#and it seemed at least old enough to have a faded dust jacket by the time i read it. anyway | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

superprincesspea · 1 year

Text

The Arrangement

Chapter 1 - The South Walk

You want Joel to take you with him when he leaves the Sanctuary. The only problem? You’re Negan’s favourite wife and, according to Joel, a total liability. But if he wants to gain Negan’s trust, he’s going to have to make you promise- escape together or not at all.

~~~

You look forward to mornings like this. When Negan loads his men into the grey trucks and they don’t come home before supper, perhaps even the day after that. Most times he returns in such high spirits, far too tired to do anything more than talk and boy does Negan love to talk. He would have made a great politician if he wasn’t so short tempered and foul mouthed.

Still, he’s gone now. The rumble of trucks has faded away and the entire Sanctuary seems to breathe a collective sigh of relief.

You don’t know what the other girls do when Negan isn’t around. None of you are close enough to share that kind of information. But you suspect a couple of wives have partners outside of their arrangement with Negan. If they do, it’s better you don’t know, better to be ignorant than fake ignorance.

So without a word, everyone scatters. Frankie hides in her room, the others disappear down the halls and you do the same. Except you aren’t looking for company. Solitude is the friend you crave and, to get it, you’re willing to face the disapproving glances of every man, woman and child in the Sanctuary.

Being a wife may afford you countless privileges but it certainly doesn’t command any popularity or respect. No, you’re a joke to them. Hurrying by with the click of outlandishly tall patent leather heels and a miniscule dress which barely covers your rear.

Years ago, you would have loathed the person you’d become and, part of you still does, even if you understand what it means to survive. Some people do it on their feet, others on their back. Either way doesn’t matter. If it's the difference between staying alive or shambling around the world with the rest of the dead, you’d choose living every time.

Rounding the corner, you cut through the mess room which is always empty at this time of day and make your way through the windowless corridors to the fire exit which leads onto the south walk.

Out here, you can breathe without scrutiny but the view isn’t much. Just rows of wooden spikes buried in the ground. They remind you of BBQ skewers except they’re not impaled with the kind of meat you’d want to eat. They collect the bodies of the dead who stray too close, some still moving, some turning to dust. Beyond that, the small patch of forest is still recovering from a fire which ravaged the trees two summers ago.

Sometimes when the breeze picks up, the stink from down below can make your eyes burn but today the air is still, the sky overcast and much too cold to be standing outside without a jacket but you’re not going back to the apartment. At least not yet.

Walking to the railing, you brush your fingers over the rusted flecks of paint. They had been yellow once, bright and cheerful like a rubber duck or a child's raincoat but like everything else they’re losing all colour and succumbing to dull grey. Old and tarnished. You know the feeling well.

This morning you’d discovered your first grey hair and plucked it from your head, staring at it like a traitorous thing. Youth was fading and it was all you really had. All that had kept you alive. Youth and beauty. Fickle survival tools but you hadn’t expected to rely on them for so long.

Too preoccupied in thought, you don’t notice the man idling further down the walk until he clears his throat, letting you know he’s there.

Watching.

Your heart jumps just as your head whips round to see who is daring to intrude your own personal bleak view.

Tall, broad, flecks of grey creeping into his hair and beard but a man can afford such age and wisdom. Like a fine wine, full bodied and nicely matured which is exactly what he is. He’s also a stranger to your eye but even your friends are strangers in the Sanctuary.

“I haven’t seen you before,” you break the silence which has begun to stretch between you, wondering what kind of man Negan has dragged home from one of his grey truck adventures.

“I’ve seen you,” he replies matter of factly and, though you can feel heat beginning to blossom on your cheeks, you ignore it. Embarrassment seems like such a trivial emotion these days.

“I guess I’m pretty hard to miss,” you say, laughing softly at your own expense.

“Just how Negan likes it?”

His voice has an edge of disdain which you don’t ordinarily hear from the other men. Most of them have been here too long to have any fight left and the newbies tend to fall into one of two categories. Desperately grateful and willing to lick Negan’s boots or pitifully terrified and willing to lick Negan’s boots. That’s how Negan wants his men, underfoot and under control. Just like you.

Absent-mindedly, you pull down the hem of your dress but you can’t tell this stranger that you don’t own a single decent item of clothing. So you tell him your name.

“Joel,” he replies with some uncertainty as if he’s forgotten how to say it and you can understand. Sometimes small talk feels like an ancient practice that doesn’t belong at the harsh end of the world. Other times it feels like a deliciously indulgent treat.

Like now. With the sun daring to peek through the clouds, touching you with a warmth so comforting you can almost ignore your surroundings. Almost believe the last few years were all a vivid and terrible dream. No before or after, only now. This moment. The sun and the stranger but in the blink of an eye the warmth is gone and the Sanctuary isn’t just in full view, it's all encompassing.

Resting your hip against the railing, you wait a little longer to see if Joel offers any information beyond his name but he doesn’t. He remains still, his eyes filled with suspicion.

“You’re not from around here?” you guess, moving closer, letting your fingers brush away the flecks of paint until your hand settles beside his.

“Texas.”

“A cowboy?” your tone is light, flirty though you’re not really sure why, he doesn’t seem like the playful kind. Maybe he had been once but his face is hard now.

“A carpenter,” he replies and your eyes graze his flannel shirt and waxed cotton jacket. Old and dirty, you wouldn’t be surprised if that jacket had been old and dirty the day everything started.

Letting your eyes slide down to his boots, you stifle a small laugh.

Joel is the epitome of everything you would imagine a veteran survivor should be. Rough around the edges and almost painfully stoic, not the kind of man you would have noticed in a past life but these were strange times and you were noticing him now.

He isn’t scrawny, so he knows how to find food. He isn’t afraid, so he knows how to protect himself. Most importantly, he isn’t looking at you like a piece of meat he’d like to taste and you can’t quite remember the last time a man had stared at you with so much disinterest.

“So what brings you to this little slice of paradise?” you say, still flirty, old habits die hard and you’ve been playing this part for a long time now.

Joel holds off his answer for a while, his dark eyes still accessing you, still uninterested. “Just passing through, looking for my brother, Tommy.”

A sharp laugh escapes your lips. “I don’t think anyone just passes through the Sanctuary,” you say and his eyes widen, surprised by your candour and maybe you’re a little surprised too.

“I can see that,” he admits and, for a moment, you think maybe you can trust this man but the moment passes without a word before his attention turns to the door.

“I should get going.”

You don’t blame him, you wouldn’t want to hang around with you either. You’re a walking red flag, Negan’s painted doll. To look at but not touch. To laugh at but not with. To talk about but not with.

“Maybe I’ll see you here again sometime,” you say, unnerved by your sudden urge to know this stranger, to crave more than solitude.

He stops in his tracks, turning to look at you once again, closer this time and his eyes are a shot of espresso and so impossibly sad. They remind you of the stray dog your father had rescued when you were a girl and your heart hurts with a pang of longing to nuzzle your face into fur and warmth.

“Don’t count on it,” he says and there’s no warmth, only bitterness as you watch the door close behind him before turning back to stare at the world beyond the Sanctuary where death and freedom walk hand in hand.

Masterlist

#The Last of Us #Joel Miller #The Walking Dead #Negan #Fanfiction #TLOU #TWD #Joel Miller/Reader #Joel Miller/You #Negan/Reader #Negan/You #The Last of Us Joel #The Walking Dead Negan #Pedro Pascal #Jeffrey Dead Morgan #grumpy sunshine trope #romance #Joel Miller Fanfiction

20 notes · View notes

1indigoisles · 10 months

Text

Chapter 1 - Excerpt 4

I’d hoped for a few minutes, at the very least, of peace.

Instead, I was immediately ambushed at the entrance of the main hall of my new school by a girl just a few inches shorter than me, with a bright expression that I would soon come to know was her being cheerful.

At first I’d thought her hair was on fire, and she had galloped to me expecting a waterfall to sprout out of my backpack. A fraction of a second later, though, I realised that that was just the colour of the girl’s hair, burning orange, not red, orange, like fire.

Her hair was bright orange. She had hazel eyes with flecks of green and gold in them, sweet pink lips that looked naturally dyed, and freckles that covered the appex of her nose and cheekbones like dust. She wore a white tank top that should be illegal to wear, a brown leather jacket to cover it up, fashionably tattered and faded jeans, and a bright smile that could give the sun and the stars a run for their money.

“Hi,” she said, in a naturally crisp and friendly voice, “I’m Jolene Frost, head of Knightville High’s welcoming comittee. Welcome to Knightville High!”

I jumped. “Hello,” I managed to stammer, “I’m Kenneth Teigen.”

Jolene’s eyes flickered almost imperceptibly at ‘Teigen.’

“What?” I asked.

“What ‘what’?” Jolene looked a little bemused.

“Never mind,” I muttered.

She regarded me for a long moment, not like I was acting strangely, but more as though she’d just discovered something about me that told her there was more to discover.

Then she peered over my shoulder as though she’d just spotted someone, and called, “Rowan, Rowan!” I turned around, but I couldn’t be sure who she was calling. A beat passed. No one came, and no one looked at her weirdly for shouting that name, possibly because she was popular and wouldn’t have cared about it anyway. With an exasperated sigh, she flipped out her phone and dialled a number. She held up a finger that told me I should wait a minute and heard the phone ring twice before the person on the other end picked up.

Jolene did not pause to say ‘hello’ to make sure the person on the other end was there, instead immediately speaking into her phone, “Rowan Frost, if you do not emerge from whatever hidey-hole you’ve found for yourself, I will whisper your middle name to the new kid.” She said the last two words as though it would be a treacherous fate for Rowan, who I now realised was Jolene’s brother.

A reply came from the other end. Jolene retorted, “oh, I will, and I will do it seductively for good measure.” She seemed to have either not noticed my slight discomfort at that, or she was ignoring it entirely.

“Relax, I’m here,” came a child-like voice. A boy an inch or so shorter than me approached us, dettaching his phone from his ear as he did.

Jolene smiled a winning smile, and leaned in to loudly whisper, “It’s Duncan, by the way.”

“You said you wouldn’t tell,” reproached Rowan while looking affronted, before abruptly grinning slyly, “Mildred.”

Jolene shrugged, clearly not the reaction Rowan had been hoping for. “I have no insecurities about my middle names. No one will ever call me Mildred, unless, of course, they have a death wish.”

“You just said you had no insecurities.”

“Mildred is a disgusting enough name to hate without being insecure about having it.”

“So is Duncan.”

“No, it’s only you who hates it because it’s old-fashioned.”

“I don’t understand why that isn’t a good enough reason on its own.”

While they went on with their incessant banter, I studied Rowan a little more closely. He had ash-blond hair that was more ash than anything really, and big grey eyes that at first seemed to be comparable to the grey of Knightville’s sky, but soon, it would look more like silver, gleaming and refracting in the light.

He had a long, thin face that had a fine sort of bone structure to it, all angles in some places, all softness in others. His body looked wiry and his shoulders were slim, similar to a girl’s. It was then I drew to the conclusion that ‘handsome’ was not a word that could be used to describe him – he looked more... pretty, yes, that’s the word. He was rather pretty.

“Shouldn’t we be showing the new kid around instead of wasting time arguing?” said Rowan a little grumpily, after Jolene had thrown a cutting remark at him.

“Perhaps,” Jolene allowed, “but maybe we could just skip the tour.” She turned to me, “don’t worry, the school layout is really simple. You’ll get it as we go along.”

The Frost siblings then took me along the halls, to my locker, through various classrooms and labs, the library, the canteen, the infirmary, other staffrooms, all while encompanying it with more banter, assurances that I could ask questions if I had any, and other interesting details, like a long crack that spread across the floor in front of the chemistry lab that had always been there. It was thin, but not so much that it wasn’t noticeable – in fact, I’d noticed it before Jolene had told me about it – and pitch black, as though it had been drawn on the ground with a marker of the darkest black, and shaped like real-life lightning, starting and ending abruptly. It was strangely unsettling to look at.

“Following so far?” Jolene asked, when I spent too long looking at the scar on the floor. “Any questions?”

I looked up, and spotted someone. “Actually,” I said, pointing, “yes. Who is she?”

Tagged: @mayaheronthorn, @jeahreading

#Land of Magic #Chapter 1 - Excerpt 4 #Writing #Tumblr Novels #YA Fantasy #Novels #Indigo Isles

10 notes · View notes

asirensrage · 1 year

Note

Request please

Obsession Prompts:"We're meant to be. You'll see."

Inexperienced Smut Prompts:“Show me how you do it when you touch yourself.”

Dwayne Lost Boys

This took me a bit but I like how it turned out. I think you will too. (Also, I almost sent part of this to a WORK group chat. Thank god I caught myself in time. I would have died.)

Rating: Mature at least. Warnings: vampirism. sex. biting.

She’s not sure how she got here. The events leading to this moment are a blur of laughter, music, and the reveal of the stare she’s felt watching her. She’s felt the solid muscle under her fingers and the warm engine between her legs before she finds herself like this. With this man hovering over her with ease.

“No more waiting,” he says as he kisses her. His dark hair falls around their faces like a curtain, hiding them from the other voices she can hear in the distance.

Waiting for what? She wants to ask. She hasn’t been waiting. She was…she had been with friends. His kiss tastes like cooper, no matter how good it feels, and she turns her head away first. He doesn’t protest. Before she can even think, she’s somehow out of her clothes and he’s looking at her as though he’s never seen anything like it before.

She’s never done this before. She doesn’t even really know how they got here, where she’s bare before him and he’s telling her that everything’s okay. There’s something about the way he says it that makes her believe him, even if she doesn’t know him.

He discards his jacket, leaving his chest bare before he sits back on his heels and tells her that he’ll take care of her. They’re promised, after all. A future happiness prophesied that he didn’t believe until he saw her. She doesn’t understand but he doesn’t linger on the revelation. “Show me how you do it when you touch yourself. Show me what you like.” There’s a demand there, under his words, and she takes a deep breath before letting herself fall under his gaze.

The sheets under her scratch at her skin. Each movement brings a waft of something that smells like dust, mildew and mothballs. Still, she does as he asks. Each caress feels awkward as he watches and she closes her eyes to try to escape it. She can still feel him though. Even if he’s somehow incredibly silent, the weight of him dips the bed by her feet.

Her hands trail lightly over her skin before she cups one of her breasts and tweaks at the nipple. She feels the bed shift but he still doesn’t touch her. She moves her other hand between her legs. Any time she’s touched herself it’s been more of a pursuit of a goal that she’s never fully reached.

She hears him laugh and it’s enough to make her pull her hands back, regretting her attempts. He’s on her before she can blink, taking the hand that was between her legs and lifting it to his mouth. Her eyes shoot open and meet his. There’s something in his gaze that feels like a threat even as he licks her clean.

He kisses her again and the taste of her is mixed with the copper that seems to cling to him. He touches her with a startingly familiarity and she shivers at the chill of his skin against hers. He nips at her skin, taking his time to leave his mark with his lips and teeth until she’s no longer sure if he leaves anything untouched.

Her head falls back against the old pillow and the dust that rises is ignored as she’s lost in the way he touches her. It’s skillful and just hard enough that she can’t ignore him. She’s never felt like this. Not when she’s on her own.

It’s not long before her legs are wrapped around his waist and he moves with purpose. His nails scratch down her back and hip as he holds her. Any pain at the intrusion fades as he kisses her, knowing exactly how to bring her to the edge she’s often found herself at. It feels like he shoves her off of it and she screams when he bites at her neck in response. He breaks skin and her head sways with the conflicting feelings he’s put her through. When he pulls back, she can barely flinch at the strangeness of his face and the blood around his mouth. Her vision spots and for a moment she thinks she’s imagined it because he’s back to looking at her like he did before. The blood is still there though.

“What–” she swallows tightly, unable to shove him away. “What’d you do?”

He grins, somehow looking sharper than before. “We’re meant to be. You’ll see.” He kisses her again and the world goes black.

Obsession Prompts Inexperienced Smut Prompts ✨

and because I think you'll be interested... lost boys tag: @phantomenby @avengers-fixation @artaxerxesthegreat @henhouse-horrors @charlizekkelly @makepastanotwar13

#lost boys fic #smut prompt #dark drabble #dwayne x oc #dwayne the lost boys #burnincrown #i've been working on my descriptions can you tell?#lol

52 notes · View notes

idiotwithanipad · 5 months

Text

Fated Meeting

The first time Amy (my OC) had a real moment alone with intact Humphrey before their father-daughter bonding occurred🖤⚔️

(Also a fic based on this drawing I did weeks back🥹)

(TW: Cursive language, Mention of choking to death, Fear, Slight Angst/Self Blame)

“She’s GOT to come out of that blasted room eventually. It’s been a week!” The Captain blurted, his patience wearing thin by the day. A week had in fact passed since the new ghost died. A young woman, dressed head to toe in strange attire and strange makeup, choked to death on a canned drink. The predicament frightened her, confused her and left her second guessing what any of this meant.

Their introduction to her had been abrupt, to say the least. The ecstatic caveman bounded towards the group hounding and barking about a new edition to the group. She was frightened by them, all of them apart from half of one; Humphrey's severed head had been the least intimidating, a huge surprise to the Tudor man given his appearance.

Yet, despite regular, albeit, unconventional introductions, the new girl coward away every time they entered her room. She'd taken to seeking refuge in a polished wardrobe by the wall, passing through the panes and ducking underneath some complimentary rain jackets and dressing gowns. She sat there for days, never even poking her head out through the wood.

The caveman had tried to surprise the girl one morning, rushing through the wall and shouting a jovial 'MORNIES!'. Though, given her scream and her tinted cheeks fading to a deathly white, he opted to stop; he often forgot how intimidating he could look to the modern person, especially at full volume and with just about three inches of space between them.

Today, she risked a peek, swallowing back her courage and biting the bullet. Her head drifted through the wardrobe door and peered out into the empty room. Her lungs practically deflated with relief, the ever lingering taste of the drink that she choked on caught against her tastebuds.

She rose from inside the wardrobe and got to her feet, she dusted of the back of her skirt, not yet aware that dirt and dust could no longer get stuck to her. The door still remained shut and locked, yet she wasn't sure how much stability that could offer anymore since the new strangers could barge in at any given second.

The girl, Amy, peered out through the door and down the corridor. Nobody in sight. Maybe she could stretch her legs for a while without being spotted? If she stepped carefully enough, maybe those old floorboards wouldn't give under the weight of her thick soles of her boots?

Amy found herself approaching a staircase, she went to grasp onto the banister but stumbled slightly when it failed to support her weight, her hand drifting down through the wood in an instant. She bit her lip, hoping that her shrill gasp hadn't alerted any of the strangers. She waited a complete ten seconds before descending the rest of the stairs.

Half the way down she began to hear voices, a group of voices, which came from a room at the bottom right of the stairs.

"Well, the poor little thing DID have a sudden death. Not a very nice way to go I imagine" A Yorkshire accent protested from the room.

"Never took ME this long to come to terms with it and I saw myself being resuscitated with no TROUSERS on. That was traumatic enough; a bunch of blokes gathered around you in that state... " A sharp and well spoken voice combated.

"Perhaps she's just shy? If I can show her my Canoe trick it might make her feel better" A spritley woman's voice beamed.

"Look, let's all just wait it out. She'll come down when she's ready. Or perhaps she can't talk? Or she's deaf?" The man with the Yorkshire accent added, he ironically seemed to be itching to find a reason why the new girl didn't want to socialize.

A strange, gruff voice cut the other man off.

"Oh no. She talk, me know it. I go see her other day and she tell me to fu-"

"Yes, thank you, Robin!" The older and more assertive male voice barked.

Amy froze on the last step, her figure hidden behind a wall, her eavesdropping prolonged by flooding questions. Why were they so desperate for her to show herself? They had plenty of company, why did they all care so much? As their conversation faded into murmurs and ringing in Amy's ears, she retreated back up a few steps and sat down, her eyes frozen on the door ahead of her, wishing she could just hurl it open and run away, get home as soon as possible and forget this whole nightmare.

All sound that surrounded her seemed to have faded completely. Except from behind her. Footsteps.

Amy whipped her head around faster than a Cobra strikes at a Mouse. The man, he used to be just a head, but now he stood at the top of the stairs behind her. He hadn't registered her there yet and began to descend. His eyes darted down and popped wide open, he paused from any movement and gawked in shock; he looked just as scared and out of his depth as she was.

His hands slowly rose from beneath his fur lined cloak and his mouth cracked open.

"No, no no please don't-" Amy whispered, already trying to rise to her feet and back away from the Tudor man.

" .. 'S alright. You're alright" He whispered back to her, taking another step down towards her, only for her to shamble down a step and stare up at him in dread.

"Go away, please just- leave me alone-"

"Shh, it's alright. Calm down, Poppet, I won't tell 'em you're 'ere" The Tudor soothed, keeping his hands risen and in plain sight, a supposed gesture that he meant her no harm.

"E-Everything's fine. All fine, uhh- hunky dory- jolly jodhpurs... Umm, all-good?.." The Tudor mused, his knowledge of modern slang, albeit a little dated, needed to come in handy in order to soothe the frightened girl.

Amy glanced back over her shoulder towards the doorway to the occupied room, it seemed to drift closer and threaten to expose her to a cacophony of chaos and hounding. The man had wandered down a few more steps and regarded her with a subtlety that the other ghosts hadn't quite mustered yet.

He lowered himself down onto the stairs with a soft grunt and folded his arms.

"Sorry to have scared you, I WAS detached earlier, saw you leave your room from where I was on a cabinet in the hall, thought it best not to call out to you since, well, nervous little thing, aren't you, Poppet?" The man trailed off with a soft chuckle.

Amy stood, cemented to the spot, gawking up at the man, more in surprise rather than fear.

"Then luckily enough, my body wandered by and picked me up. A shock, even to me, doesn't happen too often and I've been dead for 'underends of years" The Tudor broke off that sentence with a beaming grin and a shrug.

Amy shuffled in her spot, the toes of her boots tapping together.

"Well... If you're not here to drag me in there with that lot- what DO you want?" Amy spat. The man glanced around defensively and held up a hand again.

"Nothing. Nothing at all, again, I had no idea you were 'ere. Just- happened upon you, I guess. Although, I wouldn't mind a good thick slice of smoked pork" He hummed, his lip smacking at the delicious memory of the taste.

Amy's brow furrowed in confusion; when did this conversation switch to food?

"Huh?" Amy stood puzzled. The man's eyes then darted back to her, the absentminded grin on his face vanishing in a second.

"Ey? Oh, I thought that was a general question when you said- what I wanted. But umm, what umm- what would YOU like? If you could 'ave anything?" He asked as he leaned forward slightly, clasping his hands together.

Amy looked back towards the door, she practically itched to dive towards it and flee.

"Honestly? I wanna go home. I just wanna forget about them. About all of this" Amy gabbled, giving a dismissive flourish of her hand towards the room the rest of the ghosts resided in, still unaware of her presence.

"I never should've come back inside, I should've just- fucking stayed outside!" Amy blurted, her arm slapping back down at her side while her other hand came up to wipe at her eyes.

The Tudor man's gaze dropped down, pity washing over him.

"I know, Poppet. I can't say I know how you feel really; this place was my home before my death, so really, I never left my home. But I can only imagine how- painful it is to be away from your old home" He spoke gently, his eyes struggling to focus on her.

Amy released a sharp sigh and itched at the back of her head in frustration.

"Such a fucking idiot... " She muttered to herself.

The man fiddled with his frilled cuff briefly, unable to find the words to console her, but he noticed she began drifting closer to him in her fit of annoyance towards herself.

"Moron... Such an idiot-" Amy cut herself off as she dropped down into the same step at the Tudor, resting her face in her hands. The man froze and stared at her; he never would've expected her to approach him, let alone sit next to him.

"Wasn't your fault, really. It was- just an accident-" He tried to reason.

"Well, it was a LETHAL accident and now I'm stuck in this giant shithole for God knows how long, Harold!"

"Humphrey.. "

"Ye- whatever!"

Humphrey retorted.

"I know a thing or two about 'lethal accidents', believe you me..." He mused, pointing towards his neck with a raised eyebrow. Amy caught eye of his gesture and fell silent; she couldn't fight him on this, he DEFINITELY knew how it felt.

She rested her elbow against her knee, then rested her chin into the palm of her hand, letting out a drawn out and defeated sigh.

"Still- I'm surprised you never died of a broken ankle with those shoes of yours. How thick are those soles?" Humphrey added, peering down passed Amy's knee and towards the infamously thick soled boots, partially hidden beneath her woolen leg warmers.

Without looking up at him, Amy returned.

"... Four inches"

#bbc ghosts #humphrey bone #original character #amy #Amy Bone🥹#larry rickard

5 notes · View notes

pwarkluv · 3 years

Text

❝ idk you yet ❞ - p.js

park jisung x reader | angsty, fluff | 1.6k words

WARNINGS | TW: mentions blood, abuse, drug and alcohol abuse, smoking, lowercase au, non-idol au, high school au, badboy!jisung, mature language/cursing, reader is like an angel sent from heaven for him, jisungie just in need of love :(

SUMMARY | being an outcast has him wondering if he’ll ever be happy. cue you, the new girl, stumbling into his life (literally).

AUTHOR’S NOTE | inspired by the song “idk you yet” by alexander23! also AHHH this is my 100 followers special fic :) THANK U LOVES FOR 100 IM SO SHOCKED CJSBFKEJD <33 the writing is a little crappy because i’m currently on my period and my patience for sitting down and writing this went down halfway through lol but I LOVE YOU SO MUCH, ENJOY THIS JISUNG FIC BC JISUNG MY BABIE AND SO ARE YOU GUYS!

whenever anybody thinks of park jisung, they think of the chains and dark clothing he wears. they think about the faint smell of smoke and men’s cologne that follows him wherever he goes.

they think of the boy who grew up on the wrong side of the tracks.

but what they don’t think about are bruises on his face he fails to hide whenever he walks into school, the dejected look on his face whenever random people give him disapproving looks, the way his smile slowly faded into a permanent frown wherever he went.

jisung quickly accepted his reputation at school and in their little town, not having enough energy to feel insecure about it like before.

the only group of people that even remotely cared about the boy were his best friends in the whole entire world, nct dream.

they were outcasts just like him, the most “fucked up group of boys” in their town (the people’s words, not theirs).

see, they were your typical bad boy group straight out of your typical fanfic. bad grades, smoking in their free time, getting into fights, always being late to class; not a single person had hope in them.

but behind their scary and intimidating facade, all seven boys were big softies with misunderstood hearts and difficult backgrounds.

people were just too dense to look into it, only judging them based on their looks and personality on the outside.

❝ how can you miss someone you’ve never met ❞

love was a foreign thing to jisung, the only form of love he’s ever felt being from his friends. his parents were… interesting to say the least.

jisung’s father was a hard-core alcoholic, his mother being a major druggie. with no siblings in the house, jisung was usually their main target to push around and beat up.

and so because of this at a young age jisung learned to distance himself from other people and found different ways to release stress.

he started smoking when he was 14, the warm and hazy feeling of the smoke entering his lungs comforting him.

if jisung humored himself enough, maybe smoking could count as his first love. it was always there for him, never leaving him alone even if he wanted to quit.

he relied on it knowing it was the only constant in his life.

now of course the boy has heard of proper love, love like in the movies or shitty romance songs he hears on the radio.

and he won’t lie, there were moments he thought about what it felt like to be in love. but he knew that would never happen, at least not in their small town anyways.

he just wanted to be loved.

jisung would never admit it but sometimes he’d be jealous of the old couples walking down the street in their own world like it was just them two against the universe. he was jealous of the happy kids running around, their mother’s and father’s fondly smiling at their child. he was jealous of all the “normal” kids in his neighborhood.

jisung wanted that, craved that.

but most importantly, the boy wanted love.

❝ cause i need you now but i don’t know you yet ❞

everything hurt.

his head, his body, his mind, his heart; everything was in pain.

jisung walked down the empty streets of their city, a trail of blood following behind him as he accepted his fate. the boy was 99% sure he had a concussion and at the very least had a few broken ribs.

he felt like this was the end, and he was ready.

wandering aimlessly around town, you decided to take a late night walk to familiarize yourself around the area. you had just moved into the city a week ago, spending all seven days trying to help your family unpack and rearrange your cozy new home.

now that you were finally free of the smell of tape and the dust of the boxes, you decided it was best to get to know the place you were living in.

the autumn air seemed to settle at night as you shivered, cursing yourself for not bringing a jacket of some sort. the sight of a convenience store up ahead of you brought you relief as you rummaged through your pockets wondering if you had enough money for ramen.

your steps became excited as you found a couple dollars, fondly thinking about what type of ramen you should buy. you became so lost in your thoughts you didn’t even notice the poor boy who was staggering in front of you, or the trail of blood he left behind.

jisung pushed himself to reach the convenience store a couple feet away from him, in desperate need of supplies to at least try and fix himself.

if it didn’t help in any way then oh well, maybe death was indeed an option.

grinding his teeth though the pain, he did not expect to feel a small body bump into him. had he been at his regular health, jisung would’ve easily been able to keep still but because of how much blood he was losing the boy was knocked down like a bowling pin.

“holy fuck.” jisung cursed the feeling of the concrete floor colliding with his ribs. he didn’t even notice the girl who had bumped into him sitting on the floor dumbfounded, freaking out over his state.

“oh my fucking god.” the girl said, capturing his attention. jisung glared at the stranger, mentally acknowledging the fact she was pretty.

but her being pretty won’t get you anywhere, he scolded himself. she’ll leave you just like everyone else.

“a-are you okay?” she said, eyes glancing at his black eye. jisung rolled his eyes, already annoyed. “does it look like i’m okay?” he replied, his deep voice catching the girl off guard.

“just, fuck off.” jisung said closing his eyes as he laid back down on the floor, knowing he couldn’t force himself to get up anymore. he didn’t even have to open his eyes to know she left, hearing the sound of her footsteps walk away.

the boy sighed as he laid idly on the floor, wondering what sin he committed to lead him to where he is now. not even she wanted to stay, the tears threatening to fall as his thoughts buried him alive.

“why can’t i just die?” jisung said out loud, asking no one but himself.

“because i won’t let you.” a voice replied as jisung forced himself to sit up in confusion. it was the same girl he had bumped into, but this time she had a first aid kit with her. he gave her a lost look despite knowing what she was here to do.

jisung’s mind just couldn’t wrap around the fact that a total stranger would even bother to help him.

“now sit up.” she said softly as she bent down to open the box, the boy slowly followed her instructions. “i’m sorry this might sting.” she said though jisung didn’t mind because she was much prettier up close.

the next ten minutes were you trying to fix his wounds against the shitty chairs outside the convenience store.

jisung didn’t even bother mentioning his broken ribs, not wanting you to freak out. you cleaned up what you could and the boy was beyond grateful for that.

you subconsciously rubbed his back in a comforting way whenever you’d apply alcohol to his open wounds, trying to ease the sting. you held his hand for him to hold and though he was a big boy and had a high pain tolerance, he still gave it a squeeze just to keep your hand there. what the actual fuck is this feeling, jisung asked himself as he watched your determined figure work on him.

it was cold and in order to better work on his wounds, the boy offered to give you his hoodie which strangely had no traces of blood on it. you gladly accepted, the faint smell of blood and his cologne engulfing you up.

the sight of you in something so big and so him made his chest swell in pride.

jisung couldn’t even formulate a sentence as you cursed at the time once you finished patching him up, fleeing the scene before he could say anything with a small smile, his hoodie still on.

❝ and can you find me soon because i’m in my head ❞

the thought of your soft hands on his, your voice, your whole presence; everything about you couldn’t seem to leave the poor boy’s mind. it was now monday, and waiting for his class to start already made him want to go home.

if only i got her name, jisung daydreamed with his head resting on the palm of his hand. the classroom was loud and bright, people occasionally giving him looks but the boy didn’t mind.

“jisungie~ did you hear we have a new kid?” jaemin asked, poking the boy’s cheeks. the boy only gave him a pointed look before sighing.

“hyung i don’t really care.” jisung replied, looking back out the window.

jaemin only gave him an offended look before grumbling a bit. “i don’t know maybe you will.” he muttered under his breath as their teacher walked into the room.

❝ yeah i need you now but i don’t know you yet ❞

their homeroom teacher stood in front of the class, jisung tuning out his voice. the boy once again sighed as his teacher called for their attention, explaining they had a new girl in their class. “now make her feel welcomed,” he said before turning towards the door.

“y/n, please come in.” the teacher said and jisung almost fell out of his seat when he saw you walking through the door with the same smile you gave him a couple days ago.

“hi i’m y/n and i hope we can get along.” you bowed to the class, a familiar hoodie you were wearing catching his attention.

isn’t that mine, jisung thought to himself as he bit back a smile knowing you kept it all along.

455 notes · View notes

kiridarling · 3 years

Text

𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐁𝐎.

thank you so much to @daisy-bakugo for letting me participate in her vice city collab! i had a blast writing this piece, and i’m terribly sorry this is so long that was a mistake (and congrats on 2k!!) also, the phattest of thank you’s to @eijishimas for brainstorming/beta-ing :) you saved me ☺🤲🏼

katsuki bakugou and eijirou kirishima | f!reader, time travel sex, guns, prostitute/stripper idrk!reader, tw!blood (non-descriptive), dacryphilia, squirting, spit roasting, d-penn, shower sex, multiple rounds. minors dni!

— 5k words (yikes)

"Say, Sweetheart. You wanna get outta here?"

Las Vegas, Nevada. April 15th, Year 3036.

"You ready?"

Mina shoots you a look through the golden-lit mirror, wiggling her eyebrows. You roll your eyes and finish dusting the powder off your cheeks before rising to your feet and tugging at the belt of your silk robe. "My answer's the same every night."

Vice City. A strip club and casino in Las Vegas, Nevada, where opposites collide—the poor and the rich, the beautiful and the ugly, the smart and the stupid. There's no judgment because here, they're all degenerates looking for a good time, and you're just a pretty face with a good body.

As your silk robe hits the floor, it's kicked to the side with a heel, and you saunter through the beaded entrance to your private room and into the vibrating club. Giving your bodyguard a solid pat on the shoulder as you watch the sea of bodies shake, you complete the ritual.

"No creeps?" You demand more than request. He nods curtly.

"No creeps."

You give him a cute little smile and let your hand linger for a little longer than necessary before stepping into the neon red chaos of the strip club. Because what do the rich and the poor have in common?

They're all addicts.

Surprisingly, humanity doesn’t kill the planet.

Mother Nature's still standing strong—though the sun is a bit swollen—and space exploration solved that overpopulation issue. Bill Gates taught us all how to avoid a climate disaster and Tesla put Ford out of business. Humanity is much bigger than earth now; we're no longer people of the planet, but an intergalactic species that still eat Costco pizza rolls for dinner but killed Cable along with cars with wheels. Costco still exists—Starbucks doesn't.

Still no aliens, though.

"See something you like, Cutie?"

In your defense, he's been standing over here with his friends for ages—almost like they're casing the damn place—but those ruby red eyes kept floating your way regardless, and you'd rather bag it with someone your age before you're requested by another seventy-year-old. The redhead blinks like he's shocked you came over here in the first place—like he didn't watch you sashay yourself to the other side of the club just for him. You suppose the name fits. Cutie.

He looks at you with a strangely giddy look on his face before he's licking his lips and swallowing, eyes flickering to the blondie to his right.

"I'll be back in like, twenty minutes, man."

The blond gives him an exasperated look and groans—his other two friends don't notice. "Eiji—"

"Twenty minutes!" The redhead yells over the music as you not-so-subtly pull him away. Your regular GILF looks your way, and you suppress the queasy feeling in knowing that at least you'll be able to fuck someone from your decade.

"You got a wallet, Cutie?" You purr as you two approach the back room. The redhead winks, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out the fattest black leather wallet you've seen in a long time.

"Don't go anywhere without it," he says, but falters when your bodyguard holds his hand out with a request for fifty bucks. "I—whoa dude, why am I paying you?"

"Because that's how it goes. The young lady gets her share," your bodyguard clarifies. The redhead looks at you for what seems to be for confirmation. You nod.

"Alright," he resigns with a shrug, stuffing a fifty into your bodyguard's sweaty hand. The man grunts but clears some of the beads guarding the entrance to your private room anyways, giving you two enough space to go inside.

"No door? That seems a little...exposing," the redhead snorts to himself before he's holding his hand out, despite the fact that you’re already nestling comfortably in his lap. "Eijirou, by the way."

You take his hand apprehensively, and he snorts at your confused frown. Eijirou's big—painfully so, and you feel small sat upon his thick thighs because you are in comparison—and he has to curve his back a bit so you're at eye-level. "What? No one's introduced themselves to you before?"

You shake your head, "Usually they just throw me onto the bed and get right to it."

Eijirou rolls his eyes at that, and you don't realize he's guiding your hips into a smooth roll until the harsh fabric of his jeans brushes against you in the best way. He moves you in time with the music vibrating the walls, "I guess that makes me more of a gentleman, then."

His lips hover over yours and yet he never advances, doesn't move to kiss you on the lips, nothing—it nearly has you buzzing. So does the hand he pins you to his lap with. "Are you going to kiss me or what?"

"What's your name, Sweetheart," he asks lowly. You give it to him, and he grins.

"Y/N,” Eijirou tries on his lips before he confirms it with a nod. "A pretty name for a pretty girl."

"Aren't you the flatterer," you purr, coiling your arms around your neck. His hand finds your ass and you're almost positive he's going to close the gap between you two until he says:

"Who were you runnin' from, Y/N?”

Years in the business help build a mask and you wear yours well, with that cute little smile as you cock your head to the side and ask, "I'm afraid I'm not following."

"Oh, I think you are," he says, looking you dead in the eyes. The gravity in his face doesn't falter. "Who was it."

As he stares into your soul, your own eyes avert to the sheets. "What's it to you?"

"It's nothing to me, really," he shrugs off his jacket and places it on the bed next to him before returning to his initial position—or perhaps, closer. "But I happen to find you real cute, and cute things deserve to feel safe, no?"

"In case you haven't checked, this isn't a very safe place," you scoff, removing your arms from his neck to cross them over your chest. "And I don't appreciate idiots like you trying to save someone like me just 'cause you wanna get your dick wet more than once."

Eijirou raises an eyebrow but he never stalls, "Oh? This happens often then?"

"I—" you falter, "...No."

"C'mon, Sweetheart," Eijirou tugs you by the waist and you have to press your hands to his chest to keep him from falling forwards. "You don't wanna stay in this place, do you?"

"It's my job," you defend with a huff. The redhead shrugs.

"Sure, but don't you want a little adventure? A little excitement in your life?"

"Like there isn't enough excitement right here?" You snort. Eijirou teeters his head back and forth, though the daring look never fades.

"But something tells me you're bored," he says with a near sarcastic face, clicking his tongue. "Something tells me you find the idea of something new exciting."

You open your mouth to respond but he keeps you from doing so, finally pressing his lips to yours. You nearly squeal in surprise but somehow, you find yourself kissing back with a passion you've never kissed another client with before—and maybe, just maybe, the idea of something new doesn't sound too bad.

Eijirou pulls away with a cocky grin like he knew you'd like it. Like he knew that'd be the catalyst for your response to what he says next, and maybe, he's not as much of an idiot as you thought.

And maybe you’re more of an idiot than you thought.

"Say, Sweetheart. You wanna get outta here?"

"Yes," you breathe, like an idiot, because you were wholly and utterly unprepared for what happens next.

Eijirou gives you the cutest smile, before reaching into his jacket and pulling out a gun.

He sees your expression change and lifts both hands, pointing the black pistol towards the ceiling, "I—hey wait, you're gonna be fine, okay? I won't shoot you."

You cower and he pouts. Apparently, this wasn't the reaction he was expecting at all.

"I swear! I'm mentally stable, see?" He flips it sideways with a grin, "the safety's on."

You hate it that his comment makes you trust him. Slightly.

"C'mon," Eijirou smiles, reaching his gunless hand out for you to take. You do, albeit reluctantly. "I won't do anything too stupid. Just...shake things up a bit."

Shake things up a bit, Eijirou says, and yet the first thing he does is when you two exit the room is press the pistol to your bodyguard’s head.

"Eijirou," you hiss. Luckily no one in the club has noticed, yet, but you doubt their ignorance will last for long.

"I'm gonna need my fifty back, buddy," Eijirou pats the man on the back, and it's strange—you've always thought your bodyguard to be a big guy, but he looks rather petite next to the redhead. Your bodyguard reaches for his walkie-talkie, but Eijirou tuts, tapping his hand away with the tip of his gun.

"Hey dude, I'm not gonna shoot you. See? The safety's on," He repeats, flashing the barrel. Your bodyguard's eyes widen, and so do yours.

The safety isn't on.

"So, that fifty," Eijirou purrs, and your bodyguard stuffs the bill into his chest with a grumble. Eijirou hums, satisfied, and gives the crumpled bill to you without a second glance, too busy nodding to his friend on the other side of the strip club. A noirette from across the way nods back.

Pop-pop!

It's fucking chaos, as anyone would expect when blindly firing into a crowded club. Eijirou keeps a tight hold on your hand as he and his other three boys storm towards the pit bosses working the casinos with guns a-blazing, demanding they fill their pillowcases like a bunch of C-class thugs.

What the fuck did you get yourself into.

"This is not what I meant by excitement," you hiss through grit teeth as a terrified pit boss fills Eijirou's bag like he's a greedy kid with an attitude on Halloween, while your co-workers cower under the bar and pool tables. Eijirou sticks his tongue your way.

"This isn't the exciting part, Little Miss Excitement."

It's the steady sound of sirens that has your eyes widening, and the fact that you're positive they're getting louder. You catch sight of your bodyguard on his walkie-talkie, big body cowering behind the smallest trashcan, and turn back just in time to see Eijirou squint as he aims and shoots bullseye.

"That is."

The police have lost sight of two vehicles carrying the four armed men who robbed Vice City Casino and Club tonight at roughly 2:53 am. Witnesses say they came in a group of four but left with an exotic dancer named—

The moment the blondie from the club sees you walk through the door, he’s tossing the stack of bills in his hand with a sigh.

"Katsuki, Y/N. Y/N, Katsuki."

Katsuki looks nothing but happy, and refuses to acknowledge your presence as he crosses his arms.

"Ei. What the hell did we say about witnesses."

"Um," the redhead rubs his lips together before wearily looking at you, and you hike his jacket further up your shoulder. At least he was decent enough to give you that. She's an exception?"

"Not a fuckin' thing," the blond grunts, turning to you to flash a tight smile. "Goodbye."

"I—wait," Eijirou skates until he's stood over the ash-blond, with a hand on his shoulder and the other braced against the table. Speaking in a quieter voice, he says, "C'mon man. The poor thing was practically begging to get outta there."

The ash-blond does nothing but sigh before shoving a palm into a pile of money to push himself into the kitchen—and subsequently further away from you.

"She's gonna call the cops," Katsuki grunts wearily from the island, eyes narrowed. Eijirou follows.

"She's not gonna call the cops, dude," the redhead scoffs at the outlandish idea. "You heard the radio! At this point, she's as deep in it as we are."

As they continue to go back and forth over the island, you let your eyes wander. It’s a penthouse, and rather homely, with near egg yolk lighting, high walls, and big windows. You can't help but think about how you're in a strangely expensive part of the city before remembering this evening's events. No wonder they can afford such a nice place.

You find yourself smiling at a particular corner with a frustrating amount of photos stuffed on a little glass table, one that contains a selfie of the two housemates in high school uniforms. There's a ring sat in front of it, one that glints gold when you hold it up to your face, and if you squint you can see little flecks of green in the red of the ruby. It looks scarily close to an engagement ring.

"Hey, what's this?"

Both of their eyes rocket from the conversation to see you slip the delicate thing onto your ring finger.

"Don't touch it!" Eijirou tenses before realizing it's much too late for that. "Er—at least don't twist the top."

"The...top?" You ask, lifting your hand until it's at eye level.

"Yeah like, the jewel thingy," the redhead gestures to the ruby—and you can't stop thinking about how it's almost the same color as his hair. Waddling into the kitchen with your eye still trained on the thing, you ask:

"What is it?"

"A time-travel device," the ash-blond grunts. Eyes still full of suspicion, he watches you and the redhead interact over the island with arms crossed over his chest and reclining against the sink. You frown.

"Aren't those usually...bigger?" Because even though it's 3036, time-travel is still fairly new (space exploration took a long time, okay) and all the machines you've seen are at least the size of a shower. And yet, this one can sit on your pinky.

"Kats has been working on some stuff," Eijirou beams and it edges on proud; you notice the ash-blond near blushes with a huff as you hop to sit on the marble counter.

"'S nothin'."

You stare at the thing in faint amazement, and Katsuki kicks off the sink to near the island. Lifting an eyebrow, you say, "You know you could get rich off something like this? Instead of robbing strip clubs for a living.”

The ash-blond scoffs, and you wonder if someone else has told him that before. "If I gave that to the public, I have no fuckin' clue what they'd do with that shit."

And you shrug, supposing he's right—time-travel devices are hard to get your hands on, and that's for a reason. If everyone starts jumping around in the time-space continuum, fucking with shit, the world will promptly and utterly collapse. Sounds fun, doesn't it?

"It doesn't work with a big time range," Katsuki defends with a shrug, sliding his forearms on the counter. "The most it can do is a few hours"

"Not that it makes this any less cool," Eijirou says with a slight bounce. "I personally think it's really fun to play with."

Katsuki rolls his eyes. "That's 'cause you use it to fuck."

You nearly choke.

"I—what?"

"W-Well, okay," Eijirou chuckles sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. "But also other stuff! Like when I'm really hungry, I might go to the future and take some of my fries. Future me's fries, that is."

"Or you'll try to take future-me’s goddamn burger," Katsuki growls. You flip the ring over like there's anything left to see.

"How often do you use it?"

"Nightly," Katsuki answers for him. Your eyebrows lift. Oh wow.

"It—it's not nightly," Eijirou defends weakly, huffing and puffing. "Weekly maybe, but—"

"Almost every night," Katsuki sums for him, giving you a little grin. You snort back before your eyes drop to the ring again.

"Uh oh," the redhead almost gasps, fingers thrumming on the island on either side of your being, "She's thinkin' about it."

"I'm not thinking about it," you huff, though your eyes never leave the ring. It's an...interesting prospect.

"Oh, you're totally thinking about it," Katsuki grunts, and you struggle to find where his enthusiasm came from. What happened to goodbye?

"C'mon," Eijirou tempts with a casual toss of the head. He touches your shoulder—Katsuki touches the other. "See what happens."

"What if—" you stare at the ring with pursed lips, fingers grabbing the ruby. "What if it's random? Or if we're not where we expect to be in a few hours or something."

Eijirou shrugs. "It's always a gamble, but that's where the fun is, no?"

You look down at the thing with a sigh. You suppose.

In one quick move, you twist the gem and screw your eyes shut. At first, you feel nothing, but then there's a sudden head rush, and you can easily see how someone can get addicted to this.

You hear a faint sound, one that could be excused as a rush of wind past your ears, before you feel your knees against a hard surface and your body in a different position.

"Oh, I like this much better."

You open to your eyes to a much different sight than you closed them to.

Katsuki and Eijirou look gargantuan when you’re on your knees, your back flush against the refrigerator and eyes watering due to the cock nestled halfway down your throat. You choke in surprise from the sensation, hands rushing to keep Katsuki from cutting your oxygen supply off for good as Eijirou stands impatient, cock hard in his hand and drooling for attention.

"F-Fuck," the ash-blond wheezes, seemingly just as taken aback from the position as you are. "Your mouth is fuckin' heaven."

"C'mon Sweetheart, don't ignore me now," EIjirou purrs, chuckling as the head of his cock hits your cheek with a wet slap. "At least give me a little something."

You grab his cock harder than you would've out of slight indignance, grinning around the other when it makes him hiss; Eijirou joins Katsuki in resting a hand on the fridge door for purchase.

You weren't the best at Vice City for nothing, after all.

"Shit, loosen that grip a little, will ya?" Eijirou wheezes—you don't listen, and his chest shudders when you seem to only move faster.

"'M too fuckin' close, where's that ring," Katsuki blabbers more than he grunts, and you lift your hand just in time for him to twist the jewel again, sending you three rocketing into the past.

You cough and splutter atop the kitchen island, chest heaving as you finally get the air Katsuki's cock allows. The head rush definitely doesn't help, and you find yourself getting dizzy enough to grab for someone's hand.

"Breathe, Princess," Katsuki says, and Eijirou lifts your hand to his chest so yours can rise and fall with his.

"So that's," you wheeze once you're able to get some semblance of a breath back. "That's time travel sex, huh?"

"Yeah," Eijirou says, a little breathless himself. "Addictive, right?"

"A little," you giggle, and find yourself looking for the ring again. Katsuki snorts.

"What, you wanna go back or somethin'?"

You flush red, eyes darting to the walls guilty, "A little bi—wah!"

There's a rush and the room morphs again. You would’ve fallen headfirst into a set of white sheets if it weren’t for the fact that you’re sat on Eijirou’s face.

"Hello beautiful~" the redhead singsongs from below, and you can't help but notice your bra is MIA as Katsuki takes a seat behind

you to run his hands up your sides to put the underside of your breasts.

"Pervert," you snort, though you figure you’re just as bad as he is with two of Eijirou's fingers deep in your pussy and Katsuki's hand on your clit. The redhead's leaving hickey after hickey on your inner thighs and you just try your damnest to not fall.

"Only for you," Eijirou winks cheekily, scissoring his fingers, and your hips stutter against his face when he slides his tongue in between.

"Fuckin' love the sounds you make," Katsuki grunts, before his other hand finds your neck and tightens. "And fuck you're so goddamn wet—you love this, don't you?"

You keen with a nod (and suppress the urge to say no shit, Sherlock), and Katsuki's pinching your clit between his two fingers, licking a fat stripe up your neck and chuckling when you shiver.

"What, your clients don't make you feel this good, Sweetheart?" Eijirou practically moans into your cunt, eyebrows folding when you thread your fingers through his hair and yank. "Bet that fifty was worth it, wasn't it?"

"Y-Yeah I—" you whimper, unable to get a sentence past your shuddering chest. "Guys, I'm gonna—"

The bedroom melts back into the kitchen, you're back in Eijirou’s jacket and not sat on his face. Your thighs and neck are hickey-less and yet, you're still so fucking horny.

"I hate you," you seethe, almost immediately, and Eijirou's grin is so wide it bends his eyes.

"Awe, you love me," he giggles and your frown only deepens as you reach for the ring—Katsuki snatches it out of arms way with a tut.

"Ah ah Princess, don't be greedy now," he purrs, but you couldn't give a shit about being greedy, and it shows in the way you quickly grab for it again. Katsuki passes the ring to Eijirou and it easily becomes a game of monkey in the middle.

"Give it—"

"I don't think so, Sweetheart," Eijirou says, pressing a big hand to your face to keep you from going any further. With a smirk, the redhead twists the ring, and suddenly you're full of him on the kitchen counter.

"Fuck baby, you're so tight," he curses behind grit teeth, sweat practically dripping off his shoulders in rivulets as he pushes your face into the kitchen island so hard it's numb. So are your knees. "You're so pretty like this—shit—"

You barely have the room to whimper, let alone answer, and you find Katsuki perched on the opposite counter, weeping cock in hand. The redhead chuckles as you struggle to take all of him, hips squirming as he aims for places you've never been able to hit on your own. "I'd stick your tongue back in your mouth if I were you, Sweetheart. The money’s a little dirty, don't you think?"

And that's when you realize your knees are elevated upon two stacks of green, possibly some of what Katsuki had been counting earlier, and a twenty swims in a pool of drool under your cheek.

"Oh, but I don't think you care," Eijirou grunts, shoving your face deeper into the marble countertop as his hips speed up. "Dirty fuckin' girl. Bet you'd do anything for a fifty."

"I wanna fuck her," Katsuki rushes as if his mouth moves before he can speak. Eijirou wheezes a laugh.

"What, I can't enjoy this?"

"No,” the ash-blond grunts.

"Hmm..." Eijirou debates, though his hips never stop as he gives Katsuki a look and goes, "How about no?"

Katsuki growls at that, and you find your fingers clumsily twisting the ruby on the ring that sits on Eijirou's finger, sending the three of you flinging further into the future.

"Fuck!"

"This isn't the future I was referring to, but I'm not complainin'," Katsuki grunts with a feral grin. You nearly slip due to all the water in the shower and you're positive that you see the sunrise through the window paint Eijirou's skin gold.

"I gotcha, Sweetheart," Eijirou soothes, rubbing a hand up and down your arms while your nails dig into his shoulders, the red lines jagged from how roughly Katsuki fucks you from behind. "Fuck—you're doing so good for us, taking him so well."

You whimper and Katsuki lands a heavy slap on your ass—heavy to the point where you nearly knocks both you and the redhead into the tile behind him. Eijirou's calloused hands find your clit fairly easily, and that's enough to almost send you over the edge, pussy fluttering around Katsuki's cock.

"She's gonna cum," Katsuki grunts. "Can fuckin' feel it."

"Uh oh," the redhead singsongs, turning to you with a grin. "Were you trying to be slick, Sweetheart?”

Though it's difficult, you lift your head, eyes swimming in unshed tears as you choke, "I—n-no, it's jus—"

You're in the bedroom again—this time your back comes in contact with a dresser, metal rattling from the weight Eijirou slams you into it with. The redhead supports you both with two feet planted into the floor and a hand around your waist, grunting into your ear with an exhaustion that implies you've got to be at this for hours.

"Ei-Eiji—"

"I know, Sweetheart," the redhead coos breathlessly, licking up the sweat that runs down your neck. "Just a few more times, okay? Hold on for just a little longer."

You sob, head thunking against the wall as you realize you have no idea where Katsuki is. Though it's only a fleeting thought because before you know it, Eijirou's dropping you to your feet, bending you in half, and railing you into the wall.

"Goddamn," he grunts, sharp teeth digging into his bottom lip, "this is—this is the best lay I've had in a fat second."

You pant a laugh, hands pressing into the wall to steady yourself, "Good—good to know the fifty bucks was worth it."

"Oh baby, it was more than worth it," Eijirou hikes your leg up as high as it'll go for a deeper angle and he gets it, his growl melting into a semi-chuckle as you squeal, thighs jumping.

"Fuck Ei!" You scream, and he's tugging your hair to straighten your back out.

"You like it rough, Sweetheart?" He pants into your ear, grabbing your neck for a better grip. You nod as much as you can.

"Y-Yeah—I—" Eijirou drops you until you're stood at a perfect 90-degree angle, "I need—need'ta cum, p-please—"

"Twist the ring, Sweetheart," He pants, resting his hand on the wall next to yours. It still glints gold on his fourth finger in the moonlight, "Get us there together, yeah?"

You don't have to be told twice.

"Mph!"

"Fuck!”

Your knees dig into a mattress again as Katsuki fills your mouth. With his cock down your throat and Eijirou's buried deep in your cunt, there isn't much you can do but take both of them at the same time—though you're positive that's what they intended.

"Shit, me too." Eijirou wheezes a chuckle as his hips piston into you, his sweaty chest sticking to your back while he reaches between your thighs to rub your clit. That’s enough to send you flailing over the edge, moan muffled by Katsuki’s slowly softening cock. Then, with a devilish grin (and before the redhead can cum) Katsuki reaches for the ring on Eijirou’s finger and twists it.

“You asshole,” Eijirou groans, and suddenly you three are back in the shower, with Katsuki’s hips battering into yours as the redhead supports your weight from below. Katsuki chuckles before his grip tightens and he’s filling you with another load.

“C’mon Princess,” Katsuki grunts, reaching for your clit. “Come for us again.”

You choke again before you’re digging your head into Eijirou’s muscled chest with a moan, shaking from the aftershocks Katsuki continues to fuck you through them.

Until the room morphs, and you’re face down on the kitchen counter.

“Fucking finally,” Eijirou wheezes with a bitter chuckle, casually flipping Katsuki the middle finger as he's sat on the opposing counter. “Fuck, you're shaking baby, you gonna cum with me? Yeah?“

Eijirou batters into your cervix and that's the catalyst for your third orgasm. You squeeze so tight you think you may have knocked the wind out of the redhead when his chest crashes into your back, and you open your eyes just in time to see the kitchen melt into the bedroom again—in a time you all have yet to visit.

Your legs are thrown over Katsuki’s shoulders as he pushes your back deeper into Eijirou’s chest, both of their cocks filling you so much and so well it brings tears to your eyes. As your thighs quiver with an impending orgasm, Katsuki’s the first to fall off the edge, eyebrows furrowing as his nails dig into the meat of your thighs.

“Oh fuck,” he groans, voice fucked hoarse and lips bit pink. Eijirou nibbles into your shoulder with a gasp as his sweaty hand finds your clit again, neither of their hips ever stopping.

“Cum for us one more time, Sweetheart,” he pants into your neck before adding another hickey to the collection. Your chest shudders.

“I—I can’t—“

“Oh yes you fuckin’ can,” Katsuki growls, and you squeal as he tweaks a nipple. “I know you got one more in there. Give it.”

Your legs kick against his chest with a curse as you orgasm for the final time—this one much wetter than the last.

“Holy shit,” Eijirou nearly laughs, looking at where the three of you are connected. “Did you just squirt?”

“I—“ your face blends red when you see the absolute and utter mess that sits in Katsuki’s lap, before looking away with a determination to never see it again. “...Maybe.”

“Clean up?” Eijirou asks, eyes flickering to the ash-blond. Katsuki shrugs.

“Nah.”

A rush of wind and you’re sat on the kitchen counter. Eijirou’s jacket protects you from getting goosebumps due to a drop in temperature and though you do shiver, you find your body much more unscathed than it was.

“Hi,” Eijirou chuckles a little breathlessly.

“Hi,” you giggle back, a little nervous but in the best way. “So um...we do all of that tonight?”

“I guess so,” the redhead says a bit cheekily, raising an eyebrow. And then, with a wink, “Probably more.”

You stare at the ring on his hand in awe. Whoa.

"I fuck—fine, we can keep her, Shitty Hair," Katsuki grumbles from his spot near the kitchen sink, and despite the sour look on his face, you can't find a hint of it in his voice. Figures.

"Told you he'd say yes," Eijirou beams with a thumbs up.

"Can we...go do that stuff now?" You ask, albeit a bit hesitantly because...well, usually people are asking to have sex with you. Is this how they feel?

"Of course we can, Sweetheart," the redhead beams, before taking the ring off to place it onto the counter. "It was all a part of the future, after all."

#— 𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐈 #— 𝐄𝐈𝐉𝐈𝐑𝐎𝐔 #bnha smut #mha smut #bakugou smut #kirishima smut #tw.blood #tw.guns

669 notes · View notes

taeescript · 3 years

Text

I Promise (I)

𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔰𝔦𝔰 >> Some people have the gifted ability of music; others of mathematics; some perhaps as persuasive argumentators. You have a “gift”, if one would like to call it that. It is the ability to know when somebody is telling a lie.

𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 >> hoseok x reader; ?? x reader (the whole gang joins at some point)

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 >> mafia!au

𝔴/𝔠 >> 3.1k

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 >> mentions of drug use. nothing else much really it’s actually pretty tame right now

𝔞/𝔫: would you believe be if i said this whole thing was inspired by this singular gif? I lost my old account (rip old fics) but here I am starting new and writing again. Nervous, but please show some love

next part

The music is blasting in your room, and the bass rumbles causing your heart to beat to the rhythm of the song. However, your fingers are tapping to their own creation of a tempo while your other hand scribbles a note down on a piece of paper. It is the end of June and that means you have just received your paycheque.

“$9.74,” you repeat after your calculation, “I’ve got an extra $9.74 to spend.” You lean back in your chair and continues to bob your head. The wall behind you thumps to its own tempo; not of the song that is playing but its own rhythmic pattern. Your roommate is at it again. You close your eyes and allow yourself to drift. $9.74. You could get an extra meal. Or an extra drink at the bar. Or maybe you could just put that into your bank account. But that’d be useless, just sitting there. In the very distance, you hear the thumping of your roommate stop and its door creaks open. Another set of doors creak a couple of seconds later. You get out of your seat and open the door to your own room.

Seohyun, your roommate, brushes past you wearing only a pair of shorts and her favourite black laced bra. She walks to the door of the apartment and kisses the man on the lips before taking a drag of the cigarette she is holding in the other hand. He stands with a hand in his pocket and the buttons of his shirt undone. You watch as Seohyun bites his lip before ending the kiss.

“You’re the best,” you hear the robust mint-haired female say.

Cue the all too familiar buzzing.

“Love you, babe,” he says, kissing her one last time before leaving.

The buzzing halts.

“Love you too,” Seohyun kisses him one last time before gently pushing him out the door, closing it when he leaves.

And there returns the buzz.

Seohyun turns to walk back to her room and notices you standing there. “Hey,” she greets.

“You know, he actually does like you,” you comment, coming out of your room. You rub the back of your neck and rotate it once to get rid of the stress. Seohyun sits down on the brown couch in the small living room and takes out a tin box. She crosses her legs and rummages through its contents. A cigarette leaves its embers on the ashtray in the table in front of her. “Right. And I like him too,” Seohyun replies, taking out what she had been looking for, “Him and his drugs.” She shakes the white packet before opening it up. She sniffs the contents once and sighs. Making a motion towards you, she offers its contents to you.

You shake your head. You return into your room briefly to turn off the music and grab your phone and jacket. When you walk back out, you see that the packet is empty and Seohyun is passed out on the couch, fingers still speckled with white dust. You make a quick stop into Seohyun’s room to grab a blanket for her before locking the keys to the apartment.

Your apartment, technically. You had been the one to pay full payment and was content in living alone until Seohyun showed up one night, begging for a place to sleep. You couldn’t let her sleep outside so you agreed. That one night turned into a week and finally a year, where Seohyun still stays.

It isn’t like you didn’t enjoy Seohyun’s company. She is nice to be around, always engaging in some next level philosophical topic, particularly when she is high. It is, however, slightly annoying whenever she brings her “boyfriend”, or boyfriends at times, to the place, but you have learned to drown out their voices and actions by blasting your music. But what you like about Seohyun the most is that she doesn’t ask questions. The buzzing in your head is also always strangely quieter around the other girl as well.

You trudge up the stairs and immediately brings a hand to shield your eyes from the bright sun. It is about seven in the evening but still way too bright for your liking. You like the darkness night brought with it. Serene. Solemn. Locking the gate to the building behind you, you walk down the streets all the while rolling your neck due to its tense state.

No matter how many times it happened, you’d still feel its pain.

The lingering pain left as a reminder of your unique power; gift; thing. Whatever people wanted to call it.

You knew whenever somebody told a lie.

You would feel this strange buzzing at the base of your neck when a person said anything but the truth around you. The buzzing didn’t come every time you talked to somebody - you couldn’t catch all the lies that came out of people’s mouths - but it occurred often enough to be a nuisance to you. While the buzzing wasn’t painful in itself, it always caused your neck to be in sore pain. The pain was not indicative of how big the lie was, however. A lie that involved so many twists and turns that even its creator could not keep track would give you pain. A small white lie would give you the same pain. To you, it was just pain.

You quickly turn the corner and made your way down the stairs into the subway station. The man at the window gives you a small smile in which you did not return but hastily walk through the gate. One hour. It took 46 minutes to get to the station and another twelve minutes to walk. You had one hour. The subway could not be late.

You were not always a walking human lie detector. In fact, you had only been living like this for the past six years of the total of your twenty-six. At least consciously aware of this ability of yours for that time period.

If you really had to pinpoint when it started, you would connect it to approximately four more years prior to that: first year of high school. The prime time of adolescence.

You could hear the first subway leave, vibrations through the sole of your feet and its wheels screeching on the tracks. That left two minutes for you to make it to the opposite platform which was for the direction you wanted to go. You glance at the elevator you are currently standing in front of. It had not budged from “G” for a while now. You glance at the stairs just a couple of steps away. Sighing, you leave your spot and make your way down the stairs. One and a half minute.

The first year of high school sucked. Your parents had always screaming at each other and your brother was constantly skipping school. You did not want to be a second disappointment to your parents so you spent all her time studying in the library. It was also an excuse to be out of the house. One day, you returned home and found your mother crying on the steps of their house.

“Mom, did you and Dad fight again?”

Your mother did not meet your eyes. “Are you okay?” you had asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, trying to console your mother as best as a fourteen year old could do.

“I’m fine,” your mother answered. That was when you first heard a faint buzzing. It was strange for bees to be around their flowerless yard.

“You don’t look fine,” you had pressed on, “Will you and Dad be okay?”

Your mother shifted her position and wiped her tears with the back of her hand. She looked at you with a bruised eye and said, “Your dad will be okay.” The buzzing seemed to fade.

You patted the still damp cheek of your mother and hugged the fragile women. You slowly rubbed your mother’s back in small circles. “Mom, you and Dad will work things out. So promise me you guys won’t leave each other.”

“I promise,” your mother had reassured you. That was when you cried out in pain as the buzzing attacked you. Your mother had been alarmed and you had laughed it off, saying that a bee had probably stung the back of your neck while she wasn’t aware. The duo then got off the floor and held hands as together, you walked back into the house.

Your parents split a week later.

You had never found it in herself to forgive your mother after that. You hadn’t even known that you had been lied to until you really thought about it in your years as an adult. You just hated the fact that your mother had promised something that she had been planning to break. When high school ended, you picked a college as far away from your mother’s house as you could. You poured all of your time into your academics and never bothered making friends. Throughout the four years there, you had occasionally felt the buzzing but did not really associate it with anything around her. It only became prominent when you started working at your first job.

To any fresh graduate, this was a hire that was ever only dreamt of. It was a position with a high status in the company: Assistant Director of Internal Affairs. The company had been extremely impressed with your grades and all the extracurriculars you participated in. You had flown to three different cities outside of your own country as an intern and placed first in multiple conferences. It was no mistake that you had gotten in. You had been ecstatic when they spoke to you. You could finally move out of your mother’s house, in which you had temporarily been staying in while job searching; live in a city a thousand miles away from where she currently was, and was able to be somebody whom nobody knew about. It was your dream come true.

That turned out to be a disaster. Every day you went into work, the buzzing would surround you and send you moaning in pain to the bathroom. You could barely speak to any of your coworkers without wanting to strangle them and tell them to be quiet. You could not attend any of the meetings and you had to call in multiple sick days within her first week there. Needless to say, this affected your work performance and after an agonizing four and a half months, the company fired you.

Being without a job meant that you had no steady income. So, you moved out of the luxurious apartment you had just bought with your new salary and used the remaining money to buy the dank, run down one you were currently living in. You searched everywhere and finally found a waitress for hire at a bar close to the middle of the city. It was an hour from where you lived, but at least there you could dull the buzzing with alcohol. And this was how you lived for the past two years.

You cursed. You missed it. The subway left you in its smoke as you got off the last step of the descending staircase.

...

The other man was slouched against the pillar of the building, blood running freely down the side of his head while his hand tried to keep in the rest of his blood from escaping out of the hole on his side. He panted, gasping for whatever oxygen was available.

“Tell me,” the younger man towered over him, “Where did you hide the stash?” “I didn’t hide it, man. I swear. It’s where they asked me to leave it,” the bleeding man held his remaining hand in front of him in defense. “Please don’t hurt me.” There was a swish and cold metal sliced the air. He was not taller than the man, nor any stronger. But he had youth and a quick mind. More importantly, he had a weapon.

“Trust me. I wouldn’t want to hurt you, so don’t make me do something I don’t want to do,” he crouched and put his face close to the other man’s. He pressed the knife against his throat.

The man whimpered as a thin line of fresh blood was drawn. “Please, I beg you. Don’t hurt me,” he said again, voice barely a whisper.

The two stayed in that position until the younger abruptly stood up. “Fine, I won’t hurt you,” he stepped back, “But it’ll be on you when she gets hurt.” His movement is fast and he grabs the wrist of the single other person in the station.

...

You stand with your back against the man, the knife held against your neck this time.

You dare not to move. You swallow once and glance down at the bleeding stranger. He is staring right back at you.

From movies and dramas, you know not to fight back in scenarios like this. You also know not to scream as this would agitate both parties. You return the strangers stare: “Help me”.

Your capturer’s voice rumbles through his chest and onto your back as he speaks, “Your choice. I can kill this girl and have it pinned on you, or you can just tell me where you put the stash.”

“Please,” the bloody man pleads, “I’m just a carrier. I don’t know where any of the merchandise is. I… I admit it, alright? I disobeyed the instructions this time. I didn’t leave it where they told me.”

You feel yourself being dragged closer to the subway tracks. Maybe you should kick or flail around a little. You try, but the man holds you steady. The blade is dangerously close to cutting your skin.

The bleeding man can only watch in horror as the other man stands precariously on the edge of the tracks. “I’m going to push her down,” he is warned. His mind was frantic. He had been told that his task would be simple. He did not know that it would involve another human being to be hurt in the process. His mind flashes back to his little girl, probably still waiting for her father in their small flat.

“I got another message right before I left,” he starts saying, “Please don’t hurt the girl. Please don’t hurt me. I’ve got a family.”

“Don’t we all,” the voice behind you drawls in sarcasm, “Give me another excuse of why I need to keep listening.”

You kick your assaulter. He grips you tighter. She look back at the bleeding man on the ground. He is still staring at you with wide eyes.

“The message told me that the location had changed. I wasn’t sure if I should trust it, but an hour before the pickup time, another note showed up on my doorstep and said that if I brought it to the second location, I’d get an extra $150, so I did it,” he continues.

You feel the tension in your neck slightly subside amongst the chaos. You kicked your assaulter again.

“Exact location. Now,” the voice demands.

“Corner of 16th and Main,” he stammers.

You kick a little harder this time, trying to wiggle out of the tight grip. It is really starting to hurt you. You feel yourself being pushed towards the bleeding man. Both you and your assaulter get extremely close to the man lying on the ground.

You sniff once and instantly regret it. Mixed with the blood, you can smell the acidity of urine. The man is now crying and you think you could see the pool around him widen ever so slightly.

“Please sir, I’ve told you everything that I know. I followed the instructions and left it there. I did not hide it. Somebody else must’ve used me to get it. I swear, Sir, I swear,” he holds his hands out and rubs them, a symbol of asking for mercy.

The two of you stand up, or rather you are hauled up for the man. The knife nicks your neck and you swear under your breath. You can feel the two men stare at each other for a long time.

“Scram,” the one behind her rasps. It takes a while for the bleeding man to stand, but adrenaline does wonders when the body is in danger. He limps out and up the stairs before he can be told twice. There is a rumbling in the distance to indicate that the next subway is arriving.

“There’s a train coming,” you finally talk, “A train means there’s people.” Your assaulter still does not let go.

“You’re hurting me,” you wiggled in his grasp. He loosens it and you finally get away. You turn and glare through your bangs at the man who has been holding you captive. You touch a finger to where the knife had nicked you, then examined it: there is blood.

The man standing has put his knife away. He is studying you with eyes as intense as yours while bringing the lighter to the cigarette in his mouth. He takes a long drag and blows it in your direction.

Standing only a few inches taller than you, he is of slightly above average height. He wears the iconic baggy shirt and jeans of the common gangsters that prowl the area. Even in the dim light of the subway station, you can make out the tattoo of a dragon spiraling up his arm. He does nothing to hide the fact that he is affiliated with the mafia.

You are not particularly intimidating yourself. You stand at 164cm but wear a constant scowl. With your broken nose from a fall in your childhood, the feature makes your whole facial symmetry shift ever slightly to the left, accentuating the scowl even more. In a black t-shirt, black dress pants and black shoes, you wave her hand to rid herself of the smell of smoke.

“So, was he lying?” the man finally speaks after a period of silence.

“Fuck off, Jung Hoseok,” you growl.

#bts #hoseok #jhope #bts au #hoseok x reader #jhope x reader #bts x reader #hoseok x y/n #jhope x y/n #bts scenario #bts imagine #bts fanfic #hoseok fanfic #jhope fanfic #mafia!au #mafia!jhope #mafia!bts #jung hoseok #hoseok au

122 notes · View notes

theyreonlynoodlesmike · 4 years

Note

Can you write Poly!Lost Boys x s/o x Michael? The lost boys let s/o seduce Michael into the dark side?

Oh hO HO- Okay, here you go. Making this an everyone loves Michael fic, and not including Star/Laddie.

Good Job, Michael (Poly!Lost Boys x S/O x Michael)

Word Count: 1725

Warnings: cursing, descriptions of blood/violence/gore

David's hand itched for a cigarette while he and his boys sat on their bikes. His mind was a swirl of thoughts, all of them complicated and muddled by the blondes own emotions. He knew what he had to do. Max wanted Lucy, and he thought her sons were the best way to get her. They turn Michael and Sam, and then Lucy turns. Ta-da, happy ending. But things weren't always that easy.

They sat on their bikes, knowing that somewhere, probably right at this moment, you were getting hit on. And that you were entertaining it. The thought didn't settle easy among the group, and instead it held over them like a persistent fog. Some members were more outspoken than others with their disapproval of the tactic, with Marko having been bitching about it since they woke up. He'd hesitated when letting you go, his gloved hand resting on your hip for a just a moment too long. All it did was pause you from saying goodbye to the others and you gave him a look, but he settled to just huff and wait to truly start complaining for when you left.

Paul was usually a chatterbox, but one of the least confrontational of all the boys. He preferred "peace and love, man", even if he tore into surf-nazis each night. But the way he was tapping on his bike handle and looking around gave him away. He didn't like this either, and finally he uttered out a whine of,

"Where are they?" They weren't used to letting you stray far. They rarely left eachothers sides, and their instincts were practically begging them to find you. Surprisingly, it was Dwayne that answered.

"Be patient." He said, his voice deep and bristly. He didn't like this as much as the others, that was clear by the permanent scowl on his face. His hands were gripping his handlebars, his knuckles tightening and threatening to snap the metal underneath his fingers. So much for patience.

While they all agreed that none of them liked this, David couldn't deny that another wave of emotion was clouding his mind. One that he'd carefully avoided, but resurfaced the second they saw you emerge from the crowd. Blue eyed, curly haired brunette in tow. The same feeling, the edging, burning interest of a new crush, edged his mind. One that he'd decided to keep to himself, even if the way he chose to stare at the brunette betrayed him to the others. The second the boys caught the way he was looking at the brunette, there was a sigh, small tittering, and a roll of hazel-green eyes. It didn't help that you were giving Michael the same exact goo-goo eyes.

---

You hadn't expected to actually like the brunette. You knew what David wanted, what Max planned. This was supposed to just be a simple trick, something to keep Max happy and off your back. A simple necessity, like drinking blood each night. Sure, having another boy around wasn't completely unwelcome, but, again, you hadn't expected to like him.

You found him after he donned a new, obviously new, leather jacket. He had seen the boardwalk, and the teens that owned it, and was trying desperately to fit in. It made you smile, a small feeling of pity flitting through you. The poor boy was even considering getting his ear pierced. You stepped forward, offering a quick,

"It's a rip-off." To catch his attention. He turned, and his eyes found you. He was quick to follow, asking,

"What?" And you smiled. A real smile. He was clueless. It was almost cute.

"It's a rip-off. Get a sewing needle and some ice, it'll do the job." You said, and he smiled for a moment, doing his best to follow you through the crowd.

"What's your name?" He asked, and you offered it freely. He repeated it, and was quick to chirp back. "I'm Michael." He said, and you nodded. You knew. You repeated his name back, catching his eye as you did so.

You looked him over now that you were closer, and, for the shadow of a moment, you saw exactly what he could become. The faint image of a Lost Boy was hidden behind his face, and you didn't doubt that in a few weeks, if not a few nights, he would grow into that image nicely. You couldn't help but say,

"You new to Santa Carla?" You asked, and he rubbed the back of his neck before he replied,

"That obvious, huh?" He asked, and you chuckled. He was oddly charming. He was like a puppy, filled with naivety and the need to be accepted. Liked.

"Just a little bit." You said, making a pinching gesture with your fingers. "But I like the jacket." You said, and you saw how that brought a smile to his face. He touched it, like he'd almost forgot that he was wearing it. You had to stifle a laugh when he said,

"This old thing?" And you reached out. He watched your hand come towards his, and he seemed excited for a moment. Excited from the idea that you were going to take his hand. You did, but only to pull a price tag from his wrist. You held it up, and, in a moment, he flushed. You couldn't stop your laugh then, and you had to tease him.

"Old thing, huh?" You said, but you were quick to wave your own comment away. "It's nice, though. It suits you." You said, and you watched him rub his neck again. You couldn't tell if his embarrassment was from having been caught in his lie or from being complimented by you. Still, he had enough confidence to ask,

"Wanna get something to eat?" As his bike came nearer. You nodded, and you could practically feel the stare from your boys on your back.

---

That was exactly what you asked him as you lead him into the dunes, the rest of your boys hooting and hollering behind you. Dwayne had thrown his arm around Marko, with Paul raising his hands teasingly at David. When you stopped near a tree, just above a partying group of teens, the laughter died. The tension had become suddenly thick, and Michael uncomfortably asked,

"I thought you said we were getting food?" He asked, and the boys snickered as they climbed into the tree. They'd been hazing him for days, even as their own feelings grew. But none of them were willing to do anything that would halt his progress, even if the tension was growing thicker between him and David. He would turn, and then they could pursue him.

You and Michael hung back for a moment, and you gave his arm a gentle squeeze. You looked at him. He had grown exactly into the image you had pictured. His cheeks were dusted with stubble, his sunglasses hanging from his white shirt. An earring hanging from his left ear. He was staring at you the same way he always did. So full of trust, naivety, and a willingness to please. Again, you found that you nearly pitied him. It's why you couldn't let him go into this completely blind, even if that had been David's plan.

"You've been having a weird pain lately, right?" You asked him, and his brows furrowed with confusion. You knew the thirst had hit him already, even if he hadn't acted on it. "And your hand." You reached for it. He'd told you about how Nanook had bitten him, but he'd skipped the detail about the mirror. His hand was now healed, as if he hadn't been bitten at all. While he wasn't the brightest, he was smart enough to realize that wasn't normal. You and the boys had succeeded in distracting him the night before, but now he had to know. "These are bad people, Michael. You don't need to feel guilty." You whispered, but he looked more confused than anything. He held your hand, giving it a squeeze. Before he could ask, you interruped, "Here, I'll show you." You said, guiding him towards the tree and then leaving him there while the boys watched you. While you'd given him just the slightest of hints, now it was time to set the plan into motion. Michael nearly followed you, only to be caught by Paul and Marko after a quick look from David. David trusted you, as did the others, as you stepped down towards the firelight.

Michael watched how the boys jeered at you, how one quickly took to your side. He was drunk, and it looked as if he planned on messing with you. The others quickly noticed you, and they circled you like a pack of wolves. The boys watched as Michael's- well, they couldn't tell if it was jealousy or protectiveness- flared, his eyes turning yellow. David smirked, and he leaned towards the brunette. Setting a hand on his shoulder, he said,

"You gonna let them do that, Michael?" And he nodded at the two blondes. They let him go, and just then one of the boys gave you a nudge. One that seemingly nearly knocked you to the ground. It was a bit of pretending on your part, but that was all it took.

His face had shifted completely, becoming almost lionesque as his fangs descended. Without the boys to grab him, he flew. You watched as they ripped and tore into the man's shoulder, knocking him flat onto his face. You watched as your boys laughed, joining him and pouncing as the surf-nazis began to try to run away. You snatched one for yourself, the blood hitting the back of your throat in a hot gush. The six of you were having a frenzy, and you tossed the limp body into the fire as the adrenaline filled your veins. You looked over at the curly haired brunette, his eyes still shining yellow instead of blue. He was panting, with blood drenched down his chin, neck, and the front of his shirt. He looked beautiful, not just to you but to the boys you had been with for- well, you couldn't remember exactly how long. He was truly one of you now, and you didn't hesitate to pull him in for a kiss. He moaned and licked at your mouth, whether to deepen it or catch the blood decorating it you couldn't tell.

When you pulled away, you caressed his stubbly cheek. His eyes had faded back to blue, but the completion of the transformation numbed any expected remorse. He simply ducked down again, capturing your lips once more, before the both of you giggled and you said,

"Good job, Michael."

#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #the lost boys paul #the lost boys david #the lost boys dwayne #the lost boys marko #paul the lost boys #david the lost boys #dwayne the lost boys #marko the lost boys #michael the lost boys #the lost boys michael #the lost boys x reader #the lost boys imagines

329 notes · View notes

jimlingss · 4 years

Text

Moirai [4]

Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5

➜ Words: 7k

➜ Genres: 60% Fluff, 40% Angst, Isekai!AU

➜ Summary: Death is supposed to be the end. Or at least that's what you assumed when you're hit by a TRUCK. But the moment you open your eyes again, instead of being sent to the afterlife, you've become a baby. And not just any baby. You're the female villain of a video game.

“Not bad.” The old woman twirls her the point of her quill all over your parchment, giving check marks with the flick of her wrist while you hold in your sigh. Of course, it’s not bad. You’re probably as old as she is if you count your other life. You might be in the body of a seventeen year old, but you’re smarter than one. Probably. “Fix your posture,” she barks a beat later without sparing a glance and your spine straightens on instinct. “It seems like you can move onto the next volume of philosophy social theory.” “What? Uh, I mean, pardon? I thought I was finished, Lady Devon.” “Learning is never finished. The faster you learn that, the better Queen you will make for the empire someday.” The Viscountess, the one assigned to oversee your princess training, shuts the textbook. “But we will move on next time. It’s time for your dance lessons.” You hold in your groan. On your sixteenth birthday, instead of being gifted diamonds or laced dresses from the best seamstress like any child of a duke would receive, you were shipped off to the royal palace. It was the worst present ever. And you once got soap in your other life. Ever since, you’ve been officially considered the Prince’s fiancée. Not much different from how the game was set up when the main character enters the stage. So you’ve long given up on trying to avoid this, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t happy about it. You might be free from your parents. But unlike the Devereux estate, proving your worth only gives you more to do. None of your tutors or mentors are ever satisfied with your performance. If you show your capability, then they push you further and further to see your limits. You can’t run away or swing your sword either — the tolerance in the castle is at zero. “Excuse me.” Lady Devon gets up from her chair and walks to the door with a grace that only fifty years in high society can bring you. “The dance tutor should be down the hall and coming shortly.” You hum and cordially smile. “Please, take your time.” Her wrinkled eyes pin on you until the door shuts. Only then do you breathe a big sigh, tension released in your body and your back slouching into the chair again. But you don’t waste much time getting comfortable. Instead, you jump to your feet and rush underneath your bed. In a spooled pile in the dusty back is a make-shift rope you tied from spare clothes. It took three nights to rip and weave together, but it was a surprisingly fun activity when you envisioned this moment — knotting the end around your balcony railing and throwing it overboard. As strict as the castle is, that doesn’t mean you’ll give in so easily. Even you deserve a break once in a while. An older man in a frilly jacket enters the room. His eyes dart around before they land on you out the balcony doors, standing at the other side of the marble railing. His jaw drops. Brows raise. “My lady—!” Oh shit. It’s now or never. With your eyes shut tight, you jump. Your dance instructor’s shout echoes through the palace and you peel your lids open when the impact of the landing doesn’t come. When your feet don't touch the ground. It’s then and there that you realize that you’re dangling midair, the clothing rope in your grasps. You didn’t make it long enough! Oh fuck! Fuck! The cloth rope starts to slip from your grip, between your fingertips and you brace yourself. It’s just the second floor of the castle. You’ll survive if you fall, right? Right?! Your teeth grit and your scream is soundless as you let go. But instead of slamming into the ground, you tumble on top of something much softer yet still firm. Something that lets out a pained groan, that’s quite warm. You bolt upwards and your eyes double as you realize that something is someone. By sheer coincidence and coincidence only, you’ve fallen on top of a dark-haired man and pinned him onto the ground. “S-Sorry! I’m so sorry! My deepest apologies.” You bow your head and slide off of him as he sits up while gripping the back of his head. The two of you look at one another, eyes meeting— The moment is interrupted by a shout. “Lady Anastasia!” The sprinting stomps crescendos in volume, coming closer and closer and you start to panic, not sure where to go, where to hide. But then the person in front of you reaches out, grabbing a hold of your forearm. You frown in confusion, about to shake him off until you find your fingertips becoming translucent. The palace guards slow down right where you’re sitting on the ground, yet their pupils move past you as if you were part of the stone wall. “The Crown Princess must be this way!” The parade of guards sprint past. The man lets go, undoing his invisibility spell. “You…” You fall back. “....ended up learning magic?” The corner of Taehyung’s mouth curls. “So you do remember me.” “O-Of course, I do.” How could you not? There’s been only two encounters with him in the past seventeen years, but even before your first meeting, you’ve already had his name imprinted in your mind. For reasons that are perhaps not positive ones. But he looks different now — different from how he was at ten. You suppose seven years would do that to a person. Taehyung is dressed in a white blouse, darkened trousers and a navy cape embedded with gold around his broad shoulders. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he was the prince. A height that towers your own. Cheeks that are no longer plump but chiselled with his sharper jawline. Eyes that aren’t impoverished. He is less like the pitiful boy than you remember him. You try not to stare for too long, but by the smirk on his face, you know it’s too late. You get up and dust your blue gown off. “Do you need a place to hide?” he asks with a small smile, catching on quick as the guards’ shouts fade. “If you are, I know just the place.” You cross your arms and look up at him. “Lead the way then.” Taehyung grins, brown irises lighting up and his lips tugging into a boxy smile that catches you off guard. But he swiftly turns on his heels and you’re left trailing behind him. The castle grounds stretch across the horizon. If someone didn’t know their way, they could get lost forever and potentially starve to death. You know Taehyung’s been largely confined to the Western towers while you’ve been managed closely in the Eastern wing. It was pure coincidence that he happened to go this way and you happened to try to escape at the exact same time. A coincidence that you left your paths and crossed, a coincidence that you landed right on top of him. It’s definitely not a part of the original story. You wonder if you should deviate from the storyline so much. The first time Anastasia and Taehyung are supposed to meet is weeks from now after he lures her in and tries to convince her that she needs his help to keep Prince Jungkook around. Taehyung most certainly did not bring Anastasia to a quiet corner of the garden, far from the stone walls, a private place that’s shrouded in trees with a welcoming white bench. “I come here often to read,” he murmurs as he gazes up at the canopy of the tree providing shade, listening to the leaves rustle. “It reminds me of someone special.” You know that person is his mother. Taehyung gestures to the bench and the two of you sit next to one another, looking out at the beds of pansies, orchids and marigolds. “How have you been?” you pipe up, curiosity nibbling at your skin. You haven’t seen him in so long. You can’t help but wonder if he’s in the same mindset as the Taehyung you know from the game — pained, lonely, blood thirsty. But you aren’t scared of him or what he might do. You feel hurt for him. Taehyung smiles to himself as if he knows what you’re thinking. “I’m fine. Frankly, I’m much more interested in your situation and why you would jump out a window and have the whole castle looking for you.” You sigh, not sure where to start. Maybe the beginning. “Actually...I’m the Crown Prince’s fiancée.” The words are muttered out of your lungs, uncomfortable on your tongue. But when you peek at Taehyung, he simply smiles, seemingly not surprised. So you inhale a breath and allow yourself to slouch. “I’m going under what they call ‘rigorous princess training’. But it’s really awful.” He grins. “Is it?” “They never give me a break,” you whine. “I’m supposed to go to dance class, but I know I’m going to step on their feet so what’s the point?” As you turn your head to look at him, you realize the game animation and drawings really didn’t do him any justice. Taehyung’s shaped up to be a handsome man. You clear your throat. “Since when did you learn magic?” “A long time ago. It’s nothing special.” He glances at you. “Although, I never had it blown up in my face yet.” His words tickle a memory in the back of your mind — the night at the Solar Festival. He smiles as your eyes connect. Taehyung gazes tenderly at you as if your irises are the most interesting kaleidoscopes, like he’s searching for something deep within your soul. Your breath hitches, heart pounding within your ears and you quickly turn away, wondering what this weird tension is. Or shit — maybe this is the beginning of the co-conspiracy that will lead you to your doom. Instantly, you stand on your feet and grab the skirt of your gown. “It was nice seeing you again, Prince Taehyung.” You bow your head and muster a polite smile. “I should get back before I get into any more trouble. I appreciate the help you have offered me today.” You spin around, prepared to strut off. But then your arm is held back. Gently. By Taehyung’s grip. You turn to look at him. “When’s the next time I’ll be able to see you?” You frown in bewilderment. It takes a delayed moment for an answer to come out of your throat. “Will you be going to the debutante ball?” The corner of his mouth turns and he bows. “I will be now.” He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles before you slip away and weave out of the gardens. For some reason you’re left with a strange feeling swirling in the pit of your stomach. // There’s a scolding of your lifetime waiting for you when you return and you muse that you finally found someone worse than Edith and your own mother. The tutors are even more brutal with their discipline and you know there’s only one person who can help you, one person you can escape to readily. “My lady,” a young girl speaks up and you stop right in front of the door. “Lady Devon said you were supposed to be studying embroidery for the rest of the da—” “Am I not allowed to visit my own fiancé?” Your timbre holds firm and you look down at the flinching girl. God, it’s just too easy to play into the villainous role that was set up for you sometimes. “And who are you to tell me what to do? I think you’ve forgotten your place!” “My apologies!” You scoff and your knuckles rap against the surface. There’s a muffled ‘come in’ and you throw open both doors. Jungkook is sitting on the sofa in front of his desk with papers in hand. He looks up expressionlessly as you strut inside. “Anastasia. What brings you here?” “I have matters to discuss, Prince Jungkook.” “Very well.” He looks to the attendants at the doorway. “Please bring in refreshments.” They bow their heads and within the next minute, a pot of tea with two cups and several tiered cake stands full of pastries and tarts are set down. The doors shut shortly after and you count. One. Two. Three. The coast is clear and you immediately flop on to the sofa across from Jungkook’s, kicking off your shoes and slumping with horrible posture into the soft furniture. Jungkook, likewise, throws down the papers in hand with a grin. “You should’ve come sooner,” he complains. “I was getting tired of reading reports and letters from advisors.” “Yeah, well, I was busy.” You lurch forward to grab a sweet fruit tart and stuff your face. Jungkook might laugh while watching you, but no one gives desserts to you in this place. Not like they did in the Devereux estate either, but at least they didn’t watch closely at every single thing you chewed. You don’t care if you can’t fit into those tight dresses. Jungkook pierces a strawberry on top of the cake and chews in his cheek. “I heard you ran out on princess training again.” “Hey. The last time I did that was months ago. Plus, you’re not the one to speak. You’re the lucky one here. Why do you get to do whatever you want and I can’t?! It’s so unfair!” “That’s because two days after you came, you dueled me and won. What kind of Crown Princess wins in a sword fight over the Crown Prince?” You burst out laughing. No one really expected you would win. They were already horrified when you held the sword. You suppose they’re just trying to get rid of those rumours and make you into a dignified, soft-spoken, honourable lady that will win over the public with her gentleness. Yeah right. Like that’s gonna ever happen. “You should’ve just been better. You’re the Crown Prince.” “Yeah, yeah, yeah, and it’s because of you that I had to go under more training with the royal knights until it felt like my bones were going to fall off,” he mutters and you snort. The two of you devour the table like children starved on sweets and once you’re full, you lay down on the sofa as if you’re a stuffed pig ready to be roasted in an oven. Jungkook smacks his lips together and eats the last strawberry. “Are you at least ready for the debutante ball?” “It’s just dancing.” You turn to look at him. “What’s there to prepare for?” The ball happens every other year for the girls in the empire as a coming of age ceremony. It’s a celebration that everyone looks forward to. But for you, this year, it signifies the beginning. “You better not step on my toes,” Jungkook warns. You scoff. “You better not step on mine or else I’ll throw a ladybug at you.” “That was one time!” he yells and you laugh. You gaze at the ornate, painted ceiling of the study. Jungkook doesn’t know that the debutante ball is the start of everything. It marks you turning eighteen. It’s where the game begins and where he’ll meet the heroine. It’s where the gears will set in motion. You’ve long given up on trying to run away from the storyline. Perhaps it was when you came to regret being unable to prevent Taehyung’s mother’s death. Maybe it was when you turned around at the Solar Festival and decided to sit by him. But whatever the case, you decided to stay and fight, to find a way to survive instead of escaping. It still startles you when changes are made that are so different from the original game, when it deviates far out of your reach and control. But one of the biggest changes and probably the best is your relationship with Jungkook. Unlike Anastasia’s, you and him are not just polite on the surface. There isn’t a wide distance. You don’t yearn for him. He doesn’t disregard you. Rather, you’re friends. And you hope that fact doesn’t change. That he never becomes an enemy. From here on out, all the efforts you’ve put forth for the past seventeen years will finally come to fruition and show its effects. You hope you tried hard enough.

The dress is a deep wine red. The layered tulle skirt poofs out in the shape of a bell, spilling from your waist. You turn around in front of the mirror while picking at your translucent sleeves, noticing that the fabric sways with each of your movements. Your hair is in a half-updo with flowers, pinned up as curls drop over your left shoulder. It’s better than what Joan could’ve ever done back at the estate. But altogether, it’s a magnificent yet imposing look. You gotta admit, in this get up, you feel like you could cackle and step on the main character’s hand with your pointed heel as she cowers in front of you. Being the villainess is the easy way. “My lady…” the younger servant steps back with the tape measure. You nod at her. “It’s acceptable. There’s no time to dwell either way. The Prince’s fiancée shouldn’t show up late.” “Of course!” The entourage of servants follow as you stride down the castle halls. The muffled violins become clearer the closer you get to the main ballroom and there at the doors, Jungkook’s already standing there with a cordial smile. He wears a navy jacket with golden buttons, trousers to pair and white gloves that matches the sash over his body with the royal emblem. The maids bow their heads, taking their place at the sidelines and Jungkook offers you his arm which you take. The pair of you stand in front of the doors. “You actually look decent for once,” he mumbles out of the corner of his mouth. You scoff quietly. “I’ve always been this beautiful.” “You always look like you’ve just rolled in mud or hay.” “And you’re beginning to sound like Lady Devon.” Jungkook snickers as you jab him discreetly in the ribs. At the same time, the squire finally makes his announcement — “His Royal Highness and Lady Anastasia!” — and the doors open. Your expressions wipe over with only the corners of your mouths pulled and you enter together. You make sure your back is straight. That your head is raised. Chin out. Steps light. Every scrutiny and detail about perfect posture is displayed right into your body language and the pair of you stop momentarily at the stairs with your plastered smiles. Everyone watches as you both descend the stairs. It’s quiet — some older women awed behind their feathered fans, men sipping their glasses of bubbling champagne. But their gazes are loud as Jungkook guides you to the middle of the cleared floor. Nearly eighteen years of lessons have led up to this moment. Jungkook kisses your knuckles and you slip into position — right hand in his, your left on his shoulder as he mimics you. The mellifluous violins in the corner start to crescendo and you follow Jungkook’s lead, stepping from side to side, back to front. “Looks like you’re not stepping on my feet,” Jungkook murmurs as the two of you begin to take bolder steps and sweep across the ballroom floor. “I might’ve skipped dance every chance I got but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to do it.” “Touché. Just keep smiling.” “I am.” “You look too concentrated.” With his criticism, you fix the furrow of your brows and your smile tries to widen. It feels a bit stiff and psychotic, like you’re forcing yourself to pretend you’re Rose from Titanic who went with Jack to dance when in reality, this is as fun as watching paint dry. “Better?” Jungkook grins. “Sure.” The music continues as you dance, but while you maintain your bright expression, your eyes flicker through the thick crowd. You spot the King who sits in a grand chair at the back. He nods along with an approving expression and your parents are standing by him too. Your dad seems to be getting a comment in every other minute while your mother appears wholly satisfied. You’re happy at least someone’s enjoying this debutante ball. But you don’t look at them for long, not when you’re focused on searching for a girl you have yet to see in the flesh. The main character. The heroine of the game. You know she’s in the room tonight. You know she’s watching right now. Yet, as your eyes travel through the surroundings, instead of trying to find the girl, your mind strays for someone else — Taehyung. He said he would be here tonight. But you don’t see him… “Anna, it’s over,” Jungkook mumbles and you snap back to attention, giving a curtsy. The Prince bows as well and the music continues to a jovial tune. The people around start to enter the floor, dancing with their partners and from your peripheral vision, the King approaches. He’s gotten old since the first time you met him. Each strand of his hair has turned gray, wrinkles deepened and eyes slightly protruding. Yet the man is still dignified and the righteous King of the empire with his commanding, aristocratic presence. But you wonder if he aged so quickly because of the Queen’s sudden death years ago, an event you know shook the Royal family. “Your Majesty.” You curtsy again, pulling the edges of your dress. Jungkook smiles. “Father.” “Very well done job, you two.” He smiles. “I’m confident that the pair of you will lead this empire well.” “Thank you, Your Majesty.” You smile cordially at the older man. “You’re too kind with your words. I can only hope that one day we shall live up to your legacy.” He laughs merrily from the pit of his stomach and even though you and Jungkook both know you’re laying it on thick, there’s no harm done. “Spectacularly spoken. I’m sure you will.” The King turns to his son. “I heard you were managing the finances in the Southern provinces well.” “I was actually going to seek council on that issue,” he exhales and in the meanwhile, you notice a few potential ladies-in-waiting looking at you. You try to ignore them, but their stares are too pointed. They’re outright gawking at you and you grit your teeth, knowing there’s no other choice. “If you’ll excuse me.” You dip down and the King nods. As Jungkook continues talking to the King, the both of them striding to his throne, you’re trapped in small talk. “I believe we’ve met once before. I am Countess Ashburnum.” — “I am Lady Herington, my husband is Baron of Herington.” — “Oh my! You absolutely look beautiful in your gown.” — “I know a seamstress who makes the best lace dresses in all of Ashea!” The conversation drones on and on with the circle of women and you make short replies while maintaining a friendly smile. It’s only when your eyes boredly wander off do you notice a girl eating at the refreshments table. She’s out of place. You can tell with how her eyes dart around the hordes of people and she fidgets alone, dressed in a yellow dress that looks like it’s been sewn from sunflower petals but worn at the hem as if it’s someone else’s. But as unremarkable as her presence is, her features are soft — eyes rounded, lips pouty and cheeks full. You’re beginning to understand how someone can be described as lovely as a rose. “If you’ll excuse me, there’s some few other people I need to meet.” “By all means.” The ladies dip down and you nod your head, beelining through the people to the refreshments table. But it’s hard to get through with the amount of people that want to stop and greet you. You watch the girl in the meanwhile. You don’t blame her for appearing so awkward, like she’s not sure where to go or who to talk to or what to do. If this is who you think it is, then she’s just a baron’s adopted daughter. She hasn’t been to many social events. She hasn’t been exposed to high society. And it’ll be a world that’ll be difficult to adjust to. You remember in the original game, Jungkook just chose her because she looked out of place and he wanted to get away from dancing with you. But considering your relationship with Jungkook isn’t sour in any aspect, a catalyst might be needed to continue the plot. If you start the encounter, then perhaps you’ll have control over it. “The desserts are delicious, aren’t they?” you pipe up beside her, stuffing your cheek as you look out at the crowd. The girl is taken aback at someone initiating a conversation and her excitement is practically tangible. “Yes, they are! I like the strawberry cream one.” “Ah. I’m more of a fan of the fruit tarts.” You turn and meet her eyes with a smile. “What’s your name?” “My name is Lucienne, but my family calls me Lucy.” “Your family?” “The Helena family. My father is Baron of Liza,” she says and that’s enough to confirm it. This is her. The heroine. The main character. The one who will take your place, become the Crown Princess and be with Jungkook. And if such a thing is inevitable, then you can make her perception of you different from how it was in the original game. Just like you did with Jungkook. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you then.” You curtsy and she does as well after a delayed moment. “My name is Anastasia Loretta Devereux.” Her eyes widen. “You’re the Crown Princess! Oh my goodness, I just watched you dance! It was amazing.” You smile and this time, it's more genuine. The heroine’s personality traits are dependent on the player, but it looks like in this world, she’s pretty excitable, extroverted and innocent. If you weren’t so secretly tense, you’d muse that you might actually make a good friend tonight. “Thank you and thank you for coming. I hope you’re enjoying the ball.” “Yes, I am, your grace— I mean, my lady.” “Please, you don’t need to be so formal with me in private,” you tell her even though she insists otherwise. The conversation starts to slow and you scramble for ways to continue it. How did you use to get girls to like you back in school? What the hell did you use to do again? The answer comes a second later— “I love your dress.” Lucy’s eyes light up and she looks down. “Really? I actually sewed it myself.” That revelation has your eyes turning into saucers and your sociable facade falls. “What?” “It’s not much,” she giggles. “The servants were taking down some dusty curtains back at home to replace them, but I thought it was such a waste, so I washed it and hand sewed it myself. I was afraid it would look shabby for tonight’s ball.” “N-No, it’s amazing!” She looks like she’s straight out of a fairy tale. She is straight out of a fairy tale! Even Snow fucking White would feel outdone. “You have some real talent.” You wonder if the girl sings to squirrels in her spare time. You wouldn’t put it past her. She beams. “Thank you.” The violins seem to dial down into a waltz piece and several more people enter the floor with their partners in hand. You turn to Lucy with a smile. “You should dance.” “Oh, well, I’m not much of a dancer.” She brushes a strand of her hair loose from her bun behind her ear. “And I wouldn’t know who to dance with either…” You hum and at the exact same time, someone with doe eyes unsuspectedly passes by. You steal the opportunity when it’s handed to you— “Jungkook!” The Prince turns at the familiar call of his name, one without any title to it. His brow is quirked and you take Lucy’s hands, pulling her along with you as she remains stunned. This is it. This is the first meeting. For you, it’s like you’ve dragged your best friend down the school hallway to talk to her crush. But for them, you wonder if it’s a life-changing moment. One of the ones where time seems to stop and fireworks are bursting in the air and their breaths hitch and their hearts sycroniz—…. Probably not by the confused look on their faces. But you’ll take it! “Prince Jungkook, meet Lucienne. She’s Baron of Liza’s daughter and she goes by Lucy.” You turn, hand gesturing out towards him. “Lucy, meet Prince Jungkook.” “N-Nice to meet you, Your Highness.” She curtsies and you can feel her nervousness by the way her hand shakes in yours. “Likewise.” Your fiancé turns to you with a skeptical brow raised. “Seems like you’ve made a friend tonight.” You plaster on a big smile. “I know right.” He and you both know you don’t like to play nice and hence, don’t have friends at all. So it’s an oddity for you to bring around someone you met five minutes ago. But you don’t let Jungkook ask too many questions. “You should dance with her.” “Pardon?” “Why not?” You push the girl towards him and she nearly stumbles into his frame. “Ball’s are all about dancing and Lucy here’s looking for a partner and I know you have to get that practice in!” By the narrowing of his eyes, you can tell Jungkook’s suspicions of your intentions or what could possibly be up your sleeve. You wish he was as dumb as he was seven years ago. “Anastasia.” “Umm...I really don’t have to, Your Highness.” Lucy bows her head, placed in an awkward position and you internally apologize to her, but you gotta do what you gotta do. “Come on,” you continue to pressure Jungkook. “You’re not going to leave her hanging, right?” Jungkook exhales out of his nose and he looks like he’s not going to let this go so easily, but for now, he relents. He bows slightly and takes Lucy’s hand. “Will you have this dance, Lady Lucienne?” “Yes…?” Okay. It’s not a storybook, fairy tale moment or anything like the game, but this is as good as it’s going to get. This way, your engagement with Jungkook can smoothly end, Lucy will take your place and you’ll be able to survive in peace while supporting them like a secondary character instead of the villainess. With your arms folded, you stand at the sidelines and watch them dance together. It’s stiff at first, but soon, Jungkook’s murmuring something to her and she’s laughing. They look like the picture perfect couple. Even others are nudging each other and watching the pair. A smile tugs on your features, but your observation as an audience member soon is interrupted. “Would you like to dance, my lady?” It’s a husky timbre, one that startles your senses and has your head whirling around. You didn’t know you were waiting for him until he appeared, until a feeling of ease that you didn’t know existed washes over you. Taehyung has his arm extended, a tender smile on his face. His dark brunette hair is combed to the side and he’s dressed in a black jacket with a navy cape draped on his left shoulder, not any less handsome than the others in the room. The corner of your mouth curls. “If you don’t mind me stepping on your toes.” Your hand slides into his palm and he grasps your fingers. “I don’t.” If Jungkook and Lucy had eyes straying then you and Taehyung have eyes turning — most don’t know who he is when he’s never shown up to any social engagements, but few do and while they’re shocked, already whispering tales of scandal, you don’t notice. You’re far too mesmerized by him. By the fact that he’s here, that he’s looking into your eyes, guiding you along the ornate ballroom floor. The skirt of your dress sways as he twirls you carefully, the two of you synchronized to the rest of the dancing crowd. “I didn’t think you would show up,” you murmur once you’ve landed back into his arms again. “Were you waiting for me?” “I decline to answer.” The corner of Taehyung’s mouth tickles into a smile. “Well, looks like it was a good thing you skipped out on that dance lesson since you obviously didn’t need it.” You grin, scoffing lightly. “That’s because you’re a good lead.” “You’re a good partner,” he replies as the music diminuendos. You wonder since when the pitiful boy you knew became so sly and mischievous. Or maybe he was always this way and his mother’s passing simply made him quiet. “And of course I would come if you were here.” Your brow lifts. “And why is that?” Taehyung hums. “Let’s just say, I’ve been meaning to get a chance to speak to you for a long time now.” You wonder what he means. If he’s simply planning to build rapport to conspire with you. But your relationship with the royal family and Jungkook is known to everyone as being decent. The Taehyung in the game also never went out of his way to meet Anastasia either. It was always her. Anastasia’s choices led to her being used as his pawn. Taehyung breaks your train of thought as he leans in close to your ear, “I’m always scared of getting you into trouble, but you can’t when everyone’s here. We can chalk it up to a coincidence that we met and danced, right?” “That’s the bastard’s son, isn’t it?” Your ears suddenly tune into the murmurs, words hidden behind gloved hands and feathered fans. If people didn’t know Taehyung before, word was spreading like wildfire. “The one who was born from that maid.” “You mean the King’s first son?” Your head turns when there’s a heavy set of eyes placed upon your form and you realize the King is sitting on his throne, expressionless. He’s staring at Taehyung who hasn’t noticed, or maybe has and yet chose to ignore. Taehyung’s right. A ball like this is truly the exception. The only time you and Taehyung would ever be able to meet in public. His eyes meet yours once more and you realize the reason Taehyung never sought you out. He never looked for you because he was afraid of what that would mean for you. How the slander and hatred of his name would attach to yours. The dance ends as the turmoil inside of you overboils. Your mouth parts to speak, but Jungkook approaches and interrupts. “Taehyung?” The younger brother has his eyes wide and the older smiles. “Good evening, Your Highness.” Jungkook laughs. “What’s with that? Actually, no, what are you doing here? You never come to these things!” Maybe because he’s not allowed to. You haven’t seen the half-brothers interact before. But you wonder how much Jungkook really knows about Taehyung — probably not a lot based on what you know in the original storyline. The two brothers had to fight each other to the death in a civil war. Jungkook came out victorious. And knowing that future makes you feel queasy as you look at the both of them being friendly together. “I just thought it was time to change that.” “You should’ve appreciated not having to go for longer. These things can be so boring. You’re honestly the lucky one,” Jungkook says. Taehyung’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Am I?” “I wish I was in your shoes sometimes,” Jungkook sighs and turns to you. “Anna. Anna? Anastasia!” You’re startled, brought out of your trance and Jungkook grins. “I was going to ask you how the dance was.” You loll your head to your shoulder. “Taehyung’s a better lead.” Jungkook’s jaw drops in offence and he scoffs. “He’s probably too nice to say anything badly about you.” You roll your eyes and glance to his side, wondering where the main character went. Lucy should be here or at least beside Jungkook. Or maybe something went wrong…. “If you’ll excuse me, Your Highnesses.” You bow, eyes already set off on the crowd. You don’t notice Taehyung reaching out, brows lifted, expression distraught that your moment together was so short. But by then, you’re already gone. You look around, searching for the girl in the soft yellow dress. But instead, your arm is yanked back roughly. You spin around to meet wrinkled but stern gazes. The ones that can only belong to your parents — the Duke and Duchess of Devereux. Even if you’re in the castle now, you’ll never be able to be free of them. They pull you out to the hall and into a nearby private room meant for quieter conversations for the guests. The doors shut and the silence simmers tensely around you. You muster a smile. “Mama, papa, how have you bee—?” There’s a sharp sound that echoes throughout the empty space and you’re shaken, breath staggering when you find your head whipped to the side. Your right cheek is numb. She just….slapped you. You turn to her, voice shrill. “What was that for?!” “How could you dance with that man?” “What?” “Did you know you could ruin your entire marriage by associating with the likes of that man? Everything you’ve worked for, Anastasia, everything that your father and I set up for you and the Devereux house could be ruined.” Her voice sends chills to your spine, quiet, deadpanned and yet full of venom. “Do you know who he is? He’s the bastard son. Do you want to get on the wrong side of the King? Or are you trying to show that you favour him as the next heir instead?” “What?” They’re jumping leaps and bounds, thinking ten steps too ahead. “Do you know how much trouble that would cause?” Your father pipes up behind her, his voice low. “It could get the entire family executed for treason.” From the corner of your eye, you see your mother’s hand raise again. But you clutch her wrist before she has the chance to slap you another time. “Once is enough,” you spit through gritted teeth. “You don’t want people outside to know, do you?” She yanks her hand out of your grasps. “Ingrate. If you’re not careful, everything the family has done for you will be gone in an instant. Don’t you know everyone in that room is watching your every move? You are the only heir of this household. You are the Crown Princess. The future Queen. Every decision, every choice, from what food you choose to put in your mouth to what colour you decide to wear, it affects not only yourself but everyone.” You know. You know the burden on your shoulders better than anyone else. But is one dance with Taehyung not even allowed? Your mother rounds the table and sits down on the sofa. “Not to mention, you allowed another whore to dance with your fiancé. She’s just a measly baron’s daughter. There’s no royal blood in her.” “Neither does our family have any,” you mutter. The Duchess whirls her head around in absolute shock. The Duke is the one who intervenes, level-headed yet stoic. “You must be the Crown Princess, Anastasia. You must keep that status and causing the King to be unhappy will do nothing to help.” “There are other ways to stabilize our family status,” you reason with him. “I don’t understand—” “No matter how talented you are,” he says slowly as he paces to your mother’s side, “even if you can wield a sword better than most palace knights, this is the only way.” Your staggering breath inhales through your mouth and out your nose, frustration, torment suffocating. You want to leave this place. Leave the castle, leave the Devereux name, leave these duties burdened onto you. The scrutiny that comes along with the wealth and power. You want none of it. You might be Anastasia. But you’re also Y/N. Wanting to survive and living a long and fruitful life was your goal even before this lifetime. And as selfish as it may be, you cannot fulfill that wish while maintaining your parents’. You can’t. You can’t fight to be the Crown Princess if you want to live. You can’t see yourself into old age if you’re executed. You can’t keep Jungkook close and Taehyung at a distance. You can’t run away, but you can’t ground yourself and stay either. Everyone! Everyone wants something from you, everyone is expecting you to play some kind of role — daughter, survivor, saviour — and you don’t know what to pick and choose. What decisions to make and how to make them. And because of this indecisiveness, the half-hearted middle ground, you couldn’t save Taehyung’s mom. “It’s because of your narrow mindedness that you’ve pushed yourselves to only one option.” You turn and leave the room, slipping away before they can say another word. If you choose happiness — the happy ending of Jungkook and Lucy with your survival and support, an ending where you will be able to stand in the background, the Devereux house will fall. If you choose to follow duty and selflessness — you will die and ruin their name anyway. You’re not so sure why it’s so hard to make a choice. In the original game, the Duke and Duchess cut ties with you anyway. They threw Anastasia away when she needed them most. But even with that resentment, it still hurts. You exhale, escaping to the terrace and leaning against the stone wall to look up at the stars. Your own words echo back to you and you wonder if you’ve narrowed yourself down to only two options. You wonder what other possible way you can have it all. If it’s even possible…. Or what fate has in store for you.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #taehyung fanfic #taehyung angst #jungkook angst #jungkook fanfic #taehyung fluff #HALFWAY MARK!!!

300 notes · View notes

srta-minutes · 3 years

Text

Form ORC-75 (Romance, Office, Non-Spousal)

pairing: loki/mobius rating: pg13 words: 1441 (unbeta’d) summary: mobius formally acquires a boyfriend. ravonna, formally, is very tired.

An optimist and pragmatist. That, generally, was how Mobius self-reported on TVA employee evals. Most people did not actually want to unleash that much malice upon the universe, and those who did were usually too ill-equipped to do so. Looking on the bright side and then looking at the facts when the bright side suddenly evaporated: this was Mobius M. Mobius, top analyst at the Time Variance Authority, in a nutshell.

So while he knew that, yes, technically, he and Variant L1130 were manipulating the shit out of each other, he chose to look at the silver lining. So the flirting was inevitably for gain, sure. Loki was a black hole for all the praise and admiration that Mobius was willing to give, yes. But underneath all of that manipulation there was some semblance of real affection, wasn’t there? And at least no one was getting hurt, right?

Right.

“You’re becoming way too attached to that variant, Mobius.”

Mobius paused with the tumbler of extremely vintage bourbon midway to his mouth.

“Which variant?” Mobius asked innocently.

Ravonna’s stare was one of cosmic, timeless, omniscient exhaustion.

“Okay, okay,” said Mobius, taking a strengthening gulp of the bourbon and putting the drink down on the side table. (On the coaster.) “So we’re finally going to talk about it. I’m sure you’ve heard so much. The scuttlebutt around here is the stuff of legends.”

Ravonna sighed and reached for a stack of tan manila file folders on the coffee table and swept one open with her hand. She was ready.

“Hunter L-12 filed a conduct complaint with regards to ‘openly flirting’ in the mess.” She leafed to the next page. “Anderson in Dimensional Analytics filed a conduct complaint saying she was unable to use the West Dome elevator. I’ll not expound on why.” She shuffled through several more pages, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, and perhaps my favorite. Inappropriate use of standard-issue TVA batons. Filed by Hunter B-15.”

Mobius pinched the bridge of his extremely broken nose. “Come on, B-15. I thought we were buds.”

“Mobius!” said Ravonna, slapping the file shut. “What in time were you two using the batons for?”

“Listen, it was Loki’s idea—” Mobius shrugged, feeling himself reddening. He didn’t want to say that you can prolong a lot of wonderful sensations when you’re moving at 1/16th time. Ravonna didn’t need to know that. “And hey, just putting it out there? The West Dome elevator has been broken for time immemorial.”

"The only reason,” Ravonna said, closing the case file and ignoring him, “that we’re allowing that variant to walk around un-pruned is because he’s helping you with a case. And while nothing you’re doing is technically against the rules—”

“—Which I’ve read. You know I love rules—”

“—It seems like everything that you two do together has nothing to do with the case!” Ravonna leaned in. “ A case about a variant who is still killing our hunters. Every week we lose minutemen and every week I have to sign a mountain of paperwork for you with nothing to show for it. I need you to stop playing around.”

“You know, Ravonna,” said Mobius, also leaning forward, elbow on knees. “I feel like I don’t ask for much here. I don’t think I complain about much, do I? I always go by the book, I put in overtime, I don’t ask for more benefits. I haven’t cashed in on my vacation time in Lord knows how long. And not to brag, I’m one of your tap analysts, have been for years. Yes, we haven’t caught this particular variant but with this Loki—look at the results. My numbers are through the roof! We’re finding variants left and right; we’re stopping nexus events before they’re even happening. We are outperforming in every sector, ever since that Loki showed up. And if I’m being honest, he actually helps me think because he doesn’t think like the rest of us. We need more of that in the TVA.”

He thought he made some pretty good points. He reached for the bourbon on the table while Ravonna kept staring.

“Mobius, off the record,” she said slowly. “Have you ever been seduced before?”

Ravonna handed him a handkerchief to mop up the bourbon that had dribbled out during his spit-take. Mobius coughed.

“Has anyone in the Authority ever been seduced?” said Mobius, recovering. “Is anyone here even capable of that?”

“Variant L1130 manipulating you!” she shouted. “Making you feel good by getting in your pants, helping you slam dunk cases so we think he’s an asset, and then he’ll use whatever knowledge he’s been slowly acquiring to unleash hell on us and the entirety of time.”

“He won’t,” said Mobius, standing up. “I’ve given him plenty of chances. Variant L1130—Loki—wants to catch this guy just as much as we do. And if I’m being real with you, Ravonna, I think he might actually like being at the TVA. Because he might actually like being around me. Since apparently, I’m the only person in the universe who doesn’t think he’s a lying scourge. He’s a beautiful singer, Ravonna, did you know that?”

Actually, Mobius did not stand up and he actually said none of that out loud. But he felt it in his mind very strongly. He might stupidly be falling in love with the god of mischief but he wasn’t stupid enough to yell at his boss. Also, no one else needed to know about Loki’s singing. That was a special thing for him.

“This one won’t run. I assure you.”

Ravonna stared back at him. Then she rolled her eyes and slapped a very thin folder onto her lap. It only had one sheet in it but she stared down at it like it was 300. It was a browning sheet of paper that looked as old as the TVA.

“I have to do so much paperwork for you. Paperwork to not prune this loki. Paperwork for you to go on your cute little apocalypse dates ("calling them dates is a little much—") And now. Paperwork to let you have a boyfriend.”

Mobius stared. “What?"

"I'm filling out a form so you and your Loki can make out and not be swarmed with conduct reports, Mobius." She was filling in lines on the document with a fury. "You're partners. I have about 20 hunters under similar dispensations. You should be under probation for being romantically engaged with anyone non-TVA. But since this Loki technically works for the TVA, this paperwork allows for a temporary partnership.”

He suddenly recognized the sheet from upside-down. He gawked. “Form ORB-75. Workplace Romance.”

“Form ORC-75,” Ravonna corrected. “Non-spousal. Though if you want to get hitched I can make it spousal. But the TVA only recognizes temporal marriages that have witness in three dimensions. I have no clue if Loki is on speaking terms with his family in any of them. Why am I even telling you any of this."

She slashed her signature into the form and handed it to Mobius. In faded twelve point courier new the paper read:

M. M. MOBIUS and VARIANT L1130 (LOKI). TEMPORARY PARTNERSHIP.

Well, gosh

, that was

sad

, he thought staring at the word temporary. He thought briefly of Loki during that avalanche on Ganymede in 3074. Loki had pulled him through the time portal just in time, and they landed on top of each other, panting, covered in snow and panting.

“Spectacular,” said Loki, grinning. He pulled Mobius to his feet. “Outstanding. Mobius, I think, I could do this forever.”

Mobius brushed a dusting of snow off of Loki’s jacket. “You promise?”

Loki met his gaze and the grin simmered down to something less giddy. “Who would I be if I started throwing promises about?”

“It’s okay if you don’t mean it,” said Mobius. “You know I can tell when you’re lying.”

Loki smiled and let his fingers trail up Mobius’s chest to the knot of his tie. It didn’t need straightening but he fixed it anyway. “Then I promise you, Mobius M. Mobius. It’s you and me. Forever.”

Mobius stared down at the paper. He knew this setup couldn’t last for all eternity. Time must come for all things, he thought. He was a pragmatist, after all.

Nevertheless, he signed as an optimist.

Ravonna got up and placed the form in the out-tray on her desk. “You’re dismissed.”

“Thank you, Ravonna. Like, so much. This really means a lot.”

“Dismissed, Mobius,” she sighed, sitting down at her desk.

He picked up his stack of paperwork and walked to the exit, letting the silly grin creep on his face. Then he turned around at the door.

“So your options were pruning the Loki, taking me to HR, or me signing the Workplace papers?”

Ravonna put a pen down. “No HR, and of course I wasn’t going to prune that Loki. Mobius, your numbers have been through the roof.”

#wowki #lokius #words #loki: um so why didn't I get a say in signing those papers #mobius: you don't technically work here #loki: and yet i was just placed in formal romantic partnership without any consultation #mobius: you know darling one of the other options was killing you

27 notes · View notes

trashmenofmarvel · 4 years

Text

Branded - Chapter 46

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You try to find your way back.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: Angst, anxiety, mild body horror

AO3

You woke up coughing and gagging, pulling your jacket out from under your head to wrap it around your face. For there to be so much dust in the air, another dust storm must have kicked up outside.

Just as predicted, when you looked out one of the air holes of the cave system, you saw the wall of dust that cut off all sight after a few feet.

You sighed and sat back in the deepest part of the cave, making sure to keep the jacket wrapped around your head. It was much different being here as a physical entity instead of just living in someone’s head. You knew which one you preferred.

Still coughing frequently, you picked up a stone tool, no bigger than a piece of chalk, and added another tick to the rows of marks Bucky had started. Tenth day in the demon realm, with no sign of rescue.

It had been sheer luck that you’d woken up in a place with landmarks you actually recognized. You weren’t far from Bucky’s old territory, and after hours of walking barefoot through the sand, socks stuffed into your pockets, you made it to the cave system he’d used as a home base.

Seeing the same walls, the edible fungus, the dried “bamboo” strips as bedding, even the old journal Bucky had left behind, it had been the most relieving and the most painful thing you’d felt in a while. That was saying a lot, considering you’d been murdered just a few hours prior.

Your shelter and source of food and water secured, you’d done nothing but decompress, going over everything that had happened.

Bucky falling into Zemo’s trap. Forced to be a weapon once more and ordered to kill Rogers. He probably would have if you hadn’t managed to pull on the thin thread that had remained of your bond.

The irony wasn’t lost on you. The bond you’d both wanted to get rid of had been the thing to save Bucky’s life. The cursed book had been right; the only thing that could break your bond was Bucky’s death… or yours. It hadn’t said the death would result in you being banished to the demon realm, but it wasn’t like the damn book had been trying to be helpful to begin with.

No, if anything, the ancient sorcerer whose words it had quoted had been more insightful. Especially the part where he’d witnessed a human slave die in his master’s place, and his body had burned to ashes.

Is that what had happened to you? Had Bucky been forced to watch as you’d crumpled to dust in his hands? God, you hoped not.

At least it explained how you ended up here and that corpse you’d seen through Bucky’s eyes. A human with a demon sigil, it could only mean one thing. This was where all human slaves ended up, eventually.

You just hoped you wouldn’t meet the same fate.

Thoughts turned back to Bucky as they usually were, you couldn’t begin to imagine how Bucky was dealing with your death. All you could hope was that he realized it hadn’t been permanent, and that he would find a way to the demon realm without dying himself. Knowing him, Bucky would take that route if he had to.

But here it was, day ten, and you were beginning to have doubts. You knew time flowed differently here and you would have to be patient, but it was impossibly difficult. You just prayed you wouldn’t have to wait another fifty years. Unlike Bucky, you doubted you would remain ageless in this place.

Day ten became day eleven. And then twelve. And then you’d been in the demon realm for two weeks with no sign of Bucky or the wizards.

At day fifteen, you decided it was time to stop waiting, and time to start being proactive. If your rescuers couldn’t come to you, perhaps you could bring yourselves to them. You’d glimpsed the truth in Bucky’s memories after him coming through the portal. Your younger self had practically bragged about opening a portal, and you’d been ten years old.

Surely you could still do it, even if you didn’t remember how… and even though you’d never shown a spark of magic while training under Wong.

But what else was there to do? It wasn’t as if there was anyone else around to embarrass yourself in front of.

Only… that turned out not to be the case.

You had managed to create a spark in the air. It was orange and sputtered after a few seconds, but it was the most you’d ever accomplished before. After a few more hours, you got a glowing circle the size of a hula-hoop.

But it was the wrong color, orange and not blue, and the image you could see through it was just more red sand. You didn’t need to travel across the planet; you needed to get away from it.

Frustrated, you weren’t as aware of your surroundings as you should have been, and that was when the demon attacked. Drooling and growling, it charged at you from over the sands and chased you into the cave system. You recognized it from before; a large beast that looked like it was part-bear, part-bull, and it was pissed.

Terrified and without thought, you made a jerky circular motion just as the demon launched itself at you.

The portal fizzled to life and vanished just as quickly, and the bottom half of a demon body landed on top of you. It was still smoking from where the portal had sliced through it like a hot blade.

It was the first and last time you tried to make a portal.

The days continued to crawl by until a month had passed, or at least, the best you could guess as days and months when the sunlight never changed or faded.

Until it finally did. And that’s when things truly started to take a turn for the worst.

You’d managed to keep your spirits up by reading the journal Bucky had left behind, reliving the time you’d spent together in a weird, symbiotic partnership, but when the rare night came and shrouded everything in cold darkness, you didn’t even have Bucky’s words to comfort you. The jacket was no longer a breathing mask and went back on your shoulders, barely keeping the chill at bay.

Through the dim starlight that came through the overhead holes in the ceiling, you could see your breath fogging up before you. You huddled into a tighter ball, tried to keep your emotions in check, and eventually gave up. You turned your head and sobbed quietly into your arms, letting the despair and fear pour out of you like a flooded dam.

And still it grew colder. You couldn’t remember Bucky being this cold, but then again, he wasn’t fully human. Plus, even though you’d been an observer in his head, you’d been able to raise his body temperature and keep him warm.

Now, all you could do was shiver and stay huddled against the wall that still retained heat from the day. You didn’t want to think about what you’d do when it faded.

Somehow in the night, you’d managed to fall asleep, or maybe fall unconscious. When you stirred, something was… wrong. You shifted your arms and legs and your skin tingled oddly, goosebumps breaking out along your flesh as the sensations felt off, both muffled and heightened at the same time.

You opened your eyes and wished you hadn’t. Instead of the bare skin of your arms… they were covered with grey-blue fur. Smooth, short, and thick, like a cat’s.

The panicked sound you made wasn’t human, and that just made the panic worse. You scrambled across the cave floor and ran to the nearby underground stream. There would be enough light now that the sun had risen for you to see…

Horns.

The face staring back at you was barely your own. Thin fur covered your face entirely, your pupils were no longer round but narrowed into slits, and the horns. They curved from either side of your forehead, several inches in length and grey, like ashy bone.

That wasn’t the only oddity. You turned your head and gasped at the long, pointed ears sticking out from under your hair.

You looked like a strange mixture of part-human, part-demon, part-cat.

This can’t be real. I’m hallucinating. Exposed to the cold, this is just the effect of a dying mind.

Expect, it didn’t go away. Your shock continued to mount as you took stock of the rest of yourself. The same blue-grey fur covered every inch of you. When you flexed your fingers, sharp nails slide outward from the nailbed, strange but natural at the same time.

You weren’t completely cat-like. There were the horns, of course, but when you stretched and felt along the back of your neck, scaly ridges continued all the way down your spine to your—

You jumped when something moved inside your pant leg, and you earned yourself a flare of pain when you slapped it to discover it was a long, puffed up, furry tail.

You startled giggling. The giggling devolved into hysterical laughter, and when that faded, it turned into breathless crying.

Now you knew why you hadn’t frozen to death in the night.

Your curiosity as to what you had become waned along with the days. The anxiety and fear was gone too. Something important had slipped your mind, like a half-forgotten dream, but there was nothing to remember. You had your cave system, your food source, and your territory to defend. There was nothing else you could possibly want.

Even the scorching sunlight no longer bothered you and instead filled you with strength. Your fur protected you from the worse of the sandy wind, and a third eyelid, transparent and able to cover your eye, allowed you to see even in the worst of dust storms. And there was a power that seemed to sustain you, an energy from this place that kept you strong and brimming with a power you didn’t quite understand.

Your body was perfectly suited for this world, and after a while, you couldn’t remember a time when it’d been any different.

Sometimes, you had dreams. Confusing ones, because they were of both a man and a demon. You always woke from these with your chest aching and your vision blurred, but you blinked the moisture away and soon, those were also forgotten.

Most demons knew better than to encroach on your territory, and in turn, you left them to theirs. Any demons foolish enough to ignore your boundaries were easily chased away with your outstretched talons and ripping claws. Once, when a demon that stood twice your size and had the head of a skeletal horse (how did you know that word?) tried to push you out, you conjured a rope of fiery orange. Striking at the beast, you’d left a burn across its back, and it hadn’t returned since.

You were comfortable in your solitude. Barring the strange dreams and the moments when you would wake up, confused into believing something was missing, you were content.

Until the day when a new, strange demon encroached on your territory. Worse than that, he’d wandered into your cave system. You were grooming yourself, tongue licking across the fur on your forearm, when you heard the telltale sounds of feet moving against the stone floor.

You hid in the shadows, eyes narrowed into slits as you waited. It didn’t take long for the intruder to walk directly into your cave, and you were taken aback at its appearance.

It—no, he, the demon was definitely masculine, with broad shoulders and prominent facial features. He seemed human, but the rest of him was not, with a demonic arm, wings, horns, and a tail.

He raised his head and flared his nostrils, testing the air at the same moment you caught a whiff of his scent. It was almost overpowering, heady and male, and your fur puffed up in response. This demon would try to take your home from you, and you wouldn’t allow it. You’d defeated bigger threats than him.

When he turned toward your makeshift nest and bent down to open the journal you no longer took interest in, you crept from your hidden nook. The demon was still crouched, his tail lying flat against the ground, but the tip flicked back and forth.

You drew closer, closer still, completely silent and pointed teeth bared. Bunching your muscles into a tight coil you leapt, claws outstretched.

The demon turned just before you landed.

He grabbed you around the throat, spun in one fluid motion, and slammed you against the cave wall.

You released a yowl and dug your claws into him, but they merely skidded off the shifting plates of his arm, leaving him unmarked.

Pinned with your back to the wall, you were trapped with his claws around your neck. The demon bared his teeth in his own impressive growl, inches from your face. His eyes were a cold sort of fury that made you doubt your chances of survival.

“Where is she!”

He spoke a language you somehow understood. The words had meaning, but you didn’t know what they were, so you remained silent.

When you didn’t answer he leaned forward, fangs sharp and ready to tear open your throat.

“You reek of her, and these are her clothes. Did you—did you kill her?”

You gave him nothing but a growl in your throat. When he squeezed tighter around your neck, you bared your teeth and snarled in hatred.

Just as quickly as it had arrived, his deadly glare vanished. He blinked rapidly, brows furrowed as if trying to put together a puzzle. And then his grip relaxed as something very different crossed over his face.

“No…”

He was distracted, his mind clearly elsewhere, and you wiggled out of his grip and tried to dart past him. The demon immediately seized you from behind, wrapping his arms tightly around you so you couldn’t escape.

You screamed and fought, your feet shoving against the ground for purchase, but with your arms pinned to your sides you couldn’t even conjure the fiery rope to defend yourself.

“Stop, stop, it’s me!” he cried. “It’s Bucky!”

His words were simply noise, and you swiveled your head to bite into his shoulder, this time making sure it was the fleshy one. But he still wouldn’t release you, even as the coppery taste of blood touched your tongue.

He gripped you tighter, and you let go of his shoulder and continued to struggle. He was much larger and stronger than you, and he didn’t move an inch. Instead, something soft touched your hair, and you realized it was one of his hands.

Gathering your strength for one last attempt, you twisted violently in his arms, pulled back your lips and sank your teeth into the junction between neck and shoulder, biting down. You were about to take out a chunk of his flesh when the concentrated aroma of his scent slammed into you.

You released him, licking the blood off your lips, and carefully sniffed higher up his neck. Something pulled at you, something familiar but lost, and you gave a curious lick just below his jawline.

Pine trees, earth, warm stone. He smelled like…

He smelled like…

Home.

You pulled back, staring in horror as blood continued to trickle down his neck.

You knew him. You knew him, how could you forget him, how could you forget—

You tried to say his name, but no words came out. You couldn’t speak. When had you lost the ability to talk?

When had you forgotten Bucky?

“Sweetheart?”

You whimpered at the cautious hope in his voice, at the pet name, at him being here.

Bucky wrapped his arms tighter around you, and you began to lick at the wound you’d caused, an apology and a way to prove he was real and you weren’t imagining this. To force yourself to remember everything you’d almost lost, even as the pain and grief grew worse every second.

Bucky had finally found you.

“I’m so, so sorry,” he apologized, voice choked with tears. “I came as soon as I could… I thought I was too late.”

But he was too late, wasn’t he?

You stopped mid-lick. Your tongue had done a decent job of cleaning his wound, because it wasn’t a human tongue anymore. It was dry and barbed, like a cat’s.

You buried your face into his shoulder, giving another miserable noise. How could you go back home now? You were a monster. A thing made of the demon realm. How could Bucky stand to even look at you, let alone touch you?

When you tried to pull away, he wouldn’t let you. Even his tail was stubbornly wound around your leg now.

“We’re going home,” he said, pulling back just enough to cup your face in his hands. You tried to jerk away, not wanting him to look at you, but he didn’t let you budge an inch. “We are going home.”

His image blurred as your eyes stung. How could he say that when you were… when you…

“It’s okay,” he said when the tears slipped down your furred cheeks. He brushed them away and pressed his lips against your forehead. You sighed and closed your eyes. “You’re okay. I’m not leaving you. This time, for good.”

You wanted to believe him, but how could you when you had the face of the very thing he hated about himself?

As if knowing your thoughts and afraid you would bolt, Bucky kept one arm firmly around your waist. He turned you toward the cave exit that would lead into the tunnels, but you resisted, pointing down to the nest when he looked at you.

Seeing what you were pointing at, a brief flash of fondness and pain crossed his face. He picked up the book, Bucky’s old journal that had documented his days and adventures with the “mysterious voice,” and you grabbed it and held it to your chest. You’d forgotten before, but now you remembered how this book had been your lifeline, and you couldn’t bear to leave it behind.

“Ready?” he asked, voice soft, eyes even softer.

You nodded, leaning into him when he tucked you against his side. Now that you remembered who he was, the thought of not touching him for even a second was unthinkable.

Bucky led you outside, and you spared a single glance backwards at the series of mounds, hills, and boulders that signified there was an underground cave system. It had saved your life, and before that, Bucky’s. It had been your temporary shelter, but it wasn’t where you belonged.

Spreading his wings, Bucky lifted you easily into his arms and leapt into the air. You curled protectively around the journal, but you felt safer now than you had since being captured by Zemo. As the hot, dry air ruffled your hair and fur, a deep rumbling came from inside your chest. It took you a moment to realize you were purring. Indicating he could hear it too, Bucky kissed the top of your head, making your purring even louder.

You kept your eyes closed and pressed to Bucky’s tactical vest until he said, “There it is.”

You turned to look, eyes widening at the sight of a shimmering blue portal near the ground. It looked tiny from this distance, and your stomach churned with nerves.

“Hold on!”

Taking Bucky’s advice, you gripped onto him tightly as he dived. Just before he went through, you shut your eyes tight.

The difference between the demon realm and Earth was a lot more extreme than you remembered filtered through Bucky’s memories. You immediately started shivering, buffeted by the cold air, taking shallow breaths because each one felt like you were breathing ice water.

The colors assaulted your vision—bluebluegreenblue—leaving you whimpering into Bucky’s shoulder, painful after you’d seen nothing but red for so long.

And the smells. No longer diluted with dry air constantly in motion, the salty and perfumed scent of multiple humans, of mildew and stone and ozone that made the tip of your tongue tingle—

It was too much. As soon as Bucky slightly relaxed his hold, you dropped the journal and scrambled behind him, hiding between his wings as you buried your face in the back of his neck.

It was toomuchtoomuchtoomuch—

“Sergeant Barnes, is that… who I think it is?”

The smooth, commanding voice was familiar, but you couldn’t place it. Unlike your recognition of Bucky, everything else was a struggle to recall. You didn’t even know where you were, the domed room unfamiliar and intimidating.

“Yes,” Bucky responded in a low tone.

“Ah, well, that is… unfortunate.” The man who had originally spoken cleared his throat. “We will need to do a thorough examination—“

You had peeked over Bucky’s shoulder to get a better look at the others in the room—they were wizards, weren’t they?—but as soon as one of them drew forward, you gave a spitting snarl.

“Or not,” the man said, raising his hands. He had a goatee and a ridiculous red cape. Your ruffled fur went flat against your skin. Was that… Strange? And next to him, concerned but not without pity, your mentor, Wong.

How could you have forgotten so much? How long had you been gone?

You hid behind Bucky’s shoulder blades, misery forcing your ears to fold back and curl your tail between your legs.

“I’m taking her home,” Bucky said quietly.

“But—“

“No,” he said, more firmly this time. “I’ve been where she is and I know what she needs. She needs to feel safe, somewhere quiet and familiar.”

He waited a beat.

“Are you going to stop me?”

“No.” Strange’s tone was weary but surprisingly relenting. “I’m not. Just make sure you take your next doses with you.”

“I know,” Bucky muttered and then bent down to pick up the journal you’d dropped.

He did it slowly and carefully so as not to dislodge you, because you still half-clung to his back like a lost duckling. It would have been funny if you weren’t already knee-deep in the urge to bolt. Your fur was puffed again, as far as it would go, heart hammering in your chest, and all of your senses were in overdrive as you struggled and failed to adjust to your new environment.

When Bucky straightened up again, you retreated into the sanctum of his folded wings and refused to let go. You couldn’t bear to look around, not when you could sense the wizard’s peering at you, at the freakish thing you’d become. Just the thought of it provoked a whine from your throat.

“One of you mind making a portal?” Bucky said dryly. “The sun’s still up and we’re obviously not taking a cab.”

You heard footsteps shuffling against the stones, and you clung tighter to Bucky. He reached back and put a hand on your leg, reassuring you he wasn’t leaving. Your trembling subsided slightly, but every muscle of your body was still taut enough to snap.

When he stepped forward, you went with him, keeping your eyes shut until you felt the familiar but unsettling shift of space as you stepped through a portal. Only when it fizzled out behind you and you caught the comforting scent of Bucky’s penthouse did you open your eyes.

You thought by “home” he would take you back to your room at the Sanctum. Instead, you were standing in the middle of Bucky’s loft.

Before Bucky could say or do anything, you buried your face in his jacket and released everything you’d kept buried, your soft keening echoing inside the old clock tower.

Next Chapter

#branded #demon!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #demon!bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #my writing #my fanfiction #i'm sorry whoever i stole the gif from i couldnt find the source to share it

139 notes · View notes

high-functioning-lokipath · 3 years

Text

Midnight In Paris - Scott x Reader (Surprise Character x Reader) - Words: 2418

You sat down at your computer with a sigh. You really needed to edit your post for today and reply to a few asks that had backed up on your Tumblr page. But instead you decided to work on a new project. You looked at your desk and nodded approvingly. "Ok! Coffee, music, blank document, photos from when I was 7, and photos from last summer. Ready!"

And that's why birds do it, bees do it

Even educated fleas do it

Let's do it, let's fall in love

Y/N took a deep breath as she stepped off the plane in Paris. She'd been here once before as a little girl but those memories had faded and the magic of Paris had been lost. "This I do remember," She muttered, crinkling her nose as the pungent smell of jet fuel filled her nostrils. She rushed through the airport wanting to get to her sightseeing plans as soon as possible. The hotel she'd made reservations at was small but quant. After checking out the room, dropping off her luggage, and freshening up a bit, she headed out into the city just in time to catch the golden sunset reflecting across the elegant architecture.

As she walked up and down cafe lined streets and avenues dotted with interesting shops, she couldn't help but wish she could have seen Paris in what's been called its heyday. Y/N laughed at her own line of thought, remembering the lesson of the movie she'd watched not 3 nights before. Midnight In Paris was one of her favorite movies. And it had one of her favorite actors too. Even if his screen time in it totalled only about 5 minutes and 34 seconds. https://youtu.be/yIcTbQj4bZw

Eventually, dinner time came so she stopped in a small cafe/bar to order a meal. "Mercí," She told the waiter after being seated. She decided to order some wine too, of course.

"Bonne nuit, Mademoiselle," Someone called out to her as she left the restaurant hours later. The wine had left Y/N substantially more tipsy than she expected after only a few glasses.

As she made her way back to the hotel, she giggled, thinking of the movie once again as a nearby clock struck twelve and marked a new day. Shaking her head, she told herself, "It's just a movie. Things like that don't happen in real life."

"Pardonnez-moi, mademoiselle," A gentleman exclaimed, stumbling out of what seemed to be a small nightclub and bumping into her, knocking her to the ground.

"No problem," She replied, dusting herself off and standing. Glancing inside the bar, she saw it had an oddly warm and inviting atmosphere for such a loud place. Deciding that the night was still young, she walked in.

"Hello!" A young lady with a heavy southern American accent exclaimed, walking up to her. The air was smokey and there was an old song playing that Y/N knew she recognized but couldn't quite place. "Well don't you look different! Wearin' pants to a party like this! Don't worry, darlin'! You look just fine!" Y/N nodded silently, shocked at the woman's reaction.

"Women have been wearing pants for decades now!" Y/N thought to herself.

"Are you alright, darlin'?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Y/N replied quickly. She suddenly realized who the young woman was. Or at least looked like. "Pardon my confusion, but I'm afraid I had a bit more wine with my dinner than I had planned." She chuckled lightly and shook her head, trying to clear her mind.

"Nothing to apologize for," a man spoke up from behind her. "Zelda has a way about her that does that to people regardless of their sobriety." Y/N turned around and fought the urge to gasp in surprise. "Scott Fitzgerald," He said, holding out his hand. "A pleasure to meet you!" She reached out and shook his hand.

"Nice to meet you too," She replied with a grin, seemingly unable to look away. She couldn't believe this was happening to her. It was just like the movie! "I'm Y/N," she finally said, still smiling at Scott.

"Well, I'll be off then. I've spotted quite a few interesting pursuits for the night, so," Zelda said with a smirk. "I'll be off!"

"Just be home at a reasonable-and she's gone," Scott sighed. He chuckled awkwardly and took a slow drag from his already lit cigarette. "My sister is bound to drive me to insanity one day!"

"Your sister?" Y/N exclaimed. Scott nodded, eyes lit up with amusement. They both laughed loudly and Y/N shook her head. "You do know most everyone else thinks you're married!"

"I have noticed people tend to assume that," He chuckled, leading her towards another group of people. "I'd like you to meet some friends of mine," He said. As Y/N followed him around the room, she found herself mostly stunned into silence at seeing each face that she'd come to know from rewatching Midnight In Paris a million times. She took a sip from the drink that had somehow found its way into her hands and glanced around the room as Scott was busy talking with someone she couldn't remember the name of.

"There's no way this is happening," She muttered to herself hours later. Laughing quietly, she shook her head. "I probably hit my head on the pavement and am having a concussion-induced/Paris-induced dream. And the wine probably didn't help. That's got to be it! Well, perhaps I should wake myself up now," She reasoned. Squinting at a clock, she figured the sun should be rising soon so she started making her way to the door.

"Leaving so soon?" Scott asked, grabbing her arm before she walked out.

"Yes," She sighed. "It was wonderful meeting you, Scott. Thank you for a lovely evening."

"Will you be around tomorrow? There's another party."

"I'll try to make it," Y/N replied, not wanting to disappoint him even if it was a dream. "Goodbye, Scott," She smiled. Gathering her courage, she stood on her tip-toes and gave him a kiss on the cheek. She turned away quickly and ran out the door. In her rush, she stumbled on an uneven part of the sidewalk and fell down.

"Are you ok?" A young lady asked a few moments later. Y/N looked up at the stranger and nodded embarrassedly.

"Yes, I just," she stopped mid-sentence when she turned and saw the bar she'd just walked out of was completely empty. "I just tripped," she said slowly. "Um, thank you."

"No problem," The girl smiled. "Au revoir!" She called out, continuing on her way.

Y/N went back to her hotel and took a brief nap to refresh herself for the day. Eventually, she put the night's events aside mentally and moved on with her plans. That is until she found 'the dress'. She was passing a line of boutiques and in the window of the last one was a Y/F/C 1920's style drop waist dress. It even had a matching hat and purse. Half an hour later, Y/N found herself back in the hotel room trying to get her makeup just right to match the outfit.

"I don't know what I'm doing," She told herself as she walked back to where she'd been the night before. Sitting on a bench across the street, she waited. For what exactly, she was not sure, but she knew she had to wait. Soon enough, the clock struck 12 midnight and, just like in the movie, an old car made its way down the street. Y/N was so distracted trying to look inside the vehicle that she didn't notice the change across the street.

"Y/N! Y/N, you came back!" Scott yelled as he and a few others came out of the bar. She ran across the street now that the car had passed to meet up with him, grinning like mad.

"Scott! I didn't-" she paused, chuckling lightly. "I didn't think I would see you again."

"Didn't I tell you there was another party tonight?" He asked, slightly confused. Y/N nodded, still grinning, and decided not to explain for now.

"Where are we off to?" She asked, linking arms with him. He smiled and they headed to one of the cars parked nearby. The night went by in a flash. Near morning, the group found themselves at a small cafe/bar. A few had already gone home and the rest were preparing to leave. Soon it was just Y/N and Scott left. She stared at him for a moment before shaking her head and laughing lightly.

"What's so funny?" He asked. "You know, you get the oddest look on your face sometimes. Like you've gone somewhere else," He commented.

"I have," she replied, taking a sip of her drink. "You know, I've always wondered what it would be like to be here," she said, gesturing around her. "Or even somewhere else, another time. And it's been wonderful! But you were right! A person really can't live in the past. It's just not possible."

"I'm not sure what I said to help you," He chuckled. "But it's funny, I have a character that should learn that lesson," Scott commented. "I'm working on the book right now but I think I've just gotten an idea from you. Thank you," He smiled.

"Oh! That's right!" Y/N said, realizing her favorite F. Scott Fitzgerald writing wasn't even released, and apparently not even finished yet.

"Perhaps we should be making our way home," He said, glancing outside at the rising sun. He stood and held his arm out for Y/N to hold. "Let me walk you?" She nodded and they headed outside into the crisp morning air. She pointed in the general direction of her hotel, wondering somewhat what would happen when they arrived. "Are you cold?" He asked her.

"No, I'm fi-" But before she could finish, he had already draped his jacket over her shoulders. "Thank you," Y/N replied, blushing brightly. She pulled the charcoal suit jacket around her, genuinely glad for it's warmth. When they were about a block away, she stopped, turning to look at him. "Scott," She sighed. "I can't come back. I'm afraid if I do-" she paused again, looking around at the beautiful city just starting to wake up. "I guess I should thank you. You've been so kind to me and I appreciate it. It made my visit to Paris so much better."

"I'm glad to hear that, Y/N," He replied. "I will miss you. But I am, at the very least, happy to have had the pleasure of meeting you." He leaned forward and kissed her gently, surprising Y/N. She closed her eyes and sighed into the kiss, trying to commit every feeling to memory. "Goodbye," She heard him say, one they separated. She didn't have the courage to open her eyes and watch him go however.

"Goodbye," Y/N finally whispered to herself when she opened her eyes and saw the city, modern and bustling all around her. Y/N wiped away the few stray tears and broke out into a run, wanting to get back to her hotel as fast as possible. As she rounded the last corner before the building, though, she collided with someone walking around the same corner. Y/N lost her balance, the person she ran into being much taller, and fell down. "I'm so sorry!" She exclaimed. She was rushing to pick up the items she dropped when she saw a hand held out to her.

"It's alright," The man said. "No harm done. Now can I help you up?" He asked, smiling sweetly.

"I-uh, well, yes. Thank you," She stuttered. He helped her gather her things and handed them to her.

"Were you heading to the hotel?" He asked. Silently, she nodded, not trusting her own voice at this point. "Well, then, let me walk you back. I was heading there myself." He smiled at her as they started walking down the sidewalk. "Oh! I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Tom."

"Done!" You exclaimed. Letting out a sigh of relief. You had been needing to write that for a long time but you never quite felt up to it. "Holy crap!" You yelled, looking at the clock. It had taken much longer than you expected to write it. You knew your husband would be home shortly so you rushed out to start dinner.

"Honey! I'm home!" He called out, walking through the door. He was grinning like mad, obviously in a good mood if he was using such a cliche line on you.

"Hello, Tom," You smiled, as he came up behind you, giving you a hug. He peppered your neck with small kisses, making you giggle loudly. "Tom! Stop that!" You exclaimed, wriggling out of his arms. "I need to finish dinner."

"Alright, darling. I'll change then," He relented. A while later, once dinner was safely cooking in the oven, you heard him call out to you from the bedroom.

"What's wrong?" You asked, walking to the doorway. Then it hit you. You'd left the document open on your laptop which was on your desk in the bedroom.

"What's this?" He asked, pointing to your new writing.

"It's for the blog," You said honestly. He knew you had a Tumblr page, although he still refused to see what was posted about him on there. Just one mention of the site could still get him embarrassed.

"Yes but," He glanced at it again, brows furrowed. "That's not how it actually happened, is it?" He asked, quite confused. You chuckled and shook your head.

"Well now, I can't very well ask Scott to verify my story, can I?" You smirked.

"Of course not," He chuckled. "Although I must say you did an excellent job of adapting the story of how we first met!"

"Thank you, dear," You smirked, walking away to the walk-in closet you shared.

"What are you not telling me?" He asked suspiciously.

"Oh, nothing," You replied innocently. When you walked out of the closet you completely ignored Tom, whistling as you headed back to the kitchen.

"What is that you're wearing?" He called out, running after you. You laughed as he caught up with you in the living room. "Is that a new charcoal suit jacket?"

"It's not new, Tom, not new at all."

TAGLIST FOR THIS POST:

(my apologies if you didn't want to be tagged for this but I'm going to include all my Loki, Marvel, and RPF lists on here since you may enjoy this)

@lucywrites02

@delightfulheartdream

@serpentargo

@khena

@nyx2021

@kaz11283

@weasley-main-lover

@up-to-mischief

@lokislittlesigyn

@darkacademicfrom2021

@lokiwhxre

@loki-laufeyson965

@bartv21

@another-crazy-fangirl

@whatafuckingdumbass

@ladylulu143

@lokislittlesigyn

@gaitwae

@mysticunicorn7

@kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay

@thoughts-and-lovely-illusions

@for-hearthand-home

@lokistoriesblog

@alexjcrowley

#midnight in paris #tom hiddleston #f scott fitzgerald #f scott Fitzgerald x reader #scott x reader #tom hiddleston rpf #tom hiddleston oneshot #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston x reader #Midnight in paris oneshot

32 notes · View notes

mxchellesworld · 4 years

Text

𝟑 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐝 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟔

𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐱 𝐂𝐚𝐭 𝐀𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐂𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut, use of toys, exhibitionism, degradation, knife play, bondage

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

***

You had on a creme colored slip dress and underneath was the set which you had bought earlier in the day. Once you got home you had thrown your bags onto the couch and ran to your closet to look for a perfect outfit. You wanted to look angelic in contrast to the sins which you were hoping to commit during the night.

You had searched in your shoe boxes for an old pair of heels you had from your college days. They were blush pink blocky heels which had long straps that wrapped around your calves.

As annoying as you knew it would be you dusted some body glitter on your collar and shoulders to shine bright under the club lights. You did some dewy makeup and and made sure to highlight the highest points in your face. The final touch were your dangly earrings and a simple chain around your neck.

Ordering an uber you waited in the lobby of your apartment with a fuzzy jacket over your outfit to keep off some of the chilly night air.

You ended up showing up to the club at 6:55. You thanked the driver and bid him a good night. Walking down the familiar corridor you noticed someone else was in Penelope’s spot.

You had texted her before you came asking if she was going to be around. She mentioned she was meeting with her brothers but insisted on grabbing brunch soon.

A man with short dark curls and stubble was sitting at the desk. He greeted you with a bright smile. You were seriously going to ask Cat and Spencer where they found all these models to work for them.

“Hey sweetheart are you new here?” he asked extending his hand for you to shake.

You shook his hand and nodded, “Yeah kinda, I was here like last week. Is there anywhere I can put this?” you asked tugging on your jacket.

“Just write your name on a sticky note and I’ll tuck it under here for you.”

He handed you the pad and a pen. You noticed the way the veins popped on his large hands. You pulled off the sticky and shrugged off your jacket. His eyes lingered over your curves as your dress was tight enough to hug them nicely.

Handing both the items to him, he spoke again. “Why don’t you go ahead and add your number down on that note. In case you leave without it of course.”

You were about to reply when a voice spoke up from behind you, “Flirting on the job again, Luke.” You felt Cat’s hand on the small of your back.

“Hey I’m just trying to be welcoming,” he said raising his hands in surrender.

“Right,” she said.

He looked back at you, “I’ll keep this safe Y/n, you have a good one sweetheart.”

“Thanks,” you said before looking back at Cat then letting her guide you.

“You’ve just been catching everyones attention this week haven’t you angel,” she spoke in your ear. You shivered at her actions.

“Yeah but not from who I wan though,” you said with a pout.

She led you to the bar and nodded at a brunette who was behind the counter, “Aw are you upset we haven’t been around to give you what you want baby.”

You nodded then looked at the bartender who placed two drinks in front of you, giving her a smile. They were pink and had lemon wedge on the side. It was fruity and you could taste the hint of alcohol in them.

“Yes. Using toys on my own can only do so much Catherine,” you said looking in her eyes. You noticed the way her jaw tensed at the use of her full name.

She grabbed your cheeks in her hand pressing on them just enough for you to feel pressure, “I think you forget you’re not the one in charge here angel.”

You eyes widened. You forgot this wasn’t just a normal club. Anywhere else people might have looked at the scene in curiosity but here no one batted an eye when just around the corner people were doing worse for the eyes of everyone to see.

“Well then why don’t you remind me,” you said challenging her.

She got up dragging you by your hair, you noticed she was making way to the playrooms. She tapped on an earpiece you never saw behind her hair, “I’m gonna need Spencer in room number 3 please. Spencer room 3.”

She unlocked the door with a key she pulled out of her blazer, leaving it wide open. In the center of the room was a large bed and various pieces of furniture spread throughout. She pushed you down onto it, her hand traveling to grip around your throat.

“Is this what you wanted? You want me and Spencer to play with you here and show everyone exactly who’s fucking slut you are,” she gritted out.

You whined lowly trying to nod your head but of course she didn’t take that.

“Whats your color?” she asked.

“Green Mistress.” With that she landed a smack across your face. It wasn’t hard but enough for you to feel a little sting.

“Seems like we really did fuck you stupid. I’m gonna give you one more time to answer me correctly. Do you want us to fuck you here in front of everyone and let them see who fucking owns this tight little cunt.”

You all but yelled in response, “Yes Mistress please!”

Just then Spencer walked. He was wearing a black suit with just a white dress shirt under, the top two buttons undone again.

He looked at Cat with a smirk then turned to you with an instant stone cold gaze. It drove you wild to see how quickly his demeanor changed.

“Get on all fours and keep your head down,” Cat said before walking over to Spencer.

You could hear their whispering voices as they decided what they’d do with you. Somehow you disliked that much more than when they would speak as if you weren’t in the room at all. At least then you knew what was coming. For now you shivered in anticipation knowing damn well you pushed all the right buttons to get to this moment.

You heard the patter of Spencer’s dress shoes and Cats heels click on the floor as they moved about. The sound of a flip being switched but no lights in the room changing let you know it was the one on the sign of the door, signaling anyone could watch in.

Before you knew it the sounds of more people walking in and spreading across the room brought you out of your thoughts. However Spencer came and tapped you on your back. You slowly lifted your head not knowing if you were allowed to.

“You can sit,” he said softly. Another quick change from his last attitude.

You pushed yourself off your hands and sat back with your bum resting on your calves. He leaned in slowly, pushing some of your hair behind your ear, “Im gonna explain a few things to you, alright?”

“Yes Sir,” you said nodding.

He gave you a small smile before continuing, “Ok so all these people here are for you,” he said gesturing to them. You peered around and saw how they looked at you with a hungry gaze.

“However if at any point you don’t want them here or you need to stop just call red. Again, there is no punishment in doing so, and they will understand also. You got that princess?” he said searching your eyes.

“Yeah, thank you Spencer,” you said making sure he truly understood how grateful you were of him taking his time with you.

“Great now lie back. I’m gonna tie you up with these,” he said pulling out roped from a drawer that was within the side of the bed.

You scooted up to rest your head on the pillows lifting your hands above your head for him to take. He used the red rope to intricately tie them to the frame above you.

You gave them a test tug, “Are they too tight?” he asked.

“No Sir,” you said with a smile.

Cat walked back over trailing her trusty crop up your body. The dress had slipped up past your thighs.

“Whats your color angel?” she asked sweetly.

“Very green Mistress.”

“Good girl,” she said before landing a swat on the side of your thigh.

You yelped out at the impact which made her laugh. She moved around the space with her shoulders squared. Your eyes followed her every move trying to brace yourself for the next blow. She moved to your other side landing a swat on the top of your thigh.

You mewled at the feeling.

“Does our little slut like the pain?” she questioned, punctuating her sentence with another swat.

You frantically nodded your head, “Yes Mistress! It hurts so good.”

She trailed the crop down your chest, “Well then then its not much of a punishment is it?”

You saw Spencer walk over and noticed the knife in his hand, “Color?”

“Green sir.”

He looked you in your eyes as he trailed the knife down your cheek. Your breath hitched at the contact with cold metal. It slid down your collar then finally he pulled on to the low neckline of your dress and sliced through it. The fabric fell to your sides leaving your new set on display for everyone.

The room was a low murmur. You noticed some people adjusting themselves in their pants even going as far as rubbing themselves over the material.

You let out a quiet moan at the sight which Spencer had heard, “Do you see what you do to all these people angel? Too bad none of them get to lay a fucking finger on you. We’re the only ones who get to play with this perfect pussy,” he said trailing the blade down your clothed clit.

You moaned louder at his words and the small amount of simulation. He let out a dark laugh which faded as a new sound was in your ear. Cat walked over holding a wand vibrator.

“I gonna edge you twice. One for each time someone was flirting with whats mine,” she basically growled.

“Yes Mistress.”

Spencer set the knife down and pulled your legs apart. Cat wasted no time in pressing the vibrator right over your clit. You let out a symphony of moans. Your head fell back as you were swimming in pleasure. The knife was back on your skin and you felt it slice through the lace like butter.

Spencer placed it back down then went to fondle your breasts. You let out mewls and curses of his title. Cat handed the vibe over to him and she picked up the crop. You heard the saw before you felt the impact on your opposite breast.

“You’re getting close aren’t you angel?” she said mockingly.

“Yes Mistress,” you said breathlessly.

Spencer upped the setting on the vibrator and moved it around, circling right on your bud.

“Shit I’m gonna cum,” you whined.

“No you’re not,” Spencer said completely removing the vibrator, “Sluts like you don’t deserve to cum.” You felt your clit pulsating from the loss of pleasure.

Sure enough the vibe was placed again on your aching bud. They kept it up for a few minutes. This orgasm coming on stronger and easier due to how stimulated you were. The mix of pain and pleasure along with their degrading words spurred you on even more.

You were writhing on the sheets, head moving back and forth, back arching as you were so close to hitting your peak. The knot in your tummy seconds from breaking.

“You better not cum angel,” ‘Cat threatened with a swat on your tummy.

“I’ll just add another one and another one. I can leave you here tied up over night with the vibe on the lowest setting so that you never cum.”

You moaned out no’s and please’s for her or Spencer to end your torture. Spencer saw the way your chest heaved on the brink of release. The vibe was gone again and you let out a groan of dissatisfaction.

You could feel your slick dripping down your thighs and onto the sheets below you. You knew there’d be a big wet patch on the center. Looking up you saw the crowd had grown bigger. Some watching from the hallway too timid to fully be emerged in the room. A pair of familiar brown eyes caught yours.

Luke was standing there biting his lip. His eyes raked over your flushed form and looked at the small red marks from the crop which littered your thighs. You closed them in slight embarrassment. How long had he been standing there?

Cat spoke and pulled you out of your thoughts, “Are you being shy because your little friend is here?”

“No no I think she loves it,” Spencer spoke, “I think she loves seeing people watch her act like the desperate whore she truly is.”

“You know what angel we’ll let you cum. Just so our guests can see how pretty you look.”

“Thank you Mistress,” you said keeping eye contact with Luke. You noticed the bulge growing in his pants.

Spencer hooked his finger into your panties and pulled them down your legs. He threw them over for Luke to catch and winked at him. He spread your legs as you were now completely bare for everyone to see.

Cat took the wand and you heard the vibrator roar to life again. She wasted no time pressing it on your clit and circling it.

You let out loud moans and whimpers which you were sure could be heard all the way to the bar. Your eyes shut closed at the pleasure was flowing through you.

“Cmon princess be our good girl and show them how good we make you feel,” Spencer said leaning in to whisper in your ear.

With his permission the knot in your tummy broke. You felt your release flow down your thigh as you screamed curses and thanked them. Your hands pulled at the roped trying to move away from the vibe on your clit. The overstimulation being too much to handle.

She turned it off and set it to the side. Spencer moved to untie your wrists as Cat rubbed your cheek softly. Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath.

Spencer rubbed your wrists and placed small kisses on them to soothe you. You sat up and wrapped your arms around your body. Now feeling self conscious about the unfamiliar eyes watching. Spencer had noticed and shrugged off his suit jacket to place over your frame.

“I’m gonna go get the bag from our office,” he said looking to Cat. She nodded and watched as he walked away along with the the remaining people in the room. Luke was no longer present.

“You did so amazing tonight angel. We are so proud of you,” She took your face in her hands and pressed small kisses all over your cheeks and forehead. Finally she made it to your lips and and gave you a kiss which was nothing but reassuring.

She pulled away to speak, “Spence is getting our bag, we brought you a sweater and sweatpants.”

“So you planned for all this to happen?” you asked quirking a brow.

She laughed in response, “Yeah something like that.”

You wrapped your arms around her neck and pulled her in for more kisses. They were sweet and gentle but equally intoxicating. You could taste the strawberry mints which you remembered she kept all over the apartment.

“Always starting without me,” Spencer said with a smile as he walked back, one hand held a brown leather bag and the other held your jacket. He closed the door behind him before setting the bag on the bed.

You shrugged off the jacket and the torn items of clothing, “You guys owe me, I literally bought this earlier today!” you whined.

“Yeah yeah, hands up,” he said pulling the sweater over your head. Cat pulled your hair out from under it tenderly. He squatted down to get your legs through the sweatpants.

“I can dress myself you know,” you said through a smile.

“Just let us take care of you angel,” Cat said holding your jacket open for you to get your arms through it.

You sat back down to unwrap your heels. With how wobbly your legs were there was no way you’d make it out.

Spencer’s phone chimed in his pocket, “The car’s here to pick us up. Let’s go home.”

With that you picked up the bag which held your heels and discarded clothing. You reached out to interlock your pinky with Cat’s but she shifted to hold your whole hand, looking back at you with a smile.

You walked out of the lounge with a satisfied smile and your two favorite people on either side of you.

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds smut #cat adams x reader #cat adams smut #chellewrites

123 notes · View notes