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bbobpul · 8 months

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my youth is yours — jeno

NOTE. hey 😮‍💨 sorry for ghosting

PAIRING. jeno x reader

GENRE. hurt/comfort, angst

SYNOPSIS. entering adulthood with you long-term boyfriend, jeno

WARNINGS. dis might hurt bc iz lil realistic 😫

W/C. 3.1k

masterlist ⟵⁠(⁠o⁠_⁠O⁠)

Is love something you can learn, or is it engraved in your bones the moment you open your eyes to the world? Is it something you master, or something you feel on a random Thursday night after spending the day with someone who made your heart skip a beat? Is this something you develop after years of spending every moment of your life with the same person?

Because, to you, love means only one thing. Love can only come from one person. Love can only be felt with Jeno.

No, you didn't grow up together or meet in a special way. He was merely there, but it suddenly felt like more.

The two of you met in high school. It was nothing special. High school brings you into contact with a large number of people. You create a lot of friendships in high school. But it was Jeno, and one day you were paired up with him on a minor project set by your teacher because she would be gone for a short while.

Before long, a bond formed between you, blossoming into a friendship that extended beyond school hours. You'd hang out after classes, help each other with homework, and share late-night thoughts, and the absence of each other during the day would leave the day incomplete.

Everything proceeded at exactly an appropriate pace—it wasn't rushed or fast, nor was it painfully slow. It was just right with Jeno.

Looking back at your first few years with him, it seemed so natural and carefree. Seeing him was like having a ton of weight lifted off your shoulders—of course, the same is true for him. You appear as though you wince at his corny antics, but deep down, you both know that you feel the same way. He kept telling you, "Your love fills me up with so much happiness," at every opportunity he gets, and you love it every single time.

He radiates joy and warmth, and despite his kindness to everyone, he always makes you feel uniquely cherished. In his eyes, you're not just anyone; you're everything.

And it hasn't changed from high school to this point in college. As you approach adulthood, the love that accompanied your growth as an adolescent lingers.

Jeno's voice stops your thoughts with, "Bub, what do you want for dinner?" Glancing to your side, you notice him fixated on the road. After a long day at the university, you are currently headed home to your shared flat. Because you both decided to attend the same college and because it is obviously less expensive to stay in the exact same place, you both saved money for the apartment you are currently residing in. You both agreed that returning home under the same roof is the best choice for the two of you because you will both become busy over time.

When the red light came on, he looked at you and said, "Should we drive by your favorite restaurant and just order so we could go to sleep early?" after noticing that you were spacing out for the nth time.

"Huh? Oh, okay, bub. I'd love that," you replied upon hearing his voice, feeling as though you were suddenly snapped back to reality, anchored by the sound of his presence.

"You must be so tired, hmm? Is it Mr. Chua again?" he asked, his tone filled with understanding.

You chuckled at the mention of the infamous professor you often vented about. "No, he wasn't around today, actually. I was just really tired from all the lab work I did earlier," you replied, appreciating his attentiveness to your daily struggles.

He acknowledged your reply with a hum, and he skillfully threaded the steering wheel through the drive-thru. He ordered you your usual and gave you an affectionate smile. The vehicle filled with the soothing sounds of the radio and the faint hum of the air conditioning as the sun started to set. You felt warm and cozy even if the temperature inside the car was very cold because you knew that you were heading home with the love of your life.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, he reached out for your hand, and in a tender whisper, he said, "I love you," as he began parking at your apartment's parking lot. The simplicity woven into every second spent with each other, filled with love and care, is the kind of love that is true and right.

Your evening flew by, and your early bedtime goal was quickly abandoned as you spent the entire night watching movies with Jeno. However, when spending time with him replenishes you more than a peaceful slumber, what good is sleep?

Sleep is what your body needs, and you just ate your own words when you fell asleep on Jeno’s shoulder.

He noticed that and chuckled lowly. He reached for the remote and quickly turned off the television before positioning himself to properly carry you back to your shared room. He knew that waking you up would be of no use because you are a very heavy sleeper, and you hate it when your sleep gets disturbed, so he tried his best to be as gentle as possible so you would stay in your peaceful slumber.

He laid down on his side of the bed after tucking you in and planting a gentle kiss on your forehead.

A lot of your evenings went by like that. Spending a quarter of your day in college and going home with him. It has become your perfect daily routine. Although there are times where Jeno fails to drive you home because of how demanding his course is, you end up going home alone, and commuting is an extreme sport. Sometimes, it will be too hard to hail a taxi because of the rush hour and all the other students going home at the same time who are also desperate to rest. Sometimes, even if it was Jeno who said he would come home late, you end up arriving home later than he did. But what is adulthood without a bit of suffering?

‘Love won't make you rich,' that's what you heard from your mother when you said you were dating Jeno. Of course, your love hasn't always been a pleasant sight for everyone. You began dating in high school; of course, people would think you're foolish to enter into such a commitment at such a young age.

There are times when you wonder if your mother was right, especially when you and Jeno fail to pay rent on time, struggle to find part-time jobs to feed the both of you, and add your stressful college work to the mix.

But all your worries will soon disappear in the wind because it's Jeno you are facing those problems with, and eight years of sustaining yourself doesn't seem so hard because there is Jeno, who is your lifeline, your anchor, and your foundation. And even if the world turns its back on you, there is Jeno ready to face all of your worries, your fears, and your doubts because it's Jeno, the one who loves all of you.

"Good morning." You heard Jeno talk from the hallway.

You furrowed your brow in confusion. 'Why is he still here? ' you thought to yourself. It's Saturday, and you both have work, but your shift is at noon, so you didn't bother getting up early, unlike Jeno, who has a 9 a.m. shift.

Jeno has been waking up late several times since last month. If he is not absent, he will be late. It's always been like that. You haven't spoken to him about it yet. You have developed an unspoken rule in your relationship that there are situations that you can tackle on your own because you are both adults.

"Why aren't you at work?" You tried to sound as considerate as possible, but it's his life at stake and your apartment. If he doesn't come to work on time or at all, they will deduct his pay and, in the worst scenario possible, fire him.

"I don't feel well." He simply answered.

"You haven't been feeling well for a month. Wanna go to the hospital?" you suggested.

"It's not really that serious for a hospital, bub," he reasoned out.

"But it's serious enough for you to miss work for a month?" You said without looking at him, not being able to contain it anymore.

You heard him sigh before he headed to the bathroom, and you shook your head. Jeno, on the other hand, thought it would be best not to say anything.

You took your last sip of the coffee before heading to the sink, and you saw the overwhelming tower of unwashed dishes. It's 11 p.m., and your work is 20 minutes away from home if you are lucky enough to hail a cab the instant you come out of the building. Washing these plates will take a lot of your time, but if Jeno doesn't have the energy to wash them today because he is not feeling well, then that leaves you no choice. Good thing you already took a bath and wore your work clothes; you wouldn't have to rush later on.

It's times like these when you realize that you two are no longer the teenagers you once thought you'd remain forever. Those teenagers have now grown, with bigger responsibilities and greater disappointments to confront.

You finished the dishes and gathered your belongings before preparing to leave. However, as you reached for the doorknob, you noticed Jeno standing in the hallway, simply gazing at you.

"I will make it up to you," he said, and all you could do was smile at him before heading out.

All day at work, your thoughts were consumed by him—wondering if he had enough food at home and if he was resting well. This wasn't the first time you'd encountered issues between the two. Despite the absence of major fights and screaming matches, deep down, you knew that things were not okay between you.

After long, tiring hours at work, you received a text message from Jeno that said, 'I'll pick you up from work, bub. I love you.'

You smiled at the notification. He really was making it up to you, and you couldn't even be mad at him anymore.

And he's really there. As you closed the shop, not very far from where you stood, you saw him immediately. Suddenly, you are ready to face everything again because he is there.

You walked up to him with a huge smile, as if you hadn't worked for hours without a break. It was worth it when you're coming home with him.

The drive home was eerily quiet, with only the sound of your breathing audible amidst the corny jokes from the radio DJ. Despite the windows being open and the air conditioning turned off, the chill of the night air seeping in was enough to send shivers down your spine.

As the red light halted the car, you turned to gaze at him, only to find that he was already looking at you with the same love and contentment that had been evident in his eyes since your first year of high school. Now, after eight years together, you were both getting older yet still together, sharing each moment with him by your side.

You had hoped the problems were behind you, believing that your love and understanding would be enough to overcome any challenges that came your way. However, a week after your minor argument, Jeno attempted to return to work, only to find that his employer no longer wanted him back after a month of slacking. This turn of events took a significant toll on both of you, adding to the weight of your existing concerns.

"I'm sorry, bub. I'll look for another job next week, I promise."

The rent was due on Monday, and luckily you saved up enough money for three months after working extra hours since the start of the year.

"I told you to tell me if you have problems, didn't I? For a month, I didn't hear anything from you, and look where it got us? Jeno, it's our finals! We also have expenses for school, not just here at home! If you were too exhausted to work, then you could have just told me." All your pent-up frustrations spilled in an instant.

"I didn't want to burden you, love."

"Jeno, since when have you ever been a burden to me?"

He walked over to you and enveloped you in a hug, and that was when your tears began to flow. Both of you were graduating students, each with your own set of responsibilities and numerous financial challenges to navigate. In the face of it all, you couldn't help but wonder: Is love enough?

"Jeno, it's like I don't know you anymore." You began

"Bub, don't say that."

"I just want you to talk to me. Tell me your problems. I know there are things you can handle by yourself, but at least include me. You have me. I am here for a reason."

Both of you became even busier after that, balancing the demands of studying for final exams with juggling part-time jobs. Jeno faced the added challenge of finding work amidst his other commitments.

Your schedules became so hectic that you no longer went home together, and there were nights when Jeno arrived home so late that you would already be asleep, only to wake up to his departure in the morning.

Your entangled nights became two parallel lines. Quiet and comforting evenings grew even quieter without the presence of others. Every night, you realized that you and Jeno were both growing older and, simultaneously, growing apart. It's something inevitable, something you never wished for, yet something you are currently witnessing with your own eyes.

But growing apart is not contextually synonymous with loving each other less. The love is still there, and the care is still present. That is the reason why both of you are working so hard—because you love each other.

Both of you became so busy to the point where your only connection was coming home to the same house. Suddenly, home felt like nothing more than four walls and a mini fridge, lacking the warmth of four limbs and lips to kiss.

But surprisingly enough, after many weeks, he offered to pick you up from work.

"Keep your eyes on the road," you told him when you noticed him stealing glances at you.

"I love you, bub," he said, prompting you to look at him.

You smiled and replied, "I love you more."

"When is your oath-taking ceremony?" he asked, trying to make conversation amidst the silent drive home.

"I don't know yet. Maybe a few months after graduation."

And then it died down again. But does the silence matter to you when, after so many weeks, he is here beside you again?

He is here.

And that's all that matters right now.

"Should we take the long way home?"

But even a single beautiful night couldn't alter the looming storm heading your way. It's a heart-wrenching inevitability—the painful reality of growing apart.

With each "sorry, I can't pick you up" message and every missed call accompanied by a new excuse, the weight of disappointment settles deeper into your heart. Gradually, you find yourself numb to the ache, accepting it as the new normal.

"Bub, please respond," you pleaded, your voice trembling with emotion, as you left yet another voicemail after he missed your calls for the nth time. It's Saturday, and the rain outside matches the heaviness in your heart. You figured he must have finished work earlier than you, so you were counting on him to pick you up. But his cell phone remains unattended, and it's been 20 agonizing minutes of waiting in the pouring rain.

You hated the rain, and he knew that all too well. After a few more minutes of waiting in vain, you were left with no choice but to reluctantly take the train home alone since there are no cabs at this hour. The frustration and disappointment welled up inside you, reaching a breaking point.

"I'll sleep at my mom's house just for tonight. To cool off," you murmured to yourself.

At the train station, your phone buzzed incessantly, and when you finally answered, it was Jeno calling you countless times.

"I'm here; where are you?" his voice came through, accompanied by the sound of the rain.

"I took the train," you replied simply.

"You could've waited," he said, frustration evident in his tone. "I drove all the way here from work; it's almost an hour drive."

"I did wait, Jeno. What are you trying to imply?" you countered, feeling a mix of irritation and hurt.

You heard him sigh heavily on the other end of the line, and you pursed your lips in frustration.

"I'm tired, Jeno," you said wearily.

"So am I."

"Is that so? Okay, I'm sorry for making you drive in the rain. It won't happen again. And just so you know, I won't be coming home tonight."

Through days, weeks, and months of hardly seeing or talking to each other, you both somehow made it through college. Despite everything that happened, there's this overwhelming sense of pride you feel for each other. Maybe, just maybe, it was all worth it in the end.

The high school love you both shared has now transformed into something more significant. The youthful days you once had together are now just memories as you step into this new chapter of your lives.

It feels right with Jeno, but amidst the familiarity, there's a subtle shift, a tinge of bittersweet realization that things have changed.

Both of you have accomplished your dreams, reaching the destinations you once only dreamed of. You've arrived at where you wanted to be.

"Hey!" Jeno called for your attention. You turned and saw him adorned in his gown and cap, and a profound sense of pride washed over you.

You embraced him, exchanging whispers of 'I'm so proud of you' and 'You did well'. Yet it wasn't the same; it was different.

Both of you have grown, realizing that your teenage dreams have come true, and here you are, all grown up.

The love you once held so dearly in your youth has gracefully reached its final chapter. Staring into each other's eyes, there's an overwhelming sense of emotion, an unspoken acknowledgment that what once was no longer is—it's over.

"Thank you for loving me," he said. "Your love brought me here, bub."

#Spotify #jeno x reader #jeno x you #jeno x y/n #jeno angst #jeno imagines #jeno scenarios #jeno fanfic #lee jeno #jeno #nct dream angst #nct dream x you #nct dream imagines #nct dream x reader #nct angst #nct dream fluff #jeno fluff #lee jeno x reader

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hlfmoonshine · 7 months

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AN UPDATE ON LIFE & HIATUS: good morning lovies. did the layout change again? (this post looks weird.) the flooding this weekend was really bad. we pulled up the entire floor in my suite and discovered the water damage turned into mold city (please refer to me as the mushroom king from here on out). i am not allowed to go back to my suite for a few days as they air it out and clean up all the mold. no renovations will be done until i move out. this means that i have no spare room from last years flood, no kitchen floor (i will also accept the name concrete baby), a sink the breaks routinely and there's still a high chance of flooding. i have four more months before i have to move out, and i am too scared to ask my landlords for a rent reduction because my landlord and her husband are my cousin and her hubby. i know how much this is going to cost them, because the carpenter working on my place is her sister's husband, whose couch i am surfing until the mold is cleared. i also know that the rent for a room in a roommate situation is $1000 a month, and they charge me $500 a month (which is my rental allowance on disability) which i can't look past. a rental decrease (or even giving me my next month free) would allow me to save up, which might allow me to move out sooner, meaning they could get the renovations (some of which they were planning regardless because their eldest daughter is moving into my suite when i leave) started and hopefully finished sooner.

BECAUSE OF ALL THIS GOING DOWN: i've been burying myself in playing baldur's gate, i've been working on the novel i've been writing but have kind of abandoned since starting back up on tumblr and i've been getting outside in preparations for the bats to return in march (whenever i doubt my autism diagnosis, i remind myself what a psycho i get about bats, the fact that i had a meltdown because my local bat society is just a name and not a real club about bats and the fact that i walk in a dangerous park at dusk just to see the bats come out just about three times a week all summer). i've decided to take a proper hiatus as i deal with everything going on.

WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?: what this means is that i intend to pause replying to most of my replies. i'll be replying to a few select threads when i have the energy and muse, but i won't be clearing out the drafts like i generally like to do. today i'll be posting a dropped thread list. this doesn't mean i want to give up on that pairing, but i'll talk more abut that in another post. thank you for respecting me in this stressful time. i love you all, and i will be back when things settle down. if you'd like to keep in touch, i am fairly active on discord, just shoot me a message for my username!

#📌— keats updates

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lgcmanager · 1 year

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TRAINEE MISSION 012

SCHEDULE TYPE: TRIMESTER ( PART 1 OUT OF 2 ) SCHEDULE RESTRICTIONS: Cannot be paired with another trimester schedule, unless stated otherwise. for reference as to whether your muse is eligible for this event, please click over HERE.

( important note: this is the first of the two-part mission. the second half of this will be revealed after the deadline for the first part has passed. )

while the last term was a rather stressful time for all of the trainees, this time the mood is different as all of the trainees ( minus the ones in TEAM UNKNOWN ) and a few other people ( KATO ARISA, KIM SOOAH, and YOO HAEMIN ) are gathered in the auditorium. once all of them arrive and take their seats, they see on stage two people that might be familiar to many of them; SEO YOUNGJAE, the head coach, and KWON SOYI, one of the acting coaches. “good morning.” YOUNGJAE greets everyone in a monotone voice. “almost three years ago, legacy announced one of their biggest projects, which was the start of the many groups and artists that we have today. that project is no other than ‘PROJECT ORIGIN - THE BEGINNINGS’, a musical that features some of the idols that you may have heard of; AHN JAESUN, AHN JAEHWA, GEUM DANBI, JEON HARU, LEE JIHO, MIN SOYOUN, OH EUNHYE, and SEO YURA. in the musical, the story is set in an post-apocalyptic future and revolves around the squires who are set to become knights of the holy order and save the world. to celebrate the third anniversary of this musical, LEGACY will be having their second musical production of PROJECT ORIGIN. it’s a bit smaller scale than the original, but the musical will be performed in K-ARTS.”

SOYI speaks up as she discloses some details about the musical, “the musical won’t mirror exactly to the original considering that the characters — or squires as we called them back then, were mostly created with the help of the cast members themselves. that’s why the company has instructed everyone in this room to participate in the intensive musical training schedule we have curated just for all of you. with very little time to prepare for the musical, there’s no time to waste so after this all of you will begin taking classes related to musical acting.”

SOYI then informs all of them that their schedule for the next few weeks will be as follows ( the class listed next to the date represents what they will be concentrating on ):

APRIL 10-15: MUSICAL THEATRE SINGING TECHNIQUES

APRIL 17-22: VOICE DICTION

APRIL 24-29: MUSICAL DANCE STYLES

MAY 1-6: CHARACTERIZATION

during MAY 8-13, everyone participating in this mission ( except HAN NOEUL and anyone in TEAM UNKNOWN ) will be called separately to their audition. in the audition, there will be SEO YOUNGJAE, KWON SOYI, and BAEK GUREUM judging each of the auditions. in the first half of the audition, the individual will be doing a one minute performance showcasing their singing/rapping, dancing, and musical acting abilities. in the second half, one of the three judges will be asking the individual to come up with a character representing their ideal public persona, magical power, and how they would contribute to the story and/or other knights.

while the audition for this is different than how it was done in the first production of the musical, you can click over here for general references of how one should approach the second half: EXAMPLE #1 / EXAMPLE #2 / EXAMPLE #3.

( important note: for any trainee muses that join AFTER the deadline of this mission, they will still be participating in the workshops and all, but they will be assigned as part of the ENSEMBLE role instead. )

REQUIREMENTS

MUSICAL ACTING WORKSHOP: write a 4 replies (minimum 8 lines) thread with another muse that is participating in the project origin musical about anything related to the workshops listed above for +10 POINTS TO DISTRIBUTE ANYWHERE !

PROJECT ORIGIN AUDITION: write a 300+ word solo of your muse describing their character to the judges. in the solo, it has to include one magical power that they would have, how their character would be like as a knight, and how they would contribute to the storyline and/or the other knights. completing this will earn you +8 POINTS TO SINGING, DANCING, ACTING, OR PERFORMANCE and +3 NOTORIETY !

make sure to use the hashtag lgc:projectorigin002 for the tasks. you have until MAY 13, 2023 at 11:59PM EDT to complete the requirements and validate your points. please submit the following form ONCE on the points blog.

MUSE NAME ∙ TRAINEE MISSION ( PROJECT ORIGIN ) - MUSICAL ACTING WORKSHOP: +10 ( skill points distribution ) [ LINK ] - PROJECT ORIGIN AUDITION: +8 ( singing, dancing, acting, OR performance ), +3 notoriety [ LINK ]

#lgc:event #lgc:q22023 #lgc:traineemission

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vaya-writes · 2 years

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The Wyvern's Bride - Part 2.3 (NSFW)

When Adalyn gets sacrificed to the local wyvern, she’s a little annoyed and a lot terrified. Upon meeting the wyvern, she discovers that he’s not particularly interested in eating people, and mostly wants to be left alone. In a plot to save himself from the responsibilities his family keep pushing on him, Slate names Adalyn as his human Envoy, and tasks her with finding him a wife.

NSFW. 6500words.

Today on TWB: join us as Adalyn gets railed by Slate's extended family. The whole damn thing is filthy. Though there's some wholesome dialogue if you squint.

Content warnings - sex with an audience (exhibitionism and voyeurism), PIV sex, oral (both cunnilingus and fellatio), anal, vaginal fingering, anal fingering, and spit roasting. Consensual drug use (aphrodisiac). Non human genitalia and marathon sex too. All sex acts in this chapter are consensual, though sometimes unenthusiastic.

Further content warnings - moderate amounts of humiliation, brief fantasising about noncon, squint and you miss it crying and begging, LOTS of praise kink, and an expected amount of profanity. Let me know if I missed anything.

The messenger leaves. Once more Adalyn and Slate are alone. Still tense enough to jump out of her skin, Adalyn slips off the bench and steadies herself.

Slate doesn’t step back, and she finds herself too close to him, suddenly reminded of how tall he is in his current form. She clears her throat. “I need to get ready.”

After a moment, he backs off. “Of course.”

She glances at the pile of gowns. Bites down on her lip at her next concern. “I think Rin put the potions away.”

He curses softly. “It might take too long to fetch them now. Can I bring you one after you’ve started?”

She considers. “Yes. If it looks like I’m struggling.”

“Which one would you prefer?”

She shrugs off her jacket and picks up a dress, pretending to examine the material. She can’t bring herself to name it, and her cheeks burn when she replies. “The stimulant.”

She appreciates that it’s only clinical concern she hears when he leans into her line of sight. ��As long as you’re sure. When I said it will leave you with a major hangover, I meant it. You’ll be drinking the by-product of two different kinds of monster venom.”

“Are there any other side effects?”

“You’ll be almost unbearably aroused for six to nine hours. It will also take the edge off any pain you might experience. And if you fall asleep with it still in effect, you could have some particularly vivid dreams. The hangover doesn’t usually last more than a day.”

Adalyn clenches her jaw and nods. “That sounds acceptable.”

Slate makes to leave. “I’ll go track it down now.”

It might be panic that makes her grab his sleeve. He pauses and glances down at her.

“I don’t want to go out there alone.”

His momentum fizzles, and he takes her by the hand. “Shall I escort you?”

She nods. Fidgets and glances from him to the gown. “I still need to change.”

“I can wait outside?”

It’s a conscious choice to let go of his sleeve and let him leave – one she is reluctant to make. Once alone she removes her dress, her footwear, and her chemise, putting them in a neat pile. Naked, she shivers, suddenly struck by terror.

She pulls the gown on, tying the sash with shaking fingers. She splays her hands on the bench and takes a few deep, centring breaths. Not giving herself time to overthink, she steps from the room and threads her arm around Slate’s elbow.

“Let’s go.”

Her posture is too stiff, and the silence between them is strained. She doesn’t look up at him; doesn’t want to see his reaction to her outfit. Fear and mortification fight for dominance in her gut. She pushes both down, focusing on her breathing, on the cold stone beneath her feet.

She hesitates when they reach the dining hall. Standing at the threshold, nobody has seen them yet. Adalyn tightens her grip on Slate’s elbow.

He reaches to grasp her hand again; the warmth and weight of his touch comforting. “You’re safe. You’re going to be fine. I’ll have that drink ready for you as soon as you need it.”

Adalyn nods. Allows herself to glance up at the wyvern. He watches her with an unnerving intensity, but his features are otherwise arranged into neutrality.

She can’t meet his stare for long, and looks away.

There’s a lull in conversation as they step into the room. The sea of faces before her makes her light headed, and she has to stare at her feet to stay calm. Slate’s hand ghosts the small of her back. It’s the only thing grounding her.

It’s cold.

Even with the fires and the warmth of the crowd, Adalyn can’t ignore the fact that sheer glass armour would shield her better than her current attire. Not an inch of her is hidden. Not from the guests and not from Slate. All he has to do is look down and he’d have an unimpaired view of her breasts, squeezed together as Adalyn wraps her arms around herself.

Somehow the path across the room is both the longest walk of her life and the shortest one. She stares impassively at her stage. Her mouth goes dry when Slate helps her get seated, hosting her up by the waist and sitting her on the edge of the table. He doesn’t mind her knuckle white grip, detaching himself gently when she’s in place and ready to start. He squeezes her hand and gives her a soft smile, before retreating to the dais.

Adalyn allows herself a sweeping look around the room. Not everyone stares, but the number of people who do is unnerving. The way she’s eyed is entirely different from earlier: no longer the delegate, or Slate’s employee. Now she’s fair game.

“You may begin.” The Matron’s voice cuts through the clamour of her thoughts.

It’s too soon. Adalyn grips the edge of the table like a vice, stiff as a plank. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Incrementally, she relaxes.

Of course, the moment somebody touches her knee she flinches and becomes tense again.

“You doin’ okay?”

The wyvern before her is pale, with his scales white and spotted in a way that almost reminds her of birch trees. One of Slate’s cousins – Dal, she remembers– who'd already had a turn with Lindel.

“Yeah,” she rasps.

He raises a brow. “You’re as pale as I am.”

She clears her throat. “I’m not used to doing this with an audience.”

She’s not used to being eyed with so much desire either. Nobody had looked at her a second time in Fleecehold. And her couplings in the other parts of the valley hadn’t been much to write home about. Neither had her lovers.

Now the attention is impossible to ignore. The air is thick with excitement, and many of the spectators are too, to be literal. The wyverns at the tables closest to her are seated backwards, to better watch the show. Two other males sit at the centre table, too close for comfort, and a handful more stand in the periphery, waiting their turn. It’s as if everyone is keen but her.

It strikes her that Lindel would have had an easier time of things. Her partners had been patient; not so worked up yet. With the whole night ahead of them there’d been no rush. She supposes that most of the night still waits, but the males were doubly eager after Lindel had whetted their appetites.

Adalyn’s breath is unsteady. She tries not to tremble.

Dal smiles, and Adalyn reflects that he’s quite handsome. She’d probably find him attractive if she weren’t busy being petrified. He’s short for a wyvern – perhaps seven feet in height – but tall enough that she has to crane her neck to look up at him.

“Close your eyes. Pretend we’re alone.”

She does.

Jaw clenched, back damp with a cold sweat, she fixes that thought in mind. She could be alone with a stranger. She had been alone with a stranger. This could be a normal romp, and she’d be on her way tomorrow. There’d be nothing else – nobody else – to worry about. It could just be her and Dal.

His hand slides up the outside of her thigh, slipping under the dress, and for a moment she does imagine it’s just the two of them. Eyes closed, she’s far away, pressed up against a stranger in some back alley during the annual Trade Festival. The hand on her cheek is gentle, and when he lifts her face to his for an exploratory kiss, she doesn’t feel quite so anxious.

The touches are almost leisurely, increasing in intensity slowly, as not to spook her. Dal’s lips along her neck and collar bones tingle, and the hands squeezing her waist and thighs transition smoothly enough that she doesn’t balk when he parts her knees and moves between them.

Her heartrate accelerates when he tugs open her gown. Cold air nips at her breasts and she shivers. Sensing her trepidation, he winds a hand into her hair, guiding her back and giving him clear access to her throat. He kisses the length of it before recapturing her mouth with his. Soon the intensity of his touch becomes dizzying, and she’s panting for breath when he turns his attention to the rest of her body.

Her lips part in a silent cry when he kisses her breasts. Heat begins to pool between her legs, as he stops to suckle on one of her nipples, idly fingering the other. She arches into his touch, beginning to pant in earnest.

His free hand continues up her leg until he brushes against the apex of her thighs and pauses. She’s torn between flinching away in shame and whimpering with need when he finds her slick with arousal.

His lips go to her ear. “Fingers or tongue?”

She opens her eyes in surprise. “Hm?”

Dal’s cheeks are flushed with grey. He stares down at her, almost hungrily. “I can’t use these,” he bumps her erections against her thigh, “until you’re good and ready. How can I get you there?”

Adalyn flushes. She presses her face against his shoulder, unable to meet his eye. “I don’t know. You choose.”

She feels the curve of his smile when he kisses her again. Feels the rumble of laughter from his chest. “Both, then.”

The idea makes her squirm, and she’d squeeze her legs shut if he weren’t gripping her thighs so tightly.

Yesterday it hadn’t even occurred to her that a man could go down on a woman – watching it happen to Lindel had been an epiphany. The idea of experiencing it herself is almost bewildering.

Dal's kisses become fiercer; his teeth brushing her skin as he sucks little bruises along her shoulder. Claws dig into her flesh, not deep enough to draw blood, but enough to sting. Adalyn’s breath becomes unsteady.

Her eyes widen when he crouches before her, spreading her wide. She’s never felt so exposed. Legs open, core on display, and clad in the flimsiest material imaginable, she must look obscene.

She claps a hand over her mouth when Dal kisses her leg, nipping at her thigh and growing closer to her centre.

“Lie back.”

She does as he instructs, catching sight of the onlookers as she does so. Her other hand goes over her face.

Everyone can see, everyone can see, Slate can see, he can-

Between her fingers she looks to the dais. Something pangs in her chest when she finds his seat empty. Relief, or regret, she’s not sure. She quickly forgets the thought when Dal’s presses his tongue against her slit. She closes her eyes at the contact.

His hold on her legs is bruising, but his tongue is gentle, working up and down her folds. It doesn’t take long for him to grow bolder, pressing deeper, probing her entrance, before gliding back up. She jolts when he finds her clit. Feels him huff with amusement. He circles it, and Adalyn’s hips leave the table. She puffs into her hand, trying desperately to hold still.

The brush of stubble against her sex, the way Dal sucks on her clit – it's overwhelming. Adalyn’s thoughts are in disarray. She tries to keep quiet. She tries to keep still. But Dal’s treatment is good. She’s never enjoyed herself like this before. When he slides a finger inside of her it catches her off guard completely.

There’s a whining, desperate sound, and when she realises it came from her, she doubles down on her grip, pressing her palm harder against her mouth. Her body betrays her anyway; anyone who bothered to look would see the effect Dal has on her. Her hips buck. Her legs tremble. Encouraged by her reaction, Dal curls his finger inside her, massaging her walls in a way that’s just delightful. She clenches hard around him, swallowing back a moan.

She loses track of time as he slips another finger inside of her. Then another. Barely able to curl them at the squeeze, Dal instead pumps them in and out, coaxing more and more sounds from Adalyn. Her occasional whimpers turn into soft moans. She bites down on her lip to keep the noises to herself, but keeping her mouth shut only does so much.

“You’re beginning to sound as desperate as you look.”

She opens her eyes at his words, whisked back to reality for a moment. He’s not wrong. She’s begun to grind against his tongue, and her hands have left her face, instead fisted in the furs beneath her. Dal hadn’t even fucked her yet – had she really become so unravelled in such a short amount of time?

Shame burns and rises within her, but at the same time her pride slips further. So what if she enjoyed herself? It would certainly make the night easier. And it’s not as if any of the wyverns considered the public act particularly perverted.

Still, when she spies her intended husband sitting once more at the high table, she can’t help but close her legs around Dal’s head and cover her face again. She doesn’t want Slate to see her like this; exposed and incoherent for another male.

Dal ignores her clamping, pulling her closer with his free hand. The way he continues, with little regard to her humiliation, she can almost pretend she doesn’t have a choice in the matter. That she didn’t consent to this. That she won’t have to brave Slate in the morning with the knowledge that she’d agreed to fuck half the males in his clan.

She leans into that fantasy, fed by the filthy wet sounds Dal is making, and the grip of his fingers around her thigh. As the shame recedes, she finds herself... exhilarated.

The thought settles into her, and a haze begins to cloud her rationale. Yes. This could be exhilarating. Still embarrassing. Still perverse by all human standards. But not quite so mortifying, nor unpleasant.

She starts to relax, melting into Dal’s touches. She still twitches, shuddering with each ripple of pleasure. But her head lolls against the table, and her jaw goes slack as a guttural groan escapes her.

“There you go,” Dal says before standing.

Adalyn whines when he withdraws his fingers. The sweet pressure that had been building inside of her subsides. She cracks open her eyes in time to see Dal licking his fingers clean. At her shock he gives her a toothy grin.

“You ready?” He nudges her with his erection.

She opens her mouth to reply, but no sound escapes her. She nods instead and it’s all Dal needs to see before he unlaces his pants.

His hemi springs loose and Adalyn’s mouth goes dry. Despite her reluctant resignation to the situation, she can’t help but sit up onto her elbows, both enthralled and unnerved by the sight.

Stacked on top of each other, slightly thicker than any human length she’d seen, and pointed at the tip, they make for an intimidating sight. Standing at his full height, Dal has to lift Adalyn by the hips to fuck her. He pulls her towards him, and she loses balance, falling back against the table.

She clenches hard when Dal pushes inside of her. His pointed tip makes for easy insertion, and Dal lifts her hips to meet his thrust, spearing Adalyn with one movement. The manhandling, the stretch, the warmth inside her; none of it is unexpected. None of it is unpleasant. But the way his topmost cock grinds along her sex is a surprise, and she jerks at the stimulation.

She’s not sure if he’s being considerate or teasing, but Dal fucks her at a lazy pace. The friction is certainly enjoyable, but the lightness in which her clit is rubbed, and the gentle rolling of his hips isn’t nearly enough to satisfy her.

“You’re taking too long,” somebody complains within earshot.

Adalyn had entirely forgotten the other wyverns waiting at the table.

Dal shrugs, insolent with his smile. “We have all night.”

“Tsk.” Somebody stands alongside them. A male with dark hair and a short beard. His horns are the colour of coal, and the scales on the back of his hands shine with a similar sheen.

She starts when he grasps her by the chin, turning her head to look at him. His black eyes bore into hers.

“Is this enough for you? Would you like more?”

Hazy from arousal and getting impatient with Dal’s pace, she whimpers.

The stranger leans closer. “Do you want more?”

More, she mouths the word and nods mindlessly.

His grin is nearly feral. “Good. Open your mouth.”

Heart fluttering, Adalyn does as he says, suddenly filled with trepidation, but too desperate to change her mind.

His thumb brushes against her bottom lip, claw scraping her tongue.

“Suck on it.”

Her eyes widen when he pushes into her mouth. His claw is sharp, pointed, but not keen enough to cut at a touch. She circles the digit with her tongue, tracing the keratin before probing the softness of his flesh. Then she sucks.

The wyvern smiles in response.

Dal scoffs at the interaction, and thrusts with more force, the leisurely roll of his hips abandoned in favour of harder, sharper thrusts. Finally, being fucked at a pace that pleases her, Adalyn moans, clenching hard around the wyvern. Sweet tension begins to build in her core.

The darker wyvern replaces his thumb with two fingers, and she suckles them enthusiastically. He tastes like honey – like dessert. But more pleasurable than the taste is the daze that fills her mind. The arousal that had clouded her rationale before now completely obscures it, and before long Adalyn’s inhibitions are almost entirely loosened. She slurps on the stranger’s fingers, opening invitingly for the wyvern to start pumping them in and out of her mouth.

Distantly, she’s aware of their voices. The male using her mouth utters a string of filthy compliments, informing her just how good she sounds, how well she’s doing, and how fucked she looks. The praise buzzes her, and she moans around his fingers again.

“Fuck. Roll her over.”

It’s a relief to be lowered. Dal had held her by the thighs, but her legs had hung past the end of the table, aloft and unbraced, and her muscles burn from strain. She’s equal parts frustrated and relieved at the interruption, as the coil inside her loosens and her orgasm slips out of grasp.

Dal rolls her onto her side, raising one of her thighs and using it as leverage to fuck her once more. His second member no longer brushes along her folds, and is instead pinned against her thigh, but the loss of its weight doesn’t faze her when Dal thrusts back into her. The new angle sends a spike of pleasure through her, and Adalyn’s thoughts stall.

He takes his time getting used to the new position, lifting her hips with one hand and pressing her raised leg against his chest with the other. If he were any shorter Adalyn could hook her leg over his shoulder, but the sheer size of the wyvern prevents it.

The fingers leave her mouth, and Adalyn pants for breath, blinking up at the dark-haired wyvern. Evidently, he’s had enough teasing, because undoes his pants and holds his hemi an inch from her lips.

“You could suck on one of these instead?”

Breathless, she licks her lips at the idea. She’s never been particularly into oral. Especially when the men whose dick’s she’d sucked had left her hanging afterwards. But with the fog of lust hovering over her, and Dal hammering her steadily towards a peak once more, she wants nothing more than to go back to sucking, and the warm buzz it had given her. She opens her mouth eagerly, lifting her chin.

It’s at that moment when her eyes slip past the stranger. Rolled onto the side she has a better view of the room around her. Of the guests; drinking at their seats, turned to watch the show, or standing and waiting their turn. Of the high table, where matriarch and her kin preside over the evening. Of Slate; chin resting on his hand and face carefully blank as he watches Adalyn take a stranger’s cock in her mouth.

She balks when her gaze meets his, drawn from her haze for a moment. The wyvern pressing into her doesn’t notice, and when Adalyn stalls, he begins to thrust shallowly into her mouth.

At the weight on her tongue and the hand in her hair, she closes her eyes, entranced once more. He doesn’t taste much different from a human - salt and sweat. She salivates at the taste, and drool starts to drip from her lips, down her chin. The second cock takes her by surprise, rubbing against the side of her face with each thrust. The smear of pre-cum against her skin is obscene, the tip dragging from her cheek to her hair line, mussing her hair.

Somebody grabs one of her breasts, and she arches into the touch, groaning around the wyvern. The touches meld together and she’s adrift in sensation. Somebody’s talking to her again. Somebody’s fucking her and filling her mouth. Fingers find her clit; in easy reach in her new position, and Adalyn has a visceral reaction, bucking and shuddering. Her eyes flit open for a moment, and she makes eye contact with the male using her mouth. He’d been gentle, grinding enthusiastically but not pushing into her throat. His hand is wrapped around the base of his cock, pumping the length that wouldn’t fit.

He’d been speaking. Murmuring another string of assurance, but Adalyn only catches fragments: “- doing so good... You look so- ...I’m going to paint your pretty-” he cuts off in a groan.

Adalyn tastes his seed before he pulls out and spills the rest on her face. She flinches at each string of ejaculate, waiting until it’s safe to open her eyes. He leans against the table, flushed and panting.

Dal pushes her onto her back again. He bites down on his lip as he takes her in: breasts on display, hair dishevelled, face a debauched mess. Unable to hold back any longer, he stiffens. Adalyn feels him pulse; feels the wet heat spread inside her before he pulls out. Reeling and winded, Dal is still transfixed as he watches his seed drip from Adalyn.

Her legs hang limp. The pleasure building inside her recedes once more. Disappointment creeps in as she closes her eyes and tries to catch her breath.

Her time untouched doesn’t last long, and she starts when she feels fingers on her face. She stares up at the dark-haired wyvern as he wipes the come from her cheeks. He pushes his fingers back into her mouth, this time coated with his seed.

Her nose crinkles at the taste, but she doesn’t otherwise resist, obediently sucking him clean.

He smiles. “Ready to go again?”

She leans back, and he removes his fingers so she can speak. “Didn’t you just...?”

He smirks. “Nobody told you? Two cocks. Two loads. Here. I’ll let you suck this one at your own pace.”

It sets the tone for the rest of the night. Nobody is shy about using either of her ends. Before long she’s sticky from sweat and spend, unsure if there’s a part of her not yet sullied. Her gown is pulled off. Somebody undoes her braids. Her hair becomes a tangled mess.

Nobody hurts her. Clawed fingers dig into her skin, and some of the kisses plastered on her are a little toothsome, but no blood is drawn. The most she can complain about is how overwhelming it becomes.

The night increases in fervour, and her fortitude starts to diminish. Her skin crawls as a spectator, impatient, climaxes over her breasts. She becomes dizzy, being led by the hair from cock to cock without time to recover. They're gentle with her, all things considered. She doesn’t choke, and while a few wyverns make her gag, she can always breathe. But it becomes overwhelming, regardless.

Hands wrap around her neck. Faces become a blur. A stranger pets her hair. She loses track of who’s touching her. Of how many people surround her.

It’s not embarrassing anymore, but it’s still upsetting. Filthy and used without break, she feels degraded. Brought to the brink of orgasm and denied numerous times; passed around and filled with a burning need, but ultimately neglected as her partners fail to notice how close she gets before they stop and start over. She’s not sure how much more she can take.

Somebody takes her from behind again. Bent over the table with her rear in the air, she presses her face into the furs beneath her. She’s so slick from use and pliant from exhaustion that when somebody spreads her cheeks and starts to finger her ass, she can only keen when they push inside. Somewhere somebody is laughing.

Tears prick in her eyes and she puts her hands over her head. She focuses on her breathing, and tries to let the sensations wash over her. Somebody asks her if she’s okay. If she can keep going. She gives them a thumbs up, but otherwise keeps her face down, hiding her distress.

There’s a lull in activity around her. The male behind her stutters, before slowing his pace. The people around her – the hands in her hair, groping her breasts, touching her back – they vanish. It’s as if a bubble of breathing room forms around her top half.

Adalyn cracks her eyes open. The figure sitting alongside table is one she is very familiar with.

“How are you feeling?”

She presses her face against the furs again, letting out a noise of non-commitment.

“I brought you a drink. You must be thirsty.”

She’s pretty far gone, but she blinks, fighting back the fog of exhaustion as his words needle at her memories.

She is thirsty. But the drink is more important than that.

He nods at her glimmer of recognition. “Roll onto your side?”

She struggles, but Slate assists her, standing and placing his hand against her lower back. The male who’d been using her doesn't pull out, but he ceases his thrusts long enough for her to have a reprieve. Her hand shakes so much when she reaches for the offered cup, that she thinks she might spill it.

“I’ve got it.”

He brings the drink to her lips, and she nearly squirms from embarrassment. She downs the mixture, trying not to prolong the moment. Her nose crinkles at the aftertaste. Something cloyingly sweet had been used to cover up the bitter ingredients.

Slate lowers the cup and she notices the effects of the potion immediately. The ache in her jaw disappears. The weight of exhaustion retreats from her limbs. Soon she can sit up on her elbow, unaided. Most noticeably, she becomes very aware of Slate’s closeness; his hand against her back, his face inches from hers.

Roused to her senses and uncomfortably aware of Slate’s stare, she looks down, cheeks ablaze. “Thank you.”

“Any time.” She misses the smile he gives her. “Here,” he takes her by the chin and angles her head towards him.

She melts into the gentleness of his touch, letting out an embarrassing mewl as he uses a handkerchief to wipe the mess from her face. She doesn’t notice the way he stiffens at the sound; cheeks darkening.

After a moment, he recovers, sitting beside her again. Adalyn’s heart races at his choice of seating. At his proximity, her embarrassment returns.

Embarrassment, she firmly tells herself as the potion heats her blood.

At Slate’s retreat, the male behind her reacquaints himself with Adalyn’s insides, resuming his fucking. With her attention suddenly brought back to the dick throbbing inside of her and the finger hooked in her ass, Adalyn squeaks, and bites down on her lip to keep any further noises to herself.

She’d been able to relax with Slate across the room, but at his closeness she’s hyperaware of each noise she makes.

She wants to crawl into a hole when the male slips another finger in her ass. He slows his thrusting while he stretches her out, taking his time to scissor his fingers and draw some huffs and gasps from Adalyn. He pulls out for a moment to collect some of her slick before pushing back in.

The male slips in another finger, and at the stretch she squirms. It feels – good. Good enough that her mind blanks and she moans at the treatment.

She didn’t realise how much the aphrodisiac would arouse her. She can’t imagine any other reason why having her ass debased in such a way makes her clench with need and pant wantonly into her hand.

She curses under her breath.

Slate’s hand finds hers and she flinches, casting him a glance. “Hah... you’re still here?”

“There’s no rule against me sitting here. Unless it makes you uncomfortable?”

She can’t identify the emotion behind his tone. Can’t stand to meet his gaze, so squeezes her eyes shut when the male behind her starts to pump his fingers and fuck her alternately.

She doesn’t want to reply. Can’t even think of a reply. But the feel of his stare on her; having him see her like this – it's too much. She covers her face with her hands.

“No, don’t hide,” he gently pries them off.

“Please don’t look.”

She tries to turn away, but he’s having none of it, grabbing her by the jaw and turning her to look at him. “But you look so good, sweetheart.” He takes her hand and presses a kiss to the back of it.

She nearly swoons at the contact, and lets out another whine. Her haziness is compounded by the increasing force with which she is being fucked, but she’s still flush with shame.

“I look like a mess.”

There’s that emotion again. It’s plain across his face now. His voice is thick with it when he replies. “You look irresistible.”

It’s want.

Adalyn’s eyes widen at the admission. Her hair is a rat’s nest, her skin is splotchy with spend, and she can barely hold her head up, but he thinks she’s irresistible.

“Hey human, do you mind if I fuck this hole instead?”

She almost doesn’t hear the male behind her – still reeling from the honesty and desire on Slate’s face. After a moment she processes the request.

Any other day and she’d be too scandalised to even consider the suggestion. As it is, the words are entirely obscene, and Adalyn balks. “What?”

His fingers curl in her again, and she lets out a throaty groan, before covering her mouth and flushing. With Slate looking at her like that, and the potion making her ache with need, she almost agrees immediately. Almost.

It’s not like the male gives her space to consider. The tip of his cock drags against her back wall every time he moves inside her, and the pressure at the entrance of her other hole is unexpectedly delectable. She can’t help but wonder how it would feel when tested against the thickness of a wyvern member.

She lets out another moan, and tries to press her face against the furs again. Slate holds fast on her chin.

“Is that a yes?”

She doesn’t reply, giving another indecipherable groan.

“He asked you a question, Adalyn.”

Her eyes widen when Slate speaks to her, somewhat stern in tone, but no less gentle.

“Do you want a cock in your ass?”

She whimpers at the stare he levels at her; entirely expectant that she’ll answer. Her cheeks burn with humiliation and she tears up when she nods her assent.

He nods to the male behind her, relaying her permission.

With no need to draw it out, the male removes his fingers from her ass, pulls out, and lines up with her entrance. Slick enough to slide inside he lets out a hiss as he presses against her, pointed tip helping him slip past the tight ring of muscle.

Adalyn is unable to move as he seats himself. Hands fisted on the table, holding her breath, she feels every inch of him. She’s trembling and nearly delirious with pleasure when he bottoms out. Once seated, he pauses, giving her time to adjust.

Slate squeezes her hand. “You’re doing so well.”

She whimpers. The stretch is more than she’d expected. It’s overwhelming, and she suspects it’d be painful if she were sober.

The male begins to fuck her.

She’s silent at first, breathless as he plunges in and out of her. He takes his cock out fully each time, forcing Adalyn to experience that initial stretch of re-entry over and over. It doesn’t take as long as she expected to relax; to arch her back and lean into each touch. She spreads her legs further to accommodate the male, and when she slips too low for comfort he lifts her by the hips, holding her like a toy and fucking her at his preferred height.

She doesn’t know if it’s the aphrodisiac or the position, but she’s desperate to be touched. Clenching around nothing while still being fucked makes her insatiable, and she lets out a throaty groan. Her eyes flutter open for a moment to find Slate watching her ardently.

Does he have to peer so closely? All she wants to do is touch herself. To feel some extra bit of friction. But with the heat of Slate’s stare she can’t do anything by whine and sniffle, mind clouded with lust once more, but somehow held back by the last trappings of embarrassment.

He leans closer, and Adalyn finds herself inching forward, as if drawn by gravity towards him. Soon his lips are brushing her ear, and she hangs on to his every word, eyes falling shut.

“You can do it, sweetheart. You’re doing amazing.”

She stares again, unfocused and bleary eyed until she narrows in on the bulge in Slate’s pants.

Fuck.

She closes her eyes but the image has seared itself into her retinas. Forever embedded into her mind is the knowledge that Slate doesn’t just want her, but he wants her. Still wretchedly horny, still achingly empty, still so damn close to coming, she whines, absolutely overwhelmed by the new revelation. It’s enough to bring tears to her eyes again.

“Damn, you feel good when you clench like that,” the wyvern inside of her groans. He starts pounding into her in earnest, and Adalyn cries harder, drawn unbelievably tight with need.

“Oh, please,” she whispers, “please, please, please,” she’d bury her face again if it weren’t for the iron grip Slate has on her jaw. She opens her eyes, stares sightlessly at him, begging to anyone who’ll listen, “please, I need to come, I’ll do anything, please-”

The wyvern reaches around. He grinds the heel of his palm against her clit. There’s no gentleness, no finesse in the movement, but it’s all that she needs.

Her nails dig into Slate’s hand and her vision turns white. She bucks and spasms, and would probably double over if it weren’t for the grip both wyverns maintain on her.

Her ears are ringing so loudly that she doesn’t hear herself when she chokes out his name.

He hears it though.

The assault on her ass doesn’t stop, and when she drifts back down to reality she’s still being pounded relentlessly. Slate has loosened his grip on her face, and instead has his hands steepled in front of him. He’s flushed, his pupils almost entirely dark, and he regards her with wide eyes, as if watching her come apart had surprised him.

Boneless, Adalyn slumps to the table, whining as the wyvern continues to palm her clit, drawing out the aftershocks of her orgasm until she’s twitching and entirely overwhelmed. She’s held up only by his hands around her hips, no longer an active participant in the sex.

“Are you alright?” Slate eventually asks.

She gives him a smile, eyelids drooping, and nods. “Mm.”

When the wyvern finishes, she barely notices. She’s lucid enough to continue the trial, but not nearly coherent enough to give more than one-word answers. Thankfully that’s all anyone needs to continue.

Nobody uses her mouth again. Slate acts as a deterrent, and she’s grateful. In her natural high, she’s no longer bothered by his presence. If anything, it only excites her more. Watching him react to each of her sounds; adjusting his pants, staring hungrily, digging his claws into the table – it's enough to make her giggle, damn near drunk on endorphins.

The high doesn’t last long enough though, and the hours start to blur together again. The aphrodisiac keeps her wet and wanting, keeps any pain at bay. It does not keep her alert.

She’s lost track of time when the room starts to spin. Her vision begins to tunnel; dark spots creep into her peripheral, and she blinks rapidly to stay awake. She tries to rub her face, but her arm won’t move. Her limbs feel like lead.

She tries to say Slate’s name. Her tongue is too thick in her mouth. Too dry.

“Here,” he says, bringing another cup to her lips. It’s water, and she drains it with relief.

“’m tired,” she manages to mumble.

“I know. It’s nearly over, Adalyn.” He brushes her hair back and she leans into his touch.

Her eyelids droop closed.

“Hey,” he taps her cheek. “there’s minutes left. I promise.”

She stares, not really processing anything she’s looking at, but keeping her eyes open just for him. Somebody grabs her by the hair. Digs their claws into her waist. The sting is enough to keep her present, but when her partner finishes and the next one takes over, she finds herself fading again.

Tears prickle at her eyes. “’m sorry.”

“No,” he strokes her face. “There’s no need for that. You’ve done so good for us.”

His words send a flicker of warmth through her chest, but her eyes drift shut.

“Dunno... if I can keep... going...”

“You don’t have to.” It’s not Slate that speaks.

She cracks her eyes open, one last time. In her stupor she doesn’t place the Matron immediately. Doesn’t really place her at all. The wizened female points up to the skylights. The sky is turning pink.

“The sun is rising. You’ve passed the test.”

That marks the end of Part 2. I'll be taking a break and will resume working on TWB in November, for NaNoWriMo. Thanks for sticking with me so far <3

#the wyvern's bride #my writing #vaya writes #monster romance #tetaro #exo #wyverns #dragons #monster boyfriend

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yoyomarules · 3 years

Text

Thinking a lot about this post and Eliot Spencer and the tough conversations, the arguments, about his limitations.

Eliot waking up in a room he takes too long to identify as one of their safe houses, head pounding. There’s a gauze dressing on his forehead, a bandage expertly wound around his right arm, his left in a sling. Hardison at his side, laptop open on his knees but with that slow pulsing dot of light on the back that means it’s in sleep mode. Parker in the window seat, knees pulled to her chest, the tension coming off her in waves even though she’s perfectly still.

‘You’re awake,’ Hardison says, closing the laptop. ‘How’re you feeling?’

‘Like I got kicked in the head a few times,’ Eliot grumbles. His throat is parched.

‘Yeah,’ Hardison says. ‘Getting kicked in the head’ll do that to you.’

He reaches for a glass of water, helps Eliot sit upright a little so he can sip at it.

‘Where we at with the job?’ Eliot asks.

‘Don’t worry about that,’ Hardison tells him. ‘You oughta rest.’

‘But did you get the patent?’ Eliot pushes.

‘Eliot, it’s fine.’

‘But we only have today to—we need to get back in there.’ He tries to sit up further but Hardison’s gentle hands guide him back down again.

‘You ain’t going anywhere; you look like you walked off the set of The Mummy; lie down.’

‘Fine, then you two need to—’

Hardison’s hands still rest on his shoulders, though he’s being careful not to apply any pressure. ‘It’s done, okay?’

‘You got it?’

Parker and Hardison glance at each other.

‘No,’ Hardison says, after a moment. ‘I mean the con’s done. I blew my cover when I came in after you.’

There’s a silence.

‘You came in after me,’ Eliot repeats.

‘Yeah.’

‘What the hell were you thinking?’ he demands.

‘I was thinking I’d save your life,’ Hardison replies, and his voice doesn’t rise but it’s cut through with frustration all the same. ‘You’re welcome, by the way.’

‘That guy Meyer hired as security’s a stone-cold murderer, Hardison!’ Eliot says, and his voice does rise. ‘He could’ve killed you!’

‘Yeah, and he would’ve killed you!’ Hardison snaps. ‘He’d’ve killed you ’cause he recognised you and “put down the Eliot Spencer” looks good on a hired gun’s résumé! And don’t tell me you had it handled,’ he continues, as Eliot opens his mouth to speak, ‘’cause you didn’t have shit handled. Why didn’t you say your shoulder’s still acting up, huh?’

‘Shoulder’s fine,’ Eliot says automatically.

‘That’s crap, man, and you know it.’

‘Okay, sure,’ Eliot says. ‘So I was a little slower than normal. That don’t mean you blow the whole con.’

‘I’d make the same choice again,’ Hardison says. He jerks his chin toward Parker. ‘We both would, every time. Wouldn’t even hesitate.’

‘Hardison,’ Eliot growls. ‘We made a promise to that family.’

Hardison shakes his head. ‘We didn’t promise you’d die for it.’

‘So that’s it?’ Eliot asks. ‘We make even more of a mess of their lives and then fuck off, is that how this goes?’

‘We got options,’ Hardison says. ‘We already spoke to Tara; we’ll let things settle down, try again in a few months with new faces—’

‘He’s gonna be on the lookout for a scam, and in the meantime he could—’

‘I don’t care.’

Eliot glances across at Parker. She’s still got her arms wrapped around her knees, but she’s turned her face toward them for the first time since he woke up, and her eyes are red, her words raw.

‘Parker, this is our job,’ Eliot says.

‘I don’t care!’ she repeats. ‘I don’t care how many people lose their money or their home or—or—’

‘You do,’ Eliot protests. ‘You do care.’

‘—I’ll steal it myself if it means we don’t have to lose you!’ And then she’s on her feet and shaking herself and heading toward the door. ‘I need a minute,’ she says.

Eliot watches her go, stunned, and then turns to Hardison. ’You gotta talk to her.’

‘No,’ Hardison says. ‘You gotta listen to her. You know she’s blaming herself for this? ’Cause she didn’t plan for your shoulder and she was so focused on cracking the safe she didn’t realise you were in trouble.’

‘Well, it ain’t Parker’s job to get me outta trouble.’

‘It’s her job to try to stop you getting into it in the first place,’ Hardison says. ‘And this was way too close.’

‘I’m telling you, I woulda been okay—’

‘You would not have been okay.’

‘You saying I don’t know my own limits?’

‘No, I think you know your limits just fine,’ Hardison says. ‘I just don’t know that you’re telling us your limits.’

Eliot stares at him for a long moment and then takes a sip of water. Then another.

Hardison watches him. ‘There something you wanna tell me right now?’

Eliot sighs and rubs a hand over his eyes, kind of hoping Hardison might forget he asked. But he’s sitting there expectantly, watching, watching, and Eliot squirms under his gentle scrutiny until he can’t help but admit, ‘It ain’t just the shoulder.’

‘What else?’ Hardison asks, voice carefully neutral.

‘It’s…lately I’ve been…’ He sighs again. ‘It’s like I still know how a fight should go, right? How I can beat ’em, easy. Long as I’m at a hundred percent.’

‘How often are you at a hundred percent?’ Hardison asks quietly.

Maybe it’s the head wound, but it feels like hours pass before Eliot confesses, ‘Less often, these days.’

The words hangs in the air between them. Hardison’s face shifts between devastated and scared and maybe just the smallest bit relieved, and he says, ‘Okay. So we gotta… we just gotta figure out around that, okay? More time between jobs, more cons where you’re just grifting—’

‘Hardison, c’mon; we can’t—’

‘And we have to know when to pull the plug. And look, you’re right—no one knows your body better than you do. So you have to tell us if something’s too much, ’cause I’m with Parker. We can’t lose you, man. We won’t.’

And it’s not like Eliot’s not aware of that fact, after seven years working together and two of those together-together, but he still swallows hard before answering. ‘If I agree to tell you when I need you to come in, are you gonna listen to me when I tell you to stay put?’

‘I mean, yeah,’ Hardison says. ‘Unless you’re obviously being stupid or some Estonian merc is actively at this moment attempting to bash your brains in. Or both.’

‘He was Latvian,’ Eliot mutters.

‘Okay, well, let’s say any Baltic state,’ Hardison suggests.

He rolls his eyes. ‘Fine.’

Hardison seems, if not satisfied, then at least willing to let the conversation drop for now. Eliot pulls at a loose thread on the bedspread. ‘I think I gotta apologise to Parker,’ he says.

‘Yeah, you should.’

‘And I guess I gotta thank you, huh?’

‘I know,’ Hardison says. ‘This must be awful for you.’

Eliot looks him in the eye and says it with a little more force than necessary. ‘Thank you.’

Hardison grins. ‘No problem.’ He leans over and kisses the bit of Eliot’s forehead that isn’t covered in dressings. ‘Get some rest, all right? We’ll be here when you wake up.’

‘Yeah,’ Eliot says, letting his eyes drift shut. ‘Yeah, I know you will.’

#eliot spencer #parker x hardison x eliot #leverage #you know when you have an idle thought and then 90 minutes later you've pretty much written a full-on fic #and it's absolutely none of the fics you were planning on writing #might expand on this because i also want the conversation after the too many rembrandts job fight #my fic #leverage fic

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cdroloisms · 3 years

Text

uhhhh ,, , hi ??

i feel bad bc i havent been here in. LITERALLY forever lmao - hope you guys r all doing good!! ive been working on some stuff but it’s been pretty slow going, and school is also A Thing, so i definitely havent been writing as much as i’d like.

as an apology, have this? really self-indulgent feel-good syndicate + c!dream centric oneshot bc i felt like writing this so u know. why not.

tws: implied torture, abuse, self-harm, disordered eating, starvation mentions, prison arc themes - overall everything��s just blink-and-you’ll-miss-it mentions, not too much angst here for once! c!sam and c!quackity critical, sorry guys but we r still in the prison arc and they still r on their “fuck human rights” arcs.

Dream leaves.

It’s a surprise - or maybe it isn’t one, Niki isn’t quite sure. She’d never grown to quite trust the man, she knows, and she can’t really tell if the bitter twist of emotion that swells up her chest when Phil comes to her city with the news is betrayal or resignation - what can she say. She’s gotten more than her fair share of broken promises. They don’t exactly faze her anymore.

None of them seem all that surprised, save Techno, who entirely fails to hide the worry that flickers over his face when he calls the Syndicate meeting to officially inform them of what’s going on. She shares quick, careful glances with the other members when his back is turned - despite how many times he’s been burned, Techno still seems so adamant at holding onto every thread, trusting all too easily those who would use and leave him behind without a second glance. He can handle himself, she knows. Still, that’s not going to stop her from slapping Dream upside the head for being yet another worthless person to betray her friend’s forgiving nature.

Nothing much changes in the next few weeks. Niki has to admit, it’s strange without Dream around - he’d not been an ally, much less a friend before dipping completely, but he had been some sort of constant - and Niki is self aware enough to know that she misses him, a little, the same sort of way you might miss an old routine once it’s gone, if only for the familiarity. She still visits Techno and Phil with various baked goods, knowing that Phil would have his hands full just keeping Techno from running himself ragged - makes sure to check on Ranboo, whose nerves have inevitably returned with Dream’s disappearance. To be honest, she doesn’t worry as much as he does - ally or not, she’s spent enough time with the Dream that had left prison to expect that he won’t exactly be able to get himself very far should he come for the four of them, and doesn’t particularly care about he might pull with the rest of the server - if things get bad, she’s sure Phil and Techno will have it handled. She asks Phil, once, what happened, and he shrugs.

“I don’t know, mate,” he heaves a chest to the side, pulling out a stack of stone blocks that Niki gladly holds for him. “One day we woke up and he was just- gone. Everything. Was like he wasn’t ever there at all.”

Niki hums. “Why’d you think he’d do something like that?”

“If I could understand half of why Dream does what he does, we wouldn’t be having this conversation now, would we?” He smiles at her from behind a crate. “Shall we bring these things upstairs and start on dinner?”

Niki laughs, knowing that the conversation about Dream is over. “Of course, Phil.”

Dinner is a welcome distraction; all of them have gotten better at cooking in recent months, between her baking and the veritable library of recipes Phil knows that she’s never even heard of, but Phil is still the only one she really trusts to hold his own behind the stove - Ranboo is still a little too nervous around water, and fire, and much of everything, and though Techno can be a perfectly capable cook, he’s been distracted as of late. She has a strong feeling that left to his own devices, he’d just grab a stack of steak and disappear for another few weeks, searching the server for information.

Honestly, she’s a little thrown off by his behavior - he’d not done anything like this with Tommy, if she remembers right, and had hardly seemed affected by Wilbur’s betrayal on the Sixteenth at all (then again, she was a little too lost in her own head to notice if he was.) She tosses her head over to ask Phil, who’s leaning over a few carrots he’s slicing to throw into the stew he’s making, and the man pauses, frowns.

“From what I know,” he starts, words slow, careful, “they’d spent three months in there together, and the conditions weren’t exactly- stellar. According to what Techno said, I’d assumed they had come to some sort of understanding.” He goes back to the carrots, expression dipping into shadow and out of sight. “Guess I was wrong.”

Niki hums. She can see it, sort of - spending months together with someone, no matter how insufferable, probably would end with some degree of attachment - she thinks back to plotting through sleepless nights with Jack, anger and grief leaving them simmering, crabs in the same pot of boiling water, remembers looking into his dead-eyed gaze and seeing her own stare back - and feels a brief pang of guilt. Besides, Techno is Techno. She’d never met someone so willing to forgive, understand, reach out despite everything that’s happened - for Dream to take advantage of that feels almost too obvious. Of course he would - what were they all thinking?

“He’s Dream,” she says as if that explains everything, flipping open the oven door and feeling a wave of heat blast her face. Phil hums lowly, understanding. “I hope Techno will be alright.”

“He’s tough,” Phil cracks a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “And he has us on his side. He’ll get through.”

Niki opens her mouth to reply, only to be interrupted by the front door slamming open. Outside their quaint little cottage, the wind howls - it sounds like the beginning of a blizzard out there, flurries painting the world in a thick blanket of white. In the door, Techno strides into the entrance with loud, decisive movements, shutting the door loud enough to make the walls shake. Inadvertently, Niki finds her eyes drawn to the small pile of snow that he’s tracked into the house - Techno’s usually so careful to kick it all off on the porch, never liked it much when there was a pile of melting ice and snow dampening the floorboards and soaking into his shoes. He huffs harshly, stripping off a snow-dusted scarf from his face - a long, multicolored abomination that had been the product of her attempting to teach Ranboo how to knit. Phil has reached his side, hands splayed over his upper arms, eyes soft in the corners from concern.

“Techno, mate-” his tone is chiding but his movements gentle as he brushes snow off of Techno’s signature cloak, “you’ve gotten snow everywhere. What were you doing, dueling a blizzard?”

Techno shakes his head, not meeting Phil’s banter as usual, fur sticking up from the snow melted into it. His voice is gruff and holds little humor - unconsciously, Niki feels her shoulders tense.

“Phil, call a Syndicate meeting.”

---

Phil, per usual, is unrelenting, so it’s not until a quick dinner and some hurried messages to their final member later that the Syndicate is gathered in their meeting room, Techno pacing the length of the room as they wait in their respective seats. He looks less frazzled than he did when he first entered the house, in part due to Phil’s sitting him down to eat and picking through his fur to smooth it out of its windblown spikes and tangles - Techno had grumbled at him to stop preening him, but looked a lot more relaxed by the time they were all finished with their food. Still, his ear flicks periodically, twitching toward ssome sound that Niki can’t hear, movements tighter and jerkier than she is used to. He’d always been a little flightier after the prison, but not quite like this - everything here feels like that but dialed up to eleven. Inexplicably, it reminds her of Dream.

“Techno?” Phil gestures towards his seat, prompting, and he settles into it with an obliging huff.

“Y’know, Phil, the code names are kinda pointless if we never use ‘em,” he says, words carrying no real heat - he looks back at the rest of them, lips thinning into a line. “Anyway. I called this meeting because I found a couple leads on Dream.”

“O-oh,” Ranboo stutters, tail lashing behind him.

“You don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to, mate,” Phil reminds him gently, a sentiment that Niki affirms with a determined nod.

“There’ve been some reports- rumors, really,” Techno says, calling their attention again, and they all turn towards him, “of increased activity around the prison again. The Warden spending more time on its grounds, movement seen around the walls and around the portal- so I decided to go check it out for myself.”

Niki frowns, and watches as Phil does the same beside her - Techno had seemed to avoid the prison if he could help it, save for when he went on the initial mission to break Dream out. It was no secret to them that he didn’t exactly like the place.

“We could’ve helped if you asked,” Phil reminds him, and Techno shakes his head.

“I know, Phil. It’s just- that place is bad news. I’d rather keep you guys away from there if I can-” his hand goes to his head with a poorly hidden wince. “Sorry, Chat’s a little- worked up, at the minute.”

“Sorry, we’ll stop interrupting you,” Niki says, cutting off Phil before he says anything else. “So you went to the prison?”

Techno takes a second to gather his thoughts, mumbling quietly in the way that usually means he’s telling off Chat. “Right- I decided to stake out the portal. The rumors were right- Sam has been hanging around there, entered and left the prison four times yesterday. And today-” he hesitates, expression visibly darkening. “This morning, about an hour after the Warden arrived, Quackity came to the prison and went through the portal. He left the grounds about six hours later.”

“Quackity?” Niki frowns, eyes flicking over to how Phil has stilled in his seat. “What is Quackity doing at the prison?”

Phil ignores her question, reaching towards Techno, something indiscernible in his gaze. “Mate…”

“He smelled of blood when he left,” Techno says, words sharp, and Niki feels her heart skip a beat. “Warden left about half an hour after, and I came back here.”

Ranboo clears his throat, sounding tentative. “Okay,” he drums his hand on the table when they turn towards him, eyebrows drawn, “but what, exactly, does this have to do with, uh, Dream?”

Techno and Phil trade glances, one of their bouts of unspoken conversation that Niki’s grown extremely used to. They seem strangely hesitant, she notes internally, Phil looking towards Techno with a question written clearly in the planes of his face. Techno sighs, a long puff of air through his lips as he closes his eyes and turns his face towards the table.

“You know how Dream was- injured,” he starts slowly, looking back up at them. Niki shifts uncomfortably - of course she noticed, it was impossible not to - if not the bandages that peeked under his sleeves and the cuffs of his pants, then how skinny he’d been, all skin and bones curled up uncomfortably in a pile at the corner of Techno’s couch. She’d not know the extent, by any means, and had always assumed that they’d been self-inflicted - she’d been in a bad enough place on her own before to know how your head can make you want to hurt, sometimes, how eating food can feel like choking on sawdust and the world could feel so much smaller when focused into delicate pricks of pain. Phil’s eyes are trained on Techno - on his face, then on the pinkish raised skin of a still-healing scar along his forearm, and she feels understanding settle like a rock in her gut.

“The Warden had apparently been lettin’ Quackity into the cell to torture Dream for the revive book,” Techno trails off, eyes narrowed and seemingly fixed on a random point of the opposite wall. “By the time I go there, it’d been goin’ on for months.”

“But wait,” Ranboo’s tail moves even more erratically behind him, “You mean you think he’s back- there? How?”

“He has to be back in the prison,” Techno points out. “I can’t imagine anyone besides him that the two of them are goin’ to just start torturin’- Sam had been iffy about the whole thing when Quackity started in on me. It has to be Dream in there again.”

“But how did he get in there, then?” Ranboo asks, visibly confused. “Last time it took the entire server to lock him up!”

“There were no signs of a struggle,” Niki points out, matter of fact. “I believe you, Techno, but I don’t really know how they managed to drag him back so easily. I can’t imagine he was jumping at the chance to go back in there.”

Techno shakes his head with an uneasy sigh.

“I have a feelin’ of what might’ve happened,” he says quietly. “And I really hope that I’m wrong and he’s less of an idiot than I think he is.”

---

They set out to investigate - and maybe attack - the next day, Techno and Phil taking on the bulk of preparations as Ranboo stays behind. He’d been understandably uneasy about the whole mission, so they’d left him back by the Syndicate room to set off their pearls in case anything went wrong. (“By the end of the day,” Techno had said, giving Phil a look with the corner of his lip quirked upwards, “don’t be like Phil here and think I meant the end of the month, alright?”) They’d all be supplied with armor and weapons, thanks to Phil, but she’d been handed the bulk of their potions, arranged neatly in her inventory by type in case they’d be needed. She lingers in the back of the room as Phil and Techno chat amiably over the sound of making last minute repairs on their armor, listens to Techno’s ceaseless reminders for Phil to be careful, watches as they make sure that their stasis chambers are properly prepared should they need them.

(She watches as Phil nudges Techno’s shoulder when he lingers behind a certain chair, empty as long as she’s been part of the Syndicate, the fountain behind it bubbling quietly without a pearl inside. Techno sighs, expression strange.

“Should’ve set him up with one,” he says, quiet, and Phil pats him on the back.

“You couldn’t have known, mate. We wanted to wait a little before telling him about the Syndicate, remember?”

Techno hums, noncommittal. “Still.”)

They Nether travel to the site of Techno’s lookout, which ends up being a little shambling thing with dirt walls dug into a small hill looking towards the prison portal, having hardly enough space to fit the three of them. Phil looks at it with no small amount of apprehension, and Techno shrugs lightly, wearing an expression that makes Phil turn to him with a look that makes Niki break into giggles. Techno crosses his arms- “in my defense-” and Phil looks up at the dirt ceiling with a long-suffering sigh.

“You couldn’t have made this a little roomier, mate?” Phil asks, voice dry as kindling, and Techno raises his hands by his head.

“Hey hey, it’s discreet, it gets the job done, it’s perfectly structurally sound-” the sound of the leftmost wall crumbling, along with the cloud of dust that puffs from it and fills their tiny space, undermines the tail end of his statement and leaves him sputtering, Niki falling into another fit of quiet giggles. Underneath it all, Phil sighs again, raising his wings behind him.

“...these are going to take so long to clean out.”

To his credit, Techno looks sheepish. “Sorry, Phil.”

They sober up quickly; Techno turns around to the opposite side of the hill, where he’s hidden some peepholes inside the dirt - Niki settles herself by one, leaning forwards to put her eye to it and catch a glimpse of the prison looming over the water. It’s been repaired since the breakout, she notes, the gaping hole in the roof completely gone and replaced with obsidian, as intimidating and undamaged as it had been before, if not more so. Phil makes a considering sound from behind her.

“Same plan as last time?” He asks, and Techno shakes his head.

“They’ve probably reinforced it, and Dream’s blueprints won’t include anything new the Warden’s added. I wouldn’t be surprised if they moved Dream to a different location completely. We don’t want to draw too much attention, either, we were cutting it pretty close during the breakout.” He narrows his eyes. “I was thinking we’d try something a little stealthier, this time. “

He gestures at Niki, who blinks back at him with wide eyes.

“You got a couple of invis potions for us?”

She distributes the potions among them all, one regular and two splash potions of invisibility each, and Techno points towards the prison once she’s done.

“The most important thing is to get through the portal,” he says with a grim expression. “Worst comes to worst, once we’re inside we can always blast our way through - but gettin’ through that portal is our first priority.”

Phil narrows his eyes at him. “The portal is locked, though. We’ll need to follow someone else inside- and I’m pretty sure Sam uses pearls, so he’s out.”

Techno nods. “Which is why I’m bankin’ on the prison gettin’ another visitor today. We’ll just have to wait.”

Niki swallows. “Do you mean-”

“Quackity?” Techno turns away, not quite meeting her eyes. “I’m not totally sure, but he’s not exactly the type to just give up on his goals. He’s pretty predictable- an empire needs an emperor, always needs something new to rule- you know the type,” he says, tipping his head towards Phil. “He’ll be mad at Dream for disappearin’ on him and won’t miss the opportunity to prove he has the upper hand again. I’m not sure that he’s going to come today-”

“-but you wouldn’t really be surprised, either,” Phil finishes for him, eyes steely with cold determination. “I trust your judgement, mate. Just stay safe- from what I’ve heard, Quackity has been...erratic.”

“When is he not,” Techno huffs a short laugh, shaking his head. “I’ll be fine, Phil. Just be careful, both of you. Don’t get too close. And if things get messy- which is what we’re tryin’ to avoid, by the way- then don’t do anything too risky. Our priority is gettin’ in and out alive.”

“We can handle ourselves, Techno,” Niki reminds him with a small smile. “And Ranboo is there in case anything goes wrong.”

“Alright, then. Here’s the plan.”

---

It takes quite a long time for Quackity to arrive, long minutes that Niki spends fidgeting in the corner of the room, brushing her hands over seams of the netherite plates that Phil had shoved into her hands, back at the Syndicate room. The set is inexplicably light - not weightless, by any means, as it is still netherite, but not nearly as bulky as any set of netherite armor she’s owned or seen in the past. The runes are precise, lines thin and exact, written with graceful strokes of lapis.

“Phil’s the best metalworker I’ve ever met,” Techno tells her with a small grin, catching her in the middle of tracing what she can make out as an Unbreaking rune along the metal strapped to her forearm. “But then again, he’s had the time to practice.”

“Are you calling me old again?” Phil huffs, and Techno flashes a smile her direction before looking at Phil with a slight grin.

“Well, Chat is,” he says, lips twitching when Phil glares back.

“You can’t just blame Chat every time you insult me, you little shit,” Phil groans, and Techno only grins wider.

“Phil, my ad revenue,” he complains, a dramatic lilt to his voice that has Niki stifling a snort, and Phil’s glare only grows deadlier.

“You’ll have more than your ad revenue to worry about if you keep this up,” he mumbles, going back to keep watch at one of the peepholes and stilling as he does. “Shit- Techno, Quackity’s here.”

Techno straightens up, hindered slightly by the low ceiling of their room. “Alright- we all know the plan, right?”

Niki nods in the affirmative, pulling out a splash invis and letting it settle in her hand, the glass cool beneath her fingertips. She reaches into her inventory and lets her armor fade into it, takes a deep breath and watches as the two across from her do the same. She doesn’t wear armor often, but so close to the prison, feeling mining fatigue settling deep into her bones - she’s never missed the security it offers more. Techno keeps watch, waiting- drops his arm in a signal. Now.

Niki throws the potion at their feet, flinching back at the sound of shattering glass and feeling its effects seep into her skin. When she opens her eyes, she can’t see anything but the inside of the room that they’d holed themselves in and the faintest of wisps rising from where their feet must be, curling around the grass.

(Please let this work, she begs to no one in particular as they walk towards the prison. And if you can hear me- please keep us all safe.)

She hardly breathes as they follow Quackity across the path, holding someone’s hand in her own - Phil’s, by the feel of it - careful to muffle her footsteps in the grass and stand still whenever Quackity’s eyes come a little too close. Thankfully for them, he seems focused, hardly stopping or looking around at all as he walks towards the prison’s portal, movements stiff as he walks forward. He punches the button on the wall particularly harshly, and Sam’s voice comes crackling through a speaker a second later.

“I’m here for my visit,” Quackity says, punctuating the sentence with a snort of laughter that doesn’t sound particularly sincere. Niki hasn’t seen him in a long while, not after everything that happened in Pogtopia, and she feels a chill worm down her spine - this man looks nothing like the one that had laughed and danced and sung at her birthday party what feels like an eternity ago. What happened?

Sam sighs, the sound turning into a sharp burst of static through the speakers. “Hello Quackity,” he says, voice deep and tired. “Please step into the portal after I tell you to and then wait on the other side.”

“I know the drill, Sam,” Quackity rolls his eyes. “Just because the bastard was gone for a few weeks doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how this damn place works.”

“Just going through protocol, Quackity,” Sam replies, and something about this response has Quackity exploding into a brief fit of laughter, the sound grating against Niki’s ears. She feels her grip tighten on Phil’s hand, air caught in her throat.

“Protocol- ha. Whatever you wanna tell yourself, pal.” Quackity smiles, cold and cruel, and Niki tries not to think about how she’d seen that same grin on Wilbur, eyes sparkling from the light of the lanterns hung from the bridges and walls of their ravine, remember how she’d looked into them and realized her old friend wasn’t there, anymore. Quackity disappears into the portal, and after a second, the hand around her own pulls her inside of it too.

On the other side, Quackity taps his foot impatiently, crossing his arms and waiting- Sam’s voice comes through the speakers again, words clipped.

“Go through the portal,” he says, and Quackity does- once again, they wait for a second for his body to disappear, then go within it themselves, pressed close enough together within its frame for Niki to feel the warmth of a wing wrap around her shoulders for a quick second before they’re out of the hot, stifling air of the Nether and into a large, neatly made lobby of blackstone and quartz. They duck into a corner, watching as Quackity moves towards the front counter, the Warden waiting there with his arms crossed over his chest. He looks- tired. His movements are slow, footsteps loud against the floor, shoulders tense and back hunched. He walks around the counter, sword strapped to his belt, and Niki feels her breath hitch at the sight of dried blood still stuck to the blade in patches and splatters.

“He ready?” Quackity asks, holding his hands out - Niki catches a flash of metal as Sam drops something into them, watches as Quackity raises what ends up being a pair of shears, dangerous-looking and gleaming with enchants, to the light.

“Yes,” Sam says, side-eyeing Quackity with a small glare. “You know, it’s supposed to be your job to clean those things off when you’re done with them.”

“I told you, busy day back in Las Nevadas yesterday,” Quackity waves a hand- “I’ll do it, alright? Don’t get all pissy now. What happened to being partners?”

“You said we’d be done with this months ago, Quackity,” Sam sighs, and Niki feels a light tug on her arm as Quackity and Sam begin to walk towards the wall to the right of them, breathes in slow and deep as she follows Techno and Phil towards the others. The wall yawns open with the hiss of redstone firing and pistons pulling blocks upwards, opening into a dark hallway that feels like entering the maw of some sort of giant, insatiable beast. They step inside as one, and the door shuts behind them.

“We’ll be done soon enough,” Quackity says, and Niki feels hairs rising on the back of her neck. “Trust me.”

They stalk forwards through a labyrinth of blackstone, Niki brushing the palms of her hand against her clothes when it goes clammy from adrenaline. Halfway through, she pauses to tip back a second potion of invisibility, careful to keep her movements slow and steady as not to make a sound - the liquid is silvery, cool and light on her tongue, and she lets the effects wash over her with her breath caught in her lungs before moving forward. The tunnels are simpler than she’d expected, bearing little obstacles or checkpoints - Quackity makes a wry comment a second after (“Guard tunnels today, huh? Appreciate the hustle, pal-”) that confirms her suspicions. Despite the potion particles still whirling around their bodies and the sounds of their footsteps, too loud in her own ears, they manage to make it forwards without much trouble, entering a large room with a doorway filled completely with a curtain of lava.

“Set your spawn,” Sam says, still stoic, and Quackity rolls his eyes again before doing as told. Niki keeps looking back at the lava flowing past the wall, its heat filling the room and making her already slick palms even worse, and Sam moves to the side to flick a lever, eyes trained on the lava slowly bubbling in front of him.

“Give me your tools?” Quackity asks, and Sam sighs before doing so - Niki watches as he hands over a netherite axe, then potions, then a few raw potatoes that Quackity accepts and puts into his inventory. Sam raises an eyebrow once he’s done, hand tight around the handle of his trident.

“You bring your own sword, today?” He asks, seeming irritated, and Quackity shrugs.

“Sorry pal, I need to make a new one. Guess I’m borrowing yours again.”

Sam sighs again, louder, and hands over his sword as well, watching as Quackity swings it a few times experimentally. The blade skims a little too close to her on one swing and she can’t quite help the squeak that escapes her lips as she throws herself out of the way, feels her heart hammer in her ears as she backs up against the wall. Please don’t hear that please don’t hear that please don’t hear that please don’t hear that-

“Quackity, wait.” Sam raises a hand, ear twitching as he looks over in her direction with narrowed eyes. “I think I heard something.”

Oh fuck.

“Well, guess show’s up then,” Techno drawls, and both of them whirl towards his voice, giving Niki enough time to pull her armor back on, scrambling to get her sword and shield in her hands as Phil does the same besides her. Pieces of armor appear where Techno is standing, then a bucket of milk- oh, why must her friends be so dramatic- and Techno’s standing there, smiling sharply, with Orphan Obliterator held loosely at his side. “Let’s get this done, then.”

As one, Techno and Phil blur into action - Techno moves forward to catch the prongs of Sam’s trident on his blade as Phil parries Quackity’s blows with his own sword- they move fluidly, easily covering each other’s backs as the room devolves into chaos. Niki remembers their guidance as she flits in and out of the fight, scoring quick hits to keep the Warden and Quackity off balance while remaining out of range from their weapons, and it’s not long before both of them have fallen with a spray of items and experience orbs scattered all over the floor.

Techno moves over to block off the exposed face of the bed with a block, looking over at the two of them with an uncharacteristically severe expression. “They’ll be back soon- we have to move fast. Niki, you have those fire res, right?”

She nods as she reaches into her inventory, finding the potion’s orange-pink glow and smashing it at their feet. They dive into the lava together, Niki scrambling to keep up, her arms struggling to move through the thick lava, loses sight of both until she flails into something directly in front of her and hands are pulling her up out of the lava.

“There you go, mate,” Phil smiles down at her as hauls herself to her feet, making a face at the feeling of the lava clinging to her clothes. “Yeah, swimming through lava isn’t exactly fun. You good?” She flashes him a thumbs up, and he laughs- “Niki, you’re still invisible.” She flushes pink- right.

A few sips of milk later, she gives him a proper thumbs up, and he laughs, loud and bright. She looks past him to where Techno’s crouched over something- someone, she realizes with a start, in the corner. Dream’s back in prison clothes, ragged and ill-fitting, and he’s curled up with his back towards the front of the cell, shaking enough to be obvious even from where she’s standing. Techno speaks lowly, voice barely more than a deep rumble in the air, almost inaudible.

“You there, Dream?”

She watches as Dream turns his head, looking up with wide, bleary eyes. His hair flops in front of his face, and something within her itches to brush it out of the way. “T-Techno?”

“Yeah nerd, who else?” Techno smiles, and Dream seems to blink awake, drawing himself up with a shuddery breath.

“Techno- it’s a trap- what are you doing here?” he hisses, and Techno gives him a look, deadpan.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s a trap- come on, Dream, we’ve been over this by now, bro. You have to know that their traps aren’t goin’ to do anything to me by now,” Techno rolls his eyes, reaching forward to steady his hands on Dream’s shoulders when the other man sputters and struggles to breathe. “Easy, now. Geez, you wanted to prove me wrong about being homeless bad enough that you came back here? We could’ve just made you a house, you know. You didn’t have to go this far.”

“I- they were gonna kill you,” Dream breathes, face twisted up uncomfortably, and his eyes flick past Techno’s face to where Phil and Niki are standing at the opposite wall of the cell. “All of you- they said-”

“And that’s what I thought you’d say,” Techno groans. “Come on, you idiot, I thought you were smarter than this-”

“They were right there, Techno!” Dream fires back, eyes alight. “You- they were right there, what were you thinking, they could’ve-!”

“And my best friend is a necromancer, remember?” Techno shakes his head. “Come on, Dream- Sam and Quackity? You know we can handle them in a fight, especially when you can just revive us if anything goes wrong. You don’t have to do this whole self-sacrifice thing, bro- there’s only so many times I can break into the same prison, y’know.”

“You’re so stupid,” Dream huffs, but he leans in anyway, head just barely settling against Techno’s shoulder. “I- I can’t believe. You’re so dumb.”

“Hey, don’t be sayin’ that to the guy that’s breakin’ you out of prison,” Techno laughs, slinging Dream over his shoulder with an easy motion and laughing harder when it makes him yelp. “That’s just bein’ ungrateful. You’re making Chat sad, man, and when they’re sad they don’t subscribe-”

“I regret this entirely,” Dream says, voice muffled against Techno’s shirt, tone completely flat. “Put me down- you idiot- I’m staying here. You’re worse than Quackity.”

“Rude. Now you’ve really made Chat mad. I demand an apology-”

“Boys, boys.” Niki can’t help giggling, watching the way their gazes snap towards her, rolling her eyes as she moves forward with a few potions held loosely in her hand. “Dream, do you want a health pot?”

Dream seems to deliberate for a second, before nodding at her, expression slightly strained. “...sure.”

“You two can finish your argument after we’ve broken out of the biggest maximum security prison on the server,” Phil drawls from behind her, arms crossed at his chest. “Come on, now, before Sam gets back.”

“Isn’t this the only maximum security prison on the server?” Techno asks aloud, an amused expression on his face - one that only gets worse when Phil glares at him with one ice-blue eye.

“Shut-” he sighs, shaking his head. “You two are chaotic little shits, you know that?”

“Don’t compare me to him, Phil,” Techno complains, Dream mirroring his words with muffled protests of his own, and Phil breathes another drawn-out, long-suffering sigh as he rubs at the bridge of his nose.

“Niki, give us some fire res please?”

She finds the potion bottle between giggles, throwing it to the ground as she tries to choke down the laughter rapidly bubbling up her throat. “Of course, Phil.”

She looks back at Techno and Dream before jumping into the lava, the two of them once again lost in some sort of argument, Dream draped over Techno’s shoulder. He’s breathing easier now, she notes, and Techno looks looser too - a little less tense, leaning back with a perpetual quirk to the corner of his lip as they fire insults back and forth. This is familiar, she recognizes with a soft twist in her chest, the same way that Phil and Techno can finish each other’s sentences and look at each other with laughing eyes sharing the same memories of the past, the same way Ranboo watches Techno’s every step as he adjusts his stance and lifts his sword and Techno laughs and calls him a main character in turn, the same way she and Phil will settle together on the porch over cups of tea and sit at each other’s sides for hours. The rhythm between them is one well-established, the road well-worn - she imagines them, huddled in this dingy cell for months together, and breathes in slow and deep.

“Come on,” she smiles, making sure to keep it on her face when Dream meets her eyes with wide, startled ones of his own. Dream still isn’t an ally, and isn’t a friend.

But - she watches as he smiles back, something inexplicably warm in her chest - maybe, one day, he could be.

#tw torture #tw abuse #tw self harm #tw disordered eating #tw ed #tw sh #prison arc #pandora's vault #tw starvation #c!sam critical #c!quackity critical #my writing :D #> my writing

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nojey · 4 years

Text

unnoticed

quackity / alex x streamer!reader

genre: fluff -> angst pronouns: they / them word count: 2.1k warning(s): cursing, suggestive jokes

synopsis: you had known alex since you started streaming but none of your viewers knew. you started getting closer and eventually you started streaming together but your viewers didn’t like that.

“(y/n)!” alex screamed into his phone after you answered the facetime call. “yes, my love?!” you screamed back. alex giggled and asked, “do you want to stream sometime soon? i mean like, we’ve known each other for a few months and we haven’t streamed together, i know you’re a fairly new streamer but i even asked dream if you could come onto the smp, and i have something planned- well karl and sapnap helped me plan it- but that’s not the point, the point is-” he rambled. “alex? are you asking me on a minecraft date?” you asked. “no! well, maybe, okay yeah. i’m asking you on a minecraft date.” he confirmed. “i’d love to go on a minecraft date with you, alex.” you said, blushing a bit.

truth is, you’ve had a crush on alex for a few months. when he first slid into your dms you didn’t really expect it, but it turned out to start a beautiful friendship. you always flirted with alex in hopes that he’d notice, but it never seemed like he did. he never retaliated back but little did you know, he was just too shy to.

“uh- okay great! tomorrow, at 3pm your time, stream it. we’re going to have a lot of fun. wear pajamas, or you know- just be comfortable okay?” he rushed. you laughed a bit and said, “yes alex, of course. bye now,” then smiled and hung up.

you immediately went tot twitter and started a thread: @(y/s/n): this weeks stream schedule (times are pst): @(y/s/n): tomorrow @ 3pm: minecraft date w/ someone i haven’t streamed with yet ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ↳ @ quackity: i wonder who this might be hmMmMMmm @(y/s/n): tuesday @ 1pm: i somehow got invited to an among us lobby w/ corpse, sykkuno, valkyrae, disguised toast, quarterjade, masayoshi, peterparktv, jacksepticeye, and ludwig ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ @(y/s/n): wednesday @ 1pm: if things don’t go well w/ person on monday- looking for a mc boyfriend! ↳ @ quackity: WELL THAT’S RUDE TO ASSUME THAT THINGS WONT GO WELL (Y/N) @(y/s/n): thursday @ 3pm: chitchat w/ nihachu !! @(y/s/n): friday @ 2pm: pummel party w/ ??

as soon as you tweeted all them out, you looked at replies and saw that quackity had replied to both monday and wednesday schedules. giggling to yourself, you replied back to him.

@(y/s/n): @ quackity way to make it obvious alex, if you wanna date me just say it (¬_¬) @(y/s/n): @ quackity how can you assume that it will go well alex (Ő-Ő) ↳ @ quackity: i just know (y/n)!!! truST ME!!!!

laughing once more, you plugged your phone into the charger and went to bed, excited for what alex had planned for you two tomorrow.

getting ready for the minecraft date was very nerve wracking. the only thing you could think about was whether alex considered this a real date or not. deep inside you hoped that this was a real one.

the ringing from your phone disrupted your thought. looking down on the screen you saw that the one person you were thinking of was calling you.

“hello?” you answered. “hi, (y/n), are you ready?” alex asked. “uh, yeah, i just- i just need to start my stream and introduce what we’re doing.” “okay, um- i’m going to send you a link to the dream smp discord server. join it and join vc 4.” he replied. “for sure, see you then.” you smiled. “see you.” he said and hung up.

“fuck,” you said and wiped your hands onto your pants. you definitely weren’t ready but still, joined the discord server and joined vc 4 then deafened. you set up your stream and hit go live.

“hey everyone! as you may know, if you follow my twitter, today i’m going on a minecraft date! uh no, no one knows who it is yet, but i have a feeling a LOT of you already know who it is.” you said, reading chat and wiggling your eyebrows.

“okay, i’m going to join the server and then share my screen when he’s standing in front of me.” you started playing some music so your viewers didn’t get bored while they waited for you to start.

once you were logged into the smp you privately messaged alex and asked him where he was. before he could answer you turned around to look at the walls you were surrounded by and screamed out after seeing quackity’s naked body behind you.

“chat, i’m okay, just got scared. um anyways, yeah.” you said and showed your screen, revealing the man himself. “quackity!” you screamed into your mic. “jesus christ, (y/n) we can save screaming my name for later.” he said in a suggestive voice. you then started punching him and after each punch you said, “stop. saying. suggestive. comments. we haven’t even started the date yet!” “okay, okay, okay! i’m literally going to die, (y/n) stop!!” he yelled out. you kept hitting him to see if he was lying but after the second punch quackity was slain by (y/mc/n) showed up in the chat.

ranboo: i see that the date is going well

you started laughing uncontrollably while alex was silent. “(y/n),” he said in a more serious voice. you hummed as he continued his sentence. “why did you kill me?” “i wanted to know if you were lying. was that a canon life? i think that should be a canon life.” you laughed. “no it wasn’t a fucking canon life. (y/n) you’re not even an official member of the smp!” he said. “i could be,” you said wiggling your eyebrows and crouching up and down. “anyways. follow me, i’m bringing you to where we’re having our date.” so you followed him and when you reached your destination you were at party park with karl and sapnap standing in front of you.

“hello boys. what are you doing here on our date. is this an amusement park date, quackity? i didn’t take you for that type of guy. it’s kind of cheesy.” you rambled. “no! this isn’t where our date is happening. jeez, have a little more faith in me (y/n).” he said, moving his minecraft character to look at you slowly and creepily. “well there wasn’t much to begin with,” you said, chuckling a bit. you heard karl and sapnap giggling to what you had said. “hey! take that back!” quackity said, punching your minecraft character. you audibly gasped and turned to look at karl and sapnap again. “you guys saw that right? he just hit me.” you said, faking shock. they both quickly nodded their heads. “i can’t believe you would hit me on our first date.” you said, turning to look at him this time. “you literally killed me!” he yelled out.

so this went on for about 30 more minutes till quackity explained to you that your date would pretty much be a minecraft manhunt with quackity, sapnap, and karl hunting you but you had to find something instead of defeating the enderdragon. if they killed you and they won, you owed alex a real date. no stream, just them.

“you’re going to hunt me for our first date?” you asked in disbelief. quackity then nodded his head up and down in a very fast motion. “mm cool,” you said as you punched him and ran away in a different direction.

it had been about 45 minutes and you killed karl and sapnap twice, but quackity had not been seen the whole time. but as you were running away from sapnap, quackity appeared in front of you and you faked trying to kill him, letting him just kill you because you wanted to go on that second date with him.

(y/mc/n) was slain by quackity ranboo: date still going really well, looks like you guys are really hitting it off!

“awe man, looks like i have to go on another date with quackity!” you said. sarcastically faking the disappointment. reading your chat for the first time this stream, it wasn’t your usual happy messages. instead they were filled with negativity.

i don’t see why quackity wants to go on a date with them why did dream let them on the smp?? there are so many other content creators who deserve to be on the smp way more than they do they’re so fucking annoying begging for attention much?

so you grew quiet and just listened to quackity end off his stream while you ended yours without saying anything. but once he finished saying goodbye to his stream, you immediately said bye to him.

“i’m gonna go now alex, thank you for the minecraft date. text me the details for the next. bye.” you rushed.

alex found it really weird that you had just left like that, you guys almost always stayed on call after he finished streaming for at least 3 hours just talking. but he let it slide, hoping it wasn’t something he had done.

you went onto twitter to update about your streaming schedule. @(y/s/n): looks like my stream schedule may be moving around because i’m going on a second date with @ quackity!

alex quickly went to go reply to it but gazed over the replies to your tweet and wasn’t very happy with them. you don’t deserve to go on another date with him you’re literally just using him for clout what an attention whore leave him alone already!

knowing that you barely ever got hate, he quickly called you instead. thinking very hard about what he was about to do. looking at your phone you saw that alex was facetiming you, you wiped your face from the tears that had fallen and sniffled, hoping you didn’t sound too congested.

“hello?” you said. “hey um, i have to tell you something.” he replied. the serious tone of his voice got you very nervous. was he about to confirm everything your chat had told you or even the tweets you just read? “i really like you, (y/n).” he said. you looked at your phone in surprise and he continued. “and i really don’t know if you feel the same way about me but i read the replies to your tweet and i know that you’re a pretty new streamer and i just don’t want you to already be getting hate because of me, you don’t deserve that. you’re an amazing person and i just, i don’t want to be the reason you’re getting hate. so i think it’d be best if we just laid off talking to each other for now.” “i like you too, alex.” you whispered. “but i respect your decision. goodbye for now?” you said, offering a smile to the screen he was displayed on. it looked like he was just as shocked as you when he told you how he felt. “uh, yeah. goodbye for now. don’t be a stranger (y/n).” you smiled once more and hung up.

as soon as you hung up you started crying again. you really liked alex, but maybe you didn’t show that well enough, because if you did, maybe you guys would’ve been together at this point.

the next day, you streamed normally with a faked high energy that nobody seemed to notice, this time not paying attention to your chat. deep inside you really just wanted to curl into a ball and sleep all your stresses away. it really sucked to find out the guy you’ve had a crush on liked you back but he decided to end whatever you guys had going on.

but your chat couldn’t know so you kept a fake facade on, hoping no one asked about him.

though to alex, it looked like you were so unbothered by him pretty much ending your friendship. he started slightly believing the tweets that mentioned how you were just using him for clout. but after really thinking about it, he realized, why would you have been friends with him months before, without any of your fans knowing if you really were just using him. so he scolded himself and went about his day.

you were ending your stream with a big smile, as soon as you hit that end streaming button that smile was gone. you changed into a hoodie and curled into your bed. you just looked up at your ceiling and started crying, you pretty much lost the guy you really liked. your feelings being unnoticed by the public eye.

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officialaemondtargaryen · 4 years

Text

Five Kisses pt. 1

Summary: Your relationship with Bucky is defined by five different kisses.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2,895

Author’s Note: Coming out of retirement! I hope that you all enjoy. I didn’t want to split this up into three parts, but it would have been a really long one-shot if I had. Le me know what you think! I haven’t written anything in like four years, so I’m not even sure if people still read fics. So toss a reblog to your fic writer, o’ readers a plenty!

You can read part two here!

You weren’t sure what to call Bucky Barnes. He wasn’t really someone you’d call a friend, but he was a little more than just an acquaintance. In fact, he was more of a pain in your ass than anything. Natasha introduced you to him, half in hope that the two of you would hit it off. Only, after an hour of knowing him, the only thing you wanted to hit was his head off of his shoulders.

Avoiding him after that first encounter was hard, seeing as he was always around with that stupid, shit-eating-grin plastered to his face. You could tell that he knew just how much his mere presence annoyed you; he enjoyed watching your jaw clench, teeth-grinding at the sound of his voice whenever he said something incredibly stupid- which was every time he opened his mouth.

You tolerated him, but only because you had to; for Steve and Nat’s sake. No one said you had to like him. You didn’t want to like him.

That was until he wound up in your dreams.

You might have been in an elevator or a doctor’s office, you couldn’t really remember. The details of the dream were fading fast, and the only thing that continued to stick out was Bucky. And your hands grasping at the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling him down to you. And the way your noses bumped together. And the sound of a desperate moan escaping the depths of his throat.

And how ridiculously soft his lips were.

A blush crept across your cheeks as you sat in your bed, embarrassed; hands holding your head as you wondered how your subconscious had let this happen. The thought of kissing Bucky Barnes had not once crossed your mind before, and now the thought of kissing Bucky Barnes had your mind racing. It was just a kiss and then you woke up. But as you sat atop tangled sheets, you thought of what might have happened if you had stayed asleep; your heartbeat kicking as you imagined him kissing you in other places.

You sighed; eyes clamped tight as you shook your head, trying to snap yourself out of it and push any thought of the man out of your mind. Natasha tried to make small talk with you in the kitchen when you went to make a cup of coffee, but at the first mention of Bucky you made up some excuse to get the hell out of Dodge.

Over the next few weeks, you were avoiding him more than usual. You turned down invitations to go out with the group-, knowing that he would be there. And when he and Steve came over to your apartment, you’d find some reason to leave; work, needing something from the grocery store, going to the gym or going to hang out with one of your other friends. Sure, it was just a dream, but you couldn’t deny that you had begun to think of Bucky in a different way since then. And you were sure your feelings would disappear if you stayed away from him for long enough.

You were coming home one night after work, completely exhausted and drained, and before you even opened the door to your apartment, you could hear the faint sound of laughter on the other side. You sighed as you slid the key into the lock, completely forgetting that it was Thursday night, or as Nat liked to call it, ‘Family Night’.

Natasha heard the door shut behind you and called for you to join them. Not feeling like fighting this one, you made your way to the kitchen. Nat stood at the stove, a steaming pot of noodles in front of her while Steve was leaning against the counter, in the middle of telling some story about when he and Bucky were in Italy. And Bucky was at the table, beer in hand, smiling as he tried to dispute Steve on a few of the details in the story.

“Hey guys,” you mumbled as you walked into the kitchen towards the refrigerator to grab a beer. “That smells great, Nat.”

“Thanks,” she beamed, obviously proud of herself. Your roommate rarely did any cooking, and most of the time the two of you were ordering take-out or going to the nearest ‘pizza-by-the-slice’ joint. You knew this newfound love for cooking- she had even bought herself an apron- was to impress Steve. And it was cute, you couldn’t deny. “How was work?”

You nearly collapsed in the chair across from Bucky and kicked off your heels. His eyes were burning a hole into you, but you kept your gaze fixed in the direction of Natasha and Steve; not wanting to look at him, afraid of what would happen if you did.

“Today was rough since we have that audit coming up.” You replied before taking a swig of your beer. “It’s nice to be home.”

“Amen to that,” Steve declared as he held his bottle up in the air.

You copied his movements and sat back in your chair with a sigh. The kitchen was filled with a comfortable silence, save for the sound of the water boiling in Nat’s pot. You ran a hand through your hair and finally looked up at Bucky who was glancing down at his phone. Your eyes skimmed over his features and you wondered how you had never noticed his freckles or the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled at something.

How could you have never noticed that Bucky Barnes was beautiful?

“Buck, did you find something for this weekend?” Natasha asked, breaking the silence and your stare.

“This weekend?” You questioned.

“Yeah, I thought it would be nice if we all went out and did something fun,” she replied. “You’ve been so busy lately, Y/N, and you told me that you didn’t have any plans this weekend, so I figured we’d go somewhere and let loose.”

“Oh,” you said quietly.

“They’ve got a band playing at Josie’s on Saturday night,” Bucky informed, as he looked up from his phone and met your eyes for only a moment before you averted your gaze to look at Nat.

“I’m always down for Josie’s,” Steve stated.

“Yeah, Josie’s sounds good,” Natasha added. “Y/N, what do you think?”

“Sure, Josie’s it is!” You replied with a nervous grin.

Saturday night came way, too soon. Natasha had texted you that she and Steve were going to be running a little late coming from dinner and that they’d just meet you and Bucky at Josie’s soon. Your stomach churned at the thought of spending any time alone with him, but it quickly turned to butterflies as you opened the door and saw him sitting at the corner of the bar.

He looked good. The sleeves of his dark sweater pushed up his arms as he brought the beer bottle up to his lips and took a drink. He noticed you and waved as if you hadn’t immediately spotted him the moment you walked in. He was hard to miss, after all.

“Hey,” he said as you reached the barstool next to him. “You want a beer?” You nodded and he motioned for the bartender to grab you a bottle. “Steve and Nat are going to be late.”

“Yeah, she texted me.” You told him. He nodded his head in reply and thanked the bartender when he placed the bottle of beer in front of you. “Thanks,” you told Bucky with a soft smile before pressing the bottle to your lips.

“You look nice tonight,” he mentioned and your cheeks began to blush.

“Thank you,” you replied. “So do you.”

“What?” Bucky’s face was shocked. “No smart ass remark?”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t start.”

The silence that fell over the two of you wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t comfortable either. It was unlike Bucky to compliment you, and you figured he was just doing it to be civil, but that didn’t stop your cheeks from forming a light blush. You kept your gaze downcast, checking your phone every few seconds out of boredom. Bucky absentmindedly drummed his fingers on the marble countertop to the beat of the song and you noticed just how nice his hands were.

You talked about work, mostly. He asked about the audit, which you were surprised he remembered, and he boasted about his own work. The band started playing not long after that. They were good; a classic rock cover band that only played the hits. And for what seemed like the first time, you were actually enjoying spending time with Bucky Barnes. He had even asked if you wanted to move to the dance floor, and you did; dancing to song after song, drink after drink, you couldn’t remember the last time you had this much fun.

“Hey!” He called over the music. Bucky held up his phone to you, showing a text message thread from Steve, but at that point your vision was pretty blurry. “They aren’t coming.”

“Who needs them?” You replied with a smile. “You want another round?”

“I got it,” he replied and turned to head back to the bar.

You placed a hand on his chest to stop him, “I got this one.”

Bucky smiled at you when you came back with two more shots of tequila. “Cheers to pleasant surprises,” he said as he held his shot glass up to yours.

“Pleasant surprises indeed,” you replied before you downed your shot.

You both laughed at each other’s faces after you downed the sour liquid and sat your empty glasses on a table nearby. The band finished their last song and announced that they were going to slow things down a bit. You could feel the alcohol swimming in your veins as couples gathered on the dance floor to dance to some, old slow song.

Bucky held out his hand and you took it, not thinking twice about it. He pulled you in close to him, and you rested your head on his chest; eyes closing at the light scent of his cologne. You were thankful that Steve and Natasha didn’t show up; you weren’t sure how you and Bucky would have acted towards each other if they had. You could hear him humming along to the music and a smile made its way to your lips as you also began to sing along.

Before you knew it, the whole dance floor was loudly- and drunkenly- belting out the lyrics during the song’s chorus. As the song began to fade, people began to move off of the dance floor while the band announced they were going to take a break. However, you and Bucky were still holding each other closely as the bar began to play their own music in the interim. You looked up at him from your place on his shoulder and he glanced downwards and smiled.

“You want to get out of here?” He asked. His hands release their grip on your waste and you groaned inwardly. “I know a really awesome food truck that is stays open late, and cheese fries sound really good right about now.”

“I am not going to argue with that.” You said and reluctantly took a step back from him, knowing that it would be a good idea to eat something to hopefully save yourself the hangover that you knew you would have in the morning.

Once you had both settled the tab, you stepped out of the bar and into the cool air of the city. The wind kicked up, causing your hair to fly around your face as you looked out at the glistening lights of New York City in the distance. You could see Bucky looking at you out of the corner of your eye, he smiled when you turned to him.

It was quiet, save for the sounds of the streets, as you began walking along the sidewalk- side by side. Your arms brushed against the other every few seconds, and you began to relish in the warmth, even if it was only for a fleeting moment before he took another step. He broke the silence first, making a joke about Steve and Nat not showing up and you laughed. You were surprised by how easy it was to talk to him; opening up more and more, little by little. But then his fingers brushed against yours and you thought he was going to hold your hand. Suddenly, your story about falling out of the tree in Mrs. Johnson’s yard trying to rescue her cat was cut short, as your heart and stomach fluttered at the feeling. You glanced downwards wondering if he noticed your face blushing red, and bit the inside of your cheek as you tried to pull yourself together.

“So did you rescue the cat, or not?” Bucky asked, stopping on the street corner. You stopped too and looked up at him. His lips were pulled into a ridiculously attractive grin, and it was hard not to form a smile of your own.

“Of course, I rescued the cat.” You said with pride, rolling your eyes at him. “Wait a second,” you looked around at your surroundings as you realized that you had no idea where you were. And Bucky’s food truck was no where in sight. “Where are we?”

Bucky also looked around and chuckled. “Well, I thought the food truck was in this direction a few blocks down from the bar, but I am a little drunk and I may have been wrong.”

You sighed jokingly and pulled out your phone, “I’ll call us a ride.”

It didn’t take long for a cab to show up and the two of you slid into the backseat. You gave the driver the directions to your apartment and he pulled off, allowing a noticeable silence to take over. You looked over at Bucky who was glancing out the window, and when he turned his head in your direction, you quickly looked away, chewing on your lip. You kept your hands in your lap, mindlessly plucking at the hem of your blouse before sneaking another glance over at Bucky. His beautiful blue eyes were fixed on you, and you gave him a small smile.

There was so much tension in the air, it was hard to breathe. You silently thanked God as the cab driver pulled up on the curb outside of your apartment so that you could open the door and get some fresh air. There was something about the way that he looked at you that was unlike anything you had every experienced before. You knew, just from that one look, that he felt the same- and you weren’t sure how to feel about that.

“Thank you,” Bucky told the driver and passed him a tip. “Have a good night.” As the driver took off, Bucky turned to you.

“Well this is me,” you told him with a smile. “I’d ask you if you wanted to come up, but who knows what Steve and Natasha are doing up there since they blew us off.”

“Right,” Bucky laughed as he rocked back and forth on his heels.

“I had a really nice time, though.” You told him, not wanting to discourage him. “Who knew you were such good company?”

“There’s that smart ass remark I’ve been waiting for all night,” he laughed.

“Don’t tell Steve and Nat, but I’m kind of glad that they didn’t show up.”

“Oh yeah?” He asked, taking a tiny step towards you. “Why’s that?”

You also took a tiny step towards him and the gap between the two of you was closing inch by inch. “Because,” you managed to say whilst swallowing a lump in your throat. “I don’t think we would have had nearly as much fun as we did.”

“I’m glad you had a good time,” he said in what was barely a whisper as took the last step to close the space between you.

“Are you going to kiss me?” You asked.

“Do you want me to?” He replied, you could feel his breath.

You nodded and Bucky closed what little gap there was left between your lips. The kiss was soft and warm, and everything that you expected- but better. You could still taste the tequila and lime on his tongue as you explored each other’s mouths, and you gripped on to his sweater, pulling him as close as you possibly could. It felt like a long time coming, like you had always wanted each other, but weren’t able to admit it to yourselves. It was as if a weight was lifted off your chest.

And, quite literally, it was your dreams coming true.

You pulled back and caught your breath, smiling like a fool. “I, uh- Before I end up saying something really stupid and ruining the moment, I’m going to go.” Bucky smiled and shook his head. “But, just know I had a really great time tonight. So thank you for that.” You said as you backed away, almost running into the door as you turned around.

“I’ll see you later?” He asked as you pulled the door open and stepped inside.

“In your dreams, Barnes!” You replied, turning back around only to stick your tongue out at him and then disappear up the staircase.

287 notes · View notes

aminiatureworld · 4 years

Text

Frustration

Characters: Childe, Diluc, Xiao, gn!reader

Word Count: 2,068 words

Premise: Commissions don’t always go as planned, much to your frustration. Luckily there’s someone there to make you feel better.

Author’s Note: So I’ve been thinking of writing Genshin stuff for months now but haven’t, for various reasons mainly that being how much this blog is already a bit of a disarrayed mess. But after awhile I decided another fandom won’t hurt. Besides I think it’s better to write something than nothing, even if the fandom keeps changing. So… yeah?

This particular scenario was basically my day today. The characters have been chosen out of my own personal will. I was going to do Zhongli as well but I’m exhausted so if this is well received perhaps I’ll do that another day.

Also I’m so tired I’m halfway to a headache and feel a bit floaty so sorry if there are grammar mistakes and such. Anyways, hope you like!

Character Banners in progress

Ao3 link in reblog

Childe

“I’m gonna kill someone.” You muttered, slamming your weapon down on the table, causing the ginger next to you to start.

“As long as that person’s not me I’ll be glad to help you.” You weren’t sure whether you found the comment worrying, insulting, or charming, and decided not to reply, instead throwing yourself in the chair across from Childe, usually reserved for customers or some member of the Fatui higherups, though today you could care less.

“Hey, am I not good enough?” Childe half whined half joked. You only grunted before getting up and walking over to his chair, plopping yourself on his lap and promptly picking at a stray thread on his coat which had caught your eye and was now becoming an increasing source of irritation.

Taking this as a sign Childe gently pried your nails away from the offending thread. Placing your palms in his gloved hands he smiled and placed a kiss on your forehead. “Want to tell me about it?”

“It’s this stupid ley line! You know, the one in the stone forest? I was commissioned to keep an eye on it, normal stuff, but this one seems absolutely crawling with all sorts of slimes and the like, hilichurls too and a stray bandit here or there. They keeping breaking the damn thing and the minute I fix it they’re back again. At this rate I’m not going to finish it!” You chewed on the inside of your cheek, thinking of the hours you’d spent fighting with the thing. You’d even let out a few tears of frustration in the process, and having nothing to show for it was intensely irritating, to say the least.

“Poor darling.” Childe’s smirk was timeless, but there was a softness to it that you took as confirmation that he understood. I mean if anyone was going to understand it was going to be a member of the Fatui. As much as you disliked the group on principle, you did have to admit that Childe was certainly a hard worker, and running around at the whims of the far off Tsaritsa certainly had its trials.

Slumping against his chest you allowed yourself to relax a bit, some tension brought out simply by the act of telling someone about the frustrations that were building up, like someone shaking a corked bottle. Childe kissed your hands, a welcome distraction, before giving you a peck on the nose. You smiled at that, squeezing his hands. It felt good to have someone to complain to, to have someone who understood. But that was Childe, surprisingly understanding. And always looking for a fight.

“So…” as if on cue Childe spoke up, tone becoming truer, his smile becoming more foxlike. “You have something you need help fighting I hear.”

“Don’t let this get you any ideas.” You smirked right back. “I can still whip you when it comes to sparring at you know it. Besides, won’t I get in trouble if you’re there.”

“Give me half the commission rate and we’ll call it square.”

“Such a steep rate!” You gasped in fake horror, nevertheless lifting yourself off the chair. Childe was up no sooner, giving you a mischievous grin.

“Well of course! I can’t have you fleecing me out of my money. Not when I’ve already given you my heart, which is quite expensive by the way.” Giving you a quick forehead kiss he took your hand then, giving some half assed excuse to the poor desk clerk when they asked where he was going. “I have to save someone some trouble.”

You scoffed at that, but it was true. Childe was saving you a lot of trouble, and keeping your pride in some sort of piece. That was Childe. Wild, passionate, aching for a fight, perhaps not a great person – no in fact decidedly not so. But he was also surprisingly caring, reliable, and steadfast. And that was all you could ask for in the moment.

Diluc

“Do you know where in Monstadt someone is supposed to find 50 Windwheel Asters?”

Diluc whipped his head up at that one; out of all the things he expected you to say that was certainly not one of them. It was almost closing time at the Winery, and this was normally the time when you came up to see him, chatting about this and that, waiting for him to close the ledger so you two could have some time together. In the entire history of your relationship there’d never been an evening that began such as this.

“There should be some around here, and Windrise if you’re in for a bit of a hike. But 50 is an awful lot, and I’m not sure the florists would be happy if you carted off with all their flowers.”

“I know.” You raised an eyebrow, leaning against the wall, picking at your fingernails. “I know that finding 50 of anything in a day is a hard task. But I was given a short noticed commission by some wealthy tradesman who’s passing by and wanted some flowers for a gala or some such thing. It’s important for the Guild that I complete these you know, and I’m not looking forward to telling Katheryne about it tomorrow.”

You sighed, glancing out the window of the Winery. You thought of all the places in Monstadt the view was perhaps loveliest here, cozy, with a view of all that made Monstadt, the planes, the forest, even a glimpse of the waterways that ran through it. But right now all you could think about was how in such a vast swath of land you’d still failed to meet the goal, you’d still turned up empty handed.

“Would you sit next to me?” Diluc’s voice broke you out of your depressing reverie and you sat down in the chair adjacent to his – a recent addition to his office – laying your head somewhat awkwardly on his shoulder, running your hands through his soft hair. You two sat in silence like that for a bit, the steady flow of Diluc’s pen keeping your eyes occupied while your hands braided and twisted at random, gentle and absentminded.

Finally the ledger was closed and Diluc turned to you. Smiling he massaged your left shoulder slightly, eliciting a sigh from you.

“You shouldn’t blame yourself for things like this.” He began, his tone soft and low. “No reasonable person on Earth would ask you to gather so many flowers in a day. Even Flora doesn’t sell that many to a single customer without an order, and her whole job consists of selling flora. You’ve watched me work long enough, do you think I’d sell 50 kegs of wine to a tradesman on site?”

“No, of course not.” You mumbled. “But it’s my job to do the unconventional requests, how can I pick and choose at random? I can’t very well complete only half of my commissions.”

“Of course not, but nobody expects you to simultaneously catch 50 flowers out of thin air either. The Guild has its own regulations and rules you know, and I wouldn’t be surprised if this was a violation of one. No one doubts your prowess my dear. You’ve slain Eyes of Storms and have scaled mountains taller than most people in Monstadt might ever imagine. You done what might be considered impossible to some many times. So you should trust in the Guild and in the people of Monstadt. They aren’t well likely to turn their back on you over such a ridiculous request.”

You hummed a reply, resting your hands on Diluc’s. All he said was probably right of course, Katheryne could very well tell you how ridiculous such a request was, and no harm would come to your reputation. But your relationship with Diluc was still young, there was still so much to learn about the other, and so hearing such confident praise from him felt like a sort of gift, recompense for such a frustrating ordeal. Humming once more you leaned your head on his shoulder again. Tomorrow you would go and tell the Guild about the debacle, and let the man know the ridiculousness of his request. But tonight you just wanted to rest with the person you cherished the most. That was all you wished for.

Xiao

“Something’s wrong.” Xiao’s voice was purposefully flat, and you wondered not for the first time how the adeptus in front of you had become so good at reading your mood, especially considering the fact that he admitted himself that his grasp on human emotions was a tricky one. He always seemed to know when you were upset at least, and your initial urge to attempt to hide your frustration immediately blew away.

“It’s been a rough day.” You admitted, standing next to him on the Wangshu Inn’s railing, letting the cool evening breeze cool you down. It’d been an obnoxiously hot day, and you were glad for any bit of fresh air. Xiao said nothing, but you could feel his gaze on you, waiting for your decision as to whether or not you’d let him know the reason you were upset. Not that it was really a question, at this point you couldn’t imagine a time when you didn’t tell Xiao practically everything, from the most mundane to those things that loomed largest in your life. You’d never met someone you trusted so much in your life before, and it felt rather freeing, knowing that he didn’t mind a bit, something that had scared you when you first began opening up to him.

“It’s just a commission, nothing ground shaking. Thankfully.” You added on, thinking of when Liyue had almost been swallowed whole; the moment when it seemed all would fail, before the miraculous traveler had bound the adept and the citizens of Liyue together. It was something you weren’t likely to forget, and something you never wished to relive. “That being said.” You added on. “It’s something that, well, is distressing me a lot.”

Xiao stood patiently as you explained to him that your deceptively simple commission of delivering food to someone had managed to go horribly awry after a group of Cryo slimes had left the food frozen solid, with the angry customer unwilling to pay or wait for a replacement.

“It wasn’t too expensive thankfully.” You remarked. “I mean it was just food. But it feels silly, and a bit embarrassing. I mean of course I should’ve paid, I don’t begrudge that. I just don’t understand how I managed to screw up something so fundamentally simple. It seems… somehow a bit of a slap in the fact. I mean, aren’t I any good?”

“Of course you are.” Xiao’s answer was firm, but not unkind. Instead it held in it the certainty of one who’d lived thousands of years, and whose trust in you was absolute. Drawing closer, the adeptus glanced around, making sure there was no one around, before slinging an arm around your own, drawing you close and running soft circles around your shoulder.

“You’re a great adventurer.” He remarked, voice filled with as much serious as there was fondness. “I’ve seen many warriors, many adventurers come and go in my time. Those whose feats will fill the pages of books and the staves of songs long after they themselves have been reduced to ashes. Those who will be called great heroes. All of them fell sometimes. And, if you must fall, I’d rather it be over something so simple as a botched food delivery.”

You glanced up into Xiao’s eyes. Normally he was reticent with words, even moreso with gestures. Every word let you deeper into someone’s life, into their past, their personality, their soul. No word was careless with Xiao. And as you stared at eyes filled with pride and love and worry, suddenly you felt as if what had just passed was small, oh so very small. There would be another commission, just as there would be another tomorrow. There’d be another failure most likely too. Many of them even. But they were small stones in a great big pond, quickly sinking out of sight and out of mind.

“I love you.” You breathed, and Xiao’s face seemed to open all of a sudden, shedding a thousand cares and a thousand worries. He pressed his forehead to your own.

“I love you too.”

#I'm so so so tired #sorry for not writing for so long #and having no good schedule of works of fandoms #I'm sorry #genshin impact #childe #diluc #xiao #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin impact x reader #scenarios #my writing

343 notes · View notes

xjoonchildx · 4 years

Text

guilty | knj x reader | final chapter: is something burning?

summary: as the man at the top, kim namjoon has almost everything he wants. almost. could a familiar face from the past change his future?

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: mafia AU, pining, SMUT WARNINGS APPLY in this chapter sorry i’m yelling stressed!joon, sweaty!joon, sober!joon all make an appearance

rating: 18+

word count: 7.9K

notes: okay, so i stressed a bit about this chapter. i got really in my head over it, but i hope it ends in a way that’s satisfying to all of you guys. i’ve heard from some of the most amazing readers about this story -- i appreciate you all so much and i’d love to hear from you about how you feel about the ending.

special love to the best beta hands down periodt amen @hobi-gif, the lady who inspired it all with her adorable brand of namjoon thirst @sahmfanficbts, and three people who mean the world to me point blank period @ladyartemesia @ppersonna @taetaewonderland

this fic is a continuation of the Guarded Series but can be read as a standalone piece.

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | Epilogue

*************************

There’s this thing that happens when you’re getting over a cold.

Slowly -- as your breathing returns to normal -- you can taste again. Your head clears and your senses come back to life and you savor everything you eat like it’s the best thing you’ve ever had. Your appetite returns.

And all at once, you are starving.

That’s what it’s like after Namjoon touches you.

All he had to do was cup your face in one large, warm hand and it feels like your entire body has been jump-started. Like parts of you that have been dormant for years are now awake, nerve endings exposed and aching. Like all the tiny pieces of you that have been scattered and lost for so long are now found and fitting back together.

For the first time in a long time you remember what it feels like to want.

It’s not like you didn’t know you cared for Namjoon. You knew it deep down in the way you took pride in providing for his needs. You knew it in the way it made you feel to see appreciation reflected back in his dark eyes.

But you didn’t understand how much you wanted him until that night in his office.

In those few charged moments, Namjoon made you feel more desired with his gaze than other men have with their hands. You let down your guard and allowed yourself to imagine what it would be like to touch him, to be touched by him. You let yourself embrace the fantasy of being his in every way.

And then it was over.

Whatever spell he was under was broken and whatever existed in the air between you evaporated. The hunger in his eyes turned into remorse and you’d left his office on trembling legs, reeling from the whiplash of it all.

Today, you stare out at the window across from your desk, unable to suppress the hurt that grips your chest. You can barely concentrate on the numbers on the sheet in front of you, mind replaying the events in that office.

Namjoon should never have touched you.

He should never have roused the parts of you that had been long forgotten between doctors visits and pharmacy runs. He should never have made you feel things no other man ever has or probably ever will.

And he should have never let you believe, even for one second, that he could care for you the way you do for him.

He should have just left you alone.

*********************

No one ever tells you that when you devote your life to caring for someone else’s needs, yours end up falling by the wayside. That who you are ends up diminished somehow, buried underneath the weight of responsibility and worry.

Jinjoo finds you sitting in the chair next to your mother’s bed, staring at one lock of hair threaded through your fingers. You’re frowning at the split ends you’ve not had a chance to tend to, the ones you hide by keeping your hair pulled back.

She sweeps into the room, carrying a bowl of kimchi.

“It’s Saturday. The sun is shining and you should go out. Maybe to the salon, hmm?”

You glance up just as she’s placing the food on a tray at the foot of your mother’s bed. She smiles to soften the blow of her observation and you can’t bring yourself to be annoyed at her well-meaning meddling. It’s nice to be fussed over for a change.

“I can’t even remember the last time I went to the salon,” you admit, eyes locking on an unsightly chip in your nail polish. “I usually end up cutting it myself.”

“Well, that won’t do,” Jinjoo scolds, hands on hips. “Today I want you to go out and do something just for you. Go and get the works. You’re far too young to be stuck in this house all the time.”

You consider her offer for a moment. Here in the quiet of your mother’s room it’s far too easy to let your mind wander back to the encounter with Namjoon. Far too easy to dwell on the ache that surfaces every time you remember.

“Go on, Ttal.”

You turn in the direction of your mother’s voice and find her stirring from her nap. She places one soft hand over yours and squeezes. “She’s right. Go take some time away. I’ll be fine here with Jinjoo.”

“See?” Jinjoo waves a hand to shoo you out of the chair. You stand and she immediately takes your place in the seat. “Your mother agrees. Now go. And buy something pretty to wear while you’re at it.”

You look from her to your mother and see both women wearing matching expressions of encouragement.

You decide they’re right.

So you spend the rest of your day pampering yourself and shopping and definitely not thinking about Kim Namjoon.

You don’t think about him when you read the book he recommended to you once at the salon, you don’t think about him when you stop for a bite at his favorite Tteokbokki stand and you definitely don’t think about him when you buy a new sweater that makes you feel beautiful.

You definitely don’t think about him at all.

*****************************

NAMJOON

Kim Namjoon’s father was a pig.

A glutton of the worst kind, he hoarded money and guns and drugs and because no one ever tried to stop him. He used and abused everything and everyone just because he could.

Namjoon hated to watch the sadistic games his father played with people. He hated that the man seemed to direct the worst of his cruelty at the women in his life.

Namjoon’s own sister left everything behind to escape his violence and abuse and somehow his father was even more vicious with the women he bedded and discarded at random. He dangled things like money and security and love in front of them like bait, only to yank it all away on a whim.

That’s why Namjoon has worked so hard his entire life to prove to others -- to prove to himself -- that he’s better than the piece of shit who raised him.

That’s why the look on your face in his office that night cut so deep.

That look pierced straight through the lust and the scotch clouding his judgement and forced him to step back and see the situation for what it was. It made him feel sick to think he might have made you feel like his help came with conditions. That he’d done what he had expecting you to give yourself to him in return.

He couldn’t allow you to think he’d use his money to try and buy you. That’s something his father would have done.

And Kim Namjoon is not his fucking father.

So this morning he finds himself walking towards your desk, determined to make it right. You don’t register his approach as you work quietly and Namjoon has a quick moment to take you in.

There’s something different about you.

Namjoon can’t put his finger on it, but when he gets close enough for you to notice his presence and you glance up at him from under those long lashes, you look changed somehow.

Rested. Radiant.

The second you register that it’s him though, the look on your face changes. You stand up from your chair, expression shuttered, tone formal.

“Mister Kim,” you murmur. “How can I help you this morning?”

“Please sit,” Namjoon starts quietly. “I, uh --” He digs his nails into his palm, annoyed with the hesitation in his delivery. Spit it out, you moron.

“-- I owe you an apology.”

Your lips part in surprise before you close your mouth, sinking slowly back into your chair.

Namjoon rubs one hand across the back of his neck, stealing a sideways glance at Seokjin’s office door. It remains closed and he’s glad for it. The last thing he’d want is an audience for this embarrassing exchange.

“The other night I was --” he clears his throat awkwardly. Loaded. Horny. Stupid.

He eventually lands on a less damning adjective. “-- not entirely appropriate with you.”

You blink back but keep quiet so Namjoon keeps talking.

“I shouldn’t have acted that way,” he acknowledges weakly. “That’s not normally how I treat my employees. And I’m sorry.”

Spots of color appear in your cheeks.

“Well as your employee, I admit it wasn’t appropriate for me to just turn up in your office without notice, either,” you reply quietly. “I think I was just shocked by your generosity. It’s a lot of money, and I --”

“-- Don’t think anything of it,” Namjoon interjects quickly. “You’ve saved me that amount and more with your audits. It only made sense to repay you for your efforts.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, and Namjoon knows it immediately. It’s not the truth -- not by a mile -- and judging by the look that passes over your face, it’s definitely not what you wanted to hear.

“Mister Kim.”

“Yes?” Namjoon replies, only to realize that you are now looking past him and that he’s not the only one answering.

He turns slowly to find Seokjin standing behind him, wearing an expression halfway between curiosity and scrutiny. Namjoon’s nails dig back into his palms, leaving tiny indents in the skin.

“Good morning,” you continue, turning your attention fully to Seokjin. Seokjin looks between you and Namjoon before answering.

“Good morning to you, too,” he says slowly.

“If you’re ready to go over the new audits, I have more information to cover with you,” you say, pointing at the papers riddled with notes on your desk. Namjoon stands there like an idiot, watching the two of you interact like he’s not even there.

“Sure,” Seokjin agrees, eyes darting back to Namjoon. “Let’s go ahead and get into the numbers.”

“Great,” you say with a smile, standing to organize your papers into a folder.

You look back at Namjoon like he’s an afterthought and the realization stings. “If that was all you needed, I’ve got some work to handle now.”

The nails in his palm are this close to drawing blood.

He cuts his eyes at Seokjin who immediately looks away.

“Certainly,” he says under his breath. “Let me not keep you.”

You turn your back on him to head into Seokjin’s office.

***********************

Namjoon stares out at the setting sun from his office window.

He’s spent the last few days hiding out in here, avoiding everything and everyone. Yoongi, Hoseok, Seokjin -- his phone keeps lighting up with calls he won’t answer. His already black mood darkens every time his mind replays the seemingly endless string of disastrous exchanges with you.

He still can’t figure out how he’s managed to fuck things up so royally.

He still can’t figure out why he didn’t just tell you the truth about the money and about Jinjoo. He should have just admitted outright that for once he wanted to be the one taking care of you, not the other way around. He should have just admitted that you mean something to him.

That’s the real reason why things are so screwed up right now.

It would be so simple if this was just about sex. It would be so simple if Namjoon could just get you into bed and get you out of his system. But you’re not Mina or Yejin or any of the others.

You’re not like any woman he’s ever known.

Namjoon leans back into his chair just as his cell phone lights again and he grabs it just long enough to reject the call before tossing it back onto his desk. He rubs his fingers across his mouth and watches the sun fall behind the nearby skyscrapers.

You deserve so much more than he is capable of giving you.

You deserve happiness and security and certainty. What you don’t deserve is to be toyed with by a man who doesn’t know what his future looks like. A man who’s still so damaged by his own upbringing that he worries he’ll never be capable of being a decent husband and father.

Truthfully, Namjoon doesn’t know which scenario scares him more.

The one where he tries -- and fails -- to give you the things you need, or the one where he drifts through the rest of his life anchored to no one and nothing.

The sound of an incoming text interrupts his maudlin thoughts.

Namjoon reaches for his phone and sighs as he reads the waiting message.

reservations at doore yoo, 8 PM [ 6:32 PM ]

join me [ 6:32 PM ]

it’s been too long [ 6:33 PM ]

***********************

“Mister Kim.”

The Maitre’d at Doore Yoo bows in Namjoon’s direction, flashing a wide smile. “A pleasure to have you back.”

“Thank you Sungho,” Namjoon murmurs, scanning the crowded dining room. “Is she waiting for me?”

“She is,” Sungho confirms.

Namjoon follows him past the tables packed with patrons to the exclusive dining area hidden away in the back. This is his regular table, inside his regular private room -- but when Sungho slides the door open, Namjoon stops short and nearly tells the man he’s made a mistake.

The young woman waiting for him inside is unrecognizable.

From the back, Namjoon can see that her dark hair has been swept into a careful updo, shoulders and skin bared in a delicate spaghetti-strap top. But that can’t be right.

Because she would never --

“Jaegyueo.”

Namjoon’s sister lifts her chin and smiles as he steps around the table.

He catches himself staring, momentarily thrown by the sight in front of him. It’s the first time in his life he can recall seeing his sister wearing something that doesn’t cover the jagged scar that crosses her collarbone. The scar that she’s spent a lifetime hiding, ashamed of the way it made her look and feel. At once, the realization hits him -- the hundreds of different ways she’s changed, big and small since falling in love with Hoseok.

Every last one of them for the better.

“Amsaja, you look -- ” Namjoon pauses to brush a kiss across her cheek, “ -- wonderful.”

She flushes.

“Thank you. Now sit,” she orders kindly, reaching for her wine glass. “For a minute there I thought you might not show.”

Namjoon exhales, sinking into his seat.

“For a minute there, I almost didn’t,” he admits. “It’s been a shitty week.”

His sister says nothing, smiling like a sphinx as a server appears to offer Namjoon his own drink.

“Club soda on ice,” Namjoon orders quietly. “Thanks.”

Her poker face slips then, one eyebrow lifting in surprise at seeing him forgo his usual scotch. She sips her wine thoughtfully before speaking.

“Talk to me, Namjoon.”

“There’s little to talk about,” he deflects irritably, staring past her to the art on the walls.

“Hoseok says you’ve barely left your office. Won’t take his calls.”

Namjoon grits his teeth, hackles raising immediately.

“Tell Hoseok he should work on his pillow talk,” he says sharply, and the second the words leave his mouth he regrets them. Namjoon sees the change in his sister’s demeanor, watches her eyes sharpen from across the table.

“Forgive me,” he apologizes quickly. “That was uncalled for. I’m fucking things up left and right these days, it seems.”

His sister stares back at him. Namjoon knows that face, knows she’s now opted to abandon her charm offensive for a more direct approach. He knows it’s exactly what he deserves for being an asshole.

“That’s my understanding, yes,” she says tightly. “As smart as you are, you seem to be doing some very stupid shit lately.”

Namjoon scratches the back of his neck, cheeks warming at her rebuke.

“You’re right,” he admits. “But I’m going to need you to be more specific about which stupid shit you want to talk about tonight.”

“Don’t be dense,” his sister scolds. “Clearly, you’re tied up in knots over your assistant. Oh, I’m sorry -- I mean former assistant.”

Namjoon’s defeated sigh hangs in the air for a moment.

“Is that what Hoseok says?”

“That’s what everyone says,” his sister fires back. “You think you’re such a mystery but I assure you, you’re actually quite transparent. Sending her away to work for Seokjin? Hiring a private nurse? Good grief, Namjoon. Real subtle.”

Shit, he wishes he had a scotch right now.

“What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to explain to me why you’re playing this stupid game of push and pull with this woman. If you care about her, do something about it instead of lashing out at everyone around you because you’re angry with yourself.”

“She’s not --” Namjoon falters as he searches for a proper explanation, “-- she has a complicated life right now. I’m just trying to help her the only way I know how.”

His sister leans back in her chair, wine glass tipped in his direction.

“You know what I think? I think you like her too much and I think that’s freaking you out. And I think you’re going to miss out on a good thing because you won’t get your head out of your ass.”

Namjoon stares back at his sister.

“I think you might be right,” he concedes, after a heavy silence.

“Namjoon, I’ve seen the way she looks at you,” his sister says quietly. “Whatever you’re feeling, she’s feeling it too.”

He knows that’s true. It’s been damned near impossible not to feel the charged air between you, impossible not to share passing looks and fleeting touches while working in such close quarters. When he looks at you he knows instinctively that you feel the same pull. It’s only made his precarious position that much harder.

“I just --” he shakes his head as he tries to justify his inaction, “-- I have no idea what I’m offering her. I don’t know what I’m capable of giving her. Beyond money, of course.”

His sister laughs.

Namjoon waits for her to collect herself, ears warm with embarrassment. He resists the childish impulse to kick her under the table.

“Is that funny to you?”

“Hilarious, actually,” she teases. “You have no idea what you have to offer her? You’re one of the most powerful men in this city, Namjoon. There’s nothing you couldn’t offer her.”

The server arrives with dumplings and sets them in the middle of the table, and his sister reaches for one.

“If she’s this important to you, I know there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for her,” she continues. “Stop overthinking this. You’re a good man. Everything else is icing on the cake.”

“I haven’t acted like a good man lately,” he confesses, shaking his head. “She came to my office a few nights ago and I acted like a drunk, groping asshole. Like father, like son.”

His sister sets her wine glass down, hard.

“You’re nothing like our father, Namjoon,” she says, eyes flashing with anger. “Quit telling yourself you don’t deserve happiness out of some misguided, misplaced guilt. And whatever happened in that office can be fixed. If you want to fix it.”

Namjoon watches the bubbles in his club soda surface and break. He does want to fix it. He wants to figure out a way to stop fucking everything up where you’re concerned.

“I do,” he admits.

“Have you apologized?”

“Awkwardly. Not sure that it helped my case.”

“Then I think you need to offer her the one thing that’s more valuable than your money, Jaegyueo.”

Namjoon lifts an eyebrow at his sister.

“What’s that?”

She plucks a dumpling off the plate with her chopsticks and points it at him.

“Give her your time.”

****************************

YOU

It’s freezing tonight.

You wrap your arms around yourself and brace against the biting wind as you approach your family home. You’re dead on your feet, worn after a long day at the office -- and for the thousandth time since her arrival you silently give thanks for Jinjoo.

Knowing your mother is taken care of while you’re gone and coming back to a clean home and warm meals has eased your burdens immeasurably.

Of course, it’s all really thanks to Kim Namjoon -- but that’s something you’re not allowing your mind to dwell on right now. You’ve worked hard over the past few days to push any thought of that man back to the furthest recesses of your mind.

You’re peeling out of your scarf and coat in the foyer when a laugh echoes down the long hallway. It’s the sound of your mother’s laugh -- clear in a way you haven’t heard in a very long time -- and it’s definitely not coming from her room.

“Eomma?” you call out as you walk towards the sound. A peal of Jinjoo’s laughter rings out next and you smile, following it.

You round the corner to the living room and your mouth drops open when you spot your mother, fully dressed for the first time in ages, sitting on the formal couch. Jinjoo is seated next to her, both women smiling and laughing at --

Oh God.

Namjoon stands from his seat on the opposite couch when your eyes meet his. His cheeks are pinked from the cold, hair tousled from the wind, and he looks so handsome that for a moment you forget how to think.

“Welcome home,” he says, dimples emerging from his slow, careful smile.

You stare back at him, rooted to the spot. Your face warms when you realize that every single eye in the room is trained on you, awaiting your next move.

“Do you -- ” Namjoon clears his throat, “ -- do you think I could have a minute of your time?”

“What are you doing here?” you say, blowing right past his question.

Jinjoo makes a disapproving sound under her breath.

“Ttal,” your mother interjects with a tone that borders very close to warning, “Mister Kim came by to talk to you. He kept the two of us company until you came home.”

You turn to look at her and -- is she wearing lipstick?

“Yes,” Namjoon adds quickly, turning the warmth of his smile back to your mother and Jinjoo. “And they’ve been wonderful company. Thank you, ladies.”

The two of them titter like schoolgirls enjoying the attention of the most popular boy in school while you just stare.

And stare.

“Ttal?”

Your mother’s voice breaks through your mental fog. You look back at her and Jinjoo and both women appear to be holding their breath, awaiting your response. Jinjoo’s eyes are pleading when they meet yours, silently begging you to play nice.

You turn back to Namjoon slowly.

“One minute.”

“Great,” he breathes, shoving a hand through his hair.

“Not here.”

The words come out more sharply than you’d intended and your mother’s eyes go wide. Jinjoo sighs.

“What I mean to say,” you start again, delivery clumsy, “Is that we should probably step outside.”

“Of course,” Namjoon agrees.

You will your leaden legs and feet to cooperate as you turn to leave, grabbing your coat from the foyer closet on the way. You slip it on and lead Namjoon out to the front porch, immediately wincing at the bitter cold that greets you.

The door clicks shut and you burrow deep into your coat, turning to face him. You force yourself to ignore the warmth that blossoms in your chest when his mouth curves into a soft smile.

“Your mother seems to be doing well tonight,” Namjoon notes. “I’m glad to see it.”

It’s not fair. It’s not fair that he can just show up here on a whim -- looking like that, talking like that.

Charming everyone in his path.

“Namjoon, I’m going to ask again. What are you doing here?”

The smile on his face falls and he looks skyward, exhaling a puff of steam into the cold night air.

”I’m here to come clean,” he confesses quietly. “Thought I might do this new thing where I try not to act like an idiot around you.”

“Oh,” you breathe, stomach fluttering wildly in response.

A lock of his hair falls over his eye when he looks back down and you smother the urge to brush it back, hands balling into fists in your pockets.

“Thought I might do this new thing where I just tell you the truth.”

You’ve tried so hard these past few days to be angry with him, to use your hurt feelings like a wall around your heart. But you can’t anymore. He looks down at you with those huge, dark eyes and your grudge falls apart.

“I care about you,” he admits. “I’ve been stumbling over my own feet for weeks because I didn’t know how to approach you about it. And then that night in the office,” he trails off, looking pained. “That is not how I intended to treat you.”

A gust of wind blows through and you curl into yourself, teeth chattering. Namjoon pulls off his coat and drapes it over your shoulders.

“Please don’t,” you protest weakly. “You’ll freeze.”

“I won’t,” he promises, stepping closer.

You wrap the wool tight around your body, enjoying the way his lingering heat and scent wrap around you at the same time. Your heart is beating so wildly you can hear your pulse in your ears.

“Namjoon,” you whisper. “You must know I feel the same way.”

He reaches one hand up to stroke his fingers across your cheek.

“I was really hoping you’d say that.”

He’s so close now that all it would take is the slightest tip of your chin, the most incremental change in angle to press your mouth to his. But he doesn’t close the small distance between you. His gaze shifts to the street and you follow it, only now realizing a black sedan has been idling outside your house this entire time.

Your cheeks flame hot at the thought of his driver witnessing this exchange.

“I want a chance to do this the right way,” he murmurs. “Can I have it?”

You nod, waiting for your mouth to catch up to your brain. “Of course.”

He smiles wide then, the kind of smile you haven’t seen on him in a long time and once again you’re struck by how handsome he is. He narrows his eyes playfully when he realizes you are staring.

“Let’s get you inside before you get sick.”

You nod, pulling off his coat and watching as he shrugs back into it. He grabs for your hand, fingers brushing against yours just as you reach for the door.

“Good night, Namjoon,” you say softly.

He squeezes your cold fingers with his.

“Good night.”

***************************

Namjoon sends his driver for you.

You shift uncomfortably in the backseat of the sleek car, avoiding Chun’s gaze in the reflection of the rearview mirror. Up until now, you knew him only as the voice on the other end of the line when you’d arranged for Namjoon’s rides.

Now you’re matching a face with a voice -- and so is he.

You try not to dwell on how this must look after the scene outside your home just a few nights ago. Especially now that he’s been tasked with taking you to Namjoon’s penthouse.

It’s embarrassing, certainly -- but even this pales in comparison to what you’d had to endure before leaving the house.

When your mother had asked you to come see her and casually inquired about the last time you’d shaved your legs. When Jinjoo had made a point of letting you know that she was planning on staying all night long just as you were walking out the door.

That was definitely the most embarrassing part.

That’s why you feel a knot in your stomach as the security guard in Namjoon’s building escorts you personally up to the very top floor -- the one accessible only by keycard. That’s why you find yourself holding your breath right until the very moment Namjoon opens the door.

Then you let go of that breath.

“Thank you, Jaejin,” he greets, bowing in the man’s direction. He turns his attention to you and the knot in your stomach explodes into butterflies.

“Thanks for coming,” he says with a careful smile.

As if you had any choice in the matter. You kick your brain into gear and remind yourself to stop staring and smile back as the door shuts behind you.

He takes your coat and you take him in.

It’s the most casual you’ve ever seen him look, barefoot in jeans and a button-down shirt rolled to the elbows. He looks fresh from a shower, skin glistening and golden. The scent of him --- clean and male and intoxicating -- wafts over you.

Followed by a far less enticing one.

“Namjoon,” your nose wrinkles at the acrid smell, “Is something burning?”

“Something was burning,” he admits sheepishly. “But it’s not anymore. And you -- “ he pauses to let his gaze rake over you, “ -- you look incredible.”

Heat creeps up your neck and into your face, making you feel just a touch too warm in your brand new sweater.

“Thank you,” you reply, accepting his compliment with a shy smile. “So do you.”

He looks at you for a long moment, and you clear your throat, feeling uncomfortable with the admiration in his eyes.

“Can I offer you a glass of wine?”

“Yes, please,” you breathe the words through a nervous laugh. “That sounds great, actually.” You hope it’s not obvious that you’re jumping at the chance to take the edge off of your jitters.

Namjoon leaves you standing in his grand living room as he heads to the kitchen to pour the wine. You’ve always known he was a wealthy man -- but knowing that in the abstract and seeing it firsthand are two different things entirely. You take in the massive wall-to-wall windows and gleaming marble floors and custom-made art pieces with silent awe.

Namjoon interrupts your gawking when he returns with your wine.

“So about dinner,” he starts with a chuckle. “It’s on the way. I attempted to cook something, but as you already know that didn’t quite work out. Not surprising, seeing as I’ve never cooked in this kitchen before.”

Your brows shoot up in surprise. “Never?”

“Never,” he says with a smile. “I’ve never brought anyone to this apartment, either.”

His smile vanishes then, a more serious look taking its place. You swallow thickly as you let the implication of that statement wash over you.

“No one?”

“No one,” he confirms quietly.

Your lips part with surprise and Namjoon looks away, like he’s admitted too much -- and you stand there spinning your wheels, searching for something to say.

The sound of the door chime is a well-timed and welcome interruption.

Namjoon heads to the door to accept the food and you realize the same security guard who escorted you up here is making the delivery. It makes sense, of course, that only a trusted few could get this close to Namjoon’s private space.

“Are you expecting more people?” you tease with a smile when the guard wheels in a cart weighted down with enough food to feed an army.

Relief washes over you when Namjoon smiles back. The strange moment that passed between you before is forgotten.

“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got one of everything.”

Pleasant smells emanating from the carefully-packed containers fill the apartment, pushing away the burnt one still lingering from the food that’s been relegated to the trash.

“Just so you know,” you laugh, “I like all of it.”

****************************

The centerpiece of Namjoon’s outrageously opulent great room is the fireplace.

Your fingers wrap tight around the stem of your wine glass as you stare into the flames and contemplate how this night will end.

You know how you want it to end.

You know the dozens of debauched fantasies you’ve entertained about Namjoon -- the myriad ways he’s had you in your mind. But there’s no way for you to know what his intentions are, how he expects this night to end.

That’s why you’re strung tight as a bow as you hear him clearing plates and cleaning up in the kitchen. The sounds eventually slow and then stop. And you wait.

You don’t hear him approach.

You come out of your thoughts and look away from the flames and he’s just there, standing in front of the couch wearing an expression you can’t read. The wine starts to wobble inside your glass, set in motion by your unsteady hands.

“Here,” he says quietly, reaching for it. “Let me.”

He takes the glass and places it on the coffee table, sinking into the space next to you.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you that.”

He leans in and reaches out to thread his hands into your hair.

“Namjoon,” you whisper weakly, pulse leaping in response.

His eyes seem to darken at the sound of his name. His fingers slip out of your hair and under your jaw, tipping your chin up and compelling you to meet his gaze.

“I told you I was going to do this the right way,” he murmurs, “And I meant it. After that night in my office, I promised myself I was never going to put you in that position again.”

Your tongue slips out to wet your lips involuntarily, as if the action could take the place of the words you want so badly to say.

But Namjoon makes no move, fingers firm under your jaw.

“Tell me what you want,” he coaxes gently. “If you want this -- if you want me, tell me.”

“Kiss me.”

The words come out in a rush, laced with such desperation they sound like a plea, not an order. A smile tugs the corner of Namjoon’s mouth and he nods.

Carefully, deliberately, he sinks his mouth onto yours.

You sigh against the press of his lips as the pads of his fingers stroke the side of your face. For a moment you can’t think; can’t process a thing beyond the spice on his tongue from the Buldak or how impossibly soft his lips feel against yours.

He kisses you until you can’t breathe -- and just a moment beyond that -- until you are forced to pull away, chest heaving.

“I’ve been wanting to do that all night,” he admits, panting.

“I’ve been wanting you to do that since we were kids,” you confess, emboldened.

He leans close again, eyes half-lidded, lips grazing yours.

“Well, we’re not kids anymore.”

*********************

NAMJOON

Namjoon has to force himself not to totally fucking devour you.

You are finally in his hands and the urge to unleash months of wait and want on you is so strong he has to take a physical step back.

You look up at him from where you sit on his bed -- hair mussed from his fingers, lips swollen from his kisses -- and he hesitates, unsure of his next move.

“If you’re thinking you don’t want to -- “ you start.

Namjoon cuts you off with a strangled laugh.

“Trust me, that’s not what I’m thinking,” he vows, shoving a hand through his hair. “It’s like I’ve wanted you so bad for so long I don’t even know where to start.”

Your eyes soften as you gaze at him.

Namjoon holds his breath as he watches you slip out of your sweater and then out of your jeans. You lie back against his sheets, eyes holding steady contact with his.

“Start anywhere,” you breathe quietly. “Start everywhere. Just start. Please.”

Fuck, you are going to be his undoing.

It takes him an irritatingly long time to work the buttons of his shirt open on account of his thick, clumsy fingers. He finally manages to get out of it and his jeans follow right behind.

“You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen,” you murmur as he slides into the bed next to you. His fingers rake over the soft skin of your stomach and you jerk under his fingertips, body reacting immediately to his touch. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you that.”

Namjoon smiles when you use his own words against him.

He dips his head into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply -- savoring the soft, sweet smell of your skin. He mouths at your pulse point, feeling it race in response when his fingers trail lower to tease the delicate band of your panties.

“I figured out where I want to start,” he murmurs, sucking gently at the hollow of your collarbone.

He feels your deep intake of breath when he slips one hand into the satin, grazing against your mound. He shifts lower, allowing one finger to dip into your center, groaning at the wetness he finds waiting for him there.

“So responsive, Jagiya,” he praises softly. “So beautiful.”

You make a needy sound, hips lifting off the bed as you chase the pressure of his fingers. He turns to capture your lips again with his own, simultaneously working two fingers into the tight space between your thighs.

“Namjoon,” you sigh brokenly, “F-feels so good.”

“I can do better,” he promises. “Turn over for me.”

He waits for you to comply, body shifting in the bed. Once you are face down, he climbs over you, dipping his mouth to the shell of your ear, biting gently on the soft skin. You shiver underneath him, moaning softly.

Slowly, he kisses a line down the back of your neck, hands stopping just long enough to undo the clasp to your bra. He slips it off of you, reaching under you to tease at your nipples with his fingertips. He chuckles low with satisfaction when you twitch under his fingertips.

He continues his descent, dropping kisses along the soft line of your back. His hands reach your panties and he pulls them off, mouth sucking gently at the base of your spine.

“Namjoon,” you gasp, the sound of your plea is muffled as you press your face into the sheets. “Touch me.”

He sinks one long finger into you then, savoring the tight pull of your heat as his tongue flicks out to taste you. Your hips jerk off the bed and he uses both strong hands to urge your legs further apart.

“Relax for me,” he soothes, mouth closing over your wet center.

He pushes a second finger into you and you shudder at the fullness, back arching. The movement angles your cunt even closer and Namjoon seizes the opportunity, tongue firm as he swipes it against you.

He can tell how badly you want this. He can feel it in the way your thighs tremble while he’s working you with his fingers and tongue. He can hear it in the way you whimper when he nips gently at you with his teeth.

“Namjoon,” the tilt to your voice makes it sound like you are on the verge of tears. “Please -- I c-can’t -- ” Your thought evaporates into thin air when he groans directly into your center, curling his fingers deep against the spot inside of you that draws a sharp gasp.

“Yes, you can,” he murmurs his encouragement as you buck against his grip. “Come for me, Jagiya.”

He looks up just long enough to see your fingers twisted into the sheets, face buried deep into the pillow as you fall apart in his hands. You make the prettiest sounds as you succumb. Somewhere in the midst of your frantic whispering he hears his name and the sound goes straight to his cock, making the ache there almost impossible to ignore.

He ignores it anyway -- pushing the feeling aside to ride out the tremors with you, relishing the taste of your release on his tongue. He praises you, savors you, keeps you anchored to his mouth until your hips drop flush to the bed with exhaustion.

Then he kisses his way back up the line of your spine, dropping down at your side. You look so deliciously sated and flushed when you turn over that Namjoon can’t help the slow smile that comes over him.

You kiss it right off.

You fit your body against his -- slick skin against slick skin -- and kiss Namjoon so hard it takes him by surprise. Your hands dive into his hair, mouth desperate against his.

Namjoon chuckles under his breath at your newfound boldness, fingers reaching to tease at one pebbled nipple. Your body jolts in response and you answer with a move of your own, one hand sliding across the hard plane of his stomach and into his boxers.

Up until this very moment, he’s been able to ignore the insistent throbbing between his own legs. But the moment your fingers wrap around him -- the moment you start to pump your hand gently over him -- it becomes his only thought.

“Shit,” he groans, breaking the kiss to inhale deeply, “God, that feels good.”

You pull away to maneuver your body over his.

Namjoon watches through hooded eyes as you pull his boxers down his legs and then turn your attention to his straining cock. He takes his bottom lip between his teeth to contain the noise he makes when your mouth descends onto him.

The moments that follow are a test of the last shreds of Namjoon’s self-control.

The wet warmth of your mouth surrounds him, tongue teasing at the sensitive places that make his hips jerk and his mouth drop open in surrender. Your grip around his cock stays firm, mouth soft in contrast -- both sensations almost too much to bear at once.

He slips a hand in your hair to push back the strands that have fallen into your face and you release him with a pop, lips wet and swollen, eyes glassy and wide.

He nearly comes right then and there.

“No more,” he croaks, voice hoarse with arousal. “That’s all I can take.”

The smile you return is nothing short of victorious. Namjoon rolls you onto your back in one fluid motion, more than ready to retake his position of control. Your eyes are sparkling with laughter and he grins back.

“You like seeing me at your mercy, huh?” he teases, dropping kisses into the crook of your neck.

“I do,” you admit, shuddering when he slips one hand back down to the apex of your thighs. “It’s nice to be the one in charge for a change.”

Namjoon kisses you slowly then, taking himself in hand to slide the head of his stiff cock against the wetness spilling from your entrance. He pulls up on his arms and looks down at you just to appreciate the way you look right now, hair splayed across his pillow and skin luminous against his sheets.

“You’ve always been in charge, Jagiya,” he breathes, enjoying the way your cheeks pink in response. “Just like you’re in charge right now. So tell me what you want.”

The humor disappears from your eyes then, replaced by something heady and dark.

Namjoon sucks in a breath when your hand wraps back around his cock, guiding him back to your entrance. He throbs with need under your fingertips, muscles locked tight with anticipation.

“This -- ” you murmur, tilting your hips up to take him in, “ -- is what I want.”

Namjoon sinks down carefully then, slowly -- choking back a moan at the unbearably tight grip of your walls. You gasp, nails digging into his back as he strokes to the hilt.

“This is what you want?” he goads, feeling powerful now, drunk on the sight of you writhing beneath him. He pulls back and surges forward again, drawing a desperate moan from you. “Like this?”

You wrap your legs around him, hands sliding down the slick skin of his back until your fingers are gripping his ass, urging him to move faster.

“Yes,” you manage on a shaky breath. “Like that. Over and over and over.”

Namjoon buries his smile against your breasts, tonguing at your nipples as his hips piston against you. He nips at one with his teeth and you whine, back arching off the bed.

“You’re made for me,” he groans, panting his praise in between deep strokes, “So tight and wet I can’t think.”

You hum your contentment into his mouth when you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him close for a kiss. He slips one hand under your ass, dragging you deeper into his heavy strokes and you cry out.

He’s always hated the echo in this place. But hearing the sound of your voice calling his name echoing off the walls is an entirely different story. It lights a fire inside of him -- making him move faster, harder -- desperate to hear it again.

“Namjoon -- “ your hands claw at his back as you cling to him. “ -- I think, I think I’m going -- “

“You will,” he rasps, when you lose all hope of finishing that thought.

He sinks his thumb into his mouth before dragging it down to rub slow circles across your aching clit and you clamp down around him in response. He chokes on his own moan, summoning just enough control to keep himself from exploding inside of you.

But then you start to unravel.

In those final moments, you feel hotter and wetter -- begging brokenly in his ear for some kind of relief. Namjoon holds off until the tight grip of your cunt starts to pulse around him and then he gives in. He comes so hard his vision darkens before it comes back.

Then he collapses on top of you, panting and wrecked.

You press a kiss into his neck and rake your nails gently up and down his back.

**********************

Namjoon wakes up alone.

He should be used to the feeling by now, but after last night -- after you -- he can’t help but feel disappointed.

He shoves a hand through his hair, slips into a pair of lounge pants and heads to the kitchen in search of coffee.

Then he stops in his tracks.

You are standing in front of the massive window in his living room, wearing nothing but one of his old t-shirts, holding a mug of coffee in one hand. You sip it thoughtfully and look out over the city, seemingly unaware of his presence.

So Namjoon just stands there for a while, admiring your long legs and soft skin and the dark hair that spills down your back. Admiring the way you make this place bearable just by existing in it.

“Thought you left me,” he says quietly, and you startle out of your reverie at the sound of his voice.

“I did leave you,” you feign a serious expression, nodding at your mug. “For this. Thought you’d understand.”

“That I do,” he laughs, padding across the room to join you at the window.

He tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear and you smile up at him.

“What are you thinking about this morning?” Namjoon presses quietly. “What’s on your mind?”

You sip your coffee and look back out the window before answering.

“I was just thinking about the day I came to ask for you a job,” you confess. “How afraid and alone I felt back then.”

Namjoon can still remember how he felt seeing you walk into his office after all those years. It certainly wasn’t afraid or alone and his chest squeezes at your admission.

“And now?”

“Now I feel …” you trail off as you turn back to look up at him. “... like everything’s going to be okay.”

He stares back at you, suddenly overwhelmed by how good this feels.

By how good it feels to be needed by you.

By how you in his shirt, in his apartment, in his life, makes total sense.

By how it feels like you belong here.

With him.

“You’re right, Jagiya. Everything is going to be okay,” Namjoon vows, pulling you into his chest and pressing a kiss into your hair. “Because I’m going to make sure of it.”

**************************

GLOSSARY:

Gajog: Family

Eomma: Mother

Ttal: Daughter

Amsaja: Lioness

Jaegyueo: Jaguar

TAG LIST:

@prettyguardiansailormin @barbikatherine @55west81st @laabellaavitaa21 @codeinebelle @jalexad @trynavibewhileicry @poohsaidhi @eltrain80 @bluewhale52 @sahmfanficbts @midnighttifa @krystle1990 @thestrugglesofateenagedirtbag @hauntedlilies @kjooniesbabygirl @unicorn5090 @parkjimin-persona @kosicastairs @julia-pacheco-blog @veryuniquenamegoeshere @katbonv @sunkissed725 @yourdaydreamerfan

#namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #bts mafia #namjoon mafia #ficswithluv #ksmutclub #networkbangtan #thebtswritersclub #btscreatorscorner #btswriterscollective

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

In pais

This is dark!prince!Loki x reader and explicit. 18+ only. It include noncon and other dark elements. Curate your consumption accordingly.

Summary: A prince visits your father’s inn.

Note: first of all, let’s make it clear that @lokislastlove is always responsible for Loki drivel. Secondly, I am here and there with writing, I’ve pretty much decided to write when I want to and what I want to. I’m going to stop holding myself to ridiculous schedules and deadlines that aren’t real. My anxiety is wild y’all.

Also, unofficially in my head and heart, considering this like a sister fic to Droit du seigneur.

I hope y’all enjoy!

Let me know what you think! (Like, reblog, reply, leave some words, a gif, nonsensical emojis)

You shouldered your way out of the small barn. You were careful not to slosh the milk over the side of the bucket as you rounded the inn. The top would be skimmed and cream could be served for dessert, although your father’s tavern was not very busy that day. It was never bustling, merely a stop for most on a much longer road. Few stayed the night, usually opting for an ale and a meal before leaving.

Hooves pounded the dust and you stopped to watch the party of men on their galloping horses. You feared they would trample the fence as they neared and you backed up against the front of the inn, just feet away from the front door. Dirt powdered the air and the horse slowed before the fence that closed in the livestock.

A lithe man swung off a dark stallion, his own hair a similar shade of black that hung down his shoulders. His green cape swished around him and the other men dismounted with less grace. One of them approached; noblemen by the velvet of their capes and the silver on their belts.

“Rooms for the night,” He jangled a purse as his wavy orange hair fell forward over his brow. “And as much wine as you have.”

“We’ve more ale than wine,” You returned as you shifted the weight of the pail.

“Either will do,” The taller man with the black hair strode forward and slapped his gloves against his palm. His lip curled as he peered up at the inn. “I suppose we’ll have to take what we can get here.”

You looked between them and the other men traipsed behind as they chattered noisily. The black-haired noble looked down at you sharply.

“Well, little mouse, take your milk and prepare our quarters,” He nodded to the other man who waved the purse in your direction. “Or do you only tend to the animals?”

“My lord,” You cradled the bucket with one arm and snatched the purse. “All will be arranged. I will inform the inkeep of your arrival.”

“I suppose venison would be out of the question,” He ventured.

“Rabbit or hen.” You countered. “My lord.”

“Your highness, actually,” He corrected. “Prince, if you must.”

You squeezed the purse and nodded as your brows twitched. “Your highness.” You repeated and bowed as well as you could with your armful. “If you follow me, might take a left after we enter and seat yourself in the common room.”

You spun on your heel and continued your path to the front door. You pushed through with your hip and called to Celeste. “Party of five. Is there any wine left?”

“We’ve a cask from Mirraine,” She said. “Bitter red.”

“Fetch that and a barrel of ale,” You passed the front counter where she sat and wove thread around a frame. “And show these lords to the tables. I’ll tell Giles to hurry.”

“And your father?” She asked.

“He’s your husband.” You shrugged. “I thought he was still abed.”

“I wouldn’t blame him for hiding there for your nagging,” She stood. “He is in the kitchen.”

You stopped as she neared the end of the counter and lowered your voice. “Save that sharp tongue for me, stepmother. A prince will not be so tolerant.”

“Prince?” Her lashes fluttered and she smoothed her apron. “Perhaps you should bide your own warning.”

She brushed past you and you continued down the hallway between the counter and the stairs that led to the mostly vacant rooms. You swung the door open with your foot and passed through to plop the pail on the table within. Giles yawned as he sat on a stool and stared at the fire stove. Your father swirled a stein and watched the foam thin.

“We’ve customers. Rooms and dinner, expected.” You announced. “Noblemen… and a prince.”

Your father’s stein slammed on the table. He blanched and Giles gave another disinterested yawn.

“What’s on the spit today?” Your father hissed at the cook.

“Rabbit?” Giles frowned. “I think.”

“Aye, you fool,” Your father smacked the back of his head. “A prince you said?”

“Yes. Black hair. I suppose it is the younger.” You answered.

“Loki,” Your father coughed. “Shit.”

“You know a prince, father?” You challenged.

“Know of him,” Your father said. “Don’t be a mare, daughter.”

“There should be enough cream for a dessert.” You offered. “We’ve flour. A pastry could be devised.”

“Where is your mother?”

“Your wife? Why she’s entertaining the prince and his men.” You scoffed. “Think I saw her pinch her cheeks to try to get some colour back in her jowls.”

“Don’t be so crass. Go, send her to bake the dessert then and take some cups for our guests.” Your father spat. “And smile. You look at the prince like that and he might march us all to the scaffold.”

“Don’t be so ridiculous,” You grabbed a tray and loaded it with empty steins and a few goblets. “If anything, it will be Celeste who has us whipped.”

Your father snorted darkly and you turned with your fare. You pushed through the door once more and made your way to the front room where the men sat around one of the round tables. You neared as your stepmother giggled, a piglike noise, and you stopped beside her.

“Father would have you prepare dessert,” You said to Celeste as you neared. “Did you send for the kegs?”

“The stable boy had run to fetch them,” She sneered. “You might have rolled the dough yourself.”

“I might have,” You tilted your head. “But I do as my father bids me. As you vowed to do, did you not?”

She huffed and left you. Godwin appeared with a dark cask in hand and lugged it to a table. He wiped his forehead, his lanky arms trembling. “I’ll have the ale shortly, miss,” He panted. “And a tap.”

“Thank you, Godwin,” You said and you didn’t miss his lingering gaze.

He’d been sweet on you for years, even after you’d rebuffed him at the harvest feast last season. You placed your tray behind the cask and waited. Godwin returned, breathless and beet red as he dragged the barrel. You helped him lift it beside the cask and took the tap from him.

“Go see to the horses.” You said. “Find a brush if you can.”

You watched him go and crossed back to the table of nobles. “I’ve enough wine for you each to have at least a cup and more than enough ale to go around. So what shall I fetch you, my lords? And your highness?” You bowed your head at Prince Loki.

“Wine,” The prince spoke first.

Only one other requested wine and you went about your duty. You served Loki first and then his men. They grew louder as you left them to their drinking and you went through to the kitchen to check in on your measly staff.

“Don’t serve them the heels, you dolt,” Your father snarled at Giles. “And trim the mold off the cheese.”

“Ah, I see, only the finest for the royal prince.” You mused.

“Don’t,” Your father rounded the table. “Help your mother.”

“Your wife,” You insisted once more as you watched Celeste beat the dough.

The door swung behind you as your father left and you neared your stepmother. She seemed as angry at the dough as she usually was at you.

“Don’t you dare touch it,” She warned. “You’ll ruin it.”

“I’ll ruin it,” You rolled your eyes. “Sure.”

“A prince. Imagine it.” She went on as she folded the dough. “Here, of all places. Just hope your father doesn’t join them for a pint.”

“Ha, as if they’d have him.” You shook your head.

“You’re one to talk about being had,” Celeste hissed. “If we don’t find you a husband soon, I don’t even think the convent will take you.”

“You think my father is a prize, do you?”

The door swung and you turned as you father stomped through. “Aye, what they say has to be true. Sly little bugger. Tongue on him.” He adjusted his belt below his stomach. “Daughter.” He waved to the door. “Go keep the drink flowing. That prince did not think the wine so sweet from my hand.”

“The dessert--”

“Don’t be wise with me,” He warned. “The prince wants you serving his meal this evening. He paid me good coin for it, so go out and see if you can’t get more.”

You hid a scowl and sidled past your father. You wiped the irritation from your brow and returned to the common room. You neared the table and folded your hands over your apron.

“Your highness, my lords? Do you require another round?”

“Do you have water without scum?” The prince asked. “If not, I’ll take some of that milk you dragged in.”

“I’ll fetch you some milk, your highness,” You returned. “And you, sirs?”

“We can work a tap,” The one with orange hair said. “Or figure it out. Thank you, lady.”

“She sweeps the hay, Hugh, she’s not a lady.” The prince snickered. “Milkmaid, I await my second round.”

You did your best to smile, not your best skill, but you tried for fear you might growl. You returned to the kitchen and filled a cup with milk. You skimmed the top and swept back out before your stepmother could notice you. You went back to the prince’s table and set down the cup lightly.

“Your highness.” Another man had risen and bent at the barrel to fill his stein. “Your dinner will be out, shortly.”

“Mmm, I’ve not tasted rabbit since before Easter.” He said. “Always rather unappetizing but you peasants are resourceful.”

“Your highness.”

You dipped your head and backed away. You stood by the wall and stared at the one opposite as the men’s voices garbled in your ears. You waited until you smelled the roasting meat and you marched to the kitchen. Giles divided the meat onto plates with sliced bread, chunks of cheese and slightly singed potatoes.

You took two and went to the front room to serve. You placed one before the prince first, he watched you with a smirk as he leaned back in his chair and you set the other down carefully. You made another two trips until the table was full and the men were chewing between their bawdy words.

Your father appeared shortly after and asked how the men liked the food. All but the prince kept chewing and grunted in delight. Loki however made a comment about the chewiness of the meat. He was likely right but this wasn’t exactly a royal castle. It was a roadside inn where most of the patrons patched their clothing and would settle for a stick of salted meat and moldy bread.

When their plates were empty, you cleared them and dumped them in the basin in the kitchen. Celeste fretted over whipping the cream as her pastries cooled. She dolloped the cream onto them and acknowledged you with a snort.

“That prince is handsome but a right arse.” She muttered. “Your father said he didn’t like the rabbit. I mixed the seasoning myself.”

“Mm,” You took two plates and turned away. “Well you don’t have to tend to him.”

“If I was your age, he might just like that,” She snipped. “If you didn’t look like you were chewing on salt, he might give you a second glance.”

You didn’t respond and carried on. You delivered the six dishes in several trips and refilled a few steins as the men dug in. The barrel was close to empty, the cask too. They’d made quick work of your father’s meagre fare.

The prince beckoned you over, as he had many times, two fingers flicking you over as your father hovered in the next room by the counter. You went to him and lowered your chin as you recited a “your highness.”

“I would hope to retire soon. A bath should be drawn as well.” He bid.

“Certainly, I’ll have Godwin--”

“You,” He pointed at you with a long finger. “You’re a strong girl, you can handle it yourself.”

“With all due respect, your highness, I think it more appropriate--”

“I think I gave you an order,” He stood and reached to his belt and dug around in his purse. “And it would not go unrewarded. Good service never does.” He flipped the coin then held it out to you. You glared at it.

“Your highness,” Your father approached. “Is there an issue?”

“Not at all, I was only requesting that your daughter draw my bath for the evening.” He smirked. “I did offer her compensation for the task.”

“And she will tend to that immediately,” You father took the coin and your hand and pressed them together. “Right, daughter? You might get the water boiling.”

“Yes, father.” You bit down. “Your highness.”

You drew your hand away and bowed your head. You backed away and quickly skirted off to the kitchen. You snapped at Giles to grab the big pot and send Godwin for water. Celeste grinned up at you as she bit into one of the pastries.

“He is demanding, isn’t he? I’m almost ready to see my own bed for the night since my duties are all done.” She taunted.

“You might do better there. Out of the way of those who actually work.” You jibed.

She flinched and blew cream at you angrily. You kept clear of the mess and Godwin returned with the big pot of water. It was hung in the large fireplace and you waited listlessly for it to boil.

You lugged the first pot up and dumped it into the long tub in the chambers set out for the prince. You descended and repeated the process; another pot up the stairs, steaming up your arms.

The door was closed that time and you knocked with your toe. The prince opened it, his leather vest half unbuttoned.

“Ah, I did think there would be more to it,” He sneered.

“Your highness.” You said.

He backed up to let you through and you poured the pot into the tub, careful not to splash yourself with the water. He let you back out and your third pot was soon shaking over the flames. When you returned to him again, his vest was gone and his tunic hung low on his chest.

The fourth, and his belt was gone, his tunic too, and his undershirt was all that covered his torso. The fifth, his boots gone, socks too. The sixth, leggings slung over the single chair and he stood in only his undershirt. It hung to his thigh and you feared it might shift a little too much.

“Would you like some cold water to ease the heat, your highness?” You asked as you turned back to the door.

He was quick, his long legs carried him to the door before you could reach it. He caught the wood and blocked you from the hall.

“I like it hot.” He said. “You can set the pot down and tend to my bath.”

“I have, your highness.” You insisted.

“You’ve filled it, yes,” His brow slanted. “But since I’ve traveled without my attendant, I haven’t anyone to scrub me clean and your inn has done little to cleanse me of the filth of the road.”

“You paid me to bring you water--”

“I paid you a pretty coin for that then,” He interjected, “And I paid your father enough that he told me you are free of your other tasks for the night. You will see to me.” He pushed the door closed. “I know you’ve likely never met a prince before, most certainly haven’t. There’s only two of us.” He loomed over you. “But I trust you know a prince’s word is as good as law.”

He pushed himself away and spun away from you. Your eyes flew up as he grabbed his undershirt and ripped it up over his head. The fabric fluttered to the floor and you clutched the handle of the pot. Your father would sell you like some cattle; you were only surprised he’d waited for a prince to do so.

“Well, put that pot down and grab a sponge. I will soak a while first but I expect you to be prepared. Diligent.” He hummed as he leaned back in the hot water. “I know you are only used to common merchants.”

You were silent. You placed the pot on the floor but stayed by the door. You slowly moved along the wall and went to the pail in the corner of the room next to the low table. You bent and took the sponge from within and the spouted wooden cup. You lingered in the corner and dreaded the moment he would call to you.

“I must admit, I know little of your...bearing. I do tend to avoid the unwashed masses.” The water moved as he spoke. “I mean, your ilk don’t bathe very much, do they?”

“Every Sunday after chapel.” You said evenly. “We gather at the river.”

“We? All of you? Like beasts.” He laughed.

“The women. Children, too. The men bathe during the week.” You explained. “But I suppose a prince might wash more often.”

“I do find the hot water as calming as it is cleansing,” He replied. “Why, it is Thursday. You worked hard today. Another few days is long to wait.”

You squeezed the sponge and pressed it to the cup.

“A prince must be generous,” He began slyly. “So for this day my act of royal charity is to share with you, a common girl, my bath.”

“Your highness, I don’t think--”

“I did not ask and it is unseemly to deny a prince his favour.” He rebuked. “So you get over here and you wash yourself.” He looked over his shoulder dangerously. “I would rather you clean.”

You crossed the room and kept your back to the prince as you passed and stood at the other end of the tub. You placed the cup by the tub and tucked the sponge inside. You straightened and untied your apron. You moved to put it on the seat of the chair. Then you unlaced the collar of your dress and paused. You took a breath before you pulled it over your head.

You bent to loosen your boots. Your stockings were as reluctantly shed. You rose, left with only your shift. The water swirled noisily. Your father had never been much of one. He worked you morning to night, he never thanked you for a deed you did, and he barely noticed your presence unless it served his needs. You weren’t surprised, nor disappointed, you were only annoyed at the circumstance.

You drew your shift up your legs and bunched it in your hands. You tore it off in a final swoop of resignation. You stood, your chest rising and falling, as you stared at the far wall. You gritted your teeth and forced down the nerves.

“Well, that was… dramatic,” He remarked. “But really, the water is bound to cool before you touch it.”

You spun around and marched to the tub. You reached to the brim but refused to look at the water or him. You lifted a leg over the edge and he let out a hum. You lowered your other leg into the steaming water as he sat up.

“Go on,” He said. “Clean yourself. I can smell the sty on you.”

You bent over the side and grabbed the sponge from cup. You focused on wetting it and scrubbing at your skin. You stretched out your arms, lifted one leg then the other, and rubbed your chest raw. Your eyes clung to the ceiling. The water shifted and the shadows around you did too.

He stood and grabbed your hand. He guided it to his chest and kept the sponge moving in circles. You looked at his face as he smirked at you. His other hand tickled your side. He let go of you and you kept going; across his shoulders, his neck, his arms, his chest, his stomach.

He caught your wrist and squeezed until you dropped the sponge. He pushed your palm to his member; it was hard as he slid his hand around yours and bent your fingers. His touch danced up your back and settled behind your neck as he pulled you close.

“I know you’ve never touched a prince like this before,” He said. “But what about another man? Hmm?”

You gulped as you looked him in the eyes. You shook your head defiantly. He moved your hand up then back down. His cheek twitched and he let out a thick breath. He kept your hand moving along his member as his grip tightened on your neck. He leaned in until his lips almost met yours.

“I’ve never had a woman, princesses, duchesses, ladies, queens, even, look at my the way you do,” He snarled. “And it has me mad.”

“I don’t know what you mean--”

“You despise me. You don’t even know me,” His lips brushed yours. “But you know I am a prince, I am your superior, and you curl your lip at me.”

“I don’t--”

He pressed his lips to yours and kissed you hungrily as the steam floated around your bodies. He kept your grasp firm on him as he carried the motion steadily. He groaned into your mouth and suddenly let go. He held your head with both hands as if to devour you. You stumbled in the tub, held up only by his unbreakable grip.

He parted as his long fingers framed your jaw. His green eyes burned into yours as you gaped at him. He kissed you again, this time nibbling your lip as he drew away. He snarled as he did and his hand slipped down your shoulders and lingered on your chest. He pinched one nipple then the other and his fingers crawled lower.

His other hand settled on your throat as his finger poked between your legs. You squeezed your thighs together and he gave a growl. It was a warning. He slid along your folds and teased your sensitive bud. You gasped as he was close to choking you entirely.

He prodded along your entrance and delved inside. You nearly bit your tongue as you closed your mouth and grabbed his arm to keep from slipping. Your eyes rounded as he grinned. He moved his hand slowly as you felt a ripple along your thighs.

“Inexperienced but not innocent,” He purred. “Darling, you feel wonderful.”

You clawed at his bicep as he rocked his hand against you, your body shaking in tandem. You wanted to hate it. You had to hate it and yet it felt so good.

“Turn around,” He commanded as he ripped his hand from between your legs. “Now.”

He released you entirely and you stumbled back and caught yourself on the side of the sub. He stroked himself as he watched you and spun his finger in the air. You turned, slowly. You leaned heavily on the side of the tub as your legs felt likely jelly and your core pulsed hungrily. You wanted more and yet you wanted to run away.

He slapped your ass. Hard. Your knees buckled. He gripped your hips and steadied you. He stepped closer and rubbed his member against your ass. His hand ran along your flesh and he guided his tip down. He reached your entrance and inhaled suddenly. He held himself there, barely touching you as his fingers curled into your hip.

“It’ll hurt. At first.” He rasped. “But that only makes the pleasure…” He slid past your entrance slowly and you stretched around him. You squeaked in shock. “...greater.”

The deeper he got, the harder it was to measure your voice. He was right about the pain. More, more, more; you feared it wouldn’t stop. When he did, when he reached his limit, you were bent over, hands on the side of the tub, bracing yourself as you were afraid your legs would collapse.

He pulled back and slammed into you again. You cried out, loudly, and clapped your hand over your mouth. He chuckled and did it again. His wet flesh reverberated against yours. He did it, again, again, again. Each time he paused and basked in the sound; basked in your murmurs as you struggled not to scream.

“You are tight, darling,” He groaned.

You quivered and held onto the tub as your body was jolted by his. He rutted into you quicker and quicker. He was insatiable and each time he thrust, his hunger seemed to deepen. His voice turned animalistic and his fingers got firmer around your hips. The water splashed around your legs and added to the medley of lurid sounds.

You arched your back as the waves swelled within you and you felt them cresting, ready to crash. You hissed through gritted teeth and your voice cracked as you exclaimed. The feeling was overwhelming, the sensation stifling as it filled your veins. Your eyes rolled back and you hung your head as your walls pulsed around his member.

“Ah, darling, I feel you,” His hands slipped up to your waist and he pulled you back against you as he rammed into even harder. “That’s it… bend for your prince.”

He grunted as he bent over you and hooked his arm around your stomach. He stood and drew you up with him. You were on your toes as he jerked into you violently, his other hand on your chest as he pressed his cheek to yours. His voice swirled in your head and added to the heat in your core.

“That’s it, that’s it…” He chanted as his flesh slapped against yours.

You clawed at his thigh as he hammered into you and finally he slowed with a surprised cry. His hips spasmed and you felt a sudden swell of warmth inside of you. You trembled as he slowed and stilled your body. You were breathless but buoyant. You’d never felt so light yet heavy at the same time. He was the only strength left to you as he held you up.

“Well, look at you,” He tickled your stomach with his fingers. “Dirty, all over again.”

#loki #dark!loki #dark loki #loki x reader #dark loki x reader #dark!loki x reader #medieva au #au #one shot #fic #mcu #marvel #dark!fic #dark fic #prince!loki

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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years

Text

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 13

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

She twists around within the confines of his arms and nuzzles against his neck. He smiles, pulling her closer as early-dawn light seeps in around the blinds. She hums contentedly, wiggling against him, and he pulls in a deep breath, flexing his hips gently towards her with a sigh. Pulling her head back, she looks at him with a sleepy smile.

“Hi,” she says softly, her fingers grazing over his bare back.

“Hey,” he replies, “I have to say, I much prefer that morning greeting to ‘what the hell?’”

Her smile widens.

“You might also be a touch confused if you went to bed alone and woke up with someone beside you,” she says, though not defensively.

“If I went to bed alone and woke up with you next to me, the only thing I’d be saying is ‘praise the lord,’”

“I thought you were an atheist,” she retorts, her hand sliding down his back until it slips just under the waistband of his boxers.

He shrugs. “It’s a figure of speech.”

“Well, speaking of the Lord, I told my mother I’d go to church with her this morning, so I’ll have to kick you out shortly,” she says, fingers brushing against the tops of his ass cheeks and effectively waking up his dick.

“You said you’re Catholic, right?” he asks, and she nods. “I think you may have some things to confess, Ms. Scully,” he continues, bringing his own hand to her panty-clad backside and pulling her against him so she can feel him growing hard.

She smiles mischievously at him. “That I do, thanks to you,” she says.

“So how does that work?” he asks, “forgive me father, for I have sat on a man’s face?”

She laughs out loud, a true guffaw, and shakes her head at him.

“They really don’t like you to get that specific,” she answers, “more like...engaged in sex acts outside of marriage, fornicated, euphemisms like that.”

“That’s too bad,” he says, slipping his hand under her panties at the leg so he can squeeze her bare ass cheek, “I’m sure those poor priests could use come juicy confessions to break up the doldrums of celibacy.”

“Mmm, I’m sure,” she says, digging her fingernails into his flesh.

He kisses her, chastely at first, the sleep-warm smell of her intimate and comforting at the same time. When he brushes his tongue against her lips, she pulls back.

“I have awful morning breath, Mulder,” she objects.

“So do I,” he replies, kissing her again, and this time she lets him.

They paw gently at each other, slow and sleepy in their exploration. His hands drift up under her oversized T-shirt to touch her breasts, and down over the smooth skin of her thighs. She trails her fingers over his bare torso, dancing along the hem of his boxers, brushing over his erection through the cotton. They sigh and kiss, a soft moan occasionally escaping when something feels especially nice. He tugs at her panties and she pushes them down to her knees, then scissors her legs until she kicks them off. Her leg falls open as he touches her softly, not with a goal in mind; touching just for the pleasure of touch. When he slips a finger inside, he groans at how wet she is.

“Mulder,” she says breathily, her lips close to his ear, “let’s have sex.”

He feels a surge of blood flush into his already stiff cock.

“Are you sure?” he asks, slowly pumping his finger in and out.

“Very,” she answers, her voice catching.

“Do you have a condom?” he inquires, praying that the answer is yes.

She pushes his hand away and rolls on top of him, kissing him and flexing her pelvis against his as she reaches into her bedside drawer. Finding what she was looking for, she rolls back to his side and holds up a black square with a smirk.

He pushes his own boxers off quickly, then moves to hover over her. Tugging at the hem of her T-Shirt, he waits while she sits up enough for him to pull it off over her head, leaving them both naked with him cradled between her thighs. They resume kissing and he can hear the crinkle of the condom wrapper as she tears it open, then feels her hands stroking him lazily before the cool latex touches the head of his cock. She rolls it down his length expertly and continues down to cup his balls, giving them a soft tug that makes him groan. Next he feels her grip his shaft, positioning the tip at her opening before her hands come to rest on his sides.

He slowly pushes into her, listening and feeling raptly for any indication that he’s hurting her, but soon enough their bodies are flush, his scrotum pressed against her ass with every inch of him tucked inside. She is tight and hot around him and he stays still for a moment, their lips brushing together softly. When he slowly pulls back and pushes into her again, they both moan as her back arches off the bed, her head dropping back against the pillow. He begins a slow, languid rhythm as they kiss, her hands scraping over his back and her legs wrapping around his hips.

“You feel so fucking good,” he professes against her ear, and he feels her throb once around him. “Can you come like this?”

“Probably not,” she breaths, “but that’s okay, it still feels really good.”

“No, tell me what you need,” he whispers into her neck, sucking at her earlobe.

“Maybe,” she says hesitantly, “if you lay behind me, kind of spooning.”

He withdraws from her and rolls on to his side, pulling her back against his chest. He touches her breasts for a moment and then slides his hand down to push her leg up, hitching her ankle behind his knee.

“Like this?” he asks, reaching between her legs to press the head of his cock against her opening as he routes inside.

“Mmmmm, yes,” she moans, and he resumes a steady pace as his fingers find her clit, gently circling.

He threads his other arm under her, crossing it over her chest so he can cup her breast, pinching the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She gasps, and he feels her clench around him again, the sensation incredible both physically and mentally. She moves her free arm back to rest on his ass, squeezing and encouraging him as he thrusts into her. They are entwined like human pretzels, hands working as he moves within her, her head turned up to find his mouth as they kiss and touch and fuck slowly and quietly, save for the occasional moan and the wet slip of her as he pumps in and out. When she stops kissing him, just holding her open mouth against his, he keeps his movements consistent, knowing she’s close.

“Oh yes, oh god, don’t stop,” she keens, and he feels his balls tighten in anticipation.

She pulls in a big breath and holds it, her body going rigid. Then she lets out a long, low moan and he feels her clench tight around him before erupting into rhythmic throbs. It feels so amazing that he soon follows her, clutching her to him as his orgasm takes off just as hers is coming down, their shared release a cacophony of muted groans and declarations to deities only one of them believes in. They stay there entangled as he slowly slips out of her, kissing her neck softly.

“I need to take a shower,” she says regretfully, “gotta get ready to go confess what we just did,” she adds with a squeeze to his arm, and he chuckles.

“Okay. I’ll call you later?” he replies, standing and stepping into the bathroom to dispose of the condom.

“Please do,” she says, stretching before she rises from the bed herself.

He pulls her into a hug, already missing the feeling of her nakedness against his own.

“Say a few Hail Mulder’s for me, would ya?”

She pulls back and smiles up at him. “Of course.”

———

She sits between Missy and her mother in the pew, Charlie seated on the other side of mom, as Father McCue delivers his Sunday sermon. Though they have varying levels of belief in the religion they were raised with, Bill being the most devout and Dana a distant second, Maggie Scully lives for the Sundays when one or more of her children attend mass with her. The fact that all three of those who live locally made it today has her in an especially good mood, which is why she doesn’t seem to notice her daughters whispering in the pew beside her.

Missy keeps glancing over at her surreptitiously until finally Dana turns and gives her a pointed look, eyebrows lifted expectantly.

Missy glances at mom to ensure her attention is on the pulpit and then leans in close to her sister’s ear.

“You had sex, didn’t you?” she says in the softest of whispers, and Dana shoots her a look.

“We are in church, Melissa,” she whispers back, shutting down the conversation.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Missy retorts haughtily, and Dana jabs her in the ribcage with an elbow. Missy winces, then adds “see you in the confessional, Sis.”

After mass and the confession booth, where Dana admits to fornication and impure thoughts (so many, many, impure thoughts), they head to Mom’s favorite little cafe for Sunday brunch. The place is bustling at noon on a Sunday and the three Scully children and their mother are cloistered tightly around a small round table, munching on omelettes and sandwiches.

“Dana has a boyfriend,” Missy says flatly during a lull in the conversation, and Scully shoots her another look.

“Nice,” Charlie says with very little interest, but Mom is looking at Dana with a wounded expression.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were seeing someone, Dana?” she asks with furrowed brows and a frown.

“It’s very new, mom. Nothing serious.” Even as the words leave her mouth, she knows it’s a lie; her feelings for Mulder are anything but casual, even if she’s not quite ready to admit it yet.

“When will we get to meet him?” Maggie asks next, and Dana sighs.

“I don’t know, Mom. Like I said, it’s pretty new. I’m not going to accost him with a family gathering anytime soon.”

“Well, tell us about him, then,” she prods, “what’s his name?”

Scully cringes. “Um, his name is Fox Mulder.”

“Fox? Like the animal?” Charlie asks with a dopey smile, suddenly deciding to engage in the conversation.

“Yes, Charlie, like the animal,” she replies with an irritated tone, “but he doesn’t like to be called by his first name, he just goes by Mulder.”

“You call your boyfriend ‘Mulder’?” Charlie teases, and she sets her jaw, glaring at him.

“I’m sorry, Charlie, what was the name of that trashy woman you brought to Easter dinner last year, Bambi?” she says with a cutting tone. Charlie stops smiling and narrows his eyes at her.

“Her name was Fawn. It’s a totally normal name,” he says dejectedly.

“That’s enough,” Maggie declares, shooting a look at Missy who has been giggling through the entire conversation. “I’m glad to hear that you’re dating, Dana,” she says, placing her hand on top of her daughter’s on the table. “When you’re ready, I’d love to meet him.”

Dana gives her a tight lipped smile and a nod, and they continue their meal in relative peace.

After they’ve parted ways at the restaurant doors, she is walking the two blocks to where she parked her car when she passes by a sidewalk cafe. She does a double take when she spots Mulder at one of the outdoor tables, a smile immediately curling the corners of her mouth at the sight of him. She walks towards the table and is about to approach him when she stops, realizing that he’s not alone. He’s seated with a woman with long, dark brown hair, and the way he’s smiling at her makes Dana’s stomach turn.

She steps behind a parked car and watches them for a bit, noting the casual way he touches her hand on the table top and the familiar crinkle at the corner of his eyes that is paired with an affectionate gaze. It is unmistakably the look between two people who are more than just friends, who know each other intimately. She feels nauseous, her heart pounding in her throat as they stand and he pulls her into a tight hug, rocking slightly as his hands brush over her back. They are starting to separate and she can see that he is tilting his head to kiss her so she looks away, not wanting to see. She stumbles to her car, tears breaking free and slipping down her cheeks. Once in the driver’s seat, she lets the sobs overtake her. She feels betrayed, and stupid, and guilty. Stupid because she should have known it was too good to be true and she fell for it hook, line, and sinker. Guilty because she deserves this, after what she did to Ethan. Reap what you sow; isn’t that what she’d been taught as a child?

Maybe it was all for nothing after all. Maybe she ruined her life and a potentially happy marriage for a man who saw her only as a conquest. She sniffs hard, wiping away her tears, and collects herself. Buckling her seatbelt and starting the ignition, she drives home. Once there, she gets to work ridding her apartment of any signs of him. She strips her bed, washes her sheets, throws away the still damp toothbrush he’d just used that morning. She removes him from her life once again, a life that will start over fresh tomorrow; starting over seems to be something she’s becoming an expert at as of late. She just hopes that one day her new beginning turns into something she can hold on to, and that this painful cycle of hurt and healing will eventually stop.

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #x files fanfic #alternate universe

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maybe-your-left · 3 years

Note

BITCH I AM DEMANDING A FLUFFY PART TWO TO KYLO FORGETTING OUR DATE OKAY?!

I WANT SWEET AND NASTY MAKEUP SEX

HAHAHHA YESSSSS. here is part one of Kylo forgetting our anniversary.

“Hey.”

You sighed into the phone, slumped on the cool leather couch. The TV blaring before you, but you didn’t listen to what was on. It had been two weeks since you kicked Kylo out, the only communication shared were clipped texts and stale ‘Hi’s’ and ‘Byes’ when he needed to pick up clean clothes.

“Hi.”

Kylo took in a slow breath, you could practically feel the air hit your face. So close, yet so far, “Are you gonna be home today?”

“Yup.”

“Cool, I’ll be there at 12 during lunch. I have some shit to grab.”

You bit back sniffling, “Okay,” your voice cracked. “I’ll be here.”

———

You scrolled through your emails, waiting at the kitchen counter for him to show up. You'd applied for some jobs a few days ago if this was really the end of you two. You needed a job, there was no way you could afford living in the penthouse and at some point, Kylo would want it back.

It was in his name anyway, the only thing you really owned without his help was your laptop.

Fingers crossed you'd find something, you haven't worked in almost five years. You didn't need to with Kylo, and he urged you to not work. He wanted to take care of you, provide for you, help you in any way he could. But now, you were left high and dry, not even a single bank account in your name.

You swallowed back another round of tears, no.

No more tears, you'd get through this. You had family who would help, friends that supported you and wanted you to be happy. Even his mom, not that you'd stoop that low, was willing to help you.

It would be better to just cut all ties to him since there was a slim chance he would want to be back together.

You still weren't sure, you missed him. Terribly, barely sleeping because his presence was gone. Jumping towards your phone whenever it rang, hoping it was him on the other side calling to make it up to you.

But the man was stubborn, angry that you kicked him out.

Claiming that his accusations were valid, which wounded you further.

A light knock on the door drew you away from your wallowing, you took a shaky breath before whispering a faint, "it's open."

Kylo walked in slowly, dressed in his work clothes. A button-up, white, with his suit jacket and tight dress pants. His hair was getting longer, the harsh lighting of the kitchen showed a sheen of grease coating it.

And the bags, the bags under his eyes were darker than normal.

A part of you was smug over his appearance.

But the rest of you ached, fighting against your baser instinct to run towards him. So he could take you in his arms while you bathed him in kisses, mourning over the time spent apart.

"Hello," he nodded stiffly towards you. Not making eye contact as he shut the door. Kylo fiddled with the strap on his shoulder, his duffel bag hanging limp. Empty, ready to stuff more things inside before he ran away to whatever place he was staying.

"Hey," you croaked, eyes flitting back to your laptop. Biting your lip as you read through rejection after rejection, no one wanted you. The gaps in your resume were too long, your diploma meant nothing since you had zero experience.

Kylo's shoes scuffed the floor, sniffing loudly before he looked at you.

"I was going to grab some more things," he glanced towards the staircase, "All my stuff is at the dry cleaners right now, I've worn these pants two days in a row."

"That sucks."

He hummed, "Okay," backing away from you slowly. You watched him walk towards the stairs, back tense and straight. His hands were tucked into his pockets, something he did when he was nervous or uncomfortable.

You used to make him comfortable.

Now you just agitated him, even though it wasn't your fault you two were in this mess.

You stayed quiet as he rummaged around upstairs. Doors opening and closing, drawers slamming shut, you briefly heard swearing but you couldn't make it out. You hadn't thrown his stuff away, keeping everything organized. Right down to the hair products that he had left.

Color-coded and alphabetical by the sink.

His footsteps echoed to a stop, maybe he was considering kicking you out...

"Have you seen my black sweater?"

You stilled, his black sweater... "Nope."

A huff in annoyance, "The one that has the hole in the front, from when it got caught while we were in Niagra? It's not in the closet."

That's because I hid it, you thought. You'd been sleeping in it for the past week, it smelled like him and enveloped you like his arms used to. No way you were giving it back, call it a sacrifice of your relationship.

You listened to his slow descent to the kitchen, duffle now stuffed with clothes. He eyed you suspiciously, rolling his tongue along the inside of his cheek. Coming dangerously close to your seat, he angled himself behind you. A little to the left, but enough for him to spy on your computer screen.

"You're applying for jobs?"

You slapped your laptop shut, he didn't need to snoop.

"None of your business, Kylo."

He shrugged, looking up at the ceiling as he replied, "Might be good for you, to get out of the house."

"Mhm."

"You'll want to apply to multiple places," he stepped around you, opening the fridge for a brief glance inside. Spying one of his protein shakes that you hadn't thrown out, wasn't expired yet. Kylo cracked it open and took a small sip, "You won't be able to afford this place with entry-level salaries."

"Yes," you snapped at him, "I know that."

"Just trying to help, (Y/N)."

You climbed off your stool, moving away from him to curl on the couch. Already on the verge of tears, "You aren't helping, you're just being rude."

"Well, it's rude of you to steal my shit when we aren't together anymore."

That made the waterworks start, muffling your sniffles with your fluffy blanket. You tucked yourself away, desperate to disappear. Maybe when you woke up, everything would be back to normal, or you could wake up seven years earlier to avoid ever meeting him. Save yourself from the heartache that was tearing you apart from seam to seam.

You listened to the echo as he walked towards you. Huffing when he saw your shivering form, "I don't know why you're crying. I haven't been staying here for two weeks, we clearly aren't together."

"Whatever, Kylo," you whispered, voice breaking as you took in a wet breath, "Can you just leave?"

"Sure."

------

"I can't afford to stay there mom," you whimpered into the phone, you were stalling in your car. Parked in the garage of the apartment, you had been to an interview. Realizing the pitiful reality of your life, you had already begun to sell your designer clothes. Gucci purses, red bottoms, Tiffany earrings, Cartier bracelets, you name it. Anything that could help you create a bank account was sold off.

"Have you talked to him at all? Kylo wouldn't leave you high and dry, if anything he would pay for you to get an apartment."

"I don't want his help," you hissed.

A pause, "It would be humiliating to ask, I know he's expecting it. After the talk about jobs, he's just been waiting for me to cave and sacrifice my dignity."

"I'm just saying it wouldn't hurt to talk with him, I know you both have been avoiding it after the fight. It could bring you both some closure-or better yet-get you guys back together so I can get some grandbabies."

"Goodbye, mom."

You huffed as you hung up, slamming your head back into your headrest. Maybe you could sell the car, people would pay top dollar for a gold Porsche. But the title was in Kylo's name, birthday present, any money you'd earn would belong to him.

You pulled up your text thread, the last messages sent were from three days ago. He left you on read, you texted him goodnight after a few stale messages about your day and when he could come and move some furniture out. Kylo had gotten an apartment on the upper east side, right by his office. You checked the old Zillow listing, it was huge and ridiculously expensive.

Enough room for him and a new girlfriend, you were certain he was already fucking someone else. With how cruel he was with you, not even trying to make amends. Probably his secretary, she was always a slut. Showing off her tits to him, even when you came to visit. Kylo probably bent her over his desk the day after he left, just because he could.

You swallowed your pride, it was now or never.

Kylo, I think we need to talk.

Send.

Let's see how long it... oh?

What happened, I'm at work right now.

Quick, maybe he got the notification on his laptop.

Could I swing by the office?

Right now?

Yeah.

Typing...

I have a shareholder meeting at 2, make it quick.

You sped towards his work, determined to get there before he changed his mind and banned you from coming. You were shocked he even agreed, maybe he was having a rare good day.

Or forgot that you two were broken up.

After parking, you jogged into the building. No need to say hi to anyone, it was embarrassing enough to be the ex-girlfriend visiting. At least you were dressed up, people wouldn't think you were in the poor house, yet.

You smiled coldly at his secretary, not bothering to tell her what you were here for. Despite her stuttering about him having a meeting at 2, she was totally fucking him. There's no way she wasn't, a man like him can barely go a day without sticking his dick in something.

Whipping open the door, you were met with the uncomfortable silence that blanketed his office. Curtains were drawn, lights on the dimmest setting, the only noises were the door creaking and his fingers typing.

Like he was punishing the words, Kylo was good at breaking keyboards with his aggressive emailing.

You cleared your throat, watching as his eyes briefly flickered towards you before moving back to the screen. Okay, you walked slowly towards his desk. Pulling out a chair as quietly as possible, the leather squeaking when you sat.

Kylo let out a long sigh, leaning away from his screen. "What is it you want to talk about?"

With a harsh swallow, you fiddled with the hem of your skirt. Anything to avoid his penetrating gaze, "I just wanted to talk about, you know."

He blinked, face blank, "Use your words, please. I don't have time to fuck around, I have a business to run."

"I-I-I"

"Spit.it.Out."

"How come you never apologized?"

Silence.

Kylo's jaw clenched and unclenched, leaning back in his chair slowly. Staring directly at you, "This conversation?"

"Yes, I need to know."

"What good is it doing us now?"

"I don't know I just-"

"What are you hoping to gain from this?"

"Kylo-"

He huffed loudly, "I don't have to answer you anymore, we aren't together."

You slammed a fist on his desk, rattling a few pieces he had decorating it. Standing on your wobbling legs, "Listen to me, you can be an asshole all you fucking want but I deserve answers."

Kylo narrowed his eyes, standing slowly before you. His form towering, making you feel even smaller than you already felt. Crawling to his office for closure, and instead, he wanted to argue with you about the necessity of the conversation.

You watched his palms lay flat on the polished wood, crinkling papers he had strewn about.

"If you're here for money, just fucking say it."

"I am not here for-"

Now it was his turn to slam the desk, "Bullshit! You're here to fucking grovel because you don't know how to take care of yourself. Can't even get a second-rate job!"

"You're the one who insisted on taking care of me!"

"So you think it's okay to demand money when we aren't together? Selling off all the shit I bought you to pay the power bills?"

You gaped at him, "I would never."

"Shut up," Kylo spat, leaning further across to be nose to nose, "You forget that I have your email linked to my laptop. I can see every pathetic message about pawning what I worked for. What I provided you, fucking ungrateful."

"How dare you sneak through my email!?"

"It's not sneaking if I have the passwords, darling."

"You can't fucking do that," you pushed away, arms folded while you glanced around the room. All your pictures were gone, more proof that showed he was erasing your existence, "At least I'm not already fucking someone..."

"Excuse me?"

You spoke over your shoulder, "You heard me."

"Are you seriously accusing me of that," Kylo scoffed, "When that's what got us into this mess in the first place?"

You shrugged, "How long have you been fucking her, did you march to her place after I kicked you out?"

"(Y/N)."

"I'm a big girl, I can take it. Just tell me the truth, because there's no way you'd just abandon me if there wasn't someone else."

"(Y/N)."

You spun on your heel, snarling with a finger in his face, "How many women have you replaced me with? Huh? Or is it just your slut of a secretary-"

Kylo flipped his desk, everything crashing to the floor. You screamed as he began to throw items to the walls, tear books off the shelves, kicking his chairs to the ground. Anything he could get his hands on he attempted to tear apart.

"Enough!"

Heavy breaths.

"I'm not fucking anyone else! Are you fucking serious? All I've fucking done is work! Trying to just fucking move on but nooo," he faced you now, cheeks red and puffing. A few tracks of tears streaking towards his jaw, "You-you just have to be right, and have to be the victim of all this when it's both our fucking fault!"

Kylo paced away from you, running his fingers through his hair before crouching down to the floor. Cradling his face in his hands while he took in shaky breaths, "I fucking missed you, so much. It's all I thought about, but every fucking time I came back you ignored me."

"Kylo-"

"No, you fucking iced me out. I could barely speak to you and I wasn't going to do anything over text."

You succumbed to your tears, there was no way to hold them. Choking as you wiped away the floods, "I-I didn't m-mean to, you weren't talking to me Kylo. How was I supposed to r-react?"

Now he was crying, hiccuping in an attempt to steady his breathing and push through it like he always had. But he couldn't stop the tremor in his voice, "You could've told me you loved me or forgave me. Anything would've been better than this."

"Why do I have to be the one to apologize, I'm not the one who forgot our day and manhandled me in the tub! You were drunk, rude, and horrible to me, I deserved an apology."

"I know," he sniffed, "I tried to-the first few times I came back for clothes. But you hid from me."

You nodded slowly, pacing your way towards him. Unsure of how he'd react to you touching him, but you needed to be closer. You shuffled to his side, sliding your back against the gray wall to the floor.

"We've never been good at apologizing."

Kylo sat on the floor, mirroring you against the wall, "At least before, you didn't kick me out. Force me to crash on a couch, you know I don't fit on couches."

You chuckled softly, not wanting to smile at the visual.

"That's why our couch was custom," he laughed too, dull and humorless, "Because I kept sliding off."

"Yup."

Both of you swallowed, throats clicking in unison. Kylo shuffled in a more comfortable position, looking out at the clouded sky that peeked through the shades.

"For what it's worth, I am sorry."

A breath, "I never meant to miss our day, and I thought you were finished with me. I should've just spoken to you instead of drink, but that doesn't mean much now."

You hummed, "Thank you."

"I can write you a check," he sighed, "So you can get another place and still keep whatever's left of your collections."

"You don't-"

"I know I don't."

Kylo wrote you a check for half a million dollars, not looking at you when he ripped it from his checkbook. He mumbled about the bank may be needing to call him to confirm it, just have them call my office number.

Sending you off without another word.

------

Your new apartment was cute, small, perfect for you.

Light and airy, none of the fixtures were black or red. Hues of pink, coral, green, and blue danced around the rooms. Your couch was velvet, just because you wanted it to be. With an abundance of pillows and candles on every surface, you could fit them onto.

Your bed was a four-poster with a dreamy white canopy, soft and cloudlike bedding scrunched up from however you left them. No one was running around frantic to make the bed, or straighten the blinds, or draw the curtains, it was just yours.

The check was cashed with little fuss, you tried not to cry about it. You dropped off the old house keys at Kylos office, along with your car keys, there was no need to keep the Porsche. You weren't living that life anymore, you could buy your own car now! And it would be yours, it was too hard to drive the gift everywhere.

Kylo told you to keep the car when he found the keys, but you ignored his messages. He wouldn’t understand why you wouldn’t keep it, but that was his problem.

You sighed into your couch, looking at the TV nestled next to the bay window. Imagining where you could squish more houseplants… you already had an abundance but it wouldn’t hurt.

Your phone began to vibrate on the coffee table, startling you as you scrambled towards it. Oh, it was Kylo, odd.

“Hey?”

“Hey.”

“Uh,” you stood from the floor, scratching your cheek as you walked. “What’s up?”

He cleared his throat, “I saw you got a place, wanted to drop off a housewarming gift.”

Your face scrunched, balancing the phone between your face and shoulder. Popping a potato chip in your mouth, “Why would you do that?”

A sigh, “Can you just buzz me in? I brought wine…”

“Whatever.”

Kylo came in with a tight smile, dressed in some black joggers and a gray t-shirt. He looked like he just rolled out of bed, not his typical look on a weekday. He held up a brown paper bag, Whole Foods on the label.

"You went to Whole Foods?" you raised a concerned brow.

"Nope," he set the bag on your kitchen table, eying the plants and crystals that littered your living room. A few magazines were strewn around on the surface, "I had my secretary do it."

You glared at him, which he noticed before shaking his head rapidly, "New secretary-not the old one. His name is Brady, he's very nice."

Kylo stood with his hands in his pockets, glancing in every direction as you approached the bag. Humming when you began pulling out the goodies he had, as promised there was a bottle of wine. Your favorite, along with a set of glasses.

A clear purple tinge, almost vintage looking. Some of your favorite fruit, he blushed when you held them up to his eyes. Mumbling how you never had enough of them in the past, and it was their season.

Now you were blushing, finding some red velvet cupcakes. Packaged beautifully, and a small vase in the shape of a kitty. You placed it on the table, looking at it over and over. Biting your lip as you waited for something to happen.

"I like your place," Kylo croaked out, "It's very bright."

You chuckled, "You're just used to your eyes straining from all the red and black decor."

He hummed, walking down your hallway. Glancing indoors that were left open until he made it to your bedroom. You heard him groan when he saw the white sheets and canopy, Kylo whistled for you.

Obediently, you pranced towards him, taken aback when he was sprawled on your mattress. Facedown with his face in your pillow, groaning like he was trying to wake up from a good dream.

"I fucking forgot how good you smelled," he moaned out, looking over at you lazily, "What would I have to do to get you to make out with me in here?"

------

LOL, this was long, but I'll do a part three if you would enjoy the rest of their reunion.

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