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aesopsharpmybeloved · 1 month

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Wounds Of The Past

A week following his and his young lover's little getaway in pursuit of tenderness, Aesop Sharp finds the pain in his leg, the one that he'd been used to for more than ten years now, lessening...

I would be lost without my dear partner in crime co-author and consultant @tea-withjamandbread, as well as Maarty and her unwavering support ❤

Wounds Of The Past (14.3k)

tw: teacher-student relationship, age gap (reader is an adult), sexual themes (mentioned and alluded to), tooth-rotting fluff

It began in a flurry of shards and bright green liquid staining the floor of his classroom.

Aesop Sharp stared at the mess he made morosely - what a waste of a perfectly good phial of Wiggenweld potion. With a small huff, he waved his wand in the air lazily, and both the broken bottle and its previous contents vanished into thin air.

It was a day like any other for the teacher. Well, a day like any other lately, that is. A mere year ago, his life was drastically different. Alright, maybe not so drastically - just like the previous years, Aesop taught potions at Hogwarts, he regularly got exasperated by the lack of quick wit and good judgement from his many students as well as his employer, he praised rather sporadically, but always truthfully and fairly, he spent time with his friends and colleagues, stayed up long into the night grading essays and pop quizzes, and brewed medical remedies for the Hospital wing. Which is what he was doing right now as well, actually.

And yet, there was one big change, and in Aesop’s eyes (but what’s more, in his heart), the change was so large and significant, the teacher felt like his entire life on this Earth was suddenly all new and exciting, and as spectacular as it was when he was a fresh adult with an idiotic amount of courage and all the doors wide open and inviting.

His heart burned with love.

That’s what it felt like at least.

A year ago, he was just beginning to feel the effects of one very special young Ravenclaw’s presence around him, and after many many months, during which Aesop’s heart bled because he knew that she’d never return the feelings he held for her, it turned out he was very wrong. Christmas Eve of 1892 was the first evening they spent not only in one another’s company, but also each other’s arms, lips hungrily chasing their counterparts for yet another, and another, and another scorching kiss.

The following few months only further proved that this little clandestine romance of theirs was no silly infatuation or some mere temporary absence of sense and reason. Each kiss, each ardent embrace, each and every night spent talking in hushed tones within the comfort of one another’s warmth and the security of their arms, all of it made Aesop feel a sense of belonging he hadn’t experienced in decades. So yes, his heart did indeed burn with love, and it burned with the ferocity of the Fiendfyre spell, making him feel so warm and alive, he still occasionally worried about waking up one morning to find it had all been just one big dream.

And the previous weekend? Well… Aesop wasn’t able to keep a sly little smile off his face when he remembered the weekend… It had been nearly embarrassingly long since he was able to make love to a woman like he made love to his pretty young Ravenclaw. The several one-night sexual encounters he had a few years ago weren’t exactly satisfactory for Aesop in this regard. Of course, he was ever the perfect gentleman and both he and his partner, whatever any of their names was, experienced the pleasure and its sweet culmination during their short encounter. However, this pleasure was always short lived, and Aesop soon found emptiness and coldness replacing the previous passion. While his younger self had no problem changing women with the frequency with which he changed his socks, and grin while doing so, it would appear his current self was no longer interested in empty promises said in the heat of the moment, soon to be replaced by awkward goodbyes and lonely journeys back home. And so he stopped seeking out the comforts and joys of a woman’s arms. Whenever the appetite came, the potions master would simply chase it away with a cold shower, or indulge in the familiar, if lonely, comfort of his hand - no need to drag some poor woman into it and risk accidentally hurting her feelings, he thought.

To be honest, Aesop was sure that this was just how he’ll spend the rest of his life. Pointlessly chasing after the cure for his leg, as well as after students he often presumed positively suicidal, instead of doing the thing his friends and mother implored him to do so very often; Fall in love, be happy. Two goals he presumed to be out of his reach entirely.

But now he was both. And to those who knew him closely, it was, of course, absolutely obvious. And while a part of Aesop was frankly cringing at how transparent the former rather brilliant Auror had become in his joy, the majority of him was so high on this almost new feeling that he often couldn’t find it within himself to care.

How could he, when the memories of the weekend spent with his young sweetheart were this fresh in his memory?

Hands carefully exploring the other’s heated body, mapping out each new uncovered inch as if it was a wonderful new land, full of various beauties and intricacies, freckles and beauty marks, scars, proofs of a life lived, lips eagerly tasting the other’s skin, gliding in tantalising and hypnotising patterns, ones that left shivers and passion in their wake. Two bodies moving against each other, two hearts beating the same frenzied rhythm, oxygen intimately shared, and moans of pleasure cutting through the silence of the room, only ever occasionally replaced by urgent words of love and desire and accompanied by the deliciously filthy sounds of their union.

Aesop decided that it was the best weekend he had in years. Then again, this was something of his young lover’s habit; making him feel the happiest he’s been in years, that is.

Just the thought of her was able to stop him from continuing to stare at the floor where just short moments prior lay the spilled potion and broken glass. And Aesop suddenly remembered just how he managed to accidentally break the phial.

Having brewed and bottled another large batch of Wiggenweld potion for the hospital wing (which was always in high demand, as students seemed to be positively intent on maiming themselves on their brooms during Quidditch… or during Crossed Wands duels. Or during a simple potions lesson on Germinating potion turned utter catastrophe because someone was too dull to read that they were supposed to add knotgrass dew after they added the dried salamander skins rather than before... Or during a perfectly ordinary dinner at the Great Hall….), he automatically took a few phials in order to put them into his magically enlarged breast pocket.

It was a simple muscle memory for him - he brewed, he took a few doses for his leg, he had the rest delivered, and by the time he brewed again, he only had one or two phials left on his person, the new potions sliding into the pocket with ease.

Not today.

The first phial did indeed slip in without a problem. The second one, however, made a soft glass clanking noise when he tried to store it away, making him aware his pocket, though much bigger on the inside, had become full. Aesop let go of it before he fully realised it though, and the small bottle slid down his chest and fell to the floor. A slightly cathartic sound of glass breaking penetrated the silence of the dungeons and that was that…

Aesop automatically leaned against the potions station he was just using (the one his sweetheart used too - it was the newest one in the castle, after all, and the most reliable one), the clogs in his head turning. Pushing his hand inside his breast pocket once more, he began pulling out the Wiggenwed potions there. Six, seven, eight! How in Merlin’s name did he have eight potions in his pocket after… goodness, when was it he last refilled it? It surely couldn’t have been after he returned to his rooms on the Sunday a week ago, could it?

He had returned with his sweetheart in tow, sneaking by the ghosts roaming the castle while its living inhabitants feasted on their supper at the Great Hall, and managed to restrain himself from marking the official end to their little getaway before inadvertently having to return to their day-to-day lives at Hogwarts, unsure of how much time they’ll be allowed to spend together, until he made sure the stash of potions he had on his person was refilled for the following week.

Aesop shook his head. The idea seemed implausible. He was well aware that he had consumed more than a single vial of Wiggenweld potion in the last week; after all, he kept a supply in the chest at the foot of his bed and habitually took doses in his office. Yet, the thought lingered: had there ever been a time when he used only one of the phials he actively carried with him?

Upon further reflection, he realised that despite his deep scepticism, there was irrefutable evidence that he had consumed less of the potion this week - by at least a third of his usual consumption. And it did make sense, in a way. It had been a good week, on no day did his leg act up and bind him to a seating position because of painful cramps restricting him from standing up, which usually happened every other week.

It was… unthinkable. New and a little unnerving. Despite being all alone in the large classroom, Aesop scoffed - for more than a decade, the thing he wanted the most in the world was for his leg to stop hurting, and now… Well, it was hurting still, but instead of the sharp pain that shot from his knee all the way into his hip, genuinely feeling like the bloody curse was burning into his femur and hip bone, there was this sort of strange dull ache that was more annoying than anything else. Almost like the pain one gets after they’ve been sitting in a strange position for an extended period of time, like the sort of pain one could simply shake off…

Of course, Aesop wasn’t as silly as to attempt to shake his leg, in fear that the movement could potentially bring the worse pain back instead of relieving this more bearable one. Still, his curiosity was more than peaked, and after he made sure a couple of house elves would come to collect the few crates of Wiggenweld potion he brewed, he retired into his chambers.

He occasionally delivered the potions himself - after all, the Hospital wing was very close to his rooms. This fact was especially convenient during his worst days, as Norreen didn’t have to run through half the castle to administer some stronger potions to him. Aesop preferred to leave those in her care, as he couldn't trust himself to resist the stronger, more addictive potions instead of the harmless Wiggenweld. However, these episodes of his happened very, very rarely these days, luckily.

No, Aesop truly didn’t have the time to hand-deliver the potions himself and chat up Noreen for a bit right now, he needed to look at the notes he had on the experimental pain relieving potion he took during his and his sweetheart’s outing. A part of him knew that he went over those notes a hundred times while he was brewing, and then a hundred more before he tested the first batch on himself. A part of him knew there was no way the potion could be the thing relieving his pain even now, a week after ingestion. It simply wasn’t possible - the first batch he brewed lasted for several hours, but he could very much feel his blasted leg again the next day… Then, during the weekend, he did think it strange it was working even after he woke up, but he had hardly the time to concern himself with his research when he had a very beautiful young woman to enjoy the privacy with.

Right now though… right now he needed to know. He needed to find the answer. So that he could repeat whatever it was he did that made his leg get better.

And for the first time, he realised that he no longer wanted to do so for himself - he had lived with that pain for a decade, and, in a way, he very nearly made peace with it. Such could be seen when one took a look at his journals - the past few years, he didn’t go through them nearly as quickly as he used to in the beginning.

But now… Now the very idea that he could be healthy again, that he’d be able to walk by his beloved’s side, unbothered by an undignified limp, standing tall and proud like he once did, made his heart thump loudly in his chest… If his leg stopped hurting, he’d at least feel a little more deserving of her love. Less guilty about taking the absolutely incredible creature his Ravenclaw was for himself, and himself only…

The professor unlocked the door of his chambers and stepped inside, the comfort of the space instantly washing over him. These days he was quite tidier than he had been a couple of years ago, and he let the house elves clean his rooms regularly - his shelves, as it turned out, were much more organised and able to contain more things when there weren’t empty liquor bottles haphazardly hidden away in them. Aesop still indulged in a glass or two every now and then, but he made sure not to overindulge too much, and got rid of the empty bottles promptly. After all, he didn’t want the young woman to think she was seeing some drunken bum.

He made quick work of finding his latest notebook even though he had quite a few of them now. Each and every single one was filled from cover to cover, each experiment he conducted well documented, the script with the hypothesis starting off neat and organised, and ending with scrawly, short notes, as he was getting more and more frustrated he wasn’t getting the desired results. The conclusion was once more written neatly, simply explaining that yet another cure idea became an absolute flop.

However, some of them ended on a hopeful note - in his efforts to discover a cure, Aesop accidentally found a different manner in which the potions could be used. Experimental cure #87 turned out to be quite a brilliant cure for sunstroke, and #114 he brewed regularly, as it helped with Bai’s hay fever every summer. And, of course, then there were the experimental brews that weren’t a cure for his leg, but rather little ideas to at the very least help with the pain somewhat. There was Experimental pain relief potion #12, which he’d occasionally add into his bath, as it helped not only with the pain in his leg, but also in his entire body - very useful after a long evening spent bent over ingredients he was preparing. Then herbal ointment #4, which warmed his leg up considerably, as well as made the scar upon his skin itself less sensitive to touch. Aesop found it curious that the scar on his cheek never really hurt after the skin healed, but he supposed that it was because his leg got the full force of the curse, and his cheek was later struck from recoil. And, of course, there was that one brew that started out as a pain relieving potion, and accidentally ended up being a herbal liquor. Oh well, it worked quite nicely as an aperitivo if nothing else, Aesop shrugged.

The potions master found one of the last pages and peered upon the page. Experimental cure #164 was scratched out and Experimental pain relief potion #17 was written above it instead. In his own script he read the conclusion: ‘Despite its effect being strong enough to remove pain nearly completely for 4 hours, 37 minutes and 21 seconds, it began lessening rather rapidly afterwards. Return to original state occurred in circa 5 hours and 13 minutes following initial ingestion. Not ideal - rare ingredients, prolonged brewing time… However, works for intended purposes.’

It was a shortcoming on his part. Only doing one test, that is. That he could admit. Now he was on unfamiliar ground, and there was no clear way for him to be able to test the brew on another subject, to at the very least be able to say with certainty that repeated administration did indeed prolong the effects of the potion. Blast it.

Well, he could at least examine the area to see if there were any signs of the potion's effects on his body. And so, Aesop Sharp walked over to the armchair next to his bed, took a seat, and used his wand to turn on the lamp standing beside it. Placing his wand upon the armrest, he began to unfasten his left boot, soon letting the heavy footwear slide from his leg and land on the floor with a thud.

His hands worked methodically, relying on muscle memory completely. He undid the straps of his suspenders from his trousers before unbuttoning them and pushing them down, sliding them just enough to be able to pull his left leg free. His pants were given similar treatment soon, and Aesop grit his teeth momentarily as the soft cotton slid down the sensitive tissue of his scar there. Aesop was glad to have invested into a high quality lock on his chambers, as he most likely looked just as ridiculous as he felt whenever he was examining his leg for any sort of change like he was doing now - literally half naked, the air of his chambers chilling the toes on his bare left foot, not to mention his family jewels on full display while his right leg was still half covered and booted. Best have no uninvited guests while he was this vulnerable.

He moved with his armchair slightly closer to the bed to be able to brace his left foot upon the mattress and examine his bad leg properly. There was some sort of foggy pale patch upon his scarred thigh, and at first the professor thought it was just some silly trick of the lighting until he turned his leg a bit to get rid of the effect and… nothing happened. The patch remained there. Upon closer inspection, it truly was some sort of strange skin discoloration, but it couldn’t have been something normal, like perhaps a pale patch left from a failed tan - because where on earth would he be tanning in early April? And besides, the pattern was… the pattern was very peculiar indeed. Could it have been the potion’s effect? Surely not, he saw nothing of this sort after the first ingestion, and that was a week before he and his beloved left for their little herb picking excursion.

Besides that, when she undressed him and the two of them explored one another for the first time, he saw no such mark on his leg. The poor limb was like it’s always been, the scar red and angry, its lower part only just becoming less visible because of the thicker hair on his shins. Surely he would’ve noticed! And the second day, too, when he watched her head move between his legs, her mouth so sinfully and deliciously descending upon… Alright, now may not be the most opportune time to dwell on such thoughts, Aesop decided when he felt himself twitch slightly.

Had there been anything on his leg? Aesop couldn’t remember. To be fair, he had way more pressing matters on hand back then, and the lighting conditions weren’t exactly optimal for any sort of medical examination, the sun having nearly descended below the horizon, leaving an ethereal semi-darkness of pink dusk in its wake.

Now however, he could see it quite clearly. Well, clearly… The pattern’s borders were faint, bleeding into his regular skin colour, and the discoloration had been the most obvious across the scar itself. The scar had still been angry red in many places, along its edges in particular, but where the pale patch was, it was almost like… the scar was paler as well? He used the tip of his finger to prod at the tissue gently, and, most surprisingly, found that it didn’t… Well, it didn’t really feel like anything, actually. His finger then slipped along the scar, over to a place that was much redder, and he hissed upon the stinging pain that followed. How strange...

It seemed the pale pattern was sort of wrapping around the scar somewhat, faint, but very much there, from the top of his injury over at his hip bone, all the way to below the knee. When the potions master squinted his eyes, he was able to tell the pattern apart from the rest of his leg easier. Hm… Aesop racked through his brain - the pattern was… oddly familiar… When had he seen it before? It surely wasn’t a symbol he’d seen among the Ancient runes textbooks, and it was not an alchemy symbol either.

It was sort of like a swirl, like a part of a vortex. Where in Merlin’s name had he seen it…

Aesop closed his eyes.

Coldness seeping into his clothes, making him feel like it was infused into his very bones. The damp air of the dungeons. Suddenly, ethereal blue glow. A large unfamiliar chamber, with what looked like the reflection of the entire Hogwarts region in dark water. Four large portrait frames. A door with a glowing swirl upon it…

His eyes snapped open again.

No way.

Aesop nearly sprung to his feet, and very nearly tumbled to the ground right away, tripping over his own boot and trousers. He stumbled back over to his desk, threw open one of the drawers, and pillaged inside it until he found that one journal he was looking for, uncaring whether the other contents of the drawer flew left or right. For all he cared at that moment, they could very much just land inside the fireplace and he wouldn’t have cared. Less than a minute later, he was sitting back down, furiously flipping through the pages. Where is it, where is it?!

There!

A few of the pages within the notebook were drastically different from the others. Mainly because they didn’t contain any of his experiments or refined recipes, but rather his thoughts following one positively insane night that took place more than two years ago now… It was not one’s typical journal entry, there was no composition, some sentences weren’t finished, some didn’t even make sense to him anymore - goes to show how disturbed Aesop had been following the night. And who could blame him? Hogwarts was supposed to be one of the safest places in the Wizarding world, the safest place in Britain, and yet, on that horrible night, the fate of the world as they knew it was at stake, and one of Aesop’s colleagues had lost his life…

The wizarding world was full of old wives’ tales of various levels of improbability and insanity. And that night Aesop found himself in the middle of one of them.

Ancient magic, only visible and accessible to a very few, nowadays nearly fabled, individuals. Yet another Hogwarts secret nobody had known about in centuries, and talk of sources of power so immense, they could very much destroy not only the school itself, but possibly the entire country or more, if they were to fall into the wrong hands. And Aesop put himself right into the middle of it the second he responded to Matilda Weasley’s urgent Floo call for aid, blast his lame leg.

The teacher observed the quick sketches and notes he scratched into the pages of his journal with his quill following the night, wanting to get his thoughts onto the paper in effort to perhaps understand them better. Among them was the spiral staircase leading down, which he had never seen before in his life, despite having been this far into the dungeons several times. Nobody really had a reason to roam there much, not even the students attending both Muggle studies and Alchemy classes nearby, as there was nothing of interest, just a few empty barrels and crates… Another one depicted a grand circular room, adorned with intricate details, ones that many a pure-blood family manor could be sorely envious of.

And then - open double doors holding the solemn darkness of caverns within, despite their beautiful appearance. While what Aesop found interesting those two years back was the cave system and the secrets that lurked behind those doors, right now he was more interested in the door itself, as it bore a very interesting symbol on it - the very same one that seemed to have been burned into the skin of his leg.

Aesop let the journal fall from his hands and slide from his right leg down to the floor, leaning back against the cushions of his armchair.

Fucking hell…

He had some sort of ancient magic attached to his leg, to his scar. Now that he knew what it was, one wouldn’t need his intellect to know just when it got there - after all, the memory of his and his sweetheart’s bodies trembling against one another with their first shared climax was very much fresh in his memory, and he adored to come back to it again, and again, and again. Another one of his shortcomings; he didn’t question the powerful surge of the Ravenclaw’s ancient magic wrapping around their very forms that first night, even after it turned out to be the only time it happened. He didn’t question what it might’ve done to him, or to her… Aesop was one lucky bastard that the magic hadn’t been destructive towards either of them… Could it have been? He knew the young woman used her powers during combat, actually even got to see her do so, which left him both impressed and slightly intimidated, but the magic that night, the feelings it filled his chest with… That was far from any sort of violent or combatant magic…

Still, he shouldn’t have perhaps figuratively shrugged his shoulders about it like he did. Now it was quite obvious that there was indeed some sort of effect, and, unlike with potions and spells, where most effects can be traced back to the ingredients in potions’ case, and to pronunciation and hand movements when it came to spells, Aesop very much doubted there was anything they could use to predict the future of this one. Would it get weaker as time passed? Or would it get stronger instead? It could, theoretically, get stronger - after all, Aesop only noticed it today, and was nearly certain it wasn’t there a few days ago… At least not this visible…

The potions master had no idea how it worked, and his chances to find out were minimal at best. His knowledge about ancient magic went only as far as Fig’s notes and his sweetheart’s own knowledge… which honestly wasn’t quite as much as both of them would’ve liked. The so called ‘Keepers’ were as enigmatic as ever, it was almost as if, without the threat of immediate danger, they lost most of their interest in teaching the young woman anymore. She did go to meet them occasionally, but has described the four portraits as being quite slow at lecturing her more on the subject of ancient magic. Like they were afraid the young woman might not use this knowledge for good…

All in all, somehow he doubted the Keepers would be able to find an answer to the question ‘Is it possible to heal something with ancient magic while having sex?’. Still, Aesop chuckled darkly, it’d be fun to see if portraits could faint.

The professor sighed then. He felt a little lost - on one hand, he was sort of ecstatic - his leg had been hurting less, and now that he was sitting down, he very nearly didn’t feel it at all. On the other hand, he… Well, he was rather afraid to allow himself to hope again. Each and every time he did, the disappointment that followed hurt all the more.

He figured he should tell the young woman too. She had a right to know, considering it was her magic that managed to do something he hadn’t in a decade - long lasting effects. A week wasn’t a lot of time, yes, but it was still much longer than anything else he managed to brew throughout the years…

He needed to speak to her, he needed her to help him make heads or tails of the situation. He could go and find Diana to the Owlery, send a message… but that was entirely too slow. That is, he was too slow, the greater sooty owl herself was faster than lightning. Well, there was only one more way to get the young woman to come to him swiftly… Aesop used his wand to summon one of the heavy blankets he kept in his chambers, and draped it over himself in a way that would make it seem he was merely reclining in his armchair, wrapped up to fight the chill of early spring. When he deemed himself covered sufficiently, and of course after hiding his discarded boot underneath the blanket, he summoned a house elf.

“Please, find (F/N) (L/N), a seventh-year Ravenclaw. Send her to me - tell her it’s urgent that she comes, as there is a… an inconsistency in her NEWT essay…”

With a pop, the elf disapparated and Aesop was once again left alone in his chambers. He gazed into the flames in his hearth thoughtfully. This year truly is turning out to be drastically different from the previous ones, isn’t it… It was not long at all before he heard knocking upon his door. His sweetheart let herself in following his invitation, and immediately came to find him in his bedchamber.

His brain gave out momentarily and his thoughts ceased suddenly when she came into his field of view, looking so casually gorgeous in her crisp white shirt, simple striped tie, and her calf-length black skirt.

She leaned against the doorframe with a sparkle in her eye, one that made Aesop’s heart throb. “An inconsistency in my essay, you say?” she purred, a smile spreading upon her face, before she began to walk towards him slowly, her hips swaying most invitingly. “I-...” Aesop forgot to speak for a minute, completely mesmerised by her movements. “Actually,” he continued, mouth drier than it was a moment ago, “while I adore the way you’re looking at me right now, it’s not the reason I called you here…”

And with that he pulled the blanket up partially, revealing his bare left leg. “Aesop, you’re not exactly helping in making me think you didn’t invite me here for some tender fun…” she chuckled quietly, and the potions master couldn’t help but feel a little smile forming on his lips as well. However, he only raised his maimed leg upon the bed like he’d done before: “Please come take a look at this…” Cocking her head to the side confusedly, the Ravenclaw walked nearer, soon enough bending onto one knee to look at what he was referring to.

“What is it? Has it worsened?” she asked, sounding concerned. “The other way around actually,” Aesop replied quietly, “take a proper look at the skin colour around it - what do you see?” The girl carefully placed her hand on an unscarred part of his thigh and leaned in closer, furrowing her brows.

Then suddenly, as if a switch was flicked, her eyes widened and mouth dropped open in a way Aesop would’ve almost described as comical in a different situation.

“I-... That’s-... How?!” she stammered, observing the scar and the pale pattern upon it.

“I don’t know,” Aesop replied truthfully, “I only noticed it today.”

Then, however, he saw an expression appear on the girl’s face, one that he didn’t expect.

Terror.

“Oh no… no, no, no, no, no…” She began shaking her head, one of her hands coming to cover her mouth, and were those tears gathering in her eyes? “What, what is it, dear?” Aesop asked, his own panic rising. “This is bad, oh Merlin…” she only stammered on, having now gotten up and begun backing away somewhat.

“Darling, please,” The professor quickly grabbed at her wrist, gently but firmly, and started pulling her back towards him. She was breathing hard and looking terribly, terribly panicked when he managed to sit her down upon his healthy leg and wrapped his arms around her. Using one hand, he pressed her face against his neck, and used the other to draw deep circles into her back, making gentle shushing noises. He could feel the dampness of her tears on his collar: “Calm yourself my sweet. Tell me what’s wrong, please.”

“Oh, Aesop…” she whimpered miserably, “I’m so, so sorry…” Aesop shushed her some more: “What are you apologising for? It doesn’t hurt, if that’s what’s gotten you worried. In fact, the pain has lessened considerably.” “That’s the thing, Aesop…” she lifted her head up to look at him: “I… before me, there was another woman, one who had my powers…I may have said something here and there about her before...” The professor listened carefully, not rushing her in her speech, merely looking into her eyes and continuing to stroke her back, “Um… Ever since she began school in her fifth year, like me, what she wanted the most was to rid her father of pain from losing his son - her brother… And after years, she was successful in her efforts. She pulled the pain right out of him. A-and for a while, it seemed to be all good… But then one day her colleague went to find her at her family home, and she wasn’t there… But her father was… He was barren of all emotion. Not just of pain, he didn’t have anything in him left! He became a body with no soul!”

Aesop gulped, much too loudly, feeling his own heart speeding up. Bloody hell…

Taking a few deep breaths to calm himself down, as both of them panicking would help absolutely nothing, he forced himself to think about her words while once more closing his arms around her tight. Right…

“Uh… You said that she was only successful after years, didn’t you?” Aesop asked, his voice quiet and as soothing as possible. He felt the woman in his arms nod her head against his shoulders. “Would you mind telling me how you know that?” His sweetheart took several deep breaths before raising her head again, not meeting his eyes this time: “I found a series of journal entries. This woman, Isidora Morganach, was helping heal people from the plague alongside a few other wizards and muggle doctors alike, but… But while she helped heal the people of their physical illness, she wasn’t able to relieve them of their pain of losing loved ones to the Black death… And so she, I don’t know, she made this spell that extracted pain from people… She’d use her wand, hold it to someone’s chest and pull out what looked like this dark wispy cluster. She’d proceed to breathe it in, and later store it away into containers made of goblin silver… The biggest one being-” “The Final repository.” “Yes.”

“Wait a minute, though-” Aesop said, feeling slightly less panicked. “If she managed to fill that giant thing to the brim with pain-”

“She extracted pain from others. From Hogwarts students, from anyone she could…”

“Then not all of them must’ve turned into soulless beings.”

“I-... What?” Her eyes, red from crying softly, finally met his own. “You heard,” Aesop spoke, feeling more confident, “that thing… it’s the most powerful thing I’ve ever seen, filled to the brim with magic… and it wasn’t even the only one, you said Ranrok got his power from below the Rookwood castle. She must’ve really taken the pain of dozens, perhaps even hundreds - and if each and every one of them subsequently lost all emotion because of it, well, it would have been noticed! It would have been written down. That’s not something people could ignore! Did you… Do you know of anyone else who had their pain extracted by her?” The young woman in his arms thought for a moment before her eyes lit up: “Professor Fitzgerald!”

“Who?”

“She was the Headmistress here when Isidora was a student and later a teacher, as well as one of the Keepers - Isidora took her pain as well!”

“And did she lose all emotion?”

“I don’t- I don’t know. Her memories only showed the immediate aftermath… I-... I have to ask!” the Ravenclaw was just about to rush away from him, no doubt into the direction of the Map chamber, but Aesop held on tight: “Just wait for a minute, dear. You also mentioned that you actually saw the process too. From, uh, from what I remember, there never came a point during which you pointed your wand at me, and extracted something from within me, did it?”

She thought for a moment: “No… No, there really was no moment like that… Can I… Can I take a look at your leg again?” With a small smile, Aesop finally allowed her to stand up and leave his embrace. She kneeled in front of him again and looked at his leg carefully. “This is… it’s also different,” she murmured as if more to herself than to him, “it’s not the dark wispy thing… and it’s not the red glow I saw Ranrok and his loyalists give off… But there is a glow…” Aesop’s eyebrows furrowed. A glow? He didn’t see any glow… Was she just talking about the fact the pattern was lighter than the rest of his skin, or…?

“I think it’s the blue one, I can’t… I can’t really see it clearly…” she kept on talking, even quieter than before. “Darling, I cannot see any glow…” he replied, still trying to see what she was talking about. “I… Well, you wouldn’t. I think only I can see it. Professor Fig couldn’t see it either…”

“Ah, right. However, you’re saying that it doesn’t look like the magic that this Isidora of yours was wielding when she extracted pain from people, right?”

“Right.” “So there is a chance I won’t be losing my emotions.”

“I… I hope so…”

“And so do I. Why don’t you, uh, why don’t you check up with the former Headmistress - perhaps her portrait will be able to tell you more,” Aesop said finally. His heart had calmed down somewhat, though his head was still reeling a little. His beloved nodded her head frantically. But then she looked at him: “You said it hurt less now, didn’t you?”

“It indeed does,” he confirmed, carefully touching the scarred skin. The Ravenclaw bit into her lip: “Um, we can trust Nurse Blainey, right? I mean, she’s the one who fixed me up after what… what happened in those caverns. Maybe you should, you know, show it to her?”

“Are you sure that’s not a waste of time? You just said you’re the only one who can see the glow.”

“It’s not that much about the glow, Aesop - she’ll be able to give you a diagnosis, or something, anything… We’re in a position where we could use all the information we can get…”

She had a fair point, Aesop thought. But such was the way of Ravenclaws, always believing that knowledge is key. Frankly, he was slightly through with healers running diagnostics on him only to put on that oh so compassionate face and tell him that they can’t do anything for him… But then again, could it be different now? He did trust Noreen to remain discreet at the very least - however, he also didn’t at all doubt that she’ll probe at him until she got as much information about this new… progress… And would she keep her discretion after he told her? Of course, his and the young woman’s relationship wasn’t forbidden, but still…

“Trust me, I too am cringing at the very thought of going to ask the former Headmistress about this, as she’s no doubt going to be very inquisitive… I may actually attempt to ask the other’s to leave, if it comes down to me actually talking about what happened - because I know both you and I know that this happened during… You know… The light vines and all… I think I’m able to talk to her about it, but I think I would die in embarrassment were I to speak to Rackham and Rookwood about such matters… Actually, all three of us would, in most likelihood.” “What about the fourth one?”

“I don’t know - I have a feeling he’ll insist on staying, though I wish he hadn’t.. To, I don’t know, make sure I wasn’t about to go down the same path as Isidora or something…”

Aesop shook his head. As if the young woman before him hadn’t proved her heart was nothing but pure… She proved it, in his own opinion, enough for several lifetimes. He knew of Isidora Morganach’s untimely but unavoidable death at the hands of one of the Keepers, and he knew with all of his heart that his beloved was nothing like this woman, there was not a single power-hungry hair on her head.

“Run along - the sooner we’re done with these no doubt uncomfortable tasks we’ve got to attend to now, the sooner we’ll hopefully be able to breathe a sigh of relief… And hopefully have a strong cup of good tea. And perhaps a splash of Firewhisky. And biscuits.” Aesop was happy to hear the young woman snort silently. She raised herself up and looked at him: “I… um, I’ll see you at the Hospital wing then?” He gave a nod. And, just like that, he was left by himself once more. However, not before receiving several very lovely kisses, during which it took everything within him not to say ‘Damn that talking piece of canvas hag as well as any silly examination!’ and just have both of them stay in the comfort of his rooms for the time being.

He sighed and threw the blanket covering his modesty back onto the bed before restoring his clothes the way they’re supposed to be, triple checking whether everything was decent before leaving his rooms to make the short way over to the Hospital wing. And when he did find himself at the very top of the stairs, Aesop had to throw a phial of Wiggenweld back - the pain was better, but it was far from gone, and stairs really weren’t doing it much good at all.

The Hospital wing was as it always had been - bright and airy, sterile but homely. The scent of various healing salves, potions and herbs wafted through the pleasantly cool air, and the sun of late afternoon poured in through the partly open window. To his massive relief, Aesop found that, surprisingly, there were no students currently getting attended to by the school nurse. How curious - Aesop could’ve sworn there would always be at least one half-maimed student here at all occasions.

“Quiet, isn’t it?” Came Noreen’s voice from somewhere behind him, making the poor man flinch ever so slightly. He turned his head to see the young Nurse peering at him from out of her office/bedroom. “Indeed,” he replied coolly, flawlessly masking his bewilderment at her sudden appearance and her startling him, “how so? Didn’t you have a minimum amount of whining teenagers you must have here at all times of day and night?”

Nurse Blainey sneered lightly: “A third of Crossed Wands is worried about their NEWTs, a third is worried about their OWLs, Mr Brattleby included, and the rest are lost like forest bees on a glade without their organiser, so they daren’t set any matches that get actually dangerous. The most that happens to the lot who still go there to practice is a singed eyebrow, and they don’t really want me to witness that.”

“And Quidditch?” Aesop asked, reaching a hand out to lean a part of his weight on one of the beds.

“Well, we’ve only got Slytherin versus Hufflepuff left, don’t we? I hear Miss Reyes is making sure no member of her ‘Dream Team’ as much as sprains an ankle or pulls a muscle during their practices, so they’re in top shape for the final match, and you know Hufflepuffs - at least a dozen of them who are hoping to become healers are always nearby, just itching to get their practice in was any of the Hufflepuff players become injured. And me - I’ve got some well deserved peace at last. At least I had till you came in.”

Aesop chuckled.

—

As the Ravenclaw entered the Map chamber, a rush of emotions swept through her. Though she visited the room on a semi-regular basis, the frequency wasn't as high as she had initially anticipated it would be. The Keepers' reluctance to hasten their lectures, their occasional absolute absence from their frames, and the poignant memories of Professor Fig that flooded her mind each time she stepped inside all contributed to her subconscious avoidance of joining the four Keepers down here. And besides that, she was a busy woman…

The cold air nipped at her ears as she slowly descended the stairs leading to the spacious chamber below, she was quick to notice all four former professor’s stood within their frames. The atmosphere in the room was very nearly surreal, ethereal, as if time itself had no meaning within, there was no concept of day and night there. However, despite the four sentient portraits there, she always felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end from how unsettling the place was - each time she remembered the people on the wall were not actually there, that they weren’t trapped in those paintings, but had actually been dead and buried for centuries, the silence of the room felt deafening. Despite its lack of foes for her to defeat, no giant spiders, no rampant Dugbogs, the room actually felt scarier than many dark caves and ruined abandoned buildings when the Keepers were absent. Even Inferi would make the place feel less… dead.

She was swiftly pulled out of her macabre thoughts.

“Welcome back, Miss (L/N). It’s been some time since we last made your acquaintance,” spoke professor Rackham, his soft voice reverberating off the intricately patterned walls. The young woman swallowed and made her way across the large map of the Highlands around Hogwarts castle. “My apologies, professors - I was rather busy with my NEWTs and such…” she replied quietly before looking at the portrait of professor Fitzgerald, “Headmistress, may I… may I speak to you for a moment?”

The woman looked mildly surprised to be addressed specifically, but quickly schooled her features into a pleasant expression: “Certainly, Miss. What is it you want to talk about?” The young woman’s eyes nervously flicked around the other three portraits, the people within them regarding her with unabashed curiosity. “Actually,” she spoke, attempting to make her voice as neutral as possible despite the heat rising to her cheeks already, “actually I wondered whether I could talk to you privately…”

The Keepers’ expressions turned even more curious, and they too began looking around at one another. Finally, the Irishwoman cleared her throat: “Of course - after all, if a student wishes to speak with their professor in private, they’re fully entitled to.” Rackham and Rookwood both nodded in the Headmistress’ direction. “I shall check up on San’s tower then, make sure there are no more trespassers,” Rackham announced, slowly moving out of his portrait. “And I shall do the same with Rookwood castle. Still, such a terrible shame what has the good House of Rookwood come to, not to mention the once grand estate…”

Soon it was almost as if the young woman and the Headmistress were entirely alone, until: “I know you’re lingering just beyond the frame, San,” Fitzgerald said, her hands elegantly folded in front of herself. “I merely wonder as to why shouldn’t the rest of us know what you intend to speak to the Headmistress about. It’s not like either of us ever had shown any sort of unreliability, seeing as we protected what could possibly become the biggest weapon in the Wizarding world for centuries. Besides, four people, more experiences, a larger possibility of helping the student should she require it,” came from one of the empty-appearing frames. The Ravenclaw immediately felt a wave of frustration, as well as more colour rising into her face: “I-it’s something of a private matter, Professor Bakar…”

After a few seconds of pregnant silence, there came a sigh: “Very well. Leaving you two alone…”

Finally, Professor Fitzgerald turned her gaze back at the young woman before her: “It seems we’ve got privacy now - what did you want to talk about, lass?”

Dear Merlin… This was going to be anything but easy.

“Do you remember how Isidora would rid people of their pain?” she asked. At the mention of Isidora’s name, the Headmistress visibly tensed. Nevertheless, she nodded her head. “What actually happened to her father afterwards? I mean - in one of the pensieve memories, after she rids him of his pain, he seems… relieved. Happy, actually. Grateful. But then, in Professor Bakar’s memories, he actually has no more emotions left… He’s like an empty husk of a human… I wanted to know if… Well, if Isidora taking his pain away led to the other emotions leaving as well.”

Niamh stayed quiet for several seconds, clearly considering her answer. Before she could speak however, the young woman added: “In your memories, I saw her take your pain too… You didn’t… You didn’t ever feel like you were losing grasp on your other feelings as well, or?”

“No, no…” the Headmistress replied softly, “no, I can’t say I have. I can understand where you’re coming from, though. After San… After Isidora’s death, we had a lot to deal with. A lot of damage to fix. We had to try and make the caverns as inaccessible as possible, make up a cover story for Isidora’s passing, and, of course, alter some of the students’ memories… It was only after we made sure that Isidora didn’t leave behind anything that could potentially lead any new wielder of ancient magic astray did San inform us of the state he found Isidora’s father in…

“We went to visit him, all of us, and found him quite like you described - an empty husk. Mind, he was alive and, well, he was functioning. He worked on his field in the morning, fed the chickens, took care of the house, cooked for himself, ate, slept… But he did so without a word, without a single emotion. And when we tried to speak to him, well… It was like he did hear us, but our words were like noise and nothing else…

“We… well, we did attempt to.. put the pain back… Percival found the jar of goblin silver Isidora used to store her father’s pain in, that evening she showed us. Only, well…”

The young woman was hanging onto every word, wondering and fearing.

“Well, Professor?”

Headmistress Fitzgerald heaved a long sigh: “He didn’t return to his original state… Instead of regaining his emotions, his personality, there was only one feeling he was able to experience - a blinding rage. Nothing else than anger. Not ten seconds after Percival returned the magic into Mr Morganach’s chest did he try to attack us, blindly and in wild-abandon. In the end the poor man had to be transported to Saint Mungo’s. We thought it appropriate even though he was a muggle, since his malady was a magical one. There was never any improvement, though…”

The Ravenclaw gulped audibly, her hands beginning to tremble slightly. Would this happen to Aesop? Would he… would he eventually lose his emotions, his feelings, his very identity?

“And what about the others… Isidora took many others’ pain, didn't she? Yours too… Did anyone else lose all emotion?” she asked and closed her hands into fist to stop them from shaking.

“No. I have lived for many years after Isidora’s death. That of her father too. She did remove some pain from within me, that of my husband dying… You know, when I first witnessed Isidora removing her father’s pain, I thought it was… kind. To take away such a heavy burden one’s been carrying for so long. But then I got to experience it myself. And at first, it did feel like a relief… but then I found that something felt missing. I didn’t feel any pain caused by my grief, but I also didn’t feel the same warmth and the sort of intensity I did before when I remembered my husband. The same love perhaps… It occurred to me then that… That pain is a horrible thing to feel, but at the same time it’s something that’s needed in order for us to be able to properly feel all of the other emotions as well. And it’s the thing that tells us we truly loved somebody. Without the pain of having lost my husband, I suddenly didn’t quite understand the other emotions I held for him.. And I rather think that it was the same for Isidora’s father, whose pain was such a great part of him, it was connected to all other aspects, and he, in time, became less and less balanced. Not in pain, but not happy either.

“It’s difficult to say what came first; whether it was Isidora’s want to ‘fix’ her father, or whether she was already consumed by her lust for power. As you surely remember, she would-”

“She would inhale the residue magic from the pain she removed…”

“Precisely. With each wisp of that dark power she accepted, she grew hungrier and hungrier for more. So she may have been simply tearing away at her father’s emotions to try and balance them out until nothing remained… or she might’ve taken all of them in one take, only to strengthen herself further… We shall never know. What we do know is that nobody else was stripped of their emotions this much, none of the students, none of the residents of various Hamlets we heard of…”

Looking up at the Headmistress once more, the young woman nodded her head. This was… good news, wasn’t it? That is that nobody else was stripped away of their humanity, of their personality and of their feelings. Perhaps it meant that Aesop too won’t be losing any of his. However, how big part of Aesop was the pain in his leg? And was the difference between physical pain and psychical one so large? Having lost Professor Fig those two years ago, the girl knew that mental pain can easily feel like the bodily one. Worse, actually. And Aesop carried both of them. Would the mental pain become lesser like the physical one did? And if so, just how large a part of Aesop’s sense of identity was it?

Niamh observed the student with deeply curious eyes, soon pulling her out of her thoughts: “Will you allow me a question now as well?”

Raising her eyes, the girl nodded, not quite prepared to speak yet. “Why are you asking all of this? That is, I could understand you asking all of this out of curiosity, being a true Ravenclaw, and that is admirable. However, I have a reason to believe simple curiosity is not the case this time. Why now? What happened?”

Taking a few seconds to gather her thoughts further, the young woman breathed deeply: “Before I answer your question, Professor, I have one more - Isidora would take people’s pain away using her wand. And the pain looked like this dark cluster of magic. Is it at all possible to… replicate this spell accidentally, wandlesly, with no intent on taking anything away, and, uh, without the dark cluster of magic?”

Niamh looked very confused for several seconds, actually opening and closing her mouth a few times as she thought about the answer to the strange question, before finally settling on: “I… I don’t know… Professor Rackham would’ve perhaps been able to answer that, being a wielder of ancient magic himself, but I… Well, logically, when it comes to spells, the same result cannot be achieved by using two vastly different techniques. Not to mention a vastly complicated spell such as this could not be performed accidentally.”

“But that is what happened, professor,” the Ravenclaw finally spoke, no longer able to keep up with this careful figurative dance the two were performing around one another, “I think I accidentally took someone’s pain away…”

“I…” Professor Fitzgerald made a stop, her eyes quickly getting suspicious: “What did you do?”

The young girl swallowed and closed her eyes: “Professor Sharp - he’s one of the teachers who aided in the battle for the Final repository - he was injured some decade ago, by a curse nobody was able to break. It left him with a maimed leg. He’s got a scar that goes from his hip all the way to below the knee of his left leg, in the shape of a lighting strike, and he has a limp…”

“How do you know how his scar looks-”

“Him and I… our relationship’s quite recently moved past the boundaries of teacher and student. We became involved romantically.”

Niamh Fitzgerald, esteemed former Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Sorcery was left staring with her mouth wide open. The young Ravenclaw would’ve probably thought it hilarious if the situation had been any different than it was. The woman who prepared her a trial so terrifying and terrific, perfected into the most macabre of details, and causing her nightmares for many nights to come, was staring at her like she just sprouted not only a second head, but also a third and fourth one, and all of them were of different animals.

“I… That’s…” Niamh grasped for words.

“It’s not against any of the school rules,” the young woman spoke quickly, “All that is stated is that all extra-curricular relationships between teachers and students must be prevented from interfering with the running of the school and lessons, and in case the relationship is of the romantic status, the student must be of legal age. Which I am.”

Professor Fitzgerald finally closed her mouth, but it was obvious this revelation left her a little shaken. A little part of the student revelled in this knowledge - for once she wasn’t the one left with wide eyes and trying to process what just happened. She, however, didn’t exactly have the time to let the former Headmistress fully process the new information she was given. Even so, though, given the period of time during which the older woman lived, she decided it would be wise to keep her words as proper as possible.

“Last week the two of us… Lay together, as a man and a woman do. And something happened that night - vines of light wrapped around our bodies entirely before slowly disappearing again. That hasn’t happened since. However, today we discovered that my magic had left a mark on him, on the scar on his leg. A paler patch of skin in the shape of the same symbol that’s throughout this very room. And underneath, I could see the traces of ancient magic, the blue glow. His leg had been hurting less than before, but the pain hadn’t fully left. We don’t know what we can expect from this development - which is why I came to you.”

Fitzgerald seemed to finally get her bearings then and cleared her throat: “Well… That’s… quite the news. I… Well, of course it’s good that you came to me, I’ll try to tell you all I know, but I warn you: it may not be enough. After all, Professor Rackham is the one who also bore the ability of ancient magic, and he’s therefore more knowledgeable about it than myself…”

The young woman cringed slightly: “I was aware that it might have been the case. However, given the… nature of the situation, I felt more comfortable discussing it with you, as a woman with a woman.”

“Naturally,” replied the professor, a small smile actually appearing on her face.

“I really need to know one thing though - are you certain there’s no risk of the professor losing his emotions, like Isidora’s father?” asked the young woman then, gazing up at the portrait. The former Headmistress sighed: “I of course don’t know that for certain… However, subjectively, I do not think so. After all, you said it yourself that the process was entirely different from that of Isidora - and it seems that instead of ‘taking’, you actually ‘gave’ something.

“Now, I am entering something of an uncharted territory here, but let me just say this: love is one of the strongest, if not the absolutely strongest, ancient magic there is, and intercourse itself can make one more… susceptible to powerful magic. You see, it’s when we are at our most vulnerable, our most open. In our day to day lives, we place a varying level of restraint on ourselves, etiquette tells us to behave and speak a certain way, and it can even go as far as to directly influence the strength of our magic. The more closed off, the more volatile this magic gets. Hence the unfortunate occasional cases of Obscurus. However, when we’re as open as we get during this ultimate act of love, it’s not unheard of for powerful magic to flow freely through our veins, and collide with the magic of our partner. Usually, it only serves to… heighten the sensations.

“Actual accidental magic during such a union is rather rare, but not entirely unheard of. However, it can get quite tricky to find mentions of it, as it is naturally not exactly a topic that is discussed casually, for obvious reasons. I’ll try to aid you to the best of my abilities. I even have an idea about how your situation came to be, but I cannot make any promises that what I’m saying is entirely correct.”

The young woman heaved a sigh of relief: “Anything is good, Professor.”

—

“Alright… now, let me take a look at that.” Noreen said after she’d finished writing down Aesop’s own findings and sent the parchment floating over to her desk, where she could pore over it later. She turned to face the potions master expectantly, raising an eyebrow when he remained right where he was, leaning against one of the beds, unmoving: “Well?”

Aesop scoffed: “What, do you want me to just drop my trousers right now?” The nurse rolled her eyes at the man: “Obviously not. Go behind one of the privacy screens, undress, lay yourself down and wait for me there. You can use the blanket to cover any sensitive areas.”

As Noreen prepared a blank report for her to fill in as she examined the professor’s leg, she had to roll her eyes again. Of course Aesop Sharp limped down the Hospital wing all the way towards the cots furthest from the door. “Make sure the doors are locked,” he called over his shoulder as he disappeared behind the privacy curtain.

“First he’s ready to drop his trousers right in front of the entrance, now he’d prefer this room to be locked like the bloody Gringotts…” Noreen muttered under her breath. The nurse gave him a few minutes to undress and make himself comfortable on the bed, all the while wondering as to how come there was such sudden progress.

Noreen Blainey only started as the school nurse five years ago, only a few weeks after she finished with her healer studies, making her the third third newest addition to the Hogwarts staff, as well as the second youngest member of it. Matilda Weasley was rightfully slightly sceptical about accepting Noreen at first.

“I know you were a right hard worker when you still studied here, even by Hufflepuff standards, and I know you retained this quality of yours all the way through Healer school. Your instructors have nothing but good things to say about you.”

“Thank you, Professor.”“However, I am slightly worried as to whether you’ll be able to execute this sort of… authority over the students. I needn't tell you that while you and some others were indeed working hard while here, many others would do nearly anything to get out of class, even if for a quarter an hour. And some of them have quite drastic, though very creative, ideas on how to do so.”

“You needn’t worry, Professor Weasley, I certainly don’t plan on letting anyone who’d wish to skip class off the hook that easily. You know I was never the one to condone these kinds of actions.”

“That I do.”

Noreen was able to wash the Deputy Headmistress’ doubts within half a year.

Known for her strict attitude, students thought twice before pretending to be sick just to get out of writing a pop quiz they didn’t prepare for. However, those who were genuinely sick and/or injured knew that they could always rely on the Nurse to fix them right back up. Noreen also became popular with the Fifth and Seventh years swiftly, due to her open attitude on Wideye potion, and the female population of the castle knew they were always welcome to collect what they needed on their days.

However, Noreen herself was surprised how the gruff Potions master learned to trust not only her expertise and professional judgement, but also her as a person fairly quickly. To be fair, perhaps she should not have been quite that surprised - after all, those few nights over the past years when she had to rush into his chambers, hauling several potions bundled haphazardly in her own dressing gown, to find the professor in a rather pitiful state, sweating, panting, sometimes screaming in the unholy pain he was in, that all stayed only between them, Noreen never spoke of it with anyone. Such was the physician–patient privilege, of course, but Noreen decided to go a step further, and only ever wrote what transpired during these nights in her records as ‘Night episode - potions administered’.

She walked around the privacy screen to find the Potions professor lying down on his back on the cot - his coat and jacket deposited on a nearby hanger, so his upper body was only covered by his shirt and waistcoat. His bottom half was indeed covered by the white blanket, save for the teacher’s long left leg. Aesop had his hands folded upon his midsection and was looking straight up into the ceiling. However, before Noreen could as much as sit on a chair next to the bed and begin her examination, someone took hold of the handle on the door and attempted to enter. In vain.

A second passed before there was a knock.

“Unless you’re about to die, please wait outside,” Noreen called coolly, fully prepared to let whoever was out there wait since professor Sharp had such a high preference of privacy.

“Uh, is Professor Sharp in there?” came a voice from the outside. The Nurse’s eyebrows rose slightly, and she looked at the professor to find him having risen himself up and leaning on his elbows. He gave her a slightly sheepish look: “Let her in.”

What?

Every now and then Noreen Blainey felt like she understood the potions master. And each and every time she was promptly shown she was mistaken. Oh well.

Using her wand, she unlocked the door and stepped out from behind the privacy screen. She knew who it was of course, though not so much because the young woman came around often, but rather because of what transpired around this girl two years prior.

“Miss (L/N). Your teacher is unwell, surely whatever you need can wait,” she attempted to dismiss the girl.

“Aes-” escaped her mouth before she quickly cleared her throat, “P-professor Sharp is unwell?” Noreen blinked in confusion. Before she could say anything else, however, Aesop’s baritone cut through the air: “I’m fine, (F/N). Over here.”

Now Blainey definitely didn’t understand. She briefly considered pinching herself to see whether she wasn’t in some bizarre dream in which the grumpy former Auror who had very few favourites among students, and who preferred spending his free time anywhere but in a company of a student, was inviting one of them to seek him in the Hospital wing, where he was lying half naked on the bed.

That is, she knew the two of them met up every now and then, ever since that escapade in her Fifth year, but she never would’ve thought they’d be quite this close…

The young woman made her way over to the Professor’s bed, carefully watching the Nurse from out of the corner of her eyes. And as she rounded the privacy screen, a single look was all it took for Noreen.

She never thought she was going to bear witness to such a sight, but here she was - the moment the Ravenclaw entered the former Auror’s field of view, his eyes literally sparkled, and one of his rare smiles spread upon his roguishly handsome face. And the young woman wasn’t able to conceal her own happiness at seeing the older man.

Well, fancy that! Blainey thought as she watched the short silent exchange between the couple of them. Because it was rather obvious the two of them were a lot closer than she would’ve thought. Blast it - she owed 2 Galleons to Hecat now, having bet that the young woman would get together with the Sallow lad. Which was completely logical, seeing as the two of them seemed to be joined at the hip the moment the lass stepped into the bloody castle! Did the DADA Professor know with whom she’d end up instead? She didn’t say... Only said that she ‘very much doubted’ that the girl’s and Sallow’s relationship would ever leave the grounds of a platonic friendship… Blainey was so certain though, the lad stared at her like she was a holy picture for Merlin’s sake. Oh well…

And since the teacher obviously had no qualms about letting the young woman see him in his current state of undress (despite the fact that everything but his bad leg was hidden underneath the blanket), well, that was telling by itself. Noreen only sighed: “Alright. Get to explaining.”

She then finally got to examining the leg. There were several seconds of silence before Aesop spoke, his voice measured and careful: “do we have your discretion, Noreen?” The Nurse raised her eyes to look at the couple. How curious to see the two of them nervous. She wasn’t sure she ever saw the former Auror nervous - despite his limp and the occasional nightly episode, he was always proud, confident, intimidating almost. She was quite glad she wasn’t a student anymore when he came to teach potions, having graduated in the summer before he replaced Professor Sinclair. And yet, now he was looking at her nervously and with a nearly bated breath. The Ravenclaw was as well, and Noreen saw her hands twitching, as if she was focusing all of her energy on not coming closer to grab the Potions master’s hand.

“Well, she’s a grown woman, so she can do whatever the devil she wants. All I care about is whether both sides consent and nobody is forcing anyone into anything…” Noreen raised her voice somewhat at the end of her sentence, looking into the Ravenclaw’s eyes in a clear indication of a question. “I promise, Nurse Blainey, nobody is forcing anyone into anything, and I very much consent to what me and Ae-... what me and professor Sharp have…” Noreen scoffed: “Might as well call him by his name, seeing as you obviously call him that.”

The girl went slightly pink under the nurse’s gaze and used her hand to squeeze at her arm rather awkwardly. “Look, I don’t actually care all that much about how the two of you came to be, and I definitely won’t be running around the school telling people. Though the two of you best work on your stiff upper lips, as one look at the two of you was enough for me to figure you out, and I’m much better at seeing through people’s physical state rather than the emotional one. What I’m more interested in is what happened with the leg and what you have to do with it.”

“Not that easy, Noreen - not even we know exactly what happened,” Aesop said, audibly calmer now that he knew Noreen would keep his and the young woman’s relationship to herself. Speaking of the young woman, she perked up somewhat: “Actually, I was able to find something out… I think that I accidentally imprinted some of the magic I possess on your leg - that much we gathered, obviously. But I found that the ancient magic can be something of an energy source - a different kind of it ’powers’ Hogwarts as well, like the Grand Staircase. It’s the reason all of the places built by the Keepers look the way they do, spotless and like they were built only yesterday, the ancient magic keeps them that way.”

Both Aesop and Blainey listened carefully. “I think that when the magic attached itself to your leg, well, the curse there latched onto it and started feeding off it rather than your leg itself - which would explain the pain lessening. As to whether this effect will last, whether it will become stronger or weaker - that I don’t know… However, given that the magic present within the Keeper trials and the Map chamber was able to last for at least four hundred years and doesn’t seem to be getting any weaker, I think this effect could potentially last…”

Chills ran down the Potions master’s spine at his sweetheart’s words.

Blainey of course heard the full extent of what happened those two years ago. She didn’t necessarily understand all of it, but then again she didn’t have to. For her, the main thing was the result - therefore, she returned to examining the professor’s leg: “So you say the pain has lessened. Do you feel it right now as we speak?” Professor Sharp shook his head: “Barely. And even so, it’s more like… the memory of the pain, rather than the pain itself. It feels like it should be there, given it was there for more than a decade now, but instead there’s only a shadow of it.”

“And when you walk?” Blainey continued, carefully prodding at the scar tissue with her fingers, noting that Aesop made a small grimace whenever her fingers ventured onto the redder parts of the scar, but seemed to not feel her touch when she directed it at the lighter areas of it. What was ‘covered’ by the pale patch of skin looked like a completely mundane healed scar, and was gradually turning into the angry red where the pale patch ended.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the young woman shift her weight from one foot to the other slightly uncomfortably, her eyes directed at Noreen’s hands on Aesop’s leg. The nurse rolled her eyes - of course, while Miss (L/N) was one of the more level headed students, not even she was immune to that nasty momentary flare of jealousy of witnessing another woman touching her beloved like so. “Do calm down, Miss, I’ve no intention to touch the professor in any other way than medical.”

Aesop raised his eyebrows and the girl got red in the cheeks once more: “I didn’t-...” “The good Nurse is merely having a laugh, don’t mind her,” the Potions master was quick to answer, in turn making Noreen roll her eyes some more: “What’s walking like?”

“Walking hurts still, but considerably less so than before… However, it also hurts somewhat differently…” the professor mused out loud.

“That’s to be expected - in continuously insisting not to use your cane and instead just limping around, you have not done yourself any favours. Even should the pain in your leg that was caused by the curse disappear completely, it won’t change the fact you have walked in a way that minimised it for more than a decade, that’s damage done to your muscles, your very posture - it would take some time and a lot of exercise for you to return to normal walking.

Aesop’s head was once again whirling - normal walking. Bloody hell, Aesop wasn’t sure the term would ever be applicable to him again. Was there truly a chance for him to walk normally once more? Instead of dragging his bad leg behind himself, undignified and weak (though he knew very few saw him that way), the hope of being able to walk straight, proud, his head held high, now loomed over him closer than ever before. And this time it seemed so real. It was a sweet siren’s call for the former Auror, and he was very nearly afraid to reach for it in fear of it turning into naught but dust before his eyes. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to get himself back together if he decided to hope, truly hope, and then lose this hope again.

“What do you propose we do then?” asked the Ravenclaw.

“Well, I’m going to give you a list of exercises, which I implore you, Aesop, to try to do as often as possible, but within some sensible limits. There’s also trying to walk normally, for which another person should be present as well, so that they can correct your posture if need be, and be there for when you inevitably grow tired or the pain becomes too severe, for you to lean against. I presume that’s where you’ll come in quite handy, Miss (L/N),” Noreen listed, and Aesop’s sweetheart nodded her head vehemently. “Just don’t be foolish about it, Aesop. I understand that you must now feel anxious to start walking normally, if at all possible, as soon as you can, but there’s no point in maiming yourself because you tried to hurry up the healing process. Keep reminding yourself that you walked with a limp for over ten years now, you’re not going to prance about like a gazelle within a week. Overdo it, and you’re right back at the beginning.”

It was Aesop’s turn to nod his head.

“Now, this all only applies if whatever it is that makes your leg feel better holds, naturally. Shall it worsen, don’t try to force anything, you’ll only end up hurting yourself more.”

“Will do.”

“Now. How about you try to show us if you even remember how to walk normally?”

Aesop’s eyebrows shot up again momentarily before he dropped his gaze to his partially covered lower body: “may I wear my trousers before I do so?”

And so Nurse Blainey rolled her eyes the third time, now shaking her head as well in exasperation. The young Ravenclaw, however, seemed to be fighting the urge to giggle, perhaps even suggesting Aesop stays in his current state of undress. “Just your drawers for now - I want to see how the muscles in your legs react. I’ll even re-lock the door for you,” the Nurse offered dryly.

“How gracious of you,” replied Aesop in the same manner. Noreen excused herself then to place the report which wrote itself throughout the examination among the others - and then made a stop. After all, this was one that was better hidden, the knowledge of ancient magic carefully kept between the staff (excluding Black). Not to mention the whole bit about a rather clandestine student-professor romance. So, she instead decided to store the parchment in her office/bedroom, hidden away from prying eyes.

“I’m only leaving for a short moment,” she called over her shoulder, “do try to control yourselves.”

Aesop only rolled his eyes and finally threw the blanket off his person, once more revealing himself to his sweetheart. However, before he could as much as reach for his pants, he made a stop. The young woman stepped closer before lowering herself to her knees before him.

“Darling…” he breathed out, his hand coming up to stroke her cheek as if on its own. She leaned into his touch shortly before dropping her head and dragging her nose over the parts of his scar that weren’t painful to touch. She proceeded to kiss them as well, something Aesop would never have imagined anyone would ever do.

“You know, when I was down there, talking with the former Headmistress,” she whispered, pressing one last kiss to the damaged skin before carefully resting her chin upon his thigh, “she said that every spell is, essentially, a wish. A wizard or a witch can go around waving their wand and shouting incantations, but it’ll be for nothing if they don’t wish to perform the spell, if they don’t wish to levitate or summon this and that. And that night... Although the magic happened by accident, my wish behind it was intentional. I love you deeply... What I wanted more than anything was to alleviate your pain, I wanted you to feel as good as you were making me feel. I truly meant what I said - I would love you under any circumstances, even if you were to limp for the rest of our lives. But I would be happiest if you didn't have to endure that pain. And I think that is the difference between what happened with Isidora Morganach and her father and the two of us… Isidora, she took. But me, I gave you a part of myself. And I want nothing else than to give myself to you in the entirety. If you want me…”

Aesop used all of his strength to pull the girl up from the ground then. He oftentimes thought himself cynical. Cynical, battle-hardened, life-toughened former Auror. This young woman, however, was able to do so few could. Slip by his defences using nothing but her honesty. Her kindness. Her love. And each time it got him hopelessly drunk on the feeling. He pulled her into his lap and chased her lips in a desperate kiss, whispering words of love each time he had to pull back for a breath. And just as she promised to give herself to him entirely, he promised to always strive to prove he was worthy of her, no matter if he was walking or limping.

Several minutes and many tender kisses later, there came a voice from behind the privacy screen.

“Please tell me you managed to put your pants on at least…”

—

“Alright, how is this?” the professor asked, breathing through the discomfort of forcing himself to walk in a way his muscles weren’t used to - normally, that is. He was partially leaning against his beloved, something he hoped would change soon, but his step was quite measured and fluid. There was the occasional lighter step, but other than that, the teacher was fairly certain he was doing a pretty alright job. “You’re doing brilliant, Aesop,” his sweetheart said softly, her smile obvious in her voice.

For the past few weeks, whenever the two of them found the time to be together following a dinner in the Great Hall, instead of immediately retiring into Aesop’s chambers, they shared a short walk around the Hogwarts grounds. They both knew paths nobody frequented after darkness fell, and they used it to their advantage. The potions master felt stronger every day. That is, he never truly felt weak, but his limp undeniably slowed him down. Upon Noreen’s insistence, he used his cane to get around during the day and further worked on regaining his strength. The results were visible already - his colleagues commented on his limp becoming smaller, his face not being as screwed up in pain every time he was faced with stairs. Stairs were still a problem, but each ascent and descent served to motivate Aesop further.

The pale patch on his leg grew more pronounced, more visible - its pattern was undeniable now, and his scar turned entirely pink from the raw red. He no longer felt the pain of the curse, something he wouldn’t have thought at all possible a mere month ago. He stood taller, prouder. But most of all, he was grateful. Overwhelmingly so. Every single day he woke up, no matter if the sun shone into his bedroom from the other room or cats and dogs were raining outside, each morning he woke up, moved his leg, and realised that he didn’t feel the oh so familiar ache, he couldn’t help but grin like an absolute loon. And on those blessed mornings he woke up with his arms full of his beloved’s deliciously smelling body, he buried his face into her neck, prompting her to giggle at the prickly sensation of his beard on her soft skin.

It would take some more time for him to fully heal, to be able to walk like he had those nearly thirteen years ago, but Aesop was prepared to do whatever it took. After all, he did want his beloved to be able to lean against him for a change.

And, just like her, he wanted to give himself over to her fully.

Entirely.

---

thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed. You can check this story as well as all of my other stories over on AO3 as well ❤

#aesop sharp #professor sharp #hogwarts legacy #fanfiction #reader insert #aesop sharp x reader #aesop sharp x mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic #professor sharp x reader #professor sharp x you #healing #fluff #established relationship

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likeastarstar · 3 years

Text

Birthday Boy

summary: WARNING! smut ahead. It's Namu's birthday and you're in love with him and his body and how it looks in the shower.

masterlist.

Your boyfriend was a menace.

Seriously, who wakes up at the ass crack of dawn to workout on their birthday of all days? Wasn't anything sacred? Surely his birthday, the day that should be considered an international holiday, was a good enough excuse for a cheat day.

But no, Joon had left you so early you were only just waking up as he returned back the apartment you shared after exercising. You laid in bed, half asleep, watching as your boyfriend immediately shoved his socks off, the sleeveless compression shirt he had on following quickly after. He couldn't even be bothered to wait until he was in the bathroom to strip down, pushing his gym shorts off his hips along with his underwear already balled up in his fists by the time he was halfway across the bedroom.

He took note of your laying form but because of the massive amounts of pillows you insisted on having, he couldn't tell you were awake and currently ogling his extremely perfect, extremely buff, super sexy, oh wow he is gorgeous, body. Maybe him going to the gym was a blessing, maybe you should be more grateful. You were certainly grateful when he turned towards the bathroom and you got to stare at his ass.

Namjoon had the most perfect body in the world, broad, rolling shoulders, his thick neck perfect for biting down on, his soft pecs that you liked to lay on despite the aforementioned mountain of pillows on your bed, the chiseled abs rubbing down the length of his torso and disappearing with two lines dragging directly into the neatly trimmed dark hair of his lap.

His thick thighs you insisted on sitting on far too often, his thighs that you had a habit of rubbing absentmindedly underneath restaurant tables when you went out until he forced you to stop- citing the risk of him popping a semi before dessert. You loved his back, muscular and strong, his arms as equally as pleasing when they were wrapped around you. You had recently become somewhat of a masseuse, gleefully running to get the massage oil when Namjoon came home sore from the gym.

It was the little things.

He was perfect- an adonis among men and that's before you even got to who he was as a person- which was also, shockingly perfect. The kindest, most wise person you had ever known. You loved his big brain as much as his big body and it was your favorite person's birthday today.

His birthday!

You sat up with an excited squeal, running to follow Namjoon as you heard the shower start. He was already in the shower by the time you had stripped off your pajamas, back facing you as he washed the sweat off of himself. You stepped into the steaming shower quickly, wrapping your arms around his waist and hugging him from behind.

"Happy birthday," You smiled, kissing his back where your face was pressed against it. His hands covered yours and squeezed in response before turning around in your arms so that he was facing you with his own shy smile, dimples on full display.

"Thank you, good morning." He said softly, leaning down to kiss you. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

You shook you head and reached for the environmentally friendly sea sponge covered in soap in his hand, squeezing it against his chest and watching the suds drip down his skin before rubbing the sponge on him thoroughly, "I had to get up anyway, it's a big day, lots to do."

"You always take my birthday too seriously," He laughed, squeezing a puddle of the shampoo he liked the smell of on top of your head and massaging it into your scalp.

"I observe the auspicious day the way it's meant to be honored, yes." You noted formally, nodding your head solemnly under his hands.

He laughed and rinsed your hair, rubbing conditioner in the ends before wrapping the length of your hair around his hands and pulling, causing your neck to crane up towards his face. He looked down at you with a devious look on his face, the steam in the shower surrounding the pair of you like a cloud.

"It's my dick's birthday too, you know." He joked, smirking slightly.

You raised your eyebrows and flickered a glance towards where his legs met, noting that he was already beginning to get hard, "I did know that."

"And you should celebrate it too, do something special." He mused, raising his eyebrows in a sort of a dare.

"Oh? Like what?" You challenged, standing on your toes to kiss him. He kissed you possessively, roughly, with his hand still wrapped around your hair so you couldn't really move much.

Namjoon slid his tongue against yours and you let your hands glide down his wet torso, wrapping your fingers around his cock and stroking it slowly. You matched the pace of his tongue against yours, body rolling against his rhythmically. There was barely an inch of space between you and even that was too much.

Namjoon let go of your hair in favor for wrapping his grasp around your neck, guiding you to the glass wall and spinning you around so quickly you let out a gasp of surprise. He reached a hand back and angled the shower head so that it was hitting the top of your back and rolling down, the pressure sending tingles down your spine.

Namjoon's body came up behind yours, pushing his front into your ass and kissing your neck, "You're gonna give me what I want for my birthday, right? I can ask for anything and you'd do it for me, because it's my birthday and you love me?"

"Right, yeah- anything," You breathed out, a moan sitting on the tip of your tongue.

"Good," He grunted, "Now look at yourself."

Your eyes snapped to the mirror on the other side of the bathroom in front of the sink, the reflection of you and Namjoon in the shower staring back at you. The glass had fogged up and the only thing really visible was your tits pressed up against the glass, the palm of Namjoon's hand flattened on the surface of the glass pane above you, caging you in. You moaned at the sight- wondering what you looked like from the back, bent over like a slut.

"I love my birthday," Namjoon laughed, "You get so horny- which is saying something because you're always a slut for your boyfriend. You like making me happy?"

"I like- I like being slutty for you," You moaned, "I like being yours."

"I like being yours too, baby." He grinned, pecking you on the cheek sweetly before kissing down the length of your back. He bit down on your ass cheek like it was an apple, making you moan out embarrassingly.

"Fuck- Joon, it's your birthday, shouldn't I be the one on my knees?" You pointed out, looking down at him from behind your shoulder. He didn't even look up at you, staring instead straight at your pussy, spreading your legs apart gently and watching the water drip down between them.

"No, it's my birthday- I'll eat you out if I want to," He demanded petulantly, "Your pussy is better than a birthday cake anyway."

"Bitch, I got you a cake from Honeybee," You snapped, breaking your horny character for a moment.

Namjoon paused as well, sitting back on his heels and looked up at you with a surprised look on his face. It was a good thing the water wasn't angled at him, otherwise you were pretty sure he would've drowned by now.

"Oh, the chocolate one or the passion fruit one?" He asked eagerly, a hopeful look on his face.

"Chocolate, duh- who do you think I am? I only got the passion fruit cake that one time because I wanted to try it." You grumbled, pouting slightly.

"My girl is so smart, good choice. See? You deserve to get head for that, my sweet little girlfriend got me my favorite cake," Joon gushed, squeezing your ass fondly before licking a broad stripe through your folds and making you forget all about the stupid cake.

He sucked your clit into his mouth and wrapped his tongue around it, pushing the sensitive spot around with a mission while two of his fingers ran through your folds and sunk into your pussy decisively. You moaned, feeling him pump his fingers in and out furiously. You clenched around them, wondering why the hell he was going to fast until he switched his fingers and his mouth, tongue dipping into your honeyed center while his fingers flicked at your clit roughly.

You withered above him, barely able to keep your weight up until you felt an orgasm barreling towards you- "No, no, no, Joon- I'm gonna cum, it's too fast."

"No, it's not," He snapped, words vibrating against your clit as his breath against your skin only sent you closer to the edge. "Birthday boy wants his slut to cum."

His words were the final push you needed, cumming around his tongue in waves of pleasure as his fingers ran circles around you clit, milking your orgasm of everything it was worth. You lost the ability to think for a moment, the air leaving your lungs, and you barely had a chance to catch your breath before Joon was standing behind you, one hand gripped on your hip as he slid his cock into you, thrusting up sharply. You let out a surprised noise that contrasted his low moan in your ear, thankful for the sound of water hiding the sound of how wet you were.

"Come on baby, show me how much you love me," He demanded, slapping a large hand down on the side of your ass hard.

He thrust up into you at a bruising pace, using your body for his own pleasure as you did your best to keep up. Namjoon kept one hand on your clit and wrapped his other arm across your body, pulling you taunt against his chest as his hips snapped against yours. You were barely even standing up on your own, Namjoon holding your body so securely you could probably relax completely and he'd just carry you.

"Cum in me," You begged, slamming a hand against the glass wall to throw your ass back on him better, matching his thrusts now that you had a moment to gather your bearings. "Pl-please, will you please fill me up? Fuck- your dick is so big."

"Yeah baby? Feels good?" He asked, sounding all too pleased with himself.

"F-Feels so good- I want you to fill me up, please?" You stuttered, a pathetic noise leaving your body.

You were desperate for him at this point, reduced to a dumb, messy, whiny slut who just wanted her boyfriend to cum in her pussy.

"Don't worry, I'll give it to you- since you asked so nicely." He obliged, slamming his cock into your pussy like he owned it. "Fill you up nice and full so you can spend the rest of the day thinking about it. Maybe I'll let you suck my cock later if you want more, huh?"

"Y-yes, I want it." You moaned, "I want your cock."

He groaned and his thrusts got sloppier, faster still. He pinched your nipple hard, doing the same to your clit and you came again, clenching hard around him before he followed, the two of you slowing the pace down almost completely. He rocked against you, dragging his cock in and out of you slowly as you felt him cum in you, warmth spreading through your lower belly. Your pussy continued to suck him in, wanting to keep him there for as long as possible before he pulled out and watched his cum drip down your thighs, dragging a finger through it.

He held his hand up to your tongue absentmindedly, trying to resume washing your body with the other as you sucked his cum off of his hand.

"We gotta hurry," He mumbled, trying to speed wash you as if he hadn't just demolished your pussy. You were sensitive and moving slowly, spent from the morning activities. "We've been in here for so long, what a waste of water- why did we do this?"

"Because it's your birthday?" You offered lamely, watching as he turned the water off and lifted you into his arms, carrying you out of the shower.

"You shouldn't encourage me," He tssked, "I let the birthday shit get to my head. Horny or not, one should never waste water."

You rolled your eyes, laughing slightly at Joon's strictness with himself. He set you down on the edge of the vanity and handed you a towel, wrapping one around his waist securely.

"This is your fault for showering, we could've just had morning sex in bed like a normal couple but no- you have to leave me every morning to go to the gym." You pointed out.

"I go to the gym to fuck you better, you should be thanking me." He grunted, leaning against the countertop and kissing you again. "Maybe you could suck my cock before dinner to make it up to me."

"God, the birthday thing did get to your head," You gasped, shaking your head dramatically.

"So no head?" He pouted, an adorably wide eyed look on his face.

"Oh, head for sure." You corrected, nodding eagerly.

It was his birthday, after all.

(A/N: I have created...a monster.)

#namjoon smut #namjoon fic #bts fic #bts smut #namjoon birthday fic #namjoon x you #namjoon x oc #namjoon fluff #namjoon shower sex #bts shower sex #namjoon x reader #kim namjoon fanfiction #namjoon imagine

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rekas-writes · 2 years

Text

Raindrops

Pair: Yoru/GN! Reader

Type: Drabble - 582 words

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Stranded in the rain with just a bus stop providing cover for you two, you make a bold leap to try and create something romantic from something so drab.

TW: None

A/N: I think it’s a crime I haven’t written anything proper for Yoru yet so here we go! I was v inspired by Solas by Jamie Duffy! It’s such a beautiful song and set the tone for how I wrote this! I highly recommend listening to this while reading if you’re into piano pieces! This is also my first time writing Yoru properly haha- I thought I’d practise before tackling my requests! Sorry for the short length ^^;

、ヽ｀、ヽ｀💙☂️💙｀ヽ、｀ヽ、

Dancing in the rain wasn’t exactly as lovely as they depicted it to be in the movies. It was cold, chilly and most of all incredibly wet. You were soaked to the bone, but that didn’t stop you, as you ran out from under the measly protection the bus stop’s plain, plastic cover provided.

The slumbering capital streets are drenched, shiny black asphalt reflecting the multi-chrome of colours the city lights offered. Yellow, pink, green, blue, purple. They dance upon your figure as you sway in your more than damp, little coat that really did nothing for you in these conditions. It’s cold, yes, and there’s the bite of wind every so often but you twirl all the same.

Yoru’s startled of course, seeing you embrace the drops of liquid sky. Then, the rift-walker’s yelping and huffing about as he’s dragged unceremoniously under the downpour. But it’s written in the way he cradles you softly in his arms, staying within your gentle grasp despite having so many opportunities to get away. He loves you and he loves this. Maybe not the pouring rain and the cold that seeps into his bones, but he loves the moment. This moment away from the strife and fighting in lieu of something romantic, domestic. It’s cut straight out of a cliché love story. Two lovers pirouetting at night with none to bear witness to such a scandal. The rain is their cloak away from prying eyes, the bubble they wear as they take their moment.

His soul bleeds for you and you alone. You who held his delicate heart so gently just as he does your own. It’s vulnerability on both ends, and neither of you would dare to hurt the other. A puzzle of two halves as you click together and meld as one beneath the misty shower of the skies. Though one may complain and roll his eyes, the other knows just how much he melts for memories such as these. Bits and pieces to recount later among other memories as you both lay awake at night.

He loves this moment just as much as he loves you.

No sonnet, nor poem nor novel could ever express the amount he loved you. The depths his feelings reached despite his coldness, his aloofness, were bewildering to many, most of all himself. It’s a good thing those were never in his interest in the first place. He thinks this little while alone together is good enough, and you’d be hard pressed to say otherwise. Actions speak louder than words for him, an opinion he holds dear in the moments he’s so embarrassingly tongue-tied because of you. And it’s with his hand holding the small of your back that he hopes this will say enough for you to understand just how much his heart burns for you.

Ryo could never portray such thought processes to you, not with his pride, so he settles with the first thing he has in mind as he looks you in the eye. He tries to sound annoyed, but his expression holds nothing but pure, unfiltered fondness for you. You’re smiling brightly, already prepared with an answer as you take one of his hands and rub circles into the back of it with your thumb. It flusters him, regardless of what he says.

He calls you ridiculous, you call him boring.

But in the end, you both laugh all the same, a bright and beautiful sound, as raindrops pool at your feet.

#valorant #valorant x reader #yoru x reader #x gender neutral reader #x gn reader #reader insert #x ftm reader #x male reader #x trans male reader #valorant yoru

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superstition13 · 3 years

Text

So I have a University assignment due at midnight, which I have absolutely zero motivation to do, but it did inspire this little piece.

Distractions

//AKA Dabi Distracts You From Your Work 💙

Dabi x Female Reader (NSFW)

Genre: smut, porn with very little plot involved, fluff

Includes: biting, unprotected sex, hair pulling, cock warming, teasing, pet names, fingering, crying (pleasure), after care, Dabi’s piercings

You can’t tell me that Dabi isn’t the type of guy who would gladly use sex as a means of distracting you from your work

Especially if he feels as though you’re paying too much attention to it and not him

And if you’re a university student, he would definitely fuck your brains out instead of letting you finish an assignment that he knew you had due

Maybe you make the mistake of letting him sit in your desk chair while you sit on his lap, so at least you can be close to him

He’d start off with his chin resting on his shoulder and his arms wrapped loosely around your waist, but it wouldn’t take long for his hands to begin to wander

One hand would drift down to your inner thigh, and begin tracing feather light patterns along the exposed skin he found there with the tips of his fingers, teasingly close to where you really want him to touch you

Meanwhile, his other hand has slipped under your shirt and is now toying with your nipples

And while all this is going on, you’re still desperately trying your best to concentrate, but it’s becoming increasingly harder for you to focus on typing out an essay when your boyfriend’s hands are doing sinful things to your body

It’s when he starts trailing his lips along your neck, nipping, sucking, and leaving tiny bruises behind that you give in to his touches

Dabi’s hand leaves its place on your thigh and his thumb hooks around the waist band of the skimpy pair of gym shorts you’d decided to wear around the house that day

You raise your hips, just enough for him to slide them down to your knees, where they fall and drop to the floor

He pops open the button on his jeans, and you swear you can feel yourself getting just that little bit wetter at the loud sound his zipper makes in the otherwise quiet apartment

His hands go to your hips, and he lowers you onto his achingly hard cock

A small gasp escapes your lips, you’d been careful not to brush up against his dick while you were working, not wanting to encourage Dabi’s teasing

You’d known he was horny, obviously, but you hadn’t realised how hard he truly was

The two of you moan when he’s fully sheathed inside your heat

You expect him to start bouncing you up and down on his cock, but when he doesn’t you figure he wants you to be the one taking charge

Instead, his hands tighten around you warningly, and he keeps you seated firmly in his lap

“Don’t you have something to do, princess?”

“But I thought-”

“You thought wrong angel.”

You can practically hear the smirk in his voice, knowing full well that if you turn your head to look at him, you’ll see one on his face

“Consider this your punishment for ignoring me.”

Part of you can’t believe Dabi is making you finish your assignment instead of fucking you, especially when his cock is buried inside you

Another part of you can totally believe it, knowing all too well what a tease your boyfriend can be

He sits back and begins drawing lazy circles around your throbbing clit

Somehow, you manage to type out a paragraph, and you think that maybe you can do this

Until Dabi decides to flex beneath you, the seemingly innocent movement making his dick twitch inside of you, driving you crazy from the stimulation

You could have tears rolling down your cheeks as you beg him to bend you over your desk and just fuck you already

Instead, he’d have the audacity to coo softly in your ear:

“Come on baby girl, I thought you needed to concentrate?”

But the moment you finish that assignment and submit it to your Professor, he’s pulling out of you and standing up so fast that the chair he’d been sitting on falls over backwards

He quickly manages to get rid of the few articles of clothing the two of you have left between you

Before you know it, Dabi has you bent over the desk, one hand tangled in your hair and the other at your hip in a grip so tight that it's bound to leave bruises. He thrusts into you rapidly, setting a brutal pace. The sounds of skin on skin slapping together, and the obscene noise your cunt makes as he fucks into you fills the air of the studio apartment you share with him.

It takes an embarrassingly short amount of time for you to cum around Dabi’s cock, already pent up and overflowing from almost an hour's worth of Dabi teasing you. Your thighs are glistening as you let go, screaming his name so loudly that your neighbours are sure to file another noise complaint against the two of you come the evening. He releases his grip on your hair, trailing his fingers down your body until they rest between your thighs, and begin to draw circles around your clit once more. Gone are the slow, teasing touches from earlier his only focus is on making you scream out his name out for a second time before he cums. Dabi leans forward, his chest pressing flush against yours back, practically laying on top of you as he rails you without mercy. You realise that you can feel the cold metal of his nipple piercings pressing into your back, and the mental image it conjures makes you clench around him. Dabi lets out a soft groan, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Fuck sweetheart, you have no idea how good you feel wrapped around me,” he pants, his voice breathy as it caresses your neck. “So good and tight for me, fuck. Come again angel, one more time, I wanna hear you scream my name.”

“God Dabi, yes! Yes! Yes!” You whine, trailing off into a hiss at one particularly hard thrust. “Right there baby, I’m so close, fuck!”

Without missing a beat, he shifts himself slightly, angling his cock in a way that Dabi knew would have you seeing stars and hurtling over that precipice you were dangling from. You were convinced you could feel the tip of him pounding against your cervix, dragging deliciously against your walls in all his pierced glory as he brushed past that sweet spot hidden inside of you with each and every punishing thrust. This new angle, abusing your g-spot while his fingers danced over clit, your nipples being teased as they were dragged and pushed across the surface of your desk; All of it was proving to be too much for you. That coil deep inside of you winding tighter and tighter, rendering you all but incoherent. Your tipping point however, was when your boyfriend sunk his teeth into the junction of your shoulder and neck. It wasn't quite hard enough to break the skin, but you knew without a doubt that he would leave one hell of a mark. The pain from his teeth sends pleasure arcing through your body like waves of electricity, going straight to your pussy, causing that tightly wound coil to snap as you threw yourself from the edge you had been hanging onto for dear life.

"Fuck Dabi, I'm coming, FUCK!" You sobbed, cheeks feeling suspiciously wet. The way your pussy fluttered around him was exactly what Dabi needed to find his own release, his pace becoming more and more erratic as he continued to thrust into you, working you both through the shared orgasm. Your name left Dabi’s mouth in a loud moan that was practically pornographic. He came inside of you, painting your walls with his seed, your combined release already beginning to seep out of you from the sheer amount of cum he was pumping into your cunt.

Eventually, his thrusts come to a halt. Your face was pressed uncomfortably against your desk, and you were pretty sure there was a pen trapped beneath you, but at that moment you didn't quite have it in yourself to care. Your mind was pleasantly fogged over from the post orgasm haze, and had someone asked for your name in that given moment, it probably would have taken you a few minutes to recall.

The first thing you became aware of, was Dabi pressing a series of gentle kisses to your neck, paying particular attention to the large bite mark he had left in the heat of the moment. It throbbed slightly, but not unpleasantly so, soothed by the delicate pressure of his lips. Slowly, he pulled out, a small noise of displeasure escaping you at the sudden emptiness you felt with the absence of his cock. He pulled you up, and guided you gently over to the bed where the two of you collapsed together. His arms encircled your waist, gathering you up against his chest. Fingers began to play with your hair as your awareness slowly began to return, Dabi's lips now pressed gently to the top of your head.

"That was..." you trailed off, still slightly breathless.

"Yeah." He agreed, tracing patterns along your skin.

"I'm going to need a shower," you winced, feeling his cum already beginning to dry on you. You already dreaded the idea of getting up to leave the bed, knowing that by the time you did, your limbs would be feeling like jelly and there would surely be an ache settled between your thighs.

"Not yet," your boyfriend breathed. "I'll get up and get us a towel in a minute. Just, lie here with me for now, okay?"

"Okay," you murmured against him, not needing too much convincing.

"Maybe I should help you with your work more often, princess," he suggested, but was met with no reply. Dabi craned his neck to look down at you, only to realise that you had managed to fall asleep in his embrace.

Here’s that tag you asked for lovely, hope you enjoyed my first attempt at writing smut.

@simpforsadbois 💜

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erodasfishtacos · 3 years

Note

“are y’not gonna let me finish my workout, little minx?” h is working out and the missus is horny seeing him all sweaty and his muscles flexing 🥵

gangrry.

YN was on the stationary bike in their home gym. Her legs were pushing the pedals with laziness due to being distracted.

Her husband was currently shirtless, only in a pair of short black athletic shorts and his trainers as he did bicep curls with large weights.

His skin was glistening, no clear space from his neck disappearing into his shorts of his naturally pale skin just tattoos.

“Focus, brat,” Harry makes deadly eye contact through the mirror as he watches her put no effort into the workout.

“Fuck off,” She replies sweetly, keeping her feet at the same, snails pace as she watches his back muscles flex tightly.

Harry grunts as he finishes out his last repetition of curls before dropping them heavily on the ground, and turning towards her.

“Y’not in here to try to fuck me. Y’need more stamina. If you had it, y’wouldn’t have a fucking black eye,” His shoulders are tight and a angry frown on his face.

YN softens, stopping her movement completely,“Stop blaming yourself. It’s not your fault that guy punched me. I wasn’t paying close enough attention.”

Harry trails over, unhappy as he thumbs over the discolored skin, “It is m’fault. Y’my wife, the only person I care about protecting.”

“I think you made up for it in the fact that you literally murdered them right after they did it,” YN replies, grabbing at his wrist to kiss his palm.

It was so interesting when Harry melting into this loving, protective, vulnerable person that he’d never been around anyone but YN.

“Kill anyone f’you. I just can’t let anything ever happen t’you,” Harry says forcefully, “You’re my only reason.”

Harry didn’t hug before YN.

Harry would have pushed the person off with a scoff or tensed up like he was going to be attacked - he’d never understood the gesture.

But now he asked for hugs.

He felt comfort when he could wrap up his wife into a tight hug with his nose buried into the nice-smelling locks that adorn her.

He had also had to learn that physical closeness didn’t always mean sex. He could enjoy having someone close to him without the intent of more.

YN steps off the bike to embrace him, arms tight around his middle and digging her face into his strong pec.

He responds instantaneously, pulling her in as close as humanly possibly to him , and his strong arms coming to wrap around her shoulders.

“You can’t protect me from everything,” YN reminds him quietly, hands trailing underneath the band of his shorts to massage at his hips.

“Yes, I can,” Harry mutters back defensively with a sharp edge.

YN shakes her head, knows it’s a losing battle, and pulls back a little to make eye contact with his dark, irritated glare.

“I love you,” She murmurs simply, thumb coming to rub over her own name thats inked boldly on the side of his neck.

Harry’s heart rate jumps embarrassingly enough every time his wife tells him that, he responds truthfully, “y’the only thing on this earth I love.”

YN leans up to brush their lips, fingers slipping into the front of his shorts to be met with the hot, thick skin of his length.

She giggles girlishly, “Worst gang leader to every roam London street and he gets a hard on when his wife tells him she loves him.”

Harry chuckles darkly, reaching down to grip her wrist tightly, and move it to his cock to wrap around it.

“Y’the only one who gets this cock, s’you got to take care of it,” He hisses when she squeezes right underneath the tip with delicious pressure.

YN shrugs, “I don’t know…I was in the middle of an intense work out.”

“Mm, tha’ work out consisted of you daydreaming about how y’want me to fuck you. Now tell me, brat, wha’d you decide on?”

When YN’s avoids eye contact, gets a bit shy, and nibbles on her bottom lips - he fucking goes crazy for it.

His tone becomes more goading, encouraging, “C’mon, already know y’not gonna let me finish my workout. Tell me how y’picture me givin’ it t’you and I will. Always give it t’you like y’want.”

“Thought about you fucking me in front of the mirror,” YN’s becoming a bit breathless with it.

Before her, Harry never even knew what sexy was. He thought it was the girls who’d come right up to him in clubs and offer him a blowie outright.

The girls who would be begging to be choked and called him daddy during their first encounter were the norm.

But when he met YN who was more subtle, made Harry work to figure out what she wanted, and then instead of trying to impress him just enjoyed the pleasure he gave her.

Well…he can’t imagine ever being attracted to anyone but his wife ever again.

The girls at the clubs could go for hours, in different positions that didn’t even feel good or elicit pleasure, and they never shut up with the dirty talk.

He’d never been more attracted than when YN got whiny because her thighs were tired, when the only words out of her mouth weren’t dirty but little praises of adoration and love, and when she was so fucking aroused still but exhausted that she laid there lazily encouraging H to do all the work.

He would have never guessed those were his actual turn ons, not the generic ones all the girls have picked up off watching too much porn.

In no time, Harry was sat on the workout bench, facing the mirror, with YN riding him facing towards the mirror as well.

Her movements were slow from her previous bike exercise, and she was more focused on anything of just grinding instead of bouncing.

Her eyes focused on where they connect, his shaft occasionally peeking out just to be encased again. Harry was going to let her do this for as long as she wanted, his hand finding home in her sensitive nipples.

It wasn’t turning into the heated, high-intensity sex he was expecting but rather a slower, more intimate bonding that he secretly liked even more than the former.

“Baby, look at how y’pretty pussy takes me. Know s’your husband’s cock, hmm? Let’s me right in,” He coos, smirking when she squeaks at a hard tweak of her nipple.

He’d never had slow, nonrushed, emotions-attached sex before his wife.

Now he couldn’t get enough.

“H, please,” She whimpers, he knows what she wants.

“Ask me nicely, brat,” He hums in return, watching her thighs flex to keep herself balance, her breasts heaving as she breathes heavily.

“Touch me,” YN chirps sweetly, hand laying lightly over his when he finds her swollen bud - her eyes hazily focused on where they’re joint.

“Tha’s it, did it proper. Good job,” He praises when he feels her tense up around him, walls hugging him tightly as her whines turn into beautiful moans.

Harry can’t help but snicker when she goes dead weight after she rides out her release, leaving Harry to do all the work as he sits up and pounds up into her.

“Selfish little brat.”

But there is a disgusting amount of fondness laced into the insult as he smears kisses on her shoulders and comes himself.

#gang!harry blurbs #gangrry #gang!harry

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biletdoux · 3 years

Text

temporary bliss | j.sc

Member | jung sungchan (nct) + female!reader Rating | m Genre + Tropes | idol!sungchan, asssistant!reader, fwb!au, romance (smut, slight angst) Warning(s) | explicit language, sexual content (pwp, oral [m +f receiving], nipple play, face fucking, doggy, cowgirl, missionary), sungchan is a fuck boi and reader is dumb smh Length | 4.1k+ Prompts | ‘After Midnight’ by WayV for the Event # 3: Song Association - Risqué hosted by the Neo Smut Collective network! Please go check out the other wonderful works in the event and check out the whole network if you get the chance <333 Playlist | After Midnight - WayV // Temporary Bliss - The Cab

Summary | The closest you can get to Jung Sungchan being yours is after midnight.

(Or; when it comes to Sungchan, you take what you can get.)

Note: hi!! it’s a bit late, but it’s here !!! this is the i’ve never really written super explicit smut before, so this is by far the filthiest thing i’ve written ;; i originally wanted to do some sort of cinderella!au or something, but i couldn’t think of a sufficient plot, so i came up with this instead haha. maybe i’ll visit the cinderella!au in the future. please let me know what you think! it would mean a lot to me haha

It’s late when you’re finally able to call it a day.

Your muscles creak and ache in ways that it shouldn’t for your age and your feet hiss from the constant running around to tend to errands and preparing props and make up. The elevator of your apartment complex has been down all week, so you’re forced to trudge the three floor trek against your will. When you finally make it to your door, your phone buzzes with a text notification and you’re tempted to toss it over your shoulder. It’s been a long day and you want nothing more than a hot shower before flinging yourself onto your bed.

You want to ignore it, but you know the photoshoot is coming up soon and everything is on a tight schedule. The slightest mishap will throw everything out of order and since you’re at the bottom of the totem pole, you know the magazine editors and photographers will take out their wrath on you.

You heave a sigh and jam in your apartment key with misdirected anger as you open the text.

[23:41] 0XX-XXX-XXXX: you free tonight?

It’s an unsaved number, but you know exactly who it is. You suck in a deep breath in spite of yourself. Your body is prickling in anticipation as you mindlessly scroll up through the past text history with the number.

It all unfolds the same. He texts first and you reply each and every time. You’re not proud of yourself, but you can’t help it. Tonight is no different.

Your fingers dance across the keyboard on their own accord and you bite your lip thinking about how you have to be at the studio tomorrow at 06:00 sharp.

[23:43]: yeah.

Yes. It’ll be fine. You can make time. You always do.

The little grey text bubble with the three flashing dots pop up immediately and you find yourself feeling embarrassingly giddy at the sight of it.

[23:44] 0XX-XXX-XXXX: cool. same place, same time?

So much for a hot shower and much needed sleep. You waste no time in replying. Playing hard to get and coy with him gets you nowhere and you’ve accepted it.

[23:45]: works for me. see you there

A bolded ‘Read at 23:45’ appears in the corner of your message and you don’t get another reply from him after.

You quietly make your way to your room, as to not wake up your roommate, and you beeline straight for the shower. The hot water trickles over your body and you swear you can melt entirely, but you don’t allow yourself the luxury of enjoying it. The motel is a twenty minute walk from your place, so you need to hurry. You spritz on perfume before throwing on a quick outfit and a cap before you grab your keys and make your way out for the night. You used to put much more thought and care in your wardrobe when it first started, but you realized the clothes you meticulously picked out never stayed on long enough to be appreciated anyway.

The night is chilly and you adjust your mask for a more snug fit over your face.

Late night texts and substandard motels are not things you would expect to be associated with Jung Sungchan, but here you are making haste across dark alleys underneath a starless Seoul skyline.

It was just a few months ago when the two of you were strangers.

Jung Sungchan was the latest model for the pictorial your mentor was spearheading for Allure in partnership with Dr.G. You were a newly hired assistant with only a few months time of wetting her toes in the magazine business. The work was tough and the pay abysmal. There were more menial tasks, such as fetching coffee and ordering lunch, than you’d like, but you understood the industry and knew how competitive it was. You were young and you were willing to bite your tongue in order to climb to the top.

It was his first real third party photoshoot, so he was stiff, but still polite nonetheless. His skin was alabaster and he towered over the bustling staff who were in charge of styling and make up. He was very handsome, but you weren’t exactly swept off your feet at the sight of him. Working with various models day in and day out made you immune to a pretty face, no matter how pretty Jung Sungchan’s was.

At least that’s what you thought. You didn’t realize how taken you were with him until the celebration party after the successful shoot. The shoot took close to 20 hours to finish in its entirety and everyone was in a drinking mood. The party was at rented loft and spanned the entire night. Three hours and multiple bottles of soju in, you found yourself next to the man of the hour.

It’s a little hazy, but somehow after exchanging conversation and a few, okay, maybe a lot more, drinks, you found yourself in bed with him. Jung Sungchan was a little too charming to resist and before you knew it, the two of you crossed the line.

You were sure you’d be in the biggest of trouble, but all the staff was plastered and you thanked every higher being that you could think of for getting away unscathed. Your indiscretion would stay nothing more than just that, and you could go back to living your life as if you hadn’t just bedded one of the new members of NCT.

But here you are, at said motel where you’d agree to meet Sungchan the first time after that night and the very same motel where you two have agreed to meet at every time.

“Is the queen suite available for three hours?”

The man at the front desk didn’t even lift his eyes from the computer screen to meet yours. “Yeah, you know the hourly rate right?”

“I do.” You say as you handed over the appropriate amount of bills.

He counts the bills and finally hands over your room key when satisfied.

You make your way to the room, the path practically muscle memory at this point. The room is moderate sized with scant decorations, but the mattress plush and bathroom clean. That’s what Sungchan likes most about this place.

You plop yourself on the mattress after placing your cap and face mask on the nightstand. The neon green of the clock reads ‘00:19’ and you know he’ll be here soon enough.

This relationship, no, this arrangement the two of you have is dangerous and you’re not stupid enough to not know. The risks involved far outweigh any possible benefit, but the one benefit was being close to Jung Sungchan, so you allow yourself to play with fire a little longer.

You were never one to mix business with pleasure, but a random text a few weeks after the Dr.G shoot has you biting your words. Now you’re at the whim of Jung Sungchan. He texts. You answer. You two meet up at the same motel. You usually pay for the room, but he’ll pay if he gets there first. You two fuck. He leaves first. He always leaves first. It’s the same song and dance, but your heart cracks just the tiniest bit each time, but when he texts, you answer.

The clock reads ‘00:24’ when you hear a quiet knock on the door. You take a quick breath to steady yourself before opening the door. It’s been weeks since you’ve seen him and the sight of him at the door frame of a dimly lit motel is no less breathtaking.

Sungchan wastes no time when he sees you. He pulls you in for a rough kiss and you stumble slightly before steadying yourself against him. He haphazardly closes the door and locks it clumsily without ceasing to kiss you once.

This is how it is with him. All efficiency and no pleasantries. Jung Sungchan knows what he wants and gets it.

He backs you on to the mattress and you fall back, the mattress sinking with your weight and some of his as your hair is splayed back on the white sheets. He gives himself a moment and drinks in the sight of you before diving back down and kissing your neck.

“How long did you reserve the room for?” He asks between kisses as he makes quick work of your clothes.

You grab at his shirt and try to unbuckle his belt before answering, “three hours.”

“Hm,” he pulls back to take off his shirt. Your shorts are halfway off at your knees and your shirt’s gone too, your bra is exposed to his appreciative gaze. “I have an early start tomorrow. I have to leave earlier than usual.”

“That’s fine.” Disappointment pools at the bottom of your belly and you grab his face to pull him into another kiss. It’s wet and unrestrained, your tongue against his, but it does little to dispel your negative feelings. Sungchan groans against you, deepening the kiss while absolutely clueless to the sinking feeling in your body.

You want to yell at him and kick him out. If he couldn’t stay long then why come at all. Why text you in the first place. You had an early start too. You just finished a 18 hour work day and you’re fucking tired too. You want to scream and shout, but you don’t.

You’re nothing more than a coward, so you bite his bottom lip in frustration, but that just gets him more riled up and you feel his growing erection strain against his jeans.

“Fuck,” he lets out. “You’re so sexy today.”

You’re a little annoyed that he’s enjoying it, so you grab his head by the hair to be at eye level with him. You’re careful not to pull too hard despite your anger. His pretty face and every pretty little hair on his head has always been your weakness.

Sungchan stares back at you, eyes brimming with unbridled lust and your resolve falters just the slightest bit, but you bite it back.

“Eat me out.” You demand.

His eyes are unwavering as pulls you in for another rough kiss. When you start to match his rhythm, he abruptly pulls back. You’re embarrassed at the way your neck arched toward him to chase his retreating lips.

“Sure,” he says as he completely pulls off your shorts. “I’ll gladly eat you out.”

Your panties are soaked and it may have been because you were so excited at the prospect of seeing him for the first time in a while after weeks without hearing from him, but you’ll never admit it out loud.

“Aw babe,” he teases with a quick swipe of his finger over your aching folds. “Look at how wet you are. All wet for me, right?”

You look away as you keep your mouth sealed. You’ll never let him have that kind of satisfaction over you.

Sungchan chuckles to himself at your little show of defiance before he gets to work. His tongue laps at your core and he switches up the pressure just the way you like it. He eats you out like a man starved and makes his hand useful by stimulating your clit simultaneously. Your hands are threaded through his locks and your toes curl. Sungchan knows exactly how you like it from your many hook ups and he has you seeing stars in no time. Your body writhes underneath him, but he’s unrelenting against your pussy. He doesn't stop fully simulating you until you’ve fully ridden the extent of your climax.

Your chest is heaving and your skin sticky with a slight sheen of sweat.

“So fast today,” he mutters. He makes direct eye contact as he licks his fingers dry.

“Shut up, I’m just pent up that’s all.” You snicker.

“Did you miss me?” he asks before capturing your lips for another kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue, but you pay little mind as you match his fervor. His lithe finger works hard to unclasp your bra to have you entirely exposed to him. He admires your body in all its beauty and places a peck over your collarbone. “Just admit you missed me.”

“I didn’t.” You lie. Your body is sensitive from your high and you flinch as his hands ghost over your torso. He peppers kisses all the way down to your breasts and skillfully takes a nipple in his mouth and rolls the other between his fingers. You gasp out loud and your body arches to meet him. You can feel him grinning against you and you kind of hate yourself.

“Aw, don’t be like that.” His words sound as if he’s hurt, but his cheeky tone is impossible to miss. “Cause I missed you, babe.”

Your throat goes dry and he moves his mouth over the other nipple to give it the same treatment. You decide to say nothing and just allow yourself to give into his ministrations. By the time he’s done, your nipples are sensitive to the max and your core is aching.

You kiss him again, wanting nothing more to be close to him and he kisses you back greedily. It’s messy with no hint of grace, but it gets the job done. Sungchan pulls away first, his words raspy and strained. “Suck me off.”

You want to argue, but he’s already taking off his pants and urging you to get on your knees.

Sungchan is sitting on the edge of the bed with you snug between his legs. His cock stands stiff and proud as he looks at you expectedly. You act annoyed, but you do as he says regardless.

You start with a quick kiss on the tip before making long drawn out licks on all sides of his cock. Once satisfied, you decided to take him in. You bob your head along his length and alternate between taking it in and pressured licks. You grab his balls and fondle him gently where he likes it. You also learned what he likes from all the clandestine escapades you two shared.

You also learn that Sungchan is loud in bed.

“Fuck,” he groaned. He grips your hair tightly as he guides your head and whenever you do something he’s especially fond of, he likes to stroke his thumbs against your cheek in praise. “You’re always so good, babe.”

His words edge you on and you find yourself wanting to please him more. You’re more turned on than ever and you use your free hand to finger yourself. You feel tightly wound and crave some form of release.

“Oh my god,” Sungchan rasps. “Are you touching yourself right now?”

You take him all the way in as a reply. His dick is touching the back of your throat and you firmly make a fist with your thumb wrapped around your fingers to suppress your gag reflex. You take him as far as you can and your nose just misses his navel by the slightest bit. His hips buck against your mouth and you do your best not to choke.

“Baby,” he hisses against you as he holds your face in place. His hips are moving again and you feel tears prick your eyes as drool comes out from the both sides of your mouth. “You’ve always looked the prettiest between my legs with my dick in your mouth.”

He fucks into your face for just a few more strokes before pulling you off. “I want to come in your pussy, babe.”

Sungchan’s words have a wild edge to them, but you can barely register them as you’re coughing. Your throat feels raw and you wobble at your feet as you make you way back on the bed. He’s putting on a condom as you get into position. You know he always likes to take you from the back first, with your face in the pillow and your ass up in the air.

You grab a pillow to prop under you for support and you allow yourself to slump over for a few seconds of rest. Just a moment later, you can feel Sungchan looming over you.

“I love how you know just what I like,” he hums as his tip teases the edge of your lips. “Saves so much time.”

“Just fuck me.” You’re exasperated and so desperately horny for him.

He does what you say. Sungchan sinks into you and gives you just time to adjust to his length. You’ve been too busy to even play with your toys, so you haven’t had any stimulation down there at all. You feel stretched out, but in the most delicious way. Sungchan starts moving before you give him the okay, and normally you’d be pissed, but god does it feel so fucking good.

His grip is tight and painful as he holds onto your hips while he rams into you. His pace is intense and delicious. You drown yourself in Sungchan.

“Shit,” you moan. You don’t like to stroke his already massive ego, but he has you feeling delirious. “So good. Feels so fucking good.”

“What was that?” He taunts. “I couldn’t quite hear you.”

“Fuck you.” you spit.

His pace halts to an aching stop and you feel like crying. His cock is all the way in and he leans over your body. His hand reaches over to play with you clit as he whispers in your ear. “That’s not very nice. I just couldn’t hear very well, that’s all. No need to be so nasty, you know it hurts my feelings.”

You try to buck against Sungchan, but he uses his free hand to keep your hips in place and his other plays with your clit even harder. He bites your shoulder blade and you think tears really are going to come out.

“Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.” You cry. “Stop being such a fucking dick and just fuck me until I can’t think.”

Sungchan freezes against you for the slightest bit, before you can feel him slide out of you. You expect him to ram into you and fuck you senseless for being so disrespectful, but you feel the mattress shift as he lies down next to you.

“You really are so mean, babe.” His eyes twinkle as he looks at your confused face. “I don’t think I’m really in the mood anymore, you really hurt my feelings this time.”

Your mind goes blank at the loss of his heat. It’s a lie of course, his dick is ramrod straight and aching to fuck you again, but fuck you’re just too damn horny to think straight.

“I’m s-sorry” You splutter. It’s pathetic how easy you give into him and fall into his traps. “I said you’re good, so fucking good. So don’t make a liar of me and just fuck me.”

“I will,” You sigh in relief, but you jolt up when he finishes his sentence. “But only if you ride me first.”

The shock you feel leaves you speechless and he eggs you on even more. “What is it, babe? Don’t know how to ride a dick?”

You know exactly what kind of stupid game he’s trying to pull, but your pussy desperately needs to be filled, so fine. You’ll play his game and beat him in process.

You climb on top of Sungchan, your knees on both sides of his hips as your dripping pussy hovers over the tip of his cock. You can feel him twitch in anticipation. He’s looking up at you with a cocky little smile, but you can see the dangerous glint in his eyes that’s full of need. You had more fight in you, but his look erases it all. You take your right hand to line up his length at your entrance while your left hand steadies your body. When you sink on his dick, the both of you groan simultaneously.

You rock against him slowly as you experiment where to put your hands to maximise your control. Once you’ve settled into a steady rhythm that has the both of your going crazy, you’re relentless on top of his cock. He has one hand on your hip to guide you while the other plays with your clit.

All types of noises and expletives escape your mouth as you near your high. “Yeah,” you pant. “Just like that, Sungchan. Keep touching me like that.”

He groans under you and grips your hip even harder as you reach your second orgasm. You slump over his body, your hair stuck against your slick back. You roll off his body out of breath and Sungchan sits up over you to kiss you. It’s leisure and languid and you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer. He allows you to do as you wish, but he pulls back shortly after.

“Ready for more?” He asks.

“What?” Your mind is a little slow after two orgasms.

“I didn’t come yet.” He reminds you.

“Right.”

Sungchan takes off the condom and strokes his dick slowly. It’s still stiff and you realize you don’t mind another round.

“Yeah, sure.” You agree.

“I’ll give you a treat for riding me, babe.” He grins as he puts on a fresh condom. “You can pick the position.”

You mull over your choices. Your body is sensitive to the max right now, so you don’t need that much more stimulation. You finally decide. “Missionary.”

“Sure.” He says while setting up a pillow for you. You lie down slowly as he moves to position himself.

Sungchan enters you with ease and once he’s all the way in, you wrap your legs around his waist. He grabs the other pillow and motions you to raise your hips before placing it under your hips for a better angle. He rocks into you at a moderate speed before picking up his pace. There are other positions that make you see stars, but nothing beats the intimacy of missionary. Sungchan is the closest to being yours in this position, so you allow yourself to indulge.

You wrap your arms around his neck for another kiss and this one is soft and sweet. Sungchan returns it in the same manner and you allow yourself to think of him as your lover and your lover alone in that brief moment.

“I’m about to come,” he grunts against your mouth. “Can I come?”

You nod and he hugs you tight before bucking his hips in a near frenzied pace. You can feel him reach his high as his body stutters against yours. Sungchan collapses on you shortly after and you both heave your chest in synch. You revel in the post-orgasm bliss with Sungchan, but it never lasts long.

He moves to extricate your sweaty bodies and you want to ask him to stay in bed a little longer, but you don’t. He removes the condom and makes a little knot before tossing it in the trash bin.

“I’m going to wash first, ‘that cool with you?” Sungchan asks as if you have a say in the matter. As if he isn’t already in the bathroom and turning on the shower as the words leave his mouth.

But you know your role and you play the part. “Go ahead.”

You know Sungchan can’t hear you anyway because he shut the bathroom door before you can reply.

The sound of the shower fills the room as you look up at the ceiling. You allow yourself to rest for a few more minutes before rolling over to see the clock reading ‘01:59.’ You take a complimentary towel to give yourself a preliminary clean before your turn in the shower. He’s never asked to shower together once.

When Sungchan is done, he leaves the shower looking fresh, but smelling of cheap motel shampoo. It’s another thing that you’ve come to associate with Jung Sungchan.

He gathers his things from the nightstand and you make your way to the shower.

“Hey,” Sungchan calls over his shoulder just as you reach the bathroom. “I’ll see you again?”

No.

This isn’t any good for you. You can’t just keep crawling back from for a quick climax and a few minutes of intimacy. You can’t let him use you in whatever way he wants just in exchange for a few kisses. You can’t keep being at his beck and call and drop everything to give him a quick release. You have your own life and schedule too. You want more than what he can give, so stop doing this to yourself and cut it off.

“Yeah, just text me.”

masterlist.

#neosmutsongs #neosmutcollective #neowritingsnet #cznnet #nctcreations #nct scenario #nct fanfic #nct smut #sungchan scenario #sungchan fanfic #sungchan smut

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sunshineneedsaplacetokeephernsfw · 3 years

Text

The Bet (Bakugou x reader)

Pairing: Bakugou x female reader Word count: 2,653 Warnings: 18+, orgasm denial, over stimulation Notes: An excellent idea I had one day. I was originally going to send this idea in an ask to @lady-bakuhoe (especially since the idea came from something she said once), but I never got around to it and then realized I could write it for Bakugou’s birthday bash. I hope this is good, this is my second 18+ fic and the first one to actually have vaginal penetration, so I hope I did it justice.

~~~

"Bakugou's hot, but he's probably terrible at sex," you said to a friend once.

You were in your workshop. And your friend was free and decided to come around. She was an old classmate from U.A.’s support course. You rarely saw each other since graduating. But whenever you did see her, it was always an enjoyable experience. So it was decided that you would catch up while you were working.

The conversation somehow led to the point where she started pondering how the pro heroes could do the deed. Of course, she mainly mentioned the popular ones. Which led her to mention Bakugou.

"What was that!?" Bakugou came barreling into the room. A vein bulging from his forehead.

Perhaps it would have been best if you remembered that you were finishing up a project for Bakugou. And that he was in the next room waiting for it to be done. You didn’t know him well the first two years in U.A., but the last year you were given the task of inventing something for him. Ever since then, you had taken more jobs for him and became friends of a sort.

It was too late to take your words back now, and you just had to roll with it. Plus, it was the truth.

"I said you'd be terrible at sex."

"No, I'm not!"

"Yes, you could be! How do you know? Last I checked, you still had your v-card."

"Does he really?" Your friend asked, her emotions a combination of shock and amusement.

"Yeah." You laughed.

"Shut up! I'd be the best at it, and you know it!"

"No, I bet you wouldn’t."

"I bet would!"

"Prove it!"

"Fine! Let's settle this right now!"

His words catch you off guard, but you aren't losing to him. "O-okay! As long as you're paying for the hotel room."

You and Bakugou left the room. You looking up a good place on your phone. And your friend sat there, wide eyed, with her mouth gaping.

It went how you expected.

You asked for a room, after having Bakugou’s promise that he'd pay you back. You texted him the room number so he could sneak in from the back without being noticed. Lord knew the media internet would go crazy if they saw pro-hero Dynamite enter a hotel room with some girl. Especially if anyone happened to notice condoms in his pocket. You also made sure to text your friend later and make her promise not to tell anyone.

He was very clearly inexperienced. Jackhammering into you, not even pay attention to your clit. Eventually he did remember that you had to please the other person to be good at sex. But his attempts were clumsy.

You had to remind him to stay quiet several times when his growls got too loud. In an embarrassingly short amount of time, he came and struggled to hide his exhaustion. It ended there.

"See, you're terrible at it. Not even close to cumming." You told him. And with that, you left to go get your vibrator.

It was a while until you saw him again. You were called into another city for work, and was just getting back. And it just so happened that you were back when it was Bakugou’s birthday.

Kirishima and a few other classmates from his U.A. days arranged a party at his place, one you were doubtful that Bakugou had agreed to. You were invited, which surprised you, but you accepted. You did your best to converse, but it was difficult when you didn’t know most of them particularly well. You mostly hung around Bakugou.

As evening bled into night, people slowly began leaving. You hadn’t left yet because you, quite frankly, had nothing better to do. Though, you thought it would be nice if you could catch up with Bakugou alone.

The conversation was fairly mundane. Work, news. At least both of your workplaces were fairly interesting. He had the usual angry bite to his voice, but you expected it of him at this point. You were asking him about how the improvement you finished for him was working out, when he had a faraway look in his eyes. His cheeks had turned a red color. You asked him what he was thinking about.

"We still haven't settled our bet!" He said.

"What?"

"Our bet! You said I was bad at sex!"

"This again? I thought we settled it. And, as I said, you were bad at it."

"No! That was just a fluke! We're gonna do it again!"

You let out a sigh. "Nothing's going to change. We already did it once and know the answer."

"You're just saying that because you're afraid you're going to lose." He pointed at you.

That was it.

"No," you glared, "I'm not."

"Then what's stopping you!?"

"Nothing!" You stood up. "Where’s the bedroom?"

With a smirk, he pointed with his thumb.

How did you get yourself into this? Well, you said you didn’t have anything better to do.

You confidently strode over to the bed. Throwing the bottom half of your clothes off, you got onto the mattress and waited. He wasted no time in undoing his belt with a quick jingle, and climbed over you. You felt the bed dip under your combined weight as he ran a finger against your folds.

He pushed one finger into your hole. Last time he had just tried to shove his length in, which is why his new behavior confused you. Though you didn’t dwell on it. Your tight walls clamped down on his finger as he added a second one. You hissed at the stretch. He shoved them in and out of you, knuckles deep. His fingers brushed against your sensitive spot. You bit your lip in an attempt to not buck into his fingers.

"Everything alright?"

The words alone would have made you believe he was genuinely concerned. But you saw his face, his smirk. His words dripped with sarcasm.

"Yeah, of course. Just waiting for you to actually be good at this," you retorted.

Your comment didn’t seem to have any effect on his ego. He twisted his digits around, until they brushed against a spot that almost made you lose your composure.

You hoped he didn't notice, but he must have, because he applied more pressure to it. The sheets bunched up in your hands as you grasped at anything to stop the moan that threatened to escape from your throat.

Your breaths became labored and inconsistent. To your embarrassment, you could hear the wet slide of his finger that came out only to hit the spot once more. A pressure built up inside of you, begging to be released the more intense it became.

A long whine escaped from you, still heard even with your mouth closed. Your thoughts blurred. You were close. You tried to resist at first, but was slowly surrendering.

Almost as soon as you had come to accept it, it stopped. Your heart rate quickened as if facing a fatal misfortune.

"What? You weren’t going to cum if I'm bad at sex, right? Or do you want to be wrong?"

No. Your pride was on the line and you weren’t losing.

He got on top of you. You sunk further into the mattress with his arms caging you in. You could smell yourself on his fingers. He tugged down his pants and boxers, finally releasing his cock from its confines.

You pursed your lips at seeing how large it was. You didn’t think you'd see it again after the first time. The blond ripped a condom out of the crinkling plastic and put it on.

He ran the tip along your slit. It pushed against your clit. You grasped the covers and bit your lip to conceal a whine. Collecting your arousal. This was different from last time. He just stuck it in.

He was taking so long to just stick it in! Your hole clenched around nothing in anticipation. It was almost like he was being slow on purpose. Making you desperate for him after you challenged him.

You must have accidentally shown some of your frustration on your face. He leaned in with a smirk. His breath fanning your warm face as his tip pushed even harder against your sensitive bud. You let out a gasp.

"What's wrong, princess?" He said mockingly. Enjoying your pain. God, you wished you could punch him.

"Nothing, just wonder when y--" he suddenly pushed into you, not even letting you finish.

Your mouth gaped open and eyes widened, feeling him invade your pussy. His smirk grew and he repositioned himself. His mouth was at your neck. You could feel his sharp breaths on you.

"You can't handle my cock when I haven't even moved yet?" His growls vibrated against your skin. "Need me to stay still even longer?"

You couldn't let him win. You were never going to give him that satisfaction. "No," you lied.

You regretted it immediately. His length started pistoning in and out of you. So fast you almost lost yourself.

His hips slightly adjusted their thrusts. Confusion began to show on your face until it twisted back into shocked pleasure when he hit that perfect spot. You couldn’t stop a moan from tumbling out of your mouth. That little ba-

"Ah-hh!" He kept hitting it at an unforgiving pace.

“Heh. You’re enjoying it this much already?”

“No--” you were cut off by a moan escaping your throat. “God, right there.”

You could feel him grin as he began biting your neck. Licking, and teasing where you were most sensitive. All the while, he moved a hand down to your neglected clit. He rubbed circular motions into it. A small moan tumbled out of you.

You could feel it, a heat intensifying again. A lot faster after being edged the first time. It was coming. You were going to cum. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but you were so close.

He must have been able to tell. Because he slowed. Oh, he slowed to a painful pace. Your eyes went wide in panic.

"What are you doing?! Why did you--?" One quick thrust interrupted you before slowing again. You were hating this new habit of his.

"Nothing. Just not letting you cum until you beg for it. So beg."

You shook your head. You were dripping. Your primal instincts screaming at you. But you had enough wits about you to not sacrifice your dignity.

He shrugged, the slightest bit of irritation in his face. "Suit yourself."

He continued at the same, slow, painful pace. You withheld a whine of quickly losing the promise of a release. Gradually he began going faster. Consistent, quick claps filled the room once more. You twisted the soft sheets in your hand. Trying to hide how quickly the pressure was built up again.

He was making an absolute mess out of your pussy and of you.

“What’s wrong? I thought you wanted to get fucked real good.” His pace was relentless. Words couldn’t even form in your head from the overstimulation.

Almost there. Almost- then any sort of stimulation stopped again.

You felt like crying. No, you were crying. Desperate to meet your end. Your attempts to be subtle while helpless grinding on his cock was pathetic. And you knew it.

He let you fall from your high, only to build you back up again. Your body writhing, feeling every cell in your body overheating.

"What's wrong? Need me to make you feel good? Need me to finish you off? That's right! You need me right now. Me and my cock."

Your mind was too clouded to even create a witty response. He wasn't this good last time! What happened?

Your eyes went wide at this realization. "How are you--?"

"I did my research."

"I thought Midoriya was the only one who would- ah-h!"

"Don't," he gave an extra hard thrust, hitting your cervix, "say his name. I should be," he pounded into you at every word like a punctuation, "the only person you can even think of right now."

You frantically nodded, completely forgetting about the competition you had made this out to be.

A strong arm wrapped around you, holding you against him. He grinned while staring at your face, contorting in pleasure.

You let out a long whine, combined with a sob. "Please," you said, forgetting everything. Screw your dignity and pride. You couldn’t take this anymore.

"Please what?" He teased, savoring the victory on his tongue.

"Please," you mindlessly babbled. Tears rolled down your face as your resolve shattered, "please let me cum. Please. Please. Please."

"Well, all you had to do was ask." He hit the perfect spot in you. Over and over again, while rolling your clit between his fingers.

Almost instantly, it all returned and you felt yourself gushing all over him. Relief and euphoria flooding through you. He kept thrusting into you during your orgasm, making your brain spark and sputter.

As you started to come down from your high, was when he came undone. He grunted and gave one shove to the hilt, creating a large wet slap.

He slumped over somewhat, having lost his rigid energy from before. He pulled out of you. Your own liquid running out and making your skin sensitive to the air. Your breaths were still deep. You tried to pull yourself together as quickly as you could and started to sit up.

"No way, sister." He pushed you back down by your shoulders. He threw the used condom to the side and put a new one on in a fluid motion. He was already hard again… "We're not done yet."

He pushed calculated thrusts into your sopping pussy. Continuing at a pace only a hero could so short after cummimg. His strong hands clamped down on your hip, letting him roll into you more easily. Constant pressure to your g-spot made your eyelids flutter.

It built up and snapped all over again. You moaned out gibberish deliriously. Waves of pleasure washing over you becoming harder to stand.

He showed no sign of stopping. Angling himself to ram into that spot mercilessly. He adjusts his hand to allow his thumb access to your clit. He lifted up your shirt and bra and leaned down to lick and nibble at your breasts. You tried to pull away, the overstimulation being too much, but he held you down.

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head. Body heating up so much you thought you would catch fire. He shoved you over the edge once again. And again. Reminding you of a computer stalling, only to perform the action you wanted far too many times.

His face was twisted in a determined concentration before it finally relaxed in a groan. Finally he came again. He let out a long sigh before letting himself fall on the bed next to you, sweat glistening on his toned body.

You both lay there. Recovering your energy, trying not to give into exhaustion demands to fall asleep. Apparently it took more out of him than he let on. You tried to ignore how wet you felt.

You breathed heavily. Trying to catch your breath. "That was… better."

"Better? Do you know how many times you came?"

"Yeah. But, just," you took a deep breath every word, "not sure. I would have to try again, to really know. It could have been a fluke." You were too tired to even acknowledge your pathetic argument.

"There’s no way it could have been a fluke!"

"It was the last time, according to you. Why can't it be one again." Trying to remember you schedule was getting easier as you came down, but was still hard. "I'm busy tomorrow. Next week?"

"Three days from now."

"Deal."

But you would only have to wait for two.

#bakugou smut #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #smut #bakugou x reader smut #bnha smut #mha smut #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #mha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugou birthday bash #happy birthday bakugou

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oblxvion · 3 years

Text

priority | armin arlert

-> pairing: jealous!armin arlert x f!reader

-> wc: 2.1k

-> warnings: smut, alcohol consumption, slight corruption, creampie, slight voyeurism at the end, a bit of mean!armin

armin was beyond furious. seeing you waltz around jean’s apartment, talking to every single one of his guy friends in the room in that short dress of yours, tits threatening to spill out, drove him insane. you were his, and his alone. it seemed that you wanted attention as you made your way over to the fridge, grabbing your god knows how many, drink of the night.

you were having fun, you hadn’t had this much fun in a while. you recently had been focusing a lot on school and family that you barely had time to go out with your friends. of course, they didn’t mind you not hanging with them, you had your priorities. armin was also one of your priorities, but right now, it sure as hell felt like he was at the bottom of his list.

you and armin had first met in your first year at your new university through some of his friends. you had transferred from your old college to shiganshina university partially because of the fact that you disliked how the school was operated the year before. you were first introduced to everyone by eren due to the fact that you shared a class together, and frankly, he took a liking into you. he brought you to one of the functions that jean had and that’s where you had met armin. although eren was undoubtably attractive, there was something about armin that was just different.

from there, your relationship continued to progress and grow, little hangouts turning into dates just the two of you and then before you knew it, you were both exclusive for a large portion of your sophomore year of college before you decided to make it official. now, you’ve been in relationship for a year. since you were nearing the end of your college career, you both had decided to move in with each other at the beginning go your senior year. life with armin was great, aside from the fact that he was extremely protective when it came to you.

armin took a sip of his beverage and set it down beside him and leaned back against the counter, his eyes following your every move. you looked good, really good, almost too good but you were prancing around a little too much for his liking. you strolled over to him, quite a bit tipsy from the amount of alcohol you consumed.

“hi baby,” you slurred, wrapping your arms around his neck for support. his masculine cologne clouding your nose, he always smelled amazing. he held you in his arms as you had yours around his neck. for some reason, you missed him even though he was right here with you. you weren’t that drunk, were you?

“hi angel,” he whispered into the crook of your neck. “having fun?” if you weren’t intoxicated, you would be able to the hear the annoyance in his tone. you gave him a small smile, you really had no idea what you had gotten yourself into.

“mhm,” you nuzzled into his neck before letting go and dashing off to continue playing drinking games with the rest of the boys. but you barely made it to the table before you tripped over your foot and fell forward, into eren’s arms.

this was the last straw for armin.

he did not like that one bit.

“hey, woah, y/n, are you good?” eren asked as he held you up right, clearly concerned that you could’ve face planted on the floor. you felt your cheeks heat up at his comment, embarrassed by your actions.

“i — ” you began but you were quickly interrupted with the sound of armin’s voice.

“i’ll talk to her, i think she’s had too much to drink,” he insisted, grabbing onto your forearm and pulling you away from eren’s grasp. he didn’t want to seem like a complete asshole, but the thought of another mans hands on your body, sexual or not, made his blood boil.

“oh, uh, sure,” eren scratched the back of his head, confused, armin seemed to be a bit off tonight.

armin forcefully pulled you through the hallway and into one of the guest rooms, pushing you up against the nearest wall. you had no idea what was going on, why was he acting like this? armin was usually the calm and collected person in the relationship.

“i don’t know what shit you’re trying to pull, y/n, but it isn’t fucking funny,” he spat, his face millimeters away from yours as his arms enclosed you between him and the wall. you could almost feel his anger radiating off of him, but for what reason?

“i don’t know what you mean,” you squeaked, looking up at him from under your eyelids. you rarely saw this side of him, why was he so upset?

“you don’t know what i mean? c’mon, y/n, don’t be stupid,” he sneered as he brought his hands down to your waist, voice softening. “this dress, oh baby, you look so good in it. but why are you all over the other boys, flaunting off what’s mine, hm?”

it all made sense now. armin’s actions happened because he wanted you to focus on him, him to be your priority, not the other boys. you weren’t even paying any attention to them, you only were really talking about random things. but still, you didn’t think that it would get him this upset.

“and then when eren’s hands were on you, fuck, you did that on purpose, right? to rile me up? you know how much i hate it when another guy touches you, especially eren.” armin knew that eren had feelings for you in the past. he had no idea if eren still did because he denied it, but he didn’t believe eren.

his lips ghosted over your ear, sending shivers down your spine. he hadn’t even touched you yet, but his words made you feel hot and bothered. you didn’t dare speak back, thinking that you’d make him even more upset. but to your despair, he was pissed. you turned your head away from him, nervous to meet his lustful glare. he took a step back, eyeing your body up and down. you looked so helpless up against the wall, lips trembling. “getting all shy on me now? you weren’t so shy earlier.”

“how about i give you a quick lesson and remind you who you belong to, yeah?” he whispered, coming back towards you, hands back on your waist moving down to your ass as he pulled you into a messy kiss. the feeling of his lips on yours for the first time that whole night made your head heavy, and the buzz of the alcohol was not helping. it was intoxicating, the kiss, his hands on your body, everything.

“armin, fuck,” you whined into his mouth, making his pants tighten at the mere sound of your voice. the way you made him feel, you had no idea what you did to him, even after all this time of being with you. he wanted to please you, but wanted to punish you for what you were doing earlier. he mumbled a quiet “as you wish,” before slowly bringing his hand down to where you needed him most.

you had a healthy sexual relationship with armin, you tended to fuck often. but this time, there was something driving him aside from pleasure, and it made you weak in the knees. he gently hiked your dress up so it was around your waist, only to reveal a pair of lace panties that were a pretty shade of baby pink, more importantly, his favorite.

“you wore these tonight?” why you had decided to wear those specific panties tonight, you had no idea. but you now knew that you were in for it.

“y — yes, but,” you stuttered, you didn’t know what to say.

“god, you’re such a fucking slut.” he spat, his cruel words hurt you, as they were usually only praise. “i can’t believe you.” you remained silent as armin began to pull down his sweatpants and boxers, revealing his length, precum leaking from the tip. he was above average length, you were used to his size. armin was impatient, you had been flaunting around all goddamn night and he was full of it. in one swift movement, he turned you around so your chest was pressed up against the wall as the pulled your panties down to pool at the floor.

oh, you were so in for it.

in one thrust, armin sheathed himself inside your sopping heat, earning a loud moan from you. you had barely gotten any prep from him but you didn’t need it. the moment he had pulled you into the room alone, your arousal pooled in your panties embarrassingly quick. it felt all too good, his deep strokes sent a tingling sensation throughout your whole body as he fucked into you with a steady pace. he knew exactly what you liked and what you needed to be kept at his whim. after all, you were his.

he could feel how your legs were trembling from his ministrations, it only pushed him to continue further. he lifted your leg up, and you swore you could see stars. the angle was perfect, his tip hitting your g-spot repeatedly with each thrust. you knew that you would not be able to last like this, and he knew that too.

“shit, armin, keep doing that,” it felt like you were losing your mind. you weren’t sure if it was because you were drunk, but your mind went blank. you wanted to let him have his way with you, after all, you deserved it right?

“should i?” he chuckled darkly as he brought his hands to your waist, gripping onto you as he thrusted hard. he held onto you as if his life depended on it, for sure to leave bruises later. it was so sloppy, you were so turned on by his sudden change in character. “are you gonna be a good girl?”

“yes — fuck, i’ll be your good girl, i’m a good girl,” you hiccup as you turn your head over to him. he looked so pretty like this, cheeks red as his hair stuck to his forehead from the sweat. he was usually more gentle, more caring when you had sex in the past, but this side of him, you wanted to see more of it.

“you better be.”

you placed your arm around his neck for support as the other held you against the wall while his arm held your leg in place and the other around your neck. he made sure not to hurt you, but the slight pressure made you squeeze down on him even tighter than before.

“fuck, fuck, fuck,” you choked out, it was too good, too much.

the familiar feeling sparked in your lower abdomen, you knew that it would be a matter of minutes, maybe even seconds before you came. armin was not far behind, you could feel him pulsating inside of you though his thrusts never faltered, he wanted to make you finish before him.

“yeah? you gonna cum?” he gritted through his teeth, you felt so good, the way you kept pulling him back in, the way your ass bounced against his thrusts. he wanted to tell you that how good you were being, how obedient you were, but you had to remember who you belonged to. "who's pussy is this? who do you belong to?"

"y — yours, armin, i'm all yours," you mewled as he began to pick up his pace, you couldn't do it. “oh, ‘m gonna, fuck, ‘m gonna cum,” you felt yourself tremble as he brought his hand that wasn’t occupied with your leg down to your clit, rubbing it in lazy circles that contradicted his deep and hard thrusts inside you.

“do it, cum.” and with that, you felt your orgasm wash over you as you released on his cock. your whole body shook as armin continued to piston himself inside you, reaching his release. with a few more strokes, he came shortly after you did, reacting his head on your shoulder as he released himself inside you.

you stayed up against the wall, trying to catch your breath as he pulled out of you gently, giving you a chaste kiss your shoulder before pulling his sweatpants up and handed you your panties. you turned around to face him shyly, embarrassed for your actions earlier that night.

“now, when you go back out there, remember who’s cum's inside you, yeah?” he whispered darkly in to your ear as you slipped your panties back on. you nodded your head hastily and gave him a small smile to which he returned before taking his hand, making your way over to the door.

unbeknownst to the both of you, eren had left the party for a bit claiming that he had to use the bathroom but it wasn’t that. he leaned up against the wall that was shared with that bedroom, with his hands in his pants, panting as he eased himself out of his own release.

armin’ll share, right?

#tw: voyeurism #tw: corruption #armin arlert smut #armin arlert x y/n #armin arlert #armin arlert x you #armin arlert x reader #armin smut #snk x reader #snk anime #snk smut #snk armin #shingeki no kyoujin x reader #aot smut #aot x reader #aot fanfiction #aot armin

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uswntxfootball · 4 years

Text

purely by accident (leah williamson x uswnt!reader)

everything was going to plan until you made the mistake of wearing her shorts to practice.

word count: 2044 ish

rated F for fluff, S for stupidity, and M for messy as fuck.

——

it was open training today in tokyo, and you fucked up.

you fucked up.

the olympics were set to begin next week, and you fucked up.

so flashback to last night.

with some thorough bribing, you finally coaxed jordan to crash with beth for the night, promising and swearing not to defile her bed while she was gone.

you glanced down at the defender in your lap, her attention solely focused on the show playing in front.

the show was leah’s pick and it didn’t particularly interest you, as you were more focused on the sight before you.

both of you were in bed, leah’s head in your lap, your right laid gently over her side, and leah’s hand was playing with your fingers absentmindedly.

the girl in front of you let out a laugh at something that played on the screen, the sound making your heart skip a beat.

upon hearing your silence, she looked up at you.

leah’s cheeks flushed when she saw you already staring down at her, a loving smile stretched across your face.

“what is it?”

you lean down to kiss her.

“nothing. just my girlfriend is really cute is all.”

leah rolled her eyes but met you half way, pressing a tender kiss to your lips.

she turned back to the show and slipped her fingers between yours shyly, an action that caused butterflies and wholeass rhinos to have a disco party inside of you.

it was only a few minutes later when leah spoke again.

“you’re acting weird.”

you quirk an eyebrow at that.

“me? how so?”

“you’re staring at me like you really love me or something.”

you let out a snort.

“congrats baby it only took a year and a half for you to figure out.”

leah giggled, and you grinned, leaning down to give her a kiss on the cheek.

you couldn’t help but let out a sigh at how good it felt, having your girlfriend in your arms after not seeing each other for a month.

given the hectic schedule of the olympics, you both wanted to spend as much alone time together as possible.

you both knew that coming out in the midst of big events was a terrible idea, with first the world cup and the olympics following suit.

it wasn’t that you were ashamed of it, it was just that the media could be a lot at times.

and so could your teammates.

the two of you had met during the world cup, leah taking a particular liking to you after seeing you in the semi final match when england played the us.

she then had missed the chance to talk to you, but lucky for her, the next year, following suit with many of your other teammates, you signed internationally, landing a spot as a midfielder for arsenal.

trainings and games brought you closer together, and feelings developed, with both of you realizing quickly that they weren’t platonic.

but it still took an embarrassingly long amount of time.

and jordan couldn’t stand the two of you.

neither could rose, with leah and you both complaining to them, respectively.

even after quarantining with the defender (and jordan) and spending every second of the day with her, it was almost the end of the fixture when you finally mustered up enough courage to ask her out, only for her to beat you to it.

jordan can’t tell if this was better or worse.

on one hand she no longer had to witness the idiocy and obliviousness for days on end, no longer had to hear the desperate pining from both sides, and no longer had to deal with leah having a mental breakdown overanalyzing every text you sent her.

on the other hand, she now had to deal with the sickening cuteness of the two of you, and had unfortunately caught the two of you going at it in the arsenal locker room after practice, before practice, in the shower, and basically everywhere in the house.

rose was in a similar state, though being overseas, she was spared the worst of it.

the two of you had parted ways when national team duty called, leah staying in england and you flying back to the states.

and here, in tokyo, you were together again, and you couldn’t be happier.

it was 11 pm now, the lights were off ,the defender fast asleep and snuggled close into your chest, your arms wrapped around her.

you had the vague thought of getting up to set an alarm for your training tomorrow, but any attempts to get up were squashed by your girlfriend, who at any movement only held onto you tighter.

your heart melted at the sight, but your rational thought knew this was a bad idea.

worst case is that you miss practice.

best case is that you somehow wake up on time naturally.

unfortunately it ended up being worse than that.

you were jolted awake by your phone ringing.

the girl next to you let go of your waist and mumbled sleepily:

“turn it off.”

you stood up and saw rose’s contact name flash and you picked up the phone groggily.

“uh hello? what do you want?”

“HELLO?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN WHAT DO I WANT THE BUS FOR TRAINING IS ABOUT TO LEAVE IN SEVEN MINUTES WHERE ARE YOU?!”

you glance at the clock and the panic sets in.

7:23 am.

fuck.

oh. fuck.

you mutter a “shit” into the receiver before hanging up, glancing over at leah who was fast asleep.

brushing your teeth and putting your hair up quickly, you went around the room grabbing your jersey, jacket, shorts and cleats as you prepared to leave.

but before you left, you leaned over quickly and gave your girlfriend a light kiss on the forehead before rushing out the door.

you sprinted across the street to where the building where the us teams were staying, making it onto the bus quickly and collapsing on the seat next to rose, hoping no one saw where you had came from.

luckily for you most of the team was chatting and preoccupied, except christen who noticed and gave you weird look when you stepped onto the bus.

sam gave you a weird look too when she finished talking to mal.

“when did you come in? why are you still in your pjs? do you even have your kit and training things?”

you decided that saying you overslept was the best excuse.

you could tell sam didn’t quite believe that.

“well why didn’t rose wake you then?”

“um-“

rose cut in and saved you when she said with a shrug:

“it was a prank. i turned off her alarms and thought it would be funny.”

that was slightly more believable, as the younger kids played pranks on each other all the time, so sam let up her questioning.

you turned around on the bus, quickly pulling on your jersey, shorts and socks, all the while hearing a wolf whistle from kelley upon seeing you changing.

you flipped her off when you finished.

“so where were you-oh,” rose’s eyes widening.

you scrunched your eyebrows in confusion.

“oh?”

rose let out a laugh and pointed to your collarbone.

you looked down and cursed.

there they were in all their glory, two hickies, bright as day.

“fuck this is an open training too.”

you were freaking out.

but thank god for rose.

rose thought about it for a minute before suggesting:

“well it’s kind of cold out today, you can keep your jacket on for the whole training and no one will see.”

“what would i do without you?”

“i dunno die probably.”

arriving at the pitch, you hoped that your hyper-vigilant fans wouldn’t notice anything.

you did make sure to take some pictures with fans on your walk there though.

you noticed walking to the locker room that christen kept giving you weird looks, but you just brushed it off and got your mind set for training.

the open part of practice went well and without issue, except for the odd looks occasionally thrown your way by some of the veteran players.

when closed practice began a little bit later, you asked christen about it.

“why do you all keep giving me weird looks? do i have something on my face?”

christen shook her head, and upon seeing that there was no one around she whispered:

“i’m pretty sure it’s because you have a lionesses crest on your shorts.”

you looked down and gasped.

shit.

she was right.

in your haste this morning you had unknowingly grabbed leah’s shorts instead of your own.

in your defense, with the the english and us home kit both being white and both of you being #14, it was an honest mistake.

but still.

fuck.

so much for keeping it a secret.

christen opened her mouth to say something else, but upon seeing your face decided against it.

besides the one hiccup, the rest of practice went smoothly, and you were on your way back to the locker room when you were stopped by sonnett.

“do you play for england now or something?”

“it was an accident.” you said, shushing her.

all the way back into the locker room emily teased you, so much so that your face couldn’t have been any redder in your life.

you changed as quick as you can, trying to get out of the locker room as fast as you can.

walking out, you stopped abruptly upon seeing your girlfriend in the stands.

“leah? what are you doing here?”

your girlfriend, who looked radiant as always, said with a smile:

“well i was originally going to come bring you your shorts baby.”

“oh you found out about that?” you said sheepishly, a blush crawling up your neck.

leah shook her head and laughed.

“i woke up to us trending on twitter so yeah. did the girls tease you about it?”

you pouted a little nodding a yes, and leah just laughed, cupping your cheek with one hand and smoothing back your flyaways with the other.

at this point some of the chaos crew came out of the locker room looking for you, and upon seeing you and leah, they stood back and watched with wide eyes.

they watched you giggle at something leah said, lindsey making sure to keep a hand firmly closed around emily’s mouth to keep her from speaking.

some of the vets came out to see what the holdup was for, and upon seeing you, they stood back as well.

sam whispered quietly:

“are they flirting?”

“i think?” lindsey whispered back.

“it sure looks like it..”

christen shook her head.

the gears clicked into place in christen’s mind quickly, first with the hotel this morning, then with the shorts, and now this.

“i think they’re dating.”

emily’s eyes bugged out of her head and she finally ripped lindsey’s hand off.

“they’re WHAT??!”

this caused you and leah to turn, cheeks flushing when you see the majority of the team there, watching.

then they all started screaming at once.

“come introduce us to your girlfriend y/n!”

“hi leah!”

“WAIT CAN I GIVE HER THE SHOVEL TALK??!”

“I’M YOUR BEST FRIEND Y/N I SHOULD DO IT!”

“NO IF ANYONE DOES IT SHOULD BE ME I’M HER TEAM MOM”

you turned back to leah as the rest of the team quarreled.

“well since they’ve seen us already, let’s formally introduce you to the team.”

you stuck your hand out and said:

“come on. i’ll catch you.”

leah let out a laugh and took your hand, jumping down from the stands.

meeting the team wasn’t as bad as it could have been, partially because vlatko called sonnett away, but at the end you were both glad you had done it.

leah intertwined her fingers with yours as you walked across the field to the bus.

“i do have to admit my shorts look good on you.”

you looked at her and winked.

“maybe i’ll wear them on purpose next time.”

#leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #woso imagines #woso imagine #uswnt imagine #uswnt x reader #arsenal wfc imagine #arsenal wfc x reader #engwnt x reader #engwnt imagine

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ellsbclls · 3 years

Note

" wow... you look... you look amazing. " for peter please? i love love love ur writing btw!

NOTE: This... ended up so embarrassingly long... i don't even know what the word count is, but i can bet it's a good 20%-30% longer than the average blurb.

WARNINGS: cursing, quirky🤪 mentions of drug use, implied making out (but can be perceived as sex, dear god please don’t perceive it as sex though), and some good ol’ fashion stark!ready x peter parker banter

They say, "never meet your heroes." Well, Peter wished he had adhered to that warning before he ended up here — a lanky, overdressed thumb towering high above the roof of the Avenger's Compound.

A semi-annual assembly of New York City's finest heroes that had little to do with their civic duties, and much to do with their inhibitions, and just how much alcohol it would take to release them — but there was one glaring problem.

Peter didn't drink.

He never saw the allure, especially when it came at such a high risk. He'd convinced himself that he refrained for the sake of Aunt May, the only remaining part of his family who put her life on the line to ensure his safety and overall well-being — the Spider-Man reveal already took some getting used to, he didn't need to add drunken night expenditures to her overnight fretting. Yet, when Flash's 'End of the Year' party had been raided by the police, a small part of him found joy in knowing he needn't fear the police or their breathalyzer test, even if he was deemed Pussy Parker for the remainder of that summer.

Even if he wanted to instill some liquid courage into himself, he hadn't the basic courage to let himself be vulnerable like that, in front of all the adults that made up the Avengers. Mr.Stark had already commented on his only suit, and how small he looked as it swamped his form, and the entire altercation made him wish the roof would just open up and swallow him whole.

Bullies, you'd call them.

There they were, New York's finest Defender's, huddled around the Mastrangelo like it couldn't put their entire life savings to shame, hosting a rousing game of beer pong upon its marble exterior. Your father was lucky your mother was still in Milan, tying up loose ends on a new line of bullshit you didn't concern yourself with. You just counted the days until she returned home, and you could soak up every ounce of her nurturing presence.

God, did you miss her.

It’s not like your father wasn’t just as nurturing, competitively so, to a point were you almost felt smothered — but you were too alike. In spaces where you both held too stubborn, your mother was there to mediate, and with ceaseless barrages of dry humor came her firm, unwavering severity, proving her love with candid remarks instead of jesting quips.

“Oh, free intern!” He dragged you from your nostalgic supercut with your endearing nickname, coaxing a fierce glare from your hues. “Run down to that place on 7th street and get some beer? And not that Miller Coor’s Bud bullshit, the upper echelon on Sigma Delta Nu delicacies.”

Jesus Christ.

You had caught glimpses of his argument with Steve, complaining about how stupid it would be to pour anything top shelf into a red solo cup — blasphemous really — but you didn’t expect him to do anything more than concede.

"Father of the year, everybody." You clapped just above your head, prompting the remaining company to join you. "I think you're forgetting that I'm not twenty-one."

"First and foremost, I know I am," Tony counters your triumphant grin with a sarcastic one. "Which is how I know that your fake ID says 21."

"Stark, it's fine. I can grab the beer," You thanked God and her impeccable timing once Steve interrupted, settling himself between the two of you with outstretched palms. "I could use the fresh air anyway."

You mimicked Steve's stance, cocking your brows toward your father. "See? Problem solved. Now leave me alone."

Losing interest in the company exponentially, you started to retreat, but groaned once your father's voice pierced the air again. "Nuh-uh-uh, Rogers. Why? So you can go to the nearest GNC and snort a container of protein powder? I don't think so."

You retreat to the furthest recesses of your mind as Tony and Steve bicker back and forth about honesty and friendly competition. Steve wouldn't know how to bump a rail if the U.S Army assembled a thorough, interactive training course on it, and his age quadrupled the life expectancy of most snow-packed socialites. Yet, on the other hand, you were shocked that your father even knew what a GNC was — ultimately, you were riled from your thoughts by an irksome realization.

"Are you fucking- Why can't old man Jenkins do it?" you gestured wildly toward the enhanced super soldier in question, blind to the obvious offense scrawled across his features. You seldom took your opulent lineage for granted, but when situations such as these presented themself, a selfish corner of your mind wondered what it would be like to have a run-of-the mill, cheesy-pun equipped, golf short wearing father. "You'd rather risk your daughter's own safety, and the sanctity of her criminal record, for a stupid game of beer pong?"

Natasha's incredulous laughter chimed between your incessant back and forth, spurred by the uncanny resemblance you and your father shared between every aspect imaginable — your dry wit just so happened to be in the spotlight.

"Yes," He didn't bother to meet your glare, already familiar with its scorching beam against the side of his face "Yes I would."

Hues practically rolled into the back of your skull, exaggerating your every move to a thespian level to make it clear, to even the boniest of heads, that you didn't take pleasure in this task. You were so excited to finally unwind at this event — slam down the sugary mocktail your Uncle Thor always "forgot" to order virgin, dangle your feet over the shallow end of the pool, maybe even shoot a few low jests at Bucky if there wasn't a carnal gleam in his eyes.

Your thrilling plans were now put on hold just to support your father's mid-life crisis.

"I know, I know." He tried to repeat the name of the wine stop n’ shop, only for you to wave him off. He wasn’t wrong — you had been abusing your fake ID in that very stop n’ shop for years, though you’ve recently come to the conclusion that the cashier was far more interested in your chest than your credentials. "If I get arrested, I'm bring you down with me. I'll tell Business Insider that FRIDAY's just one, big elaborate ruse for the underground Fake ID business you have on the side. They'll eat it up like-"

"Love you, honey! I'll venmo you!" He butt in, sending you off with a wave of his fingers.

You flipped him off, shouting an earnest 'I love you' in return. There was no denying that you loved each other, some would even argue that he loved you more than he loved himself — you just chose to show it in your own, eccentric way.

Mere seconds into your newfound task, you stopped dead in your tracks. You could make out that bed of chestnut locks anywhere.

"Parker?" Swiftly surveying his frumpy attire, you struggled to stifle the upward tilt of your lips. Even as he stood uncomfortably before you, visibly seconds away from crawling out of his own skin, he still managed to be the sweet, endearing Peter you knew and loved. "God, I didn't even realize that was you."

You didn't have the heart to tell him that you caught one fleeting glimpse of him at the very beginning of the festivities and thought he was a part of the catering company, nor did you feel a need to disclose the snide remark you whispered into your father's ear about the miserable staff. There was no sense in kicking a dead horse while it was already down.

His gaze weighed heavy against your frame, though, bolstered by an overwhelming intensity that forced you to wonder if he could read your mind. Though, if you could tap into his thoughts, you'd be shocked to find a reflection of your own — bewilderment, adoration, the tell-tale signs of a burgeoning crush, and the myriad of excuses that disputed them.

He could only manage to stumble over his words, complimenting you with sentiments that could never amount to the emotions welling in his chest. "Wow... you look... you look amazing."

And you couldn't argue, not with the way you were pampered hours prior. Mercier had smothered your hair in this honey-infused serum that made your curls bounce to life with each step, and the custom Jacquemus silhouette you were sporting hugged every ample curve enticingly so. You felt like a million bucks, and you probably cost that much give or take, so why deny it?

Peter, on the other hand — Well, he was very lucky that he was so cute, and his jawline could probably cut Vision's infinity stone straight out of his skull. It almost made up for the tragic shape of his suit, and just how tragically out of place it was at this event.

"You look, um-" Softness tugged at the corner of your eyes as they crinkled dotingly. "You look very cute."

"That was a very convincing half-truth." He chuckled, a subtle pink hue blooming over the valleys of his cheeks."

"Oh, so a part of you knows you're cute." You teased, enjoying the way the pink hue grew deeper.

"Oh! Oh, no... No, I mean, kind of? On the scale of confident perspectives, I think-uh-cute... Cute is on the lower end? And you know what? My Aunt May-"

"Peter, you wanna get out of here?" You interrupted him, hoping to save him from all the words he had yet to stumble over. "And then immediately come back?"

"Yeah," He vigorously nodded his head, despite being equally as confused. "Yeah, I'd like that a lot."

"Come," You offered your hand, a small gesture the two of you have woven into your complicated relationship.

You'd tend to straddle a very thin line between friendship and something more, reaping all the warm, tentative affections of newfound lovers without explicitly considering yourselves so. The both of you, for as brilliant as your merits show, continued to convince yourselves that the hand holding, the comfortable silences, the mornings plastered against each other's sides, were simply happenstance. Despite the increasing willingness of each encounter, you'd only ever chalk it up to chance. So when you offered your hand out to him, he took it in stride — because the two of you would indulge in every ounce of attention you could get your hands on, at least until one of you inevitably came to your senses and found someone worth your time.

Your fingers were firmly intertwined as you led him to the roof’s exit, tugging him down the staircase and through the vacant halls of the top floor just in time to catch the elevator. You found no reason to keep his hand hostage once you were inside, so you begrudgingly retracted yours. You swore you could hear a pitiful huff come from his side of the elevator, but you chalked it up to wishful thinking.

Now it was just you and Peter, left to your own devices, and roughly ninety-two floors away from your destination. Just enough time to do what you were aching to do.

“Peter,” You murmured, and his gaze flickered to your own without a moment of hesitation, drenched in a hopeful haze you failed to decipher.

“Y/N?” He echoed, tilting his body toward your own.

“You look...” You paused, unsure of which word accurately portrayed your thoughts. ”insane.”

“I know.” He whined. You tried to stifle the giggle that bubbled at his hopeless demeanor, brows furrowed together as he squeezed his eyes shut, shoulders slumped impossible low.

“It’s a good thing you have such a charitable friend.” And you made light work of his suit jacket, the air suddenly rapt with a thick air of electricity as you worked the offending article off his shoulders, haphazardly tossing it on the ground. Protests formed on the tip of his tongue, but he opted to swallow them in return for your help, going slack when you ran your fingers through his meticulously gelled hair.

Though he embodied the vision of a suave, debonair socialite alarmingly well, with his carefully quaffed locks, nothing suited him as well as the pillowy, fawn tendrils that made up his soft curls. You needed them back, needed a reminder of your sweet, darling boy, and patience was never your strong suit.

You wondered if he was in need of the same reminder, seeing as he’d let you manhandle him without so much as a hum of discontent.

All done. Only a few revisions, and he was a completely different boy. Clad in a crisp, white shirt, sans its horrifying grey counterpart, you rolled the sleeves up to his elbows and unbuttoned the top three discs. The fabric was taut against his impressive set of muscles, leaving little to the imagination with each sweeping roll of his arms. You’d pat yourself on the back, but you were too busy drooling all over your work.

“Is- Is this good?” He broke the silence with a tentative query, peering back at you through his lashes.

"Yeah,” You voice came out strangled at best, distracted by the flurry of butterflies ravaging your stomach. There was something about this moment — maybe it was the glint of tenderness ridding his gaze, or your tight proximity, or maybe it was fate, finally persuading you to topple over that dangerous line — but regardless, you decided it was now or never. “but there's still something missing,"

“My jacket?” He breathlessly queried. His eyes frantically searched your face, like he couldn’t settle on just one feature to admire.

“No, no...” You breathed back, cautiously inching closer, until there was only a sliver of space separating your chests. "You need to loosen up, Parker."

“And what- What do you suggest I do?” His gaze flickered down to your lips shamelessly, and returned just as quickly.

“Do you trust me?”

“I’ve trusted you this far.”

“Good,” You sighed, your breath fanning over his lips before you greedily chased its warmth, kissing him with such feather-light pressure, it almost felt like a dream — a thrilling, delicate dream. You had to tear yourself from his lips before you delved even deeper, hoping to find a mirror image of your relief, your satisfaction, in his own features. However, before your eyes even fluttered open, his palms swept under the curve of your jaw, and coaxed your mouth back to his, instantly qualming any of your fears as you both melted into the exchange. He tasted of spearmint, and cherries, and something so intoxicatingly him that you could barely restrain yourself.

You wanted him, God, did you want him, and for the first time, someone wanted you just as much, without an ounce of greed to it — He wanted you for you.

The remaining seconds of the elevator ride were filled with fervent kisses, and wandering hands, your fingers playing with the curls at the nape of his neck while his bunched the silky fabric of your dress. It was all smitten, indulgent brushes of your lips until the elevator dinged, and the doors opened up to reveal the fashionably late, dynamic duo —Sam Wilson and James Buchanan Barnes.

Their expressions were nothing short of priceless, one complexion green while the other ran pale at the sight of your interwoven limbs. You tried to open your mouth before they could comment, but you were far too late, buried in a booming wall of—

"This is a public space! You are defiling a public space!"

"I can't do this— I'm gonna take the stairs."

Their voices weaved into a messy, irritated harmony of disbelief, managing to still complement each other despite their varying levels of urgency.

An idea, a selfish, evil idea, popped into your head, and you enacted it before you could even unravel yourself from Peter’s hold.

"You just reminded me, I was about to text you! My dad needs a couple cases of Yuengling.” You gestured for Peter to press on the “Open Door” button, and by the time he started clicking the prompt, you’d already fetched your wallet, fishing your card out for Sam. “They probably have some at the corner store, but he’ll throw up if he finds out he was drinking alcohol from the corner store, so you’re gonna have to walk down to that market on Seventh.” You could feel Peter’s perplexed gaze gnaw at your shoulder, but you persisted in your impish pursuits, shoving the AmEx into his hand.

“Chop chop, lover boys!” You hastily snapped your fingers in his direction, and yelled just loud enough to make sure Bucky accompanied him, parsing their punishment out evenly.

Served them right, encroaching on such a perfect moment.

Bucky’s groan echoed through the stairwell, followed by a childish stomp of combat boots, and you were pleased enough to shoo Peter’s hand away, pressing the “Close Door” button.

Sometimes it was nice being Tony Stark’s daughter — less backtalk from the sovereign throne of comebackdom.

“I thought you said we were getting out of here.” His brows were pinched together, the most adorable little frown forming between them.

“Oh, we most certainly are,” You replied, pressing the button for your floor. You could tell that the pieces weren’t clicking all the way, and you proceeded to spell it out for him, dropping a chaste kiss to the spot just below his ear. “We’re gonna go to my room. And then we’re gonna go right back to the party when we’re done.”

“When we’re done?” He mused, voice wavering beneath the soft caress of your lips, scattering even more tentative kisses down the column of his neck.

“When we’re done.” You parroted back, meeting his downward gaze through your lashes.”I think you still have some loosening up to do.”

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker blurb #peter parker oneshot #peter parker x stark!reader #3K ????????????#3?????????#K??????????#IDK HOW I GOT HERE #MOM PICK ME UP IM S C A RED?????#idk i think there's just something about stark!ready x peter parker that just gets me going #mine*

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morganaspendragonss · 3 years

Text

holly's august extravaganza day 17: you and me (moving through this world as a two-man team)

for both my incredible birthday twin jenny (@laelipoo) and a little bit for myself! i hope you are having a wonderful, wonderful day and i wish you all the love in the world. i'm so glad we became friends and i cannot tell you how glad i am for our conversations 🥰🥰🥰

many, many, many thanks to jenny as well for helping me out with the plot!

ao3 | 3.1k | firefighter carlos, hurt/comfort, pining, developing relationship, major character injury (two of them 😌)

TK does not have a crush on the 126's latest hire.

Carlos Reyes: an Austin local, an incredible firefighter, and—objectively speaking—the most beautiful man TK has ever laid eyes on. Which is, in fact, the entire point; TK has eyes and, yes, he will use them to sneak a look or two when he’s suddenly sharing space with a man who looks like a Greek god.

That does not mean he has a crush, Paul.

(and, sure, maybe he does sometimes dream about how soft Carlos’s lips look and the soft blush he gets when he laughs and those little flecks of gold in his eyes, but he’s only human)

(how TK knows about the gold in Carlos’s eyes is none of anybody’s business)

The thing about Carlos Reyes is that he isn’t only stupidly hot; he’s also just plain nice. TK can’t even make up a flimsy excuse to keep his distance. Carlos is, quite literally, perfect.

He shares recipes and book recommendations with Paul, he spars with Marjan, he discusses superheroes with Mateo, and Judd has had nothing but good things to say since before Carlos even joined them. Apparently they’d worked together a lot before the explosion, when Carlos was with the 116, and he’s ‘one of the best damn firefighters’ Judd has ever seen.

He even makes time to hang with the paramedics, which...isn’t a new development, exactly. But it is recent, and TK is willing to bet they’d still be pretty divided if Tim hadn’t suddenly transferred back to Maryland and he hadn’t taken the leap to be a full paramedic.

Even after that… His friends were hardly going to abandon him after he switched, but Nancy had still only been semi-included at best. She’d called him out about it during their first week working together, but fixing it had been a slow process.

Until Carlos came along, that is. Excluding Judd, they all regularly hang out at his place now, and Nancy’s inclusion had never even been a question. Safe to say, Carlos has charmed everyone in the firehouse, including both captains, and the worst part is, he doesn’t seem to realise he’s doing it.

He’s perfect, from his freakishly toned body to his infuriatingly sweet personality to his incredible skills in the field, and TK does not have a crush, goddammit!

One morning about three weeks after Carlos’s arrival, TK is greeted in the firehouse by the sound of a long, beautiful laugh coming from the kitchen. Three weeks is an embarrassingly short amount of time to admit that he’s memorised everything about him, but he instantly recognises the noise as coming from Carlos, even if he can’t see him yet.

He saunters into the kitchen, where Carlos is standing with Paul, and leans up against the counter. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Carlos turns with a winning smile and holds out a steaming mug of coffee, clearly freshly made even though TK only got in two minutes ago.

He blinks. “How—” Then, taking in the slight pinkness to Carlos’s cheeks, “Are you seriously offering me your own coffee, Reyes?”

Carlos shrugs, forcing the mug into TK’s hands. “I only just made it so technically it belongs to anyone, and I can always make another,” he says. “Besides, you look like you could use it more than me.”

His grin has TK narrowing his eyes and stubbornly refusing to drink even though Carlos is right—he really, really needs it.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that was an insult.”

“Who says you do know better?”

TK splutters, momentarily left speechless in the face of Carlos’s smile and the twinkle in those goddamn eyes. He turns to Paul for help, but Paul...has disappeared. Huh. TK honestly hadn't noticed him go.

He shakes his head and looks back to Carlos, only to be stunned silent again by the way his smile has softened into something else, something more.

TK’s heart skips a beat or two and he swallows, staring down into Carlos’s coffee. “Whatever, Reyes,” he mutters.

It was too late for a witty comeback anyway.

Carlos’s laugh follows him out of the kitchen, and TK wonders when, exactly, he let himself fall this far.

“Earth to TK? Hello?”

TK is rudely snapped back to reality by one Nancy Gillian’s hand waving violently in his face. He scowls at her, to which she responds with an eye roll.

“Stop drooling over your man and come help me with inventory.”

“I’m not drooling,” TK argues, following her over to the rig. “And he’s not my man.”

“Right,” Nancy drawls, folding her arms over her chest as she leans against the ambulance. “So you’re just going to deny that weird energy around you two that makes the rest of us feel like we’re creeping on something?”

“Exactly.” TK nods emphatically, then frowns. “Wait, what?”

Nancy casts her eyes heavenward. “You know,” she says, “you’re a lot of things, Strand, but I hadn’t pegged you for oblivious.”

TK’s next words are reflexive, said without thought for the consequences—the story of his life, really.

“I’m not oblivious!”

The grin spreading over Nancy’s face rams home just how much he’s fucked up with those three words. TK drops his head in his hands and groans, unable and unwilling to look Nancy in the eye.

“Not a word,” he warns, which Nancy appears to respect, for now. TK is well aware that there will be words—several of them—later, whether he wants them or not.

The thing is, he really isn’t oblivious. He knows perfectly well what Nancy is talking about and he has often fantasised about all the things he’d do to Carlos given half a chance. TK likes Carlos, way more than just in the physical sense, and he’s pretty sure that Carlos likes him right back. It would be so easy to start something between them and, god, TK wants to. He just… He can’t.

One year—that’s what he promised himself back in New York. One year on his own to sort his head out and figure out how he fits back into the world after the overdose. Granted, his sobriety anniversary is only a couple of months away now, but he refuses to give up on his promise, especially when he’s so close.

Maybe in a couple months, if Carlos hasn’t gotten bored of something that’s clearly going nowhere.

But not now.

“He did not ask me out!”

“He totally did, dude, and you know it. You want to say yes, I can tell.”

“No, I don’t. I—”

“Children,” Tommy interrupts from the back of the ambulance. They’re heading to a callout, and Nancy has not let up the entire way about something TK is certain never actually happened. “Either of you want to enlighten me on what the argument is about this time?”

“TK’s too chicken to go out with Carlos,” Nancy jumps in, before TK can stop her.

“I am not!” he protests. “Plus, he wasn’t asking me out, he said we should go over to his place for dinner sometime, which Carlos does all the time. So there.”

“Strand, you are not this dense,” Nancy snarks, probably rolling her eyes. “His exact words were, ‘You should come over sometime’.”

“We were all there! It was obviously the plural you.”

“Oh my god—”

“Alright!” Tommy sighs wearily. “Nancy, can we keep from provoking TK until we’re back at the firehouse and he’s no longer driving?”

“Ha!” TK exclaims, but Tommy’s not done.

“TK, if I weren’t your captain, I’d be telling you that Nancy is right and you should pull your head out of your ass before it’s too late, understand?”

Now it’s Nancy’s turn to be triumphant as TK struggles to form a coherent response. Thankfully, he’s saved from further torment by them finally pulling up at the scene—a warehouse where one of the workers had become trapped after parts of the upper level walkway had broken and fallen. Apparently, the falling metal had caused some of the machinery to malfunction, turning the call from simple to beyond complicated in a matter of minutes.

“TK, grab your turnout gear and your bag; I’m sending you in with them,” Tommy informs him as soon as they’re out of the rig. “Normally, we’d just talk the firefighters through it over radio, but given your training it’ll be quicker and safer for you to deal with our patient.”

TK grins; he’s missed the adrenaline rush of running into emergencies more than he can say. “Got it, Cap.”

“Maybe try and look a little less happy about a serious injury, too.”

“Copy that.”

The noise when they enter the warehouse is deafening, an ugly screeching cutting right through TK’s skull.

“Shouldn’t they have shut the machines off?” he shouts, fighting to be heard.

“Apparently they can’t,” Judd calls back. “Something wrong with the control panel, I don’t know exactly what.”

TK groans—just what they need. The sound is lost in the din, but Carlos still looks over and gives him a sympathetic grin, shrugging in a ‘what can you do’ motion. TK can’t help but grin back, the mere sight of Carlos easing the annoyance he feels and the headache already beginning to build behind his eyes.

Their patient, when they reach him, is pinned under a large, heavy-looking sheet of metal. He’s bleeding from a gash on his temple and his skin is worryingly pale, to the extent that TK can tell even from a distance. He jogs to the patient’s side and kneels down, pressing his fingers against his neck.

“Cap, I have a pulse,” he reports into his radio after a few seconds. “But he’s unconscious with a head wound, and I think there are probably injuries I can’t see yet. Possible spinal damage, but I can’t tell until we’ve got this metal off him.”

“Copy that,” Captain Vega says. “Get ready to run a line; he’s gonna need it as soon as he’s free.”

TK nods and moves to secure a c-collar around his neck. “We need to cut this thing off of him,” he says, addressing the team. “Quickly, but carefully.”

Judd steps forward, brandishing the saw. He hands TK a couple of spare turnouts and kneels on the patient’s other side. “Couple of you need to cover him, and yourselves.”

TK doesn’t even have to ask before Carlos appears next to him, taking one of the turnouts from him. He smiles gratefully before arranging himself to provide maximum protection to all three of them as Judd starts working on the metal. The vibrations from the saw are unpleasant, and TK dreads to think what effect it’s having on the already unstable machinery, but it’s the only option they have to get their patient free.

Fortunately, everything seems to go off without a hitch, and soon the team are able to remove the metal. TK immediately gets to work, feeling for any damage. As he suspected, there’s a pretty large gash on the man’s leg which is bleeding badly, though thankfully it seems to have missed any arteries. He also seems to have a broken wrist, but he should heal.

TK quickly wraps his leg, then gets Carlos and Judd to help move him onto the spine board. It feels like, for once, the call has gone as smoothly as possible, and TK allows himself a breath of relief as they prep to get the guy outside to the ambulance.

Naturally, that’s when everything goes to hell.

The machine closest to them lets out a threatening groan and shudders before there’s a loud roar and it explodes. On instinct, TK folds himself over the patient as shrapnel rains down on them, and he sees Carlos doing the same in his periphery.

The downpour seems to last forever, but eventually it slows and comes to a stop. TK cautiously lifts his head, his heart pounding, and sags in relief as it seems that the worst is over.

They need to get out of here, now.

He stands, a brief stab of pain running through his back—probably because of his awkward position over the patient—and turns to Carlos, reaching to offer him a hand up.

Only to see Carlos’s face tight with agony, and then the cause—a jagged piece of shrapnel running right through his hand.

“Carlos,” TK breathes, horrified. Carlos looks up at him, his breathing carefully measured and his eyes wide, and TK drops back to his knees, reaching out for him. “It’s okay, I’ve got you, don’t worry.”

Carlos swallows and nods, his eyes squeezing tight. TK’s heart rate skyrockets, and he’s barely able to keep his cool as he signals to the others to get their first patient out of the warehouse.

“Cap, the team are bringing him out, but we have a problem.”

“Talk to me, Strand, what’s going on?”

“It—It’s Carlos.” TK breathes out shakily and takes a moment to steady himself before continuing, “It’s not serious, but some of the machinery broke apart and some shrapnel impaled his hand. I’ve got to stabilise the shard before we come out to you.”

“Alright, but hurry. I don’t want you guys in there for longer than necessary.”

“Copy.”

Stabilising the shrapnel with rolls of gauze and wrapping Carlos’s hand should be a matter of course—it’s an easy process that TK could probably do in his sleep. But this is Carlos, so his damn hands won’t stop shaking and he almost fumbles and drops his supplies.

He manages though, and soon he’s helping Carlos up, instructing him to hold his injured hand above his heart. Carlos sends him a wobbly smile, which ends up turning out to be more of a grimace, but it’s a comfort nonetheless. Things could have gone so much worse today; TK could have even lost him, and he would have never been able to—

But that’s not important. Carlos is okay, or he will be, and they still have plenty of time to figure out whatever this is between them.

Everything will be okay.

TK’s back and side twinge again as they make their way out, but he brushes it off, too focused on getting Carlos to the hospital as fast as possible. Tommy shakes her head as they make their way over, her eyebrows raised despite the concern clearly in her expression.

“Never a peaceful moment with you, Strand, is it?” she asks dryly, hissing as she inspects Carlos’s wound.

“In my defence, Cap,” he says, more at ease now that they’re safe, “it’s not me who’s injured this time.”

Tommy hums, then directs Carlos into the back of the rig, jumping in after him. “Get back here, TK. Nancy’s driving.”

She has a teasing look in her eyes that instantly makes TK suspicious, but he moves to comply, shrugging off his turnout coat as he does. The movement hurts, which is weird, but he thinks nothing of it.

At least, until Tommy’s eyes go wide and she stands from her seat, holding her hands out towards him. “TK, do not move,” she instructs, her eyes firmly fixed on his right side.

TK frowns, then follows her gaze down, and— Oh.

His grey undershirt is stained with blood, and it’s difficult to miss the large piece of metal sticking out of his side. He has no idea how he missed it, but now that he knows, the pain slams into him full force, causing him to stagger.

“Oh,” he gasps, eloquently.

Then, his legs buckle and the world goes black.

TK wakes up to a steady beeping sound, which only exacerbates his pounding headache. He groans, scrunching his face up, before slowly peeling his eyes open, almost slamming them shut again after getting an eyeful of obnoxiously bright fluorescents.

“You’re awake,” a voice says, sounding surprised, then the lights suddenly dim, the room lit by the gentle glow of a lamp. TK sighs in relief and shifts to look at his saviour.

It’s Carlos.

“You… You’re here,” TK states, confused. His gaze drifts down Carlos’s body and lands on the white bandages around his hand, the memories of the warehouse suddenly hitting him all at once. “Shit, you— How are you?”

Carlos shakes his head and comes to sit in the chair by TK’s bed. “I can’t believe you’re the one asking me that.”

“I’m a paramedic, it’s my job.”

“Not when you’re the one in the hospital bed,” Carlos counters, sighing. “If you must know, I’m fine. They gave me some pretty good drugs, so…” He shrugs, and TK can’t help but laugh, which proves to be a very bad idea.

His side lights up, an unnecessary reminder that TK is very much not on the good drugs, and he moans softly, slowly settling back in the bed. “I hate you,” he mumbles, eyes closed.

“You love me,” Carlos says, and TK’s heart seizes in his chest.

The silence after his words is deafening, so TK forces himself to crack his eyes open enough to look at him. Carlos is frozen in his chair, biting his lip hard, and he looks like he either wants to bolt or be swallowed by the earth.

TK thinks he should probably be feeling the same. They’ve been dancing around this issue for weeks now, and he’d thought he had it under control. That he could last that little bit longer until his one year was up; that he could ignore these feelings that have been steadily growing since he first laid eyes on Carlos.

It was a hopeless endeavour; he recognises that now. TK remembers the fear he felt when Carlos was injured back at the warehouse, the desperation for him to be better, and now with his own injury…

He could have lost this chance before he ever got it, and TK isn’t about to let it slip through his fingers now. He reaches out and takes Carlos’s good hand, startling him into meeting TK’s eyes.

“Yeah,” TK whispers, just loud enough for Carlos to hear him. “I think I do.”

The smile Carlos gives him lights up the room, and he doesn’t waste any time in leaning down to kiss TK. And it’s… It’s everything TK had hoped and imagined it would be and more. It’s soft and sweet and gentle and perfect, and he never wants it to end.

But end it does, though Carlos doesn’t go far. TK smiles at him, squeezing his hand with all the strength he can muster.

“That’s a yes, by the way,” he says.

Carlos frowns. “What?”

TK’s smile widens and he flicks his eyebrows at Carlos. “To dinner. Or were you not asking me out after all?”

Carlos huffs a laugh, and the look in his eyes when they lock back onto TK’s melts his heart and makes his entire chest ache. “Does Friday work for you?”

He nods, tugging Carlos down for another kiss. “It’s a date.”

60 notes · View notes

wulfies-kpop-fanfics · 3 years

Text

Popsicle → Nakamoto Yuta

↳ Pairing: Yuta/reader | smut

↳ Warnings: pure PWP, dirty talk, oral, face fucking

↳ Word count: 2,915

⁙ Summary: On a hot day during a vacation in Japan, Yuta becomes enamoured when he remembers that you’re one of the people that doesn’t bite their popsicles.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Want one?"

Yuta looks away from the television, noticing that you are standing above him, skin glistening with sweat and holding out an unwrapped popsicle toward him. He nods appreciatively, taking it from you and realizing it's already started to melt.

The hot Japanese summer permeated the little Airbnb you and Yuta were staying in, the air conditioning had gone out in the night. June bugs sang through the screen in the living room, the patio door having been opened to let in what little fresh breeze there was.

"Thank you," he says, immediately biting the red tip of the popsicle off. He sighed in relief, "if only the ac didn't go out on the hottest day of the year so far," Yuta complains, watching tentatively as you plop down on the couch next to him, hoping to catch some of the cooler drafts from one of the many fans strewn about the floor.

"I agree, but at least we have the fans."

Yuta hummed in agreement, nearly turning his attention back to a rerun of Dragon Ball Z, but decided not to as soon as you also began to eat your icy treat. If only your vacation had gone like Yuta had planned- then he would be with his family, showing you off to them and meeting with his mother in private to get her engagement ring resized to fit your finger. However, the two of you were stuck here, basking in a heatwave where nobody was advised to go outside at all.

You were dressed in the skimpiest outfit you could muster without looking too indecent- a light neon green tank top and blue cloth mini shorts. Even if you were sweating and panting in the heat, your appearance made Yuta's stomach flip.

Yuta was happy that there were a few popsicles left in the freezer, whatever was able to stay any sort of heat was welcome, popsicles being even more so. They were sweet, cold, and cheap. It kept his mind off of you- at least that's what he told himself.

There has always been a debate on the best way to eat a popsicle- especially your favourites: rockets. You either bit down and endured each flavour until you got to your favourite or you licked and sucked on it, dying your tongue and lips fully in red before you even reached the white section.

Yuta always preferred to bite his, while your method was the exact opposite. It was almost like you were trying to torture him; utterly consumed by the television while you practically shoved the entire thing down your throat and then brought it back up with an audible pop of your lips like it was nothing. Red dripped past your lips, but you managed to swipe the juice away with your tongue before it trickled down your chin.

The more he watched, the more his imagination warped what really was in your mouth.

"Yuta-kun, you're staring," you still have the popsicle resting on your lips, tilting your head in curiosity at your red-haired boyfriend. His popsicle was almost half-melted now, sticky sugar and flavouring running down his hands. His eyes widen and his face goes red, quickly looking away from you. You knew how it made him weak when you used that suffix.

"Sorry," he says quickly, running his tongue along his fingers and up to the melting treat when he bites down on it again.

"It's okay," you waive it off quickly, smiling. "I was wondering how your teeth can handle chewing on a popsicle," you say, utterly oblivious to what was going on in your boyfriend's mind - taking the entire popsicle into your mouth again, humming in contentment.

A shrug is his only response, taking in a deep breath through his nose as he bit down again, harder this time, and he wouldn't have cared if the stick snapped. He hopes with all of his might that you don't look down at his tight jean shorts- he was embarrassingly fully aware that he was already getting hard.

The room goes silent again save for the television and the white noise of the fans. Once he knows you're absorbed in the show again, Yuta goes right back to staring at you. He pulls the last piece of his popsicle off the stick and chews on it, while you're just starting the blue section of yours. You're still sucking on it lovingly, your lips dyed a deep red; as if you had just applied a fresh coat of lipstick.

Your tongue paid attention to the underside of the popsicle first, then brought the whole thing into your mouth, cheeks sucked in for but a few seconds before you brought it back out, swallowing audibly and licking your lips with a satisfied hum.

The longer he watched, the tighter his pants felt and the tighter his pants felt, the more uncomfortable he got. It wasn't until he was practically squirming in his spot that you looked over again, concerned.

"Is the heat getting to you, Yuta?" You ask sweetly, finishing off the last of your own popsicle, leaving the stick in your mouth for a moment before gingerly pulling it out.

"You could say that," he said stiffly, unsure if he should just bite the bullet and tell you what he wanted.

You hummed sympathetically, standing. "Maybe you should go into the bedroom and keep the lights off. I'll bring the biggest fan in. I don't want you to get heatstroke," you don't even wait for him to nod before gently taking his popsicle stick and turning to pad into the kitchen. Yuta had to hold back a groan when he noticed the creases where your thighs met your ass were visible beneath the hem of your shorts.

Yuta quickly stands and makes it into your shared bedroom, flicking off the lights and closing the curtains, blocking the rays of warm sunshine as best he could. He gets some relief from the heat when he lies down face first on the floor, the wood beneath him thankfully hadn't absorbed much heat.

His situation felt much worse as he lay, his pelvis pressed right up against the floor. He would have moved to lie on his back if the floor weren't so cool. He then closed his eyes to wonder how long you were going to leave him alone before bringing in a fan from the living room. He licked his lips and thought; maybe a little relief wouldn't hurt.

He stuttered out a sigh as he moved his hips against the floor. Even if it was the smallest amount of friction, it was better than nothing. He choked back a moan as he moved back and repeated- licking his lips. He eventually settled into a rhythm of humping the floor, the image of your popsicle disappearing into your throat replaying in his mind. Oh, how he wanted that to be him.

He doesn't know how much time had passed, but he freezes and holds his breath when he hears the bedroom door slide open. He sits up and turns to look at you, hands in his lap to avoid the stream of light coming in that could reveal his erection.

"Feel any better?" you ask sweetly as you haul in the largest square fan, plugging it in and aiming it at Yuta.

"A little," he says. "Thank you."

"Anything for you," you say, closing the door and turning on the fan, plopping down to sit on the floor next to him. "Ahh, that's the stuff."

"Sure is," he says slowly, biting his lip. It's dark again, and he feels himself subconsciously palming at his pants. It's starting to hurt, and he's tempted to just blurt it out-

"Do you want to watch me eat another popsicle?"

Your question makes Yuta's breath hitch, looking at you with wide eyes. "Wh-what?"

You're completely serious as you look him up and down through what little light was in the room. "Do you want to watch me eat another popsicle?"

Yuta began to sputter for a moment, not sure how to react or to respond to your question. "I, uh, what am I supposed to say?" Of course, he knew what he wanted; and if he had to somehow get off through his pants while watching you, he would.

Your smile returned. "You're supposed to say yes, silly."

Yuta took in a deep breath and pushed his bangs back, feeling the sweat on his forehead. "Then yes,"

You grinned, but you didn't stand up. "Okay. Good." You lick your lips and only got up long enough to approach Yuta, pushing back his bangs gently and leaning forward to trap him in a kiss, your hands sliding to cup his cheeks. He instantly reciprocates, catching the message to scramble backwards so that he's leaning against the side of the mattress.

When you separate from him, he watches you with wide eyes. "(Y/N)?" He nearly squeaks out your name, breathing heavily and wincing when your hands trail down from his face to his shoulders. You first unbutton his shirt, pushing it to the side to slide your hands down his tanned flesh. You smiled innocently as your index finger gave extra time to the thin happy trail that beckoned your eyes to the hem of his boxers that peeked from his jeans.

"Yuta-kun," you reply sweetly. "You're terrible at hiding things."

Yuta sucked in a sharp breath when you began to unlatch his belt. "Y-you knew?"

"Of course," you're slowly pulling down his zipper now, sticking your tongue out in concentration. "You watched me eat my popsicle and only looked away when I caught you. You know," you continue with a mischievous smile, "I don't think I've seen you this hard in a while."

"No, it hurts… please hurry," he's surprised at how desperate he really is; he's usually not this wanton- or you this bold.

"Since you asked so nicely," you smile up at him, gently tugging down his pants and boxers, enough that you could shimmy them both off his legs. As soon as his cock sprang free, Yuta sighed with relief.

You observed him with a loving gaze; his eyes half-lidded, absently flicking away his flowing bangs, panting and whimpering ever so slightly as you brought your mouth to the tip of his cock. It was one of your favourite sights.

Yuta gripped your hair gently as your cherry red lips kissed his tip. "Like… like you did with your popsicle…"

Humming, you comply. Your lips parted to consume him entirely, and you could barely contain a smile when Yuta let out an all-out moan as he hit the back of your throat. You worked on his cock in the same way you ate your popsicle, and it made Yuta shiver.

You brought your mouth back up, leaving him coated in saliva. He didn't have any time to recover - you went right back down, your tongue swirling around him as you went. Then you were quickly licking stripes up and down his shaft.

"(Y/N)," his breathing was heavy and hot, more sweat permeated his forehead. His hand gripped your hair tighter, taking in the sight of you growing more dishevelled, saliva and precum rolling past your lips and down your chin.

Once you lifted your head away, you slowly slipped your tongue out of your mouth to collect the dollop of precum collecting on your face. You're still working him gently with your hand as you catch your breath.

"Don't stop," Yuta commanded darkly, and your eyes lit up.

"There he is," you say excitedly, licking your lips and swallowing thickly. "My Yuta," you giggled as Yuta grunted and gripped your hair tighter to push you back down on him. You started once again by bringing one of his balls into your mouth, smiling in triumph as you hear his moans echoing through the room. You work your way as slowly as you can, licking a wide stripe up his shaft, stopping periodically to sloppily kiss him. When you return to deepthroating him, you don't even gag, and Yuta's cock twitches in your throat from the sight alone.

"Fuck," he gasps, "please let me fuck your mouth,"

You look up at him as best you can from your position, taking your mouth off of him with an obscene slurp and pop. You lick your lips, tilting your head to the side. "I thought you wanted this to be like my popsicle," you said innocently, and Yuta nearly scowled at you.

"Please," his voice was dark and raspy, but you could tell he was desperate enough to start begging. His hand let go of your hair for but a moment, running his thumb along your bottom lip. "Please let me fuck your face."

"Hmm, I don't think I will ever be able to say no to you," you say, kissing his abdomen, watching it twitch beneath your lips. "Okay." That was when you stood, peeling off your shirt. Yuta noticed you hadn't put on a bra today, basking in your half-nakedness as you haul yourself onto the mattress, lying face-up by the edge and opening your mouth to Yuta, flicking your tongue teasingly.

He didn't waste time pushing his garments down and stepping out of them, leaning down to kiss you before standing up straight. He grabbed his cock tightly and stroked it as he hovered it over your face.

"Don't make me wait, Yuta-kun," you whine, pouting at him. This was his turn to grin devilishly, deciding to comply with your request.

As soon as he re-entered your mouth, he felt like he would immediately lose control. His cock was hitting the back of your throat perfectly, and you kept your tongue moving along his shaft and just under the edge of the swollen tip of his cock.

"Fuck, this is so good, I'm gonna cum soon," Yuta could hardly contain himself, crewing his eyes shut tightly as he felt his world fall away into a blind search for his climax. His thrusting grew more erratic, causing you to finally start gagging on him. "Oooh," he groaned, feeling your throat constrict against him. "Oh fuck,"

You breathed through your nose as best you could, trying to endure Yuta's wanton fucking. You still enjoyed the feeling of his wet cock sliding against your tongue regardless. You would really need to catch your breath after he was finished, and you would definitely need to change your underwear.

Yuta leant forward as far as he could, careful not to bend your neck too far against the edge of the mattress. He panted, grunted and moaned, moving his hands to knead your breasts and pinch your nipples. That was when you began to emit muffled cries as you lovingly choked on his cock, the vibrations of your throat sending him flying further into a frenzy.

"Gonna cum down your throat," he groaned, pinching your nipple tightly, reaching the peak of his speed, thrusting into your throat with all of his energy. "Fuck, feels so good, take it all,"

You felt as if precum and saliva were about to start spilling from your nose, but you were still close to cumming yourself. Yuta's touch on your chest, his words and the feeling of him wantonly fucking your face more than enough to leave you writhing.

"Ooh, I'm gonna- take it, cumming, take it all… drink it, ah, fuck!" Yuta stills and you feel his length harden even further before he begins to twitch, hot salty liquid exploding into your mouth. Yuta stayed inside your mouth for what felt like an eternity, swallowing thickly and panting sharply. Once he finally pulled out, you could barely swallow everything before you started coughing. He took a moment to slide his boxers back on, turning the square fan to blow in the direction of the mattress.

Yuta took a seat on the edge of the bed beside you, gingerly placing a hand behind your head to help guide it into his lap. You move your body to lay comfortably, panting and regaining your own breath.

"Are you okay, baby?" If you had the energy, you would giggle at how concerned he looked. He pets your hair softly, threading through the tangles.

"Yeah," you rasp, licking your lips of anything that may have escaped. "I just didn't know you had that in you."

"Me neither," he smiled sheepishly, looking you over. His eyes widen when his hand trails down to your shorts, clearly noticing the wet spot in between your legs even if his fingers barely touched it. "Did you-"

"I, uhm… guess I really liked it?" You blush and look away, but it doesn't take Yuta long to start laughing sweetly, bending over to shower you with quick kisses.

"Me too," he agreed quietly, "but I should probably get you all cleaned up. Bath or shower?" He tapped your chin with his index finger so you would look back up at him. He's looking at you curiously, waiting for your answer.

"Bath, please."

"Bath it is." Carefully, Yuta took you into his arms and slid the door open with his foot. Immediately you both were blasted with a wave of heat and intense sunshine, groaning at the vast difference in temperature.

"Cold bath," you whine, screwing your eyes shut to try and keep the sun out. "Ahh, it's so bright!"

Yuta chuckled, kissing your forehead. "Yes, a cold bath."

#nakomoto yuta #yuta x reader #fanfic #reader insert #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop fluff #kpop smut #nct #nct127 #nakomoto yuta x reader #nct imagines #nct scenarios

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libraford · 4 years

Text

We interrupt the feral celebration of ousting an oligarch to bring you a story about Yeehaw and his Branch of Mystery.

It has been a while since we last had some co-worker drama, but man- has it been a weird summer. I mean... we all had a weird summer in 2020, but I don't think I was really expecting this particular... flavor of weird?

This is a story about Yeehaw, but it starts off with a story about Aggie.

Aggie was someone we were excited to hire and part of our excitement was that it's rare to find someone with prior floral experience and we'd concluded at this point that it does no one any good to be picky about new hires in the middle of a pandemic. So finding someone who knew the difference between a carnation and a rose was a big deal for us.

I say that in jest, but saying that we do 'on-the-job training' means that we've had to explain that yes- the flower in my hand that looks like a carnation is a carnation and not some other flower that looks like carnation but is not a carnation. Floristry is a very straightforward practice and for the most part a rose is a rose and a daisy is a daisy and if someone asks for those things, you give it to them.

The hard part is, as always, making them look good together.

Which is why we were pleased with Aggie- who previously did weddings for her friends and seemed to have a basic understanding of how to do things with her hands. We were happy to have her aboard.

... until you gave her criticism.

She made her vases embarrassingly short, and if you tried to tell her how to fix it, she'd snap back with "I'm not DONE yet."

She was done until you said something.

If you gave her an order for two dozen white roses, she would take it upon herself to mix white and yellow roses together 'because it looks better.'

It did not.

Hashtag: #selftaught

When a client asks for all white roses, there is likely a reason they asked for all white. Given that 90% of our work is funerals, it stands to reason that they are asking for all white because that is a traditional color for mourning. Working with a client means doing exactly what they asked for. Doing a wedding for your friends may get you high praise from people who trust you to work in the same aesthetic as them, but in a shop setting you are being paid to follow things to the letter. Doing so shows that you can follow directions, and they may come back next time.

You don't know customer entitlement until you've been torn another asshole for leaving out a single rose.

This seemed to never occur to her, and so criticism was a painful realization that perhaps she wasn't perfect at an art that was exceptionally susceptible to criticism. There were plenty of opportunities to make something in her own aesthetic, it wasn't like she was being stifled. There was a considerable amount of downtime where she filled the front cooler with her own creations- enigmatically giving each of them their own names like "Autumn Walk" or "First Snowfall." (This is not something that we do, on the whole.)

Not very many of those sold.

But I think what bugged me the most is that she only ever designed. She didn't take out the trash, she didn't answer phones, she never helped customers. She just... did flowers. Nothing else.

Oh... and the chatter.

"Do you travel? Oh, you simply MUST go to Bali sometime! You've never been to Asia? Well, there's nothing like achieving inner peace at a Buddhist temple on a mountaintop in Nepal. They have temples here in Ohio, but it's nothing like the real thing! You say you've never even been off the continent? Well, what are you waiting for? You only live once, you know!"

Ma'am... we're in the middle of a pandemic. Ma'am... I only get paid so much...

While trying to relate, I talked about my summer in Montana and she gave me the BIGGEST stank-face. "Montana? Ew, WHY?"

Look, lady- I lived on a mountaintop next to an active, world-destroying volcano system. If that's not cool, I don't know what is.

But thankfully, she only worked on weekends. See, this was her fun job. The job she does to stay social during a pandemic and flex her creative muscles while she makes money at her much more lucrative,but boring,HR job. So I only had to see her twice a month when I was manager on duty.

Then she got fired from her weekday job and went full-time at the flower shop. Poor thing wasn't used to waking up at 7am every day. She was full of suggestions.

"I think it would be easier for me if we only opened at like... 11am."

"Don't you think we should be taking proper photos of our work? All we would need is a nice camera and a soft lighting setup. Couldn't be much more than $1000."

"Oh I know! We should be doing inventory on tablets instead of writing things down!"

Okay, you go buy those things then. It took her about a week of making those suggestions to realize that she wasn't real clear on how things worked around here and stopped. She became quiet, less enthusiastic about her 'fun' job now that she wasn't immediately the star of the show.

Enter Yeehaw.

We were excited about Yeehaw, too. He didn't just have experience with flowers- he had experience with a flower shop. He gave a good interview, he seemed like he knew what he was doing and was very passionate about flowers. He was definitely an entire hippie, but about 1/3 of all plant people are. Most importantly, we still had like three spots to fill left from our pre-Covid staff.

Hired.

There was an overlap of about a week where Aggie and Yeehaw worked at the same time. His work was... immaculate. Just... astonishingly beautiful work. You didn't even have to show him how to make anything. He just... knew.

Well, Aggie didn't like that much- we had only nice things to say about this new guy but all she ever got was criticism. And if we complimented him on something he made, he would give a little 'namaste' bow. And I could see her fuming with rage each time he did this.

One day, she rushed into the back to take a phone call and any time someone went back there for a vase she would lower her voice as if keeping a deep secret. Twenty minutes later, she called Grandpa into the back as well to discuss something. Ten minutes later, Aggie left the building with her Live, Laugh, Love bag, looking pissed.

"Where did Aggie go," I asked Grandpa.

"She got a new job," she said. "Doing HR somewhere."

"She didn't even say good-bye," Blue said, appearing unsurprised.

And so we went on with out lives without really putting much further thought into Aggie, apart from the occasional 'you simply MUST visit Bali' line thrown in for bougie emphasis.

Which brings us to the next part of the story, and that is Yeehaw.

There are some details to know about Yeehaw that are kind of difficult to fit into a story neatly. Here is a brief list that may come in handy to know later.

-He lives with his mother.

-He drives a Tesla.

-He can afford the Tesla because he was in a terrible wreck that had him hospitalized, and a lawsuit was won.

-Because of this, he has two screws in his head at the temples.

-Unrelated, he has hair that goes all the way down to his back.

- And...

"Grandpa, we need to tell you something," Blue said. "In private."

Blue and Kali pulled Grandpa aside while Yeehaw slowly put together a funeral order. "Grandpa, there's no polite way to put this: Yeehaw is drunk as fuck."

"He smells like whiskey," Kali said.

"He's stumbling everywhere."

"And he won't stop... burping."

Grandpa paused. "There's something I need to tell you," she said, and she reached for a manila folder. "Yeehaw has something called... what's it called..." She leafed through the file and produced a paper, reading from it. "Auto-brewery Syndrome. His body actually produces alcohol anytime he eats bread or sugar. If he's drunk, it's because he can't help it."

We each had a chance to go over the doctor's note, verifying that yes- that sure does look official. Everyone had questions, but it did answer the one I had about why he was sitting in the break room literally drinking peanut butter from the jar.

So that was incredibly interesting and we no longer asked about the burping or why he was so slow.

However, the fact that he was so slow was extremely frustrating. Our average number of orders runs approximately 100 per-day. This can be eased somewhat when we have a full-staff with five designers- an average of 20 designs per person in an 8-hour day, 3 per hour.

But it's a fine line some days, and if one person cannot keep up it turns into a struggle for all of us.

We did our best to accommodate. We gave him all the day-ahead orders so that we wouldn't be behind and he'd have all the time he'd need to make his gorgeous pieces.

We were willing to make it work.

A number of factors came into play one day, but most notably: Yeehaw's Tesla wouldn't start and he had to take the bus. So he was late.

I think I saw him make one entire item in the two hours that we were in the same room. He went to lunch around 12:30, I took mine around 1:00. I saw him stumble back in from lunch, looking... out of it. Just... absolutely incomprehensible- mumbling, barely upright, his hair out of the bun, quite possibly sleepwalking- who knows?

I saw him for that brief Sasquatch moment... and that was the last that I saw him that day. It was around 4:00 that Grandpa asked the question:

"Where's Yeehaw?"

And no one had an answer. We all had places that we thought we'd seen him: cleaning the cooler, in the break room, heading to the bathroom... but no one had really... seen him since he stumbled back in around 1:30.

We checked all these places.

None of them.

The person who actually managed to find him was Sarge, who noticed his feet sticking out from behind the bushes behind the building.

"Huh," he said, presumably. He gave the feet a light kick and Yeehaw slowly sat back up. "Hey dude. You... okay, there? They're lookin' for you inside."

Yeehaw mumbled something to Sarge and got to his feet, stumbling back into the shop without further interaction. He appeared into the workspace, holding a branch in front of his face for mysterious reasons. There were still twigs entangled in his long hair.

"Where were you at," Grandpa asked, concerned.

"Oh, I was in the bathroom," he lied from behind the branch of mystery. "I'm pretty tired. Is it okay if I go home?"

Bewildered, Grandpa gave him permission to leave. It was soon after he left that Scout found his phone in the empty sink. "Who's trying to wash their phone," he asked in the loud manner that is characteristic of old white men. It rang while in his hand and one of our designers snatched it from him. It was his mother.

"Hello," said the designer. "Yeehaw went home early, but he left his phone behind. Can you bring it home to him?" Mom agreed, she was just over at Trader Joe's anyhow.

We thought, of course, that we were doing something smart and nice. Yeehaw's mom looks just about what you would expect the mother of a 30-year-old hippie that drives a Tesla to look. Grandpa, in a polite way, explained that he'd fallen asleep in a bush. To which Mom seemed neither surprised nor concerned about his behavior.

"Okay. I'll be at Hallmark."

Somewhere between the bus stop and Bexley, Yeehaw must have realized that his phone was not with him and so he came back looking for it. Despite his mother being literally in the same strip mall as we were, he seemed irritated that we'd taken the initiative to make sure his phone got to him.

"Well, I bet if you just went down to Hallmark she'd give you your phone and probably give you a ride home."

He mumbled something and then left.

This seems like a decent place to pause, because him leaving the second time in the day should be the end of the story. However... at 5:00 in the evening there was still two hours left in the work day and from past experience... that is plenty of time for a lot of things to happen.

The thing to happen was a phone call.

"Hi, this is Jade from the main store. We've gotten... some... interesting phone calls. Is there... a... hmm... is there a dead body out in front of your store?"

Pause.

"We'll take care of it, bye."

Who wants to be the one to poke the cadaver on the sidewalk? A volunteer from the audience! Ms Crowe: won't you come down?!

I have had it planted firmly in my mind that Crowe certainly understands the concept of fear but does not recognize it. Apart from being one of our most reliable drivers, she is also a performer, a street medic, an activist, and most notably... a fire-breather.

You have your hobbies.

Point is- she's brave enough to check to see if the person laying on the sidewalk was dead or simply overdosed.

As it turns out, it was Yeehaw- curled up in the fetal position with his arm covering his face.

"Hey," Crowe said, poking him with her foot. "Heeeeeeey," she said again but more firmly this time. He moved, blinking in the evening the sun. "Buddy, you can't be laying around on the sidewalk. You gotta move on."

Again, he slowly got to his feet. At this time, his mother emerged from Hallmark to see him talking with Crowe. A group of four people escorted him into Mom's car while he stopped every few feet to perform another 'namaste' bow.

You think this is the end. But what have we learned?

There's always more.

He came in the next day as if none of this had happened. Conversation was difficult because we both desperately needed to know what the fuck happened and also did not want to trigger something. So we didn't bring it up. He apologized for leaving early: chronic fatigue syndrome, you know.

Other places would have fired him, but we're a very forgiving workplace. Falling asleep on company time is not, in any way, the worst thing that someone has done at this location while still keeping their job. There was Sugar and her drugs, there was the dude that used the company van to pick up prostitutes (this was before my time), there was the guy that screamed at customers over the phone... it's a long list.

The primary concern of our employers is whether or not you are a reliable person. If you routinely show up for your job and do the work, you're going to be okay at least for a little bit. And Yeehaw, for all his impeccable fuckery, at least showed up every day.

We kept this at the back of our minds.

One day, after the Day We Found Him In a Bush was behind us, one of the designers mentioned that they'd seen where Aggie works now. It was not in HR.

It was our major competitor.

Now, Grandpa knows this competitor well. She knows all her competition. It is the nature of a lot of florists to, once they've gotten sick of one place, move on to the next one and spill the beans on their operations there. So Grandpa gets the dirt on everyone.

This particular shop was very regimented. You don't wing it- you follow the recipe as listed. He's been known to pick discarded flowers up off the floor and tell you exactly how much money you're costing the company by letting it fall, to the cent. If you get so far as to make casket sprays, he will take your first one and chuck it across the room if it even looks like the stems are in there too loosely.

This is what I mean about us being an easy place to work.

Hashtag: #ohfuck.

People come in and out of your life like that, in little ways. Sometimes you just have to have a little laugh at it. But what I thought was funny was that she felt the need to keep her new employer a secret, as though we would get jealous or tattle. Curious thing.

Now that the glamour of Yeehaw's arrangements had worn off, we were starting to see more and more odd behaviors that didn't seem completely related to drunkenness.

"Did you just fart?"

"No, that was a spider barking."

Amazing.

Conversation with him was becoming... difficult. As I sat in the break room with my quick lunch and he drank soup out of a mayonnaise jar, he mentioned his area of study in college.

"Cognitive Psychology and Hindu Philosophy, huh? That's an interesting combination."

"Yeah," he said, funneling an amount of squash soup down his throat. "It'll take the rest of the world about 100 years before they catch up to where I am."

I sat, posed in front of my beef and broccoli which I was eating with a fork, trying to process a logical reason why the rest of the world will be sleeping in a bush in one hundred years. "Uh... huh."

This was followed by another thirty minutes of silence where I desperately wanted to know what he meant by that but didn't want to be the one to ask him.

People will tell you that a hippie is generally an ineffective, benign kind of person who chants 'love love, peace peace' in a circle and consider that to be an action for change. But I can say with absolute certainty that I have met some downright egotistical hippies in my life. Those were lessons in bias- which I will have to save for other times.

Eventually, Grandpa became frustrated with his slowness. We presumed that his speed of choice was a combination of his meticulous nature and his various ailments, but with the Christmas season coming upon us it was becoming much more than a series of symptoms.

Previous persons who lacked speed were chatty, would play on their phone, or get distracted. But Yeehaw... Yeehaw simply moved like a tranquilized sloth. He slowly picked off each leaf, each thorn, each guard petal and took a minute for each action. He would put in his greens and then contemplate it powerfully for ten minutes before putting any flowers in... slowly.

In the time spent doing this, I had already made something of a similar size and was starting on the second one.

It was during one of these times that Grandpa finally said something.

"Yeehaw, that spray is due in thirty minutes. Is there a way you can go any faster?"

He looked up from his greens, held one carnation to his face, and said:

"If you wanted me to move faster, you would pay me better."

Let me start by saying that we do not get paid well. We don't. Compared to other flower shops in our city, we are probably the lowest-paid. This is something that the company is starting to work on with benefits and raises, but any amount of change takes time. (And its still better paying than when I worked in retail. But that's another book.)

Yeehaw had been here for exactly one month. I don't know a single workplace that gives you a raise after one month and still lets you sleep on the clock without firing you. He knew what he was getting paid when we hired him.

So anyways, he slowly grinds down our nerves to a very fine dust- burping, farting, falling asleep on his feet, staring intensely into space, talking about how much he should be making but isn't, bragging about his enlightenment, and generally just slowing down production.

And then Grandpa had her well-earned vacation week. Blue was in charge for the most part and the week leading up to Halloween is generally pretty slow, so it was a good week for her to have a break with few mishaps.

Eh... hehe. Yeah.

Yeehaw... disappeared again. We checked the cooler, we checked the break room, we checked the bushes out back, we checked the sidewalk out front.

He was in the bathroom.

So we left it.

He was still in the bathroom an hour later.

We had one of the male drivers pound on the door to check on him. When Yeehaw opened the door to the men's room, there was a wad of toilet paper on the floor that he'd been using as a pillow.

If I may pause here to explain- our men's room is disgusting. I have deep cleaned it several times only for it to become a germ-fest once more in a matter of hours. I don't ask who is peeing all over the floor because, honestly, I have no desire to know what grown man can't aim his willy in the right direction.

So in order to fall asleep in the bathroom, you have to be willing to sleep in pee. During a pandemic.

He reappeared in the workroom, put his apron back on, looked around at all of us still working and said: "Wow, it must be really hard to get fired here."

It was at this point that Blue informed Grandpa.

"Tell him that he's fired," Grandpa said, clearly 1001% done with this.

"I'm not going to fire him," Blue said. "I don't think I can fire anyone."

So she had the driver that found him do it, which was confusing for all of us. He ended up calling Grandpa to clarify. And by 'clarify,' I definitely mean 'beg for his job back.' A synopsis of the 20 minute phone call went like this:

"What do you mean, I'm fired?"

"Just that. You're fired. I'm tired of it, Yeehaw. You don't work here anymore."

"Why?"

"What do you mean 'why?' You spend all day making a total of three arrangements and then you wander off somewhere and fall asleep."

"I can't help it if I have chronic fatigue syndrome!"

"This is a physical job. If your body can't handle an 8-hour shift without falling asleep for two hours, this isn't the job for you. Tell me: where is that fair to the girls that you do 3% of the work while they pick up the slack and you wander off to sleep on the clock?"

"I simply do not care about them."

"You don't care that you're shoving all the work on your coworkers, and that's why you're fired."

"I wish you'd given me a warning."

"Tell me, Yeehaw: how many employers can you find that will allow you to sleep on the clock for two hours and let you off with a warning?"

End of discussion.

Now, you're probably wondering where Aggie comes back into this. Just hold tight, I'll get there.

The Sunday after he was fired, he came in to pick up his paycheck. I was busy handling a minor emergency where one of our funeral homes forgot to order a spray and I had to make one as fast as I could. We held a brief conversation while I made the spray in a hurry.

"I'm here to pick up my check," he said while I greened the spray and leafed through the paychecks simultaneously.

"Here you go," I said, handing it to him without much fanfare. I presumed that he was looking for sympathy or some kind of followup or... I don't know. Sorry you suddenly care about your job?

"So what are your next plans," one of the designers asked, trying to coax more information out of him while I did the work of three people.

"It's kind of funny," he said slowly... as he did all things. "I've only ever been fired from flower shops." He paused, thoughtfully. "I think I'm going to go apply to the shop in Bexley that Aggie went to."

#as the world turnips

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gotnofucks · 4 years

Text

Loving Dodger

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Summary: Your journey of overcoming your fear of dogs to loving Dodger.

Words: 3.6k

Warning: mention of smut, language. Loads of fluff

A/N: I obviously don’t know Chris Evans, this is just a story.

MASTERLIST

+++++

Everyone was packing up and you rushed to get things in order. Your coffee had gone cold hours ago, and some poor intern would be responsible for throwing it away from wherever you had left it. Working in the film industry could be rough, and this was just backstage. You went through the set, automatically putting things in order as you moved and waved goodbye to others. Stuffing the last of your things in your overstuffed bag, you left to find a taxi. You were glad you weren’t working tomorrow morning, for you planned to have a long hot shower and an undisturbed sleep after a long time.

It was late at night and no taxis came your way. You hated taking an Uber this late, but desperate times call for desperate measures. You had only just taken out your phone when a car stopped in front of you. The driver’s side door opened, and a smiling Chris Evans greeted you.

“Can I give you a ride milady?” He asked and you snorted.

“You have the worst English accent. If you do that in London, they’ll smell the imposter in you” You said. “And it’s cool, I’m calling an uber.”

Chris frowned, leaning against the door with arms spread, his few sizes short, too tight shirt stretching over his broad frame. You felt like he needed to be arrested for the cardiac arrests he may cause.

“At this time, and even when a handsome, chivalrous man is offering a safe ride? You wound me sweetheart.” He grabbed his left boob, faking a pained expression and you sighed.

“God, you’re awful Chris. You sure it’s okay, a little out of your way isn’t it?”

“Y/n, there is not one place in the world I wouldn’t go with you”

You let your hair form a curtain to hide your blush, clearing your throat awkwardly and stepping in his car. His car smelled like his cologne, the heady scent sticking to your clammy skin. You went for the radio, soft country music running in the background.

“So, what are you doing this weekend?” Chris asked.

“I live a boring life man. I’m probably gonna clean my shit and stock my kitchen with as much instant food as I can.”

“Well, if you want, we can go somewhere. Make your boring weekend interesting.” Chris suggested, glancing at you as he maneuvered around the traffic. You fidgeted, playing with your fingers as you avoided his eyes. Saying no to him was getting difficult every time. You wished the radio was turned up louder so this conversation could be avoided.

“Oh, you know me. I like to lay in, be a lazy girl.” You tried to say nonchalantly, and Chris’s hands clenched around the wheel. You stared out the window, watching the city breeze past as things got awkward inside. You didn’t speak until he pulled up in front of your home, and you reached for the door before the car even stopped, a farewell on your tongue when you were pulled back by the seatbelt.

You blushed, hands frantically trying to undo the clasp and Chris’s hands covered yours, releasing you. You breathed deeply as he was leaning into you, face just a few inches away. You could count his lashes this close, see the exact shape of that mole on his cheek and feel his breath on you. You pulled back, quickly opening the door and almost stepping out before you were pulled back again, this time by Chris’s hand grabbing your upper arm. He tugged you back into your seat and came close enough to touch your nose with his.

“You know you can’t keep blowing me off,” He muttered. His hand tucked your hair behind your ear, blue eyes intently looking in yours. “I can’t take your no because I know you don’t mean it. Why do you keep running away?”

You gulped uneasily, wiggling out of his grip and getting out of the car. He was still looking at you, waiting for an answer. You shook your head slightly, feet kicking the ground at your feet.

“Thank you for the ride Chris. Drive safe.”

The door swung shut behind you and you walked away without another look, hiding away inside your home and trying to calm your beating heart.

+++++

You remembered disabling your alarm last night, so what the hell was that awful noise. Burrowing your head in your pillow, you tried to go back to sleep until the pounding continued. You growled, ready to rip out a new one to whoever was stupid enough to disturb your sleep. Uncaring of your attire, the t-shirt barely reaching midthigh over your panties you marched to your door, a scowl on your face.

You ripped open your door, already mid-triad before noticing who it was.

“Look, you need to shut the hell up. I work 14 hours a day, barely eat and sleep and you trying to break my door down is not –”

Chris smiled at you, amusement glittering in his eyes which raked over your bare legs. Your mouth parted for an embarrassingly long amount of time before you remembered you bed hair, morning breath (more like mourning breath) and the ratty t-shirt with holes. You pulled down on the hem, aware that you weren’t wearing a bra and it was too late to hide.

“What the hell are you doing here at this ungodly hour?” You asked Chris and he held up his hands to show he had food.

“Ungodly? Its 10 am miss, and your loyal subject is here to feed you.”

He moved past you into your house without invite, putting down the paper bag which had grease stains on it. Despite your shock and anger, your stomach grumbled, and you shut the door behind you. You rolled your eyes at his cheek, but that stuff looked too tempting to say no to.

“Since you’ve decided to intrude on my morning, make yourself useful and put on some coffee. I’m gonna change” You said and walked towards your bedroom.

“Like the way you look!” Chris shouted from behind you and you flipped him off without looking, ignoring his chuckle.

Why the hell was he here? After the way you guys had left things last night, you would have thought he would be too pissed to talk to you. You sighed as you pulled on a bra and something other than a 10-year-old t-shirt. You found him setting the table, laying down breakfast as the smell of coffee filled the kitchen. He smiled when he saw you had pulled your hair into a messy bun and winked at you.

“Here, larger portion for you.” He said handing you a plate of your favorite food. You took it, feeling like a guest in your own home as he served and poured you a mug of coffee, made perfectly as you like it. You both ate in silence for a while, the sound of cutlery the only thing to be heard. Finally, you pinned him with a stare, pushing away your plate.

“Chris, what are you doing here? Seriously.”

He chewed the morsel in his mouth before leaning his hands on the table and clasping his hands. It felt like an interview and you wished you had something better on, like an armor, to deal with whatever he was going to say.

“Well, if you want an honest answer here, I’d say I am here because I wanted to see you. I didn’t want you having some instant meal for the 10th time this week, so I got you some breakfast.”

You looked away from him, chewing on your lip. You wished he wouldn’t be so sweet. If he were a sleazy bastard, saying no to him would be so easy. Yet, here he was getting you food and being all domestic, making your life more difficult.

“Look, I appreciate this but I – Chris, we can’t happen. You need to stop this.”

It seemed like he was contemplating you, trying to guess what went on in that head of yours. He reached across to take your hand in his, lacing your fingers and stroked.

“I can’t stop. I tried, trust me I did. I can’t. I see you on the set and I want to whisk you away in the vanity away from prying eyes. I see you anywhere at all, with any other man I want to punch his face. Y/n don’t tell me I am imagining things. I’ve seen the way you look at me. You want me too, don’t you?”

The chair made a screeching noise as you snatched your hand away from his and got up, pacing the room. You were shaking your head, trying to think of a way to make him understand.

“Chris, we won’t work, you and me.”

“Why the fuck not? How can you even know if you won’t give us a chance? And I am the one who’s supposed to have fucking commitment issues.”

You wrung your hands, sitting in front of him again. He looked angry and frustrated, not knowing how much you wanted to say yes. But you knew in your heart of hearts that a very basic thing will never let you be.

“I won’t give it a chance because we’re different. We like different things, and well, sometimes they can be too much to compromise.”

“Like what, huh?”

You looked down in your lap, playing with the lint that stuck to your leggings. It was an embarrassing thing to admit, but you knew it would hold a lot of importance to this relationship. Taking a sharp breath, you told him the truth.

“I don’t like dogs. In fact, they terrify me.”

Chris lurched back as if it was the last thing he expected to come from you. He probably expected some tale of family drama or relationship trauma, but your reasons were simpler. You had cynophobia, the fear of dogs. You couldn’t be in the same room with them without getting shit scared. Chris blinked at you, like it was the dumbest thing you could have said.

“Excuse me? You refuse to go out with me because you don’t like dogs?”

You gave him a critical look, raising a brow.

“Have you seen your social media accounts? You love Dodger probably more than you love any human being. You’re a self-proclaimed ‘huge dog guy’. And me…I can’t be in the same room with one. We won’t work out Chris, and I would rather save myself the heartbreak.”

This was clearly not something Chris was prepared for. He looked baffled, not knowing what to say. You wished it were a small thing, but it wasn’t. Everyone who knew Chris could tell how much he loved dogs. His Instagram page was basically a Dodger fan page. He had the name tattooed on his body. You could never work out simply because Chris would always be choosing between you and his doggo, and you would be too busy being scared of him to enjoy your time with Chris.

He released a deep breath, straightening his shoulders.

“We’ll make it happen. A lot of people fear things, and they get over it. It can work out. When you meet Dodger, you’ll forget you’d ever been scared of a dog. He’s a good boy, trust me.”

“Chris” You said shaking your head, “You don’t understand. I like dogs but only from afar. They terrify the living daylights out of me. I just – why don’t you understand? This is already so embarrassing”

He got up and sat next to you, his hand on your shoulder. “Look, just give me one chance. I know we can be great, okay? One chance is all I am asking. If it gets too much, we end it. I promise, it will be like nothing ever happened.”

You didn’t want to believe him. You shouldn’t have, but he was the man you’d been crushing on for nearly a year now. He was smart and kind and funny, he worked for the good causes and god he was such a treat to look at. You should have said no, had your coffee and left it at that. But there was only so many times you can say no to Chris Evans, especially when he’s pursuing you like the proverbial hound of hell.

“One chance Chris.”

+++++

This was a bad idea and you were regretting it already. You were practically hiding behind Chris, bunching his shirt under both hands as your head peeked over his large body. You were not ready to meet Dodger, at least not without a bomb suit.

“Hey, relax, he’s a right love. I’ve been showing him your pictures on my phone and he loves you already.” Chris tried to placate you and you replied with a pathetic whimper.

The door had barely opened before the golden brown doggo ran towards you and you squeaked. He bounded on Chris and you, Chris laughing and rubbing him behind the ear while you backed away. Dodger kept trying to come towards you and Chris had to hold him back by the collar while offering you a hand.

“Come on Y/n, he doesn’t bite. He’s a cutie.” Chris called but you shook your head, your knees vibrating. You edged away, taking deep gulps of breath as fear overtook you. It was pathetic really how scared you were since Dodger wasn’t even a huge dog, but it still took every last bit of your willpower to not just run away.

“Chris I can’t. Please.” You begged and he must have heard the fear in your voice. He pulled Dodger inside the house, the barks getting fainter as they moved in and you stayed frozen in your track. He came out after a couple minutes and immediately took your shoulders, rubbing softly.

“Hey, hey look at me. He’s inside now, okay?”

You nodded and buried your head in his chest, feeling more embarrassed than ever. Chris hugged you, shushing you gently.

“I am so sorry Chris, I just can’t. I told you this won’t work” You said, and Chris pulled away to look in your eyes. His blue eyes were determined as they stared in yours and you blinked up at him with watery eyes.

“No, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have sprung this up on you like this. We’ll start small, okay?” He urged and you bit your lip, uncertain. Chris rubbed his nose to yours, pressing a kiss on your lips and both your cheeks. “Please Y/n, just give me more time. We’ll work it out.”

You wanted it to work out too. The dates you had gone on had been nothing short of amazing. When you were with Chris you laughed like never before, the conversation so unrestrained. You didn’t worry about hiding your flaws, feeling so comfortable in his company. And then there was the sex. It was so good. In fact, it was spectacular.

“I don’t know how we’ll make it work.” You admitted softly and Chris smiled at you, cupping your face in his huge hands.

“We’ll do it together baby. Don’t give up on us just yet please.” You pressed your forehead to his and breathed in his scent, letting it wash over you. Nodding your affirmation, you let him lead you inside his house, Dodger locked inside the bedroom.

“I feel terrible for locking him in.” You said and you did. Just because dogs scare you doesn’t mean you hate them. You just feared going near them. You watched those cute puppy videos on YouTube to help relax yourself, only you didn’t want any dogs around you.

“Don’t worry about him. He’s with his stuffed lion.”

You cuddled on the couch, watching some 90s movie and you wished with everything that this would somehow work out.

+++++

It took you a while to decide if this was heaven or hell. You were awing and yelping simultaneously, and Chris laughed from behind you, his hands wrapped around your waist. Nuzzling his nose in your neck, he bit your ear softly uncaring of the people around you.

“Oh my god” You must have said this a dozen times already, but you were simply in awe. When Chris said you’ll start small you didn’t think he meant literally. In front of you were some of the cutest, softest, smallest puppies and you finally decided this was heaven.

“I figured we’ll begin from the beginning. Go up slowly, get you used to being around canines.” He bit you again as he said that and you giggled. Turning your head, you captured his lips in an elated kiss, touched that he was going to go through this with you.

“This is amazing.” You said and the corners of his eyes crinkled with his smile. He led you to the corner where a small black puppy with spots on his toes was wagging his tail at you. You awed, not afraid of him in the least.

“You wanna tell me about your phobia a little?” Chris asked as you cradled the pup in the crook of your elbow, the little darling loving your finger running over his small belly.

“It’s kinda silly but when I was four, I was chased by my neighbor’s dog. I ran like hell and it almost bit me before they got it back in control. I’ve feared them ever since.”

Chris hummed, kissing the pup in his own hands and giving you a soft smile.

“This helps?”

“This helps.” You agreed.

Chris and you must have petted a dozen puppies, holding them in your hands, cooing to them and kissing their small noses. You clicked pictures and fed them from your hands, a cacophony of kissy noises and good boys flowing from you both.

“I’m gonna have to hide these pics or Dodger is gonna get jealous.” Chris said and you snorted, snuggling into his side. It was a beautiful day at the shelter, and you were surprised at how fun it was. Tired as you were, you were also acutely aware of Chris’s hand creeping up your thigh in the car. You looked out the window, suppressing your smile.

“So, we made some progress today” He said, and you hummed. “And you had a lot of fun” You hummed again.

Chris pulled you to him roughly by your collar, his tongue poking out to just lick at your bottom lip.

“I think I deserve a reward…” He trailed off and you finally let a smile spread on your lips.

“I think you do Mr. Evans” You agreed and pressed your lips over his, hoping the driver will overlook the noises in the back.

+++++

Baby steps worked, and over the course of the next few weeks you got more comfortable around dogs. You spent a lot of time with pups of all breeds, slowly moving on to the bigger dogs. It wasn’t all easy, few visits ended in tears and hopelessness, but Chris stayed by your side. He let you set the pace, accompanying you every time and praising you for every obstacle you crossed. He didn’t mind spending most of the time at your place and waved off your apologies about Dodger.

“We’re doing this for him too, so he can get to know you better. It’s okay with me.” He assured you after a passionate round of love making. You traced Dodger’s name on his bare chest, finger roving over the other scattered tattoos. He loved it when you traced them with your tongue and bit his nipples.

“I think I’d like to try another visit with him.” You finally admitted, peeking up at him from under your lashes. Chris grinned, pulling you closer.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind waiting.”

“I think I’m ready Chris. I want to meet the good boy who’s sharing your heart with me.”

Rolling over you, Chris pressed kisses over your collar bones and chest, hands squeezing your curves. Your lips mashed together in a sloppy kiss and you felt him smile against you.

“There is no one else I’d rather give my heart to other than you and him.”

+++++

This time when the door opened you were not hiding behind Chris. You held a soft chew toy in your hand, a gift and an apology. Dodger ran towards Chris, tail wagging aggressively as he licked and nipped at every exposed bit of skin he could find. Chris giggled as he rubbed and scratched his baby, and you were very proud of not making any distressed sound or running away. When Dodger finally turned to you, you tentatively came towards him with the toy.

“Hello Dodger, you sweet sweet boy.” You greeted. You’d been with dogs almost as big as him now and felt little apprehension touching his soft coat. He whined under your touch, leaning into you and rubbing against your legs. Chris joined you, his hand finding yours in Dodger’s fur.

“Look buddy, mummy is ready to meet you. You like her, eh?”

Dodger barked in agreement, rolling over for belly rubs while you stared at Chris coyly.

“Mummy eh?” You teased and Chris blushed, kissing you softly.

“Well, only if you’ll have Dodger’s dad.” He said.

You playfully sat down on the floor, letting the cutie climb on your lap and scratching behind his ears that made him purr in satisfaction.

“What do you say Dodge, should I take him?” You asked and he wagged his tail, rolling around in your lap. You gazed lovingly at Chris, softly touching his bearded face.

“Well, only because Dodger says so.”

+++++

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#chris evans x reader #dodger #fluff #chris evans #dodger evans

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