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luxwritesfanfic · 3 years

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Don’t Take The Money

Poor reader thought it would end up being a normal Sunday but that must’ve been the mix of bleach and Pinesol fumes getting to their head. Or, the one where reader finds out they have more in common with the other woman in Sherlock’s life than they thought and Sherlock has an aneurysm at the revelation. Thanks for reading!

Sherlock Holmes/Reader

You were just waking up when Sherlock was moving around the bedroom trying to pack his overnight bag. You groaned at the noise of drawers being opened and hangers jostled and rolled over onto your stomach, propping yourself up on your elbows. “Sherlock? You’re leaving?”

He stopped in his tracks back towards the closet and moved to sit on the edge of the bed next to you. He looked down at you with fondness that so many people thought he was incapable of feeling and as always, it made your heart swell. Brushing a lock of hair behind your ear, you relished in his undivided attention.

“A case was brought to my attention. I won’t be gone for long, it’s a few towns over.” He insists, trying to ease your worries before they arise.

Although you’d miss him, it never did anyone any good when Sherlock was bored. He needed something to keep him occupied and you needed time to clean up the drywall shrapnel that constantly covered the couch due to the boredness. It would give you the opportunity to deep clean the flat and the idea wasn’t so bad.

“Is John going too?” Sherlock nodded. You don’t know why you asked, they always worked together.

You turned your head to kiss his palm and sat up to get out of bed. “Okay. I’ll make you breakfast before you guys leave. Nobody likes train food anyway.”

Sherlock moved to help you stand, one of the smiles he reserved just for you gracing his lips. “You take excellent care of me. But you should know, you don’t have to be useful for this to mean something to me.”

He caught you off guard, but he usually did when he read you like a book. Your whole life you’d made yourself useful and you weren’t sure if people liked you for you or for the fact that there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for them. You would do anything and everything for Sherlock and it didn’t have anything to do with being useful, honestly. You loved him dearly and you couldn’t imagine treating him like you felt anything less than that. You couldn’t help but kiss him.

“Omelettes or pancakes?”

—

Your shirt was soaked from washing the dishes and you smelled like a mixture of bleach and formaldehyde from scrubbing the fridge clean and removing the severed head that took up the space where your coffee creamer should be. You had done more loads of laundry than you could count, bleached the bloodstained tub from Sherlock’s latest pig quest, the entire flat smelled like Bahama breeze and you couldn’t be more content. The boys weren’t due back for a day or two so you figured you’d spend some time with Mrs. Hudson when you were done and see if you could meet up with Bucky and Greg for lunch. When you passed the kitchen on your way to your bedroom to change, you decided that this may be the only chance you ever get to clear off the dining room table. Sherlock’s science equipment had overrun it and you figured it wouldn’t hurt if you straightened it up just a bit.

You were in the midst of cleaning out Sherlock’s beakers when you heard the knock on the door. Figuring that John would have posted on his blog that they weren’t currently taking clients because they were on a case, you expected to see Mrs. Hudson and the mop she was letting you borrow. You cracked the door just enough to see who was on the other side and was surprised to see an older woman holding a plate of baked goods who wasn’t Mrs. Hudson.

“Hi... how can I help you?”

The woman in question’s eyes lit up at the sight of you and you weren’t sure why. She smiled and gestured to the platter in her hands. “Is Sherlock Holmes here?”

She must be a client, you thought. Shaking your head, you responded, “No, sorry! The boys off on a case. I’m a friend of theirs. Is there something I can help you with?”

She was looking past you into the flat and you weren’t sure what she was looking for. “Do you mind if I come in? I could really use a cup of tea. And I wanted to drop these cookies I made for Sherlock off.”

You looked at what she was holding and decided it wouldn’t really hurt to let her in, and the cookies looked amazing. Sherlock must have helped her in some way.

“Sure, come on in. Sorry about my clothes... I’ve been doing some spring cleaning.” You stepped aside and let her in. “So, are you a client of his?”

She went to place the platter on the table and you were excited that it was already worth cleaning off the table. “Not quite. I’ve known him his whole life and have loved him even longer.” She turned and smiled at you, seeing through you in a way that seemed eerily close to Sherlock.

You hummed, taking in her answer. Sherlock didn’t talk much about his friends, so you weren’t surprised that you never heard of her.

“Just a minute, I’m gonna change.”

You excused yourself to the bedroom where your phone was charging on the bed. After sending Sherlock a quick text that someone who wasn’t a client was here for him, you dug around in the closet for something clean and more appropriate.

The lady didn’t really seem like a threat and you were sure if it came down to it, you’d be able to protect yourself. You could chuck the skull on the mantle if need be, it was a hard hitter.

When you returned, she was wandering around the flat and looking at all of the pictures of you, Sherlock, and John that you’d recently framed and put out.

“You and Sherlock, you’re close, yes? Tell me about him. It’s been so long.” She was holding a picture that you took of you two in the back of a taxi. Sherlock was on his phone but you thought his hair looked extra good and the golden hour light made him look like an angel so you had to take the picture.

“Yeah, I mean. He’s a seriously great person. A brilliant detective, he’s so smart. He helps all these people for free, and he never complains if they don’t offer him anything. He hates when I tell him he’s a godsend but who else would do that? Um... he’s really funny, probably one of the funniest people I know. You just have to keep up with his humor. It can be kind of dry, but it’s there. He’s one of the most loyal people there is and he’d do anything for the people he cares about.”

It was so easy for you to speak so highly of him. It was like second nature.

“He can be stubborn sometimes, and he can be a little more blunt than he needs to be but... he’s amazing. There’s no other way to explain him, really. He’s got a light that comes from him that rivals the sun and I don’t think it could ever be dimmed.”

She turned back to you and slowly broke out into one of the biggest grins you’d ever seen someone wear. “You really love my son.”

“Your son?” You blinked, unsure of what was going on. You really started to look at the woman in front of you and you realized Sherlock had her eyes. A complete copy and paste. “Oh my God, you’re Sherlock’s mom. I never even introduced myself. I’m Y/N, a friend of-”

“You’re not his friend, dear, and I’m not blind. Old age takes a lot from you, but I could never miss the way my son shines. And you... you see it too.” She walked up to you, still holding the picture frame in her hands. “You love my son in a way that no one else has. Let me tell you all about him.”

—

You couldn’t stop laughing.

Sherlock’s mom had brought over tons of scrapbooks and old pictures that she had acquired over the years, and you had a feeling she knew you were here alone before she even knocked on the door. Mycroft, probably. You spent the whole day getting to know each other and taking a stroll down memory lane with her telling you all about Sherlock as a kid and how it was growing up with two geniuses as sons. She even gave you a copy of one of Sherlock’s high school pictures that you were going to cherish forever. She seemed so happy to have someone to talk to and assured you that spending time with you was the closest she had felt to Sherlock in a long time.

You insisted that she stay and let you make dinner, but she was as equally stubborn as Sherlock and ordered you takeaway as her treat. You tried to argue but she was having none of it. “My God, you scrubbed this whole flat clean. I’m not going to let you dirty your dishes. How does Chinese sound?”

—

Sherlock barreled up the steps with all the force he could muster in his legs and rushed in to see you, perfectly fine and all in one piece, having dinner with his mother.

“Sherlock!” You both exclaimed, his mother full of excitement and you full of worry.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, standing up from your end of the couch. “I thought you were on a case? Is everything okay?”

“I’ve been texting and calling you all day! You’re that daft that you couldn’t text back once all this time?” He’s still out of breath and he can feel his heartbeat in his ears. His tone is exasperated and you could hear the mix of anxiety and relief in his voice as he’d yet to acknowledge his mother. She seemed perfectly content to sit back and watch the situation unfold, amusement at her son’s unusual outburst gracing her features.

“My phone was dead! And then I put it on the charger and I forgot about it once your mom came, by the way!” You went to the bedroom and retrieved your phone to find a dozen missed texts and calls.

Probably just a client. SH

11:07 AM

Are you sure it’s not a client? SH

11:43 AM

Are they still there? SH

1:00 PM

Missed Call

1:17 PM

Missed Call

2:03 PM

Call me back. SH

3:26 PM

Y/N, I’m on a case. Call me back. SH

3:44 PM

Missed Call

4:13 PM

Is everything alright? SH

4:52 PM

Missed Call

5:08 PM

Missed Call

5:10 PM

Missed Call

5:12 PM

I’m boarding the train now and I’ll be there soon. Don’t worry. SH

5:21 PM

Sherlock followed after you, still without ever acknowledging his mother, and shut the door after himself. With his palms braced against the wooden door, he tried to ease the tension out of his bones through a deep breath as he watched you check your phone. He wasn’t worried about the case at all. It was mostly solved and what little was left John could do with ease. He felt the weight of the missed calls in his stomach like lead and the three hour train ride that he couldn’t curse to defy time any quicker. He had plenty of enemies and you had virtually none, so there would be no reason to think you’d hesitate to assist anyone who came to his door, especially if it was in the name of helping him. He thought he’d walk into a crime scene and he couldn’t shake those images out of his head.

You got up from the bed and walked over to him, reaching to wrap one arm around his neck and to take his hand in yours in the other. You pressed a kiss to his jaw, and then to his chin, over his eyelids, his nose, and then lastly you met his lips, murmuring “I’m sorry” in between every kiss. He didn’t usually voice it, but you had known him long enough to know when he was upset. He relaxed into your touch as he always did and you pulled away from him long enough to pull on the ends of his scarf. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Let me help. We got takeaway for your mom and I but we can share mine. I got what you like anyway.”

He let you pull his scarf and jacket off and you were delighted to see he wasn’t really mad with you. You hang his jacket on the closet door and by the time you turn back to face him, he’s already making his way back out to the living room. Following after him, you see his mother gesturing him to come over.

“What are you doing here? I thought I told Mycroft to tell you I was away on business.” He was messing with the cuffs on his sleeves but his question was directed at his mother with unmistakable intent. She tsked at him, and you began to see even more similarities in their mannerisms.

“That’s no way to talk to your mother, William. I was spending some time with your darling partner here and I don’t even get a kiss or a hug?” She began gathering her belongings and threw her purse over her shoulder. You weren’t happy to see her go.

You did peak up at the name. “William? Your name is William?”

Sherlock groaned, ignoring you completely. You swore you could see a blush dusting his cheeks. In no time he was at the door, holding it open for his mother. “It’s getting rather late, don’t you agree? Father must be wondering where you are. Be sure to pay Mycroft a visit the next time you’re in town. I assure you, he always has time for family.”

She turned to you and blew you a kiss. “I had a great time with you today, I hope you’ll manage to bring Sherlock home more.”

Walking over to Sherlock, she paused to kiss his cheek and whisper in his ear, “I know you know what you could lose here. So be sure you don’t, Sherlock.”

Before she totally stepped out of the flat, she turned around one last time. “Promise me you’ll come home soon. Your father and I miss you dearly.”

“I heard you the first ten times. Goodnight and safe travels, mother.” Sherlock shut the door before his mother could get another word and your shoulders slumped.

“Hey, that was your mom! She’s really nice. We had a good day.” You started to clean up the coffee table and take the dishes into the kitchen. You couldn’t understand Sherlock’s relationship with his family but you were sure there was a lot of things you didn’t know. Still, it was nice to have a chance to bond with your (maybe one day) future family. It was then that you realized that Sherlock never said anything when his mother mentioned you being his partner. You two never really officially defined what you were, so to see him not object to an actual title made you feel all warm inside.

“No, you had a good day. I was trying to work a case and clear a man’s name while trying to figure out if I’d come home to you kidnapped or dead.” Sherlock rolled his eyes, watching you from the doorway. You looked back at him as you dropped the dishes into the sink and let out a sigh. You hated the fact that you let him down.

“I have to go back tomorrow to tie some loose ends with John. If you come with me, I have a feeling I’ll get over it a lot quicker.” His voice was quiet but full of mirth. He won’t hold this over your head, and you both know this, but if it makes him feel better you’ll follow him. You’d follow him to the ends of the Earth and off the edge if he lead you.

Sherlock pushed himself off of the doorway and walked towards the bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt as he went.

“So, you’re staying home tonight?” You swung around the kitchen doorway and called out to the hall. You hadn’t even thought about Sherlock having to go back, and you couldn’t help but be excited that he would be there for you to fall asleep next to tonight.

“You didn’t expect me to make the trip back at this hour, did you? Besides, I sleep better with you and it’s obvious that I don’t focus well if you’re not around, Which is why I need you to come with me tomorrow. It seems you owe me, anyway.” Sherlock takes a step back so you can see him in the bedroom doorway, and you can feel your heart in your throat.

He’s so beautiful, you think, all alabaster skin and lean muscle. He’s pulling a t-shirt over his head and you wonder if you could manifest a photographic memory long enough to commit him to memory. Of course he notices you staring, and you almost want to mention all the times you catch him staring at you but he changes the subject and opens the blankets for you and you shut up and follow him. You follow him and you love him and you wake up in the morning at the crack of dawn to run downstairs and order coffee from the shop next door before your train leaves, being sure to get them to write “William” on the cup. Sherlock doesn’t find this funny at all, but he still lets you fall asleep on his arm on the train ride there and doesn’t complain when his arm falls asleep right along with you.

He thinks that if this is the life his mother wished for him as a child, that would be one thing he could take off of his list of things she eventually needs to answer for. Because mothers know best, and when it came to you, she could have never been more right.

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un2-verse · 3 years

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BILLY — Kim Taehyung (1)

》 News of a Sadistic Serial Killer nicknamed “Jigsaw” is spreading around town like wildfire… the nickname stemming from the puzzle piece he cuts from every victim’s body. No one knows who he’ll trap next but in a town full of delinquents and criminals, it could never be you. Right? 《

pairings: john kramer!taehyung x female reader

warnings: dark themes, angst, yandere, murder, torture, self harm, suicide, stalking etc.... (will add more when i know lol) although it is rather innocent in the first couple chapters(?) so idk it could be slow burn but i guess we’ll find out as i write it >< ,, it’s my version of saw if saw was a fucked up love story lol. Please don’t read if any of the topics mentioned trigger you!! 18+

this fic is exactly that, fiction!!!! the au does not represent the characters mentioned irl......

synopsis: you end up lost on the other side of town, where you cross paths with a handsome stranger, kim taehyung, only.... are you a stranger to him?

[a/n: daffodils represent; love me, sympathy, desire and affection returned...]

word count: 3k

series masterlist

part two

——————————————————————————

Hiding behind a mask was something you were accustomed to. Your friend group and family were clueless to the torment you endured from simply existing. You were confident your masking had convinced the world you were happy with yourself. Unbeknown to you, one other person saw straight through your façade.

You wanted to end your life.

He needed you to cherish your life.

Nothing looked familiar. The café you frequented was nowhere to be found. Your usual hangout was most definitely not on the side of town you found yourself in. You felt anxiety slowly curl its way around your body, you were frigid. You tried and tried but couldn’t find it in yourself to run.

You lived in the more friendly part of town (so to speak) – where houses were colourful, gardens pristine, warm-hearted neighbours who would treat you like family and white picket fences are what surrounded you. That was your norm, sure, you weren’t exactly loaded but you weren’t exactly poor either. It was a healthy balance in the middle. That’s not to say you hadn’t lived or seen this side of town before.

Your Mother and Father had grown up on this side of the fence. Two young people brought up in the rougher, more unfortunate areas. Your Mother was tough; she looked like a naïve, weak girl, albeit that was not the case. She was strong willed, used to life on the streets and doing anything she could to get money to make sure there was at least some food on the table. While your Mum was the leader, your Dad was more of a sheep. He was easily influenced and was dragged into the wrong crowd (had his fair share with drugs and street racing). That was their life for a few years till they crossed paths and your Mum helped your Dad get back on the right track.

They didn’t tell you much about their childhood and adolescence but they told you enough to make you appreciate what you have and to always work hard for it. To stick with the right people, be wise and conscious of your decisions. Be kind to those around you.

Your family owned a garage; your Dad was the head mechanic. This was the sole reason you were here. You knew it wouldn’t be simple when you agreed to go to this side of town to get a few bits for your Father’s shop. However, you didn’t expect it to be this difficult. How could you be so stupid? Why didn’t you just ask Hoseok and Yoongi to come with you like your father told you to? Or at least tell them where you were… yet you decided today of all days to be stubborn and venture on yourself, knowing full well how unsafe the area was. There were rundown businesses on either side of the road, beggars at every doorstep; drug dealings happening in broad daylight, no one even trying to hide it.

You felt your phone buzz in your pocket, you took it out and sighed a breath of relief once you’d read the texts.

14:37— From Papa: U ok munchkin ??? Did u get the stuff ?

14:39— From Papa: its ok if u didnt. Yoongs rang said hes got majority this morning lol so be safe n get home soon . Love u

14:40— To Papa: ohhh ok pops, i couldn’t find the shop anyway lol i’ll head back soon, love u too x

*LOW BATTERY*

“Fuck, trust me to forget to charge the bastard.” You rolled your eyes as you stuffed the phone back in your pocket.

Muffled shouting was heard around you. People ran across the street, bumping into you as they ran past. You gathered yourself and moved further down the path. “Great!” you exasperated, “honestly I’m so fucking stupid! Yoongi’s gonna kill me for this, I knew, I knew I should’ve told him I was coming over here but no,” your head was hung low as you dragged your feet across the pavement, “maybe I could tell Hobi, he wouldn’t be as angry right? I’m sure he’ll come,“ A sudden scream ripped you out of your chuntering. You whipped your head to the right, you could make out some figures bustling about in front of you, a group of men were quite clearly fighting… your anxiety struck you and you held your breath as you saw a man pull a knife from the waistband of his sweatpants. All thoughts and common sense seemed to leave all at once. Statue like, feet stuck to the ground. You watched on as the group rushed towards the brown haired man, you scanned his figure: tall, broad, confident… he exuded an intimidating aura even when you were this far away from him.

How could someone be so sure of themselves? It was one against five, surely the loner had no chance?

The glistening of the knife brought you back to your senses. Fucking hell. How do you always end up in these situations when you’re alone? Why me? Why? Good Lord, I need to run. Just as you were about to leave, the group who were arguing charged past you; one gripped his side as another supported his weight. Holy fuck, did he stab him? you stood frozen, yet again, your mind raced a mile a minute. Panic bubbled in your chest.

“You okay there Doll?” His voice was deep, velvet-like. It flowed so smoothly you doubted it was real, it was so soothing like it had wrapped itself around you, embracing your body. You heard his footsteps before he planted himself beside you. His shoulder reached the top of your head, his hand brushed yours. Swallowing your nerves you dared a glance up. He was fucking breath-taking, like a fallen angel. The stranger shot you a small smile that you would’ve easily missed had you not been staring at his features… a blush crept up your neck as you nodded. His smile slowly twisted into a smirk.

Cute, Taehyung thought to himself. Couldn’t help but adore the way you slightly trembled under his gaze, the way your hands gripped and twisted your sweater paws. Almost like a puppy. He cleared his throat and reached his hand to yours, “Sorry, I should’ve introduced myself. I’m Taehyung.” you took his hand into yours, apprehensively you greeted him, “I’m Y/N.”

“Ah, Y/N. I haven’t seen you round here before, you new or something?” Taehyung cocked his head to the side, his eyes seemed to stare right through you.

“Uhm, I don’t live here. I live over the other part of Town… I was just grabbing some stuff for my Dad but, my phones about to die. I have no idea where I am or how to get home, I’m sorry, I promise I didn’t see anything!” a deep chuckle cut you off, Taehyung smiled and beckoned you to follow him.

“Come on Y/N, you’re not suited for this side of Town, I’ll walk you back. A pretty little thing like you, you’re easy prey to these guys.” your feet fell into a cautious pace behind him, he glanced over his shoulder, “hurry up Buttercup, I don’t bite.” Taehyung flashed a boxy grin in your direction, which caused you to speed up ever so slightly.

You were unsure how you felt about letting a complete stranger walk you home, Yoongi would definitely kill you for this. Especially with the recent news of some serial killer named ‘Jigsaw’, Yoongi and Hoseok had been very stern and their usual, overprotective selves when the news had broken out. “It’s on every headline Y/Nie! No more leaving the house on yourself, you need to go anywhere you ring either of us. Got it? Don’t talk to anyone you don’t know either. There’s some dodgy fucks about recently.” Although, you loved them dearly, sometimes their protectiveness was a...little overbearing. You already felt suffocated from your parents (you didn’t need it from your best friends as well). They were happy and believed you to be too; but that was exhausting, faking happiness. You had a constant façade, acted like a happy normal teenager with a happy family; when that was far from the truth.

Drowning. That’s how you’d explain the way you felt. Breathing was difficult and brought you more pain than it was worth. Growing up was tedious, you had grown differently to your peers which only brought ridicule and embarrassment for you. You had struggled with your speech (sometimes you still do), you often stuttered, mispronounced words, the list was endless. That was one of the first reasons you were a castaway. As you grew, the ridicule worsened. Verbal abuse turned physical from your classmates. They made you feel like you were a waste of space. The names they called you, you soon started to believe them. Ugly. Weird. Freak. Stupid. They took root in your brain, slowly they grew and grew till your head was overgrown with twisted, rotten weeds.

Eventually, you sought comfort in blood. You didn’t care that it hurt you; you were almost happy to feel pain. Like you deserved to.

By age 14, you had started to skip school. Only ever there for exams and a couple of art classes you had with Jeongguk. He was what you would’ve called a best friend, he supported you and was by your side till you left school. He went away to college and like always with school friends, you drifted apart. Nevertheless, he still texts you now and then to check in.

Although you were (once) close with Jeongguk. He never knew of your inner demons, the same with Yoongi and Hoseok. You didn’t want to feel like a burden and worry your friends when they had shit to worry about themselves.

Why devastate flowers that flourish beautifully with weeds that manage to twist their way around every crack?

You had walked for a few minutes now, having chatted absentmindedly about anything and everything. The roads still didn’t look familiar to you and you just wished they did, you didn’t want to be away from your home any longer, your feet were starting to ache, your phone was on 10% battery and it was fucking cold. You just wanted to be back in bed tucked up watching Lady and the Tramp or 101 Dalmatians for the millionth time. You felt safe and content when you indulged in your comfort films. Far away from the real world and wrapped up in the false reality. They easily distracted you and that's when you truly felt at peace. Your mind was always too busy thinking about how cute it was when Tramp calls Lady, Pidge or how in love Pongo and Perdy were.

Majority of the time you fantasised about having a love similar, but then again, why would you wanna make yourself vulnerable like that? Is the risk of being hurt (more than you are now) any good? Of course it’s not. Fuck that, life isn’t nothing like those shitty romance films or novels… It’s real and painful.

As you and Taehyung rounded the corner, a little cafe caught your eye, a dainty blue and pink building. Fairy Lights strung up around the windows, you could see a handful of people inside, busy sipping their drinks and chatting away to one another. ‘Aroma Mocha’ hung above the doors. It looked so cute and simple. Your previous thoughts left your mind as quick as they had come. You wanted to go inside, it had an enticing atmosphere.

Taehyung hadn’t realised you’d stopped walking until he couldn’t hear the soft thud of your footsteps behind him, he turned as he called out to you, your eyes still fixed on the cafe. He chuckled to himself, “Fucking adorable, like a kid at christmas,” he walked back over to you. “Hey Doll, you wanna go in?” He felt his heart quicken when you looked at him with those pretty eyes, “We’ve plenty of time to get you back before it’s dark angel.” You answered him with a nod as you turned your head from Taehyung to look back at the alluring little cafe.

Not a second had passed before Taehyung grabbed your hand and pulled you across the road to the entrance; you ignored the warmth of his hand as it intertwined with yours; you ignored the way your tummy erupted with butterflies. Taehyung had stopped to hold the door for you, you murmured a small, “thank you,” looking up at him, the heat that crept up your cheeks making your face resemble that of a doll’s he thought to himself. Once he ushered you fully inside, he placed his hand to rest on the curve of your waist as he guided you to the back corner of the room, where a quaint table for two was unoccupied, a little pot of Daffodils sat atop. How fitting...

Taehyung was quick to pull the chair out for you to take a seat, you pulled it in as you sat down and sent a shy smile his way, “I’m sorry, I know we just met Taehyung but this place is so fucking precious! I hope I’m not bothering you, if I am we can just carry on walking or, I could ring a Taxi? Is this weird? Oh god, I can’t believe--”, Taehyung threw his head back as he laughed, a sound that seemed to wrap its way around your soul, twisting around your heart in the nicest of ways, it was almost like a killer to the weeds taking over your body. A temporary release. You felt like you could really breathe in those short seconds of his laughter.

“Angel, if you were bothering me, I’d have kept on walking. That, or I would’ve called you a Taxi myself, it’s no problem honestly.” You ducked your head as he sent a wink your way, fuck sake Y/N get it together! Why are you acting like a fucking schoolgirl?

“Well I uh, appreciate it so, yeah thank you?” You don’t know what to do, you’re here with the most gorgeous person you’ve ever laid your eyes on… yet you have no clue if what you saw was real, did Taehyung stab someone? Could someone have had the knife who wasn’t Taehyung? Was he even the person you saw in that altercation? Did you imagine everything that had gone off?

Before you had chance to overthink it, a light bubbly voice greeted your ears, “Hi! Welcome to Aroma Mocha, I’m Jimin and I’ll be your server today. Is there anything I can get you?” Jimin held his gaze on you as he flashed you a friendly smile, Taehyung turned around at the sound of his best friend, “Oh, Tae! I wasn’t expecting to see you today, what are you doing here? And who’s this pretty little lady?”

“This is Y/Nie, she was in the neighbourhood so we thought we’d nip in for something to drink before I take her back to hers.” you sent a warm smile to Jimin which he gladly returned, “I’ll have my usual and can you get Y/Nie a Strawberry Iced Tea? Thanks man.”

Once Jimin had disappeared to make your drinks, you shot your eyes to Taehyung, “Uhm, how’d you know I like Strawberry Iced Tea?” Taehyung didn’t even look in your direction as he scrolled through his phone, eyes glued to the screen. A minute passed by and he’d still not acknowledged your question so you let it slide, it wasn’t that big of a deal right? Your mind drifted. Your fingers rested atop of your lap, hidden from the sight of onlookers, picking around your nails as anxiety flooded your body. You felt like you were about to suffocate. You shouldn’t be talking to anyone, you shouldn’t let anyone close. You were only going to fuck everything up in a heartbeat. It’s only natural. Self deprecating thoughts devoured and made their way through your veins, poisoning yourself further; your whole body felt as though it was alight.

Jimin brought you your drinks, placed them carefully in front of the pair of you as you both said your thanks.

The click of Taehyung’s phone being locked and the clearing of his throat brought you back to your senses. “The drink I ordered for you is popular here so, I assumed you’d like to try it. You wanna talk about what’s bothering you?” your eyes shot up to meet his, your head tilted a little to the left as your tongue wet your lip, so puppy like...

You stared incredulously, “I don’t know what you’re talking about Taehyung.” You leant forward slightly as you wrapped your lips around the straw and took a sip.

Taehyung saw the way you sucked your drink up through your straw, his eyes darkened. Thankful to have worn sweatpants that day, he shifted himself discreetly, “I’m not stupid Angel, I know what you’re doing under the table. I’m here, so talk to me. I’ll listen to whatever you gotta say.”

You stuttered as you wracked your brain for something to say, “I-I only met you like forty minutes ago, I don’t even tell my friends what’s wrong. Not that there is, everything’s fine.”

You met me just short of an hour ago, he thought to himself, “You don’t have to lie to me Y/Nie…” he grabbed your hands that were laid near the cup of your Iced Tea. His thumb rubbing circles onto the back of your hand. You looked small and fragile, like the Daffodils on the table; one little pluck and you’d be ruined. He wouldn’t admit it to you just yet but, Taehyung fucking loved how delicate you seemed as you sat across from him.

How easy it would be to take your life away. How easy it’d be to pull those weeds up that are poisoning you, torturing you every single day. He shook his head, as he cleared those thoughts. No, only Y/N can make that decision. I’m just going to help her choose.

Live or Die.

You visibly winced, “You don’t know me. Think whatever the fuck you want about me, it doesn’t matter.” your eyes flashed hurt as you went back to picking your skin. You knew it, this whole encounter was too good to be true. A complete stranger (well acquaintance technically) had just presumed shit about you, the fact he was right is what hurt more. You didn’t want anyone to know how you were feeling. Or how you were dealing with it.

You couldn’t exactly tell him to piss off, you still needed his help home and so you tried to distract yourself from the unsettling gaze that watched your every move. You let out a breath as Taehyung went back to his phone. Your eyes drifted as you picked up the local Newspaper, your eyes skimmed over the headline, ‘Jigsaw Traps Continue’. Taehyung noticed you staring at the front page, and chuckled, “you scared of Jigsaw Angel?”

You shook your head, why would you be scared of some nutjob who’s targeted criminals and drug dealers? You’re a nobody. “Of some psychopathic puppet?” if anyone did anything to you that would threaten your life, it would be you. Taehyung just laughed in return as you skipped the article and skim-read the other pointless stories.

You were fucking clueless as to who he was while he knew every little thing about you. He had watched you for months… His precious little Y/Nie… Oh how silly you were, taking your life for granted.

You hated yourself that much, you were willingly marking yourself up. Tainting your skin… oh your skin, how fucking beautiful and soft it looked, even with all the scars it still looked perfect… Taehyung wanted nothing more than to whisk you away and lock you inside with him. Forever. He didn’t want anyone touching what was his.

He knew you wore a mask when in public, too afraid to show your real self. Little did you know, he wore a mask himself...only he wore it to better other people.

He had a plan.

And you’d soon find out.

Let the games begin.

382 notes · View notes

disgruntledspacedad · 3 years

Text

The White Room

The Better Love Series || Join My Tags

a sequel to Shit Hits the Fan

pairing: Javier Peña x Fem!Reader (Ears). Part of the Better Love ‘verse.

summary: Bill Stechner makes his move. You never even saw it coming.

words: 6.1k

warnings: 18+, plot, a little angst, a little fluff.

notes: unbeta’d. this is a big one. notes at the end.

<< Shit Hits the Fan || These Hands are Magic >>

MASTERLIST

You take the embassy steps two at a time, wishing you’d have been notified about the change in your schedule just half an hour earlier.

You’d gotten a page just as you were headed out the door of the apartment. Stechner has decided to pull you from Centra Spike’s night flight over Medellín. He wants you at headquarters this evening instead. He didn’t say why.

Part of you isn’t sorry. Escobar has been getting desperate lately, and between the outbreaks of violence in Medellín and the continued bombing campaign in Bogotá, you’ve been burning the candle at both ends. Javi, too. He’s been spending more and more time at the base in Medellín, and you’ve been spending more and more time in the skies, pulling random shifts through all hours of the day and night.

It hasn’t put a strain on your relationship, exactly. In fact, in some ways, the little moments that you steal with Javi when your schedules just happen to mesh are all the more precious because of it. You’re both exhausted and a little cranky, but there’s been an underlying desperation to your recent interactions that’s only served to stoke the flame that flickers between you.

It’s a bittersweet feeling. You cherish the time you get together, but on the other hand, it seems like even when Javi’s right there next to you, you miss him so much that your chest aches.

Which is why you’re miffed that Bill couldn’t have shuffled you around a little sooner. Javi’s been in Medellín for the past two days. He’d caught an early flight back to Bogotá just as you’d been finishing up another late shift flyover. You’d just happened to run into him at the embassy airstrip, a perfect coincidence. Your eyes had met over the tarmac, and like a pair of magnets, you’d crashed into one another. Javi had wrapped you into a fierce hug, and you’d pulled him into a heated kiss, and the two of you had spent a good five minutes canoodling in a hidden corridor near the water fountains, kissing and whispering and grappling for position as he’d pinned you against the wall. He’d breathed you in, and you’d reveled in the taste of him on your lips, each of you pressing frantically against the body of the other as if it had been weeks and not mere days since you’d been together.

“I’ve got to go,” Javi had apologized into your mouth, breathing the words between a series of soft, desperate kisses. “Fucking… fucking early meeting with Martinez.”

“It’s okay, baby,” you’d reassured him, feeling very much like it wasn’t okay. You hardly get enough of him as it is. This tiny little taste had only deepened your aching need, and you’d felt your heart splitting in two as he’d pulled away from you, a small little grimace of frustration twisting his face.

“I’ll see you soon,” you’d called as he’d hurried away, and he’d responded with a tight lipped smile and another dark look of longing.

Now, you round the corridor toward the DEA office, walking as quickly as you can without drawing attention to yourself. Javi is working late again. If you hurry, you’ll have twenty five uninterrupted minutes with him before your night shift starts.

“Ears!” You stop in your tracks, a little shudder of resentment flashing down your spine at Bill’s overeager greeting. “Just the lady I’ve been waiting to see.”

You school your face into a neutral expression of polite interest. Most days, you like Bill just fine, despite the fact that you really don’t trust him for shit.

Today, damn him straight to hell.

“What’s up?” you ask, quirking your lips into an intrigued little grin. There’s a certain informality and blasé banter that Bill’s grown to expect from your encounters, and he’s sharp enough to sense that something’s off if you don’t perform.

“Oh, loads and loads,” Bill says, leaning casually against the corridor wall with his arms folded.

You bite back a sigh. You really, really don’t have the patience to dance around him today. “Oh, really?”

Bill arches a questioning brow at you, and you remind yourself to be convincing, dammit. Usually, this isn’t an issue. Most days, you like your job, and your boss, just fine.

Most days.

“You’re bored, aren’t you, Ears?” Bill continues, pitching his voice deep, those probing eyes piercing straight through you.

“I -” you start. Bored isn’t how you’d describe it, lately.

Tired, more like.

“No, no,” Bill’s expression is patient, endearing. “Don’t deny it. I’ve been watching you. I know that hungry look when I see it. You want more. You came to Colombia to do something important with your life, I can tell.”

Six months ago, hell, even three months ago, Bill’s words would have been true. Now, the very thought of more is enough to send you crawling into bed and sleeping for a week.

‘Isn’t tracking down Pablo Escobar pretty fucking important?’ you’re half tempted to ask. You hold your tongue.

Obviously, it’s not to Bill Stechner.

“What do you have for me?” you say instead, hoping you sound intrigued, carefully not confirming or denying Bill’s suspicions.

“Real work,” Bill says with a sharp smile. Something cold jolts down your spine at the his use of the word ‘real.’

As if everything until now has been a sham.

“Follow me,” he beckons, and you have no choice but to obey.

Bill leads you past the DEA offices. You catch a glimpse of the top of Javi’s head from the corner of your eye. He’s hunched over his desk, pouring over an open manilla file. You can barely see the deep furrow in his brow. He doesn’t notice you pass by, and you don’t pause to acknowledge him.

Something throbs in your chest at that.

You follow Bill through a few more winding corridors, down into the basement, past Centra Spike’s room, right up to an unassuming little bookcase built into a nondescript wall in the middle of nowhere.

Bill pauses here, turning to look at you with shining eyes.

You meet his stare, giving away nothing.

With an enthusiasm that borders on theatrical, Bill huddles over a little keypad that’s tucked away at the edge of the bookcase. He punches in a series of numbers, glancing over to confirm that you’re still watching.

You definitely are.

Bill steps back, and like something from an Indiana Jones film, the entire fucking bookcase slides aside, reveling a reinforced steel door built into the wall.

“Whoa,” you can’t help but breathe.

Bill’s eyes glitter. He’s eating this up, impressing you.

And truly, you’re impressed. That little spark of interest that had died in the past months of your burnout has flared with a vengeance.

This is the shit that you joined the CIA for, and Bill Stechner knows it.

“Welcome to the white room, Ears,” Bill announces lowly. It’s the soft, knowing voice of a man sharing a deeply guarded secret. He opens the steel door with a flourish, and it swings slowly aside, heavy and creaking, as if its weight alone could announce the gravity of what you’re about to see.

Carefully, you step inside the room, ducking a little to avoid knocking your head against the low hanging doorway, crawling past the steel corridor entrance before you can straighten.

You blink, astounded at what you’re seeing.

Of course, you’ve heard whispers of CIA’s fabled “White Room,” a repository of classified files tucked away somewhere in the embassy basement. Even Javi’s mentioned it a couple of times, always with a hint of resentment, like he’d give his left arm for even a glimpse inside. Rumor is, Steve Murphy’s been in here before, but just once, and he was heavily supervised the entire time. It’s a fucking goldmine of intel, stacks upon stacks of carefully organized file folders, all at the fingertips of the few individuals who are important enough to be need-to-know.

“Okay,” you whisper beneath your breath, taking it all in. Reality is a little different than you’d pictured. The entrance is impressive, sure, but what you’re staring at is even more so. Box after carefully labelled box is packed atop one another, stacked six deep on a never-ending series of steel shelves.

You could spend an eternity here learning all of the secrets of Colombia. The implications are mind-boggling, and distantly, you wonder how many other well-hidden rooms the CIA has tucked away across a spread of foreign countries, a never-ending fountain of secrets related to god-knows-what.

Your brain stutters at the thought.

You realize suddenly that Bill is watching you carefully from the corner of his eye, observing your reaction as if he’s surreptitiously taking notes on every thought that flits across you brain. Again, you school your expression, reverting to that practiced, dead-eyed stare of careful neutrality.

“Cool,” you say, a little breathlessly, knowing that Bill’s eager to wow you, and not seeing any reason not to acknowledge the fact that, yeah, you’re pretty fucking wowed. You turn to face him, ignoring the temptation to sweep your gaze over the many, many labeled files at your eye level. “So, what are we doing here?”

Bill laughs. “I’ll show you.” He leads you past the shelves, and now that you’re behind him, you can’t stop your eyes from tracking over the labels at your eye level. You’re appalled by what you see.

Shelves upon shelves devoted to Escobar, and even more to the Cali Cartel, all broken down into sections of the individual godfathers. Rodriguez, Herrera, Bejarano, Moncado are all names that catch your eye. There are folders on each major sicario that you recognize from Javi’s info board: Mosquera, Lucumí, Vásquez, Gaviria... the list goes on. Even more files files are labeled Castaño. There’s a whole series of boxes on M-19, and a little past that, an entire shelf devoted solely to FARC.

It’s more than your mind can possible comprehend in one quick sweep, and hell, that’s just what you could catch at eye level.

It occurs to you that this is what Steve and Javi are always bitching about. Sure, you’re aware of the ever present pissing contest between the DEA and the CIA, but it’s always been peripheral information to you. Steve in particular is pretty vocal about his frustration with the ‘fucking CIA.’ “Goddamn file’s so redacted that it might as well be scrap,” you can just hear him muttering.

Christ, if this is the kind of intel that the CIA has open access too, you can kind of see his point.

Bill stops at a table in the center of the room, indicating it with a sweep of his hand. Reluctantly, you sit, a little annoyed that you’ve got your back to him now, but not feeling comfortable enough to twist around to track what he’s doing. Your instincts are screaming at you that this is a test. A big one. So you wait demurely in your tiny plastic chair, your hands folded primly in your lap, listening intently as Bill shuffles for something behind you.

After a long moment, Bill leans his hip heavily against the table, just a hair too close to your shoulder for you to be totally comfortable. You don’t have time to think on that, though, because he’s sliding a black and white photograph under your nose for you to view.

The man that leers up at you has a pinched face beneath a deep brow. His nose is long and lopsided, as if it’s been broken at least once. His thinning, limp hair hangs low over his eyes, giving him a mysterious, almost rebellious look. His mouth is wide, crooked teeth exposed in an open-mouthed grimace. He’s angling toward the camera, obviously unaware of its existence, leaning forward with a machine gun cradled to his chest.

“Feo,” you say instantly, your mouth working before your brain can catch up. You recognize him from the evidence board in the DEA office, and even more from your conversations with Javi.

Feo is a low level sicario, one that’s just now caught the attention of Search Bloc, mostly due to the recent chatter that Centra Spike has picked up. You’ve yet to get a positive ID on his voice, but he’s been mentioned in several conversations lately, always in reference to ‘drops.’

Javi’s been working deep in the night to decipher these conversations, eager to learn what ‘drops’ Escobar and his sicarios are so desperate to come by.

“Feo,” Bill drawls, a hint of something sharp licking at his tone. You glance up at him, curious. “That’s an unfortunate nickname.”

He’s staring down at you with eyes that are too aware. Probing, assessing.

Fuck.

“I’ve seen him on the DEA board,” you explain, grateful that you can provide an answer so quickly. You don’t like the way Bill is looking at you, like he’s daring you to confess a sin.

“I didn’t realize there were many photos of him floating around,” Bill says casually. But you aren’t stupid. You read the threat in his statement, loud and clear.

“It’s a new one,” you reply automatically, feeling as if you’re scrambling to claw yourself out of a hole.

But this is also true. Feo has been an ongoing mystery to Search Bloc, one that they haven’t taken seriously until recently. You wonder what it is about this man that’s got Bill so on edge.

Bill hums. “Good eye.” He hunches over the photograph, so close that you can feel his body heat against your neck.

“This is Raul Manriquez.” Bill taps the forehead of the man in the photograph, then turns to leer at you. “Apparently, he’s known to his friends as Feo.”

He’s watching you for a sign. You refuse to give it.

“So,” you ask after a beat. Bill folds his arms across his chest, waiting for you to continue. He’s not giving any signs either, the dickwad. “What does the CIA want with Raul Manriquez?”

Bill has never behaved this way with you before. There’s a certain weight to the way he regards you that hints at paranoia. He’s deeply, almost obsessively interested in this man, and it doesn’t make sense.

Feo is a sicario, sure. But sicarios are far, far below Bill’s pay grade. The thought is laughable, even.

Something drops in your stomach. If Feo is more than a sicario, as it seems he must be, then it is far, far above your pay grade to be this involved.

Bill pulls out a chair beside you and sits heavily. He leans on his elbow, swinging his legs so that his knees brush your thighs.

You echo him, carefully positioning yourself so that you’re facing one another, but no longer touching.

“We have intel to suggest that Raul Manriquez is connected with a Russian weapons ring,” Bill starts. You notice for the first time that he looks tired, too, his eyes a little bloodshot, heavy bags dropping darkly beneath them.

Something clicks in your brain. “He’s Pablo’s weapons guy,” you breathe. The pieces fall together with startling clarity. The drops that the sicarios had mentioned. The fact that Feo seems to stay at the periphery of things, not nearly as involved with the day-to-day bullshit that other sicarios seem to thrive on. “He’s running guns.”

“Among other things,” Bill drawls, seeming thoroughly bored by the turn in the conversation.

You ignore that. Your thoughts are spinning wildly, forging connections, solving problems. Escobar’s got to get his weapons from somewhere. In the back of your mind, you’ve always sort of known this, but the significance of it has stayed firmly out of sight, swamped by other things that, at the time, had seemed far more important.

But if you could catch Feo… If you could choke off Pablo’s lethality directly at the source…

“We could end this,” you whisper, sitting up to look Bill directly in the eye. Your voice rises. “Bill, if we neutralize Feo, Escobar’s lost his access to his guns.” Something swoops in your heart, and you feel brighter, more energized than you have in weeks. “We can end this war!”

“Oh, the fucking drug war.” Bill scoffs, waving his hand in a casual gesture of lazy dismissal. He looks frustrated, disappointed. “Ears, broaden you horizons a little, sister. Escobar is on the run. When he’s gone,” Bill leans in, the glint in his eye damned near dangerous. “And he will be gone, Ears, trust me.” He huffs a deep sigh, shaking his head as he pitches away to balance on the far feet of his chair, rocking back and forth in a way that reminds you of a restless kid in a elementary school classroom. His eyes are sharp, possessive as they pin yours. “What then?”

You stare at him flatly, a little miffed to have nearly a year of your life’s work brushed aside as if it’s just petty bullshit.

You shake that emotion away, blinking hard, reminding yourself of where you are, of who your boss is. With the lines as blurred as they are in Colombia, and your unique position dancing between Centra Spike, the DEA, and the CIA, and Search Bloc, it’s easy to forget that ultimately, it’s Bill Stechner who owns you.

For the first time, that thought deeply unsettles you.

Bill falls forward heavily on his elbows, looking at you with a furrowed brow, and you remind yourself for the umpteenth time that this meeting is a performance, one that you’ve utterly and completely bombed until now.

You brain spins, processing the little bits and pieces of information that you’ve been given. Bill sees Escobar’s fall as in inevitability, inconsequential, even. He’s concerned about Feo in the context that he’s connected to the weapons trade in Colombia.

Quickly, you consider what you know about Bill Stechner. A CIA big wig with a shady-ass military background. A man who’s mind lives in the future.

A future without Escobar. He’s made that much clear.

“You’re looking to fill a power vacuum,” you announce suddenly, knowing instinctively that you’re not far off the mark. Bill Stechner is a man who is always thinking ahead, studying the political chessboard to analyze his next move, and the one after that, too.

And that truth bomb jars free even more thoughts that have been floating untethered in the back of your mind. When he’s not skulking around his office, Bill is gone for weeks at a time, supposedly off in depths of the amazonian jungle, brushing shoulders with his right winged military buddies.

Commie hunting.

The pieces fall perfectly into place, painting a sobering picture, and all the while, Bill watches, a sharp little grin playing at his lips as you connect the dots.

“Bill,” you say, refusing to accept any bullshit. You thump your finger hard against Feo’s leering smirk, pinning Bill with a dark stare. “Is this guy connected with FARC?”

Both of Bill’s brows arch skyward, and he leans back, looking at you with a new light in his eyes. You get the impression that once again, you’ve impressed him.

You’re not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing.

“I don’t know, Ears,” Bill admits, glancing away to his hands, which are suddenly curling into fists in his lap. You can tell it really grinds his gears, the uncertainty. “That’s what I want to find out.”

You consider him carefully, keeping your face expressionless. This is the most open response you’ve ever gotten from Bill, and you file away that information along with everything else you’ve learned today.

It’s a lot.

“What do you need from me?”

It’s a valid question. Part of you, the part that is equally intrigued and enraptured by Bill Stechner and the CIA as a whole, genuinely wants to help.

The rest of you is just desperate to get out of this room.

Bill’s lips slide into a knowing smirk. “Well, Ears,” he drawls, eyeing you in a way that makes something sink in your gut. “I’m glad you asked.”

“I’m listening.” You deliberately leave off the ‘sir,’ that you’re tempted to tack on to the end of that statement. Damn your army background.

“This is the moment that we’ve put you in place for,” Bill confesses, hunching forward on his elbows. Again, you get the impression that he’s trying to reel you in, seducing you with a show of honesty.

You brace yourself.

“The DEA is interested in this man, too,” Bill starts, shooting you a pointed look that says ‘I know you already know this.’ You keep your face carefully blank, so Bill continues. “I know that they’ve been working to track his location.”

Something cold coils in your heart. “Are you asking me to spy on Search Bloc?” you ask point blank.

Bill shakes his head. “No, no, no, Ears,” he chides with an expression of extreme patience, as if you’re a child to him. “That would be counterproductive. We’re all on the same team, after all.” He pins you with a dead-eyed stare that sends a shiver down your spine. “I’m asking you to fully engage in your position with the CIA.” Bill stresses the last point, again reminding you of who you are, who you answer to. “You’re a liaison.” He hums a little, all casual disinterest, disarming you, reinforcing the bonds of loyalty that he’s forged with a simple shrug of his shoulders. “So, liaise.”

You realize with a starling, icy jolt of clarity that Bill Stechner has tolerated your relationship with Javier Peña for this very reason, that he’s garnered your favor - accepting your transfer request, giving you a raise, buying you drinks, playing your buddy - all in preparation for using you as his own personal mole in the ranks of Search Bloc.

And you’d fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker.

Your throat works hard to swallow against a suddenly dry mouth. “I understand, sir.”

For the first time, Bill doesn’t correct your formality. You hardly notice the shift, though. You’re still reeling from the implications of what he’s asking of you, of how he’s exploited you, taken advantage of all of your vulnerabilities. Suddenly, you feel as if you’re choking, like a noose is tightening, tightening around your neck. You have to stop yourself from reaching to massage your throat, clenching your hands into tight firsts into your lap instead.

Bill watches it all in cool amusement. “Atta girl,” he praises, and you swear you taste bile. He stands, and you copy him absently, feeling detached and awkward, walking on legs that require all of your attention to keep from trembling.

Bill claps a heavy hand on your shoulder. His eyes flash with something like pride, and you decide in that moment that you hate him, this motherfucker, almost as much as you hate yourself for falling for his bullshit.

Goddammit, you’re so fucking stupid.

“Good talk,” he says, and you nod in a way that you hope is contemplative without being telling.

You follow Bill out of the room on wooden legs, your mind spinning with the implications of your conversation. He nods to you as the bookshelf slides shut behind you, and you nod back, relieved to see that he turns to head the opposite direction from the DEA office.

You glance down at your watch. You’ve got ten minutes if you hurry. With all your heart, you hope that Javi is still working.

You need to see him.

You push past his glass door, swinging it open hard enough that it bangs ominously against the wall. Javi is still slumped over his desk in the exact same position as before, studying a jumbled series of papers, a half-spent cigarette dangling from his lips.

Your breath catches at the sight of him.

His head snaps up at your noisy arrival, dark eyes narrowed at the intrusion. His expression softens when he sees that it’s you.

“Ears.” His voice is a sigh, a release of that same tension that you feel leaking from you own bones, and you dart forward, heedless of who might be watching beyond the glass walls.

“Hey,” you say, shoving aside an opened manilla folder to create a bare space for you to lean against. Javi doesn’t seem to mind that in the least, so you flop up onto his desk, pressing your thigh against his elbow, enjoying the feeling of just sharing the same space.

Javi glances at you, and your something lurches in your chest as you take him in. He looks haggard, exhausted, dark bags gathered beneath his bloodshot eyes like he hasn’t had good night’s sleep in far too long.

“Another little chat with Stechner?” he grouses, peering up at you with narrow gazed suspicion.

Your heart sinks, and you have to blink hard against the onslaught of his ire. Javi’s always been grouchy when he’s tired, and there’s nothing that drives him into a funk faster than any mention of Bill Stechner. It’s as if he has a sixth sense in that regard, like he can smell Bill on your skin.

And that’s a gross thought.

Until now, Javi’s attitude had irked you, and you’d written it off as petty, just another brand of that delightfully obnoxious possessiveness that he’s continuously displayed since your apartment was bombed.

But dammit, you’re the moron here, not Javi. He’d been right not to trust Bill.

You shut your eyes tightly. You wonder if Javi should even trust you, given your most recent assignment.

“Please don’t,” you whisper, not knowing how to put your many worries into words, and Javi must read your conflicted mood, because he lets the subject drop. He huffs, his attention falling back to the open file on his desk, his long fingers working little tapping patterns into its intricate woodgrain.

You follow his gaze, noticing that he’s been pouring over the same photograph that Bill had shown you in the white room. Feo’s ugly mug leers back at you, a knowing, secretive smirk playing at his upturned lips, like he’s mocking you, the motherfucker.

A flood of emotions swamp you. You’ve watched Javi squinting down at this same photo for days, his mind spinning as he attempts to tease out connections, completely stumped as to how this unassuming, ugly man fits into the bigger picture of Pablo Escobar and his sicarios.

And now you know, but there’s not a damn thing you can say about it. Bill’s going to be watching you. Hell, he’d admitted as much today. Verbatim. If he thinks that his little spy is sharing classified CIA intel with her DEA boyfriend…

Well, honestly, you’re not sure what would happen. You just know that it would be bad news for you, and probably even worse for Javi.

You release a deep, broken sigh, exhaling though your nose. You wonder how you’re going to balance it all, working for Bill without betraying Javi.

Well, you absolutely refuse to do that. Fuck Bill Stechner for even asking.

But now, watching Javi huddled over his messy desk, squinting in the dim light because he refuses to wear his fucking glasses, frazzled and careworn and a little cranky, something pulls at your chest.

Refusing to share this intel feels a lot like a betrayal already, and suddenly, you’re desperate to confess it all to him, to crawl into Javi’s lap and spill your guts and cry and beg for his forgiveness for blowing off his concerns about Stechner, for even entertaining the thought of withholding information from him.

Just as you feel like you’re ready to burst, Javi sighs deeply, flopping the file shut. He grinds out his cigarette and turns to glance at you, his eyes dark with need.

Your breath catches.

Then, without a word, Javi pitches forward to rest his head against your thigh. He nuzzles there for a moment, and you find yourself carding your fingers through his hair, helpless against the temptation to touch him, comfort him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs after a long moment.

“Shh,” you whisper. Guilt gnaws at you. You’re the one who should be sorry.

But Javi huffs a hot little breath against your leg, and you brush aside all thoughts of who should trust who, of loyalty and ethics and treason and chain of command. Right now, your entire universe is resting his head in your lap, and you’re determined to enjoy this moment, fallout be damned.

“Baby,” he murmurs into the rough denim of your jeans, and your heart flutters. You bring your opposite hand to rest at the back of his neck, savoring the softness of his skin there, winding your fingers through the curls that brush against his collar.

Javi shudders at your touch, and you remember belatedly that you’re stroking at his number one erogenous zone, teasing him mercilessly without meaning him to.

Reluctantly, you pull away, resting your palm at the slope of his shoulder instead. “Whoops.”

Javi snorts, craning his neck just enough to arch his only visible eyebrow in your direction. The rest of his face is squished into your thigh.

It’s fucking adorable, and it reminds you all over again how little you deserve him, this precious, perfect man.

“What’s wrong?” Javi asks, like he’s sensed the direction of your thoughts. He twists further to frown up at you. One hand comes up to rest at the juncture of your hip, his thumb pressing deeply into your skin.

It’s a comfort.

“Nothing,” you mutter, because you can hardly say ‘everything.’ You busy yourself with working little circles at the base of Javi’s ear, hoping it’s enough to distract him from his line of questioning.

It’s not. Javier Peña has a mind like a steel trap, and he notices everything. “Bull,” he breathes, shutting his eyes despite his best efforts. “You’re worried ‘bout something.”

God, he looks wrecked.

“I just…” You struggle for the right words to to offer him, come up empty. “God, I hate this.”

That one dark eyes flutters open again, soft with concern.

“I miss you,” you blurt before he can dig any further. And oh, god, that’s not a lie. You miss Javi so much it fucking burns, even with him nuzzled right here in your lap.

Javi draws a deep breath, rolling over to expose the entire left side of his face. His opposite arm comes up to wrap around your waist so that he’s almost hugging you, his fingers digging gently into your flank. “What time is your shift over, baby?” he mumbles, his one visible eye glinting, nearly feverish with need.

“Mmm,” you hum, your pulse hammering away in response to the how he’s looking at you. “I can probably be home by eight,” you say sadly.

And really, that’s pushing it. It all depends on what you hear over the frequencies, and how quickly you can vet it. Anybody’s guess at this point in the game.

Javi blusters a deep sigh that prickles hotly at your inner thigh. “Dammit,” he groans, clenching his eyes shut in frustration.

“What’s your morning like?” In the craziness of the past few days, you’ve completely forgotten his schedule.

“Early,” Javi mutters darkly. He doesn’t look at you.

“Fuck.”

“Hardly,” he pouts against your jeans.

And god, you can’t blame him. Resentment wells hot in you. You just want a break, dammit, just a single fucking day to spend with the man you love.

Is that so much to ask?

Suddenly desperate for more contact, you bend down to drop a gentle kiss at his temple.

Javi inhales sharply as your lips meet his skin, and you lay there like that, contorting over him in a way that makes your sides ache and probably displays half of your bare back to anybody who happens to walk past the glass walls of the DEA office right now.

You don’t fucking care. You need this.

“Can I meet you for lunch tomorrow?” you ask as you finally pull away. You haven’t bothered glancing at your watch, but instinct is telling you that you’re already running late for your shift, and your back is killing you.

Javi sits up, slumping against his office chair with his legs splayed sideways. He’s all wild hair and furrowed brow, and if you weren’t at work, you’d be tempted to crawl into his lap and kiss that contemplative look right off his face.

“That might work,” he says slowly, licking his upper lip a little in that way that means he’s thinking hard. Something coils deep in your belly, and you have to shake your thoughts away from those lips and that tongue, and what all they’re capable of.

Javi cocks a brow at you, tilting his head a little. “What are you thinking?”

Fuck it, it’s late. You slide off his desk, planting yourself in his lap with your legs spread across his, grinding subtly against his thighs. His belt buckle digs into your belly, but you don’t give a shit. You tilt his face to yours, reveling for half a second in his confused, awestruck expression before you plant your lips on his for a deep, gentle kiss. Javi moans a little at the contact, plaint and responsive against your advances, his hands coming to graze at your back reverently.

“I was thinking I’d ride,” you whisper against the stubble at his lower jaw just as you lean in to suck at it.

Javi twitches against you, a tiny jolt of his hips, like he’s tempted to take you right here in his rickety office chair, damn the glass walls.

“I need to see your face,” you continue, pulling his hands up to rest at your ribs as you rock gently against him, a subtle preview of tomorrow’s menu.

Javi shudders beautifully beneath you. “What, this ol’ thing?’ he teases, nuzzling against your breastbone. You can tell that he’s pleased by the thought.

“This pretty thing,” you correct, working your way back to his lips.

Javi bites back a groan as you kiss him. “Was asking about food,” he murmurs against your mouth. “But this is better.”

“Don’t worry about food,” you say, falling forward to nuzzle against his neck. “I’ll take care of it. And it will be perfect.”

Javi snorts. “Better be takeout, then.” He gathers you against his body with strong arms, cradling you close. You breathe him in, reveling in the distant smell of coffee and stale cigarette, all mixed in with a hint of musky sweat and something smoky and dark that is uniquely Javier Peña.

“God, baby, I’m looking forward to it,” he confesses against the hollow of your throat, and you throw your head back, shut your eyes and let him ravage you there, just for a moment.

Javi pulls away far too soon, and you shudder at the loss of him, your body damn near trembling with need.

He rolls back in his chair, glancing up at you with an apology in his eyes. “It’s eight oh five,” he tells you somberly, and you wince, disentangling yourself from him, stumbling out of his chair and straightening your shirt and threading your fingers through your wild hair in an effort to smooth it down.

“How do I look?” you ask after a moment, backing up enough to give him the full effect of you.

Javi’s eyes are burning as he takes you in, damn near shimmering with want and exhaustion and pent up emotion, and you curse Bill Stechner once again for butting his big nose into your relationship, for complicating things that should be so fucking simple.

“Perfect,” Javi says lowly, his lips pursed into a thin line, his eyes glittering with some thought that you can’t name. “Fucking perfect.”

Something wrenches in your chest, and you catch your breath, feeling tears prickle at your eyes. You suck them down, frustrated at how often life in Colombia seems to draw your emotions to the forefront.

Nobody needs that.

You lean forward, unable to resist dropping one last, chaste kiss to Javi’s forehead. “Go to bed, Javi,” you whisper against his skin. You pull away, a gentle, teasing smile spreading across your face. “Seriously, baby. It’s just getting stupid now.”

You wink at him, and Javi huffs a little laugh. “Get out of here, Ears,” he grouses, waving a lazy hand at you, but his smile is gentle and soft, and you know that he’s recognized the reference for what it is.

Feeling lighter than you have in days, you shoot him one last cheeky wave. Javi blows a little kiss at you in response, and your heart stutters at the gesture.

God, he’s such a sap.

You damn near dance to the Centra Spike office, slipping into your headphones a full ten minutes later than you really should. Nobody bats an eyelash, though, and you busy yourself with the normal nightshift bullshit, sipping your coffee and switching to the proper frequencies, the promise of tomorrow glowing in your heart.

♠

notes/confessions:

I struggled so hard with this. I still don’t love it, but I’m sick of looking at it, so here ya go. Enjoy.

Okay, I know I have thrown some massive plot things at you this week. I know it’s complicated, and I know it’s a lot. Feel free to ask me questions. I’ve tried to make things as clear as possible, but I’m only human, Narcos is complicated af anyway, and Better Love is even worse, probably.

Look for updates to slow back down again, because a) I actually do have a job, and b) we’re getting close to the point where I’m going to have to start posting If I Fall, and I want to have my chapters outlined a little better and maybe even a few deep before I do that. Look for a few little fluffy one-shots scattered between then and now, but guys... for the most part, the pieces are in place, and we are in the home stretch - of the setup, that is.

Holy fucking shit.

Tags: @jedi-mando, @perropascal, @hotspacepilots, @mostly-megan, @starlight-starwrites, @thirstworldproblemss, @knittingqueen13, @yespolkadotkitty, @lv7867, @pascalisthepunkest, @sarahjkl82-blog, @corrupt-fvcker, @artsymaddie, @leonieb, @justanotherblonde23, @princess-and-pedro

Javier Peña tags: @magpie-to-the-morning, @tiffdawg, @danniburgh, @1800-fight-me, @mandoandgrogu, @hybrid-in-progress, @va-guardianhathaway, @speakerforthedead0, @feminist-violinist, @herefortheart, @dontmindifidontt, @blo0dangel

#Javier Peña #Javier Peña x reader #pedro pascal #narcos #narcos fanfic #Javier Peña fanfic #pedro fandom #pedro fanfic #reader insert #fluff #narcos netflix #narcos fanfiction #Javier Peña fanfiction #Javier Peña imagine #better love #fanfic #fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom

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chudleycanonficfest · 3 years

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Day 30, Post 1 by @blimeypeople

Hi! This is my first time writing a fiction story in English (I'm not a native english speaker) and it's unbetaed :( If you have time to spot something wrong or if this story doesn't make any sense, just let me know, pretty please?

Thanks for hosting this fest. You're all so awesome!

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Title: Don’t run, please.

Author: blimey,people

Pairing: Ron/Hermione

Prompt: Parenthood

Rating: G

Hermione Granger-Weasley really thought her life was perfect, that she had achieved everything she wanted and made her heart happy: she had a husband who loved her, a job she enjoyed, saw her friends and family whenever she could (well Sunday lunches at The Burrow were an unwritten rule but she enjoyed them a lot), but then what was she doing running through the corridors of the Ministry of Magic? Hiding from her husband, that's what she was doing. She turned on the corner of one of the corridors, she was no longer running, but she was walking hurriedly heading in the direction of the main library of the Ministry, so big and wide that not only was it difficult to locate the books you needed, but also the people that were inside. The best hiding place, Hermione thought and quickened her pace when she saw him: Ron, standing in front of the large wooden doors, staring at his shoes in his scarlet Auror team uniform, which was somewhat wrinkled. Probably coming back from training, Hermione barely had time to think when she turned around running to the opposite side. They were quite far apart, so it wouldn’t be that easy for him to reach her but he was faster.

"Hermione!" She heard him scream, but she couldn't stop, she was scared, she was afraid of having a conversation with him. She accelerated her escape as she felt his footsteps getting closer.

"Hermione! Don't run, please! " She had heard that voice a few times. Her memories took her to a particular occasion, when she was also hiding, but from evil forces who wanted to end their lives and the life of their best friend. She couldn’t resist his voice, she had resisted it countless times while he asked her for forgiveness inside the horrendous tent. It hurt her soul, it hurt her not being able to hug him telling him how much she loved him, but her pride won. Only months later, she was able to achieve what her heart and mind most wanted: to reveal her feelings and be reciprocated. Now her heart and mind told her this was far more important, that this could perhaps destroy the relationship that with so much love, time and dedication they had built, this could possibly end one of their most cherished dreams, burst the bubble of joy and emotion that had appeared inside them almost three months ago. This could take away their most precious gift: their future child.

So she stopped, took a deep breath, and waited for him to catch up with her. It didn't take many seconds when she felt his long fingers capture her left wrist leading her towards a deserted office.

I should’ve flooed home, Hermione thought as she walked alongside Ron. He would have found me there in an instant though, I should’ve gone to..., she tried to complete the thought, when she was struck by doubt. Her choices were limited in terms of places where she could just go to think without being seen, without being interrupted, no questions being asked by anyone. Her childhood room in her parents' house might have been a great option, but now recently her parents had semi-retired from their jobs (occasionally they went to the office in the morning, sometimes in the afternoon, at times they took turns and one of them stayed home while the other went to work), thus Hermione didn't know for sure when the house was thoroughly empty. Besides if they found her in her old room on a Friday lunch, at the time in which she should still be at the Ministry plus they were aware that, due to her almost obsession with completing every unfinished task at the end of the week, Fridays were her most complicated days at work, it would potentially lead them to ask her thousands of questions and if she chose to answer truthfully, as she had done since she met them again in Australia two months after the war, tired of hiding things from them. This time, though, she was certain they wouldn’t be as understanding as they were back then. Now the situation wasn't just about her, it involved someone more important and vulnerable, someone they hadn't met yet but they already loved.

Her parents, Jean and Hugo, were over the moon since the day they learned about the arrival of their first grandson or granddaughter. The imminent growth of their little family filled them with infinite joy. On countless moments, mainly when Hermione and Ron would give them the news about the birth of a new child in the ever growing Weasley family, the faces of Jean and Hugo gave away what they wanted: they were dying to ask her when she and Ron would finally decide to have one of their own. Therefore they were ecstatic. The decision to adapt a room on the first floor as a playroom for their future grandson or granddaughter came easily. Well, we don’t need a library anymore, do we, Hugo?, said her mom. It took them a week to disappear the shelves loaded with books that were once part of the room. Toys, kids books, little stuffed animals, big stuffed animals, a white cot and the largest most colorful collection of clothes Hermione had ever seen overflowed the rather large space. Apparently, her mother considered it was better to have more variety than later needing a neon green footie embroidered with dinosaurs and not having it on hand. Her father, more serene and restrained, but just as enthusiastic, had bought a beautiful memoir book for the baby, where he himself would be in charge of writing down every detail of his or her first year of life. However, Hermione was sure something was wrong with her for she hadn't been able to share the same level of enthusiasm of her parents or her husband hence she just smiled everytime they mentioned the baby. Therefore, she was certain Jean and Hugo would probably agree with Ron on this issue. So now he was being proven right, they would help him convince her to "do the right thing for the baby." Except she honestly couldn’t discern what was right anymore so the confusion and fear consumed her. She loved her job, enjoyed the responsibilities that came with it, rejoiced in every new challenge she encountered no matter the outcome, she was sure of it. Her newly discovered feelings for the little human being growing inside of her were what confused and scared her at the same time.

Ron guided her to an old and solitary chair within the rather desolated office gently helping her to sit on it. Rather than sitting beside Hermione, he stood in front of her and crouched down. He took one of her hands, placed it on top of her knee, gently stroking it.

“Hermione, the evidence is overwhelming. If they were able to send an object specifically charmed to harm you into your office, it is because they aren’t our most common enemies. It means they are doing their homework figuring out your routines. They’ve been following you for at least a few weeks. They knew that only us usually go there so you would open the package without a second thought,” Ron couldn't control the tone of sadness, anger and despair as he spoke.

Minutes before lunch, Hermione received a small package wrapped in a black paper with little stars, the wrapping of Hermione's new favorite bookstore in Muggle London. She frequently went there alone and sometimes Ron accompanied her. She ran to get it, unwrapping it in an instant. She didn’t even have time to see the title of the literary work, when the book came to life and suspended in the air began to hit her repeatedly, increasingly hard on the chest, arms, legs. Her wand was on the handbag she regularly took to lunch. The book kept hitting her, in one moment heading for her belly. Hermione started to scream, moving as far as she could from the object. In seconds, the auror who was stationed outside her office managed to undo the spell. It wasn’t the first threat, that's why the auror guarded her office. Whoever was behind it, had tried to harm her on previous occasions but they had never been so close to actually hurting her. The spell was very powerful, the package was able to pass the rigorous inspection of the experienced auror. A mother who genuinely loved her child would already be home, protecting him or her by being away from danger, the thought stunned her. She began to run through the corridors of the Ministry even when she heard the auror screaming for her to stop. She didn’t want to see anyone, especially Ron, who a week ago had almost begged her to stay home for a few days while they determined who was threatening her.

“Harry and I are very close to identifying who is doing this, Hermione. We just need you to get away from danger a bit… ” Ron started, looking her straight in the eyes.

“I don't want to quit my job, Ron, not after working so hard for many years. I'm nearly there with the house-elf protection law… "

“I know about all the work you've done, Hermione. I would never ask you to do it, if it weren't for… "

"The baby," Hermione completed looking down, "I understand Ron, but I honestly don't think it's necessary ..."

"Not putting our child at risk is more than necessary, Hermione, it will only be a few months," Ron interrupted quickly.

"Ron, I can't. So many magical creatures trust in me..."

"They will continue to trust in you when you return," said Ron.

"We said having a child wouldn't alter our lives, that I would continue working, you know I don’t want to be a stay at home mum." Hermione felt Ron's hand tighten on top of hers.

"It's not that. We wouldn’t be having this conversation if the situation wasn't like this," argued Ron, "Tough I must say you were the one saying having a child wouldn't alter our lives. I think you were trying to convince yourself. For my part, I believe that many things are going to change, things we won’t be able to control."

"Ron…"

"I reckon you're getting scared ..." Ron continued coming closer and reaching her shoulders to hug her.

"I'm not…" Hermione tried to interrupt and wriggle out of the hug. But he knew her better than anyone. Hermione was sure he had noticed her doubts, insecurities and fears even before her.

"I am scared too, I'm not just talking about the threats, because I can assure you that we are going to find out who is behind everything and he’s going to pay for putting you through this," his voice was harsh and he had struggled not to shout during the last sentence. "I’m positive you're scared for him or her too," his voice had taken a delicate, sweet tone, the tone he used when they fought and he wanted her to understand he was right without making her feel too bad.

"You are doubting yourself, asking that brilliant mind of yours a ton of questions, not finding answers. You’re wondering if you’re going to do a good job or if you will love him or her enough. The fact is, Hermione, the love you will feel towards our child will never be enough, it will be infinite", he raised one of his hands caressing her cheek, “It's not about doing a good or bad job, love. It's about doing the best we can in our own way, making mistakes and learning together, because you do realize we're in this together, right?” Ron delicately squeezed her cheek, Hermione looked up, her beautiful blue eyes pierced through her with the deepest love, he lowered his hand placing it on her still small belly, “He or she deserves the world, I assure you we will give it to him or her when the time comes. What we can do now is protect our little one, we are not going to let anything happen to him or her. Okay, we should definitely find out if it’s a boy or a girl, I'm getting tired of this”, he grinned.

In that instant, Hermione felt within her how the little life Ron and she had created began to move and the most profound love, love she only felt for the man in front of her, completely invaded her. Ron gave no sign of feeling it, but it wasn't necessary. She placed her hand on top of Ron's, looked him straight in the eye, and nodded. He smiled at her, hugging her tightly.

At this precise moment in her life, despite her insecurities about her ability to love and protect her unborn child, the certainty of knowing Ron never made vain promises began to fill her with strength and hope. If he firmly believed everything would be fine, it would be. If he was by her side on this adventure, there was no doubt the next few years would be different, challenging, but wonderfully incredible.

#chudleycanonficfest2021 #HP fest #hp canon pairings #canon fest romantic #submission #romione #ron x hermione

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taetaespeaches · 4 years

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“You like me? Like as friends?”

jungkook x reader (or oc) genre: smut; fluff word count: 2.4K

a/n: Guk and Holly have ditched the laundromat in favor of washing clothes at Holly’s apartment because well, it allows for other activities. Enjoy this piece where it’s literally just Guk/Holly banging against a washing machine. Thanks for reading :))

MOVING laundry dates to your apartment might have been in the top five best decisions you’d ever made.

Beyond saving your quarters, which were more often being put to use at the corner shop claw machine during yours and Jungkook’s late night snack runs, the at home laundry dates allowed you some nice quality time with your good friend.

By no means did you dislike the laundromat. You and Jungkook spent a lot of time in that space getting to know each other, buying each other vending machine food, and joking around about anything and everything. You’d always cherish watching Jungkook go back and forth between feeling shy and cocky in the soap scented setting among the mostly elderly patrons.

But you much preferred the privacy of your apartment, without the watchful eyes of your older spectators, where you could find yourself in your current position; straddling Jungkook on the couch, his hands gripping your thighs as he kissed down your neck.

You and Jungkook had slept together multiple times at this point, completely familiar with each other’s bodies, what felt good, and what felt even better. But it was still new enough that you had a lot left to explore, and you recently discovered that you could really get the man riled up by playfully teasing him. And a riled-up Jeon Jeongguk was, well, exquisite.

Jungkook lifted your shirt over your head, tossing it to the end of the sofa, and wasted no time in kissing down your chest, his hands cupping your breasts over the thin material of your lounge bra.

You moaned at the feeling, wrapping your arms around Jungkook’s head as you arched your back, Jungkook groaning against your skin as you ground your hips down on him.

He was quickly losing himself in the moment, happy to forget everything that wasn’t you seated on top of him. That’s what made the buzzer of the washing machine so perfectly timed. The sound rang in your ears, and you weren’t sure if Jungkook even registered the noise. His expression when you said a simple, “oh,” pushing against his shoulders as you started to stand suggested he had no awareness of the washing machine’s alert.

Doe-eyes blown wide, he grabbed for your hips. “Hang on, the washing is done,” you smirked, which Jungkook did not miss, as you removed yourself completely from him, jogging off to the laundry area. The man scoffed as he watched you run off, half-dressed, his eyes glued to the way your ass looked in those tiny shorts you roamed around your apartment in.

The surprise and confusion plastered to his gorgeous face when you left him on the couch reminded you of when you first told him a little over a month ago that you had a washer and dryer in your apartment that you both could use instead of coming to a laundromat.

“Wait, you have a washer and dryer?” He asked, eyes wide as he stopped loading the washing machine with his plethora of dark clothing to look at you.

“Yeah,” you told him simply with a smirk, sitting across from him on top of a vacant washing machine.

“Why do you come to a laundromat then?” He dumbly asked, you giggling at him.

“Don’t you have a washer a dryer at the dorm too?” You countered, bouncing your bag full of quarters in your palm.

“Well, yeah, but-”

“So why do you come to a laundromat to do laundry?” You questioned, already knowing the answer. It was the same as yours.

“I- well- one of the members broke the washing machine a while back, and we all think it was Namjoon but he swears it wasn’t-” He began ranting, trying to explain how he found this particular laundromat.

“Yeah, but that was replaced right away, wasn’t it?” You furthered your interrogation.

“I mean, yeah, but-” He scrambled for an answer, his bambi eyes appearing as innocent as ever.

“Jungkook, I come to the laundromat for the same reason you do,” you told him, watching as he chewed on his bottom lip, eyes locked on you. “I like you. I want to spend time with you,” you spelled it out for him.

He paused for a moment, face blank before his lips curved into a small smile, a light scoff slipping out. And then, that cocky little bitch had the audacity to look you up and down while pushing his tongue to the inside of his cheek.

“You like me?” He asked in a teasing tone, you shooting a glare his way. “Like as friends?”

“Of course, don’t get cocky,” you told him with a smile, both of you amused by your ‘just friends’ act. “But like, come over already,” you told him suggestively.

Jungkook raised his eyebrows before quickly turning around and frantically taking his clothes out of the washer that he wasn’t quite done loading, you laughing loudly at his silly actions. “Like right now?” He asked, turning to look at you as he flung his laundry bag over his shoulder. “I’m good with now, lead the way, baby.”

That first at-home laundry date just ended with making out on your couch. Since then, you’d worked your way to more intimate activities and had been having sex for several weeks.

Unloading the washing machine, moving it to the dryer, you patiently waited for Jungkook to come after you, hoping your plan to tease him into action had worked. When you felt his hand wrap around your wrist, your stomach fluttered in excitement, the feeling spreading a bit lower down your body.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” He commented, tugging you upward to stand before he slammed the washer door shut, pushing his body roughly to yours, pressing you against the appliance.

“What do you mean?” You teased, Jungkook pushing his tongue to the inside of his cheek as he held back a smirk. “I’m just doing laundry, baby.”

Without a word, Jungkook grabbed your thighs, hoisting you up on top of the washing machine, your heart racing as you braced yourself with your hands on his shoulders.

“Did you know,” he started, leaning in to place a sweet kiss to your lips, the gesture contrasting to the dark tone of his voice, “I’ve been dreaming about fucking you on top of a washing machine since we started doing laundry together?”

You couldn’t hold back the smile on your face as Jungkook dipped his head, his breath hot on your neck as he trailed kisses along your skin. The heat from his mouth on your neck pooled to your center.

“That’s very friendly of you,” you teased, Jungkook chuckling against your skin, looking up at you with those sparkling orbs.

“I’m a great friend,” he agreed, his hands dragging up and down your sides, smirking at the goosebumps he felt follow along with his touch. Suddenly, his mouth found the flesh of your breast that was peaking over the cup, his tongue running along the edge of the material, nearing your nipple.

“You might just be the best friend I ever had,” you told him, the man giggling as you threaded your fingers in his soft hair.

“Take this off,” he commanded with that calm authority you loved so much. You were done teasing, quickly reaching behind you to unlatch the hook. You were his.

Jungkook pulled the straps down your arms, dropping the bra to the floor as he wasted no time taking one of your nipples between his teeth, lightly grazing the sensitive bud.

You moaned, Jungkook’s eyes shooting up to see your face, loving to watch you lose yourself in pleasure. “Fuck, Kookie,” you breathed out, the man lifting his head up to kiss you hard, one hand on the side of your head, the other toying with the material of your shorts.

“Do you wear these shorts all the time or only when I’m here?” He asked, tugging on the waistband of the skimpy material. “You like teasing me?”

“I’m just being a good friend,” you told him, Jungkook smiling at you as a breathy chuckle left is pretty lips.

Pushing his fingers underneath he material, he began dragging them off your hips. “Lift,” he told you, you immediately lifting your body off the washer so Jungkook could pull the shorts and your underwear off your bum and down your legs.

Sitting back down on the cold metal, you shivered slightly, though you weren’t sure if it was because of the icy appliance or because of how Jungkook’s eyes drank you in. He pulled his shirt over his head, an effort to make you feel more comfortable in your full nudity, and though you appreciated a shirtless Jungkook, his abs and chest sculpted to perfection, his intent was unnecessary. How could you not feel comfortable when he looked at you as if you were the most beautiful person he’d ever laid eyes on?

Grabbing your knees, he pulled them apart, staring at your center for a moment before lowering himself so he was level with you. His mouth was on you in an instant, you gasping at the sensation.

The man lived to serve. As much as of a tease he could be leading up to the act, it was his goal to make you come undone multiple times. To be on the receiving end of his attention was a gift, and you found yourself thanking yourself in your past lives for whatever you did to allow you to have Jeon Jeongguk in this lifetime. Your hands were in his hair, tugging on the strands which just encouraged him, his mouth working you up until you were hitting your high.

“Oh my god, Jungkook,” you moaned as you came down, Jungkook standing tall as he smiled at you.

“You’re beautiful,” he told you, you giggling a little through your post-orgasm lethargy. Sitting up, you reached for the waistband of his joggers, tugging them downward to silently tell Jungkook that you wanted them off now.

He easily complied, pulling the clothing down along with his underwear before crouching down to pull a condom out of the old-man flip phone case you enjoyed making fun of him for, referring to him as a “soccer dad” whenever he flipped it open.

“If I knew you carried condoms in there, I wouldn’t make fun of you near as much for that soccer dad phone case,” you quipped, looking down at him, supporting yourself on your forearms and elbows.

Flashing you a stunning grin, eyes sparkling as if they held the galaxy, he let out a scoff. “Yeah you would,” he pointed out, you shrugging.

Jungkook stood, rolling the condom on quickly before placing one hand on the side of your ass, the other hooking underneath your thigh. Guiding himself in, you took a sharp breath of air in, still not accustomed to that particular stretch, and you weren’t sure you ever would be.

The man’s eyes closed for a moment, groaning at the feeling of you. When his eyes opened, his gaze was dark, his bottom lip captured between his teeth as he slowly moved his hips against you.

“Fuck, baby,” you moaned, Jungkook’s hands tightening their grip on your flesh as he moved more intentionally. “Feel so good,” you breathed out, your hands moving from supporting yourself behind you to grab onto his biceps.

“Oh my god,” you mewled, squeezing the muscles, appreciating their size and the feel and making sure he knew that’s what you were doing. “Fuck you’re so hot,” you complimented, Jungkook’s pace increasing as he let out a higher pitched moan, roughly pulling your body off the edge of the washing machine so he was holding you against it.

Another thing you had learned about Jungkook since you started being intimate: the man loves praise. Verbal feedback was a surefire way to get him to release any inhibition he may have been holding onto. And when those reservations were removed from his mind, he was remarkably attuned to your body, knowing exactly how fast or hard to go, how rough to be, how intimate or sweet.

As you whimpered compliments of how good he was making you feel, his hips snapped harder, his grip tightening on your body. He lowered his head to press his mouth against your neck, leaving hot wet kisses along your skin. The power behind his thrusts intended to hit that spot within you that would have your toes curling, and fuck he was hitting it.

Your fingernails dug into his bicep, your other hand desperately grabbing his forearm, moans spilling out of your lips between sharp breaths. “Fuck, Guk, is this how you imagined fucking me against the washing machine?” You asked, knowing it would work the man up even more, helping him to his climax as yours was rapidly approaching.

“Fuck,” he exclaimed into your neck, his voice thick, before he lifted his head, kissing you hard just as you released a moan.

You came first, your legs wrapped around his hips as Jungkook showed off his strength by holding you up, continue his movements for you to ride out your high as he neared his own. As his hips snapped harder but messier, the man quickly losing composure, you kissed his jaw, running your hands along his arms and chest.

“You’re incredible,” you whispered through shallow breaths, your chest still heaving. “So fucking good, so beautiful,” you continued, Jungkook’s moans becoming less restrained as they raised in volume and pitch.

He was crashing into his orgasm within moments, his hips stilling inside of you as you clenched around him, Jungkook smiling at the action by you, moving his mouth to yours as he kissed you in haste but passionately.

“God, I’m never gonna get used to you,” he mumbled against your mouth. “How the fuck do you do what you do?” He asked, pulling away, shaking his fringe out of his eyes as he flashed you a stunning grin.

He was still holding you up, you reaching around to the back of his head, your fingers toying with the slightly dampened strands. “Do you know how fucking whipped I am for you?” You asked him, Jungkook letting out a boyish giggle, which was quite the sound with his dick still slightly hard inside of you.

“Feeling’s mutual,” he told you, leaving a peck to your lips, which you decided was not enough, holding him there as you deepened it.

Jungkook groaned into your mouth before scooping you up off the washing machine, you squealing in surprise.

“Let’s do it again,” Jungkook mumbled against your mouth, both of you smiling into the kiss as he brought you to your bedroom, more than ready for round two.

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prettywordsyouleft · 3 years

Text

The Cowboy - Part 2

Summary: Leaving the city for a rural area called Blayne seemed simple enough. Your task was to convince the people to agree with selling their land for a resort redevelopment. But once there, you soon realise that your city ways are entirely different to theirs. Winning their trust was going to take some effort, and when you start to fall for a local cowboy, you wonder if you really needed Blayne more than the city life after all.

Pairing: Jung Jaehyun x female reader

Genre: cowboy au / drama / romance / if you squint there’s some enemies to lovers up in here.

Warnings: Jung Jaehyun is a cowboy, need I say more? (a bit of angst and drama, and it sometimes might feel like you’re reading a Nicolas Sparks book, so I’m told lol)

Word count: 1708

This series will be updated every Thursday and Friday starting 7th January.

Preview | 1 | 2 | 3

You barely recovered before he walked off, rounding the outside of the building. Scrambling after him, you soon fell into step with the son of the household.

The incredibly attractive Jung son.

“So you’ll be able to put on the power?”

“Sure, I’ll just wind up the generator and in about three hours-”

“Generator?! Hours?!”

He laughed then, the sound making you halt in your tracks in a daze. Glancing back at you, he smirked. “You’re sure easy to fool, Miss City.”

“Well, I was expecting a teen with the way your mother spoke of you, Mr Cowboy.”

“We’re a loving bunch around here,” he answered, walking over to a box on the side of the house and patting it. “All I have to do is flick a switch, and you’ll have power.”

“Thank god.”

“Not willing to rough it even for a night?”

“Rough it?”

He smirked again. “You sure don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“So people keep telling me. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure you will,” he replied, staring back at you for a moment. You raised an eyebrow, and he chuckled, pulling open the box and turning on the main switch. You saw the lights in the house you had flicked on come to life, and you clapped your hands together with glee.

“Yes!”

“Are you scared of the dark?”

“Are you always this full of yourself?” you shot back, and he grinned.

“Somewhat.”

“Anything else I need to know about so I can survive the night?”

After shutting the fuse box, he returned to your side, stuffing his hands deep into his jean pockets and leaned towards you. “You sound like high maintenance.”

“Perhaps I am.”

“You’re in for a rude awakening here then.”

“I’m adaptable,” you announced and he laughed. “What, I am!”

“This isn’t something you just get used to, Miss City. You’ll be gone before long.”

“And what will you do if I prove otherwise?” you challenged, and his eyes lit up, glinting with enjoyment.

You had to admit this banter was doing things for you too.

“There’s no point making plans for things that won’t come into fruition.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“I know, but it seems that you’re enjoying it.”

“Fine,” you stated simply, throwing your hands up. “Thank you for turning on the power, Mr Cowboy.”

“Enjoy your night, Miss City.”

You both rounded back to the front of the house, where you went to the veranda, and he approached the truck. You eyed it warily. “Is that thing legal?”

“Don’t try and use too many appliances at once. Houses like these can get overloaded, and it’ll trip the fuse and turn the power off. I’ve got cattle to run tomorrow, so you’ll be without power for some time if you do that.”

You blinked, trying to decipher if he was being serious or not. He shrugged and opened the door to the truck. “R-Really?”

“Take it on as some friendly advice.”

“Ah, is that what it is.” You nodded with a laugh as he climbed into the cab of the vehicle. Dashing down to the driver’s side, you leaned on the open window, and he watched you curiously. “Can you give me some more friendly advice?”

“Don’t open the front door. There might be coyotes howling out in the distance that you’ll have to get used to and by the hay barn, there is an old owl that likes to hoot around three in the morning. You’re welcome.”

“Wait! I was meaning more like if there’s regular mobile data service out here. I’ve got some files to-”

“You’re in the wrong place if you want to be on the internet, Miss City. I’ll give you two days out here before you head on back to your four-gee or whatever the thing is called.”

“You’re getting on my nerves.”

He grinned. “And you’re on my door stopping me from getting home to dessert, ma’am.”

Lifting your arms off, he tipped his cowboy hat at you again and started up the truck. You shook your head as he reversed down the drive before turning the vehicle around.

“Wait! I didn’t even get your real name!” you called out into the night, pouting some.

It didn’t matter. Even if he was the most handsome guy you had seen in months, he was also not your type with how easily he assumed so little of you.

Fishing out your phone, you held it up in search for a stronger signal. Groaning when there was only one bar, you stomped into the house and shut the door behind you.

When your alarm went off the following morning, you were already wide awake, staring up at the ceiling in sheer frustration. The advice you had received last night had been helpful, but what you needed was earplugs instead. You never knew the wilderness to be so loud.

“How am I going to get enough sleep here until I can order some earplugs?” you questioned to no one in particular, sitting up in the bed. You had to admit, whilst the sounds of the outdoors had kept you up, the bed had been surprisingly comfy.

There had to be some perks for being this far detached from proper civilisation.

“Might as well get up,” you decided, flinging back the blankets and padding across the hall into the quaint bathroom. You hadn’t paid a lot of attention last night to the house, too exhausted from travelling for two days. As you did your morning skincare routine, you used the mirror to look around your space. It had a cozy cottage-core vibe that you had recently seen come up as a trend on Pinterest.

“Natty loves things like this,” you told the home, smiling softly before heading downstairs to the kitchen.

The house was decorated warmly. Although many modern conveniences were missing, you couldn’t help but feel like you were in a home that was cherished.

Someone must have loved this place like that at one point in time, you thought, jumping when the phone went off again.

“Hello?”

“Miss L/N, is that you?”

“Ah, yes it is, who am I speaking to?”

“Oh! June told me that someone was staying at the old Jung house so I figured I’d give you a bell and offer you some breakfast down at the diner. You won’t miss it. We’re the first building on Main Street.”

“That’s so kind of you to offer, but I have all the ingredients for a power green smoothie here-”

“Smoothie? Darling, a drink isn’t going to give you enough energy to get through your day.”

“Pardon?”

“Aren’t you starting your surveying job of Blayne today? There’s a lot to get through.”

Not really, you thought wickedly and bit your lip in case you said anything out loud. “Ah, right. Well, I’ll come down then.”

“Do come!” And then the line went dead.

“Who was I even speaking to?” you wondered when you placed down the phone, blinking slowly.

You got ready and headed down the bumpy drive and then another fifteen minutes until you reached what the inhabitants of this strange place called Main Street. You had to admit, it was the only area of Blayne were you saw more than two people at once, and it relaxed you to be back around people.

You hadn’t realised just how overcrowded the city was when you found yourself now missing the constant sight of people.

Once you parked your car, you got out and locked it, checking to make sure the door wouldn’t open. You heard a snigger from the sidewalk. “You’re new here.”

“Ah, yes.”

“You don’t need to lock your car here. No one is going to steal it,” the young girl said, eying you curiously. You nodded politely and walked inside the diner, instantly hit with the smell of fried food.

You were hungrier than you expected.

“Miss L/N!” a voice called, and everyone in the establishment turned to look at you.

Smiling politely and rushing over to the front counter, you sat down on a stool. The woman who greeted you smiled graciously. “I’m May.”

“May… June-”

May laughed. “Our parents weren’t all that creative with our names. I’m June’s older sister.”

“Oh! It’s nice to meet you. Please, feel free to call me Y/N.”

“Earl, can you serve up our guest the breakfast special?” May called out without taking her eyes off of you.

You smiled gently before darting your gaze to the menu distractedly. “You have a nice place here. Do you sell soy chai lattes?”

“Soy what?”

“Ah, nothing. Coffee. Coffee will do.”

“Black or white, darling? Any sugar?”

After sorting yourself with caffeine, you then glanced around again. There were about six others in total, and most of them were looking in your direction. Nodding politely at them, you turned back to May.

“I guess you don’t get many visitors.”

“They don’t stay long, no,” she replied, placing a large plate loaded with a fried assortment and pancakes. You eyed the meal. It would be triple the macros for your daily intake. Still, you were hungry.

You picked up your knife and fork. “They don’t?”

“I think the last person stayed a week. That was pretty long.”

“Only a week?” you cut into a hashbrown. “Why did they leave so soon?”

“Unless you’re a farmer or born into farming, you wouldn’t really enjoy being out here. We have only twelve stores. Nothing arrives here quickly, and you have to be pretty self-sufficient to survive. There’s not a lot calling people here.”

“There could be. I mean, you have a lot of land-”

“For farming,” May cut in, and you swallowed down a bit of hashbrown before nodding.

“Yes, but it’s beautiful and picturesque. People who want to escape the daily grind would flock to a place like this if there was an establishment to stay in.”

“Our inn hasn’t had a guest since nineteen-eighty-three. You want to know why?”

“It has a ghost story?” you asked innocently, and May merely smiled haughtily.

“The only people staying in Blayne were born and raised here, Y/N. You’ll soon realise the utopia you and your company are hoping to build out here is a pipe dream.”

_________________

Part 3

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daddyissuesingreen · 3 years

Text

Everything is Perfect (Theo Raeken x Fem Bi-Racial Reader)

Gif creds: @bonniebird

Warnings: 18+, Smut, some cuss words I think, like one punch.

Description: Theo Raeken x fem. bi-racial reader(romantic) Liam Dunbar x fem. bi-racial reader (platonic) Some angst, fluff, and smut.

Summary: While trapped at the zoo, reader, Theo, and Liam get into an argument. Reader says something that she might regret later.

Request: @theshyprincess asked for “Can I have a request for Theo Raeken or Liam Dunbar with a biracial reader that has cuddles or smut if you do that”

Word Count: 1,080

A/N: This is my first time writing something like this, typically I write true crime, nonfiction, or just silly stories so I hope this is good. I have also never written smut before so I might be cringey, but nonetheless, there’s always room for growth, so if you have any tips message me or leave them in the comments! Any advice is appreciated!❤️

“Isn’t that right?!” Theo yelled

“Why are you yelling?!” Liam and I both asked Theo.

“You got a problem? Oh that’s right, you always have a problem!” Thoe yelled back, directing it at me.

“Why wouldn’t I have a problem with you?” I yelled back after quickly realizing what was happening.

“Shut up!” Liam yelled at Theo, getting in front of me, probably assuming this was about Theo and I’s recent break up and Theo punched him.

“Woah, dude!” I looked Theo up and down. “What the hell was that about?! You didn’t need to hit the kid!” I shoved Theo away.

“You see that, Scott? Little beta can’t even take a punch, he needs his girlfriend to protect him.” He said like poison was dripping from his tongue.

Oh to be having this argument anywhere else but here, trapped at an abandoned zoo with hunters right outside.

I started to wonder, “is he staging this or is this for real?”, but i did not say that out loud, instead i said this, “Well, maybe I would be protecting you if you knew how to fuck me right, like Liam does!” I smirked and stepped back.

Theo looked hurt, but what can i say, I am sure that punch Liam took hurt. “I knew you were fucking him! God, and you accused me of being a liar?!”

Oh, so he is for real. “What?! No! I did not cheat, are you insane? I loved you, but you killed my best friend, that is why we broke up, not because i was cheating on you!” I snapped back. “This is a waste of my time, I will leave you two to it, I'm out of here.” I whispered and walked away.

How did Theo take that seriously? I have always been loyal and honest with him, him on the other hand? Not so much.

I arrived home after sneaking out of the zoo and laid in my bed thinking about Theo and I’s past relationship, how he would run his hands through my curls, or say my eyes are the most beautiful thing the sun lights up. Theo was great. He cherished me and loved me, or so I thought. When Theo killed Scott that night, I could no longer play pretend with him or act like he was perfect because he was not.

While I was laying down, my thoughts were interrupted by a strange noise at my window. When I sat up to go look, my window was opening and there was Theo.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“You said i can’t fuck you good and I am here to prove you wrong.” Theo responded with his eyes dark and full of lust, much different than his normal piercing blue eyes.

“Theo…” I started, but Theo was quick and laid me back on the bed and kissed me roughly.

“Y/N, if you do not want this, tell me to stop…” Theo pulled away from the kiss and looked at me almost tenderly.

I thought for a moment, “I want this…” I breathed and flipped Theo and I over.

I bent down and kissed Theo roughly while he grabbed my hips, “God I missed this feeling.” I thought. I sat back up and pulled my shirt off. Theo stared at me and ran his fingers up my stomach and to my breasts and gently cupped them.

Theo then flipped us back over so that way he was on top. He began kissing my neck while grinding onto my crotch, the friction making me moan. I placed my hands on his belt loop and began undoing it when Theo suddenly stood up and pulled me off the bed.

Theo took his shirt off and threw it across the room, he then pulled my pants down.

“Not so fast, darling.” I looked at him and got down on my knees.

I pulled Theo’s pants down and noticed his already hard member in through his boxers. I pulled his boxers down and grabbed his member.

“It’s bigger than i remember.” I said in a low voice and put his member in my mouth. I started my pace off slowly, to try and tease him, but Theo was not a fan, Theo put his hand on the back of my head and pulled my hair, as if holding my head in place, then began thrusting in out of my mouth making sure I took every inch.

I grabbed his balls and began to massage them, earning a load and almost animalistic moan from Theo. Without warning, Theo released his load in my mouth and kept my head in place so I could swallow it all.

He then picked me up and threw me onto the bed and quickly climbed on top of me. Before I could do anything, Theo shoved himself into me and without giving me time to adjust, he started thrusting in and out of me quickly.

“Theo,” I moaned breathlessly, “fuck.” I placed my hands in his hair and gently tugged.

He moved my legs up to his waist to try and find my spot, which he quickly found. I became a moaning mess.

Theo took one of his hands and grabbed mine and held my hands above my head.

“Y/N, I am close.” He said as his thrusts became sloppier.

“Me too.” I breathed out and squeezed his waist with my legs. Within seconds we were both coming.

Theo moaned into my ear while I screamed his name for the neighbors to hear.

He pulled out of me and laid next to me and started to stare.

“Is something wrong?” I turned and looked at him.

He ran a hand through my curls and smiled, “no, everything is perfect.”

Theo then grabbed my waist and pulled me closer to him, placing his face into the crook of my neck.

“Do you think we could work things out between us?” He asked softly, face still in my neck.

I put my hand on the back of his head and messed with his hair, “ we don’t need to work anything out, everything is perfect.” I said, causing him to look at me. Before he could respond, I kissed him softly.

“I never stopped loving you.” He said tenderly.

“I am pretty great, if i do say so myself,” I giggled, but he only glared, “fine, fine. I never stopped loving you either.” I smiled and kissed him again.

#teen wolf #liam dunbar x reader #liam dunbar #theo raeken x reader #theo raeken #imagine #smut #stiles stilinski #scott mccall #request

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imaginesbymk · 4 years

Text

“Sweet as Cherry Pie.”

Peaky Blinders One Shot

Summary: Y/n is Alfie Solomons’ younger sister who comes to Camden town & Small Heath. Why? She’s their secret weapon: sassy, unpredictable and insults their enemies to filth. Or maybe she’s just bored and needed the first enemy she sees to throw a comment at. Either way, Alfie couldn’t ask for a better sister.

Pairing: ---

Tags: swearing, mentions of violence, weapons, drug & alcohol use, smoking + s4 spoilers

Word Count: 1755 words

Author’s Note: sksmsksks this is based off a dream i had one night. it isn’t the best piece i’ve written but i love a sassy reader. one shots are not open, this is just a one shot for my 800 follower special - [milestone masterlist]

“GOOD MORNING, Alfie.” Tommy said, walking down the distillery. Well, it wasn’t that much of a good morning for Tommy, really. In fact, even though he’s very productive and professional most times, this time the man wished he was back in bed where he could be exposed in his shirtless self, waking up to see his boy with that bright smile, sharing his eyes.

Normally, he’d be drowning in family meetings back in Small Heath, but the atmosphere in Camden town begged to differ.

“Meh, not really,” Alfie Solomons glances up at the window- the dusty, stained window pane gave in the overcast weather. He turns back to Tommy. “Mate, I’m glad we’re right on schedule. I was starting to think you got shot in your own fucking office chair back home.”

Tommy stared at the Jewish-English man, knowing Alfie was from Camden Town, how outsiders would speak ill of such towns and vice versa.

Alfie shuffles over using his cane as support and hands Tommy the tickets. “Those are the tickets to the boxing match. And in that storage unit behind you is the gateway to the clouds.”

“Kind of you. But you know I have booze at home, stored neatly and safely. I can manage without your rum.” Tommy walked in, anyway.

“I’m not giving you my rum for free, Tommy. I’m not even selling it to you,” Tommy watched as Alfie made his way to the other room of his bakery, ready to check on the AM workers as they got to work right away.

Tommy read the front labels of the bottle he picked up from one of the barrels. This man has gone a long way in his business, he couldn’t deny that. Over a hundred barrels have been shipped to God knows how many speakeasies were in Europe and America, and when Alfie Solomons received his earnings, he holds it tightly and proudly, guarding it as he cherishes his success.

Taking a bottle wouldn’t hurt, it would please him knowing he is interested in buying his product. He could even smell it from the sealed caps. He could smell it from the barrels, residue on the floor, or even from one of the workers’ breaths. He could pop it open and take a quick sniff like playing in snow. Tommy dug in his coat pockets, pulling out a stack.

“Oh, so you are fucking loaded.” Tommy whipped around, his gun already pulled from his holster, gripped and pointed to the voice inches behind him.

The person- the woman, didn’t react, not a small gasp at the sight of the barrel of the gun nearing her face. Boldly enough, she reached over and grabbed the stack of cash from Tommy’s hand and walked away, not even remotely thinking if the man she startled would pull the trigger with her back turned.

“Thanks, Mr. Shelby. And Alfie thanks you!” the female voice calls out.

Con artist? Someone posing as a worker? An enemy? Tommy breathed heavily, swearing left and right in his mind that he could of at least stopped whoever that was from taking his money, or yelled at her the way he usually does to anyone who worked for him because he was the boss. He was loaded, but no one would just allow someone to take a loan like that without anything afterwards, unless they were a clerk in a bank robbery.

After feeling like he was glued to the floor in that tiny space, Tommy rushed out to find Alfie back in his office with his glasses on his face, jotting notes down on a piece of paper, noticing the stack of cash sitting near the cup holder.

“Who the fuck just walked inside that storage unit and grabbed the stash right out my fucking hands?”

Tommy’s outburst of his question didn’t send Alfie into a panic. “You mean my dearest sister y/n?” Alfie got up from his seat. “She gave me the cash so I didn’t have to do it, but she didn’t even bid me a goodbye afterwards. She just plopped it on my desk and went her way. It’s not like I died or anything. I’m not fucking invisible, Tommy. You can see me, right?”

Tommy let out a long sigh, dreading that there’s not one but two migraine-stirring bastards named Solomons, it’s enough for one he already wishes to throw a beer bottle at some times, but now another one probably much worse than if described. “You have a sister, Alfie? You never said anything about having a sister.”

“Yeah. But don’t worry, she’s sweet as cherry pie,” Alfie nods. “I brought her here, but she’s pretty homesick, so I would bid her warm welcomes if I were you.”

“Why should I?” Tommy says, frowning. “She just took my fucking money.”

“Oh, for sure.” Alfie waves the loan in front of Tommy, reminding him that y/n is no thief. “And because she knows about the vendetta between you, the Peakys and the Italians. If they come to her, she’ll roar at them, literally.”

“WHO the fuck is this, now?” Arthur stared at the woman stood next to Tommy at the foot of the small dining room where old memories held of their past meetings and heartbreaks.

“This is Y/n Solomons. She’s our messenger.” Tommy wished he never had to say that. He wished she would stop touching his fucking stuff, too. “Y/n, put down my fucking frame.”

“Oh fuck,” Polly blew out smoke from her cigarette. “There’s two of them?”

“And what is wrong with my brother?” Y/n places the frame back down on the mantel. “He’s a successful businessman. He beat a man three fucking times his size to gravel after he called me fat.”

“Y/n Solomons is our messenger. She’s also helping with updates from Aberama Gold once we get Michael out of Birmingham for now, because Luca Changretta is still out there, and he’s fucking pissed.”

“You can very hot headed sometimes, Mr. Shelby.” Later the brief introduction of their newcomer in their recent meeting was long over, she stayed back even though she was dismissed to do her work. “It’s probably because you smoke so much cigarettes that you’re starting to look like an ashtray, or of that heavy out-dated coat you wear all the time just weighs you down that your back and shoulders must hurt like hell.”

“The fuck does that mean?” Tommy said, irritated by her presence, even her just standing there at the table.

“Nothing.” Y/n sighs and heads out the door. “You know where I’ll be!” she calls.

Sweet as cherry pie, my ass. Tommy grunts and lights a cigarette.

“WHAT’S the matter?” Luca Changretta asks. “I said we had a deal.”

“Ah, you just made a deal without negotiation, now did ya?” Y/n’s brother sat on the chair, staring up at the menacing mobster holding one of the rum bottles given as a gift. “Yeah, Tommy Shelby was right about you. You plan to kill us all.” He spoke in Yiddish, and he mocks a tsking sound.

Luca smirks down, even though he didn’t know what he said, at least they both were aware of one thing; Tommy knows what kind of man I am.

“Mr. Changretta, may I speak freely?” y/n chimes in.

The Italian shrugs. “Mr. Solomons, I checked my calendar earlier and I did not read anything about today being Take Your Kid to Work Day,” and he laughs, his cousin as his henchman behind laughing along with him.

“Mate, I’d choose my next words very carefully if I were you,” Alfie says, stifling a smile. “This is my baby sister you’re talking down to, and she won’t tolerate one bit of it.”

“And I should be afraid?”

“Perhaps less afraid, more self-conscious, Mr. Changretta,” y/n replies. “Just a few minutes ago I was sensing the stench of failure, but then I saw you and your men walk in.”

Luca chuckles sarcastically. “Ouch.”

“And it’s not like we’re having a showdown right here, you didn’t need to bring your men with you unless you’re doubling their pay for just standing silently. I mean, they’re as important as Tommy Shelby’s evening sous chef.”

“Who?” Alfie had to ask.

Y/n smirks. “Exactly. Anyways, I just need to tell you that my brother’s business isn’t for sale. Alfie has worked hard and I’m proud to be his sister, supporting him. I’ll drink his rum like it’s mother’s milk if I had to. So, let my brother handle your men at the match, and you’ll take care of the two hundred barrels to be shipped to New York. Simple.”

“What do you know about business, Miss Solomons?”

“What do you know about combat, Luca? If you didn’t lack the experience, Tommy Shelby’s blood would spill fresh on your hands as we speak. How are you a soldier for the mafia if you hadn’t accomplish the vendetta yet?”

“Well-”

“Actually, don’t answer that. I’ll fall asleep.” Y/n took a step forward, lowering her smile up as his height overpowered hers. “My brother isn’t asking for much. He’s a good friend of Tommy Shelby, yet he’s helping you. You should be kissing his feet, Mr. Changretta, not abusing his generosity.”

Luca chewed the matchstick in his mouth. “Is that so?” he looks back at his men. “Porca puttana.”

“Vaffanculo, right back at you, mate. You just earned yourself another tonne to your bill. Bring tissues for both your lawyer and accountant.” Y/n turns around and grins at her older brother, who smiled warmly at her the entire time, feeling as though he was proud. If the Peaky Blinders were here, they’d share the same reaction as Luca.

“So you both know Italian?” Luca asked as he sighs in exhaustion.

Alfie nods at Luca, who was glaring down at him for an answer. You learn from your older sibling, you become as tough as bullets and the big help as the messenger, sending a telephone call or a letter mailed to Small Heath, saying Luca Changretta is six feet tall, but shrunk four feet down when y/n opened her mouth.

“Take it or leave it, Signore.” The Italians didn’t even need to ask where this woman got her attitude from. If you’re a Solomon, there’s perks. Y/n smiles to herself, Tommy is gonna hate and love me.

“I warned you about my baby sister, mate.” Alfie says. “Sweet as cherry pie... but with broken glass once you bite into your first slice.”

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#peaky blinders one shot #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders #alfie solomons x sibling!reader #alfie solomons #fem!reader #reader insert #one shot #imagine

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marvelousell · 4 years

Text

The Agreement (Part 10.)

Pairing(s): frat boy!fwb!Tom x reader, frat boy!Harrison x reader

Summary: Tom is a typical frat boy, his love for partying, drinks and girls are bigger than his ego. Y/N is a whole different dimension, she keeps her circle small, and even though she knows her best friend Tom is a total douche, she can’t say no to the little deal that was sealed between the two of them.

Word count: 3.2k

A/N: This one really made me so soft even though I wasn’t feeling this part because I was loaded with work and every word didn’t seem good after I wrote it, but I’m kinda happy how it turned out in the end. Also the end is coming, just a few more parts and honestly I’m not ready🤧. Thank you for all the lovely feedbacks, reblogs and comments, I always appreciate every single one of them.❤️

Warnings: SMUT 18+, unprotected sex, swearing, tiny bit of angst

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7. Part 8. Part 9.

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Masterlist

“Did you like, talk to him or saw him for the last couple of days?”

It was already a week. A prolonged week without a call, message, visit, anything. Tom made sure he wanted nothing to do with you after your short and direct words, and it broke your heart.

You were confused, a complete mess, nothing felt the same after the door was shut that night. You were waiting for Tom to finally acknowledge you after all those years, but it looks like it wasn’t the right time. He was your best friend, how could you function like you used to when he wasn’t here to listen to your stupid stories and rambling. Tom was your routine, someone who could always make your day better with the tedious stories about his so-called love life. And the fact that he didn’t want you back in his life like his best friend made you think if he ever even cared about you.

Still it was for the best.

“Tom? Yes, he was at Harry’s yesterday with us.” Anna answered.

She knew something was wrong, you were asking questions about him for the past few minutes and yesterday Tom didn’t want to answer anything that was related to you.

“Oh.” You wanted to go, but you were definitely not ready to see him, everything was still fresh for the both of you. Also the thought of him ignoring you and not wanting to talk to you would sure make you cry right there in front of everyone. You just weren’t ready.

“He was there with Gracie, who would have thought that our famous womanizer could settle down.” She laughed, trying to cheer you up, however she made the situation even worse for you.

Gracie? So the date went well after all, and now they are together. He was serious about that, but not about you.

Your throat tightened after her words, teeth deep in your lower lip, trying to stop the urge to cry that was forming in your whole body.

“Gracie? They are dating now o-or?” You stuttered, still refusing to look at Ann because she would figure everything out, she knew you like the back of her hand.

“Yeah, I think so? Did something happen?” She questioned, brows furrowed while she was waiting for your answer.

You were addled, this situation was eating you up and you just wanted to talk about it with her.

“No.” You said quietly, debating if you should tell her the truth.

“Good, now the truth please.”

Of course she didn’t buy that.

“Nothing, we just had a little fight and we’re not talking at the moment.” It was the truth, but not the entire one.

“A fight? How and why? That’s why he didn’t want to talk about you yesterday.”

He didn’t?

“I don’t know, and I don’t want to talk about it if that’s okay. I’m sorry.” Your voice thick, emotions flying everywhere.

“Don’t worry Y/N you two are like yin and yang, two opposite worlds but you complete each other perfectly. You are best friends and believe me he can’t function without you as much as you can’t without him.” Her arms wrapped around your shoulders, telling you through the hug how things were going to be alright.

“I hope so, if he doesn’t put Gracie as his first priority because she is someone that he needs now.” Anna sensed a pang of jealousy in your voice, but she didn’t want to point it out still unsure about that.

“No one can break a bond like that, just like ours. Tom and you will make things right in no time.”

“Thank you Ann, please don’t tell Harrison about this. I just told him that I wasn’t feeling well so I couldn’t come yesterday. I don’t want him to think that I don’t believe him enough to say my problems to him or something like that. I really like him.”

“Tell him what?” She smiled, acting like the conversation didn’t even happen.

“Thank you Ann.”

“Should I just leave to let you admire her? I don’t want to collect your eyes when they fall out from too much staring.” Anna joked, finally realizing that she was talking to herself for the last thirty minutes.

“I’m sorry, she is so distracting. Can’t keep my eyes off of her.” Harrison chuckled, feeling embarrassed that he got caught.

But he couldn’t help himself, you looked arresting like always. Your new hair style looked amazing, and the familiar pastel dress was making you look angelic. You were talking to Amelia, laughing your heart out and not to stare was a big difficulty for him. Your smile warmed his heart and he could sit here the whole night looking at you.

He was sure that he was in love. Absolutely in love, and everybody could see it as well.

Harrison wasn’t the guy that kept his feelings a secret, if he had the chance he would scream to every single person how much he was in love and how happy you made him feel.

“You know, I’m so elated for you two. Seeing you so content after everything, and her beaming around you is enough.” Anna began, looking at you two exchanging small grins and glances.

“And the fact that you don’t hide your love for her is something that makes you special.” She added, tapping his shoulder.

“I love her, I do truly. I wanted to tell her so many times, but I’m afraid that for her it will be too soon.” Harrison explained. He wanted to say the words multiple times when you two would snuggle in your bed, having small talks about everything, but he was scared that maybe you would think it was too soon, just like Emily did. That maybe he would make things feel awkward in your relationship.

Emily was on his mind recently a lot. Harrison reassured himself that she should not make him feel like this. You were an angel, you were nothing like her.

“Listen, I know Y/N since we were little and I know more about her then she does. Y/N is a hopeless romantic, nothing is to soon for her. Take my advice show her how much you love her. She feels the same.”

Show her how much.

“Having fun you two, did Anna finish her ramble time?” Both you and Amelia approached the small table in the kitchen where they were sitting at.

Harrison’s arms were fast, bringing you in his lap. The giggles were making his heart stutter, he held you close to his body like he was afraid that you were going to leave.

“Tonight I was my own ramble buddy, because our boy couldn’t stop staring at his stunning lady.” Anna answered, sending you a wink.

In just three weeks Harrison showed you everything, made you realize how much in love you were with him and that he was the one who was worth your time. The first week was rough without the brunette boy that always lit a spark in you. But Harrison, even if he didn’t know the truth, made sure your day with him was filled with nothing but pure happiness. He was patient with you and even when you would say that you were not in the mood because you were not feeling well, he would always held you close, cherish you like he had the magic to suck out every bad thought.

It was his kind heart and endless love that made you stop overthinking about someone who didn’t even bother to call after everything that happened. You both deserved unconditional love and you made it clear to yourself that you would give that, just like it was given to you.

Your arms were around his neck, cheek pressed against his head and you were grinning from ear to ear.

“She is my beautiful girl, of course I can’t keep my eyes off of her.” He showed his white teeth, smiling broadly at you.

Harrison’s palm was on your inner thigh, stroking your soft skin rhythmically. Your sweet scent filled his nostrils as he leaned his face near the crook of your neck to place an innocent peck there.

“You’re so sweet.” He mumbled, Anna and Amelia now long gone leaving the two of you to have some privacy.

“And you’re adorable, I want to kiss you all the time.” You brought his face close to yours, kissing him gently on the lips.

Harrison squeezed your thigh, the other hand lingering on your back. Every kiss was better than the previous one, and the feeling of your warm lips sent goosebumps down his spine.

“My girl.” He said, giving you a one last peck.

“Want to take you home now.” Harrison added, Anna’s words replaying in his head.

“No one’s stopping us.”

The smile grew wider, and the excitement was rushing through his body. No one could do this to him like you did.

“I swear evenings like this make me more exhausted than parties.” It was just a friendly invite to Harry’s house, nothing special, you all did that frequently. Tom wasn’t there, Gracie was sick and as a caring boyfriend he didn’t want to leave her side.

You didn’t want to say anything, if it was the truth good for him because he finally showed how he can keep a girl and if he was lying, well..that was his problem.

“The only good thing is when we come home after it and just enjoy the rest of our night.” You weren’t living together but your home was his and his was yours.

Harrison’s arms travelled to your sides, palms placed firmly on your belly holding you close to him. He knew how you loved hugs like this, relaxing your head on his chest while stroking his arm slowly.

Tonight he wanted to show you not just tell you how much he cared about you and most importantly how much he loved you.

You exhaled through your nose after you felt his lips press a light kiss behind your ear. He continued, peppering your neck with kisses going down to your shoulder. The time stopped, his lips were the only thing that you could think of, a hum escaping from your mouth after he slowly pushed the dress so he could kiss your shoulder.

“You’re an angel.” He whispered, smiling against your skin feeling nervous like he never did before.

“I have been distracted the whole night with your beauty, I’m so lucky.” He added, turning you around so he could see your face.

“I’m way luckier, you made everything better.” You said softly, pressing your hands on his chest feeling his chaotic heartbeat.

Your heart was racing as well, from exhilaration, contentment, love.

The night will be special, you wanted this to happen but you were worrying that it would be all too soon just like he did. You both wanted this first time to be memorable.

“It makes me so elated to call you mine.” His hands grabbed each side of your face, thumbs running up and down your cheeks.

The huge grin on his face could make everything better in a second, and he made you feel so desirable at that moment. Your lips fitted like a puzzle, it was a beautiful match.

“Please let me show you how much I care.” He said before he kissed you passionately again.

“Show me.” You were craving his touch, and you didn’t want to procrastinate this.

That was enough for Harrison to send positive shivers down his spine, picking you up to guide you both to the bedroom.

The small tug on his shirt made him smile during your kiss, you were both impatient.

He wanted to make this night about you only.

The soft fingertips were dancing on your skin, removing your dress carefully. He could feel your shyness mixing with your neediness.

“It’s okay beautiful, don’t cover yourself. Love every inch of you.” He stated, running his hand down your body, placing kisses all over it to show how much he admired you.

“You’re beautiful. So beautiful.” He repeated, feeling the need to let you know every second how gorgeous you really were.

“I want you.” You whined, bringing him back up close to you, kissing his lips steadily.

“Tonight is about you.” He spoke against your lips, his hot breath tickling your skin.

The ache between your legs was becoming distracting for you and all you needed was his touch on your pulsing core.

Harrison was feeling the same, his jeans became tight all of a sudden. The erection throbbed inside his boxers, and the thoughts about you wrapped around him sent waves of excitement.

“Oh shit.” You cursed, relaxing in his arms.

He cupped your breasts giving them a slight squeeze. Your hand was on his wrist, trying to move it to your hard nipples. Harrison got the message but he still took his time.

His body lowered down, face near your chest leaving open-mouthed kisses, stopping when his lips came near your areola. He was already amazed by you, your body was like the most beautiful painting that left him speechless.

The whines and moans were becoming more audible as his fingers came to your breasts to play with the erect nipple. Your skin was so smooth and delicate against his touch, it was making him go insane.

“Please Haz, more.” You begged, his lips capturing yours.

“It’s all about you angel, don’t worry.” He said in between kisses, your back arching when his palm came in contact with your clothed heat.

“Need me here?” He asked, moving his fingers in a slow motion, teasing the clit accidentally.

You hummed in response, removing his shirt and jeans so you both were half naked.

Small kisses were left on your body as he travelled down to your pussy that was already begging for his attention. Harrison wanted you to memorize every touch of his, every kiss and every move.

The panties were removed leisurely, thighs spread so he had a great view of everything.

You were showing him all of you, every sensitive and intimate part and nothing made him more happier than the realization that you trusted him. For Harrison it was the most important thing.

“My sweet girl, you taste heavenly.” He admitted, licking long stripes on either sides of your pussy, concentrating on your clit after it.

“My God Harrison.” Your fingers were in his curls tugging on them slightly.

His tongue and mouth were working together perfectly, causing your nerves to go wild every time he would suck on your clit gently.

“You’re my sweet one, am I right?”

“Only yours.” You choked out, feeling your climax approaching.

“I promise I will let you cum on my tongue as much as you want to, but now I want to feel you cum around me, please.” He pleaded lowly, pressing soft kisses on your pussy and inner thighs.

“Please, want that too.” You swallowed half of the words, closing your eyes.

He could say that he was practically addicted to your lips, the desire to kiss you every second was high. Your lips moved against each other hotly, soft wincing mixing with his moans.

“I love you.” He finally blurted out. He finally said what he intended to say a long time ago. The pounding in his chest was so hard and loud that you could definitely hear it.

“I love you. Let me show you how much angel.” Words replaying like a broken record in your ears, a genuine smile creeping upon your face.

You wanted to respond but his lips were already on yours, hand going down to his shaft.

“May I?” He breathed near your earlobe while his other palm was caressing your body.

Harrison was gentle, always. Always asking for consent, always checking if everything was fine and always making sure that you were satisfied, just like he was.

That was something that Tom didn’t show, or at least was afraid to show. Maybe you weren’t the one that deserved that.

You were once again lost in your thoughts instead of enjoying this lovely moment between you two.

His tip was already in, bringing you back to reality. Your toes curled from the feeling, it was slow and passionate a total difference from him.

“Are you good angel?” He questioned, brushing your cheek tenderly.

“So good, please move.” You grabbed his palm, kissing his knuckles.

Harrison pushed inside of you steadily, his free hand clenching your hips. The warmth from your walls was a whole new and pure feeling, and breathing was suddenly an unknown term for him.

“God, you take me so well. You’re amazing.” His words made you weak.

He began to move his member slowly. Your bodies moved superbly, his eyes were focused on you and on his shaft that was sliding in and out of your glistening core.

Your eyes were fixed on him the whole time, and all you could think of was how ready you were to say those three words.

Harrison’s chest was now on yours, and before he could close the space between your lips you cupped his cheeks to stop him.

“I love you.” Your sweet voice spoke in between the moans.

“I love you Harrison.” You repeated yourself, placing a kiss on top of his lips.

It was like he was dreaming, everything with you seemed like the most beautiful dream.

The smile on his face said everything. He kissed you hungrily, giggles escaping from your mouth.

You were so content tonight, he was making you feel so good, but he also wanted to show how pretty you were, inside and out.

“Fuck, you close love?” He asked, his movements increasing in speed, trying to bring you to the edge.

You nodded, tugging his hair and clenching around his hard member. You moaned loudly as the orgasm washed over you, your hips grinding against his.

“Beautiful.” He never saw no one looking that beautiful while coming for him.

Harrison’s thrusts grew sloppier, his climax was close, so close.

“I’m here beautiful.” He groaned, kissing you once again, coating your tight walls.

You both were whining from the feeling, moving your lips lazily while he still stayed inside of you.

After your breathing slowed down, and your bodies stopped to shake from pleasure, you both smiled at each other.

“I really love you.” He said, brushing your hair slowly with his fingers, placing a peck on your forehead.

“I love you too. Thank you.”

“Let me take care of you now.” Harrison spoke, picking you up bridal style, moving to the bathroom.

“You’re crazy.” You screeched, both of you giggling uncontrollably.

“Only for you.”

Harrison ran you both a bath, filling it with everything you wanted and had in the bathroom.

It was an intimate moment, bodies so close but there was no need for more at the moment.

Your back was pressed on his chest, head resting on his shoulder, the position you adored the most. His hands were all over you, stroking your skin tenderly.

“You are incredible Y/N, you really make me happy, you really do.” He broke the silence, pecking your neck multiple times.

“I should thank you for trusting me and showing me what love really is.” You added, turning around to wrap your arms around the nape of his neck.

Harrison had everything he needed, and he hoped that nothing and no one could take that away from him.

It was just you, him and your love.

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authoressofdarkness · 4 years

Text

Guide Me Safely To Shore

Only one thing ever made Tony Stark think twice about fulfilling his full potential. Two little words on the inside of his wrist, where his soulmark sits, ghostly, waiting for him to recognize his soulmate in some unredeemable way. He always knew he’d hurt them. But when he discovers his soulmate is none other than the feisty little Spiderling swinging around his streets, he realizes things are a lot worse than he ever could have thought.

Notes: So this just hit me in the middle of the night while reading fanfiction and avoiding hw the other night. I’ve got several ideas for it going forward, so this isn’t a one shot, but with midterms right around the corner I can promise nothing. Sorry. But I love you all and I’m hoping to get the next part out soon. <3 Enjoy, and I’d love to hear what you think!

This is unbetaed, so sorry for any mistakes.

Also, if anyone is interested, I realized while titling this that the song I took inspiration from is actually a lot more relevant to this story than I thought, and even more so the play itself. You can consider it the theme song for this story. The song is called “All That Matters,” from the Broadway cast of Finding Neverland. If you ever get the chance to see it, you most definitely should, or at least listen to the soundtrack. So listen to that if y’all get a chance, and do with that what you will.Okay, now enjoy! 💙

Only one thing in the world had made Tony think twice about fulfilling his full potential.

It wasn’t his friends. Or family — not that he really had any to speak of. Not his position at SI, not fear for his life, his work, his legacy, or anything of the sort.

It was the last thing someone would expect, honestly. Even for a man like Tony, an alpha with such power, who commanded such respect, had to have a soulmate. One he was expected to love, cherish, and yes, even a man like him craved that. He hadn’t met them yet, though, his soulmate, but the two words branding him, marking him with the words from his soulmate that will seal their bond, are there, have always been there, carefully hidden away from the public eye… and terrifying him in a deeper way than anything else could.

Please don’t.

Those two little words, branded onto his skin, reminding him every day of the horrors he may be wreaking on his soulmate without knowing it. There was no way to interpret them in a good light; and he knows that they mean, to some extent, he is going to hurt them.

And what’s worse, is that he hears them so often. People begging. It’s almost become part of his reason behind his cruel reputation — forcing people to beg, just to make them say it, just to make absolutely certain before he does something irreversible that it's not his soulmate he holds. Each time, he has to hold his breath, think about everything he’s ever done in that split second while he waits to see if hearing the words this time will change his life.

It’s the only thing that’s ever made him think twice about the things that he does. If there’s one person he doesn’t want to hurt, that he’d protect with his life at all costs, it’s his soulmate.

Yet he has no idea who it is, and the only thing he does know is he’s destined to fucking hurt them. Probably make them beg for their life before he realizes that they’re his soulmate. That he’s hurting his other half.

Most of the time he relishes the power, the fear and respect he gets from other people. But the idea of his soulmate being afraid of him just makes him sick to his stomach.

Tonight, the thoughts weigh heavy on his mind as he flies around the city in his suit.

In the years since he’s come to power — subtly, of course, then slowly less so — there had been little resistance from the masses. His influence is good for them, for the most part. It’s more peaceful than it’s been in years. Most people go about their lives business as usual. So long as they don’t challenge him.

Except there’s still a couple of people who challenge him.

The Avengers are, by far, the most pesky. But in recent times they’ve rather given up. There’s bigger problems in the rest of the world, still, and they can’t trick him or infiltrate him, can’t operate in secrecy the way they usually do. Tony is isolated — few friends, and none that would dare betray him, especially not after what happened to Obie. His company is firmly in his own hands, and his technology gives him virtually limitless access to information. He can see virtually anyone, anywhere, anytime he wants. There’s no way to hide from him. And what’s worse for them — he doesn’t try to hide what he’s doing. There’s nothing to expose when you’re honest from the start. He’s practically untouchable.

But… wait, did he say no way? That’s not… entirely true. He doesn’t know how, but someone has found a way around it.

Because there’s one person other than the Avengers that still bothers him.

Spider-Man.

He’d let him go for a while. It’s his own fault they’ve gotten so confident, if he’s being honest. Letting them run around and play vigilante. At first, they’d been a help, in truth — dragging in some of the street trash even he couldn’t control, and couldn’t be bothered to deal with personally. But then he’d started to get bolder. Bold enough to interfere with him. And while he couldn’t do any major damage, he sure was annoying.

Mostly because he was succeeding. In interrupting little things, at least. And, going back to his earlier thought, because he can’t fucking find him.

Whoever the guy is, he’s careful. Smart. Smart enough that Tony hasn’t been able to find basically any footage of him, anything to link Spider-Man with a normal persona. And he’s obviously just a normal person under the suit. He has to be. And there’s no way he lives in that thing all the time. Especially not with the way he’s avoided his detection so well.

He’s made all the harder to track by his erratic schedule. He can come out at night or during the day, every day for a month and not be seen again for a month the following days. The only consistency is that he tends to be out and about in the Queens borough. Even that is a wide enough area that he has a hard time using it to pin the man’s identity down. He’s narrowed it, certainly, but calculating the amount of people that could make it there every so many days, accounting for the inconsistent schedule and what it could mean, age, height, and hell, even gender — because really, all they would have to do is use a voice modulator and let people see what they wanted to for the rest — means that the number of suspects is still in the thousands.

Speaking of pinning the other man down…

He hopes to be able to do that tonight. He’s let the vigilante go unhindered for long enough. It was time for them to have a little talk. Preferably a short one. He’s tired and temperamental tonight. The day has been long, and all he really wants is someone to help bear the load, but… he can never be so vulnerable. Not with just anyone, particularly, and there’s no one he trusts around tonight. That’s part of the reason why he’d decided to come out and fly around.

That, and because he’d gotten a pretty reliable tip that Spider-Man was going to be out and about himself tonight. And they have some business to attend to.

He finds the vigilante, to his surprise, perched on the edge of the roof, legs swinging in the breeze, looking out over the city through his lense-covered eyes.

He descends from a distance, loudly enough there’s no way the other man doesn’t hear as he’s approaching. But he doesn’t move. In fact, Tony is surprised to hear it when he comes up behind him and he still hasn’t moved at all except to suddenly say, “I wondered how long it would take.”

“For what?” Tony can’t help himself; he bites, immediately, curious. Fascinated, he’d dare say. The confidence in his own abilities he must have to sound so calm, to stay put upon hearing him approach, is almost unbelievable. Either that, or he doubts his own ability to make a clean escape, and so didn’t bother. He’s not sure which option he prefers, but either way, this will be interesting.

“For you to come looking for me. Everything I’ve done to keep my identity a secret, I’m sure you’re dying to know by now.”

He says it so matter-of-fact, emotion undistinguishable in his voice. Tony tilts his head, unsure whether he should be impressed with his ability to sound so cool and self assured, or annoyed with the fact his assessment was correct.

It hardly matters. Part of the reason they had to have this chat in person was so that Tony could begin to work on figuring it out. The AI in his suit is no doubt already working on it. And he doesn’t sound like, for all his seeming self-assuredness, that he was smart enough to use a voice filter, so no doubt Jarvis is well on his way. Not that it would have stopped him, but it might have delayed the inevitable enough that he may actually have had a chance to escape this time before a verdict came in.

“I suppose you’ve got me there,” Tony finally says, after a long moment of deliberation. “I don’t suppose now that I’m here you’ll just tell me? I can go easier on you if you come quietly.”

Spider-Man lets out a bitter laugh and shakes his head. “Can. But you won’t. You could just let me go. But we both know you wouldn’t have come all the way out here just to do that.”

“Well you could go back to fighting low-level crime instead of infringing on my operations, couldn’t you?” Tony retorts. “And flattered as I am by your assessment of me-“ he can’t say much, as he’s not entirely wrong, “-I thought I’d at least give you a fair chance, first, before we go quite that far.”

“I don’t think your definition of fair chance and mine are the same.”

Tony ignores him, continuing on. “Go back to fighting your low level crime and having a good time and whatever else it is you do. Stop interfering with my operations. I’ll even give you my endorsement so the police won’t bother you.”

It’s a generous enough offer, all things considered, but the vigilante is having none of it.

He snorts. “Is that all you’ve got? Really? I expected some kind of bribe, at least.”

“Maybe if you show me you can keep your word, we could talk about it.”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary. I’m not giving you my word on anything.”

“Shame. Here I thought we’d make a good team.”

“In your dreams, Stark. Just because the Avengers have given into you doesn’t mean everyone else has.”

“That would be a dream, wouldn’t it?” Tony muses, then heaves a sigh. “Fine then. Have it your way.”

For a moment, neither of them move. Then, by some unspoken signal, Tony’s hand comes up, repulsor glowing red hot, just as Spider-Man shoots his first web.

The shot hits the web halfway, making them both disintegrate into thin air. Already moving, Tony flies up in the suit, only to feel a tug on his leg halting his upward momentum — a web. In the second it takes for his suit to disintegrate that one, as well, he’s being covered in more, the force of them pelting him back into the roof, feet sticking to the concrete and torso forced back against one of the light poles, sticky and irritating.

Of course he’d figured out a way to make it so the webs didn’t stick long to his suit as soon as the Spider-Man had made an appearance, but it wasn’t perfect, yet. Couldn’t be without the formula. So while he wasn’t pinned down for long, it’s just enough to get on his nerves.

Even more so because for all his big talk, he’s not actually fighting. Spider-Man pinned him down… and fled.

Well, that just wouldn’t do, would it?

Tony engages the full force of his throttles to just break through the webs faster, and gives chase. He can’t just let him get away with that, after all.

As he flies, he gives himself a minute to focus on the internal calculations flashing in front of his eyes. “How are we doing, Jarvis?”

“Nearly there, sir. Calculations based on body scan and public records have erased quite a few suspects. Cross referencing voice clips with all accessible video including the remaining suspects, but the sheer number is immense. I require a bit of time.”

“I’ve given you a bit of time. I need a name, Jarvis. Something for blackmail. I need to end this tonight.” He doesn’t have time for playing games with the Spider-Man, especially because he’s managed to disappear so effectively every time he tries to. He doesn’t know when he’ll find him again if he doesn’t tonight, and he has a lot of things happening in the near future he does not want messed with.

If he doesn’t find the information he needs, then this night isn’t going to end near as pleasantly as he’d hoped.

Spider-Man is fast, swinging through the city, but not fast enough to shake him. Especially not with his AI’s ability to analyze his every move and know where he’s going to turn next.

He lets him swing around for several minutes, pretending to give chase and hoping to tire him out. He has to just be waiting for him to get bored or lose sight of him so he can drop in somewhere and hide until he leaves or take off the suit to blend in with everyone else. Unfortunately for him, that trick isn’t going to work on him the way it probably does for normal people.

Tony just lets him swing around and tire himself out with him in hot pursuit, then, when he’s sure he has to be running out of energy — and webbing, he could hope — he flies up, into the clouds, dodging and weaving and utilizing his tech to keep an eye on the vigilante while staying out of his line of sight.

It works. Spider-Man drops onto a nearby roof, stumbling a little and bracing himself against a light pole. With a dangerous grin, Tony swoops down to meet him.

By the time he hears him coming and spins around, it’s too late. Tony closes the suit’s hand around his throat and flies him forcefully into the wall of the rooftop exit. Brick crumbles around his outline at the force of the impact, and the lenses of the suit go wide as he claws at his throat.

Almost at the same time as the impact, a picture flashes up in the visor of his helmet. “One almost perfect potential match, sir.”

For a second, Tony just stares at it. Looks through the analytics and double checks them. Then he laughs, unable to help himself. It’s just unbelievable enough that it explains so much. So young — hardly even a man. Spiderling, then, more so than Spider-Man. And even better — an omega. No wonder no one looked twice at this kid before as a potential threat.

He lets the helmet melt away, now, and looks down at the kid, grip around his throat tightening just a little as he watches him wheeze out a breath. His hand around Tony’s wrist is tight, tight enough his suit issues a warning, but not enough to actually dislodge his hand.

“So.” Tony tilts his head. “We meet again, Spiderling. Should probably stop doing that, hm?” He gets a strangled sound in answer, which is about all he could expect, really. He just shrugs. “Oh well. It’s not like it’ll happen much after tonight. Because I’m going to put an end to this, right here.” He leans forward, helmet reappearing— just in case he would do something like try to head butt him, because frankly, while it wouldn’t work, it would hurt — until their noses are almost brushing through their respective suits. “Last chance, Spiderling. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Are you gonna be a big boy about this or not?”

Tony releases his throat just enough for him to draw in a few breaths to answer. He holds his breath as the vigilante sucks in a few huge gulps of air before spitting out, “Go to hell, Stark.”

Tony just chuckles, clicking his tongue. “Oh, I will, I’m sure. But at this rate, you’re going to get there first.” He presses him a little harder against the wall, grip tightening again and ignoring the way the bits of brick and concrete pour down around them like rain. “I didn’t want to do this, kid, truly. But if you think I won’t kill you, you’re wrong. And if you think your loved ones won’t be targets if you don’t quit your shit, you’d also be wrong. I don’t like to be cruel, but I am what you make me, and I won’t stand for this any longer, Peter.”

The use of his name has a visible impact on the kid. He gasps, and his grip on his wrist tightens enough around the metal of his suit that it bends around his fingers and it actually hurts. Tony’s grip around his throat slackens a little automatically, and he frowns. It’s weird. It almost… burns? That’s not what a bruise or metal cut should feel like...

And then he hears it. The teen sucks in a breath, and in a broken, raspy whisper, gasps, “Please don’t...”

The effect is instantaneous. The slight burning in his wrist turns into a wildfire, like a brand, hot and burning and fuck does it hurt for that second. He responds automatically, jerking his hand back as if scalded, and watching almost in slow motion as the younger man crumples to the floor. It takes a moment longer than it probably should for him to realize exactly what’s happening, and then the suit melts off his body and he stares in horror as the color seems to settle in his soul words, now shining a bold black from where they sit on the inside of his left wrist.

Heart thundering in his chest, he stares for a long minute before snapping out of it and rushing to his side. He’s passed out, now, though from lack of oxygen or shock or what, he can’t be sure right now.

Carefully, so carefully, he tugs off his mask, both wanting to see his face for real and knowing he should see how bad the damage to his throat is. It catches him off guard at first, how gorgeous he is, and then how young, despite Jarvis already showing him both of those things earlier. He’s still marveling, though. Could this really be his soulmate? Oh, what is he going to do?

He forces the thoughts away for a moment, checking Peter’s throat. It’s ringed with finger-shaped bruises, but it doesn’t look too severe. He leans his head down, listening at his chest. Now that he’s got proper airflow back he doesn’t seem to be wheezing or otherwise struggling to breathe. So he should be fine.

Fine, physically, except for the fact that he’s Tony’s soulmate. That they’re branded together now, a link between their very souls keeping them from being able to end this in a way either of them would have imagined.

It’s funny. With how long he’d wanted this, he should be ecstatic. Instead he’s just… numb. A whole host of emotions rages inside him, and he can’t allow himself to acknowledge any of them until he figures out what to do.

For now, there’s only really one thing he can do. His soulmate is hurt, in more ways than one. He needs medical attention, to a certain extent, and they need to talk. Waiting around here until Peter wakes up isn’t going to be ideal for fixing either of those things.

So he bends down and scoops Peter up, cradling his unconscious form close to him. Then, with a tired sigh, he takes to the skies again, carrying them back towards the tower, glowing in the distance like a lighthouse in the sand, beckoning him to shore.

He has a feeling actually finding the shore is going to be a long time coming, but this is the first step he can take to finding it. He just hopes they’ll both be able to tread through these rough waters long enough to get there.

#starker #ironspider #iron spider #peter parker x tony stark #tony stark x peter parker #sim tony #alpha tony stark #omega peter parker #abo dynamics #starker fanfiction #starker fanfic #ironspider fanfiction #ironspider fanfic #soulmate au #soulmates #soulmarks #soulwords #peter parker/tony stark #tony stark/peter parker

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captainjanegay · 4 years

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in the lane, snow is glistening | Stucky | Canon Divergent, Winter Fluff, Pre-War, but also Post Endgame | 2.3k words | Ao3

Summary:

Two times Steve and Bucky take a walk through the snowy park.

based on a one-line holiday prompt - "if you throw that snowball, you’re declaring war"

A/N: It’s funny you said you’re in the mood for some winter fluff cause this one is specifically for you. Thank you so much for the prompt, my love @its-tortle ♥ The summary it's basically what the fic is about lmao You just need to add two dumb boys in love, loads of fluff and bickering and a good helping of emotions.

Also - my seventh fill for the @stuckybingo2020 ♥

The Prospect Park looks beautiful covered in a thick layer of white fluff, sparkling in the morning sun. It only started snowing last afternoon but there's a good two inches of snow everywhere. The park is relatively empty. The hour is late enough for most people to be at work or whenever they need to be but also cold enough for most people to stay at home if they don’t need to be anywhere. Bucky has no idea why he and Steve are outside. It was probably one of Steve's stupid ideas that Bucky has agreed to because there are only a few things he is able to deny when it is Steve who does the asking.

So here they are. Strolling through the snowy, almost completely deserted park on a Wednesday morning. Both shaking slightly in their worn coats, too thin for such weather. Bucky curses himself in his mind. He shouldn’t have agreed to this. What if Steve catches another cold? Even a light one always completely wears him out, tying him to bed for days. At least he agreed to take Bucky's scarf in addition to his own. He didn't go down without a fight. It took almost half an hour of arguing before Steve finally gave up and took the scarf.

So what if Bucky is now trying not to shake too visibly. At least Steve is warm. Ish, considering the temperature, but it's still comforting.

"Steve, come on," Bucky sways to the right, nudging Steve lightly. "We should head back."

Steve nudges him back, pressing his arm into Bucky's for a bit too long. The alley is wide enough and yet they still walk with barely an inch of space between them.

"Just a minute," Steve looks up at him. "It's the first snow of the year, let's enjoy it without your nagging, shall we?"

Bucky rolls his eyes, annoyed. But he doesn't press any further. Damn Steve Rogers and his stupid ideas. And damn his stupid, beautiful blue eyes. Just one look into them and all of Bucky’s common sense flies out of the window.

“I wonder if you still will be such a punk if you get sick again,” Bucky mumbles. Still, instead of taking the left turn that’ll take them home, he goes right, to take another leap around the park.

“Probably,” Steve grins.

His smile is as bright as the sun. Bucky feels warmer already, just looking at Steve’s happy face. Steve’s eyes are sparkling and he looks content and healthy and Bucky really hopes it’ll stay this way for the rest of the winter. Or forever, preferably. And maybe Steve’s right. The times they live in aren’t the easiest and it’s important to cherish all the little joys they’re able to find.

“I don’t know why I still put up with you. You’re horrible,” Bucky says. The way he looks at Steve says something entirely different, though.

“You’re horrible, too,” Steve points out. “So we’re even.”

A fond smile still in place, Bucky only rolls his eyes and quickens his pace, just a bit to get ahead of Steve in pretend annoyance. After just a few seconds he glances over his shoulder and sees that Steve is crouching down. At first Bucky thinks he’s just tying his shoe but he’s proven wrong soon enough.

“Oh no. Don’t you dare,” Bucky says as he turns around quickly. “If you throw that snowball, you’re declaring war.”

Steve cocks one of his eyebrows up as if Bucky just challenged him. Which Bucky didn’t, he’s not stupid enough to challenge Steven Grant Rogers. But that’s probably what Steve thinks has happened.

So — of course — before Bucky can say anything else, a snowball hits him right in the chest. After a second the hurriedly-made soft missiles are criss-crossing over the park alley. Steve’s not bad but he’s no match for Bucky and his perfect aim. In the last heroic and desperate measure, Steve runs across the alley with a fierce scream and tackles Bucky. Completely surprised by this sudden course of action, Bucky tumbles to the ground and a surprised laugh is knocked out of his chest as he falls.

Steve hovers over him. He has his arms braced on both sides of Bucky’s face. His bony knees are pressing gently into Bucky’s sides.

Bucky looks up. He looks at the joyous sparkles in Steve's eyes, at the satisfied grin, the dishevelled hair and cheeks reddened by the cold and exertion. The midday sun is right behind him, making it look like there’s a bright halo surrounding him. He’s the most beautiful sight and for a moment Bucky feels like he can’t breathe. This is the sight he wants to store carefully in his memory and take to his grave when his time comes.

In a split second something around them changes. The world turns, a minute ticks by but the atmosphere changes from joyful to something heavier. Bucky’s perfectly aware of Steve’s gaze that flicks to his lips once, twice, before skipping back up to his eyes. It makes Bucky go crazy. There’s nothing that he wants more than to lean on his elbows and kiss the remnants of Steve’s cocky grin off his face. But he doesn’t. The cold ground under his body, the distant voices of the city make him regain control.

“We should—,” Bucky starts, his voice hoarse all of sudden. “There’s people— We should head back home, yeah?”

Steve lets out a small sigh but he nods shortly before scrambling to his feet. When he pulls Bucky back up, their fingers remain intertwined for a moment longer than necessary.

***

The Prospect Park looks beautiful, covered in a thick layer of white fluff, sparkling in the morning sun. It’s the middle of the winter but only recently it got cold enough for the snow to stick for longer, instead of melting the moment it hit the ground. Despite it being almost midday, there are many people hanging around the park.

It was Steve’s idea to go outside and wander aimlessly through the city. His ideas of fun are a bit different than Bucky’s. If it was up to him, they’d stay in their warm flat and do things that didn’t require getting cold. But after all this time, he still has a hard time saying no to Steve.

Bucky is not a big fan of the cold these days. Sam always laughs that he’s just a big, mean cat that will hiss and scratch everyone who looks at him the wrong way. He calls him the Winter Panther and actually asked T’Challa to adopt him at one point. Sam is ridiculous sometimes. It’s not Bucky’s fault that he doesn’t like to be around people sometimes and that he really enjoys having his hair pet — but only by Steve and Nat. And maybe Clint. Or Sam, but he’s rarely willing to do that. And Bucky does tend to pick the warmest, sunniest part in any place he’s at.

After everything, Bucky just has a pretty bad associations with cold.

Today is fine, though. He doesn’t mind wandering arm in arm with Steve. Bucky’s safely tucked up in his long, warm coat and he has two scarves wrapped around his neck. When they left home he had only one but after walking for a while he confiscated Steve’s. The idiot had it hanging loosely around his neck anyway, didn’t even bother to wrap it once. It’s a miracle that his coat is buttoned up. This man has turned into a walking furnace after the serum. Bucky is convinced Steve’s leeching his warmth to fuel it.

"You want to head home, already?" Steve asks, looking at Bucky with a soft smile.

There's a tiny hint of concern in his eyes. It's easy to miss but after all those years and everything they've been through, there's almost nothing about Steve that gets by Bucky.

"I'll be fine," Bucky grumbles. They both know it's more on principle. "We can freeze my butt off for a bit longer, no problem."

Steve only rolls his eyes at Bucky, shoving him to the side but doesn't loosen his grip on Bucky's elbow.

"Ah, you're incredibly cheerful today, my love," Steve says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"How could I not be? My partner always has such splendid ideas for our daily activities," Bucky answers, with an overly sweet smile.

"You're such a jerk," Steve laughs.

After a moment, he extracts his hand from under Bucky's elbow and crouches. Assuming that he needs to tie his shoe, Bucky doesn't stop. When he looks over his shoulder a moment later, he audibly gasps and turns around.

"Fuck off, Steve! Don’t! If you throw that snowball, you're declaring war!"

As soon as those words escape his mouth, Bucky frowns. He looks to the side, trying to decipher that weird feeling of deja vu. A memory appears in his head.

It's a memory from a life long gone, from a park much like this one, from a winter that ended ages ago.

"Bucky?" Steve asks, dropping the snowball and taking a step closer. "You're OK?"

"Yes, it's just—," Bucky hesitates and when he looks back up at Steve, he sees that the concern in his eyes is as clear as a day now. "I've just remembered something. An old memory," he clarifies and smiles fondly. "I believe it was about a snow fight I've had with some little punk in this park. I said the very same thing to him back then. It's not a very detailed memory. And who knows if it actually happened?"

The smile on Steve's face grows gradually with every word Bucky says.

"Oh, it did happen. I actually might know the punk you're talking about," Steve jokes. His hands come to rest at Bucky's waist as he continues. "I'm pretty sure it was him that persuaded you to take a walk and since you've always been lazy, you've had a lot of complaining to do before you agreed."

"Oh, of course. It's not like I tried to keep the little punk from dying of pneumonia or something," Bucky rolls his eyes but he's smiling.

Steve completely ignores his comment. "The two of you walked for a while, didn't talk much but enjoyed the day. At some point he made a snowball and you said the same thing you did a moment ago. It didn’t make an impression on him, though.”

"Because he was a little shit," Bucky smiles softly, pressing the palm of his hand to Steve's chest.

"Maybe," Steve says with a chuckle. "The snow fight took some time and even though you weren't kids anymore it was the most fun you had in awhile. And then he took you by surprise and did this."

Before Bucky properly registers Steve's words, his legs are swept from under him and he tumbles to the ground. Steve goes with him, an arm behind Bucky's back cushions his fall. If it wasn't for Steve Bucky’s habits, both the Winter Soldier and the army ones would already kick in. But Steve is and always has been a calming presence for him. His anchor. So the only thing Bucky feels right now is surprise and a bit of annoyance, probably. No sight of feeling unsafe so he is able to remain calm.

Steve's face hovers over him, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

"He easily knocked you down. You stayed like this for a bit, just staring at each other," Steve's hand comes to brush against Bucky's cheek.

The look in Steve's eyes is both tender and heated and it makes Bucky forget all about the people around them, about the cold ground underneath him.

"He couldn't stop thinking about how badly he wanted to kiss you, right there and then. Just for a moment he wanted not to care about the people who could see you and how dangerous that could be. It would have taken so little effort to do so," Steve's voice is down to almost a whisper.

As if to prove a point, he leans down and presses a sweet, chaste kiss to Bucky's lips. Bucky smiles into it, feeling the tell-tale prickle of tears in his eyes.

"Who knows if he managed to do that after you'd gone back home."

"I think he might have," Bucky says quietly, swiping his thumb across Steve's jaw.

Steve's face is soft and filled with pure happiness. Bucky's heart feels like it's about to burst simply from looking at him, from all the emotions he tries to store inside. Steve’s beautiful blue eyes crinkle at the corners, his lips spread in a big smile. The December sun is shining high on the sky behind Steve, surrounding his body in a bright embrace. He's beautiful. Even after all those years, Bucky still thinks Steve is the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen. Breathtaking. And when Bucky's time comes again, he knows that that is the memory he is going to take with him.

Since the mere sight of Steve is enough to have saved him from desolation once already.

"Come on, Buck," Steve says, getting to his feet. "Let's go home."

Feeling a bit hazy from the sudden tide of emotions, Bucky let's Steve pull him up. He leans forward, pressing another kiss to Steve's mouth. Even if no words are exchanged, they both know what the other thinks.

I’m yours and you’re mine and there’s nothing that could make me stop loving you.

After shaking the snow off of each other, they head back to the same part of Brooklyn where they used to live in the previous life they shared.

Their fingers stay entwined the entire walk home.

Title: in the line snow is glistening Creator(s): niallhoranbitches Card number: 065 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27844513/ Square filled: A4 - New York Rating: Teen and Up Archive warnings: None Major tags: Canon Divergent, Winter Fluff, Pre-War, but also Post-Endgame Summary: Two times Steve and Bucky take a walk through the snowy park. based on a one-line holiday prompt - "if you throw that snowball, you’re declaring war" Word count: 2287

#stucky #stevebucky #stuckybingo2020 #stucky fic #stuckyfic #stevebucky fic #stevebucky fanfiction #winter fluff #canon divergent #i hope you'll like it #♥♥#i finished it at 3.30 a.m. last night lmao #cause i was sure i'll lose it if i stopped writing #hope i've catched all the typos dsjaj

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mywonuderful · 4 years

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Push You to Pull You In Closer

I hope you like it! This idea popped up in my head while I was working so I apologized if it’s a little rush and short! (I honestly, don’t know what amount is ‘enough’). And just a little reminder: you matter. you are loved. you are worthy. you are beautiful being just you.

Pairing: Joshua x Reader Genre: Angst, fluff (ending) Warning: Insecurities

main masterlist

Joshua and you share a very special relationship. You and him were absolutely perfect for it each other. A match made in heaven dare to say. But you were a ordinary person and he was one of the most popular idols in the music industry. The both of you keep your relationship rather personal but nonetheless, the love that’s shared between the two of you is undeniable. Recently, you’ve been scrolling through you feed when you came across some pictures of the behind the scenes of an upcoming drama that your boyfriend was in. He was standing beside the female lead and was smiling brightly with a thumbs up. Your lips curled up into a smile seeing how charming your boyfriend looked. Your eyes glanced over to the comments as fans started expression their reactions.

‘They look so good together!’ ‘The producer must be a really good matchmaker.’ ‘I can’t wait to see all the scenes they’ll be in together!’ ‘I’m watching this because they look so good together!’ ‘They’re the best couple, period.’

Your lips with pressed into a thin line, feeling this weird sensation in your stomach. As much as you wanted to stop reading the comments, you ended up scrolling through all of them, you heart breaking a little more after each comment. You and Joshua were always vocal about your feelings and worries no matter now big or small is, which is something this you cherished a lot with him. How he would listen through all your endless rants about something bid or small. He was always there for you no matter what. But for some reason, you couldn’t bring yourself up for this specific feeling that you’re getting. You started imagining the Joshua with the beautiful, well-proportioned, sophisticated and flawless woman and asking yourself how much more he deserves with her than with yourself. Looking down on yourself, you were wearing your comfortable lounge wear. You weren’t as tall and slender as her, your face wasn’t small and smooth as hers and you didn’t feel attractive as much as her.

‘You’re not good enough for Joshua’ the voice in your head repeated over and over in your head, haunting you as you tried to push them away. After that the, you started concealing yourself more, distancing yourself as Joshua found it odd on why you were acting different.

---

“I’m home, honey!” Your head jerked up at the sound of your boyfriend’s voice. He had dinner out with the cast as a celebration on finishing filming for his upcoming drama. You were finishing out with your dishes when you felt a pair of arms being wrapping around your waist, making you jump. “I’m sorry I couldn’t eat with you tonight.” He whispered in your ear.

‘You’re not good enough for Joshua’ You lightly shook off his grip, moving away to put away the dishes as he leaned over at the kitchen counter, with his armed crossed

“Is everything alright? You seem... different” He asked peered to look at you. You glanced at him, meeting his wide worried eyes before darting them away.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You quickly said before leaving the kitchen and sitting out on the balcony, looking out on the evening sky. Joshua had his hands on the edge of the counter, head hung low, thinking about your suspicious behavior. Ever since you were acting weirdly, he couldn’t focus on his work. The had to do multiple retakes on scenes that didn’t involve him doing much. He lost his focus on work and was only thinking about your weird behavior. But he wasn’t going to let this continue. No matter what happened today, he will figure out what’s bothering you and fix the problem. Bringing down some wine glasses, he opened one of your favorite wines and poured it into two cups along with some small appetizers that will compliment it. He knew you loved it when when you paired them together and you couldn’t resist on indulging on them no matter how full you where. Slowly making his way to the balcony, he saw you pulling your knees to your chest. Seeing this made his heart scatter into millions of peaces. He opened the door as you turned around seeing redness in your eyes.

‘She been crying alone?’ he thought to himself as he sets the glass and tray down on the table and took a seat beside you. You quickly blinked away your tears, pretending that nothing happened and picked up your glass and Joshua mirrored before clinking your glasses together.

“It’s such a beautiful day today. The weather, the sun, the breeze, everything.” Joshua sighed as you hummed, trying hard not to let your tears form. “So, on such a beautiful day, why is my beautiful lady not herself?” He puts down his glass and gently placed it on top of yours which was on the table. You felt yourself about to break down and quickly looked to the side, hiding away yourself. “Y/N....” you felt pain in his voice.

“It’s nothing, really. It’s probably almost that time of month.” you said, wiping away some of the tears that escaped from your eyes. Without another word, Joshua grabbing your hand, along with the tray and brought you back into the living room where he sat you down. You couldn’t help but to start crying. He knelled down in front of you, hands on top of yours, quietly caressing the back of your hand as he waited for you to finished crying.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like this.” you hiccuped and he wiped the tears that were falling down your cheeks, listening to watch you had to say. “I... I just feel like you deserve someone way better than me.” you started to express you feelings as Joshua looked at you with eyes that showed confusion, surprise and sadness.

“You look so good with the woman in the drama. Even all the fans say so. The two of you are perfect for each other. She’s so much prettier and skinnier than I am. So why? Why would you choose me? You deserve someone who’s beautiful and flawless like her. Not some random girl who has nothing special like me.” Joshua was taken back at your words.

“Y/N.... Love, why would you say such a thing?” He sat back on his heels, looking up with his soft eyes.

“Because it’s true! I don’t understand why you choose to date me when there’s clearly women out there who are way better than-”

“I don’t care about them!” he cut you off, raised his voice as more tears starting rolling down your face. “Why should I care about other people when I have you? The only beautiful and flawless woman I know is you.” he placed his hands on your knees, gently rubbing it. “Y/N, you’re all I ever wanted. Don’t ever say that you are not special. You are special and that you outshine everyone in the simplest way. All the woman can put on loads of makeup and dress up for all I care for but you, you steal my heart just by being you. No filter, no makeup... Just you. That’s what I’m in love with, endlessly.’ He raised up to your face, smiling adoringly before closing the space between the two of you into a sweet kiss.

“Don’t you ever feel like you’re not good enough for me. You will always be more than enough for me. And I hope you realize that my heart will always belong to you.” you couldn’t help but to blush at his cringy yet loving words as he pulled you into a warm, tight embrace.

“Thanks, Joshua... For always staying with me.” your heart was glowing with love once again, feeling happiness as a smile forms on your face.

“I promise I’ll never leave. No matter how much you try to push away from me... I’ll always pull you in closer to my heart.”

#joshua hong #joshua #seventeen joshua #joshua x reader #joshua scenarios #joshua imagines #joshua fluff #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #kpop #kpop scenarios #requested

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hjnsa · 3 years

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An Interview With David Herlihy, Author of "Bicycle - The History"

David Herlihy's book, Bicycle: The History, was the sole book on bikes which came to the most unmistakable presentation remain at my neighborhood Barnes and Noble. Distributed in 2004, it has been a staggering achievement, carrying the historical backdrop of bikes to a huge number of individuals in a few unique dialects. The book is rich and brilliant, both in its photographs and its words.

I met David while I was in school during the 1980s. He was making a bit of additional money by purchasing delightful, marginally utilized street bicycles in Italy (DeRosas, Cinellis, Tommasinis and so forth) and afterward offering them at surprisingly reasonable costs to cyclists in the USA. This permitted him to enjoy his adoration for movement, play with great bikes, and welcome delight to individuals on the two sides of the Atlantic. On second thought, his books on cycling do essentially exactly the same things...

Q: Bicycle: The History was an enormous achievement. How has this achievement transformed you?

A: Thanks, Forbes. "Tremendous" is a family member (and exceptionally complimenting) term. Yet, in the event that I might gloat a little, since it turned out in fall 2004, Bicycle has sold more than 20,000 duplicates, for the most part hard covers. That is a beautiful thrilled figure for a book of this nature, distributed by a scholastic press. I'm certain it's much more than even Yale had expected. From what I hear, it's currently one of their untouched blockbusters (there are even releases out in Russian and Korean).

This is exceptionally satisfying, just like all the consideration it got in the press, remembering surveys for lofty distributions like The Economist and The New York Times Review of Books (I need to credit my splendid marketing specialist, Brenda King, for designing quite a bit of that). Most were very great and simple to process (a couple were less fulfilling, however I figured out how to get over them before long).

What's more, indeed, I savored my brief encounter with popularity. It was incredible fun visiting and advancing my book, regardless of whether I needed to cover my own costs generally. I delighted in giving slide talks and marking books, and meeting cycling aficionados, all things considered. One of my most significant minutes was at a bicycle show in Edison, New Jersey, where I had a table. After one person affirmed that I was indeed the creator, he sort of lost it. He had his image taken with me utilizing his phone. I felt like a hero.

Returning to reality a bit, I can't say that the book has fundamentally transformed me or way of life, essentially not yet. Be that as it may, it has been an extremely sure encounter and I think it has opened up new imaginative potential outcomes.

First off, it was an extraordinary alleviation and fulfillment to at long last transform 10 years in addition to of examination into something substantial that could give me some acknowledgment and really produce a little income to keep body and soul together (also assisting with paying for all that exploration, which incorporated various outings to Europe. Not that I'm requesting compassion, mind you!) And I should say, with all due respect, that a lot of my best material surfaced around the finish of my request. Had I distributed the book even a couple of years sooner, it basically would not have been as vivid or as rich.

In addition to the fact that i was ready to share many intriguing disclosures, I likewise had the opportunity to air some profoundly held feelings. I think there are a great deal of misinterpretations out there about bike history, particularly as to the innovation and early turn of events. The kick-impelled Draisine of 1817, specifically, was not a bike as such and, as it ended up, it didn't lead straightforwardly to the first bikes of the 1860s (however it was seemingly the essential motivation). I've likewise inferred that the Scottish need claims emerging during the blast of the late nineteenth century are questionable, best case scenario. Also, obviously the extraordinary commitment of Pierre Lallement, the first bike patentee, has for quite some time been eclipsed by the Michaux name, which similarly covered the job of the Oliviers, the genuine mechanical pioneers.

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In some sense it very well might be a losing fight to demand this load of focuses legends are obstinate things. In any case, presently I've spoken my tranquility and I can continue on to other energizing ventures with somewhat more monetary soundness and somewhat more validity and clout.

Q: What are some different activities you are chipping away at?

A: Over the previous few years, I've kept on giving talks to a great extent for different cycling gatherings and instructive projects. One month from now, for instance, I'll take an interest in a board conversation at the uncovering of the Major Taylor dedication in Worcester. What's more, on May 24 I'll give a discussion at the Museum of the City of New York. We're beginning to discuss assembling a show on the historical backdrop of cycling in New York, related to properly enough-Bike New York, (patrons of the yearly 5 boro ride that draws 30,000 cyclists).

I've likewise completed a few ventures with Velopress of late. I interpreted an extraordinary book on the historical backdrop of Paris Roubaix by the editors of l'Equipe. It's an excellent foot stool book with astounding photographs. Furthermore, I need to say the content is likewise very captivating! I additionally interpreted a book on the Alpe d'Huez stage by my old buddy Jean-Paul Vespini. It's turning out in half a month and I'm truly anticipating pawing through it. I just saw a few evidences and the photographs are eye-popping. Besides the creator worked really hard covering the historical backdrop of this marvel not just as a definitive stage in the Tour yet additionally as a beautiful social rendez-vous.

What's more, I just marked an agreement with Houghton Mifflin to compose a book on Frank Lenz. Exploring his captivating however failed to remember story has been my concentration for as long as couple of years and will keep on being so for a significant length of time.

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To sum up: in May 1892, on the cusp of the bike blast, Lenz set off from his old neighborhood of Pittsburgh to circle the globe on the most recent "wellbeing" bike with inflatable tires. Two years into his excursion, in the wake of intersection North America, Japan, China, Burma, India, and Persia, he bafflingly disappeared. Examiners later followed him past the Persian boundary, into Turkey and the premonition place where there is the Kurds. Unexpectedly, Outing magazine, Lenz's support, sent another American "globe girdler," William Sachtleben, to discover Lenz in any condition. It ended up being an extremely awful an ideal opportunity to visit Turkey, with slaughters of Armenians unfurling before his own eyes. Sachtleben himself was fortunate to get back alive. He immovably accepted he had settled the secret, however his inability to discover Lenz's bones or bike, or to get palatable feelings for homicide, left the matter putrefying. Lenz's crushed mother at last got a repayment from the Turkish government, yet his inheritance immediately blurred in the twentieth century as the public lost interest in the bike. I'll talk about Lenz's experience and character, and what persuaded him to go off on this risky experience. I'll likewise follow the excursion exhaustively, putting a positive twist on it. At long last, I'll seriously investigate Sachtleben's discoveries and attempt to sort out what truly befell poor Lenz.

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Q: Do you actually have the opportunity to ride your bicycle?

A: I admit that I have the opportunity in principle. What's more, the bicycles. In any case, I don't do as much sporting riding as I ought to (and it shows, though it pains me to say so!). Of late, I've for the most part done coordinated rides every now and then. Bicycle New York has become a practice each May, and it's an impact. I likewise did part of Cycle Oregon a couple of years back, and a couple of other gathering rides from that point forward. Yet, generally I cycle in the Boston region, just to get around. I just procured another Bike Friday, which I actually need to gather. I hope to ride significantly more get-togethers. I might want to get once again into street riding, as well. In principle I could utilize one of my old Italian racers, yet I couldn't want anything more than to get something more contemporary. Also, perhaps a trail blazing bicycle as well. Had the opportunity to complete this book first, however, so I have some optional assets.

Q: Your book clarified that you love bikes. Do you cherish any one kind of bike more than others? Is there a specific sort of bike that is closest and dearest to your heart?

A: I'd need to say the exemplary light weight street bicycle with thin tires is as yet my top choice. But at the same time I'm into bikes as essential transportation, particularly during circumstances such as the present. The Bike Friday offers an incredible mix off both riding delight and reasonableness. I can't actually address mountain trekking as I've never truly enjoyed that game. In any case, I have companions who are truly into it, and I know some time or another I ought to truly check it out.

Q: You used to bring brilliant utilized street bicycles back from Italy. Do you actually have associations around there?

A: In principle, indeed, however I haven't purchased any bicycles around there in a long while. I spent various years in Italy growing up, I actually go one time each year. So I'm as yet conversant in the language. In the past I went routinely to the Milan career expo. Also, I found the opportunity to meet and meeting some incredible names like Cino Cinelli and Valentino Campagnolo, when I composed for Bicycle Guide. However, I haven't kept up my contacts in the bicycle business, though it pains me to mention it. Recently when I've gone over it's been really investigating, eating, visiting, and mingling. In a specific order, obviously.

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Q: Have bikes improved through their set of experiences? Or on the other hand were the old bike plans more down to earth than the plans for new bikes?

A: Well you can surely present the defense that the bike advanced in the second 50% of the nineteenth century, turning out to be progressively roadworthy and thus pragmatic in that sense. The first "boneshaker" of the 1860s was an honorable thought yet one in urgent need of material improvement. You could contend that its substitution, the armada however shaky high wheeler, took the idea off course, that is, away from reasonableness. All things considered, the first bike created a global uproar decisively in light of the fact that it should fill in as a reasonable "individuals' bother." And the high-wheeler, obviously, turned into a costly toy for athletic guys.

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