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jungkxook · 3 years

Text

—midnight getaway. (m)

⟶ pairing: jung wooyoung x fem!reader

⟶ genre: sprinkle of youtuber!wooyoung + fluff / smut

⟶ words: 6,488

⟶ rating: 18+

⟶ summary: a “romantic” getaway surrounded by your friends leads to an interesting night alone with wooyoung

⟶ warnings: pwp, wooyoung says baby a lot bc he’s in love, some teasing woo, exhibitionism, doggy style, sort of praise kink, ass play (fingering, fem!recieving), breast play/fondling, finger sucking, riding, unprotected sex, creampie

⟶ note: this is the first fic i’ve written in a while and my first ateez fic no one come for me pls also this is dedicated to the lovely @kithtaehyung !! thank you for always encouraging me and my wooyoung antics!! 💛

p.s. this is shamelessly inspired by this wooyoung selfie!!

“Ugh. You obviously like her.”

The begrudging sigh comes from Yeosang, narrowly giving Wooyoung a heart attack when he realizes that you’re still within earshot. This wouldn’t have been so much of an issue had Yeosang not been so clearly talking about you to Wooyoung, though he barely has any time to recollect himself. Instead, sprawled out on the poolside of the villa the group had rented out for their week-long vacation in Jeju Island, Wooyoung firstly decides that he has no idea what Yeosang’s talking about.

“We’re just friends,” Wooyoung retorts.

“A friend you invite with you on a romantic getaway?” Yeosang asks with a wolfish grin.

Wooyoung shakes his head. He can still see you through the windows of the villa, now in the kitchen talking to Hongjoong. You’re all bright-eyed and glowing from the sun, in a swimsuit you had been putting to use just a few minutes ago when you took a dip in the pool. “Some romantic getaway, considering there’s seven idiots in the same house as us. Also thought this trip was meant to have no distractions.”

Which isn’t really a lie, because while their trip to Jeju was mostly for their YouTube channels, it was also meant to serve as a well-deserved break for the boys, and their leisure work of choice wasn’t exactly taxing and the majority of their trip so far has been spent simply enjoying themselves. Hongjoong had been so adamant too that there would be nothing to hinder them during their well deserved break. And of course you jumped at the offer to tag along when Wooyoung asked you, because you were his best friend but, moreover, his best supporter when it came to his passion and his videos.

“Yeah,” San hums nonchalantly from within the pool. He had been one of the few to jump in with you earlier, “but I don’t think friends flirt with each other on a daily basis.”

“Not to mention your video was all about her,” Jongho adds from beside Wooyoung. “I thought we were supposed to be promoting tourism in Jeju, not Y/N.”

That was a bit of an exaggeration. Sure, you had featured in a lot of the video Wooyoung had only just posted for his “Our Side of the Story” series he was doing (mostly daily vlogs, or aesthetic short films that you’ve always loved ━ much like the others, who have found a way to incorporate their love for music, dance, cooking, and everything in between in their vlogs), but you always made an appearance when you were so close with him. His viewers were used to it by this point, safe for the occasional questioning comments as to whether or not you two were dating. This video in particular saw you having the most fun in a while, frolicking the streets of the city, sprinting across the beach into the shallows of the ocean to try and splash Wooyoung with water; shaved ice shared between you and him and the way you snuck a bite of his when he was preoccupied, bike rides along the waterfront, and clambering along hiking trails so you could pose in a field of flowers that you had so desperately wanted to see.

Now, Wooyoung gives a roll of his eyes. “Funny. I don’t know what you guys are talking about.”

“Yeah, sure,” Yeosang sighs again. “When are you gonna tell her the truth?”

“The video already kind of did,” Jongho points out tauntingly. “If I was Y/N, I would have already realized.”

“Yeah━” San is beaming now as he clambers out of the pool, “but if you don’t want her, Woo, can I make a pass at her? Y’know, just to help take her off your hands━ Ow! What the hell?”

San jumps suddenly when Wooyoung chucks one of the pillows off of the lawn chair at his head.

“Keep your hands off her━” Wooyoung chastises. It’s meant mostly as a joke, but he worries when he recognizes a small part of him seems to care a little too much.

The others seem to find it funny at least, erupting into howling laughter that’s quick to fade when you wander back out to the pool and throw yourself next to Wooyoung.

“They’re definitely starting to catch on.”

Wooyoung lets out a weary sigh, though you’re starting to find it difficult to focus as he continues to kiss down your throat.

So, maybe if any of the boys walked in and saw the both of you in such a compromising position, they would be indescribably confused while also preparing to point an accusatory finger at Wooyoung for technically lying to them. But it isn’t really a lie, and certainly not one neither he nor you were keen on keeping for very long. It’s just that it seemed a whole lot easier to keep your newfound two month relationship with Wooyoung a secret for a small while.

It was mostly to give the both of you enough time to enjoy yourselves thoroughly without the prying eyes of your friends (who, while always supportive, are already passionately invested in your lifelong friendship with Wooyoung, pointing out his feelings for you even far before he could decipher them), their vlogging lifestyle, and their fans, while also waiting for the proper time to expose the truth. After the Jeju trip, you had both promised each other. But that plan was beginning to look more and more faulty as time passes.

What was supposed to be an innocent trip to Jeju with your friends turned into a tricky game in which Wooyoung had entirely different plans that consisted of you only. Specifically, how many times he can find you alone away from the boys to have his way with you. By now, night has since fallen and, after a short duration of time unwinding around a small bonfire in the backyard, the boys had all since retreated to their own rooms. You’re positive most are already long asleep and the ones that aren’t are beginning to nod off, exhausted after a long day and drowsy with liquor from the night of drinking. You’re fortunate Wooyoung at least first chose to find you alone in your room of the villa, but you still panic. Because Wooyoung should be sleeping in his shared room with Hongjoong down the hall from yours, yet here he was.

“My video today probably didn’t help,” Wooyoung adds.

You hum in response. “I don’t know if sneaking into my room will help with that either.”

At this, Wooyoung grins wide. “It’s fine. Hongjoong’s passed out cold. You should hear his snores. Plus━” He presses a kiss to your shoulder. “I couldn’t sleep without wondering how quickly you can cum.”

You nearly choke as you hear the words fall from Wooyoung’s mouth.

But it wasn’t his fault ━ he has needs too.

The first night of your trip called for a joyous celebration at a nearby restaurant that resulted in everyone being blissfully drunk by the time you returned to the villa. You had gotten so dressed up for the occasion that Wooyoung hated to see it go to waste, adorned in a pretty floral sundress ━ one that has always been his favourite (and, no, he promises that’s not solely because of how nice your boobs look in it, though that’s definitely a plus). If the boys could hear his thoughts now, they’d certainly pick him apart.

The house, however big and spacious it may be, is certainly not empty. Even just next door to your room is the shared room both Mingi and San are in. This is a fact you choose to remind your dear boyfriend of now. “The boys are sleeping.”

“Screw the guys,” Wooyoung groans into your neck. His strong arms slide around your middle from behind, pulling you into an all too familiar and warm embrace. He’s caught you just before you can shed your dress and slip into something more comfortable, all radiant and shimmering from a day out in the sun. You melt almost immediately against his chest as he nibbles on the skin just below your ear, on the corner of your jaw. He whispers ardently, “You look really pretty today. You always do, but especially today.”

A gentle smile spreads across your face. You instinctively reach out behind you to rest your hand on the nape of his neck, fingers tugging at the hair there. “I wore this dress just for you. I know it’s your favourite.”

“Yeah, because your tits look amazing in it,” he snickers. As if to emphasize this, he reaches down slyly to cup one of your breasts over the material of your dress, giving it a squeeze.

“Well, now you’re just trying to distract me into bed with you.”

“Is it working?” he asks hopefully, a smug grin on his face.

You snicker, fidgeting in his hold to face him and patting at his shoulder. “Maybe if we weren’t surrounded by a group of seven drunk men who could potentially hear and walk in on me sucking you off at any moment.”

But Wooyoung has already waited all day for the boys to leave you two alone. Waiting any longer may as well have felt like an eternity in a certain type of special hell that he wasn’t exactly keen on.

“And?” A sudden smirk stretches across his face. He leans in close to you, lips brushing faintly against your ear. “You didn’t have a problem letting me fuck you against the practice room mirror the other day.”

You swat lightly at his chest, scoffing suddenly. “Wooyoung!”

But he has a point. In all fairness, it had been his idea to take you against the practice room mirror when the boys had gone home and you were dropping off food to your poor boyfriend still working late at night. You certainly hadn’t complained then when he had you coming around his cock with the practice room door left unlocked. It’s such a Wooyoung thing to say too, being that he’s not often caught off guard, especially when he’s so blatant and confident about all things sex.

“Can’t you keep it in your pants for one night, Woo?”

“No, he’s in pain,” he pouts childishly. He bites playfully at the tip of your nose.

You sputter for air, dissolving into a fit of laughter. “You did not just call your dick a he━”

“Okay, I’m in pain,” he corrects. He starts kissing down and back up your neck. “It’s not my fault you look extra hot today. Besides, you looked like you were having so much fun today. Is it so wrong for me to want to keep pampering my beautiful girlfriend?”

“With your dick?”

“Yes, with my dick.”

You snort.

“And━” He drags out the word purposely, a playful twinkle in his eyes. “I don’t even want you to suck me off, by the way. All I want is to fuck you senseless right now.”

Oh.

His words send a nerve right down to your core. Your thighs instinctively press together at the thought.

All things considered, you’re not any better. There was no denying how devastatingly attractive your boyfriend always looked, but especially today. A well-deserved break and the Jeju sun did him well, with a beautiful tan starting to glow on his face, free of any make-up or cover-ups. The usual stress of city life and work doesn’t weigh heavy on his brows anymore, and though his hair has gotten longer, it’s a neat and pretty mess ━ a little unruly from the sun and chlorine, and from having taken it down from its half-ponytail, but pretty nonetheless ━ with the under half of it bleached blonde and the top half dyed black. Dressed in nothing but a casual old t-shirt and a pair of board shorts, he’s both wholesomely cute and yet sexy at the same time.

And, while you are surrounded by a group of rowdy boys, Wooyoung isn’t necessarily wrong. He always seems to have a knack for making anything romantic enough if he tries, attributed to his charming ways. A night of lovemaking (or whatever he has in mind) in your room with a beachside view is, all things considered, kind of romantic.

You purse your lips now. “Think they’re all asleep?”

“With how wasted they are? Absolutely,” Wooyoung says brightly. “I tripped over a shoe in our room and Hongjoong didn’t even move.”

It’s risky, sure, but the sudden yearning to be with Wooyoung was almost debilitating. There was no doubt you could both get away with having sex in a packed house, right? Either way, it doesn’t really seem to matter. You’ve already been persuaded, and Wooyoung knows.

He pulls you in for a kiss and you let him get carried away for a moment, reveling in the way he needily nips and sucks at your lower lip. Then, finding a second of clarity, you can be heard saying against his mouth breathlessly, “We’ll have to be quiet.”

“Mmm,” he hums distractedly. “So quiet.”

But that was like asking Wooyoung not to breathe. It’s this passing thought, and the way he pulls and tugs you over to sit on his lap as he sinks onto the edge of the bed in a desperate haste, that has you giggling. He leaves a trail of sloppy kisses down to the underside of your jaw and then along your throat.

You tug at the hair at the nape of his neck as you begin to rut your hips against his slowly. “You look really handsome today, baby. It’s nice seeing you so relaxed for once.”

His stare meets yours suddenly, all sparkling and awed. He grips your waist and presses you a little more firmly against his hips so you can feel his semi-hard dick against your inner thigh. “Ugh,” he sighs, “say that again and I’ll bust a nut right here and now.”

Another giggle meets his ears, but this time it’s a little less focused as it splinters off into a whimper the longer you continue to grind against him. You decide to humour him. “I saw your vlog. It was pretty.”

He audibly whines now, his heart threatening to burst through his chest. “Yeah? I worked hard on it.”

“Is that how you see me?” You think back to the video and how you looked, the soft music overlapping it all.

“Yeah,” he deadpans, “like that piece of washed up kelp you tried throwing at me today━”

“You’re so━”

“I’m joking. Of course that’s how I see you, but that’s only a fraction of what you look like to me. A camera doesn’t do you justice.”

“So you think I’m pretty?” You snicker.

“So pretty.” He kisses you again, this time a little more earnestly. He sighs dreamily against your lips, “No, actually. If my dick isn’t in you in the next minute, I’m gonna go insane.”

A delighted simper sounds from you. “Don’t even have to cum, just as long as you do━”

Your jaw drops open as you find an angle that has you pushing your clit against his clothed dick just right. But even though you had so innocently offered to only get him off, part of the fun was seeing how quickly and how many times he could make you cum before finishing himself off. You deserve it, after all.

“God, you’re such a good girl,” he moans. He takes a moment to appreciate you in your current state. You, straddling his lap, eager hips moving against his with your brows pinched in concentration, the pretty material of your dress hiking up around your thighs. He reaches down, palms rough as they grip at the soft flesh of your thighs. “Look at you, already so needy for me. It’s so fucking sexy.”

Wooyoung fidgets beneath you. He burrows his face in the crook of your neck, nipping at your throat.

“How do you want me first, princess?” he asks sweetly now, peppering kisses along your throat, tongue soothing the marks he’s left behind. “Want my fingers in you?”

“N-No━” You croak. “Just wanna feel your dick.”

Excitement prickles at the tips of his fingers as he massages circles against your hips. “In your mouth or in you?”

“In me,” You rasp. “Now. Please, Woo━”

He marvels for a moment at how he’s so stupidly in love with you and your pretty words despite them having such dirty implications, and he hastens to please you. A wolfish grin tugs at his lips as he smothers them against your mouth, but then the giddy sensation of finally getting to have his cock buried in your walls overcomes him. He murmurs into a wet kiss, “As much as I love this dress, let’s get it off of you.”

He hastens to help you shove the straps of your dress down your shoulders, then off your arms. Then, he watches as you stand up to shimmy your way out of it, the material pooling at your feet, exposing your figure and the fact that you’re not even wearing a bra. The swell of your breasts meets his eyes first, and you’ve barely just kicked your way out of your panties when he’s pulling you onto his lap again, warm mouth latching onto one of your breasts. His lips wrap around your nipple, teeth nibbling on the sensitive bud. He can’t seem to get enough, moving to bite and suck at the soft flesh all over, shifting from one to the other, then down the valley of your breasts. A moan falls from your lips, hands pulling harshly at his hair as you push him further into your chest.

“Wooyoung…” You whine. “We gotta be quick.”

Though he wants nothing more than to mark up your chest all over, he relents only when he remembers that the boys are nearby. “Okay, okay━ Here━”

He grabs at your waist, shifting you around until you’re on your back splayed out beneath him. Towering over you, he pushes the material of his shorts down, pulling his aching dick from the tight confinements. Your eyes fall to the way he fists himself hurriedly, tip all red and glistening with precum, and the one prominent vein bulging along his length. You bite at your lip, legs instinctively spreading wider for him.

“Are we really gonna do this?” he asks, excited. “With the guys here?”

“Think it’s too late to ask when we’re both already naked,” You giggle. You remind him again, this time a little weaker, “Just remember to be quiet.”

He hums in response. Then, he teases you by running the length of his hard dick against your slick folds, already dripping with slick arousal.

“God, baby,” he groans, “you’re so wet already.” He taps the tip of his cock against your pussy, the sudden jolt sending your head spinning. As he rubs himself on you, the sticky wetness glides along the prominent vein of his length and spreads messily out to the top of your inner thighs. “Did I do all this to you?”

“Woo, no teasing,” You chastize in a small whine. A shiver runs down your spine at the feeling, and you hate having to resist all his teasing touches. “What if someone tries coming in?”

He flashes you a shit-eating grin. “Let them. If it’s Seonghwa, even better. I can finally get payback for when he purposely ate some girl out on my bed.”

You snort lazily, stifling your giggles. “Focus, baby.”

“I am focused,” he says smugly. He emphasizes this by pressing his dick a little harder against your folds, teasing the tip of it against your entrance. “With you spread out like this for me, all sexy━ Fuck, I’m so focused.”

But what he doesn’t tell you is that the thought alone of one of the boys walking in on the both of you is enough to excite him to no end. He can imagine it now, one of them wandering into the room while you’re writhing beneath Wooyoung, taking his dick so well, moaning nothing but his name. He yearns to feel you all at once, hurrying to please you.

Without warning, he pushes himself into you, cock stretching you wide in just the way you both like. Almost immediately, low gasps and groans sound from the both of you.

“Ah, f-fuck! Woo━” You smother your sudden cries with a hand clamping over your mouth.

“Shit, I know,” he sputters for air. His voice is heavy in your ear, a low grunt only for you to hear. “You feel so fucking good, baby━”

His head is swimming even just at the way your walls wrap around his tip so snug. He pushes himself into you the rest of the way, bottoming out with a sudden forceful and indulgent thrust when━

The headboard slams against the wall, exceptionally loud.

“Fuck, Wooyoung━ Woo━” You grip at his arms. “The bed.”

His eyes meet yours, stunned momentarily as you wait and listen. A minute passes, but the house continues to remain silent.

“It’s okay. Even if they do hear, it’s not as if they probably won’t know what we’re doing,” Wooyoung points out, matter-of-fact. “We haven’t exactly been very careful lately.”

“Still,” You insist. Your walls throb around his hard dick, desperate for some sort of movement. “It’ll give me some peace of mind.”

His heart swoons at your timidness, and though he has fun teasing you, he would never actually want to risk getting caught by one of the boys (however many close calls he’s already had with you) or, worse, upsetting you to the point of no return.

In the next moment, Wooyoung pulls out of you, then pushes back in again, this time less forceful. He swears he tries to be wary of the bed and of making too much noise but, much to both of your dismay, while the frame doesn’t bang against the wall too noticeably, the bed still creaks beneath you.

Wooyoung grits his teeth. He tries again, then one more time, and though your head lolls back at the sensation of him stretching you wide, you meet his gaze with your own apprehensive hazy one. Even Wooyoung’s patience is wearing thin when all he wants to do is tear you apart ━ that, and the slight creak of the bed is enough to start driving him insane.

“Fuck this,” his pace stutters to a halt, “let’s get on the floor. Can you get on your hands and knees for me, baby?”

“Good idea.” Your heart jolts in your chest from the excitement.

Within a matter of seconds, he’s parting from you, leaving you momentarily stunned at the loss of warmth. He helps you to your feet so that the both of you can sink to the floor on your knees. Before you can drop into all fours, Wooyoung stops you by reaching out for the blanket on the bed and tucking it underneath the both of you, but mostly to soften the ground underneath your knees. When he catches you surveying him with a fond gleam in your eyes, he quirks a brow.

“What? It’s just so you don’t get too uncomfortable,” he says sweetly, peppering a few kisses along your shoulder. “Is this good?”

“Amazing.” Your heart swells at all his gentle touches. You catch his lips on yours, faintly murmuring, “I love you. Like, so much.”

You can feel his grin against your mouth. “You know I love you too. And as much as I would also love to hear you go on about how I’m the most perfect boyfriend, I need to be in you right now.”

A pretty giggle meets his ears, and he marvels for a second how you’re so quick to oblige. Propping yourself up on your elbows, your ass juts out in his direction. You give it a little tempting wiggle, and he hurries to position himself behind you. With one hand on the small of your back, he guides you back down his length.

“Ah━ Fuuuck━” He moans. “Arch your back a little more for me, baby.”

You do as you’re told, leaning forward just enough on your elbows and sticking your hips back to meet his as he sinks balls deep into your core. Then, he’s crumbling apart, all breathy panting as he tries to focus.

“Shit, baby━”

“Mmm━”

“You’re so tight. So wet. I’m not gonna last,” he pouts, as if it’s a genuine disappointment. He watches as he pulls out of your heat just enough before shoving himself back in, his dick covered in a glistening sheen of your arousal. You’re so damn wet, he wonders how he hasn’t slipped from you yet. His hands grip and tug at your ass, spreading you to see the way your cunt pulsates and stretches around his dick. So perfect, almost as if you were made for him. “Tell me. Wanna hear how good you feel right now.”

“S-So good,” You mumble drunkenly. “God, you’re so good, Woo. Fuck━!”

His gaze droops down to your breasts, bouncing with each thrust of his hips into yours. He reaches around and grabs at one of your boobs. The gentle shake of the soft flesh in his palms is always his favourite feeling, and he can’t help but squeeze at them now because, god, he really does love your tits. If he had all the time in the world, he would do anything to fuck himself between your boobs, and cum all over your chest ━ but that will have to wait for now.

“Ah━ Fuck━ Wish I could take my time with you right now,” he moans, planting sloppy kisses along your shoulder. “I can’t wait till we’re alone. Gonna take care of you so well, baby.”

“Y-Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he grunts. He reaches down with his other hand, thumb pressing against the tight hole of your ass. The sensation alone is enough to have you nearly keeling over, a strangled cry of pleasure ripping from you. “Want you coming on my tongue so bad. Gonna fuck you against every surface too. You deserve it. You’re always so good to me, princess.”

“Only for you,” You whimper. If he wasn’t so pressed for time, the affirmation alone would have been more than enough to make him melt in your very hands. But his dick is still so hard, and your pussy is still so wet, all he can focus on is not slipping from your walls with every thrust of his hips. “Ah, Wooyoung! Y-You’re so━ So hard━”

You bite harshly at your lip when a loud moan threatens to spill from you. You bury your face in the blanket around you, clutching so tightly at the material. A part of Wooyoung finds it amusing, if only because, if the boys are awake and don’t hear your lewd moans, there’s no doubt they won’t be able to hear the sound of skin against skin as his hips slap against your ass.

“Let me hear you, baby,” he coaxes now. “Moan out loud for me.” When you shake your head, he snickers. “Want it harder? Will that help you?”

He gives an experimental roll of his hips, a little rougher than usual. It sends you teetering forward, a broken groan tumbling from you that’s left muffled by the blanket. He can hear you mumble wantonly, “Don’t be a tease.”

A cheshire-like grin spreads across his face. “Here━ Come sit on my dick. Wanna feel you so deep━”

His words make you moan softly, followed by the way he pulls out of you just quickly enough to sit back against the bed. He tugs you onto his lap and you follow suit, spreading your legs further apart as you sink onto his leaking dick. Down, down, down, until it almost feels as if he’s hitting your cervix, and suddenly you’re not so sure you’ll be able to keep it together any longer. That, mixed with the way he’s gazing at you, all hooded eyed and alluring, you’re very close to dissolving into a mess right in his very arms.

“Ah━ Ah━ Fuck, baby━” You grip at his shoulders as you adjust to the new feeling, hips squirming above his. “Wooyoung, please━”

But your words fall short. The desperate plea that hinges in your voice fades into nothing more than the urgent need to feel more of him, to have him absolutely wreck you, as you begin to rock your hips back and forth on his dick.

“Please what, baby?” he taunts lazily. But he knows what he’s doing, slyly beckoning you to make a mess, and moan for him.

His palms are warm as they slide up your sides, then around your back, hugging you close to his chest. He thrusts his hips up just once into you, sending you into a haste that has you lifting yourself up and then back down his cock. As you adopt a steady and reckless pace that has you bouncing on his length, he watches your every reaction. The way your face contorts at the sheer pleasure, brows pinched so hard in concentration, teeth sinking into your lower lip. Your hands reach out to thread through his long locks, pretty blonde tresses running through the seams of your fingers. You tug lightly at the root, earning a low groan from him.

“Fuck, Y/N━” His head rolls back against the mattress at your quick pace. “You’re so fucking sexy━ So desperate for my dick━ Ah━”

He moans suddenly, only this time it’s less muffled than before. Whether he does it the first time to tease you or simply because he had gotten carried away, you aren’t quite sure. Either way, it’s enough to startle you, even amongst the daze you’re in.

“Wooyoung━” Your voice is a small warning, but it lacks any severity when it splinters into a whine. “Not so loud.”

“They’re━ Ah, fuck━ sleeping━”

You meet his mischievous stare with your own heedful one. Your pace slows, if only just, and you’re certain this time that when he moans even louder, it’s entirely on purpose.

“Woo!” You clamp a hand softly over his mouth, smothering the tail end of his crude groan.

The grin that forms on his face beneath your hand is evident of his amusement of his toying with you but it turns sluggish quickly. The sight to see is hot enough, with the drowsy lopsided smirk poking out from underneath your hand as he watches you continue to ride him, now a measured gyrating against his own hips. When he realizes you’ve chosen to keep your hand over his mouth, he reaches up to grab a hold of your wrist, his large fingers splaying out and then up over your knuckles.

“Come on, baby. It’s okay. Let it out,” he hums. He kisses at your fingertips, tongue swiveling around to suck on your digits delicately. “Not even one tiny moan? Let me hear that pretty voice of yours.”

He can feel your thighs begin to shake around him and, judging by the crescendoing of whimpers tumbling from your mouth, he senses you’re close. Your free hand still grips at his hair, this time a little tighter as you try to anchor yourself in place to rock your hips a little faster. Wooyoung hisses delightfully at the feeling, a small lethargic chuckle rumbling from deep within his chest.

Rough hands grab at your waist now, shifting you around abruptly until you’re splayed out on the floor on your back with him hovering over you. His length stays wedged snugly in your walls, never once slipping, and as he settles against your chest, he lifts one of your legs up and over his shoulder. An animalistic growl slips from him at your pinched face, and the way your cunt starts to squeeze around him. With this angle that his hips pound into yours, his cock hits so deep into your core, pummeling against your cervix again and again.

“H-Harder━ Wooyoung━” You pant. “Please━ I’m gonna━”

Finally, a moan sounds from you. Loud and unabashed, a little broken and exhausted, but beautiful to Wooyoung’s ears nonetheless. In fact, it’s so sexy of a noise that it’s enough to nearly push him over the edge but he relents, if only just for a little longer.

“Ah, there’s my favourite sound,” he smirks. His tongue lavs at the underside of your jaw, and your hand finds itself tangled in his hair once more. “Gonna be a good girl and let the boys hear you now?”

You try with all your might to silence yourself, but the task proves more and more difficult. A few more slams of his hips into yours, and you’re crumbling apart right before his eyes.

“Fuck━ Wooyoung━”

“That’s it, baby,” he grunts into your ear. “Cum for me.”

As you come, the sudden gush of wetness around your core coats his length and he almost accidentally slips from your cunt. You’re clenched so tightly around him, Wooyoung feels as if he has to gasp for air to stay focused. His eyes still stay trained on you, watching as your face contorts as you writhe beneath him. But it’s your shameless moaning that sets him off, albeit still softer than usual but much louder than he was expecting from you with the boys so close by.

“Ah━ You’re so fucking hot━” he whines. “Gonna cum━”

Every thrust of his hips sends you bobbing up and down, and as you come down from your high the pleasurable feeling of his hard cock still burrowed in your sensitive walls has you whimpering softly. Your legs try to separate further, beckoning him for more.

“Cum in me, Youngie,” you beckon dazedly. “Wanna feel it so bad━”

“Oh, fuck━” he gasps. “Can I?”

“Y-Yes.”

“You’re so good to me, baby. Aren’t you?”

His pace quickens, hips snapping into yours urgently. One final shuddering thrust and he’s overwhelmed by his orgasm, cock pulsating within your aching walls as his cum fills you up. He has to bury his face in the crook of your neck to muffle his moans, listening to the sharp gasp for air you take when you feel his release.

He rides out his high in a few more leisure rolls of his hips, though he seems more concerned now with kissing your throat slowly. He gently unravels your leg from his shoulder, then slumps against you like the comfortable heavy weight that he is. His dick lays softening still buried within your walls, now leaking with his cum.

“Have I ever told you how amazing you are?” You hear him sigh dreamily into your neck. “‘Cause you are.”

“Almost daily,” You concur with a giggle. Your own fingers smooth out his hair, fixing the messy strands, and he croons with delight. He leaves a trail of sweet kisses up along your throat, then your jaw, and then the corner of your mouth. Safe for the laboured breathing as you both try to calm your shrill hearts, you’re made aware so suddenly of just how quiet the room suddenly is. “There’s no way the guys slept through all of that.”

“I’m sure they did.” Wooyoung nibbles gingerly at your lip. “There’s nothing to worry about. Especially right now. I’m so tired. We can deal with the potential consequences later.”

You snort. “How did I know that’s exactly what you would say?”

You catch him smirking before he plants one last kiss on your lips. Somehow, he’s able to pry himself off of you long enough to slip into his shorts laying discarded on the floor before disappearing outside of the room into the darkened hallway. He returns moments later with a damp towel to help clean up the sticky mess between your legs, then tugs you back onto the bed with him.

“They’ll see you sneaking out of my room if you sleep here,” You point out through a yawn.

“I’ll get up before them,” he insists. “Just give me an hour with you, like this.”

You can’t resist the urge.

At the very least, you fall asleep first in his arms, his fingers playing with your hair. He must slip away from you at some point during the night, unraveling himself carefully from your sleeping figure to retreat to his own room. You’ll tell the boys eventually of your relationship with Wooyoung, you swear.

But for now, there, under the covers of the bed, you have all the time in the world to enjoy yourself with Wooyoung in pure, unadulterated silence.

In the morning when you wake up, you join your boyfriend with the rest of the boys downstairs in the kitchen for breakfast.

You’re the last to arrive, having wanted to take your time in the shower ━ a fact that Wooyoung laments, because he wanted nothing more than to shower with you to “save water” (which really just translates to more sex), but with only two bathrooms and nine people, the feat seemed impossible. Now, you sidle into the seat next to Wooyoung at the kitchen table, smiling down at him when his eyes flicker to you which seems to go unnoticed by the others.

“How was your night?” Yunho asks passively once you’ve settled into place. “Did you sleep well?”

You nod, as Wooyoung answers, “Best sleep of my life.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” This amused offhanded scoff comes from San under his breath. It causes Mingi to almost choke on his sip of orange juice as he snorts into the glass.

“What was that?” Wooyoung asks.

“Oh, nothing,” San says. The smirk on his face says otherwise. “Thought we heard some loud noises last night. It was weird.”

Then there’s Mingi, leaning across the table to catch your attention alone. He shoots you a more merciful look, though he still seems entertained nevertheless when he whispers to you, “You have something on your neck.”

Your hand instinctively clamps onto your throat, over the spot Mingi points to as you mentally curse yourself. While you had been so preoccupied the night before trying not to make any noise, you forgot to warn Wooyoung against leaving any noticeable marks on your body ━ a bad habit of his, and your fatal mistake for forgetting to check the morning after.

The others are fortunately not paying attention, already absorbed in their own conversations, but the horror of so clearly being found out by San and Mingi sends you into a frenzy. It even seems to alarm Wooyoung judging by the way he starts laughing nervously, though maybe that’s because your knee bashes against his under the table and sends him jumping in his seat.

Clearly, you have a lot of explaining to do. Eventually.

The last thing you hear San say before he and Mingi howl with laughter seems to make even the charmingly confident Wooyoung slightly frazzled, and leaves you all the more confused.

“Some romantic getaway, huh?”

⟶ Feedback is always appreciated!

#wooyoung #wooyoung smut #wooyoung fluff #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung x you #wooyoung x y/n #ateez #ateez smut #ateez scenarios #wooyoung scenarios #wooyoung imagine #jung wooyoung #jung wooyoung smut #wooyoung oneshot #ateez oneshot #ateez x reader #jung wooyoung fluff #ateez fanfic #wooyoung imagines

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fluffyprettykitty · 2 years

Text

Come November, Come January

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (no gender or any specifications!)

Word Count: 957 words

Outline: A relaxing weekend away with your boyfriend turns sour when you overhear a phone call.

Warnings: swearing, cheating arch, breaking up. Not Beta'd, all mistakes are mine!

Author’s Note: Part of 3 different ex-boyfriends fics I wrote. This is the first one while this one is the last. No need to read them all, just a thematic flow.

P.S: dividers by @firefly-graphics

🌟 Please reblog and comment if you want to, all feedback is appreciated and warmly encouraged and allows me to know what people are interested in reading🌟

Main Masterlist ・❥・Bucky Barnes Masterlist

It all started in November: clandestine meetings, behind-the-counter kisses, and golden promises, all seemed nice and clear. He held your hand out in the street, smiled at your jokes, and listened to your problems, you attended to his needs and kept him close like an oath.

Come the middle of January you were both sitting on opposite sides breathing in and out not wanting to truly speak to one another. Something went wrong, something went wrong fast and crushing.

Wasn't he the man of your dreams, the one who would pull you out of the darkness and turn the world upside down for you?

Weren't you the partner of his dreams? Kind and loving like his mother, pretty and proper like his dad would like. You were all of that and much more but things went fast and escalated. And now?

Now you were swallowing hard trying to keep your composure in the reception hall of the fancy hotel he had brought you in. A common ground. Doesn't sound like a hotel floor.

People came and checked in and walked around, nobody bothering you as you stared and stared at each other. What should we do? What is this which humans do? Whatever we can. Any time we can. What went wrong? Tick, tick, tick.

In three months’ time – what a short amount of time, right now you should have been in his arms dancing around the wooden floor at his fancy upper east side apartment barefoot and singing along to your favorite song. He would have cooked his favorite cacio e pepe spaghetti and opened the fanciest Chilean red wine he so much fancied and preferred, not spending your Sunday evening like this.

With a huff, almost scoffing, you crossed your arms took a deep breath and exhaled deeply. "I'm sorry" he murmurs and you can tell by the sound and the tone of his voice he is hurt.

Is he really though? He played you like a fiddle. He is only sorry because he got caught. Lied through and through his teeth every single day, weaved you in a web of lies.

Come the middle of November, he would say it was merely a matter of formality, they just hadn't signed the divorce papers yet, –a keyword it would seem. And as for you? You would believe him because he seemed brokenhearted, his face was rugged, he looked as if he hadn’t been sleeping at all, his apartment was new and refurbished, he wore no ring, no ring imprint either and had no pictures of his past and his family in his apartment. All seemed nice and clear.

Until one day during a weekend trip away to Montreal (because snow is so heavenly he would tell you, we will have so much fun together) accidentally without any provocation, your mind never going there, you would overhear a call. Bucky was hiding in the balcony while he thought you still were in the shower telling his wife how he can't wait to see her and how boring his work meeting was.

What you felt next was the sound of your heart shattering to pieces, a gut feeling forming in your stomach, a need to run away, fast, and sail away.

That was just this morning. Just this morning, oh god. What a fool you have been….

Now you were sitting still completely in shambles as the man who broke your heart just a few hours ago was apologizing over and over again "we thought about giving it a second chance over Christmas, we owe it to ourselves to give it a second try, had to give a second chance to our marriage" yes during those two days you went to visit your family. Enough time away for him to realize he missed his wife you guess.

Shaking your head you cross your arms tighter, trying to hold yourself still and put together, every single dream of the future, your future together shattering. You would never come between a man and his wife, you were the other person this whole time, this whole time, hasn’t it been more than thirty days since Christmas?

You had helped him build his apartment, decorated it. Helped him shop clothes and shoes for himself. And now? What was the situation right now? Pretty boy was dressed in the emerald green jumper you had bought for him, in the camel faux leather shoes, you had chosen for him, wearing the fancy watch you gifted to him as a Christmas present.

It was all so confusing in your head, scenes and phone calls and meetings in dark streets away from town collapsing all together inside your head, and all he could say was sorry. Sorry, you very visibly scoffed as if a simple word like that could ever fix anything. With a sniffle, you shook your head.

You needed to get over him and this situation fast and you needed to go home. That was echoing in your head, repeating like a mantra “go home, go home, go home”

When he tells you the cab had arrived, you snapped out of your thoughts of your time together come and past, widening your eyes open, your heart rate picking up. You tapped at your feet running in all senses of the word towards the parking lot and into the car, him following with your joined suitcase "one suitcase is enough, we will be leaving together anyway" he told you just three days ago. Scoffing at the thought, you get inside the backseat of the cab, him opting to sit in the front taking deep breaths. One short airplane ride later and you would be home.

Oh how fast the night falls and changes, how fucking fast...

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mrwinterr · 3 years

Text

Over & Over

Pairing: Pornstar!Bucky Barnes AU x Pornstar!Female Reader

Summary: You’re an up-and-coming adult film star secretly eager to work with the popular Bucky Barnes, and with just the right connections, your paths cross much sooner than later.

Warnings: Adult themes. Smut 18+ (unprotected sex, vaginal penetration and instructional fingering, oral [male & female receiving], size kink, spit & cum play, a smudge of male dominance), dirty talk and language.

Disclaimer: I don’t know how the porn industry works; this was just written for fun.

Title Inspiration: “Over & Over” by Smallpools

A/N: After doping up on strong painkillers wasn’t enough, I thought releasing endorphins would help ease my headache, so once again watching porn inspired another fic. Idk. I’m a mess. Enjoy!

Slipping on your oversized sunglasses, you walk along the rectangular outline of the hotel’s lavish pool, to one of the vacant lounge chairs next to the redheaded goddess, whose wings you were taken under and could gratefully call a close friend. You hadn’t known a single soul when you packed up and moved west to Los Angeles at 18, but you knew you were destined for more than what your humdrum life back at home could offer.

The porn industry wasn’t your first choice at a career in entertainment, but the starving profession wasn’t paying the bills fast enough. You weren’t going to survive in L.A. another year juggling to pay for tuition and stay enrolled in acting school from the income of working menial jobs and booking small gigs. However, one minor role as an extra in a one-night stand sex scene of a TV show, you catch the eye of the multitalented adult film actress Natasha Romanoff.

It was pure coincidence she was also casted, playing a bigger role, of the same episode, but she saw more in you in your less than 15 seconds of fame than most casting agents did before offering you a chance to shadow her. You knew she looked familiar and you were no stranger to watching porn, but when you’re as down on your luck as you were, you went all in and soon enough countless scenes now under your belt within a year, you’re porn’s best female newcomer.

“There’s this year’s Best New Starlet!” Natasha proclaims loudly for almost everyone around to hear.

Lucky for you, the shades conceal the roll of your eyes at her comment as you kick off your flip-flops and remove the thin cover up to reveal your skimpy bikini. You dare look over at her in time to catch her mocking reaction, jaw dropped from your attitude.

“After all I’ve done for you,” she says, placing a hand to her heart, feigning hurt.

The pair of you laugh at your nonsense and after she helps you with applying the appropriate amount of sun care protection, you recline in your seats and attempt to soak up some sun. It was a much-needed break with the long stressful week of the award show now behind everyone. Your hard work had paid off and after all you did learn from the best.

Your predecessor before you, Natasha was also a former Best New Starlet, and now is a household name in pornography. She didn’t welcome a lot of people into her inner circle, but she had plans to one day direct and knew she had to find the next big thing before anyone else to take her place.

“Hello, ladies,” comes from the voice of this year’s Director of the Year and other close friend Wanda Maximoff.

“Hey Wanda,” you greet her by sitting up to give her a proper hug.

You met her through her twin brother, Pietro, who happened to be your first co-star and was very welcoming and caring to you. The twins took care of you during your first few months starting out. Much like Natasha did for you, you help her administer the same amount of sunscreen on her body.

“Congrats on your achievement,” she says wholeheartedly, looking over her shoulder at you as you finish up on her back, and even under the heat of the sun, she could still see the blush creep up on your face.

“She’s a natural, isn’t she?” Natasha comments casually, to which Wanda nods enthusiastically, only speeding up the process of the rose tints on your cheeks to spread all over your face. They were your biggest fans and supporters; you were so happy you could make them proud.

“I owe it all to the queen herself,” you say, downplaying your achievement and turning the attention to your mentor in Natasha. She scoffs at that and teases you about just taking the damn compliment. You put in the work; it was all you.

“Seriously, you deserved it,” Wanda says honestly, and you finally accept the praise.

“So, what’s next for miss Director of the Year?” Natasha asks leaning on a propped elbow, body facing towards you and Wanda.

“Well, I managed to finally book Bucky Barnes in an upcoming project…” she starts out, but the moment you heard his name slip from her lips, the rest almost didn’t matter.

Bucky Barnes was somewhat of a legend. There wasn’t a model or director that didn’t want to work with him. The man was downright gifted in every aspect and his work speaks for itself. Before you broke onto the scene, you’d gotten off to his videos, and only dreamed of one day starring in a scene with him, but you were still new to this world.

As a promising star, you had a long way to go and tons of plots, positions and people to still experience, so landing a role with someone like Bucky Barnes wasn’t entirely written in your plans any time soon. Then again, your first girl-on-girl scene was with your mentor herself, so anything could happen, right?

“I just haven’t found my girl yet,” was the next thing you pick up Wanda say the moment your head comes back from the clouds, “...I have all this momentum now that I want this to blow everyone away, especially Stark.”

Tony Stark was her rival. It was a friendly competition amongst friends. You hadn’t gotten the chance to work for him yet. He was a playful character and had directed some of the best adult films out there, Wanda just happened to be the better of the two this year…

“Sorry, I’m retired,” Natasha reminds her and repositions herself on her back.

“Fuck you,” Wanda says playfully to which Natasha responds with a finger in the air before she clarifies, “I was hinting at this year’s Best New Starlet…” and slyly looking in your directly.

“Me?” You ask incredulously. Your head can’t even start processing that you’re finally getting the opportunity to work with Bucky.

Wanda rolls her eyes at your obliviousness, “no, last year’s Best New Starlet. Hell no! Of course, you!” You respond in the same manner as your mentor, who is more than amused at you also following her lead, and flip Wanda off. Wanda snatches your hand to bring it away from her face, “I’m serious!”

“I-I don’t know, Wan,” a part of you is a little scared that you’re not going to be able to keep up with someone as established and with the star power as Bucky, “...like you said, you have all this momentum behind you. I don’t want to fuck this scene up because I don’t have a lot of experience.”

“Are you fucking kidding?” Natasha pipes up on the other side of you. “This is the perfect role for you!” She sees the questionable look on your face and sighs before explaining. “You’re a fresh face and rising star! People are lining up to book you, Stark included.”

“Nat is right. You’re a hot commodity now! I need someone who is a little inexperienced to mix with someone that is,” Wanda further explains her premise, “let him take the lead, but at your pace. I need it to be raw and passionate. People love that shit!” They were right, he had all the experience, and you were a fresh loveable face. It was the perfect combination.

You remain quiet for several seconds before Natasha rats you out, “and don’t even try to act like you don’t want to work with Barnes. This is your fantasy come to life.” Way to throw you under the bus like that…

There’s no denying your goal to work with him. He’d been in this business much longer than you had, you didn’t think your paths would ever cross on a set, but the opportunity couldn’t have presented itself in a more perfect point in your career.

The room is very pristine. White walls with a king size bed, also adorned in white sheets, fluffy pillows scattered at the top, minimal furniture around to make it look realistic, and the lighting was just right. Wanda had received a hefty budget after her recognition that’s for sure.

“Alright, girly, let’s get you on the bed!” Wanda happily directs.

You nod silently, remove your footwear and plop down on the center of the large mattress. You decide to leave your legs sprawled on one side of your body, settling on a bashful position. It’s not hard for you because although you agreed to do this and have done several scenes, internally, you’re freaking the fuck out. Unbeknownst to you, it’s all part of your charm; the innocence you somehow still radiated was an all too endearing quality and actually sexy.

Even your attire was pretty modest, opting for a more casual look with black leggings and a tight long sleeve that accentuates your figure and shows off the right amount of cleavage. It was something that you could easily wear out in public, which again was a part of your brand in being as natural as possible, but come the right circumstances, when it was time to roll you could turn on the right switch.

“We’ll start off like a typical casting interview before we bring Bucky in and then we’ll go from there. Sounds good?” She runs down the plan with you, fixing a few strands of flyaway hairs on your head before back away from the bed. With a thumbs up and a smile from you, she starts recording.

“Welcome, Best New Starlet of the Year!” Wanda greets from behind the camera.

“Hi,” you politely reply with your signature sweet smile and a wave to the screen.

These scenes start off with a small interview recounting your tale into the porn industry leading up to your recent achievement and even delving a bit into your personal life before the topic changes to your co-star.

“So, how excited are you to work with Bucky today?”

No matter how hard you practiced at keeping a straight poker face, that was something you were unable to master from Natasha, and the blush couldn’t be contained.

Fidgeting at the hem of your top, you open and close your mouth, trying to find the right words. You’re overly flustered at the thought of Bucky and he wasn’t even in front of you yet. You don’t want to sound like a fool and ruin the atmosphere. Wanda mouths words of advice from where she sat in the director’s chair, “be honest.”

“Um, I’m...nervous,” you say truthfully.

“Nervous?” She questions, urging you to elaborate.

“Yeah, he’s Bucky Barnes! He’s hot and he’s got so much experience. I’m kind of scared I’ll be boring,” you finish explaining and hope to God that Natasha doesn’t kill you afterwards, or with that answer let Wanda down, but the smile on her face sends you a wave of assurance.

Maybe you could do this...

Earlier that day, Bucky had already recorded his little opening scene. Wanda had called him to report on set before you were scheduled to arrive.

On the contrary, Bucky was also a tab bit anxious to work with you. He’d seen some of your work and more so heard about your talent from his own best friend, Steve Rogers.

He didn’t deny it, he was very much attracted to you and he wanted a chance to work with you too. Bucky wasn’t a jealous person, which made working in the porn industry easy for him, but when he had to hear Steve recount his scenes with you, he couldn’t help but want to sock his own childhood friend. He didn’t of course, but the rage was evident and his other friend, Sam Wilson, took some sick pleasure in teasing him over it. In fact, the eccentric personality of the trio of friends, decided to tag along with Bucky to introduce himself to you and get under his skin a little more.

“What’s going on in that nasty head of yours?” Sam poked at Bucky as they made their way over to Wanda, who was by the camera setup going over a script with another stagehand. When Bucky doesn’t respond, it provokes Sam even more, “no way, you’re nervous!”

Bucky sighs fed up with dealing with the anxiety brewing ever since he found out he was going to star in this film with you. “Shut the fuck up, will you? Of course, I’m nervous,” he says, trying to remain calm.

“Dude, you’ve slept with some of the hottest people in the world and millions of people have seen you naked. Why is one girl any different?” Sam wonders.

“I don’t know, ok. She just seems so down-to-earth and normal?” Bucky attempts to explain. You were real. His work was just that, it was a work, and he was afraid that it would be different with you. He could say he was almost intimidated by you.

“Yeah, as if I don’t have to hear that enough from Rogers…” Sam chimed in. Steve had nothing but high praise for your performance. In fact, his testimony helped expose you a little further. He was an honorable performer and a respected one, so they took his word on you. “Maybe, I’ll be her next co-star,” and just like that Sam ruined a moment.

“God, I hate you,” was the last thing exchanged between the two friends as they finally reached Wanda. She warned Sam to behave and gave Bucky a quick rundown before instructing him to hop on the bed.

Bucky’s interview starts a little differently than yours. Having already been a more established performer than yourself, no one needed his background story. The only thing Wanda wanted out of him was his plans and opinion on you.

“Well, I don’t know too much about her, personally speaking...but everyone seems to love her,” Bucky’s answer was a bit bland for Wanda.

“She’s a great person to work with,” she comments and that’s a tactic most directors used to get talent to keep talking.

“That’s what Steve keeps saying,” he says with somewhat of an awkward light laugh. He could see Sam facepalming next to Wanda at that lame answer.

“Yeah, you don’t win best female newcomer for nothing,” Wanda points out. If anyone was the lucky one here, it was Bucky. He was climbing up in age and you were the next big thing. You were the real star of this film not Bucky. She was counting more on you to deliver than him.

“That’s right. She’s a very talented performer,” Bucky says, and this small comment opens up a can of worms for Wanda to build up on.

“Oh, so you’ve seen some of her work?” Bam! He was caught.

Bucky’s mouth starts twitching slightly and Wanda and Sam are smirking from their spots as they watch the gears in Bucky’s mind start turning faster trying to think of something. The only piece of advice Wanda gives is “be honest.”

He sighs, the jig was up. Smooth Bucky Barnes was caught red-handed, “yeah, I’ve watched some scenes. I’ve seen her in person a few times too…”

“Wait,” Wanda interrupts him abruptly. She knew you were attracted to Bucky, but never knew of any encounters between you two, “when did you meet her?”

“I haven’t,” Bucky starts, which causes a look of mass confusion on Wanda’s face before he follows up, “formally. I haven’t met her formally, but I’ve seen her at a few parties and at the award show...I was just nervous to walk up to her,” the words just kept flowing out of his mouth and he inwardly cringed at how awkward he might’ve sounded.

Sam was amused by his embarrassment, but Wanda was pleased with this result. Bucky was good at what he did and that included him trying to play it cool, which he did well on screen, sometimes.

“You know she was actually thrilled to find out she would be working with you,” Wanda said, stretching the truth. The truth was, you hadn’t verbally confessed that, at least not yet.

“Really?” Bucky asks all too hopeful, his mood noticeably perking up.

“Yup! Ever since she won Best New Starlet of the Year, people have been lining up to book her, but she chose this project. You were the deal breaker, Barnes,” she fabricated and hoped this all worked out for you two in the end.

“Wow, who would’ve thought this has-been still had it in him?” He jokes at himself. His humility would get the best of him in every situation.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself! You didn’t win Best Male Performer of the Year again for nothing!” Wanda says and then steers the interview to a close.

After wrapping up Bucky’s scene, he’s allowed to stay in another room with a monitor. At first, he thinks it’s to help him prep for the scene, but to his surprise it’s a live feed of your interview and he starts clinging onto your every word. Enthralled by your journey, work ethic and he gets flustered all over again hearing you talk about your equal eagerness to work with him.

“You know, if anyone is the lucky one in this situation, it’s Barnes,” Wanda reminds as your interview comes to an end.

“Right,” you sarcastically remark.

“Are you ready for us to bring Bucky in?” She asks.

“It’s now or never,” you reply.

You watch the doorknob twist and the door open to slowly reveal Bucky. Where do you even start with him? He just looked like the total package. His gaze immediately on yours. As he makes his way towards the bed you’re still sitting on, when his knee comes in contact to the edge, you maneuver your body in his direction, sit up on your knees to meet him halfway and welcome him in a hug.

“Hi, it’s nice to finally meet you,” he says when you pull apart. The both of you don’t break away completely. Your arms are still wrapped around his neck, his hands placed just above your waist, you can feel his fingers that slipped under the fabric rub your skin.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you respond, giving him a genuine smile and can’t help but stare at his pretty face. You had to remind yourself he’s just another guy, except he wasn’t. You didn’t know how he felt, but you wanted this, wanted him. You also don’t know if you’ll ever work him again after today, so he was going to get the real you.

A small, subtle clearing of someone’s throat shatters the staring contest between you and Bucky causing you both to sheepishly break away from the other, not realizing you’d both allowed dreaded dead airtime to pass by. You scoot over to make room for him next to you on the bed. After he pulls his footwear off, he sits cross legged in front of you, you have one leg tucked in and the other extended in front.

Bucky’s not entirely oblivious. He not only witnessed you backstage reveal you were actually nervous to work with him, he could feel it, so at an attempt to help ease both your nerves, he places a hand on your shin and absentmindedly run his hand up and down the fabric, fingers sometimes stopping to mess with the cuff of your leggings and at the skin of your ankle, while he listened to you speak.

He congratulated you on your achievement as you did with him, both a blushing mess before diving into different topics like traveling and other interests.

Wanda stood proudly behind the camera watching the scene unfold. Everything was so candid and real between you and Bucky, the chemistry was clearly evident, she didn’t foresee there would be much directing on her part today, which was going to make her job easy.

“Wanda said you were excited to work with me,” Bucky teases, wanting to see if what you said was just for the cameras or if it was really true, but also, he found out he liked to see you get all hot and bothered in more than one way.

Your jaw drops and you look directly into the camera, breaking the fourth wall, calling out to Wanda. You playfully chastise and curse at her for revealing your secret. She tells you it was going to come out anyways, and while that was true, you’d hoped it was later and much after you’ve slept with him, hoping it doesn’t ruin the shoot, but Bucky assures you that it’s actually a flattering to hear or in his words, “assuring” for someone like him.

“Are you kidding?” You say, lightly shoving him back, “you’re like a legend! Of course, I was excited! I’m surprised you agreed to work with a rookie like me!” Now that the cat was out of the bag, you might as well own up to your secret.

“Everyone wants to work with you,” he makes clear, leaning in closer. Fuck, he didn’t even need to initiate foreplay because with the way he was looking at you right now, you could come swear you’d come undone for him in an instant.

“Oh really?” You challenge, your body gravitating like a magnet towards his.

“Yup, Steve wouldn’t shut up about you and even Sam said he can’t wait to someday work with you,” he said, voice slowly dropping in decibels and his hands sliding up your thighs.

“Did he?” You ask, but you don’t really care about Sam as your eyes look dead into Bucky’s blue ones, swirling into a darker shade full of deep want and desire.

“Yeah, but let’s see if he still wants to try to outdo me after I’m done with you,” he whispers, finally closing the gap between your lips in a sweet kiss. It was about as sweet as it could last because after just one taste of your lips, he was a starved man, hungry for more. You tried your best to match his pace and the kiss turned sloppy very quick.

You moaned at the pressure of his lips pressed roughly against yours, and you do your best to keep up, but you’re already finding yourself short of breath. However, the more you try to pull back to regain some oxygen, the more he’s unwilling to part as he grasps your face in both hands to keep you still, so you lightly squeeze at his biceps as a warning in hope he gets the message.

Lucky for you, he does and lets up. He’s also noticeably breathless, his warm breath fanning against your kiss-swollen lips, his forehead resting against yours. Bucky’s hands are still on your face.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, and you let out a small chuckle at the sincerity. He was cute.

You take his hands in yours and bring them back down to begin undressing him starting by helping him slip his shirt over his head, the fashionable dog tags around his neck clank as it slaps against his toned chest, you let him keep them on though.

Bucky sits up on his knees as he watches you settle on your stomach, propped up by your elbows, hands getting ready to work on his lower half. He patiently watches as you unbuckle his belt, pop the button of his jeans off, and drag the zipper down.

With his pants hanging loose off his hips, you begin to plant soft kisses along his navel down the defined lines that lead to his cock. Each contact of your lips sends a ghostly tingle and the blood to rush even quicker down his lower region. The imprint of his endowed member doesn’t leave much to your imagination, you can already see the stain where the tip is through his tight boxer briefs. It gives you a little boost of confidence knowing you’d caused this and would get to take care of it.

You hook your fingers into the undergarment and tug them down his muscular thighs. His cock springs out, almost hitting you in the face causing you to jolt back a little and a smile to spread across Bucky’s.

Your clumsiness was also a part of your charm. It wasn’t on purpose, you were still learning after all, and that’s what made it so unique and fun to work with you. Your partners just felt a real, genuine connection, citing it felt less choreographed and of a porno with you.

A little embarrassed about that move, you’d watched what he can do with that cock, but nothing could’ve prepared you for it face-to-face. You don’t waste any time on getting your hands on him and wrap your fingers around his half-hard cock and start pumping him sensually.

He’s hot and soft in your hands before getting gradually heavy. The look in your eyes grows more predatory as you watch him grow and feel him getting harder with each pump causing more and more pre-cum to ooze out. You spread it all over the head of his cock with your thumb then daring to look up at him, hoping he was indeed enjoying your work, before you pucker your lips and kiss at the crown. Bucky curses when he sees your lips shining, coated in his pre-cum, with a string connecting you to his cock.

You gather the fluid up in your hand before spreading it all over his length, when it’s not enough you start not only pumping him faster, but also licking up and down, from the base to the tip, hoping to effectively slick him up. The way your tongue scrapes along over Bucky’s sensitive flesh stirs him up. Your other hand joins in to fondle with his neglected balls, massaging and pulling at them in the right moments, sometimes you travel a little south and take them in your mouth. It all but drives Bucky wild and it’s confirmed with each swear that leaves his mouth.

Bucky wants nothing more than to lodge himself deep in your throat, but he remembers he needs to go at your pace, and once you’re broken in a little more, you could follow his, so he’ll bide his time for now and watch you work.

When you’re ready to take him in, you regain his attention and he watches you slowly take in his inches down your mouth, stopping halfway before your wide-open mouth hollows out. Your full mouth immediately waters around him and it doesn’t take long before you’re a drooling mess all over his cock. You pull back torturously slow, looking back down watching his cock reappear and loving the way it disappears back in, and especially how it feels when it drags through your mouth, taking note of the veins and unique ridges.

“Don’t be like that, doll,” he says, wiping some of the hair away from your face, “come on and show me why they don’t stop talking about you,” he coaxes, now gathering some of your locks in his hand to completely give you both a clear view. He tries his best to not take the lead, but you don’t disappoint as your mouth works faster on him. The gagging and sucking, mixed with Bucky’s moans of pleasure soon become the soundtrack.

You’d gradually take him more and more in, close to deep throating him, and you’re just ready to let up, but he can’t help it and before your last round, he holds your head in place.

“Don’t quit now, baby,” he encourages you, placing his other hand on the back of your head, keeping you still and carefully starts to thrust his hips, urging you to take him all the way, “...that’s it, you can do it, you can take it,” he releases a big sigh feeling the tip of your nose bump his lower abdomen. The moisture builds up in the inner corner of your eyes and you do your best to mind your breathing and not choke.

“Fuck!” He can’t help but shout when he feels your throat contract around him. You just looked so divine, mouth full of his cock. He keeps you there for a few seconds, before releasing his hold, and you immediately pull back, drool dribbles down your chin, and you’re desperate for oxygen to return back into your system. He grabs your face by your chin forcing you to look up at him.

He uses his fingers to scoop up some of the mixed fluids of his arousal and your saliva at your chin before presenting it in front of you. You easily read his mind, look up at him with big, watery eyes, and take his coated digits in your abused mouth sucking the juices clean off him.

He growls and commends you, “...such a good girl.” When he slips his fingers out of your mouth, a small pop could faintly be heard, he gently yanks at your hair, craning your head back further, it’s almost painful but you don’t care, “do it again,” he demands.

You bite your lip and reposition yourself. Bucky settles in a more comfortable position on his back, completely rid of his pants and underwear, his legs spread open for you to lie between them. Before you get back to the job, you slip your tight top off, all-natural breasts spilling out and on display for him. His cock twitches at the sight and he lets his head fall back when he’s once more fully encased in the warm, wet cavern of your mouth.

When he finally starts begging you to let up, you pull back slowly pumping him and watch his every move, the rise of his chest as it heaves from the activity, the way he runs his hands over his face. He’s absolutely stunned by your performance so far.

“On your back,” he says, and you do as he commands, and forget who is supposed to really be in charge. He yanks your leggings and panties all the way down, chucking them behind him somewhere in the corner of the room.

“You’re so sexy,” he compliments, eyes taking in every inch of your naked body, hands getting their fill. His body dips, lips latching onto your breasts, kissing at the skin and sucking on each nipple before they make their way up the juncture of your neck and claim your lips again.

You feel his tongue run along your bottom lip, and they part to grant him full access. You barely notice how he takes a hold of one of your hands, he pulls his face away to bring the hand in his grasp up to your face, using your fingers to trace the outline of your lips. You see him inaudibly instruct you to open your mouth, you do as you’re told.

“That’s right get those fingers nice and wet,” he coaxes you to suck on your own digits until he deems you ready for the next move. When he finally does pull your fingers out from your mouth, he extends your arm, ghosting them just over your pussy.

“Play with that clit,” he tells you and you don’t need to be told twice. Your pussy was begging for any kind of attention. You let your wet fingers roll over the bundle of nerves, puffs of breath escape your body as you’re finally attending to your own needs.

Bucky sits back and watches you intently, fascinated by your every move. He instructs you to close your eyes and listen to his voice, instructing you to go slow at first, “does that feel good?” the only reply he gets is a fast nod, “yeah? Make yourself feel good...that’s it,” his words only encourage your fingers to soon work faster, “let me hear how good it feels,” he demands, and you moan and whine like the true pornstar you are, your circular motions speed up, the lewd noises egg him on and soon enough he wants a taste.

“Let me help you out,” and you feel the bed shift a bit, “spread those wet lips for me,” he requests. You use both hands to invite him into your wet, glistening hole. You pick your head up to see his face buried between your thighs, you watch just long enough until each broad lick up and down your pussy sends you close to the edge.

He no longer needs the support of your hands, and they find purchase in his dark, fluffy hair as he starts sucking on your clit and tonguing your folds. At first, you’re doing a good job keeping your legs apart to accommodate him, but it gets harder and harder for them to not clamp around his head, with every nudge the tip of his nose makes at your clit and it doesn’t help your case when he inserts a finger inside you. With a good curl, his finger scratches dangerously close to your sweet spot, causing your legs to start quivering.

The sudden hitch in your breathing catches his attention, and Bucky tests the waters more by digging in deeper and curling in further. He notices the increasing agitation and knows he’s found the trigger.

“Bucky,” you whine, hoping he doesn’t push you over just yet. You want to last longer, and so you reluctantly attempt to scoot back further away, but the sudden strong grip he has around your leg locks you in place. You pick your head back up and find Bucky’s eyes trained on you. You see the stoic look in his eyes laced with determination. Oh no, he wanted you to come now. You feel a hum from his full mouth, only pushing you further.

“Don’t hold back,” he says against your pussy, “let go,” and the gruff in his voice, vibrating against you, his thick digits still curled deep inside you, you can’t hold back the floodgates from bursting any longer.

He laps up your arousal as you desperately try to regain composure. He really pulled one out of you, proving he was as every bit good as he put out and you’re not even close to the end of this scene.

“Come here,” he says, getting back on his knees and pulling you up by your arms so you’re in an up-right sitting position once again, but with Bucky still towering over you, “open up.”

You comply and open your mouth wide, tongue out, not understanding his motive, and you’re met with full surprise when he spits in your mouth, a firm grip on your face, he holds you still.

“Don’t swallow,” he gravely warns. You feel and probably look stupid not knowing what he wants you to do with your mouth open wide and full of his spit mingling with your arousal, just trying to keep it all contained. Bucky was testing your patience and obedience and you passed every test so far. You were just the right amount of submissive, absolutely perfect.

You can feel his hard cock pressing up against your sensitive pussy, it slides up between your folds and the base rests on top of your mound. “Drool it out...on my cock,” he instructs. Oh. He guides your gaze down between your bodies, you purse your lips, and both watch as the liquid cascades down onto his erect member. He uses it to lube himself up before he pushes you down to lie flat on your back.

Bucky slowly but easily slips inside your wet channel but notices your slight struggle. He was big, and he gets it. The way your eyes are tightly shut, hands pulling at the sheets, you struggle to breath and your walls cruelly grip him tight. Normally, he’d just pound away until his partner got used to him, but he didn’t want to do that with you. He wanted you to enjoy feeling him.

He tries to help you relax by rubbing your thighs a little with soothing motions, when they fall limp on either side, he leans down, you feel the cool metal of his dog tags against your heated skin, his weight sort of comforting on yours, and arms entrapping your head. He lovingly calls out your name, and your eyes flutter open, your attention refocusing on him.

“We’ll go at your pace, alright?” he assures you. You curse yourself for allowing your heart to swell at his concern, but you nod giving him permission to move slowly. Your whimpers soon transition into pleasurable moans, the more your body begins to adjust to his.

“Damn, you’re so tight. You’ve never been stretched out like this by anyone before have you?” he dares ask, once he sees it’s a safe playing field once more, his hips moving slow, his cock sliding in and out of you. You attempt at a laugh between your ragged breathing and the intense sensation coursing through you.

“No,” you respond and kiss at his chin, the light stubble pricking your soft lips, “you’re so big.” You feel his cock twitch inside and you want to curse yourself again at the comment that unintentionally riles him up because he was nestled close to your spot again. Fuck, he could reach just the right depth in you.

“Fuck, Bucky,” you don’t want to go slow anymore. Fuck Wanda and this movie, you wanted all of Bucky now, “please fuck me,” you resort to begging. He inwardly growls and his hips start snapping forward, thrusts growing hard and uncalculated. You just lie there and allow him to use your pussy for his pleasure.

Bucky’s movements falter a bit in this position, so he steers both your bodies on their sides, still facing each other, he slings your leg high up over his hips, and resumes his task. His cock glides right back in your pussy and the new angle causes you to yelp and walls to clench around him.

“You feel so good,” his voice riddled with so much lust as he brings your body closer to his with a hand behind, full of your plushest asset. Your head rests on the bicep of his other arm that was underneath it.

Bucky’s expressive eyes ask you if you're close, and the more your walls continue to grip him, he starts begging for you to come with him. “I’m gonna cum,” he warns, giving up and letting you take the rest of the lead.

“Yeah?” you huff out, your fingers digging into the side of his hips, “you want to cum inside me?” You know he does; you can feel and see it written all over him, but you want to just poke at him like he had with you, “I want you to...I want all your cum inside me, Bucky,” and you wanted him to cum hard, deep inside, “fill my tight pussy up, please,” you plead.

With one more jab of his hips, your back arches and head is thrown back, you can’t help but let out a scream as your orgasm rips right through you like it’s never before. Bucky’s body on the other hand caves into yours, feeling almost paralyzed as your tight walls hold him in place and all he can do is bury his face into the sweaty skin of your neck.

His mouth hangs open, a plethora of profanities coming out of him, and he waits for his cock to finish spewing ropes of his hot, thick cum into you. Your walls can’t help but to involuntarily contract in small aftershocks, especially when he’s still coming.

Bucky continues to moan as he does as you hoped, he came hard and deep inside you. When you’ve both finally come down from the high, it’s silent, and even though you’d both long forgotten you were on a set with multiple people watching you two, they were also quiet, completely taken back by the performance.

Incoherent cries come out of each of you, when Bucky agonizingly pulls his cock out. For the most part you’re able to keep him inside, but he’d proven to come so much some of it seeps out and runs down in streak fashion along your thigh, staining the bed sheets.

In your last act, as your gazes meet each other again, your fingers dip inside your soaked cunt and coat them. Hypnotized by you, Bucky watches as you greedily suck off his essence from your digits, and you evoke a small hum in his favor at the taste bursting in your mouth.

Bucky bites at his bottom lip, trying to not lose it again. When your hand disappears, he tenderly wipes the matted hair away from your face, smoothing your hair back before pulling your body close again, swooping your lips for a deep kiss.

“Shit, you’re good,” he admits, when he pulls away, effectively breaking the blissful silence. You bust out in a fit of giggles beside him and it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen. He’s not sure what he’s feeling, but it’s not something you’re supposed to feel towards your co-star, especially in the porn industry.

He smiles at you, basking in your afterglow and all he knows is that he wants to feel this high with you over and over, so he decides to risk it all, “I hope this doesn’t ruin the moment, but can I take you out some time?”

You try your best to read him, wondering if he was just still in the heat of the moment. Either he’s really good or he’s being sincere, you can’t tell and you’re hoping you’re not overthinking it, but his eyes, this whole time, were what gave him away. He performed with them and he definitely spoke through them.

Before you could accept and give him a definite answer, you’re both brought back to reality, “we’re still rolling here!” Wanda reminds.

A/N: Thank the pain meds for this. I think I effectively used up my vacation days the right way, won’t you agree? Likes, reblogs and comments/emojis are appreciated!

#mrwinterr writes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfic #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan x reader #pornstar!bucky barnes #pornstar!bucky #pornstar!bucky au

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peakyblindersxx · 3 years

Text

whiskey business - john shelby x reader (part 6 of ?)

gif by my queen @michaelgreys, i'm basically her fanblog now but im not mad about it :) i mean just look at him!!1! i almost fainted

a/n: first of all, if you stuck around to this point, tysm for reading!!! this has been one of the most amazing fics ive ever been a part of and it's all thanks to the gorgeous @stxdyblr-2k, who generously took control of the next few parts. her brain is beautiful and we all owe her flowers or something. when i read what she sent me i couldn't bring myself to change much except for some small edits, so pls give her lots of love if you like it!!!! i'm still working on requests as well :)

love, abi xxx

read part one two three four five | my masterlist

tagging: @datewithgianni, @mayaslifeinabox, @deepdonutkid, @springsoulofengland, @lilymurphy03

prompt: nothing this good can last forever. john doesn't know how to feel, and neither do you.

warnings: nsfw! a teensy bit of smut, angsty as fuck prepare yourselves accordingly, a lil fluff if u squint, yeah this fucked me up

Obviously, it wasn't the last time.

Over the coming months you had many last times; his mouth pressed against your neck said as much. As his responsibility at work increased, you'd find yourself heading to his office after your lectures and night classes more often, perched on his lap, smoking, while he finished up his numbers under your critical gaze.

Thomas was more than aware; his snarky comments made it obvious he had his ways of monitoring your actions. You'd seen the dark car lurking outside your rallies and lectures, and no matter how you'd try to throw him off, not even telling Ada where you were going and even, in a moment of desperation, through your neighbours back window, somehow, his silent shadow was still looming. He was practically begging you to make a mistake, to give everyone an easy out. You just couldn't give him the satisfaction. You knew Tommy saw the world as a chess board, always several moves ahead of his opponent. Even when you played him in chess club all those years ago, you could outflank him if you thought on your feet and kept him thinking he was winning until you obliterated him in the end game. It was brutal, sure. But as he told you, there were bigger games at play. You had your own. Thomas could read your mail, intercept your phone calls and have you followed, but he couldn't hear what you said out of earshot. Your lot could smell an interceptor in your ranks, so spying at that close of a proximity was out of the question.

That's why he'd decided to let you have John. You knew his silent approval and his constant management of the narrative meant he saw a tactical gain. There was only so much information he could get from Ada, but John? He just had to agitate him in the right way and all your secrets would come tumbling out. It was difficult hiding your world from John; of what he knew of, he was supportive, quizzing you over current affairs and political discourse, listening intently. Yet, you had to watch your mouth. You had to keep a barrier up and you knew John sensed the distance. Fundamentally, there was nothing either of you could do.

So here you were, in a comfortable limbo. Your days were filled with work, evenings were for lectures and reading groups at the city's university, Ada and you often stopped for a drink or three; you'd go by your flat to freshen up, and then to John's office. Sometimes, you wouldn't visit for a week or so when the guilt sent you over the edge, it was draining to be living so many lives and knowing you were betraying the person you loved most on earth. Ada was oblivious, taking you on her nightly adventures filled with men, dancing and waiting while she was busy kissing in dark corners. Sometimes a young blinder would ask if you wanted to be walked home. The first occurrence you thought was sweet, but as the nights it occurred coincided with nights John seemed extra pent up, you'd decided to ask. The boy, who couldn't be older than twelve but who you knew was trained in using firearms and had a revolver pinned to his hip and a razor in his cap, looked confused.

"Mate, it's not a tough question. Why do you come and ask?"

"There's a phone call." He shrugs, "Isaiah or Michael tells us to go and get you."

Isaiah and Michael were somewhat aware? Fucking hell. Your fling was basically a military campaign at this point, so many of your friends were complicit. The little lads who ran as messengers around Birmingham were complicit. You had to just end it.

But when you sat on his thigh, his chin hooked over your shoulder, it felt so worth it. He never turned you away when you came crawling back. He never mentioned it until after you were finished, hooked under his arm.

"Fucking missed you, gorgeous."

Sometimes he'd remind you not to be a stranger with a wink, but you could tell it was tearing him apart too. He never once came to you. That's how he could justify it in his mind; obviously, the bare minimum was not having sex with his sister's best friend, but in failing that, waiting for you to initiate it was somewhat better. He barely talked to Ada now, citing work as an excuse, but truly the guilt sickened him. He couldn't believe he was prepared to continuously hurt his little sister and betray her. But every time you turned up at his door, he couldn't find it in himself to turn you away. In his mind, every single time you came to visit him was the last time he'd let it happen, yet he was always waiting for you to come back, his blind closed to signal he was prepared. He never would call, it had to be your choice.

You'd been off and on for over five months now. It was so difficult to hide in plain sight, but you just couldn't stop yourself. Neither of you purposefully meant for this to be happen but fuck, was it fun.

For your birthday he'd gifted you a fur coat from the same shop his sister, aunt and the fashionable crowd of Birmingham had purchased theirs. He joked that you looked like a "proper razor chaser", kissing you when you pouted at his teasing, begging you to wear only the coat when you fucked him next. It was a practice for blinders to buy a coat for their wives and girlfriends as a status symbol. You were neither, but John claimed that being his "favourite lass" also counted.

John was a laugh, but you knew at any time he could close his door to you. Until he decided he couldn't be bothered with you, you weren't going to get caught. You just had to be careful until he got bored.

***

You did end up putting a foot wrong. It was a Thursday night; you were sitting on the edge of John's desk while he was ridding you of your blouse. It was past midnight, Birmingham was asleep. You almost didn't bother coming out tonight, but you knew John had lost a deal and you wanted to be there for him. Your skirt and stockings were strewn across the desk with his shirt, vest and waistcoat, muddled into the files and papers which were once neatly stacked.

His fingers were pumping in and out of you, his mouth lapping at your breast, your head tipped back in euphoria, groaning. The stress made him more affectionate and tender with you, and it was nights like these that made you wonder. Wonder if this could ever be something more, something real.

John's body suddenly pulled away from yours, quickly turning the light off.

"John, what-" You were cut off by John’s hand over your mouth, muffling your words.

"Shut up and get behind the desk." He hissed. "Someone's coming upstairs."

You quickly grabbed your clothes from the shiny oak surface and crouched, hiding yourself from view, quickly making yourself decent. You weren't going to get shot through the head with your tits out. You listened to the stairs creek, and it sounded like a group. You two were easily outnumbered. They were talking, but the thick panels of wood muffled their voices.

As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, the cracks in the door giving the room a dulled glow, you could make out the figure of John. He was free of his shirt, toned body on display, standing with his back flat to the wall, revolver produced from a discreet notch in the door frame, gaze fixed on where they'd enter. He was tense, ready. The door was unlocked from the outside, the door handle twisting.

John's lip shifted in confusion yet still he kept his trigger finger ready, not a single shake from your general.

The light flicked on and a shriek rang out. It was blinding, and you stood up slightly dazed. Finn was in the doorway, John next to him clutching his chest, panting and lowering the gun.

"Jesus Christ, Finn, can't you knock like a normal person? Scared the shit out of us." John bellowed, shaking as the adrenaline coursed through his body, resting his hands on the edge of the desk as he regained his breath.

"You're the one who pointed a gun at me! I didn't even know you were in 'ere!" Finn yelped.

The commotion had attracted the attention of Ada and Isaiah, who had come running and stopped in their tracks upon seeing you standing behind John's desk in the middle of the night. They weren't stupid. John was topless, your clothes obviously rumpled, both with matching tousled hair and practically stinking of guilt. You'd been caught red handed. Ada's eyes flicked between both you and John, and you could practically see the pieces of the puzzle clicking together in her mind, all the moments she found questionable since you'd returned suddenly making sense, realising she had been deceived by the two people who she was meant to trust most in life. Finn looked absolutely crushed, he'd never been able to conceal his emotions as well as his older brothers and sister, linking his fingers through Ada's, squeezing her hand.

"I forgot to drop this off earlier." Finn stated, holding up a money box, "Ada had keys so we thought we'd sneak in so I wouldn't get done by Tommy. We did call round yours, Y/N. We thought you were in bed."

"I'm sorry." You said. It was not enough but you just didn't know what else to say. You couldn't make it right, you'd really fucked up this time. Tears pricked at your eyes, as Ada examined you in silence.

John stepped in front of you defensively. "Look, Ada-"

"How long has this been going on?" She asked, her voice shaking with rage. You and John exchanged a glance. "I said, how fucking long?"

"Five months, six in a fortnight." He answered.

Isaiah whistled lowly. "That's fucked. I thought it was only a few times, that it'd finished."

"Never really over when it's John is it." Finn interjects, you glance to him, were you just one in a long string? You shouldn't be surprised but it was easy to pretend he may actually care about you.

"You've been fucking around for six months behind my back?" Ada yelped, Finn trying to comfort her but she pulled away from him. "And you fucking knew Iz."

"I'd expect this from you, yeah? Wouldn't put anything past you these days.." she sneered at John, "But you? You?! You're meant to be my best mate, but here you are sneaking about fucking my brother?"

"Ada-" you began, eyes welling with tears.

"I thought I could trust you. You're just another fucking razor chaser, aren't you?" She spits. "That's why you came back."

"No it wasn't, Ada-"

Her eyes flashed with anger, but this time John was on the receiving end. "You bought her that fucking coat ,didn't you? The fur one. You did! Fuck's sake!" Her fists were clenched, shoulders squared. For the first time in your life, you understood why crowds parted for Ada Shelby. Understood all the free drinks and cab rides, the nervous serving staff declaring your meal on the house (always acknowledged by Ada with a hefty tip), understood why the men of Birmingham didn't last long with her.

"Did it feel good to swan about town in that fucking coat, while acting as though you cared about me? It's so fucking embarrassing. All trussed up because my knobhead big brother makes you feel special? Thanks for rubbing it in my face."

"Ada, I love you. I never meant to hurt you, I got caught up and that's on me. It's my fault."

"You're not acting like you love me. This isn’t what love is, Y/N." She retorted.

You couldn’t do anything but nod. She was right.

John opened his mouth to speak, Ada silencing him, a scowl darkening her features.

"I don't care what you have to say. Any of you. Who else knows?"

"Thomas, Michael, Arthur-" John listed off slowly, each name prompting Ada to break down a little bit more in front of you.

"I didn't know Arthur knew." You said pointedly, John sending you an exasperated glance. He was planning on dealing with that later, but right now was about his sister. Fuck him if he thought you were going to stick around much longer. You didn't want to hear him justify everyone else knowing about your fling with your best friend being left completely in the dark.

"That all you have to say for yourself?" Ada snaps at you.

"I have fucking no defense, do I Ada? I should've walked away." You pushed your hair back, frustrated at yourself, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You begged yourself not to cry. Tears wouldn't help anything.

"Why didn't you?"

You didn't know. Your silence only riled her up.

"Why didn't you fucking walk away?" Ada yelled, slamming her hands on the desk.

You felt hot tears run down your face, quickly moving your hands to dab at your tears.

"Don't you dare fucking cry. After all you've done, you don't get to cry in front of me." Ada growled at you, John going to shush her, obviously wanting to comfort you. "You can all fuck off. You've all lied to me and gone behind my back. Fuck’s sake, you could've just told me. You could've just told me."

"We didn't want to hurt you." John said, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder but she flinches away.

"This hurts so much more. You get that you all lying to me is so much worse, don't you?"

"We weren't thinking."

"You really fucking weren't." Ada laughs bitterly, shaking her head, blinking away tears. "Fuck you lot."

She stormed out, tailed by Finn, begging her to slow down and talk to him, protesting his innocence in the situation. Isaiah hesitated in the doorway, his eyes flickering between you and John.

"I had no idea you two've been at it for so long."

"Iz, fuck off yeah? I've had enough today." John shot back, sliding across the desk towards you. "You alright, lass?"

"We're done here, John."

He slid off the table, his hand cupping your face, "Hey, gorgeous, I get it but don't go breaking my heart tonight. Can we just leave this for tomorrow? Sleep on it."

The idea of getting any sleep at all tonight was laughable, you'd be up all night replaying these moments and torturing yourself. Tonight couldn't get any worse so you had to finally end it. Now was the right time.

"John, it should've never happened."

"But it did."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore. It's over."

"Y/N. You know for me it was never just about-"

"You're making it difficult. Stop making it difficult. Whatever you say isn't going to change that right now we have to do the right thing."

"I know you're right, but I don't want to let go. Is it so wrong to want you? I adore you, you know that."

You wouldn't meet his eyes. Sighing, John pressed his forehead to the side of your head, chin brushing your shoulder, eyes closing. He was begging you to stay with him. There had to be a solution, you'd figure it out together. His voice was cracking, eyes glassy. He looked so much younger when he was pleading. The tall bloke who terrorised the Midlands with his razor rimmed cap, a revolver in his hand, and a ruthless trigger finger had vanished. You wanted to stay, burning to curl up with him and for him to kiss it better.

"I should go." You told him. He rested his forehead on your shoulder, letting out a shaky sigh before pulling away, nodding.

"I'd drive you home but obviously-"

"Obviously."

John suddenly turned from you, eyes narrowing at Isaiah who was still hovering at the door. "Thought I told you to fuck off. Make yourself useful and get Y/N home safely." His tone was ice cold once again.

Isaiah nodded, offering his arm to you. You reached the door and instinctively looked back at John. His eyes met yours, staring at you from his desk, just as you knew he would. He prepared himself to watch you leave every night, but this time was different. That was it with you two.

Isaiah strode down the street with you in silence. You were tucked into his side as was customary with the upcoming blinders who were particularly ambitious, but there was no relaxed chat.

"Isaiah. What’re you thinking?" You asked, voice tinged with nervousness.

He sighed, running his free hand across his jaw, "That was intense in there."

"Just how he is." You shrugged.

"Does he love you or sommet?"

"Fuck knows… does it matter?"

"Of course it does. Do you love him?"

"Drop it. None of that matters, it shouldn't have happened in the first place so it can’t," You snapped, the anger at the situation you'd created suddenly overwhelming.

Isaiah whistled, raising his brow at your obvious turmoil. "You're in fucking deeper than you want to admit."

He walked you up your path, watching you turn the key to the side door leading to your bedsit. You paused, turning to him.

"Iz… I don't know what to do next."

It was so dark, you could see his face only by the lit cigarette burning to embers between his fingers. He inhaled deeply, pausing before delivering his carefully laid out plan of avoidance. Obviously the event of him crossing the Shelbys and losing their good graces weighed heavily on his mind. You nodded, listening intently, noting his ideas of relocation but he explained they were a final resort. The best thing to do was try to regain their trust; in the long run, he had calculated, it was the only option that didn't result in your life being haunted by the Shelbys. Even if they left you alone, their enemies would make a point to go after you, seeing you as an easy target. The other option was to leave the country.

"Good luck, Y/N. I mean it." He muttered as you turned the handle to the temporary safety of your home. You nodded, offering you cheek for the polite good night kiss you'd become accustomed to. He rolled his eyes and obliged, pressing an affectionate kiss to your cheek and ruffling your hair. "I'm serious. Watch your back."

***

John broke down when he finally heard the lock click shut. His eyes had been prickling with boiling tears, his jaw tensed to hold them back. He yelled out in anger, flipping his desk with force, a loud crash as the wood splintered against the stone flooring, glass shattering from the photo frames. His hands went to his head, unable to stop the gasping breaths escaping from his trembling lips, his face reddening.

"Fuck’s sake." He growled. He'd fucked everything up. He had nothing, just as he'd told you the first night you returned. The consequence was no surprise, he'd anticipated the fall out for a while, but he couldn't resist you. He was completely guilty and had no defense; his only justification being that you made him think with his cock, not his brain.

Fuck’s sake. Polly was going to murder him. She'd always had a soft spot for Ada, as the only girl in the family, and was no stranger to lecturing him over his flirtatious behaviour around Ada's friends. She'd murder him. He had a half mind to never go home. He rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles. Polly had no use for tears. That's what she'd tell him when he was a boy coming home with a skinned knee. This was far worse.

He was also sure that he was a worse brother than Tommy, perhaps the worst in the world. His baby sister, who he'd helped to toddle, carry proudly on his shoulders after school and race with her on his back through the fields on the outskirts of Small Heath, had walked in on him obviously in the midst of fucking her best mate. If he had swallowed his pride and actually talked to her, he wouldn't be in this mess. He could've told her that things changed, that for the same reasons Ada loved Y/N he had fallen for her, that he was truly sorry but she had to know before it got too far and someone got hurt. He couldn't go back.

He should've never approached you that night.

He should never approach you again.

He looked over the mess of his office, the splintered wood and shards of glass, a confetti of paperwork. Now nothing mattered. None of this mattered. He'd lost everything and he had only himself to blame.

#john shelby imagine #john shelby x reader #john shelby fluff #john shelby series #john shelby fanfic #peaky blinders fluff #peaky blinder fanfic #john shelby smut #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader

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svchengss · 3 years

Text

hey barista! | l.dh

summary | befriending the barista from your local cafe doesn’t seem too bad

pairing | lee donghyuck x fem!reader ft. jaemin who’s a rlly cute side character in this :(

genre | fluff, angst, slight humour (?)

warnings | a kiss?? i don’t think there’s any but if i missed anything do lmk !!

word count | 3k+

s. tg | @hyuckefi [my apologies since i didn’t release a proper teaser for this 🙏🏻]

author’s note | this is my first fic exceeding 1k words so if u enjoyed reading this, please leave some feedbacks !! rb’s are also appreciated :D ALSO I SUCK AT SUMMARIES LMAO PLS IGNORE THAT

just another day of working at palm coffee, the same old routine. cleaning the countertop and tables before opening up the cafe, prepping the ingredients - more for top favourites! - and examining the machines to make sure they’re working properly. that’s some of hyuck’s daily routines as a barista. he didn’t mind them though, he loved his job. he couldn’t specify the reason why but all these tasks are genuinely interesting to him.

seeing you drop by the cafe is a normal occurrence for him. since you are a regular customer after all, the rest of the staff already know you well. heck, they’re even good friends with you. jaemin hangs out with you more than he does despite being jaemin’s childhood friend. except for him, he doesn’t really know why. he’s not really shy, considering the fact that he’s a social butterfly. he just couldn’t bring himself to say anything to you, the only times he did so was to take your orders when the rest of the workers were busy in the store.

upon hearing the doorbell chime which signals a new customer entering the cafe, hyuck blurted out the usual line. “hello, welcome to palm coffee! how can i help-“, looking up from the cash register only to find you in a disheveled state. “-you?” he eyes you up and down, noting how a few strands of your hair were out of place, the nude lipstick smeared on the left corner of your mouth and your outfit looks really rushed.

“sorry, what was your name again, hyuck right?” you quickly glanced at the nametag hanging nicely on his apron. “i’m in a rush right now, can i get a,” you scanned over the menu behind him, “uh, white coffee, please?”.

“that will be six dollars. you can use the restroom in the meantime to, you know, touch up your makeup and stuff,” he takes the bills from your hand, putting them in the machine in front of him before flashing you with that warm smile of his. you wished him a quick thanks before disappearing into the back of the place.

now that was embarrassing.

your eyes scanned over the hall to find your friend before hearing her shout your name from across. damn, why does she have to be so loud? stares were directed towards you as you walked up the stairs to your designated seat. all the chatter going on in the lecture hall became quiet as soon as your professor placed her things on the desk, which means class has started.

after hearing a two-hour lecture and writing some notes - where suddenly song lyrics and scribbles appear - the words you’ve been waiting to hear finally echoed through the speakers.

“class is dismissed, thank you everyone for listening,” mrs. hui’s voice later being flushed out by the buzzing voices of the students walking out the hall, determined to finish their own activities. you stuffed your ipad and papers into your light yellow jansport backpack before going out to meet vic who’s waiting for you outside.

“i’m exhausted, what did she even teach just now?” vic sighed to her heart’s content. you can’t blame her, today’s topic was quite complicated. circuits analysis or something? you can’t really wrap your head around it, your brain being stuffed with all the information. vic kept on ranting about the problems she faced from the moment she woke up, making you giggle at some comments she made.

“wait for me, i’m almost done,” he folded his apron neatly before shoving it into the drawer and grabbing his bag from the counter to join jaemin, who’s waiting at the front door with the keycard. hyuck accepted jaemin’s request to help him with some shopping for his sister’s birthday party next week. obviously, the rest of the staff were also invited.

jaemin divided the shopping list into two, allowing hyuck to find the rest of the things with ease.

“now where are the streamers…” he muttered out loud enough for himself to hear, crouching down to browse through the party decorations on the shelf. or he thought so, as you could hear him sighing clearly in dire need of the certain decoration, that you decided to help him out.

“um, hyuck? i think the party streamers are in the aisle beside this one? you look a bit troubled there,” you chuckled lightly. the heat flushed to his cheeks, feeling dumbfounded.

“really? uh, thank you for the help,” he gave you a small grin that could hardly be seen if you didn’t spot the corner of his lips. and with that, he’s long gone with his shopping basket.

you are fond of the atmosphere you’re in right now. the decorations left you in awe - white and pink silk hanging from the wall with silver letter balloons spelling out happy birthday stitched onto them. you can see jaemin’s sister, eun-ji, being carried out of her room with a small flowy white dress and wearing a golden bow on her head, her brunette hair being tied into ponytails. the na family really adore their youngest girl.

meanwhile, there are only a couple of adults your age attending the party - jaemin’s co-workers, some of his other friends which you aren’t familiar with and hyuck. he looked rather chill, with an oversized beige sweater and white jeans to suit the party’s theme. you’re not quite bad as well, your hair combed nicely and kept neat with a headband, a white sundress with strawberry patterns on it fit nicely on your figure, complemented with a heart-locket necklace placed on your collarbones. before reaching jaemin’s house, you made sure to drop by a local store to get some gifts for eun-ji. she’s a very well-mannered kid which made you adore her very much.

“y/n? very glad to see you here,” hyuck said as he approached you, offering you a plate of cake which he cut.

“i could say the same to you too, mr. lee,” you let out a soft laugh. he made sure to keep a mental note over how pretty you looked today.

“y/n, hyuck! glad you two broke the ice, did you know how hurt i was seeing you two act like strangers whenever y/n came by the cafe?” jaemin enveloping you into a small hug before fake pouting. you can only laugh at the fake debate the two guys in front of you were having. after conversing with hyuck and jaemin for quite some time, you realised that he’s a cool person to talk to, where all this time, you thought he hated you for some reason. before leaving, you made sure to thank mrs. na for hosting the party and off you went home.

following the previous encounters, hyuck felt much more comfortable around you - even hanging out with you during his shift where you would do your assignments at the cafe he’s working at. every now and then, he would also invite you to hang out with him and jaemin. however, what he didn’t realise was how he slowly pent up feelings - romantically.

ding dong!

he pressed on the doorbell button with a box of doughnuts in his left hand. the three of you were supposed to be having a movie night, but jaemin got caught up with his groupwork which leaves the two of you alone.

“hey hyuck! come in,” you gestured, arranging the cushions on your sofa to make it look more organized. the interior of your rented apartment is calming, the light grey walls suiting the navy blue sofa and furniture with darker undertones. the walls are also not left empty, with modern art portraits hanging from it.

“i brought donuts, your favourite, right?” he opened the box, placing it on the coffee table while you set up the television. you wished him a quick thank you before grabbing two canned drinks from the refrigerator, handing one to him and pressing play on the remote control. you two weren’t quiet throughout the whole movie, with snarky comments on how hot the actors were or how stupid they were being were made.

he didn’t know you were sleepy though as all of a sudden, he could feel the weight of your head on top of his shoulder. it was a rather awkward situation as he didn’t move at all so you could sleep comfortably. before long, he joined you and dozed off to wonderland. the next morning, you were more than embarrassed to find yourself cuddling up to him, with the next movie still playing on the screen.

seeing your figure outside the front door made hyuck more excited to greet you today. after making a quick order for a green tea latte, you fished out your purse from your handbag, feeling frantic if you’ve lost it outside. luckily, you were the only customer in line as the rest of them were already seated and carrying out their own businesses.

“sorry, but i think this might be yours,” you turned around to find a tall-looking guy handing out your black purse. a wave of relief washed over your soul, thanking the latter profusely.

“mind if i buy you a drink? i hate feeling like i owe someone,” you offered, which he gladly accepted.

“i’d like a double espresso, please,” he kept his hands into his pockets.

“and your name, sir?” hyuck looked mildly bothered.

“yukhei,” he ran his slightly blonde hair through the slender fingers. hyuck hated how cocky he looked, feeling more annoyed than ever over the scene that was played in front of him just now. he hated how yukhei looked at you.

why should he get jealous? he’s just a mere friend to you, that’s all. you have to stop overreacting, hyuck.

those words kept running through his mind all day.

“dude, are you okay? you looked-” jaemin opened the staff room, interrupting him from the self-talk he was having, “-distracted,” finishing up his sentence.

“nope, i’m just fine,” he said, bringing the honey smile back onto his face. jaemin nodded before disappearing back to the front to serve the customers.

stop being so jealous, hyuck. you’re just a friend. not more, not less.

“jaemin, how do you know if you like someone?” that question is kind of shocking to him, especially if it’s coming from hyuck. of course, he’s had a crush before but it was during middle school. just a silly, little crush. growing up, he’s never had one - not even in high school.

“you’ve asked the right person,” jaemin managed to do his obnoxious voice, even while driving the car. he’s right, he is the matchmaker of the friend group, just how many relationships worked out because of him? eyes still focused on the road - he’s a responsible driver of course, he began to explain the feeling to hyuck, making his points loud and clear.

“first of all, you start feeling a little too happy whenever you’re around them. and no, this is not the oh-we’re-best-friends-forever type of happy, it’s the i’ll-make-you-the-happiest-person-on-earth one. not to forget, you will also experience some kind of turbulence in your heart, expect them to be jumping around a bit. or a lot, whichever suits you the best.

you also tend to feel nervous around that person. like, stuttering your words in obvious or non-obvious ways, feeling faster heartbeats than usual, you name it. oh! if you’ve ever felt jealous whenever they are around someone else, i mean, in affectionate ways, you might have one. however, my tip is for you not to act out of your mind. you don’t want to ruin whatever relationship you have currently, do you?” even when driving, he still managed to deliver his points with full precision and accuracy.

nodding his head, hyuck took some mental notes to be thought through when he gets home.

hyuck stared at you, whose figure is snoring soundly on his lap. he assumed you must be feeling exhausted, mid-terms just ended after all. while threading his fingers through your hair, he remembered what jaemin said to him weeks earlier.

1. being happy around them

like jaemin said, it is normal to be happy around your friends. but being with you, it kind of gave more joy for him. not to mention that he started to catch himself smiling over your texts and being reminded of you over small things - your favorite donut topping, the name of that one stray puppy you gave.

2. feeling nervous around them

his heart would beat a lot faster whenever you get closer towards him, whether accidentally or to mess with him.

3. getting jealous over someone else

he shouldn’t be jealous of how yukhei looked at you. but he seriously can’t help it. and the way he’s always there during your hangouts. he doesn’t care if he seems petty, yukhei just isn’t in his favour.

his deep thoughts came to a halt when you called out his name, eyes still half-closed, attempting to open them a bit more.

“did i interrupt you or something? gosh, i’m so sorry,” you quickly stood up but he pulls your body back onto his lap, asking for you to stay.

“what are we?” that question caught you off-guard. the same one that has been at debate in the back of your mind these days.

i don’t know hyuck, it’s complicated.

“what do you think we are, hyuck?” you shot the question back at him, your gaze piercing through his soul.

“i don’t know. it’s just-”

“are you sure?” a deep sigh left your lips. have you been interpreting his body languages wrong? did he only see you as a normal friend, nothing more?

“sorry, i’m not feeling well. see you later hyuck, bye,” you tried your best to shoot the sweet smile of yours but only a faint one seemed to appear. once you stepped out of the room, he buried his face into his hands.

god, what have i done?

“don’t feel too down, y/n. maybe there’s something more that he couldn’t bring himself to say?” vic suggested, handing you some tissue.

“i don’t know, i seriously have no idea. why can’t he just say it?” you continued to sob into her arms, she pitied you, especially in your condition right now. but she can’t do anything to help you, other than consoling and listening.

jaemin knew something was wrong, from your rare visits to the cafe to hyuck not being himself lately. something was definitely wrong and it’s between the both of you. sure, hyuck might be saying that he’s fine again and again, but his expressions can’t lie. the sweet smile of his is long gone and his jokes are no longer heard. whatever it is, jaemin is determined to solve it. he just wants his best friends back.

looks of dismay can be read all over hyuck’s face when the person facing him is no other than the guy himself, yukhei. still, he tried to control his composure, not making his inner feelings any more obvious.

“so what brings you here?” he took a sip of the mineral water, still making his throat rough from the tension hanging in the air.

“look, i’m not here for any fights. i know you like y/n, everybody can see it. and honestly, you were oblivious to your own feelings,” he rubbed his hands together. the latter’s puzzled face made him continue his words.

“i’m not trying to make her like me, or whatever you’ve been assuming. sorry if i gave the wrong message but you are the one who should make a move. i can see from the way she looks at you, the feelings are mutual,” he straightened up the denim jacket outside the white shirt wrapping his figure.

letting out a heavy sigh, hyuck’s face begins to soften up. “no, i should be the one who’s sorry. i’ve been such a prick to everyone around me lately, especially you,” he took of the cap from his head, messing up his hair.

“no problem, bro. it’s understandable, i guess. now good luck with her, please treat her well,” the two guys exchanged a fist bump for the problem solved. jaemin leaned his back against the wall, smiling and feeling satisfied.

you called out jaemin’s name but to no avail. he invited you to his apartment but seeing that the lights are out, it’s clear enough that he hasn’t finished whatever he was doing yet. just as you were about to leave, you saw hyuck at the other side of it, both your faces mirroring the same look of confusion.

“so, uh, how have you been doing these days? it’s been a while since we talked,” he chose to break the silence. now, you two were sitting facing each other by the balcony. inhaling the breeze, you paused for a moment before responding to his question.

“i’ve been feeling, not as usual. definitely not happy but not that sad,” you pushed some of the loose hair strands hanging on your forehead behind your ears before asking about his.

“you know what, i’m just going to be direct with you. i, lee donghyuck have been holding feelings for you since i don’t know when. yeah sure, i wasn’t really sure at first about what i was going through. i guess i was just scared of how you would react,” he scratched his ears which are not feeling itchy at all, but rather an attempt to distract himself from the overwhelming emotions deep inside him.

not wanting to waste time any longer, you placed your right hand onto his cheek, standing on the heels of your feet to bring your two lips together. the kiss was short before he pulls you back in for another, this time a more passionate one. he could feel you smile against his lips before enveloping your body into his arms.

“i’ve missed you, you know?” he whispered, his voice tender, directing right into your ears before you replied with how you missed him more. the both of you continued to whisper sweet nothings while embracing each other’s presence.

jaemin looked at the both of you from a distance, his heart swelling with pride.

— another pair of lovers matched, cupid jaemin signing out.

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ghoste-catte · 3 years

Note

I was curious what advice would you give to someone new to writing fics? I've been wanting to get back into it but haven't seriously written something since high school. I hope this isn't an annoying question or anything!

Not an annoying question at all! I'm just a little worried that I won't have terribly good or useful advice. To be honest, I also sort of stopped writing in earnest right as I finished high school, and didn't pick it back up until my late 20s. It's certainly an adjustment! But I think the few things that really helped me get back into writing fic as a hobby and something I spend quite a bit of time on would be:

Write for yourself first, then find your other motivations. My original inspiration in getting back into fic writing was that there just were not that many fics I liked for my favorite pairing, and I wanted more of them, and I especially wanted more with the tropes and characterizations I wanted to see. I think at the very core of anything you need that internal spark that drives you. At the same time, for me at least, if I just relied on my own drive, I would not get much done; I need some external guardrails. So having people send prompts, or writing for particular events, or writing stuff for friends really helps me to get my ass in gear and finish stuff. That may not be the perfect motivator for you, and that's fine! You just gotta figure out what is.

Be open to inspiration. Anything and everything can be spun out into a story with the right tweaking. Obviously stuff like music is a classic inspiration source, but I've also pulled ideas from poetry, from memes, from Reddit threads, from YouTube videos, from rambling conversations on Discord and from real life to make fics out of. So many times, someone will post a silly Twitter screencap, and I'll think, There's a fic in this. And a lot of the time, there is! Research is a wonderful thing, but so is serendipity. If you're out there actively looking for ideas, eventually one that you like will stumble past you.

Find your community. I can genuinely say I never would have finished more than one fic if I didn't have fandom friends to talk to about even stupid headcanons, to bounce ideas off of, and to encourage me (and to encourage them in turn!). Discord has been a godsend, and some of my closest online friends are people I met in the GaaLee discord server. As I've gotten more comfortable as a writer, I've also joined general writing servers and Reddit communities and have found them immensely helpful on both a motivational level (bingos, sprints, owe-me challenges) and on a craft level (plot workshopping and writing ethics and live grammar help). It's a lot easier to think about fic ideas and hash through problem moments when I have a constant stream of fandom-related chatter coming from the little people who live in my phone! Ao3 is an amazing website, and it's great as, well, an archive, but it isn't social media by design. If you want conversation and human connection and cheerleading, you've gotta forge out and find it.

Make it a habit ... If you want to produce anything longer than a couple hundred words, you really have to set aside time for it. And writing is just like knitting or dirt biking or painting little model figurines: the more you do it, the more easily it comes. When I was first getting back into the proper swing of things, I committed myself to 30 minutes of writing per week. Just 30 minutes. I didn't even hit that goal every week, but there were tons of weeks I got on a roll and went over that amount, and by the end of the year I'd written over 200,000 words. I used to spend an hour laboriously tip-tapping out 200 words, but now I can easily blow through 1k in a 50 minute sprint. It's all about training that muscle.

... But don't make it a chore. With fanfic, you aren't doing this as a job, and you aren't ultimately doing it for anyone other than you. That means you can take breaks when you need them, you can set deadlines and then fail to meet them, you can write stuff and then decide to never post it. When you start getting burnt out, when the practice loses the joy and energy, stop. There's no 'hustle' here. In our capitalist society we're so trained to push past our limits and keep going even when it hurts us, but the hobby you do for connection and relaxation and whatever else shouldn't be like that.

Ignore metrics. Sometimes stuff isn't gonna get hits, or kudos, or comments. There are some basic 'rules' as to the stuff that does and doesn't get traction, but every time you post something it's a roll of the dice. If you're focused on watching that kudos counter tick up, you will get bummed out fast. And any writer will tell you that the stuff you think is your best work will never be the stuff that gets the most accolades. So you have to find something else to give you a sense of success. For me, it's watching my wordcount go up in my stats and those occasional comments where someone has a lot to say and that one person who always leaves me a <3 emoji (and, shout out to @egregiousderp, having someone to have long one-on-one conversations with about the stuff that never made it to page).

Don't strive for perfection. It's really easy to want your first ever fic to be a complete showstopper, the best fic fandom has ever seen, hitting all the tropes and the ideas and the characterization that you just know fandom is missing and would be everyone's top favorite if only it was written. This is a trap. No one fic can be all things. Most people who want to write an epic as their very first venture will not see the end of that epic, because they haven't put in the practice hours to make something on that scale work. That's not to say you can't start out with a big, sprawling multichap, just don't expect it to be the greatest thing since sliced bread if you're just starting out, and be okay with abandoning it for greener pastures if you get to that point. Think of the first time someone makes a vase out of clay or bakes a loaf of bread. That's never their best vase or their best bread. If they keep up with it, they'll make more and better vases and loaves. Likewise, your first fic is probably not gonna be your best fic. See it for what it is: your launchpad.

You can't edit an empty page, but you can over-edit a full one. This kind of spins off of #7, but if the words aren't there, you can't fix them. Daydreams and headcanons are fantastic (and god, how many times have I wished for a speech-to-text engine that projected my falling asleep thoughts onto a Google doc for later perusal), but they aren't fic. If you want to write fic, you've gotta get comfortable with the idea of sloppy outlines and rough first drafts. You can't build a house without a frame and you can't build a man without a skeleton (I mean, you can, I guess, but he'd be one floppy man). The nice thing about fic is that it doesn't matter if that frame is structurally unsound or the skeleton has 18 too many bones, you can clean that up in the editing process. But you can't start hanging curtains and arranging furniture in something that doesn't even have walls. That's the process. But! Also know when to set down the editor's pen and say, "Okay, this is good enough for government work", and call it done. ("Done" doesn't have to mean "posted", but it does mean, "I'm done picking at this for now, and I'm gonna go write some more stuff".) Over-editing can make stuff seem laborious and forced, and it prevents you from actually improving. To continue belaboring the house metaphor, you can spend your whole life rearranging furniture in just one room, but the end result of that is a pretty narrow existence and a room with a lot of footprints and tracks in the carpet.

Write shit down. When you have ideas, jot them down--in a notebook, in a Google Doc, in the Notes app of your phone, in pen on the back of your hand. You think you will remember that brilliant line of dialogue or sparkling snippet of narration or genius plot that came to you in a dream, but you Will Not. Write it down. Write it down. Write it down! There have been so many times when a fic was completely saved by past!me having written down my shower thoughts about what happens next in the fic, that present!me had completely forgotten about and was floundering over.

Have fun with it! Try different stuff. Try stupid stuff. Try experimental stuff. Do stuff you've never done before that you aren't sure will work. It's important to get comfortable with your niche (for example, I know I'm never going to be the sort of person who writes intricate plots of intrigue or super long 100k epics or detailed battles), but you can't find that niche unless you explore lots of different niches! Figure out what you love and what you absolutely hate, and then keep doing the stuff you love.

Okay, so that was actually TEN things, but ... I hope you still found this helpful. Feel free to send another ask if any of this was confusing or unclear. Good luck with your fic writing and, if you want, send me a link to what you've written once you've written it! I'd love to read it.

#answered #anonymous #writing advice #i guess?#am i qualified to give this?#no #but im doing it anyway

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p---ink · 3 years

Text

Teach Me.

Author’s Note: So. I finally made a Peter Parker Fiction. And I know the gif is Arvin Russell, but that is for a reason, and maybe you'll see it, maybe you won't, BUT TELL ME IF YOU DO. So this is an unnamed OC fiction, but its mostly reader insert, aside from the fact that she’s black (surprise, surprise) and she has brown eyes. I made her an “OC” because of that fact. Also, get ready for some fluffy head cannons of Peter P. In the not-so-distant future though.

Summary: Maybe Peter Parker, isn't as innocent as he seems.

Warnings: Smut. Smut. and more Smut. Car-smut. Dark-ish Peter (Not really, but he’s not his usual wholesome self)

Song: Star-gazing by The Neighborhood. I literally based this entire fiction on this one song. Even if you don’t read the fic, you should listen to it.

Word Count: 5.5k

“If you don’t mind me asking,” She started, pausing a bit to give him time to look up at her, “ who brings a textbook to a frat party?”

His heart stopped for a moment when he realized who was speaking to him. But then he matched her grin shyly and replied, “It’s more of a conversation starter than anything.”

“Would you say its been working well?”

“I did somehow manage to get someone as pretty as you to speak to me.”

The smile that was already plastered on her face, grew wider along with her eyes and brows. “Wow Parker: Who knew you could be so bold after a few drinks?

“I’ve only had one, so the rest is all me.” He closed his book and readjusted his leg inviting her to sit. Then as if just realizing, he asked, “You know who I am?”

“Of course I know who you are. We went to Midtown together.” She said, getting comfortable on the couch.

“Yeah I know. But we barely spoke to each other. Sometimes I wondered if you even knew I existed.”

“I always kept tabs on cuties like you. Especially you, actually.” She declared.

“And you call me bold.” He muttered under his breath, a small blush creeping up.

“I’m always like this. Anyone who knows me, can tell you that. But anyone who knows you, would say the opposite. You were always so good.”

“Good?”

“Yes! Good. Innocent. Nice. Whatever floats your boat.”

“And I remember you being, bossy, assertive, and intimidating.”

She threw her head back in laughter before stating,“You say that like its a bad thing.” Coming down from her fits of giggles she adds, “You noticed me, too? Never thought I was on your radar.”

“How could anyone not notice you.” He asked. “We had English together our freshman year. First day of class, you challenged Mr. Frechowsky, for inflicting his political views on the rest of the class. He got so red in the face, after yelling at you for three minutes straight, but everyone was more shocked at you for being unfazed.”

“I forgot abou-”

“Sophomore year, you “accidentally” tripped Amy Shuemacker, after she made a rude comment about Ned’s weight. Junior year, you announced that you wanted to be not only the first female president, but the first who was black too. I remember telling myself you’d have my vote. Senior year, you almost had a mental breakdown when it looked like Michelle Obama was gonna run.” Peter finished, with not a hint that he was out of breath.

“I-” She was more than taken aback. “I’m embarrassed that you remember all of that. Its been like four years since we graduated. Frankly any other person would have forgotten.”

“I think its impossible for anyone who’s met you, to forget the day they did.” He admitted to her.

She just stared at him in awe for a moment. Mouth slightly agape from surprise. A shadow of a smile ever so present.

Even though he was the one to say it, it was his face that turned a tinge pinker than before when he realized the weight behind his words. He swallowed thickly, averting his attention to the patterns that lined the carpet, fearing that he made her uncomfortable. In all honesty, he used to have a proper crush on the girl, rivaled by even Romeo’s adoration for Juliet.

This was the same girl he once described as ethereal. He once told Ned that fairies wove the strands of her hair, and butterflies still lived there, claiming that he saw them playing beneath her braids. The sun literally lived under her skin, and it was the secret as to why it would glow, and why her smile was so bright. He would swear to anyone that listened, that the harp was made with her voice in mind, and that it, her voice, played a better melody. He used to be lovestruck. Guess those feelings still lingered.

If you asked him, two minutes ago had he gotten over it, his answer would’ve been yes. Would’ve been.

His sudden fluster—which she found adorable by the way, broke her from her trance as she grinned and said “Don’t act bashful now!” playfully shoving his arm as she uttered the words.

Quickly recovering from his earlier hiccup, he slowly returned her grin and tried to retaliate but before he could, “We have to go. Now.”

They looked up to see an irritated looking preppy girl impatiently scowling down at them. She couldn’t have been much older than 21, but no one told that to her clothes and aura. Her olive skin couldn’t hide the frown lines that had been assigned to her, nor the bags that would put a raccoon to shame. Besides the current circumstances that she would tell them in the next minute, Peter could tell on his own that the girl needed a date with sleep.

“What’s the matter Li? Is everything okay?”

“Yes, aside from the fact that Angie locked herself out of the apartment again.” She said sarcastically, muttering this last part under her breath “I swear I’ve had it with that girl.”

“Ah I see. Well then we better get going.” The girl affirmed, standing from her seat, making Peter rise from his. “Peter it was so nice seeing you. I hate to leave, I would’ve enjoyed catching up a bit more.” She said, turning to grab her coat.

“Well then we should catch up soon.”

She turned to nod her head, seemingly interested in his suggestion. “I’d love that. When did you have in mind?”

“How about now? if its a ride you’re looking for, I can drive you home.” Peter’s inner sixteen year old self, screamed at this opportunity. Time alone, with his four-year crush? He couldn’t not take advantage of the moment.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that. It’s all the way on the other side of town.” She informed him.

“But you’re not asking me to do it. I’m offering, because, ‘ya know; I haven’t seen you in a while and I’d like to catch up, too.” He said, second-guessing himself and praying that he didn’t come on too strong. “Ya know. Only if you want to.” He added just in case.

Taking too much time debating whether or not she should say yes, the girl’s friend did it for her. “Sounds great! I’ll see you at home.” Spinning on her heels, and walking out of the door.

“Well.” The girl started, smiling at her old schoolmate. “I guess that settles it.”

“Shit!” He cursed, killing the engine completely, and slamming his head back on the headrest. After a couple minutes of trying to get it to start, the boy gave up like his car did.

It had been a full three hours since Alisha left the party. The time was spent competing about who could find out more about the other. He learned that she still had a thirst for changing the world and community around her. She learned that the boy had been bitten by a radioactive spider and was now New York’s most friendly vigilante. She never knew that Peter could be so hilarious.

They were stranded on some back road, miles away from civilization, with rain coming down on the roof of the car like they owed it money.

“Peter, what did you expect?” She began to question, giggling as she spoke. “This car is so old, Fred Flintstone has a newer model.”

“Hey!” He cried, “Don’t badmouth Karen. She just needs a little work.”

“You mean a lot of work. Karen is ancient.”

“She’s been good to me.”

“Should I call Triple A?” She asked, ignoring his dramatics. “The rain will probably let up by the time they get here.”

“I’ve got this.” He sighed, readying himself to leave the car. “Besides, triple A doesn’t know Karen like I do. They won’t be able to give her the love and patience she deserves” He explained, the car’s rickety door sounding as he disappeared into the rain.

She heard that same distinct sound not ten seconds later, as he reappeared, soaking wet from the rain’s onslaught. His white t-shirt clung to his body, while beads of water raced down his skin. His messy locks, traded their dark brown hue for a jet black one, and his dirty converses shone a little brighter than they did before he left the car.

“Maybe that wasn’t the best idea.” He admitted, the leather making a squelching noise as he glued himself back to his previous seat.

“The offer for triple A still stands.”

“No. I’ll let this play out. But maybe I can call you an Uber.”

“There’s no way I’m leaving you out here all alone. We’ll let this play out.”

“But this may take a while.”

“I’m the reason you’re out here in the first place. And I like your company, so i’ll stay.”

Peter knew he couldn’t argue with that one, so he let silence befall the two of them. It stayed like that for a moment. It wasn’t quite awkward, but it was definitely palpable.

She thought to say something, he did the same, but neither could quite let their words come to life. It was unlike the girl he knew before, who said the first thing that came to mind. Unlike himself, who did the same, but in a less graceful way.

Finally, after what felt like hours of deafening quiet, Peter begins with, “How long have you and Brad been a thing?” The question fresh on his mind, since her phone rang yet again, with his ugly mug lighting up the screen. It was the fourth time she ignored the notification.

It was rare for Peter to hate a person. In fact he didn’t hate many at all. But there was something about Brad that always made his stomach clench. Didn’t help that he was sniffing around his girl.

“Hmm.” She pondered, tapping her chin with her index finger. Acting as if she was carefully thinking about it.“For about for-never and a day” She finally answered.

“Oh I thought, that since—“ Peter stammered, growing embarrassed by his assumption, and the disdain that coated his words.

“Anyone would have, with him blowing my phone up.” She sighed. “But alas, nothing will ever come of us. No matter how much he wants it to. Wish he’d take a hint.”

Back to silence. But this time it didn’t consume Peter. It gave him a bit of hope, enough hope to ask her his next question.

“Back at the party,” he started before pausing, which prompted her to question, yes, before he could properly collect his nerve to ask her what he wanted.

“Back at the party, you mentioned you always kept tabs on me. Especially me. What did you mean by that?”

“I may have had a small crush on you.” She answered without missing a beat. This of course took him by surprise, but not for long.

“Why did you never act on it?”

“Because I quickly realized you weren’t my type.” She said as if it was nothing in the world.

“Ouch. What did I do to make you realize that?” Peter asked. Though his tone was light-hearted, he tried not to let on that he was hurt.

“Nothing.” She replied. “You were just yourself. Peter Parker, the innocent good boy who would never harm a fly.”

Peter thought to himself for a moment. He thought long and hard before he decided to bring up the word she had uttered more than once tonight. “There goes that word again: innocent. What makes you think I’m innocent?”

“Come on Parker. Ned told me you once donated a one hundred dollar bill you found lying on the sidewalk to the local homeless shelter. And that was after you couldn’t find its original owner. That’s got innocence written all over it.”

“Does that make me innocent or a good person?”

“They’re one and the same.”

“There is a big difference between the two.”

“I disagree. The two are definitely interchangeable. Good people are the ones who haven’t been corrupted yet.”

“So does that mean you aren’t a good person?”

“I think I’m a neutral person. Not exactly good, not exactly bad. Just walking the tightrope. I probably would have taken the money, and felt bad about it later.”

They both chuckled at her statement, letting it end that segment of the conversation. Though Peter was done fighting with her about her type’s moral compass, he wasn’t done with the subject all together.

“So,” He paused, and she braced herself, taking notice of how every time he did that, a question she was reluctant to answer followed. “what exactly is your type?”

An uncomfortable breathy laugh passed through her lips as she answered. “I didn’t exactly know it at the time, but I’m able to put it into words now.” She admitted, taking her time as she explained.

“I guess ideally you were my type. Nice. Harmless. Smart. But I was also looking for someone who knew how to take control. I’m in control of everything in my life, so it feels good to meet a person who lets me relinquish that. Or in more crude terms, a person who has the ability to fuck my brains out.” She declared as she leered in his direction with a small smirk playing her lips.

She was only teasing. But she could feel that the air had grown thick on the side of the car that Peter had resided in. For a split second, she could have sworn that she saw something snap in him. But as quickly as it appeared, it vanished, making her feel as though she had imagined the entire thing.

But she knew that couldn’t have been right. Known for many things, her vivid imagination wasn’t one of them. His breath hitched. His shoulders tensed. She hadn’t imagined that. What he said next, after what felt like an hour of silence told her that she didn’t imagine anything at all.

“Did teaching me, ever cross your mind?” He asked. His grip on the steering wheel, turning his knuckles white. She saw his Adam’s apple bob after he spoke, and his chestnut eyes focused on the rain that splattered against the windshield.

“U-um I-,” She stammered, Peter catching her by surprise. She had to really think about his question. “I suppose it never did.”

“You still want me?” He asked her, turning his attention back on her.

“Huh?”

“Am I still your type? Aside from the fact that I can’t take control?”

She just swallows, before nodding.

Noting her surprise, but not relenting he says, “Then teach me.”

“What?” She questions, fearing she misheard him.

“Teach me.” He repeated, only elaborating when she scrutinized his face. “Show me exactly how you want to be touched. Kissed. Fucked.”

The way he said the word, fuck, was so filthy. It almost made her lose the rest of her composure. Not like she had much left. He had already rendered her speechless, now he was ruining her panties.

No. She wouldn’t let it play out like this. She had a reputation to uphold.

She peered over her shoulder, then back to him trying to assess whether or not he was serious. When his face showed no sign of amusement, she swung her door open, to trade her passenger’s seat for the back one.

The rain’s onslaught was still vicious, so her previously dry form was borderline drenched. July’s summer heat, did no favors in keeping her warm, and she had no idea if she was shivering from the rain or her nerves. “Are you gonna come keep me warm or what?” She challenged, trying to find her confidence again.

It was only seconds before Peter joined her, but it was no question that his body was shaking with anticipation. He looked at her expectantly, surveying her every move. From the way her eyes flitted to the ground, to the way her hands busied themselves by rubbing at her thighs. She was nervous.

It must have been a snowy day in hell.

“What should we do first?” She asked.

“Does the instructor usually ask the pupil what lessons they should start with?”

“Kiss me?” She suggested, half-ignoring his comment.

“Are you asking me, or telling me?” Peter remarked, amusement glinting in his eyes.

Annoyance overtaking her tone now, she demands this time, “Kiss me.”

“Say please.” He teased.

“Damn it Peter, fucking kiss m—”

And then he glued his lips to hers. They were sweet and gentle, like him, but still managed to convey his longing. He hoped the kiss would capture all the times he imagined doing it when she would flash those pretty brown eyes his way. When she would speak in a way that put an angel’s timbre to shame. Even when she would fucking breathe, he imagined kissing her until his lips fell off. He hoped the kiss would make up for all of the ones he was dying to share with her over the years.

The pads of his fingers roamed over her silky smooth skin, starting at her cheeks, ending at her neckline. He tasted the flavor of her strawberry chapstick, the same one that made her lips feel and look as smooth as butter. When he inhaled and tasted the faint scent of minty watermelon on her breath, he decided he couldn’t get enough. He wanted to kiss her until he committed to memory every bump on her tongue. Then he would be satisfied.

“Like this?” He whispered, pulling back to inhale the same air as her, almost turning feral at the sight of her swollen lips and blown pupils. “Or,” he started, leaning back in to go again, searching her eyes, “like this?”

Whereas kiss one was innocent and sweet, the way that Peter portrays himself, kiss two was the definition of what he could be…or maybe what he already was, she couldn’t tell. He was filthy with the way his tongue glided against hers. The hot wet muscle played hers like an instrument, before locking the two together. One of his hands planted itself on the nape of her neck, forcing her to feel every measure against her mouth. She couldn’t move if she wanted to, not that she wanted to. Just like him she wanted to relish the taste of him.

With his nose pressed against her cheek, and hers against his, they kissed like they wanted to touch the other’s souls. They began breathing in the rest of the other’s air, like they wanted to swap lungs. Exploring the other’s bodies, like they would die if they didn’t study the exact texture of the other’s skin.

It took everything in Peter to restrain himself. To keep his thumbs from traveling beneath her shirt. He nipped at his tongue to keep from nipping at her lips and skin. He tried shifting in his seat to distract himself from the shifting going on in his jeans.

It certainly didn’t help the growing tent in his pants when the girl planted her thighs on either side of his, rocking and rolling her hips to alleviate some of the tension in her panties.

She took over the kiss, setting the pace and overcoming the surprise from Peter earlier.

Her fingers, that were previously glued to his face, began fumbling with the hem of his shirt, peeling the wet material off and over his head. She marveled at his sculpted chest for a moment, before Peter followed suit, pulling her dampened top over her arms and flinging it over the seat.

A throaty groan passed his lips when she resumed her measures against his hips. Grinding herself down on his hardening member.

Her breathy whimpers intensified when his surprisingly warm hands traveled along her skin, caressing her soft flesh. She was getting more worked up the more Peter mimicked the movement of her hips, grinding upwards while simultaneously pinning her waist down.

She tugged harshly on the patch of hair that lived on the back of his neck, eliciting one of the sexiest groans she had ever heard. His heavily lidded eyes that held the same fire as hers, both scared and excited her.

As she leaned in closely, preparing her words carefully she ordered him to, “Kiss me here,” before planting her lips on his neck. Flattening her tongue to lick a stripe up the exposed skin, she began swirling the appendage before nipping, licking, and sucking until his skin had a reddish purple hue.

She got lost in the feel of him, succumbing to the sound of his hisses and moans only to yelp a moment later, when Peter mimicked her earlier actions.

With a fistful of her hair, and her exposed neck jutting out towards his lips he licked a stripe against the skin, just as she did earlier, only his measures were steady and calculated, taking note of every flinch and hitch of her breath. He found her sweet spot in seconds, focusing all of his attention there.

With her nails digging into his flesh, and her hips stuttering, Peter knew he had her where he wanted her. “Like that?” He rasped, pulling away to admire the strings of purple and blue that littered her skin.

“Fuck yea Parker; you learn fast.” She gasped, attempting at a laugh, as she peeled her chest off of him. She took a hand of his into hers, grasping two of his fingers as she bought them to her lips.

Hollowing her cheeks as she sensually sucked and lubricated his digits, she bought his other hand down to her shorts, beckoning him to unbutton them. “Touch me here.” She murmured, eyes taking in the wide curious ones staring back at her.

With the newly slick fingers, Peter did as she told him, dipping his fingers beneath the waistband of her panties and finding her nub instantaneously. “Right here?” He enquired, when her breathing turned shaky.

“Mmm, god yes!” She praised, as he worked his fingers over her.

Setting a consistent pace, Peter lightly grazed her clit, every time he ran his fingers up and down her folds. “Am I doing this right?” He questioned, flicking and teasing her core.

“Mhm” She mewled, “fuck y-your fingers feel so good” Her speech was now becoming slightly incoherent.

“Yeah?” He groaned, “What about my mouth?” He asked, just before unclasping her bra a little too effortlessly with one hand. Latching his lips against her perky chest, he massaged the other mound with his free hand.

Words were lost on her, as she became a wanton mess. She couldn’t fathom how he could be so skillful with both hands. How a person could multitask the way that he did was indescribable. His hand on her clit didn’t let up, but neither did the one that tweaked and pulled on her nipple. Not to mention the hot tongue that darted and sucked meticulously at her other. She couldn’t stifle her cries if she tried.

Riding his fingers, she pressed his head further into her chest, becoming greedy with his touch, as she sprinted towards her orgasm. She thought that this feeling couldn’t get any better.

Of course, Peter was full of nothing but surprises tonight, and needed to prove her wrong. He let two of his fingers slip inside of her, while a thumb replaced the ones that were glued to her clit. Rubbing circles against her sex, he pumped the two fingers furiously in and out of her hole.

“Does that feel good, baby?”

But the girl didn’t answer, Her mouth hung open as if she wanted to, but the words were jumbled somewhere in her throat. Her face twisted into pleasure, and she couldn’t do anything but succumb to his measures against her body.

It wasn’t long before she felt her stomach spasming, the heat pooling to her core, her already sensitive flower growing even more sensitive, as she came into his palm.

Her juices coated his digits, her walls fluttered around them, and her skin was now hot to the touch, as Peter forced her climax out of her.

Tears flooded her eyes, as she took in as much air as she could. When had she stopped breathing? Maybe sometime during the earth-shattering orgasm her old classmate was giving her.

Once the ringing in her ears subsided, and her lower region began to cool again, she thanked the boy and praised him as she said, “You did so well,” before planting hot wet kisses on his shoulder and neck.

She stopped when she felt his body shaking. Coming back up to eye him, she asked what he found so funny.

Peter tried to hide the smirk that plastered his lips but he couldn’t hold his act any longer. “You just don’t get it do you?” He asks as he casually licks and sucks at his fingers, just as she did earlier, relishing in the taste of her essence.

The confusion on her face and brain was evident. “Get wha—” He had her pinned on her back, before she could utter the last syllable.

The tight space was cramped, but the boy had more than enough room to stalk his prey. He hovered above her, ridding her of the rest of her clothes in one fell swoop, before delivering his monologue.

“I don’t know what it is about girls like you, but I swear you drive me crazy.” He admitted, before removing his jeans in a quick motion. “You always assume that just because I’m a nice guy, I won’t be able to fuck your brains out.” He informed, before revealing a hidden condom and rolling it on before lining himself up at her entrance. “But I hope that if tonight proves anything to you,” He starts, eyes finally darting up to land on her horror-filled ones, “it will be that your mindset can land you in a whole heap of trouble.”

And with that, he grasps the door above her head, before sinking himself into her.

Groaning at the feel of her, Peter’s facade dropped completely. Her tight little cunt feels even better than he imagined, and he hopes that he feels better than she ever imagined.

He starts slow, with the intent of her feeling every ridge of his cock, as it threatens to invade her stomach. Her soft tits bouncing with every thrust, send a jolt through his body every time her nipples graze his chest. The way his name falls off her sweet tongue, has him in shambles, as he picks up his pace, throwing slow and steady out of the window.

Her cries are loud in his ear, as he ruts against her sex. He’s so thick, its hard for her to think straight. He can feel the indents of her nails as they dig into his lower back; she tries to press his ass closer to her, never wanting him to leave.

Maybe if it were any other guy fucking her, she would have felt the seat buckle digging into her back. Maybe she would have felt her sticky sweaty skin on the leather of his back seat. Maybe the awkward position her head was in would have spoiled her experience. But with Peter, she could only focus on the pleasure.

His thrusts were relentless now. His hot breath was fanning the side of her cheeks. His previously damp hair, stuck to her neck, as he drove himself further into her skin. Nothing could distract him away from her in this moment.

Nothing but the faint glow of her phone, that is. It’s buzzing, and vibrations immediately catching his eye, as he held his head up. That same dangerous smirk that she saw earlier returning.

“Look who’s calling, baby.” He purred, overcoming the stutter of his hips. When he held her phone up for her to see, her heart sank at the mischief behind his words. Brad. “Should we answer it?”

“No, Pete!” She cried.

“Oh come on, that would be rude wouldn’t it?” He dared, before delivering a particularly hard thrust, that sent her mind into a haze. “We can stop so you can take this—”

“No! D-don’t stop” She begged, prying the phone from his fingers, and fumbling with the answer button.

“Babe? Hello?” Brad’s irritating voice answered flooding, her phone’s speaker. But the girl didn’t answer immediately, because she was too busy trying to stifle her whimpers.

“Hey Brad!” She finally choked out, sounding somewhat normal. How she managed to do it, she couldn’t say.

“Wow! Finally. This is like my eighth time trying you. I almost can’t believe you answered. What are you up to?”

“Should you tell him what you’re up to, babe?” Peter devilishly whispered against her skin.

“Nothing!” She whined into the phone.

“Whoa. Are you okay? You sound a little off?”

“You should tell him you sound like this because I’m making you feel so good.” Peter suggested, driving her body up and down the seats. “I bet he’d wish he were me right now.”

“I-I’m just a feeling a l-li-little sick is all.” She breathlessly stuttered.

“Should I come over?”

“Ah yes Peter!” She wailed, when the boy starts circling his fingers against her clit, while simultaneously grinding slowly but roughly into her. She’s no longer paying attention to the man on the other end. His curses don’t faze her, nor does Peter’s actions as he releases the phone from her grip.

“Hey Brad. Remember me.” He casually asks, ignoring Brad’s threats. “Yeah no man, don’t worry about her: I’ll make sure she’s real good and taken care of.” He promises, before ending the call, and tossing the device into the passenger’s seat. “Think he finally got the hint?”

Peter then takes the girl’s hips into his hands, lifting her inches off the seat, before pulling her body onto his dick at an ungodly speed.

Crying. She’s literally crying, with tears streaming down her face. Her voice is becoming hoarse with moans. She had never experienced such intense sex in her life.

Peter brings the hand that was previously plastered on the glass down to the girl’s face. “would this be the definition of fucking your brains out, baby?” He grunts, in reference to the girl’s constant repetition of his name. It’s the only word she can remember, as he fucks her into the chair.

His movements shook the car. The heat that their bodies radiated, fogging up the glass. The scent of their sex now embedded in the fabric of his seats. The boy was completely untamed.

Her screams were one among the things that set him off. The way her body writhed against his was another. The stutter in her speech another. But the unbridled lust that her eyes held, was the literal icing on the cake.

Thank fuck she came before him. Her tight little hole constricting and clenching his dick. And when he started slipping in and out, her eyes glued shut, and her chest started to rise and fall, he knew that she had came.

A sweaty fucked out mess before him, she needed Peter to finish her off before she was satisfied. “Drown me in your cum” She begged, and it was like he knew exactly what she wanted.

Unsheathing himself from her, he ridded himself of the condom, and started tugging violently at his cock. Fucking his hand, not unlike the way he fucked her earlier, he spurted his milky white seed all over her supple brown canvas, a husky groan roaring from his chest as he threw his head back in pleasure. His seed extinguished the heat that resided in her skin, and she closed her eyes shut, letting her head fall back down on the seat.

The image of his white paint, all over her stomach, chest, and tits, bleeding into his memory, as he came back down from his high.

Once back down to earth, reality began to sink back in. Immediately recomposing himself, Peter blurted, “Fuck are you okay? Was I too rough?”

His sudden outburst almost made her jump out of her skin, but she quickly recovered. “Oh god no Parker! I loved every minute of that.” She lazily smiled reassuringly. “Do you always fuck like that?”

Peter returned the smirk, blushing before saying, “I’ve always wanted to fuck you like that.”

After planting a final kiss on her lips, he reached into the center console, to scavenge a few wet wipes, cleaning her skin before discarding them.

Moments later, they reunited with their lost articles of clothes, pulling the fabrics over their limbs before crawling back into the front seat.

When Peter put his seatbelt back on, and cranked the car up with no effort, he felt the heat of the girl’s eyes on his skin.

“What?” He asked, dumbfounded by her glare.

“Was there ever anything wrong with the car?”

And then as if just realizing Peter mouthes oh, before telling her simply “No.” Adding on that he just wanted an excuse to spend more time with her.

“Well how the fuck did you know I wasn’t gonna just take your offer for an Uber?” She asked, more impressed than pissed.

“Because you’re a neutral person, and a neutral person would feel too bad about doing that.”

“There’s a lot of things I still have to learn about you Parker.” She admits, sinking down into her seat. Heat rising to her cheeks, as a new crush began to develop.

“Don’t worry. I’m willing to teach you.”

A/N: So like...don’t be afraid to tell me what you think. I swear I dont bite...unless you're into that. also this was edited it, but probably not well, so tell me if you see an error.

#peter parker x reader #Peter Parker smut #Peter Parker x black!reader #black!reader #Peter Parker fluff #spiderman x reader #marvel smut #marvel imagines #spiderman #Peter parker #black reader #smut #dark!peter x reader

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bowieandqueen11 · 3 years

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Set Me Dreaming / Bucky Barnes Imagine

Request: can you do a bucky fic where reader catches him awake in the middle of the night and fighting off some of his troubles? like maybe bucky resists any type of consolation until he finally succumbs. i am open to any of your ideas/own interpretation! thank you!! <3

Yes I can thank you!! Also Mr Barnes it’s been seven years and I am still looking respectfully 👀

If you like, please comment and reblog!

(The lyrics are Moonlight Serenade by Glenn Miller/ Frank Sinatra (we’re just going to pretend this version came out at the right time aha), and I got them from Google!)

You haven’t heard this song since that night in 1943. Since the night he proposed. Since the night he left. Since the night you lost your Bucky.

‘The stars are aglow and tonight how their light sets me dreaming.’

It takes you a moment to see in the darkness of the little New York Apartment you and Bucky had managed to scrounge up the money to pay for. It certainly needed some work, and sometimes you missed that smell of antiseptic and apple pie - that warmth familiarity of Bucky patching Steve up after a fight with one hand, and trying to copy his mom’s old recipes as a treat for when you got home from work in the other. This place only smelt of car fumes, and a certain stench of must and old pine that was just a sucker punch to the stomach every time you entered. Every time the two of you were reminded how stranded Steve had left you. Buck had tried to cook for you, once, a couple of weeks ago, but you had come home to find him sitting slouched, crying, on the kitchen tiles as he sobbed out how his mind couldn’t remember the measurements his mom had written down. But it didn’t matter, you think as you finally spot the sound of the noise. Wherever and whenever you had Buck, you were home. Even if everything needed work, it was worth it.

The record player swirls slowly from its spot on the kitchen counter, languid in its spinning as the familiar notes bounce around the confining walls and fill the place, and the city, with its warm jazz. At this time of night, there’s little to compete with the rippling trumpets, or the baritone voice - just the faraway sound of car horns and the jagged breathing of something coming from the fire escape. For a moment, you jump, forgetting yourself, forgetting you weren’t trapped in Hydra anymore. And then your heart starts to drop as you untangle yourself from the blankets, getting up from where you were holding your fiancée on the floor, to spot his sitting with his back to you. His eyes are gone. You don’t know how you can tell, solely just from the rise and fall of his naked back. You just know him too well, you suppose.

He’s gone from you, at the moment, eyes glazed with a faraway mist as he looks down at flashing, neon lights and dirt-tramped streets of the city he used to know like the back of his hand. But he’s not there either. No, his mind has wandered away with the song, memories allowing him some reverie by thinking back on that day. On you. A warm glow flashes through his eyes, a smile threatening to twitch at the corners of his lips as he pictures you, the love of his life, hand intertwined with his. He had sobbed against your lips that night, forehead pressed tightly against yours as he gazed at you with terrified eyes, drinking in every feature of your face as if he knew it would be the last time he would see it. If he was going to die, he wanted to make damn sure that the last thing that ever passed his mind was you. He could die happy then, knowing that he had been given one proper, good thing in his life, feeling safe in the memory that he had loved it well. That he would go knowing he would love you forever. You pretend not to feel him shake in your grasp as you dig your fingers into your shoulder, pulling him tighter against your chest and whispering sweet nothings into the dance hall, the thought of him leaving the next morning plaguing your every thought.

‘My love, do you know that your eyes are like stars brightly beaming?’

He could barely get the words out that night, he had to mouth them against your lips and hope, his silly, foolish hope, that you would agree to marry a man who was being shipped of the next day. He just needed to go knowing that he was yours, thinking the last twenty five years you had spent joint at the hip would sway you towards the sentimental and you would agree to let him be yours, even if only for a day. It didn’t matter, he knew, as his lips trembled against your own, clenching his eyes shut to try and stop the tears spilling down as you nod your head vigorously. It didn’t matter how long you had in this life, he would be yours forever.

‘I love you, doll. I love you so much it hurts.’

‘Don’t you know I love you the same, Buck?’

He doesn’t feel you come up behind him, placing your hands on his back. Every muscle seems to be jumping out of his skin, skin flush and like a furnace to the touch, but you just wrap your arms around his waist and pull him against your back. Glancing round to see your Bucky’s face, his stubble tickles your cheek as you sigh. He’s still puffing out breath into the cold night’s air, eyes glossy and wet and by grief, filled with so much pain and love and fear that it breaks your heart.

‘I bring you and sing you a moonlight serenade.’

Then he remembers falling. Feeling weightless in the water, gazing up at the blanket of grey sky above him, at peace in the knowledge that you were here with him, your picture still tucked into his jacket and your face the only thing he saw when he looked up at the sky, at the stars. When he finally closed his eyes, and let himself drift away to you. Then he remembers the pain. The pain of remembering you while he was tied down to that chair, jaw clenched and lips threatening to spill his sobs as they punished him for remembering you, again and again and again and again, until the end, he buries you into a pocket of his mind he hopes Hydra can’t touch. He remembers the plea that used to fall from his lips as they hit him, the tremble in his fingers once he woke up and realised that he, that James, that the Winter Soldier was holding a gun against the head of someone he had never even seen before. Not in his lifetime. But he does what he’s meant to do, what he’s told to do, finger pulling the trigger as some thought twitches at the back of his mind, telling him to keep going. To always carry out his missions, saving the world, saving you.

He doesn’t feel your lips brush against his forehead as he begins to gasp now, almost fighting back against your touch. But you only reach out to steady him, grabbing his biceps as you swing yourself over the barrier to kneel down in front of him, fingers tight as he finally starts to settle himself again. You reach up slowly, careful not to startle him away from whatever pain is haunting him, and brush his hair away from his damp forehead. You don’t miss the way he subconsciously drops his head towards your touch, the almost inaudible sigh of relief that brushes against your nose.

He finally starts to remember himself, remember where he is, eyelashes fluttering open and closed quickly. He nearly bursts into tears right there and then when he spots you, wide eyed and obviously shivering from the cold in front of him.

‘Buck. Buck - James. It’s okay, we’re okay. You’re here with me, not back there. It’s alright.’

‘Sweetheart-’, he starts, squirming within himself as he scrambles closer to you. ‘A-are you real? You’re really here?’

‘Of course I am, Buck. I’m never leaving you. Never again.’

For a moment there’s a comfortable silence, a knowing moment of trust and understanding between the two of you, before you tug on his metal arm. He gives it to you willingly, the only person he’ll allow to touch the metal without feeling revolted with himself. You pull gently at his fingers, silently pleading for him to unfurl his fists. His breath shakes, knowing it was the same way you had brought him back to himself that day Helicarrier when he had been sent to kill you. The cruellest trick fate had ever played on him. He still cried about it in his dreams, eyes strained and throat hollow with screams as he strained against you, trying time and time again to stop his arms from hurting you. To stop himself from drowning just by the thought of you.

You- you were real. You were here, and then he found himself full on sobbing again. You shush him gently, jumping up to pull his hands away from his face, away from where he had shoved them into his eyes to try and stop himself. Yet he only grabs onto his shirt that you were wearing, fingers clenching and fists white as he pulls you down to straddle his thighs. He nestles his head into your neck, pulling you tight into his arms until he couldn’t be sure where he ended and where you began. As if there had really ever been a difference for him, anyway. You brush your hand through his hair, appreciating the little hum of delight he tried to give you as your fingers scrape the nape of his neck. He sniffles against your skin, but he’s alright. He knows that you would do anything for him. Your soulmate, your Bucky.

And Bucky knew, as he held you against him, that he would never let you go again. He knew that he couldn’t pretend he was alright anymore, that somehow and someway he would have to make amends for everything he has done - everything he has put you through. Yet some warm hope fizzled at the bottom of his heart as he felt your engagement ring bump against the goose bumps of his back, knowing he still owed you a wedding as well.

His hands are so soft, so gentle, so careful, as he grips onto your waist. His nose bumps against your forehead the same way it had that night, all those years ago, before you had lost him. His tears stain your shirt again, and although he knew he was different now, he also knew there was still some of James Buchanan Barnes left. He knew, because you had his heart, this whole time.

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes imagine #tfatws #bucky barnes x reader #the falcon and the winter solider spoilers #bucky barnes fluff #marvel #the winter soldier #fatws #falcon and the winter solider spoilers #fatws imagine #marvel imagine #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #Sebastian Stan

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theshelbyclan · 4 years

Text

The Young Nurse

Summary: When it turns out Finn is more ill than anyone suspected, you don’t know what to do, apart from being practical about it and taking care of him

(Gif by @nofckingfighting) A/N: The amazing @staygold-bebold send me her first request and I’m SO honoured: Hellooo there :) This is my first fic request *smiles shyly* I have this idea in my head for a while now... How about sick!Finn with reader taking care of him? I'm hoping for it to take place between seasons 2 and 3, so he is still soft. (before blinding the Changretta man in s4) Bonus if there can be an innocent cuddle in it! 😊 I love love love the way you portrayed Finn in your fics and how you never write too mushy fics even with fluff in it. Hope this is ok!You are such a wholesome sweetheart, I love this idea. Hope I did it justice! Finn’s fourteen in this one (so season 2) and the reader is of a similar age. Words: 2537

*** “I don’t feel so good…” “What?” you’d asked, but before Finn could answer, he’d fallen down and passed out already.

At first, you had to laugh and you could hear others do the same. Everyone was down at the Garrison to celebrate and Finn had been sneaking whiskey all night. Tommy kept on taking it off of him, but John allowed it. Like it was really his first time drinking whiskey anyways… You were working at the bar. Officially, you were too young for the job, but your mother worked there and you occasionally helped out. Being only fourteen, you did work at the Garrison, but only during daytime, to clean. This is how you and Finn had met and he used to sit with you while you worked, watching and talking. He was a different boy away from his family. You never really talked much, it just wasn’t in your nature. But you could observe and deduce things that others failed to notice. For example, Finn was different with John. He was careful around Arthur, because he was the one to usually tell him to piss off. This annoyed Finn, as he desperately wanted to be seen as a man. With Tommy he was acting tough, trying to prove something, but never quite succeeding. But with John, he was just the little brother. John let him ride horses, let him drink and talked and played around with him. In all honesty, it seemed like Finn could make John forget all he’d seen and done, and allowed him to be a boy once again. So, it was John who’d given him the whiskey. When Finn fell down, you all laughed. Tommy took him back home and sighed deeply, “I fucking told you, didn’t I? And now I’m having to waste my fucking time on you, eh?” You’d seen many men fall down for the drink, but something didn’t feel right. Frowning but not speaking, you decided to keep an eye on your friend. ***

The next day, you went to Polly’s. She told you Finn was still in bed and that you couldn’t see him right now. “What’s wrong with him?” “Finn’s having his first ever hangover!” John called from the kitchen, grinning broadly. But Polly’s face showed some worry, “He’s puking his guts out, that’s for sure, and he can’t hold down any water. It’s the shortness of breath that’s worrying��” “Is he still drinking?” you asked at once. “What do you want with him?” John inquired, “Sit by his bed and hold his hand?” “Just wanted to see if he needs anything…” you mumbled. “Like his girlfriend maybe,” Arthur growled deeply. “I’m not his girlfriend!” you replied indignantly, but immediately you looked down again to hide your blushing. You’d never talked back to any other Shelby than Finn and it scared you. “Leave her alone, Arthur,” Tommy spoke from the shadows, “She’s a good girl, Y/N, sensible. She won’t do anything that isn’t proper or right, eh?” “Y/N,” Polly saved you, “Come back tomorrow. He needs to rest now.” And so you came back the next day, and the next, and the next, always being denied entrance into Finn’s bedroom. His chest pains had gotten worse and he had real trouble breathing now. You were tired of waiting. At home, you had started pacing for fear of the unknown. “What’s the matter with you?” your mother challenged, “You’re never like this. You’re supposed to be the calm one, I’m the agitated and loud one.” She was right. Sometimes you wondered if you and your mother were even related, because you couldn’t be more different. She worked at the bar, talking easily to all men and flirting always. You liked to hide in a corner and passed unnoticed. Your mother preferred the company during work, while you enjoyed the work in silence. Everyone knew your mother, but few even knew she had a kid. Your mother always complained how you were too boring, too practical, too silent, while you just whished for a mother to take care of you, not the other way around… All of this played out in your head, but you didn’t say a word. Then one night, it became too much to bear and you decided to do the bravest thing you had ever done in your short life. Silently, you crept out of your own bed and put on some clothes. While you were making your way out of the house, you saw your own reflection in the mirror, and you faltered. Strictly you said to yourself, “Y/N, stop being a baby. Do you want to go on the rest of your life not mattering to anyone? Finn needs you. Now man up, and go!” So you breathed in deeply and slipped out the front door. That was the easy part done, but now came the difficult part. Standing in front of the Shelby home, you cursed your own sudden courage but decided there was no going back now. Clattering up the drainpipe, you reached the roof of the houses at Watery Lane. Like a cat, without making a sound, you crawled towards the room in which Finn usually slept. Peering in, you saw he was alone: a stroke of luck. Getting the window to open was a lot easier than you’d feared. But what to do now that you were inside? You didn’t have much time to think it over, because Finn suddenly woke up and opened his eyes. “Y/N? What are you doing here?” You blushed again, “I wanted to see you,” you whispered. “How did you get in?” he said in a hushed voice. “I climbed the roof and came in through the window.” “Does Aunt Pol know?” “Obviously not, if I climbed the roof, silly!” you hissed. Finn frowned, “Is this a dream? It’s a dream, isn’t it… I’ve been having the weirdest dreams lately…” You quickly walked over to his bed and knelt down next to it, “I’m really here Finn.” “You climbed the roof,” Finn raised his eyebrows, “Y/N would never climb a roof. Without permission from Aunt Pol. In the middle of the night.” “Well, I did.” “In my dream you did.” “Finn!” you said, a little louder than anticipated, “It’s not a dream!” And you pinched him, “See?” “Ow!” he called out, “That hurt…” He actually looked a little betrayed and hurt, so you had difficulty in stopping yourself from laughing. You managed to hide it though, by taking a cloth from a washing basin and dabbing his head with it. He was burning up and worry took a hold of you. “Y/N?” Finn asked, “What are you doing?” “Taking care of you,” you said matter-of-factly. “Why?” “Well, I can’t imagine your brothers are doing much to help you,” annoyance slipped into your tone. “John’s scared,” Finn said softly, “We lost Martha and he doesn’t like people being ill after that. Tommy thinks it’s just the whiskey, maybe they all do. Arthur was never great with… anything really.” “What about Pol?” you asked, while taking his pulse with two fingers. Finn shrugged a little, “She’s got Michael now.” Full of sympathy, you looked at him. “I’m glad you’re here,” he smiled, “Got bored.” “Your pulse is fast,” you commented, “Have you been drinking enough?” But the two of you were rudely interrupted by someone barging into the room. Polly’s eyebrows rose, she looked like she was about to start yelling, but then motioned for you to follow her. Without a second thought, you obeyed. “Care to tell me what’s been going on?” she demanded once you were downstairs. You were officially scared of her, but answered, “He needs someone to look after him.” “Does he now?” “He’s seriously ill, Polly,” you said, but quickly followed it with, “Sorry, Miss Gray…” And for the second time, Tommy emerged from the shadows, “No need to stand on formal ceremony. How did you get into my house?” “Roof,” you practically trembled. “Jesus Christ…” Polly sighed, “Young love, that’s all we need…” “It’s not about that!” you called out, “He’s actually ailing! And he’s still vomiting after three days, he’s dehydrated, has difficulty breathing, a seriously high fever and his pulse is too fast. I don’t think it’s the whiskey, Mr. Shelby.”

“Not the whiskey, eh?” he slowly lit a cigarette, “Then what is your diagnosis?” “Influenza,” you said at once, “Saw my father die of it.” “And you checked his fever and pulse, you said?” Polly asked, in a much calmer voice now. “Yes, both elevated. He needs medicine,” you said in a practical manner, “I can see if I can get any Ginseng or elderberry, but I can’t get a hold of any other drugs.” “Surely it’s not that serious…” Polly objected. “It is,” you interrupted her, “he needs medicine fast and he needs fluids. He seems fine, but tonight might be critical.”

“Tell me, Y/N, how do you know all of this,” Tommy asked softly, seemingly unaffected by all of this. Again, you blushed, “I want to be a nurse.” “Makes sense,” Polly smirked a little. “I mean, I would like to…” you stumbled, “Can’t, but, I still want to help people…” Tommy understood at once, “If you can save Finn tonight, I’ll pay for your schooling. Now, tell me what I need to get.” Polly turned around and looked at her nephew with big eyes, asking, but not speaking out loud. He did reply however, “Y/N’s the most sensible person I know and she’s only fourteen, Pol. We’re not losing Finn. Let her take care of him.” For a moment, it looked like Polly was about to argue with him again, but then she closed her mouth. After a few seconds of silence, she asked, “What can I do?” “Do you have any green tea?” you grew shy at ordering a woman like Polly Gray about, “Green tea would be good for him…” “Tea,” she repeated and stood up to make some, “Anything else?” “Maybe you could send someone to my mother’s house, because I know she has the elderberry and Ginseng I mentioned.” “I’ll send John,” Tommy nodded and he told you, “Go sit with Finn. Let us know if anything changes.” Suddenly feeling numb, you walked up the stairs again. It was like this little conversation had only just made clear to you in how much danger Finn actually was. And it scared you, because Finn really was your only friend and you needed him. Sitting by his bed, he had lost consciousness again. It was as you had said: this night would be critical. Whenever he did wake a little, you tried pouring some of the green tea into him and luckily he kept it down. Still, his pulse was racing and his fever was blazing. Waiting and praying, you had no idea that downstairs Polly was doing the exact same thing. The next day went by uneventful. It seemed impossible to get him to drink enough, but you never stopped trying, mixing different drugs in with the liquids and teas, hoping it would be enough to save him. Every two hours or so, Tommy came walking up the stairs and when he came into the room, he only asked one question: “Has the danger passed?” You had to keep on disappointing him over and over. When Finn was awake, he ailed. ‘Awake’ was too liberal a term anyways, because you could no longer talk to him and his eyes wouldn’t focus. Sometimes he’d ask for you and when you talked to him and he recognised you voice, he became calm again and drifted off to sleep. “Y/N?” he once asked, “When I die, where will I go?” “Heaven, I suppose…” you muttered, “But you’re not dying, Finn, I won’t allow it. Now, drink this and rest.” “What do you mean, you won’t allow it?” “You’re young and you still have things to do!” you called out. “Like what?” he muttered, “Business? My brothers all think I’m just a kid… useless…” Angrily, you threw the wet cloth on his head again, “Well, I’d miss you. I need someone to talk to while I’m working and that’s you. Now, stop talking about dying.” “Okay,” he whispered, and drifted off again.

Another few hours passed and he wasn’t awake much. Was his fever going down, or were you just imagining it? Maybe it was wishful thinking…

The next time Finn woke up, he was complaining, “I’m cold. Is it cold? Because I’m really cold…”

And the concern was right back, because he was actually sleeping under five blankets already and even though it was Birmingham, it was in fact summer.

“Y/N,” he whined, “I’m really cold…”

“Sweetheart, I don’t know what else to do. Do you want some more tea?”

“That doesn’t help.”

So you decided quickly, “Okay, move. I’m going in.”

His eyes opened a little more in surprise, “In?”

“In the bed,” you clarified, “don’t get excited. I’m warm, boiling actually because of the fire, and I can warm you.”

So here you were, in bed with Finn Shelby. And for the first time, you felt your own pulse quickening.

Of course this was the moment that Tommy chose to check up on Finn again, taking half his family with him. They just stood there and stared.

“He was cold,” you explained meekly.

“Right,” Tommy said, smoking quietly.

“How is he?” Polly asked.

It’d been a few hours since you last checked and when you felt for his pulse, it appeared to have slowed down a little. Also, his head wasn’t feeling as hot as it had been before. He hadn’t vomited for a few hours now and when you looked at him, you saw he was wide awake, with a small smile of satisfaction playing around his lips.

“He doesn’t look unhappy,” John ventured.

“He has no bloody reason to be unhappy,” Arthur added with a grin.

“Tell me,” Tommy said simply.

And you sighed a sigh of relief, “The danger had passed.”

“Better thank your girlfriend, Finn!” John practically cheered.

“I’m not…” you sighed, but you didn’t have the energy to finish that sentence.

“Leave them be,” Polly said in a soft voice, “they both need to rest now.”

“I wouldn’t rest much with my girlfriend in bed…” John continued teasing.

You ground out, for what felt like the 20

time, “Not. His. Girlfriend.”

Finally, everyone left, which took some force on Polly’s part. You looked at Finn and noticed he was getting a bit of colour back into his cheeks already. He’d even complained about being hungry, which was surely a good sign.

“Y/N?” he asked.

“Yes,” you said softly, “what is it?”

“I have a question,” he tried to sit up, but you wouldn’t let him, “Thank you for taking care of me, but why?”

“You’re my friend,” you stated simply.

He shook his head, “No.”

“No?”

He didn’t respond for a while, but then repeated, “Y/N?”

“Yes?”

“Just ignore my brothers and whatever they’re saying.”

“They’re wrong,” you smiled, “They don’t even know us.”

“They don’t,” he confirmed and then he was silent for a few moments, fidgeting with the buttons of his pyjama’s.

“Y/N?”

“Finn?”

“I don’t want them to be wrong…”

“What do you mean?” you furrowed your brow while he stared at you with an expectant look.

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

***

Masterlist

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krisdreaming · 4 years

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Hi love!! Would you be able to do a ‘types of kisses they give their female s.o’ kinda hc or scenario for Kuroo?? Like somewhat domestic-ish~ if you know what I mean ^^”” I feel like you capture the essence of Kuroo so extremely well so all your Kuroo fics are 💯 and make me SO SOFT!! 😭 thank you~

THIS IS SO SOFT IM DYING. This has actually been in my box for a little while now bc it’s so good I was waiting for the proper inspiration, and it finally hit me. I was going to wait a bit to post it bc I’ve been on a Kuroo posting spree but I eventually just decided, screw it, it’s Kuroo hours 😌 I love little routine kisses like these sm 🥺

[ 7:26 am ]

Tetsurou drains the last swallow of coffee in his mug and sets it in the sink, pushing away from the counter. “Alright, better get going.”

“Hold on,” You cross the kitchen to him and reach for his tie, straightening it and making sure the knot is snug. The brush of your fingertips still brings a smile to his face after all this time. “You know, for as often as you wear a tie, you really need to learn to tie it a little neater,” You scold gently, giving the tie a gentle pat when it’s adjusted to your satisfaction.

He chuckles. “Yes dear,” He intones with a grin. You can’t help but roll your eyes.

“Have a good day at work,” You say, and he leans down to kiss you.

“You too, I’ll see you tonight. I’ll probably be late,” He sighs, “You know how it is.” You pout, fingers still gripping his tie, and tug him back down for one more kiss.

“Just let me know when to have dinner ready, yeah?” You say when you pull away again.

“I’ll text you. Love you,” He says as your fingers finally fall away from his tie.

“Love you too,” You say after him as he ducks out the door. Every day is the same. He always waits to close the door behind him until he hears those words.

[ 5:32 pm ]

Tetsurou slides his shoes off in the doorway with a sigh of relief, following his nose to the kitchen where you’re standing at the stove.

“You didn’t do too bad on time today,” You comment as he sidles up next to you, pressing a quick kiss to your temple.

“Nope,” He agrees, “And it’s a good thing, too, because I’m starving. Is it done soon?” He sticks his nose down closer to the pot and inhales deeply. You swat him on the back of the head with the handle of your spoon.

“Ow,” He rubs at the spot, “Was that necessary?”

“You know better than to stick your nose in the way of my cooking,” You remind him, but you still reach up and give the back of his head an affectionate scratch. “And yes, it’s done soon. Want to grab some plates?”

He heaves an exaggerated sigh that turns into a grin. After leaning in to steal one quick kiss, he turns to the cupboard to do as you ask.

[ 6:17 pm ]

You’re at the sink washing dishes after Tetsurou is finished with his shower, and he comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist.

“Tetsu,” You try to slip away, but you don’t really have anywhere to go, so he just holds on tighter, pressing a kiss to the crook of your neck, then another. “I’m washing dishes,” You say half-heartedly, leaning into his touch anyway.

“Mm-hmm,” He hums into the soft skin of your neck, resting his chin on your shoulder, “And you’re doing a great job, too.”

“And you’re just in time to dry,” You say, turning your head to plant a quick kiss to his cheek. Reluctantly, he pulls away after giving your hip a squeeze. “Thanks, baby,” You smile when he reaches for a dish towel.

[ 9:58 pm ]

The end credits are rolling. You’ll have to wait until next week to find out what will happen on the show you’ve been watching. Tetsurou shifts slightly in his seat on the couch. “Ready to get to bed?”

When you don’t answer, he turns to look at you and finds that you’ve fallen asleep, your head resting on his shoulder. You look so peaceful like this, with the softly flickering light of the television reflected on your face and your lips parted slightly as you sleep. He almost doesn’t want to disturb you.

“Baby?” He moves his arm just a little, but you don't stir. He cranes his neck awkwardly, just enough to press a kiss to your forehead. "Baby," he says again. Finally, you stir, blinking at him in confusion for a few moments before releasing a soft laugh.

"Did I fall asleep?" You murmur.

He nods. "How much did you miss?"

"I think I only missed like the last five minutes," you sigh, heaving yourself to your feet. You offer your hand to pull him up as well. “We’re getting old, aren’t we?”

"I suppose we are," he chuckles, "but it could be worse."

"I guess," you concede with a soft smile, resting your palm on his cheek for a few moments before announcing that you're going to brush your teeth. For a few moments, he just watches you go. Yes, it could be much, much worse.

[ 6:01 am ]

You’re rubbing blearily at your eyes as Tetsurou fumbles around the night stand until he finds the alarm clock and silences it.

"Morning," You murmur.

"G'morning," He squeezes out, reaching to brush a bit of hair away from your face. He lets his fingers linger, and leans in to press a kiss to the apple of your cheek. It earns him a slow smile as you throw the covers off of you and slide out of bed. He lays back for just a few more moments as you move around the room picking out your outfit for the day.

Every morning is the same. Every morning, Tetsurou wakes up next to you, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #kuroo tersurou #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo x reader #haikyuu fluff #request #queued

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whatisgoingonpaul · 3 years

Text

Lost boys backstorys

I made a post while ago on my ideas of the boys past but now I want to update it. I just want you to know I’m still a firm Prequel lover/follower however we don’t get much info on the boys Pre 1906, so that’s what this is for! However personally I would have had more Max so this is going to be both pre 1906 but also include relationship with Max a bit.

I am also including my personal ideas on Last names and age. However I am under the idea that they wouldn’t know/take their last name seriously if the did know it cause- ya know. Orphans. This is going to be lengthy and I’m going to pin it, not just because I want it seen but also to remind myself in fic writing (when I don’t follow these ideas in a fic it’s gonna be Marked as Au- as I’ll probably be messing around with a different past.)

I’ll be doing appearance but only physical as there’s some stylistic changes. For clothing? Honestly so thinking workers clothes/cowboy esc

Also! Their stories are all going to kinda intertwine so I’d there’s not enough info under one theirs a solid chance there’ll be more for them under someone else’s!

David Hardy-

Age(as of 1906): 19

Born: 1887

Appearance: Average height, his hair a dirty blond- near reddish and is around shoulder length. Bearded. (Think doc but with slightly updated clothing)

Backstory:

David Is the only of the boys to grow up with at least one of his parents, living with his mother until her death when he was around 7. They lived in a decent, though cramped little space in San Francisco, by the docks. His father worked on and off- a not so stable style ending in him getting involved in not doing saviory things - getting arrested. His mother worked as a washerwoman. David worked the streets awhile, as a young child now left alone, he learned to pickpocket and live off what he could manage. It was around this time he had found Marko- doing the same thing he was - though arguably less effectively do to his more sporadic nature. At around age 10 the two became extremely close and rather inseparable, Marko even looking up to him despite being the older of the pair. However david wasn’t one to living completely criminal like... he did NOT want to be his father, which lead him to not drinking , EVER. (Even as a vampire he still doesn’t do alcohol.) he poked towards more honest work, also forcing Marko into doing the same , which he wasn’t exactly thrilled about- but did anyway. Tried. David did a lot of work on the docks, odd jobs and stuff like that- but it never paid even half as good as nabbing a wallet or cheating at cards. He wouldn’t be his father- he’d be better- better then all the nobody’s. More level headed then Marko though ambitious, big headed and still wildly child like- eventually Paul , Dwayne and Jasper joining the pair. Well now, David had himself a full on gang. Never robbery, not that far. The group pickpocketed , cheated at any sort of game or match, that sort of thing... they were still young after all. Smart enough not to go wild like some famous bandit (Though David will admit to his slight admiration of Billy the kid.). He’s a quick learner, and when he learns something- he learns it well- becomes a damn near expert. When he is good at something he is good at it. He is the leader out of the groups mutual respect towards him , quick thinker. Notable flaws: Huge ego, hopeless romantic.

Marko Connelly-

Age(as of 1906): 20

Born: 1886

Appearance: on the shorter side, golden - darker brown hair in this fluff of ringlets it’s long about just past his shoulder blades and typically tied back. Usually dirty somehow (Think Poli but with longer hair and updated clothing)

Backstory:

Born to a rich family , one of those who moved from east to west and actually did make it big. He was a pretty little thing, more a doll to his mother then particularly a child- only taken from Nanny to be dotted over or photos taken. However around the age of 3 or 4 things had tipped, scandal! Missing. That is what the newspapers said anyway he was found missing- was it that he was given away? Or stolen? He was never particularly a child to be quite or sit still or anything such as that... so who is to say? Marko doesn’t remember a lick of that either way as he was far far to young for it but he does remember being alone. This is how he had grown his attachment to birds, they always stuck around. He grew comfortable with being alone, having himself to depend on, getting good at grabbing what he needs- A mansion is stark contrast to dirty winding alleyways. He was always cursed with his looks- even filth covered at 6 he could make sad eyes and tend to swindle whatever he wanted... but he wasn’t completely quick. He’d get in trouble, his face memorable he could rarely pass the same trick again. At 11 David came across him, the two started working and living together (that is where they could find a place to sleep.) he sort of gained this complex. He felt he owed David , in some strange sense he became attached at the hip- a helper, a second- almost servant like the guy had saved his life and he is now the others. It didn’t help that at a young age, Marko had developed what was come to be understood as a deep crush- at times as teens this was reciprocated. As loyal and loving as he was to the other male he wasn’t nearly as cautious, as rule following... he had come to despise authority, to despise the fancy, the rich all of the crowd. He was never sure why. Even regular work got on his hate list... but he gave in and would try to do a normal amount pf work.. it never really worked as there was something, how he would sass, how he looked or smelled or spoke (neither him nor David really spoke ‘proper’ English - meaning no slang or accent). Around when Paul came things started to shift in the group, more mouths- more work and more thinking. Oh yea David and his thinking. Marko is a bit hostile right off the bat when it comes to people he doesn’t know, eventually he cracks and will be more loyal to you then to anyone you’d ever know. He opened up to Paul, a lot sooner then he would have thought the guy was funny and sweet - lil stupid too. David had this grand idea of a little gang, naturally Marko was all for it because illegal activity is fun- it was like a game to him. A liked stealing from pockets and playing distraction for David, as time grew he began to hate how young and gentle his face appeared to be. He LOATHED absolutely appalled the pity glances he would get, the hand outs the whole “oh you poor fragile little dear 🥺” he hated being babied and still does. He hated the stares he got on the opposite direction ... at first, it was funny, it was nice to be wanted in that sense rather then some baby. However... it grew creepy, it wasn’t women or a fella his age...it was more the gaze of older men. Marko detested it so much- he KNEW he’s seen what some of the guys... even younger then him ended up doing- he could see the occasional look in david’s eye. No he would never really consider....no. Paul was more his shoulder to cry on, someone to go to , to ramble to to speak with and just be with. The two were touchy, always leaning against eachother or grabbing their arms, laughing or sleeping or- eventually it became more then casual, it was serious. The two started ‘dating’ at some point- none of them were ever serious on titles but it was good to put a word to it.

Paul campbell-

Age (as of 1906) : 18

Born: 1888

Appearance: tall and lengthy, he has a mole on his left cheek, he has stubble/shadow opposed to a beard. He’s also usually dirty, dirty blond , long hair think Buffalo bill with volume and his hairline not receding

Backstory:

Grew up in a orphanage, hundreds of kids all stuffed together into a few rooms, often sharing beds and everything else. He was never a still child, he would always figit and move and shift - whenever he’s supposed to be quite or still like lessons or Mass he just couldn’t. This - got him most of the attention from the mistresses and overseers- much more quick to slap then to explain... he was docile , quick to flinch and try and stop. Never worked well. Once you get to 7-8ish you work if not adopted by a decent age. Sweeping, factory work he tried it all. He was particularly desensitized to violence at a extremely young age while working in a textile factory- he’s seen a kids arm come clean off. Terror turns to fascination eventually. At some point he’d stopped returning at night finding David and Marko at 15, he started hanging with them- it was safer in numbers that sort of thing- Paul could read a bit , David could write a bit- the three worked it out together. always so distracted- the others learned right off the bat he wasn’t built for pick pocketing no matter how hard he begged about it. Instead he’d do real jobs- sweeping , fighting, placing crooked bets that sort of thing. He always complains. A massive softie since he was young, Paul can’t quite handle being on his own- he’s used to having at least one other person around him at all times causing him to get quite hooked onto the other boys. He hovers around the same places. He is also a fan of dancing- Paul- is music obsessed the moment he heard the first noise of any sort of music he was hooked. He is one about fun- being restrained from it for so long as a child- always to sit out and watch or to think about whatever he did.. oh. Dancing, drinking, drugs, clubs, all of it is his kind of deal- he would drag the others with him when they had a bit of extra cash to deal with. Dwayne and his brother, when they joined on he was instantly accepting, unlike Marko he didn’t have the deep seeded trust issues, he was immediately touchy and happy to share a joke or a comment no matter the glares. He is the one to get Dwayne to lighten up a little bit, to smile he loves to see that smile :). He got around to dating Marko, when they finally put a label on it he was really giddy about it, making jokes and comments- he adores the little names like ‘sweetheart’ or ‘bo’ - he eventually gets around to just plain ‘sugar’ . Marko is the one who really entertains Paul’s love for dancing, the two of them trying to get the others to do something lighten up- eventually their pawing would bare fruit. Paul makes the best out of the worst situation, even if they end up sleeping on the beach more often then not- he somehow makes it seam alright. Except that one time he had gotten sand in Dwayne’s eye and all hell broke lose. He is the current youngest member of the group after Jaspers passing.

Dwayne Maher

Age (as of 1906) : 22

Born: 1884

Appearance: Tall, muscular , tanned(I will establish this now but Dwayne is Native American.) long Black hair with burnet highlights, reaches half down his back.

Backstory:

Born out more Midwest unlike the others he was not born in San Francisco, eldest son of a decent sized family of four kids. Do to conflict he and his younger brother skipped town, skipped state and fled to California.. better options you know?. He’s strong built, hard working and good with his hands though, rather playful most of the time. He looks after his younger brother closely, when there is work they work the same place, when there is not they both still do the same. Quickly took to David and the gang , having a tight knit bond with each of them. He was sort of the muscle - if there was trouble, he knew how to fight and it would likely work better then the knives the boys carried around or the gun David could barely shoot. It was Paul who got him to open up more, about himself and just to speak in general, he’s much more under his breath and jokingly commenting then he is saying something out loud- however if he dislikes something or thinks it stupid you WILL know it. Like David he carries the occasional thought of caution, however he’s not nearly as quick to worry. Maher is not his actual last name , nor does he ever mention it- he simply uses this one when it’s needed as some sort of identification or document. He’s surprisingly good at money, he ends up counting with David and is better at budgeting no matter how he may want or need something. He doesn’t speak on his past as he tries to make it seam he has little of one, he likes to make things mysterious he finds it amusing.

Jasper Maher-

Age (as of 1906) : 16

Born: 1890

Died: 1906

Appearance: shoulder length black hair, typically tied back and braided , tanned, string bean.

Backstory:

The younger brother of Dwayne who is much much more open on how he grew up, casually mentioning things he learned from his parents of his brother (he doesn’t remember his parents that much.) young hot shot sort of kid who’d much rather have action then he would some serious job, loud, energy filled and one for violence- however he’s surprisingly sweet. He often got himself and his brother into trouble. He was a quick and fast young child who grew surprisingly closest with Marko, the two having a habit for breaking every possible rule they could manage together. Their close friendship lead to Marko naming one of his birds after Jasper long after his passing.

Max-

Unknown age but he is seen as extremely old and powerful

Relationship with the boys:

After finding them he has decided to take them under his metaphorical and physical wing, acting as a sort of guardian. Food, clothing, shelter, he was everything the boys didn’t have and was surprisingly inviting in the beginning. ‘I do this for you, you on occasion do this for me’ sort of deal. He wasn’t a leader so much as he was a usual figure, the boys knew and understood him to be above them... so they followed you know? The whole new vampirism thing and the clueless kids- he had to explain and show nearly everything... especially to David, he wasn’t so much harsh to him as he was strict- more of a lead by example sort. Honestly he was father like in a strange sense- that someone is almost like a parent but very much your boss. See... with Max’s strength, there’s this almost automatic level of control- you can’t say no to him. You literally can’t not do what he asks (some supernatural level messing-). There’s something dark about him, in him that the boys still don’t understand in the 80s- but it scares them. It’s strange, it feels unlike him... he seams just like a Dorky , sweet man until...

Some random thoughts that don’t really fit anything

The boys are explicitly religious, past what you’d hear in passing or remember from growing up. Saying “oh god” and respecting religious officials are about what you’ll get

Whoopsies! This was a extremely long post lmao. Sorry for the long read but I could go on and on about them this was just a small blurb to all of it. If you ever wanna hear more do tell me. Also tell me if I should add tw for anything as I know I got a little dark at some points.

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nillegible · 4 years

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(Part 3 of Stay, the MY time travel fic. Read Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 )

It’s several more weeks before he meets Qin Su again, and it’s like having a sword shoved through his gut a second time.

He thought he’d gotten over her death in the weeks since, but apparently not.

Meng Yao’s skills at administrative work, honed to perfection over years of managing Jin sect, had resulted in a series of rapid promotions, as more and more people realized that Meng Yao was not only capable but willing to do boring meticulous drudge work and do it well. By the time Qin Su returns from her mother’s small, secluded clan, Clan Liu, Meng Yao is one of Qin Cangye’s personal aides.

He keeps his face when she thanks him for saving her life just barely. It’s so hard, when she looks so young and carefree, untouched by the grief for a lost child, of a secretive husband who never turned to her.

Meng Yao had done that to her.

I didn’t have a choice, he’d cried to Er-ge, in a temple and felt justified. In front of her sweet face, that defence dies a quiet death.

She’d killed herself, when she heard the truth, and for one moment, in between the grief, the rising terror of an unknown enemy stalking him, he’d hated her for it. Do you think you have suffered more than I? How dare you take your own life, while I still didn’t give up?

But he owes her better than that, so he smiles, and promises the Young Mistress Qin that it was Meng Yao who was honoured to have been of assistance to her. He remains perfectly cordial, always, in her presence. He doesn’t hide away, doesn’t take paths around the buildings that she frequents, even though every time he sees her again, it hurts.

This pain, at least, Meng Yao deserves.

He’s careful not to get too close though. He makes his excuses not to join her where he can, and never shows her the attention he had in a previous life. He didn’t expect this to be noticed, but as he’s learned the hard way, some eyes are always sharper than Meng Yao would give them credit for.

When Qin Tianyu approaches him for tea and a discussion of the talismans that Meng Yao has been reworking to be more efficient, he thinks nothing of it. When they’re working on writing some together after, and the talisman master carefully broaches the topic as if it wasn’t intentional, Meng Yao can see the Sect Leader’s interest in the matter.

“Meng Yao has been noticeably cold to Su-sizhi,” says Qin Tianyu.

Meng Yao looks up, sharply. “I have no quarrel with Qin-guniang.” How did I miss this?

“I said cold, not a quarrel,” he returns calmly. “She is the only one you do not call shijie.”

“She’s the heir, it’s polite, Qin-shishu,” Meng Yao says, even though he knows it’s not good enough. Everyone else calls her Su-shijie, quite enthusiastically. He endures the carefully considering look that Qin Tianyu sends his way. His mask had held up beneath Wen Ruohan, Nie Mingjue, Jin Guangshan, and Lan Xichen. He would not be unmasked by the a simple elder of Laoling Qin.

But Qin Tianyu just nods, as if confirming something to himself. “The idea was floated that Meng Yao joined Qin sect for Su-sizhi.” he says, and Meng Yao freezes, wary. “After all, Sect Leader Jin does not need another spare heir.”

Meng Yao sits in silence, work ignored as he tries to decide on a response. He had briefly considered before approaching Sect Leader Qin that it may look like this from outside, but had reasoned to himself that as long as he showed no interest in Qin Su, it would blow over, and he’d look like any other disciple. That people would find it suspicious that Meng Yao was not angling to marry her to become the next Qin Sect Leader is a surprise.

So, what should he say to turn this suspicion astray?

“This humble disciple is merely Sect Leader Jin’s bastard son. Young Mistress Qin deserves better,” he says, hoping that was vague enough to be acceptable.

“Meng Yao professes to be remarkably unambitious,” returns Qin Tianyu, lightly. Liar, he’s saying, even though for once Meng Yao isn’t actually lying. Qin Su did deserve better than what he’d given her. He’d loved her enough to know that. But unambitious people cannot do what Meng Yao did to keep his place at Wen Sect. Couldn’t remove the head of Wen Ruohan and end a war.

Unambitious people would not do all of that, just to become one of threw personal aides of a minor Clan Leader.

“Maybe I used it up,” says Meng Yao. From the way the elder glances up, he realizes that he had been silent long enough that he believed he wouldn’t get an answer. But Meng Yao has found his words, and there’s nothing to do but continue, “My mother wished to be a Jin concubine. She wanted me to do anything it takes to secure a place within Jin Sect. That it was the only way for me to live well.”

And she was wrong. She was as wrong about this as she was about Jin Guangshan. It had been a constant, grinding pain, to know again and again that the person he loved above all else had been so incredibly wrong. Meng Yao had thrown himself life and soul into trying to prove her right, into gaining his father’s regard and living well. He’d fought desperately, thinking that if only he gathered a little more influence, that if he did just a little bit more, then he’d succeed. Get the recognition his mother craved for him.

At some point, spite and fury had taken the place of love and duty, but he had not wavered in his goal. But he’d still never proved her right; had murdered his own father, and sat in mourning like a filial son, truly mourning how much he’d failed.

Nothing that he did could ever make up for it. This time, he knew better than to even try.

“It was my mother’s ambition,” he says aloud for the first time. Perhaps to a broken woman who did not even own herself, it had been liberating to imagine owning so much, to be in control of her own fate. “It was hers, but I…”

He falls silent, and after a few moments Qin Tianyu returns his attention to his paused work. For several minutes, he just watches the hypnotic way that the talisman master draws the same talisman again and again with the most minute of differences, to be tested and ranked according to efficacy.

“But you?” he prompts, when the stack is complete.

I want to live. That single, animalistic need, that had kept him alive through so much that would have killed others. I will not die here. Not now.

“I want to live,” says Meng Yao. And then continues, unable to stop, “I wanted her to live, too.” And when she didn’t, when illness wasted her away, taking her from him in pieces, unable to save her for want of something as immaterial as gold… something had broken in him.

Qin Tianyu nods, serene, as he gathers up the completed talismans. “Meng Yao would do well to think about why.”

Why?

You think your life is worth more than theirs? All the people you sacrificed, to live just a few years longer?

“Why shouldn’t I deserve to live?” asks Meng Yao, sharp. “Why shouldn’t we… why are our lives to be discarded at the whim of those stronger than us?”

“Silly child,” he says, “You have survived. You are alive. Now what?” Meng Yao just stares. “Perhaps Meng Yao should consider getting on with other things.”

Get on with what? Meng Yao had turned down Sect Leader Jin’s offer, had given up the name Jin Guangyao, just to escape the tragedies that that would precipitate.

But he was alive now. He was alive, and had time – perhaps even unmeasured time, so long as he stayed out of his father’s way. Perhaps he wouldn’t cultivate to near immortality, like those stronger than him, but he could live nearly a century more. Now what? Why are you alive?

It was so unlike him to not have a plan, but for once he hadn’t really. He didn’t…

“Meng Yao,” Qin Tianyu snaps, and when Meng Yao looks up, he’s leaning forward over the table, hand out and hovering over Meng Yao’s wrist.

“Master Qin?” asks Meng Yao, but rather than answer, the elder gently touches his fingertips to Meng Yao’s wrist. The pressure of foreign qi is familiar; light and diagnostic, before it withdraws.

“This old teacher apologizes,” he says, when he’s done. “I did not mean to cause you distress.”

“Not at all, this martial nephew is glad for his elder’s guidance,” says Meng Yao, taking his hand back and holding it to his chest. “I will meditate on how to prove myself more useful to Qin sect in the future.”

“Meng Yao, you misunderstand. No, rather, it was this master who misspoke. I did not mean to imply that you must prove yourself.”

“I understand,” says Meng Yao, after a beat. Spoken aloud, it must have sounded more cruel than he wished. But that was still what he meant.

There is no resolution after that. Qin Tianyu seems unable or unwilling to explain better, though he clearly thinks about it for a while. Finally, he dismisses Meng Yao, who leaves with the talismans. The lingering unease of a conversation that went poorly is left to fester in the room, while Meng Yao retreats to the disciple quarters immediately.

He resolves to work harder.

[AN: What do you think? Too OOC? I'm hoping to give MY a proper and slow redemption story, but it’s a toss up whether it’s going well or not. Thannk you for reading, please drop a comment in the replies if you have writing advice! I’ll be so grateful!]

[Click here for part 4!]

#jgy time travel verse #meng yao #qin sect #meng yao is on qin sect #qin su #OC

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ineffable-snowman · 3 years

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(apologies in advance to the people who followed me for Good Omens. I’m diving headfirst into a new fandom, so I’m afraid there’s going to be a lot of Sambucky in the next three weeks at least...)

I wrote a fic inspired by episode 3 of FATWS. Read it here or on AO3.

Trouble Man

“It is a masterpiece, James. Complete, comprehensive. It captures the African-American experience.”

What kind of passive-aggressive bullshit was that? It was annoying enough that Zemo insisted on calling him ‘James’ in that patronising way of his but now he tried to lecture him or rather tried to make him look stupid, uncultured and ignorant. Bucky wanted to laugh at Zemo’s comment that sounded more like he was quoting a Wikipedia article to appear sophisticated, but then Sam spoke up.

“He is out of line – but he is right.”

Fuck Zemo. Seriously, Bucky had enough reason to hate Zemo but this was on another level. This was personal. He made Bucky look stupid, uncultured and ignorant in front of Sam. And the thing was, he was mostly ignorant about Marvin Gaye. He had listened to some of the tracks from Trouble Man just because they were on Steve’s list, and had quickly decided that it was not his kind of music. Now he wished he had at least listened to the whole album so he could contribute more than a weak “I like Marvin Gaye”, which fooled absolutely no one. He had no idea how a simple conversation about music had escalated like this. It had seemed like perfectly normal banter, Sam making fun of him for being old-fashioned, and then Zemo had interfered with that comment and it was downhill from there.

For some reason Sam was very passionate about Marvin Gaye and Bucky was intent on finding out why. Also, he needed to find out how music could be “complete, comprehensive” and “capture the African-American experience.” In his experience, music was used for dancing and for fun and that’s all there was to it. He stared at the notebook. There was some really good advice in it, like Thai food or Star Wars. So far, Bucky had not seen the appeal of Marvin Gaye. But apparently Steve had. If Steve had adored the music so much, why had he just simply crossed it out in a neat line and not, for example, put an exclamation mark behind it? Bucky added two exclamation marks.

Right, how to do this? Not for the first time he regretted just getting a simple flip phone instead of one of those fancy smartphones. When the shop assistant had told him that he needed a phone for taking photos and listening to music, Bucky had almost laughed at him. Talking about stupid… He could really use Youtube or Google now.

“Do you have a computer with internet?” he asked Sharon.

She looked at him like he was stupid (it was becoming a theme) but showed him to a computer and even gave him earphones. Then he started to listen to Trouble Man and this time did not skip any tracks but listened to the whole songs. He also googled the lyrics but that did not leave him any the wiser. Doctor Raynor would probably tell him to use his goddamn mouth and just ask someone, for heaven’s sake. He would rather get frozen again than ask Zemo. But it also felt extremely wrong that Zemo, who was supposed to be one of the bad guys, seemed to know and understand Sam better than Bucky, who was supposed to be Sam’s…whatever. Were they friends? Bucky certainly considered Sam a friend (although he never would say it out oud), probably the only friend he had left. Someone who texted you and asked you how you were and invited you to lunch was a friend, right? Someone who even saved your ass and (repeatedly) broke the law for you was a very good friend. But did Sam consider someone his friend who did not text back, who repeatedly got him into trouble, kept things from him and had even tried to kill him? Bucky stared at the screen. It was a miracle Sam had not tried to kill him yet. It was even more of a miracle that he was still being nice (sometimes). He googled “Trouble Man” and “African-American experience”. To his disappointment, it was not a quote from a Wikipedia article. So Zemo knew what was going on and Bucky did not. He turned up the volume and tried to make sense of the lyrics (“Got me singin' – yeah, yeah – Hoo“).

“Finally doing some catching up on the good stuff?”

Bucky turned around so quickly that the earphones were ripped out of his ears. Sam had put up his hands in defence and was babbling something about attacking or not attacking or whatever.

“Jesus.” Bucky consciously unclenched his left fist. “Couldn’t you just knock?”

“I did. You didn’t answer.” Sam pointed at the screen where the Youtube video of Trouble Man was still running. “I knew it,” he said gleefully. “You have no idea who Marvin Gaye is.”

“I do!” Bucky protested but then trailed off because he may have heard some of Gaye’s songs but he still did not know who Marvin Gaye was.

“So.” Sam crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you think? Honestly.”

Bucky looked from Sam to the screen to the dangling earphones. I like it was not an appropriate answer. Not an honest one. “I don’t get it,” he finally said.

“No appreciation for good music.” Sam sighed dramatically. “Hopeless. Stuck in the 40s forever.”

Bucky could have left it at that. They were on common ground again, bickering but not hurting each other, it felt familiar, safe. “No,” he said nevertheless. “I – how? How is this music – how does it…capture the African-American experience? Most of the songs don’t even have lyrics.”

“You don’t need lyrics for music to be meaningful.”

“How? Is it because people listen to it in certain situations or…?”

“Alright. Ready for a lesson on 20th century music? You better take notes.”

Bucky opened the notebook and took a pen. Then he noticed Sam’s grin. Right, he hadn’t meant it literally. But now Bucky had already opened the notebook and he was determined to go through with it. So he wrote down all the names Sam dropped, the musical genres and important songs. It was a lot and, as a lot of things, it confused Bucky but he just rolled with it. So some bands destroyed instruments on stage and certain music apparently had a soul? Great. Speaking of souls, this was probably the right time for some soul-gazing to show Sam that he was actively listening. (Doctor Raynor would be so proud of him.) Sam kept bringing up the soul thing several more times until finally Bucky could not keep quiet any longer.

“What’s with this soul music? Is it, like…music for funerals?”

Sam stared at him. Bucky stared back.

“Okay, scoot over.” Sam squeezed on the chair next to Bucky so Bucky almost fell over on the other side. Then he reached over Bucky to grab the mouse, opened another tab and chose a Youtube video for Bucky to listen to. “This is soul music.”

It was highly uncomfortable because the chair was not made for two people and they both weren’t exactly small but Bucky was resolved to stay on the chair, at least with one thigh. Sam chose video after video, pointed out characteristic musical features, quoted parts of the lyrics and talked about the history or the significance the songs. It was still a lot and Bucky still did not get everything but he dutifully took notes to look up some things in detail later. When he had filled the sixth page in his notebook, Sam stopped the music lesson.

“So, 40s music. Any recommendations?”

Bucky turned to face him. They were awfully close. Sam’s eyes were somehow very soft, there was the hint of a smile on his lips and he looked very huggable in that thin turtleneck – and he looked genuinely interested in Bucky’s answer. Bucky felt hot shame flooding him. Sam could be aggravating and an outright asshole but he was too kind for this world. Too kind to Bucky.

“Nah,” he mumbled. “Music in the 40s was just for dancing, for fun. Not…not important like your music.”

“Oh, you can dance just fine to my music,” Sam said in mock outrage. “Come on.” He elbowed Bucky out of the chair and chose another Youtube video, then stood up, too.

“Soul music?” Bucky guessed when the first chords of an electric guitar could be heard.

“Funk. Close enough.”

Sam started to move to the music. It should be ridiculous, the weird moves he was doing, because that certainly wasn’t proper dancing, not the dancing Bucky knew anyway – no rehearsed dancing steps, more like a spontaneous swaying to the music and some of the moves were definitely ridiculous but Sam made them look, well, smooth.

“See, that’s dance music, too,” Sam said and came to stand in front of Bucky.

Bucky had no idea why it was even called dancing but he wasn’t going to say that because he did not want to offend Sam again.

But of course Sam had to nag him. “Spit it out.”

“What?”

“I can see the cyborg gears turning. What’s wrong with dancing?”

“Nothing. Just not what I’m used to.”

“You can choose the next song. For now – get those hips moving.” He nudged Bucky, and how could Bucky say no? After Sam had spent all that time educating him and only mildly making fun of him for his ignorance, he owed it to him.

“This is ridiculous, I feel ridiculous,” Bucky complained when he tried to copy some of Sam’s moves.

“You’re doing great,” Sam said but he was grinning, clearly enjoying how Bucky was making a fool of himself. “Maybe tone down the staring a bit.”

Well, if it made Sam happy… Bucky decided to give it his all and moved wildly to the rhythm, not caring if it could be called “dancing” or not. Nonetheless, he was a little relieved when the song was over.

“Your turn.” Sam indicated the computer.

Bucky had no idea which song to pick. He tentatively typed “Billie Holiday” into the search bar.

“Seriously?” Sam came up behind him. “You know Billie Holiday and say you don’t understand how music can capture the African-American experience?”

It was like a punch in the face. A well-deserved punch probably. “I mostly saw her as the singer of love songs, for slow dancing,” he admitted. “Never really…thought much about it.”

“So what, you’re going to slow dance with me, Barnes?” It wasn’t the usual good-natured banter but sounded more like an accusation.

“Look, Sam, I…” Bucky rubbed his temples. “Let’s head downstairs to that party to…” hopefully not dance. Whatever. Get out of this situation where, he feared, he was breaking rule #2 again.

“No, let’s do this.” Sam clicked on the first link and a swing tune started to play, Me, Myself and I. “Let’s slow dance if that’s what you do.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely.”

It was certainly the most aggressive ask for a dance he had ever received. And he had never been this stiff during a dance before. He used to be a good dancer back in the days but now he felt clumsy when he placed his hand on Sam’s back while trying to keep as much distance between them as possible.

They had not even made eight uncoordinated steps when Sam started to speak. “Would it hurt you to use that brain of yours once in a while? It’s supposed to be working properly again, isn’t it? That’s what I heard at least.”

Doctor Raynor’s words came back to him, that he was free. To do what? Certainly to do better than hurt the man who had always had his back without Bucky ever having done anything to deserve that kind of loyalty.

“I’m sorry,” he said, unconsciously tightening his grip on Sam’s back.

“What for?”

Everything. “For being…kind of… thoughtless, I guess.”

Being so close, he could actually feel Sam exhale. “That’s the understatement of the century.”

“For being a huge dick,” Bucky offered.

“Better,” Sam grumbled. “Now, was that so hard?”

Bucky took a step back to gauge Sam’s reaction. He was relieved to find no traces of hurt or betrayal in Sam’s eyes, just the usual exasperation he put on when looking at Bucky. “Yes. Physically painful,” he tentatively tested the water. It was like a dance, back and forth, seeing how far you could get.

Sam rolled his eyes. “I hate you. And please stop staring.”

Bucky shrugged and pulled Sam close again, in fact, so close that he did not have to look into Sam’s eyes anymore but was now staring at his left shoulder. Sam was visibly relaxing in Bucky’s arms and wasn’t that a miracle, that he was still in Bucky’s arms, still allowed Bucky to hold him?

“Thank you,” Bucky mumbled into Sam’s shoulder.

“What for?”

Everything. Bucky tightened his hold on Sam (and silently thanked the autoplay function that started the next song because he was in no way ready to let go of Sam yet). “I’m a mess and you don’t deserve all that shit I throw at you.”

“Mm. You’re welcome.” Sam squeezed his shoulder, like a reassurance that he would continue to put up with all of Bucky’s bullshit. Too damn kind for this world. Good thing he had Bucky on his side who was going to beat up everyone who so much as tried to exploit Sam’s kindness. (Yes, he knew he was being hypocritical and should technically start with beating up himself.)

“Sharon was wrong,” Bucky said. “I’m not obsessed with the whole stars and stripes stuff. I didn’t follow Steve because he had that shield. And I’m – well, you might’ve noticed I’m here and not following that – that asshole. Sam, I think you should take the shield but, with or without the shield, I’ll follow you. Just so you know.”

Sam was silent for quite some time, they were just swaying gently to the music, until Bucky heard close to his ear, “That a threat, Buck?” He could almost sense the smile against his cheek.

“Just a fact. And I hate you too, by the way.”

#non good omens #sambucky #my writing #fanfic

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