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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

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Akio’s Idea

CW: Some vague past noncon references, discussion of traumatic events, referenced minor whump, referenced Oliver being gross as shit - all vague, Akio Gets An Idea, modern slavery

(Lisa Huang appears in Teenage Dream)

“Thanks for driving down here, Lisa.”

“No problem.” Lisa Huang pushes her glasses back up on her nose, sitting back in the hard plastic chair in the side room with its large conference table. The faint sounds of the gym are still audible here. Lisa’s got one ankle laid over the other knee, hands behind her head as she looks around. The heavy knit cap on her head is a deep saturated orange, the rest of her clothes a mix of faded gray and blacks. It makes her look, just a little, like she’s wearing a pumpkin on her head. “I needed to meet my sister for lunch some time this month, so I figured, two birds one stone. The drive down was really pretty, anyway. Wow, the gym has hardly changed at all, has it?”

“Not really.” Akio gives her a half-smile. He’s in his own casual clothes, just a hoodie over a t-shirt and jeans. He feels like she’ll see his heart beating, the way he shifts from foot to foot. Lisa was always good at reading people, better than Akio’s ever been, anyway. “New equipment, new kids, but… you know. You probably didn’t exactly get lost.”

“Ha! No. I could have walked to this room with my eyes closed.” She gestures at a large framed photo across the room, settled along a wall between two windows. “They haven’t even changed the team photo. We were, like, kids when we went there.”

Akio looks over his shoulder.

He’s right in the center of the photo, next to the old governor, smiling brightly for the camera. On either end of the line, their coaches. Spread throughout the center, all of them, a range of ages, wearing matching windbreakers and gym pants, smiling. All of them, smiling.

One of them, missing, presumed dead.

“Yeah, Mark’s still really proud of that, I guess.”

“I remember. That crusty old guy’s what got us the WRU sponsorship. Mark just about had a stroke when they wanted to do that whole marketing campaign with us.” Lisa laughs. Akio doesn’t. His nerves are shot, and he doesn’t want to make small talk about WRU. Not knowing what he knows. Not with who’s waiting in the hallway.

Lisa seems to pick up on his reticence. Her laughter fades, and she tilts her head, some of her black hair brushing along her shoulder. “Aki? What’s up, man? I haven’t talked to you in, like, six months and then you ask me to come down to the old gym and say it’s super important but you can’t say why on the phone. Talk to me, man. I don’t mind being here, but if you’re going to propose, I have some real bad news about how thoroughly I am not going to do that. Nothing personal, I don’t want that mess with anyone else, either.”

That does pull a laugh from him, and Lisa relaxes slightly. “Don’t worry, Lees, I’m not asking you to-... anything me,” Akio says, heading for the doorway to the conference room. His palms feel sweaty. His palms never feel sweaty. He can swing through the air and only feel the perfect rush of what his body can do, he can land on his feet, he broke an ankle once without a sound, but now… now he’s scared.

Scared of what he’s going to show her.

Scared of how she could react.

“I’m actually sort of dating someone,” Akio confesses, after a pause. “I mean. I think we’re dating.”

“Honestly, you not knowing if you’re dating someone or not is the most Nakamura thing I can imagine,” Lisa says cheerfully. “You haven’t changed much, either.”

Has he not? He feels like a whole different person since he found Tristan again. Like he’s aged ten years in a few weeks. A new anger burns under his skin, fury at grieving the loss of a boy who was never actually gone.

“What’s his name?”

Akio stops, hand on the doorknob, and turns to look over his shoulder at Lisa’s impish little grin.

“Oh, fuck off, Aki, you think I didn’t know? We practically lived together at the gym. What’s his name? Is that why you wanted me here, to meet him maybe?”

“His name’s-... uh, his name’s Ben. He’s not here, but. Okay, so. There’s something I needed to show you today. I want to show everybody from the old group, but… but I wanted to start with you.” He can feel heat in his eyes, unfamiliar fear making his pulse thrum. Something in his expression makes her own smile fade.

Lisa Huang leans forward, dropping both feet to the floor. She watches him, dark eyes traveling over his face. “Aki? What’s wrong?”

Akio laughs, a little helplessly. “Just… so much is wrong, Lisa.”

“Talk to me, Nakamura. What’s going on?” Lisa’s concern is open, and genuine, and he can’t think of any way to answer except just to open the door, glancing to where Chris is waiting sitting on a bench in the hallway, and gesture him inside.

Chris comes in slowly - he’s nervous, too, and one hand grips tightly to the oversized plastic feather necklace he’s always wearing, rubbing his thumb over the carved vanes. He’d be less recognizable, Akio thinks, if he still had the long blue hair and not the short copper. As it is, he’s all giant green eyes and narrow chin, black compression shirt under a loose oversized blue one, black jeans, wearing his friend’s old black-and-white checked shoes.

Lisa glances at him, and he’d be less recognizable, maybe, with blue hair, but Akio sees the color drain from her face as she takes in a man who is, as far as she knows, a very dead boy. She moves to stand, gets halfway up, drops back down into the seat again. “Aki-” Her voice catches, cuts off. “Akio, what-... who is-”

“Lisa.” Akio’s own voice is rough, staying close as Chris steps inside further, then stops. His thumb rubs at the plastic feather, his other hand curves over his stomach, gripping into the fabric of his t-shirt. “This is-”

“Tristan fucking Higgs.” Lisa cuts him off, getting to her feet again. “He’s-... Aki, Tristan’s-”

“A little less dead than we were supposed to think he was. This is, um. Christopher Stanton.” When Lisa looks at him, eyebrows furrowing, Akio shakes his own head in response. “He was Tristan Higgs. Our, our Tris-... but he ended up-”

“Lisa,” Chris says, suddenly, the name slotting into place in a mind where memories still slip and slide out of his awareness seemingly at will. They stick or they don’t, and Akio doesn’t know what makes the difference. His eyes light up, and he takes another two steps forward, then stops when Lisa flinches slightly back. “Lisa, um, Lisa… Lisa-... you, you, you you did, um, you did, you were good at the uneven bars, were, you you you-you… you wore the, the same ponytail holder every time you did a meet.”

Lisa’s eyes fill with tears, the glitter of them visible even across the room, and her hands come up to cover her mouth. “Oh my God,” She whispers. She sits back down, but it’s more like her legs simply stop working, dropping so heavily the chair creaks beneath her. She keeps whispering, oh my god, oh my god, over and over, her face ash-gray, her eyes locked on Chris’s face.

“Wha-... what…” Lisa takes in a breath, and then another, and Chris moves closer to her, bit by bit. Neither of them is able to close the last foot or so of distance, and Akio watches them, his own lips pressed together into a thin line. He’d expected her to deny it, to call this a joke, to call Chris an impostor, but-

Lisa was the one closest to Tris, other than him.

Lisa remembers him well enough to see him in the older, more angular face in front of her, knows him well enough to hear in his speech and the way his fingers tap carefully on his own skin - finger-twist tap tap tap - that it’s Tristan, through and through.

“What happened to you?” Lisa manages. She sounds like she’s choking on the words.

Chris rocks a little, uncertainly, his eyes drifting to look to the windows, the walls, drifting over the framed team photos over the years. “My, my, my parents-... after-”

“I remember that. But you-... you had to go live with someone-”

“My, my aunt.” Chris’s eyes find the old photo of the team with the governor and lock on. His pale eyebrows come together a little, frowning. Something in his face goes distant. “She, she, she… she gave me up.”

Lisa looks at Akio, who nods. “It’s true, as far as I can tell. He went to stay with his mom’s sister, and then… WRU.”

“After he ran away?”

Akio swallows, and shakes his head. “He, uh. He says he never ran away.” He doesn’t mean to talk for Chris, but Chris is moving away from them, staring at the photo on the wall, wandering towards it and away from he and Lisa entirely. “She, uh. She sold him.”

Lisa jerks forward, as though she’ll be sick on the floor, and closes her eyes. “That’s not possible,” She says, in a low voice. “That can’t be what happened. They would-... nobody would do that to someone, nobody would-”

“They did it to him. He didn’t even know who he was, Lees. They gave him a new name and did that thing where they take all his memories and they sold him to someone.”

Akio knows the look on Lisa’s face. Her mind is spinning, overwhelmed. He knows the feeling, he’s cycled through it a hundred times now, his body and brain working to understand that while he was crying in his bed missing his best friend, visiting his parents’ fucking graves to leave flowers for him, Tristan was locked up somewhere, not even knowing who he was.

“But WRU only takes people who sign up on purpose.” Lisa’s hands drop. Her mouth barely moves. There’s almost no sound to the words.

Akio takes in a breath, glancing over at Chris, standing in front of the photo of the team at the governor’s mansion. “So, I asked, he says-... that’s a lie. They… steal people. Or people get given to them, like Tris was.”

“Who-... who did they sell him to?”

“Him. I was, was, was sold to him.”

The two of them look over to where Chris is pointing at the center of the photo. Akio moves over to him, Lisa pushing herself up to follow on his heels.

Akio’s eyes follow the line of Chris's arm, to his index finger pressed just lightly against the glass covering the photo in the frame. Lisa jerks in a breath.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” She says, voice flat, almost empty, the emotions struggling to catch up to the pile of information building up. “That’s-... that’s the governor that got fucking murdered-”

“Right before he was supposed to testify against WRU,” Akio says, blinking. “I remember. Our coach was super pissed because of the publicity. He had some kind of bombshell something that was going to-... oh. Oh shit.”

If Chris hears either of them, he doesn’t show it. He just keeps looking at the man in the photo, tracing the line of his face with his fingertip.

"Right there," Chris says. “I was there.” His voice is nearly drowned out by the sound of creaking, of shouting, of bodies in the air or on mats coming in through the open door. Behind them, out in the practice area, nothing changes. Everything is the same, with Tristan and without him. Life went on.

Life goes on.

Here, though, the silence draws out, as Akio and Lisa stare at Chris's fingernail, with a star sticker stuck to it, and at the photo of the old governor, the one who died, with his arm around Akio's shoulders. Here, time stands horribly still.

"What do you mean-... you’d been… I mean, we had been told you’d, um, that you’d… you know-"

"Under the, the, the desk." Chris taps lightly on the glass. The desk was right behind them, in the photo. His finger is tapping just behind Akio's legs. "I was... right, right, right there. He, he, he, he liked that no one ever saw me. I was there.”

Akio looks at the smile on Governor Branch's face and remembers how his skin crawled at the man's too-friendly touch. How he’d kept asking questions about Tristan, pushing until Akio had gotten upset. How he’d joked with them and Akio had gone home and taken a shower that nearly burned him from the heat just to feel clean for reasons he couldn’t explain to himself.

How the governor kept asking about Tristan.

"I'm going to be sick," He whispers. Akio Nakamura, smiling gymnast, is standing right in front of the fucking desk. Oliver's hand curved around the ball of his shoulder and he's leaning in and, oh god, they're all smiling, all of them.

Their coaches had been so happy for the photo op.

“Tristan-” Neither of them correct Lisa on the name. “Are you-... are you saying you were under the desk when this photo was taken?”

Lisa’s in the photo, too. She’s off to the side, not really looking at the camera, smiling tightly. Lisa never liked photos, and she didn’t even want to go to the governor’s mansion that day. Her hair was longer then.

“Probably. Some… sometimes he would, um, he, he, he would, he would… make me wait in his, his, his room.”

“Gross,” Lisa says, weakly. “How-... how old were you?”

Chris blinks. He’s lost, Akio thinks. Inside his head, inside the memories he can’t hold on to very well. Grasping on with slippery fingers to images and thoughts that someone will have to remind him of later. “They, they, they, they told me to say I-I was eighteen.” He presses his finger directly over Oliver Branch’s face, digging the flat of it in until a smudged fingerprint nearly obscures the man’s face entirely. “They beat me un, until I said it.”

“WRU did?”

Chris nods.

“But you weren’t…”

“No.”

"Why would Governor Branch buy-... But why..."

"Too pretty," Chris whispers. "Too, too, too pretty for... for, um, for for anything else. He, he, he… wanted young." There's a healing wound on his forehead sure to scar and his green eyes are dark and Akio should move, before he throws up on the photo.

He can't. He keeps staring at the desk, like if he tries hard enough, he can step in and tell a younger version of himself Tristan isn't dead, he's right there, just look. Just look. Just look.

Tris was right there the whole time.

While Oliver Branch looked at Akio Nakamura like dinner laid out for him on a plate, he had Tristan under his desk, and when they left he probably pulled him out from under the desk and-

Akio has to turn away, then, jamming his hands into his hoodie pockets and walking away, to the window, breathing in and out as he stares at the cars in the parking lot outside. His blood rushes in his ears, pounds through his temples. His fingers pulse.

Behind him, Lisa asks Chris about his life now, and he answers, in his familiar stammer that Akio had missed so much when he had to live without it. He talks about his brother, going to college.

All of it is-... good, that Tristan rebuilt, that he has people now, a family. But he had a family then, one he should never have had to lose.

Akio has to let them talk, because he’s afraid if he opens his mouth he’ll start screaming.

How many people has this happened to? Akio knows the company line. People disappear into WRU sometimes, running from debt or criminal charges or homelessness, and they get a whole new life.

But he knows the other side of it now, too. He knows Chris - he knows his dead best friend was never dead at all. He knows what happened to him. He’s met a houseful of others - Chris’s older brother with a pretty smile who told him none of us ever want it, not really. The other quiet brother who has a scar on his neck he won’t talk about. The others who stared at him when he came over, terrified to get close to him, scared he’d turn them in.

Akio has started looking at the street kids he sees sometimes and wondering who ran away from WRU and who’s going to end up there.

He’s started to wonder if it has to be that way at all.

When he trusts his voice again, he says, “Did-... did WRU know you were-... weren’t willing-” It’s stupid, he knows better, but he wants - he wants so badly - for it to have been some kind of terrible misunderstanding. If it is, he tells himself, he can pull back from this.

If it is, he can focus on Tristan, he can walk away from the rest.

“They, they, they call us ‘underagers’,” Chris says, and he still doesn’t look away from Oliver Branch’s face. “We, we, we have special rooms. They… know. We’re... we, we, we... we sell for more. After I, I waas rescued they, um, they they they sent people once. To take me back. My, my, my brother kept me safe.”

Akio feels a rush of heat that threatens to burn him alive in his own fury. WRU has been giving the team money and marketing opportunities and bullshit since-... since they met the governor, who had been the one to hook them up with WRU in the first place, and… and the whole time he’d known what happened to Tristan, he was what happened to Tristan, Governor Branch and his oily fucking voice and his stupid jokes and he had Tristan the whole time.

WRU knew.

They know.

They’re still doing it, probably, hurting people like Chris, sending fucking SWAT teams after them if they get out. How many people are out there hurting like this?

There’s an idea that’s been building in the back of his mind. Foggy, barely-formed. But as his anger lights him up, Akio feels the pieces coming together. Speaking up, speaking out, telling people what happened to his best friend will probably ruin his career. It could ruin his life.

But there are a lot of people like Tristan Higgs whose lives are already ruined. A whole lot more whose lives will be if nobody ever stops it.

If he’s going to speak out, he might as well make sure everyone is listening.

“Lisa, do you still speak to the girls from the Canadian team?”

She nods, frowning. “Yeah, I speak to a bunch of different people still. Why?”

Akio looks over at Chris, at Tristan Higgs’s face. The last day he saw Tristan was at his parents’ funeral, wearing an ill-fitting suit and rocking against the weight of grief, his aunt saying it’d be awhile before he could come back to practice.

He’d never returned.

Then the texts stopped, then his aunt said he’d run off, then she said they’d found his body. Then then then. One lie after another, so she could fucking sell him. So WRU could make money off someone who needed help, who Akio couldn’t hear crying for him, for someone, for anyone, to get him out of this.

Akio turns back, and to Lisa and Chris he’s nearly a silhouette of darkness backlit by the light from outside.

“What if we-... what if we make it so WRU can’t do this anymore?”

“How?”

“I have an idea. Just... what if we make it so nobody can ignore what’s really happening anymore?”

---

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @boxboysandotherwhump , @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump , @whump-tr0pes @whumpiary @downriver914 @vickytokio

#chris the strawberry blond romantic #akio nakamura #lisa huang #speak out arc #box boy whump #whump #modern slavery #box boy universe #bbu #wru #referenced past noncon #referenced past torture #referenced past minor whump

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allegra-writes · 4 years

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"Lights Up" part I

Peter Parker x SHIELD Agent!Reader

NSFW

Warnings: And there was only one bed!!

Peter must deal with the aftermath of what Mysterio did, but he's not alone: Nick Fury and Pepper Stark have a plan, one that includes you, Peter and the tropical desert island of Eroda.

Series Masterlist

His lungs were on fire, his legs burning with the strain, he didn't know how much longer he was going to be able to go on. The sharp pain piercing his side was disconcerting, he used to be familiar with it, he remembered as much, but he hadn't felt it in years, not since the spider bite. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he had gotten so much as winded just from running, but he had been at it for hours now, ever since he had ditched MJ and his suit in that dingy alley in hopes of Peter Parker being a little more inconspicuous than Spider-Man.

But by then, everyone in the city knew his face, and in the age of the internet and smartphones all it took was one single snap, one tweet, one livestream, to find himself surrounded by an angry mob, screaming for his blood, like something out of an old horror movie. All they were missing were the pitchforks and torches. There was nowhere to hide.

So he ran.

And he kept on running, but even he couldn't run forever. At least not without eating anything, the calorie deficiency starting to take a toll on his super-metabolism, causing him to become dizzy, his reflexes slower.

That was probably why he didn't realize his mistake until it was too late, until he reached the intersection and found himself surrounded: He had been ambushed, led like a lamb to the slaughter. He came to a halt, turning around, looking in vain for a way out, but the circle they had arranged around him was a tight formation, he was either going to have to fight his way out or shoot a web and swing away and he could kiss goodbye any chance left at keeping his identity secret after that…

"Looks like we caught ourselves a spider, guys!"

"Not so brave now, eh boy?"

Peter cursed internally. There was no other way, falling into stance, he braced himself for the fight. But before he could make a move, he saw it. A car, a rather distinctive one, heading straight their way, and it wasn't slowing down. If anything, it seemed to speed up the closer it got to the crowd, forcing people -including Peter- to jump out of the way to avoid being run over.

"Get in!"

He didn't need to be told twice, jumping into the passenger seat, the car speeding away before he even got to close the door completely. You stole a glance at him. He looked tired, maybe a little pale, but uninjured. You sighed in relief. He was there, you had gotten to him on time. He was safe.

Safe and openly gawking at you.

"Y- y/n?"

You flinched,

"Yeah, not my real name" You took your eyes off the road to give him an apologetic look, "Sorry 'bout that"

"Then who are you?" His voice was steel. So much for being grateful for saving his ass, then…

"I'm agent 16 of S.H.I.E.L.D's Special Service. I was assigned to protect you" You threw him a side-glance, "and a little 'thank you' would be nice"

Well, that explained the uniform and you driving Item 20-25. God, he was so stupid! Of course you were a spy, why else would a girl like you even give him the time of day? The pretty girls at his school weren't nice, not to him at least. But now it all made sense, down to the very first time he saw you, beaming at him as Mr. Warren pointed at the empty seat beside him. All the times your hands brushed in class, fingers lingering on test tubes and books a couple of seconds longer than necessary. All those little touches, all the secret looks when you thought he wasn't watching, it was probably all part of your mission. Probably just to get close to him, to gain his trust. After all, you had demonstrated you weren't truly interested in him when you turned down his invitation to prom.

He had cried afterwards. Not much, not like at Ben's funeral, or when Mister Stark… No, definitely not like that, but he had shed a couple of tears that night.

He had lost sleep and appetite over you. Lost hours daydreaming about you, about the fruity smell of your hair, wondering what your strawberry lipstick would taste like. But the truth was, after all this time, after all that staring, all that pinning he didn't know anything about you, did he? Not even...

"Can you tell me your real name?"

"You don't have the clearance for that"

You replied, turning to face him. And maybe he ought to fasten that seat belt after all, or shut up and stop distracting you from the road, cause you were still going too damn fast and breaking all traffic laws known to mankind. Mr Dell's shocked, appalled face after your driving test flashed through his mind.

"Spider-Man has a level 6 clearance" he protested.

"You need a level 9. At least."

"I thought 9 was the highest level" Gods, his frown was adorable.

You just smirked and made another turn, driving through an entrance and a ramp that hadn't been there a second ago.

"We're here" You announced, killing the engine. Peter didn't move.

"Where exactly is 'here'?"

"S.H.I.E.L.D's Manhattan headquarters"

You got out of the car, rounding to his side and pulling his door open, then closing it once he had gotten out. The gentleman in him protested it should be the other way around, he should be the one opening doors for you and helping you out of cars. It was absurd, of course. There, with you in that black catsuit, thigh holsters on both your legs, walking like you owned the place there was no mistaking it: You weren't y/n, his school crush; you were a highly trained special agent, escorting him through the premises.

… Pretty familiar premises, actually.

"Avengers Tower? S.H.I.E.L.D bought Avengers Tower?"

"It was a donation, actually" you explained as the elevator's doors opened to the Stark Memorial Garden, an open garden as majestic as it was massive, located right in the heart of the building.

"A donation? But wh-"

"Peter! Oh thank god!" A relieved voice and the clicking of hills on the stone path interrupted him.

"Mrs. Stark?" Peter let himself be crushed into Pepper's chest, closing his eyes, the tears he hadn't known he was holding back starting to fall as soon as he felt safe in her embrace.

If Tony Stark had been like a father to him, Pepper Potts-Stark was a mother trough and trough. She had tried to step into her husband's role of a mentor for Peter, knowing fully well she couldn't ever replace him or occupy his place; but she would be damned if she allowed that giant Tony shaped hole on that boy's life to go unattended, to bleed out or fester. The kid had already lost so much, almost every parent figure he had ever had. And she knew what that kind of loss could do to precocious boys with too big hearts, had seen it first hand with Tony.

"Mrs. Stark I'm so- I'm so sorry"

"Shhh" She said soothingly, "It's not your fault. You're going to be ok, I promise. We'll figure it out" Pepper sounded like she was trying to convince herself as much as him.

"Pete! Six!"

Peter broke the hug just in time to see a little dark haired meteor jump into your arms. He watched, stunned, as Morgan clung to you. He knew once upon a time she had been an outgoing, confident child but ever since her father's death she had grown timid. She didn't open up easily to strangers, Peter being a rare exception, and even that had been solely because of the stories Tony used to tell her about her 'super big brother' adventures. She had developed a sort of hero worship for Peter that only rivaled the one she felt for her father. For her to be so friendly towards you had to mean you had spent a considerable amount of time together, and Peter remembered the tales you used to tell in class about the adorable little girl you babysat sometimes.

"You did it! You found him!"

You smiled at her.

"Told you I would, Morgs. And I always keep my word" He watched you squeeze her again in your arms, he could tell you cared about the kid, probably even missed her while you and him were in Europe. But the sweet reunion was short lived, as soon another voice, more stern, resonated through the garden.

"In our line of work, I'm not sure that can be considered a good thing"

You gasped in mock trepidation, making Morgan giggle and Peter smile despite himself.

"Uh-oh! We've been caught!" You passed the still laughing kid to Peter and stood straighter, trying to sober up. Peter could see the corners of your mouth twitch as you greeted, "Director"

He gave you a nod,

"Agent. Parker, Mrs. Stark. Good, now that everybody's here, we can get a move on"

Without waiting for a reply, Nicholas Fury started walking again, leaving everyone to scramble to follow.

"I know this seems like the end of the world, Mr. Parker, and I'll admit the situation isn't ideal," the intimidating man punched a code into a hidden panel and another elevator opened. "but our main priority right now is your safety. We'll treat this like any other blown cover, following the same protocols we follow when any of our agent's identity is compromised: Immediate extraction and relocation of the agent into a safe house, with an armed escort for protection, of course" He explained as everybody climbed in.

"You're sending me away with a bodyguard?" Peter sounded less than pleased and you couldn't help the pang of sympathy. You didn't like to be pulled off the field either.

"I understand how that could be uncomfortable for you," it didn't sound like he particularly cared, though, "so perhaps it would be less unpleasant with an element you're already familiar with. Agent 16 here is going to be your companion"

"What does that means, Six?" Morgan turned to you, still perched onto Peter's torso, like a baby koala.

"It means I'm going to babysit your brother instead of you, for a while…" You threw the brunet boy a wink and his protests about not needing babysitting died on his lips. It didn't sound so bad, actually. Being cooped up with you in some secret location for an indeterminate amount of time.

"How long would we be gone?"

"As long as it takes for the director and me to fix this" Pepper spoke with the authority only her seemed to possess, the one that could reing in crazy geniuses dash heroes and master spies alike. Fury could only nod in compliance.

"What about May?"

"She's with Happy, already on her way to the lake house"

Peter still looked unsure, but Pepper smiled, eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint surprisingly similar to the one her husband used to have.

"Don't worry, Peter. You'll love the safe house. I know Tony and I did…"

…

Leaving Morgan at the launch bay had been the hardest part. Her tears soaking Peter's t-shirt as Pepper tried to pry the fabric out of her little hands, were enough to break his heart. She didn't want to let her big brother go, probably terrified he wouldn't come back, just like her father. Far too perceptive for a six year old kid, she understood Peter was in trouble, in danger, and she was scared.

Peter was scared too.

How could he not? He might be naive but he wasn't stupid, he knew that no matter the outcome of whatever plan Mrs. Stark and Fury came out with, his life as he knew it was over.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry" Your earnest voice pulled him out of his dark thoughts, "For lying to you, for what Beck did, for everything."

Peter stared at your profile, something he seemed to be doing a lot that day. Who was he trying to kid, he did a lot of that everyday. It actually seemed to be the only normal thing that remained, the one thing that seemed to stay constant as the world shifted and changed around him. He should be mad at you, he knew that. He should feel betrayed, hurt, and he did, a little but it was hard to stay angry at you. Even when you were partnered at school and you failed to do your part in the projects, he used to have trouble not forgiving you the second you flashed those doe eyes at him.

He sighed,

"It's not your fault, any of it. About the lying, you were only doing your job" It wasn't your fault that he had been dumb enough to fall in love with a girl that didn't even exist. "And as for Quentin… that definitely wasn't your fault"

"My job was to protect you. If I had done it right, none of this would have happened" there was a slight catch in your voice "I should have realized he was a fraud, I should have told Nick as soon as I started having doubts about the guy, I should have stopped him before he stole E.D.I.T.H; I should have-" You turned away, pretending to get engrossed in the navigation controls of the Quinjet.

"I should have found that video and stopped it from reaching the news" You finished, voice finally under control, but still not meeting Peter's eyes.

"I was the one that literally handed E.D.I.T.H to him" You felt his hand cover yours over a lever, and looked at him in surprise. He found your eyes, a soft look in his that made your insides fill with butterflies, "He tricked me too. Do you blame me for that?"

"What? No, of course not!"

Your indignation on his behalf warmed his chest.

"Then why blame yourself for the same thing?"

He had a point. Luckily, you were saved from having to answer him by a blip in your instruments.

"Looks like we're here" You commented instead, initiating landing maneuvers.

"Where is here, exactly?" He peered out of the windscreen, into the darkness of the night, trying to get a look. And who knew, with his super senses maybe he could.

"Somewhere in the middle of the Pacific. An island, apparently, a very isolated one..."

"So you've never been here before either?"

"No, this isn't one of S.H.I.E.L.D's safe houses. This one is Mrs. Stark's"

"Oh" Peter smiled for the first time since leaving NYC, "It must be really cool then"

"Yeah, I imagine it is" You smiled back

The house was not how you imagined Tony Stark's safe house would be like. For starters, the wooden construction wasn't even a house, a bungalow would have been a more appropriate title. The one-room little shack stood semi hidden by palm trees on the beach, and you knew the island was probably beautiful, but you couldn't see much in the moonless night.

Inside there wasn't much to see either, just a queen sized bed, a cupboard with a chest of drawers and a recliner by one of the windows. Ever the gentleman, Peter had offered to take the recliner, but you had rolled your eyes and pointed out the bed was big enough for the both of you.

"I don't know why we're so surprised" Peter's voice reached you through the bathroom door, where he was changing into his pjs, "I mean, we've seen the Lake House and, sure, it's very luxurious for a cabin but that's what it is: a cabin"

"Maybe" You replied, flopping on the bed. At least it was comfy "but they have FRIDAY over there. Here we barely even have electricity"

Peter stopped in his tracks as soon as he walked into the room, and you pretended not to notice the way his eyes lingered on your exposed legs, your tiny cotton sleeping shorts not covering much at all.

"It's just, I can't possibly believe Tony Stark didn't installed any defense system on his safe house. I mean, you knew the man better than I did, but doesn't it strike you as a little… odd?"

"Huh? Ye-yeah, I mean, I…" You could see his cheeks turn red. God, he was adorable.

"Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you coming to bed?"

He choked on his own spit, and you had to suppress a giggle. Maybe, just maybe, he truly did forgive you for lying to him. Maybe you still had a chance.

…

Peter couldn't sleep. He could feel the heat coming off your skin through the small distance separating your bodies, your perfume invading his nostrils with every breath. Being so close to you in the dark was torture and yet he couldn't bring himself to get up and go to the chair on the other side of the room. He was pinned to the bed, mesmerized by your sleeping profile, enthralled by the way your chest rose and fell with every deep, steady breath. Irrevocably and inescapably drawn to you like a moth to a flame, too scared to move, too afraid to disturb your dream.

Because it appeared to be a very good dream. He could see the blush spreading from your face to your neck, all the way down to where the neckline of your tank top obscured his view. He could hear your breathing starting to quicken, feel the temperature of your skin rise. He could smell you, sweet and enticing. Beckoning.

Your lips parted, letting out the most captivating little sigh in the history of mankind, and his eyes zeroed in the movement, his tongue darting out to wet his own.

Peter felt his blood rushing south and was disgusted by himself, he felt like a creep. What kind of psycho got off of watching a girl sleep? Yet he couldn't bring his eyes to avert their gaze.

He needed to get out of there, give you some semblance of privacy, as your hips started to twitch minutely, seeking a friction they wouldn't find. You let out a soft whine and he screwed his eyes shut. 'Come on Parker, get a grip on yourself' he thought, trying to gather enough strength to pry himself from the bed, to pry himself from your side. He was about to, he truly was, when it happened.

You rolled over, half trapping him under your body. And it wouldn't have been hard for him to escape if he wanted to. But he really really didn't want to. The voice inside his head telling him it was wrong was growing weaker and weaker with every pretty noise leaving your mouth. Your hot breath was searing against the skin of his chest and he both cursed and blessed the instant he decided to forego wearing a t-shirt to bed in the sultry island heat.

"Peter" You murmured in your sleep and his heart stopped. You were dreaming about him. You were panting and burning up for him, and he knew it didn't necessarily mean anything and dreams were not real life, but your legs fell open, one knee on either side of one of his, and he could actually feel your warm wetness through the thin fabric of your sleeping shorts and his threadbare plaid pajama pants and fuck!

Whatever last trace of logic might remained in his brain flew out the window as you started rubbing yourself on his thigh, finally finding the friction you so desperately needed. His hand went to your waist to stop you, but it ended up aiding you instead, sliding to your lower back, pressing down and releasing rhythmically, rocking you against his leg harder.

He glared at the traitorous appendage, but how could he reproach it it's betrayal, when you were moaning so sweetly? He wanted to commit those sounds to his memory, to tattoo them on his brain to play over every night when he'd found himself alone on his cold bed, one hand around his length and the other over his mouth to stop himself from yelling your name at the ceiling, as he had so many times before.

You breathed out his name again, and his free hand went to his pelvis, of its own volition. He palmed himself over his pants, but that's as far as he would let himself go. He refused to be the guy who jerked himself off next to an unconscious girl.

A new wave of moisture left your core, soaking his skin through the fabrics.

"Fuck!" He cursed softly, head hitting the tall headboard as he threw it back.

"Peter?"

He froze. No. Oh god, please no...

To be continued...

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x reader fanfic #peter parker x reader smut #peter parker imagine #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x reader smut #tom.holland x reader fanfic #tom holland imagine

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a-solitary-marshmallow · 3 years

Text

Rewind Chapter 2

Stan’s head was full of cotton. He mumbled and buried his face into his pillow, wishing he could block out the world. Had he been hit in the head during gym class? He couldn’t remember, but that might explain the fuzziness in his brain and why his arms felt all weak and noodly.

Someone was talking to him, probably Ford, trying to get him up for school. Ew, school. Did he have a test today? Stan could have sworn there was one coming up but he never really paid attention to when. Not like studying would change his score much anyway. He had to squint to read the questions and it took him way longer than everyone else to answer anything at all. Pa said it was because he was stupid.

He didn’t want to go to school today. His head was all stuffy and he was tired. Was he sick? If he was sick maybe Pa would let him stay home. It was Ford’s schooling he cared about anyway.

But no, that would leave Ford alone all day! He couldn’t leave his brother with that stupid Crampelter. Ford tried to hide how the other kids picked on him when Stan wasn’t there, but Stan wasn’t a total idiot. He knew it got worse when he wasn’t by his brother’s side, fists clenched and rearing for a fight. They would take advantage of his absence to mess with his brother.

No, he’d have to go to school, for Sixer. Filled with indignation on the part of his brother Stan lifted his face from his pillow-

And froze.

He wasn’t in his room, on the bottom bunk while Ford leaned over from the top bunk to talk to him. He wasn’t in his room at all.

The bed he was on was big and messy with slightly grubby sheets. It sat in a weird room that looked like it was part of a log cabin, rife with random objects that sat on boxes or desks or were pinned to a corkboard on the wall. And there was someone standing over him.

Stan yelped and threw himself away from the reaching hand, only to topple off the bed and let out a pained cry when his elbows scraped the wooden floor. The person rushed around towards him. Heart pounding, Stan rolled under the bed and curled up as far in as he could get.

It was cold down here, and dusty, spider webs crisscrossing the beams above his head. Stan hugged his knees and gasped for breath.

Where the heck was he? Who was this guy? Where were Ford, and Ma, and his room and his house?

“Stanley?” A voice called. Deep and male and it sounded like Pa but not quite. Stan would have taken being alone with Pa over this. There was rustling as the person knelt next to the bed. Stan whimpered and curled up tighter. Maybe if he stayed still and very quiet, they would go away.

A man’s face peered into the shadows. His glasses reflected the light but – there was something familiar about those brown curls, the shape of his mouth, the concerned tilt of his brows.

“Ford?” Stan blurted. Ford – because it was Ford, wasn’t it, even though he was grown up? – nodded, seemingly at a loss for what to do. They sat there for a moment before Ford reached a hand towards him.

It was probably to help him out from under the bed, but Stanley took the chance to count his fingers. One, two, three, four, five, six. Yep, this was Ford alright. He grabbed the huge hand and crawled out of the dusty shadows.

Ford was huge. He looked like an adult, Stan realized as he shook dust from his clothes and sneezed. He looked like Pa, but without the sunglasses and the scowl and the grey hair.

“What happened to you?” Stan demanded. “You’re all – big.”

Ford’s eyes widened slightly. He hadn’t made a move to stand up from where he was kneeling. To be honest, Stan didn’t want him to stand up – he didn’t like the idea of his brother looming over him.

“You don’t remember?” Ford’s voice was deeper than he was used to. It still sounded like a nerd’s voice, though, so that was something. Stan frowned.

“Remember what? This isn’t home. Where are we? And you – you’re old. What’s going on?”

Ford ran a hand across his face and groaned. “Okay. This is fine. So you reverted to a child in memories as well. Just – great.”

And then he stood up and started walking. Stan trailed after his brother as he sat at a desk and started writing in a big book. Stan wasn’t tall enough to see what he was writing.

“Uh, Ford?”

No answer. Stan stood there awkwardly while Ford scratched away in his book. He really wasn’t liking how – how weird his brother was being. He felt like he’d missed something big. But with the way Ford was acting Stan was nervous to ask, and that made him even more worried. Ford had never been this distant before.

“I called you here.” Ford said suddenly, making Stan jump. The nerd still wasn’t looking up from his book. “I needed your help hiding my journals. You came to my house. Do you remember that?”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.” A thought struck Stan and he blinked. “Wait, are we in the future?”

“In a manner of speaking, you are.” Ford sighed. “Listen carefully, Stanley. I asked you to come, so you could take my journal far away and hide it.”

“Why?”

“It contains very dangerous information. I have to keep it out of the wrong hands.”

“Oh, okay.” Yeah, that made sense. That kind of stuff was always happening in the new Sci-Fi show Ford loved. Of course, that was a show, but they’d seen weird things before. Like the Jersey Devil! Plus, if anyone was gonna write something epic and powerful and smart, it would be Ford.

His brother sent him an odd look out of the corner of his eye but continued.

“When you got here – you were my age then – we got into an argument. You knocked into one of my samples and got it all over you. Then you turned into – this. A younger version of yourself.”

Stan blinked. “I was old?”

“We’re twenty seven, Stanley – or at least I am. I was investigating water from the spring of youth, but I only came across it recently so I haven’t had time to work out how to undo its effects. I’ll have to get a new sample to experiment on, since you destroyed the only one I had.”

Destroyed? Stan rubbed the back of his neck, shame twisting in his stomach. “Aw man, bro, sorry I broke your thing.”

Ford stiffened. Stan rushed to continue, afraid he’d said something wrong.

“But you can – can get a new one, right? And I can help. And then we can do the thing you wanted, hide the book, right? It’ll be like burying pirate treasure! Oh! If this is the future, did we get the Stan O’ War fixed?” He vibrated with excitement. “Is she seaworthy? Do we go sailing?”

“I’m trying to write, Stanley.” Ford said stiffly, coldly. He’d never used that voice with Stan before. It was unnerving. “Why don’t you go downstairs and get something to eat?”

“Uh… okay. Sure.” Stan mumbled, subdued. Maybe the Stan O’ War could wait.

For the first time he noticed the state of his clothes – well, cloth, since there was only one piece – a too-big shirt that hung off him like a huge smock. He considered asking for a change of clothes. But if he used to be a grownup, they would probably only have grownup clothes. Plus, Ford seemed pretty upset and Stan didn’t want to bother him.

So he held his tongue and wandered out of the room, into the rest of the house. It was big, and super messy. Stan passed what looked like a – a triangle shine? – as he explored a room that may have been a lounge. He poked his tongue out at it. The grumble of his stomach seemed very loud in the quiet. Ford was right, he hadn’t even realized he was hungry!

Eventually he found the kitchen. An investigation of the fridge showed it was empty except a quarter-full jar of peanut butter. Well, better than nothing. Stan found a spoon among the dishes and shuffled over to the dingy table to eat. He had to brush a few papers away to make space.

Okay. So this was really weird. Definitely not scary though. Stan refused to be scared. Even if he desperately missed the security of home, of having his brother by his side-

But this Ford was his brother – just a bit older. And wasn’t that good? Ford was older, he knew what was going on, he could fix it. Stan just had to wait for him to make things go back to normal. And wasn’t it so cool that his nerd brother would grow up to be a nerdy scientist? He couldn’t wait to go back home and tell his Ford the adventure he’d gone on.

Secure once again, Stan decided to investigate this weird place. His Ford would wanna ask a lot of questions about it, after all. He shoved a final spoon of peanut butter into his mouth and jumped up to explore.

There was so much weird stuff here! Stan had no idea what half of it did. Though, that was true of a lot of things. He peered into some kind of office room with a chalk circle on the floor and candles scattered around, before deciding Ford probably wouldn’t like it if he messed with his stuff.

There was a door that, once opened, showed a dark, yawning staircase stretching out below. Stan peered around for a light switch. Finding none, he shrugged to himself and decided to brave it.

The stairs seemed to go on forever. Stan’s breathing and the tap-tap-tap of his footsteps seemed uncomfortably loud in the enclosed space. A flickering bluish light lit up whatever was below. Stan squinted to try and figure out what it was.

He soon found out, however, when he ended up in some huge lab. The majority of the space was taken up by some gigantic structure, a big circle like the kind you’d blow bubbles with but surrounded with technology junk. It looked like something straight out of Star Trek!

“Whoa.”

Stan walked over to a console to stare at all the buttons. Did Ford know how to use this thing? Did Ford build it? Jeez, he’d always known Ford was the smart twin but this was epic. And if Ford could build this thing, between the two of them the Stan O’ War was gonna be the greatest ship ever!

Stan paused. He knew he really shouldn’t be messing with Ford’s stuff, but that big red button was tempting him. Surely it couldn’t hurt to find out what this thing could do?

Stanley bit his lip, tossing up his options. He was spared from having to make a decision by stomping footsteps and a shout.

“Stanley!”

__________________________________________________________

In hindsight, letting a child roam freely around a house that doubled as a lab and testing site was… not the smartest move to make. In Ford’s defence he had been distracted when he suggested it. Stan had started talking about breaking projects, and that stupid boat, and it took every iota of Ford’s self-control to not snap and yell at him.

He’s a child. He has no memories of what happened. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

After about twenty minutes of writing observations in his journal Ford had come to the conclusion that letting a child – even worse, Stanley – loose in this place could be dangerous. He closed his journal and descended to make sure he was staying out of trouble.

But Stanley wasn’t downstairs. He wasn’t anywhere Ford checked. With increasing distress Ford stuck his head outside to see if the child had ventured into the woods. No sign of him, and the thick layer of snow was untouched. But the only other place he could have gone was-

The lab.

Ford cursed himself for not noticing that the door to the lab was hanging ajar. Stupid sleep deprivation! Ford stormed down the stairs, caught between fury and concern. What if Stan hurt himself?

When he reached the bottom, however, and found his brother staring at the portal’s controls, fury won out.

“Stanley!”

Stan snapped around guiltily. “Uh, hey, Ford-”

“What are you doing down here? This is my lab, it’s dangerous! You can’t touch anything!” Ford marched over and snatched his brother away from the controls. “What if you broke something? Or got hurt?”

Stan yelped. Ford tucked him under one arm and started back up the stairs, gritting his teeth.

“From now on you are not to come down here. Understood?”

“Mm hmm.” Stan mumbled. Once at the top of the stairs Ford placed him down to close and lock the door firmly. He turned back to Stan to continue the scolding, but… Stan looked like he was about to cry. His face was screwed up and he stared at the floor as if he could will away the tears that Ford could see gathering in his eyes.

A surge of guilt washed over Ford, which was ridiculous, because he had nothing to be guilty about. He sighed.

“Stanley, I…” What was there to say? “It’s late. I’ll set you up in the spare room.”

Stan sniffed and nodded.

Luckily Stan had always been resilient, and he perked back up while Ford went about preparing the bed in the spare room. He hadn’t had visitors for so long that he’d started using it as a workbench.

This had been Fiddleford’s room, back when they had worked together. The thought of his old research assistant sent a spike of guilt through him. Yet another warning that he had ignored, and in the process he’d destroyed the one human friendship he had.

No, he didn’t have time to reminisce. Not with Stanley to deal with and the threat of Bill looming over him at any given time. Ford harshly shoved all thoughts of Fiddleford from his mind and threw a blanket over the bed. It wasn’t very thick but it would have to do.

He was lost in thought as he absently picked up his brother and placed him on the bed. There, problem solved. Ford had more important work to do. For starters, he had to figure out some way to get the unicorn hair he needed for a protective spell against Bill. Until he could put up the barrier it wouldn’t be safe to dismantle the portal, which meant Bill had a much better chance of figuring out how to get in and activate it.

He paused in the doorway to glance at his watch. What was the time, somewhere after midnight? Two-ish apparently. At daybreak he could try again to get the unicorn hair. But he also had to figure out how to cure Stan. Would it be better to leave that until after he had Bill-proofed his house? Stan would be in the way the whole time, but he would be less of an obstacle than he would be as an adult.

But then again, an adult Stan could drive away and be out of the equation entirely. While he was a child Ford was stuck with him. Also, adult Stan also might agree to take the journal when he found out that Ford had cured him. Yes, it was probably better to do that first-

“I can almost see yer ears smoking!”

The chirp made him jump. Ford whipped around to stare at Stanley, who was blinking at him from his spot on the bed.

“Ya were standing in the doorway looking blank for like, five minutes.” The child explained at Ford’s stare. “Watcha thinking about?”

Ford took a slow, steadying breath. “Truthfully? The situation I’m currently in. I have far too much on my plate, and very little time to deal with it.”

“Well, is there anything I can do?” Stan tipped his head. The action made him look rather like a puppy. Despite his tiredness and frustration, the sight made Ford’s mouth tip into a smile.

“I don’t suppose you can charm unicorns as well as you charm old people into giving you sweets?”

“Hey, I don’t make ‘em give me stuff, they just wanna! All I gotta do is play it up a bit.” Then Stan seemed to register the first statement. “Whoa, hold up. Did you say unicorns?”

“Yes, but believe me, they’re not quite as pleasant as the kind you’re imagining. And they very much dislike parting with their hair.” Ford’s lip curled. “Quite irritating, actually.”

“Where did you find unicorns?” Stan demanded excitedly, slipping off the bed to rush to Ford and grab his coat in chubby fists.

“The forest, of course. Gravity Falls is home to numerous creatures not found anywhere else in the world. Why do you think I moved here?” Ford couldn’t quite hold in a snort at the way his brother’s eyes sparkled. “I’m surprised you haven’t seen any gnomes already. They often sneak in to raid the pantry.”

“Are they here now? Can I see ‘em?” Stanley gasped out in a rush.

“No. I do have some sketches in my journal though…”

Stanley let out a whoop and darted past him. Ford watched him scramble up the stairs to where Ford’s room was. How did he… no, he’d woken up in Ford’s room, of course he knew where it was.

“Stanley!” Ford called after him. “Stan, you should be in bed!”

“I’m not tired!”

Oh, for the love of…

Ford sighed and followed, albeit at a slower pace. He had no idea how they’d had that much energy as children. It seemed boundless.

At any rate, he doubted Stanley would be getting to sleep any time soon, and he had to keep an eye on the child to make sure he didn’t get into any trouble. At least his presence shouldn’t hinder Ford too much. Stan could draw or look at pictures or whatever children did while Ford worked on finding a cure.

“FO-ORD!” Stanley yelled. “Come on, hurry up! You got so many books here! Are there mermaids in this weird place too? Oh my gosh there’s mermaids aren’t there? Which one’s your diary thing? I wanna SEE!”

“Coming.” Ford huffed out another sigh and picked up the pace.

#gravity falls #stangst #rewind #chapter 2

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ve1vetyoongi · 5 years

Text

take a sip | jjk

summary: Your best friends engagement party was a dreadful reminder of your painfully barren dating life. That is until you laid eyes on the tattooed waiter who can’t stop staring - after all, the wine tastes sweet but he tastes sweeter.

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: smut, fluff

au: countryclub!au, waiter!jungkook, rich!reader

word count: 9.4k

warnings: oral (f receiving), unprotected penetrative sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, some dirty talk, (very) soft dom!jungkook, bratty tease oc.

a/n: ITS MY MUHFUCKIN BABY’S BIRTHDAY so i decided to write a lil something to celebrate because i love him with my whole heart shh who said that <3 (p.s this is largely unedited rip excuse any mistakes)

You fell asleep last night so I saw myself out. Thanks for the drinks! — Jungkook.

You crumpled up the note you found folded neatly on your nightstand and dropped it into the trash with a groan.

Another failed attempt at dating. God, you were such an idiot.

Your temples throbbed with the tell tale signs of a hangover, courtesy of a night of reckless drinking at some scummy club that played Top 40 EDM tracks like they were actually good — the drinks were cheap, though, so you put up with the hearing loss more often than you cared to admit.

The words on the note echoed in your head. Last night?

Hazy drunken memories slowly began to piece together, making you wince when you remembered the way you'd clung onto the arm of a dark haired boy in skinny jeans on the dance floor the night before.

How you had shamelessly grinded against him, probably whispering something unnecessarily filthy in his ear.

And even worse, how he had followed your stumbling form out onto the sidewalk, refusing to let you walk through the streets cloaked in night time alone.

"I can call you a cab?" A voice filled with concern.

"My place...'s not far from here..." You had slurred.

What happened next?

He'd insisted on escorting you home, you knew that much. You remembered the way his eyes widened when you stumbled into the lobby of Paradise resort -- the elite residential area your father paid ungodly amounts of money to be a member of -- instructing Jungkook to rummage in your bag for the key card that would let you inside.

"You live here?" He had asked, straightening his simple white T-shirt when he took in the grand chandelier and the classical music humming overhead which boasted the highbrow nature of Paradise, a juxtaposition to the casual setting in which you'd met. You noticed the way he'd ogled your red bottomed shoes, probably putting two and two together now.

"Mmf," you had mumbled into the crook of his neck as he helped you climb the stairs to your suite. "Parents are rich."

You remembered asking him if he wanted a drink and then watching his own hands pour a shot of whisky when yours proved too shaky to get any of the liquid in the glass.

You remembered the tattoo which started at the base of his neck beneath rosy stains from your lipstick, the design curving down his arm and ending in a rose on the back of his hand.

You remembered how said hand felt warm when it cupped your cheek and how his lips were sticky with the sour taste of alcohol when they touched yours in a way that set your body on fire with a craving to never stop.

You remembered how he carried you to your bedroom, face scanning yours with something that looked like concern when the alcohol in your blood stream had you slurring your words. How he laid down next to you, body heat comforting as your eyes fluttered closed.

And you remembered how you fell asleep like that, wrapped up in a near strangers arms before you'd even asked his name.

Jungkook. That must have been it.

He didn't leave his number. Were you even surprised?

Ugh. What did it matter anyway? It wasn't like you were ever going to see the dude again.

While you were popping a painkiller out of the blister packet, swilling your dry tongue with water to get rid of the lingering flavour of vodka that made you want to blanch, you heard your phone buzz nearby.

2:45, Somin: — Are you up? Don't forget my get together tonight. — I can't wait to show you the Pinterest board I made with wedding ideas!!!!

And there it was. The literal headache of your life that no amount of painkillers could soothe.

Your best friend Somin was getting married.

And you were happy for her, you would swear it to your grave...

Another buzz.

2:47, Somin: — P.S. Namjoon will be there 😜 I have a feeling you'll get along great.

You just didn't see why she felt the need to pressure you into following in her footsteps.

"We're getting married!" She had announced one afternoon while you sipped Chardonnay on the sun deck just in time to gaze at the resorts badminton team taking the field for a game from a nearby balcony. She had been hanging off Hoseok's arm all day, a sparkling diamond on her left hand nearly as big as the mushy grin on his face. "Can you believe it?"

"No." You had answered, voice tight and a little too high to give off the I'm-happy-for-you vibes you had hoped for. "I can't believe it."

It was true; Hoseok had been a member at Paradise for as long as you could remember and last time you checked Somin wasn't in any hurry to get married.

Until she learned of Hoseok's six figure income. Eye roll.

After that it was all wedding this and wedding that and when are you getting hitched because it's suddenly socially unacceptable for me to be friends with someone not in a financially convenient marriage.

So that's why you almost said no when Somin had booked you in for a wine tasting session at the resort's most luxurious bar in celebration of the engagement. Sure, you liked drinking the stuff as much as the next person but Somin's mindless gloating about her dashingly handsome CEO boyfriend-turned-fiancé couldn't be drowned out by even the strongest of liqueurs.

Neither could her fruitless attempts at setting you up with Kim Namjoon, Hoseok's rich best friend.

Sure, she liked to think that her intentions were generous, but deep down you knew it was because there was one thing Somin couldn't stand: a smudge on her perfect reputation. And right now, you were the dirty mark she just couldn't clean.

But you promised. To be happy for her and to actually turn up. So you found yourself choking back an excuse invovling your self inflicted headache and dragging yourself to her engagement party despite your reservations.

You could see the distaste on her face when you arrived at the bar ten minutes late, black cocktail dress and fur jacket a far cry from the pretty pink number she'd picked out for you to wear to "impress Namjoon."

Her face darkened even more when you strutted straight past the place marker labelled with your name in her delicate scrawl atop of the seat next to Namjoon himself in favour of slumping down into one of the empty seats beside her at the head of the table.

The truth was you didn't want to date a Namjoon or a Hoseok or any of the other guys swirling aged alcohol in their glasses at the party. You didn't want to be one of the wives hanging off their arms and smiling pretty when they gloated about their business promotions.

Was it too much to want some passion? Something more than a social statement? Maybe you were living in a fairytale you just didn't want to wake up from.

Instead you popped a grape from the intricate table piece displaying a range of wines into your mouth, gathered a deep determined breath and willed the alcohol you were about to pour down your throat to make the night go by faster. Because each time you caught a glimpse of Namjoon your mind drifted back to the pretty boy with tattoos. The one who had held you in his arms and made sure you got home safe and kissed you with a passion unlike anything you'd felt ever before—

"Ma'am? Can I get you anything else?" A formal voice shook you from your thoughts. A voice that sounded strangely familiar.

"Huh?" You started rummaging through your bag, retrieving a cherry red lipstick and a pocket mirror, the tell tale marks on the rim of your glass a sign you needed to touch up.

"I asked if I could get you anything?"

You could see the torso of a young man in the distinct Paradise uniform in your peripheral, barely even glancing in his direction before you were waving him off.

"Im fine, thank you uh, Jeon...Jungkook?"

Your lips curled around the name on his name tag before you could stop yourself.

The lipstick in your fingers clattered to the ground.

It all hit you too quickly, like the breath was sucked out of your lungs. The tattooed forearm that peeked out from beneath the black shirt stretched across his torso, the slightly chapped lips that formed a small 'o' when you locked eyes for the second night in a row.

Except this time you weren't giving him bedroom eyes from across the dance floor and he wasn't ogling your bare legs in the cocktail dress you were wearing because this time it was his hands that shook as he poured wine into your glass and you were expected to tip him generously. Because he was your waiter.

A heat flushed your cheeks and you scrambled to pick up your lipstick but Jungkook was quicker, his hand brushing yours. The contact was brief but you shivered when he pressed the container into your palm.

Jungkook cleared his throat, wiping the shocked expression from his features while you stared at your hand, still processing.

"Better be more careful, ma'am." His voice was formal again, serious. Exactly how a waiter should speak to a customer.

"Y/N." You stammered, daring to look him straight in the eyes for the first time. "My name is Y/N."

Jungkook seemed taken aback, swallowing hard when his gaze dropped to your lips before he was averting his gaze bashfully and pinching the inside of his hand, as if to chastise himself.

Cute.

No! You were not about to admit that he was cute or that were regretting falling asleep last night because goddamn how can one guy have dimples and thighs that look so good in those pants? You resisted throwing your head in your hands and diverted your gaze from his hot cheeks to the tattooed hands which fidgeted at his sides instead.

"What are you doing here?" Your voice was but a whisper, hoping to avoid funny looks from Somin although she seemed engaged in a particularly enthusiastic debate about wedding cake toppers luckily for you.

He started at your voice, seemingly too invested in letting his eyes run over the cleavage which peeked out of the top of your dress to hear you. Huh.

His professional resolve seemed to break. Did he remember last night? He was sober enough surely... "I-I..."

"Excuse me, sir? Do you have any more of that Chateau Margaux? I'd like to taste it again."

The bubble around you and Jungkook popped. His head jerked, attention drawn back to his job and before you could prod him further he was straightening his tie and scurrying across the room in search of some expensive brand of wine.

You took a glug of the liquid in your own glass. Maybe he didn't remember you after all...

You thought back to the way he'd practically done a double take when he saw you. No. He definitely remembered. You could tell by the way he kept glancing up at you from beneath the choppy bangs that covered his eyes, fiddling nervously with the row of black studs littering his ears whenever he thought you weren't looking in his direction.

Everyone around you was engaged in mindless chatter but you were no longer interested, choosing instead to stare over the rim of your glass at the tattooed boy across the room. The Paradise uniform he donned was a far cry from the skin tight leather you'd seen him in last night but you had to admit he still managed to make the black get up look hot.

Maybe he was clumsy or maybe he could feel your eyes on him, a light blush creeping onto his cheeks as he very nearly dropped a crystal wine glass and you had to stifle a giggle, drawing funny looks from the people beside you. You saw a smirk appear on his own lips when he saw how you awkwardly covered the slip with a cough.

The night seemed to drag on as you tried to make small talk with the other guests, desperately trying to ignore the way the waiter's eyes burned into your back. Every moment felt like a fight to focus on Somin's lips as she drawled something about the wine being very dry and you found yourself just nodding where appropriate, too busy remembering how good Jungkook's lips had felt pressed to yours last night.

That's when the idea struck you. It wouldn't be so bad to make it up to him, right? Show him what he missed out on, per se, now that you were marginally more sober. And there was no time like the present...

Perhaps the alcohol had gone to your head. That would be a reasonable explanation for why your head span dizzy with a rush of excitement. For the first time that night you felt something other than utter dread. Something was drawing you to him - something you knew you should just ignore and focus into one of the other more...suitable suitors sitting across from you.

But you couldn't get Jungkook out of your head, especially now he was stood dangerously close to you yet somehow so far away at the same time.

Would it hurt to finish what you'd started the night before?

Oh god, you thought to yourself as you retrieved a pen from your purse, uncapped it and scribbled a note onto a serviette next to the signature Paradise logo. This is a bad idea. The disapproving voice in your head was not enough to stop you from handing the folded napkin to another waiter, a hushed whisper in his ear sending him on his way to the tattooed boy wiping down a table across the room.

You cleared your throat. "I'm going to use the ladies room."

Getting to your feet, the chair scraped across the tile a little too abruptly, drawing everybody at the table from their conversations. The way you folded your napkin was too careful, a ploy to avoid their gazes in fear of giving away your true intentions.

"Wait! I'll come with you." Somin announced, throwing back the red liquid which sloshed at the bottom of her crystal glass. She started to fiddle with the strap of her bag, nearly already on her feet before you were shutting her down hurriedly. Shit!

"No!" You started, Somin's eyes widening as you waved your hands wildly in a gesture for her to sit back down. "I mean, no! You're the host, you can't leave the guests alone at your own party."

"Oh." Somin fell back into her wicker chair, eyebrows still furrowed at your fervent outburst. She looked a tad hurt at your rejection of her company to powder your noses or whatever she assumed you were slipping away to do (the thought of you getting it on with the waiter of all people probably too unimaginable to even cross her mind) but you didn't have time to feel bad about it - besides, she'd probably forget once one of the blonde girls beside her asked whether she planned on honeymooning in Paris or Prague - as Jungkook was unfolding your note, glancing over your scrawl before scanning the room with wide eyes for the sender - you.

"Hello, earth to Y/N?" Somin's voice snapped you out of your vacant stare, momentarily drawn away from checking out Jungkook's ass to stare down at her. "Will you be okay?"

"What? Oh yeah, I'll be fine." You managed to pull your crimson lips into a tight smile, the action appeasing Somin a little when she settled back into her chair, crossing her bare legs under the table. You were in the clear - now you had to make your escape. "The bathroom is just over there." You said simply, considering but resisting an I'll be back before you know it knowing you would probably be a while.

With that you pulled the strap of your designer bag tightly around your shoulder, excusing yourself with a reassuring smile.

Your red bottoms clicked against the tiles in time with your pulse which only quickened when your hand reached the exit, evening air caressing your face as you slipped through - but not before throwing your hair across your bare shoulders, eyes immediately landing on Jungkook as he fidgeted with the napkin between his fingers. The wink you sent him caused a hot flush to creep up his neck, visible even from where you stood and you ensured to sway your hips a little more than usual while his eyes burned into your back.

A few minutes later and you were stood with your knees knocking on the balcony, the door flying open and sending a slightly sweaty, panting Jungkook tumbling straight into you full force. His eyes widened comically, staggering to a stop but not before his arm was curling around the small of your back instinctively to ensure your balance.

His chest ended up flush to yours, palm a little too close to your ass and he looked nearly as shocked as you did, lip pulled between his teeth as he jerked away from you, as if suddenly remembering something. Probably the fact that you had the power to get him fired for touching you indecently without permission - not that you minded, in this instance.

"Ma'am I'm so sorry-"

"Please call me Y/N." You corrected him quickly. "And it's fine. Not as if I've got anywhere better to be."

He looked down at his feet, swallowing thickly as another blush carressed his cheeks. God he was so cute. "I, uh, had to get someone else to run the tables...can I ask you something?"

"If it's about last night then I wanted to talk about it too." You butt in before he can finish.

You practically heard him gulp at that, looking past you as if meeting your gaze might turn him to dust or something. "Why do you even want to talk to me now you know that I — you know — work here?"

A flirty smile tugged at your lips, your arm brushing against his a little. "I think you know why I want to talk to you."

He coughed anxiously in response, tugging his arm away to interlock it with his other behind his back like they tell the workers here to do, scuffing his black shoes in the gravel.

"Did I..did I do something wrong?" He looked startled." I really need this job so if there's anything I can do to make it up to you.."

You cut him off. "No! Of course not-" You tilted your head, thinking your next words through carefully. "Honestly? I'm the one who should be saying sorry for last night."

His head tilted, confused. "Why? You didn't know who I was so I'm the one in the wrong-"

"It's not that!" He twisted the rings on his fingers, still not soothed. "I'm embarrassed because I had way too much to drink and you were still nice enough to take me home."

"Oh." He scratched his neck, shaking his head with a smile. "Don't be embarrassed, it's the least I could do."

"Well I am," You persisted. "And I wanted to say sorry..."

"Not necessary," He insisted. "I had a good time with you, actually."

"You know, I wanted to kiss you goodnight. Before I fell asleep, like an idiot..." You began to close the space between you. Here goes.

"What?" He smirked cheekily. He seemed to be getting a little more comfortable, the small talk making him forget your social differences. "Are you gonna show me what I missed out on?

"Precisely."

"Wha-"

And with that you placed both hands on his shoulders, no time to acknowledge how broad and strong they felt beneath your touch before your lips were pressing tentatively against his own. You felt him tense beneath you, breath hitching as your teeth grazed his bottom lip.

His reaction was not what you were expecting — his arms pressed to his sides firmly, eyes wide and stiff as his lips stayed still against your advance. You pulled away quickly.

Jungkook's fingertips grazed his lips and you took a step back, allowing a little more breathing space. You turned sheepish. "Sorry, I probably shouldn't have done that."

A few beats of silence followed and it was as if all the confidence you possessed previously melted away into a pitiful puddle beneath your heels. God this was so embarrassing.

Not only had you kissed one of the waiters but he didn't even want to kiss you back.

You fiddled with the fur around your shoulders, desperate to hide your shame. Jungkook was still stood like a statue, mouth open in a small 'o' as he gawked at you.

Clearly you read the signs wrong and he wasn't interested. Idiot.

"I'll be going now." You spun on your heels, tears threatening to prick your eyes with sheer embarrassment at your misjudgement.

"N-no!" Jungkook rushed forward, taking hold of your elbow, forcing you to meet his gaze. "It's not that I don't want to..."

Your interest perked up at this. "Then what?"

"It's just...why do you want to? You know.."

"What?"

"K-kiss me." A small smile graced your lips when he stuttered over the word. Anybody would think he'd never kissed somebody before. "I-I mean, you're you and I'm...me." He looked clueless as if the idea of you wanting him was completely off the cards batshit crazy. It was, in some ways, you supposed.

"You didn't mind last night." You mumbled.

"That was before you knew who I was."

"And you think I would have asked you to come back here if I cared about that?" You studied his face properly for the first time. The quirk of his brow at your question, the way the corners of his mouth twitched cutely and his eyes, staring at you firmly for the first time then.

"I guess not..." He swallowed before squaring his shoulders. As if he was telling himself a mantra. Be confident. "Can you kiss me again?"

You took a step forward again, enjoying the way he shivered lightly when your hand traced up his arm.

Jungkook's lips were parted now, his tongue snaking out to wet their chapped surface. His hands twitched, desperate to reach out and touch you but never quite gathering the confidence to do so; you admired his self control - you weren't sure you would be able to stop yourself from touching him everywhere now he said you could.

With a deep breath you stood on your tiptoes. He was a few foot taller than you, his lips a fair distance from your own until your were closing the gap, his eyelashes fluttering closed against your cheeks this time as you pressed your mouth flush to his in a kiss rougher than the last.

Jungkook's lips moved against yours immediately this time, slotting the damp flesh of his bottom lip between yours. You couldn't help but tug on it a little with your teeth, enjoying the way he sighed into your mouth when you did so.

He was still being careful, treating you as though you were a piece of the fine china he polished eight times a day upstairs. You grabbed both of his hands, placing them firmly at the small of your back and letting out a breathy laugh when he immediately began to rub circles with his thumbs into the flesh of your hips. He was just waiting for the opportunity, willing to give the attention you craved if you allowed him to.

Your own hand had snaked up the back of his neck, tentatively tangling in the hair at the nape and angling his head to crash against yours harder than before.

You could feel yourself getting lost in the heady aroma of his woody cologne, a warmth you recognised as lust pooling in your stomach when he drew you flush against his chest.

His warm skin scorched yours, sticky lips sliding against yours a little too lewdly for the public setting - despite your current predicament you weren't one for PDA - and you found it hard to pull back for air, his forehead coming to rest against yours, panting as you admired his reddened, swollen lips.

"Is there anywhere we can go that's more private?" You managed to get out between laboured breaths, hand coming to cup his cheek gently as he nodded a little too eagerly, knocking your heads together. He bowed his head, apologising bashfully as he removed himself from your hold.

"Y-yeah." He stammered, making you giggle at his awkwardness. "I think I know a place."

His eyes dropped to your hand, as if debating whether he had the balls to take it and before long he was nodding decisively and lacing his fingers with your own firmly. His palm was clammy, testament of your effect on him but he squeezed tightly anyway, dragging you behind him around the back of a bar and into a little back room labelled VIP’S ONLY.

The room was cool enough to have the hairs raising on your arms, glass cases filled with rows of chilled wine bottles lining the walls. You realized this must be one of the private rooms which country club members booked out if they wanted to share a few drinks with a little more privacy.

"Nobody comes down here unless we get a special request." Jungkook asserted as he fiddled with the light.

The place was plush, typical of Paradise - a faux fur rug on the ground, even its own chandelier - and of course, two chairs around a table, already set up with matching glasses, as if someone had been expecting you to wander in here with a good looking waiter. Perfect.

You discarded your jacket and reached for a bottle of red on the middle shelf, the glass cold to the touch. It looked expensive. You would have to add it to the bill upstairs. "Care for a drink-"

You were expecting an answer but Jungkook wasn't listening, his hands wrapping around your wrists and pressing you against the shelves with an audible thump, the bottles rattling precariously but you were too focused on the way Jungkook scanned your face hungrily to care.

It was as if he couldn't wait any longer, the grip keeping your arms suspended enough to bruise; his broad chest wracked with his laboured breath, your own body squirming beneath him as he hovered over you and effortlessly made your legs turn to jelly.

Then his lips were on you; everywhere and anywhere they could find an expanse of skin, mouthing harshly at your exposed collar bones and then your neck before nibbling gently at your jaw and drawing a breathless whine from your lips when his tongue slipped out to sooth the grazes left by his teeth.

You couldn't take the teasing any longer, tilting your head so his lips were in line with yours and he wasted no time in connecting them.

Unlike before he took control, crushing your lips with desperation. When you felt his hot tongue slip into your mouth you practically melted against him, a damp throb appearing between your legs. He tasted of whisky and grape and you already found yourself addicted.

Jungkook was already out of breath, panting lightly into your mouth when he let go of your hands in favour of allowing them to curl around his neck, crushing his chest against yours close enough to feel the way your heart was hammering.

Jungkook let his hands trail down your sides, touch firm as they edged closer and closer to the curve of your ass. The action had you writhing, willing him to just hurry up and touch you like you could tell he wanted to but he hesitated when you let out a frustrated moan into his mouth, clearly mistaking it for discomfort.

"Sorry," He ripped his hands away, resting them more modestly on your waist. He was blinking at you now, somewhat shy again, the way he drank your bare legs in hungrily the only evidence of the rougher Jungkook from before. "Got carried away. 's cause you look so pretty."

You practically flushed at this. His choppy fringe was covering his eyes, but the dark arousal was still evident in them, even if his lidded gaze was cautious. His lips were smudged with your red lipstick and you imagined yours were not in any better condition.

"I liked it." You assured him, trying your best to calm the waver in your voice by biting your lip as seductively as humanly possible when your head was spinning with the scent of his woody cologne and lust, tracing your hands down his arms encouragingly and removing them from your hips to guide them beneath the hem of your skin tight dress to cup the flesh of your ass directly this time.

His hands were burning hot against your bare skin, a delicious contrast to the cold wine cooler against your back. Jungkook shuddered above you, letting out a groan - an actual one, not like the choked ones he'd been suppressing until now - unable to stop his swollen lips from bumping against yours again and you smirked into the kiss mischievously knowing you had found a chip in his resolve. "You're not too bad yourself, by you way."

"Shit." Jungkook gasped, hot breath mingling with yours, torso shifting uncomfortably. Although he seemed desperate to hide the growing arousal in his pants, the noises that left his mouth weren't doing much to conceal it — and as soon as you rolled your hips up to brush your own crotch against his momentarily he was falling apart, knuckles turning white as he staggered to grip the shelf above you like his life depended on it. "Ah s-shit!"

You rolled your hips again, enjoying the way his head fell into the crook of your neck. He hissed into your hair every time his bulge brushed against the cotton of your panties, his length rock hard in his pants to the point you considered it may be painful.

"You're already this hard?" You managed to get out between a small moan of your own as his hips stuttered into action, meeting your thrusts in a way that put pressure directly on your clit which was pulsating by now.

"Can't help it." he admitted, squeezing his eyes shut and focusing on the feeling of his cock circling your clothed heat, desperate to get any relief.

He was lost to the feeling and you took advantage of his lowered guard by flipping him over and slotting yourself between his legs, pulse racing when you caught the look of surprise on his face. Never allowing your body to stop moving you were diving for his neck with an instinct nearly primal, leaving open mouthed kisses down the centre. His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, choking back a strangled moan when you found his sweet spot - just behind his ear - and began sucking at it teasingly.

So he was a sucker for neck kisses, huh? Interesting.

You couldn't help but feel proud that you managed to get him to practically melt beneath you, his hands grabbing at your dress in any attempt to pull you closer to his body, as if you weren't already grinding on his hard cock with your mouth latched onto his neck intent on leaving a mark. Your heart swelled every time he let out a little gasp, pleased it was you making him fall apart so easily.

You removed yourself from his neck, looking up at him through your lashes as you let your fingers trail down his stomach, the ache in your heat intensifying when you felt the toned muscles of his abs beneath his shirt. Your fingers found the button of his pants, fiddling with it until the warmth of his big palms covered yours, grip firm enough to stop your ministrations entirely. You furrowed your eyebrows, confused. "You don't want me to?"

"God no, fuck I do," Jungkook managed to stammer. His voice was thick with lust, the huskiness making your core throb for attention. "Jus' wanna make sure you do, that's all."

You smiled at the way his lips parted cutely, scanning your face for any sign of hesitation. You pushed his hands away, palming him through his trousers and returning to your previous ministrations by making quick work of his pants button. "Believe me I want to." You confirmed before untucking his shirt, allowing your hands to roam beneath it. His breath hitched when your fingers explored his bare skin for the first time, smirking at the way he tensed beneath your touch.

Jungkook licked his lips in anticipation, eyes trained to the hand slipping beneath the waistband of his boxers. The whine that left his lips when your hand finally wrapped around his cock had you rubbing your legs together, panties sticky against your sensitive folds. Jungkook's head lolled back against the shelf, eyes squeezed shut as you ran your hand up his length once and then twice. His pants were pulled down enough to expose the reddened head of his cock, clit pulsing as it twitched when your palm smeared the wetness that gathered there down his shaft.

"F-fuck," Jungkook got out between gritted teeth. "Feels so good."

Your core was practically dripping by this point, desperate for any relief, hole clenching around nothing when your hips tried to grind against something, anything to no avail.

Jungkook must have noticed the way your bit your lip in frustration, wasting no time trying to offer you some much needed relief by hooking a hand beneath your knee, encouraging your leg to wrap around his waist and sending you straight on to his semi-clothed cock.

You both let out a groan when your panty clad core began to move in circles against his nearly bare length, your sensitive clit finally getting some attention.

You reached between your bodies to wrap your hand around his length again, using the palm of your hand to massage the swollen head in time with the roll of your hips. Jungkook's face fell into your shoulder, muffling a strangled moan next to your ear. "I'll c-cum if you keep this up, fuck."

His words went straight to your heat, eyes fluttering shut and pace turning sloppy as you lost yourself to the feeling of his length slipping up and down your sopping slit, the blunt end of his cock so close to your needy hole that he could fill you right up if you just moved your panties to the side, a visible wet patch appearing on the cotton as the action made the fabric cling to your folds.

"I want you so bad," Your words slurred, brain completely clouded by arousal and everything Jungkook - the way his hands gripped your hips firmly, guiding you through the motions, the way his lips let out hot gasps of air against your neck with every twist of your hand, the way his cock was already leaking needily against your palm. "Fuck."

"P-please," Jungkook muttered huskily, nibbling in the lobe of your ear. "I can't — please just let me..." His sentence drew out into a low moan when you squeezed his cock, halting your movements in favour of looking up at his fucked out expression.

"What?" You were curious now. His cheeks were rosy, breath quickening when you pulled back and allowed him to look between you at where your hand was wrapped around his shaft, then back up to your expression which you were aware was probably just as fucked out as his. Truth be told you would let him do literally anything he wanted to right now, let him have you in any way but you needed to hear him say it first. "Let you what?

Jungkook licked his lips, hips bucking up lightly into your hand that still didn't budge. Cute. "Let me taste you — fuck please."

The words alone nearly sent you over the edge, clit throbbing at the thought of feeling his lips around it, mouth forming a small 'o' as Jungkook finally let go of all his shyness. "O-oh — fuck okay."

Your mouth was dry, legs putty under his lustful stare. Permission was all it took for him to snap, sweeping you up of the ground with his palms under your ass, legs naturally curling around his waist. He grunted when your fingers tangled in his hair, tilting his head back to connect your lips in a heated kiss while he stumbled to throw you down roughly on the table.

"You're driving me crazy, you know that?" Jungkook never left your lips as he hovered over your body, encouraging you to lay flat against the surface beneath you. His arms slid up your waist to find your arms, pinning them next to your head harshly. "Leave 'em there."

You did as he said, enjoying this bossy side of Jungkook. Before he was cautious, eager to please you but careful not to scare you away; now he was too far gone to care, desperate to get you out of your clothes and wreck you as quickly as he could, all worries dissipating when his hands roamed across the swell of your breasts.

His large palms cupped your tits through your dress, though the low cut didn't leave much to the imagination, your hardened nipples visible through the fabric. The way you bit back a moan as his fingers brushed the hardened buds made the corners of his lips turn up slightly though it was quickly replaced by an open mouthed gawk when he got the spaghetti straps down your shoulders and pulled down the front of your dress.

"No bra?" He spluttered, wide eyed.

"N-nope." The hitch in your voice as he cupped your breasts skin-on-skin was unmistakable.

"F-fuck." He whispered, taking in the way you squirmed beneath him every time his thumb stroked your hardened nipple. He looked almost amazed at the effect he was having on you. "You're so hot shit." That came as more of an unconscious after thought, his mouth already latched onto your nipple and flicking it sinfully with his tongue before you could respond.

His hand snaked between your legs, dragging up and down your inner thighs a few times before finally settling on your core. His thumb slipped beneath your panties, finding your clit immediately making you keen at the sudden contact. He rubbed firm circles into the swollen bud, getting you to squirm as you finally found some relief from the needy pulse in your core.

Jungkook's finger gingerly teased your swollen entrance, feeling the way it clenched in anticipation as you panted, desperate to be filled in any way. "Please, Jungkook." His eyes met yours and you could tell he didn't have the strength to tease, your begging enough to have him pushing one of his digits inside you to the knuckle, almost as if he couldn't resist it any longer himself.

"Oh," You couldn't help but whimper when he curled his finger inside you, dragging agonisingly slowly against your velvety walls. "So good - more p-please."

Before you could adjust to the feeling, Jungkook was circling a second finger at your entrance. The slow slide inside had you panting, both digits stretching you open a little more as Jungkook upped his pace so that the lewd sounds of your wetness echoed throughout the vault.

It wasn't long before you felt Jungkook's hot breath against your thigh, his free hand spreading your legs as far as he could. He wasn't on his knees for a near second before his fingers were leaving you despite your whine of protest when your core was once again left with the feeling of emptiness.

Jungkook encouraged you to lift up your ass so he could pool your dress at your waist, now allowing him full access to the place you needed him most. His fingers gently toyed with the waistband of your panties, eyes darting across your nearly bare core like a man starved although he needed reassuring before he could see you completely. "Fuck, just take them off already."

"O-okay." Jungkook sped into action, dragging the cotton down to your ankles and finally taking in your bare heat, letting out a whimper when you gasped at the cold air against your swollen clit.

"Fuck you're so wet." There he was, wide eyed Jungkook back again as he drank in the sight of your dripping heat but you didn't have time to think about how goddamn cute he was before he was lapping a flat stripe up your slit, head falling back against the table with a whine instead. "Mmf tastes so good."

"It's y-you who got me like this." You managed to stammer between laboured breaths when his pointed tongue began to target your clit, the sensation almost too much to handle, your legs determined to close around his head if it weren't for his fierce grip around your thighs keeping them open.

"Me?" Jungkook sounded breathless, hot breath ghosting across your dripping folds and making you shiver. "God I want to see you cum on my tongue."

The hot throb between your legs only intensified hearing Jungkook speak with a new found confidence, the glint in his darkened eyes conveying his determination to make you come undone with just his mouth. And judging by the way your breath hitched every time he teasingly grazed his teeth across your needy clit it wouldn't take much. "I'll come just listening to you talk if you don't — oh."

Jungkook didn't wait for you to beg even though you would have if he'd asked you to, instead throwing your legs over his shoulders, pads of his fingers attacking your clit and prodding against your clenching entrance with his tongue. You were writhing again as soon as you felt him push inside, unable to keep your hands pressed to the table any longer and instead finding your fingers twisting into his curls to encourage him to keep going.

"Fuck right there," you panted when he pushed a finger into your heat, the way it curled against your sweet spot combined with the feeling of his tongue lapping noisily at your clit enough to have you tugging his roots mercilessly. " 'm gonna cum—"

The coil in your stomach was tightening rapidly and you could feel your high approaching, a few more flicks of his tongue all it would take to have you coming undone, you were sure of it.

Jungkook's hand slid up your body to fondle your breasts greedily, his fingers twisting your nipples painfully slow in comparison to the way his mouth devoured your slit. The sudden pleasure made you writhe and he had to use his other hand to hold you against his tongue, snorting when you whined a little louder than you wanted to.

"Want you to cum for me so bad," he coaxed, tongue getting sloppy now as he opted to pull your clit between his lips instead, sucking obscenely, the motion enough to tip you over the edge with a cry. Your power of your high had tears spilling down your cheeks, thoughts wiped of anything other than the way your legs shook with your release and Jungkook's thumb stroking your hip encouragingly. "That's it, let me see you cum."

Your hands pressed him against your folds firmly and he moaned into your mound - at your neediness or at your hole clenching deliciously around the fingers that still pumped into you throughout your high you couldn't tell - but the vibrations were almost too much against your sensitive clit.

"Fuck Jungkook, I can't ugh." Your fingers found the collar of his shirt, pulling him upwards until he was face to face with you again. The sight of his lips glistening with your arousal was enough to kick start another bout of lust pooling in your stomach, the way his tongue cheekily swiped as much of it from around his lips making you dizzy with want for him - all of him.

"You're pretty when you cum." He spoke softly, still trying to regain his breath as he hovered over you. You must have appeared as speechless as you felt - a testament to his ability to give earth shattering orgasms with just his tongue - and it made him furrow his brow, eyes darting away from yours bashfully. "W-was that good for you?"

You connected your lips to his in a reassuring peck, the tang of your own arousal mixing with the wine which still lingered on your tongue from earlier. "Fucking incredible."

A smile spread across his features at your confirmation, knuckle wiping away the tear of pleasure that streaked your cheeks. You couldn't help but return his grin, slowly dragging your hands down his chest until they reached the hem of his shirt.

"Wait!" Jungkook tensed. "W-we can stop now if you don't wanna..."

"But I do want to," Nipping at his neck had him shuddering in your grasp. "Need to. So bad." You got out between kisses across his cheek, getting ever closer to his sticky lips.

"Sure?" Jungkook's hands came to cover yours, gently guiding you to raise his shirt like you were itching to do. Anything to see him. "I'm happy to just get you off."

"Fuck, why are you always the one being nice to me?"

His shirt was around his neck by now, muffling his breathy laugh as he shook the garment off. "I think I'm the real winner here after that."

You leaned back onto your elbows in an effort to drink him in - the real him, not the him covered by a baggy uniform - his broad shoulders, the tattoo that curved across his shoulder, tiny waist dipping into a perfect V at the hem of his pants. "I'm definitely sure."

If you didn't know better he was unsure of your prolonged stare, almost looking as if he wanted to wrap his arms around his chest to hide from your gaze. In all truth you were just glad to not be the only one who was exposed, reminded all too suddenly that you were semi naked, core on display for him.

He seemed to remember too, zoning in on your tits and groaning when you pressed your hardened nipples to his chest skin on skin. "I can't believe how hot you are." His warm hands cupped your chin. "Can't believe you're letting me see you like this."

"Me neither," You breathed, Jungkook's eyes widening. "How hot you are I mean."

His adam's apple bobbed when you managed to shimmy his trousers down his thighs, pupils dilated with anticipation or need you couldn't tell.

"Let me suck you?" You had to resist licking your lips, mouth nearly drooling at the thought of returning the favour and wrapping your mouth around his hard length. He had felt heavy and long in your palm earlier and you had to swallow thickly to ignore the way your core throbbed at the thought of his hot cock fucking your mouth mercilessly.

"I-I don't think I'll last if I feel your mouth." Jungkook's hand cupped his bulge through the fabric of his boxers, hissing at the contact.

"Are you sure?" Your fingers clasped his wrist, bringing his hand to your lips and fluttering your lashes at him innocently when you wrapped your tongue around two of his digits. They still tasted of you and the thought alone had a moan caught in his throat and you knew you had broken him when he pushed his throbbing length against your leg, desperate for some relief.

"Shit, that's so hot." Voice barely a whisper, mouth agape as he studied the way you guided his fingers in and out of your mouth messily. "But I nearly came just from eating you out so —"

You sighed with mock exasperation. "Then just fuck me."

"F-fuck you? Now?" The surprise in his tone at your request was almost comical. As if he hadn't just eaten you out on this very table and fucking you was somehow crazy in comparison.

You traced the head of his cock through his boxers with your fingertip teasingly, holding back a moan at the wet patch which appeared on the front of the fabric. His breathing was almost as ragged as yours, hips lightly bucking into the contact. "I wanna cum with you inside me."

Jungkook's eyes bulged, a groan leaving his throat. "I-I can do that."

"Good." You let your lips connect, biting down on his lower one cheekily. "Be a good boy, hm?"

Jungkook's eyes squeezed shut and he let out a shaky breath when he covered your hand with his larger one, guiding it under the waistband of his boxers which quickly joined his trousers around his ankles. He hissed when you smacked his hand away, finally able to stroke his length properly.

"Fuck I need to be inside you right now." He stammered, palm squeezing your shoulder tightly as he tried to control his breathing when you twisted your palm around the sensitive tip of his cock. "I won't last otherwise."

You let up your unrelenting pace on his length and he let out a sigh of relief. He must have been really holding back huh? You bit your lip when you felt him pulse in your palm, your entrance clenching in anticipation for what was to come. He felt girthy and you nearly whined at the thought of how good he would stretch you out. How good it would feel to finally have him filling you up like you wanted.

"Please." You felt him spread your legs as far as he could, his hand replacing yours at the base of his cock. He stroked himself a few times as he drank in the way you shuddered beneath him, core soaking and completely on display for him.

"Look at you," He murmured huskily. "All pretty and spread out for me."

"F-fuck Jungkook, what are you-"

Jungkook ran the head of his cock up and down your slit agonisingly slow, a gasp leaving you when the action provided some much needed relief to your pulsing clit before he was circling your entrance teasingly. "Want me to be a good boy huh?"

His eyes were darker than ever before, utterly consumed by lust and the way they bore into yours made you writhe. "Please I need to feel you, ugh."

Jungkook put pressure on your clit again, leaving your hole feeling emptier than ever. "Would a good boy do this hm? Tease you like you tease me?"

"No - ah!" The head of his cock slipped into your entrance, arousal dripping down your ass now in anticipation for the full thing. As much as you tried to push back onto him, slide down his shaft and feel him fill you completely, he was unrelenting. You had to admire his self control considering the way his cock twitched against your heat gave away just how close he was.

"Y-you never even looked at me before today," Jungkook breathed, hips stuttering with a desparation to sink into your velvet heat. You tried to reach between your legs in an attempt to relieve the ache in your clit but Jungkook was too quick, pinning your wrist to the table. "But now look at you, about to cum around my cock yeah?"

"Mmf, please Jungkook I need you." You gave in, begging now. "Need you so bad oh my god—"

"That's more like it." And then he was sinking into you, slow enough to feel every ridge of him drag against your velvety walls. Once he bottomed out he let his face fall into the crook of your neck, completely lost to the feeling of you clenching around him. "So tight, fuck."

"Move!" You pleaded, scratching at his bare back. He obliged, hips snapping back until he was almost falling out of you before he was sliding back in again, both grunting at the feeling of him finally stuffing you full.

Hearing the way he slid in and out of you so easily, the squelching sound audible over his thighs slapping against your ass every time he bottomed out made you even more eager to take as much of him as you could, twisting your hips to meet his thrusts and making him groan when he saw the way your face twisted with a desperate pleasure.

"Want me that bad baby?" The pet name made your heat pulse. Jungkook hooked his arm beneath your knees, pulling your legs together above him, the action making your entrance even tighter than before and allowing him to hit deeper than ever, the head of his cock brushing your sweet spot with every stroke. "S-so fucking close." He stuttered.

You managed to open your eyes, taking in the way his long hair stuck to his forehead, beads of sweat glistening across his tattooed chest as he focused all his attention on ramming himself inside your pussy with a roughness you didn't think he was capable of. You weren't sure you'd be able to walk once he was done with you but it felt too good to beg him to stop.

Jungkook felt the way you clenched around his rock hard member, confirming you were just as close to a second high. He began to roll his hips upwards, his pubic bone grinding against your clit with every thrust of his cock and by that point you were lost to the pressure building in the pit of your stomach.

"Gonna cum again for me?" Junkook's lips brushed against your ear lobe, hot breath making you shudder. "G-going to fill you up so good, fuck." He was just muttering to himself now, earlier shyness lost to the feeling, filthy words turning you on even more knowing the fact.

"Mmf gonna c-cum." You managed to stammer between thumps of your heart.

"What will your friends think when they see you've been fucked out nice and good?" A strangled moan left him at the mere thought. "My cum dripping down your legs? Ah!"

That was all it took to have you cumming around his length, vision turning black as you felt the tension in your core finally release, his hips stuttering as he found his own release deep inside your pussy, the feeling of him filling you up making you whimper with oversensitivity.

Jungkook's pants were hot against your neck and you pulled him to your face by the collar, smirking when he struggled to move his lips against your own, still completely lost to the blissful feeling of his cock softening inside you.

"T-too sensitive." You mumbled against the corner of his mouth when he wriggled his hips, his eyes snapping open and scanning your face for discomfort before he was slipping out of you with a small gasp.

He took your face into his palms, planting one last kiss to your swollen lips before he was giving you a bashful lopsided smile. "Sorry I uh, got a little carried away."

The way he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly made your brain scream cute, cute, cute, before you were returning his grin. "I liked it."

He seemed surprised. "Y-you did?"

"Mmm." You shimmied your dress back down around the curve of your ass, shamelessly ogling Jungkook's naked torso as he buttoned his trousers back around his waist. "Couldn't you tell how hard I came?"

"Not as hard as I did!" The words sounded a little too eager and Jungkook sucked in a breath, dropping his shirt before it could even make it around his shoulders and making his red cheeks burn harder. "I've kinda uh...noticed you for a while now. Like before we met at the club..." He admitted.

Cute but the implications of his words made you wince. Why did you only just notice me?

You were eager to put him at ease. "Well, you definitely made a good first impression." That made him smile a little. "How about a sorry gift? For keeping you waiting?"

"What?" He asked cheekily. "You gonna give me a tip or something?"

"I didn't think of that," You mused. Instead you picked up your soiled panties, slipping them into the back pocket of his trousers with a flirty smile. "Maybe next time."

"N-next time?"

#btssmutclub #bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfiction #bts #jungkook imagine #jungkook scenario #happy birthday jungkook!#my writing #fic: take a sip

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spootiliousrps · 5 years

Text

Its in the Stars (Ineffable Husbands)

Stranger: [3:30am:] Coming over. C I have a gift. C

You: Of course you are more than welcome, dear. However, considering the time, wouldn't it be better if you stopped by in the morning? A

Stranger: No. C Needs to be now. C You're not busy, are you? C

You: Not with anything of importance. A Is everything alright? A

Stranger: Do you have company? C

You: No. A

Stranger: OK. C I'm fine. C

Stranger: I'll be over soon. C

You: Very well. I'll put the kettle on. A

Stranger: No need. I have Starbucks. C

You: Oh. Lovely! A

Stranger: I got your regular. C

You: Thank you. That was very thoughtful. A

Stranger: No compliments. C On my way. C

You: I will see you shortly. a

You: A

Stranger: Good. C

You: [paras?]

Stranger: [Sure! I could start?]

You: [yes, please.]

Stranger: It didn't take Crowley long to pull up outside Aziraphale's bookshop, suggesting he was already on his way when he texted the angel. Not even bothering to knock, he took his 'gift' and the Starbucks from the passengers seat, heading into the building, going into the backroom. "Starbucks. And, uh, I found this... the other day. Thought you might like it," he said, holding out what was clearly a book of some kind wrapped in brown paper. "It's a first edition, so I thought that'd be something you'd enjoy. And it's an apology gift for showing up at 3:45 in the morning."

You: Aziraphale straightened from where he was setting down a small tray of tea cakes as Crowley entered, gaze turning towards the Demon. He hesitated as the book was held out, the words taking a moment to sink in before he brightened. The Angel was practically beaming as he rushed to take the book, the drink Crowley brought him all but forgotten. "A book, how lovely!" He commented already beginning to unwrap it in his excitement. He always did enjoy adding another one to his collection. Each one was near and dear to his heart, he could even list them in chronological and alphabetical order if asked, without missing a single title.

Stranger: Crowley was never good at presents, finding things by himself was a struggle, especially Aziraphale, who liked books. It was difficult to find books when you could barely read the titles and didn't know which ones were good. So, Crowley had enlisted the help of a bookshop owner in another part of London who had their own collection of first editions. They had gone through some suggestions after Crowley had gone in with the line 'I'm looking for a gift for my angel,' and the man had assumed that that meant partner. Eventually, they came across a first edition Moby Dick and the title struck a cord with the demon, it sounding vaguely familiar. So, he'd purchased it. "If you already have it, I can take it back. Or you could sell it... It's up to you, angel. Coffee?"

You: Aziraphale moved to sink down into his large reading chair. "Just set it on the table, if you would, dear." He replied giving a wave in the direction of the coffee table, gaze glued on the book. It so happened that Aziraphale did in fact have a copy of a first edition 'White Whale' in his collection. It had come in in fairly poor condition but the Angel may have preformed a few small miracles to ensure it would survive for years to come. This however... This was far more special than any 1st edition the Angel could have acquired himself. This was from /Crowley/. He wondered how long the Demon had thought about the gift or if he had simply passed by it and thought of the Angel. Either way, it was more precious than anything else in Aziraphale's collection. A smile split his features as he carefully opened the pages a hand caressing the pages. "It is beautiful, Crowley. Thank you so much. I adore it." He breathed softly, obviously still awestruck by the faded and torn paper. "Where did you find it?" He asked curiously.

Stranger: Placing the coffee onto the table, the demon sat down and cleared his throat, thinking back. Four hours spent sitting in a damp bookshop while a man called titles out to him, Crowley not feeling like any of them would be the one he was looking for. Not that he had a specific idea about what book he wanted to get Aziraphale, but he felt like he would know the right one when they got there. Instinct. Watching the angel caress the pages in such away that it looked like Aziraphale was holding the most important thing in the world made him nervously bite his lip as he waited for the verdict. And then finally, the words came. 'Beautiful'. The breathlessness in his voice was what caught Crowley's attention the most, his /physical/ reaction to the novel. "Oh, just wondering around. It caught my eye," he lied smoothly, taking a sip of his coffee, watching outside, the stars taunting him. He used to be so close to them, used to touch them and adjust them and now he was so far away, banished from the realm of stars and plants and moons and... Heaven. The feeling of loss hit him like a tidal wave. "So you like it then?"

You: Like it? Aziraphale's soft smile was evidence enough as he lifted his gaze to meet the Demon's. "I love it Crowley." He reassured, taking in the slender man's silhouette against the dim light outside. Crowley look... almost lonely. Still, his stark red hair and yellow gaze seemed just as beautiful as ever as Aziraphale set the book aside carefully. "It is perfect." He added before standing. "But hardly important enough to make a surprise visit so late. What is going on, dear?" He asked moving over to stand next to the Demon, peering out into the night.

Stranger: He seemed to come back to himself as the angel fell into place beside him, turning his head to look at him, just for a moment before turning his head back to the window, up towards the stars and everything he was missing. A forced cough as he cleared his throat and he shrugged, shaking his head. "nothing. Nothing's going on, everything's fine. Exactly as it was yesterday and the day before and the day before that... And every day before that for over six thousand years," he murmured, eyes flickering between the stars, following the glimpses of red in his vision. "Everything is... perfect," he forced out, finally. The empty feeling settled in Crowley's stomach like it did almost every day for the past couple millenniums. Emptiness and loneliness and guilt that he kept locked away tight in a box and shoved it to the back of his being. Demons didn't feel lonely. Demon's don't feel guilt. Except Crowley.

You: Aziraphale pursed his lips at the reply before following Crowley's gaze upwards and taking in the stars. He allowed silence to fall between them for a little while, simply basking in the beauty of the night sky, barely visible through the lights of the street. He gave his own small cough and suddenly everything wen dark for a few miles. Of course the power outage was localized and nothing bad would come of it, miraculously but it was enough to make the sky crystal clear. Every star was visible. He gave Crowley a sideways glance, gauging his reaction. He knew they were his work before the fall. It was one of the reasons the Angel chose to live in Soho. It was the perfect stage to admire his work. "Stunning." He mumbled softly, gaze returning to the sky. "A true piece of Art."

Stranger: The breath Crowley let out was shaky, blinking to stop a tear that threatened to fall down his face. Don't you fucking dare. He couldn't- Hell, he /wouldn't/ give them the satisfaction. It was the perfect punishment from Her. Fall. Spend thousands of years looking at your work in the sky and know you will never be able to touch it again. His jaw clenched and then twitched as he began to grind his teeth together. Fall and every night you will be reminded that you Fell. See the stars and know you will never be an angel again. Know that I will never forgive you. Aziraphale's side glance earned him a viewing of Crowley with a clenched jaw, his eyes glazed over, lingering on the specs of light in the dark sky. "Hardly," he finally muttered, turning away and walking over to the bottle of whiskey that he'd left here a long time ago, removing the lid of his Starbucks and pouring a generous amount of the amber liquid into the steaming coffee cup, his back now to the window.

You: Aziraphale's heart sank a bit at that but he didn't move to follow, knowing Crowley probably wouldn't appreciate it. Instead, he moved to step closer to the window peering out. "I think so." He admitted softly. "I think that it is the second most beautiful thing I've every laid eyes on." He admitted, his tone soft but pleasant. "It reminds me of Heaven and all of the Angels I use to know up there." He admitted. "It reminds me of when I got to see the great Raphael shape them individually. It reminds me of the Garden..." He paused; He knew who Crowley use to be but he wasn't sure if the Demon knew that he did. "Do you remember how clear the sky was back then? You could see every nebula." He hummed, a fond smile playing on his lips. "It reminds me of you." He admitted. "It reminds me that I'm not alone down here... That I have more now than I ever could have hoped for in Heaven. It, to me at least, is happiness because all I can think about when I look up at them... is you." He explained.

Stranger: It was the name that hit him like someone slammed a car into him. He rested a hand on the table and hung his head for a moment, trying not to give off too much of a reaction. He wasn't supposed to remember. He made it a personal rule of his own, that he would never tell Aziraphale who he used to be, what his old name was. Crowley remembered white wings and the sound of his name on the Almighty's tongue, remembered the fondness She'd held for him. Although that was all gone now. That had been what was weighing on his mind that night, the memory of his Fall, the flames that engulfed him, burning him up so he could be Reborn. Raphael. He hadn't heard that name in a long, long time. "Didn't realise you saw that. Besides," he murmured, rising to a stand once more and taking a large gulp of the whiskey doused coffee. "I remember exactly how clear it was. I remember everything. The first rainstorm, the feeling of your feathers as they brushed my skin. I remember the stars and the sky and every nebula. Every galaxy." The words made him gulp once more as he turned back to Aziraphale, bringing a hand to wipe his face, wiping the few tears that fell. "You think about me?"

You: Crowley's pain broke Aziraphale's heart but there was very little to do about it. He could only attempt to comfort the Demon, to help him. The Angel glanced back at him and offered another genuine and fond smile. "Of course I do, dear. You're the most important thing in my existence." He pointed out as if it were nothing more than a fact. "How could I not. To be honest, most things remind me of you." He gave a small shrug.

Stranger: He stared for a moment. Not in the 'you've got two heads' kind of way, but the kind of stare where he just... slowly melted at the words, unable to believe those words just came out of the angel's mouth. Finally, he brought the cup to his lips and took a sip while dragging his eyes away. "What about books? Or the bookshop? Or... your first edition Oscar Wilde?" He asked, running his thumb along a couple spines of the books that were closest to him. "The stars were... Well, Raphael's work. Obviously. Why does that remind you of... me?"

You: "My books /are/ quite dear to me." He acknowledged, glancing about them. "Especially my first edition hardcover Oscar Wilde. But in the end they are books, Crowley." He offered, though it obviously pained him to say. "They're memories, moments in time. You, however are my closest and dearest friend. I would burn it all to the ground if I had to to save you. Though I certainly hope it will never come to that." He sighed, shifting from foot to foot, obviously not enjoying that particular subject. "As for the stars." His smile returned, a mix of amusement and care. "There are a number of reasons. Though I suppose its mostly because of the Garden and the late night discussions we've had on the roofs of buses or in museums over the years." He explained, leaving out the fact that he was aware of who Crowley had been. It was probably best if he didn't mention it, in case Crowley wasn't aware, though he doubted that was the case.

#Ineffable husbands #ineffable boyfriends #aziraphale/crowley #crowley/aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #omegle #rp #roleplay #Good Omens

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sideshowjazz · 4 years

Text

The Subtle Art Of A Balanced Life

Summary: Jon is most of the way through his first year of university at The Magnus Institute of Arts. He’s stuck in a melancholy of nostalgia for a past that he hates and pining for a future he can’t possibly know.Then Michael shows up. and things go horribly, wonderfully wrong.

Chapter: 2/?

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Existential Terror

Read On AO3

Jon wakes up and his face is burning. Not like a hot flush but a searing pain that makes his world spin even though he’s laying down. Jon reaches out to touch his face and finds a bandage covering most of his cheek. Confused, he tries to sit up but falls back on the bed.

“Wait, what?” Jon’s voice sounds distorted and hoarse in his own head.

He doesn’t remember how he got in his bed. Jon remembers the pub, going outside for some air and...

Suddenly a wave of dizziness washes over him as he remembers the strange apparition from the alley. He can still hear the echoes of it’s laughter rattling around in his skull and his face burns worse than over.

It’s Tim’s voice that brings him back to the present. “Oh good, you’re up.”

“Nominally, yes.” Jon’s voice has a bit of sarcasm to it which is a relief.

“Well that’s better than you being passed out at least.”

Tim is a tall man. He’s got dark curly black hair that’s not that much different from Jon’s. But where Jon’s hair is a wild mess from inconsistent hygiene, Tim’s is mused and curled in such a way that couldn’t have been anything but intentional. And Jon’s spent enough time waiting outside the bathroom in the morings to know how intentional it is.

“So,” Tim continues and it takes all of Jon’s strength to pay attention. “You wanna tell me what happened?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I did.” Jon says glibly.

“Probably,” Tim smiles without humor. “But I did have to drive to the ER at 4 AM to pick your ass up so I think I deserve some kind of explanation. Even if it is bullshit.”

“It was 4 AM?” That made Jon’s head spin. It hadn’t been long after midnight when..

“Yeah, Basira and Georgie found you outside the bar. You were covered in blood.” Tim’s voice had taken on a more serious tone.

“Oh God,” Jon sat up and ran a nervous hand through his hair. “Are they okay? They weren’t attacked were they?”

“So it was an attack then?” Tim steps forward and places a hand on Jon’s shoulder. “Jon, what happened?”

So Jon begins to explain. He tells of the strange man in the alley, of his voice that makes Jon dizzy just thinking about it. He tells of how it knew his name and how it sliced up his face with sharp hands. For his part, Tim listens intently. He has always been good at that. It’s one of the things Jon likes most about him.

Tim’s voice is tense with thought. “So this Michael thing shows up to scare you and slice you clean but doesn’t stick around to hurt anyone else?”

“Maybe he’s scared of the police finding him?” Jon proposes. But it’s ridiculous. A thing like that had nothing to fear from the cops. Truth be told, Jon doubted it had anything to fear from anything.

“Doubt it.” Tim slaps Jon on the shoulder and Jon nearly keels over. “But whatever the reason, we need to be careful. Okay?”

Jon nods. “Right. Now do you mind leaving me for a bit? I wanna call Georgie and let her know I’m okay.”

“Yeah I don’t wanna be there for that.” Tim smiel his best easy smile and Jon watches him walk out of the room.

The call with Georgie is difficult. She asks the same questions Tim did but Jon decides to leave out the more… upsetting aspects of the encounter. If Michael is something otherworldly then Jon doesn’t want Georgie to have to worry about it. Thankfully she seems to buy his “drunk vagrant” excuse for who assaulted him. Jon briefly wonders if the thing that calls itself Michael would be angry about being called a vagrant but he puts that out of his mind.

He decides to go get some tea from the coffee shop down the road. Mindful of the bandages, he changes his clothes and starts off. Tim doesn't say much, just raises an eyebrow and tells him to be careful.

The walk from his and Tim’s shared apartment to the coffee shop but the whole way Jon is checking over his shoulder. He swears he sees a flash of blonde curls in the corners of his vision and Jon swears he hears the sound of a wooden door slamming on the wind and he’s nearly panicking by the time he steps through the door of the coffee shop.

Jon stops dead as the voice of one of one of the baristas floats over to him. “Hello, I can take your order at the bar.”

It’s Martin.

A million thoughts race through Jon’s head at once. He wants to turn around and walk right back outside. But the memory of those shutting wooden doors and a cruel laugh on the wind keeps him inside. He supposes Michael’s done him a favor by scaring him in here. But Jon can’t see it that way. He wants to march up to the counter and demand Martin tell him why he left. But that’s stupid too. He has no right to that information and he knows it. There’s no reason he should feel anything about Martin leaving. But he does.

He settles on simply walking up to the counter and pretending like nothing’s wrong. Tim would be proud of his rational. “Grande Matcha please, no milk.”

“You do know this is a coffee house right? We serve coffee here.” Martin says in mock sarcasm as he rings him up and Jon can't help but smile, even if the joke isn’t all that great.

“Eh, what’s life without a little adventure?” Jon shrugs.

“Adventure! Jon,” Martin looks him dead in the eyes. “You’re drinking Matcha. I serve this stuff to 30 year old yoga moms and pretentious grad students. You’re not having any kind of adventure.”

Jon lets out a breathy laugh. “Fair enough. I’m surprised you remember my name.”

Martin finishes ringing him up and Jon goes to stand at the other end of the counter to watch him make his tea. Martin’s curly blonde hair is tinted a bit red in the light that drifts in from the store windows. He’s thinner than Jon remembers and Jon knows it’s probably nothing but he can’t help but worry.

“So,” Jon can feel the flush on his face. “How’s life been? I haven’t heard much from you since you uh… left.”

Martin stops, hand poised over the valve for the hot water. “I’m alright, been working here for a bit.”

Jon’s surprised. “Oh, I guess I just haven’t seen you around.”

But he knows that not it. He’s been coming here for almost a year now and he’s never seen Martin working here before. The look Martin gives confirms his suspicions, his face is carefully schooled but his eyes are borderlines panicked.

At a loss for anything else to say, Jon simply lets his words tumble out of his mouth. “I’ve missed seeing you, you know.”

This seems to catch Martin off guard. “Really?”

“Well yeah,” Jon rubs the back of his neck. “I miss having somebody who knows what they’re doing in class. You wouldn’t believe the idiots I have to deal with in there.”

“Bold of you to assume I ever know what I’m doing.” Martin positively grins and Jon thinks it’s the most delightful thing he’s ever seen.

“Okay fair but you were still good company.” Jon says.

“Well,” Martin looks around nervously. “I get off at five. What do you say to the two of us meeting up here and catching up?”

“That sounds,” Jon can’t think of a word to say how wonderful that sounds. “Lovely.”

“Great!” Martin’s voice is high and soft. “See you later, Jon.”

Martin hands Jon his now finished tea and as he does so, Martin’s fingers gently brush Jons’. Jon’s brain doesn’t really know how to process that. It’s a simple touch. It should mean nothing but it means the world to Jon. He doesn’t register the smile Martin gives him as he walks out the door.

Except instead of a small parking lot, Jon walks out into a hallway. Too late, he realizes the door he walked out of wasn’t the glass door of the coffee shop but a pale blue pocket door. How had he not noticed?

The hallway he finds himself in is long, unimaginably long. He looks to either side and sees it stretching out into what can only be described as infinity. The walls are covered in a wallpaper whose swirling pattern is borderline painful to look at. The carpet is yellow with a black rug that bares the same spiraling pattern as the wallpaper. Jon feels his heart sink as he hears the sound of the wooden door sliding closed. Jon turns around, but where there should be a handhold to slide open the door, there’s just twisting wallpaper. He feels along the wall, looking for where the pocket that would normally house the open sliding door. But the walls are solid and unhollow.

“The door is gone, Jonathan.” A voice calls from somewhere down the hallway. Jon turns and sees the impossibly tall apparition leaning against a mirror.

Without the darkness of the previous night, Jon can see it clearly now. It is tall, six and a half feet easily. It’s hair falls down past it’s shoulders and rests along the small of it’s back in tight curls. It’s face is round and soft and deceptively unthreatening. But it’s pale eyes hold a kind of mischievous malice that makes every hair on Jon’s body stand on end. Jon risks a glance at its hands and finds them to be soft and mostly human looking, though they look like they have too many bones in them.

“Where am I? Why did you bring me here? Let me out!” The words tumble out of Jon’s mouth in a rush a pure terror. He only stops when the thing that calls itself Michael raises an overly boney hand.

“I wanted to talk to you Jonathan Sims. And this place is the most private place I know.” Michael’s voice is measured but it echoes down the hallway in a way that makes Jon’s head spin.

“You could’ve just ambushed me in an alleyway again.” Jon says, hoping to whatever god there may be that his bluntness doesn’t offend this creature.

Michael laughs his sickening laugh. “I don’t think you could handle meeting in another alleway, Jonathan. But thank you for the offer.”

“Well,” Jon sweeps his hands out in front of him. “You have me cornered. Now what?”

“Oh I just wanted to talk.” Michael’s grin is wide and full of sharp flat teeth. “And to give a warning.”

“A warning?” Jon’s voice is small. “About what?”

Suddenly Michael is in front of him. A tall looming presence whose eyes are alight with emotions that Jon cannot even begin to trace. “A warning that there are far worse things out there than me.”

And just like that, Jon’s back outside the coffee house, the sound of a wooden door slamming shut dying in his ears.

#the magnus archives #tma #my fanfic

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cassiopeiassky · 7 years

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When Everything’s Made to be Broken (I Just Want You to Know Who I Am) Part 35

Hi everyone! You know how I’ve had the warning of getting pretty dark? We’re here, folks.

Plot: When you inadvertently become a witness to a murder and are suddenly a target for death, it takes a specially skilled soldier and his team to keep you and your family safe.

This will eventually be a is a reader x Bucky fic. The reader, by the way, is a civilian. No super powers, no fighting skills, and by no means perfect.

Word count: 3792

Warnings:

For the entire work: Language (I have a potty mouth), violence, and angst. This will probably get pretty dark later on, and there will be smut. If that’s not your thing, you may want to avoid this story.

Additional warnings specific to this part: Mention of dogs/mauling, implied threats of assault/rape, brief mention of suicide, mentions of anxiety/panic attacks, mentions of parent/child separation If I need to add anything else, PLEASE LET ME KNOW. If you don’t want me to publish the ask, I won’t, or you can feel free to do it as a Nonnie. I will not take offense to any trigger warning requests. Your well-being is important to me and I do NOT want to trigger anyone.

***I do not own any of the lyrics/music in this story, so please don’t sue me for using them***

Tags moved to the end.

WEMtbB Masterlist

Previously on WEMtbB:

Mikhail stands as you walk past, striding toward the dresser so you can put your necklace on; it makes you feel like Bucky’s somehow with you. “Please, lisich… um… miss… Mr. Krakken would like for you to eat and drink.”

“Why?” You don’t bother hiding the resentment leaking from your voice. What’s the point?

“It’s been days! You’ve been supplemented by IV, but you need to eat. Please!” He almost sounds panicked.

You’re almost afraid to ask, but you have to know. “What’s the date?”

“It is the third of January.”

Oh God. You’ve been gone for a full week.

You take a deep breath to quell your panic at the loss of days, but you can’t help the way your eyes dart around the room, looking for something, anything, to make you feel sane and safe. It’s only then that you notice the dull glint of another black metal choker; it’s mostly hidden behind the collar of his button-down shirt, but from what you can see, it’s identical to the one around your neck. “Mikhail…” you murmur as you gesture to your throat, all hostility now gone from your voice, “you’re not here by choice either, are you?”

He looks down for a long moment before meeting your eyes. “No. My father is a Bratva Pakhan, and made some unwise business decisions that negatively impacted Mr. Krakken. As recompense, Mr. Krakken told my father that either his life was forfeit, or that of one of his sons. My father decided that I would be the sacrificial lamb, as it were.”

Mikhail’s confession takes you by surprise.

“I thought I was going to die; I really was not expecting that this would be the outcome. I suppose it turned out this way because Mr. Krakken realized that my father wouldn’t be all that upset over my death; he would actually be much more distressed about the thought of one of his sons working for Mr. Krakken. So here I am.” He pauses for a moment before fixing his eyes on something behind you. “It is my greatest privilege and pleasure to serve the Krakken brothers.” There’s nothing at all convincing about his declaration. There’s no inflection in his voice at all – in fact, it sounds rehearsed. Did he just say that for the benefit of those watching through the camera?

“I’m so sorry,” you murmur after a long moment.

He lifts his shoulders in a halfhearted shrug. “It is not so bad.”

You feel an unexpected surge of compassion for Mikhail. How could it be ‘not so bad?’ What has he been through that makes it seem like this is okay?

“Please,” he gestures again to the food and effectively changes the subject, “eat.”

You plop down on the chair with a heavy sigh. “You’ll be hurt if I don’t, won’t you.” You don’t bother framing it as a question; it doesn’t take much imagination to know it’s possible with these men.

He avoids your eyes as he almost imperceptibly nods. “I, uh, I have been assigned as your personal attendant. It is my responsibility to make sure you are well.”

“Okay. I’ll eat,” you softly concede. Despite how long it’s been, you have no appetite but there’s no need for anyone to be hurt on your behalf, especially if it’s something you can control. Lifting the lids, you find thin oatmeal and buttered toast. There are small containers of peanut butter, jelly, milk, raisins, and brown sugar as well.

“I know it does not seem like much, but it has been a while since you last ate, so you should start slowly.”

With another sigh, you begin mixing the peanut butter and brown sugar into the oatmeal.

“So, um, how would you like to be addressed?” he asks softly, almost as if he’s afraid to disturb you. It’s right then that you make the decision to treat him with as much kindness as you can muster; based on his extremely submissive behavior, it’s quite clear to you that he hasn’t been treated well. At all. Besides, he’s just as much a prisoner as you are, and absolutely none of this is his fault.

“Why can’t you just call me by my name?” you gently ask in return.

Mikhail swallows hard before answering, “Mr. Krakken wishes for you to be reminded that you are his pet, and that who you were before no longer matters.”

“So the purpose is to dehumanize me.” Anatoliy wasn’t bluffing in the car – he’d meant every word of what he said. Un. Fucking. Believable.

“More or less, yes, I am sorry,” he whispers as he looks down at his shoes.

“What an ass.” God, you’re just pissed. Who does this??

“SHHHHH!!! Please, do not say such things! They can hear you!!” He’s thoroughly panicked, but the only think you can think of is Nicolai telling Anatoliy that he wasn’t allowed to hurt you. Well okay then, let’s see how far that goes.

You look directly into the camera. “What. An. Ass.” You speak deliberately and clearly.

Mikhail’s eyes grow wide with disbelief.

You lift one shoulder in a shrug and begin to slowly eat your oatmeal. Apparently the cure took care of Metzger’s infection but didn’t touch the case of the fuck-its you’d developed on the way here.

“Address me however you’d like, I guess. Just don’t call me whatever it is that they call me.”

You pensively stare out the window as you slowly eat. Anatoliy had mentioned that it’s cold in Siberia, so you assume that you’re in Siberia now. It’s…surprisingly pretty. It looks like Krakken’s estate is in the middle of nowhere because all you can see are trees and maybe some mountains in the distance – it’s hard to tell for sure with the hazy clouds – but you’re also well aware that looks can be deceiving. For all you know, there’s a road less than fifty yards away – not that it would do you any good. This goddamn collar will keep you right here.

The next spoonful of oatmeal goes down hard due to the surge of hopelessness that hits you. Even if – no, when – even when Bucky comes for you, because he will, what is he going to do about the collar? You can only assume that it will detonate if tampered with, and if they can blow you up at the press of a button it isn’t as if Bucky can just whisk you away.

Tony. Tony can figure something out, right? But how? He’s good, but he probably needs to know what he’s dealing with before he can create a fix. So how the hell is that going to happen? Is he going to sneak in to inspect it and then hide in your closet while he builds a miracle? Fuck, you don’t even have a closet, just a few dressers and an armoire…

Your mind keeps finding all the impossibilities in your situation and it’s making it difficult to breathe.

Mikhail suddenly breaks into your brooding. “How about solnishko? It is what I used to call my sister.” He smiles sadly. You don’t have the heart to smile back.

|Solnishko – little sun

***

The rest of the day slowly passes, as do the next three. Anxiety has become your constant companion, and you’ve had more panic attacks than you can count; Mikhail does his best to help you, but it really does no good.

You need Bucky.

You stiffen every time you hear someone in the hallway, but no one enters your room except for Mikhail, who tends to come and go throughout the day. He brings your meals, makes sure you’re comfortable, and closely monitors your recovery. He even brings you some books and puzzles, but they don’t capture your attention. How could they? You’re a prisoner for fuck’s sake. This isn’t a goddamn vacation.

The days are awful, of course, but the nights? The nights are absolute hell.

If you really think about it, you can probably estimate the total amount of sleep you've gotten since you woke up after the treatment at roughly six hours, and most of this is obtained during the day in the form of naps when Mikhail is in the room. You can't sleep at night – you’re terrified that someone will come in while you’re unaware. Not that they can't do that during the day, but at least then the room will be brightly lit by the natural light streaming in through the windows; at least then you’d see them coming.

And then, of course, there’s the fact that not thinking about Artie and Jimmy is almost impossible as you lie alone in the dark. There’s nothing else to take your mind off them, especially when Mikhail retires to his own room for the night, but you do your best not to cry. Crying almost always leads to migraines, and you’re fairly certain that Nicolai and Company don’t give a shit, so you try to focus on happy memories instead of the ache of separation.

Plus, you yearn for Bucky – desperately. Without his warmth or the weight of his arm draped over your body, sleep just won't come. You miss him every minute of every day, but it it's sharper at night.

Nicolai is doing this on purpose. You know he’s doing this on purpose – making you wait in this creepy room for something to happen. Making you wait while you miss your kids, imagine worst case scenarios, wonder what he’s got planned for you, wonder why the hell he cares if you’re eating or clean (seriously, what’s up with the department store selection of beauty products?) Making you wait so you have nothing to do but think of Bucky while you fear the worst. It’s a power play – you know this – and you hate the fact that it’s working. You grow more restless and anxious with every passing second, and your only comforts are your necklace and the hoodie that is slowly losing Bucky’s scent.

It’s late afternoon and you are ready to combust when Mikhail enters your room again, looking thoroughly stressed and carrying several large bags.

“I am so sorry solnishko, but you need to begin to get ready. We do not have much time.” He heaves the bags down onto the bed and starts rummaging through them.

“Ready for what?” Sitting around some more?

“Dinner with Mr. Krakken, Kapitan...Anatoliy,” he clarifies at your look of confusion, “and Dr. Metzger.”

Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline. “Dinner? With those fucks? You’re kidding, right?”

Mikhail regards you sadly for a long moment. “I wish I were,” he murmurs quietly. He removes a plastic covering from one of the bundles and reveals a small collection of emerald green cocktail dresses, then turns to hang them in the armoire.

The look of confusion on your face must be clear, because he goes on to explain, “Mr. Krakken insists on formality for dinner, and he wants to present you to the rest of the household. I have been instructed to make sure you look your absolute best.”

Present you to…What. The. Fuck.

“We should start with your hair; it would be best if we straightened it.”

You want to scream with frustration – what the fuck is going on?? Why do they want to present you to anyone and what’s with the dresses? And you have to do your fucking hair?! Why? What is the fucking point?? You’re a goddamn hostage, what does it matter what you look like?

He motions for you to come over to the seated vanity; you shake your head in disbelief but comply with his request. He turns the chair at the last moment, making you walk around both him and it before you can take a seat. He removes your ponytail elastic, and runs his fingers through your hair. “Good, still damp from your shower this morning,” he mutters.

Did you fall down the fucking rabbit hole? You give up on trying to make anything make sense.

He retrieves a blow dryer from the bathroom; he looks…nervous? He plugs it in and takes his position behind you as he begins the process of blow drying your hair. Good luck, Buddy, we’re gonna be here for a while. Your hair does NOT dry quickly.

“Solnishko, can you hear me?” He’s barely audible over the sound of the small appliance in his hand. Not entirely sure if you really heard him speak or if you were just imagining it, you just nod your head slightly. “Good. If we keep quiet, they shouldn’t be able to hear us speaking; the white noise should drown out our words.”

It’s just now that you realize he’s positioned you both so that your backs are to the camera.

“I…overheard some things today. You are to be presented because Mr. Krakken and Kapitan want their men to get a good look at you – they say they want to show off their new pet but really it is to frighten you and to let you know that your fate rests with those men should things go wrong. Please watch what you say; they are very unpredictable.” He speaks in a hushed tone, and if you weren’t intently focusing on his words you wouldn’t be able to make them out. “I…I do not know what this means, exactly, but they say they are going to activate the Soldier. Do you know what this means?”

Damn right you do, but you’re not about to admit it. Besides, Bucky told you that the triggers had been removed, but these men do not need to know that, so you’re better off playing dumb.

He continues when you shake your head slightly; you don’t feel bad about the lie. “Well, they are going to activate him, whatever that means, and as long as he does as they say, you should be safe. I think. But the Doctor said something about the triggers eventually wearing off, and that is when you will need to worry, solnishko, because if he begins to resist, they will use you to ensure his compliance.”

“How?” You don’t really want to know, but you’ll probably be better off if you know what to expect.

“Mr. Krakken will release his Hounds on you.” The horror in Mikhail’s voice is palpable. The Krakkens are going to sic their dogs on you?

“What?” You hope to God that you misheard him.

“The Hounds. Mr. Krakken and Kapitan like to call their men their Hounds; it amuses them. It is also why they call you ‘lisichka.’ It means little fox.”

Oh God.

You’d prefer to be mauled by dogs.

“If the Soldier resists orders, they will make him watch what the Hounds do to you. There will be nothing he can do for you with that collar around your neck.”

“Oh, God…” If you’d had any doubt you were being held by sadists, it would be long gone.

Your heart is pounding in your ears as your mind begins to race. This can’t happen…this can’t happen to Bucky. He’ll never forgive himself; not for whatever happens to you, even though it’s not his fault, and not for whatever atrocities they make him do to keep you away from harm. But what can you do? If you remove yourself from the equation by killing yourself, then they will go after your kids – and you know that there’s no way you’ll be able to convince Bucky to refuse their orders.

How are you going to get out of this shit show?!?

Mikail begins softly speaking once more. “Your friends want proof that you are alive; he will use you to control them, as well. They are also planning another video conference with the Avengers, which will happen tonight. Mr. Krakken and his men will be watching you closely for any reaction – anything you give them will be used against you.”

Your heart starts beating violently at the thought of seeing Bucky, even if it’s just by video chat; you miss him so, so much. You’re going to need to be extremely careful.

“Why are you telling me all of this?” Does he have some sort of motive? Is Mikhail playing mind games with you? He’d seemed so kind to you over the past few days, but collar or no, you don’t trust him. You don’t trust anyone here.

You aren’t sure if he hears you because it takes a while for him to answer.

“What they do is not right. It is not right that they play with human lives as if they are nothing but inconsequential pawns in their game of power. It is not right that they enjoy watching others suffer the consequences of their actions. It is not right that they enjoy what they do. I cannot do anything for myself, but if I can prepare you by telling you what to expect, then perhaps you can avoid unnecessary pain. Solnishko, please, please do not underestimate the Krakken brothers’ penchant for cruelty. They will hurt you just because they can; do not give them any additional incentive.”

Despite the hot air of the dryer blowing on your hair, his comments freeze you from the inside out.

Mikhail abruptly turns off the hair dryer and turns your chair to face the mirror. “I think we will need to put some of your hair up; it will not dry fast enough.”

Apparently the informational segment of your little conversation is over.

He deftly begins twisting small sections of your hair up into a partial updo; it seems like he knows what he’s doing. Catching your questioning expression in the mirror, he begins to explain, “My sister used to run a beauty salon of sorts; I worked for her. We were very close.” Again, the sad smile. “Even from a young age I did not like the violence of the Bratva, so I went into what we used to call the ‘other’ family business. It is likely why my father chose to forfeit my life over those of my brothers.”

It is completely unfathomable to you, as a parent, to not automatically choose to give your own life for that of your child…and your heart breaks for him. It seems like he was close to his sister, so you try to steer the conversation to something that might be a little less painful for Mikhail. “You must miss her terribly. Do they ever let you visit her?” You’re sure the answer is no, but for Mikhail’s sake you hope they surprise you.

He shakes his head sadly, and speaks quietly. “No, she is not there to visit. Kapitan used her and then executed her for my father’s crimes after he collared me.”

You meet his eyes in the mirror. Fuck. “I’m so sorry, Mikhail.”

He nods in acknowledgement and turns his focus to your hair. Several long minutes go by before he speaks again. “I know you have lost a lot, solnishko, and I know that you may feel like you have nothing left to lose since you will never see your children again or be with the one you love, but you do. You do. You need to show them the respect they demand. Do not allow your grief and anxiety make you even more reckless with your words than you already have been. They can and will take things from you that you never considered. Your dignity, your humanity, your virtue, your spirit; if you defy them, they will take it as a challenge and you will become something to conquer, and they will cheerfully do so with any means necessary until you are nothing but a broken and empty shell.”

You swallow hard and bite your lip; you know with an incapacitating surety that he’s not wrong. You also know why he feels free to speak openly about this – both Krakkens would be more than happy to know that Mikhail is doing his best to ensure your compliance.

“Please do not test them, solnishko. It will not end well for you.” He briefly leaves to retrieve the makeup products that are still sitting in the bathroom, unopened.

Fear clenches once again around your heart, and you have to close your eyes and take a deep breath to fight off the panic now fighting its way up your throat.

Mikhail places the makeup on the vanity in front of you, and you stare it as he begins using a flatiron on the loose portion of your hair.

“I don’t want to do this, Mikhail.” Trying to hide the terror in your voice is pointless, but you attempt it anyway.

You also fail.

“I am so sorry, but you do not have a choice in the matter. These are direct orders from Mr. Krakken. You can resist, but one way or another, he will get what he wants. It is better, solnishko, to bend so you do not break.”

You swallow your fear and begin to sort through the makeup. Instead of focusing on how you will be shown off in front of a bunch of men that are waiting for their chance to hurt you, you try to keep in mind that you’ll see Bucky when the Krakkens have their video call. You can get made up for Bucky, even if he’s not really here. Right? Right. He’s more than worth the effort. Yes, you will try to look at it this way – it’s the only way you’ll get through the prep.

***

An hour later you’re finally finished. You ended up trying on a few different dresses, and thankfully found one that fit and wasn’t too revealing. It’s a deep but vibrant shade of green, and under other circumstances you would probably think that it’s a gorgeous dress. It’s a satin wrap with a moderately full skirt that hits just above your knees, and it has a delicate lace overlay. The satin part of the dress is sleeveless, but the lace extends to an elbow length sleeve. The sash is long enough to wrap around your waist twice, and it is the only part of the satin that isn’t covered with lace.

Mikhail also brought a few pairs of black heels; you choose the most comfortable shoes…just in case.

“Solnishko…you may want to remove your necklace. Mr. Krakken may not like the way it competes with the collar.” He sounds regretful, and you appreciate that.

“I suppose that wearing it would be incentive for them to take it, wouldn’t it?” You take his silence as affirmation, and remove Bucky’s gift, placing it in a drawer on the vanity.

“The final touch,” he murmurs as he presents a bottle of perfume, “A gift from the Kapitan.” He says it with a fair amount of disgust, and you’re surprised that he allowed that emotion to leak through considering how paranoid he’s been about the cameras.

“Oh…oh no,” you push the offending bottle away after just one small sniff, “No no no. That – that is a powerful smell. I can’t wear that, it gave me an immediate headache! I’m sorry, Mikhail, but I can’t…”

“But solnishko –“

“It is fine, Mikhail, if lisichka is sensitive to smells, we will not make her wear it. My brother and I are not unreasonable.” Nicolai sweeps into the room – you hadn’t even heard the door open.

Tagging: @rogersxbarnesx @hellomissmabel @beccaanne814-blog @howdoesoneadult @potterandbucky @musichowler @nykitass @danimuhle @iwillbeinmynest @4theluvofall @shifutheshihtzu @iamtal @passiononfire @jade-cheshire @flowercrownsandmetallicarms @lostinspace33 @gingerrootknits @callmebucky-doll @learisa @sammedrano @hardcorehippos @knittingknerdy @vaisabu @widowvinter @amrita31199 @bellenuit45 @agentraven007 @sarahjeaniejean @canumoveyourseatup-no @unpredictable-firecracker @omalleysgirl22 @crazyliraz @shamvictoria11 @kaaatniss @lillian-paige @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @sexyseabass1231 @the-hidden-seeker @denialanderror @nea90sweetie @candyrogers @ijustwanttobepartofyourworld @k-nighttt @almightyunnie @srgtjamesbarnes107 @kimistry27 @maryvmassakre @mghtiestheroes @givemethatgold @manders2487 @fvckingbuckyandsteve @themistsofmyavalon @movingonto-betterthings @katherinem1996 @buckyappreciationsociety @stacyscarlet04 @saffreelove @afangirlrambles @buckysmetallicstump @wpleiades @buckybarnesbestbabe

***If your name is in bold I couldn’t get your tag to work***

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fan fic #bucky barnes #marvel imagine #bucky imagine #my work #when everything's made to be broken (I just want you to know who i am)#WEMtbB #Part 35

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augustawren · 7 years

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101 Questions You Should Be Able to Answer About Your Character

Filled out for Savior AU

1. What is your full name? Do you have a nickname? Uh, I guess my birth name was Fayri Underhill. I go by Wren. Soon to be Wren Meluir. *grins* Thrush calls me Little Bird or Aiwë. Blaise calls me Little One. 2. How old are you? When is your birthday? I’m 20 and my birthday, I just found out, is the 3rd of Maen. So I guess I’ll be 21 soon. 3. Where were you born? Where do you live now? Are you patriotic? I was born in the Rillands but I don’t remember it. I’m from Dolbry, in Saumermere. Am I patriotic? *snorts* Not unless it’s to Dolbry. 4. Who are/were your parents? (Names, occupations, personalities, etc.) Alice and Harper Underhill. Harper is dead and I never knew him. He didn’t try and save me from being kidnapped, so no great loss. I don’t actually know what he and Alice did for work. *shrugs* Alice is okay. She’s kinda nice. 5. Do you have any siblings? What are/were they like? Yeah. I got a sister. She’s fine. I wish we were closer but... *shrugs again* whatever. She left. 6. What is your occupation? Thief? If that counts as a job? 7. How tall are you? How much do you weigh? 2′11.5 ft tall, I’m gaining my weight back so I’m probably about 25lbs. Can’t see my ribs no more, and look at these tits, yeah?? 8. What color is your hair? What color are your eyes? My hair is mostly white but I still got some brown on the sides. My eyes are hazel. 9. What is your race? I’m a halfling (white) 10. To which social class do you belong? The shit one? 11. Do you consider yourself to be attractive? Do others? HAHAHAHAHA no. Thrush does, I guess. Devlin did, I think. 12. What is your style of dress? I like to be comfortable. Breeches and a plain shirt works just fine for me. 13. Do you have any scars? Tattoos? Birthmarks? Other unique physical features? You wanna talk scars? You got all day? There’s the one from a knife across my lips, the ones from a whip all over my back (think 8 years worth of regular whippings), the brand on my left shoulder (circle with two horizontal lines), a few burn scars on my palms and knees. I have two tattoos, one on my right hip of a butterfly (prevents pregnancy) and one on my left forearm of a wren and a thrush flying together. I’ve got freckles pretty much all over. 14. Do you have any allergies, diseases, or other physical weaknesses? One time I ate a muffin with teeny seeds in it and my mouth swelled up and I couldn’t breathe. I got a thing in my right hand where a broken bone didn’t heal right, but other than that, I’m fit as a fiddle! ((she has severe PTSD, dissociative disorders including dissociative amnesia and dissociative fugue, is possibly borderline, and has severe attachment issues)) 15. Are you right- or left-handed? I can use both pretty well, but I guess I write and stuff with my right, but when I’m juggling, my left leads. 16. What does your voice sound like? Ehhh... I dunno? My Dolbry accent is pretty thick, yeah? Sometimes I talk real fast. 17. What kind of vocabulary do you use? The street kind, ya porcelain. 18. List three quirks or other defining characteristics. 1-- I dunno if it’s a quirk, but I don’t like carrying less than twelve knives on me at a time. More, usually, but the baseline is twelve. 2-- I like dancin’. Both with music and with daggers. 3-- 19. How often do you bathe? Do you wear perfumes? When I can, I guess. It’s not my favorite thing to do, unless I’m with Thrush. And no, I don’t wear perfume. I used to use a lavender and honey soap, but I don’t so much anymore. 20. What kind of facial expression do you commonly wear (dour glare, wry smile, etc)? Depends who I’m with. With Thrush I’ve been all smiles lately. I guess in general it’s more a ‘get the fuck outta my way’ glare. 21. Do you use body language? How? Yeah, I guess I can be easy to read. My body language is stiff when I’m pissed off, I dance around when I’m happy, that kinda stuff. 22. Do you have a commonly used saying? Heh, yeah, well, I used to, whenever I’d open a lock, I’d say “you’re the joke and baby I’m the punchline”. It’s funny, yeah? *giggles* And, uh, well, Gabriel always said “no loose ends” and “only worth your weight” so... I still think those a lot. Childhood 23. What is your earliest memory? Ah, you really wanna go there? They’re not good. Um, they all kinda blur together. Being whipped, I guess. Lots of blood. 24. How much schooling have you had? Did you enjoy it? I was mentored and taught by a few member of the guild for several years. I hated most of the book learning, but loved everything else. 25. Where did you learn most of your knowledge and skill? The Thieves Guild 26. How would you describe your childhood in general? Half hell, half hard work. 27. As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up? Uh, well, until I was about ten all I wanted to do was die. After that, I guess I just wanted to be the best thief ever. 28. When and with whom was your first kiss? Widget kissed me when he first got to the factory. I was like six-ish. After that, I kissed Thrush under the holly when I was seventeen. 29. Are you a virgin? If not, when and with whom did you lose your virginity? Nope. I fucked a guy named Leo. Turned out it was a real bad mistake for both of us. He went bragging about it and got nearly all his men killed. 30. Do you have a notorious or celebrated ancestor? Does that affect you? Nope and nope. I’m the notorious one, but I’m not gonna be anyone’s ancestor. Influences 31. What do you consider the most important event of your life so far? Meeting Thrush 32. What do you consider your greatest achievement? Destroying the factory and killing Fang 33. What is your greatest regret? Not going back for Widget 34. What is the most embarrassing or shameful thing ever to happen to you? Wow, you sure you wanna ask to someone who was kept for a slave for almost ten years? Take a wild guess. 35. Do you have any secrets? If so, what are they? See the above. 36. What is the most evil thing you have ever done? Ehh... I dunno. Evil’s kinda subjective. I cut out a half orc’s tongue, eyes, and heart while he was still alive once. And killed his familiar right in front of him. But HE was real evil. 37. When was the time you were the most frightened? When I was little. My last night in the factory. 38. Have you ever traveled outside of your country? If so, to where? Nope. Unless you count other planes, I guess. Beliefs 39. What is your alignment? Chaotic neutral 40. Are you basically optimistic or pessimistic? I’ve been gettin more optimistic, but usually I’ma pessimist. 41. Do you believe in a god? If so, which one and why? I believe that they exist but I don’t exactly worship one anymore. Used to be Yondalla. 42. Do you believe in an afterlife? I guess. 43. What is your greatest fear? Being alone 44. What makes you angry? Sad? Happy? Why? Angry-- when people act like they know what’s best for me Sad-- Innocents suffering Happy-- Thrush, food, dancing, sex, Widget 45. Do you think people are basically good or basically evil? Pretty evil generally 46. What are your views on politics? Religion? Sex? Don’t care about any of it except sex. That I’m all open and free about. 47. What are your views on gambling, lying, theft, and killing? All necessary, and all things I’ve done. 48. How far will you go to defend your beliefs? To the ends of the earth. Pretty sure I demonstrated that in Dolbry, and Ima do it again with this whole Belmont thing. 49. How much do you value money? Only worth my weight. Gold is everything. Gold is life. 50. In your opinion, what is the most evil thing any human being could do? Uh... Be Fang. Enslave and kill kids, do what he did to Thrush and that girl, all that. 51. Do you believe in self-sacrifice for the greater good? Yeah 52. Do you believe in the existence of soul mates and/or true love? Most definitely. Look at me and Thrush. 53. Are you superstitious? Nah, not really. 54. How much do you respect the beliefs and opinions of others? Depends on if they’re stupid. 55. How honest are you about your thoughts and feelings? Not very. Unless I’m talking to Thrush, I guess. 56. Do you have any biases or prejudices? I don’t like dwarves all that much, but that’s cause their food sucks and one of them is married to my sister, which is fucking weird. Dealing With Others 57. Who is the most important person in your life, and why? Thrush. He just is. He’s my world. 58. Who is the person you respect the most? Despise the most? Why? Respect the most? Lou. I never realized what she had to go through until I had to lead people, too. Despise the most? Well, now that Fang’s dead, and Gabriel... Probably Belmont. But Lily’s a close second. 59. Do you have a significant other? Who? In case you haven’t figured it out. Yeah. Thrush. 60. Do you have a lot of friends? Who is your best friend? I guess more than I thought I did. I used to think I didn’t have any. Widget is my best friend. 61. How do you relate to members of the same race? Class? Sex? I don’t know a ton of halflings, but I tend to like them when I meet them. If other rogues are on my side, I love ‘em. Girls are great. 62. How do you relate to members of a different race? Class? Sex? Different races are mostly fine. Wish they were a little shorter, most times. Other classes are fine. Unless you mean social class, then I tend to not get on too well with the porcelains. 63. Have you ever been in love? If so, describe what happened. Yeah, twice. Things didn’t work with Devlin, obviously, and Thrush and I stayed away from each other for a long time, but now we’re together. 64. What do you look for in a potential lover? They’re sexy either in how they look or act. I need to trust them at least to a degree. 65. How close are you to your family? Not close. At all. 66. Do you want a marriage, family, and/or children? Marriage, yes, and we’re about to do that. No to anything else. 67. Do you tend to argue with people, or avoid conflict? Argue. Please see: my relationship with Devlin 68. Are you a listener or a talker? I guess I’m a talker? 69. How long does it usually take for you to trust others? A looooooooooonnnnnnnnnggggggggggggggggggg time. Like, think years. And years. To fully trust, anyway. I trust Blaise and I just met her a few months ago, but pretty much everyone else it takes years. 70. Do you hold grudges? Oh fuck yes I do. 71. Do you tend to take on leadership roles in social situations? Not generally, no. Though I guess I might a bit more after this whole Dolbry mess. 72. Do you like interacting with large groups of people? HA! No. Nooooo. I hate it. Last time it happened, I blanked out and don’t remember what happened. 73. How well do you express yourself? Not very well unless Thrush and I are alone together. 74. How quickly do you judge others? Pretty fast. Sizing people up is what I was trained to do. 75. Do you care what others think of you? Yeah, I guess so. I dunno, I just hate the way people pity me 76. Do you have any enemies? How or why are they your enemy? I guess people who don’t like what I did in Dolbry? And Belmont and his people. Personal Taste and Opinions 77. What is your favorite pastime? Color? Food? Possession? I like to dance and practice tumbling and backflips. I used to draw a little. My favorite color is stormy blue. My favorite food is chocolate cake with raspberries. And my favorite possession is probably my book of elven love poetry from Thrush. Followed closely by my new ruby necklace from him. 78. What are your preferences in arts and/or entertainment? I thought that play about me was HILARIOUS. I like funny things like that, not the weird tragedies the theater people sometimes do. For art, I like Thrush’s drawings and carvings. Soft, flowing things like that. 79. Do you smoke, drink, go whoring, or use drugs? Why or why not?. I drink and sleep around a bit with Thrush. And... because it’s fun? 80. How do you spend a typical Saturday night? Fighting or fucking. 81. What is your most cherished fantasy? Every day is a fantasy with Thrush. But I really can’t wait to have a house with him. I just wanna do regular shit with him. Make breakfast. Sleep in our own bed. Laugh and run naked through the house. 82. How long is your attention span? I can be pretty focused when I wanna be, but I’m not very patient most of the time 83. Do you laugh a lot? What do you find funny? When I’m with Thrush. I dunno, I guess I find a lot of shit funny. 84. Is there anything that shocks or offends you? If so, what? Not generally. I don’t like when people are rude about other people for no reason 85. How do you deal with stress? Depends how bad it is. If it’s real bad, my mind can blank out and I disappear in myself 86. How much athletic ability do you have? Artistic? I can climb and tumble and balance and dance. I can draw a little bit. 87. Do you like animals? Do you like children? Animals are okay. Kids are... weird. I like Trynni, but that’s about it. 88. Are you spontaneous, or do you always need to have a plan? Kinda both. I guess more spontaneous 89. What are your pet peeves? “You’re not being fair” say it to me and you’re dead. People being fake. People being too nice. Self-Image 90. What is your greatest strength as a person? Weakness? I guess I’ve been through a lot of shit. And when you’ve been through shit and survived, people like to call you “resilient” or whatever. As for weaknesses, I’m emotional, irrational, short-tempered, and don’t think things through 91. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? Pretty much everything 92. Are you generally introverted or extroverted? Introverted? I dunno. I used to be a lot more so. 93. Do you like yourself? Not really, but Thrush is helping me see some positives 94. Do you have a daily routine? How do you feel if your day is interrupted? I used to in the Guild, and I kinda liked it. Now time is super free 95. What goal do you most want to accomplish in the next six months? Your lifetime? Kill Belmont. Get a house. Figure out how to live as long as an elf. 96. Where do you see yourself in 5 years? 10 years? 20 years? With Thrush. With Thrush. With Thrush. 97. If you could choose, how would you want to die? In Thrush’s arms. 98. What is the one thing you would like to be remembered for after your death? Doing what I could for Dolbry 99. What three words would you use to best describe your personality? unstable, impulsive, fierce 100. What three words would others probably use to describe you? mischievous, ruthless (according to Grul), cheeky 101. Why are you risking your life to adventure? To save the world, duh. Because I, you know, live in the world.

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