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leviiattacks · 3 years

Note

teacher!levi and teacher!reader headcanons please 🥺

author note :: i expected for this to be better but idk,,, um, you know maybe it’s just me who wishes i executed it better but i wrote this at 3am that’s my excuse. ANYWAY I HOPE U ENJOY ANON :-))) i know it’s not headcanons but here!! also my ask box is always open to feel free to drop by !!

word count :: 5.4k (after i had to severely cut the word count down because my tumblr wouldn’t let me post the longer version with more detail,,,,)

honestly you’ve never fit in well with the math teachers in particular but you’re still amicable with most

however, there’s one unbearable member of the group that happens to want to play jump rope with your patience constantly

and that person just so happens to be mr ackerman

every single staff meeting the both of you sit furthest away from each other whilst silently exchanging bitter glares

maybe it’s his stony disposition or his unrealistically harsh grading system that makes him seem so off putting to you.

or perhaps it’s your soft and gentle approach to teaching that drives him up a wall

but to make matters simple, the two of you have never got along. nearly everything he says you disagree with and nearly everything you say he has to rebuke.

every outlandish suggestion of his at meetings is met with firm disapproval from you and every time you bring up wanting to provide the children with more time for extracurricular activities he sneers in annoyance

today he’s proposing a plan to set exams as soon as possible

???

you wonder if he’s even thinking with his head attached to his neck because it’ll be impossible for the children to handle all of the content in the form of an exam paper so soon

the workload he’s been pushing onto his math class has become far too ridiculous for your liking and you want to put an end to the man’s reign of terror

it just so happens your classes are scheduled in the blocks next to each other meaning he always sees your students an hour before you do

it’s got to the point where your pupils trudge into english class completely EXHAUSTED

the other day a boy fainted because of lack of sleep and now mr ackerman has the audacity to put forward the exam dates???

“we need to instill these children with discipline. taking them by surprise will give them a much needed reality check.”

you groan at his speech and raise a hand

“may i interject?”

professor ackerman’s tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek the irritation is painted on his face but he nods although he seems reluctant

“these children do not need standardized exams to-”

“would you like for me to completely scrap exams from the curriculum?” without even allowing for you to present your argument he has to cut you off with a mocking grin

“levi, i think-”

“that's mr ackerman to you.”

his blunt correction has you rolling your eyes because YES!! you understand the two of you aren’t exactly the best of friends but he doesn’t even want to be on a first name basis with a colleague of two years??

his pettiness has your blood boiling in searing displeasure

“you have to stop going so hard on these children.”

he’s shuffling through some paperwork not even batting an eye in your direction.

“personally, we aren’t hard enough but of course the english teacher has trouble understanding that.”

the jab he makes at your job only causes the anger inside of you to bubble up again

why does teaching english have ANYTHING to do with this???

“you teach math yet you can’t calculate the reasoning behind your subpar love life. do not insult english.”

personal insults are your favourite to throw at him because he always gets so riled up

and actually for once you have the answer to a math question.

the reason why his love life is so uneventful has to be because of this :

his personality + his obnoxious humour + his looks = a good looking but undatable man

his jaw clenches and the grip he has on the stack of papers in his hands strengthens

ok,, that is kinda hot but that is not relevant at all

you’re able to make out miss ral one of the other math teachers make a move to speak and god you fight the urge to punch her every day because she’s always gushing about mr ackerman

seeing as you don’t want to punch her or anyone for that matter you turn to give her a “if you speak right now i swear to god i will lose my shit” look

she gets the memo incredibly quickly because her mouth closes shut immediately

mr ackerman takes a sip out of the cup of black tea next to him. “i would appreciate if you just sat back and let me do what’s best.”

“children fainting in my lesson is not what’s best.” your rebuttal catches him off guard and he seems more than a little surprised

“wait- fainted??”

you eyes flick over to mr zacharias, you had told him to pass the message on but the way he’s sheepishly looking at the floor avoiding your eyes clearly tells you all you have to know

“looks like someone forgot to pass the message onto you but the other day falco fainted in english.”

“is he- is he okay?? did he say why?”

eyebrows raising you’re quite surprised to see any sort of reaction from him let alone concern

“he stayed up all night completing your homework.”

lips pressing together into a fine line it almost looks as if he’s guilty

“i’ll talk to him about it later.” his voice is back to its usually plain tone and any trace of his previous worry has been masked.

an awkward silence follows. he coughs choosing to not continue the discussion about exams.

principal smith takes the hint and moves on to discuss planned school trips

HOORAH victory!!!

yet another day where you’ve saved your students

“who is fallacy and why are they pathetic?” a few snorts and giggles are heard around the class and you force yourself to laugh at falco's miserable attempt at a joke

you’ve noticed falco’s been cracking more jokes around his new seat mate gabi.

she’s small but feisty always willing to debate and she’s really a joy to teach although she can get a little bit aggressive with the others at times

honestly it’s quite obvious that falco has a fat crush on her. well, actually it’s been obvious from the moment she step foot into your class

and... you couldn’t just ignore the way falco looked at her could you?? and there was an empty space next to him too sooooo, what harm would there be in placing the two together?

it seems as if your attempt at getting the both of them to talk has worked. gabi and falco compete desperately for the top position in the class and are two of the best students you’ve had in a while

also after the day falco fainted in class gabi has been noticeably nicer. things like asking if he’s drank water or how much he’s slept

you have a small inkling that she may like him back

and the budding romance is adorable to you because you too once had childhood crushes

it feels rather nostalgic to see the two interact

but today you notice the two aren’t in

in fact, you notice half of the class isn’t?

“where are the others?” your question sends a jolt through one of your present students but he stays silent choosing to pretend to clean his glasses as a distraction

crossing your arms over your chest you walk over towards his desk

“udo, you can tell me what it is.”

“professor ackerman said not to tell.” udo looks petrified and you’re just kinda wondering what in the hell is going on

lucky for you his resolve is thin and he quickly cracks under pressure

“okay. you can’t say i told.”

nodding in agreement he looks around making sure no one else hears what exactly it is he’s about to disclose

“he’s kept some people back to talk to them about something top secret. i don’t know what but he asked for the students who like you.”

at that you feel a little bitter because if he asked for the student who liked you why on earth is half the class still here??

but oh well, you guess you can’t please them all

“oh no, no, no. you’ve got it wrong. we all wanted to stay but he didn’t let us.”

udo looks genuine so you let it slide

either way it doesn’t really matter as long as the majority prefer you over that sick and twisted math teacher you’re alright

“he does know he’s cut into my class time right?”

“falco told him that and he whispered something about how you’re bothersome.”

you???? bothersome???

WHEN HE’S THE ONE BOTHERING EVERYONE?/!:£:!/)

you don’t even look back as you walk out frankly furious at what’s happened

english is important

ACTUALLY!!!

ENGLISH > MATH

you will stand by that till the day you die

your knuckle meets with the wooden surface of your sworn enemy’s classroom door and almost automatically you’re able to hear the shuffle of chairs and padding of numerous footsteps approach

the door swings open and you step aside to allow your missing students to pass through

they look nervous but one look at your reassuring smile lets them ease up and relax

“well.” a voice behind you snaps “look who paid me a visit.”

“we’re talking about this later.”

you try your best to sound serious but you don’t know if you pull it off as well as he does because he just ends up giving you a disappointed sort of look

“y/n. stick to being the good cop it suits you better.”

“we are not on first name basis. you said it yourself.” is your narrowed comeback

finally turning to face him you’re surprised when your eyes travel to the triangle of space behind him and you’re able to get a peek of what looks to be a list of books on his whiteboard

pride and prejudice

wuthering heights

jane eyre

ville-

before you’re able to read the rest he moves in front of your line of vision

he’s got quite the selection but,, when did he of all the people on this planet start showing any interest in literature?

“the books on the board what’s that about?”

your inquiry flies over his head and he shuts the door behind him completely

his face doesn’t move and if it does it only shows the slightest hint of confusion

“what books are you talking about?” he replies and don’t know why your knees feel a little weak when he looks you straight in the eyes

snap.

out.

of.

it.

“i saw books on the board.”

“you saw wrong.” he barks back and he’s getting agitated now

maybe you did imagine it...

and you have to get back to teach your class so okay fair enough you’ll let it go because you do know you have a habit of daydreaming randomly

however that doesn’t stop you from giving him another skeptical look before you leave because there is NO WAY you imagined it, but it is you and it really could be a possibility

the click clack of your heels against the floor sound out as you remove yourself from the conversation

you assume he’s returned to his classroom

that’s why it catches you by surprise when you hear a hesitant voice behind you

“there were no books on the board.”

you don’t know why he has to tell you that again because it only makes himself look all the more suspicious

“but if they were a list of book recommendations then what would you recommend i read?”

the question is peculiar coming from him

are you in an alternate universe?

is this a dream?

are you talking to a clone?

a robot?

because this can NOT be the same man you’ve been working with for two years

maybe he’s having a change of heart?

but that sounds unlikely

maybe he’s planning to read the book and somehow with that big brain of his formulate a calculation to score it a measly two out of ten

yeah. that sounds more likely.

nevertheless, you still want to give him a recommendation, maybe he’ll find out he’s into books this way

“you should totally check out pride and prejudice :-)”

for once you’re smiling at him and he doesn’t know what to do because the change is sudden but he doesn’t say a word after that

instead he retreats into his classroom

god.

now you’re sure he’s just asked to form a stupid calculation or whatever the hell it is math teachers do.

“he likes you.” hange has a shit eating grin on their face and you can’t help but narrow your eyes and sigh in exasperation

no he does not like you but you don’t try to correct hange because you know they’re firm in their stupid belief

“would you ever date him?” hange fiddles with the last of their potato salad absentmindedly waiting on your reply

the question literally has you choking on your lunch

“i would rather fight for survival in the wilderness. thank you for asking.”

“oh come on... he’s got a thing for you. you read romance novels all the time you should be able to tell he does.”

“yeah and that thing he has for me is wanting to shove my head onto a pitchfork. you’ve got the wrong end of the stick.” shoving a piece of pasta into your mouth you sigh dreamily at the taste. it serves as a momentary distraction

you get one lunch break and you are not!!!! in the mood to talk about him whilst you’re on that break

he’s attractive

and you have to admit he looks handsome in his crisp white button up and pristine black suit AND his cologne is really...

okay, you are digressing from the point

none of what you just said means anything!!!

at surface level he seems like a catch but it’s what’s on the inside that matters and he said he finds english stupid

that’s more than enough of a reason to dislike the guy?

he thinks stuff like the pythagorean theorem and y = mx+c are entertaining

y = mx+c ??? over literature???

you read books to teach and you read books for your own enjoyment

it would be a complete travesty if you had a crush on a book hater

and levi ackerman most certainly can be classed as a book hater.

a pessimistic book hater if the specifics are needed

“OH! SORRY Y/N GOTTA BLAST MOB’S OVER THERE!!!!!”

you don’t even get the chance to say goodbye because hange makes an eager run towards moblit

hange and moblit are inseparable, both are the shared heads of the science department and since he’s been off on sick leave recently you understand why hange’s rushed off to greet him

you wish you had a teacher friend like that but the sad truth is you’re pretty much a lone wolf. the other english teachers are wrinkly old pickles and talk about antiques or quiz shows :-(

“this seat free?”

no way.

it’s not him

it can't be

what does he even want??

“um, well yeah it is free b-.”

“good.” he takes the seat without you even inviting him and now you’re stuck in an awkward situation you didn’t even expect to be in today

you're about to burst into tears because is it too much to ask for a peaceful lunch period???

mr ackerman clears his throat and places a book in the center of the table. “pride and prejudice although not my cup of tea was... mildly enjoyable.”

wait...

is this him...

admitting defeat!??

HELLLOOOOO

you are over the moon right now because you know he really had to have enjoyed it a lot and is simply choosing to withhold that information for his own reputation

“i’m happy to hear you took a liking to it.” you’re munching away at your pasta a little more upbeat now

“okay but the start of the book assuming all single men want a wife? no, all i want is a good night’s rest for once. also mrs bennet needs to calm down, elizabeth can marry who the hell she wa-”

“someone’s a little passionate aren’t they?” you giggle into your glass of water and you catch mr ackerman frowning

“i liked it okay.”

“i thought you said it was only mildly enjoyable just now?” grinning and looking at him through your lashes his cheeks become red

you guess he’s angry or something but that’s the usual with him

“yeah, whatever. i just wanted to play fair and apologise.”

“apologise?” oh wow, now your interest has really peaked because never in the past two years has he apologised to ANYONE

not even principal smith for the one time he flipped out and nearly cursed at a mouthy student at parent's evening

grimacing a little before he does it he finally speaks again.

“english is important. i’m sorry.”

your lips tug up into a bright smile

well???

this is a great interaction??

an apology coming out of levi ackerman of all people

“apology accepted! i’m glad to know you liked the book but now that we’re a tad bit friendlier with each other i wanted to ask for a favour.” your eyes gleam and he swears he can see specks of shining stars in them

“...okay, it depends.”

he’s warming up to you so he considers it

“please don’t cut into my lesson time levi.” his name slips out of your mouth but it’s so natural you don’t even care to correct yourself

“i’m sorry about that too y/n.” your name now ventures out of his mouth too as it tests the waters

wordlessly the two of you agree to first name basis

BUT more important matters are at hand such as how he’s issued you yet another apology?

this is satire surely

because why is he so willing all of a sudden...?

well, that's the power of pride and prejudice, wow you’re really thanking the heavens for blessing this world with jane austen’s existence

jane austen. a woman capable of remarkable things, she's even managed to make an unmoving book hater somehow become a lover

poking at your tuna pasta you and levi are now quiet.

“soooooo, any opinions on mr wickham?” you ask the question hoping to initiate a longer conversation than before

and luckily for you your attempt works

SUCCESS!!

levi pinches the bridge of his nose and the creases on his forehead show he clearly isn't particularly fond of wickham

“don’t get me started he’s so indescribably annoying?”

ok, ok, ok

you don’t even know how it happens but you and levi really hit it off

weeks have passed and you and him have even become lunch buddies

it was so shocking to moblit at first that he dropped his lunch on the floor when he saw you and levi enthusiastically exchanging words

then again, two mr wickham haters are bound to get along

you’re seriously wondering how the two of you ever survived as mortal enemies

yeah, you still disagree a lot but you’re getting there!!

sometimes he helps you out when your computer stops running and in exchange you’re willing to offer him book recommendations

he swears he doesn't want any recommendations from you but you know he enjoys it

yesterday he got microsoft excel out and showed you how useful it really was and you went :O because you never really understood the need for it at all

you’re a little bit of a granny when it comes to tech...

and just today at lunch you recommended he checks some plays out but his nose wrinkled at the mention of shakespeare so the both of you went through a long list of dramas and eventually you were able to interest him in j.b. priestely's an inspector calls

another victory for you!!

anyway, right now the two of you are sitting inside of the staff room seeing as it's that time of the month again.

time for the monthly staff meeting

it's the first one you've had since you and levi became friends and you're worried the both of you will be back at it butting heads

wait, are you friends?

well, you wouldn't mind if that were the case but to be honest you would like to be a little bit more than friends mayb-

no!!! no!!! no!!! stupid thought!!! you retract that statement immediately

no you do not want to be more than friends with levi ackerman, yes he's lovely to a degree but you are not going to elaborate on why it's a terrible idea to fancy him

okay wait, let's elaborate for the sake of elaborating

he's surprisingly charming and wittier than you thought he would be. the fun conversations are making your days now and to be honest it is nice to have someone to spend lunch with (hange usually skips out on lunch all together to tinker in the science labs and set up experiments)

wait... weren't you suppose to explain why you don't want to get with him?

you're an idiot and you don't notice how dumb you really are until everyone just kinda gawks at the both of you because it's so odd seeing you in the same room let alone within a three feet radius of each other.

fuck, you completely forgot you and levi sat at opposite ends of the room

principal smith enters and even he looks visibly shocked at the change in seats but he doesn't mention it and you're grateful he doesn't because you didn't purposefully sit here it just happened on accident

erwin turns in your direction and smiles

"would you like to start off with your proposition for extracurriculars?"

nodding your head you begin passionately.

"well, i'd like to say i don't think we offer the children enough. we have spare funding so why not open another club? cooking perhaps? i understand many of you may not understand the importance of teaching them how to cook but-"

"do you have an obsession for setting these children up for failure?" tensing up you notice it's levi who's spoke and he doesn't sound remotely happy

blinking once and then twice he realizes his tone isn't the best and he mutters an apology "sorry, go ahead i'll add in when you're done."

whispers travel through the room straight away

"did he just say sorry?"

"actually why are those two sitting together?"

"do you think they're you know...?"

miss ral who's sat a little further away is the next person to disagree with you

"i understand the intention but would it not be better to let them have extra math lessons?"

"oh, so you can get a pay rise?" the comeback you make is aggressive and dripping in displeasure

she sits up face burning up

"no- no- absolutely not i take pleasure in teaching all of my classes." flustered and trying to hide her nerves she takes a sip out of her water bottle

you want to pour all of the water out onto that ginger hair of hers

the reason why her interjection is getting on your nerves is due to the fact you overheard her and another one of the math teachers plan to bring this specific point up

and you are well aware that her reasoning behind it has nothing to do with the children

she couldn't care less about them

"do not make me repeat what you and mr bozado were chit chatting about earlier today."

the threat is enough to silence her and just when you think you've handled the situation levi has to give his input

"let's ignore petra's motivations and talk about how teaching these kids how to cook means nothing if they have no tradable skills to offer in the real world." levi's not looking at you. he's either too annoyed or too preoccupied with his thought process

at that moment you feel naive, you thought maybe he would try to understand your opinion seeing as he's been spending so much time with you as of recent but that looks to not be the case

murmurs of agreement fill the room at his statement and you feel pathetic

it's practically the entire room against you now

genuinely how is it these people can manage to be such spoiled sports about everything?

"recently, i asked all of my classes to write an essay about school stress. maybe you won't understand my views because you haven't read their pieces but they need a fucking break." the expletive flies out of your mouth without warning and you flush in embarrassment

that

was

not

professional.

"oh god, i'm sorry i got worked up i shouldn't hav-" fumbling over all of your words you feel even more mortified

the principal raises his hand signalling you stop and you clamp your mouth shut. you're in huge trouble that's for sure

but,,, in spite of the clear difference in opinion between you and the other teachers, soft and well spoken principal smith says the unthinkable

"i have the final say and i believe you are coming from a good place after reading your student's work. how would you feel about running the new cooking club?"

scanning his face for a second you can tell his question is legitimate and the wave of relief that washes over you has never felt better than ever

sighing contently you agree and as the topic of conversation shifts to something else entirely you sense your heart rate picking up

you feel like you're back to square one with levi.

it's yet another day where you’ve saved your students and you should be feeling overjoyed but if anything you feel a little deflated

you wish he would have come around and understood but you can't teach and old dog new tricks

again, the feeling of disappointment wears you down

two weeks have passed since then and your favourite time of year has come. it’s spring term meaning MACBETH

the english curriculum includes plays and it just so happens that today is your first lesson covering shakespeare

and you LOVE shakespeare

something about all the intricate foreshadowing always has you excited

but some children are missing

and it’s way too many to blame on sickness

so you wait for a few minutes but it's consistently radio silent

the last time this happened the culprit had been levi and he promised to never cut into your lesson time

but you could count on him to break his promise after the fiasco that was the monthly meeting

is he back to hating you and hating literature?

well, that's his loss if that's the case!! and no!! you will not upset yourself over the loss of the budding friendship

sighing you get to your feet making a beeline to the door but gabi and falco rush to stop you

awkward chuckles activated they wave their hands to get your attention “OH NO, they’ll only be five minutes!!” their sentence comes out as one big blur of words but you manage to understand them

now you’re doubtful because you know falco and gabi would usually ignore you and allow you to walk out

giving them a knowing glance the pair look between each other

their eyes are clearly communicating and asking if it’s alright to tell you

“i promise i won’t be mad.” you sigh

perhaps if you reassure them they’ll be more likely to spill the beans

“it’s not that you... i don't know. you might be upset.” gabi isn't one to care much for other's feelings so you're slightly anxious even though you shouldn't be

but you’re a tough nut to crack. so, absolutely not. you are not going to upset yourself over whatever it is

“i won’t be hurt. i’ve suffered through reading some of the most emotional classics to ever exist.” hitting your chest with your fist you wince a little because you hit yourself a little too hard

falco’s seems to be too shy to come out with it so gabi takes the lead as she normally does

“some students were talking badly about you so mr ackerman kept them behind to have a talk.”

oh.

yeah, actually you are a teeny weeny bit disheartened because you think you’re nice to all of your pupils but it’s nothing too bad, not everyone will like you

“if that’s all i’ll go get them. thank you for letting me know.” giving them two thumbs up you leave the class immediately

levi is probably scolding them to hell and back

not because he cares for you but because he hates disrespect in general

as you’re nearing the open door of his classroom you hear something you never thought would emerge from levi’s room

“final question. why does mr darcy say he doesn’t want to dance with elizabeth at first?” oh yeah, that’s levi’s voice for sure

an english question?

is he quizzing them on pride and prejudice?

you wait hoping your students don't fail you and are able to provide the correct answer.

“ummm... she’s not pretty enough!!”

levi hums “you answered all five questions right. do you all know why?”

you can’t see the children’s faces but they have to be confused if there’s no immediate response

he grunts in agitation “because your english teacher works hard to teach you every single day. have some respect because that teacher of yours is one in a million.”

taking your bottom lip in between your teeth you fight the urge to smile

“do you know how at every single staff meeting there’s only ever one teacher fighting for you all and what you want. i can assure you that teacher isn’t me, but i believe you can all guess who i'm talking about.”

your heart does a back flip in your chest and you feel jittery but in that really fuzzy good way

like that super duper fuzzy and hazy good way

he’s really very sweet for saying all of this and you're now smiling like an idiot

one pupil takes a chance to make amends “we’re sorry mr ackerman.”

but before levi can give them a response you clap your hands together and walk in unannounced

“apology accepted, now if you want to all be forgiven forever please return to class and answer the questions on the board!” directing them to the door with your hands you make sure they're conscious fo the fact you aren't mad at them

still, never have you seen them so eager to run off to analyze macbeth. you guess levi's deathly stare is the cause for it

holding back a laugh you clear your throat after the last student leaves

“thank you levi :-)”

it’s quiet for a second and you think to ask him about what has been gnawing at your mind

“you didn’t have to do that. you disagreed with me before so... why did you?”

“i say this at every meeting and you never listen but children need to be disciplined.” his unchangeable tone is unwelcoming

again it’s awkwardly silent and you sorta regret even coming over to see what was going on because now you and levi are just having an uncomfortable staring contest

then he scratches the back of his neck and heaves a heavy breath

“it may also be because i really fucking like you, but i look like an idiot saying that when we’ve been at each other's necks for two years.”

oh.

the sudden and brutally honest confession has the wind knocked out of you, you’re stunned

and then you get hit by it too. the realization hits you like rain hits umbrellas on stormy days. you like him too.

you like him for his witty sense of humour, his pure honesty and his hatred for mr wickham only serves as a bonus

yes, you have your differences. many of them. but you like him

he’s no longer a book hater and so by default you can fancy him. he goes against none of your guidelines essentially

you like him, he likes you back?’//’.;

[SCREAMS]

“well, what do you say? will you be this mr darcy's elizabeth bennet?” hearing the cheesy pickup line from him of all people has the butterflies in your stomach exploding in delight

“you sound weird, where's the grumpy math teacher from before?" now you and him are simply shamelessly flirting but HEY!! you have no complaints at all

he scoffs at your sarcastic question

"do you want the equation for a two dimensional heart on a graph beca-"

"can i just kiss you?"

wOWIE are you being bold today y/n???

thankfully you don't have to wait for his answer. levi’s right hand pulls your face in and he slams his lips against yours. he gives your waist a squeeze and you hold him tighter by the neck in response. he has a way of somehow making it all feel gentle and relaxed in the same breath

and... you know what? maybe you should have recommended pride and prejudice to him earlier

but oh well.

what matters the most right now is that you're kissing your mr darcy!!

and he’s kissing his elizabeth bennet

:-)

#levi #levi ackerman #aot #snk #attack on titan #attack on titan levi #levi x reader #levi x y/n #levi headcanons #levi drabbles #levi scenario #teacher levi #levi fanfiction #aot fanfiction #leviiattacks #attack on titan x reader #levi fluff #modern levi #modern levi ackerman

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jungwonenthusiast · 3 years

Note

idk what all you write about kink wise, but could you do sub!jake with pegging? where he’s really subby and cute and the reader (female) takes care of him

A/N: I don't write pegging lol but I hope u enjoy <3 (forgive me if there r any spelling mistakes)

Warnings: oral (m receiving), fingering (f receiving), unprotected sex

Word count: 1.6 k

Jake falls on top of you while you lay in bed. You let out an 'oof' from the sudden weight. His hair is a little damp from his shower and it's poking into your eyes.

"Please give me a warning if you're gonna do that." you wince.

"I'm sorry," he groans and rolls off of you. "I'm not having a good day."

Your brows furrow. "Why? Did something happen?"

He runs a hand through hair and sighs. "The choreo for drunk dazed is just really hard and we're all struggling to be synchronized. It just feels like everyone is blaming each other for it."

You frown and pull him against you so that his head is resting on your chest. "I'm sorry baby. But I'm sure you guys will figure it out, you always do. Maybe everyone was feeling extra crummy today."

"Maybe," he says while wrapping his arms around your waist. "I couldn't stop thinking about coming to see you all day. I think I'm addicted to you."

You giggle.

"Seriously though, what are you laced with? Meth? Crack?" he jokes and you ruffle his hair.

"I think about you all day too sweetheart." you kiss the top of his head.

He smiles and throws his leg on top of yours. "What'd you do today?"

"The usual. School. Work. And dealing with that one bitch who always has the most complicated drink order." you roll your eyes.

"Is that the lady who asks for like twelve different syrups?" he chuckles.

"Yeah, I think it's for her kid too, I should call CPS." you joke and he laughs.

"Ugh, now I can't stop thinking about what happened today." he groans. "I hate being angry, I wish we could all get over this already."

"Sometimes it's worse to just move on, you should clear the air first." you suggest.

"But apologizing sucks." he complains.

"I know but it'll be worth it." you rub his back.

"I need something that will get my mind off of it." he says.

"You got any ideas?"

"Mhm," he says while pushing his hand up your shirt.

You chuckle. "Of course that's what it is."

"What," he says sheepishly. "It's your fault for being so tempting."

You push him onto his back and climb into his lap. His hands immediately find your hips.

You kiss him softly, your thumb gently swiping back and forth on his cheek.

He opens his mouth, inviting your tongue to meet his. He's already grinding up into you and this point.

You hold his hips down. "Patience."

He just whines and gives you puppy eyes, but you don't cave.

You slide your hand up his hoodie and glide your fingers along his warm skin. He feels so good under you, you’ll never be able to get enough of him.

You push his hoodie up and stick your head under, pecking all of the skin you can reach.

He laughs and pets your hair. “I thought you said to be patient.”

“You’re too good to resist.” you say while palming him through his sweats.

He whimpers as he starts to struggle under your touch.

You pull down the band of his sweats just the slightest bit to kiss his hip bone.

He watches you with wide eyes, anticipating your every move.

“If you want me to do something you’re gonna have to ask.” you tease.

“Touch me please,” he says without hesitation.

You smirk before coming up to kiss him while sliding your hand into his Calvins.

He whines into your mouth and you smile, loving how quickly he submits to you.

“I’m sorry my angel had a bad day,” you kiss his jaw. “I’ll make you feel better okay?”

He nods eagerly as you tug his pants down. You waste no time getting your mouth on his cock.

He hisses and grips at the duvet. “Fuck,” he exhales.

You pull away and let spit drip from your tongue down to his tip and it’s so hot that Jake’s tempted to take a picture.

You take him into the back of your throat and his head falls back with a moan. You can see his Adam’s apple dip every time he swallows.

You continue to bob your head up and down and he moves to pet your hair.

“Please don’t stop,” he begs, his desperation sending heat straight between your legs.

“Fuck you’re so good.” his hips buck up and you hold him down. You brace yourself and deepthroat him, you can feel your eyes watering.

He moans and grabs at the headboard behind him. “Can I cum please? Please I need it.” he says hopelessly.

You nod and it only takes one swallow around his tip to get him whimpering and trembling under you.

You swallow his seed while he comes down from his high.

“Thank you,” he exhales before pulling you up for a kiss. “I love you.”

You smile. “I love you too baby.”

“Can you fuck me please?” he hooks his fingers into the band of your shorts and underwear.

You smirk and help him out, throwing your garments onto the floor. He pulls you into his lap and tugs your hoodie over your head.

“So pretty,” he says before kissing your chest, running his tongue over your sensitive nipples. You moan and comb your hands through his hair.

His fingers travel down to your desperate cunt to draw circles on your clit.

You grab his cock, not being able to hold out anymore. You line yourself up with him before slowly sinking down.

He buries his head into your neck. “Fucking god,” he groans. “So wet.”

Your head falls back as he hits your sweet spot.

“You feel so good,” he whimpers.

“Yeah?” you ask cockily.

He looks up at you with sparkling eyes and nods.

“My pretty puppy,” you coo while bouncing up and down on him. “Taking this pussy like a good boy.”

His head falls back down onto your shoulder but you tug his hair, getting his eyes on you.

“Look at me when I fuck you.” you say and he whimpers.

“I’m sorry,” he says sweetly and you kiss him.

He reaches down to play with your clit while you rock your hips against his.

You run your hands softly over his shoulders then down his lean torso. You watch his face and the way the corners of his lips perk up every now and then. He’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

His eyes were clouded and completely taken over by your presence and he looks so pretty you could die.

He holds your waist tight while moaning and whimpering mindlessly, not caring if your neighbors can hear.

His whines begin to get more frantic and you kiss his forehead. “You close?”

“Mhm,” he says. You can tell that he’s trying not to finish. “I don’t think I can hold it anymore.”

"You can go a little longer." you tease.

He shakes his head. "I can't I can't. You feel too good."

You squeeze around him just to have fun and he whimpers, looking at you with desperation in his eyes.

"Please y/n." you can see that he's starting to tear up.

Your hand comes up to tug on his hair. “Cum for me then, be good, puppy.”

“Harder.” he begs and you obey.

His head snaps back and his lips part, letting out the most alluring sounds you could ever hear.

Your bouncing turns into grinding as he releases into you.

“Good boy,” you whisper to him as he relaxes.

He kisses your neck while slumping into you.

You smile. “You did so good baby.”

“Thank you,” he says.

You’re about to get up when he grabs you and pulls you so that your back is against his chest.

“What’s going on?” you ask.

“You didn’t cum,” he says before pushing one finger into you. You moan, still sensitive from the stimulation you had a moment ago.

He drapes your legs over his, spreading you wide.

“All I wanna do is make you feel good.” he says while pushing a second finger in.

Your head falls back onto his shoulder and he takes that opportunity to kiss your neck. He curls his fingers just the slightest bit and your hips buck.

“Fuck,” you moan.

His fingers reach deeper than yours ever could. They make you feel things that you’ve never felt before.

You look down to watch his dripping fingers disappear in and out of your cunt.

It’s not long before your thighs begin to tremble. You guys have been together to the point where he knows every trick that makes your eyes roll back and your back arch, but every time he uses them, it just gets better and better.

“Please cum for me,” Jake uses his free hand to massage your chest. “I wanna be good for you.”

Your hips begin to pull away but he’s quick to pull you against him.

Your moans get more and more desperate as you reach your high. Then finally, you’re falling into an abyss of euphoria.

He peppers kisses all over you as you calm down, his fingers still slowly pumping in and out of you.

You turn around to straddle him and give him a kiss. “You’re so good.” you say.

He blushes like a schoolgirl and kisses your cheek. “I love you.”

You chuckle. It’s cute how often he likes to say it. “I love you too puppy.”

“Am I really that much like a puppy?” he says. “Don’t I look cooler now with my black hair?”

“I suppose,” you ruffle it. “You’re still a cutie to me.” You’re kidding, you know that he’s stupid hot.

He sighs and rolls his eyes.

You giggle. “Why? Do you wanna be bad?” “Mhm.” he nods.

“Maybe I can treat you like you are.” you push him into his back for another round.

#enhypen smut #Jake Sim smut #Kpop smut

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mutigold · 3 years

Text

∞ for dessert — woosan.

summary: in which mommy and daddy come home to find their baby boy doing something naughty.

pairing: daddy!san x mommy!poc!reader x babyboy!wooyoung

genre: smutty smut

warning: daddy kink, mommy kink, hard dom!san, soft switch!reader, sub!wooyoung, food play, rimming, fingering, spanking, degrading, oral receiving [f. & m.], anal, sex toy, spit kink, choking, boyxboy, edging, face slapping, hair pulling, breast feeding kink, crying, aftercare.

word count: 1.8k

author’s note: heyy! i hope you enjoy this little segment! please support and give me some feedback cuz idk if i did this right for my first time 🥺 but i love you regardless 🤍

“honey! we’re home!”

you and san just got back from your first dinner without your babyboy, wooyoung. he had announced that he didn’t feel too well and decided not to go out; ushering you two to have fun without him.

so, you indeed that. san introduced you to a new korean restaurant where you could see the pretty, bright lights upon the city. you ate some tasty pork, siding it with white rice, and drank soju while chatting up with your first lover.

though, it felt weird without the baby of the trio.

before leaving the traditional establishment; you and san determined to be good partners, ordered wooyoung some vanilla ice-cream for dessert. “baby! we brought you something!” you yelled trying to get your second boyfriend’s attention.

“wooyoung?” san questioned.

you turned to san trying to figure out the situation, but he seemed confused as you. “let’s go check up on him. he still might not be feeling okay.”

when he agreed, you two proceeded to go up to your wooden stairs and near the main bedroom. though the closer you two got, the more vibrations became detected. the sounds of wooyoung’s pathetic and beautiful moans spread throughout the hallway.

“ugh, the nerve of this boy..” you croaked listening to the calls of both you and san’s names.

san looked you from the corner of his eye and replied, “you know we gotta punish him right?”

you sighed understanding he was right. the last time wooyoung pulled a stunt like this, you let him off like the soft dom you were. but this time, san was here to witness his doing; and you definitely didn’t want to defy him.

“let me go grab the ice-cream..”

opening the bedroom door, you spot wooyoung on the king-sized bed rubbing his cock and thrusting a small, pink buzzing toy in his hole. “o–oh fuck! mommy! oh, daddy! faster!”

you bit your bottom lip and felt your lace underwear become damp noticing that the sex toy was from your drawer. then, your eyes drew down to view wooyoung’s tight rectum clenching with every push. “yes! that feels so good! i–i think i’m gonna come!”

“oh honey, that wouldn’t be the smartest thing to do.”

wooyoung immediately stops hearing your stern tone. he jumps up from his initial position and hides the vibrator behind his back. “h–hi, mommy.” he mummers.

you sighed exploring different emotions due to his actions; “now babyboy. what were you just doing, and don’t lie to mommy.”

“i–i don’t know what you're talking about mommy.”

a sadistic smile creeps upon your face knowing san was literally gonna fuck his shit up. “babyboy, you don’t know what you just started,” you say as san walks into the door with the cold, creamy dessert.

wooyoung’s bunny-like orbs bounce to san’s shivering frame and waters with tears. “no! no! i’m sorry mommy! i won’t do it again! i promise!”

you walk toward your naked boyfriend and grasp his smooth chin shaking it. “no can do baby, i gave you a chance to explain yourself and now you have to suffer the consequences.” wooyoung’s lip quivers at your statement and looks at san again with fear.

straightening up your posture, you turn to the dominant male and vocalize, “do you wanna start or shall i?”

“i think you should. he’s not getting babied this time.”

sitting down on the bed; you pull wooyoung toward you, signaling for him to come across your lap. “how many should i give you babyboy? fifteen? maybe ten? i think ten is a good number–”

you sensed his cock twitch in excitement on your leg cutting your sentence off. “–and you better count or we’re starting over.”

slap

“one.”

slap

“two.”

slap

“t-three.”

san’s presence appeared behind you as wooyoung cutely whimpered the numbers. “look at that pretty ass turning red.”

slap

“what did i say babyboy, keep counting.”

“i–i’m sorry! four.”

slap

“eight, nine..”

your hand tingles with anticipation at the last spank. “come on, one more.”

“ah! ten!”

you flipped him over caressing his flushed bottom and kissing his wet cheeks. “aww, you did so good baby! but it isn’t over yet.” wooyoung’s blurry eyes look up to notice san licking his lips sadistically.

he roughly grabs his chin, bringing him towards his face. “listen to me, you little brat. y/n may be all nice and sweet to you, but this is the last time you act out. especially when we were so worried about your health; and you lied.”

“i-i’m sorry daddy!”

“yeah, you’ll be sorry alright.” he releases wooyoung and unbuttons his black, formal pants. “come suck on my cock.”

wooyoung quickly grips his monster cock, licking him from the base to his pre-cum covered tip. san’s nostrils flared up at wooyoung’s bratty actions, pulled the strands from his head, and slapped his face. “do. not. play. with me. either you suck my cock or you don’t get to come tonight.”

and with that, san begins to get sucked on. wooyoung deep-throats the cock; saliva dripping. “look at you taking down that big cock. you look so pretty babyboy.” you moan looking at your boyfriends play in front of you.

wanting in on that play, you rub on wooyoung’s ass as an idea pops into your head. “arch your back and spread your legs for me, honey,” you say picking up the melted ice-cream.

and he does just that still engulfing on san. you drop a pint of spit along with some of the dessert on your baby’s puckered star, rubbing your thighs for pleasure. then you lower yourself, licking inside of wooyoung’s ass.

“oh my god! mommy!” he suddenly shouts in pleasure. you began to french kiss his anus tasting the sweetness; trying to find that special spot inside of him. “keep sucking daddy’s cock baby.”

san groans deeply at your seductive voice and wooyoung’s moaning around his cock. “that’s it babyboy. should i let you come tonight? maybe we’ll make you apologize with come in your mouth first. then maybe your dumb self would get it after that.”

wooyoung rubs himself on the bed with every insult san makes and every thrust your tongue moves. “oh, i think he likes that daddy. don’t you baby?”

“mmm!”

switching it up, you stop rimming him, making sure to lick up all the cream, and stick three fingers up his ass making him whine. “shhh, baby. i’m just prepping you for daddy’s cock, okay? how about this; if you come up with a good apology for daddy and me, i’ll let you fuck me while he fucks you. how about it?”

he moans in agreement as san fills his mouth up with come. “good fucking boy making me come. come on, give us that apology.”

taking his cum-filled entrance off, he gibbers with, “i’m sorry! i swear i’ll never do it again! i swear this time, mommy, daddy! i’ll do whatever you want, please fuck me!”

you looked up at your other boyfriend once again trying to view his expression. if you were in charge at this moment, you would have accepted his apology; however, it was san that was in control and he was always unpredictable.

“what do you think san? was it a good enough apology?” you asked.

“mhmm... i think it was. turn over so i can stick my cock deep inside you while you eat mommy’s pussy out. then you can fuck her; i like that plan more, don’t you?”

“yes daddy, thank you so much!”

wooyoung turns over so you can sit on his face while san can fuck him. “let me taste your pussy, mommy.” listening to his command, you sit on his warm organ feeling him suck on your clit. “ohhh, baby..”

meanwhile, the dominant male pounds wooyoung’s ass hitting his prostate and making him gasp into your channel. “ah! yes, baby! suck my fucking clit! such a good boy for mommy..” with all your moaning, you didn’t even notice your eyes closing.

but when you opened them, they spot the small, pink sex toy at the corner of the bed. you grabbed it, turned it on, and placed it on the nerve tingling with pleasure. “yessss! stick your tongue me, baby! you’re about to make come! ah!”

creaming, your thighs shake from the sudden desire. you get off of wooyoung’s face, licking and kissing his wet face covered with your essence. “oh, you did mommy so good babyboy. are you ready for me to ride you?”

he whines in agreement as san pulls out of him; setting him up over by the headboard while being under him. “okay baby, i’m gonna ride your cock now.”

both you and san begin to push on him, giving him double the pleasure. “oh my god! i love you guys! i love you so fucking much!” he cries tears dripping down his sweaty face. you drop on him while the other boyfriend thrusts into him hitting his prostate again.

“please! please!”

the feeling of your clenched pussy around him and san’s large cock pushing into him began to make him go crazy. “i–i think i about to come! i’m about to come!”

you bring your small hand up to choke wooyoung’s slender tanned neck, demanding, “uh-uh, you don’t get to come before mommy and daddy honey. ah! come on baby, make us come.”

“oh, mommy! daddy! please come!”

grabbing more of the leftover melting ice-cream, you pour it along your chocolate breasts. “be quiet and suck mommy’s nipples, babyboy. it’ll keep your bratty ass close.” san huffed out still pounding wooyoung’s prostate.

so, that’s what he did. like a baby, the submissive male licked and sucked the sweet cream that was on your nipples. “ooo! you like mama’s milk, don’t you baby.” he moaned nevertheless fuzzing with overall pleasure.

“fuck, i’m about to come in your ass.”

hearing that, made you climb over the edge and come around wooyoung’s twitching cock. “oh! fuck! you’re making me come, baby!”

“shit me too, come with us babyboy. you have five seconds. one–”

not even a second later, wooyoung explodes inside of your cunt, painting your insides white. “ugh! thank you so much! i’ll never do it again!”

after coming down from all the sensory overload, you and san take the time to clean up and do some aftercare with wooyoung. “you did so good baby. i’m so proud of you. but why didn’t you tell us you were sexually frustrated?” you sweetly asked.

“i didn’t want to be a bother. i learned my lesson, i’m sorry.”

san kisses his cheek; replying with, “we don’t ever want you to feel like that. you’re also apart of this relationship, wooyoung. next time, just talk to us.”

“m’kay. i love you” he coos.

you giggled, also kissing his sweaty cheek. “we love you more, babyboy.”

“question, where’d that ice-cream come from?”

“oh! that was for the dessert.”

#sub!idol #sub!ateez #sub!wooyoung #dom!ateez #dom!san #poly!ateez #poly!reader #ateez #kpop #ateez x reader #ateez x you #ateez x y/n #ateez smut #ateez x atiny #∞golden-bbi

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kashimos-hajime · 3 years

Text

homestretch of the hard times | g.t.

summary: the eve days of your potential death kinda spurns things to move forward: for takemura, it means confessions. for you, it means making exceptions. and drinks. ‘cause takemura’s the pickiest fucking eater you’ve ever met.

WARNINGS: small spoilers for act 1 of cyberpunk 2077 and references to non-spoiler texts between takemura and v, just fluff, small angst, swearing, idk what else is going on so if there are actual spoilers thats completely coincedental ndlnskfsldnf pairing: goro takemura x fem!street-kid!v word count: 2.6k

a/n: so cdpr did us dirty for not allowing us to romance him (to my knowledge) but he has my mind, heart and everything else so :) listened to the bones by maren morris w/ hozier

part of the tales of a two-bit thief series

It starts with something straight out of a romance movie: A car crash, saving each other’s lives (well, him more than you) and “Wait, V, I need you.”

You don’t know how you got here, to be precise. There were a chain of events, some absolutely stand up fucking moments on your part, and just… fuckery. So much fuckery and life went to shit.

All you know is the ticking time bomb’s only ticking louder and at this point, the only thing that can silence it at all is the man beside you. Not even the meds Misty gave you can help you now.

You’re sitting in his car because you called him and he had answered and now… now they’re on one of the off ramps looking over Night City like they own the fucking place.

Maybe you did, once. Ha, maybe back when everything seemed more job to job and not life to life. For a moment, maybe you were in the big leagues.

Takemura doesn’t say anything, even though you can tell he wants to. His hair still pulled into that man bun, collared shirt with not a single wrinkle in sight. Weird how he never looks out of place, not really. Not even with the car crash. Shit, he always looked good.

You think you’re actually gonna miss that. That one semblance of someone being put together that gave you the hope that maybe you could stick it too.

You think you’re gonna miss a lot of things about him—from his stupid complaints about the food here, to his stupid random philosophy texts in the day, to the fact that he eats the ramen you buy anyway without complaint, even though it’ll never compare to what he has in Japan.

The thought that counts.

They don’t even have the radio on, just the dim lights of the car, a window rolled down. You don’t smoke but you feel like you should be tapping a cig either way. You haven’t had the time to just fucking breathe—not with Silverhand breathing down your neck, corpo rats swarming you on all sides.

Everyone wants a piece of you, it feels like.

You look at Takemura.

Almost everyone.

“Thank you,” you tell him quietly, with difficulty. It’s hard to get through your words without thinking Silverhand’s behind your back, mocking you. You’re so fucking tired. “It hasn’t been easy.”

He doesn’t respond. He’s too busy looking at one of the cars nearly collide with a pedestrian. You could’ve laughed. You used to make fun of the shitty drivers in Night City, knowing full well you’re one of them.

You get chased by a couple of cops, rules start to bend.

You used to wonder why you never left.

Then, you actually left, and you realized that hell, you can take the person out of Night City—can’t take the Night City out of a person.

Atlanta fucking sucked, but maybe you should’ve stayed there.

But then, a tiny voice whispers as you look out the window to the fresh night wind. You never would’ve met him.

It’s funny, you think. To come back and get a brain tumour in the shape of a rocker who can’t fucking touch anyone who loves him, who he loved, only for you to fall in love with a corpo you can’t fucking touch at all because… because there is no time left. It just isn’t fair.

“I used to be a corpo kid,” you confess, looking at him with a wry smile again. That catches his attention. He looks at you with those eyes that scrutinize you, interrogate you, peel you apart to your bare essentials and you have to look away before you can’t control your face anymore. God fucking damn it. “Not when it mattered, obviously, but… I remember what it was like. Grew up hating every single on of them.”

“Your parents were Arasaka?”

“Mhm. Security division.” It’s like your eyes are magnetic to his because when you blink, you find yourself regarding him again. Your fingers play at your lips. “Counterintelligence. I was supposed to go into that, too. Big dreams.”

“I see.”

“Yeah, then my parents were tried for treason and murdered, so I got thrown out. That’s it.” Your hand falls away. You pick at the chipped nail polish on your thumb. “Never told anyone that. ‘Cept…” Jackie. Well, he’s fucking dead, now. “‘Cept you, now, I guess. Guess some corpos aren’t so bad.”

The corner of his mouth pinches up like he’s flattered and you can’t help the pleased warmth spreading through your chest.

“Should I be honoured I am one of the few exceptions you have made?”

“Well, I don’t make exceptions often, so…” You grin slyly. He looks away just as you catch a flash of his smile growing. It’s a nice smile. You wish you saw it more often before the end of the road. Maybe it’s one of the regrets you have, too. “Yeah, maybe you should feel special.”

“Hm.”

“C’mon, Takemura. Humour the walking dead, yeah?” You stretch against the leather of his car seat with a pleased sound. “I’m spending what time I have left with who I want to. Can’t ask for much better than that.” A quiet hangs in the air as you melt against the black leather and you look at Takemura who’s staring at the wheel with an intensity you don’t often see. It makes your gut squirm.

“And I? I am one of those people?”

You lean on one hip and look at him, bending a knee and resting an ankle on your thigh. He looks at you with an uncertainty—an uncertainty you’re sure echoes in your eyes.

It was business, then it wasn’t. Maybe it never was.

“Yeah. You’re one of the few on the short list.”

“Exceptions again.”

You laugh. “Yeah. You’re an exception to most things, I think. Weird, that.”

“How so?”

“Ah, I don’t know. I’ve had family—still do, ones that matter, you know. Just… no one ever like you, Takemura. Drives me crazy.”

“The feeling is mutual. Your mocking brings you onto thin ice, V.” His fingers tap against the steering wheel. The engine’s off so it seems more fidgety than anything. Weird. You never noticed he fidgeted before. Maybe he’s nervous?

About what?

“I must ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

“If you have a future, what do you see for yourself?”

Your eyebrows shoot up. You frown and pick at your flecking nail polish even more, looking at your hand and focusing more on that so you don’t have to answer your question. His eyes burn into you and you swallow, trying not to act like you haven’t thought, in regret, at night, about a hundred million fucking times the possibilities they could’ve had together.

You’re not about to say all that.

Instead: “Settling down with the family. Mama Welles, people at the Coyote.” You blatantly don’t look at him when you add, “Others. This has been enough action for a lifetime.” You rest your hands on your lap and chance a glimpse at him. He’s looking away from you, out the window on his side, and you shift in your seat. “How about you? You must’ve… had dreams. Before all this shit went down. You make it out of here and then what?”

When he looks at you, your heart nearly cracks at the sadness in his eyes. He smiles, but there is no strength, and his eyes are darker than the night surrounding them.

“I would go to the countryside, just as I’ve always wanted. Leave this, all of this, behind. Rural Japan is beautiful, so a small town would suffice where everyone knows everyone. We do favours for one another. It is community. Nothing like here.” His lips pull into a tiny frown. “When I was a younger man, I wanted a daughter,” is all he says. “I believe I could have been a great father, so perhaps… perhaps one day.”

“A daughter? Not a son?” you ask curiously, and he almost chuckles. You can’t help the faint smile on your face.

“If my daughter grew up anything like her mother,” he explains with a slight glance towards you, “I would have more hope than a son who was like me.”

You frown. “You’re not a bad man, Takemura. Any son like you—with your code of honour, your shitty selfie skills—no one’s gotta a chance.”

He merely scoffs in response. Again, with the you mocking him. It’s a wonder he lets you.

“But really, that sounds… nice. A daughter, a wife.” You drum your fingers against your knee and his eyes dart to yours, click like they were always destined to meet, and your lips part. Words stall on your tongue and you want to speak but in the dim lights, you are lost in the darkness of his eyes. Something comes, something goes, and you barely croak out, “Whoever marries you will have to deal with so much of your shit that the kids have to turn out alright. The complaining, for one. Picky eater for another.”

This time, he does chuckle and you swallow a breath at the sound. “Dealing with it comes with practice, V.”

“Is that so?”

“Shouldn’t you know?”

“I—“ For once, no funny retort, no witty quip shoots out of your mouth, and you realize that there is an implication—an intricate dance where they’re struggling not to step on each other’s toes and nearly failing at every turn, yet somehow, it works because they’re dancing, and it’s quiet, and it’s… it’s peaceful.

Shit, you’re getting a load of this. When’d you become a poet?

“I guess I should know,” you finally say. “Never understood why I got so giddy whenever I saw your texts, you know, seein’ your name flash on my phone.” You laugh bitterly. “Guess I know why, now.” He’s silent and you don’t look at him. You look at the dashboard where you’ve kicked your feet up a dozen times, the glove compartment that still has your sunglasses inside.

Shit.

“Thank you for everything. Shit’s a little… more bearable, I guess. When you’re around, that is.” The words come out stilted, awkward, but your heart is so heavy in your throat you feel like you’re going to choke. You look into your lap, your whole body incinerating under what you’re sure is the most judgemental glare of your life and you just hope to fucking God this man says something, does something.

Holy shit. You’re going to die of embarrassment. Didn’t even think that was possible.

Then, a loud sigh. A sigh you’ve heard often enough beside you right before a gunfight or when he has to eat the food you ordered for him or even the nights when they’re exhausted, bruised, and just plain tired right before going to sleep where they lay on the floor.

It’s exasperated, a how on earth did we get here, a very annoyed again, you’re so fucking stupid, and you’re still running through your list on what this particular sigh can mean before a hand gently takes hold of yours. Your eyes dart to his, blinking and he stares at you like you’ve just stabbed him. Your heart is fucking racing in your chest, pounding like thunder. His fingers fold over and you realize, as you interlace fingers, that his skin is burning at your touch.

Or maybe, it’s the other way around.

They sit there in silence, not looking at one another, looking out windows, parts of the car, everything but each other, and when he squeezes your hand, you close your eyes and swallow your heart.

It’s over.

“V,” he murmurs, voice so deathly quiet and raspy in your ears that your gut clenches. You turn to watch him. “Tell me that you will not stop fighting.” You swallow your breath as his eyes flicker from your own to your parted lips. He inhales quietly and you swear you can feel his heartbeat pulsing in his fingers in your grip. “That this is not all for nothing.”

“It isn’t.“

“Then I was right.” His eyes flutter back to your gaze and he tilts his head. Wisps of fine hair escaping his manbun brush over his nose and you reach up on your own accord, swiping it behind your ear. You lean over the console, your elbow digging into the leather and, tentatively, you trail your fingers down his jaw, hold his face in your hand. “I am… what is that phrase you use so often?”

“SNAFU?”

“No.”

“Assblasted.”

“No.”

“Royally fucked?”

“We need to expand your vocabulary.” You smile nefariously as his other hand reaches for your chin. He pinches it lightly, thumb stretching up to brush over your lips and your face freezes at his touch. “But yes. Royally fucked. I wasn’t wrong when I said I needed you.”

“I think that meant a whole something else back then,” you whisper rawly and he smiles sombrely. His thumb leaves your mouth to brush your cheek, his eyes fixing on you as if he’s trying to memorize aspects of your face: the arch of your nose, the bow of your smile, the way your brow wrinkles. “Meant more business-like.”

“I did. And now, I believe the terms have changed.” He arches an eyebrow. “Are we at a mutual understanding, V?”

“Yes.” And I hate that we are. Your hand along his jaw lifts to wrap around his wrist. “Consider that feeling mutual, yeah? It goes both ways.”

“I will.” Another small smile graces his lips. It makes him look younger every time and you rub your thumb over the back of his hand.

“Do you wanna grab something to eat before you drive me back home for some shuteye?”

“The choices here are atrocious, V.”

“Then, drinks,” you propose, letting go of his wrist. He lets go of your chin, and turning to face the front, you kick up your feet on his dash. He stares at you for a moment then sighs because there really isn’t anything he can do about it. Nor, do you think, he wants to. You squeeze his hand and send him a silly smile. “How about drinks? I wasn’t hungry anyway.”

“Are you paying?”

You eye him incredulously. “Who do you take me for? You?”

He snorts and the engine roars to life with a flick of his wrist. He grabs the wheel dominantly and you swallow at the way his fingers wrap around the handle. “The Afterlife, then?”

“Or, we could make it rustic.” You pull his hand into your lap playfully and run a thumb over his knuckles. His eyes flit over and you send him a smirk. “I know Mama Welles doesn’t like you, but the Coyote’s serving cheap. Happen to like me there.” He begins to pull out of their little overhang and he nudges their joined hands into your abdomen, silently telling you to buckle in. Rolling your eyes, you mumble out a ‘boomer’ underneath your breath before letting go of him and following orders.

He settles a hand on your thigh and squeezes. You hang an arm out the window.

The wind’s running through the car, he has the radio on low, and they’re easing through onto the highway.

Your chest is lighter than a feather, mind’s quieter than a ghost.

You’ve seen scarier deaths, dealt a lot more. You know that silence is a bigger killer than most bullets.

But here you are now…

“I’m changing this,” Takemura says. “This music is terrible.”

…Shit, maybe life isn’t so bad, ending the way it is.

804 notes · View notes

moonlit-imagines · 3 years

Text

The Doctor Is In

Stephen Strange x reader

Bruce Banner x reader (platonic)

warnings:

a/n: hey! idk how to build stairs guys. i didnt feel like researching it. i dont care if it’s wrong. leave me alone. part 2/2.

prompt:

Out (1)

There was no hope of Stephen coming back. Every truth you had to face was harsher than the last. Even when you got home and realized that Wong was among the vanished...and he didn’t fix the stairwell.

Maybe the stairwell was a good thing. It gave you something to focus on in these hard times. Sure, it’d been a month since the incident, but that still wasn’t enough time for the world to heal. That meant that contractors were hard to come by. But the roof would have a tarp over it for some time. No way you’d deal with that.

So you took a trip to the hardware store, you stocked up on wood and nails, lacquer and wood stain. Anything else you needed for the project. Anything to keep you busy.

There were so many sleepless nights. You hated being alone in Sanctum, hated being alone in your bed. Every so often you would nap on the couch, but then you’d get right back to work. Weeks on end you spent on the stairwell. How long will you stick around while I talk about the stairwell?

Doctor Banner called you from time to time. His voicemails were kind, heartfelt, but you couldn’t stop now. The gutted stairwell from a couple weeks ago was coming by very nicely. As nice as it could when worked on my an amateur. Alright, it looked awful, but you couldn’t stand using a ladder to get to the second floor.

As you were staining the wood, you played a message from Bruce:

“Doctor L/N, it’s Bruce. I hope you’re doing alright, but you know that if you’re not, I’m here for you. All the remaining Avengers have kind of...gone their separate ways for the most part, they’re pretty broken up about everything. I just want you to know that because you don’t...have to be strong right now. I understand if you can’t be. Just call me back whenever you can? I want to make sure you’re alright. We’re survivors, we should stick together.”

Bruce hadn’t known you long, but he was still a great person and friend. You should call him back, but if you lost focus, you may lose yourself. So you continued to wipe against the grain of the fresh stairs and moved to the next step. And the next. And the next.

The last step was the lacquer and seal. You were scared to finish up. What would you occupy yourself with once this was over? You thought about the answer until the very last step and admired your shabby craftsmanship. It’ll do. Or maybe you should tear it all down and start over? While you were thinking over your newest thought, your phone rang again. Bruce Banner.

“Hey, Bruce.” You answered the phone as you normally would and sat on the floor in front of your work.

“Y/N?” Bruce asked in disbelief. “Y/N, hey! How are you? I don’t know if you’ve been getting my calls..?”

“I have.” You quickly replied.

“Oh.” He quietly nodded to himself.

“I’m sorry, Bruce.” You realized your mistake and knew you may have come off as a little rude. He’d been nothing but kind to you, but you’d just realized you were alone today.

“No, no! It’s okay! I understand, don’t worry. What have you been up to?” His effort to start a conversation may be successful this time around.

“I fixed the stairwell. All of it. That’s what I’ve been doing the past few weeks. I just finished a few minutes ago.” You felt awkward talking to him. Not because of him, not at all. Just because you hadn’t really had any human contact in a while.

“I didn’t take you for a carpenter, Doctor.” Bruce was genuinely surprised with your skillset, you could hear it in his voice.

“And you still won’t once you see the job I did.” You actually managed to let out a chuckle. You didn’t know you could still do that.

“Oh, I hear ya loud and clear.” Bruce laughed, too. I wonder if he was having the same thoughts as you. “Y/N, do you want to go out to lunch like, now? I could use some company, maybe you could, too.”

“Yeah,” you checked the time on your watch, Stephen’s watch, and realized you worked through the night and day, “text me an address, I’ll meet you anywhere. See you soon.” You hung up pretty quickly, only to get ready ASAP. You were sort of covered in “stair supplies” and smelled like...not good. You’d take a quick shower, put on some clean clothes, and take off. Unfortunately, the stairs weren’t dry, so it was another round up the ladder.

—————

You finally took a trip back to your bedroom and shuffled through the closet filled with your...late husband’s clothing. It still smelled like him, surprisingly. You wondered just how long it would last. You hoped it’d be forever, but you grabbed your own clothes and quickly got dressed, then checked your phone to see that Bruce was running “a little late.” It’s okay, you were, too.

You took a seat on Stephen’s side of the bed and decided to snoop. Did it count as snooping if he was no longer here? You knew that he didn’t keep secrets from you, so what was the worst you could stumble upon? Books, books, and more books. But some were important books, ones detailing mystic arts. Maybe...maybe it was time to pick up a new skill. You stuffed the book in your bag and decided to head out now before you got too comfy in an actual bed.

—————

You and Bruce sat at a booth in the empty diner, awkwardly gazing over the menu while trying to stir up some conversation. It’d been a while since either of you had visited someone, you didn’t even know what to talk about.

“So, home renovations, huh?” Bruce asked while peaking over the fold of the laminated list.

“Something like that.” You sighed and set yours down and aside. “I know what I’m getting. What about you?”

“I just need a minute.” The only noise besides your bland conversation was the rustling of dishes in the back, which didn’t last for long. “Got it. A burger. That’ll do it.” Bruce announced and got the attention of the waiter.

Ordering took a second, but soon you and Bruce were alone again and ready to talk.

“How are the other Avengers? I know you said they went their separate ways, but...” You inquired and were surprised to see a smile crack on Bruce’s face. “What?”

“At least I know you listened to my voicemails.” He chuckled and took a sip of his iced tea. “They’re dealing with it. I don’t exactly know how. Nat’s staying at the compound, I’m sure she’s glad to have a home again. Cap went out on his own. Thor went back to his people. Tony and Pepper are trying to separate themselves from the world, I think. I don’t blame them. That’s all I know.” You stayed silent, but nodded along to his outer thoughts. “You alright?”

“I’m sorry, Bruce.” You started. “I didn’t mean to ignore you, leave you hanging. I just still don’t know how to take this. I keep thinking about what Stark told me when he came back. His whole ‘this will all make sense soon’ thing. Nothing about this makes sense to me.”

“Well, Strange was different, wasn’t he? He had that Stone, he had those powers, he might know something we don’t.” Bruce explained to you, an attempt to comfort you. “We’ve tried everything, y/n. Maybe it’s time to wait, maybe in time you’ll see that he sacrificed himself...for you.” You teared up at the scientist’s words and quickly wiped your eyes as the food was placed before you. “Thank you, sir.” Bruce said as the waiter walked off. “Hey, y/n? It’s okay that you’re hurting. I get it. But please don’t act like you’re alone. I’m gonna be here for you, okay?”

“Yeah,” you sniffled while hiding your wet eyes, “Me, too, Bruce.”

—————

When you got stressed out when you were younger, you threw yourself into your studies. Maybe that was why you were such an accomplished scientist. But what studies did you have now?

You had a library full of knowledge. It wasn’t your usual knowledge, but it would suffice. Now, the book that you’d snagged from Stephen’s bedside was a bit advanced for you, but that was okay. You had options.

Where would you even begin? This place was bigger than you remembered. Was this another spell? Did you know what you were talking about? Stop thinking, y/n. Start reading.

You picked out a book. You just ran with it. You recalled stories from Stephen. You remembered you needed the ring. What did he call it? Song ring? Sink ring? Slink ring?

Sling ring.

Not a problem, you could find one. Sanctum probably had tons. Maybe in Stephen’s study? You wished you had asked him more about his arts before, you just didn’t get it at the time.

One was stashed in a drawer. It was Stephen’s ring. The one he used himself. And it was the only one you could find, so it’d have to do. And so you got to studying.

The first time the air sparked by your hand was magical. Literally. But it made you feel something for the first time in nearly three months. And that was just the beginning. It felt like you were carrying on Stephen’s legacy in a way. You’d never be “Sorcerer Supreme,” but you didn’t have any intention of that. You just wanted his memory to live on, even if it were through you.

So you’d practice and you’d learn and you’d practice and you’d learn. You’d see Bruce whenever you could, and he soon noticed your mood change.

“I’m glad to see you happy for a change.” He told you while you walked through the park.

“Yeah, it feels great.” You told him while watching construction vehicles cleaning up the debris that had been lying around for months.

“I’ve been meaning to ask. What’s with the ring?” He looked at your hand and you lifted it closer.

“Oh...it’s Stephen’s.” You simply stated.

“Is it like a wedding ring?” He took a closer look and let you laugh it up for a quick second.

“No, no!” You shook your head at the ridiculous question. “I might as well show you. I haven’t told anyone yet, but that’s because you’re the only person I talk to.” You stopped in your tracks and shooed him back to give yourself enough space. “Ready?” Bruce looked terrified, but nodded a response and watched you raise your hands ahead, concentrating on the small portal you had began to open. Bruce recognized the opening since he’d fallen through it before.

“You’re one of the sorcerers?” Bruce’s eyes widened. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“I just started learning!” You exclaimed with a bright smile. “I needed something to get me through this all...and I wanted to protect Sanctum like Stephen and Wong had always stressed doing.”

“That’s...amazing, y/n. Self-taught magic? By a scientist, no less. Look at you go!” Bruce had a knack for being supportive. You were glad that he crashed through your roof and into your stairs.

“Thanks, Bruce. Maybe in time I’ll be able to cast a spell that fixes my roof.” You shrugged.

“Oh? Come on! I said I was sorry!”

—————

And then five years went by. Flew by, actually. You’d become a skilled sorcerer and used your skills around Sanctum. There wasn’t much to do here on Earth. It was a bit quiet.

Bruce was still a close friend of yours! You’d advised him in his quest for balance. He was no longer at war with himself.

The roof was fixed! You had Bruce spectate your very own spell to repair the damages he’d inflicted, but all was forgiven.

Then one normal day you got a call from him.

“Hey Bruce! How’s it going?” You answered, even though it interrupted your meditation.

“Can you meet me at the diner ASAP?” He sounded a little off, but still upbeat, so you opened a portal and stepped through to find yourself right out front. It was easy to spot him through the window, but there were others with him. Avengers.

“Hey, all.” You took a seat beside an unfamiliar one. “Hi, I’m y/n.” You told him as a plate of food was set in front of you.

“I ordered you your favorite. Hope you’re hungry.” Bruce smirked at you and let you get to it.

“So, it’s been a while, huh?” You asked the two Avengers across from you.

“It has.” Natasha sighed. “I wasn’t aware you were...also a sorcerer.” She began.

“I had a lot of free time.” Last they saw you, you weren’t as cool, calm, or collected. They were glad that you’d found peace. “I have a feeling this isn’t a social lunch.”

“I’m sorry to pull you from your calm, Doctor L/N—” You cut Steve off.

“Y/N is fine.” You replied.

“Scott here,” Steve motioned to the awkward man sitting alongside you, “was stuck in the Quantum Realm for some time, if you’re familiar. He thinks that there’s a way to...to undo what Thanos did.” You peered over at Bruce and watched him shrug as your heart started to beat faster and stomach started doing turns. You hated the thought of getting your hopes up, but you still dearly missed your husband.

“What can I do?”

—————

You had a hand in opening the dozens of portals around the ruins of the Avengers Compound, but you weren’t the only one. Stephen, Wong, and hundreds of other sorcerers were assisting to bring an army to combat the troops of an outdated Thanos, and you were so close to Stephen.

Using your magic to create a pathway to the sky, you leaped from step to step to get a clear look of the battlefield. And to let Stephen see you. He did. And so did the cloak.

You’d never used your powers to fight, so you’d have to step it up out here. But you knew Stephen wouldn’t let you get hurt. And you believed that you could handle this yourself.

“Y/N!” Stephen called to you as he flew to your altitude and held you in a special embrace that you’d nearly forgotten the feeling of. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Are you kidding me, Stephen?” You chuckled through tears that you just couldn’t hold in, tears that dragged through the dirt and dust on your face, clearing small lines down your cheeks. “I have missed you every day since the moment you left. I am so glad to have you back.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t say goodbye, y/n. I truly am. But I knew that you would manage without me. You always have.” He explained to you in such a heartfelt way, admiring your capability to still be standing in the air.

“You knew I’d become a sorcerer, didn’t you?” You cocked a brow and watched him smirk.

“I had an inkling.” He joked with you as the firefight below was still rampaging.

“It’s very unprofessional of you to be talking to your s/o during times of crisis like this.” You chuckled and broke your spell to fall back to the ground, stopping yourself before it was too late in what could only be described as a “superhero landing.” Now that you were on the ground, assistance was required for your own side of the battle.

You and your fellow sorcerers had to defend more than anything. Shields popped up across the battlefield in an effort to keep your people alive. There were too many close calls and you wanted to survive long enough to go home with your husband.

“Y/N, over here!” Stephen beckoned you to the flood that would have made this fight much harder, and you were delighted to defend alongside him. The cloak rushed to you and gave you a fast track to the edge of the water, you couldn’t help but that it for it’s kind service. “Ready?”

“Of course.” You lifted your palms and motioned towards that water, redirecting it and keeping it at bay for the time being. “I love you, Stephen.” You remembered to tell him.

“I love you, too, y/n.” He replied with his focus still on the flood. “And I’m proud of you. So very proud.”

“Couldn’t have done it with you.” You joked and stabilized the rushing waters, giving you a true load-off before the end was clear. Dust passed through the sunken hole you all stood inside. Dust of your enemies that had finally lost. You and Stephen stared at each other in disbelief, yet couldn’t help but run into each other’s arms. “This is real? We won?”

“In a way.”

—————

Stephen and you dressed in all black were standing in the back yard of your savior. Tony had given his life to give others a life. You were just sorry that it had to be him.

Bruce stood alongside you with a long face and an injured arm. It was time for you to be there for him like he’d been there for you.

“Thanks for bringing back my husband, Bruce.” You whispered to him while holding Stephen’s hand tightly. Over the past few days, you just couldn’t seem to let go of him.

“Oh, yeah? That was nothing.” Bruce playfully answered through his sorrow.

“How’s your arm feeling?” You asked him, making sure the sling wasn’t twisted up an any way.

“Not the greatest, but I’ll be okay.” He assured you and watched as you leaned your head onto Stephen’s smile with a sense of relief. “I’m really happy for you, y/n...”

“But?” You raised an eyebrow with a hint of worry.

“But you better still hang out with me.” He smiled at you and you even heard a chuckle escape Stephen’s lips.

“You can count on it, Bruce.” You lifted a hand for a fist bump and collided your knuckles with his, even if they were a bit oversized.

“Shall we get going, dear?” Stephen asked you while he hooked his arm around yours and opened a portal home. You waved goodbye to Bruce and went on your way, stepping right into Sanctum as the way closed behind you.

“So you really meant it, huh?” You asked your husband while setting your belongings down.

“That I love what you’ve done with the place?” Stephen laughed at your oncoming smirk and walked forward, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you forward to kiss the top of your head. “Of course, dear.”

“Even the stairs?” You peeked your head up to look at your husband and watched his smile grow. You’d never bothered casting a spell to properly repair them. Maybe you were just too proud of your work. Maybe it was a reminder that you got through these five years on your own terms.

“I do.” He leaned down to kiss your lips. “It adds character to this place.”

“More character than the magic?” You prodded at him.

“I think you mean ‘sorcery.’” He corrected as you leaned into his chest and slightly swayed back and forth, taking in his presence for the 50th time since he’d come home.

“Oh, of course. Silly me.”

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#stephen strange imagine #stephen strange x reader #stephen strange #dr strange x reader #dr strange imagine #dr strange #marvel #avengers #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #avengers x reader #avengers imagine #bruce banner #bruce banner x reader #bruce banner imagine #hulk #hulk x reader #hulk imagine

296 notes · View notes

egcdeath · 3 years

Text

checkmate

summary: you’ve always refused to lose, and love was no exception. (gone girl-ish au)

pairing(s): ransom drysdale x dark!reader, a special mystery guest ;)

word count: 3.7k

warnings: 18+ because of heavy themes! faked death, framing of crimes, manipulation, alluding to sex, alluding to cheating, terrible relationship dynamic, very loose usage of the word crazy/psychotic, implied mention of self harm, brief choking & slapping (in a non sexual way lol), pregnancy trapping (idk if thats the right term), the reader is a very bad human being, overuse of italics *please let me know if i’m missing any warnings!

author’s note: this is my 2nd submission for @stargazingfangirl18’s 5k soft dark challenge, i decided to make the reader dark >:) but ransom is also not a good person. I used these prompts: “I’ve waited a long time for this, sweetheart.” & The town golden *girl isn’t as sweet as everyone thinks.

this is definitely the most unhinged thing i’ve ever written, but blame @literate-lamb for making me write this because when i pitched this to her and said that i’d probably never write it, she enabled me.

okay that's enough from me. join my taglist if you want :D

“I know women whose entire personas are woven from a benign mediocrity. Their lives are a list of shortcomings: the unappreciative boyfriend, the extra ten pounds, the dismissive boss, the conniving sister, the straying husband. I've always hovered above their stories, nodding in sympathy and thinking how foolish they are, these women, to let these things happen, how undisciplined. And now to be one of them! One of the women with the endless stories that make people nod sympathetically and think: Poor dumb bitch.” Gillian Flynn, Gone Girl

Your whole life, you’d considered yourself a competitive person. Constantly overcompensating for one thing or another, whether it was the chronic desire to achieve perfection that had been installed in you since you were a little girl, or your persistent internalized sense of inadequacy. You realized early on that it was much better for you to win than for you to lose, no matter the physical, emotional, or mental cost of the prize of perfection.

For the most part, this mindset worked out for you. You graduated as Valedictorian from your high school, neared the top of your graduating class at Harvard. God knew you earned it, all those tears you shed into overpriced textbooks, all the popping of unprescribed Adderall, and robbing yourself of the parties and social events that the rest of your peers gladly indulged in.

You were just different, which was why you gained a job nearly immediately after your exit from school, quickly climbing to the top at the Blood Like Wine publishing company after only a few years of being there.

And one night, at the party celebrating the release of A Thousand Knives when you laid your eyes on Hugh Ransom Drysdale, the grandson of your boss, you knew that you needed to have him. Rich, hot, a bit of an asshole. You deserved to finally complete your image, and that socialite flavored eye candy seemed to fit the part perfectly. Luckily for you, he was desperate. It only took a few tugs on your dress’ V-line, and a number of knowing smirks to find yourself being finger-banged in his family manor’s bathroom.

From there, you wormed your way into his life. Leaving belongings at his place as an excuse to come back, and offering booty calls in the middle of the night. Ransom must’ve been much more desperate than you originally thought, as it really only seemed to take one night of stroking his hair while he vented about his family to make him want to be with you. Men with mommy issues were always so easy.

Except, he wasn’t that easy. The longer you got to know Ransom, the more fucked up you realized he really was. He had no boundaries at all, became jealous and enraged at the drop of a pin, and occasionally told you things that made the hairs on your arms rise.

This of course all came to a head after the night of Harlan’s 85th birthday party. When the news broke of his tragic death, you’d immediately known it was the works of your Hugh. If your intuition wasn’t enough, his confession in the shower, where he’d demanded you take off your clothes to display that you were without a bug, certainly was.

You were completely devastated. The man that you’d invested so much into for years had thrown both his and your reputations down the drain in just a matter of hours. Of course, you felt bad for Harlan too. He was a good guy (when he wasn’t instigating a family fight).

Still, you showed up during the funeral in your best mourning clothes and dawning your biggest crocodile tears. You rubbed Linda’s back while she mourned the loss of her father, and the new truth about her husband. You played dumb when interrogated by some Southern private investigator, even giving Ransom an airtight alibi. You testified on his behalf in court with enough conviction to grant you an Emmy.

You’d gotten so far, devoted so much energy into him, that you simply refused to lose now.

To your friends, you’d seemed to lead a near perfect life. Dream job, dreamy boyfriend, dream bank account, but it wasn’t enough. You wanted more, you just didn’t know what.

It dawned on you while sipping mimosas at the country club, Ransom playing tennis with his friends just a few yards away from you while Danielle showed off her brand new engagement ring, a .59 Carat Asscher Diamond, that if you heard her speak of again, would probably make you lose your shit.

You zoned out as she droned on and on about the shape, and how Matt proposed to her in their own private room in one of the most exclusive Parisian restaurants, instead focusing on how you could find yourself in the same position as that airhead next to you. In all honesty, you couldn’t stand the idea that someone was doing better than you, let alone someone in your own social circle. Dani got all the bragging rights of being engaged to the heir of some tech giant, being the first in your friend group to get eloped, and worst of all, Matt wasn’t even making her sign a prenup.

You blankly watched Ransom from afar, taking occasional sips from your sweet drink, while you thought of how you deserved all of that and more, and you were going to get it one way or another.

——

It didn’t take much to come up with something, your first and most obvious plan being to simply ask Ransom when he was going to propose to you. Of course, this wasn’t the first time you’d tried to approach him about this subject, you just wondered if maybe this time things would be different.

Panting heavily after a rather rough night in bed, you rolled off of your boyfriend’s chest and gave him a messy, yet sincere kiss. You knew your man well, and if there was any time to pop the question, it was in his post-nut haze.

“Baby,” you said breathily, “I wanna ask you something.”

“Shoot,” he responded casually, glancing over at you.

“When’re you gonna propose to me?” you hummed.

Ransom groaned and shook his head, rolling his eyes, “this is about Matt and Dani, huh?” he tutted, then extended a hand out to your warm cheeks so he could gently caress one with his thumb. “Thought we agreed marriage is just a piece of paper and it’s stupid.”

You huffed in response.

Of fucking course.

“I never said that,” you muttered, setting a hand on his broad chest. “Besides, it’ll be good if you get pissed and decide to like, kill your dad or something. Y’know, spouses don’t have to testify against each other in court.”

Ransom chuckled as if this whole thing was funny, like your feelings were some kind of sick joke to him. “You know my lawyers, babe. They could prove that bees don’t make honey. That bears don’t shit in the forest. I appreciate your attempt, though. This has been some really nice pillow talk.”

“Whatever,” you muttered, pinching his nipple in retaliation before turning your back to him and yanking the blanket onto your side.

You weren’t sure why you were so surprised that he was being stubborn, most of the time you felt like you were pulling teeth from the man. But that’s why you had a backup plan! You always had a backup plan. That’s what separated you from your boyfriend. Where Ransom was extemporized and impulsive, you were calculating and prudent.

Although you devised your plan that very afternoon while watching your partner backhand small green balls, you were going to need some time to get everything in order, to prove Murphy and his stupid law wrong in making sure that everything that could go wrong wouldn’t.

After all, love was a game. And you sure as hell weren’t losing to Hugh Drysdale.

——

You sacrificed too much to have your plans ruined by some trust fund baby with impulsivity issues. You deserved your dream marriage, the stability you wished you had as a child. You wanted the white picket fence, and everything that came along with it. Your desire to be the best, to be perfect was what drove you to poke holes in every condom in the box, what led you to draw liters of your own blood in hopes of staging a fake crime scene, to buy a cheap getaway car and burner phone off of Craigslist, and reach out to a high school boyfriend who you knew was in a position as desperate as you.

You planted seeds of doubt in your friends throughout the following weeks, feeding them lies about Ransom’s behavior, how you were afraid of telling him that you did in fact see two faint red lines on that damn plastic stick– only half of the statement truly being false–, telling them that he was behaving erratically lately.

It all was going without a hitch. Ransom didn’t seem to notice anything was off, despite your frequent visits to the bathroom and newfound affinity for true crime documentaries.

You almost felt guilty, knowing the world of pain you were about to throw the man into. Granted, he deserved the pain. You were in a relationship with a genuinely terrible person, and that person had made a conscious effort not to commit to you. You tried to make this easy for him, give him a chance to say a few words to you and slide a ring on your finger, but no, he always seemed to take the hard route.

You slept like a baby the night before you were setting your plan in action. You made sure to uphold the facade of everything being fine, making Ransom a nice breakfast before sending him halfway across town to the hardware store with an oddly incriminating list.

Once he was out of the house, you hurried off to the fridge in the garage where you’d been keeping a small stash of your own blood. It wasn’t pretty, but it had to be done. You poured the blood throughout the kitchen, splattering bits of it on the counters and cupboards. You poorly cleaned the mess, just as he would.

You put your next move in motion, falsifying a home invasion. You tossed over a table and some chairs, throwing books and photos onto the floor, but left some aspects slightly untouched, like an upright picture frame to give yet another hint that things were not exactly what they appeared.

You left a tiny blue post-it note on the nightstand of Ransom’s side of the bed, a quick and simple doodle of a ring along with the first initial of your name inked onto the tiny piece of paper.

With that, you were off. Technically missing, soon-to-be presumed dead.

----

The days following your disappearance had gone even better than you’d initially planned. Local news coverage had been all over you, search and rescue groups were assiduously looking for you, your parents had opened a tip line, and begged for you to get home safe on news segments. But the best part of it all was that Ransom had been briefly found himself in police custody, only to be released shortly thereafter. His past of an accused murder quickly made your disappearance even more of a national story, and you watched the whole thing unravel from the safety and comfort of your high school boyfriend, Andy Barber’s Newton home.

Of course, you fed him the same lies you’d given to your friends, and seeing the rather lonely position he was in, he gladly let you stay with him. You were absolutely having a hay-day with it all, dedicating hours of your day to watching Ransom slowly unravel. Maybe it was a bit sadistic of you to enjoy torturing your partner so much, but he needed to learn his lesson. You deserved better. You needed Ransom to rise up to your level, allowing you to finally complete your image. To let you two appear to be the perfect couple. Really, this was all on him.

Andy, for the most part, had been a good host. He was gone for the majority of the day, dedicating himself to his work while you lounged around on his dangerously cozy couch. Around two weeks into your stay, you were sharing a box of pizza in the living room with your old lover when something interesting on the television caught your eye.

Ransom, broadcasted on CBS, being interviewed on your disappearance.

You watched with wide eyes as Ransom begged for your return on national television. It was one thing seeing your mother plead for you to come back, the same woman who had installed such toxic behavior in you sob for your return, but Ransom. You’d never loved him more than in that moment.

“Hugh, if you could tell Y/N one thing, what would it be?” the interviewer asked.

Ransom turned, looking straight at the camera, directly into your soul, “Y/N, I love you so much. More than you’ll ever know. I need you to come back safely, to see you, to hold you again. I’d give anything in the world for that right now,” he looked down, a tear falling down his cheek. “I can’t live without you in my life, I-”

His sentence was cut off by Andy grabbing the remote, and turning off the TV. You turned your head and frowned deeply at him.

“Why’d you do that?” you asked with a bit of a pout.

“I just couldn’t stand listening to him talk about you like he hasn’t treated you like shit for the past few years. C’mon, let’s get ready for bed.”

Your blood boiled. Andy was once a means to an end, but now he was interfering. He was clearly much too selfish to see that you and Ransom were quite obviously soulmates. A match made in hell.

You followed him to bed regardless, curling up on what had been your side of the bed for the past few days, and staring at the wall until Andy’s breaths moved from a soft and rhythmic pattern to loud snores. God, those snores were obnoxious.

You slipped out of bed and to his dresser, grabbing two soft ties from the drawer, and daintily tying his wrists to each side of the bedpost.

“What‘re you doing?” he mumbled, instinctively yanking both of his wrists as he awoke.

“I’m going back home,” you whispered.

“You can’t be serious,” Andy huffed, tugging on the restraint attached to the headboard.

You shook your head, “I am.”

“I should’ve known. Why would you do something like this? Do you know how much trouble you’ll be in with the law?”

“Do you know how much trouble you’ll be in when the world finds out that you kidnapped me?” you retorted.

This threat seemed to wake him up right away, “what about this was kidnapping? I gave you a nice home, fed you, I didn’t even make a pass at you. I didn’t do shit to you,” he hissed. “You think I can’t prove that? I’m a lawyer, for god's sake!”

You nearly laughed, “Okay, Andy,” you paused for a moment, “As a lawyer, who do you think everyone’ll believe? Someone who the world was on a wild goose chase for in the last two weeks? Or the man with a family history of violence? Must I remind you that your father and your son have killed people?”

Andy shook his head, face pinched in sorrow at the mention of his deceased son, clearly a low blow. “You’re insane,” he muttered.

“Swear to god that you won’t tell a soul what happened here,” you leaned over him, getting right in his face. “Or I promise, Andrew Barber, I will ruin you. You’ll spend the rest of your life behind bars, or disbarred, or whatever the hell I decide to do with you. So keep your goddamn lips shut.”

You pulled away and he solemnly nodded, not bothering to put up a fight. You loosened the fabric around his left wrist and walked out of the room. You picked up the keys to Andy’s Audi on your way out, checking the time as you adjusted the driver's seat.

9:45 PM. Fatherhood really changed the man.

You pushed that thought aside and began your drive home, which turned out to be a surprisingly short trip. When you pulled up in front of your home, you were met with a slew of reporters outside of the house, along with a police car that seemed to be permanently camped there.

As you slowly got out of the car, a gasp, followed by a loud silence fell across the crowd. You limped for dramatic effect up the driveway as cameras followed you, and glanced back at them pathetically. From your peripheral view, you noticed the officers get out of their vehicle.

You finally got to your door, ringing the doorbell and waiting. You blinked harshly a few times, conjuring up the tears you needed to really make a spectacle of the event. After a few minutes, Ransom opened the door, eyes widening as he looked at you. He stepped out, and you wrapped him in as big of a hug as you could manage, genuinely missing his embrace. It was possible that you even let out a few real tears in the moment.

Your emotional embrace was interrupted by the man you recognized as Lieutenant Elliott, the same officer who’d been assigned to Harlan’s case.

“Ma’am,” he began, only to be shut down by you.

“Please, just let me be with my boyfriend,” you pleaded, crocodile tears streaming down your face as you spoke with the officer. You still needed time to get your story straight.

“Just give us the night, Lieutenant. We’ll come in first thing tomorrow morning,” Ransom added, furrowing his brows at the officer that he’d come into contact with far too many times.

He looked to his partner, who shrugged, then to you, “enjoy your night.”

Cameras flashed around you as civilians, journalists, and newscasters alike attempted to catch your attention. You grabbed Ransom’s hand and dramatically pulled him inside, insincerely attempting to hide your face by ducking and covering half of your face with your arm.

As soon as you were in the privacy of your own home, Ransom threw you against a wall.

“Why. The fuck. Would you pull a stunt like that,” he hissed through gritted teeth, eyes wild, and a hand around your throat.

You whimpered as he tightened his grip, rage clearly flowing through his system uncontrollably.

“Do you know what you did to me? You almost had me thrown in fucking jail. Do you understand that?”

You nodded weakly, “Ran,” you whispered, “the baby,” you glanced down at your stomach.

He paused, dropping his grip on your neck and staring at you in awe, “no…”

You nodded again.

“How…? You told me you were on the pill… You- you made me use protection…”

“Surprise?” you said weakly.

“You’re a psychotic bitch.”

“I’m your psychotic bitch. And no child of mine will be born out of wedlock,” you taunted.

“That’s what this is about?” Ransom laughed manically. “You did this all because I won’t fucking marry you?”

You didn’t even have to respond.

“I should send you to the loony bin right fucking now.”

“What happened to all those things you said to me on TV?”

“You’re fucking delusional. I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can. And you will. I’ve had to put up with you and your stupid little antics for way too long. How do you think I felt when you killed your own grandfather?”

Ransom scoffed, throwing his hands up in exasperation, “you are so fucked up.”

“I’m the fucked up one? You killed your own blood in cold blood! You’re unhinged!”

“You faked your own death for attention, and got pregnant while doing it! Is that baby even mine?”

“The fuck are you trying to say, Hugh?”

“I asked if it’s even mine.”

“Really. You’re accusing me of cheating on you. That’s rich considering Mia, Layla, and whoever the fuck else. You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m being ridiculous? You couldn’t have a normal adult conversation with me!”

“Are you kidding me? I asked you time after time to marry me and it was always some bullshit excuse!” you wagged a finger in his face as you spoke. “Oh, commitment scares me, oh, marriage is just a piece of paper, oh-“ you mocked his voice in a deeper tone before you were cut off by the sting of his hand against your cheek.

“Can you shut the hell up?” he growled at you as you held your own cheek, before you reached out and slapped him back, “I can’t believe that I’m stuck with such a deranged bitch for the rest of my life.”

“Maybe work on your vows a little, dear. I don’t think that those words are as charming to me as they’d be to the rest of our family and friends.”

“You can’t be serious,” he groaned.

“But I am,” you hummed, rubbing your cheek softly once again. “Look at how fast your life fell apart without me here. How quickly the public turned on you. Imagine how upset they’d be if you left me. I love you, Ran. I really do. You and I are perfect for each other, can’t you see that now?”

Ransom took a step away from you, pacing slowly in front of you. He ran a stressed hand through his hair, and took a long and drawn out breath, clearly at a loss for words.

“So when should we have the wedding? I’ve always wanted a Spring wedding, and I know it’s a little short notice, but I don’t want to be showing too much in my wedding dress,” you grabbed Ransom’s bicep gently, as if you were just having a regular old day with him, as if you hadn’t been choked and slapped moments ago. “But we can make it work. We always make it work, right?”

Your now fiancé stared vacantly at the wall ahead of him, giving you a slow, empty nod of agreement.

“It’s settled then,” you smirked. “I’ll start looking at venues. You find me a nice ring, okay Honey? One that puts all those other bitches’ rings to shame,” you sighed pleasantly to yourself, “I’ve waited a long time for this, sweetheart.”

You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek before hurrying up the stairs and into your bedroom. You heard a distant shriek of “fuck,” from Ransom, but you truly could not care less.

You hopped into bed, grabbing your laptop from its charger and promptly opening it. You couldn’t help but to smile at your own reflection on the empty black screen. This wasn’t how you imagined your engagement, but you did the impossible. You tied yourself down to Hugh Ransom Drysdale, he went down kicking in screaming, and you were likely in for a lifetime of cheating and resentment, but you did it nonetheless.

You finally won.

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #dark!reader #ransom drysdale x dark!reader #ransom thrombey x reader #ransom thrombey x you #knives out #knives out fanfic #siris5ksoftdarkchallenge

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feliix · 3 years

Text

Breaking Point ↠ Lee Minho

↠ minho x female reader

↠ genre: smut, pwp ↠ Rating: M (18+)

↠ word count: 1.9k

↠ warnings: dom!minho, sub!reader, bondage, masturbation, unprotected sex, semi-public sex (they’re in a gym idk), ruined orgasm, degradation, dirty talk, manhandling, rough sex, finger sucking, cum play, cum eating

↠ a/n: written as a request for my drabble game♡

“Minho we’ve been here for two hours, can we be done now?” You whine, plopping down onto the seat of the chest machine while Minho stands before you, chest heaving as he recovers from the circuit he’s just finished.

“Come on. Two more sets,” he replies as he grabs the bottle of water to his right, swiftly twisting the cap off and pouring the liquid into his mouth. Your eyes draw to a stare as you examine him closely; his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows while sweat glistens in the space made from parted hair on his forehead. Damp pieces of his chocolate hair stick to the sides of his face, the perspiration making it seem darker than normal. Every part of him is enticing.

Before you decided to come to the gym with Minho you knew it would be a bad idea. He’s far too distracting. How are you supposed to pay any attention to what comes next in the circuit as he stands beside you looking like that? It’s nearly impossible to focus on anything else but him. Dark clothes cling to his figure, every muscle of his toned stomach exposed, and you stood close enough to make out every fine detail. It’s a blessing and a curse.

“Maybe we should take a short break,” you suggest, puffing your chest forward in hopes to gain his attention. A smirk lands on your lips when you notice his eyes wander down to the cleavage exposed by your sports bra. You knew what you could be getting into by coming here, so dressing the part was an important part of the plan.

Rolling your head back to expose more of yourself to him, you hear him force a hard breath past his lips. “What makes you think you deserve a break?”

Minho challenges, his defined biceps crossing over his chest. Heat shoots to your core – at this rate you won’t be able to stand looking at him like this much longer. In attempts to hold whatever shred of sanity you have left, you squeeze your thighs together, trying your best to ease the growing ache between your legs. Unfortunately your actions do not go unnoticed; though the way his tongue brushes against his bottom lip, tells you that you might be in for a treat.

“Maybe if you just did what I said in the first place and focused on the exercise, you wouldn't be squeezing your thighs together like a little whore.” Minho paces over to you, towering over your figure as he uncrosses his arms and places a hand on the bar adjacent to your head.

“I-I’m sorry,” you stutter, eyes forcing their way to the ground to avoid eye contact with him. You swallow thickly, tempted to just reach out in front of you, but you know better. As he leans down, narrowing the distance between your bodies, you lift your eyes to meet his. The gap between you quickly vanishes as you feel his hot breath on your lips, begging to be claimed by his own.

One hand stabilizes his body against the machine as the other grazes down the back of your neck, holding your gaze to his. So badly you want to lean forward and sweep your lips against his, but again, you know better. And you know what would happen if you act without asking. With this position he has you in now, there’s no intention of Minho giving up control.

His eyes narrow to slits once he breaks his gaze with yours. Suddenly he’s standing up to search the left side of the room for something, digging through a black crate and muttering to himself. The suspense grows in your core as you watch him tear through the equipment, but all that ends when you hear a short, sadistic chuckle pass by his lips. When he turns, two blue resistance bands rest in his palms, a smirk settled on his lips while his breathing grows heavy. Biting your lip in anticipation, you hold your eyes on him, watching his paces move towards you.

Without a word spoken, he takes one of your hands in his, extending your arm upwards and holding it up to the cold metal of the chest machine. The smooth elastic of the blue band meets your wrist, and suddenly you know exactly what this is for. The elastic is carefully wrapped around your wrist and then tied to the machine in a firm knot.

“Pull,” Minho instructs. So you do, jerk your wrist forward as hard as you can to test the security of the band. When it doesn’t move, Minho nods in approval, reaching for your other hand to take the same measures.

Arousal has fully taken over you, soaking through your thin panties and spandex and beginning to leak onto the bench under you. You struggle to find relief, thighs unable to squeeze together any harder to relieve the tension building in your core.

Just as your eyes are beginning to fall shut, you feel his calloused hands on each of your knees, prying your legs apart from relieving the ache. His eyes graze your form, spread so open and wide for him. It’s becoming hard to sit still, the desire racking at your nerves causing you to shift in your seat as your cunt begins clenching around nothing at all. The sight of you writhing under his control makes him feel so powerful – the stiffness pressing against the confines of his short goes to show.

Looping a finger under your waistband, he rips your leggings down your legs in one go, unable to wait or tease you any longer. His tongue grazes his lips as his eyes meet your dripping core, dragging a finger down your slit to collect your essence.

“Suck,” he seeths, holding his finger up to your parting lips as you take his finger in your mouth, darting your tongue across the digit. It’s becoming increasingly harder to keep your legs spread, unconsciously trying to find comfort as you watch the bulge form against his shorts. Your core is already aching so badly for him – and he hasn’t even properly touched you yet.

In one swift movement, he pulls down the garments of his lower half, erection springing to light as his clothing pools around his ankles. Once more he reaches forward, gathering more of your arousal to use to stroke his cock. You bite your tongue to keep yourself quiet, knowing well that your whimpers will only make Minho more upset. His head falls back in bliss once his fingers wrap around his thick member, lips parting to let out a soft moan before clenching his teeth together. Watching his hand grope his thick shaft is enough for you. You accept defeat by resting your head back against the seat, but the throbbing of your neglected cunt still pleads to be filled with him.

“Minho please,” you beg, widening your legs further in hopes it will entice him forward, “please, just fuck me now.” Words stammer past your lips unknowingly, thoughts too heavy with lust that clouds your better judgment.

“If you want to act like a whore that's how you’ll be treated,” He challenges, gripping his hands on each of your thighs and lining his tip up at your entrance. Whimpers draw past your lips as you’re unable to hold your shaking body together.

But all is out of your control as he wraps your legs around his waist. His member plunges into you fast and hard, bottoming out on the first stroke without giving you much time to adjust.

“Fuck!” You catch your lip between your teeth, biting down hard to hold back a yelp. The elastic binding your wrists to the cold metal is beyond irritating, all you want is to reach out and run your hands across his toned abdomen; which is fortunately in your line of sight.

He releases a grunt as he withdraws his cock and thrusts into you once more, just as fast and hard as last time. Back arching off the seat, you’ll do anything to get as close to him as possible. You want to scream being held like this, so frustrated that you have nothing to hold onto while he’s gripping your thighs with such fervor. There will definitely be small bruises left behind from the pads of his fingers pushing deeply into your skin – that’s without a doubt. But you’ve never paid them much mind before, it’ll be a nice reminder of how good he made you feel when you wake up tomorrow.

His hands rake up your legs to grip your hips, steadying your body so he can thrust into you more rhythmically. Your core clenches tightly around his length each time he sinks into you; the knot in your stomach becoming tighter and tighter each time he presses against the sweet spot deep inside you.

“Stop moving you fucking slut,” he gripes. You didn’t even notice that you’ve been bucking your hips up to meet each of his thrusts. Before you’re able to continue he is pushing you back onto the bench with an annoyed growl. The unconscious chase of your release is chomping at the bit.

Sounds of his balls slapping hard against your ass fills the room as his pace quickens. The force of his thrusts doesn't ease up as his grip on your waist grows harsher, forcing your body down harder onto his cock. Moans fly past your lips, the band in your stomach threatening to snap with each sharp movement of his hips.

“Minho,” you whine, “I’m so close.” Looking up at him past your eyelashes, you pray that he decides to be nice and let you finish. The dark and focused look in his stare tells you he’s close there too. His jaw clenches, eager to meet his release as he fucks deeply into you.

“Hold it,” Minho orders, earning an exhausted sigh from you in response. You’re sure you’ve never wanted to cum so badly in your life, but if you lose control now he’ll never let you live it down.

Quickly his hands tighten around your thighs, squeezing your legs around his waist and forcing your pussy to clench harder around his member. A wail escapes your lips, unable to hold back any longer, and he knows you’re about to disobey his orders.

Just as the tension is reaching a breaking point, he removes his shaft from your core, leaving you completely empty and throbbing around nothing. Your jaw drops in dismay, unable to form a coherent thought as his hands drop your legs to the ground. Before you can figure out how to speak, his hand is already wrapped around his cock, pumping it until white-hot spurts of cum are landing on your stomach. Eyes widening in shock, you watch as each drop falls from his member and onto your supple skin.

“Next time listen when I tell you not to come yet, slut,” Minho sneers, cock softening as he stands proudly over the mess he’s made on your body.

↠ A/N this fic has been rewritten from my BTS fic Unresolved Tension

#minho smut #lee know smut #stray kids smut #kwritersworldnet #kdiner #kafenetwork #skz smut #skz x reader #stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids fanfic #straykidsland #lee know x reader #minho x reader #minho oneshot #stray kids oneshot

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princehairsupremacy · 3 years

Note

Can you do one where y/n is innocent or idk 🥘

okay imma just select some of my prompts for this

37. "I don't think it'll fit."

44. "I've never done it before."

66. "I'm literally on my knees and you're asking me that?"

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Word Count: 1.8k

Word count: oral (f receiving), fingering, blowjob, vaginal sex

You pulled back when Harry grabbed your hips as you kissed, looking away from him to avoid his confused gaze. “What? What’s wrong? You do this every time but you never tell me why.” You looked back up at him with a guilty look and he raised his eyebrows, waiting for your answer.

“I’ve never done it before...” He gulped nervously but smiled at you, grabbing your hand and giving it a tight squeeze.

“That’s fine, nothing to be ashamed of. It’s not embarrassing to be a virgin, it’s normal.”

“Harry, shut up! You’re embarrassing me.”

“I just said it’s not embarrassing.”

"It isn't helping!"

"I'm sorry, it's still not embarrassing though and I don't want you to feel pressured to do anything."

"No, no. I wanna do it. Like right now." Harry took a deep breath and stood up, moving to stand infront of where you sat on the couch. He started to move down to his knees and you watched, frozen.

"This alright?" You nodded and he leaned forward, you had a skirt on so it was easier for him. He moved your skirt up slightly and started to kiss your thighs, looking up at you and watching your face.

He started to move your skirt up more and you lifted your hips up, only letting go of the skirt when it bunched at your waist. "Weren't you meant to facetime Gemma today?"

He looked up at you with a flat expression. "I'm literally on my knees and you're asking me that? Please don't mention my sister right now." You apologised and he squeezed your thigh, dipping his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and starting to drag them off. You had to lift your hips again and it was a little annoying but it wasn't that big of a deal.

He slid his hands down your legs and moved them onto his shoulders. He gulped and looked up at you, he turned his head to the side and kissed and nipped at your thigh.

You watched him and tried to gulp up all your nerves, you weren't gonna back out. He looked up at you as he kissed your thigh, opening up his hand for you to hold.

You threaded your fingers in between his and squeezed his hand gently. He started move his kisses closer and closer to your pussy and didn't break eye contact, not even for one second.

He moved back and you leaned forward, wondering what the fuck he was doing. "Tell me how much you want it." Alright, that did something for you.

"Um. I really want it, I want it bad." You sounded a little unsure but he didn't heckle you about it because it was your first time. He leaned back in and looked up at you but you weren't looking at him so he gave your thigh a light smack.

You looked down at him and he smirked up at you, he definitely had a thing about eye contact. He stuck his tongue out and pressed it against your clit slightly, it was a weird sensation but you liked it.

He leaned further in and flicked his tongue lightly, just so you could get used to it before he really started. You placed your hand in his hair, bunching it in a fist and pulling slightly. He pulled back and you took your hand away, thinking he didn't like it.

"No, please keep doing that." You gaped at him a little then fisted his hair again, pulling it and making him whimper. "I like the pain." He leaned back in and moved his tongue faster, pressing it against your clit a little harder than before.

You pulled his hair again and he stopped for a second, closing his eyes and letting out a little moan. He looked back up at you again, leaning back in with the intent to do his best this time.

He moved his tongue quickly against your clit and let go of your hand, sticking two of his fingers out and pressing them into you. You accidentally pulled on his hair a little rougher than intended and he moaned against your clit, you bucked your hips up at the feel of the vibrations.

He started to move his fingers and scissored them a little, stretching you out and getting you ready for him. You threw your head back and he didn't like that becaause there was no eye contact anymore. He nibbled at your clit slightly so you would look at him again and it worked, he pulled back and raised his eyebrows at you. "Don't look away."

You nodded and he moved his tongue again, moving his fingers faster because now you were more stretched out for him. He angled his fingers up slightly and pressed against that pleasurable spongy spot inside you.

"Oh my god!" He watched intently as you moaned, your mouth parted open and your eyes wide as you kept looking into his eyes. He sucked on your clit gently and moved his fingers so he hit your g-spot everytime.

You pulled on his hair again, grabbing it at the roots and tugging up. He moaned again and you felt the vibrations even stronger because he had your clit between his lips. You pressed your thighs against his head at the intense pleasure and he moved his fingers faster, wanting you to get off.

You threw your head back and he couldn't stop himself to give you into trouble for it, he was having too much fun already, to stop it would basically be a crime. You called out his name multiple times and he rutted his hips forward, this was turning him on so much.

"Harry! Oh-" He could tell you were about to cum by the way you were clenching around his fingers and the way your hips were starting to spasm so uncontrollably that he had to hold them down.

He didn't stop when you came the first time and you moved both your hands to his hair, tugging on the strands of his hair helplessly. He moved his fingers faster and sucked your clit as harshly as he could without hurting you.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" He only stopped when you came for the second time, satisfied with himself. You looked down at him as he brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked on them.

He stood up and you looked up at him, your hair was a little messed up and there was mascara on your eyes but he thought you looked fucking hot. He reached down and grabbed the bottom of his shirt, lifting it up and over his head. Your eyes scanned all his tattoos, they were so pretty.

"Do you still think you're ready?" You didn't answer, instead leaning forward and unbuttoned his trousers, slowly dragging down the zip on them. He hooked his thumbs in the side of them and dragged them down slightly, you took a hold of them and helped him get them off the rest of the way.

You looked up at him and placed your hand on the bulge in his boxers. You squeezed his bulge slightly and he moved his hips forward, you hadn't done much yet but it was still doing a lot for him. "Take 'em off."

You placed your hands on his hips and dug his nails into his skin, his breath laboured, guess he really wasn't lying about liking pain. You moved his boxers down, moving back when there was nothing left to cover him. "I don't think it'll fit..."

He smiled and moved his hand to your cheek, stroking your cheek with his thumb. "You're just making my ego bigger by saying shit like that, darling."

He wasn't even fully hard yet and you were worried about it fitting, god you hoped it fucking fit. "I wanna help you out before you...put it in."

"Oh! That's fine, I'm definitely okay with that."

"I don't know where to start."

"You haven't watched porn or anything?" You shook your head and bit your lip, you probably should have, it definitely would have helped right now.

"That's alright. You just need to get it wet." You had to think for a second before spitting onto his cock, he gasped and moved his hand to your hair.

"Well done, now just wrap your hand around-" You moved your hand to his cock and wrapped your fingers around it, he moved his hips forward and fisted your hair between his fingers.

"You're doing really fucking good. Just use your tongue now or move your hand." You decided to try and use both, moving your hand slowly and sticking your tongue out, touching his tip with your tongue lightly. "Alright, that definitely works..."

You wrapped your mouth around the tip and moved your tongue against his slit. He tugged your hair and threw his head back, closing his eyes and letting out a little low moan.

You moved both your hand to his thighs, grabbing onto them and starting to move your mouth down as far as you could. He grabbed onto the sides of your head and moved you off when you gagged. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I thought'd you like it?" He smiled and huffed, you weren't sure what you were doing but still wanted to do the best you could for him.

"I do but you don't have to do that for me. Just lie back, I'm ready anyway." He turned away and you grabbed his arm, thinking he was leaving you. "I need to get a condom." You left go of his arm and he walked to the bathroom, giggling at the sight of him walking butt-naked.

He looked back at you with a confused face. "You have a cute butt, Harry." He gave you a small smile and rolled his eyes, walking into the bathroom. You took your clothes off while he was in there, making sure you were ready for him coming back.

When he walked back out he had a condom on, he stood in front of you and gently grabbed your legs, lifting them to his waist and bending them at the knees. "I'll do my best to make it feel good, baby."

He grabbed himself and got in position, only pushing his tip in. You grabbed his arm tightly and he leaned down, wrapping his arms around you. "You'll be alright." He pushed in a little further and you moved your face into his neck, squeezing your eyes shut.

He moved a hand to the back of your head and cradled you in his arms, he pushed in further and you squeezed your arms around his waist. He kept going until his hips were pressed against the back of your thighs, stopping and letting you get used to the feel.

You moved your head back and looked up at him, you had tears on your cheeks and he wiped them away. "I'm sorry..."

"It's okay, I knew it wasn't going to be like heaven my first time."

"I just don't like hurting you."

"Stop blaming yourself, this is common. Y'can move now, please just be gentle." He nodded and moved his hips back and forth very gently and slowly, smiling down at you.

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goldafterglow · 4 years

Text

hold me in the meadows

Summary: You are Ezra’s dreamcatcher and he is your burrow.

Request: “The sleepy prompts!! Lovely! Can you do “I have had nightmares every night for the past three weeks and now they’re gone because of you, how did you do that?” with (can you guess??) EZRA” - the love of my life, @opheliaelysia

Pairing: Ezra (Prospect) x Reader

Word Count: 4.6k+

Tags: angst?, fluff, more metaphors that don’t mean anything, weird touching lol idk what the fuck this fic is, this is also not beta read so send the flood send the flu

Author’s Note: If you left a like or comment or reblog on Dissolve Me I’m telling you with as little shame as is humanly possible that I definitely reread it at least 3 times. Feedback means the word to me! also this was supposed to be a 500 word drabble and now it’s over 4.5k words if that tells you anything about me. I apologize in advance I think I’ve really outdone myself w/ my bullshit this time

Gif Credit: @pascvl; Also shout out to @pascalplease sorry I spammed you for nothing dsfgdsg

Ezra is staring at you.

He’d met you on one of those toxic moons, one of those deceitfully picturesque mirages where the dust glitters like lily petals but the air would kill you before you could think to appreciate it. You were a floater; a nomad with no place to call home, but you figured you liked it that way. Homes were permanent. They set lives and futures in cobblestone and trapped spirits in gated properties, keeping just about anything and everything tethered under the farce of security. Homes make paraffin casings around dragonfly wings and turn footprints to concrete. So you never had one, and you never wanted one. Ezra had found you amusing. You had found him to be better company than just yourself. So with great reluctance, you established a partnership. Not one forged in steel or bronze but something still fleeting, its true meaning always escaping your lips like a forgotten thought. It’s too much work to try and think about it anyway.

You had let him invite you to reside in his tent. It took coaxing, required copious amounts of golden honey spilling from Ezra’s tongue to get you to tenaciously stick to him, but you were no match for his silver tongue. He did everything he could to assure that this wasn’t a habitat, but merely a shelter - a thing that could be taken down and built back up somewhere else, anywhere you wanted. So you had obliged. He let you take the cot closest to the zipper door; you liked being closer to the exit, just a rotation away from being back on your feet. He tries to let you truly feel like if you wanted to escape, wanted to elope with liberty and run away from the loose bonds of the canopy, you could.

Three weeks of sleeping adjacent to him and you still don’t want to.

Ezra is used to temporary relationships. He has done his fair share of companion hopping, although he wasn’t really making an effort to do so. It scares him a little - why can’t he make anyone stay, make anything last? Partners passed him by, either to traverse on their lonesome or to stay with that greedy man in the eternal sky. Teams disbanded around him like glass castles shattering in his wake. Ezra, whether he liked it or not, was accustomed to transience.

He is not, however, accustomed to fearing that sharp brevity. Ezra is constantly on his toes around you, frequently wondering if he’s pushing you away or pulling you closer. You aren’t skittish, don’t constantly question everything he says or get offended by the sound of his voice, but he’s still scared of losing you. Every time he looks into your eyes he sees wonder, a certain fascination with life that he tries so hard to match because he wants to find things as beautiful as you do. As beautiful as you are. He wants to mis-quote your favorite novels that you force him to read so that you’ll scold him so affectionately and tell him that perhaps he had garnered a little brain damage from his previous escapades. He wants to trip over tree roots that have herniated through the soil so you can laugh at him, maybe lay there on the grass with him for a little bit. Just a little bit.

In your own mind, you are guarded. You try your very best not to get too personal, too deep, too much. Because you don’t like it when people can see your flushed, bloody insides. You just know that the moment you open your chest, someone will steal your heart right out of your rib cage and like the pass of a hummingbird, all of your secrets will be free to float in the breeze like the ashes of your lost quintessence; it’ll all be gone and then you’ll really be empty. So how could you ever know what you mean to Ezra?

He knows what a truly locked up person looks like. He’s spent hundreds of cycles with people that don’t make a noise. He’s sat in bustling pods of people and felt like the only man in the room, like solitary confinement for his mind. No, you are not some warning-covered steel box, padlocked and duct-taped and glued shut so that even if he’s sitting right next to you, he’ll have nothing more than his own voice bounce to off of your walls and fly right back to him. You’re a music box, a gold-trimmed heart-shaped sound bottle, and he learns that if he winds you up the right way, you’ll sing so pretty for him.

He has spent so long talking, nonsensically making those arbitrary noises burst out of his throat until they lose all meaning, but finally, for the first time in so fucking long, Ezra gets to listen.

He listens to you tell him you think his hair is stupid and that sometimes he smells bad. He listens to you lament about barren dig-sites and wasted time, about how it’s so fucking hot in your suit. He listens to you fantasize about touching the trees, burying your face in your flowers and squeezing the moss in your hands. About drowning in the river so that your body is filled with the water and then rolling in the sand so that it all sticks to you and you have to dive back in to clean off. About feeling something.

Sometimes, Ezra just wants to hear something other than his own voice. And you’re the cold towel to his inflamed skin, refreshing and addictive. You’re much braver than you think, so much stronger than you give yourself credit for, because for once, Ezra can talk into the forest and know that there’s someone to listen besides the leaves. He doesn’t feel alone.

Every night, when the moon has turned its back on the narcissistic Sun and opened its arms to the thousands of other stars, each just a prick of light but understanding of their place in the tapestry of the darkness, the two of you retire to that tent. You both redress into comfortable clothes, backs turned on each other under the guise of respect, and climb into your respective cots. Ezra would turn off that shitty lantern that illuminated the enclosure, and your shadows would dissipate into the darkness.

Except Ezra’s shadows don’t disappear; they hide. They blend into the black and mold into one man-engulfing untamable beast to possess Ezra’s throat. And they manifest again in his mind. They poison that movie that plays once you slip consciousness, instills fear into his bone marrow until he doesn’t feel safe in his own body, his own thoughts.

These slumber illusions haunt Ezra. His right arm waves at him in his sleep, the souls to which he was the conduit bridging life and death haunt his diaphragm with toothy grins to mock him, screeching into his cavities. They remind him that he was never really alone because he has the suffocating embrace of those spirits that are sewn so tight to his eyelids. Every night he somehow manages to pull himself from the darkness only for his own demons to pull him back by the throat. He is always oscillating between consciousness and unconsciousness, being tossed around like a helpless rag with no hope of liberation. Nothing scares him more than his own thoughts.

And you know. You know all of it. How could you not? You were born a tumbleweed, wandering across desolation, so of course you’re a light sleeper. And you can hear Ezra’s choked cries, his tossing and turning as he drains himself of any sense of safety. But this man is a stranger to you. He is just a person you reside with, talk to all the time, nudge gently and tease and smile with. He is just the person that you wake up wanting to see, whose attention you always crave. A stranger.

So every night you turn your body to face the zipper of the tent and pretend that you can’t hear him cry. Pretend that you don’t sometimes cry with him. A pretty lavender lie that smells sweet, tastes sweeter.

You, in your cowardice, let him destroy himself. Watch as the bags under his eyes get bigger and greyer and the strings holding his shoulders up lose their tension.

Ezra, in his flawed cratered embodiment, is only human. And he had gone so long without holding anyone, without being held. He knows what he wants, knows who he wants. But he also knows how jittery you are, how fluttery your heart is, and he doesn’t want to approach it too fast lest he startle you and you fly off into the stars. But he can’t keep doing this, can’t live with himself when he knows he’s not the one in control but those horned, slimy creatures that claw at his maxilla with their venomous grins.

The lights are out in the tent per usual, so Ezra can’t really see you. His careful eyes can trace the outline of the curves of your body - or is it that his delusional eyes are envisioning some arbitrary glow around you, convincing him that what he’s seeing is real? Reality is a concept with which he is no longer familiar.

You, laying in your cot, decide that you just can’t take it anymore. You can’t stand to let this intruder of your life break you down the way he is without even trying. How dare he look into you, how dare he listen to you without passing judgement, how fucking dare he make you feel like a flower in bloom?

Ezra hears your breaths - they’re uneven. You haven’t gone to sleep. What are you waiting for?

“Ezra?” you practically squeak into the void. His ears perk up immediately; your cotton candy voice is enticing to him, flossing its way through his veins.

“What are you doing up, birdie?” Ezra asks softly, the air of his lungs floating on top of his words. He doesn’t mean to keep you awake, but he isn’t mad that you are. It’s stimulating his nerves enough to keep himself awake, and that’s something he probably won’t ever be able to repay you for.

“I-um….” Shit. You hadn’t expected to get this far. What would you say to him? How could you tell him that you wanted to help cleanse him, that you wanted to grovel in lime-coated thumb tacks with him and absorb his pain into your tissue paper skin? “I can’t sleep.”

Not a lie. Ezra knows you mean it. He just doesn’t know why.

“Well that won’t suffice,” he decides, outstretching his left arm blindly off the edge of his cot until his fingers brush against what he’s looking for: that goddamn lantern. With a little more fumbling, a weak but good enough orange glow is emitted on the floor between the two of you. You both catch each other’s pitiful gaze. You want to take care of each other, want to shield each other from the red sprites that nip angrily at each other’s hearts. Ezra holds his left arm out to you, tentatively. He’s never been more unsure in his life. He watches you glance at his arm, and then quickly to the side. You’re trying to decide if you’ll let him add another tether to you. If you’ll let him become something sewed so tight to your bleeding skin that to leave would rip you apart.

You slowly get up and walk over to his cot.

Ezra lets out a soft breath and his lips turn to a soft smile. He’s soft.

“C’mere, dandelion” he mumbles to you, and he hasn’t missed his right arm so much as in this moment. He wants to hold you properly, wants to keep you as close to him as possible. You’re hesitant, and he can tell. You’ve never been this close to him before, and you want to savor it. When your head finally touches his shoulder, it’s like a catalyst ignites underneath the two of you. You mold into each other the way the gods intended, like lake water seeping into the smallest of crevices of an empty river bed. Like the opposing poles of two magnets, like a key penetrating a lock. Like you were made for each other. Your arms immediately wrap around him, his neck now a fixture of your body, and his arm leads you to lay down on the cot. Without words, without that candid discourse that Ezra was so fond of, his face is buried into the warmth of your chest and he feels like you’ve cast an ethereal shield around him.

Ezra doesn’t need to hold you tight because you’re holding him tighter, like you’re trying to cling to something invisible and foreign before it can even think to leave you. Before it realizes that it doesn’t want you. Don’t leave. He can feel you breathe him in, face smashed against his wild hair, and he can’t blame you because he’s breathing you in too.

“Sweetheart-” he breathes, fanning against your skin in a way that sends a deep shiver down your spine and shakes your shoulders.

“Shh.” And for once in his cursed life, he’s speechless. There’s so much, too much that he wants to say to you, but his mind is shouting all of it at him at once and he doesn’t even know where to start. So he shuts the fuck up. He feels you. He feels your heat melt him until he can barely control his own muscles because they’ve gone limp, unable to perform a single contraction because his fibers are relaxed, are at peace.

He doesn’t know when he falls asleep.

When Ezra wakes, you’re still sweet and motionless around him. The lamp was still on, still shining pathetically on the ground. He doesn’t feel the need to look around or squeeze his lids closed in an attempt to wring the bad rest out of him.

Rest?

He thinks fucking hard. When had he woken up last night? When had his banshees infiltrated his thoughts and cried into the void of his packed mind? All he can recall are caramel dreams, whipped cream clouds and berry trampolines for him to jump high into the cotton candy sky. He thinks he might like it that way. Maybe every night can be like that, every morning can feel this transcendent.

He hears you moan quietly as you stir not long after him, breaths shuddering on their way out of your nose as you slowly come to your senses.

“Good morning, birdie,” Ezra finally says. He doesn’t know what to say to you, what he can say to you, without making you flip a switch and realize that it’s all a mistake, that he is a mistake. His eardrums smile as your sleepy whining settles.

“Morning, Ezra,” you whisper, throat not ready to talk yet. It’s okay; you’d rather hear him talk to you anyway.

“Did you…were you able to achieve some sort of comfort?” Ezra asks. For a second you’re confused until you remember what you’d told him last night, and you realize that you’re holding him the same way you were when you’d gone to sleep. He hadn’t woken up.

“Yeah, Ezra,” you finally say after letting yourself simmer in the silence for a second. “Thank you.”

He smiles wide against your skin, the blunt tip of his excitement the battering ram that beats against his racing heart. He’s given you something worthy of your gratefulness, and the feeling of being worthy light his chest with blue flames.

“It’s not my intention to blow you away, dandelion,” Ezra says, his nerves manifesting into his characteristic breathy laughs, “but I can’t deny how direly I want to just touch you.” You feel the air get knocked out of you as your diaphragm begins to spasm; what is he asking? You’ve thought about it before; god, of course you’ve thought about it before. To lay back as you let him study you, memorize you and then let you do the same. Analyze the sculpted marble of his body to remind yourself why you love it so much.

“Please.”

It’s barely a whisper, a secret told to the wind, but Ezra hears you. Ezra always hears you.

So Ezra’s fingers begin to wander along your skin. He wants to map out the scars on your body, wants to learn the shape of you so intimately that he could remodel you if he wanted to. He wants to know your body the way he knows when you’re disappointed or frustrated or amazed or confused. He wants to just know.

You feel the calloused pads of Ezra’s fingers put a little pressure onto that dip of your thoracic vertebrae, draw circles above your hip right under the fabric of your sweatshirt, caress your shoulder. He’s slowly exposing your skin to the humid chill of the dank enclosure, carefully making your top cover less and less of you, but you’ve never felt warmer.

As Ezra’s mind begins to really warm up and the cogs begin to grease themselves, his words begin to flow out the way you’re used to. The way you’ve learned to love.

“Sweetheart, I have had nightmares every night for the past three weeks and now they’re gone,” he blurts. Fuck. His hand stutters against the small of your back. He’s done it now, he’s really gone and blown it, because now you know he’s fucking broken and you’re smart enough to know when to avoid damaged goods. You have to know that if you were to take your hands and try and feel him you’d just get bumps and ridges and cracks. But Ezra is selfish, can’t help himself or his thoughts, so he keeps rambling. “It is not my intention to come off as presumptuous, but I just know it’s because of you. How did you do that, birdie? You never told me you were sent to me as a dreamcatcher.”

You can’t help but smile into his scalp a little at his words. You didn’t mind taking all of his bad dreams and refracting them far away into the space between the stars for him. A light, breathy laugh rolls off your tongue like a huff, because fuck, if you were going to be embroidered to something it might as well be him.

Your breath hitches again as the back of his hand runs flat along your stomach. It travels back around and up to the nape of your neck, tracing your shoulders and then over to your clavicles, paying close attention to the dips. You can’t help but wonder if this means as much to him as it does to you; it means everything to you.

“You’re right. I’ve been holding out on you all this time,” you say, and he can hear you smile through the roses of your words. He slowly and with purpose lifts his head from your embrace so that he can look up at you, maybe even catch a glimpse of that pretty grin of yours and burn it onto his lenses.

“I’m not confident that you’ll ever know how fortuitous I was the day I met you.” Ezra’s voice is low as he speaks, his drawl stretching and fraying the ends of his words, and you soak in every last syllable. You soak in the meaning of his words. He feels lucky to have you.

You look down at him, bringing a hand to run through his hair. That stupid blonde streak snatches your attention for a moment and you thumb at the strands. You want to tease him about it, mock him a little, but you don’t. The moon marine in your arms holds so much unbridled beauty, and it’s all yours to look at.

Ezra is all yours to look at.

Ezra’s hand travels up to your face, cupping your cheek while his thumb toys with the corner of your mouth in a way that makes you bite your lip through a smile. Throwing all caution to the wind, you turn your head and press a shy kiss to the heel of his palm. Ezra’s skin burns where you’ve sanctified him. His hand begins to crave your touch in other ways, he is craving something more from you, but he knows he does far too much taking. He’s already taken so much from you, has already stolen so many moments from you out of sheer gluttony, but it’s not always his fault because you’re so giving. He knows you were a little hollow from the start, knows you were a little frayed in the first place, but still you share your thoughts and companionship with him because whether you know it or not, you’re a little taken by this space mutineer. If you fled this little thing you’ve built with him, you’d be leaving the prettiest parts of yourself behind for him to keep taking care of the way a mother makes her son’s bed after he leaves for college because what if you want to come back?

But you haven’t left, haven’t abandoned him and in turn, yourself. You’re right here, letting him bask in your reverent lavender radiation, and as he looks at how you’re giving off your own intrinsic glow because the shitty orange light on the ground isn’t enough, he knows he hasn’t earned it. He doesn’t think this is a very fair transaction at all, but he’s too selfish to stop you from paying a little extra. You’ll let him keep the change.

Ezra wordlessly lifts his head, nosing at your wrist so that you’ll bring it lower and let him kiss the delicate skin there. He looks up at you with wide, eager eyes of adoration. His feelings for you are beginning to bubble underneath the surface of his silk-lined thoughts and he is willing them to stay at that low simmer because he doesn’t want to think about anything except how fucking gorgeous you look in the lamplight.

“I’m growing rather fond of the way you feel against me,” Ezra finally says. Everything is so foreign now, so new, so he tries to do the one thing you both know, the one routine you can both dance without needing to think about it: talking.

“I like it too Ezra,” you giggle. Not a long, flittery one, but a pass of air with a note under it. You’re a little nervous too.

“I reckon I could get accustomed to this,” he whispers. Your lip betrays you, curling itself to reveal your reply before you even say it. Your teeth capture your lower lip for the act of treason, but it’s too late. “But I’d just hate it if I made you feel like you’re bearing my baggage.”

“Ezra, you don’t have crippling baggage,” you insist. What is this man talking about? You were the one with issues. You were the one that had to be convinced to stay with him, you were the one that insisted on the right cot, you were the real coward here. You were broken. “Everyone has their demons. There is so much more inside of you. You’re so full.”

Ezra’s eyes go a little wide at your words. You didn’t think he was half a man? Some incomplete mosaic that would never find his missing pieces?

“You flatter me,” he chuckles; no, he giggles.

“Well…I just figured there’s no way a broken man could handle his broken partner the way you deal with me.” His expression melts into something more than pity and less than ignorance - confusion. The tap in Ezra’s tongue pops loose and his words begin to cascade from his lips like some majestic phenomenon, like holy water spraying the filth off of your brow.

“I need you to look at me, firefly.” His voice is more stern now, his words more articulate as he shifts up the bed slightly so that he’s eye level with you. He’s still on his side, his left hand is still gripping the flesh at your hip. “I don’t think you’ll ever truly comprehend how much you’ve done for me these past cycles, but this life is quiet and toilsome. You’re capable of recognizing beauty in things I wouldn’t have even taken note of in the first place, and I hang onto your every utterance whether you’re aware or not. It’s easy for me to sit here and tell you how bad I always want you because you fill my thoughts, pretty dandelion. And if someone came here and regurgitated your exact words to me, it still wouldn’t hold a candle to the way you sing when you wonder out loud. I don’t need to ‘deal’ with you, sweet rose. I want you.”

Your lip quivers a little; you know Ezra likes talking to you, he’s told you before. But you couldn’t help but assume Ezra just likes talking, period. That he liked having you around about as much as he’d enjoy the company of any other talker. To think that someone wants you, your passions and afterthoughts and pondering notions, meant more than anything you could articulate.

“Ezra-” you start, but you cut yourself off. You want to let his words turn into condensation on your skin, to form little rain clouds above your head so that they pour back down on you in delicate drops. You want to let him linger, to sit and hang above you like the sky hangs above the ocean.

You look straight at him, deep into his inquiring brown eyes as you both begin to breathe the same air, scents mingling between you like the heat between two stars. His nose is right up against yours and you can feel his lashes caress your cheekbone. He’s so close, but you want him closer, need him to move his hand or blink his eyes or do something, because you can’t take the nothingness anymore when you’ve got everything pressed right up against your face.

Ezra decides he wants one last thing from you.

“My rose, I don’t want to ask too much of you, but I suppose if that were true I wouldn’t have invited you to stay with me anyway. In the tent, of course. Not the cot.” Fuck, what was he saying? He lets out a soft laugh as he tries to reorganize his thoughts, a blushing mess under your gaze because he’s so used to knowing exactly how to get what he wants, but he’s really pushing your boundaries and bending your fence posts now. You’re turning him into a man who fumbles, a man who doesn’t always have to know what he’s about to say, and he doesn’t mind being a little less talk around you and a lot more touch.

Suddenly, he’s reminded of what he wanted to ask you.

“Sweet creature, could I kiss you?”

You don’t miss a beat in this soft ballad you’re playing with him, letting out a gentle “yeah, Ezra.”

You don’t like homes, don’t like to be told that you’re forever nailed to walls and wood. But maybe, as Ezra’s scruffy chin leans up to slot his lips against yours, you could build a tent in him. Maybe this leaky soul was your permanent, your unyielding, your perpetual.

As Ezra tilts his head towards you with a soft moan so he can kiss you the way you deserve, speak to you through the blinding sensation of his mouth telling you how he wants you, needs you, loves you, without using a single word, he is confident that his hollow cavities are beginning to be filled by your amber essence. He can tell you’re letting yourself finally take root in him, clearing out the wretched foliage so that you can curl up in the meadow of his soul and rest your bones within him.

Yeah.

You’re home.

people who asked to be tagged: @bobafvtt @catfishingmorales@keeper0fthestars @1zashreena1 @blancatobarxoxo @honeyedspace @cryptkeepersoul

people who definitely didn’t ask to be tagged oops: @glowingpena @bestintheparsec @ezrasarm @murdermewithbooks

not me tagging strangers for clout-

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be added/removed to my tags, I promise I’m not scary💕

#ezra x reader #ezra (prospect)#ezra prospect x reader #angst #sleepy prompts #pedro pascal #fluff #this was for what?#this was supposed to be so short #so quick #i spent the whole entire day writing this #does it make sense?#of course not #does it ever?#same answer #not gonna ask anymore of these requests #clearly I don't know how to control myself sksdfjgf

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schmuckyschmarnes · 4 years

Text

little break

i’ve had to upload this so many times now idk wtf is happening, hopefully this one sticks

Summary: Bucky has a nightmare and you do your best to take care of him. Warnings: Unintentional choking, panic attacks, lots of fluff. Word Count: 3243

Bucky Barnes is screaming. It isn't an unusual occurrence, and while you wish you could say you had a plan in place for the nights you heard the sounds ripping themselves from his throat, the simple truth is that the same bundle of nerves that unfurl themselves inside of you on every other such occasion make sure that tonight is no exception. The logical part of your brain reassures you that just like every other night, he will eventually fall quiet, or wake, and to just wait it out. This argument wins out every time. But tonight is different. Tonight your legs have reached the door to your room before you can even begin to wrestle with reason. And as you tell yourself that the least you could do is give Bucky Barnes his dignity, your hand is turning the doorknob. And while you whisper to yourself that this man might never be able to look you in the eye again, which would be a considerable issue in your line of work, your feet pad along the corridor until you find yourself outside of his room, standing with one hand raised to his door.

“Bucky,” you call softly, as you enter the room.

It’s almost entirely dark. The bedside lamp is switched on, and a thin paperback lay discarded just out of reach of his right hand, the sharp metal of the left is curled tightly around a fistful of white bedsheets. His back shines with sweat, the tops of his boxers peek out from beneath the sheets, and his hair has fallen to the side of his face, obscuring it from view.

You feel every bit the intruder as you stand half in, half out, unsure of what your next move should be, firm in the belief that he would not want you to see him in this state. You take a few more steps into the room as he begins to groan, the sound clenching around your heart.

“Bucky,” you try again, louder. He doesn’t move. Your new angle allows you to notice his furrowed brow and clenched jaw. His mouth opens again in another hoarse scream and this time, you launch yourself forward.

“Bucky-”

The hand that reaches out to touch him falls limp against your side as you find yourself pinned to the wall, cold metal closing around your neck. You scramble frantically, legs swinging and hitting against the wall. It feels like hours before you grab his face between both hands and force his eyes to meet yours. He drops you instantly and you gasp for breath as quietly as you can, intent on not making this worse than it already is. His eyes, wild, blink rapidly, and with one, two, three, recognition slams into him and he falls to his knees beside you.

“Shit! Are you okay? Did I hurt you? Of course I hurt you, what am I saying, are you-”

“Bucky,” you interrupt in a raspy voice, dropping your hand from where it was rubbing your neck. “I’m okay. See?” You sit up a little more to convince him of your blatant lie.

“I didn’t think, I just felt someone there and-” His hand reaches out to touch you but he changes his mind almost immediately, dropping it to his side.

“I know, Bucky,” you say, crawling towards him to close the distance between you. “You had a stranger in your room-”

“Not a stranger,” he says, bitterly, and you can hear the self loathing thick in his voice as he turns and walks away from you, the artificial lights bathing the room at his request. It suddenly feels so mundane, not at all the place that houses his deepest hurts.

“-and you reacted, any of us would have done the same thing,” you continue, as if he hadn’t cut you off.

There was silence, and then “Why were you in here, anyway?” and you're combing through the question for any traces of anger as you bite your lip.

Do you tell him the truth?

“I…well, I wanted to make sure you were okay,” you say, looking up at him.

“You wanted- oh. I was screaming again, huh?” He asks, and a sudden exhaustion settles itself on his face.

“I mean, only a little,” you offer lightly, and the corner of his mouth twitches.

“Enough to warrant a visit,” he counters with raised eyebrows and you smile sheepishly in response. “I’m sorry for waking you, I’ll talk to Tony about-”

“Bucky,” you begin. “I don’t care about the noise, shut up.” You pick yourself off of the floor and shuffle over to his bed, throwing yourself down onto it. He looks at you from the other side of the room, one hand rubbing his jaw and the other, heavy metal, hanging limply before him as if he’s afraid of what it will do when he looks away. You pat the bed and he looks at you warily without moving. You pat the bed more insistently and he finds himself walking over and flinging himself onto it so that he is laying beside you.

“Do you want to ta-”

“-No,” he replies immediately, and several feelings hit him at once. Shame, and fear, and anger, and the overwhelming thought that he is the biggest burden the universe has ever delivered, and yet, in the middle of attempting to hatch a plan to leave so that his friends would not have to be so encumbered with his issues, the fingers of his flesh hand intertwine with yours.

“Okay,” you reply simply, your thumb moving soothingly across his hand. “That’s okay.”

“I’m sorry, doll” he says, after a minute of silence. “You come here to check on me and I choke you and then I’m rude-”

“-You’re right, you gotta work on how you treat guests, you didn’t even offer me a drink,” you say, turning on your side to face him, still holding onto his hand.

He huffs at your teasing, and a second later comes back with “My mother would be appalled.” And just like that, he’s Bucky, no-effort, charming, flirty Bucky. You laugh and it fills the room. Bucky smiles at the sound. He closes his eyes, and then winces, opening them back up again so quickly you almost miss it. Almost. He lets go of your hand and reaches for your neck slowly, unsure. You tilt your neck for him to let him know it's okay, and his fingers stroke the angry red marks gently. You can tell he’s about to sink into a slew of self deprecation.

You push yourself up, leaning lazily against the headboard, and pull his reluctant limbs with you so that he falls between your legs, his head resting on the softness of your belly, one arm on either side of you, the same position you’d found him in when you entered the room.

You stroke his hair gently and he looks up at you as you do, his hand clenching around the excess material of your oversized sleep shirt.

“I was in the chair,” he mumbles, voice muffled against your body.

Your fingers stop their movements and your arms attempt to pull him closer once again, failing of course, until he slides his body towards you in acquiescence and the top of his head rests under your chin.

“I’m sorry that you have to relive something so horrible,” you whisper, and your hand runs down the clammy skin of his back before making its way to his neck again, you let yourself fall into the familiar repetition.

“I deserve to remember.” It’s loaded with venom.

“James,” your hand pauses its movements just as its beginning to numb, and rests where his neck meets his shoulder. He looks up at the use of his name. You press your lips to the top of his head once, lingering, before your hand resumes its travels along his back. “You’re giving yourself a hard enough time when you’re asleep, how about you give yourself a little break when you’re awake, hm?”

He mumbles, it sounds vaguely like “Ain’t no rest for the wicked”, and is interrupted by a yawn he fails miserably to stifle. You feel the familiar clench around your heart once more. Glancing at the clock in the room, you find both hands nestled close together at the number 3.

“Hey, how about we salvage what’s left of this night?” you ask. When he only looks up at you in response, you continue. “Come on, you get in the shower so you can feel nice and fresh and we can watch some TV and no sleep will be had, how does that sound?”

“Mmph,” he replies, lolling his head dramatically against you, and you laugh as you sit up, forcing him into a sitting position with you.

“You know it’ll make you feel loads better, come on,” you say, your arms still flung loosely over his shoulders.

He whines, honest to God whines, like a child who has been asked to pack away his toys before dinner and you bite your lip to stop from laughing.

“Come on, lazy bones,” you try again, prodding his ribs, and this time he moves, albeit slowly, to swing his legs over the side of the bed.

“You’ll stay?” he asks, turning back to you, and you notice he’s not meeting your eyes.

“I’ll stay,” you promise, and it’s a second before he nods, mostly to himself, and stands up. When you hear the bathroom door open, you spring off of the bed, placing the paperback on the beside table, and begin to strip the damp sheets from the mattress and pillows. Once you’ve located a fresh set, you embrace the struggle of lifting the mattress to stretch every fitted corner against it, and before long, the bed is dressed in shades of deep plum, its soft smell warm and inviting. You bundle the old sheets together and move to leave them in the hamper when you hear it. The water is beating down relentlessly against the tile of the shower, and it almost masks the sound, but then you hear it again, an unmistakable sob.

The feeling that seizes your body when you hear Bucky’s screams takes hold of you once more. Do you let him have his privacy, or do you go and comfort him? This time, propelled by the guilt of having suggested the shower in the first place, you walk towards the bathroom and push open the door the rest of the way, to see him curled up in the corner of the shower, his head in his hands, arms on his knees, his body shaking with the force of his sobs. Your shirt is on the floor before you realise you’ve taken it off and you’re left in a crop top and underwear. You open the shower door and he looks up at you from his position on the floor, his hair sticking to his face and his eyes red.

You sit beside him and lean your head on his shoulder, trying to ignore the discomfort of the water soaking your underwear almost immediately. A particularly harsh set of sobs takes hold of him and he gasps for air.

“Oh, angel,” you murmur. You manoeuvre the both of you into a position where you can hold him from behind, legs on either side of him. “Shhh, it’s okay, Buck, you’re okay,” you repeat, pressing your lips to the skin of his back, rocking him gently. His hands grasp your arms as he continues to expel air faster than he can get it in. “It’s okay, just breathe, honey, you’re okay, come on, like me, feel how I’m moving against you, big breath in,” you prompt, heaving an exaggerated breath so that he could feel it against his back. He attempts to mimic your breath but fails, and his body shudders. “It’s okay, try again, Buck, come on, take a breath in,” you say as you take your own, this time when he follows its less shaky, and his shoulders slump as he exhales. “Good,” you praise, the word stretching itself soothingly over him like a blanket. “Again, try and hold this one for a few seconds,” you encourage, taking another breath in yourself as the water beats down on you both, and he follows, holding his breath until you instruct him to let go.

The sound of the water disappears into the back of your mind and all you can hear is your voice and his breathing for the next few minutes and eventually, he slumps against you and you use the wall behind you to catch the both of you.

You reach for the shampoo bottle nestled in the small nook in the wall and bring it down onto the floor to join you. You sweep Bucky’s hair back from his face and he lets you, his hands still clinging to one of your arms.

“I’m going to wash your hair for you, okay?” you ask, and he nods after a second, still consumed by his own thoughts. You squeeze a generous amount onto your hand and apply it to his scalp, struggling with the use of one arm but not wanting to take the other away from Bucky. Your fingers scratch against his scalp and he relaxes against you. “That feel good?” you ask with a small smile, and he nods, so you take your time with it, massaging until the soap builds a small monument on the top of his head. “Okay, we’re going to wash this out now,” you say, moving him gently back under the stream of water, and using your hand to make sure you don't leave any traces of soap.

Next, you reach for the conditioner and apply it to his ends, this time gently removing your arm from his grasp, leaving a soft kiss on his shoulder to reassure him. With both hands available to you, you ran your fingers through his hair, searching for knots to untangle, finding very few. You rinse the conditioner and the soft nutty vanilla smell fills the enclosed space. With his hair finally washed, you grab the shower gel and loofah, and you yelp quietly when you accidentally squeeze too much onto it. Bucky turns to look at what you’ve done and a small laugh escapes him.

“I didn’t realise I smelled that bad,” he croaks, raising an eyebrow, and you smile. His voice is raw from the sobbing, but he was teasing again.

“I know you didn’t, I practically forced you in here,” you deadpan, nudging him so he knew you were teasing. You rub the excess gel onto your own skin before you push him forward a little and move the loofah over his back in soft circles. You bring it to his front, washing his chest and neck, and he holds your arm briefly again when it’s within reach. You bring the loofah back under the water as you go for his arms, his legs, and there’s a brief awkward moment where you hover at his belly, and he takes it from you, answering your unasked question, and washing between his thighs. You stand to return all the bottles to their nook in the wall and Bucky joins you, unsteady on his feet for a second. You take the loofah back from him and run it over the small of his back, his butt, the backs of his legs, before rinsing it off.

“You ready?” you ask gently, and he nods, leaning his forehead against yours. You turn the shower off and reach for his hair, squeezing the excess water from it, and then do the same for yourself. The water from your body drips onto the floor as you step out of the shower first and make your way to the stack of neatly folded towels. You grab one and turn back to place it around him, and then do the same for yourself. Your hair sticks to your skin as you try to towel it off and you give up when you look up and find Bucky, having finished drying off, watching you. He walks over to the door, not waiting for you when he leaves, and returns just as quickly with a shirt and a pair of boxers. “Thank you,” you say, relieved to be able to strip off the soaked material of your underwear. He nods again before leaving to give you some privacy.

When you emerge from the bathroom dressed in his shirt, you find him wearing a new pair of boxers and standing in the corner of the room. You walk over to the freshly made bed and settle into it, moaning softly at the feel and smell of the fresh sheets coupled with the effects of the hot shower on your sore muscles. You look up at Bucky and reach out an arm, and it’s seemingly all he needs to stop eyeing the bed. The mattress dips as his body joins yours on the bed, and your fingers lace with his as you pull him over so that he’s lying against you once more.

"Thank you for changing the sheets," he says, after a few seconds of quiet. "You were right, feels nice." You hum in response, squeezing his hand.

Your eyes move to the clock and you see that it’s 4:00am. It wouldn’t be long before people began to start their day and you didn’t know where to go from here. You reach for the TV remote with your free hand and it flickers to life with the press of a button. Bucky shifts against you trying to find a comfortable position and the hand that isn’t holding his begins stroking his back as it had been before you’d suggested the shower. You’re certain you could find something decent to watch, but settle for the ridiculous infomercials with their exaggerated voiceovers, laughing every so often at the dramatic questions they pose to the audience.

Bucky’s eyes flutter shut a few times, and every time, he shakes himself awake again, yawning against you.

“Close your eyes, Buck” you murmur, brushing your lips over his forehead and lowering the volume of the TV. “Just for a second.”

He shakes his head and continues to fight the exhaustion for another ten minutes, shifting stubbornly against you, until finally, you hear his breath evening out, and his back rises and falls steadily beneath your now still hand, and the ridiculous man on the TV is driving a motorcycle over a mattress to prove how strong it is. As your own eyes begin to close you realise you’re caged in by Bucky’s arms on either side of you, and it feels safe here.

A few hours later you jolt awake at a sharp knock against the door. It takes a second for you to recognise your surroundings and you squint, trying to adjust to the light. Bucky lies beside you, flesh arm slung over your stomach, face pressed against your neck, legs tangled with yours. He doesn’t react to the noise, his breathing still calm and even. The door is pushed open and you lock eyes with Steve who takes in the scene before him with a raised eyebrow and a smile tugging at his lips.

He didn’t sleep, you mouth at him. Day off?

Steve nods once and leaves the room, closing the door behind him, and this time, Bucky stirs.

“Y/N?” he groans, and you can hear the tired in his voice. “Did you stay here all night? I’m-”

“Shhh, go back to sleep, Buck,” you whisper into his hair. You wrap an arm around his waist and wait until he settles back into your neck before you close your eyes and drift off.

#james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #james barnes/reader #james barnes x reader #james barnes x y/n #james barnes/yn #james barnes x you #james barnes/you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes drabble #fic: little break

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lxveille · 3 years

Text

another love song

mk x reader

word count: ~ 2080 warnings: references to alcohol a/n: university!au; another ‘trying to get back into the feel of writing’ fic so... idk ?? tbh it’s more of a fic treatment but here’s what i’m posting anyway

Minkyun has gotten inspiration for his songs from you before. This one is different.

You’re nearly always the first person to place money into Minkyun’s open guitar case when he’s busking.

More often than not, he tries to return your money once he’s packed up for the afternoon - but you refuse, and tell him he earned it. Then he usually spends more on you than you gave by buying you bubble tea or coffee before the two of you trek back to campus.

You’re not sure what you’d do with your Saturday afternoons if not for him.

You’d met Minkyun in a literature class your first year of university. At first it had been easy to write him off as a high school class clown having some difficulty adjusting to university expectations. Except that sometimes, when your professor would really dig into the themes of a text, he’d have something to share that would stick with you. A thought - sometimes chaotically explained - that would rumble around in your brain for a week, even. Eventually, you decided a proper introduction was in order. A fatal mistake, if you’d hoped to keep up some aloof, studious front. He had a way of warming others up, it turned out. You discovered he was friends with a number of people with unfriendly faces who somehow transformed into lighthearted, open books in Minkyun’s presence.

You feel a little lighter around him, too.

And on the days you don’t, he invites you to unburden.

It became a common tableau: you sprawled out, exasperated, on the beanbag chair in his dorm room, ranting about anything that bothered you while he lay on his bed, half-propped up against the wall and strumming occasional notes on his guitar. A last complaint and a final chord, and then Minkyun would be on his feet with an idea of what the two of you should do to shake it out of your system for once and for all. Those plans only sometimes included just enough beer that the both of you were giddy and ready to laugh at anything.

If Minkyun had to name one good reason to get drunk with you, it was this: it was the only time you’d sing. The very first time you let yourself break into song in front of him had been at a bar. It had been difficult to make out your voice over the speakers, but Minkyun heard. Maybe more important, though, was the way you swayed your shoulders and rocked into each syllable.

He would tease sometimes that you ought to join him when he busked. He might make more with you joining in.

“Ah, but then you’d have to split it with me, too,” you’d reply. You assumed, at least, that he must be kidding.

It was spring the first time Minkyun asked you to listen to something original he’d composed. There was something personal about it that had never occurred to you when listening to a song before. For all the times you had watched him play, it was like looking at him from a new angle. Just as his commentary used to linger on your mind, his songs began to do the same.

And in the winter of your second year, he asked if it’d be okay to use some of your own rants as inspiration in songs.

“What?” you asked.

“Just - the way you talk about the guys you’re getting over, and stuff like that. It could make for good lyrics.”

“You’re going to quote me?”

“Well,” he lingered on the syllable, then broke into a dimpled smile. “No. But I don’t wanna take inspiration without telling you!”

So it happened that when he performed songs of his own, you sometimes began to recognize bits of your own infatuations and fallings outs weaved into his lyrics. The way he framed it, it usually made it easier to get over whoever had been behind the heartbreak.

Minkyun isn’t busking today. The drizzle is enough that it wouldn’t be worth it. All the same, he spent the better part of the morning sending you messages asking you to come over.

When you finally cave, you put on a front of unhappiness at the door, shaking out your umbrella before passing it over to his extended hand.

“I brought some stuff for my class so I can try to get work done like I’d planned,” you told him.

He pouted for dramatic flair. “So you’re really just gonna act like you’re at your room at mine?”

“That’s what we agreed to! I told you I wanna get this reading done so I can just be hungover tomorrow without having to worry about Monday’s lecture.”

“Damn, and people try to frame university drinkers as irresponsible.”

“What can I say? I’m flawless,” you comment dryly as you pass into his room.

“So you’re still going out even if the rain keeps up?” Minkyun asks. He settles into his usual spot near the foot of his mattress. You rummage through your bag for a textbook and your printed copy of the syllabus before finding a spot somewhere closer to the pillow.

“Mm,” you affirm, “I think I’m officially entirely over Seungcheol, so it’ll be good for me to go out.”

“Ahhh.” There’s something guttural and mischievous in the way he makes the sound. It’d be fair to expect some ribbing comment on how transparent you could be with these things. No such remark comes.

It’s some time later, when you’re nearly done with your assigned reading, that Minkyun announces that he finished a new song recently.

“Like one of your own?” you ask.

He nods, and adds how he’d been thinking of playing it out this weekend if it hadn’t been for the poor turn in weather.

You exaggerate a gasp. “You were going to share a song with a crowd before sharing it just with me?” There’s no real offence. It’s only a pattern that you’d noticed. Sometimes he’d say it felt needed, if only because he based part of the lyrics’ premise on your own experiences instead of his own.

“I know!” Minkyun laughs airly. “Mother nature said not to, I guess!”

“Well, are you going to play it now then?” You should tell him to wait until you’ve finished this chapter. That way you won’t entirely lose track of things. But you’re not infallible; and if there’s one thing you��re horrible at resisting it’s the chance to hear Minkyun play.

He hops up from the bed to fetch his guitar. And he plays.

It’s a love song, which doesn’t come as a surprise. Minkyun told you from the beginning - or at least when he first asked if he could take inspiration from your own heart’s tribulations - that he liked to write about that feeling. The good, the bad, or at the very least what he imagined of it.

This song doesn’t feel familiar. Usually you can tell when he’s written indirectly about your own affairs. So these endearing words, these syrupy lines of dedication, of patiently waiting for the other one to notice… They must be from his own experience.

A corner of your heart goes sour at that thought, and retorts that it might be one of his other friends. Devoted and hoping it won’t go unnoticed would be right up Yuto’s alley, you tell yourself as your search for a likely suspect. You don’t let yourself think too much on why you don’t want it to be Minkyun’s own feelings.

Except there’s something else that bothers you. The way he keeps his eyes on his strumming fingers, or closes them altogether.

Normally Minkyun looks at you now and then, and smiles at your reactions to his music. Even with the unhappy songs.

You squeeze the textbook in your lap. A corner digs into your palm. He’s somewhere in the second chorus and your mind is fogging over with an irritation. It’s not his fault. You’re not mad at him.

You just wish you had realized you want to fall in love with Minkyun sooner.

The last chord hangs in the air before you can fully process this thought. He looks at you expectantly.

“What do you think?” Minkyun asks.

You force a smile. “It’s sweet.”

He leaves space for you to elaborate. When you don’t, the corners of his lips drag down a bit. “Just sweet?” He repeats. “Is it lame?”

“No! It’s just - it’s different from some of your other stuff. But it’s sweet. I like it. I think, um… I just was expecting it to be something based on my whole recent back and forth thing. Since you wanted to play it for me,” you try to cover for your lackluster response.

Minkyun looks you over for a moment, then chuckles. “Not every song can be about your love life.”

“I know! Of course! Geez, that’s not what I meant,” you rush to say, loudly, as if you needed to cover the sound of some kind of fracture in your heart.

He leans forward to set his guitar carefully on the tiles, its neck leaning against the bed frame. “I guess that’s not totally accurate to say here though.” He shakes his head to get his hair out of his eyes as he looks your way again.

“...What?”

“Ah… You’re pretty clueless, huh?” Minkyun sounds content with himself, and he’s barely holding back a grin.

“I’ve never gone on like that about someone.”

“Yeah, I know.”

You eye him over a few times quickly, trying to reach a conclusion that feels safe. All you can theorize for sure is that he’s practiced this all, and somehow it’s going to plan. Maybe. “What are you on about?” you ask, tone turning suspicious.

He laughs more fully now, then shifts his position to face you directly from the other end of his duvet. “You.”

You glance around him like this could be some hidden camera prank. “What?”

“You,” Minkyun repeats, “It’s about you.”

In the most foolish move of the day, you suddenly felt your throat dry out the same way it does before you cry. It must have been too much at once: to realize a desire and think it ripped away only to have it suddenly offered up so easily, so soon.

“You’re not serious.”

“Is it bad if I am?” he asks, leaning to the right a bit as he watches your reaction. You press your palm to your clavicle, trying to get your heart and your mind in sync. “Am serious, I mean.”

All you can manage is a shake of your head.

Minkyun grins bright and leans forward to put a hand over the one still at your side. “You really didn’t notice?” He pulls off incredulous and teasing in one go. If you weren’t so off kilter, you might want to scold him for it somehow.

“What was I supposed to know?” You ask instead.

He shakes his head. For a fleeting instant, you worry he’s about to brush the whole thing aside. That worry is killed pretty quickly when he leans closer instead and delicately presses an experimental kiss against your lips.

Minkyun is back to his side of the bed in the next moment, nearly like it hadn’t happened at all.

Your hand lifts from your clavicle to allow your fingers to brush over your own lips, still tingly with the affection. Or maybe just from his lip balm rubbing off on you.

He gives you a second more before asking, “Still okay?”

“Um, yeah.”

His smile returns. “Still going out to find someone new tonight?”

“Oh my god.” You cover your face with your hands and accuse, “You’re the worst.”

“So… is that a yes, you are?”

He knows it isn’t.

He’s spent all this time getting to know you. Now he gets to be the one on the receiving end of that look in your eyes.

“Would you stop that?” You muster up as much of a snip in your voice as you can. Your gaze gives away that you’re not really annoyed. It would be difficult to be, given the way your head is still spinning from his confession.

“Stop what?”

The smile on his face suggests he already knows. Nevertheless, you don’t give Minkyun the satisfaction of admitting he’s teasing you. “Just kiss me again,” you swerve to a demand. Frankly, it’s the main thing you’d been thinking since the first. You’ll figure out the rest of your feelings later.

For now, Minkyun is hardly going to deny you that.

#onf scenarios #onf imagines #mk x reader #park minkyun imagine #onf fanfic

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crystalstar8 · 3 years

Text

Knights of the Night (Epilogue 2)

Epilogue 2

Ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5, ch 6, ch 7, ch 8, ch 9, ch 10, ch 11, ch 12, ch 13, ch 14, ch 15, ch 16, ch 17, ch 18, ch 19, ch 20, ch 21, ch 22, ch 23, epilogue, epilogue 2

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29139240/chapters/71536491

pairing: Jungkook x oc

genre: vampire au, college au, twilight, romance

word count: 1,053

warnings: blood (obviously), kidnapping, child kidnapping, needles, France, human trafficking

notes: vampires, vampire au, college, college au, so many twilight references, blood, needles, kidnapping, children, homelessness, dance, ballet, flashbacks, romance, slow burn, probably no smut, idk yet tho, France, French things, attempted genocide, inaccurate French history, bisexual main character, @strawberriewithchocolate-blog @mozy-j @daechwitad-2 @zobadak @fallenstar-7

summary: Catalina starts college in a small town all the way across the country. She doesn’t know anyone and isn’t exactly looking for friends. She just wants to focus on dance. But when she meets fellow dance major, Jimin, and adventurous, fellow freshman, Jungkook, Catalina ends up discovering a whole new side to the small college town; one that is dangerous but oh so enticing...

Jungkook was waiting for her outside the building, a rose in his hand. Catalina’s nose scrunched into a smile as she skipped down the stone steps.

France was overwhelming; the architecture everywhere was ancient and beautiful, and the history was fascinating and rich. The people were a bit rude, especially once they realized they were Americans. They were only a bit more forgiving when Namjoon, Taehyung, and Yoongi showed off their fluent French.

The theater Catalina had her audition in was stunning. The outside was all white columns and friezes, the inside was mosaic tiled floors and painted ceilings.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she dropped her dance bag and threw herself into Jungkook’s arms.

“You got me a rose?” she asked, leaning back just enough to look at the rose in his hand.

“Of course I got you a rose,” he said. “You think I’d let you step out of an audition without a rose?”

Catalina giggled and took the flower from him.

“How did it go? Did you get in?” he asked.

“I don’t know yet,” said Catalina. “They’re going to do callbacks in a few days.”

“Good thing we’re staying for a while,” said Jungkook.

“But honestly, it doesn’t matter if I get in or not,” said Catalina. “There’s always next year. And There’s always plenty of shows.”

“Yeah, you have all the time in the world,” said Jungkook. He stared at her for a moment, then whispered, “I want you to turn me.”

“Oh yeah?” Catalina asked. She had been waiting for this. She knew that he was worried about aging without her, she could see it his eyes sometimes when they went to bed together, knowing she wouldn’t fall asleep. She especially saw it on his birthday. “You’re still young.”

“I know, but I’m already the same age as you now,” he said.

“Oh no! You’re the same age as me! You basically have one foot in the grave already!” Catalina giggled. “You should take your time. You get hotter every year. Let yourself ripen a bit before doing this.”

He laughed loudly and tugged her closer.

“That’s true,” he said.

“Wait until we both graduate,” said Catalina. “We can talk then.”

“You’re pulling an Edward on me?” he said. “Next thing I know, it’ll be, ‘wait until we’re married’.”

Catalina giggled and swatted his arm. “You’re being a baby.”

“I know. I’m kidding,” he said. “I can wait.”

“Besides, we need time to explore the wonders of blood drinking during sex,” she said. “Did you know there’s aphrodisiacs in the venom when you drink from someone? It’s supposed to make them pliant, but it doesn’t turn them into a vampire.”

“That sounds hot,” said Jungkook. “Also, I am a fan of being manhandled. I’m not ready for that to end just yet.”

“I know. We might need a chaperone though,” she said, tapping her chin. “I don’t know if I’d be able to stop once I got started. You smell way too good.”

“We have plenty of time to work out the specifics,” said Jungkook. “I need time to get hotter each year, so we’ll figure it out.”

They both laughed as they went to the car waiting for them.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Taehyung loved the Louvre. It was like a dream come true, wandering the unending corridors, seeing all the classics he’s idolized for hundreds of years.

“Taehyungie, what’s this one called?” Jimin asked. His hand was covering the informational plaque under a series of paintings depicting a man looking at a celestial globe. Jimin had been doing this for hours, but Taehyung didn’t mind. He loved sharing what he knew about all his favorite pieces.

“That’s ‘The Astronomer’, by Vermeer,” said Taehyung. Jimin smiled and strolled ahead down the corridor, in search of his next quiz. It was a weekday, so the museum wasn’t very busy. There was a tour group of young students, which Taehyung and Jimin ran into a few times, but otherwise there were only a few stray artists wandering around doing sketches of the statues.

In the back of his mind, Taehyung knew that the rest of their group was supposed to meet them here at some point, but Taehyung and Jimin were so far into the maze of art that he wouldn’t even know how to direct them once they arrived. He wasn’t worried about it either. He was having too much fun with Jimin to care about the others right now.

Every moment spent with Jimin was special to him. He still couldn’t believe sometimes how quickly Jimin had reassured and forgiven Taehyung; he was so sure Jimin would hate him for making that decision for him. And while Jimin was struggling getting used to his new life, he made it clear that he was thankful to be alive, that he was excited to spend forever with Taehyung.

“What about this one?” Jimin asked. Taehyung strolled over to look at what painting Jimin was at.

“‘St. Michael Vanquishing Satan’,” said Taehyung. “Raphael.”

Jimin continued down the hall, eyes flitting across each painting. Taehyung was most excited to see David; he heard that the statue was way bigger in person than one would expect.

Taehyung stopped. The painting he was looking at made his eyes widen and his mouth fall open. The plaque said that the artist was unknown. Jimin must have noticed that Taehyung had stopped moving, because he wandered over, letting out a gasp when he saw the painting.

They didn’t say anything for a while. The school group wandered past behind them, the children’s voices bouncing off the stone walls.

“Hey, that guy looks just like you!” a voice shouted from behind them. Jimin turned around to talk with the girl, who was pointing at Taehyung. Taehyung didn’t take his eyes off the picture though. He felt a tear roll down his face.

“Can I take a picture of you with that painting?” the little girl asked. Taehyung wiped the tear from his cheek and nodded, turning around to face the girl. She lifted her phone and snapped a picture. She gave them a toothy smile before running to catch up with her classmates.

“Is this Adrianna’s work?” Jimin asked. Taehyung nodded. He turned back around to stare at the painting of himself with his dog.

A/N:

And that’s a wrap! Thank you to everyone reading this and sticking with me during this story. Reading the comments was my favorite part of this journey.

This story is officially novel length! I’ve never accomplished that before with a complete work! I’ll be posting this story on Wattpad, and I’m also thinking of changing names and adding scenes to make this a publishable work, so keep your eyes out for updates on that!

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romanapologist · 3 years

Text

give up on a miracle - sanders sides au - chp. 1

pairing(s): as of now, romantic nicomas and platonic everyone else

warnings: lots of religious stuff

summary: patton, virgil, logan, and janus are angels in charge of answering prayers. when they find out the earth is scheduled to be destroyed in a week, their only hope for saving it is to set up two humans: thomas sanders and nico flores.

word count: 3.5k

notes: this is a based off of miracle workers but not an exact au, idk it’ll be fun, you don’t have to have seen the show, you just have to like silly angel shenanigans

Please, God, let this somehow work out.

Thomas didn’t ask for miracles too often. Well—that was a lie, he probably prayed for some inconsequential thing everyday, but he rarely meant it the way he meant this one. The man at the mall felt like fate. He was beautiful, and according to his backpack he was gay, and he was just a few tables down, and... Thomas should have just said hi as soon as he had noticed him, but he had psyched himself out. Like always.

Usually that would be the end of the story, but as Thomas was headed for the exit, the man was there too. In front of him. Speaking to him.

Thomas was too caught off guard to process the first half of what he said—though he did register being given back his abhorrent carrot snack—and when he tuned back in, all he caught was:

“Uh, it’s okay! It’s probably a bit too nosy for me to ask anyway.”

“Uh, yeah! Super nosy! What’s wrong with you, man?” was the sentence that came out of Thomas’s mouth in response. He blamed his lips for coming up with it, because he knew his mind couldn’t have been involved.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” the man smiled apologetically at him, and even that small, sheepish smile was so radiant… yeah, Thomas was mentally beating the shit out of himself. “Well, have a good night!”

So, now the fate-given man was headed somewhere else, and Thomas was about to lose him—probably forever—if he didn’t act. So, obvious answer: he had to act. But he just… couldn’t. Not without a sign at least.

Not without a push.

When no push came, Thomas told himself it wouldn’t have led anywhere anyway. He continued about his day, with only the slightest added weight in his chest.

•••

“Aw, Virge, we have to do something about this one!”

Virgil looked up from his own paperwork to see the prayer Patton had pulled up.

“‘Please, God, let this somehow work out,’” he read out dryly. “Hm, not very specific.”

“Oh, but you didn’t—c’mon, look—“ Patton waved his hand to replay the video of the scene. The figures popped up on the screen, and Patton was reminded all over again of the dopey, flustered expression of the human, Thomas, as he failed so miserably at talking to his mall crush. It was such a silly, hopeful wish—Patton’s favorite kind—and he couldn’t bear to see it go unanswered.

His fellow angel did not share this opinion, evidentially. “Nope. Nuh-uh. No way,” Virgil said, “Love prayers are stupid as shit, hardest of all, never work out. If this whole department’s getting shut down, I’d rather spend my last week answering achievable prayers.”

Patton frowned. His brown-dappled wings drooped as his excitement wavered. “Is that right, though?” he asked, “Should we really stick to… what? Finding lost wallets? Delivering extra sandwiches? Like we’ve done every year of this job? If this is all ending, I wanna finally do something that matters, Virge.”

Virgil looked betrayed. “Lost wallets do matter, Patton. Maybe they don’t end droughts, or heal hearts, but that doesn’t mean they don’t matter. If people wish for it, it matters to them. I always thought you agreed with me on that.”

Patton bit his lip. He did agree with Virgil, on some level, and on any other day he would have considered his words more carefully. But with the prayer department set to close down this very week, he had lost some of his filter. Maybe his ideas were far-fetched, but when he had joined the Department of Answered Prayers he had been hoping to do exactly that--end droughts, heal hearts.

“Virgil’s right,” chimed in Logan. Their manager made his way over, and took Patton’s tablet from his hands. He swiped upwards on the prayer, officially dismissing it as ‘impossible.’ “There is no need to feel bad, Patton. It’s not our fault humans mainly ask for impossible things. If they want impossible, they need God, and God doesn’t have that kind of time. If they want an extra sandwich… we can pull a few strings.”

Logan nodded approvingly to where Virgil was coding breezes on his tablet, screen open to a view of a rural town avenue. He was carefully, cautiously, innocuously blowing leaves into piles one-by-one. This process eventually cleared the front yard of a small house, just in time for a kind-eyed, middle-aged man to come home and cheer at the sight of the finished chore. He even did a stupid little dance to himself, and Patton saw the smallest smile tug at Virgil’s lips.

“I agree with Patton,” came a voice from over by the mini fridge. Janus was doing what he did best: sipping at the canned wine he wasn’t meant to have, not doing any work, and giving his opinion on everything anyway. “Let’s do something interesting. It’s not like it matters at this point.”

“What do you mean?” Patton squinted at him.

“Cuz the prayer department’s getting shut down, duh, what else have we been talking about?” Virgil answered.

“No,” Janus said, “Well—yes, but… you know why we’re getting shut down, right?”

Patton and Virgil tilted their heads at him, and Logan looked away. A smile appeared on Janus’s face, but not one of joy. One that had an edge, a venom in it. “Logan… you didn’t tell them?”

“It would only upset them,” the management angel replied, still not meeting Janus’s eyes.

“Yeah, because they’ll not be upset at all when they see Earth randomly explode in a few days,” Janus deadpanned.

“What?!” Patton and Virgil exclaimed in simultaneous dismay.

Logan glared at Janus. “Are you happy? Now we have to deal with this for the next week.”

“Earth can’t explode yet,” Virgil said matter-of-factly, “that’s not right. Right?”

Patton nodded emphatically. “We should’ve gotten at least a century’s notice! Or had it on a public schedule somewhere!”

“Yeah, God has to call it off. At least for now,” Virgil agreed.

“You want God to stop it?” Janus said with a laugh. “He didn’t even remember it was happening; it was His PA who told the management staff.”

“Yes, it was,” Logan narrowed his eyes at Janus. “How did you find out about it anyway?”

Janus opened his mouth, but before he could answer, Virgil cut in, “God’s not gonna do anything about it?”

“It’s been in His plan. Why would He need to change it?” Logan asked rhetorically, adjusting his large, round-framed glasses as he did so. It was a movement he made often when he was being a know-it-all.

“How’s Earth gonna die?” Patton asked, looking at the floor, still in denial. He had lived his life on Earth, he had been a human—they all had, before they died and became angels. It had been so long since he’d been alive, he couldn’t quite remember the feeling of it. The memory was blurred around the edges, but it still seeped warmth, like dough burning into bread over a fire. Now, the only connection he had to that sensation were the humans--the chance to watch them, how they lived such utterly flawed, full lives. He recalled Thomas’s hopeful expression.

“Asteroid,” Logan replied. He didn’t need to check his files to give the answer, his ink-blue wings stiff behind him--and that was when Patton knew, despite his cold, indifferent attitude, this news was weighing on him too.

“Like the dinosaurs. Well, bigger. But still unoriginal of Him,” Janus scoffed, checking his nails—well, more like checking his gloves, which seemed unnecessary. Something mournful crossed his face for a moment, but Patton couldn’t place what. “The dinosaurs were sad too.”

“You lived in the 19th century. You weren’t around for dinosaurs,” Logan stated, brow furrowed in confusion. Janus ignored him.

“An asteroid? He could prevent that so easily! Earth deserves to at least live to its natural end,” Patton said. He glanced to Virgil, hoping for backup, but his coworker seemed most focused on biting his black-polished nails into dust.

“Well, isn’t it the natural end if it was in His plan?” Logan asked, once again, rhetorically. He also adjusted his glasses again. Patton liked to think of himself as particularly nice, even for an angel, but he wouldn’t have minded seeing those glasses broken in that moment.

“I’m more interested in your claim that Earth doesn’t ‘deserve’ to end,” Janus smiled at Patton. It was a slippery kind of smile, one that he couldn’t grasp the intentions of. “Overall, it’s a dumpster fire of a planet, wouldn’t you agree? I mean, 99% of the prayers are literally impossible for angels to answer at this point.”

“Yeah, well, I know some angels who are too busy with their shitty wine to even try—“ Virgil began to complain, turning on Janus, but Patton was too busy having a revelation to pay much attention to it.

“That’s it!” Patton exclaimed, jumping up from his seat with a grin.

“Please, be more specific, Patton,” Logan sighed. “Define ‘it.’”

Patton was, once again, too busy to pay attention to this. He made for the doorway with haste, only tossing over his shoulder: “I’m going to meet God!”

•••

Logan, Janus, and Virgil made it to God’s office before Patton did. He wasn’t the best with maps, so sue him. The trio was waiting in the grand hallway for him, and he was thankful that they had decided to back him up, despite the fact they had no idea what he was doing. Even though the coworkers bickered their fair share, you couldn’t work as the only 4 angels in a crumbling department without a certain bond forming.

Patton gave them a grateful smile as he strolled past them and right up to the secretary’s desk. The secretary, who was… not present? He checked the name plaque. Engraved in the gold of it was: Mrs. Snuffles, but the ‘u’ had been scratched out and written over so that it was Mrs. Sniffles. Before Patton could even begin to be perplexed by this, a large orange tabby hopped up from the floor, where she had been hidden, and onto the desk.

The cat looked him in the eye, with a surprising amount of purpose, and meowed.

“Hello?” Patton asked, dumbfounded. “...Mrs. Sni—Snuffles?”

She meowed again, this time with an undercurrent of what Patton could only assume was impatience.

“I—“ Patton looked back at the group behind him, but they just shrugged. They were following his lead. That couldn’t be good. “We would like to schedule a meeting with God, please.”

Mrs. Snuffles trotted over to a stack of papers, and pushed the top one aside with a swipe of her paw. She looked up from it after a moment, and then jumped down from the table, going up to the gilded, arched doorway at the end of the hall. She started meowing loudly, and soon an angel with cardinal-red wings and a matching red suit jacket stepped out. He looked down at Mrs. Snuffles, then up at Patton.

“I’m terribly sorry, but God is not available right now. He’s very busy,” the angel explained with a polite smile, the kind that was trained and not felt, “and he will be until Earth explodes. Thank you, goodbye.”

“Oh,” Patton said dumbly. He maybe should have expected that.

Mrs. Snuffles hissed at the angel, and he sighed. “You really think they want to talk to Him?”

“We do!” Patton interjected.

“You think you do,” the angel replied, an undercurrent of bitterness to his tone.

“Same difference, right?” Patton said, giving the other a hopeful smile.

“Just let us in, Princey,” Virgil’s annoyed voice came from behind. “Don’t be an ass. At least not more of one than usual.”

Patton looked between the two of them. “You know each other?”

‘Princey’ gave Virgil a deadpan glare. “Fine. You want a meeting with God? Be my guest.” He stepped aside from the doorway, gesturing to it with a sarcastic flourish.

When no one else made a move, Virgil grumbled and pushed past Patton. The rest of the group followed. When they got to the door, Patton paused and turned to the red-winged man. “Princey—“

“Roman,” he corrected.

“Roman,” Patton repeated. He pointed at the cat curiously, “Mrs. ‘Sniffles’?”

Roman blushed. “I was allergic when I was alive.”

A resounding reply of “Me too!” went through the group, and they all turned to each other in mild surprise.

“It’s how I died!” Patton added cheerily.

“Huh,” Roman replied with a puzzled frown. He cleared his throat. “Well, good luck.”

“Thank you!” Patton said. He looked down at Mrs. Snuffles as well, “Thank you, too.”

She gave him a final, curt meow, and rubbed up to his legs, pushing his feet against the door. He laughed, turned to the others waiting for him, and they nodded. Roman opened the door, and gestured them in.

Patton didn’t know what he had expected God’s office to look like, but it was decidedly not what he found upon entering that door. He had expected something resembling the grand hallway leading up to it: golden statues, velvet carpet, ivory columns. And, sure, that seemed to be the basis of the office; it was everything that was added on that was surprising. The bookshelves were stacked exclusively with trashy magazines, the walls were covered in posters of boy bands and movie stars, and a side-room had been renovated into what appeared to be a personal Starbucks. Finally, in the center of it all, sitting on the sofa and watching TV, was:

“...God?” Patton asked unsurely.

The man--(should Patton call Him that?)--eyed the group from behind a pair of sunglasses. He didn’t bother to turn the TV off as He casually greeted, “Hey, babes! What’s up?”

“Um,” Patton glanced at his friends for help, but they were clearly just as lost as him. Well, not Janus; Janus seemed unbothered. This provided Patton some sense of comfort, enough for him to continue, “We wanted to ask about--”

“Hold that thought, hun,” God held up a finger. “Roman!”

Roman walked in, almost reluctantly, at the call. “Yes?”

“Be a peach and mute the TV, would you?” God asked, throwing His PA the remote. Roman caught it as if with practice, and pressed the mute button with a wry expression.

“Thanks, love you!” God said, then turned back to Patton. “What were we talking about?”

“Well--”

God tried to sip the frappe in His drink-holder, only to find it empty, and He interrupted again to say, “Roman, coffee alert! Mama needs His caffeine!”

Roman bit his lip, presumably to stop himself from letting out a sigh. When he walked to the Starbucks corner, he seemed to purposefully avoid eye contact with the group. Patton glanced at his friends, and found Virgil suppressing an amused grin, and Janus not bothering to suppress his.

“We wanted to ask about the end of the world,” Patton finally said.

God’s brow furrowed slightly. “End of the world? Oh! OH, that is coming up, isn’t it? When’s that again, Ro?”

Roman, from behind the coffee maker, replied, “7 and a half days.”

“Oo, fun!” God gasped, “That’s so soon! I totally forgot that was so soon, isn’t that crazy?”

“So crazy,” Roman agreed dryly, handing Him a new venti frappe.

“Right,” Patton said, almost at a loss, “So, you… want the world to end?”

God shrugged, using one finger to play with his coffee straw as he spoke. “It was in my plan, wasn’t it? Plus, I mean, y’know… Earth’s really, like, ‘ew’ right now, right? Like, sure, I COULD save it, and then I’d let the humans keep doing their little thing, but I don’t want that; they’re mostly messes. I wanna make… I dunno a new place with, like, more Idris Elba’s.”

“And you’re willing to kill the real Idris Elba for that?” Janus cut in. God looked him up and down critically, before asking,

“Hey, do I know you from something?”

“No,” Janus replied quickly, “Certainly not from Eden, and even if I was there, I wasn’t the snake. I’m a real angel, hush.”

Patton turned to him in confusion, but God just shrugged again, and said, “K, whatever. Anyway, yeah, what’d you gals wanna know about Earth again?”

“Um, we wanted you to, maybe… not… blow it up?” Patton asked.

“Hmm,” God hummed, “Thanks, but no thanks! Earth is gross, I’m just so over it, you know?”

“No, I don’t know,” Patton replied without thinking, unable to hide the frustration in his voice anymore, “If Earth’s messed up, all the more reason to be there for your children, and not just kill everything. It’s wrong.”

There was a ‘thunk’ against the floor, and Patton looked to see that Roman had dropped the old coffee cup he had been carrying to the trash. Logan and Virgil were staring at Patton with equally stricken expressions, and Janus’s face was unreadable. He suddenly realized what he had said. He then realized how many angels had fallen for saying much less.

God stood up slowly. He approached Patton until He was uncomfortably close.

“Awe,” He pouted, “babe, I know it’ll be sad, but how am I supposed to change it now? It’s in the plan, hun. I’m sure you understand.” He patted his cheek once condescendingly--a touch that carried the pleasant warmth of a sunbeam--before He stepped back and took a long sip of His coffee. Patton didn’t break eye contact the whole time.

“I have an idea,” Patton said in a newly sunny tone--the type of overly kind, conversational tone that should be feared-- “How about a bet?”

“Are you for real?” God gaped at the continued insolence, somewhere between disbelief and delight. In the end, delight--or at least novelty--won. “Deal with the Devil is out, deal with God is in; OK, I’m into it!”

“You say it’s too hard to save Earth now? Impossible, even?” Patton asked challengingly. He heard a quiet gasp of realization from Logan, and when he glanced behind himself, he noticed Janus was smiling, as if impressed. This gave him enough confidence to continue, “Impossible, like it would be impossible for a few random angels to answer an unanswerable prayer?”

“Sweetie, I don’t know what you’re saying, but I love the way you’re saying it,” God waved His hand appreciatively.

Patton took Logan’s tablet from his hands. He scrolled to find the ‘Discarded Prayers: Impossible’ file. He held it out to God for proof as he concluded, “If we can answer one of these prayers before the end of the world, surely you can stop it from ending.”

“THAT’S your plan?! Pat, we can’t complete the possible prayers half the time,” Virgil exclaimed. He buried his face in his hands. “Earth’s dead.”

God, however, let out a dreamy sigh, holding one hand against His chest. Patton wasn’t sure if he was meant to feel like the ambitious hero or the prize dog at a pet show. “You know, I should say no…” God bit his lip with the same expression a suburban mother might have when she was about to cheat on her juice cleanse, “...but I never could resist a little twist! Ok, shake on it!”

God extended His hand, and Patton took it without hesitation.

“I, God, proclaim: Earth will not be destroyed next week if, and only if, an impossible prayer is answered.” As He spoke, His palm began to glow white, such that Patton had to look away for fear of being blinded. If God’s touch had been a sunbeam previously, it was now the whole sun, and Patton almost cried out from the burning heat. Technically, he didn’t have skin in the same way he did when he was alive, but he swore he felt it melting off in that grip.

Yet when God pulled away, there was no extra light in the room, no damage to his hand.

God smiled innocently. “Ok! Cute! So, what prayer you gonna choose?”

Huh. Patton hadn’t thought that far ahead. Maybe Virgil’s concern wasn’t so unwarranted. He looked down at the tablet he was still holding. His eyes scanned past several prayers that were beyond impossible--fix capitalism, no more YouTube ads, fix global warming, no more incels--until his eyes caught on just the thing. An unabashed grin overtook Patton’s face in realization,

“Oh, I know exactly what prayer we’re doing.”

•••

“Well, have a good night!”

Nico turned his back on the cute mall man after he said it, and he had to push down the urge to glance back a final time. He tried not to believe in true love—it was at best unlikely, and at worst an extremely problematic trope—but he was a writer, and a daydreamer, and when he spotted the man a few tables down at the food court… he just knew.

Ok, he didn’t know, there was no way to know that kind of thing—but he did want. He did hope. And he did, in a move that was unprecedented for him, pray:

Please, if anyone’s up there: I know it’s silly, but I want this so badly. And I know it’s basically impossible at this point but, maybe… if we meet again... let this somehow work out?

#nicomas #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #what should my tag for this be #give up on a miracle #lucy.fic #patton sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #janus sanders #remy sanders #ts remy #ts logan #ts remus #ts janus #ts patton #ts virgil

31 notes · View notes

just-a-creep-babe · 3 years

Text

Matchup!

Commissioned by the lovely @lesbianthespianqueen, thank you sm <3

~Requests are closed~

Masterlist: x

I match you with: Clockwork

Alright, so Nat’s definitely not one to hold her tongue

If she has something to say, she’ll say it, and whether or not it offends anyone, as far as she’s concerned, it’s not her prob ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

So usually, if someone else is as blunt & snarky as she is, chances are they’ll butt heads—a lot

Not necessarily in a serious/visceral way, but more of a frenemy kinda way

But for some reason, with you, it’s,,,, different

Like she’s less likely to be so defensive & snappy around you

Maybe it’s the punk look you’ve got going, or the fact that you seem pretty cool & you’ve got the vibe that you know what you’re doing

Or maybe it’s just how attractive she thinks you are & she’s lowkey intimidated by you sksjdjsls

Whatever it is, it has homegirl very easily developing a soft spot for you

The others, especially Jeff, notice that she acts differently around you and they tease the ever-loving hell out of her

She ends up kicking their ass every time though, cause there’s no way she’ll ever admit they’re right skdjdhsl

And when they tease her for it in front of you?

Whew boy, she gets BIG MAD ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° )

But tbh, it’s kinda cute cause she’ll get all blushy & flustered before finally snapping & chasing/beating them tf up 😏

Which, honestly, ngl, she looks damn fine when she’s knocking a grown ass man killer to the ground like it’s nothing

And she totally lowkey tries to show off in front of you too when she does beat them down 👀

Homegirl just wants your attention a lil, can you really blame her? ;>

Also, another sign that makes it clear she likes you (besides holding back on the snark & getting flustered around you) is how protective she is of you

If anyone makes fun of you or upsets you, she does not hesitate to throw hands

She’s the embodiment of the fite me (ง'̀-'́)ง meme except she WILL fuck up her opponent lmaoo

You might not be the type to easily show when someone’s upset you, but she’ll pay real close attention to anyone that steps outta line

And if she thinks someone’s just a little too rude, she’ll be quick to shut them up one way or another

She doesn’t mind how blunt or smart-mouthed you tend to be tbh

She actually thinks it’s pretty refreshing *cough* kinda hot too *cough*

So it’s pretty clear that you’ve no need to hold back when you’re around her

Honestly, with the way she tends to stick by your side, y’all end up getting pretty close

She loves how extroverted you become when you get to know each other better—and she’s absolutely the same

Y’all end up egging each other on into doing some things you probably shouldn’t do

But hey, it makes for some real good memories 😌👌

Bit by bit, playful insults thrown every now & then eventually turn into lowkey accidental flirting

And your friendship turns into that sort of “I really like you but idk what we are and if this counts as real flirting & at this point I’m too afraid to ask” kinda deal

She typically acts like she’s cool & confident, but she’s actually pretty shy & inexperienced & flustered by affection as well

So a kind of mutual understanding ends up developing between the two of you where y’all both KNOW you like the other but REFUSE to do anything about it

The tension gets t h i c k

Someone eventually has to intervene because it becomes clear y’all won’t do it on your own smh

And it’s pretty difficult at first for the both of you to get over the intimacy hurdle

But once you both adjust, y’all make for a banging couple

*wink wink nudge nudge*

She would’ve showed you some fighting tips before y’all started dating, but she definitely helps you practice a lot more after you become an item

And honestly, pining you down while you‘re all out of breath & sweaty?

It kinda does things to her that she was NOT ready to admit before you were an item 😳😳

She’s much more comfortable doing that kind of thing when she knows the feelings are,, mutual 😏😉

In fact, she loves play fighting with you

Whether it’s playful/flirty insults or seeing who can pin the other down faster, she adores being stupid with you & not worrying about being judged & vice versa

She knows that you trust her & she trusts you just as much

Like she usually isn’t very good at letting people in, especially not after everything that’s happened to her, but she knows you’d never do anything to hurt her

She loves & appreciates you sm 🥺💗

No one in the mansion wants to mess with either of you

Y’all were kinda scary before, but you’re downright terrifying together

You aren’t really a power couple in conventional/traditional terms, but you’ve definitely got an intensity about the two of you—and y’all are intimidating af with it tbh 😰

Even BEN holds himself back from saying the wrong kinda stuff around you

Or, at least, he tries to

Also, like I’ve mentioned, Nat typically tries to look cool & uninterested, but she’s actually a total softie uwu

Knowing you like video games, she’ll set up cozy lil nooks in her room w fairy lights & ~plenty~ of pillows & blankets in front of the tv so you can cuddle up and have chill indoor dates

But she will deny it if you bring up how much of a sap she can be :”)

She isn’t one much for theatre, but she’ll develop an appreciation for it knowing it’s what you’re into

And any play she hears about will remind her of you so, she’ll get that warm feeling in her chest & it kinda ends up making her day tbh 🥰❤️

Finally, it’s kind of something she keeps secret from the others, but she actually loves book

She is a huge bookworm & will absolutely rave about horror novels with you 👏all👏the👏time👏

Honestly, y’all are just dang fucking cute together—

NSFW

Ngl, Clocky tends to be pretty dominant in the bedroom

She likes the control it grants her & how she can choose how to go about things

She also likes seeing her lil princess squirm beneath her while she teases the hell out of you c;

And it’s all the better when you get flustered & try to give her attitude—you just look so cute~

She’s not too kinky, but she’s not always vanilla, either

One of her favourite things to do is tie you up & see how much teasing you can handle before you start begging for her touch

She’d also love to drag a feather up and down your skin to watch the way it has you squirming at the ticklish sensation

Wax & temperature play are both also something she’d love to experiment with, if you’re comfortable with it, ofc

She’s pretty big on exploring different sensations, and it honestly gets pretty sensual

But unless she’s in the mood for something rougher, she typically enjoys some nice, slow vanilla sex

She wants to worship your form and murmur how soft & warm you are, lavishing you with praise & attention between gentle kisses

She will melt if you do the same to her

Typically, she enjoys being on top, like I mentioned, but if you flip things around and focus the attention on her, she’ll get super shy & embarrassed

It’s honestly so dang precious~

If you wanna take control more often & maybe even get a lil rougher with her, you’ll definitely need to talk things through beforehand

What with her past and all, y’all will prolly need a few safewords & some clearly established boundaries to make sure everything goes well & you don’t hurt her in some way

But she’ll let you take charge if you really wanna because she trusts you uwu

Still would rather have slow & sensual sex if you’re on top tho

She doesn’t exactly consider herself the most romantic person, but she’ll try the whole candle-lit thing just to show you how much she loves you & that she’s willing to put effort

Also, the first few times y’all sleep together, she knows affection can sometimes scare you, so she’ll be very patient & understanding throughout the whole thing

Truth be told, it kinda scares her a lil too

She’s used to non-committal sex, although, admittedly, even in that case, she acts like she sleeps around a lot more than she actually does

She’s got a rep to uphold and all

Point is, the soft-mushy stuff is pretty fresh territory

So it’ll take her some time to adjust to it too, but y’all can both learn together at your own pace

The aftercare is top quality too

Plenty of cuddles and soft reassurance, asking if you’re ok and if it was alright for you

She’s really just a softie :”)

Loves & trusts you with her whole heart <33

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