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suga-kookiemonster · 1 year

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satisfy 05

summary⇢ “listen,” taehyung says, eyes wide and eager as he smiles at you. “i figure we can just help each other out. i scratch your back, you scratch mine.” but when you find yourself suddenly in need of a massive favor, exactly how much scratching are you willing to do? pairing⇢ seokjin/reader, namjoon/reader, taehyung/reader, …..jimin/reader word count⇢ 15.9k genre⇢ smut | escort!au | ceo!au (kinda) warnings⇢ 😇😇😇😇 *chin hands sweetly* STRAP IN, FOLKS!!: GANGBANG. this chapter will include three brothers having sex with the reader at the same time (but not with each other). if this bothers you, please feel free to skip!, rough sex, unprotected sex, oral (f+m giving/receiving), fingering, face fucking, exhibitionism, voyuerism, da booty getting ate like groceries, assplay, name calling, daddy kink, orgasm denial, forced orgasm, marking, spitroasting, cumplay, bukakke 😭, honestly this is a hot ass MESS and i should be sorry but i’m not 🤷🏽‍♀️ a/n⇢ well, hello~ long time no see!!!! i'm super pumped about this chapter because it has literally been in the works since i planned this whole fic out years ago 😭 a lot of planning and struggling later, and WE FINALLY HERE 🙌🏾 🙌🏾 i am so relieved that this finally exists in the world and not just in my head lmao. thank you all for hanging with me for this long and being so patient. i hope this chapter lives up to your expectations 😈 only the epilogue left! 😮‍💨👀 mood for this chapter is this song~ hope everyone enjoys!

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Days quickly morphed into weeks, time continuing to flow even without you consciously noticing it pass you by. You were just so busy, both your schoolwork and your unconventional part-time job a whirlwind of activity that left you too preoccupied to do much else. Your already scant social life was starting to suffer, but honestly? You were completely fine with that—a neverending schedule of sex, sleep, and studying was more than enough, and it was highly unlikely you would be able to fit anything else onto your overflowing plate anyway.

It was expected for you to not have that much free time, anyway. Jimin’s was waning too, as the further the two of you got into your studies, the busier you both became. You still texted often to make sure each other was alive, but with your differing schedules, the new normal became not getting to see him in person for weeks on end.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t losing steam. Burning the candle at both ends was finally starting to catch up with you, but there wasn’t much you could do about it other than focusing on powering through it. This was the career path you chose—your dream—and so you simply just had to bear everything that came along with it. You were willing to put the work in to reach your goals, and you just kept reminding yourself that how you were living now was just a means to an end.

Not that you at all only found the Kims to be a means to an end. Yes, they were paying your way through school, but you still really enjoyed the time you spent with each of them. They were all great company in different ways, and at this point, the only time you were freed from the library’s clutches was when one of them wanted to take you somewhere, so you found them to be more of a welcome distraction than anything else.

Unfortunately, that still didn’t change the fact that at the end of the day, you were bone tired.

You had always been good at compartmentalizing. But though you tried your best to not let your slowly-building fatigue show, even your new employers could tell that you were being ran a bit ragged. Namjoon came to pick you up for a date one day, and all it took was one long look at you while you were trying to buckle your seatbelt for him to put the car in park and hustle you back upstairs instead, despite your protests. You thought that maybe he decided to forgo your movie plans for much more carnal activities, but once you were back inside your apartment, he sprawled himself onto your couch and reached for you. You were confused, but when you reflexively took his hand, he simply pulled you down with him and easily folded you into his body.

God, he smelled good. And was comfortable and warm, so it didn’t take long for you to nod off, despite only being fifteen minutes into whatever Netflix movie he had put on. Namjoon spent his scheduled date letting you snore into his chest, and when you woke up hours later, groggy and discombobulated, you found him already gone and a blanket thrown over you.

It didn’t take a genius to realize he must have said something to his brothers. The next day, seemingly out of the blue, you got an email notification that Wendy, Seokjin’s assistant, had canceled an upcoming work lunch that had been on the calendar for weeks. (You highly doubted the lunch itself was canceled—just that Jin had decided to go alone.) And you were so used to Taehyung’s frequent visits that when he didn’t stop by for four days in a row, it became blatantly obvious that something was amiss.

They were giving you space.

But if you were honest, though you appreciated the sudden breathing room in your schedule, all of them suddenly pulling out of the arrangement was making you uneasy. This was a job, after all, and you weren’t fully holding up your end of the bargain. Hell, the week before had been your period, so you hadn’t slept with any of them then, either. And, considering the fact that all three Kims were set to go on an overseas business trip soon, the amount of leave you were inadvertently taking was quickly adding up.

You needed this money. You needed this money, this was not what they agreed to, and you were nervous you were starting to frustrate them.

To their credit, none of them ever seemed to be. Early on, when your period made its first appearance as the perpetual wrench in your plans, Seokjin had casually informed you that he was totally fine with just putting a towel down. However, when he saw you weren’t nearly as enthused with the idea, he simply gave you an easy shrug and said, “Then take whatever time you need.” His brothers had been equally as accommodating, and have been ever since (though Taehyung sometimes still liked to playfully pout at you when you told him Aunt Flo was in town).

But the fact was, you ultimately weren’t holding up your end of the bargain, and that knowledge was constantly hovering in the back of your mind and making you a bit anxious. That was why, days before he was scheduled to leave for his three week business trip, you took initiative and asked Taehyung if he wanted to come over.

Both Seokjin and Namjoon had already graciously canceled their standing appointments with you for the second week in a row, but Taehyung had never had a standing appointment. He was always much more spontaneous than his brothers, and that personality trait was no different when it came to you, so that’s what you were counting on.

[1:32] Hey! Did you want to come over tomorrow? [1:32] Or later today, I guess

Despite it being so late, Tae apparently hadn’t gone to bed yet. He was a bit of a night owl, like you.

Taehyung [1:34] Well hello~ Taehyung [1:34] So nice to hear from you, sweetcheeks. How’s it been going? [1:35] Sweetcheeks, Taehyung? Really? Taehyung [1:35] What? They’ve always looked pretty sweet to me 😌👀

You scoffed, amused and fond. Always an incorrigible flirt, that one.

[1:35] Yeah, okay lol [1:36] So if they’re so sweet, what are you gonna do about it?

A pause, one slightly too long for someone whose phone was in their hand and had been actively responding to you only moments before. You knew you had him even before his reply finally came through.

Taehyung [1:37] What time?

The next day, you focused on getting as much of your work done as you could before the hard stop of when you knew you had to start getting ready. You took a long shower, letting the hot water relax your stiff muscles before carefully maneuvering into the lingerie that was still prettily packaged in the bag from the boutique you got it from, untouched on the floor of your closet since you bought it.

You hadn’t seen him a while, so it only made sense to you to make things a little more exciting than usual. Spice it up. Honestly, sex with Taehyung was always anything with boring, but the thigh-highs you slipped into were just as much for you as him. You had been so focused on your studies that you couldn’t remember the last time you wore anything other than court-approved suits, sweatpants, or pajamas. It would be nice to feel something other than just tired again. To feel desired. Sexy.

And even you could admit the outfit you had chosen was sexy. A crimson, lacy bodysuit thing that did little to obscure the dusk of your nipples and disappeared between your asscheeks. The matching thigh-highs, joined with garters. You even had a pair of heels that you planned to wear—ones that made your legs look a mile long, but hurt like a bitch every time you attempted to wear them out. Despite their shortcomings, you were willing to slip on the deathtraps because luckily, for this particular occasion, you wouldn’t have to go anywhere in them, nor would they stay on you for very long.

You were even planning on putting on a little makeup, on properly doing your hair for the first time in weeks and giving the bun you had been sporting a rest. However, all it took was a knock on your door to put an end to all those extras.

You frowned at the sound and padded over to your front door, happy you had already thrown on one of your law school hoodies to keep yourself warm until the festivities properly started. The sight of a familiar man through the peephole, hands resting comfortably in his slacks, threw you off.

Automatically, your hands were disengaging all the locks, were swinging the door open. “You’re early—”

Whatever words you had next immediately dissipated on your tongue. Taehyung was there, but he apparently came with company. Your mind whirred, trying to come up with a perfectly logical reason for why all three Kim brothers were at your doorstep right now.

“Your hair,” you blurted, your scrambled brain latching onto the easiest subject first.

“Hmm?” Taehyung ruffled his newly dyed locks, the onyx hue a stark difference from the silver you were used to. “Oh yeah, I guess I haven’t seen you all week. My dad wanted me to dye it to a more ‘appropriate’ color before the conference. But whatever—it was time for a change, anyway. And this will be much easier to upkeep.”

You could only continue to stare at him as he spoke, your eyes naturally drifting over his shoulder at your additional visitors.

All three of them were dressed pretty casually, which was normal for Taehyung and Namjoon, but less so for Seokjin when not in the comfort of his own home. The soft pink of his sweatsuit was a stark contrast to the sharp intelligence of his eyes, and he met your gaze for only a few seconds before he was turning to meet Namjoon’s instead, a pinch in his brow.

Taehyung spoke again before either of them could say anything. “You gonna keep us out here?” he teased, casually leaning against the doorframe.

That finally jumpstarted you out of your haze, scrambling to move out of the way and gesture them inside. “Yes, of course. Come in!” Before your nosy neighbor caught them and assumed you were slutting it up.

(She would technically be right, but still. It was the principle. Your life was none of that judgy old shrew’s business.)

Tae strolled in like he always did—like he owned the place—but you noticed his brothers’ strides seemed a bit more hesitant than the confidence you were usually witness to. Namjoon’s mouth was slightly pursed in the way you’d long learned meant he was thinking. Why did they seem as confused as you did?

“Hi,” you hedged anyway, a small, puzzled smile on your lips. “It’s been a while. Sorry if I’m acting weird—I just wasn’t expecting you, so I’m a little thrown off.”

Understanding immediately crossed Seokjin’s features, but you only got a second to see it before he was whipping towards his youngest brother, appalled.

Namjoon was looking at him too, clearly irritated. “Are you serious, Taehyung?”

“What?” you asked, gaze flitting between the three of them in hope of finding some sort of clarity.

“You never asked her?” Seokjin snapped.

“You know that’s not cool, man,” Namjoon sighed, an agitated hand running though blond locks.

Why were they standing in your hallway and having whole conversations in front of you like you weren’t even there? “Never asked me what?” you cut in bemusedly, a little louder than you intended. It worked, at least, all three men immediately turning back to you.

Taehyung, for his part, looked properly contrite, cringing a little at the exasperation in your voice. “I’m sorry,” he told the room before placing his attention solidly back on you. His eyes were soft and sincere. “It truly slipped my mind, and I’m sorry, _____. I didn’t think.”

“When do you ever?” Seokjin snarked, but you ignored him, focused solely on Taehyung.

“What, Tae?” you encouraged gently. “What are you sorry for?”

It was clear from the hunch of his shoulders that he felt bad. “Um…”

“He invited us to come with him to meet you today,” Namjoon supplied. He gave his little brother a disappointed shake of his head. “But that’s not a decision for him to make. Is it, Tae.”

“I just knew that none of us have seen her in a while,” Tae whined. “And _____, when you reached out yesterday, I figured it would be the perfect opportunity since we’re about to leave the country for a few weeks.”

“I should have known better,” Seokjin muttered below his breath, looking heavenward in his annoyance. “I’m really sorry about this, _____. You never marked group activities as a no and I assumed Taehyung actually asked you like an adult, so I thought you were on board. I can leave.”

You blinked, still trying to grasp what was going on. “You were…trying to share your time?” you asked Taehyung slowly.

He nodded meekly. “I don’t mind sharing,” came his honest answer.

“But does she,” Seokjin scoffed, rubbing his temples in irritation. “That’s the only thing that matters. And to think otherwise is just selfish, Taehyung.”

“No, no, it’s okay.” The words left your lips before your brain could even register them, likely spurred on by how the increasingly chastened expression on Taehyung’s face. The three of them looked at you in surprise.

“It’s okay?” Namjoon parroted, an eyebrow raised in question.

You swallowed, mind racing to actually consider the consequences of what your mouth had just offered. But your nod of confirmation came almost immediately, because you knew Taehyung had never been trying to trap you. One of the qualities that simply made him him was his spontaneity, and while that made him fun and interesting to be around, it also was a double-edged sword that could easily make you end up in situations like this.

Tae knew none of them had seen you in a while, he knew they were soon going to jet out of the country, and had simply been trying to be nice in inviting his brothers along. He didn’t mean any harm.

“It’s okay,” you repeated, giving him a reassuring smile that visibly loosened some of the tension in his body. “You can all stay.”

The words settled between the four of you, heavy in the resulting quiet. Teeming with implication. You still weren’t completely sure what you were agreeing to, but what you did know was that you were going to need something to help stave off the nerves slowly bubbling beneath your skin. You cleared your throat, turning to make your way to the kitchen. “I think I need a drink.”

You didn’t glance back at them, but you could still feel them trailing you. Feel the heat of their gaze, and even the distinct heat of a body against your back, only a whisper away. Instead, you busied yourself with rooting around in your pantry and pulling out a handle of tequila.

“This for me?” hummed a familiar velvety voice, close enough for you to easily deduce who had invited himself into your space so intimately. Taehyung.

You looked over your shoulder at him, immediately frozen with what you saw. His eyes were blatantly trailing your figure, undeterred by the obstacle of your sweatshirt and easily roving your stockinged legs and feet. A dangerous smirk crawled across his face that had a delighted shiver racing down your spine in anticipation. “What?” came your stupefied reply.

“This.” His gaze lingered on your toes, but quickly rose so he could playfully flick the zipper of your sweatshirt. “Whatever you’ve got on under there. Is it for me?”

Heat licked between your thighs at his deceptively light tone. At the way he was looking at you. “No,” you sniffed. Not wanting to give in just yet. “Just something I wear around the house.”

“Well, it’s nice,” came another voice, and you were instantly reminded of your other guests. Namjoon was leaning against an adjacent counter, eyes dark. “You never wear stuff like this for me—Taehyung must be your favorite.”

Startled despite his teasing tone, your hands flew up in protest. “N-No, it’s not that—”

“Of course I’m the favorite,” Tae sassed, throwing you a wink. “It’s okay to admit it, _____. We all know!”

There was an almost immediate snort from behind you. Technically quiet enough to go unnoticed, but full of just enough derision that Taehyung’s proverbial hackles raised at the very sound of it. His head whipped to the source.

Jin looked deceptively bored, meeting his youngest brother’s glower with a flat stare. A single lifted eyebrow said everything his mouth deigned not worth the effort. What?

Tae scowled at his brother’s obvious disdain, but then, after a few moments, he simply shot an exhale from his nose and shook his head. “You’re clearly goading me,” he chuckled. “But you know what? It’s not gonna work this time. If you’re gonna be a jackass, you can just go.”

“I think you’re vastly overestimating your importance in this situation,” Seokjin scoffed, rolling his eyes. “But what else is new.”

“Guys,” Namjoon sighed, holding up pacifying hands in an attempt to ward off the rising tension.

You observed the whole exchange silently, still too off-kilter from the situation you’d suddenly found yourself in to do much more than look from brother to brother as if you were watching a tennis match.

This was only the second time the four of you had all been in the same room—with the first being your original meeting discussing the contract. Well, technically third, if you counted that party Taehyung took you to so many months ago—the one that rerouted your life onto this much more interesting path. But the three of them hadn’t really mingled then, so you had been left to speculate their group dynamic.

Now, though, you were starting to suspect your inklings were true.

Seokjin, the oldest, with lots of responsibility and expectations always set on him. Taehyung, the spoiled youngest who grew up without any of the same restraints, but also without any of the same parental attention. And Namjoon, the calm, stereotypical middle child, the glue who held it all together. The forced peacemaker who made sure that any of his brothers’ unspoken resentment for each other never got too far out of line.

“The only person who can tell me to leave is _____,” Seokjin continued, the sound of your name immediately throwing you out of your thoughts. You straightened, unprepared to suddenly find yourself locking eyes with him and surprised at the intensity you found there. “And is that what you want, _____? Do you want me to leave?”

“No, of course not,” you blurted. You didn’t miss the smug look Jin threw his brother, nor the way Tae’s lips pursed in irritation, but you couldn’t really find it in you to care about any of that right now. With a steadying breath, you focused instead on shuffling over to another cabinet and pulling out a glass.

It was starting to hit you. You weren’t sure what in the hell was going on, what exactly it was you agreed to, but whatever it was, you now had all three of your lovers in your apartment at the same time. Respectful of you and your space, but still obviously ogling you—ravenous predators slowly and eagerly circling their next meal.

It all made your skin prickle in anticipation, the thrill of the unknown buzzing in your veins.

“Choo choo,” you muttered to yourself sarcastically, pouring a healthy amount of tequila into your cup.

Namjoon raised a brow. “What?”

“What?” you parroted immediately, startled that he had heard you.

“I just…nevermind, I thought you said something.”

“Oh. Uh, I was just wondering if any of you wanted any.”

“No, I’m okay. Thank you.”

“I’ll take some,” Tae piped up brightly, moving into your space before you could blink. Body a breath away as he reached over to you to pull his own cup from the cabinet. You froze at his proximity, unable to look away as he smirked down at you. “Choo choo,” he murmured with a wink.

Before you could react with anything more than a sharp gasp, he was pulling away again, reaching for the tequila bottle.

Jesus.

With a slightly unsteady hand, heart pumping furiously in your chest, you welcomed the burning liquid down your throat, sticking your cup out for Tae to pour you more once it was empty.

“So how have you all been?” you babbled, tone a little too high and strained to be casual. “It’s been so long, I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me. Or that you’d made other arrangements or something. I don’t think I’ve ever been paid to be stood up before, that’s kind of embarrassing—” A hand, warm and gentle, rested on your arm, and immediately, all coherent thought escaped your electrified body.

It was Seokjin, slowly rubbing what he likely thought were calming assurances, but only amping you up more. “She rambles when she’s nervous,” he informed his brothers, the small smile on his lips betraying his endearment.

“Aw, don’t be nervous, babe. I’ll take good care of you,” Taehyung cooed, effortlessly draining his glass and motioning towards yours. “Want another one?”

No, that probably wouldn’t be a good idea. The last thing you needed was something that could lower your gag reflex even more. Vomming all over them would certainly make for an interesting going away gift, but then they would most certainly ghost you for real.

You shook your head of the negative thoughts, timidly swiping a tongue over your suddenly very dry lips. “So how exactly is this going to work?”

“The way it’s always worked,” Tae reassured you with a nonchalant shrug. “It’s just you and me. The only difference is that they’re here too—but you don’t have to worry about that. I told them they could only watch.”

It took you a few moments to process that, your eyes silently roving over each of them and finding them all watching you right back. Ready, but waiting.

Look, don’t touch. Another interesting twist to a night that was already looking to be interesting.

“Is that okay?” Seokjin asked, clearly intending to follow your lead. Leaving the ball in your court. And another glance at the other two showed they obviously shared their older brother’s sentiments.

A memory flickered teasingly in the corner of your mind—the trepidation of being fucked in front of a window where anyone could see. The undeniable thrill that followed the thought of being watched.

You swallowed. “Yeah,” you finally replied. “If…you want to.”

“Do you want us to?” Namjoon pressed sternly, refusing to let go of your gaze. Communication, he always insisted. Solid consent, or no consent at all. Yes or no.

All three stared at you. You shifted under their attention, a bit out of your element, but ultimately sure. “Yes,” you breathed.

“Okay,” Namjoon simply replied with an approving nod. With a pleased smile that brought forth dimpled cheeks. But then he shifted towards you more, and the slight change in his stance seemed to completely change his demeanor. His intention. “What’s your safeword?”

You knew he knew it; knew he knew you did as well. The two of you had been together enough times for a rhythm to between you to form, so this repeating of superfluous information was likely solely for his brothers’ benefits.

“Cinnamon.”

“And if you can’t say it?”

“Tap you 3 times.”

“Good.”

“Safeword?” Taehyung chuckled incredulously, eyes a little wide in surprise. “Well shit.”

“Yeah, and I know how to use it too, if you get out of line,” you teased, but your mind was already elsewhere. It didn’t matter that Tae was the one who would be actively playing with you today—you had spent enough time with Namjoon that you had apparently been conditioned. The blond had asked you your safeword, you repeated it to him, and so the scene had officially started. All of your previous unease ebbed away as you couldn’t help but focus instead on what you were all here for.

Carefully, you set your glass down on the counter and moved to exit the kitchen, brushing against Taehyung on your way out and shooting a pointed look at him over your shoulder. “You ready?”

“Baby, you know I’m always ready,” he purred, jolted into action and eagerly trailing down the hallway after you. “I’ve just been waiting on you.”

You didn’t bother to turn to see if the others were following you. You knew they were, their very presence somehow making the hallway feel like it was shrinking, overstuffed. Still, you tried not to let that unnerve you, continuing on with purpose until you made it to your destination and were hovering awkwardly next to your bed.

They all filed into the room, one by one, and you bit your lip, fully out of your element. Three handsome men had allowed you to lure them here, but now that they were? You had no idea what your next move was supposed to be.

Luckily for you, Tae was more than happy to take initiative, immediately slinking up to your side and waggling his eyebrows suggestively. The gesture was so ridiculous that you couldn’t help but snort, and he simply grinned, pleased with himself for lessening your nerves, even if only a little. He reached for you without a second thought and you let him, eager to fall into more familiar territory.

Taehyung’s large hands smoothed over your hips, your ass with clear familiarity. A finger curled under the top of your thigh highs, lightly snapping the elastic against your skin. “You really did this is for me, huh?”

The dark look in his eye had the breath catching in your throat. “Shut up,” you scoffed unconvincingly.

He tsked, the wicked curl of his lips ruining any illusion of disappointment. “You know I like it when you’re mean to me.”

You could only blink in response. You hadn’t known that. Was he serious? Was this another level to his subjugation, or was he just pulling your leg?

Before your brain had the opportunity to come up with a proper retort, Tae was reaching out a finger to tap the zipper of your sweatshirt, gaze focused on its slow, teasing sway. “So.”

Your brow lifted, an unspoken prompting.

The swinging zipper almost slowed to a stop, and when he reached out this time, it was to lightly run his thumb over the metal, to slowly roll it between his fingers. You swallowed, the anticipation of what you knew to be coming only adding to the charged silence between you. Distractedly, the tip of his tongue swiped across his lips, drawing your gaze. “You invited me to play,” he finally continued, voice honeyed amber. Crushed velvet.

As if he hadn’t been playing with you from the moment he entered your apartment. You tilted your head anyway—an invitation and a challenge. “Then let’s play.”

A small smile touched his lips, clearly pleased that his teasing invoked yours. But he didn’t say anything else, his response simply to finally guide the zipper down its track. Leisurely, unwrapping you like a present and delighting in the underneath.

And you had technically dressed yourself to be one, so you let him. Let him take his time so he could fully appreciate the swell of your breasts, the purposeful, flirty peek of your nipples through the scarlet lace. You wished you had had the time to properly do your hair and makeup and slip on the heels you had set aside just for the occasion so he could get your full intended effect, but your less than perfect appearance didn’t seem to dissuade Taehyung at all. No, he simply slid his hands under the fabric when he finally got impatient enough—fingers light and palms warm—and pushed the sweatshirt off your shoulders with eyes that were all pupil. His hungry gaze carefully roved your form, a lingering path from head to toe that made your skin tingle in its wake.

His lips parted, tongue giving them another distracted swipe, and then he finally moved again, making his way to your dresser. Now that his broad form wasn’t blocking your view of the rest of the room, you were quickly reminded of the room’s other occupants. Seokjin and Namjoon still hovered near the doorway, quiet, but obviously also drinking in the sight of you now that they could see you properly. Your breath caught, not used to having so much obvious desire directed at you, the air so thick with it you could practically taste it, heady and syrupy.

A light scraping sound regained your attention, and when you turned your head, you realized Taehyung had pulled open a particular drawer—one that he had quickly became familiar with since the start of your arrangement. He pulled out the lube he was looking for, but was much more interested in something else in there, if the mischievous look on his face was any indicator. “What’s this?” he asked, mouth a delighted box, and before you could chastise him about going through your things without permission, he was already pulling out your wand vibrator. “You got a new toy?”

“It’s not new,” you huffed, slightly embarrassed despite everything. “I just usually keep it in the shower.”

You saw his Adam’s apple dip at that information. Saw the wheels turning behind his eyes before he was quickly shutting the drawer and headed towards the bed with his loot in hand. He sat on the edge and eagerly motioned for you to follow.

Your eyes narrowed suspiciously at the vibrator he had neglected to put away, but Taehyung just reached for your hand and gently pulled you towards him until you were close enough for him to properly guide onto his lap. “Don’t be like that,” he murmured against your neck, his hot breath against the skin inciting a shiver to run through you. “Gotta prep you for the show.”

Ah yes, the show. He had faced you away from him, so now it was impossible for you to forget your captive audience. At some point, Seokjin had pulled your office chair away from your desk, and now he was lounging across the room, in direct view of the bed. His legs were comfortably spread, almost as if it was an open invitation for you to crawl onto his lap instead. Namjoon, on the other hand, was casually leaning against the desk, arms crossed. Eyes dark.

Lips trailed up your neck, quickly regaining your attention. Taehyung pressed slow kisses into the sensitive skin, humming contentedly when you tilted your head to give him better access. His hands dragged up and down your stockinged legs, his exploration only pausing to playfully snap the garter at your thigh. Your breath caught in your throat, heat thrumming through your veins at the action. You felt him smirk, and then he was tactfully lifting your legs by the knees and hooking them around his own one by one. Easily spreading your thighs by widening his own.

Easily revealing to your unsuspecting employers that your lingerie was crotchless.

The sudden display of your pussy had an immediate effect on the room, though no one said a word. The air was so charged with crackling energy that you shivered, almost breaking out in goosebumps at the onslaught of blatant desire. This close, it was quite easy for you to hear how Tae’s breath hitched, quite easy to interpret the excitement of his fingers, still compulsively tracing over the pattern of your stockings like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. Inexplicably, you still found yourself feeling a bit shy at the salacious attention you intentionally brought upon yourself, gaze darting to the floor for a few seconds before you finally chanced a look at the other two from beneath your lashes. Seokjin was busy unabashedly staring at your spread pussy, Adam’s apple bobbing, but Namjoon was unabashedly staring at you, your heart pounding when you locked eyes.

The spell was only broken when an impatient hand guided your head to the side, Taehyung demanding your full attention. After lapping against your pulse one last time, his mouth promptly switched course to your own, the kiss sweet, but decidedly sloppy due to the angle. In any case, it was easy to quickly lose yourself in the warmth of his lips—at this point, it was all practically reflex—and you were so engrossed in the ebb of his tongue that you completely missed the rather foreboding buzzing in the room until something was being purposefully pressed against the most sensitive part of you.

“Shit,” you gasped, jerking in his hold. But it didn’t matter, because Tae’s other hand was gripping tight at your thigh, ensuring you could do nothing but squirm in his lap, breath quickening in anticipation.

“Hm?” came his casual response. You knew from experience that he only had your vibrator on the first or second level, but the way his restless fingers still plucked at your stockings told you he was nowhere near done with you. Let’s play you had teased, and he clearly intended to do just that.

Before your thoughts could linger too long on how intense this night was likely going to be, the vibrator was shifted slightly to the side, resting momentarily on your thigh so Taehyung could reach for the bottle of lube and give it a generous squeeze.

“What’s your plan?” you breathed, the question inane even to your own ears. But the words escaped you before you could even properly process them, needing to say something in an effort to distract yourself from the muted vibrations that were still trickling up your leg to your core.

Tae let out an amused exhale, clearly not fooled by your feigned nonchalance. He humored you anyway, despite your very obvious failings to suppress a shiver. “Gotta prep you,” he answered huskily, busy warming the lube with his fingers and making them visibly slick in the process.

You only had one moment—two—before you felt him sliding a finger across the seam of you. Slowly dragging the digit up from your entrance to your clit, ghosting over the bundle of nerves just enough to make your breath catch, then drifting his way back down again.

“Don’t tease,” you murmured.

That earned you a chuckle in response. “Don’t you think you’re the one being the tease here? Texting out of the blue and wearing this—”another snap of your garter against your thigh, to punctuate his point—“when you knew damn well it would drive me crazy?”

“I don’t know. Sounds like I was being pretty direct to me.”

Another chuckle. “Fair.” And without further preamble, he slipped a finger in you, your relief leaving you in a shuddery exhale. “That better?”

“M-Much.”

“How about this?”

Another finger, plunging into your willing heat and making another relieved sigh escape you at the stretch. “We’re getting there.”

You didn’t have to be able to see him to know he was grinning, always one to be entertained by the easy banter between you. Tae didn't say anything, his response better communicated by a scrape of his teeth across the sensitive skin of your neck, settling to suck on your pulse point.

You didn’t bother hiding your shiver this time, unconsciously slumping further against him, hips reflexively jerking forward to pull him in deeper.

Taehyung added a third finger, snapping and scissoring and pressing and curling. Seducing your body’s natural resistance until you really started to betray your need, hips canting greedily towards his thrusts, whines erupting from your throat.

“You’re enjoying this already, baby?” Tae cooed, delighted by how responsive you were being. “I’ve barely done anything.”

You just nodded distractedly, the familiar warmth that was building in your core and creeping down your legs making it hard to think about anything else. Still, you couldn’t help your gaze being drawn to the other occupants of the room, who seemed to be frozen in time, dutifully having not moved from their posts. Completely enraptured by the way their brother meticulously worked you open.

Tae breathed hot into the shell of your ear. “You like it when they watch you?” came his knowing whisper, a nip against the cartilage punctuating his point. “Like for them to see how good I make you feel? Hmmm? What if we show them how good you take this dick?”

Your pussy fluttered. Tae cussed under his breath, teased with the wet, pulsing grip of you and falling deeper into his own fantasy. “Fuckkk, you’re dripping all over my hand, baby. I would probably just slide right in, wouldn’t I?”

“Yesss,” you moaned. “I can take it, baby.”

“I know you can. With this perfect fucking pussy. But what if we played some more? Got you nice and juicy for me?”

“I’m always juicy,” you sassed back, but any more retorts died on your tongue when you saw him reach again for the momentarily forgotten vibrator.

Tae’s arms circled around you, his chin slotting into the crook of your neck so he could get a better look of what he intended to do. The vibrator was turned up from its low rumble and pressed unceremoniously against you, and you yelped, jolting in his hold. It was too much, and you couldn’t help but writhe against him. Still, you welcomed the sudden intensity, desperate whines freely escaping you as you hurtled toward your peak. Tae only fingered you faster in response, the undoubtedly sloppy sounds drowned out by the vibrator. “I could slide right in, but I won’t cause it’s much more fun this way. Especially since we haven’t seen each other in a while. More fun for everybody if take our time, right, baby? So how about you cum on my fingers first, and then you can pick everywhere else on me you’d like to cum?”

You could only moan freely, just like how Tae liked. If you weren’t so distracted by the way he was fucking stars behind your eyelids, you would have noticed just how affected your spectators were becoming at your display. The shifting, the subtle rubbing over pants.

But as it were, you were completely preoccupied by your swift descent into madness, your hand desperately scrabbling for purchase before ultimately rooting itself in the hair at Taehyung’s nape to await your rapidly approaching release. Because at this point, your orgasm was inevitable, your thighs quivering with the sheer force of it, every atom of you hyper-focused on achieving that satisfying end goal.

Until the sudden sound of a certain voice knocked you out of your trance.

“Stop.”

You jolted as if touching a live wire, hand immediately wrapping around Taehyung’s wrist like a vice and yanking the vibrator away from you.

For a few moments, the room was silent, save the rumble of the toy and your heavy breathing. But Taehyung was too baffled to let what just happened slide. “What’s the matter?”

You nervously licked your lips, too frozen in Namjoon’s dark stare to answer his younger brother.

“You know better,” came the blond’s low admonishment, Seokjin turning to look at him in bewilderment.

And you did know better—when you were with Namjoon, you were not allowed to cum without his express permission. It was a game the two of you played that you often lost, despite your valiant efforts. It just never occurred to you that you would still be expected to play in Namjoon’s general presence, whether he was the one touching you or not.

Jittery with your aborted orgasm and nervous excitement, you looked away, your eyes automatically averted submissively to the floor in a last effort to assuage him. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” you replied softly.

“Daddy?” Taehyung repeated incredulously. “What the fuck?” In his confusion, his hold on you slackened, and, nervous he wouldn’t take the hint otherwise, you used the opportunity to shift his fingers out of you and stumble forward on wobbly legs.

“Take your clothes off,” was your reply, breath labored and skin already veiled in a light sheen of sweat. You needed to distract him from asking too many questions right now. Needed to distract yourself from just how strongly your body was begging to fall apart.

Tae was still confused, but he didn’t need to be told twice. Off came his button-down shirt, each button popped open just roughly enough that you were surprised none of them ended up scattered across the floor in his haste. Off came his slacks, unzipped and then easily slipped down his slim hips. He paused when reaching for his underwear though, eyes narrowing at something behind you.

You didn’t even get the chance to turn around to investigate what had caught his attention before you felt it—the distinct feeling of someone hovering in your space, close enough you could feel his body heat radiating against you.

“Hey sweetheart,” came a familiar husky voice, goosebumps rippling across your body at the feel of Seokjin’s hot breath ghosting up your neck. “Can I touch you?”

“Hey,” Tae scowled.

“_____?” Jin interrupted, still only millimeters away. A whisper away, but never touching, waiting for the only permission he truly needed—yours. Not Taehyung’s.

Without a second thought, you leaned back against him, delighting in the feel of his body slotting so naturally into yours. “Yes,” you breathed, pressing your ass further into what could only be the hard jut of his cock.

Soft, plush lips trailed up your neck instantly, large hands sliding over your hips and around your waist. You immediately melted into him, your body well-trained and eager for the pleasure it knew those lips and hands would deliver.

“This wasn’t the deal,” Tae huffed, eyebrows scrunched in irritation as he finally slid off his boxer briefs. Drawn like a magnet, your eyes fell to the bounce of his freed cock, tip already shiny with precum.

Seokjin tutted distractedly, too busy nibbling along your jaw to give his youngest brother much attention. “You need to learn to share, Taehyung. The rest of society learned that concept when we were toddlers.”

“Whatever,” Tae grumbled, clearly not happy with the way the night was turning out. He only allowed his brother a few more seconds to have his way with you before he was reaching for your hands and walking you back towards the bed.

You gasped in surprise when the world was suddenly off-kilter, your hands reflexively scrambling to hold onto Tae for balance, but it was only when the two of you landed on the mattress that you realized he had purposely tipped you into him, your chests flush.

“Really, Taehyung?” you laughed, now conveniently in his embrace instead of Seokjin’s.

Tae just grinned in response, so close that his nose brushed yours. Cheekily, his hands worked the flesh of your behind.

“I’ve been wondering where those have been coming from,” you heard Seokjin say behind you, and your face heated up in realization of what he was talking about, once again shy to be so on display and open for scrutiny. You had forgotten how mottled the skin of your ass still looked, and it was a little embarrassing to be called out on it. Time apart meant the bruises were near the end of their healing stage, but though you no longer sported marks of potentially alarming colors, their faded remnants still branded you in the distinct shape of a hand.

“If you were wondering, why didn’t you ask,” you countered, tucking your face in Tae’s neck to help hide your flustered state.

“Because that’s rude,” Jin answered easily, his own hand reaching over to gently smooth over the discolored skin. “And it’s really none of my business.”

“I think they’re pretty,” Taehyung cut in from below you. This close, you could feel the rumble of his declaration, could feel the heat of his stare. Of his want.

“So do I.”

A different voice, one that made an undeniably eager shiver run through you. Slowly, you lifted your head and turned, and there was Namjoon, still standing across from the bed, eyes all pupil.

The way he was looking at you…desire rippled through your whole body in response, your next words leaving your lips before you could even process them.

“Are you going to touch me too, Daddy?”

The room was quiet, the question marinating long enough that the air became thick and heavy with the resulting tension. Just when you thought you might suffocate, Namjoon finally tilted his head. Slowly—a predator locked in on prey, playing with his meal simply for his own amusement—he stalked closer to the bed. He walked past Seokjin and made it all the way to the foot of the mattress, close enough to touch you if he so pleased.

The burn of his gaze was somehow stronger now that he was closer, a palpable energy that drew you like a moth to a flame. You couldn’t help but scramble upright when he was finally right in front of you, clambering to your knees despite Tae’s clear reluctance to let you go.

“Do you want me to?” Namjoon asked passively. He looked down at you, seemingly unimpressed by how eagerly you knelt on the mattress, just waiting for him to join you on it. “You already have enough people taking care of you. Are you really that greedy?”

“Yes,” you shivered, the action involuntary but wanting. “Want you too, Daddy.”

“Hm.” The single syllable was dismissive, but your previous time spent with Namjoon had taught you not to take that at face value. That you had to have patience, that if you simply waited him out, you would always eventually get what you wanted.

As if proving your point, Namjoon silently considered you for a few more seconds before his eyebrow finally raised in challenge. “Open,” he demanded.

Your jaw dropped instantly, tongue out, and he smiled, pleased at your obedient response.

You weren’t sure you had the energy to be bratty to him today when his brothers were still in the mix too.

“Good,” Namjoon cooed, all dimples and boy next door. The boy next door who firmly grasped your chin, lifting your head a little and leaning down. But though your eyelashes fluttered in preparation for the slot of his mouth against yours, it never came. Namjoon paused, slanted eyes quietly observing you, then spit in your open mouth instead.

“Jesus,” came Taehyung’s awed reply from behind you, but you were too busy trying not to whimper, thighs squeezing together with sudden want. Namjoon hadn’t told you you could swallow, so you didn’t, drool starting to collect until it overflowed and dribbled down your jaw.

“Very good,” Namjoon murmured, and this time, he did lean down to kiss you, all wet and sloppy. You eagerly pushed further into his space, blood thrumming with your need for more, but he pulled away before you could get too carried away. He cleared his throat, lips pink and spit-slicked. “Gonna keep being a good girl for us today?”

You immediately nodded, a thrill going through you at the way the action rapidly made his expression steel over. He tsked condescendingly. “Now, now, you know better than to not speak when spoken to.”

“I’m sorry Daddy. I promise I’ll be good.”

“Well, that definitely answers the mystery bruises.” It was Seokjin, now behind you. Somehow you hadn’t noticed him discard his shirt and climb onto the bed, too caught in Namjoon’s spell. You felt his hands drifting across your waist again, roaming up to cup your breasts and lightly pinch at your nipples through the lace. You whimpered, arching eagerly into his touch.

“Oh come on,” Taehyung whined. A turn of your head produced him, naked and sulking in the middle of the bed. “It was supposed to be my turn.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his cute pout, dutifully extracting yourself from Jin’s hold to crawl your way towards the youngest brother. “Don’t worry, baby. I know how to multitask.”

He greedily grabbed you as soon as you were in reach, holding you tight to his chest and plopping back onto the bed so you were once again on top of him, knees straddling his hips. You giggled again at his antics, flattered by his sudden possessiveness, and Tae playfully nipped at your collarbone in retaliation.

The bed dipped behind you, and then there was Seokjin again, undeterred by Tae’s petulant behavior. “Not only are you bad at sharing, but you’re only thinking about yourself,” he scoffed, grabbing your hips without preamble. “What about _____?”

Taehyung immediately bristled beneath you.

“It’s okay,” you tried to reassure, but before you could properly defend him, you suddenly found yourself face down and ass up, the sudden appearance of a tongue swiping through your slit rendering you shuddery and brain dead. “Fuck. Jin—”

You felt Seokjin’s smirk against you. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he said huskily, hot breath ghosting over your most private of parts. “Couldn’t help myself. You dressed my meal up so pretty.”

That was fair, you supposed. That he made proper use of the easy access your lingerie provided, that he gave himself the opportunity to admire the tiny lacy hearts on your garter belt up close. But Seokjin didn’t allow himself to preen for very long, his focus immediately turning back to the task at hand. Laving hot and slow, your whole body tingling down to your toes.

Unconsciously, you pushed back further into his face, and Jin hummed approvingly, massaging your asscheeks, large hands spreading them apart so he could get as close to you as humanly possible. His enthusiasm has always been so fucking sexy, and you knew he wasn’t playing it up for theatrics when the slurping sounds started. You were that turned on, still frustrated from being led to the edge of the proverbial cliff and not allowed to jump, and Seokjin was more than happy to help himself to the honey he was coaxing from between your thighs.

A haze was starting to take over you, completely focused on how good he was eating you out, on how hot you were, sweat and desire prickling your skin. Your hips mindlessly circling while you vaguely tried not to drool on Taehyung’s chest.

Not that Tae seemed to mind much, hands idly roaming whatever stretch of skin he could touch, content to watch how your expression twisted and eyes glazed over as lust easily towed you under.

Seokjin pulled back a bit, chuckling at your whines of protest when he did so. But the familiar click of a top being popped open shut you up, lifting your head and looking over your shoulder to confirm your suspicions. The lube was a bit cold when it hit your asshole, and Jin wasn’t shy with the amount he squeezed out. His eyes were completely blown, enraptured by its slow decent, watching the lube trail through your pubic hair and down your slit. A distracted tongue swept across his lips, completely focused on sliding his fingers through the slick and making everything somehow even more wet.

You shivered at his touch, thighs twitching as his long fingers smoothed the lube over your bundle of nerves in sure, purposeful circles. He leaned in again, tongue blazing a hot, meandering trail up the inside of your thigh and giving the sensitive skin there a playful nip before his fervent licks returned. Tongue slipping down to caress your clit, wandering back up to dip into your throbbing cunt, and dragging back down again.

It was on one of these passes that Seokjin accidentally drifted a bit too high, your undulating hips causing him to lap over your asshole instead. You moaned, loud, and he immediately froze.

It was clear neither of you had been expecting that reaction. But while you could only describe the look on his face as light surprise, you couldn’t help but duck your head in embarrassment.

“What’s the matter?” Taehyung breathed into your hair, wondering what halted the activities.

You weren’t really sure what to say, now embarrassed by your embarrassment. But it turned out you didn’t have to say anything, Seokjin curiously testing the waters by leaning in and placing a chaste kiss against your rim. When you didn’t do anything but suck in a breath, his tongue dipped out again for a tentative lick. You shuddered, ass reflexively bucking towards him instead of pulling away, and that was all the confirmation he needed. His hands palmed your asscheeks again, spreading them open to give himself more room to press his tongue against you more confidently, and you trembled in response.

It was a foreign sensation, but not bad. You technically hadn’t marked this as a no when signing your contract, but it never even crossed your mind that getting your booty ate would be a very real possibility. You weren’t against assplay per se—you simply had never experienced it before. And never in a million years would you have expected it to feel like this.

“Mmmm, that’s good,” you couldn’t help but whimper. Electricity licked up your spine when his sloppy tongue slowly circled around the tight ring of muscle. Unbidden, your hand reached back, gliding through his hair before rooting itself and pulling in an attempt to get him impossibly closer to you.

Seokjin hummed approvingly at the your enthusiasm, the sound almost sounding like he was blowing bubbles with the way you were now shoving his face between your asscheeks. Leaning somehow further into it, he ate you out with a vigor that told you he was clearly pleased you were using him to get yourself off. You melted into his ministrations, a whine falling from your lips when he gently slipped his sinful tongue inside you, the foreign feeling making your toes curl in unexpected pleasure.

You were getting worked up. With nothing more than his mouth, Seokjin was easily restoking the blazing fire within you that only minutes before had been forced to embers. You were getting worked up, and the more you moaned and gyrated against him, the more Taehyung’s fingers twitched restlessly against your skin. If you had been in your right mind, you would have noticed his rising agitation and wouldn’t have been surprised when he suddenly grabbed you by the backs of your thighs and pulled you away from his brother. Instead, you blinked at him dazedly, pelvises flush after momentum had you inadvertently scooting further up his body.

“I’ve shared enough,” he growled, irritated. “It’s my turn now.” Another pull, and you were back on his lap, his leaking erection grinding pointedly against your slick folds. “C’mere, baby—fucking sit it on it.”

You were dazed, already pretty fucked out even though things were just getting started. The constant influx of pleasure was striking all your coherent thought, unable to understand anything other than finally being able to cross the finish line. And you knew from experience that Taehyung’s massive dick was a great way to get there, so you didn’t mind at all when he continued to maneuver you as he pleased, large hands canting your hips at a proper angle to receive him.

Your breath hitched when he finally sunk into your fervid body. You were so turned on and wet at that point that it didn’t hurt the slightest, but he was so big that the very pressure of him forcing your walls apart caused your eyes to roll back in your head, your nails pressing crescent moons into the caramel of his skin. “Ungh—”

“Shit,” Tae groaned, fingers tightening on your thighs at the wet grip of you. “Feel so fucking good, baby. Always so fucking good.”

He was buried balls deep, too on edge to give you any more than a few seconds to adjust before he was bucking wildly into you, easily scraping against your spongy nerves with every unforgiving stroke. You couldn’t do much more than take it, unfiltered moans readily escaping you. Hot and low, like they were generated deep in your pussy and Taehyung was hard at work fucking them up and out of your mouth.

You were so worked up at this point that you knew you weren’t going to last much longer, your walls tightening more and more by the second, your whole body trembling in preparation of the inevitable.

“_____,” Namjoon snapped.

It took some effort to lift your head from where you had buried it in Tae’s neck, startled into blearily looking up to meet the middle brother’s steely gaze. Your mind raced, flustered and trying to understand how you had somehow forgotten about him. When his lips curled with a whisper of a smirk, it instantly dawned on you that him fading into the background had been entirely by design.

Namjoon had allowed you to be distracted by his brothers. Had allowed them to have all the fun while he quietly watched your slow, uncontrollable descent into carnality. Because he knew that all he had to do was wait, and you would inevitably disobey him.

And then his fun would start.

You had played your part in his little game, cockily swaggered your way right into his trap with thigh highs and a smile. Too naive to notice that the situation had been rigged from the start, and now that everything was in motion, it was far too late to save yourself from your oncoming reckoning.

You were gasping, the pistoning of Taehyung’s cock setting all of your nerves alight and making it hard not to meet him thrust for thrust, trapped in meeting Namjoon’s stare through your wet lashes. He had moved to stand at the foot of the bed, close enough to touch, and he was the only person in the room who was still, bafflingly, fully-dressed.

“Please,” you babbled, too far gone to even know who your begging was directed towards. “Please, I—” Your body spazzed violently, only contained by Tae’s bruising grip as he relentlessly continued to plow into you. “Ohhh godddd! Fuckkk—ah, ahhhh—”

Against your best efforts, your cunt locked down, hard. So hard you forgot to breathe, pleasure and relief finally flooding your veins as you stuffed your face into Tae’s neck to ride it out, bucking and whining and incoherent.

Taehyung made a loud, choked noise, the feeling of you pulsing around him throwing him further into his trance. “Fuck yeah,” he growled, fingers digging into your thighs punishingly. Drilling into you harder, your release heightening his desperation for his own. Biology making him single-minded, manic, even when you started to mewl in oversensitivity. “Squeezing me so tight. Cream me good, baby. Fuck.”

You continued to tremble, nothing more at this point than sparking nerve endings. Tae lifted his head a little to lick into your awaiting mouth, kissing you wet and wild and desperate while still plunging deep inside you.

But even though you did nothing to attempt to control the torrent of whines freely spilling from your tongue, in the back of your mind, you still had the good sense to be nervous. Because even without seeing his face, you already knew Namjoon was pissed.

You had failed.

As if confirming your thoughts, fingers wrapped around your hair and pulled, naturally ripping your lips from Taehyung’s and forcing your head to lift. With nowhere to hide, you were forced to meet the full intensity of Namjoon’s glare.

“What did I say,” he demanded darkly, a muscle jumping in his jaw. Your blood pounded excitedly.

“Cut her some slack, Namjoon,” came Jin’s mild reply from behind you. Your eyes widened, not expecting his dismissive tone to go over very well.

Namjoon didn’t acknowledge his older brother, instead focusing his attention on his younger. A carefully controlled tempest that was moments away from unleashing its wrath. “Taehyung. Move.”

The swivel of Tae’s hips slowed, but didn’t stop. He was too on edge, too close to joining you in bliss. “I—g-give me a minute, hyung—”

“Move.”

You could feel just how reluctant Tae was to comply—his rutting finally stopped, but his hips still instinctually twitching in a primal need to keep fucking you. Still, something in his brother’s tone made his protest cut off in his throat, and after a few labored, frustrated breaths, he obediently slipped out of you.

You whimpered at the loss, your toes curling at the resulting friction. Between the cum that had long been leaking from you and dribbling down your thighs and the mess Tae’s cock was making in his excitement, it was hot and sticky where your bodies slotted together, and you couldn’t help the way you senselessly started to grind against him, lashes fluttering at the feeling.

Namjoon scoffed at your clear desperation. “You would have liked that, wouldn’t you?” he snapped, grip still firm in your hair. “For him to cum inside you.”

You shivered at the thought, a little embarrassed that you were so obvious. “Yes, Daddy,” you murmured, releasing a shuttering breath when you felt Tae’s slick cock jump against your stomach at your admission.

“Well you’ve been bad,” Namjoon replied slowly, as you weren’t very bright, “so you don’t get to have what you want.” He took a step forward, legs knocking into the edge of the bed, now only a breath away, and you licked your lips, mentally preparing for what you knew would come.

But before he could get any closer to you—before Taehyung could even slide from beneath you—there were once again hands on your hips.

“Hey!” Tae snapped irritably, but whatever he had to say was drowned out by your surprised, rather pathetic choking when, with a delicious roll of his hips, Seokjin unexpectedly sank inside your pliant body, thoroughly making himself at home exactly where Tae had been forced to vacate. You had been so focused on Namjoon that you somehow missed the weight shifting behind you, the telltale rustling of clothing as he pushed is sweatpants down his hips enough to free his cock so he could stuff you the hilt.

You had been saved by the eldest Kim, at least for now. But for how long would he really be able to delay your punishment?

Since he was still holding you by the hair, you could easily see the emotions flicker across Namjoon’s face at his older brother butting in, but his expression quickly settled into something mirroring cool indifference.

You knew better. Namjoon was a patient man, but you doubted he would let your disobedience slide so easily.

Seemingly uncaring of either of his brothers’ vexation, Seokjin rode your ass, hips rolling forward in constant waves, strokes long and deep and pointed. Clearly wanting to keep you mewling for him.

And as you did just that, you rapidly realized that saving you from Namjoon’s wrath had never been his intention. No, he simply liked you just like this, whiny and shivery and too fucked out to care that you were drooling and desperate.

“You feel it, sweetheart?” he asked, voice melodic and sweet. Leaning over to press plump lips up your spine and sucking on a rather sensitive spot at the back of your neck.

“Yesss,” you whined. You could feel everything, could feel the ripple of your ass every time his hips slammed against it, could feel every ridge of his cock that scraped against your insides. Sparks shot through you after every stroke, your clit forced to drag across Tae’s stomach with the force. “Fuck, you’re so big and deep, fuck, fuck.”

Seokjin just hummed, playing your body like a fiddle and pleased by how it was responding to him. Breath stuttering, toes curling, fingers gripping the sheets.

But despite how good he was making you feel, you weren’t too fucked out to overlook Namjoon this time. No, this time forgetting him was impossible, the middle brother doing nothing to hide his massive presence. He towered over you, intently watching you get railed by his older brother, and the barely suppressed fury you could sense radiating off him was making your cunt throb and head spin.

“I’m sorry, D-Daddy,” you stuttered, everything tingling at the look he fixed you with in response. “I couldn’t help it.”

“Are you?” he asked lowly, a tic in his jaw. He let the question marinate for a few moments, let you simmer beneath his intense stare. Just when you felt the overwhelming compulsion to apologize again, he finally reached for you, a single finger lifting your chin and forcing you to meet his gaze directly. With a patronizing tilt of his head, he popped open the button on his pants. “Then make it up to me.”

You were already pushing yourself to your hands and knees, desperate to please. Taehyung’s hands drifted up your sides to steady you, your body trembling from the way Seokjin still reamed into you, undeterred. You reached out for the band of Namjoon’s pants, trying to get to the important bits, but he simply tutted and smacked your hand away.

“Mouth,” he said simply, the single word full of derision.

So you leaned forward again, this time using the tip of your nose to part his fly and give you proper access to his clothed cock. He was thick and swollen already, straining against the material, and you felt him stir with interest when you mouthed at him through the fabric. Coquettish licks lapping hot against the length of him and making his hips reflexively shift forward, unconsciously chasing the stimulation. You licked and sucked until there was a noticeable wet patch, doing your best to show that your apology was sincere and give him your full attention.

But that was hard to do when his brothers were busy giving you their full attention.

Seokjin was in a trance, fingers sinking into your thighs so he could properly hammer into you. Thrusts steady and coaxing your pussy to leak its praises, your thighs sticky with your essence.

Taehyung, on the other hand, was getting noticeably antsy beneath you, fingers increasingly twitching against your damp skin the longer his brothers got more of your attention. You looked down, and the furrow of his brow and downturn of his lips were your last clues to his growing jealousy before he took action, hand reaching up to drag through the mess you were making before his thumb sought your clit, rolling and pinching. You bucked and squealed, the extra stimulation rocking you to your core and making your walls pulse dangerously enough that you found yourself squirming to escape him, grabbing Tae’s wrist for the second time that night in an act of self-preservation.

He was undeterred, rerouting his focus to your chest instead. With impatient hands, he yanked on the cups of your bodysuit, a concerning ripping noise immediately filling the room at the action. Before you could even say anything, he was already lifting his head to eagerly bite and suckle on your newly freed tits, tongue curling around a pebbled nipple and mumbling “I’ll buy you another one.”

Switching from one erogenous zone to another did nothing to quell your desire, but at least the stimulation wasn’t as intense. This you could safely enjoy, lashes fluttering, chest inadvertently pushing further into his face in silent encouragement.

And encourage you did, Taehyung creating enough suction with his mouth to properly burst capillaries. Contentedly littering your skin with marks you allowed, comfortable in knowing this was a region easily covered by your clothes.

Determined not to lose focus, you leaned forward again to continue giving Namjoon your full attention, trying to strategize the best way to get at him without using your hands. But either Namjoon finally decided to take pity on you or he was getting impatient too, because it was his own hands that reached down, only bothering to disturb his waistband enough to free his already leaking cock.

You didn’t know if it was a conditioned response from your past escapades or simply the extremely sexy sight of him giving himself a few firm, confident pumps. Either way, you felt it when you started to salivate, aching to properly taste him.

Your enthusiasm must have shown on your face, because the blond man simply smirked down at you knowingly, thumb slowly running over a prominent vein and further smearing his own mess around. “Well?” he prompted, almost sounding bored. You knew he wasn’t. That he was rock hard and dribbling precum, that his eyes were hooded yet laser-focused on the way his brothers devoured you—those were clues enough. Still, you couldn’t help the fire his feigned disinterest lit low in your belly, desperate to please him.

You started low, turning your head so you could playfully tongue first at his balls before making the long trek up the massive length of him, taking care not to accidentally involve your teeth from the way Seokjin’s thrusts were rocking you forward. Finally, you took him in your mouth, suckling on the weeping head. Humming contentedly at the salty taste and meeting his blown eyes from beneath your lashes.

Namjoon’s lips parted, but he didn’t say anything, hips twitching forward when you pressed your tongue into his slit.

You didn’t notice at first. To be fair, you were plenty preoccupied with everything else going on, with all other sensations. So you didn’t notice Taehyung’s hand drifting over your hip until he was cupping one of your asscheeks, fingers teasing further inward.

Before you could say anything, a finger sunk itself into your cunt, right next to where Jin was still plowing into you. You groaned, eyes rolling back at the added stretch, but the oldest brother wasn’t as pleased by the intrusion.

“Taehyung,” he said gruffly, voice deep with irritation and thinly-veiled hunger. But Tae just pumped the long digit into you a few times and then slowly backtracked, lightly trailing the slick back up the cleft of your ass.

“Relax,” came Tae’s mellow reply, and when he started circling a questioning finger around your rim, you weren’t sure if he was talking to you or Seokjin.

Still, you shivered, breath stuttering when you realized where this was going. When the finger did nothing more than circle and lightly press against you, you released Namjoon’s cockhead from between your lips, eyes fluttering. “Yes,” you breathed hot against Namjoon’s crotch, understanding what Tae was wordlessly asking you.

A glance down produced Taehyung, eyes all pupil, tongue lolling thoughtfully in his mouth as he watched you tremble above him, tits rippling and swaying from Seokjin’s force. Finger mindlessly continuing the massaging of your hole. He locked eyes with you, making sure he understood, and then slowly started pressing the slick digit into your asshole.

You whimpered, fighting against your instinct to clamp down on him. Relax. Relax. It didn’t hurt exactly—was just pressure where you weren’t used to having any. And Tae made sure to go at a glacial pace, made sure to keep massaging your insides, to help you acclimate to the intrusion.

Distantly, you felt Jin’s thrusts slow to something much more languid, and you had a feeling the way your body was opening up for his youngest brother was more than a little distracting.

“Good?” Tae asked shakily, sinking into you bit by bit.

“Yes,” you slurred, completely fucked out. Tae’s always had large hands with long, elegant fingers, and right now, when he kept going further and further in, you were becoming privy to just how long they actually were. Your eyes threatened to roll back when his last knuckle finally breached you, and when he gave you a cursory tap after a few seconds, you had to swallow a moan.

Rather affectionately, Namjoon started caressing your face, bringing your attention back to him. Dazed, you put him back in your mouth, continuing to suck him and trying not to think about how Seokjin was revving his pace back up and Taehyung was tapping your insides in tandem. Namjoon just smiled softly down at you, and it was so sweet that you almost don’t see what happened next coming, too preoccupied with everything else that was going on. Gently, his hand drifted up—and gripped you securely by the hair, cock suddenly surging down your throat. You immediately gagged, throat repeatedly convulsing around him, and he grunted appreciatively at the feeling before pulling all the way out. Cheeks still sweetly dimpling at how wrecked you were.

And wrecked was the only way to describe you. You were gasping, jaw glistening with spit. Eyes watering and whole body twitching from all the relentless stimulation.

Namjoon only gave you a few seconds to gain your bearings before a pull of your hair had your head snapping back. Before his cock was pushing back into your panting mouth. You tried your best to relax your throat this time, taking stuttered breaths from your nose when his fucking began in earnest. Tried your best to ignore the way your jaw threatened to lock from trying to accommodate the sheer girth of him.

It was a lot. You were feeling sensations from so many areas at once—ass, tits, mouth, cunt—that your brain was absolutely swirling trying to figure out which brother’s ministrations it should be focusing on. And though the pleasure pumping through you was borderline unbearable, you couldn’t even let that overflow of emotion out, your wails stuck bubbling in your chest because you were too busy lewdly gargling on Namjoon’s cock.

You remembered, all those months ago when you’d first been considering whether you should take this job, how you'd poured yourself another glass of wine and reread the contact for the nth time thinking well, I guess I do have three holes. That’s certainly convenient.

Now that it was happening, however—now that all three of your holes were stuffed and both your mouth and your pussy were dribbling and messy and straining with effort—now, it was nothing short of intense. Nothing hurt, but you were so completely and entirely overwhelmed by all of the feeling that you thought you might just simply burst, your nerve endings crackling free and raining over the room like fireworks.

It’s too much. It was too much, but right when you were starting to consider giving Namjoon two taps on the wrist—a metaphorical yellow—he backed off on his own, easing some of the pressure. And suddenly your mouth was free, a string of saliva still connecting you to his glistening cock before the tension of him stepping back eventually made it snap.

Namjoon had eased some of the pressure, but he couldn’t stop more from surging forward in its place. Your body could only take so much of their tortuous teasing before it succumbed to its baser instincts, and it seemed you had finally reached your boiling point. In a trance, you pressed your hips backwards to meet Seokjin’s next stroke, forcing him deeper inside you and making you both shudder. And that small action was all the encouragement he needed, his primal instincts screaming at him to ruin you.

Drilling into you with new purpose, Jin fucked the remaining breath out of your lungs, staccatoed bursts of ah ah ah pouring from your drooling mouth. Panting like an animal in heat, moaning so wantonly that you would be embarrassed if you weren’t already so completely braindead with pleasure.

“Holy shit,” Taehyung breathed, watching your rapid unraveling in amazement. “You’re so fucking hot. Fuck.”

Before even realizing what was happening, you finally shattered around him, your bones liquifying at the intensity and causing you to collapse on Tae, writhing and choking into his neck.

“There you go,” Jin encouraged, words wobbling as he tried to weather the force of how tightly your walls were squeezing him.

Taehyung was curling his finger within you to lengthen your orgasm, was absently rubbing your back to guide you through it. “So perfect,” he whispered, lips fondly brushing against your temple while you shook.

When it finally ended you were left twitching and sensitive, too dizzy from the sheer force of your climax to register the thunder rolling across Namjoon’s face.

His brothers did, though.

An audible squelch filled the room when, without warning, Seokjin pulled completely out of you. Confused, you looked over your shoulder at him, only to suddenly find yourself lifted and tilted, Taehyung surging upright and taking you with him. Unprepared to catch yourself, your back easily hit the mattress, now finding yourself looking up at the three brothers who hovered over you.

“Hmmm.” Namjoon pretended to think, tone calm but eyes steely. “I could have sworn I specifically told you not to do that.”

“You did,” Jin cut in mildly, looking between the two of you curiously.

Your eyes widened, unprepared for this turn of events. You never would have pegged Jin as such an instigator, but apparently he was very interested in seeing the consequences of your continued disobedience.

Your betrayal must have shown on your face, because Seokjin’s lips pursed in amusement. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he chuckled, leaning down to press a chaste kiss against your lips. “You’ve been so good for me, but we have to be fair. And unlike Taehyung, I know how to share.”

“Am I or am I not sharing right now?” Tae griped, unamused by the dig. But you were no longer paying those two any attention, your focus now fully on Namjoon and the leisurely way he was now stripping out of his shirt.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” you hedged, knowing before you even said the words that they would do jack shit to appease him. “It just felt too good…”

Namjoon raised an unimpressed eyebrow, throwing his t-shirt on the floor as if it offended him. “All you keep saying is sorry,” he mused. Down went his pants and underwear, kicked out of his way. His knee hit the mattress, Taehyung shifting to the side so Namjoon could finally stalk over to where you lay, fucked open and wet. Cautiously, you met his stare, the breath halting in your lungs when you recognized the retribution that was undoubtedly about to come.

“But sorry means nothing if you don’t modify your behavior,” he tsked, eyes darkening. “So. I don’t believe you.”

That was all the warning you got before he was crowding into your space, grabbing you by the ankles and hooking them over his shoulders. Caging you in with his body, pressing close enough that his cock easily slid over the mess of your cunt, making you mewl at the sensation.

And that involuntary reaction didn’t seem to help your case with Namjoon. “More?” he scoffed, seemingly displeased, though the way he rocked his length through the seam of you told a different story. “After all that, you still want more?��

You were exhausted, thighs still quivering from your last orgasm. But you couldn’t help the way the weight of his body and the slide of his cock were causing your pussy to pulse. “Yes, Daddy,” you breathed, angling your hips down so you could deliciously meet him on his upstroke.

“And it’s all about what you want, isn’t it?” he mocked, spearing you to the hilt in one go. You choked at the intrusion, not expecting him to enter you so suddenly. At this point, you were fully prepped enough to take him, but, like his brothers, Namjoon was still a lot to take all at once.

Particularly when he had already made up his mind that the best way to punish you was with his cock.

You quickly gathered his gameplay from the immediate way he started rutting into you, not giving you any time to adjust or catch your breath. Simply railing you into the mattress, your legs over his shoulders ensuring he hit deep enough for you to feel it in your throat.

“Fuckkk,” you groaned, fingers curling in the sheets, biting down on your lip enough to taste metal. “Fuck fuck—”

“What?” he taunted, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Making sure he scraped your g-spot on every thrust. “This is what you wanted, remember? And it’s all about what you want.”

“Yes, Daddy.” You could already feel yourself ready to clamp down again, your extremely sensitive pussy overreactive to any and all stimulation. “I want it, I want it, yesss—”

He pressed impossibly closer, bending you enough that you felt the burning strain in your legs, and that did the trick. Before you could nervously start to ponder whether you were flexible enough for what he wanted to do, you were cumming, hard, back attempting to bow with the force of it but only succeeding in making your whole body lock up and your vision blur.

Namjoon didn’t slow down during your climax, and he certainly didn’t slow down after. He fucked you like a machine, undeterred by how your pulsing walls tried to suck him in and keep him there. Undeterred by how you hopelessly whined and squirmed in overstimulation. And when you suddenly heard a familiar buzzing noise, there was nothing you could do but meet his intense gaze with wide, alarmed eyes.

“What?” he demanded, pressing your long-forgotten wand vibrator right on your clit and making you immediately jerk. The caramel of his skin was already glistening and beading with sweat, but he seemed long from tired. “You think you can cum on everbody’s dick but mine?”

It was too much, the near animalistic pace of his fucking paired with how high he had turned the vibrator making your hands shoot up, scrabbling along his biceps in a panicked response, your body now entirely on autopilot, desperately trying to save itself from its fate.

“Please,” you heard yourself beg, choking at the intensity. Legs jerking uselessly on his shoulders, nails scratching marks down his skin.

But the word that would make him stop never passed your lips. And so he continued to ignore your unsuccessful struggling, fucking you right back to orgasm, this time somehow even stronger than the last and stealing all air from your lungs.

He felt it, of course. Felt exactly how hard you were squeezing him, the tight grip of your pussy evoking the grit of his teeth.

“You’re gonna have to try harder than that to milk me,” he growled, moving the vibrator away from you just enough for you to suck in a breath. “Come on, take this dick since you want it so bad. Take it!”

And you had no choice but to take it, trying your best not to black out as he forced the coil within you to snap, again and again. You were shrieking, but you couldn’t even perceive your own actions anymore, swept completely by his unforgiving undertow of pain-lined pleasure. Namjoon was fucking you stupid, scrambling your brain as easily as if it were an egg, forcing you to your most primal of reactions, your most basest of self. Thrashing beneath him, desperate tears trickling down your cheeks, spit freely trickling from your wailing mouth.

It felt neverending, this exquisite torture, and just when you were starting to get distressed about how much longer you would be able to take it, Namjoon’s thrusts started to turn sloppy.

“This is all you wanted, right?” he panted, hips stuttering. A welcome warning for what was soon to come. His focus rapidly shifted from your orgasm to his own, and the way he tossed the still buzzing vibrator to the side was nothing short of impatient.

You blinked up blearily at him, the reduction in stimulation helping you slowly return to your body after being stuck the stratosphere.

“Wanted my nut? Agreed to fuck all of us at once just so you could get more of it, isn’t that right, babygirl?”

His intense stare told you he expected an answer, but all you could do was whine in response, hesitant to admit it. Pussy pulsing at the very visual he had conjured up. Warily, you glanced at the other two brothers, nervous at what you might find there, but one look quickly evaporated all uncertainty.

Though they had moved out of the way for Namjoon, they hadn’t moved far—still close enough for you to reach out and touch, still close enough for them to hover over you and get a close view of the action. Still close enough for you to see understanding dawn across Seokjin’s face, to see pure astonishment take over Taehyung’s.

Namjoon spotted your division in attention and was having none of it, a hand guiding your jaw until you were focusing on him again. “You like being a dirty cumslut,” he prompted mildly, your heart racing in response. Slipping a thumb between your plush lips and humming approvingly when you sucked on it, tongue twirling. “Don’t you, baby?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you moaned hoarsely, the very admission making your whole body vibrate. The continued hammering of your sensitive core making you want to reflexively squirm away, though Namjoon’s heavy body ensured you had nowhere to go.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I like being a dirty cumslut.”

Taehyung whimpered, and it was easy for you to deduce from the rapid movement you could see from the corner of your eye that he was jacking himself off while watching you. Well and truly done with delaying his own pleasure.

And from the rather manic way Namjoon was looking at you, he was obviously on the same wavelength. “And do you know how much cumsluts love it?” A quick swipe of his tongue over his panting lips. “They want it in them. On them.”

“Please, Daddy,” you begged, nearly sobbing at the strength your want. Your head whipping around, desperately pleading with all three of them. “Please let me have it! I’ve been so good, please—”

“Holy shit,” Tae groaned, eyes rolling back in his head. “Okay baby, I’ll give you what you want. I’ll give you it all. You want it all?”

“Yes. Yes, yes yes yes yesyesyes—”

Abruptly, Taehyung was pushing forward into your space, hovering more directly over you and treating you to the sight of how those long fingers were furiously pumping his cock. He was panting, a prominent vein in his neck visible because of his efforts, little whines escaping him as he viciously worked his slick length.

There was shifting on your other side, and your focus immediately turned to Seokjin. He looked back at you dazedly, lips parted, chest flushed at your attention.

“Please?” you whimpered, fully aware how pathetic you must have looked but not giving a single shit. So long as you got what you wanted. You needed them to give you what you wanted.

The oldest immediately softened at your pleading, always so willing and eager to please you. “Of course,” he breathed, hand already moving over himself with long, tight strokes. He shivered, hips reflexively jumping forward at the stimulation. “W-Where?”

A shift, and Namjoon was pulling back from you, maneuvering your legs back to the bed and sitting back on his haunches. Despite this new position, he never let his cock leave the comfort of your walls, continuing to hammer into you, jaw locked in concentration, balls smacking into your ass with a lewd slapping sound. Focused only on racing to the finish line.

“Anywhere,” you shuddered. “Everywhere, just…” Your entire body was on fire and you could barely take it, the anticipation of what was about to happen making you writhe over the sheets, whimpering pathetically. Your tongue lolling out your gasping mouth, an eager target.

And then finally—finally—you were given what you asked for. Loud, uncontrolled moans spilled from Taehyung’s lips, swiftly becoming desperate before one last squeeze of his cock had him cumming, his release spraying hot all over your breasts and slowly trailing through your cleavage.

You moaned with him, delight buzzing through your veins at being marked so intimately, and the sound seemed to trigger Namjoon, who immediately pulled out of you, expertly pumped himself a few times, and then ejaculated with a long, drawn-out grunt. After essentially edging himself for most of the night, the amount of cum he gifted you was more than generous, most of it painting your pussy in long ropes, but some of it inevitably ending up on your belly with how aggressively he was jerking himself off.

The sight of it all, the feeling, was so unbearably hot that you almost came untouched, eyes rolling back, pussy pulsing with interest despite how exhausted you were. And your obvious pleasure was what finally set off Jin, teeth digging into his lower lip while his seed spurted white across the lower half of your face and slid down your jaw, some of it delightedly landing on your awaiting tongue.

You hummed contentedly, immediately licking the thick, heady remnants from your lips so you wouldn’t waste a drop. Your eyes fluttered shut, your hands slowly and sensually trailing over your own body. Basking in it all. Purposely smearing their mess over wider stretches of skin—pinching gently at your nipples, dragging your fingers between your tits, gliding over your hips, drawing light, sticky figure eights around your clit before dipping a bit lower and slipping two cum-coated digits inside your hot walls. Your hips twitched, lazily chasing the intrusion on reflex. Simply enjoying being so completely and utterly satisfied.

You were so transfixed and in your own world that you completely forgot about the three other people still in the room, greedily feasting on the undeniably filthy way you savored what they gave you. You weren’t sure how long they let you be, but it was a voice finally breaking the silence that slowly lured back to reality.

“_____?”

The voice was gentle, yet deep, the spell cast over you immediately broken at the sound of it. It was Namjoon, hovering over you again, lips quirking into a small smile as he watched the fog disperse from your eyes. “How do you feel?”

You let out a satisfied sigh, pulling your fingers out of your pussy with hum. “Tired,” you admitted, voice raspy from the activities. “But amazing.”

His smile widened, cheeks dimpling. “I’m glad.”

Suddenly, Taehyung was laying on the bed with you, arms wrapped around your sticky form. Just like always, his sweaty body slotted easily against yours, happily nuzzling his face into your neck and apparently wholly unfazed about the fact that you were completely covered in spunk. “You’re amazing,” he chirped, pressing a flurry of kisses into your skin and making you giggle. “You know, when you told me you liked cum forever ago, I didn’t realize this was what you meant.”

“You never asked,” you shrugged, somehow still timid despite everything that had just happened. “What did you want me to say, exactly? Hey Tae, do you mind doing me a solid and shooting the club up? Or maybe can you give me a nice, relaxing facial?”

The pure bafflement of his expression had you laughing again. “In what world would I ever say no to that?” he demanded incredulously.

Amused by the turn in conversation, Seokjin bent down to press his lips against your forehead in gratitude before swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Do you mind if I use your shower?”

“Of course,” you replied, moving to direct him to your bathroom before Namjoon stopped you with a pat on the thigh.

“I’ll show him.”

You couldn’t help but watch their strong, naked forms leave the room, eyes drawn to the musculature of their backs and buttocks.

“Hey.” Tae poked you in the cheek, mirth dancing in his eyes from catching your ogling. “Focus. I’m talking to you.”

“What, I’m not allowed to enjoy the view?”

He couldn’t help but huff out a laugh, though he was undeterred from getting the answers he sought.

“I told you what I wanted,” he reminded you gently, pressing another kiss against your jaw. “You know you could have done the same.”

You shifted in his hold, sheepish. “Tae, all of this isn’t really about me…”

“What, so just because we’re paying you, you’re not supposed to enjoy it too?” he scoffed. “Baby, as we’ve just proven tonight, it’s more fun when we all have fun.”

“I always have fun!” you protested, but you were prevented from elaborating by Namjoon returning with a washcloth. He climbed back on the bed, reaching for your ankles and guiding them apart.

“Open,” he directed, his tone containing none of the dominance it often had when he usually uttered the word. You obediently followed his instruction, a soft sigh escaping your lips when he pressed the warm cloth against your thoroughly battered netherparts and started cleaning you up.

For a little bit, Taehyung watched your makeshift bath in silence, not even saying anything when Namjoon left to rinse off the towel and came back with a freshly damp one, gliding over the stained skin of your face and chest before they started to crust over. In fact, Tae didn’t speak again until your spot bath was finished and Namjoon was clambering back in the bed with the two of you, an arm slinging low over your waist as to not disturb where Tae’s rested. Pulling you against him until your chests were flush.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us on our trip?” You could feel Taehyung’s pout against your skin, displeased at the idea of being away from you for three weeks.

You huffed out a laugh, slinging a leg over Namjoon’s hip to settle more comfortably into your new position as the filling of a TaeJoon sandwich. “I’m positive. I have a lot studying to do and frankly, I’m not completely sure I can walk anymore.”

“Who said you need to walk?” Namjoon cut in sleepily.

“We can pay someone to walk for you,” came Tae’s enthusiastic, yet ridiculous offer. “We’ll be going to meetings, but you can just roam the city if you want. Or relax at the hotel. You can lounge by the pool all day and put all your food and drinks on our tab.”

Though it certainly sounded tempting, you were fully aware what the tradeoff of that makeshift vacation would be, and the absolute last thing you wanted to think about after the crazy intense session you just experienced was sex. So, despite Taehyung’s wheedling, you managed to stand firm in your decision, completely fine with waiting until they were back in the country to even consider spreading your legs for any of them again.

And you were justified when Seokjin finally reappeared, fully clothed, rubbing a towel through his hair, and informing you that his assistant Wendy would be in touch to schedule his next session for sometime after he returned.

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#taehyung smut #namjoon smut #seokjin smut #bts smut #bts fic #bts fanfic #taehyung x reader #namjoon x reader #seokjin x reader #taehyung fanfic #seokjin fanfic #namjoon fanfic #mine #husband #bae #mr. worldwide #✨kim tag✨#fic: satisfy

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ahqkas · 9 days

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Can I request headcanons for Charles Smith and Arthur Morgan with oblivious gn!crush please?

YOUNG & DUMB ; arthur morgan & charles smith

RED DEAD REDEMPTION 2 MASTERLIST!

ARTHUR ISN’T THE TYPE TO OPENLY DECLARE HIS FEELINGS. Instead, he shows how he feels through small, thoughtful acts like ensuring that your saddle is always perfectly adjusted or bringing you a cup of warm coffee in the morning.

Despite his best efforts, you still remain blissfully unaware of his feelings. You probably interpret his kindness as just his way of being helpful and considerate, not realizing it goes deeper than that.

You often sit together, in comfortable silence as you listen to the songs of local birds, whether it’s cleaning your guns by the fire or sitting on a log, watching the sunset (these moments mean a lot to Arthur).

The outlaw often takes the tome to teach you some new skills, like tracking or shooting. He enjoys these one-on-one moments (though he would never admit how much he’s looking forward to them!!). You remain unsuspecting of his actions, thinking his touches are nothing but platonic.

Arthur writes about his feelings for you in his diary. That’s his way of dealing with the emotions he can’t express out loud. His entries are filled with frustration and longing for you, along with sketches of your figure.

The rest of the gang is well aware of that man’s feelings for you. They occasionally tease him about it with grins on their faces, but they all silently root for him. They want to see him happy for once.

Eventually, someone from the gang would slip up and reveal Arthur’s feelings for you. When the realization hits, you’re stunned by the fact. Arthur’s behavior was only friendly, right? Wrong !! From that day, you start seeing Arthur’s actions in a new light, a romantic light.

CHARLES IS THE STRONG AND QUIET TYPE, often keeping to himself and observing rather than do the speaking. His feelings for you are no different; he admires you from afar, preferring actions over words to show his care, just like Arthur.

That man loves nature more than anything, so expect to spend your free time with him in the woods, or riding through the fields on the back of your horse with him riding alongside you. He’d take care of your horse any time you needed, brushing its mane and keeping it well fed and clean.

When Charles finds something he knows you would like, such as a rare plant or a unique trinket, he gives it to you without making a big deal out of it. He gives it to you like it was nothing, except he spent the sweet time thinking about how he’s going to get it for you.

Charles is a great listener, always ready to offer you his shoulder to talk. He listens patiently, attentively, his mind whirlwind with the thoughts of what he’s going to reply with.

The rest of the camp picks up at Charles’ hidden feelings, though it takes them some time (still, they got it sooner than you!). They respect his privacy, only occasionally giving him knowing looks as they him with you.

Eventually, you pick up the pattern of Charles’ behavior as well and talk the romantic feelings with him out.

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bitethedevil · 19 days

Text

Living with The Devil You Know (Raphael x Tav): Chapter 5

Chapter: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight

Read this fic on AO3 (Link)

Fic Summary: Tav broke their agreement by handing the Crown of Karsus to Mystra instead of Raphael. Not only that, but she also robbed his house and killed his incubus. Raphael is patient and he is determined to get his revenge.

…Tav isn't too bothered. She will figure something out eventually. Until then she just has to find a way to live peacefully with a devil.

Chapter Summary: Raphael is in a good mood. He teaches Tav how to play the organ and sings The Song™ to her under very special circumstances. At the same time, Gale is worried and tries to make a rescue plan with Astarion and Shadowheart.

(AN: I know absolutely nothing about music so bear with me if I use the wrong terminology. I can warmly recommend to also listen to the song while reading *that part*. Enjoy a look into Raphael's questionable flirting techniques and some very very spicy organ lessons.)

WARNING: NSFW

Tav had decided not to glamour her face and keep her burn scars visible. She had looked in the mirror in the morning and found that she agreed with Raphael: they did suit her, in an odd way. She felt that she looked more like herself with them, albeit a version of herself that she had not seen for years.

Tav spent the day with Cassius watching her, much to her dismay. He was the only one in the House of Hope who still treated her as a prisoner. He had hated her guts since she cast that sleep spell on him to contact her friends and then convinced him not to say anything.

Cassius did not even try to hide his reaction to her scars. There was a look of slight disgust on his face as he looked at them. Then again, Tav thought. That could also just be his face. Cassius tended to look at her with that annoying sneer as if she was below him, which she had largely begun to ignore.

She started wondering whether there might be more to his clear dislike for her. It did not go past her that Cassius had visited Raphael privately in his boudoir one or two times during the first couple of days of her imprisonment.

Although, she had not noticed any visits between them after her and Raphael had sex that one time. Was it possible that the tiefling was jealous of her in some odd way? Cassius had probably been Raphael’s new favorite pet until she was forcibly dragged to the House of Hope to sleep in his master’s bed each night and take up a considerable amount of his attention.

It was hard for her to garner any sort of sympathy for Cassius though. He treated her like dirt and often tried to provoke her whenever he was tasked to watch her for the day. Whatever was up the warlock’s ass, Tav did not feel responsible for whatever ill feelings he might have towards her. He could take it up with Raphael if he so pleased.

She was waking up from a nap when she heard music playing somewhere in the house. She rolled out of bed and started walking out of the boudoir with Cassius at her heels.

“Where are you going?” Cassius asked.

“Does it matter when you’re tasked with following me anyways?” Tav asked tiredly at his comment.

“You disturb him all the time,” Cassius said, knowing she was on her way to find Raphael. “You don’t think it would be possible that he’d want a moment of peace?”

“If he wanted peace, he shouldn’t have given me free roam of the house,” Tav said. “Or have denied me my own little moment of peace, for that matter…”

“Suit yourself, but one day you will get on his nerves and then he might be inclined to teach you your place,” Cassius said with a sneer.

“It’s really cute that you worry so much about me,” Tav teased him, just to piss him off.

The music got louder as they got to the archive. Tav stuck her head in to greet Raphael with a smile. He was in his human form. Raphael stopped playing the organ and gave her a smile back. He seemed to be in a good mood for some reason.

“It sounds good,” Tav said. “You don’t mind if I sit and read while you’re playing, do you?”

“Please,” Raphael said and gestured to a nearby chair.

Tav widened her smile and threw a glance at Cassius who was awkwardly standing at the entrance, glaring daggers at her. Raphael did not even acknowledge his presence. She sat down with a book, and he started playing again.

“Do you play, mouse?” Raphael asked and looked at her. He was still playing perfectly on the organ despite not even looking at the keys.

The melody he was playing reminded her of a predator slowly sneaking up on its prey. It sounded beautiful but it was also quite dark. Just what she would expect from someone like him.

“I did a little bit once,” she answered and then gestured to his fingers that were elegantly dancing over the keys with ease. “Nothing as complicated as that though.”

“It really is not that complicated,” he said and then stopped playing to hold a hand out to her. “Let me show you.”

The smirk on his face told her that he was up to something, but she took his hand regardless. In one swift movement, he pulled her closer and seated her in his lap. Her eyes widened a bit at the gesture.

“You certainly seem to be in high spirits tonight,” she noted.

“I am,” he said and rested his chin on her shoulder to look at the keys. “I closed a deal that has been quite the headache for me and successfully retrieved something of mine.”

“Do I want to know the specifics?” Tav asked.

She did not particularly want to know which poor bastard Raphael had roped into giving him their soul, but she was worried that he might be talking about her companions.

“It has nothing to do with your dear little friends, if that is what you are asking,” Raphael said as if he had read her mind and grabbed her hands to move them to the keys in front of her. “Now concentrate.”

He showed her what she knew was a simplified version of the melody he had just been playing. She could not play as fast or as elegantly as Raphael did, but she gave it a try.

“Good,” he purred in her ear and snaked an arm around her waist, making it even more difficult for her to play. “Keep practicing.”

Raphael shifted his head away from her shoulder to look at Cassius for a moment.

“You can go home for the day,” Raphael said to him absentmindedly and then turned his attention back to Tav.

Tav could see Cassius at the corner of her eye. He looked pissed. He gave Raphael a forced smile and a bow before leaving.

“I see that your health has improved after our little accident last night,” Raphael said. “I also could not help but notice that you decided to keep your scars present like I told you to.”

Tav smiled at the word choice of ‘our little accident’ as if she was to blame as well for him almost killing her. She decided to ignore it.

“I did,” Tav said. “But not because you told me to.”

Raphael chuckled. She would not give him the satisfaction of telling him that he was right, and he knew it.

“Stubborn as ever,” he said. “What did you do today?”

“Napped,” she answered, while still trying to get the hang of the melody.

“How productive,” Raphael said sarcastically and corrected the position of her fingers on the organ. “Am I wrong in assuming that you might be growing a tad bored?”

“It’s hard to do anything with someone watching you all the time…” she said. “Besides…I do miss some of my old books,”

“Hm,” he hummed. “Did you have a favorite?”

“I do but it’s embarrassing…and terribly cliché…” she said and stopped playing for a moment.

Tav’s favorite book was an old romantic tragedy that was well-known to be the favorite novel of just about every woman in Faerûn.

“Don’t be shy,” Raphael purred.

“’A Star in the Darkness’ by Bibella Aldath…” she answered and started playing again.

“Yes, that is rather cliché, dear,” Raphael said and chuckled. “Not a horrible read by any means, but I did expect something slightly more exciting from a former librarian…”

Tav was slowly getting the hang of the melody and her fingers moved over the organ’s keys a little easier now that she had played it a couple of times.

“Better,” he purred in her ear. “You know, this is a very special composition of mine…”

“Oh?” Tav said and kept playing.

“It would have been the very last thing you and your dear friends would ever hear had you decided to steal your contract that day when you robbed my house,” Raphael said. She could practically hear the smile on his face.

“Oh, you wrote music just for us?” Tav asked with amusement in her voice. “How thoughtful of you. It’s such a shame we didn’t get to hear it then.”

“Isn’t it just?” Raphael asked. “But there is time for it yet…when your friends finally decide to pay us a visit.”

Good luck with that, Tav thought.

Tav stopped playing for a moment when she felt Raphael’s hands slowly caress her sides.

“Don’t let me distract you,” he said. “Keep playing.”

She did, but it was getting increasingly difficult not to mess up when he was touching her like that. She felt her body heat up at his touches.

He nuzzled his nose into the back of her hair, taking in her smell. His hand gently moved one of the straps of her top, so that it slipped off her shoulder. He left a soft kiss where the strap had been and slowly trailed his kisses up towards her neck. It was hard to hide how her breathing got shallower.

It made her fingers fall over a few of the keys, which made him smile against her neck.

“How clumsy of you, my dear,” he whispered into her ear. “Try again.”

She took a slow breath and kept playing. The hand that had been caressing her side was snaking up her stomach towards one of her breasts. She took another slow deep breath to not lose focus.

He started fondling her breast through the silk of the top she was wearing. He continued slowly kissing his way up her neck as he touched her. She felt her nipples hardening and once again she played the wrong keys.

“Tut-tut…I really would have expected a wizard of your caliber to have much better grasp on their concentration,” Raphael said and bit firmly but not hard on her neck.

“It is also really rare that someone is touching me while I cast spells,” she said with what was supposed to be frustration, but the breathiness of her voice revealed how much she was into it.

He smirked against her neck.

“Keep playing…” he ordered again.

She did. His hand moved from her breasts to between her legs. She was already soaked when his hand slid under the waistband of her pants, and he started teasing her with his fingers. She did manage to keep her focus on playing…for about a minute. He stopped the movements of his fingers the second she stopped playing.

“Keep going, mouse,” he whispered in her ear. “And I might give you what you want.”

She bit her lip and put her full focus into playing that damned melody that would most likely be stuck in her head for days. Tav had gotten the impression of Raphael as a selfish lover the last time they fucked. She quickly learned that the man absolutely knew what he was doing when he put the effort in to please someone.

The way he was touching her quickly turned her into a moaning mess and he somehow knew that she was getting close. He stopped his movements for a moment, making her whine in frustration.

“From the top,” he ordered and placed another kiss on her neck.

Tav did as she was told and played the melody from its beginning.

That is when he started singing.

His hand started moving between her legs again, making her moan. There were a lot of feelings going through her. Her eyes widened in amusement and surprise as he started singing. He sang in a lowered voice, taking her close proximity into consideration. She felt that lovely voice of his rumble through his chest, which only somehow made her even more wet.

“Hell, hell, hell has it’s laws / Hell, hell, effect and the cause / Curtain falls, but hold your applause / Squirm, squirm, for now down here come the claws…”

She was unable to keep her moans quiet as he was driving her towards orgasm. It took all of her brainpower to keep focusing on playing.

“Fools, fools, how hard you have fought / Brave, brave but its all been for naught / True souls, that couldn’t be bought / Doomed, detected and caught…”

The way his voice growled in her ear on the last word, made her shiver and moan louder. She was so close. Close to both her orgasm and the end of the song. She could not fuck it up now.

“No more deals, it’s over / The final act, your doom / No more grace, it’s over…”

Her orgasm started washing over her, making her squirm in his lap. Her moans got louder and Raphael rubbed her clit faster.

“This House of Hope,” He growled into her ear. “Your tomb…”

The loud sounds she made of her finally reaching her orgasm matched almost perfectly with his prolonged note of the last line. It seemed a bit too intentional and made her think: he has done stuff like this before.

She slumped back against his chest, her legs shaking and her chest heaving from the intensity of it. He removed his fingers and lifted them to her lips to make her clean them off. He pressed them between her lips. She sucked on them, earning her a groan from him. She had been too busy multi-tasking to notice just how hard his cock was under her.

“Beautiful, dear,” he purred and kissed her cheek. “Perhaps, we should perform it just like this when your friends drop by. Give them a show before they meet their end…”

How did he manage to say that in a way that made her aroused rather than angry? Something was deeply, deeply, fucking wrong with her.

Gale, Shadowheart, and Astarion had met in a secluded corner of the Elfsong.

Gale had been lecturing them on devils, cambions, and the Hells for about an hour now. Shadowheart and Astarion exchanged tired glances.

“Gale—”

“I’m just telling you that we can beat him,” Gale said. “It will not be easy, but we can.”

“She asked us not to go,” Shadowheart said. “Tav believes it’s a trap, so let’s not do anything stupid.”

“Also,” Astarion piped in. “It really is a novel concept for me to be the voice of reason here, but your little plan doesn’t seem to make sense. Lae’zel, Karlach, and Wyll are off doing whatever it is they do. Our little band consists of a wizard, two wizards if Tav is able to join the battle, a cleric, and little old me. Three spellcasters and a vampire who, by the way, can’t even be in Avernus since there is no night…”

“He’s right,” Shadowheart said as she looked at Gale.

“So, we will bring someone else as well…Halsin, Jaheira, or Minsc,” Gale said. “We can’t just leave her there!”

“Gale…” Shadowheart sighed.

“There were also that woman, Hope,” Gale continued. “If we could manage to sneak into her prison, we could free her as well. I’m sure she would be eager to help us fight Raphael.”

“Gale,” Shadowheart said again. “Let it go. Let’s wait until we hear more from her. We have no idea what we could possibly be walking into here.”

“She could be rotting in a dungeon, getting tortured right now. Who knows if she’s even still alive? I won’t leave her there! She—” Gale voice cracked, and he cleared his throat in an attempt to hide the emotions that were welling up inside him. “…Excuse me…She forfeited her soul so that we could give the Crown to Mystra. I have a difficult time not feeling responsible for this.”

Shadowheart’s, and even Astarion’s, expression softened slightly as they saw the toll it was taking on Gale.

“That woman has done so much for us,” Gale said. “We have to get her back somehow.”

“Alright,” Shadowheart said with a sigh. “Let’s not do anything hasty before we’ve learned more about what we are dealing with. She told us ‘not to listen to him’ in her message, but we haven’t heard from Raphael at all…He might try to offer us some sort of deal.”

“It really is unlike him,” Astarion said. “That bastard usually isn’t shy when it comes to popping up at the most inconvenient times.”

“He might want us to be desperate,” Gale said and rubbed his face as he tried to think. “Raphael doesn’t know that we know where Tav is…so he might be waiting for us to panic before he strikes.”

“My point is,” Shadowheart said. “If we knew a bit more about whatever it is he wants to offer us or what he wants from us, it might be easier to figure out what we can do. So…should we try to contact her again?”

“A wise suggestion,” Gale said. “If nothing else, it could grant us peace of mind that she is still alive.”

“Good,” Astarion said and clapped his hands together. “I will leave you two to do your spell stuff then. You know where to find me. Can I go now?”

Gale nodded and conjured a piece of parchment and a quill.

Shadowheart watched as Astarion left and then turned her attention to Gale.

“You are aware that this isn’t your fault, right?” she asked him, but she got no response from him as he was writing. “Right, Gale?”

Gale sighed and stopped writing for a moment.

“That does not make me feel less responsible,” he said. “She is very dear to me, and I don’t think I could forgive myself if I let something happened to her.”

“We will get her back somehow,” Shadowheart said. “I’m sure she’s fine. This is Tav we’re talking about. She is great at adapting to weird situations, and she would tell you not to worry so much if she was here, I’m sure of it.”

Gale smiled slightly and nodded. He returned his focus to writing the message for her.

Raphael was being odd. They had sex that evening while he was still in his human form. Again, a weird feeling for her because it felt so normal. It did not help that he was being a lot gentler with her than he had last time. He still teased her and kept her on edge, but there was no pain involved this time.

The kisses were something completely new as well. It was never on the mouth, though he planted kisses everywhere else. It felt so much more intimate than what she would ever have considered him to be capable of and it drove her insane.

He’s a devil, he’s a devil, he’s a devil. Those words became Tav’s mantra inside her head each time those little kisses and his weird gentleness made her heart flutter ever so slightly.

She slept till late noon. When she opened her eyes, Raphael was off to work as usual and she was met with Cassius’s intense gaze. She groaned and rolled over to her other side. She felt that something had been stuck under her pillow. She rubbed her eyes and sat up on the edge of the bed. She lifted the pillow and saw a book.

She read the cover: ’A Star in the Darkness’ by Bibella Aldath. Her all-time favorite book about the tragic and forbidden love between a drow and a moon elf. From the looks of it, it was an early edition too which was exceedingly hard to find considering how old the story was.

She could not help the faint smile that washed over her face and the way her heart fluttered again. She quickly tried to push that feeling away and returned to her mantra: he’s a devil, he’s a devil, he’s a devil…

That is when she heard Gale’s voice transmitted to her mind through a sending spell:

“Hope you are still alive and well. What is it that Raphael wants from us and what should we expect if he contacts us?”

Tav’s brow furrowed at the message, and she was glad that her back was turned to Cassius so he could not see the expression on her face at the message. Raphael hadn’t even talked to them yet?

She needed to get a message back to them somehow. What they were asking were fair questions, but it also sounded an awful lot like her companions might be planning to do something stupid and she needed to stop them.

#raphael bg3 #raphael the cambion #bg3 raphael #raphael x tav #bg3

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fulmis · 2 years

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For as long as you'd let me (Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader)

Summary: You’ve worked in Nelson, Murdock, & Page for over a year as a paralegal. Despite being aware of his feelings for you Matt has never acted out on them, believing you deserve more to be happy. However, that soon changes when you start dating someone else.

Warnings: no use of y/n, reader uses she/her pronouns, angst with a happy ending, feelings of jealousy, mentions of crying, and mentions of blood/injuries (canon typical ones)

Notes: This is the first time I write Matt, and overall the first time I write a one-shot. It’s not proofread either, so please let me know of any mistakes (which I apologize for in advance). Also, this is vaguely inspired by Taylor Swift’s “The Way I Loved You”.

It started as a simple paralegal job. With Karen dividing her time between The Bulletin and Nelson, Murdock & Page, she reached out to you, and you quickly became a member of the group.

Mornings, afternoons, and late nights were spent working on cases. Plus your weekly visits to Josie’s meant that there wasn’t much time you spent without Karen, Foggy, and Matt. You couldn’t complain, you loved your job. Although what made it so much better was how the small group started to feel like your family.

That was why you had never bothered to pursue your small crush on Matt. Romance in the workplace was bound to ruin things. You didn't want to compromise everything you had achieved in the past few months. Yet every time you were alone with Matt your heart was unable to contain itself.

“I’m just saying, maybe he feels the same way you do.”

“I don’t know Karen…”, you let out a low chuckle to try to hide your embarrassment.

“I’m serious… I know he can be hard to read sometimes, but every time you’re around he seems… happy.” She gave you a hopeful smile, and you thought back to every single time you’d been around him. The feather-light brushes of his hand against yours as he reaches for the braille documents when you’re doing late-night research. Or maybe how he always offers to walk you home as you head out of Josie’s, his hold on your arm becoming arms intertwined as you grew more comfortable with each other.

It just never went past that. The familiar closeness never moved beyond flirty; it had just enough innocence to regard it as nothing more than friendly. Little did you know your crush wasn’t as unrequited as you thought.

Matt often thought about you. It started with the small things like how you’d hum quietly on your desk. The song coming from your lips was one he couldn’t quite pinpoint. He’d try to figure out the song every now and then, but it didn’t really matter because he just loved listening to your voice. Sometimes he realized he was humming it back as he jumped from rooftop to rooftop during patrol, your voice engraved on his mind.

On other days he would listen to you talking to yourself as you made coffee while pacing through the kitchenette. It brought warmth to his heart. You always brought him a fresh cup of coffee as soon as it finished brewing. The gesture never failed to bring a smile to his face, especially after you started bringing your own coffee to the office. The scent was rich and nutty, nothing compared to the cheap dirt Foggy used to steal from the financial office next door when they started the firm.

Matt couldn’t help it either every time you spent the night helping him work on a case, even long after Karen and Foggy wrapped up the day and headed home. He admired your resilience, and how determined you were to read things over and over just to find the smallest of details that could help them turn the case over.

He just didn’t know what to do.

This was an unfamiliar situation. Flirting wasn't new to him, but becoming nervous around someone, overthinking his every move? That was a whole thing on its own. Those signs pointed to serious feelings, not the casual flings he was used to. In the past, every now and then a one-night stand might happen, but he’d always tell Foggy the same at the end.

It didn’t work out.

After the whole Elektra ordeal, nobody ever stuck around for long, and he knew the reason why. The Devil inside of him always made him half a man, bound to split his time between the law and keeping Hell’s Kitchen safe. Even if you actually wanted him as Matt Murdock, there was no way you would love the darkness inside his heart.

Because nobody could genuinely love every part of him. He was a broken pile of glass, the pieces bloodied and ready to cut through the hands of anyone who chose to hold them. If his feelings were to be reciprocated he knew he would break your heart eventually, and you deserved so much more than pathetic excuses or missed dates.

She’ll leave you. She deserves better, and the minute she finds out she’ll be gone.

With every minute spent in your presence, the thought was only reaffirmed. There was an ever-constant tug of war between his heart and his fears, the latter always seemed to pull harder. Which is why he never got the courage to ask; because let’s be honest, who could ever want someone that was nothing more than a liability?

Months went by, and you lost all hope. Not even Foggy or Karen could get Matt to act out on his feelings, and you assumed he really only thought of you as a friend.

When you found yourselves at Josie’s on a random Friday, the night started just like any other, until you went to get the next round of drinks at the bar. A familiar voice called out your name. Your eyes landed on an old friend from college, and you yelped as he lifted you up and spun you around in the air.

Matt’s breath hitched in his chest, the blood ringing in his ears. You walked over together to the booth and he swore he had to fight the urge to puke when you introduced your friend to the group. After you sat down, his hand was on your knee as you recalled memories from college. Foggy and Karen couldn't help but exchange awkward looks. A feeling of rage and disgust boiled inside Matt’s chest while the tension crept around his shoulders. Yet the worst part came when he heard your genuine laugh, your skin growing flushed and your body relaxed.

Matt realized then that’s how it should be: easy. The days that followed only rubbed it further on his face. Your friend had accepted a job in the city, and he wasted no time asking you to catch up. The next Monday, you didn’t stay with Matt at the office as you usually did most nights. A different perfume was on your skin, a sweeter kind. The smell of carmine on your lips was unusual too. Worst of all, he couldn’t help but overhear you talking with Karen as you walked through the hall outside the office.

“You’re going on a date?”

“It’s not really a date, we’re just having dinner”

“That lipstick sure screams date,” Karen’s laugh was quickly joined by yours.

“I promise you it’s not, we just haven’t seen each other in a while…”

The bouquet of peonies that was delivered the next day seemed to say otherwise. The soft citrusy sweetness reached Matt as soon as the delivery man entered the building. Foggy’s voice resounded on the walls as he walked to the door. “Whoa… That is definitely something…”

Karen joined in a nanosecond, her eyes wide in mock surprise as she gasped “Are you sure it wasn’t a date?”

You quickly brushed them off, but Matt felt the temperature of your cheeks rise. He wanted to be upset really upset, but all he felt was sadness. The truth was that if he had his way, he would want you to have everything in the world, even if it meant that someone else gave it to you. His feelings could remain buried forever, so they could pave way for your happiness to bloom.

“Man, you sure you’re okay? You seem down lately…”

“Don’t worry about it, Foggy.”

Matt kept his distance from then on. Why be petty when you had finally found the man of your dreams? He couldn’t offer you that stability anyways. Romantic getaways upstate, fancy dinners uptown, long walks, and picnics on Central Park, he heard it all as you dished to Karen; a true fairytale.

Which is why he didn’t expect to find you crying in the office on a Saturday night. He had gone to retrieve some files, but after a pretty tough night of patrol on Friday he had preferred to wait until the next night. The only sound coming from the room was from a single light bulb and your quiet sobs.

He opened the door slowly and listened to the rushed sound of you quickly wiping your tears. “Hi, sorry, I didn’t think you would come in today…” you said to play it off. The taste of salt in the air made his heart ache, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah… it’s no big deal…” your voice came out broken and defeated, despite your best attempts to even it. Your eyes found Matt’s face, and you rushed to his side the moment you saw his split lip and the butterfly bandages on his eyebrow. “My God, Matt, what happened to you?” Your hands were soon to find his cheek and he did his best not to jump against your touch.

“I asked you first...”

When you didn’t reply he chose to continue, “I fell while taking out the trash, but... why were you crying?”

Your hand left his face and fell to your side in defeat. After a deep breath you gathered the courage to speak up, “It didn’t work out… um we, we broke up… I just… I couldn’t do it anymore…”

Matt felt speechless, his mind tried to find words to comfort you, but it was interrupted when he heard you sob again. “I really tried Matt,” your hands found your face; your best attempt to comfort yourself was a failure when the tears piled in your eyes. Matt’s heart broke in pieces hearing you like this. He lifted his arms to hold you; however, they were unable to reach their destination when he froze to your next words. “I really tried, Matt... but he wasn’t you”

The sentence hit Matt like a punch to the face. Between your sobs, the words felt like a fever dream. He couldn’t hold you fast enough, and as soon as his arms touched you, you sank into his chest. Your heartbeat was fast against his, and he felt he couldn't hold you tightly enough. Matt did his best to stifle his own emotions, despite the tears forming in his eyes, “Oh, sweetheart…”

“I’m sorry… I shouldn’t… shouldn't dump this all on you… I wanted to believe I could bury everything I felt for you... I... I know you don’t feel the same way, but… I just… I’m sorry…”

That’s what finally tipped him. In all his years Matt had never felt this stupid before. In his best attempt to spare your feelings he had you crying here in his arms. He only let go of you to take your face in his hands, his lips hesitant but powerless against the weight on his chest. They pressed softly against yours and quickly pulled back an inch in case that wasn’t what you wanted, but you gently returned the gesture.

With your face in his hands, he proceeded to kiss the tears on your cheeks, “I should be the one to apologize. I thought I was doing you a favor denying my feelings, but I’ve wished for nothing more than to be by your side… for as long as you’d let me…”

A smile broke from your lips as you reached once again to kiss him, slow and soft while the last hitched breaths left your lungs. His lips were warm against yours, and the faintest taste of copper rolled through your tongue from the cut on Matt’s bottom lip.

Matt knew right then and there that it didn’t matter if he never felt he deserved you, he would never go back to being without you. The Devil could be dealt with later, as long as it meant he could have you in arms. He promised himself he’d spend every single day to come owning it up to you if it meant he could have your heart in exchange.

_______________________________

Thank you so much for reading, all feedback is widely appreciated! (:

#matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #daredevil x reader #daredevil fanfiction

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venus-haze · 2 years

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Fire (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Summary: You’re a waitress at a popular restaurant in LA. Stressed from long days of working customer service, you sneak up to the worn-out Hollywood sign late at night to be alone. When it seems like someone else has discovered your sanctuary, you’re annoyed until to your relief, the two of you never acknowledge each other’s presence on the opposite ends of the sign. One night, you find that your companion has had much more of an interest in you than you have in him.

Note: This is based on a request by @gyomei-tiddies. Reader is a woman but no specific details about appearance are given. This is a little bit pre-’68 Comeback Special. Elvis isn’t with Priscilla in this, it just works better with the plot. PLEASE look at the warnings. I do not condone this type of behavior in real life. Inspired by the song Fire, which Bruce Springsteen wrote for Elvis to sing. Definitely give it a listen before reading. Requests are open🔮 Do not interact with my blog or posts if you are under 18 or post ED/thinspo content.

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: This is a yandere fic, so expect dark themes such as emotional blackmail and obsessive and manipulative behavior, which some people may find disturbing or triggering. Age gap (reader is in her twenties while Elvis is in his thirties). Period typical misogyny. Explicit sexual content which involves coercion. Do not interact if you are under 18.

Part 2

You cursed to yourself as you climbed up the hill to the Hollywood sign in your worn-out work sneakers. The trek was worth it, since it was the one place in the city you could actually be alone and think. You hated Los Angeles, wanted to move out of the plastic city that you could feel destroying your soul. Drawn in by the glamour and promise of perpetual good weather, you decided to go to UCLA after high school. You lasted a semester before dropping out, but too proud to return home with your tail between your legs, you decided to see if you could make it on your own in the City of Angels.

You picked up a waitressing job at one of the busiest diners in LA, thinking it’d just be a temporary gig. That was years ago, and you were still working at Lloyd’s, your dissatisfaction with your life growing as you couldn’t figure a way out. You wanted to try to find a new job, but were always too mentally drained after work to look through the classifieds and didn’t have the time to go to places on your days off because you had so many errands or just wanted to rest. Your job just barely gave you enough to pay the bills, and all the money you’d save toward moving would end up being spent on one emergency or another. You had a roommate who was barely at your shared apartment, working odd hours on movie sets for horrible pay, but you needed a place where you could truly be alone after dealing with rude and entitled people all day.

No one went up to the Hollywood sign at night, not when there were more interesting things to do in Los Angeles. You could count on being alone here, when you weren’t working a night shift, anyway. Every night after work, as exhausted as you were, you’d go to the first ‘O’ of the Hollywood sign and spend an hour or so chain-smoking and ranting to yourself. You knew it wasn’t the most productive use of your time, but you couldn’t afford therapy, so it was the best you could do.

Suddenly, someone else began to appear at the sign, a few letters away from you, and you were pissed. What made their life so miserable that they had to take your place from you? To your relief, besides the first night they arrived, what you assumed was a man’s silhouette waving at you, you never acknowledged each other, and you didn’t always see him when you were there. As long as your silent companion kept his distance at one of the other ‘O’s in the sign, you supposed you wouldn’t mind.

You awoke to your alarm later in the morning, appreciating that you had your preferred shift, 11am to 7pm, which would ensure you got plenty of dinner rush tips and also time to go up to the Hollywood sign. As you got ready for work, you couldn’t shake the weird feeling that loomed over you, making your skin crawl. Attributing it to stress, you attempted to shake it off as you grabbed what you needed from your apartment to make sure you caught the bus on time. You did have a car at one point, but found all of the expenses associated with it ate into your limited budget, and sold it not long after you dropped out of college. While Los Angeles traffic was a nightmare, its public transportation wasn’t nearly as comprehensive as you would have liked it to be.

Zoning out during the 15 minute bus ride to work, you leaned your head against the window and closed your eyes. You knew you wouldn’t miss your stop, as your head bounced against the window when the bus drove over the large pothole that preceded it. Gathering your things, you got up from your seat and made your way to the bus doors.

It was only a two block walk to Lloyd’s Diner from the bus stop, so you couldn’t complain, even on the rare occasion of bad weather. As soon as you stepped off the bus, you could smell the scent of constantly running grill tops and fryers in the air, only growing stronger as you approached the building. Entering through the backdoor to the kitchen, you had to admit the food there was actually good, and being able to bring home orders that got sent back or meals the cooks ‘accidentally’ messed up helped you save money on groceries.

You greeted your coworkers as you clocked in, grabbing your apron off of one of the hooks on the wall and putting your purse in its place. The afternoon was kind of slow, but you didn’t mind, it gave you time to hang out in the kitchen, sitting on an upturned fruit crate to rest in preparation for the inevitable dinner rush.

Things started picking up around the time another waitress, Vivian, came in for her 4pm to midnight shift. You greeted her as you busied yourself with getting orders for your tables. About half an hour later, though, she burst through the kitchen doors, bringing the commotion in the main restaurant with her.

"Y/N! You’re never going to believe who’s here!" Vivian exclaimed, her eyes wide as she smiled brightly.

She’d only been working there a few weeks, and still got excited when celebrities would come in. You remembered being that way too when you first started, until you realized most of them were terrible tippers and really rude. They usually didn’t eat at the diner during the day, preferring to come in late at night and be mostly left alone.

"Who?" you asked in a weak attempt to humor her.

"Elvis Presley!"

"Cool."

"Cool? Just cool?"

"I was always more of a Buddy Holly girl growing up," you said with a shrug.

She curled her lip in a grimace of disbelief. "Buddy Holly?"

"He actually wrote his own songs."

"Well, Not Buddy Holly is in your section, so you better go out there and get the drink orders."

You cursed under your breath, grabbing your notepad and shooting a glare at Vivian’s amused expression. As soon as you walked through the kitchen door, you were "on" with a warm and welcoming smile that you’d perfected over the years. Skillfully, you hid the disdain you felt toward just about everyone who stepped into the place.

Looking at your section, you immediately knew which table was Elvis’ by the small crowd of people that had gathered around. The celebrities that invited attention to themselves were the bane of your existence, as you’d almost always end up getting something knocked out of your hands by one of their annoying fans without so much as an apology. You shoved through the dozen or so people looking to get autographs on their napkins.

"Hi, welcome to Lloyd’s Diner. My name’s Y/N, and I’ll be your waitress today," you said cheerfully. "Can I get you started with some drinks?"

You were determined to get them out of the restaurant as soon as you possibly could. You got their drink orders and booked it to the kitchen to get each of them. You hoped that they would know what they wanted by the time you got back, but usually people didn’t, and you had to awkwardly return a few minutes later just to find out everyone wanted cheeseburgers.

Thankfully, when you brought out the half-dozen drinks, everyone seemed to know their order, some more complicated than others, but on the more manageable side of things. You jotted everything down, sneaking glances at Elvis every now and then. He’s incredibly handsome in person. After you brought the orders to the kitchen, you checked on the other tables in your section and chatted with Vivian, who was trying to convince you to get an autograph for her.

“I’m not going to bother the man while he’s trying to have a meal,” you said, gathering the plates with Elvis’ table’s orders. “Go ask him yourself if you want one so bad.”

“Maybe I will,” Vivian said as she helped you with the plates.

To your surprise, she actually did it, slyly asking for an autograph as she set the dishes down on the table. Elvis seemed happy to oblige, signing a blank page in her notepad to her delight. He looked at you as if he expected you to ask too. Instead, you nudged Vivian with your elbow.

“Let me know if you need anything,” you said, walking away with her.

“Oh, I can’t believe I got Elvis’ autograph!” she exclaimed. “Can you believe he’s single? Y/N, if he were in my section, I’d try to snatch him right up.”

“Why would he want to date a waitress, Viv?”

“Well, maybe not date,” she giggled.

You laughed along with her. “You think he’s good in bed?”

“He has to be!”

The two of you gossiped in the kitchen for a few more minutes, before you realized how much time had passed and ran back out to check on the tables in your section. You went to the ones that were farther along in their meals, ringing up their tabs as needed. Glancing at Elvis’ table, you noticed everyone was mostly finished eating.

“How was everything?” you asked, gathering the empty plates from the table.

Elvis smiled. “Delicious, thank you.”

“Oh, don’t thank me. I just brought it out from the kitchen,” you said with a smile to match his. “I’m so happy that you enjoyed your meals, though. I’ll be sure to let our cooks know.”

“Well ain’t you sweet as sugar? I wish I could take ya home,” a man jeered.

Elvis shot the man a glare, “Hey, cool it.”

“Well, if you’re in the mood for something sweet, we have a great dessert menu. The key lime pie is really popular right now,” you chirped, wishing you could explode the man with your mind. You weren’t about to thank Elvis for his half-assed chivalry either. You just wanted them out of there as soon as possible. “Dessert menu is right next to the napkins. I’ll be right back.”

You brought the dirty dishes back to the kitchen, putting them in the sink and washing your hands. Glancing at the clock, you noticed you only had two hours left of your shift. Your feet were killing you, but you’d be damned if you didn’t go up to the sign still. It was your sanctuary. Not wanting to drag things out longer than you needed to, you went back out to see if they were going to order anything else.

“So, have you decided on dessert?” you asked.

“I’ll take the key lime pie,” Elvis said. “Thank ya, darlin’.”

The rest of the guys at the table ordered other desserts or just coffee, and you quickly moved behind the display case of baked goods, putting the slices of cake and pie on plates, juggling those and the coffee as you returned to the table. Thankfully, there wasn’t anyone crowded around the table, which made setting everything down a lot easier.

“If you need anything else, just let me know. I’ll be back with the check in a minute, but it’s really no rush,” you said.

You went up to the register to ring up everything from their orders. With such a large group, you knew it would end up being a $20 bill, and you’d be lucky if you got a $1 tip out of it. Shifting on your feet, you tried to ignore the aching you felt in your legs. It was your own fault for waiting so long to get new work sneakers, you knew that. You’d be lucky if you made it home that night without them falling apart.

“Thank you so much for coming in. I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day,” you said cheerfully as you put the check in the middle of the table.

You checked on the one other table in your section, which had left you a decent tip for their smaller check. Chatting with one of the busboys who had just come in for his shift, you noticed Elvis and the rest of his table leaving. Your eyes widened when you realized he left you a $10 tip. At least you didn’t have to worry about where the money for your new shoes would be coming from.

You walked into the kitchen, grabbing your purse from the hook you left it on. “Viv, I’m taking my twenty. If anyone tries to get me before it’s over–”

“Hit them with a frying pan,” she said.

“I was going to say tell them to wait, but I like that better,” you said.

Your twenty minute break went by far too quickly for your liking, but when you returned you only had a little over an hour left in your shift, which went uneventfully to your relief.

The night was clear and cool, perfect to walk up to the Hollywood sign despite the wear in your shoes. It was a decent trek from Lloyd’s to the sign, but it gave you extra time to think. You enjoyed not being in a rush to get up there. If anything, the hardest part was walking all the way up the hill, which still took the wind out of you sometimes.

To your surprise, when you got up to the sign that night, the man was already there. Usually he’d get up there later in the night, and you tended to take that as your cue to get going. The change in routine threw you off a bit, but nevertheless, you ignored him and made your way over to your ‘O’. Your rant to yourself was cut short when he began walking closer, and closer, until it was clear he was making a beeline for you.

Your silent companion would occasionally walk around to the different letters, but never too close to you, and never to your ‘O’.

“Go away!” you shouted.

“I wanted to thank you for recommending the key lime pie!” a familiar voice yelled back.

As your no-longer silent companion made his way over to you, your eyes widened. Elvis Presley? You felt like you were being pranked. Surely this couldn’t have been who was up here at the sign with you, but you recognized his silhouette, always the same whenever he was there.

“Are you the one who’s been coming up here all this time?” you asked.

“Yes.” he answered.

“What happened to ignoring each other?”

“I haven’t been ignoring you.”

“What are you talking about?”

"You’re a good liar," he said. "You come up here, cussin’ about how much you hate your job and LA, but goddamn if I didn’t know any better, when I went into Lloyd’s earlier, I’d have thought you were born to be a waitress."

"Oh my god, have you been eavesdropping on me?"

"You’ve never been interested in the other person who comes up here? Who thinks like you?"

"I mind my own business," you said, feeling weirded out that not only had he been listening to what you thought were private rants to yourself, but that he went to your job to see you. You know you said some variation of ‘Fuck Lloyd’s’ several times a night when you’d come up to the sign after work.

"How did you know I was working today?" you asked.

"You come up here every Monday, Tuesday, and Friday night, but only every other Sunday night. I’m guessin’ you work Saturday nights since you’re never here then, probably make the most tips that night, huh? It ain’t hard to figure out the rest from there.”

You looked at him in disbelief. He knew so much about you, and all you knew about him was that he was a famous musician who spent the past few years making mediocre movies. You couldn’t wrap your head around why anyone would take so much interest in the minute details of your life, let alone him.

"This is too fucked up for me to think about right now," you said, moving to walk past him and back down to the streets below. "I’m going home. Don’t come to my work again."

"Wait." He stepped in front of you, blocking your path. You kept trying to get around him, until he grabbed your shoulders, keeping you in place. "Come get a drink with me."

"No," you answered, pulling his hands off of you.

"One drink, and I’ll drive you home. I know you walked here."

"Alright,” you sighed.

He laughed softly, “Well don’t get too excited.”

“Why do you even care about me anyway?” you asked, as the two of you walked down the service road to where he had parked his car.

“Like I said, I figure we think alike if we both go up here.”

“Okay, well I go up here because I’m miserable. Is that the case for you?”

“Came out to Hollywood to follow my dream of bein’ a serious actor” he said. “Don’t think it worked out very well.”

“I fucking hate it here. Worst decision I ever made in my life,” you lamented.

“I know,” he said, opening the passenger door for you.

Oh yeah. He’d probably heard you say it a hundred times already. You suddenly felt uncomfortable being in the car with him, and when he got into the driver’s seat, you changed your tune.

“Actually, I have to work early tomorrow. I’m picking up a shift for my coworker. So you can just drop me home,” you said.

"You can lie to everyone else, but you can’t lie to me, baby," he said.

“I’m not lying.”

He grinned. He didn’t believe you for a second, you could tell that much. “Alright, give me your address then. I’ll take ya home.”

You didn’t want him knowing where you lived, but at the same time you knew he’d find out one way or another. Vivian would probably give you up in a heartbeat. Reluctantly, you told him your address.

He didn’t bother making small talk with you on the drive to your place. What was there to say? He seemed to know more than enough about you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything to him. He turned on the radio, keeping the volume low. He put his hand on your thigh, rubbing the soft skin with his thumb. You tried to push his hand off of you, but his grip was strong. Sighing, you watched the city speed by you, the buildings getting progressively older, sidewalks more cracked, and roads less maintained as he neared your apartment.

His expression was unreadable as he pulled up to the run-down apartment complex where you lived, with its rust and crumbling bricks. You never had a reason to feel embarrassed about where you lived because you never had anyone over. Now, with a man whose tastes were undoubtedly expensive, you found yourself a bit self-conscious of your living situation.

“I’m in 327, so you’re gonna have to go down to the next building,” you said.

He drove down to your apartment, in a little better shape than the other two buildings, but not by much. As he pulled into the nearest parking spot, you gathered your things, double-checking you had all of your belongings. You didn’t want a reason to see him again.

“What are you doing?” you asked, when he got out of the car with you.

He smiled. “Gettin’ that drink you promised.”

“Seriously?”

“C’mon, I drove you home.”

You rolled your eyes as you dug your keys out of your purse. “Make it quick.”

Unlocking the door was kind of for show, since the lock hadn’t worked properly in a while. It wasn’t anything you had to worry about. You knew your neighbors, and everyone was as broke as you, so it wasn’t like you had to worry about anyone breaking in to steal your nonexistent valuables. Kicking off your shoes, you threw your purse onto the worn-out couch in your shabby apartment.

“How old’s this place?” Elvis asked.

You shrugged. “Pre-war, probably.”

You went into the kitchen, searching the cabinets for booze. There were a few half drunk bottles of cheap wine from when you’d have a night in, but no real liquor, not until you spotted a bottle with amber liquid and a faded label. You had vague memories of you and your roommate getting drunk off of it when you first moved in together, it being the cheapest booze you could get your hands on. It wasn’t going to be very good, you knew that much, but if pouring him a glass would get him to leave, you didn’t care.

Grabbing the bottle and whatever glass was available, you poured the drink for him, setting it on the countertop.

“Thought we were gonna drink together,” he said.

“I have to work in the morning,” you reminded him.

He gave you an amused look, as if you’d just referenced an inside joke between the two of you. He threw back the drink, but his face scrunched up as he set the glass down. “Lord, what is this? Gasoline?”

“Alright, you had your drink. Bye,” you said.

“I got you all figured out, Y/N.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you scoffed.

“You’re afraid of things gettin’ better ‘cause this is what you know. It’s comfortable. You’re too proud to take initiative and ask for help, so ya scrape by and blame everyone else for your problems,” he said.

You were silent, trying to process how he could read you so well. Did you reveal that much in your nightly rants? You knew, ultimately, there was no one to blame but yourself. You could have gone back home at any time, moved back in with your parents and saved up to go somewhere else, somewhere you actually liked. Instead you toughed it out in Los Angeles to try to prove something to yourself, and your dissatisfaction with life became a part of you. Maybe you were scared of being happy after feeling anything but for so long.

“See, I told you, darlin’. I got you all figured out ‘cause you think like me. Probably came to Hollywood all scrappy and hopeful, thinkin’ it would give you everything you wanted and realized it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.”

“Okay, you psychoanalyzed me. Congrats. Now get out.”

“You don’t want me to go. You want me to look after you,” he said. “You really expect me to believe you never noticed me standin’ one letter over, listenin’ to you?”

All the times you thought he wasn’t there, he was just hiding, by the ‘H’ or the ‘L’, listening to you feel sorry for yourself for hours on end. You felt embarrassed, humiliated; you went up there to be alone and have a place you could be vulnerable, and he took that from you.

“What do you want?” you whispered.

“Just you, Y/N,” he said softly, caressing your cheek. “Aren’t you tired of bein’ broke and angry all the time?”

“Who isn’t,” you scoffed. “Look, I don’t even know you–”

“But I know you.”

He was right, you were tired. Tired of working, of being in Los Angeles, of life itself at times. If he hadn’t been so thorough with his observations of you for the past few months, you’d have thought this was some weird attempt for him to get laid. He probably wanted that too, but after all of the time and effort and general sneaking around, no, he wanted more–to settle down, have someone to come home to, breakup the monotony of being unreasonably wealthy and famous. As you looked into his eyes, your feet still aching from the day, you figured whatever he wanted out of you couldn’t be much worse than your current situation. The rational part of you knew better than to trust a man who’d come out of nowhere and claim he was going to fix everything for you, but every other part of you was so tired, you nodded.

The kiss nearly knocked the wind out of you, forceful and passionate, as if he had all of this unexpended tension that had built up inside of him released when his lips made contact with yours. He held you close, practically pressing your body against his. Just as you were catching up with the kiss, he pulled his lips away, only to begin nipping and sucking at your neck. Part of you wondered if it was a dream, you had dreamt of customers before, but never this vividly. When he bit into a particularly sensitive part of your neck, you gasped, gripping his shoulders. It was definitely real.

“Heard you and your friend talkin’ ‘bout me,” he whispered, his voice deep and hoarse as he didn’t let up on your neck. “Wonderin’ whether or not I was any good in bed. You’re about to find out, darlin’.”

He tugged at the zipper of your uniform, pulling it down so that it pooled at your feet, leaving you only in your bra and panties. Part of you hoped your roommate would come in, interrupt things, and give you an out. You never knew when she’d be home with her erratic schedule. That moment never came, and instead you found yourself braless in your living room with Elvis wrapping an arm around your waist, leading you down the narrow hallway that led to the small bedrooms and bathroom.

Of the two bedrooms in the apartment, he found yours on the first try, dragging you inside with him, not even bothering to shut the door. You felt like a stranger in your own room, especially when he pushed you onto your own bed, a predatory look fixed in his eyes as he undressed. He crawled over you, pinning you to the bed with one hand and pulling down your panties with the other. He kissed you, gentler this time, but his hands were rough as they grabbed at your exposed breasts.

“When was the last time you had sex, darlin’?” he asked.

“I don’t remember,” you answered softly. You honestly couldn’t remember the last time you had sex. It had to have been months at least, and whoever he was must not have been very good.

“Holdin’ out for me, huh?” he teased, his fingers brushing your clit, making you arch your back. “Don’t count on havin’ to wait that long again.”

He slipped two fingers inside you, his thumb playing with your clit. You were embarrassed at how wet you were, how quickly you could feel an orgasm coming on. Your breath caught in your throat. It was like he was dragging it out, wanted to see how desperate he could get you for it. Finally, you gave in, “Elvis, I’m close, please just–”

“Ask me real nice darlin’, and I’ll consider it.”

“Please, Elvis, I’ll do anything,” you begged.

His pretty lips curled into a devilish smirk. “Oh, I know you will.”

With that, you came, your orgasm seemed to go through your whole body as you clenched around his fingers. Your moans seemed to echo through the room, and surely through the cardboard-thin walls into the neighboring apartment. He kissed you again, and all you could do was let him take you how he wanted.

When he pulled his fingers from your pussy, you whined, first at the loss of contact and then at his wet fingers playing with your nipple. He sucked on your other breast, his tongue and teeth teasing that nipple to the point where you almost started crying.

“I told you I know you, baby. Know just what my girl needs,” he purred.

You nodded wildly, leaning into his touch when he brushed his fingers from your throat down to your abdomen. You couldn’t deny it, every time he touched you it was like fire. Without warning, he slid his cock into you, your pussy still sensitive from before, making you buck your hips as you clenched around him.

He wasn’t going to be gentle, you knew as much, but you weren’t expecting how aggressive he’d get, his pace unforgiving as he thrust inside you. He cursed under his breath, moaning your name. You knew his own orgasm was close as you could feel his cock throb, his movements becoming more erratic.

“None of them other guys ever made you feel this good, right, baby?” he asked, wrapping a hand around your throat.

“N-No,” you moaned.

“I ain’t gonna let another man so much as look at you again,” he growled. “You’re mine.”

You were lightheaded, unable to catch your breath when you came again, your back arching and putting more pressure on your throat. You clawed at his back, looking to get some kind of leverage, which sent him over the edge. The feeling of his hot cum inside you made your toes curl and your head spin. Just as you thought you were going to pass out, he released his grip on your throat, allowing you a moment to breathe before kissing you again.

He collapsed next to you, holding you against his chest to prevent you from getting up and leaving. There was no need, as you could hardly keep your eyes open after the fact, letting your exhaustion lull you to sleep.

When you woke up the next morning, you knew it was too late for you to have left for any supposed morning shift you were covering. Elvis knew right away you were lying, anyway. You didn’t expect to see him still next to you. He awoke a few moments later, a sleepy smile on his face as he kissed you.

“What are you still doing here?” you asked.

He laughed softly. “Good morning to you, too.”

“Elvis, I’m serious.”

“Gonna help you pack, bring your things over to my place.”

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. I made it clear last night what I expect from you from now on.”

“I don’t–”

“Want to? I don’t give a damn what you want. You get left to yourself, doin’ what you want, and you end up in a place like this. I know what’s best for you, baby,” he said. “I already called your job and let ‘em know you quit. Real nice girl picked up and said ‘congratulations’.”

That was it. In a few hours he’d taken your whole life from you, and you still hardly knew anything about him.

“One day we’ll tell our kids how we fell in love at the Hollywood sign,” he said, smiling.

He thought you loved him. The talk about kids went straight to your stomach. Everything happened so suddenly last night, it didn’t even occur to you to use protection. He had the rest of your life planned out for you, as if you were merely a passenger along for the ride. You looked around your sparse bedroom, the last of the somewhat independent life you’d ever know.

#elvis x reader #austin!elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #yandere!elvis x reader #yandere x reader #elvis 2022 #elvis #austin!elvis

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lonelym00n · 1 year

Text

The Red Means I Love You

Amber Freeman x Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: Ghostface is running around and you don't know who to trust. Amber reassures you that things will be okay.

Warnings: Typical canon violence with descriptions of blood. Please read with caution! Follows the events of Scream V. Also, Angst!

A/N: guysss... I did a thing... I'll just let you read and find out.

Title + fic inspired by Madds Buckley's song, The Red Means I Love You

If someone had told you a few days ago that you’d have to watch your close friend take a bullet to the head, you’d have slapped them across the face and added them to Mindy’s ever-growing list of potential future ghostface suspects.

In retrospect, you suppose you were naive for thinking that you’d make it through Woodsboro High without falling victim to someone deciding to take up the infamous killer’s mantle. You should’ve suspected that it would happen eventually, especially considering that three of your best friends were related to survivors from the years prior. That fact alone painted a bright red target on your back and it was only a matter of time until an eight-inch hunting knife sunk into you because of it.

Did some higher deity sew the stars together to seal the fate of you and your friends? Were you destined to die at the hands of the ghost that haunted the little town you’d lived in all your life? Some part of you thinks that yes, this was meant to happen, because a tiny voice in your head always figured the friend group you’d become a part of was doomed from the day it began to form.

Everyone else in Woodsboro had it easy, their parents were present and the killings that plagued the town only existed for them in the form of the notorious Stab franchise. The same couldn’t be said for your friends.

Put a handful of Woodsboro High’s most traumatized students into one group and what do you get? The perfect cast for the next series of killings. Mindy tells you as much when you and the rest of your friends are clustered together in her living room, trying to identify who among you was responsible for brutally attacking the others left and right.

As if being friends with people who are related to the survivors wasn’t bad enough, you learn from Tara’s older sister that she is connected to Billy Loomis, the original ghostface himself. More than being connected, Sam’s his daughter. You have half a mind to notify your parents to start picking out your tombstone now.

You barely listen as accusations fly around the room. How could it be possible that you were in the same room as the killer right now, when you’ve known everyone here your whole life? You were having a hard time processing the fact that one of the kids you’d played in the sandbox with in elementary school had grown up to become someone so sinister.

Distantly, you hear Mindy conclude that Sam must be the killer, that it made the most sense because of who her father was. She storms out of the room and after a beat, you stand up on shaky legs and murmur a goodbye to the remaining occupants of the Meeks-Martin living room. Your head was reeling and you needed to get away or you’d break down and lose your last semblance of sanity.

If there is a God that exists, they must hate you, because you break down anyways. Just outside the house, you’re hunched over, a hand clutched desperately at your rapidly rising chest. Despite your best efforts, you’re unable to chase away the dread and terror that have nestled in and made a home in your torso.

Too wrapped up in trying to calm your irregular breathing, you don’t hear the familiar clunk of boots swiftly making their way towards you.

Though your vision is blurred, you’ve spent enough time around Amber to recognize her presence almost instantly. She’s bent over you concernedly, and you think she’s speaking to you but you can’t hear her over the accelerated pounding of your heart that has arisen from the lack of proper oxygen intake.

Her body firmly encompasses your own and your senses are overtaken with everything Amber. If you were able to breathe, you would’ve sighed at the feeling of security that blanketed over you.

Amber’s hands grasp yours and she presses your joined hands onto her chest, where her heart steadily thumps beneath. At the feeling of it, you will your own heart to match its rhythm. It takes a while for it to slow down but once it does, you faintly become aware of her sweet voice reminding you to breathe slowly, in and out, in and out.

She looks relieved when you finally descend back to reality. “There you go, baby. You’re okay. I’m here.”

You throw your arms around her and sob into the embrace, struggling to ignore the burning in your chest. She rubs your back and shushes you quietly.

“Amber, I can’t do this. I’m scared.”

She presses a chaste kiss to your forehead and pulls you in closer, resting her chin on the top of your head. “We’re gonna be okay.”

You mumble into her chest, “How can you be so sure?”

Practically smothered in her embrace, you remain completely unaware of the ominous look that has blossomed in the dark brown eyes that you love so much.

“You trust me, don’t you?”

You nod, albeit a bit hesitantly.

“Good. I’m going to protect you, I won’t let anything happen to us.”

It isn’t lost on you that just as there is with everyone else, there’s a slim possibility that Amber could be the killer. But out of everyone, you know her the best. Ever since she had asked you out, all shy and nervous and very un-Amber Freeman like, the two of you had been inseparable. She weaseled her way into your everyday thoughts and in turn, you became the center of warmth that thawed her previously cold heart. No one could deny that you and Amber balanced each other out perfectly. For the first time in your life, you found someone you could trust enough to fall deeply and irrevocably in love with. If you could trust Amber with such an intimate and fundamental piece of your soul, you could trust that she wouldn’t be silently plotting your death, right?

Wrong.

Just like Liv’s skull cavity, your heart shatters at the abrupt finality of Amber’s bullet.

Chaos erupts at the spray of Liv’s blood and the crash of her still-warm body hitting the ground. Sam and Richie scatter as Tara knocks Amber’s next shot off course.

The only thing you can think to do is run, so you do. You clamber up the stairs and dive into the hall closet. You clamp a hand over your mouth to muffle the pitiful sounds desperately trying to slip past your lips.

You feel utterly broken, like the piece of your soul that you’d given to Amber was cruelly snatched out of your body and crushed in her murderous grasp. You want nothing more than to scream and wail until you yell yourself hoarse, but you can’t give up your hiding spot. As much as you’re sure that the pain of betrayal outweighs any cut from the blood-stained knife, you don’t want to find out if there’s any truth to the comparison.

You hear two sets of feet making their way up the stairs, one stomping heavily and the other flailing uselessly. You aren’t one-hundred percent sure, but you think the pained whimpers you’re hearing belong to Tara. Which means Amber was likely the one accompanying her.

At the thought of your girlfriend, you recoil further into the closet. You can feel your whole body shaking in fear.

After a few more long minutes, you can hear the familiar creak of Amber’s boots on the hardwood floor. She’s calling out your name and you press your hand harder against your mouth to completely silence the sound of your breathing.

Her search becomes more frantic and the clunking of her boots begins to pick up speed. You reach around blindly in search of anything you can use to fend her off.

Just as you tighten your grip around what you think might be an umbrella, the closet door flies open. You swing with all your might, but Amber moves quicker, grabbing the umbrella and disarming you.

She quirks an eyebrow and chuckles at your failed attempt to hit her. She motions for you to stand.

“Come on, down to the kitchen we go.”

You make no move to get up, paralyzed at the sight of her donning the ghostface robes.

She groans, “I can’t have you ruining the plan. Let’s go.”

Her commanding tone does nothing to move you. You’re rooted to the spot in fear, wondering what fate is waiting for you down in the kitchen.

Amber growls and you flinch backwards as she steps into the closet, towering over your seated form.

“You’re being such a pain in the ass.”

Her hands wrap tightly around your waist as hoists you up and tosses you over her shoulder. You struggle futility, but there’s no chance you can escape the strong arm wound snugly around your midsection.

Amber carries you easily down the stairs and you wriggle around faster, knowing from your frequent visits to the house that you’re almost across the threshold that leads into the kitchen.

You’re placed onto the ground and firmly shoved to the other side of the island. Before you can even think to move, the steel barrel of a gun is pressed into your forehead. It’s Richie on the other end of it, and only then do you realize that Sam is laid out on the ground, a hand pressed into her side, where blood is trickling out despite her efforts to stop it. She looks up at you with sorrow and terror and you’re sure that your expression reflects hers like a mirror.

Amber takes the knife that Richie offers to her and makes her way to a different corner of the kitchen. She jumps gleefully, and if things weren’t so fucked up you might’ve found the sight endearing.

Though the gun blocks out most of your vision, you see two other women in the kitchen.

Gale Weathers and Sidney Prescott. Shit, even they managed to get trapped in this nightmare.

Richie, seemingly pissed that you aren’t giving him your full attention, grips your jaw with more than enough force to leave a bruise. Your resulting moan of pain is insignificant to him.

“Leave her alone!” Sidney yells out and Amber’s knife presses threateningly into her throat, swiftly silencing her.

Richie laughs menacingly, “Sid, when are you gonna finally realize you aren’t in control here?”

He turns towards you and frowns angrily.

“You know if it were up to me, you’d have been dead at the start of this thing.”

A glob of his spit lands on your cheek and the gun is pushed further into your forehead, the force practically moving you backwards.

You’re scared, the most afraid you’ve ever been in your life. Your hands are trembling and you stutter, completely unable to come up with the necessary words to plead helplessly for your life.

“Pathetic,” Richie growls out. He looks in Amber’s direction, “I don’t know what you saw in her honey.”

“She usually has a lot more fire in her.”

You meet her gaze for a second. Amber’s eyes are nearly black, pupils blown wide with what must be psychotic pleasure.

You open your mouth to finally say something, but the sudden smack of the gun across your face shuts you up. You cry out and lift your hands to your face instinctually. Your head is pulsing at the unexpected pain.

While Amber’s distracted with Richie’s assault on you, Sidney makes a grab for a knife sitting on the countertop.

Her actions don’t go unnoticed. Amber reacts with the speed of a demon and plunges her knife into Sidney’s gut. Gale yells out as Sidney crumples to the ground.

With both Sidney and Gale momentarily incapacitated, Richie knocks you backwards, sending you carelessly stumbling back and straight into Amber’s arms. He turns towards Sam, while Amber pins you against the counter.

“Get rid of her Amber, we need to start staging the bodies. Fast baby, we don’t have much time.”

She hums, not bothering to verbally acknowledge him. You shiver as your eyes lock together, hers still full of straight mania.

Her arm lifts up and she moves slowly, tracing the blade against the smooth skin of your face. You try not to gag at the coppery smell of blood that is being carelessly smeared across your face.

She smiles softly at you, creating a confusing juxtaposition with the wild expression that fills her eyes.

Amber leans in to whisper almost lovingly in your ear, “I always knew you’d look so pretty covered in blood, baby.”

You can’t stop the tears from leaking out of your eyes. You’re so distraught, it’s nearly impossible to think straight with how overwhelmed you are. How could this Amber be the same Amber that had admitted to being nervous the first time she told you she loved you?

“Amber, please.” You begged brokenly, hoping the girl you loved so dearly was still somewhere inside the maniac that stands in front of you.

Her gaze softens just a hair and you nearly cheer at the glimpse of your Amber.

“I’m sorry. You know I’d keep you around if I could.”

The relief exits your body. Your heart drops deep into your chest at the words.

“You said you’d protect me.” You feel desperate, there had to be something you could say to snap Amber out of this state.

She pouts and brushes a strand of your hair behind your ear. “I did. Richie wanted you to be the opening kill, but I stopped that from happening.”

The special smile that she always saved just for you spread across her face, “I even convinced him to leave you to me tonight. I’ll be the last person you see, won’t that be nice?”

Your jaw trembles with the newfound knowledge. Amber spared you, but only to prolong your life so you’d die by her hand. Your resolve finally breaks, and you are fully encased in dread.

In a strange mirroring of the day’s earlier events, you begin weeping loudly. Amber’s arms wrap around you in an attempt to comfort you.

She deposits a kiss onto the top of your head.

“I know you don’t understand it, but I’m doing this because I love you.”

Her arms tighten around you and you’re suddenly blindsided by excruciating pain. Amber’s knife is slowly pushed deeper and deeper into your body, your insides twist around at the intrusion.

As you yell out in pain, she shushes and gently praises you, repeatedly whispering how much she loves you.

She rips the knife out of your gut, just to harshly plunge it back in once, twice, and a third time. You feel sick at the squelching that sounds out each time the knife enters your stomach.

Blood dribbles out of your mouth as you groan in pain.

Hazily, you notice that she’s covered in your blood. Your vision is darkening and you feel yourself begin to dwindle in and out of consciousness.

Amber takes note of this and leans closer, her lips nearly touching yours.

“You did so good for me, love. I’ll make sure they cast someone beautiful to play you in the movie.”

With a final whispered confession of love, Amber places a gentle series of kisses to your bloodied lips. She stabs you once more, and lowers your body carefully to the ground as she pulls the knife out one last time.

You lay there, unable to move even if you wanted to. You stare up at the ceiling, it spins around and around and around.

Your ears are ringing. If you could think clearly, you reckon you’d wonder what you did wrong to end up in this situation. You don’t think there’s any possibility for things to have ended differently. Fate was cruel and unforgiving, but at this point you have no choice but to lie in the bed that it has made for you.

The pain is gone, replaced with the silent weight of nothingness. You feel yourself drifting away, and you welcome the feeling. Maybe your next life would be kinder to you.

Unfortunately for you, your peace never comes.

Instead, you find yourself opening your eyes disorientedly. You let out a sharp hiss at the blinding white lights that glare back at you.

Once you’ve adjusted to the light, you finally make out that there are a couple figures crowding around you.

“Wha-”

It hurts to talk, as a matter of fact, everything hurts.

“Alright, alright you’re okay. My name’s Dr. Ford. You’re gonna be in a lot of pain for a while, so let’s take it easy.”

You stare back at the man in disbelief.

Somehow, despite all the odds, you survived.

A/N: ta da!! I'm actually planning a part 2 to this that follows our dear reader through the events of scream vi, so stay tuned! Heads up, it won't actively be about an Amber x R relationship cuz... well you know :'(

Fellow Amber stans plz forgive me for not feeding y'all more regularly.

#amber freeman x reader #amber freeman x you #amber freeman x y/n #scream fanfic #amber freeman imagine #lonelym00n fic

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kitmon · 2 years

Text

Let's Dance! | Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Chaperoning the middle school dance isn't what most would consider a weekend well spent and Eddie is inclined to agree. That is, until he formally meets you.

Pairing: Eddie Munson (Stranger Things, 2022) x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Tags: fluff, like the fluffiest fluff that has ever existed, vice president!reader, swearing (I genuinely don't even know if that's actually true, just assume that with all of my writing comes swearing), cringe? ok, some of what the reader does could be considered cringe but I DON'T CARE, IF IT'S CRINGE THEN I LOVE CRINGE, written out dance scenes (writing a lot of movement is hard, guys), that should be it, there's definitely no hard warnings for this, it is just pure, unadulterated fluff

Author’s Note: This idea came to me while I was listening to David Bowie's "Let's Dance" and maladaptive daydreaming hard. And it's been rattling around in my head for months and I'm glad that it's finally finished and it's way better than I could have ever hoped! @queenimmadolla did such an amazing job beta reading (she always does) and this is as much her work as it is mine and I would really love it if you could go send her some love because Tumblr's being mean to her right now and she could really use it. This is probably one of my favorite fics I've written and I really hope that you guys enjoy it as much as I do. I think that's all I have to say, as always, happy reading!

With your hands clasped in front of you, your hips sway to the beat of whatever mainstream, upbeat pop song the DJ was playing—the pristine white skirt of your dress shifting like the branches of a willow tree, caressed by gentle gusts of wind—you can’t help but admire your hard work; streamers and tinsel flow down from the ceiling, framing the slow-to-twirl disco ball that you stubbornly bartered for at a flea market in Indianapolis, and the glittery sign you painstakingly crafted by hand even though it took you all night and you’ve been finding flecks of glitter in your tissues every time you’ve sneezed for the past two days. Totally worth it, you think with a pleased smile.

You still remember your Snow Ball (though, arguably, it wasn’t all that long ago); December 15, 1980. You’d been stuffed into a poofy, absolutely ridiculous gown that you adored with all of your heart, dancing to the Bee Gees with Pat Rafferty, a foot-and-a-half of space between your bodies as you stepped, stiffly, from side to side. The scene had looked just like this, right down to the plastic flowers you arranged in the center of each table and, even though it’s entirely trivial, you remember that night being one of the best you’ve ever had. It was the sole reason you begged Principal Higgins to let you join the planning committee amongst the middle school staff and PTA. And now, here it is: all blue and white and shiny, having come to fruition.

Your smile softens as you lose yourself in the memory of that night but it isn’t long before you’re jolted out of the past when you catch a large, clumsy movement from the corner of your eye, followed by the sound of someone tripping and nearly falling. Your head whips around to find a man—definitely not a boy considering he stands at least a whole foot above the rest of the attendees—with his ankle caught around one of the tinsel cords. As you watch him struggle, you realize that you recognize him. It’s kind of impossible not to; the messy nest of hair, the randomly spaced tattoos along his exposed forearms. The only thing you don’t recognize is his attire, it’s still definitely… him. His lean torso is sporting a wrinkled dress shirt, unbuttoned at the top with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and the slouchy pinstripe pants he’s wearing are assuredly a size or two too big on him. It’s a far cry from his usual harsh leather and denim.

He’s hopping a bit, trying to untangle himself and you figure you better step in before he falls and crashes into the concessions.

“Here! Just—Let me,” you insist, chuckling as you step closer and crouch down to unwind the ribbon from around his shoes, finding a mangled knot. Jeez, how did he manage to do all this just by tripping?

You manage to undo the binding and he steps free with a little bounce, stumbling a couple of steps. He clears his throat as you stand and pat your hands over your skirt, “Sorry about that, can barely see anything a foot ahead of me in here.”

“It’s okay,” you assure, giggling at the red hue that paints his cheeks, noticeable even in the dim light. “Can I help you with something?”

“Uh, yeah, actually,” he shifts his weight a bit, looking over his shoulder and licking his lips before continuing, “I’m supposed to be chaperoning, or something like that.”

“Oh!” You didn’t know any other high schoolers were chaperoning tonight—because why would they?—but it’s not like you’re going to refuse the help. “Well, you’re in the right place.”

Before he can properly respond, you shove your open palm towards the center of you both and introduce yourself with a confident flow of words. He’s a little taken aback by how quick and concise you are with your actions.

“Eddie,” he says as he accepts your smaller hand into his own, intrigued with how shockingly cold your fingers are.

Your handshake is a firm one and he takes a step back once you release his hand and clasp yours together, suddenly aware of just how in your space he’d been. You watch with an amused smile as he purses his lips, nodding his head and surveying the small array of finger foods.

“Soooo,” he drawls, lips still comically pursed, “what exactly do we do for the next three hours?”

“Well,” you sigh, “we basically just watch the concessions and stuff; make sure the punch isn't getting spiked or whatever happens in movies. Though, I highly doubt any one of these kids managed to get their hands on a bottle of booze.”

Eddie seems to get the gist of the job, looking out over the sea of children.

“Oh, we also have to make sure no kids are getting too handsy behind the bleachers—Jenny! Ryan!” you shout, having caught sight of the two eighth graders kissing a little too aggressively for their weight class. “I see you two!”

You jut your finger out and as the clap of your voice reaches them they scramble away from each other and hold their arms at their sides like they’ve been caught with their grimy mitts in the cookie jar.

“Got it,” he says, eyeing the eighth graders with a sideways glance.

You huff and look back towards Eddie, eyes wide and features soft as you ask, “How’d you get roped into this?”

He dips his head and stares at you from below his brow.

“No offense!” you’re quick to defend. “It just… doesn’t seem like your kinda scene. I’ve seen you around school, you know. You wear those band tees and the vest and, well, your hair. . .” You chuckle and mimic ruffling your fingers through your own mane.

“What d'you mean?” he starts, voice laced with sarcasm, “Chaperoning a middle school dance is my idea of a perfect Saturday!”

You cock your head and send him an unimpressed stare, blinking your eyes with a heavy slowness.

“Okay, fine, you caught me. I don’t actually like watching a bunch of preteens awkwardly shuffle to crappy pop music on the weekend. I made this stupid deal with Higgins so that I could start a club.” His arms are crossed over his chest as he stares down, face shrouded with his wild hair as he watches his toes nudge at the legs of the table.

“What kind of club?” you ask, angling your head to try and catch his eye.

Your question raises some suspicion in his mind, almost hesitant at your interest and he shakes his head before answering.

“A D&D club. You know D&D?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow. You shake your head slowly with an apologetic look over your face as you bite your lip and it’s clear that was the answer he’d been expecting from you but he isn’t upset, just a little disappointed.

“Well, it’s like a tabletop roleplay ga—actually, it doesn’t matter, all you need to know is that I came to Principal Higgins with it and he shot it down, as soon as he saw me walk in.”

That makes your brows furrow and your lower lip jut out as an unpleasant emotion settles in your stomach. That’s definitely something you’d have to bring up with your cohort of student council members later.

“He said, and I quote, the only way he’d let my ‘band of hooligans congregate’ is if I showed that I was ‘committed to the community,’ or something like that, which means… chaperoning the middle school dance.” He finishes and you nod your head in understanding, feeling slightly sympathetic towards his cause; it's a bit unfair that he has to go through all this trouble just to start a club when you were able to start up the Photography Club with no questions asked.

“And you?” He questions, causing your head to perk up and your eyes to widen, “What are you in for?”

You smile and respond with a cheeky tilt of your head, “I’m actually here of my own free will, if you can believe it.”

“Ohhhh,” he draws out, faux-interest candying his voice before it drops down to a playful dullness, “you’re right, I can’t believe it.”

“Hey!” A smile is consuming your face even as you realize you have to defend yourself against his teasing. “Some people actually like to give back to the community. Plus, it’s a part of my Vice Presidential duties; to show I care about stupid things like the middle school Snow Ball.”

You draw your stare down towards your toes and share a shy smile with yourself as you toy with your fingers. Eddie smiles down at you for a moment, his hands stationed along his hips before his gaze drifts to the scene ahead of him, taking in the neat decorations and the hordes of prepubescent children that jabber amongst themselves and it’s clear the awkward shuffling of feet on the dance floor is here to stay. Despite that part of it being unbearably hard to watch, the rest is quite impressive.

“You sure do know how to plan a party, I’ll give you that much. Looks way better than my Snow Ball.”

That causes your head to snap up and an entirely dumbfounded look to paint your face.

“You went to the Snow Ball?” you ask in disbelief.

You know better than to judge a book by its cover but it seems so out of place for him. You’ve heard all of the stories and the rumors; that he’s a shut-in who dedicates the weekends to his cult-leading responsibilities. You’ve never thought to believe them, even for a second. It just felt so thoughtless and cruel and a genuine waste of your time to be gossiping behind peoples’ backs just because you didn't understand them. It was beyond lame. But you’d see him at parties, all broody and intimidating in the corner with a rusty metal lunch box he’d pop open and not-so-discreetly demonstrate his stock. He never danced, never talked to anyone unless it was to discuss prices, and he never smiled, not unless he was flipping through his wad for the night and counting his bills.

“Mmhm,” he smiles, almost proud for dispelling any preconceived notions, “got all dolled up in a monkey suit and everything. Even managed to work up the courage to ask Andrews to dance; she did not seem too impressed, I can tell you that.”

“Paula Andrews?” Again, the disbelief laces your tone but this time for good reason. Paula Andrews was vile, not for her looks or anything like that—she was actually ridiculously gorgeous—but for her nasty attitude. Anyone with a cowardly bone in their body would turn tail and run at the sight of her for fear of being ridiculed for even breathing in her direction. Even now, she was catty and prissy and mean.

“Yup,” he sighs like he’s already predicted your criticism and agrees with all of it.

“Ugh!” You visibly recoil, squinching your nose and wrinkling your lip. “Why would you ever want to dance with Paula Andrews? She’s… evil,” you shudder. “She once put gum in my hair because I wouldn’t let her cheat off of my science quiz.”

“I dunno,” he chuckles before simmering down, his voice becoming uncharacteristically hushed as he twists his rings up and down his finger. “Because she was pretty… and popular.”

You can't really fault him for that; everyone either wanted Paula Andrews or wanted to be Paula Andrews.

“What’d that witch do?” you ask tentatively like you’re afraid of the answer.

“Oh, nothing original,” he reminisces, “called me a freak and cackled that witch laugh of hers before stalking off with her flock of flying monkeys.”

You snort and move to cover your mouth with your hand, giggling behind it, “She does kind of laugh like a hag, doesn’t she?”

He laughs with you until you both calm to huffs and gentle smiles.

“Well if it’s any consolation,” you begin, “I would have danced with you.”

He looks you in the eye for a moment before dropping his gaze and sucking his lips in slightly towards his teeth, nodding with a pleasant grin on his lips.

The conversation merges into a comfortable silence as the both of you assume your chaperoning chores, Eddie picking at the charcuterie platter, exclusively the buttery crackers and tiny cubes of American cheese, tossing the morsels into his mouth while you survey the room, both with the intention of monitoring any misbehavior and gauging the room’s energy. Your findings are rather disappointing; the dance floor is empty! Not a ghost town, by any means, a few couples took to dancing but the walls are much more saturated with middle schoolers than the actual space meant for dancing.

You watch as the boys chat amongst themselves, throwing a few fleeting glances over their shoulders towards where the girls are cliqued up every once in a while. It's obvious they want something to happen but lack the confidence to be the ones to start it. Why not give them that extra little push?

“Do you want to dance?” you hurriedly blurt out, twisting to face Eddie beside you. His eyes are glassy and saucer-ish as he stares at you, mouth stuffed full of crackers and cheese as he addresses you. He twists his head over his shoulder only to find the spot behind him empty, pointing to himself and humming a muddled question.

“Duh!” you giggle. “Who else would I be talking to?”

He swallows his mouthful with some difficulty and begins stammering for a response.

“I don’t, um, really think that’s a good idea,” he laughs with a nervous tinge.

“Come on! It’ll be fun!”

You’re already winding your fingers around his wrist and leading him to the dance floor, weaving past and around the few brave couples that were dispersed about the court.

He’s babbling the whole way, noncommittally digging his heels into the ground and leaning away to slow you and when you’ve found your spot on the floor, turning to face him, he leans forward and whispers to you, “I can’t dance.”

His words are panicked as his eyes flit around you, hyper-aware of everyone’s stare on the two of you. He’s less so worried about his reputation as much as he is yours; you’re a sweet girl, people like you, like you enough to have voted for you and he’s… him. And in this town, being him or anywhere near him is social suicide.

But his warning does hardly anything to stop you. You can't dance either but you keep your head held high and your back straight as you feign confidence to encourage him.

“You’re in a band, right?” It was an odd question for the situation but he knits his brows and nods anyway. “You like music, you go to concerts. What do you do in those situations?”

He thinks about it for a moment, turning his head to survey his memory but stops himself when he reaches a conclusion, not thinking it a good idea but you seem entirely oblivious as you hearten him with an eye-squinting smile.

He shakes his head, taking in a large breath before huffing it out. The calm, collected act is disrupted by his whiplash energy shift as he starts violently moshing, headbanging, flicking his hair all over the place while he jumps and kicks around. The sudden burst makes you jump in your spot and blink your eyes at him. You watch for a second or two, lips ticking up at the corners at his very… passionate expression and as much as you’d like to keep watching him bounce around, you figure you should start with something a little more… pedestrian-safe.

You cautiously reach your hand out, a little afraid to approach him in fear of getting taken out by a stray limb or a particularly aggressive clump of hair but you manage to touch your fingers over his shoulder without injury, halting him. He slows his movements to a controlled bouncing of the toes, breath panting, hair wild, and shirt wrinkled—well—more wrinkled than it had been.

“Maybe not like that,” you cringe with a bunched nose and lopsided twist of your lips. “Try this instead.”

You trail your hand that was over his shoulder down his arm to take his hand into yours, scooping the other one from his side to guide the both of them to your waist, coaxing them to mold there. He looks a little afraid, eyes owlish as his tongue sprints out over his chapped lips too many times in a single moment.

“And I'll put my hands over here,” you narrate, placing your forearms over his shoulders as you link your fingers together behind his neck. You begin shuffling your feet, your white mary janes clicking against the lacquered gymnasium hardwood as you foster some movement.

“See, it’s not that hard.” Almost like you’ve jinxed it, as the words exit your mouth he steps right over your toes, and your face twists with a wince you do your best to suppress.

“Sorry, “ he winces with you, his eyebrows bunching with an apologetic look.

“It’s okay!” You’re quick to reassure him, a laugh and a smile embossing your words. “Just—look at me; when you look down you only end up tripping yourself up.” You release your fingers and bring one of your hands from around his neck to cradle his jaw in your grasp and angle his face upwards so that he’s gazing at you with those large, glazed cow eyes. You smile when you capture his rich chocolatey stare. “There, much better.”

The two of you sway glacially, Eddie relaxing under your touch after meeting your eyes, the shy lilt of his lips making a warmth bloom in your chest. You stay like this for a while, remaining committed to your designated square where the two of you can rock from side to side without disruption before you attempt to perform something a little more difficult. You slide your hand down over his shoulder and along the cotton of his shirt until it's grasped in his own, twirling yourself and gracelessly switching your feet before stumbling back into his chest with an uninhibited chortle, head thrown back as you laugh at yourself. He’s laughing too, his eyes trained on your ruched nose and crooked smile as you press your forehead against his chest.

As the song builds in energy you separate your hands from his chest and step away, starting to clumsily dance. It’s a gentler sort of moshing, he thinks as he watches you hop in place and shake your head, completely uncoordinated but entirely adorable. His posture slouches to the side as he watches you move, wholly mesmerized.

“Come on!” you laugh, breaking him out of his trance, taking his hands and moving them to simulate dancing.

He smiles before he's splitting from you and doing his own goofy thing, illustrating a botched and lumberly take on The Twist as he shakes his mane of wild hair this way and that.

The two of you are one of four couples on the dance floor and the army of children that trace the edge of it and surround you throw their estranged glances your way and could you really blame them for it? You had two high school seniors—one the predicted Valedictorian of her graduating class and the other the school pothead and resident freak—tearing up the dance floor of the eighth grade Snow Ball. But as the chatter of your embarrassing antics grows louder, a few brave souls make their way to the dance floor to join you and Eddie, hopping and shaking and twirling like unhinged maniacs, but they were giggling and tittering and having fun and that’s all that really mattered.

As you dance with Will Byers, holding his small hands in yours as you twist and twirl him, Eddie smiles to himself and stands with his hands on his hips, admiring the precious sight. As he watches, a particularly rowdy couple crashes into him and sends him flying towards you.

Just as he collides with you and knocks you a bit off balance, the previous song fades into a brief silence, a slower, calmer, more romantic song following; "How Deep is Your Love" by the Bee Gees.

“I’m sorry!” he’s quick to remedy, stabilizing you by holding your waist.

You chuckle, clearly high off of the endorphins that come with exercise, “It’s okay—”

“Are you hurt? Did I step on your foot again?” He’s rambling now and chasing each worried sentence with another as he’s examining you for any hidden injuries that could come with being bumped and stumbling three steps.

“Eddie!” You raise your voice to grab his attention, that same laugh twining your words at his ridiculous worry as you place your hand over his bicep. “I’m okay! Promise. Scouts Honor,” you say sucking your lower lip in and holding up your first three fingers.

“Okay, good,” he sighs, relaxing into a smile, “Good.”

Will looks between the both of you and smiles with a glint of understanding in his eyes.

“Hey,” he touches your arm to grab your attention, “I’m gonna get some punch and sit down, you really wore me out with that last song.”

You smile down at him and ruffle his hair, “Okay, Little Byers, you let me know if you're up for another one, you’re probably the best dance partner I’ve had all night.”

Will flashes a toothy grin and exits, weaving his way past warm bodies towards the abandoned snack table.

“I cannot believe you just said that.” Eddie reclaims your focus.

Your brows furrow as an anxiety of misspeaking clouds your features, “What?”

“And to think I thought, for even a second, that we shared something special, dancing like idiots,” he says with a smirk, the sarcasm now dripping from his words.

“Oh, shut up,” you scoff, landing a punch to his shoulder.

“You wanna give me another shot at redemption?” he offers with a smirk, reaching his open palm out to beckon you towards him.

You smile, an air of bashfulness consuming your actions as you stare down at the floor before taking his hand and assuming the same position as before: your hands twined together, behind his head, fingers slithering under his hair as you play with the scraggly strands at the nape of his neck, winding and unwinding them around your digits.

“So,” you start, “how d’you feel about chaperoning now?”

“Mmm,” he hums, looking out at an unseen point in the distance to ponder on it, “still on the fence.”

You gape at him, “We just danced like crazy! You were laughing like a madman!”

“Well,” he laughs, “is chaperoning always like this?”

“Like what?”

“I don't know—fun, exciting, metal?”

You giggle as you stare down at your feet, lifting your head to send him a suddenly heavy look in your eyes, the rest of your expression at once sober.

“When you have the right partner.”

There’s a silence as he takes a moment to ruminate on your words before concluding, “Alright, tell you what: I’ll chaperone every dance if you're there.”

He looks down at you with fond eyes and you glow under his gaze, dipping your head to hide away from his abruptly intimidating stare and lay your temple against his chest. You can hear the rhythmic thumping of his heart against his rib cage and sigh at the comforting noise.

“That’s a deal, Munson.”

The air is empty and silent, a calm, welcome quiet that permeates after all of the kids have left and gone home, likely recounting the events of the night with their friends or family. You and Eddie, on the other hand, are working to tidy the place; you're climbing onto chairs and tables to swipe paper streamers and tinsel ribbons from where they’re taped to the ceiling and pillars, and Eddie sweeps up fallen snacks and any glitter that has trailed along the floor. You hum David Bowie to yourself as you crumple the paper and the plastic into your hands and toss it into the bin.

You do the best you can with only two pairs of hands and figure what you’ve accomplished is substantial for the night as you walk towards the bleachers, plopping yourself onto one of the benches and leaning back against the one behind you to rest your head in your folded arms. Eddie trudges towards where you sit, after tossing the broom into the corner, and slumps into the space next to you, propping his elbows along the same bench you rest your head on.

He slants his head to look down at your weary body and lets a tender smile pull at his lips and dimple his cheeks.

“You have a fun time, kid?” he appeals, luring you out of your burrow.

You nod into your arms and hum, turning your head so your face is revealed to him as you peel your eyes open and offer him a sleepy smile. You reach a groggy hand out and place it over his.

“Thank you for dancing with me.” It comes out hushed and a little raspy.

He takes a better hold of your hand, flipping his and wrapping his fingers around yours to rub his thumb over your knuckles and the soft joints of your fingers, the skin radiating a healthy warmth.

“It was my pleasure,” he smiles, before teasing, “Gave me a hell of a workout.”

You giggle at his joke before righting yourself and stretching your arms out in front of you like a cat, releasing his hand as you do it and scrunching your face as the tension releases from your body. When you finish, you stand, taking his hand back in your hold and encouraging him up with a ginger tug.

“C’mon, time to clock out.”

He complies and stands with some effort, creaky joints groaning as he places his free hand on his knee and lifts himself. As you walk to the double doors and click off the remaining lights you don't feel the need to let go of his hand, even if it makes locking up the gymnasium a little bit harder.

Taglist:

@guessthestrangers

@dadsbongos

@lunatictardis

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fandom-junk-drawer · 1 year

Text

The Witcher Headcanon - Worm Witcher Worm

Jaskier wrote Burn Butcher Burn after The Mountain Divorce, and spent the next two years singing it in every tavern and inn he came to. It became one of his most well-known songs.

Geralt spent his time wandering the Path alone, and heard people talk about a popular song, but he never paid much attention. After he made up with Jaskier and they started traveling together again, he eventually found out about the song.

It was awkward. Really awkward. They couldn't look each other in the eye, and conversation was painfully uncomfortable for days afterwards. They had a nice long talk one evening, only after Roach got tired of watching them wallow and took matters into her own hands...er, hooves.

She'd trod heavily on Geralt's foot while he was unsaddling her, then shoved him toward Jaskier with her head. Geralt had taken the hint and started the most awkward converstation in history.

Under Roach's watchful eye, threatening snorts, and laced back ears, words were exchanged, the figurative Olive Branch was extended, given an encouraging shake, and apologies were made along with promises to be better.

Fast forward months later. Jaskier and Geralt were back to being besties, and Jaskier was spending another winter with his surrogate family. Jaskier had gotten up late, had a late breakfast, and then drank some wine to get rid of his hangover.

He'd harrassed Lambert about his hair, lecturing him in the middle of the Great Hall before dragging him down to the hotsprings.

He'd gone wandering the corridors and empty rooms of the keep, playing out the stories in his head that would inspire songs and ballads.

He'd gone to have long, philosophical discussions with Roach, who was a very good listener, and agreed with him on everything.

Jaskier skipped down to lab to f**k with Yennefer, getting in the way, bantering, and generally being a nuissance.

"Will you get out of here? I'm trying to work, you irritating, insufferable, c*ckwomble!"

"Oh, please! You know you can't stand to be parted from me!"

"I will part you if you don't leave immediately!"

"Ooooh, it that a proposition?"

"Get out before I throw you in the garden, and plow you-!"

"That's anatomically impossible for you to do, but I'm always open to new experiences. I'm sure we could figure something out!."

"I'm going to turn you into a worm!"

Jaskier ran for it when Yennefer lunged at him, and ducked out the door, laughing. "You'd still love me even if I was a worm, right?"

Yennefer chased him out the door, throwing an empty bowl at him.

Jaskier retreated to his room, deciding it was best to stay out of Yennefer's way for a while. He worked on one of his new songs for a while, then went down to the kitchen to pinch a bottle of wine and some bread and cheese.

He took his time, enjoying his snack, and as the level of the wine in the bottle slowly dropped, he started thinking about what Yennefer had said about turning him into a worm. Would she really do it? Would it be permanent, or would it wear off?

Would the spell work on Witchers? Would they be normal worms, or would they be different? They were Witchers, after all. Would they keep their Witcher qualities? Would they be Witcher worms?

And that begs the question: would he be regular worm sized, or would he be, like, a giant worm? With a hat? Would he still be able to sing? Would he be just a giant worm with a fancy hat and a lute that went around singing songs?

Would he sing about people, or would he only sing about worms? Would he have to change his songs to be about worms instead? And how would he play his lute? Would he use his a**end, or would he have some sort of little arms? His brain, marinated in alcohol, started exploring the idea.

Several hours later, Jaskier found himself back in the Great Hall, sitting at the dinner table with his Wolf family. He listened to the stories from the Path, laughing along, and teasing the Wolves about one thing or another. They drank and sang, and played games, and made fun of Lambert.

Long after they should have been in bed, all of them to a man were sh*tfaced off their a**es.

It was too hard to play Gwent when the cards wouldn't hold still long enough to get proper look at the suits, and you couldn't remember how to play anyway.

Telling stories of the Path had lost it's appeal after the stories only got more confusing because no one could remember which story they were telling and in what order the events happened.

Fighting was out of the question when the floor kept tilting and rolling under your feet and the b**tard you were trying to fight kept changing places everytime you blinked.

All the while, Jaskier's slowly pickling brain kept circling back to his earlier thoughts about worms. The thoughts wriggled in and squiggled around, burrowing deeper into his thoughts, brining new thoughts and questions, new things to wonder about.

Eskel tossed back the last dregs of his White Gull and plonked his tankard down, called cheerfully "Jask, sing us a song!"

"A song, bard!" the other Witchers called out in agreement, then started chanting, "Sing! Sing! Sing!"

Jaskier, brain embalmed at this point, heard the crowd calling him, and could not resist. The next thing he knew he was standing on top of the table, thoughts still falling down the rabbit hole of worms. He cradled his lute, and, with his last functioning brain cell only able to remember something about worms, started singing.

The song was familiar, especially to Geralt, but he was confused. They lyrics were different. He didn't remember the song being about worms. Still, it was catchy. It was one of those songs that stuck in your brian and kept you awake all night, playing over and over.

There was something about it that just made you want to get up and move. No, it was like some sort of magic spell: It compelled you to get up and...

Jaskier's voice rose and boomed through the Hall as he hit the chorus, "WORM, WITCHER, WoOoOrRRRMMMM!"

Jaskier could not explain the phenonemon that resulted in the weirdest form of locomotion that he had ever seen. Witchers all thourghout the Hall were throwing themselves to the floor and undulating across it like sine waves.

Jaskier marvled at the magical sight, belting out the next verses and following up with the chorus.

Yennefer and Vesemir, hearing the noise came into the Great Hall to see what f**kery was afoot and were greeted by the oddest sight.

Jaskier *Standing on the table*: "WaTcH ThAt WiTCheR WoOoRRRMMM!

Geralt and his brothers: *frantically doing The Worm*

Yennefer stood there watching out of horrified fascination, speechless as Geralt 'wormed' as if his life depended on it. If he wormed any faster, she feared he would go airborne. Jaskier hit the chorus line again, belting out "WoRm, WiTcHeR WoRM, WoRM, wOrM, WoRm..."

Vesemir dipped out without a word. He was going to bed. He was just too old for this sh*t.

Yennefer watched for a few moments as her two idiots went on with their nonsense. She wondered what was going on inside their heads, then decided she didn't want to know. She marveled at how easily she had let these two imbeciles into her life. She sighed. Love was so complicated.

Yennefer left moments later, not wanting to bear witness to what ever disaster was going to happen if one of them Wormed too close to the fire pit, or over the piles of empty bottles of White Gull.

The next morning, the Witchers woke up with massive hangovers, wondering why they felt as if they'd been bludgeoned by rock trolls. They could remember nothing of the previous night's activities, but for some mysterious reason, they all had had odd dreams about worms.

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diodellet · 1 year

Text

i think i've found a place for us (jamil viper x gn!reader)

lovingly strapping jamil into a rollercoaster ride along the full emotional spectrum😇😇 fic title is from this song content warnings: -reader is yuu/ramshackle prefect -mix of jp and en terms -post-Book 4 OB (references to master-servant relationships, assassinations) -self-deprecating thoughts (references to symptoms of depression) ++this fic is hurt/comfort, whatever issues kalim and jamil have, it's probably mentioned here word count: 3.4k words

This was now Jamil's... fourth day of staying at the Ramshackle dorm. And even though he spent most of the time drifting in and out of sleep, he could make a list of all the inconveniences that came with temporarily living in the once-abandoned dorm. Mold, dust, cobwebs—those were only the first of many entries on his list.

It was far from the quiet, secluded place he initially pegged it as. The building would creak and groan as its living residents moved from room to room. At the peak of midnight, bits and pieces of the ghosts' conversations would travel through the walls, up the floorboards, mix with the sound of the wind outside.

That didn't mean it was completely unbearable.

Whenever you thought that you were alone, you would fill the silence with song. More humming and mumbled syllables than audible lyrics, but still melodious and pleasant to listen to.

"I didn't know you sang." Jamil's voice is rough with sleep.

You spin around to see him, eyes widening in surprise. “You! Should be sleeping!”

"I… think I've had enough."

If anything, he’s spent too much time asleep for the past few days, dealing with more lingering headaches instead of feeling rested and energized. He sits up, turns his gaze to an interesting patch of clawed up wood on the bedframe left uncovered by your mattress. Grim's doing.

"...did I—do you want anything? I could run over to Sam's or the cafeteria?"

"No, no thank you." It wasn’t that he couldn’t stomach the thought of food, but it was along the lines of not really feeling up to it.

He’s been feeling an awful lot of nothing lately. It was as if everything—all the rage, the resentment, everything that had festered within his being—disappeared with the Blot.

“Do you… want to talk about it?” All that remained now was the shadow of his Overblot. The lingering discomfort, the hushed whispers from the students, the vision of ink coating his fingers.

“Just…” He shakes his head. “...Go back to what you were doing.” The words spill out. Clipped, taut. A demand—no, a plea for you to leave it at that.

He doesn’t miss the way you flinch. “Okay.” You nod, and slowly turn back to your textbook. Slip the other earphone back on and spin your pen in between your fingers.

(The reflexive ‘sorry’ catches in his throat, a few seconds too late for it to be used.)

Jamil lies back down, staring up at the ceiling. The hour ticks by, rays of the afternoon light slowly dimming. He shuts his eyes again, but doesn’t let himself doze off.

The scratch of your pen stops. “...hello?” Jamil turns to rest on his other side so that he’s not looking at you or your work desk. “He’s still here, yes… what about Kalim?”

Even if you lower your voice, it doesn’t stop his ears from picking up on the conversation. The same way that his sleep never tips too far into deep unconsciousness.

“I see… I’ll try asking him about that later.” You fall silent again, listening to the person on the other end. “...Are you guys holding up alright? On top of your…usual stuff?”

He suspects it might be someone from Octavinelle, maybe Jade or Azul.

The chair legs squeak against the floor. “...If it does get to be too much, please tell me. I’ll figure something out. Maybe I’ll visit Scarabia tomorrow or—” The sentence dies in your throat.

Another pause elapses before you give a resigned sigh. “Alright, sorry, I-I’ll leave it to you…thank you.” Something clatters on your desk, probably your phone.

“...Okay, dinner. What to make…” You mutter to yourself, clicking on the desk lamp. Your footsteps travel to the other side of the room to undo the curtains.

He continues to feign sleep, remaining still as you switch on the lamp at the bedside table. The mattress dips with your weight as you lean over to pull up the blanket so that it covers his shoulder.

The first day that he arrived at Ramshackle was in the middle of a snowy night. An otherwise normal interaction with Kalim escalated into a heated argument. And then the dorm leader insisted on doing something by himself, which steered the conversation into doing away with their opposing statuses and then…like his Overblot, Jamil couldn’t remember the exact specifics of what happened.

Only a persistent gnawing at his temples, red-hot flashes obscuring his vision, his hands haphazardly gathering his things. Not a single one of his dormmates stopped him, quickly moving out of his way or fearfully standing to the side. Kalim's voice calling out for him was the last thing Jamil heard before he stepped through the mirror.

Somehow, his feet brought him to the once-abandoned dormitory. His shoulder was protesting under the weight of his gym bag. The wind bit into the exposed parts of his face, his hoodie did little to protect him from the cold. The gate was locked, of course. But just before he turned on his heel to return to Scarabia, one of the Ramshackle ghosts appeared and unlocked the gate for him.

Everything else was a blur after that. He was just…numb. And tired. Pliant to letting you peel off his snow-covered outerwear and replacing it with a thick blanket. Another ghost pushed a warm mug of tea into his hands. He couldn’t fall asleep though, not with Grim sitting next to him by the fireplace and whining about being woken up.

“—just let me call back in the morning, he’s…no, he’s not hurt, he’s fine.” You were on the phone, cradling it against your shoulder as you laid his hoodie on the back of a chair. “Okay, bye.”

Jamil didn’t feel alright. If he didn’t upend his family’s carefully-built legacy with his betrayal and Overblot, then he single-handedly sent it to its downfall by running away from Scarabia, away from his charge.

“I…should go back…” he mumbled, moving to stand up. He set the tea aside, the drink was untouched. His fingers had warmed enough at this point. The blanket fell to the floor. “Kalim…”

“Will be fine,” you cut him off, gripping him by his shoulders. “He’s got the rest of Scarabia with him. You’re…not okay.”

Those words stung. He shrugged off your hold. “It doesn’t matter, I have to go.” He needed to stop acting like a child. Go back to what he was meant to do.

“Jamil, I’m not letting you walk in the snow. If you really want to go back, then at least…” Your expression, pained with concern, then softened with your voice. “...at least wait for the weather to calm down by next morning. Please.”

“...Next morning. I’m leaving,” he conceded.

He didn’t leave when morning arrived. When he awoke, it was already afternoon. He was covered in two new blankets and Grim was curled up against his legs.

At the foot of your bed, resting beside his gym bag, were two overstuffed suitcases. Kalim’s handiwork.

Save for the light emanating from the desk lamps, the rest of your room is shrouded in darkness. Shadows stretch across the walls, the floorboards, the edge of your bed, seemingly dripping with ink.

He scrubs a palm over his face. The room returns to normal—no, it's always been normal. He's the one with problems. To solve and to shoulder, those were the only courses of action he could take. And to say that he was merely shouldering all these burdens would discount the resourcefulness he honed from a young age.

But then to be denied both options with your interference—you, Kalim, and that Octavinelle trio—to have you all meddle a second time, it should have sent him into a rage again. Maybe it would have warranted a second Overblot, but he was. Just. So.

Tired.

He pulls himself out of your bed and goes down to the kitchen.

You were at the stove, finishing up a batch of pasta and serving it on a plate. One of the Ramshackle ghosts was carrying Grim in its arms. Maybe to keep him from jumping onto the countertop and sneaking a few bites. Atop the small dining table, an upbeat tune played from your phone, it sounded like something from a musical. The scene in front of him was nice, but dinner was tuna carbonara. And for the past four days, his meals consisted of fish. Not even shellfish, just some iteration of canned fish. Tuna, sardines, mackerel, salmon, maybe shrimp if Grim was up for the "variety."

Jamil can’t complain, he won’t complain. He’s not a picky eater by any means, but even he had his limits when it came to eating processed food. In his mind, he decided that he would have to take over kitchen duties. Tomorrow. He can only manage helping with cleanup.

(For now, even as an outsider, he can enjoy the shred of normalcy that the shared meal brings.)

You spend one more hour at your desk, going through your winter break homework. Steadily and methodically finishing one subject at a time. Your foot taps against the floor, in time with the music playing through your earphones.

“...Done!” You sigh in relief, stretching your arms above your head. “Will you still need the lights, Jamil?” You turn to look at him.

One of his own textbooks laid open on the bed, little lecture notes and annotations neatly written along the margins. His homework was already completed a day before the holidays started. But, he decided he could redo some of them, make an attempt to earn a higher grade.

“We can stop holding back on account of our social status.”

Jamil feels a twinge at his left temple. He closes the book, leaving a pencil in between the pages as a makeshift bookmark, then sets it at the foot of the bed. “No, I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Mhm.” There’s an urge to make himself small, invisible to your concern. Which he knows is just basic courtesy as a host—as the head of the Ramshackle Dormitory.

“Alright. Good night, Jamil.” A click, then darkness.

That would make this the fourth night spent away from Scarabia. Another night of resting in two hour intervals. Of waiting for sleep to claim him before his racing thoughts consumed him. He calls your name.

It’s surprisingly easy to, now that the lights are off. “You should be sleeping in your own bed.”

“...But I can’t just let you sleep on the sofa. It’ll be a killer on your back.” The sound of your footsteps slows to a stop, floorboards creaking with the motion. “The both of us are fine sleeping downstairs.”

“Isn’t he a restless sleeper?”

“Nope, he sleeps like a baby.”

At that remark, somewhere from the first floor, the sound of rapid footfalls could faintly be heard. Coupled with the fire-monster’s trademark cackle.

“Well, that is, when he gets tired enough.”

The both of you lapse into silence, listening to Grim tear through the first floor hallways. The sound of the ghosts playfully taunting him.

You mutter quietly to yourself, “yeah, he’ll tire himself out in a bit. Hopefully.” The floorboards creak again, you’re probably leaning against the doorframe. “Does the noise bother you?’

“No, not really…” The Scarabia dorm was unnervingly quiet in the days after his Overblot. It was as if there were eyes on him, breaths held in anticipation. Watching and waiting for his next misstep. Nighttime wasn’t any easier. Whenever he'd jolt awake, he would stifle any screams or cries with his pillow, wait for the terror to run its course, count the hours until sunrise. “It’s just—”

There’s a faraway crash and the sound of Grim cursing, a chorus of ghostly laughter in response.

“Never mind, I misspoke. It’s…” Stupid. Jamil quickly dismisses your concern. “You should go check on him.” He turns his back to the doorway.

But you don’t leave. The sound of your footsteps approaches your bed. “Grim’ll be fine. I’m… more worried about you. Could you scoot over?”

“It’s your bed.” He tamps the embarrassment down, forces irritation into his words. Nonetheless letting you climb into the spot next to him. The mattress dips with your weight added to it.

Your own response was bashful. “I know, but…” you pause, thinking of your next words. “Grim and the ghosts… noticed that you were having… nightmares.”

“They’ll pass.” He’s dealt with worse.

“...You’re not wrong for feeling these things,” you say, voice low. As if speaking any louder would disturb the other residents of the dorm.

"How could you still say that…” A lump forms in his throat. “...after…"

"After everything?”

It doesn’t feel right to hear you cut to the heart of it. His words spill into the darkness of your bedroom. "After throwing you and Grim into the desert, keeping you against your will—"

"Hey, we were glad to get out of the cold for a little bit."

At his silence, you let out a quiet laugh.

"...I mean it though. It wasn't all bad." Your fingertips press against the side of his arm, apologetic.

He doesn’t… shy away from the contact, but he remains still. Staring up at the ceiling. “You could’ve died.”

Your touch withdraws. “I can say the same to you."

"Wouldn't that have been better? What use is there for an insubordinate servant?” Jamil thinks back to the attempts made on Kalim’s life. Investigations were made into the other staff. Into esteemed guests, renowned politicians, prospective and longtime business partners. Through it all, only the Viper household remained clean.

And it just had to be him, the person closest to Kalim, who tarnished that steadfast loyalty. He’s seen what happened to assassins who were caught.

(There’s a certain irony in having to spill blood for the protection of another.)

"Don't…don't say that. Kalim doesn’t think of you like that…"

But he still treats Jamil like one. “He thinks the world of everyone he meets. Even those who’ve wronged him.”

“...sure, maybe he’s a bit naive—” That was an understatement, Jamil thinks to himself. Dense, ignorant, stupid were more fitting. “—but he really does see you as one of his closest friends.”

“What do you know?” he counters. What could you say that he hasn't already heard?

“Kalim’s not stupid. He genuinely trusted—he still trusts you in spite of what happened.”

And wasn’t that the most irritating part? That he was still being showered in empty kindness and praise by Kalim? That in the end, he would have to be held accountable for something as careless as losing control of himself?

“It isn’t that simple.” Frustration laces the way he says your name. “Put yourself in my shoes for a second—”

“I am…I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s my duty, to Kalim’s family and my own.” God, he was sick of hearing the dorm leader’s drivel about friendship, but to hear himself repeating his parents’ own words to you was painful.

“That’s true, but you’re not…”

There’s a familiar heat building at the base of Jamil’s throat, an ugly mix of shame, embarrassment. “His title and status as the Asim heir takes priority, and I have to make sure that he doesn’t die before that happens—”

“But you were just a kid!” Your voice rises to a furious whisper before falling, quiet and trembling. “...you were just…a kid… and you shouldn’t have had to bear that on your own for so long…And then to be expected to carry on as if nothing happened…”

Jamil should be angry at hearing another shed tears for him. Expressing the emotions that should’ve been his. Only one other person has done that in front of him, and that misplaced kindness sent him further along the route to his eventual Overblot.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t but—” Despite your apology, the thickness in your voice doesn’t let up. "Still…! Who just tells their own child to ‘lose thrice’?"

The anger that he has carefully nursed doesn’t rear its head. Maybe it really did disappear with the dispelling of his Overblot. Or maybe it’s because you didn’t face him with the fear that his dormmates held.

“How do you know that?” His question is met with your silence. With the curtains drawn closed, only faint slivers of moonlight creep into your bedroom, scarcely enough to reveal the shape of your figure beside him. Jamil’s hand reaches out tentatively—the back of your hand is damp—before withdrawing altogether.

“...When I fell into the Blot ink, I could hear them…and I saw you. When you were younger.”

He could remember the ink pouring into every orifice. “Then you…” If it went on for any longer, it would have drowned him, then consumed his magic, then his body and then—

“Yeah, then I managed to pull you out.”

“But you weren’t in the infirmary.”

“...Fourth time’s the charm, I guess.”

“Did…that happen with the others?”

“Yeah. With Riddle. And Leona, and Azul. I don’t know why it happens." You shift, the sound of your clothes rustling against the bed covers as you move closer to him. Your shoulder lightly nudges his. “The first time it happened, no one else knew what I was talking about.”

“Tell that to the livestream of my conversation with Azul.”

“But they didn’t broadcast it… it was just a speaker call. For the rest of the dorm to hear.”

Jamil sits up. “What.” He was supposed to know about this? Those Octavinelle fuckers.

“I…I thought—oh, I guess they didn’t tell you, I’m sorry—”

His stunned silence is broken with a laugh, bubbling from his throat and building into sharp, hysterical laughter. He feels warm, burns with embarrassment, because of course it wasn’t a livestream. And why was he feeling a hint of relief at that revelation?

His palms press against his eye sockets. To his ears, the sound is foreign, but he can feel the exertion in his throat. Feel his breathing quicken, the start of a sob which he chokes down.

It takes him a few more moments to register the tears flowing down his cheeks. His outburst dies as quickly as it erupted. His chest hurts at the feeling of stifling his cries, to keep them from escaping.

God, he feels dumb.

You sit up, pull him into your arms. Let him cry against your shoulder, rub a soothing hand against his back. You don’t say anything, but the tender gesture speaks enough.

By the time his emotions have calmed down, his head aches with a dull pain. The all-too familiar sensation of exhaustion seeps into him.

“Will… you ever talk to Kalim?” you ask. Your own expression was stricken with tear tracks, from sharing in a fraction of his pain.

“Of course I have to eventually.” He sighs, lying back down and you follow. “...I have no choice.”

“You don’t have to…force yourself to though.” You reach forwards, gently wiping away his tears with your thumbs. And he lets you. “If you still need time, you can stay here… To rest and recuperate.”

Paradoxically, it’s in the words of a stranger—(did you count as an acquaintance though? Acquaintances didn’t just spoon each other though, they didn’t just tangle their legs together while sharing the same bed)—that he finds a pinprick of solace.

And sure, you could call it that. ‘Rest.’

But to Jamil, this was stagnation. He couldn’t just keep mooching off your hospitality, blindly trusting in Kalim’s resolve to change. He couldn’t let himself stay indebted for this long.

“I can’t just stay here for the holidays. But…thank you.”

Once winter break ends, what would he do? How should he go about repairing his social standing in the dorm? With the rest of the student body?

What’s the next move?

He doesn’t even realize that he’s fallen asleep. Rest comes to him, gentle and peaceful.

When early morning arrives, Jamil gives himself five minutes. Five minutes of sitting in the rare calmness of his mind, of listening to your slow even breathing, of being encased in between the warmth of the blankets and your body heat. Comfortable, protected, safe in your arms.

Then he extricates himself from your hold. At the motion, you make a weak sound of protest, blindly reaching after him. Your fingers brush against the hem of Jamil’s shirt. He catches your wrist, gently sets your arm down on the mattress. Then he pulls the edge of the blanket over you to keep you warm and goes to get ready for the day.

Since he was planning on making breakfast, he’d first have to check if the school store had anything available.

(A part of him is grateful that Kalim packed a scarf.)

A/N: originally this started as a scene of jamil being the lazy one for once and trying to keep u in bed with him. i just wanted to write cuddles (read: the intended kissies were somehow lost along the way. i am still sobbing crying weeping and calling for them to come back home) but aaa its finally done, one of my persistent brainworms is freed!! and more have taken its place help id like to credit @jessamine-rose for betaing this fic, thank u ms maam twst veteran💕💕 wcidfy ch3 will take a bit more time to be written. so im gonna chip away at other wips (shorter oneshots) as i try to get the main beats down. it would take a miracle for it to be posted soon, so id probably expect chapter 3 in (late) june. anyway, i hope u enjoyed reading this, don't be afraid to rb and holler in the tags!! i treasure each and every comment!! taglist (ig i have one of these now?): @merotwst

#dellet-writings #twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #jamil viper #jamil viper x reader #g/n reader

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kuririhimitsukichi · 3 months

Text

Keroro Movie 4 deleted scene: Shion's Secret, Tamama's Disappearance

This is the scene I've mentioned that had finished animation, there's one version of the movie tie-in credits posted to youtube and you can see one clip there, but they didn't use the exact same mix of clips each week, so there are a couple more shots from the missing scene that were shown.

Removing it must have been a fairly last minute decision, and unfortunately it wasn't included in the bonus features for the DVD, not even the special release. My guess is it was either cut for time, or that it was decided it gave away too much of the story too early, but I wish we could have seen the whole scene in some way, it feels like it would have been really spectacular to see.

This part takes place right after the guest house scene, in the final movie after Tamama runs out of the room it cuts to Momoka waking up, and this scene would have happened between those two points.

Once again, the translation from the novel is under the cut:

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the quiet night on the outskirts of Paris, a faint singing voice could be heard. It was such a quiet sound that if you weren't warned of it, you might not notice it, even so, if you listened closely, you could just understand the song.

The singing voice quietly, quietly echoed through the garden where afternoon tea time had been spent, the outer wall of Shion's castle......as well as the guest room on the interior of that, where Momoka & Tamama were sleeping. Nonetheless the two were firmly in the world of dreams. You'd expect they wouldn't notice the singing voice at all.

However.

The sleeping Tamama's eyes suddenly snapped open. The colour of his eyes was different from usual. They were lit up like jewels showered in moonlight. Suddenly waking up, Tamama agilely jumped out of bed. He moved carefully like a child trying to avoid being thought of as bad for waking up in the middle of the night. And so, like that he exited and left the room with soft footfalls.

And closed the door with a click.

Still in her bed, Momoka muttered "Ngh" in response before immediately returning to the world of dreams again. As for the other, now empty bed...... Just where could Tamama be going to?

Tamama ran with tapping steps through the lush, densely growing forest on the other side of Shion's castle. With a blank expression as if he were sleeping with his eyes open, he all around looked like he was being controlled by somebody......

Tamama easily pressed through the pitch-black night forest without stumbling. As he progressed, the singing voice gradually became louder. In a short time, the forest ended and a pond illuminated by the moonlight appeared. The footsteps of Tamama, who had been running through the forest, became slower.

In the center of the pond there was a small island. A small figure seemed to be absentmindedly floating there. The person was likely the one singing the song. Judging by the voice, the one singing was a young girl. But why might a girl be singing in the forest this late at night?

Tamama, who had stopped running at the edge of the pond suddenly came to himself. His eyes returned to their normal colour.

"Huh? Wha-what-what? Where is this place?" Despite having run there on his own, it seemed he had no recollection of it.

The figure on the island suddenly stopped singing and turned to look.

"Bonsoir, Tamama-chan" It was Shion, having put on a black cloak.

Despite sporting the same personable smile she had worn that afternoon, illuminated by the moonlight, the girl had a somewhat spooky feeling.

"Shiocchi! What are you doing so late at night?" You could hear a hint of fear in his voice. Instead of answering, Shion raised a hand and gestured to the sky.

"Look. Please look at the dragon arch. Hasn't it grown considerably? It was such a lot of trouble to make it appear throughout the world" Shion spoke in an unbothered tone while gesturing to where the black night sky was cut by the even more black dragon arch.

"Appear throughout the world? Just what are you talking about? The dragon arch..." Finally clearly awake, Tamama looked at Shion with suspicion.

But as expected, Shion did not answer the question, and simply continued what she was saying. "Soon my new family will be be born. My heart friend, the Earth Dragon" Shion's rapt gaze softened.

"Earth....Dragon? Is that a story you made up, Shiocchi? Momocchi told me. That you're good at making up stories"

"Tamama-chan, you will become a warrior who will protect the Earth" Shion did not appear to hear Tamama's words at all, but leaned forward slightly as she spoke.

"'Warrior.....?' Does that mean I'm going to be a character appearing in Shiocchi's story too? Or maybe something like shouting 'Worya!' and fighting?"

While Tamama was thinking, Shion had turned back and began to sing. A song that was like a mysterious spell.... In front of Shion there was a small altar, and on that a large tome was open. While singing, she spread her arms and hands wide above them, from the space between her palms, a ball of pale blue light formed.

"What were you doing just now? Shiocchi? Singing a song.....sng....."

As the singing voice grew louder, Tamama seemed to become enveloped by it, and his eyes took on a strange light. The same colour as when he'd sprang out of bed earlier.

"Uu.....my-.....my head....."

When did the singing voice become more than just Shion's?

"Wh-When did....."

Around Tamama & Shion, and the edge of the pond, black figures had lined up. The accumulating deep voices belonged to those men. When did it happen? That about 10 men were surrounding the pond.

Shion's song and the men's singing voices- their choir flared up so that if you heard them, you couldn't hear anything else.

"W-What, what is it? This song is......?" Pressing on his head to try and hold onto his fading consciousness, Tamama looked all around at his surroundings. These men he couldn't feel any sort of hint from, when had they appeared?

"Shiocchi?"

Shion and the men's singing voices had steadily grown louder and were echoing in Tamama's head.

"U, ua....., my body is.....is......."

The light between the palms of Shion's hands had been gathering strength along with the singing voices. As if it were signaling to that light, this time a light shone out of Tamama's body.

"My body is~~~~~!" The light enveloped Tamama and continued to grow larger. From deep in the forest, the glowing mass and body slowly rose. A piercing roar echoed throughout the night in the outskirts of Paris.

".......ngh, what is, this sound......" Having awakened, Momoka realised at that time that the neighbouring bed was empty.

#keroro #keroroposting #keroro gunso #sergeant keroro #sgt keroro #sgt frog #tamama #shion #keroro movies #keroro movie 4 #dragon warriors #translations #novelisations #deleted scenes #the “sng” I feel needs a slight explanation #In Japanese the main part of song and sing use the same kanji #Here it was just the kanji with nothing to clarify if it was the verb or noun #so I removed the vowel that differentiates the two in English

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cuddlepilefics · 3 months

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Hi, it's me who wrote salembutnotthecat about writing a sickfic for The Rose fandom. So, my prompt is: Woosung getting carsick when going home after working the whole day recording a song in the studio. He decided to take a taxi to go home (Inspired by the actual situation when he got drank, took a taxi and had to stop it as soon as arriving on the Hannam Bridge. He got off and threw up everywhere.) but this time he gets sick not because of drinking but maybe he ate something wrong or got a fever. He gets too exhausted to drive so he takes a taxi instead... I just have this idea but you can alter the details in any way that is comfortable for you to write! If you haven't listened to The Rose yet, please give them a listen. They're amazing! Thank you so much. :)

Hannam Bridge

Prompts: Motion sick + professionalism failure + visibly ill + totally drained @monthofsick

TW: emeto, real person fiction

I have listened to The Rose and so far, my favorite song is "Sorry", "Red" following close on #2

Fandom: The Rose

Sickie: Woosung

No one’s POV.:

Woosung had already been exhausted when his alarm went off that morning. It felt like he hadn’t slept a wink but he knew that he had a full day ahead of him and couldn’t afford to roll over once more. His head throbbed when he set up, making him wince. Maybe a nice, hot morning coffee would ease his headache though it might not be the best idea to have one, considering he had to record a new song today. Woosung didn’t really feel hungry for breakfast, so he only got himself a cup of coffee, sleepily sipping the hot drink as he read over the lyrics on his phone. Before heading out, he knocked back a painkiller to soothe his headache, knowing he wasn’t supposed to take it on an empty stomach but he couldn’t bring himself to eat anything.

It was a decision, Woosung soon came to regret. His stomach was in knots but at least, the headache had improved a little. He’d spent the next few hours practicing the song and record it after lunch, so he could still hope his stomach would settle down till then because right now, there was no way the microphone wouldn’t pick up the rumbles. The other members all had their individual schedules today, which was usually fine but right now, Woosung wished he wouldn’t be alone but that couldn’t be helped. At least, Dojoon had texted, asking if they wanted to grab lunch together, since they both had their breaks scheduled at the same time. Woosung couldn’t imagine forcing any food into his stomach but maybe that was exactly what he needed to do to help it settle if the problem was coffee and medicine on an empty stomach.

By the time lunchtime rolled around, Woosung felt defeated. He didn’t like the way his voice sounded on the new song and didn’t know how he was going to record it later but decided that was a problem for his future-self to figure out. Dojoon frowned when the other plopped into the seat opposite him. “You good?”, he asked the leader, who tiredly rested his aching head in his hands. Woosung nodded but admitted: “Tired as hell and I have a headache.” – “Mhm, you’re pretty pale”, Dojoon commented. In his opinion, his friend looked visibly sick but he didn’t want to call him out. “Drank some coffee and had some pain meds this morning on an empty stomach, so it’s been a little unsettled all morning”, the older sighed, his stomach growling as if in confirmation, “I’ll just order some plain rice to calm it down and repent for my coffee-sin.” That made Dojoon laugh and although he felt so unwell, Woosung was glad he had gone out for lunch.

The rice had done little to settled the singer’s stomach, sitting heavily as he made his way to the studio. After getting set up, Woosung put on his headphones and winced at the pressure they applied on his head. Had the booth always been this stuffy? No matter how uncomfortable it was, he reminded himself to act professional and tried his hardest to do well as they started to record but it was hard. Every inhalation threatened to make his stomach cramp up and with his shallow breathing, his voice came out flat and forced. “Stop straining, your voice sounds forced”, came the producers voice over the speaker. Woosung nodded and gave a thumbs-up to show he had understood the instructions. That didn’t mean he’d manage to change anything about it though.

Somehow, today didn’t seem to be his day, Woosung acknowledged when the producer asked what was up because he usually did so much better. They agreed to take a five minute break during which he sipped some water and tried to quieten his racing mind screaming at him to be more professional. His hands trembled when he got behind the mic once again, the pressure mounting to do better. Woosung started to sweat but he didn’t know whether it was the stress or the lack of ventilation in the recording booth, that was already making him feel a little lightheaded.

Hours later, Woosung was finally done. No, he wasn’t satisfied at all with the way it had turned out but his throat hurt and his head throbbed, so he knew it wouldn’t get any better if they kept at it longer. Besides, he felt guilty for how long he was keeping the producer just because he couldn’t get his lines right. He had completely failed at being professional. The producer didn’t seem to be all that upset though, far more understanding than Woosung would’ve expected. While he packed up his belongings, the other even went to get him some tea from the break room, telling him to get home safely.

Too tired to drive himself home, Woosung called for a taxi and sat outside, sipping his tea. Getting some fresh air seemed to help temporarily and he weakly collapsed into the backseat, voice scratchy as he told the driver the address. If Woosung had felt like the recording booth had been stuffy, the car was a wholly different level. Within only a couple of minutes, he was sweating buckets, his stomach churning with every turn of the road. Of course, getting carsick would be the cherry on top of his already shitty day. Dreading the weird, fluttery feeling in his stomach, Woosung clutched his empty paper cup. He hoped he’d make it home without getting sick to his stomach, his throat already sore from singing all day.

They had just pulled onto Hannam bridge when Woosung’s stomach took a turn for the worse and he begged the driver to pull over, already gagging over the paper cup in his hand. For a moment, he got caught in his seatbelt as he tried to get out of the taxi but managed to free himself before pitching forward, the tea he had just finished splattering onto the pavement. Stumbling to the side of the bridge, Woosung clutched the railing and tried to brace himself against the dizziness. The next heave had him bent at the waist, acid burning his throat. His heart was racing as he retched up another bitter wave and struggled to inhale afterwards, his stomach immediately lurching again.

Woosung was glad that his hood had slipped forward over the upper half of his face when he had first bent over. Hopefully it’d conceal his identity because the thought of fans recognizing and watching him in such a pitiful state was enough to make his stomach turn. On the list of things he had hoped to never have to experience, getting sick in public was pretty far up. At least, it was already dark, so he could convince himself of his anonymity. That was the only comfort he found as his throat strained with dry heaves, body too exhausted to get anything else up.

Even when the heaves slowly tapered off, Woosung couldn’t bring himself to let go of the hand rail, his head spinning as his heart kept beating out of his chest. It was hard to imagine getting back into the stuffy taxi but he knew he didn’t really have a choice, since he didn’t want to waste the driver’s time and also because he truly wanted to curl up in his bed and be miserable in the privacy of his room. Staggering back to the taxi, Woosung gulped and forced in a shaky breath.

When he plopped back into his seat, he found a plastic bag and a bottle of water there, the driver sympathetically offering him a mint, which he gladly accepted, the taste on his tongue keeping the nausea at an all time high. Woosung dropped his head in his hands, totally drained. He could feel his blood pulsing in his head and it was only now, that he noticed how his cheeks had become damp with tears. His flushed cheeks felt hot against his hands and by now, he was pretty certain that he was running a temperature. There was no way his day could go so wrong if he wasn’t sick.

Woosung didn’t have the energy to check though, already glad that he managed to drag himself from the taxi to the safety of his own bathroom, where he promptly found himself retching up a mouthful of bile from the exertion of having to get upstairs. Merely rinsing his mouth and using some mouthwash, Woosung splashed some cold water on his feverishly flushed skin before stumbling to his room and crashing on his bed. In his haze, he only just remembered typing a message to their manager. The words barely coherent and with lots of typos, it was obvious how miserable he felt, already falling asleep with his phone in his hand as soon as he had hit sent.

#fanfic #fanfiction #sickfic #sick #emeto #tw emeto #tw rpf #novemetober #the rose

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red-airhead · 11 months

Text

𝓘𝓻𝓲𝓼 | 𝓑𝓪𝓷𝓰 𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓷 |

For the sake of my readers and dear mutuals, just know that you are loved, and that if you ever need anything, even if it's your first time coming across my page, take the advantage to send me a message if you need to talk. Please enjoy.

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Masterlist

word count - 3,000

genre - hurt, comfort, fluff, romance

warnings - gn terms, afab reader, mentions of depression, mentions of insomnia, bsf! Chan, mentions of self doubt, talking it through, both reader and chan have issues, mutual pining, chan gives more caregiver vibes than anything, romantic tension(?), cuddling for comfort, chan gets a tad emotional through the story, mentions of self-harm (past and present tense), mentions of hyunjin's hiatus, mentions of a perverted boss, reader and chan have very faded scars, reader is also a tad emotional, lmk if I missed anything.

Chan isn’t sure how long it’s been. How long it’s been since he’s felt so drained and numb from everything all at once. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he’s had the same song on repeat in his room for hours on end, the song playing with low volume on a speaker by his desk. The song clearly expressed how he felt, and it would make sense for him to change it soon, but he doesn’t.

He’s been laying in bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking about the lyrics for hours now. His cheeks were slightly stained from crying a couple of moments ago, but he ended up stopping since he began zoning out and looking at the ceiling. The song never got old, even though he played it everywhere he went. In the car, on the way to get you from your house, long car rides from places outside of town, at home. It was his favorite, all because you showed him the song on a late evening after going out for a couple of drinks.

His best friend since he was thirteen, someone he knew so well all because of the struggle of living in korea all alone. You met in school, and it wasn’t much of a shocker that you two became fast friends.

He spent a lot of nights talking to you, talking about you, and just making sure it was known you were his best friend. He still did it, in Channie’s room he would talk and talk about all the things you two used to when you were younger, those small habits he noticed over the years and just everything about you. While some fans weren’t too happy he was talking about you, the others found it amazing that someone was able to meet him so early in his life and still be there till this day.

He tried to see you every day, even if it was for a short amount he just wanted to see you. You’d come to concerts, you’d beg their manager to let you come on tours because you wanted to be there for Chan, but that meant you’d have to pretend you were a staff member. And while it was worth it, you still hated having to hide.

Chan had actually had you in a couple of lives, meeting the fans, waving off camera for the first few before showing your face and finally sitting next to Chan during these lives, or just in the background.

You’d listen to all the cheesy pick up lines fan’s would send upon request from Chan, listening to the songs fans would request and sometimes singing along because you knew some. Slowly but surely you were seen more often, and sometimes if Chan was live in his room and you decided to stay the night, He’d find you falling asleep halfway through in his best as if you didn’t have any sleeping problems.

…And Chan being Chan he’d flip the camera around to record you and let the fans take clips of him playing around with your sleeping figure just before deciding to end the live show and let you sleep in peace.

He was waiting on you now though, waiting for you to come over after a long day of work as you had agreed sleepovers would happen if he ever needed company. You had multiple changes of clothes at Chan’s because of this, but you’d end up sleeping in his hoodie or a t-shirt.

Tonight was weird though, when you had arrived you didn’t look tired, or even seemed bothered, like you were hiding something and it made him nervous.

“So uh,, how was work..?”

And that was the question that broke you. Smile faltering, body language changing from bouncy and excited to completely distraught and stressed out.

“They fired me today.. They had a rush of some of your ‘fans’ come in and basically target me for being friends with you. It was the last straw for them so they fired me. I’m jobless now.” You muttered, burying your face in your hands as you sighed heavily.

Chan couldn’t help but frown and immediately try to get you comfortable, of course that was after you had changed in the bathroom and took off all the makeup you had put on prior, and he decided to lighten the mood at least a bit, “Eh, on the bright side, you don’t have to deal with that pervy manager that kept eyeballing you whenever you were working.”

You snorted at the response and nodded before going silent again, sitting next to Chan on the bed awkwardly, “What about you? I was looking at your most used streaming service today and it says you’ve been listening to Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls for like 4 hours now.”

“I just missed you, that’s all.” Chan replied almost immediately, trying to cover up the fact that he was in fact, dealing with something, but he couldn’t fool you. You saw right through him.

“Chan, we both know that you are lying to me, and it’s doing absolutely nothing. What’s on your mind?” You pushed, like you usually did. God how did that voice of yours always break him like a glass cup?

“It’s just the same ol’, same ol’.. Overthinking and stressing out over things that can be cared about later.. Thinking about the past and stuff like that..” Chan lazily skimmed over the details of what had been dealing with, and while it did bring you some ease, it didn’t put it to rest.

“I get that… Ugh, what am I gonna do now? I don’t have a job anymore..” You muttered, flopping backwards on Chan’s full sized bed.

“Just come live with me.. Life’s easier when you’re here anyway.” Chan admitted with a few moments of hesitation.

You giggled at his remark, finding it sweet that he cared that much, “Nah, I couldn’t do that to you Channie. You work too hard anyway, that’d basically mean you’d have to start paying for two, buying for two, and it could possibly mean double the rent.”

“No really, please I don’t mind. I’d rather have you here then be in deafening silence, plus, don’t I basically already do that?”

“No you do not! You’ve paid for dinner on occasion, and you’ve only ever paid for things I needed when I didn’t have the money.”

“Exactly, which has been most of the time.”

“Lair.”

“Not a liar I just want to make sure you remember me when I– Nevermind..”

And then a few moments of silence. He thought you had fallen asleep so he turned his head to admire your sleeping facial features, only to be startled by wide eyes and brows furrowed.

“When you what Chan?” And when you had asked, he didn’t respond for a few minutes.

“Nothing, lets just go to be–”

“No, tell me. Right now or so help me, I will tickle you to death.”

You knew he hated that threat.

“I just.. I want to make sure you remember me when I die..”

You quickly shook your head and sat up, Chan nearly following you moments after, “Chan you can’t just say that.. You can’t just assume that I would be okay with you plotting–”

“I’m not plotting, I’m just thinking about the future is all.. You remember my song 42 right? It’s like that right now only, just, me being older.”

“Chan you can’t mask your problems with thinking about the future.”

“I understand that but-”

“Then why do it? Why question your whole existence right next to your best friend that you KNOW will prove you wrong every damn time you think like that.”

Silence fell between the two again. Chan knew you were right, you always were. You proved him wrong every time that he had doubted himself or thought about taking his life in the future. He knew how much he meant to you, and you knew how much you meant to him, yet sometimes he forgets that and just runs his mouth like it didn’t matter.

“Channie.. You need to stop thinking like that.. It’s not healthy.” You muttered, turning to him with worry in your eyes.

“Hypocrite.”

“What?”

“You can’t say anything, because you do the same shit.”

“Chan, I really don’t want to argue, I’m just worried about you.. It’s the 5th time this month, that’s more than what it’s been in the last two years. You haven’t thought like this so much since you had to let Hyunjin go on hiatus.”

Chan couldn’t help but get teary eyed. You were right again, just like always. He felt like fool, and he felt like he didn’t deserve you.

His head hung low for a little while, before your hand came up under his chin to lift his head, revealing his quivering lips and teary eyes.

“I’m sorry.. ‘M acting like such a fool around you, aren’t I?”

“No.. No sweetie you aren’t, you never do..”

Chan whimpered a little before sniffling, your hand now shifting to wipe a couple of stray tears. You couldn’t help but get teary eyed too, trying to blink it all away but it just made tears fall.

“Why are you crying?” He finally spoke up after what felt like eternity, his own hand now going to wipe away your tears, then resting gently on your cheek where you leaned into it.

“Chan I’m terrified of losing you.. Everytime that you’ve texted me that you loved me or that you felt like you were slipping away from reality made me so scared.. I know that without you my life would be actual hell, and I just can’t handle that.” You began to ramble, swallowing thickly as a sniffle passed through in the process.

“Y/N..”

“I’ve had dreams, of what the world would be like without you and it’s not pretty.. Those dreams I see fans falling apart, wishing that they could join you, and some of them would.. I saw Felix falling apart, hiding away in his room desperately clinging onto a hoodie from your closet he stole months ago.. I see Jisung falling into despair and writing songs about you. Hyunjin who would constantly paint pictures that reminded him of you, or just a portrait of you in general. I see Bin, who would lose his motivation to work out because he didn’t have his work out buddy, lose the passion to write and produce because there wasn’t going to be someone who could make him laugh like you made him. I see Innie visiting your grave for hours on end because he misses his hyung and can’t stand being away from you, Seungmin who would constantly talk about you and cry on live or during interviews because he didn’t know what to do.. And Minho… I see him in complete shambles, balling his eyes out every night and just clinging onto your bedsheets for dear life because your cologne or shampoo would linger in your room..” You just barely made it to the end of it, tears streaming down your face and onto the hands which now held both of your cheeks.

Chan could feel his heart shattering, listening to the dream you had about everyone, but one thing was missing. You. Where were you?

“And you?”

“Chan I wouldn’t have been able to handle it, I would’ve taken mine the moment I would find out you were dead.” You had nearly sobbed from it, and it broke his heart.

Without hesitation he pulled you close and began kissing at your tears, trying to force them away just before letting you cling onto him and hide away.

“Chan, I remember what it was like during your first attempt.. The night I came to your house and saw those red stains on washcloths. The slightly tinted red left over water in the bathtub because I came over so suddenly, the stray droplets leading from your room to the bathroom just before stopping at the doorway because of your carpeted floors..” You just couldn’t help but ramble about it all, you remembered everything and Chan could feel it eating at him.

“I remember showing you the song Iris in the car ride home the next day because I knew you’d understand the lyrics, feel connected better than what most people would when I showed them the song. I remember getting home and crying because I knew that I didn’t come soon enough to prevent you from even trying, and even.. and even causing pain to myself because I couldn’t handle it. I felt so numb, just like how you explained it to me the first time we talked about it.. It didn’t feel right, like I–”

“Can I see them..?” Chan felt himself hesitating from that question, causing him to swallow thickly. You stared at him for and sense of joke before moving and rolling up your spandex and revealing the very faded yet slightly dark scars from years ago. You watched as one of Chan’s hands falling from your face to the scars, gently touching them with his brows furrowed. He then stopped, and pulled them down, before squeezing you tighter than before.

“Chan I’m worried that if you try again, I’ll go down with you this time, and I really don’t want that to happen.”

“It won’t, I made a promise, remember?”

“It doesn’t mean you can’t break it.”

“I won't.”

“I know…”

You two basked in a 15 minute cuddle session of just silence, knowing that if either of you talked about it again, you’d both fall apart in a matter of minutes.

“I know I said I wasn’t going to talk about it, but can I see yours?”

Chan was confused by what you meant, which made him release a “Hm?”

“Your.. Your scars.. Can I see them?”

Chan smiled at you a little before silently nodding and showing his own thighs. Fans often couldn’t see them because of cover ups and makeup, but when there's nothing covering them, they were very vivid and deep.

You shifted so you were now face to face with those scars, causing him to jump and flush red, almost reaching to stop you.

“I want to kiss them better.. I know they won’t go away but maybe if I kissed them it would be better..” You muttered, fingers tracing them before your soft, slightly cracked lips touched the scar tissue.

It caused him to swallow thickly, ears now red while watching you hastily and gently place kisses on every single scar you could.

“Y/N.. You don’t have to do this..”

“I want to.. Just talk to me about your feelings..”

“Okay.. Well.. the night you came over and almost caught me, I was thinking so selfishly, like, I didn’t even think of you.. And when you came over it made me realize how stupid I was to do such a thing. It wasn’t even an attempt at that point, it was like I was finding a reason to be miserable.. To make you miserable until realizing that’s not what I wanted…”

While Chan continued to ramble, you kept placing kisses on the scars gently, just before grabbing a marker and beginning to draw hearts and stars on them. Not in permanent marker of course, but maybe it could be a cool tattoo idea.

Chan flinched at the cold from the ink, looking at you becoming focused in your work, “What are you doing now?”

“Drawing hearts and stars because then they’ll be pretty and all healed.”

His heart fluttered at your words, and it made him get a little nervous. It was probably the worst time to do a confession, so he decided to wait it out a little longer.

By the time you finished, the two of you ended up all snuggled up, covered in drawings of heart, stars, and smiley faces. You two were giggling at a few of them but of course, it didn’t stop you from talking.

You talked about many things all night, and it made sense for the two of you since insomnia loved kicking him and you in the ass and telling you to suffer, but besides the point, you felt comfortable.

There was a point during these conversations you got drowsy, and you could only remember bits and pieces before snapping awake and looking at Chan with surprised eyes.

“Quit looking at me like that, you look like a scary monster.” He joked, a giggle following through with it after.

“Oh please, if anything I’m far from a monster.. I’m just getting a little drowsy..”

“Could I tell you something that would wake you up even more?”

“I guess so What’s this little secret you got?”

He paused for a moment, pretending to think like he had to remember it, just before locking eyes with you, which scared you.

“I love you.”

“Awhh Channie I love you too!”

“No,,, Y/N I don’t think you’re listening to me.. I love you. Like, really love you.”

Your expression shifted from half asleep to wide awake with red all over, “Chan? Christopher? Chris? Like, Crispy? Channie? You love me?”

“Yes, I love you so damn much..”

You fell silent before bursting into a fit of excited giggles and hiding away in his arms, “I love you too, Channie..”

He couldn’t help but smile, making sure that the both of you were snuggled up under the blankets, and after hours of letting the song repeat, he changed it.

5am, is what the time reads. 5am on March 25th, 2023, was the day that you two had spent all night talking, snuggled up, drawing on each other, and falling in love over and over again.

5am on March 25th, 2023, the day that the world decided two lonely people needed each other. The day that you fell asleep happy in his arms with no other thoughts in your mind.

#stray kids #stray kids angst #stray kids comfort #stray kids smut #stray kids fluff #bang chan #bang chan smut #bang chan fluff #bang chan angst #bang chan hurt #stray kids hurt #bang chan comfort #bang chan x reader

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josiesullysblog · 1 year

Text

~Neteyam x f! Na’vi reader

~angst

~proofread- a little bit

~summary- Neteyam was forbidden to meet with Za’ tara (that's you!) and for once in his life, he disobeys

Neytiri drags the boy along the forest for what felt like the fifth time. Neteyam, being next in line to take his father's position, is held to high expectations. One is staying away from a certain girl who keeps his heart pumping, where his eyes always find a place to fall on when it's dinner time, where he always sneaks off to each night. Za’tara was a simple girl, she always let the wind take her, and always found somewhere singing a tune. She was the youngest in her family, meaning she had no touch of responsibility, and no grasp of reality, but in Neteyam’s eyes, she was perfect. They first met when she was lost in a song she was singing, dancing around till she felt a gaze, his gaze. She smiled before she approached the boy who seemed lost himself, she started dancing with him while she continued her song. The two spent every night together after that, till their parents figured it out.

Neytiri didn't hate you, she wanted to protect her baby. She knew you, as did everyone else around you, you didn't care for rules and did as you pleased and these facts alone made Neteyam love you. Neteyam felt a need to always be great, always do what's expected, and be the golden child. But with you, he was free he had no restrictions, no rules, and he was at peace. He didn't expect to cause such problems running off with you every night, but the thrill it gave him is what he chased.

“Get out.” A stern voice rang throughout the room, alerting Lo’ak, Kiri, and Tuk. To their surprise, Neteyam was being held by the ear and pushed into the tent. Lo’ak cracked a smile, Neteyam in trouble? The three left but not without keeping a close ear to the conversation going on inside. Jake walked into the tent before signing heavily and turning to look at his mate, “the same thing?” Neytiri nodded before speaking up, “this time I caught them kissing. Neteyam do you understand that this behavior cannot continue?” Neteyam looked at the disappointed look on his father's face and for once, he didn't care about it.

You once told Neteyam that his father isn't the one hard on him, but it was himself. The fear of being a disappointment weighs heavy on him, and that's what stops him from being great. Neytiri sighed loudly before looking at Jake, “he is not listening this is your problem now.” Jake sat down before waving at Neteyam to sit also, “Neteyam, I wished you stopped seeing this girl.” Jake was tired of his son’s recent escapade. Neteyam cracked a small smile, “I can not stay away from her.” He told the truth lying would've gotten him nowhere. Neteyam laid back, “sir, for the first time in my life, I'm completely head over heels in love.” Neteyam looked at the ceiling, he thought of her hair and how it flew with the wind, how her voice sound when she laughed. He was far too gone to hear the pull of reality his parents attempted to put on him.

“I understand Neteyam, but I need you to listen to me-,” Neteyam quickly cut the man off, “I know what you think, that I need to focus on becoming the next leader, and have no right to fall in love,” Neteyam got up from his position looking at his father, “but things don't always work out the way we'd like to have them to work out, sir.”

Jake rubbed his face, “Neteyam I need you to listen, your mother doesn't approve of this, and for the sake of her, please forget about this girl.” Jake got up quickly before leaving to go outside.

Neteyam’s eyes followed you while you danced with the little children. While you danced, your eyes caught with his before you dismissed yourself. He caught you in a hug before he took you to your favorite spot.

You noticed he seemed off, not smiling as much so you grabbed his hand and played with his fingers. It was something you did often and it always seemed to calm him. “My mother isn't very happy with us,” he said looking into your eyes, you're smile dropped before he spoke up, “she wants me to forget you.” He picked your hand up and kissed it, “I refuse.”

You looked off into the distance, before bringing your eyes back to him, “you must pick the tribe,” many called you irresponsible, but Neteyam was the only one who saw you, the real you. “If I betray you, I betray myself, my love.” he kept kissing up your arm, “if I betray them, I betray my tribe the tribe is very dear to me.”

He finally made his way to your lips, “may I?” you nodded, and your lips touched. “Dearer than me, my Neteyam?” You cut the kiss off, he shook his head, “no, not dearer than you.” You gave a sad smile before kissing him once more, “if we are meant to be, we will be,” you stood up which invited Neteyam to do the same. “And if not?” He grabbed your hands, and his love for you burned deep. You were his mate no matter what. “Then we are not,” a pained look crossed his eyes, “I'll fight for you, I see you, my love.” You hugged the boy before kissing his cheek, “I see you, my Neteyam.”

****

Hey, besties! Hope you had a good new year, this one was fun to write hoping you all enjoy it!~Josie

#avatar way of water #neteyam #neteyam x y/n #jake sully

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edogawa-division · 3 months

Note

It was getting late in the day when the doorbell to the Kuromiya residence rung out. Answering the door, as she figured it was for her since it was her birthday, Kanra looked outside to see a medium-sized box and was not disappointed to see it was addressed to her. Bringing the box inside, she opened it to find several things inside.

The first gift was obvious, as it was a cake with red and black frosting on it, as well as some edible raspberries and blackberries that made Kanra's mouth water, making her hardly wait to bite into it. Pulling it out, she came across her second gift, which was a plain silver necklace that had her name at the end of it, written in cursive. 'Oohing' at it, she unclipped the end before putting it around her neck, liking how it felt.

The last gift was... it was a CD. ...Seriously? Who even uses CDs anymore? Not to mention aside from the words, 'For Kanra' written on it, the thing was just blank. Putting it to the side, she looked deeper in the box, and found a letter at the bottom. Pulling it out, it read:

"Happy birthday to you, Kanra-chan. I'm really sorry about delivering these gifts late! They would have been sent early, but Yorii spent the better part of the day making the song on the CD for you and he didn't want us sending our gifts before him. Again, I'm really sorry about that. The cake is from me, the necklace is from Mina-onee-san (she says 'hi', by the way), and the cd/song is from Yorii-kun. I hope you enjoy them all. Again, I wish you a happy birthday. Sorry we couldn't see you, but I hope it is going well!

With love, Elliot, Mina, and Yorii of Setagaya."

P.S. Please give that song a listen to when you can. Yorii really worked on it.

Reading the letter, Kanra took another look at the blank CD. Picking it up, she rushed to the basement where her sister, Kaoru, was located. After begging her to play the CD on her computer, the older sister relented and popped the CD into her computer. After a few seconds, a window popped up, showing a music file. Clicking on it, a song started playing throughout the audio of the computer...

The moment the song ended, Kaoru turned off the screen with a scowl on her face.

“Little brat.” She mumbled.

“It was nice of Yorii-kun to write a song for my birthday.”

“A little too nice if you ask me. I should hack his damn PROFILE for this.”

“Yorii-kun is just trying to be nice, Kaoru.”

“For Athena’s sake, Kanra, are you that blind?” Kaoru questioned, wondering how her little sister didn't know that Yorii had a major crush on her.

“What do you even mean by that?” Kanra huffed the beginning of her infamous temper already starting to show.

Not bothering to respond, Kaoru stood up from her computer chair and walked over to a certain area of one of her lab's walls.

“Kaoru?”

Continuing to ignore Kanra, Kaoru pushed a certain part of the wall, watching as it moved backward and to the side, revealing a secret compartment. Inside was filled with all sorts of dangerous weapons. From what Kanra could see, there were guns, grenades, rocket launchers, and there were even vials filled with all sorts of poisons and horrific concoctions. Reaching inside, Kaoru grabbed something, and much to Kanra’s dismay, the mad genius had pulled out her electric sledgehammer. The last time Kaoru had used that, she had shattered both of some idiot's kneecaps before shocking them unconscious.

“Kaoru you better not do what I think you're about to do.”

“I think I'm going to go have a little chat with a certain siren right now.”

“KAORU YOU LEAVE YORII-KUN ALONE!”

#hypnosis microphone #hypnosis mic #hypmic #hypmic oc #hypnosis mic oc #akemi kanra #mina nakayama #elliot shimizu #yorii sakuma #palenightmarefestival #happy birthday kanra 2024

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goldenlaurelleaveswrites · 1 year

Text

I Should be Asleep

1:47 am

I Should be Asleep (AO3)

A Huge thank you to @quickspinner for helping me with the music metaphors in this chapter!! 💖💖💖

________________________________________________

He would be lying if he said he hadn’t been thinking about Marinette on and off—nonstop—for the past three days.

Which was why he hadn’t said anything about it.

And especially not to Juleka…

But just because he hadn’t said anything didn’t make it any less true. Her song was in his head, playing on endless repeat. Sometimes it was at the forefront of his mind, sometimes it allowed itself to become an the soundtrack to which his other thoughts played through his head.

But it was always there.

And with every repeat, new complexities bloomed into full blossom, like the flowers scattered across the shirt she had been wearing. There was so much in her song, her music almost overflowed into the world around her. And how could it not? He had seen a symphony in her eyes. In her smile. And every time he passed one of the pictures of her on the wall he couldn’t help but wonder how he had never noticed it there before.

Soft and gentle chords of compassion and kindness plucked at heartstrings, while the delicate tones of imagination, wonder, and creativity played on silver flutes added the lightness of daydreams. Bright and vivacious brassy notes brought warmth and the sparkling light of her open and generous nature into the song while the steady beat of courage and a sense of justice kept time as the heartbeat.

All of it blended into the melody of her.

Arpegios played in quick succession raced and rambled like a mind moving too quickly for the rest of her to keep up with, sounding of stuttered words and flailing hands and nervous laughter before receding. Discordant with the strength woven throughout her melody, that somehow sounded as if it believed it was played with borrowed chords. The music was headstrong and gentle all at once, played with the strength born from a heart of gold. It sang of boundless creativity. Of stubbornness and an eagerness to please. Of bold confidence hidden behind frazzled nerves.

It was an organized mess of contradictions and perfect sense.

And through it it all was the constant sound of an honest heart worn on a sleeve.

It was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard.

He could spend the rest of his life listening to it.

He was almost drowning in it, just like he had almost drowned in the summer skies of her eyes. It was so easy to slip beneath the surface, to discover the world of bright a vivid colours, like a coral reef.

He was drowning…

He had dove in head first…

He was falling…

He was-

“-Stupid.”

He jerked out of his daydream, nearly toppling off of his bed both from the surprise of Juleka’s sharply quiet—and annoyed—voice. And the way she had knocked the leg he had had his other leg and his guitar propped up against as he ried to figure out Marinette’s heartsong out from under him.

“What was that for?”

“I’ve been calling you for the past five minutes.” Guiltily, he glanced at his phone; there were seven missed call notifications from his sister. “And you made me come down here to get you. Everyone’s here,” she added flatly, “we’re all ready to start rehearsal.”

Sighing, he ran a a hand through his hair, further disheveling it. It had been another sleepless night spent tossing and turning, and his bedhead was worse than usual. He had meant to tame it earlier, especially given- but he had gotten caught up in-

“And what’s with that song, anyways?” Juleka asked as she glanced over her shoulder, already halfway out the door of their room. “You’ve been playing it nonstop for days now.”

***

Her pencil flew across the page, racing to keep up with the music. Juleka had been right when she had suggested she drop by the Kitty Section rehearsal to see if she could glean any inspiration from the music.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt this inspired.

Already, she had filled what felt like dozens of pages of her sketchbook. Page after page, the ideas had poured out of her and onto the pages until they blurred together. Her hands could barely keep up with the ideas flowing from her pencil onto the pages. The lines of her pencil were joined by hastily added splashes of colour; suggestions for what would fit the vision of each outfit. A soft sky blue for a sundress with a swirly skirt, and a delicate shade of periwinkle for a blouse. Delicate rose and carnation pinks paired harmoniously with the blues of hyacinths, periwinkles, and the sky. Even lilac joined the mix.

The pages were quickly filling with everything from sweet and pretty dresses outfits and dreamy gowns to avant-garde ensembles only fit for a runway or a stage…

And as the pages progressed, punchier colours joined the mix. Brighter and bolder pinks, purples, reds, and blues unfurled across the pages to match the ever-growing boldness of the designs, filling in the blank spaces of the designs like stained glass.

The confident and gentle sound of a guitar carried her pencil across a fresh page in bold lines. The silhouette would be strong; sharp and bold lines to mimic the power of his playing and the angles and planes of his face. But the textiles… they would be soft to match the gentleness in his eye and the warmth of his smile. Supple leather and denim would provide structure and integrity while still offering comfort like his smile. And the colours…true black would be too stark. Too abrupt. Faded blacks and midnight blues… but with splashes of bright blue- the serene blue of calm seas to match his eyes-

“Hey.”

She jumped at the voice, barely managing to keep a hold of her sketchbook as she flailed to regain her balance before she could topple off of the crate she had perched herself on. Once she had—at least to some degree—composed herself, she looked up into Juleka’s luminous eyes. Well, the eye that wasn’t hidden behind her hair. She hadn’t even realized they had stopped playing.

Except Luka, apparently; she could still hear his guitar.

Juleka for her part, raised a brow and levelled her with a look but didn’t comment. Instead she said, “We’re taking ten. Rose and I are going down to grab drinks, you want anything?”

“Oh! O-oh yeah. Sure. That- that would be great.” She tightened her grip on her sketchbook ash she tried to ground herself with the familiar feel of its cover. Why was she suddenly so flustered? It was Juleka! They were friends! She didn’t have anything to be flustered about!

Juleka’s brow rose a little higher, but she nodded and turned without saying a word. Until she glanced back over her shoulder to mumble, “You were pretty in the zone; you must have some pretty sweet stuff in there.”

“Y-yeah, maybe,” she laughed, brushing her bangs out of her face as she dropped her gaze to the notebook. “I guess we’ll have to see.”

“Cool.” With that, Juleka disappeared down below deck.

Surreptitiously, she cast a glance around deck. The Captain was nowhere in sight, but that wasn’t surprising since Luka had mentioned she was at work until the evening. Rose and Juleka were both below deck. Ivan was by the railing, talking on the phone with Mylène from the sounds of what she could hear. Finally, her eyes found Luka.

He was sitting on the edge of the stage, his guitar still slung around him with the instrument resting in his lap. He was scribbling in a battered but otherwise nondescript notebook with the same kind of fervour she felt when she was in the zone. She watched as he dropped his pencil into the fold of his notebook and took his guitar in hand. He played a few notes, frowned, and then picked up his pencil again and scratched out whatever he had just written. And then, as if he felt her eyes on him, he looked up to meet her gaze. He shot her that lopsided smile she was quickly growing familiar with, the one that made the corners of his eyes crinkle and softened the sharp lines of his face. And then he offered her a small wave.

She returned his smile and wave with ones of her own, and then, unsure of why her face was suddenly feeling so warm, she dropped her gaze back down to her sketchbook and opened it to a random page.

Slowly, she began flipping through the pages.. She marked several of the pages to look at in more detail later; some of the designs would make great costumes for Kitty Section if they ever had the need. Sure, some of them were ambitious, but she could already imagine them now. The way pink sequins would catch the light as Rose screamed into the mic and the way studs on distressed denim would glint as Ivan drummed. Juleka would look incredible in black lace and Luka…

She squinted at her sketchbook.

She hadn’t realized quite how many costume ideas she had sketched for Luka. There were at least five pages dedicated to different costume ideas for him, each more ambitious than the last. Ambitious… but approachable. Her brows furrowed as she flipped to the last page.

And she froze.

It was the design she had been working on when Juleka interrupted her.

It wasn’t just that it wasn’t a costume—jeans and a hoodie with leather accents didn’t seem like much of a costume in her opinion—that gave her pause.

In all of her other sketches, she had used the general silhouette, maybe some rough lines to indicate hair to distinguish who would wear each outfit.

She hadn’t drawn any of the others with faces.

Especially not with such… with such detail. She could almost see the gleam in his eyes as the sketch of Luka, sitting on the stage but wearing her clothes, looked down at his guitar. Her fingers hovered over the page. Why had she-

“Here you go.”

She squeaked, and for the second time, almost lost her sketchbook in a fit of flailing. Once she had recovered, she looked up to find Juleka standing over her once again, this time holding out a glass of lemonade.

“You good?” she asked, raising a brow.

“Y-yeah! I’m good. Sorry. Just- y’know, in the zone!” she rambled as she took the glass and downed a gulp of the cool drink to try and quell the heat in her cheeks.

“Sure…” Juleka mumbled before turning to the stage. “Hey, come get your drink!” she- she didn’t yell, but it was a loud enough mumble that it carried.

Luka looked up from his notebook and nodded when he saw his sister holding the drink. “Be there in a sec.”

“I’m just leaving this here for him,” Juleka said as she turned back to place the other drink on the empty crate beside her. “It’s going to be a longer break than we thought, Rose found some of the frozen cookie dough from the last girls night we did here, and she’s decided she wants cookies.”

“Oh, do you want any help?” she asked, already moving to get up.

Juleka shook her head. “There’s barely enough room for two people as it is.” She snorted at that, remembering the struggle it had been to cram everyone into the kitchen when they had made the cookies during girls night. “Besides, you said you were in the zone,” her friend added, nodding to her notebook. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Oh, ok, if you’re sure. Thanks.”

Juleka smiled and then started back toward the stairs that led below deck. After she had only taken a couple of steps, she turned back. “Just make sure that whatever costumes you’re designing for us, mine are cooler than Luka’s.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at Juleka’s words and wicked smirk. She was so caught up in her laughter, she didn’t notice Luka sitting down next to her until he leaned toward her, just close enough that his breath tickled her.

“What’s so funny? Sorry,” he added when she jumped.

She ducked her head, biting her lip until she had her giggles and smile under control. “Nothing, Juleka just wanted me to make my designs for her costumes cooler than yours.”

“Typical,” he chuckled. “She thinks I’m nothing but a huge dork.”

“You’re not!” she cried indignantly, only to be met with soft chuckles.

“I’ll let you try telling her that.” He leaned over to tap a finger against her notebook. “Is that what you were working on? Costumes for us?”

Fresh warmth flooded her cheeks. “I’m sorry, it’s a bit presumptuous isn’t it? To even assume you want costumes-”

“No, I think it’s great.” His smile was so honest, and there was an bright gleam in his eyes. “I bet whatever you came up with is amazing.”

“Maybe…” she said doubtfully, looking back down at her sketchbook.

“Juleka’s told me all about your designs. I know that whatever you thought of, it’s incredible. And if you don’t like it,” he gently bumped her with his shoulder, “well, the worst that can happen is your creativity didn’t work out this time. That’s what it’s all about on the Liberty, and in Kitty Section; trying new things and being creative.”

She smiled wryly. “But I’m not in the band, remember?”

He shrugged, and easy smile on his face. “Sure you are.”

“What? But I don’t even play an instrument!”

“But every band needs a costume designer, right?”

“Yeah…”

“The position is yours, if you want it,” he said, turning so his smile was fixed on her.

Her heart did something fluttery. She shook her head and smiled. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“And…” he said slowly, “I can teach you how to play some chords, if you’d like.”

“I- yeah. I’d like that.”

***

“Just put your fingers here, here, and here.”

“Like this?”

“Here, let me just- there, that’s perfect.”

“What do we do next?”

“We’re going to make sure that all the notes sound good before we play it as a chord. So we’re going to pick out each note… see how they all sound nice and clear?”

“Yeah. And we do this to make sure my fingers in the right place, right?”

“Exactly. And they all sounded good, so now we strum like this…”

***

He was staring at the ceiling again. The cracks of light filtering through the porthole were just enough to illuminate the cracks in the ceiling he had committed to memory three nights ago. Even with his bed rearranged so his feet were now at the headboard, he could still see the array of cracks and stickers as clear as day.

Had she caught him staring at her?

Was that why she had been so shy when she had smiled and waved to him during the break before retreating to her sketchbook?

He had been trying to play it cool.

He thought he had been.

Or at least, he thought he had done a good job at pretending to be cool. As Jules so often loved to point out, he was anything but cool.

But he hadn’t been able to help himself; he hadn’t been able to stop his eyes from gravitating towards her as they had played. He had been completely transfixed by the way her brows crinkled with concentration, and the way her lips had pursed and her tongue had stuck out just a little as she had worked.

Playing had helped him focus. A little. Throughout their entire rehearsal, his fingers had itched to play the song that he was still trying to fully untangle. The one that had been on repeat in his head since she had stumbled into his room.

But then during their break… she had been so in the zone, he hadn’t been able to bear the thought of disturbing her. He knew what it was like to be in the zone. To have the creative juices flowing and to have the stars align so that everything just worked. Breaking her out of that would have been a crime. The adorable look of concentration on her face hadn’t played a—huge—role in that decision.

So he had let himself look at her. He had tried to be subtle, what with everyone—especially his sister—around. But maybe he hadn’t been as subtle as he had thought…

Usually, he wasn’t about trying to play anything but music. But it was all so new! He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable! He didn’t want to scare her away. He didn’t know how she felt…

He pulled a pillow over his face and let something between a sigh and a groan escaped him, muffled by the pillow.

It was all so… so new.

He had had passing crushes before. But this?

This was different.

He hadn’t heard music before.

Not like this.

***

She hadn’t realized just how much… how much blue had ended up in her sketchbook until she had gotten home and started flipping through it again to see what fabrics in her stash might suit the designs she wanted to make. And… how? Why?

Why had her sketchbook suddenly been dominated by blue?

It wasn’t like she never wore blue! She just didn’t normally wear that much of it…

She sighed as she kicked her covers off and carefully, so as not to wake Tikki who was snoring softly on her pillow, climbed out of her bed. In the light that filtered through the cracks in her curtains and through the glass of the trapdoor that led to her balcony, she padded across her room to her sketchbook. She glared at it as she picked it up from where she had dumped it on her desk earlier, when Tikki had chided her for still being awake.

She glanced at her alarm clock and sighed. It wasn’t like Tikki’s reminders that she should have been asleep by that point had done any good, seeing as she was still up.

She bit her lip as she began flipping through the pages as she idly made her way toward her chaise.

The blue? It was throwing her for a loop. Not unlike her Lucky Charms so often did.

But just like she always did with her Lucky Charms, she would figure it out.

She plopped herself down on the chaise and began examining the pages with the clothes she had obviously designed for herself in mind. The sky blue she had chosen for a dress… the sky had been a gorgeous shade of blue during the afternoon. And sitting in out in the open on the deck of the Liberty… she must have subconsciously drawn the colour from that. And the hyacinth and periwinkle blues… well, everything was in bloom right now. And they had passed some shops that had hanging baskets of flowers outside as they had headed toward the Liberty. So that explained the shades of blue. And the lilac, it easily could have been something she saw in the planters they passed or a natural conclusion to reach given she had been using mostly pinks and blues.

She smiled to herself.

The shades of blue had nothing to do with Luka.

She froze just as she was flipping to the next page.

Luka?

Why-

He had nothing to do with her designs! Why would she even think that?

She shook her head and looked down at the page in front of her. Luka’s likeness stared back up other.

Just because she had drawn him for… whatever reason she had, it didn’t mean anything. She doodled stuff all the time! Sure, her doodles usually weren’t quite so… detailed… But that still didn’t mean anything! Just like it didn’t mean anything that her sketchbook was suddenly filled with shades of blue!

She snapped the sketchbook closed and tossed it to the side before crossing her arms and letting out a breath that she channeled all of her frustrations into.

This was stupid! She should be sleeping, not fixating on whatever silly nonsense was going on with her sketchbook. Because that’s what is was.

It was silly.

It was nonsense.

It was crazy-

She jolted from her chaise, as if electrified, by the sudden—and unwanted—thought that had just forced its way into her head.

He had almost seen her sketchbook.

When he had sat down beside her- if she hadn’t- if the she had lost her grip- if it had opened to one of the many pages with designs for him- the one with his face-

The waves of anxious thoughts carried her to and fro as she paced around her room. She did her best to keep her footsteps light. She didn’t want to wake Tikki and have to listen to another lecture on the importance of sleep. But how could she keep her footsteps light- how could she keep calm- how could she sleep when she was suddenly filled with worries that maybe he somehow had seen her sketchbook.

Because how would she explain it? How would she explain that the only sketch that had a face—a detailed face—was of him? How would she explain that without sounding crazy? If all of the design sketches had included faces on the models- but no! It was just him! He would think she was crazy!

She didn’t want him to think she was crazy!

She wanted-

‘I think Marinette the compass has found herself a new statue.’

***

He had tried counting sheep to take his mind off the music that was permeating his thoughts. But they had quickly turned to measures of music. Of one song in particular…

So he had tried grounding himself. He had tried imagining the weight of a guitar in his hands. The feel of the polished wood of his acoustic and the comforting resistance of perfectly tuned strings. He would have just gotten up and gabbed his guitar, but he didn’t trust himself to hold an instrument and not start playing her song.

And the last thing he had wanted to do was wake up Jules…

Imagining the feel of the guitar had worked.

Sort of.

He had stopped playing her song over and over in his mind. But only, he suspected, because his mind was now fixated on the feel of her hands in his as he had guided her fingers to press down on the strings in the right places and strum with the pick he had handed her. And how she had fit so perfectly in his arms. And the way her perfume, a soft and sweet blend of vanilla and something floral, had scented the air around them. And the way she had so paid such rapt attention to his every word…

It wasn’t uncommon for people to ask him how to play; and he usually didn’t mind obliging. But Marinette had paid attention the way only an artist invited into anther artists’s realm would.

She was just… she was so incredible. So honest. So sincere…

He rolled over, the blankets winding themselves even more tightly around him as he continued his tossing and turning, and groaned into his pillow for the umpteenth time.

He was so far gone…

***

‘I think Marinette the compass has found herself a new statue.’

She had retreated back to her bed and burrowed under her mountain of blankets and pillows and plushies. It had been a completely useless attempt to block out her thoughts; as if pillows and plushies could protect her against them, as if blankets could hide her from them.

Alya’s words were still echoing inside her head. As unwelcome and untrue as they had been for the past three nights.

She had said Alya was being silly. Alya had been being silly! She loved Adrien. And she had only just met Luka! And yeah, Luka was really nice- sweet even. And gentle. Kind. Funny. And he had been really brave, the way he had tricked Captain Hardrock. And he was an incredible musician, the way he had managed to stand out on stage, even with the rest of Kitty Section up there with him. And the way he had played her that song that had been so… sincere. So honest. And he was kinda cute. Well, he was really cute.

He was more than cute…

But none of that meant anything!

She was in love with Adrien!

And thinking her friend was talented didn’t mean anything. All of her friends were talented! And there was nothing weird about thinking a friend was cute. Rose was adorable, and Juleka was drop dead gorgeous. It was just a fact!

So none of it meant anything…

But if Alya had been being ridiculous… why was she still lying wide awake? And why was she lying wide awake thinking about Luka?

And the feeling of his arms…

She shook her head.

Nope.

No.

Absolutely not.

It was just- she was just- she was being ridiculous!

Yeah, she had been… flustered. But that was only natural! She was still getting to know Luka! And yeah, they had quickly become friends—they had just clicked—but she was still getting to know him and getting used to him so it was only natural to be a little flustered by how he had appeared in her sketchbook!

And the way her face had warmed as he had told her she was already a part of the band…

And how close they had ended up while he taught her to play…

With his arms around her…

And his soft, velvet voice in her ear…

And his hands that had fit so perfectly around hers as he guided her-

But he had just been showing her how to play!

It didn’t…

#endgame lukanette #lukanette endgame #luka couffaine #marinette dupain cheng #juleka couffaine #kitty section #i should be asleep #lbscsecretadmirer2023 #fluff

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