being ridiculous," Steve corrected. "Everything is not fine. You are hanging from the ceiling."

Tony pointed at him sharply, clearly intending to argue with him, but instead all he let out was a startled yelp as he slowly began to turn in circles. The foam attaching him to the ceiling bubbled and lengthened, making him swing vaguely back and forth.

Steve bit his cheek to keep from laughing at him. "What were you even trying to do?"

"Make an adhesive that could be used on the Hulk to try and stop him instead of the suit," Tony answered, defeated. He was still slowly circling his way down toward the ground. "I thought if it was foam, he wouldn't react so defensively."

"Well, I understand the reasoning," Steve offered, looking around the workshop to try and find an area he could leap to. It was pretty covered. Some parts of foam were still growing. "Why is it blue?"

"I was gonna make it purple, but the chemicals reacted to the blue dye before I could add red," Tony sighed. His trajectory looked to be on par with a particularly large pile of oozing foam. He seemed to realize that too, if the resignation on his face was anything to go by.

Steve leapt up on a table and reached out to grab his ankle, towing him over. "Get the gauntlet off."

"It's literally oozed inside the gauntlet. Just save yourself," Tony said, resignation giving way to sudden exhaustion. "It's not toxic. I'll be fine once it wears off."

"We will be fine once it wears off," Steve corrected, matter-of-fact, and reached up to grab the ooze and pull so Tony could put his feet on the table. Nothing happened, except that he couldn't get his hand out of the ooze. He took a moment to consider this, dumbfounded. He'd truly thought he could just pull Tony free.

"Steve!" Tony wailed in dismay. "What have you done!"

Steve blinked. What had he done? He didn't even know what was in this stuff. "Well, I wanted to spend time with you anyway, so--" he began.

"THIS IS GOING TO TAKE HOURS TO WEAR OFF!" Tony bellowed, shoving at him, and they both yelped as it knocked Steve off kilter and they both tripped off the table. The went back to Tony's previous slow, pathetic swaying in circles.

"This isn't my fault," Steve said, and Tony screeched at him.

#aurumacadicus answers #saving-stark #1-161 stony ficlet challenge #stony

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natureismynature · 8 months

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Ok ok ok time to talk about Dark: Leo's friend, Cucurojo: evil cucurucho, and Quackity's nightmare fuel

This is Dark

This is Cucurojo

And this is Quackity's nightmare fuel

If we look at the drawings, both Dark and Quackity's nigtmare are made of darkness, has horns and red eyes. Which are very few similarities and could most likely be a coincidence, but if we look at WHEN these entities showed up to them, that's when you start thinking. Quackity's nightmare showed up when he found out Tilin died, Leo introduced her friend to Foolish shortly after she found out Trumpet died. Both eggs that died at the exact same day.

And now, we're at a crucial time in the server where ALL the eggs are missing and we don't know their status. They might be in danger. Then suddenly we get introduced to Cucurojo? For what reason? Was it the one responsible for the disappearance? Was it the danger that scared them off? We have no idea.

But the question is, are they the same creatures? The three of them? We don't know. We're not sure. But when BBH asked Leo if Dark and Quackity's nightmare fuel were the same, she said no. But that's the thing, kids are unreliable narrators.

Of course she would say they're not the same thing! The way Quackity drew it is scary and intimidating, but the way she sees it is friendly and cute. Because she's friends with it, it protects her pa's dragon, it keeps her company. It's not evil! It's not bad!

And we're calling Cucurojo evil, but is it really? Are we sure about that? It did help the Mazerunners get to where the spinning wheel was. But at the same time, that wheel did not mean anything good.

I don't know where I'm going with this, it's going nowhere so I'm gonna stop digdskh anyway, many questions... many many questions

#qsmp #timb talks #qsmp theories #rambles

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20nugs · 8 months

Note

the reader and matt being at a party and the reader gets drunk and matt helps her 🥺

Accident (Matt Sturniolo x fem!reader)

summary: REQUEST

cw: VOMITING. drunk😦

a/n: rahh comforting Matt

___

I never drink, ever. It's just not something I do. So how have I find myself stumbling towards the bathroom at a party, my boyfriend nowhere to be seen and bile creeping up my throat?

At some point in the night, someone had offered me a drink. I took it and went back for seconds, thirds, and fourths, not knowing it was alcohol. How am I going to explain this to Matt?

I slam into the bathroom, startling a kissing couple who grumble as they see me crumple to the ground in front of the toilet, stepping over me and leaving. The room spins as I lift the toilet seat with shaky hands. I immediately throw up into the toilet, gripping the bowl. I feel a hand hold my hair back for me, and I look up after wiping my mouth to see Matt.

"Woah baby, what happened? You're drunk? Are you okay?" He asks in a flurry, kneeling next to me with a panicked expression, his eyes scanning my face. I just turn back to the toilet, throwing up some more, tears running down my face at the pounding of my head and the awful burn of vomit in my throat. The room spins even more, and after throwing up all I can, I sit back, tears running down my face.

"I didn't know Matt," I sob. "I'm sorry, I didn't know it was alcohol."

"It's okay sweetheart, I'm not upset, just worried," Matt quietly reassures. He gently helps me stand up, and flushes the toilet, takes a piece of toilet paper and carefully wipes off my face after wetting it. Then he leads me out, weaving me smoothly through the crowd, grabbing a water bottle on the way over to Chris. He taps Chris's shoulder, letting him know he's leaving with me. Chris takes a look at me then nods before going back to partying.

We make it outdoors, the cold air chilling me to my bones. Matt takes off his jacket and gives it to me, the feel and scent of his clothes calming me. He kisses my forehead before opening the car door for me, handing me the water before getting into the driver's seat. "M'sorry Matt," I murmur, leaning my head against the window.

Matt's hand slides up and down my thigh soothingly. "Don't be," he says softly. "It happens sometimes. I should've been there with you." I take a mint from the glove box and pop one into my mouth. I wait for it to dissolve before pecking Matt on the mouth at a red light. He immediately smiles and kisses me back, his hands leaving the wheel and finding my waist. We would've continued like this if we weren't at a dead stop at a green light. A car honks it's horn at us and Matt pulls away. "Shit," he laughs before stepping on the gas. He keeps one hand on the wheel and the other on my upper thigh as he drives us home. He glances at me every so often, checking on me. Eventually I doze off, falling asleep with my hand over his and my face smushed against the window.

I wake up later to Matt carrying me up our stairs in our own home. He smiles down at me as I stir. "Hey baby," he mumbles as reaches the top of the stairs. "Do you wanna take a shower or do you wanna just go to bed?"

"I wanna take a shower," I murmur. "I probably smell bad."

Matt laughs. "You smell fine sweetheart," he says, kissing my lips lovingly. "I'll take you to the bathroom, though."

He takes me into the bathroom, turns on the water, and covers his eyes with his hands respectfully so I can take off my clothes. I smile at his courtesy and take off my clothes, stepping into the warm shower and closing the curtain behind me. Matt talks to me for the entire shower, making sure I know he's still there. After the shower he leaves only for a moment to get our bed ready for me. He comes back after I'm dressed and leads me to our bed, letting me get in it and hopping into the shower quickly himself.

I doze off as he showers, but after a short while, I feel his arms wrap around me. His lips press a lazy kiss to my forehead. He's clearly exhausted. "I love you," he murmurs, his head finding the crook of my neck. He plants a soft kiss to my neck, and my breath hitches as I smile sleepily.

"I love you too," I mumble. His arms tighten against me in response as we both fall into a calming sleep.

____

a/n: yippie I wrote again

jumping off of a cliff im so tired

anywho lmk if you see any errors, I love you guys!! don't be afraid to send in requests!

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #anon ask #matthew bernard sturniolo #sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matthew sturniolo x reader #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic

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thedepthsoffandomminds · 2 months

Text

The Guest. - one

Jack Dawkins x reader. Completed 25 parts fic masterlist

Request: Hey! I have an amazing idea! How about a Jack Dawkins x doctor!reader story, and yes I would like her to be a sick person (same sickness as Belle) and she was finding a cure for herself, but she is from the future, like in the 2000s, if you want it to be 2023 or 2024, and she somehow cam to the 1850s and she and Jack gradually fell in love and a bit of jealous Jack because Sneed also fell in love with her, not Belle but she doesn't like him. And She is close friends with Belle, who is also trying to help in finding the cure for her and the reader and Belle got a job in the hospital together, she got taken in by Belle's father since she didn't have a home in the 1850s. You can write in the beginning that the reader only watched like 5 episodes of the Artful dodger and didn't know the cure yet. Thank you! (This is a long description 😂)

Sitting alone in your small studio apartment you flick off your TV after almost fully binge watching a new show. Your work friend had recommended it after finding out you were a Dickens fan. At first you weren't sure, could they really do it justice yet here you were five episodes in and hooked. Unfortunately you had to go to work. You had a night shift at the local hospital. Night shifts for you often felt easier, not the work exactly; there were always new patients coming in and out of the emergency room. As a doctor you were no stranger to blood and gore and all the strange things people did to each other. You pull your hair up into a messy bun at the top of your head and glance over to your clock.

"Oh shit!" You say grabbing your purse and running out the door. If you didn't go now you'd be late, and honestly you couldn't afford another late on your record. Your boss was already looking for a reason to fire you. Jumping in your car you speed out of the parking garage below the building. The roads were fairly clear for a Friday night, eerily empty. Sure you lived out in the middle of nowhere Australia but this was almost extreme. The tarmac below your wheels was wet, yesterday another unusual thing for mid summer. You mostly ignore the strangeness as you drive, taking your eyes off the road to flick your radio on. When you look back a fog starts to roll in, low to the ground at first, growing steadily until you can hardly see in front of you.

There is a rush of thundering steps charging and you see a great herd of horses speed past you.

"What the-?" You start to say when all your thoughts are stopped. Something large and black had hit the side of your car sending you spinning off the road. The car comes to a stop. Your hands are clenched around the steering wheel. You grab at your chest feeling the tightness there.

"No, not now." It had been a long time since you had felt any pain in your chest. In fact you had been a child when you had your first operation. There had always been a possibility of it coming back as you got older but at only twenty six you didn't think it would be yet. Needing to get air into your lungs you unclip your seat belt and fall out of the car.

The fog was thick and it caught in your throat.

"What is that?" You say out loads to yourself. Coming closer you hear something hard rolling quickly toward you. A large black shadow looming out of the fog. Unable to see properly you don't have enough time to move when the shadow hits you hard, sending you flying to the ground.

A hand is patting your face and you finally look up. It's bright daylight and a woman is knelt beside you, her big, fluffy pink dress is what you notice first.

"My gosh, are you okay?" She asks frantically, "Father we must get her to the hospital." You recognise something about that voice.

"Yes my dear, let's get her in the carriage." An older man with large, white sideburns agrees. Between the two of them they lift you up to your feet and into the carriage.

"What happened?" You ask, fighting the dizziness.

"We hit you with our carriage I'm afraid." The man said, "we may have broken your arm, my dear."

Finally acknowledging your pain you look down at your arm and the strange way it bends.

"hmm yes it looks like it could be a hairline fracture of the Radius bone." You say looking at the shape and swelling of your arm.

"Oh Father, she talks just like Belle." The woman laughed. That name caught your attention and you look back to the fluffy woman.

"Lady Fanny?" You ask.

"Oh you know me?" She says excitedly.

"That makes you Governor Fox?" You say turning the older man. He nods with a smile.

"And who might you be?" Fanny asks.

"Oh um I'm y/n." You say. "I don't understand, how am I here?" You ask them.

"well we put you in here." She answers you a laugh.

"No, no I mean, how am I...this makes no sense at all." You look out of the window and see a bustling town all around you. "Port Victory? Stop the carriage!" You shout to the driver. He pulls at the horse's reins slowing them to stop. You climb out and find yourself surrounded by men in frock coats and women in large dresses. The heat beats down on you and you're sure you had to be dreaming.

"Come on now miss, let's get you back into the carriage!" governor Fox called over to you. You shake your head, still turning around yourself to take it all in. At the exact moment you were turning back toward the carriage a hard body hits into yours, sending both you tumbling to the floor once more. You call out in pain and grab at your arm.

"I'm so sorry, miss, let me help you up." The cheeky English voice says. Your momentarily blinded by the sun above you only able to feel the strong arms pulling you off the ground.

"Your arm looks bad let me, take you inside." You know that voice.

Focusing your eyes you look up into the deep brown ones in front of you.

"Jack Dawkins." You whisper.

He grins down at you.

"So you've heard of me? Come along then, I'll get you all fixed up." He says guiding you towards the hospital, "shall I ask the nurses for some clothes for you, miss?"

"What?"

"Well, you uhhh you appear to be in your...well you aren't in a dress." Jack stumbles.over his words. You look down at your denim jeans and small white t-shirt.

"Oh, right." Eyes shifting around you see the way people are looking at you and feel utterly exposed. Jack led you into a small private room where he helped you sit on the bed.

"Okay let's have a look." He takes your hurt arm and pulls it towards him gently, "Yes, it's definitely broken. It doesn't seem so bad though." He says.

"A hairline fracture I'd say. We should get a scan on it just to be sure." You say.

"A what?" His eyes narrow in on you.

"Oh, I'm, nothing it needs a, um a splint, right?" You ask trying to recall how medicine worked in the 1800s. Jack studied you with curious eyes.

"Doctor, do you need anything?" Hetty pops her head through the door.

"Ahh yes, please could you get miss...uhh" he looks back at you,

"y/l/n" you announce.

"Yes Miss y/l/n some clothing, please." The nurse nods her head and disappears out of the room. Jack turns back to you and checks your arm once more.

"Yes a splint, very good. How did you...no it's alright I'll be right back." He follows Hetty out the door leaving you alone. Looking around the room you try to make sense of what was happening. This had to be a dream, right. You didn't fall through some magic fog and end up in the middle of TV show. Either way you figured it would be best if you didn't tell anyone where you were really from. The future seemed a bit crazy and could wind you in a jail cell rather than being helped.

When Jack came back into the room he was carrying a small pile of clothes and medical equipment.

"um, the nurses are all busy, would it be okay if I helped you to um, get dressed?" He asked sheepishly.

"Sure, I won't be able to do it myself." You admit. He straps up your arm, a thin wooden plank on top and bottom with a white linen bandage wrapped around your arm. Jack cut the sleeve the grey dress and helped you to step into it. He pulls it up so you can slide your arms into it, material is surprisingly soft but worn. Jack is careful with your broken arm and begins to button the front.

"Thank you for this." You say in a quiet voice.

"Of course. How did you get hurt?" He asks.

"Oh a carriage, um, Governor Fox's carriage." You say, still not fully sure what happened yourself.

"And he just left you?" Annoyance flashed across his face.

"No, god no. He was bringing me here but I was too curious, I guess." You laugh.

Just as you were speaking you hear Edmund Fox talking in the corridor with the nurses.

"She is just in here with the Doctor, sir." Hetty knocks and opens the door, "The Governor is here for the lady."

"Ahh there you are, well how are we doing?" Fox asks.

"A simple break, Governor. Miss Y/l/n will be fine with a few weeks rest, the bone will repair itself." Jack explained. Fanny came darting in to your side.

"Oh, thank the lord you're okay." She said grabbing you as if you were old friends, "where are you staying?" She asks.

"umm,"

"I insist you stay with us for the duration of your recovery." Fox said very matter-of-factly. You shake your head.

"I couldn't do that-" you begin to protest.

"It is a good place to recover, miss." Jack cuts you off, "I will visit you there on my rounds, to check on your healing." He smiled.

You think for a moment, realising you were changing the course of events already. Though ultimately you agree and follow the Fox's out of the hospital and back into the carriage.

Jack watched as you walked away.

"Strange one, she is." Hetty remarked standing beside him.

"She's remarkable, knew exactly what was wrong with her arm, but you aren't wrong there is something odd about her." He mused.

"Red was looking for you, said there is a card game tonight on the ship." Hetty told him.

At Government house you stood in the parlour with Fanny and Belle, Smales sat at the table.

"We'll take you to the seamstress tomorrow. She has a few dresses we can have fitted to you immediately." Fanny chatted away.

"I appreciate it, Fanny, but I don't have any money to pay for dresses." You say.

"Oh, none of that. Miss y/l/n. We did you a grave service today. It would be our pleasure to ensure your stay here be as pleasant as possible. Think nothing of any cost." Edmund spoke up from his chair, their dog sat on his lap. You thank him then turn to Belle.

"Lady Belle, have you been to the hospital at all?" You ask trying to keep yourself as neutral as you could.

"No I have not, though I would like to." She sighed.

"Oh we will have to get you a dress for the ball tomorrow night." Fanny clapped happily.

"your ball is tomorrow?" You ask, realisation dawning on you. "I'm sorry I need to go somewhere." You jump up and run for the door.

As always let me know what you think of this one.

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PT 2

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#jack dawkins x y/n #jack dawkins x reader #jack dawkins #the artful dodger x reader #the artful dodger #norbert fagin #lady belle fox #reader insert #thomas brodie sangster

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