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the-monstermash · 16 days

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UNBROKEN BETROTHALS pt. 4

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Synopsis: After running away from an unwanted proposal, you find yourself working in a brothel as a cook. When a certain guest takes an odd liking to you, secrets are revealed and betrothals unbroken

Warnings: Angst, Brothels, Mature, Mentions of Sex, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Time-Appropriate Sexism,

Word Count: 3,226

> A/N: I did a crazy amount of time jumping, and also I had to cut the last part into two more parts SO SORRY

Aemond had taken much longer than a week, and things had certainly not been peaceful in the house ever since. The girls had lost their mind upon learning that not only had you finally accepted Aemond, but you were to marry. Of course, you’d explained the past betrothal and the reason behind his insistence, and they’d swooned at the idea of a prince searching for his long lost love, to which you reminded them you had never met when this first proposal happened.

That didn’t deter them one bit, and when he sent word of when he’d come to get you, they’d passed the letter around to read it and gushed.

According to witnesses, Sylvi broke a goblet upon hearing the news, and locked herself in her room to avoid others ever since. She was not the type to cause a scene, but she would not play nice to keep the peace, either.

When that day finally did arrive, the girls had insisted on trying to make you look presentable. Brushing the knots from your hair, applying a light rouge and smelling oils. They’d each given you something of theirs. Necklaces, trinkets, things to remember them by.

“As if I could ever forget you girls.” You’d said when Maria insisted on you having her favorite hair pin. “Thank you so much.” She pulled you into a deep hug, squeezing as if to commit the feel to memory.

“You know you’ll never see us again, when you marry?” Zora’s flat voice made the girls shoot her annoyed looks. “It won’t do for a princess to visit a whorehouse, and we can’t exactly go to the castle at leisure.”

“My situation is unlike other Ladies, I’m sure they would make an exception for me. I’ll come back, even if I have to sneak away.” They smiled, but they didn’t reach their eyes. There was something very final about this goodbye, even with the promises made.

“Sylvi made sure to be busy today, didn’t she?” Maria joked with a dry chuckle, likely an attempt to change the subject. “She’s probably in some back alley, crying herself to death.”

“Have compassion, she’s losing her two favorite people in one day.” Lauryn’s sarcastic jab at you made you sigh and look away.

“I’m sure I won’t be missed in that regard. Besides, it’s probably for the best that we leave things as they were. Before all this.” You gestured to your packed bags.

Sounds of hoofs on the cobblestone brought everyone’s attention outside, where a carriage was pulling up to the entrance. The girls crowded the entryway, looking on to see if someone would step out of the carriage. When only a footman appeared in front of you, you had to swallow down the disappointment you felt at Aemond not being present to take you to the castle.

“My Lady, the Prince sends his deepest apologies that he could not be here himself to retrieve you. Urgent matters have kept him at the castle, but be assured, he is there awaiting your arrival. If I could grab your things.” The girls began lugging out your trunk. You’d not accumulated much over the years, and what you had, you couldn’t use in the keep. Most of what you were bringing were gifts from the other girls.

You’d thanked the footman for loading your luggage for you, and turned to say your final goodbyes to everyone before he helped you into the carriage.

“It won’t be long, ma’am.” He’d reassured you, and you’d nodded and smiled before settling into the seat as he closed the door and set off.

The ride hadn’t been long, though it had felt like an eternity. When you stopped to let the gates open, you’d considered jumping out and making a run for it, but you knew that was just jitters.

The carriage pulled in to the gates, and made its’ final stop, the footman stepping down and opening the door to let you out.

You immediately began searching for Aemond, but to your dismay he wasn’t there, only who you’d assumed to be Dowager Queen Alicent, and Queen Helaena. You walked to greet them, bowing as well as you’d remembered.

“It’s a shame your parents couldn’t be here with you. Aemond sent for them days ago, so they should arrive within the next few days.” Alicent’s voice was stressed, as if she carried the weight of the seven kingdoms on her shoulders, and you could tell she was not happy to be the one sent to greet you. “I’ll have a maid show you to your chambers, I’m sure you’ll want to prepare yourself for dinner.” You spoke before she could turn away.

“I had hoped to see Aemond.”

“Yes, well the prince is kept very busy around here, his brother, the king, keeps him close. Especially with the war coming, as you know Aemond is invaluable in our efforts.”

Something in her words told you she meant to say you’re here to keep Aemond happy. You nodded, showing the disappointment clearly on your face.

“He’ll find you before dinner, I’m sure.” She turned to walk away, stopping to order a maid, which you followed to your chambers.

The chambers were grand, as expected, but you were not overwhelmed by them. You were more concerned with your betrothed and his presence. Or absence, moreso. You’d been left to your devices, choosing to sit on a settee and twiddle your fingers, sigh, and huff in frustration. In reality, it had only been about half an hour before your door opened, revealing the one person you had been waiting to see.

“Aemond!” You jumped up from your seat, meeting him halfway and pulling him into a tight embrace. “You did not come to retrieve me this morning. You did not even greet me.”

“My apologies, my lady wife. The King has kept me very busy, I would’ve put off your retrieval again so I could get you myself, but I could not wait to have you here.” He kissed your scalp, inhaling the scent curiously. “You smell nice, I’ve missed it. I’ve missed you.” He pulled away to hold your hands in his before leaning in for a kiss, which you happily reciprocated.

Aemond’s hands met your waist, pulling you against him and wrapping his arms around you to hold you close to him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, hands tangling with his snowy hair, and pulling him to deepen the kiss. Your lips moved in sync with one another, a display of passion and desire so strong it could stop the world. Your tongue reached out to meet his, rough and unlike his smooth lips, and you would’ve heard him groan if not for the sound of your heart thumping in your ears.

He pulled away to catch his breath, resting his forehead against yours and panting.

“I’ve missed you, too.” You smiled up at him, pulling away to sit on the soft bed. You patted the spot beside you, and he quickly joined at your side.

“The wedding is in two weeks, I’ve made the necessary arrangements, I hope you find it to your liking.”

“I don’t care what the wedding looks like, only the groom.” His lips turned up at that. “Your mother said my parents will be here soon, I can’t wait to see them again. Will there be many other guests?”

“Likely our allied houses, but they shouldn’t arrive for at least a week’s time. I’ve tried my best to clear my schedule after the wedding, but it seems the war is coming faster than any of us had anticipated. I had even thought to steal my bride away on Vhagar, even for a short while.”

“I understand, Aemond. You’re needed here.” Your words were meant to be reassuring, but the lilt in your voice betrayed you. “I had only hoped we’d have more time to know each other, and…to make up for the lost time.”

“We’ll do plenty of making up, don’t you worry.” His sly smirk sent a shiver down your spine, both of fear and desire. “My mother had requested to have you checked to see if you were still pure, but I assured her of your innocence. She did not believe me, of course, but she had dropped the matter. I think she is just happy for me.” He leaned in to place a soft kiss on your jawline, his large hand going to the nape of your neck, to massage the tight muscle, earning a grown from you. “I like that noise.” His kisses traveled down to your collarbone, and his hands began massaging your waist.

You were nervous to explore Aemond more than you already had. To explore anyone, really. You’d never even thought about what would happen on your wedding night, because you’d never considered you’d have a wedding night. Years of rejecting any sense of affection had left you uneducated in the personal ways of lovemaking. Of course you’d heard things, and even seen things, but that was just sex. You and Aemond were meant to make love, and sire heirs. How different was that from what you’d seen in the whorehouse? Did he expect you to have much experience because of where you’d been? He knew you were a virgin, but perhaps he thought they’d taught you things.

Your thoughts were beginning to blur as you felt him begin to push you back on the bed. You pulled away from him in a panic and stood, pacing away from the bed.

“Are you alright?” He was breathless and obviously a little taken aback by your sudden retreat, combing through his hair and rubbing his lips together.

“Yes! Yes, I am fine. I just think…” You scanned your brain for some reason that wouldn’t seem like rejection, finding none. “I am afraid, Aemond.”

“Of me.” He nodded in understanding.

“No! Gods, no. Of…well, yes, of you. But, not of you, of…you know…you.” You gestured towards his groin, unable to force the words out of your mouth. It was embarrassing to have lived among whores and not even be able to say the word sex, and even more embarrassing to have to explain your situation to Aemond, of all people, who you had met in a whorehouse. His chuckle only served to further your mortification. “Well, do not laugh! I am a lady, after all. I should not know of these things, or how to speak of them.”

“I mean no offense, my lady. Only that I had not expected such bashful demeanor from you. Especially after our night in your rooms.”

“That was just kissing. And I was…swept away, in your passionate words and gestures. This would be different, it would mean…well, I could get pregnant.”

“Yes.” He nodded. “Now, or in two weeks' time, when we consummate our marriage. Either way, I’m happy to wait, lady wife. But you must not be so alluring in these coming weeks. You can hardly expect a man to resist you.” He stood from your bed, and stepped over to the settee in front of the fireplace. “Perhaps we should avoid the bed as well.”

“I was not being alluring, I was simply being myself. A woman should do that in front of her betrothed, so he knows she is a match.”

“Yourself is the most alluring thing you could be in my presence.” That struck you speechless, and you elected to just walk over to where he was sitting, too awkward to sit with him normally. “Perhaps a tour of the keep.” He sighed, standing up to guide you out of the room.

The next two days had passed rather dully, with Aemond holding you at an arm's length, and preferring to meet you in public. You’d been on walks, dined together, and made a few last minute wedding decisions for the upcoming nuptials.

You were sitting in the garden with Aemond when you heard the gates to the red keep begin opening. You could only assume it was your parents, as no other guests were set to arrive any day soon. You quickly rushed to welcome them, leaving the flowers you had been weaving on the ground along with Aemond, who rose to follow you.

Reuniting with your parents had been a dream, they had taken you into their arms and sobbed, as had you. Your mother had a few choice words about your disappearance, but understood the reasoning of a scared young girl. Besides, things had seemed to work themself out in the end.

You’d stayed with your parents all the way up until after dinner, when they both showed signs of fatigue, at which point Aemond had elected to walk you to your chambers, taking deliberate slow steps to prolong the moment alone.

“Are you happy with your reunification?”

“Oh, Aemond, I don’t know how I could ever thank you. They’re just as I remember them, but so much more. I can tell how my leaving hurt them, and I don’t think we can ever get that time back. But now, thanks to you, they know I am well and safe. I am truly in your debt.”

“Consider it a wedding gift.” He had shrugged as you reached your doors. The guards immediately opened the door for you, and you stepped in slowly before turning back to him. “Might I come in? Just for a moment, there’s something I wanted to discuss about our wedding.”

He came in at your nod, the doors closing behind the two of you. You had began undoing your hair from the tight wound updo. Aemond had watched in silence for a while, until you reminded him of his needed discussion.

“I had been giving thought to our wedding night.” You swallowed the lump in your throat.

“What of it?”

“Will you not find it difficult to bear a bedding ceremony?”

“Are those not outdated?”

“They’re tradition. My mother has been rather insistent on it.”

“But it is not your mother’s wedding, it is your wedding. Do you want a bedding ceremony?” As my hair was finally let down, I began brushing out the knots. Aemond had hummed in response to your question, causing you to sigh. “I do not wish to be subjected to the eyes of strangers on what is supposed to be our night together. I want to be alone with you, we so rarely are anymore.”

“That is because I find it hard to be near you and not want you.” You rolled your eyes. “My mother will put up a fight over the ceremony, she wants to know that you are still a maiden. If it’s not a bedding ceremony, it could be the maesters. I do not know which one you’d find more unpleasant.”

“I will not do either, Aemond. I have lived a very difficult life off the premise of my own autonomy, and I will not turn my back to it now. Your mother will have to see reason. Or perhaps you should tell her you’ve already had me.” He looked stunned at this.

“Why would you say that?”

“If she thinks you’ve already…defiled me, there’ll be no question of my maidenhood, and no way to know if I’ve only had you, or others, so checking will be fruitless.” I set my brush down and turned towards him from my vanity chair.

“You would have me dishonor your already sullied name?” He seemed offended even at the thought, his voice shaking.

“As you said, my name is already sullied, what difference will it make? They think I’m a whore, Aemond!” I stood from my vanity and walked to stand before him. “They wish to make a mockery of me with these invasions. They don’t want to reassure themselves, they want to confirm what they already believe. I am not good enough for them, and they want a reason to reject this union.” His jaw ticked and his head shook slightly at the thought.

“I won’t let them reject it.”

“And how would you stop them?” I asked sarcastically.

“We simply do the ceremony! It is a woman’s expectation to be pure for her husband, and you are marrying a prince. It’s sound reasoning to expect this.”

“Well, perhaps that is another reason I ran away in the first place!” I turned from him, but he grabbed my arm and forced me to turn back around.

“I do not want to fight with you about this.” He sighed. “If you truly will not have it, we’ll just have to figure something else out.”

“They won’t let us marry, Aemond, I told you this. It was a fool’s dream to think you would have your way in this.”

“I’ll marry you now. Tonight. We’ll sneak to the Godswood and get married in the old way. They’ll have to recognize it, especially if we consummate.”

“You really want to fuck me, don’t you?” The joke was ill-timed, and a sad attempt to break the tension.

“I want to marry you. And I shall. Let’s go.”

“Right now?”

“They’ll not expect it. By the time anyone notices we’ve left, it’ll be too late.”

“But who will marry us? Do the old ways not call for the head of your house to consent?”

“Aegon?” He snorted. “That piss-soaked sack is probably deep in his cups tonight. It will be nothing to convince him. I’ll get him, and meet you in the Godswood. Wait a bit after I leave, and pretend as though you’re on a walk to clear your head. I’ll be there under the heart tree, waiting.”

You did as Aemond bid, sitting in the settee for a short while, finishing brushing through your hair and electing to wear it down. Finally, you decided to head towards the Godswood.

The walk there was relatively short, so you paused outside the entrance to the Godswood and took a few deep breaths.

“It is quite cold tonight for King’s Landing, no?” The voice of your mother made you turn around quickly, eyes wide and mouth agape.

“Mother! What are you doing out here?” The panic in your voice obviously raised suspicion.

“What are you doing out here? Unchaperoned, standing outside the Godswood?”

“I needed some air. Aemond and I had a fight, I needed to clear my head.” It wasn’t necessarily a lie, so saying it only made you feel half as bad.

“Is everything alright?”

“Oh, yes. His mother wants to force a bedding ceremony, but I don’t want one. Aemond says if I don’t do it, she’ll likely want a maester to confirm my maidenhood.”

“She questions your integrity?” She was obviously irked. “And what did Aemond say?” Her eyebrow quirked, and you could tell she already knew the answer, glancing into the Godswood before sighing.

“Mother…” You whispered.

“It’s not my place to tell you what you cannot do. If your Father knew…” She shook her head. “You are a woman grown now, and I can’t stop you if this is what you truly want to do.”

“It is. And I’m going to marry him anyways, this is just…a way for us to do it on our terms.”

“And will you forbid your mother from witnessing the union of her daughter?” You smiled, shaking your head and pulling her into a deep embrace.

@mamawiggers1980 @dahlias-and-marigolds @staarflowerr @aemondwhoresworld @uhnanix

#hotd #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #unbroken betrothals

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crowsoundsonly · 11 months

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dr. barnes

pair: fbi instructor!professor!bucky barnes x fem!student!reader

word count: ~6.5k

summary: you ask for some advice from your reclusive and very attractive professor.

warnings: teacher student relationship so slight age gap but i had pictured it being less than 10 years, super soft bucky, smut at the end (~1.3k), fingering (f rec) but not super descriptive, crime scene descriptions, descriptions of blood, some christian/religious references at the crime scenes, (let me know if i missed any !!)

a/n: this one held me hostage for weeks. i literally could not stop thinking about it. do i have uni exams this week? yes. but did i spend my time writing this? also yes. i hope you guys like it !!

“Explain the killer. What does he do? What motivates him? How would you catch him? A thousand words printed by the next class. Have a good weekend,” your professor, Dr. Barnes, announces with a nod, cueing the shuffling of laptops and bags belonging to FBI trainees eager to get home on a Friday afternoon.

You load up your things, your mind still thinking about the brutal crime scene photos shown on the slides of the lecture today that made your stomach turn over. While you know you have chosen to be at the FBI, you can’t help but wonder sometimes what you are doing there. Your degree in psychology and doctorate in criminology has led you to the FBI Academy, but your mind still swirls when the most horrible acts of violence are placed in front of you. You chalk it up to you retaining your humanity and sanity, so you are not exactly upset over the fact. It just makes your job more difficult.

Dr. Barnes’ class is always the most brutal, but it is by far the most fascinating class you have. It does help that your professor is the most fascinating part, being very good looking and extremely private. He shares very little personal information, telling you only that he used to work homicide at the police department before beginning teaching. You notice that he does not talk to students often, simply giving his lectures, packing up and leaving after the sea of students flood into the hallways.

You are curious about him, about what he is like when he is not lecturing, and figuring that you have little to lose, you decide to come back after your classes to ask for some help.

…

“Dr. Barnes?” you call out as you step into the lecture hall that is still lit, leaving you to believe that someone is there. You take a few more steps and find your professor sitting at his desk, photos piled around, staring intently at the laptop in front of him. He makes no movement to acknowledge you, his focus completely locked onto his work.

You walk all the way up to his desk, repeating his name which does little to deter him. You reach a hand out and give his shoulder a slight squeeze, causing him to jump in his seat and look up at you, eyes wide.

“Sorry, Dr. Barnes. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

At your words, he scans your face, recognition dawning on his features.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you,” he says quietly, his eyes focusing on the books you are holding in your hands.

“It’s okay, Dr. Barnes,” you assure him.

“Is there something I can do for you?” he trails off a bit at the end of his question, asking for your name in its absence.

You fill in your name and explain, “I just have a question. I’m writing a paper for another class and was hoping that you could give me some insight on the topic. I’m really just looking for another perspective.”

“Of course,” he says as he leans back in his chair. There is not another chair, so you take to sitting on the edge of his desk.

“The paper is about female serial killers, and I was wondering what you think the most common traits and motives are. We have discussed some examples in class, but I wanted to ask what your experience has been.”

He thinks for a moment, taking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes. “They usually work in health care professions. They’ll, um, they will be married or have been married before. They usually kill to improve their situation, so they’ll target people they know, usually men. But not all women,” he stops and looks up at you before continuing to explain a case he had while working homicide where they investigated a series of killings that followed the signs of a male killer but ended up being a woman.

Dr. Barnes runs a hand through his hair when he finishes, leaning back in his chair. You can’t help but notice how good he looks in this position and at this angle. His dark hair tousled and glasses twirling between his thumbs, you think about how it would feel to reach out and feel his hair between your fingers. You school yourself, your face becoming hot at the idea. He is your professor, and you would do well to remember that.

You continue the conversation, asking him questions and prodding for more insight. When you figure you have taken up enough of his time, you bow your head a bit and begin getting up from your place on the desk.

“Thank you for your help, Dr. Barnes. I really appreciate you taking the time.”

He nods in acknowledgment, a small smile adorning his lips which you watch perhaps a little too intently as he says. “It was nothing. I’m glad I could help.”

You begin walking toward the door of the lecture hall but are stopped by your name being called out.

“Would you actually mind taking a look at these pictures? I’d like to know what you see.”

You turn back around. The look on his face is one of curiosity. You wonder why he would want to ask you, and part of you wants to believe that it is because he wants you to stay, but you know better.

“Sure,” you shrug, making your way back to his desk. “I’m not sure I’ll be of much help, though”

“Just take a look. It’s not a test, if that’s what you’re worried about,” your professor says, standing up to hand you the crime scene photos.

They are gruesome, but you don’t know what else you could have expected with Dr. Barnes. You examine them all the while trying to ignore the way he leans over your shoulder as you fail to concentrate. You are so close that if you took a single step back, you would be flush to him.

Pushing those thoughts away, you focus your attention on the photos, flipping through them, noticing the odd blood splatter near the baseboard that doesn’t have a body laying anywhere near it.

“What would make the killer climb on top of the counter to shoot someone, get down, and move the body?” you think out loud as you turn your head to look at Dr. Barnes. You notice how close your faces are and let out a breath at the discovery. “Dominance?” your voice is more shaky than you wanted it to sound.

“I was hoping you could tell me. My guess is they were waiting there, but it still doesn’t make sense,” he says, looking past you and to the picture you are holding. You look back down as well, grateful you did not make eye contact, the idea of the intimacy of it alarming.

“If they were standing on it, that would make sense, but the angle doesn’t really fit. It seems as if they were waiting for them to get home, and they sat, swinging their legs, completely calm and casual about shooting this person,” you pause, mulling over your words before saying, “Maybe they even knew this person. The proximity to the counter could mean that the victim was comfortable enough to approach them, and that the victim was unaware of what was going to happen.”

He hums in agreement in your ear, and a feeling of satisfaction washes over you. Turning back around, you hand the photos to your professor and take a step back.

“I think you may be right,” he says with a nod, a small smile again creeping onto his features. You make eye contact and keep it, somewhat entranced by it.

“I’m glad I was able to help,” you smile. “Thanks again, Dr. Barnes. Have a good night.”

…

You anticipate going back to classes on Monday, knowing that you have to attend Dr. Barnes’ lecture. You don’t know if anything will be different after the night you spent talking to your professor. Part of you knows that nothing should be different. While there are only a few years between you, you are still his student.

But part of you wants things to be different. The entire weekend, you could not get out of your head the image of his face so close to yours or the sight of him as he leaned back in his chair, legs casually falling open.

Dr. Barnes is not in the lecture hall when you arrive for which you are grateful. You settle into your seat and wait for the lecture to begin by fiddling with your laptop. When your professor does come in, you notice that he combed his hair today, letting it fall neatly over his forehead. The plaid shirt he wears still doesn’t match his suit, but you find it charming. He slips his glasses on and begins teaching.

The whole lecture you try valiantly to focus on the subject, but you fail rather miserably, unable to think of anything but how you stood right where he is, your back a foot away from his chest with him humming in your ear. It is going to be a long term if this is how every lecture is going to go.

You are brought back to reality when Dr. Barnes makes eye contact with you. He smiles which you quickly reciprocate, then he turns around, gesturing to the screen before anyone notices.

It is definitely going to be a long semester.

…

Weeks go on with you and Dr. Barnes smiling at each other from afar, both of you knowing that you would be playing with fire if you do anything more than smile. But the longer you go simply smiling, the more you want to do something about it.

And one day, he does something about it. On your way out of the lecture hall, Dr. Barnes stops you, calling out your name. You walk over, anticipation coiling in your stomach.

“I’ve another case I’d like your opinion on. Do you have time tonight to take a look?” he asks you quietly so as to not draw the attention of the students still exiting the room.

“Yes. Here at 7:30?”

He nods, making a flash of eye contact which you return with a smile.

…

You make your way to Dr. Barnes’ lecture hall, your stomach roiling with nerves. You have thought too much about him, fantasized a little often for you to not think about it when you talk to him. The soles of your shoes click on the tile as you walk the hallway. You take a deep breath and open the door.

Dr. Barnes is reclined behind his desk, crime scene photos in his hand as he flips through them intently. At your entrance, his head flicks up to find your figure approaching his desk.

“Hey, thanks for coming,” he says as he stands up.

“Hi, yeah. It’s – yeah it’s no problem, Dr. Barnes,” you manage to get out, tripping over your words more than you would have liked. Another deep breath to collect yourself. “What can I do to help?”

He leans against the front of his desk and reaches behind him to grab the photos he was examining before. You take a few steps closer to grab them from his outstretched hand.

“A recent set of murders. It’s odd to say the least,” he starts, watching you intently as you study the photos.

The scene is horrifying, blood smeared across the walls, not as blood spray or splatter, but in an image. A lamb. Your mind spins as you look through more of the pictures, each of them showing blood splashed on the walls. You wonder what the killer did in order to get that much blood. There is too much for it to have come from just one body.

“How many people were found dead?”

“Only one,” he answers, leaning in to help you find the image of the body heaped over the table. You can’t help but notice everywhere his body touches yours, how his breath flutters against your neck, but you cast those thoughts away to focus on the case at hand.

“There had to have been more. There’s too much blood,” you mumble as you cart through the images again, counting as you go. A beat passes as you take in the scene, contemplating before constructing ideas.

“What do you see?”

“In ancient religious practices, a lamb would be sacrificed and the blood would be sprinkled around seven times. There are seven places where the blood was thrown on the wall,” you pause to show him each one. You glance up at your professor who is looking on intently, urging you to continue. “Then you have the body placed on the table. It could be sacrificial. The lamb was supposed to be perfect. Without blemish. Maybe – maybe the killer saw this person as their perfect – their perfect lamb, as someone who would put them in favor with God. The sacrificial lamb is sacramental. Symbolic. Messianic. It’s an act of repentance. So what was the killer repenting from?”

A hum from Dr. Barnes pulls you out of your reverie and breaks your focus from the crime scene photos. You lean around his form to place the pictures back on his desk, your shoulder brushing against his arm. His eyes follow you before he brings a hand up to rub his eyes, almost like he is physically rubbing away the images.

“Do you think the killer knew the victim?” he asks quietly, bringing his hands down to meet your eyes.

“I think they could be family. Family or close friends. They were their savior,” you answer, matching his tone.

Dr. Barnes nods in agreement and in that moment, you can see that he looks like a man who is carrying the world on his shoulders. He slouches forward slightly, his hair strewn around his ears with bags under his eyes. It takes everything in you to not reach out a hand to touch his cheek, to rub a thumb across his lips as you have in your dreams.

Appalled by your own thoughts, you take a step back to give yourself space to halt that train of thought. The movement makes him stand, subconsciously trying to keep the close proximity between you. You don’t break eye contact, making the moment intimate. Intense.

“This case has been keeping me up at night,” he confesses as he brings a hand to run through his hair with a sigh, breaking eye contact. “I wonder where the other bodies are. I can’t seem to get my mind around it.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” you say in nearly a whisper. “You’re good at what you do.”

“Thank you for your help. It’s some really great insight you had.”

“It’s no problem, Dr. Barnes.”

“Bucky,” he says quickly, rushing it out like he knows he shouldn’t let it pass his lips.

“Bucky,” you repeat, trying the name out on your tongue.

You then fall into easy conversation, learning more about each other. You discover that Bucky has a PhD in criminology as well, and that he used to be a field agent but decided to leave it to become a teacher at the academy. Part of you wants to ask why, but you figure that it isn’t a conversation he wants to have while still getting to know you. He asks about your life, your family, your education. He is interested in why and how you landed at the academy. You answer him honestly, not inclined to hide away as you normally do when people ask those questions.

Bucky is surprisingly sociable. Based on his reclusiveness when it comes to students, you were not expecting to hold such easy and fun conversation. It makes you want to spend the whole night chatting, joking, exploring. But you know you should not stay.

When the conversation lulls, you glance at your watch and ask, “Is there anything else I can do for you, Bucky? I think I might head home.”

Before you can even register what is happening, he takes a singular step forward and leans in to meet his lips to yours. In shock, you stand limply, not sure how to respond. You can’t deny that you have thought about this moment for weeks, dreaming about it, imagining what it would be like to kiss him. Bucky. But you hadn’t expected it to happen tonight.

And before you have time to respond, he pulls away, opening his eyes to look at you with wide ones of his own.

“I’m sorry, I–”

You don’t acknowledge his apology, instead leaning in to kiss him again, only you are prepared for it this time. He responds immediately as his lips move slowly over yours, testing the waters. Your hands are still by your sides, but his come to settle in your hair and over your arm. His kisses are controlled and soft, not pressing for more than what you are willing to give. A sigh flutters from your nose which ghosts over his cheeks.

Breaking away for a second, you open your eyes and find his already looking at you. The both of you know that you are playing with fire. You are still his student, and he is your professor, but the feeling of his lips on yours overrules any rational thought at the moment.

You give a slight nod and he takes that as a green light to kiss you again. Bucky pulls you closer, and your hands find their way around his torso, snaking up into his hair. It is his turn to sigh at the action which causes satisfaction to roll down your back in waves that has you leaning further into the kiss, opening your mouth ever so slightly. He takes advantage and kisses you deeper. A soft moan escapes you at the feeling, followed by a shaky breath.

He pulls away, a triumphant smile playing at his mouth.

“I’m not sorry,” he whispers.

“Me neither.”

He kisses you once more, chaste and short, but it carries more meaning than any of the other kisses. It tells you that he has thought about this, too. It wasn’t a spur of the moment, impulsive decision. And it tells you that he plans on doing it again.

…

You settle into a routine with Bucky. After class on Fridays, he stops you on your way out and quietly asks you to come back to look over a case or his lectures. You always nod and come back at 7:30.

The unspoken truth of the need for secrecy looms over your blooming relationship, but you are almost spurred on by the illicitness of it all. You haven’t done anything more than kiss. You haven’t even interacted beyond the walls of the lecture hall. You both know that it is safest that way.

The more time you spend together, the more you find yourself falling in love with Bucky. His quirks make you smile. The way he perks up when you walk through the door makes your heart flutter in your chest. You have never felt so valued by anyone before. He trusts your opinions. He respects your honesty. You admire his dedication to what he does. You find his quiet nature calming.

The list of things you love about Bucky keeps you up at night as you replay scenes of kissing at his desk behind your eyes as you fall asleep. Bucky kisses you like you are ice cream on a sunny day, slow and hungry like he savors every second of your mouth on his. He never presses you for more, only going so far as to set you up on his desk, pulling your hips to his, allowing you to wrap your legs around him as you wind your fingers in his hair. He always sighs when you tug at it which gives you the opportunity to kiss at his neck, your chin always getting scratched by his stubble.

You love the routine. However, it makes it hard to concentrate during the lectures since all you can think about when you look at his desk is how good his hands felt on your hips and how his lips were pressed to yours when you were propped up on the wood yourself.

The semester continues on following your routine. If anyone suspects anything, they don’t say. You can’t imagine that someone hasn’t picked up on the soft smiles he sends your direction during lectures, and stragglers leaving class late on Fridays must hear his whispers for you to come back.

Steadily approaching the end of the term, you begin to question how long your routine will continue. You will no longer be Bucky’s student. Could you actually date? Would he want to? Is that what you want?

…

The familiar tug of nerves settles in the pit of your stomach as you walk to class with Bucky — Dr. Barnes if you were still professional, but you figure that his lips have kissed you a few too many times and in a few too many places for you to call him that. It is your last class in his lecture hall, meaning that beyond today, you are free to make a decision as to whether this is serious or not.

In your heart of hearts, you want this to keep going. You love how you feel around Bucky. While you have not said it out loud, you love him. You feel yourself aching to hear him say it, too.

When you arrive in the room, Bucky is already there, nervously flipping through crime scene photos while running his hands through his hair, creating a rather haphazard mess on his head. He looks more anxious than usual, and it takes everything in you to not to stride to his desk and ask him what’s wrong.

Instead, you brush past him, trailing a quick hand over his arm, hoping that it has a calming effect over him. His eyes flash to yours as you cast a look over your shoulder, smiling at him. He sends you a tight lipped smile back as his shoulders shrug down from their place beside his ears.

From your seat, you watch Bucky pace around a bit, obviously concerned about something. You rub your palms over your thighs when you discover them clenched in worry. You wonder if his stress has anything to do with the reason you were nervous coming to class today — the talk you know is coming tonight. You figure it does when his eyes glance over at you every few minutes before beginning the lecture.

You find yourself becoming sentimental about the semester as you look around the room, taking in the feeling for the last time. If you and Bucky do decide to continue your relationship, you can never take one of his classes again. If you don’t continue to see Bucky, you doubt you will want to take one of his classes again. You will miss his funny side comments that come out of left field. You will miss his mismatched suits and disheveled hair.

The sound of Bucky announcing the end of class breaks you out of your thoughts, and the shuffling of backpacks and feet brings you back to reality. A stream of students thank Bucky as they flow out of the classroom for the final time. You stall a minute, waiting for the throng to exit out the doors before approaching your professor.

“Hey, Bucky,” you say quietly, clutching your laptop to your chest.

“Hey.”

You watch him lean against his desk, hands pressed to the edge of the wood.

“How are you doing?” you ask the question that has been waiting to erupt since you entered the lecture hall an hour previous. “You seem nervous.”

A chuckle that comes out more as a sigh escapes him. “Yeah. I’m fine. I, uh, I just didn’t get much sleep last night. How are…how are you?”

“Wistfully contemplating the end of my time in your class,” you reply playfully, hoping that the happy tone will hide the melancholy you really feel about the idea.

This elicits a laugh from Bucky as he looks at you through his lashes — a look that always has your knees threatening to come out from under you. You take steps closer and set your laptop down on his desk, then place your hands on his shoulders, running them down his arms to settle in his hands.

“Do you want to get dinner with me tonight?” you ask, the words barely more than a whisper. You want to catch them in the air, afraid that your proposal to disrupt the routine will be rejected.

But Bucky smiles immediately, thinking for a moment before saying, “Why don’t I cook dinner?”

Your stomach flutters at the thought of watching him in the kitchen. You nod in response.

“7:30?”

“7:30,” you repeat before letting go of his hands to walk out the doors, throwing a smile over your shoulder as you go.

…

The drive to Bucky’s house is quiet but comfortable. About halfway through the trip, your hands link together, resting on your thigh. You talk lazily, asking questions about each others’ days since your morning lecture. There is something so calming about Bucky. You trust him. You love him.

Every once in a while, your eyes flick over to watch him drive, eyes intently focused on the road ahead. He can feel your gaze, so he sends a glance over to you with a soft smile playing on his lips.

“What?” he asks when you don’t shy away from his eyes.

“Nothing, Buck. I just like being with you.”

“I do, too.”

The sweetness of his simple confession does more to your confidence than you ever thought possible. You feel comfortable around Bucky. You need only be yourself when you are with him, and hearing that same sentiment from him gives you hope that he wants this to continue just as much as you do.

You squeeze his hand, at which he laughs softly, squeezing yours back, brushing his thumb over the knuckles on the back of your hand.

Gravel crunching under tires and the faint sound of dogs barking indicates that you have arrived at your destination. You open the car door and follow Bucky to the front steps of a small house on the edge of town. A large open field is situated behind his house, neighbors nonexistent. Given Bucky’s personality, you are not surprised to discover that he lives alone, away from people, away from the city.

A flash of nervousness pricks at your mind, as no one would be around if Bucky shows you that isn’t the guy you think he is. But you trust him, and you trust him enough to accept your fate if it does prove to be your downfall.

The door creaks open, and Bucky flicks on the light. Two big dogs come bounding to greet you both, circling his feet until he crouches down to give them the attention they are begging for. To see Bucky with his dogs makes your mind go fuzzy and warm, the tenderness of the scene eradicating your doubts from before.

“Charlie and Duke,” Bucky says, showing you which dog belongs to which name, rubbing each of them affectionately before standing and grabbing your hand.

“They’re adorable.”

“They’re good dogs.”

He leans in for a quick kiss, the domesticity of it causing your breath to catch in your throat. He pulls away smiling, then tugs you into the kitchen where he drags a chair out from the table for you to sit on.

“Sit,” Bucky says with mirth in his voice.

You laugh but do as you are told.

“I was thinking of making steaks. Is that okay with you?”

“Sounds great.”

You watch Bucky make his way around the kitchen, obviously having done this a lot. He looks comfortable. He catches you staring, meeting your gaze head on, an easy smile adorning his mouth before asking, “What are you smiling at?”

“You. I like seeing you here,” you say quietly.

“Not as much as I like seeing you sit at my table. I’ve thought about this a lot,” he admits with his back to you as he throws the steaks in the pan. “I like being around you. I’m more comfortable with you than anyone else. You make me feel — you make me feel normal. Most people don’t do that. They don’t — they don’t want to understand me. My old friends can only think about who I was before I quit the force. They don’t — they don’t want to like who I am now.”

The words spill out of Bucky before he can stop them, opening up to you in a way that he has not before. He has let you in here and there over the months you have been spending together in the lecture hall, but he has stayed rather private even then. Not sure what to say in response, you simply move from your place at the table to stand behind him, wrapping your arms around his torso, resting your cheek on his back. You can feel him relax into your touch, and it is a comfort to you both.

“Bucky, I think I am in love with you,” you whisper into his shirt. His body tenses, the sizzling of the meat in the pan filling the silence. Your heart pounds in your chest as you wait for him to say something. Burying your face further into him, disappointment and embarrassment creeping in your stomach, settling heavily when he doesn’t say anything. When a minute that feels like an eternity passes in silence, you mutter a quiet, “I’m sorry.”

You let go of Bucky and take a step back. He quickly takes the pan off the heat and whips around to face you, pulling you back to him, whispering your name.

“I love you,” the words are sure and confident coming from his lips. “I know I do.”

He looks at you intently, not shying away from your eyes before leaning in and kissing you softly. You get lost in his kisses, the pounding of your heart racing at a steady quick beat. Bucky backs you into the counter where he cages you with his hands as you weave one of your hands into his hair, the other running up his spine.

“Stay the night,” he mumbles between kisses.

You pull away and nod, meeting his eyes again, kissing him once without breaking the contact.

…

Settling on his couch after laughing yourselves silly over the dinner table, Bucky is close behind you with bowls of ice cream in hand. He hands you a spoon before sitting down right beside you, pulling your legs to stretch over his lap. He runs a hand absentmindedly over your shins as the two of you eat your ice cream.

“Why did you come talk to me that night?,” he asks between spoonfuls. “You didn’t really need my help. You knew everything I was telling you.”

You smile like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “I did need your help,” you assert before admitting, “but I also just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

The sound of his laugh makes your heart flutter the same way it does when he looks up at you from behind his desk.

“Hey, not all my professors are attractive recluses who deserve a starring role in my nightly fantasies.”

“Oh, so you fantasize about me,” he presses, the smirk on his face unlike any expression you have ever seen on him. He looks smug, proud, teasing. It makes heat flash to your core.

You hum but it comes out more as a squeak, your focus turning intently on the ice cream melting in your bowl.

“Do you want to know what I’ve fantasized about you?” Bucky asks lowly, grabbing the bowl from your hands, causing your eyes to lift to his. You watch him set it on the floor. Your heart begins pounding again as he moves to climb over you, settling between your open legs.

“What have you fantasized about, Bucky?” you ask quietly, voice shaky.

You take a breath when he leans in, capturing your lips in a soft kiss. You open your mouth to deepen it, and he takes advantage, his tongue pressing to your upper lip. The feeling has your hips rolling and sighs falling from your throat.

He pulls away to murmur into your neck, “Every time I would sit on my couch, I thought about laying you down and kissing you until you can’t remember your own name.”

Your eyes are screwed shut as you tug at his hair, his words forming pools of heat between your hips where his own apply pressure. Your words fail you, only a whimper escaping you. His lips move along your neck, working their way back to your mouth, giving due attention to the places on the way that have you squirming beneath him. You hands tug at his shirt to slip your fingers beneath the fabric, skimming up his back, scratching lightly.

His kisses become feverish at the feeling of your nails down his back. One hand hooks your knee to pull your form even closer to his, hips slipping into place. You can feel yourself becoming wetter by the second, the slow circling of his hips against yours creating friction that has you moaning.

In one swift motion, his hands are gliding up your sides, taking your shirt with you. You lean up to help him before settling back down against the pillows. He sits on his heels to take his own shirt off which allows you to see him in the faint light casted by the lamp in the corner.

You notice a shining scar that extends from one hip to the other below his navel. Fingertips reach out to touch it, barely making contact before his own hand stills your movements.

“Is this why you quit the force?” you ask barely above a whisper.

He only nods, his feelings of vulnerability silencing him. You aren’t disgusted by it. It doesn’t change how you see him. You don’t pity him. You are simply curious. And amazed at his strength. He survived whatever left him this scar.

“Can I see it?”

Bucky takes a fluttering breath through his nose then nods again. You climb to the floor, resting on your knees between his legs. You glance up at him and see his head lolling to the side as he looks down at you, eyes hazy and soft. His eyebrows are scrunched, letting you know that he is concentrated, but the dam of secrecy surrounding Bucky is breaking with every passing second.

Tentatively, you stretch a hand forward, your fingertips grazing the scar. His stomach flexes beneath your touch.

No one has seen his scar since the doctor sewed him back up. He has a fear of pity. He knows that people won’t see him the same when they see the effects of what happened to him — of what was done to him. But he doesn’t see pity in your eyes. He sees awe and amazement.

Without warning, you press your lips to his stomach, the intimacy of it rendering his mind blank. You hear him swear quietly which urges you to keep going. You kiss all along the scar, his hips, then upwards before you climb into his lap. You find his lips again and kiss slowly, surely, passionately.

“I love you, Bucky.”

“I love you, too.”

You share a few more kisses before he stands up, pulling you with him to his room. He fumbles through his dressers to find a shirt and pair of shorts for you to wear. He hands them to you, then rummages through the bathroom cabinets to find a new toothbrush for you to use.

You thank him after he says that he will meet you back at the bed. The calm and comfort of being with Bucky is undeniable. The domesticity of the night has your heart skipping beats. You quickly change and brush your teeth before making your way to his bed. Noticing books stacked on the nightstand on one side, you slip under the covers of the other, sighing contently when you settle in.

Bucky comes in a moment later with only sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He decided to not put a shirt back on, relishing in the freedom that being with you gives him. He doesn’t climb into bed immediately, but rather stands and looks at you for a moment, curled up in his sheets.

“What have you fantasized about here?” you ask teasingly, but your voice comes out thinner than you had intended.

At your words, his tongue darts out to lick his lips. He approaches the bed slowly, kneeling down beside you.

“I want to know yours,” he says, his voice husky and low. You bite your lip, your eyes widening. A shaky inhale.

Soft kisses line the inside of your knee, trailing a path up your thighs. You let out a hitched moan when he places a kiss to your clothed core, your hands winding themselves in his hair. You tug slightly, inviting him to come up to the bed with you.

When he climbs up, you lean back, your shirt riding up over your stomach. Wordlessly, you pull his hands to your body, his calloused palms caressing the exposed skin. He runs his thumbs under your breasts, causing you to arch into his touch. Bucky can’t believe that you respond to him so keenly. He barely touches you and you are curving beneath him, aching for more.

His lips find your neck, behind your ear, sucking gently. Your hands pull his hips to yours, rocking steadily into him. You suck in a breath, gathering the courage to grab one of his hands to lead it to where you want to feel him the most.

Bucky follows your lead without resistance, kissing you softly in an expression of consent. He helps you pull your shorts off, then presses two fingers to the wet patch on your panties. The pressure has your hips jutting into his touch, overwhelmed by the sensation when his fingers push the fabric to the side.

Your hips move in circles with his movements, his lips kissing you through it all. Moans slip and tumble from your mouth, leaving you hiccupping in pleasure. The cords in your stomach begin snapping when he speeds up his ministrations, your body contracting through your release.

“You did so good, sweetheart,” he whispers to you as he helps you come down from your high.

Your eyes are crimped shut, but after a moment’s respite and a few encouraging kisses from Bucky, you come back to yourself. You open your eyes to find him watching you intently. You smile lazily then breathe, “Your turn.”

a/n: yayayay !! thanks for reading this !! let me know if you want to be on my taglist :):) and here is my masterlist if you want to check out my other work ! and check out MY SLEEPOVER going on right now !!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes imagine #marvel #mcu #marvel imagine #james buchanan barnes x reader #mcu imagine #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes x you #smut

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michibap · 2 months

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Lake fic wjth sclatt I beg

Lake Fic p.1

guys i still don't know how to make my posts pretty shits PISSING ME OFF

also im dividing this into diff parts bc i had so much to say

.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.

-one thing about jschlatt is

-if there's a gathering?

-he's dreading it

-it doesn't matter who is in attendance

-it could be beloved family, close friends, or casual coworkers

-just knowing that there's a function that he's expected to be present at weighs on his spirit during the days, or sometimes even weeks leading up to it

-preemptively exhausted by the expectation to be social

-he steels himself as he loads the last of your bags into your car, bracing for the weekend ahead of him

-soon, the two of you were to be off to your family's annual weekend on the lake

-and he's shitting his pants over it

-it's been haunting his dreams for WEEKS, waking up in a cold sweat after being tormented with nightmares of worst case scenarios

-realistically, he knows he'll probably be fine

-this is far from his first encounter with your family

-having been invited to multiple barbecues, holiday celebrations, birthdays, etc.

-it's not like they don't like him

-if anything, it seems like the opposite (or so he thinks) (or hopes)

-nearly every time he's seen your family in the past years he's known you, they've eagerly asked when he plans on pulling up to the notorious lake house that he’s heard about so many times

-having been shown countless pictures taken there during your childhood, and told even more stories about the shenanigans that take place there every year

-you've just,, never invited him

-well aware that he was easily drained by social situations, you didn't want to burden him with a long weekend in an un-air-conditioned house, packed in like sardines with your family

-so every year, up until now, he'd hang at home by himself while you fuck off into the woods for the weekend, completely cut off from the rest of the world due to the house's remote location

-so,

-when you asked him to tag along with you this year, he was a little taken aback

-what changed?

-why invite him now, after so long of being content to go your separate ways for this one weekend?

-of course he accepted, despite his confusion

-but he did spend the time leading up to today conjuring up nightmare scenarios

-what if this is secretly an intervention, and your family is planning on separating the two of you?

-what if it was actually an annual cult gathering, and you're in charge of bringing the sacrifice this time around?

-what if he gets so anxious while he's talking to your dad and he just keels over on the spot and throws up on his shoes?

-his anxieties fall to the back of his mind for a moment when he hears the front door slam close

-looking up to watch as you make sure it's locked one final time before turning to him with a smile,

"You ready to rock and roll?"

-he bites back a smile and rolls his eyes, digging through his pocket for your keys so he can toss them to you

"Don't father me."

-you only laugh and settle into the driver's seat

-and he climbs into the passenger seat, a little hesitant

-unused to being the Passenger Princess ™️

-however, after being told that after a certain point the gps stops working and most of the roads are unpaved, he agreed to taking the old beater that you refuse to part with instead of one of his expensive sports cars.

-once you're sat and buckled in, you turn in your seat to face schlatt, looking a little unsure

"You're positive you wanna come?"

-you watch as he pauses and can see the way his brain kicks into overdrive, eyes darting around your face, trying to guess what the right answer is

"I just don't want you to feel like I'm dragging you along. Like, if you don't wanna come-"

-oh!

-he relaxes when he realizes it's a you thing, and not a him thing

-he stops you from rambling, reaching across the center console to place a reassuring hand on your knee

"Baby," he interrupts, a sincere look on his face

"There is nothing I want more than to come."

-a moment of silent passes, both of you staring at one another

-it's broken by Schlatt,

-who could no longer keep himself from snorting at his own play on words

-you roll your eyes and swat his hand off of your knee,

"You're the worst." you grumble as you turn to start the car

-and off you go!

.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.

-on the third hour of the car ride, the reality of the situation really begins to set in

-he hasn't had service for the past hour, and the radio had stopped picking up any signals shortly after

-and he was lowkey struggling to come to terms with just how disconnected from the rest of the world he was

-most of his LIFE revolved around the internet, it being how he made a living, kept in contact with friends and family, entertained himself

-after stewing for another minute or two, he let out a groan,

“God, can we put on some fucking music? I'm sick of sitting here listening to you breathe."

You laugh,

"Looks like you've got a long weekend ahead of you, sweets."

-you turn to him with a smile, "Hold this?"

-and he's left to scramble to reach over to grab the wheel, shouting at you as you stretch into the back seat to grab something that was seemingly jammed under one of the seats

"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?"

-you scoff as you return to your intended position, tossing a small box into his lap as you settle back in,

"Don't be a puss, there's no one else on the road."

-he looks at you, bewildered, eyes still frantic and wide

"WE COULD HAVE DIED??"

-you shrug

"All you do is complain, first you want music, then you don't want me to get the music, then you yell at me."

-he stares at you for a minute, mouth agape as he waits for you to break, laugh, something

-he shakes his head when you don't,

"You're fucked in the head."

-proceeds to turn his attention to opening the box you had tossed at him, finding that the box was filled with a variety of cds

-some classic oldies, some obscure recession pop albums, rock, jazz

-he picks out an boy band album and holds it up to you, raising his brows with a cheesy smile

-you roll your eyes and knock it out of his hand

-deeper in the box, he finds some personalized cds with handwritten covers, eagerly looking through them, taking in the doodles and personalized little notes written on them

"Jesus, you've just been hiding this in here?"

"You never let me drive." you answer plainly

"Fair enough." he nods

-he plucks out one that's titled "Dad's Mix", reading the back and finding a listing of songs that he approves of before popping it into the radio

-both of you smile when the sound of fleetwood mac fills the car, loudly singing along to the first few songs

-schlatt grabbing your hand and pretending it's a microphone as he (very badly) freestyles a rift

-and all of a sudden, his lack of access to the rest of the world becomes less anxiety-inducing and more freeing

-no emails to answer

-no twitter beef to avoid

-no business calls to make

-no responsibilities aside from remembering the lyrics to the chorus and keeping you company

-eventually he drifts off to sleep, lulled by the wind in his hair and the sound of you humming and gently drumming your hand on the side of the car along to the beat

.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.

-he wakes back up to the sound of the tires rumbling over gravel and dirt, sitting up again and looking out the window, out at the unpaved road ahead of him

-and he notes, absentmindedly, that he can't remember the last time he saw another car on the road

-he shifts in his seat, a little anxious

-and the thoughts of everything that could go wrong start to creep in again

-your car could break down

-somebody could get hurt at the house

-your family might spontaneously decide that they hate him

-you guys could get into a fight and break up and be trapped out there together

-he pauses and takes a deep breath before he turns to look at you to ground himself

-your hair blowing in the wind, one hand on the wheel and the other stuck outside the window, beating against the side of the car, matching the beat of the song, sunglasses on

-and not a care in the world as you sing along to the song on the radio

-you must feel his eyes on you, because you glance over at him before breaking into an excited, toothy grin

-and pull your hand back into the car, placing it on the wheel so you can use the other to grab his knee and excitedly shake it

“We’re so close!”

-and who is he to deny you a smile in return??

-he sits up a little straighter, more alert now that he knows you’ll be arriving soon

-surveying the area

-AS A MAN SHOULD

-but he's thrown sideways, yelping as you suddenly take a sharp turn onto an even bumpier road, trampling through the over grown branches that were blocking the view of the long driveway from the road

"Oops!" you giggle

-he doesn't respond, too busy reading the array of signs that the two of you drive past

'PRIVATE PROPERTY: DO NOT ENTER'

'NO TRESSPASSING: Violators will be shot, Survivors will be shot again'

'BEWARE OF DOG"

-you either fail to notice his growing anxiety of choose not to acknowledge it, driving further down the road until you finally reach the end of it, where the house is

-well, it's more of a cabin

-schlatt recalls having been told that your grandfather had built it himself

-and you could tell just by looking at it

(no offense)

-a little worn down and wonky looking, but obviously lived in and well loved

-you pull up as close as you can manage, with there being at least 14 other cars packed into the driveway

-you unbuckle your seatbelt and he follows your lead, looking over to see when you opened your door to get out

-but you don't

-instead, you spend a moment fondly smiling at the house before honking your car horn

-on the porch, he sees a rather large rottweiler stand up from where he was laying, alert

-jay pales a little, wondering if that BEAST was the "dog" the sign was warning trespassers of

-he's too anxious about watching the dog hurl itself towards the car, jumping up on his side of the car and snarling at him through the now slobber covered window to watch as a handful of people file out onto the porch

-his head whips over when you finally open your door, completely disregarding the fact that there was an animal actually trying to eat him outside

-his eyes go impossibly wide and his mouth drops open when you're tackled full force by a GROWN MAN the minute you get out of the car

-which is suddenly surrounded by people???

-oh god oh fuck

-this is it

-he thinks he's having a heart attack

-THERES SO MUCH HAPPENNG AT ONCE

-before he has the chance to process anything, somebody is nudging the dog away from the window, and he's being pulled out of the car by a strong hand on his shoulder

-he relaxes a bit upon seeing it was your older brother, whose laughing at his frazzled expression as he pulls jay into a bro-hug

-and it must breathe the life back into him or something, breaking him out of his panicked daze, allowing him to take everything in

-he's surrounded by a small crowd of people who all look vaguely similar to you

-some are greeting him, others are glancing at him as they whisper back and forth to one another

-but most attention is turned to where your uncle is dragging you and the cousin who tackled you off of the ground, before shoving a can into your hand

-jay watches in awe as you crack open the can, before using a manicured nail to puncture a hole into the bottom and shotgunning it as your cousins cheer

-he turns when he feels another strong hand clapping him on the shoulder, finding another one of your cousins smiling at him as they push a can into his hand as well

-And so the weekend begins 😼

-after choking down whatever the fuck your cousin handed him, the crowd moves to file back into the house

-it's a mess of too many people trying to squeeze into the door at once, paired with the squabble of eight different conversations happening all at the same time

-he steps foot into the house, taking a moment to admire the interior

-well loved furniture, vintage signs, taxidermy (eugh), knitted quilts, and countless framed photos hanging on the wall

-his admiring is interrupted when you slip your hand into his, leading him to follow where four of your cousins are leading you up the stairs, the others having parted with promises to "See you in the back"

-he follows you into a small room right by the stairway, blanching when he sees one mattress pushed into the corner of the room

-to make room for the air mattress and two sleeping bags that were cramped in there as well

-the tallest of the group that had tackled you (Schlatt vaguely remembers his name being Alex) throws himself onto the bed, bouncing a few times before sitting up to look at the two of you

"Looks like you guys're roomin with us!" he chirps

-it's followed by a small chorus of "Hell yeah's"

-but schlatt is still awkwardly looming in the doorway when all heads turn to him,

"Is that alright with you, princess?" your other cousin, who he could remember was named Harper, teased

"Dude-" hissed Benji, Harper's twin, slapping her shoulder

-he shakes his head with a laugh,

"Yeah, nah I'm good." he reassures, before breaking into a sarcastic grin, "Cozy."

-part of him settles when his small tribe of roommates laugh, before moving to stand up

"Well, we're gonna head out back while you two settle. We'll see you guys out there!"

-the moment the two of you are alone, schlatt is face planting into the air mattress (that he had assumed was for the two of you)

-deflating as he released the breath he didn’t know he was holding

-he sighs when he feels the mattress dip beside him, humming as you smooth a hand over his back

“You alright, baby?” you murmur

-he brings his head up to give you a lazy smile as he moves to drag himself so he can plant his head in your lap,

“‘m all good, doll. Just needed a minute.” he clarified, muffled from where his head is nestled into your thigh

-you laugh, moving your hand from rubbing over his back to carding through his hair, and he lets out a relieved groan

“That’s fair,” you muse, “I know it can be… kind of a lot, at first.”

-he briefly lifts his head to level you with an unimpressed look.

“Understatement of the goddamn century.”

-you narrow your eyes and use your other hand to pinch his cheek, shaking it a little,

"Watch your tone with me, boy."

-after a few more minutes of decompressing, the two of you change into your swim suits and meet the rest of your family out back

-you open the back door and it's an assault on the senses

-Schlatt's nose is flooded with the smell of campfire and grilling meat, there's classic rock playing from a shitty old speaker, and your family is scattered throughout the yard

-some are busy playing cards at a picnic table, some men are gathered around the grill, others are sat around a campfire or in a circle playing hacky sack, and there are more lounging by or splashing about in the lake

-before he has the chance to get too overwhelmed, you're slipping your hand into his and leading him to where your father called you over by the grill

-you stand by as they make awkward small talk, chatting about sports and work and whatever the fuck

-he tenses when the large dog from earlier lumbers over, pleasantly surprised when it plants it's ass on his feet, happily panting as it looks up at him, waiting to be pet,

"Aww, she likes you!" you cooed, reaching out to scratch behind her ear, ignoring how your hands stink a little when you pull back

(old dogs always have a certain stench to 'em)

-"Oh, good!" he says, before reaching down to awkwardly pat the dog's hulking head, "What's her name..." he pauses to read the faded name tag on the dog's collar,

"Sweaty?" he reads aloud, glancing up to you, confused

"It's Sweetie." your father interjects, "Pappaw didn't finish elementary school."

-schlatt blanches, feeling like he breached an uncomfortable subject

-before the crowd breaks into a fit of chuckles,

"He's fucking with you," Pappaw himself corrects from the adirondack chair he was lounging in, "I just thought it was funny callin 'er sweaty. And she stinks like a motherfucker."

-Schlatt laughs himself, and easily slips into conversation with the jaded old man

-it flowed naturally, with you occasionally popping in to supplement where schlatt faltered

-his chest puffing up a bit when you brag about his job and the recent trip to Japan he had treated you to

-however, you're not by his side long

-because in a flurry of chaos, a small herd of children emerges from the lake, little legs pumping as they sprint towards you full speed, little face connecting with your lower stomach at full force

-you groan, but are given no chance to recover

-little hands are grabbing at you from all directions, using their collective efforts to drag you to the shore

-you can only send an apologetic smile over your shoulder as you're ushered off, leaving schlatt to his own devices with the men of the family

-luckily he has man-talk down to a science, only having to answer a few questions about work and such before it was acceptable for his input on the conversation to be a correctly timed grunt

-he passes time by petting the dog, who hadn't moved from it's seat on his feet and watching you down by the water

-you're about shin deep, fighting for your life

-you're holding off one kid who was trying to swing on you with a hand to his forehead, your other hand occupied with another child that you're dangling over the water by his ankle

-you must feel his eyes on you, because somehow when you look up, you almost immediately meet his gaze

-and shove the hitting child's head away just enough to send him tumbling back into the water before using your newly freed hand to wave him over

-schlatt politely excusing himself from the conversation he wasn't really participating in to go to you

-walking diligently enough to not get caught in another conversation on his way

-finally making it down to the shoreline, excited to finally be back by your side

-he watches you make an attempt to meet him half way, struggling to trudge through shallow water with a child clinging to each leg, laughing

-but suddenly it's not funny any more when all of the children who were previously pestering you turn their attention to him

-and suddenly there are little hands rubbing over his facial hair like this was some kind of petting zoo, and he's being barraged with questions

"You're her boyfriend?"

"Why?"

"Do you guys kiss?"

"What's a zucchini?"

"That's Mr. Beast?"

"Have you ever held hands?

"My mommy asked when you guys are having a baby"

-he yelps when a little hand pulls at his leg hair

"Why are you so hairy?"

-wants to tell them to scram, but they're all objectively adorable children

-each of them looking a little bit like you, whether it be the hair, eyes, nose, or troublesome giggle

-and maybe this is a glimpse into his future, but he can't say no to those little faces

-he ends up being forced to launch multiple children through the air and into deeper water

-goes to pick up one of the younger children, stopping in his tracks with wide eyes when he bursts into tears,

"You're not Mr. Beast!" the child wailed

-he turns back to you with a bewildered look, which you return with an embarrassed smile,

"Alex told all of the littles I was dating dollar store Mr. Beast." you explain, a little exasperated

-eventually, another adult comes down to the lake and is bombarded by the kids, giving you and jay a chance to escape

-he follows your lead, swimming after you to the floating dock your grandfather had built a while back

-laughing as you drag his ass out of the water and onto the dock

-the two out you laying out there for a while, basking in the sun like turtles on a log

-enjoying the sun and the ambience of the lake, listening to the combined sounds of nature and the distant chaos of the lake house

-he wants you to have a tanline in the shape of his hand on your ass SO BAD

-but you're like "stop i'm tanning"

-so ofc he takes it as a challenge

-turns into him just trying to get his hands on you while you try to get away, laughing

-and it's cute, until you end up accidentally rolling off of the platform into the water

-and he's laughing too hard to keep a proper center of gravity as he tries to haul you back onto the dock, and ends up falling right back in beside u

-when he comes back up to the surface, you're still laughing so hard you're struggling to tread water

-so he swims over and allows you to latch onto him, floating as the two of you catch your breath, eventually relaxing into one another as you float in the refreshing (kind of brown) water

-he shifts a little when he feels you pull away

-tries to play off the way his breath hitches when he sees you looking down at him with a fond smile, bringing a hand up to push the hair out of his face

-watching intently as your lips part like you're about to say something

-before you're interrupted by raucous shouting from a few yards away

"OI!"

"SAVE ROOM FOR JESUS! You two should be ashamed!"

"DON'T GET THE PARTY STARTED WITHOUT ME!"

-both of you turn to see your three cousins, all precariously balanced on a single paddle board, along with a large cooler

-you grin, and use your hand that was still tenderly cupping your boyfriend's cheek to dunk him under the water

-and swimming towards the board, intentions clear with your troublesome grin

"Back away, wench!" Alex yelled, trying to bonk you with the paddle, but missing when you ducked under again

-Schlatt laughed, watching as the board began to aggressively wobble

-Alex and Harper grappled onto one another, screaming, and Benji clutched the cooler,

"HAVE MERCY!" Benji cried, "THINK ABOUT THE TWEAS"

-at that, the wobbling stopped

-and your head pops back up from the water,

"Did you say tweas?"

-skip to the five of you getting hammered out on the dock

-all dehydrated, all sunburnt, and all having a great goddamn time

-wresting each other into the water, drunkenly attempting to do a variety of tricks when you jump off

-however, the vibe changes a bit once the sun drops below the horizon

-the sky is beautiful, the five of you laying face up to admire it

-however, when you sit up, something is a little.... strange...

-maybe you're still a little (really) buzzed, but it kind of looks like you guys are a lot farther from the shore than you remembered being this morning....

-benji sits up beside you, but before you can ask for his opinion, he's clambering to the edge of the dock to yak over the side

-perfect.

-alex is up next, blinking hard as he adjusts to being upright

"... What the fuck?"

"That's what I'm saying."

"Guys?"

-you and alex turn to look at where Benji sits near the edge, looking at the two of you with wide eyes before holding up a thick mooring rope, covered in algae

-schlatt is abruptly woken up by a panicked shout of

"FUCK!"

"Wha' happened? Wuh?" Harper grumbles, and you would laugh at her hair wildly sticking in a thousand different directions if it weren't for the situation at hand

"It's lookin' like we were unmoored." Schlatt fills her in.

Harper hums, not really listening. "Oh, cool." she supplies helpfully, before flopping back on the dock.

-schlatt remains seated as you and Alex stand on the edge, both of you trying to put your single combined brain cell to use

"Wait, so where are we?"

"No fucking clue."

"Right, right. Perfect."

-a beat of silence passes

-"So what do we do?"

-you sigh, looking to the paddle board, which was luckily dragged up onto the dock at some point,

"What else can we do?"

-have you ever tried to fit five fully grown adults onto a single paddle board?

-it doesn't work very well.

-with the weight of five adults, the poor thing is hardly keeping all of you afloat

-and along with the fact that the water has grown dark and cold without the warmth of the sun

-and that all of you were struggling with the combination of a lingering buzz and a day-drinking induced hangover

-the three mile paddle back was NOT fun

"SOMETHING TOUCHED MY FOOT!"

"STOP FUCKING MOVING!!"

"It's over, it's so over."

-Alex's panic about the creatures in the water leads to the board flipping over, sending all of you back into the water

-and all five of you trying to get back on at the same time didn't go as well as one would think

-it end up taking an hour and a half and some change to make it back to the shore by the house

-the five of you needing to spend a solid ten minutes laying in the sand to recoup before walking back up to the house, where the rest of the family was surrounding a bonfire

-there was a chorus of laughter when they watched the five of you emerge,

"You guys made it!"

"We were wondering when you were gonna notice how far you guys got."

"How was it?"

"I need a goddamn cigarette." you grumbled as you stalked past

"DON'T YOU DARE!" your mother calls after you

-the five of you struggle to climb the stairs, flopping on your beds, bathing suits and all

-taking turns using the one shower in the house

-you and jay are the last two left, so of course you can't say no when he convinces you to hop in with him, under the guise of "saving water"

-and it would have been hot and sexy

-if those FUCKERS had left either of you any hot water

-you and schlatt yelp when the water hits you, both rushing to soap yourselves up and rinse off, just to get it over with

-the two of you return to the room where your roommates are settled into their respective sleeping spots

-all mockingly wolf whistling when you two walk in together,

"How was your shower?" Harper asked, wiggling her eyebrows

"Probably not great," Benji answered for the two of you, "We were already out of hot water by the time I got in."

"Yeah, I'd be surprised if they were able to get anything done with how cold that fuckin water is." Alex laughed

-you roll your eyes and throw yourself on the air mattress, schlatt following suit

-you yelp as he does so, the force of him hitting the air mattress sending you popping off onto the floor

-it goes silent for a moment before you let out a weak groan

-and the rest of the room breaks out into laughter

-you grumble and pull yourself back into bed, allowing schlatt to drag you towards him to press a few apologetic kisses to the crown of your head

-and as exhausting as today has been,

-he's more than happy to sit up until the wee hours of the morning, deliriously giggling and gossiping with your cousins as you all fill him in on all of the ongoing family drama

-he's eventually lulled off to sleep by the low hum of your voice

-body heavy with fatigue, reaching a point where he was no longer able to keep his eyes open

-a little later on, the conversation dies out, and you tuck yourself to his chest

- falling asleep to the sound of the crickets and the peepers outside, and the quiet snoring of your boyfriend, eager for what the rest of the weekend will bring

#jschlatt x reader #jschlatt x y/n #jschlatt x you #schlatt x reader #schlatt x y/n #schlatt x you #jschlatt fanfic #schlatt fanfic

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dawnoftime22 · 3 months

Text

lullaby.

| T.S

Warnings: no talking from R, a very light nightmare, and panicked/fast heartrate

Summary: Taylor was doing her work in the middle of the night while you slept, until you had suddenly received a nightmare, leading to Taylor to help you fall asleep.

Word Count: 1k

Category: Fluff

A/N: you guys...I hit 500 followers and I'm BEYOND in disbelief. I'm so so happy I wanna squeeze each and every one of you in a hug!! I loooove you all sm - I'm thinking of doing a special for it, although I would have to push myself a little and get my motivation back up. who knows, I'm hoping to maybe do a comfort week where I post comforting fics each day in a week for the times that anyone needs them :]

| Started on 28/06/2024, 2:26 AM |

| Finished on 28/06/2024, 8:30 PM |

Main Masterlist | T.S Masterlist

“My, my, your gentle voice, oh, to be softly soothed with as I fall asleep.”

|——————————— ⸆⸉ ———————————|

You were asleep, laying on the bed with your breathing deep and soft. It was quiet, a peaceful atmosphere as the cats, too, were sleeping.

Taylor was still awake. But it wasn't without reasons, as she had emails and work to do before tomorrow arrives, and also a melody stuck in her head too.

She had told you to sleep before her earlier, just because she knows you've had a long, exhausting day as she did. Even though you tried to stay up to accompany her, it was obvious you weren't able to keep your eyes open, so, a few minutes of cuddling had you sleeping within seconds.

The laptop screen made her squint through the dimly lit room, reading the words of a document, or her notes she had to check for anything she's forgotten.

A yawn escapes her mouth, and as her fingers made the keyboard keys clack with her typing, she felt herself getting sleepy.

Her eyes travel to the clock. It was 2 am. The night was still young, really, for any nights she's ever wanted to stay up for. But she wouldn't deny some sleep for now, especially with you already in slumber.

Deciding she needed at least a break, she makes sure everything is saved and mostly done on her laptop before looking to the side to grab her phone.

The screen was unlocked after seeing a picture of you and her, with Meredith, Olivia, and Benjamin at the bottom. A smile raises upon her lips, her eyes going to your, thankfully, still sleeping figure.

She closes her laptop and set it aside before scooting closer to you slightly, then returning to her phone. The screen shows instagram loading up, and she uses her index finger to scroll, seeing posts and stories of her friends and other celebrities.

The gentle hum of her voice quietly sounds out, a smile still on her face, which raised up further at the sight of one of your posts; a photo of your hand, intertwined with hers, but a small cat paw joined in, atop the back of your hands.

She remembered when that happened. It was when you were sitting on the living room couch together, watching a movie. Taylor had reached your hand up to leave a soft kiss, and was about to settle it back down comfortably, when Benjamin's fluffy paw had come out of nowhere to touch your intertwined hands.

She scrolls a bit more, seeing Gracie's video of the fire in her kitchen. Again, Benjamin had come into the scene, but he was confuzzled with what he walked into. Taylor didn't even notice he was there when the situation was happening-- especially not when she was cursing at a fire extinguisher hoping her house wasn't going to burn down while Gracie was mindlessly holding up her phone.

She went to type a comment to the video, her thumbs hovering over the digital keyboard, but just as she did, she saw the smallest movement of your stirring in the corner of her vision.

Taylor senses the chance of your awakening, and her eyes lock onto your face with concern. But then, you had jolted out of your sleep with a sharp breath, your eyes snapping open.

Even with her surprise, she catches herself to gently wrap her arm around you, careful not to scare you further as she pulls you closer.

You look around panickly before you felt her hand moving in a soothing rhythm at your back. You find her blue eyes in the darkness, and she could see the vulnerability gleaming in yours.

Her face softens, and her hand moves up so she could gently make you lean against her forehead. "Shhh, it's alright." She whispers, letting go of her phone to wrap both her arms around you, making sure her phone was beside her instead of in between the both of you, just in case she accidentally moves atop it.

With a slow, gentle breath you let out, you snuggle close to her, your nose brushing against her neck, tickling the skin ever so slightly.

Although she was concerned, she could see it in your form; you were calm on the outside, but your rapid heart told otherwise. It was clear. You had a small nightmare, but thankfully not one enough to terrify all your being.

Taylor looks down, tilting her head to take a little peek at you. The tiredness and sleepiness was still in your eyes, the yawn that escapes your mouth told it further.

She smiles softly, turning to lay a soft kiss against the side of your head. Her hand was kept on your back, moving in a soothing motion still.

Minutes passed by, the white noise of the fan and A/C sounding through the room, and her own yawn coming from her mouth.

With a check on you again, she saw your eyes half open, but also not fully closed. The movement of your hand fiddling on her necklace also was a clear sign. You were having difficulty falling back asleep, and she knew you needed a small push.

With a gentle deep intake of breath that she releases slowly, she closes her eyes, leaning into you. A soft hum starts to quietly sound from her, a familiar melody that had your bleary eyes traveling up to her.

"I spy with my little tired eye, tiny as a firefly..."

"A pebble that we picked up..."

"Last july..."

All that filled the space now was her whispered words, starting to lull you to sleep. Her hands lovingly run through your hair, in hopes that it will calm you. With the melting relaxation of your body, it indeed did.

"Down deep inside your pocket,"

She smiles softly, looking at you once more with a warm smile, even while she too, was sleepy, it almost made it even sweeter.

"...We almost forgot it..."

"Does it ever miss wicklow...sometimes?"

Your eyes had grown heavier, and she watches as they finally close. Your breaths dissolve into a steadier, slower rhythm, and her humming matches with the timing.

"Mm, mm..." She hums softly, continuing on with her lullaby, until she too starts to fall asleep herself, joining you in slumber.

They said the end is coming...

Everyone's up to something...

I find myself runnin' home to your...sweet nothings...

Outside, they're push and shoving...

You're in the kitchen, humming...

All that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing.

-----------

taglist <3 - join here! :]

@dmenby3100 @wandsmxmff @tia-thesimp @marvelwomen-simp @escapereality4music @fawnedolly @justgayloringeverthrone @lovelyy-moonlight @stevecore @midastouch013 @liloandstitchstan @maleahoswick @raven-ss

#🥀 dawn’s collection #taylor swift #taylor swift x reader #taylor swift fluff #soft taylor swift #taylor swift comfort #taylor swift imagine #taylor swift fanfiction #taylor swift fanfic

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dont-offend-the-bees · 20 days

Text

We Glimpse Each Other Out of Phase

Hello lovelies; rough weekend, huh? I've had this one roughly drafted for a couple of weeks and was planning to keep it in my back pocket as a Deadboyween prompt fill. However, given the cancellation news, I think maybe we could all use a little gentle melancholy comfort right now. So I cleaned it up a bit, and I hope you will take this little snippet as the warm hug it is intended as 💛 So this technically follows on from/is set in the same universe as my Painland Week fic Something I Can Turn To. A fic which I basically intended to leave as a one shot, but I got quite invested in the universe and have been absolutely blown away by the response to it. So it became a collection which now features, as well as my own fic, two wonderful fics by williamvapespeare and one by Ingi, and I would heartily recommend you check them out if you enjoy this story or my original one! That being said, you probably CAN read this without having read the first story, I just wouldn't personally recommend it, you'll be missing a lot of context and backstory! 3.7k, rated T, also available on Ao3 (registered users only!) Part One (Something I Can Turn To) on tumblr

Charles may have had a bit of a rough go of it growing up, but there'd been quiet moments, too. Most of 'em in a rickety old attic, with the only lad in the entire world he could trust with just about anything.

But there were peaceful times at home, too. Safe ones. Mostly at night. Long as he was quiet, didn't cry too loud or stomp about, he could get through eight-ish hours unbothered. Sure, sometimes he had to pace around the room a bit, silent on sock feet just to shake out the excess energy that wouldn't let him sleep but honestly? He bloody loved sleeping. Couldn't get enough of it. Long as he didn't make a fuss, didn't draw attention, he could sink into his bed in the cellar room and just sort of... bob out of his life for a bit. Like a smoke break, but better for his health. If he was dead lucky, he'd even stumble into Edwin's arms in his dreams; pass the time there 'til morning, when it all kicked off again.

So it wasn't easy, getting used to night shifts. It was a fair trade-off for all the other freedom in his life lately but bloody hell, did it sting a bit, losing that time. That dark, quiet nothing where he could be nothing, too, just for a bit. There was almost something sacred about it. Something he hadn’t known was important to him ‘til it was gone.

At least the night shift was pretty quiet, usually. Most of the people who needed to use a gym at two in the morning weren't exactly there to socialise. Charles' job pretty much amounted to half-dozing at reception and handing someone a towel now and then. He'd not had many nutjobs to deal with or fires to put out.

Then again, maybe a good disaster was what he needed just to stay awake. Christ, he was shattered. Took him a good few tries to get the key in the lock when he finally staggered home.

Charles was sad — but not surprised — to find the kitchen light on when he fell through the door.

He rolled his eyes. "Honey," he called, jokingly, the endearment all funny and wrong on his tongue. He'd call Edwin a lot of things — mate, love, best friend, fucking soulmate — but honey? Mingin'. "I'm home."

Edwin's reply was half a second too slow — textbook Edwin guilt response. Like when your cat didn't jump off the counter fast enough to pretend it hadn't been there in the first place. "Good evening, Charles."

"Good morning, more like," said Charles, drawing the bolts — all three of them — across and dropping his bag in a sloppy heap by the door. His coat came next, then each shoe, leaving a trail behind him as he stumbled towards the voice. The hallway felt too short and dark to be called a hallway, really. Looked more like a cupboard where someone had shoved a load of loose doors they had lying around. There was one to the kitchen, one to the bathroom, one to the bedroom that was basically also their living room. Plus a bunch of other weird little cupboard doors and hatches and grates and things, none of which led to anything you’d logically expect them to. It was a shambles, really. A 'paint it magnolia and fob it off on the students' sort of ruin. But it was home. Even bone-tired, he still found the energy to lock gaze with the weird eye-motif lamp Edwin had picked up somewhere and put on one of the non-shelves, and give it his customary wink. Felt wrong not to. Unlucky, somehow.

A fanlike halo of yellow light spread across the hallway carpet as he pushed open the kitchen door. He found more or less what he'd expected to find behind it. Edwin: sat prim and proper at the scuffed-up little table, surrounded by books and doing a bang-up impression of someone with no bloody idea what time it was. His chin, tucked elegantly behind his curled knuckles in that little thoughtful pose of his, lifted at the sound of the door. His eyes found Charles and narrowed, just a little, sketching a pleased little crinkle or two at the corners.

"Charles," he greeted once again, voice softer this time. "How was your shift?"

Edwin hadn't had those laugh lines when Charles had met him. Seeing as he was twelve, and not exactly full of reasons to smile. Charles wasn't gonna take full credit for them, or anything, but... well, not many other people putting in the legwork, were there?

He dragged in a breath and let it out again, sharply, puffing it out in a raspberry. "Same old."

Charles crossed the kitchen in about three steps (it wasn't a big kitchen), clocking Edwin's book of choice on the way. Some textbook with a long-winded title that basically translated to lawyer gubbins. He put a hand on Edwin's shoulder — and Edwin tilted his head easily, offering his cheek for a kiss. Charles grinned and pressed one to the tail end of one of those little lines.

"Burning the midnight oil?" asked Charles, nicking one of Edwin's favourite expressions. He always seemed to pick up the ones that made him sound about a hundred years old.

Edwin hummed, carefully noncommittal. "I must have lost track of time."

"Could've counted these, for a start," said Charles, tapping the little saucer on the table. It was piled high with used teabags, like some damp and deranged game of Jenga. "Might've given you a clue."

"I've been rather busy," Edwin sniffed, turning the page in his book. "Lots of swotting to be done before my lecture on Monday."

"Right, that's what this is, is it?"

"What else would it be?"

Charles reached out, pinched the book Edwin was reading at the centre, and slid it out of the bigger, decoy book he was holding with its cover facing out. "Oldest trick in the book, mate. Literally," he grinned. He lifted Edwin's secret reading into his arms, having a flip through. "Y'know, most people only pull that move when they've got dirty mags to hide.”

Edwin cleared his throat. Even in the dim light of the table lamp, Charles clocked the embarrassed flush on his cheeks. "Well," he said, setting the law textbook he absolutely wasn't reading on the table. "It does get rather draining, this intensive focus on one subject. I felt the need for a brief diversion."

Charles closed the secret book, glancing at the cover. "Anthropology, again. Like that one, don't you?"

"Hm. There's much to explore; it encompasses a rather broad area of study." Edwin took it back and slid it, sheepishly, behind the pile of other law volumes stacked at his elbow. "It's a fascinating subject."

"Should've applied for it," said Charles, gentle. He rubbed Edwin's shoulder absently — getting a little more intent when he felt Edwin melt a bit, his knotted muscles loosening under Charles' digging thumb. "Or any of the other five million bloody things you're interested in. Y'know, 'stead of the one thing you're not."

"I am interested in it!" Edwin blustered.

Charles raised an eyebrow at him.

Edwin sighed. "I am," he said, bit quieter. "It's just not all I'd like to be doing. But it was the right choice, of that I'm quite certain."

Charles sighed and stepped around him, coming to lean on the table, arms crossed. Their eyes met across the short distance. "Look. If you say it's alright, it's alright. I'll believe you, mate, honest I will."

He nudged Edwin's toe with his own, sock to holey sock. "But, y'know. Not for nothing, but at school you was always going on about all that stuff you wanted to do. Bloody... archaeology in Peru, and whatever else. Just don't see how a law degree gets you there, is all."

Edwin leaned back in his chair a bit, steepling his fingers. "Well, no. No, it doesn't get me to Peru; or Pompeii, or Patagonia —"

"Or anywhere beginning with a 'p'," Charles teased.

Edwin's lips twitched up in a little smile. "But it will get us somewhere. A great many somewheres, I imagine. As degrees go, it opens rather a lot of doors."

Charles cocked his head, squinting fondly. "'Us'?"

"Obviously, Charles," said Edwin, with a dismissive wave of his hand. Like a reality where he didn't bring Charles wherever he went wasn't worth considering.

Charles grinned, ducking his head.

"I'm sure you'll chastise me for my cynicism," Edwin continued, oblivious to Charles and his soppy moment. "But... Well, given the somewhat rocky beginnings you and I have encountered in life, I thought it best to..."

"What? Play it safe?"

"Yes," said Edwin. Firm, unapologetic. "Exactly. Because I would very much like for both of us to be safe in life, Charles."

"We are! Well," Charles shrugged, scratching at his nose with a wince. Still ached a bit sometimes, all told, even though the break was years ago. "We are now."

"And I would like for it to stay that way."

"It will!" Charles half-perched on the table, and nudged Edwin's leg with his big toe. "I'll look after us, won't I?"

Edwin looked up at him, and his eyes softened. Fuck, but he had the kindest bloody eyes — least when he turned them on Charles he did. His hand landed on Charles' knee, gentle as you like; rubbing small circles with his thumb like Charles had done on his shoulders.

"You've done more than enough already, Charles," he said, looking him dead in the eye; not letting him hide for anything. "It's only fair I look after you, too, now and again. Especially when it's within my power to do so."

Charles laughed, a thin, hitching sort of thing. His eyes felt all prickly. Fuck, he couldn't go crying on him, now — his eyeliner'd smudge everywhere, it'd be so obvious.

"Look after me," he mimicked, catching Edwin's hand in his, stealing it all for himself. "You gimme a bloody reason to wake up in the morning, mate. What else d'you need?"

Edwin opened his mouth, brows going all scrunched up like they did at the start of a concerned lecture. Charles ducked in and shushed him quicksharp with a kiss.

"Not saying I'm about to, like, off myself if you chuck me, or anything," he laughed against his lips, fondness glowing in the grate of his ribs like smouldering coals. He chased the kiss with a smaller one, to the corner of Edwin's mouth; the scratchy dusting of his five o'clock shadow. "I'd just wallow about being proper depressed, so. Don't chuck me, please?"

Maybe he was clinging a little too hard for his tone of voice. Maybe he was giving it all away in the hands — always such desperate, grasping fucking things. Always his problem, the hands. How they grabbed things, hit things, did things before his brain always had the chance to catch up. How long 'til Edwin got sick of Charles hanging onto him like a life raft, dragging him down with his dead weight? How long 'til the bones in Edwin's hands started to creak from being clutched too tight?

But Edwin just scoffed, quietly — completely failing to hide that little spark of humour in his eyes. "I hardly think that's a possibility, Charles," he said, lifting his other hand to pat the back of Charles'. His soft fingertips kissed feather-light against Charles' grazed, calloused knuckles. "Honestly,” he sighed, dramatically. “Here I sit, talking about the devastatingly boring career I'm attempting to get off the ground in order to keep you in the manner to which you've become accustomed, and you think I'm about to chuck you."

He shook his head, crow’s feet crinkling and bloody hell. Charles loved him so much it felt overwhelming, sometimes. Like he needed a whole extra heart in his chest just to store it all.

Charles kissed Edwin's hand and flopped, happily, onto his lap, grinning at the mild ‘oof’ it shoved out of him. Grinning even wider when Edwin's other arm wrapped around Charles’ waist without a second thought. Edwin was a bit picky about personal space, for good reason — not with Charles, though. Charles had a standing invitation and he put it to bloody good use.

"Bet you could make a weird job work for you too, y'know," said Charles, dropping his next peck to Edwin's forehead as he sank into his lap. His head felt heavier already; only thing keeping him going was the effort of holding himself upright. Draped over Edwin like a blanket, he could've just dozed off right then and there. But the kitchen chair was creaking threateningly, so. Probably a bad idea. "I know the weird stuff's usually more competitive and that, but you're that smart. You'd run rings round the others, mate, get ahead of the game."

He flung his arms round Edwin's shoulders, scratched at the back of his head, the hair at his nape. It was a little longer than Edwin liked it. He needed a trim. So did Charles, really; his racing stripes had grown out and he kept having to blow stray curls out of his eyes. But they were saving their pennies any way they could. "You could go do something interesting, something a bit barmy," said Charles. "Something with a bit of adventure, yeah? Or at least where you get to have your nose in interesting books all day. You'd love that."

Edwin sighed, resting his cheek against Charles' shoulder as his eyes drifted shut. "That does sound compelling. But I've rather made my bed, Charles; I’ve no money coming in at all if I don’t study for it. And it is interesting, in moderation. Besides, it..."

"What?"

"It seems... like a decent thing to do." The warm weight of Edwin's arm squeezed Charles' waist. "Something I could do a modicum of good with."

Charles heard a rustle, and glanced over his shoulder. Edwin's other hand was flicking through the law book on the table, clever fingers finding the module he wanted without even checking the contents. Charles had to squint at it a moment, his exhausted eyes skittering off the page. He thought he saw 'human' and 'rights' in that word soup of a title.

He softened. "Eds..."

"I merely thought..." Edwin made a little noise of frustration in his throat, angling his face further into Charles. Speaking so soft it almost got lost in his skin, words lodging small and timid in his bones. "So many years, Charles. Trapped at the mercy of other people, no one caring if we lived or died, I... I could do something about it. Learn the right words to say, the right arguments, the right resources. So no one else need..."

Sometimes it fucking killed Charles, that there were people out there who thought Edwin was some... some selfish, spoiled rich toff with no feelings. As if he wasn't the kindest bloody person in the world; as if he hadn't had to carve that kindness out himself with his bare, bleeding hands.

Edwin sniffed. “It was just an idea,” he mumbled. “A silly idea.”

Charles shook his head, stroked Edwin's hair. "S'not a silly idea, love. Not silly at all."

Edwin never struggled to find his words like this — and he definitely didn’t mumble them. Words were his weapons, and he could go toe-to-toe with the best of 'em, talk bloody circles 'round his opponents.

Charles looked from him to the stack of books, the tower of teabags. The plastic clock on the wall, its hands marching on into the morning.

"Aw, mate," he said, rubbing the back of Edwin's neck — and dropping a kiss to the top of his head. "You're dead on your feet, in’t you?"

"I'm perfectly fine," Edwin grumbled. "And I've tests to study for —"

"Tests in subjects you're not bloody taking? Yeah, right." Charles bit his lip, cuddling Edwin's head against his chest. "Can't sleep, can you?"

Edwin was quiet a moment, breathing nice and steady into Charles' throat.

"It's still... difficult," he said.

Three door bolts and four hundred miles was a start, but bad memories had a way of following you about. Charles closed his eyes and breathed in, nice and slow; hoping Edwin could feel it in his chest, find a nice rhythm in his rising ribs.

"Edwin," he said, nuzzling into his hair. "On my life, mate — one of these days, you and me are gonna be so bloody set you'll be able to do whatever you want. Go back to uni fifty times, hundred times, don't care. Study for the rest of your life, if you want.” He tapped Edwin’s temple. “Cram everything that's ever interested you in that big brain of yours. Promise you."

It shouldn't've felt like taking a bloody knight's oath, whispered words at the kitchen table at stupid o'clock in the morning. But Christ, he'd fought off enough dragons to get ‘em here, hadn’t he?

He felt Edwin's smile against his skin, followed by the little dry brush of his kiss. "You could, too. If you liked," he said. "Get your A-levels, apply for university..."

Charles laughed, shaking his head. "Not sure I could keep up."

"Charles," Edwin admonished, in that stern teacher voice that was cuter (and fitter) than it had any right to be. "You're exceptionally bright."

"Ah, come on, mate," Charles mumbled, squirming. Edwin's arm round his waist locked as if it could sense an escape attempt incoming.

"You are. I remember your grades, before... well. Everything that occurred." He smoothed down the collar of Charles' fuck-ugly work shirt. "It's hardly your fault your final years went awry as they did. You could go back, take some courses at the local college. Try again."

"Right, sure."

Edwin huffed, frustrated. "I'm being quite serious, in the event that wasn't obvious."

"When aren't you?" Charles chuckled. He stared at the wall, at the stupid fucking boyband calendar their kooky upstairs neighbour gave Edwin for Christmas. Most of the writing on it was Edwin's, neat and tiny, scheduling tests and lectures and study blocks. Most of Charles' additions were just the word 'WORK', scribbled in on scattered days — more so Edwin knew when he was coming and going, rather than for his own benefit. Always different days, different times. Shift work; no chance to form a routine. He was never great at that, anyway.

"Not even sure what I'd do," he mumbled.

Edwin's palm on Charles' waist rubbed, soothing, grounding. "You never had something you wanted to study?" he asked. "Something you wanted to go into?"

"I..." His brow furrowed. It was so hard to think, sometimes. About times before now. Like all those bloody miserable years just blended into this mush of dread and misery. "I dunno what I wanted," he admitted. "Couldn't... couldn't think that far ahead, could I? I just wanted my mum to be alright. Wanted my dad to think I was worth something. Wanted not to hurt anymore."

He sniffed, and laughed, a watery sort of sound. His arm around Edwin's shoulders squeezed.

"Only thing I ever wanted and got back then was you," he said, flippant, like it didn't really matter. 'Cause it didn't really, did it? Wasn't some big confession or anything. Some deep, dark secret. Edwin knew. They both knew.

But Edwin breathed in sharply, a little ragged round the edges, so maybe he needed reminding now and again. "Charles..."

"Fuck," Charles chuckled, releasing Edwin so he could lean back and rub his eyes — so Edwin wouldn’t have his ear to Charles’ heart when it started beating too fast. "I'm shattered, mate. Dunno what I'm even saying anymore, do I?"

Maybe one of these days, he’d stop being too scared of the fucking size of his own feelings to sit with them a moment.

Maybe they both would.

Edwin sighed, pulling his hand from Charles' waist to pinch at the bridge of his own nose. "I suppose it has gotten rather late." He glanced at the clock, and winced. "Early. You should go and sleep. I'm sure you've had a long day."

Charles hummed, leaving his nice warm spot in Edwin's lap — but his hands didn't leave his shoulders. "C'mon, then," he mumbled, giving them a squeeze. "Bed."

"Better to go without me. I shan't sleep tonight."

"Didn't say anything about sleeping, now, did I?"

Edwin raised his eyebrow.

Charles' brain caught up to his mouth, and he laughed. "Ah — love to, darlin', but. Yeah, seriously, I'm fucking knackered. I meant, like — let's just have a bit of a cuddle, yeah?" He tugged at Edwin's collar where it poked out of his nice green jumper. It was a little crooked — Edwin must've really got into a study groove and unfastened a button or two. Fit as. "I proper fancy a cuddle."

"I'll be restless," said Edwin, all apologetic. "I'll only keep you awake."

Charles hummed, picking up the anthropology textbook and holding it out.

"Keep on reading, then," he said, giving Edwin the big, hopeful eyes he bloody knew he could never say no to. "Just... come read to me instead, yeah?"

Edwin had another dramatic sigh, like it was all such a big ask. He ought to tell that to his fucking smile lines. He took the book — and Charles' hand. "Well. I suppose I can manage that."

Charles didn't know how long Edwin stayed awake, in the end. Could've been hours for all he knew, he'd have had no idea — Charles had been asleep in bloody seconds. Head pillowed on Edwin's shoulder, that gorgeous voice rattling off dry old text blocks and making them sound like spoken-word lullabies... how could he resist?

All he knew was when he woke up, it was eleven in the morning, the sun was slanting through the crooked blinds; and Edwin was snoring softly underneath him. His hair a mess, his textbook open on his chest. His arm a slack, warm weight around Charles' shoulders.

Charles smiled, rubbed his dry eyes — forgot to scrub off his eyeliner before he konked out, again. Classic — and settled back in, nestling safe and sound into the the crook of Edwin's arm. Fuck it. It was Saturday. He'd asked Crystal to pick up his shift today, anyway, so him and Edwin could get a little quality time in.

If all they did with that time was sleep, well. Time well spent, innit? It wasn't like a smoke break from life when he did it with Edwin, anyway.

More like... stepping back to enjoy the view.

Thanks for reading my loves, I hope it soothed the ache somewhat 💛 This has been a strange little one because I've essentially had to take something I very much wrote as a one-shot, and build onto what I established. When I wrote that first one-shot I didn't even have a clear idea in my mind for what Edwin was studying or anything! So things will likely change and grow and develop and who knows where we'll end up, but it's nice to see the lads figuring it out alongside me ^_^ Thanks for reading guys! It's been a bit of a long silence from me since Painland Week ended but I promise I'm working on stuff, including the next chapter of Lonely Bones! Regardless of what has happened to the show or whether it gets picked up or not, my plan is to keep writing and creating for it for as long as it sparks joy to do so - and seeing as I've made some amazing friends in this fandom, I think I'm gonna be here a while! I sure hope you guys are, too 💛 (p.s. if you are over 18, trustworthy with semi-secret identities, and like weird rarepair smut, feel free to DM me for my side Ao3 that I'm sure will be getting some action over the next few months xD)

#dead boy detectives #dbda #payneland #charles rowland #edwin payne #my fanfic #verse: i want something just like this #i have been writing this one in short snatches of downtime so it might not be my most cleanly edited!#i'm sure i will be finding typos for weeks lmao #but it's been such a glum weekend to be a DBDA fan i wanted to stop by and give y'all a little something 💛#love you guys #thanks you so much for all your lovely comments on ao3 #there's so many i still have to get back to!!

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tddyhyck · 1 year

Text

ice cream thief (preview)

read ⇢ here

pairing ⇢ annoying roommate! haechan x afab!reader

wc ⇢ est. 5kish (12.8k)

synopsis ⇢ someone has been eating haechan’s favorite ice cream so he decides to put a hidden camera in the kitchen and living room thinking it’s a shared space it shouldn’t invade anyones privacy

warnings ⇢ smut, invasion of privacy, voyeur!haechan, perv! haechan, masturbation, toys, hidden camera, spit, (more with full release)

tracker

He gets a notification on his phone of detected movement grinning; he opens it quickly waiting for the app to load. Before he sees you sitting on the couch, knees to your chest twirling something in your mouth. He grins convinced he had caught the ice cream thief. He started his car ready to rush home and catch you in the act. That is until you pull it out of your mouth. Squinting bringing his phone closer to make sure it is his ice cream his eyes widen when he realizes It’s not his ice cream but a dildo of some sort.

You wouldn't, there's no way you would in the living room. His mouth hung open watching you bring the toy back to your lips. He was surprised by the camera quality when he could see your spit dribbling down the toy and collecting at the corners of your mouth.

He should have closed his phone and put it on silent never to be thought of again, but he can’t look away, he knows it’s wrong but he can’t stop staring.

He gaped when you opened your knees and moved one hand between your legs flipping your skirt up revealing some light blue panties. He’s sure he’s seen them in your hamper or when you accidentally left them in the wash that one time. He watched as your hand slithered between your legs pressing against your heat, squinting in surprise seeing a dark spot growing under your hand.

His eyes were moving quickly trying to take in the entire scene watching you with one hand over your panties the other swirling the silicone between your lips. He can’t believe you of all people would be getting off in the living room knowing any of your roommates could walk in. Little miss goody two shoes had a thing for exhibitionism he smirked.

You moved the toy from your lips, a line of spit still connected until the toy slid over your panties. He gasped when you moved your hand from between your legs to pull your shirt up tits falling out.

He had seen you naked a few times completely accidentally of course. One time when he walked in the bathroom while you were changing before turning around swiftly and averting his eyes while you cursed him out. It was your fault for not locking the door. Or when Johnny’s frat had a pool party and your swimsuit came untied during a game of chicken. Nipples hard and perked from the cool water and right in front of his face. He recalls the pink that rose to your cheeks and chest when you realized before your hands covered up quickly.

He remembers how he couldn’t get your cute nipples off his brain for like a week after. It pissed him off how you walked around the house braless nipples pointed right in his face. You were also the bane of his existence you were so annoying and difficult but so fucking hot but you pissed him off with your bratty attitude. But he loved the way you scolded him and grabbed and pulled his hair when he went too far, or when you yelled at him and called him names with an angry blush on your cheeks all because he had spoiled the new season of stranger things.

He shook his head before pressing his palm to his face and rubbing his eyes. He should turn it off. There's no going back if he keeps watching, but he just couldn’t look away. He had to make a decision and he did, taping the full screen icon in the corner, turning off his car, and sitting back to watch.

He wished it was his hand tweaking your nipples, making you sigh and bite your lip. He was too busy staring at them to notice you click a button on your toy before pressing it to your clothed clit and grind against it. His eyes trailed down when he noticed the movement. He felt his mouth water when the darkness grew in your panties.

You had to stop yourself wanting to be filled up before you came. You pulled your toy away and moved your hand from your nipples to pull your panties to the side. You could feel how sticky and wet you were. You wished it was someone else between your legs a warm body fucking your open.

#nct dream smut #haechan x reader #haechan smut #nct smut #nct 127 smut #donghyuck x reader #donghyuck smut #hyuck smut #hyuck x reader #roommate haechan

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yellowbunnydreams · 10 months

Text

Bunny Ears (Part 5) ~William Afton X F! Reader~

~Hello, hello hello! I hope you're all enjoying this little more fluffy story so far. Some of your tags kill me when I see reblogs and I appreciate them so much! Also I am so sorry that this one is exceptionally long!~

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Tag List: @ruh--roh-raggy @h4nluv @sleepy---head @do-double-g @confiscated-peaches-main @dij-ology @viviennemuerte @robin-the-enby @shari-berri @randymeeksisafinalgirl @hallow1090

Cw: CW: Minors DNI, (18+ ONLY), Female Reader, legal age gap (Reader- 20's, William - 30's), divorce/processing divorce, Afton being a sarcastic hot ass, Henry being such a dad, grumpy x sunshine (more to be added). Faz-Fuck TM

True to William Afton's word, you were placed on office duty for at least a week before you could return to normal work. Henry had even drive you to the local pharmacy after work and loaded your bike up onto the back of his car, buying you a soft wrist compress and some painkillers despite your protests and insisting that you would be being driven to and from work by either him or William for the duration of your 'light duties'. There were no ifs or buts allowed from either of them, Henry once caught you trying to walk to work and you had spent an hour in his office listening to him lecture you on why it was such a bad idea. You could have sworn that he nearly cried several times during it.

You had decided to try your luck walking in again today, knowing that the pair would be looking for your Freddy's uniform and your bike, you decided to place a thin jacket over the top to mask it, hair tied up and a hoodie beneath the jacket, hood pulled up as if you weren't sweating in the heat. Twirling your wrist back and forth as you tried to avoid it locking up with the compressive bandage on, you were lost in your own thoughts as you walked. It was sufficiently early in the morning that you were sure that neither of them would spot you even if they happened to be driving out.

Suddenly you heard a voice calling your name, and of course like a fool you stopped and turned your head. Spotting a car that you hadn't heard cruise up besides you and come to stop, blinking as you took in the black colour muscle car that you probably didn't know much about if your life depended on it before your eyes fell onto the owner who had climbed out of the door. Paling as you watched William Afton lean against the door with his arms crossed across his chest.

"M-Mr. Afton, you look...nice..this morning." You complimented, which he truly did, although it wasn't his usual colours that he wore to work. Still wearing his black slacks, he wore a Spring Bonnie shade of yellow shirt, the sleeves rolled up and a purple tie on. Pushing his glasses up his nose, he scowled although you could see some amusement in his eyes.

"That shit works on Henry, not me. So, it's a little early for a walk isn't it?" He almost growled your name at the end, making you feel slightly weak at the knees and your stomach sink as you began to realise how much trouble you were about to be in with the taller, older man. Opening your mouth as if to speak before he raised a large hand, finger up to shush you.

"Get in the fucking car, don't make me chase you cause I will assure you, you will get your cardio for the month in if that's the case." Staring into your soul, scuffing your shoes on the pavement as you reluctantly moved to the passenger side, William turned to watch you, your fingers on the door handle before you looked back at him, offering him a sheepish smile.

"Don't you mean get in the faz-fucking car, sir?" You could see his lips quirk at the corners and the joke clearly hit somewhere to make him amused, but he remained otherwise serious as he began to stride round to your side, brushing against your back as he opened the door for you and gestured for you to get in.

"No, I mean get in the fucking car young lady, I'm already thinking on how to punish you for making me do this shit." The thought of him punishing you made you shiver and blush, realising that you imagined his large calloused hands on you for a brief moment and feeling incredibly embarrassed. Not that you hadn't been thinking about the glimpse of him shirtless that you had gotten a few days before.

He climbed into his side with a practised ease, cracking his neck slightly and sighing as he put the car into gear, pulling off and heading towards Freddy's. You sunk into your seat as you heard him mutter to himself.

"Henry is not going to let me live this one down." Sounding slightly bitter about it, you raised and eyebrow and looked at him quizzically.

"What is Mr. Emily not going to let you live down?"

"He... I told him you were probably going to try some shit like this this morning, and he told me to lighten up, that you wouldn't after the lecture he gave you about being safe." He groaned, one hand on his thigh and the other on the steering wheel as his eyes darted about the roads, purposely avoiding yours. "He's going to call it my fucking 'dad sense' or some shit and call me old."

"Well sir, you are like...five years older than me?" You guessed, being a bit generous to try and win him over a bit more, causing the man to snort and look at you, pointing at his greying temples with his free hand.

"Does this look like five years to you? If so, wow your future is looking bleak. More like ten and even that is depressing enough." William sighed, running a hand through his hair and concentrating on the roads again. Cranking up the radio so that the rest of your drive would be in silence.

Arriving at Freddy's, William got out first and opened your door for you, hovering a few steps behind as he escorted you into the building where it seemed eerily quiet. You were there a lot earlier than usual and most of the staff hadn't arrived yet for morning duties. But walking through the empty halls with William, you didn't feel unsafe or uneasy doing so. Though you felt your stomach twisting into knots as you approached the offices together, knowing that Henry would be disappointed in you before you even saw his face, you tried to remain positive that whatever the two of them could come up with for the day couldn't be that bad.

"Morning Mr. Emily." You chirped, making the man sat at his desk smile as William unlocked his office behind you. Watching him run a hand through his curly hair and leaning back, eyes bright as always despite the early start.

"Morning miss..." Your name trailed off as he looked at you, suddenly squinting before his eyes widened, conflicted between a frown and a smile as he looked between you and William.

"Don't say it Henry." William warned, not needing to turn around to know what was about to be said by his business partner. Although you watched Henry almost bouncing excitedly at his desk.

"You totally used your dad sense! God you're so old William." He teased, making the taller man sigh and tip his head back in frustration.

"Henry, you're older than me." He retorted, opening his office door finally and stepping inside, flicking on the lights and scowling slightly as he rubbed at his face, disturbing his glasses and messing with his hair again before he ran his fingers through it and fixed it again.

"So, you're still a dad!" Making William sigh in annoyance as he looked at you, almost pleading for the happiness of his friend to dispel for just one moment to give him peace. Raising an eyebrow and gesturing to you to step into his office, your name sounding too pretty from him as he spoke again.

"You can spend the day with me sweetheart, I figure being bored to death by the more technical side of this job might be a better punishment than a lecture." Afton shrugged, making you look between the excitedly bouncing Henry and the calmer of the pair, and quietly choosing to be in for a chance of peace rather than seeing Henry tear up again as he lectured you again like you were his daughter.

"See you later Mr. Emily." You smiled, waving to him and stepping into William's office and hearing the door close behind you, William stepping around you with his fingers brushing your back to let you know where he was whilst he moved.

Compared to the explosion of children's drawings, family photos and colour that made up Henry Emily's office, William Afton's was much more organised in its own chaotic fashion. The main wall had a large pin board hung up on it, with neatly organised and spaced mechanical and electric diagrams for various animatronics and projects pinned up on seemingly colour coded pins that only he knew the order of. Two photo frames hung up too, one with William and a young blonde girl in a tiny turtleneck and cardigan, holding a toy Spring-Bonnie, the edge of the photo clearly cut as a mystery hand floated on the girl's shoulder, opposite to William. The other was a slightly younger Afton and Henry, arms wrapped around each other's shoulders and each holding the head of their animatronic suit under their arms, you could vaguely make out a building that said 'Fredbear's Family Diner' in the background.

The rest was fairly standard, except for the pile of animatronic parts and tools that laid scattered amongst the paperwork on his desk, all dark colours, including curiously a couch that was pushed up against one wall. The leather cracked and worn, a pillow set up on one of the arms and a faded blanket folded neatly over the back.

'Does he sleep in his office?' You thought as you looked at it, brow furrowing before you took a seat opposite Afton, trying to see what he was up to even if you didn't understand.

"So, you're a dad Mr. Afton?" You asked, breaking the silence and hearing a 'hmm' coming from the man before he looked up, brow furrowed in concentration and clearly having not heard your question. You gestured to the picture on the wall with the girl, smiling softly as you looked between it and him.

"Oh, yes! That's my little girl, Vanessa." He said, a bit of pride creeping into his voice as you noticed his left thumb moving against his ring finger, a lump forming in your throat as you noticed the glint of a gold wedding band on the finger. Of course he was married, what woman wouldn't want to marry somebody like him? Business owner, good looking, good with kids.

"She looks adorable." You commented, tearing your eyes away from his hand back to the picture, trying to spot which of his features she might have inherited.

"Yeah, probably haven't been the best dad to her but I try." Glancing back down at his paperwork and clearing his throat, he wondered why he opened up to you so easily. But he supposed he knew somewhat where he stood with you, you were easily flustered by him but you had genuine care about him and Henry it seemed. His thumb continued to twirl the ring on his finger absently, eyes unfocused as he wondered if he should mention his soon-to-be-ex wife to you, but decided against it.

William looked up at you again and offered a warm smile, adjusting his glasses on his nose before running a large hand through his hair again. Something he often did when he was somewhat nervous, although he wasn't entirely sure why he felt that way around you. Taking a moment when you looked away from him again to admire the way your eyes looked, their rich vibrant colour, the way your eyelashes fluttered as you breathed slowly and deeply. He swore at himself internally as he swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling dry as he realised what he was thinking about you.

"Oh, before I forget, I collected these for you to look through." He chuckled, snapping him and you out of the reverie each of you had fallen into, opening a desk drawer and pulling out a stack of papers, some crinkled around the edges and messy, making you raise an eyebrow as you gingerly took them, pausing as you saw your name written in childish crayon on the top one.

Your fingers brushed the crayon markings like they were some ancient script that you had to be careful with. Flicking onto the next one, and the one after, your heart melted as you spotted a pattern to them.

'The day --- saved Spring Bonnie'

'--- Helping Spring Bonnie!'

'--- and Spring Bonnie'

The childish spellings and writing made your name incredibly hard to read on most of them, but you felt your eyes welling up as you carefully leafed through each sheet of paper and spent time looking at childish drawings of you and Spring Bonnie holding hands, or trying to help him up. There weren't many in the pile, but enough to make your lip quiver and your eyes feel hot and prickle with tears.

"I've got some too, children keep giving them to Henry or me and asking if we know Spring Bonnie or you and can we 'please give them to them?'. I thought you might like to know that you and Spring Bonnie are officially considered the best of friends by the kids." He smiled warmly as he noticed how you stared at the drawings with such emotion. William felt his fingers twitching as he wanted to reach out and comfort you, but he remained professional as he didn't know how you would feel about that.

"Thank you sir, this is-"

"William, you can call me William when we're alone." He interrupted, smiling lopsidedly as you glanced up at him, your cheeks burning up slightly as he gave you that sweet, warm smile that made the edges of his eyes crinkle slightly and of course, the idea that you could address him so informally made the butterflies reappear in your stomach.

"Then thank you, William, may I keep one?" You asked, taking care to say his name rather than addressing him as your boss. His smile grew a little as he heard you saying his name for the first time, his own chest tightening at the sound and he nodded his head, gesturing to the stack in your hands.

"Please, take as many as you want sweetheart. I'll grab us some coffee whilst we work."

Standing from his desk, he towered over you, his hand hovering near to your still lightly bruised shoulder before he thought better of it, heading for the door and turning the handle, pulling it so that it would open.

But it didn't.

Trying again, the door rattled and shook, but refused to budge. Frowning, William braced himself with his other hand against the frame and yanked, worried about breaking the door but no matter what he tried to do it to it, it wasn't budging. Eyes widening as he realised that you were trapped together, pressing his ear to the door and listening hard, he could faintly hear the sounds of the pizzeria filling with screaming kids and music already.

"Well....Fuck." He sighed.

Both of you had tried the door for twenty minutes before William picked up the phone and pressed it to his ear, dialling quickly and hearing the thing ring a few times before a familiar voice answered him in it's usual cheery tone.

"'Yello?"

"Henry! Thank fuck, me and -"

"William, what have we said about swearing on property?" Henry chuckled as he stood in the end of the employee hallway, listening to the phone call and making sure to keep quiet enough so that William wouldn't suspect where he was, glancing out into the dining room.

"Faz-fuck that, you stupid bonnie-bitch! Me and," he said your name in the angriest tone you had ever heard on him, and even though you knew it wasn't directed at you, it made your stomach turn and body shake with anxiety at what was about to happen. "are trapped in my office, the door's stuck! Come fucking help us, or I swear to god Emily, I will force you into one of the working animatronics."

Henry couldn't help but grin at William's threats, knowing that he was really pissed if he was calling him by his last name, but Henry also knew that nothing was really meant by it. Looking out into the hall, he could see everything was running smoothly and that the staff were handling it all well despite being one down for the day.

"I'll be right there Afton, I'm just sorting something out and I'll be there in a moment." Feigning concern as he hung up on the larger man, straightening his tie and clipping his phone to his belt, turning it off so it wouldn't ring again as he headed back out into the diner, greeting parents and kids with vigour as he went.

William slammed the phone down and groaned, taking his glasses off and rubbing his face with his hands, elbows on his desk as you tried not to panic at the idea of being trapped in such a small space for potnetially the rest of the day. Your leg bouncing and heel tapping the floor as you brought your fingers to your mouth, ready to bite at your nails as you avoided looking at the handsome man opposite you. Seeing him with his hair messed up made you want to run your fingers through it and return it to normal for him, but you knew he was a married man and that you couldn't do such a thing to him.

"Good job we have a bathroom and a mini-fridge in here." He laughed, somewhat bitterly as he knew Henry would find some distraction that meant he wasn't going to be there as soon as they both wanted.

You felt your eyes prickling again, and your hands trembled as you realised that you were stuck. Sniffling lightly and trying to hide your concern and fear from William as you sat in the uncomfortable chair opposite him. The large man noticed however and he looked up, frowning as he heard the sound and feeling his heart melting as he noticed you trying not to cry infront of him. Standing up, he made his way around his desk and crouched infront of you, wincing slightly as his knees popped lightly at the movement but turning your chair so that you could see him and he could see your bowed head properly.

"Hey hey! Sweetheart, bunny, why are you crying? Is being in the same room as me for a while really that awful?" He teased slightly, trying to get you to smile, you choked out a laugh as you wiped at your eyes, trying to get them to stop watering.

"N-No, it's your terrible sense of humour I'm worried about." You giggled, trying to be funny and seeing William chuckle at your attempt. He looked strange without his glasses, but decidedly still very handsome as he grinned up at you before pretending to be hurt, placing his hand over his heart and making a shocked mock expression.

"Well, I promise not to ask for your ID whilst we're together if that makes you feel better?" Making you laugh more and nod, he felt his heart hammering as he realised how vulnerable you looked, how fragile and breakable compared to himself and it made him ache to comfort you even more.

"Can I touch you sweetheart?" He asked, hands hovering as he waited before you nodded slowly, wondering what he was going to do. Carefully, he placed his hands on your ribs under your arms, picking you up as he stood and your arms instinctually wrapping around his neck, legs hanging over his hips as he carried you. It was only a few paces to the couch in the corner, but those moments together set your heart into overtime and you couldn't help but get a smell of his cologne. Something earthy and spicy, and the faint scent of motor oil and sweat like it was engrained into his skin.

Almost whimpering as he had placed you down on the couch, grabbing the blanket from off of the back of the couch and wrapping it around your shoulders gently. Wandering off and dragging over an old TV on a wheeled stand, placing a tape into the VCR player and wandering off again, bringing back two sodas as the screen flickered to life and quietly began playing a cartoon of Freddy and friends, happy bouncy music clearly made for kids in the background.

Sitting besides you, Afton offered you a soda and helped crack it open for you, making you mumble thanks as you sipped at it, the high sugar soothing your nerves although it didn't stop your mind thinking about how his large hands hand felt against you.

"I figured we might as well watch something whilst we wait, things like this used to help me when I had panic attacks." He explained in a low soft voice, making you look up at him curiously, not sure you could see the giant man who was always so refined and poised with most people having panic attacks. But he grabbed the pillow and laid it across his lap, avoiding your eyes as you swore you saw a little blush on his cheeks in the flickering colourful lights. "You can lay down if you want, you can still say no, I'm not acting as your boss at the moment." Giving you a reassuring smile before he turned back to the screen.

Both of you playing the waiting game and thinking of the other without a word more between you.

Henry finally managed to pry the door open, the pizzeria finally closed down and allowing him to escape back to the offices. The noise startling William awake slightly, although the weight on his lap made sure he didn't move too much. Henry grinned widely as he saw the scene before him, your head on Afton's lap and William's fingers tangled into your hair as if he had fallen asleep soothing you. He couldn't remember when he'd started it, or even when you had fallen asleep, but groggily he looked up and spotted Henry looking at the pair of you, grinning like a fool as William tried to quickly and efficiently extract himself from you without disturbing your peaceful sleep.

"So, I think you've certainly become more people oriented recently William." Henry teased as the man grabbed his glasses and rubbed at his face, hair messy and eyes still puffy with sleep.

"Shut the fuck up Henry, one word of this and I'll end you." He hissed, making Henry throw up his hands in mock surrender. Still grinning madly as William turned to look at you again, hoping that Henry didn't see the soft smile that crossed his face before he padded over to wake you up and let Henry take you home.

He didn't trust himself not to do something stupid if he was left alone with you. Something stupid like develop feelings.

#springtrap #springtrap x reader #steve raglan #steve raglan x reader #william afton #william afton x reader #william afton x you #william afton smut #fnaf movie #fnaf x reader

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ash5monster01 · 9 months

Note

hey, could you do a neil perry x fem!reader where he (and maybe the boys) comfort her..maybe she’s ill/period or even just a nightmare.

it’s okay if not !

Sick Days

Pairing: Neil Perry x FemReader

Warnings: fluff, mentions of being sick, language

Summary: Being sick is easily the worst thing that can happen at Welton but at least you have the absolute best friends in the world to make it better, especially your caring boyfriend.

word count: 1.1k

Masterlist

Nothing is worse at Welton than being sick. Being sick was guaranteed to put you behind in classes, get other students to avoid you at all costs, and keep you from spending time with your boyfriend. On top of all of this, you also had your period. Nothing was more demeaning than being the sick girl at a mainly boys school with your time of the month tagging along. So even though you weren’t a very emotional person you had found yourself softly crying in your dorm bed after the nurse had told you to stay on bed rest for the rest of the week. What a load of crap.

The other bad thing was if you missed classes absolutely everyone knew. You were more than likely the talk to the school by third period because absolutely nothing else of excitement ever happened here. So while you were locked away in your dorm room everyone got to gossip about your absence. Which was how Neil had found out. He had confirmed the information with your roommate who had been given permission to sleep in another dorm until you had recovered. If he knew you like he thought he did you were no doubt heartbroken that you now had to die of boredom alone in your dorm. You’d rather go to class and that was saying something.

So with this information he devised a plan. One his friends help set in motion considering they all loved you just as much as he did. They snuck out of their dorms often for Dead Poets meetings in the old Indian Cave so what could it hurt to sneak out and hold a very silent meeting in your dorm. Neil knew you’d be awake, upset and bored to death from having to spend the entire day alone with piles of homework dropped off in your dorm. So it’s no surprise when he opens the door to your dorm and your head lifts from your bed at the small creaking noise that came from it. “Neil”

“Hey baby, how’re you?” he whispers out, heart aching for you and how sick you look. Your covers are wrapped tightly around you and your face is quite pale. The bed infront of you is covered in the homework you must’ve been actively working at, desperate to keep yourself ahead even if you are sick. He doesn’t miss the way your lip quivers at his question and he feels guilty for asking. “Oh honey”

Neil doesn’t care about getting sick, he sits beside you in the bed and pulls you into his arms. It was his job to comfort his girl after all, so he kisses your head, and holds you while you softly cry into his chest.

“I hate being so secluded” you tell him with teary eyes and his eyes soften towards you as he uses his thumbs to brush them away.

“I know, it’s the worst. Which is why we’re here” he tells you and your eyebrows furrow in confusion as he says we’re.

“Did the boys come too?” you ask and Neil chuckles and nods before pressing one more kiss to your face before he gets picked on for doing so.

“They didn’t want our best girl being lonely either” he says as he stands and goes back to the door. Your heart clenches from him leaving your side, needing him close to you. He opens the door and you’re met with the smiling faces of each of the boys who file into your room, some sitting on your roommates bed and the others on the ground.

“Hey guys” you smile widely at them, the whisper falling from your lips.

“Hey doll, feeling better?” Charlie is the first to respond, his signature flirty smirk on his face.

“I am now” you tell him as Neil comes back to sit at your side, arm wrapping around you.

“Our first silent meeting” Neil whispers to the group and the boys whisper hoot and cheer which has you giggling lightly into Neil’s shoulder.

“Should be easy for Todd” Knox teases and you all silently laugh at the blonde boy whose cheeks have now burned red.

“Impossible for Charlie though” Cameron adds and Charlie kicks the boy with his foot from where he sits on the bed which instantly has the red headed glaring at him.

“Alright, settle down gentlemen. Let’s take a look at our refreshments” Meeks says, reaching into the pockets of his coat and pulling out mountains of snacks him and the boys had collected. Your stomach grumbles at the sight, thinking of the chicken broth and crackers you had been brought for both lunch and dinner. You were practically starved.

“Oh Pitt’s, please pass me a cookie” you call out and the tall boy obeys, plucking a cookie from one of the snack piles and leaning over to hand it to you. You smile thankfully at him and stuff half the cookie into your mouth.

“Someone seems happy?” Neil teases as you finish the cookie and you smile at him.

“So happy, I wish I wasn’t sick so I could kiss you right now” you tell him and the boys quietly ooh which has Neil waving them off.

“I’ll be waiting the moment you get better” he tells you and you smile softly at him, wishing you could show him how happy he has made you. You vow the moment you are better you’ll kiss the shit out of him.

“Okay lovebirds, let’s get this meeting started” Charlie says a touch too loud with the clap of his hands and the boys instantly shush him. He holds his hands up in defense and Neil chuckles before pulling the book out of his jacket. You watch him fondly as he reads the opening statement and when he finishes you place a kiss on his cheek.

“We can leave if you ever get too tired or don’t feel good” Neil whispers to you and you shake your head, looking fondly over each of the boys.

“No, stay. I want you all to stay” the happiness of the others surrounding you being the only thing to make you feel better all day.

“Even if Charlie reads a stupid poem?” he asks and you chuckle and nod.

“I’d actually prefer it” you tell him and he grins, eyes also glancing at his friends who were so good to come and help cheer you up. The only girl he has ever loved.

“Then we’ll stay, until you feel better” and you nod, content with that answer and content with the friends you were so lucky to have.

“I want you all to stay forever”

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vintagestarlight · 10 months

Text

Couple's Trip

Summary: you and John take a trip for your anniversary and John has a very special question to ask

Pairing: John Price x gf!reader

Words:~ 2.0k

Warnings: fluff, tiny bit of angst(?), smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex(wrap it before you tap it folks :3), MDNI!!

A/N: so this has been sitting in my drafts for months and I finally finished it! Probably the longest fic I’ve written and I’m not sure how I feel about it(I feel like I’m better at writing fluff pieces rather than spicy ones maybe?)but let me know what yall think! I’m working on another Price fic and a Soap fic so stay tuned! :)

A/N: As always likes, reblogs, comments, and feedback of all types are welcome and my inbox is always open! Hope you guys enjoy!!

***beware of typos lol

Your mind wandered as you zipped your suitcase shut. John announced you were taking a trip for your anniversary and refused to tell you where. "You'll find out when we get there love," he said with a laugh after you pestered him to tell you. You walked downstairs and set your suitcase by the front door.

Through no fault of his own John wasn't always around for your anniversary. He always tried his best to to have his leave coincide but it didn't always happen. Usually you just had a nice dinner at home or John would surprise you with flowers; both of which you enjoyed. Needless to say you were shocked but excited when John told you he had a few weeks leave and had something big planned.

"Hey hon, remember to pack your toothbrush this time," you said, doublechecking to make sure you had everything. "You forget it every time," you mused. "I'm not going to forget my toothbrush dove. And I don't forget it every time," Price argued; he checked his suitcase and realized he forgot. He went to the bathroom and grabbed his toothbrush to pack it away without telling you.

"Are you ready love?" Price asked. "I want to get going," You noticed your boyfriend seemed to be acting weird. He was very fidgety and it wasn't like him at all.

"You okay?" You asked. "You seem anxious to get going,"

"Yeah I'm fine love I just want to get there before dark," Price replied, taking the luggage outside. He loaded the suitcases into the back of the car and slipped his hand in his pocket. His fingers brushed against the velvet box resting in his pocket. "Well if we want to get there before dark we should get going," you called out and shut the door behind you, locking up the house.

You noticed the scenery started to change from hilly landscapes to dense woods. You started to get excited about what was at the end of your little road trip. The car turned on to a cobblestone stone driveway that led to a beautiful cabin overlooking a private lake surrounded by trees. "Oh John this is beautiful!" You said, looking out the window. "How did you know about this?" You asked. "An old mate of mine offered to let us use it for the week," he smiled watching you try and take it all in.

"This whole place is for us?" You asked, wondering if you could possibly see everything in just a few days. Price squeezed your thigh. "Just us," he said, parking the car. "Here love," Price stated. He fished in his pocket pulling out a set of keys. "Here's the keys to the cabin. Why don't you go take a look around, while I unload the car" he suggested.

You smiled and took the keys from him walking up to the front steps. You unlocked the front door and stepped inside. The living room was decorated in a way you would expect a cabin to be decorated. A large sofa facing a tv mounted on the wall, a large red rug in the middle of the floor, an end table with a lamp beside the couch, a tv stand, large fireplace, and a chandelier made from antlers adorned the living room. There was also a full kitchen to your right when you walked in.

You made your way to the stairs and found the master bedroom. A king size bed was the centerpiece of the room with a wool blanket draped over the end. The curtains were drawn and a soft light emanated from a lamp sitting on a bedside table.

Your footsteps were hushed by the soft carpet as you walked to the bathroom. The master bathroom was beautifully decorated in finished wood and white accents with a big claw foot tub; definitely big enough for both you and John. A window that faced the lake and woods let in a nice breeze and you couldn't help smiling, the fact it was yours for a few days finally setting in.

You came down the stairs just as John set down the last of your luggage. "So? What do you think?" Price asked, smiling as you wrapped your arms around him. "It's perfect John!” you smiled. "It's so beautiful," you planted a kiss on his lips.

Over the next few days the ring Price carried around burned a hole in his pocket. He tried finding the right time to ask you but everytime he tried he got nervous. He was the Captain of the most elite special forces team in the world and he couldn't even ask you to marry him. He sat at the edge of the dock, his fishing pole in his hands. He looked at the water waiting for a fish to bite and thinking about how much he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. If only I could just ask her. With a frustrated sigh, he got up to stretch his legs still holding the fishing pole.

These few days seemed like a dream to you. Getting to spend this time with John was something you didn't always get to have. You noticed your boyfriend's behavior was somewhat off. He was anxious and fidgety when he's normally the calm and self-assured one in the relationship. You saw him sitting at the dock fishing and you smiled to yourself. His behavior may have changed but him fishing certainly hadn't.

You opened the front door and started walking down the cobblestone path the sweet air warming your skin. You saw little firefly's glowing in the garden flying around. "Have you caught anything yet?" You asked, siting down in a lawn chair with him standing holding his fishing pole. John glanced over and saw you wearing one of his army green t shirts and a pair of sleep shorts; he felt his heart skip a beat and his cock swell embarassingly hard despite the spirited romp in the sheets a mere few hours prior. For some strange reason, it made his thoughts drift back to the little box still tucked away in his pocket; he carried it with him everywhere since they got here. He still couldn’t believe he had trouble asking you a simple four-worded question. It was almost laughable that something so simple had the Captain racked with anxiety. The man who was feared just as much as he was respected in the field. What if you said no? What if you didn’t actually love him and this was the push you needed to leave him? He grimaced as his thoughts got more and more out of control.

“No I think I missed most of them,” he muttered and turned his attention back to the water. You furrowed your eyebrows; something was up with your boyfriend. Not much fazed the 6’2” Brit so to see him so lost in thought worried you. You got to your feet and wrapped your arms around your lover; your hands dipped underneath the shirt he was wearing and felt the dusting of wiry chest hair. You ran your fingers down the strong expanse of his chest and abdomen following the happy trail that disappears into his waistband. “What’s wrong hon?” You asked. “Nothing is wrong I’m fine love,” He grumbled. “You’ve been acting strange for the past few days and that isn’t like you,” You persisted. "I want to know what’s bothering you. You know you can tell me anything right?” You reassured him. John shifted his attention from the still water to you and tried to think of what to say.

“Do you…still love me?” He asked with uncertainty. “Would I have let you put me in those positions if I didn’t?” You teased, referencing the previous bedroom escapades. Seeing his face didn’t change, you realized he was serious. “Of course I do. Why would you think I don’t?” You asked. “Well…sometimes I can’t help but think you’ll wake up one day and come to your senses and leave me for someone who actually deserves you,” He sighed. It felt foreign to him to talk about his feelings but you made him feel safe enough that he could. You always brought out the best of him and it was one of the many reasons he wanted to marry you. “John Price, I am never going to leave you,” You told him, placing your hands on his muttonchops, framing his face. You hated it when he talked so badly about himself. “I love you so much and you deserve everything,” You said, gazing up at him. “Even if I am a grumpy old man?” He asked. “Yes even though you’re a grumpy old man,” you teased. “Hey! Easy now,” He said in mock annoyance. You placed your lips on his, capturing him in a heated kiss. You felt him kiss you back and the tension from his shoulders melted away. He groaned and pressed your bodies together, reaching down to grab a handful of your ass. He chuckled quietly when you whined as he pulled away. “In that case, there’s something I need to ask you,” He slipped his hand into his pocket while dropping down onto one knee. It’s now or never Price. He told himself. Your eyes went wide and filled with tears as you realized what was happening. “Y/N, will you marry me?” He asked, hoping, no silently begging, for you to say yes. “Yes! Yes I’ll marry you John Price,” you cried.

******

“FUCK!” You screamed. The headboard practically hit the wall with each harsh thrust from John. The room was filled with obscene yet erotic sound of panting and skin slapping against skin. “Fuck you’re taking me so well love,” John panted out, taking a glance down to where your cunt practically swallowed his cock. The sight drove him mad and he let out sounds he didn’t know he had in him. Those sounds he was making, the breathy groans and whimpers almost made you come then and there. “Fuck John!” You panted, feeling yourself get closer with every snap of John’s hips that hit perfectly inside you. John could feel you squeezing him like a vice and he knew you were close to coming. He grabbed the head board and pushed your legs to your chest to better plow into you and get as deep as he could into your pulsing cunt. “That’s it love,” He breathed out, his pace unrelenting. “Come for me love, come for me,”. John’s voice sounded strained as he focused on making you come before he did. You keened as you felt yourself go over the edge, coming on John’s cock. You squeezed him so tightly he swore he saw stars and came deep inside you, thick ropes of white staining the inside of your cunt. John rested his forehead against yours, strands of his hair sticking to the sweaty skin. You felt the sheer sheen of perspiration that had covered your own body begin to dry and cool off the longer the two of you stayed in each other’s embrace. "You okay love?” He asked, still out of breath as you both waited for your heart rates to slow. “More than okay,” you smiled lazily. Price gingerly pulled out his softened cock and walked to the bathroom, you admiring his bare ass as he walked away. John used a warm wash cloth to gently clean you up before grabbing a celebratory cigar and lighting it. You watched and admired his naked body as he poured himself a glass of scotch from the decanter sitting on the small table in the room before sliding back into bed with you.

You and John lay slightly tangled in the sheets with your head resting on his chest and his arm around you, relishing in that wonderful, hazy post sex daze. You couldn’t help but stare at the ring on your finger and smile; John was your fiancée and you could hardly believe it. “Careful now or I’ll think you love the ring more than me,” John’s deep baritone voice reverberating in his chest. “Well the ring is pretty great. And all I have is an old man,” you teased, looking up at him knowing he just proved himself to be anything but an old man. Your remark earned you a playful pinch on your ass. You squealed and laughed, swatting his chest playfully.

“Don’t worry Mr. Price I only have eyes for you my love,” You said, planting a kiss on his lips. "I love you,"

“I love you too soon-to-be Mrs. Price,”

#captain price #captain john price #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #john price #captain price x reader #modern warfare x reader #john price x you #john price x y/n #john price fluff #john price smut #captain price smut #john price x female reader #captain price x female reader #john price fanfiction #captain price fanfiction

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likedovesinthewindd · 5 months

Text

𖹭₊˚⊹ the weekend prt 2

you decide to get back at farleigh. it works. | warning: alcohol consumption, slut calling (he doesn't mean it he's just bitter), language.

tags: @ibimbogrl @izzyisstuff

Everything around you felt like a happy blur; the music was just loud enough to drown out any other thoughts, the bitter aftertaste of alcohol still sat heavy on your pallet, and the body currently behind you was just firm enough to keep you grounded on the busy dance floor.

After telling Anabel about your embarrassing encounter with Farleigh, her advice had been less than logical, but to your angry and hungover mind, it sounded perfect.

"Farleigh's a bit of a cunt. You have to show him that you don't care about him."

That's why you were now, about a week later, a little past tipsy and currently grinding against Tyler.

He was a sweet guy, but you'd admit he was rather boring. His grip on your waist was unsure and shy, and his strong cologne made your nose burn. It was nothing like the deep burgundy that seemed to ooze from Farleigh.

You frowned as your body still almost mindlessly swayed to the music. Why couldn't you stop thinking about that prick? You needed another drink, you thought, turning your body around to face Tyler and telling him you're heading to the bar.

You gave the bartender a smile, ordering another drink and waiting patiently as she went to work, tapping your acrylics against the bar counter.

"You having fun?" a voice asked from next to you, and you didn't even need to turn to know who that obnoxious American accent belonged to. You spared him a look and a false smile. "Loads," you answered curtly, turning your attention back to the bartender. "I'd say," he continued, not deterred by your uninterested demeanor, "with the way you're throwing yourself at anyone."

You scoffed loudly, turning your attention fully to Farleigh. "I'm just dancing," you said, "I wouldn't call that 'throwing myself at anyone'." You watched as he took a sip of his drink, his lips thinning as he sucked his teeth. "That wasn't dancing," he said with a small laugh, "you were practically dry humping each other."

The bartender placed your drink infront of you as she swiftly made her way to the next customer. You pulled it closer, taking a sip as you shrugged at Farleigh. "So what?" you said, watching Tyler eye the two of yours' conversation. You made your way over to him without another word to Farleigh and the tall boy only rolled his eyes in retaliation.

He didn't even know why it bothered him that much, anyway. You were just another girl, like every other girl he had taken back to his dorm room. That's what he tried to tell himself, but every other girl hadn't made him laugh like you did and every other girl didn't make his stomach clench when they licked the salt from his hand before taking a shot. He also didn't check other girls' Facebook accounts after a hookup.

He rolled his eyes again as he watched you find your place back in Tyler's arms, this time facing him as you swayed to the music once again. The iridescent lights bounced off of the material of your dress and casted your whole body in a purple-blue hue. Farleigh swallowed dryly, bringing his drink to his mouth for a big gulp before making his way back to wherever his friends were.

𖹭 ⊹ ˚.

You stood in front of your bathroom mirror, lazily scrubbing away your makeup as you did a mental recap of the night. Tyler had asked if you wanted to go back to his dorm, but you declined politely. He didn't pry at all, walking you to your dorm and greating you with a hug. He was a really nice guy, and a part of you felt bad for kinda leading him on, but those thoughts were quickly smothered when you remembered the way Farleigh's eyes were locked on the two of you with a scowl. A part of you almost wanted to say he was jealous. You laughed at the thought as you splashed your face with cold water before drying off.

You threw yourself on the bed, the alcohol still buzzing nicely in your body as your eyes slipped shut, but before sleep could overtake you, your phone buzzed. Anabel's contact name appeared, and you quickly opened her messages.

Ana: Are you at Tyler's? Are you safe?

Ana: Where r u??

You tapped away at a quick reply.

You: No, I'm home lol.

Ana: Alr, talk tomorrow ;)

Ana: Farleigh called you a slut btw

You rolled your eyes. He barely even knew you, but his reputation perceded him by a mile.

Ana: lol

You: Pot calling the kettle black :|

You placed your phone on your dresser before burying yourself beneath your blanket. Your phone buzzed again, but you were too tired, deciding to answer Anabel in the morning.

𖹭 ⊹ ˚.

a/n: my "soon" actually meant two months lmao I'm sorry gang 🤕

#farleigh start #farleigh start x reader #farleigh start x you #farleigh x reader #farleigh x you #saltburn #likedovesinthewindd

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clubdionysus · 4 months

Text

[BAD DECISION #25] January

warnings: we get jaykay in his student era!!! poor baby is STRESSED!! very wholesome!! b makes him pasta, very lovely <33 until very suddenly it's not!! fingering, mentions of the erotic accordion, lots of teasing. a personal fave!!

wc: 12.5k

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

It's a pleasant surprise to see Kim Taehyung with his clothes on.

His cheeks are still a little warm when he strolls into the art cafe, well aware that it was his other cheeks you'd been confronted with when you'd seen him last.

Hands in pockets, he plays it off. Is cool and casual, in that suave way artists so often are.

"If you're looking for Danbi, we only live together. Don't work together. Think you'll find her at Memorial Park with half a dozen dogs, maybe" you tease.

He rolls his eyes, and continues forward to the main desk. When he reaches it, he leans an elbow down and looks quite at home. Dressed in a pair of dark slacks and cream button-up, he's a business-casual Capricorn's wet dream. It's entirely understandable why Danbi couldn't resist. You're surprised it's taken her this long, if anything.

"If it was Danbi I was after, it'd be Danbi I was with," he assures you, smile ever-present. He's charming; not like a sleazebag, but like a Disney prince. Always says the right thing. "And anyways, I know she's there. Just been there, myself."

You smile, pleased for your best friend.

It makes sense. She's been with him every night since New Year's. Your apartment has actually been a little lonely.

A week on since you were greeted with his bare arse, you're curious as to why Taehyung would be gracing you with his presence. It wouldn't be entirely out of character, but you are also aware that the last time he was here, it was to pitch his art show.

You remind him of this - not that he needs it, as he passes a business card over to you, embossed with a since hangul syllable: 류.

"Ryu?" You ask. "As in the gallery?"

He nods. "Ryu Gallery."

It's mid-size, a little out of town, but well-respected. Was one of the many galleries that simply didn't get back to Tae - but you have an acquaintance who works there. A friend of Seokjin's, actually. Involved in the finance side of the company. Had invited him along because you figured that there was no harm in asking. Didn't really expect him to show up.

Pulling his phone from his front pocket, Taehyung says nothing as he loads up his call history. At the top, there's a red number - one missed call - and a small play button next to what you assume is a voicemail. He presses down on it, and lets it play out.

"Hello, this is Park Shinwon from Ryu Gallery. I was passed your information by one of our colleagues, and was wondering if you had availability for a call regarding your work? We have an opening at the end of the month and are looking for a local artist to fill the space. If you think this could be a good fit for you, please call me back at the earlie-"

Taehyung cuts the voicemail short. You've heard all the important stuff.

There's a smile on your face; one that brewed gently as the memo played out. He'd done it. The write-ups and reviews had been fantastic, and Namjoon had helped get Taehyung a decent spot in the arts & culture section of the local paper, but this is the first solid indication that the show had been prosperous.

"Holy shit," you beam, clapping your hands together in tiny little pats of joy.

"Right?!" He beams right back. Phone locked and back in his pocket, Taehyung's never looked prouder of himself. You don't know him like you know Jimin or Jeongguk, but you know him well enough to understand how huge this is for him. "I can't even begin to thank yo-"

"No!" You laugh, reaching across the counter to squeeze his arm. "Don't you dare. It was your hard work, Tae. You did this! Congratulations!"

A little bashful in the way he looks down, it's clear that he's not used to such high praise. It's something he'll have to get used to, you think. This is just the start for him. He's destined for greats, you're sure of it - but then again, you have unwavering faith in everyone you care about. You'll manifest for them; will their dreams into reality. You're not sure if it works, but it's nice to think it does.

"Did you call back? What did you say?" You enthuse, before a couple comes to the counter with their finished artwork. Gritting your teeth, you cast Taehyung an apologetic smile. "Ah, just give me a moment."

He nods, and tells you to carry on. He knows he's interrupted you at work and feels bad for it. He could have just waited until he came around that evening (Danbi had already asked if he would), but was too nervous about the call.

When you return from packing up the canvases and ringing through the bill, he admits to it.

"Haven't actually called them yet," he grits his teeth together, eyes apologetic. "Didn't know what to say. It's kinda why I'm here."

"Oh?"

"You can say no," he prefaces, "but like... I don't know the first fucking thing about the suit side of the art world. Don't know how to negotiate, don't even know if that is something I need to be doing. I'm a fish out of water. and you're the only person I know - and trust - who seems to have any clue what they're doing."

It's really sweet that he thinks you have any idea at all. You just wing it a solid seventy percent of the time. You have connections, and you have a functioning brain. That's about it.

Still, you'll let him think that you have your wits about you.

"So..." you encourage, trying to coax a proper question out of him. You know what he's asking, but really think that all of Jeongguk's ragtag bunch of friends could do with learning how to ask for what they want. Maybe not Yoongi. He seems to have shit figured out.

"So..." Taehyung imitates, a friendly grin on his face. He's pretty. Really isn't hard to see why Danbi likes him. She's always gone for the artsy types. Likes to be a muse. "I was wondering if you could help me out a bit? Sort of like an agent, but not quite, 'cause I'm poor as fuck and definitely can't afford it."

"Agents work on commission," you tell him. "Or at least some of them do, so it doesn't matter that you're poor now."

"Well, I might never be rich," he warns you.

Taehyung believes in his work. Loves his work. Is yet to have success that reflects this. Other people don't seem to feel as strongly about it, which leaves him with lingering doubt as to whether or not he actually has something , or if it's all a bit of a vanity project. He hopes it's not. Knows that Rome wasn't built in a day, mind you.

It takes dedication. A hard grind. He's got grit and determination, but the doors he's knocked at have been double-bolted. Thinks that maybe you could give him a key.

"I doubt that very much," you say regarding his doubts.

Of all the work showcased at the last show, it was his pieces that people kept coming back to. His pieces tagged in the art cafe's Instagram by customers. His pieces that sold; that got people interested. You had even had a girl in the cafe on a date a few weeks ago, who painted a replica of one of Tae's prints, which had been hanging on the wall beside her.

He's got talent.

But he knows that's not enough.

"Still, I didn't even realise agents were paid that way. I've no idea what on earth I'm doing, Disco Ball. Not really."

You take a moment to consider the proposition, but you aren't sure why. It's a no-brainer. Of course you'll help him out. You've contacts, thanks to your job, and acquaintances with money to spend thanks to Seokjin. You'll be an invaluable resource for him - and he'd much rather have a friend leading him through this unchartered territory than someone who only cares about numbers and finances.

"I'll make you a deal," you offer. "I'll help you, free of charge, but on one condition."

"Go on..."

You beam; smile so sweet that Taehyung knows your compromise is probably unconventional.

"I get a Kim Taehyung original."

"It won't be worth anything," he laughs. "It's a rotten deal."

"Not yet, maybe, but it will be," you tell him.

Much like Jeongguk's dreams, you believe in Taehyung's, too. Have no doubt he will achieve success. He's a Capricorn. Is just what they do.

"Alright," he agrees. Holds out his hand for you to shake. "I'll give you a free commission. You can redeem it at any time. Anything, any size, doesn't matter. It's yours."

He makes a mental note to revise this deal as you shake his hand. Doesn't think it's entirely fair on you. Thinks that he's benefitting far more from this than you will - but good, original artworks within your budget are hard to come by. You know your future self will thank you for this.

You tell Taehyung to arrange a meeting with the consultant at Ryu Gallery.

"I'll go with you as a representative; will ask the right questions, stuff like that. The key here is to not sell yourself short or undervalue your work. If you sell a million-dollar piece for a hundred bucks, it'll set a precedent. People will take advantage. It'll be detrimental."

He nods, eager to learn. Willing to listen. Wants to succeed, and will do all he can to make sure it happens.

Departing only after you force him to call Ryu Gallery back and set a date in the calendar for next week, Taehyung is beyond appreciative. Both Danbi and Jeongguk had told him to reach out to you again, but he'd felt a little guilty, almost as if he was taking advantage of how charitable you are.

You don't really see it that way. Figure that if the roles were reversed, he'd do the same for you.

"Oh, just quickly!" Taehyung pipes up just as he reaches the door of the cafe. "The piece up in Jeongguk's living room - the black and gold one." Your face heats up. "Who's the artist?"

"Not sure," you shrug with an inconspicuous purse of your lips. "Why?"

"Jeongguk just said he got it from here," Taehyung explains, your cheeks only getting rosier and rosier. "I really like it so just wondered if it was part of a bigger collection."

"I can check," you say, knowing that there is absolutely no way you're ever gonna produce another one of those. Now that Tae's asking questions about it, you know Jeongguk needs to squirrel it away. The last thing you want is the truth coming out.

"Amazing," he beams.

You smile right back, but let it fade into a groan as he heads down the stairs, the realisation that he's seen the imprint of your tits leaving you mortified.

It's only fair though, you suppose. You have seen his arse, after all. Maybe you are more well acquainted than you realise.

The lives that you and Jeongguk had lived separately for many moons have somehow converged, meeting a diving point of intervention; as if you were meant to live your lives exactly as you have, just for moments like these.

This is only amplified when you arrive at Jeongguk's place after your shift finishes.

On New Year's day, after the creation of his sticky note shrine, origami birds watching proudly, you'd reached an agreement with Jeongguk: each and every one of the sticky notes have to be done by the end of the year.

"What about the birds?" Jeongguk had asked, not wanting to sacrifice them.

You both know the birds hold far more weight. The sticky notes are fun; a chance to experiment freely with somebody who is on the same page as you. The birds are all about preparing yourself to turn the page, so you can meet someone willing to start a new book with you.

Curled up in his bed, while Jeongguk had been sitting on his bedroom floor putting together a display box for a new 'sculpture' (because he refuses, still, to let you call them action figures) that he'd been gifted for Christmas, you had contemplated his question.

"The birds fall naturally," you'd hummed. "They drop when the universe needs them to. The sticky notes are deliberate. We're making the active choice to do them."

Cross-legged, Jeongguk reached over to get a small screwdriver from his bedside table. Your gaze had been up on the birds, but drifted down to him.

"So we'll make the active choice to do the sticky notes, and then just do the birds when they fall?" Jeongguk had clarified, not looking at you as he threaded a small screw into its hole.

"Yeah," you'd smiled. "Like, I come round once a week, and we get a sticky note done. Something like that."

Looking up at you now, Jeongguk had tilted his head in contemplation, pursing his lips before finally nodding. "Shall we say Sundays?"

With a slight sense of trepidation, but the awareness of this being good for you both, you had nodded. "Sundays. Trial it for the month of January. See how it goes."

And so now you're at Jeongguk's place for the first time since New Year's with a clear agenda - and yet all you really want to do is hang out with him. Innocently. Platonically.

"Oh thank God," Jimin breathes out with an overdramatic sigh of relief when he opens the door for you. Shoes on, jacket slung over his shoulders, he's been waiting on your arrival. "Jeongguk- '' he calls back into the darkness. None of the living area lamps are on, the city lights illuminating their apartment instead. "The babysitter is here! I'll be gone till morning. Don't be any trouble."

You roll your eyes, flicking his arm as you step past him into the apartment.

He's heading out for a family event down in Busan. Jeongguk had been intending on going to the city with him, but simply has too much school work to do.

Finals are coming up. He's stressed to the absolute high heavens.

"I will warn you," Jimin says quietly while you take off your shoes. "He's in a foul mood. Has been for, like, three days now. Think it's his time of the month."

"Still baffles me how you're able to pull," you mutter, knowing that any explanations on the intricacies of the menstrual cycle would be wasted on him - only for Jimin to remind you that he pulled you . "Was a moment of weakness," you assure him.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say DB," he grins. "Look after him alright? Make sure he eats his veggies and brushes his teeth before bed."

Jimin departs faster than the winter wind that's howling against their windows. You don't even have a chance to question why he's treating Jeongguk like such a child - but as you walk into his bedroom, you sort of see why.

His bed's unmade, and he hasn't showered since, like, Thursday, maybe. Papers are scattered all over his desk, and there's a collection of takeout boxes by his door. The birds that were on his desk are now perched up on the shelf, laying in the middle of his chessboard. Beside them, a pot of your misplaced glitter sparkles in the dim light.

Quite unlike himself, Jeongguk's jaw looks sharper but his cheeks are bloated. You can tell he hasn't been eating nor drinking enough. Has a can of Monster on his desk, but you both know it's not enough to sustain him.

He really does look like a university student now, more than he ever has done before. Glasses on, hair tied in a tiny bun by the nape of his neck, teeth nibbling down on his bottom lip, the stress is evident in his sloped posture.

"Don't look at the mess," he mumbles, embarrassed that you have to see his room in this state, but also too preoccupied to really care.

You meander to his bed and sit down, one leg crossed beneath the other. Smile. "Too late."

"Sorry," he offers, but you shake your head - not that he's looking at you.

"S'fine," you hum. "If tonight is bad for you, we can always resched-"

"No," he says rather sharply, finally turning to look at you. His eyes are all wide and wanting, hating the idea of you leaving so soon, but they're also tired . He needs rest. "No, sorry." He puts down his pen, and turns in his chair a little. "I'm probably gonna be shitty company, but I'd like you to stay."

And so you nod. Of course you'll stay.

"Your hair looks sweet like this," you muse a little mindlessly as you come to stand by him, letting your index finger twirl in the curl that sticks out from the small bun.

His hair is always silky smooth, and you're envious of how well-nourished it is. A little curly, he definitely visits the salon every once in a while. You find it all very endearing, imagining him with a little salon cape around his shoulders, protectors over his ears, curlers in his hair.

"Needs a wash," he simply states, not wanting to dwell on the compliment that makes his tummy feel all funny. He's not really used to such delicate compliments.

Jiyeong would always comment on his physical strength, manliness, shit like that. Hardly surprising, given that she works at the gym. It's not just her though - Hayun's favourite part of him was always his upper arms.

He's no idea what you like about him. What attracts you to him - 'cause as much as you both like to pretend you're a bit repulsed by one another, there's obviously gotta be some sort of mutual attraction. The sex is too good.

Unless, he considers, it's all just chemical. Hormonal shit he doesn't understand, but knows plays an important role in chemistry. Maybe you aren't physically attracted to him at all.

"Wish my hair looked that good when it needs a wash," you sigh.

"I've never seen it look bad," he says, not thinking much of it.

"Well, I'd hope not," you smile. "I do know how to shower."

"I've got some things just to finish up - shit ," he curses as he realises just how much of a mess his room is. "I'm sorry. Been at work today, haven't you? Can grab a shower if you like, or something while I do this."

'This' is test revision. Coursework never really stresses him out, even if he does leave it until the last minute. He has more control over the variables. Exams make him nervous, and if there's one feeling Jeongguk hates, it's nervousness. Figures if he studies and studies and studies, then he'll feel prepared, and the nerves will ease. It never works. Only ever makes it worse.

"You sure?" you ask, though if you're being honest, a shower right now would be ideal. You got paint all over you at work, and while most of it washed off in the sink, you still feel a little less than fresh. "Or is this some backhanded way of telling me my hair looks shit?"

"Oh, 100%. You look awful. But also, yes. I'm sure," he smiles, soft eyes patient as he tries to push the pressure of his studies to the back of his mind. He hasn't seen you all week. Has missed you. Is glad you're here. Kinda hates that he's telling you to leave him, already, even if it's only for twenty minutes or so.

"Gonna join?" You ask, not really thinking much of it. Just a habit, now.

Jeongguk shakes his head. "Will get one later."

There are two distinct halves to Jeongguk's fear of rejection. The obvious, most notable half is the part of him that hates the feeling of being rejected, which prevents him from asking for what he wants.

Far less discussed is the part of him that feels like he always has to say yes, because he doesn't ever want to make other people feel bad.

Just like he never fears rejection from you, he doesn't fear your reaction to his rejection, either. There's a stable foundation to your friendship. It's good for him.

So used to transactional relationships with the girls he's slept with - on their part, not his - he doesn't really realise that this - what you two have - is normal. It's how it should be.

And so when you smile, and say 'okay', Jeongguk almost expects you to start fighting with him.

It's been a few days since he spoke with Jiyeong ( where it was firmly established that she ended it with him, and that he was the problem, not her) but lingering patterns of behaviour still plague his mind. Feelings of failure still reside in the part of his brain that deals with desire.

You believe him when he says he won't join. Don't try and tempt. Tonight isn't about that - though you do glance over to the myriad of sticky notes on his bedroom wall before you grab his towel. Pay no notice to the fact there's a new one. Just as fluffy - exactly the same, you think - it's still wrapped in a sleek bow with the tag on it.

Maybe he's gotten annoyed with how often you use it. Maybe you're just such a permanent fixture that two seems like a good idea. You don't ask about it.

Instead, you also grab one of his shirts - the one with his hand prints on it. Paint markers have been taken to the shirts since, now outlining where his bones would be. The skeleton hands make you laugh - but they also get you thinking about that shower with him.

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you leave Jeongguk to get on with his studies.

As you start the shower up and relieve your hair from the claw clip it's up in, you aren't too concerned with him joining. You genuinely do want to shower. Leave the door open just in case, but don't wait for him like you did the last time you were in the same position.

It turns out showers are far quicker when you're solo. You leave it without the feel of his hands on your body, but the scent of his strawberry shower gel still stains your skin. Feels like you're perpetually covered in him, in a roundabout way.

Scrunching your hair with his towel as you head back into his room, your clothes are still in a pile on his bathroom floor. You're just in the shirt now, bra foregone, underwear on to maintain some kind of decency.

You don't really greet him, instead heading to the window to take in the view. You're always envious of the skyline. It makes you consider moving closer to the inner city - but you're quite comfortable in your low-rise with Danbi. Plus, you can always just come and hang out here if you find yourself missing it.

Jeongguk says nothing as he comes to stand in behind you; personal space void of any meaning between the pair of you. Chin resting on your head, he drapes his arms over your shoulders.

You whisper a small greeting, and he whispers one back, but neither of you make conversation. Instead, you just watch the traffic roll on by.

His eyes are down by the traffic lights, watching as a small crowd forms, a red light preventing them from crossing even though the road is clear. Yours are a little higher up, on the motel that is hidden between two skyscrapers. The curtains are mostly all drawn; save for one, where a couple stands in a position hauntingly similar to yours and Jeongguk's. They're smiling. Joking about something. Enjoying one another company - until the person standing in Jeongguk's position draws the curtain shut to keep the world at bay.

Maybe they're friends, too, you hypothesize - but friends don't book in love motels together, and if they do? Well, they certainly don't look like that together.

It's not like it's a new concept to you. You understand the conventions of couples; just think that maybe the line between romantic and platonic is far finer than you previously believed. Reckon that you and Jeongguk have a clear sense of it.

Turning in your spot, you wanna get a read on his face; see if you can gauge what he's thinking, what he's feeling. He doesn't move back as you turn. Stays in position. Doesn't mind the closeness.

Just an inch or so away from you, the proximity forces you to tilt your chin upwards in order to catch his gaze. His own chin is tipped to his chest, looking down at you in the gentlest of ways.

Storm clouds of mascara rest faintly beneath your lash line, and the occasional rivulet of water trails from your hair and down your skin like spring rain. Your typically tempestuous attitude is nowhere to be seen; docile in the calm of Jeongguk's mellow summer air.

Silent as the pads of his fingers stroke down the side of your neck, you're well aware of the fact you're not really breathing. Are too consumed by trepidation. Fearful and yet hopeful of what's to come. His firmly pouted lips part slowly - but he doesn't lean down.

Instead, his fingertips hook beneath the chain around your neck, and slowly begin to twist it back into position. The clasp had fallen to the front, excess chain tangling around the charm.

Jeongguk holds the dainty silver bird where it should be, between your collarbones, his touch feathery as he preens you.

Cautious and yet entirely confident, he doesn't mean to steal your breath - but it's only fair. You took his first.

His lip purse. Fold in on themselves. Lip ring does the thing. Adam's apple bobs as he swallows back a feeling he doesn't quite know what to make of.

And then he simply nods. Steps a little further back. Smiles. "There. Much better."

A discreet smile ghosts your lips as he turns away from you to get back to his work. Revision always gets him in this weird of constant contempt; stressed at the world around him even when he needn't be. Gets him antsy. Agitated.

His stress manifests in hunched shoulders and restless legs which jitter beneath his desk.

He tries to ignore the twinge of guilt in his chest as you leave the room without a word. Knows that he must be terrible company. Wonders why he can't just express himself normally.

Contrarily, you worry that Jeongguk just wants to be alone, and that your presence is overbearing. He could have cancelled plans if he wanted to. You wouldn't have minded. Sure, you've missed hanging out with him, but it's not the end of the world. Is probably good to have a little bit of a breather from one another every now and again.

Fixated on the fact you feel like a bother, you set about making yourself useful. He looks like he hasn't had a decent meal in a good while, and the boys keep their fridge remarkably well-stocked for a couple of bachelors with a penchant for nightlife.

Jeongguk listens out for you, still doing his work. Can hear you rummaging about in the fridge, and wonders what on earth you could be doing. Figured that the pair of you would just order in, or something like that.

Truthfully, you'd thought the same - but they've got a stockpile of tomatoes, and chicken that needs using. Without Danbi at home much this week, you've overindulged in take-out and snack foods a few too many times. You need a good meal just as much as he does.

Glancing over to the hob, you check the pasta in the glass jar next to Jeongguk's chopping board. They're out of spaghetti, save for maybe ten strands, but thankfully have a full jar of rigatoni.

You know you can thank Jimin for the decanted pasta. The more you learn about him, the more you understand why his bedroom is so bare despite his job. He calls it 'intuitive interior design' - making life easy for himself through deliberate choices. It's why his bedroom is so streamlined. Less clutter means he can reset his brain more easily.

The living space is where the colour of the apartment is - Tae's paintings, photobooth strips, feather boas stolen from Dionysus - but the kitchen is laid out in a way that makes things easy for both of the boys.

You set about getting the things you might need, not really caring to ask Jeongguk's permission. Whatever you use, you'll happily buy again in the morning, but also highly doubt he'll ask you to. At least this way, he won't have to waste perfectly good ingredients on account of them rotting away in the bottom of the fridge.

You're chopping the tomatoes by the time Jeongguk comes to stand in his doorway.

Leaning against the frame, a hand in his pocket, a soft smile on his lips, he's a little confused. Just watches as domestication becomes you; stars forming on your cheeks when the low glare of the overhead lights hits you just right. Hair still a little damp, it's up with a claw clip, small strands framing your face. You've the speaker on quietly, not wanting to disturb him. Some song he doesn't know by an artist he doesn't recognise plays. All he knows is that he likes it. Likes how comfortable this feels.

Jeongguk has missed you. Has been working to the point of exhaustion, but unable to sleep whenever he goes to bed. Looking at you now, he tries to stifle a yawn. Is glad you haven't noticed his presence, 'cause he knows the face he just pulled wasn't pretty.

But he thinks you are.

The fact he feels like he could sleep now? A curse, he decides. Doesn't wanna sleep. Wants to spend all evening catching up with you.

You're using the side of the knife to gather the chopped tomatoes together, and scooping them into a bowl, when you finally notice him.

"Hey," you say, a smile present as always. Such a simple word, but such a comforting one, too.

"Hey," he smiles back. "Watcha doin', B?"

"Baking a cake," you joke as you begin to peel some garlic from a bulb.

"Mhmm? Tomato cake," he says, pushing off the doorframe with his shoulder and making his way to the kitchen island. He stands opposite you, resting his elbows on the counter, chin in his hands. "My favourite."

The way your eyes sparkle under the warm lights that hang down from the ceiling has Jeongguk thinking of the stars again. His are all starry too, but you think that's just normal for him.

"Good," you say. "I'm making you your very own tomato cake. You have to eat it all ."

"I will."

"You better."

"Every last crumb," he nods - and even though tomato cake sounds absolutely repulsive to him, his stomach rumbles. Makes you laugh.

"When did you last eat?" you ask as you turn to the hob to fetch some spices off the rack.

Jeongguk mumbles. Says he doesn't really remember. Your eyes are sympathetic, frown present when you face him again.

"Gotta look after yourself," you tell him.

"I know. I will. I am - it's just, this exam, Byeol... I'm bricking it."

You had figured as much, but it's nice to have him confirm it instead of letting your assumptions take the lead.

"S'why I chose a coursework exclusive degree," you tease, trying to lighten his mood. "Was heaven."

"I'm so glad we didn't know each other back then," he laughs. "Would have resented you so badly."

You grimace, and give him a look he doesn't understand.

"You're BEM boy," you explain, shortening his Business and Events Management course name to the acronym that it's more commonly known by on campus. And then you shudder. "We wouldn't have been friends."

"Oh, bullshit," he protests. He knows boys on the full-time BEM course have a reputation amongst the alumni. Fuckboys . He's part-time, though. Doesn't run with those crowds. Is a good few years older than most of them, now.

"Nope," you argue back, still pottering about the kitchen, adding more ingredients to the saucepan. "If you'd have been in uni at the same time as me, I'd have avoided you like the plague."

"Would have been your loss."

Doesn't wanna blow his own trumpet, but knows that he looked damn good at 21. Considers it his peak. Forgets 23, and the amount of girls falling at his feet (was too busy at the time, face down by Hayun's feet instead). Simply doesn't realise how good he looks now, at 25.

Maybe 18-year-old Jeongguk was a little awkward, granted, but everyone is at that age. Whenever he used to visit his friends on campus for nights out, the girls they knew would always want to go out with them.

It's actually how he met Hayun. Was 19, and Taehyung had just done a project with her and Nabi for some extra credit. She came on a night out, and he got so nervous around her that he decided to black out just so he didn't have to feel the nerves. He'd woken up the next morning face down in a kebab box on the floor of Nabi and Hayun's dorm.

He resigned himself to the friend zone, and for a while, it had worked. For years, in fact. Convinced himself that they really were just friends. Best friends. Had offered to shag her after she'd spent a solid twenty minutes complaining about the fact she hadn't had sex for long she may as well have been a born-again virgin. Was just joking - but when she called his bluff, Jeongguk folded.

Maybe it wouldn't have been your loss at all.

Maybe you'd have never become friends, like you are now.

Maybe you both had to live through your traumas to be able to find one another.

You just scoff, unaware of memory lane taking Jeongguk down an unfavourable path. " Sure . My first uni hook-up was with a guy doing BEM. Trust me. I would have avoided you."

"Oh?" Jeongguk questions. "Do I know him?"

Shaking your head, you turn to place the pan on the stovetop, and let it heat up. "Doubt it. Was a final year when I was a fresher, so would have been gone way before you started."

Jeongguk's brows furrow, now. "When you were a fresher? A final year?"

Humming confirmation, you carry on with your cooking.

"He was supervising the fresher's bar crawl," you explain. Can't even remember his name, now. Can barely remember anything about that night. "Was leading my team. I lost against him in a drinking game. Really couldn't handle my drink back then. Anyways, I ended up in some off-campus house with the most vom-inducing hickies known to man."

"So you were drunk?"

It sounds a little accusatory. He doesn't mean to. It's just that he deals with creeps taking advantage of drunk girls all the time. Hates it. Hates thinking it happened to you.

"Yeah?"

"And he wasn't?"

"He was less so. Was still drinking, but yeah, it wasn't my best decision."

The way you shrug it off frustrates Jeongguk. His lips purse a little, and the dimples reserved for moments of contemplation deepen in his cheeks.

"You know what it's like when you're eighteen," you continue, facing away from him, unaware of his obvious contempt. "First taste of freedom and all that. Think you're invincible. And like, I made worse choices that year," you add, as if that's supposed to soften the blow of what you've just told him.

His tummy feels all twisted; as if his body is trying to manifest the concept of time travel just so he can go back and apply for university when everyone else did. Wants to have been your friend right from the start. Wants to erase the reality of creeps taking advantage of you.

"Still a kid at eighteen," he says. Strange, how he doesn't afford his past self the same kindness. "It's so young."

You shrug, turning back around to retrieve the extra vegetables for the sauce. "Easy to think that, looking back. Thought I had the world figured out, at the time. The older I get the more naive I realise I was."

Funny, how years and years later, you feel more clueless than you ever did back then. Relationships were black and white; you either loved someone, or you didn't.

Now, the concept of love you once knew isn't one that you're entirely sure you believe in. Not in the same way you did.

"Anyways, you should shower," you say, moving the conversation along. No point dwelling on pasts that make no difference, now. "You look like shit."

He reaches over to one of the spare tomatoes and throws it in your direction. Smiles when you try to swat it away, only for it to hit your neck regardless.

"Charming as always, Byeol," he says a little dryly, but with his smile still wide.

"Well, you do," you assure him, face straight, eyes earnest.

"Show up at my place, use my hot water, start rummaging around in my fridge-" he says with a tsk .

" You invited me," you scoff right back. " Told me to shower, and I'm cooking for you . Christ alive. You really are unbearable today."

The grin on Jeongguk's face is so pretty, eyes so sparkly, that you think you want to kiss him again. Silly little thought in your silly little head. Silly, and improper, and dangerous. Disastrous, in fact.

"And," you add on, because you know you need this conversation to end. "You stink. So go and get a shower, you horrible boy."

Feeling somewhat challenged, Jeongguk lifts his arm above his head and nestles his nose right into his pit. Inhales, as if he's smelling freshly baked pie. Smiles. "Ahhhh. Delicious."

You gag.

"You wanna smell?" he offers, leaning a little further on the counter, face sweet as he encourages you. The look of repulsion on your face is exactly what he was after. "Yeah?"

"Keep that pit away from me," you warn, holding up the knife you had used to chop the tomatoes.

Despite the threat, Jeongguk edges around the kitchen island. "Yeah? Wanna smell?"

"Stay the fuck away!"

"Wait, I didn't hear you. You said come closer?"

"Gguk!"

For all your protests, the knife is back down on the counter. You tossed it down so you could run from him, but you're not really trying all that hard.

You'll pretend like you are. Wriggle from his grip when he catches you. Try and hide your laugh as he tries to quite literally smother you. Will pinch his nipple through his shirt as a form of defence. Will gag, and whine, and pretend like this is the worst experience of your life.

But in the comedown of Jeongguk's chase, you both giggling, caught in an embrace that is far too close, sauce simmering away without a care, you'll notice the stars in his eyes again. Count the constellations. Forget how to breathe, as if you really are in space without any oxygen.

"You smell like a sweaty ballsack," you tell him with absolute certainty.

Yet your grip on his shirt doesn't ease.

"You look like a sweaty ballsack," he counters. Swallows.

Neither of you pull away. Apparently, you're both partial to a sweaty ballsack. Who'd have thought?

On a fundamental, human level, you're aware that Jeongguk doesn't smell great. He is sweaty and definitely has worn that shirt for like, three days in a row, but... you like it. Oh it's disgusting . Really fucking horrid. Rancid, even.

"Shower," he just says, softly, as if he's reminding himself of what he needs to do.

You nod. "Shower."

But your hands are still holding the sides of his shirt, and his eyes can't seem to focus on yours because they keep dropping to your lips, and then his breathing is all over the place and so is yours and - fuck .

Loosening your grip, you pat the front of his chest. He doesn't move. Just closes his eyes. Nods.

"I need to check the sauce," you whisper. "Go. Shower."

And so he does as he's told. You keep yourself busy tinkering about until you hear the shower start up - at which point, you rest your palms on the counter and let your head hang between your shoulders. Sigh deeper than Marianas Trench. Shake your head. "Stupid."

You're unaware, but he's doing the exact same thing by the bathroom sink.

It had been fine. It had been fun. Why did I have to linger like that? Why did I have to make things weird? Why am I always making things so awkward?

He tosses his clothes down on the pile by the door, his on top of yours, and instantly feels a little bit better when the water hits his skin. Tries not to dwell on it, 'cause if he pretends moments like those don't happen, he won't have to deal with them. Will gaslight himself into thinking it never happened.

You're on the couch by the time he's done with his shower, legs curled up, pasta cooked and waiting in a covered saucepan for him.

"Not eating?" he asks as he notices there's no evidence of you having pasta on the coffee table.

Glancing over to him, you're reminded of post-shower Jeongguk and why the concept of it is so dangerous for you. Towel wrapped around his waist, water trailing down his abs... Yeah. You lose your mind a little. Think that any sane human would also lose theirs.

"I, uh-" you pause. Swallow. "Um. Sorry. Eat?"

"Yeah," he smirks, a little bemused. Figures you were lost in the show you're watching. Still in his shirt, your hair is pretty much dry, now, slight waves framing your face while the rest of it is still pinned back in a claw clip. You really do need to decide what you're doing with the colour. The bleach is growing out far faster than you thought it would, but you can't commit yourself to getting rid of it. Jeongguk likes the slightly messy nature of it all. Thinks it suits you. "No pasta?"

"Oh," you enthuse when you realise what he was asking. "Was just waiting for you."

He apologises. Says you should have started without him. Says he wouldn't have minded it, and thanks you again for cooking. "Smells amazing."

Quick to throw on some clean clothes, Jeongguk shoos you out of the way when he gets back to the kitchen and finds you about to plate up. Insists he does it. You've done all the hard work. He's happy to wash up, but he wants to at least contribute now.

Jeongguk takes a single bite of the pasta before he stands up, retrieves the saucepan and a heat mat, then sets it down on the coffee table.

"You okay there?" you laugh, a little puzzled by him.

When he turns to look at you, as if you've betrayed him. "You never told me you could cook, B."

He had been expecting a regular, run-of-the-mill tomato pasta - nothing wrong with that, he would have enjoyed it - but this? Oh, this is as close to heaven as humans get through food. It's rich and spicy, but also a little sweet and tangy when it needs to be. The rigatoni is cooked just right. Just how he likes it.

"You can't?" You laugh, digging into your own bowl. Admittedly, it is banging. Your favourite comfort recipe, you're quietly overjoyed that he likes it.

He shakes his head to say no. Has always enjoyed cooking. Knows he'll have to make you his signature pork belly one day. If you end up staying tonight (which he's hoping you will, even if he is awful company at the moment), he'll cook breakfast.

"I can - I just... fuck me, Byeol," he almost moans. "This shit is good."

Jeongguk's always had a good stroke game, but when it comes to stroking your ego? Yeah, he ain't bad at that, either.

He also isn't bad at turning himself into a literal human hoover. It's a miracle he doesn't choke, or get heartburn. He's already nearly polished off the leftovers from the pan before you've even made it halfway through your bowl (of which he had filled to the brim, because portion control with a body like his doesn't apparently matter).

Pasta eaten - or in Jeongguk's case, absolutely demolished - he allows himself the luxury of switching off for the first time all week. Other than a quick gym session here and there, or coffee with Hayun towards the start of the week, he hasn't taken a moment to relax at all.

You're rabbiting on about something inconsequential, just letting him exist. You know it's been a hard week. The television plays in the background, big light turned off, your feet in his lap. He stokes a little mindlessly over your ankle, self-soothing for him and just as comforting for you. He's meant to be listening, but zoned a little while ago.

Initially, he was thinking about the weird moment between you both in the kitchen earlier, but tried to get it out of his head.

Ends up thinking about the BEM twat you mentioned earlier, instead. Thinks you've got horrible taste in men - or at least, in hookups. He knows both he and Jimin could be classified in that category, but he disregards that. Or at least, he disregards himself .

At least he makes you orgasm. If he asks, will probably be horrified by the amount of times you've gone without one during intercourse. It's not always, but often. Never with him though, which is nice.

Scares you a little bit. The idea of the best sex of your life being with someone who isn't romantically involved with you just doesn't sit right. What if you fall in love and Jeongguk is still the best you've ever had? Will you be comparing? It's a variable you're yet to test out. One that worries you.

But all Jeongguk can think about is the fact that you're his friend. And he cares about you. And he thinks you deserve to feel good. And knows he can do that. And that he wants to do that. And so, quite suddenly, Jeongguk interrupts you.

"Can I get you off?"

You almost choke on your own spit. Had been explaining a new discovery of ancient mammals using tools for hunting and cooking. Not the most enticing topic of conversation, to say the least.

"Sorry?" You laugh, taken aback by the sudden request.

He looks away. Looks at his hands. Looks back at you. Wishes he wouldn't let the impulsive thoughts win, sometimes.

But then, because apparently he's a fucking idiot with no self-control, he asks again. "Can I get you off?"

The answer is always, unabashedly, yes . You've been caught off guard though. Panic. Ask, "Why?"

He shrugs. Looks at his hands again, eyes wide, brows furrowed. Wants to pour boiling water in his ear to melt his brain. Would probably work better if it was mush, he thinks. A reply to your question sits on the tip of your tongue, but there are too many variations for him to choose from - Because you deserve it. Because I'm horny. Because I want to. - so he just says: "fun."

And, like, he's not wrong. It is fun. You just thought it would be the last thing on his mind, given how stressed and sleepy he's been.

"I mean, do you want to?" you laugh, a little hot beneath the shirts of his that you're wearing by the mere suggestion of it.

He shrugs. Thinks it's a stupid question. Nods. "Get your minge out."

The horror plastered all over your face wouldn't be out of place in a Hitchcock film.

"Get my minge out?!" You hiss, your repulsion only second to shock.

"Yeah," he smirks. Is deliberately being vulgar because it's funny, and he needs this to be anything but romantic. Will lose his fucking head if he starts thinking about stars and constellations and shit like that again - but fuck . Even after a shower, you're covered in glitter! He can never fuckin' win. Is in a constant state of war with his own head. How can he ever expect to win against the milky way in human form? You'll eclipse him one day, and he'll enjoy every second of it.

"It's almost like you don't want me to get wet," you tell him, as if you didn't feel a slight twinge in your stomach when he smirked. Wasn't your fault. His lip ring did the thing. You're only human. Was bound to happen.

"I think you're already wet," he says all rather plainly.

"That's beyond the point."

It's a satisfying answer. One that makes him feel all smug. Gets his cock a little twitchy.

"Look, I'm stressed, B," he admits. "There's so much going on in my head that I can't think straight. Getting you off is, like, a stress reliever."

You furrow your brows. "Surely getting yourself off is a stress reliever?"

"I can do that at the same time, if you want?" He says, cheeky in the way he raises his eyebrows and toys with his lip ring.

"You are such a boy."

"So is that a no?"

That's the thing about you and Jeongguk; you'll never reject him.

In fact, it's probably quite futile for his whole fear of rejection thing. That'll be a thought to battle with later, though.

"It's an 'ask nicely' ."

Jeongguk gently squeezes your ankle, before getting to his feet and piling the pasta bowls into a neat stack. "Let me just wash up, alright?"

You watch him as he walks away not even waiting for a response. He does it often; wants your approval of things he's already determined to do. It's sweet, in a way. Could be frustrating, given the right circumstances, but it hasn't been so far. You just kinda keep your gaze on him, confused at how a man so reserved and cautious in one moment can be so reckless and charming in the next.

"Byeol?" He hums, flicking on the tap and reaching for the dish soap.

"Hmm?" You hum right back.

"Go wait in my room."

It takes you a second or so to follow his commands. Earns a minuscule plea from him. "Please, B."

You can't refuse him. Not really. Never have been able to.

His room is still a mess. Glitter-tarnished pillows clue you into the fact that he hasn't washed his sheets since new years - but then you remember the fact he definitely changed the bottom sheet. Colour floods to your cheeks, memories of that night crashing to the forefront of your mind.

You try to forget about it. Forget the kisses. Forget the way it sounds when Jeongguk calls you ' baby '.

This? Now? Nothing more than a stress reliever. ' Fun '.

You neaten up his bed, and tuck the takeout boxes out of sight. Turn on his cosmic mood lamp, but leave the curtains open. You preen yourself in his mirror. Realise there's something missing, so retrieve the little pot of glitter from his shelf.

The remains of the day's glitter are all over your skin, but the shower had cleansed your eyes of it. Makes you feel naked. You hate it - so quickly stipple a little in your inner corners and beneath your lash line.

It's funny. When you take off the shirt of his that you're wearing, and toss it over the back of his chair a moment later, you don't feel naked. Feel perfectly yourself. A glitter girlie through and through.

Jeongguk stops in his tracks as soon as he reaches his door frame. You're standing on the other side of his bed, a coy smile on your lips

"Fuck."

His eyes are all over you, tongue wetting his bottom lip before his teeth press down on it. Something about your body really gets him. It's likely the memories - knowing how your skin tastes, how soft your tits are and how hard your nipples can get, the pressure of your lips on his neck - that gets him even stiffer in his sweats.

He really underestimated the consequences of telling you to get your minge out. Should have thought about that.

"You're gonna kill me one day," he mutters as you get onto the bed with almost feline elegance. He walks a little closer. Meets you by the corner of his mattress. Doesn't object as you palm him through his sweats. Sighs into your touch. "God."

Perfectly poised to suck his dick, you both know that you could. He wants it. Wants it so badly he can't even begin to articulate a request.

But it's not about him. Not even when your lips press pretty kisses against the outline of his cock.

He's making you cum. He has to. Will die if he doesn't.

"On your back," he husks. "Spread your legs for me."

There's a pout on your lips, but you do as he says. When your back hits his sheets, your tits pillow on your chest, perfectly round and desperately in need of his lips around your nipples. Legs open for him, one of your hands dips to your pussy while the other cups one of your boobs. Middle and forefinger spreading your wet lips for him, you feign a little innocence.

"This what you want?"

All he can do is nod, eyes transfixed on just how good you look. Wetness seeps from you, covering you in the most glorious sheen. You're always so wet for him. So ready. So willing.

You massage yourself a little for him. Toy with your clit. Whine probably more than you really need to.

Standing at the end of his bed, cock furiously hard in the strained material of his sweats, Jeongguk wraps his hands around your ankles. Yanks you further down his bed. Gets you all giggly.

He doesn't loosen his grip straight away. Instead, he lifts your legs. Rests your heels on his shoulders. Reaches down to squeeze your boobs. Grunts. "Fuckin' tits, man."

You're grinning, still. "What of them?"

He shakes his head. Grins, too. "Fuckin' corrupted me."

"You want them in your mouth again, don't you?" You tease - but are quickly put back in your place when Jeongguk sinks a finger into your hot cunt. "Fuck."

"Keep playing with yourself," he says, before getting all shy. He's about to admit how much he likes your tits. Again . As if you don't already know. Cringes. Tilts his head to the side, nose nestling against your foot. Smiles. Looks back at you with shame and sin all over his starry features. Sinks a second finger into you. "Yeah, I wanna suck them. So fuckin' bad."

His fingers are slow as they work their way into you. In. Out. Push. Pull. It's heaven. Slow. Deep. Just like Jeongguk's eyes and the way they study the pleasure on your face. He's taking his time.

You draw dainty little circles on your clit, not wanting to take the focus away from the feeling of his fingers. The combination is lethal; the furrowing of Jeongguk's brows a trigger that could set you off at any given moment.

Something about his work ethic really gets you. He puts his all into the things he does. Wants to be the best. Endeavours to always get top marks. The way he's cramming for his exam? Yeah. It's hot. His determination? His drive? So incredibly sexy. It comes as no surprise that he's got similar prowess for making you come undone. He reads your body. Understands that the tight closing of your eyes is pleasure, not pain. Knows that the flexing of your calves against his chest, the pointing of your toes by his ears, means he's stroking at the right spot; curling his fingers just right.

His spare hand strokes up your leg. Grips your ankle, his thumb lacing itself beneath your anklet. Your head pushes back into his sheets, spine arching for him.

"Yeah?" he encourages as he continues stroking up against your front wall. "Does it feel good?"

Eyes still closed, you nod. Whimper.

A little more pressure on your clit would make you come. You aren't doing it 'cause you want this feeling to last, but you're already so close. He knows exactly how to get you on edge. Finds your weak points and exploits them for his own pleasure; the satisfaction of giving you an orgasm.

"Good," he husks, pressing his lips against the side of your foot, just cause he needs to do something with them. Fucks his fingers into a little deeper. Slower. Is dulcet as he says, "wanna fuck you so bad."

"Do it," you whine. "Fuck me. Please."

You can hear the tiny little nose breath he does as a soft smirk graces his lips. Can feel them against your foot as he shakes his head and whispers, "no."

You whine. Pout. "Gguk-"

But then he builds speed. Is so fast you can barely breathe let alone speak. Makes your entire body shake.

"That's it," he keens. "Keep rubbing your clit. You're gonna cum for me."

"Gguk."

"You're gonna cum."

Thing is, it's not a command. It's an observation. He can feel you getting tighter; feel the familiar clamp of your hot muscles against his long fingers. Knows that this is what precedes heaven on earth.

All you can do is nod. "Gonna cum."

Your hips roll up into his touch, desperate to be as full of him as you can be. As you press down on your clit, the way Jeongguk shallows his finger to directly hit your g-spot has you mewling. His fingers are fast as he repeatedly motions them upwards, the knot in your stomach growing tight and tighter and tighter - until, gradually, eventually, but all very suddenly, the rope snaps entirely.

Your orgasm washes over you like tidal waves, throbbing walls tightening around Jeongguk's fingers, your spare hand grabbing at his wrist to both stop him and keep him in place. It's too much and not enough all at the same time. You continue applying pressure to your clit as writhe in his sheets.

Jeongguk watches on, jaw slack, eyes hungry. He could watch this all day; how the creases between your brows don't ease, not even when your lips curl into a smile. How your chest heaves, and your legs jolt. God. He wishes you were a part of his exam. He'd pass with flying colours.

"You good?" He asks a little too fondly, smiling down at you.

Laughing to yourself a little, you cover your eyes with your forearm. Nod. "Good."

But you're also not done.

There's a plethora of sticky notes on his wall, and you're pretty sure Jeongguk hasn't had a release in a fair few days. He needs this more than you.

And so when you tell him to pick a sticky note, he doesn't waste time. Goes for one at waist level - figures you probably put it up, not him.

Turning back to face you, the sticky note affixed to his index finger as he reads it, his brows furrow. Face contorts. Head tilts to the side.

"What the fuck is an erotic accordion?"

—

"I don't ever wanna see you in that position again," Jeongguk shudders, decidedly not finding anything erotic about being positioned like a fucking accordion.

The mechanics of it all just do not do it for him. It's not even so much the awkwardness of you, but himself. Didn't like seeing himself in that position. Has never been so aware of his own legs during a shag. Weirded him out.

You snort. "Please - I think it was the least sexually attracted to you I've ever been."

Jeongguk toys with his lip ring, tattooed arm folded across his chest, sheets pooling just beneath his belly button. Back against his headrest, all of his pillows are on the floor. They'd just gotten in the way earlier.

You're on your back, legs up against his headrest, both mirroring and subverting his position. On top of the sheets, you're wearing one of his shirts to cover your modesty.

"So you admit it," he teases with a raise of his eyebrows as you look over towards him. Wish there were still pillows on his bed so you could hit him with one. "You do think I'm hot."

"Not when you're positioned like that," you tease right back.

It's all in good humour. Neither of you are taking any offence. The whole point of these sticky notes is to find out what you do and don't like - the erotic accordion? Yeah. You'll file that one under 'not again'.

Although the more Jeongguk thinks about it, the more open he is to it.

"Felt pretty good, though."

The position, which had been one of your sticky notes, involved him laying on his back with his knees to his chest. The thought of it now makes you giggle. He looked quite cute, all things considered. Submissive. Shy.

He's got that pensive face of his on, looking straight ahead at his desk. There's an assignment open on his dual screens, and he does need to get back to it soon, but he's making the most of a short break with you.

His lips ring does the thing as he nibbles down on his bottom lip.

You move your leg a little to tap his head with your foot, getting his attention.

"Mhm?" he hums, eyes still unfocused.

"Did it really feel good?"

He nods. Looks at you now. Smirks, but tries to hide it. Shrugs his broad shoulders, collar bones catching on the light of his monitors. Dark outside, they're the only thing lighting up the room now that his lamp is turned off.

"Can't get that deep," he simply states. "There's, like, a lot going on around the tip. It's the most sensitive part, isn't it? So yeah."

You've always been a deep penetration girlie, but even you have to admit the shallowness of his cock pushing into only just your entrance before pulling out again felt really nice. Completely different to what you're used to - especially from him.

Glancing down his chest to where his hand rests over his crotch, you assess the situation. The sheets cover him, but you know he's a little hard beneath them.

You adjust slightly. Press your thighs together, heels against his wall.

With a hearty sign, you feign a little boredom. "Fine. I'll fuck you again."

"Sorry?" He almost giggles. Teeth on show, nose a little scrunched, he doesn't understand you, sometimes. Enjoys it, though. Likes how you aren't taking the sticky notes seriously.

It alleviates him of the pressure that would come with doing these things with anyone else, he thinks.

He knows that's the whole point of them - try these things with you, so that he doesn't have to fear rejection of asking for them with anyone else - but he's surprised at how well it seems to work.

Then again, he's not yet put any of them into practice.

Unaware of his complex thoughts, yours are far more simple: you're still horny.

The accordion really isn't all that erotic. You didn't finish. Didn't care for reciprocation, 'cause Jeongguk's got a wall full of sticky notes, and it's only just gone midnight. You know you'll be coming undone at least once more tonight - if Jeongguk's track record is anything to go by, it'll be plenty more.

Tapping his head with your foot again, you smile as his hand wraps around your ankle.

"Stop," he mumbles, nose resting on the top of your foot, lips pressing against the side of it.

You bite down on your bottom lip, a little flustered from heavenly his chocolatey eyes appear. He keeps his grip on your ankle and pulls it over his lap, encouraging your body to twist. Dragging you to straddle him, reverse cowgirl style, Jeongguk isn't shy about the fact he's hard again.

"You're so easy," you simper, slinking down like a cat, back a little arched, arms straight out ahead of you. His hands push his shirt up, and grips the soft flesh of your hips, pulling you a little further up his lap. You automatically find yourself grinding a little against him. Force of habit.

"Me?" He murmurs, gripping your ass now. He's a little rough with it. Fingers strong. You half think he's gonna spank you - but then he sinks his middle finger straight into your cunt. Still wet and wanting after the sex, Jeongguk enjoys teasing you. Likes keeping you keen. It's fun. He pulls the entire length of his finger out from you. Licks it clean. Keeps his hushed groan quiet. Fingers you again. Pulls out, again. The sound of him intruding and leaving is so satisfying. He does it again. Again, again. You're a little whimpery. "I'm the easy one?"

"Mhmm," you whine as he pushes into you again, still a single, long finger. He holds it there this time. "So easy."

The way you're positioned right now has him wanting to act on his ass-guy impulses. You kind of knew it would. He got you into this position far too easily for it not to have been something he's perfected over the years.

"Can I?" He husks, not wanting to ask the full question, hoping you'll understand.

You do. You know exactly what he wants. Wanna give him the green light without hesitation - but you're supposed to be helping one another.

"Ask properly," you say, voice contorted with the anticipation of pleasure. "Ask for what you want, Jeongguk."

"Mhh," he groans. The hand that isn't currently occupied with your pussy squeezes the soft mound of your ass. "I hate it when you make me do this."

It's almost like he's forgotten how often he makes you directly ask for things.

Your hips roll for him, Jeongguk's fingers still inside. Can't help but moan. "Gotta do it, Gguk. Gotta open yourself up for rejection."

He knows you won't say no. Knows rejection isn't on the table here, and yet he sort of worries about it, still. This is something he wants. Something he's expressed desire in; exclusively his.

Jeongguk lowers his head. Presses a kiss to where his hand was once squeezing your ass. Rests his forehead there. Groans.

"You know I want it," you husk, encouraging him. "All you gotta do is ask. Use your big boy words."

He just whines again. Is deliberately dramatic when he says, "Don't say shit like that, Byeol. I'll cum in my pants."

With a soft laugh, you turn back to look at him. Your faces are both partially obscured by the positioning of your body, but your eyes are able to meet. He's pouting. Eyes wide. Looks as if he's telling gospel truths.

"You're not gonna cum in your pants," you tell him, knowing he's a big fat liar. He's probably not even ready to go again, yet.

"No," he admits. "But I might die.

Rolling your eyes, you grin as you regain your former position. "So you want your dying words to be that of a coward, huh?"

He sighs. Knows you're right. Fucks his finger into you even deeper, stroking at your walls. Gets you a little whiney .

"Wanna eat your ass, " he gruffs, spreading your cheeks a little with his spare hand. You're on display for him, the tight muscle he's dying to get his tongue on just waiting there patiently; pristine. "Let me. Please ."

And then, quite unexpectedly, you free yourself from his grip. Pull away.

Turn to face him, and smile with a grin Jeongguk knows is trouble.

"No."

Lips hanging ajar, Jeongguk looks like he's just been hit in the chest with a paintball gun. He almost wants to question it - No? What do you mean no? - but he knows exactly what no means. Respects it. And yet he feels a little cheated.

"B..." is all he says, because, like, what the fuck? You'd practically been edging him. Forced him to ask .

"Gguk..." you tease back, obviously finding this far more amusing than he is.

His face is a picture, confusion contorting his features, silence speaking for him. It's the reaction you expected, but it makes you feel a lot more guilty than you had anticipated. It's not that you're trying to be a dick. You really did want him to do it.

But Jeongguk is also yet to face any form of rejection. The girls he's spoken to have been interested in him. Not once has he faced any sizable consequence to his questions or actions, and even though you know that asking to eat your ass isn't exactly the top of his issues, you have to reject him. Have to get him used to the feeling. Have to let him get comfortable with it.

He doesn't really know what to do. Purses his lips. Nods. Is obviously disappointed, but trying his best not to let it show.

You feel guilty. Come a little closer. Straddle his lap again, and guide his chin so that his gaze is directly on yours.

He resists at first. Is embarrassed. Feels all horrible inside. It's even worse that his cock is still hard. The entire thing is a bit mortifying. Doesn't wanna look at you, 'cause he feels stupid. Must have misread the situation. Idiot.

But he hadn't misread it all.

You hadn't planned on doing that. Just kind of had an impulsive thought - what if I do reject him? - and let it win.

"That was mean," he whispers so quietly that you almost don't hear it.

You nod, noses nudging against his. "It was."

"Say sorry," he pouts.

When you smile, a small giggle is held back. "I'm sorry. Should I kiss you?" you offer. He pulls you a little further up his lap. Makes you think a kiss is coming. "To say sorry?"

Closer, closer, closer. His nose nudges up against yours. He pauses. "No."

It's direct. To the point. Gets you in your chest a little. Rejection . Funny little thing.

"I wasn't trying to be a dick. There is a sticky note with it on, Koo," you begin to explain. Jeongguk hates how loopy that name makes his tummy feel. "It's gonna happen. I want it to happen."

Yet you didn't let it. He doesn't get it. Doesn't understand. It's a rare instance of your communication going awry.

"You made me ask," he mumbles, pouting. "And then you..."

You stay silent. Wait for him to figure it out. It takes only a second or so. You know he's cracked it when his thumbs begin to stroke against your skin like it normally does.

"And then I rejected you," you nod. Feel incredibly guilty about it now.

Living through rejection in times of vulnerability is important for him. He needs to process that it's okay; that rejection isn't automatic doom and gloom. That he can put himself out and not fear rejection - not because it will never happen, but because he can recognise that life goes on after it.

And it does. For now, though, he's still a little embarrassed.

"I hate that you did that," he says candidly, voice quiet, nose nestled against yours. Wants to stay close. Wants the comfort that comes with it. Eyes shut, his confidence feels shot to shit.

On a normal day, he'd probably not be so concerned about it all - however his emotions are running high. It's just the stress, but it's impacting all of his interactions.

"I'm sorry," you whisper.

"I know," he whispers right back. He genuinely does believe you are - but also believes you shouldn't have to apologise for saying no. "It's okay. 'No' is okay. You can say sorry for being a meanie, but that's all. Can't say sorry for saying 'no' , okay?"

Oh, you've never wanted to kiss him more. Give him the biggest, sweetest smooch for just being so inexorably endearing.

But you just nod. He'd said 'no' to kisses earlier.

Life goes on. Jeongguk knows this. Repeats it like an oath.

Life goes on. Life goes on. Life goes on.

"Two choices," he says. Pulls away a little. Wants to look in your starry eyes, and forget what just happened. "Choice one - we call it a night and get some sleep."

"Or?" you encourage, still feeling a little awful about the whole rejection thing.

"Or, choice two - you go and pick a sticky note, this time. We do whatever it says."

If there's one thing for certain, it's that you love a good redemption arc. Think this is a no-brainer. You hop off his lap without a second thought and pluck one off the wall at random.

Jeongguk bites down on his bottom lip as he watches you. His head is all over the place, but he knows one definite truth: you make things feel okay .

Embarrassment? It's null and void, with you. Sure, he feels it in the moment, but it always just simmers away. Disappears.

"So?" he asks, as you scan over the words of the note.

It's Jeongguk's handwriting. Is deserved, you think.

You turn it around for him to read, getting back into position on his lap. He welcomes you back, Holds your waist as you intrude on his personal space more - but is it really intruding if he's opening the door for you? Welcoming you in?

"Ah," he grins a little awkwardly. " That ."

" That ," you echo with a small giggle.

"You wanna do it?" he asks, a little cautiously this time.

You're so proud.

He opened himself for rejection again . He can do it.

With a nod, and every muscle in your body willing your lips not to kiss him, you say, "yeah. I do."

Jeongguk grins even brighter, now. Has stars in his smile. Thoughts of twenty minutes prior don't bother him anymore.

"Alright," he sighs a little, as if he isn't secretly really keen for what's yet to come. "Let's get it."

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

#bad decisions #jungkook smut

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