#the day Jesus holds me like that is the day I will achieve perfect happiness | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

snackhobi · 4 years

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pairing: taehyung x reader / word count: 13.3k / genre: fluff, friends to lovers, smut (NSFW, 18+)

summary: you’re used to being in love with taehyung. you’ve had a lot of time to get good at it, after all—by this point you’re the world’s expert at keeping your less-than-platonic feelings hidden from him, what with the amount of practice you’ve had.

but then he signs up for a massage therapy course, because apparently you can never catch a break.

or: the one where taehyung gives you a full body massage and then some.

warnings: sexually explicit content, massage with a happy ending (literally 🤧), cursing, edible massage oil/lube, fingering (f), unprotected sex (be safe when you have sex please), multiple orgasms (f), oral sex (m), cum swallowing, pet names, body worship?, brief mention of shower sex

a/n: I swear this was meant to be pwp. this was literally meant to just be pwp with some massage shenanigans. and then I blinked and it had become a soft 13k fic which honestly… kicked my ass quite a bit. but I hope you enjoy it!! thank you as always to @hobi-gif for beta reading this and encouraging me and putting up with me changing this multiple times, what would I do without your support miss hope?

Taehyung goes through a lot of different phases.

He just finds so many things interesting. Photography, art, art history, music, fashion, thrift shopping; heck, there was even the time he got weirdly into making tea and became some sort of connoisseur, going through the whole rigmarole of buying the loose leaves and weighing them out, checking the temperature of the water, brewing for a precisely measured amount of time.

You still remember the look on his face when you said it all tasted like hot leaf water to you.

Because, of course, as one of Taehyung’s best friends and his roommate, you’re inevitably swept up in everything he does. You’re used to the weirdly acrid smell of photo development fluid and how cold dark rooms can get. You use phrases like chiaroscuro and sfumato to describe the simplest things after listening to Taehyung do the same for so long. You’ve lost count of the amount of times you’ve tripped over his saxophone case when he leaves it lying around the apartment. You regularly wear the baggy t-shirt with the face that Taehyung had painted on it—even if you still refer to it as the Squidward-House-Shirt despite the fact you know he was inspired by Basquiet and Schiele and not the Easter Island themed stone head that Squidward lives in.

You don’t mind getting dragged along with whatever he does, honestly; you don’t have time to attend every class, but go with him when you can. It’s always good to expand your horizons. You also love watching Tae’s face whenever he learns something new, the various expressions that flit across his features—from wide eyed excitement and eyebrow raising astonishment to the more solemn side that appears whenever he’s taking something in and thinking deeply about it, turning it over in his mind, mulling on it.

(You love watching Tae’s face all the time, actually, but that’s a whole other can of worms you’d rather keep shut.)

However, the latest course he’s signed up for is not one you’d been expecting.

“Massage therapy?” Your face twists in equal parts confusion and surprise.

Taehyung’s dropped this latest nugget of information while you’re cooking, trying to fry some rice while also peering at the phone screen that’s been thrust into your face. You’re not bad at multitasking, per se, but Taehyung’s iPhone is drifting so close that you’re almost cross-eyed and it’s blocking you from seeing what’s going on in the pan.

“I had a coupon,” he says, as if that explains everything. (It doesn’t.)

“Scooch,” you say, and he immediately moves so you can turn the gas off.

“Jiminie and Jungkookie say that my massages help with dance, and that's just from Youtube tutorials.” Taehyung continues to talk as you bustle around the tiny kitchen. He’s already set the table so now he’s free to watch you finish doing the rest of the work. “And Joon-hyung says I have the perfect hands for it.”

You fumble with the pan as you’re scooping the steaming rice into a large bowl, only just managing to save food from scattering everywhere. You’ve thought about Taehyung’s hands a lot, about how large and long fingered and beautiful they are, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Really? Huh. That’s nice.” You stare at the pan, fixated on getting every grain of rice so you can avoid looking at Taehyung’s face. And hands. Which are still cupped around his phone. Which looks so small in his big, pretty grip.

Jesus Christ.

“It means I can give you massages if you ever start to get tense.” Taehyung sounds pleased, lovely grin on his face at the prospect of being able to rub his hands over you. As if that isn’t going to make every single one of your muscles lock up and turn you into some sort of coiled rope of a human being, which is the complete opposite of what a massage is supposed to achieve.

“Great.” Despite your inner turmoil, your voice is level and steady as you meticulously scrape the last grain of rice into the bowl, chasing the tiny fleck of white around the huge pan. Scrape, scrape, scrape. “Sounds fabulous. Can’t wait.”

Of course Taehyung would sign up to learn something that he could use to help his friends. He’s so big-hearted and loving. Big-hearted and loving and kind and funny and affectionate and beautiful and deep-voiced and so entirely overwhelming in every single way imaginable.

You do what you always do when confronted yet again with your all-consuming crush—you bottle that shit the fuck up until he’s not in the room.

And then you have a miniature breakdown at Pickles.

“I am going to die,” you whisper-scream. “He’s going to offer to massage me and he’s going to get a bottle of massage oil out and he’s going drizzle it onto his massive hands and I am going to fucking die.”

The bearded dragon cocks his head as he stares at you. Taehyung had come home with the reptile one day, tank and all, saying that someone on Facebook had been giving him away because they were moving house and could they just look after him for a little while, please, pretty please? Until they found a good home for him? Please?

That was over a year ago. (You’ve always been bad at saying no to Taehyung.)

“I hate my life,” you lament to the lizard, but then you hear the noisy flush of the toilet and know that Taehyung is going to emerge from the bathroom soon, so you have to wrap this miniature meltdown up pronto. “I wish I was a bearded dragon too, you know. All you do is get fed and sit under the heat bulb. Your life is so easy. You don’t even know what capitalism is.”

The silence you get from Pickles is far more support than you get from your human friends once you tell them. Yoongi just raises his eyebrows while Seokjin and Hoseok laugh outright in your face, just like they always do when you cry to them about Taehyung.

You need new friends. These ones are defective. (If only you’d kept the receipt so you could return them.)

“We learned how to do neck and shoulder massages today!” Taehyung says brightly after the first session.

You hum in response. You’re rewatching Pacific Rim together, cuddled up against Taehyung’s side, and you don’t have to turn your head to know what expression is on his face. There’ll be that little upturn to his lips, happiness at learning something new. That warmth in his eyes at being able to share it with you, even if you couldn't be there with him. Those little freckles on his face, under his eye, his nose, his lip; the one you’ve imagined kissing more times than you can count.

“My teacher says I have a natural talent with my hands,” he adds, and you’re so grateful that you can blame your sudden intake of breath on the scene that’s playing on the screen, as high stakes as it is.

“That’s nice,” you say, and mentally pat yourself on the back at keeping the strain out of your voice. You've had a lot of practice at this. “I’m not surprised, though. You’ve always been good at doing things with them.”

That’s not a euphemism. Taehyung’s always so careful when he makes things; you’d learned how to fold different origami patterns together, matching crane for crane, lotus for lotus, and he’d always been so delicate with his fingers. He’s always so careful and considerate with you, too, fingers splayed wide across your shoulder as he squeezes you closer to his side, leaving you breathless.

“I wish you could come too.” Taehyung sounds disappointed. “We always have so much fun together.”

For the first time in your life you’re grateful that your manager at Olive Chicken is such a hardass and won’t let you swap shifts, so you’d had to miss signing up for the massage course with Taehyung—because you know there’s no way you’d be able to keep it together if there was some sort of tandem practice in class or whatever. Your crush on him is filled with equal parts of tenderness and lust and you’re well aware of that. You’d rest your hands on the soft skin of Taehyung’s shoulders and back, the lust would overwhelm you, and you’d immediately burst into flames like some sort of demon stepping over the threshold of a church.

Why oh why did God have to make Kim Taehyung so hot?

Why oh why did God have to make you so… not?

You know Taehyung doesn’t see you in a romantic light at all. You’re grateful for this deep, platonic relationship you have, and you love him to pieces, but holy hell is it hard to walk around with Kim Taehyung looking the way he does and wanting to jump his bones while simultaneously being aware that it’s never going to happen. Whenever he smiles at you, or touches you, or holds you, it’s in exactly the same way as he treats any of his friends—and as happy as you are to be one of those friends, it also kind of kills you inside.

(Because you know you don’t have a chance, have never had a chance, and will never have a chance.)

The idea of offering to massage Taehyung is one that makes you want to melt into a puddle of horny goo. But when he offers to massage you, it’s because you’re a convenient practice partner who he’s comfortable with. It’s no big deal. You could strip naked and slather yourself up in oil and stand in front of him with your bosoms heaving and say ‘Have at me, big boy’ and Taehyung would say: ‘Sweet! A chance to practice deep tissue massage! Gee, thanks for being such a great pal!’

The kind of deep tissue you want Taehyung to massage is very different to whatever he’s talking about.

… Anyway.

You manage to avoid Taehyung using his apparently magic fingers on you for a surprising amount of time, though you’re kept up to date with his progress, because he shares everything with you and tells you about everything and you always, always listen. Because, more than being your crush, he’s one of your best friends and you love him.

Which is why you try your best to be gentle, graciously refusing his offer of a shoulder massage after he sees you wincing, even if with anyone else you’d just tell them to back off with zero hesitation.

“It’s fine,” you say, flapping a hand at him. “I just slept on it funny.”

“A massage would help! It won’t take long, I promise. Five minutes? Please?”

Taehyung’s looking at you with those big puppy eyes of his, pleading. You waver. You’re torn between being steadfast and avoiding a situation you’ve literally had nightmares about (Taehyung had offered to massage you, and you’d said yes, but then you’d fallen over as you were walking to him and suddenly a lasagne had appeared in your hands and you’d spilled it all down your shirt and he’d pointed and laughed and laughed and you’d felt so embarrassed that you’d woken up, cheeks burning), but then he pouts and you give in like the spineless and lovesick fool that you are.

“Five minutes,” you say, and Taehyung nods emphatically, looking pleased.

(You have the backbone of a chocolate éclair.)

You send quiet thanks to whatever God is listening when he doesn’t ask you to take your top off and doesn’t break out a bottle of scented oil. Instead he just asks for you to straddle a chair, clutching a plushie against your chest to cushion where it leans against the backrest, and tells you to get comfy.

“Just relax,” he says, as you desperately try to remember how your body works and coax it to relax like Taehyung wants you to. You fail miserably. You feel like a ball of rubber bands, each muscle a layer of tighter and tighter elastic that’s circled around you. “Lean forwards a little?”

At least Taehyung can’t see your face from this angle. You have no idea what sort of expression is twisting your features; consternation and horrified anticipation, probably. You're basically throttling your plushie, taking out your tension and frustration on the poor thing, Rilakkuma's placid face morphing into a twisted expression of sympathy under your grasping fingers.

“Perfect,” Taehyung says. The sound of praise in his deep voice has your insides turning into overheated syrup, hot and thick, dripping down and pooling between your legs. You hate yourself. Getting turned on by the most innocuous words from your best friend, really? Get it together.

The second you feel Taehyung's warm hands touch the back of your neck, your shoulders hunch up faster than a whiplash, a turtle sucking its head into its shell. Your friend laughs.

“This is the opposite of relaxing,” he says, voice warm with amusement.

“You surprised me.” You dig your nails into Rilakkuma's soft brown fur. Taehyung just thinks you're not used to being massaged, not that you're being weird because it's him that's touching you. Because he touches you a lot. He’s just never done it like this. “Sorry.”

“It's fine,” he replies, unruffled and oblivious. “Let me try again?”

You bite your lip, desperately trying to quell the mix of arousal and tension that’s churning in your stomach, begging your muscles to unwind. You’ve kept your crush a secret from him for this long, you can keep that energy up. (You have to keep that energy up.) “Um. Okay.”

You’re still tense when Taehyung puts his hands on you again. The touch is warm through your clothes, firm but careful, digging into the sharp line of tension laid across your shoulders; despite the way your heart is threatening to launch itself out of your chest, you start to loosen up, because holy shit that feels nice, actually.

You melt against Rilakkuma and smother the bear's face in your chest. “Your teacher wasn’t kidding when they said that you’re good with your hands,” you mumble.

You’ve never gotten a proper massage before but it feels so damn good that you can’t help but unwind, turning to jelly at the confident presses of Taehyung’s fingers and palms into the soft skin between your neck and shoulder. A little sigh spills past your lips when Taehyung starts to work at the part that’s been twinging after you lay crookedly on it, limbs akimbo in your sleep after a long night at work. “Oh, right there, Tae.”

Taehyung goes still for just a second before continuing, trailing his fingers over your shirt. “Here?”

Your eyes have drifted shut so you can focus on the sensation of that tension being pulled out of your body. “Yeah, right there,” you repeat, massaged into a state of lazy euphoria. The breath you let out is long and deep, catching in the back of your throat at a particularly firm rub of Taehyung’s hands; if you weren’t so blissed out you might be embarrassed at how much the noise you make is like a moan, but as it is, you don’t even notice. You just let out a little sound of discontent when Taehyung’s fingers stutter in their motions, displeased that he’s stopped even for a second.

By the time the massage is over, you’re so relaxed that you feel like you could melt into the floor, a wobbly puddle of unwound muscles and loose limbs. It’s official. You’re a massage convert.

“Holy shit.” Your eyes flutter open as you lean away from Rilakkuma so you can turn around. They’re the first coherent words you’ve spoken for a while; small sighs and sounds have been dripping from your lips and it’s only now that you’re able to regain your breath. “Tae, that was amazin—”

You’re met with the sight of Taehyung’s back as he power walks away, steps rapid, a little shaky, awkward. Before you can ask what’s wrong, he’s stepping into the bathroom.

“I need to wash my hands,” he says without looking at you, before the door slams shut.

You don’t remember Tae telling you about how quickly you have to wash your hands after finishing a massage. But, thinking about it, you suppose it makes sense—you know, with massaging multiple clients or whatever—even if it’s surprising exactly how fast he’d hoofed it away from you. It sounds like he’s switched both taps on full blast as well, noisy even through the wooden door, and judging from how long he’s in there, he’s being very thorough. Hand washing must be a lot more important than you’d realised.

Once Taehyung emerges, his face is a little flushed, cheeks a soft red. You wonder if the hot water tap is playing up again and filling your dinky bathroom with hot steam, and make a mental note to look into it. You smile at Taehyung from your perch on the sofa, Rilakkuma plopped on your lap, smile spread across your features; one that Taehyung returns, as pink-faced as he is.

“How’s your shoulder feeling?”

“So much better, honestly,” you admit. It’s incredible. He hasn’t even finished the course yet and he's already this good. He really does have magic hands.

“I’ll have to give you massages more often,” Taehyung says, though the end of the sentence trembles a little. He must be light-headed after all the steam in the bathroom.

The thought of more massages doesn’t fill you with as much mind-numbing trepidation as it might have earlier, utterly languid as you flop across the sofa, muscles uncoiled after the lovely touch of Taehyung’s even lovelier hands. No wonder people rave about spa days if they leave you feeling like this. Maybe if you’d been staring at Taehyung in the eye when he’d been touching you, then you’d feel a lot more awkward—as it is, it’s no worse than usual. Your crush is still all-encompassing but you also got a massage out of it, so.

“Sounds great.” This time you don’t even have to fake your excitement. “Now come sit your butt down so we can order some takeout and decide what to watch.”

When you bend down to speak to Pickles later, the bearded dragon is lolling on his favourite branch. “There’s still a high chance that I’m going to die,” you say in a low voice, before you flick the lights off so the lizard can sleep. “But he hasn’t broken out the oils yet, so I think I’ll be okay for now.”

Your luck doesn’t last.

“Strawberry and champagne, lychee martini, mint mojito, white chocolate, or tropical coconut?”

You look up from where you’re painting your toenails. “Huh?”

Taehyung bundles into the room and throws himself onto your bed, flopping on his belly and ignoring the way the mattress is jostled. You, of course, are used to his antics, which is why you’d swept your open bottle of nail polish up before he could spill it everywhere.

“What do you think sounds best?”

“Well, that depends,” you say, squinting at your toes and carefully sweeping the polish over the freshly buffed nails. “For candles, I think they sound pretty nice. For sauces to pour over a steak, I’d say I’d give them all a hard pass. What’s it for?”

“Massage oils,” Taehyung says blithely, too busy staring at his phone to see you muffle a curse when your hand slips and you paint your entire little toe blue. “I was wondering which you think sounds best.”

“Oh. Uh.” You fumble to clean your toe and salvage the now-terrible pedicure you’re trying to give yourself. It was only a matter of time before massage oils were going to become part of your life. Taehyung never goes into things half-hearted, so of course he’s going to invest in oils, too. God’s sake. You can never catch a break, can you? “Why these ones in particular?”

Taehyung pauses for a suspiciously long time, but it gives you the chance to furiously rub at your toe while he’s distracted. “We get a free bottle from the course,” he says eventually.

Huh. Okay. “That’s pretty neat. What was the last one? Coconut? Stick with the basics, can’t go wrong with that, right?”

“Coconut is always tasty,” Taehyung comments absently, and you glance up from your Smurf toe.

“Agreed, but it’s not like you’re about to eat massage oil, are you?”

Taehyung pauses, and then buries his face into his phone screen—suddenly very intent on rereading the list of ingredients in each bottle, it seems. “No, of course not, you’re right,” he mumbles.

He’s almost finished the course. He’s not going to be an accredited masseuse or anything, but you definitely think he could be, if he wanted to—you’ve never had less tension in your shoulders and neck in your life. Taehyung always eases his way into your personal space anyway, casual and effortless after years of friendship, but now you’re used to his fingers sliding over the back of your neck, a gliding touch, sending tense little goosebumps over your skin while simultaneously making you melt.

“It’s pretty cool that you get free stuff, though.” Your toe is clean, thankfully, no longer blue. “And not just, like, a generic bottle of oil or something. They all sound really fancy. I didn’t realise that you could get massage oils that were scented like that?”

Taehyung makes a non-committal noise, which is uncharacteristic of him, but you’re too focused on repainting your final nail to pay it too much mind, letting out a loud huff of triumph when you’re done.

“Get me a bag of shrimp crackers, please?” You have a sudden craving but you don’t want to penguin waddle to the kitchen and risk getting anything on your wet nails. “Ya girl is hungry.”

“Got it.” Taehyung rolls off the bed without protest. You’re used to his antics, and he’s used to yours, indulging you whenever you feel lazy or want him to do something for you. “You need me to feed you?”

“I wasn’t going to use my toes to feed myself,” you laugh, but Taehyung ends up feeding them to you anyway.

When you recount the list to Seokjin later, his face crumples in a way that’s equal parts offended and disgusted. “They all sound terrible,” he says. “White chocolate should stay in chocolate form and not be turned into an oil. Why does massage oil even have to smell like anything?”

You’re both holed up in the tiny smoking nook behind Olive Chicken; neither of you smoke, but it’s a good excuse to go outside and get fresh air during longer shifts.

“Hey, don’t ask me, I’m not the one who’s taking the course. I think lychee martini sounds interesting, though.”

“Agree to disagree.” Seokjin unwraps one of the complimentary chocolates the restaurant gives to diners with their bill, swallowing it whole. “Besides, we all know Taehyung could approach you with dirty, used fryer oil and you’d let him dip you in it.”

You slap the next chocolate out of his hand before it reaches his mouth. He’s unmoved and simply plucks another from his pocket, which is apparently bulging with them.

“Yoongichi,” Jin says, calling to the delivery boy, who’s just appeared from the dark like some tired-eyed spectre of fried chicken. “Tell me this. If I were to ask you what smell of massage oil you’d prefer, what—”

“I would say that I really could not care less.” Yoongi flops down on one of the rickety fold-out chairs before silently accepting a chocolate from Seokjin’s stash. “And then I’d ask why you’re asking me in the first place, seeing as you’re the one using it, not me. If Taehyung’s asking what massage oil you’d prefer, Y/n, it’s because he wants to rub it all over you specifically.” Yoongi munches on the chocolate, already filling in the blanks without needing to be told the context. You really are that transparent, huh. “Please, we’ve been over this.”

Jin pouts. “You ruined my set up. I had a whole speech prepared.”

“Oh no.” Yoongi remains blank-faced. “How terrible.”

“I hate both of you,” you say. “I’m going to tell Pickles how mean you are.”

“I bet if that lizard could talk, he’d tell you how tired he was of you two dancing around each other, just like the rest of us,” Yoongi says.

There’s no dancing around, though, no matter what your friends say. Well. Not on Taehyung’s end anyway. You’re out here doing the fandango, castanets and all, while Taehyung just stands stock still, oblivious.

You let out an incredibly long sigh. Seokjin hands you a sympathetic chocolate.

The massage oil doesn’t make an appearance in your life for a little while, though. The end of the course comes and goes, Taehyung proudly flapping the laminated certificate at you, wobble-wobble-wobble, filling the apartment with the sound of rippling plastic. But no coconut oil.

The scent of ‘tropical coconut’ has started to haunt your dreams, in a way that’s both good and bad; when you wake up in a sweat, heart pounding, it’s not because you’re having nightmares, let’s just put it like that. It’s like there’s an invisible countdown that you can’t trace and it’s only a matter of time before it ticks over and the shoulder massages (that you’ve gotten very comfortable with) edge into something different. Taehyung’s going to innocently offer to give you a backrub and uncap that bottle of scented oil and you’re going to explode into a mess of putty under his hands.

Well… then again… you had been worried about that with all the shoulder rubs. Now look at you. You weather those like a champ. Sure, your skin tingles and you run hot and you think about the sensation of Taehyung’s hands gliding over you whenever you’re alone, but you’re basically fine. Your friend who just so happens to also be the great love of your life remains none the wiser.

You bet a full back rub would feel great after a long week.

Which is why when Taehyung steps into the apartment with a look on his face that you immediately recognise as tiredness, you sort of wish you knew how to massage people, too.

He falls into your arms with little fanfare. It’s been one of those days, one of those ones that everyone gets, even Taehyung—he’s usually so Switched On and Exuberant and Alive, and people don’t seem to realise that even he feels exhausted, sometimes.

“You alright, bubs?” You can’t massage him but you can rub his back soothingly, let him snuffle against your neck. Sometimes you think about that little space between your chin and collarbones as Taehyung’s, a hollow that’s perfect for him to press his face into, hair tickling your chin as he curls up into you. His and his alone. “Did something happen?”

He just shakes his head.

“Okay,” you say.

(Close proximity and skin on skin with Taehyung doesn’t always have your pulse rising and your heart racing. Sometimes it’s just this: quiet and soft, your heart bright with fierce affection for this boy, the only thought in your mind that you want him to be happy, forever.)

The long silence is broken by the sound of Taehyung heaving in a breath before letting out a long, exhausted sigh.

“Thank you.” His voice is quiet and low, far less energetic than his usual self.

“Nothing to thank me for, Tae,” you reply. “Always here for you. You know that, right?”

He doesn’t respond straight away. He just burrows closer, draped over you, until he murmurs, barely audible. “Why?”

Your face twists. “Why, what? Why am I always here for you?”

“Yeah.” Taehyung squeezes himself impossibly closer, skin warm against yours, forehead pressed to the skin of your neck. You can’t see his expression from this angle.

“Because you’re one of my best friends and I love you,” you answer, immediately. You don’t even have to think about it. “Because you’re important to me and if there’s anything I can do for you, I will. I’ll celebrate the good things in your life with you, and I’ll be at your side during the bad times, just like you are with me. Please don’t ever forget how much I love you, okay?”

There’s a pause, and then it feels like all the tension leaves Taehyung’s body, slumping his whole body weight against you. “Okay,” he murmurs. “I love you too. Thank you,” he says again. You just reply by squeezing his shoulders.

He’s a little quieter for a few days after that. You’re not sure why, because he’d perked up after a lazy evening of lying around and eating too many snacks, flopped against you like an oversized, clinging starfish—but you’re gentle with him nonetheless.

(Well. You’re always gentle with him. It just takes you half a second to fold in the face of his whims, rather than a whole, full second.)

So when the dreaded bottle of oil finally appears, you’re far less ready to fight off Taehyung’s insistence on a full body massage, caught off guard after days of indulging him. Fuck.

“You’ve had a long week!” Taehyung insists as you scrabble your way over the sofa’s backrest so you can hide behind it, clutching a cushion to your chest. “You need to relax!”

Without looking you fling the cushion over the sofa. Judging from the fact that Taehyung doesn’t make a sound, you’ve missed. “I was feeling perfectly relaxed until you started yelling at me about it! Why are you so obsessed with the idea of me being relaxed?”

Taehyung doesn’t respond. Oh, crap. Maybe you did hit him with the cushion?

You pop up from behind the sofa. Nope. It's an embarrassing distance away from Taehyung, who’s got that surprisingly large bottle of oil held loosely in his hands. There’s an expression on his face that you can’t decipher; a little crestfallen, a little unsure, but there’s something else there, too, something you can’t put a name to.

“Taehyung?”

“I just… wanted to help,” he says. “You’re always there for me when I’m not feeling great, and you calm me down, and I wanted to do the same for you.”

You immediately feel like the worst human being alive. Take the feeling you get whenever you accidentally step on an animal’s tail, multiply it by infinity, and that’s only just a drop in the ocean of awful, awful guilt that you’re drowning in.

“Oh, Tae,” you say. Your voice comes out so much softer and sweeter than you mean it to, but you can't help it. “I’m sorry. I was just joking. It’s really nice of you to be so concerned. You just surprised me. You do help me relax and your massages are great.” (You tell him that often enough that he should know it, but it never hurts to repeat a compliment.)

His face lifts. It’s like the sun bursting forth from the clouds after heavy rain, and you have to resist the urge to shield your eyes, blinded by the brightness and beauty. Kim Taehyung is so unfairly gorgeous (but what else is new?). “So I can give you a massage?”

Despite the fact the prospect makes you want to fling yourself into space, when you’re faced with Taehyung’s dark eyes and wide smile and large, warm hands, you cave, because of course you do. If, way back when you’d first been frying up that kimchi rice and letting Taehyung thrust his phone into your face, you’d been told you’d end up in this position, you would have laughed outright. Haha, yeah, sure, like you’d be stupid enough to let yourself be wrangled into such a vulnerable state in front of Taehyung, nowhere to run, helpless under his fingers. Not.

But here you are. Whipped for Kim Taehyung, forever and always.

The pastel blue towels under your stomach and chest are soft as they shield you from the cold, hard floor. You’re incredibly aware of how chilly the apartment feels, air prickling against your bare skin; you shift to try and get comfortable, glancing over your shoulder to fiddle with the towel that’s draped over your hips and ass, making sure it’s covering everything. Taehyung insists on authenticity (as if you’re not lying on the floor of your apartment rather than on a massage table) and he says that it’s normal to be completely naked for a full-body massage, even underneath any towels that are covering you up.

Authenticity is also why he’s in the other room, warming up the massage oil, because that’s apparently a thing?

(You’re going to die.)

It doesn’t matter that Taehyung will only be able to see the back of your head, your shoulder blades, the small of your back, a slip of your thighs, your calves. None of these things are especially scandalous; all the parts of your body that someone might find more interesting are out of sight, pressed against the floor or hidden under a layer of Egyptian cotton microfibres.

And yet you can’t help but be hyperaware of how you’re entirely unclothed. Even if it doesn’t bother Taehyung—what with, you know, the fact he’s not interested in you like that and doesn’t find you attractive at all (sigh)—embarrassment creeps hot and uncomfortable under your skin.

It just feels so crazy intimate to be laid out like this, even if people do this all the time, happily strip down to let professionals rub the tension out of their body.

(Then again, most people aren’t best friends with their masseuses and haven’t harboured long, one-sided crushes on them, either.)

Just breathe. You can do this. You love the shoulder massages that Taehyung’s been giving you; just think of this as a shoulder massage.

… A shoulder massage that involves warm oil, near-nakedness, and Taehyung’s hands sliding all over you.

… You are going to have a very long venting session with Pickles after all this.

You’re so distracted by your own self pity and distress that you don’t register the sound of Taehyung entering the room; the little pause when he steps over the threshold, feet stuttering, just for a moment. It’s only when he’s kneeling down that you notice his presence, body jolting from surprise before you let out a slip of high laughter.

“Jesus, Tae,” you say. In any other circumstance, you’d be clutching your chest. “You scared me.”

“Sorry.” He sounds genuinely apologetic.

Your cheek is pillowed on your arms. When you turn to look at your best friend you immediately regret it; he’s settled back on his ankles, knees spread wide, and you come eye-to-eye with his crotch.

In an effort to look away from his clothed dick, your gaze flies up to his face, which might be even worse. He has this intense look in his eyes, and wow, alright, you’ve never been able to see Taehyung’s face as he’s been massaging you, but you never realised exactly how seriously he seems to take it, judging from his expression.

(Do all massage therapists look like that when they work?)

“That’s alright.” You’re a little breathless, but you’re going to blame that on how your boobs are smooshed into the floor, and not on anything else, nuh uh. Shoulder massage. It’s a shoulder massage. It’s just like a full bodied shoulder massage. (Maybe if you repeat it to yourself often enough then you’ll actually start to believe it.) “Uh. Do you need me to… do anything? Or do I just lie here?”

Taehyung’s expression lightens a little at the uncertainty in your tone, smile curling up the corners of his mouth. “You’re perfect right where you are,” he says, and then he reaches for the bottle of oil.

You turn your head away again, cheeks burning. There’s no way you’ll be able to handle the visual of him slicking his fingers and palms up. “Cool,” you say, voice only a little strained. “Coolcoolcoolcool.”

(It’s not cool.)

You don’t have a visual, but you do get the auditory experience thanks to the relative silence in the apartment. Goosebumps ripple down the back of your neck and trail down your spine at the sound of Tae’s hands sliding against each other, thoroughly coated in the warmed oil, and you’re so glad that you can blame it on the chill in the air.

At first, it’s okay. Taehyung starts at the parts of your body that are used to receiving his attention, though it’s different without the barrier of clothing in the way, not to mention how easily his palms glide over you, the air full of the light scent of coconut. It’s different, but manageable, and you think you just might be okay; as always, his touches are firm but careful, and your body is used to this by now, relaxing.

But. The second you feel Taehyung’s touch between your shoulder blades, you stiffen with a shiver. The oil is the perfect temperature against your skin, but you’ve always had a sensitive back; you can’t help but clench your fists, digging your fingers into your palms. Relax. Just breathe.

“You’ve got a lot of tension here.” Taehyung’s voice is low as he digs the heel of his palm into the dip of your spine.

It’s because you’re touching me there, you think to yourself, but just let out a non-committal hum of agreement instead.

You feel Taehyung's hands, a repeated sliding motion between your shoulder blades; the tension starts to leak out of you again, but your breath hitches in your throat at how you're pressed downwards and into the cotton towels beneath you, nipples hardening against them.

Thank God you're on your front so Tae can't see what effect he's having on you.

“Better?”

Taehyung's voice is always deep, but you'd swear it was even deeper in this moment, pitched low. Maybe that’s because the sound of blood pumping is filling your ears so it’s hard to discern. At this point, who even knows? Not you, that’s for sure.

“Yep.” Why are you so breathless? You haven’t moved at all, but you sound like you’ve just run the 100m sprint, winded and weak. “So much better.”

You regret agreeing to this. You are so out of your depth and there’s no way you’re going to be able to hide exactly how much this is affecting you and you want to collapse in on yourself and shrivel up like a sundried tomato, tiny and wrinkly and underwhelming.

Taehyung shifts to reach more of you and you squeeze your eyes shut so you don’t come face first with his crotch again, shielding yourself from the view of his loose linen trousers stretched almost taut with how wide his knees are. It’s both a blessing and a curse—a blessing because you’re saved from aforementioned view, but a curse because your sensation of touch is heightened, and all you’re aware of is his hands sliding down your sides. You’d swear those fingers were so long he could circle your waist with ease.

(Massages are meant to relax you and yet you’ve never felt so tense in your life.)

Taehyung clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth. “I can’t get a good angle like this,” he mutters.

Before you can think anything or say anything, you become aware of the sound of moving and shifting and—

Your eyes fly open. Taehyung’s straddling your thighs, heavy and warm, and you suck in a breath so sharp and fast you can feel your chest expand, brain full of the screaming clang of warning bells. There’s no way this is a normal masseuse thing. There’s no way. It’s intimate and entirely too physical and there’s absolutely no way that this is something Taehyung learned in class.

(What is he doing?)

But then any coherent thought in your brain slips when his hands settle on you again.

They so, so lightly brush the hem of the towel that preserves your modesty, and you can’t help the full-body shiver that wracks through you. You suck your lips into your mouth, swallowing down the noise that threatens to bubble up in your throat. There’s the sensation of fingers trailing up the line of your spine, feather light, smoothed by the slide of oil, and you feel like molten lava, burning hot and bright.

“Taehyung.” Your voice is high and faint.

His fingers splay down your ribcage and run down your sides, confident and smooth, warm with that coconut-scented oil, and you’re dying, you’re living; you want to disappear, you never want this to end.

“Taehyung,” you repeat. Your voice shakes.

He hums, low and indulgent. “Yes?”

“M-my thighs,” you stammer, unable to articulate yourself. Why are you on my thighs, oh God, you’re so warm and heavy on top of me, oh God oh God oh God.

Taehyung completely misunderstands you. “Oh? Of course.” He sounds nonchalant. “I’ll massage those next.”

You can feel the drag of his linen trousers against your skin as he moves down to rest on your calves, and hear the bottle open as Taehyung drizzles more oil over his hands, far more than he could possibly need. His palms feel so broad and warm against the smoothness of your thighs, touches firm and confident as he digs his fingers into the muscle, and, oh, fuck, this is, this is too much—

Your legs jump when Taehyung hitches the towel up, just a little, baring more of your body.

“Fuck.” You can't keep quiet any longer. “Tae, I’m fine, I’m feeling way less tense now.”

He’s still, for a moment, before his hands slide up the back of your thighs. “Are you sure? You want me to stop?”

It’s only then that you realise how deeply Taehyung is breathing, fast and low, voice rough and gravelled. His fingers rest in wait, warm and slick with oil; you’re so close to losing any modicum of modesty, only one motion away from that towel being rucked high enough that there’s nothing protecting you from Taehyung’s touch and eyes.

“I haven’t finished yet, though,” he continues, digging his thumbs into your skin as he pulls his hands down your thighs, mindlessly following the motions he’s been taught. “There’s still more to go.”

You could twist around to look at him but you’re almost afraid to look at his face, afraid of what you’d find there. He sounds as affected as you are, but there’s absolutely no way. There’s no way.

“You don’t need to do the whole massage if I’m feeling relaxed, right?”

(Because you’re feeling so relaxed right now, of course, and not like you’re about to go supernova and burst into heat and light. Absolutely.)

(But.)

(But. Taehyung’s hands settle at the back of your knees, swiping the sensitive skin with his thumbs. You can’t see his face, but you can feel something in that touch, something more than skin deep, like it’s sinking into you, through skin and muscle and bone, in in in, settling inside you, a flicker of—of—)

“Want to do this perfectly for you,” he murmurs. You clench your hands at the husky note in his voice, nails digging so hard into your palms it hurts. “You deserve the best. I want you to feel good.”

He must be able to see your back rise and fall as you breathe in sharply.

“Taehyung.” Almost pleading.

“Yes, love?”

You suck in another sharp breath. The pet name sounds so soft and sweet in his mouth, somehow, even with the heated edge to his voice. One that’s definitely there. You’re not imagining it.

(You’re not.)

“Do you want me to make you feel good?” he continues.

Before you can think, you nod.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Please.”

You’re trembling. Taehyung’s still heavy and warm across the back of your calves, sliding one hand to the inside of a knee and up the soft skin of your inner thighs. You instinctively shift them apart, as far as you can with Taehyung trapping your legs, and, oh, his hand is going higher, oh—

His hand is so big, cupping your overheated sex. It’s hard to tell where the oil ends and your own arousal begins, flushed wet and hot; when he dips his middle finger between your lower lips, long and gentle and firm, you let out a noise you didn’t realise you were capable of. The angle is off, a little awkward, the motions of Taehyung’s fingers stifled by how you’re lying flush to the ground, but God, you’re so turned on it barely matters.

You’re hyperaware of everything. The soft touch of air on the cooling oil across your skin. The fall of the towel, bunched around your waist, slowly slipping to one side. Taehyung’s hand, his fingertips easing through the heat of you, sliding over your clit, over your entrance, slow and soft and amazing.

“Again,” you plead. “Again, Tae, please.”

“Feels good?” He asks, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you nod, cheek still pillowed against your arm.

“So good,” you say. “But I want more, please, Tae.”

“Anything you want,” he murmurs.

Taehyung’s hand shifts between your legs again, so hot, so big, so reverent. The slide is smooth as his fingers press into your folds, practically gliding. You twist beneath him, letting out a noise of displeasure when he draws his hand away, but then he lifts off your calves. You let him thrust your legs apart before he resettles between them.

Just as you’re distracted with the towel being tugged away from your hips, baring you entirely, Taehyung slides a finger into your weeping cunt.

You whine. It's so long. Now that your calves aren’t trapped, there’s nothing to stop you from rutting back against his fingers. He splays his other hand over the soft flesh of your ass, encouraging the rolling motion of your hips, and you’re gasping, wanton in your noises of desire and pleasure. One finger becomes two, and then three, Taehyung’s voice a low undercurrent to your stuttered moans as he presses them as deep as he can.

“Just like that, angel,” he breathes. “Want you to feel good, keep making those pretty noises, let me know how good it is—”

“Taehyung,” you whine, dragging the syllables of his name out when he curls his fingers inside you, so amazing, hitting you in all the right places.

“Baby.” He sounds wrecked, words sliding together, and you haven’t even touched him yet. “You’re so hot n’ wet, fuck. So perfect. Just like that, keep moving like that.”

You can hear the slick sounds of his thrusts into you. He’s already learned what you like, twisting his fingers in a way that leaves you breathless; they’re so fucking long, sliding into your greedy cunt with ease, reaching so much deeper than your own can. His pretty lovely hands are on you, inside you, and you’re heady at the thought.

“There, Tae, don’t stop, please, p-please.” The coil twists tighter in between your legs, a taut thread that’s ready to snap. He listens, repeating the motion that’s pulling you closer to the edge, eyes wide, staring at the way you’re writhing underneath him; the way the oil on your back and legs shimmers in the light, the evidence of his touch all over you, shining. “Tae, oh, God, right there, yes, yes, yes—”

Your entire body goes tense and then you’re cumming around Taehyung’s fingers, clenching your thighs together, trapping him inside as you buck your hips. You grind back against his hand, a loud moan falling from your lips, drowning out the noise of awe that Taehyung makes when he feels your walls pulsate around him. You're warm and tight and wet, arousal flooding thick against his skin, and he lets out a stuttered groan, fingers buried knuckle deep inside you, feeling every wave of pleasure that rocks through your core.

You’re panting by the time you settle back down and barely make a sound when Taehyung drags his fingers out of you. When he leans down the oil on your skin feels tacky against his clothes, material sticking to you, chest to back, hips to ass. You can feel the hot curve of him through his trousers, his cock heavy, getting harder—and it feels sososo good.

Taehyung’s face is so close, now, chin hooked over your shoulder. Even though you can feel the hardness of his cock pressed against you, the smile on his face is so gentle. Your heart thrums in your chest.

“So cute n' pretty,” he says, and presses his nose to the soft curve of your cheek. Rather than coconut, all you can smell is his shampoo, familiar and homely and heady. “All over. God, I can’t believe you’d let me touch you like this. I’m so lucky. Was that good, baby?”

“Yes,” you say, and then, because you’re still floating in a light haze of disbelief: “I’m the lucky one.”

Taehyung laughs, low and quiet. It’s a honeyed moment, dripping slow and sweet, even sweeter when he tilts his head forward. His lips are soft against your cheekbone, your jaw, and when you turn towards him, they’re even softer against your mouth. You can feel the shape of his smile, and it tastes so bright, small kisses that turn open mouthed, so perfect. Because you’re kissing Kim Taehyung, your Taehyung, something you’ve been dreaming about for so long, now—even if this entire situation is pretty unbelievable, honestly.

When you pull back, his eyes spark with unadulterated joy. He’s warm and heavy, pinning you down against the towels that are soft against your front; arching your spine, you lean back against the weight of Taehyung’s body, his cock fattening up through the layers of clothes that separate you. He lets out a breath of surprise before he grinds down, pressing that hard heat against you, and your cunt clenches.

“Can I finish the massage?” He asks, sounding almost eager, even with the rasp of lust in his voice. You can’t help but laugh, an affectionate giggle that has you knocking your foreheads together.

“Of course,” you say, and he catches your lips again, swallowing the last of your laughter, sweeping his tongue over your lips, inside your mouth, wet and hot and a little messy, but good.

“You need to be on your back,” Taehyung continues, slow after the kiss is broken, and, oh, okay, that has you shivering. “If you want to?”

Of course you want to.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Let me move.”

He shifts to give you room, but not before pressing a kiss to the back of your neck, the bump of the top of your spine, lips sliding against the oil that he’d rubbed there earlier, goosebumps erupting over your skin.

“So good to me,” he whispers. You don’t think he even means for you to hear it.

(It’s said without thought; not thoughtless, no, but a soft little thing that says so much. A thought that’s slipped across his mind and fallen from his lips, warm and tender. Like you’re always good to him, and he sees it, he knows it, he feels it, he thinks it, and he’s almost in disbelief about it, because you’re so good to him.)

You feel warm and languid after cumming, loose-limbed as you flop onto your back. There’s no going back now. There’s no going back from this moment, naked and vulnerable under Taehyung, nothing hidden away any more—the soft fall of your breasts, your stomach, the lines of your hips, your fingers tightening in the towels spread beneath you as Taehyung’s eyes drink you in, wide and overawed at the sight of your flushed cunt, ripe and slick and ready for him.

(There's no more hiding how much you want Taehyung to have you, body and heart alike.)

You can see the shape of your body silhouetted on his clothes, where the oil has seeped into the material from how close he’d been pressed against you. You can see just how affected he is, cock straining against the loose linen of his white trousers, and you bite your lip to try and stifle the sound you make.

“Look at you,” Taehyung breathes, kneeling between your legs. “You’re so perfect.”

Your cheeks burn. “Taehyung, please,” you say, embarrassed. You really aren’t, especially in comparison to model-gorgeous Kim Taehyung, eyes dark and full of heated lust, hair falling in his eyes, effortlessly beautiful, always.

“You are,” he insists. “You have no idea how perfect you are.”

Before he reaches for the massage oil, he sucks the taste of you off his fingers, sloppy and messy. Your pussy throbs at the sight. And—you were also right about the visual being too much to handle, breath catching in your throat as you watch it drip into his broad hands. His palms shine as he rubs them together, interlacing his fingers, so graceful in their motions. You’re so wet from your orgasm, only getting wetter as you stare back at Taehyung, whose gaze has been heavy on you the whole time.

He starts at your collarbones. It’s even slower than before, and you ease underneath him, revelling in the softness of his touch. He sweeps his hands over your shoulders, down your arms, circling his long fingers around your wrists before lifting one of your hands. Your eyelashes flutter as he presses a kiss to your palm, a motion so full of adoration and tenderness it steals your breath away, and you squirm, shy.

“Tae,” you whine. “You can’t just do that.”

Of course he doubles down, lifting your other hand and repeating the motion, letting his lips linger between your head line and your heart line. “I can,” he says, words warm in your cupped palm.

“I hope you didn’t do this in class.” Your voice is too weak for it to come out as the joke you mean it to be.

Taehyung just shakes his head, mouth brushing over the tips of your fingers. “Only for you,” he says. “Did the whole class for you. I wanted—wanted an excuse to touch you more,” he admits, and your heart feels like it’s going to launch itself out of your throat.

“Then touch me,” you say, trying to sound confident even if your cheeks burn.

And he does. He lets your hands drop, gliding his touch back up your arms, down your body, over your legs; he massages your thighs and calves, digs his thumbs into the arches of your feet, circling his fingers around your ankles, shackles you don’t want to escape from. You feel so relaxed and lax, somehow, even if every touch has you biting your lip, anticipation roiling in your stomach for what’s to come, Taehyung laying your legs down softly before he shifts back up, hands held out towards you—

—then he cups your breasts in his big, big hands and your back arches, fingers sliding over your nipples, glistening with coconut oil, circling them with the pads of his thumbs. You let out an embarrassing whine.

“Oh, Tae,” you beg. “More, please.”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

You smile at another soft, unexpected pet name, flustered, but then your eyes slide shut when Taehyung bends down to kiss your neck as he continues to run his hands over the swell of your breasts. He trails his lips over your oiled skin, shifts down, drawing a line from your neck to the valley of your chest, the hard line at the center of your ribcage.

“Tae,” you murmur, and then, feeling bold under the heat of Taehyung’s dark eyes— “Baby.”

He hums before laying another sloppy kiss against your sensitive skin. You can feel the curve of his smile in the kiss. “Yes, love?”

“Is it really okay for you to… you know… get that oil in your mouth? I don’t want you to get sick,” you say, concerned, even through the haze of your arousal. His lips shine with it, at how he’s been trailing his mouth over all the parts of your body that he’s touched.

There’s a short beat, and then Taehyung buries his head against your neck—in that little hollow that’s his, in a motion he’s done dozens of times. Except this time you’re naked and he still has fingers splayed across the soft skin of your chest, nipples dragging underneath his palms.

“You’re always so considerate.” His words are muffled against your skin. “It’s fine. It’s edible.”

“You got edible massage oil from your course?”

Taehyung hesitates. “No,” he admits. “I bought it. It’s edible and, uh. Safe for intimate use.”

You’re silent, just for a moment, and then you can’t help it. You start to laugh.

“Kim Taehyung,” you say, body shaking with amusement. “Did you buy edible massage oil that you can also use as lube?”

Taehyung pulls his face away from your neck and glances up. You’re giggling at him, and he feels so full of love and affection; he can’t help but join in, both laughing at him, loud and carefree.

“It’s why I asked which one you liked,” he confesses, once he can catch his breath.

“I can’t believe you lied to me,” you say, but you don’t mind, really, and he knows it. You lift a hand to push hair out of his face, running your fingers down his scalp. He leans into your touch with a smile, bright and lovely, before he abruptly shifts one of his hands down so he can lick a hot, wet stripe across the skin of your breast.

That stops your laughter pretty fast, surprised hiccup shifting into a broken moan when he engulfs your nipple in the heat of his mouth. “O-oh,” you gasp. “Oh, Taehyung—”

“Been thinking about this for so long.” Taehyung’s eyes are lidded and dark as he leans back, watching the way you react to his touch, arching up towards him. “Wanted to touch you like this so much.”

“Wanted it too,” you breathe. “Wanted—oh, God, Tae, fuck—”

It’s overwhelming. Not just the way Taehyung is flicking his tongue over each of your nipples, pressing his lips against your skin, no—but the idea that he’s been hoping for this, too. Each wet motion of his tongue over your pebbled skin drags pulls out of you; Taehyung’s cock twitches at a loud keen that’s drawn from your lips, a wet patch of precum seeping through his boxers and trousers, darkening the fabric, even though you haven’t touched him yet.

When you reach out to grasp him through his clothes, his hips jolt forward and he bites off a surprised gasp, cutting through the sound with his teeth. He feels long and heavy as you stroke him, thumbing over the wet patch at his tip, hot, even through all those layers between your skin and his.

“I want to feel you, Tae,” you say, staring at him. “Inside me. Please.”

His breath hitches when you tighten your fingers around his shaft and drag your hand upwards, slow and intent.

“The oil isn’t condom friendly,” he admits, abashed.

“Then you can cum in my mouth,” you reply. No hesitation.

Taehyung’s eyes are so wide, but then he smiles, eyes squeezing into crescents, mouth turning up into that lovely, broad grin of his. He looks so sweet and sincere, and you feel like you could explode, stuffed overfull with love for him.

“You really are perfect,” he says.

“Only for you,” you reply, your smile just as bright.

He lays one final kiss to your chest, above your beating heart, before he starts to strip. The oil has obviously soaked through his shirt and onto his skin because it sticks when he peels it off and carelessly throws it aside.

Just like his heart, Taehyung’s body is soft and lovely. You sit up so you can touch him properly, catching him off guard when you pull him in for a kiss—one he eagerly leans into, and without the shirt in the way you can feel the way your skin slides against his, softened with oil.

There really is no one as beautiful as Kim Taehyung. You drag your hands over him, so warm and wonderful under your palms; his chest, his cute tummy, his waist, his hips, the soft skin above his red, neglected cock. He’s radiant in his nakedness, every easing line of his body so perfect as he kneels in front of you, the flush of his skin, the heavy weight of his arousal, head shining with precum, so wet it’s practically dripping.

You lean in to kiss his neck and nip at his Adam's apple as his hands slide over your shoulder blades and down your back, the parts that make you shudder.

“Want you, Tae.” You whisper into his mouth, a soft secret that isn’t really a secret at all, not any more. “All of you.”

“Going to give you everything you want.” The words flow out of him with ease. “Everything you want.”

His chest and stomach shine with the massage oil that’s rubbed off from your own skin. You run your hands across him, and when you finally grasp his cock without the barrier of cloth in the way, he’s almost burning under your grasp, thick, his entire body shuddering when you pump his length. So sensitive to your touch.

“I’m goin’ to make you cum again,” he promises, and you love it, the way he talks when he’s losing himself. “Bet you’ll feel so good around my cock, so perfect.”

A shiver skates through your body. Taehyung’s fingers dig into your skin when he feels you trembling under his hands, and all you can think about is how you want him in you.

“Please,” you say. “Please, wanna make you feel good too—”

“Hands and knees, angel,” he rasps, and, God, yes, those words cut straight through you, sharp and electric.

Maybe you should feel embarrassed at how quickly you obey. The towels underneath you, so carefully placed at the start, perfectly flat, become rumpled as you shift into position; you arch your back, wanting to look as good as possible, and glance over your shoulder to see if it works.

Judging from the look on Taehyung’s face, it does. He looks like he’s never seen anything more awe-inspiring, eyes wide and mouth a little slack, dumbstruck. But then his jaw snaps shut and he splays his hands over the soft skin of your hips, your waist, your ass, shuffling closer to you; you feel the curve of his cock slide against your skin and you bite back a noise of need.

“Fuck, so beautiful.” He ruts forward, and you can feel the wetness of his precum slicking against you, a beaded line drawn across the sheen of massage oil. “My beautiful, perfect girl.”

“Tae,” you plead, already overwhelmed with need, heart squeezing at his words.

“Just one more thing, angel, I promise.”

It’s a good thing that the bottle of massage oil is so big, considering how liberal Taehyung is with it. You gasp when he uses one hand to spread your ass and before you can react there’s a drizzle of oil falling onto your skin, down-down-down, over your cunt, dripping over your inner thighs; Taehyung catches the excess with his palms before he slicks himself up, spreading that sweet coconut over his throbbing cock.

(You wonder what it’ll taste like when you lick it off him.)

When you feel the blunt head of his cock nudging at your pussy, your entire body lights up in anticipation, nerve endings on fire, every inch of your body singing under Taehyung’s touch—and when he finally sinks in, it’s almost effortless. He’s thick and long but everything slides so easy; you gasp and he moans, both lost in how your body opens up for him, hot and wet. By the time he’s bottomed out you're a quivering mess, collapsed onto your elbows. You’re so full. You feel split open in all the best ways, wanting to draw him in impossibly deeper even so.

Taehyung is gripping your sides, hands unmoving even with the slick oil underneath them, fingers digging into your skin. He’s breathing so loud, and when you experimentally shift your hips, he bites back a noise that cuts through that breath.

“How’s it feel, love?” His words slur together in arousal, but the hand that strokes your back is slow, thoughtful. “Feel good?”

“Fuck me, Tae, baby, please,” you beg. It’s so, so so much, so good, amazing, hotter and bigger and harder than anything you’d let yourself imagine, your entire body taking Taehyung and holding him in, in, in. “Please, I need it, it feels good but I want more, please.”

When he pulls away it’s slow and torturous and he goes so far he almost slips out, cock nearly sliding out of your folds. You whine, a little shameless, mostly needy, but then—

The snap of his hips drives you forwards, towels shifting underneath as you scrabble for a hold on something. Each sharp motion of Taehyung’s body has you choking for air and letting out whimpers and gasps, drowned out by the slap of skin on skin; his hipbones meet the soft flesh of your ass, again and again, but all you can focus on is the thick heat of his cock inside you, in-out-in-out, the press of his balls against your clit, everything so wet and smooth and slick.

You can feel how you’re losing yourself to that heady place that’s golden bright with feeling, lust and sex, the rest of the world gone, unimportant. There’s nothing but this—Taehyung touching you, filling your body so well, so perfect, helping you chase that high that’s growing faster and faster, that precipice of pleasure that he’s going to throw you over again, intent on it.

One of his hands trails up your back, between that sensitive dip of your shoulder blades and into your hair, locks tangling with coconut oil before he urges you up. He doesn’t yank or pull but his hold is firm and you end up back on your hands, arms trembling as you try to keep your balance, back bowed, overwhelmed.

“Baby,” he rasps. “Oh, you’re so tight n’ hot, so pretty, fuck. You feel so good, do you feel good?”

Your answer is almost a wail, so overcome with pleasure, sensation, the glide of his hands over your shining skin, the mix of oil and arousal that drips out of you, only getting wetter with each thrust of his hips into you. “So good, o-oh God, Tae, baby, fuck, oh, theretherethere—”

“Here?”

He punctuates this with a roll of his hips, using the hand still on your hip to pull you back onto his cock as he fills you up once more, throbbing heat. He bends over you, and this time, there’s nothing stopping the skin on skin contact, the slide of his chest against your back as he kisses the soft skin behind your ear, nipping at your lobe, and that’s it, you’re gone. Your eyes slide shut and your mouth falls open as another orgasm crashes through you, legs shaking as you cum around Taehyung’s cock, grinding back against him to drag out that pleasure; the only thing holding you up is the hand still in your hair, the lips trailing up the side of your bared neck, the hard cock inside you, keeping you against him, so many points of connection with Taehyung.

(His chest pressed against your back, heart beating so hard you can feel it, your own heart moving in tandem, matching him.)

He’s been whispering filth to you, heated praise and love, how good you feel, how beautiful you are, what it’s like to see you like this, touch you like this, have you like this. Lovely, pretty, perfect, gorgeous, hot n’ wet n’ tight, fuck, love, oh.

You’re still shivering, the final pulses of your orgasm curling through you with each unintentional shift of Taehyung’s hips, the drag of his length inside your inner walls. You can feel something dripping out of you; oil, cum, you don't know, but fuck, it feels so so good.

“Oh, God,” you say. Breathless. “Oh, Taehyung, oh.”

“Pretty darling,” he murmurs. He swivels his hips, grinding against you, and your entire body jolts with oversensitivity, clit swollen where his balls press against it. You tighten around him and groan at how hot and big he still feels inside, even as you still shiver from the come down of your second orgasm. “Gonna roll you over so I can see that perfect face.”

And when you’re on your back again, fucked out and mussed and wrecked, he just stares at you. You’ve watched his face for so long, seen so many expressions flit across his features, but never something like this—it’s a mix of amazement and awe and tenderness and lust and love, a lift to his brows and a spark in his eyes and a set to his lips.

And when he leans down to kiss you, that look doesn’t leave. It melts and softens around the edges as you catch each other's mouths, as you kiss and kiss, small tender things interspersed with longer, deeper touches, lips and teeth and tongue—his eyes darken and his mouth flushes darker pink, kiss swollen and so beautiful, but that expression stays. It stays for you.

Kim Taehyung is beautiful and lovely and unique. Kim Taehyung is so far out of your reach it’s kind of stunning, actually. And yet, here you are, existence of his touch over every part of you, in every part of you, lust driven, love full; the carefully balanced weight of his body splayed over you, pinning you down, keeping you close.

“I wanna see you cum, Tae,” you say. “Please?”

And just like he always does, Taehyung indulges you, just like you indulge him. He presses back inside you, cunt opening up for him so easy, so smooth, like his touch has already been etched into the memory of your body, perfect for him. He stays pressed close, face so near as he rolls into each thrust, sweat and coconut oil painted across your skin as your bodies shift together.

He’s been covering you in his words, both heated and sweet, and now you return the favour. You tell him how good he feels, how beautiful he is, so good, so perfect, so considerate, how much you’ve wanted this. So good, so long and thick, oh, Tae, feels so good, ah-ah-ah, baby, you’re unreal, fuck.

You can see the exact moment he starts to reach his high, the way he sucks in air, the way he lifts his chin, starts to thrust a little harder, a little faster, chasing that thread of pleasure that’s spiralling through him, and you urge him on. You lift your hips and clench so tight it has him gasping, hips stuttering, and you press your nose against his jaw, saying give it to me give it to me give it to me, wanting him to feel the same pleasure he’s given you.

When he pulls out, you’re too busy moving to pay attention to how empty you feel, settling between his legs and swallowing down his shining cock almost desperately. There’s no coconut. You can only taste yourself and when you lave your tongue across his slit it’s all Taehyung-Taehyung-Taehyung, hot and salt and bitter; he gasps and his hips jump and you take it all, lowering your head as far as you can, the head of his cock at the back of your throat before you pull up, dragging your tongue over the pulsing vein at the underside, messy and wet. You drink down the wetness of his cock, your own arousal, mixed with his, the precum that beads at his head, staring up at him, your hands sliding over the sheen of his stomach, his thighs, cupping his balls, everything slick with oil and sweat.

“Oh, God.” Taehyung’s eyes are blown and his hair is a mess and his mouth is wide open as he pants for air, watching. “Baby, baby, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum.”

You suck hard, dragging your lips up from the base of the cock to the rounded tip, swirling your tongue, bobbing your head faster—

“Oh, fuck—”

—and you swallow down each wave of cum, swallow down the way his cock twitches as he spills the evidence of pleasure into your mouth, swallow down the lovely noises that shudder out of him, watching him the whole time, never wanting to look away.

When you take your mouth off his softening cock, you draw a line of kisses with your mouth, up the soft skin of his body, stomach to chest to neck to mouth. He licks the taste of coconut oil off your lips, the taste of himself off your tongue; you curl up in his lap, settled against him, the apartment’s cool air even sharper against your skin, magnified by the oil that still lingers.

(Even without the oil painted across him, Taehyung would still shine, even under the weak light from the cheap lightbulb that hangs above you.)

You feel soft and warm and small in the circle of Taehyung’s arms, pulled close, and you can hear the words in his chest as he speaks, a resonance that touches against your skin.

“‘M sorry,” he murmurs.

You pause.

“Baby, love, darling.” The endearments are sugar sweet in your mouth, soft against his skin before you pull back to look at him, confused, concerned. “Sorry for what?”

“I really—I really was just planning to do a massage, but you’re so…”

You let out a slip of laughter. The room smells of coconut and sex, but when you lay your head against Taehyung’s collarbone all you can smell is the light tinge of his sweat. You breathe in, deep, like you can hold onto that ephemeral part of him. “Oh, Tae. I’m so what?”

“You’re so good,” he says. “So good and kind and lovely and—and so beautiful. I was going to do the massage to make you happy and then… tell you. About how happy you make me.”

You burrow your head into the hollow of his neck, the way he does to you, shy. “I’m not as beautiful as you,” you reply. “Tae, you are literally the most beautiful person alive, and—God, I’ve. I’ve been. So head over heels for you.”

There’s a pause. “Really?”

When you pull back to fix Taehyung with all the surprise in your gaze, you can see that he’s surprised, too. His hair hangs into his eyes, and he looks a little unsure, like he believes you, but finds it impossible to fathom.

You leave massage oil on his cheeks when you cup his face in your hands, staring at him with wide eyes. “Kim Taehyung, I have had daily breakdowns about the intensity of my love for you to Pickles ever since we got him. You’re the first person I think about each morning—usually because we wake each other up—and the last thing I think about at night—well, usually because you end up climbing into my bed more often than not, but, it still counts,” you say. You’re both tangled together in so many ways already. “You’ve had my heart for a long time, you know. I just never thought I had a chance?”

When Taehyung kisses you, it’s brief, a hard press of his lips before he rests his forehead against yours. “You really, really have no idea how perfect you are,” he murmurs. “I’ve wanted—I want to do everything for you to show you how grateful I am for everything you do for me.”

“You don’t have to,” you protest, but he just smiles.

“I don’t have to, but I want to,” he says. “Like you don’t have to look after me, but you do.”

“That’s because I love you,” you say. “Like, capital L love you.”

You’ve been so afraid of confessing, so convinced that it was an unattainable dream; that Kim Taehyung would never, could never, has never seen you as more than a friend. But the way he’s looking at you now, the way he’s touched you, the way your body still echoes with the feeling of him inside you: you’re not scared, any more. You don’t need to be.

Taehyung’s eyes are so dark and warm when he replies, easy and effortless. “I love you, too.”

Your relationship has always been a give and take, is the thing. When you climb in the shower together, he washes the oil from your back while you massage shampoo into his scalp, laughing when he makes devil horns in his hair. He catches you by surprise when he presses you against the tiles, swallowing your moans when he coaxes one final orgasm from your tired body, rubbing tight circles over your clit as you buck against his hand and water cascades over you both. His cock hardens in your hands, sliding between your legs when you press them together, tight-tight-tight, his length rubbing against your cunt as he fucks your thighs until he’s moaning and shaking and cumming again.

(The water’s cold by the time you finally climb out, but that’s okay. You giggle and kiss as you dry yourselves, each other, excuses to keep touching and feeling, driven by affection, not lust.)

When you’re both clean, and dry, Taehyung’s leg thrown over your hip as he tugs you in, flush with his body under the covers, you press your lips against the line of his jaw.

“Taehyung?”

“Yes, angel?”

You smile and hunch up even closer to him, scrunching yourself up as small as you can to plaster yourself against his side. “Thank you for the wonderful massage. Definitely the best massage I’ve ever been given, ten out of ten, would do again.”

Taehyung laughs, pressing his rectangular smile into the kiss he lays against your lips, and you think that nothing tastes better than the happiness curling his mouth.

“Love you,” he murmurs. Always romantic. “I love you love you love you.”

“Tae-honey-hyung.” And it feels so nice to not have to filter your words, to bite back that second layer of meaning, to try and keep things platonic and chaste when you speak. “I love you.”

And it feels so nice to have your Taehyung beside you, your body still aching with the press of him inside you, a good ache, a nice ache. A physical ache from good love, rather than a heartache from a love you didn’t think was reciprocated. But it is, somehow, each of you so bowled over by each other.

(“Hey, Pickles.”

The bearded dragon looks up at you, placid as he lounges in his tank.

“Well, you’ll be happy to hear that you won’t have to put up with me ranting at you any more,” you say. “Taehyung did break out the massage oil but it’s all good. I didn’t spontaneously combust or anything, like I thought I would.”

Pickles’ tongue flicks out as he shifts, and you smile.

“Okay, that’s it, I’m done,” you finish. “Thanks, Pickles. You’re a real pal.”

Taehyung nuzzles into your neck. His arms are a tight circle around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder as he looks down at the reptile, too. He’s warm and solid against your back, and you lean into him, happiness tingling through you.

“I wonder how much longer we would have taken if you didn’t get that coupon for a massage therapy course,” you muse, and Taehyung chuckles, warm and lovely.

“We would have gotten there eventually. And we would have had each other until we did, anyway. Right, angel?”

Pickles stays quiet as you both kiss, but you can tell he approves.)

taglist: @beyoncesdragon

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clandonnachaidh · 3 years

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Light Across The Seas That Severed (Ch2)

Read on AO3

Jamie was sat, feeling maudlin and staring into the depths of his pint after a particularly difficult day. If Jenny had been beside him, she’d tell him to wise up and be grateful for the situation he was in. But he still wasn’t used to being so far from home, away from his parents and Lallybroch. He wouldn’t let himself say it out loud but he even found himself missing the tinny aftertaste of a pint of Tennents that he had yet to find on sale south of the border.

He knew his parents were over the moon about his acceptance into Oxford, how could they not be? Jamie had walked around Broch Mordha with his mother and father a few days after he’d received the happy news and found that the standard twenty minute scoot around the shop was considerably stretched out to allow his parents to stop and boast to every person they could about their youngest son’s achievement. Jamie had smiled sheepishly and thanked people for their well wishes but if he was being entirely honest, there was a knot in the pit of his stomach every time someone mentioned him leaving home.

Jamie tried not to let his nerves get the better of him as he settled into his new home those first few days. It wasn’t just that he stuck out like a sore thumb as the 6’ 4 red headed Scot that was almost as broad as he was tall. It was the fact that the people seemed to be looking at him funny. He made the mistake of asking someone for directions and ended up on the receiving end of a joke about his accent, the man making a mean comment about Jamie being asked to join Oxford University as some attempt to reach whatever entry quota of undergraduates hailing from underprivileged backgrounds. It didn’t matter that he was there on the merit of his exam results that he had worked his arse off for, the same as everybody else. Jamie Fraser was a working class lad from the Highlands, not some self-entitled Etonian arsehole whose father knew somebody who knew somebody. He was surrounded by future Lords and Dukes and he knew that if he heard the words ‘titan of business’ again, he was going to have to start cracking some overprivileged skulls.

And so he sat in The College Bar on a Friday night, hidden away in the corner upstairs where he could sit in peace and brood over his very fortunate situation that he didn’t feel so fortunate about. The only thing that he made the whole thing worthwhile was the girl who lived a few doors down from him in Merton College.

The first time he saw Claire Beauchamp she was fighting a losing battle with a cardboard box that looked like it had already taken a few bashings. Jamie had moved into his dorm a few days prior and was out that morning in an attempt to scout a route for his morning runs. He was keeping a close eye on his AppleWatch, making sure that his heart rate was staying in the optimal zone when he encountered one of the more colourful expletives he’d had the pleasure of hearing before.

“Jesus H Roosevelt Christ!”

His head swivelled on his neck and his eyes landed on her.

Her long arms were wrapped around the box, trying to keep it steady on a propped up knee while the glaring at the taxi driver who was stood fiddling with his phone rather than helping the poor lass. Irritated at the absence of chivalrous manners, Jamie jogged towards the car to offer help.

“Are ye managin’? Here, let me,” he moved to her side and grabbed the next box, lifting it without thought and immediately straining as gravity worked quickly against him. “Christ, lass, what have ye got in here? Rocks?”

“That one contains books, laddie,” she spat back in frustration at him, trying her hand at matching the Scottish brogue and failing miserably. Jamie found it utterly adorable and couldn’t help but smile as he placed the box on the pavement and unloaded the next one which was thankfully much lighter. After wrangling her suitcase from the boot of the car, he tried not to watch the delicate movement of her limbs as she paid the fare.

Trying to pretend that he hadn’t been avidly watching her, he faked a jump of surprise as she thrust her hand towards him, “Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp.”

He liked her instantly. He found himself thinking, who the hell introduces themselves with their full name anymore? What an interesting wee thing she was.

“James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser,” he returned the gesture, shaking her small hand in his large one, damning the tough skin of his calluses for keeping him from feeling the exact texture of the soft skin of her palm.

“That’s too many names.”

“What?” The question burst out of him in an exasperated laugh. “No, it’s no’. ’Tis the number of names my parents gave me and if ye want tae live a good long life, Sassenach, ye winna get intae the bad books of my wee ma.”

“What’s a… sassanatch?” Her head tilted to the side in curiosity.

“Sassenach,” he corrected her pronunciation with a wry smirk. He knew that if he tried to give her anything but the truth, she would see through him in an instant so he decided to answer honestly. “It means ‘outlander’.”

She snorted at him and rolled her leopard eyes into the back of her skull.

“Sorry to break it to you, Toto, but I have a feeling we’re not in Scotland anymore.”

“Now that I am painfully aware of,” he sighed, sending a cursory glance around the quad that they were standing in and almost willing it to magically transfigure itself into the hills of his home.

“Not enjoying it so far?”

“Jus’ takin’ me a while tae get used tae it, naebody spiks tae ye here. Said hullo to the man in the shops and he looked at me like I’d twa heids.”

He was putting it on a bit, thickening his accent to amuse her but he was delighted to see that it was working. She laughed, looking at her feet and then sighing at the boxes that he had stacked into a neat pile on the pavement. She looked wistfully at them and cast a sideways glance at the man in front of her, an idea forming in her mind.

“Rather large, aren’t you, Fraser?”

He grinned wolfishly at her, “That I am.”

“What if I make you a promise to say hello to you every time I see you? In exchange for a small favour?”

“And what would that be?”

“Help me to my room with my things?” She sent him a dazzling smile to try and convince him but he had already resigned to himself that his morning workout had changed from cardio into upper body strength training.

“Wisnae going tae let ye carry these yerself, I’m no’ that cruel,” he smirked as she triumphantly pulled out her phone, bringing the information of her dorm up on her screen.

“You’re a saint. I’m staying in Merton, you wouldn’t happen to know where that is?”

He tried not to look too enthusiastic as he felt the universe click things into place, “As a matter of fact, I do.”

And that day was the first day of their story together. With Claire holding open doors, Jamie managed to get her boxes to her dorm in three trips and they bantered the entire time, her quick wit shining from her and almost doubling him over with laughter at one point. Without really making an effort to do so, they seemed to find themselves in each other’s orbit more often than not, walking to lectures together despite chasing completely different degrees and finding that they enjoyed the same very specific spot in the library that offered the most sunlight with the least amount of noise. He surprised her the first time he appeared with the correct number of sugar packets for her to dump into her coffee and he beamed when she peeled the gherkins from her burger and dropped them onto his plate, knowing that he would eat them for her. They came to know each other, slowly showing the parts of themselves that not many people were allowed to see. She banged on his door in the late afternoon after a particularly bad seminar and his hand found the perfect purchase against her shoulder as she laid her head on his and cried, admitting to feeling overwhelmed and burnt out in such a competitive environment. In turn, he let her in on his feelings of inferiority which she quickly shot down, telling him that he was not only the smartest person she knew but the kindest and that was no small thing. Soon enough, they were practically inseparable, both having their own friends but somehow always ending up in each other’s company. Jamie began to relax into his life in Oxford, knowing that as long as he could do it with Claire, well, it might not be so bad.

“Nice to see you didn’t wait for me, Fraser,” she puffed as she sat herself down on the stool across from him at their usual table in the pub, unwinding her long scarf from around her neck as she greedily eyed the pint that was sat waiting for her. Claire took a long drink before setting it down again and sighing heavily as her fingers, stiff and bright red from the cold, attempted to undo the buttons of her coat.

“Ye call me and tell me tae meet ye in the pub in ten minutes and then ye show up half an hour after. What am I meant tae do, just sit and stare at the ‘hing?” Jamie muttered in response, not meeting her gaze as he picked at a piece of dried candle wax that had dripped and solidified on the table. He had been studying in his room when she had called, demanding that he meet her and even though he would rarely say no to her, it didn’t mean that he wouldn’t let her stew for a bit. Trying to hide a smirk, he pulled his eyes up to see her face, immediately regretting his teasing. “Sassenach? What’s worst wi’ ye?”

“It’s nothing, it’s-“ she finally managed to pull her arm free of her coat only to thrust it deeply into her pocket, retrieving her phone and staring at it with a furrowed brow. “Bloody bastard, he hasn’t even text me.”

His ears pricked up at the mention of a ‘he’ but Jamie kept his mouth shut, raising his pint glass to his lips to stop himself from blurting out all the questions that were brewing behind them.

“Why are all men total pricks, Jamie?” She took a deep drink from her own glass, her eyelids drooping slightly at the relief the cold liquid brought her before she wiped her lips with the back of her hand which she then waved in his general direction. “Present company excluded, of course.”

“Och, I dinna ken, ye’ve called me worse things in our time thegither.”

That earned him a laugh and he watched as her shoulders relaxed slightly, her slight frame melting back into her chair.

“Bad date, was it?”

Claire snorted, the sudden expel of air causing one of her curls to dance around her face, “I don’t suppose it counts as a bad one if the guy doesn’t even show up.”

“He pied ye?” Jamie’s skin felt hot as anger licked at his insides. Her face scrunched up in confusion, as it did sometimes if he used a colloquialism from home that hadn’t quite found its way across the border.

“What?” she asked before deciding that it didn’t matter, carrying on in her irritation. “He didn’t show! No call, no text, nothing.”

“Good riddance then. Where did you find this one?” He asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

Part of being her friend was watching from the sidelines as men, and some women, fell at Claire’s feet. Not for the first time, Jamie found himself ruminating on the fact that her name in Gaelic, Sorcha, meant light. She drew people in and without meaning to, they soon found themselves to be in her orbit.

“We quite literally bumped into each other in the library. He’s reading History.”

“And what would a history man be doing in amongst yer medical textbooks, Sassenach? Sounds like a bit of a creep to me. Or mebbe he was lookin’ up some horrible rash he’s got on his-”

“Same again?” She interrupted after downing more than half of her pint in an attempt to catch up.

She was already out of her seat before he had the opportunity to answer. He enjoyed, probably a little too much, watching the sway of her hips and the way her curls bounced as she bounded down the stairs towards the bar and he leant backwards, letting his head rest against the wall and sighing in frustration. She was going to spend the rest of the night sneaking glances at her phone, hoping that this new guy would try to get in touch with her and he would have to suffer in silence. He would tell her that she has nothing to worry about, that whoever this guy was would have to be a fool not to crawl over broken glass to get to her.

Because that’s what Jamie would do. If she ever asked him to.

After a second round and a third and a fourth, they came to be sat on the same side of the table, hidden away in the alcove that their table was situated in. They were both drunk although Jamie would never admit to it, saying that a Scot was never drunk as long as they could stand upright. Their shared laughter was getting louder and Claire’s gestures were getting bigger, sloppier, as the frustration began to pour from her.

“I mean, I’m reading medicine, for Christ’s sake! I have good prospects, I’m only minimally neurotic, I don’t think I’m that terrible to look at. So what’s my problem? Am I just destined to be alone for the rest of my life?” A massive hiccup ripped through her, followed by a laugh as she brought her hand to her chest as though the act would calm them. Jamie’s eyes fell to her hand, trying so hard not to let his eyes focus on the breasts beneath it. Realising that the drink had made his reflexes slower, he pulled his eyes to face forward, staring at the floor and worrying that he’d been caught.

“I dinna think so.”

Her index finger stabbed a little too hard at her phone, the screen lighting up and showing no notifications, “It’s not like there’s a line of men waiting patiently at my door.”

“Then they’re eejits.”

A whirlwind of curls twisted towards him, a slight smile that was playing on her lips admitting to her surprise. The words had left his mouth before he realised it and the moment he did, red creeped insidiously up from the collar of his shirt, seeping into his cheeks.

“Eejits, huh?”

He looked at her then, blue eyes fixing onto their honeyed counterparts, humour dancing across her face mixed in with the light that was cocooning them.

“Every man who doesnae fall at yer feet tae do yer bidding is an eejit,” he conceded.

“Are you including yourself in that list, Fraser?”

He fought the urge to roll his eyes, not needing to lend even more credence to what they both already knew but were too afraid to speak out loud. That he was completely under her spell and happy to be there.

“I think ye’ll find ye had me cartin’ yer wee boxes tae yer room within minutes of meeting ye, Sassenach.”

Claire bit her lips between her teeth, trying her hardest not to smile, “Your mother raised you to be a gentleman.”

“That she did. Which means I buy the next round and then I’m walking ye home,” Jamie said.

“Not heading to see Annalise tonight?”

Rising to his feet, he fought back the urge to snap at her, irritated at the mention of the girlfriend that he hated being reminded of when he was with Claire and simply replied with, “Not tonight.”

Something playful and dangerous glinted in the amber eyes and she leaned forward on her elbows, as though she was stalking her prey.

“Then I shall delight in having you all to myself.”

By the time Jamie returned with their drinks, the moment of flirtation had passed. Claire was back frowning at her phone and tapping a single bitten fingernail against the wood grain of the table. Determined to distract her from falling down the rabbit hole of despair, their final drink was spent teasing, telling funny stories to each other about the idiotic things that had been said in their seminars, gloating about who got the best marks on their last essay. Before they knew it, Claire’s scarf was being wrapped around her neck once more as the two of them stumbled into the cold night air.

They had stayed a little later than last call, a classmate of Claire’s being the barman on staff and allowing them to finish their drinks while he wiped down the bar and cleaned the lines. It meant that they were alone as they walked, not amongst the mass exodus of warm bodies that had left the bar twenty minutes previous. Jamie watched from the corner of his eye as Claire furiously rubbed her hands together in an attempt to introduce some heat. With the alcohol loosening the usual restraint that he kept firmly in check, he turned to her and grabbed her small hands in his and brought them to his mouth, blowing the hot air from his lungs against her skin. Even through the drunken fog, he felt the flickers of electricity that seemed to pass every time their hands touched. It wasn’t unheard of for their hands to find their way to each other’s in those long study sessions when both of them were tired and stressed and in need of a comfort. A gesture that said ‘It’s okay, I’m here with you’. Things were always easier if they touched.

Slowly, he became aware that she was holding her breath, confirming it by sweeping his eyes from her hands to her face. She was staring at him, like a leopard stalking its prey. No smart remark or witty retort fell from her lips which were parted, allowing her breath to leave her in little bursts that betrayed how fast her heart was beating. The drink making him bold, he began to lace his fingers through hers, the only sound on the street being her sharp intake of breath as he pressed their palms together. Jamie became immediately more aware that their faces were closer than they ever had been before, that her body was pressed lightly against his and he suppressed a groan at how easy it would be to pull her closer and lose himself in her. His eyes caught her her tongue darting out to wet her lips and he wondered if she realised that she had done it. He couldn’t stop looking at her mouth, her pretty pink lips forming shapes that he wanted to know the taste of.

“Jamie…“ her breath was sweet against his mouth. It was an invitation but there was a hesitance there that he recognised and he knew that she was thinking the same thing he was. That if they did this, if they kissed, nothing would be the same again.

“Aye?”

“Can I…?”

An imperceptible nod of his head was all it took for her dart towards him but she stopped himself just shy of his lips. His mouth was hovering above hers, so close that he could feel the warmth of her breath on his face. Jamie held himself there, basking in the anticipation of a moment that he had dreamed of so many times. This wouldn’t be another first kiss to regret.

A small whimper escaped Claire’s lips as she softly pressed her mouth against his and it was all it took to undo him, his whole self filling with the need to taste her the moment that their lips met. Jamie raised a shaking hand to her face, to cup her cheek and kiss her slowly, deeply, wanting to drink in every part of her that he could.

He was kissing Claire Beauchamp. And it was everything.

#light across the seas that severed #clan donnachaidh #ao3 #outlander fanfic #jamie fraser #Claire beauchamp #outlander #modern au

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fumingspice · 3 years

Text

Like Never Before (ii)

Part: One

I would literally rather only drink ocean spray cranberry juice for the rest of my life than have kids so if this reads like i was dying while writing it then that’s why xo

taglist: @sarahp-stan @jumpoffabridge-t @sarahpaulsonsoftie @definitelynot-a-writer @bottom4delia @delias-bitch-craft @creepingwolfberry @thesapphictimelady @goodeday2u @that-fucking-error @saucy-sapphic @sarahp-stan

i wish you all the love in the world, but most of all i wish it from myself.

You watched Billie as she glided across the room. Christ, even with her sweatpants and messy hair she was still an absolute vision.

“Honey, for the love of God, can you please let me do something?” You asked, chuckling at how she darted from stirring the eggs to packing an overnight bag to trying to build an Ikea cradle.

“Instruction manuals are for wimps,” were her exact words five hours ago when she took the parts out. “It will be up in a jiffy.”

It was not up in a jiffy.

Billie plated the eggs and moved back to the box load of wooden bits and pieces, sorting through and assembling the bed with her toolkit. You almost admired the image of her handiness, even though you knew fully well that the look of concentration and furrowed brows were masking the fact that she had locked herself into a commitment to build the cot without looking at directions. She was going to drive herself insane if she didn’t get it right. Billie wasn’t necessarily bad at putting things together; you had often let her help you put furniture together before your pregnancy took over most of your day. On the other hand, that certainly didn’t mean she was in any way, shape, or form good at building furniture. You knew that the cradle would look more like a misshapen table.

She was still adorable.

“No, baby. I’m not risking giving you any stress. Christ, one wrong move and it will be a literal baby shower,” she replied, scooting over to kiss your cheek. “Let me do this for you, hm? Then I’ll run us a nice bath before we go to the hospital.”

You grinned at Billie’s nurturing side. “Fine,” you said, caressing her cheek in your hand. “Just make sure you build that right, if our baby falls through the floor on the first night home then I’m not going to be very pleased with you Ms. Howard.”

Your girlfriend frowned. “Do you really want to mess with me while I’m holding a screwdriver?”

Now, that made you chuckle.

“You had to spend fifteen minutes trying to figure out if you were holding it right.”

Billie rolled her eyes at you and stood up. “You know what? I think he’ll enjoy it more if he’s able to sleep with his moms,” she said, pulling you into her chest. You could sense her exhaustion no matter how well she played it off.

You tilted your head to look up at her. Her brown eyes, although excited and lively were worn down a little bit, and a faded purple colour lay beneath. “Baby?” You spoke after a little while, causing her to jolt slightly.

“Hm? Are you okay?”

“How about that bath?” You suggested, Billie smiled warmly and ruffled your hair before pulling you up and walking you to the bathroom.

Thankfully, your bedroom was only down the hall given that you’d finally moved into her house. The door was also a lot wider. Very convenient in this situation.

Billie dipped her hand into the water to mix the bubbles in, gathering some up in her hand and dropping the foam on your head. “You look like the cotton candy man from Scooby Doo,” she giggled, giving you a matching beard. You laughed together as she helped you undress, her hands gliding softly down your skin in admiration. “My God, you’re exquisite.”

She took your arm and helped you into the bath, smiling as you gasped at the warmth. It was almost perfect.

You tugged her arm, trying to signal what you wanted without actually speaking. The warmth of the water and the scent of the bubble bath had given a relaxing aroma. In short, you were too lazy too speak.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” she cooed, her fingers twirling in the water. You raised an eyebrow. “You want me to join you?”

You nodded enthusiastically, watching as she stripped off and eased herself into the water behind you. “Jesus, fuck. Shit. Fuck. Shit. Fuck,” she muttered. Warm baths were never really her thing. Billie always preferred showers. Both alone and accompanied, but recently she had started opting for baths, enjoying the feeling of you laying back against her stomach. The feeling of protecting you in some way gave her somewhat the same satisfaction as an orgasm.

Billie let out a sigh as the water flowed gently around you both, her hands laying on you waist and stomach and her head rested on your shoulder. She was silent. That was one of the best indicators to tell you she was tired.

Your body jerked, reacting to Braxton Hicks. Billie snapped alert immediately.

"Relax, Billie. I'd tell you if something was wrong," you cooed, your hand reaching her cheek and caressing it softly.

"I don't want to miss anything," she mumbled in response. The blonde kissed your shoulder and neck, each touch sending fiery affection through you. You rolled your head back, letting her kiss further to your cheek and ending it with a deep kiss.

Her lips tasted sweet.

"Baby, you know we can't do anything," you whispered, turning to try and get a better angle at Billie's mouth.

She grinned into you. "We both know you're telling yourself that, Y/N," she replied. Her lips were graceful on you.

Hilarious.

Billie got out of the bath and toweled off, turning to help you out when she ready. There was something about Billie-Dean in this attire. No make-up, her hair slicked back from the water, the way her collar bones gilded her shoulders. You bit your lip as she guided you to bed when you were dressed.

She was out like a light as soon as she was relaxed, her hand never leaving yours. Even if she was too tired to snuggle right into you, there was never a nighy where she wouldn't make some form of contact before falling asleep.

Of course, as you lay awake, something in you was stirring you. Not allowing you to sleep.

Probably the human growing in you, but who knows.

Hours passed as you watched the light from the moon travel from the wall to the floor and disappear.

It happened so quickly that you snapped into an upright position, cursing as you flew.

Billie snapped up you, sensing your hand leave hers. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" she asked, laying her hand on your shoulder.

"Fuck. Shit. Shit. Fuck. Shit," you panicked. Your breathing short and quick. "Billie, I think my water's broken."

Billie's brown eyes widened. "Oh, Mary Mother of Jesus on a tandem bike," she swore, grabbing her car keys from the bedside table and shoving her feet into her shoes.

She tripped on the rug and staggered over to your side of the bed with a towel, pressing it against your leg. “Okay. Okay, how are we feeling, sweetheart?” She asked, breathless with apprehension.

You shrugged. The shock of the moment had rendered your ability to process thoughts absolutely useless. Your contractions were barely noticeable. More like short pulse-cramps than anything noticeable. Billie’s fingers laced through yours as you explained.

“I’ll phone Dr. McCool and ask what to do,” Billie said, pushing your hair behind your ear and giving your forehead a quick kiss.

She left to get the phone, hearing her apologising for the late call.

Billie sat still, ushering soothing words and not complaining despite how hard you were gripping her hand.

Hours felt like days at this stage. The pain was a nightmare. Words couldn’t describe the relief that you felt whenever the midwife told you to stop pushing. You choked a cry in relief and fell into Billie.

“Easy, sweetheart. You did it,” she whispered, holding you tight against her and kissing your head. Her voice was breaking as she spoke. For a moment, everything disappeared as you just melted right into her. A sudden and loud cry broke you from your trance as you snapped back to reality.

Your head perked up as you saw a nurse holding your baby, small and crying.

“Oh, my God,” you said to no one in particular. Tears were falling down your cheeks freely as you tried to process what was actually happening.

Just when you thought things couldn’t get anymore overwhelming, James walked into the room. Billie tensed up immediately, following his gaze to the baby. You could tell that if she weren’t so overcome with joy she would have harden up at his look of happiness.

“Y/N,” he said, walking over and squeezing your hand. “Y/F/N called. I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner; I was at a bachelors’ party.”

You felt Billie tense slightly around you. She was sensitive about the fact that James was the baby’s father. There was no issue of jealousy. There was certainly no lack of trust. James had even made it clear that he would respect Billie’s boundaries when it came down to visiting. It was the simple fact that it wasn’t her that boiled her over sometimes.

You smiled at him as the nurse passed the baby to you. “Congratulations!” She spoke. “It’s a healthy baby boy!” Billie’s bets were right. You frowned internally at the idea of not guessing right.

Then you remembered that the only thing she had “won” was getting eaten out for twenty minutes straight.

It was a win-win situation.

Billie gasped as the baby lay against your chest. You turned around to look at her, brown eyes framed with tears locked in awe. “Babygirl, look what you did,” she cooed, kissing your temple. You nuzzled against her, seeking a kiss on the lips. It was a new feeling, the one where you know you’ve hit a long-time achievement. Billie was yours. You were hers. There was even an unexpected bonus.

Another doctor came in. “Hello!” She chirped. She moved in to shake James’ hand. “I presume you are the father?”

James smiled, about to agree. He caught Billie’s pursed lips and avoiding glance. “Somewhat,” he replied. Billie looked right at him for the first time since he’d arrived. “Although, I think that’s more Billie’s station.” He motioned at your girlfriend, whose breathe hitched and chuckled in an exhale of relief.

“Thank you,” you mouthed at him, feeling Billie relax at his words. The doctor gestured for Billie to come over. Something about signing some document. She held you carefully so as not to disturb you. James took the chair beside your bed.

“He’s almost as good looking as me,” he joked, nudging your elbow. You shook your head at him and chuckled. “He does have your massive head though.”

You glared at him in shock, completely forgetting his sense of humour in the moment. “I swear on my life if this boy turns out like you, I’m putting him in the bin,” you teased. It couldn’t be further from the truth. Little features. Little fingers wrapped around one of yours. He had big dark, brown eyes. He had eyes like Billie.

“Let’s hope he doesn’t turn out devilishly handsome for his own sake then,” he replied.

“Would you like to hold him?”

James paused slightly and glanced at Billie, who was still reading over some papers. He nodded towards her. “Will she be okay with it?”

You nodded, passing him the child gently. His holding skills were terrible. “Jesus, James. Try not to drop him, please.”

James rolled his eyes and corrected himself. “Hey, little guy,” he cooed. Talking to him in little bursts. He got up and your heart dropped, knowing that James was an absolute clutz. Much to your relief, he didn’t drop the baby. You had no idea what he was doing until you saw him walk right over to Billie, who was surprised to see him.

“I think this is yours,” he said.

Of all the things he could have said.

Billie looked from him to the baby and back, taking him in her arms against her chest. Her head lay against the little body as she pursed her lips, trying hard to hold back tears. “Oh, James,” she whispered. She moved close and hugged him with her free arm. “Thank you so much.”

Billie returned to your side, tears now having fallen freely. “He’s so beautiful, Y/N.”

You cried, and snuggled into her. “We need to think of a name,” you said, kissing Billie’s shoulder.

“What were you thinking, mommy?” Billie asked. Then stopped. “Hm,” she said. “Never thought it would be me calling you that.”

The nurse coughed. “I’m still in here.”

Billie’s face flashed a deep red. “Sorry.”

The nurse ducked out before he had to hear any of Billie’s other inuendos.

“I like the name Tate,” James suggested. Billie shot him a thousand dagger stare.

“No.”

“Come on, it’s a nice-”

“I will kill you and make it look like an accident.”

You nudged Billie with your hand. “James Dean?”

Your ex and your girlfriend glared at you.

“Here’s me thinking I was bad at choosing names.”

Billie pondered for a moment. “I like Lachlan.”

You nodded. “Lachlan.” You liked it. “Welcome to the world, Lachlan.”

#billie dean howard #billie dean howard x reader #i hate kids #and relationships #and the name lachlan #sorry not really sorry #cordelia goode x reader #cordelia foxx x reader #sally mckenna x reader #lana winters x reader #ahs #ahs imagines #sarah paulson x reader #i hate how i half finish my fics

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mvrkgeoli · 3 years

Text

GHOSTING

pairing: ghost!yuta x reader genre: kinda 50s - 60s au for yuta, ghost au, angst, some fluff, kinda mature..? word count: 5.3k warnings: a handful of satanic themes, mentions of death / killing, bittersweet ending i’m sorry author’s note: lowercase intended. this is my first kinda lengthy fic and um yea i hope u like c:

settling into a new place where you weren't familiar with sure was draining, especially when you barely knew anyone around along with a long drive that separated you from your already long time friends. you had to move to alleviate the time it took to travel to the university you recently got into. renting a flat for yourself to live alone was the first "adult achievement" you had overcome, as how your mother would word it out. what definitely stunned you was how cheap the place was, for a whole flat you thought it would have cost you a few more hundreds at least.

from what you heard from the small old building's landlord, not entirely in detail, the flat was apparently owned by multiple in the past. you didn't mind it at all, you couldn't let such a price go for a student like yourself already struggling, happy with the fact that it was somewhat already furnished, furniture sitting dusted probably by the time that had passed from the last owner. some things stayed from all the years the building went through, mainly only the furniture and appliances being changed through the years. mentally reminding yourself to thank your bestfriend doyoung for helping you find places with affordable prices after you finish settling in the last of your belongings.

a few weeks had passed, finding yourself in a comfortable position in your bed along with stress clouding your mind from all the requirements already building up in the first semester. not to mention all the weird happenings that had been going on, you didn't know if you were just tired or already gone crazy.

the first time something happened was the day after you settled in the flat. the blinds in your room shut by itself just when you were going to bed, it had reminded you to close them before you drifted off into your deep slumber to shut off any peeping toms, you paid no mind to it thinking it was meant to be and nudged you as your first blunder.

the most recent one was by far the creepiest. the feeling of breathing against your ear sent shivers down your spine, sitting up from your bed abruptly, breaking you off from your little nap. the past ones had always been short hasty movements from the furniture or your belongings, sure they alarmed and spooked you but in contrast to the breathing occurrence, it was slow and calm, it felt so close. it continued for as long as it could until your wake that night, the feeling savored in your head for the rest of the day.

which leads you to today, texting doyoung if he knew anything about the unit before he suggested it to you. watching the small bubbles bobbing in your screen as you waited for his response, a short message making its way into your sight after a few moments.

dodoie | today at 6:23 not that i know of?? all i know is someone living there before but you already knew that :0

you sent him a brief thank you before shifting to your laptop to look for answers yourself, only thinking about it now after the breathing incident. first looking up the address, only the map and pictures of the neighboring buildings coming up.

after some time, you sighed to yourself, searching the last thing you wanted to if any incidents had happened in the building. woefully, an old article from a newspaper front decades ago popped up. the title reading, “nakamoto yuta, found dead in apartment…” a picture of the boy was attached, he had black slightly grown out hair, his smile was so pure you found yourself with a growing frown on your face.

what came next however, was a wave of shock running through your body at the discovery, quickly opening a new tab to search for the said name.

“local student uncovered to be a satanist—“ you trailed off, rubbing the palms of your hands against your face in stress.

clicking on another link to a 4chan discussion about the recent discovery, you saw a bulletin about the boy and some photos of the very unit you were in. he was apparently a sweet boy from what the neighboring people said. a boy who had a bright fresh smile that could lighten up any mood, it was unexpected for him to be revealed as such a person.

there was a picture of a girl next to yuta named kaiju, said to be the boy’s lovely girlfriend. the two lived together and were seen as the perfect couple.

after hours of scrolling through the page, you found a small recording of an old interview of the girl crying. “i-it was tragic… he was the perfect man— i thought he was the perfect man..” she sobbed. you frowned at your screen, eyes widening when a clip of the apartment rolled. it showed the floorboards under their refrigerator being opened to reveal different notes and certain objects that were said to be used for satanism.

you sat up to run to the kitchen, bringing your laptop with you. you compared the clip to the room in front of you. a cabinet sat where the fridge you saw was in the clip, you sighed to yourself before setting down your laptop to pull the cabinet aside.

nose scrunching in distaste as below you unveiled dust and dead bugs, taking the first utensil you could reach, in this case; a fork. you pried on the wood beneath you, pulling your shirt up to cover your nose from the dust that spread from your tampering. the wood popped open with a loud thump, you peeked inside to face dark emptiness. there sat cobwebs and dust for who knows how long, your eyebrows furrowed as the thought of the government probably collecting everything that had concerned the incident.

just when you were going to put back the floorboards, a noise rattled into your ears. you flinched back at the sound before taking into consideration to shine your phone’s flashlight at the darkness it held. there you saw the emptiness clearer. before you gave up, you saw one of the sides with little scratches and indents in the corner.

taking the fork again, you attempted to pry another piece of wood open, unfortunately failing when the prongs of the fork bent along with the burn of your fingers from using all your strength trying to open the side.

“almost...”

the voice seemed so close to you, letting out a yelp as you snapped your head towards the voice’s direction to face the empty kitchen. your breaths were heavy, heart beating at a pace you think it hasn’t been in before, your figure trembling as you hurry to unlock your phone to send all the articles you had found about this “yuta” to doyoung.

you slept by the unit’s entrance door that night in case you had to escape in a hurry.

you woke up to knocking on your door, groggily getting up from the floor to stretching briefly.

“hold on..!” you stood up and checked the little peep hole to reveal your bestfriend along with another boy.

opening the door immediately to face the pair staring back at you with questioning faces.

“jesus, did you sleep under a couch or something?” the unannounced boy spoke up. doyoung nudging him with his elbow in response, turning back to you with a small smile.

“sorry about him, this is donghy—“ “haechan.” doyoung rolled his eyes as he was cut off before continuing, “‘haechan’ right- this is one of my distant cousins haechan, i don’t think we have the money to hire a professional to check the place out but haechan here used to be in a ‘paranormal investigations club.’ and offered to help because he found you cute— ow!” an eyebrow raised at doyoung’s words as you watched the exchange between the boys. “anyways i called you and sent you messages hours ago, i thought something happened.”

you picked up your phone from the floor, the screen lighting up with multiple notifications. “oh.. sorry, i guess i was a heavy sleeper last night- wait you went all the way here!?” your eyes widened at the sudden realization, embracing the taller boy in your arms before inviting the pair inside straight away.

“holy shit the guy was into satanism?” haechan read in shock, his thumb scrolling through one of the articles you had sent doyoung. “you’re only reading it now?” doyoung scoffed at the boy as he shook his head, sitting himself right next to you on the couch.

“w..well yeah, i thought it wouldn’t be too big of a problem…” the boy rubbed on the nape of his neck in humiliation, to which your bestfriend responded with a low sigh. “i didn’t drive us an hour for you to end up useless, hyuck.” “—haechan!” doyoung only rolled his eyes at the other.

“and i’m not completely useless! one of the club members, chenle, used to say that ghosts usually only have unfinished business if they stay behind in this world. maybe we can confront this ‘yuta’ politely or make a deal with him-“ you raised a brow towards haechan rubbing the space between your brows in distress. “are you seriously telling me to make a deal? with a satanist? you’re basically making me make a deal with the devil, literally!”

haechan put his hands up in defense, eyes widening at your small burst. “okay, okay! what i’m saying is, if chenle was right about ghosts having unfinished business, maybe you can help ‘yuta’ to finish! if he was wrong, you can try getting a deal or something to leave you alone i guess.”

you sighed in defeat, this chenle guy could be right, but you would still take risk on having a deal with this guy. “so… how ‘bout it?” haechan shrugged as his eyebrows arched in proposition, to which you rolled your eyes. “okay kid, but how am i gonna summon him?”

“take this just in case.” haechan handed you a small bag, ‘iodized salt’ it read. you only nodded and casted him a quick thank you before he proceeded to enter the elder’s car first, giving doyoung another longing hug as he nagged on if you needed any more help. “sorry about donghyuck again, call me if anything serious happens. i’m also at fault here kinda ‘cause i suggested this place to you with no research.”

“what’s with ‘haechan’ anyway? and it’s fine, it was my fault i only looked at the price before deciding.” doyoung laughed and glanced over to the boy sitting in the passenger seat before turning back to face you. “he said it was a cool ‘code name’, he didn’t want any ghosts to know his name. anyway, seriously if worst comes to worst, it may cost more money but i’ll try helping with looking for another place.” you snickered softly before thanking him again.

and so, you were left alone again, waving goodbye to the car drifting off your sight. sighing to yourself as you went back into the building, sitting on the couch to research more about summoning dead people safely if that was even possible.

several hours had passed from reading about ghosts and looking for the right supplies, you just got back from a close bookstore to buy three new tall candles for summoning the little friend that had been haunting you, planning on doing it at midnight just like the “easy tutorial” donghyuck made doyoung send you.

later, moving to your bathroom hastily wanting to just get it over with, bringing the candles, a marker, along with the bag of salt donghyuck had given you. hunching over the bathtub to draw a decent sized summoning circle. placing the lengthened candles to three points of the summoning circle, you filled up the tub with at least an inch of water before lighting them.

you switched off the lights, closing the door before kneeling down behind the bathtub. taking a deep breath as you closed your eyes in advance of doing a cheesy chant along with saying the perpetrator’s name three times just like what donghyuck’s tutorial said.

“... nakamoto yuta,” the first holler of his name was said, already feeling stupid for using such a cliché way of summoning. “nakamoto yuta,” in an instant, your lips quivered when you felt your surroundings turn darker. “nakamoto..” the room felt colder, your ears ringing from how quiet the ambience had shifted. your breathing trembled as you finished the chant. “.. yuta.”

“so you did have the guts.”

your eyes crack open at the voice, only to face total darkness. the candles, from what you assume, blew over which meant something must have definitely happened. jumping back in a hurry as you rushed to turn on the lights, your breaths turned shorter as your eyes met with a dark haired man standing in the bathtub, right on top of the summoning circle you drew. your immediate reaction was ripping open the bag donghyuck gave and shoving it at the man as you recoiled your arms to cover your head in a corner.

a distant grunt echoed around the bathroom, followed by water sloshing around and dripping footsteps nearing your shaking figure. tears pricked your eyes as you felt the clear presence of the man get closer.

“this is table salt.”

thanks a lot, donghyuck.

your eyes creak open slightly, eyes meeting once again with the dark haired man. head still in your arms as you refused to lift your head for him, you spoke with a shaky voice. “yu.. yuta…?” your eyes were glued to the tiles of the floor, a peek of the man’s wet shoes making its way to your vision.

“that’s me— oh god, i don’t look like what i looked like when i died right??” your ears perked at the tone of his voice, eyebrows furrowing at the question. ‘oh god’? wasn’t he on the devil’s side? why was that his first question? why did he sound so soft? hearing the soft clacking of the soles of his shoes walking away, you lift your head to see the rear side of the man attempting to inspect himself and shake off the salt you threw at him.

“y-you’re a lot uh.. a lot less intimidating than i thought…” you spoke up, yuta turned to look at you with his big eyes before walking back to crouch down your eye level. “am i really?” you cowered back, his voice cutting you off before you could open your mouth. “i’m kidding, sorry..”

your fingertips reached out to feel his forearm in curiosity, lips pursing when it made contact to yuta’s arm. it felt real, the way your fingers would bounce back when pushed on the boy’s flesh. “you seem.. so normal- almost too normal…” his eyes trailed down to follow your finger’s movements, blinking to himself before speaking up. “i am normal- or i guess was… i won’t hurt you, don't worry.”

your eyebrows arched, skeptical of the man in front of you. eyes traveling down to let yourself think; in retrospect, for all of the things that have been happening, you will admit that none of them had hurt you in any way. your head tilted back up, still hesitant about everything and anything at that moment.

“okay, let’s- let’s have a small nice and calm talk—“

you sat across the ghost in the dining area in silence, your face buried in your clammy hands as you still couldn’t process everything. he sat stiff in front of you, blinking to himself as you both seemed like waiting for something to happen.

“it’s not true, y’know.” he broke the ice and attempted to make the first move to talk, he watched as your head tipped up at his voice, finally drinking in your features when you fixed your posture and pushed back the hair that got in the way of your face. “— the articles you read- i mean..”

you stared at the man in front of you dubiously. if he knew about the articles you’ve seen, how much of you did he see, you thought to yourself suddenly. blinking several times before thinking of a response. “the what?”

“the things you saw about me. they weren’t true.” his eyes trailed down to stare blankly at the center of the table as his fingers fiddled with the table’s ridges. you only raised a brow at the man, eyes following his movements.

“uh huh, okay..” you found yourself just nodding and humming to his words trying to talk you into him being good, you couldn’t trust someone that easily, even more so when it was a ghost who was known to be supporting the devil itself. “how am i supposed to believe a satanis—“ he looked at you with his wide eyes at this, palms laying flat against the table. “i’m not, i swear.. i haven’t done anything bad right?” listening to the man before you speaking softly shifting tone as he continued, almost as if he was scolding himself rather. “i didn’t hurt you? i didn’t hurt anyone who’s lived here before you! i didn’t hurt kaiju either!”

your eyes widened at the name, his past lover. staring closely at the man’s face, you almost see tears welling up in his eyes. choosing to silence yourself after the outburst not wanting to madden the boy in front of you more, you thought of anything calm to respond with.

you avert your gaze to the side as you saw the man stand up to walk away, listening to the soft footsteps he left behind him. lips pursing as you tried to think of anything to calm the mood.

“here.” you heard his voice ring from the kitchen area. looking up from your spaced out gaze to find yuta standing with his arms crossed by the cabinet you had previously moved. you stood up from your seat to walk to the kitchen in silence, making few steps to get beside the boy.

“open it again.” you only nodded, still feeling the awkwardness lingering in the air. you moved the cabinet aside once more, grabbing another fork from the kitchen drawer to pry open the floorboards. sitting on your knees as you face the empty compartment, eyes trained on the blemished side of the hollow cavity. you stared up at yuta only to face a blank look on his face insinuating for you to continue.

“i already tried…” you put the fork down to slouch. “i know, now try again.” he persisted, you only took a breath in before attempting to open another hidden compartment within the one already opened.

after several forks bent, a few dulled knives, the annoying thumping of a hammer ringing in your ears and your hands stinging with burns from the pressure forced onto them, you successfully pried open what seemed like the most superglued pieces of wood together to reveal an old looking shoebox. pulling it out before sitting comfortably to uncrate the box.

yuta crouched down beside you as you uncovered the shoebox. revealing a tattered pouch, something wrapped with worn down linen and some papers with characters you couldn’t read, opening the pouch with interest and dumping the contents onto the shoebox’s lid to exhibit different kinds of pendants and even some small lockets.

moving onto the linen wrapped item, you handled it with frail fingers, it weighed down your hands slightly making you more curious. it unraveled a small dagger.

you wince at the sight and dropped the dagger abruptly, the loud clang of the blade as it ground rang for what seemed like forever. it was covered with maroon. forcing yourself to think that it was just rust and not what you thought it was, you turned to yuta with your shaky eyes.

“she took one thing from people she had targeted after she was finished.” he said mindlessly, reaching forward to fiddle with the trinkets spilled from the pouch. you however, sat back to process the new discovery.

‘she’? you thought to yourself. kaiju? was it her? you blinked to yourself and tried to piece things together. the clip of kaiju sobbing appeared in your head. not once did she talk about the insights of their relationship when it was about ‘yuta’s satanism’. she even knew where the compartment was located after yuta’s death claiming he had left it open. burying your head into your dusted hands. yuta was haunting the unit not because he was bad.

he just wanted to be found.

you knew something felt off when you saw her smile whenever the public pitied her for the loss of her ‘lover’.

the thought of yuta staying for years being painted and seen as a bad person by the public made a frown quickly grow on your face, you fixated your eyes on the man beside you as he absentmindedly toyed with the small belongings of other people. the other people. did they stay behind and want to be found too? you thought.

“i’m so sorry…” you finally spoke words, yuta nodded and stood from the ground. “you summoned me to get rid of me right? sorry to break it to you but i was left here as a spirit beca—“ you took a sharp inhale at his words, standing up to face the taller.

“i wanna help you. this guy said people like you were left here as a ghost because they have—“ yuta looked at you with uninterested eyes. “unfinished business. i know, i was there when that haechan guy came.” he sighed and looked off to the side in contempt before continuing. “y’know, i’d be happy to accept but it’s hard when even i don’t know what my ‘unfinished business’ is. it made me think after what he said sunk in… what if we don’t move on after death. we don’t even know if that’s true.. who knows, maybe i’ll stay here as a ghost forever.”

you clenched your jaw as yuta spoke, he made fair points and what ifs. it made you even more mad that kaiju got away with it, yuta was portrayed as the bad guy and they left the case at that. “i’ll tell the police about this— i.. i can change what they think about you…!” yuta only shrugged, your eyes followed after his steps as he sat back down by the table. you trailed after him, sitting next to him this time. “it’s been years. i doubt all the people who were alive back then would care or would even remember.”

a sigh spilled from your mouth as you fell into a slump next to his careless state, you went from wanting to move out of the flat to feeling like you wanted to protect yuta and the apartment he had died in. “thanks though. for putting in effort i mean- all the people before you moved out in weeks or just ran away.”

he stared at your tired figure, eyes wandering to your distended fingers. he appreciated the pain your body had went through to see him, the thought of you wanting to even help him made him realize how much he missed how nice it felt to be given a care for. yuta watched as you straighten your posture back up to face him, he felt how dissatisfied you were by the droop of your eyes.

“then let’s still try.. we don’t know if what haechan’s friend said was true, just like you said but that doesn’t mean it isn’t. we just don’t know yet, it could be true! so let’s try..!” yuta blinked at your determination, letting out a chuckle for the first time since you met him. “you seriously don’t have to put this much into helping—“

“i don’t care! i don’t think i can live on with the thought of this man rotting here when i’m living my life like it’s back to normal. just let me help you… even if it fails i’ll be glad to know that i tried my best.” you thumped a fist to the table’s surface, seeing yuta flinch at the corner of your eye.

yuta had been rotting in this hell hole for years, he had long forgotten what it felt like to be important, even being thought about made him feel like he still had purpose. he was sure that if he still had a functioning heart, it’d be beating with how warm he felt.

“okay.. let’s try.”

a few weeks had passed, both of you agreeing to act like normal as if you were roommates, though the only difference was yuta not needing to eat nor bathe or anything, in an attempt to make your new ghostly friend feel happiness. he shared that he lived a pretty decent life, although short he was happy. he had no one who seemed like they would put up a fight with him, bad things that would come across nor anything physical that was unfinished from what he could remember of his life when he was alive- other than being killed and sacrificed to satan of course.

you contacted doyoung to tell and explain what really happened, he however didn’t know how to feel about the situation. a friendly ghost being by his bestfriend’s side almost 24/7, he was happy that you didn’t get killed or possessed or anything but he was skeptical that he hasn’t seen the man himself whenever you facetimed or called. yuta on the other hand refused to show himself even if he couldn’t be seen anyway especially if haechan was with doyoung, if you were in a call, he’d simply just hang around in a different room not wanting to lift some book just to prove he was actually the one moving it.

in yuta’s perspective, he thinks that this was probably the happiest and lively he’s been in years. he had someone to talk to, hang out with after he spent all this time trying to get attention from people and being lonely. you were there to listen to all the stories he had from all the exciting things he experienced and went through, and he was there when you needed someone to rant to even about the most random and little things. even teaching him about modern technology and watching series he hadn’t watched.

yuta felt like his presence was valued. sometimes he’d forget that he was even dead when he was having fun with you. you believe that everything was working out well, you almost felt like stopping because if you were to be honest, you probably had shared some of the happiest moments as well and didn’t want anything to end.

as more days, weeks, months passed by like nothing, yuta was at his peak of happiness spending time with you and learning about how things had changed through the years.

you made an anonymous 4chan thread about the truth, you wanted justice for yuta to be seen as someone he truly was. you named yourself as someone who lives in the flat currently and acted as someone who was curious about the old building. soon a small group who theorized yuta being innocent was formed, it made you glad that even a handful of people believed that he was actually good.

yuta shortly requested if he could lay with you in bed after you got comfortable with his company, claiming that ghosts could feel sore too. you only laughed and agreed, you learned that he had his ways to charm you into his silliness.

“so what was with the breathing?” you suddenly remembered the whole reason why you summoned yuta in the first place. he shifted his head to the side to look at you, bottom lip pushing out slightly as he tried to think. “the what breathing?”

“i remember feeling someone breathing against me, it was kinda the last straw with me back then before i did research about the place and found out about you.” yuta hummed to himself as he thinks all the way back to when you were kind of new to the place, he swore he could feel his face warm up when he realized what you were talking about.

“... i was uh.. you know how i get lonely right— i mean-! i swear i was just laying in bed! i didn’t realize i was so close to you and affected you!” you smirked at the response, giggling at how he babbled on and tried to explain himself. “hmm okay, perv.”

“i— what?” yuta sat up slightly, using his elbows to support his body on the soft mattress. “i mean, you probably have already seen me naked.”

“hey! i know being a ghost is creepy but i’m not that kind of creepy… i suppose i have seen— but i swear i didn’t think anything filthy of it-!” you laughed at the man’s embarrassed face, brushing off the topic to save the man from sinking further into shyness.

“y’know, i don’t think i’d get to see ghosts the same way as i did before i met you.” you started off, yuta only stared at you with interest as you continued. “i didn’t even believe in them before this, and everyone in the world thinks ghosts are always out to kill or haunt you or something.” your eyes trailed forward to look at your ceiling, thinking of the right words to say.

“but now i know.. a lot of you probably just want closure from death, it makes me sad that most of you just rot away not doing anything, moving stuff to get our attention and stuff, no wonder some tired and lonely ones end up haunting places with bad intentions.” yuta blinked at your sudden burst of feelings in words, he couldn’t help but smile at the thought of finally being understood.

“it’s too bad that you guys are usually interpreted as bad people, when you’re just finding your way to peace.” you didn’t realize a tear slipped down the side of your face until yuta wiped it off with his cold fingers. he fully sat up to face you, following suit to the man beside you.

yuta hesitated before leaning in slowly, you closed your eyes in content. lips pressing against his cold slightly chapped ones, you felt one of his hands travel up to cup your cheek gently. yuta felt himself flood his own tears after so long. the kiss lasted a good moment, it was sweet and genuine. pulling away with slightly hooded eyes, you cupped his cheeks with both hands, leaning in once more to kiss away the man’s tears.

“it’s okay, let it all out…” you whispered tenderly, he might be decades older than you but he was still the bright young hopeful boy he once was.

the happy moment quickly converted into confusion when you saw his figure slowly turn translucent, seeing the light sourced by the room peek through him slightly. he turned back to you with a happy smile this time, his voice rung in your ears with a slightly thrilled voice. “i think i understand what my ‘unfinished business’ was.”

your eyes widened further as you thread your fingers through his soft tufts of hair. “w-what do you mean…?” you weren’t ready to let go of him yet, your eyes swelled with tears as he spoke once more.

“yuta! no.. what—!?” you watched as your hands sunk into his figure. you couldn’t feel him anymore.

“thank you for loving me back.” you stared at the man in dejection, your breaths turning shallow as your time with yuta came to an end. he was finally at peace. eyes pouring rivers at the realization that he was actually gone, if past you knew that he was gone now, you would probably be happy.

weren’t you supposed to be happy? this was your goal from the beginning, why did it feel like a part of you died along with yuta’s disappearance. you slumped in devastation. yuta didn’t want to live perfect and happy.

he just wanted to be loved genuinely.

you didn’t even get to say the words to him, it was too late when you were certain you felt these strong feelings for the man.

“i love you too.”

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alexhogh7137 · 3 years

Text

The Battle Between Love and Fire-

Ivar the Boneless × Reader

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven: "..what on earth are you doing here...?"

Word Count 2.8k

Warnings: none

A week has passed since Asta was born. Your week was hectic, painful and long but your daughter made it all a bit easier. Your people celebrated her birth with a huge feast that you attended to, of course. You remember thinking to yourself, 'now I can have some ale.' Ivar made it known that Asta was his child and everyone basked in his magnificence because he is indeed a cripple. Hvitserk bit his tongue and played along as you did the same. Ivar has his ways and it is easier to obey him than to argue and cause heartache. All you want is for Asta to be happy, that is of utmost importance. Today, you have to write to Daario Naharis. Time has slipped your mind and it has come to your attention that you have yet to write to him.

Ivar "Would you like me to take her while you write?" You look up at him, "I don't mind." He offers a smile, "I do not think that you will be able to write a proper letter with her wiggling in your arms-" you two start to giggle.

"Thank you. I won't be long." You hand her to him and he puts her on his hip.

Ivar "Take your time, my sweet. I want to spend some quality time with her." You nod, "I love you."

"And I love you." He bends down and kisses your lips before crunching his way out of the chamber doors. You sigh and stretch your arms in the air, trying to ease the soreness from holding her for so long. But you long her so much, that when she is not in your arms, you feel as if something is missing. Nonetheless, you appreciate the help from your beloved while Hvitserk is out hunting with Ubbe.

You pick up your writing instrument and began to write:

To the Commander of Wessex,

I have to apologize for not writing to you sooner, but I have some wonderful news. I am now a mother to a healthy daughter. I shall return to Wessex when she is old enough to travel with me so that my people can meet her, as well as you Naharis. I wish to hear of all the things concerning my people and their wellbeing. I hope all is well, including yourself. I am doing alright, given my circumstances during my daughter's birth but I am indeed alright. Looking forward to your letter,

Y/n Lothbrok

You stamp the letter and rise from your seat, to give this to your news carrier.

"Thank you."

He bows, "My queen." You watch him get on his horse and ride off into the distance. You look up at your dragon's, feasting on their animals and of course, fighting over the biggest carcass. You chuckled to yourself but you get startled from your name being called.

"My queen!" You turn to face the woman.

"Yes? Is something wrong?"

"No, thank the gods." You nod, "I just wanted to personally ask you if you are alright?"

"Oh yes, I am quite well."

"Are you certain, my queen?" She asked, "because you look quite exhausted.."

"Mm, the beginning stages of motherhood is not easy, madame-"

"Of course-"

"I am tired, but I am very happy."

"That is good to hear. I know of the things you went through..I only wish the best for you my queen."

"I appreciate your kind words, ma'am. Thank you."

"My pleasure. Would you like to come in?" You look where she points as she points toward her home in the village.

"Oh thank you, but I must find Ivar. He is caring for Asta while I take care of some matters."

"Oh, I see. Thank you for talking with me Y/n."

You place your hand on her shoulder, "Any time. If you need me, you know where to find me." She nods and you two part ways.

…

When you reach the throne room, you see Ivar chatting up a storm: boasting about Asta. At first, you get annoyed but then you overhear Ivar telling his people how proud he is to call her his own. Then your heart turned into mush. You make your way up to him and he notices you right away.

Ivar "My love, there you are." You sit down beside him on your throne.

"My queen, she is simply beautiful."

"Thank you. She is very-"

Ivar "Perfect. She isn't just beautiful, she is perfect. A real blessing from the gods." You smile and reach over and caress her rosy cheeks while she is still in his arms.

"I would have to agree. I am surprised that she is here." Ivar looks up at the man from looking down at Asta and makes direct eye contact.

Ivar "What did you just say?" The man gulps.

"I said that I was surprised that Asta is here..it is a real miracle."

Ivar "Are you referring to Y/n?"

"She...she went through a lot, my king. Many of us doubted that she wou-"

"I suggest you bite your tongue.." the man looks at you and takes a step back.

Ivar "Sweetheart, can you hold Asta for a moment?" You do not answer, only quickly grabbing her from his arms before he loses control. Ivar gets off of his throne and walks towards the man who was suggesting that you were weak.

Ivar "What is it? Huh..what were you all doubting?" The man did not respond out of fear. Ivar took out his dagger and grabbed the man by his throat, "What were you all doubting?"

"We did not think that she would be strong enough to deliver! Many women parish during child birth..we were expecting it." You knew that was a fact. But to hear your people think that you were too weak to survive, saddened you.

Ivar points the blade towards the man's eye, "How dare you, huh?! How dare you question my wife?"

"We were wrong, she was strong-"

Ivar "That should never be questioned, she is your queen!" The man nods, "Look at her," the man looks at you, "that woman right there, is stronger than any woman that you could ever meet. Do not ever question her strength."

"Ivar, just let him go-"

Ubbe "What is going on in here, aye?!" Hvitserk and Ubbe come into the building from a successful hunt.

"Just having a discussion, Ubbe."

"I shouldn't have said anything-"

Hvitserk "You said what?"

"I told the Ivar.. that Asta is a miracle child."

Hvitserk "She is-"

Ivar "He said that he amongst others have doubted Y/n's ability to have her." Hvitserk's jaw clenches immediately.

Hvitserk "Is that so?" The man does not respond. "Well she proved you all wrong, did she not?"

"Yes, yes of course! My queen, you have my full respect."

"If you'll excuse me." You walk out of the room and into your daughter's nursery. You place her down into her bassinet. She coos and reaches for you, so you lean down and kiss her entire face.

"My sweet Asta, sleep now." You watch her close her beautiful eyes and fall into a light slumber. You sigh when it is silent in the room. Reflecting on your life, who you are and what you have become as a person, as a woman. In everyone else's eyes, you have achieved it all: you've won battles, you overthrown your father and took back your kingdom, you are married and now have a daughter. To you, you feel lucky and blessed but at the same time, you feel lost. If Ivar's people loved and respected you like they should, then you would feel wanted here in Kattegat. But today, that feeling is nonexistent.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wessex England a day later..

Daario has been working nonstop: making absolute sure that the people of Wessex are safe, fed and doing their duties. Helga has been working as well, and keeping Daario company.

Daario "Helga.."

Helga "Yes?"

Daario "Have you heard any news from Y/n?"

Helga sighs, "I'm afraid not." He hangs his head, "I am sure that she is fine, Naharis."

Daario "She didn't look good Helga. You saw her when she left."

Helga "She was in labor, Daario. It is very painful-"

Daario "I know that. But she fell-"

Helga "What? Why was I not informed of this-"

Daario "It slipped my mind. All I cared about was her, not informing her people." She nods, "But yes, she fell. Not too long before she went into active labor-"

Helga "Well that makes sense now. If something happens to the mother when she is that far along during her pregnancy, that can cause the child to come quicker. Much quicker."

Daario "I just hope that she is alright. She has gone through too much Helga, she can't be gone now. She can't be." Helga takes a rapid and deep breath, "She fought too long and too hard to lose her battle now. Especially right when her life got brighter with this miracle child."

Helga "I don't think that she is gone. If she was, I would be able to tell."

Daario looks up at her glaring at the floor, "What? How?"

Helga "She is like a daughter to me Daario. If she was gone, I would just know." He sighs and looks back down to the floor.

Daario "Helga, could you leave me for a moment? I would like to pray in peace please." He says standing up.

Helga "Of course sir." She walks out of the door, closing it behind her. He wipes a stray tear that has fallen on to his cheek from the sense of fear of losing you. So he gets down on his knees, in front of a cross that he has hung up on his wall in his chambers and prays.

Daario "Please Lord, be with Y/n. I have not heard from her in days, and I cannot stop worrying, my Lord. Be with her and keep her strong. If her child is in this world, keep her safe and strong as well, my Lord. Be with them all, keep them safe and...alive. In Jesus's name I pray, amen." As he stood up, he got a knock on his door.

Daario sighs, "Yes?"

"A letter, sir." He rushes over to the man and grabs the letter from his hands. He breathes out loudly when he sees your name on the envelope.

Daario "Thank you, you may go." Once the man leaves, he looks up and whispers, "well that was fast."

After he read your letter, he wanted to travel to Kattegat to see you and the baby. He did not know how he would be able to do so, but he did not quite care about anything else but you and the child. So he left Helga in charge and set off to Kattegat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It is now nightfall in Kattegat and things are happy as can be. Hvitserk has been spending quality time with Asta all day and Ivar has been spending quality time with you. Ubbe and Torvi have been spoiling Asta and she's only a few days old. It has been joyus to say the least.

Ivar "How is she doing huh?" He asks his brother once he sits down next to him.

Hvitserk "Y/n or Asta?"

Ivar "Asta, of course."

Hvitserk "She's perfect."

Ivar "Yes, she is." He looks at you holding her while talking to Torvi. "They both are true perfection."

Hvitserk "Yes they are. And yet we are the lucky one aye?" He says, nudging Ivar.

Ivar chuckles but it soon fades when he hears the gates to his kingdom opening.

Ivar "Did you just hear-"

Hvitserk "The gates? Yes, I did."

Ivar "We are not expecting anyone.." You see the double doors opening and your grip on your daughter tightens. You did not expect to see the man come through the door that did.

Daario "King Ivar-"

"Naharis?!" His eyes met yours and his expression turned to pure joy. He sees the beautiful daughter in your arm's.

Daario "Y/n!"

"What on earth are you doing here?! My kingdom-"

Daario "Is in good hands."

"Who's hands?!"

Daario "Helga's."

"An old woman." You look at Ivar in complete disbelief. Ivar's eyebrows scrunch down to his eyes and his mouth is closed tightly. "So you are telling me, that you left my kingdom, which is filled with women..in an old woman's care?"

Daario "I had to see you."

"I told you when I left, that I would come to you. I left you in charge of my people for a reason. I did not want you to leave Wessex!"

Daario "I'm sorry, I-"

"Torvi, give her to Hvitserk please." She takes Asta from your arms and walks Asta to Hvitserk and you slap Daario in the mouth. Ivar immediately tenses every muscle in his body.

"How dare you defy me!"

Daario "I did no such thing."

"You left my kingdom, when I told you not to! You are in charge because you are capable, Helga is in no way capable of keeping my people safe."

Daario "I just had to see you. I was worried about you."

"I appreciate your concern Naharis, but I sent you a letter."

Daario "I wanted to meet her.." you realize that fighting with him is no use. You can't do anything about his actions now. All you can do is pray to the gods that nothing bad happens.

"Fine, come with me." You walk towards Ivar and Hvitserk, who are sitting next to each other. "Her name is Asta."

Daario "Wow..she is beautiful."

"Thank you."

Daario "May I hold her?"

Ivar "I don't think so."

Daario "Why not?"

Ivar "Because I said no, so the answer is no. You came here..into my kingdom, unannounced, at night, and thinking that you can hold my daughter?" Daario takes a step back, "I don't think that you are in the position to do so."

Daario "I shouldn't have come here."

Ivar "No, you shouldn't have. But nonetheless, you are here..hmm?" He nods, "And you came all this way to..what exactly?"

Daario "Check on Y/n, make sure that she was safe, and okay after having Asta."

Ivar "You came here to make sure that she was safe..in her own home? Did I hear that correctly, Hvitserk?"

Hvitserk "You did, my brother."

Ivar "mm."

Daario "She is my queen and I was worried about her. She did not look very well when she left, and she wrote in her letter that there were complications during Asta's..arrival and I came here to make sure that she was indeed alright."

"I understand your worry, but I wrote to you that I was okay. You did not have to come."

Daario "No one has to do anything Y/n. It's what feels right in their hearts is what they end up doin-"

Ubbe "You have got to be joking, aye?" He said coming inside from checking on the village. "What are you doing here?!"

Daario "I came to check on her."

Ubbe "Y/n or Asta?"

Daario "Both, I suppose."

Ubbe "Y/n wrote to you, no?" He said, taking a bite of food.

Daario "Yes but I wanted to meet her daughter."

Ivar "Why did you want to meet her so badly, huh?" He said, getting up from his seat and walking towards him. "It couldn't wait until she got back to Wessex?"

Daario "I acted too quickly. I should go."

"You can stay the night here, but must leave by morning. Wessex is unsafe while you are here. I cannot allow you to stay longer than the night."

Daario "I accept that. And I appreciate that. I am sorry for coming."

"I am not mad at you, I am upset about the fact that at any given moment, I can lose my kingdom and my people. I fought too long and too hard to lose it now."

Ivar "You won't, my sweet."

"Well, if I do, you will lose your life..are we clear?"

Daario "Yes, my queen."

"Good, my maiden will find you a room." He thanks you and walks off. You sit down on Ivar's lap and sighed, "Well, we were having a peaceful day."

Ivar "We still are-"

"No we are not."

Ivar "Think of it this way, if anything were to happen, we can use his body as a sacrifice to the gods huh?!" He says in a high pitched voice to add drama, making you laugh.

"But I would lose it all, and my people."

Ivar "I think that you are forgetting that these are your people, my love. Everything I have is yours."

"I love you."

Ivar "I love you most."

@hvitserkmarcosource @youbloodymadgenius @ivarsgoddess @heavenly1927 @saldelys @krissydclayton93 @conaionaru

#the battle between love and fire #alex hogh andersen #vikings #hvitserk #ivar the boneless #marco ilsø #ubbe lothbrok #hvitserk lothbrok #ivar lothbrok #torvi vikings

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etherrealoblivion · 4 years

Text

Chapter Seven: Spencerspective

Table Of Contents

Fic summary: Owning a bookstore in downtown D.C. came with its fair share of downsides. You never thought that being the target of a serial killer would be one of them. Luckily, a nice FBI agent by the name of Spencer Reid is assigned to watch over you. What's the worst that could happen?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Words: 2,512

MASTERLIST

Spencer didn’t fall asleep for hours. He tried not to keep watching the door, but keeping Y/N safe was more important than rest.

If you're exhausted tomorrow how are you supposed to protect her?

Finally, with that thought in his mind, he let himself succumb to slumber, which was surprisingly easy with Y/N cuddled against him.

After a night of horrible dreams and tossing and turning, he woke up to the wonderful smell of shampoo and flowers. Following his nose and breathing deeply, eyes still closed, he found himself suddenly with a face full of hair.

Spencer yanked back, eyes blowing open.

No. No. No.

It all came back in a rush. She’d gotten closer to him, holding him tighter than anyone had in a long time. And he hadn’t resisted. He’d given in to her so quickly.

It wasn’t like he didn’t like her. He did. Too much. His job was to protect her, not fall in . . . fall for her. Plus, it was taking advantage. She was only getting close to him because he was protecting her. It was a whole reverse Florence Nightingale situation. If they’d met anywhere else, she wouldn’t have given him a second glance.

But now, with her back pressed up against him — a little too much — how could he resist.

He had to. He couldn’t hurt her like that. He was just going to slip out of bed and go back to the floor. Without waking her up. Easy.

“Mm,” she moaned, stretching her spine and snuggling against him tighter.

Oh no. There was no way he could sneak away with one of his arms under her head and the other wrapped tightly around her waist. Not without waking her up.

How had he even gotten into this position? Looking back, it was his fault for pointing out just how large her bed truly was.

Wiggling a bit, she pulled a pillow closer, pushing herself even closer to him.

Now another problem was . . . rising. Literally.

It was a no-win situation. He could slip out of bed, almost definitely waking her up resulting in a potentially huge misunderstanding. Or, she’d wake up before he could leave the bed and certainly feel his. . . .

He had to get up.

As gently as he could, he removed his hand from her waist and slipped the other one out from under her head, placing it softly back on the pillow.

Her whimper at the loss of his warmth was like a dagger through the heart. More than anything, he wished he could jump back in bed with her and comfort her, holding her how he’d wanted to last night. How he’d found himself holding her this morning.

Why are you so crazy for this girl?! You barely know her!

“Spencer?” even with hours of sleep, her voice was still so melodic. If he weren’t so cold without her against him, he would have melted.

“Hey,” he said softly — too softly, get it together, Spencer!

“Is everything okay?” she rubbed her eyes sleepily, adorably.

“Yeah, yeah, I just, um, had to go to the bathroom. I didn’t wanna wake you.”

“What time is it?”

He glanced at the clock on the wall.

“Nearly 1:30.”

“PM?”

“Yeah.”

“Jesus.”

She sat up and blinked, looking at the space on the bed where Spencer had been.

Spencer cleared his throat, drawing her attention back to him.

“What do you want to do today?” He tried to say it casually like he cared more about what they’d do rather than what she wanted to do. It was unclear if that had come across.

“I don’t know,” she wasn’t meeting his eyes. “I kinda wanna go out?”

Spencer froze.

“Go out? Like on a . . .” he trailed off.

“Like a date,” she mumbled, then, quickly: “As a cover, of course. I just think it might be a good distraction.”

But Spencer was already shaking his head fervently.

“It’s too dangerous. In fact, nightclubs are responsible for about 60 percent of rapes and 20 percent of murders. It’s the perfect place to commit most crimes. No one is paying any attention and—“

“Spencer!” she interrupted, “I didn’t mean a nightclub. I mean, seeing you dance sounds amazing but that’s not really my scene. What about like a restaurant?”

“A restaurant?”

He considered it. Respectable restaurants had professional waiters, unlike nightclubs; better security; and, best of all, they were more spaced out, meaning less opportunity for a stranger to get close. He’d have to be on high alert, though.

“I know a great place nearby,” she spoke up, breaking his train of thought.

“I don’t know. . . .” he said, still wary.

“It’s walking distance.”

His mistake was meeting her eyes. She looked so hopeful, so helpless. Oh god, there was a hint of puppy dog eyes. How could he resist?

Seriously, how?

“Okay,” he said, giving in as she let out a little squeak of happiness, heart warming at the sound. “But at the slightest danger, we leave.”

“Yes! Of course!”

“And no alcohol.”

She hesitated for a split second, then sighed.

“Yes, okay.”

“And no dancing,” he added, sliding into the bathroom, leaving the door partially open.

“WHAT!?”

“Hey, it’s almost seven.”

Spencer and Y/N had been slumped on the couch for hours watching old episodes of Doctor Who and arguing about the science of time travel.

“Time doesn’t work that way! It’s like a line.”

“But what if you went back and changed something?”

“No, no, no, you can’t do that because it would have already happened. Like if you in the future traveled to right now, it would happen right now, but since you didn’t just now, then it doesn’t happen in the future. It’s the rules of physics.”

She’d scoffed at that.

“Maybe time doesn’t follow the rules of physics.”

“Okay, speaking as a certified genius with a Ph.D. in Chemistry, you are on dangerous grounds.”

And then she’d thrown a pillow at him, the both of them descending into giggles.

Spencer had almost forgotten why he was there. Why he was really there.

“Oh, yeah. Should we go?”

Y/N laughed derisively, gesturing to her t-shirt and pajama shorts.

“Not like this. Gimme fifteen minutes.”

She jumped up and ran to her bedroom, closing the door.

“Door open!” Spencer reminded her.

She stuck her head out and blew a raspberry but she did leave the door slightly ajar. Not enough that he could see what she was doing, just enough to know that she was safe.

Meanwhile, he rummaged through his bags, trying to find something appropriate to wear. Everything he had was either too casual or way too casual.

Finally settling on a cornflower blue dress shirt, a grey sweater to wear over it, dark slacks, and a jet black tie, he stood, waiting by the door and fidgeting with his sweater so it covered his revolver. He knew it made her nervous and didn’t want to put any stress on her that could be avoided.

The door to her room opened and Spencer’s head shot up. His jaw practically dropped.

Sure, her outfit was dazzling, small sparkly black heels, a short swishy blue dress that was both casual and classy (and happened to match his shirt), and long dangly earrings with little clocks on the ends, but what really got him was the way she was looking at him. Expectantly, patiently.

He realized she was waiting for him to say something.

“You look . . .” he tried so hard to think of a compliment that expressed his awe while remaining professional. “Stunning.”

A smile lit up her face and Spencer’s heart soared.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” she said, adjusting his tie.

The contact made him jump.

“Ahem, shall we?” he opened the door and held out his elbow for her to take.

“We shall.”

So she took his arm and they set off into the night, locking the door securely behind them.

An hour later, they walked up outside a small bistro, Spencer slightly out of breath.

“When you said walking distance. . . .”

“Three miles is walking distance!” she said defensively.

“For superman!”

“Oh come on! You’re in the FBI, I'm sure you do your fair share of chasing bad guys.”

“I’m an FBI profiler. And while I do enjoy the occasional walk through the park, exercise isn’t exactly my strong suit,” he explained, gesturing to his lanky body.

“Suppose not. Then again, I saw the way you ran after that blue car. I know you’ve got some hidden muscles under all that . . . dork.”

He feigned offense at her remark.

“Pardon me, ma’am, I am a nerd. Very big difference.”

“Mm-hmm. Something only a dork would know,” she laughed, booping his nose and walking into the restaurant, Spencer taking a moment to be shocked before following her.

They got a nice table by the window at her request. It seemed she knew the waiter, calling him by his name and exchanging a brief greeting, introducing Spencer as Doctor Reid.

“Have you been here a lot?”

“No, never, but the waiter here, Tom, works at my regular coffee shop. Barista by day, waiter by night.”

Spencer laughed softly.

Okay, so she’s never been here before, meaning she’s never been here before with a guy, meaning she wanted to take you somewhere special. Meaning she likes y—

“Stop it!” he muttered to himself through gritted teeth.

“Hmm?”

Spencer blushed.

“Oh, nothing. I was just wondering about what to order. I don’t really go to a lot of restaurants, to be honest.”

“Me either,” she smiled softly at him and Spencer found himself smiling back.

“Ready to order, Doctor Reid?” The waiter said, smiling.

“Ladies first,” Spencer said, relishing in the way Y/N smiled at him. This would be a long night.

“ . . . and the whole point of his writing is to experience a whole new idea of life!”

“Did you even read Walden?”

After the food came, a chicken empanada for Spencer and a bowl of pasta for Y/N, the conversation had somehow shifted to a heated discussion of what Henry David Thoreau’s ideals were.

“I’ve read . . . parts.”

Spencer gave her a doubtful look and she sighed.

“I’ve read the Sparknotes.”

“Exactly! His point is to go live in the forest to achieve inner peace. The problem is, as humans, we need society and interactions with others in order to function. I actually had a coworker who had a cabin in the woods and he never mentioned becoming one with nature.”

“Well, maybe he just picked the wrong forest. Like, I couldn’t relax in the Forbidden Forest. It’s all about location.”

“Forbidden Forest?”

“Like from Harry Potter.”

Spencer glanced away.

“You’ve never read Harry Potter?” she said incredulously.

“Nope,” he blushed. “I’ve always preferred—“

“Oh god, please don’t say Twilight.”

“Nooo,” Spencer chuckled, “I was gonna say I prefer Doyle’s works.”

“Oh, I love Doyle!” she said happily. “Everybody always talks about Sherlock Holmes but have you read The Narrative of John Smith? It’s definitely some of his best work.”

Spencer’s mind went haywire. She had brought up his favorite book of all time in casual conversation. Who was this girl?

“Spencer?”

He snapped out of his daydream and looked at the woman in front of him. She was working on two doctorates, she loved Doyle and Doctor Who, she owned a goddamn bookstore, and she walked almost everywhere. How was he not supposed to fall for her?

“Spencer?”

“Yes, yeah, sorry.”

The waiter came up and placed the check next to him.

“For the gentleman.”

Avoiding eye-contact, Spencer took out his wallet to pay.

“Hey!” she swatted his hands away, making him drop his wallet into his lap. “We‘re not leaving yet! What’s the rush?”

This relaxed him a little. His nerves were starting to get to him. C’mon, Spencer, you’re a professional. Get it together.

“There’s no rush!” he quickly recovered. “I was simply checking to see if I had the adequate resources for the evening,” he smiled widely, waggling his eyebrows. But she had frozen, a shocked expression on her face.

“What?” she breathed.

Spencer cocked his head, not understanding her confusion. He was clearly reaching into his wallet for a surprise. What other resources did people keep in their walle—

Then it hit him.

“Oh! Oh, no I meant. . .” he fumbled with his wallet, trying desperately to pull out—

“This!” a shiny golden key. “I, uh, have a surprise planned.” It was extremely hard not to blush, and he was even less sure he was succeeding.

But, upon seeing her face contort into one of excitement, he was reassured.

“Okay! What are you waiting for? Let’s go now!”

And she jumped up, leaving the appropriate change in the check.

“C’mon!” Spencer was about to protest her paying, but she was grabbing his hand and pulling him out of his seat, out of the restaurant.

“Hey, I’m supposed to be surprising you, here!” he protested, stopping her just outside the door.

“Fine, lead the way, Doctor,” she giggled, bowing deeply.

Spencer curtseyed and walked off in the direction they had come, his woman on his arm.

A woman, he corrected himself. Not his.

“So,” Y/N said after a while of walking, “Where are you taking me?”

“It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you.”

“I don’t like surprises.”

“Ha. You know, statistically, around eighty percent of people who say that, secretly love them.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” she spun around and started to walk backward, maintaining eye contact, “but I’m not exactly a person that most statistics apply to.”

“So you don’t like surprises?”

She frowned.

“Touché.”

Spencer laughed as she spun back around, walking next to him. Their footsteps became a rhythm and they stayed silent for a while, just enjoying each other’s company.

Then, Y/N’s footsteps started to falter, breaking the pattern.

“You ok?” Spencer knew that people favoring the balls of their feet while walking was a sign of anxiety.

Rather than answer verbally, she yanked him down a dark alleyway, pushing against him.

“Y/N?”

She was holding him against her, her own back to the brick wall.

“I’m sorry, Spencer, this isn’t how I wanted it.”

“What are you sor—Mmf—“

A hand snaked around his tie and pulled him down sharply. Their lips met in an instant.

He should have pulled away. He should have stayed professional. He should have done anything but what he did.

Hands flying to the side of her face, he pulled her closer, coaxing open her mouth and moaning softly into it, feeling her hands travel down his waist, running along his belt.

Her lips were so soft. He’d wanted this so bad. And now that she was against him, lips against his, he realized how much he’d needed it. It wasn’t fair to her. He’d deal with that later.

But before he could process anything else, a sudden weight left his hips, her lips left his, and the unmistakable noise of a gunshot rang through the air behind him.

@aperrywilliams @mjloveskids666 @dolanfivsosxox @criesinreid @racerparker @sammypotato67 @lukeskisses @reidcrimes @you-had-me-at-hello-dear @l0ve-0f-my-life @thatsonezesty13 @yourmisosoup @queenofthebees003 @pinkdiamond1016 @eu-solidao

#matthew gray gubler #spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #reader insert #fanfic #fanfiction #wattpad #ao3 #criminal minds #fluff #humor #angst

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90spumkin · 3 years

Text

Unexpected Switch (Final)

Summary: Tessa has been caught. Can reader handle it? What does Spencer and the rest of the team really think of reader?

A/N: Okay so I know I was going to write at least two more updates, but while writing this I felt if I tried to drag it out any longer I would abandoned the storyline. So here it is my first series has come to an end. Thank you to everyone who has read it, liked it, and reblogged it!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Warnings: swearing, criminal minds talk, mental health talk

Word Count: 2319

One would think after chasing Tessa all this time and all the terrible things she had done, that it would be easy for me to see her arrested and interrogated, but that wasn’t exactly the case. Watching through the glass as Matt and Luke interrogated my sister there was a feeling of guilt consuming my chest. I clutched a hand over my chest; I shouldn’t feel guilty. She’s a murder! The feeling didn’t cease no matter how many times I chanted those words in my head.

This of course did not go unnoticed by the profilers standing beside me. Rossi shot me a concerned look while Emily placed a hand on my arm and asked, “Are you okay? You don’t have to watch this.”

I just shook my head and straightened my shoulders. Emily furrowed her eyebrows in worry, but just nodded in understanding.

Tara and Spencer joined us not long after. Spencer’s presence in the small room instantly relaxed me. He managed to wedge himself between Emily and I, his shoulder bumping mine. He gave me a sad smile before turning towards the interrogation and asked, “Has there been any progress?”

Rossi huffed, “She’s only admitted to stalking and harassing. She plays dumb very well when it comes to the murders. However, she said something that makes us think there was an earlier murder.”

Right after Rossi finished updating Spencer, through the speaker we heard Luke ask, “Okay so if you aren’t the ones who murdered those people. Then at least tell us why you stalked and harassed your sister.”

Tessa just rolled her eyes as she responded, “Aren’t you fellas the big FBI agents? Shouldn’t you know this already?”

Matt spoke this time, “Enlighten us. Please.”

Tessa leaned forward placing her arms on the table, “Well since little Mrs. Perfect decided to forget me as she was handed the new wonderful life, I thought ‘Hey why not have some fun with the snobby bitch’.”

Luke was about say something but was cut off by Tessa. It was like her hatred for me just began to flow out of her with every word she said. As she spoke her whole-body language began to change like she was getting ready to defend herself.

“You know she’s not as perfect as she leads people to think. Y/n has secrets. Dark secrets. And I mean how can someone be that great when they purposely forget and leave behind their twin.” As she continues, she looks towards the two way mirror; all she sees is a reflection but to me it’s like she’s looking straight at me as she says, “She’s such a selfish bitch that she got her parents killed.”

I sucked in a sharp breath at her words and couldn’t seem to let it out. I felt a hand grab on to mine at my side and looked down and then up at the one person who could make me feel better at a time like this. Spencer leaned down and whispered in my ear, “If you start to feel an attack coming on give my hand three squeezes. But don’t let her get in your head, we know the truth.” I nodded and tried not to let a tear escape.

Matt and Luke pushed on a little longer, but Tessa seemed to have the perfect answer to everything they threw at her. After getting no where they left Tessa and joined us on the other side of the window. My sister just sat there with a devilish grin plastered on her face as she stared at her reflection.

Spencer’s voice brought my attention to the conversation between the profilers when he said, “I think I may have an idea. What if we play on her anger? She’s a narcissist based off the fact that her anger for y/n is solely based on her achievements. She wants to be noticed and I think I can make her crack.”

Emily was nodding a long with everything Spencer was saying, “That could work. But Spence it’s going to be like a Cat Adams scenario. You’re going to have to lay it on thick.”

Spencer glanced at me quickly before saying, “I think I can do that.” He began to walk towards the door but was met with resistance. I hadn’t even realized I was holding his hand in a death grip. He pulled me into his chest and hugged tightly. Once he pulled back Emily was once again at my side and grabbed ahold of my hand and reassured Spencer, “I got her.” Tara was there to grabbing my other hand and giving Spencer a quick nod.

Spencer nodded and gave me a longing look. A longing for what, I wasn’t sure. He retreated to the door and my eyes never left him as he walked into the lion’s den.

-------

Spencer had only been talking to Tessa for maybe 5 minutes and I had to leave. I couldn’t watch him flirt back with her and agree to the belittling things she said about me. I knew it was a mind trick to get her to feel comfortable to then start comparing the two of us to get her flustered. It was all too much. I was being silly even if the flirting was real, I had no right to be jealous or upset.

I don’t know how long I had been in the little conference room in the local police station before I slumped into a chair exhaustion taking over my body. I felt weak and like there was no need for me to be there anymore they had caught her the BAU team would tie up all the loose ends just fine.

I was so lost in thought I didn’t hear someone open and shut the door as they entered. So, when a hand was placed on my shoulder I jumped completely out of my seat and l let out an involuntarily squeal. I turned to see Spencer trying to cover a smile while I tried to slow my erratic heart rate.

“Jesus Christ Spencer! You scared the hell out me!” I leaned against the table facing him. Spencer just chuckled, “Sorry y/n. I just wanted to come check on you and let you know what happened.”

I turned my gaze to a spot on the wall not wanting to make eye contact with him any long. I shook my head, “I can’t handle a play by play.” Then scoffed at myself, “God you all probably think I’m so weak. I can’t watch an interrogation without needing someone to hold my hand. And the flirting I- “I cut myself off realizing what I was about to say. I dared to look at Spencer. He was looking at me intensely but there was softness around his eyes.

“We don’t think you’re weak. That’s your sister in there. Though you may not really know her that is still hard on anyone.” He moved closer but not touching me. A smile played on his lips, “And for the flirting. It was hard for me, but since you both look so similar, I just told myself I was talking to you.”

I looked up at him with shock written across my face, “Really?”. I couldn’t help but to let out a giggle, “I thought my crush was making me read to much into things”. Spencer moved even closer, his body pressing against mine causing me to push back into the table. He put a finger under my chin and lift my head. His lips were breath away from mine and they ghosted together as he said, “Not in the slightest.” Then his lips were fully on mine. The kiss wasn’t rushed, but slow and beautiful like a dance. We both smiled into the kiss before pulling apart. He laid his forehead against mine and let out a breathy laugh, “Didn’t anyone tell you I was a germaphobe? I don’t hug or hold hands with just anyone. The number of pathogens passed between hands is staggering. It’s safer just to kiss.”

This made me let out a real laugh that shook my whole body, “Well I think I can handle the kissing.” Spencer laughed and said, “Oh me too.” His lips were back on mine and this time the kiss became a little more heated. Spencer’s hands were on my hips pulling me as close to him as possible. Before anything could progress, there was a knock on the door followed by Matt poking his head in, “Hey guys they just- oh. Oh!” Damn that man and his terrible timing!

Spencer and I pulled away. Our faces flushed and our lips swollen. Spencer spoke before my mind could catch up to what was happing, “Thanks Matt we’ll be there in a sec.” Matt nodded and as he was shutting the door, I thought I heard him say, “Damn it I owe Luke 20 bucks.”

Spencer must have heard him also because he looked at me and we both were lost in a fit of laughter. Once we composed ourselves Spencer said, “We better go out there.” I nodded in agreement. Right before he opened the door Spencer grabbed my hand like it was a natural thing for him to do. As we walked out the team was waiting near the door and was giving us knowing looks. Emily and JJ did this weird thing with their eyebrows which made me giggle. In that moment I didn’t think about why we were all there and what had led to me meeting this team of amazing people. In that moment I was happy.

-------

A year passed since Tessa uprooted everything in my life and I couldn’t be more thankful for it. That day Spencer interrogated her she admitted to everything and even three other bodies we didn’t know about. I asked him how he did it and he just told me that he was glad I didn’t stay to watch. I of course just left it at that.

Once Emily had everything settled for Tessa to be transported to the prison where she would go to await her trial date, we headed back to Quantico. She pulled me into her office and offered me a spot on the team. My whole life had been turned upside down and I felt lost, but when Emily made me that offer, I felt home and haven’t looked back since.

We were away on a case when Tessa’s long-awaited trial was taking place. My mind was so wrapped up in trying to catch this psychopath who got his kicks from mutilating children that when Emily’s phone rang, I didn’t think much about it. It was the solemn look and her soft “Y/n.” That made it all come crashing back down. Spencer was right beside me though always being my biggest support. I felt his hand in mine as Emily continues, “The judge sentenced Tessa to life in prison without possibility of parole.”

A sigh of relief left me. Yes, she is a terrible person and deserved to rot in prison, but she was also my sister and I don’t think I could have handled her being given the death sentence. Spencer and Emily both hugged me. Once they both were sure I was okay, Emily went to tell the others the news.

Spencer hugged me again and rested his chin on top of my head. I could have stayed there forever just listening to the beating of his heart. His chest rumbled as he spoke, “You know in a way I owe your sister a thank you.” At that I pulled back and gave him a very confused look.

He chuckled and pulled me back into a hug as he said, “If she hadn’t done those terrible things, not saying I would thank her for that part, but I would have never had met you. I would never have known I could love someone as much as I love you.” I smiled at his stumbling over words and hugged him tighter, “I love you too pretty boy.”

Spencer groan at that, “You just had to ruin the moment. No more hanging out with Derek.” We pulled apart and started to walk back to the team hand in hand. I gave him a sly smile, “In my defense I was calling you that before I ever met him.” Spencer nodded and said, “Y/n that is my point exactly.” I barked out a laugh as we entered the room where the team was gathered. I was given shoulder pats and hugs due to the news Emily had delivered to them. I assured them all I was fine, and we set back to work.

We caught the guy with little to know hiccups and saved two little girls. The ride home was quiet like it always is after a case dealing with kids. So, when we landed Emily told us to go home and get some rest that the paperwork could wait till in the morning. Of course, none of us were going to complain.

We were almost to the double glass doors when I remember I left my keys in my desk, “Spence hold the elevator please I forgot my keys.” He nodded and gave my hand a squeeze before letting go and making his way to the elevator.

As I was getting my keys, I noticed the picture of us from a family dinner at Rossi’s that I had framed. I looked at each smiling face and thought back to how a year ago I was working a job I hated and had friends who no longer speak to me. Now I have a wonderful boyfriend and a real family. There’s a quote Spencer told me once and I think it is so fitting for everything that has happened, ‘Life takes you to unexpected places. Love brings you home. Melissa McClone.’

@criminalmindzjunkie @hendersonsshadow @brooklynxnicole @martinafigoli @misschil3 @rainsong01

#spencer reid #spencer reid fic #dr. spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst

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ghostiewriter · 3 years

Note

I had an idea for 39, I can picture them dress shopping for a kook event kie has to go to and shes getting jjs opinion on them

Ahhh I’m sorry this took so long but I hope you like it! Also thank you for saving me having to come up with something totally alone 💀😂

Word Count: 2.3K

Prompt: “What colour do you like better?”

“So, what is this one for again?”

“The annual country club charity gala.”

“I thought that was last month.”

“Yeah, they have multiple galas, dude. Catch up.”

Kiara was appreciative of the life she was given. She understood her privileges, and she as grateful to live in a world where she didn’t have to worry about the food on her plate or the roof over her head or the money in her account. Her parents had worked hard and it paid off. When she met the pogues, her appreciation grew but she also learnt that she didn’t have to be the only one with these privileges. The boys were stubborn though, so most of it was subtle and never made them feel like she was treating them like charity cases. And the boys also appreciated that despite her background, Kie wasn’t like the usual kooks who rubbed their money in your face. She was humble about it. She used her privileges for good whenever she could.

However, it was easy to forget that Kie was a kook sometimes. Even she, herself, forgot sometimes. She was a pogue at heart, through and through. But then she was thrown into the deep-end of the kook lifestyle by her parents and it was always a harsh reminder. The worst ones were the galas—because what else did rich people have to do in their lives other than have countless parties and events they claimed were for charity and the greater good but was just an excuse to dress up and show off? The answer was nothing. They had nothing else better to do.

Kiara despised these events with a passion. She was all up for raising money for charities and supporting the local organisations that could achieve so much with enough funding. In fact, Kie had dragged the boys down with her to help in local beach clean-ups and charity events where they could help support. However, these kook events just sucked the charity out of the galas and left her with a night of dealing with passive aggressive comments and nosey adults who needed to mind their business.

But no matter how hard she tried, she could never get out of them. It seemed like her mother always had the perfect blackmail to use against her, she knew the perfect things to say that trapped Kiara and gave her no choice but to go to these galas. It was how she now found herself in the mainland boutiques, searching for a new dress. Originally, she had planned to drag Sarah with her but the other claimed she was too wrapped up on event planning that she didn’t have enough time. So, Kiara took her next best options: JJ Maybank, the only person who was free to join her on a day trip to the mainland.

However, dress shopping was a little out of JJ’s comfort zone. When Kie said that they were heading to the mainland, he was expecting something a little more exciting or action packed, not following Kie around some small boutique as he carried the dresses she was picking out of the racks and ignoring the judgemental stares he was getting from people far more appropriately dressed than he was. Apparently the rich weren’t huge fans of tanks and khaki short and combat boots. Sucks to be them.

“They really have no life beyond playing dress up, do they?” JJ muttered as he watched Kie pick up two dresses: one silver and one a light pink. She tilted her head, looking them up and down before she slipped them back onto the rack.

“It’s all they are good at.” She retorted with a snort, not giving JJ much warning before she began to head to the other side of the store.

“You know, for someone who is adamant that she hates these things, you sure take them seriously.” He commented, glancing down at the pile of dresses he had been lugging around since they entered the shop around forty minutes ago.

“Unless I want my head bitten off by my mother, I kinda have to.” She said with a shrug as she took out two dresses before turning to him. “What colour do you like better?”

He glanced between them. One was black—long sleeved, low back and the hem was brushing the floor despite the fact she was holding them up. The second one was red, and JJ noted the long slit that was running up the left side of the dress. The image of Kiara in either of them made him clear his throat a little, hoping that his cheeks weren’t noticeably burning up. “You look hotter in red.”

“Charming.” She deadpanned but she placed the red dress in the pile before she continued to move along the racks. Eventually, Kiara decided she had enough options and dragged him to the dressing room.

JJ sat on the small couch across from the dressing room, head leaning against the wall as his fingers tapped aimlessly against his thighs. “Kie, it’s been like two hours. How much longer?” He whined.

“It’s been like two minutes, dumbass.” She retorted from behind the curtain. “Just gimme a sec.”

“How long does it take to put on one dress?” He muttered. “You know, if you need help undressing, I am happy to offer my assistance.”

“I’m gonna pretend you want to keep your balls and didn’t say that.”

“Ooh, mama’s mad.” He could almost imagine the glare she was sending him through the curtain. “All I’m saying is—” But the words were lost the second the curtain opened and he saw Kiara on the other side.

She was wearing the red dress—the one on the top of the pile. JJ didn’t even know where to focus: on the slit that ran up her leg and made them look never-ending, or the way that it clung onto her body so perfectly like it was made for her, or how the crimson colour complimented her skin and made her look absolutely stunning. He was pretty sure some higher power was laughing down at him and the stuttering mess he had become.

“Uh, yeah,” He mumbled, scratching his nose. “You...it…yeah.”

Kiara smiled a little. “Yeah?”

“That one, should definitely wear that one.” He finally got out, gulping a little before he finally looked up at her.

“I still have five more dresses to try one.” She narrowed her eyes at him before she turned back around, closing the curtain behind him.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He let out a sigh, running his hands over his face. He could barely survive one dress, let alone five more.

The next hour or so seemed to pass excruciatingly slow. JJ was pretty sure he was in hell and this was his torture, having to watch Kie model all these dresses and look jaw-droppingly beautiful and not be able to do anything about it. It was like the universe decided being stuck in the friend-zone wasn’t bad enough.

Eventually, she was done and sent him to wait outside whilst she paid for the dress she chose. He wasn’t sure it was a blessing or not that he didn’t know which one she would wear. Maybe because he knew that he wouldn’t be the only one that would see her in that dress, and unlike himself, maybe they had a chance.

When Kie exited the store, she gave him a grin before she began tugging his hand as they headed towards a store across the street—further away from the dock where he suspected they would be going.

“Did Cinderella remember she needed some glass slippers?” He teased, wiggling his eyebrows.

“No,” She turned to give him a wink. “She just remembered that her Prince Charming needs a suit.” He tried to ignore the butterflies in his stomach as he convinced himself that she was just joking back with him.

You see, JJ was so caught up on the dazed state he felt after seeing Kie in all those dresses that it took him up until he was being shoved into the dressing room that he realised what it all meant. She was taking him to the charity gala. He was her date to the charity gala. And just when JJ assumed the torturing couldn’t get worse.

That was how JJ found himself standing amongst some of the richest people on the island, champagne glass in hand as he and John B tried to ignore the judgemental glares being sent their way. They had been told they would meet their dates at the gala, and now both of them were really regretting that plan.

“I don’t know, dude, she never said she was taking you as a friend. Maybe it does mean something.” John B suggested, sparking a little flame of hope in JJ that he quickly extinguished.

“She also never said that we weren’t going as friends.” He muttered with a shrug, downing the rest of the bubbly liquid with one gulp.

“You both are the most oblivious people, I swear.” John B huffed with a shake of his head. “And that’s coming from me of all people.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“THAT!” John B exclaimed, although after receiving some pointed looks, he quickly lowered his voice. “You just proved my p—holy shit!”

JJ’s head snapped around just in time to see Kiara and Sarah at the top of the stairs, however, the blond couldn’t even bring himself to look at the middle Cameron, his eyes were completely drawn to Kie.

And she was in that fucking red dress.

If JJ was struggling for words when he saw her in the dressing room, he was absolutely rendered speechless now. She looked beautiful—no, better than beautiful. She looked like a goddess. JJ had to pinch himself as she walked down the steps towards him just to make sure he was actually alive and hadn’t just died and went to heaven.

And when she stepped off the final step, she couldn’t help but smirk as she placed a finger under his chin. “Better shut your mouth, you’re catching flies, Jay.”

Oh, he was definitely dead.

JJ wasn’t sure how long had passed but he could barely take his eyes off her, and it seems like the other guests couldn’t either. He hated the jealousy that flared up inside him, mostly because he knew that he had no right to feel this way. But that didn’t stop him.

He tried to be subtle about it: stayed by her side for the whole night, casually had his arm around her in any situation he could, made sure to give slightly pointed looks to anyone that stared a little too long at Kiara. He thought he was being subtle but Kiara noticed. Of course she noticed, she wasn’t blind.

They finally had a moment together when they were on the dance floor, a slow song playing around them as the couples populated the dance floor. They were surrounded by people and yet, they still felt like they were in their own bubble.

“So, how pissed is your mum?” He asked, a small smirk on his lips. However, he noticed her confused glance and quickly continued. “You know, that you brought me and not some kook eye candy.”

“I’d say you offer better eye candy than any of them could.” She commented with a small laugh. “But, surprisingly, she wasn’t too bothered. She expected it.”

His eyebrows furrowed together. “She did?”

“Jay…” She trailed off, her hands around his neck faltering a little as she stopped moving, now just staring at him.

“Have I told you how breath-taking you look?” JJ spoke up, desperate to change the topic of conversation. “I mean, I hate to say I told you so but you do look pretty hot in red—”

“JJ.” She said in a soft but firm voice. “Why do you think I brought you as my date?”

He gulped a little, putting on that usual smile he used whenever he was uncomfortable or hurt. She hated that he was using it with her. “Just thought you wanted to get some revenge on your mum since she dragged you to this thing.” He said with a shrug. “Who better to bring into the kook-fest than good ol’ JJ Maybank, right?”

“You can be really dense sometimes, Maybank.” She muttered, her words contradicting the soft expression on her face.

“What?” His voice barely a whisper. They both stood still in the middle of the dance floor, faces inches away from each other.

“I like you, Jay.” She whispered, smiling at him. “And I invited you because I thought you’d finally catch the hint.”

JJ looked at her, mouth slightly agape as he tried to process what she saying. “Y-You like me? As in, like-like me?”

She laughed a little, nodding her head. “Yeah, I like-like you.”

His grin grew a little. “I like-like you too.”

“Good, because otherwise it would be really awkward if I did this.” She murmured before she took his face in her hands, bringing his lips down to her own.

His hands instantly tightened their hold on her waist, tugging her a little closer. They became wrapped up in one another, neither one bothered by the judgemental looks and disgust from the people around them. In that moment, it was just JJ and Kiara. Just Kiara and JJ.

When they finally pulled away from each other, foreheads pressed against each other and matching grins on their faces, JJ found himself once again believing he was dead and in heaven. “I’ve been waiting so long to do that.”

She hummed. “Me too.”

“And to tell you that your ass looks great in this dress.”

“Always the charmer.”

“Only for you.”

“Your ass looks great too in those pants.”

“I know.”

#jiara #outer banks #obx #jiara prompts #writing prompts #my writing

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theyaskedmeto · 3 years

Note

It’s six o’clock in the morning, you’re not having vodka.

For which ever ship you want

to forgive you

part of the everything means everything verse

pairing: kurt x blaine

summary: the night before, blaine stood kurt up. this is how they forgive each other.

read on ao3 or read the rest of these little fic prompt fills here

———————

He waited for ages. They don’t usually do stuff like that; go on dates and act like a ‘real’ couple should - normally they just make out under the bleachers instead of going to class, or try to escape dinner and find themselves at Scandals, the shitty gay bar on the outskirts of Lima. But it was their five-month anniversary, and, even though it wasn’t exactly a significant amount of months, Kurt does sometimes feel like they could be doing more for each other.

So, they arranged it - not anything major - just a small meet up at their park again - just wearing slightly nicer clothes this time.

And when Kurt arrived that night, nothing happened.

He waited for so long. That’s the problem when you’re in love - suddenly you feel so much more optimistic about everything. You’ve spent so long hating yourself and wishing you were living another life and then suddenly, this person comes into it and changes everything. Makes everything okay again. And then you start to think, well, if I could achieve that, can’t I handle everything else? And sometimes it just… gets out of hand.

And that’s what Kurt did - he got too optimistic. He spent too much time in that park that night, holding on to the last drop of hope until it escaped from his fingers and he was quickly filled with feelings of hurt and anger. Then eventually, he called Blaine.

“I’m so sorry, babe,” Blaine had said, “it’s just… my mom’s going on another stupid holiday again tomorrow. And she won’t let me out. She said she ‘wants me all to herself’. Not that she even cares.”

“So you couldn’t even fucking text me?” And Kurt was already shouting at him by then. He couldn’t stop himself. He was angry and it was cold, and the halterneck crop top and skinny jeans he was wearing did not keep him warm.

Blaine was hardly listening. He hung up on him.

And Kurt walked home, shivering, lonely, and wishing he had a cigarette right then.

Sometimes, Kurt wonders when Blaine will stop throwing stones at his window to get Kurt’s attention from inside and just use the actual front door because believe it or not, he does care about what his dad will do if his temperamental boyfriend smashes the glass. But when Blaine does it for what feels like the one-hundredth time, the sounds sort of make him laugh - it’s a reminder of his boyfriend now, how they met, how everything built up to this. And it’s also nearly six in the morning during the summer holidays, and Kurt hasn’t even been awake at this time since graduation, so his brain isn’t exactly functioning yet.

Well, he would be happier with Blaine’s appearance if he didn’t stand him up last night.

Under his breath and eyes still sealed shut, he sleepily mumbles, “What the fuck do you want?” and stumbles out of bed, duvet flopping onto the floor as he moves towards the noise. He squints his eyes because the sun has already started to rise, and peers out the window where Blaine is standing there - almost stumbling, even - with a bottle of vodka in hand and a rather exaggerated expression on his face.

Blaine sees his figure through the window, and he shouts, words a little slurred and voice cracking, “Kurt!” and his hands shoot up in the air desperately, liquid in the bottle he’s holding sloshing around precariously.

It’s almost hysterical - he’s drunk, it’s six AM on a Thursday morning, and Blaine’s there with those desperate eyes and stumbling on the sidewalk, and Kurt has to wake up more because he is going to get himself fucking hurt and it will be my problem.

But if anything happens to you—

Kurt opens the window, blinks more as his eyes adjust to the growing sunlight, “Blaine? What the fuck is going on?”

“Kurt!” Blaine shouts again, “I wanna…” he stops for a moment, searching. “I’m drunk.” he finally says, struggling to find the right words after thinking about them for a while, “Please! I’m sorry for what I did.”

He looks like a fucking mess - his hair is tousled over his forehead - his eyes are partially hidden but Kurt can still see the dark circles under them. There are stains on his white shirt, and that signature leather jacket thrown on over it. He looks a fucking mess.

How does he still look hot?

He’s stumbling more, and there is a small bit in Kurt that panics because if anything happens to him— but mostly he’s angry because it’s fucking six in the morning and he was sleeping and his boyfriend is just there, drunk on the sidewalk, and Kurt doesn’t know what to say.

He settles on, “God, what the hell are you doing out there?”

Blaine gives an incredibly over-exaggerated guilty expression, looks around himself as if to say, what do I know?

He sighs, “Please, Kurt. I need— can you… please… let me in?”

Kurt stares at him - his eyes still feel like they could shut with the lack of sleep (he was up reading until two AM) - stares at his boyfriend, can’t even comprehend him for a single moment. He doesn’t know how Blaine can do this; how can Blaine seem like a fucking loser and stand him up and Kurt still has to love him?

Because every day he wakes up and thinks of him. Cares about him. God— he doesn’t know what he’d do if something happened to him, and yet Kurt is still so aware of how fucking shit he can be.

But then he’s also aware of the pain, the hurt Blaine had to go through to be here, to be in this state, and he thinks about his own pain, too. God, he misses the time when he didn’t really give a shit about anything. And now, Blaine…

Is still standing on the sidewalk with that bottle of vodka in his hand and Kurt wants to hate him but he can’t, because there’s a pulling in his heart and it sings Blaine.

Back to the moment, and Kurt raises his eyebrows, rolls him eyes as he leans on the windowsill. He sighs, and his eyes are just focused on his boyfriend for a moment, then says, “Fine. I’ll let you in.”

He has to walk down the stairs quietly because even though he’d love to be an adult with complete free-reign over his life, he’s not. And his dad will kill him if he sees Blaine’s here at five fifty-two in the morning, not that he’s ever that happy with seeing Blaine over at his at all, especially after Burt knows what Blaine did to his son last night.

For a moment, he thinks about whether he should get changed but then remembers that his boyfriend is literally standing there, drunk on the pavement in the clothes he always wears and it doesn’t mean a thing, and he doesn;t deserve it anyway.

But Blaine still needs to be safe.

He opens the front door, and there Blaine is: leaning on the porch railing, so obviously drunk it’s absurd. Kurt doesn’t hesitate to grab his hand and drag him inside, muttering under his breath, “Jesus fucking christ Blaine, I actually— what the hell were you thinking?”

Blaine, now considerably closer to Kurt after he’s grabbed his arm, slurs, consonants fading into each other from the effects of the drink, “Dunno. Got bored,” he nestles further into the crevice between Kurt’s shoulder and neck and Kurt knows he’s lying. “Hmmmm,” he moans lightly out of contentment, “‘s warm here.”

“Okay, then. Come on,” Kurt says, still not being able to really believe the situation at hand, still angry at him, and hauls him up the stairs, “There’s only… twelve steps. Come on.” He says again, and Blaine has basically plastered himself against Kurt now, groaning, “‘s just… stay here.”

“No, Blaine. Come on. Twelve steps. And I’m fucking tired, so you should be thanking me for even letting you in after last night.”

“I said I was sorry!” Blaine argues back, then says, as if he’s completely forgotten the conversation, “Were you… trying to read Mrs— Miss—” Blaine lets out a humph and gives up trying to pronounce the correct word, “You were reading Dalloway again.” He slurs, and Kurt can feel his weight on him getting heavier, and god they really need to get up these stairs.

“It was only until one. Now. Come. On…” Kurt urges him again, giving his arm another tug. He really is too tired for this right now.

After a rather large amount of struggle, they make it to the top, and Kurt’s pretty amazed they haven’t even woken his dad yet. They stumble into his room, and the minute Blaine sees the bed he flops onto it, still holding the bottle of vodka. After realising he still has it, Kurt snatches it off him, says, “Why were you even up at this time, Blaine? God, even for you this is a stretch.”

“I wasn’t—” Blaine starts, words still slurred, “I woke up. At five.”

“And?”

“Was thinking about you. Couldn’t… couldn’t get back to s—sleep.”

“So you drank nearly a whole bottle of vodka.”

Blaine sighs melodramatically, “Yeah. Look, Kurt, it’s not— my mom’s not in town.” he says, as if that’s a perfect excuse. “I dunno. Then I thought of you. I’m so sorry.”

Kurt hesitates slightly, “You thought of me?”

“Yeah. ‘Bout how much I… care about you.”

“...I… care about you too,” Kurt says, as it’s hardly coherent he does - voice just above a whisper, like saying it louder would make the words so much harder to come to terms with. He knows Blaine will understand, even when he’s drunk, that those words are an acceptance of his apology.

It’s so weird, sometimes, because on the outside, around others, Blaine is just… different. And then when he’s with Kurt he’s so sweet, so soft and giving, and sometimes Kurt loses himself in it.

There are still so many hurdles to cross before Kurt can fully comprehend this - what he and Blaine have together - this sudden love that fell on Kurt’s shoulders so quickly. But it’s not a burden. Hardly anything but that, really. Every time he spends with Blaine it feels lighter, and it’s just something he doesn’t understand. How can one person make another feel that way?

They’re staring at each other for a moment, just falling into the other’s eyes again. And it’s nice. But thinking about this so deeply, this connection, Kurt finds himself becoming very aware of it. So he takes a deep breath in as if to say, anyway… and comments, “You need a new shirt. And we need to sleep. Take one of mine.”

Kurt throws a random T-shirt at Blaine, who huffs and toes off his shoes. Kurt has to help with removing his jeans and top and putting on the one Kurt has given him. Kurt doesn’t try and hide his blatant staring.

When Kurt slides into bed with Blaine he pipes up again, “Can I have the bottle back yet?”

Kurt tries not to laugh, “Blaine. You’re not having more vodka. It’s six AM.”

From somewhere inside the covers Kurt’s pretty sure Blaine mumbles, “Fuck you.” but he’s not too sure. He can’t stop the giggles that erupt from his chest.

With the curtains drawn and the sun only half seeping its way into the room, they fall asleep again, with half of Kurt wondering how he will be able to hide Blaine from his dad when they wake up again, and half of him not caring at all, just being here, wrapped in the blankets with his stupid, beautiful boyfriend, and forgives him.

#badboy!blaine #skank!kurt #kurt hummel #blaine anderson #klaine fanfiction #everything means everything #elsie writes #glee fanfiction #klaine #kurt x blaine #klaine fic #glee #masterlist #klaine prompt post fills

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raleighcarrera · 3 years

Text

this is a holiday writing request fill for @pixelsandkink, who asked for anything soft and/or sexy for raleigh & mc featuring the prompt “why does the house smell like a cinnamon roll threw up?”

aj, i adore you and am so glad we’re mutuals and friends !! you’re such a gift to the fandom and your writing is some of my favorite ever, so i hope you enjoy this and the holiday season this year as much as we all love u !! ❤️

even before the cold front rolled through and blanketed the five boroughs with so much snow they couldn’t see out their windows, they had planned for a low-key holiday.

he was just coming off tour and cadence had a lot going on in the new year, so instead of traveling, they’d planned to do christmas at home, in brooklyn, with just the two of them.

cadence’s grandma had complained over zoom and his own mother had given him quite the earful about it, too, but part of him was excited for an excuse to just lay low for once, in their apartment, and eat what they wanted at whatever time was convenient. for once, he’d be able to give cadence her presents with no one gawking at them, and wake up with her slowly on christmas morning, instead of already running late for something before he’d even had the chance to shower.

but just because they’d planned for something less chaotic than normal didn’t mean that cadence wasn’t still going into full on north-pole-elf mode, just like she did every year.

he shuddered as he stepped back inside their blessedly warm apartment, shaking snow from his collar. “babe?” raleigh called out, over the distinctive sound of something clanking in the kitchen, “i couldn’t find pure vanilla extract so i just got imitation, i hope that’s oka...”

his voice trailed off into nothing as he stopped in the archway between their kitchen and living room. cadence was standing in front of the oven, the kitchen suspiciously clean around her save for an ominous pile of dirty dishes in the sink that, for some reason, included two different blenders. she smiled innocently at him as he looked around.

“why does it smell like a cinnamon roll threw up in here?” he asked, holding the bag from the store out to her.

her expression fell down into a frown as she plucked it from his hands. “i made gingerbread cookies. they’re not supposed to smell like cinnamon.”

“oh.” he ran a hand through his hair, which was damp with snow from outside. “that’s what i meant. it smells good.”

“yeah, right,” she sighed, and then, as he went for the fridge to get himself a drink, “wait, don’t --”

raleigh paused, frowning at the pitcher on the top shelf. it stood out among the takeout containers and condiment bottles filling their otherwise bare fridge. “what’s this?”

she mumbled something from behind him that sounded almost like -- “did you say coquito?” that was the last thing he’d ever expect to come out of her mouth.

over his shoulder, he saw cadence nod. he leaned back into the fridge and pulled out the pitcher. “you made this?”

“yeah, but -- just based on what it said on wikipedia,” cadence rushed to explain, the words tripping out in a ramble, “so it’s probably not right. or good.”

it looked right. from a glance alone, whatever she’d made was indistinguishable to the most authentic coquito he’d ever had, though it’d been a long time since he had a drink so thoughtfully prepared by anyone -- let alone someone as clearly careful as her.

“can i try it?” raleigh asked, stepping closer to the counter.

“it’s eleven-thirty,” cadence said, even as she moved to get down two glasses from the cabinet. he scoffed; like that had ever stopped them before. “get some ice.”

he leaned against the counter as her dainty hands measured out ice cubes for each of them, slowly pouring coquito into both glasses before passing him one. cadence held onto her own without drinking from it while raleigh lifted his to his lips and took a sip, hyperaware of the way cadence was watching him anxiously as he did so.

“wow, babe,” he said, once he’d swallowed, “it’s really good. i can’t believe you made this.”

cadence’s whole face lit up at once, her expression brightening. “really?” she asked, before drinking from her own glass and swallowing with a cough. “it’s really strong.”

“it’s perfect,” raleigh insisted, though they were both likely to be drunk by lunch if they had any more. “because you made it for me. you’re the best.”

he opened the arm that wasn’t cradling his glass and pulled her into his chest to drop a kiss onto her forehead, but cadence looked up at just the right moment, and once he saw the sweet expression on her face he couldn’t not press their lips together. outside of his control, some instinct inside him took over and tilted her head back to kiss her as thoroughly as possible, teeth grazing her bottom lip as his tongue demanded her attention.

cadence was wide-eyed when he finally let her up for air. “raleigh,” she breathed, “jesus. warn a girl, next time.”

“incoming,” he announced unceremoniously, before nudging her back against the counter and kissing her again, fumbling to set his glass down and then yanking hers from her hands, too, freeing the both of them to wind their arms around one another so he could kiss her passionately.

her lips tasted sweet, coconut and rum dancing on his tongue when he sucked on her skin. she was warm under his hands, which still felt cold from the chill outside and the six blocks he’d walked to get to whole foods to look for that stupid vanilla extract for her.

the coquito had still been perfect without it.

raleigh’s hands wrapped around her thighs to lift her onto the counter and he smirked against her lips as cadence gasped into his mouth as soon as he set her down effortlessly, pushing in between her spread legs.

despite her surprise, she leaned over immediately to accommodate the few extra inches of height she now had, pulling on his hair to crane his neck back for the best angle to kiss him.

raleigh took advantage of the movement to slide his hands up her legs to the waistband of her leggings, wriggling them down to her knees. cadence jerked back in surprise as soon as he pulled away from their kiss, like she hadn’t expected him to get her undressed so swiftly.

he smirked at her. cute.

in retaliation, she tugged on his hair, though it hardly had the effect she was probably intending; he tilted into her hands with a sound that was half acknowledgment, half encouragement, grin spreading when she pulled again, harder.

“you’re unbelievable,” cadence laughed from above him, followed by his favorite sound in the world: an impatient, exasperated groan of his name, from between her perfect lips. “raleigh.”

“i’m going,” he promised, though his lips landed somewhere near her knee and took their time sliding up the inside of her thigh while his right hand crept higher and higher on cadence’s opposite leg, until he could finally hook his index finger around her thong and tug it to the side.

“you’d better be.” it would probably never stop being cute, how she tried to threaten him with that shaky, wanting voice, and he grinned against the soft skin of her inner thigh as his kisses moved slowly upwards, his fingertips finally pushing between her legs just so he could hear her voice change, cadence’s words breaking into a loud, beautiful moan.

her old apartment was smack-dab in the middle of the building, surrounded by neighbors on every side. the day he finally got to move her into his penthouse she damn near lost her voice from screaming, and fiona had been pissed at him, but it had been so worth it. now, more than a year later, the sight of her things mixed in with his still made him so happy his chest got uncomfortably tight, so that he often found himself staring at their toothbrushes like a weirdo in the mornings when he was meant to be getting ready, taking up too much time in the bathroom.

“raleigh,” cadence sighed again, shifting around on the counter. “please.”

well -- it was christmas eve. he could probably afford to be generous, just once.

holding her thighs open with his free hand, he lowered his head and licked slowly across her center, right through where she was already so wet for him. cadence sighed as his tongue pointed, spreading her legs wider to sling one over his shoulder.

part of him wanted to draw it out -- wind her up as much as possible and keep her on edge for as long as he dared.

but the other part of him was stuck fixedly on the image of cadence making coquito for him, twice, in both blenders, biting nervously on her bottom lip as she scanned the wikipedia entry for it.

abandoning all thoughts of teasing, raleigh wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked, desperate to bring her to an edge. the sounds she was making above him only encouraged raleigh to redouble his efforts, every last ounce of his attention hyper-focused on making her feel as good as possible -- something they couldn’t do in the middle of the kitchen on christmas eve any other year but this one. something that was supposed to be special for her today, as a thank-you for always being so thoughtful, for never failing to keep him top-of-mind in the most unselfish way she knew, something no one else before her had ever managed to achieve.

her moan pitched high when his fingers twisted just right between her legs, covering the borderline obscene sound of her hips rocking down onto his face. there were few things he loved more than seeing cadence like this, bare and wild, all parts of the manicured, calculated facade she wore for her fans and the media stripped away under his touch. that was what he’d fallen in love with -- all the ways she was raw and real and shocked the hell out of him with how much she’d been able to make him feel, for the first time in years.

when she shook apart above him, he held her steady, fingertips digging into her thighs to keep her still as she melted onto the countertop with another loud groan of his name, a sound that never failed to rush straight to his dick and make his head swim at the same time. he stared at her as she worked her way through it, trembling hard enough to rattle the dishes in the sink before finally letting one last heavy exhale escape.

then he finally pulled his head back, licked his lips and smiled at her. cadence groaned again, screwing her eyes shut tight. she pushed his face away without any real force. “ugh.”

“totally,” he agreed, planting his palms on the counter and pushing up to try to lean over her, frowning at the disadvantage he was at with her seated above him. raleigh only had a moment to pout before she pushed her hair out of her face and fell forward against his chest with a soft pleading sound, curling up into his open and waiting arms.

they stood there silently for a minute with him rubbing her back and her nuzzling his shirt collar, breathing slowly in and out. finally, she said, “i’m so glad we’re here together. alone.”

“me too, baby,” raleigh returned, fingertips dragging gently up and down her spine through her t-shirt. “thanks for making me coquito. that was really thoughtful.”

“it was nothing,” she murmured into his collarbone, lips mouthing the shape of each word and making him shiver, “i’m just glad you liked it.”

“it was perfect,” he argued, trying to stop his thoughts from drifting too far. unfortunately, the best thing to ever happen to him was wrapped half around his waist with her pants off, and he could still taste her pussy when he licked his lips, so -- the effort was pretty much futile. still, it’d be impossible to ignore what an ideal christmas it was shaping up to be, if the last hour or so was anything to go by. and he couldn’t wait to see how she’d react to what he had planned for the rest of their holiday break, all the way through new year’s day.

pulling back to smack a kiss that was meant to be obnoxious but mostly just read as loving onto her forehead, he earnestly amended, “you’re perfect,” gratified by the laughter his girlfriend gave before he’d even finished saying the words.

#raleigh carrera #platinum #raleigh carrera x mc #cadence dorian #raleigh x mc #raleigh x cadence #myfic #long post #ns*w #thanks for sending this queen !! i hope you like it and happy holidays 💕💕

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starkerforlife6969 · 4 years

Text

Howard Buys Tony an Omega Part 8

TW: Angst with a happy ending, lonely Peter, Omega Peter, Alpha Tony

Though you don’t need to, to understand, you can read the rest here: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

Tony is twenty-three and overworked. He knows he wants Stark Industries to be something great, but there are so many avenues to go down. So many different routes to take. He’s so tired. It’s exhilarating. It’s exhausting.

When he wakes up from another fitful sleep (so many ideas, buzzing around his head all the time), Peter isn’t in bed beside him: snuggled up with some book, or sound asleep. Tony frowns, but isn’t surprised. His Omega’s been acting a little oddly the past few days.

He pulls himself out of bed and can smell bacon and eggs. Sure enough, Peter’s in the kitchen. He’s in a fluffy pink robe, cheeks still warm and wet from his shower. Tony sits down at the table and reaches for his plate, smiling.

“Smells great, gorgeous,” he grins, and Peter returns his smile: small and a little brittle.

Tony frowns. He nudges Peter’s ankle under the table. “There’s a gala tomorrow night. Another fundraiser. You can get all dolled up.” He teases.

Peter doesn’t smile. Doesn’t bounce with glee like normal. He just sets down his fork with dainty fingers and nods. “Am I supposed to speak at this one?” He asks, tone faux-innocent.

Tony doesn’t like that. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Jesus, Pete, it’s one night.” God, he’s getting a headache. He pushes his plate away from him and decides to go to his study, get a little more work done.

They’re running late.

Well, they’re not- Tony’s driver is, and goddamn is he gonna fire that guy. He grabs his cufflinks, fumbling fingers still stained here and there with pencil smudges, and hurries to the door.

Peter’s stood waiting there: a vision. Wrapped up like a present, his dress has an enormous bow cinched behind his tiny waist, gloves up to his elbows and-

A very sad look on his face.

Tony groans, rolling his eyes. “We can deal with whatever’s bothering you after tonight, baby,” he promises, giving Peter a distracted kiss on the cheek. “Let’s go.”

“My coat-”

“It’s not cold out.”

It is cold out. Peter’s arms erupt in goosebumps the second they step outside. Tony groans and rushes them into the car.

The driver steps on it. They get to the gala fashionably late but not edging on rude. It’s a flurry of people, governors and investors. Obie isn’t here, thank god.

“Tony,” Campbell, one of the younger investors, beams, appearing out of nowhere. Tony shakes his hand. “And this must be your Omega. Well, don’t you have it all?”

Tony smirks, tugging Peter into his side. “Best thing in my life.”

“I’m sure.” Campbell murmurs, taking Peter’s hand. Tony watches as Peter blushes, deeper than normal, and looks up at Campbell through his perfect chestnut curls. “Jesus.” Campbell breathes, “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Peter, Sir.” Peter murmurs.

“And how do you like the event so far?”

Peter’s eyes flicker to Tony, who squeezes his hip with reassurance. “We’ve just arrived but I think it’s lovely.”

“Absolutely,” Tony grins, “I’ll get us some drinks.”

On his way to the bar, he gets a few more pats on the back, a few more congratulations not only on his blossoming business but on his gorgeous Omega. Tony relaxes. He watches out of the corner of his eye as he gets handed two champagnes. Peter’s being quiet, sophisticated, demure. He has a little crowd of people around him.

Everyone is enamoured.

This is realms better than what happened at Charity Gardens.

He heads back and hands Peter his champagne, only for the Omega to blink at it in surprise. Tony quirks an eyebrow: amused.

“I don’t…” Peter’s voice breaks, “I don’t like champagne, Alpha.”

“Aww,” a few of the onlookers chuckle. Campbell claps Tony on the shoulder. “I’ll get him something sweet-”

Tony knows that. He knows Peter doesn’t like champagne. Peter likes ridiculously sugary, fruity cocktails if he has to have any alcohol at all. Fuck. And now Tony looks like a shit Alpha and fucking Campbell is trying to move in- “He’s fine.” Tony cuts him off, pressing the glass into Peter’s hand. “You’ll drink it.” He says meaningfully to his Omega..

The people around them shift awkwardly. Peter takes the glass, eyes sparkling with tears. The liquid sloshes with his trembling.

“Tony.” Campbell mutters, sounding shocked. “He doesn’t-”

Peter takes a little sip, unable to hide his initial disgust, but schooling it as quickly as he can and swallowing. He looks like he’s about to burst into tears and he looks up at Tony for approval.

Tony shakes his head, deflating. “Go out onto the deck, Pete. Chuck it in the bushes. I’ll get you something else.”

Peter nods and hurries away.

“Well,” Campbell clears his throat, “I take it you didn’t choose him yourself.”

“What?”

“I mean, if he’s for sale-”

“He’s not. We’re bonded.” Tony snaps. “He’s just been behaving like a brat recently.”

At that, he gets a sigh of understanding. “That happens,” Hannah murmurs, “they always go through a little moody spell. Even the best ones.”

Tony drinks his champagne.

***

He sets down the crystal flute of the champagne glass on the ledge of the patio. It’s untouched, and Peter feels bad for the waste, but he can’t stomach the taste. He swallows hard and tries to be brave. He learnt about this at Green. Every bonding goes through a rough patch. And Tony is working so hard- entering the prime of Alpha life- achieving so much. Peter should be grateful and proud- and he is- he is proud, he’s so proud. He wants to do nothing more than gush over his Alpha, but he feels so alone-

“My god,” comes a deep voice, and Peter blinks away tears, spinning around to see a tall, grey-haired Alpha standing in the doorway. “I wish you were out here waiting for me.”

Peter blushes like fire, feeling the Alpha’s gaze down his body. He smiles, and hopes it looks polite. If this is one of Tony’s possible investors, he wants to be as good as possible. “Thank you, Sir. But I’m not waiting for anyone. Just admiring.” He gestures to the stars.

The Alpha closes steps out onto the patio. The moonlight lights his face. A strapping jaw. Piercing blue eyes. A kind smile. “Please. The most beautiful Omega I’ve ever seen, you did not come here alone. Who’s the fool?”

Peter smoothes his hands over his dress, trying to stop them from shaking. “Thank you,” he murmurs, “I’m bonded to Tony Stark. He’s not a fool. He’s a genius.”

If the Alpha recognises the name he doesn’t show it. He hums thoughtfully. “A dress like that was made for dancing. Has your Alpha danced with you tonight?”

Pain blossoms in Peter’s chest. He shakes his head but smiles. “Not yet.”

The Alpha strides over and holds out his hand.

Peter hesitates.

The Alpha must sense it, because he threads their fingers together and tugs Peter towards him. “Just a dance.” He murmurs.

Peter relaxes into his embrace. It’s almost perfect. Under mossy eaves and under starlight, the distance music of the hall. But it’s not perfect. Because this Alpha is too tall and too broad. His hands don’t hold Peter quite the same way.

“Don’t look so sad, gorgeous,” The Alpha hums, twirling Peter suddenly and causing him to giggle in surprise. “There we go,” the Alpha grins, “sublime.”

Peter can’t remember the last time he and Tony danced. He lets his eyes drift close and sways.

When the music draws to an end inside, Peter feels fingers brush his curls behind his ear. He steps away, flushing-

And he sees Tony’s sharp silhouette in the doorway.

Cut against the light in an ebony suit, eyes dark and unreadable, drinking a cool glass of champagne, stem pinched tight in his fingers.

Their eyes meet.

“Tony,” Peter whispers, rushing over, a horrible dread running through him. What has he done? He curls his fingers over Tony’s hand, tears pricking in his eyes, but his Alpha won’t look at him.

“Peter. Senator.” Tony nods, voice cold, pulling out of Peter’s grasp, and heading back inside.

They don’t talk when they get back to the penthouse. Peter is a small, sad figure by his side. Tony refuses the urge to comfort him.

When Peter heads towards the kitchen, Tony shakes his head. “I’m not hungry.” He mutters, loosening his bowtie and heading to the bedroom.

He lies in the dark, waiting for Peter. He thinks about what he’ll say. He needs to address this behaviour. Needs to understand where his sweet, loving Omega went. Needs to reprimand him. The thought isn’t pleasant. Not with Peter’s sensitive heart, not with his pretty tears.

But that’s what they are. Pretty. To dance with another Alpha. Peter’s behaviour has been rude and Tony can’t explain it. He’s angry, irritated and jealous. To see his Omega in that old Senator’s arms- he’s seething.

He falls into another fitful sleep, and when he wakes with a jerk, Peter’s side of the bed is unslept in.

He pads through the dark, silent apartment, and spots Peter sleeping on the large sofa. Still in his dress, lashes clumped together with tears, looking so small and alone and-

Tony turns away.

—

His study is lit with moonlight, and he eases down into his chair. His whole life he’s figured things out, understood things, and he’d always understood Pete, his sweetheart. He must be missing something. Something must have happened.

An affair? The thought makes Tony sick, but he pulls up the apartment’s top of the art monitoring system anyway and skips back a few months.

He watches memories play out in front of him. Him and Peter having breakfast, kissing each other goodbye. He watches Peter flit around the apartment, cleaning and reading and writing letters. His boy sings to himself. It’s beautiful and innocent and everything’s fine and then-

Tony watches himself as he comes home one night- about three months ago. It’s late. He watches as he heads into the bedroom where Peter’s already asleep. His boy wakes up though, blinking at his Alpha.

“It’s late,” Peter had murmured, voice sleepy, “I made lasagne and it’s in the oven.”

Tony had clambered into bed and hauled his boy into his side.

That doesn’t look so bad.

But then the next night, Tony’s late. And the next night. And the next. Every night for a week. Tony remembers that week. He’d been hell-bent on getting the engineering software just right. He’d never even told Peter why he was going to be late.

He watches as over the week, Peter stops looking at the door at 6pm. How he starts putting Tony’s dinner right in the oven. How he sits alone at the dining table and eats quietly, washing his dishes, and then standing on the deck looking out over Central Park and watching the sunset.

Tony swallows the lump in his throat.

He’s gone all that weekend too.

But on Sunday afternoon, Tony watches as Peter busies himself. He takes a long bath, fusses over his hair, and stands in front of the mirror trying on a variety of pretty lingerie. Frills and silks, all deliciously tight.

Tony has to shift in his seat as he watches, the hum of arousal stirring.. Peter scrunches his nose up in concentration as he paints his lips cherry, he coughs when he spritzes the perfume too close to his mouth and Tony chuckles fondly.

But he gets a bad feeling as the day draws to a close. Because he doesn’t remember seeing Peter in this get up. Who is this all for?

He watches, enrapt, as the door to the apartment opens. It’s dark outside, and Peter arranges himself on the bed. His boy is gorgeous without trying, but with effort- he takes Tony’s breath away.

But sure enough, it’s Tony who walks into the bedroom. He looks tired and annoyed and-

It was right after the first investor meeting.

He watches, heart sinking, as his past self sits on the bed and kicks off his shoes.

Peter makes a small sound, soft hands sliding up Tony’s chest. “Alpha-“ he whispers, voice shy and sweet and-

Tony’s eyes burn as he watches.

“Baby, it’s been a long day, alright?” Tony gruffs out, raking his hand through his hair and getting under the sheets and turning away.

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispers, stroking his fingers through Tony’s hair, sidling up against him, all soft and silk, “I’ve missed you and I-“

“Peter. Tomorrow.” Tony snaps, unusually harsh.

Peter pulls back, face hurt. He waits until Tony is asleep before slipping out of bed and pulling off the stockings and suspenders. He slips into warm cotton and curls up in a small ball on the very edge of the bed.

Tony can’t believe it. He itches to apologise, he can’t believe he hadn’t seen Peter’s efforts. And the little thing hadn’t even complained, hadn’t brought it up again-

He watches Peter spend his evenings alone. Watches him gaze at sunsets.

He watches himself walk in proudly one Friday and grin. Peter, sitting on the bed, looks up with a huge smile at his Alpha’s happiness.

“Charity Gardens,” Tony had announced, “me and my beautiful omega, a gorgeous park, midday sunlight.”

Peter positively beams. “Is it a picnic? Can I make us something?”

Tony had laughed, waving him off. “It’s a work function, gorgeous. I need to show you off.”

Current Tony can see the little second of disappointment that flashes over Peter’s face. The one in the video doesn’t. “Oh.” Peter murmurs, before forcibly brightening. “Okay. Should I make something to bring anyway? I wanna try banana bread…”

Tony chuckles, kissing Peter’s forehead. “Wow them, baby.”

Charity Gardens at midday is beautiful.

It’s sophistication that Tony’s grown up with his whole life. But this time it’s on his own terms. His genius. Not his father’s. He feels grown up.

“Is he yours?” Grace asks, nodding her head and Tony turns to see Peter playing in the grass. He’s barefoot, heels discarded, pretty dress stained here and there with mud, a vision as he plays with the children that people have brought along.

“You should teach him some class.” Obie frowns, and Tony swallows. “It’s not right for the omega of an Alpha such as yourself to behave like a child, Anthony.”

“Pete doesn’t act like a child.” Tony snaps.

Obie gives him a disappointed look.

Grace elbows Obie. “He’s a sweetheart, Tony, don’t listen to Obadiah. He’s just jealous.”

“Maybe next time,” Tony says gently, as he and Peter step into the shower, bodies pressed flush together. “Maybe you just stay by my side. It looks more professional that way.”

Peter had blinked in surprise, before a dismayed look fell onto his face. “Did I embarrass you Alpha?” He choked, hugging Tony tight. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. They taught how to behave at Green, but I- I forgot—“

“Hey, no, shh,” Tony whispers, water cascading over both of them. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

He watches as he keeps coming home late. He watches as Peter looks more and more sullen. Smaller everyday. He watches as his boy spends hours in the kitchen, arms covered in flour, turning pages of a recipe book over with his nose, only for Tony to take a few bites and not say a word.

He watches his sunshine deflate.

It makes sense, Peter’s reaction yesterday morning to the news about the gala. Peter’s snappish tone, his hardened glare. Tony understands it now.

He watches on the monitor as Peter dances alone around the apartment while the food is cooking. Arms up holding an imaginary partner.

Tony can’t remember the last time he danced with his boy, and it’s no wonder that Peter danced with that Senator.

All they’d done was dance. Nothing else. No reason to be jealous or angry. Peter had pulled away the moment it was over. But even when he’d been dancing, Peter hadn’t looked comfortable. He’d looked stiff and sad.

Tony’s forgotten how to treat what makes him happy.

He closes his eyes and shuts his laptop, disappointed in himself.

This isn’t right.

He gets up, determined, and heads to the living room. He crouches by the couch and rubs his nose against Peter’s. Oh god, Peter. Skin like satin and fresh cream, the longest, darkest eyelashes, sweet as anything in the whole world.

He’s perfect. Tony’s forgotten how to treat an omega. Has taken him for granted. They need love and cherishing and Tony’s been-

He lets out a choked off sob, and Peter jerks awake- eyes wide and worried.

“Alpha?” He whispers, “are you okay, are you…” he cups Tony’s face in his tiny hands, grounding him, loving him.

“I’ve done you wrong the past few months, baby,” Tony confesses, “I’ve been a shit Alpha-“

“No!” Peter bleats devotedly, flinging his arms around Tony’s shoulders. “You’re the best, the best-“

“I’ve let you down. Bonded you and ignored you like those Alphas you read about in books- treated you like nothing-“

“No.” Peter whispers, voice firm. He locks eyes with Tony, noses touching. “You give me everything.”

Tony sweeps him into his arms. Peter’s light as anything, perfect in his grasp. Why wouldn’t he dance with his angel where everyone could see? Why would he tell Peter not to be Peter? Not to do what comes naturally to an omega and play with children and frolic in the grass and be happy?

How could he deny his boy anything?

“You got ready for me.” Tony whispers, heading into the bedroom and setting Peter down onto their bed. “In stockings and lace, where’s that little number?”

He can feel the heat of Peter’s blush. “How do you…”

Tony kisses him hard, pinning him to the bed and hovering over him, knees between those long legs. “You hate champagne. You’re an amazing cook. You were a vision tonight. You’re a vision every night. I’m so proud that you’re mine. You wanted Charity Garden to be just me and you, it will be. Wherever you wanna go, whenever you wanna go, just me and you.”

Peter’s eyes glisten with tears. Tony kisses his sharp cheekbones and wills them not to fall.

“Don’t cry, baby, please, I can’t take it.”

“I’m sorry.” Peter blubbers, tears slipping out. “I-I didn’t mean to be rude, and- I shouldn’t have danced with that Alpha, and- and I just missed you.” His slender fingers clutch tight at Tony’s shirt. “Sometimes when you go, I think you might not…”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Tony groans, pain coursing through his system. “I haven’t done you right. I’ve let you down.”

Peter shakes his head, denying still that Tony has flaws, but he knows. Tony knows.

“It’ll be different,” he promises, kissing down Peter’s neck, feeling the delighted whimper from beneath him. Feeling the way Peter arches against his body. It’s been too long. Jesus, how has he gone without this?

Peter’s panting beneath him, squirming with desire. “Don’t stop,” he pleads, fingers unbuttoning Tony’s shirt, hips keening, “please.”

Tony can see himself all those nights turning away. Not noticing. Too tired and overworked. But Peter has been here, wanting him, missing him. It’s almost too much to bear.

“Don’t do a thing.” Tony whispers, nosing at Peter’s ear, tickling him, hands working on the bow of Peter’s dress. “Don’t do a thing, let me show you how much I love you.”

***

As he creeps back into the penthouse the next morning, he’s relieved to see Peter’s still asleep.

As quietly as he can, he brings all the pink balloons into the bedroom and sets down the breakfast tray heaped with all of Peter’s favourite food.

When Peter wakes up, his hair is adorably mussed, endearing confusion all over his face.

Tony can’t help but kiss him.

Peter makes a sound of glee at breakfast- a louder sound of delight at the balloons, and Tony feeds him and whispers how much he loves him.

Once Peter’s giddy with the sugar rush of his waffles, he flits out of bed and over to the record player. Tony watches, amused and fond, as smooth jazz starts to play.

“Let’s dance,” Peter whispers, standing at the foot of bed. Chocolate around his mouth, sparkles in his eyes, hair mussed, wearing only Tony’s shirt. Long, smooth legs on display. Peter holds out his hand impatiently, teasing. “Dance with me, Alpha.”

Tony vows to never lose sight again. Not of what matters. Peter steps onto his feet, so Tony can whirl them around. Tony rests his face on those impossibly soft curls, holds his boy tight.

Peter’s humming under his breath to the music, face in Tony’s chest, content as a kitten.

“I can’t believe I was so blind,” Tony admits. “That I took you for granted.”

Peter kisses the underside of his jaw, a butterfly kiss, full of love and forgiveness.

Beside an unmade bed, empty plates of waffles and under a thousand red balloons, they continue to dance.

mwah gorgeous people x

#starker #alpha tony #omega peter #part 8 #howard buys tony an omega #peter parker is a sweetheart #angst with a happy ending #fluff and angst #young tony #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #bonded #established relationship #jealousy #possessiveness #loneliness

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