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amoc94 · 3 years

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POLAR NIGHT

Summary:

He was a patient man. He wouldn't mind to wait for the right time to reap what he thought he deserved. He had lived in the dark for far too long, that happiness was such a foreign notion for him.

Until you crossed his path and awakened something deep inside him.

Until he realized there was indeed glowing light on the other side of his world, just a flicker at the end of the journey he had to conquer.

Until the sunshine he had waited became you.

Full Masterlist and elaborate warning please read here.

Excerpt

Pairing : Taehyung x Ballerina Reader

Genre : Yandere, Mafia AU.

Warning : Nothing for this part. (But still, this is yandere, duh!🙄)

Word count : 3.8K+

Part 1 - HER

It was such a busy morning, and you regretted everything that went so wrong by the time you were awakened from your dreamless sleep the previous night.

You regretted the bus that left just a few seconds before you succesfully stepped your feet on the empty stop a few blocks from your house, you watched its departure with heaving chest from the sprinting. The next bus arrived twenty minutes later, and you inwardly grimaced at your watch.

You regretted your neglect to bring your tutu for the rehearsal, because you were too occupied in munching the sandwich your grandma had pressed you to eat before your morning session start, while you let your mind went blank, not really focused on the things that should had been your priority.

You regretted of sleeping a bit late last night, because you couldn't stop yourself to practice the arabesque move many times until your back had to endure a sharp ache, driven by the nearing nervous breakdown that your new instructor brought about almost everyday.

There were so many regrets in your mind, it were all over the place, you didn't pay attention to your direction, when you bumped onto someone at the hallway leading to the theater room.

You tumbled unceremoniously with bottom dipped first to the ground, your bag and half-consumed bread fell scattered on the floor.

There was a deep baritone voice that drew your attention, and when you looked at the face whose hand was extended to you, you almost gasped in reflex.

He would be a perfect fit to play the role of Prince Désiré in the show you've been practicing for weeks, even the prince wouldn't be as captivating as him.

"You should be more careful."

The man crouching in front of you was probably the most beautiful man you had ever seen, not many boys you knew with that look like him.

But he certainly wasn't a boy. He was a fine man, with traits on his features almost feminine and delicate, his define cheekbones and sharp projected nose, shaded by perfect slightly arched thick eyebrows. A knot of his fringe covering part of his forehead, his eyes glimmered with curiosity, and from the color of his complexion and facial structures, you could tell he was not an Italian.

"I ... I'm sorry. I didn't ...-" You gasped when he dabbed your shirt and your ankle, wiping bread crumbs away with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket. A smooth move that you almost failed to register, when the cold feeling from his callous fingers stroke your skin.

How did a man like him could have a rough skin on his palm? Certainly not from day to day strenuous job, he wouldn't need to.

"Are you okay, bambina? You should be more careful with your steps. Legs are the most precious asset for a dancer."

His voice was deep and rich, it wasn't matched with his ethereal appearance.

It took you a moment to process the whole situation, before the sound of heels clacking on the tile and a female voice broke the air.

"Gio? Is everything ok?"

Good looking man with good amount of wealth practically screaming from his appearance would have a beautiful woman next to him, it was almost always too typical.

She looked like those women that grazed the front page of magazines or websites that you sometimes browse through. Slim and tall figure wrapped in designer articles from head to toe, with every single feature on her face shaped perfectly, covered with flawless make up.

She was everything that you were not even dare to dream to look like.

The pretty man helped you to stand up by pulling your wrist gently.

His dark grey coat was draped over his shoulder like a cape, covering his three piece suit, with tie and clip, his platinum cufflinks glistened under his shirt wrist, sleek and finished. His appearance shouted extravagance and aristocracy, it was almost blinding to you.

He didn't answer the woman, instead, he handed your bag to you, while giving you a polite smile.

"Are you one of the ballerina in tomorrow's Sleeping Beauty?"

His fluent standard Italian didn't have any accent, if you didn't see him in person, you would have thought he was a native of Italy.

"Ye ... yes, but ... I'm only one of the supporting dancer." You almost felt shameful with how inferior your role was. It was still a long way to go before you could reach the prima ballerina title.

"How old are you, bambina?" His countenance was neutral and calming, as his eyes still gazed on you.

"Gio, let's go." The woman's voice was laced with petulance as she reached to his shoulder.

He held up a firm open palm to silence her, while his eyes still trained on you.

"I ...-" You cast an unsure glance on the woman, before your eyes back at his face, this time his narrowed eyes urged you to continue.

"..-I will be sixteen this November."

He shook his head while dipped one hand in his pocket, looking down at your figure, his smile was almost rectangular shaped, revealing a set of neat pearly white teeth.

"I see. Still a long journey for a little girl like you. Just give your best, okay?"

You almost forgot to nod your head in a proper manner. You could tell he wasn't just random people passing by, his presence alone was too hypnotizing. Good thing that the woman's voice broke you from the trance.

You ran away as fast as you could, trying not to prolong the delay, Miss Bianchi's temper could be tempestuous in the morning especially when she hasn't had her morning caffeine fix.

Not that would make any difference, really, because every day under her patronizing look was practically hell in waiting.

But you have to ensure and make it last anyway, your grandmother would never forgive you if you fail.

To become a prima ballerina, and finally perform the main role in La Scala wasn't only your dream, it was her visualization of achievement that she failed to fulfill after leg injury she suffered in the spur moment of her climbing the ladder of fame during her prime.

Approaching the theater room, you could hear Miss Bianchi's thunderous shout to her students, the sound of her clapping hand with their every move always gave you a kind of jitter, you had tried your best not to make any mistake in front of her.

You winced when making another step that sent painful ache around your toes, and the stiffness from your strain back, a result of arching and stretching your legs too many times, the arabesque move that she had always found fault with.

Sometimes your leg wasn't high enough, another time your back wasn't straight, your posture was wrong, or the elevation angle was not precise.

It was strange that you could do a straight perfect penché at home, one that even your grandmother would hesitantly praise upon, but you were a complete mess in front of her.

An à la hauteur was a piece of cake for you, but for her, even a simple à demi hauteur wasn't well scored.

"Left .... to the left, higher ... higher. I said ninety. This isn't Notre Dame de Paris, we are not portraying the hunchback. Push it up!"

Her shout could be heard from outside the room.

Your frantic nerves were all over the place when you forced yourself to walk inside, descending the staircases leading to the stage. Her gaze immediately seized on you, eyes blazing with twisted elation, you had a feeling she enjoyed to denote your every mistake.

"Ah ... Miss L/N, of all the time you could be late, it has to be now, a day before the show. "

You hastily took of your dress and threw it on random chair in slipshod, nevermind the warming up. Not that she would pay any attention for your sake anyway.

It was a good thing you chose to wear a slip on dress over your black tights and leotard.

You tried to be as invisible as you can, scuttled your way to squeeze your body inline with other dancers, maintaining a composed pose.

However, if you thought she would overlook your mistake today, you would be sorely disappointed. Especially rehearsing for an important showcase without the tutu. Of all the days you could forget to bring the costume, it had to be today, whereas you were also late.

"Ah I see, not bringing your skirt with you, can I assume this behavior as a sign that you are not particularly eager for the show? Perhaps the play is too minuscule for a dancer of your caliber?"

Every words of hers dripped with venom and sly innuendo, sometimes you wondered if she just hated your mere existence alone.

"No. Miss Bianchi. I'm sorry, I forgot to bring it with me." You prayed that she wouldn't talk to your grandmother, because if she did, that would mean another night sleeping with empty stomach. Maybe they shared the same vile genetic after all, so similar to each other.

"Another day like this, and you will be expelled, I'll make sure of that."

You posed on your fifth position, preparing for the adagio, silently wished Miss Bianchi would finally leave you off the hook, before your eyes caught the two figures near the entrance, descending the stairs in unhurried steps, reducing their distance to the stage.

It was the pretty man from the hallway, with his woman walking next to him, her arms were slipped around his bent elbow.

Taking a seat on the front row across the stage, he sat cross legged elegantly.

His companion took the seat next to him, giving a lopsided smile on her blood red lips, staring at Miss Bianchi's direction.

"What are you actually looking at? Continue to the next move!" Miss Bianchi's voice echoed throughout the empty theater, before she went down the stage, and walked to the couple.

Your blended with other dancers, whose motion were fluidly memorized with every pose and move already rehearsed many times, you would have to admit, sometimes her fierce teaching was justified, considering how the group couldn't afford to simplify the importance of the grand show. If the event was successful, money and sponsorship would come along, to bring the company to the top rank among ballet companies in Italy.

Did not matter how much torture she put you through.

Looking from the tail of your vision, you could tell Miss Bianchi wasn't feeling too welcome on the couple, and the man- with the way he sat, elbows on the armrest and hands weaved at the front of his chest, his eyes mused on the performance on stage. His head tilted sideways, his eyes scanning the entire group.

You almost felt like his eyes were brooding on you, unsettlingly stirring something inside you, a little bit fear with a hint of ... curiosity.

Before you chose to disregard that thought, because curiosity killed the cat. Nothing good came from being nosy.

The beautiful woman now walked towards the stage, behind Miss Bianchi.

Your teacher clapped her hands to draw everyone's attention, and as if on an automatic switch, all dancers halted their move in a perfect third position, waiting for further instruction.

"Everyone, this is Sophia Abate, she will be the lead ballerina to dance for Aurora, while Andrea will take the role of Carabosse. Martina, you move to corps de ballet."

There were loud gasps between dancers, your heart started to beat erratically. You were one in the backdrop team, if Martina join your group, that meant ....

"Unfortunately, Y/N, I have to withdraw you from the show. Maybe next time."

The gasps turned into commotion when everyone's voice overlapped one another, you could hear Andrea cursed lowly, and Martina was staring at Miss Bianchi with disbelief.

You didn't pay any attention to them, you couldn't, not when Miss Bianchi's words were like ringing loudly in your ears, you almost thought it was just an illusion.

This was supposed to be your first grand performance, eventhough you weren't the principal dancer, but to be on the stage would open a window of opportunity for you to get some attention if not experience, no matter how insignificant.

Dread crept up your heart imagining your grandmother. She would be angry, furious, no .. no ... she would be livid. You had bellied long hours of self training, the immense pain on your back and joint, excruciating blisters on your toes, starvation and screaming from her. Your blood, sweat and tears ... all of those were for ... nothing.

Literally nothing.

What was exactly so wrong with you?

You were sure now, Miss Bianchi just hated you. It didn't matter how excellent you were, it was personal vendetta for her, anything that came to your existence, would have her spiked you for no reason.

You watched as Martina threw a hateful glare to the pretty woman, who was her name again? Sophia Abate. You've heard that surname somewhere surely. Some rich family in that gossip column maybe. And also a prima ballerina, a good one -it seemed, otherwise there was no way Miss Bianchi would change the formation a day before the show just for her.

Andrea stomped her foot to vent her rage, walking to Miss Bianchi to probably have a word with her.

But they shouldn't have been angry, they would still perform. While you, you wouldn't have the chance ... you were just ... an outcast.

They didn't care about you or asked about your opinion, not that it would matter, but ... still, you were almost invisible to them.

"Y/N, are you okay? You look so pale. I'm sorry, ... I don't know what possesed her to do this." Maria, one of the backdrop dancer trying to calm you down by patting your back.

You just nodded lightly, didn't say anything anymore. You needed sometime alone, a moment to cry your fear out.

Yes, ... fear. Because you needed to brace yourself when you come home later, to face your grandmother's wrath.

Disappointment was just a fragment of what you felt, nothing compared to the fear of insult, degradation and physical abuse that your grandmother always aimed at you.

She told you that in order to achieve your goal, suffering was what kept you going, the motivation to better yourself. You needed to work hard and harder, pushing yourself beyond your limit.

And you did. You swore you had done and gave all of you.

But maybe luck wasn't on your side in every way you took. The thing that made Sophia Abate had that privilege to snap her finger and had people on her whim. Even someone so intimidating like Miss Bianchi.

Looking at your reflection in the bathroom, you stared at your figure, the leotard was supposed to tightly fit your body, but you could slip a hand or two easily under the fabric against your skin. You were too thin, and you knew that wasn't because you didn't love food. You loved to eat. Basically anything savory or sweet.

But it has been a long time since you remembered when you ate with joy. You almost forgot how tiramisu or pizza tasted, didn't remember when was the last time you had it.

Your daily diet consisted of protein and vegetables, sometimes wheat bread. Minimal sugar and almost no salt. Salt caused bloating, your grandmother said, and you needed to maintain your lithe frame. You should be grateful that she still fed you those plain chicken breast with lettuce, at least you still had eggs from time to time. That was what your grandmother always said with persistent scowl on her brows.

Sophia Abate was a prima ballerina. And she didn't look haggard and miserable like you.

You wiped your almost dried tears that smeared your mascara, the strong smell of pinesol mixed with general nausea from your stomach was revolting, you felt like throwing up.

It was when you heard the door opened and someone walked inside.

Your eyes caught figure of a person and your breath was halted on your throat, again.

It was the man you bumped with at the hallway. The pretty Asian that brought the woman here, the reason of your doomsday.

He was wearing his coat now, and looking at his reflection from the partly foggy mirror, you looked like a mess compared with his flawless appearance.

"She isn't an easy tutor, is she?" His deep voice echoed around the empty restroom.

You turned around, before your eyes met his light brown irises, the way he was staring at you was incomprehensible.

"This is a lady's room." You deadpanned.

"I am aware. I don't have any ill intention if that's what you are afraid of. I'm not a child molester." There was light mocking smirk on his face, and you were almost offended with the way he said while dragging his gaze around your pitiful form in a haste.

You were nothing like his girlfriend, obviously. She had curve and more flesh, she had her beauty to attract these kind of guys, while you, ... even if you died today, your grandmother wouldn't probably even mourn for you.

"How good are you in your skill, bambina?"

You looked at him with eyes still hot from the crying. "What's that have anything to do with you?"

"We bought this theater yesterday, and considering the wrecked state of the financial report as well as your performance in general, this company needs a good revamp, a drastic one. Having Sophia to perform tomorrow will be a good start."

Now it all did made sense. He was the investor. After the fortune they paid to buy the establishment, they needed to make sure the money they already spent would go for what it was worth.

You looked up at him, chin up, before answering his question with newfound confidence.

"I'm perfect. All I need is the chance to prove myself, which my teacher apparently lacking in that matter."

He put both hands in his pocket pants, the notch lapel of his coat was pulled slightly, revealing the conceal carry with a black gun attached on his left shoulder.

Your eyes widened, gave away your surprise.

But he didn't look affected one bit, he put two steps forward, standing just a couple of feet in front of you, observing you with assessing eyes.

"To be able to dance well, a healthy body is what you need the most." His eyes trained on your shoulder, where the collarbone indented too deep.

You tried to hide your discomfort, you didn't like to talk about your grandmother.

"It doesn't matter." You tried to keep the nonchalance in your tone.

"I can help you. That is, if you are really as good like you said. I'm eager to sponsor a talent to contribute more to the company."

Your eyes were now focused on him. His flawless complexion, and the way he rubbed his lips while tilting his head, seemed like it was a habit of him.

"You haven't seen me dance yet."

"I've seen enough."

No, certainly not enough from the short performance you danced earlier. But who were you to decide?

"I can assign you for a role, maybe one of the fairies. Nothing major, but certainly better than to be discharged, right?"

One of the fairies? The role was nothing important, would only have a brief moment in Act 1 and Act 3, but far better than dancing at the backdrop. Maria would be looking at you with green eyes later.

It was too difficult for you to speak with giddiness started to take over you, you almost couldn't think.

"You ... you think you could do it?"

And he laughed. A full fledged laughter that adorned his beautiful face with boxy smile, his deep voice was peculiarly arresting.

"You really have no idea who I am, Y/N? Reggio Calabria is not huge, everyone should know one another."

How did he know your name anyway? Maybe because Miss Bianchi called you once at the stage before dismissing you. But that meant he actually paid attention to you.

Maybe it was true when he said he wanted the company to grow. Real talents were rare, and the prospect to perform tomorrow had you to blind yourself with his willingness to give you the chance.

"My life is only about ballet. I almost have no time to ... you know, browse."

Once again he gave you a once over, still decent and polite, you almost could sense he was being sincere.

"I'll help you with your career, but in return, I want you to take a better care of yourself. Once I assign you in, you are one of my company's asset. Can't risk to have it ruined, can I?"

Every deed would always have a catch, something to pay it back. But in this matter he was pretty reasonable. He wanted to ensure you would contribute to the company.

"Who are you?"

The sun shone through the short window near the ceiling was bright and the angle it created through the glass reflected the light perfectly on his face in a breathtaking fashion, almost too beautiful to be real.

"I'm Giovanni Romano, bambina. You will hear about me more often from today onwards."

"Mr. Romano, why ... why are you helping me?"

Letting out another chuckle, he didn't answer your question. "Let's go back to the theatre and give me one perfect dance to settle my decision."

Maybe it was the fear of your grandmother's reaction if she find out you were being dismissed that fixed your determination. Or maybe it was a negligence on your side, ignoring the hunch setting deep in the pit of your stomach, the fact that it was too coincidental for a man like him wanted to give you a big opportunity which even your optimistic self wouldn't dare to wish.

You stared at him, and remembered about the gun he carried. You had an apt idea who he probably was, but you chose to ignore the alarm bell that went off in the back of your conscience.

Your hard work would finally paid off.

He was walking to the door, before halted and turned to look at you.

"By the way ... " His seemingly genuine smile was the thing that finalized your decision.

"Only a few people know this, you are included. Call me Taehyung. Kim Taehyung."

What kind of name was that? Definitely not an italian name. Maybe one of his aliases, that was what you often heard about people like him.

Miss Bianchi was dismissed the minutes you and him stepped inside the theater room, there were two men with all black suit dragging her out while screaming profanities to Mr. Romano. Or Mr. Kim?

The sight of his henchmen didn't dissuade you one bit, you were blinded by your own ambition.

That sunny morning, you moved your body to show him, the perfect arabesque penchée you have been trained a thousand times with your sore toes, under the envious and hateful glare from the other dancers.

Performing your first solo in front of a man with power like him, the excitement of a bright future had you too oblivious of one little thing that slipped your mind at the time.

You should never make a deal with the devil.

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Part 2 - Him

#yandere taehyung #yandere bts x reader #yandere bts #bts fanfic #yandere kim taehyung #yandere taehyung x reader #yandere tae #bts fic

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

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not allowed iv, m | jjk, myg

pairing(s): est. poly relationship – jungkook x reader x yoongi

summary: Your boyfriends woke up and chose violence. Excuse me, Jeon Jungkook, Min Yoongi? Do you really think you can post one after another on Twitter, send the world into heart palpitations, and not expect your girlfriend to do something about it? Hmm?!

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; mentions of the pandemic; reader and Yoongi have giant heart eyes whenever they see each other; feels and fluff; smut (fem reader, dirty talk, nipple play, f and m-receiving oral, fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, m-masturbation, double penetration/spit roasting); idol!BTS

that’s right JK posted his blue hair and i absolutely lost it part of ‘not allowed’ series, but can be read alone. basic summary: your boyfriend asked JJK to fuck you, then again, and then they decided to make this a thing; based on real time.

Your boyfriends woke up today and chose violence.

Everything was fine. You were on your lunch break, sitting in your kitchen, knowing you would have to get back to work soon. A quick meal and scrub of the dishes left you with you a few minutes to check your phone. You didn’t get many messages throughout the day and you preferred it that way. You took a moment to scroll through social media.

Only to choke a little seeing Jeon Jungkook, the Golden Maknae of BTS, reveal his dark blue locks to the world in the middle of the damn day. Did you almost drop your phone? Yes. Did you not because it was the special edition BTS S20+? Also, yes. The TinyTan SUGA phone case would have protected it anyway, but… still.

You placed your phone aside and went back to your computer, ready to attend work again.

Not quite composed, but it was just a picture, just a picture, just a picture…

Except you knew what Jungkook looked like naked and that wasn’t helping.

Three hours later, you snuck a glance at your phone only to be attacked by the cutest human being in the world, Min Yoongi, SUGA of BTS, sometimes Agust D, all the time lil meow meow because, holy shit, why the fuck was this man so cute? Those damn cheeks. Those eyes. Fuck, you loved his eye shape. And his pretty lips. Damnnit, why couldn’t you kiss him right now?

They’re trying to kill you and ARMY all at once.

You’re convinced.

You rubbed your temples and took a deep breath.

It is only a coincidence. It doesn’t involve you. They’re only being their usual adorable, attractive selves and giving a gift to the fans. You weren’t delusional. It was their job to do things like this. You knew this and you were used to it. You’ve seen Yoongi say all kinds of things in V-LIVEs and you always thought it was funny. Lately, he hadn’t been responding to them much though. As for Jungkook, well.

Everyone in the world wanted Jungkook, including you, so could you blame the world? No.

Jungkook tried to tell you before that he was shy and you recalled all those see-through shirts he’d worn on stage. All those ab reveals. Hmm, you weren’t fooled.

“I wanted to make sure you were looking at me, noona,” Jungkook had teased you, hooking his arms around your waist. “I had to get your attention somehow.”

Yeah, yeah, your attention and millions of other people.

It made you laugh, until he became your boyfriend, and now it made you choke on air like every other human being who saw him looking that good. Before you had the safety of giving your full attention to Yoongi. Yoongi had always been your priority and you wanted to make sure he felt that way.

Little by little.

Jungkook grew up.

And became harder and harder to ignore.

Even more difficult when Yoongi gave him the apartment key and told him to fuck you in his stead.

You heard your phone ping. You checked your messages, saving your work in the process.

That will teach you to post such sexy pictures.

You twitched. Excuse me? What was Jungkook talking about? Your personal, private Instagram was for expressing your – sometimes eccentric – fashion sense. Was he referring to the images you posted for Valentine’s Day, the ones with the white vinyl coat, red stockings, and sky-high red heels? Hmph. You couldn’t even see your face in those. Actually, you deliberately cut off most of your face in all of your pictures. The most you showed were your lips, always painted to match your outfit. You didn’t want anyone to recognize you, even by happenstance.

Made taking pictures much easier, since you never had to do eye makeup or worry about accidentally making ugly faces.

It was private now, but it wasn’t before, and the only reason you privated it was because you started dating Yoongi. You still wanted it use it as an outlet though, so you left it as is, with your follower count unchanging. It wasn’t that many people to begin with and you were pretty sure a lot of the accounts were bots.

In any case, sometimes you felt like being creative and dressing up, thus you did so on Instagram. You couldn’t dress like that when you went to visit Yoongi. Ah, and now Jungkook too. To be honest, you loved fashion and trying on different looks, but it wasn’t possible unless you were alone. And you were alone a lot, with no one but strangers to appreciate (or be confused by) it.

Might as well take a picture, right?

And if you could tease Yoongi a little, at least from a distance, that was even better.

You forgot Jungkook also followed you now though.

Dammit.

Had the photos been sexy? Sure. Provocative, lots of leg, almost a peek of ass but not quite. Red lips to stand out against the white. If the coat was black, it would have been more traditionally fetishist, but that's why you had picked shiny white vinyl. Brighter for the cute holiday.

Who are you kidding? You wore it to provoke Yoongi.

He texted you after you posted it. Usually, he said things along the lines of, pretty, cute, you look crazy, I like it. Only sometimes did he say...

what the fuck

You had asked him if he liked your post today.

I'm not trying to pop a boner in the middle of practice, control yourself woman.

Maybe don't post such cute selfies then, you had thought. Then your phone pinged again.

Send a picture with the coat open. Jungkook wants to see.

Oh, so now that the maknae was involved, he was going to pin things on the younger one. Two can play at this game. You sent the photo to Jungkook first. You knew that if the situation was reversed, Yoongi would have done the same. Jungkook's reaction had been hilarious.

Noona?! WHAT???

And then a slew of head exploding emojis.

Yoongi had been agitated until you finally sent him the picture too. It had been a fun incident.

Until your boyfriends woke up today and chose violence.

Dammit.

You stared at blue-haired Jungkook and 'Blue and Grey' Yoongi from the MTV Unplugged performance.

This just wasn’t allowed.

This visit had a purpose, but then you saw Min Yoongi standing in the hallway waiting for you, wearing an olive-green shirt, hands in the pockets of his black sweatpants, small smile on his lips. Purring your name lovingly after you closed the door, and you realized you missed him so very much, his lovely dark brown eyes and dark hair, and then you were suddenly in his arms and he was hugging you.

With both arms.

Yoongi was recovering well and he still couldn't do strenuous activity yet, but he was hugging you with both arms and you wanted to cry because it was so nice to have them both around you. You could've been cool and collected, yet somehow both you and Yoongi had the same idea to first hug and breathe in each other, his fresh, woodsy scent strongly invading your nose and his soft cheek against yours.

"You smell different."

"Do you like it?" you mumbled into his neck, kissing it lightly.

"Mhm."

You thought it had worn off by now, but the new perfume you had purchased lingered far longer than you imagined, clinging to your hair. Warm spiced sweetness with a hint of sharp smoke. Yoongi inhaled deeply beside you.

"You should wear more perfume," he murmured, hands kneading your waist.

"Someone might notice."

"Nah, your taste similar enough to mine."

He was taking off your coat and you were stepping out of your shoes, being pulled deeper into the apartment, and now his kisses were yours, soft and light, every one saying, I missed you, I want you, I love you. There no need for words when it was Min Yoongi. Fingers tapping down your waist, pulling your oversized black shirt up and over your head.

"Excuse me?"

You pooped your head out to see Yoongi staring at your chest, jaw dropped and eyes wide. Oh, right. You had been so occupied with hugs and kisses that you almost forgot. Your shirt fluttered to the floor, forgotten.

You smirked.

"Surprise."

Yoongi made a face at you. Somewhere between angry, aroused, and shock. Good. Serves you right for posting such a cute selfie.

The front door opened.

Both of you instantly moved, you sliding behind him and into the bedroom, Yoongi standing in front of you, masking your frame. The discarded shirt and jacket could be explained away – that's why you wore oversized men's clothes, usually in Yoongi's preferred color palette.

"Hyung?"

Oh, whew. Actually, wait. No, this was danger.

"Ah, Jungkookie."

Yoongi placed his hand on your arm and you popped your head over the corner once you heard the door close. Yup. A swift shake of dark blue locks, white sweatshirt and loose black sweatpants, and that mischievous smirk with a wrinkle of his nose.

Danger.

"Hey, noona!"

Damnnit, planning for two is hard! You couldn't just go put your shirt on and do the grand reveal again. Yoongi grasped your upper arm with his right hand and yanked you from the doorframe. You squeaked, body stumbling into Jungkook’s view.

"Did you plan this?" Yoongi asked with a cocked brow.

Jungkook's eyes went wide.

"Uh... no, but I like where this is going," Jungkook replied, smirk growing.

The black lace bra stood out against your skin, strappy and elegant, molding to the swells of your breasts and the curve downward to your waist, matching the garter belt that disappeared into the black jeans you were wearing. You didn't usually wear lingerie. It wasn't practical and if you accidentally left something behind... it wasn't worth the risk. Yoongi and you took every precaution to not fuck this up.

Therefore, you only wore lingerie on your private Instagram.

Only showing little flashes, never the whole picture. And, really, you wore it in your photos to mess with them. It made you feel nice too, so it was a win-win. This set was familiar to Yoongi and Jungkook because you had worn the red version in the original Valentine’s Day themed photos.

Again, you didn't usually wear lingerie, but Jungkook and Yoongi couldn't just post pictures on Twitter back-to-back, two-shot you, and not expect a damn reaction. That kind of shit wasn't tolerated! On top of all that, you had to wait and get properly tested before getting here. This pandemic extended your frustrations. So, yes, fuck it, you wore the damn lingerie that made you feel the sexiest. Even if your jeans were still on, you knew you looked good.

No one had to tell you. You checked in the mirror before you left.

"Is this your response to my text a couple days ago?" Jungkook teased, kicking off his shoes and bounding over to you two. His dark blue hair shimmered in the light, like a night sky covered with stars, smile pure and naughty at the same time, lighting up his whole face.

Fuck you for being hot, Jeon Jungkook!

You leaned back against Yoongi, crossing your arms under your breasts, pressing them together. Jungkook grinned, the mole underneath his lower lip winking at you.

"Something like that," you coolly replied. Shit, there was an edge to your voice. Hopefully neither Yoongi or Jungkook picked that up.

"Hmm..."

Jungkook pursed his lips, the tip of his pink tongue sticking out the side. Ack. You had to look away. You turned and bumped your lace-covered tits against Yoongi's chest. His dark brown orbs flickered to your breasts, sly smile on his lips.

"This is your fault too, by the way."

Yoongi raised his eyebrows, amused. "What do you mean?"

You dropped your hands, surveying him suspiciously. "You think I don't know? Posting right after Jungkook? That's not allowed! You know what that does to me."

Yoongi leaned forward. Your breath caught in your throat, heart beating fast all of a sudden. You backed up, right into Jungkook's chest. Uh oh. Yoongi hummed, black hair shadowing his face, devious sparkle in those dangerous eyes, his voice a raspy, purring drawl.

"What does it do to you?"

Your hand fell back to brace yourself and Jungkook's fingers wrapped around your wrist, stroking your skin. You felt him shift behind you and then his lips were on your ear, whispering in his silvery voice.

"Yeah, noona. Tell us.” His grip on your wrist tightened, squeezing lightly, asserting his presence behind you. “Or you can show us."

...

!!!

How dare they tag team you? First, they visually attack you – and millions of other ARMY – in the middle of the workday, and now this, Yoongi closing in, kissing you once more, deeper, hungrier, with dark intent, smirking against your lips as Jungkook took both your hands, ghosting his long fingers over yours. You whimpered into Yoongi's mouth, body tensing, Jungkook pressing himself into your back, breath against your hair.

"You smell different," he murmured.

You couldn't reply. Yoongi was sucking on your tongue, making you whine.

"Warm, sweet, and spicy."

Yoongi released you and you gasped for air, bucking into Jungkook's crotch. "I bought it last week... thought it smelled nice..."

Jungkook nuzzled your hair. "I like it. Makes me horny."

You laughed a little, turning your hands around in his to lace your fingers together. He held your hands firmly, grinding his crotch into your ass. You could already feel his arousal through your jeans.

"Sounds dangerous," you mused.

"It is," Yoongi chuckled. "But you should keep wearing it anyway. You smell good."

Heat rose to your cheeks. Then you realized your jeans were already undone, being daintily pushed down by deft hands and an amused expression, Yoongi crouching to pull them along. Bit by bit, revealing the matching garter belt, the high-cut black lace panties that framed your thighs, and lace-topped sheer stockings, all the straps emphasizing your softness, sinking into your thighs and ass.

"Fuck..." Yoongi breathed, running his fingertips over the delicate fabric, touch so light against your skin, dancing up your knee. "You're so fucking beautiful."

He looked up at you, eyes so dark they seemed black, playful smirk on those perfect pink lips. Thump. You felt Jungkook pull your arms back and press them to his sides. You grabbed fistfuls of Jungkook’s shirt, staring down at Yoongi advancing between your legs, his smirk growing wider and more teasing, lovely voice low and husky, deep with arousal.

"What's the matter?" Yoongi purred. "Cat got your tongue?"

Your body tensed in anticipation, Jungkook's hands crawling around your sides, one tattooed, one not, fingers hovering over your now trembling chest. Looking down at Yoongi's smug expression, tongue flicking out and teasing you. Reminding you how good he was and how long you'd been waiting.

Fuck you for being hot, Min Yoongi!

"Don't overexert yourself..." you breathed.

A sculpted brow lifted.

"I have help now," he reminded you and Jungkook's hands sank into your barely-covered breasts.

"Fuck..." Jungkook hissed into your ear, running his palms over your nipples, listening to your gasps as Yoongi dived between your thighs, hot tongue sliding against the lace. "Missed these tits so fucking much." His lips on your ear, growling your name, that dominant edge to his silvery voice, tweaking the hardened nubs while Yoongi teased your clothed clit with his tongue, the lace hardly a barrier but still an effective one, the rough threads plucking against your sensitive nerves.

How long had it been? So long, almost forever since Yoongi’s tongue was on you, soft and fast and the perfect pressure, deliberately teasing you and not moving the fabric aside, so close yet so far. If it wasn’t Yoongi, maybe you could tell him to move it, maybe you could beg, but you couldn’t speak because of Yoongi’s tongue and Jungkook’s rough touch, his hands on your breasts, pushing them together, your nipples poking tiny tents in the black lace, running his fingertips over them over and over, his hips grinding into your ass. Yoongi cupped one of your ass cheeks and spread them, your panties bunching in the center, Jungkook’s hardness slipping in, still covered by his sweatpants.

Wetter, hotter, sanity slipping little by little.

“Y-Yoongi… J-Jungkook…”

You tried not to shove your hips in Yoongi’s face, not wanting to strain his neck, and ended up pushing back instead, bouncing against Jungkook’s cock. The younger man snickered, nipping at your ear, pinching your nipples, and you felt a slick squelch as Yoongi’s tongue pushed the lace into your dripping pussy. The moans dragged out of your throat, eyelids fluttering, letting them do whatever they wanted, pleasure flooding all your senses, watching Yoongi wreck you, clutching Jungkook’s sweatshirt, panting their names, leaking more and more, the scent of your juices getting stronger and sweeter.

“This isn’t fair…” you panted. “I’m going c-crazy…”

Yoongi hummed on your clit and you cried out, hips rocking, so good, head tipping onto Jungkook’s broad shoulder, his long blue hair brushing against your cheek and eyelashes.

“Good, because you make us crazy,” Jungkook muttered, pushing your breasts together and squeezing them roughly. His voice was so deep you could feel your back vibrate with his words. His other hand came up and gripped your chin, trailing down and fitting around your neck, the loose sleeve falling and revealing his forearm tattoos, contrasting your lace-covered skin. “Always looking so fucking pretty and making me want to fuck you…”

His index finger came up and pressed against your lower lip. Those chocolatey eyes were watching your face from his peripheral vision, smirking as he witnessed your expression.

“Even showing off these sexy, fuckable lips. That’s not fair either, noona.”

“T-That’s not…”

Jungkook’s hand at your throat dropped and you yelped, his large palm fitting around your right thigh and lifting it up, fingers sinking in. Stockings, lace, garter, Jungkook’s touch, holding your leg up and out, giving Yoongi a perfect view of your glistening core. Then there was more, too much more, Yoongi pushing aside your panties, soaked fabric snapping against the inside of your thigh and then his mouth was directly on you, oh, fuck, his tongue on your throbbing clit, lips wrapped around it, pure suffocating ecstasy, your slick juices dripping down his chin, so easy, it was just too easy for Yoongi to make you feel so fucking good and he looked so sexy doing it too, those cat-like eyes piercing into you, ordering you to cum for him, to spill all over his beautiful face.

“Yoongi… fuck, your tongue is so fucking good–”

Your body rippled with pleasure and you flung your head to the side, away from Jungkook’s ear to moan far too loud, filling up the entire hallway, wanton and lewd, absolutely pornographic and sinful in nature, orgasm gushing into Yoongi’s waiting mouth, shuddering against Jungkook’s hard body. So many sensations, too many sensations. Yoongi sank his nails into your ass, growling as he sucked out your cum and drank it, Jungkook grinding his stiff length in between your ass cheeks, spreading your leg so far that your left one was quivering with strain, tits squashed in Jungkook’s left hand, his warm tongue on your ear, whispering darkly. Dirty, sensual, and your pussy couldn’t stop throbbing, Min Yoongi’s mouth and Jeon Jungkook’s low octave driving you insane.

“You look so fucking good, noona. Your body is so fucking perfect, so sexy wrapped up in lace,” he exhaled, sliding his palm over your nipples roughly, earning more depraved moans. He lowered your leg, slowly, Yoongi lapping at your clit, sending shocks of pleasure up your torso as he cleaned you off. Jungkook’s hand slid down over your stomach, flicking the straps against your skin, small snaps of pain that made you gasp, trapped in Jungkook’s power, letting him take over you. He took a step back, forcing you to arch your spine and look up at him, a curtain of cobalt surrounding that handsome face and those intense brown eyes.

No one could make you feel the way Yoongi made you feel. No one.

So...

Why did staring up at Jungkook like this do things to you? Why did it put your heart on a string and tension in your throat? Get it together. You weren't a teenager. Ask for what you want. He was just so insanely attractive in every way.

Jungkook smirked and you wanted him to ruin you.

He lifted you up easily. You saw Yoongi standing up and wiping his chin, self-satisfied and amused. He tilted his head and plucked one of the straps on your stomach, a light, erotic sting. Yoongi made eye contact with you, locking you in his gaze. A single look, and your heart was fluttering, immediately smitten. One by one, fingers wrapping around a few of the straps and pulling you to him, backing up, leading you to the bed by own your lingerie.

"Why today?" Yoongi drawled, tracing the curve of the bra cup, sending shivers over your skin. "Feeling risky?"

You raised a brow, focusing on him, trapped in those cat-like eyes.

"Control yourself. Aren't you used to this body by now?"

Yoongi grinned devilishly, darting closer, leaving you breathless in his speed. The scent of his cologne and your orgasm lingered on his skin, a delicious combination.

"Never."

Kissing you, taking your startled inhale, and you could taste yourself, fuck, just something about his skilled lips and your taste had your fingers twisting into Yoongi's shirt, rolling your body into his, still being so careful, but it was so hard because he was making it so hard, teasing you with that deft tongue, bursts of pleasure with every heartbeat you had while captured in Yoongi's lips. You missed it, this intensity, the overwhelming feeling that Yoongi gave you, being able to give in to the want, but you still couldn't give in without abandon, but you were so close.

So close.

Ruin me.

He pushed you lightly and you felt another pair of arms wrap around you, the kiss suddenly broken, but the second touch was familiar now, one tattooed arm, one not, and you knew that if you fell, these arms could catch you.

Jungkook put you in his lap, your back touching his bare chest. Oh, shit. Before you could think much about it, he turned you so you were laying in his arms princess-style. He must have removed his sweatshirt while you were talking to Yoongi, but he still wearing his pants, now sitting in the side of the bed, blue hair messy from your hands and the removal of his clothes. Your arms hooked around his neck instinctively, not wanting to fall, but he had his right hand splayed across your shoulder blades, holding you up securely.

"Mmm, this is nice," Jungkook murmured, playfully smiling. He nuzzled your nose, tongue flicking over your lips. "Why did you make us wait so long, hm?"

You frowned, breath against his chin. "The number of cases got higher... and you all were so busy... I couldn't get tested until recently."

Jungkook made a disgruntled noise.

"Hey, public health and safety is important."

He pouted at you. "But..."

"He's horny and wants to fuck," Yoongi cut in.

"Hyung…!"

Yoongi pulled up his chair and sat down, looking amused.

"He's been jacking off to your pictures."

"N-no, I haven't!"

"Really? I have."

Yoongi's face was completely neutral. It was hard to tell if he was lying or not.

Jungkook tried to hide his flushed face with your hair. "... M-Maybe I h-have..."

"Tsk, tsk, naughty Jungkookie," you teased.

"Noona..."

"And you?"

You felt Yoongi grasp your chin, tipping you back in Jungkook's arms. Some of your hair fell over your eyes, hazing your vision of Yoongi. Even so, his intent was obvious. You could feel it in his gaze, the burning hunger, his fingertips caressing your chin, leaning forward slightly to observe you.

I want to ruin you.

Yoongi didn't have to say it. You knew it, pierced by the predatory glint in his eyes. You could tell he missed this, could tell that he wanted to give in to his desires, wanted to lose control, only limited by his own physical body.

However.

He pressed his thumb into your lower lip, lifting a brow.

Jungkook was here now.

Yoongi gave you his trademark open-mouthed smirk.

"Ruin me," you whispered, staring into those cat-like dark brown eyes. The recognition was instant, pleased that you knew what he wanted. You shifted your attention to the maknae, his chocolate eyes wide, watching your tongue slide out and licking Yoongi's thumb. "Ruin me, Jungkook."

You loved the way Jungkook could turn from blushing anxiousness to sly confidence, and all it took was your words and the way you said them, enabling him in the best way possible. The dark blue hair helped accented the shift in demeanor, creating cool-toned shadows over his lightly tanned skin.

"Anything for you," Jungkook purred.

You gasped sharply as you felt two fingers slide into you, Jungkook’s thumb rubbing your overstimulated clit. Your body jerked, trying to get away, but Yoongi's hand on your chin slid down, pressing on your chest, holding you still, your name a dangerous rasp from Yoongi's lips.

"Stay still."

Your eyes flickered down. Right hand. Okay. You shouldn’t be worried anymore, but you were. It was habit.

"Yoon–ah!"

You gasped, left arm firmly behind Jungkook's shoulders and the other behind you, your hand on the bed to steady your balance as Yoongi shoved the bra cups down, exposing your breasts. He lowered his head, the contact of his lips on your hot skin paired with Jungkook's thrust of his fingers into your pussy. Instant waves of pleasure overtook you, fingers sinking into the sheets and Jungkook’s hair, fuck, his beautiful navy hair standing out against your skin and, for some reason, seeing that made you feel prettier, thrusting your chest in Yoongi’s face to get more into his mouth, spreading your legs wide to give Jungkook more access.

Only a brief moment of, I should know better, I shouldn’t be doing this, and then Yoongi’s eyes were on you, tongue flicking your red nipple.

Let go.

Was this even fair to them? Could you satisfy both? Could you and should you? But Yoongi’s eyes were telling you to let go, to chase the feeling, to give in, and hunt the desperation and the want. They wanted you. There was nothing like this and there will never be anything like this again.

“Give it to me,” Yoongi growled.

You whined sharply as you felt two more fingers push into you, but not Jungkook’s fingers, Yoongi’s fingers, his thumb joining Jungkook’s on your clit and your eyes rolled back, so wet and aroused from knowing both Jungkook’s and Yoongi’s fingers were thrusting into you, four in total, your pussy sucking them in, back arching as Yoongi sucked on your nipple. So much pleasure, rapidly ascending higher and higher, so fucking full and tight that their fingers were making sloppy smacking sounds, matching rhythm so they filled you completely together, all at once.

You couldn’t stop your hips from meeting them, fingers spreading out in Jungkook’s hair and the sheets as you came hard, gasping their names, euphoria soaring through your nerves, and still they didn’t stop even though your pussy was violently spasming, creating a messy splatter of your juices on the inside of your thighs and their hands. Instead, the pace changed, Yoongi switching sides on your chest, and then you really couldn’t think, because Jungkook was lowering his head too, and now both of your nipples were getting abused, Jungkook’s arm firmly under your upper back to hold you up, not letting you fall.

“Yoongi, Jungkook… p-please, oh fuck!”

Your other hand flew up and buried in Yoongi’s dark locks, both hands in their hair now, one blue, one black, another orgasm crashing down, moan torn from your chest. And they kept going, changing the pace again, your toes and fingers curling, every muscle tense with irresistible, consuming ecstasy that you almost felt a little numb, unable to compute anything else but your body scantily covered in lace, two mouths sucking on your nipples, four fingers stuffed into you, clit engorged and sending violent shocks throughout your system. You couldn’t even discern one orgasm from another, pussy continuously throbbing and convulsing with the continuous, chained orgasms, so wet that it was soaking the tops of your stockings, the sweet honey of your cum the predominant scent in the room.

“I… I-I can’t take a-anymore, please…”

Your legs threatened to close but Yoongi snapped his head up, snarling your name dangerously.

“One more,” he ordered. “Give us one more.”

“Your pussy feels so good,” Jungkook panted, saliva dripping down your chest. “I love it so fucking much, even when it’s around my fingers.”

You were trying to hold back, trying to control it, tensing everything, your core, your legs, your arms, and you didn’t even realize it, but you held your breath too, biting your lip and seeing Yoongi and Jungkook at the same time, both watching you, fingers punishingly squelching into your tight little hole, stretching it out unforgivingly, abused clit pulsating so hard it almost hurt, and it was exactly what you wanted, brimming, boiling pleasure that threatened you on the brink, closer, closer, closer, and the world was almost hazy with how ferociously you had constricted the coil.

“Fuck!”

You threw your head back, back abruptly arching and smacking them in the face with your tits as everything came plummeting down, resolve cracking with a wanton howl, orgasm racking through your entire frame so hard that your body lurched and flinched, Yoongi and Jungkook cradling you while you rode your high, grinding your hips into their hands and carnally moaning, liquid gushing out and dripping down your legs, your ass, down Jungkook’s sweatpants and onto the bed.

It was such an intense orgasm that you were lightheaded, hands slipping out of their hair and falling down, drained, aftershocks causing your body to shudder, even as they removed their fingers. Your clit was still throbbing, pumps of pleasure spreading through you.

It was obscene witnessing Yoongi and Jungkook cleaning their fingers off right in front of you, pink tongues sliding between the digits, licking off your viscous cum, giving you a perverse sense of satisfaction when Yoongi moaned softly and Jungkook groaned lowly, savoring your taste like a fine wine. Yoongi spied your exhausted, smug expression.

“Do you think you’re done?”

You gave him a weak smirk. “I better not be.”

“Sit in Jungkook’s lap,” Yoongi said calmly. “Face me.”

You tilted your head curiously but did as you were told, shifting your still quivering legs so your thighs were on the outside of Jungkook’s thighs, the balance a little difficult, but Yoongi took your hands and placed them around his hips. You held onto him as he lifted his shirt, pulling it over his head.

“Jungkook, rip her panties off.”

Wait, what did Min Yoongi just s–?

Two strong hands dug out the lace trapped in your ass and fastened around the thin fabric.

Riiiiiiip!

“Yoongi!”

The shirt fluffed his black hair as he removed it, dropping it onto his chair. You glared at him as Yoongi looked down at you, expression blank, dark brown orbs full of mischief.

“You knew it was going to happen. If he wasn’t going to rip it, I was.” Yoongi placed his right hand on his left shoulder. His tone dropped, mockingly rueful. “You wouldn’t want me to hurt myself, right?”

Yeah, this was why you didn’t wear lingerie.

But, also, this was why you wore it today.

You felt Jungkook tugging off the now useless pair of panties, plucking them out from under your garter belt. Oh well. You liked the red more anyway. That’s why you had bought two sets, after all.

“Remind me to take all the bits before I go,” you grumbled.

“Sure, noona.” Jungkook dangled the said lacy bits next to your head. You narrowed your eyes and mouth into slits even though he couldn’t see. “I’ll put them in my pocket.” You felt him shove them into his sweatpants.

Were you… going to remember?

Yoongi beckoned you. You shot him a warning look, still annoyed, but Yoongi pointed down to your hands on his hips.

“Isn’t there something you want?” Yoongi mused in that raspy, dark tone, the one that made your irritation fade instantly and replace it with arousal. “Take it.”

He cocked his head, shading his dark eyes with his hair, pink lips parting, the slightest hint of a smirk. Challenging you. Go on. Show me how much you want me. Your body still buzzed with the aftermath of moments before and yet you still lowered your head, sliding your hips back, sucking in a breath as your puffy pussy lips touched Jungkook’s toned chest, smearing yourself on his skin.

“Ooh, I like this,” Jungkook murmured, leaning back a little to give you space. You rocked your hips into his torso, his muscles flexing under you opening, inflamed clit brushing against his hardness. You pushed Yoongi’s pants and underwear down, dipping your head, hearing Yoongi breathe your name lustfully.

“That’s a pretty picture.”

He was only semi-hard, but he was getting harder and harder, watching you grind against Jungkook’s pecs. You knew exactly how to get him the hardest, dipping down and latching your mouth around one of his balls.

“Fuck, yes,” Yoongi gasped, his hand coming up and fitting behind your head. You sucked it into your mouth and then extended your tongue, bouncing the other with your wet muscle while sucking the first one. The first time you did this, Yoongi was literally speechless, sputtering and confused at how you could stimulate both at once and in two different ways, sucking with your lips as your tongue flicked against the other, slurping slightly to add vibration over the sensitive skin. You felt his cock swell, smacking your cheek, fully hard at the combined sensations.

“I still don’t know how you do that,” Yoongi gritted out, keeping your hair away from your face.

“Do what?” Jungkook asked behind you, one hand on your ass and squeezing it.

“She can suck one of your balls and lick the other at the same time.”

“What?!”

You yelped at the sharp sting of Jungkook’s slap to your ass.

“How come you never did that for me?” Jungkook complained, whining a little.

You tried to lift your head, but Yoongi’s hand refused to move. You make a muffled noise of distaste, but Yoongi answered for you as you switched sides.

“Have you asked?” Yoongi replied calmly, sighing in satisfaction.

“How am I supposed to know she has porn star skills?”

“Is this a discussion for right now?” you mumbled into Yoongi’s balls.

“No, because you’re supposed to be swallowing.”

“Wha–”

The second your mouth opened, Yoongi nudged his cock between your lips and you wrapped them around it, moaning as his stiff length slid down your throat, so satisfying, his taste on your tongue, so delicious that you didn’t even want to complain, you only wanted to bob your head up and down, hands on his hips. Yoongi chuckled above you, guiding your head with his right hand, left loosely by his side. You slid your lower body up and down Jungkook’s chest, your increased slickness adding more stimulation.

“Fuck, that’s so damn hot,” you heard Jungkook groan. There was a rustle of fabric and then skin on skin, his muscular arm brushing against your stocking clad thigh with every stroke.

If only you could take a picture and could see how sexy you were, blowing Yoongi with his hand behind your head, tucking the head of his cock into your throat a little deeper every time you descended, your pussy sliding up and down Jungkook’s chest, and Jungkook furiously jacking himself off while watching you suck his hyung off, feeling your slippery clit throb against his skin.

Good thing the door was locked, because of any other member walked in on this, it might have become a damn foursome.

“Close,” Yoongi panted, fingers digging into your scalp. “You want it like this?”

You hummed approvingly in your chest, increasing your pace and fucking Jungkook’s torso harder, nearing your end too, Jungkook moaning louder and pumping himself harder. So many indecent sounds, skin on skin, mouth on skin, hand on skin, moaning, crying out around Yoongi’s cock, his saliva-covered balls smacking you in the chin, you ass slapping down on Jungkook’s chest.

Hot, wet, positively sinful.

The chain reaction started with Jungkook. He came suddenly, choking on your name, shooting up your chest, warm stickiness splattering onto your skin and you squeezed your eyes shut, moaning as you came all over his chest, slippery and sweet, drenching his skin, throat muscles tightening, Yoongi whimpering your name, a rare moment of lost control as he thrust his hips into your lips, coating your throat with thick hot strings, forcing you to swallow fast, the pressure satisfying and overwhelming, gulping it all down eagerly.

You did ask to be ruined.

Just… a little more.

Your eyes were still closed, lazily licking Yoongi’s twitching length. He was panting above you, gently stroking your hair, words so soft that they were almost inaudible.

“I love you…”

You went all the way down and Yoongi groaned, your tongue flicking the top of his balls, rapid, swift laps that made his cock swell again, bending against the roof of your mouth. Yoongi chuckled, knowing exactly what you were doing.

“Still want more?”

You backed up, panting hard, Jungkook’s cum clinging to your chest and lingerie, hair a mess from Yoongi’s hand.

“Want your cock in my pussy,” you demanded hoarsely. “Want you to fuck me, Yoongi.”

He pretended to think about it. “Hmm, I don’t know…”

You got off Jungkook’s lap, snaking around the younger man’s body, crawling onto the bed, eyes on Yoongi, his intense gaze following you, enticed by your movement. On all fours, hips in the air, dropping your chest down a little, the curve of your back accentuating the roundness of your bare ass. Still in your garter belt and stockings, your bra half-off, the lowered cups pushing your breasts together invitingly. Jungkook turned his head, pink lips parting as your fingers fanned out over the sheets, one eyebrow arching gracefully.

“Jungkook in front. Yoongi behind.”

“Do… Do you want a towel or something, noona?” Jungkook asked, blinking rapidly at your assertiveness.

“I want to get fucked and I want to get fucked now, so get over here.”

“Bed’s going to be a mess,” Yoongi remarked, moving quickly, shedding his pants and going for the nightstand, taking out a condom.

“We can sleep in Jungkook’s room,” was your dry reply, yanking Jungkook’s hips towards you after he removed his sweatpants.

“Wha– ack!”

You spread his legs out in front of you, eyes roaming over his naked body, admiring it all, his legs, his abs, his pecs, covered in your drying juices, his adorable surprised face, navy curls around his chiseled cheeks, chocolate eyes round and awed at your prowess. Your hands were on his knees, breasts hanging down, breathing hard, adrenaline humming in your veins.

“You are so fucking pretty it’s unreal,” Jungkook breathed.

You grinned.

“I can’t wait for you to fuck my face.”

Jungkook grinned back at you.

You dove down, tits bouncing before becoming squashed against the bed, Jungkook’s drying cum flaking off as you wrapped your lips around one of his balls, moaning as you felt Yoongi’s hands firmly grip your hips.

“You have to help me a little,” Yoongi murmured.

“I will, hyung.”

“I mean her too,” the older man chuckled, smacking your ass playfully. Your tongue flitted out, slurping at Jungkook’s other ball from the side of your mouth as you sucked the first one, wiggling your ass at Yoongi to indicate that you heard him. Jungkook yelped, hands slamming down onto the pillows and clutching them, moaning out your name.

“What the fuck, what the fuck, holy shit…” His head hit the headboard lightly, speaking to the ceiling and maybe even the higher power himself. “H-How...? Why does it feel s-so good…?”

You felt Yoongi slide in, so easy because of all those back-to-back orgasms, and yet he still hissed at your tightness, muscles holding him firmly. You could cry with how good it felt, Yoongi finally fully inside you once again, filling you up just the way you liked, knowing how to hit your deepest spot right away, skillful and wonderful. You licked up Jungkook’s now hard length, moaning deeply as you slapped your hips back into Yoongi’s crotch. Yoongi moaned to match yours, enraptured by the feeling.

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good,” he hissed, nails digging into your ass. “Missed you so fucking much, my love.”

“I’ll do the moving, love,” you gasped back, squeezing Yoongi’s cock inside you. You reached for Jungkook’s right hand and grabbed it, planting it on your head. “Fuck my face, Jungkook. Please. Don’t hold back until you cum.”

Jungkook bit his lip, exhaling your name. “I think I love you.”

“And I definitely love you, so please give it to me.”

You closed your lips around him and sank down, looking up at him and his sweaty dark blue hair, his blown-out pupils, his outstretched tattooed arm, so fucking hot, fuck yes you loved him, him and his body and his work ethic and his sweetness and his firmness as he obeyed your command, thrusting into your mouth from below, filling your throat with the thick head.

Perfect.

You rocked your hips back to Jungkook’s rhythm, matching him, slow at first, but gradually faster, rougher, planting your hands on the bed for balance, completely focused on clenching your core and your mouth to fit the two cocks, giving them the maximum amount of pleasure that you could offer, suffocating them with tightness. It if was obscene before, it was ten times obscener now, Yoongi’s hand on your hip, barely having to move as you smacked your ass into him, Jungkook lurching you forward with his force, clenching his jaw as he chased his release, the bed screaming for help and none of you listening.

“You’re so fucking sexy, fuck, you always make me feel so good, can’t help but want you, need you, miss you so fucking much,” Jungkook gritted out, fingers curling in your hair, desperately and viscerally whimpering out your name as you tipped your head to change the angle, the sensitive head dragging against the roof of your mouth as he buried himself in your throat. “You’re so good to me, such a soft and tight mouth, fuck.”

You arched your back a little more, Yoongi hitting you deeper, hearing him suck in a tight breath at your movement.

“Tighter,” Yoongi growled. “I’m close, come on, give it to me.”

And then he smacked your ass with his open palm, making you moan around Jungkook’s thick cock, pussy clenching around Yoongi’s entire length, and then again, smack! Control slipping with every hit, falling into Jungkook’s pace, the sheer force of his hips pushing you down on Yoongi’s cock over and over, now only focused on hollowing out your cheeks and gripping Yoongi’s cock, the sudden twitching indicating that Yoongi was close, so close, holding out a little so he could watch you longer, torturing you just the way you liked, but he couldn’t hold out for long because you didn’t let him, walls pulsating around him brutally as you came, stuffed so full that you couldn’t think. Yoongi groaned your name, gripping your ass with both hands and digging his nails in your softness, cock jolting as he came in thick pumps, filling up the condom and swelling it against your walls.

It took Jungkook a little longer, but not that much longer, your mouth still locked tight and he hissed out your name, whimpering as he came down your throat, filling it with cum once again, so fast that you had to swallow hastily to breathe, and yet there was more, thick salty dribbles that made you moan, so delicious that you leaned into it, sucking Jungkook dry.

“A-ah, n-noona…”

Your body ached, flinching from oversensitivity, your mind swimming with pleasure. Had it ever felt this good before? You slid off Jungkook’s cock, falling against his thigh and using it like a pillow, chest heaving, sticky all over, lips overused, pussy throbbing, barely realizing that Yoongi had pulled out, far too spent to see straight.

“Fuck, I love you two…”

Yoongi’s face suddenly appeared, smug expression above you. He had crawled over your body, ruffled black hair hanging down, dark cat eyes gleaming.

“Romantic.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“Mmm.”

He leaned down and kissed you, smiling against your lips, mouthing his love to you, forming each word against your skin slowly so you knew. You smiled back, showering him with light pecks, mouthing the words back to him. Yoongi purred and lifted himself up, taking you with him.

“I can’t move,” you complained, using your arms to push yourself up to avoid straining Yoongi’s shoulders. He chuckled, not the least bit fooled by your whines. He pushed you into Jungkook’s hard chest, covered in sweat and cum, and sandwiched you between them, your face right beside Jungkook’s, cheek to cheek. You could feel the heat in his face, his hair sticking to it.

“Noona?”

“Hm?”

Everything was far too messy for this cuddle session, but that could wait.

“Is it okay if I love you?” Jungkook mumbled, burying his nose in your hair.

“Mhm,” Yoongi responded, sounding sleepy.

You brushed Jungkook’s hair away from his face. “I would very much like that.”

“Everything is dirty,” Yoongi grumbled.

“You are a main contributor,” you said cheerfully.

Yoongi grunted, leaning against you, squashing you a little harder against Jungkook. Nothing to complain about. You were enjoying every second of this.

“Jungkookie?”

“Hm, noona?”

You reached up and ran a hand through his dark cerulean hair. Jungkook hummed appreciatively, closing his eyes at your touch.

“You know this shade is Cookie Monster blue, right?”

“… Hah?”

“Does that make you Ggukkie Monster?”

Yoongi burst out laughing, raspy and full, a rare moment of Min Yoongi absolutely losing his shit.

part v "Sorry, Jungkook, you're not allowed this time."

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #yoongi x reader #bts smut #yoonkook x reader #yoonkook smut #jungkook smut #yoongi smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x you #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi smut #min yoongi x you #suga x you #suga x reader

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courtlyharlequin · 3 years

Note

Um, m-may I have this dance with you, Vil? ✨

Butterflies

A/N: Hi anon! Thank you for your request~ I went on a field day with this because it was so open-ended. I based it off of the way you wrote your question and the sparkle . It reminded me of a romcom anime~ I hope you like it ( *´▽｀* ) ♡

Your phone skidded across the table. Its vibrations transferred to your entire desk, earning a frantic yelp from you as you scrambled to turn it off. It was time. You had no time to lose. You couldn’t put this off any longer. The spring formal was the day after tomorrow. It had to be today. You had to ask Vil today. If he accepts the invitation, then you would have one day to process the fact that he even said yes to you out of all people. If he rejects it, then you have one day to sulk before putting on a brave face and attending the dance as if nothing ever happened. You paid for the ticket already. You weren’t letting your madol go to waste. Initially, you bought two tickets. One for you and one for Vil. It was part of your plan to ask him out. Unfortunately for you, it came to light that the blond had his own ticket as he was part of the planning committee. You ended up giving your other ticket to Ruggie who wasn’t planning on going in the first place due to the admission prices.

This was one of many instances where you ended up putting off the grand question out of nerves. It came back to bite you in the butt as the dance’s date was nearing. And here you were: two days before the dance and you still hadn’t asked Vil out yet.

Today had to be the day. You weren’t going to run away. You had no choice. You had been crushing on him for forever and this was truly your last chance of shooting your shot with him. The school year is near its end. Vil would be a fourth year the following year which meant he wouldn’t be on campus, let alone attend school dances as he would be out and about interning and completing his thesis.

You checked the clock before grabbing your shoes off the rack, gingerly slipping them on. You wiggled your toes as you laced them up, lightly tapping your soles against the wooden floor for good measure. It was three thirty on a Wednesday afternoon. Dorm leader meetings ended at two. Vil shouldn’t be too busy now. An hour and a half had passed since the meeting. He surely would have time to kick back and relax. You bit your lip and pushed the door open, welcoming a warm breeze. The door clicked behind you. You inhaled.

“Better late than never,” you reassured yourself as you made your way to the Pomefiore dormitory.

Each step you took sent your thoughts into overdrive. What would he say to you? You were acquainted with one another as you shared a few classes, but you weren’t close to the extent that you were certain that he would say yes. Would he even say yes? If he rejects you, you’d have to see yourself out of his own dorm. Coming to his dorm room to ask him out seemed oddly intimate. It was a bad idea now that you thought about it. Depending on where you found him, there was a chance that the other Pomefiore students would witness you humiliate yourself in front of the Vil Schoenheit.

Your hand ghosted the door knob of the dormitory’s main entrance. It fell to your side. Perhaps this was merely a fickle desire.

Color drained from your face and a cold chill washed over your body as the door swung open. You swallowed a scream, shoving it down your throat.

“Bonjour!” the perpetrator beamed.

“B-Bonjour,” you managed, stepping back.

Rook’s smile widened as he stepped forward, revealing the vice prefect all decked out in Pomefiore’s bright indigo robes. The gold embroidery shimmered beneath the chandelier’s lighting. elegant

“My, to what pleasure do we owe you, (y/n)?”

“We?”

“Oui.”

You blinked.

“I’m looking for Vil,” you said.

“(y/n)? What are you doing here?” a familiar asked.

You peered over Rook’s shoulder. Your breath hitched as your eyes met with Vil’s own amethyst orbs. His heels clicked and clacked with the white marble tiles of the foyer. He was like a runway model. He sparkled, shimmered, and shined under the building’s ambient lighting.

He crossed his arms once he neared the doorway. His vice ducked under his elongated sleeves. A scowl was etched onto Vil’s face.

“Where are you going?”

“I forgot something. I won’t be long, Roi du Poison,” he said, waving his hands around theatrically.

Vil sighed, turning to you, “Pardon him. How can I help you?”

“I was wondering– well, actually I– Um, if it isn’t too much to ask... can we go inside? It’s a bit hot out.”

The blond directed his gaze into the sky, examining the sun and the cloudless sky.

“My apologies, come inside.”

The door shut behind you. You cursed yourself for stalling. Just ask him.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“No!”

“No?”

You coughed, “No. I’m good, thank you.”

“Are you sure? It is a bit hot out.”

He used your own words against you. Your mouth was left agap as he flashed a small smile at you before heading into the Pomefiore common room. You hurried after him.

“Wait, Vil!” you exclaimed, pulling on his sleeve.

He withdrew. Your hand fell to your side.

“Don’t pull. What is it?”

You bit your lip. It was now or never. If you played it off cool then who knows when you’ll get a chance like this again. This was the closest you’ll ever get to asking him. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath.

“Um, would you like to go to the– uh– dance with me?”

You cringed as your voice echoed throughout the dormitory. You were so nervous that you ended up being more... vocal than you had intended to be. This was far from the scenarios you daydreamed about. It wasn’t as romantic as you thought it would be. In truth, it was embarrassing.

“Ara? Is that what you’re so worked up about?” he chuckled.

Heat rushed to your cheeks.

“I understand if you don’t feel the same or if you already have a date. Knowing you, you probably have a–” you gasped as Vil placed his index on your forehead.

He stared down at you. His stilettos made him so tall, so unnerving.

“Eye contact is the key to confidence. Stand with your shoulders back, feet firmly planted on the ground. Don’t use filler words like ‘um’, ‘uh’, ‘ah’, or anything of the like,” he said as he pushed your upper back forward.

You nodded, holding your screams on the tip of your tongue, trying not to break eye contact with him and burst into tears. Was it that terrible that he had to correct your posture and give you tips on confidence? Vil put his hands on his hips, admiring your figure.

“Try that again,” he said.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Ask me out again.”

Was he serious?

“Ah…”

“No filler words,” he chided.

Your nose crinkled. He crossed his arms. He was serious after all. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath once more, trying your best to pay no mind to your sweet palms or shallow breathing. Your nerves were on fire.

“Vil, will you go to the dance with me?”

He put his hand on his chin and hummed, feigning perplexity and concentration. He smiled.

“Yes.”

You sighed in relief. Your shoulders loosened. He said yes. Vil said yes. You were going to the formal together. You were ecstatic, but that feeling was quickly replaced with a burning curiosity.

“Why didn’t you just say yes before?”

“I want to be asked out by someone who is confident, someone who knows what they want. I don’t want someone unsure or insincere. I have no time for puppy love. My time is valuable,” he scoffed.

“Then you should have rejected me.”

“Do you not want to be my date?”

“Yes. Well, I mean– no, of course I do. It’s just that I don’t know what to say and–”

He put a finger to your lips: “Then, it's a date. I do not doubt your feelings for me. You were simply nervous. You were always quite skittish around me. I had always assumed I intimidated you though lately, I’ve come to realize it was more so admiration than intimidation or infatuation.”

Vil tucked your chin between his thumb and index finger, tilting your head up, and gave you another one of his heart-throbbing smirks. You couldn’t break eye contact with him. Your heart fluttered and your stomach swelled.

“Was it obvious?”

“Maybe a little,” he laughed.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland imagines #twst imagines #twisted wonderland oneshot #twst oneshot #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #event fic #night to remember event

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mxtcha-tea · 3 years

Text

and that's how i met you mother

✎desc; love at first sight with shiratorizawa (honestly, not all of them are love at first sight but ignore that)

✎pairing[s]; shiratorizawa 3rd years x f!reader (separate)

✎genre; fluff, crack

✎language[s]; english

✎chef note; just an excuse for me to write lovesick boys💗 (I can’t do Shirabu, Kawanishi and Goshiki’s part cause I ran out of ideas🤸‍♀️🚆)

Ushijima

It would just be a normal day in his class, learning and stuff like usual

Then after the teacher finished explaining and hand out the tasks, he'll went through his pencil case and couldn't seem to find any pen

Ushijima frowned at that and looked throughly in his pencil case but with no luck, there's none

He swore that he had put some inside, maybe his mind slipped a little?

A tap on his shoulder caught his attention as he turned his head around to make eye contact with you

You're holding out one of your pen to him with a neutral look,

"You can have it," Ushijima look at you surprised, does that mean he can just take it from you? That's a little absurd

But he didn't question it and nodded, slowly taking the pen from your hand and continue studying

The pen doesn't really sit right in his hand, it's not being his and literally someone else that he doesn't have the chance to talk to

He'll spare a glance at you every minute (ngl, he's complimenting your side view internally)

And when you caught him looking at him, he'll just blink and slowly look back at his work with a light blush on his cheeks

(Istg it's so cute)

After the class ends and before you can leave for lunch, Ushijima caught your attention first,

"Here, thank you for lending me this. And unfortunately, i can't take it from you"

You're just looking at him with a dumbfounded look before taking the pen from him,

"Ah, no problem, um..." "Ushijima Wakatoshi"

You nodded at that, scratching the back of your head "...Ushijima. And it's [y/n]"

Both of you are just standing there in front of each other but it's not awkward, surprisingly

It's as if you two are waiting for one of you to speak and end the convo

(Spoiler alert; none of you wanted to end the convo since both of you find each other interesting)

You cleared your throat, fiddling with your pen a little, "Okay, see you after this, Ushijima"

He nodded at that and with that, both of you went to your separate ways

'[Y/N], YOU AWKWARD BASTARD! THAT WAS SO EMBARRASSING, I BET HE THOUGHT THAT YOU'RE WEIRD NOW!'

Ushijima's just walking towards the gym with a fairly visible blush across his cheeks as he look down

"Ushijima..."

"[y/n]..."

"I guess he's fine..."

"I guess she's fine..."

Ushijima Current Mission!

Trying to figure what other scenarios he can drag you in to have a convo with you again

Good luck Wakatoshi~!

Tendou

You and Tendou have talked with eachother a couple of times but it's nothing more than that

And Tendou actually want to talk more with you (at first for friendship points but y'know...)

Today, you look more beautiful than ever to him today

It's not like you're not beautiful every other day (he thinks you're pretty so that's why he kept on having a convo with you)

And he caught into that

Somehow, he can't help bet stare at you in a distance and he tried his best to avoid getting caught

(Tendou's scared that you find him creepy for looking at you all the time and he don't want that thought to flood you mind)

Then, you came to him to explain about the work your science teacher gave since she's absent for the time being

And you can bet that he doesn't hear a single thing you said because he's too focused on yourself

It's kinda like in those scenes in manga where the main character stare into the main interest

The main interest looking as beautiful as ever with flowers around them

Pretty eyes, angelic face, kissable lips

For him, you're perfect and he even thought that you might be an angel in disguise

No matter how you even see yourself, he would always think that you're fascinating, adorable, enticing—

"Tendou, are you okay?"

The redhead snapped out from his thought and got caught by you

By now, his face is literally mocking his hair color as he chuckled nervously,

"Ah, I'm fine! It's just that..."

He was about to stop mid sentences but thankfully he still got that crumbs of courage and just goes with it,

"...you look pretty today,"

Tendou said with a closed eyes smile, peeking an eye open and trying to see your reaction (ngl he's nervous)

You blinked

Before you literally exploded at that which is what make him surprised in his seat

You fake coughed, looking away and avoiding eye contact,

"Thanks...."

[love meter +10!]

If this is an actual manga or anime, there could've been hearts dancing around him

Timeskip to Tendou at his home and squealing quietly to himself (he can't let his family hear him fanboying for someone in his school lmao)

"We're totally going to marry 3 years from now on~" he says to himself in the mirror with so many confidence

(I just love it when Tendou act like that, let him have his moment)

"Haha, thank you gods for creating me and [y/n] in the same world,"

Tendou's Current Mission!

Getting to know you better and give tons and tons of compliments, just like in the simulations! Specifically otomes and dating games

Try your best Satori~!

Semi

It was another day, another practice session

Except that it went longer than Semi expected, he managed to run from the gym to the main entrance

But before he can even put on his shoes, heavy rain started pouring down

He look at the dark grey sky, resting his forehead onto the shoe locker with one shoe already in his foot while the other in his hand

Sighing, Semi thought about asking to come with Tendou and Yamagata since he didn't bring his umbrella

But on second thought, he realized that they prolly forgot theirs too

And all 3 of them have to run under the rain again like last time

Yamagata and Tendou: "We can avoid the rain if we're fast enough!"

He shivered at that their words and the thought of getting terribly sick again

And before Semi's brain can process a strategy for himself, he was caught off guard when an umbrella was opened next to him,

"Ah sorry,"

In those few seconds, everything went slow motion when your eyes catches his

(He swore it felt like in the anime)

He can feel his cheeks flushing a little but thanks to the wheater, it's not obvious

"Hello?" Semi snapped from his thoughts, shaking his head before focusing on you again,

"Sorry, sorry, um—" "You don't have an umbrella?"

He blinked, shaking his head slightly

It's a pretty peaceful staring between you two with the rain hitting the ground as background sounds

Until you lift your umbrella up, and pointed at the small spot next to you with your thumb,

"Here, I'll help you,"

"Eh?"

Semi was flabbergasted a little at your statement but would he decline it?

Of course not,

"Just tell me where your house is then I help you go there,"

And that's how he find himself back at his house's entrance with you in front of him,

"And that's why I just let you walk with me for the afternoon,"

"Is that so, oh wait! I haven't known your name, and you prolly haven't known my name either..."

He scratched the back of his neck before looking at you with a smile,

"The name's Semi Eita, thanks for the walk back home,"

Your lips parted a little before in turns into a tooth rotting smile,

"[y/n], no problem and thanks for the company, Eita,"

An arrow pierced through his heart as his face is literally the color of Tendou's hair

And just like that, you left him on the entrance with a funny expression upon his face

Cutting the scene to Semi punching his pillow (rip pillow)

"You already caught me off guard already but you really had to look at me like that...."

Semi's Current Mission!

Try to find you the next day after first period and try not to be awkward with you and his convo after the eventful day

You can do it Eita~!

Yamagata

Let's just say that,

Yamagata went through the late anime girl scenario

But with his toast falling down from his mouth while running towards his school

And his stamina almost running low despite being a volleyball player and a libero

(His house's prolly far from his school, cut him some slacks sheesh)

He's pretty much stumbling a lot when he enters the school and speed walking up the stairs

Some of the students look at him weirdly but that doesn't become his main concern because a strict teacher is going first

Yamagata's almost there, almost reaching his classroom's door

But god had other plans and place an invisible rock in front of him

And as you can tell, he slipped on it and now facepalming the floor

(The sound is so loud my lord)

He groaned, shaking a little while trying to sit up from his position

The male look up and is now face to face with you, who's looking down at him

Okay he might be delusional from the impact but is he actually looking at an angel right now?

"Dude, you okay? That's gotta hurt from the sound that it made—"

Your words drowned inside his mind as he widened his eyes with pink tints decorating his cheeks

'This...THIS IS IT!'

"—also I think your nose is bleed—"

"PLEASE MARRY ME!!"

You flinched at that but keep a calm face, a little bit concerned that he may hit his head too hard

While Yamagata is just having heart eyes for you, sparkles around him after saying those words almost too confidently

He doesn't know what's in him that make him think that you're the one,

But he definitely can feel it

You sighed, crouching down while searching through your pocket and pulling out a small pack of tissues,

"I think we're going so fast right now but no, maybe 5 years later or never,"

"Does that mean you agree??"

"I don't know, you're handsome but also stupid, a himbo I think,"

You wipe away the blood dripping down his nose, taking his arm, opening it and put the bloodied tissue on it before closing it, giving a light tap,

"Now go to the nurse office,"

"Will you be there for me?"

"No,"

You help him stand up, dusting his shoulder and walk away as if nothing happened

Yamagata watches you from the distance with a lovesick smile

Tendou laughed behind him with Ushijima and Reon next to him and Semi looking at Yamagata, confused,

"Hayato, I have no idea if you had your alarm on but you just came to school during recess,"

"She's perfect...also, I think I need to go to the nurse right now cause my head hurts,"

Yamagata's Current Mission!

Marry [y/n]

Have fun, Hayato~!

Reon

(He will have the best love at first sight cause I say so)

It was the school festival and it's lively in every corner of the school, the outside, inside the classrooms, even the hallways

Reon had just finished his part of his classroom and now can walk around to enjoy the festival

Honestly, it's a pretty normal day to him despite being the school's festival

The students of Shiratorizawa has always been this lively so it's good that they can be keep the atmosphere as how it is like any other days

Since the others are still working on their parts, Reon was all by himself

Sure, the quiet sounds without Tendou, Semi and Yamagata is fine but he prefer it being loud anyway

A short of way to fill in the boring silence

But what's the bad thing to enjoy the peace once in a while?

So he take a small walk outside the Shiratorizawa building

Stalls decorated the outside with students busy serving the customers

He was greeted by some of them as he greeted them back with a warm smile

Hands inside his pocket while looking at the sky every few seconds

Baby blue sky with fluffy white clouds, it is the spring afterall

It was at that moment where he turn his head around and caught your eyes

It was something between those few seconds that a lighting strike between the string connecting you two for a second

Reon knew he did from the moment you two clashed with each other so suddenly

It was...not love at first sight exactly,

But rather, familiarity, like,

'Oh, hello, it's you. It's going to be you,'

The staring prolly lasted more than he expected before you snapped out from your thought, shaking your head,

"Sorry! Didn't mean to..." "But you didn't do anything?" He rose an eyebrow, smiling sheepishly and watch your panic slowly dissolves

"Well, technically yeah but It was bad of me to stare off at you like that,"

He chuckled, your heart clenching at that,

"Don't worry, I think I did it too...maybe both of us did,"

"Ah, yeah! Probably..." you fiddled with your fingers, visibly nervous facing him since he's basically a stranger even tho being in the same school,

"Reon Oohira," "Eh?" You look at him with confusion at first, while he just offers you a smile,

"My name, since we have...how to say it, meet each other? And I don't want to make you uncomfortable after all that so I think it's best if we introduce ourselves,"

Your heart's basically beating out loudly that you'll afraid that he'll hear it

But, that doesn't seem so bad, does it?

You mirrored his smile, this time more confidently than before,

"[y/n] [l/n], nice to meet you Reon!"

"Please,"

Reon put his hand onto your head, "Just call me Hira,"

You fainted

"She's interesting, I love her,"

Reon's Current Mission!

Get to know you better and honestly, there's nothing else to do after that other than asking you out

You'll do great, Oohira~!

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu crack #shiratorizawa #shiratorizawa x reader #ushijima x reader #ushijima wakatoshi #tendou x reader #tendou satori #semi x reader #semi eita #yamagata x reader #yamagata hayato #reon x reader #reon oohira

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literaila · 4 years

Text

one, two, three, peek

spencer reid x reader

summary: they’re just obssessed with eachother. thats it.

warnings: fluff, just fluff, and more fluff, did i mention fluff?

Her eyes were bright as she peeked up from her book.

She was distracted.

They’d been reading silently, across the room from each other, breathing in the aroma of their house as they read the words littered across pages.

Spencer was paying more attention than she was.

She’d been distracted.

She had been watching him, staring at the sun on his face, the sun that was setting across the horizon, lighting his face up. She was staring, watching his eyes flicker across pages at a speed that seems impossible, she watched his complete concentration, watched as he unconsciously played with the necklace on his neck, fiddled with his hair, crossed and uncrossed his legs.

He was sitting in the sun, glowing, and it was distracting her.

They’d only been reading a couple of hours, after she’d followed him into the living room, followed him just so that she could stay close to him. They’d been sitting and reading together, and now the sun was setting, darkness was imminent.

But she was going to enjoy the last bit of light.

She thought, only for a brief moment, that it couldn't be dark with Spencer there.

She thought, for a moment, that she couldn't remember the last time it had been dark.

She shook those thoughts away.

She watched him instead of thinking.

She watched his eyes light up, watched them widen as they drew across the pages, watched the brown change colors in the sun. She peeked above her book, staring at him for only a couple of seconds before looking back down to the words, willing her heart to stop beating so fast.

Stop racing, he's just reading, stop racing, stop running so damn fast, he's just there. Stop.

She tried not to laugh at herself. Tried not to chuckle at the stream of thoughts clouding her head.

She repeated this process multiple times.

She peeked up, butterflies filling her stomach at the sight of him, then looked down, got herself to calm down.

Again and again.

He was irresistible.

In reality, she knew it was time to get up, go make dinner or shower, or finish the things she had meant to do.

But she wanted to stay with him, wanted to sit in this moment of bliss with him, wanted to watch him be unaware of her staring for just a while longer, just a little bit longer, just a couple more minutes.

Or hours.

Whichever seemed right.

She looked back up at him again, smiling behind the book, watching him bite his lip as he skimmed the words with his finger, she bit her cheek, felt her pulse her in her chest.

And it was then that Spencer looked up.

He looked up to just glance at her, to just see what she was doing, and he saw her wide eyes, saw her duck down behind her book, slide further into the couch.

He smiled a little bit.

She peeked out from the book again, curious to see if he had noticed, looking to see if he was still looking.

When he was, and she saw his eyes smirking at her, she pulled her book back in front of her face.

She heard him chuckle from the other side of the room, she smiled at the sound and laughed with him. Felt her heart race, listened to his soft breathing.

And when she was sure it was safe, she peeked out again. Moving the book down so it uncovered her eyes.

And brown met them, bright brown, a delicate spark to his eyes, a smile plastered on his face, his entire body relaxed as he looked at her, she smiled back, enjoyed how happy he looked, how incredibly warm he seemed in that moment, she watched him for a moment, watched him stare back at her, now completely distracted.

She wasn't sure if she could ever focus again, not when he was looking at her like that, so soft, so peaceful, so happy. She wasn't sure if she could ever overcome the beating of her heart.

He set his book aside, now as distracted as she was, he smiled wider when he saw her eyes light up at his actions.

“Come over here,” he said, the smirk never leaving his face, only increasing the state of her heart.

“I thought you were reading?” she said softly, only teasing him a little, watching the sun move across his face as he leaned forward, toward her, only inches closer, but too close for her heart. For the butterflies swimming in her stomach.

“You’ve been too far away for too long,” he said motioning for her to come over.

She giggled before she responded, “Unlike you, I’m reading.”

She pulled the book back in front of her face, laughing when she heard him get up.

He walked over to her, his eyes with purpose, his face nothing but relaxed. He walked over and he grabbed her ankle, making her squeal, which he laughed at.

From there, he moved up her leg, enjoying the soft giggles coming from her mouth as she held the book over her tensed face, as she hoped he couldn't hear the loud heartbeat that was in her ears, she hoped he didn't notice the butterflies flying through her body.

She lowered the book, peeking at him for what felt like the hundredth time that day, he grabbed the book from her, ignoring her protests, and began kissing her on the cheek.

She was even more distracted now.

He kissed from her cheek.

To the corner of her mouth.

To her nose.

To the bottom of her lips.

And finally, he kissed her.

Slow, happy, she felt like giggling just because of how close he was.

And then he grabbed her up off of the chair she was sitting in.

She had been too distracted to notice the hand wrapping around her calves, the other that was climbing its way up her side, the grip he had managed to get on her body.

All hidden by the kisses he was leaving.

She screamed as he lifted her up, he giggled along as he walked. His hands were warm on her body, tight around her as she squirmed in his arms.

“Spencer this isnt- Spenc- Ah!” she complained as he threw her down on the couch, squealing at the impact.

Spencer flipped her over, moving her body so she was sitting in his lap.

He leaned down to her, smile brighter than the sun coming in through their window, He leaned down and he breathed her in, breathed in her scent, her warmth, her smile, her soft breathing that seemed just a little bit faster than usual. He breathed her in and in just a moment, he connected their lips.

Her heart, surprised, the butterflies, fluttering. Even with the shock, the unexpected kiss, she was still quick to respond. She kissed him back, laughed when he attempted to bite her lip.

And then they were both laughing.

Both of them laughed together, and Y/N rested her hand on Spencer's chest, her body at an uncomfortable angle, but still so so wonderful.

She listened to his heart, which was surprisingly beating as fast as hers, listened and felt her heart beat with his, their bodies completely in tune, their minds flooded with nothing but each other, their hearts moving together as if they were one.

It was amazing.

Spencer kissed her head, breathed in her hair, pulled her tighter.

But it wasn't enough for her.

She moved back and smiled at him, smiled, and wondered what he was thinking if he knew how hard her heart beat for him. She smiled at him, and she lifted her arms, moving them behind his neck.

Luckily, he knew exactly what her request was. He moved closer to her, let her arms wrap around his neck even tighter, pulled her in closer from her waist. He held her there, and she held on tight to him, her arms content with keeping herself up in his arms.

She left little kisses on his neck, smiling with each giggle that came from him, kissing his neck insistently, kissing over his Adam's apple, his pulse point, the curve of his neck, every inch she could reach she kissed.

He smiled content, tried to catch his breath as she continued, over and over, too many times, yet never enough.

He had almost no idea what was going on but he was sure that she would keep him safe, and he would do the same for her.

She ran her hands through his hair, messing it up and then fixing it, all while he held onto her hips, and she kissed his neck.

This continued on for a couple of minutes until they were both out of breath, hearts racing, and happy. She stopped and they just laid together, holding each other.

Y/N looked out the window and she looked at the sun, the sun that was now only minutes away from setting completely, she looked at this purple-orange sky and she admired how beautiful it was, she admired it, but she thought it wasn't the same as Spencer. She thought that even a sunset couldn't compare to this person, this boyfriend, this love, she had sitting in her living room. She thought that even if she never got to see another sunset as beautiful as this one, it would be okay because she was with Spencer, she was always with him.

And then she wondered when she fell so in love with him.

She wondered how she could’ve fallen deeper in love and not have noticed, she wondered where these sonnets she was writing for him in her head had come from, she thought of the weeks prior and she could see nothing but him. Nothing but the man she spent every daydreaming of. The man she didn't want to spend a day apart with.

She wondered when he had become such a fixture in her life, and how she didn't even realize it.

She thought that maybe she would never know. Maybe it didn't matter. Maybe it was perfect just the way it was, maybe she was perfect the way she was, the way she felt.

She thought that there was no turning back. That she couldn't stop loving him even if she wanted to. It was too late, much too late, and she never wanted to be without him for as long as she lived.

She thought all of these things almost at once, while she looked outside.

And then she pulled away, leaned back.

Spencer was frowning at her, hand still on her waist, softer now but still trying to pull her in. He frowned deeper when she resisted when she put one of her hands on his chest and used the other to pry his hands from her waist. He pouted when she leaned back again.

She laughed at him, leaning down to kiss his nose.

And then she pulled back again. Her eyes right on his, her smile softer now, somehow less, but still content.

She started to talk, tried to say something, then stopped putting a hand over her mouth as if it would help her find the words. She watched Spencer, noticed his pout, his furrowed brows. Smiled a little bit more, removed her hand from her mouth.

“I’m not sure how you made me love you so much,” she whispered, her eyes on his lips, on his jaw, on his eyes, his neck, his nose, her eyes everywhere and nowhere all at once.

He smiled, amazed. She’d said the words before, mumbled them before bed, during cases, over the phone, at dinner, she told him those little words as much as she could. She had never been one to hold back, to stop herself from saying what she felt.

But that didn't remove the feeling, that wonderful feeling that laid itself across his chest like a blanket whenever she said them, whenever she told him that she loved him. That feeling had never gone away, and it didn't seem like it would anytime soon.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered back, only teasing a little bit.

She ducked her head into his chest, a surprised breath coming from him, and she laughed against him. He laughed with her and held her close.

They had been laughing so much today.

“I’ve always loved you more, you know,” he whispered again, once the laugher had died down, once she was just listening, once he could feel her heart beat against his chest. Once, he felt like it was perfect.

She shook her head, already disagreeing, already aware of the truth.

“That's not true,” she whispered, her voice arguing, but soft, smooth, almost like rain on a stormy day, nothing but a peaceful sound.

Spencer had always loved her voice.

“I love you more than you could ever imagine,” she said, continuing her thought in the same tone of voice, while she rested her chin against his chest, looking up at him, enjoying his smile, the warmth of his hands on her body.

“You compare mere flowers to the full bouquet,” he said, staring into her eyes, mesmerized by the light that flowed through them.

She shook her head again, just smiling at him, she didn't have the words to describe to him, didn't have the right words to argue, to explain to him why she knew that his love for her could never compare to hers.

She didn't have the words for how much she loved him.

She did have her lips though, and they were both content with that.

She moved her head up, lifted herself only slightly, gently so as to not hurt him, and kissed up his jaw, repeated the actions he had made earlier, kissed everywhere but his lips.

Over and over.

It felt like poison and a remedy for Spencer.

It was torture.

And finally, finally, he titled his head, forcing her lips against his.

And it was bliss. It was nothing but bliss, it was nothing, it was everything, it was just a simple kiss, but to both of them, it made the world, made everything make sense for just a moment.

There was nothing. Nothing but them. Nothing but the two of them in the warm cocoon they had made for each other.

It was just nothing.

It was bliss.

And it was moments like that, moments that felt like everything, felt like too much, but never lasted long enough, moments like those, that fueled their love. That kept the flame of the two of them together, it was small moments, little moments, that made everything perfect.

In moments like those, it made complete sense how they had fallen in love so desperately.

“Come on, love,” she whispered in the moment, not willing to let it go, not willing to let it go on. Come on,” she whispered again, her heart beating insistently.

And his eyes were bright.

thats it! thank you for reading!

eventually i’ll get my act together and get my taglst done, but for now... im too lazy

my masterlist here

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds headcanons #criminal minds rp #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fan #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #mgg #mgg x reader #mgg blurb #mgg fanfiction

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nightowlwriting · 3 years

Text

summary: caleb is not so sure that he deserves the kindness you've done for him. you're sure that he deserves so much more, and you plan to show him in small increments so that you don't scare him away. the shopping trip is only the beginning. (part 3/13 of the kindness series, a thematically connected series of c2/exu imagines)

word count: 2.1k

warnings: caleb's low self-esteem, mentions of political corruption, set early in c2

note: i am only on ep16 of c2 so that's where we're at folks, also my german is so so so rusty so uhhh hope it's right but any germans want to correct me feel free lmfao

masterlist - request - support my work? - ao3

Caleb Widogast is a jumpy, jumpy man. You assume it’s for good reason - he’d confided in the group that he met Nott in jail and, well, typically people don’t go to jail unless they’ve done something.

(Although, the more that you adventure with the Mighty Nein you’re not so sure that’s true. It seems like corruption runs deep in the Empire, and you’ve only scratched the surface.)

Still, he is far jumpier than even Nott, and she’s a goblin in the Empire. You watch him, sometimes, and cringe when he flinches. It’s not pity that makes you start being nice to Caleb, but that does color your actions in the beginning. You are of the firm belief that he is a good person, that all of the Nein are, and that they deserve kindness. Caleb most of all. He is so hard on himself and no amount of coaxing from the rest of the group can get him to ease up. Not even Nott, and she functions as his pseudo-mother. But you want him to loosen up, want more of those moments where he makes a joke with a straight face, only to crack a small smile when the group looks away from him. (You try not to look away, craving those moments where you can see the smile light up his face.) When your group arrives in Zadash, you make it your mission to get Caleb to feel some sort of positive emotions about himself.

Or some sort of positive emotion that’s not scarred by whatever happened in his past. You want him to be happy, to heal from whatever keeps him held back from joking with the rest of you. It doesn’t even matter if he reciprocates how you feel about him - you don’t really care. You can love him from afar, be kind to him, and that will be enough for you. He doesn’t have to fall in love with you like you’ve fallen in love with him, really, that’s not why you’re doing this. This being stopping by Pumat’s shop to pick up some more spell scrolls for him with your gold. He had been muttering to himself the last time you were all in about not having enough money, but you hadn't wanted to embarrass him by purchasing them on his behalf, so a separate trip it is. Pumats, all of them, seem to know what you’re doing because they smile when you tuck the scrolls under your cloak and sweep out of the shop.

Your next stop is an ink shop, where you pick up some more ink and incense for Caleb. You’re not really sure how his magic works because it’s not something he was born with or given by a God, but you know that he’s always looking for good ink, parchment, and incense. Just because you don’t understand doesn’t mean that you can’t be supportive. You hope that’s what Caleb will get out of your gift, and not anything else. After you gather the magic supplies - you’d asked specifically for the things that wizards use just to make sure - you make your way to the Chastity’s Nook. Maybe Caleb was joking about wanting to be titillated while he learns, but you feel better safe than sorry.

The worker there is incredibly nice, if not shy, and helps you pick out something educational, historical, and terribly smutty. It makes you blush when you glance through it, but it seems to be the right balance of the things that Caleb has expressed interest in before. (Even if that might be fake - you’re not totally sure. Still, it can not hurt to try.) She even wraps it up nicely for you, offering to wrap your other gifts too. That might be too much, so you decline, but you still pass her a few more silver as a tip. You’ve never been so nervous as you are when you make your way back to the tavern where you’re staying, but it’s almost easy to keep your cool and mask the absolute terror you feel when Caleb is sitting with the group, eating dinner. You were kind of counting on him being in his room, reading, but you don’t let his sudden appearance stop you. Jester spots you first, patting the empty seat between her and Nott, calling your name. You slip into it, easily concealing your gifts behind your back. “Where did you go?”

A sly smile slips onto your face as you reach forward, taking a portion of the food they’d ordered, “Oh, you know, around.”

“You smell like perfume,” Beau leans over Nott and sniffs you, making a slightly disgusted face, “Why do you smell like perfume?”

“I went shopping,” You cut in before Jester and Molly can interject with salacious theories, “That shopping happened to be in the Tri-Spire, thank you very much.” Caleb raises an eyebrow, sharing a look with Fjord, but you ignore it. “What did you guys do today?” You don’t really listen - only enough to hum or nod as they’re speaking - because you’re focused on figuring out a plan to get your gifts to Caleb without the others noticing or making him feel like you’re doing it out of pity, or that he owes you. You just want him to be happy that he’s getting a gift. It’s later, when everyone has cleared out, that Jester shakes your shoulder lightly, calling your name.

“Are you okay?” Her dark blue eyebrows pull down over her eyes, incredibly worried, “You didn’t talk at all during dinner.” You take her hand in yours, squeezing it briefly.

“I’m fine, Jessie. I think I might head to bed, though.” You give her a hug before heading up to your room, looking over your shoulder just before you hit the stairs to see if Caleb had gone to bed when you had zoned out. He’s easy to find in the corner, nose deep in a book, and you grin. That makes everything so much easier, especially since Nott is tucked into the booth next to him. That means that their room is completely empty and a perfect place to drop the gifts without any of the unnecessary baggage that might come with giving them to him face to face. You don’t even think about the fact that he might have warded his room until it’s too late. (That being until you watch the string snap around your ankles when you make it four steps into the room.)

But, damnit, you have a mission to complete. There’s at least a minute before Caleb makes it to the stairs and perhaps another half a minute before he hits the door. You set the things up on what you think is Caleb’s bed a little messier than you wanted but you’re running out of time. The door is a no-go to leave, and you can hear Caleb bounding up the steps. You whirl, tugging your cloak tightly around you as you debate jumping through the window instead of opening it. In the end that will just draw an entirely different reaction than you want, so you settle for slamming the window up and slinging one leg over the sill. Caleb’s room is on the second floor, so the fall might hurt a little bit, but Caleb is right outside the door, so you don’t have any other choices-

“Was machst du in meinem Zimmer!?” He bellows, hands already engulfed in flame, when he kicks the door open. It startles you off of the window sill, luckily into the room instead of out. You pop up, hands raised and already talking.

“Okay, I don’t know what you’re saying but I didn’t know you had your room warded, I was just trying to give you the things that I bought you today, and then by the time I realized it was too late because I couldn’t just leave without giving you the stuff, because then you’d be scared-” Caleb extinguishes the flames that had started to crawl up his arms, shutting the door as he comes closer to the bed. You scramble to your feet, snagging your cloak in your hands to twist it nervously. “-I should leave now, excuse me.” You do your best to skirt around him but Caleb holds up a hand, eyes on the pile of loot you’ve left on his bed. He wraps a warm hand around your wrist to keep you in place as he tries to process what’s happening.

“What is on my bed?” Caleb finally looks toward you then, eyebrows furrowed as he watches you nervously fidget with your robe, biting your lower lip. “I am not mad, but what do you mean things you bought me?” He gestures loosely with the other hand and you take a step closer to him and the bed. You weren’t ready for being confronted with Caleb, despite how much you thought about what you might say to him in a situation like this. You almost swallow your tongue trying to figure out what to say to him.

“I bought you things,” You blurt, “Because you deserve it. I’m not sure if it’s all the right things, but I tried and even if you can’t use them for, you know, magic things you can use them for other stuff-” You watch as he makes his way over to the pile and begins rifling through it, mumbling to himself in Zemnian. “I’m not doing this out of pity, or anything,” You move to his side, peeking over as he skims through the book you bought, “I did it because I want to, I promise.” You wring your hands and look off to the side, avoiding watching the way he’s pouring over what you’ve bought, “You weren’t even really supposed to know they’re from me, honestly, I just wanted to do something nice for you because you deserve kindness-”

“-I am not so sure about that,” Caleb turns to you, catching your attention. He smiles, but it’s weak, when he looks at the small pile you’ve bought for him, “The spells will be useful for the group, but the rest… You are too kind.”

“I’m not!” Perhaps on instinct, you reach out and clasp his wrists in your hands, “No, Caleb, please. I didn’t do this to make you feel bad, I want you to feel good. You’re so bright, Caleb, and so amazing that I just want you to feel a fraction of the happiness you make me feel.” He hesitates so you press on, taking the chance to step closer to him as your heart takes off at a breakneck pace in your chest. “Please, don’t feel guilty. I did this because I want to, okay? I want to make you happy and make you smile, and make you feel good because it makes me feel good. You don’t have to do - to do anything and if you want, I’ll stop. You just say the word and I’ll stop, but I see you, Caleb.” Your voice breaks off as your eyes mist over. He looks awe-inspired at you, not stepping away or pulling from your grasp, “I see you. I see the way you bite back jokes, and sometimes they slip through. I see the way you care for us, for Nott. I see the way you sacrifice yourself in everything you do because you don’t feel like you deserve to be happy, but you do. Please, you are such a good man - I can see it. I can feel it, Caleb. You deserve the world’s largest kindness, but if I can’t give that to you I’ll give you small kindnesses, if you’ll let me.” Your lip quivers and your voice comes out in a hoarse whisper when you decide to fling yourself off the metaphorical cliff you’ve found yourself on, “Caleb Widogast, I wish to give you never-ending small kindnesses not only because you deserve them, but because I love you. I am in love with you.” The difference sits heavy in the air between you as you watch Caleb process everything that you’ve said.

“You… Are you in love with me?”

“Undoubtedly.” You confirmed, whispering. He’s stepped toward you a fraction of an inch, but it puts the both of you nearly chest to chest. “I have never been so sure of something, Caleb.”

“I enjoy the way you say my name.” He confesses. You watch in wonder as red begins to crest from underneath his facial hair, coloring his cheeks a rosy, pretty pink. He tries to look away, but you duck your head to try and keep some semblance of eye contact. Your hands tremble in his.

“I’ll say it forever, then,” You try to smile, but you really only manage an upward quiver of your lips, “Every day, if you’ll accept my kindness.”

“Es wird schwer,” Caleb says under his breath as he shuffles even closer to you, “Es wird so schwer, aber ich werde es versuchen.” You’re not totally sure what he’s saying, but when he presses a terrified, hesitant kiss against your lips the message comes across loud and clear.

#critical role imagine #c2 imagine #cr imagine #caleb widogast imagine #caleb imagine #caleb widogast x reader #caleb x reader #caleb widogast / reader #caleb / reader #campaign 2 imagine #critfic

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aggravatetheaxe · 3 years

Text

BO SINCLAIR X READER - Waffle House Pt. 1

You're a server at the south's greatest and best-loved institution: Waffle House. The graveyard shift can be tough, but you can usually find ways to entertain yourself. Turns out tonight's entertainment is named Bo, and he wants to know if you're on the menu.

I wrote this especially for my friend Zin! This title is SAFE FOR WORK. Pt. 2 is NSFW (and in Bo's POV!)

Soundtrack: Diner Ambience ; Rain ; Faint Hard Rock

Words: 3,269

Part 2

Part 3

Masterlist

***

READER POV

It was raining when he came in, a light rain that tapped on the windows and made you want to leave your shift at Waffle House early to crawl into your warm bed. He was just some guy—average, white, brown hair, blue eyes. And yet you felt compelled to watch him as he tapped his dripping boots against the door and shook out his hat.

Wow.

You were new to the overnight shift. It was mostly truckers coming up and down the interstate, guys who just wanted to tuck into a warm meal and leave. They tipped well, too, so you didn't mind. It wasn't like your sleep schedule wasn't fucked anyway. May as well make some money while you were up all night.

This was the first time you'd had a physical reaction to any guy who'd walked in. You completely forgot about the orange juice you were in the process of putting away. You could feel your heart race as he gazed around the restaurant, and when his eyes found yours and he flashed you that grin?

Wow.

He took a seat at the breakfast bar, right in front of you, like he could sense your pulse quickening. "Evenin'."

Right, you were supposed to greet him. "Hi, there. Can I getcha some coffee?"

"That'd be real welcome, [miss / sir]." His crow's feet wrinkled, and he set his hat aside on the counter. His twang sounded so good mixing with the classic rock pouring from the speakers that you had to bite your lip to keep from sighing. "Sure is comin' down out there."

"Yeah," you agreed with a breathless laugh. God, did you sound stupid? You turned quickly, retrieving a mug and the fresh pot you'd just finished brewing. "How do you like it?"

"If you bring me the fixin's, I'll do it up," he said easily. When you turned and handed him the mug, his eyes found your chest, staring at your name tag for an extended moment. Then, his gaze crawled to yours. "Y/N."

Your face was so hot you wondered if he could see you blushing. Rather than say anything stupid, you practically shoved ramekins of creams and sugars at him, then mumbled some excuse or another before disappearing into the kitchen.

Pressed against the wall, you took a few deep breaths. You saw a hundred men every shift, some of them quite handsome, and yet this guy was standing out to you. Why, you had no idea, but you had a table of college kids to wait on and three other people at the counter ... you couldn't be fixated on this one person.

The cook glanced up at you, then did a double take, frowning. "You okay? Look like you're about to pass out."

Worried your Average Man had heard him, you cleared your throat and announced, "I was just getting some straws," before grabbing a handful and exiting.

You shoved the straws in your apron, trying to avoid eye contact with the man ... but as you poured refills and took orders, you found it hard not to glance over at him. He was just sitting, enjoying his coffee, but every so often, you could feel him watching you from the corner of his eye.

You knew you couldn't put off talking to him for long. You had to take his order, after all, and he'd been patient. As you walked back to him, he looked up, smiling brightly. "Welcome back."

"Thanks." Why were you thanking him? Jesus Christ, you sounded like an idiot. "Ready to order?"

He laughed a little, carding a hand through his slightly damp curls. "Once you give me a menu, darlin', I reckon I won't be long."

"Oh, sh— shoot." You scrambled to grab him a menu, slapping it down in front of him. "Sorry. It's been a long night."

"No worries." As he flipped the menu open, he nodded to his coffee cup. "Can I get some more a that, sweetpea?"

"Of course." Man, you were really fucking up this serving thing tonight.

By the time you'd grabbed the pot and refilled him, he'd set the menu down and was ready with two white packets between his fingers. He tore them both open in one motion, then looked at you, smirking. "Extra sugar. Don't tell."

Shit, you can have all the sugar you want. But your mouth was not half as dirty as your mind, and so you just smiled back, trying so hard to keep from giggling. "So, what'll it be?"

"I'll get the, uh ... Texas bacon patty melt with hashbrowns."

"Sure. How you want those hashbrowns?"

"Just plain. Actually, make 'em smothered. Oh, an' a side of biscuits 'n' gravy, please."

"You got it." You jotted the order down quickly and passed it through the kitchen window, readying yourself to move on to the next customer for your own sanity.

But it was the man's voice that drew you back to the counter: "Hey..."

You turned. He was about to ask you a question, you could tell from the tone of his voice. "What's up?"

"I'm not really from around here." His smile was friendly enough, but his shocking blue eyes seemed almost calculating. "S'pretty late, an' I don't feel like sleepin' in the truck again. You know any good motels 'round here?"

It didn't even occur to you in the moment that he could be flirting. "Well, there's a Motel 6 not far from here ... a Red Roof a few miles down the interstate. Those'll probably be your best options in terms of good quality."

His expression shifted a bit, but then his smile widened, crow's feet wrinkling again. "All right. Thanks, sugar."

Sugar. You weren't new to being called that—you lived in the south, after all—but something about the way he said it...

You tried to get him off your mind the rest of the night, but it was kind of difficult. Even after he'd finished his food, he lingered, draining coffees and flipping through a newspaper someone had left on the stool next to him. He got up to go to the restroom a couple times, but besides that, he stayed planted right in front of you, where it was impossible to ignore him.

It was an hour and thirty minutes later that your shift ended. You gathered your things, and as you headed toward the door, you weren't surprised to find him still there.

For some reason, only then did his lingering presence give you pause. Why was he hanging around a Waffle House at 3 a.m., anyway? He'd said he wasn't from around here ... had he gotten kicked out or something? Chosen a direction on the interstate and just started going?

Poor guy. You bit your lip, going back and forth with yourself for a few moments before your pity won out. "Hey, sir."

He looked over his shoulder, forehead wrinkling.

"Um, you take care. Lindsey'll ring you up whenever you're ready."

He cracked a smile and waved. "Take care, darlin'."

You tried to ignore the way your heart fluttered at those words.

The sky was just beginning to turn the color of dusk, but it was still raining as you exited the restaurant and headed to your car. Your keys jingled as you wrestled them out of the pocket of your jacket. It took you a moment to find the keyhole in the driver's side door, squinting through the rain like you were.

The inside of the car was blissfully dry, and as you slammed the door and blocked out the pounding rain, you closed your eyes and pushed out a long breath. It was time to go home—have some dinner of your own, maybe some tea, then collapse in bed.

That thought finally moved you to put the key in the ignition and turn.

And turn.

...And turn.

Well, you were the only one turning, because the engine certainly fucking wasn't.

Dread crawled up your spine and gripped the back of your neck. What? How could something like this happen? You'd just paid through the nose for a ton of repairs and an inspection. How could your engine just...

Anxiety floated you as you climbed out of the car, braving the rain to look under the hood. But hell, you barely knew which one was the engine, let alone how to fix it if it was broken. Your hands shook as you fumbled for the hood prop, heat climbing your face and stinging your eyes. How were you gonna get this fixed? How would you even afford it? Below minimum wage and tips from truckers wasn't going to cut it.

You turned, leaning against the side of the car and taking your cellphone from your other pocket. The tears finally fell once you realized that you didn't have anyone to call. You slammed the hood of the car and covered your face.

"Hey."

The voice, raised over the downpour, made you jump. You'd been standing in the rain for a few minutes, sobbing your eyes out, and you were completely soaked through. The rain and the heat of your tears fogged your glasses so bad, you couldn't see who was there no matter how you squinted.

"Hey," he said again, much closer now. You recognized the twang.

Quickly, you grabbed your glasses off, wiping them against your shirt before replacing them. You could see the Average Man much more clearly now, watching you but keeping his distance.

"Hi," you managed, sniffling hard.

His face fell. In a few seconds, he was beside you, offering you a hanky from his back pocket. With a little mumble of thanks, you wiped your face and blew your nose. The hanky smelled like motor oil and musk. He was close enough for you to smell him, too, feel the heat coming off his body.

For some reason, that made you cry harder.

He clicked his tongue above you. "Why you cryin', darlin'? It's pourin' out; you're gonna get soaked."

"My ... my car," you managed, gesturing helplessly.

"Oh? Somethin' wrong with your car?"

"Yeah. And I don't know jack shit except the model and year." You vented your frustration in a hard exhale, wringing his hanky. "I just got it inspected, too."

The man paused for a moment. "Well, hey, I'm a mechanic. I could take a look if ya like."

You raised your head, wiping your glasses again. "I— no, it's fine. It's raining out, you don't have to..."

"I don't mind," he said dismissively, opening the hood with one hand and propping it up. "Pretty thing like you shouldn't cry like that."

Again, you found yourself staring at him. This man definitely gave off an ... energy, calling you pretty while fixing your car. For a stranger, he was certainly taking control of a situation he hadn't even been aware of a minute ago. You'd been well aware he was attractive and compelling, but this was a whole new level. You were so taken off guard you couldn't think of a response.

"Go ahead and climb in front," the man said, waving you that way. "Try 'n' start it when I knock on the window."

"Okay." You slid into the front seat again, waiting for his command. He knocked once, and you turned the key.

No luck. You hesitated before knocking back.

Another knock. No luck. After the third, he rapped on the driver's side window instead, and you opened the door for him.

He was soaked. His clothes were drenched to his skin, his hair curling wildly around his ears and forehead. "No luck, darlin'. Think your engine's shot."

You felt your face crumple, any hope you'd had now crushed. It was four-something in the morning. Where were you going to get a ride home let alone a tow truck? And then how were you going to pay for it all?

"You gonna be okay?"

His words shook you out of your reverie. Your chest felt cold and numb ... the beginnings of a panic attack starting to take hold. "I just ... I don't know what I'm gonna..." You clenched your hands, freezing and trembling, and inhaled shakily.

"Listen," he said after a few moments, glancing up at the sky. "It's real shitty out, if you'll pardon my French, an' I don't feel right leavin' you all alone out here..." He sighed, almost grimacing. "You want a ride? I can getcha home, you can rest an' make your phone calls in the mornin'."

Getting into a stranger's car ... it was the most stereotypical thing in the world, but you didn't see any way you could turn down the offer. He seemed nice enough, and if it came down to it, you could run if not defend yourself...

At this point, you'd risk anything to be somewhere warm and cozy instead of in this stupid, freezing parking lot.

"I don't want to ... inconvenience you," you said weakly.

"It's no bother." His smile tightened a bit. "I'd rather you say yes or no so I can get out of this downpour."

You slipped out of your car, shutting and locking it behind you. Hopefully it would be alright for the night. "As long as you don't mind, mister."

The man simply smirked in response, slamming your hood and heading for his truck. It was a beat-up Chevy in dire need of a paint job, but it was running, which was more than you could say for your own vehicle. He opened the passenger side door, then shut it behind you, hurrying himself out of the rain. The pickup's vintage interior smelled faintly of cigarettes as you slid into place, buckling in.

He swore softly as he climbed in beside you and started the truck. Heat blasted through the air vents, and you relaxed a little. It smelled musty and old in here, but the engine sounded good, and whatever problems there were were easily smoothed over by the handsome company and the rock droning from the radio.

"Name's Bo, by the way." He spared you a smile as he backed out of his parking space. "Only fair you know mine since I know yours." When you balked, he laughed. "Your name tag, remember?"

"Oh. Right. Duh."

The man—Bo—took it in stride. "You must be beat as hell, shift like that. Betcha can't wait to get home and curl up in bed."

"Yeah," you replied, giggling awkwardly.

Bo smiled. God, he was so pretty. "Don't blame ya. I'm dog tired myself. Do just about anything for a drink and a soft bed right now." A chuckle. "Guess I'll just have to settle for a beer and a motel mattress."

Again, you giggled awkwardly.

On the other hand, he wasn't awkward at all. In fact, he seemed perfectly comfortable carrying the conversation, as if he'd gotten the script before you and rehearsed his lines a thousand times. "So where'm I headed?"

"Oh, uh, take the next exit..."

You continued to navigate for him, but you were working from memory, your eyes barely on the road. You couldn't help but watch his hands as he maneuvered the truck. They looked strong and warm, with fine hairs near his wrist, and on his right hand, a signet ring glistened in the low light. When he stroked and squeezed the steering wheel, his muscles and skin shifted beautifully over his knuckles.

You kinda wished you were that steering wheel.

Eventually, the truck pulled up to your apartment building, engine purring as it idled. "This the one?"

"Yeah." You clutched your things closer and smiled over at Bo. "Thank you for this. Really, I don't know what..."

You'd been about to say I don't know what I can do to repay you, but the state he was in, it wasn't hard to guess what he needed. Not only was he drenched, but he looked half-dead with exhaustion despite that easy smile of his.

Even as you opened your mouth, you knew this was a crazy idea.

"Do you ... want to come in for a minute? I can at least get you a towel, um, and maybe some cash for taking you out of your way."

Bo paused. He had an expressive face—you could see him weighing his options. "What the hell," he sighed, giving a tight white-guy smile before cutting the engine. "Sure."

Your heart leapt. You had half expected him to turn you down out of politeness, but you supposed you had inconvenienced him. Excitement mixed with terror at the thought of having this man—a stranger—in your apartment. Alone with you.

But it was a little too late to back out now. You slipped out of the truck and led him quickly up the front steps, then the interior stairs to your apartment. As always, your building smelled like Second Floor's cats and First Floor's cheap weed. Bo only stood behind you, hat in his hand, nice and polite as he waited for you to unlock your door.

"Home sweet home," you said, laughing awkwardly as you stepped in.

Bo gave a cursory glance around the place but didn't seem to feel one way or the other about your decor, simply smiling at you. He sure did know how to make people feel at ease. This almost didn't feel like an insanely stupid idea.

"Make yourself at home. I'll go get a towel. Um, and I can get you a drink. What do you like?"

"I'm not fussy, but I'll take whiskey if you have it."

Your place was so small, you were able to carry on the conversation while you hurried to the bathroom and grabbed a fresh towel from the cabinet. "I think one of my friends left some behind the last time she was over. Wild Turkey? It's bourbon?"

"That'll do." When you brought him the towel, he gave you one of those dazzling grins in return. "Much obliged, darlin'."

God, you just wanted to stand there and take him in while he toweled himself off, but you forced yourself not to, instead going into the small kitchen and fetching the whiskey. You weren't much of a drinker yourself, but you'd seen your friends drink plenty, so you poured a couple fingers in a wide glass and brought it out. He had already made himself quite comfortable on your couch, leaned back, legs spread, arm across the back of it.

"I hope it's not irresponsible of me to give you a drink when you're gonna be driving," you said as you handed him the whiskey.

He chuckled. "Don't you worry about me. I've pro'lly driven worse off a thousand times." He threw it back in one go, and you watched his slightly stubbly throat bob as he swallowed smoothly. He practically moaned, "That's it," before wiping his mouth. Looking you up and down, "None for you, sugar?"

It took you a moment to find your voice. "I don't really drink much. Tastes like paint thinner to me."

That drew a laugh from him. "Sacrilege." Then a hum. "You don't have to stand there, y'know. It is your house."

Sitting next to him would mean his arm was practically wrapped around your shoulder. An edge of wariness was beginning to press against your thundering heart. This was such a terrible idea, for so many different reasons.

You approached slowly, lingering before him. The way he looked up at you through his lashes, body sunk into your couch, nearly made your mouth water. He lifted his glass slightly. "Think I'm good for one more ... if ya don't mind."

***

Part 2

Masterlist

#bo sinclair #bo sinclair x you #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x y/n #house of wax 2005 #slasher x reader #slasher x you #slasher imagine #bo sinclair imagine #written

146 notes · View notes

annmarcus63 · 3 years

Text

He wanted to say "I love you"

Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion

Here's on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34237159

Injured Jaskier

"Blessed silence"

"Would you shut up, bard?"

"If you don't stop within the next two minutes, I swear, I'll break that fucking lute and shove it down your throat"

"Jaskier, shut up!"

"Alright! I'll stop, there's no need to be such a brute" replied Jaskier while tucking the lute, currently on his hands, on the brand new case he bought a couple of days ago to a retired musician living his last days on White Orchard. It's gorgeous, orgasmic, almost as sexy as the lute.

The music notes slowly fading in Geralt's ears, leaving a weak hum behind. Geralt sighed relieved, and a suspicious feeling that may resemble guilt. But there's not time to dwell on it. He's trying to sort the potions and required ingredients to complete the contract which he needed to follow up that same night. Witchers were trained to tune out every sound to be able to concentrate. He could meditate for days with not a single thing to bother him, but Jaskier's chatter is a powerful contrary spell to the calmness he was used to. It's a possibility that Jaskier fell upon his path with the sole purpose to test his limits. He is good company but sometimes Geralt wonders if it's worth the trouble.

He needs Arachnomorphs' venom and Griffin's feathers and blue mutagen to brew the antidote to the potent venom of the Endrega warrior he's goin to face. Methodically he starts with the preparation, grind and mix, smell, taste, it hurts...it's ready.

Three weeks ago he received a letter from Eskel asking to meet for pressing matters. Geralt doesn't know what he may want, it maybe a problem with a powerful beast or just a call to drink, which is unlikely because the message seem urgent. So Geralt had to hurry if he wanted to catch him on time, he was two days late and if he doesn't kill the Endrega he'd be three days late. Traveling with Jaskier prevent from a fastest pace, and the reason of those two days were, of course, the bard who asked him to stay longer on White Orchard to wait for his new lute case. Geralt ponder all this with an edge of bitterness towards Jaskier, it's unfair and uncalled for. He feel like shit. He ponder it still.

Jaskier is capable of recognizing when he's being a nuisance. Or well...he can recognize when someone has reach their limits regarding him. He can be too much, he speaks too much, he moves too much, he whines too much, he thinks too much. He's considerate you see, when Geralt snaps at him he understands. He can't help it. Is what he is, and he's not going to change, he tried once for his father. It didn't work, Jaskier was giving too much away for the acceptance of one person, he conclude it didn't worth it.

He understands really, but today Geralt has been a little over the edge, and has crossed the line between banter and plain rudeness.

So the logical response is to be more annoying.

Jaskier can be awful too when he wants.

He prod the wild and stressed animal with meaningless chatter, why does the fire moves like that? is the color of my fingernail normal? have you ever wonder how it'd be to become a fish?

the wild animal spill one or two drops of the antidote while pouring it from the small wood plate in which the ingredients got blend. Jaskier swear have saw how the vein on Geralt's forehead pop.

Ups…

"Would you SHUT UP for once in your fucking life?” ok he seen that coming “I can't even hear my own thoughts, bard. When we reach Velen you're going to stay there. Do you understand? Not following me around anymore”

To be fair he has caused this. It's what he does, always, being and idiot with and incessant mouth. He has push too far this time, even so that tone on Geralt's voice put him on edge, angry even. That ungrateful witcher and his never ending foul mood. What would he give to see him smile more often?

Everything.

A heavy atmosphere settled on the camp, Geralt's angry and now Jaskier's too, offended to be more accurate. Jaskier hated these often-occurring moments, as if the bard were a stranger and not a years friend.

Are you though?

Whoever sent the letter is Geralt's friend. What give it away? the eagerness to travel fast for instance. Jaskier send a letter once, asking if he wanted to meet at Novigrad, he never received a response nor Geralt went there.

Geralt packed his things, secure the sword straps and with a particular tenseness on his shoulders he turn to Jaskier.

"You're going to stay here. HERE Jaskier. I don't want you anywhere near the nest, the poison..."

"I know"

"Then I want you to repeat it"

"What? Really? I'm not a child, Geralt" but the Witcher kept his stance, waiting, and Jaskier's a sucker for pleasing.

"I'm going to stay here, quiet and still. If I get near the nest there's a high chance to get poisoned, even a small dosis could kill me. And get my body back and bury it would be a big hassle for you Are you happy now?"

"Hmm. I'll be back by midnight"

Geralt disappeared between the trees and Jaskier watch him go with a big lump on his throat. Not five minutes later he started cleaning the broth pot to fill it again with clean water to drink to warm up his bones. How he wish to have tea or coffe to add.

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Wind's howling, Jaskier reflected, feeling the chill colouring his cheeks and breaking his lips unpleasantly. Besides the wolfs living on the wind, there was silence, a sepulchral silence that caused him feel unsafe. Even Roach looks in distress. An hour ago she was lying on the grass getting ready for a good night sleep, and now she's looking everywhere as if she can sense something lurking in the shadows, and that is scary. By the position of the moon Jaskier could guess the time, one and a half hour past midnight. That idiot witcher should be here by now. He knew that, Roach knew that, so why he's not here?

He couldn't think straight, the worry was eating him up from the intestines and it wasn't fair or unnormal, worrying for Geralt is like worrying for the sun to never come up again. It may happen but is unlikely, impossible.

Geralt is fine, he is, or at least is what he kept repeating himself for the past hour like a mantra that no one would ever listen.

Something went wrong, I'm sure. He'd be here by now so why he's not here? What if the Endrega chew his head off? that's sudden and crude Jaskier, what's wrong with you? He can't be dead, I mean I didn't even get the chance to apologize, to clean his wounds, to buy him breakfast, to tell him I love him with all my beating foolish heart.

Agh, but he's not dead, so stop that train of thought right this instant, young man.

For some reason the voice sounded like his dead mother.

"I need to go there only to see if he's safe" said Jaskier to Roach

"But he said rather rudely to you to stay put and not bother him." replied imitating Roach voice like a tired housewife.

"I know what he said" said with an air of petulant child. "And what about you come with me to keep me in check"

"It's dark you can't see and it's dangerous"

"But you can!"

"Fine, hop on me" he loved winning arguments.

He saddled Roach efficiently, Geralt rarely let him do it but he was a quick learner. He put out the fire with a kick of dust, took a small blade that Geralt kept at the bottoms of his bag just in case, he also lit the only torch they carried for emergencies, a beacon of light that Geralt could see if he was in trouble and rode Roach towards the clearing next to the main road from which people get disappearing and getting eaten.

He trusted Roah to guided him, she was a clever one who also worried for her master.

The cold kept biting his skin even under the small fire, he left his cape at camp in case he needed to run, but they're getting closer. A wooden statue with flowers and canisters at it’s feet appear by his right, the notice board said the location of the insect was near that god statue.

He stoped Roach and dismount then he took the short blade wishing he didn't have to use it, before leaving he remembered the possibility of encounter with poison, according to Geralt Endregas not only spit venom but also exuded poisonous gas equally lethal. So he took his undershirt to cover half his face, this might prevent breathing it.

The turned out the torch because the light would attract the Endrega and distract Geralt.

He walked slowly to north realizing how much he was trembling, it wasn't that cold. It was fear and the soft hum of the adrenaline waiting on his brain for being triggered.

And then a rancid and potent smell reached him despite the undershirt. There. A thick unnatural mist and a series of small mountains piled some meters away. No, not mountains, bodies, Endrega bodies lying on the ground slaughtered with efficiency. A witcher’s work.

He almost missed it because of the mist, but there he was, Geralt, lying on the ground in a tragic pantomim of his foes. Jaskier hurried to him almost tripping in the process, he kneel by his side and got shocked by the hardened veins on the witcher's forehead, his levels of toxicity must being dangerous high. But he wasn't dead and if Jaskier wanted to keep him like that he needed to take him away from the mist to help his body fight the secondary effects of the pocions.

He looked the number of bodies surrounded them, more than six when the contract said one Endrega.

He have to be quick so he wrap Geralt by the armpits and with all his strength started to drag him towards Roach, he couldn't risk bringing her here in case of the poison or another insect near by. Geralt was a big guy, he has always being attracted to that, now not so much. Sweating, weary and scared.

Sweating, weary and scared the bard dragged the witcher to Roach when he started to feel dizzy followed by an annoying scratching under the skin. Roach stamped her feet two times before getting closer, she nosed her master while Jaskier catch his breath, then the lovely girl crouched down and wait patiently.

In a matter of a blink, his head started to pound violently and his vision to get blurred. That wasn't good.

The poison, it's the poison.

With all the strength he got left he pull Geralt on his belly over Roach, the position wasn't ideal but it was all he could do before collapsing on his knees.

"Go Roach. Go" She stood with must carefulness, Jaskier watched her go feeling a rush of pride and victory, he saved Geralt, he'll be alright and that was all that matter.

Jaskier fell backwards hitting his head with the ground, his body started convulsing or at least that's what he thought before lose consciousness.

· · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·· · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·· · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·

An insistent poke on his ribs brought him to wakefulness followed by a fall and a sudden sharp pain on his side. A few seconds later the witcher take in his surroundings. Roach neigh by his side, he had fall from her. The heavy cloud from exhaustion and toxicity still rested on his brain.

He felt the bitter tang on the back of his tongue of venom running thru his system and the hollow pain that remained. There were eight Endregas...yes, the Endregas, he had fainted on the clearing knowing well that he might not woke up again if he kept on breathing that mist. How did he get there? Roach answered with a distressed stump of her foot.

"What?" he asked the horse, and she neigh.

Jaskier

"Fuck."

he search on his pouch for White Honey to swallow it in a big gulp.

Awareness returned quickly and despite the injuries and aches on his lef side he took Roach's reins and guided her back to the clearing.

Back to Jaskier, he hoped to not be late, please let him be on time, he begged to no one in particular.

The contract said one Endrega, imagine the surprise and horror he felt when encountering a nest with full grown ups monsters which position were stronger and their hunt abilities an excellency when attacking in pack. He drank the three vials of antidote he carried and a dose of Swallow that burned his stomach and shot the toxicity levels to a mortal point. The Endregas were all dead, but tired and injured he collapse defeated. The position of the moon indicate that was dead for at least two hours during which he continued to breathe the poisonous gas, half and hour more and he'd be dead for good. Jaskier went for him, he could smell him on Roach, his fear and urgency. Idiot, that idiot.

Geralt tried with all his might to not think him dead.

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At the feet of the statue was Jaskier, body bent in an awkward angle. Geralt removed the undershirt on his face, recognizing it as a clever tactic. The mist did not reach that area but the purple and green tone on the bard's skin indicate high levels of poison, he must have went thru the mist to reach Geralt drag him back to Roach.

“Fuck, Jask” said Geralt with a trembling voice and without thinking carried Jaskier to Roach, there'll be time to check for injuries for now he have to take him back to safety. Jaskier's heartbeat was slow, very very slow. Geralt fret but he did not relent.

He laid Jaskier's frigid body on the bedroll and with Igni he started the fire, he located the water Jaskier used for tea and used to clean his hands of the grime and dirt. A choking noise alerted him and Roach who was nosing the bard.

From Jaskier's nose a dark liquid started to flow, he was drowning from the inside which meant that he had breath the poison and it was filling his lungs with thick mucus.

He put Dandelion on his side and encouraged him to vomit with his fingers to clean his airways as soon as possible. Jaskier throat convulsed on his fingers followed by a steady dark flow. Geralt reached for the pot by the fire to put it under his mouth, which soon was filled to the brim.

"That's it Jask, that's it" Geralt whispered even though the bard couldn't hear him. With a clean cloth, he wiped the bard's mouth once the flow stopped and her lungs sound clear. It was then that Geralt noticed with overwhelming fear that the other had stopped breathing.

"No, no, Jask come on come on"

He acted fast by lifting Jaskier's chin and placing his clasped hands in the center of his chest and began to push down hard more times than he could count.

“Jaskier come back!” he growled when his shoulders felt like jelly, he was getting tired and Jaskier wasn't breathing. He wasn't breathing. He remembered Renfri choking on his arms a reflection of what was happening here. Not this again, not these again. Jaskier's mouth opened follow up by a weak gasp and a weaker heartbeat.

But he came back, and Geralt almost cried right there and there, but he didn't know how. There's nothing else he can do, he had no medicine of herbs for poisoning that could help humans, everything he had was lethal. He instantly regretted overlooking the possibility of this happening. He was traveling with a bard and the most responsible and considerate thing he could do was prevent and buy at least herbs just in case. But he didn't. They were at least a day and a half away from the next town and being that far from the capital meant fewer healers. Jaskier wouldn't survive the travel, not on this conditions.

If the poison hasn't killed him by now then it means that he could survive on his own, or at least that's what Geralt hope.

He put Jaskier in one of his shirts and covered him with all the available clothes they had, his cape and even the blanket with which he covered Roach.

Exhausted he started removing his armour to clean the now faint slashes on his chest and abdomen, then he walked like death to Roach to remove the saddle and pet her gently thanking her for her help.

It was an hour before dawn, but Geralt did not rest, he could not even if he wanted to. He sat next to Jaskier to check his breathing and keep the fire burning.

The fever hit the bard a couple of hours later, he was burning dangerously high, Geralt dipped a cloth on clean water to place on his forehead, from time to time raised Jaskier's head to feed him with water.

His heart didn't stop again which was a blessing amongst the terrible situation. Jaskier didn't deserve to die like this, not for Geralt or monsters.

Then the hallucinations began, feverish and confused, Jaskier babbled under his breath while trembling furiously. He smell like sickness and decay and in that exact moment the witcher missed the natural perfume of the bard's skin. Like sea breeze and orange tree. Like Jaskier.

By day two Geralt got assaulted by an all consuming wave of guilt. He had yelled at the bard for being...well, himself. He was so upset and it was so easy to insult and threaten to leave him in the next town.

Jaskier hated to be left behind.

"Why did you came for me, you idiot?"

"I don't deserve it" whispered before taking the now warm cloth to dip it once again on cold water. Instead of improving, Jaskier's condition began to deteriorate. Painful spasms convulsed his body for hours, the fever did not subside and his breathing were shallow and slow. Geralt lay next to him that night to keep the tremors at bay, he hold him carefully alongside his body.

"You do remember the night after Posada when we make camp and you asked me to cuddle you because you were cold?" He whispered into the night "I didn't. If you were awake I'd never hear the end of this. You'd love it"

The bard moaned softly and shook slightly under his grip. "Come back to me, Jask." He meant to say how sorry he was, he doze off instead.

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First he felt heat on his face, then a relentless pressure on his head as if a heavy stone was on top of it Little by little he maped his body and the multiple aches that alarmed him. On his chest underneath the skin his ribs screamed with fire as if he have been kicked hard multiple times, also his lungs burned like hell, his shoulders were stiff and sore, his belly hurt faintly.

What happened? Where is he? What, what, what, what

"Jaskier Jaskier. I'm here, breathe thru your nose, I'm here." Suddenly he realized that he was sitting up and wide-eyed. It was noon. "Jask" kneeled next to him was Geralt with a worried frown and a canister fill of water. He snatched it from Geralt's hands and drank as if a desert was kept inside his lungs.

"Easy"

“Not…your…horse” Jaskier flinched at how raspy his voice sounded. Beside him, the witcher chuckled and then stretched out his hand to put it on his forehead. Before Jaskier could react at the soft touch tha hand was gone.

"Fevers down" uh, did he sound happy?

"I had fever?" Geralt looked at him with such intensity, a expression he had never seen and therefore didn't know what it meant.

"You almost died" he answered softly. She saw Roach grazing without a mount a few feet away, she also noticed that Geralt was in his small clothes. The camp was a small mess like when they stay on the same place for more than two days.

"The Endrega"

"Endregas, yes"

"I went..."

"Yes"

"I... i'm sorry"

"No, don't be, you saved me" It was a shock when Geralt straightened a lock of hair from her forehead. His fingertips were warm.

"Are you hungry?"

"I don't know. I don't think so"

"You have to eat. I cooked rabbit broth, it'll do you good"

He could only swallow a quarter of the broth before starting to feel nauseous, Geralt said he had vomit enough for the past days before taking the pot from him. Roach came to say hello and Jaskier felt his heart swelled with affection. He wanted to do and ask more, but suddenly he felt tired, very tired, his eyelids fluttered and when Geralt saw him, he helped him lie down and put his cape over him. He was soft and calm, tender even. At that moment Jaskier knew that he must have been in a bad shape if Geralt was acting like this, like Jaskier always imagine on his wildest dreams.

He wanted to said thank you but it felt so meaningless at the moment, Geralt didn't look that good, slump and with drop shoulders a clear sign of exhaustion. if Jaskier still breathed, it was all thanks to Geralt, despite how defeated he was from the contract, he took care of him.

I love you seem something meaningful to say, every feeling and thought Jaskier have had of the witcher, taking form into three little words.

Sleep took him away before he could have the courage to say it.

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The next morning Jaskier insisted he was fine and he wanted to travel to the next town , of course he was a liar Geralt always knew when he lied, because he wrinkled his nose in a cute but irritating way. With a small smile, he pinched the bard's nose back to normal.

“No, you’re not ready” Jaskier let out a laugh as he smack the witcher's hand away. and before Jaskier could protest Geralt added "But we need go there to get you to a healer and reastock"

"Your letter Geralt, don't forget about your letter"

"Uhmm"

Before setting off on the journey, Geralt made sure that Jaskier could endure the journey. He applied what was left of a soothing balm to Jaskier's chest for the pain and bruises that remained after the compressions. Riding would be painful, but they have to get to the healer in case of a relapse or permanent damage. Jaskier let him applied the balm and he couldn't believe the patience and care the witcher put on his motions as if Jaskier could break if enough force was used. He was crumbling in tiny little pieces, melting, but from a different source. The witcher is going to be the end of him one day of these.

I love you, we wanted to said. He put on one of Geralt's shirt instead, it smells like onion and Roach and Geralt and smoke and safety. It smells like home.

· · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·· · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·· · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·

Riding Roach was painful and tiring, walking was out of the question He kept waiting for Geralt to get upset by the multiple stops they made but that never happen, in fact the witcher was the one who plannified and suggest to rest every one or two hours.

Something has changed between them, but the bard does not know what to name this new atmosphere, but he sure welcomes it. For the first time in all the years they have travel together Jaskier felt wanted, cared for, treasured! With a rush of happiness and satisfaction, Jaskier acknowledged that the walls Geralt has built around him to keep him out and stranded, have collapsed. He finally was someone to hold on to. Jaskier was sitting on the bed roll with a warm tea canister on his hands while the witcher set up camp to sleep the night. A day and a half away from the next town has become two days, they'll be reaching the inn (if it were any, Jaskier hope there would be) by night fall.

Geralt was stoking the fire when a mad idea occurred to him, he crawled to Geralt and before he could voiced his displeasure the bard embrace him in a tight hug. Two seconds later, Geralt hugged him back almost urgently, nuzzling his face where Jaskier's shoulder and neck met. He withdrew with a goofy smile on his face and his heart hammering on his bruised ribs, he couldn't care less. But he didn't get any far, he was a selfish man. Geralt was smiling too, a soft and crooked smile, when he straightened the bard's hair over his forehead and ears, he then, like under a spell trace his thumbs over his eyebrows and eyelids. Jaskier could die right here and then from happiness.

Their faces were so close. I love you, Jaskier wanted to say, he took Geralt's hands instead to place a kiss on each dirtied palm.

"You reek" of course Geralt would know how to break the moment.

"You too, mister. For once Roach smells better than us"

“She always smells better tan us” Jaskier snorted getting back to the bedroll pondering on how lucky he was despite the near death experience, he was a lucky men.

By the next afternoon Jaskier was beyond exhausted, every single one of his bones scream with pain, he felt as if he was about to pass out at any moment.

"Geralt..."

"We have to get going, Jaskier, only for a few hours and we'd get there"

"I can't"

"Please, Jask, I'll take care of you when we get there"

Please, what a strange word to express how much you care.

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Geralt practically carried him up the stairs to the room, Jaskier fell face first on the bed already half sleep. Geralt was placing his things when the bard murmured “Wake me up before you go in the morning." The thing is that even if he were on time to reach Eskel, Geralt didn't want to go anywhere.

Jaskier woke up sometime in the night when the mattress sagged next to him.

followed by a strong arm curling around his belly.

"Grlt'?"

"Sleep"

· · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·· · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·· · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·

Jaskier woke up to the chirping of birds on the windowsill, it was still early, the sun was not up yet. Not even the drowsiness could prevent the joy he felt and finding himself tuck to Geralt chest, they're facing each other naturally as if they have sleep like this forever.

And like a bucket of cold water thrown over him he remembered the letter "Geralt" he called softly "Geralt it's morning"

"Hmm, I can see that" came the sloppy reply, but instead of getting up Geral cuddled him more, practically tucking his face against the other's.

as if sensing his distress Geralt added "I'm not going anywhere"

"But your contact..." he withdrew (a few inches) to make a point. Geralt opened his perfect eyes and hold him under them.

"Eskel, my brother. I already send a letter, he'll understand"

"I'm sorry" a kiss was place on his forehead

"Don't be, I want to be here"

"You...you didn't want to" Geralt sighed ashamed

"I know and i'm sorry. Now I know where i belong"

"Here?" replied Jaskier with a snort

"With you"

"With me?!" Now was Geralt's turn to snort happily, resembling Roach when they feed her apples.

"You risked your life even though I was an asshole to you, even when I told you that the poison would kill you if you got anywhere near the place. I...I'm sorry"

"You were an asshole, yes" Geralt gifted him with a smile full of teeth "To be fair i was behaving like a brat at the time"

"You are a brat, yes"

"Hey"

Jaskier wanted to say I love you, instead he kiss Geralt's lips softly.

Geralt wanted to do better, so better he did.

#geraskier fic #geraskier #jaskier #hurt jaskier #injury #jaskier x geralt #the witcher #geralt of rivia #geralt x jaskier

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smutandfluffohmy · 4 years

Text

His Sweater

From: Smutandfluffohmy Pairings: George X Slytherin!reader A/N: This is written a bit weird? Uuu tell me what you think of the writing I’m trying something out. Summary: Slytherin! reader wonders around the castle and comes across George and Fred.

Read Part 2 here

I had a nightmare that night. I’m sure it was a horrible dream but I didn’t remember or perhaps I didn’t want to remember once I woke up. The morning was not there yet but I could feel it, it was not early enough for others to be awake nor was it late enough to go back to sleep. I rose my head looking around the room hoping my roommates would for some miracle be awake; but everyone was still fast asleep.

I got myself out of bed slipping my feet in the slippers. My pajamas bundled awkwardly around my thigh and knee, using my foot to tug it back in place. The dorms were warm but so quiet, I felt that this is what it must feel like to be the only person in the world.

Walking out of my dorm and making my way into the common room I expected to bump into someone at any second, but I didn’t. I was the only one awake me, the kraken and the fire.

Making my way out of the Slytherin common room I looked around the stretched out halls.I wondered who was awake at this time, why they were awake and what they were up to. Perhaps they were always early rises and they will be surprised to see me.

The usually loud halls were deadly quiet. I wonder if I’m dead, a curious thing it would be if I was because I don't remember dying.Looking around the halls, watching all the sleeping paintings that framed the tall halls. Despite walking down these halls hundreds of times they felt too big, too old and my bunny slippers felt too out of place.

My mind started to wander, not enough that I didn't know it was wondering but enough to not keep my wits about me.

Someone bumped into me , making me stumble backwards before a hand reached over and kept me on my feet. Looking up at who it could possibly be that bumped into me with the entire hall free. I looked up to see George Weasley’s eyes that were filled with worry and confusion as to who would be awake at this hour as if he himself wasn't awake at this hour as well.“Jesus Weasley you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“If you want I could finish off the job.” Fred sneered appearing from behind his brother.

Shooting him a glare I tried ignoring the burning spot growing where George was touching me “Haha very funny. What are you guys doing up.” I said straightening my already straight pajamas, cursing myself for wearing my green pajamas and white bunny slippers, I looked like a walking Slytherin banner.

George looked from me to his brother to my slippers before speaking “Could ask you the same thing.” he said.

“I asked first.” I retorted, scrunching my eyebrows together.

“Shame you’re outnumbered.” Fred shrugged hiding something behind his back. Technically they’re outnumbered if they would only count my bunny slippers.

Shrugging my shoulders I looked between them “Had a bad dream.”

“So you got out of bed to wonder the halls.” Fred said scrunching his nose at me.

“Your turn.” I said

“Counting the paintings wanted to make sure they hadn’t hopped off the walls.” George said with a face splitting smile that seemed too bright and too happy for an hour when the sun wasn't even out.

“Fine I’ll just follow you two around if you’re going to be like that.” I said, maybe I’ll get another smile from George even if I had to put up with Fred.

“No.” Fred said spinning around walking in front of me, his hands still behind his back hiding water it was.

“You can’t stop me.” I answered confidently, as confidently as someone with no wand and no socks could sound.

George snickered beside me “We can.” he said. But his threat was empty, a sweet empty like an empty sweets wrapper.

Fred seemed to catch on to the tone in his brothers voice because he rolled his eyes before saying “Whatever hurry up we have lots to do, places to be”

George shifted uncomfortable besides me, Fred rhythmically tapped the thing in his hand, the silence too loud for us to ignore.I shivered from the cold and the awkwardness.

Fred laughs “Did you think Hogwarts was warm at 3am? In the winter? A bit dense aren't we.” he says stretching his arms over his head, my embarrassment spread across my face.

George broke my silent embarrassment “Don’t mind him he’s upset were awake this early.Here you can borrow my jumper” he said tugging the jumper off, messing his hair in the process.

The color returned to my face, was it possible for someone to be attractive with bed head? Apparently it was. I just wish I realized this in a less compromising moment “Are you sure? Aren’t you going to be cold?” I said hesitant to take the offered jumper.

George smiled “I’m sure. I hardly get cold” he said putting my head through the jumper, the flappy arms hanging off my shoulders.

My thoughts left my head, I couldn't even remember what it felt like to have any. “Thank you I re-” I mustered out

Fred sighed making George and I jump, forgetting he was there at all “Barf. Can we hurry up.” He said. Putting my arms through the sweaters arms, smoothing out my hair trying to get rid of the static.

“What are you guys doing.You never said” I said speed walking trying to keep up with their long strides.

“Feeding the narwals the live around the castle I reckoned they were a bit peckish.” Fred said pointing at deep dark corners in the hallways.

“Narwhals live in the ocean.” I said, far too serious and far too matter a factly that made me wince inside.

“It doesn't matter they’re not real.” George said with a laugh tugging at his shirt collar.

“Mate...” Fred said with a mix of bemusement and a horrified look before laughing, shaking his head and continued making his way to wherever they were going.

“What?” George said looking from his brother to me, trying to figure out the punchline he felt we’ve hidden from him.

“George narwhals are real animals.” I said quietly to him.

“Oh.” George murmured his face getting as red as his hair, a task I didn't know was possible.

“Besides can’t tell you, you might go on and tell your boyfriend Malfoy.” Fred said waving me off. Now it was my turn to turn red.

“Yea can’t say we can trust a Slytherin with our plan.” George said with a hint of something in his voice and a different spring in his step.

“First of all Malfoy isn’t my boyfriend. Second I love a good laugh come on Weasleys spill.” I said, excitement running through me at the thought that I could be part of one of their pranks.

“I still don't think we can trust them.” Fred said looking over my head to talk to George.

“I don't think so either, feel like she’s a secret spy sent out.” George said pretending to whisper.

“Just tell me.” I said looking up at them, as they averted their eyes up to the ceiling.

George let out a laugh “Slytherin and Gryffindor quidditch game today so we’re hexing Slytherins area to turn into-” he said

“Gryffindor colors.” Fred said finishing the sentence his brother had started.

“Hmm brillant but-” I said cracking my fingers, wincing at the loud sound promptly dropping my hand.

“But?” Fred said cocking his eyebrow at me, wanting and not wanting to hear what I had to say.

George mimicked his brothers expression looking down at me “I don’t think it gets more brilliant than that.” he shrugged.

“BUT.” I said poking both of the on the arms. “What if you changed our horns to cheer for Gryffindor instead.” I said, unsure if it could work or not but I’m sure if it could be pulled off the people to come to was the Weasley twins.

“Well take it into consideration.” George said, side eyeing me perhaps sizing me up or perhaps a bit crossed he didn’t pitch the idea first. I could feel myself beam at the thought I might have possibly contributed to a great Weasley prank.

Steps echoed through the empty halls. Stiffing at the sound the three of us froze, too unsure or afraid of the volume of our own voices afraid they might come out too loud and give us all away.

“Fucking hell someones coming.” George said barely above an audible whisper but it felt like he was shouting at the top of his lungs in that moment.

“Told you they’re was a mole” Fred scoffed at his brother eyeing me with fake anger and trying to hold back a laugh. Or perhaps he was in fact a bit crossed with me.

“Shut up. Go on I’ll take care of it.” I said stepping in front of them, shooing them away to continue on. Offering myself as a sacrifice, I only wonder if I was going to be a eye rolling encounter or an after class eraser dusting sacrifice.

“I knew they weren't a mole.” George smiled from me to his brother.

“Perhaps.” Fred said dragging out his s, not believing me until I proved it.

Rolling my eyes I took a step backwards “Go on carrot tops.” I smiled up at them.

“Oi no need to come after the hair.” Fred said in moving his hands up in defense, a laugh threatening to leave his mouth and running his aloof demeanor.

“I’ll be cheering for you Wesley. Even if you don't hex the horns.” I said smiling at George, I wondered what smile wouldn't give my crush on George but it didn't matter because I couldn't see it.

“Thanks glad to see I’m finally being appreciated.” Fred said puffing his chest out pretending to throw a bludger, a faint smile spreading on your face.

“Oh guess I’ll cheer for you too carrot top. Now go hurry” I said shoving them as I started running towards the source of the sound, my bunny slippers ears bouncing in different direction with each step.

Harshly stopping, and turning around “Wait George your jumper.” I shouted, a shouted only above a whisper but still too loud.

“Give it to me later!” George whisper shouted towards me a lopsided smile on his face, a smile I don't think I’ve seen on others.

“Earth to George hurry up.” Fred said slapping his brothers arms to get his attention that I’m sure he had as soon as he said his name.George turned to his brother as they ran side by side. “I think you’re carrot top and I’m Wealsey.”

“Ha whatever makes you feel better.” George laughed shoving his brother before running towards the Quiditch field.

#george weasley #george weasley x slytherin!reader #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter imagine #fred weasley x reader #fred Weasley x y/n #fred weasley x reader #fred Weasley x Slytherin!reader #slytherin reader

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littlemisspascal · 3 years

Text

Death and an Angel part 11

Death!Din x Cupid F!Reader

Summary: “When we get out of here, Din will fly us far, far away,” you murmur, just loud enough to be heard over the sound of the baby's resumed chewing. “I promise you we’ll be happy together.”

Rating: T

Word Count: 3,511

Warnings: captured reader, angst, bonding with Grogu, plot plot plot

Author Note: To anyone and everyone sticking with this series, I love you so much! I know the plot is more than a little thick right now, but answers are slowly but surely being revealed.

Links to Part 1 and Part 10 and Part 12

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

You pace the length of the cell, brow furrowed as you try to organize your racing thoughts. Between the chilly atmosphere and the severed bond wailing for its other half, you imagine you outwardly resemble the jittery and unbalanced mess you feel internally. You refuse to feel humiliated by your appearance, not when the witnesses are Gideon and his minions. They can think what they want about you, believe they have broken your spirit, because that just means they won’t expect it when you free yourself until it’s too late.

However, part two of your plan of escape is proving to be more challenging to conceptualize than you initially thought. The collar is tightly wound around your neck to the point of chafing. Apparently the rule of being able to slip two fingers under a collar is only applicable to animals in Gideon’s eyes because your attempt of slipping your finger between skin and metal is dissuaded by another electric shock zipping through your body.

However, as you lightly trail your fingertips over the cold metal, you’re surprised to feel a noticeable dip in the back. It’s not a design flaw, you think as you try to visualize it in your mind. Your heartbeat quickens as realization strikes: it’s a keyhole.

Any excitement you might feel at your discovery is spoiled by the fact a keyhole is useless without a key. You look at the laser gate, further disappointed as you contemplate the complexity of the tunnel system. There could be dozens of cells down here, potentially thousands of hiding places for Gideon to keep the key to the collar secure. Not to mention, you don’t even know what the key looks like. It could be hanging right outside the cell and you’d have no idea.

Lost in the sea of disparaging thoughts, you don’t notice the return of the baby crawling through the hole in the wall until he latches onto your foot. Startled, you barely manage to refrain from shouting a curse as you stare down at him. He giggles, clearly amused by your wide-eyed expression, and then slaps a silver plastic bag against your shin using the hand that isn’t gripping his favorite black cloth.

“Did you bring me a present?” you ask, taking a seat on the pallet and lifting him up onto your lap. This time when you reach forward, he willingly lets you take the item from him instead of trying to take a chunk out of your hand.

You tear open the plastic, revealing its contents to be five teal-colored cookies.

“Wow, bud,” you murmur, holding one up between pinched fingers. The treat smells distinctively like vanilla. From what you’ve witnessed, you doubt Gideon is the type to offer his prisoners dessert with their meals which means these were probably stolen from somewhere. “Where did you find these?”

The baby only babbles unintelligibly in response, gesturing with his free hand in the direction of somewhere beyond the laser gate. You nod along, feigning understanding, but your eyes can’t help but drift to his collar when he turns his head. The keyhole for his collar is smaller than you expect to see which has you quickly theorizing there is not one universal key for all of the collars. If that theory is true, then it raises the difficulty of escaping yet another level.

With a sigh you cram the cookie into your mouth, finding the tiniest smidge of joy in its crunchiness.

“When we get out of here I’ll buy you a dozen boxes of these,” you tell him once you’ve swallowed, offering him one of the cookies. He coos excitedly and takes a large bite, uncaring of the blue crumbs that rain down upon his coat. “And once Din sees you, I bet he’ll want to spoil you rotten, too. He has a not-so-secret soft spot for kids.”

The baby’s head tilts, reacting to the name-drop by making a confused gurgling sound around his mouthful.

“Don’t talk with food in your mouth,” you scold gently, tapping his nose with your finger and laughing under your breath when it proceeds to scrunch up in an adorable manner. Leaning your head back against the wall, you’re unable to keep the note of wistful longing out of your voice as you explain, “Din is my soulmate. To the rest of the world, he’s known as Death. They’ll have you believe he’s someone to be feared and avoided at all cost. But luckily I’m here to tell you the truth.”

He stares up at you, snack seemingly forgotten in favor of listening intently to every word coming out of your mouth. Distantly you think you should be a little scared by how intense his gaze is, as if he’s attempting to look past your skin to the soul beneath, but you remind yourself all babies are innately curious and don’t know it’s rude to stare.

“He’ll never admit to it himself, but underneath all that beskar armor, he is the most socially inept being in the galaxy. I swear, bud, the first time I met him I thought it was impossible for him to say more than two words or else he’d hurt himself.” Your lips twitch at the memory, the smallest of smiles you can make without it feeling forced. “Still, despite his horrible first impression, I couldn’t get him off my mind. I wouldn’t call it love at first sight, but—look, I know how crazy this sounds, okay? But I felt like I had to get to know him better. There was this voice in my head insisting we couldn’t just remain strangers. It took about ten thousand questions and three more meetings for me to earn his trust enough for him to take off his helmet and let me see his face.”

You take a deep breath and stroke your finger over the baby’s ears, needing to feel something other than the flaring pulse of pain from the bond. “One look at those beautiful brown eyes and I was done for.”

Saying Din’s eyes are brown feels sinful. It’s like saying the ocean is blue—accurate, but not detailed enough to describe its depth and volatility. There are days when his eyes are the shade of brown reminding you of leather bound journals—ancient and full of profound wisdom, meant to be admired and cherished for an entire lifetime. Other times, they are the kind of brown that matches your favorite chocolate pastry from the bakery down the street from your apartment—decadent and warm with the slightest hint of temptation.

“When we get out of here, Din will fly us far, far away,” you murmur, just loud enough to be heard over the sound of the baby's resumed chewing. “I promise you we’ll all be happy together.”

And I’ll never get tired of seeing those brown eyes everyday.

The hours start to bleed into one another. The baby snoozes in your lap, head pillowed on your thigh, but you have no idea if it’s night or day. Gideon had said he’d let you talk to Din ‘tomorrow’, but that doesn’t tell you how many days you’ve been here in total.

Your legs have started to feel numb from sitting in the same position so long, but the last thing you want is to wake him up by moving. The importance of him feeling safe enough to be vulnerable and sleep is not lost on you. His desire for attention and physical contact is so painfully obvious you hate thinking about how often he must have been ignored before your arrival.

As he sleeps, you’re unable to resist your curiosity any longer and carefully maneuver the piece of cloth out of his grip. Despite its aged and dirty appearance, it is still surprisingly soft to touch. Whatever article of clothing this was torn from must have been well-tailored, you think, imagining a hooded cloak or perhaps a long coat. Your nose twitches when you hold the cloth close to your face to better study it, reacting to the variety of odors embedded in the wool fibers. Maker knows how long the kid’s been dragging the fabric around with him without it being washed regularly, so you shouldn’t be surprised it has absorbed a couple dozen scents.

Still, the faint essence of smoke you detect swirls around in your brain even long after you’ve laid the cloth back over him like a makeshift blanket. Memories of your death start to resurface again despite your best mental efforts to push them away, causing your stomach to clench with nausea as you recall the horrific stench of charred remains.

It isn’t the same, you tell yourself, squeezing your eyes shut and forcing your head to clear itself. It can’t be because that day was fifty years ago and he’s only just a baby.

You repeat these thoughts like a mantra until, without meaning to, you fall into a dreamless sleep.

You’re startled awake by hands seizing hold of your arms and pulling you up onto your feet without warning. You yelp at the sudden rush back to consciousness, brain scrambling to make sense of everything. Your eyes sweep the ground, panic washing over you like a bucket of cold water when you fail to see a tiny green body.

“It’s time, pet,” the twi’lek’s voice hits your ears and you turn to see her standing near the cell’s entrance, a lantern in one hand and a shiny blade in the other. “The Moff is expecting you.”

It takes you a minute to process in your frazzled state, but you realize it must be time to talk to Din. You’re shoved forward by whoever has your arms twisted behind your back, but you manage another quick survey of the cell. There is no sign the baby was ever here and you send a quick prayer to the Maker he had snuck back through the hole without anyone seeing him.

You have mixed feelings about not being blindfolded as you’re led through the underground labyrinth. On one hand, you get to observe everything and everyone you come across, making as many mental notes to flip through later when you’re alone. On the other, you think this must be an intimidation tactic. Gideon wants you to see everything so you know with absolute certainty how high the odds are stacked against you.

There are cells identical in appearance to yours on either side of you, carved into the tunnel rock and blocked from entry by laser gates. Except not one of them contains a prisoner. Either you have severely overestimated the size of Gideon’s collection, or he is purposefully keeping you separate from the rest for reasons known only to him.

Another surprising and unsettling observation you make is how many different types of species Gideon has employed as minions—human, rodian, trandoshan, you even spot a devaronian in the mix. Except for the Cupid twi’lek in front of you, everyone you come across is mortal. It does not make much sense to you why a seraph as powerful as Gideon is relying on mortal henchmen to help maintain control of his secret prison. Your gut instinct is insisting you’re missing a vital piece of information and you don’t like being in the dark about it.

The tunnel you’re being marched down eventually opens up into a larger cavernous space with several dozen lanterns hanging along the walls providing ample lighting. There are several crates spread about the area, and some have been pried open to reveal they are packed full of blasters and ammunition. You rack your brain trying to determine the purpose of the weapons. Yes, clearly, they are meant to cause havoc and destruction, but why are they here? Who or what is the target they will be aimed at?

Gideon stands in the middle of the room next to an empty chair. On his other side is a mortal human male, bald-headed with ginger facial scruff, who has two blaster pistols holstered around his chest and yet another one held by a droid arm attached to his backpack. Overkill much?

You’re shoved in the direction of the chair and gruffly told to sit. Huffing, you wordlessly obey and try not to squirm as all eyes lock onto you as if you’re going to perform a trick for their entertainment.

“You have a minute to record your message,” Gideon says, holding out a piece of paper towards you. “These words I have prepared must be included in those precious sixty seconds or you might find me reluctant to allow you to send a second recording.”

Is he serious? This isn’t the arrangement you previously discussed with him.

“Record?” you repeat, reluctantly taking the paper.

“I never said you would have the opportunity of speaking to Death face-to-face.” You want more than anything to tear the condescending smirk off his face with your fingernails. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder, isn’t that the mortal saying? You would know better than me, living amongst them in that quaint little apartment on Umbriel.”

Of course he knows about your home. Of kriffing course he does.

Heartbeat quickening, you avoid eye contact by scanning the few lines of words he’s written, eyebrows slowly inching up your forehead the more you read. “I don’t understand. This isn’t a demand to kill anyone. What does it mean?”

“Now is not the time for you to know,” he answers cryptically.

You shake your head, insisting, “Well maybe it should be. He knows me better than anyone. He’ll be able to tell I’m confused and—“

Gideon’s heavy sigh interrupts you. Then, quicker than you anticipate, he steps to the side of you and unsheathes his sword, its black blade positioned at your throat. It happens in one fluid movement, and the danger of your current predicament doesn’t sink in until the frightening humming notes of the weapon register in your eardrums seconds later. Your expressionless mask wavers, facial muscles tightening as you fail to refrain from flinching.

“All that is required from you, Cupid 1-1-7, is for you to speak from the heart and convince him to follow this one instruction. Do you think you can accomplish that?” he asks the question as if you have an actual choice. Like you can walk away now and there will be no hurt feelings.

But that is ridiculous. Everyone knows Cupids don’t get to have choices. Not when they are only given orders to obey.

You give him the tiniest of nods, careful not to let your skin make contact with the blade. “Yes, sir.”

“Then let’s begin.”

The nav computer on the Razor Crest contains the coordinates of every moon and planet within each region of the galaxy. There is not one inch of space unknown to Din and yet his search for his angel continues to remain unsuccessful. He doesn’t consider the possibility of her being deceased for even half a second. As her soulmate he would have felt her passing the moment it happened. The bond he shares with his angel might be young and fragile still, but he doesn’t doubt her loss would eviscerate him in the same merciless manner he had done to Hess.

His inability to find her can only mean a powerful immortal is involved in her capture. As Death he roams the universe as a neutral entity. The only enemies he encountered—and he uses that term loosely—were foolish mortals thinking they could outlive their destined time by fighting him, only to ultimately meet their fated ends in the process. Prior to Hess’ demise, he had upheld his sworn creed to the universe and never once was tempted to defy the natural order or break a sacred rule.

Although admittedly strange to consider, the thought that maybe his angel’s capture isn’t meant to deliberately hurt him or her is one that keeps crossing his mind. Perhaps they are merely pieces in a game neither of them recognize nor want to willingly participate in.

As Din sits in the pilot’s seat, staring at the screen dispassionately through the visor of his helmet still coated with Hess’ blood, he is well-aware of Bo-Katan standing behind him, attempting to freeze him solid with her iciest glare.

She is the bravest of his reapers, unafraid to piss him off and counteract his opinions with her own. Yet ever since they left Hess’ body hanging in the warehouse and returned to the Crest, she’s not said one word to him, seemingly content to suffer in silence as a background presence while he contemplates whether he should be the one to track down the twi’lek Hess referenced or if he should have his reapers engage in the hunt.

“We’re going to talk about what happened,” Bo-Katan says coolly.

He grinds his teeth. “We will talk if and when I want to.”

“No.” She forcefully pulls at his chair, turning it around to face her. A snarl escapes him, animalistic and furious, but her green eyes don’t even blink, not the least bit intimidated. “You reaped a soul before it’s destined time. The universe isn’t going to easily forgive you for that. There will be consequences.”

“The only thing that matters is getting her back,” he answers. It’s the truth too. The second his angel was taken he knew there was not one rule he wouldn’t break to have her back in his arms—consequences be damned.

“Do you even hear yourself right now?” Bo-Katan asks, looking him over as if she no longer recognizes him. Her eyes linger just a second too long on his bloodstained gloves. “You’re losing your mind over a soulmate you’ve barely known a year.”

“Have you ever had someone you loved taken from you?” Din counters.

She scowls, eyes narrowing with loathing. “How dare you compare—”

“Answer the question!” he shouts, slamming his fist down on the armrest hard enough the metal creaks ominously.

“Yes.” Her chin dips briefly towards her chest as she takes a second to compose herself. “You know I have.”

Din does know. Hours prior to every major catastrophic event in the galaxy’s history he’s felt an invisible leash wrap around him, pulling him in the direction of the tragedy and demanding he be there to personally reap the souls of the victims in the aftermath. He had witnessed the destruction of Bo-Katan’s homeworld when it was ravaged by a series of bombings orchestrated by an unknown enemy. Thousands had been killed, including Bo-Katan’s sister.

He doesn’t let the silence stretch too long, voice unwavering as he says, “And if you had the chance, would you not kill the one responsible for your pain?”

“It wouldn’t bring her back. Not any of them.”

Din sighs, glancing away, but Bo-Katan surprises him not even ten seconds later, apparently unfinished.

“I’d still do it though,” she says, not sounding the least bit guilty for admitting to hypothetical murder. “I’d carve the heart out of whoever set off those bombs and force-feed it to them.”

“We’re more alike than you may think,” Din says. “Think about that before you question my actions again.”

Any potential response from his reaper is interrupted by the beeping of an incoming transmission. He turns his chair at once, noticing the recorded message’s origin source is a random scrambling of letters and numbers. Every instinct is telling him he won’t like what he sees, but his hand reaches forward anyways, as if possessed by an unseen force, and presses the button to view the recording.

His angel appears as a holographic figure and immediately his eyes zero in on the collar around her neck. Anger threatens to course through his veins again, but Din forces his lungs to draw in a deep breath. Now is not the time to unleash his temper. Now is the time to listen and commit every word she says to memory, to study her every feature for any sign she’s been hurt.

“Death,” she begins, and his entire body tenses at the use of his title and not his name. It’s been so long since she’s addressed him as such, he knows it can’t be accidental. “I hope this message reaches you wherever you are. More than anything I wish I could be with you right now. I’m so sorry I broke my pinky promise to you, sweetheart. The way our bond is...I hate to think you’re feeling as much pain as I do.”

Din’s heart shatters when she starts to anxiously rub at her soulmate marking, sniffling quietly. His fingers itch with the overwhelming longing to hold her hand.

“I’m not safe here. What they’ve threatened to do to me...it scares me. I-I need to ask you a favor, a very important one.” A few teardrops escape the corners of her eyes and drip down her cheeks. Din bites the inside of his mouth so harshly he tastes blood. “If you want to protect me, then you must let go.”

The transmission goes dead.

Tag List: @leilei-draws, @theocatkov, @vintagesaph, @stardust-and-starlight, @adrieunor, @remmyswritings, @gallowsjoker, @rhiannon-russo, @randomness501, @sylphene, @softly-sad, @maytheglitter, @melobee, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives, @eleinemk, @captain-jebi, @aerynwrites, @promiscuoussatan, @stilllivindue2spite, @coaaster, @lin-djarin, @oh-no-a-whovian, @over300books, @chibi-yuki, @becauseican2, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @nicotinebirds

#din x you #din x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #Din Djarin #death and an angel #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #my writing

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sofwrites · 3 years

Text

Each other's biggest ally

Polin Week Day 1: Favorite Quote

“No, his method of attack was a lazy smile, a well-timed joke. If Colin ever lost his temper...

Penelope shook her head slightly, unable even to fathom it. Colin would never lose his temper. At least not in front of her. He'd have to be really, truly—no, profoundly —upset to lose his temper. And that kind of fury could only be sparked by someone you really, truly, profoundly cared about.” - Romancing Mister Bridgerton, pg. 64

The one where Colin profoundly cared and had no choice but to lose his temper.

Type: One-shot, angst, sentimentalism, protective/mywife!Colin, protectective/myhusband!Penelope

Length: 3.3k

Read on ao3! Or continue under the cut

In the late months of the year 1825, Penelope Featherington Bridgerton published her debut novel titled The Wallflower. And in the early months of the year 1826, she relished in the praise of her work and suffered in the consequences of her now-public identity.

The response to her book was generally positive. Whether or not they were willing to admit it, the members of the ton were eager to uncover the scathing details surrounding Mrs. Bridgerton’s former pen name. They devoured the secrets hidden between the lines of the pages- forming their own conclusions and theories of what was fact and what was fiction.

It seemed that after many years of Penelope appearing to be invisible, the gravity of her voice was finally truly understood.

But as in all life, there were complications as well.

One gentleman in particular was quick to make his discontent known, and it was all due to just one short excerpt.

Although Beatrice did not befriend even half of the ton, she had made the acquaintance of nearly everyone at one point. And though they never realized, she scrutinized them almost as much as they disregarded her.

Even with her close examinations, she generally liked the people she met. There were bores, many in fact, as well as those with whom conversation could rarely be carried, but most were reasonably pleasant. There were exceptions, however, as there always are. One such exception was as follows:

It is an earlier season for Beatrice, one still full of wonder and disillusioned hope. She looks at the dancefloor with wistfulness in her eyes, dreaming, praying that her prince charming will notice her from across the room and ask her to take his arm.

He does not, of course. His mind is still focused fully on the small group that surrounds him, drawn to him like a shining star amongst the thinly veiled candlelight. Although the music is certainly too loud and the conversations too many, our heroine can perfectly hear his laughter through the crowded ballroom. She can hear it because she knows it better than she knows her own.

Later that evening, he’ll ask her to dance. He’ll remember her minuscule presence in his life, likely prodded by a sharp finger to his spine and a voice carrying a gentle reminder. And even though she knows why he will do so, knows that it is due to a kind sense of duty rather than true desire, she will cherish it all the same.

Right now, however, Beatrice remains at the edge of the dancefloor, her silent woes interrupted by the familiar voice of her mother.

“Beatrice, dear, this is Mr. Wetherden. Mr. Wetherden, I present to you my daughter, Beatrice Harpenton.”

Another bachelor, this one ranking second-tier rather than third. Her mother seems to have given her more credit this evening, Beatrice thinks as she looks at the familiar face.

The introduction is an unnecessary formality, of course, as are many of their rules; they were made acquaintances during her first season. Nonetheless, society calls for her to curtsy and give a gracious smile, and she obliges.

At the same time, he assesses her similarly to how he did so a few years before. And she sees it immediately, the dismissal that passes over his eyes even before he fully bends into his low bow.

Her mother leaves them to it- the stifled conversation in an even more stifling ballroom. The unfortunate girl in the canary-colored dress stands on the sidelines, trapped in conversation with yet another uninterested bachelor who is just as much forced upon her as she is on him.

He speaks endlessly, unquestionably more for his benefit than hers. He spends fourteen minutes explaining the difference between rugby and football. She suppresses three yawns and is interrupted twenty-six times throughout the topic, clearly expected to be an audience member rather than a participant.

At this time, she thinks this is Mr. Wetherden’s worst offense. Later on, when she is years older, Beatrice discovers that she was sorely mistaken in her youth. That without the cautionary lights of London (albeit often cloudy and forgiving), he is much worse.

She later on learns about his propensity to unwilling women. To frightened young housemaids who are often not given the options that women of a higher class are granted.

Our heroine also finds out later exactly how commonplace such a tendency is. And with it, her vision of social seasons- the one with balls and picnics and musicales- begins to splinter.

Penelope hadn’t named him, of course. She hadn’t named anyone directly.

She couldn’t publish a memoir, not really. Even though she was related to a fine variation of important characters in society, she couldn’t put such a strain on her family, and particularly not on her husband. Her husband, her lovely, amazing husband who supported her through the entire process even despite the fact that so much of their own private history was laid out in the pages of her novel. Penelope had written the truth, which hadn’t been entirely pretty. But Colin had agreed with her that the truth was more important than sheltering their secrets.

But even though she couldn’t publish a direct recounting of her life and experiences with the ton, she’d been unwilling to just hide behind fabricated stories.

Penelope’s telling of that night at the ball wasn’t completely factual. She did not know how many times Phillip Cavender interrupted her during their conversation, nor whether or not Colin had even been present that evening. But the details of the matter weren’t as important to her as shedding light on the entire situation.

She’d been young and naive during her first few seasons, believing that a few nasty comments and looks were really the worst of what society had to offer. Later on, she’d found out that she had been wrong, and that there was much worse than she’d ever known. And when her sister-in-law, Sophie, had recounted the night she and Benedict had met (well, met again), Penelope knew that she had to shed light on the matter. She had to make it clear what happened outside of the fancy dresses and giggling parties.

But as mentioned, such decisions did not come without their objections.

“Thank God, they’re leaving.”

The words came from just a few feet behind them, full of indignancy and bitterness. The couple had been walking together, arm-in-arm, towards the door, quite eager to return home for the evening.

They’d been attending an intimate house party at the request of the gentleman’s mother. She’d been unable to make her attendance that evening and had asked that her son and his wife go in her stead. They hadn’t been particularly excited about the prospect, but they’d agreed for her.

The party itself hadn’t been bad. The food was good, the music was pleasant, and almost everyone in attendance had offered the woman praise for her work. Though they hadn’t exactly been excited to attend, the evening hadn’t been at all poor.

That was, until they’d been nearing the exit and heard the troublesome remark behind them.

Colin glanced down at his wife, who grimaced, her nose scrunching as her eyes closed. They’d been met with a number of sneers and snide comments in the last few weeks, but they never became easier to hear.

With a small sigh, he turned them both around, looking directly at the man holding a glass of port too large and wearing a lip too curled.

Colin gave him a smile, the familiar one he used whenever he was looking at something that both irritated and mildly amused him. “Didn’t see you there, Cavender. So nice of you to offer us a sendoff.”

The opposing man’s mouth turned downwards, a stark contrast to the grin still on Colin’s face. Penelope swallowed, quickly cutting in. “We really must be getting home.”

With a pointed look directed towards her husband, she began pulling him back towards the door. Though Penelope would have loved to see Phillip Cavender get put into his place, she knew far better than to spar with a man holding a petty vendetta.

But before they’d even fully turned around, there was a mocking bark of laughter, followed by a slight slurring of words. “You do everything she tells you then? Follow her around like a lapdog?”

This time, Colin’s brow lifted ever so slightly, the same half-smile still imprinted on his lips. Penelope felt an uncomfortable heat rising up her neck as she reluctantly turned from the door again.

“If it means getting to share my life with this incredible woman,” Colin sent her a small wink before shrugging, “Then, by all means, call me a lapdog.”

There was some tittering around them by the small audience they’d attracted. With a quick glance, Penelope could see the angry lurch in Cavender’s throat, the narrowing of his eyes, the twitching of his fingers as they tightened around his glass.

Please, just let it go. Let us just leave and go home.

But he didn’t. Of course, he didn’t.

“I know what lies she’s spread about me.”

“Oh?” Colin’s face took on a thoughtful expression, one that might have been convincing in any other circumstance. “I don’t recall ever hearing my wife mentioning you.”

Cavender’s glare deepened. “In that bloody book of hers.”

Penelope cringed inwardly as she felt the twitch of Colin’s hand in hers. Her eyes darted around the room as an overwhelming sense of dread engulfed her. The ballroom was small and the guests were bored, and a public row was certainly enough to draw a crowd- one that was full of prying eyes and listening ears.

Colin’s face remained the picture of serenity even though Penelope could sense the angry heat rising from him. It was something she could feel in him that others always missed, a secret fire that he did so well in masking.

Looking at the other man, Colin let out a sigh, one that was forcibly tired, as though he were speaking down to an overly emotional child. “I can assure you that all the characters in my wife’s novel were fabricated. And if you saw yourself in one of the less attractive personages, then I’d venture to say that such is simply a reflection of your own self-image.”

The whispers around them grew, and Cavender sputtered for a moment, clearly caught off guard by the easy taunt. But his surprise only lasted a moment before he hardened once more.

A man with a petty vendetta did not often allow himself to be diverted.

His eyes flickered to Penelope before they returned to Colin and he sneered. “You realize that she’s made you out to be an ass, don’t you? You can act high and mighty, Bridgerton, but the wife you so proudly boast has fashioned you into the biggest fool in all of London.”

It was at this jab that Penelope frowned, feeling her own prickle of anger. And for the first time in the nasty exchange, she turned directly to their shared foe, a hard, determined look set on her face. “Excuse me, Mr. Cavender, but I must ask that you don’t speak to my husband that way.”

She could almost see his eyes flash in fury as they set themselves on her. But before he could give the biting retort that was no doubt resting on his tongue-

“And I’d suggest that you consult a dictionary to properly understand the concept of fiction.” Colin’s tone was relaxed, just a sprinkle of mocking mixed into it. But Penelope could feel the tension in him, the protective edge that mirrored her own.

Cavender’s gaze shifted back to Colin, his rage appearing a bit more controlled as they listened to the snickering that surrounded them. Slowly, his mouth thinned into a tight line, and he took a step closer to the couple. By instinct, Colin angled himself in front of Penelope as her grip on his hand tightened.

He was just a few feet away from them when he finally spoke, a voice so low that it was barely audible over the murmurs. “And I’d recommend that you consider taking yourself and that bitch of a wife,” his eyes darted to Penelope for a moment, “out of town.”

And it was this comment that wiped the smile completely off of Colin’s face, along with any attempt of levity.

It was as if a chill had passed over, one that was both icy and burning at the same time. He stiffened like a board, a wave of unmistakable anger coming over him. And when his words came, they were low and even, colder than anyone had ever thought possible from Colin Bridgerton.

“You would do well to avoid threatening my family, Cavender.”

Though there was a slight tinge of red on his face, Phillip Cavender did not retreat. Instead, he took another step forward. “And why is that, Bridgerton?”

Penelope could see the muscles in Colin’s jaw moving from where she was angled, could practically feel the heat radiating off of his body. She’d seen him angry before, furious even, but this was different. This was so much more.

She wasn’t frightened, not by Colin nor by the man standing across from them. Fright was not why she wanted this to stop.

She didn’t want her husband’s anger to be made into a form of entertainment at a party. For him to have to serve the role of gallant protector whenever she upset someone. So, she attempted to silently will him to calm down, running a featherlight thumb across the surface of his hand.

But Colin wanted to finish what they’d started and instead let go of her and took his own step forward, almost shielding her completely.

“I think we all know that I have more than enough relatives to run you out of town,” he said, eyes locked on Cavender.

There was a flash of worry that crossed his face, but it was quickly forced away by a snort. “Is that meant to scare me? The threat of a duke and a viscount?”

Colin didn’t falter. Instead, his head tilted as he considered the man, considered the shaking fingers and the smell of alcohol on his breath. He’d never been a violent man by nature, even having grown up with two older brothers. He preferred words when he fought, and they almost always gave him his victories. He wasn’t opposed to physical repercussions, but he knew that a private gathering was not the place or time.

He looked Cavender directly in the eyes, speaking in a low, clear voice. “I will ensure that you are ruined, that is a promise.”

And because he couldn’t help himself, “And if that is not enough, be rest assured that we will do worse. My only qualm in doing it myself is that my brother would be disappointed he wasn’t able to help.”

There was a silence in the room that followed as Cavender glowered at him. His eyes darkened in fury as his face reddened, trying to figure out how far Colin could really go.

But there was something in Colin’s threat that didn’t allow for any consideration that he might have been exaggerating. Perhaps it was the definitive and resolute tone in his voice, or the strength behind his gaze, or the tight set of his jaw.

Or perhaps it was because Colin Bridgerton wasn’t the type to quicken to anger. Wasn’t the type to have a temper or even hint at unpleasantry.

Whatever it was, it made Cavender finally break eye contact and step back. He turned away, taking another large swig of port.

Colin could hear the pounding in his ears as he looked at the pathetic man, anger still coursing through him. But then he felt a warm hand lace through his, and the red glare of the world began melting away. Penelope was whispering something, her voice calm and soothing. He squeezed her hand in understanding but kept his gaze on Cavender.

There was a familiar casualness when Colin spoke this time, but it was threaded with venom. “Do not forget what I’ve said.”

And with that, he turned to his wife and pressed a kiss into her hair.

“Good night,” Penelope nodded to the remainder of the crowd, who finally had the decency to look away.

A few minutes later, when they were finally in a carriage returning to their home, Penelope sighed. With her eyes glued to her skirts, she whispered, “I’m so sorry, Colin.”

He looked at her thoughtfully, taking in a deep inhale of breath.

He’d been scared after the reveal of her identity, terrified even. There were evenings where he’d lie awake in bed and imagine all of the awful things that could happen to the person who was his entire world. And though they never spoke of such worries aloud, he knew that she was just as aware as he was.

Italy had been like taking a deep breath after being underwater for too long. There, no one cared or knew, and the only threat they faced was the harsh sun.

And then Penelope was pregnant, and a new light was added to his life, one that shifted his fears elsewhere.

Then they became a family of three, and Colin was thrilled. He still worried, of course, but his joy outweighed everything else.

Old wounds had been reopened in the recent weeks, that was for certain. But it did not mean that he blamed Penelope for them.

So, Colin pulled her into his side and tucked her head under his chin. “You have nothing to apologize for. We both agreed that you did the right thing.”

For a few moments, she said nothing, just listened to the sound of his heartbeat and the wheels on cobblestones. And though he couldn’t see her, Colin could sense in the silence that she was crying. Wordlessly, he handed her a handkerchief.

Penelope dabbed at her eyes a few times before leaning back to look at him. “I didn’t want to force you into this position.”

He smiled and lifted a hand to stroke her cheek, feeling the familiar warmth of her skin. “I watch you every day with nothing but awe, Penelope. I love you, I’m proud of you. And I will gladly stand by you through anything.”

Her eyes moved slowly as they crossed his face, searching for any hesitance. There was none, not even a hint of resistance.

Instead, there was so much love that it overwhelmed her, struck her with the same shock that it had years before. It was a love that mirrored her own, a fierce desire to protect and support another with as much reverence as one did for themself. It was one that never faltered even in the most difficult of times.

Her eyes were glossy when her hand reached up to meet his, and the smile on her lips was weak but true. “I love you so much. And I can’t believe that I’ve become so lucky in my life to have you by my side.”

And with that, they settled into their drive home, sharing whispered conversations and watery chuckles.

They still had a long road ahead of them, of that they were sure. But they knew that they would cross it together.

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stardustdiaries · 3 years

Text

Frozen over - Dincember day7: Cold

☆ @dindjarindiaries ☆

Pairing: Madalorian x reader

Summary: The reader's body is intolerant to the cold and all sense of self-preservation is tossed out the window when the Crest crashes and Mando is out cold.

Warnings: Descriptions of the effects of extremely cold weather, soft!Mando, fluff aaaand I think that's it!

Word count: 2,553

A/N: I can't believe I actually wrote this- aH! I ♡shamefully♡ dropped writing a few years back, so I'm a bit rusty, but feedback is always welcomed and appreciated!

○●○●○●○

After months of travelling with the beskar-cladded Mandalorian as a mechanic, there are many things about said armored man that you picked up on rather quickly. Like how his actions we’re cautious, calculated and precise, or how he seemed to be a tad bit more protective than usual whenever you were out on a supply-run as he was after a bounty.

You also noticed how quick he was to pick up on your own quirks and needs as well.

It all began on one of your first bounty hunts with him, finding yourselves in a slightly-colder-than-normal planet as you followed the beeping of the tracking fob that was clutched in Mando's gloved hand. It wasn’t until the job was done that he took notice of your shivering figure next to him- even when you were wearing layers upon layers of clothing. His heart then dropped at the sight of the bright shade of blue that painted your fingertips.

He had then ushered you back to the Crest and did everything in his power to warm you up, even going as far as wrapping his cape around your shoulders in hopes that your trembling body would soon come to a rest. That’s when he found out about your body’s intolerance to the cold. Mando would then make sure to stock up on gloves, scarves and, he won’t admit this out loud, but he also made sure to buy you a cape of your own simply because he absolutely adored how his looked on you. That, and he loved matching with you, but that’s his own little secret.

Fast forward a few months of the Crest breaking down, run-ins with bounty hunters, late-night talks and hints of flirting, and here you are, stumbling through the hull of the fallen Crest. How you ended up in this situation was hard for you to remember, but the memory of the distress in Mando's modulated voice was enough to make you scramble up the ladder to the cockpit where you last saw him.

Rushing into the cockpit, your breath caught itself in your throat at the sight of Mando’s slumped figure- completely unmoving. Immediately, you fell to your knees by his side, your bare hands reaching up to his shoulders to give him a soft shake. “Mando?” The concern lacing your words was hard to hide when he didn’t respond to your voice. “Dank farrik, Mando please stay with me. Please.” you begged, noticing the icy coating that began to spread over the surface of his armor. With a sigh and a grunt of effort, you straightened his limp figure on the pilot seat and pulled down the cloth around his neck just enough to press your fingers against his skin. Once making contact and feeling his pulse, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, but shoot, he was freezing.

You must have crashed on an ice planet.

Without much thinking, you tumbled down back into the hull and grabbed all of your blankets, scarves and capes after pulling on your gloves. Holding the bundle close to your chest, you sped to where the Child was put to rest on his little compartment. Upon seeing him, you ran through the same process of checking for a pulse and then proceeded to wrap him up with some of your blankets and scarves. Once you were done making sure the Child was safe from the bitter cold that seeped through the metal walls, you ran up to do the same with Mando. You finished wrapping the last of the bundle around his shoulders before your tried working the controls of the ship.

What happened? Zip, zero, nada.

The ship’s dead and considering that you had no clue what was wrong with it, you would have to do a full inspection as you waited for Mando to wake up.

You packed up your tools and quickly got to work, running checkups on the ship's inner systems and mechanisms, not being able to tell what was keeping the Crest from functioning the way it should. There seemed to be nothing you could do inside until you managed to fix the lights and you would need some of Mando’s help with that. Right now, all you could do was find out if something had gotten damaged on the outer side of the ship. Summoning all of your strength, you trudged through the deep blanket of white powder that surrounded, well- everything.

You have no idea where in the galaxy the Crest had crashed, but the snowfall was strong.

Quickly, you inspected the radiators, turbines and whatever could’ve been damaged before the ship even crashed.

And then you saw it. Dank farrik, this wasn’t good.

The left engine was royally messed up, looking as if it was mere seconds away from giving way right before the crash. It could take weeks to get it up to its usual functionality if you found the right parts for the full repair. However, you might just get it running long enough for you to fly the Crest to some nearby workshop- if there was even one on the planet.

After minutes of fumbling with your tools and hitting the wrong part for the hundredth time in a row, a string of curses flew past your lips, your breath being caught in the cold air before vanishing. To say you were cold was a complete and total understatement; you were sure you were mere seconds away from freezing to death. Your body shook violently as the frigid air pricked and attacked your skin mercilessly.

But you were stubborn- sometimes too stubborn for your own good.

With annoyance etched onto your features, you ripped your gloves off and tossed them to the side. After that, you were on autopilot, getting a better grip on your tools and doing the best you could even as your bones began to ache due to the weather around you.

Time apparently went by faster than you thought as the rapid sounds of footsteps clambering around the insides of the ship fell into your ears.

“Cyare!”

Your head snapped up, your nose stinging when you scrunched it in confusion. Shakily, you dropped your tools, wrapping your arms tightly around your torso as a sad attempt to warm yourself in any way possible. Maker, you’re pretty sure your fingers lost feeling a few minutes ago.

“Dank farrik- Cyare!”

You pushed yourself up to your knees with trembling arms, peering over the edge of the Crest and down to where the calls seemed to come from. There, you saw Mando, who frantically looked for you as he now held in his hands the bundle of capes and blankets you had previously draped over him.

“I-I'm up he-here, M-Mando!” you called, cursing your teeth for clattering so much. Gosh, your chest was tight.

At the sound of your voice, Mando whipped around, tilting his head up in your direction.

Maker, his heart dropped at the sight of you. Your nose, and fingers were a bright shade of blue and your hair was greatly dusted and soaked with the snow that got caught in it. Your skin was flushed, drained of its usual color. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought that you were frozen solid.

“Cyar’ika,” he sighed, his modulator doing nothing to mask the concern that heavily dripped from his words. “Why would you- why would you leave without any protection?” His arms stretched out to show the bundle you had left him with for emphasis.

You forced a lazy smile, but you’re sure it came out more like a grimace. “I di-didn’t leave c-complet-tely unprotect-ted.” You started, “M-my gloves a-are, um,” you looked around, trying to find your discarded gloves. “s-somewhere around h-here.” At that, you clenched and unclenched your fists, trying to get some feeling back to your fingers.

Mando shook his head, tilting his helmet sympathetically at you. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took a step closer to the ship, his visor not looking away from your shivering figure. “Can you…are you able to climb down?”

Your heart warmed at his concern and you managed to give him a nod through all of your shivering. Slowly, you tried climbing onto your feet, only to trip back down and land on your frozen rear. With a weak grunt falling past your lips, you looked down at your feet, sighing in realization.

“Cyar'ika?”

“I, u-um, I ca-can't feel my f-feet.”

Mando cursed under his breath, with words travelling through the modulator as a simple crackle that’s whisked away by the cold winds. His voice is strained, almost as if he’s struggling to get the words out when he parts his lips. “Do you trust me?”

Almost instantly, a laugh erupted from your pale lips, the sound so soft and warm that he swore it could melt this entire planet in seconds. His heart fluttered as you looked at him with gleaming eyes, even if he could tell you were struggling against the cold to keep them open. “W-what kind o-of question is th-that?” You breathed shallowly; your lungs tired after your burst of laughter. “Of co-course I do.”

Was that what he wanted to hear? Yes. But…something about hearing those words tumble out of your mouth pulled heavily at his heartstrings. He smiled under the helmet, fully knowing that you weren’t able to see it.

Dropping your capes and blankets somewhere inside the ship, he walked back out and stretched out his arms to you. You looked at him with wide eyes, shaking your head rapidly.

“I thought you said you trusted me?” he tilted his head at you, arms still stretched out.

“I-I do, I j-just—”

Mando chuckled softly, “I’ll catch you,” he spoke up, watching how your freezing figure curled up into itself. “I won’t let you fall, cyar'ika.”

“P-promise?”

“Promise.”

Even with the tightness and stiffness of the air around you, your muscles somehow managed to relax and loosen up at the sound of his voice.

Or maybe it was how lightheaded you were starting to feel?

You crawled to the edge of the Crest, taking one last look down at Mando before squeezing your eyes shut.

Call it a trust fall of sorts.

With one final breath, you pushed yourself off the top of Crest and let yourself fall.

What were you expecting? Probably to gently fall into his arms in the most romantic way ever. But the truth? Let’s say that you somehow ended up lying on his beskar-platted chest as his back was pressed to the powdery ground.

Maybe it was the shock or your lack of feeling, but you hadn’t noticed how his arms were tightly wrapped around you. His chest lifted you up and dropped you softly as he breathed and you couldn’t help but laugh at what just happened.

“H-how graceful of u-us,” you breathed, a smile curling the corners of your mouth. “Too b-bad we couldn’t re-record it.”

Once Mando noticed how your body relaxed on top of him, he spoke up softly. “Cyar'ika, don’t close your eyes,” he pushed himself up with one arm and held you close to his chest with his other tightly wrapped around you. “Stay with me a little longer, okay?”

“Y-you're warmer t-than I’d thought yo-you'd be.” You smiled lazily, visibly struggling to keep your eyes opened and focused on his visor.

Carrying you bridal-style into the Crest, he gently placed you on the ground before taking off his gloves and cupping your face in his hands. He sucked in a sharp breath, frowning under the helmet. “You’re freezing.”

You snickered under your breath, letting your head rest against the metal walls of the hull as your eyes fluttered a few times.

“Hey, hey, stay awake, cyar'ika. I need to warm you up before you go under, okay?” Modulator and all, you could still hear the concern that laced his words tightly. “Can you stay awake for me?”

You hummed softly, the sound barely loud enough to reach Mando’s ears. Immediately, Mando ran off to the makeshift kitchenette that he somehow managed to fit into the ship. He grabbed a clean bucket from a corner and filled it with water hot enough to warm you up.

When he came back, he gently picked you up before placing you on top of a crate, lifting your feet just enough to dip them into the bucket. He then proceeded to grab a new pair of gloves from your compartment and slip them onto your hands. As he worked, he could see your body loosen up from the shivering slightly.

Draping your blankets over your shoulders, he dared release the question that dangled from the tip of his tongue.

“Why did you do it?”

“Why d-did I do what?”

He sighed, lowering himself onto his knees to be at eye level with you. There, he took in your appearance- flushed skin, blue nose, pale lips. You knew conditions like these could harm you more than they should- more than they would harm him.

“Why did you go out without your layers, cyar’ika? Why did you… why did you give them to me?”

You didn’t answer immediately. Your head dropped slightly before you looked back up at him. “Your armor,” you breathed.

Mando tilted his head, urging you to continue.

“It was frosted over a-and you were out cold.” You nodded at him, making him look down at the frost that had once again began to spread over the surface of his armor. “I then gave the child my other scarves and blankets, to make sure he was okay. I needed to keep you warm if I wanted to make sure you’d wake up.”

Mando’s heart plummeted to his stomach. Your body wasn’t capable of tolerating the cold like most could and you were still concerned about keeping him and the Child warm. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea of someone being so recklessly selfless.

His hands came up to your face, gently holding you so you could look at him. Without even thinking, you leaned into the warmth of his touch, sending his heart into a frenzy.

“Promise me that if this ever happens again, you’ll make sure to take care of yourself too. I can’t have you risking yourself like this for me.”

You pouted childishly, making his eyes soften as he continued to focus on you.

“Mando, I-"

“Promise me that, please, cyar’ika.” He begged, gently caressing your cheeks as he spoke.

Humming at his touch, you offered him a reassuring smile as you nodded softly.

That was enough for him.

As night creeped its way onto the sky, covering the land like a thick blanket, Mando has stripped himself of his armor- except for his helmet- and now held you in his arms. The warmth of his touch spreading through your body nurtured you back to health. Your eyes flutter a few times as he pulls you closer to his body, your heart swelling at the gentle gesture.

“Sleep, cyar’ika,” his rasp is gentle, almost as if he were afraid of startling you. He pulled your blankets tighter around you, smiling at how the corners of your lips curled up. “it’s my turn to keep you warm now.”

#the mandalorian #din djarin #grogu #grogu djarin #this is the way #disneyplus #starwars #dincember #mando #mandalorian x you #mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader

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certifiedlovergirlsstuff · 3 years

Text

Parker

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Genre: AU

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: There’s a new Spider person in town and it’s not Parker.

A/N: This is a continuation of the Parker story that I posted last year. I’m sorry to everyone who reads and likes my ff, I’m very slow when it comes to writing. I’ve been feeling down for a while and now I’ve decided to try and work on stories that I was already in the process of writing. So hopeful I’ll do better in time. Also I don’t live in NY so streets and stuff might not always be correct. Also I can’t spell half the time and spell check doesn’t always catch things and sometimes I miss words for a sentence to make sense, I never reread my writing I just didn’t in school and so I don’t really do it now, SORRY!!

You’ve reached the phone number of (Y/n) (L/n) please leave a message at the tone of the beep...

Peter groaned as he tried to reach you for the third time wondering when you will be home since you had to work on a chemistry project with him. Even though you weren’t the best in the science area you said you didn’t want Peter to do all the work on his own. You told him to come to your house around 4, but it was now 6:30 and he didn’t know when you would be home. Your aunt allowed him to stay in your room until you came back, he thought it was a little weird she didn’t really seem that worried about where you were.

As Peter looked around your room, he realized that he didn’t know that much about you. All he knows is that you transferred from a different state to New York to live with some distant relative in 8th grade. The both of you would have small encounters with just a small smile here or a quiet ‘hi’ there if you were sitting next to each other.

Then out of the blue one day during sophomore year, you just sat down at the same table as him during study hall.

---

Peter was working on his calculus homework having not finished the night before, having to focus on his chemistry homework and then having a tiny project for World History, which he had to do all by himself because no one else chose to help him out. He didn’t stress himself too much about the homework, his brain worked fast enough to understand the problems plus his class was after lunch and if he didn’t finish now he’ll just finish then. He was brought out of his thoughts of fast working math problems and numbers, when a loud thud sounded through the library and even louder when it was placed in front of him at his table. He heard the librarian shush the person from her desk.

“Sorry” the person responsible replied back loud enough for only Peter to hear.

Peter looked up to come face to face with the culprit. They looked disheveled, their hair a bit of a mess, their shirt had a couple of stains in different colors on the front. They just had a simple jean jacket covering them from the slight autumn breeze of Queens, New York. You seemed to have noticed Peter’s gaze on your face having turned towards him with a bashful expression on your face.

“Sorry, sometimes I don’t know my own strength.” you said quietly.

“No problem” Peter said with a light smile on his lips.

“I’m (Y/n)” you outstretched your hand for a shake.

“Peter” he said, grabbing your outstretched hand.

---

7:13pm

‘There seems to be no more crime happening at the moment’

“Okay, well I guess it’s time for me to head home then. At least I have far less bruises than normal so it’s not gonna be a big deal when I get home, I don’t want to have to sit through another lecture.” you rolled your eyes behind the mask on your face covering your features.

‘You seem to have missed a phone call, you have one voicemail from a Peter Parker’

“Hey (Y/n)...um I’m at your house right now waiting for you so we can work on our project. I’ve been here for about two hours now and it's getting late so I’m probably gonna end up leaving since my aunt is probably waiting for me to get home. I guess I’ll just see you tomorrow at school. Okay, bye (Y/n).”

“Crap! I forgot about the project, Peter’s probably upset with me.” you sighed and decided to call Peter.

Nothing. You called again. Nothing. Again and again. Nothing. You tried five times and he never answered, a part of you thinks he’s probably just ignoring you for standing him up. The other part worries that he could be in trouble right now. It is Queens.

“Hey Karen can you do another sweep of the city? Any type of crimes or assaults happening at the moment?” worry lacing your voice hoping nothing is or happened to Peter, sweet Peter.

‘There is no crime at the moment (Y/n)’

“Can you search for Peter Parker? Can you give me his current location?” you ask with a slight shake to your questions.

‘Peter Parker is currently on the streets of 7th and Jefferson ave’

He’s not that far away from me you thought to yourself with a sigh.

You were only a few buildings away from Peter so you lept from rooftop to rooftop, sitting nicely on top of an apartment building's roof looking down onto the passerbyers, everyone in their own world and minding their business. As you were watching everyone walk by you kept your eyes open for Peter, even though he did look like every normal teenage boy with brown curly hair from atop, he did have little charms on his backpack; for one being a Ironman POP! Figure keychain for the opening of the big pocket.

---

You were walking down the halls of Midtown trying to find your locker on the first day of sophomore year. It was kinda difficult with everyone walking to and fro not minding you any time or stepping out of the way just a little.

‘Rude’

Just as you found your locker someone ran into you causing you to drop the notebooks and textbooks out of your arms, dropping to the floor with a loud thud. You just scuffed yourself and chose to open your locker first so you don’t have to deal with the weight in your arms. After trying your combination for a third time and nothing happening, you just leaned your head against the metal doors and just sighed out through your nose to try and keep yourself calm and not cause tears or your fist to hit the metal.

“Um...sorry to bother you, but do you need help?” Someone beside you asked timidly and quietly.

You looked up from the floor being face to face with someone who was kneeling beside you on the ground stacking some of your textbooks onto each other. He was a boy around your age with a delicate sprinkle of freckles dotting his face. He had glasses on the bridge of his nose and eyes that looked to be brown colored, but it wasn’t his eye color it was the way his eyes looked at you that drew you in a bit. He looked a bit like a deer in headlights mixed with puppy dog eyes that were just looking into yours with some concern and maybe embarrassment coming in since you were taking a long time to answer him and was just staring at a stranger.

You blinked out of your stupor and smiled at him and asked if he could try and place your locker combination for you. Because if you tried one more time and it didn’t work you might actually punch it. The boy smiled at you and was able to open your locker for you and helped hold half the textbooks.

“Thank you for helping me, since everyone else chooses to be rude.” You grumbled out the last bit.

The boy just smiled at you and said it was no problem and then he walked away probably to meet up with his friend.

---

7:35pm

You still haven’t seen Peter walking anywhere and you were just about to give up and head home when Karen alerted you to a crime in progress.

‘There is a mugging in progress two blocks from here in an alley behind a deli’

You rushed over to the position that Karen sent you and hoped that it wasn’t Peter. Well, it was Peter sadly who was on the ground and shaking with his backpack ripped open and the contents spilling out. The thug was pointing a knife at Peter and yelling at him for money.

Deciding that now was the time to intervene you shot a web to the thugs knife and yanked it out of his grasp.

“You know you shouldn’t be pointing sharp objects at people, what would your grandma have to say?”

Honestly you had to roll your eyes a bit, really (y/n)? His grandma?

You jumped down from the balcony of an apartment and landed in front of Peter blocking him from view. You rose to your full height and placed your hands on your hips, cocking to the right a bit. You turned your head to look at Peter making sure he was okay and safe for the moment, he wasn’t shaking anymore which was good, but he now was just staring wide eyed at you.

“Are you okay?” You asked him

He just nodded his head then looked to your left and pointed a finger, presumably at the thug. When your spider senses went off you just lifted both hands and grasped the thug's arm and flipped him over onto his back making him gasp for air. You then webbed him up to the balcony and had Karen call the cops.

When you were done you walked back over to Peter and knelt down to help grab his stuff off the ground and place them back into his backpack. You then held out your hand to help lift Peter off the ground. When Peter placed his hand in your grasp you might have pulled a little more than you meant causing Peter to collide with your chest and moving your arm to his waist making sure he was stable.

You both stood still in the position for a few seconds before breaking apart chuckling awkwardly. Peter rubbed his neck and you just held your hands behind your back. The silence was starting to become suffocating, so you were about to ask Peter if he wanted a ride home, but he broke the silence first.

“Thank you for what you did earlier.” Peter said quietly

“Eh, it’s no problem.” You shrugged off

You both still stood there not knowing what else to say at the moment. So Peter just took that as a cue to leave since he started to walk out the alley. That prompted you to remember what you were thinking earlier.

“Hey!” You called out to Peter

He stopped in his spot and turned around facing you.

“Would you like a ride? Or even a walking companion?”

Peter just smiled at you showing that the requests weren’t weird to him so you started to walk towards him.

“I could use a walking companion. I would take the ride suggestion, but I’m pretty sure you mean swinging on webs about 15ft or more in the sky away from the ground and I already have a bad fear of heights.” Peter rambled out

You just chuckled to yourself and walked next to him prompting the both of you to walk in silence for a while.

“So what were you doing walking by yourself? It’s never a good idea to be by yourself, especially if you don’t have some type of weapon.” You questioned

Peter didn’t answer right away so you turned to look at him and he was looking at the ground with a slight pout to his mouth. You already know he’s gonna say it was because you never showed up at your own house.

“Well I was supposed to work on a school project with a classmate at her house, but she never showed up for some reason and I was there for about three hours and I told my aunt and uncle I would be home around 8 so I just decided to leave hoping to make it home before it was really dark out. Then I was cleaning my glasses and they dropped, so I had to pull a Velma from Scooby-Doo and look for my glasses. I think the thug was hiding behind the trash or something.” Peter spoke while still looking towards the ground.

You could tell that you not showing up really hurt him, he probably thought you were just using him for a good grade and lied or something.

“Looks like I’ll be doing the project by myself like usual. I just thought that I made a friend, especially for that class since my friend Ned doesn’t share it with me.”

“Well I’m sure she didn’t bail on purpose. Maybe something she accidentally forgot.” You tried to save yourself from looking bad in Peter’s eyes.

Peter just shrugged his shoulders and the conversation ended since apparently you ended up outside of Peter’s apartment. You both turned to each, having yet another awkward silence between the both of you. You took the silence to look at Peter’s features which looked softened in the moonlight, but also harsh with the fluorescent lighting of street lamps. As you were getting lost in Peter’s details Karen rang in your ears telling you that your aunt wants you home in the next 20 minutes or you’re grounded.

“Um well Peter I got to leave, but I hope you have a good evening.” and then you salute in a flirty way at least you hope it came off like that.

As you swung off into the night, heading home to finally relax; Peter was eating dinner with his family and as he was slowly chewing his chow mein he realized what was bugging him for the past 15 minutes, he never gave you his name. He was both curious and a bit worried, worried that you might have been following for a while before tonight and curious because if you weren’t a stalker which he decided to rule out since you have to protect Queens; that means you probably know him from somewhere else. And Peter was going to find out where.

#Marvel #Marvel imagine #MCU #peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #spider-man #spider-woman #spider-man au #marvel fanfiction

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hatterstan-shameblog · 3 years

Note

Smut, you say 👀

You're this cute, kinda innocent woman that gets the help of this handsome gigolo to not be as... innocent.

💕 The Professional: Chapter 1 💕

Chapter Two

Rating: PG-13 (for this chapter only)

Pairing: Danma Takeru (Hatter)/Reader (she/her

Tags: flirting, suggestive conversation, alcohol consumption, smoking, kissing

“Well, darling,” he says, voice low and smooth and so much closer than before, “I think it’s high time we got to the heart of the issue. The root of the root and the bud of the bud, as it were.”

“Uh,” you say, unsure of where he’s going with this but very much enjoying his simple touches, “what do you mean?”

“I’m just wondering,” he clarifies, pausing to let out a soft sigh, “when you’re going to give in and kiss me.”

Notes: This is a kind-of sort-of AU—in the show, Hatter references his involvement with the host club business, and mentions that he “would do anything” to be the best. Although host clubs do not usually involve sex work (as far as I know), I believe that he would definitely offer that “off the books” in order to win over his clientele.

You’re nervous. Nervous and jittery and—oh, dear, there’s a lot of feelings going on in here, and all of them seem to fall under the umbrella of ‘mild to moderate discomfort.’ Not that feeling uncomfortable is anything new; in fact, there are very few times where you happen to feel truly comfortable outside of, say, the warmth of your bed or the soothing calm of a late-night bath. Places where you feel safe. Places where you can let yourself breathe and be, unhindered by expectation.

The place where you currently find yourself—this strange little pocket of a room in the buzz and bustle of a Friday-night Kabukicho—is full-to-bursting with expectation. From the polished wood floors to the glittering gold chandelier that hangs from the center of the ceiling, there is an inescapable sense of opulent whimsy that is tinged pink with a blush of sensuality. There are even fresh flowers on the table in front of you—a vase of ranunculus, blooming bright and orange like a green-stalked bunch of tiny setting suns.

Something like an itch tickles your sweat-damp palms, making you ball your hands into tight fists around the fabric of your skirt. Oh, you should have worn something different! Something sexier, maybe, with a deeper neckline and a shorter hem, that hugged the shape of your body as opposed to ghosting over it in fluttering chiffon. Not that you actually, you know, owned anything like that, but—

The pop! of a champagne cork makes you jump. Hell, you feel like you’re about to pop, too, from the nervous energy boiling and swelling in your chest. It’s so very difficult not to fidget, to keep your toes from tapping out a frantic little rhythm on the rug.

Looking back, you realize that the paperwork had been the ‘easy’ part. Not that it had been particularly easy—who knew there would be an application process for this kind of thing?—but it was less stressful to fill out a (surprisingly comprehensive) questionnaire in the privacy of your own home as opposed to this agonizing waiting.

And what, exactly, are you waiting for?

Why, you’re waiting for him.

His name is Takeru—or, at least, that’s what he’s asked you to call him. Whether or not it’s a stage name is difficult to tell; but what you do know is that it sounded so very nice in the deep clear of his voice. The only thing that sounded better was your name, which he said in a gently-sultry half-whisper that made you feel…many thing, and not all of them innocent.

In a devastatingly well-tailored suit of lipstick red—a vibrant pop of a color you would so often consider buying at the makeup counter but always put back—it’s nearly impossible to look at anything but him. A small collection of rings glisten from his fingers, most of them delicate little things that wink a tiny gleam when the light hits them just right. The dizzying black-white-gold pattern of his shirt is unbuttoned just a smidge too low, offering you a tantalizing view of his chest.

And although his back is toward you, concocting some kind of magic at the bar cart along the far wall, you can all but feel the warm-dark of his eyes on you. Oh, he has beautiful eyes, dark and warm with the glitter of laughter—or perhaps mischief, if the situation calls for it. A slim nose leads down to a shapely mouth, handsomely framed by a neatly-trimmed beard and mustache.

Also, his hair—oh, that man has a great head of hair.

Aesthetics aside—he has been undeniably lovely. Slipping the coat from your shoulders when you walked into the room, fingertips skimming the slope of your shoulders with only the barest of touches. Offering you a glass of champagne (“Yes, thank you”) as he leads you to sit on the green velvet settee, hand hovering above but never touching the small of your back. A serene smile on his lips as he talks, as he tells you that your dress is lovely (“Blue is definitely your color, darling”) and letting out an airy chuckle when you mention that this was as good occasion as any to dig it out of the back of your closet.

It is impossible to ignore the way he is so very provocative—subtly so, in a way that makes you second-guess whether his flirtations had happened at all. Did his eyes really linger over the shape of your legs, or was he simply taking a moment to admire your (new, very cute) shoes? Did his fingertips slip over the curve of your shoulder as he removed your coat, or were you just imagining it?

His gaze tiptoes over your shape as he sits down beside you, two flutes of pink-tinged something in hands.

“I’ve taken the liberty of making something a little special,” he says, “Hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh, uh, thank you,” you say as he hands you one of the glasses, “it…it looks nice.”

“Know what it is?”

“Uh,” you say after a moment of silent deliberation, “Maybe alcohol?”

He huffs a short laugh at your half-joke—a rather polite response, and it manages to soothe the bubble of regret that had risen up your throat the moment you’d said it.

“You’re not wrong. More specifically, though, it’s a Kir Royale—or, my take on one, at the very least,” he watches the bubbles fizzle to the top of the glass, “I find myself more or less incapable of keeping with convention, even when it comes to alcohol.”

“Well, uh,” you say, “it’s pretty. I like the color.”

You taste the drink, bubbles like tiny fireworks tickling over the surface of your tongue. There is a dry bitterness, no doubt from the champagne, but it’s softened by a fruity sweetness. Something familiar, something that reminds you of summer and shaved ice and walks along the river and—

“Cherry,” you say, half-lost in the hazy-warm memory of days gone by—until you remember where you are and snap back to reality, “it’s, uh, it tastes like cherries.”

“Very good. Usually, the drink calls for creme de cassis, but I used Kijafa instead. It’s a dessert wine from Denmark, made from cherries,” his brow raises just a smidge, “I thought it appropriate, given the situation.”

And it takes you a minute to understand what he’s talking about. Cherries. You. Ah. A rather crass comparison, but accurate all the same.

“Oh,” you say, picking a very uninteresting spot on the rug to look at in an attempt to avoid meeting his eyes, “I, uh…”

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he adds, “In fact, virginity isn’t even a real thing. Completely made up. Means nothing, really.”

There is a kind of lag—he’s speaking, you know he’s speaking, but it takes your brain a few extra seconds to figure out what he’s actually saying. It’s strange, hearing someone talk to you so openly about sex. Not unwelcome, by any means, but you need a moment (or two, or ten) to adjust.

“That being said,” he continues, as if he’s discussing the weather, “just because it doesn’t mean anything in the grand scheme of life doesn’t mean it’s nothing to you.”

He’s fishing. He’s fishing, and you kind of want to take the bait, but…well, you’re finding it difficult to get your thoughts in order. He’s the very picture of calm, all while you’re floundering over a simple conversation.

“Apologies if I’ve overstepped,” he says, taking a slow sip of his drink, “I thought you might prefer to talk it over a bit. ”

“No, uh, you’re fine,” you answer quickly, “I’m just…I thought the paperwork kind of covered all that.”

“More or less,” he answers, “however, I’ve found that the person who fills out the forms and the person who ends up sitting across from me are not always of the same mind.”

He reaches a hand into the inside of his jacket and pulls out a silver-plated cigarette case. Although he is not gentleman enough to ask your permission to smoke, he is gentleman enough to offer you a cigarette before taking one of his own. You decline. He shrugs and quickly snaps the case shut before laying it on the table.

“In fact, it’s not uncommon for my clients to have a complete change of heart the second they walk through the door,” he continues, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket, “Or, sometimes later on, for that matter. Depends on the person.”

Cigarette held between his teeth, he retrieves a lighter from his right trouser pocket. With a sharp little snick, he ignites it, pulling the little orange flame towards his face and hiding it behind his hand to let it catch.

“Really?”

You watch him intently, the way his eyelids flutter closed at the first inhale. The way his lips pucker around the filter and release, the red-pink sticking slightly as they pull away and let smoky white flow out and fade into the air.

“Really,” he confirms, “once, I had a client step inside, take one look at me, and promptly walk right back out. Never saw them again, which is fine. I’ll never fault someone for doing what’s right for themselves.”

“Are you, uh, trying to talk me out of it?”

“Not at all. Just making you aware of your options,” he says, “Doing anything for the first time is scary. Driving a car, swimming in the ocean, traveling abroad—sex is no different.”

“Yeah, well,” you respond, “you also get to do most of those things with your clothes on, so…”

“Depends on who you’re with.”

You can’t help but laugh a little.

“Well I still want to…you know,” you answer, “uh, do it. The…the sex part.”

“I’m happy to hear it.”

“Yeah, well, you’re supposed to say that.”

“It’s the truth,” he insists, “I can’t imagine anyone being upset at the thought of having a pretty thing like you in their bed.”

“I’m not—“

“Don’t,” he interrupts, taking on a tone that brokers no arguments, “I will suffer many things, but a liar isn’t one of them. You are an attractive woman and I refuse to be told otherwise.”

“Sorry, I,” you say sheepishly, “I guess I just…wasn’t expecting you to…like me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” He ashes his cigarette and takes another long, slow drag, “You’re very sweet. A bit shy, maybe, but I happen to like the shy ones.”

And there is something about the way he says it, the way his voice wraps around the words—oh, there are implications to those words, and you find yourself growing warm at the thought of what exactly those implications could entail.

You sip your drink. He smokes. The quiet between you is almost comfortable. Maybe it’s the alcohol working it’s bubbly magic, but you’re starting to feel a bit more at ease in this strange little place.

Moreover, you’re starting to feel a bit more at ease with him. The thought of kissing him crosses your mind, then doubles-back and crosses it again. Oh, that sounds nice. He would be good at it, too; starting gently, mouth pressed soft and sure against your own, and then just the tiniest tease of his tongue—

“And there you go, biting your lip again,” he says, snapping you out of your impromptu fantasy, “You have no idea how sexy that is, do you?”

He is sporting a devilish grin—not only is he aware that you had been daydreaming about him, but he’s relishing the fact that he was able to catch you so off-guard.

“Didn’t even realize I was doing it,” you admit with a shrug. But you can’t help but feel a thrill at the thought of being considered ‘sexy’—you never really let yourself feel that way, but now that it’s happening…oh, it’s nice.

“It’s absolutely delicious, darling. Makes me wonder what else you do when you’re turned on…”

And he’s got you—like a knife held under your chin, his sharp gaze pins you in place. He is impossible to avoid. Not that you particularly want to avoid him—there’s something irresistible about this man, something that you can’t quite name but definitely want more of.

It’s scary.

It’s exciting.

“I’m,” you say with a nervous chuckle, “not really sure, myself. Guess we’ll have to, uh, figure it out together.”

His gaze darkens. He takes one last lungful of nicotine before stubbing out his cigarette.

“I suppose we shall.”

And he’s moving now, sliding himself down so that he’s closer to you. He stops when there is barely an inch of space between the outside of his thigh and your own. His right arm has draped itself over the back of the sofa, the fingertips of his hand now skimming the skin of your shoulder in loose, mindless sweeps.

“Uh,” you say, unsure of where he’s going with this but very much enjoying his simple touches, “what do you mean?”

“I’m just wondering,” he clarifies, pausing to let out a soft sigh, “when you’re going to give in and kiss me.”

He plucks the champagne flute from your grasp and sets it on the table in front of you.

“I, uh—“

The fingertips on your shoulder continue to make their idle little circles, almost hypnotic in their swirling pattern. His left hand catches your right wrist, his thumb pressing above where your pulse thrums beneath sensitive skin.

“Bit fast,” he observes, pulling your arm closer as if inspecting it, “Could be nerves, but I think it’s more from excitement, don’t you?”

You have no choice but to lean into him as he brings your hand closer. Your shoulder presses against his arm, and you feel the solid shape of him through the smooth of his suit. He’s strong underneath all of those layers—warm, too, judging from the heat that radiates from his person.

“I’m—“

The thumb that had been testing your pulse inches higher, stopping when it’s pressing into the center of your palm. His eyes lock with yours, a heartbeat of a moment, and brings your wrist closer and closer until his lips are ghosting over your flesh. When he finally decides to make contact, you gasp—it’s a delicate sensation, but sends your heart skipping in a shaking staccato.

And, then.

Then he sucks.

The sound you make is halfway between an oh of surprise and a desperate little moan—oh, wow, that’s really weirdly unexpectedly hot—and you don’t even have the presence of mind to feel embarrassed by your own reaction. He’s not even doing much, not really; just a little bit of pressure, lips parted just enough to let his tongue slip out and have a taste of you.

But, oh, it feels…it feels filthy, it feels decadent, it feels like something you should not be doing but very much want to keep doing for the rest of your life. Takeru’s eyes have since fluttered shut, and he hums the tiniest sound of pleasure as he maintains his seductive tease.

“Please,” you manage to sigh, sounding as breathless as you feel, “please, I, I want you to kiss me.”

His lips release from your wrist with a pucker-pop noise—which was no doubt intentional on his part, and does nothing to quell the thrill of desire in your belly.

“Hm. I’ll make you a deal,” he says, shifting a bit to the left so that he can turn to face you better, “I’ll kiss you for the rest of the night, but right now…you kiss me.”

And what a deal that is—you don’t even have to think about it, head bobbing in an affirmative nod as you wet your lips in anticipation. The hand that had so lovingly held yours is now guiding you to rest your palm just above his knee. You reflexively reach your other hand out to steady yourself, and it lands against his chest before you can stop it.

He’s so close now. There’s barely any space between your faces, barely room to breathe—

“Go on, darling,” he whispers, “if you want me, have me.”

And you do.

You kiss him like it’s the easiest thing in the world. The anxiety that has plagued you since the moment you entered the room hasn’t completely dissipated—it would be foolish to think it’d be that easy to banish those feelings completely—but all that is now secondary to the feeling of his mouth on yours.

Kissing Takeru is warm. It’s soft and it’s sure and it’s…comfortable, in a way. Safe, even. He does not press, doesn’t do much of anything except mirror the way your lips slide against his own. A gentle rhythm, a push and pull between the two of you that feels as natural as the moon guiding the tides to shore—yes, kissing him is good and right and something you want to do many times over.

Unfortunately, you have to pull away to breathe. He doesn’t let you go far, though, one hand cupped behind the nape of your neck and the other pressing into the small of your back.

“Oh, you are sweet,” he purrs, his gaze dropping to your freshly-kissed lips, “and, seeing that I’m a man of my word…”

As it turns out, being kissed by Takeru might be better than kissing him, yourself. He is still so very careful when he presses his lips to yours, but this time…this time, there’s fire. He tastes like the best part of a cigarette, like warmth and alcohol and cherries, and it only intensifies as he tests the seam of your lips with his tongue.

Little by little, you begin to test him, too. Hands cradle the curve of his jaw, feeling the way his face shifts as he moves against you. Fingertips run through the soft dark of his hair—oh, he likes that, if the half-sigh that slips from his throat is to be believed. And when you nip at his lower lip with your teeth (he had, after all, very much enjoyed the way you bit your lip earlier), he genuinely moans and pulls you even closer to himself.

It’s when he begins to wander lower, with his mouth skimming the sensitivity of your neck and his hand splayed across your lower back in a way that flirts with the idea of indecency, that you begin to want more. Fear—and maybe that’s not exactly the right word for what you’re feeling, but it’s the only one that comes to mind—begins to creep up the column of your spine.

The “what-if’s” start filling your brain; what if you mess something up? What if you do something he doesn’t like? What if you freeze up later and—

“Alright, darling?”

His voice is a low soothe against your ear; he’s retreated, just a bit, and his hand has wandered to a chaste and respectable area of your mid-back.

“I—“

You want him to take you to bed. You want him to take off your dress and kiss you in all the places you thought weren’t worth kissing, to let his hands trace sparks along the curves of your shape and let him be close to you in a way that no one else has. You want him, despite the uncertain ache that burns between your ribs and bids you to hide yourself away and leave behind the pleasure of his touch.

…But all you can manage is a nervous glance to the bed behind you (the one you had been avoiding thinking about up until this point) and a stammered “Can we, uh…?”

“Ask me,” he says, his index and middle fingers idly skimming the notch in your collarbone, “I’ll give you anything you want, as long as you ask me.”

It’s difficult to make eye contact with him—every time you try, you feel embarrassment swell up beneath your tongue.

But Takeru is, as you have come to learn over the last hour or so, decidedly patient. He shows no sign of relenting, appearing to be perfectly content with giving you an expectant grin and continuing his little touches as you try not to squirm in your seat.

“I,” you gulp, “I want…“

You bite your lip—oh, wait, he likes that too, and he’s staring at you with those sharp and sultry eyes, and it makes something behind your heart squeeze and unsqueeze itself and punches the air from your lungs and—

“Take me to bed,” you manage to spit out, and it all sounds like one word with how quickly you pushed the words into the air. The “uh, please” you tack on at the end is an afterthought, but perhaps it’s polite enough to pass muster.

“Was that so hard,” Takeru asks with a good-natured chuckle, “but since you asked so nicely…”

He takes your hand in his and brings it to his lips for a kiss—and even that, after everything, still has you feeling a flutter of something giddy in your stomach.

“Darling,” he says, “it would be my pleasure.”

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

…and now, you’ll have to wait until chapter two to get to the “good stuff!”

It’s been a challenge writing this—I’m trying to make the scenario believable while still keeping it vague enough to allow for people to make up their own little details. It’s also been unexpectedly difficult to write him, since he’s kind of being himself while also playing a character who’s trying to mold themself into their client’s fantasy…it’s a lot of layers, but it’s been fun trying to figure things out!

#alice in borderland #hatter #danma takeru #writings and such #spicy boy #alice in borderland netflix #takeru danma #we did it fellas. we finally wrote the first chapter.#I’ve been working on this for WEEKS #now to write the actual spicy stuff lol oh geez

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