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ellie-e-marcovitz · 3 months

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Nine: New Discoveries

3 September 1890

It, however, was far from restful, his sleep plagued by wild, fractured images making up his dreams, being thrown from one to another much like a baseball. Troll roars melded with shouts, all accented by flaring blue light and screams.

Whose, he couldn’t tell. There had been plenty of screams since arriving in Britain.

He finally woke to an empty dormitory, clothes strewn next to his bed and feeling like he’d run the length of Hogwarts. Pushing himself up, his body ached despite the Wiggenweld.

A glance at his clock, and he scrambled off his bed. Digging through his trunks, he pulled out a clean uniform, and donning the robe Mr. Hill had given him, he grabbed his bag. Nothing like missing his second day of classes.

He made his way down to the common room, trying to figure out if he even wanted to leave the common room. No doubt, his, Eleanor and Natty’s exploits in Hogsmeade had ripped through the gossip circles by now, the tales growing wildly out of control.

It certainly hadn’t been the first time.

“Northrup,” Leander called, breaking him from his thoughts. “Professor Weasley is waiting for you.” He jerked his thumb towards the portrait.

What for? He wondered, giving a nod of thanks as he passed his dorm mate. Clambering through, he spotted Professor Weasley at the end of the hallway.

“Ah, there you are,” she said, as he approached. “How’re you feeling?”

He shrugged, not entirely sure what to say. “All right, I suppose.” Besides the aches, part of him still felt elated that he’d found his actual wand.

“Hmm…” she fixed him with the same inscrutable look as yesterday. “Well, I was hoping to have you start both potions and Herbology today,” she continued, as they started through the castle.

He ignored the flurry of whispers around them, uncomfortably used to them, as they made their way into the Grand Staircase. “Will I still be able to start Ancient Runes tomorrow?” he asked, as they passed a painting full of witches and wizards.

“I believe so,” Professor Weasley answered, somehow knowing exactly which staircase to take, as they moved between students and other staff, all hurrying in various directions. “Along with Muggle Studies. Although,” she paused to let some Hufflepuffs by. “Professor Howin did request that she would like at least one class with you in attendance.”

He blinked momentarily, feeling confused. “Err… Why?”

She beckoned, before continuing. “I believe she is, at least a little, curious if you have any experience with magical creatures. I believe that one of your sisters mentioned a kneazle?”

He flushed a little, before nodding. Of course one of his sisters had to say something… “She’s currently with my parents. Found her roaming the docks of Boston.”

They reached the Great Hall, pausing just outside it. “One more thing…” Professor Weasley pulled out an envelope, adorned with a red seal, darker than the one on the Hogwarts letter, and held it out. “Professor Fig asked me to give this to you as soon as possible.”

He took it, not sure what to expect.

“Have a good lunch.”

He nodded, absently, and Professor Weasley hurried off.

Entering the Great Hall, the murmurs spread around like a hissing wildfire, as he found a spot not far from Eleanor, Seraphina and Natty. He spotted Garreth not far from them, absorbed in a textbook of some sort.

Finding something to eat, he cracked the seal as most everyone filtered out.

Mr. Northrup, it read, in neat handwriting. Please come and see me after class this afternoon. I’ve managed to discover something in the locket we found at Gringotts. Professor Fig.

He stuffed the note into his field guide. It seemed like the safest place for now.

So Professor Fig had found something in the locket, and wanted to show him. He clearly trusted Professor Weasley enough to deliver the note to him, but was also paranoid about the whole situation enough to not mention what it was exactly he’d found.

Exiting the Great Hall, he made his way over to Central Hall, slowly starting to feel more relaxed, besides the hiss of whispers that continued to follow him. It was growing clearer and clearer thar the news of the troll attack had only upped his notoriety among the rest of the student population.

The rest of the students, especially some of the younger ones, huddled in whispering groups, before scattering as he approached. Clearly, if no one connected him with the dragon attack, they would with the troll in Hogsmeade.

He ended up, first at the top of the Astronomy tower and taking in the grounds, then in Professor Fig’s classroom, as he lectured to half a dozen students, mostly Ravenclaws. The professor paused, briefly, as he walked in and took a seat closer to the back, before continuing with the lecture at hand.

A bit of it caught his ear. “…Rackham was noted in the field of magical theory, in that he, along with several of the professors at Hogwarts at the time, helped ground the likes of…”

Rackham? He wondered, mind starting to piece together the happenings of the vault. Ranrok did say Rackham’s vault…. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t hear the chimes ending class, and didn’t realise it was over until Professor Fig was standing in front of him.

“Oh,” he startled, jerking out of his daze and standing. “Professor. It’s good to see you.”

“And I you,” Professor Fig agreed, before gesturing towards the front of the classroom. “Let’s talk in my office.”

He nodded, before carefully picking his way through the classroom, as he followed the professor up. Entering, he noticed that the office was as cluttered as the classroom below, further making him think Fig could’ve easily been a Ravenclaw.

“Thank Merlin you’re all right and in one piece,” Professor Fig started, as he started to uncover a map on his desk. “I heard about the attack. Trolls? In Hogsmeade?”

Something about it made his brain start to itch.

Swallowing, he nodded. “The trolls were wearing armour. They had the same dark, reddish glow to them, just like the dragon’s collar and the guard’s armband did.”

Professor Fig contemplated his words, before there was a knock at Fig’s door.

“Professor Fig?” came Eleanor’s voice. “You wanted to see me?”

“Come in, Miss Parkmoore,” Professor Fig called, and Eleanor entered. Her expression sat between unsure and confused.

“Cyrus,” she greeted, her voice cautious.

“Eleanor,” he returned, also feeling confused. “What-?”

“Goblin silver!” Professor Fig exclaimed, interrupting his thoughts. “Ranrok must be using it! To control the dragon, and possibly some of his followers.”

He and Eleanor shared a look. Eleanor seemed sceptical.

“I’ve never seen goblin silver glow the reddish hue the troll’s armour did, professor,” she noted. He gaped a little. Professor Fig didn’t seem quite as shocked.

“Then he must have imbued it,” he mused. “But why would he send trolls…”

“Because of me,” he interrupted, swallowing down his anxiety. “We… might’ve… overheard Ranrok talking with Victor Rookwood about it.”

Professor Fig’s eyebrows leaped. “Ranrok was in Hogsmeade?!” he exclaimed, clearly shocked. “With Victor Rookwood?!”

They both nodded, Eleanor scowling at the mention.

“Apparently, the trolls were Ranrok’s distraction,” she noted, her voice controlled. “So that Rookwood could get to Cyrus. Or me. He didn’t exactly specify.”

“Probably me,” he agreed. “And he possibly would have otherwise, had Sirona and the patrons at the Three Broomsticks not intervened.”

“Natty and I included,” Eleanor chipped in. “I do wish I’d been able to take a crack at him,” she mused, as a seeming afterthought.

“Be that as it may,” Professor Fig continued, returning to the conversation at hand. “This is certainly grave news indeed. If both Ranrok’s goblins and noted dark wizards are after you, then they clearly want what we found in that vault.”

“Sir, speaking of the vault… do you think that Ranrok is working with any of the other goblins at Gringotts?

Professor Fig shook his head. “I do not. Not anymore. While Gringotts goblins aren’t typically the friendliest of beings, they do have a great deal of integrity.” A stern look and another shake of his head. “No. Not after what happened to that poor banker, I daresay, that the goblins at Gringotts are no followers of Ranrok.”

He contemplated the professor’s words. “Then, Ranrok and Rookwood, they’re after the locket, aren’t they?” Pieces were slowly coming together in his head, and Eleanor was interested in what she was hearing.

“Quite possibly.” Professor Fig agreed.

“You also said that you wanted to show me – us,” he corrected quickly, gesturing to Eleanor, who now seemed intent on the map. “Something?”

Professor Fig pointed at the map. “Yes, yes. I discovered an inscription on the locket, which when I read it aloud, made this map in front of me appear… Quite the clever enchantment.”

Both he and Eleanor rounded either side of the desk. It looked to be a map of Hogwarts…

“It’s a map of Hogwarts,” Eleanor admired, tracing the various passageways, until her finger rested on the library.

“It is,” Professor Fig agreed. “But I’m not sure where exactly it leads…”

He leaned in for a better look, little bits of magic floating around the library. “It leads to the library,” he noted, finger paused not far from Eleanor’s, before moving to a part of the library he didn’t recognise. “It looks like it’s coming from here…”

“The Restricted Section, to be precise…” Eleanor muttered, recognition dawning. “And a bit beyond, yes?”

He nodded. “I can definitely see traces of magic there.” His finger followed after Eleanor’s, tracing the magic’s path.

“I suspected you’d be able to see something,” Professor Fig commented, a grin audible, as they stood up.

Excitement seemed to race through him. “Shall we go?” Professor Fig’s grin faded some, and a stern expression took over.

“While I do appreciate your enthusiasm,” he started. “And I’m just as eager to discover what we may find there… but,” the professor hesitated, facing them. “If our experience at Gringotts, along with what happened to Miriam, has taught me anything, it’s that the path we’re now on is terribly dangerous.”

A stern look to them both, and some of his enthusiasm cooled. “I would like you in particular, Mr. Northrup, to work with Professor Hecat a bit on your defensive magic, before we go ahead and continue.”

“And me, Professor?” Eleanor asked.

“You as well, Miss Parkmoore, and try and brew some more Wiggenweld Potion.” Professor Fig noted, and Eleanor nodded.

“But sir,” he exclaimed, still partly wanting to go. “How dangerous could the library be? Perhaps we’re only after a book?”

A flash of annoyance crossed Professor Fig’s face, and he gulped a little. “Perhaps we are,” Professor Fig agreed, voice stern. “But we should be prepared for anything.”

He nodded, recognising the momentary defeat. No need to isolate his closest ally.

“Once you’ve both honed you defensive magic further, come and see me, and we’ll talk.”

They both nodded, Eleanor picking up her book bag.

“You’re free to go, and I’ll let Professor Hecat know to expect you.”

He nodded, head spinning with the new information. “Thank you, again, professor.”

They exited out into Professor Fig’s classroom, before making their way out to the corridor beyond.

“Heard you’re defending Hogsmeade from trolls,” came a reedy voice he partially recognised. Eleanor stiffened next to him, as a tall-ish Slytherin walked by, wand out and tip softly glowing. “You know there is such a thing as trying too hard…”

It wasn’t until they reached the main area of the Defence tower that she muttered, “That was Ominis Gaunt. I believe you have Charms with him and Sebastian.”

He nodded, now recognising the Slytherin.

She continued, “My father was one of the aurors on duty that dealt with his family several years ago. I’d still watch your back around him and Sebastian.”

Pursing her lips, she made a decision. “You might as well come to Defence with me,” she said, contemplative. “I don’t think Hecat would mind, and it saves her the trouble of repeating herself.”

He really wanted to explore the library some more. But it also made sense... considering... “Might as well, if you don’t Professor Hecat will mind...”

“She won’t,” Eleanor agreed. “We should get moving, however.”

Entering the classroom, all Professor Hecat did was give him an odd look, before starting class. He opted for a desk towards the back of the classroom, two behind Eleanor.

He managed to take down some notes in his field guide, before watching the class practice against the dummy. Hecat managed to have one duel before class ended – Eleanor against a Hufflepuff with blonde hair.

Almost unsurprisingly, Eleanor won, handily. The Hufflepuff seemed annoyed by the fact, but politely shook her hand after.

Hecat managed to collect the summer essays from Eleanor’s class, while they waited for the rest of the class to leave.

“Ah, Miss Parkmoore, Mr. Northrup,” Hecat greeted them, rolls held under her arm. “I believe we have some matters to discuss...” They nodded.

“Now, I received a message from Professor Fig,” Hecat started, folding her hands. “He indicated something about bringing defensive skills up to snuff.” She gave both of them a scrutinising look. “And completing your Defensive magic assignments sooner.”

He squirmed a little at her look, not helped by the various objects with eyes.

“Now, Miss Parkmoore, you will learn the Full Body Bind, an excellent curse for halting one’s attackers in their tracks. You, of course, are welcome to teach Mr. Northrup afterwards.” Eleanor nodded, as Hecat turned to face him.

“For you, Mr. Northrup,” Hecat continued. “I would like to teach you Incendio. Useful for burning away spider webs, among other things.” There was something of a mischievous twinkle.

“But first, I have a few tasks I’d like for you each to complete.”

They nodded, understanding.

“Miss Parkmoore, I want you to practice your Incendio with me, along with the Disarming charm and a few others, tomorrow afternoon. No need to scare young master Brattleby too much.” A grin was shared between them, before Hecat turned to him again.

“Now, it may come as a surprise to you, Mr. Northrup, considering how much they wish to be secret. It’s astonishing how much some students think their professors don’t know.” The twinkle became stronger. “I want you to work with Mr. Brattleby next time Crossed Wands meets. When you’re finished, come and see me. We’ll begin work on Incendio then.”

He gaped a little. Of course she knew about Crossed Wands. “You know about Crossed Wands?”

Hecat smirked. “Of course I do. How else would Headmaster Black not know about it?”

He and Eleanor shared a grin. It did make sense… “Now, off. Once you’re finished, Mr. Northrup, you know where to find me,” Hecat dismissed them, before making her way up to her office.

Exiting, Eleanor turned to him. “Where you going now?”

He shrugged. “Might head to the library. See if I can figure out where the Ancient Runes class might be.”

Eleanor shuddered a little. “Have fun with that,” she sighed. “I think I’ll work on the essay for Muggle Studies, or History of Magic. Back in the common room.”

“I’ll see you there.”

She hurried off, robes rippling behind her. He made his way down as well, still feeling surprised, though not surprised as well, that Hecat knew of Crossed Wands.

“Seems Crossed Wands isn’t as secret as it’s believed to be…” he muttered to himself. He wasn’t going to tell that to Sebastian, however. Let the Slytherin have his illusion of secrecy.

Reaching the Transfiguration courtyard, Franklin dropped a tightly wound scroll into his hand. He didn’t recognise the handwriting, but pulled it open.

Cyrus! it read, the handwriting frantic. I was hoping you might be able to help me, considering the librarian doesn’t know you all that well yet. Meet me by the library. Cressida.

Re-rolling the scroll, he stuck it in his bag. He was heading to the library already… and Cressida seemed nice enough. Might as well help.

Entering Central Hall, he spotted Cressida near the library, looking upset. “I really have made a mess of things…” she bemoaned as he approached.

“Hello Cressida. Is everything all right?”

She shook her head, curls bouncing wildly. “No, everything is not all right, thank you for asking.” She lowered her voice. “I may be in a spot of trouble with the school librarian. You might remember how I was trying to cast non-verbally in the common room?”

He nodded, remembering large hat she’d been practicing on. “I do.”

“Well, I mastered that, thanks to Professor Ronen and his essay for Charms. So I’ve taken to creating my own charms.”

He felt like he could see where this was heading.

“Thought I’d perfected my ‘light as a feather’ charm, to use on my library books. My arms get so tired carrying them around all day…” she shrugged. “But, I must have mixed up the Latin word for ‘feather’ with the word for ‘bird’ in my incantation…”

He winced in sympathy. What little charm creating he’d attempted never went to plan to start.

“Because when I opened my bag, not too long ago, in the library, they literally took flight.” She frowned, clearly annoyed.

“In a way, that sounds brilliant, though,” he gave her a knowing look. “I take it that the librarian isn’t happy with that?”

Cressida shook her head. “Not at all. I’d collect the books myself and remove the charm, except, well, this isn’t the first time one of my charms has threatened the peace of the library. Amit Thakkar told Madam Scribner they were my books flying around. So Madam Scribner said that if I caused her any more trouble, she’d write my parents.” She scowled in frustration, before she had an idea.

“Perhaps you could get them for me?” she pondered. “There are only five books, and Madam Scribner wouldn’t be suspicious of a new student looking around…”

“Considering I’ve spent some time in there, I doubt it,” he agreed. “Though, why did Amit…?” he gave Cressida a questioning look, and she nodded. “Why did he tell Madam Scribner they were your books?”

Cressida sighed. “To be perfectly honest… I don’t think he meant any harm in doing so. I think he was rather impressed, actually. Bragging on my behalf, so to speak.” She shrugged, a slight smile on her face. “Amit may spend a lot of time gazing at the stars, but he knows a good charm when he sees one.”

He laughed a little to himself. “I think I’m up to doing it.”

“Oh would you?!” she exclaimed. “I’d very much appreciate it, considering that one of the books is my diary.” She flushed a little, dropping her voice in embarrassment. “I’d rather it not fall into the wrong hands.”

“Of course, Cressida.”

“If you can collect them, and bring them back to me, I can remove the charm.” She bobbed anxiously. “I’d hate to find out what Scribner would do if she got them down… Here,” she pulled a piece of parchment out, before scribbling a short list of titles and holding it out. “The books I sent flying.”

Sounds easy enough… he thought, taking it. “I’ll be back with them shortly,” he told Cressida, who nodded and returned to the chair she’d previously occupied.

Entering the library, he spotted one flapping around the large globe. I’m going to have to use Accio to grab them… he noted, extracting his wand and hoping the librarian wasn’t going to throw him out as well for using magic. “Accio…” he whispered, pointing at the book.

It tumbled towards him and he deftly caught it, quickly stuffing it into his own bag. Got it. One down, four to go.

Moving further, he spotted another coming out of the Restricted Section. “Accio.” Catching it, it wiggled, clearly not wanting to be caught. A flash of handwriting caught his attention, along with the cover.

This must be Cressida’s diary… he noted, taking a brief glance at the page, before stuffing it in his bag. The most he made out was something about Garreth being a menace in potions and slowly getting used to Scottish cuisine. I’d want this back too, if I were her…

Before he continued, another student bumped into him, dropping a note. Unfolding it, he noted it was from Lucan. Good news! We have a new training dummy, it read, and he suspected Hecat was behind that. On which you can practice spell combinations – and you’re up for round two of Crossed Wands. When ready, come and find me. – Lucan B.

He folded the note up, sticking it in his pocket. Three more books.

Looking around, he almost missed the one fluttering near the upper level, hidden a little by the glow of the setting sun. “Accio…!” Two more…

Not seeing any more at ground level, he headed for one of the spiral staircases. The others must be upstairs as well. Spotting now familiar bust, he detoured, lighting the floo flame at the back.

Pausing, he glanced around, just in case there was another over this way. There wasn’t. Climbing the stairs, he also took in the Latin that denoted the subjects kept, but didn’t note anything that might be ancient runes.

Reaching the top, he looked around. Grabbing the nearby field guide page, the sound of flapping pages caught his ear.

Either a field guide page, or one of Cressida’s books – or both. Following the sound, he hurried over, finding both a page and one of the books.

And the librarian, annoyance clear on her face. He slowed to a stop as she turned to face him. “Madam… Scribner?” he stammered, surprised.

The librarian gave a short nod, eyeing the wand he still held. “Yes.”

He quickly made to stuff it in his robe pocket, but not before she asked, “I hope you’re not practicing any new spells in here as well.”

He shook his head, before (rather cheekily) accio’ing the field guide page. “Only old ones.” Another Accio, and he grabbed Cressida’s book as well, as a look of outrage appeared on the librarian’s face.

He bolted for the stairs as he stuffed the book into his bag. One more to go… A glimmer of movement caught his eye, and he started down the nearest staircase. A few steps down, and he spotted her last book. “Accio.”

It soared up, and he stuck it in his bag, and bolted down the staircase. No need to linger much longer. Back to Cressida…

Exiting the library, he made a beeline for where Cressida still sat. She perked up as he approached. “Oh, Cyrus, hello.”

“Hello Cressida,” he greeted. “I managed to find and collect your books, including your diary.”

She seemed to perk up further. “Oh, what a relief!” Some of the tension seemed to vanish from her. “Thank you. I’ll happily take the heavy lot off your hands now.”

He nodded, carefully extracting the books from his bag. No need for them to be loose in Central Hall. Quickly handing over her diary, he further extracted the other four books, as they tried to become airborne again. “Here we go…” He handed them over.

Cressida gave a happier sigh, as she clutched at the stack. “Oh, well, lesson learned. I certainly won’t be practicing my charms in the library any time soon.” She promptly shoved them into her bag, as a contemplative look emerged. “Now, where did I go wrong? I have to work it out…”

She toyed with the small book that was her diary. “Perhaps I should start by brushing up on my Latin.”

He shrugged. “Good a place as any.”

“Thank you again, Cyrus,” she said, finally stuffing her diary into her bag.

“You’re welcome Cressida,” he returned. “I hope you’re successful in figuring out your spell.” He headed off, back to the main level of Central Hall.

“Glad some people are trustworthy,” he heard Cressida mutter. “Certainly wouldn’t want anyone else reading it…”

He headed back down, briefly waving to Lenora, who waved back from where she sat at the fountain.

“I heard Lucan Brattleby is looking for you, Cyrus,” she mentioned, and he nodded.

“Thanks Lenora.”

Cressida joined Lenora at the fountain as he moved off.

He ended up wandering down to the boathouse, briefly greeting Garreth as they crossed paths. It was serene, being down on the water, the slowly setting sun reflecting off it.

His stomach grumbled a little, reminding him he needed to eat. Not that he felt like eating, but it would probably be for best.

Entering the Entrance Hall, he was besieged by his siblings. Both Kendal and Gwyneth nearly broke his ribs with their nearly suffocating hugs, and even Hayden insisted on a brief, but tight, squeeze that told how much he’d been terrified by everything.

They all ended up eating at the end of the Gryffindor table, even if Hayden fled as soon as he was finished. He sighed, part of him annoyed by the rivalry between his house and Hayden’s. He was still his brother, even if they were in different houses.

Eleanor dropped next to him after his sisters left.

“What’s this I hear about you creating chaos in the library?” she asked, just as he was sipping his pumpkin juice. He choked a little, the liquid trying to go down the wrong pipe.

“Excuse me?!” he eventually got out. The most he’d done was accidentally sass off to the librarian, before fleeing to avoid detention.

“Apparently, it’s gotten around that you did something in the library this afternoon…”

“All I did,” he interrupted, “was help Cressida retrieve her books, and maybe sass off to the librarian. On accident.”

An eyebrow arched in response. “Really?” He rolled his eyes at her disbelieving look.

“Really. Anything else is a misconstrued addition.” He was all too aware of how quickly a story could be warped beyond recognition.

Her expression turned contemplative. “Good to know,” she casually muttered. Their chatter turned to classes, and he peppered her with questions about years past.

It was later, back in the common room, that he noticed some of the younger years filtering out of the common room as they worked on their essay for Charms. Eleanor noted his confusion.

“Professor Shah likes to begin with the first years, before the other years, though I suspect we’ll end up with a refresher of her introductory lecture.”

“Because of me?”

She shrugged, her hair bouncing a little. “Possibly. And because it’s been a few years for the rest of us.”

The rest of the night passed without note, aside from a rather bizarre dream, involving Eleanor and a dark forest.

The sound of Leander’s alarm clock ringing, followed by the increasingly common sound of pillow thwacks, told him it was time to get up.

Morning routine finished, he and Garreth headed down to the Great Hall, where there seemed to be fewer whispers.

Charms went smoothly, and he even managed to answer a few questions, and just edged out Natty in their rematch of Summoner’s Court. And without dropping any of his balls.

He spent part of the time between Charms and lunch quietly roaming the castle, finding various field guide pages.

Until Lucan’s note fell out of his field guide, and he caught a glimpse of one of Hecat’s assignments he’d scribbled down. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to at least use the training dummy. Then he’d be able to tell Professor Hecat he was coming along in his assignment.

He decided to head outside and over to the stone circle he’d seen Tuesday.

Entering the clock tower, he noticed plenty of other students milling about, and Lucan chatting with several others. He also noticed Natty was there, along with Sebastian.

The group around Lucan dispersed, and he approached. “Hello Lucan,” he greeted. “Might I use the training dummy?”

“Ah, Cyrus, you got my message!” Lucan cheered. “Of course! Let me go fetch it, and I’ll give you a list of combinations to practice.” He procured a piece of parchment, decorated with various symbols, which he took.

He nodded, before Lucan disappeared behind him. Stretching a little, he took in the duel happening in front of him. None of the students looked familiar, though the last name of Dagworth sounded vaguely familiar.

Lucan emerged as the duel finished. “Here we are,” he cheered, pushing the large dummy beside him. “Just remember to cast all your spells before the dummy lands.”

He nodded, piecing together what Lucan was saying.

“And, if you need to stop before you’ve finished all of them, let me know.”

“Thank you, Lucan.”

Lucan glanced around. “There seems to be a lull right now, and I should sort out the next few rounds of duelling…”

Lucan hurried off, and he carefully manoeuvred the training dummy down. No need to hit anyone else with a stray spell…

It was harder than it looked, even with his duelling experience.

The first couple had been easy enough: Accio followed by a chain of basic casts, and the same following Levioso. He noticed, dimly, that basic casts occurred in sets of four, each one stronger than the previous.

Which complicated the third set, which daisy-chained the two together, requiring only three after the initial Accio. Somehow, he managed to pace himself.

“Well done,” Lucan greeted him, as he brought the dummy back over. “I’d say that was enough practice for now. You looked good out there.”

He flushed a little, feeling awkward. “Thank you, Lucan.”

“I say it’s better to discover your weaknesses during practice than during a duel!” Lucan grinned. “You’ll be a fearsome challenger now!”

“Thank you again Lucan.”

“Are you planning on duelling as well?” There was a sense of anxiousness coming from Lucan, as they surveyed the duel underway.

“Certainly thinking about it.” It would be good to finish off the assignment now, rather than later.

“Excellent. Ready for another round?”

He nodded. “I am. With Natty, if that’s okay.”

Lucan beamed. “Brilliant. You’re up next!”

He headed over to the far side, where he was joined by Natty, followed shortly by their opponents.

“That is Constance Dagworth, along with Hector Jenkins and Nerida Roberts,” Natty muttered, as Constance gave a mocking bow.

“Ready to get thrashed?” she asked, taking her stance.

“Apologies in advance,” Hector continued, his voice cool.

“And… begin!” came Lucan’s voice. Their opponents raised shields. Constance, a yellow tinged one, and Nerida and Hector, purple tinged ones.

This one was also a blur of spells, and he decided he preferred duelling with Natty instead of Sebastian. Less chances of flying flagstone. That was not to say that she didn’t know her way with her wand. Not the slightest.

He could just tell that she was also refraining from using wandless magic, as well as her wand.

Knocking Hector to his feet, Lucan called an end. Claps and murmurs followed him back to where Lucan stood.

“Bravo!” Lucan cheered, as he approached.

“I gave it my all…”

“You did indeed.” There was excitement from Lucan. “The other duellists have already taken notice of you, but after that last round, they’ll really have it in for you.”

He gulped. Not a fun thought.

“You’d better keep practicing,” Lucan noted sagely. “If you want a chance at winning, or even surviving, the next round.”

Thank you for that deeply unsettling thought, Lucan… he thought sarcastically, though only nodded.

“I’ll let you know when the final round is, then,” Lucan finished. “I hope to see you there.”

“Thank you again, Lucan,” he said. “You as well.”

Grabbing his school bag, he left the Clocktower, as bells sounded for lunch. Assignment’s all finished, he mused, as he crossed back into Gryffindor tower.

Natty joined him at lunch, noting that her potion’s class had been dismissed early, as someone’s potion had broken all over the floor of the classroom barely two minutes into class.

Professor Sharp had been furious, she noted. Enough that she’d chosen to avoid Central Hall for the rest of the morning.

Eleanor joined them shortly after, and even Garreth and Leander took spots nearby. Sebastian gave a short nod as he passed.

Lunch finished, he headed towards Hecat’s classroom. Defence passed smoothly, turning in his essay along with everyone else.

Class finished, Professor Hecat waved him up, as the rest of the class filtered out. “I trust Mr. Brattleby was able to accommodate you, and that you found success in your…” she glanced around. “Endeavours?”

He nodded. “I finished the assignment, Professor. Lucan was understanding.”

“Glad to hear of it,” she replied. “Then you should be ready to learn Incendio.”

“Should be, Professor?”

Hecat’s expression turned serious. “Yes. I’m sorry to say, I’ve visited more than enough careless colleagues from the Ministry at St. Mungo’s to tell you that fire is a fickle servant.”

He winced in understanding.

“Your spell-casting has impressed me thus far,” she continued. “Even moreso with your new wand. But I want you to maintain your focus, please. I would rather we not end today’s lesson with your robes on fire.”

There was a slight grin on her face that had him cracking one as well, and he nodded, understanding.

“Now, wand up. Let us begin.”

He pulled his wand out, appreciating the warmth of the wood beneath his fingers, as Hecat pulled hers.

“I want you to focus on my wand movement…” she continued. He carefully watched as she drew out a vaguely flame-shaped triangle. His hand shook a little as he followed, a little nervous.

Hecat fixed him with a stern look. “Concentrate, Mr. Northrup, and keep your wand steady.”

He nodded, taking a few breaths. Feeling calmer, he focused. Tracing the wand movement, Hecat grinned.

“Good work, Mr. Northrup,” she said. “Feel free to practice in the classroom before you go.” She gestured towards the back of the classroom. “I’ve set up a few targets for you, if you so wish.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

He headed to the back of the classroom, before lining up to the dummy situated between two black metal braziers. He also noticed some scorch marks on the floor around them.

“Incendio!” he shouted, pointing at the dummy. There was a small boom, as fire erupted from his wand, and sending him stumbling back a step or two. He could feel the heat of it singe off some of the hair from his hand, as it impacted.

At least one of the braziers was now alight, and the dummy partly on fire. It dissipated some after a moment from the dummy, with the brazier staying lit.

“Well done, Mr. Northrup,” Professor Hecat congratulated. “I think you’re getting it. Keep at it, and do try to not incinerate yourself.”

He laughed a little to himself, before blasting the dummy again. His eyes watered at little at the heat of it as the dummy rolled towards him, and as Hecat coolly watched.

“Setting things ablaze is certainly cathartic, isn’t it?” she mused, as he stared at the blazing dummy. He nodded.

There was something cathartic about occasionally setting something on fire, though part of him hoped that it wouldn’t become too commonplace.

Shaking himself, he headed back over to Hecat. “Thank you, again, professor. This should help me.”

“I’m pleased to hear it,” Hecat smiled. “I shall inform Professor Fig that you’re ready for what’s next.”

He nodded, before exiting the classroom, and nearly running into Eleanor.

“Oh, hello.”

“Cyrus,” she greeted in return. “I’m surprised you’re here.”

He shrugged. “Happened to finish my assignment earlier than expected. I could say the same for you.”

She huffed out an irritated sigh. “Apparently, the potions classroom is still unusable, and Professor Sharp is reluctant to clean out another classroom, it seems, so early in the year.”

Ah. “Good to know… I think.”

“Speaking of classes…” she mused, as he moved towards the stairs. “Shouldn’t you be in Ancient Runes?”

He swore mentally. He had completely forgotten about both Ancient Runes and Muggle Studies. “Thank you!” he shouted, as he sprinted down the nearby stairs.

Somehow, he managed to not be late, sliding into the seat beside Natty, as the professor read, “Northrup, Cyrus.” He raised his hand.

“Here.”

The class passed without too much drama; even as Professor Willard seemed unimpressed by his translation of the text they were working on, and seemed to sneer whenever he answered a question correctly.

Natty eyed him carefully, as class ended. No doubt, it seemed he had a storm cloud above him.

It stayed with him through dinner, as he moodily picked at his food, barely listening to what chatter was swirling around him. Something about the text they were translating also nagged at him. Like, for whatever reason, it could be important.

But how?

Returning to Gryffindor tower, he tried to focus on any of the given essays, but gave up as exhaustion caught up with him.

Thursday passed quietly into Friday, the nightmares minimised by the exhaustion. Even if he found himself rising just before Leander’s alarm sounded.

Taking advantage of the empty washroom, he quickly finished his morning routine, before slipping out of the dorm. There were a couple other Gryffindors in the common room, though still asleep.

He received a few letters during breakfast, with one of them a chiding from his mother about forgetting to write that he’d made it safely to school and which house he’d been sorted into.

Apparently Kendal had done it for him, owling them a letter, complaining that he’d been late to the Sorting Ceremony and had subsequently been placed in Gryffindor.

The other letters had been from his father and younger siblings, all eager to hear stories of his short time there.

After breakfast, he spent the morning talking with the Muggle Studies teacher, a Professor Hatten, who seemed to fawn over a recently acquired cannon between puffs of smoke. Not that he seemed to know what it was called.

Or that modern battles weren’t fought with ones like this.

Otherwise, Hatten seemed like the most easy going of the professors, despite the fact that he only had eleven students for the class. It took quite a bit of effort for him not to laugh. Eleanor seemed to be constantly shaking her head.

It wasn’t until after lunch that Professor Fig summoned him and Eleanor to his office.

“Ah, there you are,” he greeted as they entered.

“Hello professor,” Eleanor greeted, taking a seat in the armchair she occupied last time.

“Professor,’ he greeted, taking the seat next to Eleanor, and hoping something was going to happen.

“I’m pleased to hear both of you working on your defensive magic with Professor Hecat,” Fig started. “And she tells me you’ve taken rather well to your new wand.”

He gave a short laugh. “I should hope so, professor,” he grinned. “Considering it’s my old wand.”

Fig blinked, stunned at his words before giving a short laugh as well. “How?!” He glanced at Eleanor, who seemed confused.

Grinning, and a little flushed, he recounted what had happened at Ollivander’s.

“Hm,” Professor Fig acknowledged, before returning to the conversation. “Well, in any case, you must continue to work with her, along with your other professors, to improve your skills, both of you.”

They nodded.

“Now,” he continued, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “I don’t wish to postpone our visit to the library any long-”

The door to Fig office banged open, and he was promptly interrupted by the appearance of Headmaster Black. He froze, halfway standing.

“Fig! I have work for you,” the headmaster ordered, stepping inside the office space. “Come.” He turned to leave, as Professor Fig protested, gesturing to them.

“Headmaster, I am with students! And my schedule -!”

He sunk back at the icy indifference on the headmaster’s face. Even Eleanor seemed to be trying to make herself smaller.

“Both of your students can wait,” Black snapped irritably. “As can your schedule. Indefinitely.” The headmaster scowled, before twisting the knife. “I would think, after all the trouble you caused me with Osric,” The derision was clear in the headmaster’s tone. “That you would be eager to make amends.”

He punctuated his statement with a disappointed look to Professor Fig. “My office. Five minutes.” he barked, before turning heel and leaving.

They waited a moment, before carefully getting to their feet. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears. “…Professor?” There was an uncomfortable sinking feeling somewhere near his stomach.

“That man is exasperating,” Professor Fig fumed. “Unfortunately, I believe our trip to the library will have to wait a bit longer.”

He groaned. “But, Professor…”

Fig shook his head. “No. Not a chance.” A pause. “It would be unwise to provoke our illustrious headmaster at the moment.”

He sighed, reluctant to put it off further.

“I shall find you, whenever I finish whatever toils the headmaster has decided I must endure...” Fig grumbled. “For now, I want you both to focus on what schoolwork you currently have.”

They nodded, him more reluctantly than Eleanor. “Yes, professor.”

“Now, I believe you both have a study period, yes?” More nods. “I hope to see you soon, then.”

On that, they were dismissed, and Fig hurried out, pulling his robes around him.

Picking up their bags, they followed him out.

chapter 10

#A Fifth Year's Guide to Hogwarts Chaos #chapter 9 #fic #cyrus northrup #Hogwarts Legacy

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snackhobi · 4 years

Text

pairing: jimin x reader / word count: 9.1k / genre: smut (NSFW, 18+)

summary: you wouldn’t mind your cute neighbour being such a shameless fuckboy if a) the walls weren’t so thin and b) he didn’t seem intent on adding you as another notch in his bedpost.

but there’s only so much you can resist park jimin, especially once he gets that peach involved.

warnings: sexually explicit content, Jimin being completely shameless/a lowkey ho, messy peach eating, mentions of masturbation, oral sex (m + f receiving), overstimulation, protected sex, multiple orgasms (f), dirty talk and some cursing, hmm I think that’s it?

a/n: I was so close to calling this ‘jimin and the f*cking peach’ as some terrible homage to ‘james and the giant peach’ 😂🤧 as always I would like to thank @hobi-gif for beta reading this, putting up with me having a meltdown at her, and encouraging me to write smut at work rather than doing my job, ty queen xoxo

It’s official. Park Jimin is the neighbour from hell.

He’d tricked you, to start with. With those cherubic features, those doe eyes, and his cute little smile? He looks like an angel. A sweet, innocent angel, one who’d knocked shyly on your door and presented you with a small selection of chocolates when he’d moved into the apartment next to yours. Your heart had gone boom boom at the sight of that cute smile, the slip of teeth, the way his lovely face had scrunched up.

Nowadays, whenever you see that face, you want to punch it.

Well. Not punch it. Maybe slap it a little. Because Park Jimin is a fiend.

Your studio apartment is cheap for many reasons. The plumbing is creaky and the heating isn’t exactly great but those are small sacrifices for such low rent—ones you’re willing to make. Creaking doesn’t bother you and throw blankets exist for a reason, right? You get a balcony and a parking spot, which is more than you can say for a lot of other places in this price range, so you’ll take the negatives for these positives.

But you’d give up all the things you love about this cheap flat for some sound proofing.

Because Park Jimin fucks.

A lot.

He’d been nothing but lovely for the first few weeks. You’d barely been aware of his existence, minus when you could hear him in the bathroom—your flats are mirrored, rooms sharing walls, so you’d been washing your face when you’d heard his shower start up and then the sound of his dulcet tones drifting through the wall. That had actually been really nice; Jimin can hit some high notes, and it had been a pleasant backdrop as you’d cleansed your face. It had been another bullet point you’d added to the list of things you thought were cute about him (along with his face, his laugh, his smile), and you’d stupidly started to develop a tiny little crush on this boy-next-door, thinking him some soft, kind thing.

But then he’d started to have people over.

You’ve lost count of how many days you’ve had to listen to the moans and gasps that echo through your walls. You can’t escape from it. As a freelance programmer, you’re pretty much always working from home, so it’s not like you can get away from the sounds of pleasure that shudder through Jimin’s flat and into your own.

It’s never consistent, either. There’s not a single hour of the day that’s off limits to Park Jimin. Morning, afternoon, night; the boy is always ready to go, apparently. And judging from the sounds through the walls? He never leaves anyone unsatisfied either.

Which, like, fine. People fuck. You get it. You’re not judging. You just wish it wasn’t so loud. You have to sleep, for God’s sake. But it’s not like you can knock on a new neighbour’s door and be like hey, I appreciate you have an incredibly active sex life, but can you keep it down, please?

So you’d bit your tongue. You’d gritted your teeth to bear it. You’d still smile at Jimin if you ever passed in the hallway, acknowledged him with a small nod, exchanged pleasantries, all the neighbourly stuff that you’d do with anyone. You’d just invested in some good earplugs and thought that was it.

And then Jimin had started doing his morning yoga routine outside.

You start each day with a cup of tea on your balcony, watering your hydrangeas and enjoying the dawn sun that lifts up over the horizon alongside your plants. It’s a small, singular moment of quiet in an otherwise dull day and you treasure that serenity.

Well. Treasured. Past tense. Because Jimin has invaded this part of your life, too.

The first time Jimin had unrolled his yoga mat on the balcony adjacent to yours, he’d been dressed in a deceptively unassuming outfit—a loose white t-shirt and leggings that hugged every inch of his calves and thighs and shapely ass, which you had pointedly Not Looked At. He’d tilted his head at you with a smug little smile flickering at the edge of his lips, and when he’d greeted you good morning, you’d responded in turn, even if you were still annoyed at how he’d interrupted your afternoon nap the day before with the sound of his headboard smacking into the wall repeatedly. You were still fairly new neighbours and you still felt like you had to be polite, even if he was starting to fray your nerves.

And then he’d started to bend.

Now, you’ll be the first to admit that you don’t know much about yoga. But you’d swear Jimin was choosing poses that did the utmost to display his flexibility, the flex of his muscles and twist of his limbs, balancing his body on his arms before easing into a pose that had him bent in two, head towards his toes—and with how he had his back to you this meant you got full glimpse of his ass, straining against his leggings, the way his loose shirt slipped up his body to reveal the lines of his stomach and chest, how his face was still twisted into that little smirk even if it was upside down.

Staring at you.

You’d promptly stopped watering your hydrangeas and walked inside your flat, shutting the sliding door behind you.

Jimin is relentless.

He’s pretty and he knows it. All that shy, new-kid-on-the-block innocence he’d had initially is completely gone, and all he does is flirt, flirt, flirt. He winks at you. Stands a little too close whenever you talk. Lets his eyes flicker down to your lips, trail over every inch of you, lashes fluttering when he catches you watching, unashamed and unabashed. He frequently just… hangs around on his balcony. Not topless, no, but he may as well be, his thotty muscle tees doing nothing to hide him from your eyes.

(The worst thing, though, is when you catch him unawares. When he’s tired and clearly not expecting you to be awake, too, his eyes sleepy and his hair ruffled; a little vulnerable, a lot softer than he usually presents himself. Curled up on the small seat on his balcony with a hot drink in his hand, phone in the other, his screen throwing blue-tinted light over the easing lines of his features.

You wish Jimin was like that all the time. But the second he sees you, his eyes flicker, and his brows lift, and his mouth curls, and once again you rue the day you had a fuckboy move in next door to you.)

It’s not that Jimin isn’t hot. It’s not that you wouldn’t fuck him, either. But you have no interest in being some sort of convenient hook-up for him, purely there by circumstance, fate, whatever you want to call it. You dread to think of him sending you haha wyd x texts whenever he feels like having sex and you just happen to be nearby. So you weather all of his obvious come-ons and swerve him something chronic, even if he seems intent on making his attraction to you obvious.

You’ve been managing it for months. But as time goes on, your patience wears thinner and thinner, an atom-thick layer of fortitude the only thing keeping you from grabbing Park Jimin and kissing him and/or killing him. It doesn’t help that you haven’t fucked for a while now, and you’re reminded of this every time you hear another pornstar moan through the wall (the people Jimin brings home seem to like hamming it up for effect), every time you see another mosaic of hickeys laid across the column of Jimin’s gorgeous throat, every time you see the way his yoga outfits do nothing to protect the delicious shape of his body from your eyes.

You dig your fingers into your palms. It’s fine. It’s okay. You can handle Park Jimin and his overt sexual energy, oozing out of him almost every second of every day.

It’s a little harder to handle how he still seems sweet despite his fuckboy nature. How he picks your parcels up for you. How he lets you use his laundry detergent when you run out. How he lets you keep food in his fridge when yours breaks down and you have to wait for a replacement. How he sheds that fuckboy facade whenever it seems like you genuinely need help, how you’ve heard his soft phone calls through the wall, to his friends, his family, sweet and kind and supportive.

Park Jimin is a multi-dimensional being, for sure, and maybe you sometimes wish he was actually genuinely interested in you as a person and not as a lay, so you could peel back those layers to the lovely core at the centre of his being.

But it’s fine. You can handle this stupid yearning and pining. You can handle the knowledge that Park Jimin is a genuine gentleman who just happens to like fucking, is open in his desire for it, and is apparently Very Good at it. It’s difficult, but you can do it.

You can do it.

The date you set up with someone from Tinder ends up being disappointing and lacklustre. You’d escaped before dessert, unable to put up with one more second of this asshole going on and on about stocks, and investments, and trading, or whatever, cursing the day you’d decided to swipe on him. You’re so sick of your luck (or lack thereof) with guys. (At least the food had been nice.)

Of course Jimin sees you schlepping your way back into your apartment, disappointment obvious in the line of your shoulders and lips; it doesn’t take a genius to clock your date outfit, cute as it is, makeup and hair soft. But the night has barely begun and here you are, stepping back into your flat. Alone.

“Bad date?” Jimin asks, voice gentle, and you just snort.

“Just like the rest of them,” you reply with a small sigh, before shutting your door quietly behind you, missing the look on your neighbour’s face.

Jimin, to his credit, eases off after this. You’re not sure if it’s due to a misplaced sense of pity or something, but even if he still smiles and flirts lightly with you, it’s less… salacious. Still there, still obvious, just a little softer. You hate how this has you feeling grateful towards him, because he’s still got so many fuckboy tendencies that it should outweigh this gentler side of his flirtation, but your traitorous heart still goes gooey every time Jimin smiles at you.

But then.

There’s that fucking peach.

You’re just chilling on your balcony, sipping at a glass of lemonade in the warmth of the afternoon when you hear Jimin’s door sliding open. You flick your eyes over at the sound, watching the way Jimin slips out onto his own balcony, how he throws something up in the air and catches it with ease, a flick of the wrist, a curl of the fingers each time he catches it again.

He hasn’t had any fuckbuddies over for a while. A few weeks, almost a month. It’s the longest Jimin’s gone without having sex for as long as he’s started having people over and you’d been sort of concerned. Which, yeah, you know it sounds super weird when you think about it, especially considering how much you complain about Jimin to your friends—help, my fuckboy neighbour hasn’t fucked anyone in nearly a month so I’m worried if his dick has fallen off or something.

(Well, actually, you know his dick is still attached, based off the little gasps and moans he lets out whenever he pleasures himself in lieu of fucking someone else. You’ll take this secret to the grave but those noises that Jimin lets out have been the melody you use to reach your own peaks, although you’re a lot quieter than he is whenever you touch yourself, biting your lip and muffling the wet sounds of your fingers thrusting into your cunt under layers of blankets. You’d never give Jimin the satisfaction of knowing that the mental image of him fucking into his fist and cumming over his stomach and chest is what throws you over your own edge, toe-curling orgasms that shake through your body in time with Jimin’s own.)

Anyway. He looks loose limbed and relaxed when he saunters into view, utterly unsurprised by your presence behind your window box of hydrangeas, giving you his usual, sultry smile.

He’s started to ramp up his flirtations again. This smirk is one which you’ve learned not to respond to. You just stare levelly back at him, unimpressed as you start to water your flowers, which does nothing to dissuade him. It never does. He clearly revels in the challenge.

Jimin keeps his eyes locked with yours as he lifts his hand to his lips. You catch a glimpse of what he was throwing and catching—a ripe, flush peach, tiny droplets of water shimmering on its fuzz, freshly washed.

And then he starts to eat it.

The peach yields immediately to the press of his teeth. Juice bursts out of its softness, running down his lips, his chin; he makes no moves to wipe it away, the lewd sound of his slurps as he curls his tongue into the fruit, messy and sweet.

It’s shameless. He’s shameless. His gaze is unwavering as he stares at you, his mouth glistening with the peach’s juices, the only sound the wet smack of his lips and tongue as he licks up the honeyed liquid that drips from his skin, curving around the fruit as he swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing.

Water’s been trickling from your small can onto the hydrangeas, cascading over the plants; the soil is waterlogged now, but you haven’t noticed, fixated on the way Jimin is looking at you as he wantonly eats out this peach.

Drip drip, goes the watering can.

Drip drip, goes the peach.

By the time there’s nothing more than the pit in his hand, Jimin is a mess. His fingers and mouth and chin shine with peach juice, eyes dark and heavy as he watches the way you drink the sight of him in, the way his tongue slowly drags over his full lips, catching the sweetness that lingers.

The second he puts his tongue to his fingers to get the stickiness on them, that’s it. You watch the way he sucks his fingers into his mouth and promptly put the watering can down and turn on your heel to walk inside, slamming the balcony door shut behind you.

You’re done. You’re only human. You’ve spent months with Jimin parading himself in front of you, seen the way he contorts his body every morning in an unnecessarily complex sun salutation, listened to the way his voice rises when he cums; the peach is the metaphorical cherry on top, and you’re just. Over. It.

You hammer your palms against your neighbour's door, rap-rap-rapping on the wood, your blood rising and your heart thudding in your chest, every part of you tense, wound up, pent up. The door swings open to reveal Jimin, his chin still slick with sweet peach, lips curling up in a self-satisfied smile when he sees you.

“Park Jimin.” Your voice shakes and you hate yourself for it, hate the way Jimin’s eyes glitter at the sound, the little hitch in your breath. “You are a fucking menace, you know that?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says. He leans against the doorframe, effortlessly gorgeous, hip cocked, head tilted. He lifts his hand, and there’s a heavy moment of tension as you watch him slowly swipe a thumb over the last remnant of juice on his chin, before his tongue lolls out of his mouth and he licks the final taste of peach from his fingers.

When you grab hold of his collar his expression shifts from something coy into something far more self satisfied, months of his brazen come-ons finally culminating in this—you, shoving him backwards into his apartment, kicking the door shut behind you.

“I swear,” you say. “I swear to God—”

“You swear? I can think of better things you could be doing with your mouth,” Jimin says, and then laughs when you scowl at him. “Damn, you’re so hot when you’re mad.”

“You are infuriating,” you bite out, and Jimin just laughs again, his whole body shaking, every part of him still loose and relaxed even as you continue to tighten your grip on his clothing, feeling every motion of his body under your hands. You hate how pretty he is, even now, utterly unafraid of your frustration—the brightness of his eyes and his smile, that undercurrent to it all, the way his hands slide so smoothly around your waist, your hips, sliding down to grope at your ass.

“I know,” he agrees, still giggling, and then he kisses you.

Jimin dives straight in, no holds barred, and you immediately melt into putty under his touch. He lets out a hum of satisfaction into your mouth as your hands go lax and slide down his chest. You can still taste the peach on his lips, his tongue, licking into his mouth.

You’ve thought about this mouth more times than you’d like to admit: the full swell of his lips, the little curve of his cupid’s bow, how it’d feel pressed against your own, and honestly? It’s so much better than you’d let yourself imagine it to be.

He nips at your bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue, and you bite off a gasp when he pulls you forward, grinding against you. You shudder. Jimin’s mouth is a pleased curve against your own before he pulls away, murmuring in your ear in a voice that’s equal parts sultry and sweet.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, kissing the sensitive skin of your jaw just under your earlobe, making you shiver. “Just relax. You’re always so tense.”

“Maybe that’s because my neighbour keeps me up all night,” you say, but your voice is weak, no strength behind your words, breath stolen out of you at the way Jimin starts to trail his lips down your neck, across your throat. “I find that constantly getting my sleep interrupted—oh, oh—”

Jimin sucks at the hollow of your neck, the delicate skin there so sensitive to his touch, the warmth of his lips magnified, every nerve ending alight with pleasure. Your hands have slid into his hair and you unintentionally tighten your grasp, fingers tugging at his dark locks, and Jimin bares his teeth against your skin.

It’s maybe a little embarrassing how wet you are just from a little making out. But after months of Jimin teasing you and putting you on edge, coupled with how long it’s been since you've had sex? You’re allowed to be a little desperate. All the small frustrations you were about to voice die on your tongue, slipping away from you as Jimin starts to walk you backwards with a confidence that shows just how often he’s done this—leading people to his bed, never taking his hands off you.

By the time Jimin eases you to lie down, you feel breathless. He hovers above you with that satisfied smile flickering at the edge of his lips, taking in the sight of you, finally underneath him—lips kiss swollen, exquisite, all the sharp words on your tongue softened and gone, goosebumps trailing down your skin. You tug at his collar, which catches him off guard; he sways forward and almost hits his face against yours, but before he can spend too long looking smug at your desperation you capture his lips again. You melt into the mattress, hooking a foot over his calf and revelling in the weight of him between your legs, your hips flush, and how hard he’s getting through those stupidly tight leggings of his.

When he grinds against you, the outline of his cock pressed up against your cunt, an embarrassing whine leaves your lips and trembles against Jimin’s own. Jimin goes still before pulling away from the open-mouthed kiss and when you see the expression on his face you slap a hand over your mouth, burning with shame.

“Oh.” He sounds delighted. “You’re noisy, huh?”

“Shut up,” you say, though your words are muffled against your palm. He grinds down again, a slow and deep roll of his hips that lets you feel how hard he is, and a noise shudders out the back of your throat, audible around your hand.

“It’s hot.” There’s that little smirk on Jimin’s lovely lips, every inch of him dripping self confidence. He knows how you’re entirely at his mercy, in spite of your words; your voice is weak. “You’re normally so quiet.”

“Some of us try to be considerate and think about our neighbours.”

Jimin just smiles, pulling your hand away from your mouth before gently kissing your palm, a motion that’s surprisingly tender and makes you pause.

“Trust me.” His voice is low. “I do think about my neighbour.”

Your breath hitches when he slides his free hand under your shirt, trailing his fingers over the softness of your stomach. He pulls the fabric up, letting his gaze rove over the bared skin. The way Jimin looks at you makes you feel like you’re the only woman in the world, like he’s never seen anyone prettier.

You wonder if he looks at his other fuckbuddies like this.

The thought slides away from you as Jimin dips his head and starts to kiss your throat again. You tilt your head back as his lips trail across the soft skin, his hands coming to rest under your breasts, contained as they are by your bra; once he coaxes you to sit up, it only takes him a few moments to strip your upper body, kneeling between your spread legs as he starts to trail his hands over the parts of you that are now bared to him.

“Pretty,” he says. You’d roll your eyes if he didn’t sound so reverent, and also if you weren’t distracted by the way he flicks his thumbs over your hardening nipples, your core clenching as he does, biting your lip to stop yourself from making a sound. A frown flits across Jimin’s face and he lifts one of those thumbs away from your breast, dragging your lip away from your teeth, letting his grasp linger so your lips are parted. “Don’t do that. I've been waiting for months to hear you properly.”

Before you can reply, he kisses you again, licking into your mouth and swallowing down the noise you make when he drags his hand between the valley of your breasts, down your stomach and settling between your legs, running his fingers over your cunt, the feeling dulled by layers of fabric even though he presses with intent. Your hips jolt at the sensation, and Jimin repeats the motion, dragging the fabric across your flushed lips.

“Jimin.” Your voice is a gasp against his mouth, and you can’t keep the pleading out of your tone, desperation bleeding into every letter of your words. “Please.”

He just hums, sounding pleased, and a breath of surprise escapes you as he pushes you back against the pillows. He wastes no time in getting to his prize, drawing a scattered constellation of kisses that trail across your chest, your nipples, your stomach, the line of your hip bones as you lift up so he can pull your shorts and underwear off. You’re entirely naked underneath him, bare and wet, cunt flushed and shining, and Jimin groans at the sight.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, fingers digging into your thighs as he pulls your legs wider. Your cheeks burn as Jimin stares at your pussy, but you can’t help but feel a pulse of self-satisfaction at the visible twitch of his cock in his stupid yoga leggings. “You’re so wet.”

You should probably feel embarrassed, but by now you’ve thrown all your previous inhibition to the winds. You’ve ended up somewhere you’d privately sworn you were never going to—in Park Jimin’s bed, leaned up against his pillows, laid out for him to touch and take and have, every inch of you desperate for it. There’s nothing in your brain or body but arousal and need. So instead of letting out a snip of a remark you just cant your hips towards him, another pleading sound slipping from your lips.

He gives you what you want. He dips his head and trails his lips and tongue down, down, down, wet and hot, until they press against your cunt. He looks at you with the same hooded eyes as earlier, motions of his mouth an echo of his peach eating, sloppy and messy; he’s unabashed in the way he slides his mouth over you, lips slick and tongue hot, sliding over every sensitive inch—sucking your clit, licking your folds, burying his face between your legs and drinking up every sweet drip of your juices.

You can’t help but make noise. Small gasps that slide into moans of pleasure, hitches in your breath that make your chest jump and your breasts shake; Jimin lets out noises too, muffled against your cunt, sounds that let you know he’s enjoying himself almost as much as you. It’s honestly pretty fucking hot, the way your own pleasure seems to turn him on, how he chases that feeling, eyes blown as he takes in every one of your reactions, repeating the motions that are affecting you the most.

The sight of him between your legs has you tensing. He continues to stare up at you, the curve of your stomach when you bow towards him, the fall of your breasts, which he slides his hands over, cupping them in his palms, pinching your hardened buds, layering sensation on sensation, never taking his mouth off you.

When he presses one finger inside, and then another, both thrusting firm and deep as he mouths at your clit, you tangle a hand into his hair. He watches the way your hips jump from the sensation of his tongue directly on your clit, and does it again, and again, your voice crescendoing from the explosion of sensation, how it’s too much, before he circles his lips around it and sucks messily. Your brain registering nothing but his lips and tongue against you, the hands that are trailing up and down your sides and still skimming across your breasts.

You’re not even aware of the words that are falling from your lips, oh fuck, yes, Jimin, there, oh, the way your grasp tightens in his dark hair, your hips bucking against his mouth as you can feel your orgasm approaching. The pleasure keeps building, flames fanning brighter and brighter as Jimin buries his mouth even further in between your legs, fingers speeding up as you gasp.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you chant, voice getting higher. “I’m gonna cum, I’m cumming, oh—”

Your words slide into a moan as your back arches and your thighs tighten around Jimin’s head and you cum. Jimin continues to finger fuck you through it, your cunt pulsating around him as he keeps licking and sucking at your clit, his gaze fixed on your face as your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth falls open and every line of your body sings of the pleasure that Jimin has given to you. Even when your legs and hips start to jolt from oversensitivity and you cry out at each ripple of his tongue against you, he’s relentless, almost cruel in how he watches you writhe from a mixture of pain and overextended pleasure.

You're sobbing by the time Jimin pulls his mouth away from your cunt, tears pooling in the corner of your eyes, body shaking as you try to suck in air. He thrusts his fingers into you one more time, slow and deep, watching the way you turn your head into the pillow and muffle a gasp against it.

“I knew you'd look and sound gorgeous when you cum,” he says, and though you feel boneless from your post-orgasm high, you can’t help a little huff escaping your lips. Jimin clearly catches the sound, quiet as it is against the linen of his pillowcase, and takes your chin in his hand to turn his face towards you. His fingers are slick with your arousal, wet against your skin.

“You sound like you’re reading off the script to a porno,” you murmur.

One of his eyebrows arches. “Oh? You don’t think I’m just speaking my mind?” Those fingers move away from your chin and trace over the swell of your bottom lip; you let your mouth fall open and swallow them down, licking the taste of yourself off Jimin’s skin. “You don’t think that I’ve been thinking about how pretty you’d look as I fucked into you, begging for me to let you cum again and again?”

Your tongue stutters against his fingers and your core clenches at his words, the dark undercurrent underneath them, and Jimin’s expression shifts as he notices.

“You really have no idea, do you?” He runs his fingertips over your tastebuds, saliva starting to pool in your mouth, the slide so wet and messy. “Who do you think I picture whenever I touch myself? Who do you think I was wishing was in my bed every time I took someone else home?”

You nip at his fingers, running the edge of your teeth along his knuckles from equal parts surprise and disbelief at his words. You find it impossible to believe that he really means that, but then you realise—recently, on the few occasions you’d bumped into Jimin in the hall when he’d had one of his lays trailing behind him, for as different and unique each of them was, each one of them had shared some sort of trait with you. Hair colour, eyes, the set of their lips, the shape of their face; once, you’d heard a girl giggling through the wall before it had trailed off into a moan, and you’d done a literal double take at how much she’d sounded like you. Similar, but not exactly the same, a slightly off-tone echo of the sound that spills from your own lips whenever you laugh.

And the emptiness in his bed had only started after the night that he’d seen the way you’d trailed into your apartment with discontent heavy around your shoulders, disappointed at that awful Tinder date.

Oh, fuck.

“You’re shameless,” you say, words a little garbled around Jimin’s fingers, but you know he understands.

“No, I’m not,” he replies, a small smirk curling up the corner of his lips. It should be illegal: the way he has such soft features that can turn so quickly into something sharper and entirely sensual, eyes hooded, lips flushed, the column of his throat so lovely and graceful as he tilts his head to one side. “I just know what I want and don’t try to hide it. What’s shameless about that? I know you want me too, but you always deny yourself the things you want. Don’t you?”

You hate that you’ve been so transparent in your attraction to him. Because the truth of the matter is that for as much as Jimin frustrates you with his entire existence, you do want him. After all—you wouldn’t be naked underneath him, still trembling from the aftershocks of a deep orgasm, if you didn’t.

“You’re not always as quiet as you think, you know,” he adds, pulling his fingers out of your mouth and enjoying the way your eyes widen at his words. You thought he couldn’t hear you through the wall, but it seems like you were wrong.

Before you can say anything in reply, though, he grinds down. Without your clothes in the way you can feel the drag of his yoga pants against your cunt, how the wetness of your cum and Jimin’s spit soaks into the fabric, his hard cock hot, and you let out a whine. He still has yet to remove any of his clothes and you want to see them off so he’s finally naked. You’ve seen enough of his bare skin over the months to have a pretty good idea of what that looks like, but you want to see the real thing.

Jimin seems just as eager to shed his clothes, yielding to your grasping hands and carelessly throwing his top aside; you end up straddling his waist and kissing down his chest in an imitation of his motions earlier, letting your fingers trail over the lean muscle from his yoga and dance. When you tongue at one of his nipples and he gasps, you feel euphoric. He’s unfairly beautiful, from the lovely collarbones to the flex of his shoulders and arms and the line of his chest and stomach, delicate and somehow entirely masculine. You still sort of want to slap him, but settle with kissing the hollow of his neck instead, digging your fingers into his ribs as you roll your hips down against him.

His own hips buck up. You can tell that he’s desperate to be inside you, but you want to taste him first.

When you slide down his body and settle between his legs, you hook your fingers into the tight waistband of those stupid leggings and tug them down. Jimin hisses through his teeth as you let the material settle just under his hips, baring the top of his briefs to you, how his cock strains against them, the patch of wetness at the head, darkening the fabric.

You don’t strip him. Not completely. You just hook your fingers into those dark blue briefs and pull them down just enough to reveal the flushed head of his cock, wet with precum. You let your tongue flick out to catch that salty bitterness, and Jimin bites off a curse at the almost shy licks you start to lave across his slit, circling around the weeping head.

Hearing Jimin’s gasps without the wall in the way is honestly an experience. Before, whenever he had people over, they usually drowned him out, theatrical wails and groans overpowering his far more natural noises, but now there’s nothing to prevent you from hearing the way his breath hitches in his throat or the way he moans. Even the smallest things have him letting slip sounds, a noise escaping him as you coax him to lift his hips so you can finally, finally peel those leggings and briefs off, dragging over the hardness of his cock as you do. You want to take in the sight of him fully naked, give it the proper attention it deserves, but then you feel his cock throb in your hand and you can’t stop yourself from immediately lowering your mouth to it again.

His whole body shudders. You let your jaw fall open as you take him in, tongue curling around him, hands touching every part of him that isn’t in your mouth, making sure there’s no part of him that isn’t receiving attention. His eyes are wide under the mess of his fringe, hair falling over his forehead as he watches the way you run your lips down the side of his cock before sucking one of his balls into your mouth, circling his length with your hands, a twisting rise and fall in the motion as you drink down the noise of surprised pleasure that drops from his lips.

Jimin’s fingers have been tangled in your hair but he lets you control the flow. The sounds of you swallowing him down into your mouth as you bob your head are obscene, wet and messy, but you can still hear how his voice starts to rise, how his fingers tighten against your scalp, and you know he’s close when he tugs you upwards and drags your lips away from his cock.

Jimin pulls you towards him and you settle against his chest as you start to kiss again, shivering at the way he rolls his tongue in your mouth. This time when Jimin rolls his hips, there’s nothing between your skin and his, dragging the underside of his cock across your flushed lower lips, the slide between your folds and against your clit making you shiver.

“Condoms?”

You’re breathless, and Jimin quirks a smile at you.

“Top drawer,” he answers. Of course they would be, in easy reach whenever he needs them.

You lean forwards to reach for the bedside table and Jimin takes the opportunity to circle a hand around your breast and capture a nipple in his mouth, ignoring the way you bite back a surprised noise, staring up at you with almost innocent eyes as he sucks at your skin in the way he’s worked out that you like best. Your hands are a fumble as you pull a condom out of the pack, ripping the sachet away from the others, a bottle of lube rolling into your grasp. You try to focus on your task and not the sensation of Jimin switching attention to your other breast, cupping the swell of flesh in his hand and drawing his teeth gently across your skin.

“You’re insatiable,” you mutter, and Jimin laughs before he kisses between your breasts.

“I’ve been wanting to fuck you since we first met,” he says, utterly unrepentant. “I don't want to take my mouth off you.”

“Insatiable,” you repeat, but you’re flustered. Even if you know he’s not lying, and you’re naked and straddling his hips, the taste of his lips and cock now familiar on your tongue, it’s… kind of incredible to think that the gorgeous Park Jimin has been lusting after you for that long.

Or lusting after you at all, really.

But as you tear the foil of the condom, the look he levels at you is burning with desire, roaming over you, every inch of your nakedness, every movement of your body. His hands rest at your waist, thumbs rubbing over your skin as you hold his cock in one hand and roll the condom down with the other, letting your fingers circle his length, dragging your touch over the heat of him and revelling in the way he twitches. As much as you’ve thought of Jimin as a fuckboy, you know that he wouldn’t lie just to get someone in his bed, so as unbelievable as his words are, every single one of his actions backs up what he’s said: he wants you.

You don't notice how soft his gaze is as you take time to warm the lube in your hands, even though you’re desperate to feel him finally slide home. You've always been so considerate, even when he knows you've been frustrated at him, and that's evident now, in this small thing.

You spread the warmed lube over his covered cock, pumping it in your hand to get him slick and ready, loving the way he hisses though his teeth. He has to stop his hips from bucking up as you line his cockhead up with your entrance, his fingers digging into your sides as you hover in place.

“Come on,” Jimin urges. “Give it to me.”

“Insatiable,” you repeat, one last time, then you bend your knees.

You finally ease yourself down and onto his cock. You both let out moans; Jimin, finally feeling the wet heat of you around him, and you, falling into the sensation of him stretching you open, snug inside you, slowly splitting you open as you take him in, inch by inch, until you’re sitting on his hips and he’s fully buried in your cunt.

It’s been a while since you’ve had someone inside you. You grind downwards, rolling your hips, biting your lip at the sensation. Jimin’s chest expands as he sucks in a sharp breath, and you roll your hips again, a hand bracing on one of his lovely, thick thighs, the other resting just under his stomach as you lean back and arch your spine. You lift your hips, easy and slow, and then fall, Jimin’s cock dragging and pressing against your inner walls, a gasp shuddering out of your lips at the electric feeling.

Again and again, noises of pleasure drip from your mouth as you ride him, head tilting back at the sensations rippling through your body and across your skin, the apartment full of the sounds of your sex—the moans, the wet thrust of Jimin’s cock into your cunt, the praise that falls from his lips, months of feeling pouring from his lips. How pretty you are, how gorgeous, how well you’re taking his cock, how wet and tight you are around him; all the things he’s been thinking about, come to life, his hips snapping into yours as a sharp cry cuts through your lips at the sudden change of pace.

The pleasure’s been steadily building between your legs again, warm and unrushed, but then Jimin flips you without warning, fluid and graceful. Your eyes are wide as you end up on your back, Jimin’s hands braced either side of your head as he looks down at you with those dark, dark eyes of his. He thrusts forwards and your hands fly up to grab at him, your entire body shifting up the mattress at the force of his movements. His eyebrows are drawn together as he starts to drive himself into you, unapologetic in how aggressive he’s being, each thrust pushing the air out of your lungs in harried little gasps that shake the air between you.

The sound of his headboard slamming into the wall, a noise that’s been haunting you each time you’ve been trying to sleep or relax, is one you don’t even register. All you can think about is Jimin, Jimin, Jimin, caught up in the way there’s sweat beading across his forehead, strands of his dark hair sticking to it, the intense look in his eyes, the way his full lips are parted, small ah-ah-ahs falling from his lips in time with his thrusts, your body tightening around him each time he slides home.

You can’t remember the last time you were fucked this good. Jimin reads the language of your body with ease, knowing exactly when to lean back and trail a hand over your hips, circling his thumb over your swollen clit, the slide over that bundle of nerves messy from the mix of cum and lube and spit that’s laid slick across you. Each fluid roll of his hips is perfectly timed with the press of his thumb, your thighs going tense and your pussy clenching around Jimin’s hot cock as you start to reach another peak of pleasure.

“Cum for me, baby.” Jimin sounds breathless. “Let me see how pretty you are when you cum around my cock.”

Normally dirty talk seems so ham-handed and stuttering, but the words fall out of Jimin’s lips as natural as breathing, thoughtless. Stirring your arousal even further. He’s gripping your hips, pulling you down each time he presses up, and you circle your fingers around his wrist as his other hand is occupied with rubbing at your most sensitive part, tightening your hold as you feel another orgasm approaching.

“Jimin.” Your voice is a keen. “I'm so close, please, there, right there, theretherethere—”

You can't blame Jimin's other partners for being so noisy. The sound you let out is just as loud, maybe even louder, Jimin continuing to snap his hip forwards as you cum hard, a drawn out moan that crescendos as you pulsate around Jimin's cock, still hard inside you. He watches the way you writhe beneath him, tangling his fingers with yours when you reach for him and swallowing the end of your moan in a surprisingly sweet kiss, his lips gentle against yours as he slows to a stop before you become too sensitive.

Your voice is a quiet murmur against his lips. “How have you not cum yet?”

His eyes squeeze into a smile as he laughs, light and bright, the sound so sweet. “I've got stamina for days, darling,” he says, oozing that trademark arrogance you’ve gotten used to.

You clench as hard as you can around him and feel smug when he bites off a shocked curse, his smug facade broken. You can’t help but laugh at his expression, scandalised at it is, though your giggle cuts into a gasp when he pinches one of your nipples and then soothes it with his thumb. He seems amused by the look on your face and then laughs in turn, the two of you dissolving into laughter that’s edged with pleasure, your motions shifting his length inside you.

When the laughter trails off, Jimin stays smiling down at you. You draw your hands over his body, tracing all that smooth skin, and he touches the back of your hands with gentle fingers. There's a beat of silence but it's not an uncomfortable one, the air light after your shared giggles. It's… really nice. It's nice and soft and sweet, just like the expression on Jimin's face, tender, even if he's still buried inside you.

You feel so empty when he slips out, already missing the thickness of his cock when it seems as though he’s about to coax you to roll onto your front. Your hands are still linked with his and you tighten your fingers, making him pause.

“I want to see your face,” you confess quietly. It’s probably too much to ask of him but you feel like if you’re turned away from each other then you’ll feel like nothing more than a fucktoy. Just another warm body in Jimin’s bed. You don’t want that.

Jimin stares at you, surprise written across his features before his expression softens.

"Okay, baby," he murmurs indulgently. The small pet name sounds so sweet in his mouth. "We can stay like this."

He lets your hands go so that he can reach for a pillow that ends settled under your ass, tilting your hips up towards him. You’re not as flexible as he is—maybe you should start doing yoga too—but Jimin doesn’t push you far, hitching your legs up and draping your calves over his shoulders, leaning towards you so that the back of your thighs are warm against his chest. He's bent forward, face hovering above yours, so much skin-on-skin contact that your entire body feels warmed by him.

When he slides back in, you can feel the change in angle immediately. The head of his cock brushes over your g-spot and you suck in a sharp breath; Jimin notices, of course, aiming to hit it again, and again.

It feels good, of course. Amazing. But as much as you’d be happy for Jimin to make you cum again, you’d rather see him fall apart.

You dig your nails into his shoulder blades, turning your head so you can press kisses along the line of his jaw, murmuring into his ear.

“Are you going to let me see you cum?”

Jimin’s hips stutter as your words curl out of your mouth, warm against his skin. You’ve been picturing Park Jimin’s o-face for an endless amount of weeks and you’re ready to finally see the real thing.

“Cum on me,” you say, and then choke in a sob of air as Jimin responds with a sharp snap of his hips. “I want you to cum on me, Jimin, please.”

Your begging is shameless and you know it. Jimin’s face is so close to yours in this position and you can see how blown his pupils are, how his mouth is flushed from your kisses and how he’s been biting at them, his teeth digging into his lip as he starts to get faster, sloppier in his thrusts. It feels so good to know that you’re making him feel like this, that he’s reaching the peak of his pleasure with his body against yours, inside you, above you; he might have had other people in this position in the past, but right now it’s you who’s making Park Jimin come apart.

You urge him onwards with large, pleading eyes, rocking down on his cock each time he thrusts forward, begging the whole time. Pleading for him to cum, to give it to you, to cover you. Jimin obviously likes you loud and desperate, and you're more than willing to give him what he wants.

He slips out of you, fumbling with the condom and carelessly tossing it aside before he starts to pump his cock, hungry to reach his peak as he fucks into his fist. You let your legs fall open as you watch the way his body tenses, his brows drawn together and little breaths falling out of his mouth, barely audible over the wet slide of his cock in his hand. You run your hands over your body, across the swell of your breasts, down your stomach, dipping between your legs, trying to look as arousing as possible, anything to throw Jimin over the edge.

"I've imagined you cumming for months," you confess, words thoughtlessly falling from your lips. "On me, inside me, in my mouth—"

Park Jimin’s o-face is just as gorgeous as the rest of him.

You love how noisy he is. He paints your stomach with his cum, ropes of white spattering across the soft skin of your stomach and hips as he rides out his orgasm, moaning as he continues to milk his twitching cock. It’s so fucking hot, honestly, as is the expression on his face when you swipe your fingers through his cum and lift it to your lips, mouth filled with salt and warm.

“Fuck.” He’s breathless, panting. “You’re unbelievable.”

You let out a small scoff, but it’s edged with affection. “Says the man who was ready to fuck me six ways to Sunday,” you say. “If anyone’s the unbelievable one here, it’s you.”

“I can last longer, but you’re just so hot,” Jimin says. You respond by curling your fingers at him, beckoning him towards you, and you end up sharing a series of messy kisses.

You were, honestly, genuinely angry when you'd stepped into his apartment earlier, even if that irritation had been rounded out with arousal and desire. Now, though, you feel thoroughly boneless and content, loose limbed on Jimin's mattress, his lips and tongue moving against your own.

He leans too far forwards and smears his own cooling cum against his stomach. He doesn’t seem bothered, though. You’re the one who has to coax him to clean up, though with the way he looks at your still naked body, you know he would happily launch straight into a second round of fucking so he can add more cum to the canvas of your skin.

He really is insatiable, apparently, when it comes to you.

Even so, you wonder if Jimin’s going to kick you out now that he’s finally had a taste of you. He doesn't. He keeps you close, your body pressed against his side in a way that feels far more intimate than you would have expected.

“Are you hungry?” Jimin breaks the soft silence.

You’ve been trailing nonsensical patterns over his chest but pause when he says this. “Hm?”

“Are you hungry?” Jimin repeats, and there’s a cheeky smile flickering at the edge of his lips. “I have some more peaches in the fridge, if you’d like one.”

“That peach.” Your voice is an embarrassed hiss and your cheeks burn, but Jimin just laughs, boyish and bright as you slap halfheartedly at him. “That was just unfair. Who eats fruit like that?”

“Someone who’s trying to make it obvious that he’s imagining the peach is his neighbour’s pussy instead.” He’s so brazen. “And it clearly worked, didn’t it?”

It had worked. It's annoyingly effective, actually; thinking about the way Jimin had been staring at you as he tongue fucked that peach has arousal shooting through you, even after being so thoroughly fucked by him.

“Yeah, now you’ve had me,” you say. “What do you plan to do next?”

Jimin goes quiet. You wonder if you’ve misstepped, but then he sweeps his hand down the curve of your spine, goosebumps appearing in the wake of his touch.

“I was planning on asking if you wanted to go out for lunch,” he says, his voice so sweet, miles away from the fuckboy persona he usually puts on. This is the softer Park Jimin that you’ve caught glimpses of when he’s unaware, the side of him you wished he’d show more often—revealed to you, now. “Then, if you said yes, I was going to take you out on a date. If that date went well, then I was going to ask if you’d like to go on another one with me. And then another.”

One thing you know about Park Jimin is this: he doesn’t do dates. Each of his lays are one time affairs, no attachments made, no real connection beyond the physical act of sex. Your heart rate picks up.

“Obviously we’d fuck between dates,” he adds, raising his eyebrows at you in a way that’s so exaggerated that it makes you laugh. Of course. Jimin likes to fuck. “Unless you didn’t want to, but there are only so many peaches I can eat, you know?”

“So if I said I didn't want to fuck, and you ran out of peaches, what would you do?”

Your question seems casual and light but Jimin isn't stupid. He knows what you're really asking. Is he genuinely interested in something more exclusive, or would you just become another notch in his bedpost if he grew tired of waiting for you to spread your legs again?

"I can always buy more peaches."

You stare at him. He's looking at you levelly, a small smile on his face that's a little cocky but mostly warm. And, well, you know he's already gone without other partners for you, even before he'd gotten you in his bed. Park Jimin is serious about you, it seems. He'll wait.

You mouth at his collarbones, tasting the salt of sweat as you kiss and lick at his skin.

"After lunch, we can go back to my apartment, if you want," you whisper against his throat.

Just because Jimin's willing to wait doesn't mean you're going to force him to, especially as you're still as hungry for him as he is for you.

His hands squeeze your sides as you end up kissing again. You feel soft and ripe and sweet, easing under the touch of Jimin's hands and mouth.

"I still think you're a fucking menace, though," you add, and Jimin laughs so hard the bed shakes, still utterly unrepentant and entirely yours.

taglist: @beyoncesdragon

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willwriteforhugs · 3 years

Text

you saved me- park seonghwa

seonghwa x reader - one shot !

word count: 2k

genre: fluff, meet-cute

synopsis: a busy and cold winter day leads you to a (very close) brush with death. but a stranger seems to be in just the right place at just the right time...

warnings: mentions of loneliness, near car accident (nothing too serious)

a/n:

me as i open tumblr with the intent of actually posting for once: god i need to go post something so i feel less bad about being alive

so, anyways. first seonghwa fic- which is really just a long drabble. i always knew i wanted a seonghwa meet-cute, and this idea just seemed to suit him... please remember that this is for entertainment purposes only, though, so be respectful! (also, ^^^THIS genre of seonghwa pic, with the grainy filter and the tan...bruh...)

anyways, i hope you enjoy, and as always- thank you for reading :)

- - -

your breath comes out in short, angry puffs, which you can see reflected in the cold afternoon air. the temperature in seoul is absolutely freezing, and you are not dressed for it. when you had left for work this morning, (in your standard sweater + jeans combo) you clearly were not anticipating that the sky would dump snow all day long. you long desperately for your warm winter coat.

so now, here you are: jogging, but only as quickly as you feel is safe in this weather. your condo is only a few blocks down- hence why you had walked in the first place, and why you hadn’t brought cash to pay for a bus. but god, the cold is just piercing.

the streets are practically empty, because of the terrible weather. so, at the very least, you are spared the embarrassment of having to waddle awkwardly on the ice in front of others.

but, to add to the stress- your day had seriously not gone as planned.

when you first took it, you thought that the simple receptionist job would be easy- and doubly so with the convenient location. but these past few weeks were proving you wrong, today especially. while being distracted by coworkers, you accidentally put an important client on a somewhat permanent hold, and ruined a potential sale. as if that wasn’t enough, the next call you routed to a completely different office by mistake, earning you a strict talking to by the supervisor.

so, to put it plainly: you were tired, annoyed, and cold. so. freaking. cold.

heaving a sigh, you continue your jog/waddle towards your street corner, which is two intersections away. faintly, you can hear a city bus approaching, the one that always stops near your work building. from where you are standing, the bus will be driving perpendicular to you, and you cock your head in thought. you don’t need the shuttle itself, since you live so close, but you wonder how close the bus is now...

feeling a sudden burst of energy, you speed up a bit, challenging yourself to beat the bus to the empty corner, even though you know it won’t stop there. this is something you do often- set up little games for yourself. it’s mostly an attempt to stay busy, but- though you’d never admit it, it helps with the loneliness too. when you race against the clock (say, to make a speedrun to the copy room at work) it almost feels like you are competing against an old friend.

you obviously know that you can’t beat the bus, but the thought itself is entertaining, so you throw caution to the wind. your feet slap the pavement as you run, and you hear yourself laugh a little. the cold air rushing by your cheeks helps distract you from your own thoughts.

you sprint through an empty intersection, and as you approach the final corner- having obviously lost the race to the bus- you begin to slow down a bit. but as you near the end of the sidewalk, (which is parallel to the moving bus, whose hulking body is getting ready to pass you) you feel your previous momentum get the better of you.

you stumble off of the curb- and right into a vicious patch of ice on the waiting asphalt.

it happens in slow motion: your feet slide harshly backwards, and you scramble for any traction- but to no avail. you hear yourself cry out as you fall forward, right into the path of the oncoming shuttle.

you slam your eyes shut.

but instead of hitting the ground, or the bus, a sudden weight catches you around your middle and lurches backwards. you scream again, certain you’ve already died.

you hear the sound of the bus honking as it speeds by- the only thing traveling faster than it is your frantic pulse.

you hit the ground hard, with all of your weight on your left shoulder and hip. even so, you start with the relief of knowing the bus didn’t even graze you.

only after a moment do you realize why it hadn’t.

someone had caught you.

grabbed you from behind, and used their whole body weight to get the two of you to safety.

you lurch forward, startled. as you turn around, you see him lying on the ground, in the same position you were in just seconds before- and you meet the eyes of the person who’d just saved you.

it’s a man- a young one. and good god, he’s beautiful, too. the boy on the ground before you is seriously the epitome of korean beauty- large, dark eyes, an open face, and full lips. as soon as he opens his mouth, you wonder at how his teeth could possibly be so perfect.

it takes you a moment of staring before you realize he’s speaking to you.

“um.” your voice breaks. “what?”

the boy scrambles onto his knees, shuffling towards you. “i asked if you’re alright- are you hurt?” his voice is concerned, and his hands flutter about your face- too wary to touch you, but clearly wanting to.

his eyes are more genuine than you can even take in, and you hesitate at the whole scene- what the hell is happening? did you hit your head?

you stutter, trying to make sense of the situation. the boy leans back on his heels as you finally catch your breath.

your words are breathy, but deliberate. “you- you saved me.”

the boy tilts his head slightly, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards. “yes, i suppose i did.” a beat passes before he continues. his eyes, though now bordering on playful, still look worried. “you probably shouldn’t be running in this sort of weather.”

you heave a sigh that comes out in a laugh. “yeah, i realize that now.”

your counterpart picks himself up off the ground, brushing off his front. he then extends a hand towards you. you stare at it for a moment, confused. for a moment, he looks down at you intently, waiting. your puzzlement passes, and you blush as you cautiously place your palm in his, allowing him to help you up.

“i’m seonghwa, by the way. park seonghwa.” the man- no, seonghwa looks down at you, letting his sentence hang.

you clear your throat, feeling a harsh wave of embarrassment at the situation. “um- i’m y/n.”

seonghwa nods at you, taking a step back. his brow is furrowed. “well, y/n-ssi- you didn’t actually tell me if you were hurt or not. do you feel dizzy? nauseous?”

you throw your hands up in protest, not wanting to cause any more distress than you already had. “no, uh- i’m fine, really. maybe a little bruised, but i’m okay. i think it would be a bigger problem if you were hurt...”

you are not exaggerating- you can only imagine the guilt you would feel if he’d been injured.

seonghwa represses a smile. “i’m alright too. you did startle me, though. thought i was about to witness something pretty terrible...”

at this, you give a surprised chuckle. “yeah, i’m so sorry...you really came out of nowhere, huh? i seriously didn’t even know you were there until i was on the ground!”

this time, it’s his turn to laugh. “yeah, those bus stops provide great cover.”

the two of you settle into a stiff silence, and you can practically hear your heart pounding- both with leftover adrenaline, as well as the sudden nerves that seonghwa was giving you.

“here,” he says, breaking the quiet. “take this.” he shrugs off his long winter coat, and before you can argue, he’s reached over and settled it on your shoulders. the relief is near instantaneous, but you find yourself a bit too tongue-tied to thank him.

you sigh again, determined to get the words out. “oh, god, i really am so sorry about that, um-” you stutter. “i really should thank you, for the coat. but also-” you take a deep breath. “thank you, park seonghwa, for saving my life.”

at this, the man actually blushes. he reaches a hand to rub the back of his neck. “no, really, it was just a gut reaction...”

you shake your head, insistent. “it doesn’t matter. i could have died, but you prevented that. now-” you can feel yourself gaining confidence. “what can i do to repay you?”

seonghwa’s face, which had previously harbored a look of child-like innocence, suddenly turns mischievous.

you tilt your head, indicating an answer.

his smug smile is full now, chin tilted upwards. “i actually do have a request.”

“okay, shoot.”

“you’ll do anything i ask?”

you frown, narrowing your eyes in an almost flirtatious way. “i suppose i have a few limits...”

to your surprise, seonghwa interrupts you, eyes twinkling. “you’ll repay me- by allowing me to take you out on a date, y/n.”

your mind goes fully blank for a moment.

...huh?

you blink in shock, not being able to suppress your initial reaction. “wait, come again?”

“will you go on a date with me?”

you stare at him- this terrifyingly beautiful man was asking you on a date? after you’d fully humiliated yourself in front of him? what on earth?

suddenly, before you can even finish the thought, you find yourself nodding. “i suppose i can arrange that.”

seonghwa’s smile is completely smug at this point. “does tonight work?”

you bite your lip, heart pounding despite the chilly weather. your voice comes out in a whisper: “yes, i suppose tonight works.”

seonghwa tries to bury his smile and looks at the ground. “that’s great.” he pauses, allowing his gaze to flit back to you. “do you- i hope this doesn’t sound weird, but do you want me to walk you home?”

you smile, but shake your head. “it’s alright, i live close. here- i’ll give you my number, though.”

you dig through your work satchel for a piece of paper and scribble your phone number on it. when you extend it, he accepts the slip, still trying to suppress his grin.

a beat passes, and the two of you look at each other intently.

and with that, seonghwa reaches down and gently takes your hand, glancing at your face to make sure the action is alright with you. when you don’t pull away, he lifts it up and presses a soft kiss to the top of your hand, holding your gaze the entire time. his lips are cold, an unlikely and romantic nod to the temperature.

you feel your neck and cheeks go red, but you smile in an attempt to seem casual. “thanks again, seonghwa. for helping me.”

“of course.” the man’s eyes are twinkling again. “as grim as it sounds, i’m sort of glad it happened. if it hadn’t, i probably wouldn’t be talking with you right now.”

you smirk in what you hope is a flirtatious manner.

“well,” he continues. “don’t let me keep you. after all, you’ve got a date to get ready for.”

seonghwa begins to walk away, then turns back. “although,” he calls over his shoulder. “i’m pretty sure the guy you’re meeting with won’t care what you’re wearing. you could probably show up in your pajamas and he’d still think you were gorgeous. just for the record.”

before you could manage an answer, he turns on his heel and strides away- but even from here, you can tell he still has a goofy grin plastered on his face.

heart pounding, you turn and make your way towards your apartment building.

despite yourself, you also can’t seem to keep the grin off of your face.

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awanderingdeal · 3 years

Text

An unfair race

I finally finished this! This fic is kind of a follow on to Endless Nights. Note: That fic is rated M and contains some sexual content, but you do not need to read it for this to make sense. I wanted to combine Finn talking with Heather, and an aspect of the discussion after that fic, where we talked about athletes in particular using exercise as a coping mechanism, and how this can sometimes turn unhealthy.

Some content warnings for this one: over exercise (if you'd like to skip the explicit description of this, skip to after the first stars, although there are a couple of mentions throughout), food mentions, self-depreciation and mentions of coming out/being outed.

Rating: T

If you feel I missed any content warnings or need to change the rating, please drop me a message!

The characters in this fic are from the sweater weather universe and belong to @lumosinlove

Finn’s entire body ached as his feet pounded against the path once more. His form was sloppy now, shoulders too hunched over and his strides falling without any real control. He forced himself onwards, breaths coming in fast pants, the straining muscles of his quads screaming desperately for more oxygen. And yet, his brain still whirred, obnoxiously loud thoughts pushing their way back to the forefront each time Finn managed to grasp a few blissful quiet seconds. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d passed the statue of the girl and her ducks, the smile on her face that he normally found so comforting becoming more and more irritating with each meeting. As he came to the gates of the park, Finn contemplated going home, but even just the reduced speed had brought the taunting thoughts back with a vengeance. One more go.

***

"H, has her jacket on. Has everybody got their game faces ready, boys?" It had been at least 30 minutes since James had made the joke as they all tumbled from the locker room, yet the sound of bright laughter still rang in Finn's ears.

He watched as Heather tugged her suit jacket more tightly around her, their eyes meeting for the third time in short succession. Fuck. Finn pushed his tongue against his mouthguard, sinking his teeth into the hard plastic. Later, self-inflicted as the need would be, he would complain about the new one he’d have moulded, each guard always feeling slightly different. For now, the rhythmic clench of his jaw was soothing.

Finn forced a breath through his nose, trying not to react too visibly as Heather dipped her head once more to add another scribbled note to the small, black book she carried everywhere. He forced himself to look away, knowing his constant glances were giving away his unease. Whilst Heather didn’t come to every training session, not even most, it wasn’t that uncommon to see her hovering around the edges of the ice, and ordinarily, only the very newest of the team paid any attention to her beyond an initial greeting.

“Earth to O’Hara!”

Finn held up his hand in apology, shaking himself back to the training session. Kasey’s eyes bored into him. It wasn't his usual intense stare, but something more concerned and Finn waited for the inevitable question. After a long few seconds, Kasey's eyes dropped to the puck, passing it back to Finn to take another shot.

The numbers on the clock inched forwards, slow and heavy like the sweet sticky molasses Leo was so fond of. Still, when Coach finally dismissed them for the day, Finn found himself wanting to take another lap. If he could get his thighs to burn enough then his head would race a little less, and it wouldn’t be too suspicious; Finn’s record of being last on the ice was surpassed only by Sirius. Before Finn could really consider it, Leo was next to him, knocking their shoulders together.

“Hey,” Leo cocked his head slightly, hair ruffled from the mask he’d recently pulled off and his pale skin glistening with sweat. He looked as beautiful as ever. Illogical as it was, it somehow made the dull ache in Finn's chest worse. "Everything good?"

"Yeah," Finn tried for a smile. "Busy brain today, that's all." There was no point brushing the question off completely; Leo was scarily observant. He and Logan often joked that he had eyes in the back of his head. Finn had no doubt he had caught the many pucks he had missed over the last hour.

"That sucks," Leo said, scepticism leaking into his voice. "Is there anything I can do to help?" Finn followed his glance behind them to where Logan was tussling with Jackson, loud rumblings of French intertwined with their laughter. "Or Lo, perhaps?"

"I like it when he looks like that,” Finn sighed.

"Mmm, me too” Leo hummed, his features softening. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that change of subject though, Sir. You don’t have to talk to me about it, but please don’t bottle it all."

Finn slumped into his stall, smiling as Leo lifted his hand to press a kiss to the knuckles. “I’m dealing with it.”

“Baby,” Leo started, his next word morphing into a stunted exhalation of air. His eyes closed briefly, his shoulders squaring before he relaxed them. He opened his mouth again, the sentence uttered clearly not what he’d originally planned on saying. "I'm going to take my padding off and head to see Lars. I think Loops is sticking around so I can get a ride with him if you two want to go home?"

Finn thought back to the quiet look of concern on Logan's face after he'd got home from his run the previous evening, and to the creased lines of worry at the corners of Leo's eyes earlier. "I think I might go and see Heather," he shrugged.

"Thank God," Logan appeared, wrapping his arms around Finn's waist. "Your runs were getting ridiculous."

"You didn't say anything?" Finn turned in Logan's arms, to rest his chin on top of his head.

"We were going to give you one more day. Leo wanted to speak to you this evening, only I had faith.”

"Oh, fuck off," Leo laughed. "You were just avoiding the conversation."

“I’m offended that you would even suggest that,” Logan burrowed into Finn’s chest. The sweat soaked gear they wore didn’t smell great, but neither of them seemed to care.

Moody huffed as he veered around them, his arms filled with tape. “No canoodling in the locker room.”

***

“As lovely as this chat has been Finn, if you really did just come in to catch up then I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I’ve got a couple of sessions this afternoon, and a mound of paperwork to complete,” Heather shifted in the forest green bucket chair. They were new since Finn had last been in here, replacing an ugly leather thing that Heather had always complained was too stereotypical. She’d removed her jacket now that she was back in her heated office, the item hung on the back of the door where it rightfully belonged.

Finn, freshly showered and changed, sat cross legged in the chair opposite. He reached forward to grab more pretzel sticks from the bowl on the table between them, puckering his lips as his tongue protested another injection of salt. “You know there is something I could do with your opinion on.”

Despite the reaction being minute, Finn saw the tiny upwards quirk of Heather’s lips. “Go on,” she encouraged.

“It’s dumb,” Finn muttered, drumming his fingers against the arm of the chair.

“Thoughts don’t have moral value Finn, it’s what we do with that’s important.” Heather pulled a handful of tissues from a box on the table, holding them out. “Tap away, but please spare the upholstery.”

“Sorry,” Finn grimaced, cleaning his hands of the salty residue.

“No need to apologise, I’m just still a bit precious about the new furniture.” Heather smiled. “Why do you think your issue is dumb?”

“It’s -” Finn tugged at his sleeve. “I can just never be happy with what I’ve got can I? I spent 8 years saying that if Logan could just love me back then I’d never complain again. And now I’ve got Logan and Leo and I’m still not happy.”

“What’s making you unhappy?

Finn breathed in deeply, scrunching his eyes shut. He’d spent weeks stuffing the pain into the tiniest box he could in his brain, and now here Heather was asking him to just - talk about it?

“Finn, look at me?” Finn did as he was asked, lifting his head to find Heather’s kind eyes. “I’m going to reiterate something I’ve said before. You can say anything you want here. It doesn’t matter if it’s selfish or unkind or if you think it’s stupid. Unless I think you’re a danger to yourself or anybody else, then nobody is going to hear about it.”

Finn bit his lip, wiggling his toes beneath his legs. “I get jealous,” he rushed out. “I get jealous of Cap and Loops and Potts and Lily and all those other couples who just get to hug and kiss and tell the cameras how stupidly in love they are.” He paused, the panic of having told somebody matching the relief, but now the words had started tumbling out he couldn’t stop. “I get so angry about it. Sometimes, for the tiniest second, I hate them. All of them.” he whispered, barely able to admit it. “And then I just feel worse. Because I love them too and it’s not their fault. Cap and Loops didn’t even get a choice in the matter. How messed up is it to be jealous of somebody that got outed?”

“Emotions are complex. It is possible for you to have sympathy for Sirius and Remus, whilst still feeling jealous that they now can be more open about their relationship.”

'I don't like it," Finn huffed. The sentence had come out mimicking a toddler having a tantrum. Finn wanted to act like one too, to throw himself on the floor and scream.

“Have you spoken to Leo or Logan about it?”

“No,” Finn frowned. “It would just make them sad and I don’t want them to pressure them. I don’t want them to know I think such horrible things.”

“Okay,” Heather nodded. “Imagine one of them came to you and told you everything you’d just told me. What would you say to them?”

“Wait.” A distressed noise fell from Finn’s lips. “Do they talk to you about this too? Both of them make a comment here or there, but we talked about it not long ago and we agreed that we weren’t ready.”

“Finn, you know I can’t tell you about what I discuss with Leo or Logan.”

“It was worth a shot,” Finn shrugged.

“So, what would you say?”

“I’d say they are entitled to be jealous. I'd say it’s not fair we don’t get to do everything the others do just because the world is homophobic and close minded and can’t imagine the three of us could love each other exactly the same as every other more traditional couple. I’d say that I know they don’t hate Cap or Loops or Potts or Lily, they hate the situation and that’s completely understandable. It fucking sucks and they can be angry about it." Finn drew in a hulking breath, Heather's outline a little blurred through his wet eyes. Each word had sent an aching pain through his body, similar to when he ran, only now he felt like was chasing something cathartic rather than running away.

"Earlier you said what you had to tell me was dumb," Heather said. "Can you explain why you think that it's dumb for you to feel that way, horrible even, but if it were Leo or Logan their feelings are valid."

"Maybe it's not dumb," Finn looked down at his hands, tracing over the freckles there. "But that doesn't change the fact I don't like having those thoughts. Especially when I don't want to act on them. I’m okay with waiting to tell people about us, if we ever do. They're not ready. I'm not ready."

"That’s something we can work on. Helping you to reframe those thoughts, I mean.” Heather slipped her notebook from where it had been tucked beside her and made a note. Finn leaned his elbow on his leg, tucking his chin onto his fist, trying to make his attempts to see the page surreptitious. Capping her pen, she gave a small chuckle, “I’m just leaving myself a reminder of what we’ve discussed. You can always ask what I’m writing, I’m not trying to keep secrets from you.”

Finn sat back, the book no longer quite so interesting now that it wasn’t forbidden. “So? That’s it?”

Heather hummed. “For today. I think you’ve got a lot to think about already. I’ll schedule some more sessions with you over the next few days, okay? It’ll give me a chance to get some new pretzels.”

"Thanks," Finn laughed, then gestured at the empty bowl. "For the pretzels. And the talk."

“That’s what I’m here for,” Heather said. “I’m just going to ask one thing of you before I see you next. Please try to keep your evening runs to a reason-”

“Who snitched?”

“There was no snitching, as you call it. We’ve just known each other for a while now, Finn. And as an employee of the Lions whose job it is to make sure you’re at top playing ability, I don’t want you to injure yourself. As your psychologist, I want you to have healthy coping mechanisms and exercising to that extent is not healthy.”

“I know,” Finn unfolded his legs, stretching them out. They’d gone stiff after being sat on for so long, the sensation coming back with an uncomfortable tingle. “I’ll try to keep the runs in check, promise.” His gaze fell on the closed door, steeling himself to leave. He stood, sending Heather one last smile. It was safe in here, but his boys were out there.

“See you soon, Finn.”

Stepping out of the office, Finn closed his eyes, giving himself a second to compose himself. A rustle of movement to his left caught his attention, startling a little at the sight of Leo and Logan. They sat on the floor, Leo’s hand resting on Logan’s knee where they were hunched to his chest.

“Sorry,” Leo scrambled to his feet, his arm outstretched to let Logan pull himself upright too. “We didn’t want to wait too far away. In case, well, I don’t know, you needed us.”

Finn joined them, immediately finding Logan attached to his side, his familiar warmth exactly what he wanted right now. “I’m okay,” he assured. “I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about it with you guys just yet. I need a bit of time to process, but just you being here makes things better. I’m going to see Heather a bit more too.”

“Proud of you.” Leo flanked him on the other side, taking his hand. Finn didn’t get to be in the middle often, Logan usually claiming the spot, and he felt like he had a kind of shield. “We just want you to be happy. And safe.”

“Can we go home, please?”

“Ouais, home,” Logan agreed.

#finn o'hara #logan tremblay #leo knut #heather #sweater weather #coast to coast #lumosinlove #rating: t #cw: overexercising #cw: food #cw: self-depreciation #cw: coming out #cw:outing

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plume-pigmented-pili · 3 years

Text

Hey hey! here’s a little something I wrote for Eli a few months ago. They convinced me i should post it, so here i am lol

———

Tw: Descriptions of a Cold, sickness (non graphic), feelings unwanted, coughing, headaches, misunderstandings, hurt/comfort. Let me know if I need to add more!

Words: 5.2k

Pairing: Prinxiety (Written as Romantic but could be read as platonic i guess)

“Virgil is miserable. Its the middle of the night, and Virgil is stuck in bed, unable to sleep, with a horrible cold. The actual cold isn’t why he’s miserable, though.

Is it selfish to want to be cared for?”

—

Through Sickness and Health

Virgil could hear the clock on the opposite wall ticking just a tad too fast, and didn’t need to even look over at it to know it was way too late to be awake. Sure, he didn’t have the best sleep schedule, but at least he was usually enjoying himself when he stayed up, and it was rarely this late. It wasn’t even his fault this time.

But here Virgil was, laying in bed curled under all the blankets he owned, wishing he was dead. On paper, that sounds a lot worse than it really was, but who could blame him? The sweet release of death sounded like heaven compared to suffering here any longer. His throat was sandpaper dry, nose clogged with snot, and what felt like a small bomb went off in his skull with every movement.

That, though, wasn’t the main reason he was suffering.

He’d been sick before, he knew it would be over soon, but no physical pain could compare to the hurt he felt, knowing that the others knew of his illness, and didn’t give a single damn.

There was no way they didn’t know what was happening - even if he’d tried to hide it, which he hadn’t, it’s not like acting was ever his specialty - but not a single one of them had batted an eye since he came down with this stress induced cold.

Well, that wasn’t completely true. Patton had asked if he was feeling alright on day two, when Virgil had shuffled downstairs around three in the afternoon to grab a snack, hoodie flipped up as he dug around, his hands clearly shaky from fever yet he’d been too tired to try and hide it. He’d told Patton, in the least shaky voice he could muster, that he just wasn’t feeling very well.

In hindsight, it had probably been incredibly selfish of him to expect Patton to come to his aid and comfort him, maybe offer to tuck him in on the couch and make him something healthy to eat. He’d seen Patton do just that plus more when Logan or Roman were feeling under the weather after all. But despite knowing it was selfish, he couldn’t help the disappointment and sinking feeling he’d felt when Patton had simply responded with a gentle, almost pitying, “I’m sorry kiddo, thank you for telling me.” before walking away rather hurriedly, leaving it there.

The conversation rolled around in his head, as it had been for the past 5 days. Nobody had come to check on him, not even the resident fatherly side to see if he was feeling any better. He’d been downstairs one other time since that little exchange with Patton, but when he’d walked in on Roman and Logan talking casually in the living room, they’d both given him short, obviously forced smiles, and sunk out. That’d been on day three, and Virgil hadn’t gone back down there since. He wasn’t that hungry anyway.

Maybe they didn’t want to get sick? Or maybe they thought he was gross, and didn’t want to be near him. Did they think he would be rude to them?

All this thinking was making Virgil’s head hurt more. And it really didn’t matter the reason. They didn’t care, they clearly wanted to avoid him.

It hurt, worse than his actual sickness, having to stay away from everyone for days on end. It reminded him of the old days before he was accepted, when he wasn’t welcome anywhere else but the confinement of his room. He missed Patton’s warm greeting each time he walked into a room, or the rants Logan would get lost in that were strangely so calming. Most notably, though, he missed Roman.

He missed their stupid banter that always left him feeling more confident, and the never ending singing that Virgil pretended not to adore. Hell, he missed just talking to the creative side. He’d give anything just to have a conversation with him, just to lift his spirits a little. He longed for one of the warm, solid hugs that only Roman could give.

He would probably even give up his Disney posters, his entire MCR song library, or get banned from every Hot Topic in the country, just to be held and cuddled right at this moment. To be held in warm, secure arms, wrapped in the scent of cinnamon and roses, and drift to sleep knowing he wouldn’t be alone in the morning.

That last one had about a zero percent chance of happening, even if he wasn’t sick and contagious, but Virgil’s sleep deprived, fever ridden brain had decided to be sentimental, and Virgil couldn’t even stop it. At least he wasn’t gone enough to consider asking for any of that comfort he craved. it’d be easier for everyone to just wait in his room until he was better. Then maybe things would be normal again.

And that was his plan, until someone knocked on his door.

The anxious side’s gaze shot over to the clock, grimacing when the quick movement made his eyeballs throb. Who the Hell was knocking on his door at nearly 3:45 in the morning?

“Who-“ Virgil cringed at how his gravely voice broke, cleared his throat, then tried again. “Who is it?”

“I knew you were awake!” Romans voice, surprisingly enough, came from the other side of the door. He was clearly trying to stay quiet, but for some reason, he sounded really… relieved, and chipper. A second later, the Prince added a bit more bashfully, “Uh, unless i just woke you up by knocking, and if that’s the case I sincerely apologize, I didn’t mea-“

“No, I w’s already awake…” Virgil interrupted with a slight slur, groggy brain trying to keep up with what was happening. Being the embodiment of Anxiety, though, meant he didn’t get to stop being anxious just because he was sick. Why was he here? Was he angry? Virgil couldn’t recall doing anything that could offend anyone since he’d been self-quarantined, but then again, he couldn’t really remember his last name at the moment either. He mumbled to himself as he untangled his legs from the covers, cursing the universe under his breath because his head felt two times it’s normal size. Then he took a deep breath and sat up. He didn’t want to make Roman uncomfortable or grossed out seeing him all sick in bed, cause holy shit would that be embarrassing. He still didn’t look great, but it was a small step. “Come in Pr’ncey.”

The door swung open, revealing a timid, bed headed Roman, who seemed to relax a little when noticing Virgil sitting up in bed. “Hey there.. sorry to barge in, I hope i’m not bothering you.” he said, voice still lowered and really quite gentle as he shut the door behind him.

Virgil went to shake his head, but stopped himself before he could cause himself fucking brain damage and just shrugged instead. “ y’re not both’ring me. ‘sup?” yikes, all this sitting up and trying to look presentable business was making him realize how exhausted he was. His eyelids felt heavy already.

Roman took a few steps forward, keeping his eyes steadily on Virgil like he was waiting for him to keel over and die, or cough on him. It seemed pretty damn dramatic, even for Roman. “I… just wanted to check on you. I’ve uh, been a little worried about you, and i couldn’t sleep.” The Prince said, hesitant as he lowered himself on the foot of the bed.

Virgil blinked a few times, curling his legs up so his knees were to his chest to make sure Roman wouldn’t touch his feet under the 5 layers of blankets he had over him. Or maybe it was the sudden, treacherous hope that was rising in him, a hope he was trying to stifle. Roman was… worried about him? Roman of all sides? I mean, he wasn’t surprised that he cared, he and Roman were friends now after all. Virgil was just surprised he cared about this. He thought they were all in agreement to avoid him or something.

Virgil was about to open his mouth and say… something - he didn’t really know what he was going to say. It felt like his train of thought was chugging along through molasses - but he was interrupted before he could get any words out.

“Dude… no offense, but you look like actual death. And why in the name of Hades are you buried under so many blankets?” The Prince asked with what sounded like genuine confusion, at least for the second part.

Virgil huffed and pulled the blankets tighter around him, the movement causing him to shiver. He couldn’t decide what to focus on; The cold air on his back, the rising sensation of relief knowing Roman cared, or how weird that question had been. Quite honestly, Virgil wasn’t offended because he knew he looked like shit. he was just a little confused. He thought Roman would have known he’d look like shit. “What do you mean why do I have so many blankets. I literally feel like ’m freezing to death. ’s part of the package, shouldn’t you know this?” He practically deadpanned, not even for the snarkiness like usual. His speech was just dull.

But that only left Roman looking more confused, and probably a good deal more concerned if his expression was anything to go by. “I-... I didn’t know that, no.. I’m sorry. Do you want another blanket or something…?” he asked carefully, still awfully and almost painfully cautious.

And Virgil… was at a loss for how this could possibly be new information to Roman. it was pretty common knowledge even if you’ve never had a fever before. But instead of dwelling, Virgil once again stopped himself from shaking his head, sighing instead. “No, it won’ help.” he said shortly. The effort would be futile, but it was endearing that Roman at least asked. “Thanks though. That’s.. really nice of you t’ offer.” The anxious side offered a bit more quietly.

There was an awkward silence that followed, Roman shuffling his feet against the carpet slightly as he looked around the room. Virgil saw the other’s eyes catch on the pile of used tissues in the floor, another bout of confusion flashing in his bright green eyes, but he didn’t mention it this time. Maybe it was a lack of sleep making the Prince act so clueless at the moment. “I… I guess i’ve just.. i don’t know, everything is more boring without you around. Nobody to insult without actually offending them.” Roman spoke again after a moment, sending a half smile in Virgil’s direction.

A little smirk matched with a snort is what the Prince was rewarded with, Virgil's spirits lifted regardless of his misery. It felt nice knowing he was missed, and it made his chest warm knowing it was coming from Roman. For some reason, knowing he could make things more bearable for his counterpart was.. rewarding, in a way. And Roman looked proud of himself, before he continued a bit more solemnly. “You’ve been cooped up in here for so long, like what, 5 says now?”

That got Virgil to sigh, and maybe there was some defensiveness laying beneath the surface, made worse thanks to being miserable, but all he managed was a mildly annoyed side eye to Roman as he responded in a mumble, still doing his best not to run Roman off. “‘t’s not my fault.”

Roman was quick to shake his head, slight guilt in his expression. “I know! I-I’m not trying to make you feel bad, i guess i just- i don’t know, i’m just talking out loud… sorry.” Roman’s voice had quieted, eyes trained on the floor somewhat shamefully as he seemed to search for his words. “I just.. I just wish…” but once again, he trailed off, shaking his head and seeming to give up. “I’m sorry.”

“‘s fine, Princey.” Virgil mumbled back, eyes dropping to his lap where he picked at a loose string on his bedspread. Another silence followed, Virgil trying to sniffle as silently as he could. Despite how weird this interaction had been so far, and how slightly awkward it’s gotten, Virgil was honestly just trying to soak in the mere presence of another side while it lasted. He’d never liked being alone for so long. His stomach was starting to hurt for a reason aside from sickness. This sure was a good way to get Roman to leave early, the others were probably right for leaving him alone so far.

Suddenly, Virgil squeezed the blankets in his fist to try and stop a sudden tickle in his throat, the sensation coming out of nowhere. Unfortunately though, his instincts won out just seconds later as he was forced to cough, the sound gargled and gross even when he covered the whole bottom half of his face with his covers. Dammit, dammit, stupid fucking cough. And Roman just got there too. He wasn’t ready for the creative side to leave again yet.

“S- Sorry, sorry ‘bout that. Shit.” He mumbled rather quickly, hoping to by just a few minutes longer of the creative side’s company before it was taken away again for who knows how long. His head felt like it was being split open, no thanks to the effort it took to cough. Who the Hell’s idea was sickness? They should be fired.

Much to his surprise though, when Virgil hesitantly looked up to gauge how put off Roman was by his display, he only saw an overwhelming about of worry, but even more importantly, alarm.

“Apologies, but is this like- normal??” Roman asked with eyes noticeably wider, studying Virgil's pained expression, hunched over posture, the mess of dirty tissues around, and the way the bright numbers of his digital clock on his nightstand was covered carefully, with a washcloth no doubt.

Virgil drew in a deep, slow breath through his nose as he rubbed on his temples to try and alleviate some pain, eyes closed and head tilted down. Roman’s ridiculous questions were just making his headache worse, and honestly he didn’t even understand how the Hell he was so confused. Was this his plan? To come in here and confuse Virgil and his already incapacitated brain? ‘Cause if so, he was doing a brilliant job. “Roman, what the hell are you talking about.”

It came out less like a question, more like a very tired statement, but he was answered with confused stammering, Roman gesturing almost desperately to Virgil and his state. “What do you mean what am I talking about?? Dude, you’re clearly not doing well. I mean, I wasn’t gonna bring it up, but you’re sweating like a sinner in church, you’re covered in a thousand blankets, you were just hacking up a lung and you’re barely able to speak right from, what i’m assuming, is a nose full of mucus!”

“Yeah, okay, I get it. I look like shit, Pr’ncey, enough said.” Virgil snapped, glaring up at Roman and accidentally moving his head up to look at him too fast, sending a flare of agony through his skull. He cursed under his breath and winced, but powered through it even as Roman lifted a hand to- to what, help? It didn’t matter, Virgil moved away from the effort. “No, don’t touch me, alright? I don’t wan’ your pity.”

Virgil knew all of this was coming out more aggressive than he ever would allow if he was feeling himself. Hell, even now he was begging himself to just shut up and stay calm. But after almost 2 full days with no sleep, and 5 days of nonstop pain, coughing, being unable to breath properly, the feeling of fire in his throat every time he tried to eat, and then on top of that, being shunned by the 3 people he wanted- needed, more than anything. Well, he really couldn’t stop his composure from cracking and shattering.

Roman looked ready to respond, seemingly struck with more pity than before, but Virgil’s hand shot up to stop him. “I don’t want to hear it, Princey. Why the Hell are you even here anyway? If you’ve missed me so much, why did you wait 5 f’cking days to come see me? T’ come ‘check on me’? And, by th’ way, so far you’ve really only been fucking with me and making me feel worse, so in reality it probably would ‘ve been better had you just kept up your streak of avoiding me like ev’ryone else!”

Virgil was breathing heavily, head pounding and lungs burning after raising his voice just a bit too much at the end of his rant. He replayed the words back in his mind, heart sinking when he realized how aggressive he’d gotten. He couldn’t slow down his breathing, why couldn’t he slow his breathing?? Jesus christ, he wasn’t about to break down on top of all that other shit he just unleashed. Perfect, he was just proving the other side’s point for them.

With his body now starting to shake, jaw clenched to hold back tears because this week has been bullshit, and he felt like curling up and disappearing, if not to escape his aching body then to at least escape the anger he knew would result from that whole verbal meltdown he just had. Obviously Roman would be leaving, but would he yell first? Tell him how annoying and selfish he was, and how he didn’t get to be a huge asshole just because he was feeling a little under the weather? Or would he leave in silence, just exit the room with that silent, cold anger that Roman only showed when he was really upset.

Maybe he’d tell everyone else what happened, how he’d tried to extend an olive branch, test it out just to see if maybe his illness hadn’t made him into a pathetic prick, but Virgil lashed out as expected and ran him off. Would Logan and Patton get mad at him too? Come in and tell him off for being so horrible to his own family, that he couldn’t even be a decent person for 5 minutes.

Maybe things wouldn’t go back to normal even after he’s recovered, all because he couldn’t just control himself.

“Virgil, what are you talking about?” Roman asked exasperated, and Virgil dragged his hands down his face. He meant to make more of a growl in frustration, but it came out closer to a pained whine. His eyes stung for a new reason now. He just wanted this to stop. Why wouldn’t Roman just stop?

“What. What am I talking about what. I can’t do this- this whole vague shit righ’now, jus’ spit it out.” He hated how short tempered he was sounding, but Roman didn’t seem to be fazed. Virgil could see the Prince waving his hands around in his peripheral, looking tongue tied.

“The- The part where you think i’m fucking with you?? Why you think we’re avoiding you?? Why you’re so-... so….” Roman trailed off, a look of realization crossing his face, which quickly turned to horror and guilt. “Wait a… w-wait a second, Virgil, are you- are you sick??”

To say Roman sounded appalled would be an understatement, his eyes wide in shock, brows drawn, mouth slightly agape. Virgil’s head spun, suddenly dizzy as his brain tried to figure out why Roman sounded so horrified- why he sounded so surprised. He couldn’t stand it, he couldn’t understand what was going on. He felt nauseous and he just wanted to sleep. Before he knew it, tears were trekking down his face, thick tears springing from his eyes making the pressure behind them even more unbearable. A sob tore painfully from his throat, instantly catching the Prince’s full attention.

“Oh my… Virgil-“

Virgil shrunk away from the Prince’s voice, curling up once more into a ball, trying to hide from everything. His lip wobbled, he could feel it, but he was too tired to be embarrassed or feel pathetic. He pulled the covers closer around him. “R-Roman, please jus’-“ He hiccuped on a sob, hissed through his teeth as the action sent a sharp pain through his lungs. “I don’ know i-if you’re tryin’ to joke ‘r somethin’, but— but ’s n- not funny, o-okay?”

Instead of speaking clearly at a normal volume, Virgil was nearly mumbling the entire time he was speaking, slurring through words even worse than when the conversation started. Was it just him, or was the room spinning? “Please, i… i need you t’...” Virgil huffed for breath, exhaustion wearing on him like a switch was just suddenly flipped. It nearly took all his energy to try and get a deep breath.

“Ro…”

Virgil was met with a warm, broad chest, and strong arms wrapping around him before he even knew he was slumping forward. His ears were ringing, drowning out what sounded like a familiar voice speaking to him. They sounded distressed, he hoped they were okay. What was combing through his hair? He couldn’t quite remember what was going on before then, but all he knew was, he was safe now.

Then, the world went dark.

———

Virgil came into consciousness a little while later, his brain the kind of blissfully empty that only comes after passing out, apparently. He couldn’t grasp where he was before, existing in a reality where there is no past for a few moments. His head was vaguely aching, like a dull throb faded into the background, and his lungs stung only a little when he breathed in deeply. In his sleepy state though, Virgil didn’t concern himself with those feelings.

Virgil couldn’t see anything, he noticed not long after, but he could hear murmuring and the distant sound of water running.

Next, he realized he knew he wasn’t in his own room anymore, both because this wasn’t his mattress, and the room didn’t smell like his own.

He could smell.. cinnamon… and peaches… and ink. Somewhere in his groggy brain, Virgil recognized the smell, but at the moment it was just out of his reach. It didn’t bother him, though, not when he was so relaxed and calm. He felt like he was one with the bed, and the soft, fluffy sheets encasing him.

A few more seconds of coming to, and Virgil realized his eyes were covered with something damp, and cool… soft too. It felt amazing against his warm skin. oh right, i’m sick, a thought entered his mind gently.

Then, a lot less gently, the events from before he passed out rushed to the forefront of his mind, practically smacking him in the face. Because yes, he’d passed out, right in front of Roman like an idiot, oh shit, why isn’t he in his room, where is he-

“Virgil? Hey woah, calm down buddy- here,” Virgil heard someone quickly cross the room, and tended his body for all of two seconds before the washcloth over his eyes was being lifted.

Virgil blinked blearily, squinting his eyes even though the room was almost completely shrouded in darkness, save for a thin line of light coming from the cracked bathroom door. Someone was sat beside him on the side of the bed, but he was too blurry for Virgil to make out details.

“There you are. Hey Hot Topic, how are you feeling?” the person asked, speaking more gently than anyone had spoken to Virgil in a long time. Strangely though, Virgil wasn’t upset by it. It was.. nice…

Wait a minute, he knew that voice.

“R- Roman..? I.. Where…?” Distantly, Virgil knew he sounded like shit, which meant he probably looked like shit, and directly after asking that half assed question, he realized he had to be in the Princes room. “Oh.. fuckin’- I passed out on you..” he groaned, moving his hands up to scrub the blurriness from his eyes.

It worked, surprisingly, and now that Virgil could see, he realized that yes, Roman was the one sitting next to him, and yes he was in Roman’s room, in Roman’s bed. He also noticed how tossed Roman’s hair was, and the bright red with little snowmen pajamas the Prince wore. They were really adorable.

“Yes, I’m afraid you did.. and I’m also afraid that I am partly to blame for it.” Roman sighed, casting his eyes down as he pressed his lips in a line.

Virgil’s brows drew together, and, because he was so delirious, he reached out to grab gently at Romans sleeve. “How is it your fault that I passed out?” he asked incredulously. At least he could speak properly now. Now? Now since when? Oh geez, “Wait how long have I been out? A few hours? Days? Years?! Did I fall into a coma?!”

The corner of Roman’s lip lifted in amusement, and he gently lay a hand over Virgil’s, on his sleeve. “No, no nothing like that, Dark Knight. It’s only been an hour or so. I.. hope you don’t mind, but I had to bring you in here. Your fever was… really high.” The Prince of Creativity said, solemn by the end.

“I think i’ve managed to get it down, so it’s not so dangerous anymore, but Logan will definitely have to keep an eye on it today.”

That got Virgil's attention. “Wait- Logan? Uh.. yeah, not to burst your bubble Princey, but I doubt that’ll be happening.” There was a slight bitterness to his tone as he wrapped his free arm around his midsection, and though there wasn’t as much bitterness as there usually would be, Roman still picked up on it loud and clear.

He inclined his head, as if in agreement, and Virgil stomach only sunk a little bit before Roman was speaking again.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Virgil. You see, there seems to have been a grave misunderstanding. This is how I’m partially responsible for your passing out, same as Logan and Patton are also partly to blame.”

Virgil’s eyes widened, breath hitching at the sheer ridiculousness of that suggestion. No!! How could it be their fault? He’s the one that got so sick and couldn’t keep himself healthy enough not to fucking pass out. He opened his mouth to say as much, but Roman held up a finger before he could get out a single word, silencing him.

“A few days ago, 5 to be exact, it came to Patton’s attention that you weren’t feeling yourself. He told me and Logan that you told him you weren’t feeling very well, and that we should all give you some space the next few days.” Roman said carefully. Ah yes, that conversation. The one that’s haunted Virgil for nearly a week. Virgil remembered it well.

With a hesitant, still very lost nod from Virgil, Roman continued. “It seems that Patton, and in turn, Logan and I, assumed that your strange behavior was linked to.. well, anxiety.” He gave Virgil’s hand a light squeeze, any sign of a smile gone and replaced with pained regret. The Prince swallowed, just as Virgil pieced it together.

“Because of these more stressful times Thomas is experiencing, we wrongly thought that you were having a rough week, leading to worse anxiety. So… we’ve been leaving you on your own, thinking we were helping you..”

Virgil.. didn’t know what to say. He looked up and found Roman’s red, sorrowful eyes. When he focused, he could see they were just a little bit bloodshot, even in the dark. Proof that he had previously cried, no doubt about this. When Virgil didn’t speak, still too shocked as his slowed brain processes this, Roman continued, quietly choking back a sob just after he averted his gaze to the floor.

“V-Virgil-“ he voice cracked. Virgil’s heart was sinking in his chest. Roman had never looked so heartbroken. “Virgil I’m so sorry, I had no idea you were sick, none of us did! I-I swear I didn’t know, I would have never left you alone if I had, Virgil, Star, i’m so so s-sorry,”

Roman was practically full on crying by that point, though he clearly tried to keep it to himself and stay quiet. Virgil was grateful for the effort, but there were much more important things to focus on at the moment. He may not be completely himself, but he still couldn’t let Roman be so sad.

It was because he wasn’t completely himself that Virgil automatically sat up (taking his time to do so, trying not to upset his head), and leaned himself right against Roman, chest to chest, looping his arms around to loosely hold Princey in a hug.

It all made sense now, why he’d been ignored all week, and why nobody came to check on him or try to help. He felt a little (read: a lot) stupid for thinking that anyone in his famILY would do anything but show him the upmost care and attention when he needed it. They thought they were helping, and honestly, had he in fact been having a bad week of heightened anxiety, giving him space would have been the right thing for them to do.

Roman was quick to return Virgil’s hug, though to his credit, his hug was a lot stronger and more secure than Virgil’s. He buried his face in Virgil’s hair, a steady stream of teary apologies spilling from him. A steady stream that Virgil hastily tried to end.

“Roman, it’s okay… i’m not upset, I promise it’s okay. I know you were doing what you thought would help me. Please don’t cry, Princey.” He said softly.

It might have been a few more minutes, or a few hours, that the two sides sat together in each other’s arms. Roman’s cries and apologies slowly quieted to a stop, though the gentle combing of fingers through Virgil’s hair only continued as they sat.

“Hey… Roman?” Virgil whispered after a few more moments, the whole mindscape quiet, save for the quiet sniffles from both Virgil and Roman every once in a while.

“Yes, sweet Midnight?” came an equally gentle response. Neither side moved, Virgil too content with his face snuggly buried against his counterpart’s shoulder, and Roman too content with having Anxiety safe in his arms.

“Would… well, you can say no, but would you mind.. if I stay in here..? I don’t… really want to be alone…” a hint of Virgil’s usual anxious tendencies showed itself despite the tiredness that was starting to cover the darker side. Instead of head-swimming exhaustion though, this time Virgil felt pleasantly heavy and relaxed.

Without uttering another word, Roman pulled them both down to lay their heads on the pillows, lifting one hand to gently flick his wrist and manipulate the covers around them. The light in the bathroom turned off with a soft click of Roman’s fingers, one that Virgil hardly registered as he shuffled somehow closer to the Prince, still tucked safely in his arms.

As he fell softly and smoothly into the first restful sleep he’s had in days, Virgil noticed that he wasn’t freezing cold anymore. The dull throb in his head had gone away almost entirely, and it felt that much easier to breathe. But most importantly, Virgil felt less alone than he had in a long, long time.

Needless to say, Virgil was feeling better already.

#tw sickness #hurt/comfort #sanders sides #ts sanders sides #thomas sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #ts virgil #ts roman #prinxiety #virgil x roman #romantic prinxiety #platonic prinxiety

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urimaginespimp · 3 years

Text

Naked While They’re Working

Requested

AN: Happy Holidays everyone! I hope you enjoy this one.

Tommy

Being married to Thomas guaranteed you a lot of things – wealth, protection, a crazy family, and incomparable intimacy. The past few weeks however, you’ve been sleeping and waking up to a cold bed, as your husband tries to sort out his business.

“I know the face of a touch-starved woman when I see one.” She said bluntly, making her son Michael clear his throat and excuse himself from your exchange.

You sighed. “It’s been a few weeks.” You muttered, but it was loud enough to make her chuckle.

“Men often think with their cocks, dear. I’m sure if he’s reminded of what he’s been missing out on, you’d be alright.” She puffs a smoke out and smiled slyly at you.

Now here you were in your bathroom with nothing but your robe, taking one last look in the mirror. Dropping the silk material to your feet, you stepped out of it and walked your way to your husband’s office door. Leaning in, you hear that he’s talking on the phone.

Walking in, he was yet to look up from scribbling down whatever the person from the other end of the line was telling him, until you cleared your throat.

“Y/N I-“ his breath caught his throat when he finally looked up. You almost giggled at his shocked face.

You saw the battle in his eyes. But he knew better than to keep you from waiting further.

“I-uh have to call you back.” He said over the phone in a rush and slammed it back down.

“Well…” He got up from his seat already loosening his tie, to make his way to you. “I believe I have to burry myself to some other business tonight.”

Alfie

To say that you and Alfie’s physical chemistry was great would be an understatement. That particular morning, you’ve been feeling a lot needier than usual. But to your annoyance, he’s yet to get back from his trip ‘til noon.

With a wicked grin, you took your long coat from the closet and decided to surprise him when he gets back to his office.

Glancing at the clock once more, you saw that it was almost noon. A voice was heard out the door, undoubtedly your husbands, making you finally rid of your coat.

But when another voice answered him, you realized that he wasn’t alone. Getting up, you quickly made your way in the nearby closet and shut it close.

The door opened and footsteps made their way in. You could tell by the small gap on the closet that Alfie was stood by your view while his unknown companion was probably still by the door.

“Mr. Solomons think about what I said, ye?” You now recognized the voice of the Shelby man.

“Ye just get out of me office now, will ya? I’m startin’ to think yer getting clingy.” You couldn’t see him but just imagining the annoyed face of your husband made you snicker, forgetting you were in hiding.

Undoubtedly hearing you, the two men in the office froze for a second. Alfie slowly reached for his gun, and told Mr. Shelby to stand back.

You bit your lip from laughing further when Alfie forcefully swung the closet door and aimed a gun at your direction, to only freeze again in front of your naked figure.

“Well what is it, Mr. Solomons?” Thomas Shelby asked from the doorway.

Alfie brought his gun down and gulped at the sight of you. “Lock the door on your way out, Shelby.” He ordered, still staring at you.

John

The Shelby family were no strangers to you and John’s antics. The amount of times that they’ve walked in on you would be enough to make them consider buying you both extra locks for your room. But Thomas found a better solution – keeping you both busy from different offices.

You had to admit, it worked. For the past few days, you both barely had time to spend time together from the amount of work were given.

“I miss John.” You sighed while arranging paperwork.

“You can’t possibly be serious.” Finn answered, having heard of your demise. “You just saw each other this morning.”

“Yeah, but we’ve been too busy lately, we’re only together to finally sleep or to get ready for work.”

Finn being the sweet man that he was, nodded in understanding. “I’ll cover for ya for half an hour.” He offered. “I swear not to tell Tommy.”

Grateful, you gave the youngest Shelby a small hug and almost skipped your way to John’s office.

Slowly opening the door, you saw that your husband’s seat facing away from the door.

“Tom I’m not done reading our men’s reports. I’ll send it your way later.” He said from his seat, not even turning around to see if it really were his older brother.

With a playful thought, you unzipped the back of your dress and let if fall to your feet.

Noting how he hadn’t received a reply or heard the door shut once more, he turned his seat around and came to face you. A grin broke on his features.

“I missed you too, darling.” He chuckled as you approached him.

It wasn’t long then when his chair was turned to face away the chair once more and you were both in the middle of showing how you really missed each other when the door swung open.

“John whe- For heaven’s sake I told ya to lock the fucking door!” An angry Thomas stormed out of the office, cursing.

Arthur

Arthur was in the middle of checking the sales of his pub upstairs the Garrison.

“Harry we can lock up for you.” You offered the clearly worn out barman.

“You sure, miss? I don’t want Mr. Shelby getting mad at me.” He asked hesitantly.

“I’d be madder if you don’t take rest now.” You smiled at him, and he grinned in gratitude.

Walking upstairs, you got rid of any piece of clothing you had piece by piece. By the time you were outside his office door you were clear of any of it.

Knocking on it, you heard him replied a low invitation to come in. Opening the door slowly, he was still buried on scanning the record book when you spoke.

“So…” you were trying not to smile. “Are we going home any time soon, or would your office have to do?” you asked.

“Have to do for what?” He asked, and finally turned your way. “Oh. I see.” He himself was also trying not to grin so much from looking at you. “Can’t have ya walking out of here lookin’ like that now, can’t we?”

Michael

Michael had a beautiful office. It was spacious, had great furniture, and had a huge glass window for you to ogle at him if you want. He’s been stuck in a meeting with the Shelby brothers for hours now, and you had come over that afternoon from your shared flat to fetch him for your anniversary dinner.

The Shelby men’s backs were all you could see of them while your boyfriend was on his desk discussing to them who knows what. Meeting your eyes through the window, your boyfriend gave you an apologetic look. You just gave him a smile, knowing that it wasn’t his choice to be stuck in there.

You helped yourself with the bottle of wine on one of the shelves outside and a wine glass. Before your mind could ponder it, a glass turned into two and soon enough, who knows how many.

Your boyfriend however, hadn’t missed how you’ve enjoyed yourself with the drink. Taking a look out the window, you saw that it was already dark out.

Happy Anniversary. You mouthed to him with a grin. Well if the Shelbys were going to disrupt your date, might as well make sure Michael still enjoys the night.

Michael was having a drink, still looking at you, and almost choked when you started unbuttoning the first few buttons of your dress.

“Is everything okay, Michael?” Arthur asked him, almost turning to check what he saw.

“Yes!” He exclaimed to quickly to stop his cousin from looking your way. “Just choked on my drink.”

There was no denying that you have succumbed to the alcohol. Grinning at your boyfriend like an idiot, he shifted in his seat, clearly already bothered by you and couldn’t wait to get out of there.

You were on your last piece of clothing and had only tossed it away when Thomas turned back with the intention to cough away from everyone else. He snapped his head back quickly when he caught a glimpse of you.

He and Michael stared at each other when he spoke. “Brothers, look ahead with no questions.” He ordered Arthur and John. Nodding at his cousin, Michael got the memo and stood up quickly to go to you.

Finn

Finn and you had decided that you were going to give your purity to each other. It was awkward at first and not at all as the pictures have suggested on screen, but nevertheless, you enjoyed it and it was very memorable for you. Finn however had thought he did a bad job despite you insisting otherwise.

It had been a month, and although you were with him not just to share his bed, you had to admit that you wanted it to be incorporated in your relationship. You asked his older sister, Ada for advice. Of course, she laughed at you first but was not hesitant to give you some tips.

“Ada I am not gonna threaten to break up with him.” Your mouth was agape at her suggestion.

She laughed. “I’m merely joking, Y/N.” shaking her head. “Threats and sex will never go well.” She clarified.

“I know.” You answered, fiddling with your fingers.

“But I’m positive that there is no better way to get some but by seduction of course.” She crossed her arms, smirking at you.

“How do I… seduce your brother?” you almost didn’t say it, knowing how awkward it would sound. And as expected Ada cringed.

“There is no way I am teaching you how to seduce my little brother.” She shuddered and it was your turn to laugh. “I don’t know, just take of your clothes in front of him.”

Finn one day a week is left alone in the betting shop while the other Shelby men go to London to check up on business. The ladies that afternoon have finally retired into their homes when you opted to stay. Your boyfriend was well aware of your presence in the next office but had no further intentions but to walk you home later.

Walking in front of a mirror hung on the wall, you fixed your hair and proceeded to unzip your dress from the back.

You could hear him walking around the next office and finally decided to make your way there.

Knocking on the door, you opened it slowly and saw him picking up his coat from the table, probably thinking that you were there to tell him you were heading home.

Turning to face you, he stopped in his tracks when he realized you were free of any clothing. He gulped and almost kicked himself from getting affected immediately.

“Holy shi- Y/N what are you doing?” He was cursing profusely while looking down on his feet.

“Finn. I’m not here to force you into doing anything, okay?” You assured him and his reddening face. “Last month was wonderful. Yes, we weren’t that all graceful, but isn’t that why it’s called a first?” You smiled at him.

Listening to your little talk, he finally chuckled and nodded. “We get to improve every time, eh?” he finally looked at you and smirked. You gulped, knowing that you’ve finally made him understand.

“Shut the door, darling.”

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behindyourbarrette · 3 years

Text

like you a latte - matcha latte

← previous | series masterlist | join my taglist | next part ->

pairing: spencer reid x fem reader

a/n: SURPRISE i felt like dropping this a DAY early!!lololololol but here it is! i appreciate the love on the last two parts so so soooo much :) can’t beliEVE WE ARE HALFWAY DONE!! reblog if u enjoyed

—

Needless to say, Twilight Time isn’t very crowded on Thursday afternoons.

You rarely pick up closing shifts anymore—for reasons totally unrelated to the doctor who almost exclusively arrives in the morning—but you’re covering for Sally, and it’s a nice day out. The rain has let up in favor of mild weather, the sun just barely peeking through the clouds as people drift past the shop. Despite the fact that there’s more foot traffic on the street, not many people come in to order. You don’t blame them. Why have hot coffee on a day like this?

Your back is turned when you hear a group enter, and your heart soars at the prospect of tips. For whatever reason, most people are more inclined to tip when they know their friends are watching. You call out to let them know you’ll be right with them, and after you’re done fidgeting with the settings of the coffee grinder, you turn.

It’s Spencer. But he’s not alone.

There are a total of four people before you, each intimidating you in slightly different ways. They’re all agents, as evidenced by their not-so-concealed carries. You recognize a few of the characters. Spencer’s told you about JJ, who you assume to be the friendly blonde, and Penelope, who is a vision in fuchsia. That leaves Emily, who’s whispering to JJ, eyes fixed on you. You try to absorb the sight, them together. Spencer looks at ease, a wide smile on his face as he looks between you and the group.

“Hey, Spencer. These your coworkers?” You crack a nervous smile, knitting your fingers together. He nods, introducing them each in turn. JJ grins in your direction, and Penelope waves at you with a fingerlessly-gloved hand. Emily reaches across the bar to shake your hand. You get the sense that there’s something Spencer hasn’t told you.

“What can I get you guys?”

Spencer shrugs, defaulting to JJ and Emily. Penelope pipes up, eyes bright as she peers at the menu above you.

“Do you have matcha, sweetheart? I’ve been meaning to try that. It’s great for your skin.” You nod, pulling a cup out and inscribing Penelope’s name on it. JJ and Emily both order americanos, exchanging a sheepish grin. After setting their cups aside, you turn to Spencer.

“Genius, you should really try the matcha. It’ll give you brain power. Not that you need any more.” Penelope does jazz hands to emphasize her excitement, and Spencer shrugs. You watch them interact for a moment before you realize he’s turned to you for your approval.

“Oh. I really like matcha. It’s green tea, and a matcha latte tastes light and sweet. I think you’d like it.” He nods, and orders it hot. Penelope orders iced; you smile as you consider that they compliment each other, eventually turning away to prepare everyone’s drinks. They’re all relatively simple, and you manage to include latte art in the hot drinks. Spencer’s is last, and you flick your wrist to finish the design. Crossing the bar, you hand each agent their drink in turn.

Penelope sips at her drink first, the bright green matching one of her rings perfectly. Spencer eyes his dubiously, poking at it with a wooden stirring stick.

“It’s very green.” He whispers to Penelope, who cackles in response.

JJ catches your eye as you watch, lingering between the bar and their seats. With a smile, she waves you over.

“You’ve totally ruined other coffee for Spence. We had to come try it for ourselves.” She whispers, leaning down. You aren’t sure how to feel about her tone; there’s a glint of something in her eye, something playfully secretive. You’re not sure what part of this you’re not in on.The idea of Spencer mentioning you at all is foreign—sure, you’ve told your roommates, and your coworkers found out that you do, in fact, have a favorite regular. Still, you never considered the idea that you bleed into other parts of his life. You steal a glance at him while JJ compliments her americano. He’s sipping at his matcha, a green mustache left behind.

“You have a magic touch, Y/N. I don’t think I’ve ever had coffee this good in the states.” Emily flashes you a grin as if she can sense your nervousness. You relax a little, asking her about her work abroad instead of getting lost in your head. She strikes you as a diplomat, and a compliment from her feels like something to be savored. Penelope raves to you about the health benefits of matcha, and you immediately feel welcomed by her. If you were to run a study comparing the approachability between pink polka dots and pantsuits, you're sure that polka dots would win.

“Are you an agent, too?” You ask, stirring your own iced coffee with a straw. Eyeing the clock, you’ve decided that this counts as your break. Tyler be damned. Penelope giggles, shaking her head.

“Oh God no. Well, technically. I’m a technical analyst, so I work on the computer and tech end of things.” She explains, and you nod. It makes a lot of sense. While both JJ and Emily exude the energy of most cops—authoritative, with a critical eye—Garcia does’t fit that mold. It’s this that draws you to her.

You learn that JJ has a son named Henry, a surprisingly Southern boyfriend to match, and that Emily has a cat named Sergio. Despite their highbrow titles, you don’t feel out of place. It’s easy to sip at your coffee, the cup cool against your fingertips, and listen.

“Are you in school? Spence mentioned that you majored in literature.” JJ sets her cup down, flexing her fingers against the air. You feel yourself flush now that the attention is on you. The fact that he chose this detail to divulge sticks between your ribs. You haven't told him much about your work—he insisted on reading your thesis, and even reread the source material to better discuss it with you—but apparently, what you have discussed has made an impression.

“Yeah, actually. I’m in my second year of law school.” You admit. Emily nods in approval, reaching out to high five you.

“Damn. With all the assholes you deal with in customer service, you’ll make a great attorney.” You high five her with a small smile on your face, stealing a glance at Spencer. He seems elated, clearly enjoying the dynamic he’s observing.

“Do you want to go into criminal law?”

JJ asks, eyes wide with curiosity. You shake your head ruefully. They take it well, shrugging their shoulders. To their credit, their branch of law enforcement deals with the process prior to prosecution. You shudder at the idea of what happens after they catch the bad guys.

“No, not really. I’m looking at either the entertainment or environmental sector.”

The group murmurs, and the conversation devolves into small talk about law. You look to Spencer for an escape, and he suggests that they take a walk. Once the girls have trickled out of the room, each hugging you goodbye, you’re left alone with Spencer.

“Hey.”

You laugh at the simplicity of his greeting, turning to toss your empty coffee cup into the trash. Spencer flushes a deep shade of red, raking his hands through his hair.

“Your friends aren’t how I expected. Really cool, though. Especially for like, Quantico professionals.” You wipe the counter down, and the reality that you’re on the clock hits you, a little dizzily. Did his coworkers really just want to meet Spencer’s barista? The realization tastes a little bitter, and you bite back any further questioning in favor of looking up at him.

“Yeah. They’re like family.” He looks out the window, hands deep in his pockets. His whole demeanor is stiff, and you resist the urge to reach out and force his shoulders down from his ears.

“Did you like the matcha? I wasn’t sure you would. I used the oat milk you like.” Slowly, he relaxes. With a small smile, he nods.

“It was good. I like most teas, I’m finding. It wasn’t too sweet.” You add matcha to the mental list you keep, of drinks he likes. It’s become your mission to expand it. In the months since he started branching out, you’ve managed to add a few drinks to his core rotation.

“You know you’re one of my friends too, right?”

This catches you off guard. You pause in the motion of sweeping the floor, carefully raising your eyes to meet his. While nervous, he sounds sincere. When met with your silence, he continues.

“I just wanted you to know.”

You nod carefully. The implications of this are something you’ll consider later, when you’re alone. He’s only confirming something you’ve already known, but something about it stings. The word crosses your mind briefly, but it sticks. It’s bittersweet.

“I know.” Your voice is low, soft against the din of the coffee shop. Spencer doesn’t look satisfied, opening his mouth to say something then closing it again. He glances between you and the window.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

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blackcherrykiss · 3 years

Text

BLOOD BOUNDARIES - Enhypen OT7 Fanfic (ch.5)

[CH.1] [CH.2] [CH.3] [CH.4] previous chapters

[CH.6] next chapter (now available!)

genre: vampire au, romance, drama, mystery, thriller

note: written inspired by enhypen's storyline, given-taken lyrics & teasers. please keep in mind all members are apart of this fanfic and the main theme is mystery/drama!

P.S Niki and Sunoo's roles become bigger in later chapters :) sorry I took 2 weeks to update. School + new enhypen teasers made me alter the story now jesus their lore is confusingly interesting. Didn't proofread half of this chapter LOL. Happy readings <3

"Well now that everyone is here, I'd like to announce we have a new student who just transferred here." Your eyes were immediately drawn to the student's platinum blonde hair. Despite his sharp and charismatic face, his eyes were delicate and innocent. He had an exceptionally small face and a sunkissed skin tone. The new student snapped himself around so that the entire classroom got a good look at him, "Hello, my name is Park Jongseong or Jay, call me whatever you feel." He bowed slightly, his voice having a cool ring that played over in your head.

"Everybody please welcome Jay to our astronomy class. Lend him any of our previous notes because midterms are coming up and I'd appreciate as a teacher if you guys helped him catch up before our long weekend coming up in two weeks." Your teacher gave a warm smile, nodding in such a way that made the rest of the class nod with her.

Without a student saying a word, everyone's eyes followed him as he took a seat at a desk a couple of rows in front of you.

You stared at him tirelessly, barely listening as your teacher rambled off-topic. You noticed Jay often stared out at the crying sky that occasionally flickered with lightning. His eyes focused intently on the woods. You were sure you weren't the only one who was interested in the new boy as you frequently caught other students glancing over at him every few seconds. Jay carried an attractive and dark aura that clearly contrasted from the crowd. Both girls and boys stared at him not because of his pretty face but because he was far different from the new students who had joined your school mid-semester.

The class flew by for you because of Jay until a simple but intriguing question was purposed by the teacher, "Bonus marks today if anyone can guess when the next full moon is." she lifted her eyes off the projector for a few moments, waiting for answers to come sailing.

"Saturday?" Somebody from the front called out, followed by numerous answers that ranged between the second week to the fourth week of the month.

"Come on now. Don't blurt out, give others chances to guess. Jay why don't you guess?" Your teacher questioned welcomingly, expecting no answer from him.

He leaned back in his chair, scraping the non-writing end of his ballpen on his thumb, "November 30." A gentle sound of thunder playing perfectly when he said the answer; like some sort of scene out of a comic.

"Ding ding ding!" Your teacher switched to a PowerPoint slide with the new unit name bolded, "I know this isn't part of the curriculum but I got it approved by the head of the school." She took a breath, giving students time to comprehend what was presented in front of them. "Our next unit will be looking deeper at the moon. More specifically, we'll be looking at both the sciency and non-sciency sides of this topic. And before anyone asks; no, you don't need to believe in astrology or superstitions to understand the non-sciency material. It's just very fascinating because it connects to many cultures." Your attention was now far away from Jay. You were enthusiastic about a topic for once in the class.

"And looks like we're running out of time." Your teacher's wrist clock blocking her eyes. "That's it for today's class everyone! I'll have your projects marked for next class, I promise! Have a good day." She said while shutting off the projector.

You slid all your handouts into your binder, not bothering to align the three-hole punches of the papers to their designated rings.

"Y/N before you go, do you mind helping out Jay? Today or tomorrow?" Your teacher stopped you on your way out.

"Like lend him my notes?"

"Yep! I just forgot to ask but he just left so you might be able to catch up to him. Maybe ask if he's got the notes yet."

You waved your goodbyes and chased the new boy down, his uniquely blonde hair standing out from the hallway of heads. You picked up the pace to catch up with his swift steps when you caught him chatting with Sunghoon and Jaeyun. Your feet froze straight down in their place.

Were they new friends? Or perhaps they were old friends?

You weren't going to bother talking to Jay as you already knew what kind of funny business would come up if you did. You could only watch them swing and lean their arms against each other in a close and friendly way. The picture was becoming more and more clear to you as to what kind of association Jay had with Sunghoon and Jaeyun perhaps even Heeseung, Sunoo or Jungwon.

...

You throw yourself violently over your thick mattress after finishing a long study and homework session at your dorm. The session wasn't productive but the time you spent surrounded by your schoolwork made it feel that way. Your dorm was awfully quiet that afternoon as your dormmates had music rehearsals for their extracurriculars. Nana had told you to come by the music rooms around a quarter past five when their practice was over to go down to the dining hall and have dinner but you couldn't think of a way to kill your remaining hour alone.

Phones were forbidden in your school and you often felt uncontrollably alone and bored with your thoughts during your free time. You could only lay tangled in your bed with your half progressed work in the corner of your eye. You shift on one side to watch your wide-open binder until you got some burst of motivation to finish studying until an idea hits you.

After eyeing your handouts from your astronomy class, you decide to hit the library and do some reading to get a little advanced in the class. Sure you could study for your other class but the sudden idea was far more worth your time in your mind. You quickly twirl out of your room, clearing your desk while you're at it. Excitedly, you hop into your shoes and head straight for the library. You were put in a good mood as you skipped along the long journey to the bookhouse.

The library was moderately packed as you don't bother to recognize any faces there. You get deja vu as you trail the same path you did when Sunghoon and Kyungeun were around. Sliding between the thin space between the bookshelves once again, you search for the section related to the moon, feeling dizzy at the sight of books your school owned. You could've made your life easier by asking the librarian but you were confident you could find it on your own. You move up and down the aisles as you catch a glimpse of theoretical and astrology related books that sit next to a couple of history books.

Backing up, you awkwardly bend your knees forward to get a better look at the small selection of books under the genre. You peel a random book spine out from its tight spot as if it had never been taken out before. You dust off the book a bit, reading the wordless cover and open it to check if it was really related to any sort of astronomy as you find a much stranger subject being discussed.

"Finding everything alright?" The librarian comes by, pushing a kart from the other end of the shelves. "I-I'm looking for books related to the moon." You say, standing up and forgetting you still had the old book in hand.

"The scientific information is just on the other side of this shelf but the section you were just looking at has some interesting stuff that might be related." The librarian stuffed herself in between the shelves to get toward you.

"Yeah, I noticed... This book I just picked up was talking about vampires." You laugh a little as you hold it up.

"Ah, that book..." She paused, snatching the book out of your hands to examine it, "I read this before... It relates to astrology. I think there are some parts of the book that go into detail about the moon, you should give it a read."

"Is this book just theoretical research about vampires though?" You were unconvinced with the idea.

"Yeah, real or not, our school grounds and the neighbouring town are talked about in the book. Apparently many years ago this place used to be a hotspot for vampires." She looked you dead in the eyes.

"Do you think the information is true?" You questioned with deep curiosity upon her answer.

"Some information in there is haunting. I think vampires did exist." She said with some sort of distress beginning to seep into her face.

Shivers ran down your spine, if she was just trying to sell you the book, it was working damn well on you.

"I'll leave you be, no need to sign out the book, nobody ever takes it out so I trust you'll return it." And with that said, she left you cold with mystery as the book between your fingers stared at you with big round eyes.

You shake back to reality, checking your wrist just to find out your time has vanished. You shift your priorities to getting to the music department, throwing the book into your bag without much thought.

...

The sun was already going down around the afternoon as the days got shorter with autumn blossoming. You're standing between rooms full of beautiful voices and instruments, peering through every window attached to a door in an attempt to find your roommates. The issue was the widows didn't give much of a view as to who was in the rooms. But your ears were drawn to a gentle piano that played a bittersweet melody beneath the louder sounds of people singing in a harmonious glee. As you move in the forward direction of the hallway, the piano gets clearer to your ears. It became clear that the sound was coming out of a room with its door wide open. Your back attached it to the wall in fear of being seen as slide yourself until you meet the spine of the door where you could see into the shadowy room.

Your eyes lit up when they see a familiar platinum blondie behind the keys. The melody was enchanting and was played in such a personal way as the sounds escaped into the noisy environment where it hoped to go unheard. Jay had reached the final notes of his song as he turned his head in your direction. It was as if he knew of your present from the moment you started watching him from the doorway.

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fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

Could you maybe write a “73 questions with Sirius Black” Vogue one? Or something like that.

Yes! I had never seen these videos before and it was a fun challenge to write. Hope you enjoy! Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove!

The house is large, two stories tall and painted a soft gray with white trim around the windows. Holiday lights have yet to be taken down and shine in all colors of the rainbow from the eaves as the camera crew walks up the front steps. The curtains in the window tremble for a moment, then a dog pokes her head through—she is all-black and curious, and looks quite large.

Dorcas Meadowes knocks on the front door; a moment later, it swings open and reveals Sirius Black. “Hey, guys, come on in! You can leave your shoes by the door inside.”

“Thanks, Sirius.” Dorcas kicks off her flats and follows him inside as he sets a dish towel on the end table and leans against it. “How are you today?”

“I’m doing pretty well. Morning practice was productive and I’m feeling good about our upcoming game.”

“We’re here today to ask you 73 rapid-fire questions while you lead us around. Sound good?”

“Sounds good. You can all come inside instead of freezing on the porch,” he laughs, waving them closer. The door shuts with a gentle click.

“First question: on a scale of 1-10, how excited are you about life right now?”

“Hmmm. A solid seven.”

“Do you have any pets?”

“I do!” Sirius leads them into the other room, where the dog is curled up on the couch below the window; he picks her up and gives her a kiss on the head. “This is Hattie and I love her very much.”

“Cute! If you could do a dramatic love scene in a movie with anyone, who would it be?”

Sirius sets the dog down and thinks for a second. “Aside from my fiancé, I’m going to say James Potter. We would kill it and I don’t think it would be that awkward.”

“What’s the origin of your name?”

“Pretty much my whole family has star-themed names. Sirius is the dog star from Canis Major.”

“Brightest star in the sky, too. What’s one thing people don’t know about you?”

“I’m an introvert. Lots of people assume that I’m super social because of my job, but I’m very quiet in real life.” He walks back out to the entrance and takes the towel off the table, then moves into the kitchen. It’s well-lit and painted a deep, warm red. The countertop is scattered with knickknacks and picture frames—clearly, this is a place people spend a lot of time. Hattie, who followed them in, lays down by the oven with a heavy sigh.

“What’s your wakeup ritual?”

Sirius reaches up and pulls two mugs out of the cupboard. “I wake up around seven am and make coffee while Re is in the shower, then rinse off and get dressed while he makes breakfast. It’s a good system. Want some tea?”

“Sure. What’s your bedtime ritual?”

“I don’t think I have one,” he says as he puts the kettle on and ignites a burner on the stove. “Usually we read or watch a movie, then go up to bed and talk for a while. There’s not a big routine or anything.”

“Sounds nice. What’s your favorite time of day?” Dorcas sits on the other side of the kitchen island while he takes a box of peppermint tea down.

“That’s a tough one. I like the in-between spots, like just after sunrise or dusk. Three in the afternoon is usually pretty chill as well. Does anyone else want a cup?”

There are a few murmurs behind the camera and he takes two more down. “What is one thing no one knows about you?” Dorcas asks.

He raises an eyebrow. “If I told you, everyone would know, and it wouldn’t count.”

“Fair enough. Dream country to visit?”

“Anywhere. I think I want to go to Ireland first, though.” Small wisps of steam begin curling out of the kettle, but it doesn’t whistle.

“Do you ever feel pressure to post things on social media?”

Sirius makes a face. “I used to. Eventually I just got tired of it, you know? The whole point of social media is sharing bits of your life with people and it makes me happy to show off my dog, or Re, or my friends. I post things just for fun now.”

The kettle begins to hiss and he reaches back to turn it off. “Sneakers or skates?”

“Skates.”

“Vintage or new?

“Vintage, especially for t-shirts and sweaters.”

“Who is your biggest role model?”

“Pascal Dumais.” Sirius stops pouring for a moment to look up at the camera. “If you ever get a chance to meet him, listen to what he has to say. You’ll be better for it.”

“Wise words. How do you deal with negativity? Oh, thank you.” Dorcas wraps her hands around the mug and takes a small sip while Sirius passes the other ones to the crew.

“Honestly? I don’t give a shit. It used to really bother me, but I’m happy, I have a job I love, and my family cares about me. Why should I care what people I’ve never met think of me?” He sits on the counter and rests his elbows on his knees, blowing on the hot water.

“What are three things you can’t live without?”

“My dog, Remus, and my family.” There is no hesitation in his voice.

“Not hockey?”

“I’d be devastated if I couldn’t play, sure, but it’s not the central focus of my life anymore.”

“What’s one ingredient you put in everything?”

“Does salt count?” He winces as he takes a drink. “Ugh, burned my tongue. I put salt on a lot of things because I drink so much water that it throws my balance off.”

“What is something you’re completely bored of right now?”

Sirius rolls his eyes. “Gossip columns and tabloids in general.”

Dorcas hums in agreement. “What’s your biggest fear in life?”

“Losing my loved ones.”

“Window or aisle seat?”

“Window. Anyone walking by always steps on my foot or hits my elbow if I’m in the aisle. Plus, I get a good view and an easy nap spot.”

“What’s your current TV obsession?”

“Avatar: The Last Airbender, which I’m watching for the third time already.” He shakes his head. “It’s just so good.”

“Favorite app?”

He takes a second to think. “Spotify.”

“Secret talent?”

Sirius looks at her over the rim over his cup. “This is going to shock you. Ready?”

“Ready.”

“Hockey.”

“You’re the worst.” Despite her words, Dorcas smiles. “What the most adventurous thing you’ve done in your life?”

“Uh, probably going to Europe with some of the guys last year. We had a lot of fun, but it was crazy.”

“I can imagine it was. How would you define yourself in three words?”

“Tall, dark, and handsome.”

“And apparently not humble,” Dorcas teases. “Favorite piece of clothing?”

“Hoodies.”

“Clothing item everyone should have?”

“Hoodies.”

A door opens behind them and the camera turns; Remus walks out of the basement, covered in sweat as he wipes his forehead with the hem of his shirt and holds his skates in his other hand. “Baby, have you seen…” he trails off when he sees the group of people in the kitchen. Hattie’s tail thumps on the floor. “Um. Hello.”

“Hey, Remus, how are you doing?” Dorcas asks mildly.

The camera pans out to catch both Sirius, who is laughing quietly, and Remus, who flushes pink. “I’m good. I thought you were coming at ten?”

“It’s ten-thirty, sweetheart,” Sirius says, hiding his smile in his tea.

Remus glances at the clock before giving an awkward nod and walking toward the stairs. “I guess I’ll take a shower, then. Sorry about that. Uh, carry on.”

“What’s a superpower you would want?” Dorcas asks as soon as he disappears.

Sirius shakes his head with a grin. “Uh, teleportation. That would be really cool.”

“What’s inspiring you in life right now?”

“Ah, une grande question.” He thinks, then tilts his head toward the staircase. “Moments like that. And the Stanley Cup, of course.” He reaches back and knocks on the wooden cupboard.

“What cause is closest to your heart?”

“LGBT+ rights, especially trans rights. I’m privileged enough to have a platform and I intend to be loud as hell about that.”

“Good.” Dorcas sets her almost-empty mug on the table. “What’s one thing you’d say to your teenage self?”

Sirius lets out a long breath and drums his hands on the light blue ceramic of his cup. “I would say…it gets better. It really, really does. You’re going to feel super shitty for just a little bit longer, but then I promise you will be so incredibly happy that you wake up every morning and it hits you all over again.”

Dorcas nods, and the kitchen is quiet for a moment. “What’s a book that everyone should read?”

“The Hobbit, by J.R.R Tolkien.”

“What would you like to be remembered for?”

“This is going to sound so corny, but I want to be remembered for just being a good person.”

“That’s not corny. How do you define beauty?”

“Remus Lupin.”

“That’s corny,” she laughs, making him smile. “What do you love most about your body?”

“I’m a big guy, which can be a little bit intimidating, but it means I give really great hugs. I’m sure everyone saw the video that went around a while ago.”

“Cap Cuddles?”

He snorts. “Right. You’ve got Finn O’Hara to thank for that.”

“In your opinion, what’s the best way to take a rest or decompress?”

“Being alone,” Sirius says. “There is literally nothing better than getting home and sitting down with a book or something while I can hear Re doing his own thing and Hattie’s napping. It’s one of my favorite parts of the afternoon.”

“That’s the most introverted thing you’ve ever said.” Dorcas grins and finishes her tea just as a faint beeping noise begins in another room. “What’s your favorite way to experience art?”

“Through music, for sure.” He slides off the counter and walks down the hall, leading them toward the laundry room. He gives the camera crew a look as he pulls dry clothes out of the machine and heads back to the living room. “What? Did you think I didn’t do my own laundry?”

“You lost a sock,” Dorcas informs him, picking it off the ground and laying it on top of his head.

“Thanks, D.”

“What question do people ask that you wish they wouldn’t?”

“Lots of people have asked me when I decided to be gay, which is wrong on so many levels.”

“If you could master one instrument, what would it be?”

“Guitar or piano.” He dumps the load of laundry on the couch and opens the back door, holding it for the crew as they walk out into the sunshine. Hattie weaves through their legs and disappears into the bushes along the back.

“I might have to take your dog home with me. If you had a tattoo, where would it be?”

Sirius mock-glares at her. “Let me have my girl! Um, I would love to have a tattoo somewhere on my arm.”

“This might be a hard one. Dolphins or koalas?”

“Oh, that is hard. Probably dolphins. The ocean is terrifying but those little guys are just having a blast.”

“What’s the best gift you’ve ever received?” Dorcas asks as he picks up a tennis ball and throws it across the yard. Hattie emerges from the bushes and races after it in a blur of black fur.

“An engagement ring.”

“Yeah, it was.” Remus walks into the backyard and kisses Sirius’ cheek before bending down to catch Hattie in his arms. His hair is still damp from the shower. “Hello, sweet girl!”

“Who’s your favorite musician?”

“Queen.” Sirius laughs at her surprised look. “I’m gay, what did you expect?”

“True. What’s your favorite board game?”

“Monopoly.” Remus and Hattie disappear from the frame, but the bouncing sound of the tennis ball creates some background noise and Sirius watches them for a moment with pure affection.

“Favorite color?”

“Blue.”

“Least favorite color?”

“Orange.”

“Bowties or knot ties?”

He frowns. “Don’t they all have knots?”

“Smartass.”

“Yep! Uh, regular ties.”

“Bowties are superior!” Remus calls.

“Get your own questions!” Sirius laughs.

“Going off your music answers: records or CDs?”

“I don’t own a lot of records, so I’m going to have to go with CDs. I love the way vinyl sounds, though.” His eyes widen as he looks to the side. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Remus wheezes. “I didn’t need those ribs anyway.”

“For the viewers, the dog just football-tackled him into the grass,” Sirius says, and Dorcas snorts.

“Your hair is famously luscious. Blow-dry or air-dry?”

“Air dry.”

“Coffee or tea?”

“Coffee, but tea is nice in the evenings.”

“What’s the weirdest word in the English language?”

Sirius laughs. “There are so many. Uh, ‘jeez’ is the one that comes to mind first.”

“What about the French language?”

“Oiseaux,” he says in a crisp accent. “It means ‘birds’, and you pronounce about three of the actual letters.”

“Good to know. Do you prefer dark chocolate or milk chocolate?”

“Dark chocolate.”

“Stairs or elevators?”

“Elevators. I don’t want to walk up three floors after playing hockey for two and a half hours.”

“Summer or winter?”

Sirius bites his lip in thought as they walk around the yard, where small flowers line the fence in beds and colorful pots. “I love summer because I have actual free time to be with my friends, but winter is hockey season. I don’t know, next question.”

“What’s a dessert you don’t like?”

“I’m not a huge fan of caramel. It’s too sticky.”

“A skill you’re working on mastering?”

“Will you ban me from more interviews if I say hockey?”

“Yes.”

“In that case, I’m working on keeping plants alive, as you can probably see.” He taps the nearest flowerpot gently with his foot; it has ‘Harry’ painted across it in sloppy blue letters. “My godson made that for my birthday.”

“What’s the best thing to happen to you today?”

“This, for sure,” he says with a smile. “I haven’t seen you and Marley in ages.”

“We missed you, too. What’s the worst thing that happened to you today?”

He pouts slightly. “Burning my tongue on tea.”

“Hugs or kisses?”

“Hugs! Though I’ll accept kisses from a few very specific people.”

“Do you have a favorite smell?”

He pauses and cranes his neck to look behind the cameras. “Re?”

“Yeah?”

“What shampoo do you use?”

“Uhhh…” There’s a moment of quiet. “It’s something with lavender, I think.”

Sirius turns back to Dorcas. “Something with lavender.”

“How specific,” she laughs. “What’s the best compliment you’ve ever received?”

He smiles to himself. “There was a young woman, maybe sixteen or seventeen, that came to one of the games earlier this season. I saw her standing with a puck and went over, and while I was signing it she looks at me and says, ‘you are exactly what I wish my older brother was like’. Turns out, she was bisexual and her brother wasn’t super accepting of her. That was…” He shakes his head. “That meant the world to me. I’ll never forget it.”

“You’ve definitely made a big impact on the community,” Dorcas agrees. “What’s the last piece of content you consumed that made you cry?”

“I watched ‘Soul’ the other night and almost had to pause it at one point to pull myself together.”

“Do you prefer animated movies or live-action?”

“Animated, mostly because I wasn’t allowed to watch Disney movies as a kid, so I’ve been catching up as an adult and they rock.”

“What’s your nerdiest quality?

“I love watching documentaries.”

“Sweet or savory?” The back door creaks a bit as they walk back inside and the camera catches a few frames of Hattie and Remus running around the yard together.

“Sweet.”

“In ten years, you have a daughter. What age do you let her date?”

Sirius gives Dorcas a look. “Whenever she wants to. I’m going to impose curfews and stuff, but I’m the last person on the planet to police her love life.”

“Good answer. What’s a song you can listen to on repeat?”

“Don’t Stop Me Now by Queen. Absolute banger.”

“If you could switch lives with someone for a day, who would it be?”

“Arthur Weasley,” he says after a moment. “I would love to know what it feels like to get up in the morning and know you’re about to spend another day wrangling our team. It’s a miracle he hasn’t killed us all with his clipboard.”

“How do you know you’re in love?”

“Oh.” Sirius blinks at her in surprise at the sudden topic change. “Well, for me, I think it’s just…being comfortable around someone. Being able to spend time with them without saying anything and knowing you’re safe, no matter what. It’s the best feeling in the world.”

“What are you most excited about at this time in your life?”

A slight smile crinkles his eyes. “Getting married. That’s going to be awesome.”

“Who is your go-to for having a good laugh?”

“James Potter. He’s the best, and I love him.”

“Last question,” Dorcas says, sliding her list into her pocket. “Many LGBT+ people, especially teenagers, have spoken about how you’re an inspiration. Any words for them?”

Sirius hums in thought. “First of all, thank you for being so open and welcoming. I would never have expected the sheer force of people’s love to come through like that when so many people were saying horrible things. Second, to any kids out there who need to hear it: I’m proud of you. It takes a lot to be true to yourself and even if you’re still in the closet, you’re just as valid as the rest of us. Stay proud.”

“That’s a wrap.” Dorcas gives him a quick hug that he happily returns. “Thanks for letting us crash your morning, Cap.”

“Any time. Thanks for tuning in to Lion Pride, everyone!”

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dongofthewolf · 3 years

Text

Everything in Between- Chapter 1

Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader

The reader stumbles across Abby one sleepless night and can’t help but become an absolute stuttering mess.

Warnings: swearing, mild violence, fluff, bad grammar lol

I’m extremely new to this so please be gentle T-T

Read chapter 2 here !

The first thing that you always noticed about a person was their eyes (it’s cliché you knew that, but you really couldn’t help it), and anyways… that was the first thing you noticed about her. The first time you saw her it was pouring outside; the kind of pouring where it got dark at 5pm and the reflections in the puddles on the pavement—partly distorted by the heavy raindrops—looked like fun house mirrors. It was brief and she only passed you for a second, but the clouds that were concealing the sun left a shadow of darkness in the air and in her eyes. Making her regularly blue eyes a much darker shade from the lack of sunlight, a blue that looked like the part of the ocean you can see from the shore but avoid from fear you may drown in it.

You had forgotten your umbrella that day leaving your hair drenched, you were shivering from the cold and desperately made your way to your room as quickly as you could. But as you hastily walked with your head down in an effort to conceal your eyes from the raindrops, you bumped into her. She was a lot taller than you and was incredibly built, she had her long blonde hair in a neat braid and was wearing some simple cargo pants with a grey sweater. She was also carrying some bags but you were walking too fast to really get a good look at them. Although this was the first time you had seen her and it was only for a moment you’ll never forget those eyes, those dark blue eyes that made it seem as if she was hiding from something. That was the first time you saw her but it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

It was stormy again but at least today you were inside, the howling of the wind against the windows woke you up and when you glanced at the digital clock it read 2:30. You always had trouble falling asleep again once you were woken from your slumber, and found that you required at least an hour before you could actually sleep again. Since it was so late though you figured that the cafeteria would be empty and you could grab a cup of tea before going back to bed, you also often sat in the commons room to read because it’s pretty isolated from the rest of the place and very seldom did anyone else sit there too.

You pulled a black crewneck over your messy hair and put on some slides before making your way down to the cafeteria, the hallways leading up to it were lit with fluorescent lights that burned your eyes when you stepped out of the darkness of your room. It was surprisingly silent (with the exception of your footsteps of course) and after living in a place constantly occupied by so many people for so many years, it was a rare occasion to find some peace and quiet; an anomaly that still surprised you to this day.

The cafeteria was nothing special, there were 30-40 folding tables lined up near the big tear stained windows and next to the kitchen there was a communal fridge with a basket of fruits no one dared to touch. Cabinets lined the whole half of the room and you reached into the second last one to grab some chamomile tea before setting the kettle on the stove.

You sat by the windows while you waited for the water to boil when you saw a strike of lightning, it was purple and quickly followed by a large cracking noise which weirdly enough didn’t quite startle you. You supposed that after all these years of living in a place that is universally known to rain more than anything, you become accustomed to the crashing sound of thunder and the sudden flashes of lightning. Plus, it’s a lot better than the sound of guns going off or those dreaded clickers that haunted your nightmares. So consumed by your thoughts you hadn’t even noticed the whistling noise coming from the tea kettle. It wasn’t until you heard an unfamiliar voice that nearly made you leap out of your skin, you turned around and standing there was the very girl you had briefly seen that rainy afternoon just three days ago.

“You gonna get that or should I?” She was wearing some grey sweats and a khaki tank top that showcased her huge biceps, you admired her toned forearms, unable to form any combination of words that wouldn’t make you sound like a complete and utter idiot. She must have noticed you staring though because she repeated the question with a raised eyebrow and a small smirk. “Hello?” She asked.

“Right… sorry” you immediately responded. You laughed nervously and hurriedly ran to the tea kettle, a small blush forming on your cheeks as you removed it from the stovetop. While pouring the hot water into a small cup you quickly threw the tea bag in so she wouldn’t notice your shaking hands, as you threw the bag in you quietly ignored the quickening beat of your heart. At this point you couldn’t tell if the shaking was because you were startled by her sudden presence or if you were nervous because of the literal goddess staring down at you.

“Sorry again about that I was just distracted.” You looked up and she was studying you with those same blue eyes, the intensity from her gaze made you ramble on.

“Did you want some tea? I accidentally boiled too much water, I guess eyeballing measurements just isn’t my forte.” You chuckled again, clearly flustered by this gorgeous woman looking at you in your damn pajamas. Somehow even at two in the morning she managed to look effortlessly beautiful and you couldn’t help but be fiercely jealous of her overwhelming confidence. Up until now, no one had ever had this effect on you, then all of a sudden this stranger looks at you once and BOOM you’re a stuttering mess.

“Sure, does this place have any chamomile tea?” She said nonchalantly while grabbing a chair from the stack in the corner. She sat in it backwards with her arms resting on top of the chair and you flashed a glance at her toned forearms “holy shit is she strong” you thought.

“Yeah, I’m having some too actually.” You poured out the tea and sat down across from her, this was the first time you had actually been able to really see her and you were in awe of how gorgeous she was; Her hair was in a simple braid which had a few strands astray (most likely from sleeping in it) and she had these adorable freckles that spread from her face all the way down to her arms. She was staring at her cup with those same intense blue eyes—this time the fluorescents adding a tint of green to them—she looked like a statue that was literally sculpted by the Gods and you couldn’t take your eyes off of her. As you looked down at her calloused hands that were cupping the warm ceramic cup, you noticed that they were a lot larger than your own, but they also had a delicacy to them; the kind of delicacy that deserved to be in a museum. Every aspect of her was absolutely perfect and never in your life had you seen someone like her, you were struck with this sudden need to know everything about her (even though she didn’t really seem like the chatty kind). Consumed by the essence of her beauty and strength you almost hadn’t realized that she was talking to you, and “oh God” You thought “I was staring again”.

“So uh… what’s your name?” It was obvious she was trying to fill the silence but there was a softness and kindness to her words, almost as if she was trying to appear harmless.

“Y/n and yours?” You replied in the calmest way that you could even though your hands were shaking like crazy, you gripped on to your cup for dear life hoping she wouldn’t notice. You were always so terrible around new people and now with the combination of not just a complete stranger, but an incredibly charming and attractive stranger? You were surely doomed.

“It’s Abigail but you can call me Abby, most everybody does.” She was clearly not oblivious to your nervous manner (and your staring) but she pretended not to notice, probably to spare you the embarrassment. Having people stare at her was nothing new to Abby and honestly, she liked it. She felt powerful and strong when men were intimidated by her, but the way y/n was staring at her was different. It certainly wasn’t fear because despite the shaking of y/n’s hands that she tried so desperately to conceal, she didn’t look at Abby with fear “Perhaps it was admiration?” Abby thought. But she soon nudged any ideas of romanticism from her mind figuring that y/n was probably into those douchebags who act cocky and disrespectful but are too chicken to ask a girl out; Abby despised disrespectful people. However, if there was anything that Abby hated more than disrespectful assholes, it was embarrassment. Abby’s confidence was one of her greatest strengths, it was like a shield she put forward that helped her endure the incredibly misogynistic environment she lived in. She figured that the staring was just intimidation. Abby was quite confident in her ability to judge a person’s character and brushed any thoughts of attraction to the back of her mind, not wanting to risk the possibility of rejection or being wrong.

“So what brings you to the cafeteria at this fine hour? Besides the tea of course.” She smirked, her smile was so infectious that you couldn’t help but smile as well.

“I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep, figured I’d drink some tea and read for a bit in the commons room. Better than laying in my bed and staring at the ceiling for an hour I guess.” You stopped yourself before you could say something stupid or embarrassing. “What about you?”

“I just got here a couple days ago and I’m a pretty light sleeper which normally would be fine, but that damn thunder won’t shut the hell up!” She pointed her fist to the sky dramatically and you couldn’t help but giggle, she looked at you with a smile. “They stationed me here to do some work and I haven’t had much time to myself, they gave me some time off tomorrow and now thanks to this storm I’m gonna spend it passed out in my bed.” She paused, contemplating her words before continuing. “I’m glad I met you though, late nights are much better with company.” You could feel a heat trickle to your cheeks. “So what are you reading?”

“Pride and Prejudice” You answered excitedly. “It’s my favourite book, I’ve read it like a hundred times. I guess I’m just a sucker for cheesy love stories” She grinned.

“It was good but Elizabeth? She was way out of Darcy’s league, I mean yeah she had pride but Darcy was prideful and snobby.” You giggled at her response and the thought of this tough and brawny girl reading Jane Austen. “I mean, if you’re gonna have a terrible character trait just choose one. Not both!”

“Okay… But you gotta admit they were perfect for each other” You added. “Their weaknesses complimented each other and then their strengths the same. It’s like they were meant to find each other, and I mean just the thought of something like that gives me hope you know?” She looked at you with a raised eyebrow, urging you to elaborate. “Soulmates, I mean… just the thought of there being one single person on this entire Earth who was put here alongside you, the perfect match who’s strengths compliment your weaknesses and vice versa makes me feel some sort of hope.” You felt yourself getting carried away and decided to let her speak. “What can I say, I guess I’m nothing if not an optimist.”

“I get what you mean but I feel like that’ll just set you up for disappointment. There's so much more to life than just love and finding your ‘soulmate’. There’s thunderstorms, books, good food, there’s family and friends, and strangers that make you tea.” she glanced at you and your heart skipped a beat “this is insane!” You thought “Not only is she totally gorgeous, but she’s smart and funny? God she’s so perfect I think I might melt where I stand”

“Fine, fine, you got me there.” You smiled and was struck with this sudden feeling of security that you’d never felt before Abby, and though you’d never really admit it, you realized that all this time living in a facility had made you really lonely. Speaking to Abby was seriously the first time in this place that you weren’t thinking about the end of the world or crying over lost family and friends. At this small fold-out table in this dull and dreary cafeteria, you felt the first modicum of safety that you hadn’t felt for a really long time, and it was all because of her. You noticed that your mind had wandered off again of course but Abby’s mind seemed to be elsewhere as well, she had an almost nervous or unsure look on her face.

“Hey, so I know you said you were gonna go read in the commons room but do you think you could ditch Elizabeth and Darcy for a bit? I haven’t really gotten a chance to see this place and I was hoping you could maybe give me a tour.” Abby asked in a casual tone, hoping y/n wouldn’t notice the slight nervousness in her voice.

“Of course! I’d love to show you around, though there isn’t much to see other than empty halls and abandoned rooms” You replied enthusiastically. You were ecstatic, she was the first person you had really connected with in a while and you jumped at the opportunity to spend more time with her.

“I don’t mind, as long as I have you to keep me company.” She winked at you and smiled warmly. You felt your heart skip a beat again “Is Abby flirting with me?” You thought. “Nah, probably not” She was the coolest and most beautiful girl you’d ever seen. What would she see in you? Plus Abby probably isn’t even into girls, she’s just being friendly.

You walked her through each of the empty halls and corridors while you guys chatted about books, friends, family, life before the outbreak, and everything in between. You even traded embarrassing dating stories in which you both had to stifle loud outbursts of laughter so you wouldn’t wake up the rest of the facility. While you were speaking about your various dating escapades you decided to sprinkle in a story about a girl to see Abby’s reaction.

“Okay okay I got a good one, so once I was dating this girl and we actually moved in with each other like a month into the relationship but that’s not important. Anyways, so I had this cat right and when we broke up a few months later and she moved out, she took the cat!” You both bursted out laughing. “She literally stole my cat and I was so pissed that I keyed ‘thief’ into her car.”

“Remind me not to piss you off y/n, you’re a vengeful one.” Abby chuckled and responded casually. You were slightly unsatisfied, she hadn’t reacted to that statement (or any of the subtly gay references you made) at all and you couldn’t tell if it was because she liked girls or because she didn’t care. It didn’t really bother you that much though because this was the most fun you had had in a long time. When you were laughing and talking with Abby all the thoughts about your family and impending doom—thoughts that were once constant—had begun to fade away. All that mattered now was Abby, she was the best thing that had happened to you in a really long time and you were so grateful to have met her.

By the time you guys had decided to depart it was six in the morning, Abby walked you back to your room and you couldn’t help but feel like every atom in your entire body was vibrating.

You had spent an entire night with this amazing girl who was now the first friend that you’ve had in a while, your cheeks were bright red and your heart felt like it was shaking. When you laid your head on your pillow to sleep you couldn’t shake the thought of those brilliant blue eyes, and that clever, knowing grin that made you melt. God, and you couldn’t forget those gigantic biceps, you just wanted her to crush your skull with those beautiful, freckled arms. You adored her, and as you drifted off into a deep and peaceful slumber you dreamt of the most incredibly gorgeous, funny, charming, and intelligent girl you had ever met: Abigail Anderson.

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson imagine #abby anderson #abby tlou #fluff #fxf #tlou #tlou2 #the last of us #the last of us part 2 #the last of us imagine

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ithebookhoarder · 3 years

Note

can i request a peaky one-shot with tommy and he's with a reader who's kind of similar to him (can be closed off/mean when they're mad lol) and tells tommy off when he's rude to her and he ends up trying to make it up to her. just because sometimes i feel like he should get a taste of his own medicine 🤨 sorry if this made no sense :(

Fire Meet Gasoline: (Tommy Shelby x Reader)

A/N: Sorry this took me a couple of days! Life got a bit hectic, but I finally got the inspiration I needed to get this out. Thanks for sending this in, and it made perfect sense! I hope you like it x Also, side note - I just love how all my recent requests for Tommy have been about making him jealous or putting him in his place XD Clearly, we all love a power-Tommy moment, but we LOVE making this poor man suffer.

Warnings: Alcohol, swearing, smoking, references to violence, references to drugs, references to death (let me know if I missed anything)

Masterlist:

——

“Where were you?”

You froze at the sound of your husband’s voice, echoing around the all too empty hallway. Whereas once it would have filled you with excitement and comfort to hear it, tonight, it made you feel exhausted. As if sensing the confrontation awaiting the pair of you.

Part of you had hoped he may have gone to bed and allowed this to wait until morning. But no. Apparently Tommy wanted to do this here and now, and who were you to deny him?

“Out,” you replied, beginning to shed your coat and hurling it on to the stand. “I’m surprised you’re still awake.”

“Out where?”

You sighed, turning to stare at the man loitering in the doorway next to you, a glass of whiskey in hand as he clearly waited for you to return to your home. The clock on the landing chimed, cementing the fact it was late. Very late.

“I went to see Polly, if you must know. After what you said earlier it was pretty clear you didn’t want me here so I did what you asked,” you explained calmly, despite knowing the impact your words would have on him. “I wanted her advice on a few things.”

“Oh? Like what?”

Tommy’s tone was dangerous, but nervous. You could sense it in the way he was watching you, as if afraid you’d march back out of the door again and leave him there. After all, he wouldn’t have been able to stop you. Not in his state.

It had only been a month since he’d been discharged from the hospital, having survived the attack that had caused him to collapse in Ada’s house. The damage had been extensive, and the drugs he’d been prescribed to handle the pain had only made everything else worse.

Tommy Shelby was dangerous. An idle Tommy? Well, that was positively lethal, as you’d found out.

Today had been just another in a long list of spats you’d been having recently. Nothing you did anymore ever seemed to make Tommy happy, always irritating him somehow.

Sure, deep down, you knew his frustration lay with himself and the fact he was essentially bed bound but it didn’t make his temper or harsh words hurt any less.

“Like what to do when the man you love doesn’t want you around him anymore,” you stated coldly. “Like, what does it mean when he’d rather re-injure himself than accept your help because he can’t stand to think of letting anyone in. Letting anyone care for him.”

“Y/N,” Tommy began, reaching for your hand as you took a hasty step away from him. Even now, he seemed unsteady on his feet as he tried to make you look at him but you couldn’t give in. Not when you knew that was what he wanted - for you to act as if this had never happened. “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry, eh? I shouldn’t have yelled at you. Not when you were trying to help.”

“Then why do you keep doing it?”

“Because… I…”

“There’s only so much of this I can take, Tommy. You’ve always shut me out before, but you almost died,” you snapped, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. You didn’t care if the entire staff heard you as you stared down your husband. It wasn’t like they weren’t used to this kind of scenario by now. Frances, in particular, often ended up in the middle of your rows. “You did die, Tommy, for a minute in that operating theatre and I… I had to sit there and watch, looking like a fucking idiot because I didn’t know anything. I didn’t know what you’d got us into or the threat we have hanging over us until it almost cost you your life.”

Tommy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose at the hurt in your tone.

“And now you do, you know why you can’t just take off like this,” he continued. “You left without telling anyone where you’d gone. You didn’t have anyone watching out for you.”

“I was at Polly’s! I didn’t know I needed a fucking armed escort. How could I when you don’t share things? After all, as you said earlier, I just get in the way. It would be easier without me here.”

“Y/N-“

“No. No, don’t you dare take that tone with me,” you seethed, hating how he stepped towards you, looking at you like you were simply a worked up toddler, having a tantrum. The arrogance was breath taking, especially considering it was him who had exploded at you for trying to help him down the stairs earlier. That was what had started this whole mess; his pride would be the death of him. “I am your wife, Tommy. Your wife. So start treating me like it and fucking listen to me.”

The depth of Tommy’s rage and pain was evident in his eyes. It was a look you had hardly ever seen in your life; Tommy was scared. He’d been worried for you.

Good.

He’d felt a slither of the pain and agony of being kept uninformed, just as you had been. You were relieved a little to realise that, even if deep down, you felt guilt at being the cause of it.

He was your husband after all. You may have hated him at times, but you loved him too.

So, you took a breath and turned to make your way up to bed. You were too tired to fight and clearly neither of you could be trusted not to say something you’d regret in the morning.

“It’s late, Tommy. I’m going to bed in the guest room. Frances can help you to bed and we can talk tomorrow.”

“Y/N, don’t be ridiculous,” Tommy pleaded, startled by your resolve. He’d rarely seen you like this before and he knew it was never a good thing when you sealed yourself away, as if trying to play him at his own game. To his horror, you were even better at it than he was. “Come to bed, eh? You don’t need to sleep in the guest room-”

“But I do, Tommy. I have forgiven a lot of sins on your behalf,” you hissed accusingly. “Over and over again you fuck up and leave the rest of us to put the pieces back together again. Well, guess what? Some of us are fucking sick and tired of it! So I am going to sleep. Alone. So I can fucking think about whether or not I can deal with this - with you - any more.”

Like that, you turned and marched away, leaving your husband staring after you with pain and disbelief in his eyes.

———

Three days.

It had been three days since that night in the hallway. Three nights since you’d spoken to your husband, or even looked at him.

Yes, you were a grown woman, but you could be every bit as petty as your husband when you wanted to be so giving him the cold shoulder seemed a fitting punishment. As your mother had always said, if you didn’t have anything nice to say you shouldn’t say anything at all.

It was this mantra you’d taken to heart as you carefully avoided Tommy for the following days, allowing Frances and the rest of the staff to watch over him and see to his needs.

As you’d expected, however, that had gone down with Tommy about as well as a lead balloon, to hear you refused to see or speak with him.

Even when he’d managed to convince Frances to help him downstairs into the sitting room, you’d simply moved yourself out onto the lawn instead. It was rather childish, but you couldn’t help it as you chose to sit in the afternoon sunshine to read, leaving your husband to watch from the window.

Now, though, your temper had simmered down. Three days had been just about long enough to make your point to Tommy, but it had also been long enough to make you miss him… not that you would admit that, not until he’d apologised for his recent treatment of you anyway. Which was why you’d indulged Frances when she’d suggested you both had breakfast together in the dining room this morning.

“The sunlight would be good for him, Mrs Shelby,” she’d suggested softly, the twinkle in her eye enough to tell you she knew exactly what she was trying to do. Perhaps she’d had enough of him, and his Shelby temper, too. “He’s been in his room for the last few days. Perhaps a change of scenery would offer him a new perspective on things?”

You scoffed. “Why not? Perhaps it will, Frances.”

“Very well, Ma’am. I’ll see to it at once.”

And she had.

So, here you were, at opposite one another at the mahogany table, silently scraping your cutlery against the china plates breakfast had been served on.

Not even Frances’s eggs, sunny-side-up, could brighten the dark cloud that hung over the pair of you. You didn’t think you could ever remember a more tense meal in your entire life - and considering the amount of Shelby family dinners you’d been to, that was saying something.

Why had you chosen breakfast as the meal to do this confrontation? It wasn’t exactly acceptable to break out the whiskey before noon, even if that was precisely what you wanted.

Instead, you had to make do with smoking instead, letting the process of inhaling the smoke soothe you.

“I thought you quit smoking?”

Of course that would be the first thing Tommy said to you. It was almost comical given everything that had been happening.

“I did, but it’s been a difficult morning.”

“I see.” He cleared his throat, hearing the accusation loud and clear. “And what are your plans for the rest of the day? I thought I heard Frances saying something about you planning on going to see Esme?”

You didn’t respond, simply blowing a thin stream of smoke out of the corner of your lips in reply.

It was comforting to see the way Tommy squirmed under the weight of the silence that hung between you both, as if scared you were going to erupt any second.

Maybe it was the blood red tone of your lipstick, but he could sense the danger lingering beneath your fixed smile.

You really were his equal in every way; no one else could meet his temper with a fury as strong as his own.

“I… need to apologise.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” Tommy stated firmly, throwing down his cutlery and turning his gaze to you. “I… I have been a fucking bastard, the last months, and a terrible husband. I work too much and I take you for granted.”

You paused, your small encouraging nod a sign that you were listening. That he should continue with the direction this conversation was taking. “You do.”

“And my frustration at being injured has nothing to do with you and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you,” Tommy continued breathlessly. “I also know I shouldn’t have said the horrific things I did the other morning. Not when you were just trying to help, just trying to take care of me. It was cruel and I’m sorry, eh? I really am. I can’t stand it when you’re angry at me.”

“I’m glad you think so,” you whispered, daring to look at him properly. “I love you, Thomas Shelby and I’d do anything for you, just as I know you would for me, if our situation was reversed. That’s why I allow you to lash out at me, but there’s only so much I can take.”

“I know-”

“No, no you really fucking don’t, Thomas,” you snapped, stubbing out the cigarette against your plate and sitting up straight. “You don’t know. You don’t know what it’s like to have your partner not trust you, to keep things from you. You don’t know what it’s like to have Ada call you in the middle of the night, screaming and panicking that you might be dying because of those secrets you’ve been keeping. I can’t… I can’t do that again, Tom. I can’t… Thinking I’d lost you…”

The tears that had been brewing in the corners of your eyes finally broke free as you bit back a sob. You immediately hated how embarrassed it made you feel, to crack in front of him when you’d been trying to be strong for so long.

You’d hidden your tears with impeccable skill whenever he’d been awake or talking. You’d also lost yourself in seeing to his recovery since that night in the hospital, knowing being busy was the best way to distract yourself from your terror.

“Y/N,” Tommy whispered, reaching across the table. His hand caught yours, grounding you to him as he watched your tears fall. The sight was enough to hurt him more than his lingering injuries. This was why he’d hidden as much from you as he had. He’d only wished to save you from what he deemed as pointless worry, but clearly he’d been wrong about that too. “I’m here, eh? I’m here and I’m alive…. thanks to you, most likely, given your nursing. It won’t happen again though. I’m handling it. This matter is going to be resolved and we’re going to be able to move on. Be happy. Be safe.”

“Then why don’t I believe you?”

“Because you’re too wise for your own good,” he teased. “Because I’ve been so terrible a husband that you have no reason to trust me - I get it. I’m going to do better, though. I promise.”

You sniffed, allowing yourself a watery smile as you watched him rise from his seat and hurry to your side. Having him hold you was all you’d ever needed to feel safe, to feel loved.

So, you wrapped yourself around him in return, sighing as he kissed you softly.

“I’m holding you to your promise, Thomas Shelby,” you whispered. “Don’t betray me or my trust. This is your last chance - I won’t always be so forgiving.”

You knew he’d heard you loud and clear. He’d learned his lesson, for now. You were his entire world and he was in no rush to risk losing you again.

#ithebookhoarder #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #request #prompt #answered #peaky blinder

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loving-all-for-loki · 3 years

Text

Voiceless Love Chapter 3:

Goodbye’s & Hello’s

Loki x reader, Bucky x reader

Word Count: 2042

Warnings: Bucky fluff, Loki fluff, Loki not understanding feelings

Tag List: @caffeineoverloadandstudying @zizzlekwum @lokiyoulittle @magicalpieex @daddysfavoritesexkitten @buckylokisimp

A/N: I finally put Y/N’s writing in italics so you can tell when she write. Also we’re delving a little into Loki now, but I will let you all know for anyone hooked on Bucky, I will be making this into a choose your own! I’m not sure which chapter yet, but at some point I will split off and make a Bucky route and Loki route. The Loki route might be a bit longer and more extensive, but that’s only because I am biased and that was the original idea. Thank you all for the love so far on this series. I’m glad you all like it!

A few days have passed since the incident with Loki. Every time you enter the library, Loki gets up and leaves the room, clearly, but not subtly, trying to avoid you. Knowing it’s his private place, you started to take your book from the library and go to Bucky’s room to read instead.

Bucky likes having you around in his room. While he’s showering, reading, or even working out, you follow him around like a lost puppy and he often keeps his arm around you as much as possible. The other avengers are shocked as you too become closer, not expecting two of the quietest people in the compound to become so close so quickly. Bucky even goes to Steve to talk about you from time to time.

You lay on Bucky’s bed as he showers from sparing with Steve. You enjoy spending time with him, even if he’s doing chores and you’re just sitting in the room. Bucky comes out of the shower with nothing but a towel around his waist, making your eyes go wide. He chuckles at your shocked reaction.

“Calm down, I forgot pants.”

You chuckle inside as he grabs the first pair of pants he sees then rushes back into the bathroom. You can’t help but watch the way the water drips down his skin, highlighting every muscle on his body. He really is a fine specimen, you think to yourself, but you try to not let your thoughts get too carried away. The last thing you need is to be aroused around your friend who doesn’t think about you in the same way.

Bucky comes back out fully dressed in sweatpants and a white t-shirt. There's a light blush on his face from the embarrassment earlier as he lays down next to you. You lift your head instinctively as he puts his arm under your neck, resting his chin on the top of your head.

“What are you reading?”

Bucky lifts the cover to show himself.

“Wuthering Heights. Quite the dark and sad book for you,” he chuckles.

Scrunching your eyebrows, you grab his hand and pull out your pen.

What do you mean ‘for me’?

“I mean it’s depressing and you’re full of joy. I don’t want a book to get you down.”

I’m a big girl

You stick out your tongue at Bucky which makes him laugh. He reaches his arm around the other side of you and starts tickling your sides. You lose control of your body as you laugh horribly, spazzing your body to get away from Bucky hands. There’s no emotion but rage as you hear Bucky laughing at your torture. He grabs your book and sets it to the side before he stops tickling you.

As you regain your senses, you look up to see Bucky hovering over you, laying on his side and arm resting by your head. If you didn’t know any better, he was inches away from kissing you, even leaning in, but he isn’t. He stares at you with the softest look in his eyes, a smile on his face.

“Hi.”

You smile wide, still breathing heavy from the tickle attack.

“So I kind of wanted to talk to you about something. We’re all leaving for a mission tomorrow afternoon and I know you’re a bit bummed about not being able to go, but you also know you’re not the most capable of defending yourself.” You shrug which makes Bucky laugh and hang his head, leaning it on your forehead. “Darling, you’re adorable. So, you’re going to be alone with Loki. Is that going to be an issue?”

You shake your head no, but Bucky looks unsure of you. The inside of his eyebrows raise in question and he stares at you deep in your eyes.

“I’m not thrilled with you being alone, but I know you can handle yourself. We’re only going to be gone for three days, so I’ll be home quicker than you know, I promise.”

You smile to reassure his anxiety. Bucky tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear, leaning down to kiss your forehead tenderly. He lays back down next to you and pulls you into him, laying you on top of his body. You can hear his heartbeat from his chest and the warmth from his neck as you bury your head further into him. Bucky adjusts his arms and holds you tight as you both fall asleep.

The next morning, you wake up in Bucky’s arms with a bittersweet feeling. The sun is glaring through the window shades on his face, highlighting his beautiful blue eyes. You stare at him for a good five minutes, stroking his stubble with your fingers very gently.

“It’s rude to stare, doll.”

You’re started by Bucky speaking when you thought he was asleep. You jump a little, making Bucky chuckle and hold you closer to him. He smiles up at you as you look down at him, studying the groves and marks on your face, “I want to memorize you for when I leave,” he teases, “I’d hate to forget this pretty face.

You blush at his kind words and attempt to hide your embarrassment by tucking your face into his neck. Bucky chuckles, vibrating your body against his, and squeezes you tightly. You didn’t know it was possible to get physically closer to him, but he manages to do it.

“I hate to leave you… but I have to, darling.” Nodding your head, you fan your hand over his chest, sniffling in his neck. “Oh, baby, don’t cry,” he smirks, “I’ll be back soon enough.”

Bucky gets up and leaves his bed, searching for his uniform. You stay in bed and admire his form as he walks around, his shirt tightly gripping to his body. He comes up to you and wraps you in his blankets, making you a little shawl of warmth. Finally grabbing his bags, you and him make your way out to the main room where the rest of the Avengers are gathered with their bags.

“Are you ready to go?” Steve asks.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“I’m sorry to leave you alone like this, Y/N. We figured you’d be safer if you trained and controlled your powers a little more.”

“She knows,” Bucky cut in, “We talked about it a little and she understands.”

You give them a smile to assure them that what Bucky said is true. Steve tries to approach you and give you a hug but you back away, making him give you a melancholy smile. Lucky comes up to you and gives you a hug even though you don’t return it. He walks away with the Avengers off to the Quinjet outside. You watch as they leave, Bucky giving you a little wave before the door closes.

Finding yourself in a quiet environment, you make your way back to Bucky’s room where you left the book you had been reading. Time passes on quicker than you expect and you find yourself getting hungry. Checking the clock, you notice it’s seven at night and decide to head to the kitchen.

Loki sits by the bar with his book when you enter the room, much to your surprise. He doesn’t come out of his room often and when he does it’s usually in the library. Ignoring him, you dig through the fridge to find food to make a sandwich. He stays in the room which is also a change of pace. You haven’t spent any time with him since the altercation in the library a week ago. He usually completely avoids you.

You finish making the sandwich and Loki has yet to leave the kitchen. He doesn’t look up from his book once or even mutter to himself. Tapping him on the shoulder, he looks up to see you pointing to your sandwich and then him.

“If you are asking if I want one, I do not. Mortal food does not appetize me.”

Your face drops in annoyance and Loki notices. Rolling his eyes, he closes his book and pays full attention to you.

“Fine, make me one and I’ll see how I like it.”

You give him a wide smile much to his own amusement. You attempt to make a sandwich you think he’d enjoy and slide the plate over to him. Eating your own sandwich, you watch him intently to see his reaction. He takes in a slow bite and chews it, giving you no reaction at all. The silence is deafening and you wish it would be over, but he continues to be quiet until he’s completely done eating the sandwich.

“I could stomach that,” he says, looking up at you with a smirk.

You smile at his slight enjoyment of the sandwich, making this down as a win in your book. Loki doesn’t miss the little smile on your face and smirks when you turn your back to load the dishwasher.

“There’s a book I’d think you like.” You turn around, perked up even more by his joyous remark, “the only problem is that it’s in runes, so unless you’re not willing for me to read it to you, I’d volunteer my services.”

You nod, accepting his offer. Loki stands up and heads for the elevator, you follow quickly behind. As you two walk out, you realize how proud Loki stands, his head held high and shoulders back, like a true king. You always thought he was stoic, but watching him carry himself across the tower shows a new kind of pride.

You enter the library and Loki immediately goes to the book, sitting down beside you at the table. He opens the book, but silently watches you through his peripherals as you get comfortable next to him, leaning your elbows on his chair arm.

“Despite that they lived worlds apart from one another, the norns had decided that Mengoth and Svipdagr were each other's great love.” Loki looks over to see you watching him with big doe eyes. He smirks at your innocent face and keeps reading, “Mengloth, meaning “the one shimmering of jewels” grew up in a golden hall, ruling a flourishing realm of prosperous farmsteads. She dedicated her life to healing the sick and wounded. Together with her handmaidens, she spent her days receiving the injured and suffering on a tall towering mountain.”

Loki continues to read the story to you in his sulky, smooth voice. There is one thing in the stories about Loki that you believe, he has a silvertongue. A way with words. A way with speaking. You find yourself falling asleep quickly listening to his mellow voice.

Loki doesn’t notice when you fall asleep, just that you did. He thinks to himself why a small thing like you would fall asleep next to him, this dangerous monster. You have everything to live for, yet you decide to trust this fallen creature enough. Setting the book down on the table, he picks you up bridal style and carries you to your room.

Laying you across the bed, he takes off the jewelry you have on and covers you with your blankets. He goes to set your necklaces and earrings down on your dresser and gets distracted by the photos. There’s one of you with your parents and brother, smiling in a line in front of your christmas tree. There’s another of you with a boy, smiling while dressed formally and looking at one another.

There’s something with you that intrigues him. You go after the good boys, the heroes like Bucky and the safe choice of boys in school, but why fall asleep next to him? He’s not this superhero with great morals and virtue. He’s selfish, prideful, arrogant. No woman, especially a midgard would want him, not that he’d be interested in a midgardian, but Y/N is different.

He shakes off the thoughts that burden his heart and leaves the room. Closing the door behind him, Loki wanders to his own room where he lays in bed staring at the ceiling. His thoughts can’t help but wander back in. After two hours, Loki is finally able to rest, but even his dreams are flooded with nothing but you.

#loki #loki x reader #loki fan fiction #loki fanfic #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x reader #loki fluff #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky fluff #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #lovingallforloki

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softcallofdutyimagines · 3 years

Text

More Then a Woman | Frank Woods x Fem!Reader | Chapter 5

Summary:

I once again expose myself for being into older men, and you and Woods go on your first date

Tags: Slow burn, fluff, age difference

“Anyway, can I help you with something?”

Your friendly voice and sweet smile pull him out of his thoughts. Frank looks down at you, and instantly lets his nerves get the better of him. This was a mistake from the beginning.

He looks away, attempting to mask his insecurities with a gruff exterior, “Uh, it’s nothing. Sorry, may-”

“Oh no no, it’s fine, really! I just have to deliver these papers and then I can be right with you”, you smile encouragingly, and then… he decides to stay. More due to the fact that he feels unable to say no to you rather than by his own resolve, however.

He’ll have to watch out for that.

So he waits. There’s exactly one other chair in your office, a squat cube shaped thing sitting on the other side of your desk. Clearly this is something you own and brought in, rather than a piece of furniture that was given to you like that plain old black office chair behind your desk. The chair looks like it was brightly colored once, and smacks of something salvaged from the early 70s and dragged into the modern era. Still, it’s rather comfortable despite the faded, slightly sagging state of it.

Frank traces his fingers up and down the angular arm rest, thinking of you. You know, now that he’s had the chance to look around… There’s actually quite a few things of the past in here. He sees a bulky old camera and even a typewriter tastefully displayed amongst a few other nik naks on your shelves, both of which look like they were rolled out around the time he was just a child.

For a moment, he feels uncomfortable again and far too old to be trying something like this with you. But then, the anxiety is washed away with the musing that perhaps…. You like old things.

He can’t help but huff a laugh at that. A wishful thought on his part, maybe, and yet… not completely untrue.

“What’s so funny?”, your curious voice pulls him out of his thoughts as you suppress a small laugh of your own.

“Huh? Oh, nothing just… That camera’s gotta be older than I am”, he chuckles and points to the black box of a thing just above you. “What are you doing with a piece of junk like that anyway?”, he laughs.

You gasp in mock hurt, “It’s not junk! It works!” Suddenly you seem to grow quite excited, trotting up to retrieve the object in question. Cradling it carefully, you swing around your desk and take a seat on the hardwood, showing off your treasure, “This is a Kodak Cartridge Hawk-Eye from 1926!” You enunciate the date excitedly as though it were a relic from the dinosaur days, meanwhile all Woods can think of is that that was only a mere four years before he was born.

For a few minutes longer, you go on giving a whole info dump on all you know about the little device, wave upon wave of building excitement adding to your voice and before long, Frank finds himself being swept up in it all. No offence, but… he really doesn’t give a single fuck about the camera. But, the way it has you grinning bright as sunshine. The electric spark in your eyes. The way you give his arm a gentle touch to brace him for what you seem to think is a very riveting fact…

He would listen to you talk about that damn thing all day, just to see you like this.

Before he knows it, the lecture is over and he couldn’t be more disappointed. You shake your head, just now realizing you’ve gone off on a tangent once again. “Ugh, sorry…”, you laugh it off and go to put it away, “I just get so excited about my antiques. I love that stuff, you know? Anyway, before I go off again… What was it you wanted to see me for?”

Suddenly, Frank can feel his heart clench tight. He had almost forgotten why he came, and now… he’s wishing you would’ve too.

“Oh? Uh, why… Why did I-? Uh… Yeah, um, so-”

Damn it! He never thought he’d say this, but he’d rather be in a gunfight right now. Anything then this… juvenile, high school shit. You’ve since returned to your spot on the edge of your desk. Despite his highly suspicious stuttering, your expression remains polite and even encouraging as you wait for him to formulate a coherent sentence.

While his mind reels for some sort of excuse, anything to get him out of this situation he’s dug for himself, his nervous gaze lands on the very last thing it needs to right now. Your eyes are glittering in this afternoon light. Do you know that?, he thinks. You’ve locked eyes right back at him, but the situation is anything but awkward. He appreciates the way that you aren’t afraid of him. That you’re willing to show him patience and understanding… Like he’s a fucking human being, instead of some crazy old veteran that you’re just indulging until you can finally get rid of him.

The longer he looks back at you, the more and more he can feel the tension melting out of him. Each muscle in his body slowly but surely unclenches, allowing him to relax at last as he leans back into his seat. He can’t lie to you. You don’t deserve that.

Damn it…

Frank breaks eye contact at last. He flexes his hand gently, working out the nervous energy, as he makes a fist. “I uh… I was just wondering if, maybe… you wanted to get coffee sometime…”

Immediately he braces for… well, he’s not sure what exactly, but rejection for sure. He closes his eyes so he can’t see the disgusted face you must be making, and all the muscles he’d just set at ease jump back into bands of iron across his chest, tensed so tight, he feels like his heart might stop. It’s only been a few seconds, but it feels like years have passed when you finally respond…

“Sure! What time would work for you?”

His eyes snap open as he jerks his head around to look at you, not entirely sure he heard you right. But then… there’s that same, sunny smile and electrified eyes that tell him you mean it.

“I-I uh…”, and just like that, he snaps out of it. Woods sits up straight, fixing a strand of hair that’s strayed from its place, and grinning excitedly himself. He hasn’t felt like this in… years. “W-well what time would work for you? I’m sure as shit not doing anything”, he laughs.

You think for a moment, “Oh! Say, do you go for a run on Saturdays too?”

Pft, not lately. “Yeah! Why?”

You light up, “Great! Tell you what, let's meet up and we can go for a run together then hit that coffee shop we met at last time. Would that be alright? Could be fun!”

As though you even needed to ask, he’s already agreeing. The two of you make some more concrete plans like the wheres and whens specifically before preparing to head your separate ways. You stop him and scribble down your number on a torn sheet of paper. “Just in case”, you smile. “And hey… Loser pays”, you break out into laughter.

“Oh yeah?”, he smiles back, “Don’t think I’ll go fucking easy on you!”, he calls, half way down the hall by now as you wave him off.

When you’ve retreated out of sight, Woods takes a look around. Alone again. Good. He reaches into his pocket and gingerly retrieves the slip of paper. Over and over again he reads and re-reads the chicken scratch handwriting you’ve produced. To him, it’s wonderful.

By the time he gets to his car, he feels like he knows that number better than his own dog tag ID. He slips the precious sheet into his wallet, the first of a few select reminders of you that he’ll keep safe in there.

As the few short days go by, he waits restlessly until he can see you again. And finally… Finally, Saturday morning comes.

5:26 am, and he’s up before his alarm. He doesn’t even need to check the digital clock to see what day it is. He already knows as he jumps out of bed and races to get ready. In no time at all he meets you early at the nearby park you agreed to meet at. You’ve come prepared in your high tops, short shorts, and nylon catsuit. Stylish and modern, but thankfully not as over the top as what the fashion industry would have you in.

It takes every ounce of willpower within him to keep his eyes up.

“Ready?”, you stretch your arms up high, only accentuating your body as you do so.

Frank can feel himself turning red as he status out an affirmative, earning… is that a smirk? from you.

“Alright then, ready… set…”, without warning you bolt off for a head start.

“Hey!”

He wants to be mad, but… He’s just having too much fun, damn it. About half way through, it’s a fair race, and although he’s beating you it’s not by that much. Once he’s proved to himself that he’s still got it, Woods allows himself to fall back, giving you the ego boost you need to stick it out and sprint to the finish, tired as you are.

Frank trots to a stop behind you shortly, only slightly more out of breath then you are. He may have let you win, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t give him hell in the first half.

“Cheater”, you give his shoulder a light punch and a knowing look.

“Me?”, he laughs, ignoring the accusation that he would ever let someone else beat him in a competition, “What do you call that stun at the start?”

You merely laugh, wiping some sweat from your brow as you head towards the door of the coffee shop. The bell chimes as you enter and walk up to the counter together. You place your orders, and Frank pays. You wait in silence for your orders, merely taking the time to completely catch your breath.

Drinks and breakfast in hand, you sit by the large bay windows together. The sun has just peeked over the horizon, filling the room with a golden glow. A halo of light shines around you, catching every perfect curve and angle you have to offer as you grace him with your presence. The food and coffees are nearly forgotten as you both get caught up talking about everything and nothing all at once. Conversation topics turn and change like leaves in the wind, easily transitioning from one to the other as you slowly yet surely get to really know one another.

Frank is on the edge of his seat, waiting eagerly to hear what you have to say next as he talks with you. It’s the most excited he’s been to hear someone else drone on and on in his entire life. By the time you’re both feeling talked out, the sun is well on it’s way to rising and the morning dew has since evaporated.

But, it doesn’t matter. How could he ever feel time was wasted when it was spent with you?

The two of you walk back towards the park, making sure to take it slow so you can get the most out of what little time you have left together.

“And then I said, ‘Looks don't count for shit in the jungle. This is 'Nam baby!’ “

You burst out laughing, “Did you really? And then what happened!”

He grins, “Well, the- Oh, wait, we’re uh, we’re here…”

The two of you stop at the edge of the parking lot. It’s practically empty aside from your lone car only a stone’s throw away. At that, the mirth seeps from you as well as you agree.

“Well… I guess… thanks. I had fun, you know”, Frank turns to face you, hoping more than anything that you enjoyed yourself as well.

“Yeah, me too!”, that familiar little smile that he’s grown so fond of slowly makes its way back. “Maybe… Maybe we could do this again sometime?”

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Besides,”, you act on a jolt of courage, stretching up on the tips of your toes to press a little kiss to his rough, stubbly cheek, “you have to tell me the rest of your story”

You lick your lip and give it a little nervous bite as you shyly take his hand in yours for comfort.. It feels huge, more like a bear paw than a human hand, compared to yours. “Well… See you later…”, you turn and begin to back away, holding his hand until you can no longer reach, forcing you to let go. You offer him one last smile, but all he can do is stand there, frozen amongst a roar of emotions.

Woods lifts a hand to his cheek, reverently caressing the spot your lips touched. The depth, breadth, and complexity of feeling circling in his mind are far too much for him to ever put into words. But, out of them all, one rings out loud and clear. He’s so, so…

Happy.

#black ops cold war #call of duty #frank woods #frank woods x reader #cod fanfic

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