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junghelioseok · 4 years ago

Text

heart-on.

↳ your one-night stand definitely isn’t relationship material, but maybe—just maybe—your manager’s son is.

◇ hoseok x reader ◇ smut | strangers to lovers!au ◇ 10.1k [1/1]

❛❛ my boss is always telling me how perfect her son would be for me and she promises he’s coming to the next holiday party and don’t worry he’s heard all about me too and ALSO there’s this dude i slept with once a couple of months ago and sometimes he still sends me dick pics when i ask him to at 3 in the morning cause seriously dude’s got a good dick ❜❜

notes: welcome to the first installment of the serendipity series! we’re starting with hoseok, because, well, have you met me? 🤣 be warned, however, that this isn’t anywhere near as edited as i’d like so i’ll probably give it another read/edit tomorrow but for now!!! here it is!!!

⇢ series masterlist. | inspired by this post.

warnings: dirty talk bc hoseok’s got a bit of a mouth on him, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, kids!), sexting. dick pics, obvi. brief mention of a dead pet goldfish :(

You’re refilling your mug when you hear it. Voices filter out from the kitchen, floating past the coffee station where you’re pouring yourself another drink and hanging in the open air of the hallway that leads back to the rest of the office. They’re familiar voices, too—voices that belong to the resident gossips of your workplace. Lottie’s pitchy, nasal tone melds with Hyejin’s higher one, their conversation interrupted every so often by an exaggerated exclamation or gasp from Sandra, the third and final member of their trio.

“Haven’t you heard? Carolyn’s divorce was finalized over the weekend, the poor thing.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine how she’s feeling. I mean, getting back into dating at her age? Goodness!”

“And now she’ll be all alone at the holiday party, too. How sad is that?”

“It’s tragic. Poor thing.”

Rolling your eyes, you grab a packet of sugar and tear it open, upending it over your mug and watching the crystalline granules fall into the dark liquid within. You know for a fact that Sandra and her husband can’t even stand to be in the same room for an extended period of time, considering how they’d spent most of last year’s holiday party talking to entirely different groups of people. You’d sat two tables away from them during dinner, and they hadn’t even made eye contact once. And as for Lottie and Hyejin, well, you’re certain that their relationships aren’t much better. All three of them are miserable people as far as you’re concerned, and you make a mental note to check in on Carolyn—a sweet woman in her thirties who always keeps chocolate bars in her purse—on your way back to your desk.

“Sheesh. Vultures, the lot of them. Don’t you think?”

You whirl at the sound of your manager’s voice. Kyunghee Jung is a dark-haired woman in her late fifties, and she laughs when she sees your startled expression, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Easy! You’ll spill your coffee if you’re not careful.”

“I’ll probably have a heart attack first,” you reply, pressing a hand to your chest. “What was your job before this? Some kind of intelligence operative? Are you a super spy?”

Kyunghee laughs again and joins you at the counter. “Nothing even remotely as exciting as that,” she answers, plopping her mug down beside yours. It’s decorated with what looks like every color of the rainbow, a massive smiling sunflower taking up the majority of the surface, and the only remnant of the ceramic’s original color is on the very edge of the handle where there’s a lopsided little patch of white. The piece is clearly handmade, and a stark contrast to the simple mint green cup that houses your coffee. Looking at it, it’s impossible not to smile.

“I love that,” you remark, inclining your head at her mug. “Was it a present from one of your kids?”

“Hoseok,” she confirms, running a fingertip along the imperfect handle fondly. “I’ve told you about him before—he’s right around your age.”

You chuckle. “Right, I remember. That’s why he’s the perfect match for me, right?”

“Come now, there’s more to it than that,” Kyunghee defends, waving a hand. “But yes, to answer your question. He gave it to me as a birthday present when he was eight.”

“Well, you never told me he was an artist,” you tease. “Does he have an Etsy? Can I buy one of these off him? Does he do custom orders, maybe?”

Normally, your manager is more than happy to play along with your jokes, but today Kyunghee fixes you with an uncharacteristically serious look. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” she asks. “He’s coming to the holiday party, after all. I figured you could finally meet.”

You blink. Kyunghee has been making offhand remarks about how well you would get on with her son, Hoseok, for over a year now, but you’ve never even come close to broaching the topic of meeting him. You don’t even know anything about the man beyond the fact that his name is Hoseok and that he works somewhere downtown. He also favors tall socks and yellow suspenders if the framed photograph on Kyunghee’s desk is any indication—or at least, he certainly did when he was still in diapers. Whether he still does, is anyone’s guess.

“Wow, I had no idea he was even interested in coming,” you manage when you’ve recovered from your surprise. “Did you bribe him?”

If Kyunghee notices that your voice is a few pitches higher than usual, she doesn’t remark on it. “Oh, you know. I just told him that this would be his last chance to score free booze on the company’s dime.” She laughs. “Three more months and it’s going to be all beaches and sunshine for me. I might even become a cruise person in my retirement.”

You gasp and slap a hand to your heart. “Kyunghee! Think of the environmental impact!”

“I said I might!” she retorts immediately. “Sheesh. Even in my old age, it’s hard to conveniently forget how shitty and unsustainable those damn boats are.”

You pick up your mug and raise it in a salute. “Well, the oceans thank you.”

“My husband doesn’t,” she answers with a sigh. “He’s been dying to book one of those trips that stop all along the Mediterrannean coastline, and I can’t exactly blame him.”

“That is tempting,” you admit. “You’ll have to send photos, if you do end up going.”

“You’ll be sick of me and my photos before the first day is even up,” she promises. Then she pauses, her eyes darting toward the kitchen where silence has fallen in the last few minutes. “Speaking of being sick—you think the vultures are still hovering around in there? I haven’t had lunch yet, and I need the microwave.”

Obligingly, you edge a little closer to the kitchen doorway and poke your head around the frame, scanning for Lottie and her sidekicks. “Coast is clear. Enjoy your lunch, Kyunghee.”

She nods and raises her mug at you, returning your salute. “I always do.”

///

As soon as the work day ends, you fall into your usual routine. Your commute home is easily walkable on nicer days, and though the winter weather is brisker than you’d like, you decide to walk for the sake of stopping at the convenience store on the corner of the block.

Once you arrive back at your apartment, you change into your comfiest sweats and a loose tee. You turn on some music while you throw together some dinner, and settle onto the couch half an hour later with a full plate and Netflix. Television is a welcome distraction from the events of the workday, and you manage to get through three full episodes of your current show before your pesky brain decides to revisit the events of today, replaying the conversations that you’d both had and overheard.

There’s no denying that you’ve been single for quite some time now, and for the most part, it’s been by choice. Ever since graduating from university, you’ve chosen to focus more on your career, and it’s paid off both in terms of the important position you hold in your company and your above average salary. And yet, you can’t help but think back to the gossip you’d overheard earlier—about the supposed tragedy of being single and attending the upcoming holiday party alone. Your mind wanders to Kyunghee’s son, Hoseok, and how he’ll be in attendance this year. You wonder what he’s like, and whether he really is perfect for you, as Kyunghee seems to be so fond of mentioning.

And then your mind goes to Jay.

You met Jay two months ago, on a well-deserved night out after a hellish workweek. The bar was crowded, and the music coming from the neon dancefloor in the back was just loud enough to drown out your inhibitions. That, combined with the alcohol swimming through your system, made you bold. You sashayed your way across the dancefloor, dodging inebriated bodies and swaying limbs as you fixed your attention on the head of pale lavender hair and deliciously broad shoulders that awaits you just behind the bar counter. The bartender is nothing short of gorgeous, and you’ve thrown all caution to the wind. Sure, several other women are eyeing him like he’s their next meal—several men are, too—but you need another drink. And while he prepares it, you plan to flirt.

A lot.

The bar counter is sticky with spilled liquor, but you don’t pay that any mind as you lean across it, the wood digging into the narrow strip of exposed skin left by your cropped top. “Hi!” you call, and the bartender looks up from where he’s just finished pouring a round of shots for a group of raucous young men.

“Hi yourself,” he says, his pillowy lips stretching into an easy smile. “What can I get you?”

You pretend not to notice the way his eyes flicker down to the dip of your cleavage and instead put on the sultriest smile you are capable of mustering. “Vodka soda,” you tell him, injecting a bit of purr into your voice. “A bit of lemon too, if you have it.”

“Trust me, I have it,” he assures, his smile growing as he reaches for a clean glass and a clear bottle. “Name’s Jin, by the way. I’m here all night, if you need anything e—”

A loud clatter and the sound of breaking glass interrupts the rest of his sentence, and all eyes at the bar go to the source of the disturbance. Conversations stutter to a halt, and even the thumping bass of the music seems to dull. Jin darts to the other end of the bar, where you can see that one of several barstools has fallen to the ground. There’s a man on the ground as well, surrounded by shattered glass and spilled dark liquor, and your eyes widen when you realize that you know him.

And arguably, a little too well.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. People are starting to lose interest in the spectacle, turning back to their own conversations and continuing on as if nothing had happened at all. The man is beginning to clamber to his feet, and a few people lend a helping hand as Jin begins barking out orders for everyone to step back so he can sweep up the broken glass. You seize upon the opportunity, latching on to the nearest arm and pulling them close so you can hide behind them. Vaguely, you’re aware of them sputtering in surprise, but you only have eyes for the man who had fallen off his stool, watching him carefully as he brushes himself off and tries to play it cool despite the sizable patch of whiskey soaking his white shirt.

“Hey, uh…” Your human shield is speaking. “Are you okay? You’re squeezing me pretty tight.”

That draws you out of your daze. Abashed, you loosen your grip on his arm and look up into his face, your throat going dry when you realize how handsome he is. His black hair is parted over his forehead, a stray strand falling into warm brown eyes set above a straight nose and an inviting mouth. There’s a freckle above his top lip, just shy of the center, and your inebriated brain wonders just what it would be like to kiss it.

“I, um—” You clear your throat and try again. “Sorry about that. I just didn’t want him to see me.”

Your newfound companion raises an eyebrow and glances over his shoulder at the drunk man, who is now being ushered out of the bar by his buddies. “You know that guy?”

You nod, cringing. “Yeah, his name’s Trent. I… may or may not have dated him for a few months last year.”

The man laughs out loud. “You dated a Trent?”

“What, like you’ve never made a questionable life choice?” you challenge. “Besides, you shouldn’t judge someone based on the sins of their parents. It’s not his fault they gave him a terrible name.”

“Sure, but it is on him for going along with it,” he replies with a shrug. “I would’ve changed my name as soon as I could if my parents had named me Trent. But hey, that’s just one man’s opinion.”

You laugh. “Okay then, Not-Trent.” Relinquishing your grip on his arm, you let your fingers graze his hand before pulling away entirely. “What do you say we continue this conversation over a drink?”

The man, whose name is decidedly not Trent, catches your fingers in his and gives them a gentle squeeze. “Happily.”

One drink turns into two, and then three. By the end of the hour, you are feeling pleasantly warm, the alcohol spreading through your veins like molasses and turning your surroundings into a hazy blur. The music has grown even louder, pounding against your eardrums, and you grab onto Not-Trent’s wrist as he sets his now-empty glass back down onto the counter.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” you ask, raising your voice to be heard over the thumping bassline. “I can’t even hear myself think.”

“The parking lot’s out back,” he suggests. “Why don’t we get some air?”

You nod and stand up on wobbly legs, cursing your decision to wear heels when you stumble into your companion. He steadies you with a gentle but firm hand, and you don’t miss the way his touch lingers on your lower back, his palm warm through the material of your blouse.

Together, the two of you pick your way through the throng of swaying bodies on the dancefloor. The bassline thuds in your ears, dark and hypnotic, and you can feel the reverberations thrumming across the slats of your ribs and echoing in the cavern of your chest like a second heartbeat.

It’s almost a relief, then, when you step out into the cool night air. Your ears continue to ring for a few seconds, but it soon fades and leaves behind only the muted hum of traffic from the street and the faint sound of music from inside. At your side, Not-Trent releases a long breath and leans against the brick wall of the building, and you turn to take in the steep slopes of his side profile as he tilts his head up toward the velvety night sky.

He’s handsome. Dressed in ripped jeans and black leather, he’s a sight to behold, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been craving a bit of intimacy for quite some time now. The alcohol swimming through your system makes you bolder than you normally would be, and you reach out to lay a hand on his arm. He turns toward you with a silent question glimmering in his irises, but you simply step closer, until you’re pinning him against the wall with your body and you’re breathing the same air.

“Hey,” you say, your voice an airy whisper. His eyes are near obsidian in the dimness of the parking lot, illuminated only by the orange glow of the streetlamps on either end, and your gaze flickers down to his mouth before roving to the freckle that sits upon his top lip. “Kiss me?”

Your companion’s eyes widen. His lips part, but no words come out, and you’re about to repeat your question when he finally finds his voice again.

“That’s really… that’s not a good idea.” Awkwardly, he clears his throat, but the hoarseness of his voice and the harsh bob of his Adam’s apple give away his true desires. “Look, you’ve been drinking. We both have, and—”

You cut him off, pushing up to your tiptoes and planting a messy kiss to the soft dip just beneath his bottom lip. “Don’t care,” you mumble against his skin. “I want you.”

Your companion laughs weakly. His hands find their way to your waist and pause there, as if he can’t decide whether to push you away or pull you closer. “You don’t even know me,” he murmurs.

“I don’t have to know you,” you reply. Your fingers drag down his chest, trailing along the delicate silver necklace that rests against the black of his shirt. From the chain hangs a round pendant, the surface engraved with the letter J. Slowly, you trace it with a fingertip, the metal shining even in the dim light, and satisfaction blooms in your heart when your companion’s throat bobs again. “I want you,” you breathe, soft but insistent. “Isn’t that enough?”

“I—” He clears his throat and tries again, and you wonder if he realizes that his hands have slid down to your hips, or that there’s a growing hardness against your lower stomach that’s becoming increasingly harder to ignore. “Look, I’m flattered—really, I am. And you’re… I mean, fuck, you’re gorgeous. But I don’t think we should do anything when you’re clearly not in the right frame of mind to be making this kind of decision, and—”

“And, nothing.” You wind your arms around his neck, pressing close and grinding subtly against the bulge in his pants. You smirk when he releases a low hiss from between his teeth, and hide it by laying a trail of kisses along the stretch of bare skin exposed by the dip of his collar. “Stop being such a gentleman,” you whisper. Your fingers trail down his chest, past the silver of his pendant and down to the faded denim of his jeans, teasing at the cool metal of his belt buckle. “I want this. But if you’re not interested, I can always go back in there and—”

The rest of your sentence dies in your throat. Your companion has tugged you flush against him in one smooth motion, and your gasp is cut off by the firm press of his mouth against yours. Immediately, you melt into the kiss, and a moan tears from your lips when he spins you around and pins you against the brick wall of the building.

“You’re a spoiled little thing, huh?” His breath fans hot against your cheeks, and you shiver when you meet his eyes and see the dark promise reflected there. “Used to getting what you want, huh, princess?”

Your breath hitches at the endearment—something your companion doesn’t miss. “Oh, you like that?” He chuckles hoarsely, and when he speaks again it’s in a rasp that sends heat straight to your core. “What else do you like, hmm? You want me to be rough with you, princess? Or should I be gentle and treat you like a queen?”

You reach up, raking your fingers through his hair and skimming across the soft strands of his undercut before finding purchase at his nape. “You talk too much,” you whisper.

And then you’re crushing your mouth back against his, whining when he immediately takes back control of the kiss. His grip slides downward, his fingertips digging into the skin just above the curve of your ass, and you squeak when he grabs the back of your thigh and hooks your leg around his waist.

“You feel that?” he rasps into your ear, nipping at the delicate shell and chortling when you keen. Your skirt has ridden up dangerously high on your spread thighs, and you let out a soft whimper when he grinds harshly against your center. The lace of your panties and the denim of his jeans are the last barricades between you, and you wonder, vaguely, whether your companion has a bit of an exhibitionist streak when he slides one of your sleeves down your shoulder and begins kissing a trail down to the swell of your cleavage. “You feel how hard you’ve gotten me?”

You lean down, kissing the soft spot where his jaw meets his ear before letting your teeth graze against his skin. “Why don’t you do something about it then?”

He hisses out a sharp breath, his hands tightening their hold on your hips. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you, huh? I can’t wait to make you eat your words.”

Any retort you may have had is interrupted by a sudden swell of music and the sound of a slamming door. Whirling to face the source of the noise, you immediately spot a familiar head of lavender hair atop broad shoulders encapsulated in the black uniform of the bar. Jin hasn’t noticed the two of you yet, his attention fixated on his cell phone screen, but he looks up when you let out a little squeak of surprise and shove your companion’s chest in an attempt to create some distance between you.

“Hey.” Jin raises a hand in greeting, a knowing smirk curling his lips. “This phone call shouldn’t be too long, so please. Don’t stop the party on my behalf.”

Heat floods to your cheeks. There isn’t much use protesting against his insinuation, considering the rather compromising position you’re in. Much to your relief, though, your companion simply huffs out a chuckle and waves Jin off. “Thanks, man, but we’ll get out of your hair.” Lowering his voice, he turns back to you. “Coming, princess?”

You nod. He offers you his hand, and you take it gratefully, adjusting your skirt so that it drapes properly over your hips and thighs again.

“Have a good night!” Jin calls after you, amusement lacing every word. You can’t work up the nerve to respond, and luckily, you don’t have to. Your companion leads you around the corner of the building, where several rows of cars are parked beneath an orange streetlamp. On this side, the exterior brick wall is painted with a mural, and you admire the colorful galaxies and nebulae swirling amidst silvery white stars and the word serendipity spray-painted in pale blue.

The last car in the row is parked just beneath the letter Y, and it’s here that your companion stops. The sleek black vehicle has an almost vintage feel to it, and you glance up when you hear the jingle of metal.

“I’m guessing this is yours?”

He nods, pulling a set of keys from the pocket of his leather jacket and inserting one into the lock. “Yeah. You like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him, tracing the edge of the passenger window “Makes my car look like a total piece of shit by comparison.”

Your companion chuckles, pulling open the driver’s side door, and you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the window as he presses a button to unlock the rest of the doors. Your hair’s a bit of a mess and your mascara has smudged beneath your right eye, and you hurriedly swipe at it as your companion turns his attention back to you.

“So,” he says. “Now what? I can give you a ride home, if you want.”

Deliberately, you let your gaze drop down to his crotch, where his bulge—albeit waning—is still visible. “Seriously? I thought you were going to… what was it again? Make me eat my words?”

And just like that, it’s as if a switch has flipped. His eyes darken to obsidian, his lips settling into a stern line, and you barely have time to draw in a breath before he’s caging you against the side of his car and molding his mouth to yours. Your lips part beneath the onslaught, and he wastes no time in dipping inside to explore, licking into you until you’re both breathless.

“Inside,” he breathes once you’ve broken apart, and you instantly obey. You wrench the door open and all but tumble into the backseat, and he isn’t far behind as he slots himself between your spread thighs. Your hands fly to his shoulders where you help him shuck off his leather jacket, tossing it carelessly to the front where it lands in a heap on the dashboard before focusing your attention on the hem of his black t-shirt. Your companion obliges you as you push it upward to expose his toned abdomen, grabbing it by the collar and pulling it off the rest of the way when your reach falls a little short in the cramped interior of the backseat.

“Your turn,” he whispers when you try to reach for his belt, his hands settling around your wrists. “It’s only fair, princess.”

Pouting, you let your hands fall limp in his grasp, and he chuckles as he leans down to pacify you with a kiss. Deft fingers find the hem of your blouse, pushing it up until you can twist out of the material. You throw it aside with no regard for where it lands on the ground, and lay back as your companion drinks you in, his dark gaze raking across the lacy black lingerie that decorates your curves and skims you like a second skin. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice hoarse with a combination of amazement and disbelief. “You’re stunning.”

You smile, trailing a fingertip from the dip of his collarbone down to the silver necklace that sits prettily against his bare chest. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you tell him, tracing the letter engraved into his pendant. “Jay.”

Your companion—newly dubbed Jay—smiles back. “You’re something else, princess,” he murmurs, before leaning down to kiss you again. He explores your mouth thoroughly—languidly—before moving down to nip at your neck, and already, you can feel the beginnings of marks beginning to form, blossoming across your skin as irrefutable proof of your tryst.

It isn’t long before Jay frees you from your bra, watching with carnal fascination as your breasts spill out of the lacy material. You whine when he reaches out to cup one, his palm hot against your bare skin, and he smirks crookedly when a pinch to your nipple makes your back arch off the leather of the seat. “So pretty,” he rasps. “I can’t wait to see how you look stretched around my cock.”

“Stop waiting, then,” you tell him, trying again for his belt buckle. This time, he lets you fumble it open, leaning back to watch you work with hooded eyes and a lazy little smile. Emboldened, you push aside the denim of his jeans and free his cock from the confines of his underwear. He’s hard and hot and heavy in your palm, and your tongue darts out instinctively at the sight of the pearlescent precum beading the tip.

“Jay,” you murmur, thumbing across the head of his erection and smirking when he hisses in pleasure. “Fuck me.”

Jay seems to consider your demand, mischief flitting across his features before he manages to school his expression into something more neutral. “Where are your manners, princess?” he asks, pushing your hand away and giving himself a few long, slow strokes. “Say please, if you want it so bad.”

For a moment, you consider refusing. Jay seems to be the type of man who enjoys a good game, but between the state of his cock and the earlier interruption, you’re pretty sure he’s nearing his limit. And even if he isn’t, you are. And so, you shelve your pride for the time being, and trail a hand down the length of your bared body as you bat your lashes up at him. “Fuck me, Jay,” you repeat. “Please. Want your cock so bad.”

His answering smile is equal parts amusement and satisfaction, and altogether sinful. “That’s my girl,” he rasps, before shoving your panties aside. Lining the head of his cock up, he enters you in one smooth thrust, and you moan as your walls stretch to accommodate his girth. You’re more than wet enough to take him in his entirety, your eyes fluttering shut when he bottoms out, and he groans hoarsely as he takes a second to relish the feeling of your walls gripping him so tightly.

“Fuck. You’re so wet, princess.” Jay dips a thumb into your slick, spreading it across your clit and rubbing a few experimental circles around the sensitive nub. He groans when you clench around him, his hips stuttering, and you squeeze around him again just to hear him grit out another curse. “Shit. I’m not going to last long at this rate.”

“Don’t care,” you murmur, rocking against him and sighing when the motion sends him a little deeper into your core. “Just fuck me, Jay. Please.”

Jay leans in, a dark lock of hair falling across his forehead as he plants an indulgent kiss on your waiting mouth. “Anything for you, princess,” he breathes. Slowly, he pulls back until only the tip of his cock remains inside you. Then he’s slamming forward, and you can’t even find it in yourself to care about the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin or the way the car rocks. Jay’s thumbing across your clit in tight circles that he times perfectly with the rock of his hips, and you wonder whether the rapidly building pleasure in your belly is due to your dry spell or if he’s just that good. You can feel every inch of him as he fills you up repeatedly, his brows furrowed in concentration and his dark hair flopping as he drives deeper in search of the spot that will have you seeing stars.

You know he’s found it when the pleasure in your belly spikes, your back arching off the backseat. Your skin is sticky against the dark leather and you’re certain the sweat gathering at your temples has destroyed the last of your makeup, but Jay alleviates your concerns with a particularly well-timed thrust and a harsh nip to the soft spot at your clavicle. You keen out something unintelligible, and his lips stretch into a smirk against your skin.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Cum for me, princess.”

That’s all it takes for the mounting pressure to snap. Your body collapses into a searing orgasm, the pleasure flaring out like a supernova and spreading through your veins like wildfire. “F-fuck, Jay—” you gasp, your fingers scrabbling at his back for purchase and no doubt leaving scratches in their wake. “Fuck, you feel so—”

The remainder of your words trail off into garbled nonsense, and Jay huffs out a strained chuckle as he begins chasing after his own orgasm, rutting against you in a way that both prolongs your pleasure and sustains his own. “Shit,” he groans, his eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck, that’s it. Look at you—taking my cock so well. So pretty and perfect and—”

Whatever he was going to say dissolves into a groan as he gives a few more erratic thrusts before his release overwhelms him. Creamy warmth floods through you, and you rub his back tiredly as his head drops onto your shoulder, his breath flaring hot against your skin as he rides out his orgasm.

It takes several long seconds for the pleasure to recede. Your legs are still shaky when Jay pulls away, straightening up and tucking himself back into his jeans. There’s an empty ache in your core now that you are no longer stuffed full of his cock, and already, you are missing the feeling. Still, you push that aside as you sit up, adjusting your panties and wincing at the wetness that soaks the material and sticks to your skin.

“So,” Jay says after a moment’s silence, and you glance over at him when he huffs out a short chuckle. “That was fun.”

“Not bad at all,” you agree weakly, an irrepressible smile tugging at your lips.

Jay grins. It’s a bright, infectious grin—and it’s one that you’ve already grown rather fond of in the short period of time you’ve known him. It’s a grin that showcases his perfect teeth and crinkles his eyes into crescents, and one that all but forces you to grin back.

“Here, give me your phone,” he says, and you watch as he punches in his number once you hand it over. “Just in case you ever wanna do this again,” he tells you, handing it back. “Don’t be a stranger, princess.”

You glance down at his contact information, saved under the moniker you’d given him and affixed with a short string of emojis. “I won’t,” you tell him, chuckling. “In fact, I just might take you up on the offer.”

The screen of your laptop has long since gone dark, and you stretch your arms overhead before waking it again. Rolling your shoulders, you navigate back to the main Netflix menu, hovering over the resume button and watching the trailer loop in the background.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about Jay often. You’ve texted each other quite often since that night in his car—usually when you’re bored and alone and have had a few too many glasses of wine in the evenings. You’ve found yourself tapping on his name instinctively during those odd, ambiguous hours—when late night and early morning meld together and you’re aching for a bit of relief.

And as if he knows you’re thinking about him, your phone buzzes against the coffee table, the screen lighting up with a familiar name.

[11:22pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinkin about u, pretty girl 😘

It’s followed by an image, and your heart rate picks up, thudding loudly against your ribs as you open it.

Fuck.

Your memories of Jay’s face—made all the more hazy by the alcohol and the amount of time elapsed since your first and only meeting—truly don’t do him justice. Though the photograph cuts off just above his nose, you can still admire the sharp angle of his jaw and the fullness of his puckered lips. His skin is golden against the white of his t-shirt, and you lick your lips before thumbing across your screen to respond.

[11:23pm] You: yeah? what else are you thinking about, hmm?

His response is instantaneous.

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinking about that pretty little pussy of yours

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: how good it looked in that pic u sent me tuesday 👅

You barely even notice the way your hand begins trailing down your body, pushing aside the elastic waistband of your sweats. It’s as if you’re on autopilot, as your fingers find their way to the damp spot growing on your panties.

Yeah? you write back with your free hand, already teasing at your clothed folds with the other. Tell me more.

///

It’s an uncharacteristically warm Friday morning when you find yourself in the elevator with Jimin, a good friend of yours who works on one of the lower levels of your office building. “Morning,” he says as he steps in, a large iced coffee in hand despite the fact that it’s still very much the middle of winter. Then he squints, leaning a little closer. “Oh my god. You got laid!”

“Oh my god, not so loud!” you hiss, whacking him on the shoulder and jabbing the button to close the elevator doors. “And no, not exactly. I’ve just been texting Jay.”

“Texting, sure.” Jimin mimes air quotes around the word and rolls his eyes. “You’re sexting him, and we all know it. How many pictures of his dick do you have saved on your phone now?”

“Oh my—” You sigh, trailing off. “Can we not talk about this right now?”

“Right, of course.” Jimin takes a sip of his coffee and pretends to check his watch. “When would you like to talk about it then? Do you need to check your calendar? Can I book an appointment for later this afternoon?”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Shut up.”

Jimin just grins, his lips puckered around his straw. “So, how’s Jay? Have you asked for his real name yet?”

You shrug. “What’s the point? It’s not like we’re friends or anything. We’ve literally only met the one time.”

“Yeah, but that’s just because you’re a coward,” Jimin points out. “What’s stopping you from meeting up with him again? You have his number. You have at least one photo of his dick. Ask him out already!”

“It’s not that easy, though,” you sigh. The elevator doors open to let a few more people in, and you move to the side and lower your voice so that only Jimin can hear. “Jay—he’s not exactly boyfriend material. I mean, we fucked in his car the first night we met.”

“So?” Jimin frowns and takes another sip of his iced coffee. “You talk about things besides sex, don’t you? You definitely told him about your goldfish dying, at least. I mean, you told him before you even told me!”

“Yes I did, and he was appropriately sympathetic about Mustache’s passing, unlike some people,” you sniff. “Get over it already, won’t you?”

“Never,” Jimin replies, ignoring your pointed jab. “I’m sure you only told him because you knew you could get a sympathy sext out of it. How many dick pics did you get out of that night, anyway?”

“You’re gross,” you tell him, punching him in the arm. “Not to mention that’s exactly why Jay’s not boyfriend material. He’s perfectly happy with—whatever it is we’re doing. I can’t just ruin that by asking him to get dinner.” You frown, gnawing on your bottom lip. “I don’t want to make this into something that it’s not.”

Jimin hesitates. “Fine, okay. I guess I can understand that.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a pause, as the elevator makes a few more stops. You watch the numbers crawl higher, and know that you’ll soon have to part ways with your friend..

“Hey.” You nudge Jimin with your shoulder, just as the elevator doors close and you begin the ascent to his floor. “Wanna know something interesting?”

Jimin looks up from his phone, where he’s scrolling through Twitter. “Always.”

“My boss’ son is coming to the party tomorrow.”

Jimin’s eyebrows disappear into his ashy blond hair at your revelation. “Kyunghee’s son? Hoseok, or whatever?”

You chuckle. “The one and only. She’s found about a million ways to bring him up in conversation this past week. She thinks we’re a match made in heaven.”

“Wow.” Jimin releases a long breath. “I wonder what he’s like, then.”

You shrug, adjusting the strap of your work tote over your shoulder. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

///

The morning of the party, you wake up to an empty refrigerator. Half stale cereal and the last dregs of milk from the carton become your breakfast, and you munch on that as you mull over the contents of your closet. You’re still in your pajamas, but you pull out your comfiest jeans and a sweater to change into after you finish eating. Then you turn to your collection of dresses, rifling through them and mentally debating the merits of each material and color.

You could go in one of two directions tonight. On the one hand, this is still a work party, and as such your attire should probably maintain a certain level of decorum. But on the other, you’re meeting Hoseok Jung for the first time tonight. You aren’t necessarily looking to start anything with the man, of course, but you do want to look good. With that in mind, you eventually settle on a deep red number that you pull out of the very back of your closet, made of a silky material that skims your curves and accentuates your best assets. Laying it on the bed, you begin your hunt for a pair of matching shoes. Twenty minutes of searching and another five of agonizing later, you step into the bathroom, intent on showering and getting on with the rest of your day.

Upon exiting the bathroom, you decide that tackling the state of your refrigerator takes top priority over your other weekend errands. Sitting down at the dining table, you take stock of what you have in your pantry, planning out your meals for the upcoming week and making a list of what you need to purchase in order to make them a reality. It’s just after one in the afternoon when you exit your apartment with a completed grocery list and your purse stuffed full of reusable canvas bags. The store is a short walk from where you live, and you decide to put in your earbuds as your feet navigate the familiar route. The temperature is surprisingly mild for winter, and the sun shines bright from its perch in the cloudless blue sky. It’s perfect weather for a walk, and the fresh air clears your mind and eases your heart.

At the grocery store, you forego the stack of baskets and instead grab a shopping cart. Weaving your way up and down the aisles, you check items off the list on your phone one by one. Eventually, you find yourself in the cereal section, grabbing a box of granola before turning to where your favorite cereal normally sits. It isn’t there, and you turn in a full circle, confused, until your gaze finally lands on the familiar box on the top shelf.

Great.

Sighing, you push up to your tiptoes, stretching your arm as far as it can reach. Your fingertips graze the shelf, but you can’t quite get a grip on the box itself. Glancing down, you scan the bottommost shelf and wonder if you can step on it to give yourself a boost.

“Need a hand?”

The voice comes from behind you, and a vague sense of familiarity sparks in your brain. Slowly, you turn around, and your entire body freezes when your gaze slides up to the speaker’s face.

“Jay.” The syllable escapes you in a near whisper. “H-hi.”

“Hey.”

Jay stands before you, looking like sin incarnate in a faded denim jacket, black sweatpants slung low on his hips, and not much else. At his throat, his silver necklace sparkles, the silver J pendant glinting beneath the fluorescent lights of the store, and you’re suddenly beyond grateful that you decided to put on a decent sweater before leaving.

“Here,” he says, stepping forward until he’s close enough that you can smell his cologne—sandalwood tinged with sweet citrus. “Let me help you with that.”

The sudden proximity has your breath hitching in your throat. Your heart thuds erratically against your ribs as he reaches around you, the denim flaps of his jacket gaping in a way that exposes even more of his bare chest. By the time he pulls back with your cereal box in hand, you feel almost faint, belatedly realizing that you’d been holding your breath.

“You wanted this, right?” Jay asks, and you aren’t sure if you’re imagining the innuendo underlying his words or the teasing inflection of the syllables.

“Y-yeah, that’s the one,” you manage, fighting to quell the uneven tempo of your heartbeat as you accept the box. “Thanks.”

“Happy to help,” he replies. Then he leans in, close enough that you can feel his warm breath fanning your cheek as he murmurs his next sentence into your ear. “Anything for you, princess. You know that.”

Heat floods across your cheeks. Your heart skips two full beats before taking off into a sprint, and it’s impossible to ignore the way your core begins to thrum, as if anticipating a repeat of that night you first met all those weeks ago. Almost instinctively, your eyes dart up to the ceiling where the security cameras are, and Jay follows the trajectory of your gaze with a low chuckle and a soft brush of your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Sorry, princess. As much as I’d love to get my hands on you, I’m kind of on a time crunch today.”

You can’t stop the wave of disappointment that washes over you, even if you’re in the exact same boat. “Rain check, then?”

“Rain check,” he agrees. Slowly, you reach up to touch the engraved silver pendant resting against his chest, rubbing it between your fingertips before tracing the curve of the J, and he catches your wandering fingers between his and presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“You know how to reach me,” he murmurs with a mischievous wink. His gaze lingers even after he’s released your hand, and you clear your throat awkwardly before turning to deposit your cereal box into your shopping cart.

The two of you go your separate ways then, exchanging goodbyes. You finish the rest of your grocery shopping in a daze, idly going through the motions at checkout and letting muscle memory guide you back home. Your arms are aching by the time you step past the threshold of your apartment, and you heave your shopping bags up onto the kitchen counter with a relieved sigh before returning to the entryway to toe off your shoes. You throw together a sandwich as you unpack your groceries, taking a big bite as you walk back to your bedroom to look at the dress you’ve picked out. Pacing over to the closet, you double-check your shoe choice. Briefly, you debate whether or not to wear flats instead of heels.

There are still a few hours left before you have to start getting ready, so you take the last of your sandwich back to the kitchen and whip up a smoothie to go with it. You scroll through your phone as you eat, browsing through the latest news headlines and scrolling through your social media accounts. Just before six o’clock, as the sun starts setting beyond the horizon and casting long shadows across your living room, you start getting changed. You snap a photo in the mirror once you’re dressed, pulling up Jimin’s name in your phone and sending it to him.

[6:13pm] You: last chance to come tonight

Your phone buzzes with a response almost immediately.

[6:14pm] Jimin: nah. i’d hate to step on hoseok’s toes.

You laugh. Not so fast, you text back. We don’t even know anything about the guy yet. What if he’s boring? Or sexist?

[6:15pm] Jimin: if u think kyunghee raised a sexist you’re seriously deranged

[6:16pm] Jimin: now stop taking selfies and get your ass out the door! you’re gonna be late!!!!

///

Each year, the holiday party tends to be a little over the top, and this year is no exception. The company has bought out the entirety of a restaurant for the evening, and you glance around in amazement at the twinkling lights and lush evergreen boughs decorating the walls and strung up along the ceiling. An assortment of sparkling ornaments hangs from the massive tree in the far corner, interspersed between silver tinsel and more lights. Grabbing a champagne flute off a passing server’s tray, you head farther into the restaurant, skirting around tables draped in creamy linen and greeting your colleagues and friends.

“Is she alone?”

“Figures.”

The voices come from the direction of the open bar, and somehow, you just know that they’re talking about you. Lottie, Hyejin, and Sandra are clustered in the corner with glasses of wine in hand, casting glances around the restaurant and gossiping about anything and everything with a pulse. You’re sorely tempted to grab the nearest pitcher of water off a table and pour it over their heads, but you suppress the urge and instead head over with a saccharine smile. “So lovely to see you, {Name},” Lottie says as you approach.

“I love your dress,” Sandra adds. “Very slimming.”

“Thanks,” you reply, putting on your brightest, fakest smile. “Yours is great too. How are you and your husband enjoying the party so far?”

Sandra’s face sours, and you hide your smirk in your champagne flute. Maybe it’s petty to bring up her rocky relationship, but you’ve been subject to snide comments from Sandra and her friends for years now and it’s become increasingly hard for you to bite your tongue. A few tables away, you spot Sandra’s husband, Rodney, take an enormous gulp of his whiskey and wince as it burns down his throat.

“We’re all having a wonderful time, aren’t we, ladies?” Lottie cuts in when Sandra takes too long to answer. “Hyejin’s date is over there with Rodney, and my boyfriend is fetching himself a drink. You remember Dev, don’t you?”

You nod, even though it’s a lie. “Sure. Say hi to him for me.”

Lottie’s lips curve up into a smile, her head tilting to the side, and you’re suddenly reminded of a snake rearing its head back for the kill. “So, what about you? Have you brought someone tonight, or—?”

“Hi ladies!” Kyunghee materializes at your side, her lips painted a festive red shade to match her dress. She’s wearing the disingenuous smile that she reserves for the resident gossips of your office, and you try not to let your relief show on your face when Lottie’s attention refocuses on your manager.

“So good to see you, Kyunghee,” she simpers. “Have you been here long?”

“Not as long as you,” your manager replies, nodding at the near-empty wineglass in her hand. “I see we’re already making a dent in the wine supply, and you’re falling behind, {Name}. Why don’t we go remedy that, hmm?”

She doesn’t give you a chance to respond, grabbing your arm and leading you away. Kyunghee is surprisingly spry for a woman her age, and you follow after her with some difficulty as she marches through the throngs of conversing people, all the way to the line at the open bar.

“I’d like you to meet someone,” she says, gesturing at the man standing at the end of the line with his back to you. “{Name}, this is my son, Hoseok.”

The man turns around at the sound of his name, a warm, affable smile stretched across his face. “Hi, I’m H—” he begins, but he’s cut off by your sharp intake of breath. His eyes go wide, his smile fading as his mouth falls open, and you’re certain you’re wearing an even more dumbfounded expression. “It’s you,” he says, his voice hoarse.

“Wh-what… how…” You trail off, speechless. The words flounder and die in your throat as your brain struggles to process this development, and you practically feel the way the gears in your head churn to a stuttering halt.

Because this man standing before you, the one that Kyunghee has just introduced as her son, is none other than Jay. He looks completely and utterly devastating in a navy waistcoat and matching slacks, a green tie shaped like a Christmas tree knotted loosely around the white collar of his shirt. His dark hair is parted, his undercut exposed, and you can’t tear your gaze away from the loose strand that has fallen across his forehead.

“H-hi.”

Jay—Hoseok—swallows. “Hi.”

Kyunghee glances between the two of you, her brows furrowing. “I take it you two already know each other?”

Hoseok’s ears begin taking on a scarlet tinge, the color spreading to his cheeks as he struggles to find his vocabulary again. “I—yeah. Yeah, we’ve met.”

“Right. Do I even want to know how?” she asks dubiously, before shaking her head and huffing out a sigh. “No, forget I asked. I don’t want to know. I’ll just leave you two to… catch up.”

Waving goodbye, Kyunghee disappears back into the crowd of partygoers milling around. Hoseok turns back to you, sucking in a deep breath, and you fight the urge to stare down at your toes as his gaze roves across your face.

“I can’t believe this,” he says, breaking the silence that’s fallen between you at last. “My mom’s been talking about you for months, but I never imagined that it’d be you.”

“You’re telling me,” you reply, finally having recovered your voice. “Kyunghee brings you up all the time, but I never thought… I mean, we didn’t even know each other’s names, and now…” You shrug. “Here we both are.”

“It’s a pretty crazy coincidence, huh?”

“Definitely.”

A beat passes, and then two. You’re fully aware that you’re staring, but you don’t dare blink, afraid that he’ll disappear if you close your eyes. Of all the things that you thought might happen tonight, this particular meeting wasn’t even close to making the list. Never would you have thought that the man you only knew as Jay would turn out to be Kyunghee’s son. Never would you have connected Jay to the photographed little boy in yellow suspenders on Kyunghee’s desk, or realized that they were one and the same.

From behind you, someone loudly clears their throat. Another voice calls for you to get a move on, already, and both you and Hoseok belatedly realize that you are still standing in line for the open bar. Hoseok’s eyes go wide again, and you nearly tread on his toes when you both try to move forward. “After you,” he says with a chuckle, gesturing for you to go in front of him, and that’s enough to break the tension. You step ahead of him with a laugh, catching up to the line, and Hoseok doesn’t stray far as he follows your lead.

“So, what are you drinking?” he asks, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Vodka soda with a twist?”

“Actually, I think I’m going to stick with wine tonight,” you reply, peering at the bottles lined up on the counter. “What about you?”

“Hmm. Jack and coke, I think. Nothing else is really calling my name right now.”

Grabbing your drinks, the two of you begin searching for a place to sit. You spot Kyunghee at a table near the front, and she smiles knowingly and offers you a thumbs-up when she catches your eye. Eventually, you settle on a table near the Christmas tree, the lights glimmering off the glasses and reflecting off your knife as you pick it up to butter a slice of crusty bread from the basket in the center. Hoseok follows your lead, grabbing a piece for himself, and the two of you munch in silence for a few seconds before Hoseok breaks it.

“You know, my mom says you’re the perfect girl for me” he says with a dry little chuckle. “Think she’s right?”

“I don’t know,” you answer. “It’s funny, though—Kyunghee’s been telling me the same thing. She sings your praises all the time.”

Hoseok laughs and scratches the back of his neck. “Oh, jeez, that’s kind of embarrassing. I’m glad she’s saying good things, at least.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” you tell him, grinning. “She’s only shown us one photo album from your childhood.”

His face crumples. “Was it the Disneyland one?”

You nod, fighting back laughter, and watch as Hoseok groans and lets his forehead meet the linen-covered tabletop with a dull thunk.

“I don’t like rollercoasters,” he mumbles into the tablecloth, his voice muffled by the material. “They make me queasy.”

“Even now?” you ask, and he nods.

“Yep.”

The clinking of a fork against a wineglass—amplified and broadcast through an array of invisible speakers built into the restaurant’s walls—interrupts any further conversation. You twist in your seat to watch your company’s leadership give their opening remarks, listening as they congratulate everyone for a great year and wish you a happy holiday season. The servers begin going out with plates of food, and you thank them as they set yours down. Hoseok does the same before raising his glass in your direction, clearing his throat and offering you a crooked little smile.

“Here’s to second meetings.”

“Third, if you count the store earlier,” you correct, and he chuckles and nods in agreement before clinking his drink against yours.

You spend the entirety of dinner chatting with Hoseok, getting to know him beyond the few facts Kyunghee has mentioned and what little you’ve gleaned from texting him the last two months. He tells you all about his dance studio, Hope World, where he teaches both contemporary dance and the occasional Pilates class. You find out that in addition to rollercoasters, he also dislikes sour foods and raisins, but he loves mint chocolate and sweet and sour pork. He also has a very low tolerance for alcohol—something he tells you as he tilts the rest of his drink into his mouth. “Should I be worried?” you ask as he sets his glass back down, and he chuckles and shakes his head, sending the loose tendril of hair flopping across his forehead.

Dessert is served, and subsequently eaten. The music is turned up, and people slowly begin finding their way to the open space that serves as an impromptu dancefloor. Hoseok rises to his feet and extends a hand toward you, and you only hesitate for the briefest of seconds before accepting it. He leads you out amongst the other swaying couples, his hand finding its way to the curve of your waist, and you rest your hand on his shoulder as he begins guiding you in a slow, simple waltz.

“So?” Hoseok’s voice is a low murmur, soft and gentle against the shell of your ear. “What’s the verdict?”

You blink. “The verdict?”

Even without looking, you can tell that he’s smiling. You can hear it in the lilt of his voice, and imagine it in the curve of his lips. “About me,” he clarifies, carefully pulling back so you can spin in a circle beneath his outstretched arm. “About us. My mom will never let me hear the end of it if she turns out to be right, but I still wanna know. So what are you thinking?”

“Are you asking if I think we’re perfect for each other?” you ask, giggling. “I don’t know if I believe in all that, to be quite honest. Destiny and soulmates—I mean, doesn’t it seem a little too good to be true?”

Hoseok hums. “Maybe. But considering all that’s happened to us in the last couple of months, don’t you think there’s a chance that it's all more than simple coincidence?”

“Maybe,” you concede. “Still, I don’t know if I can give you a verdict just yet. We haven’t even gone on a date.”

“We did do things a little backwards,” Hoseok admits, tugging you close and winding his arm around your waist. “Let me make it up to you, then. Are you free tomorrow?”

“What if I am?” you challenge.

“Then, I’d like to take you out for breakfast,” he replies without missing a beat.

The prospect of a proper meal with Hoseok Jung does something funny to your insides. Still, something makes you hesitate, and you avert your gaze as you search for your next words. “I wasn’t expecting to end tonight with a date,” you admit slowly. “I honestly didn’t even think you were interested in… well, anything beyond sex, to be honest.”

Hoseok’s face creases into a frown, and you look up again when he murmurs your name. “I understand why you would think that,” he says. “Really, I do. But honestly? I had every intention of texting you and asking you out properly. I was going to play it cool and wait a few days, which was stupid in retrospect. And then you texted me first.”

“I texted y—” You trail off. “Oh, god.”

“It seemed like you’d been drinking,” Hoseok says with a shrug, and you press a finger to his lips before he can say anything more. You remember the night in question, and you remember the bottle of wine you’d consumed. And you definitely remember the photographs you’d sent of yourself, and the ones Hoseok had been kind enough to send in return.

“Wait, so you were going to ask me out? And then I… I sexted you?”

Hoseok nods, and you groan and bury your face into his chest.

“I can’t believe this,” you mutter, and you feel laughter rumble through his chest before a hand comes up to stroke along your back.

“Believe me, I’m not complaining,” he assures you. “But I’d still really like to take you out, so what do you say?”

His gaze doesn’t leave yours for a second as he awaits your answer, and your heart skips a beat when you look up to see the earnestness in his eyes and the hesitant smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Breakfast sounds wonderful,” you whisper, and the smile that blossoms on your companion’s face is nothing short of radiant.

“Good,” he says. “Great. Breakfast tomorrow, then. Now, can I kiss you?”

You’re already pushing up to your tiptoes, your fingers fisting in the soft hair at his nape. “God, yes.”

///

“Hey, you made it!”

You beam. “Hi.”

You and Hoseok are about to commence your first date, having just sat down at a cozy little café for breakfast. Hoseok has pulled your chair out in true gentlemanly fashion, and you can’t help but smile over your menu at the few lingering snowflakes that have yet to melt into his dark hair.

“So, here we are,” you remark. “Our fourth meeting.”

Hoseok’s lips stretch into his signature grin, breathtakingly bright and infectious. “And hopefully many more.”

You grin at him. “Yeah? Too bad this is breakfast, because I’d drink to that.”

He leans forward, his grin widening. “Next time,” he says as his hand finds its way around yours, his fingers slotting comfortably into the spaces between your own. “We can do dinner, maybe. Or I can cook for you. But for now, I’m just happy that we’re finally doing this.”

You give his hand a soft squeeze. “Me too.”

“Just promise me one thing?”

The sudden seriousness of his tone has your brow furrowing in concern. “Sure, of course,” you reassure. “What is it?”

He winces. “Please don’t tell my mom about all the dick pics.”

#hoseok #hoseok smut #hoseok x reader #bts smut #bts scenarios #hoseok scenarios #jhope #jung hoseok #bts #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts fic #kpop scenarios #hoseok x you #strangers to lovers!au #strangers to lovers #lia writes #gonna change that stupid summary if i can think of anything better LOL #my brain went all mushy on me idk what's happening

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yoonpobs · 4 years ago

Text

know your worth | myg | m

pairing: min yoongi x oc (ft. maknae line and an unsuspecting joon)

genre: fluff, SMUT

warnings: jealous yoongi, smut, penetrative sex, fingering, dom!yoongi

words: 9, 610

summary: happy birthday yoongi

"You could always offer something else," Jimin whispers conspiratorially.

You raise an eyebrow, chopsticks stopping halfway as you reach for your vegetables, piqued by Jimin's suggestion.

"And that is ...?" You pry.

Jimin shrugs his shoulders, a slight smirk on his lips as his eyes narrow at you when he leans forward with a suggestive look on your face.

You still looked as clueless as ever, and Jimin wants to pat your head and tell you that you were far too pure for this world because ... well, a lot of things flew past you. Even after you and Yoongi crossed the lines of more than just trainer and trainee, you were still the sharp yet sweet girl that lived life simply.

"What else can a man and a woman do together?" He hints at you, voice still low.

Your brows furrow when you shove another bite into your mouth and chew, pondering his question before you decide that you weren't sure.

"You know going on dates is difficult here," You sigh, "The council is always popping by for inspections and you know how Yoongi gets when his superiors are here."

Jimin snorts, stealing a bao from your plate.

"Yoongi has a sword up his ass half the time. You need to loosen him up—if you catch my drift." He winks.

You huff, folding your arms across your chest, wondering why on earth was Jimin speaking in riddles around you as if you weren't close enough to discuss any matter. You always thought of Jimin as a brother to you, even if you were older than him—he often pampered you and took care of you on days where your body was weary.

"Will you just tell me what you mean? Enough of this talking in circles." You frown.

He pats your head and you want to bite his arm off like an animal, but that would probably just get him to tell on you to Yoongi. Even if your relationship had escalated, Yoongi is Yoongi. Stern, professional and truly—uptight.

"Oh dear _____," He sighs, leaning his cheek against his palm as he stares at you, "Have you not had any experience with men before you arrived at the temple?"

You glare at him when he snickers at your abashed expression, cheeks reddening at his bluntness.

"I-I never had the time. And men weren't interesting from where I was," You mumble.

"More like you have a type," He points out.

You scoff and take the last bite of your meal before pushing the plate forward, more curious about Jimin's observation for the day.

"I don't. I like people based on atmosphere,"

Jimin scoffs like he doesn't believe you, and as if he knew how to read you better than yourself. But Jimin had always been very observant and he would say that he was right on people-reading ninety percent of the time.

"You, my friend, like being bossed around. You like men who are mean to you." Jimin snickers like a child as you gape at him, appalled at his suggestion, "Men back in town were far too polite. You like the assertive man who knows how to put you in your place."

You burn brightly when he laughs harder at your mortified face.

"I-I do not!" You vehemently deny, but the stutter in your voice only causes Jimin to sigh tauntingly.

"_____, Min Yoongi is mean as mean can get—don't get me wrong—he's a fundamentally good person but that man has no idea how to be nice to people. It's like his default method of social interaction is to insult people or scare people off with his face" Jimin says pointedly, "And you are one of the sadistic folks that like that."

You pout, sulking as you lean into your seat.

"He's nice to me ..." You mumble.

Jimin gives you a knowing look.

"Occasionally. But you like it when he's a little mean, don't you _____?" He smiles devilishly.

"Who's mean?" Jungkook slides into the seat next to you, whining at the both of you when he sees that you've eaten without him.

"Yoongi," Taehyung answers even if he's just joined the conversation.

"Oh. Totally. Did I tell you guys he told me I looked like wore the same underwear for a week?" Jungkook nods.

You look at your friends blandly, then shoot Jimin a glare as if to tell him he's started all of this.

"Jungkook. You do wear the same underwear for a week ..." Taehyung adds dryly.

You wince at the new set of information as Jungkook just shrugs nonchalantly as if he hadn't just exposed himself into being the poster-child of a boy.

"Why are we even talking about whether or not my boyfriend is mean or not?" You snap.

Taehyung's brows shoot up to his hairline as he shoots you a teasing smirk.

"Oh, are we on the boyfriend-girlfriend stage now?"

You hate the fact that you turn red at any moment where they opt to tease you, but the reminder just makes your heart flutter every time you think of Yoongi.

"Not really—I mean ... you know Yoongi," You parrot for the millionth time, "He doesn't really—he doesn't do things like that."

Jimin purses his lips.

"Aish. This hyung is really emotionally constipated."

Taehyung and Jungkook nod in agreement but all you do is brood further.

After the night that you and Yoongi took things ... further ... he never really explicitly said anything about where the two of you stood. In fact, you didn't expect him to either. Yoongi was a take-no-shits kind of person and he didn't fall into the trap of mediocrity. The way he expressed his affection was far different from the average individual and you saw that.

You knew that him holding you close that night to say that he believed in you was his way of showing you that he wanted you.

The secret and desperate kisses that you share from time to time when people weren't looking was also another method of his to show you that he was in this.

But sometimes you needed a little reassurance.

"_____, you need to be a little more proactive, which—" He looks up as if he remembered something, "—brings us back to the beginning of our conversation. You need to have sex with him."

Your eyes bulge out of your sockets as you begin choking on your own spit at the explicitness of his words. Even Taehyung and Jungkook are caught off-guard but Jimin simply looks like he's asked you about the weather forecast.

"How did you even come to that conclusion?!" You cry.

"Don't look at me like that! You said it yourself it was hard to go on dates here. Just fuck him in your private chambers and have him claim you with your magical pus—"

"I will literally slaughter you if you finish that sentence," You warn Jimin.

He puts his hands up in defense as he shrugs his shoulders.

"I mean, he's not wrong ..." Taehyung adds in.

"Of course you'd say that! The two of you are half a brain cell combined." You complain.

When you look over to Jungkook, the tips of his ears are red and you're as mortified as he is, but you've always known Jungkook to be a little shier than his hyungs.

"I mean you've kissed and stuff right? Over the clothes action?" Jimin gestures to his crotch area when he speaks of the activities that you and Yoongi have engaged in as you cover your face with your hands.

"Oh my God! How is that any of your business?" You shriek.

"You're complaining to me about the fact that you don't know what to get Yoongi for his birthday! The moment you came to me for advice is when this became my business!" Jimin retorts back, as loud as you were.

You were sure some of the maids were eyeing your bunch oddly but didn't pay too much mind because the four of you were the rambunctious types. Debatably, you only got dragged into their antics because you carried more authority in the temple than they did, and they came to you for help causing mischief.

"So, have you?" Taehyung pries for his friend.

You look away with flushed cheeks.

"We've kissed and stuff. He's like ..." You shudder, remembering his hands on you, "... maybe some light petting? I guess? That's it."

The fact that you've admitted that to your friends just makes you want to crawl into a hole and never come out.

"Wow. You really are a saint," Jungkook whistles and you feel a little betrayed that he's beginning to take Jimin and Taehyung's side.

"Shut up. It's not like you're any different," You snap, feeling your face get hotter when the men just snicker, “Besides … it’s not like I haven’t … tried … it’s just that I think Yoongi has this idea in his head that I need petals and roses and candles for my first time.”

You clamp your mouth shut in embarrassment, mortified that you’ve revealed too much. But your friends just blink at you, unmoved.

“Have you ever just … asked him? Or told him what you’re into?” Taehyung asks slowly.

You sigh deeply, “It’s not that easy … I have tried but he’s just so—gentle.”

Jungkook snickers and Taehyung thwarts him over his head as you glare at him.

“What? Do you want him to be rough or …?” Jimin raises an eyebrow.

You blush as you cover your face with your hands.

“Why are we talking about this.” You whine.

Taehyung scoffs, “Look. What better way to have this conversation if not with men themselves?”

You pin him with an unimpressed look before exhaling.

“It’s just … awkward …” You mumble.

“Noona, we’re not going to judge you for being a virgin. We were all virgins at one point.” Jungkook says.

Your eyes widen as you gape at him.

“You—?”

"Oh Noona," Jungkook pats your head, "I'm not as innocent as you think I am."

His hyungs snicker as you tilt your head in confusion, but decide to ask him about it to preserve the image of your friend in your head to be one of his purity. The three of them were handsome, and if you were any younger and if you lacked coherence, you would probably find yourself swooning over them as some of the temple ladies have as well.

"Look, _____," Jimin says, "It's not like Yoongi is gonna hate you if you be a little more forward. Trust me. He's just too conservative to actually do anything on his own. He probably wants to blow your back out."

You raise an eyebrow.

"Blow my back out ...?"

Taehyung snorts.

"Did you forget that _____ has been cooped up in this temple for months?"

Jimin opens his mouth to say ah as if he remembered that he had more freedom compared to you in returning to town to meet with the townsfolk, occasionally learning new slang with every visit.

"Doesn't matter—but—Yoongi is into you. I know hyung well enough to see his resolve slowly crumbling. All you need to do is take the first step. What better birthday present than the classical birthday sex?" Jimin shrugs.

You bite your lips as you mull over his words, considering his proposition even though you were terrified of embarrassing yourself in front of Yoongi.

"H-How do I do that?" You ask meekly.

Jimin smirks, and you can see the devil horns appear on the sides of his head.

"Yoongi looks calm and composed but ... there's always been a flaw of his that he doesn't show often," He giggles under a low breath, earning nods from both Taehyung and Jungkook.

"And that is?" You ask slowly.

“Envy.”

“So you want me to manipulate him into having sex with me by making him jealous …” You deadpan.

Jimin snorts.

“God, why do you word it like that? It’s not manipulation if Yoongi wants to do it regardless of the context. All he needs is a little push and you’ll have him destroying your uterus.”

You burn harder and hit Jimin’s arm so hard that he whines and clutches his arm, shooting you a vehement glare before Taehyung steps in with a grin.

“And we’ve got just the plan.”

"This is dumb. He won't react. He knows that you're like my little brother," You frown at Jungkook, as the two other men only rolled their eyes at your doubt.

"He will. It isn't rare knowledge to know that Jungkook had the fattest crush on you when you first came." Taehyung exposes his younger friend who's eyes only widen as you gape at him, information being unveiled to you.

"You did?" You ask in disbelief.

"Look. It lasted like—a day." Jungkook hastily defends himself, glaring at Taehyung.

Jimin shrugs his shoulders as he looks over yours to keep an eye out for Yoongi.

"Try a month, kid." Jimin snorts, "He used to drop tiger lilies by your door every night."

You gape at him in realisation.

"So that's where they came from ..."

Jungkook huffs, ears turning red as he quickly attempts to deflect the attention away from him.

"Okay, the point is: Yoongi knew too, which is why he wouldn't take so kindly to see his girl with Jungkookie," Taehyung reminds you.

You sigh.

"Not his girl ..." You mutter.

"Yada, yada," Jimin mocks, "I know you're your own person and stuff but like ... theoretically speaking, you aren't his girl ... yet."

You purse your lips, about to retort until Jimin shoves you and Jungkook aside, causing you to stumble into his chest with an oof as he catches you by the waist.

"Dude—!"

"Hyung. There you are!" Taehyung calls out cheerily, as Jungkook keeps his hold on you, blinking down at your confused face.

Only when do you turn your head do you see Yoongi walking over to the four of you, robes flowing behind him as he walks.

No matter how many times you're greeted with Yoongi's presence, it's like he takes your breath away every single time. His black hair is tousled across his forehead, with the occasional wind blowing strands of hair away. The deep-navy satin of his robe looks elegant, and you know that it's a precious fabric that comes with his experience.

His sword is tucked away in his belt as per usual as he nods his head to greet your friends, then his gaze is set on you.

More specifically, the way Jungkook is holding you by the waist.

"Careful." Is all he says.

You know it comes from a good place, Yoongi opting to be kind in his own way. That night with his sweet words was a unique experience for you both, and you still hear words of encouragement from time to time, but Yoongi was unalterably himself in a way that he knew how to make you feel wanted with more than just the number of words he says.

"Yeah," You say breathlessly, thanking Jungkook as you tug away from him.

You see Taehyung behind Yoongi, gesturing for you to grab Jungkook's arm to link it around yours.

"Thank you Kookie," You hum, albeit a little awkward, but enough to have Yoongi raising his eyebrow when you pat his head and caress his cheek.

"... I see you're enjoying your break," Yoongi acknowledges all of you instead of your tiny action towards Jungkook and you scrunch your eyebrows at the lack of care.

Jimin doesn't look too bothered, but instead, he uses his mischievous mind to plant another seed into Yoongi's.

"It's been good, hyung," He smiles but you see the mirth behind it, "Jungkook's been teaching ______ calligraphy."

Your eyes widen when Yoongi looks over at you, eyes momentarily darting to the way you're still clutching at Jungkook's robes.

“Um. Yeah," You choke awkwardly and Taehyung nearly facepalms himself at how bad you were at this.

"Jungkook's really good. I'm glad he's the one teaching me," You smile softly at Jungkook.

He returns your smile with a grin of his own, enjoying the way you're cuddled up against his arm. Even if this was all a show, he still had a soft lingering spot for you.

"Anything for my Noona, right?"

You're caught off-guard, and the blush on your cheeks is a genuine reaction when he smiles cheekily at you.

You roll your eyes at shove at his shoulder, but instead, he takes an opportunity to wrap an arm around your shoulder to tug your shoulder.

"She's a natural, hyung. Didn't even need much help," He taunts Yoongi.

Yoongi's face is still as impassive as ever as if he were speaking to his colleagues on town matters rather than his friends and unofficial 'girlfriend'.

"That's ... nice," He hums, eyeing you over once again.

He was never fond of too much affection in front of your friends, to the point where the dynamic between the five of you still remained pretty much the same before the night happened. The only difference was the knowledge of your feelings for Yoongi, and his apparent ones to you.

"By the way, Noona ..." Jungkook says, causing all your heads to turn to him.

You tilt your head, wondering what he wanted to say.

"These are for you." He smiles cheekily, handing over something from behind his back that you didn't catch earlier.

"Oh?" You receive the gift, and the flowers sit prettily in your grasp as Jungkook smiles down at you, looking more like a man by the second.

Where did he even get these?

"Remember the tiger lilies?" He teases.

You scoff but blush anyways, thanking Jungkook as you sniff at them, sighing at the pleasant fragrance.

"Looks like his crush is back ..." Taehyung mutters, and you know he's baiting Yoongi.

Yoongi simply purses his lips and rakes his eye across Jungkook before nodding curtly, bowing his head to excuse himself.

"Very well, then. Enjoy the rest of the day." Is all he leaves you with before he stalks off in the other direction.

You gape, displeased with the fact that Yoongi had shown little to no reaction to Jungkook's obvious flirting with you.

You sigh dejectedly, plopping to sit on the stoned floor, cradling your chin in your hands.

"It didn't work," You mutter, feeling all the more childish.

Taehyung snorts, patting your head as he sits next to you.

"Oh trust me, it worked. That was Yoongi mad,"

Jimin and Jungkook nod in agreement, and you're slightly baffled to see even Jungkook agreeing with him.

"What? He barely moved an inch. That's how he's always been." You tell them.

Jimin rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

"I'm pretty sure he was thinking of a million different ways to detach Jungkook's limbs from his body so he'd never be able to lay a hand on you ever again," Jimin says out loud.

Even Jungkook flushes, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Sorry about the flowers, ______," He mutters, "I thought it would do the trick."

You smile softly at him as you pat his head.

"It's okay Jungkook. I needed some life in my room anyways,"

Jungkook sees what Yoongi sees in you.

"Well that was phase one so ..." Jimin clasps his hands together as you raise an eyebrow.

"There's more ...?"

Taehyung snorts, "Of course there's more. Consistency is key _______."

You sigh, pushing yourself up as you head towards the ladies.

"You guys continue scheming, but I need to head to the bathroom,"

"Freshen up for your night with him, will you?" Taehyung calls over, and you flip him off with your finger.

The three men have surrendered themselves to work, apologising that they couldn't help you carry out your plan of making Yoongi jealous.

You laughed it off, waving them goodbye when they pouted at you. You weren't upset, realising that it was childish for you to do so in the first place.

You're sitting by the pavilion, admiring the fresh bloom of flowers as Spring nears when you hear a swoosh of feet by your ears as you turn your head to be greeted with—

"Hi, I'm sorry to disturb but I was just wandering around the grounds," You bow your head at the greeting of the stranger, a man who wears a robe similar to Yoongi as you stand up, offering him a small smile.

"Hello! And you are ...?" You trail off, awaiting his introduction.

He smiles bashfully at you as he scratches the back of his neck.

"Ah, my apologies. My name is Namjoon. I'm one of the new trainers here?" He finishes up with a question as your eyes widen.

"Oh! You're Kim-ssi?"

You've heard Yoongi mention to you once or twice that he would be needing an assistant with the influx of swordsmen coming to this particular temple to be trained, especially since his priority was training you—he needed the extra help.

Namjoon, or Kim-ssi, was extremely tall. He basically towered over you, and you think he's even taller than Taehyung. He's all limbs and stature, but you can tell that he's strong—his physique only further proving that he was fit to be a trainer, to be hired under the same roof as Yoongi.

He nods his head as he looks you over—in a way that was like he was admiring you, and not particularly distasteful.

“And may you be ______-ssi?” He asks slowly.

You nod your head at him and give him a kind smile.

“Yes, I am. I’m surprised you knew who I was.” You joke lightly.

Namjoon breaks into a dimpled grin before nodding his head, eager to continue the conversation.

“I’ve heard many things about you, especially your sword-wielding skills and the fact you are the first woman to be selected as the chosen one.” Namjoon informs you, “I must say that I was thoroughly impressed. I’ve seen your practices be replicated and it is highly complex.”

You bow your head in gratitude as you find your ears heating up at the praise.

“Thank you, Namjoon-ssi. That means a lot to me.”

“And you are much more beautiful in person, _______-ssi," He breathes.

Your eyes widen, hands falling limp as you bow your head in embarrassment at the sudden compliment.

Even though he practically towers over you, and is large in stature as well—he seems like a very genuine person, with pure intentions when he complimented you.

You also notice how handsome he is, dimples indenting his cheeks when he grins at you and eyes that scream comfort.

"O-Oh, thank you Namjoon-ssi," You mumble.

He offers you a genuine smile as you awkwardly fiddle with your thumbs, a lot more flustered with the sudden interaction.

"I was just exploring the grounds before I start tomorrow. Thought I familiarise myself first, right?" He chuckles a deep rumbling through his chest.

You look up at him brightly.

"The temple is truly beautiful. My favourite place is this pavilion," You gesture to the space you were in.

His head follows your hands as he takes in the place with his mouth open in awe.

"It is. Do you mind if I accompany you?" He asks.

You nod your head, patting the spot next to where you were sat previously.

"Of course—"

"_______-ssi."

A voice breaks you out of your interaction with Namjoon as you turn your head to spot Yoongi standing behind you, arms tucked behind his back as he levels a firm stare on both of your figures.

Namjoon reacts before you do, standing to his feet and bowing ninety-degrees to Yoongi, who only keeps his expression vacant.

"Min-nim, it's nice to see you here." He bows hastily.

Yoongi doesn't pay you any mind when he simply hums in acknowledgement at his greeting.

The oddly cold exterior doesn't slip past you as you raise an eyebrow at him, attempting to get his attention when you fold your arms across your chest.

"I see you've met ______-ssi," Yoongi says curtly.

The honorific and lack of familiarity in his voice doesn't slip past you as you narrow your eyes to him, wondering what he was playing at.

"I have. She was kind enough to allow me to accompany her by the pavilion." Namjoon smiles.

Yoongi clicks his tongue, taking a step towards you as he observes the view of the garden that lays within the pavilion.

"Kind indeed ..." Yoongi says.

You huff.

"She is truly as beautiful as the town folks have said," Namjoon admires shyly once again when he looks you over.

A blush reappears on your cheeks, and even under the dim lighting, Yoongi can see the tint on the apple of your cheeks.

His eyes harden when Namjoon looks at you with pure fondness.

"And so they have." Yoongi clips.

"Maybe even more ..." Namjoon adds shyly.

You smile, appreciating his generosity and honesty.

Yoongi, on the other hand, only hardens his jaw when he sees the way Namjoon's eyes basically twinkle when you shoot a stunning smile at him, probably captivated by your beauty that was far more than just your appearance—but your reputation.

"Thank you Namjoon-ssi," You bow, hair falling by your face.

Namjoon notices, and as the gentlemen, he is—he reaches out to tuck it behind your ear.

But Yoongi's hand reaches out to stop him before he can reach you.

Namjoon's eyes widen at the sudden grip on his wrist, glancing over at Yoongi who still has an expression of nothingness on his face. Even you're shocked at Yoongi's blatant act of prevention.

"I believe that the council would like to meet you, Namjoon-ssi."

Yoongi sounds oddly collected for a man who has a tight grip on Namjoon's wrist. Namjoon looks between the two of you, and it was as if the atmosphere breezed past him, he knew exactly why Yoongi acted the way he did.

"O-Of course Min-nim." He quickly bows, bidding farewell before he scurries off—unable to meet your eyes when Yoongi presses his stare until his figure disappears.

You glare at Yoongi with your arms folded across your chest.

"Why did you scare him like that?" You scold.

Yoongi doesn't say anything but keeps his gaze focused on the garden.

"I did no such thing."

You scoff, stomping towards him until you're right by his side, willing him to look at you.

"Namjoon was being nice," You huff petulantly.

Yoongi simply side-eyes you for a brief second before he brings his sword to his front.

"Was Jungkook being nice too?"

So he noticed?

Your eyes widen when he casually brings up the younger boy as you splutter for a response.

"What? Of course! Jungkook's always been nice to me." You frown.

Yoongi hums, still uncharacteristically quiet for when the two of you were alone. Especially after the shift in your relationship.

"He has a crush on you," He deadpans, eyes focused on you now.

You roll your eyes.

"Had, Yoongi. He has a kind heart," You reason with him.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow at your statement.

"So you knew about his crush, then? The tiger lilies?" He pries.

You furrow your eyebrows at his questions.

"Yeah?" You say, confused, "I thought it was really sweet."

He tongues the inside of his cheek the way you found unreasonably attractive as you attempt to focus on the conversation rather than what Yoongi was making you feel.

"Sweet. Huh."

You sigh, pulling at Yoongi's robe so he'd properly look at you, even if you were inches shorter than he was.

You're about to speak, but Yoongi interrupts you.

"What about Namjoon?" He prompts.

You blink at him.

"... what about him?" You furrow your brows.

Yoongi has the ability to master his stoic expression given any context, and it's slightly unnerving how hard it is to read what exactly he's getting at when there isn't an inch of emotion on his pale face.

"Is he sweet?"

You snort.

"You've met him, right?" You joke, "He called me beautiful from the moment we met."

Yoongi raises an eyebrow.

"And how did that make you feel?"

You tilt your head to the side when you see Yoongi's eyes harden a little. But you allude it to the dark of the night approaches.

"Flattered? I mean—he isn't too bad on the eyes either." You tease, only meaning it to be a light quip.

But then Yoongi tugs you into his chest, hand wrapping tightly around your waist as he uses his other hand to tilt your chin up to look at him.

Your eyes widen as you place your hands on Yoongi's chest, attempting to place some distance at the sudden proximity.

"Do you want him to be your trainer then?" He asks, voice low.

Your breath hitches when his finger twirls the stray hand of hair from your face, fingers then proceeding to trail down your jaw as you attempt to think of an answer.

"I-I ... I mean if he must."

Yoongi's grip on your waist tightens.

"It's a yes or a no, _______." His tone warning when he leans closer to your face.

"Y-Yoongi ... people can see." You chuckle nervously, hands resting on his chest but making no real effort to push him away.

He ignores you and squeezes your chin between his thumb and index finger.

"Hm. So you're okay with Jungkook's hand on your waist as you coo at him while the maids walk past but not me just checking on my apprentice?"

You glare at him while his grip remains tight on your chin.

"Oh, I guess I'm back to just an apprentice, huh? That's better than ______-ssi," You say, indignation laced in your voice.

He doesn't respond, but you see his eyes trail over your face as if taking in the slope of your nose, the pores on your skin and the way your eyelash flutters with every blink of your eyes.

“So is that a yes or no, ______."

You sigh.

"Of course not," You frown, "I ... I like you training me."

He purses his lips, nose brushing against yours as you're as captivated by him as he seemed to be with you.

"You're such a silly girl." He sighs.

You gape at him when he releases your chin, turning his back to you.

You tug on his robe, attempting to get his attention as you wriggle against his back.

"What—why?" You cry.

His back is warm against you when you lean your chin against his shoulder blades.

"You don't see it, don't you?" He hums.

You whine, pulling at his sleeves so at least he'd look at you when he spoke to you.

"Yoongi!" You huff.

He sighs, turning around, eyes still dark.

"The way those men look at you." He growls, demeanour suddenly shifting to a much more ... animalistic one.

Your eyes widen when he tugs your body to his again, pushing you up against the pillar by the pavilion.

"What—"

Your words are cut short when he nuzzles his nose into your neck, mouth biting at your skin that causes you to gasp, melting into his embrace.

"Do you know how tempting you are?" He snarls into your neck.

Your knees are weak as his hot breath fans against the nape of your neck that makes you hold onto his shoulders for support.

"I'm not ..." You weakly mumble, eyes blown out when you look down at Yoongi's black mop of hair in the space between your collarbones and your jaw.

He chuckles darkly.

"Namjoon looked absolutely taken with you. Like he wanted to make you his. Like he doesn't know that you train under me," He spits as if the idea disgusted him.

Your eyes soften, loosely wrapping your fingers around Yoongi's hair.

"But you—"

"Shut up." He snaps, tugging at the ribbon that keeps your robe and bottom half modest.

Your eyes widen at where his hands swerve too but don't make any effort to stop him.

"Even Jungkook," He hisses, hand rubbing tight circles against your thigh.

This was the most forward Yoongi has been, both in public and in private and you're revelling in his touch. You don't dare to ask where this is going, but the way his hands drift upwards between your thighs tell you enough.

"That brat looked at you with stars in his eyes as if his hyung wasn't right there."

"Jungkook is—"

"Sweet. I heard you the first time, ______." He snaps back.

His hand is occupied between your thighs but never reaching far enough to satiate the head in your lower region.

You feel the fabric of your underwear turn uncomfortable, the wetness undoubtedly pooling between your thighs with the way Yoongi is treating you.

"It took everything in me to not rip his limbs off."

Jimin was right. You wanted to laugh, but there was nothing funny about the way Yoongi looks at you with carnal desire.

"I-I'm ..." You stutter, when he spreads your thighs, hooking his own thigh between your own so you'd have some form of support.

"What?" He snaps, noticing the way your hair is sprawled across your face. His hand sweeps it away, but his eyes are still stressed on your flushed cheeks.

You can't seem to get the words out, especially when Yoongi's looking at you like that, his strong thigh between your legs as the thin fabric of your pants left little to imagine of how he feels against your clit.

You gasp, when Yoongi grabs your hips to grind you against his thigh, the silky yet rough texture of his pants brushing up against your throbbing bud. You can feel your wetness seeping through your pants, and potentially staining his.

He smirks at your open mouth as you try to level out your gasps, your own hips acting at their own accord.

"Bet Namjoon and Jungkook would kill to see you like this." He boasts.

A hand reaches to your chin to snap your head firmly enough to look at him.

You whine when he squeezes your cheeks mockingly, tensing his thigh as he hisses—your wetness sopping through both fabrics.

"Noooo." You whine, voice turning into a moan.

"Exactly," He snarls, sucking a mark onto your neck so roughly that it causes you to push up against him.

"Only I get you like this, right? This is for my eyes only?" Yoongi spits, his hands busy with groping up and down your body, hand reaching to your slacks until he moves his thigh away, hands replacing them.

The moment his hand cups your mound, you gasp, feeling the way how his big hand covers it entirely.

"This pussy gets wet for only me, right?" He prompts you with a growl.

You nod your head, voice failing you, afraid of revealing your activities to the temple's maids that stayed at nearby quarters.

The feeling is foreign but definitely not unwelcome. Yoongi had a way of navigating his way with your body that made you fall limp in his arms, eager to wait for his next moves.

Yoongi's hand expertly slips inside the waistband of your pants as his knuckle presses against your clit directly, causing more wetness to pool out.

You hear his curse under your breath, and you're not far off when you clutch his hair as his head rests against your neck to continuously suckle marks as a symbol of his desire.

"I've barely done anything and you're this wet?" He taunts and you burn at the way he looks up at you after what seems like a long time, his lips curling into a smirk and eyes blown out with his primitive wants.

Your lips are swollen even though he's yet to connect his lips to your own, purely because you've been biting on them so hard as you await Yoongi's next moves.

You've heard fellow peers speak of their experiences with the temple's men, saying that if done correctly, fingers is all it took for them to wash over in pleasure.

The way Yoongi navigates his thumb between the fabric of your panties to the throb of your clit is done perfectly, and you almost turn sour to think of his past lovers that he's touched so intimately.

You're distracted when he presses down firmly on your clit, wetness lubricating his digits that cause delicious pleasure to bloom in your core.

"F-Fuck," You whimper.

He smirks as his other hand that was used to hold you up against the pillar, yanking your robe open to be greeted with your bra. You flush, feeling all the more exposed against the cool air as the tugs your cups down, mouth latching immediately onto your nipple.

"Y-Yoongi—ah—" You gasp when he focuses kitten licks to your nipple, while the rest of his other hand tugs your panties aside to glide his fingers along your slit.

The feeling is overwhelming, both as his hot mouth seems determined to leave bruises on your breasts, as well as his other hand teasingly prods your quivering hole that only seems to release endless streams of your honeyed essence.

"You're a sight to behold," He exhales, breath caught against your breast.

You can't respond because you're too captivated when you see his hand in your pants, firmly pressed against your core in suspense for more. Yoongi's eyes harden as he bites down on your breast, causing you to let out a cry far too loud for your liking.

Your eyes widen as you clamp your mouth shut, attempting to labour your breathing.

"Do you want to get caught, hm? Is that why you can't keep that mouth of yours shut?" He growls, mouth licking a stripe up your neck—to your chest until he's whispering the words against your mouth.

"F-Fingers, Yoongi," You mewl.

He envelopes your mouth with his, tongue immediately making a home in your mouth as you whine against his lips, sounds of pleasure getting swallowed by his tongue.

"Do you think you're in the position to be making demands?" He snaps, pulling away as you chase his mouth, whining when you miss the contact.

You whimper, shaking your head; absolutely loving the way Yoongi is treating you.

Jimin's words ring in your head momentarily, but you're interrupted yet again with the way Yoongi slips a finger in.

Your mouth opens in a gasp, finally feeling his long digit enter you.

You're wet enough that your pussy welcomes the intrusion with even more lubrication, and his finger becomes familiar with your heat as if you've done this a million times before.

"This okay?" He whispers softly against your cheek, snapping out of his persona for a moment to check on you.

You nod fondly, eyes soft as you respond with an equally soft yes.

With your consent, he's then knuckle-deep into your pussy, finger curling up, wiggling to find the spot that would—

"Fuck!" You squeal, unable to keep your voice down.

He smirks when he prods the pad of his finger against the spongey spot in you.

"There?" He huffs, slipping another finger in and expertly finding the same spot.

You rapidly nod your head, mewls of pleasure escaping past your lips when he begins to thrust his fingers in-and-out of your pussy, wetness squelching as the proof of your pleasure and desire.

"Y-You're in so d-deep—" You wail.

His palm is snapping against your clit, putting just enough pressure to make your eyes roll back into your head. Yoongi is absolutely ruthless when he pounds into your pussy, fingers hooking up deliciously to a spot that makes pleasure explode.

He shoves his fingers impossibly deeper, so deep until—

"Y-Yoongi!" He's at a place where you never knew existed, not that you experimented enough to know but deep enough for you to make a sound that you've never heard come out from you.

Even Yoongi's eyes widen, eyes hardening along with his cock against his pants. He's been hard the moment the night escalated, but he's sure he's going to use your face, the visual along with your moans as the star of all his masturbation sessions.

"P-P-Please!" You wail, "Stay there—oh my God Yoongi—you're so d-deep—fuck—you're so good—to m-me—"

For the first time, your hands reach out to clasp his hand right into the position that he's settled against your pleasurable spot, as your whimpers get louder and your legs shake next to your hands.

Yoongi is so fucking hard that it takes everything in him not to cum right then and there. So, he just looks out you, his own breathing laboured as he admires the way beads of sweat drop down the side of your head. Your cheeks are beyond flushed and eyes shut tight, as if you couldn't believe the pleasure you were feeling.

It's because you truly couldn't.

You've always wanted to take a step further with Yoongi, but too timid to ever do anything about it. But the way he's hooking his fingers up, pressed tightly against your spot makes you lose all rationale. You almost forget that you were out in public, the pavilion open enough for anyone to walk past and know exactly what's going on.

You're grinding yourself against the palm of his hand as you will yourself to take his fingers deeper.

The coil is unfamiliar but so so welcomed as you feel your hole clench erratically at how good he's making you feel.

Yoongi betrays you for a moment and goes against your words to stay still because your face is absolutely stunning under the moonlight, and all he wants is to see you unravel; quite literally in the palm of his hand.

He begins finger-fucking you with rapid snaps of his wrist with a vigour you only see in his sword-training sessions, and the calloused palm of the man who spent years wielding the sword is proven delirious against your pussy.

"You're gonna cum for me, aren't you? My pretty girl?"

The term of endearment falls from his lips and you think that's the first time he's called you anything but your name or alluded to the fact that you were his.

The thought itself is what sets you free from the coil in your stomach, pussy clenching tightly against his fingers as he rubs rough circles against your clit with his thumb to prolong your orgasm.

"F-Fuuuck," You drawl, becoming lose-lipped as you gasp for air, squelching still echoing as he fucks you through the orgasm, "Y-You're so—good to me ..." You mumble, coming down from your high.

You've stained your robes with sweat and your release, and you feel absolutely satiated when he pulls out of you.

You've never seen Yoongi look anything less than composed, so when he brings the fingers that were drenched with your arousal and cum to his mouth to suck on it, you already feel your pussy flutter back to life.

"You taste so fucking go—"

You cut him off by throwing yourself onto him, lips locking with his even as you taste yourself on his tongue.

You thought after an orgasm that you'd have enough, but there was something about Yoongi sucking your essence into your mouth without any hesitation that made you want to make him feel good too.

Your hand cups him through his slacks, groaning into his mouth when you feel how hard he feels against your palm—big under your small hand.

"_______ you don't—"

You bite his lip in retaliation, squeezing his cock in your hand and rubbing your thumb across his slit as you feel his pre-cum leak out of his tip.

"Fuck ..." He hisses when you lick into his mouth, unbothered at the fact that you taste yourself on your tongue.

Yoongi reaches his hand to the back of your neck to bring you closer, all while tugging your hips to meet his own.

"Wanna suck your cock," You pant.

Yoongi's unbelievably hard that he actually thinks his dick is going to fall off.

Seeing you with your salacious expression of pure, unadulterated lust shocks him all while pleasing him, knowing that he's able to evoke this type of effect on you.

While your mouth was collateral on its own, never missing a remark or to remind him that you were unafraid of his stereotypically terrifying persona—you were real. Soft and honest when your eyes allowed him to get a glimpse of the woman he's learned to ... the word so real and scary in his mind, but his heart speaks for him, while his actions paint the picture.

"_____ ..." He pulls away, biting his lip at your fucked out expression.

You whine, pressing your hips tighter against his while he hisses at the contact of your wet folds against the outline of his cock.

"Call me yours," You ask, wide eyes looking up at him.

Yoongi fingers stop at your hips when he looks at you—properly that is—your eyes begging him with the plead you've uttered. He likes you like this. Hot for him, a little desperate.

"Hm?" He feigns disinterest as you whine at him, clutching at his robes.

"P-Please Yoongi—just wanna be yours," You whimper.

"Do you ______? What about Namjoon? Jungkook?" He taunts, eyes locked on yours.

You shake your head vigorously.

"N-No! Y-Yours, Yoongi."

And his, you were.

He leans in to kiss you, much gentler than previously but still full of desire—a mark against the flesh to claim yours as his.

"My pretty girl?" He questions and you whine so loudly that his eyes blow out in shock.

"Yours—I'm yours, Yoongi."

He growls, hooking your leg around his waist as he grinds against your centre; causing you to mewl in pleasure at the friction.

"You can have my cock in your mouth another time, okay?" He whispers against your cheek and your pussy clenches at the prospect of another time.

You nod your head, looking up at him with obedient eyes.

"Wanna fuck you so bad ..." He caresses your cheek as your eyes widen, a grin teasing your lips.

"P-Please," You pant.

"But you deserve a proper first time, hm?"

You weren't one for social constructs and you didn't care where Yoongi first had you, even as your first—all you wanted was him and you'd have him anywhere, anytime he'd have you.

“Fuck I don’t care—just—fuck me—p-please …“ You whisper.

He observes your features for any sign of hesitation but finds none, only desire.

“You sure? Because once my cock comes home I’m never letting you go.” He whispers like it’s a threat but you’re only more turned on.

“T-This pussy—yours,” You gasp and Yoongi groans at your crude words, “I-I don’t care—just want you—only you.”

Yoongi feels the need to kiss you so he does. He kisses you hard and deep like he’s mapping every inch of your mouth while you whimper into his own. When he releases you, he feels his heart and stomach clench in desire.

The moment Yoongi brings his cock out as your eyes follow his line of vision, you feel like you could cum just by the visual alone.

He's huge.

It's as if his overwhelming aura was every aspect of him, from his stature to his walk and to his cock. The tip was leaking with pre-cum, an ooze that makes your mouth water and pussy clench for more. You've never seen a penis up close—but it's rough and delicate, but like Yoongi—and you decide you need him—soon.

"Fuck me—p-please,” You beg, breath hitching.

He aligns the tip of his cockhead against your quivering hole, and you release more wetness just at the thought of him fucking you out here—where your moans accompany the moonlight and his heavy breathing.

"Relax for me." He hums, pushing in ever so slowly.

The tip is the largest part of his cock, but you push through as you welcome the stretch. You didn't fight with swords day and night just to tap out now, not when Yoongi looks at you like you're the only thing that matters.

With every inch that he enters you, you feel yourself feeling fuller and fuller.

If his fingers felt overwhelming, his cock was the greatest gift bestowed upon you. You felt like you were on cloud nine, especially when he bottoms out, hips flushed against yours as he pushes the remainder of his length in.

"You see that?" He grips your chin so you'd look at him, "Look at how your pussy sucks up my cock."

You wail, hitching your hips up to chase friction and you whine when you feel his cock nudge every corner of your wet heat.

He hisses, other hand tightening against your hip as a warning.

"M-Move—please," You're extra polite because all you want to do is fall apart on his cock.

Yoongi doesn't drag it out any further when he pulls out just so the tip remains, and slams into you with a brutal force that quite literally knocks the wind out of you.

He's rough with his thrusts, never faltering when he hikes your leg higher up his waist so he'd be able to angle his cock against the spot that makes your heart accelerate, and legs shake.

He shows the stamina he's developed over the years as a sword-master with the way he's locking his hips with precision and keeping his eyes on yours the entire time—observing every scrunch of your face along with the breathy gasps that escape your mouth.

At a particularly hard thrust that he stills for a moment, ensuring his cock is rubbing against that spot deliciously—you scream, back arching into his chest as he swallows your wails of pleasure with his mouth.

"What would people say if the noble _____ fucking herself on her sword-trainers cock like this? Hm?" Yoongi spits and when he points it out only do you realise you're moving your hips at a rapid pace, unaware of how they move in their own accord.

You can't keep your mouth shut nor can you respond because Yoongi is fucking you so good, and even with the brutal force of his hips he's able to hold you up with the strength of his arm. You feel the muscles of his bicep flex against you because he has his arm wrapped around your body so tightly, tits flushed against his chest.

You have the sudden urge to reach out to him and hold his head close, a contrast to the dirtiness of your actions.

Yoongi leans into your touch even as he fucks you to the brink of your release, his hips beginning to stutter as you look at him with dazed eyes.

"So pretty like this.” He grunts.

You feel a sense of pride to know that you're what it took to get Yoongi—the man who has everyone on their toes—like this. Feral, giving in to his animalistic desires as he reaches out for your warmth.

"M' gonna cum," You gasp when he pulls your hips down to meet his last thrust.

“Where do you want my cum, pretty?”

"A-Anywhere!" You choke on your breath when you feel your orgasm hit you all at once, your body falling limp in his embrace as his arms keep you up.

You feel Yoongi's cock twitch inside of you until he's releasing gushes of his hot cum into your walls. He cums so much that you feel him slowly slipping out of your heat as it trickles down your thighs.

The two of you attempt to catch your breath as he still keeps a firm grip on your body; knowing your knees would give out if he weren't there to help you. Your hand is still gentle on his cheek as you brush the matted hair away from his forehead, offering him a dopey smile.

Yoongi leans into you, capturing your lips into a soft kiss, one that wasn't rushed nor expected to lead anywhere.

The two of you bask in each other's presence for a few more moments, until you realise that you're still very much in public with Yoongi's cum spilling out of you, a hair breadths away from staining the floor.

"Yoongi—your cum," You hiss.

Yoongi looks down and smirks, appreciating the view and only is disrupted when you thwack him on the head. He helps you pull up your undergarments, even as you wince through the discomfort as he wraps an arm around your waist to steady you on your feet.

“You seemed to like it a lot.”

Your ears burn as you glare at him, but it lacks any real anger when he chuckles at your reaction.

"I think the real conversation here is about your jealousy issues," You retort petulantly.

You see Yoongi's lips purse as he narrows his eyes at you.

"I don't like sharing what's mine."

Your heart stutters even though Yoongi doesn't look at you directly when he says so, his facade returning but you see his heart above anything else.

“Am I, Yoongi? You never asked." You shrug your shoulders.

He tongues the inside of his cheek, absorbing your words without responding for a few seconds as you wrap the robe tightly around your abdomen, cold air sending shivers down your spine.

"Would you ..." He clears his throat, and you don't think you've ever seen Yoongi look anything but assured. So, to see him with flushed ears and nervous eyes make your heart grow fonder.

"Would I ...?" You bite your lip, offering a teasing smile up at him.

He huffs, wrapping an arm around your waist as he brings your head to lay on his chest.

"Don't look at me like that," He snaps.

You giggle, clutching his robes when you feel and hear his heart beating against his chest.

"Why not?" You provoke him even further.

His grip around your waist is still tight as if he's afraid you'd slip away.

But who would tell Yoongi that you were always his?

"I don't want you to look at me when I ask," He tells you, fingers tapping your hips.

"Ask what Yoongi?"

You continue prompting him because you find it adorable how a man like him who has people quivering in fear and doesn't give most people the time of his day is so nervous on asking you a question with an obvious answer.

"Would you ... would you like that?" He coughs.

You raise an eyebrow as you look up at him, chin resting on his chest when your eyes fill with deviance.

"I like a lot of things Yoongi—you have to be more specific."

He still avoids your eyes and grunts, squeezing your hip when you continue to tease him.

"Would you want to ... bewithme?" He rushes his words.

Your eyes gleam when you lean forward, face close to his.

"Could you repeat that—?"

You yelp when he places his large hands on your cheeks, finally looking at you with earnest.

"I'm really bad at this so please don't do this to me.” He snaps.

You giggle, wrapping your arms around his waist.

"I really like you, Yoongi."

You think this is the first time you've explicitly told him how you've felt for him, and you can tell he's shocked when the words leave your lips.

"I was yours since you told me you believed in me." You whisper, lips grazing against his.

He swallows as you smile softly at him.

"I've never felt this way about anyone before," He confesses, "You're the only person that I look forward to seeing and ... when I saw Jungkook and Namjoon."

He shuts his eyes as your lips twitch, a giggle bubbling in your throat.

"I really want you to be mine," He sighs.

You nod your head, pecking him on the nose as you nuzzle your head into his broad chest, feeling the way it moves up and down with every breath that he takes.

"Happy birthday to you then," You smile cheekily.

He fondly grazes your cheeks, holding you unbelievably closer.

"Happy birthday indeed." He sighs, and you can feel the smile on his face when he kisses your forehead.

extra scene

"Happy birthday hyung!" Jungkook greets Yoongi the moment he steps out of his chambers in a large hug.

Yoongi grunts at the force, as he notices Jimin and Taehyung following behind him with a bowl of seaweed soup in celebration.

"Thanks, kid," Yoongi mumbles.

"How're you spending your birthday?" Taehyung asks when he settles the bowl on the table in front of his room.

Yoongi bows his head slightly thank the younger man as he shrugs.

"Same old. I have a session with _____ later and I need to assign Kim-ssi to his students."

“Bo-ring. Why don’t you ever do anything fun?” Jimin scoffs, “What did _____ get you for your birthday?”

The older man stutters for a second when he recollects the night you shared out on the pavilion and more after the two of you returned to his chambers in tangled limbs.

“She wished me,” Yoongi says curtly.

Jimin tries to spot any sign of unsureness but Yoongi was a hard book to read.

"Speaking of, where is ______? Shouldn't she at least be celebrating—"

Speak of the devil and she shall be summoned.

"Yoongi where are your—"

You step out of Yoongi's chambers, draped with his luxurious robe, chest slightly exposed enough to see the marks Yoongi littered on your chest after he took you back to his private chambers.

You freeze when you see three pairs of wide eyes staring back at you as you yelp, tugging the robe shut across your chest as your cheeks redden.

The only thing you hear when Yoongi tugs you closer to him by your hand and greets you with a kiss is:

"Hope the gift was good, hyung!” Jungkook cheers.

"You're not off the hook yet, brat."

#bts imagines #bts fluff #bts smut #bts fics #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #yoongi fluff #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi fluff #yoongi imagine #daechwita #swordsman!yoongi

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seasickzig · 2 years ago

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Autism

I was diagnosed with autism at 20 years old, after 3 years of suspecting and research. I had a psych eval where I was not diagnosed because I “could make eye contact” and “had average math skills,” neither of which are in the diagnostic criteria. I was diagnosed shortly after that by my therapist, who could tell I was having a decline in my mental health after I stopped preforming autistic self care (partaking in special interest, stimming, listening to sensory needs, etc.).

For the DSM5 criteria that I meet, we’ll start with section A, where all three deficits in social interaction need to be seen for a diagnosis.

1) Difficulties with reciprocity in conversation. I am bad at back and forth in conversation. I cannot tell when it is my turn to speak, and in small talk, I often don’t care to ask the other person what they think of the weather because I simply don’t care.

2) Struggles with nonverbal communication. I often can tell that someone is trying to send me a secret message with the way their face is shaped, but I cannot tell what that message is.

3) Hard time making and/or maintaining friendships. I have gotten better at this as I get older, especially since I tend to make exclusively neurodivergent friends. However, making friends is still very hard for me. Unless someone shares an interest with me, I don’t know what we’re supposed to talk about or do when hanging out.

Now for section B, where only 2 of 4 restrictive behaviors are needed for a diagnosis (I’ll list all of them, though, because I experience all of them.)

1) Repetitive movements or speech. This just means stimming, which I do very frequently. I flap my hands, jump, rock, and repeat phrases. I definitely do more, stims tend to evolve over time with what the brain finds satisfying.

2) Need for routine and sameness. I make a plan for how the day will go at the beginning of the day, and if it strays from my plan, then I will have a meltdown. I can often deal with fitting new things into the day, but things being cancelled will stress me out a lot.

3) Special interests! These can be a lot more versatile than people think. It’s not always having extensive knowledge on a topic, sometimes it’s collecting things! My special interests are psychology, Sherlock, and weird-core things (this is mostly a collection hobby!). I only like to have conversations if they involve my special interests, and I will often accidentally direct a conversation towards my special interest on accident.

4) Hyper or Hypo reactions to stimuli. I will get migraines from bright lights or strong smells, and certain sounds and textures can trigger intense anxiety and even physical pain. I’m also very sensitive to the heat! I can also experience the opposite, where I won’t realize something is hurting me or is too loud. This symptom also includes sensory seeking, which can be a stim! This is things like rubbing soft clothing, smelling something you like, watching satisfying videos, etc.

Now I’ll talk about accommodations I need!

Some accommodations that are always helpful, regardless of environment, are sunglasses, headphones and/or ear plugs, stim toys, a text to speech device, and a bracelet or pin that says I have autism. Some accommodations that are helpful in work/school environments are the ability to leave when needed, either for the whole day or just long enough to calm down, extra time on trainings (work), a printed set of notes (school), very clear and simple language and instructions, and plenty of warning before a big change (scheduling, curriculum, the like). I also process information differently than allistic people, I have bottom up processing, which means I have to make sense of the minor details before I can get to work on the “big picture.” This means I might need extra help understanding assignments or tasks, especially things like math and professional/legal/adult documents. Someone to read things and explain things to me is very helpful.

Questions! I love questions, I love doing research, I love learning about other’s experiences with this stuff! Please feel free to ask anything, and I’ll do my best to answer!

#autism #actually autistic #autistic #diagnosis #autism diagnosis #asd problems #DSM #special interest #rant #info #ama #ask me anything #ask me questions

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sysmedsaresexist · 1 year ago

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I'd love to throw in something that I don't see talked about a lot, if it's okay? Specifically, singlets.

There's a lot of different... factors that go into how much accountability a system needs to take. At work, obviously it's 100% accountability. With my singlet partner, I'm allowed to not take 100% responsibility (though I often try to). Being out to them as a system means that they understand it's not "really" me...

But at the same time, they don't get it completely, and they never will.

So why do we still take responsibility?

I think a lot of systems get so wrapped up in their own head that they forget that the outside world and the people around them need a bit more explanation. Worse, is when people refuse to explain because they think being a system excuses them from explaining-- that other systems and singlets should just accept that that's how their system works and that refusing to accept them and their behaviour as they are is somehow discrimination or ableism.

My/our brain doesn't work in the same way as the "average" person.

A + B = C, but we don't get there the same way.

A + trauma @ 3yrs old + that one time in fifth grade x my current feefees ÷ how many in front^10 = D - the # of times I was accidentally offended in the last week by random inoffensive things × how loud can I yell today ÷ B²

This might equal C in roughly 3 business days, and by then, the conversation is over.

Very often, it just never equals C and it definitely doesn't always make sense.

When my husband first found out I was a system, he found a couple support groups for partners and some old (but good) resources.

One of the things these groups pushed is, "your system partner will be selfish and wrapped up in themselves. Don't be hurt, don't be offended, they've just got a lot going on."

It took years to realize, holy shit, they were right.

To our singlet friends and partners, things hurt more. Remember, they don't dissociate the bad things away. They're not part of the conversations in your head.

Something I've really been working on the last year is actually saying nice things out loud. Very frequently, we'll talk in our head about how handsome or hardworking our partner is, but I don't say it very often, and I didn't even realize it. I didn't even consider that I was hurting him, because I couldn't even tell what I was saying to him out loud vs to just the people in my head.

As much as singlets want to understand, they can't, and it's worse when they don't know you're a system and don't have that context to even grasp why you just flipped on a dime.

Even if they understand you're a system, what they see is... their best friend, their partner, their sibling, the face that they know and love and dream about, being more distant, less cuddly, more standoff-ish, more argumentative-- they can understand it's not you, but it's coming from the face and body that they know and love.

There's a really fine line, smack in the middle, between "not accepting my differences is discrimination and I don't owe you anything," and, "giving just enough to help sooth the hurt, whether you, as an alter, care about that person or not."

For the sake of the people in your system who do care about that person, a little bit of effort in offering an explanation can go a long way in maintaining relationships. Expecting people to just accept things as they are without any accountability is just... cruel, and you can't be surprised when they don't want to continue a relationship (of any kind).

Even between systems, it can still hurt to hear or realize that there are parts of your friends or partners that don't like you or don't care about you. I think it's a normal reaction for anyone to be hurt by that.

How do you balance individuality while acknowledging that, dude, you can be fucking crazy sometimes, and no, pointing that out isn't ableist. The thing you're doing, right now, does not make sense to anyone else in the world.

I think a lot about singlets trying desperately to wrap their minds around what's going on in our heads, and struggling and being so sad about it, and not getting a shred of comfort or explanation. If I go inside for a week, and we never finish that argument...

Sometimes, I think about some of the things I've done and said, and how I (me, specially) would feel if someone did those things to me.

I don't think I'd feel very good.

System responsibility is a very hard thing to grasp, it's a learned behaviour that comes with a lot of therapeutic work, introspection, and life experiences. It comes with teaching destructive parts that the world isn't out to get them, and that you do, in fact, owe the people in your life a measure of kindness.

Otherwise, they're not going to be in your life, and it is your own, collective, fault.

It comes with realizing that you, also, deserve kindness, and that people want to care about you.

This got rambly, sorry, it's been a long year of work on ourselves. Hopefully this made sense.

TL;dr you do, in fact, owe people some kind of explanation, even if it's just, "having a bad day, I'll talk to you later, friend."

Guys I wanna talk about system responsibility more. What does it mean? How far should you go with "system responsibility"? Is system responsibility enabling the negative actions and behaviors of the other members of your system? Why should one headmate or alter be responsible for the actions of another (especially if you ascribe more to the mentality of headmates or alters being individual people who should have their own independence and freedom to do things outside of being part of a system)? Building off of that, how much independence and individualism should headmates and alters have from each other? There's so much and more I wanna talk about on this subject but I'm just gonna toss those questions out into the wind and see who bites.

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honeyatsu · 4 years ago

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Ambiguous [Dabi x F!Reader]

Warnings: Quirkless reader. Physical pain. Graphic parts. Violence. Abuse of power. Spoilers!

summary: In the eyes of the law you were a villain, a traitor, someone who was sick in the head. In reality? You were as average as they come. Quirkless, no combat skills, just you and your degree. You weren’t a villain at all, you were just their therapist. You took your job seriously and refused to break patient confidentiality, under any circumstances.

prompt idea from: @/writing.prompt.s on insta

Now, it wasn’t your intention to be a villain’s therapist.

As soon as you got your degree and license in therapy you were quickly hired at one of the best companies due to all the recommendations. All the studying, volunteer work, networking, it all paid off. It was a good run at first, until you noticed how unappreciated you were at work. They didn’t take you seriously, calling you in more for coffee runs rather than giving you patients. They noted you were quirkless, making you an easy target for bullying at the office. You were a tough girl, giving them a piece of your mind and leaving the same day it became too much for you.

The day after, you went out to search for your own personal office. You were efficient, looking to rent the most realistic options you had. You found one the same day you began searching.

You didn’t have a quirk; you could never be a hero. But everyone needed somebody to listen, everyone needed help even if it wasn’t in the flashiest way.

It wasn’t the best part of town but it was the most affordable and most importantly, it was your own.

It started with parents bringing in their troubled kids, not surprising considering where your office was located. Word about you got around quickly, especially since you offered price cuts to those who couldn’t afford it. You couldn’t help it, as much as you tried to be strict with your professionalism, you couldn’t not offer help just because someone couldn’t afford you.

Sometimes you offered an ear after hours for free.

Villains weren’t your target demographic; you never even suspected a villain to consider therapy.

The feeling of uncertainty washed over you when your first villain client, Twice walked in. He was very open and honest about who he was. You were a bit uneasy on what to do. Now, you weren’t too big on the whole hero versus villain dynamic going on the world. Why was it always good versus evil? Your studies taught you the world wasn’t black and white, people weren’t black and white, people were much more complex than that.

Everyone has trauma and everyone needs help, and this is the profession you worked so hard to obtain.

Who said villains didn’t need a therapist?

You couldn’t see his face, his latex suit covering him completely. He mentioned it kept him sane. This was your introduction to the mind of a villain.

Word about you went around the villain community, quickly. Your villain clientele grew as your civilian one got smaller.

They never spoke of their crimes, you never asked.

It was their past, what made them who they are today, their nightmares, their ideologies.

You didn’t mind, this was fascinating.

You were compassionate, it was only natural for you to want to help people. But you were also a scholar, and what an amazing opportunity this was for you. Hearing their past, hearing what made them who they are, it was an eye-opener. You wanted to write about this, you wanted the world to know these villains, these people labeled as monsters and inhumane, are just like us. People with problems. People with trauma. People who are broken.

The psychology of villains, to show the world they need saving too.

Of course, you weren’t going to name who is who and you didn’t plan on doing it without their consent. By now you had gotten an idea of your client’s personalities and who wouldn’t be okay with their trauma being exposed nor their brain being picked apart by you.

But it’s okay, because you had a specific client in mind.

He called himself Dabi.

He came in one day, while you were getting ready to end your day on the job. He just barged in, muttering how his partner told him to come see you. Now, you were no push over. Villain or not, you had your boundaries and it wouldn’t be fair to see him with no knowledge of who he was, no appointment, just showing up unannounced comfortably. But seeing the scars scattered around his body and the staples seeming to keep him together, his hypnotizing eyes, you were rather intrigued on who he was and what was his story.

Three hours.

Three hours of him speaking to you about his past, what broke him, and how he believes the world needs to be cleansed of these “false hero’s” as he likes to call it. He was fascinating.

“You’re probably not going to like this idea” you started off, “But I want to write about you.”

He snickered as he got up from the seat across from you. You had an agenda. What else did he expect? “and they said you were genuine.”

You cleared your throat as his hand touched the door handle, “I want the world to know. One of my rules is not to tell the crimes you commit, otherwise I’d have to report everyone to the authorities. I don’t care to write about your crimes, nor do I care to write about you as just a criminal. The mind is fascinating and so are you. You want the world to know about false hero’s? I may not be flashy or aggressive like you, but I can make a point across my own way. But I also like to help. I didn’t choose this career for no reason. I don’t keep myself vulnerable to villains for no reason. Let me help you.”

“And why should I trust you?”

“I’m quirkless.” You said quickly. You never told any of your clients that since you started your own office. You didn’t keep any defense weapons on you and you were no fool. Announcing you were quirkless would be dangerous in any environment, you’re too vulnerable. “You don’t even have to agree right away. You can come in for free and if you still feel like I’m a part of the society you hate so much, you can leave and never come back. Free of charge.”

Dabi let out a hum as he studied your face, looking for any sign of you being dishonest. Your face was serious and stern. He just nodded his head and walked out.

He came back the next night.

After three months, he agreed to help you with your book.

Slowly but surely, you were slipping away from the patient therapist relationship. You tried not to; you really did. But it started with him offering to walk you home, making sure you got there safe. What a danger to society. Your conversations went from professional to rather casual. He would try to see you in more casual settings but you always declined.

You had work to do.

You got popular in the town you were in. You made a lot of friends, completely different from your old coworkers or classmates from the prestigious university you went to. These friends were more genuine.

You got so popular, your old office even heard about you. About how amazing you were, how smart you were, how you were the most genuine and compassionate than most in the profession. They heard about you so much they wondered what made you so different. So young, so inexperienced, so new to have the praise you have now.

Then they found out exactly who you were helping.

And whether it was envy or civilian morale, the authorities got word of you quickly.

And as soon as they figured out who you were, as soon as they did all the research they could on you it was decided: you were just as evil as the monsters you “helped”.

You weren’t even aware you were being watched nor were you aware of how popular you became to the authorities.

Not until now, not until it was finally Friday night; you just had a long day at your office. Only a few more piles of paperwork and you’d be done for the night and be able to enjoy your weekend. If it wasn’t for how loud or aggressive the authorities were while breaking your office door, you wouldn’t even have noticed anyone to barge into your building.

Without chance to even react, you were dragged by these large men, blind folded and hand cuffed before you could even comprehend what was happening. You didn’t fight them off, you didn’t scream, you were frozen in shock and fear. The only thing going through your mind at the moment: I do not get paid enough for this.

Before you knew it, you were sitting on the cold, moldy, ground, back against the uncomfortable wall. The least these people could have done was given you a stall with a bed- or at least take the god damn blindfold off of you before throwing you into the cell.

A traitor to society.

A threat.

A villain.

These were the words spat at you during your arrest. What a joke. This whole thing was a joke. You grew up poor, quirkless, you probably couldn’t even throw a proper punch if you tried. But you were smart, you were kind, you were compassionate, you were the hardest worker anyone knew, and now you were a criminal for wanting to help people.

They threatened you with prison time, they pleaded, and begged. They wanted you to talk, leak information on every villain you knew, their crimes, why they all went to you.

You stayed silent the entire time.

Dabi came around your office at the same time every night, he was a little late today since he just got back from a mission but knew you stayed extra hours on a Friday because of all the paper work you had to do.

You could only imagine his surprise and rage as he watched what happened from a distance. For the first time he stood frozen in place, horrified at the scene taking place in front of him. His heart racing in his chest, unable to move, feeling unable to breathe for the first time in a very long time.

You were genuine. You were a real hero. You didn’t need a costume, you didn’t need a quirk, you didn’t need some silly name, nor the fame. You were placed on this horrible Earth to help people. You did help people. Even people like him, who were beyond saving. You gave them something society has taken away from people like him: a sense of humanity. Compassion.

You were the real good in this world.

And that’s why he felt the closest thing he could feel to love when it came to you.

He knew they were going to try to make you talk and he just knew somewhere where his heart was supposed to be, that you wouldn’t.

Your professionalism, your love for your job, your love for your clients, the way you saw them as human, the way you wanted to genuinely save them from themselves, you wouldn’t just give that up.

He knew you.

And that’s why as soon as he saw them take you away, he snapped back to himself. Rage taking over his body, he sped his way to the League of Villains, calling up every client you had telling them what took place.

He was going to save you.

Three weeks have gone by.

Your cell was as moldy, cold, and gross as it was the first time you arrived. You had a pillow and thin blanket on one corner of the cell. They fed you once a day, sometimes they would ‘forget’. They beat you, threatened you, tortured you physically and mentally. None of it was enough to break you.

“We need you to help us. Let us help you.”

You let out a poor attempt of a laugh and then winced in pain right after, you were pretty sure you had broken ribs at this point. Although, you wouldn’t even be able to tell, you never even been hit until you ended up in jail. “A promise of help from the same people who hurt me?”

“Bitch.” The cop said before slapping you across the face.

Was this even legal?

You coughed up blood, surprised you even had enough to cough up at this point. You had a question for your clients if you ever got back to work, you might even ask the heros that come in and try to pursue you to speak: was the physical pain really worth the sides they play in the world? Being a regular citizen seemed so much more appealing after this experience.

“You know…I’m a therapist. It sure seems like you need one. Free of charge, I got you.” You made a failed attempt of a sassy remark, quickly earning you another hit in the face. “You know I don’t have a quirk, right? Of course, you do. You guys know everything about me. And I know you see I’m weak, I was weak before you guys even started abusing me.”

“You’re evil, just like them.”

“And what? You’re good?”

Before he had a chance to hit you once again for talking back, he was interrupted.

A hero barged through the door.

None other than the number one hero himself, Endeavor.

If his look could kill, you would have been dead the moment he laid eyes on you.

“Ah, my morally ambiguous hero to save the day.” You let out a small painful smile at him. You were barely conscious at this point, your body slowly giving out. “Here to save me?”

He ignored your remark, as he usually did whenever you tried to talk about anything but your clients.

“We’re under attack.”

There was screaming.

There was fire.

Boom.

Your vision was getting blurry, unable to make out the scene going on in the very building you were in.

“Looks like we’re the ones helping you now, doctor.” You heard a voice say as it got near you, lifting your limp body up. You recognized that voice.

Dabi.

You couldn’t speak, you couldn’t smile, you couldn’t even hold on to him.

My heros. You thought to yourself ironically, before passing out in his arms.

As he escaped the scene, he looked at your bloodied, beaten up body. It enraged him how the very people sworn to protect society and help the community could do this to someone as physically fragile as you.

You had no quirk, no combat skills, you were literally defenseless.

He and the rest of his comrades allowed you into their space. They worked together to bandage you up and make your unconscious body as comfortable as possible. You couldn’t go home, you couldn’t go back to the life that was once yours. Technically, you were an escaped criminal. You had nowhere to go. And for what you’ve done for them, for how much you impacted all of them, they decided they were going to invite you in with open arms.

Dabi was constantly checking in on you, more than anyone else. Sometimes he would refuse people coming in to see you, saying how you need as much peace as possible. Realistically, he was selfish and wanted to be alone with you always.

It had been three days, you were still breathing but no sign of waking up.

At least, until now.

First, he noticed your fingers starting to move, then your eyes slowly fluttering, trying to get your blurry vision back in focus.

You didn’t recognize where you were.

Rough skin grazed upon your hand. You slowly turned your head, ignoring the pain it caused you. A small smile formed on your face when you made eye contact with those familiar hypnotizing eyes.

“I told you not having anything to defend yourself was dumb.”

Ah, that he did. You remembered him scolding you for not even having a knife to defend yourself with if anything happened. You reminded him it’s not like you would know how to use it anyways.

“Where do I go from here?” you croaked, your voice as weak as ever.

He lightly placed his finger on your cheek, looking into your eyes. Savoring this moment alone with you. Appreciating the opportunity the world surprisingly blessed him with at this moment. “Stay with me.” He muttered.

“Dabi-”

“Touya.” He interrupted. “Call me Touya.”

You hummed in response.

“I never felt love, for anything. Not even myself. But I’m sure I love you.”

Your head was aching. Your heart was pounding.

“I know. I love you too.” You let out a weak laugh, “Looks like the whole client patient boundary out of the window, huh? Not like I have a job to go back to anyways..” You didn’t even realize you were crying. “Everything I worked for, gone just like that.”

You’ve never been heartbroken before, but you sure this was it. Your life’s work, your pride and joy, your way of proving yourself to the world that you were worthy of this life, gone by the hands of people sworn to protect you.

You were just trying to do your job.

Too deep in thought, you didn’t even realize Touya coming closer to you, cupping your face with his rough precious hands. You didn’t realize how close he was until you felt his hot breath on you.

He kissed your tears away. Placing small kisses throughout your face, trying his hardest not to hurt any part of you that was bruised up badly. He was forced to be soft with you in this moment, something he has never had to be before. His mouth slowly made his way on top of yours and to his surprise, you were the one who leaned in. The kiss was sloppy, it was kind of painful, but it felt right.

“You are what I’ve been searching for in this world all along. You are the real good. You are precious. You are mine. And I will never let them hurt you again.”

You took in everything he was saying.

You believe him.

#mha x reader #MHA x OC #mha x y/n #mha x poc!reader #mha #mha spoilers #dabi #mha dabi #dabi x you #dabi x reader #dabi x y/n #touya x you #touya todoroki #my hero academia #mha fanfiction #my hero academia imagine #my work #writing

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athenasbloodyspear · 4 years ago

Text

The Viper: Chapter One

What happens when an agent of the Red Room falls into the hands of Hydra? What happens when Hydra puts out a hit on their favorite assassin? Who is the mysterious woman with a twisted history and an even more twisted mind?

The team wants to know. They want to know what you know. Nat and Bucky want to know if there’s any light left in you.

They want to know you.

Bucky x Female Reader

The Viper Master List | My Writing Master List

The sounds of car horns are loud around you. The blaring, beeping and bustle of pedestrians creating layers and layers of sound. You’re trained well enough to sift through the sounds, listening to pieces of conversation and various sounds of your environment to orient yourself.

You can feel the smallest shift of every person who’s moving in the space around you. Your senses are so focused you can practically hear the blood rushing through the people closest to you. Your prey is about a block up, completely oblivious to where you followed.

The streets around you were loud and the sounds were strong, but nothing could keep your focus off your mission.

Underneath your hood and the rim of your baseball hat, your face was hidden in shadow. If anyone would have seen or marked it, they would have seen the wicked gleam of a grin.

“What’s got you all in a tizzy, Tony?” Nat asks from Bucky’s right. The whole team was gathered around a conference table in Avengers tower looking kinda bored. Tony had called everyone here this morning, much to everyone’s chagrin because he had promised a week off and then apparently changed his mind a mere three days later.

Bucky sighed and rolled his shoulders, leaning back in the office chair he currently sat in, lifting the two front feet off the floor. All he really wanted was to go back downstairs and into the city with Nat and finish looking for a birthday gift for Steve. That’s what they were doing this morning before they were quickly called back to the tower. He’d procrastinated too long and really had zero idea of what to get the man.

“I’m confused about something and I don’t like being confused.” Tony retorted.

“Oooo” Sam piped up from across the table. “The great Tony Stark admits to not knowing something. I’m surprised there isn’t steam coming out of those ears.”

Bucky smirks at his friend. God he loved Sam and his remarks. He would say something similar, but his relationship with Tony still wasn’t perfect and he didn’t want to push his luck at the moment.

“What is so confusing, Iron Man? Don’t know what to get Pepper for your anniversary? Or did you say something stupid again and your giant brain can’t figure out exactly which asshole statement pushed her over the edge this time?” Nat chimed in with a mocking smirk.

Tony pointed a single finger at Nat. “I have had our anniversary present for two months already and I’m actually getting better at figuring out which one of my snarky comments goes too far, just so you know.” He sighs and presses a few buttons on the large screen under the glass conference table, whipping up a bundle of information to appear on the screen behind him. “What I’m confused about is why Hydra put out a public hit on one of their top agents.”

At that, Bucky’s chair drops back to all four legs abruptly. The confusing piece of information startled him into finally giving his full attention to the conversation. His heart rate picked up a bit.

“They did what ?” Steve asks from the end of the conference table opposite Tony, voicing the question on all their minds.

“This morning Hydra posted a bounty on a known dark web forum. It’s not unheard of for them to post some of their lower enemies on this anonymously for unaffiliated assassins and bounty hunters to take down. What’s different this time is they made it very clear that Hydra was posting.” He whipped up what looked eerily similar to a reddit post up on the screen. “And what makes even less sense is I know for a fact that the person they called a hit on has been their little secret weapon for over ten years.”

Bucky scanned the post up on the screen. Sure enough, it said that Hydra had a hit out on a well known assassin and was offering 50 million along with diplomatic immunity in a country of their choosing for the head of the operative.

“Who’s the target?” Nat murmured.

“So, this is the fun part. Especially for you two.” Tony continued, pointing at Nat and Bucky.

“What?” Bucky grumbled. Fun for him? What the hell? What could possibly be in Tony’s twisted brain to think anything to do with Hydra would be fun for him?

“Here’s the mark.” Tony pulled up a blurry photo of a figure wrapped in muted colors clearly captured on some sort of security camera somewhere on a bustling street. If Bucky was tracking the cobblestones and architecture of the buildings correctly he’d guess it was taken somewhere in Cairo.

“Is that the best fucking picture you can get us, Stark? You can barely see their face.” Sam quipped, leaning forward in his seat to squint at the screen.

“This is the clearest photo of her face, yes.”

“Her?” Nat snapped, popping her eyes to Tony.

“Yes. Her. The Viper .” He smirked back at Nat. Bucky heard a quick intake of breath from his right. Nat.

“No…” She whispered, and trailed off.

“Oh yes, Natasha. Oh yes.” Tony flicked his fingers across the table again and all the known stats on the Viper pulled up on the screen. “This is where the fun begins for us. This is what we know about the Viper. She was “found” at a young age somewhere in middle America. It’s a little unclear where, but from where I tracked it must have been somewhere in the Midwest.”

“They stole a kid from Wisconsin? Why would Hydra bother when they had their fingers in so many other countries?” This was from Steve.

“It wasn’t Hydra…” Nat murmured.

“ What? ” Bucky piped up again. He felt like his brain was spinning. A top Hydra assassin? Did he know her? He would have to spiral into his memory to find out if he ever met this Viper…

“It was the Red Room.” Nat whispered then. Her eyes staring directly at the table.

“Yes indeed!” Tony quipped. “Remind me Nat, were you still there when they dragged in the little girl kicking and screaming or not?”

“Tony!” Steve seethed from his end of the table.

“I wasn’t living there anymore, no. I had just graduated. She was a couple years younger than me. They said she caused quite a nuisance during the assassination of a target. Instead of killing her they decided to bring her back. I saw her maybe twice. They had always referred to her as the snake. She was less refined than the other girls, she started her training a little too old, but she was… desperate to make up the difference.” Nat shuddered a bit then and Bucky felt compelled to reach out and place a hand on her shoulder. “She reminded me of… me.”

There was a small moment of pause before Tony started again. “So our little snake graduated from The Red Room and spent a few years as an agent for them before falling in with our buddies at Hydra.” Tony looked at Bucky then, “Where she was trained and conditioned to fill a missing position in their ranks after they unfortunately lost control of a very important asset. ”

“You’re a prick Tony.” Steve muttered, his eyes falling on Bucky. Bucky waved him off. He was fine, really. He’d started making peace with his history when he was on Wakanda and though he still had a long way to go, he wasn’t going to fall to pieces at the mere mention of the Winter Soldier.

“You’re telling me that they…” He trailed off, his mind spinning in circles. This poor woman he didn’t even know subjected to what he went through, simply because he had left. He knew it wasn’t his fault, but he still felt responsible that someone else had to fill a hole he had created.

“Yes they trained this little spitfire to be their top assassin and she has been in their top ranks since about 2010, only stepping into the role of top assassin after the events in 2016 finally severed you completely from the organization. She’s been racking up kills ever since. Much like you my dear metal armed friend, she’s nearly impossible to catch on camera, let alone see with your own eyes.”

From the corner of the room, where he sat in a chair separate from the table, Bruce finally spoke. “I always thought The Viper was a myth.”

“Yeah and you thought the Winter Soldier was a myth. Hell I always thought Thor and Loki were just some folklore.” Sam remarked. “I believe almost everything nowadays.”

“Wait so, this woman was a trained Red Room assassin, then a top Hydra operative and now they’re asking the internet to kill her? Why didn’t they just take care of her themselves? Surely they had her locked up or brainwashed somehow.” Bruce said.

“You guys are seriously just assholes sometimes.” Steve murmurs.

“I’m fine, Steve.” Bucky says. “It’s a valid question. Even when they wanted me eliminated, they only worked with people inside.”

“Exactly.” Tony said. “My theory is, they want us to know that they want her dead. In fact, my more specific theory is that this is bait in order to get us to hunt and eliminate her. I want to know why.”

“She must have slipped away from them.” Nat said then. “Even if no average internet bounty hunter could ever touch her, surely they’d at least keep her a little busy. Busy enough that we might be able to get a jump on her. She must know something.”

“Exactly. What does she know? And why don’t they want her to utilize whatever information she knows?”

“So we’re going to find her then.” Steve said. “What if this is a trap? Specifically set up to intrigue us into bringing their very own top operative into our facilities.”

“It could be.” Nat responded. “But it seems a little weird to send a bunch of people they don’t control after her unless they genuinely didn’t care about what happened to her. It seems unlikely she’s still an asset to them if they’re willing to risk her actually being caught off guard, no matter how unlikely that is.”

“See, this is what I meant by being confused.” Tony quips then, heading for the door. “I’ve sent everything I know about the woman to each of you. Study it. See what conclusions you come to on your own. We’ll reconvene here tonight to discuss an action plan.”

You sat in a corner booth at a tiny cafe, facing the door. There was a swinging door into the kitchen to your left, which led to three back exits. Directly in front of you was the only door facing a main street. The whole front of the coffee shop was glass, giving you a clear view of the two targets you’d been tracking all morning, who had stopped to grab breakfast at a restaurant across the street.

You were twirling a long since lukewarm cup of coffee in your hands, your eyes flicking back and forth between your marks and the swinging kitchen door at your shoulder.

You watched as your marks both stretched and stood up. The woman hailed a cab. They seemed disgruntled.

Interesting.

While the woman tried to snag the attention of a cabbie, you threw a few crumpled bills on the counter of your table and slipped through the swinging kitchen door. There were a few shouts of alarm as a stranger wandered into the bustling diner kitchen, but you quickly weaved through the crowded kitchen and out a back door. You jumped on the sleek black Kawasaki bike you’d stashed behind a dumpster in an alley.

You pushed the bike out and around the corner before turning it on, waiting to confirm that they had both piled into a cab. You revved the engine and punched the accelerator, weaving quickly between the piled up traffic, causing lots of horn honking and a few near rear-end accidents.

Your heart was hammering in your chest, the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you tore after that cab.

The grin still plastered on your face.

Bucky’s head was reeling as he read through the intel, albeit a small amount, that Tony had managed to dig up.

There were a total of 3 videos captured on a security camera of the Viper on a job. He watched them all multiple times.

The Viper was ruthless and unnervingly calm. It reminded him of himself, what he saw in the footage of the Winter Soldier. It made the bile in his stomach churn. He knew that feeling of uncontrollable calm very well and it made him break out in a cold sweat.

The first video showed her walking calmly up to a high security warehouse, putting bullets between the brows of every operative in sight, barely even looking in their direction before pulling the trigger. She walked directly with purpose toward the door that was clearly her mission. Once every operative in view of the camera had fallen she reached for the door handle. Before she slipped inside, she lifted her pistol without looking and fired one round into the camera, cutting the feed. With the hood on her jacket, there was no clear footage of her face. Bucky wondered how they were even sure it was her. Her murderous calm must have been enough evidence.

The second was a terribly grainy video taken in some basement somewhere. There was someone strapped to a chair and he watched as the Vipers fists slammed into the man repeatedly. A choppy, distorted, and heavily accented voice spoke about 40 seconds in. “Good, Viper. You may play now. Make sure there’s something left of him to interview tomorrow.” Bucky flinched as he saw the woman stride toward a table, likely filled with instruments of torture. The man strapped to the chair began to scream, pleading in Russian that he’d say anything they wanted him to. He heard a low woman’s voice come through the video, murmuring “Too late.”

The third was a more recent video according to the time stamp. It was less than six months ago off a security cam in Maracaibo. It was about a 9 second video, just watching the woman cross a bustling street in Venezuela. Bucky remembered that some hot shot Hydra agent had been found dead in Venezuela this year. Could it have been the Viper taking down one of their own? Is that why they were mad?

There were about 5 other attachments of images. The only photographs that Friday could find of this enigma apparently. 4 were blurry security camera footage from various places. The one Tony had shown this morning was truly the only one that even sort of showed the woman’s face. Well, except the 5th.

The 5th made Bucky even more sick than the footage of brutal violence. It was a Polaroid image of what appeared to be a 16 or 17 year old girl in ballet clothes, standing in the middle of what he assumed was a dance studio. It would have been normal, a young woman after a dance class, if it wasn’t for the red blood splattered up her pink tights, dripping off her knuckles and smeared on her jaw. The subject wasn’t looking at the camera, but rather seemed to be standing at attention with her focus to the right of the photographer. Written in sloppy Russian at the bottom corner of the Polaroid was “Option 4.”

What does that mean? Bucky thought to himself. Option for what?

It made him sick staring at that photo. If the blood wasn’t there, it would just look like a young woman preparing for a ballet class, or perhaps being photographed so a costume designer could see her figure while they created dazzling outfits for a production. It was so wrong for someone so young, whose face was filled with innocence, to be covered in blood. He felt so protective over her, this young woman he didn’t even know. This young woman who he knew grew up to be a murderer with a kill list almost as long as his.

He knew, looking at that photo, that this woman had never wanted this. He didn’t know how he got such a gut reaction to the image, but he saw himself in it. A young person who was given the worst hand of cards to ever be dealt, and was simply trying to stay alive. He stared at her thin frame, the hollow look in her eyes and nearly wept.

He needed to find her. He needed it more than he’d needed anything in a long time. He needed to find out how far she had fallen from this image, and if he could pull her back.

He needed to do it, because he’d always be grateful that someone did it for him.

Your marks had gone into the tall skyscraper a few hours ago. You were too antsy to sit around and wait to see if they’d venture back out into the city.

You prowled the sidewalk like a caged animal. Tracing patterns through the busiest blocks. Keeping track of nearby cameras.

Everything smelled like garbage and piss. You hated it. You loved it. It was such an easy city to get lost in.

An even easier city to be found in.

When Bucky finally dragged himself back to the conference room that evening, he felt like a wreck. He had worked himself up considerably throughout the afternoon. He was antsy and apprehensive.

He really didn’t know what was wrong with him. It was just some random assassin, why was he so worked up?

Steve noticed his touchy mood as soon as he walked in and raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’m fine.” Bucky grumbled. “Just want to figure this out. It’s bothering me for some reason.”

“Maybe because it’s a little too personal, Buck.” Steve said quietly.

“Yeah maybe.” Bucky coughed out. His chest felt tight with someone who knew him so well staring at him like this.

Before Steve could rib Bucky more, Tony sauntered into the room with Nat behind him. “So what’s everyone’s thoughts on our little snake in the grass?”

“I think the woman is damn fucking scary.” Sam piped up from the same chair he’d been in this morning. “And really good at her job. Reminds me of robocop over there a little too much if you know what I mean.”

“That’s what I find so interesting.” Steve says. “Because obviously we know that Bucky wanted out, and was not the person that the camera showed. I wanna know what’s really going on in her brain.”

“Banner, question for you, if we managed to set a little trap for our snake and actually got her in here, would you be able to scan her brain and see how much of it was under her actual control?” Tony said as he dropped into a chair at the head of the table.

Banner responded from where he sat in his normal chair in the corner. “I could compare a brain scan to early scans of Barnes’s brain. See how similar they look. Then compare to his post-Wakanda scans. In a sense, yes. But the brain is complicated as you know.”

“Can’t we just talk to her?” Bucky pipes up. “I mean, if it makes you feel more comfortable to hook her up to a lie detector whatever, but I just… I know what they do to people there and let me tell you there’s no way she’s in control.”

“What makes you so sure?” Tony questions. “I mean, I was wrong about you. I’ll admit that. I’m a bigger man now. But not everyone is Cap's former BFF brought back from the dead with a heart of gold trapped in a twisted hydra web. She could have gone willingly. In fact, I have a hard time believing that a Red Room agent was accidentally captured by Hydra. What if she went to them willingly?”

“But then why did she leave?” Natasha counters. “Who’s to say that she ended up in all this willingly. I don’t know the whole story of how the Red Room got her, but it’s rare that people join without coercion. There’s more to this story, I can feel it.”

“Me too.” Bucky whispered. There had to be so much more to that 17 year old girl than a brutal murderer.

“Nat, can you explain this image to me?” Tony says, pulling up the very polaroid that was going to haunt Bucky for weeks. “This looks like a pretty willing agent to me.”

Bucky cringed at Tony’s short sighted assessment. Sure, the subject looked relaxed but that didn’t mean willing. Nat sneered.

“Well Tony, when every week your instructors challenge two students to spar and the loser is killed however the classmate prefers, you too would willingly fight back, to the death if necessary.”

Steve flinched, and looked at Nat with eyes full of grief. “They made you kill each other?”

“Kept us from attaching to each other.” Nat said simply.

Steve just shook his head, placing his face in his palms. This was one of the reasons Bucky and Nat had gotten along pretty quickly. They’d come to terms with their trauma, and the others sometimes had a hard time brushing past the torture that the two of them had simply moved on from.

“Touche.” Tony shrugged. “So why does this image say option 4?”

“That I don’t know.” Nat sighs. “No photos were ever allowed to be taken of us, but the fact that this was clearly taken by an instructor confuses me.”

“So we have no answers.” Sam quips. “Do I need to go stand on the street with a sign that says “Viper take a crack at me” so we can maybe get a glimpse of her? I’m only doing it if I can wear the suit Tony.”

“That’s the thing, there have been no sightings of the woman for years, and the one tiny glimpse in that surveillance shot from Venezuela 6 months ago was a blip. There was no record of anyone matching that description entering or leaving that country or any near it. We have no idea where she is.” Tony muttered. “I have Friday combing every single camera we can get access to, and hacking into those we don’t. The tip line on that forum is blank. No one seems to have seen her.”

There was silence for a moment, as everyone sunk into their own minds. Letting the gears turn.

“Mr. Stark.” Friday’s voice came lilting out of the ceiling. “I have a hit.”

Everyone jumped a bit, leaning forward in their seats.

“Put it on the screen.” Tony snapped. Suddenly the whole blank wall of the room was filled with various camera angles showing crowds of people wandering on the sidewalk. In the middle of a cluster of pedestrians was a figure draped in black, a baseball hat on their head and a hood pulled up over it. As the person moves, the different security camera’s flip past on the screen, keeping up with their movement.

Instantly, Bucky’s blood ran cold.

“Where is this?” Sam whispers.

“Queens.” Bucky, Steve and Tony answer in unison.

“Very close to Parker’s apartment…” Tony whispers.

“It’s empty.” Steve mentions. “Happy and May are on vacation and Peter is staying with his friend. That Ned kid.”

“I know.” Tony says. “Doesn’t mean I like her being around the corner from his place regardless.”

The room goes quiet for a few moments as they all watch the Vipers progress through the streets of Queens. She never picks up her head, seeming to be watching the sidewalk in front of her. She slips easily between groups of people, never bumping into anyone even though she doesn’t seem to be looking at anyone.

“What are we doing?” Sam says then. “We know exactly where she is. She’s so close. Let’s go suit up.”

“There’s no way she’s here by accident.” Nat says quietly. “It’s like she wants us to find her…”

“Another layer of intrigue.” Tony snarks.

“She wouldn’t be stupid enough to show up in this city unless she actually wants us to find her.” Nat continues. “Either they sent her here as a trap and finally had her look into a security camera long enough for us to track her, or she’s doing this on her own. Either way, I don’t understand the motive.”

There’s another moment of silence as they all watch the cameras track the target.

Abruptly, the Viper stops in the middle of the sidewalk. The pedestrians continue to flow around her, many seem to be grumbling and some throw rude gestures in her direction.

There’s now only a single security camera in the area able to capture her image, she stands right in the center of the frame.

“What is she doing?” Steve whispers.

Through the grainy camera footage, the whole team watches as it looks almost like her shoulders shake slightly. She seems to be looking at her feet.

No one breathes as the woman in the center of the video lifts her head slowly. Her eyes land directly on the lens, as if she’s peering straight through the shitty security camera and into Avengers tower.

There’s a huge grin on her face.

Then, from the pocket of her hoodie, she pulls a pistol and calmly points the barrel at the camera.

The last thing the camera sees in her head dropping back as she begins to cackle. Then she pulls the trigger, ending the feed.

“Holy shit.” Sam whispers.

Bucky is speechless. His heart is pounding in his chest. He felt like her eyes seared through the camera and right into his chest. He can barely breathe.

“Friday, show us the other cameras in the area.” Tony barks.

Friday pulls up tons of camera angles of the street the Viper was just standing on. The crowds are screaming, attempting to run away from the spot that the Viper had clearly just been standing. However, there are no further gun shots and no one looks injured.

“What the hell? ” Bucky says under his breath. She just shot out a camera in the middle of a busy street in Queens? For what?

“Are there any figures matching her description on any of these feeds?” Tony snaps again.

“No sir.” Friday replies. “I’ve scanned every camera in the borough and I can’t see her on any of them.”

Everyone sits in shocked silence as the security footage continues to roll. The NYPD show up, helping to calm the pedestrians. They watch quietly as they start to tape off the area. Everyone knows however that if no one was hurt, it’s unlikely that the cops will pursue the incident further. They have much bigger fish to fry in this town.

“Well goddamn.” Sam finally breaks the silence. “That was quite a little performance.”

“She really wants us to find her then.” Nat mutters.

Around the room everyone mutters their agreement.

Bucky finds his voice finally.

“So let’s find her.”

There’s unending adrenaline in you now. It was reckless you knew that. It was also so obvious what game you were playing with them at this point, but you didn’t care.

They clearly weren’t going to make a move, so you had to play your hand first.

For better or worse, it was their move now.

#Bucky Barnes #bucky fic #bucky x reader #bucky #bucky barnes x you #Bucky Barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x female oc #Female reader

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sometimesiwrite · 4 years ago

Text

Steady As She Goes

Part 1

Fandom: The Witcher

Characters: Essi Daven/Lambert

Summary: Lambert begrudgingly insists on escorting Essi through Velen on her way to Novigrad. On their three days' journey, an unexpected bond is formed as the unlikely traveling companions encounter one another in new light. But will they get through unscathed?

Warnings: Lambert-typical language; pragmatic killing of a small animal (not a pet, for food); sexual assault (groping, not Lambert); reference to gore, head trauma; lethal self-defence; shock/trauma response, adrenaline crash; cliffhanger

A/N: A little while ago, I wrote a little letter to Lambert (you can read it here if you’re so inclined—mind the TW). I wanted to thank him, but more importantly, I wanted to offer him a place in my heart and my brain along with his brothers. This story started from a small prompt and has since turned into a 12+k proper-ass Story. This is part 1. Please join me in joyfully welcoming Lambert to the ranks with a wordcount he deserves with a character who has also become very dear to me.

MASTERLIST

@morethangeraskier

Essi eyed the back of her travelling companion with curiosity as they rode North toward Crow’s Perch: the tight swing of his hips still keeping tempo with his horse’s cadence; the sharp alertness at the nape of his neck as his eyes scanned their surroundings; the subtle forward tuck of his shoulders; and every muscle in his body fine-tuned and ready for action in the blink of an eye. Even his silence seemed to radiate a low buzz that tingled the air around him and made Essi wonder how many thoughts and calculations were crammed inside his head at once. She’d found it charming rather than off-putting how irritatedly he’d suggested accompanying her through Velen. There was a genuineness about his prickly outward demeanor—she felt like a detail worthy of practical consideration rather than a damsel on the road and she appreciated it. Better than most alternatives.

The fact was, Lambert had insisted. Not because she was attractive (yeah, yeah, big blue eyes, blonde hair, yadda-yadda, who cares), not because she seemed helpless (there was something keen behind those big blue eyes, and he’d known better than to ignore it), but because it seemed like the right thing to do. She’d explained she was an experienced traveller, knew the roads well, had good relationships with the innkeepers along the way. She would be fine, and didn’t want to take him out of his way.

“Sorry. Not happening. I’m coming with you.” Why? “Bandits.”

He would know. He’d spent the last few days doing nothing but clearing out Nekker nests and trashing bandit camps all over Velen, and the last thing he needed was the innocent blood of some wide-eyed woman-bard on his hands. “Back to fucking Novigrad,” he’d grumbled, turning his horse back North. He sighed heavily and waited for Essi to catch up, “Fuck me, I need a drink—alright, stay close on my tail for the next little while. We’re taking a shortcut.” As they rode, Lambert gave his new companion a rundown of “ The Rules”.

“No chit-chat, I’ve gotta keep focused, plus I don’t like excess noise. If I say ‘duck�� you duck. And I mean get the fuck down and stay silent. If I say run, run and don’t look back. I’ll find you later. Do your best not to panic or freeze up on me, I need you to listen carefully and do exactly as I say.”

Essi nodded earnestly beside him, her big blue eye fixed on his lips, taking in every word. He wasn’t used to actually being listened to. It was nice. A little off-putting the way she stared, but it was... nice.

On that topic, “One last thing,” he said, turning away to watch the road and check their sides, “Don’t get any ideas. I’m only doing this because no one deserves to die at the hands of heartless assholes except other heartless assholes. I am not Prince Charming, I am not a knight in shining armour, and I absolutely have no intentions of sweeping anyone off their feet. Capisce, bard?”

Essi smiled elusively, turning her own eyes back to the road. “Good. I’m no princess or damsel, and I’m hardly looking to be swept off my feet. As far as I’m concerned, we’re merely travelling in the same direction at the same pace.”

An agreeable grunt from Lambert signalled the end of the conversation and the beginning of “quiet time” which Essi did her best to honour. It was difficult at first. The poet was accustomed to conversation with strangers she met on the road—where they were headed, where they were coming from, how their journey had been. But Lambert was a witcher. Her usual litany of questions were either already answered or were none of her business to be asking in the first place. She was more or less quite content to travel in silence on an average day. But this was not an average day and her mind was bursting with curiosity, which made for a restless start to their journey.

“What’s your horse’s name?” Essi finally asked as they stopped briefly at a stream for water. She decided it was an innocent enough question with a short enough answer to risk breaking the rules.

Lambert gave her a disapproving look, a scolding reminder about ‘no chit-chat’ perched on the tip of his tongue. To her credit, she'd surpassed Lambert’s expectations for what he’d learned to expect from bards in the category of Not Talking. She’d only hummed a little and only then when she was lost in thought, large blue eye staring into the distance. She was an odd one, this woman, with her deep eyes that blinked too slowly sometimes. But his medallion was still and he didn’t have that gut feeling that usually told him when something was off. It was a harmless enough question, anyway…

“Royal,” he said, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Never met a noble that wasn’t a horse’s ass.”

Essi let out snicker, flashing her pearly teeth with an open grin. He was abrasive, sure, this witcher, but he was quickly proving himself to be animated and clever. She also believed him to be kind, despite his best efforts to prove otherwise. Whether or not Essi would earn a glimpse of his full capacity remained to be seen, but regardless she found his particular brand of panache refreshing.

"Yours?" he asked with a nod back at the small Icelandic gelding currently occupied with nibbling at some honeysuckle.

"Ginger," Essi replied, kneeling to take her turn at the stream, refilling her waterskin and drinking from her cupped hands. She stared at her saddlebag. “Wait here,” she said, striding to her horse and extracting a bundle of fabric.

“Whoa, hey, where’re you going?”

“It’s alright, I’ll only be a minute,” she assured him as she headed for a thicket.

“Nuh-uh, can’t let you just wander off and get yourself killed before we even reach the first signpost. What’s the plan, Goldilocks?”

“I’m just…”

“Just…?” Lambert gestured impatiently.

Essi squared her shoulders to him, “Going to change my dress. It’s too hot, and I would like to feel Just Right.”

Her sharp-witted comeback earned her a raised eyebrow. It was rather warm, the witcher had to admit. Early summer’s heat glared down with the midday sun, tempered only by an occasional cool breeze from the West. Lambert himself had pulled off his gauntlets, opened his jerkin, and tied a damp kerchief around his neck—witchers were less susceptible to heat stroke or hypothermia, but they were no less vulnerable to discomfort. It was only fair to allot his companion the same opportunity.

Lambert did a quick sweep of the area. Looks fine, sounds fine, smells fine… “Fine. Three minutes.”

He stood guard in front of the only gap in the dense bushes and waited for the sounds of rustling fabric to subside. After two and a half minutes, Essi emerged, hitching up her linen sleeves. She returned her former dress to her saddlebag and extracted two slender, ornately-carved whale bone sticks which she used to scoop her long, thick hair off the back of her neck and secure it in a twist.

Essi squatted back down beside the little brook and let the cool water trace over the tender undersides of her wrists, cooling her veins and refreshing her as the breeze fluttered the light fabric against her skin. Much better, she thought, glancing up at Lambert. This new garment was more loosely-fitting, he noticed, save for the cinch that tied around her waist.

She looked nice—comfortable. She looked comfortable. The dress looked comfortable.

Essi smiled up at Lambert as she stood, pressing her damp hands to the sides of her neck and ooooh it felt nice. She thought she caught the smallest hint of a smile as the breeze wafted a bit of honeysuckle their way. He still looked tired, but he seemed lighter. Something new had come into his rugged, sun-tanned face. Boyish, maybe?

“Better?” Lambert asked. He barely waited for her to answer before he continued, “Let’s get moving, I want to make tracks before we lose our light.” Essi mounted without protest and they were on their way again, quietly riding single-file until they reached an acceptable spot to settle down for the night. Lambert left the travelling poet to make camp while he hunted for some dinner. Essi went about setting things up. She dug a small fire pit with a trowel she kept on hand, gathered kindling, and stacked it neatly to the side where it could be easily reached. Finally, she dragged two logs from the underbrush and placed them on either side of the small hole. It was, perhaps, a little domestic, but the witcher still seemed tired, and he was going out of his way to give her a safe escort through dangerous territory. She’d wondered earlier about offering him some coin for his trouble, especially seeing as he was doubling back and wouldn’t have any opportunity for new contracts. Then again, she’d thought, perhaps that might insult him, make him feel like a hired bodyguard. In the end, the very least she could do was help make the experience a little nicer. She could ask about payment when they arrived in Novigrad.

A loud whistle caught Essi’s attention and she turned to find Lambert approaching with what looked like a squirming ball of fur. Upon closer inspection, it was a rather fat grey squirrel. “Dinner,” Lambert announced, looking pleased with himself. He held the creature toward her, “Care to do the honours?” He waggled his eyebrows facetiously. The witcher had always prided himself on his capacity to read people, to pick up on the little things that others might miss, second-guess, or excuse away. So far, after nearly five hours on the road with Essi Daven, Lambert still couldn’t get a clear read on her, and he decided (for whatever reason) the quickest way was to hand her a small animal.

Essi looked down at the wriggling creature cupped in Lambert’s hand, her eyes devoid of any specific expression. The poet could have been feeling anything: shock and horror, stony rage, remorse, awe… casual hesitation. In fact, the only feeling that wasn’t in the running was glee, and while Lambert hadn’t expected it in the first place, it was still a relief to know he wasn’t sharing his camp with a psychopath. But what was she going to do with it, this wide-eyed, innocent-faced, prim young traveler? Probably some tree-hugger shit like let it go.

Essi lowered her eyes to the wriggling rodent. It had been a while since she’d had to procure a live meal. She could have declined, easily, graciously, and her witcher companion would probably have shrugged and thought ‘no surprise there’. But she knew a schoolboy’s smart-assery when she saw it—the audacious victory behind his bright citrine eyes told her everything she needed to know about what he was expecting from this brief-but-loaded exchange. A shriek, a gasp in horror, perhaps a distressed stomp of her feet and fitful shake of her gilded head?

Essi reached a slow, dainty hand towards the squirrel, enveloping the soft, furry body as Lambert mentally prepared himself to go set another snare. There was no way this bard would ever be the type to—

Crunch.

—Lambert’s face went slack as the now-very-limp squirrel was handed back to him.

“I wouldn’t’ve thought a witcher would be so squeamish,” Essi remarked, casually wiping her hands on her skirt. Lambert said nothing but stared at her with a look of defeated befuddlement. She fired again, her sweet, melodic voice dripping with offhanded superiority, “Was that all? Or do you need me to clean it, too?” She blinked blankly once again as Lambert gaped, even less sure what to make of the young woman who had just snapped a rodent’s neck.

“No,” he answered petulantly. “I can do it.” He pulled his buck knife from its sheath on his thigh and went about his business. He was quiet and brief with her for the rest of the evening, and she was beginning to feel her own irritation mount. She had half a mind to bite back the next time he snapped at her for asking a simple question. Though, she admitted, he didn’t seem the type to back down easily. If she prodded at him, he might decide to leave her, and they were on a different route, completely unfamiliar to her. She’d be as good bear food without his directions.

No, she decided, it was best not to go digging and let whatever it was that was eating at him subside on its own. With no assurance of peaceful conversation and nothing but the crackling of their small fire to drown out the distant howls of wolves, Essi asked if she could play quietly on her lute—not too loudly, she promised, remembering what all she knew about a witcher’s senses, how sensitive they are. She’d asked in her usual straightforward way, her big blue eyes blinking slowly at him from across the fire. A simple request, and one that he couldn’t very well deny at the risk of being a Grade A Jackass.

Ordinarily, he would have jumped at the opportunity to claim that title, but Essi didn’t deserve that. Stranger or no, she’d been quiet and courteous, and had shown herself to be witty and good-humoured to boot, laughing at even his crassest jokes. So what could he do but bob his head from side to side and relent, reserving the right to end it if he deemed it necessary. He’d met enough bards in his time to know that his and their definitions of “quietly” were rarely on the same page of the dictionary.

But Essi kept her word, and took up a slow, gentle melody that drifted airily through the fading twilight. The witcher might even have called it pleasant, as the dusky grey shifted to darker and darker shades of nighttime. Lambert took out his whetstone and, after a few strokes along his dulled steel blade, found his mind wandering. The poet’s voice was captivating without demanding attention—sometimes clear and bright, but never piercing or imposing; occasionally breathy, but always expressive. His eye drifted to the instrument in her hands, no longer content to merely hear the music, but wanting to watch its creation. The taut catgut strings pressed divots into thick calluses on her left hand as she fingered the fretboard, her hands flexing no differently than if she were playing at full volume. But how was she strumming so quietly? Shit, gotta keep focused. Stay on task. The whetstone once again returned to steel as Lambert pulled his mind back from its daze.

It wasn’t long before curiosity got the better of him and he glanced back to the instrument cradled against the musician’s midriff. It looked delicate. Like something that could shatter if he held it wrong. Glancing to the hand nearest him, he could now see she was using the soft pad of her thumb to strum rather than her fingernails, which were long and carefully-shaped; well-honed in that sense, Lambert mused. He’d never paid attention to a musician this closely. They always drew crowds in the cities and experience had taught him that performers on the road were just as likely to pick a man’s pocket as they were to put on a show. But this was different. Essi wasn’t performing—on the contrary, she almost seemed to be in some kind of trance. She wasn’t even looking at her hands most of the time, and from the lyrics, Lambert began to wonder whether she was making it up as she went along. It was impressive, the way she knew her instrument so well. Despite his previous feelings of irritation at having had his ass handed to him, he couldn’t deny skill when he saw it, and Essi was clearly a master of her craft.

The whetstone had been silent for close to a full verse when Essi looked up, wondering if perhaps the witcher was growing tired of the noise. She found Lambert closely examining the hone of his blade, and so, thinking nothing of it, went back to her playing. It took him longer than usual to sharpen his swords. Longer still to replenish his potions and oils. He should’ve made quick work of it. Would have, too, if it wasn’t for the fact that he found the music so… pleasant. It was difficult to meditate. Not because he couldn’t relax, but because he didn’t want to stop listening. He just—there was something about… It didn’t matter. It wasn’t important. Get the shit together for tomorrow, go to bed, get up, and hope you don’t have any trouble on the road.

Lambert laid out his bed roll and the music silenced abruptly. “Oh, are you turning in? I’ll stop now,” Essi gently lay down her lute next to her saddle bags and started to get her own sleeping mat. It was thin, Lambert noticed, as he watched her set up. His long, tired body stretched out, hands beneath his head, as he stared up through the dense oak canopy above them.

“Thank you,” Essi said, now standing by his head.

Lambert craned his neck to try and see her properly and resorted to propping up on an elbow. “Yeah? What for?”

“For finding us food and for letting me play a little,” she said with that same matter-of-factness that made Lambert feel both comfortable and uneasy.

“Yeah, well,” Lambert flopped back down on his bedroll, “Don’t worry about it. Get some sleep, we gotta keep moving in the morning. I don’t want to be out here longer than we have to.” He waved a dismissive hand in Essi’s direction, and she took that as her cue to leave him alone and be quiet.

“Goodnight, Lambert,” she murmured softly before turning and crossing back to the other side of the fire. She settled under her blankets and, after some drawn-out negotiations with a few poorly-located lumps in the ground, she was able to lie still and close her eyes. The insides of her eyelids flickered orange with the fire as it danced beside her. Before sleep took her, she heard a muffled voice from across the flames.

“G’night, Essi.” ---- Essi rose early, but not early enough for her travelling companion. The fire had already been doused and buried, and Lambert’s things were all neatly packed away and ready to be loaded onto Royal. Both horses were still hitched, and sleepily nibbling on some dewy crabgrass as the grey mists of early morning lingered. The sun hadn’t risen high enough yet to burn away the moisture, and Essi bundled her blanket around her shoulders against the chill. Lambert, she presumed, was off doing something witcher-y—taking a leak more like, she wagered as her own bladder complained. The moment he returned, Essi shot up from her log and headed into the trees.

“Just where do you think yo—”

“I have to piss!” she called back over her shoulder as she traipsed into the dense wood.

“Heh, good morning to you, too!” Lambert scrubbed his hand through his scruffy brown hair and ambled back to the fireside to begin packing and saddling the horse. When he arrived, he saw Essi’s things were also neatly packed away and stacked by her own mount. He offered a brief nod of approval before stowing his things, making quick work of the well-practiced process. By the time Essi returned, not only was Royal fully-prepared and Lambert armed and armoured, but Ginger was also mostly packed with the exception of one bag and the lute, which was cradled in the witcher’s hands as he crouched near the ground. She paused a little distance away and waited, observing as she listened to the faint sound of strings being delicately plucked.

Lambert looked up, embarrassed. “I uh… sorry.”

“What for?”

Lambert stood carefully as Essi approached and dropped his gaze, holding out the fragile instrument for it to be angrily snatched back. The musician paused for a moment, observing this gesture of cowed humility. It was a habit, she suspected, born from decades of harsh punishment without explanation, frivolous harm without justification. Essi could sense the shame as it rolled off his shoulders, the prickly-heat of defense building under his skin. She took the lute and a swell of sadness washed through at the stark evidence of the world’s cruelty—that a man should be ashamed for a little harmless curiosity only told one story: pleasure’s not for you.

Lambert looked up to find Essi still standing there, staring at the lute in her hands. “Did… did I…?” he pointed to the instrument.

“No,” she smiled softly, “not at all. And I’m not bothered that you looked at it. If you like, you can look at it again. I can even show you a chord or two?”

“Ah,” the witcher scratched the top of his head, “that’s okay. It’s, uh… I mean it seems like it’s good—well-made. Never seen one up-close like that.” There was a lull in conversation as Lambert ran out of things to say. But Essi just stood where she was, smiling her little enigmatic smile and blinking at him. He turned back to the horses, and motioned for Essi to do the same, “I, um, packed up your stuff, well most of it.”

Essi took the hint and followed suit, strapping the few remaining things to Ginger before mounting. After a brief survey of the area to make sure they hadn’t forgotten anything, the two were off, Essi following behind as Lambert continued on his shortcut through what mainly seemed to be wilderness for the first several miles. They finally emerged at a small footpath, though, and Essi finally got her bearings. They were back in familiar territory, at least for the time being, and it was proving to be a beautiful morning. Even Lambert seemed to be in a better mood, offering her things to eat along the way, and even starting his own little snippets of conversation.

It was an hour or so after midday that Lambert’s ears pricked at the sound of hooves in the distance. Could be soldiers, could be travellers… could be bandits. After a few minutes, they seemed to fade, and the witcher relaxed a little as the path took them into a wooded area by yet another stream, though this one was deep and flowing quickly. Better keep my ears sharp, Lambert thought as they rode along. Water’s too loud. Can’t hear for shit. They stopped next to the water to stretch their legs and replenish their drinking vessels again. The rest of the journey would take them mostly through high ground without much shade, and swampland. Any water they wanted to have with them, it was now or never until they reached Novigrad the next day.

Lambert relieved himself against a nearby tree while Essi washed her face and, having determined the coast was clear, gave her the go-ahead to have a squat in the underbrush. He was still on the alert. It wasn’t a high-traffic area, so in theory bandits would be less interested in diverting from the main road. On the other hand, a less-trafficked area meant less chance of a hideout being discovered. But it smelled okay, although the wind was coming across the water. And it sounded okay, although the water was so damn loud. And things looked okay, aside from the fact that there was only so far even a witcher could see without trees getting in the way.

A twig snapped in the woods behind him and the hairs on the back of his neck bristled, his hand mechanically finding the grip of his steel sword. He chanced a glance back into the woods—Fuck it, what’s the point of modesty if you’re dead? Another twig, this time from another location beyond the line of trees. There was a flash of golden hair as Essi finished her business and stood up, straightening her skirt. She turned to Lambert, ready to scold him for looking until she saw his hand on his sword. Somewhere in the near-distance, a horse whickered. The witcher lifted his finger to his lips and the poet stood stock-still, her hand slowly reaching for the small dagger at her waist as her heart beat heavily in her chest. Something rustled to Lambert’s left, and he turned, stepping quietly as he stalked in the general direction of the sound. It wasn’t wolves or Endregas, they were too high for Drowners, too woodsy for Nekkers.

Essi watched with interest as the witcher’s body went on full alert, his senses sharpening, his posture shifting, muscles coiling to accommodate any number of reflexes. She scanned the trees in front of them then looked back out to the road, marking the location of her horse in the event Lambert told her to run. A large horse came to a standstill beyond the edge of the woods somewhere and Lambert froze, listening carefully for sounds of footfalls or rustling clothing.The gears started to click a little faster as Lambert entertained the possibility they were being surrounded. He flicked his left hand at Essi in the direction of the road: get out of the woods. Quietly. Without a second thought, she began to carefully make her way back to the road as silently as she could, Lambert following, his eyes still searching.

Just as Essi’s feet met the smooth dirt path, a beefy arm wrapped tightly around her waist. But the brute was foolish enough not to cover her mouth first, and Essi let loose a loud, powerful scream that a witcher would have heard at least a mile away. Lambert abandoned his methodical retreat from the woods and came crashing onto the path, fixing his eye dangerously on his target as he circled his sword around his wrist. The witcher felt a rush of angry heat flare under his skin at the sight of Essi kicking and clawing in the bandit’s sweaty grip. He was large, reeked of booze and the funk of cured meat. Essi fought the urge to gag at the stench of his clothes as she did her best to keep her mind sharp, or else risk becoming collateral damage. Her best bet: keep her eyes on Lambert.

“Hands off the bard and you might keep your head,” the witcher barked as he approached. “Can’t make any promises about your other appendages, though.” He wanted to lunge, run him through, gut him and leave him to the wargs... but it was too risky. He was holding Essi too tightly, and there was no guarantee he wouldn’t snap her neck if Lambert took a wrong step. To make matters worse, the trees were full of footsteps. Eight, maybe ten men. Hmmm.

“Oh-ho-ho, look what we got, lads!” the bandit called to his approaching comrades as they began to filter out from the woods. “Your plaything still any good, witcher? Or have you ruined the fun for the rest of us?” The man grasped roughly at Essi’s breasts and Lambert felt his stomach drop as her eyes met his. He knew the look that was waiting for him behind those eyes, that broken terrified look of “I trusted you.” But the look never came. Those big beautiful blue eyes were steely and determined in spite of the fear he knew was churning in the background and he felt a thrill of triumph. Essi was still with him in whatever this was about to turn into. Not only that, she was thinking something, devising a plan. Lambert hoped to Gods it wasn’t something stupid. What is it, Essi? What are you thinking?

As if in answer to his question, Essi tilted her head, seductively baring her neck to her aggressor as Lambert’s options quickly decreased, the other bandits starting to close in, clearly in no rush, confident that they could easily take one man even if he did have two swords on his back and eyes like a cat. Sure boys, that’s going to go real well for you. He did a quick circle, taking stock of their exact locations before turning back to Essi, watching carefully as her hand traced up the outside of the bandit’s right leg. Yes, Essi, come on, come on, come on…

The man rasped something foul in her ear, but all she could hear was the sound of her ears ringing and her own heart beating out of her chest as she did her best to focus on the task at hand. She barely knew what she was doing, but the witcher was watching her every move intently, and that somehow made whatever she was about to do feel possible. She felt her thumb brush the cool handle of her dagger, and Lambert nodded almost imperceptibly. Do it.

With a swift, fluid movement, she plunged the short blade into the man’s side and he roared in pain as his compatriots mulled around in confusion, their fisstech-addled minds still catching up. Lambert took the opportunity and sliced through the three nearest him with swift, clean strokes, focusing back in on Essi just in time to see her take a right hook to the face. She fell to the ground and blinked heavily, her vision blurry and head spinning. Her fingers found a large rock as a pair of meaty hands grabbed her legs, pulling her across the rough dirt road. She scrambled and turned, bringing the heavy rock squarely to the side of the man’s head with a sickening crack. He fell limply to the ground as the poet found her way to shaky legs, the makeshift weapon falling limply from her hand.

From out of the chaos of grunts and screams and clanging weapons, Essi heard her name, “GET OUT, GO, GO!” It was Lambert. Without a second thought she stumbled the short distance to Ginger and mounted, bolting across the river and holding on for dear life. She rode until the horse slowed, until she wasn’t sure where she was or whether the river she’d stopped beside was the same river or a different one. Essi dismounted and only then noticed that her hands were shaking. Interesting, she thought, as she was overcome with trembling and heaving sobs. I suppose this is what they mean when they say ‘fear catches us later’. She sat on a boulder and listened to the clear water, waiting for Lambert to find her.

#Essi Daven/Lambert #Lambert/Essi #rarepair #thank you Lambert #and I'm sorry #more to come!#Stay tuned #The witcher #Lambert #Essi Daven #Bardcore: dark mode

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tuanhood · 5 years ago

Text

theta

pairing: frat!bambam x reader

genre: smut

warnings: 18+, language, cringey frat stuff, fingering

word count: 4,400+

summary: you haven’t been doing so well in stats, so your tutor - the last person you thought would be teaching you something - recommends giving you an incentive.

a/n: hi guys! i’m a little late... but it’s kinda technically still the weekend? ngl this definitely isn’t my best work and I’m sorry for that because I feel like I’ve been lacking a little bit lately! but i promise that i have a few things in the works that will hopefully be better! but nonetheless enjoY!

“Okay so in a college class, the average IQ is 115. Assuming that the distribution is normal and that the standard deviation is 15. What percentage of the class has an IQ between 105 and 130?”

You felt like you were going to die.

When you were a little girl, you’d fantasize about all the fun and cool things you’d be able to do in college. Stay up late, hang out with your friends all the time, eat whatever you wanted, and take the classes that would help you become the best-selling author you aspired to be.

In all of those daydreams and fantasies, you never pictured yourself in practical agony studying for a statistics class that you never wanted to take in the first place. You were more of an English and critical analysis girl, definitely not a science and math girl. Especially not stats.

You told yourself probably a hundred times throughout the quarter that you could make it through. That you could maybe actually do this, but sometime between weeks three and four you got completely lost and when you received your midterm grade back, you knew you had to ask for help.

“I don’t fucking know,” you exhaled in frustration as you practically slammed your head down onto the table in front of you.

There’s a pause before Bambam lets out a sigh of his own, “let’s come back to that one later then.”

This was how most of your sessions with Bambam went. He’d read the questions out loud to you as if was going to help, hope that you’d be able to solve it – which you typically wouldn’t – and then you’d give up in frustration. Then you’d call it a day.

That was another thing. Another thing that made this whole tutoring thing even worse – you were being tutored by Bambam. As in Bambam of Theta Chi.

As dumb as you felt saying it, but you felt even more pathetic for having to be so terrible at stats that you have to be tutored by a frat boy. Sure he came highly recommended by the people at your school that put together and pair people off for the tutoring sessions, but it didn’t get rid of the pain you felt when you had to tell your friends who exactly was helping you pass stats. Or… at least trying to help.

“Okay, so what is the probability of rolling snake eyes using two fair dice?”

Maybe you were being shallow, but even his voice screamed frat guy and not the master of statistics who is now teaching his peers. You don’t know why but it aggravated you. Traditionally he wasn’t supposed to be good at these kinds of things, someone like you was. It didn’t make sense.

You groaned, your head still on the table, muffled by the surface, “I don’t know? 1/36?”

At your answer, you could feel Bambam straighten up beside you. You had to admit the boy was a trooper for being willing to meet you at your apartment today instead of your usual spot in the library or at Starbucks. You just couldn’t be bothered to make the trek to campus, if you were going to have another agonizing day of probability, deviation, and whatever – it was going to be from the comfort of your living room floor.

“Correct! See Y/N you’re not a lost cause.”

Bringing your head up from the coffee table, you grimace at him, “I never said I was a lost cause.”

His cheeks turned a shade of light pink, clearly embarrassed by his statement, but being the cool and easygoing frat guy, he is – he covers it up, “I know. Dude, I’m just saying, chill.” Leave it to Bambam to cover up any real emotions.

Even though it was frustrating that you were being tutored by a guy in Theta Chi and you felt lame whenever you admitted to anyone, it didn’t necessarily mean that you had anything against Bambam. Before he had started tutoring you, the encounters you had with Bambam were fine – certainly not an “oh my god you are so freaking annoying” situation. They were minimal of course, just a hello or a how are you at various school events or parties. You didn’t hate him, which was why at the beginning between the studying you had tried to talk to him and get to know him. But he never said anything real or authentic – it always felt like he was putting on some kind of ultra-frat boy act for you. Whenever you asked questions about him, things he liked to do, what he was studying or his family he would simply shy away from it and talk about Theta Chi. You didn’t get it.

“Bambam is so freaking deep. I had a two-hour drunk conversation with him at Theta Chi’s party last weekend and my mind has been opened.” Your friend had told you when you told her about him tutoring you.

So what? Did he have to be drunk to want to talk to you about something other than probability? Or was it just that he didn’t want to talk to you? You couldn’t put your finger on it, but it bothered you a little too much for some unexplainable reason.

“I am chill,” you confirmed with him – a bit too bitterly. You couldn’t tell if your annoyance came from the ongoing frustration of not understanding stats regardless of how many times you’ve met with Bambam or the fact that he was constantly shying away from you two actually getting to know each other.

“Well…” he began suddenly, swallowing almost nervously, “what if we work on a rewards-based system?”

You scoffed at him, “what am I? A child?”

“Do you want me to answer that? Listen… all I’m saying is that rewards or a prize can be a good motivator sometimes. It definitely can’t hurt the studying process.”

There was a part of you that felt annoyed at Bambam for thinking that the only way that you were going to understand any of this was through some kind of incentive. An incentive that had nothing to do with your overall goal which was to not fail the class. However, you had to admit you were curious as to what Bambam could bring to the table when it came to “rewards,” so you decided to play along – for now.

“What kind of motivators are we talking about?”

For a second you swear you see Bambam fidget nervously in his seat, but it happens so quickly, you’re sure it must be your brain playing a trick on you, “I don’t know… I’m literally the co-social chair of Theta Chi so I pretty much can get you whatever you want. Booze, drugs… sex.”

At his last “category” for rewards, your interest is peeked, but not in a weird or perverted way – you swear, “what the social chair orchestrates and plans sexual encounters now?”

He laughed and shakes his head, “definitely not. I’m just saying… If there was anyone you were interested in at Theta Chi… I could probably set it up for you. I mean you’re definitely not bad looking so I don’t think it would be difficult.”

You were half pleased by Bambam’s compliment and intrigued that by the fact that it seemed like perhaps his “non-tutoring” personality was emerging from the surface. It caused you to push more regarding his “reward” if it meant that you could see more of it, “So what? I solve the next equation and I get to fuck Im Jaebeom? Is that how this works?”

He clicked his tongue, “Jaebeom, huh? Wouldn’t have thought he would be your type.”

For some reason, you suddenly felt a wave of nervousness rush through your body and you feel defensive as though you have to explain yourself for some reason, “No- I mean it was just an example.”

Bambam nodded his slowly and looked away from you for the first time since he brought up the incentive thing. His focus goes back to the textbook in front of both of you, “It’s okay if he is. Jaebeom’s a chill guy.”

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, for a moment there you almost got a hint of something from him. You weren’t quite sure as to what, but it almost felt like he was… jealous? But then he has to cower away and go back to stats… That was technically why he was sitting in your living room, but right now this seemed like the least important thing going on.

“What is it with you and chill? Does everything need to be chill? Why can’t you just be… normal?”

He laughed at your query, “What if being chill is normal for some people?”

You grabbed the pencil in front of you and tapped it on the table rhythmically in thought, “Chill people aren’t masters at stats. That’s just a fact.”

Bambam’s face goes into fake shock, “really? Damn well, I guess that’s why you haven’t learned anything the last month that we’ve been doing this.”

It’s obvious that it was meant as a playful dig, to tease you, but Bambam feels his heart race when you simply frown in response instead of laugh. It was clear that he had gone too far. This was the thing he had been most worried about this entire time he had been tutoring you.

He had heard from one of his brothers in Theta who knew a friend of yours that you felt embarrassed by being tutored by a frat guy – by him. Hearing that certainly didn’t make him feel good, but he tried his best to help you the last month or so. He didn’t want to do or say anything that could allude to “frat guy” behavior – so most of the time he tried to keep conversations statistics related. Part of him felt like it was because he was offended by your embarrassment, but another part of him felt like it was maybe because he wanted to impress you. He wanted to prove that he wasn’t the typical frat guy because you probably didn’t like that.

But he had to admit… in certain ways, he was the typical frat guy and restricting that part of himself meant restricting segments of his personality. The teasing – that was apart of it.

“Shit – y/n I’m sorry I didn’t actually mean it. I meant it more like-”

At his quick and panicked response, you burst out into a fit of giggles, “dude I can be chill too. I was just fucking with you. Now come on… let’s keep working, I want my prize.”

Bambam lets out a sigh in relief. Maybe he had misjudged you, “so you do want a reward?”

“Of course, I want a reward.”

He licked his lips in thought and you have to admit it’s hard not to stare, “okay what should we start with?”

You began to tap the pencil on your chin instead of the table, thinking about what exactly it was you wanted. When you finally have your grand prize in mind, you figure it’s better to start small.

“I don’t want to be charged cover at any future Theta Chi parties.”

He looked at you with surprise written on his face, “you go to our parties?”

You rolled your eyes at him as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, he can’t help but admire how cute you look when you do it, “of course. They’re the biggest parties on campus… why wouldn’t I go?”

Bambam shrugged, “I just didn’t think you liked frat stuff…” drifting off he looks to see the confusion written on your face and he doesn’t know why, but for some reason, he feels the need to keep talking, “Unless it’s for Jaebeom.” Immediately he wants to punch himself in the face for his continual teasing.

You thought it was funny how he was stuck on the Jaebeom thing. You had just said his name as an example – something you already explained to Bambam – but for some reason, it seemed to bother him. Bambam was more your type than Jaebeom, but it would have been weird if you had brought him up as an example.

“What was that?”

His voice causes your body to jolt up in surprise. Had he heard you? No way.

“Y/N what did you just say?” Bambam asked once again.

The second question regarding what you had just said sends you into a frenzy, considering he was the last person who had just said something based on your recollection. Therefore… he fucking heard you.

“Did I say that out loud?” You asked embarrassed and judging on the look on Bambam’s face – you have your answer.

You felt your mouth go dry, “I- shit… Bam I didn’t mean- Well I mean I did, but- Fuck I-” you cut off your stuttering with nervous laughter and you feel more awkward than you’ve probably ever felt in your adult life.

Rather than saying anything, Bambam looks at you curiously. A hint of a smile appears on his face but soon disappears as if he’s thought of an idea or just something. Hopefully, an idea to get me out of this, you think to yourself. Instead, he scoots closer next to you on the floor and for a moment you have to remind yourself to exhale.

“Instead of the cover as your reward… What about…” he begins, placing his right hand onto your thigh, “this? Is this okay?” If you had to keep your breathing in check just when he moved closer to you, then you felt like you were going to need to be resuscitated now.

Rather than verbally answering, you nodded your head, afraid to open your mouth in case the wrong thing came out.

Keeping his hand placed firmly on your thigh, he asked you the next question, “Suppose X and Y are independent random variables. The variance of X is equal to 16; and the variance of Y is equal to 9. Let Z = X – Y. What is the standard deviation of Z?”

It’s becoming harder to concentrate. All you can focus on is the placement of his hand on your thigh and when you don’t answer right away, he begins to move it up and down your leg.

“Come on, I know you can do this one,” he said softly.

You couldn’t believe that your tutoring session was now taking a sharp turn – a turn that you had to admit you were now craving – but Bambam was still expecting you to be focused enough to answer questions. You weren’t able to typically do it even when you didn’t have his hand on you.

It’s almost as though you’re on autopilot as you put your pencil to paper and work out the problem. The only thing on your mind is the curiosity of what his next move will be if you answer him correctly.

“5?”

He gives you your answer by drifting his hand up your thigh until it sits at the top of your thigh, dangerously close to your core. You wonder if he can tell how damp you’ve become, even with the sweatpants you’re wearing. It was probably evident just by looking at your face.

“A coin is tossed three times. What’s the probability that it lands on heads exactly one time?”

This was becoming frustrating. How the fuck were you getting turned on by him asking you stats questions? You felt like your brain was about to explode with how completely mixed up it felt. The cause of your stress for the entire quarter was now the cause of you being turned on? Your mind was currently rewiring itself.

For this question, it takes you some time to focus enough to work it out and calculate. Bambam who is usually patient with you when you struggle, has instead been replaced with a much more impatient version of himself as he slips his hand up to the waistband of your sweatpants, delicately playing with the top to tease you, you suddenly wished you would have worn better underwear for what’s about to happen. If you could answer the question that is.

Just as you feel as though you’ve come to the end of the problem, you feel him dip a single finger underneath the top of the band, rubbing it softly against your stomach. It causes your hand to slip up on the paper, drawing a line right through your problem.

“What’s wrong?” He asked innocently, completely aware of what he was doing to you, “do you need help?”

You shook your head in response, unable to say anything. It was becoming more and more difficult to even get your hand to move fluidly on the paper. It was instead starting to get more jagged. Your fives were beginning to look more like threes. When you’ve finally solved the problem, you find yourself pointing at the paper for Bambam to look at your answer. He laughed.

“Correct again. You’re doing so well,” he murmured as he finally dips his hand beneath the band of your sweatpants and down to your panties. You sucked a deep breath in, waiting in anticipation for his next actions, feeling him so much closer to where you need him the most, but instead, his hand just rests there, over the material.

Letting a very out of character whine escape your lips causes him to chuckle. “Do you think you can have your reward that fast? No, no,” he tutted, “you have to finish answering all the questions like a good girl.”

You try so hard to remember the next question he asks, but he soon begins gently rubbing you through your panties and it makes you want to kill him for playing so dirty. How were you able to solve any problems when it felt like an actual ocean was forming in your underwear? You knew Bambam could feel it too with the way his gaze on you got even darker, one of his fingers wandering to the side of your panties, playing with the hem but not daring to slip underneath.

What the fuck was the question?

“Having trouble angel?”

He doesn’t give you time to answer – even if he did you weren’t sure you’d be able to provide him with one – instead, he slips his hand underneath your panties until his fingers find your entrance, slowly stroking up and down. You let out a moan when he’s left his index finger on your clit, rubbing small circles around the bundle of nerves.

“It can’t be that hard to remember a simple question. Is something distracting you?”

Another sigh of pleasure is released from you when he presses down a bit to place more pressure on your clit, “I’ll ask you one more time. You have to remember this time or you lose your reward, okay? Are you listening?”

Nodding your head, he smiled, “The standard normal curve is symmetric about 0 and the total area under it is 1. True or False?”

Bambam himself was losing his patience, he so badly wanted to bring you to your release and see how tight you get around his fingers, how much you ask him for it. He had to admit that wasn’t the original question he had asked you, but at this rate, he just wanted to ask you the easier questions so both of you could get what you wanted.

“T-True?” You managed to stutter out.

“Doing so well for me,” he whispered into your ear at your response. The teasing had been so achingly painful that when he finally fully inserts his pointer finger you feel like a kid on Christmas. You feel as though you can finally let out the breath you had been holding in since he started the taunting.

The pace he starts with is clearly another method to get you worked up – which you certainly are – but you also felt thankful that at least it was something compared to the nothing you were getting from him previously. When he curls his finger, hitting you in the spot that drives you crazy, you felt your body instinctively jerk forward in surprise. He had found it so fast and with such ease, you wondered if the two of you had down this before in another life.

“Bam, I-” you begin, but as his thumb draws circles over your clit, you ultimately lose your train of thought and fall even closer into him, until your head is resting on his shoulder.

“There’s one more question left… Do you think you can handle it?”

The whimper you let out sounds borderline inhumane and in any other situation you would be frustrated with yourself for giving in so quickly, but right now you didn’t care. All you needed was him to keep going – to really give you your reward. The noise is enough for him to dive into the last question and you feel like you’re gonna pass out at the way he begins to rhythmically tap your clit, his finger now going stagnant.

His eyes drift down to the textbook on the table, gazing through which questions on the page are still viable to be asked. After a moment he locks eyes with you, the tapping still consistent.

For a moment he looks shy and despite his previous teasing, you feel your heart leap out of your chest in deep want and longing. It’s a weird feeling you have to admit, but somehow it feels just right.

“What’s the probability of you going out on a date with me after this?” Bambam blushed when he asked you his query and for some reason, he feels so small being in front of you – asking this – despite his current position with his hand in between your legs.

You, on the other hand, have no trouble answering this final question. The question that’ll get you your reward and perhaps something else entirely.

“Without a doubt, 100% chance.”

The smile that emerged on his face is so big, you take a picture of it in your mind, wanting to keep it safe and bottle it up to view later, a hundred times over.

He slipped in another finger, watching your face as it contorts into even more pleasure, “there we go.”

You felt a groan arise in your throat as soon as he began to pick up the original pace of his sole finger. With both of them curling and pumping in and out of you, you felt even more overwhelmed than before. Bambam smirked, taking in your tightly shut eyes, “Good?” Opening your eyes, you felt your climax right around the corner, only able to moan his name in response to his question. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he murmured, leaning in to place his lips on your own.

Somehow, the pace of his fingers only increased, practically fucking into you over and over, hitting your g-spot each time. Even though you were sat on the floor, already mostly leaning onto Bambam for support, you still felt as though you could melt into the floor. With a final few pumps that hit your sweet spot and his thumb still massaging your clit, you feel your walls tighten around his fingers. “That’s it, good girl,” he said against your lips.

Soon you fall apart, feeling as though there’s no breath left in your body, your body falling practically limp at your release around Bambam’s fingers. He takes a moment to slip his hand out from between your legs and you don’t ignore the feeling you get in your core again when he slowly places his fingers in his mouth.

You groaned, feeling like you were practically in a sedative state at how relaxed your release made you feel, “do you have to do that?”

Bambam narrowed his eyebrows in confusion, “what do you mean?”

“Be so damn seductive.”

The two of you look at each other before bursting into laughter at your very serious confession. After a moment when it’s silent you look down at your lap to realize that somewhere during your encounter with Bambam, your sweatpants managed to slip down to the bottom of your thighs.

“I should probably go get cleaned up…”

Bambam coughed awkwardly and turned to his things on the coffee table, “yeah… I guess I should probably just get my stuff together too and get out of your hair.”

Get out of your hair? Who the fuck says that Bam? He asked himself.

You looked at him with confusion, “I thought you were taking me out? Remember? 100% chance? I mean… unless you didn’t mean it…”

His eyes went big, “No!” he exclaimed, “I definitely meant it! I just didn’t know if maybe you said it in the moment and- Or I don’t maybe you did mean it- but also if you didn’t that’s cool. Just so you know I would have still given you your- uh reward if you had said no- Sorry I’m rambling. I ramble when I get nervous.”

When he stops talking, he instantly avoids your gaze. This was the Bambam you wanted to see. This display of authenticity made you feel as though the curtain had finally been drawn.

“I said it because it was true. The likeliness was 100%. Give me like 15 minutes and I’ll be ready to go,” just as you’re about to head to the stairs, you stop yourself and remember why the two of you were even here in the first place, “shit stats…”

Instantly, Bambam shakes his head, “if you think we’re going to go back to probability, standard deviation, and bullshit right now after what just happened you are very mistaken. We’ve done enough… work for today.”

Smiling, you nodded your head in confirmation and begin to go up the stairs to your room. Considering something, you find yourself stopping on the third stop, turning towards the living room where Bambam looks up at you with his head cocked to the side.

“You picked easier questions towards the end on purpose, didn’t you?”

He let out a laugh and grinned – another smile that you decided to file away in your memories, something that you figured might soon become a regular part of your life.

“Let’s just say that I wanted to give you your reward as much as you wanted to have it.”

#got7 smut #got7 fanfic #got7 #bambam #bambam smut

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ladykissingfish · 4 years ago

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Waking Up/Morning Routines with the Akatsuki

Sasori

Doesn’t sleep, so he’s literally always awake. Finds nighttime to be his most productive time, as everyone around him is finally quiet and out of the way. If he is impatient to get going on a mission in the morning, or for a meeting to start, he will purposely create a lot of loud noises outside of everyone’s doors, or dropping things in the kitchen, in order to get everyone up and moving.

Deidara

Goes through an embarrassing amount of alarm clocks each week, as he will inevitably smash (or blow up) one each morning. Half the time he falls asleep in the clothes he wore the day before, so dressing isn’t really an issue. Meticulously washes his face; will often “borrow” (sneak) Konan’s expensive face scrubs. Will have spent some time brushing out his hair the night before, so that in the morning all he has to do is tie it up. He hates facial hair (thinks it makes him look like “an old man”) so if there’s even a hint of stubble, he will shave. Brushing his teeth takes the longest because, obviously, he has THREE mouths to clean. Also has a weird tic about having uneven fingernails, so will aggressively file until he’s achieved what he considers perfection. Probably spends more time in the bathroom than anyone else; but the other members are used to it (and most times they wake up and are in/out of bathroom before Deidara anyway, so it’s not really an issue). Never feels hungry in the mornings but will grab a rice cake or something easy to eat if going on a mission.

Hidan

Similar to Deidara in that alarm clocks won’t last very long around him. Requests for Konan to wake him (to try and catch a glimpse of some early-morning nips) but ends up with Kakuzu. His habit has always been to commit his Jashin rituals at night, then fall asleep from exhaustion. When he gets up, he’s still covered in the mess that he created the night before, so he’ll head into the shower to wash it all away. Nobody wants to go into the bathroom after Hidan, because of all the blood and gore he leaves around the floor. Zetsu is the only one who will, and he’ll “clean” the mess (HOW he does it is something no one wants to question, and everyone will pretend they didn’t see how he licked his lips when he came out). His activities from the previous night leave him with a monstrously huge appetite in mornings — will raid the fridge for whatever he can get his hands on. Also, mornings are when his mouth is the least foul ((his brain is still catching up)), so it’s the best possible time to try and hold a calm and civil conversation with him.

Kakuzu

Time is money, and you can’t make any money if you’re sleeping. Is an extremely early riser; will be awake hours before anyone else, sitting at kitchen table and going through the Bingo Book for possible bounties to go after in his free time. Might spend some time chatting with the ever-awake Sasori, or sometimes Konan, as they’re the only ones in the Akatsuki that Kakuzu views as having the same kind of calm level-headedness as himself. Isn’t really a big morning-eater but will snack on a variety of berries or maybe a salad; after all these things are heart-healthy and Kakuzu’s got more than the average person, to take care of. However is a huge coffee-drinker and can (and has) go(ne) through an entire pot before anyone else even gets up. He’s a nighttime vs day showerer, so his only bathroom routine usually consists of brushing teeth and combing hair (which is surprisingly long for a man his age). Or, if the coffee catches up to him, spends a good amount of time with the newspaper, “dropping the kids off at the pool”.

Zetsu

Zetsu is rarely “home” at the same time everyone else is, so nobody is really sure of his morning routine. Actually ... nobody is even sure if he sleeps. There’s a lot about Zetsu that nobody is quite 100% sure on, and nobody is eager to find out, either.

Tobi/Obito

Once ready for his own day, Deidara will take on much of a parent’s role in Obito’s morning routine. Not necessarily because he wants to, or because he cares, but because Pein has (unfairly) made it clear that the orange-masked idiot is more or less Deidara’s “responsibility”. Tobi can wake up on his own, which is a plus; but after that it’s an endless litany of Deidara’s voice: “Did you brush your teeth?” “Did you wash your face?” “You’ve got stains all over your shirt; go change your clothes, hm!” However, once the bathroom door is shut, Obito can emerge, and it’s the only time of the day he can truly be himself. He’ll brush his soft hair, he’ll clean and floss his perfect teeth. He’ll stare at himself in the mirror for an infinite amount of time agonizing over the ruined side of his face ... He’ll also vigorously wash the inside and outside of his mask, with soap. When everything’s finished, he’ll put Tobi back on and race to the kitchen, begging Konan (or whoever else is in there) to make him pancakes. His energy will be found annoying (or intolerable) by some of the grumpier members, and will be told repeatedly to “Shut up, kid!”

Pein

Gods don’t sleep, therefore such a thing as getting up in the morning does not exist for Pein. Will only come out of his room once everyone else is awake, to assign missions or tasks for the day.

Konan

Konan is the embodiment of “Don’t talk to me before I’ve had my coffee.” Is very disciplined so will wake on on her own, and EARLY, but is an extremely reluctant riser. It was agreed from the beginning that, being the only woman, Konan would be the only member of the Akatsuki to have her own bathroom. Which is good, because Konan shudders at the thought of anyone seeing her in the morning before she’s done her hair and makeup. Is one of the few members that showers exclusively in the mornings; she can’t start the day without feeling that blast of scarily-hot water on her skin. Also likes to get in a bit of exercise, such as stretching and yoga. If ahead of his own schedule, Tobi will join her for the yoga, as he’s one of the more flexible members of the whole bunch. If in a charitable mood, will make breakfast for everyone, receiving probably the only sincere Thank You’s that any of them have ever uttered.

Kisame

Kisame is half-shark, and therefore does not have the same sort of sleeping routine that full humans do. He will have periods of rest throughout the entire day, as well as at night, but there’s never a time when he goes into a full, deep, out-of-it slumber. In the very early hours of the morning, if not otherwise engaged, he seeks out the nearest freshwater source and goes for a vigorous (and naked) swim. Spends so much time in the water that he sees no need for human trivialities like bathing; although he HAS picked up the habit of brushing his teeth. If somebody has made breakfast at the hideout he will eat it; otherwise he prefers to (again) find a water source, prey on smaller fish, and eat them, raw. Sometimes (although this is very rare) he’ll spend a morning in his room simply reading and sipping tea. He likes to read nature and animal-based books and magazines, and has an insatiable curiosity for learning about other species.

Itachi

An early riser by habit. Has a strong internal clock, and will know what time it is just based on the color of the air coming through the window. Spends his first half-hour of wakefulness in meditation, as it helps to center him for the day ahead. Like Kisame, he is a reader, and might spend some of his morning in the company of a good book. Another daylight-showerer. Spends more time on his hair than one would suspect; the only luxuries he allows himself in life are expensive shampoos, conditioners, and hair cream. Prefers his solitude until called upon to go on a mission, but will have rare bouts of wanting to be around the others, so might join for breakfast. Sometimes he will help Konan prepare it, as he’s a very good cook. Is also the unwitting problem-solver of the group; in the mornings, his door will be knocked on more than anybody else’s, from those seeking his opinion or advice.

#the akatsuki #morning routine #konan #pein #deidara #sasori #hidan #kakuzu #tobi #obito #zetsu #itachi uchiha #kisame

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k00270457 · 3 years ago

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- SENSORY PROCESSING -

While reflecting on this project. I thought about all the conversations I’ve had with lecturers where I’ve explained to them when and why I dance, and I learned that not everyone dances to the beep of the pedestrian crossing, or the whirr of the risograph machine!

When I was about 15 I was diagnosed with Sensory Processing Disorder, particularly in my hearing. This is how I try and describe it to people: I hear just as much as the average person does, but my brain struggles to process what noise is important and what isn’t, so my brain just processes every noise all the time. (Same goes with sight, touch, taste and smell!) So while most people can filter out unnecessary noises, my brain tries to take it all in and gather it all. It makes me very susceptible to sensory overload. And my friends know I have a lot of strange quirks since I was very young. (A favourite being that I can’t smell or taste properly if it’s particularly loud!) I carry little earplugs around with me for the canteen or the studio if all the small noises start to overwhelm me too much

While this is typically a hindrance in my life. There’s some funny little things about it that make me me. I think sometimes I dance because I hear music that other people don’t, in the traffic lights, in the riso machine. And I think that’s a really lovely thing. I think I use dance to process all the sensory input I’m getting, to ground myself and remind myself that I’m safe in my body and my feet are on the ground. Maybe being so sensitive to the world around me has made me all the more grateful for being in it.

#Writing

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just-jordie-things · 5 years ago

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Pesky Feelings - John B Routledge

word count: 4238 warnings: swearing, two oblivious lovesick idiots summary: thornton!reader and John B are your typical childhood best friends, which comes along with your typical angst of secretly being in love and not knowing how to admit it :) request: @killerwasteland: I'm here with another idea for a John b : avoiding him like the plague after confessing your feelings and him tryna get you to talk to him because you didn't even give him the chance to say whether he reciprocated the feelings (+ bonus points if they're childhood best friends + extra bonus points if she's topper's sister) (a/n): ok I love this, and also john b is a major dork of a bf ___

“Can we talk?” (y/n) had asked quietly, grabbing onto her friend’s wrist softly, hoping he wouldn’t freak out at those three dreaded words.

John B didn’t freak out, he simply nodded, and followed her away from the party, so that they could have some privacy. There was nothing that (y/n) could ever say to him that would freak him out.

She was his best friend, he loved her, and he trusted her with his life. So he remained calm as they found a decent spot to talk privately, where the music wasn’t loud, and no one could really see them and make judgmental assumptions.

(y/n) sucked in a deep breath, letting go of his wrist as her hands tangled together. It was a nervous tic of hers, one that John B recognized, but even still, he was calm as he placed his hands over hers soothingly.

“What’s up?” He asked, ever so laid back.

She was thankful that he was such an easy going guy, it definitely made what she was about to say next a little easier.

“I just… um I wanted to tell you that… that I…” She licks her lips as she trails off, anxiety bubbling up inside of her like water that was about to boil over a pot.

John B doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t want to rush her and make her more nervous than she clearly already was. But he couldn’t deny that he was on the edge of his seat, dying on the inside of curiosity. He does his best not to show it, though.

“Look you don’t have to say anything, or- or feel the same way I just wanted you to know how I feel and that I… I really like you,” Her eyes flicker up to his, glossy and apprehensive. “I like you as more than a friend” She said more clearly.

John B opened his mouth to reply, and it should have been an easy response, but it wasn’t. He froze up completely, his hands stiffening over her own and his eyes blowing wide as he stood their speechlessly.

But while he was too bashful to know what to say, the pit in (y/n’s) stomach was trying to swallow her whole, and suddenly she wished a hole would open up below her and just suck her into the earth, out of this situation.

“Oh my god,” She mumbled, realizing what she’d just done. “Oh my god, I- I’m so sorry-”

She started to back away, pulling her hands out of John B’s, eyes scanning over the party in hopes to find someone that she could flock to.

“Wait, (y/n)-”

“I’m gonna go- yeah- I’m gonna head out”

She’s speed walking away from him before he can find the lick of sense to grab her hand and pull her back towards him, hold onto her and never ever let go.

“(y/n)!” He called after her, but she just waved goodbye, and went into the crowd to tell her brother she was going home, with or without him.

He was the one with the car, but she would run all the way to the Figure Eight if she had to right now. ___

(y/n) rolled over in her bed, pushing her face into her pillow and letting out a frustrated cry. No words came out, it’s just that when she thought about that night, the amount of cringe she felt took over her whole body.

“Okay, calm down,” Kiara said through the speaker of her phone.

They’d been Facetiming for the last half hour or so, but it was difficult for (y/n) to focus on any of the topics they tried to talk about when her mind was constantly reminding her of the biggest failure she’s ever experienced.

“It’s not that bad, (y/n)” Kie added.

“Not that bad?” (y/n) repeated, lifting her head to look at the screen. “It’s terrible. He was my best friend- what the fuck was I thinking?”

“You had a bit to drink, alcohol is liquid courage you know,” Kiara said, only half-joking. “And he’d been holding your hand all night, (y/n/n), that’s reasonable evidence that he liked you back-”

“Not reasonable enough apparently!” (y/n) shrieked. “I can’t believe I actually thought he would ever like me-”

“Hey,” Topper came into the room without bothering to knock, an annoyed look on his face. “Could you keep it down? Rafe and I are trying to-”

“Get the fuck out,” (y/n) grumbled, chucking a stuffed animal from her at him. “I’m going through something” She added.

Topper rolled his eyes at her.

“Really? He was just a Pogue (y/n), I don’t get why you hang out with them”

They’d had this argument pretty much every day their whole lives. Topper could be a good brother sometimes, he’d pick up dinner for her, drive her to the keggers on the beach, and he was definitely protective of her. But that didn’t mean his personality had a gold star next to it.

He was definitely your average Kook, if not a little worse. It could really get under (y/n’s) skin at times, but recently she’d just decided to ignore it. It was much easier to ignore it anyways, because then it would go away.

“Get out” She repeated, throwing a pillow at him this time.

He didn’t say anything, just shook his head and left.

“Wow,” Kiara groaned through the phone. “He sucks”

“I know,” (y/n) agreed. “But he just doesn’t get it. He doesn’t know John B like I do. He doesn’t know any of you guys like I do”

Kiara understood that the Thornton siblings had a major disconnect when it came to who they spent their time with. Anyone with eyes could see the difference in character between (y/n) and Topper.

In fact, when people met (y/n), they expected the whole family to be as sweet and charismatic as her. But they were almost always left disappointed.

“You should just come talk to him,” Kiara said, getting back on topic. “No matter what happens, or what he says, you know that he’ll be understanding. He doesn’t want you to feel hurt or left out”

“I know,” (y/n) huffed. “I know I just.. I don’t think I can see him yet. It won’t feel the same for me like it does for him. He’ll say that nothing has to change but… it will. It will for me”

Kiara frowned, but she understood where her friend was coming from.

She just also knew that John B had to feel the same way. There was no way that he’d been sweet on her all this time and didn’t have feelings. She’d known the pair all their lives, and for as long as she’d known them, John B had a soft spot for the Kook girl. It was the one constant in the group.

“I should have just listened to the rule, and kept my mouth shut. No Pogue on Pogue macking. It’s there for a reason. This is the exact fucking reason- hold on I’m getting a call”

“From who?”

(y/n) stared at the screen for a moment, her heart melting at the picture that she’d set for John B’s contact. It was them when they were in middle school, they looked dorky and very out of style, but it was sweet. They were going to their first school dance, and their parents had begged them to take a picture before they went, this picture.

John B had eagerly thrown his arms around her, hugging her tightly like he always did. He had a big cheesy and toothy grin on his face, which was adorable when you looked at the rest of the picture, seeing his crooked bowtie.

(y/n) had hugged him back, a bit more warily, and the smile on her face was softer. You could see the blush on her cheeks when you really studied the picture.

“John B,” (y/n) answered after snapping out of her daze, and hit the decline call option. “Sorry, I’m back”

“What? Girl, why didn’t you answer?”

“Because, like I said, it’s weird now-”

“He was probably calling you to invite you to a late night ride on the boat,” Kiara said, always the voice of reason to everyone in the group.

Sometimes she was convinced she was the only one with any brain cells.

“You should call him back” She stated.

“No way, I’m gonna wait,” (y/n) replied. “I can’t talk to him right now, I’ll clam up, or stutter, and it’ll be embarrassing”

“Who cares?” Kiara half-shouted. “He obviously wants to talk to you”

“But what if its about-”

“Does it matter what it’s about?” Kiara cut her off, “Him wanting to talk to you is a good sign either way”

“Well, he’s been calling me all week” (y/n) admitted, looking away from the screen.

“All week? Jesus (y/n/n), you’re probably freaking the boy out-”

“I know!” (y/n) cried, shoving her face back into her pillow. “This is all so stupid. This is like- high school drama stupid. I feel like an idiot”

“No offense babe, but you are an idiot,” Kie giggled. “I love you, but you're so oblivious”

“Am I?” (y/n) muttered, voice muffled by the pillow.

“Yes, without a doubt,” Kiara said, still laughing light heartedly. “Do you even remember when I met you guys?”

Kiara had been a new student at Kildare Elementary in the second grade. The first day was always the worst, but luckily by recess, she met a nice boy with messy hair and a friendly smile.

They had been playing on the swingset together for a little while, asking the ridiculous questions you ask other seven year olds when you’re becoming friends. Most of their conversation had been about the Power Rangers, until another girl came up to the swings.

John B hopped off his immediately so the short (y/h/c) haired girl could swing. She’d thanked him with an equally friendly smile as she sat on the swing, and waited for him to push her because she hadn’t been very good at swinging up high like he was.

“This is Kiara, she’s new,” John B introduced. “And this is (y/n),” He told Kiara. “You can be friends with her too, but she’s my best friend, so you can’t have her”

(y/n) had giggled at that, but hopped off the swing so that she could hug the new girl.

“We can all be best friends,” She’d announced. “There’s nothing wrong with having two best friends”

John B had pouted for a bit, but as their playdates turned into the three of them, and eventually they met two other boys, he was okay with having other friends around.

As long as (y/n) always picked him to be partners in hide and seek, and as long as she always laid her sleeping bag next to his, then he wouldn’t complain.

The girls were Kooks, and the boys were Pogues, but all their lives, it hadn’t mattered. (y/n) had never really thought twice about it, even when her brother would be kind of a jerk, or when other Kooks would pick on the group in high school, she never second guessed her friendship with them, her love for them. They were all her best friends, John B had just always been something more than that. Something beyond best. He was priority number one, and looking back on it, she’d always loved him.

“Don’t you remember?” Kiara asked again, bringing (y/n) back from the memories of their early childhood together. “You’ve been attached at the hip since like, kindergarden,” She reminded with a laugh. “He didn’t even want to share you with anyone, and honestly, he still doesn’t. That night of the party? He dragged you with him everywhere”

“He just doesn’t like when girls hit on him” (y/n) shrugged nonchalantly.

“Yeah, but he can probably go to the bathroom on his own”

All night, John B had been filling up cups at the keg with one hand, and the other had been tangled in (y/n’s). He’d had a bit to drink, and it wasn’t uncommon for him to get more affectionate after three beets, so (y/n) hadn’t thought much of it.

And she wasn’t about to complain about a boy she liked holding her hand.

But even when Kiara took over running the keg, and the other Pogues hung out, dancing around and smoking together, his hand hadn’t let go of hers. He always had a good excuse.

He didn’t like when Touron girls hit on him, he didn’t want to lose her in the crowd, he wanted to make sure she was safe by his side, no matter what he’d say, (y/n) would go along with it. But that night had been different.

He started to take her with him towards the Chateau, and she’d stopped him once she realized where he was heading.

“John B, I wanna keep partying” She said with a pout.

“Yeah, I just have to pee” He’d replied, rather honest. Five drink John B was a pretty honest dude.

“Pee by yourself” (y/n) giggled as a cringe crossed her features. She started to take her hand out of his, but he was quick to grab hold of it again.

“Wait- no, I don’t wanna go alone” He whined, pulling her against his chest.

(y/n’s) pout remained, but she followed him anyways with a reluctant ‘fine’.

“I don’t wanna hold your hand while you pee though,” She’d told him once they got to the house. “That’s weird, and kinda gross”

“Fine” John B muttered like it bothered him, making her laugh.

“You’re such a weirdo John B,” She said, and stood outside the bathroom door as he went in. She quickly shut the door when he unzipped his pants, a shriek leaving her throat. “Close the fucking door you dork!” She yelled, slamming the door shut for him, bursting into a fit of giggles at how weird he was at five drinks.

He usually didn’t drink much at these things, he liked to keep an eye on the party, and man the keg to make sure everyone was being safe with their underage drinking.

But for some reason tonight was different.

JJ stumbled past (y/n), a girl on his arm, and he almost kept walking to the guest room before he realized it was (y/n) standing there.

“What are you doin’ inside?” He asked, while the pretty brunette Touron was macking on his neck.

“John B had to pee” (y/n) shrugged back at him, trying her best to keep eye contact with him, and not look at the girl who was furiously sucking on his neck.

“You guys are weird,” JJ said, shaking his head before continuing to lead his hookup to his designated room.

But he said one last thing to her before shutting the door behind him.

“Maybe you should tell him you’re in love with him”

(y/n) had laughed it off, just as John B came out of the bathroom, but the words sat at the front of her mind all night, until eventually, she thought ‘why not?’ and just went for it.

Huge mistake.

“I don’t know why I listened to JJ,” (y/n) muttered in irritation. “Idiotic”

(y/n’s) phone buzzed, and she clicked on the notification.

[ John Booker ] : please call me back?

She typed back some bullshit excuse that she was busy right now, but she’d try to call him later. It was a lie, she knew damn well she wasn’t going to call him.

“You’re looking at this all wrong” Kiara told her. “You’re only seeing things from your point of view, you need to think of it from John B’s”

“I did, it made me feel worse”

“Not really though. Did you ever wonder why he clung to you all night? Even when he went to the bathroom? Or why he doesn’t like other girls flirting with him?”

She brought up good points, and (y/n’s) heart skipped a beat as she listened, but she’d learned not to have too much hope when it came to other people’s feelings, because you never really know.

“I think you should call him back. Or go over, he’s home now I think”

“Kie, you have way too much faith in me,” She mumbled, picking at the blankets on her bed. “I think I’ve been scarred for life, I don’t think I’ll ever-”

She was cut off by a tapping on her window, but when she turned to see what it was, there was nothing there, so she ignored it and went back to Facetime.

“-I don’t think I’ll ever make a move again-” She finished, but there was another tap on the window.

Still nothing.

It was strange that it happened twice, but she didn’t feel like getting out of bed, so she pretended it was nothing.

“That’s kind of ridiculous, don’t you think?” Kiara teased. “Besides, who else would you make a move on anyways?”

“Hey” (y/n) mumbled, offended by the comment.

“Come on, there’s no one for you but John B, you can admit it,” Her friend laughed. “And there’s still a chance…”

Whatever she started to say, (y/n) couldn’t hear, because her phone lit up with a bunch of texts at once.

[ John Booker ] : i know you’re holed up in your room, would you come to the window already?

[ John Booker ] : i’m outside

[ John Booker ] : hurry up juliet

(y/n’s) heart nearly stopped in her chest.

“... and who knows? Maybe you just have to give him some time-”

“Oh my god, Kie-” (y/n) cut her off, scrambling off her bed.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“He’s here”

“Who?”

“John B, he’s here” (y/n) stated, and hurried over to her window.

Sure enough, standing outside two stories down, was John B, still throwing pebbles at her window like he was in some teen rom-com.

“Oh shit,” Kiara giggled. “Go talk to him!”

When John B reared back to throw another rock, he noticed (y/n) was there this time, and his whole face broke out into a grin.

“Finally!” He hollered, throwing his arms up in the air.

“Oh my god” (y/n) mumbled.

Kiara was still laughing through the phone while (y/n) unlocked her window and slid it open, leaning out of it as she looked down at him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” She asked, making him bark out a laugh.

“You weren’t answering me! Now are you coming down or not?”

“I-” She started to say something, but he spoke up again.

“Don’t make me climb up there, Juliet” He said with a laugh.

“Stop calling me that,” (y/n) replied, but she couldn’t help the laugh she let out. “I’ll be down in just a second”

With that, she retreated into her room, staring at her phone, hoping Kiara would give her literally any advice right now.

“Just go talk to him, you dork,” Kiara said. “And call me later. Love you! Bye-!”

“Wait, Kie-!”

But her phone beeped as Kiara hung up, and she was left staring at her Facetime call log.

She stuffed her phone in her pocket as she went out the front door, and rounded the corner to the side of the house, where John B was sitting in her yard, waiting patiently for her arrival.

“Oh good,” He smiled as he saw her, standing up and brushing the grass off his shorts. “I thought I was gonna have to scale two stories, and last time I came over and did that I fell”

“Yeah, I remember,” (y/n) said with a soft chuckle. “I thought you died or something, you laid there for so long-”

“Why have you been avoiding me?” He said suddenly, cutting right to the reason he came over.

(y/n) froze up, anxiety flooding over her like a tidal wave.

“Did you… did you not mean it?” He asked in a quieter voice.

“Not mean it?” (y/n) mumbled back, her heart sinking in her chest as she thought about it. “Why would I say something like that and not mean it?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know what to think I mean- you say something like that and then you ran off and I haven’t seen you for a week”

“I- I’ve been busy” She mumbled uselessly.

It was pointless to lie to him, she’s known him her whole life, he could read her like a book. Any emotion she felt was like a headline on her forehead, easy for him to see and respond to.

“That’s bullshit,” He called her out, but he let out a small laugh after, letting her know he didn’t mean it to be hurtful. “But… don’t you want to know how I feel? About you?” He asked her, stepping closer.

“Um, not really” She answered, her hands beginning to wring together.

“Not really?” He laughed again in surprise.

(y/n) shook her head, her eyes meeting his, even though she felt small and bashful under his gaze. She knew it would be weird now, different, this is exactly how she expected to feel when she saw him again.

“No, I- I don’t want you to reject me, or pity me- we can just ignore it completely-” She started to explain herself, but John B laughed again, so she stopped. “Why are you laughing?”

“Because, for being my best friend, I really don’t understand you sometimes,” John B answered. “Why did you think I was going to reject you?”

(y/n’s) brows furrowed, and she gained some confidence from the annoyance she was currently feeling towards him. How dare he be a cheeky asshole right now? Couldn’t he see how terrible she felt? How anxious she felt?

“Because,” She argued. “I told you how I felt about you, and you didn’t say anything! Hell, you didn’t react at all”

“That doesn’t mean-”

“John B, that sucked,” She continued.

Might as well be honest with him now. If it was the answer he wanted, then fine. She had nothing left to lose right? She’d thrown all dignity out the window last weekend at the kegger. Why not her pride too?

“Do you know how embarrassing that was? I still want to be your friend, of course I do, but it was a mistake, I shouldn’t have-”

“You worry too much” John B said, and before she could react, probably by yelling some more, he crossed the space between them and kissed her.

She instantly swallowed her words and melted into his touch. All anxieties and worries that she’d ruined their friendship washed away, and all that mattered was him.

Her arms practically flew around his neck as she reached up on the tips of her toes to reach him properly. John B lost his balance at the sudden movements, stumbling for a moment, but he quickly stabilized them.

His hands cupped around her cheeks, keeping her close as their lips met again and again, and in all honestly, they both planned on standing outside all night and macking on each other. They’d waited this long.

John B’s lips were just so warm and welcoming, they were easy for her to get attached to, and probably addicted to.

“Hey! No macking on Pogues!”

Unfortunately, Topper ruined the good mood.

(y/n) whirled around, catching sight of her brother as he was heading to his car. She flipped him off, and stuck her tongue out for good measure. It made John B laugh, despite Topper’s usual asshole-ness.

Topper just returned the gesture, but got in his car and left anyway. (y/n) just hoped he was getting tired of keeping up the bad blood between the Figure Eight and The Cut.

When he left, she turned back to John B, a smile playing on her lips as she wrapped her small hands around his wrists.

“Now that he’s gone… wanna go inside and finish what we started?” She asked, only half teasing.

John B eagerly nodded, stealing another kiss from her.

“Abso-fuckin-lutely,” He said, and followed her out of the yard. “But later we have to go back to mine, I told JJ and Pope that we’d hang out later tonight after we settled… this” He explained, gesturing between them.

“Wow, you were that certain you were gonna get the girl, huh?” (y/n) joked.

As they went inside, he shut the door behind him, and immediately grabbed her by the hips, pulling her flush against his chest. The action made her cheeks flush red, and she bit her lip shyly.

“I mean, the girl did admit that she was hopelessly in love with me-”

“That’s not what I said-”

“And that she would just die if she couldn’t be with me, and she’s probably been waiting to kiss me for like, what has it been ten whole years?”

“John B,” (y/n) scolded, swatting half-heartedly at his chest. “I didn’t say any of that”

“Out loud,” He corrected. “You were definitely thinking it. I could tell”

She rolled her eyes as her hands took hold of the collar of his shirt.

“Just shut up and kiss me, dork” ___

xoxo ~ jordie

#outer banks #outer banks fanfiction #john b #john b x reader #john b routledge #john b routledge x reader #john b routledge imagine #john b routledge scenario #john b imagine

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burnedbyshoto · 6 years ago

Text

Weak

anonymous asked: can we get a bakugou fluff based on the song hug all ur friends by cavetwon

pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader

warning: bakugou has high anxiety, cussing, fluff

word count: 4,000

a/n: so I listened to the 1 hour loop to this song when writing it LMAO, I think its one of my better pieces ive written, but I guess that’s also for you to decide!!!!!! enjoy!!!!

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

Bakugou Katsuki was someone who had no guilt in admitting that he cared about himself first and foremost. Bakugou Katsuki never imagined a day would come where he would find himself interested in someone-- especially in a romantic setting.

Romance and Bakugou, to him it seemed like mixing oil and water. Impractical and impossible.

Bakugou was hard, rough, and explosive.

Romance was soft, tender, and weakening.

So for the life of him, Bakugou could not understand why on god you were consuming his thoughts. Why did you have him wrapped around your fingers despite you only being his best friend? What the hell was wrong with him?!

Bakugou stared at you from the distance, his eyes were warm, his face soft, and the book in his hands long forgotten.

You were a force, this overwhelming energy that he could not figure out.

You weren’t like Kirishima who gained his friendship through mutual respect and trust in each other’s strengths. You weren’t like Sero or Mina who he came to see as friends after he used them for their quirks two years ago. You weren’t like Kaminari who he saw as a friend because Kirishima came as this unknown package deal.

You were soft, tender, and in no way were you weak, but Bakugou couldn’t think of any other word to describe you but weak.

It made no sense as to how you two became friends. The two of you had spoken once! Then you landed a punch on his jaw so strong that he needed to go to Recovery Girl and you cried for hours afterward. Bakugou thought it was dumb that you were apologizing so he yelled at you for being stupid. Seconds later you two were friends.

“Bakasuki, it’s way past your bedtime!” You screamed as you looked up from your phone. Your eyes red with tiredness and irritation still shone as you made eye contact. The impressed grin on your face as strong as if it was midday. “It’s midnight?!”

Bakugou felt his face cement over again. It was an involuntary action as you rambled off about how the big softie Bakugou Katsuki was awake at 'crackhead' hours. As you got up and walked over to Bakugou, he felt his hardened features melt as you took a stance in front of him.

“I bet you’re staying up because of me, come on, admit that you like me.”

Your words are teasing of course, yet Bakugou’s heart clenches at the truth of your words. Bakugou one year ago had begun staying awake past nine because of you. You were always active at night! You told new stories that Bakugou wanted to hear at a late hour, and Bakugou soon found himself staying up.

Ten at night turned to eleven, eleven became twelve, and then Bakugou was up until two in the morning because of you. He never complained about it, and he never dared to tell you or anyone about it. Bakugou took every teasing you gave, and you teased him about him staying up every night even if it was a year later.

“Trust me, if I was staying up because of you I would fucking hate myself,” Bakugou lies as you laugh. “Don’t think you’re fucking special because I tolerate you.”

His words were harsh to the average ear, but to the trained ear, to your ear, it was as if he nudged you playfully.

“Sure you old grump,” you wink as you stick out your hand. “Iida said it’s my turn with the Disney+, wanna go watch with me?”

“As long as you don’t make me watch something fucking horrible,” Bakugou grunts as he takes your hand.

He would watch the sappiest of movies and the weirdest of shows if it meant that you’d snuggle into his side. His favorite memories have you at his left. These memories also included you between his legs as you laughed hysterically at the horrible and childish jokes. It also didn’t matter how many times you watched the same movie, you always ramble as if it was your first time viewing it.

“I’m thinking Lilo and Stitch,” you let him into your thoughts as you begin walking towards the staircase. His hand is still locked with yours. “I think I can be Lilo, and you can be Stitch! You two have very similar personalities!”

“Like hell I’m anything like that fucking animal!”

“I didn’t even need to goad you into a reaction!”

“Shut up dumbass…”

“If I ever stopped talking to you, you would go insane! So careful what you wish for!”

“I wish you would shut up…”

Bakugou watched as your lips pressed flat together. A faux annoyed expression on your face and you dropped his hand.

It may have embarrassed Bakugou to admit what he did next, but it took him five seconds to crack under your cold shoulder. He threw you over his shoulder as he walked to your room. Your squealing exclamations were loud as he held your lower thigh.

“See I told you--”

“Shut the fuck up, shitty woman!”

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

Your loud groan rang in Bakugou’s ears and his eyebrow twitched as he once again looked at your slumped figure. It was the second to last set of finals you guys would be taking as hero students. Three years later, you were nearing the final countdown to graduation! But that meant finals.

Bakugou had managed to stay within the top three of his class all three years. So he felt decent in where he was in class ranking right now. He has ranked third right now after all, but you ranked fifteenth. A feat that he had zero idea about how it came to be considering how smart you were. You had a sharp mind, a witty sense of humor, and a deadly tongue! Yet you were barely outperforming the rest of his idiot friends. You were one of the few people who could beat him in a verbal challenge! But when it came to pencil and paper tests, you stumbled hard.

“Would you stop fucking groaning?! You’re not getting anything done except getting on my goddamn nerves!”

“WELL!” You immediately yelled back, your nose stuck to the sky as you tossed your pencil away. “I don’t know actually! I screamed well because I live for the dramatics!" Bakugou groaned as you laugh. "Okay, but this all makes sense to me now! It's... I’ve realized I become an idiot whenever I try doing it on the exams.”

“It’s because you are an idiot.”

“Wow, thanks,” you complain as you slam your forehead against your math textbook. You shot back up gasping loudly. “OH SHIT! Bakugou you solved all my problems! This entire time I’ve been an idiot! I’ll tell Deku to give me some smart people juice tomorrow morning, obviously, I’ve been sipping the idiot juice.”

“Hah? Fucking hell -- do you ever shut up and wait for me to finish what I’m saying?!”

“Bakasuki, there was a period at the end of that sentence! Or let me guess what you’d say next!”

“Don’t fucking guess--”

“‘Oi, shitty woman, I’m Baku-hoe Kat-sucky, and you better get your head outta your asshole! Maybe if you weren’t always on your goddamn phone you wouldn’t be failing’!” Your voice had lowered multiple octaves to the point where you sounded like you smoked every day. Bakugou watched as your face contorted into a mock scowl, your nose stuck into the air as your arms folded across your chest. “‘I’m the alpha nerd here, so you have to fucking listen to me, you damn fucking nerd ass shitty woman!’”

Bakugou remained silent as you erupted in giggles, your eyes beaming with joy as you looked at him.

“I don’t fucking cuss, shitty woman,” Bakugou retorted. He knew it was a lie but the way your eyes expanded four times their size and how you pressed your face into his shoulder was worth the lie.

“You don’t cuss?! Wow, suddenly my name isn’t y/n!”

“Hm, well I was going to point out that you probably have some form of testing anxiety, but since you’re Miss. Fucking-Know-It-All…”

“There’s no way I’m eighteen and don’t know that about me!”

“Well, you didn’t fucking know you loved chocolate caramels until this last month either.”

This launched you into another tangent. Your conversation skills always gave Bakugou whiplash! You talked about everything you could and right now it was about what you loved. It should have annoyed Bakugou, he knew that! But while you rambled about how you loved seeing oversized dogs in bags, he realized that he loved knowing more about you.

How he would kill for the chance to pull you close, he knew that if he did you would hug him without a blink of an eye. Bakugou knew if he attempted to feel your warmth you’d overwhelm him forever and he wasn’t sure if that was something he wanted. Did he want you? Did he actually love you or was it just the chemistry in his brain is dumb. He wasn’t sure what he wanted as you showcased your favorite pencil.

“Do you have something you love, ‘suki?”

You.

“No, I don’t fucking love anything. The hell is love good for?”

“Don’t you worry about what people think about you when you can’t answer a question on something you love?”

The only opinion he cares about is yours.

“They don’t need to fucking care about what I love, how the hell does that make me a reliable pro hero?! Gossip and tabloids and interviews are bullshit. How is me smiling and being nice in front of a camera going to prove anything?”

Bakugou’s eyes widened as you wrapped your arms around him drawing him into a tight embrace. His eyes blinked rapidly as he felt frozen. His hands are frozen at his side as you pressed into him. You were making him dizzy. His heart pounded so loudly in his ears that he feared you could hear it as you pressed your lips to his ear.

“Sometimes you just have to hug people, let them know that you’re not letting go. Being kind and offering a hand, even if it kills your feral vibes, gives them a reason to love you and trust them. Trust is important, you know that, dummy. Hugging them is a small promise of not letting go.”

His breathing stilled as you pulled away. Your hair fell in your face and you sucked everything out of him as you smiled softly. But who would Bakugou Katsuki be if he didn’t have something back to say?

“I’m not fucking hugging any of those damn extras out there!”

“It was a FIGURE OF SPEECH, BAKAGOU!”

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

“Rise and shine, grumpy old man!” Your voice rang as bright sunshine shone through Bakugou’s room.

“Fucking hell, y/n! Shut my goddamn shutters!”

“It is past noon, and I am here to make sure you are in fact alive!”

“Shitty woman, please close the damn shutters… I got in three hours ago and I want to fucking sleep in.”

The shutters closed immediately and guilt hung heavy in your voice as you said, “Wait you got in at nine?! You got called out of class early, too!”

Bakugou who had been sitting up now, glowering at your form fell back onto his mattress without a word. Unfortunately, it seemed that you weren’t quite done with him.

“Why the hell are you still in my room?”

“...can I nap with you?”

“Hah?”

“I was out from five in the morning until a few minutes ago! I just… want to cuddle, but if you don’t want to that’s totally cool!”

“You’re so goddamn annoying,” he nearly growls. It wasn’t necessarily directed at you, but instead himself. He was going to let you obviously, but how much longer could he do this uncaring act? How he hadn’t just slammed your oblivious ass against a door to kiss the soul out of you was beyond him. “Get in.”

A loud squeal emitted from your throat as Bakugou felt your figure snuggling into his chest. Your body was cold against his, and he resisted the urge to shiver as you wrapped his arm around you.

“I never fucking said you were allowed to cuddle.”

“Oh please, you were going to latch onto me at some point, might as well do it now instead of waking up to it and freaking out.”

“You’re fucking annoying.”

“Shh, I’m trying to nap.”

Bakugou snorted but nonetheless brought you in closer as he too closed his eyes. He ended up falling asleep with you in his arms. It wasn’t until he woke up did he realize that today was to be your friend's date. Something you had been persistent in having. But as you too woke up at half-past seven p.m., the both of you agreed that the nap was way better than going out.

That is until Kaminari sent a picture of Bakugou and you cuddling to the group chat. But then again, Bakugou may or may not have saved it as his home screen.

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

4:48 a.m.

Bakugou’s eyes focused on the neon red numbers that illuminated across his bed. His alarm was positioned as such so he would be forced to get up to turn it off in the morning.

His heartbeat was pounding in his ears as everything turned blurry.

4:49 a.m.

His eyes closed and he was suddenly back in Kamino two years ago.

His body felt dirty, sticky, unclean.

His mouth tainted with the taste of copper. His teeth gritting together as he saw All Might fighting in front of him.

It was hard to fight with his sweat-soaked and stiff clothes. All he knew was those bastards turned from wanting to convert him to wanting him dead. He remembers stumbling and seeing your frantic eyes in the corner of his vision. He didn't know you well back then, so it confused him, at least before a yell from Kirishima took his attention away.

It was the first actual memory he had of you, and yet it intertwined with his memory of All Might’s downfall. A downfall that could have been prevented if he had just been fucking better. If he had been a better hero maybe he wouldn’t have been caught. If he had been a better person maybe he would never have been targeted in the first place. It didn’t matter how many different ways he ran through his memories, it always ended up being his fault.

The fight with Deku had helped relieve the surface tension. All Might saying it wasn’t his fault barely made an impact on the guilt demon that ate away at his inner thoughts.

Simply told, tonight was a bad night. Nothing he did could drive away the guilt demon.

You were the one who made him strong but you were out on a mission for your hero work. You were being a hero to people who needed you, yet Bakugou wanted you to be his hero right now…

His anxiety crawled down his spine. His mind swimming back to the image of All Might's defeated form, and it kept reeling in his mind. His palms sweated profusely, but at this point, he had no idea if it was from his anxiety or from his quirk.

It burned to breathe and he wanted to go for a run, but he knew he shouldn’t. So he stood up out of bed choosing to walk down to the kitchen.

4:57 a.m., the clock read as the door shut behind him.

He felt dizzy as he walked down the hallway, his heart racing as he went down the staircase.

The lights were on and it made his eyes hurt as he opened the door for the ground floor.

“‘Suki?” A tired voice whispered as Bakugou stared up.

It was you.

Your uniform looked rumpled and dirty. Your tie wasn’t done and your hair was a mess as you yawn, your hand rubbing your eye as you waved at him. Bakugou saw the bandage on your neck and cheek and he pointed at them.

“Some dumbass with a--” you stifle a yawn as you shake your head. “Fucking vampire quirk! If he bit you, and consumed your blood, you would be entranced with him! Can you believe that!”

Bakugou snorted as you showed him the bruised mark on your neck.

“Thing is, he doesn’t have fangs, his teeth were super dull, so now I look like I had sex!”

“Can’t have people thinking that huh?”

“Nah... now, you gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

Bakugou knew better than to lie to you, but he couldn’t help it, you needed to sleep.

“Nothing, I needed water.”

“I’m sure you are,” you nod your head as you adjust your backpack. “But that doesn’t explain why there’s tears in your eyes and on your cheeks.”

His eyes widened as he felt the wet stains on his face, he was indeed crying.

“I don’t really wanna talk about it,” he grumbled as his hands shoved into his sweats.

“That’s okay,” you smile as you take a few steps forward. “Can I give you a hug?”

It takes everything in him not to scream at you to hug him, so instead, he turns his head and nods curtly. Your arms are wrapped around him immediately as he feels himself shrinking into your hold. You were safe, you were warm, and you made him weak.

It was at that moment that Bakugou Katsuki noticed that he completely and utterly was in love with you.

As he went through these thoughts you grabbed his hand and led him upstairs, “I’ll get you your water, but you need to rest.”

“Shitty woman, I can take care of myself,” Bakugou breathed as he didn’t resist you taking him to his room. “Besides we have class tomorrow, you need more sleep than I do.”

He watches as you shrug as you open his room door.

“Maybe so, but I’m a Hero and you’re someone in need of a savior!” you chirped as your lips pressed softly onto his cheek as you sat him in bed. “I’ll be right back, lay down please!”

He nodded dumbly as you left, his cheeks burning as the door closed.

It felt like no time had passed as you soon returned with a cup of water, “Now drink! Crying is good for the soul, but it dehydrates you so much.”

“Tch, idiot, don’t say that like you cry all the time,” Bakugou grumbles as he chugs the water down.

Your fingers take the glass from him and place it onto the desk, your shoulders bouncing as you sigh one last time. “Well, I should go to bed, I may not need beauty sleep, but even three hours of sleep can make me ugly.”

“Sleep here,” Bakugou found himself mumbling as you were by the door. “You can take a shirt, I just… please, just fucking sleep here with me?”

Bakugou expected teasing, he expected you to laugh it off and say he was dumb and crazy. What he didn’t expect was for you to grab his skull t-shirt and strip your clothes off in his bathroom.

He stilled as you crawled into bed with him, your body curling into his as you held him near.

“Goodnight, ‘suki,” you whispered.

His arms wrapped tightly around you, a sharp intake of air went through your nose.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you, y/n.”

“You’re welcome…”

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

You smile while wiping away tears that formed in your eyes.

Tears streamed uncontrollably down your face as you taped up the last box with writing that read: Y/N PICTURES.

It was moving out day, you had done it, you graduated.

“Y/l/n-chan!! Stop crying and c-come take a p-p-picture with us!” Mina wailed as she too was crying uncontrollably.

The common room was fill of every one of your classmates, tears were in everyone's eyes as boxes scattered near the entrance. It was over. Three years of heaven and hell were gone and even though everyone would still be seeing everyone again (you all were working in the same general areas after all), tears wouldn’t stop.

Multiple times you brushed away tears as twenty-one of you stood for class pictures.

Class pictures became friend group pictures, friend group pictures became trios and duo pictures.

Everyone was crying and everyone was laughing too. It was as if you were never going to see anyone again and the tears wouldn’t stop.

I love you’s were exchanged, promises of not forgetting who each other were as you would all become stars, and plans on monthly meetups because you were family. It was too much, it was too sentimental, and you were ready to leave.

“I hate to do this to you all, but it’s time to go,” Aizawa lulled over the roar of your classes chatter.

For the first time, his words were useless as you all took a photo with him, much to your homeroom teachers' secret enjoyment.

But now it was time to go.

You gave a one-armed hug to Mineta as he bounded out of the door. He had somewhat had drunk respect-women juice and was now tolerable. But the nightmares forever remained.

Then Koda, Aoyama, Shoji, Ojiro, Tokoyami, and Sato were done swiftly yet deeply. They all said kind words and promises to keep in touch as they left.

Then it was Iida, Todoroki, and Midoriya. The group of boys embraced you tightly as Iida told you and Midoriya to stop crying. It only strengthening your tears as Todoroki patted your back softly.

Then it was Mina, Momo, Jirou, Tsu, Uraraka, and Hagakure. The girl group and the reason why this class felt like family so quickly made you cry harder as you all lost it. Hugs were tight, hugs lasted minutes long as you all shouted over each other. This was not goodbye, just a see you later.

Sero, Kaminari, Kirishima, Mina, and Jirou once again met you for a tight embrace. The dubbed Bakusquad because Bakugou was the loudest one in the group, but you all knew that if the group never held Kirishima it would never work. Bakusquad was truly Kirisquad and you excitedly talked about how you were all going to karaoke on Sunday.

A gentle cough broke you from Sero’s embrace and you turned to the last person who you hadn’t hugged yet.

Bakugou didn’t look at you as he sighed, his shoulder slumping as he looked at you. Your lips quirked as your heart raced at his red-tinged eyes, he had cried too.

“We’ll see you guys later!” Kaminari yelled as the boxes in the now empty common room belonged to you.

“We’re still on for tonight?” Bakugou asked as his finger brushed the wet trails that stained your cheeks.

“Have I ever ditched you or stood you up?”

“You could have made plans in your crying hysteria, it’s been done before.”

His words are teasing and you laugh as you launch yourself into his arms. Your arms wrap around his neck as his rest around your waist.

“I don’t know why you weren’t interested in having a spa day with the girls!” You teased as you bit your lower lip.

“Too much gossip about dicks,” Bakugou rolled his eyes as he squeezed you tightly.

“It’s a good thing you didn’t go, I wouldn’t have wanted you to see me talking about my dick of a boyfriend,” you whisper as his eyes shine brilliantly.

“Hah? You’re really gonna fucking--”

Bakugou never got to finish that sentence as your lips pressed against his and his mind went weak as he kissed you back.

You were the undoing of Bakugou Katsuki.

You made him weak, yet he’s never felt stronger.

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